No Need to Apologize

Typically, we're  brought up to believe that it is important to apologize for wrong doing. 'I am sorry' is a phrase that often ends an argument, and/or makes someone feel better, and/or that brings closure to the upset.

It gets a bit more tricky when both people feel that they should be apologized to, which can lead to no apologies at all, or the old standby, 'I'm sorry if you're sorry too'. Then, regardless of 'fault' the two people just drive on, no matter who really was at fault.

It really bothers my husband when I don't apologize when he thinks I should, which can be complicated by the fact that he has often spoken rudely (in my opinion) after the initial offence, which makes it hard to apologize, because I think he should apologize also for being offensive.

On the other hand, part of the training that I have undergone was about not needing to apologize. The theory there was no apology was required on either side, but rather that there was a cosmic sort of understanding that the other person was sorry about whatever had gone down. Rather than bother about fault and hence apologies, it was only necessary to drive on in a spirit of this mutual understanding that things would go awry sometimes, but the best intentions were always meant.

To date, there was only one "sorry" and this was early on in the association and really meant absolutely nothing, now that I think about it, because the same behavior pattern has remained. Always, however, there was plenty of encouragement that apologies were not needed or wanted, the subtext being that I shouldn't expect them either, of course.

If I recall correctly, there was one major statement that an event that occurred was not my fault and this was a big, big thing in our friendship. Completely unsure of what I could have possibly done to cause the rift it was a statement that meant a great deal to me.

On the flip side of the coin, I apologize quickly and fully for wrongdoing. My 'brief' is completely clear to me and I know when I err. I give my regrets sincerely. I don't recall getting "that's okay" in exchange. If I've erred then apology or not there's usually more to be said on the matter. I rather think that the two sides aren't entirely balanced on this issue, but there you have it and in any case, that's in line with the arrangement anyway. We never shot for equality of any kind.

In the midst of this, I've struggled to put that practice into practice at home, until it suddenly occurred to me how much sense it made for the life I live. Let me explain.

My husband has a volatile nature; very sweet, but inclined to flare up at a moment's notice, the tone deepening and the pitch increasing as it suits him. So, over the years he's needed to apologize endlessly really. As a young man, one knew he'd lose it and then the apology would happen soon after. I got to the point of encouraging him to try to not lose it in the first place but decades later it's clear it is impossible. For some years, on the whole, he gave up apologizing. I noted it, smarted about it and got my nickers in a knot about it. If he didn't apologize, I felt, it meant he didn't get that it was troubling to be on the receiving end of a ranting man. I could be upset for hours.

More lately, he's gone back to apologizing and I think that is because he is more aware of his vast changes in moods and I think he'd like to do something about it (but can't), so he apologizes instead. Some upset remained. I tend to talk to myself in the shower about it, to get privately  upset and it is that upset that can ruin my mood.

But, then the penny dropped. There was something to the idea that if you didn't expect an apology, you didn't need to get upset at all. Better, I pondered, to accept his short failing on this matter and see it for what it was. Privately, he was sorry, and  also most likely to make up for it in some other way. More than anything else, this avoids a huge amount of angst on my part. I acknowledge him as flawed, but loving, that he appears to be vaguely aware of the flaw, at least after the fact, and likely sorry. The great part is that I don't allow it to encroach on my mood. Win:win.

I am not at all sure that my husband is willing to accept a 'deal' about this and I don't even suggest it. It's a private deal with myself. So, in those moments when I slip up, he's likely to want me to say "sorry", although I do also think that there have been many times when he has let it go, because it was such a slippery slope when we had both done wrong.

This decision on my part to not expect apologies is part and parcel of a newly embraced feeling of comfort with the philosophy of being 'the bottom'. If one takes to heart that one follows directions regardless of whether one likes them or not, then there's an intention behind that there will be the odd issue, but that the trust between the two of you means that the best intentions were always in place. More than that, it means that there will be moments when the 'bottom' doesn't care for what is going down but that's the agreement, the 'informed consent' that this is the sort of relationship wanted and desired; at the very least, agreed upon.

In some respects, that sort of policy also ensures the 'Top' and the 'bottom' are always working to make it the best possible relationship it can be. An absence of apology doesn't mean that the offense hasn't been noted and in this way there's an even bigger commitment for both people to do better next time. If the Top isn't sincere about wanting to be the best he can be under this arrangement then that too will be duly noted in good time. This only works when both people desire to improve and progress in their submission and dominance, I think. At least, that's my feeling upon writing, and a concept I've been mulling over for some weeks. I certainly wouldn't advocate it to the populous at large by any means but for those involved in a power exchange dynamic it may be an option worth considering.

Torn

I think (I certainly hope) that I have thanked all those very kind folk who have answered my questions for the article I must write. I am grateful to you all and also very humbled that you allowed me access into your lives. Reading the responses I have been moved to tears; choked up at some of the words you have used. "Are you proud of her?" I asked the dominants.

"Very very"
"Incredibly"

The love and pride and admiration were evident and each time I glowed that I have come to know such generous and giving souls. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Over the past two days I have also been moved at the generosity of experts of relationships with whom I have been in contact. Probably the most well known sex therapist researcher in the country was very generous with her material and contacts and an expert of BDSM in relationships was overwhelmingly kind in his efforts to assist me. I'm just a l'il student. I can't really give them any publicity of any sort, so these were acts of kindness and I felt moved by them.

It is wonderful on one level to have the opportunity to use my brain again. I really am enjoying and am challenged by what I am learning.

"I'm out of my comfort zone nearly all the time," I said to my husband.
"Good," he responded. "That is where you should be."

I absolutely tip my hat to you parents out there who manage to work and to cater to your family's needs and the needs of your partner. I struggle. It is the reason why I chose not to work, because I feel so conflicted some days. I so want to absorb myself in my learning but we are on school holidays here and there is no routine that can support me. The children come and go but they simply have this perception that "Mum" will be there to provide clean clothes, lovely meals, a clean home, a driver, a listening ear; a problem solver when needed, to name a few roles I have.

Just when I think the coast is clear to attend to my own needs the phone rings, or someone comes home, or I have to rush out to the market to get more fruits and vegetables or...something...

My husband doesn't care for when I leave his bed at dawn to go read and write and I don't function well late at night. And, during the days my house is busy; chaotic even...

So, I do what I can, when I can, in the best way that I can, and I hope for the best.

Interestingly, whilst all this buzz whirls about me, I feel a stirring for controlling and containing strategies that I haven't really embraced over the past few months. I wrote about it just  now in another capacity and I was full of plans to do this and that. Fun. Fun. Fun.

And, it suddenly, haphazardly and serendipitiously occurred to me that those sort of indulgences actually require consent. Well, usually they do. It's complicated. Asking for those things it is hoped I desperately want, usually require consent. Am I getting ahead of myself here?

But, after frustration must come relief, right? Whose going to deny the l'il doll that??!

The Other Side of Agnes

You may wish to read here first.

“For dinner? Oh, I was planning to have dinner at home...”

“A baguette?”

“The baguette is for breakfast in the morning. I had thought to open a can of soup; some bread...a smidgeon of cheese...”

“That is not a satisfactory dinner, girl. You need some protein: some meat or fish.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.”

“Suppose?”

“You are right.”

“Of course I am right. Do you enjoy seafood, Agnes?”

“I love seafood.”

“Then, it is time I introduced you to the best seafood restaurant in Paris: nearby and their fish is incredibly fresh. The meals are reliably delicious.”

“I’d...I’d love that, Frederick. That sounds wonderful.”

“Then, give me your croissant and I’ll put it with my things. We can pick them up later.”

She watched him as he retrieved the packaged croissant from her basket and put the items through the register. He beckoned to her to come along. Again, he was off at a fast pace. Agnes was really more a stroller than a speedster and she had to concentrate to keep up with him.

Two blocks later when the light turned green for them, he took Agnes’ arm and wrapped it around his arm. This prompted her to walk at the same pace as him.

“Ah, that’s better. You just need some leadership.”

“Is that what I need?”

“Certainly.”

“I see.”

“I doubt you do.”

Agnes didn’t know what to make of him. She knew it felt wonderful to be in his company but she was a little unnerved. He gave her the sense that she could at any moment make a mistake, or reveal something that she wished to hide. The uncertainty silenced her and she said nothing for the remainder of the journey which was really only another five minutes.

“Here we are.”

He opened the door for her and she was immediately enchanted with the cafe. There were red and white check tablecloths on the tables and each table had a candle lit in the middle of the table. It had the sort of bohemian flavour that she adored: not stuffy at all but comfortable and enchanting. They knew him here and they were quickly led to a table by the window overlooking the street and all the people walking by. Two glasses of red wine were on the table in a matter of moments and they raised their glasses to Frederick’s words.

“To a balanced meal.”

Agnes smiled.

“To a balanced meal.”

She knew he was joking around with her a little and she enjoyed it; not in the least offended.

When they had taken a sip of the wine a need to explain herself came over Agnes but she stumbled, trying to find the right words.

“I hope that I didn’t offend you...my running off that day you took me to your apartment. My father was very clear with me that I should not trust strange men.”

“Your father is right.”

“He is?”

“Goodness, yes. A lovely girl such as you must be careful with strangers.”

“But, Frederick, you were a stranger to me...”

“Was I? Well, yes I was. Am I still a stranger to you?”

“You are playing with me!”

“Perhaps a little, but I am no threat... just a quiet living Parisian who enjoys the company of lovely young women.”

“Whatever you say, Frederick.”

“Ah, the girl is trainable.”

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He ignored her question.

“Are you still in love with Paris, Agnes? Not yearning for a quieter, simpler town life?”

“I miss my family a little sometimes, of course, but I was very ready to move. There was nothing to keep me there eventually.”

“I think you could have found a photographer who would have taken you on. I suspect you have a very good eye.”

“Perhaps, but advancing in my profession was only one reason to move. I had a couple of boyfriends in the past but I always felt a bit...awkward. I...I felt...well, I felt so out of place there.”

“Oh?”

“The boys seemed so immature. I don’t know what it was exactly. It just didn’t work out. They were nice boys but they made me feel that I was doing something wrong. I don’t really know why I am telling you this...I have never said it to another living soul...not even my sister...but coming to Paris was an escape for me.”

“You wanted to get away from someone in particular?”

“No, not really. I wanted to get away from the sense of myself that I was a misfit; that I wanted something unattainable.”

“Agnes, I know we don’t know one another well, but I can assure you that you are not a misfit here.”

“You really think so?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, that is nice to know.”

The waiter brought the menus but Frederick waved them away and told him that they would both have the salmon, but that instead of the potatoes they would have green beans. Agnes took note but she said nothing. She rather enjoyed him taking charge. It gave her a chance to sink into her favourite persona, that of observer, rather than participator.

She found him very appealing. She liked the way he wore his clothes – his crisp white shirt and his dark blue linen suit – no tie. She was attracted to the fact that all his movements had a self assurance about them, be that buttering bread or gesturing to the waiter when their glasses were empty. She enjoyed watching every move he made. But, he wasn’t giving away much; merely asking her question after question. She felt it only polite to respond to them and it was not until they were half way through their meal that she had a chance to ask him a question.

“Do you live alone, Frederick?”

“Yes, I do now. I was married but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nicole and I are still the best of friends but we grew apart. We wanted different things.”

“Do you have children?”

“No children. I think that was best under the circumstances.”

“Do you get lonely living alone?”

“Not really. I have a great many friends...people with similar interests to me.”

“May I ask what you do?”

“You may. I am a banker.”

“Oh...so you arrange mortgages...that sort of thing?”

He smiled at her simplistic response.

“Not quite. I am in takeovers and acquisitions.”

“Wow. I am afraid I don’t know too much about finance.”

“There is no need, Agnes.”

“Well, father says...”

“I am sure your father guided you well; that is plain to see by how you have turned out. But, you are a grown girl and you need guidance in the here and now.”

Something in Agnes opened up; some private drawer in her mind that had been jammed shut loosened itself and burst open. She knew this wasn’t what she was meant to do, but she was giving herself to Frederick as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She neither corrected him nor made the slightest pretence towards suggesting that he was taking unwanted liberties. To the contrary, she revelled in the notion that he was taking charge of her; leading her to some dark place that had been inside her since she was a small child.

Agnes desperately wished that he would cancel the coffee and the crème brulee he had ordered for them to share. She was hungry now for something else...she knew not what it was exactly but she sensed that Frederick could offer it to her. She was in a rush now; a rush to sample anything that she had waited all these years to taste. But, Frederick was taking his time; sipping his coffee, commenting on the smoothness and delicacy of flavour of the crème brulee until she feared that she would lose self control.

At last, he had the waiter bring the bill; rejected her offer to pay half and at a maddeningly slow pace, uncharacteristic of him, walked her back to the supermarket to collect their parcel.

“I shall walk you home.”

She felt her heart drop. There must be something wrong with her, after all, she determined. She became silent; withdrawn; lost in her insecure thoughts and sense of frustration.

He stopped and turned towards her.

“Agnes? Is something wrong?”

“Frederick, I don’t really want to go home.”

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

She remained silent.

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

“With you.”

He said nothing: merely changed direction. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Owners know best

As I recently explained in a previous post, I asked my husband for a weekly ‘correction’ and this takes place on a Saturday morning. He’s taken to the scheme like a duck to water and if there is any backchat or bratty behaviour during the week, I can hear him talking to himself just loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, that’s going to cost...”

This past Saturday morning we both slept in and found ourselves with precious little time to do a number of things before we were due at an event. When my husband assured me we could still fit the correction in, I assured him with an equal amount of vigour that we were already well behind schedule. But, it was clear he didn’t want to let it go entirely, and he turned me over and spanked away at my bottom. Deep down inside, I knew that the matter would carry on to Sunday morning and the thought wasn’t entirely welcome.

Do you ever wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Well, this (Sunday) morning was one of those rare mornings for me. I just didn’t feel like any attention at all. My bottom was sore from the previous day’s spanking and I felt annoyed with nothing in particular but everything in general. I saw with one open eye, my husband collect his cane on the way back from the bathroom (I just knew he felt that the correction process was not satisfactorily completed!) and I simply didn’t fancy a caning on an already sore bottom. I can be funny like that. I made a number of excuses as to why I really ought to get up. He let me and my bad mood go on our merry way but whispered in my ear in the kitchen shortly thereafter that by day’s end he would have his way with me. I put the thought to one side but remained a bit detached from it all.

Mid-afternoon I was surprised to see my husband put together a tray of nachos for the boys and one girlfriend. He took the tray over to them at the television as they watched a movie and then he moved over to me at my desk.

“Cindi, while the children are occupied I need to see you in the bedroom.”

“But...but, I don’t want to go to the bedroom.”

“Oh yes you do, cindi. It is in your interest to go there right now.”

He guided my body with his body towards the bedroom. It isn’t easy for me not to smile at such moments. One part of the brain really does not want to go, but there is another part of the brain that loves that he is insisting. Although I am very ‘in the moment’ at such moments, I was, in fact, aware of the change in my voice. It became rather little; like a little girl who says to her daddy, “But, I don’t want to go home yet, Daddy. Please, can’t we stay at the fair just a little longer?”

Once he had me in the bedroom, he told me to crawl around to his chair.

“I don’t want to crawl.”

I could hear a drawer of his dresser being opened and that meant, I thought, he was reaching for any one of several nasty implements.

“I’m crawling, I’m crawling!!”

When he had me where he wanted me, on my knees in front of him as he sat in the bedroom chair, he used the rope that he had in fact retrieved from the dresser drawer to tie my hands together. And, once he did that, he put the 0 ring gag securely in my mouth. The dribbling began almost instantaneously.

Once he had my wrists secured and my mouth gagged, he bent me over the chair and took off my sneakers and socks and panties and jeans (Oh, come on! I took the dogs for a walk in the rain and it is the first time I have worn pants in eons, I swear!). And, once he had my wrists secured and my mouth gagged and all the bottom clothing off, he proceeded to spank my bottom. And, once he had my wrists secured, my mouth gagged, my bottom clothing off and my bottom good and red, he covered my eyes firmly with a black, velvet blindfold.

“Feeling more submissive now, cindi? That’s the way!”

I simply slobbered a bit more (the juices from my mouth were just ridiculous) and nodded my agreement, as I was told to do.

“Time for your pluggi, cindi.”

He returned in moments and wasted no time in putting the plug in place and pushing away on it.

“There you go cindi. Doesn’t that feel much better for a little dolli like cindi?”

I nodded as I was told to do.

“I know what you need, cindi. You just leave it to owner to attend to you; there’s a good doll.”

I know readers would appreciate around about now knowing what cindi felt. Well, she did feel without a shadow of a doubt that it was in her interests to follow all commands very closely. She was very aware that her owner expected that and she never for a single moment anticipated that she would not now do exactly as she was told. She was very much in the mindset to be a very good, well behaved doll; cum what may!

“Up you come, cindi. Just move when I tell you. Over here. That’s the way. Climb onto the bed now, cindi. That’s a good dolli. Over the pillows. Arms out straight. Owner is going to fuck you, cindi. He’s wanted to do that all day. He’s going to fill that pussy cunt of yours with his cum and you are going to do exactly as you are told and feel his cock pounding away...”

Owner never stopped talking, in fact. He made it very clear that his doll had absolutely no say in what was to happen and that her pleasure was of no interest to him today at all. As her breathing pattern became rather short and even panicked, with the O ring gag making it impossible to register any sounds other than those such as “humph”, and her mouth dribbling out oodles of saliva, he took a moment to pull the top cindi was wearing over her head. The restraints around her wrists made taking it completely off impossible and so it dangled over the rope.

Now, he entered cindi’s pussy cunt and all her holes were filled. Cindi felt completely invaded and overpowered. Here was her owner on top of her, fucking her hard and telling her to take it, to accept it, to be a good doll and stay still while he had his way. Her mind returned to a film clip she had seen years ago when a woman is being raped in a hallway. She is upset, naturally, but at the same time she appears to be experiencing arousal (or was that just cindi watching it?).

Cindi imagined that the person on top of her was a stranger; someone to whom she had not given consent, and she experienced that thought as a very erotic one. She was being fucked and aroused and pleasured by an unknown man who had complete control of her and she was worried enough to be panting; taking short, panicked little breaths; but she was not troubled enough to not be very aroused.

And, then she felt the ‘mysterious man’ on top of her become very aroused himself. He was groaning and moaning and taking urgent, harsh and fast thrusts inside of her until she felt him cum inside of her and heard him gasp for breath as he climaxed. He lay on her for a while and then he gave her little bites on her neck and all over her upper back. Powerless, she stayed still and accepted the bites but she registered her complaints vocally with some squeals.

“Don’t you like pain, cindi? That’s news.”

And, then he left her; blindfolded, hands tied together, mouth dribbling and gagged; cum oozing out of her. She heard the shower and in no time she heard him return. She was surprised how quickly he returned to her but then her mind had been completely emptied and laying there as the fuck toy she was, it was not at all surprising that she had no idea of time. The stranger took off her blindfold, took the gag out of her mouth, and untied her wrists.

“Into the shower, cindi.”

When she returned, her clothes were laid out on the bed and she got into them and some slip on shoes (not the sneakers – dollies don’t wear sneakers).

“Crawl to owner.”

She did.

“What do you say?”

Cindi was momentarily confused. She gets particularly dumdum sometimes.

“Tank you?”

She felt a series of hard swats over her jean clad bottom.

“What do you say?”

“Tank you, onnir.”

“After all this time, cindi. You should know better, by now.”

“Cindi sorri.”

“All right, cindi, off you go. Return to your work.”

If the reader is in any doubt, cindi had a very relaxed late afternoon and evening and so too did her owner, who could be heard whistling about the house. The day didn’t work out exactly as cindi had anticipated but then again, it was long ago established, that this was what was best. Owners always know best.

Game over

When she was a little girl
she played games with the other little girls
but she cared not if she won or lost.
It was just a game.

When she grew up
she played games with the other grown up girls
but she cared not if she won or lost.
It was just a game.

One day she discovered a game
unlike any other she had played before.
She cared not if she won or lost,
It was for the love of the game.

She suspected that he enjoyed the game too.
But sometimes, he stopped the game short.
"If you play with bulls, you'll likely get hurt,"
he cautioned her.

The fear brought bubbles to her throat
and she reached into her pocket and felt for the contents.
She stashed the red hankerchief deep down,
just in time.

Walking backwards she tiptoed away,
aware that she could go no closer, this time.
Her appetite for this game ensured
that she would be tempted to play again.

But the entrance had been securely locked
and for now there was no way to return.
Aware of her love for the game
He would keep her tightly contained.

His rules were strict.
She had no way to move.
She sat down, took out her red handkerchief,
and blew her nose.

Game over.

Thoughts on spanking

I was introduced to tumblr.com a few months ago and I love visiting there. I follow a number of people and each day I scroll through a lovely selection of photographs. Earlier today, I came across the above photograph and found myself conflicted. There was something about the photograph that I liked. There was something about the photograph that I did not like.

Relationships of dominance and submission are difficult to judge. What may be one person's idea of totally unacceptable is another's persons idea of more than acceptable. And, that is if we can ever get to all the facts of the matter. It is a little like the saying about marriages: the only two people who know what goes on in a marriage are the two people in it. From the outside looking in, we really cannot judge all that well. Even if we think we know what is going on, we probably do not know the whole story, or how the relationship is perceived by the participants themselves. I make it a rule not to say things against someone's partner, even if they are looking for that. The next day, such a statement can come back to bite you in the bum, when they are all reconciled and you are the one in the doghouse.

In the above photograph it is clear that the girl has been spanked; hard. We don't know why but we may have the sense that the man is angry with her. He appears to be telling her off, even after the fact. Anger and spanking are not a good combination, but if the man is angry, perhaps he has good reason to be angry. And, perhaps the spanking and the anger are therapeutic. Perhaps, she is already feeling better and repentant.

Perhaps, the man is not angry at all but rather forcefully making his point; making his position clear. "I told you what would happen if you did that again, and now you know I am a man of my word!" Or, some such words as those.

Is the spanking consensual? Well, I doubt she gave her consent immediately before the event, but chances are high that the two of them are in a consensual relationship and she knew that this was a possibility. He is providing the discipline that she knows she needs. Or, is this something else?

And, did it do her harm? There is no doubting the fact that her bottom is stinging and sore and that at some point in the last few minutes she deeply regretted some action or words of hers, but perhaps the spanking has done her the world of good. Perhaps, she was out of kilter with her man and needed to feel his control over her. Perhaps, she asked for it specifically, though I rather doubt that scenario.

Perhaps, a little later in the day, her mood will be buoyant, belying the state of her bottom. Since I have been in a similar situation once or twice, I definitely buy that.

I love photography but it can be a trick of the eye. It is but one moment in a life yet we, the observer, read so much into it.

I have not spoken specifically of the erotic effect the photograph had on me. I thought it was hot.