Monday, July 31, 2017


Daddy asked me to reflect today on my slavery, what it brings to my life and what I can do to deepen my servitude. 

Today, I had a pretty bad freak out. I felt like this bottomless void had opened up and I just wanted to sink into despair and give up. 

My Master is my life. He is the center of my universe. For a while today, I got really caught up in some emotions that weren't based in truth. But I have been reminded, by friends, of things that I know are true. He loves me, dearly. He comes home to me everyday because he wants to be with me. 

Looking straight into the face of the despair, feeling as though I had lost him, I am reminded again of how much I need him. My slavery gives me structure. It keeps me safe. It gives me a sense of belonging and meaning. I love him so desperately. I get frightened sometimes of what would happen to me without him, but I'm not going to be without him. We made a commitment to each other and that is what is real. 

As far as deepening my servitude, I feel the answer is always taking better care of myself. This is an area where I really struggle. I need to get to the gym, get enough sleep, take care of my health. These are the things that give me the emotional and physical strength that I need to serve him as well as I can. 

Please forgive me, Daddy. 

Sunday, June 25, 2017

PTSD, sore knuckles, and girl kisses Part 1


Once upon a time, an American boy moved to China to teach english. He was happy there, and he was not often happy. He met a beautiful Chinese girl, named Shuo, and fell in love. He decided that he wanted to marry her. So, he talked to her about it. He was going to go back to America to make some money, so that he could support her, and they could start a family. 

But he didn't understand love well, and he thought Shuo was too naive, to inexperienced with the world. So, he convinced her too break off their relationship in hopes that when he was able to return for her that she would have lived a little and learned a little. 

He wasn't gone for a year when he heard that she had gotten married, gotten her green card and moved to San Francisco. He was heart broken. I took pictures of him with a ring box and he made a proposal video. She never responded, and I just knew it was my turn.

We started "dating." We were already living together at the time. I started hearing stories about Shuo. She managed to get back in touch with him. I couldn't take the stories. Every time that he mentioned her, I dissolved into a puddle of tears. But I loved him like my life depended on it. 

Two years passed

It was dark outside. I was drunk. He was drunk. I stood behind the kitchen island like it would protect me from him. 

"I hate that I can't ever talk to you about what's going on in my life."

"I really wish you would..."

"You can't handle it."

"I do my best. Let me try. Please."


"Please, let me try." Tears stung in my eyes.

"You can't handle what I'm going to say."

"Yes, I CAN!"

"Shuo came to visit me that weekend. Now, she is pregnant with my baby."

I felt the impact in my stomach, like I had been kicked. I slid to the ground, heaving and gasping for breath. I wish I could say that I blacked out and that was the end of the story... but I didn't and it wasn't. The baby turned out to be a lie, to prove to me that I couldn't handle what he had to say... but you can't take back words like that.

We talked all night, if you can call it talking; intermittently fighting, sobbing, yelling. We were getting on a plane in the morning to California. We had an interview for a postgraduate fellowship. Rather than staying in a hotel for the night before our interviews, he asked me to drive all night to San Francisco so that he could see her. I said yes. There wasn't anything else to say. He loved her... I had always been second choice. We were over. He had been my everything. In fact, he still was. I was nothing. 

The following morning, we got on the plane. Something felt terribly wrong. The clothes I was wearing felt like sandpaper on my skin. The roar of the plane was deafening and painful. I couldn't move, loaded into my seat like a sardine. There was a baby crying. I tried to sleep. I couldn't. I felt panic rising in the back of my throat like vomit. Or maybe that was vomit. The people behind me were talking too loudly. My mouth was dry. I couldn't relax in my seat. I tried to sleep. I couldn't. Every second felt like a day. I started wishing I would die. I didn't die. That two and a half hours felt like weeks. We landed in Houston. 

I would have clawed my way off that plane had it been possible. The feelings didn't stop. I found myself hyperventilating. I was frantic. Getting off the plane didn't help. But, he was with me. He got us to the next gate and on the plane. The feelings didn't stop. My skin felt raw, my nerves, my mind was awash in a sea of horrible, overwhelming (perfectly normal) sensations.

It was hot. 

The instant we pulled away from the gate, I knew it had been a horrible mistake. It was hot. We taxied out onto the tarmac and paused... the baby kept crying. The people kept talking. My clothes kept tearing my skin. It was hot. The panic had never stopped, but now it was worse. We sat on the tarmac, while I wanted to die, while I wanted to tear my skin off, while I just wanted everything to *cease*.

Forty-five minutes passed. The only thing that kept me in my seat was the idea that, IF fate/providence/god/gods saw fit, the plane would go back to the terminal. If the plane would just go back to the terminal, everything would be ok. If the plane would just go back to the terminal, everything would be ok. If the plane would just go back to the terminal, everything would be ok. If the plane would just go back to the terminal, everything would be ok.

The plane did go back to the terminal. It was missing some part. All of my thoughts, the grating, rasping, tearing, burning sensations told me to FLEE.

So, I did. I shared a rental car with this delightful alcoholic, lesbian flight attendant who dropped me at my parents' house. And the rest of that story... was my first manic break.

Friday, June 2, 2017

To give up everything

I missed my therapy appointment today. I felt sleepy and anxious, so I laid down for a nap. I set an alarm for an hour. I woke up 15 minutes after my session would have started. 

I told Daddy. I knew he would be unhappy with me. 

"This is unacceptable. As far as I am concerned, your therapy is your most important responsibility, even more than work. You will call and make catch-up appointments to make up for the time you have lost. If this behavior persists, I will have you become a stay-at-home slave/pet with no responsibilities to anyone other than me. Go cum in the bedroom floor thinking of that."

My career is so important to me. I worked so hard and lost so much getting that degree. With tears in my eyes, I laid in the floor of the bedroom and held my vibrator to my clit. The sadness and disappointment gave way to a feeling of sweet relief. I could literally spend every moment serving my beloved. He would be my sole responsibility. I could dedicate my time to serving him and raising beautiful, healthy children after he breeds me. 

In that moment of peace and sunlight, my eyes rolled back in my head and I came... hard. 

On my submission and slavery

For me, slavery is a promise. I promise to obey and shape myself to his will. He promises to command me and to take responsibility for the consequences of his commands. 

Slavery means that he will always own me, that I will never be free or alone again. His commands come before everything else in my life (I struggle with this). My days start and end with him. He is my god and I will worship. I will obey without question and in my obedience I will find freedom. 

Submission is a choice. It is a sign of respect. I voluntarily demean myself, subjugate myself to your will. In this way, I show you my love, my trust. I give you myself. This is not because I am not capable of standing alone. It is because I long to kneel at your feet, to feel the serene peace of giving myself to you. 

I love you. I worship you. I adore you. 

Friday, May 5, 2017

It's like a kinky fairytale

April 29th marked the one year anniversary of meeting the love of my life, the man who keeps the moon and stars in the sky, who owns my soul and demands my worship. 

This year has completely changed my life. I am not the person he met one year ago. I'm better and stronger, emotionally and physically. Words cannot express how grateful I am. To show him how much I love him, I continually strive to deepen my service to him. 

We get closer and closer everyday. Last night, we stood together in the shower and laughed like idiots. He's my best friend. He takes better care of me than I do. He taught me that I was a slave and has gently and firmly helped me to deepen my position below him. 

He's been forgiving of my weakness, understanding of my pain, all the while encouraging me to be a better version of myself. 

When he kisses me, the same electricity still shoots down my spine, weakening my knees and wetting my pussy. I still get the same thrill from the way he looks at me, the way he can be tender one moment and stern the next. 

I never expected to find love like this. I had given up. I had decided never to marry again. I wasn't willing to make that kind of commitment to anyone. 

I remember the day we talked about it. 

"When I ask you to marry me, you will say yes."

"Yes Sir," I said. 

That was it, end of discussion. I felt the fear quiver in my belly, the uncertainty in the back of my mind... But trust trumped it all. I let go.

We aren't engaged yet, but it has become a fact on the calendar of our lives. It's going to happen. Only he knows when. And I'm alright with that. I'm in no rush. The idea still frightens me, but it doesn't come close to the way that I love and trust him. 

Sometime in the next few months, I am going to get my first tattoo. Yesterday, I made a decision about it. I want Daddy to choose it. I want him to place it. And I don't want to see it until it is a permanent decoration on my body. I think it's a beautiful picture of the trust that I have in him and my desire to be marked as his. It will be a permanent I love you. 

I cannot imagine my life without you and I don't ever want to try. I love you desperately and without reservation and I know you feel the same. For the first time in my life, I can be 100% me. I don't have to hide anything. I've never experienced transparency like this before. Thank you for loving me more than I have ever been loved and for accepting me for who I am. I cannot imagine a better person to have as my life partner, my PIC, my monster, my sounding board, my strength, the father of my children, and my beloved. Thank you for this beautiful year and thank you for all the years to come. 
I love you.

Mortal Combat: Catlytt vs. Anxiety... FIGHT!

Hello all, 

It's been too long since I have written. We have much to discuss. 

The past few months have been emotionally hard for me. I don't have a particularly good reason, but I have been struggling with my anxiety in a very overwhelming way. To ease the struggle, I have been filling my spare time with bad habits. I've been drinking too much... getting high enough that I cannot function... finding other ways to free my mind and my body from the constant feeling of butterflies in my stomach, racing thoughts, acid reflux, and intense, chronic fatigue. 

So I apologize to you, my dear reader, and myself for not respecting my body and mind as Daddy's priceless treasure and caring for myself as he cares for me. I have sorely neglected my duties. 

They say that bad news always comes in threes. It's been a little over a month now, but I had a week that totally wrecked me. It was a work week, so it was already fairly stressful. Master texted me on a Wednesday morning.

"My mom got diagnosed with lymphoma."

WHAT!? Who texts that sort of thing? So I called him and I was met with an almost disturbing calmness and a matter of fact acceptance(I was crying). 

Reeling from that discovery, Thursday, I got a call from the county jail. One of my best friends had just gotten arrested. He used me as his one call. The man has been going through a horrible divorce and his ex is a witch. She found a way to ruin his life, yet again. Angry and in protective mamma bear mode, I called his girlfriend. I called Master. I was livid that his ex was yet again able to grab him by the balls and do something like this. 

Monday: I called my mom to chat on my way to work. 

"Did you hear that your cousin had a stroke?"


"Last night, her husband called us this morning." 

My heart was racing... How could that happen? She's 36! She has five kids and a husband that need her. This is horrible. I got to work at 0700. I talked to my boss. By 0830, I was on the road north. I spent the morning at the hospital with her, her husband, and my uncle who few in from Montana overnight. 

She's alright. Thank goodness. She has a few lasting deficits which are resolving. The upside of this is that she is now getting the therapy that she needs to cope with her life and the massive responsibilities that she is always carrying.

Needless to say, I have been run ragged. Something had to be done...

I completely tapered myself off of my ADHD medication. I have been suspicious for some time that it was contributing to my anxiety (It is a stimulant, after all). This has significantly helped. I've also been very deliberate about taking time, every 2 weeks, to take time for myself: go get a manicure, a massage, something relaxing. It's starting to make a difference and I can feel the tension that has been a constant in my life beginning to unwind like a spring. 

An exciting side-effect of taking care of myself... is that each time I make a decision to prioritize my mental health, it opens up additional possibilities. 

For example, I have been going to the gym. I haven't been consistent enough to really call it a success yet, but I have noticed something that I hadn't noticed before. Last time that I tried to use exercise as a stress management technique, it made no noticeable difference. I think I was just too far gone. When you're in the middle of suicidal depression, lifestyle changes don't seem to help that much. This time, it's different. I actually feel amazing after I go to the gym. I didn't go first thing in the morning yesterday and I had a pretty crappy mood day, until I went to the gym in the evening. It completely fixed it.  

I'm feeling encouraged, for the first time in a long time. Thank you, my lovely readers, for waiting so patiently. 

Much love,

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

You took me

I met you at the door. My hand slid behind your head as our lips met. My tongue pushed past your lips. I felt your body rise against mine. Then, your arms were around me. Surrounded by your strength, I released what little control I had. You explored my mouth aggressively with your tongue. 

Both your hands were on my shoulders. You began to push down. I fell gratefully to my knees. I smelled the leather of your belt as you worked the buckle. Jeans unzipped. Cock in my mouth. I greedily and eagerly sucked your cock. My tongue swirled around the head. 

"Get your gag."

I had received a dental gag in the mail the day before. You met me in the bedroom. You knelt beside me and fastened the buckle behind my head. Near my left ear I heard the steely click, click, click and the gag was opened further and further. With the gag in place, you took my throat. I love the feeling of your cock in my throat. I tightened and released my throat around your cock. I heard you moan. My saliva was coating your cock. Thick slippery gobs fell from your head. 

"On the bed."

As I rose, you roughly threw me forward onto the bed. I was bent at the hips, my torso on the bed. Saliva fell from my mouth in a puddle under my face as you entered my dripping pussy. 

I felt your hips slam into me at the same time I felt your cock strike my cervix. I moaned in pleasure. Again and again, you slammed into me. My moans turned to growls. With each thrust, I clenched my pussy tighter and tighter around you. Your hand fell repeatedly across my ass as you pounded me. Faster. Faster. I could not think. Drool streamed from my gaping mouth. I remember searing pain as you continued to spank me. Each thrust of your cock brought me closer and closer to the brink. 

I waited. I always wait. I don't want to cum without your command, ever. 

"Cum, bitch!" you growled. 

I let myself fall right off the cliff. I lost myself in my orgasm, my body twitching and writhing. You fucked me so hard that I could barely stay on the bed. I felt your body tense and your cock throb as you pumped your cum into my hungry pussy. You stayed there, with your cock as far in me as it would go, for a few seconds. Then you were gone. 

I slid from the bed. My knees buckled and I landed on my side on the floor. That's where you found me when you returned, exhausted, high from the depth of our passion, crumpled on the floor in a heap. 

"Good girl." 

"Thank you Sir." I whispered.