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Yikes! I’m way behind in my journal postings, but I have a great excuse… Madam kept me busy this weekend, allowing me to joyfully shower my adoration on her, and letting me scream my head off for her pleasure. Friday night Madam P took me to a play party at a local dungeon.
When I got home from work on Friday, I managed to put the finishing touches on the nipple stretching tool that I was making for Madam. It turned out beautifully, all wrapped in red with black clover clamps and a pretty cut crystal knob on the screw that Madam turns to increase the stretch on the nipples. (It’s hard to describe; I’ll try to take a picture and post it later.)
We got to the party (which had the color red as its theme), and Madam made the rounds, socializing and showing off her slave girl decked out in a very short, very light, red sweater dress, white thigh highs with big red bows on them, 5 inch ankle strap high heels, red garter belt and black and red ruffled panties. (Madam was beautiful in a short red dress, low cut to show off her ample cleavage, red tights and sparkly ruby red slippers… we were quite red.)
After saying hello to our hostess and greeting some friends, Madam led me into the dungeon space. There was a lot going on… needle play, spankings, dollification, etc. Madam spied a free cross thingy in a corner of the dungeon. It’s a little hard to describe; it’s a contraption with a padded seat and a cross beam, with boards for the thighs to rest on and platforms for the feet. Madam had me undress for her and then sat me on the device. She locked the leather cuffs to my wrists, and then locked the cuffs to the ends of the cross beam so that my arms were very stretched to either side at shoulder height, palms forward (like being on a cross.) Madam used leather straps to secure my ankles to the device, and lengths of hemp rope to secure my thighs so that my legs were spread wide. She placed a blindfold over my eyes, and attached the nipple stretcher that I made for her to my nipples. I swear that I was secured to that device for about 20 minutes, but somehow 2 hours went by with me blindfolded, bound and screaming as Madam stretched my nipples, then stretched them some more, then stretched them some more! Madam used a powerful vibrator to intensify the burning sensation in my stretched nipples… I screamed and strained against my restraints. At one point Madam pulled back the blindfold and had me open my eyes so that I could see the joy and bliss in her eyes… Madam loves so much to hear me scream. I feel extreme sexy joy remembering the look of fun and bliss twinkling in Madam’s eye… I long to see that look again and again!
As I sat there, restrained and straining against the leather and pain, I found myself in a wildly altered state of consciousness. I felt so certain that I was dreaming, but then I wasn’t sure. Was I dreaming? Is this really happening? I could hear a man wildly screaming somewhere nearby. Or was that my own screaming. Madam’s soft red hair brushed across my check, her hands caressed my thigh… she pressed the vibrator to my clit and I SCREAMED to raise the roof, only this time it was ecstasy, not pain… orgasm after orgasm bolted through my entire being… I strained and struggled with all my might to pull my arms loose!
Then I felt the pressure easing off of my nipples as Madam loosened the stretch of the machine that I’d made for her. Relief washed over me… all my muscles relaxed… was I crying? Madam’s soft hair was on my cheek, her soothing voice was close to my ear, “You’re such a good girl. You’re so brave. You make me so proud.” I filled my head with Madam’s beautiful scent and sobbed, “It’s my pleasure, Madam, to serve and obey you. I love to obey your every command, Madam.”
After a while of breathing deeply and relaxing into the mild throb of the nipple clamps still firmly on my breasts but no longer stretching them, I felt the pain increasing in my nipples again… tight and tighter… I screamed and sobbed… Madam slowly increased the pressure of the nipple stretcher, then she began gently spanking my inner thighs with a small leather strap… and she said again, “You’re so brave, my pet.”
When at last Madam removed the clover clamps from my nipples (I felt so certain that I was dreaming at that point, or was it really happening…) I screamed and sobbed… I went limp against the restraints… Madam gently kissed my aching nipples… she released my legs from the restraints and unlocked the cuffs from the cross, but left them locked to my wrists. Madam gently led me to a private room where she laid me down on a massage table, threw a soft blanket over me, and climbed on top of me under the blanket to soothe and kiss me back to my senses. I could feel Madam’s love washing over me, filling me up, warming me to my core like sunshine warming my bones.
I love opportunities, every opportunity, to demonstrate my obedience and submission to Madam P. I love, love, love that Madam enjoys pushing my limits like that. I was very afraid of that little nipple stretching device that I made for Madam last week, but as it turned out, in Madam’s hands it has turned out to be a tool for bonding, for increasing the loving passion between us. I easily handled everything that Madam asked of me. I could have taken more. I loved being Madam’s obedient scream toy, responding to her every touch, screaming as she tightened the nipple stretcher, screaming louder as she applied the vibrator. Madam really is the Master Musician, and I am her perfect instrument… and I love Madam for allowing me to be that for her.
I’m discovering that screaming for Madam is totally addictive. Whether I’m tied to a cross and having my nipples stretched, or whether my ass is being spanked to a glowing red, or whether I’m screaming and sobbing my way through a 30 minute orgasm, screaming for Madam keeps me humble and sweet (how I most love to be), it keeps my inner brat firmly in check (which I love), and it lets me know that Madam is in charge, which is the greatest source of peace I’ve ever known.
More than anything in the world, I love being Madam’s owned pet!
Missy
Sometimes I crack myself up. I’m a submissive kinkster through and through; it’s in my bones. I can remember when I was 4 or 5 years old, my parents would throw these big parties in our house. People would have to walk past my bedroom on their way to the bathroom. Sometimes I would lock myself to a large table in my bedroom with a big padlock (I’d pass the shackle through the belt loop of my pants and around the leg of the table) and then I’d throw the key to the lock into the hallway. When someone would come by on their way to or from the bathroom, I’d call out and ask them to release me. That was the beginning of my fascination with submission and restraint play.
So I really mean it when I say that I’ve searched for Madam P my whole life. Everyone I’ve ever been intimate with, I’ve attempted to lure into my passion for submission (with minimal success.) I know now that Madam P is THE ONE that I’ve been searching for. I see it in her eyes when she’s biting, pinching, beating and licking me; the joy, bliss and Divine Passion that I see twinkling in her eyes at the sound of my screams says it all. The eyes don’t lie, and that connection with Divine Energy/Passion cannot be faked. Madam has struggled for a long time with her own fear and resistance about beating and hurting the one person she loves more than she’s ever loved anyone. That fear and resistance is fading. Madam appears to be surrendering to her own secret nature, the aspect of her personality that she never dared acknowledge before now: Madam was born to dominate the one she most loves, and she possesses an innate sadistic streak that she is just now beginning to accept in herself. Madam has spent most of her life playing the unwilling submissive in relationships with unworthy bullies, fighting to assert some control over her own life. And now that Madam has found her perfect slave-wife, at last she has begun to spread her wings and REALLY LIVE for the first time in her life.
Madam and I finding each other, twin souls that are the PERFECT complement to each other, is a miracle of the highest order. This is water-into-wine, the-power-to-move-mountains stuff. For real! I’m talking about TRUE LOVE here. I never believed that anything could be this right, especially not a relationship. What Madam is creating, as she molds me into her perfect slave-wife, is the marriage/relationship equivalent of a rose… Divine, lovely, improbable in its absolute perfection, a gift to all who witness it.
What I’m getting at here, and the reason I crack myself up, is this resistance that I wrote about in my last journal entry. It strikes me as ridiculously absurd that any resistance to Madam’s loving control could exist anywhere inside of my being. The only explanation I can think of is that I resist out of habit. I’ve spent my entire life never really trusting anyone. I’ve never trusted my parents. I’ve never trusted my siblings. I’ve never really trusted anyone I’ve ever known or loved. Not until now. In turning my will and my life over to Madam P, holding nothing back (as I’ve agreed to in the Total Power Exchange contract we signed), I’ve decided to put all my trust in Madam P, to love, care for, and train me to be her perfect slave. Now that I’m thinking about it, I suppose in a sense that is really what Madam’s slave training is; Madam is conditioning me to push through my barriers of resistance so that my level of faith (trust) in Madam becomes richer and deeper over time. This is a process. I see that now. It isn’t as easy as signing a contract and suddenly I’m the perfect slave. Madam and I are on an adventure here… the process is the point.
Here’s what I’m realizing even as I write these words: The process is the point! Madam and I are on an adventure into the joys of consensual slavery, wherein we’re learning the truth about the extremely thin veil that exists between absolute faith between 2 human beings, and what it means to have total Faith in the Divine Source of all there is. Madam and I are on the journey of a lifetime. I’m so grateful that I’m on this journey with Madam P. And I see the depth of meaning in the statement, “I’ve searched for Madam P my whole life!”
I see now that my resistance is not a bad thing. The resistance is really the essential energy that I need in order to choose slavery. Through resistance to submission, I get to set my intention to push through the resistance… this is the process… this is the journey… this is the essence of the joy of being Madam’s slave-wife. And what joy it is!
I choose to be Madam P’s slave. I choose to surrender my will to Madam’s control and guidance. I choose to place all my trust in Madam, to allow Madam to render me completely helpless in any environment of her choice, and to allow Madam to do anything she wants to/with me, any time, any place. And when the resistance comes up again, then I get to choose again. And each time I make the choice to be Madam’s obedient slave-wife, Madam’s control and ownership gets a little richer, and my submission and trust goes a little deeper. This is the process… and I’m overjoyed to be on this journey with Madam P!
Missy
It’s late and I’m about to get ready for bed. Madam P enjoys my journal updates, so I’m going to take a moment and share here.
I had a much better night tonight. I came home and worked on my first prototype for a nipple stretching device I’m building. Madam tried it out on me; it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expect it to be. Of course, Madam only left it on me for 10 minutes or so. The clover clamps can be quite challenging by themselves without attaching them to a device that stretches the nipples, but 10 minutes was easy. I’ll wear them for hours if it pleases Madam.
I still have a little bit of a brat hangover from yesterday. There’s this piece of resistance in me that wants to hold back from submitting to the rituals and protocols that Madam has in place, kissing her feet (actually that’s kind of sweet), staying where I’m told when Madam puts me on my knees, telling Madam frequently that it’s my pleasure to serve and obey her. It’s that pride thing again. Something in me is holding on to a prideful independence, and the truth is, there’s no place for that kind of prideful withholding in a slave. I mean, I take pride in my appearance because it pleases Madam. And I take pride in my creativity and intelligence, because it pleases Madam. I take pride in my ability to write an interesting blog, and that pleases Madam. But the kind of pride that resists the humiliation of sitting in a locked closet, or resists honoring Madam with my humble obedience to every command and direction… there’s just no place for that. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of pushing through that resistance; I’ve been pretty deliberate about serving and honoring Madam tonight. Madam didn’t really have time or energy to put me through any training exercises tonight. But we had a lovely evening just hanging out together. And Madam appreciates the time I put into making the nipple spreader for her to use to make her slave girl scream.
Thursdays are always busy for Madam and me. Tomorrow is way busier than usual. We’ll get to see each other first thing in the morning, but that’s it. Madam will be away when I get home from work, and she’ll be asleep when I get in from my performance. Friday though Madam is taking me to another play party (the third weekend in a row.) Madam told me last night that she wants to give my butt a rest from all the spanking so that last weekend’s bruises will fade away. Madam wants my butt to be pretty and bruise-free so that she has a clean canvas for the bruises she plans to paint across my ass at the play party Friday night. I just love how excited, passionate and filled with joy Madam gets as she’s demonstrating for a dungeon full of people how skillfully she can get her slave to scream and writhe. I love that look in her eyes as Madam does things to me, hits me with her pink cane, tugs on the nipple clamps, flogs me, spanks me, and I scream and jump in response. Madam LOVES that, and I love watching her beam with pride and joy. But most of all, I love surrendering to everything Madam asks me to do. I love surrendering my will to Madam’s will and demonstrating to Madam that there is nothing I will not do for her.
It is my goal and my mission to surrender my prideful inclinations to Madam’s pleasure. I want to make Madam proud as she experiences and demonstrates to all who witness that she has taken this wildly intelligent, independent woman and turned her into an obedient, submissive sex toy. I am Madam’s property, to use as she desires when she desires. I’m so grateful to Madam P for helping me to be her perfect slave.
Missy
I feel much better today. I can’t believe what a crazy brat I turned into last night; I just can’t imagine what came over me. I even talked back to Madam!!! What was I thinking? I was moody and cranky and Madam took charge. She wasn’t intimidated by my mood. She wasn’t going to argue with me, she just took charge. It was beautiful to behold.
Madam was very patient with me. She tried to soothe me with gentle touch. She tried to talk with me about why I was bratty. When all else failed, Madam took me by the hand and led me to the isolation closet. I didn’t want to go; I actually told Madam that maybe she should be locked in the closet for a while… I was pretty out there in brat-land. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that Madam didn’t stick a bar of soap (or worse) in my mouth for talking back like that.
This morning, almost before I had a chance to really wake up, Madam took absolute charge of me before I ever had a chance to continue with my bratty attitude. She bit and twisted me nipples until I screamed. She pinned me to the bed by my hair, grinding her clit into mine until we were both squirming and bouncing around. Then she flipped me over and gave me 10 or 12 firm swats on my butt to remind me that I belong to her, that she owns me same as anything else in her household, and that it’s in my best interest to be sweet and obedient… or else.
Luckily, I WANT to be sweet and obedient. I’m extremely grateful to Madam for taking charge and helping me to be better than I’ve ever been before. I am so honored to be owned by such a devoted, loving Madam!
Missy
It’s kind of ironic. After I wrote my last journal entry earlier today, as I was reading through it, proofreading in preparation to post it to this blog, I had a full on BRAT ATTACK! It’s a little embarrassing to confess, but there it is.
I don’t want to make excuses for myself. And I don’t want to blame Madam for my bad mood. I don’t entirely understand what it was that upset me so much, but I got pretty cranky.
Madam went to the dentist today, so she was uncomfortable and numb from Novocain. Maybe I should have been more sympathetic and focused on her… Madam seemed a little agitated and out of touch… I wasn’t sure how to behave or what to expect from her. I tried to stay out of her way and work on posting my previous journal entry to this blog, but Madam wanted to talk. I tried talking with her, but Madam wasn’t really focused on what we were talking about. So I just sort of sat at the dining table looking at her feeling a little like a deer in headlights. And I withdrew into myself and got sullen and quiet. I had a brat attack.
Madam handled it okay. We had dinner; she settled down from her Novocain reaction and reached out to me, petted and caressed my head as we watched TV, but I was pretty much in brat mode at that point. After dinner Madam tried to talk to me to find out what my problem was, but I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to play. I wanted to be left alone. But Madam had had enough of my attitude. She took me by the hand and put me in isolation.
(Oh, I don’t think I’ve written about the isolation booth I set up for Madam yesterday. We have a very small coat closet by our front door, 19 inches deep and 32 inches wide with a bar and shelf that prevent standing upright in it. I moved the coats and shoes out of the closet yesterday and changed the doorknob to a locking knob, only I put the lock on the outside. When the door is closed it gets very quiet and very dark in there.)
Madam was nice enough to give me a stool to sit on, but she locked me in the closet… kind of a timeout. As I sat there in the dark feeling frustrated, first I thought I was going to cry from my frustration, and then I started to laugh a little. I think I was laughing partly because I felt silly being locked in a closet for being a brat, and partly I felt turned on because Madam was taking charge in the face of my unpleasant mood. Madam didn’t push back against my mood; she didn’t fight or argue with me; she just took charge and put me into a submissive position to interrupt my bratty behavior and bring me back to my sweet submissive state. And it sort of worked. I wasn’t in the closet very long. Ten minutes maybe, or 20. Sitting there in the quiet and the dark, wanting to cry and then wanting to laugh, I could feel the brattiness breaking down, passing away in the face of Madam’s domination and the threat of spending an extended amount of time sitting in a tiny dark closet. I guess Madam let me out before I as able to really feel the absurdity and humiliation of sitting in a locked closet. When Madam let me out of the closet, I was ready to say “yes, Madam” to every question, but I was still feeling pretty defiant and self righteous.
I feel bad about being a brat to Madam and for talking back to her. It isn’t what I want. It isn’t what Madam wants. I should have been more compassionate and understanding about Madam not being herself after having dental work done. I could have been a better slave to Madam P. Tonight was a big learning experience. I got to experience pretty keenly what it is that I don’t want. Next time that Madam goes to the dentist (in 2 weeks), I’ll have a new opportunity to be a better slave than I was tonight.
I’m sorry Madam that I let you down tonight. Thank you for maintaining your grace and your power as Madam of the house in the face of my resistance and sullen mood. Thank you for not letting me intimidate you with my mood, and for not letting me get away with being a brat. As a bratty slave who wants to behave differently, as much as I don’t necessarily want the experience (nor do I want to behave in a way that warrants the experience), if I may be so bold as to suggest, as a method of rapid behavior modification when there’s not a lot of time and Madam doesn’t want to put a lot of effort into setting up an involved scene, perhaps use of the S&W handcuffs (quick and easy to put on and to take off), behind the back or over head chained to the bar, to heighten the element of humiliation and/or to create an atmosphere of punishment more so than simply hanging out in a closet. Just a suggestion to maybe help you to help me to be a better all around slave to you.
I’m very, very sorry Madam. Please forgive me.
Missy
I find myself puzzling over this idea of “internal enslavement” again. Obviously I’m no expert on the subject. Though I do have a powerful interest in understanding what internal enslavement is and how it becomes established and well rooted. To be clear, I WANT to be Madam P’s slave girl/wife. I want this experience of being slave to Madam P to become so deeply rooted in who I am and how I live that the feeling of “Madam’s slave” becomes first nature to me. Last night for instance, I was busily going about the business of my evening when Madam, who’d heard me moving through the house called out, “Come here!” Without a thought, I went to Madam’s office where she was sitting at her computer. Madam pointed to the ground beside her and simply said, “Down!” I went to Madam and got on my knees beside her chair. Madam just wanted to know what I was up to as I moved around the house. She didn’t have any specific instructions or desires in the moment; she just wanted to check in with me. Six months ago that might have irritated me a little (or a lot), to be interrupted from what I was doing and/or bossed around. Madam has become so good at putting me through regular (almost daily) training exercises targeted at developing my powerful desire to be her slave, and she’s become more and more consistent about frequently exercising her authority as slave owner, that the voice of resistance within (my inner disobedient brat) is getting so quiet that I can barely hear it at times. I look forward to the day that my inner brat has gone silent, and I that all I hear within is, “Yes Madam, how may I serve you?” (As long as Madam P is okay with that.)
So, the reason internal enslavement has come up again for me is that I’ve had this very odd feeling running through my being the past 4 days. Just to be clear, I’m not really a pain slut. I do love it when Madam beats me and makes me scream, and I especially love it when Madam leaves bruises on me. But it isn’t because I’m particularly attracted to pain. I love it in particular because I’m NOT attracted to pain. I love it because I enjoy happily, eagerly, readily submitting to everything and anything Madam chooses to do to and with me. What I love is being Madam’s bitch! I love EVERY opportunity to exercise and demonstrate my submission and surrender to Madam P. When Madam asks me to do something I really want to do, the opportunity to submit does feel good. But when Madam asks me to do something that I’d really rather not do, and I get up and do as I’m told, that kind of surrender is hot, sexy and amazing to me! I know, it’s a paradox. But it’s the most perfect of paradoxes. Madam loves to hear me scream, therefore I love to scream for her. Taking a severe spanking from Madam keeps me humble and submissive, it keeps me constantly aware of my place in Madam’s household, and it makes me so HOT and SEXY that Madam can bring me to screaming orgasms with about 2 seconds of effort… at any time! Yeah, I’m that turned on all the time. And because Madam enjoys hearing me scream (and actually really enjoys the act of beating on me), she’s constantly HOT and SEXY all the time too.
MADAM AND I WERE SO MADE FOR EACH OTHER!
So, about the feeling that’s been running through my mind and heart the past 4 days… Even though I’m not that drawn to pain, but rather I’m super, SUPER into watching Madam having the time of her life as she beats me and makes me scream (really, she gets this look in her eyes of passion and exquisite joy… it’s so RIGHT… I know it’s RIGHT), I’ve been thinking up diabolical and complicated ways for Madam to torment me and train me into deeper and deeper levels of submission. I mean really… I’m thinking up and building little torture devices for Madam to use on me. Madam hasn’t asked me to; these ideas pop into my mind of how to create these devices, and I get excited about making it work, about putting the device together out of things I’ve picked up at the hardware store, and then seeing how it works. At the same time, there’s this feeling, or voice inside of me screaming, “What are you doing!?! Don’t you realize how much that thing is going to hurt!?!” But I can’t stop. I want the thrill of creating this machine and then seeing it work. But more than that, I want the EXQUISITE JOY of seeing that WONDERFULLY DELICIOUS look in Madam’s eyes as I’m screaming bloody murder for her. I live for that look. I create torture devices for that look.
And I wonder… if I’m conceiving and creating devices of torture to be used on me because I know how much fun Madam is going to have hearing me scream, while at the same time I’m afraid to have these devices that I’m coming up with used on me (but can’t stop myself from making them), is this a form of internal enslavement? Is this an internal drive (desire) to put Madam’s joy first? That sounds sweet. I hope, hope, hope that that’s exactly what’s happening inside of me.
Missy
I’ve been a little remiss in updating my (semi) daily journal this weekend. Madam is waiting for me to journal about our adventures at the women only play party we attended Saturday night. Maybe I’m a little overwhelmed with all that I experienced; none of it feels easy to wrap my brain around much less put into words. But I’ll try, because I’ve been instructed to.
Madam P is so cute. For this party she dressed us both in sexy black dresses and very high heeled shoes. We were 2 of the sexiest women at the party.
When we first arrived, it seemed like people were mostly sitting around watching the party’s hostess doing intricate, involved needle play on a couple of the guests in attendance. There were a lot of needles involved… A LOT of needles. It was wild and intense. But the crowd of maybe a dozen women in the dungeon space was strangely quiet and really just kind of intent on watching the show.
Madam paraded me around the dungeon for a short time, getting her bearing and deciding what she wanted to do. Finally she decided that she’d like to try out the electric winch-style lift attached to the ceiling in a corner of the dungeon. Madam locked the leather cuffs to my wrists and removed my dress. She locked my wrist cuffs to the ring at the end of the winch cable. She blindfolded me and raised the winch cable so that my arms were quite stretched up above my head. Madam gave me a moment to settle into the position I was in, balancing there in short half-slip, blindfold and my 5 inch heels barely able to reach the floor. Then Madam put the nipple clamps on me good and tight and pulled down my slip to expose my butt. For good measure, Madam tied the ankle stapes of my shoes together so that I had to keep both feet on the floor at all times.
For what seemed like an hour or more, Madam beat my ass and thighs with every whip, switch, flogger, cane and paddle in her toy bag. The dungeon that had been so quiet when Madam led me into the room wasn’t quiet anymore. I was screaming and wailing. I tried to be brave and take Madam’s sweet loving beating with grace. That didn’t last. I cried. I sobbed. I screamed at the top of my voice. The tears just came; I couldn’t control them. It was sweet and erotic. I could feel Madam’s joy at the sound of my sobs. I could feel the thrill running through Madam’s heart and soul as I screamed for her, as I twisted this way and that, dangling from the ceiling. I can’t explain the feeling… I could feel that I was the center of Madam’s Universe. Nothing else existed. I had Madam’s whole attention, and with each blow I could feel Madam’s love and devotion pulsing through my entire being.
Madam recently purchased a stainless steel Wartenberg Wheel, one of those nasty little instruments that has a wheel attached to a handle, and on the wheel are a bunch of tiny needle-sharp spikes. Madam proceeded to roll the Wartenberg wheel across my burning hot, stinging but and up and down my thighs. My screams reached a new height and pitch as I let out the wails and cried even harder. Apparently little drops of blood appeared across my butt because I felt Madam wiping at them… just before she started bouncing the Wartenberg Wheel on my already screaming sore nipples, tightly bound in nipple clamps.
When Madam had had enough fun for the moment, she paused to chat with some friends who we’d bumped into at the party. As I stood there, arms still stretched to their limit above my head, waiting to see what would happen next, Madam started slowly easing the winch cable higher and higher so that my 5 inch heels didn’t reach the floor anymore; I was just barely able to stretch my toes to the floor. I could hear Madam and others laughing as I twisted and stretched to keep my toes on the floor. Soon Madam let me down and helped me to a low bench in a nearby corner where she held me until I felt grounded enough to walk.
After Madam let me load up on sugar (for endorphin production) and sip some water, she led me back into the dungeon for round 2. By this time everyone else had gone upstairs to socialize (the party was scheduled to end in just an hour), but Madam was undeterred. She striped me down to my heels and panties and had me stand facing a large framed cargo net connected to the wall. Madam locked my wrist cuffs to the cargo net so that my arms were stretch high and out to the left and right, as if I were being crucified, and she put the blindfold back in place. Madam wasn’t satisfied that my butt was bruised enough, so she worked on it a little more with her cane and flogger. And because she’s a delightfully loving Madam, she pulled my panties down and pressed her tongue to my clit; I immediately set into screaming, sobbing orgasms that shook me to my soul! Madam then positioned herself between me and the net that I was tied to with my arms stretched up and out. She pulled me to her and began kissing me. My clit was still wildly sensitive and I reflexively pressed my pelvis into Madam’s and began grinding against her, pressing Madam between me and the cargo net, clit to clit. I lost track of the world as orgasms continued to wash over me.
As the evening began winding down for us, Madam spanked my butt for a little while with her bare hand to cool me down; she brought me to a place of deliciously cathartic screaming. She then released me from the cargo net that I was locked to and allowed me to lay on a massage table for a few minutes to come back to my senses.
Madam is so sweet and playful. Unbelievable, we were the last people to leave the party. I think Madam could have continued right through the night.
I love watching Madam blossom into the loving, playful, highly skilled Dominant she was obviously born to be. I just can’t believe how perfectly suited Madam and I are to each other. What an incredible blessing that we found each other.
We made it home in the wee hours of the morning. Madam took a few minutes to admire the beautiful blue bruises that she left all over my butt and thighs (I love it when Madam leaves marks on me; it’s the sweetest reminder for days to come of how much Madam loves me.) Then we crawled into bed and slept like the dead.
Madam, ever the delight, is already looking for the next party to show off her beautiful slave and get her screaming for the delight and entertainment of all present. I love Madam P. I just love her.
Missy
Last night Madam P and I were taken out by friends for our birthdays. (Madam and I have birthdays 7 days apart.) We had a splendid time with good food and even better company. Madam was so sweet before we left the house for dinner. I work an office job, so I was already wearing a nice dress and had makeup on when I got home. Madam took a little time to shower and get pretty before dinner. (And Madam looked lovely!) After she was done preparing, we found that we had 10 or 15 minutes before we needed to leave the house. So Madam called me into the bedroom and had me get down on my hands and knees beside the bed. She then put her feet up on my back as she lay on the bed. Madam just wanted to put me through a sweet, short little training exercise before we left the house to insure that I remember my place and that I behave well while we’re out with friends.
Madam had me arch my back up, then arch my back down, then arch my back up and hold it, then arch my back down and hold it. She wasn’t watching me; she was monitoring my compliance by feel as her feet rested on my back. I found that I had to concentrate on Madam and listen to every order. The orders were coming at me pretty quickly at times, so I had to pay attention. Then Madam had me wag my tail slowly “like you’re happy.” Then I was ordered to “wag your tail fast, faster, like you want to be fucked!” I wagged and wagged like crazy. Madam got so excited that she had to jump up and start swatting my butt, I guess to spur me on. I didn’t miss a beat; I just kept wagging faster and faster as Madam spanked me with all her might again and again. Then she said, “Rock your hips, like you’re fucking, like you’re on top of me riding me!” Madam had worked herself (and me) into quite a frenzy.
Then she had me stop. And get up. Madam told me to straighten myself up and get ready to go.
Dinner was very nice; and Madam and I sat there at the table happy and both dripping wet.
Right, so after dinner, Madam and I came home and got settled in. After about half an hour, she called me into her office and had me lay across her lap on the sofa. Madam had me screaming and squirming, right to the edge of weeping, then pulling back. After about 20 minutes of spanking me, she had me stand in front of her as she sat on the sofa. Madam said, “Show!” (Legs spread, hands behind my head, looking straight ahead.) She grabbed me by the hips and pressed her tongue into my clit. Within 2 seconds I was screaming and sobbing with the intensity of the orgasm that washed over me… and washed over me… and washed over. I don’t how long Madam kept me there screaming before she jumped up off the sofa, pushed me to the floor, flat on my back with my hands still behind my head, took off her pants, and began grinding her clit against mine. Within minutes, Madam had us both screaming like wild animals… it seemed like I’d never stop orgasming. Even after Madam was done, she waited there a while with her clit pressed to mine, not moving at all, but my orgasms wouldn’t stop coming, one after another after another… or was it one never ending orgasm?
After a time Madam got up and told me to stay. She put on her clothes and went about just doing things, taking her evening medications, rinsing dishes in the kitchen, coming back into her office to sit at her computer. All the while I was lying on the floor, legs spread, hands behind my head still whimpering and moaning and twitching with the fire burning through my entire central nervous system.
I don’t know how Madam does that to me. I’m no youngster, but until I met Madam P, I had no idea that my body could even produce never ending orgasms of such crazy intensity. I’ve never cried from orgasming before… I cry nearly every time Madam brings me to orgasm, which is nearly every day at times. What’s up with that? How does she do that?
Well, she’ll probably never tell me her secret. But I do know this. I’m hooked on Madam P for life. No one else is ever going to be able to handle me the way she does. I’m so ruined for life.
(Gotta run; Madam’s taking me to an all woman play party tonight! I’m sure she has something sweet, loving, sexy and diabolical in mind. I can barely wait to see!)
Missy
Every day it becomes more evident to Madam P and me that our Madam/slave arrangement is a perfect fit for us. The indications are strong! When I’m in total submission to Madam, I’m turned on and dripping wet… all day. I’m calm, peaceful, happy and joyful. It feels right! When Madam P is in absolute control of me, she’s turned on and dripping wet… all day. She’s calm, peaceful, happy and joyful. It feels right!
Those are pretty powerful indications that we are exactly where we need to be!
In case you didn’t know, next Monday Feb 1 is National Freedom Day. On Feb 1, 1865, one-hundred forty-five years ago, Abraham Lincoln signed the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution into law and thereby freed all slaves within the United States for all time. And thanks to those freedoms that I’ve so enjoyed all my life, I’m free to surrender my will in consensual slavehood to my beautiful, loving wife, Madam P.
I say often, to Madam P, in this blog, and to others who might understand, that I am Madam’s property to do with whatever she wills. Because I’ve had National Freedom Day on the brain today (for those who don’t know, I’m a Mexican/African/Native American mutt) I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to me to be Madam’s property. What the hell does that mean? Well, if I’m not sure, I feel certain that Madam probably isn’t sure either, and since Madam owns me, I’m thinking that it might be prudent to begin the process of defining what it means to me to be owned by Madam P. Madam has never had a human slave before. I’ve never been a human slave before. There’s no manual for what’s expected of me. There are no clear instructions for how much power and control Madam is in a position to assert. Maybe this blog entry could become the basis upon which Madam and I can begin a dialogue for defining our Madam/slave dynamic.
The first thing that comes to mind is Madam’s car. I know how Madam cares for her car. She doesn’t use it to drive through muddy fields or to cross deep rivers. She doesn’t use it to push things out of her way. She changes the oil. She gets regular tune-ups. She keeps it clean, insured and registered. I have no problem with being Madam’s property in the same way that her car is her property; I know that Madam will take the same kind of care of me. Madam cares for her car because she likes knowing that it will continue to serve her for as long as she treats it well. And I know that she will take care of me for the same reasons (plus she loves me!)
I realize that that was a poor analogy; after all, I’m alive and breathing with emotions, thoughts and instincts of my own. Maybe a better analogy would be like the owner of a dog, or a cat. Madam has owned and loved cats in the past. A cat (especially an indoor cat) could be seen along similar lines. When one lives with a cat, she makes all the decisions about how the cat will live. What does the cat eat? Canned food? Dry food? Tuna? Is the cat allowed on the bed? What about the kitchen counters or the dining table? What if the cat does things you don’t like? What if it starts to spray the drapes? What if it decides it likes to pee in the corner of your bedroom? What if the cat starts clawing at your sofa? Or sits at the foot of your bed and yowls all night? Steps must be taken to correct unacceptable behavior; cats can learn, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many people living with them in this world. It’s up to the owner to take corrective action. It’s up to the owner to encourage good behavior and to discourage bad behavior. It’s up to the owner where the cat eats, where the cat box will be, whether the cat is allowed outside or not. In many ways, the cat is powerless over the decisions that are made for it. Granted, the owner has to deal with the consequences of her decisions. If she feeds the cat poor quality food, then she has a sick cat to deal with. If she places the cat box in a space where the cat can’t (or won’t) get to it, then she has cat shit all over her house. If she gets a big, mean, cat-hating dog, then she’s going to have a neurotic, skittish cat that’s no fun to hang out with. The cat owner is the owner; she makes her decisions, and the cat lives with them. And based on those decisions, the cat owner either has a happy, fun companion, or a miserable, sick, wretch of a feline.
Fortunately, a human pet (or slave), especially one who is consensual and happily submissive, can participate and communicate about what’s working for her and what’s not. But ultimately, all decisions are Madam’s. If something about the decisions that are being made for me, as Madam’s slave, are making me unhappy and/or sick, Madam has to decide whether she’s okay with having an unhappy, sick slave, or whether she wants to try something different to increase the harmony in her household. My faith is in Madam. I trust Madam with everything I have and everything I am. I KNOW how much Madam loves me. And I KNOW that Madam wants a happy, contented, fabulously healthy slave to serve and obey her. So I’m choosing to hold nothing back. I’m surrendering as much of my will as Madam is willing to receive from me. I realize that sometimes I might hesitate to follow a command, I may have fear to push through, or I might feel annoyed at being told that I can’t have something that I really want; it is my goal to push through that hesitation and fear to be completely obedient to whatever Madam commands me to do. I’ll offer my feedback if it pleases Madam. And I’ll keep my mouth shut if that’s what Madam tells me to do. I’ll stay where Madam tells me to stay. I’ll go where Madam tells me to go. I’ll do what Madam tells me to do. And I’ll take care of myself and make my own decisions to the extent that that is what pleases Madam.
This is my choice. This is the life that I’m choosing to live. To the extent that it pleases Madam P.
For a first attempt at a definition of what “being owned” means to me, I hope this all makes sense and gives Madam a sense of where she stands as the owner of a human pet.
Missy
I just want to post a quick update on what’s happening with me today.
Yesterday was a very busy day for Madam and me. After work, we both had important projects going on, so there was no time for training exercises. That isn’t a problem for me. I do really, really love it when Madam is able to set a few minutes aside to help me stay well focused on my place as her well loved slave girl/wife. But I’m here to make Madam’s life easier, not to place extra demands on her time. I’m happy and eager to submit to Madam’s attention and training whenever and where ever it pleases Madam, and equally happy to be of service in any way that Madam requires during busy days when there’s no time for training exercises.
I just can’t express enough my adoration, devotion and appreciation for Madam’s willingness to take on the responsibility for running her household, including me, her slave-wife. I love the ease with which Madam is making decisions these days, laying down the law with casual benevolence, and naturally, easily reminding me of my place in her household in the immediate moments when I let that bitchy tone I sometimes get slip out. It’s so funny to me that something as simple as being told that I must ask permission before spending any money actually turns me on! I mean, it makes total sense that Madam would place this requirement on me today as she forecasts bills and expenses for the coming week; it’s the way she does it, with authority and control, that gets me all wet. I mean, this is not sex play, this isn’t BDSM play, but it is Madam’s absolute domination of me, and my absolute submission to her, and DAMN(!) that is so hot and sexy to me!
Or this morning, as I was washing my face, teasing and joking with Madam in the bathroom, not feeling or being particularly submissive or humble, and Madam gives me “that look” and remembers out loud… “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t spank you yesterday; that’s why you’re behaving this way. I’ll have to spank you harder than usual later.”
That’s all. Not threatening. No anger. Maybe a little playful. And I get to wonder for the rest of the day whether she seriously plans to give me a real-tears spanking when I get home from work, or whether she was just teasing me back and kind of reminding me of my place at the same time. Madam is in control. She’s in control and I love it! The more control Madam takes, the more turned on I get. The more turned on I get the more I want to actively surrender all control to her. The more control I actively surrender to her, the more she enjoys being in control. And there’s this beautiful, sweet, sexy, symbiotic cycle that goes round and round and in and out. It’s a thing of beauty to behold. Madam and I are truly living a great American love story. How blessed are we?
Missy
Slave Missy
mistressmyrtle1