Mindfucked

I used to read the entries of dominants who talked about denying permission for their girl to cum with a certain awe and wonder. 'Dom with Pen' on tumblr (now under another name I believe) is one example of a dominant who insisted that his girl ask for permission to cum each and every time they had sex. Whether his girl needed permission to touch herself, or if she even wanted to, I can't remember.

Right from the beginnings of my BDSM explorations orgasm denial was a concept I had trouble grasping for myself. I'd been masturbating since I was a very little girl and being denied this 'right' seemed simply impossible to me. My 'training' over the past few years didn't venture over this domain either. To the contrary there was plenty of encouragement that I masturbate and climax whenever it suited me. It was part and parcel of the sluttiness that aided the transformation and it was therefore encouraged, and later, required.

It's a deliciously counter-intuitive game, to my mind anyway, to be told that one must touch oneself so many times a day. Even when busy, there is a part of the brain that never really switches off from being aroused and it reminds the girl of her purpose of course. It is a deliciously devilish game to alter these rules too and take her transformation to the next step. The girl must masturbate consistently and regularly but not cum. Indeed, edging is the modus operandi, to bring oneself to the edge of climax but never spilling over to climax.

Oddly, given my difficulties with being told not to touch for extended periods of time, my mind took to these variations of orgasm control like a duck to water. Whilst I'd had a great deal of trouble with the concept of not touching at all, touching regularly without climaxing, was something that I could do just fine.

Mind you, 'drinks' were few and far between, but I quickly got the hang of the concept that to ask or to be petulant about my frustrations and desires didn't lead to success. I learned to just hang in and bide my time - to wait.

Honesty demands that I explain that if the decision to comply was left to just my mind, problems could have ensued. To edge and not cum, sometimes for weeks, would probably have been more than I could manage without slip ups. What amazed me was that my body was in complete alignment with the rules laid out. It was happy for me to touch, to edge to my heart's content, but cum without permission it out rightly refused to do. To touch regularly was a 'no brainer' really because my need was driving me routinely back to that preoccupation but, without permission to release, I was left hungry and anxious to do it all over again very soon later. I was like a dog chasing it's tail and going nowhere, but refusing to give up.

There was another challenge that I'd been given some time ago as well that had been put on the back burner for some time and very occasionally brought up. It's a serious and not at all easy challenge, but critical to ultimately determined outcomes.To my mind one of the most essential factors of an effective Dominant is that he can be unpredictable, and unpredictably these two challenges converged. Mention of the first task kept the expectation firmly in my mind without any immediate anticipation for achievement. When the matter would come up I would never know, but occasional reference to it reminded me that the challenge wasn't forgotten; would never be forgotten.


As I've explained, the command to cum - say, tomorrow - is poignant for me. It's my mind and my body that registers this as a rare one-time opportunity for release of my needy state. It's not an opportunity I like to waste. But now, that release, so awaited, was intimately intertwined with doing so whilst undertaking the first challenge.

I suspect that the knowledge of this situation, the 24 hour warning, was the factor that led me to obsess about what was to occur, such that when I found myself with some private time the next day I bolted to undertake the preparations. Whereas in the past there has been some resistance to complete the task this time I couldn't wait to begin. Hmm.

On some level I was conscious of the change in my affections towards this task, noticing myself as I careered into action. Somewhere deep in my mind some last remnant of 'girl' noted that she had been mind fucked to feel deep affection and excitement for a task for which she had previously performed with lacklustre. But, 'bimbo' just didn't care. She was having too much fun, getting her thrills whilst they were going, not at all concerned that she had been beguiled into feeling a deep affection for the object she was working with, wanting to get up close and personal, ever and ever more deeply close.

When a girl reaches this sort of orgasmic state, one orgasm is never going to be enough. Twenty four hours later, the body craves and demands more. Again, if left to the brain, the brain would win, but as per usual these days the body said 'I'm sorry but you don't have permission.' Just as well.

Ownership

It's early in the morning. I tried to do some academic reading but my heart and concentration weren't in it and I wandered about kinky blogs and the like for a while. My head was all 'dolly'; not at all 'girl', so in the end I picked up the leads and the dogs and I headed out for a walk. It's a brisk, dull morning here but the wind has died down and it's very quiet; hardly any people out and about. A woman engaged me in conversation for a few minutes and three men and I passed one another. They all said "good morning" and were perfectly harmless but women here are a big on edge after a fatal kidnapping recently. These sorts of incidents shouldn't allow women to feel afraid, but for a while, until the memory fades, they do. We are vulnerable and that's all there is to that.

A couple of days ago, my husband engaged me in very gentle sex; lots of caressing and rubbing, hair brushing; all very nice. Yet, I must confess my heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be handled; handled roughly actually. I didn't complain but he knows me well enough to know when something is wrong and for a few minutes he left the room. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself; restless; needing something more.

He returned to the bedroom and when he did he changed direction one hundred and eighty degrees. He was firm; demanding; even rough. He reached for his cane. Well, it isn't really a cane. It's a piece of dried vine that is thick, not entirely straight. It hurts a lot; even a medium tap stings. I was too surprised to do, or say, anything about it.  He manhandled me, pulling me over the bed and he demanded that I stay bent over. He struck my bottom several times. I knew my son wasn't too far away and I tried not to squeal but that cane (for want of a better word) won't allow silence and I squawked out my protest.

"Pout it right out at me," he insisted. "I want to see your holes."

And, rather intimidated by his intense voice and the choice of words, together with the fact that he was beating my bottom, I did exactly as he said and stayed in precisely the position he had put me.

When he'd had enough of that, he pulled me by the hair over to the door frame that leads into the walk-in cupboard and he smacked my ass with his hand and told me to put my hands on my head and my nose to the wood and to stay there.

"Don't you dare move!"

I didn't.

He pushed and pulled at me in various ways, in both mind and body, until I was a little teary and eventually he said he was allowing me a few minutes alone and he left.

I had a little cry. But, it soon dawned on me that the assault on my sensibilities was extremely pleasing. I liked it.

Since then, there have been other encounters. Yesterday morning, I had just got into the shower when he walked in and said to "Get out. I want to use you." I got out and dried myself and when I walked into the bedroom he simply positioned me, entered me and had his way with me.

I liked that too.

He can see that I am happier.

Last night, I told him that I'd received an email from a friend to attend a charity event with her next Wednesday evening.

"Do you want to ask permission?" he said.

We looked at one another, and with a frisson between us, because I don't normally ask permission but rather advise in advance, I said,

"May I have permission to go with Janey to the event on Wednesday?"

"Yes, you may go."

"Thank you."

All of this doesn't come entirely naturally to him at all, but when he can be like this for me it really does make my heart sing. It's that feeling of ownership; of belonging, that is so important to me.

Mantras

I have been trying to use mantras to assist me with my personal goals. I use a few mantras but right now I am focusing on one in particular:

I easily resist the temptation to eat empty foods.

What I mean by "empty foods" is any food that doesn't do me any good; that is not nutritious. This pretty much excludes all sugary foods, which happen to be my downfall.

I also read recently that you should try to live your life as if your guru or mentor or the special person in your life (whoever that may be to you) were watching you. As you open the fridge and reach for that chocolate bar and break off a piece, imagine that person watching you and perhaps it will have you returning the chocolate bar to the fridge and closing it tight.

A few months ago, I went to the fridge and picked up a chocolate bar. It was very cold and hard and as I broke into it, I broke a nail and that was a double dose of guilt for me. I made my way soon thereafter to the nail salon and it happened to be the Filipino man that day that beckoned me to sit down.

"Oh, what has happened here? How did this happen?"

Please don't ever count on me to lie for you because I suck at that.

"Well, I was breaking off a piece of chocolate, actually."

He didn't say anything but his silence and the look of disapproval on his face said it all. I had been bad.

The mantra is going quite well. It has saved me from a sugary fate any number of times in the past week or so. But, honestly, I can't think of anything better than the dominant saying,

"No sugar without express permission."

That's something I really could completely respect (even though it may be best for him to follow up regularly...)

Obedience (2)

It should not have been a rough day today. Technically, it should have been a very good day. After weeks of disconnection and upset (at least on my side) my mentor (for want of a better word) and I had reconnected, so to speak. To put it simply, he'd been hurt by my lack of obedience in London and felt that he didn't want to engage. My husband does a similar thing if he is sufficiently unhappy with me and I imagine they both have similar things in mind. I imagine that they are sufficiently disappointed and irritated and just hurt and upset by me to feel that I am the last person they want to engage with. I just seem to illicit that sort of response every now and again. I refer you to my Obedience post to help explain what I mean.

Thank the Lord, it doesn't happen often. If they are rattled by me, I can assure you I am even more rattled by them. "I'm not happy with you," my husband will bark at me every blue moon and he says it in such a way as to put the fear of God in me. Not physical fear because even if he decided that a sore bottom is what I need, I wouldn't fear that so much. The fear I refer to is the fear of rejection; of having illicited this sort of response in him. He can raise his voice any day of the week, passionate soul that he is, but when he reaches that very deep and angry voice with me, I do fear that I have pushed him into a zone where I hate to see him go.

In this case, with the mentor and me, he ultimately issued a punishment/assignment (depending on how you see these things). cindi wrote every day for a week but at the end of the week, it was clear he wasn't satisfied. (He might refute this. I am giving my interpretation of events here). I think he just wasn't satisfied that the week of denial of using my plugs had had a sufficient effect on me. I seemed "just fine".

I may have been defensive about that. I may have been a bit strident in my responses.If he wanted to experience me as a complete wreck he was welcome, I thought, but he wouldn't exactly like it once he actually got it! He didn't complain about the exchange per se but I am willing to concede that I was none too humble and he wasn't really satisfied with me all round. Privately, I was angry with myself that I managed to keep myself in trouble.

When I went to bed (and here it is best to know I have a wicked cold) I felt miserable and whilst I got a little sleep, it was intermittent and disturbed. I just felt that this discipline/lesson was going on a bloody long time and I wanted it to end. Now, I know full well that I don't have the right to want any such thing, but surely it is human to want to be returned to grace, and that's what I wanted. As it stood, it was another day without permission to plug and another day in disfavor. I so hate that.

Ultimately, my discomfort in all capacities led me to the kitchen to take 2 panadol and a glass of water. I sat down at my desk and whilst I had promised myself not to, I entered my google password and offered my usual introductory greeting to my mentor. When I am feeling upset, I so need to talk! Before I knew what I was doing I was weeping and telling him that this was all too hard; that I was too soft for the likes of him. He sent me back to bed; told me to get some rest; that this conversation could wait another day and fortunately I had enough sense to do that much.

But the long time in Coventry (longer than i have been in Coventry ever before) was unravelling me and by last night I was what I refer to as "dim" - lacking all abilities to save myself. Fortunately, he was of the frame of mind to save me instead but not without a grave warning. He needed me to understand one, simple message. He was the boss and not me and if I felt differently then it was time to go our separate ways.

I gave myself a moment or two, but no more to register the enormity of the message before I sent my acknowledgment that I understood and agreed with that. For several minutes neither of us said another word until I asked if may go to sleep and we said our goodbyes.I had been put in my place and where I wanted to be now was alone.

My ego is still strong; still shining bright and my ego needed to lick its wounds and bunker down in bed. It was very uncomfortable and unnerving to feel that way but dare I say, strangely erotic and arousing. It is moments like this when I realize just how perverted I am!

I have written these words in bursts. Not so long ago I took hot food to my son at school since he will rehearse in a play now for several hours this evening and for some reason as I saw the children at the school my mind returned to a day in my early childhood.

We were perhaps 8 years old and forbidden from playing games in the little cottage where we changed for sport, but we did it anyway. On this particular day, a Mistress caught us at it and she told the girls off in a certain area of the room. She was sending them to face the wall and I hated the sound of that.

I could see an opportunity. Goody goodies are almost always believed and since I was one of those and rarely ever misbehaved if at all, I approached the Mistress and said that I had simply been washing my hands. Did I need to do that too? "No, dear, of course not," came the reply. It was just assumed that I would never disobey rules and so I used that to get away with the odd naughty thing.

Now, I tell this story against myself (probably quite stupidly) because I am willing to admit (to myself too) that there is a pattern here. Most of the time I am good. One or two percent of the time I am bad, but it has always seemed to me that if I am good most of the time, surely those percentages are awfully good! So what if I manage to get away with the odd bad thing!?

I think this thought has really held me back in terms of this lifestyle. I did think I would get away without getting my nails done to the longer length. I did think that I could agree to things in London knowing that it would be difficult if not impossible to comply. Instead of discussing those issues, I did choose for myself.

And, as I think about other times in my life, although I was a committed Personal Assistant I did do the odd disobedient thing just like this. I would promise to mail letters on the Friday night only to rush out on a Sunday afternoon to get the task done. It was another case of deciding for myself what was important in the same way that directives from my husband not to touch myself have been disobeyed. It seemed such a little thing at the time and I couldn't see the harm. It is that 'little girl' tendency to get away with the odd trick or disobedient behaviour or choosing for myself that I haven't been entirely able to let go.

My boss was sweet but when challenged, tough.My husband is sweet but when challenged, tough. My mentor is sweet but when challenged, tough. Are you seeing a pattern here? Meanwhile, I dance around them thinking it my right to be forgiven quickly, when they have felt that they aren't inclined to do that over and over again, even if I am good most of the time.

It has been a hard, hard lesson, this 'obedience' thing. In the back of my mind at times is this thought that I can get away with the odd naughty thing whilst the dominant types that I associate(d) with have all felt that such behaviour is completely unsatisfactory even once, let alone repeatedly.

Of course, I knew this down to my boots a long time ago. I remember my boss's wife threatening to do something her own way one time and I remember him saying to me, "If she goes ahead, she won't get my blessing". I remember him being utterly ticked off about it. If she had gone about it in another way she would have got what she wanted and his blessing and that was the lesson I learned this week. If I had got what I now know to be "prior approval" I could have avoided this whole fiasco.

A lot of learning went on this week over here. Most important of all, I believe, was the importance of communication: of explaining the situation and asking for a variation if that is what is needed. All too often in life, I have tried to keep everybody happy only to lose the plot when I can't actually do it all. I have to learn to be honest and explain my limitations and constraints and explain when I can't do what is expected of me.

I am growing; growing all the time and that's why I am still here. When I hit a limit - feel the sting of disapproval, of correction and discipline, of being brought down to size - I want to run and hide and lick my wounds. But, the desire to grow; the understanding that this is oh so good for me brings me back from that dark corner to leap over that limit and get back into the line.

"I am afraid of making another mistake," I said to him last night and it is true. Being called to task is something I avoid like the plague but it seems unlikely that I won't ever make a blue again. It is the law of averages, I think.It is what troubles me the most - that I could fall from my perch again. I'm sure there are still lessons to learn about that but right now I just want to focus on being good and putting such thoughts well back in my mind.

The afternoon has ended well. I feel strong and much better for having written this all out. Isn't it the oddest thing that being put in your place can feel so darn uplifting! I think that might be the litmus test right there. There is no doubting that my nature, although a tad feisty, is truly submissive.

Asking? That's easy!

We simply adore Spain and keep extending our stay in the country, one day here and one day there, not able to drag ourselves away. We are currently in the town of Begur (meet us in the town square tonight if you wish). It is divine - an authentic, little Medieval village that just makes my heart sing. Last night, we went for a walk at midnight after a perfect meal and my eyes welled with tears to be surrounded by such beauty at every turn. I can't fully explain what it does to me to be here and immerse myself in the culture. It is a dream come true for me. Of course, it is sublime to spend so much time with my owner and needless to say we are very happy.

Just before I left home, I'd been conversing with my mentor about the fact that 'the doll' has no free will and therefore the only possible avenue for her was to ask questions/permission to express what she needed or wanted. This hit home. I finally got it; that I must ask.

This holiday, I have been asking lots of questions. One example this morning was,

"Owner, may cindi have yoos of her handz?" (I'd slept with them tied together which provides me with the most wonderful sleep.)

He is very happy with this new skill of mine but I did make an error yesterday. Here is how that played out:

"Back in that last town, I saw exactly the type of tablecloths that I have been looking for."

"For God's sake, why didn't you tell me and I would have stopped. How can I know what you want if you don't tell me? Now, if this happens again, you'll be spanked. You ask me to stop if you see something you want. Understood?"

"Yes, owner."

I had no idea life could be this easy, harmonious and blissful. If only someone had told me 30 years ago that I must ask for things, life would have been so very much more content.

Why, I think I've got this whole darn thing licked!

Disapproval

In politics, one talks of the ‘disapproval resolution’. I rather like the term for it suggests that within the process of disapproving of someone or something, there is ultimately, resolution.

I’m not sure that there is anything more uncomfortable for a submissive girl than for her man to ‘disapprove’ of her; her thoughts, her actions, her mindset or her motivations. One doesn’t even need for him to be standing right there with a frown on his face and a certain look in his eyes. One can experience the disapproval over the telephone or even on email, in a letter or on chat. Whichever way it comes in, it is singularly unpleasant.

Disapproval means a failure or refusal to approve; rejection; unfavourable opinion; even, god forbid, condemnation. Dominant men are at home with these terms.

“Well, I don’t approve.”
“If you go ahead, you do so without my blessing.”
“You knew my opinion.”

Such phrases leave a submissive woman in a dilemma. She wants the approval, the blessing, the sanction of her dominant at all times. To experience his ire, his disapproval and yes, his anger with her, is uncomfortable in the extreme. Frankly, until the matter is sorted to his satisfaction and she feels under his protective and approving wing again, she isn’t going to be happy.

However, she has a dilemma, because as well as wanting his approval, she also operates according to her own good judgement of a situation. Sure, there are times when his sanction, his blessing is paramount and she isn’t going to go ahead without it. She wouldn’t buy a house, or even a piano, or perhaps not even a dress without his approval; or at least not without the opportunity to take it back if he didn’t like it. I certainly don’t want anything in the house if my husband doesn’t like it, too. It matters to me that he approves of, and enjoys my choices.

Yet, the submissive woman is a thinking woman with a good sense of judgement. Yes, she will err in her judgement just as we all will err in judgement. But, she has a need sometimes to go ahead and make decisions for which she is responsible herself. She has her reasons, even if they may not make sense to her dominant, and she has her own way of doing things and looking at things.

Let me give you an example. He does not like a person. He rejects him. It’s a black and white thing for him. But, she operates differently to him in some respects, and although she doesn’t like aspects of the other gentleman in question, she is prepared to accept him in a limited way on the basis that she doesn’t think it is entirely a black and white situation. She is more prepared to give people the benefit of the doubt, and to believe that there is some good in us all. Her dominant is not happy at all; with her or her decision making. He finds her foolish. He even throws doubts on her motivations.

A submissive woman like me, finding disapproval so deeply uncomfortable, will defer to the dominant’s point of view. She will consider the matter and fairly quickly determine that doing something her way is less important than harmony with her man. Feeling she is right about a matter or achieving a certain outcome is immaterial if that means she is to be in conflict with him. She may, naturally enough, seek consensus with him at times, but if he is adamant in his disapproval, she is unlikely to pursue the matter.

It is rare for me to be so rash as not to discuss an issue which could be at odds with my dominant’s point of view, first. At the outset of a discussion on a matter, a successful outcome is always possible. He may approve my thinking and desired attack on an issue simply because I brought it to him first and explained my point of view. He may disapprove, but modify my desired action plan such that we are both happy. Or, he may decline approval of it, but explain to me calmly and decisively, why my thought processes are flawed. In all these cases, the outcome is much better than if I proceeded and earned his disapproval.

What matters to the submissive woman most is that he is happy; happy with her and happy to be with her. There are moments when I wonder if I should be so transparent as for the dominant to know the power he has over me. Then again, if he does not know that by now, when will he ever?

Fantasy v. Reality

She stands at his study door. She looks a little nervous.

"Master, may I speak with you a moment?"

He looks up from his lap top at her.

"Of course."

She comes around and stands in front of his desk. She puts her hands behind her back, in the small of her back, one wrist above the other. She seems hesitant.

"What is it, my dear? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, Master...I have a confession to make. I am sorry to say that I have been very bad."

"Oh dear, dear. That's not good news, is it?"

"No, Master."

"Go ahead, girl, confess."

"Well, Master, do you remember the day, a week ago, when I sent you an email asking for permission to touch myself?"

"Yes, dear, I do. I remember telling you how sorry I was that I was not there to receive it."

"Yes, well....."

Her voice drifts off. She is having trouble mouthing the words that she knows will disappoint him so deeply.

"You told me that evening, as I recall, that the urge passed."

"Yes well, that was a bit of a fib."

"So, you lied to me!"

"Yes, Sir, I did. I feel terrible about it. I have lived with my guilt for a week and I have felt terrible about it for every minute of every day, and I am here to confess and receive my punishment. I am so terribly, terribly sorry."

She looks miserable, as if her little world is crumbling.

"Well, what you have done is very, very bad. You know this, don't you?

"Yes, Master."

"And, you certainly deserve to be punished, soundly."

"Yes, Master, I agree."

She could see he was thinking, thinking very deeply as to how to manage the situation, how best to deal with her, and her errant ways."

"Whilst you are deserving of severe punishment for your breaking of a rule, I am impressed by your honesty, girl. It takes a lot of backbone to come to me, a week later, and confess. You could have got away with it, and yet you chose to come and confess to me. I can see that you are very contrite, and that the guilt has played on your mind, and I am of the mind to...forgive you."

She can hardly believe the words she is hearing. She had expected a sound lashing.

"Oh...oh...thank you, Sir. You are so good to me. I promise I will never let you down again. I will never break the rule again."

"I have every confidence in you, my dear. You are nearly always my good girl, and I know that you will try very hard to always be good. Won't you?"

"Yes, Master. Yes, I will."

"I know you will. I trust you and I believe in you."

"You are such a good master. I am so happy."

"All right, my dear. Run along now and finish your tasks."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

She smiles and begins to leave the room.

"My dear..."

She stops and turns around.

"Yes master?"

"You do know, if there should a reoccurence of the breaking of this most important rule, that I would have no choice but to punish you...in a multiplicity of ways. You do understand that?"

She looks pensive, not sure if it was such a good idea to have not received her punishment today, after all.

"Yes, Sir, I do understand that."

"Excellent. It is important that we understand one another."

"Yes Master."

"Very well. Off you go."


"Mum....mum, are you listening to me?"

"Oh...oh...sorry, darling what was that?"

"You seemed to be dreaming..."

"Yes, darling, lost in my thoughts again..."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, it was just a little fantasy..."

HER HANDS

She reads again the words he once wrote to her. Her breathing is shallow and her mind set alight with images of the dom seeking the truth. Had she been good? Had she kept her hands where they belong? She had been so prepared to lie, and yet his questioning had exposed the lie. She stood in the corner awaiting correction, and the strap was at the ready too, to teach her a deeper lesson this time.

She sits there, staring at the blank screen now. She knows that she too may not touch herself without permission. But, the effect of the words is so intense and immediate. She longs for the release her fingers may bring.

She tries to resist it, but she cannot.

She goes to the bedroom and closes the door. She takes off her dress and she lays down on the bed. Her fingers make their way into her panties and her open cunt reacts forthwith. She is transported to the scene on the page and this time, it is her in the corner awaiting her master’s correction for her crime. At the same time as she sins, she is receiving correction for the sin. Only this time, there is no pain; only intense pleasure that has her so enraptured she cannot stay silent.

Now, the pleasure is over, and the guilt replaces the pleasure. Will he ask? Will he question her as to the details of the day? And, will she tell, only to be in the corner for real?

Does she risk the pain of redemption or the pain of deceit? Not even she knows what she will decide until the questioning is complete.

THE LITTLE MOMENTS

It’s Sunday morning. Still not quite awake, I become aware of a red dog collar being placed around my neck...and then my nipples being pinched. I can feel myself ‘drop’ as my body is manipulated into another position. It is the beginning of a morning of intense ‘pleasure’ (or pain); a morning that will see me float through the day, and even sustain me for longer than the day.



This is the feast.


It’s Tuesday morning. Still not quite awake, he comes to my side of the bed and pulls the covers off; feels my body - my cunt, bottom and breasts. He returns the covers and tucks me in tight; kisses me on the lips and tells me to be a good girl while he is away. He leaves for the rest of the week.



This is the famine.


But in between the feast and the famine, there must be nourishment. The little moments constitute the nourishment that sustains me from one feast to the other, without dying of starvation. The little moments reminds me of who I am and why I live this way.


I’m inclined to think that structure, rules, rituals...call them what you will...are the mainstay of our relationships. I’ve often wondered what other people’s rituals are, and I have long harboured a desire for some of my own. My mentor provides delicious moments for his girl. He puts her on an invisible ‘cunt leash’ sometimes when they are out with friends; at a party perhaps. If she breaks the leash by moving away from him, consequences await her upon their return home. So, let’s say she has moved away – by design or by mistake. And, let’s say, he notices. He says to her, “Come here”. Vanilla folk won’t pay much attention to these words, but his girl knows what they mean. She knows she’s going to bed with a bloody sore backside. I suspect it’s a heady moment, felt all the way to her cunt; bittersweet.


I have an exercise that I am required to do daily. It is not my own invention but rather one that was taught to me by a dear cyberspace friend, some time ago. He refers to it as ‘bar time’, so my friend, if you are reading, my heartfelt thanks. I suppose it is an extension of yoga and requires me to undress, at least below the waist. I spread my legs about three feet apart and I reach down and touch my ankles (or a bar if you happen to have one). I hold the position for fifteen minutes, not moving at all. In that time, I ruminate, and try very hard to think about my decision to submit.




If I am feeling scattered, this exercise is difficult. Three minutes can seem an eternity. But, as I hold the position, I do begin to feel more settled. Upon completion, I feel pleased with myself that I did it. (I’ve had a spot of bother maintaining consistency with this daily routine, to the chagrin of the dominants in my life!) Of course, there is a level of humiliation in the exercise too, which works nicely for me. As well, I keep an electronic journal that I must write daily.


Then, there is the permission seeking for bed time at the end of the day. I owe this last ritual completely to Deity and I sent him my thanks at the time. I just love how such a little thing created harmony between my man and me when before that, it had been something of a stalemate. I can’t keep my eyes open after midnight, and that’s when his eyes widen with all the possibilities afforded him to conjure up ideas in the silence of the early morning. Asking permission and being put to bed was the perfect solution.




It was a particularly golden day recently when I opened an email from my mentor which informed me that:




“Perhaps we need a symbol for you, some sign that you are submitting, so that when your man tells you off that it is clear to him that you are accepting his message to you and submitting to him.”




I just love the way the man reads my mind. He goes on later to say:




“I'm thinking that one way to signal your submission would be to put your hands behind your back. When a sub puts her hands behind her back, she should put each of her wrists in the small of her back, one above the other, so that they are above her waist. This way, if the dom needs to whip her then her hands are already out of the way. The sub should never put her hands over her bottom because this allows her to feel the security of possibly blocking the blows. That's strictly not allowed. So, my suggestion, off hand, would be that at least you stand and put your hands behind your back, facing him and paying attention. This will make it much easier for him to see that you are submitting, and it will also allow you to separate from whatever emotions you were having before he addressed you.”


Brilliant!




Now, if you were not a submissive type, this sort of suggestion would have you very upset. It would be a ‘How dare he make such a dreadful suggestion!’ moment But, I’m long past pretending that such a suggestion isn’t perfect for me and the type of relationship I want.


It is rather ironic that when I can be so sure of exactly what I want, I have such trouble giving that information to my man. It is not so much that it is embarrassing, as it just doesn’t feel right to be giving your man ideas directly. So, what to do? Well, slipping the idea into the conversation surreptitiously can work; as if it is no big deal.




“Janus sent through an interesting idea today.”


“Did he?”




“Mmmm. He had this idea for me to put my hands behind my back, in the small of my back...you know...sort of one wrist crossed over the other...as a sort of symbol of submission. Go figure, huh?”


“Uh huh.”




“Anyways...fancy a cup of tea?”

And, then? Well, I wait, basically. I wait for him to put the idea into action – however long that takes.


In the meantime, I used the move in Pilates class. There is an exercise where we are required to put our hands behind our backs. There are no prizes for guessing my little variation on this. Of course, I cross my wrists, one over the other, and place my hands in the small of my back, just as Janus suggested, and I pretend that I am required to do so, or else. It’s a buzz, while I wait for the real thing.




I am happy to report that the ‘real thing’ took place last weekend. Inclined to cheekiness at a family gathering, I was sent to the corner upon our return, AND I was told to put my hands in the small of my back, with one wrist crossing the other. YES!!!! After I was given enough time to think about the consequences of my actions that day, along he came and took from around my neck the long, thin silk scarf I was wearing. He tied my wrists together. DOUBLE YES!!!! What he did then really isn’t suitable reading, but rest assured I learned my lesson.


I’m sure there are so many little rituals to discover out there. Why not write in and tell me your favourite?




Postscript: This post was written before my ‘no hinting’ rule came into force. As I re-read it, I see that it is ridiculously revealing! I think I just cooked my own goose. Again.