In the movie 'Smothered', Diane Keaton plays yet another rather neurotic woman. She has decided to come and live with her son, leaving her husband. She turns the son's life into a living hell as she has her meltdown and eventually his patience with her runs out. He says something like:
"Why don't you look in the mirror? Why don't you, for just a moment, stop and consider your behaviour as it affects those around you?"
I wasn't actually watching this movie. One of the children had it on and I can't say I recommend it at all to you. But, the line did get my attention for reasons I will explain shortly.
And, this morning, as I thought about that, I recalled Michael Jackson's words:
I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways
And No Message Could Have
Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World
A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The
World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself, And
Then Make A Change
My friend, Cassie, has written a very special post for you entitled 'The Mirror' and I invite you to read it carefully when it is posted in the next few days. She encourages you to look in the mirror in a most engaging and unique way. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did and that it inspires you as much as it did me to look in the mirror.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Special readers
It is not often that I write specifically to my readers. I usually write in my own head space as a way of sorting through my thoughts, which explains why I write regularly. Alas, I still think, a lot!
This morning, I checked my stats and once again I noticed that several of you have been delving into the archives. When you do this, I smile. I remember how feverish I was for information at one time and how voraciously I read. I imagine you to be on a similar journey to me and I hope with all my heart that you are having one hell of a good ride - pun intended. In some small way, I feel that we are on the journey together and in some small but very significant way, I feel that I know you.
Every now and again, one of you writes to me to tell me how you are doing, and this means the world to me. I just hope that I don't lead you astray too far. I've had the gamut of emotions over time. But, perhaps that is not such a bad thing. Those emotions were real and raw and just a part of the deal for me. We are all only human.
I'm not entirely sure how often I will be posting here - more like a couple of times a week than five times a week - but I did want to say something specifically to you guys today...
When you learn to give up control, you learn to trust. When you begin to trust, beautiful things simply happen. It's magic. It's a really beautiful thing. Don't give up. It's not easy but it is worth it when you can let that noisy ego have a bit of a rest. Submission is a gift to yourself.
My best wishes to you on your own personal journey of discovery and happy reading!
This morning, I checked my stats and once again I noticed that several of you have been delving into the archives. When you do this, I smile. I remember how feverish I was for information at one time and how voraciously I read. I imagine you to be on a similar journey to me and I hope with all my heart that you are having one hell of a good ride - pun intended. In some small way, I feel that we are on the journey together and in some small but very significant way, I feel that I know you.
Every now and again, one of you writes to me to tell me how you are doing, and this means the world to me. I just hope that I don't lead you astray too far. I've had the gamut of emotions over time. But, perhaps that is not such a bad thing. Those emotions were real and raw and just a part of the deal for me. We are all only human.
I'm not entirely sure how often I will be posting here - more like a couple of times a week than five times a week - but I did want to say something specifically to you guys today...
When you learn to give up control, you learn to trust. When you begin to trust, beautiful things simply happen. It's magic. It's a really beautiful thing. Don't give up. It's not easy but it is worth it when you can let that noisy ego have a bit of a rest. Submission is a gift to yourself.
My best wishes to you on your own personal journey of discovery and happy reading!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Object of desire
She was lying on their queen sized bed, on top of the white cotton valence. She was in a loose foetal position, fast asleep. She was not aware that he had come home and was in the room; that he had taken off his suit jacket. He moved towards her and stood by her side, and then he began to gently caress her and slowly awaken her.
She had been fast asleep and in her dreamy state, she began to comprehend that he had returned to her and was touching her and caressing her. It was a very warm day but she had turned on the fan and felt the light breeze on her skin. She felt completely comfortable. It was delicious for her to still be asleep but to have his attention in this way. She did not move. Like the object that she was, she invited him to do whatever he wanted by being very still.
She could feel him pulling up her black cotton dress and pulling down, and then off, her panties. Her movements were imperceptible and yet she was fully co-operating. Now, he undid her black bra and took that off too, and then he undid the ribbon at the back of her neck to loosen her dress. As he lifted the dress over her head, her body moved according to his need for it to move. It was quite effortless.
He now had unfettered contact to all of her and his hands wandered to the most intimate parts of her body. She loved to feel his touch everywhere and longed only to remain in this dreamy state for as long as possible. She felt his fingers at her ass cunt and then something cold; some lube. Seconds later, she felt him insert a plug and recognized it as the very long plug he used for play. Insertion was easy but the sensations it created in her, complex and intense. She lay there perfectly still.
She was vaguely aware that he had moved away for a short time but it was not until she felt the weight of his body on her skin that she realized that he had stripped. He turned her over onto her stomach and lay on top of her. Without a word, he brought his hard cock to the entrance of her pussy cunt. She was finally aware of a fully conscious thought. She was on fire. Her pussy cunt was ready to explode. Whatever thoughts she had had whilst asleep, her mind and body were ready to be invaded.
He had barely entered her, just the slightest of movements, when she moaned deeply. One imperceptibly small movement had sent her body into orgasmic delight. He did not enter her fully; to have done so would have taken her over the edge and into the abyss. Instead, he moved his cock ever so slightly, from time to time, and all the time, she was exploding in eruptions of heavenly release.
Eventually, he wanted more and he pushed further into her. Her groans were deep; almost as if she were in intense pain. She was biting her knuckle, sucking the skin of her hands with her tongue. She was desperate to outwardly express in some way what she was experiencing within her body. She very soon reached the point where she was beyond her own sense of control or ability to stay remotely quiet and he left her momentarily to return with her penis gag. He told her to suck on that.
It was just what she needed. She was now freed to use her tongue to her heart's content to express the depth of sensations that were overwhelming her. He was on top of her and deep inside of her. The plug had stretched her ass cunt in a new and more extreme way. She was the object of his desire and an object of desire. She was wanton; a vessel for his hunger and a hungry vessel.
This was not a girl lying there on the bed. This was her owner's fuck toy; being used and used and used. This was primal. This was exactly right.
An hour later, completely satiated, the object was sent to the shower and her body was washed clean. She dressed lightly and her demeanour was bright. She was heady; happy; complete. Her true status would soon be hidden from sight by the needs of others in her life but the memory would sustain her for many days to come. She walked. She talked. She cooked and planned. Underneath that exterior, she was nothing more than an object; her owner's fuck toy. Underneath that exterior she was, quite simply, herself.
© Vesta
2009
P.S. To all my American readers, may I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. I have very happy memories of my Thanksgiving days in the US, spent with family and friends, and I wish you all the loveliest of days.
She had been fast asleep and in her dreamy state, she began to comprehend that he had returned to her and was touching her and caressing her. It was a very warm day but she had turned on the fan and felt the light breeze on her skin. She felt completely comfortable. It was delicious for her to still be asleep but to have his attention in this way. She did not move. Like the object that she was, she invited him to do whatever he wanted by being very still.
She could feel him pulling up her black cotton dress and pulling down, and then off, her panties. Her movements were imperceptible and yet she was fully co-operating. Now, he undid her black bra and took that off too, and then he undid the ribbon at the back of her neck to loosen her dress. As he lifted the dress over her head, her body moved according to his need for it to move. It was quite effortless.
He now had unfettered contact to all of her and his hands wandered to the most intimate parts of her body. She loved to feel his touch everywhere and longed only to remain in this dreamy state for as long as possible. She felt his fingers at her ass cunt and then something cold; some lube. Seconds later, she felt him insert a plug and recognized it as the very long plug he used for play. Insertion was easy but the sensations it created in her, complex and intense. She lay there perfectly still.
She was vaguely aware that he had moved away for a short time but it was not until she felt the weight of his body on her skin that she realized that he had stripped. He turned her over onto her stomach and lay on top of her. Without a word, he brought his hard cock to the entrance of her pussy cunt. She was finally aware of a fully conscious thought. She was on fire. Her pussy cunt was ready to explode. Whatever thoughts she had had whilst asleep, her mind and body were ready to be invaded.
He had barely entered her, just the slightest of movements, when she moaned deeply. One imperceptibly small movement had sent her body into orgasmic delight. He did not enter her fully; to have done so would have taken her over the edge and into the abyss. Instead, he moved his cock ever so slightly, from time to time, and all the time, she was exploding in eruptions of heavenly release.
Eventually, he wanted more and he pushed further into her. Her groans were deep; almost as if she were in intense pain. She was biting her knuckle, sucking the skin of her hands with her tongue. She was desperate to outwardly express in some way what she was experiencing within her body. She very soon reached the point where she was beyond her own sense of control or ability to stay remotely quiet and he left her momentarily to return with her penis gag. He told her to suck on that.
It was just what she needed. She was now freed to use her tongue to her heart's content to express the depth of sensations that were overwhelming her. He was on top of her and deep inside of her. The plug had stretched her ass cunt in a new and more extreme way. She was the object of his desire and an object of desire. She was wanton; a vessel for his hunger and a hungry vessel.
This was not a girl lying there on the bed. This was her owner's fuck toy; being used and used and used. This was primal. This was exactly right.
An hour later, completely satiated, the object was sent to the shower and her body was washed clean. She dressed lightly and her demeanour was bright. She was heady; happy; complete. Her true status would soon be hidden from sight by the needs of others in her life but the memory would sustain her for many days to come. She walked. She talked. She cooked and planned. Underneath that exterior, she was nothing more than an object; her owner's fuck toy. Underneath that exterior she was, quite simply, herself.
© Vesta
2009
P.S. To all my American readers, may I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. I have very happy memories of my Thanksgiving days in the US, spent with family and friends, and I wish you all the loveliest of days.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Values
I’m grateful to Dr.Yaldah Tovah for his wonderful writings about the female submissive. Perhaps, there are other professionals who have also written papers on the subject, but I’m not aware of them. I recommend his writings to you and I suggest you look out for an article on the Internet entitled ‘The Healthy Female Submissive’.
Dr. Tovah is concerned that women with a submissive nature are receiving incorrect messages from society at large. He writes:
“Here in Western society, we place highest value on independence...the less needy and more self-sufficient. We value competition over co-operation, tangible achievement over achievement in relationship.”
But, is this, he wonders the right way to think?
“There is something wrong with believing that such independence is the only good. It is especially wrong for the most relatedness-oriented among us, the submissive female.”
I don’t think there is any dispute that societal expectations can be hard on the female submissive (and the Dominant) and Dr. Tovah has some suggestions to make:
“Part of the newly aware submissive’s task is to separate out the internalized voices of her culture: those voices that tell her she is too needy, too dependent, too focused on the others in her life. Once she can articulate what those voices tell her, she can begin to question not HERSELF, but the validity of those internalized values, using her own yardstick to measure her life, rather than our culture’s standard.”
I think I have felt guilty at times for my choices in life. I’m not out there climbing any corporate ladders or fulfilling my ‘potential’. It soon became very obvious to me that with my husband’s ambitious nature, working full time would leave my children without the focus of a parent for much of the time. I just didn’t want that and nor did my husband. It worked for us to have less materially and to have one parent for whom the focus was, the children. I don’t regret that decision at all but I confess I have felt that I may have gone against some code that says ‘women can have it all’. They can, of course, but for me, having it all meant that I could choose to make my children and my husband, the focus of my life. Mine is a different perspective.
Dr Tovah writes, “We can see how perspective is critical in understanding a phenomenon. He suggests that submissive women should ask, not ‘am I weak?’ but “is there something missing from the yardstick I use to measure myself?”
The truth is that personally, I long ago stopped worrying about societal norms. I don’t mean that I fly in the face of conventions because I don’t do that. I tread quietly across this earth and I don’t look for conflict. But, I am proud of myself for finally fully accepting my submissive nature and for putting in place (with assistance) a way of operating in my life and with my husband wherein we are both happy, where we both feel natural and at peace, and where we do no one any harm. I am proud of my willingness to go against conventional wisdom and the thinking of the group to live my own life on my terms.
If life had been a little different, it seems that my choice of career was indeed suited to my submissive nature. Dr. Tovah notes the little girl with a submissive nature has a “sixth sense” about people. The submissive “often finds great fulfilment working in fields such as social work, nursing, medicine, counselling, teaching.”
I am touched by Dr. Tovah’s understanding of the female submissive’s needs in a partner:
“Those who consciously seek a Dominant partner are those who are perhaps, so sensitive that they require not only benevolence, but someone who understands PRECISELY how mouldable and influence able they are, and is capable of using the power to mould her and influence her deliberately and consciously, for her good and the good of the relationship. In that kind of relationship, the submissive is freed to be all of herself. She is safe enough to feel her exquisitely sensitive reactions to others, to play like a child, to give care and to take care, to be angry, to lose shame.”
In my mind, he is exactly right. He might well have been talking about me.
Dr Tovah writes, “There is a strength beyond measure in self knowledge and acceptance. There is freedom in jettisoning shame, in letting go of ‘shoulds’. To know oneself as a submissive woman, to accept that it is neither the terrible thing that society tells us it is, nor the only right and true way to be for OTHERS, is to be free. What is, is.”
I completely agree. No other article has ever meant more to me than this one.
Dr. Tovah is concerned that women with a submissive nature are receiving incorrect messages from society at large. He writes:
“Here in Western society, we place highest value on independence...the less needy and more self-sufficient. We value competition over co-operation, tangible achievement over achievement in relationship.”
But, is this, he wonders the right way to think?
“There is something wrong with believing that such independence is the only good. It is especially wrong for the most relatedness-oriented among us, the submissive female.”
I don’t think there is any dispute that societal expectations can be hard on the female submissive (and the Dominant) and Dr. Tovah has some suggestions to make:
“Part of the newly aware submissive’s task is to separate out the internalized voices of her culture: those voices that tell her she is too needy, too dependent, too focused on the others in her life. Once she can articulate what those voices tell her, she can begin to question not HERSELF, but the validity of those internalized values, using her own yardstick to measure her life, rather than our culture’s standard.”
I think I have felt guilty at times for my choices in life. I’m not out there climbing any corporate ladders or fulfilling my ‘potential’. It soon became very obvious to me that with my husband’s ambitious nature, working full time would leave my children without the focus of a parent for much of the time. I just didn’t want that and nor did my husband. It worked for us to have less materially and to have one parent for whom the focus was, the children. I don’t regret that decision at all but I confess I have felt that I may have gone against some code that says ‘women can have it all’. They can, of course, but for me, having it all meant that I could choose to make my children and my husband, the focus of my life. Mine is a different perspective.
Dr Tovah writes, “We can see how perspective is critical in understanding a phenomenon. He suggests that submissive women should ask, not ‘am I weak?’ but “is there something missing from the yardstick I use to measure myself?”
The truth is that personally, I long ago stopped worrying about societal norms. I don’t mean that I fly in the face of conventions because I don’t do that. I tread quietly across this earth and I don’t look for conflict. But, I am proud of myself for finally fully accepting my submissive nature and for putting in place (with assistance) a way of operating in my life and with my husband wherein we are both happy, where we both feel natural and at peace, and where we do no one any harm. I am proud of my willingness to go against conventional wisdom and the thinking of the group to live my own life on my terms.
If life had been a little different, it seems that my choice of career was indeed suited to my submissive nature. Dr. Tovah notes the little girl with a submissive nature has a “sixth sense” about people. The submissive “often finds great fulfilment working in fields such as social work, nursing, medicine, counselling, teaching.”
I am touched by Dr. Tovah’s understanding of the female submissive’s needs in a partner:
“Those who consciously seek a Dominant partner are those who are perhaps, so sensitive that they require not only benevolence, but someone who understands PRECISELY how mouldable and influence able they are, and is capable of using the power to mould her and influence her deliberately and consciously, for her good and the good of the relationship. In that kind of relationship, the submissive is freed to be all of herself. She is safe enough to feel her exquisitely sensitive reactions to others, to play like a child, to give care and to take care, to be angry, to lose shame.”
In my mind, he is exactly right. He might well have been talking about me.
Dr Tovah writes, “There is a strength beyond measure in self knowledge and acceptance. There is freedom in jettisoning shame, in letting go of ‘shoulds’. To know oneself as a submissive woman, to accept that it is neither the terrible thing that society tells us it is, nor the only right and true way to be for OTHERS, is to be free. What is, is.”
I completely agree. No other article has ever meant more to me than this one.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Mind to body
A few years ago, when I was nursing my youngest child, I sat there and realized that I had to do something about my back. I was in so much pain, I could not avoid it any longer. At the first opportunity, I walked into a chiropractor's office that I often passed in the car and asked him for help. Manipulations helped but he suggested Plates classes to strengthen my core muscles to support my back.
A few months later, an acquaintance approached me in the street and asked if I would like to join her Pilates class. It was the right time. My baby, one day out of the blue, had refused my breast after ten months of routine breastfeeding and the hormonal changes to my body had thrown me into a depression. I knew that I had to get out and do something about it and this seemed the right opportunity.
I have been doing Pilates classes ever since then and I thoroughly recommend them. If readers are interested in pursuing Pilates classes, may I make a few suggestions? A class that incorporates some Tai Chi and some Yoga along with Pilates, is a great combination of mind to body exercise. And, try to look for an instructor who speaks fairly softly and calmly, not interfering with the 'feel good' karma you are likely to experience. You don't need someone who won't stop chattering and you don't want someone who resorts to a series of individual exercises, not maintaining a calm and tranquil environment, from position to position. Best of all, if you can find a class that ends with a little meditation, you know you are onto a good thing.
By the end of the hour, you may well find you walk out of there in a lovely, relaxed state of mind with a new outlook as to how you might go about the rest of the day or evening. As a dear friend put it to me we all have "elephant shit" to deal with. But, when we feel tranquil and at peace, it is quite a bit easier to find the solutions to our problems.
I highly recommend a drink with other participants at the end of the class, too. I have been to a class this morning and enjoyed the positive spirit that one could feel from every corner of the room. When you take that positive spirit and extend it just a bit further to a conversation over a drink with other participants, true friendships seem to just emerge.
I know life is busy. I know you have a million things to do. But, give it a try if you possibly can.
A few months later, an acquaintance approached me in the street and asked if I would like to join her Pilates class. It was the right time. My baby, one day out of the blue, had refused my breast after ten months of routine breastfeeding and the hormonal changes to my body had thrown me into a depression. I knew that I had to get out and do something about it and this seemed the right opportunity.
I have been doing Pilates classes ever since then and I thoroughly recommend them. If readers are interested in pursuing Pilates classes, may I make a few suggestions? A class that incorporates some Tai Chi and some Yoga along with Pilates, is a great combination of mind to body exercise. And, try to look for an instructor who speaks fairly softly and calmly, not interfering with the 'feel good' karma you are likely to experience. You don't need someone who won't stop chattering and you don't want someone who resorts to a series of individual exercises, not maintaining a calm and tranquil environment, from position to position. Best of all, if you can find a class that ends with a little meditation, you know you are onto a good thing.
By the end of the hour, you may well find you walk out of there in a lovely, relaxed state of mind with a new outlook as to how you might go about the rest of the day or evening. As a dear friend put it to me we all have "elephant shit" to deal with. But, when we feel tranquil and at peace, it is quite a bit easier to find the solutions to our problems.
I highly recommend a drink with other participants at the end of the class, too. I have been to a class this morning and enjoyed the positive spirit that one could feel from every corner of the room. When you take that positive spirit and extend it just a bit further to a conversation over a drink with other participants, true friendships seem to just emerge.
I know life is busy. I know you have a million things to do. But, give it a try if you possibly can.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Fiery girls
One of the most enjoyable aspects of having children, in my opinion, is that parents gets to watch their personalities unfold. Since my eldest child is grown and living elsewhere, I thought I knew all there was to know about him. I discovered last night that there is always a little more...
His last minute call to say that his plans had changed and could he come over worked out perfectly. I was just beginning a huge fried rice for the other boys who are in study mode. Together, we shared a massive platter of the dish, together with a lovely bottle of Pinot Noir.
When the younger boys left and it was just my husband, myself and my son, the conversation moved onto food and restaurants, as it so inevitably does. This is a city famous for its dining and consumption of wine. He told us of a new restaurant in a street we know well and how authentically Italian it is.
"You'll love it, Mum. It is so romantic...perfect for you and Dad."
And, finally, he mentioned the gal that he has been seeing. We know her name via his sister, who gets more information that we do, but very little else.
"I took (my girlfriend) there and she loved it."
Here was my big opportunity.
"Sooooo, she's Italian...?"
"No, she is Greek."
"Ahhh..."
"And, boy, is she fiery!!! I was making her pizza last weekend and she slapped me across the face twice before I had even served it!"
"Oh boy! You must have said something to work her up, I think."
"Well, probably. I think I like to do that. I love to see their reactions."
"Darling, talk about out of the fat and into the fire..."
(I was referring to his previous girlfriend.)
"Yeah. I know. It's weird ."
"But, you've always done that, darling. Always liked to get something happening if it is too calm."
"Yeah...at the restaurant...I took her there for breakfast...and she stood up and had a go at the waiter because the meal was slow coming out! She's crazy! I had to tell the poor guy it was all right."
He's smiling broadly. He is animated. He looks happy.
"Well, you know we girls have to eat regularly..."
"I know!!!! Well, I think I like fiery girls. I'd be bored otherwise."
And, there it was. Finally, an acknowledgement of who he is; what he wants.
My son has been witness to the tempestuous relationship of his parents all his life. He has watched his Dad niggle his Mum on purpose, forever. Will she react? Will he have to go into his bag of tricks for more? His Mum ignores many of the gibes, but sometimes, when it is least expected, she bites back enough for the Dad to take notice. The smile on his face suggests that he has enjoyed that. Like two little kids in the school yard. And, so it goes. The games that men and women play.
I know you will yawn if I tell you again how proud I am of him. My God, but he is handsome now! But, I so delight at thinking of the lovely times he has ahead of him. And, this girl will be good for him.
His last minute call to say that his plans had changed and could he come over worked out perfectly. I was just beginning a huge fried rice for the other boys who are in study mode. Together, we shared a massive platter of the dish, together with a lovely bottle of Pinot Noir.
When the younger boys left and it was just my husband, myself and my son, the conversation moved onto food and restaurants, as it so inevitably does. This is a city famous for its dining and consumption of wine. He told us of a new restaurant in a street we know well and how authentically Italian it is.
"You'll love it, Mum. It is so romantic...perfect for you and Dad."
And, finally, he mentioned the gal that he has been seeing. We know her name via his sister, who gets more information that we do, but very little else.
"I took (my girlfriend) there and she loved it."
Here was my big opportunity.
"Sooooo, she's Italian...?"
"No, she is Greek."
"Ahhh..."
"And, boy, is she fiery!!! I was making her pizza last weekend and she slapped me across the face twice before I had even served it!"
"Oh boy! You must have said something to work her up, I think."
"Well, probably. I think I like to do that. I love to see their reactions."
"Darling, talk about out of the fat and into the fire..."
(I was referring to his previous girlfriend.)
"Yeah. I know. It's weird ."
"But, you've always done that, darling. Always liked to get something happening if it is too calm."
"Yeah...at the restaurant...I took her there for breakfast...and she stood up and had a go at the waiter because the meal was slow coming out! She's crazy! I had to tell the poor guy it was all right."
He's smiling broadly. He is animated. He looks happy.
"Well, you know we girls have to eat regularly..."
"I know!!!! Well, I think I like fiery girls. I'd be bored otherwise."
And, there it was. Finally, an acknowledgement of who he is; what he wants.
My son has been witness to the tempestuous relationship of his parents all his life. He has watched his Dad niggle his Mum on purpose, forever. Will she react? Will he have to go into his bag of tricks for more? His Mum ignores many of the gibes, but sometimes, when it is least expected, she bites back enough for the Dad to take notice. The smile on his face suggests that he has enjoyed that. Like two little kids in the school yard. And, so it goes. The games that men and women play.
I know you will yawn if I tell you again how proud I am of him. My God, but he is handsome now! But, I so delight at thinking of the lovely times he has ahead of him. And, this girl will be good for him.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Disclosures
This is a blog. In this blog is the writing...the processing of thoughts...of one woman who is on a discovery of exploration. I attempt to not make judgements about anybody or anything. I try to adopt a ‘live and let live’ approach. People are welcome to read or not to read, as they choose.
I have much to be thankful for. I don’t have a perfect life but I do have a sense of how to live well: to make the most of life, to strive for happiness through a positive state of mind; to put love first and to care for people.
I look for the common ground with those I meet; wherever I go. I listen and I care. I avoid conflict whenever possible. I try to bring some warmth into the lives of all who pass my way.
The writing here takes ‘the middle ground’ as well. I am aware that bad things happen on the fringes; that people hurt and that various practices of a D/s relationship are not pursued for ‘good’ in all cases. I am aware that there are people who behave badly; people who don’t care about other people. I know that all too well.
I don’t write about those people too often, if at all. It is my choice. I seek a higher purpose. I look to encourage my readers to find the good in life. My generalizations can be simplistic but they are simplistic for this reason. I try to enliven the positive spirit in all of us. I seek for the reader to tap into what is common to us all in some measure: our humanity.
If readers seek a comprehensive approach towards a topic, they should read elsewhere. There is plenty of talk on the Internet of that which is negative; people who do wrong; analytical debate.
My goal is for the reader to embrace that which is good and specifically, all the good that there can be in a dominant/submissive relationship. If that doesn’t suit, I won’t mind at all if you choose to read elsewhere.
Many readers have been with me from the outset. They read regularly and I am led to believe that they get something of value to them from reading here. I get a real boost from the thought that their lives may have been made a little happier; that their spirit may have received some sustenance. It is for them, as well as for me, that I write.
I have much to be thankful for. I don’t have a perfect life but I do have a sense of how to live well: to make the most of life, to strive for happiness through a positive state of mind; to put love first and to care for people.
I look for the common ground with those I meet; wherever I go. I listen and I care. I avoid conflict whenever possible. I try to bring some warmth into the lives of all who pass my way.
The writing here takes ‘the middle ground’ as well. I am aware that bad things happen on the fringes; that people hurt and that various practices of a D/s relationship are not pursued for ‘good’ in all cases. I am aware that there are people who behave badly; people who don’t care about other people. I know that all too well.
I don’t write about those people too often, if at all. It is my choice. I seek a higher purpose. I look to encourage my readers to find the good in life. My generalizations can be simplistic but they are simplistic for this reason. I try to enliven the positive spirit in all of us. I seek for the reader to tap into what is common to us all in some measure: our humanity.
If readers seek a comprehensive approach towards a topic, they should read elsewhere. There is plenty of talk on the Internet of that which is negative; people who do wrong; analytical debate.
My goal is for the reader to embrace that which is good and specifically, all the good that there can be in a dominant/submissive relationship. If that doesn’t suit, I won’t mind at all if you choose to read elsewhere.
Many readers have been with me from the outset. They read regularly and I am led to believe that they get something of value to them from reading here. I get a real boost from the thought that their lives may have been made a little happier; that their spirit may have received some sustenance. It is for them, as well as for me, that I write.
Beauty
This week has been an unremarkable week in the sense that there were ups and there were downs. When you live in a largish family, every week has its ups and downs and you have to ride the waves. I surf the waves as best I can and when necessary I take my board and go and sit on the sand and just watch the water for a bit. That gets me by.
Technically speaking, the news that a friend has breast cancer and will begin radiation next week; that she will lose her lovely head of hair, should not have hit hard. She isn't the first friend to go through this process, and I've walked with a close family member down that road as well. But, it did hit me hard this week. I suppose it was a reminder on a beautiful day, in a beautiful country garden, that life can change on a dime. What we have today, can be gone tomorrow.
She will be all right. She believes that. And, I believe that. And, so do the friends who have walked this road before her. The prognosis is good. But, it's a timely reminder, I think, to live your life now.
I doubt we can all agree on how to live a life well any more than we can agree on any topic. For me, it is to love well; to be kind, gracious, affirming. Each person can change the world a little with a kind act, a smile, a sense of care. Love is not just something we feel, but the things we do.
It is an old saying: that beauty comes from within, but it is true. Think kind thoughts. Do noble deeds. Rise up and be the best you can be. This is true beauty. This is a life well lived. This is this thought that sustains me.
Technically speaking, the news that a friend has breast cancer and will begin radiation next week; that she will lose her lovely head of hair, should not have hit hard. She isn't the first friend to go through this process, and I've walked with a close family member down that road as well. But, it did hit me hard this week. I suppose it was a reminder on a beautiful day, in a beautiful country garden, that life can change on a dime. What we have today, can be gone tomorrow.
She will be all right. She believes that. And, I believe that. And, so do the friends who have walked this road before her. The prognosis is good. But, it's a timely reminder, I think, to live your life now.
I doubt we can all agree on how to live a life well any more than we can agree on any topic. For me, it is to love well; to be kind, gracious, affirming. Each person can change the world a little with a kind act, a smile, a sense of care. Love is not just something we feel, but the things we do.
It is an old saying: that beauty comes from within, but it is true. Think kind thoughts. Do noble deeds. Rise up and be the best you can be. This is true beauty. This is a life well lived. This is this thought that sustains me.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Choice
There was a darling article in the weekend paper recently concerning feminists in the noughties. The author proposed "for noughtie girls, feminist demands are based less on political ideologies than on the experience of our day-to-day lives." She goes on to say, "For me, feminism is about having choices - from influencing who runs the country to choosing whether I wear high heels or flats."
I immediately liked this gal. She was making a lot of sense, as far as I was concerned. I sent my daughter to a school who demanded you aim high in your areas of choice. My daughter was fortunate, now that I look back on it, to be embraced for who she is: talented in both the performing and creative arts. That she would not go on to perform brain surgery was okay, so long as she worked hard to do her best in the subjects she chose.
Perhaps, having had three brothers has influenced her mindset but she isn't a strident feminist at all. I'm extraordinarily proud of her latest personal achievements and she is a girl on a mission to prove herself in a competitive industry. But she's sees, even at her young age, that a girl needs to be sensible about how life works. She has already discovered that even young men have rather strong opinions about how a girl behaves, and dresses, and no shouting from the rooftops about 'I am women, hear me roar' is going to change that.
Men enjoy women who show pride in their appearance; who are kind, warm-hearted and who appreciate what a man does for them. Good men want to see their women happy. They revel in their accomplishments and are the first ones to celebrate their successes. They do their best to ease the burden on them when things get tough, and, most importantly, they listen to them when they need to process their upsets and concerns. Men are not the enemy. Men are our salvation. My daughter already knows this and I am so glad she does. When the right man comes along for her she won't miss him.
The author of the article had this to say about 'beauty politics': "Noughtie feminism is perfectly compatible with aspiring to external beauty. If we want to wear make-up or attractive clothes, we can...But feminists know that beauty is never the best way of judging whether someone is a nice person..."
I think a man hopes for the whole package, frankly: a woman who cares enough to make herself look good for him and a person who is good on the inside, too. Together, men and women will support one another in their choices of what they want to be; how they want to live their lives.
In the past few years, I've taken a 'time out' to explore who I am, deep inside. My husband has supported my efforts and embraced the changes. At times, I have been unsettled, for change is not always easy. But, he has always been there for me, encouraging me in my choices and wanting me to be all that I want to be for myself. In the same way, I've supported his endeavors to the best of my ability. I continue to learn, each and every day, what a wondrous thing it is when two people enable one another to flourish.
All of us in my family strongly support each other's choices in life. We respect one another's differences and we are tolerant of our various mindsets. Feminists fought hard to enable choice and we are indebted to them. It has been an unsettled couple of days but the dolly is back where she belongs, letting her spirits soar. As a girl of the noughties, this is my choice.
I immediately liked this gal. She was making a lot of sense, as far as I was concerned. I sent my daughter to a school who demanded you aim high in your areas of choice. My daughter was fortunate, now that I look back on it, to be embraced for who she is: talented in both the performing and creative arts. That she would not go on to perform brain surgery was okay, so long as she worked hard to do her best in the subjects she chose.
Perhaps, having had three brothers has influenced her mindset but she isn't a strident feminist at all. I'm extraordinarily proud of her latest personal achievements and she is a girl on a mission to prove herself in a competitive industry. But she's sees, even at her young age, that a girl needs to be sensible about how life works. She has already discovered that even young men have rather strong opinions about how a girl behaves, and dresses, and no shouting from the rooftops about 'I am women, hear me roar' is going to change that.
Men enjoy women who show pride in their appearance; who are kind, warm-hearted and who appreciate what a man does for them. Good men want to see their women happy. They revel in their accomplishments and are the first ones to celebrate their successes. They do their best to ease the burden on them when things get tough, and, most importantly, they listen to them when they need to process their upsets and concerns. Men are not the enemy. Men are our salvation. My daughter already knows this and I am so glad she does. When the right man comes along for her she won't miss him.
The author of the article had this to say about 'beauty politics': "Noughtie feminism is perfectly compatible with aspiring to external beauty. If we want to wear make-up or attractive clothes, we can...But feminists know that beauty is never the best way of judging whether someone is a nice person..."
I think a man hopes for the whole package, frankly: a woman who cares enough to make herself look good for him and a person who is good on the inside, too. Together, men and women will support one another in their choices of what they want to be; how they want to live their lives.
In the past few years, I've taken a 'time out' to explore who I am, deep inside. My husband has supported my efforts and embraced the changes. At times, I have been unsettled, for change is not always easy. But, he has always been there for me, encouraging me in my choices and wanting me to be all that I want to be for myself. In the same way, I've supported his endeavors to the best of my ability. I continue to learn, each and every day, what a wondrous thing it is when two people enable one another to flourish.
All of us in my family strongly support each other's choices in life. We respect one another's differences and we are tolerant of our various mindsets. Feminists fought hard to enable choice and we are indebted to them. It has been an unsettled couple of days but the dolly is back where she belongs, letting her spirits soar. As a girl of the noughties, this is my choice.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Will
Have *I* been eliminated? Hardly. The person who knows me best - my husband - would scoff at the suggestion. The *I* is here, in all her glory, her emotion and her zest. As Sir J put it to me, anyone who underestimates the strength of Vesta does not know her well enough. Vesta is one hell of a force of nature and it would be pointless to try to erase her. Her mind, her heart, her soul is intact.
But, and it's a very big but, Vesta does seek to be contained. She wants to experience objectification because she finds it comforting, arousing, erotic and whole heap of fun. She knows her behaviour isn't always that impressive and as the doll she has to be on her best behaviour. Why, the doll wore her butt plug all day this week to a day long school event and she loved every last kinky minute of it. She is her husband's play thing because she revels in it and has the bestest orgasms that a girl could ever have. She doesn't worry and she doesn't fuss. She is such a happy l'il thing. She renounces her will with bells on!
Vesta may be ensnared but does anybody hear her crying for help? The doll was created and supported to be sure but only because *I* get off on it. Vesta has to behave herself, but it's not doing her any harm. She may have the odd hissy fit about it. But, that's all it is. And, Vesta will just have to find more appropriate ways to express herself.
Trust me. The doll can't wipe the smile from her face. What's more, Vesta is doing just fine, too.
But, and it's a very big but, Vesta does seek to be contained. She wants to experience objectification because she finds it comforting, arousing, erotic and whole heap of fun. She knows her behaviour isn't always that impressive and as the doll she has to be on her best behaviour. Why, the doll wore her butt plug all day this week to a day long school event and she loved every last kinky minute of it. She is her husband's play thing because she revels in it and has the bestest orgasms that a girl could ever have. She doesn't worry and she doesn't fuss. She is such a happy l'il thing. She renounces her will with bells on!
Vesta may be ensnared but does anybody hear her crying for help? The doll was created and supported to be sure but only because *I* get off on it. Vesta has to behave herself, but it's not doing her any harm. She may have the odd hissy fit about it. But, that's all it is. And, Vesta will just have to find more appropriate ways to express herself.
Trust me. The doll can't wipe the smile from her face. What's more, Vesta is doing just fine, too.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The doll
In the past few months, I’ve been participating in a special kind of training. With my husband’s consent, I’ve been open and willing to be led to a place that, perhaps, not many people go. I’ve been working with a dominant man with the goal of becoming ‘the doll’. I’ve eluded to it any number of times and a discerning reader could have filled in the dots already. I’ve talked a little of anal training, of dress codes and of my gorgeous acrylic, red slutty nails. I’ve even alluded to the ‘bimbo speeki’ which I adopt in discussions.
The vigilant reader would have noted that ‘the doll’ appeared a few months ago. It was early in the proceedings when she simply emerged in conversation. In fact, she emerged when she was given her name and she is very much her own...doll. The doll was introduced to ‘bimbo speeki’ and she embraced it quite naturally. From the outset, she referred to herself in the third person as the object that she is.
Recently, ‘the gurl’, the girl with the over-thinking brain, broke into the doll’s account and had a few things to say, but she was not made welcome and she left as quickly and unceremoniously as she arrived. ‘The gurl’ does ‘the doll’ no favours. She confuses her, tells her she is “stooopid” and if she is really worked up, she will even lock her up in the cupboard. She “kidnaps” the doll and makes her life miserable.
‘The gurl’ thinks she knows it all. She uses her brains, her intellect and her education to persuade the doll that she is “right”. ‘The gurl’ is strident and she refuses to be put in her place. She may accept that she is a ‘bottom’, and she may even say that she wants to be submissive like the doll, but when things are not to her liking, she wants to manipulate everything to her own choosing. The sweet, good natured doll doesn’t stand a chance against her passion, her emotions, her intellect and her “sensibilities”.
This training, for me, is more than a type of ‘game’. It is an opportunity to feel free and liberated; to live in harmony and at peace. The benefits to me are not at all easy to explain. Yet, I feel I want to try because if you don’t know about ‘the doll’ (I’m just not ready to tell you the doll’s name), then you don’t really have an opportunity to understand me and what I seek.
My trainer (for want of a better word) asked me recently how I feel about ‘bimbo speeki’; if I was prepared to only speak to him in that way, and my response was in the affirmative. Although he enjoys the mode himself, he has made it clear many times that he only wants to lead me where I want to go, and he checks my mindset regularly. I was explaining something to him about my weekend when he suggested that perhaps this was better explained in girl language.
In fact, ‘bimbo speeki’ was entirely appropriate for me to explain myself to him. “Why?” he wanted to know. Well, in bimbo speeki I am contained. In that mode, I am the doll and I react as the doll would. I know my place. I’m not at all bright (as one would expect of a doll) and I don’t have the capacity or the desire to argue or worry. I remain the passive, pretty dolly and I let it all wash over me.
In girl language, my emotions and upset would have got in the way. I would have felt ‘unglued’ and out of control and my ability to function would have been impaired. I’ve been there countless times before and I never ever enjoyed it, found it productive or have ever wished to return, although I did, over and over. ‘The gurl’ may worry about things, from petty to important; hold grudges, be petulant and even rage, but never once did her unglued state work in her favour. ‘The gurl’ had tried to emulate the doll perhaps, but the doll was unthinkingly being herself. ‘The gurl’ was unhappy: the doll was not.
Make no mistake. What I am doing is not easy. A doll accepts. The owner of a doll can do whatever he wants. A doll is always pretty. A doll always smiles. A doll can be put back on the shelf. On the other hand, a good owner takes care of his dolly well and enjoys playing with her with enthusiasm. She is delicate and he handles her with care (although that care might include rough play). He loves her well. He ensures her needs are met. Lucky dollies have very good owners, and I am a lucky dolly. The dolly on the shelf has a charmed life. She loves her owner and her owner loves her. Life is good.
The opportunity for me to express myself in girl language here on this site has not been discouraged. This is the site of the girl who needs to express her thoughts in the way in which she is accustomed. She is going nowhere and nor should she. But, she is not welcome on the doll’s account and she won’t go there again. Should she feel the need, she has other avenues to express what is on her mind. She has acknowledged that the doll is here to stay and she is even prepared to make some room for the doll here. Secretly, she rather admires and envies the pretty, pink, happy dolly. ‘The gurl’ deludes herself that she has the power, but has been forced to admit that it is the dolly who is powerful. She holds her owner’s heart in the palm of her hands.
The vigilant reader would have noted that ‘the doll’ appeared a few months ago. It was early in the proceedings when she simply emerged in conversation. In fact, she emerged when she was given her name and she is very much her own...doll. The doll was introduced to ‘bimbo speeki’ and she embraced it quite naturally. From the outset, she referred to herself in the third person as the object that she is.
Recently, ‘the gurl’, the girl with the over-thinking brain, broke into the doll’s account and had a few things to say, but she was not made welcome and she left as quickly and unceremoniously as she arrived. ‘The gurl’ does ‘the doll’ no favours. She confuses her, tells her she is “stooopid” and if she is really worked up, she will even lock her up in the cupboard. She “kidnaps” the doll and makes her life miserable.
‘The gurl’ thinks she knows it all. She uses her brains, her intellect and her education to persuade the doll that she is “right”. ‘The gurl’ is strident and she refuses to be put in her place. She may accept that she is a ‘bottom’, and she may even say that she wants to be submissive like the doll, but when things are not to her liking, she wants to manipulate everything to her own choosing. The sweet, good natured doll doesn’t stand a chance against her passion, her emotions, her intellect and her “sensibilities”.
This training, for me, is more than a type of ‘game’. It is an opportunity to feel free and liberated; to live in harmony and at peace. The benefits to me are not at all easy to explain. Yet, I feel I want to try because if you don’t know about ‘the doll’ (I’m just not ready to tell you the doll’s name), then you don’t really have an opportunity to understand me and what I seek.
My trainer (for want of a better word) asked me recently how I feel about ‘bimbo speeki’; if I was prepared to only speak to him in that way, and my response was in the affirmative. Although he enjoys the mode himself, he has made it clear many times that he only wants to lead me where I want to go, and he checks my mindset regularly. I was explaining something to him about my weekend when he suggested that perhaps this was better explained in girl language.
In fact, ‘bimbo speeki’ was entirely appropriate for me to explain myself to him. “Why?” he wanted to know. Well, in bimbo speeki I am contained. In that mode, I am the doll and I react as the doll would. I know my place. I’m not at all bright (as one would expect of a doll) and I don’t have the capacity or the desire to argue or worry. I remain the passive, pretty dolly and I let it all wash over me.
In girl language, my emotions and upset would have got in the way. I would have felt ‘unglued’ and out of control and my ability to function would have been impaired. I’ve been there countless times before and I never ever enjoyed it, found it productive or have ever wished to return, although I did, over and over. ‘The gurl’ may worry about things, from petty to important; hold grudges, be petulant and even rage, but never once did her unglued state work in her favour. ‘The gurl’ had tried to emulate the doll perhaps, but the doll was unthinkingly being herself. ‘The gurl’ was unhappy: the doll was not.
Make no mistake. What I am doing is not easy. A doll accepts. The owner of a doll can do whatever he wants. A doll is always pretty. A doll always smiles. A doll can be put back on the shelf. On the other hand, a good owner takes care of his dolly well and enjoys playing with her with enthusiasm. She is delicate and he handles her with care (although that care might include rough play). He loves her well. He ensures her needs are met. Lucky dollies have very good owners, and I am a lucky dolly. The dolly on the shelf has a charmed life. She loves her owner and her owner loves her. Life is good.
The opportunity for me to express myself in girl language here on this site has not been discouraged. This is the site of the girl who needs to express her thoughts in the way in which she is accustomed. She is going nowhere and nor should she. But, she is not welcome on the doll’s account and she won’t go there again. Should she feel the need, she has other avenues to express what is on her mind. She has acknowledged that the doll is here to stay and she is even prepared to make some room for the doll here. Secretly, she rather admires and envies the pretty, pink, happy dolly. ‘The gurl’ deludes herself that she has the power, but has been forced to admit that it is the dolly who is powerful. She holds her owner’s heart in the palm of her hands.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
No turning back
I often speak about a sense of ‘connection’ here on my little blog and I do so for good reason. As human beings we are driven to find connections with others and the more we do so, the more complete we feel.
It is also true that we cannot really feel connected to life unless we spend time alone and have a sense of balance within ourselves. We have to really like ourselves, and approve of ourselves.
I admit I never really envisaged a life on my own. I always wanted a husband and to have a family and I never gave the option of being a single girl much consideration. Yet, I have no crystal ball that can tell me what lies ahead for me and one day I may be that single girl; family grown up and on my own. I take life one step at a time and so I don’t dwell on this thought but rather know that it is a possibility one day into the future. I think it is the reason why I want to enjoy every day now. My husband tends to live life as if it will go on forever but I am forever the pragmatist. I want my fun now, or as soon as humanly possible.
I’m a girl who well remembers how she felt at different times in her life. I haven’t forgotten what it was to be a shy school girl, or a girl who hungered for an experience she wondered if she would ever have. I remember the thrill of being told I was pregnant for the first time. Having a life inside me thrilled me to my core. I remember it all rather well: the good and the not so good.
Remembering my thoughts as I do, and all the possibilities of a life before me, I sometimes wonder how I could, at such a young age, have chosen the man I would marry. I know that my friends and I caution our daughters not to be in a hurry to marry, and in fact, I was cautioned, too. There is no greater decision that will change the course of our lives than to choose a partner until death us do part.
And, in amongst it all, all the changes that occur when we wed, there remains the identity of the single person. If you don’t agree, try going to a school reunion some twenty years after you graduate. You are not Mr or Mrs Blogs. You are Vess or George or the nerdy girl who did all her work. You are you; always.
From the day I married I have followed my husband; to the other side of the world, to experiences good and bad. I am still Vesta but my life that day was forever altered. When the Minister said, “...that no man shall put asunder...” those words were taken very literally. My husband needs the connection to me as strongly as any man ever needed his mate, at the same time as he insists on his autonomy; on doing everything his own way.
It is only human to wonder what might have happened to me had I waited longer to make a choice. We will never know. There are times when his behaviour unsettles me and I must find solace in my inner world: that place inside of me that stands alone.
Yet, it cannot be denied that until the moment when I reach over to find his body in my bed and intertwine it with my own that I cannot feel at one. I am Vesta but only half of a whole without him.
He completes me.
It is also true that we cannot really feel connected to life unless we spend time alone and have a sense of balance within ourselves. We have to really like ourselves, and approve of ourselves.
I admit I never really envisaged a life on my own. I always wanted a husband and to have a family and I never gave the option of being a single girl much consideration. Yet, I have no crystal ball that can tell me what lies ahead for me and one day I may be that single girl; family grown up and on my own. I take life one step at a time and so I don’t dwell on this thought but rather know that it is a possibility one day into the future. I think it is the reason why I want to enjoy every day now. My husband tends to live life as if it will go on forever but I am forever the pragmatist. I want my fun now, or as soon as humanly possible.
I’m a girl who well remembers how she felt at different times in her life. I haven’t forgotten what it was to be a shy school girl, or a girl who hungered for an experience she wondered if she would ever have. I remember the thrill of being told I was pregnant for the first time. Having a life inside me thrilled me to my core. I remember it all rather well: the good and the not so good.
Remembering my thoughts as I do, and all the possibilities of a life before me, I sometimes wonder how I could, at such a young age, have chosen the man I would marry. I know that my friends and I caution our daughters not to be in a hurry to marry, and in fact, I was cautioned, too. There is no greater decision that will change the course of our lives than to choose a partner until death us do part.
And, in amongst it all, all the changes that occur when we wed, there remains the identity of the single person. If you don’t agree, try going to a school reunion some twenty years after you graduate. You are not Mr or Mrs Blogs. You are Vess or George or the nerdy girl who did all her work. You are you; always.
From the day I married I have followed my husband; to the other side of the world, to experiences good and bad. I am still Vesta but my life that day was forever altered. When the Minister said, “...that no man shall put asunder...” those words were taken very literally. My husband needs the connection to me as strongly as any man ever needed his mate, at the same time as he insists on his autonomy; on doing everything his own way.
It is only human to wonder what might have happened to me had I waited longer to make a choice. We will never know. There are times when his behaviour unsettles me and I must find solace in my inner world: that place inside of me that stands alone.
Yet, it cannot be denied that until the moment when I reach over to find his body in my bed and intertwine it with my own that I cannot feel at one. I am Vesta but only half of a whole without him.
He completes me.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Internal balancing
When my daughter was at school, there was lots of talk about “balance”. They talked of balancing out one’s day; doing masses of work but leaving a little time for play, getting some exercise, being creative and so on. Girls were encouraged to seek balance for themselves going forward in terms of career, a possible family, friends and travel. Over and over again, the message was delivered loud and clear, that a girl from this school could be anything she wanted to be; do anything she wanted to do.
In a D/s relationship, two people tend to balance each other out. One has a strong desire to lead and the other to follow. One may wish to mould and the other may be willing to be moulded. One may believe he is right and the other may be prepared to yield to that version of the world. One may have rigid views and the other person more fluid in her thinking.
In discussions re D/s relationships about a dominant man and a submissive woman, it may sometimes appear that the dominant man is strong and the submissive woman, weak. I don’t believe that is the case at all. Submissive women show enormous tenacity; a willingness to bend(!!), to try again, to improve, to make themselves more their partner’s perfect mate, to forgive, to manipulate their minds. Time and time again, a submissive woman demonstrates resiliency and resolve to overcome setbacks; to endure; to make it right.
We must recognize ourselves for who we are: smart, capable, resilient and embracing of our own ability to grow and change. Whatever our man’s needs, we make room for them. We make it right. Without our strength of character submission would be not possible. The next time a submissive woman doubts herself, she might think about that. She is her own internal balancing act.
In a D/s relationship, two people tend to balance each other out. One has a strong desire to lead and the other to follow. One may wish to mould and the other may be willing to be moulded. One may believe he is right and the other may be prepared to yield to that version of the world. One may have rigid views and the other person more fluid in her thinking.
In discussions re D/s relationships about a dominant man and a submissive woman, it may sometimes appear that the dominant man is strong and the submissive woman, weak. I don’t believe that is the case at all. Submissive women show enormous tenacity; a willingness to bend(!!), to try again, to improve, to make themselves more their partner’s perfect mate, to forgive, to manipulate their minds. Time and time again, a submissive woman demonstrates resiliency and resolve to overcome setbacks; to endure; to make it right.
We must recognize ourselves for who we are: smart, capable, resilient and embracing of our own ability to grow and change. Whatever our man’s needs, we make room for them. We make it right. Without our strength of character submission would be not possible. The next time a submissive woman doubts herself, she might think about that. She is her own internal balancing act.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
A way of life
I find sitting in traffic tedious, but when I can listen to a good program on the radio, time in the car transforms to be a joy. I was lucky enough this morning to catch an interview with Alex Miller, author of 'Love Song'. I plan to procure a copy and when I read it I just hope that I enjoy it as much as I enjoyed listening to Alex Miller talk about his inspiration for the novel and his various characters. A few comments really resonated with me.
His main characters meet in an out of the way cafe in Paris and he talked of the warm places where people may gather. I adore watching people in cafes and all the potential stories therein. It's the cost of a cup of coffee but the possibilities are priceless.
He talked of food as being the "great seducer" and he's right. I do love an author who can bring food alive, so I'm anticipating a real treat here.
His characters meet and their eyes connect. They are instantly attracted. But, there is a process before that "look" can transform into a "commitment" of the attraction, and he says, this time can be "fraught". I suppose it is the 'unknown' quantity and the waiting he refers to; the anticipation; the hope. I can't wait to cast my eyes over those scenes.
He spoke of "real love" - hanging in when things go bad. Strength. How right he is. We're on the same page philosophically, too.
And, he discussed the difference between story telling and story writing and said that, in large measure, that was what his book was about. His Dad could start with a fact - the purchase of a pair of candlesticks - and, having no idea where he was going, weave a story. There is magic in the potential of the unknown and it is shared, he said.
But, a writer crafts a story in a solitary fashion even though his story is for others; to lift spirits, to engender warmth and excitement and engender a commitment between people. Stories move amongst us, he said, for it is a "human compulsion to tell stories". Would any one of us with a blog disagree?
"Is it a compulsion (to write)?" he was asked.
"No, " he replied. "Compulsive behaviour is not healthy. It is a way of life."
And, that is the sentence that compelled me to write about this interview. Yes, I feel compelled to write and at the moment, most often in this space. And, it could be called a compulsion, by some. It's true I have less interest in meeting up with the girls in my spare time, to gossip and drink coffee. I'd much rather sit at home and write.
But, I don't think it is unhealthy at all. I'm doing, finally, what I want to do, causing nobody any harm, and connecting with others of a like mind. It is my "way of life". And, possibly the D/s dynamic is your "way of life", too. Something that feels this darn good cannot possibly be bad for you; surely.
His main characters meet in an out of the way cafe in Paris and he talked of the warm places where people may gather. I adore watching people in cafes and all the potential stories therein. It's the cost of a cup of coffee but the possibilities are priceless.
He talked of food as being the "great seducer" and he's right. I do love an author who can bring food alive, so I'm anticipating a real treat here.
His characters meet and their eyes connect. They are instantly attracted. But, there is a process before that "look" can transform into a "commitment" of the attraction, and he says, this time can be "fraught". I suppose it is the 'unknown' quantity and the waiting he refers to; the anticipation; the hope. I can't wait to cast my eyes over those scenes.
He spoke of "real love" - hanging in when things go bad. Strength. How right he is. We're on the same page philosophically, too.
And, he discussed the difference between story telling and story writing and said that, in large measure, that was what his book was about. His Dad could start with a fact - the purchase of a pair of candlesticks - and, having no idea where he was going, weave a story. There is magic in the potential of the unknown and it is shared, he said.
But, a writer crafts a story in a solitary fashion even though his story is for others; to lift spirits, to engender warmth and excitement and engender a commitment between people. Stories move amongst us, he said, for it is a "human compulsion to tell stories". Would any one of us with a blog disagree?
"Is it a compulsion (to write)?" he was asked.
"No, " he replied. "Compulsive behaviour is not healthy. It is a way of life."
And, that is the sentence that compelled me to write about this interview. Yes, I feel compelled to write and at the moment, most often in this space. And, it could be called a compulsion, by some. It's true I have less interest in meeting up with the girls in my spare time, to gossip and drink coffee. I'd much rather sit at home and write.
But, I don't think it is unhealthy at all. I'm doing, finally, what I want to do, causing nobody any harm, and connecting with others of a like mind. It is my "way of life". And, possibly the D/s dynamic is your "way of life", too. Something that feels this darn good cannot possibly be bad for you; surely.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Limits
As a girl who realized very early in life that her thoughts were unacceptable for the world at large to hear, but her behaviour beyond reproach, my circumstances were not ideal for practising submission. My Dad was loving and proud and not in the least bossy. The simple and very true situation is that I was a ‘good girl’ in all ways, except my thoughts. There was just no reason to be cross with me, to second guess my behaviour, to lead me down a more correct path. I was already pretty perfect as far as a Dad was concerned. I did not have an older brother or an uncle who might boss me around and my teachers considered me the perfect student. Basically, I ran my own show.
It was not until I was in my very late teens that my husband (then boyfriend) showed up and very quickly began to tell me what to do. His temper flared about day 2. (Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration.) We were at the family farm at the time and he was irate that his girl didn’t even know how to drive a tractor correctly. Whilst I sobbed in the bedroom, his Dad reminded him that I was a city slicker. How in the hell was she supposed to just ‘know’ how to drive a tractor?
I was always a bit cheeky around boys but had never been called on it before. It was quite a shock to discover on that first visit ‘home’ that his older brother didn’t appreciate my sense of humour, at his expense. I got a good ‘dressing down’ for my quip. Boy! I was learning fast that certain boys had different expectations of ‘good behaviour’ than fathers or teachers.
If you said that I know how to get around my husband on most matters, you’d be pretty right. I certainly don’t always get my way; not at all. But, if he is really cross, tears can have him consoling me. And, if I look forlorn, as girls tend to do when they have been ‘told off’ I can usually extract a hug from him. Yesterday, the dear man brought me home flowers after a bit of a lecture he felt compelled to send my way. I truly do think of myself as a ‘good girl’ and so, when I am in trouble, I am truly shocked. Me? In trouble? But, I am a ‘good girl’!!
When a rule or a limit is set in place within the D/s dynamic, most of me wants to comply absolutely. But, a small part of me wants to see if I can negotiate, too. Perhaps, it is the intellectual challenge of the exercise. Perhaps, it is just what submissive women do. They see a gate and they just have to bang up against it to see if it might open, just a little. I do not confess to this being a conscious thought. It is not a conscious thought. I am merely trying to come up with some explanation as to why submissive women like me do what they do. Perhaps, no matter how much one yearns to be dominated, one has to be made to do certain things.
I was set a limit; one that I freely and excitedly agreed to accept. And, I’ve enjoyed that limit to the hilt. However, there came a day recently, when I wasn’t so sure about that limit. Perhaps, it could be given a bit of a push to extend the walls out a bit and give me a bit more room to move.
I am not so silly as to think that my plea would be met with jubilation and fanfare. I made it, more or less closing my eyes in anticipation of the less than enthusiastic response I expected it would engender. As anticipated, my challenge was met with a stony resistance and a good deal of disappointment and anger that I should even try this stunt. In for a penny in for a pound, I held my ground and argued my case. He dug in his heels and repeated his argument.
Well, blow me down, Vesta wasn’t winning this one! The limit remained. If she wanted to register a complaint, she could do it in a formal way. She could send an email through appropriate channels airing her grievances there. Of course, she was never going to do that. The girl had no jurisdiction in his court. Her case would be thrown out; judged as frivolous. They both knew that.
What’s that you ask? Oh come on! If you are expecting me to say that the girl is secretly pleased to not get her way, you are expecting too much. Girls don’t admit stuff like that. You’ll just have to take your best guess!
It was not until I was in my very late teens that my husband (then boyfriend) showed up and very quickly began to tell me what to do. His temper flared about day 2. (Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration.) We were at the family farm at the time and he was irate that his girl didn’t even know how to drive a tractor correctly. Whilst I sobbed in the bedroom, his Dad reminded him that I was a city slicker. How in the hell was she supposed to just ‘know’ how to drive a tractor?
I was always a bit cheeky around boys but had never been called on it before. It was quite a shock to discover on that first visit ‘home’ that his older brother didn’t appreciate my sense of humour, at his expense. I got a good ‘dressing down’ for my quip. Boy! I was learning fast that certain boys had different expectations of ‘good behaviour’ than fathers or teachers.
If you said that I know how to get around my husband on most matters, you’d be pretty right. I certainly don’t always get my way; not at all. But, if he is really cross, tears can have him consoling me. And, if I look forlorn, as girls tend to do when they have been ‘told off’ I can usually extract a hug from him. Yesterday, the dear man brought me home flowers after a bit of a lecture he felt compelled to send my way. I truly do think of myself as a ‘good girl’ and so, when I am in trouble, I am truly shocked. Me? In trouble? But, I am a ‘good girl’!!
When a rule or a limit is set in place within the D/s dynamic, most of me wants to comply absolutely. But, a small part of me wants to see if I can negotiate, too. Perhaps, it is the intellectual challenge of the exercise. Perhaps, it is just what submissive women do. They see a gate and they just have to bang up against it to see if it might open, just a little. I do not confess to this being a conscious thought. It is not a conscious thought. I am merely trying to come up with some explanation as to why submissive women like me do what they do. Perhaps, no matter how much one yearns to be dominated, one has to be made to do certain things.
I was set a limit; one that I freely and excitedly agreed to accept. And, I’ve enjoyed that limit to the hilt. However, there came a day recently, when I wasn’t so sure about that limit. Perhaps, it could be given a bit of a push to extend the walls out a bit and give me a bit more room to move.
I am not so silly as to think that my plea would be met with jubilation and fanfare. I made it, more or less closing my eyes in anticipation of the less than enthusiastic response I expected it would engender. As anticipated, my challenge was met with a stony resistance and a good deal of disappointment and anger that I should even try this stunt. In for a penny in for a pound, I held my ground and argued my case. He dug in his heels and repeated his argument.
Well, blow me down, Vesta wasn’t winning this one! The limit remained. If she wanted to register a complaint, she could do it in a formal way. She could send an email through appropriate channels airing her grievances there. Of course, she was never going to do that. The girl had no jurisdiction in his court. Her case would be thrown out; judged as frivolous. They both knew that.
What’s that you ask? Oh come on! If you are expecting me to say that the girl is secretly pleased to not get her way, you are expecting too much. Girls don’t admit stuff like that. You’ll just have to take your best guess!
Monday, November 9, 2009
True love
A dominant man just is.
He cannot turn off.
A submissive woman loves him for who he is.
Her heart is steady and she follows it;
As she must.
A dominant man is a force of nature.
Often a light summer breeze but
sometimes the bluster of a foul day.
The submissive woman stays the course
but she has a mind as well as a heart.
She finds refuge in the still of the cave.
She gathers her thoughts:
is calm, breathes deep; resuscitates.
The dominant man waits for her return
like the bear without his breakfast.
It is her unconditional love of him
which keeps his life on course.
As opposites attract,
So shall they reconnect.
Two hearts beat to the rhythm of
the same drum;
Love.
He cannot turn off.
A submissive woman loves him for who he is.
Her heart is steady and she follows it;
As she must.
A dominant man is a force of nature.
Often a light summer breeze but
sometimes the bluster of a foul day.
The submissive woman stays the course
but she has a mind as well as a heart.
She finds refuge in the still of the cave.
She gathers her thoughts:
is calm, breathes deep; resuscitates.
The dominant man waits for her return
like the bear without his breakfast.
It is her unconditional love of him
which keeps his life on course.
As opposites attract,
So shall they reconnect.
Two hearts beat to the rhythm of
the same drum;
Love.
Through the years
She was too hot to sleep
And she thought back to him
His smile, his pride, his petulance and
His rebuke.
She remembered his desire for cake
His attention to detail
His love of her white dress
and his dislike of all things careless.
He had demanded her best
but was slow to praise
She had no doubt
that she pleased him in every way.
He was forever gone now
She could never give or receive
a tender word again.
And yet at times he could feel so close.
She had woken during his tutelage
As if from a deep sleep.
And she would always remember him
Through the years, through the years.
And she thought back to him
His smile, his pride, his petulance and
His rebuke.
She remembered his desire for cake
His attention to detail
His love of her white dress
and his dislike of all things careless.
He had demanded her best
but was slow to praise
She had no doubt
that she pleased him in every way.
He was forever gone now
She could never give or receive
a tender word again.
And yet at times he could feel so close.
She had woken during his tutelage
As if from a deep sleep.
And she would always remember him
Through the years, through the years.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Burdens
My children have a very different life to the one I had. My parents were occupied most of the time and their work ran over a seven day cycle for most of my childhood. I remember some lovely childhood holidays when we managed to relax as a family, but outside of holiday time, every day was a work day.
My natural inclination is to be quiet but as well, I learned early that I must entertain myself. My mother encouraged me to be an active person and I was an active person. I danced my spare time away and there was also the piano. I adored to read. I had good friends. I was happy.
When the children came along, I loved them with all my heart and soul and I wanted them to have my full attention. We did a great deal together. We still do. I think they feel they have a good mother. They made and wrote me a card for my birthday and their messages were full of praise and love. I think I've done a good job with them. They are four stunning human beings.
My husband, for his own reasons, grew up with a strong desire to succeed in life, and he has succeeded. There have been great highs in his career and some disappointments, too. It is his nature to care for us and give to us all that he can. In his efforts to do that, to ensure that the future is secure for us all, he works very hard. He's a very bright person and he chooses complicated ventures. He seems to be drawn to that which is intense and convoluted, perhaps because his mind needs to be challenged. He is, in fact, in a seven day cycle now, much as my parents were. Nearly every day is a work day for him.
I learned very early to occupy myself and I'm good at that. I have plenty of interests and things to do and I never allow myself to be bored. I am what is known as a 'doer'. But, it is more than that. Surrounded by busy people, the thought of being a burden to anyone is perhaps my greatest fear. I avoid it at all costs.
I've been thinking about this; this feeling of being a burden as it relates to the D/s dynamic. For a girl who worries about being a burden, the dominant must understand why she does what she does. He needs to understand why she withdraws if she senses that she is a burden to him. It is not necessarily a rational response and must confuse him, at times.
It's not at all easy for a girl to discuss this feeling. Even the discussion itself implies that she is burdensome, you see. But, if there are dominants out there who think that this might be the case with their girl, a discussion must be had to sort this out. I'm not a professional person and I cannot offer advice. All I can say is that she should be given regular dollops of your love and reminded that she is the light of your life at regular intervals. This should help. Good luck.
My natural inclination is to be quiet but as well, I learned early that I must entertain myself. My mother encouraged me to be an active person and I was an active person. I danced my spare time away and there was also the piano. I adored to read. I had good friends. I was happy.
When the children came along, I loved them with all my heart and soul and I wanted them to have my full attention. We did a great deal together. We still do. I think they feel they have a good mother. They made and wrote me a card for my birthday and their messages were full of praise and love. I think I've done a good job with them. They are four stunning human beings.
My husband, for his own reasons, grew up with a strong desire to succeed in life, and he has succeeded. There have been great highs in his career and some disappointments, too. It is his nature to care for us and give to us all that he can. In his efforts to do that, to ensure that the future is secure for us all, he works very hard. He's a very bright person and he chooses complicated ventures. He seems to be drawn to that which is intense and convoluted, perhaps because his mind needs to be challenged. He is, in fact, in a seven day cycle now, much as my parents were. Nearly every day is a work day for him.
I learned very early to occupy myself and I'm good at that. I have plenty of interests and things to do and I never allow myself to be bored. I am what is known as a 'doer'. But, it is more than that. Surrounded by busy people, the thought of being a burden to anyone is perhaps my greatest fear. I avoid it at all costs.
I've been thinking about this; this feeling of being a burden as it relates to the D/s dynamic. For a girl who worries about being a burden, the dominant must understand why she does what she does. He needs to understand why she withdraws if she senses that she is a burden to him. It is not necessarily a rational response and must confuse him, at times.
It's not at all easy for a girl to discuss this feeling. Even the discussion itself implies that she is burdensome, you see. But, if there are dominants out there who think that this might be the case with their girl, a discussion must be had to sort this out. I'm not a professional person and I cannot offer advice. All I can say is that she should be given regular dollops of your love and reminded that she is the light of your life at regular intervals. This should help. Good luck.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
What to do
With one thing and another, it has been a very busy week. And, as well, there was that rather late night chat with one of you last night. You know who you are! So, after lunch today, I found myself tip toeing back under the covers.
Four or more hours later (yes, I was very, very tired) I woke to the sounds of two men discussing a business matter outside my door, as my husband showed the friend to the door. I rallied myself and had a shower and got dressed.
Truth to tell, my man is in a grumpy mood and apparently, I'm being cheeky. I really don't think so. Perhaps, I have not woken sufficiently well enough to pay him due deference. That is possible. Or, perhaps the discussion with the other man has him fired up. That's entirely possible, too.
Now, let's see what I have learned. What does a girl do in this situation? Does she
1) Ask him if he would please relax.
2) Try to be as good as she can be and hope for the best.
3) Offer her owner something that would relax him and put him in a very good mood for a pleasant Saturday evening together.
4) Feed him a lovely steak and salad with a glass of red wine.
Mmmmmm. I just don't know. What do you guys think?
Four or more hours later (yes, I was very, very tired) I woke to the sounds of two men discussing a business matter outside my door, as my husband showed the friend to the door. I rallied myself and had a shower and got dressed.
Truth to tell, my man is in a grumpy mood and apparently, I'm being cheeky. I really don't think so. Perhaps, I have not woken sufficiently well enough to pay him due deference. That is possible. Or, perhaps the discussion with the other man has him fired up. That's entirely possible, too.
Now, let's see what I have learned. What does a girl do in this situation? Does she
1) Ask him if he would please relax.
2) Try to be as good as she can be and hope for the best.
3) Offer her owner something that would relax him and put him in a very good mood for a pleasant Saturday evening together.
4) Feed him a lovely steak and salad with a glass of red wine.
Mmmmmm. I just don't know. What do you guys think?
Friday, November 6, 2009
My overdue spanking
I have, very kindly, been added to the list of spanking blogs over at ‘The Spanking Universe’ and you will note on my blog list that there is a link to that site. I have been getting considerable traffic via that site and I have been a little worried that spanking enthusiasts may be disappointed to note that there hasn’t been a lot of discussion or write up about spanking here lately. It’s time, I think, to rectify that matter.
The truth is that there has been a considerable drop in the rate of spankings at Vesta’s house in recent times. The good news is that this is related to the fact that I’m such a ‘good girl’ these days. The bad news is that I rather miss my spankings and canings, and once my husband has this darn project bedded down, I’m hoping that he’ll find good reason to up the tempo.
I did receive a birthday spanking, of sorts. It was not all that exciting since we were worried about making noise that the children might hear. Yeah. That situation was a bit disappointing. I’m not a spring chicken any more, and the number of spanks would have been fun.
Still, a week before that, I got a marvellous spanking that came right out of the blue...
It was mid afternoon and my husband was working from home. I came into his study to discuss some matter when out of nowhere he stood up, took my hand and led me to the bedroom. I didn’t resist at all, but followed him into the bedroom whereupon he had me kneel in front of him while he sat on the bedroom chair. We were alone in the house, with no chance of being interrupted by any children so we could let the scenario play out any way we wanted. Fun! Fun!
“I’m going to give you a good, hard spanking. You are well overdue. I want you to be a good little girl because I mean to make it hard, to make up for the spankings that you should have had. I think it will help you to behave. But first, I want you to show your respect to Sir.”
He brought his cock out of his pants and had me open my mouth wide to receive it.
“Good little girl. Ohhhhh, yes! That’s right. All the way down there. What a goooood little girl! You have learned to do that very well, haven’t you? Ohhhh and that does make Sir so verrrrry turned on. Mmmmmmmm. I sooooo want to spank your little bottom now.”
Soon thereafter, he stood up and had me lean over the seat of the chair, with my knees on the carpet. He took down my panties and lifted my skirt. He handled me for a while. He likes to do that. Then, he began to spank me until I was warm and finding it tempting to try to move away from his hand.
“No, girl. Not today. You are getting a good, long spanking today, whether you like it or not.”
I was vaguely aware that he moved away from me and seconds later I felt him lift my head, and put into my mouth the black penis gag. He tied it securely at the back of my head.
“Suck on that, little girl. Suck away and get your comfort from the cock in your mouth cunt while I thrash your ass.”
I did as instructed because he was quite right. I do get a lot of comfort out of that penis gag and it certainly takes me in my mind to a very submissive place. I’m not exactly sure how he had placed his body. I didn’t look but I suspect he was standing beside me so that he could swing back easily and sort of ‘cup’ my bottom cheeks.
At some stage I became aware of the blistering heat on my tail and I stopped sucking in order to do my best to scream out through the gag. Of course, this resulted in nothing more than muffled groans and moans. I felt his hand come down firmly on my back and make resistance impossible.
“You’re not going anywhere, little girl. You’re getting a good, hard, long spanking. Just suck away. Suck away and settle in there.”
His message of resolve was convincing and I forced my mind back to where it needed to go. I sucked on the penis gag with vigour whilst he continued to beat my bum; left to right, left to right. The heat was increasing and as it increased in crescendo I became aware of a sensation that is rare for me.
I was welcoming the sensations; the pain, the heat, the fact that he had resolved to take me to a more accepting (and fulfilling) place. I don’t know if I would exactly describe it as pain turning into pleasure, but I felt no resistance; no desire for him to actually stop. I was revelling in it and so, it seems, was he.
Finally, of course, he did stop. I could hear myself gasping for breath; sucking, then gasping; gasping then sucking. He rubbed his warm hand over my tender cheeks; felt about between my legs to confirm for himself, I suppose, the effects such handling has on me.
“Good little girl. You took your spanking very well. That should keep you centred for a while.”
He returned my panties to their rightful place; pulled down my skirt.
“Up you come. Now, where do you need to be?”
“I have to go over to school now?”
“Ah yes! Well, off you go now or you’ll be late. But, first of all, what do you say?”
“Thank you for my spanking, Sir.”
“What a polite girl! You are welcome. Off you go!”
The next few days were bliss. Every time I sat down or lifted off my seat, every time I rolled over in bed, I was aware of my state and loved it. I loved that I’d been handled. I loved that he would do this for me and to me. I loved that I was an owned girl. I loved that this could happen even when I’d been so good.
Gosh, but it was fun!
The truth is that there has been a considerable drop in the rate of spankings at Vesta’s house in recent times. The good news is that this is related to the fact that I’m such a ‘good girl’ these days. The bad news is that I rather miss my spankings and canings, and once my husband has this darn project bedded down, I’m hoping that he’ll find good reason to up the tempo.
I did receive a birthday spanking, of sorts. It was not all that exciting since we were worried about making noise that the children might hear. Yeah. That situation was a bit disappointing. I’m not a spring chicken any more, and the number of spanks would have been fun.
Still, a week before that, I got a marvellous spanking that came right out of the blue...
It was mid afternoon and my husband was working from home. I came into his study to discuss some matter when out of nowhere he stood up, took my hand and led me to the bedroom. I didn’t resist at all, but followed him into the bedroom whereupon he had me kneel in front of him while he sat on the bedroom chair. We were alone in the house, with no chance of being interrupted by any children so we could let the scenario play out any way we wanted. Fun! Fun!
“I’m going to give you a good, hard spanking. You are well overdue. I want you to be a good little girl because I mean to make it hard, to make up for the spankings that you should have had. I think it will help you to behave. But first, I want you to show your respect to Sir.”
He brought his cock out of his pants and had me open my mouth wide to receive it.
“Good little girl. Ohhhhh, yes! That’s right. All the way down there. What a goooood little girl! You have learned to do that very well, haven’t you? Ohhhh and that does make Sir so verrrrry turned on. Mmmmmmmm. I sooooo want to spank your little bottom now.”
Soon thereafter, he stood up and had me lean over the seat of the chair, with my knees on the carpet. He took down my panties and lifted my skirt. He handled me for a while. He likes to do that. Then, he began to spank me until I was warm and finding it tempting to try to move away from his hand.
“No, girl. Not today. You are getting a good, long spanking today, whether you like it or not.”
I was vaguely aware that he moved away from me and seconds later I felt him lift my head, and put into my mouth the black penis gag. He tied it securely at the back of my head.
“Suck on that, little girl. Suck away and get your comfort from the cock in your mouth cunt while I thrash your ass.”
I did as instructed because he was quite right. I do get a lot of comfort out of that penis gag and it certainly takes me in my mind to a very submissive place. I’m not exactly sure how he had placed his body. I didn’t look but I suspect he was standing beside me so that he could swing back easily and sort of ‘cup’ my bottom cheeks.
At some stage I became aware of the blistering heat on my tail and I stopped sucking in order to do my best to scream out through the gag. Of course, this resulted in nothing more than muffled groans and moans. I felt his hand come down firmly on my back and make resistance impossible.
“You’re not going anywhere, little girl. You’re getting a good, hard, long spanking. Just suck away. Suck away and settle in there.”
His message of resolve was convincing and I forced my mind back to where it needed to go. I sucked on the penis gag with vigour whilst he continued to beat my bum; left to right, left to right. The heat was increasing and as it increased in crescendo I became aware of a sensation that is rare for me.
I was welcoming the sensations; the pain, the heat, the fact that he had resolved to take me to a more accepting (and fulfilling) place. I don’t know if I would exactly describe it as pain turning into pleasure, but I felt no resistance; no desire for him to actually stop. I was revelling in it and so, it seems, was he.
Finally, of course, he did stop. I could hear myself gasping for breath; sucking, then gasping; gasping then sucking. He rubbed his warm hand over my tender cheeks; felt about between my legs to confirm for himself, I suppose, the effects such handling has on me.
“Good little girl. You took your spanking very well. That should keep you centred for a while.”
He returned my panties to their rightful place; pulled down my skirt.
“Up you come. Now, where do you need to be?”
“I have to go over to school now?”
“Ah yes! Well, off you go now or you’ll be late. But, first of all, what do you say?”
“Thank you for my spanking, Sir.”
“What a polite girl! You are welcome. Off you go!”
The next few days were bliss. Every time I sat down or lifted off my seat, every time I rolled over in bed, I was aware of my state and loved it. I loved that I’d been handled. I loved that he would do this for me and to me. I loved that I was an owned girl. I loved that this could happen even when I’d been so good.
Gosh, but it was fun!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Turned on
I have great respect for those people who are willing to express their thoughts and beliefs, regardless of whether they are popular or well received. I have always had in my life a man, be he father, brother, husband, boss or good friend, who feels entirely comfortable in expressing his thoughts openly. Sometimes, those thoughts, frustrations or opinions are expressed in a way that is unfortunate. I can think of many times when I have wished all the way down to my toes that the opinion or complaint be delivered in a more tactful way. It is just not my style to be aggressive, until really and truly pushed into a corner where I refuse to go.
I might say to him “Darling, people are looking” but that means nothing to him when all fired up. If he wants a certain outcome and someone is blocking his way; if he feels an injustice has been done and he wants rectification, then even news cameras aren’t going to stop him from insisting on his way. In many ways, this D/s space is nothing new to me.
I do feel that such men are attracted to women who are able to balance out their assertive personalities. It is no co-incidence, I don’t think that my husband chose a sweet girl; fairly quiet and not particularly assertive. Life with a girl as keen for her own way as he was for his would have been a rather sordid affair. I’m not saying that I don’t pursue my own goals and go about convincing him of them but that’s usually done in a covert way. The times when I’ve shouted and been contrary didn’t really resolve differences or get me where I wanted to go, and I got smarter than that. In any case, I’ve learned to ‘let go’ and when I did, I found him more willing to take my desires and needs into consideration such that what we want is much more closely aligned.
Living as I do in an area of the city where many people are ambitious for increased wealth and put a great deal of focus on achieving that goal and then spending the money they make, I have often wondered where the ‘real’ people are. I have often said to my husband since we moved here,
“But, where are the radicals? Where are the people who think differently? Where are the people who can turn on my frontal lobes?”
I’m looking for people who think outside the box; who can teach me something; make me think. I want to be ‘turned on’ not just in my body but in my brain.
So, this morning’s conversation with the girls after exercise class was a treat. Mary, who I don’t see often told us of her belief that life doesn’t end at death; rather, we have many lives and the people whom she loves who have died often come to visit her. In my experience, when one person opens up so do others, and another woman explained that she was going through a very hard time but that she didn’t feel alone because her deceased parents came to visit often at the moment.
The two woman needed to be heard and I simply listened but I could have added my own story that when I went through a very hard time myself I often wrapped my arms around my body and had the strongest feeling that they were the arms of my father. It gave me a great deal of strength.
As well as having a strong desire to submit, I have a strong desire to be with people who can fire my synapses. I want to be challenged in various ways and that is most likely to happen with people who can give of themselves; their brains, their experiences, their perspectives on life.
As a group we talked of the richness of our lives – none of us had missed a meal, gone without shoes or education. And, we also talked of the strong desire to give back – to give of ourselves in some way. Naturally, I can’t speak to them of this blog, but it reminded me of all that I get back from the blog – a sense of sharing my ‘self’ with you.
Sometimes, it can feel to me that there is an anomaly. I want very much to express my submissive nature and I want very much to feel the stimulus of great intellectual conversation and thoughts. Of course, there is no conflict between these two desires. Being with my husband, for example, allows me to fulfil both goals and sometimes allows me to empty my thinking brain as well – something that brings me a rush of joy and euphoria.
A submissive woman is complex. (Duh!) She needs to think and to be an active member of society. Yet, she needs to express her submissive nature and have her man dominate not just her but his landscape, as he is want to do. She needs to have available to her complex and intellectual thought but also to have her world sometimes narrowed down to the most confined and simple space. Is it any wonder we sometimes confuse ourselves with what we want and how we want our men to behave?
I certainly don’t have all the answers but I can say that in the D/s arena, I have never felt more turned on emotionally or physically. It may be complicated but it works for me.
I might say to him “Darling, people are looking” but that means nothing to him when all fired up. If he wants a certain outcome and someone is blocking his way; if he feels an injustice has been done and he wants rectification, then even news cameras aren’t going to stop him from insisting on his way. In many ways, this D/s space is nothing new to me.
I do feel that such men are attracted to women who are able to balance out their assertive personalities. It is no co-incidence, I don’t think that my husband chose a sweet girl; fairly quiet and not particularly assertive. Life with a girl as keen for her own way as he was for his would have been a rather sordid affair. I’m not saying that I don’t pursue my own goals and go about convincing him of them but that’s usually done in a covert way. The times when I’ve shouted and been contrary didn’t really resolve differences or get me where I wanted to go, and I got smarter than that. In any case, I’ve learned to ‘let go’ and when I did, I found him more willing to take my desires and needs into consideration such that what we want is much more closely aligned.
Living as I do in an area of the city where many people are ambitious for increased wealth and put a great deal of focus on achieving that goal and then spending the money they make, I have often wondered where the ‘real’ people are. I have often said to my husband since we moved here,
“But, where are the radicals? Where are the people who think differently? Where are the people who can turn on my frontal lobes?”
I’m looking for people who think outside the box; who can teach me something; make me think. I want to be ‘turned on’ not just in my body but in my brain.
So, this morning’s conversation with the girls after exercise class was a treat. Mary, who I don’t see often told us of her belief that life doesn’t end at death; rather, we have many lives and the people whom she loves who have died often come to visit her. In my experience, when one person opens up so do others, and another woman explained that she was going through a very hard time but that she didn’t feel alone because her deceased parents came to visit often at the moment.
The two woman needed to be heard and I simply listened but I could have added my own story that when I went through a very hard time myself I often wrapped my arms around my body and had the strongest feeling that they were the arms of my father. It gave me a great deal of strength.
As well as having a strong desire to submit, I have a strong desire to be with people who can fire my synapses. I want to be challenged in various ways and that is most likely to happen with people who can give of themselves; their brains, their experiences, their perspectives on life.
As a group we talked of the richness of our lives – none of us had missed a meal, gone without shoes or education. And, we also talked of the strong desire to give back – to give of ourselves in some way. Naturally, I can’t speak to them of this blog, but it reminded me of all that I get back from the blog – a sense of sharing my ‘self’ with you.
Sometimes, it can feel to me that there is an anomaly. I want very much to express my submissive nature and I want very much to feel the stimulus of great intellectual conversation and thoughts. Of course, there is no conflict between these two desires. Being with my husband, for example, allows me to fulfil both goals and sometimes allows me to empty my thinking brain as well – something that brings me a rush of joy and euphoria.
A submissive woman is complex. (Duh!) She needs to think and to be an active member of society. Yet, she needs to express her submissive nature and have her man dominate not just her but his landscape, as he is want to do. She needs to have available to her complex and intellectual thought but also to have her world sometimes narrowed down to the most confined and simple space. Is it any wonder we sometimes confuse ourselves with what we want and how we want our men to behave?
I certainly don’t have all the answers but I can say that in the D/s arena, I have never felt more turned on emotionally or physically. It may be complicated but it works for me.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Blessed
There is a photograph of my husband and me when we were engaged and another one on the day that we were married where my husband is looking at me adoringly. He looks so happy to be with me and love is definitely written all over his face. I’m looking at the camera but he’s looking at me.
Today, my daughter took photos of my husband and I in the garden, just before we left for a big day out, all gussied up. Several of them turned out very well, but my daughter and I agree that the best one is of me smiling at the camera and my husband smiling at me. I look cute and he looks even cuter.
And it occurred to me this evening, after a really lovely and sometimes kinky day out together that we are the lucky ones; married for a very long time and still in love, still infatuated, still luxuriating in one another.
It hasn’t been like this for every day of every week of every month of every year; not at all. We’ve had fights and disagreements and at times it has seemed that our union had almost fizzed out. He, the rock, refused to ever lie down and die and on we went, together. I never ever seriously wanted to walk away from the most important relationship of my life but at the same time I wasn’t sure how to make it work at times.
Coming out as a spanko rehabilitated us and made us strong; gave us solidarity against the world and made us, at times, indescribably and euphorically happy. But, a power exchange relationship is not for the faint hearted and at times I lost my way, unsure that I was up to the task. Some days were good and some days were not. I still didn’t have it all bedded down.
In the past few weeks that has all changed. It is as if the lessons I have learned have fallen into place; as if the messages have seeped into my brain and my heart and I don’t need to feel confused or unsure any more. It all makes sense. It all works. It is all so heavenly.
If I say to you that it has a great deal to do with my slutty red (but oh so chic) nails you will only laugh at me. But, it is the truth. A man does want to think of his girl as his candy.
And, a few other small changes occurred, too. I bought two pieces of head wear to go with special outfits. Wanting a change from hats, I tried on a head piece and was amazed to discover that the style suited me well. When I dressed and put one on, my husband adored it. He loved that I was experimenting with new styles and ideas and I can’t tell you how many times he praised my appearance today. There were some gorgeous gals there, but his eyes kept returning to me. You can’t know how beautiful I felt!
After the event, we said goodbye to our friends and made our way to our favourite Italian restaurant in town and shared together, alone at last, an antipasto and a glass of red wine. He looked at me and said,
“If I just met you...if I saw you sitting here, I would want to fuck you. You look sensational.”
Of course, it doesn’t get any better than this. To be not just loved, but to be found ‘fuckable’ is music to a girl’s ears.
As we made our way down the escalator to the train station for the journey home, he told me to stand in front of him. I did exactly as he told me to do, as I had all day, and I felt his hand wander underneath my open summer coat. He made his way to my breast and he pinched the nipple of my left breast. He would do what he wanted, where he wanted and that was just fine with me.
I am an owned girl, a loved girl, a fuckable girl; obedient, respectful and full of love. I am blessed.
P.S. My apologies for the lack of a list of other blogs, which I deleted by mistake. I'll rectify this situation as soon as possible.
Today, my daughter took photos of my husband and I in the garden, just before we left for a big day out, all gussied up. Several of them turned out very well, but my daughter and I agree that the best one is of me smiling at the camera and my husband smiling at me. I look cute and he looks even cuter.
And it occurred to me this evening, after a really lovely and sometimes kinky day out together that we are the lucky ones; married for a very long time and still in love, still infatuated, still luxuriating in one another.
It hasn’t been like this for every day of every week of every month of every year; not at all. We’ve had fights and disagreements and at times it has seemed that our union had almost fizzed out. He, the rock, refused to ever lie down and die and on we went, together. I never ever seriously wanted to walk away from the most important relationship of my life but at the same time I wasn’t sure how to make it work at times.
Coming out as a spanko rehabilitated us and made us strong; gave us solidarity against the world and made us, at times, indescribably and euphorically happy. But, a power exchange relationship is not for the faint hearted and at times I lost my way, unsure that I was up to the task. Some days were good and some days were not. I still didn’t have it all bedded down.
In the past few weeks that has all changed. It is as if the lessons I have learned have fallen into place; as if the messages have seeped into my brain and my heart and I don’t need to feel confused or unsure any more. It all makes sense. It all works. It is all so heavenly.
If I say to you that it has a great deal to do with my slutty red (but oh so chic) nails you will only laugh at me. But, it is the truth. A man does want to think of his girl as his candy.
And, a few other small changes occurred, too. I bought two pieces of head wear to go with special outfits. Wanting a change from hats, I tried on a head piece and was amazed to discover that the style suited me well. When I dressed and put one on, my husband adored it. He loved that I was experimenting with new styles and ideas and I can’t tell you how many times he praised my appearance today. There were some gorgeous gals there, but his eyes kept returning to me. You can’t know how beautiful I felt!
After the event, we said goodbye to our friends and made our way to our favourite Italian restaurant in town and shared together, alone at last, an antipasto and a glass of red wine. He looked at me and said,
“If I just met you...if I saw you sitting here, I would want to fuck you. You look sensational.”
Of course, it doesn’t get any better than this. To be not just loved, but to be found ‘fuckable’ is music to a girl’s ears.
As we made our way down the escalator to the train station for the journey home, he told me to stand in front of him. I did exactly as he told me to do, as I had all day, and I felt his hand wander underneath my open summer coat. He made his way to my breast and he pinched the nipple of my left breast. He would do what he wanted, where he wanted and that was just fine with me.
I am an owned girl, a loved girl, a fuckable girl; obedient, respectful and full of love. I am blessed.
P.S. My apologies for the lack of a list of other blogs, which I deleted by mistake. I'll rectify this situation as soon as possible.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Introducing Cassie
It has been a great joy for me to meet people by way of my blog and it is with pleasure that I introduce Cassie, a very dear friend, as a guest writer. Cassie is a woman who is submissive. Her mother tongue is not English, although I’m sure you will agree, she is totally fluent in the English language. I know Cassie would love to read your comments and I invite you to do so or to ask her any questions you may have. This is a really lovely, heartfelt piece of writing and I hope you enjoy it and much as I have.
MR. CHAIRMAN
It is late in the evening. We arrive at the congress hall right on time. As our coats are taken away, i take a minute to get used to the bright lights and the music humming in the background. There are many people in the lobby, elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, holding their invitations, waiting to be shown to their seats.
"Ah, Mr. Chairman!" i hear somebody behind me say. A tall man introduces himself to You and, placing his hand on Your back, leads You away while gesturing and discussing tonight's proceedings. Then i can't see You anymore, You have been swallowed by the crowd.
i just stand there, feeling lost and lonely. i look around. What should i do?
"Mrs. Chairman, Mrs. Chairman, this way please! Let me show you to your seat!" Startled, i turn around. A man and a woman are looking at me and smiling.
"Please, this way" says the woman and gently touches my elbow. "Follow me. Your table is table number 2." The man, dark blue suit, white shirt, blue tie, leads the way through the crowd. He pulls a chair back and invites me to sit. My heart sinks when i see that both chairs on either side of mine are occupied. Instinctively i look around to find You. Please help me, join me, i don't want to spend the whole evening with strangers, but i can't find You. Reluctantly, i thank the young couple that had taken me to my seat and introduce myself to my neighbours to be for the next hours.
"Good evening, how do you do?" i say and smile, "i am .... " and do my best to look bright and happy and soon we engage in what would be considered by most to be a pleasant conversation.
A waiter fills my glass with wine but i can't touch it. i sit with my back straight, palms spread on the table and then the lights dim and the music fades. A woman wearing a suit the colour of peppermint, her blond hair flowing freely down her back, takes hold of the microphone, welcomes us and introduces You:
"Tonight I have the honour to... " and the audience start applauding.
You enter the stage. Navy blue jacket, light blue shirt, tie, beige chino's. You shine with self-confidence and i look up thinking how age has done You good: Your hair which now has streaks of gray, Your happy blue eyes, Your new glasses. How well they suit You. Placing the papers in front of You, You begin Your speech.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening and thank you. Tonight I would like to..."
Minute by minute Your voice is growing stronger. There is rhythm in Your narration, Your words fill the room and people nod and sigh in agreement to what You are saying. Sometimes You pause, look up and scan the hall, as if to emphasise one of Your points.
i find myself staring at You in quiet admiration. This is Your moment, the stage belongs only to You. Had we been outside, all the stars would shine on You, nature would have stood still to hear You speak. i hold my breath as i focus on your face. How can i show You how much i love You? i am mesmerized.
As Your speech is nearing its end i see a group of men and women getting restless, wanting to grab Your attention, shake Your hand and take You to their table as soon as You are finished. They won't let You join me, sit next to me and chase away the loneliness...i won't be able to steal a tiny moment of Your time to tell You how i feel...
Tears well in my eyes. i want to get up and shout "He's mine! He's mine! i washed and pressed His trousers and shirt, i took His jacket and tie to the cleaner's, i, kneeling, polished His shoes with all of my love, i felt the sting of His belt only hours ago... i take care of Him and He takes care of me..."
i am almost crying. Seeing You up there, i feel so much a part of You, i am overwhelmed. my hand trembles. i reach for my neck, looking for the collar, looking for the ring to stick my fingers in. It's not there. i find a black velvet ribbon instead. The black velvet ribbon You had ordered me to wear round my neck as we were getting dressed a few hours earlier.
"This is going to be your collar for tonight. Remember that".
"Yes Master. Thank you".
As i touch the soft material i feel warm and secure, i bow my head and comforting thoughts fill my heart: i am His, i am His...
i no longer pay attention to the speech, i hear it but i am not listening. All i can think of is
"i am His, i am His, ...i am Yours".
Suddenly, a loud applause interrupts my reverie. You have finished, people are congratulating You, having their picture taken while shaking Your hand. The music sets in, the lights brighten. The woman who introduced You gives You a gift, You thank everyone politely and then she takes You to another table. You sit down, pour everybody some wine and lift your glass for a toast. Soon You are in the middle of a conversation.
From where i'm sitting i can see You. Silently, i crave for Your attention, oh please turn Your head, please look this way, i'm here, Your woman is here, waiting for You to lay your eyes upon her, even if it is just for a brief moment, a brief moment full of love.
The woman and man next to me have finished eating, their plates are almost empty.
"Aren't you hungry?" the lady wants to know. "Why aren't you eating? Is it not to your liking?"
"No,no, it's fine" i say. My voice is thick. "i'll eat in a moment" and try to change the subject enquiring about the origins of her dress and handbag. The band is playing love songs. Most of the guests have eaten and some are moving around the hall, glass in one hand, talking to friends and colleagues. Two couples are slow dancing, embracing each other tightly. If only You asked me to dance...
i turn my head to look Your way once more. As i look up, i find myself staring into Your eyes. i freeze. You raise your glass to me and Your eyes smile with love and kindness, saying "eat and drink now, you're Mine. I am proud of you". Spoken words are not necessary. i nod and whisper "Thank You Master, i am proud of You".
i take a deep breath and take a sip of the wine. i feel it relax my muscles instantly. The tears subside. Only then do i realize how tense i had been. i finally put my heels on the floor and take a moment to adjust my uncomfortable underwear. i start to eat my cold dinner but i don't really care...everything seems to have finally fallen into place...i am His. i have been His all along...
"Mrs. Chairman?" Someone is tapping me on my shoulder, "please join your husband for some pictures. He is waiting for you right over there", says one of the waiters and points in the direction of the stage.
"Oh, yes, thank you, i will" and i get up excusing myself and head for the stage where i see a group of photographers and journalists waiting. i am still on my way to Him when the cameras start shooting...
....
The handsome middle aged man in the picture is Master. The woman behind Him is a slave. His.
....
To Master, the light and love of my life.
Your cassie
MR. CHAIRMAN
It is late in the evening. We arrive at the congress hall right on time. As our coats are taken away, i take a minute to get used to the bright lights and the music humming in the background. There are many people in the lobby, elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, holding their invitations, waiting to be shown to their seats.
"Ah, Mr. Chairman!" i hear somebody behind me say. A tall man introduces himself to You and, placing his hand on Your back, leads You away while gesturing and discussing tonight's proceedings. Then i can't see You anymore, You have been swallowed by the crowd.
i just stand there, feeling lost and lonely. i look around. What should i do?
"Mrs. Chairman, Mrs. Chairman, this way please! Let me show you to your seat!" Startled, i turn around. A man and a woman are looking at me and smiling.
"Please, this way" says the woman and gently touches my elbow. "Follow me. Your table is table number 2." The man, dark blue suit, white shirt, blue tie, leads the way through the crowd. He pulls a chair back and invites me to sit. My heart sinks when i see that both chairs on either side of mine are occupied. Instinctively i look around to find You. Please help me, join me, i don't want to spend the whole evening with strangers, but i can't find You. Reluctantly, i thank the young couple that had taken me to my seat and introduce myself to my neighbours to be for the next hours.
"Good evening, how do you do?" i say and smile, "i am .... " and do my best to look bright and happy and soon we engage in what would be considered by most to be a pleasant conversation.
A waiter fills my glass with wine but i can't touch it. i sit with my back straight, palms spread on the table and then the lights dim and the music fades. A woman wearing a suit the colour of peppermint, her blond hair flowing freely down her back, takes hold of the microphone, welcomes us and introduces You:
"Tonight I have the honour to... " and the audience start applauding.
You enter the stage. Navy blue jacket, light blue shirt, tie, beige chino's. You shine with self-confidence and i look up thinking how age has done You good: Your hair which now has streaks of gray, Your happy blue eyes, Your new glasses. How well they suit You. Placing the papers in front of You, You begin Your speech.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening and thank you. Tonight I would like to..."
Minute by minute Your voice is growing stronger. There is rhythm in Your narration, Your words fill the room and people nod and sigh in agreement to what You are saying. Sometimes You pause, look up and scan the hall, as if to emphasise one of Your points.
i find myself staring at You in quiet admiration. This is Your moment, the stage belongs only to You. Had we been outside, all the stars would shine on You, nature would have stood still to hear You speak. i hold my breath as i focus on your face. How can i show You how much i love You? i am mesmerized.
As Your speech is nearing its end i see a group of men and women getting restless, wanting to grab Your attention, shake Your hand and take You to their table as soon as You are finished. They won't let You join me, sit next to me and chase away the loneliness...i won't be able to steal a tiny moment of Your time to tell You how i feel...
Tears well in my eyes. i want to get up and shout "He's mine! He's mine! i washed and pressed His trousers and shirt, i took His jacket and tie to the cleaner's, i, kneeling, polished His shoes with all of my love, i felt the sting of His belt only hours ago... i take care of Him and He takes care of me..."
i am almost crying. Seeing You up there, i feel so much a part of You, i am overwhelmed. my hand trembles. i reach for my neck, looking for the collar, looking for the ring to stick my fingers in. It's not there. i find a black velvet ribbon instead. The black velvet ribbon You had ordered me to wear round my neck as we were getting dressed a few hours earlier.
"This is going to be your collar for tonight. Remember that".
"Yes Master. Thank you".
As i touch the soft material i feel warm and secure, i bow my head and comforting thoughts fill my heart: i am His, i am His...
i no longer pay attention to the speech, i hear it but i am not listening. All i can think of is
"i am His, i am His, ...i am Yours".
Suddenly, a loud applause interrupts my reverie. You have finished, people are congratulating You, having their picture taken while shaking Your hand. The music sets in, the lights brighten. The woman who introduced You gives You a gift, You thank everyone politely and then she takes You to another table. You sit down, pour everybody some wine and lift your glass for a toast. Soon You are in the middle of a conversation.
From where i'm sitting i can see You. Silently, i crave for Your attention, oh please turn Your head, please look this way, i'm here, Your woman is here, waiting for You to lay your eyes upon her, even if it is just for a brief moment, a brief moment full of love.
The woman and man next to me have finished eating, their plates are almost empty.
"Aren't you hungry?" the lady wants to know. "Why aren't you eating? Is it not to your liking?"
"No,no, it's fine" i say. My voice is thick. "i'll eat in a moment" and try to change the subject enquiring about the origins of her dress and handbag. The band is playing love songs. Most of the guests have eaten and some are moving around the hall, glass in one hand, talking to friends and colleagues. Two couples are slow dancing, embracing each other tightly. If only You asked me to dance...
i turn my head to look Your way once more. As i look up, i find myself staring into Your eyes. i freeze. You raise your glass to me and Your eyes smile with love and kindness, saying "eat and drink now, you're Mine. I am proud of you". Spoken words are not necessary. i nod and whisper "Thank You Master, i am proud of You".
i take a deep breath and take a sip of the wine. i feel it relax my muscles instantly. The tears subside. Only then do i realize how tense i had been. i finally put my heels on the floor and take a moment to adjust my uncomfortable underwear. i start to eat my cold dinner but i don't really care...everything seems to have finally fallen into place...i am His. i have been His all along...
"Mrs. Chairman?" Someone is tapping me on my shoulder, "please join your husband for some pictures. He is waiting for you right over there", says one of the waiters and points in the direction of the stage.
"Oh, yes, thank you, i will" and i get up excusing myself and head for the stage where i see a group of photographers and journalists waiting. i am still on my way to Him when the cameras start shooting...
....
The handsome middle aged man in the picture is Master. The woman behind Him is a slave. His.
....
To Master, the light and love of my life.
Your cassie
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Slutty red nails
Whilst I have always been interested in fashion trends and have wanted to look my best, especially for special occasions, I confess that I haven't paid a great deal of attention to my nails. It always seemed so indulgent to be worrying about my nails when I had so many other things to do. This situation changed considerably a few months ago when I was convinced that I would love the effect of acrylic nails. I was nervous and needed considerable coaxing to walk into that nail salon for the first time and ask to have acrylic nails, but I can assure you I haven't looked back since that day. I love them so!
In my neck of the woods we are into party mode this week and girls go to considerable lengths to look their best. A visit to the nail salon a few days ago, therefore, was a must for this girl and whilst she was there, a thought occurred to her. What if she were to have her nails painted cherry red? That would look rather nice against the black dress she planned to wear to the first event, and would co-ordinate nicely with her lovely new necklace she'd acquired for her birthday - turquoise, a red stone and silver.
To say that I love my lovely shiny red finger nails (and toe nails!) is an understatement. I adore them! But, there is someone who adores them more than me - my owner. He is smitten by them! He must have told me a dozen times how much he loves them, and within the hour this girl found herself head down in the bedroom chair being shown just how much he loved them.
At the event yesterday, he showed off his dollie like the proudest of owners. "Doesn't she look fantastic!" he said to my friends. He was quite twitterpated by those nails.
This morning, so enamored by those nails was he that he felt the need to express his admiration with a bout of love making that lasted a long time and had his dollie breathless with pleasure. How she does love to be all tied up so!
If you're looking for a little action, girls, I can't recommend to you more highly, the sluttiest red of red nails.
In my neck of the woods we are into party mode this week and girls go to considerable lengths to look their best. A visit to the nail salon a few days ago, therefore, was a must for this girl and whilst she was there, a thought occurred to her. What if she were to have her nails painted cherry red? That would look rather nice against the black dress she planned to wear to the first event, and would co-ordinate nicely with her lovely new necklace she'd acquired for her birthday - turquoise, a red stone and silver.
To say that I love my lovely shiny red finger nails (and toe nails!) is an understatement. I adore them! But, there is someone who adores them more than me - my owner. He is smitten by them! He must have told me a dozen times how much he loves them, and within the hour this girl found herself head down in the bedroom chair being shown just how much he loved them.
At the event yesterday, he showed off his dollie like the proudest of owners. "Doesn't she look fantastic!" he said to my friends. He was quite twitterpated by those nails.
This morning, so enamored by those nails was he that he felt the need to express his admiration with a bout of love making that lasted a long time and had his dollie breathless with pleasure. How she does love to be all tied up so!
If you're looking for a little action, girls, I can't recommend to you more highly, the sluttiest red of red nails.
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