73 Days

The last weekend…oh boy. Beautiful and frustrating at the same time. When Leo arrived on late Friday afternoon, John was already at home. We did the cooking together, talking and taking time for long missed kisses. Afterwards, I did the dishes while the two men had a drink outside. I always try to  withdraw a bit when we’re together to make sure the two of them get enough time for each other, so I took my time. When I finally joined them in the garden, they were kissing, and I just sat down and watched. “I guess we’re going inside”, John smiled, “and you’ll stay downstairs. Find yourself something to do”. Ugh. Well, and that was quite indicative for the whole weekend. Oh, we did a lot of things together, especially talking, but I was excluded from anything else, you know. So I spent my Saturday evening in front of my computer, strolling around porn sites and being horny as fuck, while my husband and his friend did whatever in my damn marriage bed. UGH!!! I was denied all the way, but teased by words and small gestures.

Today, it’s day 73 of chastity and this time it’s really mean. I have been milked once, fucked only ever now and then, teased only very little and I guess I now arrived in the state of anger again 😦 It takes a lot of selfcontrol not to be aggressive towards John and demand being unlocked.

120 days is the longest time I’ve been in chastity. What really makes me mad is not knowing when Master will end this. Yeah, love hurts.

Highly Skilled Idiot

Sometimes I hate myself for not making more out of myself. I’m highly skilled and sell vegetables. That’s poor. But I have never experienced being highly skilled as a good thing. It just made things more complicated. I’ve been rated as arrogant when being bored in maths and rated as an idiot in other lessons. Moreover, having a high IQ did not provide me with the ability to make anything out of it, not to speak of the abuse. Sometimes I see and feel ways too much, sometimes I see and feel nothing at all. Sometimes I don’t even have the slightest idea of what I need or what I want. Most times when I’m to choose from a menu, I ask for an advise like “do you think I’d like this and that? Do I use to like those things?”. For most things it seems I have not figured out yet what I really like. Perhaps they just don’t matter to me, I don’t know. What’s the difference between scrambled and hard boiled eggs? They’re all eggs, right? On the other hand I get insecure and mad about the “wrong” cornflakes, an incidence that has the power to ruin a whole week and my well-arranged mind. Not to speak of events that take place suddenly and unexpected. If there’d ever be a dinosaur showing up in my kitchen, I would not be able to run. I would start a mental discussion about the chance that a dinosaur might walk into my kitchen and then get eaten.

Being highly skilled is not my own merrit. I did not choose to be. It’s just a kind of different brain development to the age of 12. One could monitor being highly skilled if the head would get X-rated. I tend to see that as a mutation, you know, like being one of those X-men, but without any superpowers aside from fucking things up regularly. Being highly skilled and being highly sensitive go together. No wonder things turn out to be too much, too loud, too bad sometimes. If the stress continues, I get numb and autoaggressive. The more stress, the more aggression.

Miscellaneous

I’m just back home from work and want to write a bit, before John and I are off to meet W and M. They have invited some friends to come over for one of their famous barbecues (which used to be W’s famous barbecues before he met M). It’s a bit chilly today, but I guess curling up inside a sweater and in John’s arms in the near of the fire might help 😉

I feel at ease, even if last night was horrible. At the moment, I need hours to get so sleep, then I wake again every hour or so and have crazy dreams. Last night I dreamt of an old friend of mine I have lost contact with who got hitchhiked by a man dressed up like a magician. He said he’d kill her if I did not bring him money, but I did not take him seriously and just made him leave my friend’s home. Certainly one of my seldom heroic dreams 🙂

In the past few days, I have been thinking about my last entry. I have shown the vid to John and he knew exactly why it gets me going. He shrugged and just said “you need this, you can’t fight it”. Bam. It’s that simple for him. We had countless discussions about needs and affections and when I wanted to know how he deals with being not only dominant but sadistic, he did just the same. Shrugging and saying “I need this, I can’t fight it”. Why did we come to such a different rating of our kinks? The only answer I can think of is that he was thankfully never abused, but on the contrary encouraged to be dominant, get his way and tell everybody else what to do. He got compliments for being a dominant person, I was mocked for being submissive. Perhaps it’s really that easy? Anyway, when he tells me I’m a good person because I’m obedient and hard-working to please him, I blossom. I wish I could overcome my bad conscience for being submissive and masochistic.

Next weekend, Leo will be visiting us. I’m really looking forward to seeing him again. In spring, we all were a little short of time, but I hope, summer will provide us with more meetings.

Put Your Trigger On My Finger

Taking a break from my daily chores, drinking a cup of tea and thinking over a few things.

Last night I had a dream that somehow scares and somehow calms me. Due to a bend in our solar system, scientists announced Uranus was going to crash into the earth. Most people got anxious, but I was totally calm and thought “well, let’s wait and see. Hope dies last”. I followed a blog in which a woman wrote down articles about how she prepared for her death and Uranus crashing down. At some point of time, scientist said that they had calculated it over and over again and that there was no hope Uranus might miss the earth. I went outside and saw the bend in the universe, but it did not scare me, I just gazed in silence and bewilderment at the beauty above: moving stars and nebulae and Uranus approaching. It was very quick and soon became bigger and bigger. When it hit earth, all lights faded, but I was peaceful and content. I thought “that did not hurt…such a good way to die!”, and then I thought “Wait! I have no more brain, so how am I able to think this?!”. Then I woke up and my heart was beating like it wanted to escape from my chest. I don’t know what this dream wants to tell me. Do you have any ideas?

The other thing…well, yesterday evening, when I already wanted to be in bed, I stumbled upon a video. I will post the link at the end of this posting, but I have to tell you, it might be a trigger. If you have problems with physical and even more psychological violence, do not watch it.

This video is probably the worst and most kinky thing I have watched for a long time. It was originally posted on a blog connected with the superiority of men over women. I want to explain why I sometimes visit that blog. I don’t believe in men’s supremacy in general. Not at all. But to be honest, I don’t strive for equal status for myself. I completely embrace my inferiority and I believe I’m at my best when I’m kept under control of an Alpha Male. I would never generalize that or believe this concept might work for others as well. It’s just the answer to my personal needs and beliefs. So it’s quite manifest why I visit such tumblrs. Even if they most times picture women serving men, they speak to me, but each and every time I see myself in the inferiour role. I guess I have managed to install a kind of life that allows to live out my fantasies on a high level, but I would go further. Way further. If it would be possible, I would drop my civial rights and hand myself over to John, just to be his property. A thing he can use. Having said that, I suppose it’s quite clear why tumblrs connected with (sexual) slavery, patriarchal structures of relationships and so on not only turn me on but really satisfy a need in me. I have written about my inner conflicts concerning what I should feel and what I really feel before, and I still feel very bad about it. Of course I’m glad we live in a more or less liberal society, but I would thankfully wave goodbye to my social rights if I could be a slave. Ironically, that’s not a mere fantasy, as I have been brought up to be a slave. So again I have to say that what my father did to me made me who I am. Sad but true.

I have many kinks and I know I’m hypersexual. I’m really trying to be not, but I am! I usually regard sexual fantasies as what they are, but that’s the point. It’s nice living out a fantasy, but I like it better if there’s

Oh my, please forgive me.

I like it better if there’s real abuse. You can fake a hit or you can make it, you know. You can fake inflicting pain on a sub, or you can really hurt him. You can fake being a Dom or you can embrace your power over your sub and really use him, letting him feel he’s your possession and nothing without you. Of course all this should take place between two adults who do it safe, sane and consensual. Uhm, at least consensual.

John and I have tried so many roleplays about this imbalance of power we’re both into, but to be honest, nothing gets me as wet as this Dad-son-thing. I know it’s just a stupid reenactment of what I have made through during my childhood, but I crave it. I need it. I crave it even more if he inflicts this psychological violence on me, you know, like more or less what my father did. That’s why this damn video speaks to me that way. Slapping her and still demanding from her to smile and say thank you. And at the end of the video this forced french kissing. Oh boy, remembering anything… I don’t really see a woman in this vid, I see myself, my younger self. Living under the threat of being castrated when not being nice enough, being mocked for my arousal and being cruelly seduced by my body’s response to what he did and which was gross and exciting at the same time. Moreover, the man in the video is as talkative as my father was, just in the same tone. Nice and understanding and very cruel at the same time.

I don’t know what to make of it. Feel like a bad person and trying to clean the house as I’m obviously not able to clean my soul 😦

http://motherless.com/2039F05 (TRIGGER WARNING)

Specified Kinks

Today, I had a chat with my best friend W about highly specified kinks. Lately, I’ve been pondering a lot about the question why certain things kick while others just don’t. For example, black, white and pink stockings really excite me, while red or blue ones don’t speak to me. But they are all stockings, so where does this preference arise from? It’s just the same with a lot of kinks like black vs. neutral rubber, rope vs. bondage tape, the Birdlock vs. other devices or men in suits vs. men in shorts.

I know most of my kinks are connected to the abuse I experienced during my childhood, but obviously not all of them. For example, I have never had contact with stockings until now! I don’t think I’m especially into stockings, but they serve a purpose when I’m dressed up like a sissy. When I’m into that Ginny-mood, they speak to me, when I feel more like Blaubeermann, I know they exist, but the mere thought of them does not get me going. Something else with the collar John presented me with. One thought of it is enough to wake my interest. Why is there such a difference?

W suggested viewing myself, my soul and all the experiences I make as a web. Everything is connected and everything is remembered on a certain, but not neccessarily conscious level. Moreover, he believes that we still remember occasions, tasks, preferences and aversions from former lifes, again not on a conscious level (most times). I don’t really manage to get into that reincarnation-thing. Of course I hope there might be something more than just nothing after I did my last sniff, but I’m not sure about it. That’s a bit poor for someone connected to Lord Shiva, I guess, but I grew up hoping that death may make an end to my father’s games. If I had thought I might be reborn, there would have been no solace at all.

Anyway, actually I wanted to write about boobs. I’m quite flat-chested, though putting on some weight and working out regularly has done something for me. But no boobies, of course. When being sissified, I have started to miss boobs recently. I used to stuff my bras with some handkerchiefs, because I do not even fill an AA cup, which is quite small, but that does not provide John or me with a realistic feeling of boobs. To be honest, both of us did not really know much about boobs until we had a nice encounter with a she-male in Switzerland when we visited Leo. She allowed us feeling them up which made me a bit nervous, because I quickly found out how much I like them and how much I’d love to have boobs when being Ginny. Well, and that’s the point where reality and fantasy mix up. I’m quite convinced of the fact that I do not want to live as a she-male and that I’m ok with being a male, but as soon as I’m aroused and we get into sissyfication, I fantasize about undergoing forced feminization, including the forced intake of hormones in order to shrink my cock and well, develop natural tits. The aspect of force is very important to me. The thought of being forced to become a she-male totally freaks me out. And I know if John would only be pushy enough, I would do it, no matter what about my health. In my clear moments I think of these feelings as alarming and stupid, but most times I really like the thought. But there are other possibilities we have talked about. First of all, silicone boobs to stuff my bras with. I have ordered two different sizes. Not too big, I like a more natural but nevertheless slutty look. Really looking forward to receiving them. Well, there are other thoughts, but I don’t want to tell about it here.

And one last thing. Love has presented me with a little capsule to be hung on my collar. Usually dog owners write down their adress on a piece of paper and put it into that capsule, but John wrote down that I am his property and in case of loss shall be returned to him 🙂 That’s what I wear at the moment. Loving it.

Peace Or So

Woke up with a painful sort of stiffy. The device does not keep my cock from trying to get hard, it just reduces the possibilities. I am definitely into the stage of acceptance now. I liked to feel my stiffy, then I tried to concentrate on something else. Got up, got to work, did my chores there and had a nice chat with my boss and a customer. When I came home, John was not there, so I decided to mop bathroom and kitchen. When Love came home, he had brought lunch with him. We sat outside, eating and talking, and I was quietly content and felt happy and at ease.

It was just then, when Master decided to disturb that peace, for the first time in 57 days. He doorstepped me when I took our plates back into the kitchen. It was one of these occasions where there is not talking at all. He just pushed me to the counter, snatched my trousers off and began pounding me. My body responds quickly to him and I was glad he gifted me with a fuck, but he was finished very quickly and had me swallow it all. I wanted to get dressed again, but he just smiled faintly and jockeyed me over to the table. What more to say? I got my first milking in 57 days and once he started I felt like I could not stop.

Now I feel relieved and painfully horny again, wishing so bad to be allowed to cum. Fuck yeah chastity.

Not Judging Others (And Myself)

When I was a kid, I heard our priest talk about not judging others in order not to be judged and I thought it was bullshit. I was faced with a lot of judgemental opinions, not only by my father but by most of the people around me. I grew up believing I’m scum and uncapable. “Not worth the air you are breathing”. Of course being faced with this rating of myself made me break down when I still was a kid. I could not cope with this image of self I was provided with and as fighting it just led nowhere, I gave in to it. Even worse, I started to believe in all the things they said about me and did the preliminary work for them. If someone tried to be kind to me, I said or did nasty things to push them away. I remember being at a classmate’s and his mother pouring some lemonade for me. I never ever got lemonade at home and could not wait to drink it, but instead of just waiting her to finish, thank her and enjoy it, it pushed away the glass so that the sticky lemonade was spilled all over the kitchen counter. As a result, I have never been invited again. Why did I do so? I still don’t know. Perhaps I was anxious she might laugh at my hopes and take away the lemonade, or I was angry because my classmate had a mother pouring lemonade, or perhaps I maybe WAS scum. I don’t know, but I’m still sorry about that.

This episode just came back into my mind when John and I were sitting in a small beer garden last week. I thought how strange it still feels to be able to choose from so many options (here: the whole menu, but I guess that’s the same for most anything), and how used I have gotten to that on the other hand. I don’t take it for granted and I still need John to reassure me to choose what I like and spend money for these things. I know people judge us. I know many of them think I’m just John’s lover, just a sort of adventure while his wife is not around. Sometimes this thought is exciting, but to be honest, most times it is not. Sometimes I get weary being regarded as a toy he will throw away if it no longer excites him, even more as I fear he might do that. That’s when I know I’m not done with what I thought of myself as a kid. I still believe I’m not worth the air that I breathe.

I really try not to be judgemental towards others. There are so many examples I could tell to prove. Like the old lady I serve at work and who treats me like an idiot and always wears that knowing smile in her face as if she knew something about me. I guess she feels good having that “power” over an idiot like me, like, you know, if I would not be an idiot, then why would I work there, where all the idiots work? I try to be polite and tread her with respect, even though it’s hard. I keep telling myself I don’t know why she’s so harsh. Perhaps she has been insulted by someone I remind her of, but still she deserves to be treated like a good human being. John can’t understand why I’m that patient with her or people like her. He demands respect. He might ask for it once, but surely not twice before giving you a chewing out. I’m none of that kind, and perhaps that’s still because I think I’m more or less wortless. I can raise my worth when serving others and serving them well. I guess that’s sort of my sense of life.

So, why do I write about all of that today? I don’t know. I guess I’m slowly slipping into the next state of being kept in chastity, which I think is acceptance. It is always deeply connected with these thoughts about my value, my place in life and in our relationship. Being kept in chastity for so long now makes me humble and permeable. I wish he’d just milk me…