Two men; one woman

For many, many years my fantasy life has been rich with the scenario of two men who deal with me. One man is my man and he is responsible for me. I belong to him. But, the other man is a trusted friend and in that role he assists my man with his role as my 'owner'.

Now, why should it be necessary for there to be two men to supervise me; to discipline me and keep me under control? Well, my owner travels the world quite frequently to deal with his business affairs and his trips can last from only a few days to up to a month.

It was established very early in our relationship that a girl like me could get up to a lot of mischief in that time and thus his most loyal friend, Michael was prevailed upon to assist with issues related to my containment and discipline whilst he was away.

In the photograph, my owner is about to leave for yet another business trip. We are in the office. You can see the monitors that are in the large trading room reflected in the glass. The room we are in normally has sliding doors that are locked but on this particular day, they are open. My owner has set up this room somewhat like a bedroom as he can work crazy hours dealing in millions of dollars on an international level in various time zones, and from to time, he catches a nap in this room. There are, of course, occasions when he has used this room for other purposes. Certainly, I have been used there on a number of occasions.

Soon he will go to the airport but he has called me into the office to relay details of what is to be achieved while he is away, and Michael is there to listen and take notes. Since my owner will be thousands of miles away, it is Michael who will be supervising me and dealing with any failures to comply.

We have attended to the list of chores to be done, and my owner's clearly defined expectations of me. He has reminded me that Michael has his permission to discipline me as he sees fit and that the details of any situations where a correction was necessary will be passed onto him. He has told me how disappointed he would be should that be necessary and I have promised him I will be good.

That said, he also reminds me that Michael will come around to the apartment each Sunday evening he is away to deliver my weekly maintenance spanking. It is clear from past experience that it would be futile to expect a high standard of behaviour without my weekly correction and my owner has advised Michael of what implement to use, how many strokes, positions and the like. You will note that Michael is going over these details that he has written on a piece of paper on his clipboard. He is a fastidious sort of person and this is not a surprise really since my owner would not have faith in any man, nor have as a trusted friend, anyone who was not able to pay close attention to detail.

At his request, I have worn into the office a black dress to just below the knee. The dress is buttoned all the way down and I have accompanied the outfit with red heels to match the red and black buttons accenting the dress. As is my custom when I come to wish him farewell before the drivers whisks him away to the airport, I have worn nothing but the dress and the heels.

There are only moments to spare before he must leave but the sadness reflected in my eyes urges him to leave me with a memory to keep me warm at night.

He has me unbutton the dress "quickly" and he places me on my back. He ravishes me with kisses and soon I am lost in his arms. The slight scent of aftershave on his skin, the feel of his woolen suit on my bare skin, the knowledge that Michael presses against my shoe, leaves me with a desire so strong, it would matter not if the whole trading room personnel were witnesses to this scene.

Soon my beloved owner will be gone. It is Michael who will keep me grounded. The imposition of my owner's will shall remain ever present in that of his trusted friend.

Erosion

Some years ago when my husband was immersed in post graduate study, I packed up mychildren and we headed into the country to stay in the mountains. The house I rented was humble but the huge advantage was that it had a big back garden with a place to burn a fire and toast marshmallows. After we returned from climbing mountains each day, the children stayed outside for hours by that fire, lost in their imagination.

Recently, I was given a voucher to stay in a very comfortable hotel with a wonderful view not too far from that humble home and my husband and I escaped for two full nights of naughty time together. Perhaps I can catalogue more about that another time.

My husband and I drove one afternoon to the beautiful waterfall that my children and I had visited, and after climbing down to the bottom we marvelled in its beauty together. We love to be alone in the country together and by that I mean, completely alone. It was mid-week and we had the place virtually to ourselves. There was a special magic in the air; a soothing balm for us both.

As I watched the water jump and cascade over the rocks I thought of a line from Deity’s poem.

“I want to do with you what wind does to a rock face.”

I asked my husband, “What does wind do to a rock face?”

“It erodes it...wears it down.”

It made perfect sense. That is what had happened to me...was still happening to me. I was being worn down.

I’m not the girl I once was.

I am settled.

I am content.

I am peaceful.

I am forever grateful to be transformed into someone who feels comfortable in her skin; alive in a way she only dreamed about; able to share her inner thoughts and for them to be given life; set free.

Transformation takes work: diligence, commitment and a steady hand.

It rates as one of the best things that ever happened to me.

It is said that nothing stays the same. The rock cannot stay the same. Life is a state of change.

How thrilling it is to say that as I age I become so much less!

How enriched I am that as I age I am so much more than I ever was before.

Truly

Richly

Deeply

Blessed.

Putty in his hands

Howse clean,
Pantry stockd
Food cookd
Bag packd.

Its head empty
Heart filled
Mynd ready
Body waitin.

His hands prepard
To cr8 his vision
It waits 4 creation
Putty in his hands.

The sun and the moon

When I first began exploring my submissive nature, I remember being shocked that someone would refer to me as “bad”; as in “you’ve been a bad girl!” I didn’t think of myself as a bad person and I was rather alarmed that anybody would think that of me. After all, I obeyed the law, put my families’ needs ahead of my own, and was kind to strangers and animals; all those sorts of things. If I was “bad” then heaven help us all!

Bit by bit, I came to understand that it was not about whether I was a good or bad person but whether or not I was developing an understanding of how a power exchange dynamic could work for me. If I wanted a successful power exchange I needed to conform.

My husband, like lots of other husbands out there is happy to lead; wants to lead. He takes responsibility on his shoulders and he knows what he wants. But for many years I didn’t really understand myself well enough, or even know that it was possible for me to say that I wanted to feel control over me.

I honestly believed, as many girls do, that I needed to be strong and independent and want to take charge and be in control and strive to achieve and all those sorts of things. I felt that I had to fight against my nature to want to be protected and to feel the strength of a man and his direction in my life. I thought that I was deeply deficient that I remained on some level, “just a little girl”.

Although I thought that my husband would not understand me if I told him who I really was and what would make me happy, I have come to see that a power exchange relationship is very close to a perfect fit for the two of us as a couple.

We have been married almost 30 years but we are still in the process of getting it just right. Finally, after years and years of coming to me with the minutiae of a deal and being upset with me that it unsettles me to hear of things over which I have no control, he is taking much more of his own counsel. He knows that if he needs to talk, I will of course listen, but it does not work to give me excess worry. I need to feel that he is in control of himself and the plans that he makes on our behalf.

On this score, the past year has been an adjustment period for us as he took to heart that this constant discussion over his business affairs was affecting me. But, I am delighted to say that he now sees the merit in having a more relaxed girl. I don’t say that this works for all D/s couples by any stretch but it does work for us. I was not the only member of this marriage that needed to make adjustments if we were to be completely happy.

I have read a number of comments lately that sex is not all there is to a power exchange relationship. Naturally, I agree, but it is a vital component and it is when I feel that dominance in my life, to the core of my being that I shine most bright. If a woman is submissive by nature, she needs to feel that sense of dominance over her in a very concrete way as well as on a more day to day level. And, the dominant needs to feel her sense of completeness as much as she does, I think. My husband will say after very satisfying love making, “It is so lovely to live with a happy girl. Just look at you!” Well, he looks rather happy, too!

I read just now a comment by a submissive. She wrote: I'm not so sure submissive power can be sustained just through service. I think there needs to be a dominant force from which the submissive draws enough energy that can be reflected - much as the moon reflects the light of the sun.

I think that is a beautifully expressed sentiment. A “dominant force” cannot just be a man (in this case) who wants his own way. It needs to be a man who understands that his girl has a submissive nature, needs to express that nature and is happy that she is as she is.

This is why I waited so long to express myself as I really am. I just didn’t believe that I would be acceptable. It has taken a lot of mentoring for me to finally get it through my dumdum head that it is more than all right for me to have a submissive nature. I am valued, loved and desired for that submissive nature.

It is beyond question that I draw energy from the dominant force in my life; an energy that is reflected back. The more I embrace my submissive nature, the more powerful (and settled) I feel; much as the moon reflects the light of the sun.

Force

The type of force (or control) a dominant may use with a submissive is well covered in David’s recent post,‘Moving with Force’. There are so many tactics he (or she) may use with a submissive and physical force is just one of them. In fact, most of the types of force a good dominant will use are of the psychological kind, as David explains.

I found the whole post of great interest but a point made under the heading of ‘reinforcement’ really spoke to me. David referred to a tactic of the Dom to”let go so fully that she doesn't even feel the control any more, or in fact she feels the absence of the control”. Perhaps there are times, he suggests, when it is valuable for the submissive to experience what it is like to not have any control from her dominant.

On a day to day basis I hum along nicely when I feel some sort of control (force) from my dominant. I don’t do as well when my dominant is too busy or distracted to ensure that the control is obvious to me. It does not take more than a well placed word or two, but I like to know that he is paying attention. I’m led to believe that this is a submissive trait. Control is not always comfortable but much less comfortable is that sense of unease when there is no control.

I’d like to consider that in more detail for a moment. It has often been pointed out to me that I need “reminders” of my place. At times, I have seen that as a negative sort of statement but I’ve come to understand that it is not being put in my place, as in being ‘put down’. Rather, reminders of my place are an opportunity for me to feel contained; safe. I am owned, loved; secure; the bottom of a happy power exchange relationship.

Control or force, therefore, can be very subtle. It may simply be a few well chosen words from the dom. “You forget yourself,” my husband will say to me. It is a reminder that he doesn’t care for my snappy retort and that I am harming our agreement, and myself in the bargain. It is a correction.

At such moments when I am corrected, my feelings are always mixed. On an intellectual level, I recognize that he is right in every way but on an ‘ego’ level, I’m a bit annoyed that my poor humour or bad temper or whatever has led to this.

Every now and again, and I’m happy to say that it is very rare; I’m dominated in such a way that the dominance is removed. I think that a dominant will remove control for a few reasons. On one level, I think he has lost patience with his submissive. She is not learning her lesson, or she is not conforming and for the minute, he has had enough. At least, I feel that way about it. I feel rejected.

If a dominant takes the step of removing his control I think he is using this as a tactic; perhaps to enforce compliance or encourage self-motivation or simply to give the submissive the opportunity to see what it might be like on the other side of the fence, where she may think the grass is greener; that paddock over there where no-one is asking anything of her.

There is the infamous situation where control was removed from me. If I was not willing to obey commands, then perhaps it was best I was left alone for a while to think about that. And, think about it, I did. It was a shock. It was a battle of wills. It was a struggle. And, of course, the dominant won.

Now that I know what it feels like to be dominated, the removal of control/force in my life can play out like a physical illness. Without control (and approval, attention and positive flow of energy) I can find myself devoid of the vitality to really enjoy and embrace my day. I may still be able to function but in an impaired way and with limited zest and a sense of pleasure. My world is out of kilter and it can even feel at moments that oxygen is in short supply.

This feeling of ill-ease is compounded by the sense of guilt a submissive feels when she has failed to impress, along with an awareness that her only course of action is to wait: to wait until her dominant is prepared to set her to right by gifting her with his dominance yet again. If you have a submissive nature, and you know the great joy, the great sense of happiness, peace, security and safety that comes from having a good dominant in your life, the disapproval or displeasure of your dominant is a very powerful force. You want to put that to right because it just feels so wrong. If you displease him to the extent where he washes his hands of you for a time, you seek to return to his good books in short order. You seek the pleasure of being safely “in your place”.

Removal of control (which is a force in and of itself, of course) is a most powerful weapon which should be used with caution and care. It hurts. Yet, I concede it is extremely effective. I’m not entirely sure if it is accurate to say that a submissive will look to make the peace. But, I can say that I am a peace maker. I look to put things right. So, for me, the displeasure of the dominant is a force that I feel keenly and one that I cannot ignore.

Humor

I'm learning quite quickly these days. I am clear about the fact that inappropriate responses, lack of patience and displays of frustration are not at all worth the consequences.

Yet, I am who I am and at heart I'm still very cheeky. Most of the time I can squash the urge to come back with a retort, but sometimes it just pops out.

Last evening, I was asked a most typical question. Was I wearing my pluggi? Well, no, not yet, since I'd just had my shower and had not got to that yet.

"What are you waiting for?"

And, a particular thought entered my mind, and I just could not hold it back. I didn't even consider holding it back. I just said it.

"Godot. Waiting for Godot."

There was no response.

But it was funny, wasn't it?!

"Nup. Still waiting for an answer."

Oh well.

And, then this morning...

"I'll be back in ten minutes. You'll be ready, won't you?"

"Yes, yes, I'll be ready."

And ten minutes later,

"Are you playing on the Internet again???" I hear as I scurry to look like I'm ready to leave.

And, a few minutes later, when I see him sitting at his desk to make a quick call, I say to no-one in particular,

"Oh well, I guess I'll go to the car..."

"Ohhhhh, that will cost you!!" he calls out from his study.

Sometimes, I wonder if people these days have lost their sense of humor. Lucky I still have mine though.

Right?

Responsibility

I came across some very self-informed statements on a web journal this morning and I was impressed at the ability the woman had to see herself very clearly; what affected her and what she needed. We have a tendency, I think, to hide from ourselves those things about us that we don't particularly like and I know I tend to do that. I'd like to think that I can handle responsibility and solve problems and so on, and I do my best, but I'm not a natural leader; never have been and never will be.

I've mentioned my childhood before and that I was a natural student. Yes, I enjoyed learning and reading but I just hated taking tests and I suffered more than my fair share of anxiety over tests. Possibly, I am a victim of my own high standards and wanting to achieve.

I don't think that it should be a surprise that a submissive is prone to anxiety if put into an environment very unsuited to her nature and on this score I totally understood when I was not made a Prefect in my senior year. It mattered very little to me but my close friends could not understand my ambivalence. I'd been a good student, obeyed the rules, never did anything wrong and I was not getting my just rewards, they said. But, here's the thing! I didn't really want to be a prefect. I didn't want to tell the other girls to pull up their socks; to put their hats on; to stop talking in assembly. Why would I want to do that?

I like my life ordered; my house under control; things sorted and for there to be a place for everything. I don't have any desire or need to boss anyone around and I certainly don't yearn for more responsibility. Sometimes, the children or my husband tell me of an issue and immediately my mind becomes anxious as I search for the solution to their problem.

"Stop it!" my husband will say. "It is not your problem. You don't need to solve anything."

And, immediately I begin to settle myself. My response all my life has been to feel that I must act responsibly and be a big girl and appear such that responsibility is second nature to me. But, it is not in my nature to take on more responsibility than I need to. I know that now.

Five years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I travelled to the place where she lives and accompanied her to a consultation where the surgeon told her he wanted to amputate her breast. We signed the papers in shock and when we got home my husband questioned the decision. I sat with it that night and the next day called a cancer specialist friend who put me onto a different surgeon here in the city. The dear woman called me immediately my friend called her that Sunday morning and we arranged for my mother to be seen the next day. With the immediate problem solved and the initial surgery cancelled, I felt the weight start to come off my shoulders and I immediately went to sleep for several hours. The responsibility of saving my mother's life from an incompetent surgeon (he diagnosed her without even a mammogram) had left me completely exhausted. I will rise to the occasion of taking on responsibility but not without huge personal cost. (She had a lumpectomy and is totally cured.)

It has taken me decades to take off my 'girl mask'; that facade of mine where I pretended that I was a totally capable girl who handled responsibility with ease. It is an enormous relief to have a dominant in my life. It fulfils me. It completes me. Finally, I feel at ease.

Not much 2 say

A dolli knows her place. But, sometimes she 4getz her place. Dis situation happens when she nut yoosd enough. It needs reminders.

Cindi's owner notissd dat da dolli rather more vocal than usual this weekend. She express lotsa opinions and reeeeeli, her owner nut need all those opinions.

"Okay, cindi, open up. Time 2 wear your cock gag while owner collects the Japanese food. U just lay there and suck on that and think about what a gud dolli really does with her mouth..."

And, off he went, leaving cindi all alone on her bed 2 thinki bout dat!

It troo dat the dolli managed 2 stay beri quiet 4 da rest of da nite after dat.

But, da next morning, owner thought his doll rather mouthy agin.

"Okay, cindi back to the bedroom..."

Agin, he poot da cock gag in cindi's mouth and he tie her hands behind her back.

"Time 4 sum yoos, cindi. The doll needs a strong reminder of its purpose."

Well, cindi sucki wey on her cockigag with gr8 deal of gusto coz owner right when he say dat he yoos da dolli beri well.

Finally, he clean her up and sort her out and he turn her round and he say 2 her,

"Now, cindi, owner suggests cindi yoos as few werdz as possibel 2dey because if she yoosz 2 many werdz, then she signalling 2 owner dat she needs much more yoos and this tym, spankiz on da bottom 2. Dat cleer cindi?"

Cindi nodded her agreement.

"Off to the shower, cindi...on your knees...that's rite...crawling like a gud little pet..gud cindi!"

Cindi feelin rather quiet now. No need 4 werds 2dey. She glowing now insted!

Apples fall close to trees

It makes sense, I think, that apples will not fall too far from the trees, and so it is that my boys have a strong tendency to do things their own way, to have a plan even when it appears that they have no plan at all, and to have rather strong notions of how they want a relationship with a girl to play out.

One of the great blessings of my life is the opportunity to be surrounded by beautiful children who have turned out and are turning out very nicely indeed. But, that doesn't mean that they didn't give me some hard times along the way, as you might imagine if you think for more than a few seconds about what a dominant man in the making might be like to bring up.

My eldest son was loving and single-minded from the very beginning and by the time he had turned three he was ready to lead in the nursery school room. I'm pretty quiet living really and I was a little shocked when the nursery school teachers told me this but they assured me he did it well and the other children had no objection.

His senior school years were back here in our homeland and by the end of seventh grade it was clear I had lost my 'boy'. He was ready to party and to meet girls, and school work was a low priority. Still, he had plenty of potential and I did my best to keep him interested and engaged. I'm a little embarrassed to say that some of his English assignments had 'Vesta' all over them. After all, I was the one who read the book, not him, so it stood to reason that he used a few of the ideas I threw his way. (What mothers do...)

In his final two years, it was all about soccer and girls and his mates. By the middle of the final year, I began getting the first calls from the school. My son was not doing much work at all and he had to knuckle down if he wanted to get into the course he had chosen. We had a talk. He told me they were wrong. He had it under control. (Yeah, right!)

So, he completed all his exams at the end of the year with one to go several days later, and he lost the plot. I just couldn't get his bum on the seat to study and finally, and rather unexpectedly, I blew out. I ranted and raved at him and yelled at him, "Why can't you just do it like everybody else!?" He said he had to go away for a few days. He'd be all right. He needed to think."

So, I sat and cried for a while and then to take my mind off this catastrophic event, I went up to his room and changed his sheets and straightened up and I heard his voice say to another child, "Where's Mum?" He was back within the hour because some girl had told him to stop being silly. Thank you, dear girl! He completed his final exam and was off to university the next year.

Three years later I attended his graduation from university and that of his school time friend and later I asked them (tongue in cheek) why neither of them had received the Dean's medal.

"Mum, to win the Dean's medal you actually have to be seen on campus from time to time. I didn't actually go to university!"

Oh yeah. That's right. He did not.

So, the time came to find a job and with a gusto I hadn't seen anywhere else but on the soccer field, he began to apply for internships with companies and secured himself a position with an international firm.

Hunh! He was starting to play the game.

Two years later, he finds himself exactly where he wants to be, travelling the world, doing interesting work with interesting people and with the world at his feet, really.

So, I email him over there in the USA and tell him that I had lunch with the mothers of his friends. And he replies thus:

"Lunch with the girls hey, yes us boys are very wary of those periodic mothers club meetings. Well I’m sure you know a lot more recent ‘goss’ than me after that. You see Mum although I was a little rebellious at school, and I didn’t really go to uni, and I partied a little too often at times etc etc etc… I had a plan and always (well usually) did what needed to be done to get where I needed to go. And… I got the job that most of my mates would die to have, so I hope you gloated a little at your little get together about where you’ve got me and left the other mothers in despair and trailing in your wake! Good work."

And, I laughed my head off! The darling 'little bastard' had it all mapped out and was well ahead of me.

I am extraordinarily proud of him. I can't hold that back. And, I'm proud of him in countless ways, too. He's a little wary of a commitment with a girl right now. He's "done that, been there" and the girl is going to need to have a few tricks up her sleeve (or be prepared to let him lead) to get him down the aisle, but that is all in the future right now.

So, spare a thought for the mothers of dominant men occasionally. I may not have deserved the Dean's medal either, but surely I deserve some kind of medal!!

Those we love

In 'Casablanca', Humphrey Bogart says, "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine".

If we look about to the people we have connected with in our lives, those people who really make a difference to us; those people whom we would be mortified to lose, there is a touch of serendipity about having ever met them in the first place, I think. If we had not met, I suppose we would have had to find someone else to love.

Yet loving them as we do, caring about them as we do, even wondering what would have become of us if we had never met them, there begins to be that feeling that "of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine" about life, don't you think?

A couple of years ago the husband of the writer of a blog I read died and I cried and cried when I read that. She didn't know how she would go on and I didn't know how she would go on, and I just felt so sad about it all. About a year later, I happened to link onto her again to see how she was doing, and she was in love, about to be married again. It is not an uncommon story. A lover or partner dies and eventually, or even quite quickly, the person moves on to love someone else. I'm always very pleased for them but wonder how they managed to achieve that, since I'm not at all sure that would be my destiny in the same circumstances.

When my father died, my mother closed her mind completely to a new partner, forever. I asked her once if she was sure that she wanted to live her life alone and she said to me, "I've had my love. No one could possibly take your father's place for me." And, that is how it has played out. I suppose I don't have a role model for moving on, though she was extraordinarily brave about recreating her life without him.

In each of the relationships that are very dear to me, the other person needed to make some sort of a first move on me, really. I'm the kind of gal that is going to go somewhere and sit and sit and sit. I'm not going to make the first move on a man. I might initiate contact from a friendship or acquaintance perspective, but I've come to see that romantically, I'd be silly enough to sit and wait until the cows came home before I made the first move on a man I was attracted to.

To this end, I feel inordinately grateful to have in my life an abundant supply of love. I suppose it could be said that I walked into their gin joints. But, if I did, I took a seat and waited to see if they were brave enough to come my way.

My husband says that in my mind they must pass the test. They must prove themselves worthy by being brave enough, interesting enough, and suave enough to say something clever or different. I don't know. He's probably right. I am discriminating. I look for something special.

There are times where I have felt that I needed a good dose of fortitude to live with my husband. I've lost count of the times I've said to him, "I'd hang onto me if I were you because there isn't another woman in the world who could live with you." And I have to admit, in fairness he has said to me countless times, "You are just so difficult. Who else would put up with you?" And, then we smile. He's not going anywhere and neither am I.

I was with my mother at the horse races one time and we watched a funny little old man with a funny little old lady and my mother said, "There is someone for everyone really."

Have we found our one true love in life or do we just develop the capacity to love another with all the humanity we have within us? I have so often wondered this.

Service

Around the blogs there is always talk about 'service' and by that people seem to mean that the submissive should serve the dominant. I have no issue with the fact that the submissive serves the dominant but in my life, the statement doesn't always mean that much. I've been contributing to the success and happiness and smooth running of my husband's life since the day we started going out. When our relationship became one of a 'power exchange', my mind began to think about that in new ways, but I was already doing lots and lots of tasks that I continued to do. Certainly, sexually, I thought about that service in new ways, but I assure you he was not the only recipient of the value of those new thoughts. I was serving him to be sure, but he has never stopped serving me in the bedroom either in terms of the satisfaction he brings to my life.

My point is that I provide service to him but in fact, he serves me rather well, too. He has been serving me well all my married life in a vast number of ways, and when the relationship altered to a 'power dynamic' the amount of service he provided for my benefit only increased. As the dominant in a power exchange, he was being asked to see me and the relationship in a new light and in that way he was being asked for more, not less.

In any marriage between two people, unless they just can't get it together at all, there is some sort of division of labor. One likes to cook; another is prepared to pay the bills. One takes responsibility for watering the garden whilst the other mows the grass. One can't bear ironing the shirts but is happy to change the sheets on the bed, or empty the dishwasher, or to service the car. Or, whatever. People work together to make their lives work smoothly for them, or they should.

In a power exchange relationship, the dominant is the boss. I have no argument to make about that nor would it suit me to think of it in any other way. The dominant person has the right to give commands and the submissive has the responsibility to obey. If he wants something done, or done in a particular way he will tell her, and expect her to follow through with the task done well.

There is some symbolic gesture to consider here and I recognize that some dominants rather like that a submissive pours the wine and serves him, first. Perhaps he (the dominant in this case) asks that she kneel and serves him tea. I think that all very fine and it no doubt assists the two people in their dynamic. But, the thought that my husband might never make me a cup of tea is just awful to me. It is always a lovely moment for me to awake from the occasional sleep in, to my husband standing by my side with a tray on which there is a cup of tea with a light breakfast. Everybody deserves to be pampered sometimes.

In the evenings, it has always been our way that I clean up the kitchen whilst my husband reads the paper or watches a current affairs story or returns to his study to do some work. Frankly, I prefer it that way because I work best in the kitchen on my own. Then, I bring him a cup of his favourite tea and a little treat and that is our time together to talk about the day, or the news, or whatever. Nowadays, I do think of that bringing of the tea to him as my serving him, because it pleases me to do so, and because I can see that he feels tenderly towards me that I have done that for him; to understand that at this time of the day he needs a little pampering.

I shall come out and say it outright. I worry like hell about the dominants out there who think that their status as the dominant means that they are somehow better than their submissive; that it is all right for the submissive to be dead tired but continue to serve him whilst he sits there like King Pubah blissfully unaware of her distress, or heaven help us, enjoying that distress. It is not at all gallant to think it is all right for the submissive to be asleep on her feet but since she is the submissive she should continue to serve. That is just not gentlemanly.

Within the power exchange, each person has their responsibilities to the other and to the relationship as a whole. Our focus is not on who serves who but rather a mutual caring for one another. My husband will insist that I take my calcium with vitamin D tablet because he knows a deficiency due to lack of sunlight can cause depression. I will take him to the station rather than leave him to walk because I know he has a full and long work day ahead and I can make a contribution to his day in this way. We care for one another within the framework of the power exchange relationship.

If I were writing the book of BDSM I would not say 'The submissive serves the dominant'. I would say, 'The submissive serves the dominant and in return, he serves her right back.'

Cindi's cage

There many ideas dat appeal 2 cindi dat maybe do not appeal 2 all da gurls out there and one of doz ideas; 2 have a cage all 2 herself, just liki da wun in dis pikki. (It hanging from da wall towards da back of da pikki.)

Some gurls, cindi has heard, dey sent to the corner, 2 thinki bout der behavyor. Dat idea nut really dat appealing 2 cindi. Luckily 4 her, dat idea not appealing 2 her owner either.

But 4 sum time now, cindi has reeeeli, reeeeeeli wanted a cage. You c, 1 day she read da blog of a slave hoo spends lots of tym in her "cage" and since den, cindi tinki bout dis often.

She happened 2 spy wun day, out n about in da werld, a wicker hanging chair, suspended from da ceiling, rather enclosed in design and she tinki 2 herself, "Wow! Mebbe one day cindi could have a cage just liki dis 1."

Now, y wood cindi want a 'cage'? Well, da thought of her actually attached 2 a little space beri enticing 2 her. Let's say, she bit dramatic. Well, her owner could taki her to that little space, her own cage, liki a dolli box, and there she could settle herself down.

Or, maybe he could see that cindi weary and he might say, "Cindi, time 4 a nap for da doll. Off to da cage!". Oh dat thought is soooooo appealing 2 cindi.

So, imagine when cindi saw dis pikki!!!! Her heart fluttered and she thought, "Dats where cindi wants 2 stay - in a room jus liki dis, wif a cage all 2 herself".

Such a loveli thought 4 cindi! E n e wun else liki dis thought 2?

Travelling companions

At times, she would be so comfortable on the journey she would scarcely notice how far she had travelled. At other times, even a few yards would seem onerous to her. She always put one foot ahead of the other and this made him proud.

He told her that she did not need to worry because he knew what she needed and when she needed it and eventually she took this instruction to heart. Even when she struggled to comply, she never lost sight of the trust she had put in his hands and she proceeded along the path he had cut for her, confident that he was leading the way and knew his way.

As time went by, she took into her heart the tune he hummed along the way and made it her own song. She knew the tune was good. But, more than that, what mattered to her was that it was his tune that she sang. She was happy but the more happy that she had made him so as well.

He had seen what she needed and he wanted that for her, and for himself. She had wanted to take the journey and saw that he could lead her there safely. Yet, along the way, her pleasure had been magnified by the fact that he was pleased with her and understood her. He had done this for her and she had done this for him, his way; aware of their own indivudal needs and desires. They were both on their way to where they wanted to go.

He continued to walk ahead of her, as was right and good. He kept her safe and directed her so that she would not fall. He ensured that she progressed along the path and rested as required. He knew more of the terrain. She knew less. This was well understood.

They stopped for a moment to look ahead and saw that there was still a great way to go. They turned and looked back from where they had been. The starting point was so far away now that they could scarcely remember how long the journey had been. It did not matter at all. They travelled together; he one step ahead of her. They were exactly where they needed to be; putting one foot ahead of the other; together.

First Love

I don’t remember how I met him but he became a very good friend. Long black hair, beard, moustache, thin as a bean pole: my Matt. He would pick me up in one of the family’s cars without notice: day or night. And, he’d drive and drive. And, finally he’d stop and tell me what was on his mind.

He took me to places I would not have gone without him: down back lanes and up old staircases to restaurants where they picked up the money and put down the cards when the door opened. Red or white? Steak or fish? There was no need for menus there.

He’d drive me to the beach and make me tackle the big waves. He gave me the pleasure of introducing me to his amazingly intriguing mother and his mad as a hatter father and his girlfriend. My wonderful Matt and his wonderfully offbeat family!

One day I called to see him at the big, rambling house and only his little brother was home, then seventeen. He warmly welcomed me inside. We were in his room listening to music when a girl arrived but he did not invite her in. Rather, she was back on her bicycle immediately after a few words from him in the garden.

“Where did she go?” I asked.

“Oh, she was my girlfriend,” he said, but I just broke up with her.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“Because, you are my girlfriend now,” he said.

You know me well enough by now. That was enough to win me over. And, Mike was my friend; not my lover. I had not had a lover.

We had a wonderful summer together; up in that loft in his mother’s house by the sea; lots of playing around the edges. Band on the Run: I can't listen to songs from that album without memories coming back of that summer: delicious meals, wonderful company, beautiful beach; spectacular sunsets; unbeatable memories.

I went onto university; he to his second try for Medical School as per his Father’s wishes.

Easter. He came to collect me from my little college room and the four of us, my first love and I, his wonderfully kinky Dad and the beautiful Luciana took off to travel on a lovely boat down the Hawkesbury River.

“Vesta?” he called from below one starry night.

“Yes? What do you want?” I called from on deck.

“He wants you ,” his Father told me gently.

And, on that boat with the stars overhead I lost my virginity to the boy with the curly hair and the crooked smile.

One day, he came to my home to tell me that he was moving on; time to explore pastures further afield. Of course, I cried and my Father assured me there was no need.

“Plenty of fish in the sea, darling.”

He was with his girl the next year when he saw me at University, but I was not yet mature enough to let bygones be bygones and I didn’t want to talk. But, at the last moment, with everyone moved away, he came up to me and hugged me tight; whispered in my ear,

“You’re still the best girl I have ever known.”

I watched him walk away, never to see him again.

Over the years, I’ve thought I’ve seen that mop of hair several times, but it was not him. I hope he is happy. He deserves to be happy. Darling boy; first love; tender; sweet.

I would not have missed it for the world.

Emotions

I am not an especially constant person. Reading the blogs of other submissive women, that makes me not especially unique, but perhaps more inclined to inconstancy than most. On the whole, I gravitate to optimism and the sunny side of the street because I have found no value in being morose or negative. I can go for considerable time with it appearing on the outside that all is entirely well with me. Ask my friends or the gals down at the club and they would say that I am always happy.

My family know differently. I really do appreciate a great deal having things my way. (You are smiling, right?!) I deplore walking into the kitchen first thing on a weekend morning and listening to Homer Simpson blither on. I detest his voice and I am only content within myself when whoever has turned the darned television on, turns it off.

I can take an awful lot of bossing. I'll alter the way I have stacked the cups in the dishwasher and not say a word about it. I'll adjust the way I have tied the boat to the pier to satisfy my husband's desire for perfection without a whimper. I'll listen to the lecture one more time about not drying myself on the bathmat and leaving water on the floor without a solitary complaint. My settled and calm nature allows me to go on in this way for weeks or months at a time. Until, I crack it.

Yes folks, every now and again, I lose my temper. Whilst this is not unknown to the family it is always a shock. They have received very little, if any, notice as to the storm brewing and when the storm breaks over them it is a complete mystery to them. My husband, being true to his nature tries to bring a halt to the storm immediately. Just what is this ruckus all about??

However, those slow to anger are not necessarily those fastest to settle down, either. This situation can find me needing to walk and that's what I did last night. Completely unaware, it seems, that he was pushing me too far with his comments, I got out of the car (we'd gone to town for supplies) and started walking. Of course, he tried to settle me but it was much too soon for that and in the end he asked did I want a lift back home or did I want to walk? I wanted to walk.

Now, I was all steamed up; no doubt about it, but at the same time, I could see the funny side of this. It was rather dark. I was in the country and technically I should have been frightened. But, I was not at all frightened. I considered what I might do if someone approached me. And, then I thought, well who the hell would dare approach me right now? I must be giving off so many angry signals. Who would have the tenacity to confront me right now? And, it did make me smile; the thought of me being able to send them scrambling with just my negative emotions. Of course, once I had spent some energy walking, I was able to see clearly and that it was a storm in a teacup, and the night was ended happily. I apologized first. This is mandatory. And, then he said he was sorry, too.

My point is this: women do get angry; emotional, steamed up; crazy! I do anyway. And, what does my husband do when it is actually me who loses her temper? He becomes very calm, quiet, controlled, sensible, conciliatory; while I act like a goose who just lost its head.

And, who feels vulnerable in those moments? I do. It is one of his dirty deeds and clever tricks to agitate me to breaking point and then when I break, look like butter would not melt in his mouth.

We've done this before. We'll do it again. My eldest son who witnessed one of these events a month or so ago, came to me and hugged me and said, "It's because you love one another so much. People who love one another do crazy shit. That's why I am not in a relationship right now. I needed a break."

Of course, I laughed. He was so right. Neither my husband nor I is perfect, but we remain in love; loving, intensely involved in one another's lives; forever joined; passionate, about one another and about life.

You might have noticed that I tend to give the appearance that he is the passionate, emotional one. Well... maybe, I have my days, too!

Choosing to struggle

I think I have earned my stripes (little joke there!) as a submissive woman by now. After all of these thousands of words of my thought processes, wants, needs and desires, I think that is a given. Yet, after all this time and all those words I can also say with authority that ceding control is rarely easy for me.

Is this a contradiction in terms? I say it is not. I know that some women take to their submission like a duck to water and all power to them. I am not one of those ducks. I feel internal struggle in about the same quantities as I feel a sense of coming home in being submissive. In other words, I am regularly in internal struggle with the giving up of control. Relinquish it I do, but not without a struggle.

I really do not wish for control, necessarily. I don’t care to be controlling or to boss or to have great responsibilities on my shoulders. I’m not the sort of mother that wants to have her chickens live in the same location as her all their lives, for example. If one chooses Paris, the other London and another New York, so be it. I only want their happiness and satisfaction and I can adapt to their needs. I know how to buy a plane ticket.

Nor am I a fool. I married a man who demands to be in control; not just in terms of our path through life but of the most minor of details. No woman who demanded control of him would last three hours let alone 30 years. Yet, when he instructs me how to do something that I have done thousands of times before perfectly satisfactorily, I can feel my ire rise. Almost always, I bite down on the irritation and allow it to pass without expressing it. I’ve learnt over time that it is not worthwhile to express my frustration. It is a far better outcome for me in the long run to bite down on the irritation and let it pass away. There is nothing I hate more than getting a telling off for being rude at such moments. It only exacerbates the whole getting irritated thing by a country mile.

My husband has learned that when I am agitated or out of sorts it doesn’t do to leave me to fester. These are moments when I need to feel his control to get back my equilibrium and he’ll demand of me something that I don’t want to do. Inch by inch he brings me back to that little space of mine where I find the most comfort – my place, on the bottom. But, I don’t go there, quite often, without a bit of a struggle. I don’t necessarily go there willingly at all. I’ve wondered at times, if there was a photographer there at those moments, could he or she manage to capture that internal struggle?

Of course, I know that I might never get to that happy place of mine without a committed man in my life. Any man who thought, “Oh well, I guess she just doesn’t feel like submitting today...” would not work for me. I need to feel that resolve. There is little that I cannot do now in the hands of a committed and caring dominant.

But, I do have a sticking point and I rather hope that all submissive women do, too. A submissive woman deserves respect and she needs to feel that respect at all moments; no matter what it is she is being asked to do; no matter what is happening to her; and no matter how debased she has become for him in any given moment. I think there is a real risk in this dynamic that a man might forget how essential respect is to a submissive woman. She gives of herself to him, for him and for the betterment of the power exchange they share. If she smells the slightest sniff of disrespect in the air; if she needs to wonder for half a second if he is exhibiting a lack of respect for her, then she will back away for fear that the trust she has put in his hands has been corrupted.

She needs to know with certainty that whilst he will do things that hurt her, he would never want to hurt her feelings. She needs to know with certainty that whilst he will do things that suggest he does not care about her, he will always care for her and want the best for her. She needs to know with certainty that whilst he has sadistic leanings, he would hate to think he has damaged her sense of him as her protector.

I think a submissive woman has a most healthy dose of self-respect. She may crave to submit to a man but when she does so it is with the sure knowledge that she is a confident woman who has given of herself because it is her choice. Should he take her for granted, she may choose again.

In gratitude

How can it be that she sits so still and feels so moved?
How can it be that she looks much the same but feels so different?
How can it be that she was once so agitated and now feels at peace?
How can it be that her mind worried the future and now dwells contentedly in the present?
How can it be that she feels comfortable in her skin when she recently felt disoriented?

How can it be that despite his absence she feels more connected to him?

She has transformed into the objekt of his desires: desiring, desirable; at peace; seeking more; wanting to be more.

She is less and she is in awe of that.
She is serene.
She is full of gratitude.

She is truly blessed.

The Golden Rule

The Ten Commandments offer us a code of conduct by which we may live our lives, but it is the ‘Golden Rule’, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’ that I have always taken to heart. As a mother one finds oneself saying quite often over the years statements such as, “Well, how would you like it if you didn’t receive a call thanking you for the gift you gave her?” and so on. It just always seemed to me that whatever our faith it was a maxim by which to live life.

In the past few days, I have been doing some reading about the Golden Rule and discovered that in all times and in virtually all religions there has been and still is one form of the Golden Rule or another. Forever, it has been written down that we should treat others in a manner than we would want to be treated.

Yet, there are critics of the Golden Rule because they take it further than an ethical or a moral stand. When put it into practice, the Golden Rule can fail. It is said that economically we cannot always live by this notion, for we are competitors and the rule of survival insists that we do not always treat others as we would wish to be treated. And, of course, in war, the theory falls down, although most nations have, at least in theory, honoured the code that prisoners of war are not tortured.

As it applies on these pages about domination and submission, the Golden Rule can be troubling. It was in fact George Bernard Shaw who once said that "The golden rule is that there are no golden rules". Shaw said, "Do not do unto others as you would expect they should do unto you because their tastes may not be the same." Hence, a masochist and a sadist would not want to be treated in the same way since their tastes are not aligned.

Of course, as practitioners and observers of the power exchange dynamic we know that this is a bit trite. In fact, we do all want to be treated in much the same way; dominant or submissive. We all want the other to be honest, to be caring and/or loving, to trust and to be trustworthy. Yes, one leads and the other follows but that does not mean that the same ethical standards do not apply to both persons.

A lovely woman wrote to me a while ago of her hurt when her mentor suddenly disappeared from her life. He had been kind and good and helped her a great deal and suddenly he was gone. She thought I might understand how she felt. And, I did. I did understand. We all have certain expectations, I think, and one of those expectations is that people say their ‘goodbyes’, if they must. We find our host at the end of the evening to offer our thanks for a lovely party. We say goodbye to a parent or child before we leave the house, even if there has been a quarrel. We say goodnight to our spouse, regardless of what has gone on that day. We do these things because it is the right thing to do and we know that, deep in our souls, if no other place.

I knew he should have said goodbye to her and she knew that I knew that he should have said goodbye to her. Still, the merciful side of me felt obliged to suggest that perhaps he could not say goodbye. Perhaps he felt a sense of guilt or some other negative emotion that did not allow him to do what he knew, no doubt, he should do. Or, perhaps he just didn't think how he would have felt if she had done that to him. I try hard to find the good in people, to recognize their limitations and to work with that, to the extent possible. None of us is perfect and there is most surely a place for forgiveness; to give forgiveness and to ask for it.

Whatever our religion or our upbringing or the country or community in which we were raised, there is a sense of decency that applies to us all. We really do know the right thing to do. We just slip in our standards. We get sloppy.

At this time of the year, many of us will be reflecting on our faith and considering ways in which we may be a better person; cleansing our souls, perhaps. I hold to the long held notion that if we treat others as we would like to be treated; if civility and manners and a code of conduct were uppermost in our minds, we would all be the benefactors of a better world. I am proud to be in a power exchange dynamic that holds both participants to the highest standards.