2-1-2016 Fiction

Eye of the Camera

Cameras. Pftt. They watch everything she does. Recording every inch of skin into the memory. Glaring, watching as if in judgment as she rolled around on the pile of her clothes, reaching positions to flatter herself. But then, she saw there was no judgment inn the voyeuristic camera. It enjoyed it all.

She grabbed her left breast and took the knife he had left on the nightstand. She slowly carved a superficial heart into her breast. She showed the camera the beads of blood; they came slowly to the surface in the order of penetration, unfolding like a flower bloom before the man who watched on the other side. The heart came to be, bead by bloody bead. Then, she kissed her art and smiled at him through the lens; blood staining her lips.

Come taste she said with her eyes.

Her captor rose from his seat and switched the camera off. Then, he paused in the doorway, returning to flip it right back on. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to manipulate him, lull him into some fantasy; doping his mind with her sex and here he was, walking right into her hands. He grinned to himself as he unlocked the door to the room his prize had lived in for the past two weeks.

Immediately, she dove at him, knife still in her hands. He chuckled as he flung her aside and watched the knife clang against the cement floor and spin a half circle. She was so cute. So predictable. He grabbed her by the hair and led her back over to her bed.

"Get dressed," he commanded and she merely stared up at him, tears in her eyes now. Her eyes were reddening quickly as he continued to stare at her. He arched his eyebrow and nodded towards her clothing.

Carefully, she put her clothes back on and sat on the edge of the bed again, staring up at him. He moved towards her and she flinched violently. Cute and predictable, he grinned. He stood directly in front of her, so close that she scooted back on the bed to avoid their legs touching one another's.

"You no longer have the privileged of being unclothed," he said with a hint of anger.

She hadn't wanted to be naked in the first place, but then she realized she felt a mourning. She lowered her head a little but raised her eyes to keep him in her sights. She didn't trust him. You don't trust someone who abducted you off the street. She shook her head to herself.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice booming over her head, stunning her slightly.

She answered with a heavy sigh, closed her eyes, and then shrugged. Her eyes met his again. The light inside of them wasn't entirely gone. He would keep her as long as there was light. Nothing good happens when the lights of the eyes go dark, he knew this well. He sighed himself then, and caressed her cheek with the knuckle of his middle finger.

"Now, I do believe I am entitled to a taste of that," he said.

10-10-2020 Journal

I think it good practice to examine what kinds of sacrifices I'm unwilling to make in an ownership dynamic. This is a general n certainly not exhaustive list based on previous expectations in my past n others I've observed in this lifestyle. 

1. My identity. Whether slave or submissive, I've experienced varying degrees of infringement on my identity. From benign changing of my online screen name to someone wanting to register me as a number n forcibly branding my thigh. Obviously, there are things in this category I'm comfortable with, for example, a screen name only feels like part of my identity, it's a superficial emotional investment I can certainly let go of for the right partner. However, branding or reducing myself to a number or generic name in the interaction cuts too deep to be healthy for me. Fantasy aside. I will not give up my sense of self because I absolutely need it. It's impossible, I'd think, to grow at all without one. 

2. The ability to say "no" and to leave on my own terms. This may be a no-brainer but I've succumbed to the seduction of that fantasy n found it pretty toxic. I need to disagree sometimes, to feel my thoughts are valid. I don't expect this always works in the way I want in a moment but I need to have the option to choose. I don't want to feel helpless or trapped in a relationship, I want to want to be there. In fact, I need to want to be there. Submission should be hard, yes, but it shouldn't be forced or coerced. Overcoming a difficult sacrifice should feel good, not defeating. It's also impossible to have a sense of identity without the ability to have a differing opinion and etc.

3. Being made to block friends or isolate from family. This includes any commands that I can make a reasonable case where it would lead to isolation. I'm fully done with Dominants who are so insecure about what a friend or whoever may say about them or their methods and how I may be swayed to leave. This ties in pretty strongly with #2. If I want to be there, no one's going to sway me. I'm a stubborn little shit. Can people plant things that can bloom in your brain, though? Absolutely, we're all susceptible to that as human beings. my own brain's paranoia works the same and no manner of isolation is going to stop that. Being able to bring up my concerns without fear of reprisals (related to point 2, again) is crucial to ward off these incidents. If someone in particular is being toxic to my relationship, I will eventually see it myself. I will need to see it myself and choose my own course of action based on circumstance and the person involved. Being forced to cut someone out fo my life with very little input of mine being considered just makes me resentful and makes whatever words that person may have whispered in my ear all that more impactful. That's how these things work.

4. Name-calling. Okay, I know lots of people get off on humiliation and degradation. I really don't, but that's not the type of name-calling I'm referring to here. If I am under someone, a Dominant, I expect them to conduct a conversation in a meaningful way without resorting to calling me abusive, toxic, etc just to manipulate me (outside of scenes, yanno, obviously). If my behavior ever gets bad enough to warrant these labels, there's plenty of better ways to correct that and hold me accountable that are far more effective at modifying behavior. Everyone has moments of shitty behavior but calling someone toxic is calling them a toxic PERSON. I think a good start is calling the BEHAVIOR toxic, at minimal, right? And you should be accurate if you do so otherwise you're setting up a bad foundation for future issues. I absolutely can be a garbage person sometimes, especially when angry or embarrassed. I can't work on that behavior is I'm being degraded daily for it, if there are times where I wasn't even behaving that way lumped in with legit instances, if the Dominant is worse with being that way than even I am, or if forgiveness/ healing/ intimacy is literally yanked away and just dangled like a carrot over me while the goalposts keep moving. These are all situations I've found myself in, unfortunately. I have real issues and I want to work on them. I do a lot of that work all alone, on my own time, because it's my own personal goal to be a better person. I don't respond well to being pistol-whipped with something I did every day for YEARS after the fact, no one does. 

5.Diet. Here's the thing, most Dominants who've ventured into this area with me were, to be frank, morons when it came to even basic nutrition. They've all caused me to calorie restrict which, had they took the time to even ask a single health question, they'd have learned was absolutely not a good thing. It also doesn't work if you have certain thyroid conditions, you will actually start to gain weight. I thought that was basic knowledge and have since learned virtually no one is educated on that. That's fine, but if someone with the condition informs you (with sources, mind you), you need to look at it. I don't have an official degree but if they want to pay for it, I can earn one to back up my actual knowledge. Regardless, I have a mono diet (most days because broke and covid). I have multiple food allergies and intolerances, lucky me. I've found what works for my body, not only with losing weight but having less pain and more energy. I will allow no one to just waltz right in and dictate what I put in my body unless they're saying things I'm already trying to abide by, such as no fast food. I mean, if they wanna bitch about my lack of water, that's cool too. But I eat what I eat at the times I eat after careful research and lots of trial and error. My goals do not include weight loss. I'm fat and it's unhealthy, yes, but it's merely a biometric I measure to make sure I'm not accidentally ingesting something I am having a bad reaction to. One of many biometrics. It's fun to lose weight, no lie, but I will get sidetracked in a very unhealthy way if I focus too much on the scale. If my Dominant is that focused on my scale, it's just really off-putting. Cue the time where the Dominant was 2 times bigger than me, that was cute and no, I don't need all the fat hatred projection dude thanks. I don't hate myself for being fat. I know why it happened, that it wasn't my fault, and that I can do something about it now after years of battling. I'm good with where my weight is at as it slowly comes into health. And yeah, I still don't know wtf a bon-bon is dude but apparently, you do ;)~

6. No negotiation is realistically exhaustive at the start of a dynamic. If you add something new, previously not discussed, then don't pretend I have less or no power to negotiate. If I agreed to relinquish that right before a change, then I did so without properly being informed of the specific new thing, no? You don't get to have agreement A then introduce B with the same impunity. We are both responsible outside of our roles and labels in the lifestyle.

I think that's it so far. It's kinda hard to think when you've got three dogs whining at you for breakfast.

9/29/2020 Erotica

This is an actual scene completed on 9/28/2020 to start to deal with childhood trauma. 

“Go get me the paddle,” he says rather abruptly mid-conversation. My heart sinks immediately. I knew we were tackling a scene that day where I'd be facing a particular trigger, I had no clue he'd be throwing another trigger on top of it. I go and get a paddle regardless and feel my fingers tighten around it as I approach him. I loosen my death grip just in time as he takes the paddle from me. I had expected I might not actually let go of the damn thing. He leads me to the bathroom and I'm tensing up.

“I'm probably going to use 'Yellow' to pause, I don't want to end the scene,” I tell him as we walk into the bathroom, “I need to face this.”

He looks down at me then silently pulls my shirt over my head. He places the paddle on the cold tile floor. I keep my eyes on him and ignore the paddle completely. He can feel my apprehension as he slips behind me and slides his hands down my waist pulling off my pants. “I don't think you'll need the word yellow,” he says.

I suck in my breath. I'm starting to shake and when I try to talk, I can't. I'm screaming inside of my head that he has no idea. I want to tell him, but I just stay still and quiet. I'm half-praying to just face this and not call any colors at all be it yellow, red, fucking purple. I've got two traumas at play here, maybe it counts as more; a bundle? This is starting out exactly like my dream the night before but I decide not to tell him until afterward. I don't want to somehow negatively affect the scene. I briefly think about the notes for the dream on my phone and have a ridiculous thought that he somehow saw. I hate my paranoia and how my brain is another sadist working in complement with him.

My eyes drift down towards the paddle on the floor. Memories of my past start clicking on and off in my mind like some sort of seizure and I quickly look back to the tub drain. He pushes me down by my shoulders until I'm on my knees. He reaches over and turns on the faucet. I stare at the water, but it's not even the scary thing now. I'm trying to make friends with it like it'll save me from memories and drown them out. Jesus, I think, I make no fucking sense. Does he know I'm starting to lose my mind already in the anticipation?

He drops on a knee and turns off the water. Lifting me up, my belly is pressed against the ledge of the tub. “I'm going to start slow. I want you to plug your nose and willingly go under the water for me,” he says, “I will drop the paddle once. It's your cue to lift your head out of the water.”

I look at him in confusion but nod. So, he's just using the paddle for noise, as a signal? Relief washes over me realizing he's not going to beat my ass with it. I grab my nose still looking at him and shut my eyes. I was going crazy for nothing, this is just about the water. I lower my face about halfway to the bottom of the tub when I realize I may not hear the paddle hit the floor. It's okay, I know he'll yank me up if I don't hear it. The water surrounds my face and I'm just focusing on listening for the paddle to drop against the tile. Suddenly, the paddle lands against my bottom and I freeze.

He reaches in and lifts my head out of the water because I couldn't even move. I sputter out the word yellow and some incoherent apology. Then when I catch my breath add, “I'm okay. I'm okay. I can do this, I promise, please continue, I'm sorry.” Swiftly, he dunks my head under the water without warning. I didn't have time to grab my nose so I'm trying to be careful of that. The water, though, is calming like a dream. Anything is better than the paddle right now and I'm praying he doesn't take a second swing. He lands a few harder swats.

I cry out and suck in a huge gulp of bathwater. I yank upwards coughing. Fuck, fuck, I'm thinking as I lower myself back under, holding my nose this time. I'm again calming down in the water, holding back the memories though they keep trying to roll through my mind. It feels like I've been under a bit too long and I'm almost unable to hold my breath any longer. I start to slowly resurface when he cracks my ass again. I yank up coughing up more water.

“Jesus, can you stop the paddle?” I blurt out then my face turns red. I start to lower my face in and then add, “I'm calling Yellow I need a moment or my little is gonna pop out.” He merely reaches over me and dips the paddle into the water and stares at me. I worry he hadn't heard me. “I still need a-” I begin but then he starts to rub my bottom while looking into my eyes. I lose my thoughts so entranced with him. I relax into the water once more, forgetting to hold my nose. I don't even care.

He cracks my bottom with the wet paddle at lightning speed three times then stops. I scream as I emerge from the water. Images of my mother breaking a cutting board across my ass when I was nine years old floods my head. “I'm sorry!!” I start crying and go to dunk myself under but he catches my shoulder.

“What are you sorry for, baby?” He asks. I don't look at him, I stare ahead to the water.

“I don't know, whatever I did,” I mumble and go under. I let my tears float into the tub. He lifts me back out of the water by my hair and holds me there.

“Poor baby,” he says while landing another three swats turning my bottom to the shade of red he likes. I murmur what was meant to be the word yellow but I'm not sure what exactly came out of my mouth. He looks at me. “Did you say something to me?”

“Yellow,” I say again more distinctly. He rubs my bottom again letting go of my hair. My memories are still rolling in my head but the longer he touches me, the more they are soothed away.

“Do you want to crawl into the tub for aftercare?” He asks, “If so, I might have to put a collar on you and attach a leash so you don't drown.” He grins down at me. My mind feels a charge coming off of his words and I shake it off.

“No more paddle? I made it through?” I ask.

“You made it,” he confirms and smiles at me.

“I'd like that, yes, very much,” I say bewildered that the scene is over. I actually survived a paddling.

“It's your first experience with this and I want to slowly climb to your threshold at some point,” He says helping me into the tub. He takes a fistful of my hair. “I'm going to hold you since I didn't bring a collar or a leash into the bathroom.”

“I adore you,” I murmur in a daze, "Yanno, I had a dream just like this last night only ... I didn't make it through."

9-27-2020 Erotica

 The Unholy Masochist

I paced the floor scrambling sentences and fumbling words in my head. I must have briefly contemplated learning a different language several hundred times just so words would sound more glorious. I glanced into the mirror as I passed it for the tenth time in five minutes. My eyes met their reflection. I looked crazy. I was crazy in that moment. I stopped pacing and stared hard, narrowing my eyes trying to ascertain that was indeed me in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself, but not because I looked different; I felt so different that I expected my appearance would have changed somehow. He walked into the room.

He took my dizzy head under his palm and held me gently as I swayed from side to side instantly drunk from his presence. Then, he pushed me under his words until I was on my knees before him. My eyes were closed because I was so woozy I feared I'd become sick with the intoxication. Words shattered inside my mind and I wasn't sure if I still swayed while kneeling. I felt as if I vibrated no matter what I did. His hand was still on top of my head, probably keeping me from falling over in a stupor.

“What do you long to say to me?” He asked quietly. His voice was so soft I wouldn't have heard him had there been any other noise. Maybe there was noise but I filtered it out and just heard him. I can't know. His fingertips dug into my scalp just a bit as if attempting to get my attention though he had it completely already.

“I don't know,” I whispered. Silence hung in the tiny space of air between us. I questioned if he had heard my answer, but then I heard him chuckle under his breath. I was in quite a state, I was aware. How hard I wished to find the right words in that moment I'd have expected them to pop out of my head in a bubble like in the comics. The thought made me chuckle and I opened my eyes. I began to lift my head up to see him but he forced my head to stay in position.

“You can look up when you've answered my question,” he said. Instant tears. I just knew I'd never figure out these words I was so desperate to say. I couldn't even speak to plead my case because my throat went numb with pain. I shifted my eyes down to look at my fingernails digging into the rounds of my knees. How hard was he baring down on my head? I then realized he was pushing me down further and I couldn't sustain my position much longer. “Down you go, girl,” he said.

I felt him step back as my upper body lowered to the floor. His hand disappeared and was replaced with his knee in my upper back. He applied enough weight to make breathing a chore but not to pass me out. I laid there on the cold floor as he gently turned my head away from him, facing the far wall. I felt him run his fingers through my hair petting me, trying to coax these words out from my mind.

“How long can you cut yourself off from me like this?” He asked.

“I'm not trying to,” I whispered, “I don't have the words I need. You said I'd find them in time.” I hoped that reminder would encourage him to allow me reprieve from his demand. I heard the most vulgar laugh in response.

“Time's up,” he said increasing the pressure on my back and grinding his knee a bit.

If I could have moved, he'd have felt me tremble underneath him. Perhaps he did as my muscles involuntarily cascaded in spasm; invisible to the eye but likely felt radiating up into his body from mine. I knew nothing could be hidden from him. I stammered out some gibberish in response that he didn't bother to acknowledge.

“You're either an unholy masochist here or you really don't know what you want to say,” he muttered after a few minutes, “How is it that I know what you want to say but you've no clue?” He lifted his knee up from my back and grabbed me by the hair to yank me off of the floor.

He let go of my bunched up hair and just stared at me. Disheveled, I merely fidgeted in front of him attempting to 'feel right' thinking if my clothing and hair were in their places, somehow things would click and I'd be able to speak again. I looked at him questioning what he said. If he knew what I wanted to say, why didn't he just tell me? Did he understand how not knowing what I felt so compelled to say was driving me insane?

“Help?” I asked meekly. Afraid to say any more lest my voice falter and crack, I fell silent before him. He sighed and reached out to brush a tuft of hair away from my right eye. His finger traced down against my cheek to my chin which he gripped between his finger and thumb. He physically shook my head from left to right. He grinned at me- that was his answer, telling me 'no' with my own movements. I scowled for a second as he walked away from me.

“Perhaps you need more time indeed,” he called back at me and laughed. He was going to let me sit in my craziness a bit longer. I wondered if he knew what he had done that he had further confused my mind and I'd struggle even more with finding these words now. I smiled just then. Oh, he knew. He knew.

9-27-2020 Journal

 I can understand a vanilla person thinking the rules of my Dynamic are oppressive, but fellow kinksters? What the hell? The pathetic thing is I really only have two so far. I need permission to play with others which is honestly rather standard for the lifestyle and I have a bedtime. Bedtime seems to be the one everyone takes issue with, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. It seems it's because I'm adult and they interpret having a bedtime as being treated like a child. So? What if I'm into that, yanno, being a little as well and all. It's kind of amusing.

What I can't tell them is I'd let my Sadist choose everything if he wanted. He doesn't, I don't think, because goodness that's time-consuming and exhausting. But the opportunity is there for him in just about any area he'd desire. What is wrong with that? They don't want me to be treated like a child but at the same time are treating me as if I have no agency to be consenting to these rules, whatever they may be. The ironic thing is my Sadist isn't power/control hungry as past Dominants have been in my life. Like, he's actually reasonable and he's probably aware he doesn't HAVE to be reasonable with me. 

I also can't tell them I'd follow this man off a fucking cliff because how insane does that sound, right? It's because I know if I leap I will find him there catching me. The cliff is an illusion, a metaphor, a symbol- my Sadist isn't crazy for fuck's sake ;) There are just so many things I wish I could share with my friends but I know they'd never understand how in his web, trapped, I finally feel free.

9-26-2020 Journal

 Home

She kept the place dark. All of her life she thought she did that to avoid being seen. Maybe she had, but now, she kept it dark because he came alive in the shadows. He ate her secrets alive without making a sound, but when he spoke- god, when he spoke- it was the sound of her walls falling down with tremendous thunder. There was harmony in the sound of this chaos that she learned to cling to; tightly wrapping her arms around each memory he created with her.

He'd flick each switch on, illuminating and exposing her, then turn them off one by one to calm her mind afterward. A back and forth slow whiplash of emotion, pain, and peace all tied together with a string of his words. She couldn't comprehend her reactions. She couldn't comprehend belonging anywhere, even in her own home. Yet, he made a place for her to be because he saw her in the darkness, yearning for him.

And she'd follow him to the edge of the shadow only to realize she'd follow into the light as well.

9-25-2020 Erotica

Bloody Hands 

"Good morning," he says casually. I'm in shock that he's in my room and I'm half awake staring up at him bleary-eyed. The clock reads 5:00 am.

He grabs my jaw, curling his fingers behind my teeth, and tugs me out of bed. Reluctantly and still stunned, I have no choice but to follow as he pulls me through my room, downstairs, and into the bathroom. He says nothing until he opens the bathroom door and points at the toilet.

"Sit," he commands and I do so. He lets go of my jaw and teeth. I am still fully clothed in my fall pajamas, now, sitting on the toilet looking up at him in confusion. My tongue instinctively flicks over the back of my teeth where he had been. I taste copper. That's when I finally notice he has blood all over his hands.

Without a word, he begins washing the blood off in my sink as he hums. He doesn't look at me but I see him glance up into the mirror. He moves his head side to side, probably checking for any visible blood splatter as his eyes are keenly looking himself over. Then, he looks over his shoulder down at me.

"How did you sleep?" He asks casually. Too casually. My mind is reeling. How did he get into my house. How did he even know where I lived. Why the fuck did he have blood on his hands. So many questions circling my brain, and yet, I am stuck on the fact he asked me a question. I'm so thrown off by trying to answer when my mind is screaming its own questions at me.

"Um, okay I guess," I stammer out and he nods his head in response. Silence takes over for a moment. I'm trying to sort through all the questions to figure out what's vital to ask first and decide it's the bloody hands. "Why was there blood all over your hands?"

"Good question," he states flatly, "Do you ask because you're concerned I am injured or for other reasons?" He turns completely and smirks at me.

"I'm uh not even sure right now." I answer honestly then think to find a reason, "Both?"

He quietly shows me his one hand and I see a gash that has started to bleed again. He shows the other. It is also beginning to bleed. He takes my face in his hands and holds me tightly. Smearing his fresh blood on both of my cheeks, he pulls me up by my face off from the toilet.

"Look," he says and pushes me almost into the mirror. I step back a bit to focus on my reflection. His blood looks like a bad makeup job and I blush under the crimson all over my cheeks. I'm not even sure why I feel embarrassed. Actually, I'm starting to feel ashamed. Deeply ashamed, I hang my head. "What's wrong, girl?" He prods.

I can't answer because I don't know. I stare helplessly into the mirror, afraid to turn away or close my eyes yet not even seeing my reflection anymore. I'm looking right past my own face until it's invisible to me. He turns me around after a few minutes of silence. Now I shut my eyes. I can't look into his. I still don't even know why or what's going on right now. He reaches down and painfully physically opens my eyelids.

"Do my hands not mold you? Does my sacrifice not make you worthy?" He continues to prod. He points at the toilet and I sit down again. He softens his gaze but keeps staring at me waiting for an answer.

And I think. And think. I'm fully awake but my brain still can't wrap around his questions ... or my unasked questions. I realize I still haven't been taking care of myself quite the way I should. Was he telling me that I'm wasting his time with my lack of effort? Is that why I feel ashamed? He's telling me that my self-hatred is getting in the way of his work.

I look up at him and he can see it's dawned on me. He crouches down to look straight into my eyes. He takes a finger and moves a bit of his blood from my cheek to my bottom lip and kisses me; soft and quick. Then abruptly bites my lower lip hard.

"This is your only friendly reminder, girl," he whispers.