The Preview

I am sorry not to have a little something for you earlier in the day, dear readers. In fact, I did write something for you first thing this morning. I sent it off for approval bright and early, before I left for the day. However, when I dashed home mid afternoon to check my 'in box', I found that my piece had been “declined”. There was no explanation.

So, dear readers, let us not be deterred. Let’s try something that requires no approval at all:

My husband had worked long into the night, and being a very good wife, early this morning, I quietly tip toed out of bed, and helped my son to prepare for school. Upon returning home, I wrote the aforementioned post for you; the one you won’t see because of the lack of approval. I was in my sweatpants and such, as one does when running late to get one’s child to school. I decided to wait until my husband surfaced for the day before I disturbed him to take a shower and change.

I was sitting at my desk, when he arrived into the room all chipper and dressed for the day.

“What do you think you are doing, girl?”
“You were asleep.”
“What do we do on this day?”
“Well, do you still want to go?”
“Of course, I still want to go. How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Maybe, ten minutes...
“Off you go, then. And, don’t waste a moment.”

So, off I went to have a shower and dress. I was as quick as I could be, maybe a little more than ten minutes. He came into the bedroom when I was all set to go.

“Ready?”
“Yes, I am ready.”
“Well, you need some encouragement to be ready sooner; a reminder that I don’t have time to wait around for you.”

He went to his cupboard and took out a cane

“Bend over the chair. Come on, quickly! You know what to do. Bring your bottom out further. And, arch that back!”

I complied with all instructions, of course. He brought the cane down three times, and by the time he was finished I was taking quick breaths to try to settle myself. It was not that the three strokes had been that awful (although sitting is not comfortable at all this afternoon). It was the fact that another circumstance could find me waiting for another 22. How would I ever get through it? And, when would I ever sit down again?”

“All right, stand up.”

I stood up and turned around.

“Let that be a lesson to you. When I tell you to hurry, you will hurry.”
“Yes Sir”
“Right. Let’s go.”

And, that my friends, is akin to the short movie you might get before watching ‘War and Peace.’ Think about that and tell me you don’t feel for me!

Words

Words can be tricky. I know what I want to say, but did the way I say it impart the right message to you?

I once heard an author speak at school. The children were studying his book in their English course and the students had various interesting and intelligent theories about his motivations and intentions. He listened carefully. He seemed impressed. Finally, he responded:

“That’s a very interesting point you made; most profound. I was not thinking it when I wrote that chapter, but I wish I had been.”

Am I able to impart to each of you, what is inside my head? Well, apparently not all the time. A certain mister somebody read my blog over the weekend. He was catching up and he read a good number of posts; posts I had already forgotten about, until he brought it up. He wanted to know this and that. He seemed concerned that I might be thinking this or that. He interpreted my examples as coming from my own life experiences. I had to go back and re-read certain posts, trying to ascertain where he had come up with certain ideas. Finally, I managed to piece together comments I had made that might have led him to think this and that.

Now, originally, I thought it might be a good idea to let certain people, close to me, know about my little blog here. It was another form of communication. Oatmeal Girl did not avail herself of that opportunity to share with her men, and now I think I know why. It is because, words are tricky, and certain mister someones think they have to fix things, even when they are not broken.

So let’s be clear. Not every example I write here, and not every theory I espouse here, relates to me and my life. Nobody needs to worry if I am worried that my breasts giggle up and down when I prance. Because, I don’t; prance, that is. Okay? And, Mr. Someone, when you do eventually read this post, your job is to laugh. It’s a joke! Okay!?

Furthermore, I am not doing anything about rectifying the behaviour in the ‘bad girl 25 things list.’ Yes. That’s right. I am disobeying you. I am not telling my instructor that I owe her 10 step ups on each leg. Do you have any idea what she would do to me? You do care about me, right?

However, if it makes you feel better, I did give away my mint this morning. Now, are you happy?

Some men!!

(P.S. A reminder: This is a joke! You can't punish jokes! Can you?)

55 words

Sir J:

As requested:

"I need love.
You need correction.
I do not want correction.
You crave correction.
I crave affection. And, attention.
You crave correction.
Correction hurts.
Bad girls must be corrected; nevertheless.
Not a bad girl!
Not a good girl!
Want to be a good girl!
Then, bend over and I will whip you.
Okay.
Good girl."

Big Girls

It’s time to call a spade, a spade. I’ve been pretty itchy, scratchy lately. I could go into all the meanderings of my mind, but it can get a little foggy in there sometimes. Instead, I’ve come to talk to you.

And, here’s the thing. I am fit now; physically fit, that is. I never thought I would say this, but I am fit. I’ve got a lot of energy to use up and I am having trouble. All those leg ups, all those sprints, all those abdominal crunches, and pounding that bar above my head has paid off, and I’m fit.

That should be good news. Right? Well, it is good for my body, but it is maybe not so good for my poor husband and kinky friends placed around the world, who have been dealing with my overactive mind lately. And, it isn’t that you chaps weren’t fantastic listeners, because you are the best listeners a girl could find.

But, a girl has to accept the reality of her situation. I have a lot of energy and I need to set myself some projects and dissipate some of this excess energy. That’s the bottom line. I need to do.

“I think I’ll go and write a post,” I said to my husband just now, trying to catch a few extra winks on a Sunday morning.

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “You go post.”

I could just tell he was happy to be rid of me. A girl with excess energy can be rather inconvenient sometimes, it seems.

So, I’ve made a list of things I can achieve; things to do that will keep me busy and hopefully fulfil me.

“Thank God”, I hear you lovely chaps saying.

Yes, thank something. Indeed.

So, I’m back to being chirpy. No more introspection; for now. (Are you proud of me, Clemmi?) I am firmly planted in the land of projects.

I am woman. See me create.

You see, I love my little submissive world. It is so cosy; warm and delicious. It is lovely being a good, little girl. It’s heaven.

But, who am I kidding? I am really a big girl now. The age on my birth certificate is evidence that I reached maturity some time ago.

So, I can’t hang around waiting for others to make me do things. I have to make myself peddle my own bike faster when they are too busy to hang around me, holding the stopwatch. If I don’t do it right, I think I can rely on them to call in.

So, I’m off. I’m peddling fast. I can feel the wind at my face. It’s invigorating. I think I like this...

Light the Way

My children have their different strengths and interests, and my husband and I have been avid and willing spectators. We’ve watched many games of sports with various balls, and we’ve watched them row down rivers. We have seen them dance and sing and act; play instruments. It’s been a lot of fun.

There are special moments. Moments you never forget. Moments that come back to you and make you smile, over and over again.

Here is one example. He was part of a crew, and they had been asked for a mighty big effort all season. It got to the big final day and their coach gave them one of his big time speeches. You know; he hoped they’d win; he thought they would win, but there was the possibility that they might get beaten. There was some very stiff competition and there was that chance. So, he wanted them to know now that, in his eyes, they were winners no matter what. They were a fine set of young men and he was deeply and passionately proud of them.

To watch the boys give their minds and hearts to the task in front of them was an awesome experience. Rowed through twice, they refused to be beaten. One boy told me later that my son and his best friend, through their utter exhaustion had called out,

“Come oooonnnnn!! Let’s fuck these losers!!!!”

Adrenaline carried them all the way to the line to beat the record and win victory for their team, their coach, their school.

My heart was in my stomach the whole race. There were thousands of people urging them on, a sea of spectators riding every last stroke with them, and when they went over the line, victorious, the celebration was so sweet.

But, like me, he’s quiet and contained and reserved about his successes. Sure, he was happy but in an introspective way. They had to row past us to get home again, and in their own divine way, they did it with aplomb; perfectly, just as they had been trained. I wished they would take in the moment a little more; cherish it, take in all the praise they deserved. They were right in front of us all, about to row past, and suddenly, as one, they changed their minds. They stopped rowing and sat there in their boat and just listened to us whooping it up and going wild.

Still, my boy didn’t look up, hiding under his cap. And then, for one brief, shining moment, he did. He raised his head a little to one side, to look through his eyebrows at the adoring crowd. And, he smiled. And, I smiled that he had smiled.

And, it is a moment I will never, ever forget. I could not possibly have been more proud or more happy for him. I felt exultant. My spirits had soared to a higher place.

If you do it right, a D/s relationship can make your spirits soar. You can be risen up, for a moment here or there, where you believe you can walk on water. You believe in yourself because someone believes in you.

One little moment at a time, you can change somebody’s day, somebody’s outlook, and somebody’s life.

Out there in the vanilla world I think many people think that domination and submission is about something dark. My premise here is that domination and submission can light the way.

Enjoying Submission

My last two posts have been about a correction. And, it worked. I certainly won’t be cheeky enough to relay conversations between my friend and I in this format again, without his permission.

But, let me not lead you astray. I loved every minute of it. It was a delightful, delicious, heady high.

Submission does, and should, have its challenging moments. But, overall there should be, I believe, an embracing and positive spirit. It should not bring you down. It should raise you up. If you feel lucky to be in the relationship, then you know you are on the right bus.

One of the characteristics I love most about my children is their ability to laugh so easily; to see the quirky side of things and to enjoy themselves. Watch a child smile and you will smile, too. It is infectious.

Life is for living. Enjoy your submission. And, if that is breaking some D/s code, well, so be it.

The List

Dear Readers

As some of you may know from my last post, it became necessary for me to write a list of my recent bad behaviour. The list needed to have 25 items. I am sure you will appreciate that this was not an easy task. A good girl must search her heart and mind to come up with such a long list of misbehaviour. At times, I wondered if it was really possible for me to complete the task.
A girl must, however, do what a girl must do. Please find below the requisite list for your contemplation, for you also will have noted that my friend has asked that you, my readers, give some input into suitable consequences.

THE LIST

#1 I did not ask permission of my friend to write up our ‘chat’ on this blog.
#2 I ate the mint that comes with the coffee at the gym.

#3 I thought about touching myself.
#4 I cut my Bar Time (the yoga exercise I do daily) short by one minute.
#5 I forgot to write in my journal and send it to my husband, as I am required to do each evening. I sent it the next morning in the hope that he would not notice the time sent.
#6 I bought a bag of mixed sweets for the children at the market. On the way home, I ate all the ‘milk bottle’ shaped sweets.
#7 I must have drunk too much wine when out with friends listening to music, because I felt seedy the next day, all day.
#8 I bought a few items of clothing in the end of season sales, and promptly put them in my wardrobe where they could not be seen by my husband.
#9 I took my laptop to bed, which I am not supposed to do, because I stay up too late blogging.
#10 I exaggerated slightly when Janus asked if I had been good ALL week, thus accepting false praise.
#1 1 I pretended that I had to go to pick up a child from school, when a friend rang and was talking about people I didn’t know.
#12 The trainer at the gym told me to go and do 100 step ups on each leg. I only did 90 and just said that it was 100.
#13 When my Mum asked why I had not returned her call, I said that the children had not given me the message, when, in fact, they had.
#14 I thought about touching myself, again.
#15 I put up my manuscript on the screen, but very soon, flipped over to ‘Google Reader’ and read there instead.
#16 Due to blogging rather late (it was only just past midnight), I was slow to start the next morning and thus I only just got the children to school on time.
#17 I didn’t mention the ‘soft pedal’ in my car to my husband, (but that is because, I didn’t know what a ‘soft pedal’ was!)
#18 When my husband approached me with a cane in his hand, I said that I didn’t have time for maintenance just yet, when I could probably have fit it into my schedule.
#19 I got slightly frustrated (but didn’t show it) when my husband was not really listening when I was talking to him, and I had to repeat myself.
#20 I took it a little personally when my husband came to bed and just went to sleep almost immediately. (Who does that?)
#21 I didn’t stand on the bathmat to dry myself after my shower, leaving water on the floor in the bathroom. My husband might have mentioned this issue several hundred times before.
#22 My husband was explaining a complicated business issue about a company matter and I was nodding with intent interest. But at the same time, I was thinking a kinky thought.
#23 I had a hubristic thought, that I really was a good girl, for what else could I possibly add to this list?
#24 I thought about making a cup of tea and having a little chocolate with it just now, but I resisted and had a little apple instead. (Or, was that virtuous?)
#25 I had an unkind thought about my ‘chat’ friend, (but, quickly realized, that he was doing this to me for my own good and with noble thoughts, realizing that sometimes doms have to be cruel to be kind.)

I wish to say that I am very, very sorry for acting with impropriety. It was more than reasonable for my (sadistic) friend to expect me to publicly admit the impropriety, and writing the list was a most appropriate consequence for such behaviour. I truly have learned my lesson.

I pass the baton (!) over to you, my dear and compassionate readers, for you will recall my dear friend’s instruction:

“Explain to your audience that you are instructed to turn to them for feedback as proper punishment for those 25 things.”

Oh dear!

Vesta

My Impropriety

Dear Readers,

A few days ago, I wrote about a ‘chat’ conversation I had with a friend of mine who happens to be a dominant man. You may remember that in that conversation he encouraged me to be a good girl and go and ask for my correction. I wrote the post, being very careful not to mention the man by name, of course. However, after I put up the post, I must admit, I had some misgivings, for I confess that I did not seek his permission before excerpting the discussion on this little blog of mine.

The weekend went by and there was no irate email to be found in my inbox, but still, I knew my behaviour lacked propriety. On Monday evening, that little window of his was open again. I felt I had to take the bull by the horns; face my demons, so to speak.

I’ve tried to write a summary of our conversation for you; to give you a sense of the flavour of the conversation, without actually writing down the conversation. But, I think you’ll agree the conversation is priceless, and thus, with his consent, I provide you all with part of the transcript:

“Are you cross?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Would you prefer that I were cross?"
“No. I thought you might have something to say about a post of mine.”
“Let's be more direct.”
“About writing up our last 'chat', in a sense.”
“Would you like to hear my thoughts on that post, Vesta?”
“Yes please, but remember, you said, you weren't cross.”
“Then, you need to ask to hear my thoughts.”
“May I please have your thoughts about that post, if you would be so kind?”
“Why, certainly. It made me laugh. It tickled me to have made enough of an impact to find my way into a post of yours.”
“Oh, that's grand. Perfect.”
“However, there was some impropriety involved.”
“I love that you have a sense of humour. There's always a catch...”
“Always. Don't you think it would've been the proper and polite thing to ask me if I wouldn't mind our conversation being excerpted in a post?”
“You are absolutely right. It has been on my mind. It was impolite of me. I feel bad about that.
Is there something I can do to make it up to you...other than to apologize and request your permission in future?”
“ Hmmm You can compose a post that lists the various ways in which you most recently have been a bad girl.”
“You ALMOST had that idea on the tip of your tongue...”
“And then appeal to your readers what would be the proper way in which to deal with your impropriety.”
“Surely you jest.”
“Why would you think I'd jest?”
“You have a good sense of humour! Is there any other way...?”
“So, what needs to be done is clear then, yes?”
“Are you enjoying my discomfort?”
“I hadn't noticed much discomfort.”
“What had you noticed, then?”
“Back pedalling.”
“Oh, I don't want to be seen as a back pedaller. Can you give me a bit more direction on this post you have in mind? If you would be so kind...”
“You are to explicitly state that you were reprimanded for a transgression and part of your punishment is to list 25 things in which you were a bad girl. Then, explain to your audience that you are instructed to turn to them for feedback as proper punishment for those 25 things.” and so on.

There you have it, dear readers...the situation as it unfolded. Let it not be said that I put my own spin on this situation. I have admitted my fault, and I have accepted the consequences.

Next time I write to you, I will post a list of 25 ways in which I have recently been a bad girl. Please understand if the items on the list are occasionally lame. When you are a good girl much of the time, one must really stretch to locate 25 things. It was specifically made clear to me that ‘thoughts’ should be a part of the list, and so I will reveal a little of my thinking rather than just bad behaviour. As you now know, I have also been asked to call upon you, my readers, to suggest suitable ways to deal with my impropriety.

I am certainly working on ‘the list’, and will post again as soon as possible. A deadline has been imposed and the clock is ticking.

Yours sincerely,
Vesta

Any Bad Behaviour, anyone?

Today, I have been giving thought to any behaviour of mine lately which could be considered bad. As well, I have been thinking about any thoughts I might have had which could be considered bad.

I have taxed my mind, really. I have not left any stone unturned. And yet...and yet, the facts are, that I have been rather good. Now, perhaps there has been a slight little thing here or there. Nobody is perfect. Of course. But, in just about any little black book, I think the report would be good.

And yet, a girl has to keep trying...keep scanning the horizon of her mind to gather together a comprehensive list of any transgressions that she may have made. Was there an impure thought? Was she always as patient as she could have been? Did she follow all the rules? Did she consume sweeties? So very many things to consider, aren't there?

And, what of the thought that she thinks herself good? Perhaps, even that is bad. We don't want her too full of herself now, do we?

And, if she is too good, what value is she to the Dom, in any case? You don't need to convert a saint, do you?

So, she ponders. She pontificates. She is getting desperate.

Too Risque

When I was a university student, I met a girl in my course who quickly became a very good friend. When the course was over, we thought we might share a house together and she approached her parents about sharing a house with me. They said that they didn't approve of me. My girlfriend found this laughable. I was, by far, her most conservative friend, who had never broken a law, missed a class, smoked a cigarette, or even considered being naughty in any way. If they didn't approve of me, then she felt certain they would never approve of her living with anyone.

From my perspective, it was a shock to not have their approval. I had always had every one's approval. I truly was a very good girl back in those days.

Today, I was having an online chat with my international friend. She is a darling girl, going out with a lovely man; a conservative man. She didn't think he would approve of us chatting. I suggested he might think I was "too risque; a bad influence." She agreed that he might well think that I was "too risque".

Really? Me?

Well, here's the thing. I love the fact that I might be considered "too risque" these days. Growing up, I never ever thought that anybody would think that I was "too risque". But, look at me now! I have my own blog with a warning on it. Me! How utterly delicious. I'm risque; finally!

I love the world of domination and submission. It is miles more fun than playing golf or bridge, like some of my friends on the ground. The very thought of that bores me to tears. Being risque with you guys is much more fun.

So, it's official. Vesta is risque, and she's loving it.

Dominant Men

Dominant men are very interesting fellows. They tend to be very complex, and something of an enigma. They tend to not only be different men on different days, but different men from one minute to the next. Little things seem to make them happy or sad, content or explosive. They like things to go their way. They like the world to operate as if they had orchestrated it themselves. They have difficulty understanding why the world should have so many stupid people in it who don’t think as clearly as they do. They tend to want to share that view with their girl.

My man has never been short of an opinion and he shared a few of his opinions with me this morning in the car. The city had made a big mistake making the adjustments to the roads as they had. I agreed, of course. But, what was this? A soft brake pedal in my car? Had I noticed this before? I told him, no, I had not. How could you not notice it, I was asked? Well, I just adjust to my circumstances, I explained. Perhaps I had compensated for the “soft” brake pedal and not realized it. I needed to be more aware of how my car was operating, he told me. I needed to come to him when unsure of something. I assured him I would. But, still he was amazed that I could not be aware of something so blatantly wrong.

“See that,” he said, as he pumped the brake in the midst of the traffic, having the car lurch twice. “See how my foot goes down right to the floor. That’s a soft brake pedal. I’ll need to take the car in the morning, first thing. It has to be checked out right away.”

“All right. I understand,” I said.

“And you didn’t notice that before?”

“No, I can’t say that I did,” I explained.

We were close to home now. He drove into the garage.

“I’m really quite amazed that you don’t notice these things.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Outwardly, I was the model of angelic patience.

“I really did not notice the soft brake pedal. I am sorry.”

“You are not getting feisty are you, girl?”

“No darling, I’m not.”

“It would be a bad idea.”

“No, I am definitely not getting feisty.”

“I detect a little cheekiness there under the surface. I would definitely take control of that right away. I’m in no mood for a feisty girl.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I got out of the car and headed upstairs.

I knew what was up.

Yesterday, I had a caning; an overdue punishment. One of the enigmas of the dominant man is that no sooner has he punished his girl and put away his cane, he can feel intense arousal. Yet, circumstances may prevent him from being intimate with his girl at that time. This is a deeply unsatisfactory situation, both for him, and for his girl, who may become the focus of his inner turmoil.

I can see your feminine heads nodding. I can see you are following carefully. And, I want to help you. What should a girl do in such a circumstance?

As Nicole said to Tom in ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ at the end of the movie, when he tells her about his debauched evening, there is only one thing to do.

Fuck.

The Little Window

To bed late last night, five hours later I am aware of my breathing. It is shallow and my mind is restless. I detect the reason for my discontent within moments and know instantly that there is no more sleep to be had until I explore the words of that conversation...and here I am.

I think I already mentioned that technology came rather late into my life. Thus it is with those little Google ‘chat’ windows. Quite recently, I have become aware of them, and I now have three possibilities for a ‘Google chat’. I must say that I am quite smitten. One can be typing away, to find at any given moment, that there is a ‘friend’ up for a chat. Once upon a time, of course, it would have been the doorbell that one would hear ring. It is all the same, really. A friend has been good enough to call by, and it is always welcome.

My three potential ‘chats’ are with dominant men. I like dominant men and I like their conversation. Out there in the big wide world, men are not too sure about expressing their dominance. It is such a pity. Here on chat, they speak their mind. I expect that. But, I will admit to you that I was not quite prepared for last night’s candour.

My chat last night with him was, in fact, our first. I’d noticed that he was on the left hand side of my screen for some time – perhaps weeks. I wasn’t too sure of how he got there and frankly, I was a little intimidated. His emails have always been rather formal, and so have mine. I simply followed his lead. He’s that kind of a Dom. In an email, I can go at my own pace. I can reveal or not reveal. I can answer questions or not answer questions. And, in any case, he had always been polite, his disapproval guised more in a polite suggestion occasionally. ‘Chat’ opened up more possibilities, and I had put it off.

Yesterday, I opened the little window for the first time and bravely typed in ‘hello’. “Now, why is this the first time you’ve reached out to me?” he wanted to know. I did not have a good answer for that question. I had so often thought to make contact but somehow I needed to be ‘on my game’ to do that; to have an air of confidence about me. I had no idea why I had opened that little window when my vulnerability was all about me and we played cat and mouse for a bit.

Finally, he had had enough of my stalling and he put me on the clock. “You have me for 9 minutes. Best not dawdle.” So, I told him. I had not been asking for what I was due. “I had to ask. Why did I have to ask?” I was not prepared for his response:

“Because perhaps you're not a good girl. Good girls needn't ask."

I felt my ire rise and I responded with bravado:

“You can’t be good all the time. It’s boring.”

He scoffed.

“I am as good as I can be.”

I had never pretended to be perfect. My defences were up.

“I suspect you could be better. Two minutes.”

He’d pulled out the big guns! There was the disappointment. There was the judgement. There was the suggestion that I was not up to standard. My defences had been worn away in no less than six words.

“What do you suggest?”

“Asking for your correction
And asking very directly
Do not dawdle
Do not hint
Be explicit
Understood?”

I considered his words for a moment or two. It was all the time he had allowed.

“Understood.”

“Good girl.”

I just want to be a good girl. I really do. You know that.

I've got readers!

It has only been a few weeks now since I began to write regularly here, and I am thoroughly enjoying myself. As I mentioned once before, when I began writing here, it was really for myself. I mentioned to Deity over at ‘The Lustful Quality of Watching Her Erotic Demise’ that I was only intending to write for myself, without concern for the numbers of people visiting, and he said that I was writing for all the right reasons.

However, whilst I do try to exhibit as many submissive virtues on any given day as I can possibly manage, I am not without all the usual elements of human nature. I’ve noticed that I have a little trickle of people visiting me now and the truth is that this pleases me greatly. To those who have commented, you have often made my day. The sense of being part of the community that I get from those comments is simply lovely, and each one is another little piece of evidence of a view I’ve held for a few years now – that the D/s community is full of interesting, warm souls with open arms.

I doubt that they would want me to mention them by name, but I’ve made some wonderful friends, whom I have yet to meet in person. They all live in other countries to mine. Communication with some friends is very regular, whilst with others, we may only exchange emails a couple of times a year. I think we can all agree that such friends are very, very special. Does your best friend on the ground know about your kink or your lifestyle? Would you tell the people with whom you share dinner in a restaurant, for example, about the fact that you like to whip a girl or that you enjoy nothing more than a long session over a man’s knee? Some of us may be lucky enough to have people in our lives to discuss these subjects, but I suspect most of us do not.

So, if you are reading my words, a very big welcome to you and I hope that you will return again. I don’t know how you found me exactly, for computer technicalities are not my speciality and I don’t have links and all that stuff yet. But, I will get to that soon. I think about sorting it out and I think about writing, and right now, the writing wins. I have been posting a little something most days, because I usually have something I want to say. I never stop being fascinated, and titillated, by the subject of domination and submission, and frankly, I think of us as the lucky ones. We’re connected to our primal instincts; we’re brave enough to pursue a lifestyle that works for us, and to be true enough to ourselves to do what works for us individually. We are wise too; to see that pleasures abound. Is there any more fun to be had than all tied up in rope and vulnerable, or being warned that any more cheeky comments will lead to a spanking...and then making one more cheeky comment?

Now, there is one downside to my little blog, and that is that I am almost having too much fun. I have a lot of editing to do to complete a set of stories that I, more or less, finished writing some months ago. Whilst Janus kept that process moving along nicely, pushing me to do my best, he got busy and has not mentioned the editing process more than once or twice. What’s a girl to do? No deadline? No consequence? Am I expected to come up with the motivation to complete the task all by myself? But, that’s not fair! Somewhere Janus wrote that I must be comfortable to tell him what I want. Well, I want to be told to finish my writing task! I want to be given a deadline! (I do so hope that he reads this. I've been meaning to write this want of mine in an email for weeks now.) So, thank you again for reading. Please do feel free to let me know what strategies worked for you to keep you on track with your goals whilst I go and put on a load of washing...I mean, get out those stories to edit!

Anxiety

My interest in submission goes well beyond the erotic. For a few years now, I have been giving consideration to any ties there might be with various psychological patterns of behaviour and submission. In the past, I was in regular touch with a therapist who was dominant. He was also keen to explore domination and submission with some academic rigor and our discussions on the submissive’s feelings of ‘neediness’ were quite eye-opening. Lately, I have been considering the submissive and wondering if there might be any link to her feelings of submission and feelings of anxiety.

Recently, my husband opened up a discussion with me about anxiety. He wanted me to acknowledge my feelings of anxiety and how they might show up as unacceptable behaviours for a submissive woman to exhibit. People can feel shame about feeling anxious, but it was with some relief that I acknowledged that I do suffer anxiety in certain situations. One example is that I can feel anxious in very noisy environments. In such an environment, if he should try to conduct a conversation with me, I can experience feelings of great anxiety. The competing noises can really put me on edge, and I might find myself giving him a short response. I don’t mean that I ‘flip out’ at him, but rather that there might be a bit of edge in my voice as the frustration in my body becomes overwhelming. I’ve been chastised for this for years, before we both came to see it for what it was: feelings of anxiety making it difficult for me to express my submission appropriately.

One reason people feel anxious, I understand, is when they are outside their comfort zone. Meeting new people may make them anxious because they don’t know what to expect from the encounter. They may be anxious when they are expected to perform. A woman may manage to cook a wonderful meal for a dinner party if left in the kitchen alone, for example, but experience anxiety if people watch her cook.

A dominant may consider it his job to push at his submissive’s edges. Perhaps he wants her to ‘prance’ for him, but this is something she has never done, or considered doing. She is his submissive, after all, and if he wants to see her do this, then it is his responsibility, perhaps, to bring her to the point where she can put aside her feelings of resistance to the task, and ‘prance’ for him. Yet, pushing up against her edges, her limits, may increase her anxiety for some reason. Perhaps, she is anxious about the way her breasts will look bouncing up and down. She has experienced anxiety about the size of her breasts since high school, when girls made fun of them.

Now, let us consider the submissive who is not only bouncing off her edges when the dominant demands something new of her, but she is also trying to deal with her anxiety in being outside her comfort zone. Her resistance may be very strong because of the extreme discomfort she experiences internally. Perhaps, her dominant is completely unaware of those inner thoughts and feelings. She struggles not only with her anxiety but with her feeling of failure as his submissive.

I am not qualified to suggest remedies for this situation, but what I am suggesting is that a dominant whose submissive is resisting his dominance may need to consider if anxiety is playing a part in their relationship.

One thought worth considering is that the submissive who is willing to operate outside her comfort zone should stop being so hard on herself. The vast majority of people are content to remain in their comfort zone for much of their lives, whilst she continually allows herself to be pushed well beyond that state. Her bravery in doing so is to be admired, and she could be given much praise. The dominant must be wary, I believe, of punishing her for non-compliance when in fact it may be her anxiety about the situation that is not allowing her to proceed. As always in a power exchange relationship, good communication is vital. Both the dominant and the submissive must be 100 per cent open with one another if such issues are to be appropriately taken into account.

Impact

As she wakes, still half asleep, she hears him ask her to bend across him, on all fours. She does so, a little disappointed that she cannot just lie across his body, flat. He begins to spank her. He does not spank her with the weight of his open hand, but rather just with his fingers; clips across her bottom that sting, but have little impact. She knows why he does this. There are children in the house and he fears that they might hear. Still, she does not care for the spanks. She would prefer some...impact.

“Is that enough to get you centred for the day, girl?”

“Yes Master.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes Master.”

“All right, let’s get on with the day.” .

He gets up and as he begins to shave, she puts her head around the bath room door.

“Just so that you know, I don’t really like those little clips you gave me. They don’t have any...impact.”

“So you want impact, girl? Well you cheeky little girl, you want impact, you’ll get impact. You just bide your time and you’ll get impact, all right!”

She wonders if she has gone too far, again. He isn’t impressed with her statement and the thought flashes across her mind that she may have made a mistake in speaking out. Nevertheless, she proceeds with the morning’s tasks.

Upon returning from the morning school run, the garage door open, she notices her husband with the two rolled up newspapers in his hand, which he would have retrieved from the driveway. As she opens the door of the car and gets out, she sees her husband press the button to bring the garage door down.

“You want impact, my girl, I’ll give you impact. Bend over the car, here.”

He has her by the arm and he ensures that she is placed over the bonnet of the car, arms out front of her, feet apart, bottom up.

“Here’s a little impact for you.”

He takes the thick finance paper all rolled up tight in cellophane and swings it down hard across her skirt. The thud reverberates around the garage and she cries out. She moves a bit to try to protect herself.

“Get that bottom pouted out, now!”

Down comes the newspaper again, heating up her bottom and scaring her a bit now. He seems to be enjoying himself. He repeats the action, again, and again.

“Are you getting satisfactory impact, girl? I can swing it harder if you like.”

And he lifts the newspaper up high in the air and twice slams it down on her skirt.

The final whack has her cry out such that any passerby could scarcely be deceived of the fact that a girl on the other side of the door was being punished. He pulls her skirt up over her back and pulls her panties right down.

“Step out of them. Now!”

His voice brooks no argument.

“Now, let’s have some impact on your bare bottom. We don’t want you to feel that you are not getting the attention you deserve. Pout out that bottom. Right up!”

She does as she is told. She’s been stupid once this morning. That’s enough.

She feels the full weight of the palm of his hand on one cheek, and then the other, six times over. By the time he has finished her breathing is fast, and she has left some saliva on the bonnet of the car.

“Stand up!”

She stands up.

“Turn to me.”

She turns.

“How’s the impact, young lady? Are you satisfied with that?”

She looks a bit miffed.

“Yes Sir.”

“And?”

“Thank you Sir.”

“So, we won’t have any more talk about impact, then?”

“No Sir.”

“I didn’t think so. Go and attend to your tasks, please.”

He picks up her panties.

“And, I’ll be holding onto these until I can be sure that your behaviour is under control.”

“Yes Sir.”

She hot tails it out of the garage and up the stairs.

Now that he can’t see, she smiles. That was much better.

Little Boys

Maurice Chevalier sang, “Thank heaven for little girls, for little girls get bigger every day.” I think those are the correct words to the song, anyway. But, this morning I found myself thinking, “Thank heaven for little boys.”

I have a young man staying with me at the moment. He is a special young man, with a commitment to his talent that he hopes to see through to a dazzling career on the most renowned stages of the world. He was selected at a very tender age to be trained, and I find it quite awe inspiring. He gets up early without being called; he goes to bed in good time to get up early. He keeps careful track of the time, keeping me on track to get him where he needs to be. He has very long hours of rehearsal and performances, but you can see that he lives for the performance. I went to see him perform and he was very anxious to know what I thought. He takes a quiet pride in people’s pleasure gained from what he does. I can’t say how his love life will be in a few years, but I think he’ll be fine. Certainly, he can chat happily with my daughter and they clearly enjoy one another’s company, in spite of language issues.

This morning, I asked if I he had any clothes he would like me to wash and he said he would leave them on the bed. As I whisked by his room, I remembered the clothes and scooped them up. As I was leaving the room, I noticed that there was a little bear on his pillow. My heart melted. Not quite a man yet, he still cuddled his bear and travelled with it. How utterly adorable!

I am not sure why exactly, pure serendipity probably, but my children are all soft hearted. Not one of them would hurt a fly. They will stand up for themselves if they need to, and they have needed to at times, but their hearts are soft as butter. My youngest still carries around his special soft object, and my husband will sometimes say that it is time he gave it up. But, the time will come soon enough.

Little boys need so much love and care. Soon enough they grow to be big, strong men with loads of responsibilities, and the tables often turn. They are responsible for their girlfriends and wives, and their children eventually, perhaps. To become those big, strong capable men, they need a mother who loved them and supported them through thick and thin. My eldest son said to me once that I reminded him of a lioness. Try hurting one of her cubs and she’ll go from being passive to a hunter in one stride. Yes, that’s me.

Once upon a time, my husband was a little boy who had his special bear. Now, I suppose I am his ‘little bear’. He cuddles in with me. His mother, I’m told, was a very gentle, caring woman who lived for her family. That makes sense. It just seems to me that if you give the love in spades when they are young, support them, encourage them, and praise their best efforts, they are in good shape to give their love in turn to the little girls growing up that Chevalier was referring to.

In a D/s relationship, disobedience is punished. And, I’m not arguing with that. Not today, anyway. But, positive reinforcement is very important, I think. Imagine the child who rushes home with an excellent report, and the parent did not bother to sing the child’s praise. What message is that child being given? The submissive woman wants to make her dominant happy and she wants to hear that he is happy with her. She wants to know that she is loved. In the end, it is all about love.

Little Girls

Being submissive is incredibly sexy; for me, anyway. The deeper into the space I go, say, by being tied up into a little ball, unable to move, and subject to the whims of my Master, the better I feel. There is no act or pretence here. It is who I am. My breathing gets slower, my eyes sort of gloss over, and I float. I have read where one Dom refers to it as “the freedom of the ropes” and he certainly got that right. Recently, my Master (aka ‘my husband) took a few photographs of me in that state, and there is visual evidence of the transformation. I hardly recognize myself. So, let me be incredibly clear: I adore submission, and it is far and away the most wonderful journey that I have ever been on.

The journey, however, can make me ‘bristle’ a bit, at times. I don’t mind the idea of being considered a “little girl” or a “good girl” or a “bad girl”. It is part of the deal, and I accept that. But, if a Dom should suggest or infer that I am not a ‘bright girl’ or that the ‘sub’ should just do what she is told, without explanation, then the ‘little girl’ status will meet my resistance.

I am a fully grown woman who has taken responsibility for raising a family. I’ve held responsible positions in the workforce and I take pride in what I have achieved. Whilst I get off on submitting to a dominant man who has the will to make me bend (figuratively and literally), I need to know that he has respect for my abilities to follow a rational argument.

Now, I know what they think. They think that submissive women tend to act like little girls sometimes, and maybe that is true, to an extent. So, I’ll go to the corner and “think about it” if I have disobeyed, or broken a rule, or whatever. And, I will accept a time out, too. Time alone to contemplate things and then write it up is not a bad outcome for me. I’ll even put my hands behind my back to demonstrate that I am being submissive, and listening. They are all the things you might ask a schoolgirl to do, and at times, the Dom might see in my eyes an emotion that scares him just a little bit. Still, I do it.

I’ll go further. I recognize that the Dom is not just getting off on making me do these things. He feels that he is containing me for my own good. He’s working with me, not against me.

Submissive women tend to be on the furthest end of the female scale, I think. We are very, very female and we tend to love deeply and want to be loved deeply. We want to feel the care and even the domination of the man. We want him to care for us and we want to care for him. At the end of the day, we want to feel intensely connected to the man/men in our lives. We are deeply connected to our primal female response. But, although I may be willing (perhaps enjoy?) to be treated like a little girl, I am not a little girl. I’m a grown woman with a grown woman’s mind.

I appreciate that the Dom is always right. Heaven forbid that I should say anything different! We don’t want the sky to fall, do we? However, let the Dom be wary of ever believing that this ‘little girl’ does not have a well educated and rational mind. That would be going one step too far!

Missing Mojo

The submissive woman is, of course, dependent on her dominant to dominate. Yet, dominants sometimes don’t feel particularly domly. As a woman who has lived in a vanilla style marriage I do, of course, concede that this is to be expected. When I was down, he’d jolly me along, and when he was down, I would do the same for him. But, now that we have a dominant-submissive style relationship, and our roles are more clear, I do have difficulty functioning well when my dominant is having an off week. When he is not feeling domly, then my submissive mind has serious misgivings.

Now, this morning we had one of our early morning chats in bed, rather vanilla style, and he revealed that right now, he is subject to anxiety about the world’s finances, just like many thousands of us, and that the pressure that ensues can leave him feeling less domly than usual. Well, the anxiety can lead me to feeling stressed out too, I told him. But, when a sub is missing dominance in her life, she may be in a forest, but all she can see are trees. She’s lost.

Usually, I don’t have to ask for my maintenance. He takes care of that, asking me to bend over the bed, perhaps, while he seeks out a cane or something else. It is maybe, five quick strokes across by bottom before he leaves for the day, and all is well. Last week, he didn’t order and I didn’t ask, hardly at all. I think you can guess the result. I got miserable, and we have been a bit out of sync. That is not good for me and it is not good for him. We both function at our best when we are very happy and settled in our relationship; when he is dominating me and I am being dominated. He told me this morning that I must come to him and ask for my maintenance.

“Do I have to ask?” I asked. “Couldn’t you just take control?”

“No. You have to ask. Maintenance is your responsibility. You need to be reminded that you want this. It is not being imposed on you. You come and ask.”

I don’t like the idea at all, but I can see that it is just one more little push closer to my stable. Of course, Janus has encouraged more than a push. He wants a ‘correction’. He wants me punished for not asking for my maintenance. (It’s a rule: If you don’t get it by a certain time, you have to ask.) He wants the cane to sear by bottom to make an impression on my mind. Sometimes, I wonder if he is a sadist. (Okay, that’s another joke.)

The jury is out. I’m slightly precious right now, and my dom isn’t sure that I’m quite up to that. It hangs out there, menacingly, as part of my weekly report. Janus can be as tough as hard leather boots, sometimes. (Are you reading this, Janus?) If he is, I can hear him saying, “Doesn’t she know by now? You have to be cruel to be kind, sometimes.” Yeah. I know. I know.

So, I guess, I can’t put it off any longer. I have to go and ask for my guy to beat me. Because, then we’ll both feel better. Strange, isn’t it?

My Stable

I know what they are up to. Inch by inch, they are containing me in the stable. It’s a nice stable, they tell me. Even though it looks a bit small, it’s got a cosy feel , they say, and there is everything inside that I will need. I know that they are right, of course. I was the one that said I wanted to be in the stable, after all.

So, why do I resist staying in the stable? If it’s so cosy and appealing, and I’m sure that I am suited to life in the stable, why do I resist?

For every poor choice, for all bad behaviour, I am told, there is a consequence.

Well I know that! I don’t need anybody to tell me that. I was the model student at school. Not in the least interested in unpleasant consequences, I did my work, paid attention, was polite and co-operative as a child. I saw the consequences, and they were not in the least appealing. I was so good it was sickening.

But, their training is another story altogether. The lessons are much harder, this time. Sure, I see the consequences. They are spelled out to me in black and white. I can hardly miss them. But, their lessons eat into my ‘sensibilities’. And when a girl’s sensibilities are at stake, she’ll resist like there is no tomorrow. (I’m told that people may miss my jokes. You can tell I’m having fun writing this, right?)

But, with every new message, I see exactly what is happening. Like a horse being led back into the stable, ultimately, I have no choice.

“Fillies need handling,” my husband once said, as I stood there in the corner, seething. “They need the stones taken out of their hooves,” he said, as he picked up one foot and massaged between my toes.

Janus once said that I must not go out on the meadow alone, again. When I was ready, he’d take me there, with my lead on, he said. I think it was meant to be a joke, but I got the point.

I like the stable they have made for me. And, as far as they are concerned, I am going into the stable and they are putting the bolt on the door!

They haven’t said, but they might as well have said, “We can do it the easy way or we can do it the hard way. “

So, knowing all that, as I do, why do I so often pick the hard way? Well, it’s back to the sensibilities again. You see, I want to be told what to do, but I don’t much like it sometimes when I have to do what they tell me. Go figure!

A dom friend of mine told me just the other day (and you know who you are!) that it’s best to get them when they are young. You can train them your way then, he said. Of course, I laughed. I love it when men just say what they think. But, I didn’t come down in the last shower. I am at an age where some might call me a “challenge”.

So why, when I was ready to buck my rider off and go galloping through the woods, one time not so long ago, did the words, “You are a great sub” have me come to a firm halt? Why did I so instantaneously allow them to put my bridle back on, attach my lead, and lead me back to the stable?

Well, because that is what I want to be; a great sub. I have so much to learn, but I am willing. Even though I have all the woods around me, and a very nice meadow in which to play, I want that stable! So, open the door please, I’m on my way. And, thank you, too, for your patience, which you have in spades. I appreciate you both more than I can say.

Cunt Control

She wakes.
She is hot, restless, and aware.
Of her wanting cunt.
She remembers. Cunt control.
And, day two has only just begun.
Three days. An eternity.
She moves closer to the man beside her.
He moves his arm to accommodate her and says,
“I have just opened the window.”
“Let’s pull back a blanket.”
“What’s the time?”
“Maybe, nearly seven.”
“But, it is still dark.”
She brings the alarm clock closer to her face.
“It is 4.45.”
“Let’s go back to sleep.”
She lays there. It’s not going to happen.
Her body is just one big, pulsating, forbidden cunt.
She gets up. She writes.
Anything to distract herself.

Being Bad

Does the sub sometimes get away with bad behaviour?

She may get one past her dom. It is entirely possible. After all, he is not watching her for every minute of the day, and when he asks her a question, he is expecting that her response is honest. So, there is room for her to get away with bad behaviour.

The real question is, 'Does she want to get away with the bad behaviour herself?'

In the short term, she may. She may know, full well, that her behaviour is below par, and she may also know that her dom would take a dim view of the situation, if he knew. So, in the short term, she may be looking to get away with 'it'.

But, looking now beyond the short term, I suspect that the sub has no interest whatsoever in getting away with bad behaviour.

Why should I think that?

Simple. It feels awful.

Now, a few doms I happen to know, think I was a little cheeky a few days ago, in writing a scene about a girl who had thoughts of getting away with 'it'.

Maybe it is news, maybe it is not, but the fact is that girls do have these thoughts. It takes real 'guts' to advise one's dom that one has broken an important rule. The doms I know are not of the inclination to say, "That's all right, dear. I like the fact that you were honest. So, I'm not going to punish you."

No. No. No! The doms I know believe that it is their responsibility to punish the girl and teach her a lesson.

And, rightly so. For such is the mind of the sub, that to get away with the breaking of a rule is nothing less than confusing and even disappointing.

There are a number of reasons for breaking a rule, but one that comes to mind, is that the sub is not happy about the amount of attention she is receiving. He is not paying attention, and if he is not going to pay attention, then she may as well do as she pleases. I suppose you might equate it to the mice who play when the cat goes away.

But, she does not really want to break the rule. She just wants her dom to pay attention to her. Now, in this frame of mind, any old attention will do - good or bad.

Naturally enough, this sort of mind set is simply a slippery slope that will lead her down the garden path to select a switch with which to improve her thinking.

Does she want that? I suggest she does not. It hurts like hell. However, once she has been corrected, her mind is unfrozen, and a proper mind set restored. What the hell was she thinking to have disobeyed in the first place?

Honesty is a two edged sword. Here I am being the honest one, and getting into trouble for it!

So, let me assure the dom, that this sub knows her place, and even if she enjoys a little joke, she knows where the power lies. Happy now?

CARE

Bettina Arndt, well know sex therapist and writer, has recently published, 'The Sex Diaries: Why Women Go Off Sex and Other Bedroom Battles'.

In an article she wrote for 'The Age' Good Weekend magazine, she notes that "researchers from Germany found that, four years into a relationship, less than half of 30-year old women wanted regular sex." She says that "women know their loss of sexual drive is a huge issue in their relationships."

So, Bettina had 98 couples keep a sex diary and to feel free to write whatever they wished. She writes, "With my sex diaries, it was the men's stories that really set me back on my heels. It is so rare that men talk openly about such personal issues, but the diaries gave them permission to let loose...Many feel duped, disappointed, in despair at finding themselves spending their lives begging for sex from their loved partners."

Now, Bettina is not a woman afraid to stir the pot and get people to really think, and she comes up with a very interesting notion:

"It was one of the outstanding achievements of the women's movement to outlaw rape in marriage and teach women to resist unwanted advances. But it simply hasn't worked to have a couple's sex life hinge on the fragile, feeble female libido."

Needless to say, some of the female members of her audiences at the moment are not feeling kindly towards her and her ideas.

But, I think she might have a point. What she is not saying is 'Do it for England!' What she is saying is that if a women made an effort to engage in sex with her partner, she might find that she actually enjoys it herself.

When Bettina originally asked for volunteers for people to keep sex diaries for her she received a letter from Sam. Sam is twice married, 54, whose first marriage fell apart over battles about sex. His first wife regularly refused his requests for sex, and when she sometimes begrudgingly complied, it made him feel like a thief.

Then he married Rose. He writes about Rose, who has a demanding job as a manager:

"She has never used the headache defence, never been too tired. Always, she makes sex a gift if she is not in the mood herself. Often she finds herself enjoying the moment. She does this because she cares about me, about my feelings and my needs. In my case, I'm sure you can guess the outcomes. If I notice Rose is run down and tired, seldom will I reach for her other than to give her a cuddle...I am far from the perfect husband, but I do love and care for her, not because I am a wonderful bloke, but because her so very obvious caring for me can lead to little else other than reciprocity."

It was the word care that resonated with me.

I do think that people in a power exchange relationship have an advantage here. The relationship is built around care. The sub tends to quite naturally want to care for him, in the bedroom and out, and the care he provides her, in the bedroom and out, makes her feel special, thus promoting the care for him. It's a bit of a circle.

It is often said that the sub seeks attention, but I think that is only half of the equation. The dom ensures, in every conceivable way, that the sub demonstrates that she is willing to attend to his needs, too.

Now, things do go wrong in power exchange relationships, too. It tends to be the other way around though, I think. A woman who is finally expressing her submission tends to have a very high libido and perhaps it is the dom who sometimes feigns a headache! He may wonder, 'When is enough, enough?"

And, a power exchange relationship can be delicate. She gives, (and gives in) to the Dom, in the expectation, surely, that she can rely on him to attend to her. She adores the focus, so it is not enough to give her some amazing 'scenes', I think. She wants to know that he is watching; when she is good and even when she is bad. She wants his attention and she wants it regularly. Both team players have responsibilities. I just don't prescribe to the notion that it is all about the dom's pleasure. Long term that just doesn't sound workable to me.

I believe that vanilla partnerships have much to learn from the power exchange relationship. All partners need to talk about what is going to work for them, but if care for one another is high on the agenda, I think that could be the missing ingredient.

Perhaps we can have Bettina interview 98 of us! The results would be fascinating.

Fantasy v. Reality

She stands at his study door. She looks a little nervous.

"Master, may I speak with you a moment?"

He looks up from his lap top at her.

"Of course."

She comes around and stands in front of his desk. She puts her hands behind her back, in the small of her back, one wrist above the other. She seems hesitant.

"What is it, my dear? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, Master...I have a confession to make. I am sorry to say that I have been very bad."

"Oh dear, dear. That's not good news, is it?"

"No, Master."

"Go ahead, girl, confess."

"Well, Master, do you remember the day, a week ago, when I sent you an email asking for permission to touch myself?"

"Yes, dear, I do. I remember telling you how sorry I was that I was not there to receive it."

"Yes, well....."

Her voice drifts off. She is having trouble mouthing the words that she knows will disappoint him so deeply.

"You told me that evening, as I recall, that the urge passed."

"Yes well, that was a bit of a fib."

"So, you lied to me!"

"Yes, Sir, I did. I feel terrible about it. I have lived with my guilt for a week and I have felt terrible about it for every minute of every day, and I am here to confess and receive my punishment. I am so terribly, terribly sorry."

She looks miserable, as if her little world is crumbling.

"Well, what you have done is very, very bad. You know this, don't you?

"Yes, Master."

"And, you certainly deserve to be punished, soundly."

"Yes, Master, I agree."

She could see he was thinking, thinking very deeply as to how to manage the situation, how best to deal with her, and her errant ways."

"Whilst you are deserving of severe punishment for your breaking of a rule, I am impressed by your honesty, girl. It takes a lot of backbone to come to me, a week later, and confess. You could have got away with it, and yet you chose to come and confess to me. I can see that you are very contrite, and that the guilt has played on your mind, and I am of the mind to...forgive you."

She can hardly believe the words she is hearing. She had expected a sound lashing.

"Oh...oh...thank you, Sir. You are so good to me. I promise I will never let you down again. I will never break the rule again."

"I have every confidence in you, my dear. You are nearly always my good girl, and I know that you will try very hard to always be good. Won't you?"

"Yes, Master. Yes, I will."

"I know you will. I trust you and I believe in you."

"You are such a good master. I am so happy."

"All right, my dear. Run along now and finish your tasks."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

She smiles and begins to leave the room.

"My dear..."

She stops and turns around.

"Yes master?"

"You do know, if there should a reoccurence of the breaking of this most important rule, that I would have no choice but to punish you...in a multiplicity of ways. You do understand that?"

She looks pensive, not sure if it was such a good idea to have not received her punishment today, after all.

"Yes, Sir, I do understand that."

"Excellent. It is important that we understand one another."

"Yes Master."

"Very well. Off you go."


"Mum....mum, are you listening to me?"

"Oh...oh...sorry, darling what was that?"

"You seemed to be dreaming..."

"Yes, darling, lost in my thoughts again..."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, it was just a little fantasy..."

Have you been a good girl?

"Have you been a good girl? Have you been keeping your hands where they belong, on the bar, for example, and all the other necessities? I hope so. You can be such a good girl when you put your mind to it. It is a great pleasure to have an obedient girl, one that comes when called and will mind if you talk to her. I imagine that your eyes flash even if your hands are behind your back."

And, of course, she writes back that she has indeed been a very good girl.

Praise is so nice, isn't it? Just what we crave! The ultimate goal.

But...but...what if there was a little slip?

What if she wasn't entirely a good girl?

Should she...should she...confess?

But, if she confesses...she won't be called a good girl, will she?

And....and....she might get the strap! The awful strap!

What to do? What to do?

Maybe she could tell a...fib. Okay, okay...a lie!

Oh, but lying is so bad!

What to do? What to do?

She thinks....she thinks...

The Dungeon

Recently, my husband and I went away together on a little holiday. It was not one of those holidays where we planned to see everything we could see. We were quite content to not travel too much at all.

I found an apartment which was perfect for us. It was set in a trendy little street filled with lovely restaurants, and close to the best part of the city, and the harbour. It was an apartment set in an old house with thick walls. It had been renovated into a contemporary style, and I could see from the pictures on the Internet, that it was just right for us; not too big or too small; just right.

When we arrived, I was delighted to find that whilst the apartment was at the garden level, it was necessary to go down some stairs from the street to reach it, and that when I looked out the bedroom or bathroom window on one side, I could see the feet of the odd person walking by. This appealed for two reasons. Firstly, it was a bit like being in an apartment in London, and I am good at pretending. Secondly, it felt just the tiniest bit like being in a dungeon.

The walls were very thick, too and as luck would have it, we seemed to be the only people on the property, except for a dear sister of the owner who arrived one day to stay in the tiny apartment at the back. My husband has a way of getting girls to tell their story, and she’d just arrived that moment, having left her boyfriend. She was 25 and she’d been with him since she was 17. She said, now she had to learn to do things on her own. We watched for developments, and he came one night. But, she did not return to him while we were there. Once a parent, always a parent!

So, there we were in our own little dungeon. And, I discovered, that a little dungeon is perfect to get a girl into her submissive space.

We slept until we were ready to wake. Divine decadence! When we woke we reached out for each other’s bodies and made love in any number of ways. Sometimes, we drifted off to sleep again. Knowing that a little sustenance in the apartment was probably a good idea, and in fact we rarely left it before two in the afternoon, we had bought some muesli, yoghurt and fruit, and some tea. I delighted in making us our little breakfast each morning. We seemed to just fit right into our roles. I made the breakfast while he made his calls.

In seven days, there had not been one cross word, not one slight disagreement.

But, whilst he had fucked me in any number of positions, tied me up and beaten me, repeatedly throughout the week, it was not really those events that resonated so much with me that we were in a dominant- submissive relationship. Rather, it was the way we approached our little trip to the country, where we went together on a hike and a challenging hike for me.

He asked me, solicitously, if I was prepared to go through it. I assured him I was. He noted the times when I was struggling and he urged me to take a little break; to catch my breath. When we reached the lookout, the half way point, before we hiked down to the beach, he suggested we stop and sit on a big rock, overlooking the whole national park. We sat and drank water and just allowed the beauty (and the breeze) to wash over us. Then, we began the hike down. Most people call it quits at this point, and turn around, but we ventured down, he calling out something, from time to time, to give me an incentive to keep me going.

“Look, I can see water! We are nearly there.”

When we reached the beach, it was all worth it. There were maybe only two handfuls of people, and a lovely sense of peace down there. We found a big rock to lean against and quite naturally fell into our normal position; he with his back resting against the rock and me cuddled up over him, eventually almost asleep as he rubbed my arms and back and legs. It was a sense of ‘being at one’ that only comes in life every now and then.

When it was finally time to leave, he helped me up and we began our ascent. He knew it would be tough for me but he was never cross and I never complained.

“Let me take your backpack,” he said.

“No, you have one yourself. I’m fine.”

“Give it to me. You just look after yourself on these rocks. You are doing very well.”

It was a delicious, quite intoxicating sense of harmony we experienced that day.

And, that’s the nub of it for me. Sure, I crave the sex and the spankings and the thrill of a D/s encounter in the bedroom. But, I also crave the thrill of a day when we can be alone together, traversing life, totally at one. He wants to lead and when I am able to follow, and demonstrate all the submissive virtues, it really is heaven.

I can’t do that all the time. I’m simply not perfect. But, Janus tells me I should not worry. A dominant man enjoys a good excuse to whip a girl.

So, that’s okay, then.

Mentors

There has been considerable talk about the place of mentors in the past weeks. I am very lucky in that when I chose my mentor, I chose very well. Occasionally, I think he worries that he might have got something wrong with me. But, as I tell him, even when he is wrong, he is actually right. It works quite beautifully. I share this little (slightly edited) snippet of our exchange earlier today to explain how simply effective (and effectively simple) it can be:

My husband and I had been for a walk and therein, I said something he didn’t care for, and I was hauled over the coals for it. I do have my ‘not feeling submissive’ moments. You might have guessed.


Anyways, I ended up by turning on my heel and walking home; alone. I put on the kettle and sat down to check my mail online and there was Janus, up for a chat. He asked how I was and I admitted that...


”I'm in a bit of trouble and trying to keep my distance from ‘you know who’ at the moment.


“Why are you in trouble?”


“All was absolutely fine and dandy...good morning...and we were going for a walk, and then we had a bit of an exchange, and he didn't like what I said. He started to get really cross with me and I saw red and I crossed the street. Bad move!! He came over and got even madder and I turned around and walked home. I know I'm meant to go and apologize, but you know what? I'll have to go through the speech all over again, and I 'm trying to cool myself down so that I can take it.


I’m sure you can guess what Janus said, but just for the record:


“It's time for you to take responsibility. Why are you delaying? You know what you need to do. Calm down, go tell him you are sorry. I'll wait. “


“ Okay, okay.... I'm going...”


“I’m back. He accepted my apology.”


“ See, getting it done right away has its rewards.”

“I know that you are right.”


Of course, Janus would not be Janus if he didn’t press my buttons. And, when we had a transmission failure later and our words to one another were not getting through, it was quite funny to later read our responses to one another; neither sure if we had offended one another in some way. You see, he is more than just a mentor, and I’m more than just a ‘green as grass’ sub. We have a lovely, lovely friendship. Lucky, lucky, lucky me!

Gran Torino

We watched ‘Gran Torino’ last night. Perhaps it’s just me, but I found myself thinking about the movie this morning in the light of what I know of dominant men and submissive women.



At one point, Walt (Clint Eastwood) says that his wife, recently deceased, was the best wife a man could ever have. I would have liked to see some evidence of that; some way of demonstrating his loss other than his anger. The anger was there from the very first frame of the movie, at the funeral, and it confused me. Is that really the only emotion one would feel on that day, of all days?



No, I’m sure Walt was feeling a great many things on that day, but to the outside world, it was just expressed as anger. Certainly, we see at the time of his ‘confession’, late in the movie, that he has tried his best in life to live up to his own creed of honesty and doing the right thing. He certainly ‘dominates’ his landscape.



So, just how then, did Eastwood, who produced and directed this movie, translate to his audience that this man had compassion? We saw the compassion in spades, eventually, when he paid the ultimate price for his ‘neighbours’ with whom he came to feel closer than his own sons. But, why do we care about this grumpy old man before we begin to see him being won over with kindness?



Well, I think it is Daisy; his dog. Daisy is his girl. She’s a good girl. She stays close by him. She’s loyal and true, and in turn he is good to her. When there is no one else, there is Daisy. She rides with him in the truck, she sits by him when he sits on his chair on the porch, and she keeps a close eye on him, not leaving his side, even when he takes a bath.



I don’t remember the line exactly. But, when we see Walt lying in the bath, having a cigarette, we know it is out of character. Smoking in the bath? Eastwood gives us a second or two to absorb the inconsistency, and then he says something like,


“Don’t look at me that way, girl. Give me a break! It’s the first time a man has ever smoked in his own house.”


And, instantly we know two things.


1) We know that we have come to understand Walt. He’s let us into his world and he can’t fool us. We care about this man, whether he likes it or not.


2) Walt may be a dominant man, with a submissive girl, but she has some power over him, too. Just a look can change his mind set, have him justifying himself. He dominates her, cares for her and loves her. And, she, by simply being that good, loyal, submissive girl affects him, and everything that he does.


And, in that moment when he speaks to the dog, we come to understand what Walt would have been like as a husband, and the loss he has endured. We learn about that through Daisy.


He’s such an extraordinary actor; a producer and director of such remarkable talent. As the ‘Gran Torino’ drives away along the highway in the final shot of the movie, I wondered if we were seeing Eastwood drive away, too. It has to be his final project, doesn’t it?


If it is, he has left with great style. And, how appropriate that the ‘Gran Torino’ should be left to Thao! And, of course, that Daisy should be riding right up there beside him.

Guilt

Meredith heard the key in the front door and felt a surge of pleasure. It was not usual for him to ask her to go to his apartment on a weekday evening, but it had happened before. His text message had given nothing away. He just asked her to be there by seven o’clock. He had said nothing about dinner. She hoped that meant that either he would bring provisions home, or that they might walk down to one of the nearby bistros. It was a lovely weekday treat – to sleep over. Her workplace was on the other side of town to his. They couldn’t do this all the time, but sometimes it was worth the effort to get up so early the next day.

She rose from her chair and met him at the front door. She always met him at the front door. It was one of his rules. His first image when he walked through the door was of her smiling, happy. He smiled back, took her in his arms and hugged her. He walked her to the kitchen, picked her up and put her up on the bench. She had taken off her shoes and being several inches shorter than him, this was the way he chose to talk to her; eyeball to eyeball.

Neither one of them was yet to say a word. She knew to wait; to wait for him to set the pace, advise her of the agenda for the evening. She saw him search her face; consider her. But, he wasn’t looking at her makeup, or her hair, or what she wore; none of those superficial considerations this evening. He was looking into her soul. He was examining her conscience.

His eyes were burrowing deep into her inner world. She knew this. She knew this because she had been bad, and her conscience was troubled. She would never know how, but he was able to tap directly into the tension; the conflict in her, a conflict between good and bad. He seemed to understand the duality in her, in everyone.

One side of her was driven by greed and ambition. She hadn’t become a leading prosecutor by taking a back seat in the Justice Department. She’d lied, ruined other people’s careers and put self-interest above all other things. However, she had also paid a price. There was shame and her conscience sometimes had her paralysed. Did she really say that? Did she really do that? But, they were fleeting moments – a nightmare here, a moment of clarity there; only sometimes.

When he had examined her long enough for her to know that he knew, he moved away. He took the champagne from the refrigerator, opened it and poured them each a glass. He handed her a glass, they clinked glasses and each took a few sips. Then, he took her glass from her, and put it down beside his, further down the long marble bench.

“Have you anything to tell me?” he asked her...

© Vesta
2009

Asking

It’s a big category – submissive women.

I have read that some submissive women don’t want the spanking. They are interested in only the control.

I’m not one of them. When I had that conversation with my husband to tell him about all the thoughts running about in my head, I didn’t say,

“The thing is...I am a submissive woman.”

That would not have been possible, because I did not know that I was a submissive woman at that time.

What I said was,

“I have a strong desire for you to spank me.”

So, he’s pretty clear on what I want. And, he’s happy to oblige.

We’ve been through various stages of the process, and one stage was that I was purposely naughty so that I could get spanked.

But, eventually that didn’t equate with the ‘good girl’ that I wanted to be. And, so we determined that daily maintenance was probably a good idea.

In fact, it was a very good idea. It works well.

It works well, except, when my man forgets.

One day is usually fine, and two are sort of okay, but by the third day, it really isn’t a good idea for me not to get my morning spanking, or paddling or whipping, or whatever takes his fancy. I just happen to find it very grounding. It keeps me humming along nicely.

I’ve mentioned this problem to my mentor, and surprisingly (!) he told me that maintenance is my responsibility. If I haven’t received it by a certain time, I must ask, politely, to be given my maintenance.

Well, that’s reasonable, of course.

Except for the fact that I’m a submissive woman, remember? I find it very difficult to ask. I have enormous difficulty doing this, and instead, I go and put my head in the sand.

I have been given exercises before – asking exercises. I’ve been trained to ask for things.

But still, it’s torture. It just goes across the grain.

But, I have to try.

Let’s see:

“Please...Sir..."

No...I have to try harder...

“Please, Sir, may I...may I...”

(looks pathetic...hopes he’ll finish the sentence)

(He does not.)

“Please, Sir, may I have...my maintenance?”

There. I did it on paper! Now, can I do it in real life?

It’s the $64,000 question.

ALL STRUNG UP

She had just got into bed, naked. He came into the room and like a man with purpose, strode to his chest of drawers. He took out her ankle and wrist restraints and a piece of rope. He came to her side of the bed, and pulled back the covers.

She did not resist, nor did she say a word. He knew she adored to be restrained, especially when she could stay restrained all night. But, hell would freeze over before she suggested it to him. If she asked, it broke the spell. He knew this. He’d tried to break her of the behaviour, or lack thereof, but it was the way she was.

He could see that she was delighted to be in this invidious situation. A calm came over her in such moments; breathlessness. She lay there completely still and watched him secure her; wrist to wrist, then ankle to ankle and finally, with a piece of rope, ankles to wrists. His intention was to put her on her side and send her off to sleep forthwith. But, in a little bundle as she was, he changed his plan.

He undressed, and turned her so that she was on her back facing him at the side of the bed. He’d had the bed specially made so that it was higher than those in the stores. He’d had the bed made this way for just these moments. He undressed, took one last look at her strung up as she was, and then plundered her.

He felt differently this evening. He was not interested in her orgasmic pleasure right now. He wanted his own pleasure and he fucked her hard and fast. He came, grunting and groaning. He was deeply satisfied.

He withdrew. He walked to the bathroom and collected two tissues and placed them around her cunt. He put her on her side; a tightly strung little bundle.

“Off to sleep now. Straight away! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master.”

She was already drifting into slumber. Her eyes were closed.

He put his clothes back on, and turned off the light; closed the door.

He was deeply satisfied with himself. She was already asleep.

DO I NEED TO SUBMIT OR DO I WANT TO SUBMIT?

I want anyone reading my blog to be very clear about one thing.

I’m no expert in submission. I definitely don’t have all the answers. But, I do know one thing, and I know it very well. I need to experience submission in my life. It is not so much a choice as simply fulfilling a need.

I know this as a fact, because I’ve tried, several times, to give up the submission. I get angry about something and I tell my husband that I don’t want to do this submission thing anymore. I’m no good at it and it doesn’t work. I’m angry and I’m not going to take it anymore!

I’ve done the same thing to Janus, my mentor. I’ll write and say, thank you for everything but I’m confused and it isn’t working out and at the very least, I need to think about everything for a few days.

Now, within a few days (or even hours), I’m full of regret. What was I thinking? Of course, I want to submit. Did I say I didn’t want to submit? That was stupid of me. I’ve changed my mind. Sorry about all that. Can I get back on the horse now, do you think?

My husband and Janus are both incredibly generous souls. Yes, I am forgiven and yes, I can climb right back up on the horse.

BUT, like the boy who cried ‘wolf’, there is only so many times that you can do this, before it gets stale.

So, recently, after one of those ‘I’m not taking it any more’ messages from me, as he likes to call them, Janus wrote to say that I am forgiven, of course, but that from now on, that forgiveness comes with a proviso. I should understand, very clearly, that I am free to walk away from the dominance at any time without a penalty. No problem. But, if I chose to return, then the re-entry would cost me, dearly. The price would be high, and I should think about that first before I advised that I was ‘out a here’ again.

I could not blame him. I certainly could see where he was coming from. I knew I needed to be contained. I had no complaint and sent my understanding of the new rule.

Such are the mysteries of the submissive woman’s mind (I’m sorry, but I cannot speak to the mind of the submissive man) that this new rule brings me peace. I can’t call it quits now. That avenue is closed to me now, and that’s good. I have to stop and think before I drive head long into the wall. That’s a good thing. For, if there is one thing of which I can be sure it is that, if I go ahead and misbehave on this matter, and then ask for forgiveness, Janus will be waiting for me, with the punishment already written out. He’ll make it uncomfortable in a variety of ways, and he will make me regret it. I know the drill and I don’t want to go there.

Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, a potential punishment is nothing short of a turn on. It’s out there and it is thrilling, and one almost, (even sometimes does) misbehave, just to experience the threat played out. I’m not going to deny it. It’s the tickle at your throat that won’t go away. You just want to push the point. It’s heavenly devious.

But, I know Janus well now, and I know that once I had experienced that punishment, I’d never want that punishment again. If he is bluffing, then he won the bluff, because he’s pulled me up, with a round turn.

When you submit to a strong, but tender man, you experience a feeling that I can’t describe.

But, I’ll do my best.

His dominance, and his affection, combined, makes you feel that there is nothing that you can’t do. Under his tutelage, you can be your best. Whether it is how you spent your day, what you wrote, whether you produced a perfect piece of work, if you had the right mindset, or whatever, he is watching, and he is expecting your best. He considers you special and special girls give of their best, pay attention to the detail, and are obedient. Special girls are not dishonest and special girls pay attention to the needs of their dominant. Special girls can fly high, just like Dumbo. They are lovable, loving, loved.

Special girls walk proud, and are happy, confident that they are the lucky ones. Their containment is their piece of paradise, and they don’t think to leave the confines of paradise, for why should they? There is no better place to be.

So, that’s the push and the pull of submission for me. Hell one minute and heaven the next.

I’m a woman. Some would say it is my right to change my mind. Well, sometimes, ‘rights’ comes with costs.

So, I don’t do the ‘I’m mad as hell. I’m not taking it anymore!!’routine.

I'm in it for the long haul, and I'm not complaining.

HER HANDS

She reads again the words he once wrote to her. Her breathing is shallow and her mind set alight with images of the dom seeking the truth. Had she been good? Had she kept her hands where they belong? She had been so prepared to lie, and yet his questioning had exposed the lie. She stood in the corner awaiting correction, and the strap was at the ready too, to teach her a deeper lesson this time.

She sits there, staring at the blank screen now. She knows that she too may not touch herself without permission. But, the effect of the words is so intense and immediate. She longs for the release her fingers may bring.

She tries to resist it, but she cannot.

She goes to the bedroom and closes the door. She takes off her dress and she lays down on the bed. Her fingers make their way into her panties and her open cunt reacts forthwith. She is transported to the scene on the page and this time, it is her in the corner awaiting her master’s correction for her crime. At the same time as she sins, she is receiving correction for the sin. Only this time, there is no pain; only intense pleasure that has her so enraptured she cannot stay silent.

Now, the pleasure is over, and the guilt replaces the pleasure. Will he ask? Will he question her as to the details of the day? And, will she tell, only to be in the corner for real?

Does she risk the pain of redemption or the pain of deceit? Not even she knows what she will decide until the questioning is complete.

THE BEGINNING

This blog is really just for me. It has been closed until today, the only reader being me. But, I have been contacted by a handful of people who have asked if they could read my blog and lately, the idea of writing here has become appealing. We’ll see how it goes.


You may know, that I wrote a few posts for Deity, over at ‘The Lustful Quality of Watching Her Erotic Demise.’ I wrote them back in December, 2008.


At the time, I knew nothing about actually having a blog. I just read other people’s blogs. But, Deity informed me that I needed my own, to transfer the posts over to his blog. Thus, ‘Vesta’s Submission’ was born. You can read those four posts here, but do keep in mind that they were intended for Deity’s site, whilst he had a little holiday.


Since then, life has been up and down. My part of the world has experienced some natural disaster, and much loss of life. And, I haven’t wanted to dwell too much on the machinations of my mind. It seemed too peripheral to all the loss people around me were experiencing.


And yet, submission is a big part of my life, and I can’t ignore it. It goes to the heart of me and what makes me happy. A happy woman makes for a happy man, and children, so it is to my family’s benefit, I would argue, that I continue to explore my submission, in spite of difficulties in the outside world.


My husband and I were talking about a family member recently, and her inability to focus on what was important. He said to me, “She is too busy analysing the analysis.” I burst out laughing. “I’ll remember that,” I said. “It’s perfect!”


So, I do wish to avoid, “analysing the analysis” in these blog posts, even if they are only going to be read by me, mostly.


On the other hand, I’m awfully prone to analysing the submissive response, and analysing MY response to submission, and so I apologize in advance to any reader who happens by, if I become a bit too ‘analytical’ in my response to the challenges thrown at me. In the past several months, I have developed the knack of what I call, ‘unpacking my mind’. That is to say, I write down why I might not have reacted well to any particular situation, and I try to analyse myself. Why was I not able to act submissively? Why did I feel upset when I read that message? Why am I feeling needy?


I regret to inform that the process can be time consuming. It has me pondering as I drive the car, or iron a shirt, or drift off to sleep. If I can’t get to the nub of it, I take my writing note book and write down thoughts. If I put on my runners and put the notebook into a carry bag and walk myself to a cafe, where I then drink coffee and write even more notes, one can be sure that not too much is going to be achieved until I have figured it out. My (inappropriate) submissive response or lack thereof, has to be reconciled. And, that is all there is to that.


This is the process that took place over the past several days and I’ll speak to it one day. However, I must warn the reader that, it’s complicated. Frankly, I'm complicated, and I’m especially grateful to those men in my life, who know this, but love and care for me anyway. I’ve an outstanding husband, a brave and wise mentor, and a few lovely dominant male friends. Together, they keep me on the straight and narrow, and whilst the blog is for me really, I dedicate the writing to them. Without them, I’d be...wanting.


So, if you can find something on these pages that interest you, then welcome to you.

THE THICKET

Since Deity will be back with you in just a day or two, this will be my last post. It has been a delight to make a contribution to this blog. I have gathered much inspiration from the pages here over time, and I have loved the opportunity to give something back.

He’s a special bloke, our Deity. When I wrote and told him how much I was enjoying writing the posts and that I found it liberating, he wrote back to say how pleased he was to hear it. He said that it had accomplished something that he had hoped when he first envisioned me writing for the blog. You see what I mean? Very special, indeed!

I’d like to leave you all with a memory. It was a very special day for me and I hold the memory dear. Now, it pleases me to share it with you...

“One Saturday morning, quite early in the morning, my husband awoke me and asked if I had anything special to do that morning. Groggily, I told that I did not.

“Good. Then, have a quick shower, put on your blue skirt...that bohemian one...and the white crocheted top. No underwear. We are going to the Botanical Gardens for your punishment.”

“But, what about the children?”

“The children are old enough to be left on their own and you know it. Quickly now! No more
delaying. Your punishment is well overdue.”

I prepared for our ‘outing’ with a sense of reluctance, together with a sense of heightened anticipation. I was quiet, contemplative and resigned to my fate.

There were few cars on the roads, but plenty of runners on the track that leads around the Gardens. I chose not to look into the faces of the running men. Could they know the reason the man accompanying me carried a thin piece of bamboo as one would a walking stick? In any case, I looked the other way to avoid the potential embarrassment.

As we made our way into the depths of the Gardens we travelled the paths that led past all varieties of plants, hand in hand. Neither of us spoke. When we reached ‘the thicket’, the vast planting of bamboo with an entrance that was denied to visitors (though not us), my husband searched the area for onlookers and on seeing none, beckoned me to follow him.

We passed the hundreds of bamboo plants, enough bamboo to make canes to last a lifetime, until we reached the secluded bench by the lake, deep in shade. It was a little area we had discovered and claimed our own. That is not to say that it was exclusively ours. Boys and girls from the local grammar school ventured here too, as disclosed by the cigarette packets they left behind. I reminded myself that no self-respecting teenager would venture to the Gardens this early in the morning.

“All right. I want you to tell me why you are about to be punished.”

“Because...because I didn’t fill up my car with petrol, and we ran out in the city last week.”

“Yes, that’s right. And, have you had many warnings about filling your car up well before it reaches empty on the gauge?”

“Yes. I have.”

“Yes, you certainly have. Perhaps once you’ve had a caning for it, you might decide it would be in your interest to attend to the matter earlier. All right. Now, I want you to bend over the back of the bench. Rest the palms of your hands on the seat, please.”
I did as I was asked.

He lifted the back of the light, cotton skirt over my back to reveal my bare bottom.

“There will be twelve strokes and extras if you come up. Remember, you need to be very, very quiet. Understand?”

I nodded.

He stood beside me and rested the cane across my bottom, tapping a little. Then, he lifted it up and brought it down on my bottom, hard.

“What do you say?”

“One, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

As each stroke created a new stripe on my bottom, I willed myself to be stoic, but the fifth
stroke was searing and without a thought, I was up, and turned, with my arms around his neck and my head in his shoulder.

“Please, please no more. It really hurts. I will be good. I promise. I won’t ever do it again.”

“I’m sure you are sorry, sweetheart, but when I say there will be twelve strokes, I mean it. Now, you have been good up until now. Be a good...”

“Ohhh. There’s someone there. I can see someone with a backpack through the plants. He’s stopped. He’s listening.”

“Quiet now. Be very quiet, and he’ll go away.”

We waited, glued together, still as statues.

“Okay. He’s gone now. It’s safe. Back over the bench, little one. Be a good girl and after it is over, I will take you to breakfast.”

I let go of him, and returned to my whipping bench. I revealed my poor bottom to his cane. He proceeded on with the punishment and I willed myself to take the strokes silently. He had taken over the counting, softly declaring the number taken.

“Nine.”

“Nine!! That was number 10.”

“Oh, I see, you still have your wits about you. Yes, that was ten.”

If he was testing me to see if I would launch from the seat to hit him, he wasn’t going to win. I had come this far. I wasn’t rising without permission. My mind was settled on it.

Eleven was easy. Twelve, the final stroke, was hard. He had made a point to tell me that it would be memorable, and it was. The stroke landed on my thigh. The thick welt was immediate and I sucked in air and shook to contain the pain without sound.

He helped me to stand when I was ready and hugged me tight.

“Good girl. My good girl. I am proud of you. Come and sit with me so that I can comfort you.”
We cuddled and watched the ducks pass by in front of us for several minutes; he often caressing my thigh, as if to will the welt away.

“You must keep the car filled with petrol, now, darling, all right. It is dangerous to be so low all the time. Do you promise me you won’t do it again?”

“I promise.”

“All right, then. Let’s get some breakfast now.”

We left the thicket and made the way back along the paths to the cafe. Their seats are wooden and the sitting was anything but comfortable. But, I was happy, and proud of myself. I had never loved him more.

As this year comes to a close, we look ahead to a new year, full of the promise and hope that all beginnings bring. Our little community here knows the value of being true to ourselves, listening carefully to one another and looking out for one another. We are better together, than apart. Each and every one of us, in our own way, can make a difference to the shape of this New Year around the world.

I wish you all a joyous and peaceful 2009.