7:58

Two minutes until eight. I know where I am supposed to be.

I feel sick. That nauseous feeling from earlier combined with having eaten too much at dinner. I was starving because I hadn't eaten all day. I ate too fast, and too much. I was famished and angry and it's all a heavy ball in my stomach.

I know where I am supposed to be. I know. It's the last place I want to be. Part of me is really glad that I am being told to do something I really don't want to, part of me really wants to sacrifice for Him. Part of me wants to go get high and forget the rest of the world.

It's a big part and it's getting a lot of consideration.

I am afraid of what will happen if I am disobedient. I am most afraid that He will leave me alone. I hate that. I hate time out, I hate when He pisses off. I hate being alone.

I hate it more than I hate where I am supposed to be. I'm going to go then. Maybe do some laps, I don't think I can run right now. And I don't have anything to punch. And I did tell myself...

I will be a good puppy for my Master.

This Week

I will be a good puppy for my Master.

mine or Yours

"If you touch anything around the tit[s], ass or pussy area, including said areas, you will be blamed...and punished."

So, he pissed off for no good reason. I don't think it's fair to just ditch me because I'm better at a game I didn't even choose to play. So, now I'm all alone in my house with nothing to do. And I'm considering what he said.

It could be some terrible punishment, or it could be something not so bad.

It's probably not a great idea to be posting right now, as it will give him a lot of insight into the amount of forethought that goes into these decisions for me. On the one hand, I'm a child and pissed off that I didn't get my way, that I didn't get to finish my game, that I had this whole day free and I won't tomorrow or the next day or the weekend, and he pisses off to watch bullshit TV that I only get to watch for 2.5 hours a day. I'm bored too, you know. I wanted to hang out and have fun too, you know. And so, it's a knee-jerk response.

And in a way, it's more than that. Much more.

And right now, with all my mindframe's bouncing back and forth all over the place, there's stuff I want from you too. I want consistancy. I want you here. I want that a lot. I didn't think I could make it clearer today. But you leaving, makes me not want you here at all. I feel really vunerable in terms of how I am setting up my responsorial mindframe right now. And it could go one way, and I can assume that there will always be inconsistancy and I can learn to pick and choose and read the situation, and maybe often get it wrong and maybe not be always be submissive and accquiesce.

Or it can go another way, and I can expect that you will be consistant. If you are, then my response will always be the same. If you want that, if you want me to learn to do what you say everytime you ask, to be immediate and to offer all final decisions to you, then you can't do this. I hate this. And I want to hurt you back now.

I want to take it all back and make it mine again. I want to do the opposite of what you say and make everything mine. I am embarassed about all of this. I don't like wanting you in all my everything. It makes me feel weak and stupid and too "female" and needy. I hate it and you're not here, so I have to take it all back. And how else to take it back than to make my body my own again.

I sort of feel like I am on the edge of something right now, and that I shouldn't get angry at you when I want you to see that, know what it is, and do it right. But I want you to. It's irrational, but I want it. And like you, I don't want to tell you what it is. Cause if I tell you, I think you won't give it to me cause you want to, but because I ask.

So, fuck off. I'm taking the rest of the day off. I'll decide for myself if it's mine or yours.

Book Store

Johnny wants to shop for books with me. He's indisposed at the moment, so I took the liberty of looking a little on my own. I was trying to find this one in particualr that I loved as a kid called, When Everyone Was Fast Asleep by Tomie De Paola, who also did Fin M'Coul. I already have Fin M'Coul cause I saw it one day in the store, but I love that book. When Everyone Was Fast Asleep is about the Fog Maiden who comes and takes you to a magical place. It's really nice.

This one is one of those books you learn a lesson from. The poky little puppy like, wanders off or something, and gets lost. I just remember liking this Little Golden Book and also, The Tawny Scrawny Lion.

The Giving Tree is another book where you learn a lesson about sharing and sacrifice, and also, ecological reform. We have to use every part of our natural resources or we are wasting...like the Native Americans and the buffalo.

A simple book about closure. It's good for kids like me who needed to tuck every single animal in bed and say goodnight to my furniture. The artwork is simple too. I was reminded of this book when Jay Mohr parodied Christopher Walken at a book reading for this. Grin.

This was one of my mother's favorite books when she was little. She liked it because she had red hair like Madeline. She read me this book almost everyday and I liked it cause you could anticipate the ryhmes.

Check out the title and say it out loud. Can you see why I got a kick out of this book, Johnny? It was a story about brains beating braun, too. And I liked the hidden little pictures.

I'll keep shopping, but I think I'll have a bunch of these sent to me, and then send them to you. Grin.

Age is a state of mind.

Johnny is younger than me. Not by much, a couple years, but when I found out, I was really, really confused. I like to consider myself fairly progressive in my thinking, but it has never occurred to me to be with someone younger than I am. I think that I have always felt conflicted about the fact that though I look younger than I am, and though I have periods of very real silliness, in many ways, I feel much older.

It is not uncommon for people to make statements to the fact, as well: Are you really only 25? Are you really that young? I know I am not that young in experience...or maybe I have been 25 for a long time. I know I wasn’t a kid for very long. Circumstances made that impossible. I wasn’t allowed to be scared or angry, or resentful or needy. I didn’t allow myself that luxury. Other people needed attention, so I let it go.

And so now, in this kink, when issues of age and control come up, I am really, really conflicted. Part of me wants to be a child about things, wants to throw tantrums and say no, and resist, resist, and not ask for permission, and not allow external control over my behavior. Part of me, a big part, would rather sit in pain over ask for anything. I would rather degrade myself than let someone else control me. And it’s happened that way.

And sometimes, he gets tighter then. And I hate that, and I don’t. Like with the lotion. I got a bad sunburn and I was told to put lotion in the fridge and then apply it after breakfast. I stuck it in the freezer instead and left it for awhile. When I decided I wanted it and went to get it, he told me to ask properly. That phrase makes me bristle inside. I hate it. I hate it the way you hate your teacher asking if you’ve done your homework, the way you hate your mother asking if you’ve cleaned your room. You just blank out at that point, and me, I go entirely stubborn.

No one is going to tell me what to do. No one is going to be that patronizing.

He already said I could after breakfast. I didn’t want to ask, and certainly not properly. It was all I could do to grit my teeth and force “canIgetmylotion” out of my mouth.

No, ask properly.

There is was again. I fucking hate ‘properly’. So, I said no. Over and over again. And then it becomes a test of wills. I didn’t even want it anymore, but now, it’s not about the lotion, it’s about whether or not I am going to ask. And I don’t want to. And sometimes, he lets it go. And so then, I win. Sort of. I mean, I get no lotion, but I don’t have to ask.

But this time, he told me to go get it and put it between my thighs. To leave it while he toddled off to do something. I was livid. And something else. Something I will get to shortly. All the cool was being sucked away by my hot, hot thighs. My back and shoulders were still burning and he was taunting me. And then, when he returned, he told me to put it back in the freezer. And there it still sits. And I want it. And I asked, but I have not gotten a response.

So, the other part of me. The part I don’t like to admit is there, the part I loathe about myself. The little girl part. The part that wants to be taken care of, to be read to, and sang to, to be looked after, to have decisions made for, to be entirely in the custody of someone else.

I hate that part.

It makes me feel creepy and weird. It’s unnatural. Unnatural to me, in any case. I am not a little girl. I never have been and I can’t be now. But when he does those things, when he says things like, “No arguments, just do what you’re told.” Those things are these scary little triggers for me.

There are many parts of why I am terrified of this. It’s about me and my perceptions. If you never believed that you were inferior to the adults in your life, you always saw yourself as able to manipulate and negotiate them, as smarter, as stronger, as able to care for them in ways that they could never return... In one way, I don’t trust anyone to take of me. I don’t believe I truly need it or deserve it. I see people who do need it as weak. I see myself as superior to them. I don’t trust them.

And he is younger than me. And on paper, I should be taking care of him. And he wants me to take care of him, so it is constantly a conflict for me to see it reversed. But sometimes, he knows what I want, or what I need, and I let myself be a little girl, or inferior in some way. And in that space, I am very, very comfortable. I can forget those worries and let him read to me, sing to me, control my actions, control me. I like it. It feels like floating. It feels weightless.

But in the morning, when I wake up, and I am not sick or tired or in someway vulnerable, I hate myself. I know I was weak, pathetic. I know I caved. And I want to defend that fast. It is hardest for me to ask, for me to say, “Yes Sir” or “No Sir” when I have been vulnerable. It’s hardest then to be that little girl. And it’s confusing for both of us.

I’m sure, in a way, he feels like he has had some sort of break through and is frustrated when I shut that off again. I’m frustrated for not letting myself stay there and be happy. But I really, honest to God, don’t trust that anyone would want that from me full time, and in the off moments, it really fucks with my image of myself as invincibly numb. So I have to destroy it.

I have to laugh in its face, in his face. I have to be stubborn and deflect all feelings of tenderness, because I am really ashamed of that part. I am ashamed of wanting something from someone else, and most of the time, I feel so damn undeserving of it. And asking requires a feeling of deserving.

And how can I ask him? I should be taking care of him, and making everything easier and lighter for him. And I have the audacity to say, “Fuck you, take care of my shit first”? I can’t do that.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know anything. And the closer we get to all of that, the more I want to shut it all off.

But, I do like him. And I do love him. And one day, maybe I’ll figure it out.

Tonight on the Road

I drive on but I am thinking about you. You’re home and waiting for me.

But I won’t be with you tonight. Instead I’ll be on that black highway, my eyes open wide into the darkness, caffeine in my veins and pulsing at my temples. I’ll have the radio up loud and the window cracked, and I’ll smoke four cigarettes in a row. I’ll pull over on the empty highway and get out. I’ll breathe into the dry night air and I’ll think of you.

I’ll lie back on the hood of my car and spread my legs across the nighthot, drivehot engine and pull my skirt up under the blanket of stars, like my blanket at home, cool and dark. I’ll see your constellation face smiling down at me, or maybe not, maybe not smiling but glaring, or cold dark like my blanket.

It will make me so very wet, your eyes like the crescent moon half closed on me. I will touch what isn’t mine, heat spreading across my ass and thighs and up into my cunt, climbing my spine and belly. My mouth is dry like the night air too, and my eyes are lightening bug flickers. I can see you in my dream, descending upon me like the heavy night sky, as I fuck what isn’t mine.

I can tell myself that I am a good girl, that I am lonely for you, that I am spread wide so you can reach me from so far away. But it is all a lie. I want you to fuck me and I am happy for even the cheap substitute, am happy to go home to confession and pain, am happy to be used like a slave or a dog to pay for my indiscretions.

I want you to fuck me so punishingly on that roadside. I want the heat of the hood under my skin; I want to be burned on the surface as my blood boils beneath. I want your hands searing, taking, raping, ripping, scratching, scathing. I want to be owned on the road with a lone trucker to testify.

And the night comes alive with my thoughts of you. Every sound, every fragrance is in the front of my mind. I am drowning in you, in thoughts of your hands and your mouth and your teeth on my skin. My pussy is dripping so neatly on the hood of the car as I fuck myself harder, turning my face into my hair, soapy ashtray in swirling strands, I can smell my skin in the dry hills, my cunt on the night air.

Can you feel me at home? Can you smell me there, trespassing on yours while I growl at that moon, at that squinting white moon, while I think of how you might make me pay? And I’ll confess at your feet because I want to pay, baby.

I want to be yours on the road,

yours in your bed,

yours in your dreams,

yours in my head.

But, tonight. Not tonight.

Glorious Concession

I want to feel like you like me. I want to feel good about all of this. I'm selfish for not wanting to dread conversation, for wanting to not be hung up on.

I don't want to talk bullshit all the time. I'm going through big things right now, with big changes, that I want to change me. This job, graduation, a new school, a new place to live...and I don't want to feel guilty for wanting to change, just because you're not ready for it, just because you think I am going to leave you behind. I don't want to apologize for growing. I want you to support that. You talk about support all the time, but you don't really support me, not unconditionally. You support me if I stay the same.

But you've changed, you're someone different than I believed in the beginning too, almost literally. And I am willing to be flexible and to adjust to that, but you're not. Everything that happens to me is going to change me, I hope. Thank God it will, because stagnation is not living. It's ticking off time before death.

And so these stupid, cyclical arguments about petty bullshit mires me in inertia, and it's the worst thing for me. I have to push forward always, and I want someone to push forward with me, to change with me, to celebrate the fact that I am not a complete person and that understands that mistakes are possibilities to learn. Learning keeps me alive.

I'm going to put you back on admin because this is your place too. It was disrespectful and selfish of me to take you off because I was angry. I'm sorry that I did that. No one likes their shit messed with. You can post or not, it's your decision, of course.

Things are going to change, Johnny, because things are always changing. Fighting that makes me unhappy. I don't want to be afraid of change anymore.

Mean Face, Bad Boy

You got yourself a smart girl, Johnny baby.

Stop fucking with my controls.
You lose. They're mine now.
Mine.


Shoulda been a good boy.

Long Distance Longing

I want a spanking. I want one.

Part of the problem with long distance relationships is the intangible aspect. I miss touching. I want his hands all over me. I want them on my hair, my face, my mouth, my neck, my tits, my nipples, my back, my cunt, my ass, my thighs, my ankles. I want his mouth in mine; I want to chew on his lips, spiral my tongue into his throat and suck on him until I get dizzy.

It’s not pretty, or the stuff of great literature, but it’s uncomplicated.

I want my thighs wrapped around him, squeezing his hips tightly, closing him into my lap and swallowing him with my arms. I am crazy, disgustingly crazy, for his touch. I want to feel him underneath me; I want to sit on top of him and grind my sloppy cunt against him while he cums, and then cums again. I want his hands on my body, not simply dewy or glistening, but sweating—beads and rivulets. I want to feel my hair sticking to my neck, my back, my face while he pushes up against me. I want to feel his fingers sink hard into my soft hips, his fingernails ripping into me as he holds me tight against him.

I want him to hear me breathing his name into his ear, and I want him to feel my ragged breath against the tiny, indiscernible fuzz on his ears, his neck. I want to bite him and hold on, my teeth the only thing binding me to him as his fucking gets rough, more irregular, sinking his cock into me, holding it there while my cunt swells and cradles, suffocates.

And I want a spanking too. Maybe more.

It depends on the day. Probably more.

I want him to pull down my jeans, run his hands over my ass, and then push me over something. The couch, the bed. I want to feel just the spanking at first….I know he’ll like it…I will want his lap underneath me soon enough. I want to feel him behind me, I want the surprise…I want to feel the pause…the anticipation, waiting for when he wants to spank me…how fast, how hard.

I want him to concentrate on my ass, first. I want him to hit me hard; I want to feel the pain of it all over my body. I want to lay still, my legs trapped in my jeans while I struggle to submit to it. I want to beg him, and whether or not he stops, I want it to have nothing to do with my begging.

I want to feel leather against my skin—a belt, a whip, a strap, something. I like the romance of it; I like the severity and removal. I like the mind space you have to occupy to beat someone like an animal. I like how humiliating and degrading it is; I like how uncomplicated it is. I like how much it heats your skin, the simple licking of a leather tongue on your hidden flesh. It smells like sex.

I want him to spank me hard, and long. Longer than I think I can take, longer than he thinks I can take. I want him to hurt me; I want him to want to hurt me.

And then, on his lap. I want him to slap my ass while I ride him. Not hard, just occasionally; I want to feel his hands then. I want him to call me whore then…cumslut, fucktoy, baby girl, little one, cunt. I want him to use me; I want to see his face. I want to see blank pleasure curving his lips, dilating his glossy pupils. I want him to hurt me and use me, spank me and fuck me, because it brings him a pleasure that nothing else can.

I want to feel the deep scratches in my back, on my ass when he cums. Not tell me, not warn me. No permission, no acknowledging necessary. Just use me until he’s finished. And then, push me off, onto the floor, onto my knees, crush me against the wall, grab my hair and force his slick cock into my mouth, ask me, “What do you say?”

“What do you say?”

And fill my throat while I thank him.

Be Me

It occurs to me that I am asking a lot when we fight. It feels like him or me, and more often than not, I feel unheard. I feel like I have to close down everything in order to get through this. I feel like he has no idea what it is like to be, though I spent a tremendous amount of energy seeing things from his point of view, making his point of view my own.

It occurs to me that I am being unfair...but then it would, wouldn't it? I thought I would try for once to put some boundaries around who I am. It would be the healthiest thing for both of us. Maybe then, he could see me. Maybe then, I would stop resenting and blaming him for all of this. And maybe then, I could see myself. Maybe then, I could be active and give this all that it needs to thrive.


This is so very obvious, it's pitiful. The reason we're having so much shit right now is because I feel unheard and disempowered. And it makes me angry, though not overtly. It's not fair to blame him for this. He is trying to force activity. And yes, he's risking the entire relationship for it, but I can see it is from a place of preservation. He truly believes that without that, this won't exist.


This is why every fight we have is epic. This is why my decisions or indescisions come out of left field. This is why he thinks I am not trying, that I don't want to save it. In actuality, the turmoil in my head is gigantic. It's huge, but conflict is worse. So I think, and think, and think. I tell every aspect of the story. I see all sides and I am stuck. Even a question as simple as, "Do you like your boss?" takes twenty-five minutes of back story and ultimately, an ambivalent answer. Now, talk about something relevant: "Do you want to be in this relationship?"


I'm just thinking and thinking. I know what I don't want. I know that I don't want to be taken for granted, that I don't want to be invalidated, that I don't want to be alone, that I don't want to be without him, that I don't want to fight, that I don't want to worry all the time about what mood he is going to be in, that I don't want to feel guilty for having my own shit to do, that I don't want my loyalty questioned, that I don't want to be told that my way of loving someone is inferior, that I don't want to know that the quantity and quality of his love is entirely dependent on his mood and what he thinks I have done for him recently. Now, decide. DECIDE.

But, I can't. Could you?


I know what he's doing. And in a way, it's the right thing. It's the right thing to make me choose, make me active. But there are still two flaws with his method. First, there is no support. If I am choosing, I am choosing him or not him. It is a test. So if he helps me, if he is encouraging and patient, I don't really love him. He said it himself: "It's crunchtime."

I have to choose him and immediately, without thought. I'm not him though. I cannot always see what I want. I can see what I don't want and so it is a process of elimination, and it takes time, and unfortunately for him, it takes energy. Energy is a hard thing for me. If you come at me full throttle and filled with rage and disappointment, I shut down so fast. There is no chance I can spend any energy on choice if everything is going to keeping me numb. Numb looks like resistance. It looks like passivity and ambivalence. This is infuriating for him; I am rejecting him. So, the second flaw is that his punishing emotion has gotten priority over my method of achieveing choice, and as a result, nothing happens.


So, I'm stuck. Left alone, I will numb out any feelings I have and make everything, at least superficially, okay. I will come to terms with the next direction because I will convince myself that my happiness should not take precedant over another's, and moreover, that someone's happiness is better than no one's happiness. But I won't be there as much. Moments. But mostly, just go empty. If I have hopes, I have disappointments. If I have to take a stand, I have to engage conflict. It's not worth it. Better to let it happen to me.


Here we are now. In this place. He was angry, and for two days, said everything he needed to; and I waited it out. I defended myself some. I even mirrored back his anger, but oddly enough, I felt nothing from it. I know that sounds like bullshit, because you can't say horrible things to someone you love without wanting to hurt them. But really, I wasn't angry when it was happening. It felt like a game. He needs catharsis; I need this to end. If I let him yell, call me names, tell me that my efforts are worthless, if I defend myself to provoke it -- then he will feel better. And you know what? He did.

He felt much better. He dismissed it all as "getting things off our chests." But the issue is that nothing was off my chest. In fact, I was angrier afterward than I was while I hurled insults at him, while I belittled him. I was livid that he put me through that. That in the end, it was supposed to be okay, that I was supposed to accept some responsibility for that trauma. I hated every second of it. I felt out of control, in every sense. My teeth dreams came back that night. First I was just wiggling them, but they fell like sand, filled my mouth like pebbles until I was spitting them out. In a bag, little and big. I felt that it would be more appropriate should that dream have come last night, but in all actuality, knowing what I do about myself, I feel the most out of control when I am angry.

Anger is not comfortable; it is not cathartic or releasing. It's terrible and frightening, and paralyzing. I could do nothing in the moment, could think nothing, follow not one train of thought to completion. It was so big and so chaotic. I hated it. I hated it. And I wondered if I hated him for doing that to me, for putting me through that. Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he see me? He says, "We won't fight anymore. I like it like this." But he doesn't. Fighting makes things crystal clear to him. And he won. We fought. I lost. I lost because I was so fucking hollow.


And then, it was supposed to be okay?

You're supposed to know me. You're supposed to take care of me. You're supposed to protect me from that trauma, but instead, you inflict it on me? And not once, but for days, in cycles. Deep depression that I fucking feel as much as you do. Then spikes of intense anger that lashes out at me, expected or not. I am there, not just with you, but as part of you.

And then I am broken, because there are things I can't survive like you can. You have weathered yourself for so long, but I am there for the ride, like it or not. I am being buried by this. Buried, and you have the audacity to question how much I care about you? How much you are a priority in my life? You say that you have to watch your back, but look at me. If I don't go numb, run away, hide, who's going to be looking out for me?


In the end, I am numb. I am trying very hard not to be swallowed by the weight of how much this depresses me. I am trying at once to both go numb and continue to work through it. I know that if I go numb, it will happen like this: My feelings about the conflict will subside. I will no longer be angry that it happened, happens. I will accept it as part of who I am with, but I will not allow myself to be open anymore. I will have to shut down. I will have to feel nothing, across the board. I will have to be half-here.

And I know that will mean the end, because he cannot live with me being half-here. I know that he will know there is a difference and he will continue to be angry at me, tell me that I am not making an effort, that I am letting it die. But I am far too used to subjugating my own needs for that of someone else -- I am far too aware that I can only pretend I am not here; I cannot maintain that level of enthusiam, of engagement. I am not that intense. I will go to sleep in this. And if I ever wake up, I will be so angry and so sad, because I will have done it all half-way. And he will have allowed that.

I don't trust him right now. I can't be sure that I will ever trust him. And not about bullshit facts here and there, but he is so broken, too. He doesn't trust anyone, not even me. And so, I mimick the same; I feel the same paranoia. And for this to work, for me to endure through that seperation, I have to be dead to those feelings. Then, everything is a charade.

Or, I could try my damndest not to do that. I could wake myself up and go through this. I could force the pain and anger and hurt out into the open and deal with it. But there has to be some promises. I can't do that forever. I can't even do that frequently. I have to know that he will hear me, that there will be change from him, that there is a chance that he will stop being capricious and subject to his emotions. I cannot be the only one to sacrifice. I cannot be expected to alter my ways only to watch him excuse his outbursts and attacks as "in the moment" or "because I was angry." I still have to go through it just the same.

And I can stand there with my arms spread wide and trust that the waves will not knock me down, or I can go below deck and listen to the storm outside. The reality is, though, that time won't tell. I have to decide.

To Think About

Just something on my mind. Click to blow it up.

Highlights

I am talking to myself. Johnny never posts or even comments. He doesn't love me. Not even a little bit. Want to see what he really thinks of me? The following is a little bit of truth, angry naked:

Johnny (3:26:01 PM): You fucking bitch!

Johnny (3:27:49 PM): It's not okay.
Johnny (3:27:52 PM): That is not okay.
Johnny (3:27:54 PM): Fuck you for that.

Johnny (3:28:48 PM): Fuck you, lola.
Johnny (3:28:51 PM): You fucking whore.

Johnny (3:33:49 PM): No one has fucking done this to me.
Johnny (3:34:00 PM): I'll never fucking forgive you for this.

Johnny (3:36:21 PM): Fuck you.
Johnny (3:36:26 PM): Fuck you in every way.
Johnny (3:36:32 PM): You fucking hurtful cunt.

Temptation

I spent the last hour looking up spanking videos on a new site, since a friend recently sent me this video (see below). I'm so wet right now. I want to be bent over and smacked hard. So badly. My cunt is throbbing. It's going to take a fuckload of willpower to get through tonight without touching my clit.

I'm trying to do everything else I can, everything that is still fair game. I press my thighs together hard and rock forward onto my cunt, my clit pushed up against my desk chair. I want to fuck myself for an hour. I want to be on my hands and knees in bed, my thighs spread and my ass high. I want to feel his hands on my pussy lips, inside my thighs, skimming across my asshole. I want to be spanked until I am magenta and bruised, and then fucked relentlessly. And maybe then, I won't want to touch when I'm not allowed. But not likely. Grin.

Refocusing

Submission is not always a simple thing. Blind obedience and the subjugation of the will takes effort. I am fighting something instilled in me as part of my cultural doctrine; I am fighting JKF: The cost of freedom is always high, but Americans have always paid it. And one path we shall never choose, and that is the path of surrender, or submission.

But I will because I have chosen it. I will stop being lazy, and stubborn, and resistant no matter the source. I will be obedient because it is what I have chosen and it is what makes me feel safe. I'm sorry for my behavior this past week, Sir. It was unacceptable. I will take responsibility for my part of this. I will be obedient and submissive. I will stop treating you with disregard; I will stop taking advantage of you. I will alter my behavior so that it is not necessary to be removed from you. It is my responsibility to deny those moments of self-indulgence. I did not earn them, I should not need them, and I certainly, have not deserved them. I am yours. It is not the other way around no matter how comforting that thought might be. It is my position to be available, to be open and to be compliant. It is my responsibility to do what I am told and nothing more. I will try to stop forgetting that. I will try to stop itching for reassurance. I am sorry, Sir.

PS. Don't worry about the content of this image. It was chosen for it's relevance to the topic of submission. It does not occur to me to want to chain you up and beat you. Quite the opposite, really.

AstroProjection, AstroReflection

I'm being punished. It's unconventional. And not.

I wonder if he sees it that way on his end. I know what it is. More deprivation. Only this time it's not biological needs, sexual urges. It's him. I was late and so I don't get him today. It's too bad, because I want him. I have wanted him really badly for the last couple of days.

I want to eat him, to fuck him, to scratch him and kiss him.

But he's angry right now. So I wonder how much he is impetuous, capricious. How much this is out of control and irratic, rash. Will he be back in a half an hour to look for me? To spend time with me? Will he be resolute and unfeeling this time? Will he not be back tonight?

A text: I understand that you had that to do, just some consideration yeah? You've been cocky as hell all day, you fucked off to take pictures earlier with no permission.

If I read into this...would I be that cocky? I would not. But then, I am not submissive at all right now. It's infuriating. Why am I doing this? I can see it and I should stop it. I feel like I am falling now though.

Another text. He is angry and I am am sincerely apologetic. I know you can read another attitude into this, but at some level I am doing this from outside my body. I don't know why. It's not that I don't want to take responsibility, because I did those things. I took him for granted, made stupid choices, and did it all with a relaxed attitude. He has every right to be angry and I should be punished. But sometimes I think he doesn't punish me because he thinks that I like it.

And I do like it. Just like any other submissive would like it. I like pain and I like controlled, boundaries. I like knowing where I am allowed and what is unacceptable. I like to be reminded so that these things don't happen. Sometimes I think that he doesn't punish me because he doesn't want me to think that I am winning with this behavior. But it is a circle that way. I fuck around because I want him to tell me where to get off and be consistent, predictable. He remains aloof and inconsistent because he knows it bothers me the most, he thinks it is the most appropriate punishment because it hurts the most. But punishment is only meant to hurt (punishment is vengence not justice), not correct, not modify.

I am worried that I will continue so long as I don't get what I want; and I am worried that he will withhold what I want so long as I continue.

He still thinks they are seperate. Life and the kink. He still thinks that "when it's serious" they should not overlap. But I can't help it. I remove value from things and I toy with them. I toy with him just to see. And he would be furious to know that it is about things that I should regard as off limits. But if this is not to be a game, I must know that his actions will be consistent whether or not he has an emotional stake. I have to know where I am safe to move within the kink. It's a fucked up way of pushing boundaries. It's really unacceptable on a very direct level, but I can't help it. I need to know sometimes. Why not now when it's not too late? When he can walk away if he wants to? When I am the strongest in my fragility.

lola: Be logical.
Johnny: Wow.
lola: I'm not persuading myself it's okay in any sense of the word.
Johnny: You’re so arrogant it's untrue. You are. Shame on me for that?! Really?
lola: Wow, you're so condescending it's untrue.
Johnny: lol Yeah. I'm the condescending one in this.
lola: Yeah, you're also obnoxiously sarcastic and rather insensitive, but that's beside the point.
Johnny: Yeah, alright.
lola: Well, this has been fun. I shouldn't have stayed. I'm sorry I fucked up your evening.
Johnny: You’ve only been on half an hour. Yeah, no worries; you don’t want to hear it so fine.
lola: Hear what?
lola: You're just going to continue to slag me off for the next hour off and on and get pissed off when I get testy and defensive.
Johnny: But I'm not taking shit all the time, and recently, as soon as things are level that’s where you go. And it’s not kink stuff. You’re resisting. Because you ignore anything kink that doesn’t suit you.
lola: You're so very wrong. You don't know shit about what's in my head. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
Johnny: Yeah, it doesn't suit.
lola: Yeah, you're an asshole.
Johnny: Thanks.
lola: Convenient, ain't it?
Johnny: Whatever, maybe I am.
lola: Swell. Apology accepted.
Johnny: Yeah. I can’t say shit, you don't want to know.
lola: You can say what ever the fuck you want. Just stop thinking that because you thought it, it's true. Maybe, just maybe, my arrogant little kettle, you don't know everything about everything and you might want to consider the dilemmas of assumption.
Johnny: Uh huh. Well, your blog says most of it. A lot of assumption isn’t needed. Our blog, sorry.
lola: Oh, deep, Johnny. That one will need stitches.
Johnny: I’m not saying just for that.
lola: Sure, yes.
Johnny: Yeah okay. I'm sorry, I don't want to draw you into an argument. You apologized.
lola: Good. Okay.

The Cookie Knows

I am a bad girl. I know.

I have not done one single thing that I was meant to do. No rules, no instructions. Not. A. Damn. Thing. And every day I tell myself that I will start again tomorrow. But then tomorrow rolls around and I don't want to behave.

We seem to be in this limbo somehow, and up is down and black is white because everything is changing for me. Everything. Who I am, what I've done, how I think, how I prioritize, how I feel -- strong and lonely at the same time. I'm the circus master and I will not be told what to do, just now. I have barely scratched the surface of this and I want to be be free of it. Perhaps paradoxically.

They say, who says? They. They say that it is stifling, it's heavy and burdensome, but somehow conversely, it freeing and liberating. And I don't know what it is, really. If it is Johnny, or the ending of something old and painful, or the shedding of an identity, the embracing of something that has always been real underneath. Is it the multiple truths that are unpeeling now that I don't need them? Is it the way I feel like I have aready stepped off the ledge and the rest is a ride? But then, it is careless. I am no longer concerned.

And so it's maybe this lack of concern. And I am falling fast and there is this infinity in it. It's that for once in my life I just don't care that other people exist. And it's spilling over into this. He wants it, but fuck it. I want. I WANT!! And so fuck you, and fuck your rules in spite of myself. But it's not personal.



So, yeah. Last night I might have let my hand linger on the slit cut in my panties; might have traced my pouting puss with bold fingers. And yeah, I may have worn what I wanted when I wanted, I might have drank and watched what I wanted, I might have pissed how and when I wanted, might have washed under scalding hot water, soaping my arrogant clit as long and hard as I wanted.

I want. And I wanted to play, wanted to cum. I wanted to push, and I wanted to win. Play with me, talk to me, fuck me, spank me. I want, I want. You should have felt my cunt the third time, juicy wet and aching for more even when I was grinding your name between my teeth. I want to cum. I want. Sweating, furious and hard against my palm, my skin dripping, my hair hot and damp and curling. My cunt so wet that I had to wipe my hand on the inside of my thigh. Silky, slicky. Tell me anything, call me your little whore. I came over and over, punishing orgasms contracting my tight hot muscles, my fists wrapped around cold metal chair legs.

I want. And so maybe I break the rules. I'm afraid this is going to get me into trouble. I want, but I do not earn. I got this the other day in my fortune cookie:



Perhaps I should consider, yeah? Save myself some time and humiliation.

Extra Rules

Johnny: You staying at a hotel this weekend?
lola: Yes.
Johnny: Yes what?
lola: Yes, I am staying at a hotel.
Johnny: Don’t be cheeky, lola, or you'll do something embarrassing.
lola: Yes Sir, I am staying at a hotel.
Johnny: You get irritable and push when I'm nice to you, stop being a brat.
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: Right. When you go to the bathroom for the first time each day, you'll take any panties or pants/skirts off if you’re wearing them. If you have anything else on, above the waist or socks, leave them on. You'll bring in a clock with you, or a watch, you can use your phone if you want.
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: Sit down facing the wall, straddling the toilet. You'll spread your legs wide and pee, then push your index and middle fingers into my toy, push your thumb down on my clit and fuck yourself hard for 5 minutes. After 5 minutes you can cum, only once.
lola: Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir.
Johnny: You'll think of what you want me to do to you, of us cuddling, fucking, of you being raped and used. You'll think of only me.
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: And you'll whisper a thank you when you’re done.
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: You aren’t allowed to wash your hands after for an hour. Understood?
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: What do you say, little one?
lola: Thank you, Sir, for letting me play with your cunt and for letting me cum.
Johnny: Good girl, baby.

Johnny: Another rule for your trip, little one. I want to keep you busy and out of mischief, and thinking of me like you should. No panties until 12 midday.
lola: Tomorrow?
Johnny: Yes, you can carry them in your purse. And Sunday.
lola: Aw. Okay. Yes Sir.
Johnny: Grin, one more.
lola: No more!
Johnny: Uh huh.
lola: Ee!
Johnny: You're very mean to leave me, you get rules.
lola: But I'm with my mom.
Johnny: Ah, shut up.
lola: Yes Sir.
Johnny: It's love, it’s okay. Grin.
lola: It's love, I know.
Johnny: Thinking about the timing of this. On Sunday, you'll wear a skirt.
lola: No panties AND a skirt?
Johnny: You’ll cut a slit in the crotch of your panties so you can get to your cunt.
lola: Aw. Damn it. You ruin all the things I love. Hmph me.
Johnny: And you won’t take them off when you pee. You'll pee facing the wall always.
lola: Oh, God! God damn it.
Johnny: Grin. Language, baby.
lola: That's so complicated! It's not language. It's in the bible.
Johnny: No, it's not. I told you what to do every morning.
lola: I remember.
Johnny: Um hm. Just checking. No loopholes.

I can't decide what I hate more. But I haven't been doing any of my required rules. I eat, drink, and wee when I want. I took a half hour shower under hot, hot running water and I having paid any attention to the time for that last two days. I haven't wanted to follow the rules so I haven't. I'm not lazy or confused, just disobedient. Starting again tomorrow. And the new stuff too. Sigh.

On Daisies

I am angry more than I have ever been. In some ways, it’s not such a bad thing. It’s good to feel anger when, for so long, I have felt nothing. But how can I go from one extreme to the other?

He says to leave him alone. I don’t hear from him all day, but he says to leave him alone. My presence is a nuisance. I will. I will leave him alone.

I will write here though. Some things I am thinking.

I wrote that, and I realize that I can’t. Honesty is such a fucking façade. And he doesn’t get me. It’s the biggest problem. He doesn’t get me and I don’t get him. There’s no fucking answer key for this one. I don’t want to be playing puzzle for the rest of my life. But he makes it so impossible to know him, to predict. He likes it that way. It makes him feel more secure. He doesn’t want me to figure him out, and when I don’t, I think he’s sad some.

Strictly speaking, I know him to be someone who is all or nothing, feast or famine, euphoria or despair. And I never want to show him my cards because the very fact that someone might have cards is treasonous. He must change the game then. No one will get the better of him if they can’t see him coming. But if you have that thought, then no one will ever get the better of you. And I want the better of you. And at an infuriating level, I think he wants that too.

And I want to say GROW UP! But I can’t. I can’t for more than decorum. It’s a sensitive issue. Grow up and let someone in. What’s the worst that could happen? Cause it feels like the worst to me when I am on the outside and trying to sort what went wrong day after day. It’s backfiring. I am having to look closer and up the mind game. Will he go this way and so I go that? Or will he expect that? Will he expect that I might suspect that? And so what could have been really simple becomes a monumental headfuck. And frankly, and I am just speaking frankly now since I manage to hurt and alienate him either way, I don’t want to play.

He loves me. He loves me not.
He loves me. He loves me not.
He loves me. He loves me not.
He loves me. He loves me not.
He loves me. He loves me not.
He loves me. He loves me not.

I don’t expect a final petal. Ever. And he says that I am fucked up, but that is fucked up. If you knew how insecure I am and how much I seek approval, if you knew how I felt and how committed I am, if you knew how important it is to me to be joined with who I love, then you would stop jerking me around.

Yeah, he’ll be mad at that. But good. He’ll be mad anyway and nothing gets better for me. A month, a week, a day does not a pattern make. It is this that is the pattern. And I don’t care if he is hurt by my accusations. I am hurt by his. Almost daily. And the constant proving? There is no proof but endurance and resilience. I keep coming back. You keep kicking me away.

Do you want me to stop? Because I can’t. But I can be broken. I can learn to trust nothing and no one, like you. It’s terrifying and dismal, but that’s where I am headed. I have so much to say, to write. I am thinking too fast, and too incoherently, but through every thought, I keep seeing miserable failure. For me. For us.

And when I draw lines. When I say what hurts me, what I want to be healthy enough to feel I deserve more—when I say that, I hear, “I will not be handled. I will not be compared to him, to them. You’re arrogant to tell me how to behave. Who do you think you are?” So he hasn’t been in relationships very long, very often; I know what I have been in, what I have sought. I know how I react. This whole thing is breaking me down, and I know there is no reconstruction in the end. I will keep coming back, but I can feel it even now. I come back hesitant, flinching and numb.

He’ll think I am terrible to say these things. He’ll think it’s insensitive. Maybe it is. Maybe I should just put up with it, deal. But he won’t be happy if I sympathize (handling), if I offer my opinion (pissing on dreams), ignore it (dismissing), share my own experience (patronizing), or make suggestions (superficial). I have nowhere to go but back inside. And to be told to open, open…and then to have to shut back down again, and have him never hear me…it makes me want to cry. It made me scratch until I bled.

That happens so rarely to me. Usually, there is ceremony, there is purpose and cleansing. This is so different. It is furious and frustrated and grating. I have to dig into my own skin; it feels like screaming, like my skin is screaming. It’s a self-imposed helplessness. It’s disempowered and distracting.

I am really angry right now. Destructively angry. Just like him, hiding and licking his wounds, so am I. He can have the day-to-day, the professional, some personal, but our stuff? That which goes on between him and me? That he will not get. I can’t keep yanking petals left and right. I need an end. Do you love me or don’t you? Do you trust me or don’t you? Do you want me or don’t you?

I know he wants open, but I can’t. Open takes trust, predictability, real empathy, not just projecting about how I might have gotten it wrong and blaming me. See my side! See how difficult you are. You seem to see how difficult I am; you are flummoxed that I can’t handle it, or handle it well. See me! See my side, goddamnit. I know that it is the worst thing I can say about us, but we have no trust. And so long as we don’t, there will only ever be play. So, Johnny, my love (don’t raise your eyebrows, don’t grunt or scoff), I will leave you alone. I can’t prove myself this way.

Wish you were here!

Texas


London


Scandanavia


Arizona


Merry Ol' England


Los Angeles


Dublin


Milan


San Fransisco

Sucker No. 1

It started during the rules, actually. And I haven’t been able to stop.

Because people have mentioned it to me, I am really embarrassed, so I try to be aware. It’s usually when I am alone or quiet. Watching television, falling asleep, waiting for something, during my prep period. I sit in these big circular scoop chairs and I look out the window, and suck.

Mostly my fingers, sometimes my thumb.

There are of course the two places this could go, in terms of analysis. The first is most logical, more typical and thus more likely: oral fixation. I have always bitten my nails and chewed my fingers. I suck on pens and straws, chew caps to bottles, gum, suckers, candy. Always want something in my mouth.

And yeah, that too. It’s a huge part of my sexuality. I beg for it, initiate and fixate. I often would rather suck than fuck, and would do it mindlessly, slurping through movies and video games, sporting events.

So, it’s logical to assume that in a highly sexualized situation, I would gravitate toward sucking. The rules are meant, in part, to focus my submission, to remind me of my position and to emphasize his ownership. It makes me incredibly aroused (a word I do not approve of, mind you) to have to tell him what I am, who I am, what my purpose is, and to have a physical manifestation of it—makes me straight up wet. So, as he lists off these things that will affect every part of my life, that will come before anything else I want, need, say, or do, I am insanely charged. Everything is twofold; everything is sex.

Eating, not eating. Pissing. Drinking. Clothing. Words.

I want to suck. It is the ultimate submission. Use my mouth, use me. Let me kneel between your legs and drag my tongue up your thighs, under your balls, around your swollen cock, suckling your exploring fingers, swallowing your cock head into my tight throat. I need something in my mouth when he is telling me how everything I do that day will be in effort to please and serve him.

And maybe it’s because there is that whole first analysis, and that there is certain truth in it, that makes the second part freak me out: the whole childhood thing. I avoid it like the plague. Because it’s not about my childhood, really. It’s about childhood in general. But how can you be a spanko and not think about that, considering how much this kink has to do with naughtiness and punishment and authority figures?

I keep trying to come up with a way to talk about this without feeling like a mutant. Sigh. Okay, boundaries. A trigger for me. Huge. I am nearly hostage, frozen. They have a way of affecting me at a core level. I am conversely, almost compulsive about destroying them, while at a higher level craving them, craving rigidity. I really have never felt a wall. I have never been separate from someone. I have never felt less than, inferior or even, manipulated. So to have someone take all that control and force it, and not let me get away with anything, even if it is just to say no no no over and over. Maybe head fuck, but even more basic than that.

And if someone could sustain that, moreover despite his circumstances, just take and stay and be rigid, it makes me feel less than—and more, it makes me feel little for the first time in my life. I think this is part of never feeling like a kid ever. And that makes me really scared. Scared because I don’t know how to do it, I don’t know that it’s appropriate and I suspect it’s not. I feel guilty and ashamed and perverse. I feel most out of control when I am being controlled. And I don’t know how to deal with that other than to sit and wait and be numb.

And so I suck my thumb.

But it is there. Tier 3. It’s coming up before I am ready for it and I am trying so hard to stop it. I am not ready to deal with it, I am not ready to be naked, and I am certainly not ready for that narcissistic honesty I spoke about.

Yet, I am forcing it, anyway:

I never sucked my thumb. I am conscious that there is a way that I am tapping into this thing that I never talk about. I always talk about spanking from a D/s adult place and it is highly sexual, how could it not be with hands and laps and cocks and cunts and fists full of ass and thighs and opening legs, twisting, moaning, grabbing, heat. It’s so alive. It’s so sexualized. But there were these other fantasies when I was younger. And I don’t talk about them. I still have them sometimes when I can’t sleep. They’re more comforting than anything else. I can’t push them into the sexual place, though I end up feeling that way if I stay awake, when I dream, and when I wake up the next morning. They are not even contemporary. It’s the romanticness. It’s the security. It’s golden in my head. And there are no faces. I can’t see them. Just feelings and words, then impressions. You remember when you would watch television programs of like, kids stories with illustrations rather than cartoons? That’s what it looks like. A book. And a familiar one. And he never looks like my father. And I never think of him. But I am aware that I don’t, so that must mean something. And there is no mother, but if there is, she is not active; she’s scenery. And I am not one of those girls. I refuse to believe that I am. And if I am, it is only a curiosity. It doesn’t have to be a father. I think that’s another truth. It is someone who I know. Who likes me or not, is kind or cruel. I can’t explain that. I get the same comfort either way, oddly. And that freaks me out too. It can’t be about the figure, because if it were, I would have to kill myself—because I’m not that girl. I think this is a phase and that I am going through it. It is a curiosity. But I feel really guilty that I am curious. And I am more freaked out because how do you do that to someone else? It’s not my place to do that to someone. It’s not my place to force my will on him. And it’s not my personality. So, I am just waiting again, trying to numb out that part so that I feel less like a freak. I bring up everything. He says yes or no, what he thinks, but never puts himself out there and says something first. And I realize that typically, I would be the humiliated one, but it still makes me feel really vulnerable. And I worry that I am convincing him of something. You see, it is that wall again. I am arrogant, maybe, to presume I could do that, but I have never had that problem before. I got away from the thumb sucking, but I only have two minutes to finish this, so I’ll come back to it...

You having this problem? Interactive this, baby.

Confession No. 1 (Closure)

So, the week is over tomorrow and I thought I would document how I have done. In my estimation, I have been a very good girl, but not perfect, unfortunately. Cut me some slack though, he took away everything.

1. No new panties until I'm told. No clean panties for a week.

I was very good about this until he added the extra rule about having to wear my panties until 10PM. I thought about cheating, but I didn't. I wore dirty panties -- a new pair each day -- but as soon as I got home from work I would have a bath and then wear no panties cause it feels ick, even if it's only psychological. For the last two days, I have been allowed freshies and I can't tell you how much I missed my freshies. I think I take my freshies for granted. I hated this punishment.

2. I am allowed to wee only two times in a day. After that I have to ask for permission. If I don't get a response, I don't get to go.

I did pretty well with this one. He allowed me to go when I asked, pretty consistently. However, the afternoon that he was angry with how our phone conversation went, he wouldn't let me go. I had to sit on the couch, staring at the clock and counting from 4:53 to 5:53. I pestered him with texts during that time, but I got no response. At exactly 5:53, I texted and I told him that I was going. I went, and then got his text about having to wait another half an hour. Thank God it was too late. I had to go so badly.

Yesterday, I was allowed five times, but I am sure I went more like eight or nine. I wasn't such a good girl yesterday, but it's harder not to pee when you're at your own house all day and have nothing to distract you. Already it's early in the morning and I have been twice. Same rules apply for today, but it's not looking good.

3. I must drink at least two liters of water a day.

Until yesterday, I was very good at this. I got lazy with everything yesterday. It's something about fighting with him, weekends, and the end of the rules week. Things started slipping. But I had been buying 1.5 liter bottles and finishing them every day with the addition of a couple other glasses. My skin looks better and I sort of felt good at the end of the day with this rule. If I wasn't trying not to pee, I would have been alright with this rule.

4. I am not allowed any other beverages.

Again, good until yesterday. I slipped twice before, but out of necessity rather than forgetting or disobedience. Once, at a restaurant when oddly enough, there was no water available, and once on Friday night cause I got home from the bar and there was no water here and the vending machine downstairs was broken. I really wanted water, but I didn't have any. However, I did drink the tapwater. And that's a desperate move, if you knew where I live.

On a positive note, there were three times that I got other beverages, but then remembered and had to go dump them out. That was humiliating because there were people all over just staring at me and trying to figure out why I would fill up a delicious cup of Coke with lots of ice, lovely condensation forming invitingly on the outside of the glass, and then dump it out and fill it up with water. I just looked shame-facedly at the ground and went to my table. E made fun of me and gave me weird looks though; she's so fucking supportive! Hiss.

5. I am only allowed lukewarm showers.

I was amazingly good at this rule even though IT SUCKS so much. Johnny allowed me to have thirty seconds of hot water at the end, and I count them out loud so that I don't forget. Sometimes I slow down a little on the last eight seconds, but I was so good about this rule. I did have a really hot bath yesterday, but that doesn't count. He was specific to showers.

6. No chocolate of any kind for a week.

Also, amazing about this rule. I missed chocolate so much. I only had the one cupcake he let me have earlier this week. Granted, I found other desserts, but I missed chocolate so much. Please don't make this permanent, Johnny! I can't live without my chocolate. It releases my happy hormones! When he let me have my four pieces last night, I was so in love. With Johnny too. Grin.

7. I am to purchase Hostess chocolate cupcakes every morning and carry them around, and when I get home, take them out, smell them and throw them in the trash.

The inconvenience of this rule (I'm late to work frequently) made this sketchy for me. I did it three times. Johnny let me eat one of the first cupcakes, but my last package is still sitting uneaten in my fridge. I only threw out -- okay, I only did this twice. I can't throw away cupcakes!! You don't understand! I will not eat them, but throw them away?? It's sacriledge! Hmph.

8. I am only allowed two hours of television per night.

Also, so very good about this one. The only way I can imagine I cheated at all on this is because there were times when I was in the room and the TV was on, but I wasn't watching it. I was only listening. But, I live with someone else, so that can't be helped. I have been TV deprived all week long. But I have been such a good girl.

Please, Sir. No more of these rules. I'll be good. I tried so hard to make up for what I have done by being really, very good if you look at the big picture. I've learned my lessons, I swear.

Alice and My Dream Teeth

So, one of my girlfriends told me today about the symbolism in dreams. She said that losing your teeth means you're out of control. One of my recurring dreams has been that I am losing my teeth. And not like her dreams where she wiggles a loose tooth until it falls out of her mouth, but crumbling teeth. Erosion. Slow.

My teeth sort of grind down and are bitten to chalky little nubs. I can't help it. They tumble out of my mouth even though I stop chewing, stop moving. I can't save them. I start thinking about how permanent it all is. I will never have my own teeth again. I will never smile again with my real smile. I will need dentures or Veneers or something. But it will always look wrong.

I start thinking about how there is no alternative. And in my dream, I come to terms with it. I practice new smiles with my mouth closed. I pull my hair down in front of my face. I start thinking about pretty dresses. I ignore my teeth, maybe a little bit sad.

So, if like her, I put this metaphorically into perspective, there are a couple of things here. First, this control is crumbling from within me. I don't push myself out of control like her, I watch it fall apart around me; I mourn it as it goes but know it was inevitable. And I deal with it, I accept.

I wanted that control and I am surprised when it is lost. Not taken from me, not given up, not forced away, but just disappears, dissipates, crushed, tumbling, falling. Like Alice and her rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser. I am falling into this. It is falling away from me. And there is melancholy. There is fear about the new, the unknown, the absence. I am pensive, somber while I look for a bandage, while I try to logic and problem solve through this permanent loss. I have already accepted it, it seems, while I still look for something outwardly to fix it. But I know it will never be the same.

And I try to cover it up. I don't want it seen. I want to move focus away from it, to something else, something pretty, something pleasant. Like the magician and the rabbit. Diversion and slight of hand. You will never see, but I will know. I will be without it; I will have something else, but it will not be the same. And you will never really know. If you look close, only a little off. I will descend my staircase in my beautiful gown and I will be Queen, without control. A figure head.

It's lonely. Still with my fix, it's lonely. Do I want what I can't have? Do I try to get it from something else? Is it unsatisfying? Because when I am under someone else's control, two things happen. One, I hate it. Every ounce of my body hates it. Or maybe not hates so much as resists it. Defiance, wholly. Tell me to breathe and I would try to stop. This has been how I have seen overlaying structural authority and control my whole life.

I don't even not trust it. I think more than that I see an agenda and I want to fight it. Is anything ever for me? No. I don't get anything for me, so this control is not for my own purposes, even when it is. And passive aggressive. Stubborn. I would cut off my nose to spite my face. I would reject what I know is right.

And then something else kicks in.This voice in the back of my head that tells me to be reasonable, be responsible. Moreover, do what you're told because then you don't have to fight, you don't need conflict. Someone will be happy even if it isn't you. Why do you deserve happiness over someone else? You don't. Stop being childish and selfish. They know, so they know better. It's irrational and most likely the source of my resentment and frustration, but I cause it. Me.

And so I smile through it. I make the best of it and accept. I am secret with my melancholy. And I look for my bandaids. But somehow, if I were to just pick someone. You. You tell me what to do, how to do, be consistent, be predictable, be trustworthy. My will is satisfied with that. Then, tell me what not to do, be inconsistent, be erratic, be removed. My masochism is satisfied with that.

I am not complex. I think too much. Curiouser and curiouser.

And so I like it and I look for it. Tell me what to do, tell me what you want. I will be a good girl. I will please you, I will sacrifice to you, for you. I will love everything you take from me, everything you hurt me with. Because the acceptance, the predictibility is comforting. Always so that I can keep control, so I can watch with my mouth closed. I can see everything and you can see nothing, almost.

I love you if you can see me.

Svp, je dois pisser, monsieur.

So, I really have to wee right now. Writing about it is probably not the best idea, but what the fuck else can I do?

When I am not being monitored or restricted in terms of my pee schedule, I don't think about it too much. I just go or don't go. I can hold it forever. Hours and hours. In fact, I almost never go at work, but for the last two or three days, I have had to go so much. I think this is because A) I can't go when I want, B) if I am in the bathroom for other...uh, more womb-anly reasons...I can't help but go, and C) he's making me drink only water, and tons of it. I need that soda sugar and sodium to dehydrate me and make me not pee so much.

He has been very kind to me and not told me that I couldn't go if I have asked. I sort of don't trust that he will let me because he has been known to do just that during some of our longer conversations, so yesterday I did something rather questionable in terms of social appropriateness. I think it shocked him a little how far I would go for the chance to pee, but I think it shocked me more how I would go to that length rather than ask.

I will have to go later tonight before I go to sleep, but I haven't got any more chances. I went once this morning. Then when I got to work I got twice at work and two times when I get home. They're all gone. I swear my body is trying to fuck with me.

This rule has been hard for me, and I am preoccupied with it. I think in combination with the rule about my panties, I am absorbed by my cunt, and for once, not in a sexual way. Though, I have to admit, I want to touch all the time. And sometimes I do. Not for long. Just brush my hand over my pussy, run my fingers through my new fluff, which is softer than I remember. Sometimes, when I am very bold, tap my clit gently with the back of my hand. Only once because I start thinking about how very naughty it is indeed and how beligerent Johnny might get. It makes my heart speed up, so I stop and press my thighs together really tight and try to concentrate on something else.

So, he seems to want to punish me for some reason. I told him that I wasn't wearing panties cause when I came home I showered off a bit and then put on pajamas. A girl wants freshies around her hoohoo, you know? He called it a loophole and told me that from now on, I must wear panties until 10pm. I'll start that tomorrow. I want to feel clean tonight. All this makes me feel so grubby. But I told him I hadn't done anything, and he played that infuriating bullshit card of "you do it because I say you will." I hate that card. It's low. Hear that, Johnny? LOW.

I want controlled. I am more comfortable this way. Somehow tethered. But at the same time, I want to fight it with every fiber of my being. I am uncomfortable all the time, used to autonomy, used to being unhampered. I want it and I hate it. And not superficially, either. I absolutely hate the fact that he knows all, that I could lie to him so easily, but just as my body betrays my resistance, it too betrays my indiscretions. I have to confess. I have to tell him everything.

And I feel foolish and stupid and weak. And I am harder on myself than he is on me, feeling the failure, but comfortable there. He is never relaxed enough to allow minor slipping, but he is quick to reward and to offer forgiveness when I am honest. And I hate above all, that this could be a game to him and he could grow bored easily, and that I have become in a very large way both connected with him and dependent on him. I hate the dependency. It feels so opulent and so pretentious, so needy and disgusting.

And so I have this dilemma. I will need to pee again tonight.

Confession No. 1 (Follow Up)

It is good. My punishment.

I mean I hate it. It feels like he took everything, but not without purpose. I had five instructions, and I was only capable of completing one entirely. And additionally, even though I can't control my thoughts to the extent that I should, I was absolutely wrong to entertain them, even as briefly as I did.

They are as follows:

1. No new panties until I'm told. No clean panties for a week.
2. I am allowed to wee only two times in a day. After that I have to ask for permission. If I don't get a response, I don't get to go.
3. I must drink at least two liters of water a day.
4. I am not allowed any other beverages.
5. I am only allowed lukewarm showers.
6. No chocolate of any kind for a week.
7. I am to purchase Hostess chocolate cupcakes every morning and carry them around, and when I get home, take them out, smell them and throw them in the trash.
8. I am only allowed two hours of television per night.

This morning on the way to work, after I had bought my stupid taunting cupcakes, I thought about how thorough all of these new rules have been. They really do several things. First, and foremost, they remind me very clearly that I am not in charge of my belongings or my body. They also show me that everything in my life is now a priviledge to be negotiated by Him alone.

Third, they are meant to torure me. Drinking a huge amount and having to wait to pee only when he allows it. To the extent where he might force me to have an accident? Making me carry around treats that I know I can't have? Fiend.

Additionally, they are meant to deny me. To show me that what I have, what I desire, I am no longer allowed. I didn't deserve it because I was disobedient.

In short, he took everything, and I can't complain because I deserved every part of it. I am his to use, to play with, to treat however he thinks I deserve. If I am a good girl and I behave, I might get to feel good, treats, praise.

If I am not...sigh.

I know that things got messed up at the end of our day, Sir. I loved your email. I love when you say those sorts of things to me that remind me that you are thinking about me. I know it's a responsibility and you don't need more baggage in your life, and so I am grateful for everything you do and all the time you spend on me. I adore you.

I was good today. I tried really hard to follow everything I was meant to. Please remember that you said you would be forgiving for real mistakes. That shower thing was a loophole, I know. And you got more specific so it won't happen again. But, I went to change and my pajamas were in the bathroom and I just went. I totally forgot. In fact, I didn't even notice until I saw the rules in this post and then I had to think about it and try to remember if I went. I'm pretty sure I did. We didn't get to talk about tonight, cause when I left it was abrupt, and there were no explanations in your email, so I'll tell you what I am going to do. I'll only go once more tonight before bed (I'll text first, but you might be asleep), but I'll wait until midnight and if it isn't okay, I'll count it as one for tomorrow.

I'm really trying. I want to make this up to you and show you I can be a good girl. These rules make me feel really little somehow, but also, really intent on trying to please you. Thank you for them.

Yours.