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.

On being a girl

It is so lovely being a girl. I can't begin to imagine what life woud be like were I not a girl. Poor old boys don't have nearly half the fun. This morning, I woke on fire. Does that happen to boys? Well, it does to me frequently. I lay there imagining the most strict of discplinarians in my life, providing me with intense limits and once I had done that I was ready to greet the day.

It turned out to be a glorious morning. The birds were chirping away in merriment (there is very little bird life in Italty. I have no idea why...) and the sun was mild but warm creating the perfect light. And, I didn't feel jet lagged any more and when I looked in the mirror my face had lost that tired look. Why, I looked pretty good - skin glowing, eyes clear and bright. Yayayayay.

I thought about my day. It was...Tuesday. Maybe my husband and I would go to the market...maybe not...but I did have meditation class at 1.00 o'clock and I looked forward to getting back to that. Surprisingly, my concern about the work I had to do imminently had passed. I would certainly need to get it done and get it done in a timely way but it was do-able, I decided.

I thought about what to wear, and remembering that the weather forecast was for a warm 25 celcius degree day, I thought about what sort of summer outfit I wanted to wear. I remembered the dress I had bought in Venice.

We had been gliding along the narrow laneways on our way to San Marco from Dossidoro, my husband was on the phone and we walked past a small boutique with a navy blue linen dress on the mannequin at the door. The shop keeper had pinned a sign to the dress stating that it was reduced from 143 euros to 50 euros. I am not a hunter but I am a gatherer and I tapped my husband on the shoulder to say that I was going in. He followed me in but was standing in a separate part of the store to make his call.

Without a common language I pointed to the dress, the shopkeeper took it off the mannequin, pointed to the change room and I tried it on. It was a perfect fit I discovered when I came out to the mirror and I walked to my husband and asked in his ear, "Do you like this?". He nodded and within another minute I had handed over 50 euros and we were on our way. (I don't really like carrying money when I am with my husband, not wishing to make my own purchases, but a girl knows a bargain when she sees one. Trust me. She is born with this skill.)

When we got home from our trip I hand washed the dress and ironed it up (It is a very soft linen. It does crease but in a very soft way; quite unlike the sort of linen dress I have had before which put me off linen as a fabric.) and this morning when I put it on I was delighted with it. It actually has a French (tres jolie) feel to me; very feminine and very Spring and it made me feel very feminine and happy.

That prompted me to get out a more chunky set of pearls than I usually wear day to day and that again prompted me to put on a full apron that an old lady friend had made for me many years ago and which I keep to remember her.  It is decorated with a little lace on the sides and I felt very homely in it; very 1950s. It made me smile.

That prompted me to make blueberry pancakes and that made my son very happy. Suddenly, all the world looked and smelled and tasted great. Huuuummmm. Right here, right now, all is well in my world...

Do men have these lovely moments when the world feels so right....when your outfit makes you sing, and you feel prompted to do nice things for the people in your life? Do you think of a shirt you bought when you travelled and it conjurs up all sorts of romantic notions? Do you feel happy just because you woke up feeling alive and manly and vibrant? Or, is that why you have us around?

Practically perfect

The vast majority of this girl's readers live in North America and thus are experiencing the delights (and inconveniences, perhaps) of a winter wonderland. This girl, on the other hand, is experiencing the pleasures of summertime in full swing and she is relaxing by the water. We have reached that point in time of the holiday season when all family members are completely relaxed. We have forgotten the routines, rituals and schedules of daily life in the city and instead spend our days reading, gardening, swimming and boating. The mood is light and contentment is abundant.

Even on holiday, however, a submissive girl is still a submissive girl and thus certain rituals and attitudes must be enforced. Putting in pluggi remains a morning ritual and this situation reminds the girl of her place. Long nails are an important feature of her status and must be respected, whether on holiday or not. And, on holiday, perhaps more than any other time, this girl's owner can do whatever he wants with his girl.

It was interesting to read comments on the previous post. Florida Dom seemed keen to learn of future developments relating to the fulfilment of this girl's "needs" and 'Six of the best' seemed enthusiastic about reading what sounded to this girl like sound discipline! It is true that even on holiday there can be a need for some discipline. This morning, a conversation was overheard.

"Manuel, I definitely paid you. The cheque went off about 10 days ago."

This girl was sprung!

“Oh, darling, excuse me, but the cheque is still in my handbag.”

“Manuel, Vesta still has the cheque, I’m sorry. We’ll send that off to you today...”

When owner had said his goodbyes,

“We’ll deal with that infraction later, girl.”

Poor owners! Their work is never done.

There is, in fact, no doubting the fact that when an owner is able to give his focus to his girl and an implement is no more than a dozen or so steps away at any given time, a girl truly learns the meaning of the words “co-operative” and “agreeable”. This girl could not be more co-operative or agreeable. Of course, cheekiness happens in spite of her best efforts, and playfulness is abundant, but on the whole this is accepted as one of this girl’s inalienable traits.

It is a shame to disappoint one’s readers but what is this girl to do?! She is being such a ‘good girl’ that it could be said she is practically perfect in every way. Discipline of the kind that leaves red stripes for a day or more is simply unnecessary. Better luck next time, chaps!

Treats for the sweet

This morning, my husband awoke early to take a conference call, and quietly dressed and closed the bedroom door, to allow me to sleep on. I quietly opened the bedroom door and got my laptop to check my kinky emails.

Upon finishing his call, he opened the bedroom door to find me with laptop on knee and proceeded to tell me all about the call. Like the good girl that I am, I put the laptop aside to listen to him carefully.

When he had finished his tale, he asked if I would like breakfast in bed. I thanked him for his offer and went back to reading kinky material, as you do.

"No. I want you to write a post," he said. "Tell them, that when you are a good girl, you get treats. Let them know that it pays to be a good girl."

And, so it does. Good girls get rewards in bed, of various kinds. But, I should caution, that a good girl must not let this sort of thing go to her head. She has the 'power' to influence her man in all sorts of ways. Yet, being sweetness and light, she would never allow such power to corrupt her. She is above all things; sweet, good and well mannered. Manipulation is unthinkable to her.

The Soprano

It was midnight and her Master was already in bed, checking the financial results of the day on the television on the wall in front of him. She thought she might get lucky tonight and she brought with her to bed her styling hairbrush, so that he could brush her hair while he listened and watched. She handed the brush to him, looking as sweet and demure as she could. She didn’t say anything. He took it from her.

“It is the wrong brush, girl. Bring me the wooden backed hairbrush from my wet pack.”

She looked at him carefully, to check that he meant it, and seeing that he did, she returned to the bathroom and fetched the evil item. She handed the brush of pain to him much in the same way as she had handed over the brush of pleasure.

“Thank you, girl. Now, bend over my knees.”

She did so. There was no choice in the matter. He brought back the smooth wooden side of the brush on her buttocks; first six on the left cheek and then six on the right. She lay there panting. The sting was like nothing else.

“All right. Tuck down close beside me and off to sleep immediately, please.”

She did as she was told and she slept well. She woke at 7.01 am. She took in where she was; that there was no need to wake herself up this morning to get her sons off to school, and she returned to slumber. She woke again at 8.25, and felt rested.

She looked about for her Master and a moment or two later he entered the bedroom from the living room.

“Good morning, girl.”

“Good morning, Master. I think I will go and check the temperature of the water in the spa.”

“No, you won’t. You will only do as you are told while we are here. I will tell you what you will do and when you will do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master.”

“Well, I hope so, for your sake. Because, if you don’t, you will have a terribly sore bottom.”

“Yes, Master.”

“All right. It is time for your morning maintenance.”

“I need to go the bathroom, first.”

“What do you say?”

“Master, may I please go to the bathroom, first?”

“Good girl. Yes, you may.”

She smiled to herself as she returned to the bedroom. She liked this game.

“Climb over my knee, little girl.”

She did as she was told. She was such a gooood, little girl.

He brought his hand up rather high. She could sense that, and he brought it down hand, about eight swats to each buttock. She was panting. They were fast.

“Now, for a taste of the tawse. Stay still.”

He brought the blasted strips of leather down across her bottom more times than she could count. She remembered her friend’s advice and tried to transfer the pain to pleasure in her mind. She was trying to remember to breathe. Finally, he had had enough fun with his tawse for now. He asked her to rise and he folded the firm pillow over itself, and held it in place.

“Over you go. Be a good girl, now.”

She climbed over the pillow so that it rested below her hips.

“Pout out now.”

She pouted out.

“Pout out, girl!”

He was sterner now and she pouted out good and wide.”

“That’s better. That’s what I want.”

He got behind her and plundered her. She groaned instantly. Her orgasm was immediate. He maintained the pressure and fucked her for the longest time. She groaned and groaned and groaned. At one moment, she thought of a baritone singer she knew and his daily chortling, but the music she was making today was that of a soprano. The music was not necessarily in tune, but it was sweet to her ears and apparently, his.

“That’s right. You just keep singing for me. Let’s see how long you can sing!”

She was in orgasmic heaven. He had hit the play button and the CD would keep playing for as long as he wished.

Eventually, he turned her over and entered her again with her on her back and her knees up to his ears. The orgasms returned again but as much as she was still singing, she began to wonder how much more pleasure she could take. She did what she knew to do to encourage his pleasurable release, but he appeared disinterested. He continued to ensure that she chortle away. He squeezed her nipples between her fingers and off she went again.

When he was ready, he put her on her side, and he re-entered her in this position, clearly enjoying the sensations, for now his groans were deep and rhythmic. She lay there, completely still and accepted that he would use her body for as long as he cared.

Ultimately, he pulled his cock away and slapped her right buttock hard; three sound slaps. Still, she lay there quietly and absorbed the pain, coming immediately after the pleasure.

“Taste my sweat, little girl. Taste your juices on my cock. Use your tongue, now.”

As she moved to get on her knees, she glanced over at the clock. It was 9.45. She had been singing for quite some time.

She did as instructed and he was pleased.

“Good girl. Kneel at my feet, now. That’s a good slave. You are my little slave this week and your Master expects total obedience. I’ll be making generous use of all your holes. Do you understand?”

"Yes, Master.”

“Would you like to go and check the temperature in the spa now?”

“Yes please, Master.”

“Good girl. You’ve been in purgatory because that is where a girl who misbehaves goes. But, you are back where you belong, now, aren’t you? Back in harness; back in service.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I would continue to be a good girl because being in purgatory is not a comfortable place to be for you, is it?”

“No, Master; I don’t like purgatory at all.”

“All right. Well, I do like my girl being as well behaved as she has been this morning. There are many rewards for well behaved girls, aren’t there?”

She smiled. She tried not to, but she could not help it.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl. Off you go to check the water temperature.”

“Yes Master.

9.55 am: She slipped away. She was very, very happy.

Is there something in the water?

When you are content, you notice things; things that make you smile and the people around you.

I’m in a little bubble of happiness right now and I’m floating about just soaking life up. That is not to say that I don’t see and hear and read things that disturb me, but my equilibrium is quickly restored.

I adore a joke. A sense of humour is imperative, I believe. I have a son who remembers nearly every funny line he ever heard, and it is a joy to hear him recite them. I’m so grateful to have people in my life that can see life from an angle. It’s so interesting from that position! (Make of that what you will.)

So, why the lightness of being, you ask? Well, let me see if I can explain...

For some time there, at least a month, I was often considered a “bad girl”. I wasn’t being very obedient, and I was getting into lots of trouble. I somehow lost the desire even to want to be a “good girl”. I was just in rebellious mode, and I suspect I was a big disappointment.

Mad at my husband, at Janus, and the guy that invented D/s, I called the whole thing off. They talked to me and soothed me and listened to me, but ultimately they figured, I think, that I needed a little time in the great unknown, in the big wide world, all by myself.

Let me tell you, the meadow far from the stable, isn’t all that it is cracked up to be. ‘Freedom’ is one of those relative words. Sometimes, you should be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. You must trust me on this.

So, inch by inch, I have been working my way back towards the stable door. I have put my head in and the darkness in there is such a relief, I can’t tell you! I love being a ‘good girl’ again, doing all the things that good girls do. The praise I am receiving is heavenly and my little bubble is just so snugly warm!

Of course, there is a price back to the submissive stable. There is ALWAYS a catch! We’re free to go but returning costs. I know this. What is more, I agree. A good girl needs to accept her faults, to apologize for them, to be punished, to be forgiven and to be returned to her perch. It is as it should be. So, that is certainly sitting there in the back of my mind; waiting...waiting.

Yet, it does nothing to disrupt my contentment. I feel so wrapped up nice and tight in this submissive blanket, I don’t want to leave.

Now, I’m not fooling myself. The day may well come when my good girl status will be sorely tested and I might fall. It is possible. But, today, it seems so...distant.

I am being such a good girl! Do you think there is something in the water?

The Little Window

To bed late last night, five hours later I am aware of my breathing. It is shallow and my mind is restless. I detect the reason for my discontent within moments and know instantly that there is no more sleep to be had until I explore the words of that conversation...and here I am.

I think I already mentioned that technology came rather late into my life. Thus it is with those little Google ‘chat’ windows. Quite recently, I have become aware of them, and I now have three possibilities for a ‘Google chat’. I must say that I am quite smitten. One can be typing away, to find at any given moment, that there is a ‘friend’ up for a chat. Once upon a time, of course, it would have been the doorbell that one would hear ring. It is all the same, really. A friend has been good enough to call by, and it is always welcome.

My three potential ‘chats’ are with dominant men. I like dominant men and I like their conversation. Out there in the big wide world, men are not too sure about expressing their dominance. It is such a pity. Here on chat, they speak their mind. I expect that. But, I will admit to you that I was not quite prepared for last night’s candour.

My chat last night with him was, in fact, our first. I’d noticed that he was on the left hand side of my screen for some time – perhaps weeks. I wasn’t too sure of how he got there and frankly, I was a little intimidated. His emails have always been rather formal, and so have mine. I simply followed his lead. He’s that kind of a Dom. In an email, I can go at my own pace. I can reveal or not reveal. I can answer questions or not answer questions. And, in any case, he had always been polite, his disapproval guised more in a polite suggestion occasionally. ‘Chat’ opened up more possibilities, and I had put it off.

Yesterday, I opened the little window for the first time and bravely typed in ‘hello’. “Now, why is this the first time you’ve reached out to me?” he wanted to know. I did not have a good answer for that question. I had so often thought to make contact but somehow I needed to be ‘on my game’ to do that; to have an air of confidence about me. I had no idea why I had opened that little window when my vulnerability was all about me and we played cat and mouse for a bit.

Finally, he had had enough of my stalling and he put me on the clock. “You have me for 9 minutes. Best not dawdle.” So, I told him. I had not been asking for what I was due. “I had to ask. Why did I have to ask?” I was not prepared for his response:

“Because perhaps you're not a good girl. Good girls needn't ask."

I felt my ire rise and I responded with bravado:

“You can’t be good all the time. It’s boring.”

He scoffed.

“I am as good as I can be.”

I had never pretended to be perfect. My defences were up.

“I suspect you could be better. Two minutes.”

He’d pulled out the big guns! There was the disappointment. There was the judgement. There was the suggestion that I was not up to standard. My defences had been worn away in no less than six words.

“What do you suggest?”

“Asking for your correction
And asking very directly
Do not dawdle
Do not hint
Be explicit
Understood?”

I considered his words for a moment or two. It was all the time he had allowed.

“Understood.”

“Good girl.”

I just want to be a good girl. I really do. You know that.