Facets of my submissive personality

I've been wondering lately if there aren't a number of facets that make up a submissive woman. In my case, I've identified three main facets.

1) The inner slut. She's called 'cindi'. She can be seduced or aroused fairly easily although her level of arousal will vary from time to time, depending on the circumstances in which she finds herself. The more desired and accepted she is, the more she'll reveal the depths of that sluttiness. If she is called upon very regularly, well then this element of this submissive woman is prominent and constant; more or less shoves all the other facets to one side.

2) 'Girl'. She is the everyday entity; the person who goes about her days such that her submissiveness is more or less 'blind' to other people, except her Dominant, who can call on her service at any time of the day or night - not necessarily, or at all, related to her 'inner slut', but rather that understanding that she carries in her bones that she knows her place and that she has a boss.

3) L'il one. There's a child like element to my personality. I don't think this can be denied, otherwise why is an admonishment as natural to me as a teacher admonishing a child, a parent admonishing a child, or an owner admonishing a dog? I can feel small. I can desire protection and guidance. I adore to be tucked into bed, or told I can or can't have something. I crave the sort of unconditional love that comes with this element of my personality. I can do wrong but I can also be punished and forgiven.

Of course, as any other submissive woman reading this would know, or any other Dominant who understands what makes such women tick, it gets complicated. These facets can't necessarily be kept separated.

Approach 'l'il one' about her behaviour, tell her off and tell her she can't have anything sweet for a month, and once she's registered within her bones her anger with herself for getting herself into this mess, she'll be very aroused indeed. Is she 'l'il one' any more or has 'the slut' been prompted to make an appearance? Speak to "girl" and she may well have a lovely moment of registering her satisfaction of life in her little guilded cage. Suddenly 'the slut' may appear. It's hard to keep that facet of the persona at bay really because both 'girl' and 'l'il one' can be aroused by feeling some force which then translates into arousal.

In my ideal fantasy relationship, all facets would be called on at different times, subject to the whim of the Dominant and the necessities of the moment. Whichever facet he calls to the fore, it's another opportunity to feel at peace; to feel oneself.

Germaine Greer - pain, consent, sluttiness

One of the most interesting things I did this past week was to attend a session where Germaine Greer was interviewed. Of course, she loves to be controversial and she has always been controversial. Some people worship the ground she walks on and some people have nothing but scorn for her. Either way, she packed a full (large) auditorium. When it came time for the audience to ask questions  one woman wanted her opinion on the relationship between Feminism and Veganism and whether Feminists should be seriously considering Veganism.

Germaine has never been at a loss for words and she told an interesting story of watching a python in Queensland. An animal (unfortunately I don't have in my notes what type of animal it was) had been swallowed whole by the python and was clearly evident in the python's body. Along came another one of these animals and when reaching the python, made no effort to get away from danger.

This led Germaine to ask, did the animal get the sense that there was no danger because the python was already fed, or was the prey drawn  to the predator? She had my attention. That is a fascinating question. Ultimately, she suggested that we should be "eco-feminists" - feminists also interested about the land. "I am an animal with other animals," she said.

The conversation was wide-ranging. She talked of her disdain for marriage and she did not support gay marriage. Marriage was a "breeding contract" she said and if there was not a vagina and a penis involved, there was no marriage. A breeding contract does not sanction anal intercourse, she said. It was her view that marriage should be a contract like any other contract, with sub-clauses. People needed to sit down and sort things out. Who was going to do what? No good finding out that the husband was angry that the wife didn't Hoover more than once a fortnight when at the divorce lawyer's office, she said."The best people start to behave badly in marriage," she stated. She was all for making it easier for people to live together. A co-habitation contract could work, she suggested.

She was asked why she rejected up to a dozen offers to critique 50 Shades of Grey. She said that she wasn't in the least interested in spanking or sado-masochism or relationships where people were "hooked on pain". She'd seen the damage and dread caused to people she knew and she had no interest.

But, wasn't she talking about abuse rather than relationships in which there was consent, asked the young man interviewing her? I didn't make note of a direct answer. Rather, my notes then relate to her thoughts on rape and that "the notion of consent can't effect the mechanical pursuit of what he wants to do". How can she consent in advance if his desires push him into territory of which she (or he) is unaware in advance? This led to discussion about prosecution of rape, that the burden of proof is massive and hence there are very few prosecutions. Germaine would like to see the charge of rape dropped and instead there should be a single law of serial assault.

I rarely take things personally. I'm aware I'm different to so many people and what they want but I felt sensitive sitting there in that auditorium. Wanting what I wanted seemed to be going against 'the movement'; the vibe in the room.

Then, Germaine Greer said something particularly interesting to me. She was talking about a 'Slut Walk'. She said that people had forever made a connection between loose morals and dirt. "Being dirty" was one of the biggest insults someone could give a woman. There were all those "slimy, slithery words" like "slut" and "slattern" thrown at us if we didn't do what we were expected to do; if our morals were loose. We've been "blackmailed", she said, with "dirtiness". "Stop bloody cleaning clean houses," she demanded of us. Stop accepting this blackmail!

It was a lot to take in and I'm not at all sure that some things weren't contradictory. She wanted to make it easier for people to live together but wasn't happy about people living together whose relationship involved domination and submission, even if that was a consensual relationship...
 The whole darn thing destabilized me a bit. It was not okay to be in a power exchange relationship, it seemed, but perfectly okay to want to be slutty. I left a little confused.

Brain lost

Desire to immerse myself in the mindset of the slutty, nut 2 smert, mindless, dumdum l'il bimbo has absolutely no relation to my ability to run my own life. In fact, the more capable I feel in the big, wide world, the more I long to be taken to that fucktoy, in-need-of-control space.

I can be going along, minding my own business, ripping through the to-do list and a host of chores when it comes over me like a wave. It goes like this...

One minute: God, this day is going well. Look at all that I have achieved so far. I am on a roll. Just about all my ducks are in a row.

Next minute: So, who cares anyway. It is mildly pleasing, but is this all there is? It's not giving me the satisfaction in life I crave. What I really desire is to feel little, helpless and unable to move without somebody giving me a direction. I want to feel the containment and I want to feel my body on fire too. Achievement is nice but it's not thrilling.

Of course, I am intimately aware of the fact that the more time I spend in that space, the more the bimbo switch is on, the more submissive I feel, the more desire I have to retreat into that mindless, ultra turned on space. My relationship with my body is very different here and my mind/body connection is very connected here. I'm a dumdum fucktoy and nothing feels as good as that.

For a girl who likes to use her brain, I am here to say that nothing ever feels as good as the days when I lose my brain. Oh dear! Where did it go?

Voice dialogue

As a woman who has explored an inner voice - the voice of the uninhibited and wanting woman within me, known as cindi - I pricked up my ears when a new friend began to tell me about 'Voice dialogue'. This is a kind of therapy where the therapist asks to speak to any other parts of oneself. Typically, the therapist asks four questions. This is an opportunity for another aspect of one's personality to be given voice.

I take the information I was given with full seriousness and I intend to write more about 'voice dialogue' but there is a part of me that finds it amusing as well. I imagined my therapist of last year asking,

Who or what are you?

If cindi had felt safe with her to answer (and she most certainly did not feel safe to do so) she would have said something like,

"I'm a what, not a who. I'm just an object; a fuck toy; a play thing. I love sex and I like to be used as often as possible. I don't have any control because I love to be controlled and the hoos like to control me, so everybody gets what they want. Wheeeeee."

How are you feeling right now?

Very good. Happy. Ditzy. Ready for fun. Waiting quietly here for someone to come along and play with me. I don't have any worries and I don't have any other thoughts. My head is pretty empty actually. Objects are like that.

What caused you to feel that way?

Well, when cindi was given life, it made  everyone very happy. Before cindi arrived the girl was a worrier and she thought too much. cindi brought joy, peace and happiness. cindi is true to her needs and wants.

How can I help you?

Well, just njoy cindi and welcome her because is she fun loving, and a happi l'il thing. Hi hi therapist.

Do you think the therapist might have replied: "Hi hi, cindi!"

We can but dream.

Revelations

I read a few blogs this morning whilst having my breakfast. There were some lovely entries around the topic of the bottom sliding into that relaxed, 'no-thinki' state of mind and the top taking that opportunity to either ask questions that might reveal more about her state of mind or push that state into an even more erotic zone.

It's to that relaxed 'no-thinki' state that I go when using larger anal plugs. It's containing, calming and settling to be sure but as well, it's very erotic and it is a space in the mind where virtually all inhibitions are removed.

In that state, I can be asked a lot of questions. The answers are the type of answers I'm not likely to give at any other time and on the very odd occasion, I have been censured for my responses. It's all very well to get the girl to be open to anything, but when she reveals just how slutty her mind is capable of being, there can be a slight concern there in a man's mind, I think. Rather marvellous to have the girl so free to express herself but slightly daunting to realize that women really can conjure scenes of gang bangs and going to dark caves and being aroused by a man's body; potentially any man's body, not just his body. Rather disconcerting indeed to realize that a woman's brain may imagine that not all scenarios have him in them but rather a faceless stranger.

Even in this state, a woman hears the rebuke in the words and she quickly pulls back. Perhaps it is best to hold onto thoughts for herself, she thinks; to hold something back...

And yet the allure of being in the company of a woman with all her defenses down is quite irresistible and intoxicating for some men, it seems to me. There's no business suit and appointment book here; no pretty lingerie behind which she can pretend she is the perfect angel. The slut is revealed. Her mind is about pure pleasure; having her body used and then used again. Bring it on. See who outdoes who.

When she returns to her everyday state of mind and he has the opportunity to consider what she has revealed, I have to think his mind goes to all and any ways to make her his. Men talking of enjoying the marks they make because it is one more opportunity to say, "See those marks. Only I can make those marks. No other man would dare to touch this woman when he sees that I left those marks on her."  She's mine, he says to himself.

The silly thing is that a woman like me is likely to reveal herself in this way to no more than one, perhaps two and possibly three men in her lifetime. I'd take a guess that the vast majority of women leave this earth having told no-one about the details of their inner life. It's a huge compliment to be trusted in this way by a woman and take it from me, no matter how many gang bangs she can conjure in her mind, it is in her mind (and not down at the local football club) that those thoughts will stay.

Blessings

Frank cuts my hair. He’s early 30s; Italian; gay. We get on very well; the conversation always flows effortlessly. But, last week the conversation reached a new level of depth. I could tell immediately when he began talking that something significant had changed in his life. 

He started from the beginning. He’d moved in with a person who also worked at the salon. She was there with him all day at work and at night in the apartment. He felt imprisoned in a situation that he had come to detest. Unable to speak to anyone about it, he felt he was going slowly mad.

A good friend of his, a single mother was to come to him for a weekend in the big city. Frank lives right in the heart of the area where there is an abundance of wonderful cafes and restaurants, beautiful stores; great entertainment. But, he told her he didn’t think it would work this weekend, given the situation. She immediately suggested he come to her in the country. It isn’t really Frank’s style but something told him to go, he said.

The clever girl involved a friend in the weekend; a woman who is into meditation and healing and it was this woman who said “What’s the matter Frank?” She was sitting in the back seat; he in the front. He didn’t answer. “It is a relationship, isn’t it Frank?” “Yes, it is,” he heard himself say.

They took him for a walk; a very special walk up 1000 steps. Then, they took him to a place where he joined them for a group meditation. He said he found it extraordinarily easy to do; that it was the most blissful, wonderful and enlightening experience. 

I think it was probably clear to them that Frank was open to this; that all he needed was to be shown how to find his own internal happiness and salvation. They had a healer work on him, giving him love and they also had him come to a sort of church service where the person leading the service said that he had noticed Frank; felt his energy all the service and that he had messages for him; that his grandmother in Italy was proud of him; that she was proud that he worked with his hands and carried the family name.(They worked on the basis, without knowing anything about Frank that he had not truly believed that his family had accepted that he was gay.)

The whole time he was telling me this story (and I can’t type it all because he was telling me so much so fast, I can’t remember it all at this moment) he was the most animated he has ever been. I know this will sound odd but in the few months since I had seen him last, his hair had grown curly and now his eyes were beaming with life. He really was a much, much happier man.

He told me all this because he knows I have studied the chakras and meditate and so on. He doesn’t know that I am really ‘a doll’ but he senses something, for sure.

He told me about his past; about his mother. When his father divorced his mother, it sent her into a deep depression and she has been in a psychiatric hospital several times. The youngest son, he felt obliged to mother his mother all this time but he told me that he has learned that he must tell her now that it is time for her to act like the mother and for him to act like the son.

He kept me at the salon long after my hair was cut; playing with it so that it looked like he was still working when he was really just wanting to talk. He told me he was going to Bali to a meditation retreat and I asked him for the details since it is a great passion and desire of mine to do that. I am sorely tempted to go with him!

We reached a very new level of friendship on that day, Frank and I. He showed me how to hug, heart to heart, and we practiced it several times, much to the amusement of the busy salon that late afternoon, I suspect, but who cares?

He walked me to the door. “I love you Frank,” I said. I don’t recall what he said in reply because I was too busy watching how his face softened to hear those words. It all felt much deeper than the relationship I have with people I have been socialising with regularly for years. I was on a high myself. This sort of interconnecting with another human being is so very special and important to me.

This morning I read over a chat between D and me. I was wearing Mr. Ringo and I was clearly very, very happy – on the high of being so low. It had come out and it talked in the way that only it can. It is a slut, no doubt about that and it is giving, peaceful; ditzy; happy. It is the best of me.

The opportunity to interact with people who have explored the workings of their inner lives and come to terms with themselves in a way that allows them to shine and to spread joy is a wonderful gift for me. It makes my life rich. It makes me realize I have so much more to learn; so much more to give. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

About 'The Training School'

Readers may remember that I went to a Writers' Festival not so long ago and there I heard Bryce Courtenay speak. Rather than talk too much about what he wrote or even how he wrote, he used the time to talk about himself, which is actually the most interesting topic of all.

Bryce is an extraordinary story teller and although the talk went over the hour, I remember what he said almost word for word. He was asked about his childhood and he spent the early years of his life in an orphanage in South Africa; a dark and sinister orphanage where he was beaten almost daily.

He doesn't know how he came by the name he has but it is an English name and surrounded by Boers, who hated the English for what they did to them in the War (burning their homes and farms), they hated him too. It was almost comical when someone from the audience asked him if he had any scars from those times that he has carried into his adulthood. He rather sheepishly said that he had, alas, a thing about obese women because the Matron was obese and she beat him regularly.

One day in the orphanage, some awful man who came to beat him up every day (he's seven, mind you!) approached him as he regularly did and Bryce instinctively said,

"Please, please, please Mister, don't beat me. If you don't beat me, I'll...I'll tell you a story."

"What kind of story?" the man wanted to know. "It had better be a good story or I'll pummel you..."

"It's a very good story, " he assured the brute and he proceeded to tell him a story.

He got to a certain point in the story and said something like,

"I can tell you more of the story tomorrow."

Bryce said that it was very important that he keep hold of the story and have more for tomorrow because he wasn't saving himself here from one beating but all the beatings to come.

Every day, the man arrived and Bryce had more of the story to tell him, and in this way he saved his hide.

Many years later, he was listening to the radio and on came what they called a serial...maybe 'Blue Hills'. I remember my father had three radio serials that he listened to every morning while he did his book work, so I knew what Bryce was talking about.

"The bastards," he apparently said, "they stole my idea."

He believes that the serial was his invention, all those years ago!

'The Training School' is something of a serial. I only had the vaguest ideas of where the story was going when I began it and when I publish a chapter it is hot off the page. I definitely will have to adjust things. What you are reading is nothing more than a first draft.

So far, the story is pretty tame. The general idea is that there is a girl, Lucille who recognizes her submissive nature, has married a dominant man but remains hidden inside her shell. She has secrets that she keeps even from herself. The role of Nicholas and the others at the Training School is to get her to a point where she embraces her whole self, even her most deviant thoughts and desires. This is important not only in order that she understand more about her role and status in the relationship but also that she embrace her deepest, darkest needs and desires and thereby come to peace with them and her 'inner slut'.

It is rather interesting listening to feedback through the back channels. The views do vary a lot but I certainly do listen to each one of them. Please feel free to offer your thoughts. All constructive criticism is appreciated.

Meanwhile, it is time to take things up a notch or so, so buckle in for the ride, and close your eyes if you are squeamish.

Always a fucktoy

Chapter 4 of The Training School leads me to the commencement of the alteration of Lucille. As I tried to write this chapter today, I realized something crucial. Lucille must start her training...her transformation...at the very beginning, in the same way that I once had to start at the beginning.

Today, I had to make a choice. I could try to remember how that felt and how that played out for me. Or, I could stop writing and go back and retrace my steps. I had a feeling that for the writing to be authentic and powerful, to describe the onset of the transformation that is seeded in her mind, I needed to revisit what that was like for me.

I've spent the best part of a gorgeous Spring afternoon at my desk, re-reading notes and thoughts that go back to that time. I was gob smacked! Although I feel that I have come a long way since those first few weeks when I was encouraged to reveal the inner workings of my mind, in fact the feelings that I had from the very outset of being anally trained were very rich, poignant, accurate and reflective of my needs, wants and deeply hidden desires.

This is why I had to stop writing the scene. I had to get back to the girl I was, before cindi was given life. I needed to remind myself of what it is was like to hold myself in check; to not allow my fantasies into the open air; to not acknowledge who (or what) I was and what would make me feel complete.

I needed to get back to a time in my life when what I heard, the possibility of a new way to live, filled me with an extraordinary excitement and rush - that my true self could be unveiled, in all her glory. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, the door had been opened for the unveiling of the slut I knew myself to be but dared not disclose; the slut who needed more use than any "lady" could ever confess.

It was very early days when this question was asked of me:

"What mind frame does being plugged put you in?

This was my response:

"Contained, highly sexual, deeply feminine, a sexual object, wanting to be used,waiting to be used, desperate really"

Wow! From the very first, I knew all that!

And, the next question was,

"What mind frame are you when not plugged?

Ohhh, so very much less. I knew that back then, too.

"There is no mistaking why you identify so much with being a fucktoy."

Why, I wanted to know.

"Because that is your essence."

When I began to write the scene when Lucille is told about the body modifications and the daily routines she must accept as part of her life, I felt I needed to hold back on her reaction to that. How could she possibly have such a fast response to such a brand new idea?

Re-reading my notes reminded me that it is not only possible but more likely than not. Although it is Nicholas who will transform her, he could only do that if she were already there.

And, quite suddenly, the question I have been asked, and answered, over and over, was completely understood.

"How long has cindi been a fucktoy?"

"Alweyz."

Compliments

All girls enjoy compliments, I think, but when you are a kinky girl those compliments can be different to what a vanilla girl might enjoy or find acceptable.

I've the dearest friend who can suddenly splice into the conversation,

"You may be too weird for me, Vesta."

Do I take offense? Of course not.


"Cindi beri slutti tots."

"Sumtimz"

"Sumtimz?"

"Well, mebbe bit mor dan sumtimz."

What a huge compliment that is!


But, my favourite, my absolute favourite compliment of all time was this:

Remember when Deity was dressing up in that latex suit of his and we girls were giving him grief?

Vesta said...
"You may recall that in one of my stories Susan complains of her dress code and Edward explains that he too has a dress code; for example, when he attends a formal event and needs to wear a white bow tie.

This is just an extension of that thought really, but I can't help thinking of the efforts you went to, to convince the authorities that you were the exception to the rule.

Giggling her head off... "

Well, when he replied to my rather naughty and provocative comment he said this,

"Vesta,
Go on. Go ahead and giggle ALLLL you want, you little tart. *sigh*"

How deliriously exciting it was to be called a tart! To my recollection it was the very first time someone has called me a tart and I loved it.

There are so many words to describe a woman - girl, tart, wench, vixon, harlet, scamp, babe, baby, trollop, a boiler (my mother used this word recently and it refers to a woman dressed very badly usually entirely unsuited to her age and body), slut, bimbo, doll. Is it any wonder that women are sensitive to the use of these words to describe them?

Yet, the words that are used to describe me - doll, bimbo, slut, tart, little girl, cindi - all make me feel very special actually. I'm completely comfortable with my own sexuality and where I go in the process of experiencing that sexuality and I know that those words are used with a certain reverence and pride and they please me rather than insult me.

But, I should point out that my approval of the use of these words to describe me is due to the fact that when these words are used, respect for me as a woman is intact. Or, that is my feeling. I think I'm right about that. It is the secret ingredient. Those men and boys who choose to use those words amongst their friends over a dozen or so lagers at the pub can go their hardest. No self-respecting woman has the slightest interest in them if their words are demeaning.

But, under my refined interior is a slut. It's completely true. And, only me, my husband and you get to know about it. That makes those naughty words not insults to me, but rather the most pleasing of compliments.

Not much 2 say

A dolli knows her place. But, sometimes she 4getz her place. Dis situation happens when she nut yoosd enough. It needs reminders.

Cindi's owner notissd dat da dolli rather more vocal than usual this weekend. She express lotsa opinions and reeeeeli, her owner nut need all those opinions.

"Okay, cindi, open up. Time 2 wear your cock gag while owner collects the Japanese food. U just lay there and suck on that and think about what a gud dolli really does with her mouth..."

And, off he went, leaving cindi all alone on her bed 2 thinki bout dat!

It troo dat the dolli managed 2 stay beri quiet 4 da rest of da nite after dat.

But, da next morning, owner thought his doll rather mouthy agin.

"Okay, cindi back to the bedroom..."

Agin, he poot da cock gag in cindi's mouth and he tie her hands behind her back.

"Time 4 sum yoos, cindi. The doll needs a strong reminder of its purpose."

Well, cindi sucki wey on her cockigag with gr8 deal of gusto coz owner right when he say dat he yoos da dolli beri well.

Finally, he clean her up and sort her out and he turn her round and he say 2 her,

"Now, cindi, owner suggests cindi yoos as few werdz as possibel 2dey because if she yoosz 2 many werdz, then she signalling 2 owner dat she needs much more yoos and this tym, spankiz on da bottom 2. Dat cleer cindi?"

Cindi nodded her agreement.

"Off to the shower, cindi...on your knees...that's rite...crawling like a gud little pet..gud cindi!"

Cindi feelin rather quiet now. No need 4 werds 2dey. She glowing now insted!

Proud to be a pervert

If it were possible to draw a line between what has happened on my blog and what will happen, then I would do it today. I’ve talked about where I have been and why I went there; what happened along the way; the good and the not so good. I think readers have a fairly good idea of what I stand for: finding the connection between people, loving one another well, embracing our true nature and finding the fun in life.

But, there is more to the story than that and truth to tell, I am proud to say that I am a pervert. I’m learning a lot about that ‘inner slut’ that has always lived inside me (and maybe all girls?) and right now (and forever, I hope), she is out of the box and having a blast. She didn’t see the sunlight much for a few years there but trust me when I say that she is ‘good to go’. So, from now on, that inner slut is going to have rather a lot to say. I do hope that you don’t mind.