Dress code

As a woman interested in fashion and an admirer of beautiful things, I acquired a relatively large wardrobe. As a woman who desired that sense of being owned to the point of adoring the object state, it wasn't going to be possible to hold onto that expansive wardrobe.

I divested myself of many articles of clothing and it felt ever so much better. But, what happened to me over the next few years is what happens to all of us if you aren't careful. Your wardrobe, your house and your life becomes uncomfortably filled with new things. I'd experience the pleasure of buying a beautiful scarf perhaps, only to feel low when I put it away with the many other beautiful scarves in my collection. Did I really need to buy another?

In fact, what had happened to me was that I had embraced the idea of having a wardrobe of clothing and accessories in good working order - not too little and not too much - but I had failed to take on part B of the dress code - that a purchase of a cardigan, say, meant that I needed to give away a cardigan I already had. To put it another way, if my cardigans were all still loved and in good working order, why was I buying another?

Sometimes, I see a bargain out there, a dress that is so well priced and flattering that I purchase it on the spare of the moment. The task in that case is to go home and find a dress to give away that this new purchase will replace. At times, this throws me into a bit of a state. I have to really search my wardrobe to locate something that is ready to be removed from the wardrobe. So far, I have always located an item because if I don't locate an item, back to the store the new dress must go. That's the rule.

Once upon a time, I would have found this dress code rule onerous and unpleasant. It would not have turned me on and I'd have felt resentful and underprivileged. Not any more. I thrive on my dress code, luxuriate in the time taken to consider an addition to the wardrobe and often discover that in the few days taken to consider the item I decide that it is an unnecessary purchase and one that I can certainly do without. If I do decide I want it and purchase the garment, it is with clear intention and understanding that the garment is needed, much loved and desired, and will be worn more or less immediately.

As time has gone  by I've realized that I honestly do thrive under control and my dress code is an important aspect of that control. It takes me deep into the object state which for me is very much desired.

Containment

My husband and I went out for dinner last night; back to the same Italian restaurant that we went to after my very first spanking. I felt rather nostalgic about that and so wished that I was sitting on a sore bottom. Nevertheless, we had a lovely time. The food was just how we liked it, we polished off the bottle of pinot we brought along and we thoroughly enjoyed conversing together.

I had got dolled up and I think I looked good. I was in a new black dress. At some point during the meal he looked me over and said, "I suppose you are going to tell me that you've had that dress for ages." I laughed. It is a private joke of ours that I tend to say to him, "This? Oh, I have had this dress for years. You have already seen me in it a few times now." Instead, I said, "It's new. Do you like it?" And he said, "It looks lovely."

 I was also wearing a new pair of pearl ear rings - much more detailed than I would usually wear but a jeweler friend had showed them to me and I liked the idea of wearing something a bit different. "And, the ear rings are new, too. What do you think of them?" "I like them," he said. "Not too much?" "Well, they are a bit eccentric, but I like them on you." I think he must have liked the overall look because he took a few photographs of me before I left and I was pleased to see that I am starting to look my vibrant self again. I've got my condition under control and I definitely feel better.

In an ideal world, my husband would take a little more interest in my purchases. (My God, I hope he never reads this.) He'd sit on the bed and watch while I removed something from my wardrobe to make room for the new purchase. If I bought a new dress, then he'd watch while I chose an old dress to give away. This is a regimen that I really want to put into consistent practice. I'm not fantastic at this but I do try to achieve this goal. I certainly am happy to remove anything that doesn't work or that he doesn't like or that is just too old or outdated but I haven't managed to put this regimen in place immediately that I purchase something. It's something I continue to work on because the thought pleases me very much.

It's not easy for my husband to want to restrict me. If I ran about town purchasing expensive items all the time and was out of control he'd soon pull me up. But, I don't do that and he loves to see me look good. His feeling is that so long as I don't go overboard and as long as I am purchasing items that he likes, no harm is done. Not so long ago he said to me, "Why don't you wear that Spanish dress..." I said, "The one with layers? Darling, I bought that when I was 22. That bit the dust." He was incredulous how time how flown so fast! So, you see, he's not inclined to have me give things away. This minimalism is a project for me to do alone now and I am. It suits my dolly state of mind, you see.

There was another moment over dinner that was worthy of note. We had a nice Italian waitress but as my husband read the menu she looked straight at me and asked me what I wanted to order. This has got me into trouble before and I didn't want to be in trouble. My husband expects all orders to be given through him. Caught in a bind, I said to him, "May I please give her my order?" "Yes, you may," he said. This was quite unusual but I went ahead and told her I'd have the Scallopini au vino. If she noticed the dynamic between us, she didn't comment. The restaurant tends to be frequented by mostly older Europeans so she is probably ready for anything.

Recently, we went to dinner at our Club and when we entered the restaurant area the young male waiter looked directly at me. "We have a reservation," I said. When we were seated, I was told off. It's not my place to respond to waiters but I have felt compromised when they look to me for direction. Anyways, later on this rather cocky young waiter put the bill directly in front of me. My husband said, "He thinks you are in control of this relationship." I laughed. "Why on earth would he think that?" "Because of what you did earlier." Again, I was read the riot act about talking to waiters. And, I definitely did learn my lesson...won't be doing that again any time soon...

I must say, and there are no surprises here, that I enjoy feeling like a doll. I enjoy dressing up like a doll, being taken to dinner like a doll; treated like a doll. I like to be contained in any number of ways. I am very happy to be owned and very happy to be pleasing.

Training the doll

It occurred to me recently that I have never really written directly about what my time in training as ‘the doll’ has been like. I’ve written as ‘cindi’ so you know something about what I experience. However, I don’t think I have said much at all about what the training has meant to me. It has meant a great deal; changed and altered me in ways I could never have imagined at the outset. It sustains me; fulfils me; consoles and comforts me; allows me to sink into my alter ego in a way that provides me with sustenance and energy. It has been the greatest of gifts in my life and this post is my attempt to explain that process.

From the outset, I was given limits and boundaries; contained. I was told that the only appropriate way for a doll to talk was in the third person. This seemed relatively natural to me from the outset and very soon, completely natural. Over time, words such as “are” ,” is” and “am” were denied. It took a few days for me to get the hang of it but I never for a moment rejected the idea. At least, I have no memory whatsoever of a rebellious thought towards the limit imposed.

There is one day when the limit was new that stands out in my memory where I was making mistake after mistake and eventually he had had enough of it. I earned myself 100 lines and was told immediately after completing the lines that I was to type the first thing that entered my head. I was truly ashamed to discover that I had made another mistake and that sense of shame stayed with me for a long time. I vowed never to do it again, and whilst I must surely have made the odd error over the next few weeks, I accepted my limit into my heart and embraced it as the way I would always speak with him.

There have been fleeting moments, I admit, when I have thought how wonderfully bold it would be to write across the page, “IS IS IS IS IS IS” but I know in my heart that this word is not for the doll, and the victory would be so short, and the consequences so uncomfortable for me, that I have never done this and never will do this. I speak the language of the doll happily.

As well as speaking in the third person and without the words associated with identity (for example, “I am”), I speak not English but ‘bimbo speeki'. I don’t use the spelling of the English language but rather the spelling that comes (cumz) naturally if one had never been schooled. I am free to express myself in a way such that the rules of language and spelling had never been imposed on me.

All put together, my form of communication is very liberating and immediately places me in my dolly headspace. It is anything but a chore; anything but an imposition; anything but insulting to me. It is the language I use to enable me to feel free; liberated. It is my window into the soul of a sexual, hungry, single minded being whose desire is to please and serve; to express her sexual energy and her understanding of her role; her purpose; her place.

My desire to live more as ‘the doll’ and to experience the mindset of the doll was made more possible with physical limits. I was instructed to get a set of acrylic French nails. Eventually, I was told to make them longer – one centimetre. I initially failed to comply and found myself staring straight into his resolve to be obeyed. Unless I complied there was nothing else to talk about. I returned to the salon and started again from scratch.

I adore my nails and on the odd occasion when one is broken (usually due to my loss of focus on the limits of a doll) I feel wretched until it is fixed. The nails contain me in a number of ways. Most importantly, they slow me down. I must cautiously open a drawer to get out a pot, for example. I must consider how I might attend to a chore or if I can pick up something heavy with one hand or two. I must take my nails into consideration at all times. I hear the clickety clack of them as I type right now. I notice them as I gesture to talk to someone or as I move in Pilates class and place them carefully on the floor as I bend. They are as natural to me as if I was born with them and I simply cannot consider living without them. They are the hands of the doll.

The attire of the doll was considered. I have always been a fairly conventional girl. As I look back on my working life in an office, pants were never for me. As a PA, I considered it my role to look a certain way and skirts and dresses were always my choice. But, away from a corporate role, I had wandered into dressing casually in jeans and pants more than was necessary.

In my headspace as a doll, pants felt no more right to me than they did in the office and my choice is nearly always a dress or a skirt and top/shirt. There are times when pants are worn. I don’t deny that. But, those days are very rare and they have a purpose to them. New items of clothing are carefully considered and the question in my mind is ‘Does this outfit make me feel like the doll?’

The doll is not overindulged and thus a great many items in my wardrobe were given away. They needed to be appropriate and pretty. There was no reason for the doll to have a wardrobe overflowing with garments and I learned to appreciate the value of less items, well organized. This pleases me enormously and keeps the doll ever present.

Whilst the limits of language, nails and dress were vital, I think the most significant lesson and limit of all for the doll has been behaviour modification. I don’t say this lightly for it has also been the hardest limit to embrace.

I am, generally speaking, a polite individual. I treat people with respect when I speak to them and I am a ‘live and let live’ sort of person, but my behaviour required modification to reach the high standards required of a doll. Most importantly, I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. Hurt feelings, anger, a sense that I was being put down, all played into inappropriate responses.

To give an example or two of this, one time I was hurt by a comment and before I knew what had happened I responded with sarcasm. I was told to go away and think about my response and I remember an acute sense of confusion that I should be abandoned at a time when I felt hurt. On another occasion, I was stung by words that I thought related to me and I fired off an email expressing my hurt feelings and confusion.

It took time for me to learn to slow my responses down; to think about them and try to deal with them myself and make sense of them; to not allow my emotions to bleed all over the page. I learned to ask to speak to him to clarify a statement. I learned to open my mind to see matters from his perspective. I learned to trust. I learned to give over control and to stop trying to control (though that lesson is an ongoing one, for sure).

Of course, much of this training occurred by way of a special limit. I was introduced to anal training almost from the outset and discovered its benefits almost immediately. But eventually, the directive was to use my plug more than I did not – every night and part of every day. This was a limit I found that pushed me to the brink of rebellion and sometimes headlong into war. Yes, the benefits were undeniable and the doll present, but the command challenged my ego profoundly. ("Cindi tinki she 2 speshel 4 dis rule.") I would comply for long stretches only to use some excuse or other to take liberties for a day; sometimes longer. I would eventually confess. The aberration would be discussed; often punished by way of denial. For a doll, this has great meaning.

Over time, I would come to see that this way of life was right for me; that it brought me peace, fulfilment and sexual pleasure and that the need to rebel had become redundant. In fact, the doll required bigger, more challenging plugs. Over time, it became apparent that the doll and I were interchangeable and that to deny what helped and nurtured was to be stubborn and appear to self-harm. Ultimately I accepted that for as often as possible, to live as the doll was to live in harmony with my true nature.

Are there moments when I wish I could discuss with him something relating to my everyday life? Of course! We were friends before I was the doll and he, the trainer. Yet, I have come to see that this time when I may only speak with him as the doll is the greatest of gifts and much more significant and valuable than any other conversation could ever be.

In any case, I have learned that as the doll, I may ask questions or ask to discuss a topic that might be bothering me in ways that allow free expression of a sort. Good behaviour, politeness and a show of care, kindness and consideration are all rewarded in their own way. Most importantly, there is a sense of continuity, of trust, of deep and abiding friendship and respect for one another’s lives as individuals and as partners of two highly (and separate) successful marriages that is extraordinarily rare, I think; perhaps unique.

My training as a doll has brought and continues to bring me great happiness, fulfilment and succour. It has relieved me of bad habits and behaviour which held me back in my marriage to a darling but demanding man and given me limits and boundaries which keep me feeling safe and nurtured. It has encouraged kindness and in return provided me with the kindness of others. It has shown me how to live according to my nature and my needs and has fulfilled and transformed me in ways I could never have imagined. My marriage is better; my life is richer; I am softer and much more fulfilled; content.

I look forward to new challenges. Dolls need challenges. Complacency is not for them and so the road will never be entirely easy but nor will it ever be (God willing) without the care, consideration and thoughtfulness of a dominant man. The doll’s trust, obedience and kindness makes for the completion of the dynamic that is a special kind of love; a spiritual connection that goes to the heart of all that is good. Dreams really do come true for good dolls.

More or less

The notion of a dress code has been quite irresistible to me for a long time. This is in line with my strong desire to live my entire life with more order and less clutter. I'm a girl who enjoys putting out the rubbish. Yes, it's that bad. I like to bring things in my life down to the simplest level. I think you can credit having multiple children for that, in part. I've lived with multiple balls, cricket bats, lacrosse sticks, and musical instruments; toys by the zillion and countless wrappers stuck in the couch for countless years. But, truth be told, I remember even as a very young child, wanting order and a clean environment. It is just my very strong preference.

It was no issue to me when I went to work for a man who wanted not only order in his life, but to be surrounded only by beautiful things. I enjoyed creating and maintaining that environment and learning from him. Suddenly, I was noticing the beauty of the order in the John Brack's painting in his office that he so admired, or of the Christmas lillies that I bought every Monday morning and placed into his handsome glass vase, to sit in front of the mirror and brighten the day of both of us. I became aware of the importance of high quality writing paper, or of having one good pen with which to write. He never wanted much of anything but what he wanted had to be first rate. The philosophy suited me well.

Of course, children aren't like that, and whilst you can do your best to instil those thoughts in them, children have their own ideas. Even if I had managed to convince them all that quality should be more important than quantity, with lots of children, the number of items expands before your very eyes. The last year has been about sorting those items and giving them away to the right people. My youngest son, who almost believes that every object has feelings, has accepted that the time has come to do this, so long as he can be sure that all the toys and so on are going to the right homes.

Although it has taken far too long, I now have a dress code. I've given away a lot of clothes and the Red Cross is happy about that. I am happy, too. I look at my wardrobe these days and feel wonderful. I know where things are, what goes with what and I don't feel bad that I don't have more choice at all. I like the fact that what is left are items of clothing that I like, that work on my body, and that help me to feel feminine. No, not all the pants have gone but there aren't too many of them left, either.

One of the little details left to be sorted out is what happens when I would like to make a clothing purchase. I'm not sure but I suspect that something may have to go before something else comes in. I've already noticed that when I look in a store, or a magazine, I do so with purpose. I have in my mind only what I might need to fill a gap in my wardrobe. I only consider what would make me feel more feminine. I think very carefully if I want it so badly that I am prepared to give something else up in my wardrobe. Rather than feeling limited about that, I find it very liberating.

Reacting this way to the new limits on my life, to my dress code, I read the following statement by a psychologist I respect with interest:

"Mine may be the last generation (she's about my age) to be raised with the notion that frugality is a virtue. Like most of my contemporaries, I have taken to conspicuous consumption..."

She also writes, "There are few(er) convincing reasons why I still have tiny clothes from my skinny, young-woman years in London. Or so many clothes that are newish but startlingly similar. How many pairs of plain black trousers...does any woman need?"

How many indeed?

I admit I am feeling (sickeningly?) virtuous at the moment. I am loving the new me; that girl who wouldn't dream of buying a new pair of sandals for summer, for example, before she agreed to off load a current pair she owns. I am finding pleasure in embracing the notion of acting with purpose, with intention in my actions. As my limits and boundaries narrow and my containment increases, I feel that I am responding well. I feel safer, stronger; more stable and secure.

The saucemeister suggested to me that there is an "inherent frugality in D/s relationships, an economy of many things;... more things are intentional, purposeful..." And, I think that is right. A D/s relationship can be a very noble thing. Mentoring a submissively minded girl can be a very noble thing. Acting with purpose; restricting one's consumption, being sure of one's intention are noble pursuits.

As I become less, I become more.

Playing dress ups

The effective dominant man is inclined to be a conservative man. At least, that is my theory. He tends to like some order about life, and he tends to put time into ordering it, to his satisfaction. I’m sure there are some messy doms and tops out there, not inclined to order, but I think they are the exception to the rule.

The dominant men I have known and know are all conservative, on some level. They tend towards being professional or self employed in some way and regardless of their inclinations in their own home, they present as conservative men; upstanding and worthy citizens of their place of residence in the world.

Yet, I do see considerable variation as to how they prefer their women. They all enjoy the benefits and advantages of a submissive girl in their lives and they all appreciate a girl who can exhibit respect, obedience and strong self-esteem. But, it is in the little details that I notice consideration variation.

Some dominant men like their girl to be ‘au natural’. They like to see their girl not only naked, but completely unadorned. They dislike them to wear lipstick or nail polish when presenting for a scene, perhaps, and they don’t want to see any jewellery, either. They just want the girl as she is; as she came into this world.

Some dominant men like to see their girl dress sedately and conservatively. They don’t like short hems, regardless of how great her legs. They don’t want any flashy jewellery and in essence, they don’t want anyone but them to know that she is a slut. This knowledge is for them and for them alone.

Some dominant men prefer for their girl to display her submission in nearly all facets of her life. This is not the sort of man that would accept easily that his girl has a penchant for greasy food and fizzy drinks. He wants her to pay strict attention to her body and appearance and to take full advantage of her feminine curves. Not only should she choose clothing that enhances her femininity but she should modify her appearance by making use of undergarments, such a corset, to accentuate those beautiful curves of hers.

As far as I can tell, they all have appreciation for a well made, high heeled shoe, and they all like to see their girl wear them as often as possible. Some like to choose her clothing for her; others prefer to give her specific instructions as to what will pass inspection and what will not. Some adore her in black; others prefer colour. Some hate her in pants altogether; others love to see her ass dressed in jeans.

As far as dress goes, there seems no common ground. It is up to the girl to establish what her man likes and does not like; what he wouldn’t change for the world and what must go instantly.

For me, this is the part of the game that is so interesting; the details. Why is it that one man wants his girl dressed in only white shirts, when another would have her wearing black most days? Why does one man find lipstick unnecessary when another would expect to see her lips painted deep red nearly all the time?

For the girl, it really should not and does not matter what it is he wants her to do. What matters is that she wants to do what he wants. If he wants to see her in white shirts, because she looks dishy to him in them, then she will find herself looking for white shirts. If he wants a three and half inch heel on her shoes, then it is the shoes with that heel that she will notice. She wants him to find her attractive and she wants to please him. If he likes it, she likes it.

Of course, there is one little variation here. Sometimes, some dominant men want to test their girl. They want her to wear something in which she is not at all comfortable; in which she does not feel attractive. He might be trying to heighten her femininity or he might be trying to push her limits as to her conservative nature; or what might turn her on, or what might heighten her sexuality. This is a different matter and an area in which the poor girl may be severely challenged. She wants to please him but he is pushing into areas of self-esteem in which he may not experience instant success.

The submissive woman would do well to go with the flow of her man’s idiosyncratic desires for her dress as best she possibly can. In ‘Nine and half weeks’ Elizabeth asked her man when he was purchasing something for her in a store, “But, don’t you want to know if *I* like it.” He just nodded his head to indicate “No”. I loved that scene!

Lest you think that I am now the perfect submissive, let me remind my female readers that a girl has ways of steering the gentleman in her life to see things through her lens. Just as he can point out the perfect shoe, so she can point out the perfect jacket, or handbag or pair of silver ear-rings. Use your head, girls!

Perhaps, after all, there is a common factor in the desires of the dominant man as to the presentation of his girl. He wants her to look beautiful to his eyes. I was not a fan of dressing ‘Barbie’ but if my dominant wants to dress me, that's a different matter altogether!

You have how many winter jackets??!!

Depending on how well you read between the lines I write here, you might or might not know that I am rather smitten with the idea of having a 'dress code'. I just love the idea that a man is interested enough to get involved. And, I rather like the idea, too, that a wardrobe has a bit of order to it.

I already have a tendency to hang winter clothes together and summer clothes separate. I rather like all the winter skirts to hang side by side, and the summer tops to be in the one area; that sort of thing.

But, I have got a bit lazy about it all, I must confess. Life is busy and I have a tendency to grab outfits that I know will work quickly and easily, most of the time. Perfectly good and interesting items must wonder 'when is it my turn?'

Finally, I am taking the time to do something about this sorry state of affairs. I am making out an inventory of my wardrobe. At first, the task was just so daunting, but I am finally in a place where I am seeing progress. I have a list of winter skirts, and winter jackets and I am getting through the knitted items, too. It is coming together.

Now before you come down on me, you should know that I have the most ridiculous wardrobe situation in the world. My wardrobe is made of many doors and the area behind each door fits very few items in the allotted space. To make a list of winter skirts, I have had to check in all the doors. Then, to make a list of winter jackets, I have had to repeat the process all over again. Some days, it felt easier to simply climb Mount Everest and be done with it!

A few months ago, my dear Janus tried to get behind those doors. He loves dressing dolls, he tells me and he thought it was time he knew what I was buying. I said that I didn't think that was all that good of an idea. He disagreed. He thought we could do a 'Price is Right' sort of game.

I would present to my husband a new garment, one not worn yet and he would guess the price. If, in fact, I had paid more than I should have, according to his guess of what I should have paid, then he got to give me that many swats. So, if I had paid $50 too much, 50 swats. Got the idea?
Isn't he a funny guy!

Anyways...in a few short days from now, the inventory will be done. I suspect that a time of negotiation and discussion will then ensue and one of these days, I will have a dress code.

Then, it will all have been worth it! I think!

Dress code dilemma

I’ve been giving thought to a suitable dress code for a submissive woman. I’ve wondered, can a submissive woman have too many shoes, too many shirts, too many dresses? Should her choices be pruned down? I thought to make an inventory of my wardrobe. What’s behind those doors, anyway?

My husband has often said that one of the aspects of me that he was attracted to was my interest in clothes. His mother always appreciated well made clothing, and he liked the fact that I did, too. I’m not really a girl who looks to buy the latest trendy items. I’ve tended towards being an ‘investment’ shopper. Since I love well made garments and quality materials, I’ve been much more inclined to purchase items for my wardrobe in the sales.

I have the highest regard for the dominant man who heads into stores to buy his girl her clothes. I admit that I am jealous. What girl would not love the fact that a man chooses her clothes for her, and that she wears his choices? Well, I suppose that is too much of a generalization. Some girls might hate that idea. Not me! I remember Elizabeth’s man in ‘Nine and half weeks’ choosing clothing in a store for her.

“Don’t you want to know if *I* like it?” she asked.

He simply shook his head. She still had so much to learn!

That said, my husband would struggle to find the bargains that I can find. I go to a store a few suburbs away, maybe twice a year, to search their markdowns rack. Everything in the store is from France and I have found wonderful things there. A beautiful, classic three-quarter brown woollen jacket was purchased for $99 when its real value was several hundred dollars. I bought it five years ago but it looks as good as the day I bought it.

There is a store not far from me, in a posh suburb, that heavily reduces their knits at the end of the season. For $150 I bought a black alpaca poncho style knit that looks great with black pants. Its real price was $600. In fact, I can’t recall paying full price for anything for years, because I couldn’t afford to pay full price for the clothes that appeal to me. So, if my husband were to buy my clothes, where would he go and what would he buy? He has an eye for a beautiful garment himself but not a nose for a bargain; so really, I am saving him a fortune! You do see that, readers don’t you?

As a submissive girl, I understand the need to look feminine, and I have no objection to dresses and skirts. I am rarely in pants in the summer by choice, in any case. The winter is more challenging, and I admit, I do tend to wear my fair share of pants. Perhaps, that is not good enough for a submissive girl like me. I need to think about that.

Well, let’s see. If I had a couple of pairs of really comfortable boots, I could wear woollen skirts much more often this winter. But, I am short of really, really comfortable boots, as a matter of fact.

Now, originally, the idea was to sift through my wardrobe. A submissive girl is not a spoilt girl, after all. But, it is also true that a submissive girl should look as feminine as she possibly can.

Fortunately, there is a solution; two new pairs of very, very comfortable boots. You see sometimes a girl has to actually ADD to her wardrobe in order to prune down her wardrobe.

I knew you would understand.