Enduring kinky thoughts

I took a survey for Galen Fous which asked questions about my kinks and fantasies; when they started and what they looked like. This prompted me to think about the sort of archetypes, thoughts and images I might have been inspired by in early childhood, for my fantasies began at a very age. I had kinky thoughts as early as four or five years old. I masturbated to them most days.

That period of my life is now over 50 years ago so it’s hard to remember much detail, but I distinctly remember bath time. As my bath was running I would often bend over. To anyone who might walk in it seemed I liked to touch my toes, but what I was doing was imagining being told to bend over for a spanking. I also remember touching myself to orgasm as a very young child. When I went to bed and the lights were turned off, this seemed the ideal ‘cover’ for my fantasy life where I could masturbate to certain images and experience the pleasure of the arousal and the climax of my body. Falling to sleep was then certain and I’m sure that I sometimes fell asleep during the process. It was my relaxation time; my time to think my own nasty thoughts.

I can distinctly remember a day in primary school (elementary school) when it occurred to me that if it was possible to read minds, I was in big trouble. Could I be letting off signals of the thoughts going through my mind? I determined that day to be vigilant about ensuring that I kept my dirty secret safely guarded.

I recall becoming aroused when there would be some sort of discipline in a story. It could be in a school setting or in a home setting. I’d know on what page it had occurred in a novel and I’d return to that page over and over. If it happened in a movie or in a show I was watching I’d hold my breath as if struck dumb by a kink filled meteor. I’d take those images to bed with me that night, and all the nights after that to re-enact.

I never made myself the perpetrator of the action, but rather the person who needed to be disciplined. I’d struggle sometimes, as I do now, to come up with a real offence, since I made it my business as a young child to stay out of trouble and not to bother anybody too much. Yet, I was immediately and profoundly aroused when in my fantasies I was lectured, sent to the Master’s office,  placed in a corner to think about my behaviour, made to write lines, put over someone’s knee and spanked.

I needed to find in my mind suitable people who would naturally behave sternly and firmly. I needed to find people quite different to my parents who would not have dreamed of behaving this way. I needed to locate for these guilty pleasures images of people who were particular; particular about rules and keeping a girl in her place. I suspect I came up with the sort of people I saw in movies, men who wore suits and looked formal and strict; men who saw it as their business to keep young girls in check, for their own good. Sloppy attire, eating sweets behind closed doors, being late to class or smudging the ink were all behaviours that could be stamped out with a good, hard bare bottom spanking, and they didn’t hesitate to make these behaviour adjustments.

I didn’t confine my disciplinarians just to males. I had a soft spot in my kinky mind for the nasty House Mistress of a boarding school who would call girls into her study after school for such behaviours as not making the bed well enough, for not passing room inspection or for bringing mud into the boarding house, having not wiped their shoes at the door. Later, she was the one who gave enemas, and who delighted in informing of a whipping that would take place on Saturday morning. She’s the sort of woman who took private delight in a girl festering and squirming for a few days just thinking about what was to come; when the girl would get her ‘just desserts’.

I also explored the situation of being in a friend’s home and her father being a stern disciplinarian. Of course, to keep the matter sorted my parents would have told her parents to treat me as if I was their own child and this led to both my friend and I being spanked whenever it was deemed a necessary correction.

Later, naturally enough, I added all sorts of concepts and scenarios to my fantasies. There would be stern lovers and husbands; there would be trips to institutions where a girl was transformed into the ideal wife. I left the more innocent world of spanking to a world where roles were far less well defined. One minute a ‘Master’ would be thrashing me and the next he’d have me over a table and feast on my holes. Hold on! Aren’t I at a school where they can’t do that? Apparently, they could do anything they wanted with me. I let my fantasy take me where it wanted to go and that often led to bondage, to anal play, to use by multiple men; to being pierced and wearing heavy rings; to more whipping than I think I could possibly ever manage in real life. I was an ‘owned girl’ and the only rule now was to obey and accept.

Today, if I need a quick fantasy, or even if I don’t and one just fleets across my mind, it is of me waiting; waiting to be disciplined; shamed, lectured, beaten and/or used. If the fantasy is particularly fleeting, there might simply be a leather strap or a cane hurtling through the air on the way to a waiting bare backside. If you’d been watching me you might see me look slightly startled as I brace myself for the awaiting pain, and pleasure in the thought.

I am today not terribly different to that little girl who grew into a big girl at secondary school and a woman at University and later in the work place and home. I try not to bother anyone and to get along under my own steam. I do my work. I am responsible, reasonably quiet living; take great joy in many small things; sometimes struggle to overcome obsessive thoughts and worries; to keep my world in some sort of order.

Getting back to the survey, I don’t think I was overly burdened with archetypes of femininity or how a girl should behave (more on that next time) except to say that I was probably a good child in an effort to not be disciplined or lectured; to not be any trouble to anyone. My parents worked very hard and were largely unavailable to me so it made sense to get on with things on my own and not to cause them trouble. Also, I didn't want to be in trouble. It wasn't at all comfortable for me to be corrected.

It’s interesting that my fantasies were and are about scenarios that I try to avoid. If I do something naughty, even now, I’m not looking to get caught and be dealt with. Guilt might mean I must confess and that will probably lead to consequences. The consequences may well lead to sexual arousal somewhere down the track but I hate consequences. I hate trouble and I especially loathe getting into trouble. I am fearful waiting to hear my fate and I’m mad as hell when it is meted out.

I absolutely love attention. Since a dominant must pay attention – to the bad as well as the good – then those consequences are part of the deal that I accept. He might be meting out disciple, but if he’s doing that then he’s paying attention, which after all is, even when being undertaken by the meanest of Masters responsible for my fantasy education (of even the most debauched kind) a form of affection and care.

Did the lights just go on? I was a lonely child, responsible for myself from a very early age. There was virtually no discipline, no rules, because there didn’t need to be. As a young child I created my own rules; to do my work, to not to be a burden to anyone. So, what could be more sensible than create scenarios in my mind where I lived in an entirely different world where there were rules; where people did pay attention to me; and where thus I was subject to discipline? And, over time, why not add in sexual components; more lovely, passionate, pleasurable attention!

I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I have fantasies every day of my life. Nor am I exaggerating when I say that my hunger for expression of my sexuality is with me as a constant companion. I can taper it down at the edges with absorption into tasks, busyness, reading, writing, cooking, walking, talking and living life. But, my dears, it never ever goes away. Without a doubt I’m your classic perverted attention sponge.

Drilling down

First of all, I want to record that I am happy. There are reasons for this sense of happiness, although I see it more of a 'welling' of happiness, something with its own internal logic and not necessarily related to external factors. But, since I'm trying to be 'aware' of this new felt sense of happiness and how that came to pass, let's drill down.

First thing that comes to mind: I've little pressure in my life at this time, especially today. I'm typing away here at my desk, but I've precious little that really needs to be done. I'll go and explore the world a little once I've tapped away on these keys and have myself a little adventure. Love adventures!

Second thought: In this moment, my whole family seems settled and happy. Gosh, that's a fabulous feeling. My eldest son had his 30th birthday in the past week - a great party, just the way he wanted it - and I got to meet/meet up with all his closest friends.  It's fabulous to see how much he is loved and embraced, especially by his girlfriend's family. It was very good karma at that party and at dinner at home one night this week I could see that he had 'lifted'. He's happy.

My daughter has started her second year of teaching, a job she adores. She and her boyfriend have moved into their first house together. They adore one another; very, very connected. My third child has come right of his shell, sewing some wild oats now, fully immersed in a job he loves and so much more social and responsible; all good things. And, my youngest child, my baby, is doing just fine travelling around other countries with his mate. He's registered at his institution of choice and it's all good for him too - he's maturely fabulously.

Third thought: It's no co-incidence that once the family were fully ensconced in their lives that this automatically made way for my husband and me. We've been...happy...together lately, planning things and doing things and very much on the same page. Knowing I had to be out of the house by 10 am yesterday he woke me with some pampering and then a lovely breakfast on a tray in bed. It felt so...loving and tender. The kiss 'good morning' was sweet. We've watched the tennis most nights whilst partaking in a late dinner and although he's popped into his office to check his screens, it's been fine. It's been very...settled...around here this week in all these ways. My mother seemed much better yesterday and happy I agreed to go to a concert with her next week. This gives her something to look forward to and it makes me happy to make her happy. All these things are good. I love seeing the people in my life happy. That makes me happy.

Fourth thought: Schedules and routines begin next week. February brings with it routine, which I appreciate, but until January is done and dusted I'm loving the lack of routine. I'm sorting through the decade of paper on my desk, going through the storage space downstairs, sorting out and altering spaces. It's 'me and my house' time and I love that. I've a relationship with this house too, just as I do people.

Fifth thought: The 'power exchange' side of things hasn't been nearly so intact and yet it hasn't felt...bad. I've felt rebellious lately which I attribute to several factors, not least of which is the reading I've been doing; important articles that have opened my eyes to issues that may have led me down the path of considerable unhappiness in the past. I've been working privately and internally with confronting my fears, standing up for myself and being assertive, which, on the surface, looks like it doesn't meld well with accepting that I don't have any real control. Inside myself, I know there is progress going on, but I'm not ready to express that in words just yet.

I am pondering, however, if the Crystal Bowls Meditation that I did recently has indeed had an effect on me. I noticed I choked a bit during that meditation and thought that strange since that had never happened before, and was later told that the meditation was attuned to the throat chakra. Since the meditation it has felt that I have had to clear my throat several times and that's most unusual for me as well. The throat chakra is the chakra related to speaking one's truth. Speaking out has to be a bit of a shock for any dominant man used to talking to an agreeable, compliant bimbo who asks few questions about the reasons for and desired outcomes of her tasks, but the thoughts that have been held back are rising up and finding expression. Personally, I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. I think it opens the door for a closer, stronger connection, but the jury is still out and I'm certainly not the judge in session.

I suppose you could say that bimbo took things waaaaay too far when she had a go at usurping control. I can't imagine what she was thinking (that this behaviour would end well? that she'd actually get away with it? that she wanted to get away with it??) except to say that sometimes bimbo doesn't look that far down the track...

I know this much. When push comes to shove...when all factors are considered...when we reach the bottom line...whether she's right or wrong...whether the grievance is handled in a way that is satisfying to her, or not...she's grateful that the dominance remains intact and that she is shown her place. This outcome is deeply satisfying to such an extent that she can bunker down into consequences. She doesn't have to like the consequences to respect them.

Here's the honest truth: Today (and admittedly probably not tomorrow...and the day after...and so forth) she's loving the freedom; revelling in the fact that she's a bimbo on the loose with a whole afternoon in front of her to frolic freely. Yes, she's taking the credit card with her but promises to be judicious with it. Wonder where bimbo can get a slice of gluten free orange cake...(PS Relax, that was a joke, she didn't go near cake. As if...!)

Rules

As you might have gathered by now, my abilities to lead are somewhat limited. I prefer garnering co-operation rather than actually telling someone what to do. However, I have two dogs. Well, in fact, the family has two dogs but they consider me the person on whom they should rely. It may well be that they just see me as a more senior member of their dog pack rather than their owner. Certainly, I am the person who mostly feeds them and walks them and when I go out in the car for short periods of time, they accompany me. Apparently, the male dog sits and whimpers should I not be able to take him, regardless of the fact that he has other human company with him at home.

I'm happy to look after them and I try to walk the line of looking after them well but not spoiling them and allowing them to display bad behavior. They are very possessive and protective of me and unfortunately they are inclined to chase after people around me in the park to let them know that they can't do anything to me. I growl at them every time and tell them not to do it but on one level, I get why they do it. I try to be strict and I try to ensure that they behave well but they are, at the end of the day, two prissy little white dogs.

For nearly three years I have been trying to teach them that they may never go to the toilet in my house. They understand this rule. They really, really do. However, when it is raining, and it has rained a lot this winter, they conveniently forget this rule and go and find some quiet place to urinate. Maybe they both do this or maybe only one of them does this dastardly deed. I can't prove anything at all. So, I become very, very angry with them and take them to the spot and rub their noses in it and my anger with them has them running for their dog door and out into the safety of the backyard.

I try to make a big deal of it so that their tiny little brains might register that it isn't worth being naughty. However, when it suits them, they go and do it all over again as if none of those smacks, or my anger, or those hours spent outside in disgrace matter to them at all. They'd rather avoid the rain and accept the consequences later. And there's nothing kinky about this; there's no upside to getting into trouble. They don't on any level enjoy the consequences. They just choose to ignore the fact that there will be consequences.

As I am sure you have guessed such an occurrence has just occurred. I was beside myself with anger. They are in no doubt that they are in disgrace. However, should I let them in and they want to urinate and outside it is raining, they are likely to do it all over again. They are creatures of comfort; whatever suits them!

Some rules are really not meant to be broken. Some rules must stand. Some rules are integral to the functioning of people and that is all there is to that. I'm meant to be the authority figure here and if I say there's no urinating in my house, I mean it! So, why do they take it with a grain of salt???

Vulnerability

I happened to watch 'Sex in the City 2' in the past few days. It is rather ridiculous but fun entertainment, of course, and I was mildly enjoying it until Carrie met Aidan in the market, they had dinner and kissed and then she rang Mr Big to confess. It was creditable that she had grown up enough to understand that she needed to tell him, I thought, but it was apparent by his total silence that he wasn't responding well. As the silence wore on I could feel myself becoming more and more uncomfortable and when he said, "I'm at work Carrie, I have to go" I experienced much the same sense of abandonment and disapproval as Carrie must have experienced. She suffered. He suffered. It was not until they were reunited and he told her her "punishment" and the matter was taken care of that I began to feel some level of comfort again.

When I talk about my time in 'the doll' state I almost always talk about these wonderful feelings of lightness and happiness; of feeling deeply connected to my true self and the person that brings out 'the doll'. I mean it when I say  that it's a happiness unlike any other that I have experienced and that I'm grateful, exceedingly grateful to know that space; to have been introduced to that aspect of me; to have times when I can release my ego and all worldly concerns and just live life in its purest form. However, there are times when being the doll has caused me much angst and left me feeling that it may not be safe to enter such a vulnerable zone of living.

Even on a day by day level, I experience my husband's dissatisfaction as quite traumatic. To give an example, I said something towards the end of the evening recently and I have absolutely no recollection of what I said (something that seemed incredibly bland to me and of no importance or at all remarkable) but it bothered him; struck a nerve somehow. He berated me. It went on for maybe a minute, maybe less, I really don't know, but I had one of my out-of-body experiences where my mind responds like this:

'I must have said something wrong. Now, he will say a whole lot of things and I don't understand why he is saying them and I don't understand what I did wrong again and this is so troubling to me that my mind has switched off and I'm not here...soon it will be over and he will be he again and I will be me again and life will go on just as it did before we had another of these odd, unexplainable and very troubling events...now he has stopped talking and he is leaving the room and I can go back to living as we did before...and I get up and go and have a shower and get ready for bed...and have no recollection of the words spoken but only that I have upset him again and I don't know why or how this happened.'

This is not at all new. It's a much rarer event than it used to be a few years ago, thank goodness. I spoke to my psychologist about this experience last year and she said it was my mind protecting itself and it was a very healthy response. But, nonetheless, it is deeply troubling to me and I do what I can to try to avoid experiencing that sense of disapproval in me.

Now, in 'the doll' state I became quite vulnerable. In that state, one is well aware that the idea is to impress, to service and the doll does that quite naturally. It's a very happy and richly rewarding place for me to be; to be providing service and contentment, and as long as the doll continues to impress and for people to be happy with her, all is well.

However, over time, and as she was corrected and even punished for what was considered poor behavior, she became highly vulnerable because when she was dismissed or when she experienced the owner's anger or the mentor's anger, this absolutely crushed her. It would leave her in a puddle on the floor and more and more, she worried. There were times when she couldn't relax as the silly dumdum dolli because...what if she said something that displeased...what if He got mad...what if she was dismissed...abandoned...all over again?? The very connection that she so adored was now something that could potentially cause her to break. Better to be mindful of everything she said and everything she did and have certainty that she would not experience that sense of disapproval; not have to go through the trauma of a sense of abandonment. As much as 'the doll' has extraordinary, mind blowing and heavenly highs, she has experienced lows that leave her bewildered; confused; absolutely crushed.

Well, of course,  I am much too sensitive as 'the doll' or as the full blooded complete woman that walks this earth. In either state I long for a deep connection; for affection; for approval and to please at the same time as I have so many things to say, some of which people don't like to hear.

Dreams, threats and electric cords

My husband rarely shares his dreams with me in great detail, although I do know when he is dreaming usually because he will inadvertently move or call out and I know that he is chasing off a robber or trying to save us from a calamity or whatever. This morning he wanted to tell me about what he had dreamed. Apparently, he had been whipping me with an electric cord and it had left incredible markings, he said, and I had been crying out begging him to stop. I acknowledged the dream but I didn't ask any questions because I had a sense of what the dream had done to his state of mind.

Unsurprisingly, he soon blindfolded me and the games began. Just before the blindfold went on I took note of the time - right on 9am. And, when he took the blindfold off I noted that it was 12.25. Some dream, huh?

In the midst of such play I am never cheeky. It just wouldn't make sense to be cheeky when one is tied to all four bedposts, or is wearing a tight, tight corset and nothing else, or is being flogged with a flogger, or penetrated with various paraphernalia or having one's breasts sucked or twisted. I simply burrow deep down into a space in my mind where I have no say and what happens, happens.

It was at the 11.30 am mark that I dared to ask if I may know the time. Two and half hours. I had thought it much closer to three hours. I was aware that my patience was starting to wear thin but a word or two out of place, even at the end of a play session spoils it entirely for  him (and thus me) and I kept in my dumdum place through to the very last moment when the blind fold came off. (At one point I asked if the rope around my wrists could please be loosened and another time further down the track I asked if I may please be released from my corset because my efforts to procure enough oxygen felt thwarted, but each time I was extremely polite and patient so no problem there.)

When he had taken off the blindfold and I was starting to rub my eyes to acclimatize to the light he issued a warning. I was not to rebel in any way just because I had been contained all morning. Not a word of cheekiness was to pass my lips all day or I'd find an "electric cord" wrapped around my bum. Do you know, even after all that I almost said, "But, you don't have an electric cord" when I remembered that the iron's electric cord had an issue last year and thinking one day that he would fix it, he kept it in the garage. I recall seeing it there recently and in the nick of time I stopped myself from saying anything. The fun of saying the cheeky comment wasn't worth the risk that his dream was still in his mind. I haven't ever been whipped with such a thing but judging from what happened in the dream, it has a sting that I don't think I want.

If a threat is to be believed and there is a chance it will be carried out, threats can indeed modify a girl's behavior. It doesn't always work, mind you. I've allowed temptation to take me to the dark side before but I have always regretted it; always given myself a talking to as to why I can't push the words back down. Yet, I think I am definitely improving. It's almost time for bed, and I have been an angel all day. There is hope for me yet!

Fear

I want something and I want it right now. I want to be asked a series of questions; badgered with a set of queries that lead me down a drainpipe with no way to ascend.

I want to be interrogated until I let something slip - some small detail that I had never intended to disclose, yet now have no choice but to reveal.

I want to feel the uncertainty and consternation of not knowing what he will say next.

I want the thrill of fear.

I want to experience the exhilaration of knowing that the next step is not mine.

I want to feel the control of the other and to be aware that I have no control at all.

I want to be reminded that I have no will of my own and that my only "choice" is to accept that I have no choice.

I want to dig deep into that dolli state of mind.

Fiendish folly; fearsome fright; fully fortified.

Seeking co-operation

I can't say that I would have paid much attention to this photograph if I had come across it in tumbler myself. It was the words that were put with it that tickled my fancy:

"The girl on the right is concerned about the way the girl on the left is responding, because she knows she’s most likely the one who’s going to have to pay for it."

Yep, that got my attention and made me smile.

Once upon a time there was a thought to write a story about a group of girls and it was to be a rather difficult situation for them. If one misbehaved, someone else in the group might just be punished for her misbehaviour.

The words that went with the picture above totally explained (to me) why the girl on the right should be looking with concern at the other girl. She was the one likely to pay the price for the other's missteps.

It's a delicious and devilish thought, don't you think? (or am I alone here with my kinky thoughts...?)

As I was waking up this morning here's where my mind went:

It's after the scene above. The girls' ropes have been taken away and their mouths are empty. They are quiet and subdued after the ordeal; still naked. Yet the girls remain who and what they are: the one on the left is an extrovert and often in trouble. The one on the right is more of an introvert and tries hard to stay out of trouble. They are close to one another in only the way an introverted and extroverted girl can be. The introvert is attracted to the fun and excitement that the extroverted friend can bring to her life and the extroverted girl benefits from the commonsense and caution of the introverted girl. Let's call Miss Extrovert, Erina and Miss Introvert, Indy.

The man is not happy with the way things have gone in the session. and he is not ready to let the girls go and rest. He wants to consolidate the lessons learned with some time in the 'classroom' and he tells them to take their seats - two wooden seats at two separate wooden desks, side by side. The girls are reluctant. Their bottoms are marked and sore but neither of them dares disobey him.

He gives them both paper and a pen and he tells them that before they will be dismissed they are to write in their best hand writing, 250 times

"I must obey all commands instantly and with good grace."

They are not to stop writing at any time. They are not to look about and they most certainly may not wriggle in their chairs.

Do they understand?

"Yes, Sir." "Yes, Sir."

"One last thing," he says as they pick up their pens, "If there is any misbehaviour by one of you, I will punish the other girl."

The girls respond to this statement in entirely different ways. Indy sends up a silent prayer begging Erina to please behave herself, whilst Erina sees it as a delicious dare. How brilliant that she can be naughty but that the consequences will be felt by Indy! She knows it is bad but too good to let the chance go by.

Within minutes Erina is behaving like an errant school girl. She is shuffling about in her seat, looking all about her and crossing out words in a way that she knows will rile Mr. Perfectionist looking on.

"All right Erina, you were warned. Indy come here."

"But, Sir..."

"Don't make me ask twice Indy."

Poor Indy comes up to him positioned as he is over a big wooden chair holding a wooden back hairbrush and as instructed she bends over to take a walloping. Within a minute, the poor girl is howling as the brush meets her already tender backside and within two minutes tears pour down her face.

After three minutes of enthusiastic paddling, the man tells her to stand and even to express her regret for the misbehaviour and her thank yous for the correction.

This just isn't fair!!

"I am sorry that Erina misbehaved, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."

"Are you happy, Erina?" he asked.

It was true to say that at this moment, Erina had mixed feelings. Poor Indy looked so sad and confused and she had done something that Indy would never do to her. She bowed her head in shame.

"Continue on with your work, girls. Erina, begin your page again. It is a mess."

"Yes, Sir." "Yes, Sir."

As poor Indy carried on with her lines, sitting on a red hot and very sore bottom, she began to wonder what she ever saw in Erina. Yes, she had been lots of fun, but this high jinks of hers today had been too much.

The more she thought about it, the more upset she became. How dare the girl go about getting her in trouble like that again! How would she like to get that paddling??!! She would never do that to her!

Or, would she?!

A devilish, sinful and quite out of personality thought occurred to her. If she were to do something naughty, she could get back at Erina and teach her a lesson she would remember for a long time.

Ohhh, but she couldn't! Could she?! Well, maybe just this one time...

Before any thoughts of anxiety about being bad entered her good little head, she acted decisively and lifted the desk lid and banged it down, making such a thud that Mr. Perfect jumped out of his chair.

"Indy, how dare you make that noise!"

"Oh, what the fuck! Who cares about a little noise? Let's liven things up in here."

Her statement was met with silence and looks of total incomprehension. Both Mr. Perfect and Erina were too shocked to immediately respond. Indy said that?

"How dare you speak to me like that, young lady. Erina get over my knee right now."

"But, that isn't fair..." she began.

"I'll decide what is fair around here, Erina. Now, over my knee and don't think you won't pay dearly for this uproar."

Reluctantly, Erina tipped her naked body over Mr. Perfect's knees and from the first whack, he made sure that Erina would remember this paddling for a very long time. She howled out her complaints and cried her heart out while Mr. Perfect paddled her bottom, on and on and on...

To Indy's surprise, she enjoyed the spectacle enormously. She had no idea that there was a sadistic bone in her body until this moment but the day's events had changed all that. Erina was getting what she deserved and she was enjoying watching every moment of it.

The time finally came when Erina was told to return to her seat and much more subdued now, both girls completed their lines without another moments fuss.

When they were dismissed and returned to the bedroom they shared, they looked soulfully at one another and at the same moment said, "I'm sorry." They hugged one another tight.

From now on, Mr. Perfect could expect co-operation from both of them. It was guaranteed.

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.

Forbidden goodies

On the issue of a submissive gal's food intake, dominant men tread carefully. Some tell me that they tried that and they aren't going back into those shark-infested waters. Others feel it 'part and parcel' of managing their girl. I think it could work for me so long as it was handled with commitment and dedication and a steady hand. Let me explain.

In theory, I like the idea of the dominant controlling my intake. I like the idea of someone ordering food on my behalf. When I was working and my boss took me for lunch I'd often order the fish or just a salad. He got tired of this. He felt I looked "hungry" and he reached a point where he would over ride my order and tell the waiter "she will have the porterhouse steak with vegetables". I had no objection to this. I like the idea of being told in the moment that I can't have something. Sometimes, I'll see if my husband is open to the idea of ordering dessert. "Do you need it?" he will ask. Well, of course, I don't need it and I let the idea go.

I've asked for my husband's help in the past. He knows I have a sweet tooth, must sweeter than his and if he's around he might give me a look which suggests that to eat that extra biscuit or piece of chocolate is totally unnecessary. In those instances, I usually offer it to him and he knows that is to assuage my guilt. He does not accept my offer and it goes back on the plate from which it came. All of that is okay with me.

I do sin. I simply cannot in good conscience deny that. Readers who have been with me for a long time may remember that the chocolate mint I get with my coffee after a work out caused me some grief and such events are not uncommon. I have a sweet tooth and it demands to be fed.

Yet, I know perfectly well that if I am to lose those few stubborn kilos that I want to lose and get back to feeling that my body is as I want it to be, I can't eat chocolate or any sort of naughty treats. Whilst I am losing the weight at the very least, I need to demonstrate restraint and self-discipline of the highest order.

Unfortunately, the kind of assistance my husband has offered me relates to when he sees me in the act or finds some evidence that I have been naughty and eaten foods that make weight loss virtually impossible.

"Did you eat the biscuits missing from this packet?"
'Did you eat the last few pieces of the chocolate bar?"
Put those lollies away!"

It stops me in the moment but doesn't necessarily restrain me and contain me in a way that I feel would work tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

I accept that there are reasons behind why dominants won't venture into this territory, but if I can accept my rules on all sorts of other matters then I really can't see why rules about food restrictions and limitations would not work for me so long as the dominant followed through. On other matters there are corrections for poor behaviour and praise for good behaviour. I think that might be just the 'kicker' I need to achieve my optimum weight in no time.

Since nobody has ever offered me this service, I guess I may just have to ask. Frankly, that is the hardest part of all.

What's love got to do with it?

This post is a re post. I took it down a day or two after writing it, with a niggling concern that something about it was not right. But, I have just re-read it and I stand by every word. But, perhaps I can add this...

My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?

"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."

And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!



Here's the original post:

For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.

It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.

Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.

It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.

In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.

It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.

If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.

In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.

Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.

The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.

What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.

Did I put those restraints away?

As I ate my lunch today I clicked onto the link to 'Remittance Girl' found under my links in 'my blog list' and read her story posted there entitled 'Real Women'. I've been following RG for some time and must say, she just keeps getting better at creating such authentic characters and such hot scenes.

I really don't want to spoil the surprise. Just do yourself a favour and read this story. To the submissives I say, don't try this at home. To the dominants I say, beware! And the moral of the story is twofold: keep your promises to your women and learn how to ask for what you want effectively. Which moral applies to you is for you to decide! Ha! Ha!

Happy reading!

Obedience

When I backed away from doing the task as prescribed, I knew that I was making a mistake. I had allowed my own comfort levels to dictate my reaction to the girl's objections to my request. Why did I do that? Well, for one thing people were listening to our conversation and for another thing, she was making me feel ridiculous; as if my request was absurd.

"You want a new set? A centimetre? That's too long!"

I was quickly losing the will to argue with her. But, the moment that I said, "Okay" to her suggestion, I knew that I was making a mistake. I didn't enjoy the process of having my nails done one little bit. I was agitated, on the verge of saying "Stop! This is wrong!" a hundred times over. Yet, when they were done, all baby pink and long, I just loved them. I couldn't stop looking at them. I was incredibly torn. I knew I had done wrong and I knew this would not be the last of it, but the outcome was just beautiful. I adored them in every way.

I confess that I have managed to be somewhat manipulative in my life. I have managed to get away with things before and I just assumed that I would get away with them again. It was stupid, I know. But, the idiot voice inside my head figured that an apology, an explanation of what had happened, would allow him to see my fragile state of mind. As I look back on this thought, I realize that I was fooling myself; totally. We had been talking back and forth about really professional slutty nails for weeks. He's a patient man but even I could see that I was wearing his patience thin. When I finally made the statement that I was going to the nail salon tomorrow and what length should I ask for, he was direct and to the point. There was nothing to misunderstand: "A whole centimetre". Out came the ruler as I tried to imagine such long and oh so slutty nails. "That's very slutty," I said. He knew what I meant. I was baulking. "This is not a suggestion." The die was cast. I said that I understood, and I did.

Needless to say the apology that I sent was rich with my sense of sorrow at this outcome and of course I said that if he was not satisfied, I would do it all over again. It was the right thing to do after very wrong behaviour. There was no response. I had not expected one, either. The following day, I tried again. I swear that both of us have some sort of telepathic sixth sense and I knew right away that this chat was going downhill fast. It was the way he typed "Hello". It was a bad sign. Don't ask me to explain, but I knew. I asked him if he was disappointed with me. In an almost cheery sort of way that might have fooled others, but didn't fool me, he asked me what I thought. I said, that I thought I had made a mistake.

When he told me that I had made a BIG mistake, I wasn't surprised, but I confess I was taken aback when he told me that he thought it a good idea to leave him alone for a while. Of course! I should have known that my correction would take this form. I was being sent to Coventry to think about my behaviour. I had disobeyed a very direct command and now it was time to pay. For the entire day, I did my best to put the matter out of my mind but by the time I went to bed, I was full of sorrow. How had I managed to get myself into this sort of big time trouble? Why didn't I just do it? What an idiot I had been! I willed myself to sleep and to stay asleep as long as I could, but by early morning, the knowledge of what I had done was sinking in. I had been dreadfully naughty and I had to put it right.

I dared not try to engage him in conversation. I may be naughty but I wasn't nearly so bold at to try that. I sat at my computer and unable to communicate I chose to write a poem; something to express my state of mind. When I had finished it, a thought occurred, and I sent it through. The chances of a response were less than 50:50 but in some small way I felt better for having tried. The sentiment of the poem was that I knew what I had to do and I knew that there was only one way to resolve the breach. The minutes ticked by, and just when I had assumed that there was to be no response, a response came. In less than a dozen words, the message was crystal clear. Until the task was done correctly, there was nothing to talk about.

In essence, the task that lay before me that day should have been dead easy, but it was not. Yes, I knew what I had to do, but there were some matters to address in my mind. I had to watch my beautiful nails being cut from my fingers. I had to accept that my will was insignificant to his. It didn't matter what I felt about this. It only mattered that I obey. For a girl who has been exploring submission for a few years now, that may seem obvious. But, never before had I felt the resolve of the Dom in this way. Yes, I'd been told that I would be punished if I did not obey. But, never before had I been told that if I did not obey, I would pay the price of rejection.

That morning, I sat at my desk and seriously fought my desire to resist. I was irrationally frightened of what I had to do at the same time as I knew that there was no way out. I drove to a different suburb this time and parked my car. As I walked to the new nail salon Mersault popped into my mind. Mersault? Yes, the man in 'The Outsider' who finds liberation at the moment of his death, as he faces the guillotine. I was frightened stiff at the same time as I knew that I was doing the right thing; that this was the beginning of a new life; a time when I completely accepted my status of an owned girl; a girl who accepts the other's will and not her own.

As soon as I began to talk to the stranger in this new nail salon, I felt strong; in charge of myself. Yes, this was the length I wanted. Yes, I wanted a new set. My sense of conviction must have been apparent, I suppose, because the arguing with me ceased and she went about satisfying me until it was time to cut the new nails to the prescribed length. "One centimetre too long," she began. I was ready. I brought out the ruler and measured. "This is one centimetre. This is what I want." She nodded and did it my way. By the time we said goodbye, she was on my side. She must have sensed somehow that this was something I needed to do and she was doing something important. Indeed, she was.

Our next conversation began shakily, at least from my perspective. I was not sure if this would be the end of the matter or not. He wanted some information and he wanted some answers. He wanted to know if I understood why he had insisted and we talked about that. Ultimately he was full of praise; incredibly proud. I confess it humbled me. I told him that something had changed that day and it certainly had. I had come to learn this day that my own will was really of little importance to me after all. Months and months ago, I had a conversation with a dominant friend who had tried to explain something to me. He said that a submissive gives away to the Dom and then she sees what she gets back. Well, this day, I got back in spades. I gave away my will to him and received everything in return. I never felt more submissive. I never felt more whole. I never felt more me. I had travelled over many mountains to reach this point but finally, here was proof that I had been on the right road all along. I am an owned girl, an incredibly lucky owned girl and a very proud one at that.

Don't let me find a spelling mistake!

Since I wrote my ‘goodbye letter’ to Janus, only to regret my actions days later, I’ve been in something of a “process”. It seems that I had to learn what it felt like to live my life as a submissive woman without dominance. No one was too impressed at my ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ flip flop of attitude, and of one thing I needed to be sure: it was not going to be tolerated.

I have the message. I have the message, loud and clear.

Part of the re-educating ‘process’ was for me to write out the ‘new agreement’, as you know. As you also know, another part of the ‘process’ was for me to consider what constituted a “severe punishment” such that I would think at least twice before I ever tried this stunt again. You also know (God, am I boring you?) that I tried to come up with suitable punishments.

In our chat over the weekend, Janus revisited this topic and he said that he didn’t feel that a whipping was really going to change my behaviour. His thinking here was that a girl tends to forget about her whippings pretty soon, and in any case, she also tends to think, ‘Well, I’ve paid my dues now. I can go off and do it again some other time.’

He may be right here. The thought has crossed my mind, and a submissive woman doesn’t really walk around in fear of a whipping, let’s face it!

So, we discussed it some more and without him giving too much away, I got the impression that Janus was looking for me to write up the process that I had been through – what had led to the behaviour, what had I learned, and what was a suitable plan for discipline for the future.

I wrote up my statement last night and sent it on to my husband. One of my readers, a real sweetie, looked it over for me first, and gave me the thumbs up. Thank you, again, my dear. That was a confidence booster.

I doubt it will end there. My husband will probably want to discuss it, and unlike Janus, I think he thinks that a few (many?) cuts of the cane across my bottom might be a good ‘insurance policy’.

I am hoping that this puts an end to the matter and that from there he will send a message to Janus that I am ‘good to go’ with the new agreement.

Then, I get to do some writing with Janus! Oh, goody! I get to be told off when I don’t do it in a timely fashion. Or, when it is not good enough, I get to do it again and resubmit it. If I make a spelling error or a grammatical error, I suspect I get to write lines.

Hold on!

I want this?

But, that makes me a masochist, right?

Jeez! I never knew.

What's up his ass?

He wasn’t happy. He had been put on hold and that damned jingle in his ear was irritating the hell out of him. He began to snap at her.

“Viv, where have you put the notebook that was right here on my desk this morning?”

“I haven’t put it anywhere. I have not touched it.”

“Nonsense! It was right here, I tell you. Don’t you argue with me!”

She was in too good of a mood to let him get to her. It was water off a duck’s back this late afternoon.

“Sweetheart, I really don’t know where it is. I’ll look for it.”

“Don’t touch anything! How many times do I have to tell you not to touch anything in this room! You clean the rest of the house to your heart’s content, but don’t touch anything in here!”

“All right! I won’t touch anything.”

She turned her back and returned to filing the month’s bills. Under her breath:

“What’s up his ass?”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, darling! I was just thinking out loud about this bill.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Vivienne! You said something else. What did you say?”

“I’m not sure what I said, darling. I can’t remember.”

She was smiling a little, in spite of herself, seeing the funny side of his bad mood. How could someone get so upset about such a little thing?

He was not amused. He looked at her suspiciously while she got busy looking angelic.

“Did you call me an asshole, Vivienne?”

“No, sweetheart, of course I didn’t call you an ‘asshole’. That would be a terrible thing to say. It would be rude, and I am never rude!”

“That’s another lie, young lady. You are on thin ice.”

“Yes Sir.”

She didn’t want this to end badly. It was time to pull her head in.

“You said something that sounded like ‘ass’. Now, what did you say?”

“Perhaps...I was referring to an asterisk. That is probably what it was.”

“Vivienne!”

“Darling, I really don’t remember.”

He opened his lowest desk drawer and produced from it a nasty looking wooden paddle.

“Well, let me help you.”

She started to panic.

“No...No...I can remember...”

“Well, just so that you’re sure, bend over this desk.”

He came around and put his hand around the back of her neck, immobilising her. Then, he bent her over the desk, pulled up her summer dress and pulled down her panties, so that it was now her ass in the line of fire. Whilst he held her down with that hand, he pulled back with the paddle in the other, and gave her right cheek a good, hard wack.

“Owwwww”

And, then he wacked her again, and again, until he had paddled her a dozen times, and she was owwwing her head off.

“Do you remember, now, Viv? Or, do you need another dozen?”

She was panting hard.

“No...No...I remember. I remember clearly now.”

“I thought you might. Out with it, then.”

“I said...I said... “What’s up his ass?”

“Ah! ‘What’s up his ass?’ Yes, that is indeed what you said. Such a charming expression for a young, well bred lady to use, is it not?”

“I am sorry, Harry, I am very sorry.”

“Are you? Not sorry enough, I suspect. But, we can fix that.”

“Harry, I am really very sorry.”

“You’re a little too cheeky, for my liking, my dear.”

He was rubbing her bottom gently as he spoke.

“...and I don’t think I can let such a lovely red, warm ass go to waste, either.”

He was feeling in between her legs, now.

“...and...ohhh...it is rather wet down there, isn’t it?”

She was purring like a kitten now.

“Perhaps, the right thing to do, girl, is to put something up your ass. Perhaps, that would be the best way to remind you in the future, that you should watch your language. I think so.”

She wasn’t really concentrating on his words any more. She was lost in pleasurable thoughts and sensations. But, she did hear him say,

“Push out, girl.”

She could feel his cock up against her hole, and with little difficulty he entered her.

She felt herself drop into her submissive space; that place where she became inert and impassive; where she was a nothing, a toy, and she was his to do with as he pleased. She remained still and quiet as he pushed back and forth inside of her, with his deep grunts ultimately acknowledging his pleasurable coming.

He pulled out of her and went to clean up. He brought tissues and wiped her; dressed her and had her stand to face him.

She was not cheeky anymore; rather, subdued, contained, at peace; looking down at his shoes.

“And, we won’t have any more of that cheeky, rude language, will we, Vivienne?”

“No Sir.”

“All right. Off you go and make us a pot of tea, please. A little refreshment is in order.”

“Yes Sir.”

She skedaddled out of the room. Seemingly out of range of his earshot, smiling, she mumbled,

“What’s up his ass?”

“Vivienne!”

What rhymes with blue?

You know you want to please him
You know it is what you should do.
And, yet you’ve not obeyed him
The consequences, have you even a clue?
He’s calling you into his study
You’re to undress, down to your shoe.
You’ll learn to honour your agreements
To your word, you must be true.
He’s putting you over his knee now
Your bottom will be black and blue.
After that you’ll agree with conviction
You’re the lower member of the crew.
And, for today, that’s all I have
On this, I suggest you chew!

The List

Dear Readers

As some of you may know from my last post, it became necessary for me to write a list of my recent bad behaviour. The list needed to have 25 items. I am sure you will appreciate that this was not an easy task. A good girl must search her heart and mind to come up with such a long list of misbehaviour. At times, I wondered if it was really possible for me to complete the task.
A girl must, however, do what a girl must do. Please find below the requisite list for your contemplation, for you also will have noted that my friend has asked that you, my readers, give some input into suitable consequences.

THE LIST

#1 I did not ask permission of my friend to write up our ‘chat’ on this blog.
#2 I ate the mint that comes with the coffee at the gym.

#3 I thought about touching myself.
#4 I cut my Bar Time (the yoga exercise I do daily) short by one minute.
#5 I forgot to write in my journal and send it to my husband, as I am required to do each evening. I sent it the next morning in the hope that he would not notice the time sent.
#6 I bought a bag of mixed sweets for the children at the market. On the way home, I ate all the ‘milk bottle’ shaped sweets.
#7 I must have drunk too much wine when out with friends listening to music, because I felt seedy the next day, all day.
#8 I bought a few items of clothing in the end of season sales, and promptly put them in my wardrobe where they could not be seen by my husband.
#9 I took my laptop to bed, which I am not supposed to do, because I stay up too late blogging.
#10 I exaggerated slightly when Janus asked if I had been good ALL week, thus accepting false praise.
#1 1 I pretended that I had to go to pick up a child from school, when a friend rang and was talking about people I didn’t know.
#12 The trainer at the gym told me to go and do 100 step ups on each leg. I only did 90 and just said that it was 100.
#13 When my Mum asked why I had not returned her call, I said that the children had not given me the message, when, in fact, they had.
#14 I thought about touching myself, again.
#15 I put up my manuscript on the screen, but very soon, flipped over to ‘Google Reader’ and read there instead.
#16 Due to blogging rather late (it was only just past midnight), I was slow to start the next morning and thus I only just got the children to school on time.
#17 I didn’t mention the ‘soft pedal’ in my car to my husband, (but that is because, I didn’t know what a ‘soft pedal’ was!)
#18 When my husband approached me with a cane in his hand, I said that I didn’t have time for maintenance just yet, when I could probably have fit it into my schedule.
#19 I got slightly frustrated (but didn’t show it) when my husband was not really listening when I was talking to him, and I had to repeat myself.
#20 I took it a little personally when my husband came to bed and just went to sleep almost immediately. (Who does that?)
#21 I didn’t stand on the bathmat to dry myself after my shower, leaving water on the floor in the bathroom. My husband might have mentioned this issue several hundred times before.
#22 My husband was explaining a complicated business issue about a company matter and I was nodding with intent interest. But at the same time, I was thinking a kinky thought.
#23 I had a hubristic thought, that I really was a good girl, for what else could I possibly add to this list?
#24 I thought about making a cup of tea and having a little chocolate with it just now, but I resisted and had a little apple instead. (Or, was that virtuous?)
#25 I had an unkind thought about my ‘chat’ friend, (but, quickly realized, that he was doing this to me for my own good and with noble thoughts, realizing that sometimes doms have to be cruel to be kind.)

I wish to say that I am very, very sorry for acting with impropriety. It was more than reasonable for my (sadistic) friend to expect me to publicly admit the impropriety, and writing the list was a most appropriate consequence for such behaviour. I truly have learned my lesson.

I pass the baton (!) over to you, my dear and compassionate readers, for you will recall my dear friend’s instruction:

“Explain to your audience that you are instructed to turn to them for feedback as proper punishment for those 25 things.”

Oh dear!

Vesta