Sensitivity & Neglect

originally posted June 19, 2005

It is an interesting, but difficult dynamic dealing with a large chain of women. Animals though they are, they are not without feelings and one cannot expect them all to be in a synonomously perfect harmony of well-adjustedness at all times. It would be excellent if they were, of course, and one does what one can to strive for that.
The only girl on the chain not kept in the Boarding House, Joy, for example, is always 'fine'. The picture of well-adjusted and content. On the surface, that is perfecty true. She is a model slave girl. I shaped her to my exact preferences. She is one I simply will not share with others but she, too, from time to time, requires reassurance. She does not need coddling or sweet words. She simply needs to know her place.
"Every woman really only wants one thing, Master," she said to me.
And I think that is true.
Each of them, even the companion, have tried in various ways to find her place with me. Most of them simply needed to feel the leather across their ass. With some, it has not been so simple. Sana, for example. People think that what defines her slavery, what makes her excellent, is her eagerness to please men. To an extent, that is true. She is quite eager to please not only me, but all men. It isn't what defines her. It is not, truly, what makes her desirable. She is sensitive. Highly sensitive. And that is also her problem. Every fellow wants a sensitive woman. They are soft and exploitable, utterly feminine and genuine. However, as with all things, too much of a good thing can be very bad. Precisely what makes her deliciously vulnerable makes her emotionally volatile. She simply cannot control her outbursts. Her temper is, in a word, ridiculous. The emotions well up so quickly in her that she cannot contain them. While a fellow is between such a woman's thighs, that can be an incredible thing. When the girl is knelt before you and feels hurt and afraid, insecure and alone, it is an irrational handful of a woman that must be dealt with.
Earlier this evening when the girl lost her temper with me, attacked me verbally, sassing me repeatedly, I had several options. I could have backhanded her, drawing blood as her tongue was crushed between her rattling teeth. It would have drawn her focus instantly to the here and now. I could have tied her, gagging her mouth with her silk, leaving her there in the middle of the room for an undeterminedamount of time. She would not have been as abruptly focused, but she would have had ample time to think as her limbs went numb from lack of circulation. I could have whipped her. Like the backhand, it would have sharpened her focus immediately and, for as long as the beating lasted, inspired immediate compliance.
I chose to do nothing.
For once, I will let her feel what neglect truly is. I think that there comes a time when a fellow must let a slave realize that her place is extremely tenuous. That, after a time, it is not worth the effort to discipline her. That it is simpler to just sell her and replace her with a more pleasing girl of which there is an abundance to choose from. It is akin to throwing an urt girl into the canal. Sometimes they swim back. Sometimes they do not.