The Beauty Of Destruction

There are times when Master and I don’t know where to stop. Perhaps he knows still better than I do. In our BDSM-relationship, there exist points of safe return. Sometimes we cross them. I don’t know why exactly. For me, the boundaries can always be stretched. I know that if I have a run, I would accept anything, even the dirtiest, most degrading tortures and degredations. Afterwards, I often feel ashamed and dirty, but during the games, I like it. Even more, I crave it. By the way, of course I do know that calling what we do a game is a sort of avoiding. I pretend that all I let do to myself is done in good fun. That’s dangerous, and if I did not have such a responsible Dom, I guess it already might have come to a bad end for me. Sometimes my self-disgust is that serious that I’d let myself torture and kill. I have already written about my insane dream of making the final gift of love to John: my life. I would. But I hopefully will never come to that point!

Yesterday I went to see W. We had planned to make a ritual for one of his Loas and Lord Shiva by long distance, concerning the more destructive aspects of them. To be honest, that’s Lord Shivas aspect I fear most. I have barely touched it yet. I fear that if I deal with it too often or too intense, it might overwhelm me and lead to a more self-destructive way of living. So, I had an unpleasant feeling when we started, even with W at my side. We had talked about the option to stop the ritual in case of emergency, but to be honest, by all I know about Lord Shiva so far, there is no escape from what he wants to put you through. I really see him like a sort of Dom. He’s loving, but he has this (very attractive) dominant, sadistic side, and if you let him, he puts you through hell, just to lift you up again and leave you happy like never before and quite irritated about your mental health LOL

To honour the destructive side, we had prepared meat as a sacrifice. In my everday life, I see meat as something Master obviously savours, and I’m ok with preparing it for him. But having raw meat in front of me for over two hours and honoring it as a symbol of destruction…uhm, that’s a horse of another colour.

We made a shamanic journey to the deities we worked with to get to know more about their and our own destructive side. No surprise, Lord Shiva showed up clad in a suit, smoking a cigar. Ugh. Can you be sexually attracted by a God? I honestly feel this thought is a sacrilege and try to see it as an expression of my hypersexual thinking, but yes, he was hot. And a kind of demonic, I guess. I don’t want to share what he told and showed me, but it seems I found out more about my destructive side than about his. He provided me with a task: practicing coming back from self-destructive thinking and acting in games, like following a trace back into a loving self-perception, over and over again. I asked him, how I should do it, but he just smiled faintly and replied “practice!”.

Later, when W and I sat together and talked it over, he said in his opinion Lord Shiva just demanded me to be my own guide into and out of misery. Well, yes. That’s the point. I have no idea how to look at myself more lovingly when I have that destructive drive.

When I came home, Master was already there and had a pot of milk pudding bubbling on the oven. We kissed and talked about of how our day had been, while he kept stirring and putting sugar, soy cream and peanut butter into the mixture. It was only when he added another spoonful of sugar to his pudding, when I asked what that was for. “For you, honey” he winked. I wanted to back-talk, but he just smiled faintly. “Just shut up, undress and put that feeding gag into your mouth. I’ll be with ya in a minute” he said in a sweet and dangerous tone that immediately got me aroused and hoping for the worst.

I spent the next two hours bound to our bed and being fed with that sugary, fatty pudding, being slapped hard and relentlessly fucked until Master fed me his jizz for dessert. Later, when I took a shower to get rid off the pudding that got lost in my hair, I kept asking myself, where I could start practicing coming back to a more loving self-perception. So, I went down where John lounged around the couch and came to his lap. Kissing could be a start, I hope.  I really don’t know how to resist destruction if it hurts so good.

Introducing Ginny (Gina)

When John and I visited Leo for the last time, Master asked me to find a name for that female part of me by which I want to be called. It took me forever! There were some names I really liked, but most of them were distinctively kinky or humiliating in a sense, so I quashed them. As this female part of me has quite a few facets, I did not want the name to be too simple. Sooner or later it turned out that I was searching for a name that could be varied due to the context in which it will be used. I thought I’d need a name that covers more humiliating and more loving aspects.

There was one name (Gina) that popped up in my mind ever and ever again, but only in kinky situations. I’m really sorry and do not wish to offend any Ginas, but to me, this name sounds dirty, like a slutty cockwhore, drawn to the very bad side of BDSM. Like a gurl who needs to be used, humiliated and hatefucked. Gina is that part of me which likes slutty underwear and stockings, being used anywhere, anytime, who willingly welcomes abusive behaviour and always craves for more pain, more cock, more cum. Gina likes to be treated like scum and accepts most anything, even to be treated like a she-dog in heat.

On the other hand, this female part of me is very sensitive and needs to be treated carefully, with respect and love. I guess that’s because she always had to hide away and is a bit shy and insecure. I call her Ginny. She’s in need of a caring, loving man who she likes to call Dad. She tries to be a lady, well-clad and well-behaved, quiet and low key. She’s charming and lovely, needs her Dad close and tries her best to serve him and make him happy. She likes decent clothing and make up. In bed, she’s a bit inhibited, but likes to be seduced. She fancies extended foreplay, stroking, kissing and cuddling.

I have to admit that the kinkier I get, the more of Gina comes out, even if it started with Ginny.

It’s the first time I have sourced out this female part of me and it feels a bit weird, but on the other hand offers many new possibilities.

Don’t Fight It

Ultimate Gifts

A strange day today. I heard a sad song and now I’m sad myself, for no reason. Sometimes dealing with all that happened is like walking through an unknown forest with many threats ahead. Sometimes I feel like I have not gained anything and have not made a single step towards a normal life.

Having John back with me is heaven. I feel a lot more secure now, a lot more like owning my body again. I thought about a therapist I worked with in former years. He completely accepted that I need physical pain to feel alive and he never judged what I did to myself or let others do to me. He did not even make me feel ashamed when I tried to give him a BJ, because I did not know how to tell him otherwise that I’m thankful. Nowadays, when I have to go to see my doctor, each and every time he monitors me, he asks me about the signs John leaves on my skin. I hate it. I have told him that we’re leading a 24/7 BDSM-based relationship, but he does not comprehend. “Does your partner beat you?” he keeps asking, and I always tell him that yes, he does, and I need it, I want it. I’d go to another doctor, but it’s so hard to tell the thruth about me, from the beginning on.

The last two days have been very painful and yet fulfilling. I have missed being used and being beaten. I can feel my body the better the more pain is inflicted. I guess we both could not stop us. Yesterday, I found myself wearing women’s undies and stockings while being plugged and gagged, with a latex mask and a plastic bag over it and the air getting thinner. I was beaten red and sore, and it was only when I felt breathing became very painful and almost impossible that I felt good and secure again. Back home with Master. Belonging and serving and knowing my place in this world again. Afterwards, when all the aggression has faded, I’m able to feel comfortable within my skin, just like a normal person. Love asked me whether it’s been too much, and I, as one of the rules I live by is to tell him the truth, said yes, it’s been too much, I have been on the verge of fainting, but I would not have wanted it any other way. He did not apologise, I did would not have wanted him to. But I guess we both were totally aware of the fact that this had been one of these moments in which I’m willing to pass. I have learnt to appreciate my life, especially my life with him. You could call it a twisted sense of romance, but the thought of dying by his hand is beautiful to me. I know it should not be. I’m an awful person to think such things.

Love Hurts

My husband is back with me, finally. It seemed like Thursday did not want to pass, and when John finally came home, I was in heaven. He’s quite tanned in these ten days, and had a lot to tell and show. Almost 500 pictures, a new watch for him and a gift for me, a package of frankincense and a lucky charm. Dubai must have been impressive, but regarding the photos John made, I’d say it’s a bit unreal as well. But I do not regret not having accompanied him. With 35 degrees and the sun burning down relentlessly, I’m glad I stayed at home :-)

It’s strange, but this curious feeling that accompanies our reunions after such trips was there yesterday, too. I’m always a bit shy, not knowing where to put my hands, not knowing where to look. Also, after ten days without, you know, getting physical, I feel like I’m in need of anything, from kissing to getting spanked and from sucking him off to being fucked into coma. But I know these trips are quite exhasuting for Sir, so I try to step back and just be as welcoming as I manage to be. I had prepared dinner and put it in the oven, when he said he was hungry. I brought a drink and unpacked his luggage while he took a shower. After dinner, I brought another drink and we watched the photos and he told me about his trip.

“Would you mind if we’d just sit here, maybe watching T.V.?” he asked. Ugh. Yes, I would mind, but no, of course, go ahead. After all these years I spent with him, I’m still not used to this inflicted disappointment. But I tried not to look disappointed and just crawled up inside his arms. I had just managed to convince myself that smooching would be enough, when his hand began wandering. Well, I’m all melting wax, no exception.

So, finally I got everything I needed, even an orgasm, before this sweet man put me back into the Birdlock, announcing that having had ten days of watching as much porn as I had liked and wanking off as much as I had liked as well must be followed by a period of chastity in order to keep the peace. I guess he is so right. Today, everytime I feel the Birdlock, I’m glad to know I’m all his, and with John having a holiday, I’ve got plenty to do…

Love hurts as beautiful as ever.


The past ten days have been tempting. Without help from W, S and C I would not have been able to perform that well. I’m still not used to being alone and sitting home alone at night makes me feel weird. I listen to every crack of the beams and wonder if it might be a housebreaker or, even worse, some kind of monster lurching in the dark. I even could not resist looking into the wardrobe before going to bed. That’s embarrassing, I know, being at my age and still behaving like a child.

But that’s not exactly what I wanted to write about. I wanted to share my thoughts about Kali. I guess no one ever can work with Lord Shiva without getting in contact with Kali either. To be honest, in general I don’t have much contact to female goddesses, not even to Lady Parvati, although I recognize her as a shiny, friendly and warm energy at Lord Shiva’s side (but I know Lady Parvati can do other!). Even though I myself have a lot of that “female”, receiving, passive energy (Yin or whatever you want to call it), I’m always drawn to the male energy. And that’s the point where I don’t come to terms with Kali. Although she is female, she sometimes is named as the female or counterpart of Lord Shiva. But to be honest, in their relationship I see Lord Shiva as the more passive and “female” part, as Kali turns out to be quite aggressive and rude, which usually is associated to male energy. I never had to deal with female aggression (let alone some conflicts with my friends S and C, but these conflicts were more verbal than physical), so that confuses me quite a bit. To be honest, I think it’s repellent and nasty. W says, whatever I find abhorrent is worth a closer look, and I really want to, but I can’t see anything. Whenever I try to look closer at these destructive energies of Kali, I just see or feel nothing. She just bewilders me. It’s not even that I fear her or think she should not behave the way she does. It’s only that I don’t come to terms with her.

I tried to make friends with Kali, but she does not seem to want to have friends. Whatever oblation I give to her, it’s wilted or even mildewed within a couple of hours. That only happened once with a piece of cake I gave to Lord Shiva during midsummer! Or it feels like a clear “I don’t want that, put it away!”, if I put something for Kali on the altar. Well, it’s ok not to be friends with someone who obviously does not want it, but I’m confused by such behaviour.