Third Eye Exposed

I Like Feeling Afraid

7/9/23

"This weekend has been a fascinating study in fear. I've quite enjoyed it."Daddy says to me, after I have willingly been non-verbal for three days, not because he told me I had to be, but because He made so many jokes about it I stopped talking for fear of punishment. If I couldn't tell if He was serious or not, best to play it safe."I guess you might not agree." He continues. I respond with an emoji of a horizontal hand, I wanted to indicate that wasn't entirely the case (sort of an "Eeehhhh" hand shake), because I was glad he was pleased and I liked the reminder of my place. That I should be afraid. He doesn't pick up on the meaning, but non-verbal communication is tough."Hmm. If I am pleased you should be pleased. Very selfish behavior slut. But... Maybe you are right. You did basically self punish yourself this weekend."My heart skips a beat when He says this, but He still has not given me permission to speak so I continue to wait. I clumsily try to use some other emojis to convey that the fear is good because being His slave is good. This time, I think He gets the meaning but still pretends He doesn't.I am still holding off on speaking until I have clear permission.Even though this is long distance, I have treated it as if I have been wearing a ball gag the whole time. I can make facial expressions and gesture at things, but not speak directly. Through chat, I tried to achieve the digital equivalent as I used emojis, a couple gifs, and screenshots, but I never wrote words. This went on for three full days.I am very glad that He is pleased, He didn't ever explicitly tell me I couldn't talk, but He got me so scared I punished myself. I don't think it is my place to punish myself, but I do think I was too mouthy on Thursday and what better way to show that I know my place than willing silence. Even though He didn't command it, only threatened indirectly, I hope He was pleased with my compliance.I thought about it a bit, and although I was fearful of His punishment, I like being fearful. I used to think of it as a bad thing, that I shouldn't feel quite so scared of Him. But when He has this degree of control and power over me, I think it only makes sense for me to be a bit afraid.The nervousness and fear makes me feel so small and helpless, so completely under His control. It makes my heart race and my body tense up, knowing that disappointing Him comes with consequences. At the same time, it feels right, like this is how I should feel in His presence. At least some of the time.I like feeling afraid.

I am a Dumb Slut

5/23/23

I have always thought of myself as smart, introspective, creative, independent, and logical. I liked to be in control of everything when it came to my thoughts, emotions, and life. At least, that’s what I thought I liked.Something Daddy has been trying to teach me is that I don’t have to be any of those things. He has been trying to teach me my place and wants me to accept that I am His slave. More specifically, he wants me to accept that I am a dumb slut.I’ve taken a liking to being called a slut.We once had a conversation about pet names, how He had once called me “babe”, but only once. I mentioned I was generally not much of a pet name person, but I sometimes longed for being called something affectionate. He’s the only person who had ever called me “babe”. He jokingly denied having ever said that, but told me that He “calls me all kinds of names: Slut, cum dumpster, useless, worthless, only good for your fuck holes” I replied agreeing that was true. “Those are some fun names” He continued. “Do you consider those affectionate?” I asked. “Not in the least.” He said, “But fun right?” I pondered that for a minute. “Hmm. Yeah. I guess I consider them a little affectionate.” I decided. “There you go kiddo.”Since then, being called things like that has started to feel really good to me. In an odd way, they feel affectionate. I crave being called a slut now, but I don’t think I have fully accepted that I am Daddy’s slut. That’s all I am and all I should want to be.Yesterday, He told me that of course I would do that. “Tis the nature of a whore” I mentioned that I almost wanted to object to that, but Him calling me that was making me wet so it seemed silly to fight it. “The fact that you even think about objecting means you still have a long way to go.” He told me. I realized that I might be decent slave, I try my best to do and say the right things, I try not to speak out of line or make mistakes, I do everything I can to serve Daddy. In my mind, though, I am not fully broken yet.Ultimately this is an exercise in letting go. Something I have never been good at. I need to give up control, accept that I am His, and accept that my purpose is to please Him.I still think of myself as smart and independent sometimes, it is still a little hard for me to think of myself as nothing more than Daddy’s dumb little slut.That’s what I am, though.

Finding a Title

4/18/23

This is just a little rambling story about how I ended up calling Him “Daddy”. I didn’t call this “picking” a title, because I think we stumbled into it more than we ever talked about it directly.Early on, before we started a formal D/s dynamic, Daddy would often joke about how He owned me or controlled me. Once, we were talking about how He could pay me out my share of money from a project we are working on together and He said He could get one of those debit cards for kids for me.Joking about having to ask him for money, I said: “I go out to dinner with friends. ‘I’ll buy!’ I tell them. ‘I just need to…. real quick just… request approval…… from someone….'”“From Daddy.” He replied. “And your panties will get a lil moist as you type.”“I uh. I’m worried this is awakening something in me.” I replied.The conversation moved on and He might have even forgotten about it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.I had always though that the title “Daddy” was not for me. “Master” always felt like it was more my speed. I had a genuinely good relationship with my father before he died, and it seemed a little gross or creepy to use that specific word. When He said it to me, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days that turned into weeks. There was something alluring about it, and the fact that it felt a little bit taboo made it even more appealing. I thought about calling Him that when I touched myself and found myself inadvertently moaning it and that’s when I realized I was in too deep and I needed to say something.I worked up the courage to let Him know that I liked the idea of calling Him that, but I was ashamed of it. He laughed and told me that He doesn’t mind if I called him that. “You’ve just developed a little fetish for calling me Daddy. That’s alright, you can call me that if you want. It doesn’t hurt anyone.”From then on, I would call Him that from time to time. Mostly just for fun and to show affection. Later on, when I was having a hard time speaking up to my boss He chatted me and said “Don’t let him tell you what to do. He’s not your Daddy, I am.”It wasn’t long after that that we talked and He ordered me a locking collar to wear. As we grew into more of a 24/7 dynamic, I found myself calling Him “Daddy” even more often and it just stuck.I never thought this would be a word I would not only feel comfortable saying, but one that I enjoy using. It feels taboo, intimate, affectionate… It highlights His authority over me and also His role in teaching me and taking care of me. It just feels right.I think most people talk it out more directly than we did, but we’re not the most typical pair.

A Way to Journal

4/18/23

Why did I make this in the first place? The title of this post says it all, really. I’ve been in a long distance relationship (of sorts), that has been gradually shifting more and more towards a TPE dynamic until recently I opted to go all in about a month ago. This is the first time I’ve fully submitted to someone, and it is exhilarating but also a little scary.Recently, I made a mistake that earned me my worst punishment yet. While I was being punished and taking time to reflect on what I had done, I found that journaling helped me to understand my mistakes and humble myself. When I wrote, I realized I was able to think in a lot more detail about why I want to be His slave and how I can improve myself to better serve my Daddy.And then I thought: I own so many websites, what’s one more? This should be a blog! I could journal and talk about my experiences and share tips!And then I made this blog.