Naughty = good

As a girl with a silly but scrumptious sense of humour and a deep desire for delicious, decadent delights (hello, David!), I can say that I love my current life. I can be sad or worried or disappointed and so on, for sure, but I find those negative states so darn uncomfortable and I quickly revert to seeing the good in life and in my life.

Nothing beats laughter. If you go past any elementary school playground at lunchtime you will hear laughter. Children laugh a lot. They find the obtuse in life and rather than take it too seriously, they let off steam by running around madly and laughing their heads off at the silliest things.

Of course, I am surrounded by such mirth and high jinks on a daily basis. Not a day goes by when my youngest child doesn't tell me about something that he saw on Utube that has him in stitches. My eldest child, when he was at school, would have a story for us over dinner, each night of the school week. One day, in English class the teacher began to talk of 'Hiawatha' and a friend of his jumped onto his desk, ripped open his shirt and began to beat his chest. The cute female (and studious) teacher looked shocked and immediately said,

"You will write at lunchtime, 200 times, 'I will not beat my chest in English class ever again.'

We all laughed our heads off. As a family, we just can't take that sort of stuff seriously. (How am I doing, David?) Mind you, if one of mine had done that, I would have made it pretty clear that I didn't approve at all. I'm pretty sure that all of them have done naughty things, from time to time, because signals are given between them that indicate they are holding one another's secrets. I just say, "I don't want to know. If it was in the past, keep it to yourselves."

My daughter is not happy about all these brotherly escapades. She would listen to their tales of life at school in amazement. She went to an all girls school and one night she said,

"Every night I listen to all these things that happen at your school. It sounds like so much fun. But, if we did something like that, we'd be expelled. It's not fair."

Double standards for boys and girls still abound. Girls who are naughty get into lots of trouble whilst for boys, it is considered something to be expected. At least, that is the way it works in my neck of the woods.

Girls did what they could to rebel the system. They had a go at wearing their skirts too short, or drawing on their dull black shoes. They did anything they could to make the point that they were individuals with a desire for fun and high jinks, just like boys. Their little rebellions were soon stomped over by the authorities and I can't tell you how tired it got, taking the calls of the music mistress that my daughter had absconded with her friend and wasn't at orchestra rehearsal, again. I made excuse after excuse for them, seeing their need for some devilment.

I am naughty. I miss my bedtime a lot, and it's a pretty generous bedtime at that. I don't always do what I should and I sometimes do what I should not. I play on my feminine wiles and I've been known to be cheeky and irreverent. (This must come as a bit of shock to you! I'm sorry!)

But, you see, the point is here that naughty is actually good. Let me make that clear for you:

Naughty = good

If I were bad, that wouldn't be good.

Bad = not good

However, naughty is entirely acceptable. Being naughty is fun and girls want to have fun. And, what is more, boys like girls who are fun. So, that means they must like naughty girls.

I wanted to take the time to explain this to the kinksters of the blogosphere because I think there has been some confusion about this, and hopefully now you've got it straight.

Naughty girls are really good girls who enjoy life and like having a bit of fun. Boys lik dat. Boys lik gurls that are a bit norty. Norty norty gurls, they say. But, they lik it. They do!

Naughty girls are simply those girls who are in touch with their youthful vitality and sense of fun. They see the joy in life and it can lead them to be a bit norty.

Like boys.

So, the next time you are called "a naughty girl!", take it as a compliment. Ask yourself, if I was not naughty sometimes, would he like that? Of course not! Well, there you are!

Don't worry, be happy

It struck me just now how detached I may very well be from the lives of those who have a D/s relationship that may well be harmful to them. As regular readers may know, I tend to have some lofty, positive feelings towards being a submissive girl to a loving and caring dominant type husband. As well, I have the good fortune to have made some dear friends, dominants and submissives alike, who have listened to me as I've expressed myself and who have offered me sage advice. I've been counselled by those with more experience than me, much more, and I've benefited from that counselling.

Yet, as the discussion initiated by Jz bore out, we don't all think alike. We don't all want or all need the same experiences, and in fact, a certain experience in the hands of the wrong person or persons could be quite destructive. It pays for me, and for you, to always keep that in mind.

So, how does one know what is best? I have come to believe that the litmus test is quite a simple one. You must ask, 'Am I happy?' Whilst that may sound selfish, actually it is not. My husband will say to me, as he did this morning, "I want a happy girl." What he means is not only that he wants me to be happy but he wants to be happy, too. He wants the children to live in a happy household and he wants anyone that shares my life with me today to be happy, as well. He wants to come home and feel a positive energy in our home. When people are happy they are productive and have a positive effect on those around them. Life is just so much nicer.

If a reader were to read the whole shebang, the entire blog, what he or she would notice is that I've changed over time and as I've changed, my needs and thoughts have changed as well. This just happens to be my personal evolution as I have learned more, about myself and about what is possible.

I mentioned over at Jz's site that I enjoy 'objectification' - that I don't feel at all dehumanized. On the contrary, I feel liberated. I think I better clear something up. I haven't actually ever been used as a table or a chair, or whatever. If my husband were to ask me to be a table for a few seconds, well, I would have to stop giggling for a few seconds while he placed a glass of water on my back. It wouldn't be a big deal. But, that's not what I meant by 'objectification'. I don't want to go into some deep and meaningful explanation here. I'll save that for another time. But, what I do want to explain is that the benefit to me is that when 'objectified' I can switch off that thinking brain of mine for long enough to allow me to be my primal self, with my primal desires. I can't say I've had a moment's concern in those experiences. On the contrary, I feel energised by them.

The point is, that works for me, whilst it may not work for you. Or, it might well work for you if you had the right kind of person to objectify or to be objectified by. It is, as I have experienced it, a most loving and giving experience and done with the very best and most noble of intentions.

Different things are going to make different people happy and what that happiness looks like and how it is achieved may well change over time. In fact, doesn't it stand to reason that those needs will most certainly adjust over time? Nothing is static and certainly not our sexuality. If you had told me a year ago that I would be writing this post today, I would not have believed you. It took a lot of thinking, a lot of talking, and a lot of assistance to get me to a point where I understood myself and my needs. Self-discovery can take a lifetime.

As a closet spanko all my life, spanking blogs were a natural starting point for me. I considered and tried on for size, variations on that theme. For some time, I thought I needed a reason to get a spanking and that led to a disciplinary sort of relationship; rather formalized. As that evolved and as I evolved, I came to see that what I was really after was a sense of love; of containment, of feeling safe; nurtured; enjoyed, in harmony. I needed lots of physical use and I needed parameters around which I could live my life in a joyful way. I want, and need, to be as enticed by the ideas of the man as he is enticed by them. I don't want to struggle. I want to want what the dom wants, even if I don't like it at the time. I want to feel owned in the nicest possible way. I want for there to be a partnership where we are both beri beri happi; he as the top and me as the bottom.

And, I want that for you, too. So, think about it. What makes you happy? Then, do that.

Disapproval

In politics, one talks of the ‘disapproval resolution’. I rather like the term for it suggests that within the process of disapproving of someone or something, there is ultimately, resolution.

I’m not sure that there is anything more uncomfortable for a submissive girl than for her man to ‘disapprove’ of her; her thoughts, her actions, her mindset or her motivations. One doesn’t even need for him to be standing right there with a frown on his face and a certain look in his eyes. One can experience the disapproval over the telephone or even on email, in a letter or on chat. Whichever way it comes in, it is singularly unpleasant.

Disapproval means a failure or refusal to approve; rejection; unfavourable opinion; even, god forbid, condemnation. Dominant men are at home with these terms.

“Well, I don’t approve.”
“If you go ahead, you do so without my blessing.”
“You knew my opinion.”

Such phrases leave a submissive woman in a dilemma. She wants the approval, the blessing, the sanction of her dominant at all times. To experience his ire, his disapproval and yes, his anger with her, is uncomfortable in the extreme. Frankly, until the matter is sorted to his satisfaction and she feels under his protective and approving wing again, she isn’t going to be happy.

However, she has a dilemma, because as well as wanting his approval, she also operates according to her own good judgement of a situation. Sure, there are times when his sanction, his blessing is paramount and she isn’t going to go ahead without it. She wouldn’t buy a house, or even a piano, or perhaps not even a dress without his approval; or at least not without the opportunity to take it back if he didn’t like it. I certainly don’t want anything in the house if my husband doesn’t like it, too. It matters to me that he approves of, and enjoys my choices.

Yet, the submissive woman is a thinking woman with a good sense of judgement. Yes, she will err in her judgement just as we all will err in judgement. But, she has a need sometimes to go ahead and make decisions for which she is responsible herself. She has her reasons, even if they may not make sense to her dominant, and she has her own way of doing things and looking at things.

Let me give you an example. He does not like a person. He rejects him. It’s a black and white thing for him. But, she operates differently to him in some respects, and although she doesn’t like aspects of the other gentleman in question, she is prepared to accept him in a limited way on the basis that she doesn’t think it is entirely a black and white situation. She is more prepared to give people the benefit of the doubt, and to believe that there is some good in us all. Her dominant is not happy at all; with her or her decision making. He finds her foolish. He even throws doubts on her motivations.

A submissive woman like me, finding disapproval so deeply uncomfortable, will defer to the dominant’s point of view. She will consider the matter and fairly quickly determine that doing something her way is less important than harmony with her man. Feeling she is right about a matter or achieving a certain outcome is immaterial if that means she is to be in conflict with him. She may, naturally enough, seek consensus with him at times, but if he is adamant in his disapproval, she is unlikely to pursue the matter.

It is rare for me to be so rash as not to discuss an issue which could be at odds with my dominant’s point of view, first. At the outset of a discussion on a matter, a successful outcome is always possible. He may approve my thinking and desired attack on an issue simply because I brought it to him first and explained my point of view. He may disapprove, but modify my desired action plan such that we are both happy. Or, he may decline approval of it, but explain to me calmly and decisively, why my thought processes are flawed. In all these cases, the outcome is much better than if I proceeded and earned his disapproval.

What matters to the submissive woman most is that he is happy; happy with her and happy to be with her. There are moments when I wonder if I should be so transparent as for the dominant to know the power he has over me. Then again, if he does not know that by now, when will he ever?

Game on

If I had to describe myself, if I had to include in my profile a small statement about what I represent in my little corner of the D/s blogosphere, I would say that I am "a cheeky submissive". I say this because I have no doubts that I have a naturally submissive nature, comfortable at the bottom of the relationship and not the top. But, as well, I love a joke, a laugh, a giggle. When I take myself or anyone else so seriously that the fun is very far from the surface, I've lost the plot; the reason for being here in the first place.

I can't tell you how disappointed I am when I go to the trouble of being cheeky and no one even notices. I look carefully for the line drawn in the sand, and then I tiptoe right up to it, observe it closely and when no-one is paying too much attention I put my big toe just over it, just a smidgen. Damn! Nobody even cared. What to do? What to do? So, now I pick up my whole foot and I plant it quite firmly over the line. He has to notice that, surely. And, he does. Oh joy! The game is on.

There is nothing more fun in the whole, wide world that repartee with a dominant type of man. They know you are leading them down the wrong path. Do they go there with you? Of course they do! They love it, too.

So, you are having a conversation and there is lots of give and take and you are more like a naughty little girl and a naughty little boy having lots of fun in the school yard. And, then, out of the blue comes a reminder of your place:

"Yes"

"Yes what?"

Now, you know what you are meant to say. We all know what comes next. But, it is so tempting to say something that you are not meant to say and see what happens...

You say,

"Yes, King Poobah"

There is no answer. You start to get a little sweaty. You start wondering what the response is going to be. You may not like it. The seconds tick on. Tick tock. Tick tock. You think better of it.

"Yes Sir"

The conversation rolls on.

I could be good all the time, I suppose. I could say all the right things at just the right time. I could be earnest and respectful, diligent and knowing of my place, twenty four hours a day. But then, who'd swat me down? You see, even that's fun for me.

There is a time and place for everything.

"Def. Def."

But, if you are not having some fun, it's time to re-write the rules of your game.

Somewhere over the rainbow

I was once asked what I wanted to gain from my submission. I said that I wanted to be happy. At the time, that was the best way I knew how to explain what I wanted. What I was trying to say was that I saw submission as a positive thing, a way to enhance my life, day by day, and therein enhance the life of my husband and children as well. At that time, I was still unsure how to achieve that sort of positive spirit within the submission. All I knew was that was my goal. I spoke of wanting to find "calm" and "peace".

Now I know that "happiness" in submission, for me, is found through a sense of containment and liberation, at one and the same time. You see, when I am appropriately contained, my spirits soar to a place that is rather 'zen' like. Appropriately contained, I feel free; happy.

I revel in a certain kind of containment, the kind of containment I've been talking about for a few weeks now. Whilst I needed a push in the right direction, what was asked of me was not difficult, for it was a perfect fit for my needs. Comforted, at the same time as I felt liberated to live according to my needs and desires, my spirit has been soaring. I've been abundantly happy these past few days as it has all fallen into place. Still early days, I marvel at the achievement in such a short space of time.

I'm completely in awe of the ability of a man to 'get' me; to instinctively feel what would, and does, work for me. It has made all the difference. He's one special guy and I'm one lucky girl that he took the time to counsel me; show me what he could see, but has been an enigma to me.

Like Maria, perhaps somewhere in my past, "I must have done something good", because I am also blessed with a husband who saw that I was in need and encouraged me to search until I found the answer. He opened his mind to allow me to have a dialogue with people who might have the answers, and he's celebrated with me as I've found what I was looking for.

Yesterday, I listened to a most articulate physicist who said that the atoms of stars can be found in our hands. In fact, the atoms found in our left hand come from a star different to the atoms found in our right hand. We are, in fact, quite literally, part of the cosmos. He was asked to choose some music for the programme and one piece was 'Somewhere over the rainbow'.

"...There's a land that I dreamed of once in a lullaby..."

Perhaps, he was choosing the song for the both of us because for me, submission is about elevating me to a higher realm, to a space that requires no thought. It is a meditative space where I am less a thinking person, and more an intuitive being who has moments of radiance, of sublime serenity and a real sense that she has experienced something more than the everyday.
In being used, in being contained, in finding peace, I am more; more loving, more giving, more devout. I embrace my life, the moments of my day.

Last night, I flipped through an old notebook of mine; the kinky one. When I hear something that touches me, I often rush for my notebook and write it down. Alas, I'm not sure whose words they are, but as I read them last night, and again this morning, they reached out to me as a nun might read a prayer:

"One must be tightly controlled and bound to really experience liberation."

There is definitely something in that. On my journey, there are moments when I feel that I may have glimpsed the divine.

When I was a little girl

For weeks now, I've had this persistent phrase go through my head: 'When I was a little girl...', and then it stops. I realize that I don't know what to say next, and I put the thought aside for another day.

It occurred to me today to sit down and try to finish the sentence...

When I was a little girl, I felt a little bit misplaced in my family. There is no doubt that I looked like I belonged in the family, but when I was quite young, I really did wonder, quite seriously, if a mistake might have been made. My family were a fairly gregarious lot of people, whilst I was, not exactly shy, but private.

Whilst the other members of my family were not all that interested in formal learning, I rather enjoyed it. I was a reader, a researcher, a piano player, a dancer. Owing to my childhood circumstances, I had a very deep yearning for privacy which has followed me through my life. I adore to be in the country, and when I am there completely alone, or even better when I am there completely alone with my husband, I feel most content.

When I was a little girl I read lots of literature. Of all the stories I read, I adored 'Jane Eyre'. In spite of my fetish for spanking, I hated it when they mistreated the little girls at the charity school and my heart broke for Jane and her little friend, Helen. Yet, the ending was heaven for me. Mr. Rochester, firm but kind, much older but hopelessly smitten by Jane, acknowledges his feelings for the girl. It is completely satisfying; not overdone, but simply an acknowledgement of his feelings for her; at last. It is not at all impossible that the story remained close to my heart and in my psyche all my life.

So, when I was a little girl, I was an impressionable child; a romantic, with a longing for things that spoke to me. I loved the perfect piece of material for a dress, or a sense of satisfaction with a dance well done, or an essay well written.

When I was a little girl I felt insecure. People here and there would tell me I was pretty but it wasn't really until a man said, "I want you" that I truly believed it. I didn't so much ever want to be pretty as I wanted to be ravished.

When I was a little girl I longed for the day when I could have a home of my own; a family of my own. One day at the races, perhaps I was in my late teens, I heard a man of about 30 say, "Allow me to introduce my wife..." How wonderful, I thought; to be "a wife"!

When I was a little girl, I was a scaredy cat. It was my husband who took me to other countries and introduced me to the pleasures of new customs, new foods and new experiences. And, look at me now: biting at the bit for new adventures!

When I was a little girl I thought the boogie man would come and catch me, and I hid under the covers, convinced that if he couldn't see me, I'd be safe.

When I was a little girl, I was mother to my brother. He's forgotten now, but I read to him every night and frightened of the boogie man himself, he often slept with me in my bed.

When I was a little girl, I was like a piece of putty; just waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to come along and make me as he wanted me to be. A little girl to the core, I needed a boy to complete me.

Once I was a little girl, but I never really fully grew up. To this day, my husband calls me "LG"! And, so it shall always be.

The road less travelled

The simple fact is that I am married to a man of independent thought. Like Richard Burton, he goes his own way. At times, his thought processes have led to much success and at times, to failure. Sometimes he is right, and sometimes he is wrong. I am not blessed with his ability to make the deal, or to see the opportunity in tiny seeds of ideas. Instead, I am blessed with foresight as to the intentions of people; be they fair or foul. At times, I have done everything I knew how, to convince my husband of the deviousness of a man. A kind and good man himself, with a particularly good heart and the best of intentions, he has not been able to see what I see, and as a family, we have paid dearly for that, a few times now.

Yet, in spite of these setbacks, my husband has always wanted the best for me and our children; always worked hard to find a way through difficult times. He continues to believe, to strive and to envision a time when all will be very well, and our days will be spent free of worry and in touring the world together.

It was during a time of deep financial distress that I began to search for a different way to live my life with him. Without any power or control over our destiny, I needed to find a way to let it go. My life was in his hands, and whatever the outcome, our destiny would be shared. My marriage would not be an intellectual one, lived in the head. Rather, I would live my life in my heart and the part of me that lived within my psyche; the part that wanted the man to lead me in all aspects of my life. Firmly convinced of my ability to think and to analyse a problem, I would put my thoughts aside and allow him to do all the thinking. After all, he had a desperate desire to make all the decisions and to lead me, and I had a desperate desire to be led.

I’m well aware that many people would call me foolish. Operating as two people with different working minds and positive attributes, we could have achieved much as a team in the business arena. But, the union of this particular man and this particular woman would not allow for that and so we went down the road less travelled; he as the boss, me yielding to his power.

Whilst I would never dare to state that it has been without its difficulties, our arrangement has brought us a great deal of happiness; a settled, harmonious and happy life, on the whole. We are all afflicted with aspects of our personality that others may wish away. I would wish away his temper, if only I could. Should I manage to hit a certain button; the ‘guilt’ button, perhaps, he will flare at me. Whether I flare back, or keep my own counsel, it always throws me into a time of despair; a minute, an hour, or a day of soulless confusion. It is a deeply challenging place for me to be. Always, he eventually comes and frees me from that despair by taking me in his arms and holding me tight; assuring me of our connectedness; that deep, abiding, ‘until death us do part’ love.

I’ve been told very lately that when I am in despair; angry, hurt, lost, agitated; I should not be left to flutter about as a free person, for I am an ‘owned’ girl. I should be put in my “pen” and left to vent there to my heart’s desire. In my pen, I will feel less vulnerable, less lost. Ultimately, my husband will free me from my restraints and make good the hurt; heal me. This is for the best.

I admit to you now that this counselling threw me off kilter to a point where I was ready to chuck the whole thing in; the arrangement, the blog, the very notion of a D/s life for me. As fate would have it, this advice was being given at the same time as my husband’s temper was raging and that overwhelmed me at the time.

But, you see, the advice was quite right. It is the answer. Left to flutter, I am a sad, lost, little girl with nowhere to call home. My home is in my husband’s heart. He is my protector, my lover, my life. I am as ‘owned’ as any girl will ever be. I am his ‘property’.

I truly believe my husband will achieve the success he so craves and I will be joyous for him, and for the opportunities it will allow us to be together and to be abundantly happy. Quite honestly, we deserve it. But, whatever the future holds, I have finally come to accept certain truths. He is a dominant man. I am a submissive woman. He needs to lead. I need to follow. He loves me eternally as I love him eternally. There is nothing but bliss to be found if I can only stay true to my nature, and let the rest be damned. I know that now. I’m where I belong.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Crossroads

Dear Readers,

When one goes on a long journey, it is inevitable that one will reach a crossroad eventually. At the crossroad, a decision has to be made as to which direction to take.

Since I have reached that crossroad, at the same time as I feel a little weary, it seems prudent to sit a while and think about which direction to take from here.

Consequently, instead of writing here on the blog, I think it is the right time for me to keep my own counsel and rest a bit with my thoughts.

Once I've sat in the sun a bit and pondered on my own, I hope to return here refreshed and ready to share my thoughts again with you.

In the meantime, best wishes to you all.

Hi Hi Pinki

The girl's husband had been away for a week and it was with pleasure that she saw him standing there waiting for her car to arrive. The girl whisked him up, took succor in his admiring comments of her appearance, and smiled as he directed her to the 'house of sin' that resides close to their local airport. Perhaps, that is where they all reside, close to airports. The girl didn't know.

They had been there before, and last time, the girl was shy. She was not interested in the assistant's efforts to help her, and kept her away by radiating her aloofness. Not too many people got past that barrier if the girl had it firmly up.

This time, the girl was prepared to engage. She knew what she wanted. She wanted a new butt plug; a bigger one; a challenge. She wanted to try a silicone one and the assistant directed them to those, showing them this and that. But,the girl had switched her off in her mind. She had found what she wanted. Her husband gave the assistant a few other items, they became "members" and off they drove again for a lovely dinner together.

Later, the next day, this girl took her new friend out of the package, washed it tenderly and stored it in the bathroom cupboard. Unlike "the black guy", this was a little more stocky, broader in the middle, and pink. It looked delectable but meaty.

It was tempting for the girl. Knowing her desires, her husband thought to insert it for her, but he became worried. Perhaps, it was too big. The girl shouldn't fuss today. Pinki was washed again, and stood in a soap dish by the sink.

Each day, pinki greeted the girl as she washed her hands, or brushed her teeth and it was not long before this girl was motivated to try again. But, pinki was a challenge and she was a little fearful.

One evening recently, this girl was committed to having pinki inside her and she allowed it to push and push against her, patiently waiting for it come to rest. Just when she thought it was not possible, she felt it "grab" and she was shocked; so shocked by the sensation that she fought with the plug. It was trying to invade her body and she fought for her life, pulling out before the plug took over. It was a narrow escape.

Yet, this girl was deeply disappointed. She was so close and yet so far.

A day and half later, her resolve was evident. After pounding her body at the gym, tired, into her bedroom she went, locked the door, placed down a towel on the carpet and gathered the new pink plug. She braced herself, relaxed her breathing, and surrounded the pink plug in lube.

With a sense of control over her destiny she began to place the plug into her asscunt until she felt it grab. She felt the pull into her, the pressure build inside of her, and with conviction, she pressed it further into her, until it sat tight.

She was overwhelmed, speechless, and deeply immersed in her physical sensations. She was in the foetal position. She was gathering strength to proceed. Soon, the sense of invasion passed. She made it comfortable; welcomed it. She suckled the plug. Eventually, she felt ready to move out of her crouched position. Her arousal was well in place and the pull on her body made her want to move. She sat down on the plug and smiled. It felt gooood. She rocked from side to side. That felt even better.

The girl began to arch her body, involuntarily. She felt her pussy cunt throb. She touched herself and found herself soaked in juices. She had a desperate desire to fondle her breasts and off came her exercise top and bra so that she could caress them. They felt big and firm and soft to her touch and she was lost in the sensations.

She wanted more. She rubbed them now against the carpet on the floor and as she did so, on her fours, she longed for more cocks. Two holes were unfilled and that wasn't right. She thrust out her body, front and back.

Her eyes were half closed as she stuck out her tongue looking for something to suck but no cock was available. Frustrated, greedy, she bit the skin of her hand; sucked it. She felt some relief.

The girl thought not with her head but with her instincts; her inner wants and needs. She craved to have all her holes filled; all of them, at once. Images floated into her brain; a cock in front, a cock behind; three cocks. She was swimming in a desire so bawdy, so lustful, so sinful and decadent she had no thought for anyone or anything but her own deep, dark desire.

She had been transformed. She was no longer a girl. She was a fucktoy.

"Hi Hi Pinki!"
"Hi Hi Mister. What can I do you for?"

Connection

I am imagining a certain girl. Her behaviour has been found wanting. She has been instructed to perform a task daily. It is not an onerous task, not in the least uncomfortable, and takes little time out of her day. Yet, for reasons that she can't explain she has missed doing the tasks several times of late.

Although inclined to wilfulness on occasion, she is a truthful girl. When asked if she has performed the task, she doesn't try to hide behind excuses. She has erred, and she confesses. She tries now to explain the blockage in her mind about the task, and he listens carefully. But, not only has she not obeyed him, she has hidden from him that the task has not been done, several times. Unless he had asked her about it, she may have gone on with the disobedience indefinitely. There is even more to be dealt with here. She has not trusted him with her mental confusion about the task and this disappoints him dreadfully.

He lectures her. He tells her all this and then he informs her that her behaviour need not be punished severely at this point. She needs to find the connection with him again. She is to think about their agreement and what that means to her.

He has her stand in the corner. She is wearing only a short nightgown and high shoes; clothing that she associates with her bad behaviour. For ten minutes she must face the wall and think about all that he has said to her. She must stand very still with her hands in the small of her back, one wrist above the other.

She does exactly as she is told, and as she stands there, she feels him near to her. He has in his hand a cane; one that will sting her bare thighs, should he notice any movement out of position. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she feels his breath on her skin. It is hard for her to stand still, but she knows that she must focus and follow his instructions carefully. He has already expressed his disapproval. It is why she stands as naughty girls do. She has no wish to provoke him any further.

After the ten minutes has elapsed, he calls her to him. He is sitting in an armchair and she turns and walks towards him with her hands still behind her back. He invites her to kneel in front of him, and with his hand he encourages her head to rest on his leg. She begins to relax a little. She closes her eyes.

Now he begins to stroke her hair, and she can feel a peace transcend her world. She wonders what it was she was thinking to have disobeyed him in the first place. She embraces her submission to him; understands that it is right and good for both of them.

She basks in his loving attentions, and as her mind stops processing thoughts; stops worrying about her transgression, she feels a lightness of being.

He bends down towards her, and whispers in her ear,

"Good girl."

The invisible cord that binds them is reconnected and all is well.

A dom in the making

This morning, driving my young son to school, I became aware that he had got behind on his English homework. Well aware of his interest in the computer, I was a little uppity about it.

"Well, what have you been doing?"

In typical fashion, he justified his actions, explaining calmly what he had been doing. Whilst I got a little more heated in what I said to him, he remained his calm self.

"Please don't speak to me in that way."

I was staggered. He was acting like the adult and I was acting like the child. I tried again to make my point, but alas, I remained animated.

"Please don't speak to me in that way."

This conversation wasn't going anywhere until I had myself under control.

They tell me at school that he is very smart; that he has an "amazing mind".

I agree, but lately I've also been thinking that if he has this presence of mind at this tender age, the kid is going to make the most amazing Dom for some lucky girl out there!

Blondes have more fun

Recently, Sir J posed the question 'Does a dom have to be smart?'. This got me thinking. Can a sub be too smart?

Having worked hard to establish their capabilities and smarts, women are not inclined to be put down by men these days. They want to be taken seriously and any suggestion of inequality is not going to fly. Nor, should it fly.

But, that can make submission a difficult task. When the man asks her to do things that might suggest to her educated and worldly brain that he might think she is below him (perhaps, literally!) her sensibilities may be offended. One side of her brain is telling her that she is an educated, bright, witty and capable grown up woman.

The other side of her brain has a different message. She wants to do exactly as he tells her to do. What he is asking her to do may suggest that she is slutty and horny and, heaven forbid, a bimbo. But, she so wants that!

Then, the big girl side of her brain tells her to pull her socks up and resist! Women with jobs and responsibilities and children and school functions to attend must not listen to that horny girl raging inside of her. She is a mature woman! She can't do that. And, what is wrong with him anyway for making such a lewd suggestion? Who does he think he is?!

What to do? What to do? How does one reconcile the two characters lurking inside the head of the same woman?

Well maybe, there are two parts to a submissive woman. There is, for example, Vesta good girl; capable, conscientious, bright, learned and organised.

As well, there is another girl with another name; a slutty name. Well, not another girl exactly. Inside of her is a toy with her own identity. She's silly. Beri silly! She is just a beri silly, horny bimbo. She is so beri silly that she can't even spell. She likes to twirl. Wheeeeeeee! And, she likes to have fun. Lots of fun!

The man likes both sides of his woman. He likes his capable and well groomed girl to meet him at the airport. She is dressed beautifully in black woollen skirt, fine wool cardigan, and black suede boots. He likes to see her sitting up straight opposite him at an Italian restaurant and he doesn't even mind when other men spend time looking at her, so happy is she to see her man and be out on the town with him again.

After dinner, he also likes to take his well dressed wife home and undress her. When he does he discovers that his sophisticated woman is really more like a toy. She doesn't want to think. Maybe, she can't think. Maybe, she just wants to fuck. Could she be, could she be, just a...fucktoy!?

It is said that blondes have more fun. So, what of bimbo blondes?

I am sorry. I can't tell you. I'm too beri silly to even thwink.

Let's play

I'm a very lucky girl. I was made very welcome to the world; much wanted. Whoever made me gave me adequate brains and a healthy, strong body that works well and looks fine.

I'm loved. I can feel it all about me these days. It comes from on high and from various corners of the globe. It abounds in abundance in my home.

I'm not like everybody else. I'm a little different. I sometimes have to push myself into the public arena. When I do, I am perfectly capable of enjoying myself.

I've always been a private one. Polite and gracious; the thoughts in my mind can be devilishly wicked. That pleases me enormously; to nod my head seriously whilst I imagine the speaker doing the unspeakable.

I love to play. I come alive when I play. So delicious!

So, this blog, this very public space to say very naughty private things, is tantalising, divinely scrumptious.

I'm a good girl, with naughty thoughts!

Sometimes, I'm a bad girl who doesn't obey. Then, I get punished. I think I'm not meant to enjoy that. Oh well! Too bad! (giggles...)

And, what a scandal it would be to know who that naughty Vesta is!

So, come on kids. It's recess. Let's play!

Energy flow

A good film director knows that as well as needing to display the central heart of a movie to the audience, he/she needs to look for that heart from moment to moment. The look he gives her, the way the camera follows her eyes, or the selection of the music for that scene can all influence the outcome; the way it is perceived by the viewer.

The same is true for a D/s relationship. At the heart of the relationship is a power exchange where one has the power and the other relinquishes it. Yet, the heart of the union is really in the moments; from moment to moment. Her response determines his next decision. He may decide at this moment, her happiness is more important than his power to have his own way. It is a fluid thing and the steps of the dance must be able to adjust according to the rythmn of the music of any particular situation, mood or outcome. Rather than being something rigid as it might appear to newbies, D/s demands that the participants be flexible of mind.

I think the only fatal mistake that the dominant can make in the submissive's mind is not to demonstrate his commitment. Like children who wants to know that above all things, they are the most important person in their parents' lives, so the submissive can become jaded of talk of the dom's busyness.

Many years ago, when I was a learning to speak French, a fellow student complained that she didn't have time to learn her vocabulary. Madame turned to the girl and said

"We make time for the things that we want to do."

And, so we do. If we want to do something, we do it. The choice is ours.

It is an easy 'out' for the dom to tell his submissive to be patient; that she will have an opportunity to shine "soon"; that connection ebbs and flows. He is fooling himself.

Ebb and flow is the energy felt from one person to another; moment by moment. It does not ebb and flow by itself. Rather, the energy is created by the contact of the two people; the electricity sparked between them.

The pendulum swings, and so it stands to reason that if you give enough energy, you will get some back. Something will eventually happen. Just like dialogue spoken by those in a movie, words are spoken between the dominant and his submissive. In those words are opportunities for the exchange of energy.

Let it never be forgotten. She is not called a 'submissive' for nothing; she wants to submit . Expecting her to make the first move just doesn't many any sense.

A dominant man must engage his submissive; not just regularly but with an energy that he is prepared to exchange with her. Once she has a spark, the connection will light up automatically. There will be no need to wait for any further "flow".

It takes so little to make the day of a submissive woman. She looks not for rubies and diamonds, but rather a steady flow of affection, in whatever form that takes.

One can work one's way to the grave, and for what?

Seeds of thought

It is very early in the morning as I write this and I am grateful for the silence in my house. We all need time sometimes to be alone; to allow our mind to wander over thoughts, and to just be still. As I sit here, two thoughts come to mind. They are just random thoughts. But, sometimes random thoughts are the best kind. Sometimes, a random thought is like a small seed, from which a big and important thought will grow. Or, not. It is rather serendipitous.

Rachel Ward, the wife of Bryan Brown and a film director these days, was speaking of her role as director. She spoke of how the actor needed to feel safe and she tried to create that environment for him or her. So often a director had said to her, “Trust me”, but she had put her faith in someone who had let her down. So, it was important to her to follow through. If she asked an actor to trust her, she wanted to be sure to follow through on that promise.

The second thought came from a girl on a discussion group about D/s relationships. She referred to D/s relationships much as I have always thought of marriage. She said, two people bring to the relationship their various strengths. One person is good at doing this and the other person is good at doing that. Together, they complement one another and make a whole.

In life, giving our trust to others is a big step. We want so much to trust and yet, it makes us vulnerable, too. We must make a judgement of the integrity and worth of the person, and should they fail, in a sense, we do, too. D/s asks us to trust another. The dominant asks the submissive to trust. The submissive gives to him, her trust. It is the most noble of exchanges; not unlike that of a parent and child. At its best, it is as pure of heart as that. It’s a good thing.

In a D/s relationship, there is not really one strong person and the other, weak. There are two people who bring their strengths and weaknesses to the table. One brings the meat. The other brings the vegetables. Added together, they have a full meal.

People need people. People give love and get love when their hearts are open, available and accessible.

Live your life. It is here and it is gone. Embrace it. Love.

My friend

I was in the train today, on my way to the city. I rarely get a chance to sit down with the paper these days, and noticing the newspaper on the seat in front of me, I picked it up. My daughter was beside me and we were going into the city to meet her brother, for a little celebration of sorts at a lovely Italian restaurant. We were both in fine clothes and all was well.

I scanned the paper, until I reached the obituary page. His face, so easily recognizable, stared at me. I became silent. It took a few moments for me to grasp that this was the moment I had been waiting for, for over five years. He was gone.

The last thing I wanted to do was to spoil my daughter's day and I did my best to appear completely natural; as if nothing had happened. I kept up the conversation whilst my mind tried to take in the news.

As the train sped on to the city and I looked out the window at the sun peeking through the clouds, the city that was his home, my mind rushed through the memories of him, as I've wondered if it might if one has only a minute or two to live.

Not one memory was of a cross word, or a difficult moment. All those memories had vanished. In their place, were memories of all the good, all the value of him to the world, and more specifically, to my life. He was a good man and he had loved me and understood me. Our connection was strong.

As I sit here alone, finally, and allow the tears to pour down my face, I recognize that it is finally time to let go of one of the most remarkable and poignant relationships of my life.

Alas, I never really did tell him what he meant to me; what he gave me; my feelings for him. I like to think that he knew, nevetheless. I certainly hope so.

So, in his honour, as the only thing that I have to give, I note today what he left me; left in me; his advice.

- Think noble thoughts and do noble deeds.

- Never be bitter; stay youthful and open to life.

- Be a participator in life; not just a spectator.

- Stay slim all your life; weight is aging.

- Do what you do best; write.

- Stay soft; loving.

- Forgive; for we all make mistakes.

- Share yourself.

- Care.

Farewell, my dear friend. I would not have missed knowing you for the world.

Do I have to?

A chat friend offered me a kindly piece of advice recently. He said that I should "stop worrying". No one was expecting me to be perfect. So, I should be as good as I can, and let my husband deal with the times when I was not.

This gets right to the heart of the matter. Like it or not, I do tend to have a bit of a perfectionist's mind. I can live with the (odd) spelling mistake or having the children mess up the kitchen (again), but I do have high expectations of myself, it is true. I once worked for the most meticulous of men; a man who wanted everything from the arrangement of the flowers in his vase to the quality of the material produced in his office to be without flaw. Even he told me that I had to stop beating myself up over tiny little things. Nobody was perfect, he said. It is a personality trait that has been with me for a long time.

Given this fact, I often wonder why it should not be the case that I am able to follow through on all instructions, to the letter. If I like to cross my t's and dot my i's, then strictly speaking, I would be totally committed to following through on any instructions I receive as a submissive. The truth is that I fail at this. I slip up, not routinely, but enough for it to be noticeable. I don't know, but I suspect, that I slip up more than a girl without this quality to be hard on herself and to aim for perfection. And, I ask myself, why don't I just do what I am supposed to do?

We've all done a bit of 'psychology' at school or beyond and we all know a bit about 'motivation'; intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. But, I don't want to get technical here. I want to talk from my head and heart, and I hope you comment likewise.

If I made a list of all the things I have to do in a day, it would be a long list. Most of the items on that list are things I don't really want to do, but have to do. So, why do I do them? Well, mostly because, they have to be done. If they aren't done, life gets completely out of control. I like to be in control (go figure!), and for our lives to run smoothly and so I do them. I suppose you could say, I have come to know the consequences of not doing the tasks, and it is far better and easier in the long run to do them.

Then, there are the tasks that are random. My husband might ask me to bank a cheque or take a suit to the dry cleaners. Again, it is just part of an orderly life and I go about those tasks amongst other tasks, in the most orderly manner to save time and energy but still get them done.

Do I sometimes have to push myself to get things done? Yes, all the time. Repetitive tasks are tedious and the older you get the less interested you become to unload the dishwasher. Trust me! I love specific projects because of the sense of achievement in them. Right now, I want to get to some painting outside, and then some planting of trees, and when I do, that task will give me a great sense of achievement. It is not a repetitive everyday task, but a project. See the difference?

The dominant man is inclined to issue instructions for repetitive tasks. Naturally, I understand the purpose of these tasks. Life is built around repetitive tasks and for a submissive woman such as me, it pays to give her tasks that give her a grounding effect, that put structure around her day, and which connect her to her man. Frankly, I think the more reason she can see for the task, the more 'purpose' that it has in her life, the better. I know I can be accused of being self-involved here and not serving the dominant. On the other hand, I think the dominant can expect better compliance when the submissive does see the reason for the task, and thus it is a win:win situation.

Think back now to my friend's advice. No one is expecting perfection and the dominant will deal with those times when the submissive slips up. And, think back too, to the posts you've read around the blogopshere about punishment and the fact that punishment is part and parcel of D/s; not to be avoided.

In real life, why do we rush back to the car when the meter is about to expire? We do so because we want to avoid the (negative) consequence of a fine. When we do tasks set for us by the dominant, we too, I expect, look to avoid the negative consequence. We look to please of course, and we want the sense of success too, but in those moments when we don't feel like it, it is the knowledge of a negative consequence that see us through to completion of the task.

To this end, if there is no follow through for non-compliance, things are bound to run amuck. Like the kid who got away without doing homework for weeks, and fails all his tests, so we are not dealt any favours when we don't do what is asked of us by the dominant.

Whilst I take no great joy in admitting it, the simple fact is that a negative consequence for non delivery is indeed, a necessary part of the process for the D/s relationship to thrive.

The toy and the boy

The boy sat at his desk. He worked very hard; not just on homework but on strategic thinking. He thought about all the eventualities of decisions and he kept in constant contact with other boys, to check that they were on the same page. He sat at his lap top and he read and wrote and he made many, many telephone calls.

Meanwhile, his toy sat on the shelf and waited. She was a patient toy most of the time, and she knew that the boy would eventually get her down from the shelf and play with her and she would feel valued again. Her true use was to be played with and she understood that.

But, the boy had become so busy of late that the toy was beginning to wonder if the boy really did want to play with her any more. The toy was inclined to moments of insecurity and her thoughts ran wild with fears and doubts that the boy had outgrown his toy.

One day, as the boy passed by the shelf, he looked up momentarily at the toy on the shelf, and he noticed a tear form in her eye. He began to search his mind as to why his toy might be so sad and he thought that perhaps it was time to bring the toy down from the shelf. In fact, his toy had been sitting patiently on the shelf for such a time that she was dusty. As he dusted her, he began to understand that toys must be used regularly, or they will gather dust. A dusty toy is a sad toy and he did not want his toy to be sad. He realized that he must take a break from his work and play with his toy right away.

He took from his drawer an accessory for his toy. It was a new accessory for her and he wondered why he had not used it before now. It would be a nice reward for such a patient toy as her.

He told his toy to bite on the gag he placed in her mouth and as she did, he tied the gag around her head. The toy was made speechless and with her mouth wide open, she began to slobber down her chin. But, the toy was not upset by this. She enjoyed the lack of words and she enjoyed the sounds that were emitting out of her open mouth. She began to relax immediately and the boy could see that the accessory was just right for his toy.

With her mouth held open, the boy felt that the toy would enjoy having her other holes used. He tweaked her nipples and with an inability to talk, the boy noticed that his toy enjoyed that. He did it again, and he felt down to this hole and that. He felt a rush of fluids in one hole and he noticed his fingers were wet. The toy was looking for another accessory now and this time he poked her. She moaned and groaned ecstatically, and so he did it over and over again.

His toy was quite limp; more like a rag doll now and he lifted her up a little higher and poked her again. Now, her groans were very intense, but sweet sounding. She seemed to love that, and he did it over and over again, until she seemed exhausted.

Finally, he felt that the toy was worn out, and while he washed, he left her lying on her side with the accessory in her mouth. When he returned, she seemed very content; a truly happy toy. He undid the accessory, supervised her wash, and with a tender kiss, told the toy that he loved her still. He promised the toy that he would play with her more often.

It was time for the toy to go back on her shelf, but the tear in her eye had been replaced with a smile on her mouth. She felt she was a lucky toy to belong such a caring boy.

Collaboration

The 'collaboration' of a new story is proceeding and the process is, indeed, most enjoyable. Much headway is being made as to the elements of the story and this girl is learning a great deal in these collaborative discussions.

Mind you, collaboration with a sadist can be a bit tricky. Dominant men with a sadistic streak might have a different notion of the word 'collaboration' than a wee little thing like me with a submissive nature. But, that's okay. I think I can hold my own. (He smirks as he reads this. He says to himself, he has only just begun. She is in for the ride of her life...)

Of course, I can't tell you the contents of the story as yet. But, I think I can tell you that these sadists are a shifty, conniving lot. The things they do to girls! And, all for their own good, apparently! Or, is it, all for the sadist to get what he wants. Or, is it both?

The correct answer is (d). All of the above. For you see, my dear readers, it all comes down to trust. Sure, the dear sweet girls have their trials to bear. But, this is a growth opportunity and who would want to miss one of those? They must learn to trust him and trust him they eventually will. If he should use nasty tricks and clever deeds to secure their success, such is the nature of dominance. They will learn to respect that.

I ask myself, 'But, is the sadist enjoying the experience?' What do you think?

Oh! Were you wondering if sweet submissive me was enjoying herself, too? I'm having a blast!