Four names

Often when I'm lying in bed with my pet, or just cuddling her in general, I'll whisper eight words in her ear. A little phrase that's become one of the rituals of our relationship. I love the way she reacts, the way she purrs or sighs or melts into me as she hears them, the little shift of her body that perhaps only someone as close as I am to her could read that shows how much pleasure she takes from those words.

My pet.
My slave.
My love.
My Rose.

My pet because she is my pet, for all the affection she shows me, for all the comfort she brings me, for all the loyalty she gives me. My pet for the way I hold her, the way I touch her, the way she purrs with the pleasure of the gentlest strokes. My pet for the adoration in her eyes when she looks up to me from at my feet, the way she seeks me out without waking up when we sleep together, for the thousand little ways she lets me know that I'm at the center of her world.

My slave because she is my slave, for her obedience, for her service, for the way she faces all her fears and challenges just to make me happy. My slave for the pride she brings me as her Master, for the pleasure she brings me in my bed, for her unashamed pleasure in making me happy. My slave for the way she wears my collar, for the way she wears her marks, for the dreamy smile on her face when she goes into subspace. My slave for the way she cums at my order, for the colour her backside goes when I spank it, for the way she takes such intense pain for me with grace and joy. My slave for the way she kneels, the way she worships, the way she makes me feel like a king.

My love because she is my love, for the happiness I take from seeing her smile, for the way I can't be happy unless I know she is too, for the joy and peace her love brings me. My love for the comfort she gives me, my love for the strength she brings me, my love for the good in me that would not exist without her. My love for the way she kisses me, for the way she knows all the silly little things about me, for the way she remembers all the little things we share together. My love for the cookies she bakes for me, my love for her kindness, my love for her sweet and loving heart. My love for the cuddles on cold nights, my love for ladybugs and ants, my love for the thousand and one little things and happy memories we have together.

My Rose because she is my Rose, for all the quirks and sillinesses, for the her love of animals, for the tiny things that make her unique and make me need her more and more everyday. My Rose for our silly in-jokes and quotes, for her laugh and her smile, for being the best friend I've ever had and so much more besides. My Rose for the way she shakes when it's cold and is sad when it rains, for the way she falls asleep curled up with me watching movies together, for the way I could hold her all night when she does. My Rose for ponchos and the coastguard, for beasts and belles, for repo-men and deranged barbers. My Rose for picnics in her dorm room, for driving late at night and listening to metal, for single lonely hiccups. My Rose for lying in the sun, for glitter in my bed, for laughing and crying together. My Rose for silliness and happiness, for sadness and tears, for every mood and every moment. My Rose for everything we've shared together, for everything we will share together, for the life we'll have together.

These are just a few of the things you mean to me, pet. Thank you for each and every one of them. I love you.

Rage

Not especially BDSM related, so feel free to skip this one.

Today I was moved to write not one, but two letters to the editors of major newspapers. This is a rare occurence, but sometimes there's just too much bile not for me to have somewhere to spew it. I thought they were at least entertaining, but maybe not. Unfortuatly, neither of the articles that prompted these letters are yet available online, but if I remember to check and they come up, I'll update with links.

Letter no.1, regarding columnist Andrew Bolt (I really hope he finds this when he self-googles)

"The continued publication by the Herald Sun of the disingenuous and self-aggrandising ravings of Mr. Andrew Bolt are a disgrace. This smug, egocentric guardian of morality is as self-serving as he is hypocritical, and as intellectually sleazy as he is anachronistic.

His attack on the journalistic standards of The Age and smug appeals to 'reason' were especially galling, given his own ad hominem attacks on those who disagree with him, and use of his personal soapbox for self-important vainglorying and the dissemination of outdated prejudices and ideologies"

Letter no.2, regarding columnist Susie O'Brian

If Susie O'Brien thinks there is nothing liberating about 'wearing a gimp mask and being tied to a chair', then I suggest she try it sometime.

Conflating the issues of an individual right to a satisfactory and enjoyable sex-life with shrill "won't somebody please think of the children" outrage and moralistic judgements is an unfair, unwarranted and intellectually dishonest attack on a sexual minority who are already considered fair game for abuse and ridicule. The increasing popularity of BDSM and the sexualisation of music videos are separate issues.

I encourage Susie to come out and meet us in the BDSM community sometime. She might find we're more interesting and likable than she imagined.

Ok, editorial over, resuming kink in 3, 2, 1....