Incredible Hulk...or Incredible Mother?!?

For his third birthday, Boy received a pair of Hulk SMASH gloves. They have electronic sounds when they smash into something...anything. I was having an argument with Boy, mostly because he didn't listen and thus had to be dragged away from playing...typical stuff that a parent argues with a 3 1/2 year old about. *shrug*

While he had thrown himself on the floor and was tantruming, I happened to kick one of the gloves.

"You're making me angry! You won't like me when I'm angry!"

Boy oh boy do I know that feeling!

w00t!

I've been able to squirm out of my 18 jeans for a few months, but now my 16 jeans aren't tight either! *happy dance* ...and back to running...! (maybe there IS a silver lining to all this running!)

hiatus?

Well, not exactly...

But between the seemingly endless stream of company, Boy's discovery of online preschooler games, and the improved weather, I haven't been at the computer very much.

I've gotten almost all of the bulbs I've already purchased planted, with is very exciting! For the last two years, I've purchased plants that never quite got into the ground, and I've felt really guilty about it. I'm hoping that I can maintain the progress on the yard.

Girl has another tooth coming in. Despite being a little more fussy, she's still an amazingly happy baby. Boy is 3 1/2...when he isn't pushing buttons (which is 85% of the time) he is a charming and caring child. SSQ warned me not to wish these days away...but sometimes it is really hard!

Play-wise, there's been a little fun, despite the busy household.

Last night, Beloved gave me a good flogging before cuffing me for bed. I still detest the sting when the strands wrap, but there is no denying that I slept well last night.

Night before, Beloved fucked my face...*frowns* I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. Or maybe I do...I am not overly thrilled with being objectified and used. Some people might find it hawt but not me. *shrug* I'll submit...but comparing face-fucking to fellatio is rather like comparing my stick-figure drawings to a masterpiece.

This morning, I went browsing metal bed frames. *smirks* There's a really amazing one listed on craigslist, but unfortunately the new post for it doesn't include a photo and is NOT subtle. Beloved says we will build the next bed frame ourselves.

*sigh* Soooo many daydreams. Build out the attic, landscaping the yard, Beloved wants a fancy television, painting the house...on and on. But my time is up...I have to get back to the running...

Confused...

While I suppose people are interested in the scenes I've been playing in, I'm more contemplating the results.

Last night, after a complicated exchange, Beloved and I got into a rough and tumble match...him trying to get me into cuffs, me fighting like a hellcat to stay out of the cuffs. It was fun...playful. I guess I didn't really realize how frustrated Beloved was getting with the situation. A packing strap came out of the toybag and I have a few rope-burns because of it, but Beloved was pretty confident that he'd managed to bind me...except that I realized it was kinda like Chinese finger cuffs...if I stopped fighting and pushed instead of pulled, the strap loosened just enough for me to get out... Exasperated, he tossed the other cuff across the room and flopped on the bed. I immediately jumped up and cuddled next to him, like a cat in cream. He laughed, we talked...

But then he made a comment about not punching me...or that the belt could have gone around my neck...

Something inside of me just deflated...shrank. It wasn't fun anymore. Instead of being a switchy playmate, I was suddenly feeling like a poser-wannabie. I only want to play if it's a fair fight. If it ain't fair, I'm gonna sulk and pout. I'm only willing to serve on my own whim. I'm scared of the edge play.

I withdrew and grabbed a shower, thinking on the puzzle. I lay in bed, wondering what the hell I was doing. I've been mulling it over all day. I'm tired and confused.

I think a big piece of it is that I'm falling into the trap of comparisons. What I'm comfortable with, what I enjoy isn't as extreme as what others are doing. I'm not a "good" submissive because I fairly actively avoid any real pain-scene. I need to stop that. The only one who matters is Beloved, and he seems pretty happy with my play-levels.

But another piece is the whole "topping from the bottom". If I enter into a scene with a set of expectations, rules, demands for "fairness", is that topping from the bottom? Does it kill the fun if I'm not willing to be forced beyond the edge? Like the scene earlier this month, I reach the point that I was ANGRY and lashed out and it was no longer okay.

I don't know how to balance this. If you are a subbie reader, what do you do when it isn't FUN anymore? Do you safeword out? Do you withdraw into "subspace"? Do you negotiate "scripted scenes"?

If you're a Dommy reader, how do you deal with it when a sub withdraws or otherwise ends a scene? What would you consider "topping from the bottom"?

Kids 4 Sale: CHEAP!

Okay, not really...but some days...

It's a gorgeous day. Sixty degrees, sunny and perfect for doing a little yardwork and planting. I thought it would fun. Boy would be able to dig in the dirt and find worms, Girl could experience grass and sun, I'd get a few more plants into the ground.

Except that Boy only was interested in pulling the disappearing act or pouting by sitting on the curb (cars, unfortunately, go waaay fast on our street). Girl wanted to explore the grass, all right...by sticking handfuls into her mouth. After an hour, I had barely half of what I wanted to accomplish done.

I'm tired. I'm frustrated. I want to know what I'm doing WRONG!?! It seems to me every other mother I know accomplishes more than me...

sad, but true...

Okay...so here's a confession. One of the things I sacrifice is showers.

In the morning, there's two people who need to get ready for work, followed by keeping the kids busy and happy and general chores. Then there's the endless amount of laundry and a regularly-full dishwasher. And let's face it, if I'm going to get a shower, I want hot water for it!

There has been more than one occasion when Beloved has "banished" me to shower, and then later smirks about the orgasmic moans he hears...

Last night, Beloved commented that my nipples were salty. We laughed about it, but I didn't tell him I wasn't altogether surprised.

Friday in chat...

Sterling: How's your day going?
pixie: long...tiring. *shrug* I got a shower today, so it's not too bad.
Sterling: ~laughs~ Seems like you're saying that your days are often so busy you don't get that much.
pixie: *raises eyebrow* Last shower I managed to grab was Monday
Sterling: Oh wow. ~hugs you~
pixie: *laughs* might be stinky
Sterling: Oh well. I doubt it.

I appreciate the kindness...I appreciate the humor. I appreciate that my tolerance for sponge baths make it so my friends don't wonder...well, until now. *sigh* Still, it's sad, but true...those orgasmic moans are simply from getting clean!

Time keeps on slipping...

Jeeezzzz...almost a week is gone and I just haven't had a chance to post. Even now, Girl is fussing at my feet cause I'm not giving her 110% of my attention, so this is going to be short.

I can outlast Beloved when it comes to fellatio. *giggles* Yup! After more than 45 minutes, he made some silly comment to which I blinked up at him (oh so very innocently!!!), removed his cock from my mouth, and asked, "Oh, would you like to cum now?" Then I proceeded to prove that I can still surprise him...*grins*

so, I guess even when I'm giving a blowjob, time just slips away from me...not that Beloved minded all THAT much!

Over-due reflection...

So last week, I made the rude discovery that I had screwed up the finances. *sigh* Nothing outrageous and Beloved wasn't even really mad about it, but I was embarrassed. He had a date with Adaya that evening and I asked if she might cover it because of my screw-up. I (somewhat jokingly) suggested that he "tell her your girl screwed up and could she please cover the bill...Maybe I'm hoping you'll take it out on my hide...somehow, I think we both need some serious de-stressing."

Beloved responded, hmmm, okay. I'll grant that request.

uh-oh.

*laughs* Of course, I didn't really take the whole thing too seriously. I thought maybe a spanking, maybe some wrestling leading up to a spanking, snuggling after my tears dried, and getting a good night's sleep. THAT was my vision. Beloved's was different.

.....I was chatting on the computer in the bedroom when he got home from his date. I signed off, Beloved smirked at me, pulled out a stool, and looked closely at the beam in the bedroom. He then disappeared and came back with two huge hooks and a drill. I could feel myself pale. I watched, dry-mouthed.

He got off the stool, took my chin in his hand, and stared into my eyes. That is my promise to you. Tomorrow, I am going to beat you...probably until you cry. I am going to use the cane; I am going to use the belt. Do you understand?

I nodded, and could already feel the tears welling up. He told me that he expected me to secure my cuffs from the hooks...somehow...and that I had to have the space cleared so nothing would impede his swing Friday night.

With that, he playfully hung a pair of hangers on the hooks, got into bed, kissed me good night, and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, I barely slept because I was so nervous. Every time I rolled over, I saw the damn hangers. I was up with the slightest noise from the kids' room. I was hot, I was cold. Friday morning came, and Beloved asked how I slept. I growled at him.

But I wasn't about to let him think he'd gotten the best of me. I worked my tail off to make the room a fantastic space. Actually, I was kinda hoping that I'd get a pass if I did a good enough job...that my obvious dedication combined with my obvious exhaustion would create a good pity case...but...yeah...that didn't work.

Anyway, I have completely cleaned the space...down to sweeping under the bed and cleaning the bathroom. I pulled out the toybag and found the 3' chains and hung those from the hooks, and then clipped the cuffs to the chains (mind, the ceiling is 10' and I'm barely 5'4"...the cuffs were still very much over my head). I laid out a selection of toys, scattered candles around the room. I thought the whole effect was rather stunning, actually.

I made dinner, and Beloved came home. We ate, played with the kids a bit. I told him my smile was in the room, but he didn't look. I was gratefu1...I wanted to see his reaction. He asked how I was. Tired. Very tired.

That's too bad...we have a couple more hours before bed.

I don't think I protested more than a whimper, but I can't remember. He got the kids ready for bed while I cleaned the kitchen. I went up and gave good-night hugs and kisses, and scooted to the our room while Beloved sat until the Boy was sleeping.

The joys of the baby monitor...I could hear when Beloved stood up to leave the room, and so the scene was perfect when he opened the door.

The candles were lit, and I was kneeling in Offer. The chains glinted a little in the low light. He smiled.

What a good girl! You really do bring Saul out in me.

The last of my hopes for dismissal disappeared. He made a few adjustments, mostly bringing a mirror to rest against the closet doors, and then Beloved half-dragged me to the chains by my hair. He took the cuff. Hand.

A long-ago story rushed through my mind...
You are not giving me what I want – to be forced – this isn’t what I asked for. I need to submit and yet you ask that I come to you on my own.

Having never experienced the situation before when I wrote, I was a little surprised at how accurately I'd captured the emotional turmoil...But my ponderings were interrupted by reality. My arms pulled above my head, naked, and exposed.

Beloved asked how I felt. Nervous, scared, maybe a little resentful. Already tears were showing. No...this wasn't at all what I'd hoped for... Beloved took a little pity on my and blindfolded me. I don't know if it helped...but I didn't have to stare at my image in the mirror, so maybe it was a mercy.

Then his hands were on me, caressing me, telling me how beautiful I was, how my body was a temple, how he appreciated the difficulty I was having. Then he stepped back.

Are you ready?

I shivered at the deep, Dom voice. I bit back a snarky response. "As ready as I'll ever be, Sir."

I could hear his smile at the honesty.

He started with the flogger on my backside, but he applied it everywhere eventually, the strands whipping around and stinging. He spanked me, punched me...He beat my feet. From there...I am hard-pressed to write details of the beating, mostly because trying to balance on my aching feet and partly because I couldn't tell which toy was being used. At one point, he told me to count. I screamed back NO...please no... I just wanted to sink into my misery...past it...counting forced me to stay present!

But when the blow landed, I blurted out ONE...

Good girl. Because it was so prompt, I'll only give you ten.

Five had me snotty and choking on the words. By seven, I was screaming the numbers out, panicked that if I didn't, there would be more. At ten, I bawled at hearing the toy set aside for something else...

What do you call me?

"Beloved, Master" I sobbed.

And what to others call me?

"Saul."

The beating continued, and that was really the last of my focus. My feet began to cramp, and my hands were tingling. I couldn't escape...leaning forward made my hands and arms burn, and standing was becoming unbearable. I just begged for it to end...

Something leather was stuck in my mouth, and then he slapped me with the wet leather. Then he started toying with my pudgey tummy, and I broke. I lashed out. I tried to kick him in the knees, which wasn't the smartest thing, but I wasn't exactly in my head at the moment. Saul demanded the offending foot, and lay into it...and I just crumbled. At which point, he brought me down and I totally crashed out in subspace...

I came back slowly...wrapped in his blanket, smelling of the body candle he uses for aftercare, cuddled against him. Drained. Exhausted. Beloved was back, and so was I. We crawled into bed and slept.

When?

I have another post that I need to write, one about Friday night, but I haven't been able to do it yet. Instead, I answered a journal prompt:

-Rana- on Fetlife asked, When did you know that you were a slave? How? Do you think that slavery comes naturally to you? Or is it more of a learned skill/mindset? Was there a period of struggling with yourself? If so, why? Did you know that you were a slave before you met your Master?

Having the word slave and knowing where I am happiest are two different things. Accepting the word slave is STILL a fight for me.

There were hints throughout my life that I was service-orientated. I fought it...I wanted to be a tomboy, a toughie, cool...but I delighted in helping my teachers or dusting my mom's room. I excelled in taking care of the family when mom was in the hospital and stepped into her shoes when she died. At 15, my father made a comment about how I had become a little domestic, and I took it as an insult.

I met Beloved when I was 18, and he introduced me to Vampire: The Masquerade where I was his Child (yes, you can laugh). His character was strong, powerful, influential, and deeply involved in the plots, and I clung to that. I was his arm candy, his messenger, his pupil. Long after we left the game, I tapped into the relationship he and I had, especially when I needed reassurance.

We married when I was 19, and went to college. There, I was the one who delved into student politics, pushed him through deadlines, encouraged him to follow his interests in arts. But whenever I got in over my head, Beloved was there to catch me, to back me up, to cover my ass. He'd scold me afterwards, holding me and letting me cry out my frustrations.

That was where our relationship stayed for years...through college, into the "real world". All of my jobs involved serving the community, usually in some kind of political manner. Environmental works, healthcare advocacy, teaching. It wasn't until I was 30 and gave up everything (my career, my "power", my financial rewards system) and became a stay-at-home mom that I crumbled completely.

I begged Beloved to consider D/s because I needed to serve, to feel I was doing a good job, to know that I made a difference. He was reluctant, mostly because his exposure had been in humiliation play. He couldn't imagine doing such things to me.

I continued to look for the words that might explain who I was, what I needed. I stumbled on the code d' odalisque, and that was closer...although we didn't have the luxury of excusing me from housework. But within that description is the word slave.

I do not like the title...there is too much historical baggage for me to be comfortable calling myself a slave. However, in the lifestyle, it is closest to an accurate description.

I am pixie. I am owned and collared by Saul, who is my protector and Master. I care for our house and our children. I make decisions on his behalf. I am his arm candy, his messenger, his canvas. I am his slave.