His toy

She was in bed before him, as was their custom at the current time. He had been immersed in writing important documents and she had not wanted to disturb him. She had prepared for bed in the usual way. She had showered, brushed her teeth and inserted her black training plug. She settled herself under the covers, wearing a black silk nightgown. Although it was winter, it had been well over a year since she had thought to wear anything at all to bed, save the lightest of nightgowns. Her body ran hot these days.

Unexpectedly, he came into the bedroom and undressed. This was a surprise to her and she wondered if she had done the right thing in putting in her plug. He got into bed and began to run his hands over her body. He felt the plug in her ass.
.
"Shall I take it out?"

"No, I'll do that. Take off the gown. We don't need that."

She sat up and pulled the gown over her head. Tossed it to the floor and laid down. Immediately, he turned her over, onto her stomach and she sensed quickly that he intended to enter her. She felt a little panicked. The ass plug had been a little sensitive when he had taken it out and now she was tentative.

"I don't know if I am ready..."

"Be quiet!"

She stopped talking and as she did, he put pressure on her body; felt her shoulders and ran his hands firmly over her back. The firm pressure settled her. He used the palm of his hand to hold her down by the back of her head, and when she had grasped the fact that he would have his way with her this evening, he grabbed a handful of hair in his hand and held it, tight.

She went limp. Her body relaxed as she was comforted by her inability to move. Her state of capture had settled her nicely, as he had come to know it would. He entered her with an ease not previously known and he fucked her in her ass cunt in a similar fashion as if he had used her pussy cunt. His satisfaction at using her was felt by her and she understood, in those moments, what it was to be used in all her holes; to be his to fuck at will.

He withdrew his cock and left her for a moment or two; went to the bathroom for a short time as she lay there, wondering what was to happen to her next.

He returned to her as she lay exactly as he had left her. Without a word, he entered her in another hole. He entered her pussy cunt this time and when he was ready, he took his pleasure without a thought for her.

He took a tissue from the box and he placed it in her pussy cunt to mop up the juices. He gathered the black velvet rope and bound her wrists tight. He took another tissue and blew her nose. He put her on her side, facing away from him and told her to go to sleep.

She did as she was told and quickly drifted into slumber. For perhaps a few hours, she slept well; oblivious. In the darkest and coldest moments of the night, she awoke; aware of her want and then, of the fact that her hands were not hers to use. She lay there; still, silent, secure.

As a fucktoy should.

Acting genteely

As readers may note from the sidebar, where I list the blogs that I read, 'Marriage Bliss' is a blog that I follow, and have followed for some time. As a bystander, it seems to me that sometimes the readers of 'All Knowing Man' have been upset because he didn't subscribe to their way of thinking. Some people were expecting this and instead, they got that. It happens.

Personally, I don't feel right about mixing religion and relationship dynamics in together. If that works for you, great! But, when I talk about dominance and submission, I don't think religion at all. I think about people who might be happiest if they are in a power exchange relationship that is in line with their nature. I definitely don't think that power exchange relationships work for everyone. However, I do believe that a power exchange has a great deal going for it.

In my readings over at 'Marriage Bliss' considerable space has been given to the fact that a wife has the power to get what she wants without shouting, screaming, freaking out, or otherwise being nasty. In a power exchange relationship, a wife, who is cared for and deeply loved by her husband, has the opportunity to ask sweetly for that which she wants. She may not be granted her request, but if that is so, it is either because her husband is unable to grant the wish or that, at this time, he doesn't think it a wise decision to grant her wish, for whatever reason.

I do not wish to leave the impression that I have this skill nailed. There are times when my voice rises, when I nag rather than politely request, and when I don't accept the words, "No, I am sorry. We are not doing that right now." with grace. I am not a saint, an angel or in any way perfect.

However, I do see the logic and common sense in this train of thought, and I do feel that a woman has more chance of living in harmony with her man if she can nail this skill. Working on the basis that he would not deny that which his girl would want, if it is in his power to agree, or if he believes it in his girl's interest, then asking politely and accepting his decision seems fair.

In the case where his priorities are not those of his girl, and this does happen, the art of feminine persuasion is at the girl's disposal. There is more than one way to skin a cat, my friends. Let us not delude ourselves here!

You want him to want to come home to you, right? And you want his agreement on certain matters, too? Well then, be nice! Then, chances are higher that you both get your way!

Submission unknown

There is a common theme to the trajectory of the dominant male. He grows into his dominance. In spite of the fact that the Internet is loaded down with college girls talking of their emerging submission, the simple fact is that the youthful male is rarely ready to assume the responsibility of a girl who has leanings towards a desire for submission, but no real understanding of that deep, inner desire.

So, what is to become of the coupling between a girl in her early twenties with a man, mature and wise for his years, yet still not mature in terms of years on this earth?

One of the difficulties of such a match is that a girl may not know what it is she needs and yearns for. She knows what she knows. She knows that her father was not available to her growing up, and even now, in a way that is critical for her. She knows that she chose a boy with a strong mind and will. She knows, and can even verbalize to the boy who has grown into a man that she needs a strong mam, chose a strong boy, even back then; that she would walk over and spit on a man who was weak.

Her behaviour, although kept in check by the man's persistence, attention and steady resolve, has erred in the extreme. She has shamed herself. Even her own family cannot dismiss her aberrant and completely unacceptable behaviour. They tell the man that they would understand if he walked away.

He is not the kind of man to walk away. He bears a gentle soul, a loving disposition and a sense of responsibility to the girl. She is a wild girl but he loves her and she loves him. But, something in her life is not in place. He is at a loss.

The mother of the boy looks on; conflicted. She knows what the girl needs, as sure as she knows that the sun will rise shortly. She knows that the girl needs more than the man's quiet control now. It is not enough.

The girl needs to know that the man will do whatever is necessary. The girl needs to know that she will be called on her unacceptable behaviour. She needs to know that she will be corrected. And, forgiven.

Somehow, the mother has to convince the man that it is all right for him to be not only strong for her, but to be her disciplinarian.

She wants that from him. She needs that from him. Until she is corrected, she cannot heal; or grow. Until she feels a sense of containment, her life is out of control, and she is out of control. To be happy, she needs him to assert himself in no uncertain way.

The girl is asking for what society tells her she cannot have. She is meant to take responsibility for herself by now and yet she cannot demonstrate her ability to be responsible until she experiences what it is to be reined it. He has chosen one of those girls and she has chosen one of those men. Yet, neither of them know why.

The mother knows why. Yet, life has its own pace. We learn when we are ready to learn. She knows that and she is loathe to interfere in what is not hers to decide. There is, after all, an easier path for the man with another girl, perhaps. She looks on. Worries. Hopes. It is her beloved son and she wants him to be happy; now and always. He deserves much love. She looks forward with eager anticipation to the opportunity to talk with him. For now, she thinks, all she can do is listen.

On the home front

As one ages, one develops theories about life. Most of them cannot be proven but the theories develop, nonetheless. I have a theory that in the vast majority of women, the instinct to create a nest is overwhelming. She may not go on to have babies in her nest, but even so, her desire to create a peaceful and aesthetically pleasing home for her herself and her mate is something over which she has little control.

In my life, I have lived in very small spaces and in large spaces. I have had next to no garden to a large garden. In all those cases, I have looked to make of it, all that I can. I don't think it does us any good to wish we had somebody else's property. I do think that we owe it to ourselves and those we live with, to make the space we own or rent, as pleasing as possible. I can't get my head around people who complain about their lot in life, but don't put in some hard work to make things better. I love watching those shows where they transform an ugly little back yard into a pleasing space to relax and entertain. To turn something from ugly to beautiful: what could be better than that?

In unions between men and women, it is the business of beautifying their space that can lead to issues, for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps, the man feels he is too busy to give his time to it. He wants to co-operate, and he agrees with the project. He really does. But, why pay someone to do what he can do? Yet, he does not have time to do it. And, there's the 'catch 22'.

A submissive woman walks a very fine line. The last thing she wants is his ire and general upset between them. Part of the reason she has accepted her submissiveness is that she so very much wants to avoid upset, and being submissive does that nicely. Yet, her submissiveness is sorely tested when it comes up against her deeply held desire to get on with projects to make her nest the aesthetically pleasing home she would want for her family.

The dominant man, as we recently discussed on the blog, is a man who looks to dominate his landscape. He is often busy at the office. Inclined to like things his way, he goes the extra mile there. This can take all his focus, and the love of his life's projects can be much further down his list of things to do. I understand that. I am a pragmatist. I see things as they are.

Yet, as we also recently discussed on the blog, a submissive woman is still a woman. Like any woman, she only has so much patience in her reserve. It is the foolish dominant man who does not accept this. She is a force in her own right; that submissive woman of which I speak here. She likes to get things done and the dominant man who tries to get in her way, can find himself with a most unsatisfied submissive, indeed. And, we don't want that, do we?

The submissive woman wants to please. To please her man is in her nature. And, that is very nice for the dominant man. It seems only fair that the dominant man should want to please his girl. Sometimes, it is best for him to have less words and more action. Sometimes, it is best for him to accept his fate, go get the ladder and get on with it!

Pushing her edges

"Are you cursing me, little one? Be a good girl for me!"

It is the dominant man's job to push at the edges; to get the girl to do what she has some difficulty in doing. She's been used to dressing in a certain way and it is time to shake things up a bit. He wants her to think about her body in a different way. Not so much her body naked, accessible and available for use; rather, her body put into an outfit that makes her feel vulnerable; different.

She's a slut and she knows it. She loves being a slut and there aren't too many edges to push as far as that is concerned. But, he has a notion to dress her a bit like a slut and this challenges her more than she could have known. She wants so much to be a good girl and yet he has burrowed deep into every chink in her armour. So used to making the most of her assets, she is being asked to embrace the parts of her body that she does not appreciate at all. She is being asked not only to see herself in a different light but to think about herself in a different light, too. A writer needs, does she not, to put herself into the mindset of a girl other than herself?

Who is this little girl? She has created a persona for herself, as all girls do. She has dressed carefully to hide what she does not like about her body. She has chosen clothing that she enjoys wearing and that shows her in the best light. Her clothes say about her those parts of her personality she wishes people to see; no more.

Now, he asks her to peel away the top layers of her carefully honed persona and expose every last vulnerability. As if she were an actress in a movie playing a stranger, he asks her to dress unlike herself. He asks her to dress in a way where she cannot be herself. He asks her to reveal what she usually hides; her inner thoughts.

She begs him to reconsider. He won't relent. Why all the fuss? Is her body not exposed at the beach? The dress would allow her more protection than a swimming suit?

It's not the point and she knows that he knows that it is not the point. The dress he asks her to wear may have more material than a bathing suit but a bathing suit doesn't make her feel like this.

She wants to please. She wants to accept the challenge and defeat her insecurities. Yet, she can't do it. She returns the dress to the rack and leaves the store. She cannot bring herself to buy the silly dress. She curses his tactics, and smiles to herself at the same time. Of all the things to be looking for!

She wishes she were making the purchase for her daughter. Alas, he wishes to challenge her.

She has an idea and sends him photographs of stylish dresses; longer dresses. Does he not think they are lovely? Does he not think she would be able to feel a slut beneath such a sophisticated dress?

It is a last ditch effort.

He's a nice man. Surely, a nice man would see things her way.

Nice try!

Dominance

The dominant man is inclined to be someone with well formed opinions. He likes things done in a certain way. It stands to reason. I am casting my mind's eye over the dominants I know, in person and by their words, and none of them are short of an opinion. The submissive woman in his life comes to know these opinions well. Unafraid to air them, the dominant man informs his girl of how he would like their home to look, how he would like her to behave, how he would like her to dress. Many of them have particular tastes in flowers, in food, in cars, and decor.

So, if one follows this line of thought to its logical conclusion, could dominant men be snobs? In order to determine some kind of answer to this question, a definition is required:

"One who tends to patronize, rebuff, or ignore people regarded as social inferiors and imitate, admire, or seek association with people regarded as social superiors.
One who affects an offensive air of self-satisfied superiority in matters of taste or intellect."

I can only speak for myself when I say that the word 'snob' has a negative connotation. It would hurt me to be called a snob, for example. The words "rebuff or ignore people regarded as social inferiors" actually offends me.

In life's social order, there will almost always be someone above us or below us. There will always be someone more intelligent or less intelligent. There will always be someone with more money or less money. This should be of no concern to us, as far as I am concerned. Life has dealt us a certain hand and we must play it as best we can. Fortunately, happiness has little consideration for money, or station in life; for possessions or even for beauty. Happiness can be found in the most unexpected places.

So, what about "seeking association with people regarded as social superiors"?

Realistically, the dominant man is likely to do this, to at least some extent. Wanting to dominate his landscape, he may need to seek out people of power, people of influence. I believe the term for this is 'networking'. It is just part of life and part of the dominant's life. But, does the dominant man seek out "social superiors" as his friends, to the exclusions of others? It is a generalization I am not prepared to make either way. I just don't know.

And having said that, one must ponder, does the dominant man "affect an offensive air of self-superiority in matters of taste and superiority"? Probably, would be my answer. He is likely to have well honed thoughts about the way things should be. He may look down on another man whose dress is not suitable for the board room. He may consider his secretary inappropriately dressed if she is wearing pants rather than a skirt. He may deplore the bright nail polish he sees on a girl in the street, and physically cringe at the ring in her lip. He has standards and he disapproves of those who do not meet those standards. I think that this is a fair statement but again, generalisations are just so tricky. We are all inclined to hold opinions about others, whether we air them or not.

Since generalisations are just so tricky, let's take an example. Let's take my boss of yesteryear. He was definitely a dominant man. Self-made, he used his formidable social skills, hard work ethic, and determination to make his way to the top of his industry. Was he a snob? Based on the above definition, yes he was. He did seek out people at the top of the social pecking order, and he did look down on certain people as being ordinary or average. He did have particular tastes and he did have a "self satisfied superiority" about those tastes. Was he good man? Yes, he was. He had a particularly soft spot for women and I remember once the wife of a man who had been sacked, coming to see him. She laid out her case for more compensation and whilst he didn't have to, he increased that compensation. As he watched her through the window return to her car, he said something like:

"There she goes. She got all dressed up in her best clothes to come and see me. She swallowed her pride, and she came to do what he could not do. How could I say no?"

He felt for her as he felt for so many.

One day, he fell very ill in the street. It was his heart and he was in real trouble. A blind man approached him and asked his help to cross the street. He told me, "As I became his eyes, it was the support of his body that got me across the street." The rich man and the poor man were acting in concert.

He never lost sight of the fact that we are all just people, doing our best. He never lost the vision of his mother, trying to bring up her children with next to no money; her efforts to do so with pride and grace. Sure, he revered those who had 'made it', sought their company and enjoyed their intelligent conversation, but he never lost 'the common touch'. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, a dominant man. He had some snobbish ways, but his heart was good.

Dominant men are the aggressors in life. They are pro-active in their environment; not passive. They assert themselves.

In my efforts to think through this thought, I spoke with my husband. There is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that he is a dominant man, also. He said, that dominant men are quite naturally, more likely to reach leadership positions. Yet, it was those men who were able to span all socio-economic groups without passing judgement that he admired. Maybe a man had been smarter or luckier than him, but that didn't make him better than others. He shook his hand with the same ease that he shook the hand of the humblest worker.

Now, if a girl on the end of the telephone decides to get snooty and unco-operative on the other end of the phone, trust me, he won't be so generous. Arrogance will prevail as he gives her a good dressing down as to what her job is - to serve the customer. And, if I should choose to not dress appropriately to attend an event, I can assure you his "self satisfied superiority in matters of taste" would prevail. Similarly, if I should fall short of his "self satisfied superiority in matters of intellect" he would let me know that I should smarten up my footsteps. Is he a snob? I certainly don't so. In fact, I know he is not.

Perhaps submissive women have come to expect a little arrogance in their dominant man. No woman wants a 'wimp'. Let's call a spade a spade. Yet, a little humility and grace goes a long way, too.

I believe in standards; traditions, structures and expectations. Someone has to lead; someone has to set the tone. At the end of the day, perhaps 'arrogance' is just 'part of the deal' of a dominant man. Humility, the 'common touch', is desired. At journey's end, we all go to the same place.

Comfortable in her own skin

A dominant friend recently read a scene I had written and kindly offered some feedback. The scene is in the couple's bedroom and she is naked and in a compromising position, shall we say. In that feedback, he reminded me that girls are insecure about their bodies. There is usually something that they want to hide from their dominant. I have been pondering this. What does my character want to hide from her dominant? What doesn't she like about her own body and what does he plan, if anything, to do about that?

Needless to say, the next question was, what don't I like about my body? What do I hide from my dominant? Well, my dominant knows full well that I would have adored to have longer legs. A couple of extra inches would have been lovely. As well, like most women, he knows that if I put on a little weight around my stomach, I'm not going to like the effect, and I'm going to do what I can to hide that fact from him, and the rest of the world.

I think the problems start at school, really. Perhaps there are lots of skinny girls in the class, and the less skinny girls start to notice the differences between them and the others. Maybe, a girl makes a careless remark. Maybe, she even makes a cruel remark. The die is cast.

My daughter has a gorgeous bottom, but when she was growing up she thought of it as horrible. I would tell her that boys would love her bottom, that her bottom looked wonderful in jeans and so forth; that she was lucky to have such a sexy bottom. It was not much use. I was her mother, she said, and naturally, I would say that. Her brother felt like tormenting her one day and told her that her bottom was "giggly". You can imagine how she responded to that comment! Fortunately, her boyfriend tells her how much he loves her bottom. She still asks, when we are out shopping, if the outfit she is trying on makes her bottom look fat, but I am happy to report that she has a good relationship with her body now. She is very pretty and she knows it. Does she try to hide anything from her boyfriend? I really don't know.

Before my husband and I decided to make our marriage one of a power exchange, I certainly did feel insecure about my body. My body was younger and thinner than it is now, but still I worried terribly if I put on a pound. Even when very thin, I was self-conscious at times. Certainly, if he wanted to part my cheeks, or have me totally exposed, kneeling on the bed with my ass in the air, I would be hesitant about that. There was nothing about me to dislike, and yet there I was, acting unlikable.

When we turned things around; when I finally gathered the gumption to finally ask for what I wanted, everything changed completely; almost in a day. I have the shape of a woman these days, rather than the very thin girl I was right after my first child. Yet, I have never felt so comfortable in my own skin. Don't get me wrong. The couple of extra kilos I have put on have to go, but even so, I don't hide anything from my dominant. He can do what he wants with me. He can put me in any position he chooses. There is nothing left for me to hide. I have exposed myself as I am; a slut, a sexual being, a girl who wants to be used and enjoyed.

A few weeks back now, my husband had bought some new rope. It turned out to be a very long piece and he tied me up, a bit the way Popeye used to tie up Olive Oil. It took him some time to do it and by the time he was finished, and I had been left to mature, I was deep in my own space. He took some photographs and the proof of my contentment is there in those photographs. I looked sublimely content. To my eye, I'm not sure that I looked beautiful. But, to my husband's eye, I looked ravishing. He adores those photographs and has mentioned them several times. "If only your readers could see those photos. They would understand what you are trying to say," he said to me. "In their dreams," I replied.

My point is this. A power exchange is gold. Few girls in the whole world think of themselves as without flaw. It is perhaps only her dominant who can convince her that she is truly beautiful; that he wants to explore every inch of her body; wants to behold every part of her. He wants her to be happy in her own skin. I ask you, does it get any better than that?

Attention

It is no secret that the submissive finds the attention she receives from her dominant appealing. Even if a girl (another reminder here that I know not all submissives are girls, but I don't feel that I have any knowledge about submissive males that is worth sharing) does not consciously realize that this is a major reason why she wants to be under the power of a dominant, on some level she knows that she is a bit of an attention sponge. I don't say this disparagingly. I am, after all, one of those attention sponges of whom I speak.

We all know what it is like to be speaking to someone not paying attention to our words. They tend to lose engagement in the conversation, merely nodding or perhaps thinking their own thoughts. Their gaze begins to wander around the room. You know you have lost them.

My husband and I caught a lovely show from the UK last night on the television; 'Outnumbered'. The parents were trying to talk to the grandfather about the fact that he was too unwell to live in his own home. The children had been settled elsewhere, but of course, in one came (a precocious seven year old)to ask if he could have some biscuits.

"Yes. All right. Go!"

"Can I get my head shaved, too?" he then asked.

He knew that they were not listening to him; merely paying him 'lip service'.

A dominant does not listen to his submissive at his peril. He has to be 'in the moment'. He has to pay attention to her exclusively in order to do his job well. Whilst at times it can be 'challenging' to answer all the dom's questions, the submissive is appreciative of the attention. He does not want to misinterpret what she is saying. He might ask her to define a word, to put her words in another way, to explain further what she means. All this time, he is paying close attention to her words, and even the way she moves her body. Is she looking straight at him or has she glanced out the window? Is she straightforward in her speech or is she using generalities? He wants to be sure of her meaning.

In the past day I have read two very interesting posts and both of them relate to the issue of a dominant needing to pay attention to the girl, at the exclusion of all else. Whilst together, he is focused on her and only her. Mr. Cross notes:

"When I am working a girl, or training, or mentoring, I feel it is critical to be in the moment. One does not wish to be distracted by thoughts of what has been, or what may be. For myself, if I am to read a girl's responses well, then I must focus my attention on her. Interestingly, I often find that my focus is so directed that I am not even paying attention to my own responses."

In his story of the cherry picker, Deity notes (and by the way, welcome back Deity. It is such a pleasure to see you publishing again!):

"He took to his tasks with the same qualities. His calling was the thousands of cherry trees growing in the orchard just outside his door. He didn't see the empty pails waiting to be filled with the sweet, red morsels. Nor did he see trees teeming with ripe fruit, ready for his gathering. Instead, he saw only individual cherries popping from the tree into his hand. Each garnet, with its rosy skin and firm, yet curved rump received his undivided attention."

It is one of the greatest gifts a girl can be given; to be the recipient of undivided attention. When he shines his light on her, she begins to believe that she can be whatever he wants her to be. She can shine bright.

Without adequate attention the connection between the dominant and the submissive fades. She needs that attention like she needs oxygen to breathe. He knows that, and he watches carefully; questions closely.

All is well.

The Story of O

When I was a university student, I had a casual job working as a waitress and one evening after my shift, I went to the movies alone after the shift. I went to see a movie called 'The Story of O'. It is a long time ago now, but I suspect that I knew the vaguest of outlines of the story I was about to see. If it was about a relationship between a man and woman, then it would have interested me. I remember that the theatre was full.

I feel certain that I did not move an inch for the entire screening of the movie. I was completely captivated. I had never seen, and never thought I would see such things on a movie screen. I loved every single second of the movie. I suspect if I saw it again today, I might think it not so wonderful, but to my young mind, that had been filled with visions of being manhandled in such ways, it was intoxicating. As I think back to the moment I got up and joined the crowd leaving the theatre, I remember being still and silent. As usual, my brain told me that to be still and silent was to keep my secret firmly locked away from any discovery. I heard a woman say to the man beside her, "What a lot of rubbish that was." He did not answer her, and neither did I.

Alone in my bed that evening, I masturbated to the scenes of the movie in my head and it goes without saying, surely, that I had exquisite orgasms. I was layered in sweat.

I don't remember exactly when I bought a copy of 'The Story of O' but I think it was soon after seeing the movie. I was already going out with my husband, and from time to time, he noticed that I delved into that particular novel pretty regularly. I did my best to delve into the novel when he was not around.

Time passed and we passed into another era; young children and life in another country. My copy of 'The Story of O' came with me, of course. As my life gave itself over to my children, there was little time to delve into novels of any sort, but the truth is that by now, my copy was well worn.

One day, when I went for it, it was not there. I looked everywhere for it and ultimately I asked my husband if he has seen it. He informed me that he had, but that it was gone. He had thrown it away. When I asked him why he had done that he told me that I was acting strangely and that the book was having a negative effect on me. It was time for it to go.

I honestly don't think I even responded to this. I may have said that it was my book, but little else. I was really quite shaken that I had been exposed in some way and I committed to going further down into my shell; hiding myself and my thoughts better from the world at large, including him. I never even contemplated for a moment buying another copy.

A few years went by. I really don't know any more how many years went by. One day, when he arrived home from work he had a small gift for me. I opened the parcel to find there a brand new copy of 'The Story of O'. He was sorry, he said, to have taken away my book. He was wrong. This was a replacement and he hoped that I would enjoy delving into it again.

You know, I don't have to tell you, that I was deeply moved, and at that moment, much that had not been right inside of me, was put right. I had been accepted for who I was; in some measure, at least.

More years would go by before I would have the courage to admit to him who I truly was, what I truly wanted. Yet, it was an important landmark in our life together.

'The Story of O' is not a perfect story. Sir Stephen is not the perfect dominant. We all know that. But when Pauline was writing down her story, she was writing it for her lover. It was her insurance policy that he would return to her waiting arms. She was not too concerned with the perfect story but rather the most erotic story for the two of them.

In the newspaper sometimes, there is a page devoted to a person and the five most important items of their life. I can assure you, that if I were to be asked about the five most important possessions of my life, one of them would be my copy of 'The Story of O'.

Waiting not so patiently

A submissive woman is a woman who is submissive. So, she is a woman (duh!) with a submissive nature. Therefore, even though she is submissive, she is still a woman, like any other woman. Women like to get things done and submissive women therefore like to get things done, too. There is no difference here.

Submissive women, being the submissive sort, tend to try to get all the things they want done themselves. Usually, this does not work out all that well, because there is more work in a household than she can usually manage on her own. Even if she lives alone, she may need a man for some things. She may, for example, not have the strength to do some tasks on her own, or she may not have the skills that a man may have, since perhaps the father taught motor mechanics to his son but not his daughter. (I know. I know. The water is getting very muddy.)

A submissive woman may not be very good at asking for help. That is entirely possible. On the other hand, the submissive woman may feel all right about asking, but find that she gets "fobbed off". So, her man may tell her that he'd be happy to do the task, or help with the task "later". He may say that he has "work to do first". She is not at all an unreasonable sort of girl, so she accepts this statement for what it is and waits patiently and quietly for the "later" to roll around.

She waits. She waits. She submissively waits some more. She mentions the task again eventually and he says that "soon" he can get to it. It should not be too much longer now.

Time goes by. Lots of time goes by. And, one day, when she least expects it, she explodes. She is done with waiting and it is time he took her seriously. Exactly when will he be available for the task, anyway?

He is a dominant man. Therefore he is a man (duh, again!) who happens to be comfortable dominating. He is aghast! His submissive has "freaked out" on him, and in such an unreasonable way! He, after all, has only been fobbing her off for eons. What can she be thinking?

He tries all the old standard techniques. She is to put her hands behind her back and listen to him in silence. She tries. She really tries but he's got her back up and whilst at this moment she is all woman, the submissive part is missing. She rejects his "dominance" outright. She wants an answer to her question and she wants it now. Just *when* will he be available?

He look into her eyes. She is dead serious. He has pushed her to her elastic limit. With threats of what will happen if she doesn't return to submissive mode fast, he retrieves the leaf blower. Maybe, he has an hour this Sunday afternoon, after all! He will dominate his landscape with his leaf blower and as she works beside him, in her mind she prepares to submissively thank him profusely for his contribution.

She makes a mental note to be particularly sweet and submissive this evening. She knows which side of her bread is buttered. There is always the possibility that the dominance of the landscape may not be quite enough dominating for one day. This thought occurs to her and, pure serendipity (!) she reaches out to him and kisses him on the lips. What a sweet, submissive girl she truly is!

The report

She was at her desk in the open office at the newspaper. She was surrounded by people about her; working at desks near by, and walking past her desk. Her phone rang.

"Lucille, listen carefully."

She immediately sat up straight, as if he could see her, although, of course, he could not. Her attention was immediately focused on the voice at the other end of the telephone. No other person or event in that big room was of the least concern to her any longer.

"Yes Sir. I am listening."

"As soon as I have finished talking to you and you have put down the telephone, I want you to go to the bathroom. I want you to feel yourself and I want a full report of the status of your cunt. Email the report to me at the earliest opportunity. Understand?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good girl. Off you go."

"Yes Sir."

Lucille put down the receiver. With a quick glance left and right, to assure herself that no one could possibly guess the content of the telephone call, or what she was about to do, Lucille walked to the bathroom. She could not resist smiling and she put her head down, for she feared that if she kept her head up people might suspect that her smile was one of a slutty sort of girl. Demurely dressed as she was, sweet natured and softly spoken, people in the office would consider her the most unlikely of sluts. She wanted to keep it that way.

She opened a bathroom door and closed it again. In the privacy of that little space, she pulled down her panties. It was summer and she was not wearing any stockings. She put her fingers down to her cunt, opening her legs a little to feel all round; every side.

Down there, she discovered a pool of juices. Every part of her cunt was wet and she was open; quite available for immediate taking. If she had not been before her call, she certainly was wet now. She allowed her fingers to travel up a little further and she enjoyed the fact that she had opened, much like the petals of a flower. She allowed herself a moment or two to imagine that it was his fingers penetrating her.

She imagined the look on his face as he brought his fingers to under his nose to enjoy the scent of the nectar. And, she imagined him bringing those fingers to her lips and having her suck the juices. She closed her eyes and lingered for as long as she dared with the thought of what might come next. She imagined him undressing her and positioning her and taking her.

She considered touching her clitoris. Her index finger grazed across it as her other fingers held open her labia. She was sorely tempted to rub herself. She considered it for a moment until she remembered that he would ask so many specific questions. He would, almost assuredly, want to know if she had stimulated herself. It was not worth the risk, being the useless liar that she was, and she let the thought go.

She was brought back to the moment when she heard another toilet flush. She remembered where she was and what she had to do. She pulled her panties back in place and she proceeded back to her desk, not even taking the time to wash her hands. She knew he would be waiting for mail.

She pressed compose and began:

"My dear Sir,

My cunt is very wet and open, and awaits you with much expectation..."

A bedtime story

"May I have a bedtime story?" she asked sweetly, all tucked down in her big bed, comfortable and warm.

The man sighed. No doubt, she would want the same story as last time. Fortunately, he knew it by heart. He began:

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl who often, just before she fell asleep at night, liked to imagine a dark forest just over the hill from her home. Many times she had approached this dark, dense forest in her mind, but never, ever did she penetrate it for fear that she might get lost and not come back. Night after night, she returned to this forest. It seemed to beckon her, but never did she step beyond its shadowy borders.

"liiiiiiiiittle girl....liiiiiiiiiittle girl.., its winds that blew through the branches seemed to say..."

She began to drift off. Ever since she was a very little girl, she had dreamed of the impenetrable forest. In her mind, as she began to succumb to slumber, the forest beckoned her. In her mind's eye, she stood at the outskirts of the forest, wanting so much to go in, but afraid to take the risk.

The dark shadows scare her. Yet, step by step she is coming to understand that the forest may be the right place for some little girls. In the forest, a little girl could perhaps be herself. In the forest, she could feel settled and secure and at peace. If she dares to penetrate the forest; if she has the courage to take the first few steps into the forest, it is possible that she may be lulled into a deep peace. It is possible that she may wish to stay in the forest for longer and longer periods of time.

This is the thought that the girl thinks as she drifts into sleep.

She has fallen asleep before he has finished the story; again.

When she wakes, she will wonder to herself,again, 'How does the story end?'

My reality

All jokes aside, I do highly commend Sir J for his truthful account of his life with his h. There is, perhaps, a tendency for D/s and power exchange relationships to be glorified. Like any relationship between people, it has its ups and downs, its good days and its bad days, its highs and its lows. It must exist within the backdrop of a life; raising a family, having a job, keeping house.

It is possible that the avid reader of blogs relating to D/s might come away thinking that the dominant sits while the submissive waits on him, time after time. They might get the impression that the submissive is overworked and the dominant, under worked. The reality is usually, of course, that both people have their parts to play in their lives, together and apart, and that could well mean that the dominant does the laundry, or even, ironing! (Just a little joke, J!)

So, let me be clear about my reality.

Within a few weeks of going out with my husband, I did the laundry. I popped over to his room in college and collected his laundry and did it with my laundry. He didn't ask me to do this. It just seemed the natural thing to do. My course had few contact hours whilst his had lots of contact hours. Why not? Since then, that's been one of my responsibilities. I'm not saying that he doesn't occasionally throw on a load of laundry, because he does do that sometimes. Yet, it is rare.

When we met, I didn't know how to cook. He taught me how to make lamb chops with mashed potatoes and peas. From there, I took over, since that was all he knew and we soon tired of that meal. I bought cookery books and took some cookery classes, and ever since I've been the provider of food. For a time, he prepared the pizzas on a Friday night, so long as the dough and ingredients were all there, ready to assemble. Certainly, he barbecues the meat, cuts the roast, and from time to time, brings me breakfast on a tray, but the food is really something that I do.

Please do keep in mind that he is an extremely busy person. If we let him, he'd work around the clock, virtually every day of the year. I guess you might say that he is a workaholic. The proviso to that is that when I get him away, he usually tries to extend the stay away, so he's getting better at 'down time'.

What's my point? We do have designated roles. You can't bring up a large family without some order, and my job is to get up and get them off to school, to know what we have to do re school and other commitments, to arrange our social life, the house, the food, the clothing and so on. I know that sounds like I am living a 1950s life. The little woman does all the domestic stuff whilst the man does all the making of the money, and handles the business activities.

The thing about this arrangement is that it works for us. Over the years, I've suggested that he might like to try cooking a meal from time to time. He's suggested that I might like to ring the bank and get the b**tards to get the account right! Frankly, I don't want to tussle with the bank and he doesn't want to cook a meal.

So, while it might seem that our lives are such that he as the dominant does all the big things, while I the submissive, do all the little things, it is not like that at all. We are simply doing the same things that we always did. Of course, when I'm working outside the house, he helps out a bit more on the domestic front, but still, we maintain our usual roles just because we know what we are doing and we get on and do it.

Since we have committed to a power exchange relationship, after years of a vanilla style marriage, the details of our "real" lives have not changed at all. What has changed is our satisfaction with our roles. I respect more that he has the lion's share of responsibility for his family and I give him the support he requires to fulfil that role. He respects more that I try very hard to keep all the members of my family happy, loved and progressing through life. He supports my writing and the exploration of my submissive nature.

In essence, we both look after one another well. We live well. We love well. That is the reality of my power exchange relationship.

Let's annoy the big girl!

As regular readers would know, I have children - boys as well as a girl. They are all lovely people. I am not just saying that. They really are delightful people and I feel very fortunate to be able to say that they get on really well. They are all good friends, highly supportive and generous to one another. I thinks that is really saying something because each child is highly individual and no two children have interests that align at all.

Having said that, I must now say that they have had their fair share of tussles growing up. The eldest loved nothing more than to annoy the hell out of his sister. She rarely took the situation laying down and she did what she could to get back at him. I remember taking them to see a play and as we left the theatre I had to get in the middle of them, one on either side of me, each holding one of my hands. Somehow, they still managed to try to kick one another's shins across me. They could be terrors.

One day, my eldest son must have been laying into her about something. She was, perhaps, four years old. She knew, quite instinctively, that physically speaking, she had no chance of winning. That did not deter her. She had other means at her disposal. She simply screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed at such a high pitch that my son had no alternative but to let go of her to cover his ears. I know that I should have been horrified at all this but I saw the funny side. Here was a little girl doing what she knew to do.

Let me go further back. My eldest son was about 15 months old. He had been at a day care centre for a few hours and I was returning to pick him up. He was sitting on his bottom, happily, next to a girl of the same age. He was holding a toy. All was well. Suddenly, the little girl grabbed it from him. He looked at her calmly, seemingly a little taken aback at her aberrant behaviour. Knowing that my child was perfect (!) I was pleased to see him take this in his stride. However, a moment later, he calmly grabbed it from her back. What did the little girl do? She cried her head off and her mother came running to protect her from the nasty little boy who had grabbed the toy away from her! Some mothers!

Some dominant men love to bother their girl. They like to see how far they can go before she does something; reacts. Let's pull her nipple rings, they think. She didn't react. Well, that was disappointing! Well then, let's pull them a little more. Sometimes, the girl rather enjoys the game. A little bit of a struggle can be rather delicious, of course.

Let's pretend that we are going to put the strawberry in her mouth. She opens wide. But, no. He's had second thoughts. He's enjoying the look on her face. Well then, let's give her the strawberry. "Open wide", he says. But, oops, no, not yet! Is she enjoying the dance? It could be. It could be not.

He's got her to the brink of an orgasm. She really needs this. At the last minute, he denies her permission. He has decided against it. Is she having fun? Possibly. Or, is she about to let loose with her feelings about all this? You, poor dom, have picked the wrong day to mess with her and she is letting you know just what she thinks of this situation.

Are you still enjoying yourself? Well, it just could be that you are. You've got her where you want her. All steamed up! Remember how it felt to annoy the little girls in elementary school? Remember how much fun that was? Well, you've got your own big girl to bother now, and you're loving it.

Go ahead. Try to deny it!

Growth

One of the aspects of a power exchange relationship that I appreciate so much is the ability to grow as a person, as well as a woman. Not only have I learned how to be a good submissive, but I have also learned about myself; what I do well and what I could do better.

One of the things I don't do so well is cope with stress. I tend to be a worrier and sometimes I put much too much energy into the worry and not enough energy into either, solving the problem if I can, or not worrying so much, if I can't.

In a sense, this goes to the heart of our power exchange dynamic. As the dominant, my husband will make many decisions on my behalf. He will almost always explain to me what he has done, or what he is going to do. Certainly, there have been times when I have not agreed with his decision. Sometimes, I have been right not to agree. Sometimes, it would have been better if he had gone my way. Reconciling that has not been easy.

However, I am reconciled now to the fact that he is my dominant, and that he is doing what he believes is right for me and all the family. He welcomes my input, and he tells me that he listens carefully to everything that I say. At the end of the day, he will make the decision himself and he will be responsible for it himself. My job is to support him in making those decisions. Perhaps for some of you reading, this is 'D/s Relationships 101'. Even so, it has been a huge learning curve me for.

I was reading about 'mindfulness' last night. Mindfulness helps to develop acceptance.

"What is happening is happening, and if we rail against it we make it worse."

Where was Dr. Hassad when I needed him?

My husband and I have often used the phrase, "He can't see the forest for the trees." So, I paid attention when I read this:

"If you are lost in the forest, this does not mean that you don't do anything. You accept that you are lost and put your attention to getting out of there. A response is required that needs careful attention, but in our mind we often amplify the stress and burden associated with things enormously."

Yes, guilty as charged!

But, what is wonderful about being a submissive is that the right dominant man can teach you so much about yourself. As a submissive, your place is not just to serve, but to grow; to flourish in his attentive and intelligent care.

The power of D/s is magnificent.

When I was a toy

This post might be too rich for your blood, so if you are eating your porridge, feel free to leave now...

Recently, I ordered a butt plug and a few days ago I walked to the post office to collect it. When one orders these kinky things over the Internet, how on earth does one know what one is really ordering? When I opened the package it was an "Oh my!" moment. The sleek, black plug was handsome, but big! Much bigger than the one I have been using. I put the item in the bathroom cupboard for a while, safely out of sight.

It didn't take too long before the thing had weaved its spell on me. Could it really fit inside me? I had to try, and I did try, and although I nearly managed, I didn't; quite.

Another day went by and last night, feeling brave, I tried again. I did all the right things...plenty of lube, going slow, breathing in a concentrated way, and...success! It was a funny moment...that moment when it just slots into place. Ohhh! Most pleasing.

Then, another interesting thing happened. I found I didn't really want to take it out. I knew I probably should. One mustn't rush these things. However, I was enjoying the thing in my body, and I wore it about the house for a bit. It was the same colour as my nightgown, black, and I liked that it was, sort of, co-ordinated. What can I say? I am a girl.

It was time for bed now, and still, I didn't want to let go. Like a favourite teddy bear, or blanket, I wanted my plug.

So, I slept with it in. Or, should I say, I tried to sleep.

I lay there, perfectly at ease, not at all troubled, but oh so very switched on. Not only was my whole body wired, but so was my mind.

I thought of myself as an inanimate object. In my mind, I was nothing more than an object. My mind wandered. Lying there as I was, alone in the bed, what becomes of an object...a fucktoy? What pleasures would a man derive from this inanimate object? Still, wanton, ready, available...what was to become of me?

My breathing was shallow; my body incredibly still. I felt the skin on my arms, as if I were feeling a different body. I was aware of myself as a man might be aware of me; soft, wanton, wanting, available; ready to be used in various places. I now had more than one cunt.

The world was very still. There was not a sound to be heard, not even my breathing. Yet, this inanimate object was alive to the possibilities.

Not now, darling!

I am currently reading a book called 'Sex Diaries' by Bettina Arndt. She had around one hundred couples keep diaries for her of their love making, and how they felt about it all.

I won't go into all that today, but there is so much analysis in there, I know I won't be able to resist talking about it soon in quite some depth.

However, I do want to say this. The book is loaded down with women who avoided sex; men who felt upset that their women were avoiding sex. There is the odd case of it being the other way around. Some women were upset that their men didn't want sex more often. On the whole, however, not wanting sex enough (for their husband's appetite) was the domain of the women. The couples were out of balance. The stories are not all bleak by any means, for in some cases the couples were able to resolve their issues.

In a D/s relationship, it seems to me, 'balance' of sexual desire is less of an issue. Part of the arrangement is that the woman knows that she is his to have as he wants. Submissives are not inclined to say:

"Not now, darling. I still have to do the laundry."

Such a response may have her taken over the washing machine instead! And, it is unlikely the submissive would complain about that, either!

I have looked up the index of the book for words like 'dominant' and 'submissive' and 'power exchange' and 'good girls' and there is no mention of our way of life, oddly enough.

In our way of life, there is little mention of inadequate amounts of sex.

Are you thinking what I am thinking?

The poor dom!

Today, the house must be quiet as my son prepares for the week's exams ahead of him. I don't currently have access to my laptop files, since it is at the shop being repaired. It seemed a good idea to print out the little novella so far, and read it over, on paper. I have just read the first chapter, the first story, and I'm about to add a little sexual interlude at the end of the story. As it stands I have the poor wee thing going off to bed with a mighty sore bottom and in disgrace. On second thoughts, I think a dom might decide that she has paid her dues. She has been scolded and whipped. And, let's face it, Edward is somewhat aroused. So, the reader gets a sex scene after all. And, come to think of it, I am rather anxious to get back to writing it, myself.

It did occur to me to say here on the blog, however, just quickly, that although Susan is quite the naughty little thing, since I've written of her exploits, I now realize just how naughty she really is. The things I have her doing, didn't seem that naughty at the time. They were thoughts that went through my head at the time, after all.

Six months later (for I sort of put the manuscript down to rest over that period), I am rather appalled at her state of mind. She really does need a very firm dom! I, being so very good these days (!), know that a submissive girl should never be so manipulative and downright bad as my heroine. Luckily for her, Edward loves her deeply and completely and he goes the extra mile to teach her her lessons. She is trouble all right, but she is delightful trouble, and he isn't going to let her down.

Once upon a time, I commiserated with poor Susan having a dom with such nasty tricks. Today, I feel a little for Edward. He really only ever wanted a quiet life! So, he gets his way with her before she goes to sleep, stinging backside or not!

Writing is so much fun!

One hundredth post

The time has finally arrived. I've been waiting all week to write this post.

Today is my 100th post on this blog; a little celebration of sorts. I don't think that I would ever have started a blog of my own really without support. I thought about it, from time to time, but being technologically challenged as I am, I didn't take it any further than that.

One of the good things about doms is that they when they get their dominant card they are given a bag of tricks; a sort of reward for passing the course with honours.

When Deity decided to convince me to start a blog, he didn't say, "I think you should start a blog." Rather, inch by inch he led me towards making that decision for myself. He is a patient man and it took some time for the seed to sew, but eventually it did, and he expressed his delight. I'm not sure what you call that trick, exactly.

Today is the day that I want to say a very special thank you to my readers. I don't get all that many comments, but I don't have a problem with that. You see, I have my little stat counter there on the right hand side of my page and every so often, I have a look at the map that shows me where my readers live in the world. I'm delighted to see that there are readers from all over the world.

Some of my readers come and go fairly quickly. They note, I guess, that there are no sexy pictures on my blog, and nor is the word 'sex' mentioned all that often. That's okay. I have done the same thing myself. We want what we want, when we want it.

However, I do have a core group of readers who return to these pages regularly. Obviously, I don't know you and I most likely never will. Yet, you probably know by now, that I have a vivid imagination. In my mind's eye, I can see you. I imagine you sitting at your office desk, taking a coffee break and linking over to me. Or, I see you in your apartment late at night before you go to bed, having a quick read. What is Vesta on about today, you ask. Other times, I see you in your kitchen in your country house. You've put on the dinner, and whilst you wait for it to cook, you check out a few blogs, mine included. You live in busy, noisy cities and in quiet little towns. You are all a bit kinky and you are all part of the audience to whom I speak.

I'm delighted to have you all here. Alas, I can't make you a cup of tea and offer you a shortbread. That sort of hospitality is beyond the realms of possibility. But, I do want you to be comfortable, to feel part of this little group, and to know, that each time you drop by, you are entirely welcome.

Have a great day!

The wind in my hair

It has been said that a power exchange relationship is not a destination, but rather, a journey. I think that must be right. We are all on the journey, and never actually reaching the destination, we have a lot to say about it. We reach a fork in the road and we discuss which path to take. Or, we reach a dead end, and we have to sit down and plan a new strategy. The day we reach the destination and we just sit down and rest, comfortable as bees in a honey pot, never to venture out again on unknown paths, is not a day many of us can envision, or perhaps even want. Even the road map is not set in stone; even maps require revision.

Having said that, lately I have felt so much further along the path. I have felt very settled and comfortable in myself, more certain than ever of a power exchange being the right fit for me. It shows, too, in my appearance. I look brighter, bouncy even, and my heart is much lighter. And, I ask myself as I sit here; why? Why is that?

There are many reasons, but the thing is that not all of them relate to my improvements; my heightened sense of submissiveness. They relate to his comfort in his role as my Dominant. He is being consistent with me. I get my spanking every morning. When he deems to tell me off ("This is just ridiculous!") he still stays fairly calm with me. If I talk back, I am told to put my hands behind my back and listen quietly. He is being controlled as well as controlling; a quiet force in my life, and I'm responding very nicely to that.

Now, he will never be a pussycat, and I'll never be the perfect submissive to hold my tongue every, single time. Yet, we are travelling along our chosen path at a pleasant and steady speed.

Of course, steady speeds don't last forever. The dominant has a tendency to want to really let the car rip, sometimes. In fact, it was only this morning that he said to me:

"You are due for a good whipping, I think. You haven't had one of those in a while and I think it would do you good."

That's not steady, is it? That's speeding!!!

Now let me think. Do I like the wind in my hair? What do you think?

Can you stand it?

I am inclined to think that when someone writes on a blog, they develop a certain kind of persona. You, the reader, gets to see them in a particular light. It is not that the person writing isn't telling the truth, but rather that they are, possibly, only telling you what they think you want to hear.

The reason for this might be that even though our blogs are often anonymous, our true identity not disclosed, there is a part of us that worries about disclosure, and/or worries that the reader might not be able to handle all the facets of us. When one considers that the number of people interested in our mindset is very small, comparatively speaking, to write of dark fantasies might be too much.

I wonder.

On any given day, in any situation, you are probably surrounded with people with dark fantasies. The difference is that they will never admit them. I'd like money on that belief. Alas, I will never prove it.

I have dark fantasies. When I masturbate (yes, yes! I admit it!) I go to those dark fantasies, often. I fantasize about men who behave in the most ungallant ways. They are so often men in positions of power; headmasters and husbands of yesteryear. However, the rules of society, even olden day society do not exist. They can do as they wish.

The headmaster of my fantasy is the most severe of men. It is not his way to dispense with six of the cane and send me on my way. More likely, he will lecture me of my disappointing behaviour and order me to return to his study on Sunday evening. He is not interested in ending the ordeal. Not at all. In fact, he wishes to prolong my experience.

Of course, I can think of nothing else for several days and each time I sit down at my desk I think of what is to befall me on my return trip to his study. It doesn't end there. When the time finally arrives, he is never ready to proceed, asking me instead to kneel on the wooden bench in his corner, my skirt held up and my panties taken down, so that I can feel the cool breeze on my bottom. He may well leave me there for an hour.

Finally, when he calls me to stand in front of his desk, he makes clear the gravity of the situation. I won't be running in the corridors any time soon, that's for sure! He goes to his implement cupboard and tries out a few canes. He slashes them through the air, whilst I watch; heart stopped.

He tells me that since this is the second time I have been to his office this term, it is clear that I have the hallmarks of a girl that requires severe punishment and thus it will be twelve hard strokes this time. He says the word "hard" with particular emphasis.

He has a whipping bench, thank God. Without restraint, I think my fantasy might have come to an end too soon. It is possible to scare oneself too much! He has me lay across it, and he pulls the leather belt tight across my back; secures my wrists and ankles firmly to the legs. He bares the buttocks he is about to thrash and he delivers the strokes slowly, firmly; with the resolve of a man who means to change this girl's errant behaviour, forever.

He likes to talk. Before he delivers the next stroke he talks of the necessity for discipline in a girl's life. He talks of his responsibility to see that all girl's at his college are well prepared for a life of submission to their husbands. He assures me that the whipping is for my own good.

Upon completion of his task, he returns the cane to its place beside his other canes, and he inspects my bottom, ordering me to report to matron that evening for a salt water wash. It seems that there is broken skin to be attended to.

Once standing, he asks what I have to say, and naturally, I thank him for punishing me; apologize for taking up his time. He says that he has done no more than his duty. I am his charge, after all.

He writes a sentence on a piece of paper and hands it to me. He has me go to the detention room to write the sentence 500 times.

"Young ladies of Sufferidge College must not run in the corridors."

He tells me that the work must be in my best handwriting or else I will be told to do it again.

As I open the door to leave, trying desperately not to rub my stinging backside, he reminds me to be sure to sit directly on my bottom.

"There is to be no squirming, young lady, if you know what is good for you."

"Yes Sir," I say.

And, that is not the half of it. There is so much more. But, can you stand it?

Put your hands together for Mr. Cane!

Last night it poured and poured, and the heavy rain woke me up. Unable to settle down to sleep, and too cold to get out of bed to write, I lay there thinking about various matters pertaining to my D/s style of life. I happen to be one of those people that don't like loose ends and the notion of accepting 25 strokes of the cane for something that happened a while ago sits out there; a loose end. I want to put it to bed and yet the scaredy cat side of me holds it in abeyance. It is bothersome.

As I thought about that, I thought, 'well, how many strokes of the cane have I had at the one time?' Then, it dawned on me that this would not be the first time to receive 25 strokes. In fact, I think I might have had 26 or even 27, and I got through it all right.

In fact, it happened rather a long time ago, and it happened like this...

When I accepted myself as a woman who likes to be spanked, I began to read blogs and one in particular. Eventually, I was brave enough to click on the email address on the site and I wrote to the author. He seemed, and is, a charmer and I told him I was an avid reader, and someone with little knowledge of spanking issues. I asked him if he would like to correspond with me. He was delighted to do so and I had my husband's approval. All was well.

As time went on, and my appetite grew and grew, it became apparent that I was in what I now know to be "sub fever". I didn't do anything to harm myself or my marriage, but the potential was there, I suppose, or so my husband thought.

One day, I left a comment on my new friend's blog, on a post that talked about someone getting 12 strokes of the cane for a week. Unbeknown to me, my husband saw the comment and by then, he was getting rather upset about my correspondence; or more particularly, my heady state of mind. He said to me that if a girl wanted to show that she was her husband's girl, definitively, she would accept 12 strokes of the cane for a week. Was I willing to do that?

I did not hesitate to tell him that I would be willing to do that to show him that I belonged to him; alone. As it turns out, he was deadly serious. We were on vacation at the time, at our holiday house, and he provided 12 sound strokes that night.

Immediately afterward, I felt a sense of relief that lasted about 12 hours, when I began to feel a sense of apprehension for the 12 to come that evening. Apprehensive or not, I received the next 12 the following evening, right on schedule. But, on the third day, he needed to return to the city for a few days, and whilst I had a reprieve for a few days, I also was disappointed that I couldn't get further along with my 'correction', for want of a better word.

When my husband returned, he offered me another 12 strokes that night. Whilst no-one wants me to go into detail here (you don't, do you?) my bottom was pretty bruised and marked by now. Yet, my husband could see that I was pretty shaky about the idea that on day 5 I was only at day 3 of the correction being carried out. I still had 48strokes to go and it was telling on my nerves.

"I am willing to give you an option," he said. "If you wish, you can have another 12 now, if you'd like to get further along with this."

As much as I hated that option, I liked that option and I agreed to that. On we went; number 13, 14 and so on until we reached 24.

However, I did stand right up a couple of times and make some rather pathetic crying sounds in the hope that he might go easy. That earned me another few extras, and thus at night's end I had received at least 25 strokes of the cane.

Of course, he made all the right noises afterwards, telling me how proud he was of me and giving me lots of hugs and praise. I liked that part a lot!

In fact, I wore my stripes with an enormous sense of pride and truth to tell, it was an experience I would not have missed for the world. He was proud of me for being brave and true and I was proud of him for proceeding on as he had decreed. It certainly did no harm to our love life.

For some time now, Mr. Cane has been safely put away backstage, awaiting his re-entrance. Sure, the wooden backed bath brush has been out to play and the tawse has been out of the drawer pretty regularly too, but let's face it, there is nothing like the cane.

I'm tempted to say that I am even missing Mr. Cane. But, then there's that thing where five strokes later, you think to yourself, 'I am never getting myself into this position ever again!!!'

And, the wait goes on...

The short road to paradise

I have just been reading some words written by a dominant male friend of mine and I am greatly touched. In those words is the essence of what is great about a D/s relationship.

When two people get it right (and in my case, I speak of dominant males and submissive females, for I only know of that blend) both the man and woman is outrageously happy. Sure, there might be moments of tension and uncertainty as the Dom encourages his sub to submit to new challenges, but the love, respect and enjoyment is the overwhelming emotion that keeps them both on a heady high, year after year.

When it is so right, it appears so effortless. In fact,it is never effortless. Both team players work hard to ensure each other's pleasure. Yet, the work is not really work at all; or rather the sort of work that one relishes.

Like any relationship, a D/s relationship will stumble if the players become lazy or disengage. The happiness comes from such loving attention, on both sides. The dom may be frantically busy in his life, but he knows the importance of putting aside some quality time for his sub, however short that time may be. When he does attend to her, even for only a few minutes of the day, she feels his love, his admiration, his pleasure. Those few minutes, allow her (and I suggest, him) to float through their day independently.

With such pleasures to be had, it seems such a small price to pay. A D/s relationship at its best is the short road to paradise.

Still doing something right

My husband and I had the loveliest of days. In spite of the fact that he has so very much to do at this time, he wanted to spend our special day somewhere lovely with me. Like a good scout, I was prepared, having already got advice from a friend as to the perfect restaurant at a winery in our wine area, a valley less than an hour's drive away.

It was divine. We loved the ambiance of the restaurant, a bit like a beautiful French country house. The food was sensational and the Pinot Noir, lovely. The service was excellent and we enjoyed too the birthday party taking place next to us at a big table, perhaps the girl's 28th, at a guess. Her guests were an eclectic group and all beautiful and interesting in their own way.

We exchanged gifts. I had a pair of Ray Ban's for him which he loved and he had bought for me the special bracelet we saw while on holiday. He was enraptured at how well it went with the two silver bracelets I was already wearing. You see, I had been looking for something to wear on my wrist for some time. My dear submissive girlfriend had told me of the ribbon she wore on her wrist to remind her that her hands did not belong to her, and from that moment I knew that I needed some sort of bracelet to wear on my wrist. When my husband and I saw it when we were window shopping one evening at the town where we were staying, we knew we had found the perfect item. I won't describe it in detail for obvious reasons, but I will tell you that it has three silver charms - a key, a lock and a heart. It is the first charm bracelet I have ever worn and I love it. You can probably guess what I will be trying to avoid by looking at it on my wrist. I doubt I have to spell that out for you!

So, after we had shared dessert (and by the way, I didn't touch my spoon or fork), I went to the bathroom, as girls do. We had been talking over lunch of the "puss in boots". I had admired her boots and pointed them out to my husband. Whilst away,this girl had come close to him, to see the beautiful vegetable garden just outside the window by us. Of course, he couldn't help himself. He does so love to play:

"Excuse me, young lady, but I've been admiring your lovely boots."
"Oh, thank you."
"They're the kind of boots that could get a young lady into lots of trouble."
Giggle, giggle, giggle.
"I suppose that is why you wear them."
More full body, giggly gyrations.
"So, what is the occasion?"
"Well, actually, it is my birthday!"
"Happy Birthday. Is it a bit forward to ask for a kiss?"
More full body giggling.
"You'll need to get in line. The Italian waiter has been flirting with me all afternoon."
They both giggle and she proceeds back to her chair.

You just can't leave some doms alone for a minute!

We had a lovely, lovely day together, enjoying our games, and I'd like to particularly thank two of my readers, dear friends, for their lovely messages. I appreciated that a great deal. I feel very privileged to know you!

As the beautiful birthday "puss in boots" said to my husband, after wedded for this many years, "you must be doing something right!" And, so he is!

The Third

Whilst I was at a lovely open air market this week, I took the time to wander across the road and discovered a terrific second-hand book store where you can buy books in great condition for very little. I bought three books while I was there and one of them was Esther Perel's 'Mating in Captivity'. I was delighted to find it there, for I well remember hearing her beautiful voice on the radio a couple of years ago and being captivated by what she had to say. I also remember the interviewer questioning here closely about her thinking on monogamy and this seemed to be the chapter of her book that was going to get her into the most trouble.

Needless to say, I have been reading the book this week and I was intrigued by what she had to say about 'The Shadow of the Third.'

"At the boundary of every couple lives the third...The third is the manifestation of our desire for what lies outside the fence. It is the forbidden...The menace of the third is intrinsic to the experience of love, and even the most controlling marriage may not be able to allay our anxieties."

One of the really lovely qualities of my husband is that, after many years of life lived together, day by day, he saw very clearly that I needed to embrace the "third" into my life. He, ultimately, saw that I needed an opportunity to explore a relationship with a third person. Not a relationship that in any way damaged our relationship, but a relationship that could enrich it.

I needed to know what I did not know. I needed to examine my own mind, my needs and desires; my lust. I needed to let my fantasies out to play and I needed to write in order to explore those thoughts and fantasies. I needed people with whom I could converse on these subjects, and finally, I needed a mentor.

For many months, my mentor and I shared our thoughts and explored my mind. We wrote letters to one another that hearkened back to another era, when written correspondence in letter form was the communication style of the day. We were not using fountain pen and putting our letters in the mail, but our letters were personal and divulged details that rarely see the light of day.

I feel extremely privileged to have been able to undertake this process with a man of great integrity and wisdom; a man who never overstepped the mark and who was so respectful of the privilege that my husband had granted him. One day, I hope to do something with them all, and he has already said that he would be happy for me to do this.

One of the points that Esther makes in her excellent book is that even the most secure of relationships face change. People change and life changes; we age. Nothing stays the same. My mentor's life has changed since those early months when we corresponded in detail. He has new challenges and calls on his time. Perhaps, our work together has come to an end. I know in my heart, that whether we continue to correspond or not, he will always be my special friend, and I will always want for him, every happiness.

I am extraordinarily proud of my husband for allowing in "the third". It is a testament, I believe, to his faith in me, that by doing this, our marriage would not be harmed. Certainly, there have been days when my emotions have spilled over and he has questioned his decision, but our marriage is stronger than ever, and our venture paid us great dividends.

I am extraordinary proud of my mentor, as well. On many occasions he went the extra mile with me, delving into my thought processes, not relenting in his search for what was true. He is currently involved in an exciting project which requires all his time, and more, and thus it is time for me to give him that space to make it right. He is a special person, a good person, and I am proud to have worked so closely with him.

Esther is right. We should not be so afraid to embrace 'the third'. It is not always easy to do this, but those courageous few who do, often see that there is untold benefit to themselves when they do.

Dancing Class

Upon returning to the bedroom from the spa, I thought to have a nap. Alas, I could not sleep and I turned on the television to see if there might be a movie. Indeed, there was. It was the one where Demi Moore plays Sergeant O'Neil. She is being trained as a Navy SEAL and it is gruelling stuff. At one point the person in charge says, "Pain is your friend." That resonated!

There was another great line that this time had me rushing for my kinky notebook. I had to get this one down.

"Sergeant O'Neil, when I want your opinion I will give it to you."

Isn't that priceless?

Then, I started thinking. In fact, I had heard that before somewhere. Where was that? Oh, yes! When I was working, one day I said to my boss,

"Anyway, you don't want to hear my opinion. You will just do it your way."

He replied: "Not at all, my dear. I am happy to discuss it with you at length; after which I will then do it my way."

Just now, as I was talking to my husband about Sir J's 'Entitlement' entry, he looked over at me from his side of the bed and said,

"If you don't stop talking, I am going to have to fill your mouth with something."

Really! A girl can't be blamed for sometimes getting the feeling that men might find them wordy!

I suppose the challenge is to convince the dominant man of our point of view - by fair means or foul. The challenge is also to admit defeat. They will do things as they see fit and as submissive women, we must rise to the challenge of accepting that.

As a woman with plenty of opinions of my own, (and possibly you noticed that already)I find that a great challenge. Sometimes, it is asking me to accept that the sky is green. I know in my gut that I am accepting a mistake. Demi was asked to do the same thing; to accept that her greater understanding of the situation would be overruled. I felt for her.

I think what I have learned over the past year is that I do in fact have input into decision making, regardless of what my dom decides. The more controlled I am in my presentation, the more willing I am to listen to his point of view in a calm way, the more likelihood I have of swaying him to my point of view.

At the end of the day, he will do things his way, as he always has. In fact, the more submissive I am able to be, the more confident he feels, the more his decisions are spot on. It is a dance that I have found some difficulty in learning. I believe, however, that I may have the steps down pat, finally. He leads and I follow...whispering in his ear, ever so daintily.

O'Neil had guts. She was intelligent and refused to quit. Ultimately, she had the boys eating out of both hands. She earned that privilege because she proved to them that she was worth listening to.

A dominant man, quite naturally, does things his way. A clever dominant man listens to his intelligent submissive, appreciating her input into a situation. He listens, takes into account her read of it, and then, using his own intellect, makes a final determination. I won't argue with that any more. I accept it.

A wise dominant man gives his submissive the entitlement of speaking her point of view. Then, he makes use of his entitlement to have the final say, and lead the dance of their lives.

I just wish I had bothered to go to dancing class sooner!

P.S. I *am* relaxing! When I write, I am relaxed!

The Soprano

It was midnight and her Master was already in bed, checking the financial results of the day on the television on the wall in front of him. She thought she might get lucky tonight and she brought with her to bed her styling hairbrush, so that he could brush her hair while he listened and watched. She handed the brush to him, looking as sweet and demure as she could. She didn’t say anything. He took it from her.

“It is the wrong brush, girl. Bring me the wooden backed hairbrush from my wet pack.”

She looked at him carefully, to check that he meant it, and seeing that he did, she returned to the bathroom and fetched the evil item. She handed the brush of pain to him much in the same way as she had handed over the brush of pleasure.

“Thank you, girl. Now, bend over my knees.”

She did so. There was no choice in the matter. He brought back the smooth wooden side of the brush on her buttocks; first six on the left cheek and then six on the right. She lay there panting. The sting was like nothing else.

“All right. Tuck down close beside me and off to sleep immediately, please.”

She did as she was told and she slept well. She woke at 7.01 am. She took in where she was; that there was no need to wake herself up this morning to get her sons off to school, and she returned to slumber. She woke again at 8.25, and felt rested.

She looked about for her Master and a moment or two later he entered the bedroom from the living room.

“Good morning, girl.”

“Good morning, Master. I think I will go and check the temperature of the water in the spa.”

“No, you won’t. You will only do as you are told while we are here. I will tell you what you will do and when you will do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master.”

“Well, I hope so, for your sake. Because, if you don’t, you will have a terribly sore bottom.”

“Yes, Master.”

“All right. It is time for your morning maintenance.”

“I need to go the bathroom, first.”

“What do you say?”

“Master, may I please go to the bathroom, first?”

“Good girl. Yes, you may.”

She smiled to herself as she returned to the bedroom. She liked this game.

“Climb over my knee, little girl.”

She did as she was told. She was such a gooood, little girl.

He brought his hand up rather high. She could sense that, and he brought it down hand, about eight swats to each buttock. She was panting. They were fast.

“Now, for a taste of the tawse. Stay still.”

He brought the blasted strips of leather down across her bottom more times than she could count. She remembered her friend’s advice and tried to transfer the pain to pleasure in her mind. She was trying to remember to breathe. Finally, he had had enough fun with his tawse for now. He asked her to rise and he folded the firm pillow over itself, and held it in place.

“Over you go. Be a good girl, now.”

She climbed over the pillow so that it rested below her hips.

“Pout out now.”

She pouted out.

“Pout out, girl!”

He was sterner now and she pouted out good and wide.”

“That’s better. That’s what I want.”

He got behind her and plundered her. She groaned instantly. Her orgasm was immediate. He maintained the pressure and fucked her for the longest time. She groaned and groaned and groaned. At one moment, she thought of a baritone singer she knew and his daily chortling, but the music she was making today was that of a soprano. The music was not necessarily in tune, but it was sweet to her ears and apparently, his.

“That’s right. You just keep singing for me. Let’s see how long you can sing!”

She was in orgasmic heaven. He had hit the play button and the CD would keep playing for as long as he wished.

Eventually, he turned her over and entered her again with her on her back and her knees up to his ears. The orgasms returned again but as much as she was still singing, she began to wonder how much more pleasure she could take. She did what she knew to do to encourage his pleasurable release, but he appeared disinterested. He continued to ensure that she chortle away. He squeezed her nipples between her fingers and off she went again.

When he was ready, he put her on her side, and he re-entered her in this position, clearly enjoying the sensations, for now his groans were deep and rhythmic. She lay there, completely still and accepted that he would use her body for as long as he cared.

Ultimately, he pulled his cock away and slapped her right buttock hard; three sound slaps. Still, she lay there quietly and absorbed the pain, coming immediately after the pleasure.

“Taste my sweat, little girl. Taste your juices on my cock. Use your tongue, now.”

As she moved to get on her knees, she glanced over at the clock. It was 9.45. She had been singing for quite some time.

She did as instructed and he was pleased.

“Good girl. Kneel at my feet, now. That’s a good slave. You are my little slave this week and your Master expects total obedience. I’ll be making generous use of all your holes. Do you understand?”

"Yes, Master.”

“Would you like to go and check the temperature in the spa now?”

“Yes please, Master.”

“Good girl. You’ve been in purgatory because that is where a girl who misbehaves goes. But, you are back where you belong, now, aren’t you? Back in harness; back in service.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I would continue to be a good girl because being in purgatory is not a comfortable place to be for you, is it?”

“No, Master; I don’t like purgatory at all.”

“All right. Well, I do like my girl being as well behaved as she has been this morning. There are many rewards for well behaved girls, aren’t there?”

She smiled. She tried not to, but she could not help it.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl. Off you go to check the water temperature.”

“Yes Master.

9.55 am: She slipped away. She was very, very happy.