Remember me?

Once again, I return here to wipe away the dust and save my poor little blog from abandonment. Although to be honest, I never really abandoned this place.  I came here, often, and thought about writing (and it is the thought that counts, yes?), but nothing ever sounded right, so I closed it out and left, only to come back later and the pattern repeated itself all over again.

There were a few instances where The Man poked and prodded and gently suggested I blog, especially after the last beating when He left my ass with a beautiful set of stripes, courtesy of Mr. Cane, but alas, the words did not come.

That was almost three weeks ago.  Sigh. Ah well, I guess what really matters is I am here now, and the words are flowing a little easier today.

While I don't have any recent kinky details to share, I can tell you that we are doing fine. We are looking forward to having the house to ourselves next weekend (our college student will be out of town for several days), and Master wants to take a trip to the Big City and visit our favorite BDSM store.  There's been some talk of purchasing a companion for Mr. Cane, something a little thinner and whippier, despite my insistence that Mr. Cane prefers being alone and does not need a friend.

I mean, really, who knows Mr. Cane better than me?  After all, that cane and I have been intimately acquainted for almost six years...six long years...six long years of wondering why the damn thing won't break or spontaneously combust...

Anyway, a trip to the Big City will definitely give me something to write about, and who knows, maybe I will manage to write something before then.  Stay tuned.

A firm reminder

Sometimes at night, after we climb into bed, He will reach over and firmly place His hand on my throat.  He isn't choking me--I can still breathe--He is just holding me there.  He doesn't say anything when He does this.  He doesn't need to.  The action speaks for itself.  His hand on my throat is a silent reminder of the fact that He owns me.

Depending on His mood, He might take His hand from my throat and move it someplace else on my body.  Other times, He might remove it, tell me He loves me, and roll over to go to sleep.  Either way, the effect is the same; I know that I am His.

Policy of Truth

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