Embracing new challenges

Having the nature that I do, travelling alone with my husband is what I most like to do. Time alone with him in Japan was complete bliss for me, because whilst I don't mind making the odd observation - 'that looks like a lovely place to have lunch' - I am perfectly happy to be led about the country. Sincerely, this was pure happiness for me and I didn't need anything - a most spiritual experience!

Tomorrow, I am about to embark on a purely different spiritual experience; one with much more personal challenge, for me anyway. I fly off to a retreat where I find myself, whether I like it or not, immersed in a meditative experience and learning about a much deeper meditative experience than I have known so far. I'm anticipating some moments of wonder and some moments of absolute and terrifying challenge.

Most people, day by day, don't think all that much about what they eat. I do more than most due to food intolerances that came into my life in the past few years. But, I'm not a 'lacto-vegetarian'. At this retreat there will be no wine, no caffeine, no meat or fish, no dairy, no sugar (except honey). I enter the programme relatively prepared. I've cut down on wine, having my last glass with my husband in the city yesterday as a sort of 'goodbye' lunch. I haven't had caffeine in a week and have got through the headache-y, agitated period that goes with that. I don't eat dairy and  with a vegetarian in the household I can live on a vegan diet relatively happily. I keep my sugar consumption very low, since sugary foods tend to lead to consequences for me, but I don't have a pure no sugar diet. (I'm currently eating a piece of gluten free toast covered in jam as a last hoorah to sugar.) I'll pack some ginseng tea (the only non caffeine tea I actually enjoy over the long haul) and a block of 85% dark chocolate so that if push comes to shove, I'll have something to fall back on. Still, it's a change and a challenge.

Unless the single room comes through, and I suspect they are just playing me along, I'll be sleeping in a room with other people.  For someone who needs private time every single day this is going to be perhaps my greatest challenge, acting like I am enjoying their company in my private space.

The programme itself has its special requirements - up for a 7 am first meditation of the day before breakfast. And, it goes on and on from there. I believe that discussions ensue after dinner that last until about 9.50 pm - 9.30 pm officially, but I'm told that people often can't pull themselves away. For a girl that always has an exit plan out of social occasions - 'I really must get home to the dog and feed her' - it's all quite,quite challenging.

Still, I'm excited! There is no doubt about it. When I discovered the world of D/s and submitting to the will of another, I could not have been more excited. Well, look at that, mid way into my life I had discovered the key to Pandora's Box, a host of fun and thrills; something so very much more exciting than parties or cocktail parties or the usual fun of reality as it had been presented to me.

Then, over time, the spiritual side of life called me. It was a brilliant discovery to learn that I had control over my own mind whenever I wanted. I learnt that I could turn a negative thought into a positive thought; that gratitude, positivity and an increase in empathic responses - a recognition that we are all connected regardless of religion, race or gender - made a significant difference to the quality of my life and those who shared my life. I found myself, mostly, able to notice my thoughts and to understand what may have triggered a feeling of rejection or abandonment. I learnt to see feelings as not mine - my soul -  but rather that feelings would come and go. Only the quiet and stillness within me remained constant. My favourite thought right now is this - that when the soul and the mind are at one, then there is happiness and peace. It's so very true.

Of course, it would be absurd to suggest that I have an A+ in all of this new material. I get anxious. I worry. I can stress out.  I can fear. I'm with Brene Brown  and those folks that connect fear to all negative emotions. Addiction is fear. Overeating is fear. Anxiety is fear. I am still a person who fears some of the time. Hence, the meditation retreat. I want to go further on this quest for personal knowledge.

In the D/s side of my life, I discovered that certain strategies enhance my life; free me from the everyday world which can sometimes get me down. It will be interesting to see if any questions are asked at the airport about the nipple tags and the heavy plug that are both important parts of my person and must make the journey with me. Certain things in life became as integral to my day as brushing my teeth or eating a meal - a meditation cushion, yoga stretches, pluggiz. These are permanent changes just as I aim for a calm mindset, for a non-anxious mind to be a permanent change. Coming back a little thinner is a given. Hopefully, I will also be so serene, I'll shine.

Being oneself

In the early period of writing in this web journal I noted the fact that I masturbated at a very early age. It seemed to be part and parcel of being a kinky girl, since so many other kinky girls had written about this as well.

I don't reject the thought that kinky girls masturbate early but what I also now know is that if a child's emotional needs are not met in childhood they use two tools to soothe themselves: masturbation and food. It stands to reason that this was the primary reason for my nightly activity between the sheets.

It's really very hard to say for sure what were the first images in my head. I was so young; maybe four or five when I started to self stimulate every night, once the lights were off and the covers enclosed me. So, I can't with confidence say that I imagined this or that image as I masturbated at that young age. However, I do know that I have many memories of images where I was being disciplined and humiliated. It was about a school environment, masters and mistresses. Considerably later, it moved into domestic environments, and even later, it became debauched; multiple use; orgies, the whole gamut of the sexual experience on the big screen in my head.

School, at first, my real school that is, was a frightening place for me. For two years it all felt foggy, wobbly. I think what happened, though I have no proof to offer, is that the teachers were making me write with my right hand when I am most certainly a left handed person. I remember having to write on the board and looking back on what I had written. It seemed indecipherable. My reports for the first two years of school, which I still have, make clear that I was unsettled and unfocused. I needed to "try harder". If you then read the report for Second Grade you'd swear this was the report of a different child. It is glowing; a high achiever, focused, motivated and self disciplined.

Of course, when I was a child there was no ADHD diagnosis, no panic attack or anxiety diagnosis; no assistance for a child that entered school life feeling foggy and wobbly. The only other difference between the first few years and Second Grade that I can ascertain, apart from the possible demand that I use my right hand, is the Second Grade Teacher. She was a tough Irish woman who brooked no nonsense and, as I recall, demanded performance from me. I was her mission and I think it is fair to say that one way or the other she got me going at school, even though I feared her and thought her a mean person. I think I just responded to the attention she gave me, even if it was not always pleasant.

At about the same time as I became this model student my ballet years were settling into place. I started ballet early at age 4, I think it was, and the first few years there were wobbly too. My ballet master was extremely strict and not afraid to criticize. I somehow found myself thriving in a strictly controlled environment where excellence was demanded of me. If you didn't get it right the first time you just kept doing it until you got it right. This was all fodder for my nights, when I masturbated myself to sleep to images of this sort of containment, including corporal discipline; something which I never received at home at any age. It wasn't the real life people in my imaginations but rather faceless sorts of people who performed roles; disciplinary roles.

For those who did in fact get a paddling or a spanking when little I don't have any doubt that most of them find this a most galling memory. If it happened to me I suppose I'd feel the same way. But, left to my own devices to more or less bring myself up, it strikes me as caring, assuming it was about care and not about abuse. In my fantasies someone cared enough to monitor, to create expectations, to discipline when there was wrong doing. These images of being disciplined were soothing to me, you see. There was a fear factor, definitely, but it was under the auspices of it being for my own good too.

I do have a couple of memories of the Third and Fourth Grades. By third grade I'd developed a fear of making a mistake such that my anxiety made it difficult for me to focus on the meaning of words at times. I imagine that, using today's understanding of what can happen to children I was having a panic attack, not unlike the way my youngest child had panic attacks in the classroom in Grade 7 when we got him some therapy for this debilitating situation. But, I got the results somehow or other and navigated my way through to the end of school frustrating most teachers because my exam results were rarely up to the expectations they had of me given my standard of work through the year in class. I lived a certain kind of hell during exams since my brain would freeze and I'd only remember snippets here and there.

If you fast forward to when I was having my first child, I undertook a Diploma of Education wherein there was a subject 'Educational Psychology'. Between the baby's naps I prepared for the final exam. I still have a vivid image of sitting in the Philosophy Room of my University and seeing the paper for the first time. It was complete gobbledy gook. I knew nothing. I managed to settle myself down with this thought: that I must know something.

Bit by bit, I began to see that I did know something here and there on the paper and over the course of the two hours, more and more knowledge returned to me. I thought perhaps that I might just pass. With trepidation two weeks later I went to the Notice Board and looked up my academic number to discover that I had got 17/20. I was really pleased. I looked down the notice then to see what sort of other marks were recorded and discovered that 17 was indeed the highest mark.

What I have suffered from all my life is not an ability issue and that's not to have tickets on myself. I was just born with some strengths in that department. Where I am very weak is in self esteem and self confidence. I can struggle to have confidence as to my ability to complete a task well, a perfectionism that can hold me back. And, I can have very weak self-esteem, an inability to believe that I am good enough as I am; that I have inherent worth as I came into the world.

It is an undeniable fact that my issues are greatly improved when I accept that I am a woman who needs a dominant man in her life. I really would hate to be that person. Honestly. I'm not easy to keep in line. My head can reject that need. Other women around me don't need that sort of supervision and containment. But, I do. I do. I do. I do. That's just a simple fact.

I've spoken to a number of dominant men in my life, mostly via this blog, but via other routes as well, and I know that each man has his own approach. These approaches rarely resonate with me. I am not sure why this is. Sometimes I think, well, I can't actually be 'submissive' since simply being obedient or serving doesn't do it for me.

What happened to me is that one day I began to correspond and then chat with this one person, and something therein clicked for me. It was something about an element of care that I felt. He was definitely getting something out of it for himself to have these chats. Why else would he or anyone else keep chatting? But in his case it felt that he had somehow got to the core of my needs; needs that I didn't understand myself. But, he did.

He talks about me needing to be "anchored" and interestingly I think my ground chakra is by far the weakest. I am much too often in my head. I live up there when I need to feel the ground under my feet.

Pia Mellody talks and writes about self esteem being made up of values, power and abundance notions in our heads. Self esteem is in tact when we say to ourselves that we matter as we are, when we have self control and self containment, and good self care.

There's a part of me that feels that I should be able to get to this place of healthy self esteem all on my own. I don't feel that I should be leaning on someone else to get me through this. Yet, it is hard to dispute the facts as I know them to be. I've a certain 'bimbo' sort of disposition. I do best when certain methods are used; methods for which I have a love/hate relationship. I feel, on certain days, that I am weak to need this, and yet, I rise up when those methods are in place. I am indeed anchored.

There is no one 'right' way for all of us. We do all have certain human emotional needs, of course. There are wonderful tools available for the recovery process useful for all who have need of them. I am glad to have them at my disposal. I am also relieved to have kinkiness at my disposal. It's when I accept all of me that I really thrive.

Modification

The record shows that I've been anally 'trained'. It's not just about anal sex being easier. Maybe it is all about that for some people, but it's not so in my case. It's got a great deal to do with how I function best. I sometimes refer to it as an addiction, because I have come to rely on anal plugs as being an important part of my life. They are necessary for my well-being. They cannot be done without. There's no negotiation here. If you have high blood pressure you take some sort of medication for that. I use anal plugs for my own good mental health.

You'd think - my goodness, after all this time it's a reasonable damn assumption - that I wouldn't forget this; that it would not slip my mind. You'd also think, that like someone who takes lithium for a condition, you'd reconcile yourself to the fact that you must take your medication every single day.

In an ideal world, in an ideal mindset, this would be the case. I don't think a Dominant should necessarily be the one to insist that the treatment is taken routinely. But, being dumdum sometimes happens to even the smartest people. It happened to me this morning.

I semi-woke aware of there being something wrong. It can be hard to identify what is wrong in that sleepy state but I recall making the effort to go and retrieve a plug and insert it. In my haze more sleep won over my understanding of what I should do. The day got going. I dressed and did some chores, but this aggitation refused to let go of my psyche. Nothing was going quite like I'd like it to go. In my mind that was a much bigger deal than it ought to have been.

Two hours later the aggitation was still firmly in place and refusing to budge. I worked through it, in the sense that it didn't derail my plans, but the world, even with the winter sun painting a shine over the day, was annoying the hell out of me. I knew enough to know that my company was of no worth to anyone. Oh sure, I listened to the Moroccan boy wax lyrical about his new cheese, and the flower girl and I talked plant species, but inside I just wanted to put my head in my hands and be by myself.

I came home. All I could think to do was to take a 'St. John's Wort' tablet. These nerves were too close to the surface. Something needed to settle them down. And, then, the thought was there. What about plugggi?? PLUGGGI. Of course. It had been days since I had embraced plugggi.

I moved quickly, anxious for that moment when it hits home. And, there it was...

A blank mind.
Aggitation gone.
Peace.

Is it all in my mind? Has the suggestion been put into my head that I must use pluggi every day, forever? Was my mind manipulated to suit his fancy? Or, did it just happen that way - that my body accommodated pluggi and insisted thereafter that an empty hole was an unnatural state? Or, both?

Well, it is done now, written in stone. It doesn't really matter how it happened any more.  Pluggi = peace. That's just the way it is.

Bodily sensation

In the absence of adequate stimulation being applied to my body, I apply it myself. I did so just now. It occurred to me about an hour ago that I'd like to push into my ass the plug that I refer to as Mr Bom. Everything about this process is a ritual that transforms my thinking brain to the parred down  space to which I am addicted.

I gather the plug, lube, baby wipes and a towel. I undress, lay down on my side and lube the plug with care. I bring him to the hole and whilst I very slowly ease him in, I close my eyes. It's a very meditative, no-thought sort of time when I am only aware of the sensations I am creating. At his thickist part I must endure, riding over that sensation of being stretched to the max and then giving one big final push inwards to enable him home.

I am instantly immobilized; self bondage. For up to a minute I cannot move, think, speak or even take in my surroundings. I am absorbed in the sensations which I assume are not dissimilar to taking cocaine. It's a trip and one I repeat routinely. Yes, I am an addict.

A few minutes later, my whole body responds sexually. I am completely aroused and the urge to touch myself is overwhelming. Images flood my brain. I am contained in various ways, tied up, humiliated and beaten. I'm reminded of my status, my position and place. I was born, and shall remain all my life, a submissive girl, I am told. I am to do as I'm told and be punished if I disobey.

My body is marked with implements to remove me of my ego and 'tags' are pierced into my body as permanent pieces of jewellery. These 'tags' are symbols of my high status. I am owned! I'm trained for my body to be thought of as an object that is owned. When I'm told to kneel my mouth cunt opens automatically to satisfy its true purpose. I radiate joy as I provide joy.

This is how I am loved, how I love and how I live. In these day dreams, I am blissfully me. Is it little wonder I love Mr Bom very much.

Dirty minds

I confess. I do enjoy my Tumblr account very much and I do watch the odd little clip that gives me even more insight into a photograph such as the one above. It was in a documentary about making porn where I watched a girl in the same testing position as the girl here. Her mouth wasn't gagged and she was calling out phrases, "oh, my poor little hole, my poor little hole". Maybe she had rehearsed the line, but the words and sounds she emitted sounded authentic, the sort of whimpers and cries and pleas that any girl in a similar situation is likely to produce! Finally she said with desperation evident in her voice, "I can't take any more, I can't take any more...", but on the camera rolled, the producers waiting to see, I think, if she calmed down a little, could take a little more, pushing and prodding her mind as well as her ass.

It's an interesting thing to consider, arousal and libido and its relationship to the power of suggestion. I lived 50+ years before I ever saw such a evil contraption and yet the moment I saw it my mind was turned 'on'. That's probably because I was ready to see it. I had explored power exchange enough whereby the notion of the body of a 'toy' being trained in various ways was acceptable to me, to the point where it was arousing to my mind to observe.

In fact, I lived 50+ years before I knew very much about the range of sexual activities at all. My own rather perverse mind had gone as far as it could go without training or someone in my life actually wanting and needing me to go much further in my explorations. When I was introduced to various new ideas, some were embraced immediately and others took time to cement themselves in my mind. It's very far from a situation where I was comfortable with more extreme thoughts overnight. It was a step by step process. Objectification, humiliation play and the owning of 'property' is not suited to those in a hurry. My point is that if you plan to train a girl (or bottom) it's best to have a good supply of patience and to accept that it may be two steps forward and one step back for quite some time. There is quite a lot to take on here.

I think energy for life comes in all sorts of guises. If one puts a great deal of energy into, say, painting or writing or trading markets or model car collecting, there may not be quite as much available sexual energy in that person. The time and effort they put into those other endeavors may be compensation for, or an alternative to, the energy they might have put into exploring sex and the body. Neither is the right or wrong way to live, but to have a robust sexual life, it takes two people who share an interest in sexual exploration and challenge. To have a robust and fulfilling power dynamic it takes consistent effort on both sides.

Over time, the sexual act can become repetitive and relationships can morph into something other than what began as the union of two young libidinous souls. For some people they move on, putting their pent up energies into other pursuits (bridge, tennis, sports cars, what have you...) whilst in other cases, one or both of the members of the union decide to ram it up a bit, to try new activities, new games, and even to do a little 'mind fucking'.

Although to many people the above image seems severe and off-putting, mean and nasty stuff, to other people, such as women like me who like to imagine being put in this situation, as challenging as it is on various levels (!), it's an incredible turn on. What I have come to understand is that sometimes a woman needs to say "oh, that's gross and offensive and I hate it" before she can say one day later, or months later in time, "okay, the truth is that that is a real turn on, but I think I'm not meant to say that or think that..." It takes time and patience, just quietly and consistently penetrating a woman's mind before she'll show you just how dirty it really is.

Restoring peace strategies

I recently had reason to return to some material written years ago on this web journal and the most curious comment I came across was that someone had noted that misery was not my kink. I had written about an episode in my kinky life that implied it was a miserable situation (challenging, yes, but miserable, no) and that's what prompted the comment. She is quite right that misery is not my kink. Other people's pain affects me deeply, in fact, and perhaps it is because of the fact that I am so affected by that pain that I need to restore my sense of peace using various strategies.

If you look at the early entries I'm pretty bubbly - both in a happy bubble and full of glee, really, to be in this space at all. I made the comment to a friend in chat, says the record, "It's been a bit of a dream come true for cindi." Honestly, if it all stopped right now, or I stopped living and someone read this record, may the record show that I was happy beyond all measure to have had my time in the sun here.

This is the whole point. cindi may have moments of angst, challenge and even sadness but apart from those moments in her life, she's full of light. She shines. She glows. I try, every day, to give her a little time to herself. That's not always easy, and sometimes unachievable, but on the whole I give her permission to be in the sun routinely.

Often, that cindi time is spent alone, not because it is preferred to be alone, but circumstances don't allow a partner in the play as often as she would like. The hood comes out and gets stretched over the head. She lays there quietly breathing, taking in big gulps of air through the nostrils, her only form of oxygen, and she feels the lightness and empty headedness return. She feels free and carefree.

Or, she takes the bulbous butt plug and by her own hand pushes it into her and waits for its effect to take over her mind and her body. No longer empty, she feels far more at home; far more authentic; far more alive.

No, misery is not my kink. That's an absolutely true statement. I'll do almost anything to be uplifted; to seek the joy; to find the trapdoor. Happiness and joy: that's my kink. Definitely.

The masochistic urge

Last night I experienced what I will call a 'masochistic urge'. I woke in the night, my mind a continuous moving image of sadistic romp. My light nightgown had moved up so that I was more or less exposed and my body was crying out for some sort of sensation. I knew that I had to do something to relieve what I will refer to as 'emotional pain'. I felt ungrounded; free floating. I was profoundly aware of an open cunt, and also conscious that my ass was empty. It felt so very wrong to feel this way; totally unmoored.

I had a few thoughts as to how to relieve this state of despair. More than aware that I needed to feel something, I pinched the skin of my right wrist and felt a mild relief, but not enough to do any lasting good. Remembering that I was at the holiday house with few supplies at my disposal I decided to get up and have some Panadol and then scrunch up tight, night gown covering me and to will myself to sleep. In the dark, I could find no Panadol and there remained only one thing to do.

I reached for an anal plug, coated it with some lube and put it in place within seconds. I squeezed. My goodness, instant relief! I felt grounded now, much better equipped for the rest of the night ahead. I got back into bed and squeezed and squeezed, and much like a parent rocking a child to sleep in his cot, I lulled myself back to sleep in this way.

This morning I have been aware of a general agitation. I know what I need and I can't seem to get it. I can't seem to convince my partner in life of this need of mine to be dominated at his will on some sort of a regular basis. It is like chalk and cheese, really. How can you explain to someone that has never had these needs that they are real, invasive, chronic and can't be helped?

It's not about the pain. I don't necessarily need pain. I don't need him to make welts or bruises necessarily. It's much more simple than that. I need to feel sensation. We have delivered every day a newspaper rolled up tight in plastic and a dozen whacks of this provides me with sensation that is satisfactory to settle down this impulse of mine which leaves me so very agitated. It's not really that complicated or that hard to achieve relief. What happens is that the tension, the tightness in my body is released and I can relax.Which is not to say that I don't appreciate the force of something more intense, just that he doesn't need to feel that he needs to do that everytime if he doesn't want to.

One time recently he 'attacked' me on the couch when he came home. I can't even quite remember what he was doing but I do remember he was twisting my nipples and holding my cunt and providing a lot of sensation that had me squealing in spite of a son being home. Afterwards, and during in fact, I felt fantastic. So, I don't think it is about pain really but more about some force and intention with a little pain thrown in for good effect.

To be clear, I do like to be intensely challenged. I like to be tied up and taken beyond the limits of my pain threshold but I don't need that all the time. Something faster and easier can fill the gap during those sessions.

When I am in this agitated, needy state I often feel that I have built up a head of steam and I need to release it any way I can. This leads to a blitz of the house or a fast walk/jog in the park. It feels that, since I can't get the sensation my body demands I need to relieve the pent up agitation and anxiety with speed and output. I just need to do something with my body to let go of excess energy and tightness.

I have been trained to provide myself with relief. This, as far as I can tell, is what the plugs are about for me - to provide me with a way to give myself some masochistic relief from being overly stimulated by these bodily needs. I can give myself sensation on a daily basis and I can feel the grounded effect of wearing a large, heavy plug in my ass.

This does work. It has provided me with an enormous amount of relief from the masochistic urge; satisfied the urge. It's a lot of arousal to deal with, sometimes more than I have a clue what to do with, but I won't focus on that dilemma today. I'll just say that the arousal I experience can lead me to lay off the plugs which then creates the need for more masochism; a viscious cycle if ever there was one. My achilles heel is that I live with intense, dramatic, invasive, overwhelming and chronic arousal. Sigh.

Of course, even a masochist shies away at times from inflicting pain/sensation on herself. It's not always an easy thing to do. Far easier, for the sadistic partner/top to enforce this sort of regimen on her. That makes far more sense to her and is so much easier to achieve. One can relieve oneself of any sense of guilt or shame by passing it over to the other. Yes, we do do that. And, it makes sense. It means that we are not alone. We are understood. This means everything.

I've heard gay people say they wish they were 'normal', but it isn't the case. I feel this way sometimes. How sweet it would be, I think on occasion, to be a 'normal' woman who got her rocks off visiting Positano or being an Auxiliary Member of the National Library, or playing bridge. The fact is that my life is controlled by my needs. I'm a slave to my body's demands and nothing thrills me more than when my body achieves the satisfaction that allows my spirits to soar. Then, I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Scripting a fantasy

It's impossible to not write here right now because if I don't write here right now, nothing else of worth will get done, so don't mind me, just go about your business and ignore this piece of dirty writing.

It all began yesterday afternoon. Well, no, it all began yesterday morning when I was given one of those spankings that are given for my own good. We call them 'sensory integration spankings'. Then, some use; a lovely breakfast out. We slowed right down after that and I sat down with my tumblr scroll. I was allowing the photographs to roll down in front of me, looking for something juicy when, lo and behold, there before me was the full version of the film, 'The Story of O'. I didn't move for the next hour and half. It's very old now but it still takes me places that I adore.

The first time I saw it, and I haven't seen it since that day, I was about 16 and when I came home, alone in my bed, my body climaxed in a way it never had before. Of course, I must have read the story hundreds of times since then, but watching it on the screen was really something else again.

I used to wonder about this desire of some men to loan out a woman to other men. I had trouble totally comprehending what they saw in this but I think I see it now. What complete ownership of a woman is this that he decides that another man may have her for an evening, or even for a few minutes, because he has deemed that he may do so; that he is in such possession of her that he is comfortable that she will accept his command and that she will return to him afterwards. She does what he says to do, comfortable in the decision because she is that at peace in being owned by him.


I slept well; don't think I dreamed. However, upon waking I could feel my body on fire. I've been told that my fantasy life doesn't mean all that much. After all, it is I that controls the fantasy. Yes, I get that, but I still enjoy my fantasies a great deal; still get a lot of succor from them.

It went like this. I was owned by another one of those faceless men. I couldn't tell you if he was blond or dark, tall or short (although he did have a particularly long and thick cock...), only that he was my owner and that when he gave a direction, I complied. It was early Saturday morning when he told me that it was to be a weekend of silence and that I was not to look at him. There was no argument over this at all. Our agreement was such that he directed, I complied.

Since it was to be a quiet weekend, it became a weekend of catching up on paperwork for him. He had me kneel by his side at his desk, naked, close enough that he could touch me at any time. He had a penchant for the riding crop that weekend, and as he laid it over my bare rump, three times each day (he had a tendency to be methodical and ritualistic), he would comment on how much he loved to see the marks, and how proud I must be to wear those marks of ownership.

Although I could not utter a word, and he put the ball gag in while whipping me to ensure that no words left my mouth, he spoke to me almost non-stop, telling me how beautiful I looked and how pleased he was with me. He caressed my body, told me often how delightful it was to see my asscunt stretched out by the big plug. In fact, he kept it in nearly constantly, only taking it out to wash me and to allow me to empty out, only to return it to stretch out the hole again overnight. He used me after a bath, and before he returned the plug, by the way, because that was convenient and that way his semen could slowly leak out. He told me that the plug was an extension of him and since he could not always be inside me, the plug took his place.

I remember him washing me particularly. He did it tenderly and I particularly remember feeling so proud of my status as the white washcloth gently was rubbed over my rings of ownership that were through my nipples and my pussy lips. I remember feeling beautiful. I remember feeling very happy and very deeply at peace. I rejoiced in it all; even the pain. 

As you can imagine, by the end of the fantasy (and there's a lot more detail since these fantasies can go on for a good hour) I was soaked in sweat. The silk nightie I was wearing was wet and sweat dripped from my face; was through my hair. Okay, it's just a fantasy. I controlled it. But, boy, did I ever have fun scripting it. Now, it's onto other thoughts, I hope.

Objectification desires

I was talking to my husband this morning; one of those talks when I try to be intimate with him, by way of words. I told him that I had given him a very hard task in life really. He wasn't expected to be just my husband, but also my father, my brother; my dominant lover. I acknowledged that it can't be an easy task.

Of course, I did have a father and I do have a brother, and I'm loved, but neither man loved me in such a way as to want to nurture me, I think. I don't think about it too often because it is simply my reality; a reality I can't change. Still, I wanted to acknowledge to my husband that there hadn't been a male figure in my life in a family sense who could aid my husband to nurture me in any way. This had probably made his role all the more difficult.

I also shared with my husband a situation that had occurred during the week. Lorraine (not her real name) and I  were the last two women to leave a group of women having coffee after an exercise session. Lorraine wanted to share with me details about her marriage of 37 years which ended in divorce 6 years ago. She wanted to tell me of her experiences at dating since the divorce and her man of the moment who appears to have no assertiveness. She wanted to know what she should do. She's spent the majority of her life with an assertive/take charge man and was it even possible that she could come to enjoy a much quieter and less assertive man; someone who after four months of weekly dating still hasn't got beyond a kiss goodnight?

"Is it me?" she asked me.
"You want intimacy. You want to be as close with a man as you can. You have a particular nature and it is hard for you to be the instigator of things. I understand that," I replied.
"Yes. I do. I may be 61 but I want intimacy and I am used to a man taking charge of the situation."

It was my pleasure to talk with her. I don't mind at all listening to people express themselves, but it did occur to me that this happens to me quite frequently and it causes me to reflect. Any emotional anguish I experience takes places behind closed doors and here in this web journal. So, to meet me what you see is a well dressed woman who smiles frequently; a woman who appears happy, content, stable, financially secure and happily married. I guess I must also come across as non-judgmental, open and willing to listen, but not smug, or so wrapped up in her own life that I am at all a threat.

For instance, a woman, a stranger to me, did the same thing yesterday afternoon at the afternoon tea after a funeral where she told me, over the course of an hour, about her son's autism, the behavior training methods they had used and so on. I did share a little bit of my own knowledge - I happened to know an autistic boy who snow skis with her son. However, what I shared did not relate to questions she asked me about myself because she didn't ask me any questions about myself.

Rightly or wrongly, my emotional pain takes place with myself fairly exclusively, except on those rare occasions when the distress spills over in my own home, or occasionally over coffee with my mother. Even then, I recover as fast as I can because what alternative is there? What ails me has no solution, it would seem, which is galling because I do love to say to the children, 'Every problem has a solution.'

In a nutshell my problem is that is I need a large helping of intimacy on a regular basis. To be more specific, I need my intimacy in a particular way. To explain that a bit more, I enjoy instruction. I enjoy the discipline of receiving instruction. I don't so much enjoy to initiate myself as I enjoy that someone takes from me.  This is the transference of energy from them to me that I crave.

When intimacy is available to me and I can bunker down into that deeply meditative and blissful state of being 'taken', my spirits rise and life becomes easy. The emotional pain I might have been experiencing is washed away. I am able then to offer kindnesses and compassion; to be, in essence, the initiator after that. However, without some dominant display I remain, as my husband likes to say, "the dolly on the shelf." I can't come down until I am brought down. Conversely, I can flirt, but when I feel the dominant energy is present or will be appreciated.

Alas, I'm all too aware of this failing of mine. It might be early morning and I contemplate waking my husband with some advance, but if his dominant energy towards me has been absent, a move in his direction is like asking me to put my hand out and pat a poisonous snake. I am just not going to be able to do that and so I remain 'on the shelf', perpetually in wait. I am hurt really. I feel rejected and abandoned and in that state of mind it's awfully hard for me to ask for intimacy.

Randomly, this week my husband told me he had read of anal stretching being associated with an increase in oxytocin. Of course, we all know that sexual pleasure is a wonderful way of relaxing the body and the mind, but anal intercourse or use of a largish anal plug can create feelings of euphoria that, in my experience, go beyond your everyday orgasm. Whether it is oxytocin or something else entirely I cannot say but my body certainly creates some sort of pleasure drug. I refer to it as being "opened". My body and my mind are opened up in very special ways and these experiences are very happy ones for me wherein any sort of identity is simply unnecessary and unwanted. I'm in a state of objectification, something I do for myself, that makes it possible for me to flourish as a human being. My mind is opened to all sorts of perversions. Gosh, I love that. And, my body is tuned and turned on in a way that makes me feel totally alive.

I'm well aware that with a deeply perverted man I truly would flourish. He could buy me masks that cover my face tightly. He could put me in a latex dolly suit and watch my identity melt away. He could call me his doll, his slut, his fuck toy, it, or 'hol' and I'd not just be okay with this. I'd relish it. I'm so aware of all this potential inside me for delicious debauchery; objectification; the possibility to let go in the deepest way and just enjoy whatever comes. I'd adore him for it. He could do what he will to me, and as a result of that intimacy, that care and trust, I'd hold him in the highest esteem. Truly, I hunger for that outcome every day of my life.

And yet, here I am, faithful to a man whom I love, and with whom I expected to spend my days until death comes to me, who is experiencing a malaise that makes very little of this possible. I struggle. I struggle to accept these limitations and restrictions. I wonder how I can go on, knowing all the infinite possibilities for peace and bliss, for intimacy and care, yet denied them. Where the answer lies, if there is indeed an answer to my dilemma, I just don't know.

Merry (kinky) Christmas

The shopping was done, the Christmas Eve dinner cooked and eaten when I decided to have a sneak peak at my emails before finalizing the wrapping of presents this evening. Lo and behold, what did I find but an email from my friend Abel Jenkins alerting to me the fact that I had won an award! I could not have been more surprised, nor more honored to read Abel's very generous and glowing remarks. Thank you, most sincerely, my friend. My writing here is very much a labor of love and I am thrilled you are enjoying it.

I know it is traditional at this time to wish readers a very Merry Christmas and I do, of course, hope that your day is filled with love and happiness. However, I can't resist also taking this opportunity to share how very possible it is to include kinkiness into a very busy festive season.

It has been a very hectic period of time for me. Like so many mothers, the bulk of the responsibility for a happy Christmas for family members falls on my shoulders and there does come a moment when Christmas can seem more work than joy. It's not that I don't enjoy Christmas, it's that mothers do eventually tire.

I had no more than a few minutes chat with a close friend this morning before I needed to head out to the nail salon for the first appointment of their busy day. A girl can go without much rest during stressful periods of time, but a girl can't go without her fortnightly trip to the nail salon. Let me assure of this.

My friend knows that I need to express my kinky side very regularly or else I tend to run down, so I shared with him, knowing that he would understand, that as I awoke I had some lovely contained thoughts to start my day - nothing severe, but contained in my thoughts was I, nonetheless.

"Relish in it," he replied, an acknowledgement from him, yet again, that the whole idea was to enjoy the expression of my true self.

This exchange isn't a one-way street by any means and I also wanted to remind him to relax and enjoy his kinky thoughts, a few moments of interlude in his busy work day. What would he like for Christmas, I asked. Hmmm, he wasn't sure.

"A dolly for the day? Someone to tend to his every need?" I suggested.

Oh yes, he thought that would be yummy. I could almost hear him already making plans.

I explained that I was off to the nail salon and he voiced his expectation that I would go plugged. The thought had occurred to me, actually. I know what soothes me and aids me in busy periods when I don't have much time to myself. However, I wasn't sure that I wanted to challenge myself too far. I voiced (typed) that sentiment and then he voiced (typed) his.

Of course, he was quite right. I need to be challenged. Challenge enables me to be my true, kinky self - to be aware of that side of me no matter what else I am doing. Challenges contains my submissive nature in a way that elevates my spirit and puts a smile on my face in the toughest Christmas shopping predicament.

To the world at large it looked like I was reveling in preparing for Christmas; peaceful and serene. To those here, there is more to the story, as you would know. Expressing my submissive side, even in this private way, enables me to revel in nearly all experiences. If I were wearing a sign it might say this.

"My name is Vesta and I am a woman with a submissive nature. To express my nature makes me blissfully happy. Right now, even though you can't see,  I'm being contained and challenged. I love every minute of it."

Have a very happy Christmas. Do be nice, but don't forget to be naughty.

D/s and the silly season

At this time of the year, 'real life' can take precedence over our inner lives. There are lunches and cocktail parties, gatherings with work colleagues, family and friends. Those submissive/serving activities that we do on a regular basis at other times of the year can be given a back seat. For me, this is not a good idea.

As December heats up, figuratively and literally, my restless and busy mind can go into overdrive. This can mean that even when exhausted at the end of a long day, perhaps hosting a dinner or working at the textbook exchange all day, or whatever, that I can't sleep well and that the next day turns into one more long list of things to do. Whilst it is meant to be the joyful season, I can find myself not enjoying all this activity and craving some time to myself, which I sometimes simply can't find.

This situation can spiral out of control for me very quickly for a couple of reasons. If one isn't doing what one has agreed to do, the dynamic can feel as if it is 'broken' in some way. Our minds are trained to think of obedience as right and good and so when one isn't obeying, one feels aberrant and out of control; not a good look.

If one isn't obeying, doing those things that are well proven to yield excellent results, then one can't expect excellent results. The restless mind returns. The sense of being  not contained flourishes. It's harmful behavior, much like it would be to not brush one's teeth daily and proficiently, or to not drink water daily and in the required amounts.

If one doesn't do what is known to work then it's a form of disrespect not only to the Dominant but also to oneself. In the space of 24 hours (24 x 60 minutes) can one be serious that 20 minutes a day cannot be found? It's totally erroneous thinking on my part that I am not worthy of that amount of time to myself. Why would I think such a thing?

So, I think, even though we are very busy - frantic - that our rituals and regimens must stay in place during the holiday season. In fact, more than most other times of the year, it is quite vital that we uphold them.

This leads me to the whole business of saying "sorry" and let's get real. In a long standing relationship where two people care for one another there are going to be slip ups. Why a person 'slips up' can be complicated but chances are quite good that a girl (like me) is looking for a correction; to be reined in; contained. Figuring out who is to "blame" can be a quite fruitless task. It happened. Getting back on track is what matters. Of course, behaviors have consequences and maybe she has to catch up on her tasks, or some other correction. I'd imagine that's all fine, so long as the dynamic is restored.

I can't stress this point enough. A girl who has wandered off the track really needs to simply get back on the track and move forward in the right direction. Veering off into the forest will only make her feel (and be) lost. What possible point is there to worrying about who is to blame? Recognize the importance of the dynamic (that the dominant is in charge and that the submissive does what the dominant says), the importance of adhering to the rules and routines of the dynamic and drive on. "To err is human, to forgive, divine."

So often a lack of success in life boils down to not creating good habits. The D/s dynamic can be an outstanding tool for creating good habits in all avenues of life and for both people. The most important thing, I believe, is the dynamic itself, assuming it's a good and worthy relationship between those people. We didn't set it up this way on a whim. We do it because we want it, because it works better than any other dynamic and because it fulfills us both.

P.S. The photograph is for Siranneal - a touch of inspiration for those chaps who like the visual rather the words.

Balancing the needs of kink

Kink doesn't lose any traction over time. It only gets stronger and more demanding.`These desires can overwhelm the mind, take up more and more time until there can come a moment when one registers that perhaps one is out of balance; perhaps one should try hard to think about something else.

When in the midst of one's kink, either satiated, or with a lustful appetite for more expression of the kink, there's a sense that one probably should leave the table for one's own health. Yet, there is more meat on the bone, more trifle, Camembert cheese; more chocolates in the box. And, these banquets don't happen every day. Why not a little more?

It can happen to one person or both; that moment when one simply has to stop ingesting; simply has to stop partaking of the delicious treats. That's not a bad thing. It's an acknowledgement to oneself to go a little slower perhaps; to acknowledge that we can be in the grip at times of our own lust.

I don't advocate and am too far into these processes to ever again STOP what I know does me a heap of good. Kink, for me, doesn't work like that. My needs are my needs and they don't go away for very good reasons. It's not some game for me but rather a real need for my body to experience what it does on a daily basis. It's a treatment of sorts and if you take away the treatments I go down hill very fast.

However, it's no bad thing to redistribute daily life every so often. It's been cold and dull here for far too long but the sun has begun to make an appearance late in the day these evenings and it prompts me to get out and about more; to spread my creativity across various pursuits as a form of personal expression; to interact with creative sorts on various non digital platforms and to enjoy my life in every way.

I don't mean that I should suddenly make a bunch of decisions to counteract my desire to make no decisions at all. That would not work. I need my 'bimbo' time. I adore it too much. What I mean is that the longing for the bimbo state can have me going too slow; leave me in a rather catatonic state where the longing for it becomes too much. The longing can hurt me and be counter-productive and if there's no real solution presenting itself in my life right now as to consistency of that experience, then there comes a time when I need to turn the longing off, for my own sake.

The kink won't, and need not go away. It's here to stay. I have no power to alter this nor do I wish to do so. Yet, there is so much of life to explore and it's time I did just a little more of that. It's all about balance - simply redistributing the thoughts patterns so that they are more in line with what works ideally. The formula for that is within the mind of each kinkster, according to the limitations and precinct of one's life as led with other people. Following one's intuition is really the only way to reconstruct balance.

Obedience

When I want to soothe myself or to radiate in a state of deep ease of thought I imagine myself in the owned state. My thoughts don't pass through my brain but instead I am so wired into the connection with an owner that I simply respond to his words immediately, without thought. It's this state of mind that permeates my mind when it is at deep rest, no matter what variations the moment calls for.

He might want me to train daily, or even three times a day to take a particularly large anal toy; a toy that, if I were to allow my thought processes to take over, might frighten and intimidate me. But, I'm secure in the fact that everything he has me do is right for me, is well thought out by him, and hence I don't need to give it any thought of my own.

Writing right now, with this thought deeply embedded in my psyche and in my soul I am in a state of deep peace. I feel happy. I am not effervescently happy. Rather, it is the sort of happiness when one gets deep in touch with one's own nature. The world stops. There is silence. Bliss.

Right now the word 'obedience' makes me happy. In my marriage, there are no commands. There is no opportunity to obey at this time. I understand that I am on my own in this way at this time. Yet, in my own way I can obey myself and even this is something.


I am calm. I am quiet. I am thinking gentle thoughts.

I say this many times a day to myself and feel that even though I have commanded this of myself, my obedience to this way of life is a something. My nature is not fully expressed but I do understand my nature. I recognize the loss but I am not allowing it to swamp me. On the contrary my spirits have risen. I know exactly why. To obey, to trust. That is everything to me.

More challenge

Having been 'offered' a new challenge lately and finding it extremely difficult I was searching around the Internet for inspiration when I found myself wondering if I might have written about challenge before. Indeed I had written about challenge before. I read the words and everything I felt but was finding hard to process and express were in that post. Hmmm. I'm not as dumdum as I thought.

Perfection

In my experience, submitting is a 'black and white' experience. The sort of dominance that has worked for me is strict and uncompromising. If it is true that a power exchange relationship is what you do with the relationship you have, then it is only going to work with the right personalities that join as a team or partnership. It seems to me that the union of the two people is the crucial thing and in my case I have responded to the sort of dominance that takes no prisoners; that demands and expects my compliance to the rules set.

Knowing that there is no grey area I eventually accepted the rules as they were laid down. I adapted and I thrived under that sort of governance. I saw the point. I recognized the value and the good. I submitted but more than submitting, I embraced the plan. Under this sort of regime, where I comply and accept, all is so very well and good. Praise and admiration flows and the sense of connection is very strong. Happiness on both sides abounds.

But, (and there had to be a but) the day does dawn when things go slightly awry. Comfortable in my space and place, for no good reason a day is taxing; demanding; overwhelming. Comments ensue. It becomes apparent (and I feel so stupid for not recognizing how transparent it all was) that I didn't do what I am meant to do and that's why the day was doomed.

Sarcasm is the province of the dominant and I never mistake the tone, the intent or the state of mind. There's no sympathy or empathy for this submissive when she jumps on top of the rule book. Rather, left to her own devices, he knows she'll get herself back on track; remember her place; remember what works; remember how this all works.

I don't fight the 'inequality' or lack of 'fairness' now. I recognized immediately where I went wrong and that my (submissive) life wasn't about expecting understanding of a breach. A breach is a breach. How could I possibly forget this? The expectations are high but it works for me this way. I'm challenged but I greatly appreciate the challenge. The delicate and finely woven relationship requires perfection and there is something in my makeup that responds to that; that makes it the perfect arrangement for me.

Writing to learn what we have to say

My grandmother on my mother's side had eight children. She lost two of them - one to a road accident and the other to cancer. I have a strong memory of hearing her say that her dream would be to live in a lighthouse. I imagined she meant that people weren't likely to travel to the lighthouse and climb all those stairs and thus she'd be able to spend some time on her own.

I had a very strong relationship with her. She tried to teach me about Catholicism. She'd put my hair in rags to create a head of curls. When I stayed with her in the city where she ran a business she'd take me to the best department store and tell the woman in charge of the handkerchief counter that her grand daughter required a dozen new handkerchiefs. I'm not sure if she meant to but she trained me to have a discerning eye for quality items.  Most of all, she was available to talk to me and to a  child that is worth gold.

I've been required to write a short story and I chose to write about my parents before they got married. Interestingly, I included my grandfather into the story but there is no mention of my grandmother. Well, she was not integral to the story plot, you see. It was not an easy story to write but ultimately the theme of the story took shape. I explore the notion that those who have had some sort of a similar experience in earlier life may be well suited to harmonious matrimony.

As well, I wanted to say something about education in that era. I wanted to demonstrate how there were (are?) so many other ways to have a happy and successful life than to be educated and to have a professional life. I wanted particularly to say something about doing things well - that no matter what a person does, the important thing is to do it well and to the best of one's ability. I didn't know that was what I wanted to say until the story finally took shape. This is the writing process sometimes. We write to find out what we want and need to write.

To return to where I began in this writing moment of mine, I desperately need time alone, just like my grandmother. As I sit here on Monday morning at the end of the dining table the dull and dreary weekend has been overtaken by life-giving sunshine streaming down onto the papers beside me, casting shadows on the keys over which I spread my fingers.

My troubled mind is settling. I'm not exactly 'at peace' but I feel calm. I ask myself what set me off. What rattled me so?  My needs are not dissipating with age. My lust remains strong. My desire for connection is as strong as it has ever been. I yearn for physicality. I use my plugs because I must. They provide me a strong and immediate source of comfort. My body and mind were designed for use. I was meant to be submissive to a loving dominant. I desire guidance and support. I long for someone to maintain my sense of stability with his assurances that all is under control regardless of which way the winds blow. I look to rise up. I want to percolate up in a bubble of pleasure and joy - delighted to be alive on this day with this man.

In my marriage vows I said "for better, for worse". This is what we as people do. We marry with hope in our hearts that we will go on loving and being loved until the last day. My determination to honor my vows are currently at odds with my spirit's need to rise up and to seek succor; serenity. It is all boiling down, it seems to me, to my husband's ability to join me in seeking the sun. I cannot remain in some Scottish lair; the bog. I wither there. My spirit is trapped there. I must rise up and smell the roses. He is welcome to come with me but he must know, categorically so, that it is simply not possible for me to sit in the mud any more. If necessary, I will save myself.

With Ringo

It is not often that I write in a particular state but since I am sitting at my desk in that particular state, I'll document my thoughts. I'm aware of the big pluggi stretching me out. It's not really possible to focus on anything else. When I squeeze my muscles around the plug, or when they involuntarily squeeze themselves, as they regularly do, I'm aware of the plug controlling me.

A large anal plug is challenging and the mind wrestles with itself. One could go and take it out and experience a degree of comfort and relief but is that what I really want?  I've been here before, of course. Each size plug, from the smallest I've worn to the very large one I am wearing as I type these words has been a challenge. Each time, I have needed to wrestle with my mind and my resolve. I've had to learn to accept that I don't (if I am to be true to my desires and my natural state of living) have a choice; that I am controlled and that I crave that control and very much want it.

I've had times with no plug; times with no control and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am less than half of what I am capable of being with considerable control over me; when the choices are taken away; when I experience the sense of dominance and acquiesce to it.. I am more sexually inclined, more content with life and more at peace with my life when I experience a very deliberate and quite intense control.

Control comes in various forms. I've experienced anal training of course and I've experienced the giving of regular pain; sometimes for discipline in order to correct, but much more often because it has seemed I'd do well to receive it.. I rally to either form of physical control over me and I rally even more when I have both forms of control. I'm not adverse, however, to more subtle forms of control. I prefer to narrow my choices of wardrobe, for example. I prefer less to more.

The intellectual side of my brain may attempt to take control because that is what the intellectual side of my brain is designed to do. Do I want to win? Oh, that would be a diabolical result. No side of my brain would be at all happy with that outcome. I've experienced that and believe me, it's a Pyrrhic victory. Me without a sense of control is a sad thing. I'm here, but just. I just don't feel at all right. I've had plenty of time to think about this and I assure you it's not a desired goal for this woman. 

The thing about the doll state is that even though there is minor resistance when presented with a new challenge, dolls understand they are dolls. There is no sense of jealousy that they're not girls with clever thinking brains. Dolls actually understand that being a girl isn't a life that is going to work for them. They've seen the holy grail and why would they drink from any other cup when the one they have is filled with the elixir of life?

(Of course, sometimes I need to think, but time is allowed for thinking and doing. There is no harm done; in fact a lot of good to come out of allowing me to think intellectually, but for limited times and in limited ways. The more time as doll the more doll is present throughout the day, at any time of the day.)

I haven't the tiniest clue what made me this way. All I can say is that it makes me extraordinary happy to have the opportunity to feel this completely certain that  this is how it was always meant to be. 

Restraint and service

There is a lot happening when I sleep. Rare is the night when I sleep like a baby, blissfully unaware of my self; awakening from a state of nothingness. I absolutely love it when it happens, usually when  I am desperate for an eight hour sleep, but on a day by day basis it is not meant to be.

The night before last my husband tied my wrists together and my ankles as well. I loved every moment of it but I suspect the minutes I was fast asleep and unaware of the ropes were few. I tossed and turned looking for the best position, eventually deciding that lying on my back was the way to go. By early morning I was conscious of the fact that my hands were in the prayer position, palms face to face, and the soles of my feet were also together with my knees spread. I was aware of thinking how marvellous I thought this new position; a sort of meditative position on one's back. I could feel my sexuality simmering away; like I was a slow cooker.

At times like this, my mind turns to chastity belts. I imagine what it must be like to be told one cannot touch oneself, or to be shown that one has no hope of touching oneself by being put into a chastity belt. In my thoughts I can take this several steps further by imagining that I'm under the control of people whose business it is to train me to accept these constraints on my liberty. Constraining my sexual liberties in reality is something I can't really come to terms with but in the night I often go to the thought; almost as if it were the last frontier for me; the constraint that  I must endure because I can't endure it.

My sexuality was given free reign later that same morning although my liberty was still in question: holes filled and gagged, eyes covered, hands tied to bed posts. That evening, I constrained myself in my usual way expecting that the plug would co-operate and leave me to sleep. But, it was not to be. My mind was too active, not with worry but with being taken and used in various ways; with men (and women, what's more) wanting to use paddles and canes on my rump. I squeezed and squeezed in the hope of settling the situation down, but in vain.

Eventually, and it's not a thing I do lightly because I like to imagine that I am in a chastity belt and have no choice over the matter at all, I woke myself up properly and went and removed the object causing me the sleeplessness. Almost immediately I think, I went into a deep sleep, waking only when  I heard the garage door open downstairs and registering that my daughter was leaving for school.

This notion in my mind of constraint and use sit side by side one another. I like the idea that I must show patience and forbearance and I like the idea that I am a waiting object. When the use takes place I like the idea that I am object designed for use and hungry for use.

Along with the interplay of restraint and use is the interplay of a mind filled with the desire for use (but the inability to do anything about it) and the mind that is emptied of all matters but sensations when use takes place. Whether I'm locked away in one fashion or another or abundantly used, it's all service (for me!). Shhhhhhhh.

A picture says a thousand words

This photograph doesn't need my words. You surely don't need my words today. Just let the photograph have its effect on  you. Happy days.

Masochistic drive

Last night I had an impulse to go to Fetlife and see what was happening there. I have had an account there for a few years but I very rarely use it. I think it is all part of my introverted nature to feel a bit lost in big situations and I can't seem to navigate my way around Fetlife or chat rooms. I'm definitely more of a one-on-one person and so far it hasn't provided a one-on-one experience for me where I've got to know a particular person well in those scenarios. Maybe I'm doing something wrong but it is probably simply my introverted nature at work. However, I did go to Fetlife for a reason last night. I was feeling very restless and I think I just wanted to be with 'like' souls; someone/anyone who might know what that felt like.

I looked up the various groups and found what I hoped would be the right group - Sadists and Masochists - and then I looked for a thread that might have meaning to me on this particular night. One person had asked what others do when they feel restless for pain. I read those responses which at least gave me a clue as to why I was feeling the way I was feeling. I could not have expressed that I needed pain but that's the thread I read, so I think that says something.

Some of the respondents said that they gave themselves pain. Some of them cut themselves. One person said that he pulled his hair hard to settle himself. Other people said that it was important to go out and do something physical and they had put their energy into running. For many people they used the art of distraction to get over the hump of that feeling of need for pain.

It was easier for the Sadists because they were able to settle themselves sometimes by impacting into a pillow; bringing an implement down hard on a soft object. The sound of the impact and the feeling of the impact in their hand and/or arm gave them some release from that feeling of need to give pain.

I wonder if the strategy that my mentor used with me was about feeding my masochistic need. It wasn't 'sold' to me as a strategy for overcoming my masochistic need since it was more of a 'pleasurable' thing and a 'use' thing. But, perhaps anal plugs actually do overcome, in part, my masochistic needs.

The thing is that until last night when I happened to read that particular thread I would not have said that I had masochistic/pain needs. However, I think I was wrong about that. I think I very much do have a drive for masochism/pain and without that drive for masochism/pain being fed I can become extremely restless. One girl wrote that when the impetus for some pain hit her it felt like she was "climbing the walls" and I related very strongly to that feeling as I read her words. My evening had been exactly like that. I feel better educated. At least now I can put words to that particular feeling of mine.