How words arouse

I went to see the psychologist yesterday, the one that I saw a few years ago. I was more open with her. I told her my issues and I told her that I knew myself to be a submissive requiring a loving Dominant. I explained to her that I had expressed my needs and my sorrows at not having my needs met to my husband but that he seemed not to be able to take the message in; as if he hadn't heard or could not process the words, or as if it was outside his power to assist me.

She is always very honest with me and she told me that there was nothing more that she could do for me; that the cognitive therapy had resulted in me being an assertive woman who knew how to take care of myself; how to talk back to my negative thoughts, to express what I needed; to carve out some time in my life for myself. She praised me for nearly having finished the M.A. and she reminded me that I would have that qualification to take with me into the future - for further study or employment. She told me that I looked wonderful; that she loved the longer hair and that I looked well.

She made a recommendation. On the strength of the path opening up for my husband to receive some medical treatment, she asked if he would agree to couple's counseling. I said I thought so. She told me she had the perfect person for this; someone who specialized in sexual issues and with whom I could be entirely open.

"The thing is" she said to me, "that your husband needs to hear the sort of pain you are in. In therapy together he will see it, really for the first time; how vital this is to your happiness."

I'm exploring this path. Yesterday, when I read her site and sent a message I felt full of forward momentum, but this morning my mind is completely scattered. Okay, I've done a run to the station, taken my son to his last exam for the year, welcomed him home and had a chat, done some gardening, sorted the bedroom and the kitchen but I feel so unfocused - pushing myself to move on rather than sit and stare.

I read this story and I was aware of my breathing altering; of something feeding my soul. The simple and direct instructions, his calling her "lass"; the palpabe desire to be taken that emanated through the story. There was nothing else to do. I went to my bedroom and lay face down on the bed, brought my hands down and pleasured myself to the following images in my head -

I live with a man. Who this man is exactly I cannot say. He may be someone to have I have been sent to be taught how to behave or he may be my Owner. It's just one scene. I can't be at all sure. He is sitting in his special chair by the fire. These men in my fantasies so often are sitting in a chair by the fire, reading. I come in, knowing that it is the right time to do so and he tells me to lift my skirt and to sit my bare bottom on the cushion at his heel. It's a meditation sort of cushion and I'm perfectly comfortable for long periods of time, so long as my knees are wide in front of me.

It's the time of the week when I receive my weekly correction. It's not because I've been bad. It's because it is good for me and helps me to know my place. But, he's not ready yet and the correction takes place when it suits him, not me.

I sit there quietly with my eyes closed and I can hear the flames dance in the fireplace and every now and then I hear a page of his book turn. I've learned patience and I'm calm as I prepare my mind to take pain.

Eventually, maybe half an hour later, but I can't be at all sure of the time passed, I hear the book close and I can feel that he has stood.

"Into position lass." (See how my mind works. I loved RG's use of the word "lass". I had to try it out right away and soon realized it aroused me to the core.)

I stand slowly and find my feet. I'm always a little unstable for a few moments from sitting on the meditation cushion in the meditative stance. I make my way to the wooden bench designed for the purpose of correction, raise my skirt and bend over, holding on tight immediately to the bar on the front of the bench, about a foot from the floor.

He canes soundly. It seems to be important to him that I am challenged and I suspect he likes to hear my whimpers and grunts. When he stops, 25 strokes later, I feel relief it is over but radiate in the glow of my backside. There's nothing quite like a stinging bottom to feel completely alive.

He holds my downturned head firmly with his right palm.

"Good lass. Well done."

As much as I would love to have him plunge inside me and put out the fire, I know he won't. Rather, he tells me to prepare for bed and just as I am finished he gestures for me to bend over. He fills my ass with the large plug, binds my wrist with a cord and tucks me into bed.

"Off to sleep. Right now. There's a good lass."

He turns off the light and closes the door, leaving me to wallow in a deep sense of complete care; the luckiest girl in the world.

Now that I have got that out of my system, I have a rough shot at making this a productive day!