The Sanctuary – chapter one

Sitting around a large oval table, six men looked her up and down thoughtfully. There was no empty seat, so she stood before the table of men with a dry mouth and nowhere to put her hands. This was a problem. Amelia was a known fidgeter, and the dress had no pockets. She made a mental note never again to buy a dress without pockets.

Nothing had prepared her for standing here. What happens behind these doors was a closely guarded secret within the community. All of the scenarios she had run through her head were wrong, so very wrong.

She cleared her throat, held her hands in front of her before moving them behind and then in front again. She could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the grand entryway. She tapped her foot to the beat.

“I, um-” she ventured but was cut off by a crisp, firm voice. “You will speak when spoken to.”

The voice did not look up from his notes.I’m sorry.” She hated to do the wrong thing, but the back of her throat burned with anger. They really should put out a rule book. Two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

The man at the end of the table spoke. She leaned forward slightly on her heels. “Amelia, you have applied to interview for the position of intern.” He looked down at a piece of paper which she assumed was her application. “This is a great honor we bestow upon three young women each year.”

Amelia nodded, wondering if that required an answer.

“You will be asked questions by the board members. You will answer succinctly and honesty without hesitation and censorship. Do you understand? His words were efficient, and when he finished with his instructions, he nodded to a man close to her on the right.

“Yes.” The word squeaked from her dry throat.

He looked up and raised one eyebrow. He practised that. It was so utterly pretentious that it impressed Amelia. “You will address the board members as Master in every instance.”

“Yes, Master.”

He nodded in approval.

Amelia looked at the man who was to go first. He had a kindly face and somewhat younger than the others. She tried to appear relaxed, but the tension was building up inside her, forming a tight knot in her belly.

He cleared his throat and leaned closer. “Amelia, how do you define yourself to others?”

Amelia immediately panicked. She found these kinds of questions very difficult. She felt she wasn’t as yet a defined person. Not even close. Wasn’t that why she was applying for the internship? So she could be made, or whatever that meant.

“I…” she stumbled, beginning to fidget. “I define myself as a work in progress. I haven’t yet defined who or what I am. I’m learning more about myself each day.”

He leaned back, his face showing his dissatisfaction. Amelia swallowed against the lump in her throat.

The next man leaned forward, looking her up and down before he spoke. He had a very long beard and piercing eyes. “Amelia, what is your goal?”

Oh my, why couldn’t they ask me what I like for breakfast?

She rocked forward on her shoes. “I would like to become someone with a good reputation for enhancing people’s lives for the better.” It sounded hollow to her ears.

Another gentleman leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “What are your passions?”

“Well,” she twisted her fingers together. “I like to help my friends, and I read a great deal. I garden, and I cook.” Why don’t I have more passions, she wondered, they all sounded very mundane.

He nodded with a small smile and leaned back.

“Amelia, why have you chosen to intern at The Sanctuary?” She paused but remembered the instructions to answer without hesitations. “Master, The Sanctuary is renown for producing the very best slaves. The most accomplished. The charitable programs alone are outstanding.”

The man at the head of the table took his turn to ask a question. “Why aren’t you yet owned?”

“Well… Um, Master. I haven’t met the right man.”

He nodded and sat back.

“Describe the right man to me.” The question comes from the giant to the

left of her. He’s an imposing man with a mischievous look on his face. She looked at the door to her left, ready to make a run for it.

“Master, I think he will be kind and intelligent. Easy to talk to about any subject. He will appreciate the world, wish to make it a better place and he will be funny too.”

He smiled kindly, but it only made his enormous face look like he might have her breakfast.

“Amelia, tell me about you in five years.”

She hated that question. She found it hard to think five minutes into the future. “I, um…I hope to be doing something helpful in the world though I am not sure what. I want to be owned.”

“If you were given this position, what assets would you bring to our house.”

“There is not much information about the internship at The Sanctuary. It is hard to know what assets will suit it best, Master. What I would bring to any position is my passion, my desire to learn and to help others do the same. Iwould bring compassion and kindness.”

He smiled in satisfaction and leaned back.

“Before you on the table is a portfolio of The Sanctuary, our charitable

institutions and some of the things that would be expected of you should you be successful. In its essence, the internship would foster your talents, help in your growth as a young woman and put you in a position to be owned. In return, we would ask for your devotion and commitment to the Sanctuary and its Masters. You would find yourself with six mentors, each designed to aid you in various aspects of your life for the coming year. The man who will own you at the end of that year is not for you to decide. That remains the decision of this committee.”

This was not a question. It was a proclamation, and Amelia swallowed the lump in her throat. You knew this, she reminded herself. Only The Sanctuary, they had all replied. Only the best house.

“The alumni of women who have served in this house have gone on to great things, Amelia. Should we consider you worthy, you too will go on to follow in their footsteps.” That’s an order, he may as well have said.

He rang a bell and the door opened quietly.

“Please take the information. Study it well and we will inform you if you are shortlisted for an interview. John will show you out. Thank you for your time.”

Each of the men nodded and Amelia fumbled for the portfolio on the table before following the butler out again. She almost dropped a small cutesy.

She had no time to look around further and settle her curiosity. She was formally ushered out with the bound prospectus under her arm and the butlers Hands at her other elbow. Another nervous candidate sat on the uncomfortable lone chair in the foyer awaiting her turn. Her knees here primly pressed together and the white gloves on her hands were pristine.

“I should have worn gloves,” she muttered as she walked down the street away from the old building with the massive gate that shut firmly behind her. The tall stone wall ran a full block and behind it was known only to chosen few. How Amelia wanted to be one of those few. Since she was a little girl, she had dreamed of attending The Sanctuary with its closeted grounds and beautiful buildings

Up and down the street, young women were laughing as they came and went from their interviews. They looked happy. They boisterously hugging each other while she walked with a pit in her stomach, and a heavy prospectus in her hand, doubting herself with each step.

I’m not up to their standard. I’m far more suited to The Garden. She peeked in the front door of the establishment as she passed it. Slaves were handing out cups of punch to the applying interns. Where is my punch?

All over town, young men and women were talking about pledge week. It was the most exciting week in the community. They came from all across the country to apply to the various houses. Parties were held, tours were taking place, signs inviting novices to apply were stapled to every available pole and fence.

But not The Sanctuary. They did not advertise. They did not have to. They took three recruits each year, no more. She stopped at the crossing where a man with his slave walked happily hand in hand. I wonder which house you went to, Amelia thought? You look so perfectly. Probably The Garden. You probably had punch.

“Stop it silly,” She said to the blinking walk sign. The slave turned her head and smiled, saying to her owner “it’s application week.” He nodded in understanding, and they walked ahead.

Amelia walked home and made a punch.

Looking forward.

There is only so much looking back and wondering what went wrong I can do.

I’m not a naturally negative person. I know it seems like I am but usually I’m a glass half full girl. I tend to shake things off and move on but this year has seen a change in me. I’ve been drowning in my emotions and frankly wallowing and I don’t like it. I try and see the light in the dark for the most part but for some reason I’ve been keeping the lights off.

I don’t like that about myself. It’s miserable and I imagine it’s equally so for people around me.

While I was walking today, I saw this guy sunning on a rock. He looked very satisfied with his activity. I was out of sorts at the time, grumbling to myself about the injustice of it all and I stopped to watch him. He poked his tongue out at me but didn’t seem interested in conversation. He was doing his thing, not worrying about anyone else doing there thing.

I decided that’s what I need to do. Do my thing and not worry about what anyone else’s thing is. Their thing, at this time in my life, doesn’t interfere with my thing and I’ve been letting it interfere way too much. I need to be content with my thing. It’s not the old thing. It will never be that glorious thing again and that’s okay. Moments pass and so does time, but it is a thing and it will be alright as a thing.

I need to look forward, and do my thing.

Things to ask before you submit

I’d love to know what you would ask if you had a time machine and could go back to the beginning.

I would ask one question. Are you intending to take on another submissive and if the answer was the same as it was when I asked it way back in time, which was I don’t know. It’s possible, I would have said it’s been nice talking to you, good luck.

It’s too late to do that. Science has let me down. I thought all those nerds I went to school with would have figured that one out. They weren’t drinking with me at parties, so what were they doing, huh? Explanations are needed, people.

It’s never too late, I hear you say. Tell my heart that. I love him. It’s harder without him than with him. It all comes down to that. It’s harder with out him so I stay and I hate every night he is with her. I hate myself for staying and I hate him for doing this to me.

All of it is a mess of hate and anger and I am a miserable unhappy human.

I’m really sorry to bring your day down. On the bright side, I went riding today and I love to ride. I found a church up in the rocks, out in the desert. What an astonishing place to put a church. I’m not at all religious but I preyed to a god I don’t believe in to give me some kind of relief from this.

That didn’t happen. As usual, I need to get myself out of this mess.

I have lost my submission

This is a very sad statement for me to make. It’s an honest one at the time of writing and because my emotions are like a sign writers flight plan, I do not know what it will feel like tomorrow, but right now, as I place my fingers on keys that make up the words, the submission is lost.

It is like a rabbit. Grey and wild for context because they seem like the hardy variety. The white fluffy ones seem like a fairytale so we will go with the grey and wild for now. The rabbit, who is the caretaker of my submission these days, is in and out of burrows, putting her head up and sniffing the air, only to dive back underground and out of sight. There she is- now she’s gone – over there – no over here – gone again. She’s agile and elusive. Damn her.

When I think I have the submissive thing worked out she runs away with it and I can only watch her go, she’s too fast. She never stays still long enough for me to get to know her. On her heels is the hunter. I’ve always liked the hunting analogy when it comes to dominants and submissives. I like the feeling of being hunted. It’s seductive and nerve wracking. Like me. There are tactics involved. That’s alluring. I confess I am turned on by the predator movies. Being caught is the end result of the D/s hunting fantasy. That’s submission 101. The hunter catches his prey. She is caught and consumed and happy about it. For some reason my head doesn’t compute the caught part. It’s on a constant hunt and that is not healthy.

This is why I have lost my submission. I don’t know how to be one. Yet. I don’t know how it be happy when caught. I’m always looking to return to the hunt.

There is no point to this post. No question. It’s a release. Thank you for reading it.

I’ll see what tomorrow brings.

And that’s why I’m looking for coffee

I live in small town Maine. Real small Maine doesn’t do great coffee. It doesn’t even do good coffee, so I set off this morning to find better coffee. If you are from Maine you are laughing at my delusional quest. Not know for our coffee. “I’m setting off to Maine to have great coffee” was said by no one ever. The nearest big town is a few hours drive away and that’s going to have better coffee.

I’m always reaching. I’m not a settler by nature. I will always try to make things better, find a better fit, drive for better coffee. I think it would be easier to be a settler. This coffee is good and leave it at that. Imagine that? What contentment that would bring. I have coffee, I should be happy with that.

The problem is, I’ve tasted better. I know there is better coffee out there and I will always seek that coffee which was good.

The coffee in Bangor is better. Much better than home two hours from here. Was it worth the two hour drive? Yes, it was. My taste buds needed the better coffee this morning and my head needed the drive.

But this isn’t a story about coffee.

It’s one of those damn analogies.

I have tasted really good M/s. It was sublime. It wasn’t perfect, he’s not perfect and I’m not perfect but we did it really well. We had this in-sync (Bye Bye Bye – you’re welcome) thing going, we knew each other even when we didn’t know each other. He walked in the room and my atoms recognized his atoms and they tingled because two bits of the same star come back together and we were inseparable from that moment. We argued and misstepped and tripped over each other but it was still sublime and who gets to have that? People look forever for that and I had that. Now I don’t have that. Now I am back in Maine, licking my wounds because it’s fallen apart but I am still looking for ways to make it better. To get back to that sublime thing we had. Like the coffee. I taste small town coffee and my longing goes to big town coffee. I look at what this relationship consists of now and I long for what was. I can’t have what was, I’m suck with small town coffee for the moment, but I’m not a settler. I either find a way to make the coffee better or I find different coffee.

And that’s why I’m looking for coffee

What the hell is D/s?

Great question.

I’m not the one to teach you.

There is so much information available to you online, maybe too much information and if you found this blog, then you were probably looking for D/s – you maybe know more than I do.

What I can do is share my experience living it and be honest about what it.

First of all, it’s not about sex.  While that can be great, and kinky (I’m assuming you’re kinky but it’s ok if your not,) it’s a really small part of it.  I think sex can be great because the people involved are happy and living the life they want to live.  Conversely, sex can be bad if the people involved are unhappy and not where they want to be.  Interestingly our sex life was always great, even when we are at our worst but we’re just freaky like that. If you are in it for the sex, find a top or a bottom and leave your emotions at the door.  Pick them up on the way out and maybe take someone elses if they look better than yours.   What? You’ve never thought of doing that.  Come on, I’m not the only one.

It’s hard because people are involved.  You know how people say without the customers their job would be so good?  They wouldn’t have a job without the customers and I wouldn’t have a relationship without the dominant.  Sometimes I think about labelling myself a submissive and having no dominant and then basking in the glory that is my uninterrupted submission to absolutely no one.  Then I wake up. He’s pretty vital to this whole thing but more about him later.   Other people don’t always do what we want them to do.  Annoyingly they have their own way of doing things.  Even more annoyingly they have their own thoughts and they may not be on the same brain wave as you.  Take the people out and D/s is a beautiful thing. It’s a give and a take, everyone getting what they want.  Add the people and it’s a big ole mess of chowder floating around in a pot.

D/s and M/s (I’m going to use them interchangeably because they are not very different, it’s just about what you want to call it,) are power transfers.  They are based on the submissive ( that’s me) giving power to the dominant ( that’s him.)  That can be a tiny bit of power or it can be a lot.  That takes negotiation skills.  I’m a terrible negotiator as you will see if you read on.  No one is calling me up for diplomatic service. It’s one of those necessary tools in the D/s toolbox but very few people seem to be able to use it.  The instructions are IKEA figures with speech bubbles in Simlish.  I filed them away which is code for lost them when I opened the packet labelled D/s survivor guide.  Survivor should have warned me this was going to be harder than it looked.

It is hard right now, but that’s my personal situation.  It doesn’t have to be hard. It is possible and doable and I believe in this way of life. I believe in its possibilities and its structure and I believe in its love.  If you are in blogs searching for D/s and you stumbled onto this one, you probably believe in it too.

What are your experiences with it?  The good, bad and the ugly.


Am I the Rotten Apple?

The relationship I was in for sometime has changed.

Drastically. A total remodel or I should say de-model.

This was M/s and it was poly. It didn’t start off poly – yes you can see where this is going.

I was miserable in poly. Really miserable and I did it all with a smile on my face.
I thought he was amazing. Perfect for me. Of course, no one is perfect. That was my first mistake. I built up the person I would belong to into this godlike being. I didn’t jump into a relationship after finding M/s. I waited, I was sensible and then I fell in love with a very human man. As he should be. It was unrealistic of me to put so much pressure on him to be anything but human and fallible. That was my mistake, not his. I had to reassess what the relationship I was in was going to be and what was possible. My fantasies had to become realities and I think I did that rather well. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed him and us and what we were creating.

Then along came Emily. The other slave. The poly. I feel nauseous typing this but I feel that writing about this will help me put it into perspective and look at my responsibility for what happened and see where I can change.

Emily and I became friends. Great friends. I would say she was my best friend. We clicked as women sometimes do and it was fun. We got each other’s sense of humor. We had a language of our own. We shared a similar history. He saw this and he liked this relationship we had, he encouraged it. He encouraged it so much that he invited Emily into our relationship as another slave. He did that without talking to me about it. I heard you gasp. I saw your image of him instantly change. You’re not alone. So did mine.

He thought that because Emily and I were so close, we could all be close together.
We had talked about poly in the future. It might be ok, I said. It could work, I guess. I didn’t want it now. I wasn’t ready for it now. Suddenly I was in it. I remember the conversation very clearly and I remember going away and crying as I have never cried before. My throat was tight and it was hard to swallow. My stomach was rolling and a ball swelled inside it. These are the symptoms of a broken heart. I loved him. I adored him. I -yes, it’s a clique- but I worshipped him. We had a full power exchange relationship and I was dependent on him. He crushed me.

I loved Emily but I didn’t want to share my Master with her. I didn’t want to live with her.

Emily has issues. That’s not Emily’s fault. She had a crap life. On a scale of crap lives, Emily’s rates down on the bottom of the crapper. She has a serious mental issue due to this crap childhood. There was substance abuse, there was homelessness, but Emily had managed to pull herself up and build a life around herself and I admired her for it. She was strong and hadn’t lost her kindness and sweetness. But those issues she had/has can’t be denied. They exist and they take management. For those around her, supporting her, that can be exhausting.

Of course, she needed to be treated in a particular way to accommodate those issues and kudos to him for being willing to take all that on, but it changed our lives in a radical way and he didn’t ask me. He didn’t ask me if I wanted to be Emily’s carer and I became Emily’s carer. I became a mother, older sister, councillor and I resented it. What did I get in return? Less sleep, more work, less him. Much less him. No support for myself in what I was doing for Emily. I hate this new arrangement and I was angry and sad.

So why didn’t I talk to him about it? You’re thinking to yourself I would have spoken up and maybe you would have and I admire you for being able to do that but I couldn’t. I have been a carer my whole life. I grew up caring for my mother who has MS. This role comes naturally to me and I stepped into this new carer role and after a while, it was expected of me. I resented it so much. This wasn’t what I signed up for and he’d done this with no conversation about how this would be. I didn’t talk to him about how unhappy I was. I showed him. In a very passive aggressive horrible way. I was on birth control that gave me huge mood swings and depression ( it’s been removed and I’m doing much better, thank you) and I wasn’t coping emotionally. I still didn’t use my words to say I can’t do this and you need to change the way our lives are set up.

Emily requires a lot of support to help her through the day-to-day. She does really well in an M/s poly, it’s almost made for people like Emily. Emily doesn’t need to be the focus when she’s in poly, she can hide away when she needs to, she can have the space she craves ( she’s extremely introverted and anxious.) I, however, don’t do well in poly. I have never considered myself a jealous woman. I’ve never experienced it before.

Jealousy is real, folks. I hated him spending time with her. And sex. OMG don’t even go there. I cried every time. EVERY TIME they were together having sex I was crying. I’m a very dehydrated person. When she kissed him in the morning I wanted to chop off her little fingers, one by one, and plant them in the window box as a warning to all other sweet troubled little cuties who thought they could come around and kiss him.

Yet, I loved Emily. What’s not to love. Other than the fact that she belongs to him as well. I don’t love that. I went through a period of thinking I was a terrible person. I should be grateful to have my best friend by my side every day. To have her as support ( she’s not, she’s too anxious to take on other people’s worries.) To have her as someone to share the life of a slave and all its ups and downs ( I don’t, she’s too anxious to discuss anyone else’s problems.) You can see this is very much a one-way relationship. What I got out of it was pain and heartache and dehydration.

Emily and I were treated very differently. All slaves need to be treated as they need to be treated, no two are the same, but the differences were frankly unfair. If Emily needs him, she gets him. I wait. If something is too hard for Emily, she doesn’t need to do it. I have to do it. I had a punishment dynamic, she did not. It’s a long list, I won’t bore you and I’m trying very hard not to sound bitter. I’m bitter by the way. No doubts about that. I resented this difference very much. We’ve recently talked about this resentment and it sounds horrible saying why it hurts me. She’s broken, she was destroyed by terrible things, her life was crap, of course, she needs to be treated differently but damn it still hurts and mentioning it makes me sound like a jealous bitch who has no feelings. I’m a jealous bitch who has no feelings by the way.

I finally talked about it. It couldn’t go on. I said I hate this. He was shocked. Why hadn’t I said something sooner? Because you’re really bad at listening to me. Emily takes up so much of your time that you go to the easiest method possible which was often a punishment, interrogation and lots of questions. Lots and lots of questions. Emily hates questions and of course, he doesn’t ask her questions but I’m not bitter about that. I’m very bitter about that by the way.

I stopped talking about my issues and problems and I held them inside. I lashed out in passive ways. That was very unhealthy for me. I’m not that kind of person. I always regret it and fell bad which added to the mountain of badness having a feast inside me. I became ill a lot, I believe from the stress. It seemed there wasn’t a moment that I didn’t have a cold or a headache or an ache somewhere. I stopped mentioning them. Emily commented that I was always sick and I took that very personality so I started to hide the fact that I was always sick. I don’t have a cold, it’s hay fever. I am not stiff and sore, I worked out.

I burrowed into myself and started doing things on my own. I started college online and deep-dived into it. There is nothing as good as “I have an assignment” as an excuse. Works every time – in case you’re looking for one. Of course, you would need to be in school but well worth the effort if you need some alone time. Amelia’s handy hint #1
Back to talking about it. It had to come out right. No one is that much of an idiot that they can’t see that one of the women they live with is a raging bitch most of the time. I don’t want to be mean and call him a slow learner but slow learner. I had to say I hate this and it’s over. I can’t do this with you two anymore. This is bad for my health, my spirit, my wellbeing.

He wants to work on it.

I said you can work on it. Get rid of her and we can be what we were, which was really good. What we had before Emily was amazing.

He can’t do that. Of course, he can’t do that. She relies on him and they love each other. They genuinely love each other. Not as much as he loves me but I’m bitchy remember. So I left. I had to. It’s impossible to continue in that environment where my soul feels underfed. I have tried very hard in this relationship. He still wants to work on it.
He chose her. When asked he chose her. He chose the broken difficult, dependent little flower. He let go the healthy stable grown woman who can support herself and lifted him up and made him better, who loved him just for him, not because she needed him. That says a lot about men and what they want, doesn’t it?

I don’t know where I am. I mean emotionally. Physically I am back home and fine, all’s well on the physical plane but thanks for asking. I’m up and down but mostly I’m a bitch because I am hurt and they are still together and it kills me. I need to move on and find someone who wants one slave, just me, who is a pretty good one I think. There is one problem. I love him. I really do. Because I love him, doesn’t mean I have to live with him or like what he is doing or support his decisions.t We can be separate. Separate houses. Not all poly people live together. I can put her from my mind. She isn’t my responsibility. She’s his. I’ve blocked her, we no longer speak, I can’t. That seems to mean I know because up until very recently we were very close even though I hated her being with him. But I can’t talk to her any more. I can’t see her, take her messages, see the hurt on her face. I just can’t.

I’m a mess, I’m upset. I’m angry. I cry a lot. I have to be grown up about this. Either end it, get past the pain and move on, or suck it up and find a new way to be poly that I can live with.

By the way – I acknowledge my part in all of this. The fact that I didn’t talk about it sooner is on me. I get that. But I’m still bitter.