It’s kinda cute, watching us take care of each other and whine.

Master and i have been very busy lately with a lot of different things. It seems we never have time for anything fun when it comes to Him and me.

Yesterday the plan was to do absolutely nothing. Master was going to play video games. I was going to be naked all day and provide whatever He needed and when i wasn’t doing anything else i was just going to suck dick all day. See how that was a great plan? I love giving head. We’d been talking about it for two days: Friday is our day off, this is what we’re gonna do with it. Are you excited, my pet? Why, yes! Yes i am!

We stayed up too late Thursday night. That’s like a form of mild insanity with us–we can’t seem to help ourselves from staying up far past the point when we should be asleep. Then on Friday morning, when we woke up, i realized that we were supposed to scrounge up some things to add to my mother’s garage sale and we hadn’t done it yet. We went through the house, junking things willy-nilly and Master called a friend of His who has a truck. We spent all day going through the house, getting rid of things we didn’t want and things that didn’t “bless” our home (thank you, Fly-Lady!) and packing them all up and loading them in the truck and chatting with the lady who owns the clothing shop across the street and selling her two shelving units for $60 and a hug and stopping at Izzo’s Illegal Burrito for supper and margaritas and bringing the rest of the stuff to my mom’s house… it was nine-thirty by the time we got back home.

Some time before we left for my mother’s house Master and i realized that we our plans had gone awry and we would not have the “us” time we had planned on. Master asked me to come into the back room with Him to check over things and make sure we’d got everything we wanted out before we left. What He meant by this was, “I’m going to fuck your dirty slave ass in the back bathroom”.

I realized as He was doing this just how much i love the back bathroom with its strategically placed mirrors and the sink that’s perfect bend-me-over height. We don’t do too much in the back room, for various reasons, but i think (with certain necessary adjustments) that should change.

I also realized that sometimes, even if you don’t get what you were hoping for, something just as good comes along to make up for it.

It started with the panties–the black lacy thong panties–and that red shirt and me being coy. I have this red shirt, you see, and it looks really good on me without a bra. (I’m 23, i only have so many bra-less years left. I want to take advantage of them!) While i was getting dressed i decided to come out and ask Master what He thought of those panties. I had the shirt on, holding my jeans up around my thighs as i turned for different angles–so He could make a truly informed opinion, of course.

“Master, what do you think of these panties? Are they cute?” Turn. “I dunno… what do you think, Master?”

Later in the evening, we were laying in bed watching TV and He jumped on me. He bit down on one of my boobs and shoved His hand down into my pants, under those black lacy panties. Really, it’s impressive how Master can make that action so… predatory. It took me by surprise, both the action itself and the way He just sort of attacked me (is there a GOOD synonym for that?) and i didn’t even have time to think. I didn’t even see it coming, so to speak. I just instantly came.

Oops.

One of my rules is that i may not come without permission. Ever. Master gave me the raised eyebrows of admonition and i knew some form of punishment would follow.

That punishment is named Whiskey. Whiskey is a red and yellow glass butt-plug who got his name because he’s really cool-looking and seems like a great idea but he will kick you right in the ass and make you regret ever meeting him. Whiskey and i went to the store to buy bread for Knight’s lunch. I was doing the butt-plug waddle.

Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know what i’m talking about…

I was raised, of course, as most girls have been since the seventies: i was told that i could grow up to be WHATEVER i wanted to be and then informed that what i wanted to be was something that required many years in college but would pay very highly once i was done. I know i bitch a lot about feminists but that’s one really shitty byproduct of the feminist movement: we as women still really only have one respectable choice, it’s just that the choice is completely opposite of what it was in the 1950’s.

The truth? The thing i wouldn’t admit for the longest time, not even to myself, not even to Master? I wanna be a house-wife. Or a house-pet, rather, in our situation. I want to stay home with the kids and clean the house and cook the meals and keep everything (our whole lives) organized and tidy. These days people are really looked down on for wanting that. (If you don’t believe me, try looking around a little first.) I work because i have to, because we need the money, and i guess i like my job well enough, but the truth is that if Master had a super-mega-high paying job or we won the lottery i would quit in a heartbeat and stay home, where i know i can really be useful and feel true fulfillment. I know i would get bored every now and then but i also know i wouldn’t be one of those lazy housewives who has a maid clean everything up while they go out and spend all their husband’s hard-earned money. Hell no, not this slave. I would keep the fucking house clean. I would learn to cook really great food, food that would make Master proud to let me “just” be a house-pet. Any spare time i had i would write and paint and just CREATE and i know He would be proud of that too.

Yeah, that’s my dream. I can be anything i wanna be and i wanna be what our mothers and grandmothers fought so hard NOT to be. What does that make me?

(PS: Slightly tipsy, just blogging because i’m not a bit tired, despite the fact that i work at ten in the morning)

I’m sorry, in what crazy fucking universe is it more acceptable to say “farking” and “shoot” than “fucking” and “shit”? That makes no goddamn sense to me.

Anyone who has met me for more than a few minutes (or read the above paragraph) knows that i curse like a proverbial sailor. This isn’t because i’m some crass, foul slattern. Quite the contrary: i’m a generally sweet, kind, sunshiny kinda girl. (And fastidiously tidy about my personal hygiene, thank you.) I just firmly believe that there is no such thing as a “bad” word (with reference to curse words–slanders are a separate issue) and that the idea is completely ludicrous.

Despite the fact that there is the same intention behind both terms, people somehow find it much more acceptable to use the made-up “words” “frick” or “fark” as opposed to “fuck”, which is at least a real word.

Why, when selecting a word referencing excrement, is “poo” so much more acceptable than “shit” or even “crap”? And, for that matter, why is “shit” considered worse than “crap”? We’re talking about excrement, here! There are no degrees of bad–it’s all excrement!

It’s all just a part of the huge societal cancer known as “prudishness”. It disgusts and frustrates me, the way this cancer invades my television, books, sexuality, and my beloved language. So, yeah, sign up for the revolution starts… now. Who’s in?

Have i ever mentioned that i have near-crippling social anxiety? (Wow, what a way to start, lore!) Well, i do. I don’t do well in social situations. People make me feel awkward, at best, and i can’t stand being in a situation where i have to talk to strangers.

Despite this, i went out to a bar by myself the other night. Master was hanging out with a friend of ours and he didn’t want to go to a bar. I really wanted to go see the bands that were playing but i didn’t want Master to cancel on our friend so i just went out. By myself. All by myself. I don’t like what it says about me that i was so scared to do this. I mean, really, how sad is it that i was more afraid of having to talk to strangers than i was of getting mugged or raped? I went anyway. I was in a going-out mood, damnit, and i was gonna go see some damn bands play.

I ended up knowing one of the guys in the band that was playing (didn’t even know he was in a band!) and a guy Master knows was there and i talked to a couple random people for a little while. I know i must have been awkward but, fuck, progress is progress, okay? I’m not gonna be completely charismatic and charming the first time i try this!

The part that i really wanted to make note of was this, though: i was sitting by myself drinking a beer and these three drunk guys were walking by. One of them stopped to chat me up and his two friends started asking about my collar. They started pulling and tugging on it. The guy who was chatting me up got all (drunkenly) indignant and told them to stop–they didn’t fuckin’ know me; they had no right to be touchin’ on me! I was really grateful and impressed by this–i had just completely shut this guy down (in the nicest way possible, really–the marriage card works great like that) and he was still gonna tell his drunk-ass friends to keep their hands off me and my collar.

Maybe there’s hope for humanity after all?

~*~

PS: Holy shit, i can’t believe i’ve joined Twitter. I’m such a whore. Go ahead and follow me if you like… it’s “sirenlore”.

(Yes, AGAIN. Quit yer bitchin’. My inner workings are fuckin’ hot.)

Seriously, i think about why i am who and what i am a lot. It’s not that it’s something which consumes my thoughts–i’m just the type of person who can have multiple trains of thought going at once and i sometimes find myself with enough time on my hands to ponder. I often wonder why i am the way i am, why i like the things i like, why i want the things i want.

For those of you just joining the program, i am a 23-year-old masochistic woman who is the submissive in a 24/7 Master/pet relationship. I fucking love my life, i am NOT in an abusive relationship, and i am not “brainwashed”. I am what i am and i know what i am. I just don’t know WHY. Why the love of pain? Why the desire to submit?

I behaved very inappropriately recently and it resulted in Master taking off my collar for a while. Even in more conventional relationships it is considered inappropriate, disrespectful, and unhealthy to scream or shout at your partner when in an argument. That’s understandable, right? It’s just doubly so in my type of relationship, where respect is one of our pillars. But… without my collar. It was devastating. Never for one moment did i think i didn’t have it coming–if i am not going to behave like a good pet ought to then i don’t deserve to wear a pet’s symbol of ownership. It’s not just a shiny fucking necklace. It’s a symbol and we both refuse to have it mean nothing. Still… i missed it every moment it hung on our bed-post.

Why? Why am i built this way? With the desire to submit, to have my husband be my Master and have the final say and run the show… why do i desire this and still have such a hard time putting it into practice? I really only have this problem when i’m angry. When i’m pissed, everything i usually am goes right out the fucking window. I go straight for blood, for the kill and the win. We’re working on it, we are, and we’re making progress but i still don’t understand why i am… just why i am.

I can be an independent woman if i have to. I can live on my own, handle the finances, cook the supper (though not nearly as well as Voice on either of those), and do all those nice adult-type things on my own. I even tie my own shoes every morning and use the potty like a big girl! (Yeah, that was a little sarcasm for you.) But this relationship dynamic is the ONLY type that has ever worked for me on a long-term basis. Master and i are coming up on the two year mark, which will fall around our first wedding anniversary. Usually (meaning in every other relationship i’ve had) by this time i am ready to call it quits. I’m bored, or i’m sick of the guy, or it’s just not working for whatever reason. Nothing like this has happened before. We’re constantly planning for the future. We still get along amazingly and love doing things together. I have yet to be bored by the sex or His company.

You can’t tell me that our relationship dynamic isn’t a contributing factor. Obviously there are other major factors: We find each other physically attractive. We have similar enough mindsets on house-keeping, finances, religion, politics, children, family, and other things where similarity is super-helpful in creating a happy marriage. We are interested in many of the same things and can listen tolerably to each other talk about activities that one of us is into and the other isn’t. (Examples in case that was badly worded: We’re both really into music, and have a large area where our tastes coincide. Master likes D&D and WoW–i don’t but like to listen to Him talk about it anyway. I’m into painting and writing–He isn’t but He still likes to hear me talk about it.) Still, if you’re looking at our relationship and commenting on how happy and functional it is (which a lot of people we know do) you have to take into account the basic framework upon which it is built: 24/7 D/s. I belong to Master. Master is in control and has the final say. Master is always right. Master loves me and will always take care of me. I give Him respect, devotion, and service in all things He wishes and i belong to Him entirely.

I’ve been in many other types of relationships: fumbling teenage romances, casual fuck-buddies who hang out a lot, a one night stand that lasted two weeks, super-serious relationships… i’ve even been the one in control before–the one who made the decisions and handled All Things Important and whose decisions were above questioning. I hated all of them, even being in control. I like having someone definitively in charge and i don’t like that someone to be me. It’s a lot of pressure to be the one who makes the decisions, who draw the line. When i’m with someone, if i have to keep making big, important decisions completely by myself all the time (no input or back-up) i tend to get so burnt-out that after a while i can’t even make small decisions, like what to eat for lunch. I’ve found i make better decisions when i’m not the one holding everything together, when someone else is there to back me up and support me and take charge. My opinions and ideas are heard and respected but the final decision is up to Master and i trust Him to make the right one. I like that about us. That He’ll say, “What do you think, lore?” and i’ll say, “Well, i think…” and we talk about it for a moment just like more conventional couples do. Then He thinks for a minute and makes the call.

That’s all i want: to have my opinions and ideas heard and respected, then for someone smart i can trust to make the final call. I thought we should reorganize the living room to better organize and prevent clutter. I looked in the sale papers and saw that Target was having a sale on nifty stackable organizers–shelving units and cubes and cabinets and stuff–so i explained to Master what i wanted to do and showed Him the things i wanted to get and how they would fit. He listened, said it was a good idea, then looked over our finances to make His decision. It worked very smoothly. Plus, our living room looks so much better now.

On the flip side i guess i could have just gone down and bought all that stuff without talking to Him first–i mean, i earn half our monthly income, right?–but then i guess i wouldn’t have known that we’d have to buy half the shelving units with one check and half with another because Master’s car needed an oil change and tire rotation or that one of the bills hadn’t come out yet. Had i done that (like people sometimes do when nobody’s clearly in charge of things) i bet my dear husband would have been pretty pissed about having to wait on the oil change and especially the tire rotation, since one of His tires was very bad off.

Instead, we have a clear plan of what we are supposed to do in the handling of money. It’s like that for everything and doesn’t that seem so much better–to have a system? Everyone acknowledges that in, say, a workplace there should be a clear chain of command. Why is a family so different? Why is it considered (by some) such a bad thing that we clearly understand our jobs and positions and that one of us is clearly in charge? (Answer: because sometimes there are douchebags who abuse that power, i guess.) Master is the CEO, accounting department, garbage man, and master chef; i am housekeeping, interior design, librarian, photographer, waitress, and secretary.

You know what? Fuck introspection. Does it even matter why we are the way we are? I love our life; i love it SO much. I know i don’t say it enough but i do. Here’s to the past six years, especially these last two, and to the next two, and the next six.

<3 Your lorelei

I am on hold right now, waiting for the Children’s Clinic to answer. They just answered to put me on hold again.

So here’s what i’m thinking:

Knight and Princess are both sick. I literally just took Princess in to see the doctor because i’m worried about her ginormous tonsils, which keep causing her trouble, and sure enough they’re hurting her again. Curiously enough, a 102 degree fever doesn’t really stop her much, which at first led me to suspect that she was simply turning into a werewolf and i would simply have to raise the bar on what a normal temperature is for Princess. Her tonsils seem to be hurting her, though, and Master said He wouldn’t think i was silly if i made an appointment.

Meanwhile, we’ve been talking to Bella a lot. She’s afraid to make anything official so soon because she would feel awful if something happened and it didn’t work or she couldn’t move back here… but she’s calling Master “Sir” and calling me “cupcake” again. That would be so weird–the three of us, with three kids, and not a one of them with a parent in common.

Enough rambling for now.

As ordered, i was wearing a very short pleated skirt (no panties, of course) and a very small halter top and had gathered a short list of items. I waited, watching Master take care of something on His computer. He did not speak until He was finished and stood up, then it was only to say, “Let’s go.” Before He even pulled the car out of the driveway He told me to put the towel down on the seat under me and to put in the red butt-plug. (I name all my toys–this one is Cherry.)

At the first stop light there were no cars around so Master attached a clamp to one of my nipples. We were already at the gas station, so He had me pull up my shirt and hold the other clamp until He was finished tanking up. At the next stop light there were no cars around so Master had me attach the other one. They were connected by a chain, which lay uncomfortably cold against my stomach.

The vibration of the car which served as a constant reminder of Cherry, the almost negligible amount of cloth covering me… it was embarassing! But in a good way. Because, like good fear and good pain, there is a kind of good humiliation too. I was blushing and desperately wanted to cover myself up and i wanted MORE.

Master told me to get out Fleur, the glass dildo and just hold it, rest it right on my pussy but not put it inside. As we drove He would instruct me every now and then to push it just a little deeper–just a quarter of an inch each time. Just enough to make me ache for more. I know for a fact He chose to drive around the crappiest, bumpiest roads in town just to torture me.

I whimpered and cried out and begged and begged to come. Master didn’t even take His eyes off the road as He smiled that smile of His and said no. I loved Him completely for it.

Date nights are the best nights…

I know it’s been about a week since i’ve posted anything. Sorry, but i’m taking a small hiatus while i get some shit together. I probably won’t be gone long; i just didn’t want to just up and disappear on y’all.

Yeah, i feel i have the right… or at least i have enough bravado to pretend i do.

I’ve always had this problem… people think i’m a hell of a lot smarter than i am. The misconception is largely due to how much i read and write. That means that, over the years i’ve been asked to proofread school papers and read people’s stories and things of that nature. I’ve begun (without even noticing at first) to critique everything i read: spelling, grammar, style, et cetera. What can i say? I know what i like, i know what bugs me and i’ve never been shy in expressing either. I really don’t feel like i’m TOO harsh of a critic–i perfectly understand typos on blogs, for example, or the use of sentence fragments for style’s sake.

One thing that bugs me, though, is how little people seem to comprehend the effects of their words. This is a problem in speaking, but a much bigger issue in writing, where you are neither seen nor heard. EVERY WORD you write or type should be as carefully thought out as the things you put in your mouth. (Am i the only one who thinks about that so carefully? Goodness, i hope not!) I’m talking mostly about blogs, since i write one and so do all five people who read this one. (Just kidding–WordPress says there are more of you, y’all are just quiet.) There is nothing i hate more than reading someone’s blog, finding it disgusting or stupid or offensive, then scrolling down to the comments and finding that half the comments are the writer backpedaling and defending his/her shoddy writing habits. They’ll say things like, “Oh, that’s meant to be snarky!” or “It’s a stylistic thing for effect!” and “Don’t tell me how to write!”

Well, fuck, SOMEONE needs to!

When you’re writing a blog your readers don’t know a damn thing about you unless you tell them. They don’t know what you look like, where you live, what kind of life you lead, how your momma raised you… nothing. So if you, say, make a joke about Minority Group X, how are they supposed to know whether you’re just being ironic or if you actually have a prejudice against X? There’s no use going in after the fact, when someone’s pointed it out, and qualifying your statement or whining about how misunderstood you are. Yeah… no. That type of shit doesn’t fly. You have to say what you mean because people can’t READ tone. They can’t READ you rolling your eyes.

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to be funny, or even silly or sarcastic. Quite the opposite: stylistic embellishment and sarcasm are fine things, but it’s bad practice (and just plain silly) to sacrifice the integrity of the writing for their sake. It’s pointless–why write at all, then?

No particular reason. We just felt like closing down the nearest bar. I can’t remember the last time that happened.

So my sister Rory has a blog now… turns out she’s almost as much of a kinky freak as i am. Guess it runs in the family–or at least the two black sheep of our family.

That’s just me diverting from the topic at hand. Bella. Bella, Bella, Bella, of course Bella. She got the letter. She replied via MySpace, thank goodness, because i don’t think i could have waited for the post office.

Basically she said that she had been missing us too. That she had seen the pictures of us and Ava-mouse in New Orleans and was jealous–she was wishing it were her with us. (Ah, Bella, you weren’t the only one!) She did say that she can’t see moving back here immediately, which i completely understand. I actually respect her a lot for that; it shows she’s grown as a person. As much as i want her to teleport her ass back here immediately i know she’s thinking about her newborn son and her ability to provide for him. She said that she doesn’t want to be dependent on us like she was before. Master and i are kind and generous people by nature–we would be more than willing to support her until she could get a job set up here. But, once again, i can understand where she’s coming from and i definitely respect that. She did say that she wants to move back to this area some time, though, which gives me some hope.

The three of us have been texting a lot today, which was wonderful. It’s felt like a record-breaking coffee buzz, just without the caffeine. I hope, i hope, i hope she’ll at least consider seeing where things can go with the three of us. I want to see her again. I want to meet her son. I want to show her how this can work between the three of us so she can make a well-informed decision and not feel like she would be mooching off of us if she moved back here. I want to catch up on all the things we’ve missed and make sure there’s no more catching up to do in the future–that we just know what’s going on with each other, the way we all did before.

I hope too much. I hope too much. I need to stop before i go too far.

Prepare yourself for something unexpected…

So Bella just had her baby. I saw some pictures of him on MySpace–he looks a lot like her. Somehow this gave Master the brilliant idea that i should write her a letter telling her how much we still love her and how if she were ever thinking of coming back, we’d be all for that.

I was, needless to say, apprehensive but i did it anyway. I bought some cute stuff and a card for the baby. Then i sat down and wrote her a two page letter on nice stationary saying how much i love her and miss her and she should definitely consider coming back. I sent it off at the post office and everything. It should get there early in the week, Monday or so.

Now i’m definitely regretting that move. What’s going to happen when she says no? (Because, let’s face it… that’s the most likely scenario.) This is way too close to my heart; i said way too many deeply heartfelt, personal things to get through it without some kind of emotional damage. I think i maybe should have left well enough alone.

Master and River still maintain it was a good idea–that i have nothing to lose, even if she says no. Even if she says HELL no. Obviously Master and River have not previously encountered the concepts of pride and dignity–i don’t have much of those, but it’s enough to feel the loss. I absolutely do not like making a fool out of myself and i have done it a LOT in the past, especially where love is involved. I don’t know how much more of that i can take.

Master and River’s undeniably good point, however, was that there is no use worrying about it any more. I’ve already sent it. There’s nothing to be done. (Well, nothing that wouldn’t require a lot of work and a felony…) All we can do now is wait and see what happens. Like i’m known for my patience or something.

Thinking of posting the letter later, just for some feedback. I think it’s sappy and horrible. Once again, Master and River disagree.

Ahhhhhhhhh… nothing like a good beating.

Nothing like being tied to the bed.

Nothing like being flogged across your back and ass.

Nothing like being caned until you cry, then begging for more.

Nothing like being untied just long enough to lap up Master’s pre-come.

Nothing like having “slut” carved ever-so-lightly into your chest and knowing you’ll know it’s there all the next day.

Nothing like Master checking you over with antiseptic wipes after, because He won’t have His property getting an infection.

Ah… nothing like a good beating.

***

PS: Master actually updated His blog! Holy shit! Nobody panic… don’t make any sudden movements and maybe He’ll do it again soon…

; D