What is enough?

What follows is the sort of self-examination that I do not indulge in often. It is borne of uncertainty, deprivation, and cabin fever. It will most likely be lengthy. It will probably not be rational. I anticipate many rhetorical questions. I expect it will get messy. You may wish to simply move along as though none of this ever happened. If you choose to stay, I suggest you don your hip waders. You’ve been warned.

Today while showering, I happened to glance down and notice a faint purple tinged line running along the top of my thigh. I knew immediately this was the remains of a mark from my last play. It was the last vestiges of the hog slapper’s handle. A smile chased across my face. My body does not hold onto marks any more. This pains me. I used to rely on them to remind me that my experiences had in fact been very real, however dream-like they might seem. I don’t look for marks anymore. I give myself 24-48 hours to spot them and then I stop looking. I assign them too much weight. Their absence combined with sub drop can turn my emotions very ugly very quickly. I can’t tolerate the compounded aftermath.

Today when I saw this faint stripe, this simple mark, in the solitude and quiet of the shower, my mind immediately went back to that session, nearly a month ago now. I thought about how devastated I had been that weekend. I thought about how intensely sad I had been. I thought about how I almost staid His hand, thinking it would be better for me not to play when I was internally that much of a mess. I thought about feeling ashamed after the scene because I felt I hadn’t been enough, my pain tolerance wasn’t enough, I hadn’t taken enough, been hard core enough. I was so crushed that it followed me for more than a week after the fact.

This mark … nearly a month later. On my body that barely ever marks anymore. On my body that, when it does mark, they are gone in a few days. If this reminder is still on my thigh then the play must have been more intense than my perception of it.

The next station on my train of thought was Warped Perception Depot. I thought about all of the areas of my life where people often provide positive feedback that I do not hear, that I am unwilling(?) to accept. Talented creative, wonderful mother, asset to the community, graceful submissive, positive roll model. I have no trouble hearing, giving validity to, internalizing, and beating myself up repeatedly about anything negative that might be said, regardless of the quality of the source. When will I believe I am enough? When will I develop the ability to say Pfft, they’re a first class douche canoe! Their opinion holds no water?

I looked back at my life two years ago. I mentally cataloged the changes, the goals I set out and achieved:

I wanted to get in shape. I dropped 60 pounds. I exercise often and have a toned, fit body. Not good enough says my self-talk. Look at that paunch I say pinching the inch or so above my c-section scar. Where’s the full six-pack? Not enough.

I wanted to be happy. I wanted more. I wanted power exchange to be part of my life. I wanted to serve. I am owned by an amazing Master. My family has grown into a poly family. Seamlessly connected. Communication hurdles behind me. This relationship has enriched my life in ways I could not have imagined. My marriage is rock solid and we are happy. Not good enough! shrieks my inner demon. My memory is horrid but the demon has no trouble clinging tenaciously to every error in my submission, from the smallest misstep to the most grievous fuck up. If I think about them, I can feel each and every one as if they happened this morning. I have fleeting moments of selfishness. No matter that I am human. Not good enough.

I wanted my child to excel academically. He has been on the honor roll his entire academic career in spite of his disability. This year he was accepted into a prestigious school that admits only the best of the best. He maintains his position on the honor roll in spite of all the new challenges I pushed on him this year Sorry. No Mother of the Year for you. He still has no friends. This term he was only honors not high honors. He still has a few behavioral issues. He still has to be brow beaten to do his homework properly. He would still rather watch TV than read. At least once a week he fails to clean his room before breakfast. Not good enough. Not even close.

I wanted to waist train and learn to tight lace. My first corset was a 36. I’m now at 23 inches. People in my community come to me for advice on getting started. I’m considering teaching a basic course. Where’s that last inch, eh Corset Girl? You wanted 22 inches. So what gives? Why can’t you get it done? Never good enough.

As I mentally filed these things, and several other relatively minor accomplishments, I thought Jesus Christ! Are you EVER going to be kind to yourself? Ever? Even a little? And if the answer to that is “no” then what the fuck are you doing here? If you do everything in your power to be the perfect wife, the slaviest slave that ever slaved, Super Mom and it’s still not enough for you … why bother trying? What exactly are you working toward? It’s clearly not the goals you set out for yourself because you accomplish those and still find yourself sorely lacking. Seriously, what the fuck?

I believe there is always room for improvement in everything and everyone. I don’t know how to adhere to that belief while simultaneously being accepting of myself, my best efforts, and my accomplishments.






TMI Tuesday: A Year in Review

new year1. Did you make New Year’s Resolutions last year? Which ones did you keep? Are you better for it?
I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t need a date to instigate significant change. If I discover something about myself that I need to alter for the sake of improvement, I do so. Will power and self-commitment are what is required, not a date on a calendar.

2. What was your favorite TMI Tuesday list of questions from 2013? Why? (Give date and title)
Food and Drink  – July 9th.
I love talking about food. This one had the added bonus of allowing me to exercise creativity.

3. What sexy/sexual things do you hope to experience in 2014–toys, acts, people, events, etc?
~ I am hoping to exceed any/all previous benchmarks.
~ Extensive impact play session at my local club. I need my community to see me as real. Yes, I recognize that I shouldn’t need the external validation. I do. Sue me.
~ I’m seeking the elusive 24 hour encasement.
~ Also kicking around in my head is surpassing the two hour impact play session. I’m not sure pushing this one is possible or advisable. Still, I would very much like to try.
~ I need gags to be just another part of play instead of an issue to be overcome. I made great strides in 2013. In 2014 I would like to put this to bed.

4. This time of year is filled with “Top Lists” and “Best of Lists”. Let’s make a list. What were your Top 3 best sexual experiences in 2013? Go into as little or as much detail as you would like.
I’m sitting giggling with delight as I write this. Just three? So much happened this year. All of my best experiences were charged with sexual energy, though not all of them included the act itself.
~ OTK play
~ Discovering The Orgasm Cascade™
~ Ducking out for phone play several times while at a club event

5. What are your hopes, dreams for 2014?
~ Significantly less yelling. In fact, since I’m dreaming, let’s just eliminate yelling completely.
~ A whole lot less anger
~ 75% less pain in those I love. (the bad kind, not the good kind)
~ Get LM on a stable track. I will settle for not having every fucking day be a battle.
~ Zero lying (Hey, a mother can dream.)

Bonus: In the coming year, let us all resolve to visit, read, and comment on at least two TMI Tuesday blog posts a week that are posted by our fellow TMI Tuesday bloggers. :-)
See my response to number 1.

Play along and/or read more responses here.


So much happened this weekend I feel like we were there for at least a solid week, if not two. I have a couple of things I want to write about. I’m hoping I can be coherent. Addressing them individually will probably help.

This entry will discuss pride, a most un-slave-like state. As a rule, I don’t handle public praise very well. It makes me exceedingly uncomfortable. I’m usually embarrassed to the point of wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I don’t know how to reconcile my level of angst with the joy I feel when You speak favorably of me in front of others.

This weekend, You called me over during a discussion with Friday night’s DM. You instructed me to show him my marks. I was internally torn between “Whheee! I get to show off my marks” and “Uhmmm I don’t know this guy’s name and I’m taking off my clothes to show him my skin. In broad daylight. In the middle of a conversation”. I was warmed by how appreciative he was. I genuinely enjoyed the interaction with the three of us.

Then after I had put myself back together, You did a thing. You said to him, “She earned these pants … and those boots … and she earned this”, You said gesturing to Your collar. You spoke of these things matter of factly. As if I were not a sentient being. As if I were not standing right there. As if You were pointing to a mannequin in a store window. Excluded but included in the conversation simultaneously.

The articles of leather had been spoken of before. Not once had Your collar been spoken of that way. I don’t know how I managed to keep the tears at bay. I felt it at my core. I had the thought That’s fucking right I did! It’s not velcro and it sure as hell isn’t jewelry. Misty-eyed, I ducked my head and literally bit my tongue to stay silent. I was so proud in that moment that it felt wrong and I immediately squelched it.

This whole interplay sticks with me. I felt owned in a way I had somehow not before – like an accessory to be brought out and shown. I don’t know why this was different. Yours publicly? No. That doesn’t feel quite right. I’ve been Yours in public, in the community, prior to this. I don’t know. I’ll have to kick it around in my head a bit. I just know it was freakin’ hot.

Today I am grateful for: the absence of pain
Today’s funny moment: realizing that there is a very good chance I will have marks to explain when I go for my mammogram Wednesday
Sad moment: n/a
Protocol: contemplating how to say “I can’t hear You” during play in a dungeon. It always feels “wrong”.
Water: 3 liters
Corset: 24″ am, 24″ pm
Hood: n/a

Want, Need, Desire

I want to feel your flogger on my body, marking time and flesh in perfect unison. I want you to push me. To know you are causing me pain. To know I don’t want the pain. To know that I adore the challenge the pain creates. I want to consider and reject the use of my safe words over and over and over. To know you know me better than I know myself. To know you will push me until I think I will have to quit … only to have you back off for a moment and then … start the push anew.

I want to feel the breath of the buggy whip. Knowing the breath is but a warning of the slicing pain that will come, when you’ve had enough of tormenting me. Tormenting me, knowing just the idea of that searing pain has me on the edge of tolerance. I want to forget about the observers. I want to be your instrument.

I want to be strapped immobile to a spanking bench. I want to be there exposed to you, for you. I want your hands on my ass. Slapping, warming it, carefully, every inch, preparing it for the onslaught that is to come. Every once in while stopping for a handful of cheek because you simply can’t stop yourself, because it’s yours for the taking. I want to be spanked until I am separate from the pain. Until I am beyond it. Until I am there but not there. My body moving with the force of each blow yet unaware.

I want your teeth in the bend of my shoulder. I need your marks on my body. I desire to be your canvas.

Please, let me be your muse.

Today I am grateful for: Stamina
Today’s funny moment: Check under his mattress. He might have a copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince under there.
Sad moment: sex life discussions
Water: 4 liters 12 ounces
Corset: 23″ am, 23″ pm


I need you in the most accurate definition of those words. You are vital to my existence. I want to wear Your piercings. I’m weary of waking in the morning with one or both of my shields lost in the sheets. You are not temporary. I do not shed You at night when I sleep fitfully.

I desire permanence on my body symbolic of the permanence You have on my soul.

Today I am grateful for: compassion
Today’s funny moment:
Training: 8.5 hours on the over night
Water: 4 liters
Corset: not worn