Nice

I’ve been told that I’m too nice. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I wish I could just be outright mean. Sometimes I wish I could justify saying the things that are running through my mind. Sometimes I wish I could be the very demanding Mistress, the one that someone might be afraid of upsetting, someone that another would remember forever. I’m not one of those. I’m understanding. I try to see things from other people’s point of view. I justify why something I’ve asked for hasn’t occured. I consider it living in reality.

The longer I go without my needs being fulfilled, the more ‘nice’ seems to slip away. It’s a very gradual sort of thing though. For the last three weeks, I haven’t had a slave. I haven’t had a submissive. I haven’t even had a pet. At best I’ve had a friend and at worst I’ve just had someone that I exchange a few lines of text with every now and again. Things are looking up now so I almost feel bad writing this, but it’s nagging at my brain, this idea of nice.

I don’t know what it is that keeps me from simply demanding the things that I want. Am I afraid that I’ll push him too far and that he won’t want to play with me anymore? Am I afraid that somewhere along the line he’ll realize I’m not ____ (fill in the blank with whatever) and decide he needs someone that’ll actually challenge him? It’s all rubbish really. I’m not terribly afraid of any of that. I just can’t seem to bring myself to treat him the way he ought to be treated. He says he wants to be more than just a pet — that he wants to be a slave. I see all the potential in the world in him but then sometimes, just sometimes, I don’t see where he could consider himself a slave. Sometimes I wonder if he knows what it is to always live for someone else, to always put someone else’s wants and needs in front of his, to actually anticipate them and deliver them, and to do it with a smile.

I don’t know if service is what motivates him or not. That’s what I think of when I think of a slave though, even though I know for the most part slaves aren’t service-oriented.

Back to nice.

When I feel like these D/s feelings and needs aren’t being met, I can very slowly see the changes in me. They start with being aroused more often than not. This was something I lived with for years though, these desires without outlets, so it’s easy to ignore. After that, the need to masturbate arises. I haven’t had to rely on self-pleasure in months and months because I can abstain for a week at a time and then unleash it all on him when we’re together. After that though, I notice it mostly in my fantasies. Sometimes I snap at him, telling him that something is not okay when typically I’d be very understanding of it. Sometimes it’s in the form of doing a better job of upholding my own rules. For example, when he hasn’t shaved. Sometimes I just excuse it, or allow him to excuse it. In my fantasies though, I can blatantly tell him that if he can’t find the time to shave, to look just the way I want him to, that he can wear clothes, because then at least I’ll be looking at something presentable.

From there it’s a windy road down from snarky to humiliation to near degradation. From there, it’s fantasizing about what I want to do to him. Usually it starts with hitting him. It starts with marking his body. After that, it’s slapping his face. Telling him that he needs to live up to everything that I’ve ever wanted because I want him but I don’t want to settle for subpar service. After that, he’s hooded. That way I can’t see his expressions. I love him, so sometimes hurting him is difficult. Sometimes watching him in agony doesn’t push my buttons. Sometimes it’s just because I’m not hitting him as hard as I want to.

In my fantasies, I don’t worry about hurting him like I do in real life. I know what I’m doing in my fantasies. I don’t have him worrying about whether I know what I’m doing or not. I can hurt him and push him and make him cry. From behind his hood I can hear him crying. It’s soft and sweet at first. Sometimes he’s telling me that he’s sorry, but there’s no real reason for him to be sorry. I just like the way it sounds when I’m hurting him. Then as I’m hurting him more he’s sobbing. I can hear the snot and I can hear him gasping for air and choking on his sobs and just letting it all out. I’m scratching him. I’m kicking him. I’m telling him that he’s useless really. That the only thing he’ll ever amount to is a fuck toy. And then I use him. I slap him in the face and I climb on top of him and I use his cock until I’ve come. I tell him he can’t and he knows it. He doesn’t try. Maybe he gets close, I don’t know. I don’t think so though, because this is so far removed from what usually turns him on.

I take the hood off of him and I make him clean his face in the carpet. Then I have him clean me up. I don’t want him to enjoy it though. I just want to be clean and dry. I rub myself all over his face, getting my juices in his beard, and then I put the hood back on him and make him wear it until his face is dry. I send him over to the corner. I let him wallow in all of that. I don’t reassure him. I don’t tell him he’s good. I let him think he’s awful and that he’ll never be good enough and some part of me deep inside really relishes his agony. His tears. His pain. And part of me wants to hold him. I don’t want to coddle him though. I just want him to be closer as I keep pushing his buttons, keep tearing him apart. I want to break him down entirely.

Sometimes he’ll say that I’m the center of his universe, but in my dreams and fantasies I can break him down enough and build him back up around me so much that I truly feel I am.

None of this is realistic. None of this is psychologically sound. All of it is hot to me on some level or another.

Punishment and Peace

Last night I had a little work thing that I invited j to. He’s always very helpful in getting things set up and just helping to keep me in the right frame of mind. I work with a bunch of women who can’t seem to get organized. I’m not in a position to organize anything; I’m just not that high up on the ladder, by choice. Years ago I was and I stepped down from it because it wasn’t my passion, and if I’m not passionate about what I’m doing, I become resentful and angry and bitter. I made the right choice. Last night was a fine example of how I’ll never really be able to escape it htough. I want things to go well, I want them to go smoothly, and I want them to be done ‘right’, even if ‘right’ isn’t the same way I’d do it.

After that, we went out for dinner, the three of us. My husband thinks the boy spends too much money on us and in a way he does. But he’s not just buying us dinner, he’s giving us an experience. That’s what’s important to him really. Before the work thing, we’d been talking about when he won’t be working anymore, which will be just a few months from now. He’ll be staying at my house during the week. He’ll have daily and weekly chores, he’ll be making me lunches so I can come home and eat with him alone, he’ll be making supper so all three of us can eat together, and he’ll either go home at nights so he can see the place he’s renting or he’ll go home on weekends. We’ll iron it all out later, when the time comes closer for this to happen. I’ve always wanted a ‘housewife’ and he’d make the perfect one.

Because we’d just had that conversation, because the two of us knew in our heads that this will come to an end soon, because he’ll have a limited income sooner than not, now is the only time he’s really going to be able to do this, so I’m not going to tell him he can’t. Eventually he’ll be making our dinners and we’ll still have that experience, but it’ll be different. We just hadn’t exchanged all of this information with my husband yet, so he was flattered we were being taken out again, but thought it was ridiculous at the same time. I can see where they’re both coming from, but we have a solution in mind.

As we were driving to dinner, the car was acting up like it’d been. I know it stresses my kitten out something awful, so I tried to bring him back. He snapped at my husband. My husband didn’t recognize it the same way that j and I did, but it upset me. There was some silence in the car. I had a moment where I knew I should correct him verbally, right then, and let it pass. So then I was angry at myself. My boy is particularly observant of my moods and immediately picked up that I was irritated, and suggested at him, which I couldn’t deny.

We talked about it in the car right then, just enough to point out that I thought he was being short and I didn’t appreciate it. He agreed and immediately apologized to my husband. Later at dinner I explained I’d mostly been mad at myself for not saying something outright, explaining that I was afraid I would make my husband feel uncomfortable if I did. Luckily we all got it cleared that it didn’t bother anyone if something of that nature was brought to light, which relieved a lot of pressure off of me.

When we got home, I paddled him. I’ve always felt so mixed about using any kind of physical punishment. The only way that I can is knowing that the paddling really isn’t the punishment. The punishment was the silence, was him knowing that he’d acted out in a way neither of us like, and atonement for it had been apologizing. The paddling just gave us a way to get through the leftover emotion, I think. We talked through it. I asked him to pinpoint what he’d done wrong and we discussed solutions for next time, coming up with the fact that he’d just stop talking and also to tell me how he was feeling. After that, I said he could let it go. He’d been punished for it and now it was done and over, and it is.

There were a lot of highlights in the day as well. One of them had been talking about him being my housewife. Another had been when I put him in the doorway, wrists crossed over his head and pressed against the door frame. I thought we could look at eyebolts, see if we couldn’t install one over his doorway in his apartment. He takes up enough space that I have to push him to get through, which is fun for me. Otherwise, he’s standing there, naked, and I can have full access to his body. That’s exciting to me. Finally, we found the matching collar to the cuffs we just got him. He’ll be one fantastic vision of sexy boy once he’s complete in that ‘outfit’. It’ll be another good reason to get pictures of him.