Compassion

The changes in me over the past three or so years are quite profound. Back then, I very much wanted change in my marriage and I realized that the best chance of acquiring change was to focus on my own behaviour. I have long believed that whilst we can’t necessarily change the behaviour of others, we can do something about our own behaviour. Even then, change is not easy. One has to accept that and be very committed to following through with one’s goals.

A huge benefit of growing and improving and acknowledging faulty patterns of thought is that a husband/partner/boyfriend/owner will notice the change and feel disposed to that change in his girl. When a girl is trying her heart out to change, alter and grow it is very heartening and pleasing to watch, I think. When, for example, a girl works hard to lose those stubborn few kilos sitting on her hips, the best part of that change is the pleasure in his voice when he holds those hips down with his outstretched hands and makes note of the change. Who needs that biscuit after all?

So it is with changes in behaviour as well. Something I have had to learn to do is to acknowledge the error of my ways rather than to make excuses. My husband hated that. All he wanted to hear was that I was sorry and I would try harder next time but at times, the more he insisted the more I dug in my toes and it was not getting us anywhere. It was up to me to change since he did not intend dropping that expectation of me any time in his lifetime. At times, when he is demanding and irate, it still is not easy for me to do, but I recognize that it is the only way forward.

In my quest for change and improvement I have learned a thing or two and several years down the track, I felt the need to pass some of that information onto my daughter. I’ve watched her relationship with her boyfriend develop over the past few years and whilst I have tried to remain impartial, she knows that I hope that he is not the man she commits herself to for a lifetime (i.e. marry). At the end of the day I think she would do best with a man a little older than herself and with a strong interest or appreciation of culture. I think she needs someone who can accept and understand her rather dramatic soul rather than find it intimidating.

Even so, I’ve watched this dynamic between them play out long enough for me to understand several things. In spite of her complaints of his behaviour, he seems somewhat unable to change to her satisfaction. He has given it a good shot lately, in fact, but ultimately I think he just got sad and disheartened. He was ready to give up. Did she not think that a good idea, I asked? She seemed so piqued with him. No! No! No! She still wanted him. She is a very pretty and engaging girl and is often asked out, but she still wanted him. It was finally time for Vesta to speak her mind and in a way that she knew would shock her daughter.

“Then it is you who has to change. He has tried to do things your way but it is never good enough for you. You complain no matter what he does.”

She looked at me in disbelief. This was her mother talking; the woman who was always on her side.

“Well, he was late to come over because he was at a barbeque with his friends.”

“So, why weren’t you with him?”

“Well, he invited me but I don’t like his friends.”

“Darlin, you have to stop making that excuse. Have you tried talking to them one on one? You can win anyone over if you choose to. You should have gone and made an effort to enjoy yourself.”

On the conversation went, with her doing her best to see my argument whereby it was her who needed to transform this time. In an extraordinary moment when she was struggling to accept these words she said to me,

“Are you saying that I have to just pretend that everything is fine when it is not?”

I smiled, although I tried hard not to.

“Of course not! You have a right to express your opinion, but not on every last little thing. That is called ‘nagging’. Save your complaints for important things and try to hold back on your negative emotions. Does he really have to know every last time you are annoyed by him?”

She was taking it in. She could choose to get on with him. She could choose for him to feel that he was acceptable to her and then work towards effecting some changes in him that were important to her.

I’ve no idea if I have done the right thing by her or not, but I do know that if she chooses him, and she does, time and time again, she has to be the sort of girlfriend that he can enjoy if the relationship has any future.

I wonder. If change is looked at from this perspective – that two people in a relationship expect and deserve to enjoy one another- is, perhaps, change easier? There is a lot of emphasis on the individual at this time but perhaps there are benefits to the individual when one puts the other first. So, he’s swamped with work and does not have any time for you. Maybe, that is a time to come over and give him a sweet kiss and bring him a cup of tea. (Some would say it is a time to offer oneself underneath his desk...) She’s immersed with the children, is busy helping with a project and doesn’t have time for you. Maybe if you ran her a bath after the children were in bed?

It is easy to be angry; harder to show compassion and understanding at times. Ultimately, it is the favour you do yourself.

Practically perfect

The vast majority of this girl's readers live in North America and thus are experiencing the delights (and inconveniences, perhaps) of a winter wonderland. This girl, on the other hand, is experiencing the pleasures of summertime in full swing and she is relaxing by the water. We have reached that point in time of the holiday season when all family members are completely relaxed. We have forgotten the routines, rituals and schedules of daily life in the city and instead spend our days reading, gardening, swimming and boating. The mood is light and contentment is abundant.

Even on holiday, however, a submissive girl is still a submissive girl and thus certain rituals and attitudes must be enforced. Putting in pluggi remains a morning ritual and this situation reminds the girl of her place. Long nails are an important feature of her status and must be respected, whether on holiday or not. And, on holiday, perhaps more than any other time, this girl's owner can do whatever he wants with his girl.

It was interesting to read comments on the previous post. Florida Dom seemed keen to learn of future developments relating to the fulfilment of this girl's "needs" and 'Six of the best' seemed enthusiastic about reading what sounded to this girl like sound discipline! It is true that even on holiday there can be a need for some discipline. This morning, a conversation was overheard.

"Manuel, I definitely paid you. The cheque went off about 10 days ago."

This girl was sprung!

“Oh, darling, excuse me, but the cheque is still in my handbag.”

“Manuel, Vesta still has the cheque, I’m sorry. We’ll send that off to you today...”

When owner had said his goodbyes,

“We’ll deal with that infraction later, girl.”

Poor owners! Their work is never done.

There is, in fact, no doubting the fact that when an owner is able to give his focus to his girl and an implement is no more than a dozen or so steps away at any given time, a girl truly learns the meaning of the words “co-operative” and “agreeable”. This girl could not be more co-operative or agreeable. Of course, cheekiness happens in spite of her best efforts, and playfulness is abundant, but on the whole this is accepted as one of this girl’s inalienable traits.

It is a shame to disappoint one’s readers but what is this girl to do?! She is being such a ‘good girl’ that it could be said she is practically perfect in every way. Discipline of the kind that leaves red stripes for a day or more is simply unnecessary. Better luck next time, chaps!

Be careful what you wish for

For months now, this gal has barely been spanked, let alone whipped or caned. The man of the house has been pre-occupied and although there has been the odd event, it has been the exception rather than the rule. Some of you may remember a time when I received daily maintenance: five sound strokes of the cane to start my day on the right foot. One day, he forgot to maintain and therein followed a drought.

Well, the drought has broken. We are down at the holiday house and even on the way here he was reminding me of the lovely, stout cane he had waiting for me in the dressing area next to our bedroom. He has been warming me up over the past few mornings. Well, at first, he thought to just give me a sound caning. But, I reminded him in the sweetest voice that a girl who has not been maintained for a few months would surely appreciate being warmed up a little. And so, he did. This morning, he was tired of "warming". He wanted to move onto the main event.

"Bend over these pillows, girl, and be quick about it...That's the way, bottom up nice and high."

Down came the cane. Out of position rolled the girl.

"I am afraid we can't have this. Five more for breaking position. Now, what do you say?"

"Please, owner, may I have five more strokes of the cane?"

"For?"

"For moving out of position."

"Good girl. You may. I need to impress on you the importance of staying as you are positioned. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, owner."

This girl breathed through the five strokes and felt relieved it was over. She held position and expected him to say something like: "Good girl. Up for a hug now."

Instead she heard this:

"Now that we have that out of the way, ten strokes to get you back in the zone."

This girl mock cried. Anything to encourage him to go easy.

"All right. Here's what we'll do. Open your mouth."

He slipped the red ball gag in place and fastened it.

"There you are. Isn't that more comfortable for you?! I'm sure it is. Remember what happens if you get out of position, won't you?"

Down came the blasted cane ten times on this poor girl's bottom, which was soon sizzling, whilst she slobbered.

"Ohhhh It's sooooo hot," he cooed as he rubbed it better. "I'm so sorry that I have not been attending to you lately. But, your owner is here now and he plans to make up for lost time."

At this point, he bent down to take out the ball gag and give me a gentle kiss.

"I'm sure you are pleased about that, aren't you, darling?! It is what you want, for me to attend to your needs?"

"Yes, owner."

"Good girl."

Spirit

With the holiday season in full flight, and Christmas just around the corner, it is not easy for me to say something that may touch the lives of all my readers, spread out as you are around the world with various life circumstances. Christmas is a time of new beginnings and much joy, but it is also a time of year that is very hard for many people who may be separated from their loved ones or who are going through a hard time.

I often talk of the importance and the need in a life, to give and receive love; to express the love in your heart. So, you would know that I am a big believer in putting other people first; in taking the time to make things right for others. Looking at it through a mother’s eyes, this is what Christmas is all about. We rush around buying just the right gifts, making just the right food and sending greetings to others to ensure that those we care about feel that love and care; that they are happy. Their happiness makes us happy.

There are, no doubt, readers out there who are not looking forward to Christmas. Things are not right in their lives right now and seeing other happy people around them only makes it worse. I encourage you to reach out. Is there something that you can do for another person? We are all in this together. We all need a helping hand, sometimes. A touch, a smile, a kind word can go a long way to improving the mindset of people, and the mindset of you. The spirit of Christmas is alive if you believe that it is. The spirit of Christmas lies within your heart.

My very first commenter on this blog was Clemmi and for Christmas, she sent me a beautiful poem. With her permission I share it with you:


Journey of the Angels

Somewhere in a winter night
the angels begin their flight
dark skies with miles to go
no footsteps, to be lost in now

They fly to you, Oh, new-born king
they fly to you, Oh, angels sing

One is sorrow, one is peace, one will come and give you sleep
one is comfort, one is grief, one will take the tears you weep

New star in a midnight sky,
in heaven all the angels fly
Soft wings so true
and all things they will give to you


Somewhere in a winter night
the angels begin their flight
Tonight all sing, Oh, angels, a new-born king
Tonight all sing, Oh, angels, a new-born king

Roma Ryan


I wish you all a very happy and joyous holiday season.

Did I put those restraints away?

As I ate my lunch today I clicked onto the link to 'Remittance Girl' found under my links in 'my blog list' and read her story posted there entitled 'Real Women'. I've been following RG for some time and must say, she just keeps getting better at creating such authentic characters and such hot scenes.

I really don't want to spoil the surprise. Just do yourself a favour and read this story. To the submissives I say, don't try this at home. To the dominants I say, beware! And the moral of the story is twofold: keep your promises to your women and learn how to ask for what you want effectively. Which moral applies to you is for you to decide! Ha! Ha!

Happy reading!

Tighter grip

There are few kinky stores in my neck of the woods but there is one tasteful store not far from the restaurant my husband and I go to sometimes for a casual lunch. Today, I asked if we might walk down there. They did not have what I had in mind but we did notice some good looking, well constructed corsets. I’ve long desired a corset to wear under my clothing on a regular basis.

What I have discovered about myself is that I crave containment. I resist change somewhat, although to my own detriment. Although I resisted getting half inch long acrylic nails recently, I love my new long nails. They are, in fact, so long that they get in my way. Typing without mistakes has become so difficult that sometimes I wonder what all the fuss of perfection in publishing is all about. Anyways, I am more than familiar with the backspace key these days. When I need to take off a necklace, I ask for help. I could be there all night trying to unfasten a little clip, and in fact it is a lovely moment having one’s man assist with this. It astounds me that there was a time when my nails were short and practical.

But, it is not enough. I need more. I’ve established in my own mind without a shadow of a doubt that wearing pluggi is a very good idea for me. Yet, I’ve resisted wearing it regularly. This is another bad idea. I don’t want to ebb and flow with my sense of well being. I need the containment of pluggi. I have finally committed to a regimen about this which will provide me with the sense of containment I crave.

At the store today, we got into a conversation with the two sales assistants there and one of them said to us that she wore her corset regularly. She was a strong advocate for this, saying that nothing made her feel better. She said that she stood up straight, felt proud and more attractive that way. She also said that it was rubbish that they were not comfortable. She felt completely comfortable in hers, day after day. I confess I would have tried on her selection on the spot and probably bought it but for the fact that on another level that would have been another bad idea. But, I look forward to this further strong grip in my life.

To some girls, to be contained is to be limited. I do understand where they are coming from. However, I am old enough now to know my own mind. For me, to be contained is to be liberated. My spirit needs to soar and it can only do that when it is nourished in a way that makes sense to me. As contradictory as it may sound, the containment elevates me to a higher realm and a deep sense of peace.

Taken in hand

Saturday. I wake from slumber at my own pace. My mind returns immediately to the words I have read the night before. He spoke of the fact that he no longer cares if it is fair the punishment he gives his slave. Whether it is fair or not, whether she deserved it or not, afterwards they will experience the reconnection and that is what matters.

Right now, I just want to be forcibly taken in hand - shoved up against a wall and handled roughly. I want to have dirty, lascivious things growled into my ear, and I want to feel captive. I want a little fear. I want to hear my heart beat in my chest and I don't want to be able to do a thing about it. I want to experience being owned; heart, soul and body.

It is not a scene. He is not doing it for me. He is doing it for him. I want to feel that brute strength; the resolve to have his way and to take what is his. I've wanted that all my life.

Advice

Writing the blog and leaving comments for other blog writers makes for online friends and some of those have become my good friends. Friends support friends in fair times and foul and one of my friends is going through a rough patch right now. Rough patches are not meant to happen this time of year but alas, they do. A couple of times now she has asked me to write a post with my thoughts. We can't chat often but she does read the blog. I have a few readers who write to me, too, sharing their lives with me and I feel privileged that they do this. I always hope that I give them some words back that might help.

Once upon a time, I was in the position of desperately needing advice and I wrote to my on line friend. He gave me some advice and I wish to share that here on the blog in the hope that it will help my dear friend and maybe one or two other readers, too....

In this BDSM space, people come to all sorts of arrangements. Maybe the man wants to spank another girl as well as his wife. Maybe, the guy wants to switch roles occasionally. Maybe, the girl wants to be mentored, or perhaps the man wants to have a three-some. There is not a right or wrong way to love or have a relationship, necessarily.

But, there is a wrong way to go about it and that is to tell lies. If people have needs, the best thing to do is to put them on the table and discuss them like adults. In this way, a conversation can take place, adult to adult, wherein needs and wants are expressed.

At the time, this was advice I needed to hear. I wanted things so much but I wasn't being entirely honest with my husband. It was the dishonesty that appalled him; not my needs and wants at all. My friend has experienced that dishonesty and it is incumbent that her partner sit down calmly and maturely and express his needs to her in an honest way. She deserves that and she is a big enough girl to cope with that, if given the opportunity to understand what the needs are and where she fits in. She only wants to be loved and to love. Deceit doesn't fit it into equation.

Both my mentors have been sticklers for the truth and I have learned never to lie. If I did the crime, I admit it and accept the correction. It is a whole lot better than walking around with the lie, I think. Of course, we are taught in nursery school not to lie and we know what is right and what is wrong. But, it is a not a lesson easy to learn.

In the past week, my behaviour was not good. Confused and alarmed about something, instead of asking questions and clarifying the situation, I did the emotional girl thing and threw a spanner in the works by sending a hurtful and confusing email. I resolved nothing by doing this except to hurt myself and him. Of course, I came to my senses within 24 hours and did a fast 'backtrack', but I regret that I still can't always be relied on to behave as I know I should.

Alas, even when we are all grown up, acting like grown ups is not always easy. But, an honest conversation is the right place to start to plan the future together, and in most cases, that is all it takes to get a relationship back on track.

So, my darling friend, meet up at a little bistro for lunch, talk calmly and honestly about what you want and need. Listen carefully to what he says, as well. You both care about each other and this could be resolved to both your satisfaction. Play nice, good luck and I send you my love. XO

Complexity

As I look back on my life so far, I see that I have gravitated to the complex man; very bright, talented, ambitious and somewhat demanding. The boys in my younger days were never right for me; not at all satisfying. Of course, any man, whatever his age, has his limitations and vulnerabilities. We are all human; all more than capable of making a mistake, or displaying poor judgment, from time to time. I worked for a man for several years who demonstrated extraordinary leadership and a flair for business such that he rose to occupy many high positions of leadership. The Queen presented him with an Honor. This is just not my opinion of him.

I became good friends with the man who managed the advertising account for us. He would call me first thing in the morning and ask what the day looked like. He didn't mean the schedule of the day so much as he meant the lay of the land. Was he in a good mood or was it better to wait until tomorrow, was really what he was asking. When I left, this sweet man took me out for dinner to say thank you for my friendship and with a few glasses under his belt he said of my boss, "He can be a statesman like no other man I know. Then, a minute later, he can be a petulant boy." I smiled but of course, I agreed. I had been subject to such mood swings on a daily basis.

My point is that none of us are perfect and all of us are flawed. Every man is a combination of strong and courageous, statesman and strategist and various vulnerabilities and weaknesses. It is all just a matter of degree and various combinations of personality characteristics. The woman who sees in front of her the perfect man has stars in her eyes. He may be the perfect man for her, but he is not a perfect man. I hope the dominant men out there don't think too harshly of me for saying that!

Of course, there really is no perfect woman, either. We do our best, especially women who read here, I suspect, to be sweetness and light, to be helpful and encouraging and to be the kind of women that will arouse our men. We want them to love us, to admire us, to cherish us and support us in our endeavors in life. We aim to be sweet tempered and accepting; to not complain and to be attractive to them. But, of course, we fall short at times. Lack of sleep, worry, overwork and demanding children may have us on edge at times, and time spent with us is not the Heaven that the man had anticipated on the drive home. Shit happens, as the saying goes. Even the best laid plans go awry, sometimes.

My husband is a very complex person and I think, at the end of the day, this is what attracted me to him. He was full of life and zest, had endless opinions on millions of topics, was flexible enough to go with the flow as required, but steadfast in keeping to the road he felt was right. He had flaws, still does, but I felt I was in capable hands and that my complexity might find a home in his. By that I mean, I knew enough about myself to know that I was not 'regular' or 'simple'. "She is very complex, isn't she?" more than one person has said to him over time.

I wonder today, is this what made it work for us all these years? Is the fact that he has been so prepared to accept my complexity, the many shades that make up this woman writing to you, that explains our ability to walk this life together all our adult lives? When I told him, for example, of the doll, he didn't miss a beat. "Hello, dollie ," he said. "Welcome to my bedroom." He loves me, no matter which facet of my personality shows up. Well, that is not strictly true. If the girl who tries bossing him around shows up, she's shown the door, but apart from that...

I do indeed need to be loved for all of me - for the competent adult woman, for the sexual doll, for the little girl who cuddles up on his lap on the couch and repeatedly falls asleep watching the movie, so happy is she to be in that privileged position. I am a woman, a mother, a little girl. I am in need of love, attention and warmth. I want to be made love to regularly, cuddled repeatedly and rebuked when necessary. I want to belong. Yes, I desperately want to belong and to be accepted for the complex person that I am.

Complex people are attracted to complex people, or so it seems to me. I forgive my husband his faults because he forgives me mine. It is the mature thing to do. No one of us is better than another, but the person who can love with all his heart, live and let live, accept and forgive has the head start in life. Once we acknowledge the complexity, that of ourselves and those we love, we can stop concerning ourselves of imperfections in such tall order. What connects us is that we are all human: capable of greatness and failure. Imperfection is a given.

Class act

We can never be certain how we come to have our frailties - those aspects of us over which we have no control. We can only know that we have them and do our best to not let them get in the way of a good life, for us and those we love.

I am a person with an abundance of loyalty to those I love and care for and I am willing to demonstrate that eternally. But, I also have some frailties and I am more than aware of them. In spite of my best efforts to embrace 'the doll', deep inside of me is still 'the ego'; that place that people walk over at their peril because my instincts are to preserve it, no matter what.

I have no way of knowing if 'the submissive' generally feels the same way about this as I do, but in spite of my strongest instincts to be 'the bottom' of the relationship, I am never not myself. The dominant may dress down the doll and that's part of the deal, but respect is still a top priority. Respect must go both ways, no matter what.

The submissive accepts her status at the bottom, but respect for her ability to accept that place willingly and consistently must emanate from her Dominant in order for her to maintain her dignity. She may grovel but she chooses to do so with grace. She is a class act and deserves a respectful audience at all times.

She's tied up right now

Sometimes, things turn out just right by serendipity. I have been ogling this picture for several days. Being a particularly flexible person from early childhood, this is the sort of thing I could have done with ease. I am not entirely sure that I could manage it now, but I don't dismiss the thought as out of hand. I think I probably could do it. What a lovely thought.

So, without knowing about this picture at all, or my thoughts about it over the past days, this morning my husband put me on my stomach and bound my hands behind my back such that they were in a very similar position to this picture. I immediately began to float...

I can't for the life of me understand why vanilla people have such objections to being tied up!

Inner strength

When one happens to be born with a submissive nature, and I do think I was born with a submissive nature, 'relatedness' is how one operates. We submissive types relate to the other person/people in our lives. If those relationships are going well, we are at peace and when those relationships are not going well, we tend to feel 'unhooked'.

It has been a year with some lovely moments and I have learned so much and grown so much. But I cannot fool myself. It has also been a tough year for me where it has been difficult to engage my husband in any consistent sort of way. He has been working non stop and the massive hours he puts in to his work eventually take their toll. He is often deliriously tired and of course, tired people can be cranky people with short fuses and a general sense of being 'under par'. A person cannot be hundreds of hours short of sleep and not eventually experience a sense of feeling unwell and stressed.

It is my belief that a woman, even a woman with the strong needs that a submissive woman has to relate, must find strength within herself to overcome those times when the Dominant in her life is not able to satisfactorily connect with her. Any person can only change their own behaviour. They are not able to change the behaviour of anyone else.

Of course, they can do all sorts of things to encourage the person and I know my husband responds to pampering and TLC. He has certainly enjoyed the various strategies I have used to engage him and he has rallied to the call (!) at those times. But, at the end of the day, if he needs buckets of time to devote to his work, and then loads of sleep and rest to recover from the overwork, then that is what he needs. I can't change that or do anything about it.

In the past, we have partaken of morning tea or a light lunch together on a regular basis. We have gone for a walk together, or seen a movie; anything to stay in touch and for both of us to feel connected, even within a heavy workload. Very little of that has taken place in the past few months. In fact, the last time we tried to enjoy a breakfast out together, his phone rang as we were placing the order, and I ate my meal alone while he paced the walkway outside taking the call. To be frank, I have not suggested breakfast out since then.

He tells me regularly that this situation is only temporary and good times are just around the corner and I hang onto that thought. I do my best to understand, to support and to maintain a positive mind. But, in the end, I do feel that if I rely on him for my sense of contentment with life at this time, I am only hurting myself. He does not have time to nurture me right now and so I must nurture myself; find sustenance in other aspects of life until he can give me a bit more of himself.

This is an enormous challenge for a submissive woman but one that must be met. I think there is a certain peace in accepting that there are times when one must rely on oneself for a sense of peace rather than pine for what one cannot have. All things come to an end and one day, this too shall pass.

Seasons

I am a product of a conservative (if not eccentric) background. My mother married young to a man she fell in love with whilst still in her teens. He had considered himself a life time bachelor until he met her but ultimately he agreed that if she felt the same way about him when she turned 20, he would marry her. Their wedding took place a week after that date and they remained blissfully happy and deeply in love until his death. Her devotion at nursing him until his dying day was inspirational. No one could have done what she did unless they have in their hearts a huge capacity for love.

For his part, he led her, guided her and loved her every day of her adult life. That is not to say that she was not capable because she was more than capable. She had people skills in abundance and the capacity for hard work. Together, they managed successful businesses, but he was always the boss. If the word went out that he was on his way onto the floor, we all knew what to do: act busy. He abhorred laziness.

Conservative as they were in many ways, my parents were not thrilled with my choice of a husband. This is not news to my husband and to his credit, he was always, and still is, gracious and welcoming to my family. I suppose they figured that I was still too young to know my mind and the fact that he was immediately taking me to the other side of the world didn’t aid matters.

Although my mother quite naturally accepted my father as the boss, she has a wilful, independent streak and she knew how to work my father. She saw my husband as too demanding, too much wanting his own way; altogether too opinionated and anal-retentive. If I complained that I couldn’t get him to make a decision about this or that; say painting a room, she would encourage me to just organize it myself. Patience is not her strongest suit.

In fact, she continued to make private retorts and complaints to me, away from my husband’s ears for many years and I was torn. I have never fought with my mother because I know that cross words from me would hurt her profoundly but I also knew that her lack of respect for him as my husband, even if only expressed when with me alone, was destructive to my state of mind and all our relationships.

This rather difficult circumstance continued on through the years until a few years ago when I talked to my husband about creating a more formal ‘power exchange’ relationship. With a better understanding of what I wanted and how to achieve it, I now felt more empowered to deal with her complaints.

I didn’t argue with her but what she experienced was that I was now standing up for him with a new verve. She was not against him now unless she chose to be against me, too. She wasn’t going to do that. She loves me with a passion and if I was happy, she was happy.

This was a revelation to me. Immediately, our relationships improved on every level. She no longer so much saw a man who was inclined to want his own way but rather a man who would protect his wife and children through all and any eventuality. Her daughter oozed happiness and contentment and that being the case, what was there to say?

I am inclined to think that being confronted lately by criticism of becoming the ‘doll’, and taking that criticism hard, relates to my choice all those years ago to fore go a career for myself; to give of myself to others so intensely. My mother had difficulty at the time understanding my choice of a large family. She has said to me endless times that I could have been anything. I could have had a good career. I have given too much of myself to my family.

At a school reunion a year or so ago, my old school friends echoed her sentiments but in a more sympathetic way. As one of the high achievers, they had anticipated I would go on to a career in education or writing (perhaps journalism). It was a shock to learn that once the children were born, I had devoted myself largely to the family.

The reality is that I could never have split myself into two in this way. With the strongest desire to care for them, I needed to do that as well as I could without distraction or endless frustration. My husband understood that and enabled it, just as he enabled this blog, a mentor, moving into the power exchange relationship that I requested. He is, in fact, the right man for me and bringing up a large family together was the right decision for us.

Of course, I understand my mother’s concerns. I have strongly encouraged my daughter to reach her potential with her god-given talents and I wish her every success in her chosen profession. I urge her to consider using her talents for a lifetime. But, I also urge her to keep her eye out for a man she can love and respect, and who will love and respect her, too. I know the sort of man she wants. I’ve paid close attention to her comments over the years and she has a fervent need to be cherished; to love with intensity.

It is only now, later in my life that the opportunity exists for me to explore my own needs in any focused way. 'Balance' need not necessarily mean that we spread our time equally between career and family/spouse at all times in our lives. Rather, for some of us, to everything there is a season. My earlier adult life was given to my family and perhaps now is the beginning of a time in my life when my own more intense personal needs and interests might find flight.

For me, that does not mean that my husband gets the flick and I go off to ‘find myself’ on my own. Rather, that means that I might now have the chance to wallow in my husband’s attention, companionship and love.

We must all choose our path in life and I chose mine with open eyes. Alas, the messages that surrounded me (and still surround me at times) that I was choosing poorly derailed me from accepting my true nature in total. But, that is over now. I’m back on track and there is nothing left to stand in my way.

Peeling the onion

It is hard to recognize now the girl that there once was. So much about her has changed. Yet, nothing has actually ‘changed’, but rather thoughts and desires have surfaced; been revealed and embraced.

We all recognize the phrase ‘peeling the onion’ and perhaps if one were to ask enough questions in a skilled way, deep (dark) thoughts will emerge. But it is, I think, not as easy as convincing someone that it is safe and acceptable to reveal all, as if the person had only been waiting for a safe harbour on which to dock and offload their deepest and strongest needs with a caring and understanding person.

As well, a person may also need to convince someone of what it is they actually want; so hard is it for them to put their needs into words. They may not know the words that describe their needs or their needs may be so entrapped that they can only express themselves in phrases such as 'something in their life being missing'.

A person who seeks to aid someone to unmask their true self must have and make use of strong instincts. As time goes by, it will become obvious whether those instincts hold up to scrutiny. No one is right all the time but the person with strong instincts about another is a powerful resource. Patience is a vital ingredient but so too is the capacity to be firm and hold one’s ground. Strong instincts often govern, I believe, when one approach is better than another. As one comes to know the person, such decision making becomes second nature to those attuned to the process. Interpersonal skills are vital. Only a gifted communicator need bother attempting such intricate negotiations.

As the weeks went by, what the girl wanted became apparent. Although there was any number of approaches that interested the girl, all of them could be located under the title of ‘control’. She wanted to feel firm control. Did she want to feel that control in the form of anything remotely close to ‘abuse’? She did not. She was not a ball to kick around. She was a dolly; a pretty, precious, much loved dolly.

A good owner takes care of his possessions and it was the dolly’s good fortune to have a very good owner. She was used regularly, when and how he wanted, but rather than making the dolly feel bedraggled in any unappealing way, this use enriched and uplifted the dolly. She was not only energised by it but profoundly satisfied.

The dolly wished to be contained in ways too numerous to mention. She had a voracious appetite for it and one course simply led to the other. She had been waiting a long time and she was mighty hungry. At times she baulked and needed to be corrected and at those times, she was grateful that he did not give up. Her desires were strong but they had been well hidden from those who found them unacceptable and she sometimes still could not tap into them herself without aid. Always, she was grateful to make the next breakthrough – to peel one more layer of the onion with his help.

Over time, success begot success and the girl came to see that the man’s instincts were powerfully accurate. She was less and less the rather sad girl she used to be and more and more the very happy dolly of her owner’s dreams. She was less and less angry and frustrated and more and more enriched, fulfilled and headily happy.

The girl had come to see that with adequate and appropriate containment and control she was better, bolder and braver; stronger, secure and satisfied; enriched, enlivened and enthralled. In his efforts to ‘peel the onion’, he had discovered that the girl was more; more than she had even imagined possible in her wildest dreams. With containment and control, the girl had transformed into something less, but so much more.

Obedience

When I backed away from doing the task as prescribed, I knew that I was making a mistake. I had allowed my own comfort levels to dictate my reaction to the girl's objections to my request. Why did I do that? Well, for one thing people were listening to our conversation and for another thing, she was making me feel ridiculous; as if my request was absurd.

"You want a new set? A centimetre? That's too long!"

I was quickly losing the will to argue with her. But, the moment that I said, "Okay" to her suggestion, I knew that I was making a mistake. I didn't enjoy the process of having my nails done one little bit. I was agitated, on the verge of saying "Stop! This is wrong!" a hundred times over. Yet, when they were done, all baby pink and long, I just loved them. I couldn't stop looking at them. I was incredibly torn. I knew I had done wrong and I knew this would not be the last of it, but the outcome was just beautiful. I adored them in every way.

I confess that I have managed to be somewhat manipulative in my life. I have managed to get away with things before and I just assumed that I would get away with them again. It was stupid, I know. But, the idiot voice inside my head figured that an apology, an explanation of what had happened, would allow him to see my fragile state of mind. As I look back on this thought, I realize that I was fooling myself; totally. We had been talking back and forth about really professional slutty nails for weeks. He's a patient man but even I could see that I was wearing his patience thin. When I finally made the statement that I was going to the nail salon tomorrow and what length should I ask for, he was direct and to the point. There was nothing to misunderstand: "A whole centimetre". Out came the ruler as I tried to imagine such long and oh so slutty nails. "That's very slutty," I said. He knew what I meant. I was baulking. "This is not a suggestion." The die was cast. I said that I understood, and I did.

Needless to say the apology that I sent was rich with my sense of sorrow at this outcome and of course I said that if he was not satisfied, I would do it all over again. It was the right thing to do after very wrong behaviour. There was no response. I had not expected one, either. The following day, I tried again. I swear that both of us have some sort of telepathic sixth sense and I knew right away that this chat was going downhill fast. It was the way he typed "Hello". It was a bad sign. Don't ask me to explain, but I knew. I asked him if he was disappointed with me. In an almost cheery sort of way that might have fooled others, but didn't fool me, he asked me what I thought. I said, that I thought I had made a mistake.

When he told me that I had made a BIG mistake, I wasn't surprised, but I confess I was taken aback when he told me that he thought it a good idea to leave him alone for a while. Of course! I should have known that my correction would take this form. I was being sent to Coventry to think about my behaviour. I had disobeyed a very direct command and now it was time to pay. For the entire day, I did my best to put the matter out of my mind but by the time I went to bed, I was full of sorrow. How had I managed to get myself into this sort of big time trouble? Why didn't I just do it? What an idiot I had been! I willed myself to sleep and to stay asleep as long as I could, but by early morning, the knowledge of what I had done was sinking in. I had been dreadfully naughty and I had to put it right.

I dared not try to engage him in conversation. I may be naughty but I wasn't nearly so bold at to try that. I sat at my computer and unable to communicate I chose to write a poem; something to express my state of mind. When I had finished it, a thought occurred, and I sent it through. The chances of a response were less than 50:50 but in some small way I felt better for having tried. The sentiment of the poem was that I knew what I had to do and I knew that there was only one way to resolve the breach. The minutes ticked by, and just when I had assumed that there was to be no response, a response came. In less than a dozen words, the message was crystal clear. Until the task was done correctly, there was nothing to talk about.

In essence, the task that lay before me that day should have been dead easy, but it was not. Yes, I knew what I had to do, but there were some matters to address in my mind. I had to watch my beautiful nails being cut from my fingers. I had to accept that my will was insignificant to his. It didn't matter what I felt about this. It only mattered that I obey. For a girl who has been exploring submission for a few years now, that may seem obvious. But, never before had I felt the resolve of the Dom in this way. Yes, I'd been told that I would be punished if I did not obey. But, never before had I been told that if I did not obey, I would pay the price of rejection.

That morning, I sat at my desk and seriously fought my desire to resist. I was irrationally frightened of what I had to do at the same time as I knew that there was no way out. I drove to a different suburb this time and parked my car. As I walked to the new nail salon Mersault popped into my mind. Mersault? Yes, the man in 'The Outsider' who finds liberation at the moment of his death, as he faces the guillotine. I was frightened stiff at the same time as I knew that I was doing the right thing; that this was the beginning of a new life; a time when I completely accepted my status of an owned girl; a girl who accepts the other's will and not her own.

As soon as I began to talk to the stranger in this new nail salon, I felt strong; in charge of myself. Yes, this was the length I wanted. Yes, I wanted a new set. My sense of conviction must have been apparent, I suppose, because the arguing with me ceased and she went about satisfying me until it was time to cut the new nails to the prescribed length. "One centimetre too long," she began. I was ready. I brought out the ruler and measured. "This is one centimetre. This is what I want." She nodded and did it my way. By the time we said goodbye, she was on my side. She must have sensed somehow that this was something I needed to do and she was doing something important. Indeed, she was.

Our next conversation began shakily, at least from my perspective. I was not sure if this would be the end of the matter or not. He wanted some information and he wanted some answers. He wanted to know if I understood why he had insisted and we talked about that. Ultimately he was full of praise; incredibly proud. I confess it humbled me. I told him that something had changed that day and it certainly had. I had come to learn this day that my own will was really of little importance to me after all. Months and months ago, I had a conversation with a dominant friend who had tried to explain something to me. He said that a submissive gives away to the Dom and then she sees what she gets back. Well, this day, I got back in spades. I gave away my will to him and received everything in return. I never felt more submissive. I never felt more whole. I never felt more me. I had travelled over many mountains to reach this point but finally, here was proof that I had been on the right road all along. I am an owned girl, an incredibly lucky owned girl and a very proud one at that.

Remorse

If I were to say that my husband is a patient man that would not be completely accurate. At the same time, he knows me well and he has come to know when it is right to cajole me or provide me with some special attention and when it is right to ‘read the riot act’. I think he feels that a bad mood, left uncorrected sometimes leads from bad to worse, and the girl needs saving from herself. I have come to see that he is usually right about this. I’m not afraid to admit that my behaviour is not angelic all of the time.

Sometimes, I’m a bit like the little girl with the little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. I’m usually very good. And, occasionally, I’m horrid. About a year and half ago, there was a particular day when I was horrid. I can’t for the life of me remember what precipitated this nasty turn of events, but I do remember that ultimately my husband was disgusted with me. He told me that he was leaving the house and would be out for the day and not to contact him on his mobile. He didn’t want to talk to such a nasty girl for the rest of the day.

I was shocked. He had just said, in so many words, that he wiped his hands of me and didn’t want to be with me. When he was gone, it very quickly dawned on me that I had pushed him too far. Nobody and I mean nobody hates being in the doghouse more than me. I am very, very quick to apologize in such situations and try to put things straight. It matters not to me who is right or wrong in these situations. I just want harmony restored. I called his mobile number ready to express my sincere apologies.

“Did I not tell you already that I did not want to talk to you for the rest of the day? I do not want to hear from you again. You just think about your behaviour!”

He hung up. It wasn’t just his words that stung me. It was his calm, but angry voice that really threw me into the abyss. My apologies were worthless. He was not interested. I was more than upset. I was lost. I had no idea what to do. I felt abandoned and feeling that way made me want to flee. I had to go. I took my car keys and my handbag, got into my car and began the long drive to our holiday house. Tears were flowing down my cheeks and I was a total wreck.

Somewhere down the highway, I had a desperate desire to make contact with him. I knew not to call him. I couldn’t recall him ever being this angry with me ever before and I dared not call him against his instructions. And yet, I felt that in some way I just had to connect. I wrote a text message and sent it to his phone. I’ve no idea what I wrote but I suspect I said that I was too upset to stay at home and that I was going to the holiday house for the night and was half way there; something like that. Mind you, on some level I knew what I was doing. I was alerting him to the fact that I was out of control and doing a dumb thing. I, sort of, knew that; that I was looking for him to take control.

Sometime thereafter, I turned the car around. Even a nutcase such as I was at that moment, knew that she was being ridiculous. But then, a few miles back to the city, I thought of being at home and so sad, and I turned the car around again, heading out of the city once again. I did that, probably, three times in all. Did I mention I was acting like a nutcase?

Maybe an hour or an hour and a half later, my phone rang and I stopped the car and answered it. I remember at this stage I was on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by huge, swaying trees.

“How dare you take off like that? You know that tomorrow is an important day (Mother’s Day) and it is unforgiveable what you are doing?”

Of course, that isn’t all he said. My husband can give a mighty fine lecture and trust me, they are not short and to the point. At some point, in a flood of tears and feeling completely bereft, I said,

“Well, you don’t love me anymore!”

“Of course I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. But, I loathe your behaviour at the moment.”

The next bit I can quote verbatim. He definitely said these exact words:

“You are just a very, very naughty little girl.”

I was crying my heart out down the phone but it just didn’t seem to deter him one little bit.

“Well...what do you want me to do? Just tell me what you want me to do?”

“Here’s what you are to do! You turn the car around right now and come home. When you get home we will eat the dinner that I am about to prepare. And, after dinner, I am taking you to the bedroom and I am going to give your naughty bottom the caning it deserves. Now, you drive home safely! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“All right. By God, your backside is going to be sore when I get through with you. Now, are you in control of yourself?”

“Yes.”

“All right, where exactly are you?”

I told him, as best I could.

“Then, I’ll expect you at around 7 pm. You drive safely. Bye bye.”

That I was to be corporally punished was not at all alarming to me. He had rescued me from the deep, dark hole. I could see through the fog. I had a plan. I knew what to do. Any strokes of the cane were manageable because I had been told what to do and what I had been told to do was to return to him. I was to be punished but of what significance was punishment really so long as I was not rejected. One punishes a loved girl; one abandons an unloved girl. At least, that is the way it felt to my mind.

I drove home feeling a thousand times better than I had before his call. I had been told to come home and so I now knew that I was heading in the right direction; back to him. I was still in trouble but it was trouble with an end. I’d take my caning and give my apologies and it would be over. I would be forgiven. I almost looked forward to it.

Rejection of a submissive is a powerful tool for the dominant to use. If she is so bad and so unacceptable to the dominant that he chooses not to speak with her, she swims in the murky waters of her own guilt and his disappointment with her. She cannot swim there long before she begins to feel that she is drowning. Her only wish is to find a way to please him; to feel his affection again. It is the most severe of punishments. A caning is child’s play in comparison to that.

It cannot be denied that I learned a lesson that day. I had pushed him too far and to this day, I have yet to do it again and he has yet to find cause to dismiss me from his sight; to reject my call. It was a very hard lesson to learn but learn it well I did.

There is someone else who has reason at the moment to be displeased with my behaviour; to be displeased enough to feel it right that he should be left alone at this time; that we should not talk. Needless to say, I am filled with regret and with guilt. I chose very poorly and I am paying a high price. Yes, I disobeyed. I didn’t do it as I should have. I weakened and the moment I agreed with the person to do it her way and not the way I had been directed, I felt sick. I knew I was doing it wrong. I knew that dumb decision would come back to bite me in the bum. I deserve his displeasure, as awful as that is.

As beautiful as the job is, as wonderful as it looks, I know in my heart that I must do it all over again, and this time, do it right. I know in my heart that it is the only acceptable course of action to take. As I look at them right now, they are devastatingly beautiful. I wonder if he could see them, would he not agree that to break them and re do them is unnecessary. But, it is not the point, is it? A submissive girl who is given a direct command is wrong to offer excuses. Did she obey the specifications given? No. Is that acceptable? No. If only I had chosen to be strong and obey. I sit here chastened, repentant and full of remorse.

The mirror (by cassie)

There is a woman walking down the street. She is in a chic neighbourhood, looking at expensive shops. It is late afternoon, the shops are closed.
There is something about her. The way she walks, confident, her stride is full of purpose. She seems to know where she's going, she has a destination.

Suddenly she stops, takes her time while looking at some underwear displayed at the other side of the glass. She carries herself proudly: shoulders back, chest out, head held high. While standing in front of the shop window she turns sideways, as if to look at herself. What does she see? Black riding boots, jeans tucked inside. A black blouse and black jacket, a french silk scarf round her long slender neck, in the colours of red and yellow. A red Italian ostrich leather handbag hangs from her elbow and she wears her dark Jackie O. style sunglasses on her head. Keeps her blond hair from falling into her face... Everything about her is timeless, feminine, with an elegant restraint that brings the best out of a woman.

She is satisfied with what she sees and moves on to the next shop. The sun has almost set...she'd better hurry...and she sets off, holding onto something shiny with her hand, right under her chin.

Another time, another place:

The Villa's living room. A fireplace, two big comfortable sofas with golden and dark green cushions, a big coffee table in between with books on it. One of them is open, showing Olga posing for Bettina. Olga does everything Bettina says, sometimes innocent, sometimes bewildered, sometimes just curious. But nobody is paying attention to them.

Because there is a woman kneeling on the wooden floor. The straps of her black cotton dress have fallen from her shoulders but she is unable to pick them up. Her wrists are tied to her ankles and she is bending forwards. There is something that looks like a tattoo under the left ankle cuff. Through the straps of the harness gag one can see from her face that she is unhappy, uncomfortable, maybe even in a little bit of pain. Is she stiff from remaining in this position for so long? Has she been whipped, caned or flogged? Is she carrying something inside her that is painful?

She lets out a long sigh as if resigning herself to her fate, drops her head, and as her ponytail falls from her shoulders, a shiny stainless steel chain becomes visible round her neck. In this position, so easily thrown out of balance, she remains perfectly still.

The Domina is standing right behind her. Tonight she is wearing a white silk blouse and a gray pencil skirt, just below the knee. She is barefoot, no boots, no shoes, no stockings.

"So" says the Domina in a stern voice, "I hear you've let your Master down. Is that true?"
"Yes, Ma'am" the woman says through the gag. Her words are only comprehensible to those who know what to expect...
"And in what way is he punishing you?" asks the Domina
"i really need to pee. And he won't let me. But i really need to..." says the woman in a mixture of saliva and tears, barely audible.
"Well" says the Domina, "you can be of service to me. Aren't you a slave?"
"Yes,... Ma'am,... i am" says the woman, almost sobbing.
"Good!" says the Domina and without another word places her right foot on the woman's back making her fall forwards, left cheek on the floor. With slow and confident moves she then lifts her skirt to her slender waist and lets go of the contents of her bladder over the back, neck and head of the helpless, awkwardly kneeling slave.

Well trained as the bound and gagged woman is, she keeps her position, her cheek still touching the wooden floor, in a puddle of yellow liquid. The Golden Shower stings in her eyes but makes her feel warm inside, useful, used, something. Shivering slightly, her black dress clinging to her back and with the tiny droplets hanging from her hair, the slave can now only wait for her Master...and hope he releases her soon, real soon...

And now i turn to you, readers of this post. And, since you found your way to this blog and my gracious host Vesta, there must be something special about yourselves as well. Let me guess:

you're just curious, maybe you ended here by mistake. You may have heard something about Domination and submission but you're not really into it. That's fine.

you consider yourself to be Dominant but you are alone. Or the sub you would like to have as yours isn't in a very subbie mood most of the time. It happens.

you could be the proud Master/Mistress of a slave. In real life or on line. You may see your slave every day in your own home or on the web cam every other night. But you still are the Master/Mistress. Excellent.

or maybe you are a switch. Then you are lucky, you get to feel both sides of the flogger.

you could be a man or woman that likes to be dominated in the bedroom. Very erotic but your submission only goes as far as the bedroom door. Great also!

you could be the "s" in a D/s relationship. Your submission fulfills your need to obey and be controlled. You may also need to be corrected once in a while. Nothing wrong with that.

you could be one of those girls or boys that call themselves a 24/7 real life slave, owned by a caring Master/Mistress and your only purpose is to serve and make Him or Her happy. You may have a contract, perhaps even wear a collar all the time. Good!


Regardless of what you are or what you consider yourself to be, your reaction to the humiliation of the female slave mentioned above will be different than the reaction of other persons reading here. You may love it or hate it. You may think it is unworthy of a human being to be treated that way or you may find the idea of warm piss running down your back arousing. You may find the punishment of the slave too harsh or you may feel your hands itching, wanting to reach for that plaited riding crop and give her a few extra swats since she's kneeling with her ass up anyway.

Or, on the other hand, you may want yours (or yourself) to be like the first woman i mentioned: settled, self-confident, mature in her manners, elegant in her dress, nothing submissive about her. Just a woman radiating happiness and satisfaction, making her look beautiful.

Now look at yourself in the mirror. Can you see yourself standing there? Do you like what you see? Can you identify with any of the characteristics of the women i described earlier? Before you answer, stop and think for a while. Are you really looking at yourself with your own two eyes? or are you using the eyes of others?

Do you measure the effect of your Dominance by your sub's bow?
Do you measure your submissiveness by the strength of your Dom's control?
Your Mastery by the way your slave speaks or dresses?
The degree of your enslavement by how many misdemeanors you can get away with unpunished?
Your torturing skills by how much pain the bottom can handle?
The kinkiness of your fantasies by what you see on the net?

i don't have the answer. But i don't have to look very far. The answer is within each one of you.

All i can say that there is no BDSM bible. No book that one Must read, no protocol that one Must follow. No sub is exactly as masochistic as a Dom is sadistic. No slave has exactly the same need to be owned in exactly the same way the Master wants to own him/her. None of these relationships is symmetrical. They are complimentary. Remember, it is your own image you see in the mirror, not your owner's or your pet's. It is just yourself. And it should be enough to make it work.

Bondage and Discipline and Dominance and submission and Sadism and masochism have changed a lot since the old, plain, slightly underground s/m days. But they still have a gift to give: a sense of achievement, an elevation of the self through pain, humiliation and submission or through exquisite and precise Dominance and overwhelming, liberating sadism.

Only when we are strong enough to let go of our ego, be it Top or bottom, will we be able to see ourselves through the eyes of others and find it sublimely rewarding. Only after having given our body and soul to the "other", to do with them as he or she pleases, can we look in our heart and see that our darkest fears are gone. We are nothing and all, full and empty at the same time, our souls a vehicle for passion, our bodies a vehicle for pain.

Until you are ready to completely let go, there are two things you can do: either look in the mirror again, harder this time, or turn around and walk away. Then this thing is not meant for you.

To Master, the light and love of my life.

Your cassie

Looking in the mirror

In the movie 'Smothered', Diane Keaton plays yet another rather neurotic woman. She has decided to come and live with her son, leaving her husband. She turns the son's life into a living hell as she has her meltdown and eventually his patience with her runs out. He says something like:

"Why don't you look in the mirror? Why don't you, for just a moment, stop and consider your behaviour as it affects those around you?"

I wasn't actually watching this movie. One of the children had it on and I can't say I recommend it at all to you. But, the line did get my attention for reasons I will explain shortly.

And, this morning, as I thought about that, I recalled Michael Jackson's words:

I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways
And No Message Could Have
Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World
A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The
World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself, And
Then Make A Change


My friend, Cassie, has written a very special post for you entitled 'The Mirror' and I invite you to read it carefully when it is posted in the next few days. She encourages you to look in the mirror in a most engaging and unique way. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did and that it inspires you as much as it did me to look in the mirror.

Special readers

It is not often that I write specifically to my readers. I usually write in my own head space as a way of sorting through my thoughts, which explains why I write regularly. Alas, I still think, a lot!

This morning, I checked my stats and once again I noticed that several of you have been delving into the archives. When you do this, I smile. I remember how feverish I was for information at one time and how voraciously I read. I imagine you to be on a similar journey to me and I hope with all my heart that you are having one hell of a good ride - pun intended. In some small way, I feel that we are on the journey together and in some small but very significant way, I feel that I know you.

Every now and again, one of you writes to me to tell me how you are doing, and this means the world to me. I just hope that I don't lead you astray too far. I've had the gamut of emotions over time. But, perhaps that is not such a bad thing. Those emotions were real and raw and just a part of the deal for me. We are all only human.

I'm not entirely sure how often I will be posting here - more like a couple of times a week than five times a week - but I did want to say something specifically to you guys today...

When you learn to give up control, you learn to trust. When you begin to trust, beautiful things simply happen. It's magic. It's a really beautiful thing. Don't give up. It's not easy but it is worth it when you can let that noisy ego have a bit of a rest. Submission is a gift to yourself.

My best wishes to you on your own personal journey of discovery and happy reading!

Object of desire

She was lying on their queen sized bed, on top of the white cotton valence. She was in a loose foetal position, fast asleep. She was not aware that he had come home and was in the room; that he had taken off his suit jacket. He moved towards her and stood by her side, and then he began to gently caress her and slowly awaken her.

She had been fast asleep and in her dreamy state, she began to comprehend that he had returned to her and was touching her and caressing her. It was a very warm day but she had turned on the fan and felt the light breeze on her skin. She felt completely comfortable. It was delicious for her to still be asleep but to have his attention in this way. She did not move. Like the object that she was, she invited him to do whatever he wanted by being very still.

She could feel him pulling up her black cotton dress and pulling down, and then off, her panties. Her movements were imperceptible and yet she was fully co-operating. Now, he undid her black bra and took that off too, and then he undid the ribbon at the back of her neck to loosen her dress. As he lifted the dress over her head, her body moved according to his need for it to move. It was quite effortless.

He now had unfettered contact to all of her and his hands wandered to the most intimate parts of her body. She loved to feel his touch everywhere and longed only to remain in this dreamy state for as long as possible. She felt his fingers at her ass cunt and then something cold; some lube. Seconds later, she felt him insert a plug and recognized it as the very long plug he used for play. Insertion was easy but the sensations it created in her, complex and intense. She lay there perfectly still.

She was vaguely aware that he had moved away for a short time but it was not until she felt the weight of his body on her skin that she realized that he had stripped. He turned her over onto her stomach and lay on top of her. Without a word, he brought his hard cock to the entrance of her pussy cunt. She was finally aware of a fully conscious thought. She was on fire. Her pussy cunt was ready to explode. Whatever thoughts she had had whilst asleep, her mind and body were ready to be invaded.

He had barely entered her, just the slightest of movements, when she moaned deeply. One imperceptibly small movement had sent her body into orgasmic delight. He did not enter her fully; to have done so would have taken her over the edge and into the abyss. Instead, he moved his cock ever so slightly, from time to time, and all the time, she was exploding in eruptions of heavenly release.

Eventually, he wanted more and he pushed further into her. Her groans were deep; almost as if she were in intense pain. She was biting her knuckle, sucking the skin of her hands with her tongue. She was desperate to outwardly express in some way what she was experiencing within her body. She very soon reached the point where she was beyond her own sense of control or ability to stay remotely quiet and he left her momentarily to return with her penis gag. He told her to suck on that.

It was just what she needed. She was now freed to use her tongue to her heart's content to express the depth of sensations that were overwhelming her. He was on top of her and deep inside of her. The plug had stretched her ass cunt in a new and more extreme way. She was the object of his desire and an object of desire. She was wanton; a vessel for his hunger and a hungry vessel.
This was not a girl lying there on the bed. This was her owner's fuck toy; being used and used and used. This was primal. This was exactly right.

An hour later, completely satiated, the object was sent to the shower and her body was washed clean. She dressed lightly and her demeanour was bright. She was heady; happy; complete. Her true status would soon be hidden from sight by the needs of others in her life but the memory would sustain her for many days to come. She walked. She talked. She cooked and planned. Underneath that exterior, she was nothing more than an object; her owner's fuck toy. Underneath that exterior she was, quite simply, herself.

© Vesta
2009


P.S. To all my American readers, may I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. I have very happy memories of my Thanksgiving days in the US, spent with family and friends, and I wish you all the loveliest of days.

Values

I’m grateful to Dr.Yaldah Tovah for his wonderful writings about the female submissive. Perhaps, there are other professionals who have also written papers on the subject, but I’m not aware of them. I recommend his writings to you and I suggest you look out for an article on the Internet entitled ‘The Healthy Female Submissive’.

Dr. Tovah is concerned that women with a submissive nature are receiving incorrect messages from society at large. He writes:

“Here in Western society, we place highest value on independence...the less needy and more self-sufficient. We value competition over co-operation, tangible achievement over achievement in relationship.”

But, is this, he wonders the right way to think?

“There is something wrong with believing that such independence is the only good. It is especially wrong for the most relatedness-oriented among us, the submissive female.”

I don’t think there is any dispute that societal expectations can be hard on the female submissive (and the Dominant) and Dr. Tovah has some suggestions to make:

“Part of the newly aware submissive’s task is to separate out the internalized voices of her culture: those voices that tell her she is too needy, too dependent, too focused on the others in her life. Once she can articulate what those voices tell her, she can begin to question not HERSELF, but the validity of those internalized values, using her own yardstick to measure her life, rather than our culture’s standard.”

I think I have felt guilty at times for my choices in life. I’m not out there climbing any corporate ladders or fulfilling my ‘potential’. It soon became very obvious to me that with my husband’s ambitious nature, working full time would leave my children without the focus of a parent for much of the time. I just didn’t want that and nor did my husband. It worked for us to have less materially and to have one parent for whom the focus was, the children. I don’t regret that decision at all but I confess I have felt that I may have gone against some code that says ‘women can have it all’. They can, of course, but for me, having it all meant that I could choose to make my children and my husband, the focus of my life. Mine is a different perspective.

Dr Tovah writes, “We can see how perspective is critical in understanding a phenomenon. He suggests that submissive women should ask, not ‘am I weak?’ but “is there something missing from the yardstick I use to measure myself?”

The truth is that personally, I long ago stopped worrying about societal norms. I don’t mean that I fly in the face of conventions because I don’t do that. I tread quietly across this earth and I don’t look for conflict. But, I am proud of myself for finally fully accepting my submissive nature and for putting in place (with assistance) a way of operating in my life and with my husband wherein we are both happy, where we both feel natural and at peace, and where we do no one any harm. I am proud of my willingness to go against conventional wisdom and the thinking of the group to live my own life on my terms.

If life had been a little different, it seems that my choice of career was indeed suited to my submissive nature. Dr. Tovah notes the little girl with a submissive nature has a “sixth sense” about people. The submissive “often finds great fulfilment working in fields such as social work, nursing, medicine, counselling, teaching.”

I am touched by Dr. Tovah’s understanding of the female submissive’s needs in a partner:

“Those who consciously seek a Dominant partner are those who are perhaps, so sensitive that they require not only benevolence, but someone who understands PRECISELY how mouldable and influence able they are, and is capable of using the power to mould her and influence her deliberately and consciously, for her good and the good of the relationship. In that kind of relationship, the submissive is freed to be all of herself. She is safe enough to feel her exquisitely sensitive reactions to others, to play like a child, to give care and to take care, to be angry, to lose shame.”

In my mind, he is exactly right. He might well have been talking about me.

Dr Tovah writes, “There is a strength beyond measure in self knowledge and acceptance. There is freedom in jettisoning shame, in letting go of ‘shoulds’. To know oneself as a submissive woman, to accept that it is neither the terrible thing that society tells us it is, nor the only right and true way to be for OTHERS, is to be free. What is, is.”

I completely agree. No other article has ever meant more to me than this one.

Mind to body

A few years ago, when I was nursing my youngest child, I sat there and realized that I had to do something about my back. I was in so much pain, I could not avoid it any longer. At the first opportunity, I walked into a chiropractor's office that I often passed in the car and asked him for help. Manipulations helped but he suggested Plates classes to strengthen my core muscles to support my back.

A few months later, an acquaintance approached me in the street and asked if I would like to join her Pilates class. It was the right time. My baby, one day out of the blue, had refused my breast after ten months of routine breastfeeding and the hormonal changes to my body had thrown me into a depression. I knew that I had to get out and do something about it and this seemed the right opportunity.

I have been doing Pilates classes ever since then and I thoroughly recommend them. If readers are interested in pursuing Pilates classes, may I make a few suggestions? A class that incorporates some Tai Chi and some Yoga along with Pilates, is a great combination of mind to body exercise. And, try to look for an instructor who speaks fairly softly and calmly, not interfering with the 'feel good' karma you are likely to experience. You don't need someone who won't stop chattering and you don't want someone who resorts to a series of individual exercises, not maintaining a calm and tranquil environment, from position to position. Best of all, if you can find a class that ends with a little meditation, you know you are onto a good thing.

By the end of the hour, you may well find you walk out of there in a lovely, relaxed state of mind with a new outlook as to how you might go about the rest of the day or evening. As a dear friend put it to me we all have "elephant shit" to deal with. But, when we feel tranquil and at peace, it is quite a bit easier to find the solutions to our problems.

I highly recommend a drink with other participants at the end of the class, too. I have been to a class this morning and enjoyed the positive spirit that one could feel from every corner of the room. When you take that positive spirit and extend it just a bit further to a conversation over a drink with other participants, true friendships seem to just emerge.

I know life is busy. I know you have a million things to do. But, give it a try if you possibly can.

Fiery girls

One of the most enjoyable aspects of having children, in my opinion, is that parents gets to watch their personalities unfold. Since my eldest child is grown and living elsewhere, I thought I knew all there was to know about him. I discovered last night that there is always a little more...

His last minute call to say that his plans had changed and could he come over worked out perfectly. I was just beginning a huge fried rice for the other boys who are in study mode. Together, we shared a massive platter of the dish, together with a lovely bottle of Pinot Noir.

When the younger boys left and it was just my husband, myself and my son, the conversation moved onto food and restaurants, as it so inevitably does. This is a city famous for its dining and consumption of wine. He told us of a new restaurant in a street we know well and how authentically Italian it is.

"You'll love it, Mum. It is so romantic...perfect for you and Dad."

And, finally, he mentioned the gal that he has been seeing. We know her name via his sister, who gets more information that we do, but very little else.

"I took (my girlfriend) there and she loved it."

Here was my big opportunity.

"Sooooo, she's Italian...?"

"No, she is Greek."

"Ahhh..."

"And, boy, is she fiery!!! I was making her pizza last weekend and she slapped me across the face twice before I had even served it!"

"Oh boy! You must have said something to work her up, I think."

"Well, probably. I think I like to do that. I love to see their reactions."

"Darling, talk about out of the fat and into the fire..."

(I was referring to his previous girlfriend.)

"Yeah. I know. It's weird ."

"But, you've always done that, darling. Always liked to get something happening if it is too calm."

"Yeah...at the restaurant...I took her there for breakfast...and she stood up and had a go at the waiter because the meal was slow coming out! She's crazy! I had to tell the poor guy it was all right."

He's smiling broadly. He is animated. He looks happy.

"Well, you know we girls have to eat regularly..."

"I know!!!! Well, I think I like fiery girls. I'd be bored otherwise."

And, there it was. Finally, an acknowledgement of who he is; what he wants.

My son has been witness to the tempestuous relationship of his parents all his life. He has watched his Dad niggle his Mum on purpose, forever. Will she react? Will he have to go into his bag of tricks for more? His Mum ignores many of the gibes, but sometimes, when it is least expected, she bites back enough for the Dad to take notice. The smile on his face suggests that he has enjoyed that. Like two little kids in the school yard. And, so it goes. The games that men and women play.

I know you will yawn if I tell you again how proud I am of him. My God, but he is handsome now! But, I so delight at thinking of the lovely times he has ahead of him. And, this girl will be good for him.

Disclosures

This is a blog. In this blog is the writing...the processing of thoughts...of one woman who is on a discovery of exploration. I attempt to not make judgements about anybody or anything. I try to adopt a ‘live and let live’ approach. People are welcome to read or not to read, as they choose.

I have much to be thankful for. I don’t have a perfect life but I do have a sense of how to live well: to make the most of life, to strive for happiness through a positive state of mind; to put love first and to care for people.

I look for the common ground with those I meet; wherever I go. I listen and I care. I avoid conflict whenever possible. I try to bring some warmth into the lives of all who pass my way.

The writing here takes ‘the middle ground’ as well. I am aware that bad things happen on the fringes; that people hurt and that various practices of a D/s relationship are not pursued for ‘good’ in all cases. I am aware that there are people who behave badly; people who don’t care about other people. I know that all too well.

I don’t write about those people too often, if at all. It is my choice. I seek a higher purpose. I look to encourage my readers to find the good in life. My generalizations can be simplistic but they are simplistic for this reason. I try to enliven the positive spirit in all of us. I seek for the reader to tap into what is common to us all in some measure: our humanity.

If readers seek a comprehensive approach towards a topic, they should read elsewhere. There is plenty of talk on the Internet of that which is negative; people who do wrong; analytical debate.

My goal is for the reader to embrace that which is good and specifically, all the good that there can be in a dominant/submissive relationship. If that doesn’t suit, I won’t mind at all if you choose to read elsewhere.

Many readers have been with me from the outset. They read regularly and I am led to believe that they get something of value to them from reading here. I get a real boost from the thought that their lives may have been made a little happier; that their spirit may have received some sustenance. It is for them, as well as for me, that I write.

Beauty

This week has been an unremarkable week in the sense that there were ups and there were downs. When you live in a largish family, every week has its ups and downs and you have to ride the waves. I surf the waves as best I can and when necessary I take my board and go and sit on the sand and just watch the water for a bit. That gets me by.

Technically speaking, the news that a friend has breast cancer and will begin radiation next week; that she will lose her lovely head of hair, should not have hit hard. She isn't the first friend to go through this process, and I've walked with a close family member down that road as well. But, it did hit me hard this week. I suppose it was a reminder on a beautiful day, in a beautiful country garden, that life can change on a dime. What we have today, can be gone tomorrow.

She will be all right. She believes that. And, I believe that. And, so do the friends who have walked this road before her. The prognosis is good. But, it's a timely reminder, I think, to live your life now.

I doubt we can all agree on how to live a life well any more than we can agree on any topic. For me, it is to love well; to be kind, gracious, affirming. Each person can change the world a little with a kind act, a smile, a sense of care. Love is not just something we feel, but the things we do.

It is an old saying: that beauty comes from within, but it is true. Think kind thoughts. Do noble deeds. Rise up and be the best you can be. This is true beauty. This is a life well lived. This is this thought that sustains me.

Choice

There was a darling article in the weekend paper recently concerning feminists in the noughties. The author proposed "for noughtie girls, feminist demands are based less on political ideologies than on the experience of our day-to-day lives." She goes on to say, "For me, feminism is about having choices - from influencing who runs the country to choosing whether I wear high heels or flats."

I immediately liked this gal. She was making a lot of sense, as far as I was concerned. I sent my daughter to a school who demanded you aim high in your areas of choice. My daughter was fortunate, now that I look back on it, to be embraced for who she is: talented in both the performing and creative arts. That she would not go on to perform brain surgery was okay, so long as she worked hard to do her best in the subjects she chose.

Perhaps, having had three brothers has influenced her mindset but she isn't a strident feminist at all. I'm extraordinarily proud of her latest personal achievements and she is a girl on a mission to prove herself in a competitive industry. But she's sees, even at her young age, that a girl needs to be sensible about how life works. She has already discovered that even young men have rather strong opinions about how a girl behaves, and dresses, and no shouting from the rooftops about 'I am women, hear me roar' is going to change that.

Men enjoy women who show pride in their appearance; who are kind, warm-hearted and who appreciate what a man does for them. Good men want to see their women happy. They revel in their accomplishments and are the first ones to celebrate their successes. They do their best to ease the burden on them when things get tough, and, most importantly, they listen to them when they need to process their upsets and concerns. Men are not the enemy. Men are our salvation. My daughter already knows this and I am so glad she does. When the right man comes along for her she won't miss him.

The author of the article had this to say about 'beauty politics': "Noughtie feminism is perfectly compatible with aspiring to external beauty. If we want to wear make-up or attractive clothes, we can...But feminists know that beauty is never the best way of judging whether someone is a nice person..."

I think a man hopes for the whole package, frankly: a woman who cares enough to make herself look good for him and a person who is good on the inside, too. Together, men and women will support one another in their choices of what they want to be; how they want to live their lives.

In the past few years, I've taken a 'time out' to explore who I am, deep inside. My husband has supported my efforts and embraced the changes. At times, I have been unsettled, for change is not always easy. But, he has always been there for me, encouraging me in my choices and wanting me to be all that I want to be for myself. In the same way, I've supported his endeavors to the best of my ability. I continue to learn, each and every day, what a wondrous thing it is when two people enable one another to flourish.

All of us in my family strongly support each other's choices in life. We respect one another's differences and we are tolerant of our various mindsets. Feminists fought hard to enable choice and we are indebted to them. It has been an unsettled couple of days but the dolly is back where she belongs, letting her spirits soar. As a girl of the noughties, this is my choice.

Will

Have *I* been eliminated? Hardly. The person who knows me best - my husband - would scoff at the suggestion. The *I* is here, in all her glory, her emotion and her zest. As Sir J put it to me, anyone who underestimates the strength of Vesta does not know her well enough. Vesta is one hell of a force of nature and it would be pointless to try to erase her. Her mind, her heart, her soul is intact.

But, and it's a very big but, Vesta does seek to be contained. She wants to experience objectification because she finds it comforting, arousing, erotic and whole heap of fun. She knows her behaviour isn't always that impressive and as the doll she has to be on her best behaviour. Why, the doll wore her butt plug all day this week to a day long school event and she loved every last kinky minute of it. She is her husband's play thing because she revels in it and has the bestest orgasms that a girl could ever have. She doesn't worry and she doesn't fuss. She is such a happy l'il thing. She renounces her will with bells on!

Vesta may be ensnared but does anybody hear her crying for help? The doll was created and supported to be sure but only because *I* get off on it. Vesta has to behave herself, but it's not doing her any harm. She may have the odd hissy fit about it. But, that's all it is. And, Vesta will just have to find more appropriate ways to express herself.

Trust me. The doll can't wipe the smile from her face. What's more, Vesta is doing just fine, too.

The doll

In the past few months, I’ve been participating in a special kind of training. With my husband’s consent, I’ve been open and willing to be led to a place that, perhaps, not many people go. I’ve been working with a dominant man with the goal of becoming ‘the doll’. I’ve eluded to it any number of times and a discerning reader could have filled in the dots already. I’ve talked a little of anal training, of dress codes and of my gorgeous acrylic, red slutty nails. I’ve even alluded to the ‘bimbo speeki’ which I adopt in discussions.

The vigilant reader would have noted that ‘the doll’ appeared a few months ago. It was early in the proceedings when she simply emerged in conversation. In fact, she emerged when she was given her name and she is very much her own...doll. The doll was introduced to ‘bimbo speeki’ and she embraced it quite naturally. From the outset, she referred to herself in the third person as the object that she is.

Recently, ‘the gurl’, the girl with the over-thinking brain, broke into the doll’s account and had a few things to say, but she was not made welcome and she left as quickly and unceremoniously as she arrived. ‘The gurl’ does ‘the doll’ no favours. She confuses her, tells her she is “stooopid” and if she is really worked up, she will even lock her up in the cupboard. She “kidnaps” the doll and makes her life miserable.

‘The gurl’ thinks she knows it all. She uses her brains, her intellect and her education to persuade the doll that she is “right”. ‘The gurl’ is strident and she refuses to be put in her place. She may accept that she is a ‘bottom’, and she may even say that she wants to be submissive like the doll, but when things are not to her liking, she wants to manipulate everything to her own choosing. The sweet, good natured doll doesn’t stand a chance against her passion, her emotions, her intellect and her “sensibilities”.

This training, for me, is more than a type of ‘game’. It is an opportunity to feel free and liberated; to live in harmony and at peace. The benefits to me are not at all easy to explain. Yet, I feel I want to try because if you don’t know about ‘the doll’ (I’m just not ready to tell you the doll’s name), then you don’t really have an opportunity to understand me and what I seek.

My trainer (for want of a better word) asked me recently how I feel about ‘bimbo speeki’; if I was prepared to only speak to him in that way, and my response was in the affirmative. Although he enjoys the mode himself, he has made it clear many times that he only wants to lead me where I want to go, and he checks my mindset regularly. I was explaining something to him about my weekend when he suggested that perhaps this was better explained in girl language.

In fact, ‘bimbo speeki’ was entirely appropriate for me to explain myself to him. “Why?” he wanted to know. Well, in bimbo speeki I am contained. In that mode, I am the doll and I react as the doll would. I know my place. I’m not at all bright (as one would expect of a doll) and I don’t have the capacity or the desire to argue or worry. I remain the passive, pretty dolly and I let it all wash over me.

In girl language, my emotions and upset would have got in the way. I would have felt ‘unglued’ and out of control and my ability to function would have been impaired. I’ve been there countless times before and I never ever enjoyed it, found it productive or have ever wished to return, although I did, over and over. ‘The gurl’ may worry about things, from petty to important; hold grudges, be petulant and even rage, but never once did her unglued state work in her favour. ‘The gurl’ had tried to emulate the doll perhaps, but the doll was unthinkingly being herself. ‘The gurl’ was unhappy: the doll was not.

Make no mistake. What I am doing is not easy. A doll accepts. The owner of a doll can do whatever he wants. A doll is always pretty. A doll always smiles. A doll can be put back on the shelf. On the other hand, a good owner takes care of his dolly well and enjoys playing with her with enthusiasm. She is delicate and he handles her with care (although that care might include rough play). He loves her well. He ensures her needs are met. Lucky dollies have very good owners, and I am a lucky dolly. The dolly on the shelf has a charmed life. She loves her owner and her owner loves her. Life is good.

The opportunity for me to express myself in girl language here on this site has not been discouraged. This is the site of the girl who needs to express her thoughts in the way in which she is accustomed. She is going nowhere and nor should she. But, she is not welcome on the doll’s account and she won’t go there again. Should she feel the need, she has other avenues to express what is on her mind. She has acknowledged that the doll is here to stay and she is even prepared to make some room for the doll here. Secretly, she rather admires and envies the pretty, pink, happy dolly. ‘The gurl’ deludes herself that she has the power, but has been forced to admit that it is the dolly who is powerful. She holds her owner’s heart in the palm of her hands.

No turning back

I often speak about a sense of ‘connection’ here on my little blog and I do so for good reason. As human beings we are driven to find connections with others and the more we do so, the more complete we feel.

It is also true that we cannot really feel connected to life unless we spend time alone and have a sense of balance within ourselves. We have to really like ourselves, and approve of ourselves.

I admit I never really envisaged a life on my own. I always wanted a husband and to have a family and I never gave the option of being a single girl much consideration. Yet, I have no crystal ball that can tell me what lies ahead for me and one day I may be that single girl; family grown up and on my own. I take life one step at a time and so I don’t dwell on this thought but rather know that it is a possibility one day into the future. I think it is the reason why I want to enjoy every day now. My husband tends to live life as if it will go on forever but I am forever the pragmatist. I want my fun now, or as soon as humanly possible.

I’m a girl who well remembers how she felt at different times in her life. I haven’t forgotten what it was to be a shy school girl, or a girl who hungered for an experience she wondered if she would ever have. I remember the thrill of being told I was pregnant for the first time. Having a life inside me thrilled me to my core. I remember it all rather well: the good and the not so good.

Remembering my thoughts as I do, and all the possibilities of a life before me, I sometimes wonder how I could, at such a young age, have chosen the man I would marry. I know that my friends and I caution our daughters not to be in a hurry to marry, and in fact, I was cautioned, too. There is no greater decision that will change the course of our lives than to choose a partner until death us do part.

And, in amongst it all, all the changes that occur when we wed, there remains the identity of the single person. If you don’t agree, try going to a school reunion some twenty years after you graduate. You are not Mr or Mrs Blogs. You are Vess or George or the nerdy girl who did all her work. You are you; always.

From the day I married I have followed my husband; to the other side of the world, to experiences good and bad. I am still Vesta but my life that day was forever altered. When the Minister said, “...that no man shall put asunder...” those words were taken very literally. My husband needs the connection to me as strongly as any man ever needed his mate, at the same time as he insists on his autonomy; on doing everything his own way.

It is only human to wonder what might have happened to me had I waited longer to make a choice. We will never know. There are times when his behaviour unsettles me and I must find solace in my inner world: that place inside of me that stands alone.

Yet, it cannot be denied that until the moment when I reach over to find his body in my bed and intertwine it with my own that I cannot feel at one. I am Vesta but only half of a whole without him.

He completes me.