Just another animal

The demands of work can sometimes mean that there is little energy, focus and time for sexual desire and fulfilment. It's just a fact of life. Even then, I take refuge in my thoughts, and hands. A feeling of sexual need will come over me. As soon as I have privacy, I will go somewhere alone with my thoughts and be that entity/girl subject to the whims and control of those in charge of her. I release the sexual tension that had me bound tight. It is always a relief, a break, a pick-me-up, to imagine these scenes in my head where I simply do as told, no questions asked; just do it.

Last night, as my reward for a day spent getting through chores, I read Jack's latest story. I delighted in the young story girl realizing that the thought of doing what the story man said "instantly made some some sort of strange sense to her".  Loved the sentiment. Loved the alliteration. My minutes on Jack's tumblr also made me realize that he's a good friend of  theruleset . It delights me to know this, since I love Jack's stories and I love reading theruleset's words, and the photographs and videos he puts up.

I first came to know of theruleset when I saw a documentary about him. I'm not sure why exactly but I love to know that there are people out there living their lives so freely and abundantly - a cluster of good and intimate friends - but also living their lives intelligently and with due care. If you read his words, you will know what I mean. What he does, he does with careful thought. It reminds me of my old friend, Abel, in the U.K. who was so very kind to me when I visited and invited me to a gathering of his kinky friends, somewhat similar I imagine to Jack's and theruleset's little tribe of kinky mates that hang about Brooklyn.

It occurred to me that it would be quite lovely to have this in my own life in some way; not quite the same, since my husband doesn't want that, but to know at least one other couple who explores their kinky nature and with whom we could have dinner, or a glass of wine perhaps; share thoughts. If the thoughts led to some exploration...maybe the other husband likes to bind, or the other wife likes to be covered in latex like me...it would be exciting to share that desire and knowledge; those experiences. I'm yet to be convinced there are couples like that in my neck of the woods, but who knows!

This morning, there was something about the light, the fresh new Spring day, that had my thoughts turn to the bimbo side of me. I linked onto a site where I could luxuriate in watching women covered head to toe in latex and I could feel myself melt into that mindset. The house would be still for a few minutes more and I lay down very still like a statue and imagined the bliss of that covering; all wrapped up.

Sometimes, I reject the notion of 'use'; the dolly concept where I'm played with according to whim. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love that concept, but sometimes I do think to myself, 'You know what I want today? I want you to make love to me: woo me, entice me, make me feel oh sooooo good, and then fuck me blind until I am screaming my head off in pleasure' That sort of use! In other words, let's be clear about this, sometimes, the sort of use I want leads directly to my pleasure and that's my focus.

And there we have it, a busy woman, running around in circles right now making sure that all those in her life are well attended to, but the kink never dies. Claire Underwood is quite right. In the end, we are animals.

Unconditional love

If one wanders about a site like tumblr enough, criss-crossing from one account to the next, one might come across material which on the surface is quite offensive to one's sensibilities. I'm never quite sure if a man is having a great deal of fun setting up a site making claims about a woman's purpose being merely to satisfy his appetites, or if he genuinely means it, but I do know that I can't 'follow' that sort of thing; can't endorse it publicly.

This is a slightly annoying situation because the facts are that I enjoy reading through and looking at the pictures on those sites. Without 'following' those sites I invariably lose track of them, which is such a pity. I am instinctively incredibly aroused by them, even when my intellectual mind tells me that they are offensive. In fact, nothing turns me on quite as fast as these photographs and statements, which confuses even me at times.

Getting into that 'fucktoy' state of mind is liberating for me because it gives me access to my slutty side without having to worry about the possible repercussions of those sites and mindsets in the real world; without having to worry about anyone being hurt by them. I can savour thoughts of being treated in this way myself; a mindless toy, always ready for use.

In the same way that I am not always the 'fucktoy', most men who want a fucktoy in their lives don't want to behave like a 'doll owner' all the time, and this is what separates fact and fiction. Appetites are stronger sometimes than others and attention is sometimes drawn away to other goals and responsibilities. Life carries on. Still, under the surface these predilections remain and can be drawn upon effortlessly when the circumstances of life are in line.

Most men understand that even women inclined to 'fucktoy' sensibilities are multi-dimensional beings who carry their share of responsibilities, duties, worries and preoccupations. I'd not be at all surprised to discover that the authors of these 'feminism is what is wrong with the world' sites are actually sensible men who instinctively know that they are turning women like me on in droves. (Even so, I can't follow them. Sigh.)

Perhaps it's the training, which from the outset ensured that I never used words like 'Master' or 'slave', but I just don't like these honorifics at all. It strikes me as quite false to use them, because if the relationship is such that one knows one's role and status, there's absolutely no need for this sort of thing. If it is a turn on, then, of course, fine, but I've not found it to turn me on at all.What is a turn on for me is the fact that it is understood that I need to forego my womanhood in order to rescue 'the slut' and the mindless sex toy who enjoys debasement. It's all a bit silly to suggest that I need direction in all aspects of my life when I simply do not need that direction. I'm already goal-driven. I need help to be goal-less.

When we become a doll, or a slave, or whatever language you want to use for the state of grace when we give ourselves to another to transform according to their will, it's a form of acceptance - acceptance of ourselves in whatever state or appearance; a deep love shared. We take off any masks we have been wearing for others out there and we reveal ourselves as to what is at our core.

It's interesting to me that sometimes as parents we are asked to perform the same kind of 'magic' for our children, to love them unconditionally and to accept them for who they are. Unfortunately, parents so often, perhaps just subliminally, lace their love with some conditions as to performance, and I think this is where it can get confusing for children. There are standards of behaviour, of course, but we are all who we are, at our core, and this must be recognized, acknowledged, and accepted by those people who have borne us. Life is so much easier this way.

As soon as we can reveal ourselves to someone, a lover (as in the person who loves us), we begin to relax and to feel at home with ourselves. This is exactly what a child requires of a parent. We are who we are and who we are is deserving of love by those with whom we have the closest bond. It is all about love. Always.

The effect of the erect nipple

Good times aren't necessarily shared in journals. I think a journal keeper can be too busy being content to necessarily take the time to record that state. This absence of content skews the reader's perception, naturally enough. It's probably a mistake to read the diary of someone long dead and conclude that they had a miserable life. Who of us rushes in from a day at the beach to record that the sun was shining, the waves were perfect for surfing and we felt radiantly happy as we walked by the shore with the hard, wet sand providing the perfect comfort for our feet?

I feel this way. It's a bit of an effort to sit and record that I am feeling so much better than I have for some time, but in the interests of balanced representation I shall try to explain. I'd mentioned to my husband a week ago an art exhibition in the country that I'd like to see, and as this weekend took hold I mentioned it again. Did he think he could fit it in? On Saturday morning he informed me that we were going shortly and to get ready.  I love this; his deciding.

We both enjoyed the exhibition of Australian painters of the past 50 years set in a stunning contemporary building on a gorgeous property. When we'd seen it all we headed into the nearby town for a vegan lunch; that is to say we chose to go to a sort of hippie place rather than a upmarket restaurant because, well, that's us. We love those sort of environments. It would have been better if the singer recognized that he was not giving a concert but rather providing background music for a cafe, but, hey, that's just my opinion.

Anyways, the interesting thing about the experience is that I was wearing some stretchy jeans and suede boots, and I had put on a lace see through  bra under a creme cashmere jumper. There was an open leather jacket over that and a scarf around my neck. Now, when I sat down at the vegan cafe, and the air was quite cold, my nipples were evident, apparently. I smile to write that after 40 years of being together this little circumstance aroused my husband profoundly.

When we got home he wanted to make love. He came hard inside me for the first time in a rather long time. As he showered, for we had precious little time to get to a birthday dinner, I wondered, could it really have been a nipple evident through my sweater that flipped his switch?

Somewhere in the course of lovemaking he had asked if I'd like to wear my corset that night and after my shower I asked him if he would help to lace me. The truth is that although I have had my corset for a few years I've never worn it to dinner.

I loved how it felt. I immediately loved the contained feeling. Of course, it could have been tighter but there seemed no need to push the point the first time I wore it out. It was a very happy night and what I remember about it is that I was very 'in the moment' all night. I've come to understand that at this point in my life I need to be touched in various ways. The corset was like a hug. My body embraced the firm, uncompromising embrace.

I've had some experiences recently which remind me with new found clarity that everything I have ever wanted to experience via BDSM relates to experiencing more love, never less. If a SM experience or bondage situation or a D/s situation doesn't provide closer connection or deeper love or affection, I question its worth. Again, that is my perception; how I want to experience it. I can't remove myself from my truth that my husband and I both have an independent streak and that interdependency is our ideal scenario.

At some point when we were on the bed on Saturday afternoon I made comments along the lines of the above paragraph. I asked him if he'd be prepared to entertain the notion that we are, in fact, two independent people who do enjoy playing power exchange games; take on roles for the course of the play time. So, he might ask me to wear my corset out to dinner, or he may take on the dominant role and lead in sexual experiences, but it was understood that I would behave and live out my life as an independent entity at other times. Yes, he liked that idea very much. In other words, I was removing from him any expectation on my part that he behave in a way other than what came naturally to him but also asking that we engage in practices that brought me (and us) joy.

But, let's not get carried away here. I won't be calling the builder to come and do the renovations according to my timetable and budget. He calls the shots. He makes the decisions. I convince, persuade, encourage, entice. Come hell or high water, nothing will change on that account.

Doll strategies

As time has gone by and I've experimented a little with what turns me on, and doesn't turn me on, it has become clear that my arousal is tied to the whole concept of 'the doll'. Years ago, I would say that I was only interested in the 'mind' aspect of the doll, but once that's all established and simply part of the psyche, of course one wants more.

I determined that I needed to slim down and although my whole heart wasn't in it, in that I would fall off the wagon repeatedly every so often, I did lose weight and continue to work towards losing a few more kilos. Those kilos are important but so too is defining my figure and toning up. Now that I am starting to see results, I'm really excited about getting back to my best body, because, in my head at least, being in my doll space means being the most attractive, fit and supple doll that I can. It's important to my self-confidence because I know all too well that when I don't feel my best, it can weigh heavily on my mind.

Of course, the added bonus is that getting out each day and exercising makes me feel better. Nothing works better on any inclination towards depression or low mood than consistent exercise, and since I've never really been into competitive sport it's exciting to me that I'm getting fit. My Moroccan deli man is about my age and he has taken up running half Marathons just in the past few months. I spoke to him about how to become a runner and he gave me a few tips. (Basically, it's all in my head that I can't run...) I don't anticipate running a half Marathon ever, but if I could run every day around the park, gosh, I'd love that. This is my goal.

Then, there is the matter of underwear and lingerie. To feel my best what I wear against my skin is important and I'm going to do a bit of an upgrade there; more colour. How we present to the public is, of course, important, but it's all too easy to not give the same attention to undergarments, and this is another 'doll' goal of mine.

I'm incredibly, incredibly aroused by photographs of dolls being contained in any number of ways. I worship men who build contraptions for their dolls and buy paraphernalia that puts a doll deep in her dolly space. I wish I could explain this more, but the simple fact is that such images quite simply and instinctively thrill me to the core.  I happened to see some absolutely magnificent photographs yesterday and I'm not sure I got much real sleep last night at all. They were photographs of a doll maker interacting with his doll and, oh boy, did that do it for me!

If I was forced to explain it more I'd say that I think the arousal comes from the fact that a man who wants to create a doll, otherwise known as a 'doll maker', is so aroused by the whole process himself. Although, that isn't really an explanation because at this stage of the game if a man wanted to pee all over me, for example, I doubt I'd feel the same way about it. I don't get aroused by images like that at all, or the thought. So, it's about creating the doll, mutual pleasure; feelings of containment and connection...but mostly, my own very ardent desire to want to be turned into a doll. There is a place for  'service' of course, but service of mutual pleasure is what arouses me.

What has held me back from getting the pleasure and success of feeling more 'doll' is, quite simply, my own doubts about my attractiveness. I've had four pregnancies and they were big babies at birth. My tummy needs toning and slimming. I'm not huge by any means. I'm sure I have given the impression that I am, and I am not at all. But, I'm aware that I could be better, that's the thing, and I haven't been ready until now to admit it and to do something concrete and tangible about it myself.

In other words, I don't feel now, although it would be lovely, that I need direction on these body issue goals any more. I want to lose a little weight, to get fit; to live within my best body so that I can feel confident to move into my true doll self in a permanent and ever present way. This feels very empowering. For the first time in a long time, I'm feeling happy about my self as it exists in my body.

Battle of wills

For most people, I imagine, sexual arousal doesn't happen every day. Supposedly, men think about sex copious times a day but even then I have to think it is a fleeting thing; a short circuit of the thinking, responsible brain that knows it must attend to business/economic matters. As Nicholas Cage in The Weatherman reminds us, the brain can be obsessive and that's when arousal overwhelms us. We just can't stop thinking about it. I've certainly known that feeling and it's a good feeling, until life gets tricky because you forget something as critical to your life's happiness and well being as remembering to bring home the tartar sauce for your wife.

I'm aware that some 'bottom' partners have daily rituals - to wear a corset, or to wear no panties, or to be naked at home. Then, there are the rituals like one member of the partnership irons the shirts or pays the bills. At times, there is something very sexy about a ritual. I think, for me, it is that there is a certain amount of force - control - associated with this. Maybe I feel that rituals are better than no rituals.

Yet, if something happens every day, if it is so ho-hum and defined that there is no doubt about it, does the arousal remain? Kinksters, of course, will find their love object always desirable - be that feet, or boots or long nails - but even then, I wonder if we all don't need a rest from that endless, circuitous desire for lust.

I read this morning that a remedy for some kinks is to initiate a very unpleasant smell around the kink object so that the kinkster will associate the nasty smell with the object and want to avoid the experience. Sometimes, my ongoing lust will initiate a feeling within me that I associate with 'too much'. I know that I need to take a break - immerse myself in activities that having nothing to do with sex, lust, power exchange or control. I live with certainty that the lust won't disappear so it's not at all a risky thing, certainly a good thing, to take a break from those activities, thoughts and apparatus that make for my lust. In this way, I can return to enjoyment of the lust later.

I think daily rituals can certainly be put in place. Once you've worn a corset daily for a while, living without a corset might seem unsettling. Once you've had long French acrylic nails the thoughts of regular nails may well seem impossible. And, this is where my argument falls down. This is a daily ritual, of sorts, for me, and it is well entrenched in my life. It suggests I can do rituals.

But, I'm struggling with another daily ritual, struggling to see it as something I can do continuously and struggling to see having the ritual as arousing, even though it has an erotic component. Actually, I struggled with the permanency of the acyclic nails at first too. Maybe, I'm in that stage again; struggling to accept that my own will means nothing here. I'm struggling to accept the significance of the daily ritual as to its power and effect on my day, my state of mind, and yes, to my high state of arousal. I'm caught in the vice between understanding that obedience is 'de rigeur' and the knowledge of what the daily ritual does to me. And, right now, the struggle is not being experienced so much as a turn on but rather a bit of a turn off.

I know that I am a natural submissive. My arousal of concepts associated with this state tell me that. Yet, I do find the 'every day' concept very difficult. Like, you mean there is no time off, I ask? There are no exceptions? There is no holiday or excuse acceptable? You mean, you're going to be a tyrant; an obsessive compulsive/anal retentive; rigid? Don't get me wrong, part of me loves rigid but part of me fights rigid, tooth and nail. In a battle of the wills, who must win? Don't even bother answering. I know. I know. Sigh.

Obedience as it relates to arousal

Life is stranger than fiction. If I needed to make the connections between the events of the recent past with the events of the weekend I'd be hard pressed to do so. Why was this weekend so vastly different from the period of time before it?

Well, I'd expressed my dissatisfaction, loud and clear. And, not that long after that, he'd express some dissatisfaction of my behavior loud and clear as well. We'd both been given reason to pause and reflect and we'd both done that. Without getting too close and personal what I am saying is that there had been a shift in both of our states of mind as to possible solutions to our personal dilemma.

He took the initiative. Well, we had a chat on the couch first, when he got home from a dinner Thursday night and I kissed him goodnight. He came to bed sometime after I was asleep. He had been watching some World Movie about a woman and two men, was ravenous, and that got the ball rolling.

From there, there were several encounters over the weekend, each one bringing us closer together, each one relaxing me further and further. He wanted service and I was happy to give him the service he required. The details aren't for public consumption but what I will say is that I was aware of how spectacularly easy it was for me to obey every command and to take whatever he chose to give me. Obedience wasn't so much easy really as completely comfortable; compliance felt normal; right; as things should be in my life. I radiated in being obedient. It felt an enormous relief to be tested in these ways.

Later, as we were laying in one another's arms, after one of those 'after sex' naps that take you into a very deep sleep, he said to me, "You must never let another man know of your abilities to comply; what you can take. It would be dangerous. There's nothing you can't do; no place a man can't take you."

I thought about this a while. I was aware of this deep all body and mind erogenous zone for me; this great comfort I took in being nothing more than a fucktoy; this relief at expressing this part of me.

"I don't see how BDSM can happen with someone you don't know well. I can't travel to these places if I don't trust. It takes enormous trust."

"Oh, I think some girls go there, or try to go there, even with men who aren't trustworthy. That's what gets them into trouble."

I'm sure he's right, but I can't imagine it myself. I can't envisage being able to 'let go' with someone you don't love; maybe someone with whom you have developed a deep bond. I'm not entirely sure. I've had so few partners in my life. I know my desire to 'belong' is likely to be an issue in such a scenario. I know myself too well to believe that I can give that much to a man who doesn't think of me as 'his' - all pure speculation anyway.

I've heard of some people who are able to obey - to do things that don't turn them on; day after day. There isn't necessarily arousal in it for them; or at least, certainly not all of the time. Well, there is duty, isn't there? I have to go now and sort out the kitchen and the laundry and I am not getting any arousal out of the thought of doing that. I just know I'll be pleased when it is done and I can move onto something more fun.

Being a man's 'submissive' is like that - we aren't going to like all the things we have to do and we aren't going to be aroused by obeying all the time. Sometimes, we do it because we have to; enough said.

However, I'm the greedy sort. "It isn't always about arousal, bimbo" I'm told, from time to time. The thing is a direct command does arouse me. In the bedroom especially I do what I'm told instantly; I take what I'm given, without a shred of complaint. It is profoundly arousing to me. I give but, oh boy, do I receive!

It's the inability to partake in this 'give and take' that has so ailed me this year. As I said before, something had to give and it delights me to say that he did indeed give, and take.

Luck

If you go back to the time when I began writing in this  journal I talked a lot about love because I believe that, for me, it's the central emotion of my life; the driver.

I've had a few discussions with people of late that make it rather clear that some Dominants are possibly less concerned with feelings of love than they are with a sense of being admired and being obeyed. I take this on advisement.

Since in our 37 years together my husband and I have both spat out rather nasty sentiments to one another about the other and are still here to tell the tale, I continue to think that it is love that has ultimately sustained us.

Let me be clear. You don't live 37 years with a person putting them on a pedestal and pretending that they are something incredibly special. We are all human and we all make mistakes. I've made my share of mistakes or missteps and so has he. We've acknowledged them. We've driven on.

Now, what do I prefer? I prefer the state of play where he makes the running. I prefer the state of play where he dominates me as per his whim (and my need) and makes love to me on a regular basis. I prefer him to be engaged and I prefer the mindset wherein I think he's the best thing since sliced bread. Sometimes I do (think he's the best thing since sliced bread) and sometimes I don't. I think he'd have a similar feeling about me, if you asked him. Sometimes, he tells me, he thinks he's got God's gift to men and sometimes he'd happily trade me in. This is life. I accept it for what it is.

You'd not be a reader here of any length if you didn't understand that the past couple of years have been tough. I didn't become a submissive woman in the last shower. I've had this state of mind for a long time, even if it wasn't as overtly expressed as it has been of more recent times. You'd also not have read much of this journal if you didn't understand that I luxuriate in the submissive mindset and that most of all I want to feel owned.

It's hard to feel owned when your owner is completely immersed in various issues separate to you and outside of you. It's hard to feel owned if your owner doesn't claim you. Yes, 37 years later I need to be claimed. I need to know categorically and on a regular basis that I am owned.

The truth is that I almost came to have acceptance of the fact that my husband had changed for good. The love and commitment was still there on some level but there was a definite disconnect. I'd express in words and actions that I felt abandoned and that I thought he was depressed, but it seemed clear he was not available to me or to my words. I simply had to do the best I could on my own. I could feel myself going through the stages of grief, revisiting over and over the state of anger. How could this happen to us?

This morning he came to me early in the day whilst I was seeing the boys off for the day to say that he was coming to the market with me. We used to do this on Tuesdays, but several months ago he stopped making himself available for this and I simply went on doing the weekly ritual on my own. He was slightly bossy about this, encouraging me to get ready quickly.

After months and months of leaving me to my own devises 99% of the time, I was a little resistant. Nonetheless, we were on the road early and as we walked through the open-air market he was making his wise-cracks, threatening this and that and generally pushing me around in his own inimitable style. Yes, I was smiling (I'm that ridiculously happy to be dominated at the worse of times...) but I told him that he couldn't just start doing what he hadn't done for months and think I'd just pick up where we left off. He assured me I was wrong and somehow I sensed within myself some hope; some flickering of the man I once knew.

When we'd bought fish, meat, bread and cheese, we stopped off at our regular Italian cafe for morning tea and we didn't leave until well into the lunch hour. We talked and talked and talked.

There's no doubt that he felt threatened by the nasty men related to a business deal and no doubt also that he refused to be intimated by them or to allow them to entirely have their way. It took precedence over his existence and it sent our marriage into a tail spin. I understand his convictions and I understood that the dilemma had made him, quite literally, sick. And yet, I missed him and the aroused husband I once knew so badly that I simply couldn't endure it indefinitely.

Whilst it isn't exactly over, he made his final decisions in the past 24 hours and it appears that it is the relief of coming to those decisions (not perfect but perfect enough in his mind to be an acceptable outcome) that allows him to get up and fight back for his marriage; to reclaim that softly spoken, sweet and submissive woman he called his own.

The desire to be an owned girl is so great that it takes little more than him expressing his ownership for me to feel a great deal better than I have in a long time. I can't deny that admiration and obedience play a role here. I don't want to just love him. I want him to be my owner. I want him to claim me in any number of ways. I want to belong to him. I want that ownership to be overtly expressed.

I've nothing more to report than this experience today. I don't know what will happen tomorrow. My experience of life is that it does not go forth making straight lines. Alas, I am familiar with the roller coaster ride of life. Yet, I felt today that there was hope that the worst may be over.

In my younger days I spent many weeks in a hospital attached to tubes and when I left a very dear nurse said to me that I'd paid my dues. I'd had my share of bad luck with my health, she said, and wouldn't see the inside of a hospital again for a very long time. It turns out she was right.

Perhaps, my luck has turned again.

Girls with glasses

The truth is I have occupied the end chair of my dining room table for the best part of four days. My assignment is hard work and I've had to do that to reach critical mass.

I've submitted what was due so far just now (this post is my reward) but an hour ago my husband put his head around the corner and said, "So, how are you doing?" I sighed and slid my reading glasses up on my head. I proceeded to explain that there was so much learning to be had in this body of work I didn't want to short change myself and do it quickly.

He listened and then he said,

"You look hot! You look so scholarly and so cute in those glasses."

I smiled. I needed a compliment about then.

Of course, it won't come as a surprise, I don't think, that I do take little breaks during my learning and writing periods. Thank God for tumblr and all the naughty people I follow who allow my brain to rest and recover from all those convoluted ideas!

I went looking for a photograph of a girl with glasses and one of the 'bimbos' I follow had this delightful pikki to share. Who said glasses weren't sexy?

Dracula and his victim

In  a power exchange there is the possibility for an infinite amount of control; an infinite amount of transformation. Once the trust is established and secured there is endless opportunity to explore the energy created from giving to another and taking from another.

An article I read recently about Dracula referred to "an uncanny collaboration between vampire and female victims" and those words spoke to me because it isn't true that one person takes and the other gives in some neat formula. The word "collaboration" is what is important here.

When I first read about submission I took umbrage at the word 'service'. I'd been serving my family's needs for quite some time on an hour by hour basis so I didn't feel that my innate desire to express my submissive nature related to wanting to serve. To the contrary, my inclinations were to receive: to receive love, attention, affection. I'm not adverse to being spoiled.

I think I missed an important factor in the power dynamic there. When you burrow deep down into a sense of comfort in the dynamic the desire to serve, to please, to impress and to make happy abounds. It is simply there. This desire compounds and grows as the dynamic shifts into a smooth running gear; when the resistance is very low and one's place well understood, accepted and enjoyed.

This sense of wanting to please the other opens pathways previously unconsidered. I want to show that pathway and yet it is so difficult to demonstrate the process on a web journal page. The '"victim" discovers, to her surprise, that what the "vampire" wants is what she wants as well but I can't express that in any other way, I strongly suspect, other than with dialogue. Only the dialogue can express the perfect synergy of the vampire and his victim; the mutual feeding taking place.

The connection between them is so great that the two minds merge. The "victim" is reliant on the energy of the vampire and gives of herself freely. The giving of herself is, in fact, more than a gift; a sacrifice. She gives happily; readily; consistently. She gets off on giving not because she is the good submissive (although hopefully she has become that too) but because his darkest urges and desires have become her darkest urges and desires.

This is to imply that "Dracula" is dark (bad) and the "female victim" the light (good) - that one entity has influence over the other and undue influence at that. I've not a doubt that "Dracula" has powers of persuasion difficult for the female victim to ignore or deflect. She is drawn to him; helplessly. Yet, I'm not convinced that hidden below the surface of the "victim" is the not the already present desire to be fed off; the desire to be made to do Dracula's bidding. Perhaps it is possible that "the victim" lured Dracula to do his worst.  What would the feminist readings of this story make of that, I wonder. 

Naughty Samantha

A woman I know very well is gay and in the time I have known her over the decades she's had five partners. All her partners have been 'the boss'. She's been submissive to them all and what they say goes. I was sitting next to the last partner at a dinner a few years ago now, the partner before the current one, when she told me that Jan had wanted a particular painting and she had bought it for her. However, she was not permitted to hang it until she did something that she had been told to do. Since she hadn't complied with the command the picture had not been hung. Wow! I didn't think that a woman could be quite so committed to instilling obedience in a partner but it seems I was quite wrong about that. I've since come to understand that 'Mistresses' can be quite committed and severe with a submissive woman 

On a side note, Jan once called me and asked me if I'd help her at her new place of employment. She had a huge event happening over several days and she'd got clearance to pay me for a week's work. I came into the office only to find that Jan was twiddling her thumbs while Rome burned. She was sweating the most minor of details whilst very big issues that just had to be done were being left undone. It was a bit of a case of the blind leading the blind, a submissive leading a submissive, but I knew enough to know that it was now my job to give the orders.

"Okay, let's get all the tasks up on the board and prioritize them," I told her. "I'll do this while you do that..." and job by job we got to where we needed to go. Perhaps in any relationship someone has to step up to the plate and take the lead.

I came across this photograph some weeks ago and instantly, I loved it. They seem about the same age to me so I'm guessing they're in a relationship where the girls in jeans is the boss. I am not sure, of course, but I'd say the naked girl has been taken down to the basement for a good, hard paddling. But, she's not quite off the hook yet. The jean-wearing girl is still as mad as hell about her behavior and keen to teach her a lesson she won't forget - that speaking back immediately after a paddling is only asking for more punishment. So, on her knees she was told to get and she could crawl up to her bed. She could forget about dinner tonight, too!

"You just behave yourself!" she commanded as she swung her arm back to give her the hardest smack she could muster under the circumstances.

On the naked girl crawled, making her way into bed, as told.

"And when you're sitting on that bottom tomorrow maybe you can remember what earned you those bruises. You just think about that!" she said, as she turned off the light and left the room.

The naked girl felt about six years old. She didn't like being in trouble but she didn't always like having to do what she was told. That was the thing. Jen had really smacked hard tonight. Maybe it was time she started to listen.

Samantha felt humiliated but even she was willing to admit that she had been rather badly behaved and she did deserve what she had got. In fact, the more she thought about the paddling the more she came to see that it gave her a safe sort of feeling to know that when she did behave badly she was accountable to someone. Jen was prepared to punish her and although she didn't like being punished she did like the safe and secure feeling that it gave her.

In fact, now that she was in her bed naked with a hot backside she also had a very warm feeling towards Jen. She wished that they could make love but Jen never allowed that if she'd earned a spanking.

Samantha waited for Jen to come to bed. She waited until the lights were out and it was dark and still.

"Jen?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I was bad."

"Well, I appreciate you saying you are sorry, Samantha."

"Jen?"

"Yes, Samantha?"

"You only call me Samantha when you are cross."

"Well, I'm not especially happy with your behaviour tonight."

"I know I was bad. Thank you for punishing me."

"Well, that's a first."

"I love you Jen."

"I love you too, Sam."

"I'll be good from now on."

"We'll see. Off to sleep now."

"Jen, can I spoon in?"

"Are you sure you've learned your lesson."

"Oh, I am completely sure."

"Spoon in then. Off to sleep now. Night night, Sam."

"Night night, Jen."

P.S. Sam really enjoyed her breakfast the next morning. Jen got up a little early and made Sam scrambled eggs and mushrooms on sourdough toast, her favorite breakfast. She felt a little sorry for her having to sit all day in the courtroom on such a very sore bottom. Still, if you do the crime... Being a prosecutor, Sam understood that.

A keen student

I should not be here. I should be over there, writing my response for this week's assignment. I'm doing 'Journalism' now and as interesting as it is, I am too tired to write a serious article; too tired to think about newspapers and the role of the media; of how the greed of shareholders may be the enemy of good service to readers, and so on and so on. Better to do that first thing in the morning when my thoughts are cogent; when I feel a big girl in the big, wide world.

Right now, I feel tired from drinking wine at lunch; never a good idea for me when I need to work. So, to hell with the work. I am going to day dream instead...

I'm a woman in her mid 30s and I have fallen in love with a man around twenty years older than me. We met via a friend who invited me to a party in the country and that's where I met  Joe.  The courtship was something of a whirlwind. I acted entirely on my instincts and sense of happiness and adoration for him and we married in a small ceremony in the local church.. Naturally, I moved to the country since he was well established on a large cattle farm in the centre of the country and there was never a thought that we would live anywhere else. It was well understood that I was joining him in his life.

He was very kind to me and highly attentive and I was blissfully happy; deeply in love with him. As time passed I came to see that he was set in his ways and I had no choice but to accept that we would do things his way.  Of course, I made efforts to steer him to my way of thinking on matters that were important to me and he was generous about that. He seemed to enjoy giving into me on the little changes I wished to make to the household. I would ask very nicely if I may have this or that, or if we could do this or that. He seemed to enjoy allowing me little indulgences and alterations, as if I were a child and he were the indulgent parent. I confess I played up to this; being sweet and smiling prettily and getting my way.

But, he was clearly the boss and I never considered second guessing him on matters pertaining to the running of the farm. If he told me to close the gate behind the cows, I did so. If he told me not to go near a certain horse because he was afraid I may be kicked, I stayed well away. He enjoyed teaching me about life on the farm and I enjoyed being under his tuttelage. "Good girl," he would say when I managed to tie the knot the way he had demonstrated or when I learned to drive the motor bike precisely as he had shown me. My life was a joy every day as I learned to fit in to my new life as his helpmate.

Perhaps six weeks into the marriage, my husband called me into his study just before I was ready to serve dinner and had me sit by the fire. He handed me a glass of red wine.  He told me of how proud he was of me; that I had settled so beautifully into the country life. He patted me on the head and I purred with satisfaction. He moved his chair closer to me.

"Darling?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm?"

"I feel like spanking you."

His words had an instantaneous response on me. I was aroused but shocked; a little afraid. I needed to understand what he meant.

"Have I displeased you, Joe?"

Not at all, my darling. I just wish to spank you for my own pleasure."

"Ohhhhh. Would it hurt, Joe?"

"I'm afraid so; yes."

"Darling, I want you to do whatever pleases you."

"That's my girl. You are sure?"

"Yes, Joe, I am sure."

Joe sat down on a hard, wooden chair and he had me take off my panties, lift up my dress and bend over his knee. I felt very strange  exposed in this way but I wanted to please my new husband and would never have considered denying him this pleasure. For a minute or so, he spanked my bottom, alternating from cheek to cheek with his hand and I wondered what the fuss was all about. It was a pleasurable, light sensation and I rather liked it. Every dozen or so smacks, he would rub my cheeks smooth with his palm. It was quite lovely. Having never been spanked before I had expected something quite unpleasant but this was very pleasurable.

Then, he stopped.

"Now, it is time for me to use a paddle. This may hurt a little, darling. You don't mind?"

"No, no, Joe. I don't mind."

From the first swat of the paddle, I realized that this was an entirely different sensation. It stung quite considerably.

"Owww"

"Be a good girl, now. It will be over soon," he told me.

And so, I told myself to be brave and to be good and to accept this sting. But, over a minute or so, the sensations built and I was breathing heavily. This stung like blazes!!

"Owwwww. Owwwwwwwwwww," I repeated over and over again.

I didn't want to move out of the range of paddle. I wanted to move out of the range of the paddle. I didn't know what I wanted at all.  I was just trying to be good and to hang on."

"There's a good girl," I heard him say at one stage and later, "Not long now, darling. It won't be much longer."

When he finally put down the paddle and rubbed my stinging skin I felt that my ass was on fire. But, the thing about that was that it wasn't exactly a horrible sensation. I rather liked the feel of the heat and I felt extraordinarily close to Joe. My entire body and mind was profoundly aroused in a new way and my first reaction was to sit up and kiss Joe longingly on the lips. He returned the kiss and then he said:

"Did the young lady enjoy that?"

"Not telling," I said

"Did the young lady enjoy that?" he repeated.

 "Possibly..."

"Did the young lady enjoy that?" he asked again.

"The young lady did."

He smiled a devilish, wicked smile; one that instinctively had me smile back.

"Ahhh, Mildred, I have so much to teach you; so much to show you...so many things to do to you...!"

"Hurry, Joe, hurry. Show me right now."

"Patience, darling. You must have patience. Let's have dinner first."

"Dinner? You want to eat?"

"Come, darling. If you are polite and obedient, I'll show you a good time after dinner."

"All right, Joe. Let's eat!"

Agnes - in the afternoon

Agnes was quietly pleased that Frederick approved of what she had prepared for their lunch. She thought of him as a man with sophisticated tastes and she held onto a concern that she may act inappropriately or that he would see her as childish or ignorant. It meant a lot to her that she had pleased him. She smiled and hoped to give the impression that whilst she was pleased he was pleased, it was no big deal; that she could rise to his challenges; that she was capable.

Agnes watched Frederick stretch out on the blanket and she followed his lead. She stretched out on her side facing him and rested her head on her curled arms. They chatted a little about nothing in particular when Agnes quietly giggled at Frederick’s incoherent response. Rather than just not reply to her comment in his nearly asleep state, he mumbled a string of jumbled words back to her.

For a few minutes, Agnes watched him sleep. He seemed a little vulnerable laid out on the blanket, breathing deep and completely unaware of her as he was; his mouth wide open. She felt softly towards him as she studied his features; the way his lips quivered a little as his breathing went in and out; how his hands rested on his chest.

Agnes tried to nap a little herself. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun on the side of her face. In this public place however, she could not abandon herself to sleep and after a few minutes of just laying there doing nothing she decided to walk whilst he slept. As quietly as a mouse so as not to disturb Frederick she got up off the blanket and took a tour of the gardens, gravitating towards the spot where Frederick had earlier told her off for wandering away. She wanted to explore beyond that spot but the memory of his scolding returned to her and she decided not to proceed.

Agnes loved to be by water; the beach, a lake; even a bath. She heard the sounds of a small waterfall and decided to investigate the pond. She was delighted to find an assortment of fish swimming about in the pond, some surprisingly large. She sat for a while watching them swim before she strolled about the garden, returning back to the blanket every now and then to see if Frederick had woken.

When thirst overcame her she ever so quietly collected the picnic basket from their blanket, took it over to a seat and poured herself a glass of water. She was just putting the water bottle and glass away when she heard Frederick call out to her. He was asking her where she had been and feeling relaxed and happy she began to tell him about what she had seen, but he wasn’t interested.

“I am very disappointed in your behaviour...” she heard him say, and she felt immediately frustrated that she just didn’t understand Frederick’s responses. He was confusing her.

“But, Frederick, I just walked there by the little pond.”

This did not appease him and Agnes remained confused, hurt even, but her instincts told her to apologize in order to bring this scolding to an end. Even her apology was not to his liking. Apologizing was “not good enough” he said and added that when she was with him she was to follow his instructions.

Agnes was challenged by these words. He was sounding like her father on those occasions when she had arrived home late and she didn’t leave home to come to Paris only to have a man she had barely just met speak to her in a way that made her feel like a child when she wasn’t even sure what she had done wrong. Why was he making this fuss about such a tiny thing?

“I don’t understand why you are being so mean. Would you rather I leave?” she asked him. If she was making so many mistakes with him perhaps it was best she go home, she thought. She felt quite disoriented.

Agnes watched in shock as Frederick untied the rope around her waist and cut it into equal pieces. She was speechless.

“Sit down on the bench.”

Agnes could feel her eyes start to tear up but the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Frederick. She had no desire for him to have the satisfaction of seeing that he had upset her and her upset feelings transcribed into defiance.

“No!"

There was a standoff between them as both of them looked into one another’s eyes trying to gauge the other’s resolve and state of mind. When Agnes dug in her heels, Frederick made the concession of asking her to please sit down. At this point, Agnes decided to sit down but she was still unhappy about it.

“Are you going to do as you are told?”

Agnes didn’t want to leave and if she was to stay she understood that she needed to do things his way. He had made it very clear to her that he was in control. She nodded her consent. Just before Frederick removed a bandana and placed it over Agnes’ eyes and tied it tight with three knots at the back of her head, he asked her to “trust” him.

There was something in the lilt of his voice when he said those words that helped Agnes to relax and to follow Frederick’s lead. Her breathing was settling now and her anger was replaced by arousal. Without the sense of sight, she immediately became aware of Frederick’s voice and all the sounds that were surrounding her; the slightest movement in the trees.

He wanted to know if the bandana was comfortable and he told her in advance that he was going to bind her legs and wrists. As the rope was wound around her body, between her thighs and knees and around her wrists, Agnes found herself enjoying the experience more than she could have ever imagined. There was an element of fear, of humiliation and of arousal and put together Agnes found herself in a state of resignation; almost as if she had been captured in some way and that thought was incredibly appealing to her. She dared not allow Frederick to know how much she was enjoying this situation.

When Frederick asked her to put her hands behind her back however, she resisted. It was a battle of wills between them as he pushed her further and further, but each time she eventually acquiesced. When he was ready he told her to sit completely still and to be absolutely silent. This she could do but when he told her that he was leaving her on her own for a time, her sense of vulnerability forced her to beg him not to leave her alone.

“Please don’t leave me on my own; not like this,” she begged him.

Again, Frederick asked her to trust him and again, this quietened her fractious mind for a while. Yet, the time alone seemed indeterminable. It was probably only a few minutes that she sat there still, unable to see or to move, wondering if anyone was looking at her, directly or from behind a bush. For an instant she wondered if Frederick had abandoned her, or if he planned to leave there for a very long time. She didn’t know where he was, what he was doing and when he would return.

Agnes began to feel very hot and uncomfortable. She felt the need to make the best use possible of her ears and she strained forward and focussed intently for any sound at all that might alert her to what was happening beyond the world of her darkness and imprisonment.

When Agnes heard Frederick’s voice again telling her to remain still but that he was going to untie her hands, she felt an enormous sense of relief that he had returned to her. He was telling her that she would feel some movement, to not be alarmed, to stay still and now that Frederick had returned she was in no doubt that she could comply with his instructions.

She was really listening to his words this time and paying attention to his instructions. He told her not to be alarmed and so she programmed that as understanding that there was no danger and that whatever was happening, she could manage, so long as Frederick was there. She allowed her mouth to unclench and she relaxed her tongue. She did her best to let herself go and put herself in his hands.

“Everything is under control. I have the situation completely in hand,” she heard him say and this put her mind at ease. In the same way that she entered an aeroplane and put her life in the hands of the pilot, allowing herself to settle into the role of one of his responsibilities, so she put her life now in the hands of Frederick. In that role of submitting to a force higher than herself, she felt at peace.

When Frederick took the blindfold away from Agnes’ eyes and told her that she could open her eyes, she had no idea what to expect. When she saw in front of her at very close range a large black cat, a tigress she froze in fear of what could possibly happen next. Her mind went blank and now her brain was responding only to self preservation instincts. She stayed completely immobile because it seemed the best option.

Agnes would have been petrified but for Frederick’s complete lack of concern, his light banter and encouragement to reach out and touch the cat. It helped her immensely that he was rubbing into her tight neck and shoulder muscles, too. Put together, Agnes registered that this was in no way a dangerous situation, even though she remained frightened.

He encouraged her to reach out and touch the cat, sliding his hand down her arm to persuade her to move it forward to touch the cat. Agnes’ family had always had at least one cat at home and she was familiar with what they liked. Tentatively, she brought her hand forward and rubbed it into the fur, and then when she could see that the cat had no objection, she rubbed it behind the ear; a move which was much enjoyed judging by the deep rumble coming from her chest.

Frederick was smiling, clearly pleased that the two of them had an appreciation for one another and Frederick chatted away softly, explaining that since he had introduced Agnes to Sheaden in his company, there was no risk. But, if she had gone off on her own and come across her, she would have not had the same reaction to her at all; that as long as Agnes was in Frederick’s company, Agnes did not present as a threat.

For several minutes Frederick sat on the bench beside Agnes and seemed to enjoy the two girls’ interacting with one another. He was smiling and there was pride in his eyes. They were a delight to watch as they frolicked with one another and Agnes appeared totally relaxed and calm around Sheadan now.

It was Frederick who finally said that it was time for Sheadan to go back to her shed now; that he would take Agnes for some dinner and return her home. Agnes said good bye to the cat and watched Frederick walk her back to her home. She had a sense that Frederick was a man who could expose her to a great many new experiences. The thought enticed her and she hoped that very soon he would begin to teach her things and show her things. She didn’t know what she meant really. She knew very little about what was on offer to her. All she knew was that she was open to experiencing whatever he should choose to offer her.

Agnes - Friday morning

When Frederick began to massage her leg, Agnes felt herself drop into a pleasure zone. She adored being touched in this way and would take as much of it as he was willing to offer. When he pulled her into a sitting position on the side of the bed, her body readily complied.

She liked the fact that he was telling her what to do. It felt very right to her for she had no ideas herself in this situation. She went into the bathroom and took off her clothes and placed them on a hanger she found. Once alone, she took a few moments to metaphorically ‘pinch herself’. Was this really happening to her? She felt giddy with excitement and hugged herself.

She loved his bathroom. It was simple with neutral tiles on the walls and darker ones on the floor. His towels were thick and dark chocolate brown. His soap was handmade with the hint of vanilla and the shampoo and conditioners were matching bottles and expensive looking. Everything was spotlessly clean. She felt so indulged.

By the time Agnes had her shower and washed her hair, she felt fresh and clean. She put a towel around her body and one around her wet hair. She walked into the bedroom, all the way this time and saw that Frederick had laid out something for her to wear on his bed, as he had said he would. She picked up the garment, surprised that he should have something for her to wear at all really and delighted that she should find it so appealing.

It was a cotton shift of a pink and white design. She took off the towel from around her body as well as the towel around her hair and put the shift over her head. In his long mirror she surveyed herself and liked the look. She felt good in it. It was the sort of garment that she imagined she might wear if she were ever to go to an island. She was aware that she was wearing no bra or panties but she tried to think of the shift as like a nightgown. She never wore panties or bra under those either.

Agnes returned the towels to the bathroom and then attended to her hair as best she could. She saw no comb or brush. She did find some moisturizer and she was pleased to moisturize her face even if she had no makeup to apply. She hung the towels up straight and even on the towel rack. Her mother had trained her well in the art of being a good guest. With a quick check of her appearance in the mirror she ventured out into the hall.

Agnes could see Frederick sitting at his desk and she wanted to be reassured that she looked all right. “How does this look?” She felt a little self conscious when he gestured to her to display herself but she turned in a circle as instructed, rather enjoying his focus and pleased by his obvious approval.

“I think I...” she began, but he put his finger to his mouth and shushed her. Agnes stopped talking mid sentence, confused. She didn’t know what to do and she simply stood there feeling embarrassed.

When Frederick began to do her hair, she melted; putty in his hands. She wondered if he had any idea the positive effect that this was having on her. She stayed perfectly still and would let him do whatever was his pleasure. When he turned around and with gestures asked if this was what she had intended to ask about, Agnes instinctively put her palms together and bowed in much the same way she once saw a geisha girl bow in a movie. She liked this game more than she dare let on.

When Frederick led her to the kitchen table and took a piece of rope which he wound around her waist twice, she was silently mesmerized. His comment that they may need the rope later enticed her and aroused her in ways she had never before imagined. At no point did she have the slightest desire to question him or to object. Why would she object to something she found so pleasing and so right? The shrug of the shoulders was merely to keep him off the scent; from knowing how much she loved it all.

To be fed nutritious food, prepared by Frederick himself and on her behalf gave her a warm glow and she happily ate the delicious but simple fare in silence. She also was happy to sit in silence on the couch where he placed her whilst he readied himself for the day. She was in her own little bubble of excitement and anticipation and sitting still and silent was the perfect thing to do as she contemplated her situation.

Yet as she waited, thoughts and questions began to flood her mind and when she saw Frederick she had an impulse to speak that she did not ignore. But, the moment she began to form a sentence he corrected her by putting a finger to his lips. Again, she silenced herself mid sentence, a little annoyed with herself for giving in to her impulse so easily.

He gestured to her to put on her sandals and then he led her out the front door onto a broad balcony and down the spiral stairway into the garden below. Her heart was pounding. Only when she felt she might asphyxiate did she remind herself to breathe.

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?

Aging gracefully

Two little occurrences this morning when out and about got me thinking:

The first occurrence happened at the nail salon. I was sitting in the spot where one sits to dry one's nails when a woman about my age came and sat down beside me. I said,

"Now comes the hard part!"

She said:

"I know! It's torture, isn't it? Sitting here doing nothing...thinking about all the things we have to do...what to make for dinner, how to organize all the kids for the weekend..."

I nodded and smiled. This is just the sort of thing that I have been working on lately...letting go. There is a time for work and there is a time for play. Women need to learn when to let go!

Secondly, whilst I had my morning coffee shortly thereafter, I read a comment by Sarah Murdoch, the gorgeous naturally beautiful daughter-in-law of Rupert Murdoch. Apparently, she has asked that her photos not be touched up. She wants to grow old gracefully, without the use of treatments that so often leave women without expression in their faces. She wants to "embrace" the aging process.

Well, I do tend to agree with her. I think a woman can look quite beautiful as she ages if she has the confidence to carry it off. Of course, Sarah didn't mean that a woman should let herself go. That is an entirely different matter. Maintaining a healthy weight, looking after one's skin, keeping out of the sun at certain times, getting adequate sleep and rest and eating well are what is important here. I would add to that, that a youthful outlook is critical, too. You truly are only as old as you feel.

Relaxing and letting go at times, ceding control to one's owner, maintaining a fit and healthy body, and remaining youthful with vitality; this is the key to aging well as a submissive woman, I think. The style one chooses is an altogether different thing. A rule of thumb would be, if the man in your life has a desire to undress you as soon as possible, then you are on a good thing and should stick with it.

My friend

The post that I had written for you yesterday was rejected, and with good reason. It was not good enough. My friend was quite right. So, let me try again to express myself, as befits the occasion.

A submissive woman, if I am any guide, has a way of compartmentalizing her life. I got an enormous ‘kick’ out of being required to write the list of ’25 bad things I had done recently’. I could not complain about the assignment. I had, after all, asked what I could do to repay my friend after I improperly excerpted our private discussion on my blog. He had told me what I could do, and I did it.

In a sense, in situations such as this, one only jumps one hurdle at a time. I hadn’t really thought through to the next hurdle yet. I didn’t await the suggestions of readers with any sort of dread or apprehension, as you might expect. I was enjoying myself. There is no surprise there, I don’t think. But, I just hadn’t taken in the seriousness of the situation. In one part of my mind, it was a game, you see.

A few days went by, and a few suggestions were made, on the blog and more privately. I sort of snuffed them off. Another joke, another laugh, but the concern I felt was buried deep. I still hadn’t tapped into it.

A day or more went by, and I thought it might be safe to ask my friend if I could consider my correction complete. On the pretence of something else, a technological achievement, as a matter of fact, I opened the little window again. It did not take long for the conversation to come around to my correction.

He wanted to know how I would be affected by having 25 pages of my little novel published on the blog. I explained the problems with that outcome. He assured me that although the matter remained unresolved, this was not necessarily a bad thing. The list was good, he said. I was focussing in on this new tone. It was lulling me into a sense of false security. He had paid me a compliment, which I hadn’t expected, and I had been put into that dreamy state that submissive women go when a man tells them they did well.

So, when he told me that I had a choice, to await another idea from my readers or to allow him to decide my correction for the list of bad behaviour, I really did not think twice. It took me no more than a split second to advise him that I would like him to choose my correction. I was deep into my own world. The outside world had stopped existing while I waited for him to type in something. I did not know what he would say, but I can tell you that I never expected him to type in

“25 strokes”.

Although I asked “of what” I knew already that it was “the cane”.

It was surreal. Was this a game or was this real?

At some point of the conversation, only the transcript could tell me exactly when, for it is a bit of a haze now, he typed in

“Are you starting to regret your decision to reach out and chat?”

How can I explain to you the feeling I had coursing through my body? It was the dark side I had gone over to, and yet the dark side was so darn irresistible.

“Me?” I asked.

No, I was not missing this opportunity for the world. Take all my possessions, but leave me with this. I live for this.

“You must be joking.”

The terms were laid down and we said our goodbyes.

The next morning I wrote my post for you, readers, but what I didn’t do was admit how much I relished the conversation; how much I enjoyed reading the transcript again later.

He is one in a million. I knew that the moment I read his words, quite some time ago now. It isn’t that he knows how to press a girl’s buttons, a girl like me, although he certainly does know that. It is that he just is. He is darkness and light. He is sadistic and kind, all at the one moment. He’s my gift.

So, I’ll take my 25 strokes of the cane. It is more than I have ever taken before and I live with my heart in my mouth. I am frightened. I am aroused.

Dominant Men

Dominant men are very interesting fellows. They tend to be very complex, and something of an enigma. They tend to not only be different men on different days, but different men from one minute to the next. Little things seem to make them happy or sad, content or explosive. They like things to go their way. They like the world to operate as if they had orchestrated it themselves. They have difficulty understanding why the world should have so many stupid people in it who don’t think as clearly as they do. They tend to want to share that view with their girl.

My man has never been short of an opinion and he shared a few of his opinions with me this morning in the car. The city had made a big mistake making the adjustments to the roads as they had. I agreed, of course. But, what was this? A soft brake pedal in my car? Had I noticed this before? I told him, no, I had not. How could you not notice it, I was asked? Well, I just adjust to my circumstances, I explained. Perhaps I had compensated for the “soft” brake pedal and not realized it. I needed to be more aware of how my car was operating, he told me. I needed to come to him when unsure of something. I assured him I would. But, still he was amazed that I could not be aware of something so blatantly wrong.

“See that,” he said, as he pumped the brake in the midst of the traffic, having the car lurch twice. “See how my foot goes down right to the floor. That’s a soft brake pedal. I’ll need to take the car in the morning, first thing. It has to be checked out right away.”

“All right. I understand,” I said.

“And you didn’t notice that before?”

“No, I can’t say that I did,” I explained.

We were close to home now. He drove into the garage.

“I’m really quite amazed that you don’t notice these things.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Outwardly, I was the model of angelic patience.

“I really did not notice the soft brake pedal. I am sorry.”

“You are not getting feisty are you, girl?”

“No darling, I’m not.”

“It would be a bad idea.”

“No, I am definitely not getting feisty.”

“I detect a little cheekiness there under the surface. I would definitely take control of that right away. I’m in no mood for a feisty girl.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I got out of the car and headed upstairs.

I knew what was up.

Yesterday, I had a caning; an overdue punishment. One of the enigmas of the dominant man is that no sooner has he punished his girl and put away his cane, he can feel intense arousal. Yet, circumstances may prevent him from being intimate with his girl at that time. This is a deeply unsatisfactory situation, both for him, and for his girl, who may become the focus of his inner turmoil.

I can see your feminine heads nodding. I can see you are following carefully. And, I want to help you. What should a girl do in such a circumstance?

As Nicole said to Tom in ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ at the end of the movie, when he tells her about his debauched evening, there is only one thing to do.

Fuck.