Opinions, and whose counts anyway

I'm extremely behind on blogging about our play sessions.  
I probably won't catch up.  This has been a busy week and I've seemed to do more playing than writing.  This is awesome, by the way!

But after a few days they all blend together and I can't remember what was when anymore.   

One day this week, it might have been last Sunday, I was feeling a bit down after a play session wherein Master had the best sex of the month, he says, and I got mindfucked and also very well fucked. 

 We got on the subject of what internet friends and acquaintances think of me.    I admitted to Master that I did care and worry about what they thought, and that I am not all that eager to write certain things  because I don't want anyone thinking less of me or him.  Whether I actually write about those things depends on whether Master has approved it or not, but some things are written more reluctantly than others. 

 He didn't like this one bit, and gave me a lecture on whose opinions were important here anyway (his, duh).   We went out to the garden and as we pulled weeds half naked together, he reiterated to me that not only did my opinion of our activities not matter all that much, seeing as how I'm his hole and fucktoy, but what my friends on the internet thought about what we do mattered even less.   

He's right, of course.  

In my more secure, less subdroppy, moments I realize that if they don't like who we are and what we do, in all the varieties, even when I may not look so slavey, or if they think he's not the best Master that ever lived (he is for me), then they are free to unfriend me at any time.   

All this angst didn't come from anyone's direct comments to me.  But I can sometimes be over sensitive about things that people say in general ("If my Master did xyz I would be out of there!") and I have to remember it just isn't relevant to us.   Normally, those comments seem to pass by me without hitting a mark, but then I get all worried and insecure and they come back to me as criticisms.  I can't say it is sensible, but it is my mind.   

His opinion is the one that counts, of course, and he reminded me of that.   He even gave me another mantra to repeat whenever I'm feeling down or less than wonderful.  "My Master thinks that I am amazing.  I am a good slave."  I've been saying it all week, and he makes me repeat it back to him now and then to make sure I remember.

Anyway, aside from this short bit of insecurity, this has been a wonderful week for us.  Wednesday he had a half day at work so we spent the afternoon playing.  He had me put the butt plug in (I'm getting better at that) and then fucked me.  It makes everything so tight and intense.  Then took it out and he fucked my ass, which was overwhelmingly fantastic.  

Last night he beat me for an hour solid, starting really slow and light (Chinese water torture anyone?) and working up to some serious whacking with the misery stick, paddle and redneck implement (radio antenna- hurt like a mofo even when I was in subspace).  
The antenna ended up breaking and had to be thrown away.   I can't say I'm sad about that.