Constancy

It is said that in any marriage, one person loves the other more. In any relationship, somebody initiates contact. One person approaches the other. Somebody has to make a move for anything at all to happen.

I initiated our new dynamic. Initially, I asked to be spanked and as time passed, I asked to be dominated. He said to me then, what he says to me now:

"Just tell me what you want. I am more than happy to oblige."

I don't wish to confuse you, however. It is a rare day that I will initiate very much at all. I'm one of those girls who waits for the man to approach her 99% of the time, and none of this was easy for me. It still is not easy. My preference would be for announcements to be made:

"As of today, you will..."

Instead, I offer suggestions, send copies of material by email, and write stories loaded down with erotic happenings that I hope he reads.

There is a difference between my needs at first, and my needs now. At first, any activity, suggestion or order was erotically charged for me. I was in submissive heaven and even the things I did not like, were a great charge for me. I could never have imagined such fulfilment.

Nowadays, I need things to go beyond the erotic. I need things to make good sense as well. I am not a girl who only wants to be dominated in the bedroom. I want to feel it at other times, too. So, whatever is asked of me, whatever corrections are undertaken, need to be those that make sense to me within my life.

What do I mean by that? Two things:

1) I want the dom to have his own wants, and I want him to get what he wants. That makes sense to me. He is a very important part of this relationship and I want him to be happy about being in this relationship with me.

2) I want the dom to have expectations of me; for his own pleasure and for mine. I want those expectations to be well thought out. I am his submissive and his charge, and his expectations of me should be, in one way or another, for my betterment.

In other words, it all has to make sense. It all has to be achievable. And, it all has to fit in with the lives we lead.

I am doing my best and I want him to do his best, too. If it is worth doing, and it is, it is worth doing well.

We've achieved many wonderful things in our lives together. A successful, happy and constant D/s relationship is most certainly within our grasp.

Fantasy play

As a girl writing BDSM stories, life can be a bit lonely. I love the notion of collaboration. It goes right back to the days of watching 'The Dick van Dyke Show' and seeing Dick with Buddy and Sally in the writing room, teasing out the next episode of the show. I knew right then, that if I ever got the chance, that is what I would love to do: collaborative writing.

I've thought, many times, about joining a writing class or group, and I must go to our writer's festival this year. Yet, I think you can understand, that for me, writing about BDSM, I can't contribute to the discussions too well.

"And what do you write about?" people ask, when I am silly enough to tell them that I am enjoying writing at home. It is not easy to satisfy their curiosity and in the end, I have to change the subject.

One of the lovely things about mothering my youngest child is that he has a strong interest in writing as well as considerable aptitude for the task. He is part of a select group at school who have been pulled aside to write about a fantasy world. It is an exciting project and one he embraces. This morning, for inexplicable reasons, we were early to school. The world seemed a bit different; almost as if we had mucked up something and shouldn't be there.

"Perhaps, you could incorporate this into the fantasy world. Maybe, all the clocks lose time and that changes what happens next."

He smiled at me. I could see the thought going through his mind.

"My mum really is a bit odd."

But, the thing is that once you start inventing stories, it is a bit hard to stop. It is quite intoxicating.

There is an opportunity that has just opened up to write a wonderful story. It would be a collaborative effort and filled with naughtiness, lust and deep longings fulfilled. I am excited about it.

Interestingly, my desire to wrap up my last writing project, to edit it and hopefully find it a home, is now strong. I loved concocting Edward and Susan, and having Edward steer Susan through all her doubts and fears of becoming the person she truly wanted to be. It will be hard to let go. It is not lost on me that there is a lot of me in Susan.

Still, a new idea, a good one, is always so darn exciting, and I look forward to it immensely. I sit in my dining room alone but my thoughts are keeping me very good company.

What a difference a day makes

What a pity it is that there is no official association for people such as us, who can keep statistics and so on in relation to what we do, how we feel about it and so on! The government gives out grants for all sort of useless activities and yet they never seem to get around to some analysis of doms and subs.

I am doing my best to set the record straight. You do want me to be analytical, don't you?

Okay, good! I thought so. So, here is what I have been thinking...

It is not at all easy for a submissive woman to hold onto her upset. At the time of the explosion/implosion, at the time she shoots up to the stars like a "bottle rocket", it might seem to the poor Dom looking on, wondering what the hell just happened, that she is down for the count. He won't be doing any more BDSM activities with this lass! She is clearly not into this whole power exchange routine at all!

But, twenty-four hours later, she can barely remember what the upset was about. She remembers being distressed but she can't for the life of her, remember why!

This must be terribly confusing to the poor man, who looks on in wonderment. How can she be so light and breezy, such desirable company today, when she was a blithering, crying mess yesterday?

Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I actually don't have the answer. The simple fact is that a submissive woman, as far as I can tell, just has that happy knack of being positive a good deal of the time. After an upset, the next day, she has no interest in the blame game and instead, she is most contrite. Whoever started it, whoever said what to whom, is of no further interest to her. She has had her say and she wants to get back to where things were. She wants to get to the place where she belongs: the bottom.

It is, therefore, the easiest thing in the world for her to be contrite. She is sorry for her part in the little break in proceedings. She tells her man that she loves him. She asks, demurely, if he loves her. In fact, he does! And, life is back to normal.

Consider exhibit number one: an email exchange the morning after a fracas:

"Sir
I have your phone. It was left in my car. Thank you for a lovely morning.
Love
girl
XO"

"Thank you girl for the lovely morning also. What a difference a day makes. Perhaps you might remind yourself of that when you feel like you are about to blow/go off!
Thanks re phone.
Love Sir"

Yeah. Yeah. I skipped over the punishment thing. But, this is my blog, and you didn't want to hear about that. Or,did you?

I am sorry

In my university years, I had a waitress's job. The customers would come up to the blackboard and make their selections for dinner and then they would place their order with me. I can still recall in detail, a particular couple who stood at the blackboard deciding what they would order. They were about thirty years old. At the time, I considered them the ideal couple. He was attentive and loving to her, and she was basking in that love and attention. It was obvious they were having trouble keeping their hands off each other.

It was exactly what I wanted; to be in love and for a man to be in love with me. In my late teens and early twenties, I tended to want to be thirty. I wanted to have the air of sophistication that I felt a thirty year old carried. I wanted the sense of stability that I felt came with being thirty; a home of one's own and a little bit of money to decorate it tastefully. It is no secret that I am a bit of a homing pigeon. My thoughts were always to make a comfortable home and to share it with a man.

I thought about that couple as I walked this morning, right around the river. It felt good to be out early amongst the bikers and walkers and my mind was drifting, trying to settle itself from listening to my husband's upsetting words. I thought about my kink and all that has happened in the past three years. And, I thought back to the young girl that I was; wanting love and stability.

As our marriage has gone on, the importance of my following his lead, come what may, has increased. He will brook no argument with me and under those circumstances, I do my best to contain my thoughts, my needs and my wants. I do my best to live the life that he has deemed is the one we will live.

When he is good to me, loving and kind, my little world seems much bigger and better than any celebrity or heiress. When he is rude and without understanding for my concerns, my little world caves in on me. I wonder why I am living in such a cramped, little space.

For a woman to express her submission with ease and beauty, she needs her man to treat her very well. Therein is the secret of the D/s relationship. A woman such as me is prepared to lose everything, even her humanity at times, if the dominant man of her life treats her with the utmost respect.

It is for this reason that I continue to believe that a man in a D/s relationship, has no alternative but to express his apology when his behaviour has been below par. He loses nothing by doing so and in fact, her respect for him is restored. Three little words will change her day and her mindset. I see no reason why dominance and humility cannot, at times, be perfect partners.

Pandora's box

She was just a little girl, really. She knew that because he often said to her,

"You are such a little girl!"

He'd been saying it for years!

But, unlike good little girls who are seen and not heard, she had an inclination to be vocal. She had an inclination to air her views, and sometimes she was even strident in the airing of those views.

That had to stop. The little girl needed to learn that it was much better if she remained quiet and chose her words very, very carefully. He had told her that many times. But, not even his stick had managed to convince her of the benefits of holding her tongue.

He opened the box and delight was written all over his face. She had withdrawn to the foetal position; reduced to the state of a worried, wee little thing.

She opened her mouth as instructed and bit on the penis-shaped gag whilst he secured the strap around her head.

For more than an hour all that he would hear were her myews and moans as he played with her; this hole and that. A greedy boy, he produced other toys to insert in her holes. In and out, in and out. She was made helpless; secured as she was by the wrists and the ankles. She was no more than his plaything; a dribbling mess.

Later, when he had washed his toys well and prepared her for her day, he warned the little girl that inappropriate words could be silenced in other ways now.

She looked up at him with wide eyes; a little petulant, perhaps. Yet, his words had an effect on her. For the rest of the day, she was very demure indeed.

She was just a little girl; his good little girl.

The Box

The package sat on the chair by her bed. It had been there for the past three days. She had received a note in her mail box to inform her that a package was waiting for her at the post office. After she attended a music lesson, she went straight there and presented her slip, signed for the package and took it home. It was a brown parceled box and she carried it back to the car with pleasurable anticipation. When at home, she placed it on the chair near to the bed, on her side of the bed.

That night, her husband asked her what was in the box and she told him. Would he like to open the box with her? He informed her that he was looking forward to making good use of the contents of the box but the next few days were packed, and they would open it together on Friday evening.

When Friday evening came, they were both very tired, having had little sleep the night before. The Ball had been fun, but a big social event on a week day was draining, nonetheless. She reminded him that it was Friday evening, that the box was right there beside them. However, his mind was already elsewhere; his thoughts were more for slumber.

She caressed him a little to see if there was any chance of imbibing him but he was lost to sleepy bye time. She soon fell asleep herself.

In the very early part of the morning, when it is still pitch dark, she awoke with her cunt on fire. Her thoughts related directly to the contents of the box. She thought about how she could be made use of, and once she did that, all thoughts of sleeping were useless.

She woke and she wrote. As she wrote she thought about the little box beside her bed and she wondered how long she could wait before she tore the thing open like a little girl at Christmas time...

Count your blessings

One of the nicest things you can do for yourselves as a married couple, I believe, is to go out together, to a formal function. Formal functions require formal attire and as soon as one starts to prepare for such an evening, the pleasure begins. I had fun late afternoon choosing my outfit, showering,doing my hair, my nails and my makeup, putting on my perfume.

Of course, it doesn't take him long when he returns from the city to have a shower and put on a tuxedo, but I think he understands by now that girls need that lead in time to make themselves look their beautiful best. And, I did. I did feel good.

When I came out of my room, good to go, the older children were very impressed. Both photography enthusiasts, they snapped a variety of shots of me alone, and with my husband, their Dad, and it really was good fun. It felt a bit like a school formal, because that is what we had done for them; snap away in order to remember that special moment.

It was not lost on my husband that I was wearing my special necklace as well as my special bracelet, but this time I was wearing the beautiful silver, slightly irregular 'O' with my multiple stranded fine red leather necklace, which matched the colour of my nail polish. It was a stroke of genius at the time he bought it that he asked the woman to order in the red leather necklace as well as the black one that came with the pendant. I love the contrast with the black clothes, I must say.

So, it turned out to be one of those events where there is a silent auction. I rather like those sorts of auctions and I wandered about looking for something on which to make a bid. Were the smiles I got from various men simply ones of politeness and admiration, or did they read more into the choices of what I had chosen to wear around my neck and wrist? I will never know. Nor will they ever know that the 'night and dinner in the city' prize, won by me, would see us enjoying a very kinky and smutty weekend some time soon.

We danced the night away, really. We had the best time doing that. But, as well, we met some very interesting couples on our table, for our invitation had come from an old friend, and these other people were strangers to us. One lovely man engaged me in conversation and to our delight we had so much in common. He'd lived overseas where we had, we'd been born in the same town, he's attended the same university and at the same time, and even was in the college next to me. It had simply taken a few more decades for us to meet. I wasn't sure about his wife at first. He seemed a bit disengaged from her. But, when they went onto the dance floor, I could see that decades of marriage, children and an international life, had done nothing to diminish their connection at all; like us. When he left, a big bear of an Indian man, he hugged both my husband and I tight. We were of the same ilk.

Marriage has its tough spots; like life. Yet, it is who I am; a married woman with children; a beautiful, happy and loving family. It is what I always wanted. My need and desire for opportunities to express and explore my kink is a side of me that few people will ever see, but it remains a very important part of me and I think it always will. I am loved for who I am. I don't think you can ask for more than that.

Re-connection

When she woke, you caressed her.
And, in return, she caressed you,
though her eyes were still closed tight.
You brought the tawse under her nose
where she could smell it.
Her cunt came to life instantly and her hips moved
without forethought.
You held her hair tight and guided her over your knees.
But, not before she had stopped to put her mouth around your cock.
As directed.
It was just a momentary thing; an appetiser.
Now in position, instintively, she placed a finger in her mouth,
in preparation.
You brought the tawse down on her naked buttocks.
She felt herself awaken faster than was natural.
Already, the panting had begun.
You stopped; rubbed her cheeks.
And, then you began again.
It was pleasant this time.
Still stingy, but also appreciated.
Now, you prompted her to move across the pillow you had placed
there for her hips.
And, you entered her effortlessly.
And, took your pleasure.
You kissed her neck, just a small sweet kiss
Before you directed her to the shower;
"Off you go".
And, all was very well.
The re-connection healed her and she moved on with her day.
It was a day not unlike any other day.
Yet, her mind was happy and her spirit soared.
She needed this.
She always would.
You understood.

The Carer

In a marriage, a particular dynamic between the two people quickly falls into place. And, as Sir J mentioned in a recent post, one person in that marriage tends to be the driving force of the relationship. I have read that one person tends to love the other more, and this plays an important part in the dynamics formed, as well.

I was a quiet child and went about my life in a contained sort of way; school, piano, dance. I wanted to go onto university, to the best university, and I worked away at achieving that goal. I never really confronted or went into conflict with anyone at all. I accepted their needs, the needs of my family, and I just went about achieving my goal in that landscape. I simply don't like confrontation and I live and let live.

When I married we went overseas immediately, for my husband's work. He says that if I had not met him, I might have married someone more conventional; an accountant or a lawyer, or perhaps a university professor. It is true that I was too quiet of a person to travel on my own, and travelling may not have come to my life until later.

The truth is that I was never particularly ambitious for myself. To their credit, my teachers encouraged me to choose a career path, for it was obvious that I had the mind to achieve that. Yet, already I was yearning for some sort of stability in my life other than that. Of course, I did choose a career path, but not one that would make difficult having a husband and children. I suppose we either raise our children as we have been raised, or the exact opposite. In my case, I wanted to give my children what I did not have; the attention of their parents.

Almost from the moment we married, and even before that, I fell into the role of caregiver and supporter. It was my husband's career that was important. If he needed to travel overseas, then that is where we would go. If he needed to work into the night, so it would be. Domesticity became my realm and without any real discussion, it was my responsibility to cook, to clean, to do the laundry and the dishes.

In the same way, he quickly fell into the role of the money maker and he shouldered those responsibilities for me; largely. He was intensely ambitious and so, if he needed time to himself to study or work, I enabled that.

A few decades on, he remains totally engaged in his projects, of various kinds. I continue to enable that by looking after all the other matters; the children's school needs, the dinner, the ironing, the cleaning, the errands and so forth.

But, in middle age, there is a little rustle in the wind and I have a need to lift off from the ground. I've done my duty. I've been in service to my family, my husband and my children, for a very long time. I need to be considered as an individual with needs of my own. I want, for short spaces of time, to leave the 'caring' role and to be cared for.

How does one care for a women like me, you ask? Well, you could chain me to the bath tub. That would be particularly nice. And, while I soaked in the bubbles and my mind luxuriated in the freedom of those chains, you could make me an omelet with a little salad on the side. That's not hard to do, surely! Or, you could tie me up, naked, on the bed and leave me alone for an hour whilst you go off and do some work and I wait for you to return. That would be a treat. You could do something to me, for me! You could just make it happen.

For you see, if I ask you to make it happen, the magic has gone. You have to love me enough, care for me enough, to make it happen. So, you can't take me on a lovely holiday to see places in the world I want to see! Okay. I'm a realist. I accept it. But, you can love me in small ways and in those ways, you can resuscitate me so that I can support your life, as you wish.

A dominant man must be sure not to be domineering. A submissive woman such as me has a great deal to give. But, she gets tired and lonely, just like any other woman. A kinky treat every now and then, however, will restore her heart.

Again, the dynamic will be just right for the both of them.

My Domme - part 2

So, we sat down to talk, and she asked about what I ate and when. We talked about what I was doing wrong. It seems that I was not having enough protein, nor was I eating regularly enough. It is something that my husband has told me for years, so it turns out he was right; again.

She talked about what a week looked like for me and what my commitments were. She knows me. I attend an exercise class of hers each week elsewhere. She talked about how I was such a "giver" and that I do that so "naturally and casually". It was time in my life, she said, to insist on some "me time". What did I like to do? This gets tricky, because as soon as I ever tell someone that I "like to write", they ask me what I am writing. So, I told her that I write short stories about "relationships". That is what I liked to do with spare time.

So, we devised a weekly schedule: a routine of exercise and times when I would write, in a room with the door closed. She said that I really had to "insist" on that with the family.

I found myself comparing her to a dominant man I know on the Internet; a man who believes in rituals but also believes in "me time", too; a man who supports rituals as a way of my getting that "me time". The penny was starting to drop. It was okay to have 'me time'!

With the discussion over, she moved into the 'workout'. Panting, breathless, desperate; I tried to distract her for a moment to get a breath of air.

"You're a slave driver!"

"Why do you think they call me 'Madam Lash'?"

I giggled.

"They do?"

"What do you think the other group gave me for Christmas? A whip!"

"They did?"

In my mind, this conversation was already on the blog.

Finally, the woman left, with instructions to have a big drink of water and a "bit of a rest." She'd see me the day after next.

And, so it has begun; insistent 'motivation' to get fit and lose those couple of mid-life kilos that I want off.

It is a bit of carrot and plenty of stick.

And, Clemmi, you're next!

My domme

My domme called tonight and she has me frazzled. More than any dominant man I know, she scares me.

"Vesta, I wondered if tomorrow at 12.30 would work for you."

"Oh! I'm not sure. Tomorrow could be busy."

"Well, I'd like to get going with this."

"Right. Well, it is going to be tight. I have an appointment in the morning and a meeting at 2.30."

"Mmmmmm."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Well, what did you have planned?"

"I want to go over what you are eating. And, I want to do a work out with you."

Oh God! She wasn't going to let the bone go!

"Okay. I'll see you at the house at 12.30."

She'd got what she wanted. Now, she was a bit more upbeat.

"That's great. See you then, Vesta."

My dom may have a stick and a tawse that has me gasping for breath, but my domme has my chest heaving.

"Come on, Vesta!!! Let's goooooo!!"

Save me!

Seduce me

Several months ago, my husband and I went to the movies. It was a Friday evening and I had bought tickets for a movie at our local old-world cinema. It is the same one we've been going to now for centuries, since even as a university student, I sought out 'art house' movies, much to some friends' chagrin. He caught the train to the nearby station from the city and I met him there. He bought his 'choc top' ice cream as he always does. I said I didn't want one, as I always do, although you and I both know that I would have loved one, if it didn't have a 1,000 calories in it.

It was a silly, little movie, really. It was full of funny and light hearted moments of a boy and girl getting to know one another; going through the process of falling in love. It was tender and sweet and just right for us on that particular night.

The male character said something really funny and we turned to one another and smiled. He kissed me and I kissed him back. And, he said,

"It is like falling in love all over again, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I said.

In the process of turning our relationship into a D/s one, we had captured again the headiness of a time many years ago.

He says that the first time he saw me I was walking across the college quadrangle with my nose in the air.

Eventually, I told him that my nose wasn't in the air because I was full of myself, but rather my nose was in the air because I was actually uncertain of myself, and that was my cover.

The first time I noticed him, he was in the bedroom of a friend at college. The next day I saw him at breakfast and I asked him if he had stayed long.

"No, when you left the party was over."

I smiled. He was cute. I tucked the thought behind my ear. And, at the end of the summer, I invited him to a Ball. The rest is history.

Do I need to continue to make myself attractive to him? Of course I do! We all need to keep doing that, day by day.

Is it difficult? Not at all! I could walk into his study right this moment and give him a sultry look, and I'd have him eating out of my hands.

He just put his head around the corner of the room where I am writing.

"You need to take a trip to the Headmaster's office!"

I smiled, although I tried not to.

The wooing, the seducing lives on.

Seize the day

I happened to have the radio on in my bedroom recently as I was tidying the room up and I heard part of an interview of a man who was some sort of theologian. He came across to me as a learned and deep thinking sort of person, and perhaps too, it was his voice that pulled me in.

The interviewer asked, "So, why are we here (on earth)?"

The theologian said, "We are here for two reasons. We are here to be of help to others and we are here to find out about our self. Neither one is more important than the other." (or very similar words)

He had my complete attention. All these years, I had thought, that the right answer was that we are here to do good. Pure and simple. Every time that I took time out for myself in the past, I have felt a little guilty. Perhaps, I could do something for one of the children or be offering my assistance in some other capacity. It just didn't feel right often to go off and do something about finding out about myself. In any case, there were years and years of chasing my tail, just trying extra hard to keep up with the workload.

About three years ago, I could no longer contain my curiosity to know about myself and I began my explorations into my heart, my mind and my soul. It began with lust and then it broadened out into all my feelings; about being a woman, about being half of a relationship, and about what brought me the strongest sense of completeness.

I discovered that when you take that time out for yourself, you heal yourself and as you heal yourself, you have more to give back. It is very intoxicating, this voyage of discovery and one has to be aware of the way that it sucks up time. It is so deeply satisfying to truly know oneself that one can't stop until every last crumb of information is gathered, dissected and understood. Even then, the desire is to become a "better girl", and then the wonderful journey continues on.

Since I have felt quite indolent at times, taking this time out for myself, the theologian's words were music to my ears. It was perfectly all right to do both activities in this life and I was not short-changing anybody.

In my case, much of the journey has been expressed as words on paper; here, in diaries, in stories, and in exchanges on email and chat.

We each have our own very personal story to discover and to tell. I'm as intrigued in your story as I am in any other story. The beauty of growing older is that we can look back and begin to make sense of the journey so far and to know better where we have left to go and what might be best for us and those we love.

Each new day has a new beginning. Each new blank screen or piece of paper offers us an opportunity to express ourselves.

Seize the day!

Honesty

I have respect for the posts I read over at Cross Purposes. I often agree with points made there and even when I do not, I always learn from the posts written by Mr. Cross. The issue of ‘honesty’ in a D/s relationship is an important matter and without honesty the chances of the relationship flourishing are not good. Without a dominant understanding what is on the mind of his submissive, he is not in a position to be able to help her is, I believe, how the dominant man generally feels.

In his most recent post relating to honesty, Mr. Cross said the following:

OTOH - it has been my personal experience that in long-lived D/s relationships there comes a time when the Dominant must trust the Submissive to tell him what he needs to know, which is not always everything. For example, a Submissive might be angry or sad over a decision her Dominant has made, but she also knows that telling him will not change his mind, and may only start a conflict between them. Therefore she says nothing and tries to do her best. He will of course notice the changes in her, but because he trusts her he will not probe deeper. She will speak to him if she must.

When I read that paragraph, I felt truly understood. Over a long marriage, I have come to understand that there are things that will not change; decisions that are made which will make me sad or angry. If I enunciate how I feel, try to express what is disturbing me, the chances are very high that I do so at a very high cost. If I express my concerns or my upset about certain issues, I am likely to have to listen, all over again, to a line of argument with which I do not agree. It is likely to be expressed with a certain level of pique that it has to be gone into again, and at the end of the discussion, I am likely to feel very much worse than if I had kept my own counsel. There is a strong argument, I believe, for the submissive woman coming to know when it would be best to self-soothe; when it would be best to stay quiet and calm and accept her situation.

So, how might I deal with my upset over such a situation? Well, you might find me mumbling to myself; in the shower or as I sweep around the house collecting laundry. I express my anger but I do so quietly, to myself. I might go for a walk because the opportunity to move my body fast allows me to run the thoughts through my head, feel angry, and then ultimately, the further I walk, calm down.

Eventually, I come to see that my life is good; not perfect but good. I have a great deal to be thankful for and I am married to a good man who loves me dearly, as I love him. He always has and always will, occasionally make me angry, because he is profoundly opinionated and profoundly incapable of doing things any way but his own.

As I work my way through my upset, alone, I come to see that I am trying to alter what cannot be altered and I begin to relax and accept. The process occurred alone. Not a word was spoken between us. Was I dishonest? According to some people, I was. Yet, it works. And, it works better than the full blown honesty that some might expect of the submissive ever could.

The dom is always right

I found a little message in my email 'in box' this evening, letting me know that I was skating on some pretty thin ice. It seems that it might have come across as if I were suggesting that I know better than the dom.

And, I thought it might be prudent to clear that up.

I certainly don't think I'm in any position to consider that I know better than the dom. It's up to the dom, and not me, to determine what is right.

Let me be clear. The dom is always right. Even when he is wrong. We all know that. It is not up for debate or argument in any way. I'm sure, somewhere, there is a rule book where this is written, even though I haven't actually seen it at all. I'm sure somebody has it tucked it away on a shelf at home.

Yet, these discussions between doms and subs are really so fascinating and titillating, who can resist a well-rounded, solid and comprehensive debate on all these D/s lifestyle issues? Debating, public speaking, speech writing; this is grist for the mill in my family. We thrive on disagreement really, because then we can come together to argue our point of view and have so much fun doing so. Think of it as you would a sport.

But any sort of thinking other than 'the dom is always right' just isn't part of the deal. Not at all. And, if it came over that way, it was simply a misunderstanding. I have no interest in skating on a pond with thin ice. Not me. Not at all.

I want to emphasize, underline and make extraordinarily clear, that as a submissive I in no way feel that my ideas are better or more worthy than that of the dom.

After the discussion, the debate, the arguing of one's point of view, the dom will always have the final say; as he should.

And, so it is. And, so it was. And, so it always shall be.

I'm glad we got that sorted.

Anger management

As a man who drives himself towards achieving as much as possible in any one day, my husband's tolerance levels late at night can be diminished. Over a year ago now, I made myself a rule, and that was not to be in any way difficult late at night, or to allow what he said in his tiredness to get to me. The bedroom is, in my humble opinion, not the place to bicker or bitch about something that is annoying about one's day or something that one wants done. I say this with experience behind me.

I think I have made it quite clear here on the blog that I am not a perfect person, and one evening, many months ago now, I became quite rattled by what my husband was saying. I haven't a clue today what it was that he said that evening that really got under my skin but I know that I was having a great deal of trouble ignoring his words. My breath was laboured and although I was giving myself a private pep talk, telling myself not to react to his words, the moment came when I 'cracked'. The bedclothes came off and I was 'out of there'. I didn't need this. I was off to sleep in another room.

"Oh dear!" I hear you say. Shock and horror. What outrageous behaviour from a submissive woman is this? My husband agreed with you and he came to me and told me that I had one minute to get back in his bed, or the sky was going to fall. Well, I went back there, but the mood was very frosty indeed and the next day, I was still having some difficulty containing my anger.

As it happened, Janus and I had one of our rare google chats that next day and believing in the truth, I told him what I had done and why I had done it. Like you, he was not at all impressed.

He told me that getting out of my husband's bed was a "no no". I think he got the impression that I wasn't entirely getting what I had done wrong so he decided to tell me what he would do with his submissive if she did this. It would be great to have his exact words, but I can't seem to find them in my files, so I'll do my best to recall them.

He told me that if his submissive were to get out of his bed, he would warm her bottom so soundly that she would be unlikely to ever think about getting out of his bed without permission again, and since she didn't want to be there,after her spanking she could spend the rest of the night sitting on a wooden chair by the bed, thinking about her behaviour.

Soon thereafter, he changed the topic of conversation but later, I asked if we could return to the topic of leaving the bed and he agreed.

"I think that is mean, what you said, leaving her to spend the rest of the night on the chair."

"Well, I may come and get her after a while and bring her back to bed, and since she would be so wet by then, I would probably fuck her."

Since it is ancient history, I will admit to you now that the man was winning me over. As much as I continued to feel that there was something unfair in all of this, I was hot. The little scene has played out in many a fantasy and also in a story of mine. Of course, the girl would be hot, left to sit on a chair and stew for a while, bottom on fire!

And, there is the rub! Control, even the kind that makes us angry, makes us hot. And, there is not a darn thing we can do about it. When they put in the wiring for girls like us, they did it differently to other girls, and there is nothing to be done. I have no complaints.

Patience

I have been giving thought to the trajectory of the submissive woman and her progress. Let's say that she has become aware over time of her nature. She understands that the dominant male does something for her and to her that she just can't ignore any more. She wants to experience it all. She wants to know what it is to submit full time. She has a sense that it could be the road straight to heaven, for her.

There are many women who think this out there, I am sure, yet their circumstances must be so different. In my case, I was already married and didn't have to go any further than to my husband who was right beside me. And, I wasn't brushed aside, either. This was clearly something I wanted very much and he didn't hesitate to do his best to make it happen for me. It is a relationship built on deep and long lasting love, and this new component could be added on; not without difficulty, but with hard work and love.

Some women must first find a man to submit to. Some partners may even decide to find a man to help train his girl. I imagine each particular situation has a unique quality to it and I can't even begin to imagine all the scenarios of all my readers, although I certainly do try.

But, my interest today is not so much in what is different about us but what may be expected or anticipated behaviour; common behaviour. I've talked before about experiences such as grief where experts can tell us what to expect. It is normal they will say to lie in bed for a few days without the desire or will to move on with life just yet; or whatever the case may be.

As far as I know, there has been very little work, if any, done on the anticipated or expected behaviours of women who choose to submit. One of the most amazing things to me is that a dominant man with experience in the task, can do more for a woman with a submissive nature than any university qualified 'expert' could ever do. They are an 'expert' in the woman with a submissive nature, and I listen carefully to what such men can tell me. They have observed women go through the motions and grades of learning to accept their natures, and in my opinion, they provide a special and unique service; free of charge and with no guarantees, but with their heartfelt desire to help (and enjoy).

I'm not particularly technical or scientific, yet I would so love to plot the progress or lack thereof. If one were able to do that, I think that what one would find is that the graph is all over the place. I think that there would be spiky ups and downs for quite some time before the graph started to take off, much like a jet leaving the ground for higher realms.

I say this because that is the way it was for me, and if that is the way it was for me, then maybe that is the way it was or will be for you, too. Submissive women are not robots. Submissive women are simply women with minds, souls, feelings and emotions. They may say that they want to submit, but when it starts happening, they may find the going very tough. They may find the words used to be too much. They may feel that their psyches are at risk of being damaged or that they have made a mistake. They may be angry and decide that they will disobey to express their anger. They may tell the dom to get 'dog knotted'!!

It may be swings and slides for quite some time. Some doms may give up. She is just too hard work. He wants someone who will just do as they are told. But, what if, tomorrow, she can? Tomorrow, she will be able to do as she is told. Just, not today! She isn't quite ready, through no fault of her own.

The dom requires a great deal of patience with certain girls. The dom required a great deal of patience with me. I've changed so much in the past few weeks that I can barely remember all the details. Let's just say that I reacted negatively to expectations of me and I called a halt to proceedings. And then, soon after, I had second thoughts. Perhaps, the dom in such cases is entitled to walk away and write her off to experience. That could easily have happened to me. But, in my case, I was taught a lesson that I won't soon forget; that I am much more when I submit than when I do not; that submission is definitely right for me.

By having a patient dom, perhaps even one who believed in me, and who felt that he had to try everything before he would ever give up, I was the winner. I needed that sort of dominance; the sort of dominance that could endure all the ups and downs of my personal graph before he began to see up upward and smooth trajectory of which he could be proud.

Perhaps, any good dom just knows instinctively what to do with his girl and how long it is likely to take. Since I work on instinct myself, I have respect for that. But, patience is sometimes simply a necessary tool for the dom. Too rigid a rule and he risks losing what could have otherwise been a huge success story.

Keys of the kingdom

“Girl, isn’t it time you were on your way?”

“Yes. I am just looking for my car keys. I thought I left them on the kitchen bench.”

“Yes, you did and I hung them on the key ring. You are falling back into bad habits. I’ve been noticing your keys in various locations about the house. What is the rule?”

“That I put my keys on the key ring.”

“That’s right.”

“All right. Into the bedroom before you go.”

“I can’t! I will be late!”

“You would not be late if you had put your keys where they belong and if you had got going already, would you?”

“But...”

“Would you?”

“No, but...”

“And, what haven’t you asked for?”

“My maintenance.”

“That’s right. Over you go. It will have to be the cane, I’m afraid.”

“No! No, really, I will be very late.”

“Quickly! Stop wasting time.”

“There will be five strokes over your skirt. Stay down now!”

“Owwww”

“You so need this. You need a lot more of this.”

“Owwwww!”

“Stay still now and take your medicine. This is doing you lots of good.”

“Owwwwww!!”

“Don’t you dare come up!”

“Owwwwwwwww!!!”

“One more. Be still.”

“Owwwwwwwwwww!!!!”

“And, what happens when you come up? Girl? What happens?”

“We start again.” Whimper

“That’s right. Unfortunately, we start again. You have to learn.”

“One”

“Owww!”

“Two”

“It hurts!”

“Maybe, you’ll remember to stay down next time. Three.”

“Ow. Ow. Owwww!”

“Four”

“Owwwwwww”

“Five. You may come up. Quickly now! What do you say?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“And, where do your keys belong?”

“On the key ring.”

“That’s right. Give me a kiss now and be on your way.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”

“That's a good girl. Goodbye, little one. Drive safely now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

In public

It was a requirement that she wear her training plug out in public sometime during the week. She had no complaints. She was eager to comply.

Although, strictly speaking, she had five days in which to satisfy his request, she saw no reason to delay. Yet, her day was getting away from her. One task had simply led to the other.

Now, with only an hour before she was due at her son's school, she wondered if she should dare to use this formal occasion as her plug's first outing. It had, of course, accompanied her in her handbag, but this was a different matter altogether.

As the minutes ticked away, the idea appealed to her more and more, and she went to her bedroom and inserted it; prepared the dinner, carried on with her tasks.

As she waited in the hall for their turn to go in to talk to the panel of teachers, she sat on a chair and was aware of being filled. She squeezed her muscles around it and felt the plug tighten its grip; wedge itself more into her body.

Soon, they were called inside and she shook each teacher's hand warmly and gracefully. There were smiles all round. On the outside she was an attractive mother, dressed tastefully in black; on the inside she was also co-ordinated; another black accessory. Yet, her progressive transformation could not be seen; only felt.

Her first public foray as a fucktoy pleased her immensely.

Treats for the sweet

This morning, my husband awoke early to take a conference call, and quietly dressed and closed the bedroom door, to allow me to sleep on. I quietly opened the bedroom door and got my laptop to check my kinky emails.

Upon finishing his call, he opened the bedroom door to find me with laptop on knee and proceeded to tell me all about the call. Like the good girl that I am, I put the laptop aside to listen to him carefully.

When he had finished his tale, he asked if I would like breakfast in bed. I thanked him for his offer and went back to reading kinky material, as you do.

"No. I want you to write a post," he said. "Tell them, that when you are a good girl, you get treats. Let them know that it pays to be a good girl."

And, so it does. Good girls get rewards in bed, of various kinds. But, I should caution, that a good girl must not let this sort of thing go to her head. She has the 'power' to influence her man in all sorts of ways. Yet, being sweetness and light, she would never allow such power to corrupt her. She is above all things; sweet, good and well mannered. Manipulation is unthinkable to her.

Balance

I have a theory. (Oh no! It is one of her theory days, I hear you say!) I'll be brief. As women age, if they are not very careful, they fall into the custom of spending a lot of time with groups of other women. Perhaps their children are of a certain age where they don't need them any more and to fill that gap they find themselves spending more time at the club playing tennis. Or, they discover a talent for golf. Suddenly four of the seven days of the weeks are spent on the golf course as they go in search for the gold cup for best player. Or, they discover the world of bridge. Once they discover the world of bridge, you might as well forget it.

I can't really speak for the men in their lives. Do they enjoy this outcome? Does it, perhaps, allow them to go to the football with their mates? Are they just happy that their girl is content being with other girls? Well, my theory is that they are just fine about it, provided that their girl doesn't forget about them. For, the longer that women spend with women, the less inclined they seem to be to want to have some fun with their man. I think that is a shame and I think that one has to be aware of that. Eighteen holes of golf can be good for you and invigorating, too. But, nothing will put a glow on your cheeks and connect the two of you more than a good romp in the hay.

Frankly, I don't see why people can't be sexual all their lives. Recently, I watched a German movie. In the movie, there was a good amount of explicit sex between a couple in their early seventies. The woman's husband was over it, and the woman became besotted by another man who made love to her regularly. Although they were not attractive people, I found the love making endearing. Afterwards, the woman seemed to lose ten years. She became much more girlish and clearly, more happy. No matter how old I get I will still colour my hair, still looks for pretty dresses, and still want sex. And the games, such as golf can come in handy for earning strokes, I have been advised. Perfect!

Since I have boys, I listen carefully to what they have to say about women. Out of the mouth of babes come some profound thoughts. My little one said to me, as we were driving home together,

"I can't understand why girls roam around in big groups. Don't they realize that it makes it hard for boys to come up and ask them out?

And, just now, as I put my head up from my article about Sophie Dahl to ask my elder boy what he was watching on the television...

"It's called 'The View'".

"Yes, darling, I know. But, what are they talking about?"

"Nothing. They are talking about nothing. It is just some chicks clucking about nothing."

Even young boys see what they are up against!

I love a lunch with the girls, from time to time. It can be a lot of fun. But, when that's over, I return home to my man, and I'm happy to do so. Female conversation only goes so far.

It's really all about balance.

A change of mindset

She awakens early. She is aware of the noises of the city; so different to the country sounds of the past week or so. Instead of kookaburras and birds in the gum trees, she hears the rumbling of the cars and the honking of horns in the distance. She is no longer in a humble house in a small town by the water but in a city house on a refined street; a river of respectability where people make their money by fair means or foul.

She opens up to the site where she will purchase and have sent to her, plugs for the remainder of her holes. By suggestion, and according to her desire and her will, she cedes the right to speak when she should wish. It is something she could not have imagined. Yet, here she is, doing it of her own volition and loving it.

If they should know that behind her front door, even at the local market where she purchases her supplies for her family, she is plugged, nothing but a fucktoy, how they would gasp in dismay, in disbelief, and perhaps even with a jaundiced eye.

As she becomes less, she becomes more. She knows that but they can only wonder at the reason for the sparkle in her eye.

High maintenance

It is something of a well recognized 'truth' amongst dominant people that submissives such as myself are 'high maintenance'. I don't refute it. I know that I am high maintenance. For a time, I believed that 'sub fever' was a transitory state and one that a girl eventually grew out of. Today, I am not so sure about that. I think it is quite possible for the state of 'sub fever' to go on indefinitely. For someone who accepted her submissive nature rather late in life, there were and still are, a great many layers of the onion to peel. It is possible that in the peeling of those layers, there is still much to learn, to think about and to experience. Potentially, the layers could go on and on for a very long time, and in that process of peeling the onion, a girl such as me could, potentially, be in a state of 'sub fever' for much longer than some people might think possible. I don't think it is the mind of the girl that puts a limit on sub-fever, but rather, it might be her circumstances.

And I come back again to the notion that girls such as me are indeed 'high maintenance'. They can 'suck up' a lot of time for a man. If dominant men were to meet over a drink I suspect that they would get around to talking about this with one another; to give one another a bit of consolation about this and perhaps to share a few tips. For, whilst we can be a lot of fun and give the man a really good time, in the bedroom and out, we can be demanding. For a man who has a big work load, or is at a time in his life when he needs to put a lot of himself into his work, or his project, or whatever, this is not always convenient.

On one level, practically speaking, the girl understands this. She is not his focus at this time and she needs to understand that it is nothing 'personal'. It is not about 'her'. It is just that he only has so many hours in a day; there is only so much of him to go around, and what he is doing in his business is important; not just for him, but for her; for their future. She understands that. She is sensible as well as kinky as she does her best to keep her expectations low and to take control of that submissive nature of hers, and that high libido of hers, and just accept the situation for what it is.

On another level, on a 'feelings' level, she feels a bit abandoned. She is trying so hard to be his 'good girl', to be undemanding and understanding, but her mind is racing with thoughts and memories of what it is like to be satiated and satisfied and she is hungry for that. She so wants to be fed.

The girl can attempt to talk to her man and to explain her issue; how she feels, but I should warn such submissives, that such a conversation may not always go your way. The dominant man, hungry for success and inclined to put nearly all his energies into ensuring that success, is not looking for his girl to have feelings that encroach on his time and his focus. He may even get defensive, and who needs that?

At the end of the day, that old virtue of patience must be relied upon. Eventually, he will come to the girl and give her a jolly good time. Again, her heart will sing, her mind will clear and she will smile through many days, with the memory of her experience. She will again have a lightness of being.

Yes. Yes. We are demanding and 'high maintenance'. But, we are also 'heaven sent', and the dominant would do well to remember that he, above all other men, is truly blessed.

Perfection

Some readers may not be surprised to learn that I did my fair share of liberal arts subjects at university. I have read many, many novels and I have considered the significance of much of the world's history. As well, I have spent considerable time pontificating on matters of philosophy. It is no co-incidence that when I embrace someone as a new friend, they are not only opinionated, but their opinions carry weight. If they are to be dominant to a girl, for example, their interest in that extends well beyond the 'scene'. They want to play an important part in the life of the girl. Her well being, her happiness is in their hands, in no small measure, and they take that responsibility very, very seriously.

One of the books I bought when I was up north recently is titled 'Meditation for Busy People' and I have begun to read this very interesting book. As a girl who has used such phrases as "I'm still not the perfect submissive" and "I'm never going to be the perfect submissive", I was fascinated to read the following:

"Life is eternal, hence I say life is eternally imperfect. There is nothing wrong in being imperfect. Accept your imperfections and then the idea of being negative towards yourself will disappear."

A few pages on...

"My approach is not that of perfection but that of totality. Live the moment that is available to you totally and the next moment will be born out of it."

Instinctively, the effective dom 'knows' this in his bones. He does not seek perfection for his girl in any sort of 'model perfect' sort of way, but rather accepts that perfection of a person, as opposed to a skill, is an unattainable goal. Instead of putting his focus on a future where his girl will be "perfect", he deals with today and what is achievable today. He deal with the person, with all her assets and her flaws.

At the end of the day, we are all just human. We can aspire to be perfect. Michael Jackson aspired to be perfect at his craft; that of the performer. And, he was perhaps the best entertainer the world has ever known. Yet, in death we saw that he was really just one of us; a person with imperfections and needs, as the rest of us. He was judged and ridiculed, as some of us might be if we were to 'come out' to the world. Perhaps, we begin to see his need for privacy, for as a people we are quick to judge what we do not fully understand. We are all imperfect for there is no 'perfect' person; only perfect skills.

The wise dom knows this and keeps the thought in the back of his mind at all times. She will do her best for you for her best is all that she has to offer and all that the dom can demand.

Playing dress ups

The effective dominant man is inclined to be a conservative man. At least, that is my theory. He tends to like some order about life, and he tends to put time into ordering it, to his satisfaction. I’m sure there are some messy doms and tops out there, not inclined to order, but I think they are the exception to the rule.

The dominant men I have known and know are all conservative, on some level. They tend towards being professional or self employed in some way and regardless of their inclinations in their own home, they present as conservative men; upstanding and worthy citizens of their place of residence in the world.

Yet, I do see considerable variation as to how they prefer their women. They all enjoy the benefits and advantages of a submissive girl in their lives and they all appreciate a girl who can exhibit respect, obedience and strong self-esteem. But, it is in the little details that I notice consideration variation.

Some dominant men like their girl to be ‘au natural’. They like to see their girl not only naked, but completely unadorned. They dislike them to wear lipstick or nail polish when presenting for a scene, perhaps, and they don’t want to see any jewellery, either. They just want the girl as she is; as she came into this world.

Some dominant men like to see their girl dress sedately and conservatively. They don’t like short hems, regardless of how great her legs. They don’t want any flashy jewellery and in essence, they don’t want anyone but them to know that she is a slut. This knowledge is for them and for them alone.

Some dominant men prefer for their girl to display her submission in nearly all facets of her life. This is not the sort of man that would accept easily that his girl has a penchant for greasy food and fizzy drinks. He wants her to pay strict attention to her body and appearance and to take full advantage of her feminine curves. Not only should she choose clothing that enhances her femininity but she should modify her appearance by making use of undergarments, such a corset, to accentuate those beautiful curves of hers.

As far as I can tell, they all have appreciation for a well made, high heeled shoe, and they all like to see their girl wear them as often as possible. Some like to choose her clothing for her; others prefer to give her specific instructions as to what will pass inspection and what will not. Some adore her in black; others prefer colour. Some hate her in pants altogether; others love to see her ass dressed in jeans.

As far as dress goes, there seems no common ground. It is up to the girl to establish what her man likes and does not like; what he wouldn’t change for the world and what must go instantly.

For me, this is the part of the game that is so interesting; the details. Why is it that one man wants his girl dressed in only white shirts, when another would have her wearing black most days? Why does one man find lipstick unnecessary when another would expect to see her lips painted deep red nearly all the time?

For the girl, it really should not and does not matter what it is he wants her to do. What matters is that she wants to do what he wants. If he wants to see her in white shirts, because she looks dishy to him in them, then she will find herself looking for white shirts. If he wants a three and half inch heel on her shoes, then it is the shoes with that heel that she will notice. She wants him to find her attractive and she wants to please him. If he likes it, she likes it.

Of course, there is one little variation here. Sometimes, some dominant men want to test their girl. They want her to wear something in which she is not at all comfortable; in which she does not feel attractive. He might be trying to heighten her femininity or he might be trying to push her limits as to her conservative nature; or what might turn her on, or what might heighten her sexuality. This is a different matter and an area in which the poor girl may be severely challenged. She wants to please him but he is pushing into areas of self-esteem in which he may not experience instant success.

The submissive woman would do well to go with the flow of her man’s idiosyncratic desires for her dress as best she possibly can. In ‘Nine and half weeks’ Elizabeth asked her man when he was purchasing something for her in a store, “But, don’t you want to know if *I* like it.” He just nodded his head to indicate “No”. I loved that scene!

Lest you think that I am now the perfect submissive, let me remind my female readers that a girl has ways of steering the gentleman in her life to see things through her lens. Just as he can point out the perfect shoe, so she can point out the perfect jacket, or handbag or pair of silver ear-rings. Use your head, girls!

Perhaps, after all, there is a common factor in the desires of the dominant man as to the presentation of his girl. He wants her to look beautiful to his eyes. I was not a fan of dressing ‘Barbie’ but if my dominant wants to dress me, that's a different matter altogether!

Challenge

The submissive woman is not easily satisfied. On one hand, she yearns for the safety, security and sense of ease that comes with understanding herself as she truly is; that of a woman with a submissive nature. She enjoys the peace of mind that this 'knowing' brings to her day and she feels 'whole'. She walks lightly through her days.

On the other hand, the submissive woman wants more. Along with the 'knowing', the sense of satisfaction, the peace of mind, and the happiness, there is an understanding that her dominant must be unpredictable and somewhat demanding. Whilst she wants to be his 'good girl'; to receive his praise and his admiration; she does not mind at all if he should care to show a little of the devious side of his nature. Peace and tranquillity is very nice, but where is the man who can have her breathing hard; incensed even?

The submissive woman may not take at all kindly to his demands and reprimands. She may spit fire and brimstone at the things he whispers into her ear; at the instructions he leaves on a note beside her bed; but her anger is in conflict with her state, should he feel between her legs.

The submissive woman is never more alive than in those moments when her kindly and loving dominant man should challenge her. She has disappointed and there is a price to pay for that. She may not enjoy the penalty, but then, why is she darn hot? Or better yet, she has done nothing wrong at all. He just feels like asking her to do something and watching her reaction.

The submissive woman may be hard to please, but I am not at all sure that the dominant man wants her any other way.

The journey

From time to time, I worry that the casual reader here may be left with the feeling that submission is a state that came easily to me and that over time, I have had no doubts that the road I was on was the right road for me. That is just not true. At times, I have had serious misgivings about my desire to submit. My husband has wondered what was going on with me. Deliriously happy one day, angry the next, he was having trouble keeping up with me.

When one is going through a transition in life, or a crisis, there is often a particular process. Psychologists can warn us to expect to feel denial, anger, sadness, and ultimately acceptance, or whatever the emotions of that particular situation. With submission, the process seems to be much less well defined. The dominant man or top can have little way of knowing if his girl will respond negatively or positively to a situation until it actually happens. His aim may have been to turn her on; thrill and delight her. Instead, he may find himself with a girl sobbing her heart out. He really has to be prepared for all eventualities; to change direction at the drop of a hat if things don’t go the way he expected.

Over time, those swings of emotion, back and forth, have become less dramatic for me. Sometimes, I try to plot the journey I have been on; to establish for myself why things should be so much easier for me now. I still fall off my ‘good girl’ perch at times, but the fall is not as far and the time and energy it takes to climb back up there again is much less.

There were opportunities along the way to reconsider my decision. I’d reacted poorly to something and the question was asked if this was really what I wanted. I certainly didn’t know if I would ultimately succeed, if I could succeed, or even if I should succeed. What I did know, no matter when that question was asked, was that I wanted to succeed. It was never a question of will for me. I knew what I wanted all along, every step of the way. My emotions were like riding a rollercoaster but my will to succeed stayed firmly planted on the ground. I knew in my bones, somehow, that submission was right for me.

At times, this ‘knowing’ lacked all reason. At the same time as I would be miserable about something, or unable to obey, I would still insist that I wanted to keep trying. In my mind, I think what I felt was that there were such sublime times to be had at the end of the journey; that if I kept moving down the track, somewhere around the next bend, I might catch a glimpse of the rainbow.

Many times, I felt that my dominant would give up on me. Surely, I felt, no woman in the history of D/s relationships had ever been this much trouble. Surely, no wife had ever given her husband so much cause for concern when giving her what she told him she so fervently wanted.

Finally, a few months ago, at his wit’s end, my husband felt he had no choice but to bring out ‘the big guns’. He needed to draw a line in the sand and have me decide for myself, once and for all, if I was prepared to embrace my submissive nature. He withdrew his dominance of me. He asked nothing of me, over and above the normal routines and tasks of my life. He stopped spanking me or providing corrections. There were no rules or rituals over and above those of our regular vanilla lives. I should take all the time I needed to mull this over.

With the taste of freedom in my mouth, I choked. This was horrible. If this was freedom, I wanted no part of it. I felt that my supports had been taken away; that a life lived with only the taste of vanilla wasn’t living at all. I was going through the motions of living, but I didn’t feel alive.

This sense of things was relayed but not entirely accepted. I should write it all down. What had gone wrong, and why? What did I want? How did I feel? What did the future look like to me? I wrote it all down, carefully and completely, and whilst my writings were acknowledged, no response was immediately given. It was crystal clear to me, but in true dominant style, my husband took his own sweet time to ‘blow his whistle’ declaring the opening kick of the game. When he finally told me that he accepted my explanation and my declaration of resolve to be a better girl, I felt relief and a strong sense of commitment.

“I won’t ever do it again” may be the words of all girls in compromising situations who wish the discipline to be over, but I meant it. I couldn’t guarantee to never disappoint again, but I could assure that calling it off was not going to happen again. My time without a dominant had been tough and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that if there was a problem, next time I would ask to sit down and discuss it. I wouldn’t blow my top and call it off again. I discovered it was not only *I* that could walk away. The dominant could also release himself from the burden of me. Perhaps, he didn’t like that time any more than I did, but nonetheless, to make his point, he was prepared to stop dominating.

Have I become the perfect submissive? No, not yet. My husband can still test my patience and my equilibrium. A relationship built over decades is a complicated thing and he needs me to exhibit strength when his frustration overflows. His perfectionism means that I must endure long periods of time without his attentions and his tendency to allow his temper to flare means that I must not be overly sensitive. This challenges me to the core.

Yet, I know to the depths of my heart that he means well, that he cares for me as deeply as any man can, and that he is giving me as much of himself as he can, at this time in his life. My submission to him gives me the structure and the stability to overcome the difficulties and to know, that if I wait patiently enough, he will come to me and make me whole again. He will feed me with his dominant care and fill me with a life force that will make my heart sing again.

The English Gentleman once said to me that my greatest difficulty would be finding the patience required to submit. At the time, I wondered, if that were the case, what a slim chance of success I had! For me, exhibiting patience will never be easy. Finally, however, I think I’ve found adequate patience to accept that submission is not just about the good times, but rather, about living my life on my terms. I have the nature of a submissive woman, and even when alone or lonely, my submission lives in me and nurtures me. As I turn the corner, I see the path widen and open up, and in the distance is a stunning rainbow of colour. I gasp. I think my journey may be nearly complete.

On writing

I am currently in the country, whilst my husband is still in the city. Last evening, we had a brief chat on the telephone and he said to me, “There is no post for today on your blog? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong,” I told him. “Except that the Internet connection keeps failing all the time.”

He accepted that, but it made me realize two things. First of all, my husband is a regular reader. That was interesting! Secondly, he thought that something might be up with me that I had gone a day without posting on my blog. That was interesting, too.

Ever since I was a little girl, my entertainment came in the form of words on a page. I lost myself in many a novel over the years, often reading through the night, holding one eye open with one hand, and holding the book with the other. I would promise myself that after the next chapter, I would put the book down and go to sleep. When the moment came, my eyes would divert from the last word of the chapter to the first word of the next chapter, and off I would go again, making the same promise to myself all over again.

Over the years, my husband would encourage me to write for myself. Even my boss encouraged me to write. It was obvious to anyone who knew me well that my comfort zone was sitting with pen and paper, or now, laptop screen, and writing. My mother refers to me as a girl, never happier than producing something in writing. Writing essays at university was my play. Even so, I had little confidence in my own ability to write for many, many years.

Several years ago now, I had the desire to write stories about women who were spanked by their men. They were not good stories but I had the strongest desire to write about it. I had virtually no experience at this stage and could only use my imagination. I remember one story had two women in it. The man lived in the country, on an estate and he had a daughter; about 17 or so. The mother was (mysteriously) gone. The man had remarried, a girl not all that much older than the daughter. She was still a little wild and she figured that her husband was besotted enough with her that she could get away with just about anything. The daughter tried to explain to her that she had her father all wrong, but the new wife just wasn’t listening.

One day, she had been warned that if she took a horse out for a ride, she was responsible for its care afterwards. She agreed at the time, but when she got back, she was in need of a cup of tea, and she left the horse tied up for considerable time, more or less forgetting about it.

The stable manager saw the horse tied up, sweating and in need of water and was incensed by her behaviour. He strode to the house to complain to the lord of the manor of his young wife’s errant behaviour. The gentleman agreed with him that it was insufferable behaviour and that she had disobeyed him. He would deal with it. The stable manager could rest assured that it would not happen again. Would he mind fetching him a riding crop? The stable man was more than happy to oblige and that afternoon, shrieks were heard coming from the study as the young wife learned that when her husband said something, he meant it. I still remember conjuring it up, the pleasure it gave me, and my efforts over time to tweak it. Alas, it remains fundamentally on the drawing board.

Perhaps, I should just start again and give the scenario another go around. It is as old as the hills, that scenario, but it still has a certain resonance with certain folk, I think. Perhaps, this time around I could be more creative; think more like a dom. Perhaps, this time she would be denied access to any horse for a month, and instead of riding, she could spend that time in the barn, preparing the horses for others to ride. I am not in any way a dominant sort of person, but if there is anything of that side of the stick in me, it comes out at such moments! If any doms out there have suggestions as to how to deal with such a naughty, young girl, they might like to send them along. I would appreciate that.

Characters rummage around in my head. Thoughts intrigue me and take me over until they go down on the page, leaving space for more characters and new thoughts.

One day recently, I said to a chat friend,

“I would love to be a writer some day.”

He said, “You are already a writer.”

Am I? Well, perhaps I am.

How the thought makes my heart sing!