Happy Festive Season

After a hectic year it should have been no surprise to me that the Festive Season was similarly non-stop action.

I'm very fortunate to have my husband and all my children with me on Christmas Day this year.

With luck, December 25th signals the beginning of a period of time of calm, rest and relaxation for us where we can settle in a spot for awhile and simply enjoy life at a much slower pace. This period of time often also allows for play and that is always a good thing.

My very best wishes to you for a happy and safe Festive Season.

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.

Jealousy

Oh deer, deeer, deeeeer. What are they doing to this poor l'il thing!?

I am so jealous.

As time goes by

It is now two weeks since I’ve seen my husband and telephone conversations have mainly related to him telling me the state of play with his affairs. I’ve tried hard to remain supportive, not to be needy and to assure him all is well at home. But, last night I think I let my guard drop for a moment or two there because he said, “Ohhh, you really need it, don’t you?”

He was right. The desire to feel some tangible control in my life washes over me like a wave. With no foreseeable end to this situation, I can feel like I am being starved for a vital component; as important to me as the air I breathe.

Distraction is a critical strategy for me and when we said goodbye I busied myself with making a salad and ordering the Friday night pizza for us: the boys, a girlfriend and me. If I’m not careful I can end up watching a Kung Fu movie so when they looked like they were settling into some crap movie I told them that it was my turn to choose – to choose anything but that! With a glass of pleasant pinot noir in hand I surveyed the television menu and when I saw that ‘The Secretary’ had just begun, I spoke up. “I want that one!”

It was better than ever; much better than the first time I saw it (and the time after that) because this time it was feeding me at a time when I was positively starving. I drank in every line. I had forgotten how hungry Lee was too; how exasperated she was when he wouldn’t play with her any more.

“Finally!” she whispers to herself when she feels him engage once more after she sends him the worm in an envelope. Even my young son laughed when he circled the worm over and over with his red pen. I used to purposely draw a mark on my boss's blotting paper of his writing pad but let's not go there.

I thought as I watched it again after several years since first seeing it, how authentic Lee is. The words she spoke and the way she spoke them as she took her first walk home struck me as just the words any one of us (submissives) might use.

“Because he had given me permission...”
“I felt he was with me...”

It is exactly how I have felt so many times before.

The very first time I saw ‘The Secretary’ it freaked me out. I felt that someone must have been watching me live my life. How could someone know all these things that had happened to me? It took a while to realize that it was merely a co-incidence.

At my interview for a secretarial position, I was told the exact same things that Mr. Grey tells Lee: that I was overqualified, that he only needed someone with good English to type and answer the phones; that I would be bored. I answered as she did.

I got the ‘answering the telephone’ lesson just like Lee. I had to be assertive and I had to use a bigger voice, just like her. And, like Lee I had to buy new clothes. I was given a clothing allowance and given specifications as to how to use it. My Mr. Grey didn’t have a red pen but he did circle spelling mistakes and I did get told off when he found them. And, he did occasionally say that it was a “good letter” if he had told me off badly enough about finding a mistake and made me type it again. Like Lee, I used a typewriter and not a computer.

He had a habit of standing behind me as I typed just as Mr. Grey tended to do to Lee on occasion and like Mr. Grey he vacillated between being dictatorial and obsessive and tender and sweet.

For Mr. Grey, snorting (or was it snivelling?) was Lee’s crime but in my case it was sneezing. Something at the time was making me sneeze repeatedly and although he knew on a logical level that I couldn’t help it, it still offended him. If I felt it coming on, I would dash into another room where I hoped he wouldn’t hear me.

He didn’t call me at home to eat a scoop of mashed potatoes, three peas and all the ice cream I wanted but he insisted that I eat more vegetables since he accredited the sneezing and my (naturally) pale skin to inadequate vegetables. To ensure this was carried out, he had a habit of passing by my house on the way home from his holiday house on a Sunday evening and leaving me a box of vegetables fresh from his garden.

When he took me to lunch he put an end to my ordering fish and ordered me a steak instead. I was skinny back then and he would tell the waiter to bring his secretary a good steak and plenty of vegetables. It bothered him that I didn’t order dessert because he did and so the compromise was that I eat fruit salad.

Oh dear! I could go and on and on.

I suppose I should have felt better after seeing the movie but the truth is that now I wanted something more than I had before and there was no way to get it. I ran a bath and sat there listening to the water run (one of my habits) feeling a bit sorry for myself when I suddenly had an idea: Fetlife! Maybe the doll could have her own account on Fetlife and somebody would like to talk to the doll. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?!

I got the laptop and quick as a wink I signed the dolli up. And, waited. And, waited. It seems that nobody was waiting at the other end. Not quite as easy as the doll thought...

So, I signed up for some groups and thought to get some sustenance from a discussion thread about the kind of thing submissives like to hear their Dominants say, or the things they like to say to provoke them to say the things they want to hear:

“You call THAT a spanking?”
“Time to inspect the bruises”
“Can’t get away, can you?”
“I’m going to play with my toy”

This wasn’t helping at all! I didn’t want to just read about these things tonight. I wanted someone to say them to me! And, I still do...if anyone happens to be taking notes.

Yoozn bimbo

Cindi receefd dis lovely pikki a whyl go az a prezzi n she reeeeli luvd it. Dis pikki pleyd on da bimboz myn. She offin tinkz bowt it. Bimboz beri much dis wey inclynd. Dey alweyz lookn 2 get yoosd in new n wunderfool weyz.

Bimbo nut beri alyv dis week. Da gurl took obr n bimbo hab keep low profyl. Dis med her sad n dis morning onnir wan 2 relax da bimbo n bring her back 2 lyf.

First, bimbo n onnir talkiz beri calmly n kwietli n dis med cindi happi. It a beri gud talkiz. Onnir sey dat it tym 4 bimbo 2 get relaxd. Bimbo sey she nut sur but onnir sey dat the way it goz. He desydnn 4 hissef.

Onnir get some his rope and tie da bimboz hanz up reeeli wel. Der no wey she can moov dem sept to put da palms 2getha reeli. He gif bimbo a nys rub 2 sooth her paw tyd musselz n den he sey dat he wanna yoos da holz.

He poot a pillo unda cindiz tummi 2 rays her bit n he enter her asscunt. Dis feelz jus gr8. But, soon enuf bimbo stert 2 thinki bowtz dis beri speshel pikki n she begin 2 pull up her legs so dat dey unda her, liki da bimbo in the pikki.

“Ohhh, cindi wanna mor cocki,” sey onnir n he wayt 4 cindi 2 get in da sem posishin dis bimbo in da pikki.

Dis new posishin fantastik! The sens8shnz beri powafool n alredi da orgasmic feelinz cumin thik n fast 4 cindi. But, dis new sens8shin doin ebin mor 4 onnir n he beri beri arowzd. He grab bimboz her n hold her tite n he begin 2 bite her – l’il nips on da sholderz.

He nut jus wanna tek bimbo but he wanna gif her da fuckin of her lyf – long n hard n fast – n bimbo screeemn in2 da sheet. She asaloootli on fyr n habin da tym ob her lyf. He tek wun han n rub her pussy cunt wich neerli blowz her myn.

Finalli, afta she tinki she mey xpyr frum plezir, onnir leeef his cum in bimboz ass cunt. She profeshinel bimbo n dis pleez her mor dan she ken sey. She totelli sate8d.

B4 onnir goz 2 tek a showr he sort bimbo owt n put a pillo unda her hed and a blanki ovr her n bi da tym he bak, she fast sleeepiz bi bi. She sleep nudda 3 howrz b4 she waki gin n wen she duz finely waki, she feel beri beri happi n cumpleet n reestord. She hab beri happi dey wif onnir, nut doin ull da much but so beri foolfild.

It beri importin 2 yoos bimboz regirlee. Dis keepz dem happi n invigor8z dem. Bimbo kenna stress dis hili nuf.

Flash Fiction Friday: Double dose doubly good

(Source image: Playboy Playmates Karissa and Kristina Shannon)

Bob was tired of Janice’s complaining, bitchy ways. He was on the cusp of divorcing her when by chance he met a man in a bar who talked of his invention that turned complaining girls into wanton, greedy, cum-seeking sluts. The thought was irresistible and he bought it right there and then.

As instructed, Bob fucked Janice blind first and without question she lay down in the contraption with the promise of even more pleasure. The man’s instructions had been clear but Bob figured a double dose could be doubly good.

He was right. When he opened the lid, Janice had the body and mind of the fucktoy of his dreams. But, she also had a twin. He now had at his beck and call, two service toys ready to play.

Tennis, anyone?

Play

As a mother of four children and a woman who was trained to be a high school teacher, I watched with fascination last night a documentary about children’s play. American children, it was proposed, were at risk of losing essential free play in their lives. So competitive had American parents become on their children’s behalf and so terrified of what might befall a child if left unsupervised, their free play time was evaporating. We saw footage of very young children, less than eight years old saying that they felt “stressed” (I wondered how they learned that word...) They relayed that they were always expected to be doing something.

The vast majority of parents around the world would be inclined to agree that team sports build character. I agree that sometimes team sports build character and I also agree that sometimes team sports are just counterproductive. I saw evidence of both scenarios with my own children. It has to be the right sort of team and the right sort of sport with the right sort of coach to be a positive experience, in my opinion. When I saw one son being sidelined and the coach acting like a control freak weirdo, I suggested to my son that he might be better able to fill in his Sunday afternoon. He was just so relieved that he didn’t need to handle any more of our expectations of him. Instead, he did what he really wanted to do: highly competitive and challenging stuff but on a whole other level. As one expert on children’s play reported, team sports have the potential to build character.

And another thing: The researchers discovered that in team sports some kids hold back. They don’t want to make a mistake in front of the screaming onlookers. But, take those kids and put them with other kids in a smaller situation, such as their own neighbourhood away from the screaming parents and they became leaders on the sports fields.

But, I digress. The important point made, based on considerable research is that free play situations for children are essential to build their emotion intelligence; to develop problem solving strategies and conflict resolution strategies.

It was fascinating to watch what happened on a primary school playground when adults made available equipment other than balls and bats. They scattered into the trees, a variety of coloured scarves, and what do you know! Suddenly, many children were using those scarves to imagine all sorts of scenarios. They were, for forty minutes, different people in far off lands. The playground came alive with the sounds of children at play: happy, bubbly, creative children. It was a sight to see!

When I moved to America, I was just a simple Aussie girl with my own simple notions of bringing up children. If they wanted to play in a mud puddle on a stinking hot day, that was fine by me. That is what free, creative Australian children do. I was shocked to discover that this was a real novelty to the American parents who looked on. They had never seen such a thing: the abandon of a child who has sat on the sidelines all sticky hot summer day to watch his older brother in a soccer tournament simply have enough, take off all his clothes and wade through the puddle stark naked. To me, it was the most normal event in the entire world.

My two eldest children adored the Robin Williams’ Captain Hook movie, ‘Hook’, and I loved it too. It was so filled with an imaginative spirit that it was impossible not to fall in love with it. Imagine my confusion, therefore, when I found myself involved in a conversation with American mothers full of complaint about the movie. They thought it just “silly”. I just kept my mouth closed. Their world of bringing up children was something totally alien to me.

When we left America, we were snowed in for almost a week. Everything had gone. We had nothing in the house but some cardboard boxes. Never fear! We also had some masking tape and my daughter got to work to make a “house”. For three days, she and her younger brother played in their house, blissfully happy and content.

With my two younger children, I had to accept that their sort of play was going to be different. They both adored the screen and whilst they had full and varied extra-curricular lives in the form of music and sport and drama and so on, their creative play might have them in the library at lunchtime working with another aficionado of animation or whatever, putting together a movie. So be it. We are all different. A ball is not going to appeal to every kid just as one sort of recreation is not going to appeal to all adults.

As the child psychologist in the documentary said in so many words: It is about raising a resilient child. In this world the most important thing we learn to do is to adapt. Children must be resilient enough to adapt to life’s challenges. They can’t learn this skill wrapped in cotton wool, constantly supervised.

Whilst free play for my children was something that I instinctively understood and provided, it hadn’t occurred to me that I also needed free play; the opportunity to lose myself in a world of my own invention, or to have the opportunity to adapt to someone else’s version of a wonderful world.

My husband, too, perhaps didn’t understand that. He was a child who really knew how to play. With a large farm as his playground, he and his siblings were very creative and free indeed. But as he grew older, he may have lost sight of its importance.

Nowadays, we play freely and often with one another. And each time we do, we gain something: the opportunity to lose ourselves in our own creativity; an opportunity to be free and unencumbered. You are never too old or too young to want or need to play in a way most suited to you.

Tik tok goz da clock

Cindi in beri dreeeemi plays. She nut fed nuf 4 such a long tym n her tung hangin owt waytin 4 sum sustenins. She tuch her fays; yoos her fingerz n hanz 2 serkil da skin on her 4hed n fays n she close her iz n majin dat she takn off da shelf n pleyd wif 4 luuuung pley sessin.

Cindi feeln beri slutti. She longn 4 yoos in eberi wey n she wanna feel jus liki objet - nuttin in her hed et ull. Empty. Ooooooooo, so yummmi dat!

Cindi nut gone. Cindi nut need cum lyv. Cindi heer jus bowt ull da tym.

Waitin.

Tik tok. Tik tok goz da clock.

Ene hoo wanna pley?

Cindi luvz 2 play

Cindi cum owt 2 pley. Cindi luvz 2 pley. Cindi in beri pleyfoool moooooooood.

Onnir sed 2 cindi dis mornin on da fone, "Cindi such a greeeeeedi, greeeeedi slut." Dat wat he ses.

No y?

Coz no soona dat onnir yooos cindi, she wanna dat she yoooosd gin. She so offin had dat on her myn deeeez deyz. She wanna feeeel dat ull da holz filld n dat she jus objet. Nuuuuutttin on her mynd et ull; jus a blank sheet a paper.

N gess wut happins?

She get soooooo much nrgi from dat. She flyz hi like a kite in da sky.

Ya. Dat wut happinz. N cindi kenna get nuf dat. Dat a gorrrrrrgus plays up der in da sky, jus flowtin; flowtin along liki a clowd.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

Sumtymz, cindi nut so much a greeeeedi slut but a pleyful l'il gurl. Cindi esk onnir bowt dat dis mornin 2.

"Cindi ebr akt liki l'il gurl?"

"Ull da tym," he sey.

Yaaaaa, dat troo. She get lectoooord bowt sum l'il ting n she pooot her hed owt frum unda da cubberz n she looki beri coy; jus notti l'il gurl.

N, sumtymz she beg 4 lenienci liki a l'il gurl 2.

"Pweeeeeeeeeeeez nut smacki cindi."

But, mek no difrins. Wen men wanna corekt a dolli, dey nut inrestd in dat l'il gurlz pleeeez; nut et ull. Owt cum da sadist hoo njoy da pleeeeez, but den ignor dem.

Cindi noz. Cindi noz wen dat sadist bak in town.

Den, best da she slutti gin.

N gess wot?

Dat soootz cindi.

Cindi luvs 2 pley.

Toyz

In sooooooo meni weyz, cindi alredy beri cuntaynd. She nut worri n she nut tinki ull dat much. She beri gud n beri wel behayvd. On da odd occashin she nut wel behayvd, but dis so beri unappreshe8d dat doz slipz beri rare now. She liki 2 pleez.

cindi liki fun tingz 2. It sertinlee seems 2 cindi dat doz peepel hoo wif cindi, njoy her cumpineee. Dey seem njoy da fakt dat she beri cumpliant n she do wat she told. Dey seem njoy her bubbli natoor n eben how silli she sumtymz aktz.

Cors, cindi nut alweyz abel 2 shine. Sumtymz she poot wey on da shelf n she haf wayt 4 da next tym dat sumwun wan pley wif her. Dis da lyf of da dolli. Dis parta her cuntaynmin.

4 doz peepel nut no so much bout dolliz, dey hab strung desyrz n dey desyr lotz n lotz of pleytym. Coz dey nut need tinki bout ull sortsa borin stuff, dey tinki mor bout fun tingz, n sex a beri fun ting 2 a dolli.

Der a new tot in cindiz lyf: dat it nut rite dat da dolli hab access 2 hessef.

"Wat talkin bout?" cindi wanna no. "Her bodi hab neeeeeeeedz...."

It tot it tym 4 bimbo 2 chenj: 2 "surrender".

"So bimbo hab no mor climaxzzzzzzz????!!!!"

"Oh dat nut da cays; jus nut wen she wun dem, n how she wun dem."

Cindi wanna no how dis werk. She beri cooooorius.

"Tinki bout it, ull pluggi, n den beltd, lokd, poot 2 bed den toy poot wey; yoosd l8r."

"Dat cood werk..."

"Bimbo got sins now how it toy?"

Oh ya, she got sins of how toy ull rite.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Game over

When she was a little girl
she played games with the other little girls
but she cared not if she won or lost.
It was just a game.

When she grew up
she played games with the other grown up girls
but she cared not if she won or lost.
It was just a game.

One day she discovered a game
unlike any other she had played before.
She cared not if she won or lost,
It was for the love of the game.

She suspected that he enjoyed the game too.
But sometimes, he stopped the game short.
"If you play with bulls, you'll likely get hurt,"
he cautioned her.

The fear brought bubbles to her throat
and she reached into her pocket and felt for the contents.
She stashed the red hankerchief deep down,
just in time.

Walking backwards she tiptoed away,
aware that she could go no closer, this time.
Her appetite for this game ensured
that she would be tempted to play again.

But the entrance had been securely locked
and for now there was no way to return.
Aware of her love for the game
He would keep her tightly contained.

His rules were strict.
She had no way to move.
She sat down, took out her red handkerchief,
and blew her nose.

Game over.

Cindi talks 2 ownir

Cindi is beri fortunate 2 have a wunderful ownir hoo reeli understandz her. At timz, cindi getz confoozed. She has a simple mind, being the fucktoy that she is and she needz her ownirz direction. Her mentor remindz her 2 that her ownir is the most important persun in her life. On this matter, cindi is never confoozed. There is agreement by everybody that it is ownirz opinion dat matterz above all else.

So, this morning, cindi asked 2 talki with ownir abowt a matter that confoozed her. U c, cindi is a beri happi bimbo. This sense of happiness extendz beyond the timez that she is yoosed. She feelz a sense of contentment, cuntaynment, and peace that is beri, beri special. Her happiness is not an illusion. It is beri real. In fakt, it extendz beyond pley in2 the practikal life. Her sense of harmony with the world extends outsyd of the bedroom, outsyd of the howse, and in2 da wider werld in which she must go sumtimez.

More than that, she feels more a part of the outsyd werld, as well. She embraces the world and what she can acheef in it with more focus, commitment and resolve. Allowed 2 cum owt an pley, and shine and b akepted, she functionz well, with her chorez and wot she and ownir look 2 do, together and separatelee.

However, there is no doubt that cindi is a simpel littel thing, with a simpel littel mynd, an dat the trooth is dat she is a bit of a dum dum, who preferz nut 2 think or worri. Ownir reeli luvz cindi 2 pieces. He reeeeeeeli dus! He dusnt mind dat cindi is a simple dolli and dere has never been any question abowt his willingness 2 looki afta cindi. He is da best ownir a dolli could ever aski 4.

Ownir talki wif cindi this morning beri troothfullee. He told cindi agin how happi cindi makez him; how her happiness makez him happi 2. Cindi is a beri gud dolli. Datz wot he said. But, it is not possible 4 cindi 2 alweyz cum down from the shelf and b wif ownir. Sumtimez, he needz 2 poot his dolli back on da shelf, and cindi shood nut be upset by dis owtcum. Sumtimez, da dolli needz 2 rest.

"Dere is a practikal werld, cindi," he sed, "whether we liki dat or not. Ownir needz 2 talki 2 a smart gurl sumtimez bout his business concerns. He needz her 2 b abel to listen carefully and 2 offer her poynt of voo."

He said 2 cindi that this is nut 2 poot cindi down in any way, but dat 4 her own good, she needz 2 spend sum time on the shelf whilst he talki with his girl. He said dat dere is a time and place 4 everything. And, nut only that, he said dat he must protekt da gurl 2, an dat gurlz need 2 talki sumtimez; even 2 (over) analyze things, coz dat is wot gurlz do an dis is nut so bad, as lung as dey dont get 2 carreed away an get angry and upset and nut so nys 2 live wif. It was okay 4 da gurl 2 have a bit of space, he said. Without sum space 4 her in da house, it might nut be healthy 4 her, 4 owner or even 4 cindi.

Cindi understandz what her ownir is saying. He luvz cindi and he luvz havin her around. Datz beri obvious 2 cindi. But, he also enjoyz his time with da gurl, and he thinkz dat the gurl deservez some time 2. Datz fair! Now, if da gurl getz owt of cuntrol, datz a hole different story, an dat wood be bad. She must co-operate wif cindi, never lock her in da cupboard like she yoosed 2 do, and alweyz be polite 2 ownir. Dey r da roolz.

Cindi was so pleezd 2 have dis talk wif ownir. He is a beri wise an luvin ownir and cindi will go bak on da shelf happili from time to time, knowing dat ownir wont let da girl hurt cindi agin. Hooray!

She's tied up right now

Sometimes, things turn out just right by serendipity. I have been ogling this picture for several days. Being a particularly flexible person from early childhood, this is the sort of thing I could have done with ease. I am not entirely sure that I could manage it now, but I don't dismiss the thought as out of hand. I think I probably could do it. What a lovely thought.

So, without knowing about this picture at all, or my thoughts about it over the past days, this morning my husband put me on my stomach and bound my hands behind my back such that they were in a very similar position to this picture. I immediately began to float...

I can't for the life of me understand why vanilla people have such objections to being tied up!

Playtime

Earlier in the week, I tried to address the question of 'what men want'. I pondered if men might want to come home to a tranquil environment where they might be pampered a little. This idea was not particularly warmly received, and my suggestion of creating a tranquil environment at home when possible moved into a discussion of whether a man might want his partner to work outside the home or not. I certainly never intended to be so audacious as to give the impression that I knew better than any individual couple what was right for them.

The question of 'what men want' remained unresolved. It has been a thought in the back of my mind for many years, however, that what men want is a partner as interested in having fun as they are. It is indisputable (isn't it?) that men think about sex a lot, and what could they want more than a partner who enjoys having sex as much as they do. This, I have felt, could be the magic ingredient in a marriage; the ability for the partner to enjoy sex as much as him.

It was with great pleasure that this morning, I came across a very thoughtful essay by Black As My Soul about Men and Erotica. This is a wonderful essay (which I highly recommend you read in full) which takes the reader through various genre before he gives his reader his interpretation of what men want. He writes,

"What I think you will find in erotica written for men are two implicit truths: 1) She wants me. 2) She likes what I like—she enjoys it, too."

This makes total sense, don't you think?

Remember the movie, 'Family Man'? Jack (Nicholas Cage) wakes up to discover he is living a nightmare. His high flying and successful life in New York City, including his Ferrari, has been replaced with a home in the suburbs, a wife who works pro bono, and two little kids. He sells tyres for a living. This is the life he would have had if he had not boarded the plane and left behind his current girlfriend. Life is pretty miserable for Jack until his wife (the gorgeous Tea Leoni) begins to pull at his socks in bed and ravage him.

"Leave my socks alone," he barks at her.

Not put off, for the Jack she knows can be quite the practical joker, she keeps at it, making clear that she isn't going to be leaving his socks or any part of his body alone. The penny drops.

"You want me," he says.

His new life just started looking a whole lot more rosy.

I think Black as My Soul makes a good point. Men want women to want them. As well, they want women to want to play with them. They want women to enjoy the experience as much as they do.

This is where D/s comes into its own, in my view. Both players want to be there. Both want it as much as the other. Both need it as much as they other. In D/s, men want what women want and women want what men want: to play.

I stand by my initial thought that a man enjoys harmony in his home wherever possible, but a playful partner is, I suspect, even more alluring.

Let's play

I'm a very lucky girl. I was made very welcome to the world; much wanted. Whoever made me gave me adequate brains and a healthy, strong body that works well and looks fine.

I'm loved. I can feel it all about me these days. It comes from on high and from various corners of the globe. It abounds in abundance in my home.

I'm not like everybody else. I'm a little different. I sometimes have to push myself into the public arena. When I do, I am perfectly capable of enjoying myself.

I've always been a private one. Polite and gracious; the thoughts in my mind can be devilishly wicked. That pleases me enormously; to nod my head seriously whilst I imagine the speaker doing the unspeakable.

I love to play. I come alive when I play. So delicious!

So, this blog, this very public space to say very naughty private things, is tantalising, divinely scrumptious.

I'm a good girl, with naughty thoughts!

Sometimes, I'm a bad girl who doesn't obey. Then, I get punished. I think I'm not meant to enjoy that. Oh well! Too bad! (giggles...)

And, what a scandal it would be to know who that naughty Vesta is!

So, come on kids. It's recess. Let's play!