The sadist

There's the part of me that's simply submissive. I don't want to lead. I want to follow. I want to know my place; to be of service; to feel owned. Lots of people want that. They want to be good and to get the praise and the care, and all's well. I guess that's what you call 'D/s'.

For me, it's not enough. It's a whole lot better than nothing but submission alone isn't enough for me. I'm a masochist. I get off on physical and emotional sadistic glee pointed in my direction.

I don't mean I want some mean and nasty man in my life. I want a nice man in my life who just so happens to get off on being sadistic in the same way I get off on experiencing masochism.

I don't want to be able to predict everything. I don't want to predict much at all. I want to be caught off guard; to feel like prey. I want to suddenly find myself at the behest of his beastly bastardry.

His is a particularly keen, gourmet appetite, this diner with whom I wish to sit at my table. There's no doubt he's a planner and he's orchestrated this meal; soup to nuts.

There's only one detail of this meal of which I can be sure. He'll feast on my desire and I'll come away satiated, because he would never allow me to go away hungry. He can be such a glutton, but he wouldn't dream of not sharing the repast!

Even if it means I'll think of him as the dick that he can be on such occasions, I'll revel in that too. Oh dear. He knows me too well.

Masochism

If I were to expose my mind to a psychologist it would become obvious very quickly that he or she was seating opposite a masochist. I've been reluctant to make that admission, even to myself, but I have reached a point where there is no point in denying it any further.

It was clear years ago that I was aroused by being told what to do and by having someone in control of me in various ways. Yet, I didn't feel that the title of 'masochist' applied, since I didn't need or particularly want, a great deal of pain.

I did notice this: that if the control was intense and certain I could take a lot more sensation than if I felt I could manipulate a situation. This is still the case. Even in the mindset of 'toy' I can still push and test. I seem to need to know that if I push against the wall it won't cave in on me; that the wall is solid and I can't knock it down.

This is what has often gone awry with my husband and me. He sees a bit of anger and distress and figures that I have had enough or he has done the wrong thing. On the contrary, whatever distress or anger I am experiencing will soon blow over if he can hold his nerve, not easy sometimes, I am sure, but there it is.

I like the control to be such that I cannot influence or effect it. Of course, situations will call for some adjustment or negotiation at times but I need to know that there is no Plan B, simply a slight modification of Plan A on occasion and only if absolutely necessary.

It hasn't always been this way. This situation has evolved as I have become more comfortable and certain in my role. My submission is deeply affected by the certainty and intensity of the control. Some people say that masochists really want to control. I don't buy that but I do recognize that I am capable of exerting control (or giving it a go) if I don't feel there is enough control being exerted over me or if it feels that there is, at that moment, too much. I push at the wall trying to get it to convince me that I am wasting my time. I don't want to control. I want to be certain that the control over me is alive and well.

These days my masochism is well expressed and that relates to the level of sadism being exerted. I'm still a little gobsmacked to type that sadism in various guises is not the least off putting to me (even though it can initially make me very angry and rebellious). That is to say, having recognized that I appreciate sadistic games I am in no position to complain about the sadist's glee when I experience pain or discomfort. This exchange of energy, this reinforcement of position and place, is comforting, reassuring and arousing.

If the mind of the masochist is engaged there are countless ways one can control her. It's the creativity of the sadist that matters here. The meting out of pain and control works in any number of ways so long as roles have been ascribed and adhered to. It's these constant reminders of place and status that are so fulfilling to both players. It may take some time to reach this place and it's important, I believe, not to allow gains garnered to slide back to previous levels. What's best for both is when the relationship can evolve and spread its wings over time. When the dynamic is cemented that's when the explorations can really start to happen.

My point is that I need to know my place and to be held accountable for maintaining that place. It's clear even to me that this is how I feel safe and secure. As the masochist and 'bottom' I need to feel sure that the sadist/Top is comfortable and secure in his place, ready, willing and able to guide me.  To my mind the Dominant/Top/sadist is responsible for creating the road map for the journey whilst the submissive/bottom/masochist is responsible for following the directions given to her to take her to interesting places that will complete her and expand her horizons.

I can see that it is a tough situation for someone who isn't sure of the extent of another's person submissive's stance or her desire for masochism. She probably isn't sure herself how far she can go or what she is capable of, or wants. I can only emphasize once again that she will go a very long way in the journey if she feels that the leadership is there - strong, certain, unfailingly reliable and dependable. We all have our off days but I know what it is like to flap in the breeze and it's not a good  look and to be avoided at all costs.

The masochistic urge

Last night I experienced what I will call a 'masochistic urge'. I woke in the night, my mind a continuous moving image of sadistic romp. My light nightgown had moved up so that I was more or less exposed and my body was crying out for some sort of sensation. I knew that I had to do something to relieve what I will refer to as 'emotional pain'. I felt ungrounded; free floating. I was profoundly aware of an open cunt, and also conscious that my ass was empty. It felt so very wrong to feel this way; totally unmoored.

I had a few thoughts as to how to relieve this state of despair. More than aware that I needed to feel something, I pinched the skin of my right wrist and felt a mild relief, but not enough to do any lasting good. Remembering that I was at the holiday house with few supplies at my disposal I decided to get up and have some Panadol and then scrunch up tight, night gown covering me and to will myself to sleep. In the dark, I could find no Panadol and there remained only one thing to do.

I reached for an anal plug, coated it with some lube and put it in place within seconds. I squeezed. My goodness, instant relief! I felt grounded now, much better equipped for the rest of the night ahead. I got back into bed and squeezed and squeezed, and much like a parent rocking a child to sleep in his cot, I lulled myself back to sleep in this way.

This morning I have been aware of a general agitation. I know what I need and I can't seem to get it. I can't seem to convince my partner in life of this need of mine to be dominated at his will on some sort of a regular basis. It is like chalk and cheese, really. How can you explain to someone that has never had these needs that they are real, invasive, chronic and can't be helped?

It's not about the pain. I don't necessarily need pain. I don't need him to make welts or bruises necessarily. It's much more simple than that. I need to feel sensation. We have delivered every day a newspaper rolled up tight in plastic and a dozen whacks of this provides me with sensation that is satisfactory to settle down this impulse of mine which leaves me so very agitated. It's not really that complicated or that hard to achieve relief. What happens is that the tension, the tightness in my body is released and I can relax.Which is not to say that I don't appreciate the force of something more intense, just that he doesn't need to feel that he needs to do that everytime if he doesn't want to.

One time recently he 'attacked' me on the couch when he came home. I can't even quite remember what he was doing but I do remember he was twisting my nipples and holding my cunt and providing a lot of sensation that had me squealing in spite of a son being home. Afterwards, and during in fact, I felt fantastic. So, I don't think it is about pain really but more about some force and intention with a little pain thrown in for good effect.

To be clear, I do like to be intensely challenged. I like to be tied up and taken beyond the limits of my pain threshold but I don't need that all the time. Something faster and easier can fill the gap during those sessions.

When I am in this agitated, needy state I often feel that I have built up a head of steam and I need to release it any way I can. This leads to a blitz of the house or a fast walk/jog in the park. It feels that, since I can't get the sensation my body demands I need to relieve the pent up agitation and anxiety with speed and output. I just need to do something with my body to let go of excess energy and tightness.

I have been trained to provide myself with relief. This, as far as I can tell, is what the plugs are about for me - to provide me with a way to give myself some masochistic relief from being overly stimulated by these bodily needs. I can give myself sensation on a daily basis and I can feel the grounded effect of wearing a large, heavy plug in my ass.

This does work. It has provided me with an enormous amount of relief from the masochistic urge; satisfied the urge. It's a lot of arousal to deal with, sometimes more than I have a clue what to do with, but I won't focus on that dilemma today. I'll just say that the arousal I experience can lead me to lay off the plugs which then creates the need for more masochism; a viscious cycle if ever there was one. My achilles heel is that I live with intense, dramatic, invasive, overwhelming and chronic arousal. Sigh.

Of course, even a masochist shies away at times from inflicting pain/sensation on herself. It's not always an easy thing to do. Far easier, for the sadistic partner/top to enforce this sort of regimen on her. That makes far more sense to her and is so much easier to achieve. One can relieve oneself of any sense of guilt or shame by passing it over to the other. Yes, we do do that. And, it makes sense. It means that we are not alone. We are understood. This means everything.

I've heard gay people say they wish they were 'normal', but it isn't the case. I feel this way sometimes. How sweet it would be, I think on occasion, to be a 'normal' woman who got her rocks off visiting Positano or being an Auxiliary Member of the National Library, or playing bridge. The fact is that my life is controlled by my needs. I'm a slave to my body's demands and nothing thrills me more than when my body achieves the satisfaction that allows my spirits to soar. Then, I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Masochism and libido

By being more 'mindful' of what it is happening in the moment it is possible to tap into our subconscious thoughts and to transfer them into our conscious mind. This is important because our subconscious mind tends to hold onto old hurt and negative experiences and to endlessly recycle these experiences. Feelings from our childhood such as feeling controlled, helpless, rejected, unloved, abandoned and so on don't suddenly disappear as we grow older. To put it in other words we can remain attached to these feelings. They are unresolved feelings for us.

Although we may want to feel loved or respected, we haven't come to terms, necessarily, with our feelings of having been disrespected or unloved. So, we fear being disrespected or unloved yet again, remaining attached to that feeling.

It is thought by some psychotherapists  that we can libidinize these feelings - recreate and recycle them as a part of our libido. The negative feelings accord with our sense of injustice and so we must develop "psychological defense systems designed to cover up our emotional attachment to old negative experiences". In this process we may blame others for negative feelings we currently experience, that are really more concerned with covering up these negative feelings from the past that we are playing out over and over again.

In our willingness to recycle these feelings over and over again we are, it is thought, involving ourselves in an "unconscious masochism" which is tapped into when we experience sexual pleasure from various forms of abuse or denigration. Michaelson goes on to discuss sadism as a form of masochism (by identifying with the passivity of the masochist) but let's focus on the masochist's motives and experiences for this post.

What interested me particularly were his comments about the "dark side" - that affinity with negative experiences - and how recycling negative experiences can lead to emotional defensiveness such as apathy, self-pity, self-absorption, cruelty, greed, hatred and violence. By making the dark side conscious, he suggests, we can overcome the negative influences of them.

I know that people who engage in BDSM are inclined to be defensive about their practices, needs and desires. It is upsetting to be looked down on or to be considered perverted for engaging in relationships and experiences that allow us to enjoy our sexual natures.

At the same time, I am not prepared to dismiss Michaelson's comments, even though I'm not completely comfortable with the article for obvious reasons. I don't doubt that I have brought into my adult life some negative feelings and experiences from my childhood. The reality is that I, fundamentally, brought myself up. My parents were very busy and engaged in business life, so whilst I knew that I was loved and that they were proud of me, it was the sort of love that one experiences from a distance. It is true, too, that what I was good at doing wasn't seen as particularly worthy attributes to have, which I didn't find easy, but I may be 'feeling' that to be the case, rather than something that was in their minds. I could be wrong.

I am well aware also that there is a negative and annoying inner voice that often speaks to me saying such cruel things as "why would you bother even doing a writing course when you have no talent?" In my first years of school I think I was made to write with my right hand (I don't have clear memories of what actually happened) until it was considered hopeless and I was allowed to write with my left hand. According to my reports in first and second grades something profound happened in that year and from second grade, and thereafter, I was an A student. Unfortunately, my fourth grade teacher said to my mother, who then told me, that I wouldn't be able to maintain that standard and it put a doubt in my mind that has never gone away. 'Higher Distinctions' recently achieved, evidence one would of thought of some capability, does not make the doubt go. I definitely am recycling some negative feelings and experiences.

But, am I recycling them in the form of masochism? That's the big question. Have I libidinized those old feelings? When I experience sexual pleasure from various forms of "abuse and denigration" am I tapping into previously felt emotional suffering and recycling it yet again? Well, maybe I am. I don't really know. I will continue to dwell on this and see what comes up.

I can say this. It's a very rare day when I feel unloved or disrespected in the power exchange arena of my life. When I live under the dome of understanding that I am to be monitored and when I experience pain/pleasure that releases me from the reality of the moment (a sort of mindfulness of sensation I think), I feel a sense of great happiness. It is not only being done to me but for me. My mind translates these experiences as loving experiences. Perhaps I am working on feelings of having felt unloved or disrespected in the past. It is entirely possible. Yet, I can't see the negativity or harm that comes from doing what I do. I am aware that I am reliant on these experiences for my happiness and to that end I continue to work on a sense of self that enables me to feel whole, no matter what happens. The fact remains that I am elevated by these feelings and experiences and I continue to feel that this must surely be a positive experience. But, as always, I am open to learning more.

Masochistic drive

Last night I had an impulse to go to Fetlife and see what was happening there. I have had an account there for a few years but I very rarely use it. I think it is all part of my introverted nature to feel a bit lost in big situations and I can't seem to navigate my way around Fetlife or chat rooms. I'm definitely more of a one-on-one person and so far it hasn't provided a one-on-one experience for me where I've got to know a particular person well in those scenarios. Maybe I'm doing something wrong but it is probably simply my introverted nature at work. However, I did go to Fetlife for a reason last night. I was feeling very restless and I think I just wanted to be with 'like' souls; someone/anyone who might know what that felt like.

I looked up the various groups and found what I hoped would be the right group - Sadists and Masochists - and then I looked for a thread that might have meaning to me on this particular night. One person had asked what others do when they feel restless for pain. I read those responses which at least gave me a clue as to why I was feeling the way I was feeling. I could not have expressed that I needed pain but that's the thread I read, so I think that says something.

Some of the respondents said that they gave themselves pain. Some of them cut themselves. One person said that he pulled his hair hard to settle himself. Other people said that it was important to go out and do something physical and they had put their energy into running. For many people they used the art of distraction to get over the hump of that feeling of need for pain.

It was easier for the Sadists because they were able to settle themselves sometimes by impacting into a pillow; bringing an implement down hard on a soft object. The sound of the impact and the feeling of the impact in their hand and/or arm gave them some release from that feeling of need to give pain.

I wonder if the strategy that my mentor used with me was about feeding my masochistic need. It wasn't 'sold' to me as a strategy for overcoming my masochistic need since it was more of a 'pleasurable' thing and a 'use' thing. But, perhaps anal plugs actually do overcome, in part, my masochistic needs.

The thing is that until last night when I happened to read that particular thread I would not have said that I had masochistic/pain needs. However, I think I was wrong about that. I think I very much do have a drive for masochism/pain and without that drive for masochism/pain being fed I can become extremely restless. One girl wrote that when the impetus for some pain hit her it felt like she was "climbing the walls" and I related very strongly to that feeling as I read her words. My evening had been exactly like that. I feel better educated. At least now I can put words to that particular feeling of mine.

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.

Profile of Lily: a masochist

I was walking my puppies at the park when a girl I shall call Lily engaged me in conversation. At first it was all about the dogs and we chatted amiably, but she flitted from one subject to another and dispersed into the conversation enough of her opinions for me to know from the outset that she had some eccentricity or other. I don’t always enjoy eccentricity in conversations with strangers any more than I enjoy receiving phone calls from strangers trying to tell me that I am the winner of a holiday package, but I felt not the least unease as I spoke to her. Rather than making excuses that I needed to get moving, I found her rather fascinating and was keen to know more about her.

She moved through a variety of topics and her own personal life story at enormous speed and in the course of thirty minutes I knew a great deal about her. Her father was an alcoholic who drank himself to death. Although she didn’t say so specifically, he must have been a mean drunk because apparently he told her constantly that he hated her. She had wanted to be an actress but she thought that perhaps she lacked the confidence to follow through with that desire due to the messages she received as a girl. It was the one and only time during our conversation that she expressed any regret or self-pity, or any sense at all that she was looking backwards and not forwards.

There was considerable mental illness on one side with her grandparents. One grandfather tried to take his life many times and her sister tried to take her life nine times, although she is relatively stable now “compared to what she was”. She feels fortunate to have the genes of the other grandparents who were creative and resilient. To generalize, she said that her family was quite “mad”. It was not a complaint. It was a statement of fact.

She told me that she had been an art and drama teacher but that state government policies had closed down half the art, drama and media courses in public schools at the time of her graduation (she is right) and that most of her contemporaries never worked in the profession for which they had been trained. She did procure a job at a local secondary school but the Principal and Vice Principal had been having an affair for years, the school was in chaos and the “bastard” made sure that she didn’t get her job back in the new academic year. (New teachers are often employed here year by year, with no certainty of what the next academic year will bring.)

She’s done other jobs, not focussing at all on money but rather looking for “experiences”. She worked in a prison for a time conducting an art and drama course for the inmates and she started up an after school care program at a school where those children could be involved in art and drama at least in an after school capacity. I suspect that she has considerable creative talent and great flair when working with other people, especially children but that her difficulties with order and with keeping up with the paperwork required for such jobs meant that people could feel she was not performing as required. Although she was wholly responsible for the only dog that she was walking for payment, she rarely checked to see that he was still there. To be fair, the dog chose to be by her side the vast majority of the time.

From what I could make of it, right now she is just walking the dogs for her income although she may sell some paintings. She referred to herself as both a writer and an artist. There was no question she was very articulate and well read, with a strong interest in film (her major), although she had no interest in print or television media whatsoever seeing it as mere manipulation, untruthful and unworthy of her time.

Most of all, Lily likes to move, to walk, to be outside and to engage in conversation with others. She said that she could tell right away that I wasn’t put off by anything she had to say and this prompted her to go on. She said that was rather unusual. She loved going back to study as a mature age student although she admits she “starved” to do so and her family were completely unsupportive of this initiative.

She was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) at the age of 44 but I strongly suspect she means ADHD since she has clearly been very hyperactive. She seems less the kind of person that would get lost day dreaming in a classroom as she would be in trouble for expressing herself inappropriately. In fact, she said social situations have been difficult since she would interrupt people when they were speaking and not realize that it really bothered them.

Lily has been all over the city looking for help for many years. She said that even psychiatrists at the top of their profession had been unable to help her until one day she looked up the yellow pages phone book and decided to make an appointment at the medical centre where I happen to go. In fact, she found herself sitting in front of my doctor. She couldn’t remember his surname at the time but she knew his Christian name and I volunteered his surname. She was gobsmacked that we should share the same doctor but as soon as she had began to speak of what a wonderful doctor she now had and how he had saved her life, I knew of whom she spoke.

Chris is a man who has made it his business to understand various neurological conditions, most especially ADD/ADHD and somehow or others the gods have sent many troubled people his way to be helped. We have spoken of it often for various reasons not to mention that there have been incidences where we needed to stop what we were doing whilst he took a call from some institution that was holding a patient of his who had asked them to ring him. He would politely tell the caller he had made great strides with the person they were holding, to please advise him when his patient was to be released and to tell him or her to come and see him then; that together they would sort it out.

Chris sent Lily off to a psychiatrist and had her assessed so that he could prescribe suitable medication, gave her the titles of books to read, the names of people who could assist her with setting up positive thinking modes and order in her life. They get together to review regularly. She told me that a great many things had fallen into place in her life. She now realized why she had behaved as she had all her life and she was able to articulate her personal characteristics with great clarity. She said that ADD people are not just anxious at times of great stress, but they are anxious a good deal of the time. Whereas most people walk into a room and wonder for what purpose they did so every now and again, this kind of distractive behaviour occurs to her all the time.

Being a girl with ADD was especially difficult she thought, because she can’t do what girls are expected to do: to keep the house neat and tidy. ADD people can’t stand to be bored, requiring constant stimulation of their frontal lobes to feel good and so doing things that are boring to them is like water torture. They hypo focus, she said, and so become immersed in projects wanting to know everything about a subject of interest. Often, what needed to get done was put aside for other pursuits that were more compelling.

She felt proud of herself that she hadn’t given up and had the tenacity and the resilience to go on. In fact, she clearly loved life, lived alone in an apartment that was expensive for her but she was paying her way , rode her bike everywhere, loved animals and nature and most of all, she loved talking to people. She talked in detail about internal pain and how people can feel desperate to do anything to stop the pain; that her sister discovered the strategy of self-harm to avoid pain by chance. A mirror broke and shattered and she discovered that a shard of glass that cut her skin had helped. However, she expressed disdain for people who took their life if it involved other people. If they wanted to take their lives that was all right but if they decided to jump in front of a train and destroy the life of a train driver who got to relive the images all his days, then that was very wrong.

She offered all this information very freely. There was no need for me to tell her anything about myself at all and since I remained interested in what she had to say, I only needed to agree, to nod, to express interest or to ask for clarification and that kept the conversation moving on. There came a moment when she wanted to tell me something that she considered “private” and her pace slowed somewhat and her voice dropped.

“This is rather private, but, you know, my father was a sadist and perhaps because of that and the way he treated me, I am attracted to sadists. I identify as a masochist.”

I gave nothing away. I merely nodded in acknowledgment. Eventually, we began to walk and talk on our way out of the park with the dogs and she asked me what star sign I was and I told her that I was a Scorpio. She felt sure that I was, she told me and she proceeded to tell me all about myself. I don’t give hardly anything away on the surface but underneath I feel very deeply and have great empathy for people. I am very curious. I care a lot about people.

“I’m Lilly, by the way.”

“Vesta.”

“Well, it has been wonderful talking to you, Vesta. I am so happy to meet you.”

“It has been wonderful to meet you too Lily. Do you come to this park regularly?”

“Nearly every day.”

“Then, we shall see one again.”

We said our goodbyes and my head was full of what this amazing woman could achieve if we could only get it (and her) organized. We had spoken of the need for educators to understand conditions such as ADD so that students could be better cared for and have better outcomes and I suggested that she would be an ideal person to talk to groups of students about her life and what had helped her. She agreed she would love to do that and had considered it, but of course whether the education department would fund it so that she had an income from the work is another matter.

Lily is articulate, engaging, bright and well versed in conditions that have made life a challenge for her and her family. It is the sort of story that could turn life around for many students who would connect with what she had to say in ways particular to them.

When I told my husband about her my main concern was that she was so vulnerable to sadists who would simply use her and spit her out for her submissive state of mind and I admit I have a desire to shelter her from harm. In the hands of a caring, attentive and loving sadist, I really think she could shine.

Masochism

For various reasons, I have 'masochism' and 'perfection' on my mind at this time and it seems they are integrally linked. I have spent a good deal of time asserting that I am not a masochist, when it fact, it seems that I am. This may not be a revelation to the reader. I rather doubt that it is a revelation. There is probably more proof in this journal that I am a masochist than that I am not. Still, it is a major revelation to me.

I have always conceded that I enjoy to be spanked. Gosh, that's how this whole experience in my life got started. But, I just wasn't willing to wear the masochistic label. I didn't care to be thrashed after all. I like not too little and not too much: just enough. Surely that meant, I figured, that I was in a whole category of my own.

Of all the conversations I have had with other people in this space, I have never really been challenged about this. I haven't had a comment about it here and no one has had the temerity to say, "Cut the crap! You're a masochist if ever I saw one." So, on I went, blithely believing my own take on the world, oblivious to my own misconceptions. Then, two things happened:

First of all, after reading my web journal of recent times, my husband decided to take the bull by the horns. If I felt I wasn't being dealt with in a manner that satisfied me, he would attend to that. I was sitting in this very chair several days ago, when he came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked me to come to the bedroom, whereupon I found a cane strategically placed in the middle of the bed.

Did I feel fear? I really can't say I did. Was I pleased to see it there? Ohhhh, yes I was. He undressed me and then he tied me securely to the four poster bed with my arms out front. I was not going anywhere. Of course, I hadn't been caned, really caned for ages, and it hurt. I was being very vocal. So, in the red ball went and with my mouth filled, I found that I could take quite the whipping. Was I just a little disappointed when he put the cane down? Well, just a little, yes. Hmmmmm. Why is this so?

Now, fast forward, to several days later, a noted transgression of my duties and the requisite scolding. And, a poignant question: Could it be that I rather enjoyed the scolding? Could it be that I resisted being perfect in order to receive the scolding due to perverse, masochistic tendencies? Boy, this was getting rather close to the bone! Yes...perhaps...that might be the case...

I've given all this quite a lot of thought and searched my mind for answers. It is hard for me to admit, even in this anonymous space, that I am one kinky girl. I like to feel control in any manner of ways. I adore the dance; every style, every move.

Yet, I also understand that I am being asked for as close to perfection as one can get. And perhaps my masochism is getting in the way. I'm capable of perfection, or so it is thought, if I can just find satisfaction in the attaining of that perfection, and mend my naughty ways. (And, if I can't, well let the sky fall and see how I like that!!)

I bask in praise. It's well known and probably used against me. There isn't much I won't do for high praise: the perfect meal, the perfect outfit, the perfect behaviour; the perfect speech or essay. If it leads to praise, I'll work hard to get there. Quite honestly, nobody's standards are higher than my own when I buy into the competition.

But, there is good reason, I think, to give a masochist what she craves on a regular basis; to put some distance between her masochistic needs and the pursuit of excellence/perfection; to ensure that she does not attempt to intefere with the control. And, to this end there is value, I think, in the concept of a weekly 'correction', or call it what you will; a time devoted just to attending to the masochistic need for some 'stimulus' that enables her to feel satisfied and without any desire to interfere with the steady flow of the dominant's control.