Shared fantasies

Boxing Day. A leisurely start to the day. He kissed me in several places and then he pulled the night gown over my head. He returned to his position of laying down with his head resting on two pillows.

He asked me of the morning rule and rather than answer in words I went between his legs and sucked his cock until it was very hard. After a minute or two of that he had me sit up on his chest and he held me tight against him.

I'm not entirely sure I heard every word correctly, for it was quite shocking in its own way, but what I heard was, 'I wish I had a close male friend that I could talk to about this. Imagine being used by someone else in this position.'

I did. I did think about that instantly. I arched my hips such that I was presenting myself to the absent second male; that close friend of my husband.

I felt an instant and intense arousal at the thought. I admit that. I imagined my husband holding me tight, just as he was doing, and at his command another man, perhaps a man I would never see, or a man who understood that he was secondary to a union he could never tear assunder, quietly taking his pleasure in my back hole.

This was more than fantasy. This was a fantasy I was sharing with my husband and we both got off on it. That's when I realized that shared fantasies are hot.

Perhaps, a little too far this time...

In The Sex Diaries Bettina Arndt discusses the impact on couples whose sexual desire and appetite differ markedly. There are categories of women in the book and I'm a "ripe tomato", a woman whose appetite for sex hasn't dimmed at all with age and who desires a steady supply of sex with her partner. Bettina outlines in her book how sad it can be for such women when their partners are no longer, or never were, as robustly interested in a sexual/physical relationship as them.

Although she may feel she has offered an answer for such women, unfortunately, there really is no sustainable  solution offered for this dilemma. Sure, men can go and discuss with their doctors if they might get an injection of testosterone into their systems, should they be short of that hormone, but if that isn't the problem, then there is little else on offer. In short, the woman goes without. "It's just age," doctors tend to suggest, as if a woman is really too greedy to be asking for sustenance for her mind and body after the age of 55 or so. It strikes me as cruel to even speak these words.

When a woman is in this position, in an otherwise loving marriage, she must rely on other means to satisfy her appetite, which is simply there, whether she likes it or not. I have always masturbated, since the earliest of ages, but masturbation has been strikingly important to me in latter years. Without some sort of release via an orgasm that I provide for myself, by hook or by crook, I think I might implode. I'm referring to my mind and my body here. I need that satiation as much as I need water, sleep, and air.

Somehow, for some reason, my mentor decided that it was fitting that I be challenged in new ways. It all started some months ago, that I edge six times a day. As with all new challenges I did it, not sure what it was all about, where it would go or how long it would last. I just did it. 'Bimbo' is like that. She just does things.

As time went by the appetite was voracious. I didn't need an order to do this activity. I had to do it. My body and my mind compelled me to touch and the really sadistic thing about all of this is that even if I decided that I would cum, disobey and have an orgasm, the simple fact was that I could no longer orgasm no matter how hard I tried. My body was now wired to want more and more but to be unable to climax.

Over that period of time I was given two opportunities to orgasm, if I did something in particular at the same time (sorry, you can't have every last detail of my life) - tantamount to orgasm on command. Of course, I did it. Who knew if or when I'd be released from this ordeal again?!

Here's the confession. Gulp. One day, alone in the house on my own, and sure I would surely go mad if I didn't get some physical relief I threw everything at my own satiation, inserting anal beads, filling myself utterly and touching, until, in a pool of sweat and almost passing out with the effort required, I climaxed. It was life or death. I had to be relieved of that ever-pressing desire for physical release. It only happened once but I still feel guilty about it, at the same time as I know that I would do it all over again. There simply was no choice.

Weeks after this situation, a full month later, my body was screaming out for release again. To explain, sex does take place but my body is only ramped up by certain sexual interludes and seeks the second round. If sex with my husband happens, say, once in the month, there is no real profound release of the appetite, but, the opposite situation - the need for an intense orgasm is ramped further up. I asked my mentor if I could forgo my regimen for one day - for release of the voracious appetite hopefully, but also to restore my sanity which seemed to be failing me. I felt nothing more or less than a bitch on heat, a one track mind, a sexual object at the mercy of a sadist.

Of course, he said "no". I tried to assuage him and he said "no" again. I thought I took the decree calmly. I don't recall being particularly upset at the time, but later that day I was so exhausted, my body so changed, my mind so desperate, I looked up, per chance over masturbation and started to see what was happening to me. Worse, the literature suggested that my mitochondrial system may have been weakened.

I freaked. I rebelled. I took myself to a health store and bought a product designed to restore the energy of the body and to heal the mitochondrial system. I reduced my masturbation regime. I could not have stopped if I tried. But, after a few days I could sense my body recovering. My mind seemed less busy and challenged and my body had feeling again. In those few days, I came, twice. Thank the Lord.

Of course, I am currently in the process of being punished and it's hard to justify any other outcome. I disobeyed - blatantly disobeyed - and I showed disrespect. Guilty. I plead Guilty.

But, in my defense, did I do those things, or was it the horny, voracious slut which I had been transformed into that did those things? Was she not driven to despair? (Think Dana as Zuul and you get the idea...)

It's most unlikely to ever be viewed this way. You can spin 'logic' around to make the world look upside down, if you want. But, there's a case to be made for this: 'Whoooops, may have pushed her toooooo far this time...'

That's okay. I don't need to hear the words. That's what this blog is for.

When three is not a crowd

My sexuality is expressed through thoughts of having someone control me. Thus, I'm aroused by the thoughts of my partner being direct about what he wants.

'Take your clothes off.'
'Come here.'
'No, you don't need a second coffee.'
'I'd like you to have your breasts pierced and I've arranged an appointment for tomorrow.'
'Bend over the bench. It is time for your inspection.'

All these sorts of words, whether in reality, in a story or in my imagination, arouse me. I am not comfortable having much wiggle room nor am I naturally inclined to ask or initiate situations in general, though I continue to try to modify this instinct to allow for more assertiveness.

This morning my mind stretched over other landscapes. What if he were to say this:

'I have arranged for us to play with another girl and I'd like you to dominate her. I'd like you to hurt her. She has given her consent to this and it would thrill me for you to do this.'

I've already vaguely sketched out in my mind something like this scenario because I am such an afficionado of films like 'Story of O' where the man's love interest is asked to carry out sadistic behaviours towards another girl.

I honestly don't think there is the vaguest sadistic streak within me, but if asked to do this in a no nonsense way, it seems almost impossible that I would refuse. She has given her consent to the experience, it would make the man I love thrilled, and (wait for it) I kinda like the way an implement feels in my hand. I've whacked myself with a few implements and found it something I could do without difficulty, so it makes sense that I could bring a paddle or a whip down on a girl's backside, if told to do so, and not be distressed about it.

As a submissive, one is familiar with the sting or thud of implements. Sure, it hurts, but the experience can also be very profound, cathartic, joyful, enriching and satisfying. Knowing that those cries of panic and distress can be transformed into something deeply arousing and fulfilling could well make the dominant experience something that wouldn't be at all arduous to perform.

Honestly, I've never allowed my mind to focus on giving rather than receiving pain in this way ever before, at least not in my conscious mind, but it is has to be said, under the right circumstances, it could be deeply rewarding for all participants.

To watch someone 'fly' must be a real trip. I saw this happen once in a documentary, where this older woman had a girl on a fucking machine who was spaced out on the most profound orgasms. Over the older woman's face was an expression of such elation that she had enabled the joy and release. I paid particular attention to that and found it to be both erotic and tender.

What I continue to feel is that I don't have the personality to insist on outcomes, to demand my way or to exert my force on another person. If they said, 'No more', I'd say, 'Okay, I'm sorry, are you ok, sweetie?' rather than, 'Oh that's too bad because I'm not finished yet.' There's no way it would be a good idea to leave me in the room on my own because I'd botch the experience, but if the sadistically/dominant oriented man was with me, yes, I could do his bidding in this way. I know I could.

Pleasing the dominant

Those of us with a creative soul need to alter and adjust people and places to suit ourselves; to give birth to something in our own image. The talented hairdresser wishes to transform a woman into someone with self confidence and flair. The fashion stylist wishes to make the woman more beautiful and alluring when she wears his or her creations. Interior designers wish to create beautiful, comfortable rooms in which people can live happily and calmly; an oasis from the busy world outside. Novelists want to create a world which the reader will find so absorbing it will be difficult to put down the book. Musicians long for those evenings when the sound they create is sublime; never mind that it is just for an hour or so. They strive for perfection. They long to play better than they ever played before.

In the world of power exchange, the dominant can wish to transform a woman's mind. In order to get there he's likely to also want to transform her body. 'Owner tags', for example, are a permanent reminder that the person is 'owned'; that her body and her mind - her whole sense of happiness and fulfillment really - are at the behest of, and under the control of, the dominant member of the relationship.

It won't matter how much interaction I have with dominants. Their words cannot suffice to explain their head space such that I can explain it in my own words. I can only imagine what they might mean; what they might want. For a long time, I saw the exchange, at its most heady, as one person giving herself over to the other. By doing this, the submissive member of the exchange was giving her trust, and her love, to the other. He might want more than she wanted, more than she ever imagined she wanted, but over time his desires would naturally - by various means of persuasion - become her desires. Together, they'd experience unimaginably erotic highs.

He'd luxuriate in her ability to 'let go' and let him lead; to experience such divine eroticism. He would have created, and transformed, an average woman into a slutti, mindless, sex craved fucktoy. They'd both be unbelievably aroused and connected in the experience; the ultimate in sexual libido at its highest and pleasure in the extreme. He could wallow in her acceptance of his appetite. In the state she is hardly in a position to challenge or berate his behavior. She's just as bad; just as naughty.  Her appetite is just as voracious. Look in the mirror. Take note of the photograph. Evidence. A slut is born. This is really as far as my mind went.

I now think I see something that I had overlooked before. Some dominants cannot and will not be satiated. That is to say, enough will never be enough. An owner's tag can be heavier. A heavier ring through the nipples can hold a heavier bell or weight. A woman can be locked away, should he choose. There are chastity belts, a constant reminder of the 'owned' state. He can lock her pussy cunt; attached rings in her pussy cunt and padlock them together. He can 'request' a tattoo marking his possession, or he might want to see her in a corset, restraining her such that her waist is adorably small.

Some dominants want full control over the submissive's hair style and color, her wardrobe, her weight, her exercise regime. Other dominants might lead a woman to a new way of life; a different course of undertaking her days. 'Dom with Pen', a perfectly sane individual as far as I can tell, doesn't shy away from the fact that he wishes his girl were a housewife and not in the teaching profession.

What I am getting at is that the dominant position isn't necessarily one whereby it is about leading a woman to express and live out her own personal, unfulfilled and perhaps unexpressed desires. He wants waaaaaaaaay more than that. He wants her to do 'it' - whatever the 'it' is this time. He wants her to do  'it' because it would be pleasing to him.

I referred a few posts ago to the fact that the dominant may not accept 'no' as an acceptable answer. It's not the sort of arrangement where she can say - "I tried. I just can't." He's not going to accept that, this dominant. She needs to try harder. She needs to train more regularly. He's not whistling dixie here. He means it. He has decreed it and she will do it.

There is a persuasion of a similar kind that goes on with vanilla folk, I think. He wants the job in London and he means to have it, whether they have to uproot and she leaves behind all that she loves, or not. He wants to grow a beard and she has no choice but to accept his decision even though she much prefers him clean shaved. For some men, their will must be done. They mean to have their way - not in a selfish way, necessarily. There is a good chance that the decision is right for both of them, ultimately. But, his will will be done.

In power exchange terms, I suppose you would say that between the couple, there are no real limits and there certainly is no safe word she intends to ever use. He controls. She does his bidding. Now, not for a minute would I suggest that this situation is intended to harm or be in any way negative. In a healthy 'all or nothing' power exchange the dominant is so incredibly responsible for the submissive that he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is the 'all mighty' ruler and as such he understands he bears responsibility if something goes wrong. He needs constant and open communication with her in order to function. He'll always listen. But, he, ultimately will decide and she, ultimately, must concede to him. Never mind that these ideas are new; radical; outside of her knowledge banks, desires and wants. His wants are, inevitably, her wants. She, at the end of the day, if not before, will be enriched; praised; adored. Enticed?

Wanting no control

When I am immersed in activities of the mind, using every ounce of intellect I have to create a piece of writing that appeals to academics, I can hunger for some time when I must make absolutely no decisions. When the opportunity comes I grab onto it, luxuriating in the experience of simply following instructions - instructions that are designed for my pleasure (and challenge).

What is hard becomes easy. It doesn't matter what the expectation is for whatever it is I go about filling it. The instruction doesn't pass through my mind but rather 'the bimbo' hears the instruction and immediately, without any thought at all, fulfills it.

Maybe, I know that I can be delivered from excruciatingly boring thought; or from my own expectations of excellence, or from having to climb one more intellectual mountain. Maybe, my mind has been trained to obey. Maybe, I equate challenge and obedience with pleasure.

It's so wonderful to feel myself for these times; to let go of societal expectations to be a certain way. How ironic, it seems to me that the 'postmodern' society paints us into boxes that it is meant to free us from. If I want to be controlled; to give up control; to let go of the role of 'emancipated female' then why  can't I?

It drives me up the wall that it is I that is seen as old-fashioned or behind the times when I am simply arguing for the right to express myself and my desires; to be myself. They aren't other people's desires; simply my own. I ask no-one to change. I ask for respect of my desire to give up control rather than have more.  Who knew the 'postmodern' society could be so constricting?
 

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!?

Lust

When I 'let go' and give up all control, it feels a bit like this photograph. Whilst it may not be evident let me assure you this girl is glowing; loving every moment of surrender and being in the gentleman's care. She may be on a leash but she has no complaints. She kneels willingly, blissfully aware that nothing feels quite as good as this.

Is it that she is the centre of his attention? It could be. Could it be that to lower herself in this way is to rise to the heights of pleasure? That may be so.

For me, to relinquish control and do exactly as I'm told is to soar to heights that I can't reach any other way. I absolutely love to surrender my will. I absolutely adore the heady feeling of my body reacting to the commands. Not to move a muscle unless directed has a gorgeous feeling of release. Those commands, that rather forceful control of my mind, and then my body, switches on my mind which prepares my body for the purest of pleasure. By now, there are no thoughts at all in my head. Nothing is left but the dumdum slutti fucktoy. And, lust.

Restraint

Somewhere in my reading last week, I read of one woman who was told that she may not touch herself for a week. She was doing remarkably well when on the sixth day she succumbed and had a most pleasurable orgasm. Her thinking was along the lines of, "I need this today. I'll worry about the consequences tomorrow."

Well, first of all, I think being told not to touch yourself for a week is asking a great deal so I give her full credit for lasting six days! Delayed gratification is something I can find difficult, although I also find difficult the consequences too really. I'm not fond of people being very cross with me and on more than one occasion I've berated myself for not just doing as I was asked. However, I can certainly empathize with the thought process that six out of seven ain't bad.

I've been sleeping on my own for the past week and my sleep has been quite disrupted because there has been too much opportunity to let my hands stray. On one night I considered tying my wrists together so that I could get a good night's rest. Fortunately, my husband returned home last evening and whilst I woke up in a similar way in the early morning I mentally acknowledged the desire but also mentally told myself that it was a darn good thing that I couldn't succumb to my desires. I folded my hands together as in prayer, a testament to my resolve, and duly went back to sleep for a couple of well needed hours of sleep.

There's a big part of me that very much likes the idea of orgasm control. Chastity belts come up in my thoughts regularly and I love photographs of a woman restrained into a chastity belt. I read once that a Dominant kept his submissive in a chastity belt (apart from cleaning and so on) for a six month period and that was not a dreadful thought for me; not at all. I feed off such thoughts.

I like the challenge of seven days without touching myself. I can't imagine my mind thinking of a darn thing other than my own desire for pleasure. Perhaps the need fades as time goes on. I very much doubt this myself. On the seventh day, I can imagine myself counting down the minutes. Maybe I'd get on with writing assignments and put pleasure out of my mind, or, maybe I wouldn't be able to write a thing so muddle-headed with the desire for pleasure I couldn't think straight.

Of course, the fact that I've been told that I can't have or do something is a truly enticing notion. I'd like to think I've progressed enough where the verbal instruction would be enough and I could exhibit restraint. On one level, it would be absolute torture but on another, deeply arousing. It would be an extraordinary act of grace to have my hands tied at bedtime and just give me a hand (by taking away my hands) but I do understand the idea is to use one's mind alone to show resolve sometimes.

When the woman in question told her Dominant of her transgression the whole time period started all over again. It lasted until they saw one another again which, I think, made it even a bit longer than seven days and I think she was starting to wonder if her life was truly worth living if orgasms were to be spaced out in this way. I so get that. On the other hand, what was he do? Well, I think he removed his Dominance from her, as I recall, and that's when the penny dropped. (Oh my, do I get this part...) She suddenly realized that delayed gratification was much, much easier than the removal of his services and I think it is this knowledge that allows her to move forward into this new time period of no touching.

I'm in a particularly desirous mindset; a desire to prove my mettle and to enjoy succeeding. I'm keen to get back in the hunt, out with pack and on with the game. I'm feeling decidedly playful and ready for challenge and I truly do think that I might be able to follow such a command, should be it ordered. I do little tests on myself, actually and I tell myself I can't do this or that for a couple of days and see what happens. Well, I can follow my own instructions with some degree of success but then again, I've never said to myself, "This time it is seven days" because I just couldn't do that to myself.

Obeying commands

Saturday morning. He decided to spank me, not because I'd been naughty but because he knew it would do me good. A few minutes later, he had me lie straight in the middle of the bed and he tied my hands together and then my ankles. I felt like a pencil. This was my thought.

He took the paddle now and applied it to my bottom and I sank down into that space where I like to go; that sense of letting go; that sense of warmth; of relinquishing all and any control.

After a period of time of unknown length he adjusted the ropes so that I was in the fetal position on my side. My eyes were covered and had been from the outset.

"Go to sleep," he said.

And, like the obedient girl that I am, I instantly did.

Bliss. 

Two moments of whimsy

She could not sit still. She could not settle. She wanted to hear his voice and when he called, she hoped with fervour that he would tell her what to do.

Of course, she could do those things to herself. She was more than capable of following the steps by now but she needed it to be at his instruction. She experienced the need like a hunger in her stomach; like a scratch she needed to itch; like a nervous twitch that needed to be calmed.

The phone rang. She heard his voice and was instantly reassured; ready to listen; wanting to please.

"Get the plug"

"Squeeze on it"

"Time for bed"

"Off to sleep"

She snuggled in; into the bed and into the comfort of his control.

"Ni ni, sweetheart"

"Ni ni."

------------------------------------------------------------

"Crawl to me," he said in a soft, low voice; so soft and with a smile that the words could be misconstrued as a tease; a suggestion.

Unsure, but unwilling to take the chance of being wrong, she got down on her hands and knees and slowly began to crawl. In her black stockings and black high heeled shoes she looked like a sleek, black cat except for the fact that her long curly blond hair fell around her down turned face.

"Lick my boots."

The instruction incensed her.

"I don't want  to lick your boots."

She looked up at him with rebellious, glowing eyes.

"Do it, he said, so softly she could barely hear him.

"No," she said, with a conviction that most men would have accepted as final.

With his right hand he pushed her head down until her forehead sat on the tip of his boots.

"Do as you are told", he ordered,  this time in a low, 'not to be disobeyed' voice.

Slowly, she brought out her tongue and began to lick the leather, one part of her brain incensed at this strident and stern sense of control and the other appreciative of her lack of choice in the matter.

She wondered why a smart girl like her would be taken in by his soft voice; his easy manner, time and time again. In the end, he always prevailed.

What's my kink?

I always enjoying reading Remittance Girl’s thoughts and she left me a wonderfully thought provoking comment on my most recent post. I tried twice to leave a long comment and the publishing of that comment failed, so I figured an explanation/response in the form of a post might be in order. Remittance Girl wrote:

Hello Vesta,
I'm glad you're feeling better. I have to own up to the fact that this is not a part of D/s I can really grasp emotionally. I get it intellectually, but that's the extent of it. And I respect your choices.

Okay, now that I've said all the correct things, I'm going to get opinionated. :P

This kind of misery over the length of a set of nails seems either an over-reaction or only half the story. Yes, I know it *isn't* about the nails, but obedience, but I just think that taking it to this edge over this particular issue is odd. And that concerns me, because I know that misery is not your kink (it is mine).

Remittance Girl is completely correct in saying that misery is not my kink. I think that is perfectly clear. I have entered into BDSM experiences in the hope of reaching the sun. I love to smile, to giggle, to feel light and happy. If I can get closer to the heavens and to a peaceful, contented and fulfilled state of mind, I want to go there by whatever means will take me there.

RG mentioned the nails situation in my ‘Obedience’ post. This is a situation that took place 18 months ago but I am happy to revisit my state of mind.

What I experienced was not what I regard “misery” but certainly there was angst. I understood what I needed to do to be in compliance but I baulked when I met resistance at the nail salon. I was embarrassed because I knew that what I was asking for was “slutty” and that it would identify me as a particular kind of woman. It was revealing. I was willing to be revealed if they made it easy but they chose to question me in front of other women and I hid myself again and gave into them.

When I met the iron hand of the dominant the next time we talked, I definitely felt angst, like any person who has not done the right thing and is told that unless they do, there will be severe consequences.

I was wrestling with the fact that what I wanted to do (baulk) and what I needed to do (comply) were two different things. Uppermost in my mind was that I definitely didn’t want to fail and I had to overcome my own internal resistance to do what I found hard to do.

As dramatic as the ‘Obedience’ post must read, I felt that my determination to forge ahead with the assignment and to have my new nails cut from my nail bed and replaced with longer nails was extremely significant. I had given over any complacency, any sense of embarrassment, any sense of humiliation or free will to someone else. I had finally come to grips with what a submissive woman does when she allows herself to cede all control. I wrote the post as I did because it was a momentous day in my life and one of which I am proud. This may sound odd, but it meant a huge amount to me to experience this sort of submission: to put my faith and trust in another human being to take me to a place that I did indeed ask to go.

My kink definitely is not misery and I am not particularly fond of angst, although I understand that there will be moments of angst and even misery as I wrestle my submissive demons. If I could use one word to describe my kink it is ‘care’. I want to serve another for sure; to care for another. But, I also want to experience care. It may not always look like it, but I feel confident in saying that my challenges (what I am told to do) are a form of care and I remain extremely grateful for these experiences and opportunities. I hope the above sheds some light as to my state of mind. Thank you again RG for such a thought provoking question.

Mr. Ringo

Sumtymz, cindiz feelinz bowt her pluggiz cumfliktd. Her l8st pluggi, Mr. Ringo, he a beri challengin pluggi 4 her. Ashooli, he a gr8 shape n glydz in2 plays no prublim. Da challenj wif him cumz wuns he in, coz he cuntinoooz 2 challinj ull da tym. Mr. Big, he settlz in n reeelaxz but Mr. Ringo; well, he da sorta pluggi dat jus kenna allow bimbo 2 reeelax. He insist da she pay atttenshn ull da tym.

Cors, it nut da cays dat wun dey owta da bloo, bimbo eskd 2 yoos Mr. Ringo. Da treynnin happin obr a lung periud ob tym n bimbo beri graduilli werkiz up 2 da big pluggiz.

It reeeli nut dat lung afta Mr Ringo arryv dat she poot in Mr. Ringo. She encurijd 2 go slow n tek her tym, n she def tri slow down. But, it has sed, dat bimbo tendz 2 hurri deeez tingz. Wut ken she sey!?

N e wey, she beri proud dat she wer Mr. Ringo n she kenna wayt 2 cum on n tel bowt dis - 2 reseeeeef prays. Dis bimbo happin 2 menshin she a prayz slut? Well, dat so.

Sum tym afta dat, nut dat lung tinki, bimbo tol 2 wer Mr. Ringo ulll nite. Dis a M A J O R challenj 4 her n she sed dis. She sed she nut tinki she ken do. She tol it nut up 2 her. She hab no cuntrol - 2 settil in2 da speriens. Nut 2 esk hessef wen mite finish but 2 unnerstan dat der no wey owt - dat she hab no cunrol. She nut 2 tinki wen she get releeeef, or how lung Mr. Ringo 2 stey, but just 2 akept her predikamin.

Wel, bimbo tryz beri beri hard 2 pay attenshn 2 ull suggestinz n she continoo 2 wer da pluggi ull da nite. Dis challenjn nut jus coz it fiscilli demandn but also coz bimbo wanna feel dat totil cuntrol such dat she do sumtin dat herd 4 her. She mey uncumfertibl but she also wanna test hessef n 2 obey da cummanz she reseeef.

2 tel da troooof, bimbo reeeeeli getz off on dis sorta cuntrol n ebin do she waki lotz n wish dat she cood tek Mr. Ringo owt and she resil wif dat tot obr n obr, she nut tek him owt.

Wen it cum lite n dey tym, she so prowda hessef. She wer Mr Ringo uuuuuuul da nite n assept da cuntrol n dis mek her feel beri prowda hessef n liki she a gud bimbo. Dis a wunnerfl feelin 4 bimbo coz dis sorta cuntrol obr her n da feeelin dat she cuntrolld beri satisfyn 2 her. It y she werki so herd reeeeli, coz she wanna no wut dat liki - 2 hab no cuntrol in deeez weyz. It wut she esked 4, in fakt.

Of cors, a demandin pluggi liki Mr. Ringo hab a beri intens fisicil fekt on bimbo 2 n he tern her on in weyz dat fantastik. If onli da gurlz new!!

Cors, dis week, Mr. Pluggi jus sit on da shef n wayt 4 bimboz currekin obr. It tuf on him n reeeeli he did nuffin rong. It bimbo dat notti. Hopefoooooli, beri soon Mr. Ringo n bimbo ree you nytd n he bak where he beee lung. Dat of cors, if deeez postz septibl.

Submission more right than ever

The past two weeks have been a very special time for me. I have loved my time in London and my daughter assures me I have seen more of London now than most Londoners. I really have done a great many things.

The past few weeks have been a burst of independence for me. Perhaps it was inevitable that by embracing this opportunity - opening my mind to all sorts of opportunities and ideas - that I might forget myself a tad. I confess that for a time a daily ritual was not adhered to.

I don't believe in giving excuses because I am responsible for the decisions I make but I do want to say that living in such close quarters with my daughter (who for now is entirely vanilla) made it difficult to behave in my usual way. Nonetheless, there is an issue of non-compliance which will no doubt be addressed in good time and I, of course, accept and expect that. If an owned girl can't comply with simple commands then there is a big problem that requires correction. Happily, I am back on track with that.

Time without his girl has most definitely set my owner's mind thinking and he has informed me that he wants to embrace our power exchange in a more complete way and that if I accept this, and of course I do, that issues such as non-compliance and poor behaviour might find me in rather uncomfortable positions. As I said to him, if he wants that, then I want that.

This has been a period of extraordinary growth for me in a great many ways. I can feel myself bursting over with ideas and thoughts, but no thought is greater in my mind than that I love being an owned girl: that I embrace my limits and containment with a song in my heart and that I am thankful to have the attention and care to which I have become so accustomed.

I revel in my submission, deplore disconnection, adore my relationships and embrace myself for who and what I am. A shot at independence has cemented in my mind just how right this life is for me. Nebr feer: da bimbo bak soon.

Unexpected gift

She had left the light on for him. She didn’t know when or if he would be back but she left the light on for him anyway.

Days passed and she had no word. She didn’t know if he was unwell or if something had happened to him but in the back of her mind was the thought she could trust him. When he could, he would return to her.

She continued to do what she knew he would want her to do and that gave her strength. It provided the link to him and it comforted her as well. Even when he was gone, she was what he had made her and she understood what to do.

When she least expected it, he returned. There were a few words exchanged as to why he had needed to stay away and of course, she wanted to know if he was all right. He gave her an instruction to hush her. It was not sympathy he wanted of her but merely for her to return to her place of service to him.

She complied immediately. He barely acknowledged the compliance. This was not a time for sweet compliments. He wanted to know how she felt; what it did for her; how it changed her. He wanted to feed off her. He needed to consume her in fast, ravenous gulps. He asked question after question and eager to express herself in her place of service to him, she invited him into her mind and let him wallow there while he sucked at the bone of her veracious appetites.

She finally understood that it mattered not what time may pass, their needs would always be there: his to feed off her desire to satisfy him and hers to serve and thereby satisfy them both. No longer gliding above the surface they had sunk down into their places. From out of nowhere, this was a most precious gift.

Agnes - Into the Courtyard

follows on from Frederick - Into the Courtyard

As Agnes proceeded along the stairway she discovered foliage was in her way and she slowed right down so that she could move the overgrowth out of the way of her face. Her imagination was starting to come into play and she had put herself into a jungle sort of scenario with Frederick along to protect her from all the wild creatures. It was a game she often liked to play; to imagine scenarios in her head and she slipped into the role of a jungle explorer quite easily. Even better, there were no mosquitoes to deal with here, although she did look above her from time to time to check for snakes, so able was she to enter a world of her own creation.

When Agnes found that she had landed into a small pond, she was quite disoriented for a moment and she stopped dead. Fortunately, Frederick told her where to go and she stepped across the stepping stones that led to the open space of the courtyard. She found it rather magical and she told Frederick so, although she didn’t want to let on all was going on in her mind. She held onto her imagination as a lovely secret and had never shared that with anybody.

She was impressed with what Frederick had done with the garden and she liked to hear him talk about it and how it had come to pass that he cared for it. She very much liked people to be multi-layered, to have various interests and even to be complicated. She liked that Frederick was a surprise package. She found so many boys so dull and one dimensional and felt privileged to be in the company of this sophisticated man. She worried that she was not interesting enough for him.

It had been rather humid amongst all the plants and Agnes was used to getting much more sleep than she had last night. Perhaps she had not drunk enough water, she wondered, for she felt a little dizzy. She tried to ignore the sensation but it was not going away. She eventually had to tell Frederick before she fainted and he was quick to sit her down.

Agnes felt Frederick place his arms around her shoulder and pull her in. He seemed to be looking at her in a concerned way and it embarrassed her. She didn’t like the fact that she felt unwell in front of him. Yet, as he touched her hair or moved his hand on her shoulder slightly and seemed so generally solicitous of her, she began to realize that he was not at all cross with her but genuinely caring and looking to ease her discomfort. She felt very warm towards him. He was a good man, she felt.

Absentmindedly, she murmured in response to these gestures of kindness until she felt moved to hold his fingers across the palm of one hand and to rub his index finger. The giddiness had gone and although she did not feel entirely well, she did not want to ruin Frederick’s plans. She willed herself to be perfectly all right.

“I think I am feeling better now...”

As they got off the bench and proceeded with the tour Agnes was very aware of how Frederick was holding her. He had taken her by the wrist and this was a new feeling. It left her powerless and she liked the sensation of being led in this way. She felt very soft; rather small; happy. Agnes loved the way that Frederick took the initiative to move her body this way and that as he pointed out various details around the courtyard. She loved being shown about and given this very private tour. It made her feel special in his eyes.

When his mobile phone rang and he excused himself to take the call, he made it clear he wanted her to wait right there. In spite of what he had directed, she had the thought that he would be on the phone at least a few minutes and in that time she could do a little exploring herself. For reasons she didn’t know entirely, she felt drawn to a corner of the garden where there were tall bushes. She wondered if she could hear a sound coming from that direction; perhaps the chirping of birds. She wandered towards the bushes.

Just as Agnes almost disappeared into the bushes, she felt an arm yank her back. Shocked for a moment, she realized it was Frederick and he did not look amused. Although his words were measured, she could sense some agitation. She wanted to explain herself; that she meant no harm and was just filling in time but her explanation and her flattery of what she saw seemed to make him even more agitated. She felt the need to apologize but even that was unacceptable to him.

“It is not enough to be sorry. You need to be careful,” he responded.

For the first time, she felt the age difference between them acutely; a young, inexperienced girl with a mature sophisticated and professional man who was making it clear that he meant what he said. She was embarrassed at the sudden chiding and felt foolish. She looked down and realizing that he was expecting something of her, she quietly said, “Yes, Sir”.

She was confused by his sudden change in demeanour and she felt put off her balance. This was a side of him that she had not seen before. Yet, as quickly as the friction had arrived, it was gone and the Frederick she knew before that moment returned. He pointed to a spot where he liked to picnic or to lie out on a blanket. It was as if her wandering away had never taken place. She felt a bit confused.

He put his arm around her, smiled and continued on with his explanation about the building and garden and the story of it all. It interested her well enough for she was also interested in these topics and she tried to pay attention. Her mind kept wandering off to thoughts about Frederick and her own behaviour. She was going over it in her mind wanting not to make a similar mistake again.

Returning to the grassy area, Frederick asked her if she was hungry and although she wasn’t really hungry as yet, she said she was a little hungry, working on the basis that he must be if had mentioned it. He held out his keys to her and asked her to return to the apartment and put together some lunch in a basket and bring it down.

This request surprised and worried her. It had never occurred to her that Frederick would allow her in his apartment alone. Most of all, she worried that she would not be able to prepare the food in the manner to which he would approve. He seemed to do everything so effortlessly and to have strong opinions. She didn’t want to do something that made it any more evident that she was really just a simple, young girl with no particular abilities or finesse. At least, that is how she felt about herself.

Perhaps to him, she looked like she knew what she was doing with her life, but inside her head, she lacked enormous self-confidence and questioned why he would want to spend time with her in the first place. His reassurances gave her the confidence to accept the challenge and she walked towards the stairs, trying to evoke the feeling that she was under control and had more than enough confidence to accept any challenge. It was something that she did all the time around Paris, standing tall and walking with a gait that suggested she was a woman who knew herself and her power. It was her mask.

As Agnes walked up the spiral stairs her mind was focussed on making the picnic as delicious and enticing as she possibly could. This man had got under her skin and more than anything, she wanted him to be pleased not with just her but with every move she made and every last little thing she did.

Rough winds

This time last year I reported that my husband took me sailing for the very first time in his little sail boat, designed really for one just person. We had perfect conditions that day for introducing me to the experience of sailing a small boat. I adored the experience and naturally enough, looked forward to a repeat experience this year.

Several times this summer I have looked out at the lake and said, "What a lovely morning to sail!" Then he'd say, "Let's wait for some wind." We repeated this exchange several times until one late afternoon recently he said to me, "Would you like to go for a sail?" "Sure," I replied. Yet, as the minutes wore on as we got ourselves together the rather wild wind was starting to worry me. My dawdling got to him. "Look, do you want to go sailing or not?" "Well, do we have to go on such a windy day?" He was clearly agitated with me that I wasn't the fearless sailing companion that he had in mind and I felt a bit of a flop.

The next time he suggested we go sailing, I expressed no hesitation whatsoever. Off we went down to the lake and whilst he put the sail up, I watched it go crazy in the wild wind. The wind was causing a whistle in the air and frankly, I didn't think it at all a great idea. However, I wasn't going to hear the same speech about what a wuss I was, and off we went. From the moment we left the shore it was clear that the peace and serenity I experienced last year was not going to be repeated this day.

"Sit in the middle of the boat. The middle!!!! Come over the other side. Quickly!! Duck you head. Get down!! Okay, now put the wood in the slot. Do it! Further down. That's it. Now, lean back. More! Get more in the middle!"

I am used to very minute and specific instructions as to how to load a dishwasher let alone how to sail a small boat in intrepid conditions so I was not at all surprised by these commands.

"Oh shit! That was dumb. We haven't got life jackets on."

I could feel us change course.

"Are we going in?"

"Yep."

I watched him gather life jackets from the speed boat and realized with a sinking stomach that he intended to proceed with the mission.

"Are we going back out again?"

Sigh.

"Don't you want to?"

"Wellll, it is pretty rough out there..."

"Do you want to or not? Speak your mind, girl."

"I think it is too rough for me."

"If you aren't coming, I'm going on my own."

"Perhaps that is best."

"Fine."

I got off.

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, yeah..."

I watched him leave without me, trying to find my nerve to say I'd changed my mind. Yet, my life preserving instinct was in full force.

"It wasn't meant to be this way," he said as he ventured out, clearly disappointed with me.

I watched him leave with heavy heart, berating my scared soul.

When I saw him returning an hour or so later, I came down to meet him. Anything to regain the connection...

"How was it?"

"It was bloody rough out there. I capsized."

"Ohhhhhh"

"It was much too rough for you."

"Ohhhhh?"

"Yes. Much better that you didn't come."

Did we discuss his agitation with me? No. Did I point out that I was right and he was, well...wrong? No. We simply enjoyed the reconnection, or whatever you like to call it.

For well over 30 years I've been receiving instruction from my guy. He instinctively takes it upon himself to instruct me about anything and everything; from pulling the sheet up higher when I make the bed to how to handle a complicated business transaction and everything in between. (Don't get me started about my role of navigator and his, the driver. Just don't get me started...!)

And there it is; a dynamic set in stone; a dynamic that will never change. He's the Captain. I'm merely a lowly sailor who sometimes oh so tactfully, sets the Captain straight!

Perception

A few days ago, as part of the preparation for the holidays, I had my nails refilled. This event takes place every two to three weeks and I go to the same nail salon with the same Chinese girls. I sat down and put out my hands, as you do. She gasped.

"So long."

"Yep"

I've been through this so many times now I am almost oblivious to their reactions. They do a little shrug, maybe a few words about how I must "be careful" and then go ahead and do the refill. But, there have been times when I have been intimidated by these girls. Their 'encouragement' to "make shorter" my nails has had me agreeing to take off some length. I seem to be an anomaly to them, that I should want nails longer than the other clients, but I have learned to stand my ground.

It was more than irritating therefore when a young woman, about fifteen years younger than me, blew into the salon saying that she needed a new set of nails and could it be done immediately. They were frantically busy but squeezed her in - the woman with the very long dyed hair with a part in the middle of her head. I was curious about her and gobsmacked when I looked at the length of her new nails. Not a single word of concern or negativity had been raised about the length of her nails - almost twice as long as mine! She wasn't encouraged to "be careful" and nor did they shake their heads at the length she had instructed her girl to cut them. Quietly and without fanfare she was getting the longest set of acrylic nails I had ever seen, apart from photographs!

I have to think that my appearance led them to feel a certain way about me, whereas her appearance and her whole persona (I wondered if she might be a domme/switch) led them to feel an entirely different way about her. I really have no idea as to where the truth lies and can only speculate.

All my online friends are the most regular looking of people, really. There would be no reason at all for a passerby to feel that he or she is in the midst of kink. I think we are virtually undetectable. Yes, the wearing of a corset perhaps says something. Possibly, a few tattoos give a clue. A certain kind of shoe might suggest something. But I don't think anybody could be sure about any of the people I know, including me. There is nothing to suggest the thoughts that are racing through our minds; our desires for a certain kind of handling. People might wonder but they can't know anything by our appearance.

In the same way, I may be barking up the wrong tree entirely to call this girl with the very long nails a domme/switch, or into kink at all. She may, quite simply, love very long nails. Who is to say? Yet, I sense I am right about her; feel almost sure that she has a secret and that made her very interesting to me.

Here's what I think: The man of her life, a very dominant man indeed, has instructed her to get a set of nails of an inch in length and for them to be done by the end of the day. It was a work day for her and immediately collecting her child from school (she had a rather naughty little boy with her who she was having trouble controlling, which made it all the more interesting to me that she might be a domme/switch) she drove fast to the nail salon and without an appointment used her assertive style to get their co-operation. They sensed she was unlike their other clients and didn't bother to try to control her, rather fitting her in and doing what they were told. Upon leaving the salon, she would scoop up the naughty little boy and race home to tidy up the house, prepare dinner and await her man, who would be delighted to see the claws at the end of her fingers. Her top appeased, they would settle into a night of lovely debauchery.

Now, who in the salon would think that scenario of me? Who would ever believe that my instruction to them to have my nails a certain length came to me as a command? Who would ever think that I was going home to a night of slutty, kinky play? Who would ever look at me and think, 'There's a slut if ever I saw one!"

It has made people watching all the more fun for me. I look at the most regular of people and try to guess what is going on in their very private minds. Could they be thinking what I am thinking? What sluts!

Daydreaming

This time of year is especially busy where I live. We've been through preparation for exams, the exams, the events that lead to the end of the academic year...the Carol Service....and so on. Finally, that all ended and my body said, "Enough!". It was time to get some good sleeps.

With some catch up on sleep, my body and mind moved into a new phase, that of resuming kinky thoughts with a new found gusto. I've barely slept at all last night between my lusty thoughts, my husband coming to bed late and getting up early to leave for the airport again. I had planned to return to sleep once I said goodbye to him but instead my thoughts had me in the most cuntstrained of situations...

Not only did I have an owner, and a very strict one at that, but since he was a very busy owner he had employed a woman to supervise me. In the past, such a woman (in my mind) has been a big boned, strong and ample sort of woman but this time she was quite petite, rather beautiful features and she wore her hair in a french twist.

I really don't feel that I can tell you everything they did to me. It is acutely embarrassing. Let me try...

His driver was on stand by to take him to the airport and he called me into his study. He checked to see that I was plugged, that I was well constrained and contained within my corset, and he had me kneel and pleasure him with my mouth cunt. (He always used those words and so must I.) The woman looked on. He took his pleasure and had me clear him up and as an afterthought he advised me that it was best that he mark me, so that while he was gone I had a constant reminder of my connection to him. He had her fetch the cane, and as I bent over the desk as told, and while my owner lifted up my skirt, she held down my head.

He delivered 12 swift strokes of the cane and before I could barely thank him and wish him adieu he was gone, but not without cautioning me that whatever Madam said was at his instruction. I was to do exactly as I was told.

Whether she was sadistic or merely following instructions is hard to say. The days were certainly challenging and containing with her. She kept me plugged night and day and insisted that I use the toilet when she deemed it proper to do so. She had determined that I should evacuate my bowel in the morning and when I could not do so, she said I would sit there until I did. An hour later, she thought the strap would assist me, and twenty five welts to my bottom later, I told her that I was, in fact, able to use the toilet at her command. The fact that there would be no reprieve had kicked my brain into action (and the threat of another 25 of the strap in half an hour's time also probably helped.) It seems her task was to make my day orderly in every way, and she was determined to fulfil her orders.

Each day I had certain lessons to learn and later she sat me down to write hundreds of lines to ensure I understood my lessons well. There would no permission to leave the seat and so I stopped bothering to ask. I learned as well that I must slow myself down and attend to my handwriting very carefully. She had given me a fountain pen with which to write and the slightest imperfection earned me another page of lines. I soon learned it was best to do the task and all tasks she set, properly and with pride.

I dressed and undressed when told, ate and drank what I was given, bent over to be plugged or unplugged, beaten or felt. I wore jewellery from my nipple rings to remind me of my position. I went to bed as directed, woke up when instructed and didn't dare to touch my own body in any way at all (she seemed to be always watching and tied my hands to the bed post at night). Eventually, with the assistance of Madam I learned that in my owner's household I had no say, no control, no power; no will of my own at all.

Upon his return, my owner noticed the changes in me immediately. He talked of a serenity that had come over me and a clear understanding of my place; my status; my position. I can only say that I was very happy; content and peaceful. I felt the strongest of connections to him. That he had ordered and directed this adjustment to my thinking made me feel that I belonged to him and I wanted nothing more and nothing less than that...

Sleep or no sleep aside, the day demands that I focus on business matters and there my dream must end. I promise to put up the next interlude between Agnes and Frederick soonest.

Restrictions

Heer da ting: Cindi took a l'il break from her pluggiz n wen dat situ8shin reveeld, cindi had her pluggiz taken wey. If cindi nut appreshe8 dem n decide 4 hessef nut 2 yooos dem, den she ken hab l'il rest n nut eben tuchi dem 4 5 deys.

At ferst, dat nut such a bed ting 4 cindi. It neba comfirtibl dat she in da bed books, but she beri bizi n 4 few deyz she nut mynd. She nut reeeli miss dem. She wer at certin speshel momins in da dey dat normilli she wood poot pluggi in at dis tym, n it feel odd, but she funshinin ull rite so far. Or, so she tot. Onnir wood nut gree wif cindi bowt dat. She ashoooli aktin silli n ovareaktin n jus emoshinel. As eeach day wor on, she missin her pluggiz mor n mor.

Dis mornin, da restrikshinz ova. Tanki gudness! But, cindi nut hab chans 2 poot in pluggi as yet n wen reeeli evalu8 da situation, it a hol 9 deys since she pluggi. Dat far far far 2 lung! Wen onnir talkiz wif cindi dis mornin she nut behayd well n he nut et ull impressd. He tyrd of cindi n go wey 2 da jim n tel cindi 2 stop dis bed behavyor meed8li!

Wen onnir get bak he c dat cindi hab dat certin look in her iz - dat gilti, notti l'il bimbo look she gets - and he pick up da wide, flat wooden spatula n tek cindi bi da hand 2 da bedroom. He tek off her kimono n he now poot nakid cindi ova da bed n tie her hanz 2 da posts of the bed. She well stretched owt. N he tel cindi it tym she remynded of how she expekted 2 beehayv.

Cindi sey, "Pweeeeeeeez!!", but onnir def 2 her pleees. He thwack da horribl wooden tingi on2 cindiz bottom beri hard n she hooooowwwwwwl 2 da moon. Boy, duz dat sting! N den he do it nudder 5 tymz. Eech tym cindi hooooowwwwl n pull on da ropz, but she nut goin enewhere - nut eben ken mooov an inch. Her paw bottum beri red n stingi.

"Am gettin trew to cindi?"

"Yessiiii, def gettin trew."

"Sure? Nut need ene mor paddlin?"

"Noooo tanki."

"Well, it tym da bimbo yoooosd. Tinki best yoooosd in da ass cunt. Cindi gree?"

"Wuteva onnir wans."

"Gud cindi."

Cindi gotsa plenti yooos n she beri gr8fool, of cors. Bimboz liki dat.

"Cindi redi now 2 hab gud dey?"

"Beri redi."

"Wut cindi sey?"

"Tanki onnir, 4 da currekshin n 4 da yooos."

"Gud bimbo; in2 da showr n onnir wash his bimbo."

Der a morel 2 dis stori: Bimboz need der pluggiz n if nut get da yooos from da pluggiz, dey ken get owta cuntrol. Wen owta cuntrol, dey stert aktin silli n get bit miserabil. It jus nut a gud ideuh.

So, tankfooooooli, cindi bek 2 pluggeen eberi singel dey. Dat best. C, it liki dis. Pluggi da sem 2 a bimbo wut a secoooriti blanki liki 2 a babi. Unfortoon8li, it nut until it taken wey from bimbo ocasinli dat she ken c dat pluggi essenshil. She unastandz dat now n so happi 2 haf her pluggiz gin. She alredi stertin 2 feeel gr8 n she hab beri fun dey!

Sumtymz u donna no wut u got til it gone.

Sharing

If the reader knew what to look for, it would be easy to detect when I am doing things in my life as instructed and when I am not. When I am doing things as instructed, it is a virtual certainty that my writing speaks of positive things, kinky things and erotic things and life sounds sweet. When I am not doing things as instructed the doubts kick in and the writing has a completely different tone.

If the reader knew to look between the lines what he or she would see is that I am in emotional turmoil and without the ability to express that pain anywhere else, I come to this web journal.

This morning I felt compelled to make a confession to my mentor that I had been neglecting to do regularly what I had agreed to do. It had been haphazard for several days. I recall laying in bed yesterday and really trying to come to terms with what was going on with me that I didn’t do what I knew would bring me comfort. Even to me, it seemed without reason or rhyme, no logic or sense.

He’s very shrewd, my mentor and he lay in wait really; provided space and the right environment and tone for me to make my confession which would surely come eventually – the clues were spread out like seeds. Did I think he was surprised by my confession, he wanted to know? No, I knew he knew.

He said something that really hit home. He said, “These are self-imposed wounds.” I could only agree. It certainly looked like self-harming, even to me. And then he said that it was an attempt to take control. I didn’t see that right away and I responded that another way to look at it was that I felt out of control and was looking for more control over me. That was my best guess.

I’ve done a great deal of research over these past few months in some sort of desperate attempt to understand everything that is going on – with me and in those who have this driving force to experience a power dynamic and so I did what I do best – research. I needed to know about ‘self harm’ and if that applied to me.

It seems that people who self-harm are finding life difficult and see self-harm as a way to cope. Yes, I am finding life difficult right now. One article suggested that people share their thoughts when they feel out of control or when there is temptation to harm. Well, I haven’t felt that I can do that. In fact, I have felt that I have no opportunity whatsoever to do that. So, I read on.

It was interesting to me to read that some people may self-harm and have no awareness of it. I didn’t have awareness of it until this morning. I have been aware that on the very odd occasion I have bitten myself or pulled a handful of hair so hard that it hurt in an effort to deal with conversations with my husband that frustrated me beyond my tether, but I had not connected that not doing the thing that would ease my worries was a form of self-harm at all.

Generally speaking, self-harm is the result of deep emotional pain; severe anxiety, feeling isolated and alone, stressed and angry about issues. I made a note of the following sentences.

“Extreme feelings such as fear, anger, guilt, shame, helplessness, self-hatred, unhappiness, depression or despair can build up over time. When these feelings become unbearable self-hatred can be a way of dealing with them.”

Although it was my choice, my idea and most certainly with consent that I entered a power exchange dynamic, I did so for more reasons that just a personal desire and inner understanding about me. I also requested a power exchange dynamic because it was so evident to me that my husband had already assumed control over my life. He had already taken control and as I saw it, if we had gone that far, it seemed sensible to learn all about power exchanges (I am sure he didn’t know that word existed before I told him) and make it work for both of us.

We did not begin the marriage this way at all. In fact, early in the marriage I suggested we make an investment which turned out to be lucrative and it rather amazed me when he spent a good deal of energy trying to get it off our books. Eventually, I capitulated even though I knew in my bones it was the wrong thing to do. At a certain point in our lives he advised that he was assuming control and he has held onto it firmly ever since. I am, without a shadow of a doubt, a woman with a submissive nature and I put my trust in him, despite having doubts that lingered in every sinew and kept me up at nights worrying what was to become of us. I signed when and where I was told to sign and gave over complete control to him in spite of the fact that our views on matters such as investment were poles apart.

If one takes the very long term view, all will be well but meanwhile these decisions have caused a great deal of pain and angst and continue to do so. The power exchange dynamic itself, and strategies I have employed to distract myself and to come to terms with the situation provide me with contentment and anaesthetize me from the anxiety I would otherwise experience. You see, I have absolutely no control; no say, no voice or vote. I must accept.

Even now, even here I cannot go into specifics because that would be breaking confidences. But, what I can say is that it is impossible for me to share this information with any other person in my life on the ground. Rightly or wrongly, I have felt it imperative to keep my worries to myself. It would upset my mother if I told her. It would spread like wildfire if I told friends. It is embarrassing and in any case, I don’t need pity. I just need to find ways to cope.

It was in an article on self-harm that I could see what was going on:

“When it is too difficult to talk to anyone, it (self-harm) is a form of communication about unhappiness and a way of acknowledging the need for help. Self –harm gives a sense of control that is missing elsewhere in life.”

I could see now, it was a bit like anorexia. Girls with anorexia feel like their lives are out of control and they control the one thing they feel they can – their food consumption. Is that what I was doing? Controlling the one thing I could – whether or not I put that ass plug in or not? And, was this a cry for help; an opportunity to reach out to another living soul and express how I felt by not complying and ultimately being found out?

I can only say that I appreciated his efforts to connect the dots more than I can possibly convey in words here – to break through my shell. With the very rare recent conversation with my husband about all this where I sought comfort ending in his angry words, I had bottled myself up, kept my distance from friends and was feeling more and more isolated until, having had a great run, self-harmed again.

I truly do believe that I am well suited to a power exchange dynamic but I admit I crave a sense of security – to not be subject to wild risk or very long term strategies and to live life in a rather contained sort of way. I have said to my husband countless times that I don’t crave wealth or fame. Rather, I seek only to feel that we are safe and secure and can move on with our lives; not in some holding pattern.

I think he sees my point and aims to pursue that goal now for all of us as best he can. It is so important when one cedes control to a dominant that one can trust him to act in ways that are best for you and whilst my husband’s intentions were good, the road has been extraordinarily rocky and uncomfortable for me for a very long time. Paradoxically, we don't talk about the situation hardly at all, at my request. I thought that by putting my head in the sand and living in my own world I could insulate myself from the pain.

I am appreciative to have realized what is going on with me. I understand now that my non-compliance relates to my urgent need to share my situation and be understood. I feel better already for having expressed myself. The road ahead seems much less daunting as it always does when there is a companion. Not that I need to discuss it at any length at all. Rather, I just need to be understood.

I continue to believe with all my heart that a power exchange is what works best for me so long as I have the opportunity to express myself when the need is overwhelming. I feel today a deep connection with all those souls out there suffering some issue like anorexia or self harm and their desire for some control over at least one aspect of their lives. I encourage you to share your thoughts. It doesn’t look nearly so bad when those thoughts are shared. If there is no-one else, by all means write to me.