Taking my own sweet time

Hello. I’m Vesta, and Deity has asked me to guest host his site while he is on holiday. I am delighted to have this opportunity to share some thoughts with you.

I thought I would begin by telling you something of myself. The reason I chose the name ‘Vesta’ is because she is the Goddess of the Home and Hearth. I have children myself and they keep me very busy. Readers with children will agree, I think, that living with children and living a D/s lifestyle 24/7 is challenging, and possibly worthy of a post all on its own. Deity has touched on problems associated with noise and prying eyes. You may recall that sometimes the children below his apartment will scream for an hour. My main concern is ensuring that the children do not listen to me scream for an hour. But, I digress.

My path to the life I lead now with my husband is rather long. I do envy young girls who are relatively comfortable with their submission from the outset. That is not my experience at all. I was painfully slow about recognizing my own needs and agonizingly tardy about revealing them to my husband. I wish I had those wasted years back. You know the fable about the Tortoise and the Hare? Well, I feel a bit like the Tortoise. He was very slow, but in the end, he won the race. Let me explain:

Deity has talked about the effect he has had on the odd summer intern at his work place. You might recall the girl who took three hours out of her day to change her sweater, simply because Deity looked at her in a certain way. I so related to that! In my twenties, I was Personal Assistant to the Managing Director of a financial institution. My boss was not unlike Deity in that he appreciated a well- dressed woman, and it was immediately apparent when he did not care for a piece of apparel that I wore. This happened quite rarely because such men quietly, even silently, train girls to appreciate what they appreciate. My boss liked tailored skirts and cotton shirts, and so did I. But, every woman makes a mistake when purchasing a garment every now and then. My mistake was a brightly- coloured patterned dress; expensive, but on sale. Since I knew that HE wanted me in light neutral colours, it was quite stupid of me to wear it to work. I can’t imagine what I was thinking.

As I walked in the door, he cast his eye over me and said,

“What are you wearing?”

Already feeling on shaky ground,

“I gather that you don’t like it.”

“I hate it.”

“What’s wrong with it?

“It’s horrible, that’s what is wrong with it. Don’t ever wear it again. I will have Robert drive you home so that you can change.”

“But, I paid good money for it.”

“I don’t care. It’s horrible. Give it away.”

“But, what do you want me to wear?”

“Put on the crème skirt and the crème shirt. That looks nice.”

An hour later, upon my return,

“You see, that looks lovely!”

Even now, it is difficult to explain to you the effect HE had on me, and in some ways, everyone who came into his path. There was a certain way to open a letter, and to address an envelope. There was a way to serve him coffee, and a way for me to communicate with staff. There was a way for me to wear my makeup and my hair. Every little detail of our day had rules associated with it.

It was not all smooth sailing. I am not short of an opinion myself and early on, I aired them. I can still see him, calmly explaining to me the way it was going to be:

“Vesta, there will be times when you and I will disagree as to how something should be done. Rest assured that when that time comes, we will do them MY way. Do you understand?”

I think I was expected to find him obnoxious. I found him fascinating.

Of course, I had my little rebellions. Who of us does not? But, I soon learned that it was not worth the effort. In his arsenal of weapons he owned the fiercest of all-rejection. I hated it, and avoided it like the plague. My training was complete.

At the time, I did not understand our attraction for one another. I had no control over the fact that he was intoxicating to me. I desired his company and even though he was maddeningly superior and judgemental, I sought his praise, and his affection. I knew without being told that he loved my company and our working relationship, but praise of me was rare, coming through the channel of other people, rather than directly to me. He once told me that he worried that praise would go to my head. You had to be strong to be around him, and there were moments when it was all too much for me.

One day, his caustic complaint of something I had done cut deep. On the spur of the moment, I told him I was resigning.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you aren’t happy with anything I do.”

“What can you mean? I am happy with everything that you do. Stop this nonsense immediately and get on with your work.”

With mixed emotions, I left his employ after some years and I began my family soon thereafter. I spent years trying to make sense of the experience. Why was I so attracted to his personality? Why did HE behave as he did? He was very stern, but kind; attentive, but distant; difficult, but appealing. The more I tried to make sense of those years, the more confused I became.

Then, one day, three years ago now, I decided to do some research on the internet. I was sitting there with my laptop alone in the house and I typed in the word ‘spank’. I simply can’t put into words the emotions within me when I realized for the very first time, that the thoughts that I had carried around in my head since I was a young child were shared by so many people. I must have spent hundreds of hours over the next few months reading everything I could find, from spanking blogs, to information sites, through to academic papers on the topic. On those pages, for the first time in my life was validation of my innermost thoughts. One evening, when the children were at sleepovers and we should have been at a dinner, I asked my husband if we could stay home. I had something important to discuss. I told him about my ‘research’ and I told him about my desires. I asked him if he would spank me.

My husband didn’t hesitate for a moment. He ordered me to bend into the bedroom chair and he warmed by backside well, first with his hand and then with the only implement available to him at the time – the toy plastic sword our young son had left on the stool at the end of our bed. After he iced me down, he turned me over to sit on the chair and hugged me as I cried. They were tears of joy and relief. We made love and then we went to dinner; ravenous. I sat on the edge of the seat, trying to find a way to sit that hurt a little less. It is an extraordinarily happy memory.

Over time, I came to see that I needed more. I wanted to be controlled; dominated. My ‘research’ took a different direction and one evening on the computer I happened upon Deity’s blog. I discovered his blog during the ‘senses’ series and loved what I read. He had asked his secretary to purchase a product that masked the smell of the men’s room. I laughed out loud. (Sorry, Deity) Here was a man unto my own heart. Here was a replica of my old boss; deliciously difficult! For quite some time, I was a scaredy cat. All that rope and spandex; all those bandages! But, I kept coming back for more. His affection for his girl was as evident as his need to dominate her, and I loved that. Eventually, the idea of being tied up weaved its spell on me, and I soon discovered that a night all tied up into a little bundle is heaven.

It has been a wild and wonderful ride. Naturally feisty and prone to cheekiness, I tend to equate it to the taming of the shrew. I took my own sweet time to declare my hand, but now that I have done so, I am deliciously, deliriously happy. I consider myself a very lucky girl and I’m tickled pink to be sharing this time with you.