Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The wrapping

Regular readers will know that little Vesta has ventured quite a bit on the inside; in her mind. Her thoughts have meandered over various hills and valleys and she is having a marvellous time letting those thoughts out here, and elsewhere, in deliciously wicked ways. Some of those thoughts are darker than others and that is rather appealing to her. She can be rather naughty, indeed, in her thoughts.

That's the inside. But, what about the outside? I'm not an overtly sexy looking girl, though I don't know what is an overtly sexy looking girl. I know when I feel sexy and that is usually when I am wearing a dress which is shapely but fairly plain; heels, minimal but good looking jewellery, my hair freshly washed and blow dried, my makeup carefully applied; a little perfume. If I feel confident then I feel sexy; ready for anything. We girls need that burst of confidence, I think.

It has been suggested to me that as a man takes his girl deeper into her own mind and into his own desires for her, he might want her darker; perhaps, for her hair to be dyed a darker colour than her natural colour. For some years, I've actually added lightness to my natural hair colouring. It suits the tone of my skin and my eye colour. But, of course, as per my nature and desires, I am subject to persuasion and I have been giving this idea some thought. As a younger woman, my hair was a darker colour and when my friend made the suggestion of darker hair for a darker mind, I immediately thought back to a conversation with my old boss. I think I was about thirty years old.

We were sharing a quick bite to eat at a restaurant near the office sitting opposite one another when he looked at me and said, "I like your hair that darker colour. It gives you a hungry look." I didn't know what he meant and I still don't, but my friend's comment had me wondering all over again.

What does a man want in a woman's appearance? Does he want an angelic looking girl; one for whom butter wouldn't melt in her mouth? A 'bad girl' look; one who will accept his own dark desires with glee? Does he want her well groomed; a 'nice girl' who is kind and who can order his life? Does he want the sunny disposition of a giggly, smiling blond, or the mystery of the dark haired girl; unknown?

Or, whatever she is; blond, red head, black; does he wish to transform her into his own creation? I can only think of one scenario that it is unpalatable and that is that he does not care enough to at least try to transform her into that which is wholly pleasing to him.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Pamela's first scene

When she woke her owner was gone. Beside her on the pillow where he had lain was a white envelope with her name written on it in his handwriting. He had used his fountain pen, as he always did, to write her name carefully in the middle of the envelope. And, next to that was a pink rose that he must have brought in from the garden. She smiled. It was a lovely way to begin her day. She closed her eyes again for a minute or two and remembered the previous evening with him. He had been particularly tender with her; surprisingly so, kissing her body all over and holding her close to him, as if protecting her. Then, she remembered the envelope beside her and she was curious now to see what he had said to her; probably, that he loved her and would miss her whilst he was gone.

Pamela was wrong about the contents of the letter. Her owner had been business like and to the point, instructing her of what she was to do. She was to make herself ready; her body clean and cleansed. She was to wear her black, no sleeve, light wool sheath dress; black heels. She was to wear no jewellery and no garments below the dress but she should be particularly meticulous about her makeup and hair. He told her that he wanted her to feel as beautiful as she was to him.

Immediately after reading the note she should eat a light, nutritious brunch; an omelet, some orange juice and tea. She was to be collected at noon. At 11.45, after all her preparations, she should insert her butt plug and also place into her pussy cunt her vaginal balls. The driver would take her to a location, where she would be attended to by a man well known to her owner. She was to do exactly as he said and obey all instructions. Her owner was unsure as to whether he would be able to meet her at the location or not but she should be certain that anything that took place there was on his instructions, and that her obedience there would demonstrate to him that she was a good girl and worthy of ownership. Her owner loved her very much, he wrote, and would never do anything to harm her. She must always trust.

Pamela began to feel bubbles emanate from the pit of her stomach right up to her throat and through her head. She felt light and floaty. She had no idea what lay ahead of her but she was excited; embracing of the challenge.

At five minutes to two o’clock, Pamela checked her appearance in the hall full length mirror. She was no longer a young girl, but she felt desirable; even beautiful. What she saw was a woman in love; a woman whose eyes were bright, whose skin was clear and healthy and who radiated desire. She felt confident; assured; willing.

When the driver rang the door bell a minute later, she collected her small bag containing nothing more than her front door key, as instructed, and walked towards she knew not what. In her mind was only one thought; ‘Bring it on.’

(to be continued)

© Vesta 2009

Saturday, September 26, 2009


The point was recently made by Sir J that in a D/s relationship the opportunity exists for both partners to bring out the best in one another. It is an important point. In an ideal situation, not only is the dominant partner modifying and transforming the submissive to be the best person possible, both within the relationship and as an individual, but the submissive has the opportunity of modifying and transforming the dominant to be the type of dominant that will serve both their needs best.

I want to underscore that last point. Time and time again, I have read that the role of the submissive is to serve the dominant. I’ve never really felt entirely comfortable reading that statement. It seems to me that both partners are serving one another, none more than the other.

It is critical that the submissive have a dominant on which she can rely. She looks to him for her direction. He is her compass and without him to guide her, she can be quite lost. It is not that she is hopeless, useless or incompetent. Far from it. The submissive women I know are proud, bright and with a strong sense of self; competent, accomplished and more than capable. But, they are also gentle, sensitive and reliant on their dominant for their sense of wellbeing. It is one of the contradictions of D/s that these intelligent and able women require a boss; in fact, demand a boss.

They need a dominant to serve their interests; not just any dominant but a high functioning dominant who bestows all the desired qualities: wisdom, understanding, resolve, patience, strategic thinking and a steady hand. It is unacceptable that he have a fit at his submissive, regardless of whether she is ‘freaking out’ at him. His behaviour must be beyond reapproach in order for her to understand that it is her behaviour that is at question. If he can maintain control of himself he is demonstrating to her that civil and controlled behaviour is always expected and achievable.

Of course, both the dominant and the submissive are mere mortals and mistakes will be made by both of them. But, a submissive woman gains nothing from a dominant who is unable to control his emotions, as well as hers. He has the power to bring her to her knees, to silence her or correct her for her 'out of control' behaviour. She has no such power. However, she has the power to vote with her feet. She demands that her dominant be reliable, show control and exhibit exemplary behaviour. She has to believe down in her bones that the same man who may choose to cane her tush, to remind her of her place, is the same man who would protect her to the ends of the earth; who wants her to be blissfully happy; who would be the first person to cheer her victories or take her in his arms and console her when the world has done her wrong. He is her father, her brother, her lover; her best friend. He serves her well.

Becoming the best submissive; a happy and contained submissive, is not just a matter of luck. The most capable and accomplished submissive is such because she has a dominant of steady hand, noble thought and strong mind. When her dominant is the essence of strength, wisdom and humanity with her best interests at heart, it is no co-incidence that she is able to serve him with humility, honour and feminine virtue. It is her pleasure to serve with pride the man who asks more of himself than he will ever ask of her.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Just do it

Whoever ran the Nike campaign, 'Just do it' really knew what they were on about. When the children have put up a defence as to why something hasn't been done, I will say, "Just do it, all right!" You can't really argue with that. Just do it!

In many ways, the dominant person is saying just that, although that particular terminology is not necessarily used. He or she is saying that the task needs to be done - no excuses, no apologies. Just do it.

Although submissive in nature, in that I want to please and I want to feel the strength and power of the dominant over me, I can experience resistance. (Stop laughing, you guys!!) It's the million dollar question as to why this happens and I wish it were not so. I'm certainly not looking to pull the wool over the dominant's eyes. If he asks, I tell him straight that I haven't got around to that particular task yet. I finding telling a lie almost impossible and distressingly uncomfortable. I would do it to save someone else, but not myself.

Part of me wonders if I am (sub-consciously) asking the dominant to come down hard on me. Praise is divine but to feel the power in full, one has to get him a little peeved. I really doubt this. I certainly don't have that as a conscious thought and I loathe being in trouble. One can feel so desolate in the doghouse.

Earlier today, having felt what I think might be best categorized as the dominant's disgust at my inability to follow through on a perfectly simple daily task whilst away, I gave myself a good talking to. Well, Vesta, why? Why didn't you just do it? There is no acceptable answer. I chose very poorly. I just didn't get around to it, even though by not doing it, I hurt myself.

One dominant friend once said to me a while back, "You have made your bed, and now you must lie in it." Well, that pulled me up with a round turn. We talk often and that was really the first telling off I had received. Listen, I did. If I make my bed, then I must lie in it. It's time to grow up!

Earlier today, I was summarily "dismissed". So naughty, that banishment was the only cure. 'And, let her have a good think about it', I could imagine him saying to himself. But, it's not my way to sit passively and do nothing, awaiting the lecture which will surely come. A girl must do something to ease her guilty mind. And so, I've written the book report overdue. I have watched the video clip assigned me, and I am nearly finished with drawing lines through some items of a list that was expected to land on his desk some weeks ago. If only I had owned up that I don't know how to draw lines through items on a list, my behaviour might have been looked on in a better light.

What can I say? I am recalcitrant at times; a perpetual rule breaker. But the times they are a changing. It's the new me. I'm going to assuage this guilt and kiss the doghouse goodbye. I'm going to...

Just do it.


Thursday, September 24, 2009

Not so fast!

They’d been chatting about the possibilities. She’d been telling him of what some other people did; girls who had pierced their nipples and wore rings in them. She’d explained that some doms or tops used rings in the nipples to keep the girl in place. Should she try to protect her bottom by moving out of position, she’d experience the pain elsewhere. As usual, she sensed that he was making mental notes, of what new idea had taken her fancy; what “more” was turning her on.

The following morning, he woke early to take a call. She awoke too and soon thereafter she made herself a cup of tea; picked up her book. One call led to the next and preoccupied, when he entered the bedroom, it was simply to take off his pajama pants, throw them on the bed and go the bathroom for a shower. She felt a little ignored. She lay there, pondering.

Showered now, he returned to the bedroom; put on his underwear and his trousers. But, he was not sure what to wear on the top.

“Hmmm…this polo shirt is rather thick.”

“Well, why not a t-shirt? There is no law against wearing a t-shirt.”

She was having a dig at his preference to wear a collar no matter what the occasion.

“I don’t really feel right in wearing a t-shirt.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. Country boys don’t wear t-shirts. They have to wear a collar.”


He closed the door of the bedroom.

“No! I’m sorry!! What did I say?”

“You’ll learn! You’ll learn not to be cheeky.”

“But…but…what did I say?”

“You’re just a cheeky little girl. On your fours; over here by the edge of the bed. Quickly!!”

She mock cried a little. She had already experienced her fair share of the cursed wooden bath brush on this trip. Her bottom was well exposed and tight. She waited for the first swat. But, now he did something totally unexpected. He pinched her right nipple firmly and held onto it tight. Should she try to jump away as she had before in the past few days, it was her nipple that would take the brunt of the pain.


“You’re a cheeky, cheeky girl!”


“You’ll learn to respect this brush eventually.”





She stayed as still as a statue and whimpered as quietly as she could, the heat in her bottom rising fast.Now, he let go of the nipple and she remained completely still. Recovering as she was, and secretly enjoying the sting in her bottom, she was totally unaware of his next movements.

Without prelude, she felt his hard cock penetrate her fast and hit up against the wall of her cunt. She let out guttural sounds of pleasure. She was still on her fours with him riding her from behind. Seemingly without a thought for her needs, he fucked her hard and fast for several minutes whilst she sucked on her fingers, trying to contain her enjoyment. She made contact with her new acrylic nails and had to alter the place where she sucked, deciding ultimately on the knuckle of her thumb.

She was in her own little world of being used well and she felt perfectly content; perfectly at ease. Eventually, he exploded into her, and moments later he took a tissue and placed it up between her legs. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Good girl. I need to take another shower.”

She was sorely tempted to say,

“That’s your fault for being so fast to take the first one…”

But, she did not. A second round of the brush may not have been so much to her liking. Anyway, when he discovered how much of the nougat she had already eaten, things were going to be pretty grim!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The perfect whole

I'm still on vacation with precious few minutes of this Internet in a public space, so I must be brief.

I've been reading and I read this from Donne:

"When love with one another so
Interanimates two souls;
That abler soul which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls"

And, I read this discussion of that:

"Ecstasy is a mystical state in which the soul escapes the body to seek union with the divine."

And then,

"...the entities which flow from (Donne's) soul and his lover's unite to create a third entity, a perfect whole or divinity."

D/s comes in various packages. People often don't know what they mean when they write, but if one has experienced that "perfect whole", one does one's best to describe it. Alas, it is often untranslatable.

Yet, the first thing I will do when I get home will be to get down my very old edition of Donne's poems. He was definitely onto something.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Happy bodies

You know me. I just couldn't resist saying one last thing before I left...

Remember I talked about the men who said they loved coming home to their wives and spending time with them? Well, one of those men was rather inspirational and I thought to tell you a little more about him.

He wasn't the most handsome man the world has ever seen. He was on the wrong side of 50, he'd lost most of his hair, and his body was rather unlike the statue of David. Yet, he was an engaging man, and he had a lovely smile, alert and warm eyes. He talked about the fact that his emotional life and his sex life with his wife had been fine, but it was no longer thrilling. He felt there must be more. So, he took himself off, on his own, to a sex therapist and there a young woman taught him all about Tantric sex.He began to use the methods he had learned at home with his wife and this improved life considerably.

He didn't want to hold onto his secret forever and he told his wife what he had done. Being a woman, she was a bit jealous and when he suggested she come along to the sessions, she grabbed her bag and off they went.

Now, let me tell you about her. She was on the wrong side of 50, too. No longer a gorgeous, young thing, she had a certain style. She wore funky glasses and she had a Rubenesque look and way of moving. She was one of those women who look comfortable and right walking on the beach barefoot and fancy free. She did not have the perfect figure. She might even have had body shape issues. Her bottom was, shall we say...voluptuous.

So, they interviewed her about how life was now with her husband, since the sessions. I don't have her words verbatim but it went something like this:

"Before, a sexual encounter might last 20 minutes - say 15-20 minutes - something like that. Now, (and here she starts to look away from the camera as if remembering some lovely recent interlude from the past) we have sex for hours and hours..."

She blushes, looks down; giggles a little. She looks about 19. She is clearly a blissfully happy and contented woman.They hold hands, sit close; clearly revel in one another's company. He looks on adoringly.

This couple is not going to win any beauty contests but they are very happy. Now, I rather suspect that their doctor has suggested some modifications to their diet and encouraged even more of those walks along the beach. Bodies are important. We only get one and we have to take good care of it if we are to enjoy life to the maximum.

Yet, not having perfect bodies (and most likely perfect body images of themselves) didn't stop them from having that connection; from reinvigorating their lives and finding a deep sense of happiness.

Hunh. Maybe that's something to think about...

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Powers of persuasion

Even a girl with a most submissive nature sometimes needs convincing of the rightness of things, I believe. A dominant or top could direct a submissive to go and do something, and that would probably work. She is, on the whole, attuned to doing as the dominant directs. But, having her wholehearted enthusiasm for an idea of his is rather pleasing, too, I suspect.

There are many ways to skin a cat and sometimes it pays to seed a thought in the girl's mind. She doesn't need to be directed to do something, necessarily. The dominant or top could use his powers of persuasion to have the girl think that it is all her idea, for example. Should she say something like:

"I thought to go to the nail salon today, as you suggested."

He might reply,

"But, I haven't suggested you do anything."

Incredulous, she might respond,

"But, you did, many times."

Then, he might say,

"Not at all. I merely told you how wonderful n slutti nails are."

Confounded, the girl takes herself off to the nail salon. She gets acrylic nails, 'french style', square shaped. If she is going to do this at all, she is going to do it his way. He asks so many questions. It is better that way. She is delighted. She wonders why in the hell she waited all these years to do something this much fun! She looks at her new nails every chance she gets and she takes great delight in her new more feminine hands."

The next conversation is bound to go something like this:

"I got acrylic nails today. I love them. They are wonderful!!"

"Oh, so you decided to do that in the end, did you?"

"Yes. Thank you for suggesting it."

"But, I didn't suggest it at all. Still, I'm pleased that you decided to do this for yourself. You deserve to be pampered."

There was no directive. She remains confused as to whether it was, in fact, his idea or hers. Still, she has acrylic nails now and they are both very happy about it.

Mission accomplished.

The only tiny, teeny problem is that she is having a devil of a time tap, tap, tapping away at the keyboard making endless mistakes and thus this post must come to an end.

I did want to advise you kind folks however that I'll be taking a little vacation. I'll look forward to seeing you here again in around a week's time. Take care.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Lessons learned

When it was announced last year that Teddy Kennedy had a malignant brain tumor, I was very saddened. I know the man was far from perfect, but something about his spirit has always resonated with me. Faced with an assortment of adversities in his life, he just kept on, and that sort of endurance really spoke to me.

Just now, I have read an excerpt of Ted Kennedy's autobiography, which I understand will be released in the next few days. I think he writes very well. His language speaks to the heart of the matter and I found myself drawn particularly to this statement about the time when he was told he had only months to live, at best.

"I am a realist, and I have heard bad news in my life. I don't expect or need to be treated with kid gloves. But I do believe in hope. And I believe that approaching adversity with a positive attitude at least gives you a chance for success. Approaching it with a defeatist attitude predestines the outcome: defeat. And a defeatist's attitude is just not in my DNA."

It was in that paragraph that I realized what I had found so appealing about the man all these years. I agreed with every word he wrote.

There's something else that he wrote that resonated with me profoundly, too.

"When I sit at the front porch of our Cape Cod house, in the sunshine and sea-freshened air, I think of them (my family) often...I remember how each of us, distinct and autonomous from one another though we were, melded wholeheartedly into a family; a self-contained universe of love and deepest truths that could not be comprehended by the outside world."

I have had the very same thoughts about my own little family. Each of us, so very different from one another in a multitude of ways can come together at our round table at the end of the day to experience the sustenance of 'belonging'. The love we share and the respect we hold for one another is deep and true.

It is my hope and expectation that each of my children will carry that sense of a "self-contained universe of love and respect" with them wherever they may go in the world and however old they grow.

A sense of hope. A sense of belonging. The world has not really changed all that much in some ways. What was important then is still just as important today.

Sunday, September 13, 2009


Earlier in the week, I tried to address the question of 'what men want'. I pondered if men might want to come home to a tranquil environment where they might be pampered a little. This idea was not particularly warmly received, and my suggestion of creating a tranquil environment at home when possible moved into a discussion of whether a man might want his partner to work outside the home or not. I certainly never intended to be so audacious as to give the impression that I knew better than any individual couple what was right for them.

The question of 'what men want' remained unresolved. It has been a thought in the back of my mind for many years, however, that what men want is a partner as interested in having fun as they are. It is indisputable (isn't it?) that men think about sex a lot, and what could they want more than a partner who enjoys having sex as much as they do. This, I have felt, could be the magic ingredient in a marriage; the ability for the partner to enjoy sex as much as him.

It was with great pleasure that this morning, I came across a very thoughtful essay by Black As My Soul about Men and Erotica. This is a wonderful essay (which I highly recommend you read in full) which takes the reader through various genre before he gives his reader his interpretation of what men want. He writes,

"What I think you will find in erotica written for men are two implicit truths: 1) She wants me. 2) She likes what I like—she enjoys it, too."

This makes total sense, don't you think?

Remember the movie, 'Family Man'? Jack (Nicholas Cage) wakes up to discover he is living a nightmare. His high flying and successful life in New York City, including his Ferrari, has been replaced with a home in the suburbs, a wife who works pro bono, and two little kids. He sells tyres for a living. This is the life he would have had if he had not boarded the plane and left behind his current girlfriend. Life is pretty miserable for Jack until his wife (the gorgeous Tea Leoni) begins to pull at his socks in bed and ravage him.

"Leave my socks alone," he barks at her.

Not put off, for the Jack she knows can be quite the practical joker, she keeps at it, making clear that she isn't going to be leaving his socks or any part of his body alone. The penny drops.

"You want me," he says.

His new life just started looking a whole lot more rosy.

I think Black as My Soul makes a good point. Men want women to want them. As well, they want women to want to play with them. They want women to enjoy the experience as much as they do.

This is where D/s comes into its own, in my view. Both players want to be there. Both want it as much as the other. Both need it as much as they other. In D/s, men want what women want and women want what men want: to play.

I stand by my initial thought that a man enjoys harmony in his home wherever possible, but a playful partner is, I suspect, even more alluring.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Connection (2)

Recently, greengirl paid me the lovely compliment of saying that I knew myself well. I do know myself rather well now, I think, but a lot of that knowledge is very recent, and for a girl my age, long overdue. The work I have done over the past few years, as well as my courage to reach out to certain people who could assist me has allowed me to understand my needs.

When we were quite young, in our early twenties, and with little money between us, sometimes I would see a piece of clothing and I would fall in love. (Yes, I've always been a clothes whore.) I'd point it out to my husband.

"Isn't it lovely!"
"Yes, it is."
"It is such a sophisticated coat, don't you think?"
"Yes, but you don't need it.
"I do. I really do!"
"No, you want it, but you don't need it."

He was right, of course. My life wasn't going to alter much if I did or didn't have that coat. However, my desire to feel dominance in my life is entirely different to my desire for that coat. My desire for 'dominance' is not a want. It is not a 'fancy' of mine; something I decided on a whim; something that I can live without. It is a very definite need.

I recently asked an online acquaintance of mine what a submissive might do if her dominant was not able to be there for an extended period of time. It was suggested that the submissive could use that time wisely such that the dominant could be pleased with her choices. I think that is a reasonable strategy and a reasonable way of looking at it, however it doesn't take into account the distress that a submissive can feel; that sense of abandonment that can be felt.

Lately, I've been learning various specific strategies that I can use to cope with the situation of having a particularly busy dominant who is not able to be there for me for extended periods of time. As a submissive with a strong desire for touch, for having my body used, there are daily routines that can assist a great deal. It's only a small thing but writing a message on one's body, with lipstick or permanent marker even, can remind a submissive of what she is. With a fairly sophisticated wrapping in terms of my appearance, it is a comfort to know that below those garments is currently written in permanent marker on my skin: 'cock slut'. I smile whenever I remember that fact. The bracelet that my husband bought me (the one with the lock, the key and the heart) is another reminder, not just of our love, but of the fact that whilst he can't be with me, he will return to dominate me when he can.

The rather intense sadness that befalls me occasionally when I am without that dominance (care) can be best handled when I have such strategies to help me through. Naturally, being busy and well occupied always assists, but reminders that I am owned assist me greatly too. 'Bimbos' are inclined to have short memory spans, you see!

Last, but certainly not least, I have a friend that would be the envy of any submissive girl; smart, telepathic, intuitive, exceptionally kind and resourceful, he picks me up when I'm down, dusts me off, and reminds me that I'm "special". In fact, it is you who is the special one, my dear. Your kindness stuns me, warms me and lights my days.

I do wonder sometimes if people tend to overlook the tremendous drive we have as humans to connect to one another. I can only say that the desire in me to find those connections grows and grows with every day.

To that end, people who choose to live this 'lifestyle' are all very special. I think we know more than the average bear, that to live life well, is to find the connection from one human heart to another.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Baby steps

Recently, I watched a show about 'Men'. What do men want?

One man made the comment,

"I love coming home. I love the time we share together just doing things at home."

Another man, whose wife had died said, "I used to love to watch her move to the music. She might be making dinner and I'd see her body begin to move gently to the rhythm. I loved that."

Sometimes, relationships can seem so complicated.

But, if he doesn't really want to come home; if he wonders what disaster or negative emotion will fall on his head tonight, then it is all going to be uphill.

The road to paradise is travelled one step at a time. Try this. Have a shower, wash your hair and put on a pretty dress. Make a nice meal. Smile. Offer him a glass of wine. Listen attentively if he wants to talk about something. Try not to be judgemental. Sit with him on the couch and drink your tea. Give him a little rub on the back.

Be nice. Maybe, he'll be nice back.

There you go. You're one step closer to paradise.

Yes. Yes. I know. Your grandmother did that. It is, indeed, old fashioned advice. But, you see, your grandmother was right.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Deal or no deal?

I've written the preamble. I'm at the part in the story where it gets interesting. She's a legal intern at a law firm and she has been called up to see one of the senior partners. She has no idea what to expect, but chances are she's made a blunder. She's a diligent sort of girl and she hates making a mistake at all, much less be told off for it.

She's apprehensive. She's been told to "go straight in". She knocks on the door. She hears a voice that tells her to "enter".

She opens the door. He's on the telephone, engrossed in conversation. He's a big guy, well dressed and with a deep voice. He's telling someone off; telling them that he doesn't care how long it took. "It has to be done again."

He focuses on her for a moment and waves her in, makes a hand gesture to tell her to sit down at the chair in front of his desk. She does so.

She's anxious, but she is also pleasantly surprised. She likes sitting there watching him. She finds his assertive voice very appealing. She notices his hands. They are big and his fingers are long; well manicured nails. She finds his hands so alluring for some strange reason.

She scarcely notices that he has stopped talking and put down the phone. She is deep inside her skull and all the possibilities that the situation suggests to her slutty state of mind.

"Now, Miss Simpson, let's deal with you..."

"Yes, please. Deal with me."

© Vesta

(These words are part of a story and belong to me. Please do not steal them.)

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


With all this work I've been doing on letting the little bimbo inside me off the lead, spanking has taken a back seat in my life. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that.

Every now and again, my husband feels a need, thank goodness, to remind me of what it feels like for me to submit to a spanking. On Saturday morning, we were in bed when I said something or other that was a bit cheeky. He leaned over me, lying on my back, looked me in the eyes, and said solemnly,

"I'm sorry, but I can't let that go. It has been far too long since you've felt the bite of the cane. I'm going to rectify that situation right now."

I automatically began to plead.

"No. Please. I'm sorry."

"Don't start now. You know better. And, it will do you good."

"Please! I'll be good."

"If there is any more of this nonsense, I'm going to have to give extras. Do you want that?"

"No. No, I don't."

He got up and went to retrieve his cane from his suit cupboard.

"All right. Let's have you bent over the side of the bed. Bottom right out now. Come on."

It had been a rather long time since I had felt the bite of his cane across my bottom, and try as I did to be silent, I did allow a fair few sounds to escape from my mouth into the pillow he'd given me, in spite of the fact that I knew that a child or two was somewhere in the house sleeping.

"All right. Into the shower right away. Hurry up, girl. You are dawdling."

I made my way to the shower and as I waited for the water to run hot, he said,

"I doubt it was nearly enough. You seem pleased with yourself. That's not good."

"Oh really! Well, if it wasn't enough, what do you think of these red marks on my bottom?!"

I turned around to show him his handiwork.

"That's nothing and you know it. Get yourself ready before I change my mind and give you some more."

Did the experience do the girl (or was it the bimbo?) good? Well, she may not have asked to have her bottom striped but that didn't mean that she didn't understand her need to have her bottom striped.

This morning, I walked into my husband's study to say goodbye to him before I left for the day. We kissed and he hugged me tight. He pulled me back a little and looked into my eyes.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't let you go before you are spanked."

"But, but, I'm running late!"

"It won't take more than a minute. Bend over that chair there."


"Hurry up, girl! If you dawdle, you'll make me cross!"

I bent over the spare chair.

With his hand, he delivered eight crisp swats across my suede skirt. As each one turned into the next, I was aware of the heat until the last one definitely stung. He stopped. I straightened up.

"All right. Down you go, again. When will you ever learn? What does a girl do before she straightens up?"

I let out a little cry. I knew exactly what he would say next.

"She asks permission."

"That's right! And, yet you almost always forget. Down you go and we'll repeat that. Perhaps, one day you will learn."

I didn't argue. He had never relented on this. It was just about the only rule that never changed.

The swats were delivered all over again.

"May I please straighten up, Sir?"

"Yes, you may."

"Thank you, Sir. May I please leave now? I am really very late now."

"That's no-one else's fault but your own. Off you go and be sure to be safe. Give me a kiss first."

We kissed.

"It is so easy to find a reason to spank a girl!"

He seemed mighty pleased with himself.

"Goodbye, Sir."

I smiled.

"Goodbye, girl."

He smiled, and off I went, happily.

I've really struggled with the notion of being punished for being bad. Asking remains almost an impossibility for me. But, when my husband springs it on me out of the blue, and refuses to accept my excuses, I always have a jolly, good time.

Now, why is this so, I wonder?

Monday, September 7, 2009


A friend of mine and I were enjoying a brief chat (two chats actually) over the weekend. In the first chat, I said something about thinking that I might never quite reach 'slave' status. My mind rather refuses to rule anything out, teasing away at all the possibilities, however remote.

"Definitely not a slave," he typed in.

"Definitely?" I responded

"Definitely, definitely."

Well, that pleased me no end, I must say. After all this time, it was great to know that at least one thing was definite. It really eased my mind having someone tell me something that I was to consider indisputable. And, I did. I did consider it that. The thought that I am slave material is now quite out of my mind. I simply don't qualify and that's that.

The following day, he typed in,

"You're silly."

"Am I?" I asked.


Well, now there were two things about me that were definite.

This was wonderful!

I'm wondering if he might have time for a few more quick chats over the upcoming week. Perhaps by the end of this week, I will have a great deal of information gathered about myself; definite, indisputable facts that are non-negotiable.

Call me strange if you will, but being told what to think about myself has great appeal! It is right up there with telling me what to do.

Now, what does that definitely make me, I wonder?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Shedding the light

A few days ago, my husband asked me if he should count me 'in' to the weekend's football game. From time to time in the past, I've been 'told off' about my choice to stay home. He has had difficulty seeing why I find it such an effort to watch the game with him at the ground. I told him to count me in. At the time, I thought it might actually be enjoyable but more to the point, I wanted to please him.

In fact, I did enjoy watching the game from the stand but there came a time when I felt a need to move about. I excused myself and off I went to stand in the line at the coffee cart. A cup of coffee sounded mildly appealing, but in truth I was there to watch; to have the opportunity to watch all the people moving about me. Sometimes, I enjoy engaging with the person in front or behind me in a line, but today I was happy enough with my own thoughts.

'Why couldn't they put a little more effort into their appearance, I wondered? Was 'scruffy' the new 'in' look and I had not been advised, or were they simply not prepared to try to look their best?'

The people with whom we had come to the football had come dressed in the same way they might be dressed for some gardening, whilst I had had to convince my husband that my most showy coat might look out of place. Thank heavens, he finally agreed with me, or I could never have stood in that line anonymously as I did. You see, not only do I not need the attention of a crowd, but I find it altogether uncomfortable to have such attention.

It is not lost on me, however, that I do seek 'attention' of another kind. Not unlike a dog who seeks the company of her owner, I thrive on the one on one attention of a man. I don't see this as 'attention seeking' or being an 'attention sponge' so much as I see it as a necessity of the person that I am. In the company of a man who understands me for who I am, I can be most myself.

Sometimes, when my husband and I are sharing a meal out together, or even if we've stopped somewhere for a cup of tea, I become animated about a topic. Whilst there are times when I'm happy to just be the listener, I certainly have moments when I step up to the podium and voice my opinions, or regale him with anecdotes and stories.

"I love it when you talk passionately like that," he will often say.

Girls like me are a conundrum. Confident and worldly on a certain level, we seek the security of a certain type of man, a man who understands us for who we are, quite naturally. For, you see, deep inside what frightens us most is 'rejection'. We go to a lot of effort to keep that a secret, but I'm self aware enough to know that so much of what I do is all about that.

Recently, I looked back on the messages that Janus sent me in the past several months. His business life has required much more of his time and when he wrote it was usually to tell me that he was still "very busy". One day, he wrote to say that he wanted me to be sure to understand that writing to say that he was busy was not a rejection, but rather an attempt to allow me to feel that I was not being rejected.

Unfortunately, it does not work like that. Submissive women such as myself, crave a certain type of attention much as children must be fed nutritious meals, in order to thrive and grow. If they should not receive that attention; if they should feel rejected as well, they begin to stagnate.

A submissive woman is unlikely to hanker for the limelight. However, she does require her man to shed light on her. Once lit up, she shines most brightly.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Containment - an introduction

If you look about the blogs of submissive girls, you will see a word used fairly regularly - containment. If one asked each of us what that word meant, no two answers are likely to be exactly the same. So, my sense of 'containment' and my feelings about it are really just my own, and take from them what you will.

I think one of the best ways that I can explain to readers what I appreciate about containment is to give you an example of being contained from the recent past; one which remains very clear in my mind...

In the process of my 'discipline' relationship, I was given a task to do on a daily basis. I confess that I'm not especially good with routines. Sure, I get up and get the children off to school, and make breakfast and do my exercises, and so on, but if I didn't have to get up for various reasons, I might read a little in bed, or take my porridge and a cup of tea back to bed and write a little. I'm not particularly enamored with the notion of having to do something every single day. I did not intend to be disobedient. Rather, I put the task off to later in the day, and sometimes, at the very end of the day, it was not done and I felt too tired to get it done. Like that.

So, Janus would ask me by email every so often, was I doing my daily task? Had I missed any days and which days were they? Well, I often had missed a day here or there, and although I was tempted to lie, I didn't lie. I told him when I had missed the task. On paper, with someone actually keeping track of this, things didn't look so good. It must have seemed to him, (and rightly so) that 'obedience' was not my strong suit.

One day, an email arrived telling me that I had left him with no choice. It was incumbent upon him to issue me a "severe punishment". True to form, the message was read with a degree of righteous indignation and a real excitement. Whilst there was a slim chance that this was going to hurt, I had come to know Janus well enough that the punishment was more likely going to be something 'emotional/psychological'. I waited with anticipation for the instructions he would send and co-operated fully in ensuring that the environment was as he had asked it to be.

You see, I was to stay in my room for four hours to think about things. I was not allowed to read, or have the radio on, to watch TV, or touch my computer. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink or even go to the bathroom. All of that had to be taken care of before the containment began. As luck would have it, the children were on holidays and in a few days time my husband was travelling interstate, leaving very early in the morning. I was scheduled to be collected by a friend to attend a reunion mid morning, and so if the containment began the moment my husband left and I showered and dressed quickly immediately after the containment, it would work.

On my honour, I can attest to the fact that I followed all requirements as they were laid down, to the letter. I simply sat on my bed and thought about things. As I did this, a very strange feeling came over me. I began to feel a very strong connection to Janus and to my husband and what they were trying to do for me and I began to feel very loved. The opportunity to be still, to think, to wholly focus on my desire to be a good submissive girl was working its magic on me and I felt supremely calm and happy. I had gone to another state of being. It was divine.

Janus had told me that after I had finished the 'time out' I should do my daily task, (which I did) and email him to tell him whether I had completed the containment as he prescribed satisfactorily, or not. You see, if it wasn't done satisfactorily, he was denying me permission to go to my reunion. I emailed him and informed him that it had been done and as well, I sent the report of my feelings and thoughts during the containment, which was another requirement.

The only thing that could have possibly made that morning better for me is if he had managed to email me right back with words such as:

"Good girl. You may leave for your girlie day in my good grace. Have a good time and remember, that your obedience is expected at all times. Love, Janus"

Even so, I showered and dressed with a great sense of pleasure. I chose a white summer dress (kind of twirly) and a pretty turquoise necklace and some silver bracelets. I felt beautiful. I was serene. I was calm. I was loved. Life was perfect and as it turns out, so was our reunion. It was a wonderful gathering of lovely girls in a beautiful beach setting and I loved every moment of it. It is a gorgeous memory.

Does this make any sense to you? Does this convey to you at all my delight in 'containment'? To be cocooned in a place of love, calm and peace. There is nothing quite like that for me.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Back on the shelf

I don't approve of revisionist theories. If it happened, it happened. There is no good point in looking back with hindsight and repainting the picture.

The simple fact is that when I had a 'discipline' relationship going on, I was very turned on by it. It absolutely intrigued me. Prone to shift about with my emotions and to let them ride me rather than the other way around, I probably needed pulling up. Of course, *I* decided to pull myself up. No one told me that I had to buy into the idea of me needing discipline. I went there all by myself, pretty much.

I can well remember receiving an email from Janus telling me that I was "that sort of girl". I shot back an email and asked him what he meant. I was clueless. He wrote to say that I was the sort of girl who needed discipline. Some of my readers will understand when I say that I was 'up in arms' at this suggestion. Why in the hell would he think that?! I had always been a caring and loving mother, I'd done what I then thought was my best at being a good wife, and I was diligent and hard working. If *I* needed discipline then so did about half the nation with me. His reply to that was that being 'good' most of the time wasn't going to save me now. I'd be called on all behaviour.

On at least one level, the man must have been right, at least at that point in my life. I may have been a bit 'put out' but I was also incredibly hot. When the end of the week rolled around and I found out that my husband and he were serious and I was getting it across the tail for various misdemeanors, I was so turned on I could barely breathe with excitement. Over the next several months, I had some of the most unbelievable sex of my life. My body was wired in a way I had not believed possible and I relished every moment of it.

One week, blissfully unaware of how unrelenting Janus could be when he chose, I managed to ratchet up 52 swats, and also blissfully unaware of how much I was turning my husband into a sadist, I managed to ratchet up 52 strokes of the tawse . I know for a fact that I must have been indescribably hot about being punished at that point because I took it. I most probably did stretch up at least once, but I got down again, too. And, I got every single stroke. There's just no way I'd have done that if on some level I wasn't having one hell of a good time.

Now, with that sort of rigid discipline regime out of my life, I do wonder how I managed to actually 'enjoy' that process. When my husband decided earlier today it would be good for me to feel the sting of the tawse, it was laborious. Three swats to the rear, and I wiggled my way out of position, trying desperately to avoid its bite. He repositioned me and a few swats later, I was howling to the moon again.

Now, I wouldn't be telling the truth if I said that being in that compromising position didn't do good things to me. I was in a state of readiness, if you know what I mean. But nowadays, my aphrodisiac comes from a different thought than in the past. What I now enjoy about a spanking or a whipping or whatever, is the thought that I am bending over with my ass being used as a target because my husband deems that that is what I should have. It is what I should have because it is what he wants and it is what is good for me and what I need. I didn't deserve it, in that I was 'bad'. Rather, I am about to receive it because that is what a good little dollie does: she co-operates. All her needs are well looked after by her owner and getting spanked is just one of them.

Of course, I'm not suggesting that a dolly who is still on her laptop after midnight doesn't get corrected for that behaviour, or that a dolly who doesn't have a bit of an attitude doesn't get a swat across the rear to remind her of her place. That happens, from time to time.

However, nowadays, I don't have to feel that I was 'bad' and that works for me. Being 'bad' was a great burden for me to carry. No matter how hard my edges were pushed on this, my psyche resisted it with all its might.

Sometimes, dollies don't behave as well as their owners would like. Nothing has changed on that score. This dolly is so much better behaved these days, but every now and again, she errs. The boy could spank her if he wished, but the truth is the boy has a much greater weapon at his disposal to which the dolly always responds.

I can feel the doms out there waiting...What is she talking about? What works better than the whip? It is with great hesitation that I tell you this, for it is so powerful, it frightens me even to type the words.

When the dolly won't behave...

When the dolly won't behave, the boy...

Oh dear! Dis is so hard for the dolly to say.

When the dolly won't behave, the boy puts the dolly...

I can hardly bare to type the words.

When the dolly won't behave, the boy puts the dolly...

...back on the shelf!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Let's dance

So, I sat down to talk about scars since that's been the order of the day lately around these parts. We've all got scars, and I thought I'd put in my two cents worth. But, how can I talk about that when Diane Warwick is singing in the background?

"I never been loved before
And then came you
You, you, you, you, you."

I go to write something serious and I find myself up and dancing. It just won't work today.

"All you got to do is hug him and kiss him and show him that you care...
Do the things that he likes to do.
Wear your hair just for him...
Just do it, and after you do, he will be yours.

So, combine the onset of Spring with such pleasurable music and it has to be a pretty 'airhead' sort of a post today, I'm sorry.

But, I dink dat's okay. 'Coz this bimbo lik not to dinki sumtimes. She liki jus to hav fun. Bimbo barbi dolls r lik dat! Dey put on twirly dolli dresses and dey dance aroun the kitchn to the 80s muzic. Wheeeee! Dat so fun!

So, gurlz, no mor rage tawk for now. Dat okay? Put on yr dancin shooz and danz to the muzac and sooooon, you b feelin reeel fin.

Got that?


Hav fun. Dinki happi thorts.

Night night.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Friends in the sky

It is a pleasure to read Selkie's blog and her discussions always having me thinking. Lately, Selkie gave thought to the element of 'fantasy' associated with 'online' relationships. I'm in no position to make any wild, sweeping statements about the success rate of online relationships. I've never had an online romance, and I've never attempted to find a guy that way. I've heard of some remarkable success stories and I've heard of plenty of dismal failures. I guess it is fair to say that, depending on your luck, it could go either way.

What I am in a position to be able to say is that friendships formed 'online' and only online can be outstandingly successful. I may or I may not meet some or all of my friends one day. Whether I do or don't, the friendships forged are very strong, very enjoyable, very worthwhile and very real. It is almost inconceivable that I could have had such conversations with any person face to face as I have had on the Internet.

I'm not a particularly bold or brave person but I've initiated one or two of my online friendships, whilst others have been bold enough to contact me. I've had a 100 per cent strike rate, for even those friends with whom I no longer talk or write were worthwhile associates. Every one of my current friends, male and female, have turned out to be gems. I feel proud to know them all, and to have some connection with them, and hopefully, to enrich their lives as they have enriched mine.

For the past year and a half, I've been corresponding with a gentleman on the other side of the world. I've revealed a lot of my thinking to him and my needs, and he has given of his time to help me with very specific needs; needs that would have gone unmet otherwise. It was not perfect and each of us bear some responsibility for times when our relationship suffered, but given that we never met, we never spoke, or even saw one another's photos until very recently, we did amazingly well. When our relationship altered recently from that of a therapist/patient or dominant/submissive, if you will, to friend/friend (him remaining a dominant and me remaining a submissive) I had no difficulty in saying that the reason I asked for a change in the status of our relationship was because he had succeeded with me.

The role of an online mentor is treacherous. Two people get to know one another rather well. They work more closely together than any therapist/patient could. Few people can afford to see their therapist more than once a week, but our relationship was conducted on an almost everyday basis. We got to the heart of the matter, the very specific issues that needed to be addressed. And, over time, we began to see significant changes. I wrote that his lessons had "seeped into my bones". When I was not looking, I had changed and grown.

Another dear online friend told me that his wisdom had come when he wasn't looking and I believe that. Wisdom or growth in a person is an evolving thing and one day you look up and realize that it has happened. You are old enough or have grown enough for your problem to no longer be your problem.

Endings are tough. Too tough for either of us. And, so we remain friends; keen to update one another on our lives, from time to time. You don't share your life with someone; your most inner thoughts only to walk away. Or, you should not.

Of course, as a submissive woman with such strong desire and need for containment; for a sense of safety and security, love and serenity, there are still various paths to walk and I do that now with a mind for the specifics of that outcome. My new peace of mind and sense of happiness comes from putting into place those specific ideas to which I am being introduced.

Meanwhile, my husband notices the difference in me and is happy to see the growth and fulfilment of his girl. He is the recipient of my high marks. There is no better man to be found for me than he, I can assure you.

I'm not at all sure that I can tell you whether I am lucky with my online friendships or if I have some 'knack' for it that I should analyze and share. I think I can say on my own behalf that I was prepared to be bold and brave, to be honest and open, and to trust. It may have been dumb luck or it may be that I stumbled on men and women with great integrity and we sussed one another out well. Words can be remarkably powerful.

It is incumbent on me to caution that there are many snakes on the Internet. One must be very careful. But, there are also sparkling gems of people. Each of my Internet friends is, for me, a bright, shining star. I will be forever thankful for having had the great pleasure of knowing them.