Good Morning

So, what to write while we’re living the Vanilla Life? I’ve been thinking about writing about lifestyle things like Sub vs Slave or What’s the Difference Between a Good 1950’s Wife and a Submissive?

I’m over this not-writing thing. I miss writing. I miss a lot but writing is essential to my being and I haven’t been doing it. I need the outlet. So, I’ll wing it until something good comes along. I’ve been keeping up with my no-porn masturbation.

I had the strangest fantasy the other night while masturbating. Mr. D ordered me to strip in front of some friends. This part had actually happened. That was the real life anchor. After that I strayed into fantasy as the girls in the scene tweaked and played with my nipples until I came for Daddy. I love, love, love nipple play. But with two women I am not attracted to? I guess it was a take back to a time Daddy made me feel intensely submissive. It also helped that there was some exhibition involved.

So, that’s it for now. A short bit sweet hello. Talk with you soon, I hope!

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Life in the Lifestyle

Currently, I have no life in the lifestyle.  I have only myself to blame.  I have been a sulky and bad girl.  

“My Dominant is away, I have no orders, so I have no lifestyle.” The more I think these thoughts the more they’ve rolled around my mind and become acrid.  If I have no lifestyle to speak of it’s my own damned fault. How am I serving?  How am I being a valuable and significant slave in my Master’s life?

It is time I bring what I want to the table.  It is only through my giving and service that I truly offer myself up to him.  It is through pure service that I feel most alive and connected to him.

We were at a party over Christmas with some friends.  They were his roommates when we met.  During that time I made doing dishes one of my services to my Master. Not a big thing or a sexual thing.  I don’t know that anyone really understood why I did it.  But they reaped the benefits.  I simply wanted to serve him, to do everything in my power to honor him. At this party, which was months after he had moved in with me, I saw that there would be a lot of work for the host so I did all the dishes. 

The host was grateful.  Daddy, I hope, was proud of me.  One of the drunken roommates started making fun of me to her friend. “There she goes again, doing dishes. Having fun?” She yelled the last line from the patio while she and her friend had a good drunken laugh.  I have to admit, it stung and I felt hurt. After that I wondered about my service.  If the service you offer isn’t understood is it worth doing?

I know it wasn’t Daddy laughing so I should have completely ignored it and went on with my evening.  But I wonder about it nonetheless. Is this part of why I stopped serving so well? Can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen?

Daddy has only governed sexual service.  This is a bigger part of it.  In the everyday times of existence he chooses not to govern and wants an equal partner.  So, my offering anything service-oriented out of the bedroom is all my own doing.  Why do I care then? Why do I bother if my Dominant doesn’t ask it? 

Here’s the crux of it. I want three things out of this and it shouldn’t matter if anyone understands but me.  I want to show my devotion to my Master in as many ways as I can.  I want to feel the yoke of his ownership at all times. I want him to feel wrapped in my care and love and heat.

Two of my reasons are only for him and him alone.  The third reason is selfishly motivated.  I hunger to feel his yoke around my neck.  I ache for it.  The feeling of his imprisonment of me, his power over me, it makes me shiver and sends shockwaves of dirty pleasure through my whole being. Why? It just does! And he feels it too. When his power has me in its grip there is an electricity that fills the space between us.  The hunger, the raw power, the darkness envelopes us.  Fuck, I will subjugate myself in any fucking way he’ll let me for another taste of that. 

So, if those are my pure and deeply ached-for goals then it shouldn’t matter at all if no one understands what the hell I’m doing or if anyone is around to see it. 

So, from today on, I will stop the childish sulking and create my own devotions to him.  This morning I kneel beside my bed to honor my connection to my Master.  And then I will get on with my day fully in devotion to serving him in every way.

Power On

We live our lives and it’s good. We’re joining our lives more and more. I went to an event with Mr. D and met more of his friends. We had a relaxing and fun time. We had a little drunk time too. All good fun. All vanilla fun for the most part.

Thursday night, he spent the night at my place. We’re moving in together this weekend and I was feeling stressed about space for everything so I wanted him to come and game plan the move with me. We didn’t really end up doing that but we had a nice dinner and we waited for my brother to stop by to pick up some things. In general, a normal vanilla evening.

I was on my period, it had just started. Talk about the worst timing. Well, we’d had months of it falling during the week when I wasn’t with him, so, all’s fair I guess. He told me, “Well then, I guess your ass is mine tonight.” I felt the usual wave of nervous trepidation that comes over me when I know butt sex is imminent.  

Daddy is large and more importantly has some serious girth to his package. Anal is a hurdle. One that no one else has surmounted for him so I’m proud to serve him that way. Still, it’s a hurdle.

We cuddled on the bed. He gripped my neck and his dominance wrapped itself around me in all its power. Fuck, I love that. It’s like air. Air that I need to survive. I don’t realize it’s missing until it’s there again. Then, I breathe it in. I expand and I feel my wings unfurl. My God, the feel of it on me is like no other presence I’ve ever experienced. I crave him, I meld with him, I belong to him like no other.

“You, my little cumwhore, you are going to get either the large or the medium butt plug and you’re going to put it in your fine ass. Then you will get between my legs and worship my cock. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I croaked out the words around his tightening hand.

“What are you?” His words rumbled over me. His mouth on my cheek.

“Your cumwhore Daddy.” I shuddered and bathed myself in his power.

“That’s right. Now go.” He released my throat and I coughed from the sudden availability of air. My throat was scratchy and stuck together from his grip. I found the medium plug and the lube. I lubed the plug well and brought it back to the bed. I squatted right next to the bed so my eyes were level with his and worked the plug into my tight, unprepared ass. I closed my eyes briefly as I felt the bulb stretch me and pop inside. I looked up at him when it was done.

“Nicely done little girl. Now get to work.” I love feeling his pride. I love doing things in a way that serves his lust. I knelt between his legs. 

“May I Daddy?” I must ask permission first. I had gotten in trouble earlier for not asking permission. Even though I was ordered to the task, I asked.

“Good girl, yes, you may.” I sucked his cock in my mouth. I savored the taste and feel of him. I felt him grow and harden in my lips and my throat. I took him in as far as I could, pushing myself ever deeper each stroke. His words taunted me as I worked.

“You are a good cumwhore. I’m going to take that ass. I’m going to sink myself deep in your tight hole. Do you want that?” I nodded while my mouth was full of cock.
He grabbed my hair and forced his cock all the way down my throat. 

“Take it, take it. Yes! Oh yes, good slut.”

“On your side, knees up, head at the corner of the bed.” All the while I had sucked his cock, the plug had worked inside me. I felt it loosening and moving inside the whole time. It was quite erotic. He grabbed the plug and pulled it out then he was on me. His body pushed up behind me and his hard cock found it’s way to my tight, prepared asshole.

He thrust slowly and was easily inside me. I was surprised how easy it was this time. Usually, I panic and we stop then we continue again until we fit together. There was none of that this time. He slid right in. He stopped and checked on me. I was ready for him. I wanted him to move. He began to move slowly and soon he was fucking me hard and fast. The feel was intense and glorious. I heard myself moan. I gripped the bed sheets and rode the waves of pleasure as he took my ass over and over again.

I know I spoke to him. I’m not sure what I said exactly. I think I begged him to fill my ass. I wanted him to keep fucking me but I ached for his cum to fill me. It is such a dichotomy of need. Keep fucking but fill me, give me your cum! There is nothing like it. When he came inside my ass, oh it was like the 4th of July. Yes, I needed that so much. I needed him, I needed his dominance. I needed it all.

Apologies and Punishment

I owe apologies to Mr. D, my Daddy. I haven’t written about our last three trysts and feel him waiting. He is so patient with me and I still let him down. How do I keep doing that? It’s life and focus and oh I don’t know…a thousand excuses.

Slavehood. Will this ever come to fruition if I can’t follow simple orders? “Write for me.” He says. I do. I’m sporadic. I’m taken away from my devotion by life. He understands mostly. Still. How will I ever match up to the desire to be his slave if I am not solely focused on fulfilling his desires?

I think about this today as I sit down to write about our last three times together. Of course, it’s been days and weeks so the details are eluding me. The general memories are there and as I begin to write the details usually percolate. But then, if I had written them when the memories were fresh, I’d have a much more complete story for you and for him. If I’m striving for the raw material of the story I know I spend less time on the craft of telling it. It’s subtle but there’s a difference.

How do I expect him to be able to properly guide us if I don’t give him information? I’m not being overly guilt-ridden here; I’m just posing the questions in my mind. This is really what punishment is for, I feel. If I don’t have consequences…if most of us don’t have consequences, there is not always the necessary drive. I truly desire to be the best service-oriented submissive I can be. So there is inherent drive. I don’t need to be punished to want to please. I just do. But sometimes I lack the proper motivation. 

I often wonder about how I would respond to a full 24/7 power exchange relationship. Sometimes I think I’d love every minute of it. But at times like these, when I have let him down, I think perhaps I’d be a poor choice of a slave. I love the ideal. I love the thought of serving him perpetually. I love the idea of feeling his Dominance more, having more guidance and more stringent parameters. But then I wonder if I will fail at that miserably when I can’t even do this properly.

I have been reading Beast and belle’s blog. They each write about one side of their dynamic. I really enjoy reading them. Recently Beast was talking about how Belle failed when he left her with standing orders but thrived with more immediate orders. Perhaps that is simply what’s happening to me. I need to learn how to make the sense of immediacy more prominent in my mind otherwise I become distracted by parenthood and career while I’m away from Daddy. Then when I return to him, I’m so sad that I’ve let him down. I never want him to feel like I am not there for him, that I’ve put my duties and care of him aside.

Today, I commit again to being a good submissive and doing all that my Daddy wants purely because I love to feel his joy, and desire to fulfill my submission to him fully. As with anything I am committed to long term, I falter. Most importantly, though, when I fail I get back up and commit to being better once more.

Desperation

I am fine.  The title is more a thought I’ve been thinking about rather than actually having.   I have a gnawing ache for Daddy to put me in subspace.  It’s been a very long time.  It was the night we went to see a concert and it happened right before we had to leave.  It was a taste of subspace out of place and at the wrong time.  But then that’s part of it…that I can’t control it.  When he is hard and unrelenting, commanding and mean, I gasp and fear and slide right off into subspace. His dark side takes a vice-like grip of my psyche and they dance, his dark side and my vulnerable little girl.

Daddy leaves today for a week.  Prior to this I was gone for two weeks.  Our play had taken a back seat to life.  I look forward to next weekend.  We’ll have time together.  It may not be D/s time because we have holiday plans but at least it will be us together. I love my time with him no matter what we do.  Just this morning though, my mind was on flying.  My Honey is on a plane and my mind turns to desperate thoughts of flying through the ethers in his control.

Too Long

It is too long between writings.  I feel the time stretch out like a taut rubber band.  I leave Mr. D’s side and go back to my professional single mom life.  I think about what I will write.  Life and child and work fill each day to overflowing. 

The band stretches further.  I long for Him.  I ache to write for Him.  I know the time is racing away.  I feel the vacancy.  It winds around me while I work, while I toil for others.  The absence of Him.  The absence of the me I am with Him.

The band reaches critical stretch.  I must choose.  Child and boss or Master and slave?  Each day I choose the child and the boss because they are my iminent responsibilities.  Though my heart chooses my Master in the longing I feel, the ache that is ever constant while I’m away.

The band splinters and breaks.  I am gone so long from Him.  The writing  is an empty page.  The days of caregiving are all there are in this world.  The fulfillment of Master and slave a distant photograph.

The slave bows her head.  She returns to her Master in shame.  She knows before He says it.  She drifted too far from His sphere.  She drowned in the sea of other cares.

His hand on her neck.  His touch so gentle, so loving and kind.  His words so vulnerable and clear.  “I need your words.  I need to know your thoughts.  I am not angry and you are not in trouble.  But you need to know how important your words are to me.” His breath warm, his touch a silken caress.

Her tears and sadness stained her face.  The pain filled her heart.  For she had disappointed Him. She felt it like a wound.  Deep inside she felt the pain but also joy. He loved her enough to tell her what she did wrong and how deeply He needed her, needed her words.

Timidity Undone

After writing my fantasy last night and also thinking of my post about having no choice, I realize more clearly one of the reasons why I crave Mr. D’s dominance so much.

I have a timid, good girl side. If I’m going to do something risky, I weigh all the options and possible outcomes of the risky behavior first. Sometimes, many times, it has stopped me from taking any action at all.

I’ve recently seen friends of mine frozen that way, too.  It frustrates me to see them locked up within their own fears and not living their lives fully.  I have been there myself.  I wasted too much time.

I’m not as timid anymore. I became a nudist on my own. It took 3 years of testing the waters but I did it. I wanted to be a part of this lifestyle so I tortured myself by going to every Munch around and made myself talk to people. I had an affair with a couple. I wanted that and made it happen. I said yes immediately when Mr. D found me on Fet. I push myself. I don’t stay in my shell anymore, but I know it is there ever present.  

When I was fantasizing about the scenario where Daddy told me to go service his friend…to act as his slut, I took a step back while I was watching this scenario unfold inside my head.  Would I do this act without Daddy ordering it? No.  

When I saw Daddy this morning, he asked me which one of his friends I had chosen because I hadn’t specified in the post.  To be honest, I chose the friend I knew for certain would want the attention.  It was El Jefe, who we almost played with one night a while back. Easy choice because it was a fail safe, no lose choice.  What I neglected to elaborate was that there were others in this imaginary room.  There will be six of us this weekend and that was the scenario I imagined.  What halted my fantasy for a moment was trying to imagine myself obeying Daddy while not knowing how two of the other guests would feel about watching such an action by me.  In real life, I know a question like that would freeze me.

If Daddy orders me, though, my free will is taken from me at that point.  I must trust his will.  It’s not always easy.  He asked me to get undressed in front of strangers once.  I hesitated and he had to ask me twice.  But I did it and I was happy I pleased him and giddy excited inside when I did it.

I eagerly want to please him.  I want to experience more edgy things like playing with others. When we were on the cusp of playing with El Jefe, they both looked at me and said, “It’s your choice.” Left all up to me, I chose timidly. I declined.  If Daddy had ordered me…I would have done it, no question.  I wanted to, I just let all the questions in my head stop me.

I want to please him and I also hunger for his lead.  I know I truly want to do more than I choose to do on my own.  His dominance is a way for me to safely come out of my shell.  I must unfurl my wings.  I am bidden to fly for him.  That is a most freeing gift.

Another aspect of this is the slut angle.  The other night Daddy and I were playing.  I was between his legs giving him head.  He was talking to me and pushing me to deep throat him more.  I really try but can’t get him all the way in my throat.  It’s like it just hits the back and won’t go in sometimes. He asked me very forcefully, “You want to be a dirty little slut, don’t you?” Something in me rebelled.  No! My mind countered.  I’m good.  I’m not like that. It was my upbringing talking back and fighting it.  Then he changed the question and asked, “You want to be MY dirty little slut, don’t you?” And then all was right with our world.  My mind shifted and I remembered my place. 

“Yes, Daddy, I want that.”  It shook me.  The word play has a level of humiliation to it.  When he calls me slut and other names during our play, it drops me into a submissive place immediately.  I feel it viscerally rather than rationalize that I’m his to debase.  I’m his to own.  I’m his to control.  I’m his to lead.  It drops me out of my day-to-day place in the world and allows me the freedom to be something more lurid and wild.  I crave him taking me to that place.  When he leads me there, I would do anything for him.  The words, his dominance, his desire all lead me down the rabbit hole.  The further we go the more I want to reach the depths and the deeper I ache to explore. 

My fantasy was just a fantasy so far.  But I do see myself submitting more deeply to him.  I want to give him more control.  I want him to lead me to places I’ve never been and I want to do whatever puts the fire in his eyes when he looks at me.  That’s the key.