Fighting storms & remembering where you left your sword.

If you have ever been in a hurricane, you know the feeling of anticipation.  Trying to prepare, watching & waiting for this force of nature to make landfall but never exactly sure where it will fall or the exact time.  Usually there is an eerie calm before the storm.  This explains my emotional state the past few weeks.  Eerily calm then suddenly the winds and rains start coming in.  The feelings of anger, frustration, and anguish hitting me emotionally in places I didn’t know was possible & in the wake I survey the destruction.   The energetic power cord knocked out of service.  The strong self confidence within myself snapped like a tree.

Being in a state of purgatory isn’t exactly my idea of fun.  As the days roll on you start to have a little bit of your soul chiseled away.  Piece by piece until you have an unstable material in front of you.  The inability to hear your own voice but rather the voices of everyone else around you. The inability to truly lean on someone else because we all got problems.   The inability to remain calm & fluid because you feel like time is ticking away & you are taking multiple steps back.   And just when you think the dark, cold, bleakness can’t take you down another level – you start hearing the words of an asshole echoing in your ears.

“You were never meant to have responsibilities.”  

“Your place is to serve & be pleasing for your owner.” ”

“Inferior cunts need to stop changing the way society is meant to be.”

“My job is to pay the bills.  Your job is to just serve me.”

Taunting me, laughing at my situation, reminding me as a submissive/slave woman how dare I try to be more than an object of pleasure & service.  Constant jabs & slaps to already fragile ego within at the moment.  And in this moment, I want to lay down my sword & shield.  I no longer want to fight.  Maybe I should accept the fate someone thinks is becoming of me.  An owned slave in service to the man who decides to keep me as his.  No rights or responsibilities.  No need to think outside of does he want chicken or fish for dinner tonight.   Pushing a vacuum yes; pushing my intellectual capabilities – goodness no.  A beautiful fuck toy who knows how to clean, cook, and do as she is told with a smile on her face.

A temporary moment to forget my issues would be lovely.  A stern hand that speaks to the masochist/submissive/woman within.  Guiding a whip through the air to gently & harshly kiss my skin all over. My body being used roughly & without mercy.  Consensually being pushed to my limits until my brain resets & my body gives way to the pleasure & pain it seeks.  Then to be held & allowed to be weak for just a few moments.  Then to be reminded – YOU dear woman are a motherfucking warrior.  Yep, you are bruised and wounded but you don’t get to quit.  You don’t get to give up.  And with that, I get a lovely pat on the ass & am told to pick up my sword and shield cause your journey is far from over.

I don’t have anyone to reset me the way I would like at the moment so I have to pull confidence and will to fight from within myself.    Because giving up & giving in has never been an option.

Pick up your sword & shield woman & fight!!!

 

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