Bondage

Sometimes, when nothing in particular is going on, it can seem that there is no opportunity for submission, or no expression of submission, or that one feels uncomfortably free. I know that feeling and can feel restless in that feeling.However, what is easily forgotten is that a sense of one's place, of feeling 'whole' in one's skin is actually often already there. We just may not be processing it correctly. Certainly, waiting is a form of bondage. We're in a position such as the one above according to a thought process inside our own heads. (It blows your mind when you really think about it this way.)

I've been denied doing what I am usually expected to do, and while at times I've processed that as being set uncomfortably free, it is an incorrect thought, because I'm never really more bound than being told that I can't do something that I am usually expected to do. Unless you've experienced this subtle form of correction you won't know what I mean. By the last day, desperation sets in to get back on track, trust me. The ties are even stronger in those situations because I'm in a sort of 'reverse bondage', just keen to get it over with and return to being pleasing. The bond hasn't diminished, just the feelings associated with being bound (or not).

On a day to day basis, I'm strongly bound by my efforts to be patient, understanding, tactful and good natured. I feel that strongly. There is, quite simply, no other way to live life happily in my own life but to be aware of my bondage in this way. I'm often challenged as I go about exhibiting tolerance and self-control, and should I err the sense of bondage is felt when I am immediately corrected. It's my place and my role to demonstrate these qualities. It's my particular daily bondage.

Whether one feels that being bound is a happy situation or an irksome one relates to how one processes these experiences and what one wants. I continue to feel my whole self when I feel quite tightly bound to another human being. It could be my desire for a sense of identity and belonging. It could relate to the fact that much thought about this matter assures me that I am most happy when I feel this sense of bondage quite mindfully, when it is ever-present.

Much of what a man wants of a woman when he is into being the leader and she is into following comes innately. It just happens. Other times, a man provides experiences for the woman to immerse herself in that feeling. That's a more erotic and loving kind of situation but both bound the woman. I've thought lately that one can't have one without the other, or I can't. I'm happy to be kept in my place through words if I can also experience the sort of bondage that makes my heart sing. Even erotic bondage on its own is not enough for me. That's a gorgeous sort of topping but I'm aware that if there were no restraints to my behavior I'd be inclined to test repeatedly. I want to feel a sense of bondage in every sense of the word. I think I process bondage as being safe, secure, stress free and sensual. It's the happy place in my mind.

Wanting everything

On  a practical level, it's impossible to separate myself from the woman who is a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, the owner of dogs. It takes a lot of time out of my life to fulfill my responsibilities because it is important to me and to them that I fulfill those responsibilities well. If the people in your life don't matter enough to you to give them a good deal of your time, then it's hard to know what else could matter more. At least, that's the way I see it and the way I live my life. My strong tendency is to sort all that out and when everybody seems relatively comfortable about all that, I can do my own work.

Now that I'm doing a writing course which at times really stretches my knowledge banks, I've had to, at times, explain that I can't do any more at this time; that I really must sit down and absorb myself in my reading and writing. To put it in perspective, for the last year or so I've done 62 weekly assignments without even one week's break. I have been asked to learn something quite new to me and to demonstrate that learning by handing in an assignment complete with references to prove that I have indeed done the reading and absorbed the new material and now have new skills.

I've also completed 5 major assignments all of which have taken considerable research, planning and writing. There really is never a day or even hardly an hour when at the back of my mind is not the thought that, like a good little circus dog I have to jump through a hoop; have to face my demons of feeling inadequate and come up with the goods to impress a Professor yet again.

The current subject is daunting for me, at least, at the moment. Here I am trying to write my very first adaptation, barely knowing what an adaptation is whilst students in my group talk of having "shot" an adaptation last Sunday and knowing this and that producer. I read something like that and think 'Oh. My. God. What am I doing here? What am I trying to prove?'

Yet, I really love learning and I love making myself face my demons. I work with my insecurities, insisting of myself that I put one foot in front of the other and just keep moving forward. Some days are brilliant and I feel 'on fire' with it and some days like now (can you tell?) I am cloaked in dismay of what I don't know and how old I am to be attempting this in the first place. If I walked away (and I don't intend to do that) no-one would be bothered about it particularly. No-one is relying on me to bring home the bacon from this new knowledge and when I enrolled into the course the idea was that I get some intellectual stimulation from it; nothing much more than that really was thought necessary in order to validate the exercise.

There is no necessity that I get Distinctions and High Distinctions, yet I can't stop that being my goal (a goal I have so far achieved). Would a Credit or a Pass be a disaster? Of course not. "Ps get degrees" my oldest's son's closest friend advised me. And, I actually put stock in his counsel. He's a young man who has impressed me with his ability to make every post a winner. My son tells me he is onto his second "project" (I call them his 'transformations') and I knew right then that I was talking to a Dominant in the making (something I had always suspected anyway). We warmed to one another immediately and I immediately recognized his nature. We chat sometimes online and every interaction has been 'spot on'; dripping with dominant qualities and a specific sense of humor. But, I digress.

My husband was playing with me earlier today, as he likes to do on a Sunday morning. I was perfectly compliant and enjoying myself on one level. Yet, I couldn't turn off the chatter in my mind, of all that I had to do; of how I was starting to feel that I was already getting behind in this subject and how the activities all week had kept me distracted from my reading.

My husband came up to me just now and said, "If the children weren't here I would tie you to the desk and you wouldn't be able to move until all your work was done." Yes, that's the sort of thing that I think would work. I'd feel contained at the same time as I got my work done. A command that I do my work is probably what I need right now. (Oh, so you noticed, I'm writing this post instead of doing my reading!!?)

I want very much to incorporate a doll state of  mind into my every day but that competes with the need to do well in this course. My thinking  brain competes with my desire to be a domestic goddess of sorts; for the food to be delicious and the flowers beautifully arranged; for my body to be switched on and my brain hungry for use. Yes. Yes. Yes. I want everything. What's wrong with that!?

Bondage

Obviously and irrefutably, I enjoy the thought and the reality of all sorts of bondage and containment. But, one can take this another step. Imagine for a moment that I did not enjoy these thoughts so much, or to just consider one type of bondage imagine that I did not like the idea of wearing a chastity belt. It is not outside the realms of reality that the idea of wearing the belt is much more wonderful than the reality of wearing it. I doubt this, but it is possible.

So let's say for argument's sake that I don't like being put in a chastity belt, or let's say that I am ambivalent (does the word ambivalent really belong in the same sentence as the word 'chastity belt'?) So, let's say that I am not really getting a kick out of the restraint. I, personally, would rather that I were not in the belt.

Okay. So, is that it? It's a flop because I am not enjoying it. Or, is there something more to gain than my enjoyment?

I'm being objectified, actually. I'm being put in my place. The main purpose of the exercise is, perhaps, that I am being reminded that I'm really no different to a chair. I serve a purpose. The chair is for sitting on. I am meant for his physical pleasure. I belong to him. He owns me and what's more he can do what he wants with me. If he wants to bound me up and keep me that way until it pleases him to go get that key and release me, that's what he will do.

Here's the thing. It's not about me and what brings me pleasure. It is all about him. If I get pleasure from the containment, that's secondary; superfluous information; unintentional; irrelevant.

Except...that sort of thought plays on a woman's mind; follows her wherever she may go; has her lips upturned into a smile in situations that really don't call for such a sense of joy and pleasure. The thought of being an object, a sexual object at the behest of the man overtakes her and leaves her plans for the day in a crumpled mess on the floor. Her mind is mush. Strategic thinking is now impossible as naughty thoughts overtake her mind.

She is not meant to be enjoying herself. Except, she is.

Pleasure bound

One of the little disappointments of my life over the past few months is that I would like to have been bound more. No matter how uncomfortable I feel when I am bound, it feels good.

I love the entire process of being bound except perhaps the very last stage. I love watching him handle the rope; watching his hands as he manipulates it to be the right length for the job. I love watching his face as he moves my body to the position he wants it. I love the moments where I stay completely still as I am bound tighter; less able to move at all.

One of my very favourite days was some time ago shortly after he had bought a very long rope. The length of the rope called for only one thing; for him to horizontally wind it around my torso until I was almost lost in the rope. Think Olive Oil and you will be on the right track. The photos don’t lie. I looked like I had gone to heaven.

More recently, over this summer he had me take off my clothes and bend over the edge of the bed on my knees at the holiday house; just a regular height, that bed. He put the palms of my hands together behind my back and then he tied me at the wrists. It was uncomfortable but it felt good.

I feel certain I had mentioned to him several times that I hurt a muscle in my arm in a power bar class that is still healing but he obviously forgot that fact and I didn’t want to remind him. So, the binding of my arms was particularly uncomfortable and yet it felt terrific.

Next he tied rope around my throat, tight enough that when he pulled on it a little at the back I was slightly panicked. I like that feel a lot. Next, he tied some rope between my rope collar and the rope around my wrists that forced my head back. Then, he left me to stew. F a b u l o u s! Maybe fifteen minutes later, he kneeled behind me and had his way. This was seriously uncomfortable but only heightened the pleasure for me.

Eventually, a girl must be undone and this is a two edged sword for me. I want the relief but I also wonder if I could have stayed bound a little longer. I remember this thought as a young child. I would be terribly uncomfortable; perhaps desperately hot. I would secretly wonder how long until some merciful moment would allow me to be cool again. Then, it would happen; perhaps a cool change in the weather, or getting into an air conditioned car. I would feel a huge sense of relief but also a bit of disappointment. Perhaps I might have managed to go a few minutes more in my discomfort. Even as a child, I thought this a very perverse thought.

Whilst I struggle to put into words what I love about being bound I can say this: that I love to be physically contained, to lose any and all control, to be the focus of attention and to feel the energy pass between my husband and myself. I thrive on this sort of humiliation; of being reduced, captured and caught. I suspect time spent in a cage would be absolutely thrilling. (I had a tumblr pikki of a girl in a cage but the above pikki won by a hair’s breath.)

It is almost time to go to bed and if my husband were to come and tie me tight – wrists and ankles and a rope between those two – I would sleep like a baby. Such is the stuff of dreams!

She's tied up right now

Sometimes, things turn out just right by serendipity. I have been ogling this picture for several days. Being a particularly flexible person from early childhood, this is the sort of thing I could have done with ease. I am not entirely sure that I could manage it now, but I don't dismiss the thought as out of hand. I think I probably could do it. What a lovely thought.

So, without knowing about this picture at all, or my thoughts about it over the past days, this morning my husband put me on my stomach and bound my hands behind my back such that they were in a very similar position to this picture. I immediately began to float...

I can't for the life of me understand why vanilla people have such objections to being tied up!