I love this quote a lot.

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous." Into The Wild.

Maybe to some it's a romantic idea but I find it curious.

Owned and Owner by Anneke Jacob.

Now, this book is very simple in its theme actually. The plot is that a woman goes to another planet because she wants to be a slave. She chooses slavery. The thing about this woman on her own planet, is she is isolated and like Maia in As She's Told, also written by Anneke Jacob, who felt her body was not her own, the legs moving like she had to force them, she leaves her family, her sister, and goes into full time 24/7 slavery. But unlike Maia, it's more extreme, she doesn't have contact with her family once a slave, I've not read any contact.

Her Owner, I remember his name clearly it's Garid but I don't remember the woman's name because it's mentioned only very early on in the book and then probably never- (I looked it up again, her name is Etrin) so her Owner is a man who basically wants pure submission and he wants it all the time. He wants to own all the time. He lives on a planet where being attracted to a woman is like being attracted to a man, it's not the norm and women from the other planets, there are no non slave women on his, are objects and would be pets to him and his men. The owned is to be his slave all the time but in such a way that she, his pet woman is living the way he wants also.

The key words are pet woman. I'm reading the book very slowly, I'm not finished with it yet, I intend to read it twice as I want to have some understanding of what I am reading.

The slave, the owned woman is a pet human. She is on a leash, poos like an animal and used as a pony.

The book is a little disturbing, to me, because it is total dehumanisation. She wants to touch his face but she won't and it would seem from later in the book she can't unless he says and she doesn't speak for a long time. She describes reacting and acting like she's in an animal state.

If she does anything wrong, anything that is not as she is told then she is punished and it's punishment she won't forget. However I don't actually find that disturbing despite the fact it makes me wince because of the pain element. The Owner -and the other men who punish her and the other pet humans that are in the book, know what they are doing in terms of the physical and they seem to have a grasp on the pets' mentally. With regards to HER mentally, we as a reader get to read her thoughts, I get that she needs the punishment they give and to me, it is fair. With regards to other pet humans, we get their Owners telling us about them a little.

The author has mentioned about Garid, making him more open in her revised copy of this book. I'd like to read that but I'm happy with the Garid in the book. You see, he gets what he wants and Etrin has got what she wants and what she needs. Yes, some of it is conditioning, I mean in the sense how could she possibly know that she needs such and such exactly when she hasn't experienced it, she's fantasised about it sure, but conditioning is a part of BDSM and there is a line between conditioning and brain washing. Abuse where it is beat, beat beat, I'll slap you if you move, cruelty. Owned and Owner is not about that. It's about doing EXACTLY as you are told to be owned. If you don't do as you're told, you will be punished. This is ONE dynamic, not the general rule for ownership, Master slave, Dom sub, BDSM.

Like I say the theme of the book is very simple.

Something that I have been thinking about, relating it to myself is the power being totally on the Owner's end. There is a power transfer, the owned is giving Him all the power over her but there's less digging into her psyche here compared to other books and movies. Garid does ask Etrin a few questions but it's straight up action from the start. He may already know enough but there is little if no conversation between them especially later on. Now, that's of course because she becomes his pet human and that's the deal that is to happen and it's about submission through actions but He expects those actions and I suppose when his pet human is left to sleep in her cage or on the floor, that's when she is given time to think about her actions, emotions, thoughts.

And there is the orgasm control. She doesn't get to orgasm very often which could be seen as cruelty, neglect, I don't think it's those but I think it's about control and dehumanisation. She is a pet woman, his pet woman, she is not a woman anymore. Her orgams are his totally, they are not hers. Like I say she doesn't get to orgasm very often but if she had it her way, she is aroused and in touch with her sexuality enough and without control enough to orgasm very often.

The book is really about a pet human's discipline and life. And to me it's unfair to say "what life." It's not a life we all desire or agree with but I feel strongly about the each to their own philosophy when it comes to this. It's not a book that you are going to think oh that's nice, it will provoke a strong reaction. I think the author wrote a story and that's just what this is. Of course there is pony girl training but Owned and Owner will be a story for me and something to remind me just how lucky I am to have found a Dominant that matches the submissive that I am.

Owned and Owner is about two people, different to my life and situation, finding each other. The book is also escapism although I am someone who is reading it to understand more about BDSM. Not about my BDSM but themes in this book.

As She's Told, the author's previous book is such a strong book and Owned and Owner has similar themes of pet, no games, 24/7 but it's a different type of book.

I will do another post on this later once I've read the book again and I'll be blabbering on about sharing of the pet women with other men.

It's like Oprah meets Deepthroat on here isn't it.

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/11/kelly-osbourne-on-piers-morgan-weight.html

Two excerpts, a blurb & some pics from Pink Flamingo Publications.

"Eden cannot contain her unquenchable desire and her need to submit... even when its to a man she despises, the Master she's trying desperately to leave.


Jacob stared in the window at Eden Rose from the patio outside her back door. Her apartment was easily accessible from the street, up the fire escape.

Midnight, Eden was at the piano playing music, looking melancholy. A bottle of scotch sat on the edge of the baby grand, a shot glass beside it. One hand played a melody while the other held her head in her hand. She hummed as she played, words beginning to trip through her brain, but not yet put on paper. She was strangely methodical in her manner of writing music, though it was a method only she understood. It didn’t matter that anyone else did, only that she was getting attention in the music world for what inspired her.

When Jacob slipped into the room through the unlocked door, Eden was so immersed in her work that she didn’t hear the silent footfalls of his approach. Not until he was at her back and she jumped feeling his hands clutching her shoulders did she realize the intruder was there.

“Jacob, no!” she shrieked, but then his hand was over her mouth. She tried to bite his fingers, but he slapped her face and then clamped his hand back over her lips with a bone-crushing tightness.

“Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “Not one word.” To ensure her obedience, he pulled a ball-gag from his pocket and opening her mouth with his fingers pressed it inside. The strap was fixed behind her head. She was at his mercy.

He extinguished the single lamp in the room as he dragged her from the piano bench, her arms flailing as she tried to pull away. But with his large hands and strong grip, the fight was useless. Stripping her of her robe, it was easy work to have her wrists bound behind her. Jacob knew where to find the leather straps and harness, the playthings that would raise her body heat. Pushing her toward her bedroom, he chuckled knowing he had her won. She wasn’t resisting at all. Eden was so easy.

“You think you can get away from me, bitch,” he chortled in her ear as he undid the wrist cuffs from behind and then fastened them to the rod swinging over head. “You are so naïve and foolish.”

He slapped her ass with his hand, then buckled the collar around her neck tightly so she could feel the constriction in her throat. She had to gasp for air.

“Relax, slut, you’ve got a long and welcome night. That Femdom uptown doesn’t hold a candle to me. Why she didn’t even leave marks.”

Eden was sinking into him, intoxicated by words. Dizzy from the constraints, she let the surging in her abdomen turn erotic, her hips undulating against his hand.

“That’s it,” he purred. Pressing his palm over her pubis, he held it tightly in his fist and pulled down. She squirmed and cried with the shot of pain. Fingers in her vagina teased the syrupy concoction of sweat and juice.

A clamp came down on one nipple and the pain sparked. She jerked and he slapped her face. A second clamp on the second nipple, more pain, another jerk and slap. Preordained, ritualized, but yes, very welcome. She didn’t want to tolerate the abuse but the jolts were too severe for her sex to ignore. The wild rush was as sweet as words of love, and she let her head fall back as he began with the whip and crop, one in each hand. She was traveling light-years in seconds, joyriding through a wave of delicious heat and pain. It was exhilarating pain turning her insides out as he turned her outsides into raw, scorched flesh.

The multi-taloned leather whip flailed on her breasts and belly, sensation streaming like ocean swells crashing as breakers on hard sand. The crop cut. He was erratic and sporadic, mocking her as he stalked her quivering body, going eye to eye with her so she could see the vile expression of triumph on his face. The laughter, the scorn, the jubilance of his sadistic mien shot right through her. When she closed her eyes, he slapped her face.

“Don’t do that again. You’ll see me, bitch, and remember who I am. How I’m the champion of your greatest cause—this perpetual sex machine. He gripped her cunt and shook it hard, then fixed a clamp over her clit so she screamed a muffled scream into the gag.

From behind, he let the whip fly fast and hard, not a second between the strikes. On her back, then to her ass, so they were heated and hot. Then the crop again, that horrifying one with the thin end and the little tied tail that bit viciously into roughed-up skin. She’d feel a trickle of blood down her thigh before he finished. A terrifying reason to rejoice.

She was losing it by the time he burnished her thighs and lay into that tenderness creating another horror. Her mind simply vanished and there was nothing but pain, and then nothingness, and then nothing at all … she’d disappeared without a trace … gone … flown away and lost forever.



Eden came back to the room with the feel of Jacob’s hand between her thighs, his fingers pressing her to climax … a long mellow jolt and sensation afterward … softly swooping here and there.

“I’m so good to you, darling Eden. You treat me like shit trying to fend me off. You suppose you’re going to tell your attorney about this little caper? About how easily you give in to me? You going to try and change your name again? Try to hide, maybe? If I didn’t think you were so scrumptious for my own needs, I’d find you pathetic.”

He was undoing her from the bar overhead, but he left her hands manacled together at the wrists. Removing the gag, he pushed her to the floor and pressed her head against the wood with the heel of his boot.

“You look good like that, whore, don’t you?”

She didn’t reply.

“Don’t you?” he pressed harder, angrily.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“And you’re mine, isn’t that so?”

“Forever and always, sir,” she replied without thinking.

“I will always own you,” he swore.

She did not reply.

“I WILL ALWAYS OWN YOU!” He let the crop rip against her upturned bruised butt, the narrow end landing in her ass crack.

“Ah, nooooo!”

“Say it bitch!”

“You’ll always own me, sir,” she spit out loud and clear.

“That’s better. Now suck my dick.”

He helped her to her knees, and pulled her toward a chair where he sat back and she remained between his open thighs. Her hands couldn’t play with him easily, but her lips could and they covered the erect stalk. With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her down on the organ and fucked her mouth. It made her gag, but he made her relax. Opening wide for him, her lips and tongue worked hard bringing him off. Pulling her head back, he shot on her face, on lips and hair and down her chin. The smile on his lips was reminiscent of times before when he was ecstatically jubilant mastering her.

“You fire Adam Cady tomorrow,” he said looking down at her. “Tell him it was a mistake. Don’t tell him you belong to me, just tell him you patched things up. That you love me and that you always will. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go to bed.”

“What about the collar and cuffs?” she asked.

“Wear them to bed. Be glad I don’t chain you to the headboard all night.” He threw her a key to the cuffs. “In case I’m not back to let you go,” he chortled.

Jacob picked her up as he rose from the chair and gave her a mean swat on the behind as she padded off toward the bedroom.

“You won’t spend the night?” she asked him peeking out.

“No, I won’t spend the night. You don’t deserve me.” He was about to leave. “But you will. You’ll be moving into the brownstone with me for a little corrective training. So I can get you back to being the gentle submissive who’s never heard the word rebellion.”

“I want to stay here, Jacob,” she pleaded with him.

“But you won’t. I think I already have someone that will sublease the place. He stared around at her beloved walls. “You did a nice job fixing it up. Too bad you couldn’t behave yourself. Still, some of these things should bring a decent price.”

“You’re going to sell it all?”

“Yes. Like I did before. You’re not going to need it for a long time. And I can’t be bothered with your ballast.”




Melanie remembered her Aunt Daisy serving tea to her garden club, in the once elegant backyard. In her memories, she remembered her Aunt as an older woman, well past the youthful romantic she liked to imagine—the young woman that used to wear the flowing flowered dresses that were packed in her trunks.

Leaning forward in the chair, Melanie pulled her favorite trunk closer to her, and jiggled the familiar latch until it at last gave way. Opening the creaky lid, she gazed admiringly at the dresses inside. Melanie was about to pull out her favorite, when she noticed that the inner lid looked strangely cockeyed. Tapping on the upholstered piece of wood with her hand, she tried to push it back into place; but instead, it suddenly gave way, spilling the contents of a secret compartment onto the dresses below. Melanie’s eyes widened as she discovered a packet of letters and a book. They appeared to her like buried treasure, suddenly unearthed from a different time. The letters had been written on some fine tissue paper stationery, and now tied with a faded blue ribbon, she thought them too fragile to touch, let alone open. The book, on the other hand, was bound with a leather cover, and appeared in good condition. While the inside had yellowed some at the edges, and the paper crackled softly when she turned the pges; it seemed resilient enough to withstand some inspection.



Opening to the first page Melanie read:

Daisy Markham—1939



The words were neatly printed with a fountain pen. A quick look revealed that this was a diary filled beginning to end with Aunt Daisy’s flowing penmanship. From the center of the book dropped a photograph, a black and white on hard cardboard backing, with two young faces staring back at Melanie like ghosts. Melanie recognized Aunt Daisy’s soft blonde curls, neatly tied back with a ribbon. Behind her was a young dashing man with dark eyes and curly black hair, his arms wrapped around her then svelte female frame.

Aunt Daisy’s sailor, Melanie immediately thought, seeing the neat uniform the young man wore. Melanie had heard of her Aunt’s beau, only in whispers and half phrases, the man who’d claimed her heart, and whose mysterious disappearance had haunted her family history for years thereafter. Melanie had only known that her Aunt’s beau had been a sailor; and though she’d gone on to marry another man, she’d secretly pined for the sailor until the day of her death. Melanie often imagined Aunt Daisy thinking of him, when in later years, she found her Aunt gazing off into no where with a winsome smile on her face.

Cautiously turning back to the front page of the diary, Melanie’s hands were actually trembling, thinking of what Aunt Daisy might reveal about her life before Uncle John. Perhaps this book would explain what was behind the hushed gossip about her scandalous past. Melanie felt a little guilty reading the personal words, but then who could it possibly hurt with Aunt Daisy, Uncle John and no doubt the young sailor, long dead.

Excited about what she might discover, Melanie began to read.



I hesitate to even write these things, but I am compelled to do something with the private thoughts I have, especially those I hold of my dear Joseph.



“Ah yes!” Melanie exclaimed aloud. The sailor’s name was Joseph!



How strangely different our friendship is from anything I’ve ever known, or even heard of. Even the magazines I get from the East Coast do not tell of such things, but when I think of the bliss I have with Joey, I cannot imagine life to be any other way. He’s able to make claims on me in ways I never believed possible. Not that I’m such an experienced woman, I am older than so many friends who rushed off to marry after high school. Those high school boys were so silly, with their anxious eyes and easy grins. Oh yes! Some made me blush, especially Victor Hodges, but he’ll never be anything but a farm-boy. I can’t imagine dusting off farm dirt from my shoes all my life!

Joseph is different than all of them, so calm and reasoned. He makes me feel like a woman, like a real woman, not a giddy school girl from a small town—which I fear is exactly what I am. He makes me shiver so when I’m with him.

That first dance, he was the only man I could even look at. He stared at me from across the room. I was laughing so hard at Gracie’s joke, when his eyes caught mine. He made me stop laughing with just that once glance. His broad shoulders, that curly dark hair and his olive skin. It’s because he’s Italian. I’ve never known an Italian man before. He says his parents were born in Italy, that’s so romantic in itself. He’ll take me there some day to ride on the gondolas in Venice. I think of him like a movie star, that’s how different he is from the other boys I know. He’s so worldly, coming from New York; to me that’s like coming from a foreign country.

I felt so foolish when I fell down in my fit of laughter. I really just stumbled over Gracie; but then Joseph was there offering me his hand, as I looked up at him through my giggles. He was so serious, almost like I was a naughty girl having done something terribly wrong.

But then he smiled at me, and I thought the whole wide world was opening. Joseph is always like that, one moment almost threatening, the next surrounding me in his broad arms and smiles. It makes me blush to say how I feel when he holds me. There’s a knot in my stomach, and a sensation that seems very carnal.

But I’m digressing to avoid why I’m really writing. I know I have to tell someone and these blank pages are the only listener I have. It’s such a strange story, I still don’t know what to make of it. I thought that writing it down this way would help me make sense out of this tale.

I suppose this came about with Joseph, because I’m so often stubborn and pigheaded. And of course, I have such a temper, it’s often gotten me in trouble. Daddy’s always said, I would be one miserable handful to any man that would have me.

Anyway, it all started yesterday when Joseph picked me up at the dress shop at 5:00, as he always does. My day had been a hectic one, and I was already out of sorts; though I didn’t realize how much so, until Joseph told me that we were going to his Uncle Zito’s house before we had dinner.

“Oh, please, no,” I whined at him. I couldn’t bear the thought of an evening in that smelly old apartment, with Uncle Zito and his pipe, and his loud voice blaring some stupid thing in my ear.

“Daisy?” Joseph looked at me surprised. I’d never countered him on anything, I’ve never had reason to.

“I don’t want to see your Uncle Zito,” I said, trying not to sound too angry with him.

“Oh? Why not?” he asked.

“I’m just so tired, couldn’t we just have dinner?”

“It won’t take but a minute,” Joseph said, and taking me by the hand we walked in silence the three blocks to his uncle’s apartment.

By the time the “minute” turned into an hour I was fuming. As we were out the door and on the way to the restaurant, I heard Joseph whisper something about not being such a whining brat.

“I am not!” I said, indignantly.

“Oh?” he said, looking at me with one fixed eye. Sometimes Daisy Markham, you act more like a twelve year old than a grown woman.”



Melanie shivered reading those words, as they reminded her of Tony’s accusations about her.



Joseph led me to a small diner just down the street, while I smoldered in my incensed state the whole way. In the restaurant I refused to talk to him, and that only made him look at me all the more irritated.

“Would you settle down, so we can enjoy our dinner,” Joseph said.

“What do you mean settle down, I’m just fine.” There was a very deliberate snarl in my voice. Sometimes I’m so foolish, the little things that bother me end up being so small.

Joseph looked at me as if he didn’t know what to say, he was appalled that I was acting this way with him. Usually my childish moods vanish in a few minutes, but this one was lingering on dangerously.

“Would you please talk to me?” he finally said, when my bristling silence had bothered him enough.

“If you don’t like the way I am,” I said, “then I’ll leave.” I grabbed my purse and started toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Joseph said, pulling me back. “We just ordered dinner. You’re not going anywhere.”

“You think you can treat me like a child,” I said. I was very angry, and my raised voice was beginning to draw attention to our argument.

Joseph flashed those dark eyes at me, and I should have realized how upset he was then, but I HAD to stamp my foot, and pull away from him. I walked out leaving him with two uneaten dinners to pay for. I can see now why he was so upset. Then, I thought I was perfectly justified in my attitude.

When Joseph caught up with me, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly, so there was no way I would get away. He didn’t say a single word, all the way home, but when we got to my bungalow his next measures stopped me cold.

Following me into the house, he stood for some seconds in the midst of the living room.

“Do you have a hairbrush, Daisy?” he asked. His question took me completely by surprise.

I told him yes. Of course I have a hairbrush.

“Go get it,” he said. The tone of voice was so demanding, but I was still too naive to realize what he planned to do with it. I ran off to my room and retrieved my hairbrush, thinking that Joseph simply wanted to brush his hair. But when I handed the black lacquer brush to him, he took it in his hand and walked toward the dining room where he pulled out one of the dining room chairs.

“Come here,” he ordered me.

I was flustered, as it dawned on me what he had in mind. I felt just like a little kid again, as well I should, the way I was acting.

Joseph didn’t wait for me to respond, but closed the several steps between us and pulled me by the arm toward the dining room chair. I’m sure I shrieked out loud, but I remember now so little of what happened. I do remember that Joseph was more serious than I’d ever seen him.

“You behave like a brat with me, I’ll treat you like one,” he said.

I was trembling all over; but it was so strange, I didn’t have the courage to offer a protest. I was simply stunned. No one, not even my father has ever stood up to me this way. I still don’t know what to make of it.

“What are you going to do,” I asked, as if I didn’t know.

“Spank you,” he said quite calmly. His cold strength was so compelling I couldn’t do anything but submit, as he sat down and pulled me over his lap. He immediately administered several hearty smacks across my rear end, the hairbrush giving quite a good sharp smack.

I was so shocked, I didn’t utter a word until the second half dozen smacks. Then with my wits about me, I began to wail like the dickens, kicking and screaming with all my might.

“Joseph, you have to stop this!” I cried.

“I certainly do not!” he insisted. He let that brush land harder still.

“Stop it now!” I tried again.

“Hush!” he blared at me, as he continued to lay the horrible thing on my bottom.

I quieted at least for a moment, though I continued to try wiggling away from him. That only made Joseph spank me harder. And with his free arm clamping itself about my waist, my furious struggles were all the more pointless.

The brush came down with such fury that I thought he’d never stop. Before long, my bottom seemed to burn, each new smack just adding to the ever growing warmth in my rear. I was so humiliated, I was no doubt blushing, though neither of us would know that right then, since my face was nearly on the floor.

I couldn’t believe how much this hurt. I imagined my poor bottom glowing rosy red under my skirt.

“Joseph, please,” I wailed, very loudly.

“If you don’t be quiet my love, I’ll pull up your skirt and get a little closer to your bare skin!” he informed me.

That quieted me altogether, I couldn’t imagine anything more horrible, or more improper; though I have to admit that there was a certain fascination with the possibility.

The hairbrush continued with an amazing steadiness, until I thought I could stand no more. And just as I was about to squeal loudly again, Joseph stopped.

“Now,” he said, as he pushed me back to my feet. I was about to run bawling to my bedroom, but his voice leapt out at me and hauled me back.

“Don’t you go anywhere,” he said, very sternly.

I shrank back, embarrassed to let him see my tears and my red nose, rubbing my poor wounded rear. It still felt mighty sore, though the burn was beginning to subside, leaving me with the most lovely warm feeling on my punished rear cheeks.

“Don’t you ever pull a silly stunt like that again. Do you understand?”

“Stunt?” I questioned him foolishly.

“Making a scene in the restaurant, and walking out on dinner,” he reminded me. “You’re much too old to act like that.”

He was completely right, I know, but there was just enough defiance left in me to scowl at him nastily.

“I’d better get an apology Daisy, or I’ll start again.” He waved the hairbrush in his hand. I knew he wasn’t kidding.

“I’m sorry,” I said at last. “You were right.” I believed every word I said, and I hoped he heard the sincerity in my voice. I guess I was still so stunned by the whole thing, that I couldn’t believe it had happened. Even today, I still don’t know exactly what to make of the amazing incident, or my dear Joseph, but strange as it seems, it’s only made me love him all the more.

After my apology, Joseph came to me and put his arms about me and held me. I didn’t say a word, and neither did he. Explanations were unnecessary, as if the treatment was normal and perfectly appropriate for a courtship like ours.

When he finally spoke, he was as loving and tender as he’d always been. All the horrible irritation and anger had vanished, and I could only remember the sweet things about our time together.

I cooked him scrambled eggs and potatoes, and he said it was the best meal he’d ever had. I don’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but it didn’t seem like honesty was quite as important right then, as the quality of affection we had for each other. And mine, as bizarre as it may seem, has risen by leaps and bounds, in this short time.




The Milk Bitch Trilogy by Frances Gaines Bennett

During lunch at a DC power restaurant, the striking brunette journalist Gina can't take her eyes off a ruggedly handsome man on the other side of the dining room. An advance on him is rebuffed by the maitre'd, but that doesn't stop Gina from trading a night of sex with the restaurant owner for information on her mystery man. Before that night is over Gina will be drugged and later wake up in a warehouse, where sees shocking scenes of young women being examined, sold, crated and wheeled away. She listens in horror as her mystery man, Ward, and a powerful Sheikh make a deal that will turn Gina into Ward's property.

Though Gina finally lands safely back at home, her world has been upended...even her sister and good friend are in the clutches of this slave trade... and some of the powerful in Washington are in on this shocking commerce in women. Gina is now at Ward's beck and call as he tortures, ass rapes and humiliatingly degrades her in acts that bring her to intensely powerful orgasms.

She'll be subjected to a systematic program of sexual breeding and forced lactation. In a diabolical research lab, under the direction of Dr. Roland, her breasts are ballooned to an extraordinary degree, an activity that becomes highly orgasmic for the slavishly submitting Gina. To perfect the alternations, she's left at the doctor's farm where she and the other girls are kept in stalls like cattle. Once Gina returns to DC, her bulbous milk-filled breasts become the object of much attention. She's routinely milked and fed special diets that will alter her milk in order to please the men to whom she's given. Her transformation from DC journalist to Ward's Milk Bitch is now complete.

More brutal subjugation follows, as Gina's story continues in Milk Bitch Lost. She's taken to the Sheikh's home where Ward shows off her special milking talents and arranges to transform other females who will serve the Sheikh in the same manner. While there, Gina is kidnapped by Amani, a powerful priest with mystical powers, and a complicated plot must be devised to save her. Finally in book three, Milk Bitch Pawn, Gina is back in the US where she's again forced into more dehumanizing scenes of abject submission, and becomes a integral part of her 'Daddy' Ward's scheme to blackmail a former US Vice President and his son.

The stories of Gina and her fellow milk bitch slaves are told in a beautifully written masterpiece of S&M perversion, with graphic depictions woven though suspenseful plots that will keep readers turning pages until the very end. While content centers on sexual submission and lactation, also included are body modification, suspension and Shibari bondage, stringent corsetting, slave autions, pain, punishment, whipping, pony girls, piercing, piss drinking and slave auctions.

Today when I miss someone, I find this helps.

"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

"A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked."


For me, its about looking at the bigger picture. It's easy for me to think in one way. Oh I have to wait till this happens in the day before I can do that otherwise if this doesn't happen it has no purpose and shouldn't be allowed to start. The fact is, that's true but I'm not going to look at the day as some kind of chore when I should be enjoying things that happen in it and not overlooking them. Not enjoying them nearly as much as enjoying the thingS that I miss because of the person that I miss.

I understand that I am very lucky to have this person in my life and I have to remember that. It didn't just happen to me today, it wasn't an onset of emotions, it was ongoing since yesterday. I won't post more than this or less, just thought I would articulate something that means a lot onto a space where it's about saying what's on your mind.

Favourite Things blah.

http://wickedwitchofwest.blogspot.com/2010/11/ugh-oprah.html

If someone could pay me for each post, I'd buy myself a hot tub

to save myself from boredom. It's not even ten yet. I have done everything and more in the last few hours. I am tired but refuse to sleep early on a Saturday night. It's !!Saturday!! night and I'm thinking about watching fucking Love Story on youtube.

Anyway I always have an opinion about something or other and of course I have one on the very trivial People's Sexiest Man Alive. Whenever I think of that title I'm reminded of a Mills and Boon romance with a really cheesy smiling guy on the cover holding a rose and looking slimy. However, I did enjoy that book in particular when he shacked up with his plain Jane seceretary, you have to hand it to Mills and Boon for subtlety and then he says to her if she ever leaves him again, he'll spank her. Oh I would have loved to have read Sexiest Man Alive 2; Secretary gets spanked (that's what it was called..) where she's giving him a blow job, he's fully clothed, she's very naked, and he writes something important and she has her mouth full of boss man's cock.

I need something to calm me down here, oh yeah..

Ryan Reynolds? He's the Sexiest Man Alive? Doesn't he shave his chest? No, kidding he has some hair there -I think -I can't even be bothered to look properly but he sort of looks as though he may shave his chesticles or have considered it at one point whilst fluffing his boyish hair. Look, honestly I have no beef with him, I don't know him, I liked the trailer for The Proposal, I could watch it again, but he (looks as though he would )shave his chest.

I know he has abs but he (looks as though he would) shave his chest.

Which brings me onto Zac Efron. He reminds me a little facially of Leonard Whiting from Romeo and Juliet, a good looking man for sure. The thing is his face is almost beautiful and even though he was in High School Musical, I actually think he could be quite raunchy, not that Ryan -shave chest today grow hair out tomorrow- Reynolds (see how bored I am!!)couldn't be a beast in bed too, but like Efron, he's unthreatening despite the level of body fitness going on there. Well maybe these two are threatening to men but nothing about them when I wasn't submitting to my Dominant made me go oh hello.

Then there's the classic man who doesn't shower. I remember when I had a sad little mini crush on Ethan Hawke but one of the things that turned me off about him was that Troy Dyer look. Troy Dyer had grease in his hair. He wanted to look dirty or was just dirty anyway but that didn't make him manly to me, it just made him someone trying to relive his teenage years. Whilst being a pouty little bitch about "Lainey" and oh yeah, like, the whole world.

And so whilst Johnny Depp is a wonderful actor and a witty man, I couldn't ever muster up excitement over wanting to kiss him because I always thought I might leftovers from a cigarette in my mouth.

And this Chris Pine? Really?

Someone posted about how they think these men are effeminate and non threatening and I remember the hype over Leonardo Di Caprio who has an angelic type of face, a bit of Bottecilli going on there, but he is someone who in his teen heart throb werewolf prime would be described as effeminate and unthreatening. What are womens or girls fascination with men who resemble women a bit? I never understood that although having said that I appreciate nice lips, (probably because I know they're going to be fun to kiss) and my Dominant has those.

I know People and to be honest all magazines are full of promotion. Ryan Reynolds has a new movie coming out, already out probably and Brad Pitt is a family man now with no sudden movie, Johnny Depp has The Tourist with Madame Jolie so it's all what's hot, what's not. I was reading something interesting about the Marie Claire article a woman wrote, she hates fat people so much to which most women I included replied what a bitch, and an author made a very interesting point that it's just about promotion. It's going to get a reaction and everytime, Marie Claire in this case is being promoted.

Odd things.

Sometimes I just want to shake things up a little. I have a thing about writing something that touches upon something that is very touching and in my dreams soul searing. Whatever. So, I have an odd habit I'd like to share.

You know in Silence of the Lambs, when that Hannibal Lecter character, no no it's not what you think, is listening to classical music whilst eating a dead person's body or some stuff like that, I like to listen to music like this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CjbxW0ljtE whilst reading a book like American Psycho. (I say reading, you say googling excerpts from books). And it's not to make it more palatable, the music or the book, it's probably because of the contrasts between the two but mostly I reckon it's really because I enjoy both. I think these lines from AP are gorgeous and I also happen to think the music is too so it's like combining my two great likes and making a monstor that gives me pleasure.

". ..there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusonary, and thought I could hide my cold gaze and you cans hake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable" I simply am not there. "



I just thought I would post something that's a little light hearted for once. However, as I am posting this, I have this bee in my bonnett. Is slavery or submission only palatable to people including those with some grasp of BDSM if it's about love? And, do people have a problem with a woman being objectified unless it's done with love?



And another one http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Af372EQLck

Whilst reading, An excerpt from Owned and Owner


"I sat on my bed, waiting.

“I am going to men to be owned, to be owned, to be owned...” The words drummed softly but insistently through my head. Some part of me was amused at this need for drama. Still, I had to find a way to convince myself. There had been years of fantasies, some of them so intense they felt much more real than this. ‘This’ was a small locked room, hanging in space, waiting. Not much different from the cell I‘d lived in for months, or for that matter from my room at home. So although my rational side - such as it was - told me I was really on my way, there was some level on which I simply didn‘t believe it. I didn‘t believe that the world outside of me was finally going to match what had been going on so violently inside my head all those years. I wasn‘t sure exactly what I was going to, which didn‘t help. All I had was some official information, meant to put me off, and the pictures they had shown me briefly, six weeks before.

I could have cried when they took them away. If only I could have had them all to myself for a day or two! Instead I had to look at them with that dour, grey woman standing over me, muttering her disgust. I sat there trying to conceal my excitement, feeling almost paralyzed by the throbbing between my legs, pressing myself helplessly against the hard bench while trying to seem casual about my movements, my hands trembling as I turned over the pages.

I suppose they were hoping I‘d be appalled. As soon as I‘d glanced at them without a word, the woman snatched them away, not looking at me as she marched out, locking the door behind her with a clang. She wasn‘t stupid. I‘d proved myself once again to be beyond the pale. My shame made me long for the punishments I‘d seen in the pictures.

I sat on my bed trying to remember details in those pictures. What did the man look like who held the leash? The woman‘s expression - I‘d not had time to read it. The surroundings, were they familiar or strange? What was I in for? What had I done?

The judge had been grey, but not dour; a perceptive woman. That judicial eye had pierced my sullen armour more than once. Sullenness was my defence, at least in the psychological sense. (In the legal sense, I had none.) I‘d had such an attitude toward authority figures that all of them - mothers, aunts, teachers - had given up in despair. I raised attitude to an art form. I raised a lot of blood pressure, too. There had to be no chinks to my inner life. It was so habitual that the effort to drop it was wrenching, when that ultimate moment came in the courtroom.

Half the Reodir region seemed to have jammed itself into the long, low room, with its faint smell of ammonia, lurking beneath the sourbean odour of all the bodies and their breath. I refused to turn my head, but the intense half-hush of the crowd pressed palpably on every nerve I owned. The silence imposed by the judge‘s appearance was more ominous still.

“You have been determined to be incorrigibly irresponsible toward yourself and your community,” the judge pronounced. “I cannot recall a worse case. You have made nothing but bad use of the privileges this society accords its members. At every opportunity you have demonstrated that you cannot be trusted with citizenship status. You know your three options: rehabilitation, exile or slavery on Henth. What is your decision?”

For a long moment the words wouldn‘t come. They hung suspended in a tight, strangling web of silence. After a life of concealment, three words were going to show everyone my dreadful colours.

For months I‘d been rehearsing my response to prevent myself from losing my nerve at the last moment. I‘d planned to say the words by rote, without letting myself think or give them meaning. But my answer had to be forced through a constricted throat, and was addressed in a hoarse whisper to the table in front of me.

“Slavery on Henth.”

There was a sharp murmur behind me in the courtroom. No one had chosen the Third Option from my community in living memory. After a few moments the initial disbelief gave way to a roar of indignation. I clenched my sweating hands together, eyes fixed in front of me, my back to the crowd, trying not to cower. This was even worse than I had imagined. I was afraid they were going to lynch me.

“Etrin Aboia, let me be sure the court is not mistaken. State your choice again clearly and fully.” I swallowed with difficulty, and looked down at my hands. They were clenched together, but the thumbs made a small upward gesture, as if to tell me to get on with it.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my head and made my hunched shoulders drop. A kind of desperate calm came over me. For once I was going to say the truth about myself and not be ashamed. I made myself meet the judge‘s eye. The room went quiet.

I thought, this is it. Do it right, Etrin.

The words that emerged rang clear, across the court and back to me again, to echo around inside my skull. “I, Etrin Aboia, choose the Third Option, slavery on Henth, as punishment for my crimes of irresponsibility.” The voice sounded like it knew what it was talking about, and I was grateful. I could see by her expression that the judge, at least, knew the truth.

Still, I had to wait the required twenty-nine days before my choice was considered final. Twenty-nine days of hell.

At first I was elated at my emergence. I felt buoyant, without that leaden weight of constant concealment. I actually thought it might be possible to be who I was and say so. But my family was let in to plead with me, and their horrified reactions shut me down pretty fast. I went from glee to defiance, through to anger and resentment, then down into guilt. Soon I had to reassume my sullen armour, my only protection against their outpourings of grief and fear and anger, and my intense shame. By then I felt horribly naked and exposed, like a calibspod out of its shell, and I did my pathetic best to get my shell back on in a hurry.

Radiating disapproval, the authorities made sure I knew exactly what the Third Option meant. Although I heard some interesting details that I hadn‘t been able to pick up earlier, details which scared me more than ever, I didn‘t change my mind. The warder brought the photographs, then took them away again. Doctors made me go through another battery of tests to assess my sanity, very short with me for fooling them the last time. Sorry, sorry, sorry. They kept commenting on my intelligence, as if that mattered.

My family would have tried round-the-clock brainwashing techniques if they‘d been allowed. The ten hours they had each day were bad enough. They were losing me forever, and I should have been gratified that they found this so awful, in spite of everything I‘d put them through. But at the time I attributed it to their embarrassment over my appalling choice. Then of course I could reject them for their conformity to public opinion - a gibe that led to such a fight that the warders had to intervene.

Secretly, I suppose I wanted someone to understand and acknowledge my choice, someone to accept me as I was. Laughable when you think about it. Pathetically unrealistic, and far more than I deserved. I was bound to be disappointed on this one, because it was impossible for me to tell them just how long I had felt this way (forever), and how much I needed to go to Henth (indescribable). They thought it was just one of my self-destructive whims. The finality of it terrified them. Understandable; it terrified me, too.

I spent a lot of time with my arms crossed over my chest, glaring at the ceiling while they railed and pleaded. If even one of them had sat down and listened, I might have been able to tell them the truth. At last, driven to desperation, I grabbed one of my sisters by the shoulders and shouted in her face, “I‘m doing what I must; let me be!” Too little, too late. It didn‘t help. No one really heard me. They didn‘t leave me alone until the very last minute of the very last day.

At first the solitude on the spaceship was an unbelievable relief. I could put the guilt away and bask in the elation, having survived the ordeal. But the wait soon became boring, imprisoned alone in my little cabin, and at the same time brutal in the urgency of my waiting for the end of it. Finally, after those months in custody on Raniz, there was no peephole in the door, and no one demanding my attention. They brought me my food three times a day, that was all. I had nothing to read or screen. All I could do was think, try to imagine what was ahead, and relieve the pulsing demands between my legs, brought on by the memory of those photographs, and by the knowledge of what I had accomplished. The fear made my belly tighten with surges of excitement, the fear of what they would do to me, of whether I could stand it.

I spent hours looking at my body in the mirror. Was it pretty enough? I had no way of knowing what men would like in a woman. My body felt oddly detached from me, as if it wasn‘t mine at all. It occurred to me with a thrill of fear that soon it really wouldn‘t be mine, in honest truth.

I watched my hands hypnotically stroking the full, pointed breasts, the slender ribcage, the smooth buttocks. I ran my palms over the silky skin of my inner thighs, and my breath came faster. My eyes closed, and I thought of whips. I had never been whipped, or even slapped. Opening my eyes, I examined my face. Pale skin, reddish curls to my shoulders, the grey eyes shadowed and fearful. I was smaller than average, and I knew men were tall. Helpless, I‘d be helpless. The word made my belly contract with arousal.

There was nothing I could do about it now. Still, now that I didn‘t have to convince anyone else, I could admit to myself that I was well and truly terrified.

I was going to men to be owned...

All my life I had known that what I needed was not where I was. Just where it was located wasn‘t clear to me for a long time, but I knew, in a gut level, primitive way, right from the beginning, that something was missing from what I saw around me. Maybe it was the fact that unlike us, animals came in male and female, but I think it was more than that. There was something - actually, the absence of something - a gap, a chasm. Something indefinable, because I had nothing to go on. Everyone else seemed to feel complete and whole. I felt an ache of loss, and I didn‘t know what was gone, a yearning for I knew not what. It kept me separate and alone; it turned me silent.

I began to hear about a planet full of monsters somewhere, that used to have some mysterious and awful connection with us. Then the lesson in history class that focused the monsters into something even more fascinating: Men. I‘d always had vague fantasies, ‘stories’ I told myself each night before I fell asleep, or whenever I played alone. I knew enough to keep these to myself, that they were shameful. The new information fitted into the fantasies like a ship into its octagonal mooring - perfectly. Suddenly my imaginings had the right kind of hand on the whip, the right kind of body controlling and invading my own. My longings, now with an object, became the most agonizing of needs, but at least they were clear to me. And my need for secrecy became more urgent than ever.

I was an adolescent, desperately isolated by the split between the inner life I was living, and the ordinary one I walked each day, when I heard about the Third Option.

Just a library hour, like so many before and after. Classmates’ whispers all round; dull research on my scratched and clouded screen. A project for Community Ethics and Law had me scrolling through dry legal texts, not written or intended for children.

And there, in half a line in small print, at the bottom of an account of an embezzlement case, was the outcome: slavery on Henth.

I stared at the words, and stared at them, and everything else in my universe tipped and slid away into the void. Those three words were a seismic event, a watershed between Etrin before and after.

I found myself starting to misbehave.

My outward life ceased to be so ordinary. First my high marks in school went to dust, and I stopped being where I was expected to be. Then I started taking things apart, usually literally.

At first it was excruciating, doing something other than what was expected. I had been an inhibited, compliant child, so upset by disapproval that my tough womb-mother had shaken her head over me. After a while I got better at it, began guiltily to enjoy the turmoil I caused. I had never really belonged to these people, that is what I felt, so why should I care if I hurt them? Sometimes I hated them for not being what I wanted so fervently. I made damned sure that no one could get close enough to make the task ahead of me any harder. The shame I felt for hurting people fed right into my need.

After each incident I wished so hard for punishment, for someone to hold me immobile and hurt me. What was the matter with them? How far were they going to let me go? Why were they giving me all this freedom? I hated it. And the harder I pushed the limits of that freedom, the more disturbing the possible outcomes became.

Still, I didn‘t always know that I would follow the plan all the way through. I had a million ways to get off the path to Henth if I wanted to. Right up to the end of the twenty-ninth day... All through those years I told myself I could back out at any time, become responsible, that this was just a game I was playing. A game of tension and risk, toying with the unthinkable. Change was too much to hope for; this life on Raniz, hopeless as it was, was the one I had. How could I imagine that I could accomplish anything different?

Only at night, in the dark, with the belts tightened around my naked body, the rope pulled into my vulva and tied front and back, my hands stroking, pulling, my inadequate female hands punishing, did I know, deep in my very center, that I would put myself into a man‘s hands - a real man‘s. I would not turn back."

Just keeps coming out with them.

Seriously I love this website. I seriously love it. The writing, the simple background, the pictures, oh yes the pictures. http://lissamatthews.tumblr.com/



Kitty Thomas posted a few things about heroines and women's judgement. http://kittythomas.wordpress.com/



I know we all have opinions and we SHOULD be able to air them in a way that's not trashy but some people are such prudes and they assume the judge role. Prudes come in all guises, bad girls the so called rebels are my particular pet hate.



Of course then you have people who just don't get it, racists, homophobes and they jump on freedom of speech like it's a bandwagon for their ignorant bullshit.



However, when it comes to heroines in books, I know that I have in the past and still do have a problem with the bad girl type heroines. That suprised you I know. To start with I have a problem with them. Then when they evolve, mature, grow up I'm their biggest fan. I don't like them initially because I've always been kind of the opposite, well no in fact I would say I am the opposite to these heroines not necessarily evolved, matured and grown up but just different in my actions. I was either misunderstood or mocked by bad girls and "rebels" in the past. So they just come across as immature despite some of them having experiences and baggage, a little ignorant and a little narrowminded.



Kitty was talking about women's opinions on too stupid to live heroines. Like why oh why she do that? The fact is, give me vulnerability, humanity for the good or worse, I want to see it and I want to read about it because it exists and to some extent something in that heroine exists in me also. So she may do things that are irrational, illogical but that's human. And I want to read that. I really need to read that. It's a little like when someone says why did that character commit suicide it was so unlike them! My analogies need work I know that was terrible. But, I have to look at that person and say stop analysing! Stop analysing to the extent you have a fit when you can't figure someone out.



The other thing is I don't imagine I'm the heroine. I just won't fantasise like that as a rule. I fantasise about certain situations but I always picture the heroine and hero together, it's THEIR story. I can relate to their characters sometimes more and sometimes less and I think Jeremy from Comfort Object is real just so I can have words with him, yes scary, his language got me hot I admit but I never thought I was Nell for one minute. SHE is Jeremy's, not moi. Of course different people function differently but yeah the whole I'm the heroine thing is not for me. I wouldn't mind reading her lines though.



And as for women judging others, heroines, other women, I have to say that maybe in another time and place, there could be such a thing as sisterhood. As for the saying women are their own worst enemies, men don't get away scot free. I love a man but I don't care for them as a whole, I don't hate them, they're interesting and weird and most of them make me laugh with them or at them but there's a reason I'm an introvert. When I'm with people who are listening and prepared to put their ego and judgement aside, oh yes I believe that everyone has an ego but some people's bore me,!, then I can let loose otherwise I remain introverted not for fear of judgement as they don't register very high with me but because their prejudices, judgement and ego are unnecessary. And some men have this in spades and have been very free and snide with their opinions in the past behind my back and towards me.

Fine Friday fun.

If I cared enough about Kate Middleton and got excited about celebrity and the Royal Family in the same way I'm led to believe everyone else does, then I would entertain the thought of writing some sort of kinky royal family's new daughter/wife fiction with rather a lot of stockings, open mouths, exposed bottoms and misued hoover cables!

I kept sleep off last night despite being very tired just getting to the end of As She'd Told, reading it properly and not missing Maia's progress.

I want to buy Owned and Owner by the same author, in my opinion from what I see so far it takes slavery further than As She's Told, but I'm going to have a read of some excerpts. When I read some reviews of Owned and Owner, I went back to one that comes from an author whom I admire a lot. Initially, when I read her review and I know what happens in O & O, I thanked her for writing what she did, I don't know if she's changed her mind about O & O but to some extent, she's gone or coming back to it. The thing is when I read As She's Told the first time, I thought it was something that wasn't going to arouse me. Well, last night that was so not the case.

As I'm on my own journey and experiencing new things and emotions, I just want to read books that go more and more kinky. Well not to the horrofic extent but then some people would class a woman being treated like a dog horrific. The thing is like I said she's had slave fantasies her entire life and from her first meeting with her future Dominant Anders, he makes it clear just what he wants from her.

At the same time, whilst Maia is going through what some have said dehumanisation and degradation, Anders says to her that he's never going to make her into something he hates. When I read that book, I understood. Anders doesn't hate women. He's not a psychopath. He does not want to destroy Maia to nothing, he wants to OWN her. When owning her, he wants to COMPLETELY own her. In books and in fantasy, that is doable. It will get a reaction because it's done, it's really done. Short of her being made to bark, in reality the fears that I would have from never going to the toilet like a normal person again to being very much under Sir's thumb- electronically tagged, watched on cameras, are addressed by the story and Maia's responses. The book goes to some scary areas because yes she is dehumanised. She's not speaking for some time. She's also getting what she wants and needs and I think it's not damage when someone isn't harmed and someone isn't harmed when their brain and body become better. Maia doesn't fit into society even more now, she is "unhealthy." She is completely Ander's. Completely. And it's scary. My heart beats faster just thinking about this. It's a scary path. Did I mention it's scary.

And I can relate so much to that. But I wouldn't be improving with people, in my writing, reading, chores and work if I didn't have my submission to Sir and initially I was scared, wracked with nerves and out of my depth.

Maia has to defend herself when it comes to one woman whom she meets at an event and Anders lets her do her work. He doesn't baby her. He doesn't think she's incapable. He gives her that chance, that thing of stepping back and watching and listening.

There are so many things that I understand about As She's Told including when it comes to what submission means to a Dominant, it hit a few things home. I read books about submission from her point of of view and when I read about His, it's something new for me.

Maia's submission and slavery is not for everyone. For example, Anders doesn't keep the fact she's his slave secret. She's in a cage and made to service his friends and brother and become bisexual. The bisexuality is an obstacle she has to overcome and then the story has a big theme of conditioning, which cynics term as brainwashing (which I have so many problems with), Maia welcomes touch like anything, I can imagine her like an eager dog actually when she gets it whatever it is.

As we know, everyone has their dynamic but I liked that I was reading something about complete ownership and what comes with that. It's also a brilliantly written book because it's articulate and the descriptions are just beautiful, and I'm more of a conversation person normally!

I look forward to Owned and Owner. I know it's seen as the more disturbing book by this author. And it has an exotic theme and storyline less, traditional than As She's Told which I'm neither praising nor criticising.

"A story of unconditional slavery..

(this is what got my interest before I read As She's Told)

"told from inside a woman’s bound and naked skin.

Far in the future exists a world of men, a planet where the only women are rare and exotic pets. These few women, convicted of crimes, have chosen their punishment: slavery on Henth. The few men who buy them know what they are getting: eager submissives, willing to accept the status of animals in order to be owned by men. Etrin is a young woman who makes this choice; Garid is the man who buys her. Their story is one of dominance and submission taken as far as the imagination can go.

Long prior to the time of the book, Henth’s colonizers split along gender lines, and the women removed themselves to a separate planet. The two societies have almost lost sight and memory of each other, except for the rare occasions when a woman chooses slavery on Henth over the alternative punishment on her home planet. Driven by a deep need for submission, Etrin pushes her misbehaviour year after year, knowing that she’ll eventually be sent to Henth.

When finally convicted and sentenced for her crimes, the bound Etrin is overwhelmed by her first contact with the men on the planet Henth. Soon transferred to the care of animal handlers, she’s caged for transport along with the other exotic pets, and prepared for the auction that will determine her new owner. Once Garid purchases his new pet, Etrin goes through stages of acceptance and the relinquishment of self as she faces the strict demands required of her. Meanwhile, Garid, driven and possessive, establishes a sense of ownership strong enough that he is finally able to share her. Readers learn of Etrin’s struggles in the form of first-person introspection, and Garid’s as he talks with his friend Therin, another dominant."

As She’s Told.

Contains long excerpts and possible typos as typed in front of a tv at 11pm.

So this one of those books that I am intrigued by. It’s been a slow read for me, I bought it months ago and every now and then I read a little. Again, I don’t think I can relate that much to the characters and after reading hundreds of books and spending five years and money on Erotica, I’m excited, inspired but I can just never relate to someone in the way someone else says, that’s me and so I feel a bit isolated, especially when I read a book it’s when I’m away from my Dominant.

Maia is a woman who wants and needs to be owned. She’s isolated from the world, it’s all just surfaces and she doesn’t seem to want to control her body, like she wants and needs someone to do that for her, not just someone, someone to OWN her, to tell her what to do, to make her his so that he’s controlling her body. You know, it takes the strongest submissive to give control of their body to their Dominant like that. It’s not laziness, especially as we go on in the book it’s absolutely the opposite of laziness.

There’s something about writing a heroine that makes me want to keep her as real to me as possible, appearance wise also. However, sometimes I think like when people make virtual images of themselves, part of it’s about a change from their usual selves and partly it’s about their idea of “bettering” themselves. I know no one looks in the mirror and high fives pimples but it’s human and the image of beauty has become so robotic. Victoria’s Secret models have tumbling waves but so much processing has gone on there, their waves are bigger than their faces. Anyway, Maia basically reads as though she has a short, slender body and an exotic beauty which is non processed and more to do with a wide variety of ethnicity.

There’s an instant attraction between Anders the hero and Maia’s soon to be Dominant and herself. They have initially met online and the other was the only person they could relate to.

And then Maia and Anders talk about needs. She talks about helplessness and imprisonment and he talks about violence in the world and pain with consent.

He says he wants a “real human chattel.”

He tells her he’s not into a scene, he wants a woman to own, all the time, a slave, not vanilla with some kinks, she has no need to be used as a human toilet, she doesn’t even care for being kidnapped. Anders says he will treat like an animal or worse, beatings, control, humiliation but he’d take the greatest care not to damage her. This I have quoted from the book because I think the way it’s written and the way Maia responds, it’s like all she has been looking for her whole life just came true, I think it’s beautiful. She’s had slave fantasies since she was young.

She says she wants to give her control to him. To me, that’s like saying here it is, this is my path, this is me. I love it.

Anders has big hands and is a foot and a half taller than Maia. This adds an eroticism to the deep intensity of what they have just confided in each other.

And they sleep together very soon. Of course the sex is like some poetry (I was always a messy, clumsy sex kind of girl) but I will forgive the sentiment because he describes her as the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and it’s nice to read a mixture of traditional old school romance and what is going to become the biggest ascent into slavery I have read so far.

“I can’t imagine I’d be very good at – well, at equality, you
see. With you.” Says Maia to Anders. I don’t care much for political correctness in the bedroom, in fact in some dynamics it has no place. And from their agreement over dinner, starts Maia’s journey.

As she’s sitting mostly naked at his feet he has her tell him everything about her past and sexual experiences. By page 21,as she’s taken like a slave, like Chattel, fucked, he tells her “you’re mine.”


Something that I love about As She’s Told is Maia and Ander’s beliefs about the world. They both have views, an education, experience, they talk about feminism, political science, parents, blending in with the crowd, not blending in with the crowd.

Maia’s early submission is full throttle on Anders demand but it’s realistic with her and his feelings and thoughts clear to the reader. I could relate to trying to get a grip on the situation. This situation is new for Maia and it’s very intense.

In addition to sex, Anders also controls Maia in her studies, setting her tasks. At the same time, Anders tells her it’s too soon to call him Master and takes her through it all step by step, like he says to her at the start, in addition to giving her the push she needs. And punishment. Punishment which she remembers and is going to better her, she was disorganised and lazy she admits in the past when it came to her work and now she won’t forget to type her notes on time and Anders thinks, soon he will work more on her posture.

As a reader you get an insight into Ander’s psyche as well, when Maia obeys him, when she does as she’s told, Anneke Jacobs, I have to say brilliant author of this book, writes, “The pure beauty of it made an intensely pleasurable ache in Anders, like a surpassingly perfect chord, or the most gorgeous of sunsets. This woman slipped into obedience like a seal into water. He watched from the doorway, watched the body inside the dress, the submissive being inside the body.There were fibres within his own body shaking loose,unfolding and reaching out for places not yet explored. As if all his life he had been confined to one small space inside his body, and was only now stretching himself to fit the full extent of his frame.”

They both, Anders and Maia get to be.

Maia also gets to be a “Hunhund.” A female dog, not in the bitch sense but an animal. “Up on the bed, hands and knees. We’re going to find out just what makes you come, my little hunhund. And what doesn’t.”

And in case we need reminding this book is called As She’s Told. Her need is to do as she’s told. So it’s actually her needs as well as his that are being met when the focus changes from what makes her cum, to her serving her Sir and this means also mistakes but learning from them, sometimes a gradual process.



“You know,” he said, “if you look at all this from some kind of normal perspective, what the hell am I doing? Look at me. I need to know her every move, don’t trust her for a minute, don’t let her use her own body as she likes. I want to know who she’s with and where she goes. That kind of thing’s usually the unlovely lead-up to a restraining order. How would anyone know I’m not some crazy stalker?”

And he hadn’t even included holding her down and beating her.

“Oh, bullshit,” said Val.

“I was like this with Janice. Sometimes. It was what broke us up in the long run. I never could be satisfied with the level of control she was willing to give me.”

“Maia’s not Janice. As you are perfectly aware.”

Anders went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “And you know, most other doms seem to behappy with power that’s basically psychological. Promises, negotiations, a dominant/submissivequid pro quo. Some blow jobs and a St. Andrew’s cross whipping on Saturday night. That feels like nothing but games to me, but is it?”

Val rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t go by me, I love games.”

Evidently his question had been rhetorical. “Or am I missing something? Am I just lacking the – the what? The subtlety and sophistication, to appreciate dominance by force of will,hardware optional?”

“For fuck’s sake, Thygesen. Whatever turns your crank. If you want to chain your woman to the wall, do it.”

“Thanks, I probably will.” Anders edged the truck around a corner onto Queen and sworeagain, finding himself in traffic that was at a complete standstill. He threw up his hands in resignation, folded long arms over the steering wheel and stared through the windshield for a while before he spoke again. “I have to admit, it’s been fun controlling Maia without restraints.

More fun than I expected. It’s challenging, seeing how far I can go that way, watching the pattern develop.”

“Oh. So you might have a bit of class after all? Not just a simple-minded thug?”

“Nah, I’m simple enough. Lately I keep flashing on hardware, nothing but hardware, and her in it. I play with the possibilities whenever I’m doing something routine; you know, driving, laying tiles, waiting in line to pay for something. And Home Depot’s a killer, all that stuff usable in ways it wasn’t intended for.”

Val cracked up. “We spend half our lives in hardware stores! You’re obviously in the right line of work.” She laughed at him until his face fell back into its preoccupied lines, and then she
stopped. “You’re not a stalker, you know. You’re not abusing her.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got the girl’s consent. More than consent. She’s begging to be taken over.”

He was silent for a while. “You know what I used to do? Read about real abusers in the paper. Books, too. So I could watch for the edge. So I could be sure I wasn’t one of them.”




The book goes between discussions like this sometimes from Anders to friends to Anders and Maia and the sex and submission. On the next page, Maia is wanking her cunt on the gear stick of Ander’s car because he wants her to come like the bad girl she was the night before, coming because he knows she really needs to, Maia I have a feeling is like a dog in heat when she has the need, but Anders and herself know she isn’t deserving of a proper wank.

Although Maia is Anders to do with he will, she’s got to overcome conditioning, all those years, so it’s going to take time. You’d think Maia, you’d have learned not do your laundry two days late and make another excuse to Anders for skipping class by now…

I can feel the moment where she realises she’s basically in deep dog shit.

(Don‘t take that too literally).

And I can feel her humiliation and sadness through her punishment. And also the relief that comes from him not being angry at her anymore, simply because she doesn’t want him to feel angry.

“She turned her face away. “What I need – sir, all I need is to know is – are you
still angry at me?”

He reached out and took her gently by the ear. “No, I’m not angry any more.” She turned her head to touch her cheek to his hand. “But that doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was. I’ve learned more about how your naughty little mind works. I’m going to move faster to restrict what you do, since I trust you less.”

She hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He took her face in both hands and kissed away its distress, kissed and licked the delicate, salty skin beneath her eyes. Then he gave her some orders for the next day, and sent her inside.”




“I lay in bed that night on my stomach, hugging the pillow, with sleep as distant and
theoretical as an alien lifeform. It wasn’t the physical result of the punishment that kept meawake; well, hardly at all. It was the fear still possessing me: the mounting, searing pain, my helplessness to avoid the blows. Anders’ angry, implacable voice still resounded in my head,making me cringe against the pillow. I actually held the pillow over my ears to shut it out, uselessly of course. And those long periods in corners, humiliating me down to nothing. My guilt was only barely assuaged by the punishment. I had to keep reminding myself that Anders wasn’t angry with me any more. And he was already stepping up restrictions, which was probably a
good thing; less chance for me to get into trouble.

I identified one feeling braiding through my subconscious: a thread of relief. He’d tied me down and beaten me, and I had survived it. More important, my desire had survived it; after that experience I wanted more than ever to belong to him. Fantasy is one thing, reality something else, as JulieB had said during that first conversation (the weblog of which I had saved and repeatedly read). Despite my early assurances, I hadn’t known for sure that I really could take it.

Or even, after the first blow, almost welcome it. Now it seemed to me that I did know.

I forced myself to be honest; there was no “almost’ about it. I had welcomed it, had in fact needed it. I was finding out what a fear junky I was. Fear, pain, humiliation: you name it, my body took it in through every pore and nerve and orifice and begged for more.

The beating had been one more giant step toward being owned, choiceless. A state I still wanted passionately, more than any specific piece of bondage or discipline.

Though I certainly wanted those, waited with breathless impatience for whatever he would do to me next. Still, the actions and the hardware were only the outward manifestation – intensely arousing, cunt swimming window dressing – for the underlying relationship, in which the seesaw of power tipped only one way.

There was another thread, thin and fragile-seeming, but still unbroken: the freedom to walk away. Here I was all by myself, with nothing but a waist chain and a sore ass to keep me in line. It felt a bit like standing at the edge of a precipice and reminding yourself that you really don’t want to jump. In that situation a guard rail is good, a chain link fence is even better.”

….

“I oscillated between longing urgently for more restrictions and chafing against the ones I had. It was frustrating not being able to goof off sometimes, browse in shops, read a book. I liked buying things on impulse – books I’d read that I’d always wanted to own, clothes I admired but could do without. But I wasn’t allowed. I chafed, and had sneaky teenaged rebellious thoughts. But less and less as time went by. I remembered that it was Anders who didn’t allow it. And what he wanted had become the central pin upon which I turned. I began to curl up within his boundaries, like a child in loving arms.”


I know of women who are submissive who want a Master, who want 24/7 and say they want it, determined they want this. I wonder if they know just how under His thumb they are going to be. Anders has to be sure of Maia and of what they have. “I really will control you, Maia,” he said at last. “I’m not talking metaphorically. I’m talking micromanagement. What’s happened so far is nothing compared to living with me 24/7.”

She pulled herself closer to him. “Sir, what should I – what do you expect me –”

He shook her slightly. “You should stick to the subject. Wicked girl.” He kissed her head.

“I’ll expect you to do what I tell you to do, of course. Learn to serve me, exactly as I want.

Accept what I inflict on you. Be what I make you.”

“Please, sir, I do want to move in.”

“Wait. I appreciate that you want to make the decision without needing to know the
details. But I’m not consulting you, I’m warning you. Do you understand?”

…

“Maia, if you move in with me, I’m going to keep you like an animal on a very short tether. You’ll have no autonomy at all in that house.

Not much outside of it. Remember, there’ll be constant restraints, rules, humiliations,
punishments. All the time, do you understand? You’re not going to draw a free breath.”

She was trembling beneath his arm. He held her more firmly and kept her moving.

“Following rules doesn’t mean you’ll know what’s coming, either. I’ll be arbitrary, and
sometimes I’ll be cruel.” He could hear her breathing. “I’ll still look after you, Maia.

That won’t change. I’ll still take great care, not to damage you. But you have to understand. This is for real.

You’ll be a belonging, a piece of property. I’ll do whatever I like with you. We agreed to play no games, and I won’t play them.”

She stumbled to a stop, and he faced her, holding her by the arms. He could almost see the heat radiating from her. Her head hung, and her body heaved with each breath. Slowly she raised her head, and looked at him with unfocused eyes, in the grip of profound, helpless arousal.

“Please…,” she breathed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, and he sat down and pulled her into his lap. Loving her, and his luck.

They sat there in silence for several minutes, rocking a little while she calmed down.

Then he boosted her off his lap, pulled off his knapsack and found a good spot beneath a tree. Laying out a little lunch, grilled vegetables and cheese on thick bread, he said, “That wasn’t the final decision, you know. I expect you to go home and think about this. When you’re not blinded by lust.”

Maia moves in. she’s now allowed to wear clothes as he tells her in his house, she is now to call him Master. There are rules about tv, even a stereo, she is dressed up so her waist is smaller than ever before, Maia is not good in the kitchen but Anders introduces her to tasks slowly, and although he likes to cook, I know that he is easy on Maia when it comes to that because he has to be. So many decisions for Dominants, aww.



And also when Maia moves in, she is told to pee in the chamber pot.


“I need to pee.”

“Then you can use the chamber pot. There.” He pointed at a squat white covered enamel bowl by the wall, in the shadow of a small table. On the table was a tissue box.

Oh, god. I’d seen the thing but it hadn’t entered in. The tray was lifted off my hands. I
could feel my face burning at the thought of squatting over that pot in plain view. The word “but…” was at my lips, but I bit it off; a conditioned reflex by now. By this time I knew that there was absolutely no percentage in questioning his orders, or in anything at all other than instant obedience. My hands went to the floor and I crept slowly up to the thing. Positioning myself over it was an agony of awkwardness, the ankle chain helping not at all. And then I couldn’t let it go for ages. I was almost in tears by the time I finally managed it.

I covered the pot and crept back to him, head down, unable to meet his eye. He gently pulled my head against his side. “It’ll get easier, girl. You’ll see.” I buried my face in his shirt, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. “Before long you’ll be completely housetrained.”

As a reader, I’m not complaining, oh my God she is just like his pet, I don’t even ask if this is humiliation or what. Because, I knew from the start, it was made very clear that this is what they both want and need.

And then Anders has Maia eating out of a dish on the floor. Like a dog. Like a female dog. A hunhund. I have nothing but admiration for Maia and Anders for going after what they want. I would put in the excerpt, clearly I’m fond of those but I’ll leave it as a gem for if you buy this book. It’s a testament to how Annek Jacobs writes, her characters and words very human and her circumstances ordinary and the emotions and articulation of them extraordinary.

This is how far I have got to. I intend to come back one day and edit this. I know what happens in the end and out of sheer curiosity I read that part and a little before, but I’m still working my way through the journey. It’s a 300 page book almost, if I had to choose a book to take away with me on holiday, it would be this and Story of O. I’m on a mini vacation of sorts writing this, now I’m back to business but I’ll have Maia with me regardless of my own journey.

The further a book wants to take things, I’ll go with it if it speaks to me and is a good a book. As She’s Told is what I need and want from a book.

My Dominant gave me a quote.

It's a pretty self explanatory, no nonsense, beautiful quote.

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, god, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding." -Anais Nin

The picture is taken from a website I found after googling the quote. I'd heard of it before, smiled when reading it but it means more now.

Facebook.

So I was reading an article called Generation Why and it was about the perils, the EVILS of facebook. I have not read one article ESPECIALLY since the movie Social Network came out that isn't normal quite frankly. I go on facebook because it's fun. So is tennis, walking, sex, tea but I like variety in my life. I can go to clubs and bars and I can talk to someone in my building and sometimes I just want to go one one site that allows me to see what other people have to say. It is okay to be curious! And they're not some victim of lack of privacy, they're putting up what they want. They have the option of delete and blocking..and the concept of ignoring. It's true that some people spend too much time on the internet but people spend too much time in bars or out shopping and the Mark Zuckerberg portrayed in Facebook was more comfortable around figures and codes than people and he had issues, there were people like this on imdb gale hansen board (name and shame -laughs) who decided that myself and a few others were superficial and shitty people and they knew better, a little like Mark in the movie.


I met some good friends on the internet. You get a space and time and minimal interruptions. Facebook is one site that allows you to connect with people and limit your profile and privacy as much and little as you want. It's got different functions as well as being a platform and if people want to send me a farmville request, hey guess what I just ignore it. No one is holding a gun to my head, facebook doesn't own me, as much as I enjoy reading conspiracy theories, how I'm just a product, how I've been reduced to such and such, I know that I have not and if you're so vulnerable as to fall "victim" to facebook, unless you've actually despite your best efforts been stalked and hacked, I wonder how you can live life.

Here's the dramatic and paranoid article. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2010/nov/25/generation-why/?page=1

Girls like me.

I know it's awfully lonely to be as special and unique as I am. *grins* However, I would on occasion like to read, yes that word again, about a girl more like me. It's nice to create something yourself but I never fit any heroines that I've read about even in books I adore. I once came across a secondary character in a book that was a little like me and I couldn't care less that she was secondary or that the hero stuck his nose up at her, she was there. I am what you would call weird. I don't mean weird in an endearing way. I piss people off unintentionally and intentionally too when they're super lucky. I'm not talkative unless I really let go but mostly I say what I need to in five minutes, stat, and I'm not an outwardly fun loving girl. I don't think many people fit into a category but I have had people say that they can't figure me out. Like I've said before, that's not my problem, it's theirs.

I'm what you would call a good girl in many ways but I'm also messy and I say things without thinking at times. I'm also a little bit of show off.

I've been like this forever. People who know me say I haven't changed. I get a few traits of mine from my dad and I will keep on saying this unless proved wrong, it is different for men. He will get a different reaction for the same facial expression or something else.

I also know what it's like to put down for having extra weight and on the other end to be put down for being petite. I can't relate to heroines with soft creamy curves and neither those with tight midriffs.

Sometimes it's fun to read a book about a wallflower librarian, I like those, but sometimes I want to read about someone who makes quite a few people say, oh I wouldn't have thought that about you, someone who will be judged but never and I mean never, even at the end of the wallflower "phase," understood alas!

Submission.

It's such a broad topic. It means different things to different submissives and Dominants but sometimes they can agree on one basis of it. I'm still looking for more non con Erotica about a submissive woman and a Dominant man. I want to read something that I can relate to a little more because whilst I understand the very universal elements of love that is in most Erotica, sometimes I want to read something where the hero and heroine are not in love with each other. And if you're reading this wondering how that could make sense then you're on a completely different wavelength to me. For me, I've never gone looking for love in websites, or for companionship but I am all for someone who does that. Taking charge of your life, choosing your own fate not waiting, is something that I am a big, big fan of. At the same time I also believe in a natural course. I'm not a big fan of ignoring nature or trying to change it, unless it saves someone's life.

Something pushed me into going into BDSM. I read a book and like a lot of readers I couldn't stop thinking about it. It also confirmed what I had been wondering about myself for a year, there is a basic element of my submission that can be summed up in four words, which will remain private to readers, sorry! (I'm sure you'll still be able to sleep at night).

Love..I would like to say it's something that happens naturally. I mean it's a feeling. It's also more than that, it's all these things like patience, kindness, like that line perhaps I heard it from a friend who is Christian, but I completely agree, love is patient, love is kind, it is not selfish. I used to think it was, well it can very well not be.

I understand that in BDSM, love can happen naturally but I also know of people who care for their play partners and even find them appealing and exciting on so many different levels but they're not in love with them..sometimes they're also involved in vanilla relationships. BDSM is so broad and yet in Erotica, it's one theme. Different plots around one theme. Love.

Secretary, a popular BDSM movie,!, was a love story.

I've seen Story of O and The Image (a man gets involved in a BDSM dynamic between a Mistress and her female slave). I liked Story of O for the details into submission and I liked the Image because it was about power play. For me, the movie of The Image, well there are probably people and to be honest this is a pet hate of mine who would say oh he was in love with her. Why? Because that's why he's doing what he is doing. Like love would be the only reason. For me, The Image was more about power play and if love was there, it developed after what we saw in the movie. I know Story of O was about love.

I once read a book that I've mentioned twice before, Story of Zoe. Now when I think about it it's like a gorgeous reference to Story of O because it's about a woman's journey into submission. She becomes submissive to her Professor. At the end of the book, she sees him and he's with another woman. It's almost going in two directions and one is the easiest one take; the reader thinks the Prof is like other men towards Zoe, she's fine as a dirty little secret but not "good enough" to be his girlfriend and the other direction is one I am now going in, we see that Zoe is his sub plain and simple and from the start to the end, that didn't change. Perhaps she wants more, perhaps he played around but also perhaps he wanted to keep his BDSM relationship understandably private. Afterall, it was about his need and hers and so attaining a status of being someone's girlfriend was irrelevant to their relationship. Perhaps he didn't not know what he wanted. Perhaps he actually 100 percent knew what he wanted. Perhaps Zoe was starting to fall in love with him and perhaps he was not starting to fall in love with Zoe.

Then there was a book about a woman who goes to a milk farm and gets used as a cow. She wasn't in love with anyone not because they treated like a cow because like it or not, she wanted to be treated like one, her need was to produce milk and be used as a sexual object and animal for the farmers. There wasn't anything "wrong with her." She could well develop feelings for them or at least one of them. She wasn't any less human than anyone else, she had a kink that's all and the book goes there.

So I would purely and simple to read a tale about submission. It can be a little foreign like the woman who becomes like a cow or it can be more like Zoe, but it doesn't always have to be about mutual love. I believe in love. I also believe in romance. I think romance is in a lot of things. It's romantic to take a walk in Autumn leaves or to see the sun make water shine so brightly it almost blinds you, it's there to different extents, in different ways.

I like Mills and Boon too. But how many M and B books are out there compared to the Story of Zoe, you know. Not all women want a formula.