i woke with a restless mind.  i’ve got Rhianna’s “Stay” blasting in my ears.  There is an Altar here and hands-down my favorite is the crown of my Master.  She says, at times, she longs to be selfish and cold.  That it would be easier to just slap me, silence me, ignore me.  It isn’t the way of her crown.  The same deliberate, always watching, possessive energy resides in the both of them.  My sense is they have learned from each other over the years but were always the same-cut from the same cloth.

She said once that deep inside, she is the kind of person who wants to set fire to the building and ask questions later.

It made me laugh out loud, in recognition.  i have often said that had I been born a man, I’d be a cruel son of a bitch if I was crossed.  I’d also be a great husband, a great father, but I don’t think I would have ever evolved past the setting fire to the building part.

I think of this as Sir Raven and I leave the doctor’s office.  If I feel angry, If I want to grab the woman up by her lab coat and shake her and make her do something, what does Sir Raven feel?  Every time we leave the doctor, I think that Sir Raven goes through hell for me.  It must be hellish, for her, to have no control over what the doctor decides to do.  Unlike me, her behavior itself isn’t an issue for my Master.  I feel like i’m talking to the damn wall.  What I always want to do is tell her how shitty she is going to feel when they finally figure out what fibromyalgia really is, how we have to live, how no one wants to be less than, how i live with uncertainty and so does my spouse, and that she needs to get it together and at least keep me comfortable.  Right. Fucking. Now.

Instead, I feel intimidated and am passive me.  Trying to sound calm and reasonable when I feel anything but.  During the exam, I half come flying off of the table and tamp down the urge to hit her.  The pain is so bad that it floods my system before my mind can produce rational thought.  The lizard part of my brain screams, “attack!” 

I wonder what lesson there is for me in this.  Patience?  Forcing me to rely on her?  

Underneath everything, I suspect that the disabilities serve our dynamic in the sense that I do think she would keep me because I am prey and ignite her predator and protector instinct.  Also, she has no doubt how hard I work to please her both in my service and my attitude.  It isn’t the easiest thing in the world to have a pleasant demeanor when you are running another fever, are frustrated and can’t think, and in pain.  Those times, all of them, I’m never quite sure if I want her to beat me or hold me more.  

She is stronger than I am.  Finer. Smarter. Better.

Many weeks ago, Sir Raven said that if she was just a reader of this blog, she wouldn’t have the sense that we are totally committed to each other.  i felt like i had been punched in the stomach.  i was shocked.  She acknowledged that i am always saying, writing, and showing her that i adore and love her.  She wasn’t questioning my commitment or her own but didn’t think it showed up here, in writing.  The truth is simply that i view my commitment to being Hers past death and desire that i might be her slave and her wife in every lifetime, come what may.  Indeed, this is not our first lifetime together as lovers or Master/slave, which i find unusual.  From my experience, people called into several lifetimes together often change relationships-from lover in one life to father or brother in another, for example.  That is not the case with us.  Honestly, though we have already sealed this in another life, i’d jump at the chance to handfast with her for all of our lifetimes again.  That is the level of the depth of my desire to always be by her side.  That we found each other again and she chose me, despite many things not being ideal, speaks for itself.  It seems very obvious, to me, that we need each other and will uphold our commitments.  

I think that anything else would represent the biggest failure of my life.  We would both feel like failures permanently and nether of us is inclined to go through life that way.  

After all, I could never point to her and say, “This woman is not a real Master,” just as she could never point to me and say that i am not a slave.  This is generally what occurs when a M/s break-up happens.  That wouldn’t and couldn’t happen here.

We are very much devoted and i’m even glad for the painful time, because it proved something to me about myself and about us.  It never once crossed my mind that we would not figure it out or that her control would change.  She has me and i thank God for that blessing every day.  



i’ve been thinking of something the Marine said for awhile.  She has said it several times and then immediately chastises herself out loud, for attaching a label to me that i don’t claim for myself.

That label is Queer.

And also: Stone Femme.

i object, in my own head (since there is no reason to voice it), to the first word.  But i have asked why this word, why Queer, rather than Lesbian.  

The Marine makes a laundry list of my qualities which she feels certain would make me a separatist among my Lesbian sisters.

i’m not offended in any manner by penetration, by being objectified sexually, by owning my sex, by not counting sex acts in some patriarchy-free manner that includes equality of orgasms.  I’m not offended by my body being objectified in bed, by being nothing more than a vessel for someone else’s pleasure  i don’t even have to enjoy being fucked to enjoy it.  i need force and pain and ugliness.  A hand around my throat means a hell of a lot more to me than a soft caress.  i have no compunction to give what can’t be taken and i don’t care what that means.  There is an exhilaration, to me, in literally being taken.  i won’t apologize for this.  Not to myself, nor anyone else.  It is what i’m built for.

i don’t “make love.”  I fuck.   

On the Stone Femme front:

Yes.  i enjoy the control.  Indeed, i enjoy the fuck (pardon the pun) out of it that Sir Raven’s list of no-no’s for the boy included something she wants the most.  It’s a source of great pleasure for me that she can’t have it.  i swear i can feel her dick get hard at just the slightest brush of my ass against her  And it’s delicious.  

It’s delicious that she can’t do a damn thing about that.  Nothing.  i’m not above taunting her a little bit or a lot.  My face is entirely composed while i do it and i pretend to not notice, not smell how badly she wants what she can’t have.  Poor boy.

i’m not above taking my pleasure.  Something else i won’t apologize for.  

Last night, i dreamt about the boy in a female form, which has never happened before.  i had her by the throat, Sir Raven had me by the hair and it was pretty spectacular.  The ugly of all of us, the coldness, the heat, the deliberation.  What i was watching for was the glint in the Marine’s eyes.  Oh, yes, the gleam.  Wanting to flip the tables and being unable to.  Being slammed into the wall in the dream woke me up, giddy with joy and with lust.

The predator and prey instinct happens here.  We are all three animalistic and it is because of this that i have no shame.  i won’t go down without the fight of my life.  It will happen, perhaps, one day and i’d enjoy it in a way only a person who knows the are both predator and prey can.  

Interestingly, being aware of the predator Stone Femme part of me, the cold and calculating bitch who is happy to take, makes me feel even more interested in being Sir Raven’s prey.  Like the scales must be balanced carefully and always be in Sir Raven’s favor.  Has it only been a week that her hand was last around my throat, rope around my ankle, my pleading filling the room?  i’m lusting and longing for all of that and more.  i’m also shrinking back, shrinking away because while i need her to take and the after-effects of knowing she had me as she wanted me, i don’t necessarily love the getting there part.

Sir Raven mused that i “wasn’t really begging” when she uses me.  i’ve heard this comment before and let it go, thinking that perhaps this is what she wants to believe.  My wanton desire made me speak up the other day and point out that this was a flawed concept.  That indeed, i was begging and pleading for real for the pain to end.  That often, it is pure pain without endorphins for me.  She seemed to consider this for a moment and then sounded quite pleased as she announced that this only made it better for her.

We are wolves here, bare, and growling, real.  

And i love that.

Little thoughts

Today has been long but good, other than the Statistics class.  I spent hours reading and re-reading the same material until i felt sure that i had a giant dunce cap forming on my head.  My ability to comprehend what i’m reading is nil.  I understand the concepts really well but not the symbols or the SPSS work or the math itself.  The text examples are teeny, non of the supplemental websites offered enlarge or can be read, and i’m dealing in math LD land again.  It’s exhausting, overwhelming.   

Tomorrow is the doctor’s appointment and at least I know what to expect this go round.  I keep thinking of Sir Raven’s promise to not get upset with me if I am abrupt if they behave like last time, hurting me for no reason.  

The weather has turned crisp and cold, perfect for the farmer’s market at the botanical gardens today.  I made sauce, of course, and the Marine came over for dinner.  Sir Raven is fighting a cold still.  None of us were feeling especially great so I was happy to do what little I could for them.  

After they ate, and I finally got a paper turned in, the Marine called me over to her and held me.  I enjoy her body, the sturdiness of it, and the weight but then I feel strange and conflicted because Sir Raven isn’t the kind who will hold me on the sofa and it makes me feel guilty to wish it was her instead.  I don’t want her to be something she isn’t…it’s not that…but there is just an ease that i wish we could share.  Then i feel bad for drawing comparisons but i can’t do anything about the fact that nothing feels like Sir Raven.  Her hands are perfection.  

I’m thinking about the next MAsT meeting, trying to emotionally steel myself for it.  The topic is love,sex, and M/s.  i figure I’ll end up hearing a lot of “I’m not in love with my slave” and “love ruins relationships” stuff.  I used to believe that as well.  The day that my mind opened up was the night Sir Raven made an offhand remark about herself, that love meant she would be harder on the slave than any other person alive except herself.  I felt myself exhale with relief right then.  It was a kind of love that I understand.  

I’m also thinking about writing about force and cnc types of sex but I can’t seem to bring myself to sit down and do it in a coherent fashion.  

I’d also like to write about the little part of me.  Right now, that is a struggle.  I stare at incomprehensible work for hours, I resent that I’m behind on things I think are important, and I feel like I’m ready to throw myself on the floor and howl.  I think blathering hostile things like “make me!” are not wise nor considerate.  I try and keep the frustration to myself, to not inconvenience anyone with all of the stuff that comes with being me.  I try and focus on just being a good girl, her good girl, but I have to fight myself at times because I can’t make myself get through what needs to be done for school until the day it’s due.

That isn’t Sir Raven’s way.  Not really.

Maybe after the doctor is behind us and we get some good sleep, we will both feel like a beating.  Or, at least, she will since it doesn’t matter if I’m feeling like it right that moment or not.  Heh.  I think all of that would help a great deal.

You know what I love?

A Marine who bought me Hello Kitty cupcakes.

You know what I love more?

That Sir Raven controlled the hell out of that.  That she has learned to enjoy me ohhing over some silly girl thing, despite herself.  And then she will reign it in, take it away, and control, control, control.

Control and Force make my feel safe and I love that Sir Raven provides that all of the time.  


Friday was super nice.  Sir Raven and I both needed some down-time and we ended up in bed all day watching lesbian soft-porn dramas on her laptop.  What was really exciting, to me, was to see voluptuous women and big girls and thick girls playing the parts of the desirable female role.  What?  Not the “friend” but the vixen, who shows up at the door in a trench and a corset.  The femme who makes the Butch want her.  It was surprising and exciting to see.  Finally!

I was permitted to sleep in on Saturday and was thankful for it.  Each time I picked up my head, I felt sick, like a migraine was coming full force.

I had the left over and still warm french-press and smiled because Sir Raven had placed my cup next to the pot for me.  She always seems to know when I had a terrible night and it is the little things that say so much.

I went through my morning chores: bed made, kitchen scrubbed, bathroom cleaned, house mopped, dinner started, recycling together, list made.  On to homework.  The internet was painfully slow, the pain behind my eyes growing.  I wasn’t sure if the migraine was mine or borrowed since Sir Raven and I share pain.  

I got a shower and decided if I was going to show up at work unannounced, I could at least look nice.  I wore her favorite jeans, the cowboy boots with heels, and the ivory lace top the boy bought for me.  

The train ride was long and too loud but I realized the closer I got to her, the better I felt.  

Sir Raven seats me in the comfortable chair and I told her I brought her my last migraine pill in case the headache was coming from her.  Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Four or five hours of steady work later, I produced two papers, several discussion posts, and read another chapter of Statistics.  It’s amazing how much I can get done when she is right there and there is nothing to distract me.  I felt better, clearer, and calmer just being in the same room even though we were both working hard.  That morning, I had wondered how in the world I’d be able to get everything done.

By the time she was ready, all I had left to do was type up the reference list and submit the assignment.  Yay!

We rushed home and met the boy, who refused to hug me in her dirty condition since I was wearing ivory lace.  I hugged her anyhow and brought wine and water.  I changed tops, and got her towel and a new loofah.  I finished dinner of slow cooked beef tips, yellow rice, red peppers, onions, mushrooms and fresh corn on the cob.

I went back in while the rice cooked and scrubbed the boys back and picked up her dirty clothes off the bathroom floor.  Passing her a clean “wife beater” of mine and a pair of pj pants on the way to finish dinner, I smiled hearing their combined laughter.

It felt good after a long day to hear them shake a joke and to know they had a hot meal coming.  

The boy was exhausted after dinner and we urged her to stay and sleep.  I covered her with her favorite blanket and went to clean up the kitchen.  I still had work to do for the book discussion the next day, which took me until 2am to finish the write-up with quotes.  At some point, the boy woke and I could hear their whispering and laughter from the bedroom, where I continued to work.

Sir Raven passed by me and asked if I was still working and said “good girl” to me, which was the highlight of my day.  😀  I’d walk through hell and back to hear “good girl” so being sleepy wasn’t a big deal anymore. 

When I finally did lay down in bed, I felt full and happy.  The boy was next to me, her arm around me tight.  That damn boy can get Sir Raven to curl up with us for a bit and that was pure heaven.  There is no better thing than Sir Raven’s touch and after a long day for all of us, it was nice to just be together.  i felt so happy and so full of love and peace that i could have stayed just like that forever.  

In the morning, I made french press and breakfast and cleaned up.  The smell of sausage and eggs finally brought the boy from the bed into the kitchen for a sleepy hug.  Then Sir Raven and I had to run out the door to not be late while the boy stayed behind to do her laundry.

If you haven’t had a chance to read, “Living M/s” by Dan and Dawn Willliams, I recommend it.  It was good, though we all agreed we would have loved to have heard more anecdotal information from Dan.  When I read it, I loved the concept of Dan and Dawn speaking about the same idea from different sides.  I wish this blog was more inclined to take that tact but am happy about what it is as well.  They both write about M/s being a tool for personal growth and for their relationship to create growth as well.  Certainly, my slavery has made me grow.  i am her wild orchid girl, after all.  

Sir Raven and I had a really nice day today.  I did chores and we went out late morning to explore a library branch, take a long walk, have very good burgers, and she bought me my favorite Yankee candle.  All of the time, I think of how blessed I am and how she takes such good care of me.  My Master is an amazing provider and she does things all of the time for me to show me she cares.  She goes out of her way for me and I appreciate it.  When she reaches out and takes my hand, it feels like the pure warmth of the sun.  We share her ipod, and she chooses music for the ride.  Today, it was a lot of Drake and some “smack my bitch up” tunes.  🙂  A promise of what is to come? 

Not to mention, I was holding her resume, and I fell.  Completed splatted.  I was upset about wrinkling the previously pristine papers.  She was so not bothered about that and I felt thankful that she wasn’t mad at me.  I tripped over some hard plastic which stumbled me.  And much later on the trip, my foot found an orange under it to slide on.  Heh.  No second splat.  I didn’t make orange juice on the street.  

Dear New York,

Litter is hazardous.  Please Just. Stop. It.  You are making blind road kill.  

Love, jade



The Good Life

There don’t seem to be enough time in the day, and it’s been taking its toll on things I’d like to do. I’m pretty good with time management, but this week has been a bit overwhelming. I was to write-up the minutes for the MaST meeting, call back a few friends, and I have to stay on top of that since I only have a few friends, I’ve been preparing (tweaking) my resume for a position I’m applying for and have another interview this week. I also have to update my automatic bill pay. As I tease the girl that I have to keep her in the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to.

Not many people know that we run a book discussion group. *We started in May of this year in conjunction with our MaST meeting group; we have a diverse group of people who show up. Some of the members are from our MaST group some from word of mouth and other groups. We discus books with a power dynamic theme, focus on relationships, alternating between fiction and non-fiction and all variations of gender and sexuality. It’s been rather fulfilling. Afterwards, we usually go for the lunch special of sushi and sake, but like everything in this city the place changed in a matter of a month to a Thai place, which put the kia-bash on our after party.

*this is the royal we, since the girl is on a forced march

Saturday the girl walks into my work place and informs me that the internet wasn’t working at the house so she came here. I got a phone call that the boy’s jeep was broken into, and the window was damaged. They were going to drive to work and park it in a garage, then find a garage Saturday they could leave it in until it could get repaired. It was a long day, but it was a pleasure to look over and see the girl working on school. It was like bringing your daughter to work day. Only that I was beat by the end of the day.

On the way home-dragging ass I might add, I got a text from the boy, and when we arrived from the underground rail road that is mass transit I got a call about how the boy couldn’t remember a garage to park the jeep for the night. It had been a long week at work and their brain was fried I’m sure. The girl suggests the garage around our way and just as suggest it, the boy says they are going to park around our way.  The girl is walking funny because her back is experiencing spasms.  I’ve made mention that there are times as the “Master” I want to throw myself of the floor kicking and screaming “no,no,no I don’t wanna.” But as the “Master” I have to have a plan and keep the ship steered in the direction I want to go. So getting the girl home and meeting up with the boy was my priority. We all got to the building at the same time. It was the first time in a long time the three of us were together. The girl ran to the bathroom popped a pill sitting on the chaise; the boy dropped their bag and sat on their dirty self on the floor, and I went to check the router for the wireless. A few minutes pass, and I make my way to the bathroom, the girl gets up to get water for us and the sweaty boy ask to take a shower.

Cleaned, feed and wine later, I’m reminded of the book discussion tomorrow. And I remind them of the minutes from the meeting. They both reply that they sent me the minutes the same day. Uggh, I totally missed that and checked. Yep there the emails were under all the other emails I got. And I didn’t even finish reading the book let alone spend time, real-time with my family. We stay up far too late or early 2am and finally go to bed. The next day all I want to do is pull the cover up and stay in bed, but I get ready to leave. By noon the girl, and I head out to Purple Passion. There was much mashing of teeth by me, comments of “poor Master” from the girl, the boy was left to clean up the breakfast dishes and do laundry.

Did I mention there are times I want to throw myself on the floor like a 2 year old?


The Floating Post

i was dreaming about her vividly this morning, when i felt her perfect-shaped, soft lips on mine.  i wondered if it was a part of the dream, for a moment, in that space where you are not sure which reality matters more and both realities are real. 

In a quantum sense, all realities are equal.  

This morning, i listened to a meditation about paying attention to the intentions we put out to the Universe with our thoughts.  This idea, which rings true to me, stands in stark contrast with the idea the best predictor of what a person will do in the future is what they have done in the past.  

There isn’t room for both as accepted truths.

One must go.

I have been working hard on letting go of the idea that the past predicts the future.  

Holding that as a truth gets in the way of making room for a better future.

It seems i have been learning this the hard way, in this strange new land.

 i made an offhand remark to Sir Raven that she had never played with me on a work night.  Her reaction was hurt.  It wasn’t my intent.  Not at all.   In my logically way, devoid of emotion, i was only stating a piece of factual information without a value-judgement.  

My Master works hard and i can appreciate that.  

In speaking that, though, i negated how hard she works for us in our relationship.  i know, in my true heart, that she is always thinking about her Mastery and my slavery and how to make it better.  i also know that if she had the energy left over, there would be no doubt that she would enjoy using me more.

My words didn’t convey that and it didn’t make room in the Universe for more of what matters to us.

i am learning how to let go of hurts, deep wounds, and live in the present and in the expectation that we will keep coming together as strong and sure as the ocean waves.  I’ve never looked at the sea and questioned that the waves would keep rolling in.  Never watched high tide and pointedly commented that low-tide has happened as well.  

Against all logical odds, we have found each other in this lifetime and what i know for sure is that it isn’t our first.  It is my deepest wish, intention, and belief that we will continue across all space and time, that our souls will always find each other.  I trust in that.

And when you trust in something that big, the rest seems trivial, like focusing on a single speck of sand at the bottom of the ocean floor.  Why would you want to examine that so closely?  It is just something tiny.  It’s real, like the hurt was, but it isn’t the whole of anything.

So, over the weekend, I discovered Pinterest and made a page for Her.  To show her all of the ways i want to become who she wants to mold me into.  To show all of the beauty I see in her and our lives together.  To show her my intentions.  

The board is full of images: the NYPL with candles going up the stairs, a deep tub overlooking the city, the dresses she spends so much time finding for me, the Butch swagger, a poem that was meant to say i want to understand better, movies that made us cry, cuff links from Tiffany’s and hand engraved rings of Ravens.  I included Mr. Darcy’s speech of love and my reply: a white rose covered in blood.  

The images matter because it is imagery that informs intent.

There is no room for looking at the past for doubt because it just doesn’t matter.  

i made my choice, to be Hers entirely, and have never spent a single second regretting this.

i didn’t know it then, but i also chose to live in faith, to live with being vulnerable.  And so the things that do not belong on that board of intentions, living in our combined memory and future, just don’t matter.  This is the beauty of Consensual Non Consent.  This is the beauty of being hers.


i do have faith.  i do.  i just couldn’t find a way to show that without pictures.  Art has always been another way that you loved me.  I want to return the favor.  Thank you for giving me a way to reach back and for making my life an extraordinary place.



Delicious Confliction

Delicious Confliction, or perhaps, delicious infliction would be more accurate.

The marks i bear in between my legs, down my thighs, are deep purple welts.

They are Hers.

They are beautiful.

It takes me by surprise, at times.  i look down and see bruises from cunt to knee caps and feel a flush of desire.

That sea of purple, red, black covering my thighs …it is beautiful.  So much more beautiful than words can convey.

 The times i fight and loose, when there is no endorphin rush to save me, no pleasure only the vast sea of pain-

those are the times i like best. 

She forces me to take it, rope around the steel collar bound tight and close to the iron bed, a harsh warning You are going to choke yourself girl.  You had better hold those legs open and don’t move.  The sensation of the unyielding steel against my throat, the unending blows, the exquisite agony…it makes me fall a little more in love each time.

This kind of pain is real.  

i want to crawl away but i can’t and we both know its not the rope that binds me.

i’m Yours.

All of me.

Every piece.

Every tear, welt, drop of sweat, the anger, pleading, desperate agony: it is for You.

When she grabs me by the throat, slams me down, pulls me around by my hair, sticks her finger in my mouth and pulls me up by my teeth- i remember her saying This is the only thing you can understand  and it’s true.  So true.  

These things are real.  i hold onto them later, replaying it in a fantastic symphony.  Later, when there is no pain, and i am just a silent witness: i feel whole.



i have been worthy to be trusted with this beautiful animal, and i have proven myself worthy of each blow.

i am strong enough to take it, to welcome it, to be as ravenous for the pain as She is.

There is a strength of my own, yes, and it is where my beauty resides.

Beyond the empty prayer, my childish rage at the pain, the pleading, there is a satisfaction that i can do nothing but receive.

i am powerless in the best possible way.

And i know it.

Even when i feel the strap, at the end, and have some of the blanket clenched in my teeth to not scream, i am not evading you.  i want to cover my ears, the sickening sound of strap against my skin competes with the screaming in my head but nothing matters because

You make me.

Your make me take it and you make me





Thank you.

You are right, Master.  The only thing i truly understand is your force is stronger than me, and for that, i will always be in your debt.  i am your Vessel, your chalice, the altar of our need.  You take me, use me, however you want to.  And when you are done, you leave me a mess, covered in sweat, welts, tears.  You get dressed and go for a walk in the Fall air.  i am holding the wall, watching you, trying to stand and wrap my arms around you for a moment.  i am sent back to bed, alone, your slave.  In my head, i hear Gregorian chanting.  The room smells like orchids and sunshine, sea salt and sex.  i pull a silky white slip over my head and lay down.  Jay Z is on and i measure time by the songs.  

Today, i am just a daydream.

Time slides in and out.

Day has past to darkness.

i am aware of nothing but my marks, the dampness of my sex, and the waiting for you to come home.

What can a slave do, but count the hours?