Selkie and her Owner part 2

In this post Selkie describes a few facets of her life with her Owner and Master.

For part 1 see http://www.assdisc.com/blog/?page_id=229

Posted on October 25th, 2012:

I have my own room with a bed and my cd’s and books.  Technically, this is where I sleep which may seem strange to a lot of folks, seeing as my Master is also my Husband.  Why shouldn’t I be sleeping in a shared bed with Him, as His wife?  Because somewhere along the way Master got the idea that a He should not share His bed with a slave.  Well, not for sleeping, anyway.  But don’t worry, I actually spend more time in His bed than out of it, so my room is more of a place for me to go when I need my alone time.  I love my room, because It’s totally mine; it’s painted in my favorite color, which I did myself, its got a beautiful oak floor which I re-finished myself, and it has my easel and drafting table where I do my artwork.  It’s my sanctuary.  But sometimes it is the room I am banished to when I make Him mad, and I am not to sleep in His bed.  Its during these times when our Master/slave relationship is most extreme I think, because in very rare cases, He can hold a grudge for weeks.

During these times, I am allowed in His bed for sex, and nothing else.  I am allowed out of my room to clean, cook for Him, do yard work, etc., but when I am done for the day, I retreat to my room and eat whatever He chooses to feed me.  Usually its His leftovers, and a calcium and multivitamin with plenty of water.  If its served to me in a dog bowl, I understand that is because he wants to watch me eat it as He talks about His day and gives me any more instructions for the next day.  If it is served on a plate, then its because He has no interest in spending any time at all with me, although it may be served with a command to be in His bed at whatever time He wants me there.

This may seem very harsh to many, but there is a good reason for my confinement:  It allows both of us the time needed to cool our heads.  Anger is an incredibly intense emotion, so there is very little rationality to it.  When people get angry, and shout at each other and throw things, its a sign that they are experiencing a spike in bloodpressure and significant emotional stress.  Often the best remedy for this type of reaction is to remove yourself from the stressor before it escalates and someone gets their heart broken, or hurt without their consent.  His computer is His retreat from everyday stressors, as well as the stress of an argument and mine is my room, until we are both cooled down enough to deal with the issues at hand.
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But I am a good slave, and rarely mouth off enough to make Him so angry with me that he sends me to this room for longer than an hour or two.  I am very good, because I feel incredibly guilty when I am not good.  If I get sent to my room, Master tells me that it’s as much of a punishment for Him as it is for me, because I have denied Him my presence and company.  So when I have served my time in my room, I am to go immediately upstairs to His room and wait for Him.  It could be hours or it could be a few minutes, but I wait patiently and quietly.  In the meantime though, I put on my own shackles and play collar and when He finally enters the room, I am ready to receive the second and last phase of my punishment, which He only administers when he has had His time to level out His emotions and is ready to forgive me, and is designed to remind me that my crime was two-fold:  That I was bad enough to get solitary confinement, and that in doing that, I denied him companionship.
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He attaches my collar to the headboard of His bed by two leashes, one tied to each post.  The headboard is actually made up of brass spokes, which I can fit my head through until it’s wedged at my temples so I am unable to move my head.  My wrists are usually lashed together and behind my back and my legs are straight out at angles to expose as much body surface to Him as possible.
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He starts off paddling my bottom and thighs and makes me count the strokes, the number of which usually corresponds with my crime.  As I am counting, I am obviously not gagged and most of the time by the end of that, I’m crying out the numbers.  He never says a word during this, unless it is to tell me to keep counting.  But next comes the dressage whip.
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One time I felt the bite of the cane –truth be told, it was more than one bite, but I think you understand my meaning.  It was rattan I think, or maybe thin bamboo, but it broke.  I got the idea to use a dressage whip because it’s a similar width to a cane but has more flexibility.  It’s also about twice the length of a cane.  It is not unlike a riding crop at first glance only its longer and much thinner, and it lacks the little loop of leather at the tip.  Instead of that, it has a 4 – 5 inch tail.   But you really notice the difference between a crop and a dressage whip when you pick it up and feel its lightness and whippiness.  On a horse, it feels like a tap because horses are very thick-skinned, but on a human it feels like the dozens of stings of a straight line of fire ants across your skin.  And it tends to burn for a while, not unlike the sharp burn of a cane.  Like the sport its designed to be used in, its a very elegant whip.
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Master knows I will not be able to count the strokes from this whip, so he kneels on the bed, straddling my back and pulls my head back to stuff a ball-gag in my mouth.  This is not to prevent my screams from being heard by the neighbors down the street, because it has holes.  Rather, it is to prevent me from biting down so hard that I crack my teeth because the dressage whip is very painful.
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Then with my bottom burning from the paddle, he applies the whip in steady strokes along the backs of my thighs and up and down my back, until I have very long, raised red welts in straight lines cris-crossing my skin.  Yes, I scream.
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I try to keep my muscles relaxed so that my skin has a soft mattress beneath it to help absorb the impact.  I can be very good at this, except the whip makes this high-pitched, raspy wail as it slices through the air, and I cant help but steel myself against the impact.  I am in very good shape, and so my muscles tense up and harden under my skin, leaving my hide to fend for itself, and take all of the punishment.  This causes the tiny capillaries just beneath the surface of my skin (but never the actual surface itself), to break open and even when the welts have long since disappeared, my skin is tiger-striped with all these thin red lines, which heal completely in one or two day’s time.
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But those stripes don’t happen on the soles of my feet.  I know this because I am struck with that whip there, too.  I’m not sure why this is, but I think it may have something to do with the skin being so thick, despite the sensitivity of my soles.  Just the tapered tip of the whip and tail is applied here and I am whipped on my soles until little bursts of colour are exploding before my eyes.  That’s when I safeword because I am afraid of losing consciousness – not that I’ve ever lost consciousness, but sometimes the enjoyable endorphin and adrenaline rush makes me feel light-headed and dizzy, and I want to stay aware of Him.  The physical activity is still a pleasant rush but I don’t want to allow myself to enjoy it, as it is a loving act of discipline.  But the moment I safeword, also as in play, the whip is set down and I’m untied and helped into a sitting position and asked a battery of questions relating to how I am feeling.  Warm water is always on hand for drinking, because warm water hydrates you faster than cold.
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The only safeword I am permitted to use during a punishment is “red”.  During play, I will say “yellow”when I feel I may be close to the limits of what I can take, and“red” when I know those limits are reached.  But discipline is not play.  My Master was angry with me and I am contrite.  I have been asked about the difference between punishment and “funishment”. I liken punishment to getting into a roller coaster with my Master.  Roller coasters are a lot of fun, right?  I enjoy the steep incline, the moment at the crest of the steep track where the ride slows to almost a stop, but not quite, followed by the breaking-the-sound-barrier speed of the sudden decent!  But if my Master who is next to me on this wonderful ride is in a rotten mood?  Its just deflating.  There is no excitement boarding the car and latching my safety belt.  I cannot enjoy the anticipation of the climb and the pause at the top of the track.  And going down that fast feels like descending into purgatory.  There is no joy in punishment for me.
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Why do I allow Louie, my Husband, to put me through it?  There are a few reasons.  First and foremost I just need to learn a lesson, and its a valuable tool if only for that because I become a better person by learning a more constructive way of expressing my anger.  I had my moments when I was a harpy in my anger, and I hated that about myself.  I didn’t know where the harpy came from, but it is most definitely not a part of my nature.  And I hated it, it wasn’t who I was!  We decided to implement Domestic Discipline to teach me patience and humility and to put my ego aside, and I can say that I am a better, happier person today because of it.  Also, Master is able to vent His frustrations, without hurting me emotionally by saying things we’ll both regret later and getting us into a real fight.  That is simply not acceptable, especially when it’s the very same reason why I was sentenced to my room in the first darn place.  He cannot go around doing the same things He punishes me for, because that might breed resentment inside of me.
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Most importantly though, I allow Him to discipline me because He is the stronger one of the two of us.  He is responsible and level-headed enough to know when, where, why and how to discipline me.  If I am bad enough to the point where I need to be sent to my room, He understands that it is because He has failed me and the fault is just as much His as it is mine.  Somehow He has not lived up to His promise to keep me happy in my service to Him, and I became angry enough to mouth-off because I felt there was no other recourse.  And this is 100% true as far as I am concerned, so I know that whatever disciplinary action He takes, it is tempered with remorse for His part.
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I have allowed Louie to be more than just a Husband to me.  I need someone who can be more than just a lover.  A lot of folks may feel that maybe I need a father – I do not.  I already have a father, and I even had a stepfather, once.  I have brothers and uncles, too, so I come very well-equipped with male relatives.
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But leaving my family out of this for a moment (preferably forever, actually!), I need a Master.  A Master is different from anything else and so much more than just a husband or wife or a lover.  A Master sculpts you.  A Master gives you direction.  A Master may love you, or may not, but a Master will force you to make the right decisions.  You may have to give up a lot, or you may be required to give up only a little.  You are definitely required to give your consent, which is what makes this type of relationship so preferable to me and many others.  For the first 17-18 years of your life, it seems that no adult requires your consent for anything.  Your boss does not require your consent to completely turn your life upside-down for whatever reasons they choose, and don’t even get me started about the government!  Your average vanilla romances are rife with innuendos and mind-games, little two-faced intrigues and outright manipulations, and add to that  a lot of uncertainty, all due to a lack of common communication.  And so for that matter, can some friendships be.
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In an M/s relationship, whether it’s romantic or not, sexual or platonic, everything is laid out on the table, including disciplinary actions.  Expectations are made known from the start and even often written out in plain black & white. All parties understand what’s involved and what’s expected, and that these expectations are seriously considered and every effort is made to fulfill them.  Are such high ideals easy to live up to?  No, not always.  But, just the idea that my Partner thinks enough of me to implement these for me and in my best interest – although, I should probably say our best interests– means to me that he takes our relationship seriously enough to make it His highest priority.
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He deserves no less from me.

3 thoughts on “Selkie and her Owner part 2

  1. I totally agree with your last 2 paragraphs and the rest of your entry is wonderful to read. I have been corresponding with ted_subby about the difference between funishment and punishment. I wrote to him

    “Since I am a masochist and Sir a sadist, no excuse is necessary. If he feels like whipping me, he does. But if I am disobedient, the whipping impacts (oops a pun) a different area of my brain. Instinctually we are suppose to fight or fly from pain and I think our kink needs an excuse to both desire it, not run from it, and enjoy it. With funishment, it is the small error in behavior that may be inconsequential. With a masochist, it is just the need for pain. It is moralizing the need for pain in some respect.”

    I even then wondered about your thoughts on this. Ofc, this is just my opinion. I haven’t research masochism or anything so I may be totally off the wall in my thoughts.

    • bonimiss, it is interesting to read about your dynamic with your Sir, thank you for posting here.

      “If he feels like whipping me, he does.” Even though I am not strictly speaking a masochist (I enjoy where the pain takes me but I do not think that I enjoy the pain itself), if my Princess feels like whipping me without reason, then she does and I always love every moment of it (even when I hate it at the moment). If my Princess only tormented me when I was disobedient in some way, I would be so unused to pain that I would feel like a vanilla! lol Almost always when my Princess torments me, whether it is a scene or more often just a few minutes of picking on me at random, it is just because she can. And I love that because it makes me feel victimized, which is a strong kink of mine.

  2. Hi bonimiss,

    Sorry for the late reply! I’ve tried researching masochism, but I keep getting the same old gripe about how masochists got potty-trained to early, or whatever the newest school of thought is from the jolly psychology sect. I don’t know, do they still go around spouting about oedipal complexes nowadays?

    Meanwhile, back in the real world… knowing myself as much as I do, I can definitely say that for me I don’t need the pain as much as He needs to inflict it. I’m definitely a born control-slut, but not a born masochist. I learned to receive pleasure from pain to an extent. The rest is pleasurable for me because He is so aroused by it and I’m aroused by His arousal.

    But I think you make a good point in saying that punishment affects a different area of the brain. There is a theory involving lateral brain functions centering on positive emotions being generated by the left side of our brains, and negative ones originating on the right side. If that’s the case, then it would make sense that we would automatically understand the difference between punishment and funishment.

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