Moody Submissive

I was sad.

Don’t know why, really.

Didn’t mask it, didn’t bury it under chocolate, or snapping at my kids, just accepted it, felt it, let it run through me.

Those are dangerous times for me.

I’m prone to despair. I’m prone to feeling so blue that I want to just go to bed and hide. I don’t. But sometimes I want to.

I have, in the past, hidden this from Master. Suppressing it to be His good little happy slut. And suppression leads to being snarky, and occasionally snapping and having a little emo breakdown…

I sent Him a text this time.

“I’m sad.”

He didn’t respond; He waits, you see, to see what will come to His in-box next.

“I’m not sure why. Nothing is wrong. But things aren’t …I dunno.”

“I’m overtired. Not sleeping well at all.”

“I miss You. My kids are driving me crazy. It snowed again.”

“I need spring, Master. And for it to be warm. And…You. I need YOU, Master.”

“I’ll be back in a while. I’m off to take my supplement so I don’t take anyone’s head off. I’m not mad. Just…sad.”

There is always something that comes next. (Never say in one text what can be said with 20, amiwrite? (see what i did there?)) I took a vitamin D, and an herbal supplement that helps when my mood falls that sharply.

“I feel…better. Not happy. But smoother. I think I’m over the worst of it now.”

“what made you sad, little girl?”

“I don’t know, Master. Nothing specific. Just…sad.”

“there is a cure for that you know. Butt plugs.”

“I’m feeling…FINE now Master.”

“the bigger the butt plug, the happier you’ll get…”

“Remember Master? I told You I’m all better now.”

“Oh. okay. Well, if you’re sure, slut, I’ll go put Big Red away.”

“For now……”

He sure knows how to inspire a slut. ūüôā Funny thing is? After He said all that, I felt even happier. Wrapped in the loving arms (so to speak) of my sadistic Dom…who wouldn’t feel better after that?

Sometimes it’s these short, simple exchanges that reinvigorate the Dom/sub relationship. It doesn’t exactly “lag”…but sometimes I feel less of the ownership tug than other times.

That’s all my fault, by the way.

HE is the not the one riding the emotional roller coaster here, that’s all on me. My vanilla life has been very dominant for the last several weeks, and that leads me to feeling, if not less submissive, then at the very least, less involved in being submissive. It gets pushed away, into the back of my psyche, like an old dildo in the toybox…you know you like it, and it gets you off, but you don’t have the time to play with it just now. You know you’ll go back to it, you always do because it’s just that good….but for now, you just don’t have any minutes left over in your day.

(I hope that makes sense out loud the way it did in my head.)

Master is always there. There are always things I need to do per His request. Never anything strenuous or that would impact my vanilla life. Like…always sending a good morning text. Small task, big benefit. These little tasks are to remind me that I’m His submissive slut. But we’re both aware that my vanilla life is dauntingly full of children and all the responsibilities endemic in that most important task. He would NEVER allow me to neglect them.

But that brief texting yesterday not only did wonders for my sad mood, but it reaffirmed in my head that the submission is still there, still very much alive. More like a crocus waiting under the snow to blossom, as I will when the full heat of Him is focused on me. I’m not “not submissive”…I’m just a really over-scheduled Mom right now, who is also a submissive slut. I’m all His, always.

But next Sunday?

I’ll be all His, under His hands.

I think we both need it badly.

TMI Tuesday

Last week there was a lot of drama in nillaville. Rough times, my friends. And nilla? Well….I’m a VERY emotional woman. Slut. Wife. Mother. I cry at Kleenex commercials, right? And things pile up and I tried ¬†to “suck it up”. Actually i *did* suck it up. And then…

Guess what?

There comes a point when there is no more room for suckage to fit. ¬†Master happened to be the one who hit the jackpot, and reaped the emotional firestorm. ¬†I didn’t do something He had wanted me to do, and didn’t realize it was a Rule. Now I have been educated. And I reacted by crying my eyeballs out, and … saying hyper-emotional things like “if you don’t like me then take back my collar…”

To which He responds, in an altogether normal way…”so, you’re in one of your nilla moods, eh?”

He allowed me space to roll through the emotions, and supported me, and … ¬†helped me through it. By not reacting to my breakdown, he got ¬†me through it. I’d not shared my week from hell with Him. My bad. He had no idea where “it” (the mood) had begun. It didn’t change the fact that I’d fucked up on a task He expected of me, but it helped Him understand my reaction. ¬†And i understood, after we talked some, where He was coming from. And i (ahem…) told Him it wasn’t fair.

*pregnant pause here*

Did your mouth just fall open in shock upon reading that? I know, I can barely believe I said it. And not just once, either.

(insert whiney voice here)

“But Master, that’s not¬†fair. You didn’t make it a¬†rule.¬†You can’t say I fucked up if it’s not a rule. It’s just not¬†fair.”

Do you know what He did?

Can you guess?

He laughed, the fucker.


He knows *exactly* how to diffuse me. “Fair? There is no fair here, little girl. It’s My way. I promised you several things…and fair was not one of them.”

And then He laughed again, “Fair!” He scoffed. And yanno?

He’s full-on right.

He’s the boss. Capital B Boss. Boss of me.

So now I have two new rules. Always  a picture on HNT Thursday. Always. Without exception.

And never, ever, let my pique with Him spill over into not sending Him a morning text. ¬†I can text Him that I’m still mad, or sad, or call Him a prick. (Though I’ll pay for that if I do!)…but staying in communication is mandatory.

Yes, Master. *smiling*


We had face time on Sunday morning. It’s never very long, these little meetings, perhaps an hour or so. I have my tea, He has His coffee. He hugged me and kissed me, all the while, ¬†grabbing my soft waist with his fingers, and pinching hard. As I climb to my tiptoes with the sudden surprising (and hurty) pain, He jokes about my going from 5’1″ to 5’6″ instantly.

ha ha.

It hurt, coz, yanno? I’m out of pain practice. Oh, sure, I’ve pegged my nipples plenty in these last 6 weeks, but real pain?

Master pain?

Nah. Not much…maybe a pinch here or there, a hand grab, a finger pinch. This was “full on” Master. Later He said that He was holding back. Way back. Um. Um. Really?

If that’s the case, then pray for me next Sunday, ya’ll!!

Left under arm…and the photo is a bit over-exposed, those are really darker. Yes, I took this photo about 5 hours after our visit. ¬†(I bruise wicked easily). ¬†ON the right arm there are even darker bruises, and the bonus of the imprint of his fingers. They’re ¬†from “walking nilla to her car” as He grasped ¬†the top of my arm in His vise-grip…they are pale purple and don’t photograph well. I Love, LOVE wearing His marks on my skin.

There is something about feeling His pain…I really don’t have words for it. If you’ve been there, done this, then perhaps you understand how…head-clearing it is. Knowing He loves me despite my occasional emotional breakdowns. ¬†That He knows what to do to nurture me back to my happy place, and how often that nurturing is pain.

Perhaps that feeds us both.

His face, in the parking lot, was gleeful. The Sadist was having a blast. He was making me yip and wriggle and even, pull away to evade his pinching grip. It fucking hurt!  I *NEVER* try to pull away when He is hurting me.

Yet Sunday I did. And He laughed, and got this gleam in His eye…it made me smile to see Him so gleeful, and it did my heart and spirit a world of good to be transformed back from sad nilla, to happy sub/slut once more.

You’ll be happy to know we played “heart war” yet again. He found every one and returned them to me in painfilled ways…gripping my fingers, pressing one into my palm so hard I’m kind of amazed it didn’t embed in my skin…and even now I am wearing one on *my* chest. He put in on my shoulder, and I found it on my way home, and giggled, then stuck it on my tit, over my heart.

That’s almost exactly what it looks like, since I stuck it on while driving, not seeing which way it went. To me, they look like boobage, yanno? I know the shape has also been used for a woman’s ass, but to me, they are tits and cleavage.

Maybe that’s why I keep pressing them on Master, symbolically pressing my tits on him? Hmmm…where’s JM the amazing analyst when you need him, eh?


So, I’m in a good head space, all things being what they are, accepting the place I am in. And ….. today plus 4 more days…..Master and nilla will ¬†have a “whomping” good time behind closed doors.

After 7 weeks, I’d say we were ready, eh!?