Distress

For a brief, shining moment we had in our midst a therapist who not only had an intense interest in dominance and submission but who was keen to write about BDSM experiences and the various psychological implications of such experiences. It is such a pity that his personal life no longer enabled him to maintain his blog because there was no finer resource for people who were concerned about issues in relation to a power exchange.

We became friends who exchanged emails and some time back when my limits were being pushed and I felt considerable resistance and worried I may be doing harm to myself, I made contact with him again for some advice. He assured me that it was all right for my edges to be pushed but that if I felt that my psyche was being tampered with such that I felt ongoing stress, it may be too much. I should trust myself to know the difference. He felt sure that I would know if I had reached that point.

Perhaps the knowledge that he trusted me to trust my own abilities in the matter was enough for me because I settled down about whatever issue it was at the time, and as usual, trusted my instincts to guide me through my inner turmoil and to a place where joy in the power exchange experience returned to my life.

I feel a very strong sense of responsibility to those who read here not to trivialize the BDSM experience or to paint it in such glowing terms as for it to appear that it comes without its problems and concerns. With so little professional advice to be offered to practitioners I can only repeat the professional advice that was offered to me and suggest to readers that they pay heed to their own mind and stop to make note of any response where one is agitated and overly emotional. I don’t think ‘upset’ necessarily means that the situation is unresolvable at all, but it does mean perhaps that the mind has thrown up an issue to be addressed.

The submissive response is so often to be the peace maker, to make things right, and in so doing a submissive can be inclined to hold onto issues found perturbing. She may be lonely or not reconciled with a decision or reverting back to long held ‘truths’ such as to express her obedience no matter how she feels. She makes the most of a situation, stays positive, accepts her lot and trusts that this will be enough as it has been enough before. Nine times out of ten, all is well and her concern evaporates much as her monthly cycle first brought her stress but then the stress was released. A woman has deep emotions and they ebb and flow within her almost beyond her control at times.

Sometimes, the upset spills over. Obedience, patience, self-control and sense of calm, be damned, she expresses herself in all her glory and her bile spills out, spewing forth her upset and inner turmoil. I don’t think it does the submissive good to run about wildly at such times. She is likely to feel even more scattered and unsafe should that take place. But, I think it essential that she be allowed to express herself and expunge her distress until her energy is dissipated. This is the soul demanding to be heard. Later, when she is quiet and subdued and reflective, her dominant will, we can but hope, talk with her calmly about what brought matters in her mind to a head and with due care put the situation back to right.

A doctor friend of mine with an interest in adolescent health said to me once that the family who expresses its emotion makes for healthy adolescents, and I think we can satisfactorily transfer this theory to the dominant submissive relationship.

Even the submissives of us who are strongly encouraged to unpack our minds on a regular basis may hold onto unresolved issues, and when they are ready to be expressed, it seems to me the dominant must listen carefully. If the submissive happens to unpack her mind with gusto and bravado once every blue moon, so be it. She did her best. Nobody’s perfect and this is an excellent time, once she is calm, to make the necessary adjustments to set her life back to right. The expression of negative emotions is not necessarily a bad thing at all. An argument can be cleansing. A submissive will return to type. She will want to reconcile and repair and ensure that the relationship is returned to status quo. She will look to her dominant to guide her through that abyss and back to safety, containment, satisfaction and ultimately, joy.

This is a time when the dominant must stand up and take the lead; calmly, responsibly, empathically. It is his girl who is upset, and it is his responsibility to ensure that she is heard. All will be well soon.

Too much thinki

Expatriates eventually come up against the ultimate question: do we stay here or take the children home? As our eldest son ventured into lacrosse and the ice hockey arena instead of the ritualistic games of our homeland such as cricket and football, the decision was becoming more crucial with every passing day.

We packed up and journeyed home. The call had gone into my husband’s old school to inform them that three places would be required and as an “old boy”, our request was duly granted at short notice.

We met with the Headmaster of the Junior School, and although there was no doubt whatsoever about the outcome, for my husband had not even considered another school for the boys, I expressed some doubt about the rigid approach spoken by this man.

We have a new Headmaster now and one of whom I wholeheartedly approve. He is a fabulous man, modern but understanding of the importance of ritual at this old, revered school. He accepts that the boy’s marks are important but doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. Rather, he talks of each boy’s journey through the school and his expectations for each one of them.

I had the great pleasure to listen to him one evening this week. Nowadays, I always carry pencil and paper with me and I felt compelled to write down what he said.

He was clear that the most important thing each boy must do was to “interact with staff”. They were a motivated, well educated team of professionals and the more they interacted, the better the outcome.

But, what really resonated with me was what he wanted to achieve. Rather than shooting for the highest marks (although essential if considering medicine or law or the like) he wanted each boy “to be able to think for themselves” and “to stand true to their own convictions”.

I applauded such a sentiment. It was inclusive, it was positive and it meant that each boy was important and each boy as he reached adulthood would be prepared to face his future with confidence. I feel particularly pleased about the outcome for my last little one as he worked his way through the senior school.

I confess it gave me pause to question myself. Had I reached adulthood satisfactorily, after all? So often lately I had listened to statements and questions such as “Is this up to cindi?” “”Better that dolls don't thinki 2 much”.

Last night I dozed off in bed with the laptop in front of me. My husband came along and asked,

“Do you want this closed?”

“Yes please.”

Yet, I could hear that he hadn’t closed it properly.

“It isn’t closed properly,” I said, half asleep.

“Don’t tell me how to suck eggs,” he admonished. “It is closed.”

I just went to sleep.

This morning, I opened the lid of the laptop to find it still functioning. The first words of the morning had been his to say sorry he was cranky but our arrangement is such that I accept that I do not think for myself. Or rather, that I think enough to think that I should not think for myself (unless he wants me too!) Some days, I am truly challenged.

This morning was a challenge. My husband maintained his domly presence in the car until I was profoundly challenged. On no level was I enjoying his company. Ultimately, I had had enough and I got out of the car and started walking. About a hundred yards up the street, I felt him grab my hand.

“No. You can’t do that.”

“You are driving me crazy,” I said as I cried on his shoulder.

We talked back and forth but he maintained his stance. He was the dom and I had to submit and that was all there was to that.

“Now, you just have to get over it. You don’t have an option. Understand?”

I could see he meant it. There was no ‘out’. I put my arm in his, as he insisted and together we did the marketing together; something we enjoy a great deal usually but something we haven’t done together for a few months now.

The time arrived for our morning coffee and together we talked. I had settled myself perfectly well by then, but only because he had refused to allow me to run off the rails. I was calm because he had insisted upon it.

I don’t know. Here I am thrilled to the back teeth that my sons and daughter have been educated to think for themselves whilst I revel in achieving the ability of not thinking for myself.

Do you think...do you think...that on some level I can justify that by saying I am standing true to my convictions? Or, is that too much thinki?

What's love got to do with it?

This post is a re post. I took it down a day or two after writing it, with a niggling concern that something about it was not right. But, I have just re-read it and I stand by every word. But, perhaps I can add this...

My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?

"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."

And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!



Here's the original post:

For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.

It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.

Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.

It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.

In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.

It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.

If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.

In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.

Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.

The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.

What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.

Vesta 101

I was the perfect baby.
I was a quiet, easy-going, contained child.
I was a good student.
I won prizes.
I arranged my own childhood. I brought myself up.

I was always busy; reading, dancing, music.
I was a little mother to my brother.
I did well at university.
I dreamed of being a mother and a wife; having my own home.

I lack confidence in my own ability,
to the point of absurdity.

I chose a man who wants his own way with everything.

I like things to be under control.
I like things to be organized.
I like a clean, minimalist house.

My children tell me I am inclined to interfere
(but that's not true).
They know I love them with ferocity.
My friends know that I am different in some way
but are sweet and kind to me anyway.

I am law abiding
and hate trouble of any kind.

I avoid conflict.

I want harmony with all relationships
And struggle to understand cruel, unkind and selfish behaviour.

I occasionally lose it and at the weirdest moments.
I am always overcome with guilt at the consequences; that I hurt someone.

I have a huge capacity for joy that can express itself in the simplest moments.

I crave success at relinquishing control,
even though every nerve in my being can resist.

I am an enigma to myself.

There must be a shrink out there reading this dribble.

Why is this so?

Living the dream

Today is the day when a very special friend of mine is having a very special day, so it is important to me that on my blog (which she will read!) all the serious topics are put aside for this day. My dear friend has taught me so much about submission. She has never once judged me, even though I feel sure she has had her doubts. She has kept an eye on me, worries about me and gently encourages me to do better; try harder; be stronger. I am the richer for knowing her and one of these days, before the year is out, we’ll be very naughty together and drink wine and shop til we drop, and more. Can’t wait!!

She tells me that I have taught her something, too. That’s a nice thing to say because she’s been a submissive much longer than me. She tells me that I taught her to have fun! Of course, like the bright girl that she is, she has turned my words on me several times over now and reminded me that without fun, submission is missing a vital ingredient. And, so it is.

As in so many aspects of BDSM, the word ‘play’ has an alternative meaning. We tell our children to “play nice” but in our sort of ‘play’ we rather enjoy being grabbed, pulled, bent and bruised. We experience an elevation of spirits that is a mutual gift of one to the other. Our hearts and our spirits soar and we feel for a brief time that we can walk on water. Play as a child was never this much fun!

My friend takes her submission seriously. This is not something she does but something she is. It is how she expresses who she is. Yet, really, she plays all day long; day in and day out. Say what she will in the heat of the moment (Yes, we girls do vent!!) she adores being a submissive girl: from the dress code, to the play sessions when she orgasms so powerfully, to the restrictions of her life which are many, to the deep love she feels for Master. Whether she is making a lasagne (for him, of course), or packing his bag and locating his keys, or bringing up their children so well, she is living the dream. ‘Living the dream’ is a little joke of ours, but you can be certain of this: she would not have it any other way.

So, darling girl, let me raise my glass to you and wish you the happiest of birthdays and many, many more happy birthdays to come.

And to Master: You have the most magnificent slave a man could ever wish to have. We slaves and bimbos don’t need much; just buckets and buckets of love. Do you think you can wrap that? Look after my girl well, wont you?!

Have fun, sweetheart!! Happy Birthday!!

P.S. Cindi sends her love and birthday greetings, too!

On being still

A baby's cry
A mother's sigh
A hug, a rub
Two lovers; snug

The sound of water
The smile of a daughter
Coming together
We can't live forever

No need to think
Just sink.

Thoughts may emerge
The soul can still serge
Into the light
As high as a kite.

Confusion derails us
In spite of our status
Is there care,
Or just a dare?

In the silence she reflects
of her life and all the trecks
She can only do her best
For now, she must rest.

The Meal

The dominant man and his submissive come together to share a meal. They take their place at the table. He will ask the submissive to do something that she, secretly, is dying to do. She does it, and they are both happy; a delicious start. But, the good dom has a voracious appetite and he is not likely to walk away from the table having only tasted the appetizer. In fact, it is not particularly fulfilling for either of them if that is all there is to the meal.

Sooner or later, he will ask his submissive to do something that she does not want to do at all. The dom finds nourishment from observing the battle of wills between he and his submissive. What he has commanded is not easy physically. To do something routinely, to incorporate it into one's life, moment by moment, is no small challenge. This is the main course; the meat and three vegetables.

Even more significant is the challenge his commands offer to the girl's mind. Her life, her day, her everyday is suddenly no longer hers. By virtue of the command she is reminded constantly, when in compliance and even when not in compliance, of who (or what) she is, of who is in control and who (or what) has no control. She no longer complies because she tells herself this is what she wants, too. Rather, it is made clear to her that what she wants is of little concern. It is his desire that determines her behaviour. The dom is satiated not just by compliance but by an adjustment of her attitude. This is dessert; decadence.

The submissive's mindset is altered permanently. She does his bidding without complaint; whatever he wants. This is the coffee served with a mint; assuming he allows her to eat it.

Bon appetit.

What we do

What I do is so clear to me that it is possible that I don’t make it clear enough to others. Having a loving, open and ‘willing to experiment’ husband as I do, it may not make sense that I also have a dominant male friend on line who is my mentor. If it doesn’t make sense to you, there is precious little I can do about it. All I care to say really is that the situation comes with my owner’s total consent. He learned a few years ago now that I could learn more about some things from other people than I could from him. That is not to say that the advice differs in any fundamental way. But, hearing it from another dominant man, I make the connection of the wisdom in a way that I would not without him in my life.

I may have mentioned before, I really can’t remember, of the time when I learned to ski. I was beyond scared; totally freaked out. Unable to make much progress in a class of women also learning to ski in their middle years, my ‘white knight’ arrived on a set of skis and told the instructor he would work with me alone. Bit by bit, he gave me confidence and by the end of the lesson, I was skiing; sort of. I was so grateful I felt a special bond with him and I asked him, “Did you teach your wife to ski?” He responded, “Do I look silly? No, I gave that job to another man.”

So it is with me and submission. My husband is grateful for the help, not to mention that he enjoys the benefits. It is a win: win situation as far as he is concerned. Both happily married, my mentor and I know our limits and never cross them.

I take this opportunity to express my personal gratitude, both to my husband, who gives me much more than most husbands would, and to my mentor for whom I have a great deal of respect. I have a submissive nature, yes, but I’m no walk in the park, either, and he works hard at his role (and hopefully with a sense of pleasure, too). Perhaps, my saving grace is that I am incredibly committed to my goals. I have a deep sense of wanting to pursue this and the further I go, the more I feel nourished, whole and complete.

My mentor has the great attribute of being willing to listen to the responses to his questions very carefully and from that he seems to understand very well what it is I want and need. I think he has a much better handle on what I want than I do. I am really quite unable to articulate what that is until he tells me. Ah ha! The light goes on. Yes, it may look like I want to hold onto some control but I really don’t. How did he know that? I’m a very lucky girl to work with him. I admire him greatly, trust him implicitly and hope that we may always be in each other’s lives, in some capacity.

In the next post, I will share the latest wonderful development; the next layer of the onion being peeled. I’m excited; a bit apprehensive and resistant, but confident (and happy) that there is no turning back. I revel in being taking up a notch and consequently brought down to size. It is serious stuff, yes, but on the other hand, I can’t deny that I am having the time of my life. As I become less, I become more; more happy; more enlightened.

I do want to write about all my emotions and feelings of this week soon, but first of all, I want to make clear the lay of the land. You won’t find two marriages that are stronger and our mentoring relationship only serves to strengthen that fact. I do not write this post because I require the reader’s approval. I have the only approval I require; that of my owner. But, I also did not want to lead you astray.

What we do: it is a good thing.

He's mine

I came across this photograph on Deity's tumbler site this morning and it prompted a memory. Although I speak in the main of my submissive nature, I have long believed that we are all a combination of dominant and submissive qualities, and there can be no doubting that when put to the test, my dominant streak is alive.

It is a rare marriage lasting decades that is not tested by some young, pretty thing that comes along and likes what she sees in a man, regardless of his status. The wife is at home, busy bringing up little tots and the gorgeously dishy and sophisticated gal in the office impresses the suit clad husband in ways not available to the wife in the current environment. Sometimes, such a girl can get it into her head that the man in the suit, regardless of his little family waiting for him at home, should really be hers. In this event, the wife, no matter how submissive, must use the arsenal at her disposal. Of course, there are many ways to skin a cat, but sometimes the situation is such that a submissive woman must show her dominant side.

In my case, the gal had the temerity to call me at my own home and declare her feelings. I'm a friendly sort of gal, not inclined to dismissing folk or putting them down, but this was too much.

"I have nothing to say to you. This is our home you have called and I do not wish to speak with you again."

I returned the mouthpiece to the receiver.

It was a wakeup call to me that perhaps I was playing 'Mummy' a bit too much of the time. Here I was trying to save money and being practical, often too tired and perhaps too ambivalent to pay my husband due care, when the girls at the office were spending all their money and putting all their energies into looking like pin up gals, tempting the men in the office to look their way and pay them some attention.

"Do you want to be with her?" I asked him. I needed to know.

"Noooo. I want you."

She was given her marching orders.

But it was a lesson learned well.

Last night, two decades after that phone call, I collected my husband from the train. He got into the car and we kissed.

"Hello, Cindi darlin’. It is so lovely to come home to a 'good girl'."

I smiled, happy; married almost 30 years and still very, very happy.

'What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.' I believe that.

Discipline 4 cindi

Cindi takes gr8 pride in her ‘doll’ status. She loves the fakt that she is owned and that she has a very good and lovin ownir. Whilst she noz with all her heart that she is a doll and has always been a doll, she needs reminders about this fakt.Sometimes, the ‘practical life’ gets in the way and she can forget herself.

One constant reminder for cindi that she is a doll is that she has long, slutti acrylic nailz that she likes to have painted – sumtimez deep red, sumtimes dolli pink and sumtimez almost black. She reallllly loves that!

The long nailz remind her that she is a doll; that she must be careful; dainty and feminine. It is not possible for her to do certain tasks any more on her own. She cannot put on and take off much of her jewellery by herself anymore and even making the bed can be difficult on her own. If she is concerned that the task may break her nails, she must ask for help from her ownir, or at least take steps to ensure that her nails are safe.

But, sometimes cindi forgets. She forgets herself. Over the summer she broke a nail making the bed, and sad and sorri for herself, her mentor gave her due sympathy, as did her ownir. It happens. It was bad luk.

Then, she broke a nail in the garden. It was a bit inevitable, she supposez. Picking up a brick wif one hand whilst holding a bag of soil with the other, was bownd to put 2 much pressure on da nailz. She just was not kerful enough. Still, her ownir and mentor were sympathetic, but this time, they were a little more stern. Wot was cindi doing pickin up a brick with one hand, anyway? “Need 2 b more kerful, cindi!!!!!”

Cindi tries. She tries to be very kerful but it is troo dat sumtimz lyf gets the better of her. She wants to do a task, nobody is dere to help but she does it anyway. She throws caution to da wind!! And, dat is wot happened 2 days ago. Buttttttt, this time there was no sympathy for cindi. She was showing precus little care, they sed 2 her.

It gets worse. Brace yourselves! In the same breath, she was wondering if cutting her nails a tiny, little bit might be all right since the last time she broke the thumb nail, the girl at the nail salon cut it a bit short and now cindiz nailz were nut all da one length. Wellllllll, dat idea did not go down bery well at all!!! If cindi was 4getting herself with lung nailz how could it help for her to have shorter nailz??? Cindi sees the point. Quite right, 2!!

It was time for discipline. Oh deeeeer! And, worst of all, cindi had to cum up with the most appropriate discipline for the situation hersef. She thought and thought (so very hard for her to do) about this beri carefully. And, she sent off her answer.

And, now she waits and waits and waits...

Iddn't dat enough punishment, she wunders!? (Just a littel joke, folks)

Thoughts on spanking

I was introduced to tumblr.com a few months ago and I love visiting there. I follow a number of people and each day I scroll through a lovely selection of photographs. Earlier today, I came across the above photograph and found myself conflicted. There was something about the photograph that I liked. There was something about the photograph that I did not like.

Relationships of dominance and submission are difficult to judge. What may be one person's idea of totally unacceptable is another's persons idea of more than acceptable. And, that is if we can ever get to all the facts of the matter. It is a little like the saying about marriages: the only two people who know what goes on in a marriage are the two people in it. From the outside looking in, we really cannot judge all that well. Even if we think we know what is going on, we probably do not know the whole story, or how the relationship is perceived by the participants themselves. I make it a rule not to say things against someone's partner, even if they are looking for that. The next day, such a statement can come back to bite you in the bum, when they are all reconciled and you are the one in the doghouse.

In the above photograph it is clear that the girl has been spanked; hard. We don't know why but we may have the sense that the man is angry with her. He appears to be telling her off, even after the fact. Anger and spanking are not a good combination, but if the man is angry, perhaps he has good reason to be angry. And, perhaps the spanking and the anger are therapeutic. Perhaps, she is already feeling better and repentant.

Perhaps, the man is not angry at all but rather forcefully making his point; making his position clear. "I told you what would happen if you did that again, and now you know I am a man of my word!" Or, some such words as those.

Is the spanking consensual? Well, I doubt she gave her consent immediately before the event, but chances are high that the two of them are in a consensual relationship and she knew that this was a possibility. He is providing the discipline that she knows she needs. Or, is this something else?

And, did it do her harm? There is no doubting the fact that her bottom is stinging and sore and that at some point in the last few minutes she deeply regretted some action or words of hers, but perhaps the spanking has done her the world of good. Perhaps, she was out of kilter with her man and needed to feel his control over her. Perhaps, she asked for it specifically, though I rather doubt that scenario.

Perhaps, a little later in the day, her mood will be buoyant, belying the state of her bottom. Since I have been in a similar situation once or twice, I definitely buy that.

I love photography but it can be a trick of the eye. It is but one moment in a life yet we, the observer, read so much into it.

I have not spoken specifically of the erotic effect the photograph had on me. I thought it was hot.

Precious Vesta

I was having a brief conversation with a friend today when I said something of which he clearly didn’t approve. Instantaneously, he replied, “You are precious, Vesta.” (Well, he used my real name, but you get the idea, no doubt.) I immediately took offense. I’m over it now (almost!) but it set me back, I must say.

It also moved me forward. I sort of, took it in first. I considered it the greatest of disparagements and I was absolutely speechless (or fingerless in this case). I walked out into the garden. It is a day direct from Heaven today and I allowed the mild sun to warm me and the breeze to blow through my hair and onto my tear stained face.

You see, I know he didn’t mean that I was ‘of great worth’. What he meant was that I was showing precious little backbone; ‘excessively delicate’ as the dictionary says. That is what he meant.

And, be damned, he was right! I had got upset about something which is minor in the scheme of things. The sun still shines, the world still spins, my family are all healthy and I am loved. My issue was nothing at all in comparison to the difficulties of so many others. It was upsetting and destabilising, yes, but hardly insurmountable. I have climbed much bigger mountains that this and found rainbows on the other side of the rock, so what was all this fuss about?

Perhaps, I had fallen into the trap of thinking of myself as a submissive woman; needy and well...precious. Well, to hell with that! So, I took myself off for a shower, put on a going out shirt and shirt, did my hair and makeup and I’m ready to stand up like a big girl and be counted; not down for the count at all.I am strong; I am invincible!! Well, with a little help from my “onnir” that is. I never said and never will say that I’m perfect.

So, my friend, I’ve taken your comment on board. I was cross at first, yes. But, know this: it was what got me back on track, too!

Wanted: return of dominant

A correspondent of mine recently made note that it could be difficult to read my emotional state from my posts; perhaps that was deliberate, he thought. I replied to him, noting that I was in good spirits and that I tended to be a fun loving person much of the time. Yes, he got that, he said, but he also got that I was sometimes sad.

I am not inclined to want to show my sadness to other people, and was a little taken aback at the comment. Yet, I appreciated the observation. In spite of my best efforts to be moderate and reasonable, a little sadness was bound to slip through.

Regular readers will have come to know that my husband is a workaholic. It is very difficult for him to compartmentalize his life and if he has a problem to solve, a difficult problem, he is more than willing to not go to sleep at all. I have seen him work through two consecutive days and nights without sleep to complete a piece of work.

As a rule, I respect his need to hypo focus. It is his natural tendency to do so and I learned long ago that there is little point in asking him to do things in a way that is not natural to him. I have learned to entertain myself, to listen quietly whilst he shares a dilemma, and to accept that in order for us to live in harmony, this is the way it must be.

I give full credit to my husband for embracing my nature once it was fully exposed. With very little reading, except my own sometimes, he saw where I was coming from and did everything he possibly could to satisfy my needs. He is a natural in many ways. It has been the greatest gift he could ever have given me and one which has enriched my life more than rubies or diamonds, or overseas holidays or wealth ever could. I suppose you could say that we have an agreement: I accept and live with his idiosyncrasies and he lives with mine.

For several weeks now, our pact has begun to break down. It was agreed, for example, that he would not discuss his work in bed. Yet, suddenly I found myself listening to the latest developments of the latest deal in bed the moment I awoke. The daily spanking, which I had suggested and he had agreed to, has long been missing. Sex of any description has been less regular and there has been no effort at all to allow for any time where we might seek some joy in our lives, through a play session or simply putting the worries of business away for a while. In a nutshell, he has obsessed.

Of course, I sympathize. Other people’s behaviour has been disgusting, abhorrent, without morality and even against the laws of business. He has every right to be angry and infuriated and to fight. I don’t blame him one little bit. But, where we do disagree is in the value of remaining in a state of high tension and anxiety twenty fours a day.

The bottom line is that I just can’t do that. I can’t be upset and worried and anxious alongside him all the time. It puts me completely off balance and leaves me feeling that life is barely worth living. And, that is just not me.

In order to defend my psyche from this assault, I’ve spent most of the last few days alone whenever possible. I had no desire to be with other people. I have been to see a movie and wallowed in the emotion of that but I came right back to the sanctuary of my bedroom. (‘Bright Star’ is simply stunning. I cannot recommend it more highly.) Ultimately, even he could see that he had pushed me too far; ignored me too long. He came to me; promised to compartmentalize more; to be aware of my needs.

Of course, our union is not perfect. A perfect union would be that he needs to take control of me as much as I need to be controlled. Control, in my book, is not just telling a girl what to do but finding ways to settle her; bringing her joy. To be tied up, to be wrapped up like a mummy; this is something that I would consider the best of gifts. And, at his best, he is more than capable of being that dominant for me. He just fell, lately, into some rather bad habits. Here I was doing everything I knew how to settle him but he forget about repaying the favour.

I think in his mind the argument is sound that what he is doing he is doing for us; for me and for the family. I acknowledge the merit of the argument. I am no fool. This family takes big bucks to maintain and the burden is on his shoulders. But, a submissive girl without her dominant is the saddest and sorriest of sights. It is pitiful. It is just... sad.

I can’t do sad for more than a couple of days. It gets boring to me and awfully uncomfortable, so I am going to pick myself up now, dust myself off and return to my naturally positive self. And, let’s hope he returns to his.

The ON switch

I consider myself one of the fortunate women to be able to state with conviction that I am a happily married woman. To be loved completely and to love completely means more to me than anything else. So, let that be clear as I try to get down my current thoughts...

I take great pride in my ability to face adverse situations with a sense of calm and focus now. Once, I would have wanted to interfere; to try to persuade my husband of my opinion; to feel that I needed to convince him of the risks of his decision making. I would have felt anger and probably expressed it if he disregarded my opinion only to make a serious error with ongoing repercussions. I have been to that place and it is not pretty.

So, in the current environment where other people have caused mischief I am proud to say that I have been totally supportive and hopefully he would agree that this time I have been his rock. I have not complained or even expressed my needs as he has worked through the nights to prepare for meetings. I have done what I could for him, wherever and whenever I could. I have kept him well fed; even quietly encouraged him to go to the gym for his own sake until I think he went for my sake, so worried was I about his health. Hopefully, the assessment could be made that I have done everything that I could to be a good doll.

Quietly, I have gone about my life, doing the tasks necessary and keeping the family going along smoothly. But, between you and me, it’s pretty hard on a doll. Yes, dollies need to wait on the shelf sometimes but after a while, they do get dusty and they do get a bit despondent. A doll needs attention and without it for long periods of time, she just isn’t quite herself. This situation has not lasted a day, a week or a month, but six months and there are times when the doll no longer feels like a doll at all.

It is no secret that the doll has been trained to be an ‘anal slut’. She wears her pluggi regularly and surprisingly enough the moment she does, she feels gr8. It is as if, she thinks, there is an invisible wire connected from her ass cunt to her brain which relaxes her, settles her and allows her to cope with the time on the shelf so much better. She often wears it to bed, around the house, or when she does the errands.

She has, at times, misunderstood the importance of pluggi in her life and been so low that she can look at him and know what he could do for her, yet feel powerless to act. Dolls can think, yes, but slowly and it took a while for the message to sink into the doll’s mind in such a way that she would never doubt again.

On Monday evening, she wore pluggi to bed and felt complete. Her mentor had talked about pluggi being the “bimbo ON switch” and this reeli resonated with the doll. On Tuesday morning, she took pluggi out and washed him and went to her class at the gym alone. On the completion of the class, she lay down on the mat for ‘relaxation time’. Generally, her mind settled with the stray thought drifting in and out. But, this day her mind was focussed on pluggi and the way she had felt in her bed; the objet that she was with pluggi; being yoosed, filled; alweyz open. It was the only thought in her mind and she felt very content on her mat. She thought of herself as the object that she was and she was happy in that thought.

She squeezed her ass cunt. But... there was nothing there. Pluggi was nut there. The doll felt an abiding sense of loss; as if she had misplaced a precious object or been deserted in some way. She felt alone and lonely.

In that moment, the lessons she had learned these past months fell into place. Putting in pluggi every day was nut something that she did coz she was asked 2 do it and knew she should obey. Putting in pluggi every day was sumthin she shood do coz it was gud 4 her; rite 4 her; comforted her and completed her.

The doll looked 4ward 2 the day when her onnir would take her off the shelf and pley wif her in meni wayz. But, she could manage. She wood make it through. Her onnir may nut b available 4 her but when onnir is nut available, pluggi is da boss! It was only when she had showered and reunited with pluggi that she felt trooli happi again.

When her onnir came home that evening, the doll was present. After dinner, he came to his doll and kissed her on her forehead and sed:

“Thank you for being such a good doll. It will be over soon.”

The doll was happy. She was doing gr8.

Not just a fantasy

One of the best parts of the mentoring process for this girl is that she has coped so much better than she ever did before with stressful and worrying situations. She is a much more relaxed person. But, this weekend she was tested as her household experienced an enormous amount of stress. Her husband and she are decent people and wish no one any harm. But, when they see wrongdoing such as became evident to them in the past few days, they needed to take action immediately. Again, they are subjected to the instincts of others to do whatever it takes to procure a pot of gold.

First of all, the thinking girl had to suppress her anger. It takes a lot of energy to be angry and knowing that, she had to put it aside. Nor was her sense of sadness of any use to them at all. Yes, people calling themselves “friends”, promising to work together had been disloyal, manipulative and dishonest but her sadness was also sapping the energy required to respond to these events.

In their individual shock and despair, her husband and she separated for a time; he to his study and she to regain her composure and focus. She thought about her training. What would the doll do in such a situation? Being of service, sexually speaking was out of the question. Time was of the essence and the task required all their adrenaline to be put towards stopping these cheats.

She took a deep breath, made a cup of tea and brought it to her husband. They hugged and chatted briefly. He had no choice, he said. His responsibilities required him to act. She said she understood. These past few intense months where he worked on the project day and night, robbing them of time together may be for nothing, but in spite of that it was his responsibility to do what he must do. She said she understood and she did.

As a submissive woman, she is asked to quieten her ego; to even become ego-less. Cindi is ego-less. She has nothing to prove and she has no negative states. She is always relaxed; always happy; always wanting to please. She is a thing of beauty; perhaps an angel on earth. She is good. It was to cindi’s goodness that she would aspire. The girl was clear as to how to respond and in their shared focus, the girl and her husband were reconnected.

This morning, alone in the house for a short time, she put on some music that might allow her to relax whilst she did some housework and these lyrics popped out at her: “...hoping to find some peace of mind...not just a fantasy...”

Cindi is not just a fantasy in the girl’s world. Cindi has a real place in her heart, her mind and her soul as she reaches out for peace of mind. She lives not just in the girl’s bedroom but in her psyche; in her every day.

It is true that in her egoless state Cindi is not a thinking doll. Dolls do not think. Nor does the doll have a burning desire to write. The girl knows this; acknowledges the contradiction. Yet, since the day she could hold a pen, she has put words to paper in her efforts to make sense of the world.

This morning she has given in to her instincts to do what is right for her at this time and recommence writing on this blog. Is it her ego talking? Perhaps; she is far from perfect. Yet, she derives comfort in her return here, having searched her mind for the motive in doing so. She requires no kudos or praise. She returns to write for the best reason of all: for herself. A little company along the way shoud do no harm and is appreciated.