Yummy

Sometimes Master likes to make me do disgusting things. Why? Just because he can and for his amusement, and to remind me of my status as a dumb fucktoy. At these occasions he steps over my boundaries. For example he tells me to get dirty and besmear myself with what’s left in our bin after it got emptied, because he knows I have difficulties with dirt and rather shower four times a day than skip it one day. He makes me eat without using my hands or makes me eat things I despise, just to make me throw up and feel disgusting.

Getting dirty and having to do disgusting things is a special turn on for me when I’m dressed up like a nice, pretty gurl with clean clothes, make up and so on. Looking lovely and being treated like sh*t is just amazing, though of course I love looking slutty and being treated that way, too πŸ™‚ At these special times I’m denied to use a safeword. I merely do anyway, because I think a safeword just means you don’t trust your Dom and a sub should be up to please his Master. But just knowing no safeword will help me, is a big turn on as well. It takes surrendering oneself to a whole new level.

Today we met right after he had finished work and went shopping. He needed some shirts and trousers, and I wanted to see if I could find something for my male and something for my female needs, and I did. Afterwards, John invited me to dinner. As a starter, we ordered salad, but in his there were some bites he obviously didn’t like to eat. Instead of leaving them, he discreetely threw them on the floor. I was shocked! That’s nothing he had ever done before, but when he saw my bewildered face, he just chuckled and told me to shut up and eat. I did. And while I finished my salad, he threw even more on the floor.

When the entree was served, he did just the same. You know, I don’t eat meat, but he added potatoes, veggies and even a sprinkle of his sauce to the salad that was already on the floor. Because John gets upset by misbehaving very quickly, I was just wondering why he did that, but I did as he told me and just ate my dinner. I guess he wouldn’t have been able to do this at any location, but that restaurant is quite dim and as they had really a lot to do, nobody paid attention. And they had tablecloths as well.

When we were finished, he ordered dessert and coffee and bits of that and some teaspoons of coffee landed on the floor as well, and the more he had dropped, the more courage he had to drop even more. At some point, he leaned back, smiled at me and told me to get under the table and finish my dinner. I guess I must have looked stupid, because he chuckled and told me I looked stupid as fuck. “Now do what you’re told. And don’t use hands. Lick it off the floor”. Well, it might sound easy to get down on the knees, but in fact it wasn’t. I was afraid somebody would notice and I felt disgust and anger. Just like he had wanted me to. It took me some time to get over what he demanded as well, and finally I managed to get down there. It was a mess, and I felt at the verge of tears. I honestly didn’t want to do it, but obviously he knew and kicked me softly in the side. Alright then.

To be honest, the salad wasn’t that bad. When I tried not to think about what people who sat there before might have stepped into, it was O.K. The cold potatoes were okayish, but I guess Master thought I was doing too well and stepped on some veggies and smeared them all over the floor. I really had to lick them off the floor, mixed up with cold coffee and all the strange crumbs and pieces down there, like small particles of dust or whatever. It was gross. When I thought I was finished, he kicked me again to tell me I should lick his sole clean as well. I did. When I had made it up to the seat again, I wanted nothing more but a good sip of my cola, but he denied it. “I think you should savour the taste”, he grinned.

Ater we had returned home, he told me to stand straight in our kitchen, with a soap bar in my dirty mouth. I endured perhaps 10 minutes, then I was so sick I felt like vomiting. He laughed and then fucked me hard and painful, cumming all over my face. “Like it up, cunt”, was all he said, and I did. Dessert, right?

I’m just a dumb fucktoy and do as my Master tells me. I’m pathetic and deserve to be fed trash. Thank you, Sir.

Shock Collar

From his short stay in the UK this week Master has brought something for me: a shock collar. I’ve wanted one for ages, but it seems the people in Germany love their doggies too much to actually shock them. No big deal to buy a collar with signals or vibrations here, but of course I wanted one John could really hurt me with. You know, I believe in dictatorial parenting style πŸ™‚

Every now and then I love to wear collars anyway. The provide me with a feeling of being safe and held, you know, so I own some. Some are made of leather, others are just dog collars and I also have a choke collar I adore, beause that really hurts if handled the right way. Sometimes John likes to keep me on a lead, so why not give that shock collar a try?

First of all, it’s surprinsingly light weight and I love the way it feels on my skin. To work properly, it has to be worn near to the skin. On the remote, you can adjust the tension from 000 to 100. 10 feels like a soft pinch, like if you’re bruising your elbow a bit, and 100 is like someone’s ripping your neck apart LOL I quite like that. Best of all, even when I get shocked, Master doesn’t feel it, which is superpractical when he shocks me while he sucks me. It’s just a bit stressful to try not to bite him if he shocks me while I have his cock inside my mouth.

Of course we had to try to shock my cocklette and that REALLY hurts a lot. But I love that anyway. And apart fom this afternoon when we met with my brother and his wife I’ve been wearing my collar all the time. It’s so cute to be shocked while preparing lunch and know John is thinking of me while he’s in the office next door πŸ™‚

I’m Not Equal

I don’t believe in equality, I never have and never will. Equality as a concept is at times interesting to think about, but I believe that those who claim all men were made equal refuse to see reality. Moreover, I don’t want equality, first because I can’t even think of being equal to a person like John, and then because it just feels wrong. I guess I would have got along quite well in older times when they still had that feudal system with peonage and all.

I have no doubt about the fact that I’d see the world with different eyes if I had not been brought up by my father and if I had more self-respect, but to be honest, I believe that a lot of people who had loving parents and are successful in life don’t believe in equality as well.

You know, I try to behave like a nice person, but it pisses me off so much if people who have totally different preconditions in their life judge about my relationship and tell me John is “abusive” and I should leave him. I personally define abuse as deeds that take place against the will of the sufferer, and I really don’t think anyone with brains could ever mix up education and abuse!

But I am a grown up person and I choose to have the relationship I have. I don’t need to be saved or awakened or illuminated or whatever. I choose to be John’s inferiour partner with less rights and less freedom because I WANT it. A normal relationship with equal partners like I tried to have with W is doomed to fail with me. It just doesn’t work. I don’t even want to be equal to my partner. And it’s so useless to fuss about whether or not I would like to have a normal, equal partnership if I had not been severly abused for 21 years. I have been, it changed my mind from normal to what you call insane, and I fucking found a way how to deal with it and get along with my life by CHOOSING not to be equal to my Master.

I voluntarily let John do what he likes to do, I endure the pain VOLUNTARILY. I’m O.K. with him having fun with others and ruling over my sexuality, I love to be treated like a worthless cumrag and that he tells me what to do. He TAKES care of me that way even if you prissy guys out there don’t get the point of our relationship. I’m so fed up with that.

Honestly, I wish I had the courage to tell this straight to the people’s faces who tell me I should leave the love of my life, because they can’t cope with seeing my swollen face or how obedient I behave towards John or that I don’t want equality. Dang!

Decision For Boobs

At the moment I’m always horny. It was just two weeks without John and sex, but I still feel ravenous and hungry πŸ™‚ This weekend we have taken time just for us. No friends, no dinners, no work, not even a visit at the sauna. We prepared dinner together, which is rare, and I enjoyed John’s presence all the way.

When I was in the U.S. I sometimes felt lost without him. In my weak moments I could hold on to W and because he knows me so well he also knows about my more feminine, perhaps even childish sides who need to be taken care of and are fearful. But seeing John waiting for me at the airport was like every single part of me was screaming out in relief “Master! Husband! Lover! Daddy!” at once LOL I can only feel home when I’m with him.

For me, being away from all the things here was a good opportunity to think some things over, especially what I really feel and think concerning Ginny. She has become a huge and important part of myself. I had decided to forgo being her in the U.S. because I really feared being molested in an awful way. Whereas I feel in Germany more and more people accept crossdressers, transpeople and so on, I was shocked about the new president’s resolutions in trans-matters and how a lot of people agreed with that. Of course I know that there are a lot of people who find these resolutions disgusting, but you never know how people actually react when they are confronted with a crossdresser, right?

Anyway, after two weeks without being Ginny (I had not even taken bras with me and after wearing them for so long now has become really normal for me), I felt sore and like a liar. I know I’m not the personified beauty, but when I dress up, I feel soft, warm, gentle and just good at any rate and I love being John’s slutgurl or his shy little, prissy girl. I can connect to certain feelings when I’m Ginny which I can’t do as Blaubeermann. And sometimes I even feel precious and cute, which I certainly never do as Blaubeermann. So one of the first things I did after being back home was putting on a bra and a girly panty and paint my nails. Only then I felt better, more like myself, and I could see by the sparkle in his eye that John thought just the same.

I have observed my feelings well in the past weeks and days and I have come to the conclusion that I don’t want to wait much longer. I really want boobs, because I feel they make me complete. You know, you can take so much away from me, all my clothes, my make-up, the nailpolish and stuff, but those boobs would always be there and as my husband wants them on me, too, I don’t fear I could regret that decision. How much securer should I get to have surgery?

Tomorrow I will start to look for surgeons who would do that surgery on me. I’m quite sure that they don’t have too many guys who want boobs, but as John and most of my friends think: as long as you pay the bill, you get your boobs. I hope so. I’m nervous and can’t wait to have them done, though I’m afraid of the days I will spend away from home and of the pain I will certainly have. But I try to focus on my aim, some cute boobies. Wish me luck, please πŸ™‚ And I will keep you updated.

Back From NOLA

For a week now I’m back from the U.S. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to say goodbye before I went away, but as soon as March was there I actually had no time for anything, because there was still so much to do, and when I was back, I needed some days to get back mentally as well, though I think I might still need some time to sort it all out.

But first things first: my toe has healed up nicely and I was surprised by how quick it went eventually.

To be honest, it’s really impossible to just say some words about my journey, even more because it was the first time I was away from home that far and without John. In some sort of way it might have been a life-changing experience, in other concerns I think it reminded me of certain things I already knew but I tend to forget every now and then. When the plane was over the Atlantic ocean and there was no land to be seen for hours, I felt unreal, lost between space and time. Everything I know was far away, and I was heading to a sort of uncertain future (at least for some days, but it felt different), and I was glad W was with me there and I could squeeze his hand some times. I felt like I had accomplished something that was never meant for me, and certain aspects of my life suddenly seemed so far away. I guess I felt like I am no longer the fearsome boy I once was, and I thought of my father and wondered if he ever would have thought I’d see America and dare to be that free, to travel almost alone to see a bit of the world and rise above what he had in mind for me?

Well, you can tell straight away that that experience made me thoughful πŸ™‚

In some way the U.S. is exactly like we all knew it from the movies, in some other ways it’s very different from all these clichΓ©s. I found people are overall very friendly and open-minded, but that might be because W chose where we went and because we met so many people of his family and friends and so on. What hit me right after leaving the plane was the weather. It was quite warm and humid and I’m not used to that, even though W said that it was quite mild then πŸ™‚

We stayed at W’s auntie’s and I was nervous to meet her, but within minutes she had made me feel at home and I was warmly welcomed to her place, just like she was my auntie as well. I had brought her a present and I think she liked it. One of her sons had kindly given his room to me, while W was sleeping in a room with his other cousin. You know, I’m a people pleaser and try to make feel people comfortable and I guess that helped to break the ice immediately. Nevertheless I needed three to five days to cope with being in a different time-zone and I wonder how people like W and John get along with that so well.

New Orleans is a fascinating city and the first thing that came into my mind was the word FUSION. How often had W used that word to describe the city and the area in general, and now I know exactly what he meant. On the one hand, New Orleans is very modern and W claims that this part of the city is more or less the same as in most big cities in the U.S., on the other hand it is somehow old-fashioned and traditional, maybe even because they like to keep it that way to add a certain flair and fulfil the expectations of all the visitors, I don’t know. On several nights, W and I met with members of his family and friends to explore the nightlife. It’s just amazing! There’s music everywhere, in the bars and even in the streets, and it fits so well into that place. And I guess it’s that music- and bar-culture most people immediately think of when they hear you’ve been to Nola πŸ™‚

The other side of our trip was getting to know the more rural Louisiana whereas a part of W’s family lives away from New Orleans. W had organized a car for us and he drove us around, and we stayed several nights with another uncle of his. It was unreal to see the Mississippi and I was impressed by how huge that river actually is and how unreal the swamps are as well. It’s really a different kind of world there and I think I might have gotten a glimpse of how that landscape has influenced the people to become who they are now, and how much W’s spirituality is actually influenced by this landscape and its Devas or gods or however you want to name these energies as well, even though W now lives in Germany. I don’t know whether these gods were interested in me, but I thought I could sense them and I think I understand them better now and why it makes sense to deal with W’s gods the way he does. For example W always told me that a proper offering to certain gods or energies must contain the blood of a recently slaughtered animal. I always thought that this was odd and cruel, but having witnessed now that it’s part of the culture there to buy animals alive and home-slaughter them, it makes more sense to me (though I’d refuse to do so anyway).

In general I have learned a lot about W’s spirituality. He’s generous with his teachings anyway, but I had never really understood certains things, or I could never really connect to certain aspects. Having experienced this spirituality insitu now feels like finally having stepped through a door. Certain aspects of his belief always seemed spooky to me, like visiting graveyards to connect with the dead and gods that reside between them, and having experienced that sort of “rotten” charm each and everything automatically has in that land of swamps made it somehow easier to understand why death and symbols of death are so important. In some sorts it’s very different to my German heritage and I wasn’t surprised to finally think that all I have learned about W’s belief came alive there. To be honest, I myself felt a deep connection to W’s gods there as well, and to me it felt like for example the Jesus I experienced there with W is not the same like the Jesus that hung in the kitchen in my father’s house or in the churches in Germany. That “Voodoo Jesus” is more like a real person to me, with real characteristics, and I can talk to him and he would understand me, without the need for a priest between us.Β When we were back in New Orleans I got into a little shopping coma and bought some stuff to work with when I would be back home, like a little Jesus made of resin, prayer beads, candles, incense sticks and so on πŸ™‚ W told me that he thinks Lord Shiva and that Jesus fit well together, as they’re both connected to the sun, the light, the fire and so on, and that’s what I feel as well. In fact, I can’t wait for summer and hope to deepen my spiritual life a bit more again.

The best things about our trip there certainly were getting to know all those kind people, the area around New Orleans and Louisiana in general (at least a bit), experiencing my ability to be away from home and all things I’m used to, the boost that trip gave my own spirituality and the possibilty to spend so much time with my best friend and get to know more about his origin.

The morning before we went off, John had put me into the Birdlock and put a plastic lock on it as well. I was frustrated because wanking actually is one of my few techniques to calm me down, but he insisted I would not be allowed out. On day 9 of our trip I was feeling really down for a reason and when I called John and he heard how done I was, he allowed me to cut the lock open and wank one time, then to lock me in again. He had sneaked a second plastic lock into my case, so that I was able to send him a picture of me being locked in again after I relieved myself. I thought that was cute πŸ™‚

When we returned home, he picked me up at the airport (and M was there as well), and it just took until we were more or less alone in the parkdeck until he claimed what he had missed so long, but he let me wait for three more days until he allowed me out again. That was hard, but I loved every single second of it. It was good to be away, but it is good to be home again and an owned slut as well. I think all in all that trip again made clear what I ought to know anyway: I am his and I could never exist without his beautifully hurting kind of love. Moreover, it is good to be able to be Ginny again, because due to that idiot they now have ruling over them, I decided it would be much safer to travel as Blaubeermann only. I have missed my pretty gurly things πŸ™‚

 

 

 

Toe Be Or Not Toe Be

This is not for the faint at heart. Explicit content.

Last Saturday began quite normal. After work I went home and Love and I had breakfast, then he needed to work again and I met with Andrea, a crossdressing friend of mine. When I returned home, I made pasta for dinner. All very normal so far. After dinner, Love wanted to take a shower, because we had planned to go to the cinema with W and M. When he entered the shower, John saw some dirt which wasn’t supposed to be there. You know, there are some things that he wants to have done daily, some even more than once daily, and I use to check on them each time I walk past them. One of that is a neat and tidy bathroom. Hair clippings, dust, make up stains and things like that are an absolute no go for him. So he barked me over to him and had me clean the shower while he waited impatiently beside it, telling me to go to our bed and await my punishment.

Well, that’s always the critical point for people in 24/7-relationships, isn’t it? It’s actually very easy to trick your Dom into punishing you if you know his “weaknesses”. Just act against his rules, and there you go and get your happy time, right? Not quite right. Because I am strictly forbidden to trick John into punishing me, and to be honest, doing so would feel completely unsatisfying for me, because I strive to make my Master happy by giving my best. But anyway. We were getting a little short of time and so after getting dressed he rushed a bit forward to my punishment. He commanded me to lie on the bed with naked feet that were stretched over the side. I could hear him taking off his belt and he told me to count to 25.

I’m certainly not really into bastinado, but of course I accept it as an effective punishment. It hurts, most times nobody sees the bruises (because nobody actually pays attention to the bottom of your feet) and you can feel the pain for days when wearing shoes or walking. But bastinado might even be a bit more tricky to administer to your sub than a normal spanking. You know, properly warmed up tissue can endure a lot, so usually bodyparts that are not used to hits should get a proper warm up by softer strikes so that the blood rush increases, the bodyparts get warm and are then ready for real pain. Well, when he hit me for the eighth time, I knew something went tremendously wrong. It hurt so bad, I yelled, but John didn’t get that something was wrong right away, and I was stupid and didn’t remember the safe word in an instance. I usually never use it, so when severe pain distracts me from thinking, I’m lost LOL All in all, I earned three more hits before I could make him stop. I was so much in pain, I could not even really talk, just fell from the bed and screamed.

Cinema? Done. That much was clear right away. My first toe on the right side hurt so much I thought it was going to fall off. When John realized what had happened, he brought me ice, but after about an hour it got clear that I needed to see a doc. Walking wasn’t fun, but we managed to get me to his car. He drove me to the hospital. Hospitals on Saturday evening are amazingly full and we needed to wait almost 3 hours with my toe getting bigger and bigger and hurting like stupid.

When I finally saw a doc, he had me x-rayed. The good thing is that nothing’s broken. The bad thing is that the articular capsule wasn’t able to stand the hits. I think it’s because the tissue wasn’t warmed up. I got a mighty bandage and crutches and now see my GP every second day. A great way to spend my spare time, as I’m not able to work that way. Oh boy. If there’ll be no real healing going on in the next 10 to 14 days, they’ll have me the MRT, then we’ll see. Did I mention I’m going to the U.S. next month or that running is one of the best ways to cope with anxiety and stress? Ugh!

Well, as my husband is a loving Dom, I got the missing hits on my buttocks on Sunday morning. He didn’t apologise for wrecking my toe, he just told me that if the shower had been clean, there had been no problems. That’s for sure, but I’m ok with that. I’m his possession and can handle that pain, even though it puts stress upon me. To be honest, even though I know it’s just been an accident, it made me very horny to hear John tell the doctor that he hit me and it happened then, because he gave him a look as if he wanted to ask John whether he was serious… My GPs reaction was not as interesting, he just told me again that this abusive relationship blah blah.

When John left for work this morning, he told me pracmatically: “…but that way you have enough time to check on the bathroom…nothing wrong with your hands, right?”. Right, sweetheart. And I know that’s awful, but it gives me a very wet spot in my panty to regard myself as his rightless slave-fucktoy-playthingy he can even injure, because nobody cares about it. Love it.

 

Cross The Puddle

We have some U.S. citizens among our closest friends (like my buddy W) and in the past few months there has only been one topic, namely their new president. Usually I’m not very interested in politics though John is always well-informed and tells me a lot about what’s going on, but this time it’s quite different. I’m concerned about what Trump’s election will do not only to the U.S. but to the world in general and I think it won’t be long before he will try to distract people from what’s going on inside the U.S. by starting a war.

And I’m concerned on a very personal level, because W and I will be travelling to the U.S. in March, which was planned long-term. Though W keeps telling me that I don’t fit into their enemy-scheme, I just feel fear for my personal security and that puts a lot of pressure upon me. Not that a 14-hour-flight alone would stress me out… I fear I might get strip-searched, and while being abused is my kink, I know this would re-traumatize me. Sometimes I freak out that much that I actually consider cancelling that trip.

On the other hand everyone keeps telling me that these holidays will be so imporant for me, and I too want to go. It would be so beautiful to meet people of W’s family and get to know all the places that mean so much to him. And of course I’m really excited to learn more about his spiritual tradition as well.

At the moment I’m constantly asking myself what I was thinking. Ugh.