Still Sick and Now Not Speaking to Each Other

Corporal Hicks is the declared cook in our house. This is not only because I have little experience in the kitchen, but because he is a badass in the kitchen. In fact, during the holiday season, we have to turn the kitchen into a factory in order to meet the demands of his friends and family for his tasty treats. He loves to cook for people because he loves to take care of people and, especially in his family and his culture, food=love. He and I have different tastes though. I was brought up eating a combination of mild midwestern and Swedish recipes: very carb, sugar, and fat-heavy stuff. He was brought up in a sugar-free household, eating protein-rich, low-fat, spiced foods. So he handed me his pile of cookbooks one day and told me to go through and mark the recipes that I thought I'd like. I had a really hard time doing that though. I kept putting it off because I feel like he already gives me so much - a home, clothes, art supplies, medical care, the list goes on - everything a person could ever ask for. I didn't want to ask him to go out of his way to make things for me. Eventually though, after much encouragement, he got me to sit down and tell him what I wanted.

But things haven't really worked out the way either of us thought they would. For example, Hicks was really excited to make me a birthday cake. I was excited too, because none of my boyfriend's has ever made me a cake. And since it was my birthday, I didn't have too hard a time telling Hicks exactly what kind of cake I'd always wanted ;) (mild, white, fluffy, and from a box, with lots of my uncle's special dark-chocolate frosting). But, surprisingly, Hicks responded by becoming deflated. He didn't want to make my kind of cake. He'd been looking forward to making one of his favorite dense, spicy recipes for me. I think he was hurt that I hadn't asked for one of his cakes. I was sad. Not only had I upset him, but it was my birthday and I felt like it was the one day when it was okay for me to ask for things to be my way. I told him "Why don't you just make both - then we'll both be happy and I'm sure I'll eat them up in a hurry because you are the best cook ever." I'm not sure why, but he didn't make either cake and I ended up feeling like it he was mad at me, so I just didn't bring it up again.

Well, the same sort of thing happened last night, but it ended up in this terrible fight. First of all, I am really sick with the flu, so I am tired and cranky and after a few days of not being able to eat anything at all, I am starving and I want comfort food. Hicks and I had chosen two of my favorite things (his macaroni and cheese casserole recipe! Thai stew from his cookbook! Yum!) to make for dinner this week and I was really excited to get some into my tummy. When he got home from work, he came into my room and said he'd start the mac and cheese. I could tell he was tired, so I said "only do it if you really have the energy, babe."
"No, no I want to do it" he said.

An hour and a half later, my stomach growling, I got off the couch with the idea that dinner was taking longer than he'd thought it would, so I figured I'd go into the kitchen to give him a back-rub while we waited for it to be ready. I found him standing at the counter eating something he'd heated up in the microwave. "How come you didn't come let me know you'd decided not to make mac and cheese? I thought we were going to eat together..." I said. I don't know what happened after that except it involved me trying to explain to him that I just didn't understand, and him trying to explain to me that I was being passive-aggressive and mean. The fight ended when he told me very emphatically to "just SHUT UP!" and I shut up and went back to my room, my appetite completely gone, feeling woozy and more hurt than I can describe here.

This is one of those times when I just...I feel like I'm a failure at relationships and no matter what I do or how hard I try to do what the other person wants, I can't make it work. I honestly don't see what I did wrong last night and I honestly don't know what in the world I could do to make it right.

Sick

I'm really sick with an infection right now and so I can't really get my thoughts together to post anything worthwhile. I do think that my illness is due to the huge amount of stress I'm dealing with because of problems between Corporal Hicks and I. I am trying very hard with him and getting nowhere. I feel very much trapped, like no matter what I do, I still get everything wrong. I feel like I'll never be able to meet his needs - and as long as he is unhappy, I am unhappy.

Never a break

Today we had to shop for a couch.

Sexy, no?

The thing is, whether I'm worshiping his cock or following him into the "Living Room and Media Storage" section, I am always a submissive. I am always, by nature and without my having to think about it, there for him. I don't always get it right. I am not always able to guess how he'd like me to respond. I'm not always in the same mood as he is. And we have very different personalities and tastes. But I found our trip to the furniture store to be quite like having sex - once I started to watch him carefully and closely, searching for signs of what he needed, of what I could do to make the trip as easy as possible for him, we really started to have a good time. When I started thinking about myself and my own needs too much, he shut me up very quickly. His reprimand had the effect of calming me down. Once I was able to fall into step with him, we both got what we wanted. And when we were finished, we were both so tired that we could barely focus our eyes, we had found common ground, and we were happy with how things had turned out.

I think the calm that follows his outbursts is due to the fact that he states what he wants and needs very clearly when he is peeved. And there is nothing I like better than to have a clear idea of what he wants and needs.

I just wish we could skip the peeved part, as that is never pleasant. I know he hates getting pissy with me and he can't know how much I hate it when I make him mad.

I am working soooooo hard at getting better at reading him, at giving him what he wants before he even has to ask for it. But I guess that takes time. And hopefully he'll give me a lifetime to get it right.

We fell right to sleep when we got home. There has been no more talk of buttraping or logjamming since his threat the other day and I am starting to relax again. I'm sure it will happen though - probably when I least expect it and am least prepared for it. Keeping me on my toes is part of his job and he does it well.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I spent the entire day with my stomach in little knots.

I was going to get it. My punishment was due and I had to prepare myself. I was going to get a severe ass-reaming that night because I'd failed to use the word "please" the night before. Because I'd been greedy in bed and forgotten my place as Corporal Hicks' personal pleasure-hole.

I tried to rest, but my mind kept wandering off, imagining how much it would hurt, how hard he would be on me, how much I might like it, how shy and ashamed it made me feel that I was looking forward to it a little bit. I thought about how wicked his smile would be if he knew how it made me blush every time I thought about it. I was alternately terrified and dripping with pleasure the entire day. I spent two hours primping. I put on his favorite thing to see me in (a tight pink t-shirt, bright pink pajama pants, little white undies, and a form-fitting pink hoodie that I got as part of my "Olly Girl" Halloween costume). And then I went back and primped some more.

Getting fucked in the ass is so embarrassing. I mean, you feel so totally vulnerable. And it's as if you're giving the other person this major dirt on you - I can't imagine how much it would hurt me if he told anyone that I let him use me that way.

And he is definitely the only person I would let use me that way. I had never even considered letting anything up my butt until he mentioned to me how much he loved the anal action he'd gotten with one of his exes (violating pretty young things in whatever way possible is his specialty). And once I knew it was something that pleased him, almost against my own will, I offered myself up to him post-haste. Ever since the first time he touched me, I have felt I was his to do with as he wished - that his desires instantly became mine.

But I don't live in an S/M fantasy world.

When he got home from the office, he was tired and his back ached and all he wanted to do was work on the house (we just moved into a new place on a fairly big parcel of land) and read the newspaper.

And so I did the dishes and cleaned up after him. I put aside all my excitement and anticipation and desire. I got into bed next to him and told him I'd love it if he used me, but that if he just wanted to cuddle and fall asleep, that would make me happy too. I could tell by the way he touched me softly that he just wanted to be waited on - that he wanted me to take control and let him have a night off. So I gave him a massage, just the way he likes. I pulled my pink undies down around my legs and turned my ass toward the mirror next to the bed to give him his favorite "pussy from behind" perspective on me and just let him lie there enjoying the view while I gently sucked him off until he turned me around and spooned me. He entered me slowly from behind and I said "that's right baby, just get what you want, use my body to make yourself happy - that's what I want most". We made slow, deep love that way until he buried his face in my hair and wrapped his big hands around my breasts and let go inside me.

"But what about you, honey? You didn't get to feel good", he protested sleepily, as I pulled him to my chest and stroked his hair just the way he likes.

"This is what makes me feel good, baby - to know I'm giving you just what you want" I sighed into his ear.

I lay awake for an hour or so, my cunt throbbing with unfulfilled desire, a whole day of preparation and anticipation more or less wasted. But I was so happy. I couldn't be living a life more true. I couldn't ask for anything more.

I know I'll get my due. But it will be when he's in the mood, when he feels like dishing it out, that I'll get the discipline I crave. And even though I didn't get what I was secretly hoping for, our shared knowledge that he'll never do anything with me other than exactly what he wants, when he wants left me with a deep sense of safety and security.

My world is bounded by his desires. I belong to him. And that is all I need.

A Stay of Sodomization

I've got some discipline coming my way.

The other night I was lucky enough to have my partner, who we'll call..."Corporal Hicks", go down on me. It had been a while since he'd used his mouth on me and I was enjoying myself quite a bit. He's extraordinarily talented. However, I got a little too enthusiastic and started giving him orders - you know "oh, yeah, harder, right there, yeah!, more!".

And I didn't use the magic word.

Actually, I remembered to say it a couple of times, but as my excitement grew, I forgot my place.

My place, in case you were wondering, is to be his fuck toy - available, willing, and focused on one thing: pleasing him.

In my defense, I sincerely thought I was being helpful when I gave him guidance about how to make me hot - after all, no small part of his goal in going down on me was to get my pussy as tight and swollen as possible for when he fucked me afterward. Therefore wasn't it nice of me to give him some directions?

Um, no.

That's not the way it works here, apparently.

As soon as he felt me come, he picked me up, tossed me on top of him and jammed himself into me with one, swift thrust. He never does this. He always works his way into me very slowly, because it hurts me to be penetrated all at once by something as big and hard as he is. I'm not just saying this to make him sound hot or to fluff up his ego - we really do usually have to work him in slowly and with lots of lube. Since my pussy was still spasming from the giant orgasm he'd just given me with his tongue, I squealed in pain and thrashed with pleasure...still completely wrapped up in my own experience. Not the proper attitude for a good submissive.

All of a sudden, a whisper cut through my consciousness like a knife: "Listen". When someone like Corporal Hicks gives you a command like that, you have no choice but to obey. He, however, gave me further incentive by wrapping his giant hand in my hair and forcing my eyes into contact with his.

It took me a second to get control of my moans and grunts of pleasure, and he let me have my moment (he is so patient). Then he whispered again: "Hold. Still." I wish you could hear his voice. It's so forceful and confident, but calm and reassuring at the same time. It's a tone and a timber that says "It might be difficult for you, but you are going to do what I say, right now, no matter how you might feel about it."

I tried so hard to stop wriggling, to calm my little cunt down and stop the shuddering spasms wracking my body.

"What did you do wrong?" He asked me, still eerily calm and collected, even though he was deep inside me. "Um. I don't know?" I stuttered. I was really so lost in pleasure and pain that I didn't know what he was getting at. He responded with quiet anger and resentment: "You are my fuck toy. You never get to tell me what to do. I was nice enough to do what you wanted, but you were ordering me around."

I then had one of the worst ideas I've had in a while. I thought I'd stick up for myself. I whimpered "I said 'please', though! I did!"

My scalp burned as his hand wrapped tighter around my hair and he pulled my head back hard. "Not enough times, you little bitch. Not every time you should have, am I right?" He encouraged me to give him the answer he wanted by shoving himself deeper into me than I could handle. It felt like his cock was jamming right through me into my throat.

"I'm sorry!" I yelped. He shoved again, and even though I felt terribly guilty, and at the edge of my tolerance for pain, warm satisfaction washed over me: when I looked down at his face, I saw his eyelids soften and droop with the pleasure my tight, wet cunt was giving him. God, there is no rush like knowing he is getting off on owning me. There's nothing I wouldn't do to give him that feeling of complete power and control over my body and emotions. There's no place I wouldn't go just to see him lost in passion, lust, power and pleasure.

I think it is because he doesn't abuse his power that I so merrily encourage him to lord it over me.

"Say it again!" he half-groaned, half barked.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry" I said, my voice crying out plaintively. He answered by wrapping his hands around my thighs and pushing me backward and then down onto him, getting himself right into what I know is that sweet spot inside me for him. It felt like being punched in the uterus, he is so long and so thick and so hard, but his eyes rolled back in his head and he let out that groan of pleasure of his that I live for.

I started to get excited again - seeing him happy always makes me happy - and he knew it. He slapped my ass to bring me back into the headspace he wanted. "Say you're a greedy little slut who deserves to be punished", he commanded and slapped my ass again, hard.

I said it. I felt like such a bad girl! (and not in a fun, funny, tongue in cheek way) I felt so bad for disrespecting him, for displeasing him, for having made him feel unappreciated. "Say it again!" he groaned through his teeth, spanking me till I let out little screams and tears. He shoved himself into me again and again, working in and out of me with almost complete disregard for my pain level, making sure I was focused completely on him, on his cock, making sure I was voluntarily letting his tip jam up between my cervix and my vaginal wall so that I was stretched to the limit.

I loved it. I needed to be put back in my place and we both knew it. I felt so incredibly loved and held and safe and protected. I felt so lucky that even though I'd disrespected him, he would take the time and energy to show me what I could do to make it right, to make him feel respected and loved again in the proper way. I loved being reminded in no uncertain terms that I am his, that my greatest pleasure is what pleasures him. I loved knowing that when he wants, I am just his fuck toy, that this cunt between my legs belongs to him and it is his to pleasure and fuck and fill with cum whenever and however he wants.

Any oral sex he throws my way is a bonus and I damned well better remember that and appreciate it in the future.

His cock throbbed and writhed as he came deep inside me. He filled me up with cum until it flowed out and covered my ass, and thighs. He grabbed my arms, pulled me down onto his chest and heaved and shoved until he'd had enough.

When he finally fell back onto the pillow, breathless, I nuzzled into his neck and he wrapped his big arms around me. The feeling of his happy, sated member slipping from me, his hot cum inside me, his hot cum dripping down my legs, his hot cum swirling around my swollen clit sliding against his belly as he breathed...it was all too much and I came again. He chuckled at what an easy little slut I am for him. We cuddled and hugged and told each other how close we felt, how right we were for each other, and how happy we made each other.

After he'd cleaned up, he stood over me and looked down with a wicked smirk. "You know you're getting fucked up the ass tomorrow for what you did."

I sighed. "Oh, but I love when you fuck me up the ass, baby."

"We'll see about that" he said.

As it turned out, I got what he called "A stay of sodomization" because we were both too worn out for that much action yesterday. We did have a very nice adventure of a different sort, though, which I will tell you about tomorrow. Right now I've got to go prepare myself because my reprieve is over and my ass is his as soon as he's done with dinner.

Just who does this uppity little slut think she is?

Hi!
This is an S/M blog.
Yes, another one.

But this one is free of bullshit. Free of stories about fairies and velvet kings.* This is about the real life of a real woman and a real man who are living together as unequals. About two people trying to create a safe place where, instead of being who we're supposed to be, we can be who we are. I doubt you'll read anything here about "scenes" or "play" (nothing against any of that, it's just not our thing). What you will read, though, are intimate descriptions of what it's like for me, the girlie half of this equation, to get hit, to get put in my place, to crave discipline, to test every boundary just so he'll prove to me it's there, and to find a way to a life I can say I love.

I watched Urban Cowboy yesterday. Classic :D The vibe between Debra Winger and John Travolta's characters is pretty much what I'm going for when I say "living as unequals". As you probably already guessed, I'm not what is called an "obedient submissive". I'm an uppity little slut, and I need someone to keep me in my place. I want someone to want me bad enough that they'll throw me in a mud puddle, pick me up and carry me kicking and screaming to their truck, and then take me home and slap me when I don't clean up right.

It's not just that I think it's "hot" for someone to "dominate" me, and I don't need whips and chains in the bedroom, but I do believe that in order for me to survive, I need someone to rope me in. And if I am handled properly - given the right boundaries and the right kind of discipline, I'll not only survive, I'll thrive. I'll live life on a higher plane than if I were left to my own devices.

I know there are other people out there like me, people who have an inner need to be contained. We are like Pit Bulls. We seek out master/slave** relationships, and once we find someone who'll throw the stick, we'll fetch and fetch until we run ourselves into the ground. Or, if someone abuses our dedication and throws us into the ring, we'll fight to the death, face demon after demon, just to make our master smile. My first master, my undergraduate mentor, actually passed me on to my graduate advisor with a warning label attached: "this girl must be watched carefully - she is like a bulldog and once she gets her teeth into something, she won't let go. Don't let her work herself to death."

I think there are some typical places you can find us "submissives". We are either workaholics, addicts, criminals, in abusive relationships, or well adjusted, normal individuals who just happen to get put to bed in shackles. One way or another, we find a way to that chain we need around our necks. I think that my way, the S/M lifestyle, is a lot healthier than the other options. I don't have the luxury of being a workaholic anymore, since I nearly worked myself to death by the time I was 24 and am now physically disabled. I was raised with kindness and heaps of guilt, so there's no way I'd succeed as a criminal. I've witnessed too closely the mess that drugs and alcohol addiction make of a person to take that route (plus, the Pit Bull in me has too much pride to go out like that - choking on one's own vomit does not make for a pretty corpse). And I've had enough therapy now that I don't seek out abusive relationships anymore.

Figuring out that an S/M lifestyle is what I need was not easy. Well, it was and it wasn't. When I became disabled and had to give up my workaholism, I had a crisis of identity. I had to find some way to value myself apart from academic and monetary success. I struggled with the idea that I had to be a "free and independent woman" versus the fact that the first time I really felt understood was when I saw Rocky Horror. It took accidentally running into the essay "Violence in the Garden", by Polly Peachum, for me to understand that my natural inclination toward submissiveness was not a weakness and was not something I could ever "cure" myself of in therapy. The life I'm trying to lead now is one in which my devotion, my empathy, my willingness to please, and my...uppityness can all coexist, all be recognized and appreciated, even celebrated.

Even though I feel I'm finally on the right track, I'm still struggling. My partner, my master, is only just starting to understand what kind of role he is comfortable with. It is hard for him, sometimes, I think, to understand that it is okay for him to be the "boss". It is also a lot of work to be someone's master, and he often doesn't have the energy to deal with me. But we are working on it - I'll give you the sexy details in my next post ;)

*You will get typos and creative grammar though. I have something similar to dyslexia.
**Or Dominant/submissive...whatever you want to call it, I'm not much into the S/M community's constantly changing standards for how we are allowed to refer to our experiences. I'll tell this story using my own words, my own labels. That is the way I feel it will be most true.