“Are you crying?” He asks. We’re on the phone, so He only has the sound of my voice to go on.

“No,” I swallow. Obviously not very good at hiding.

Sometimes my feelings can turn in an instant. It scares me actually. Probably scares Him, too…or at the very least catches Him off guard.

I feel like I’m in an emotional fun house where everywhere I turn there is some distortion or illusion to play tricks on my mind. I’m trying to keep my bearings and distinguish between what is in the present and what is the past intruding on the present. But sometimes I really can’t tell the difference.

I feel like I’m doing the right things: going to therapy, taking my medication, journaling, etc. Nothing, though, seems to be the right tool to extract this pain.

Master has known at a high level what has been going on – or an inkling I should say. Old habits of minimizing a pain I’ve lived with for as long as I can remember kick in. I share a little, but I haven’t shared more (until recently) for several reasons.

One is that I’m embarrassed. That might seem like an odd reason – to be embarrassed by my pain. There are many nuances that contribute to that embarrassment, but they all add up to embarrassment.

Another reason is that I’m angry. I feel like if I let it out that I will go psycho bitch on everyone around me. Years and years of anger are built up behind an arrow, and I’m afraid of letting go of the bow and forcing that pain on others.

The last reason is that I just feel hopeless. I’ve let this pain out before only to have nothing really change. What’s the use? It’s better just to keep it inside and try to figure out how to cope.

He inadvertently steps on these landmines. Present day events taking the energetic shape and form of my past. Here I am in the fun house. I can see the pattern. I’m aware enough to know what from my past is coming up. But that’s as far as I can separate the two. The feelings come up, the panic sets in and I want to run, hide, escape…anything to not be in pain.

I feel him pull back. He’s probably trying to give me the space to deal. I’m pulling away, but I want him near so when he pulls back the panic gets worse. I want him to take control of the situation, to pull me out of my corner and just not let me push him away. Don’t let me get away with it. Don’t let my petulance rule. Don’t let my distorted view win. Tell me what is real and what is not. Help me understand the difference.  In the absence of this, I’m left trying to interpret what is going on in your head and the situation that brought us here. In the vacuum of silence, I conclude that it is me who is broken and that however I reacted drove you away. I watch you move on, creating a life that doesn’t include me. I’m never out of the picture but always in the background. The pain hardens into beliefs that I’m not worthy, that I’m not lovable, that I’m not good enough. Throughout the years, I beg to find evidence to the contrary. My vision is blurred, however, and I see everything through the lens of this pain.

I spiral downward and land in the next, present moment. I have moments of lucidity. It’s in those moments that I decide to clam up. It’s not fair that He has to deal with all of this. I try to focus on us and the light He brings into my life. I try to use it as a beacon, something to get my bearings and stay focused in the right direction. The fog rolls in, though, and everything gets blurry again.

I write a weekly update to Master summarizing my progress on certain, ongoing assignments. It is also a place where I can let him know how I am doing (good or not so good).

After I had trouble cumming at all on my own after cumming on command, I had an assignment to masturbate every day for one week. Orgasms weren’t required, just to enjoy the experience. This is an excerpt from an update on that assignment…

~~~~~~~~~~

Like I said on the phone, my masturbation Wednesday and Thursday didn’t yield any orgasms. My masturbation sessions were short the past two days. On Wednesday, I did pull out the vibrator. I got aroused immediately (very wet). I felt myself come up to the edge very quickly and then fizzled again. I know orgasm is not the goal of this assignment, but it is very frustrating to be so aroused so quickly and then have the climax be so anti-climatic. Thursday night, I really wasn’t in the mood to masturbate. I played with my nipples for about 5 minutes before falling asleep. It will probably be something similar tonight.

I’ve been journaling this week, but – kind of like masturbating and not climaxing – it doesn’t seem to bring me the relief I’d like. I kind of feel lifeless – neither upset or excited…just apathy. It’s actually hard to pinpoint any one feeling, which is frustrating unto itself. The best words I can come up with are stunned and disoriented. I honestly feel lost, and I’m not quite sure how to deal with this….

Sometimes I fantasize about being a brat. I want to stomp and scream and say, “no!” as loud as I can.

I also fantasize about Master taking me forcefully when I’m acting like this (pulling me by my hair, grabbing my neck or otherwise giving me some physical jolt to complement His powerful presence). He hears my no but does not take it for an answer.

I don’t imagine acting this way all the time. It’s more that I want the experience of it. I want to feel His No overpowering my own.

I often swallow saying the word no…and not just with Master. I have a hard time saying it in all areas of my life. Psychological explanations abound but this reluctance to say no often seems mixed up and at odds with my instinct to serve.

I know Master doesn’t like the word no. It’s not that I’ve never said it to Him, but I’ve come to believe it is an off-limit word, and I just don’t let myself go there.

If I feel a “no” welling up (not necessarily the word…but the general feeling), I first clam up and – if the energy is strong enough – I might start crying (although I try harder than usual to hold it in).

So, instead of saying no, I pull inside and brood while complying on the outside.

When a no just can’t be held in and it bursts out, it always seems to be more powerful than I intended. I find myself apologizing for coming off so strong and crawl back inside.

I fantasize about letting go of worry and to stop trying to manage these feelings from the inside anymore. But as much as I want to have the freedom to let go, I also want to feel His presence over me telling me to “Stop it!” or just plain “No.”

Last week, Master brought over the movie “American Pimp” for us to watch together. It stirred many feelings in me that I had a hard time articulating while Master was here. I wrote to him later saying I was struggling and asking myself, “Do I want to be an object or not?” Master replied and asked if I’d decided one way or another. My reply to him is below.

Did I resolve what seems to have been a lifelong struggle for me?

Why is this a lifelong struggle? This conundrum seems to be born directly out of being molested.

In the mind of an 8 year old girl…I was having fun being led down a path…following him in exploration. The day I stood up and said, “No” to going with him one time, he went away (which I didn’t intend). I came up against something I said no to, and what I thought was special went away.

I honestly don’t know how my uncle viewed me, but over the years the belief ingrained in my head was “I was just an object to him. I thought I was special, but I was just an object.”

My body and my mind are at odds when it comes to this. I’d say my body craves being an object, and my mind has a reflexive safety mechanism warning of danger.

I keep thinking if I could just pick one, then the struggle will end. But it is like a ball of knotted up yarn…every time I pull a string to try to unravel it, the knot just gets tighter.

So parts of the movie took me back to those old feelings, and my “what the hell are you doing?” thoughts got kind of loud inside me.

I’ve lived my life trying to just keep these two parts in some sort of equilibrium. The one way I’ve known how to do that is to not explore any one side too far….to stuff feelings and keep desires safe in my fantasies.

I want nothing more than to be your cherished object…your prized possession. I just want to figure out how to uninstall the old alarm system.

I am collared, but right now I am not wearing His collar.

As he was leaving Wednesday night, he removed it from my neck and walked out the door.

My heart immediately sank and tears welled up in my eyes. “This scares me,” I said as he put it in His pocket. All I could think about was the conversation we had after the act for which I’m being punished. I expressed my anger and fears to Him, and he said, “You only need to worry if I rip the collar off your neck myself.” And here…it was happening (maybe not ripping but…).

About a month ago, I got mad during one of Master’s visit. He didn’t know it because my tendency is to just withdraw and get stoic when I’m mad. I didn’t express it while he was here. After he left, though, I started to let it out. I was so mad that I took advantage of the fact that the collar is broken and not locked at the moment, and I ripped it off my neck.

I thought of going into detail here on the blog about what happened and why it happened (my reasons). I’m very good at recounting and reliving the stories (over and over again). I know why it happened is not an excuse for what happened, and telling the story is dwelling on the details instead of facing the issue at hand.

Rather than trusting Master with my feelings and being transparent about how I was doing and what I was thinking, I withdrew. I didn’t want him to see this “ugly” side of me, and I took control. I chose to rely on ingrained, habitual ways of dealing with what feels like overwhelming emotion (and pain) rather than being in the moment and trusting that both of us could handle it.

It took me two days to even tell him I was mad (and during this time, I left the collar off). When I ripped it off my neck, I did so knowing the feeling was temporary and not some statement of not wanting to be His collared submissive. I wanted to feel better in that moment. A lot of my old habits are about that…feeling better in the moment without regard for longer term consequences.

When I finally did share that I was mad, I knew I couldn’t hide what I had done with the collar. Technically, I could have gotten away with not sharing it with Him, but I would have known. I felt very guilty for treating something I treasure so cavalierly.

For the past two days, I’ve found myself reaching for the clasp of my collar. I didn’t realize what a habit it has become to reach for and rub it in my everyday activities. I like rubbing the clasp as a reminder that I’m His.

The first morning without it, I looked in the mirror before I left for my meeting. I felt naked without it. I wondered if the people I was meeting with would notice it was gone. I was so worried six months ago when I was being collared about people noticing it and thinking it was an odd necklace. Now I wondered if they’d notice my unusal necklace was gone…and kind of wishing they did notice…like noticing someone is out of sorts and asking them if something is wrong.

I rub my bare neck and realize how sobering not wearing His collar is. At some level, I’ll always be His (collared or not) but I don’t want to just be His. I want to fully blossom and be the slave I am meant to be. I want to serve Him in all the ways I know are possible.

…and I can’t do that when I hide.

I’m a big fan of LOST. One of the many, many things I enjoy about it is the theme of free will.

This final season has so many good episodes, but my favorite so far I’d have to say is “Ab Aeterno.” I’ve watched it several times already, and I always dwell on this scene.

Jacob: “When [the people I bring] get [to the island], their past doesn’t matter. … [They died here, and I didn't help them] because I wanted them to help themselves. To know the difference between right and wrong without me having to tell them. It’s all meaningless if I have to force them to do anything. Why should I have to step in?”

I read a few slave blogs. At first, I drank them up and saw them as kind of a manual for how slavery is. I read entries about Masters who overpower their slaves when they exert their will. I started wanting that. I thought maybe that was the key to pushing my will aside and becoming Master’s slave. The day before Master collared me, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world. I pleaded with him to break my will. I figured the only way I would give it up it is to have it taken from me.

He took my request to break my will seriously, but he won’t break it the way I think I want it broken.

From Day One, he has always told me I have a choice. There are times I’ve thought I understood this over the years, but I don’t always remember it. It’s a little too easy to think that just because he’s my Master that that single choice to submit to Him is the only choice I have to make.

As much as I value my submissiveness, I also value my independence. As I shared in this blog post, it’s what driven me to become a very successful businesswoman, to be a risk taker and to be persistent on this journey to discover and be who I am.

I wouldn’t thrive in a relationship where my will was taken by consensual force. It might look like I was submitting, but I’d really just be complying.

He could have been the one sitting on the beach speaking the words that Jacob spoke…and he’s expressed that to me in one way or the other over the years. I always think I get it, and I do understand it…but surrendering seems harder to do.

I feel like I’m on the verge of one of the most important choices of my life. At the very least, I’m at a huge fork in the road. The choice is very clear, and I know what I want. It’s not even a question of which choice I want to make. The final step is to make it. Yet, I hesitate and wish in all sorts of insidious ways that He’d make it for me.

In a recent post, I wrote how I’m still struggling to sort out my instinct to serve and submit from my habit to please at the expense of myself.

The word “compliance” popped into my head a few days after I wrote that post, and the light bulbs started to go on.

As a child, compliance could have been my middle name…at least that is how it looked on the outside. On the inside I was the rebellious child. I might look like I was conforming but really I was just trying to get whomever (usually parents) off my back. I didn’t really act out my rebellion in many overt ways, but I created a distance (and to some extent isolation) so that I felt the freedom I wanted to feel.

I got rewarded for my compliance, and I enjoyed the praise. I felt like I’d figured out the magic formula: I could comply and be the good girl and get their positive attention while not really giving in and doing my own thing, even if it was only in my mind.

There was a flaw in my magic formula, though. While I’d figured out how to please them and still not give in, I also felt invisible. I often felt like my parents didn’t get me or understood my point of view. Sometimes I’d get quite angry or sad and stew about how they didn’t understand me (which I’m sure you can only imagine how that was exacerbated by regular teenage angst as I grew). Instead of expressing myself, though, I kept quiet. I’d comply and retreat further in my world.

Without them knowing, I’d do my own thing. I figured what they didn’t know didn’t hurt them, and I could easily show compliance if I needed to. For many years, I thought I’d pulled the wool over their eyes. My mother has told me now as an adult that she knew I’d say one thing to her and do another. I was never really a bad kid, so for her it was a matter of picking her battles. Could she force me to do something if I was being so willful?

I felt such relief when Master first uttered the word submissive to me. For a woman who fights between wanting to be seen and feeling invisible, I felt both seen and heard in a way I’d never felt before. It’s been easy to associate all my past people-pleasing behavior to my submissiveness, but – for the first time – I’m starting to distinguish between how I comply vs. how I submit.

My nipples are still tender from Master’s visit yesterday.

Every twinge makes my pussy wet.

I play and pull and slap and tug on my own nipples. I’ve now even started masturbating with clothespins on my nipples. Each of these activities produces a certain level of pain that gets me off. Yet, nothing compares to the pain Master inflicts on me.

I’m thinking about that scene in the movie Secretary where she is trying to use a hairbrush to spank her own ass. I’ve always identified with this scene, although my feelings toward it right now are different than when I first saw it.

That scene describes – without words – the craving for something that feeds your soul. When I first saw it, I felt her desire to recapture the feeling she had tasted and seemingly lost. In the context of the scene, she was trying to recreate something that seemed elusive.

Given where I’m at in my relationship with Master, I’m not worried that the feeling or the fulfillment of that need is so elusive anymore. Now I view this scene with the eye that there is only so far I can go to inflict pain on myself. Even when I’m trying to inflict pain on myself, there is a part of me afraid of it. Can I really stand it? Will it be too much?

I’ve spent so much of my life avoiding pain. When I’ve felt intense pain, I’ve numbed it….anything I could do to manage it and keep it at bay.

I now seem to be at a tipping point. I’m afraid of it, but I want it. I’m craving it. I’m craving pain.

I have a punishment coming. I’m not proud of what I did to deserve the punishment. I don’t imagine or pretend it will be enjoyable, but there is a part of me that is craving it. I want to feel the pain. I want to feel His power over me and through me. I want my resistance broken down with every stroke. I want to open myself up to Him and let Him in in ways I haven’t allowed before.

I want to feel the pain.

Before Master locked His collar on me, I had it in my possession. Over the course of a couple of weeks, I progressed from wearing it around the house, to wearing it for a few hours out during the day to wearing it full time (unlocked). I had to report on my experiences. This was my last report. He collared me the next night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During a bodywork session today, the therapist noticed my collar. He looked up close and touched it. I smiled. And that was it. He didn’t ask about it, and he didn’t say anything.

I have to admit that made me mad. Not at him. I was mad I was going to have to report to you that “nothing happened.” It proves the points you’ve been making that I’m more worried about what people will think than what they will actually think. And even though I agree with your points, something in me wants to prove my points – to justify my fears and all the feelings that go along with them.

I can feel anger welling up inside me…and I’m trying very hard not to direct it at you. I felt it on Saturday when I shared my fears about my family. I was mad at your curt (although very Domly) responses.

When I read your “OK” response, I was seething. Did you just not want to deal with me and these feelings? Were you dismissing them? I know you don’t do that, but that wasn’t stopping these irrational thoughts from picking up speed.

I was wearing the collar. I’d worn it at home all day. And I ripped it off when I read your “OK” response. It was almost midnight. I knew my assignment to wear it non-stop would start on Sunday. But in that moment I wanted control. I wanted you to respond a certain way. I wanted to be right. I wanted things my way.

I left the collar off for about an hour. I put it on when I went to bed. I was fighting with myself – both wanting to be angry and to let it go. But I’d already decided I was going to carry out my assignment as directed and – by God – I was going to wear the collar no matter what! I was NOT going to push a panic button on my first day of wearing the collar full-time.

After getting through Sunday and writing my report, I did feel better. My anger seemed to subside, and I was hoping it was momentary. Then when you wrote back that the report was humorous (and serious), I thought, “I wasn’t trying to be funny!” I felt the anger swell again. And it swelled more with each e-mail message you sent last night.

I sat here last night and wanted to rip this collar off. I didn’t want to give you a single ounce of control at that point!

I didn’t rip it off, but my will was not letting up. I was going to keep control by not giving you the satisfaction of taking it off! (and now I’m laughing at myself while I write this…)

In the shower on Tuesday morning as I’m washing around my collar, I admit I’m panicking. I’m not taking off the collar but I’m panicking. I wonder if I’ll ever be ready for you to lock it. I’m wearing it right now with the instructions to not take it off, but the truth is I still have the power to take it off. I can make the decision to take control back. Even though I might suffer some consequences, I still have the choice. I still have my own will.

I’ve tried not to fantasize too much you locking the collar on me but – in a word – I’ve imagined it to be “sweet.” You’d lock the collar with some nice fanfare, and I’d happily submit to this next step of our journey together.

With the water running over me, I noticed I was just standing there staring at the shower floor. I’d been in a trance. I was fantasizing about you taking me by the hair, pushing me to my knees, exposing my neck to you and with your strong hands grabbing my throat and locking your control around my neck. I imagined that I was crying and telling you I wasn’t ready yet…that I needed more time to get used to the idea. Without words, you did not indulge my fears. You just took me forcefully and locked the collar.

I indulged this fantasy while driving home Tuesday night. After locking the collar I collapse and just bawl. You let me cry but you don’t leave me alone. You spread my legs and start fucking me. You comment on how wet I am for someone who said she wasn’t ready to be collared. You fuck me; you bite me; you spank me. In between sobs I’m saying no, but I cum over and over again and my resistance wears down. You fuck my mouth; you fuck my ass. You cum inside me and on me. You mark me as your own.

When you’re done, you let me lay in your arms. I’m not crying…I’m not fighting. I know my will is no longer my own. I’m Yours.

…

There is that part of me that wants to hold on to every bit of freedom I have and is not going to let it go easily – if at all if you leave it up to me to let it go.

I want to be taken. I want to be claimed. I want to feel your power over me. You don’t want to rule by force (and I don’t want to be ruled by force), but I want to feel your power over every cell in my body and know my will is Your Will.

I got my haircut last week. I’ve been not-quite-completely-happy with the style for a while now. The past three times I’ve gone to get it cut, I’ve consulted  Master on his thoughts about my hair. He’s given his opinion, but he’s more fine with the style than I have been. I think I’ve also been driving him a little bit crazy with the details of how to change it. Ultimately, I know what he wants: shoulder length for easy grabbing, no bangs and overall flattering.

It’s fun for me to send him a pic after my haircuts. I find it playful…everything from me doing many takes trying to get a good self-portrait of myself with the cell phone to getting his response.

When I sent a picture this time, it was – of course – only of my face. We had, however, discussed the length of the back of my hair. When he replied, he said, “Hmmm….I want to see the back now ” Master will be directive – even commanding – when he wants to be, but his style of dominance is more along the lines of stating his preferences or desires and me being aware enough to act to fulfill his desires. So, even though he didn’t say, “Take a picture of the back,” I knew this is what I must do.

I have to admit, though, my instinctive, first response was, “He’ll have to come to my house to see it” – not in defiance but more because taking a picture of my face with the cell phone is hard enough let alone one of the back of my head! But, I also knew that is not what he was saying. He knew he could come by. He even knew it would be difficult for me take a picture of the back of my head. Yet for all those complications, his desire was simple and clear.

So, into the bathroom I go where I used a hand mirror and the sink mirror to take a picture of the back of my head. It was indeed awkward to hold the mirror just right and then hold the cell phone to take a picture of the hand mirror…but it worked! I sent the picture off to Master. I admitted my first reaction to him, but said I knew he wouldn’t appreciate a smart mouth saying, “you’ll need to come over and see it” and so I just figured out a way to take the picture.

He called me shortly after receiving the pic and said my reaction was exactly like he’d expected…that I’d balk at first but then just do it. We laughed, and he said I’d done well.

I felt happy that I’d pleased him, but I also reflect on my reaction and realize there is a part of me that still “fights.” This interaction about my hair was lighthearted but that “fight” also appears in our more serious discussions.

It’s hard for me to imagine outright defying him but there are these moments of resistance – and depending on the subject or aspect of my life – the resistance is deeper than I admit to myself. It seems so ironic since my desire is to be owned and to be owned by Him runs so deep…but ultimately I guess resistance is just human nature shining through. The emphasis on our individuality is so rooted in our culture and even in our primal instincts. As if that’s not hard enough to overcome, though, we also have warped senses of individuality. Our identities get so wrapped up in the way we see ourselves and are complicated by the beliefs we adopt based on past experiences. As much as I may know those warped views of myself are not me and I say I want to let those mis-beliefs go, there is that part of me that holds on because it is the only identity I have really ever known.

Every time I serve my Master – no matter how big or small the task – I feel that old identity breaking down and my true essence shining through. I’ve chipped away – even blasted through – many walls of resistance and mis-beliefs about myself in my quest to be who I AM. Yet as I get closer and closer to the core, the fight and the panic seems to get bigger and more overhwhelming. I hold onto the old even though the only comfort it brings me is familiarity. I fear my deepest desire because I only have glimpses of how I will be. Sometimes when it seems so overwhelming, I question the path…and sometimes I even question Master (even if I do so politely).

In the stillness and the quiet, I take a step back from the panic and realize that I will never reach my heart’s desire if I try to fight every time I meet my own resistance. I will just be forever slaying demons that way. Instead, I know what I want…and I know what He wants…and I surrender.