In Which lil Eats Her Words...

Yesterday, I woke up at 2:30 A.M to the sound of music booming across the neighborhood. Amazingly, my husband was able to not hear it until I said something about it...He tried to blame me. And he practically slept in until 4:00! Naturally, quiet descended at 5:00, after we had already consumed that first glorious cup of coffee. So of course he made me go back to bed for morning sex and a nap.
I know, terrible, right?
This morning I woke up to snow. Not sure which is worse.

Anyways...You were wondering which of any vast number of words I was planning on choking on?
Patience dear friends, patience.

First, I would just like to say:
Hallelujah,
praise be to the heavens,
thank you all of the Gods above and below,
sweet deities long since forgotten,
and the powers that be,                  
soccer season is overrrrrrrrrr!

I simply cannot overstate that fact.

Now where was I? Oh, choking on my words. Lots of them in fact--it's one of the drawbacks of a tendency towards excessive verbosity.

A couple of months ago, I wrote a post about D/s without punishment.
My darling husband had the gall to suggest that I print a retraction. After careful research into the archives, and no small amount of consideration, I respectfully declined (okay, my refusal might have been slightly less dignified than my wording implies).

The post was fairly well received.
I meant every single word that I wrote.
He said everything that I said he said (seriously, I checked--it's in print).

Suddenly, he insisted on the return of the book, and began beating my ass punishing me for infractions.
Wtf?
I just went and made public statements to the contrary you know!

How could we possibly be happily existing on such very different pages? I mean, this is important stuff, right??

"You mean you've been punishing me under a different label therefor insuring that, not only am I getting punished, I am completely missing out on the sense of absolution that really should come with it??!"

Apparently, D/s works with or without punishment.
But switching back and forth should really be against the rules. I mean, what happened to the notification process?? In retrospect, it probably went the way of the complaints department...     

And here I thought he was just picking on me for fun.

Now I know for sure that he's doing it wrong...

No Winning...

Him:
"And exactly what are you going to do about it?"

Me:
"Umm...Uh...File a complaint. With the complaints department!"

"Lol. The complaints department is downstairs."

 He said, while shoving my head towards his cock.

Sigh.

I'm sure that there's something wrong here. I just can't seem to put my finger directly on it...

Keywords Again...

"Why won't my dominant man dominate me?"
Uh...

"Are slow learners mostly submissive?" 
Oh come on, that's rude. And erroneous. And dare I say, somewhat slow and small minded...

"My husband wants me to be a slutty slut."
Because non-slutty sluts are really just no fun at all...

"How to control my wife without her knowing it." 
I actually find this one to be quite disturbing. I hope she leaves you.

"My husband called me a lesbian and..." 
Not to be too dramatic or anything, but I'm absolutely dying to know what the rest of that sentence was. What do you think?

"Do women like to be called whores?" 
Alright, I'm going to perform a small public service and say that you should probably proceed with extreme caution...

"Submissive that won't submit."
Yea...We've all been there. Safe to assume you didn't find any answers here...?

"Inside every man is a slut." 
Finally, I knew it!

"How to be the perfect submissive girlfriend."
Oh geez, I wish I knew...

"Excessive complaining."
Oh, for fuck's sake!! I would like to file a complaint...

Dominant's Playground

It's an amazing feeling--to be a Dominant's playground.
It's thrilling
and inspiring
and overwhelming
and hot.
It's the stuff fantasies are made of.

Except for when it's not.

Playgrounds get used. Hard.
They don't choose by whom, or when, or why, or how much.
They are not always played with as they were designed to be, and they will see much pain and joy over the course of their existence.

It's easy to crave
it's easy to say
my body and my mind are your playground.

Until he starts to play.

Sometimes it's glorious, breathtaking, and mind-blowing. Everything flows and all feels as it was meant to be. The play is wanted and within it there are new and amazing heights as yet unreached.
It is easy because I desire it.

Yet it is not those moments that define me as his playground. It's the moments in which I am unwilling, those times that I want to close the gates, hang up the swings, and bar the gates.

But there is no closing time.
This is always,
in all ways,
when and how he says.
Because in our agreement, he doesn't just get the playground--the whole park belongs to him.

Maybe he likes his playground a bit more like a garden. Perhaps he tears out an awesome slide, and plants a rose bush. You miss that slide, it was fun, and it was part of you.Then he waters that rose.
Over and over again.
Until one day, it is beautiful
the scent is like heaven,
and the blossoms are like nothing else you have ever seen
it makes you smile
and it makes you bleed
it causes you pain
and it brings you peace.
It becomes an intrinsic part of his playground.

Then he continues to make changes. After all, the playground that is you belongs to him now.
Maybe he likes mind games and you hate them, but one day you find yourself to be a piece on the board of his playground...Because now, the only games you play, are the ones that he enjoys.

Image source unknown

Just Be...

I really haven't been feeling like myself lately.
We've both seen crazy, and it ain't pretty, so feeling like I'm popping out of my own brain isn't a reassuring feeling. Because that's what hormones do when they're out to get you--they try to ruin your life.

I want it so bad. I need it. That feeling of his ownership. To be pleasing...
But I have been falling apart left and right lately.

Standing in the kitchen, I leaned my head against his chest, feeling almost human. Stroking my cheek, he leaned down and whispered, "It's like flying dreams--you can't force it. You have to quit trying so hard and just let it happen. Let go. Just be."

That's a hard one for me. Always has been. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I feel the way that I do about BDSM--it helps me to enjoy the moment for what it is, not what it was, or what it might be...

Just be.
Here.
Now.
Such a simple concept, yet so incredibly difficult to practice...

Unused Inspirations

I have some more saved inspirations, courtesy of st. So here goes.

What do you call Alpha around the house? His given name, a nick name, a pet name. You don't have to be specific or personal.....
 Usually, I just call him babe. Though, sadistic bastard is a term that often makes appearances...

What does he call you?
Depends on his mood. Occasionally, he calls me by my name (it's never nice). For the most part he calls me babydoll, though little one and little bits do make appearances (yes, "bits" does mean bitch. Something to do with a dog we used to have...).

How did your garden do this year? And those green tomatoes - did they ripen up?
The garden had a rough life this year. We still have boxes of green tomatoes. I don't want to talk about it.

What's the first thing you do when you wake up? The last thing you do before you go to bed? 
You mean to imply that there are women in the world who do not have to make their first and last daily stop the bathroom?!

Do you have a bedtime?
I wish! I begged for one, but it was a no go...

Do you wake up with an alarm?
This is going to sound ridiculous, but I set the oven timer when we need to wake up at a certain time. Though I suppose that I will have to find a new method when we get the other stove...

What is your favorite blend of coffee? Creamer?
Hands down Kona. Seriously, in my world there is no better. Though it's mostly a treat item. And regular milk.

If you could go anywhere on vacation, where would it be?
At this moment, I'm inclined to say anywhere without children.

I still have a few saved up for inspiration emergencies lol. So, thanks for the questions.

Planning and Zoning

Apparently, there are planning and zoning laws applied to my body.

Who knew?

And apparently, taking notes in pen on one's wrist is a serious violation of said laws.
First time in forever that I write anything on my skin, and he catches it immediately.

Picky picky man.