DD versus D/s

 I happened to see on Instagram a post that said, 'These are the three words that saved my marriage' (and it's not I love you'). I was sufficiently curious and went to the link to discover that the three words were 'You do you.'

There's merit to this approach. Maybe especially in the D/s space there's a strong chance you are partnered with someone the opposite of you in so many ways. So, to be understanding, maybe even celebratory about the differences is a good thing. It doesn't take much thought to realize that if you have a submissive bent and your partner does too, that's not the dynamic you're looking for. 

A certain amount of frustration, to put it mildly, is going to ensue about these differences, however, it has to be said. Great to have an understanding of the other's quirks and areas of paramount difference to your own, but not so great when those differences impact your life adversely.

I was on a hunt for something a bit different to roll around in my mind and came across this DD, or is it CDD, site where there was an enormous emphasis on training a wife to be neat and tidy, competent, responsible, to do the household chores. Men were on there, and the wives too, talking about laundry, or not doing the laundry. There was talk about being lazy and forgetting to charge the mobile phone before one went out with the children.

This was like reading about people so different to me, I really couldn't relate. I have always been the one to do all the laundry, even long before we married. No-one, and I mean no-one could ever call me lazy. I am, nearly all the time, in constant motion, doing things and achieving tasks. Honestly, I am the one trying to motivate anyone who might help me to achieve all these goals I have in my head.

There are little things brought to my attention. My children will say I have kept too much of their art projects, but when I try to throw them out, they have second thoughts. My desk doesn't always look like that of an anal retentive, but it's not bad either. I regularly discard what's not needed. I am somewhere between a houseproud person and a tiny bit messy, depending on the day and the time of day. Put it this way. My husband isn't complaining, unless I try to make steps to work on his study which is absolutely his 'den (of too much stuff)'.

So, these DD sites (well one in particular) was both a massive turn on for me and at the same, somewhat ridiculous, in my mind.

These husbands weren't into spanking as a turn on. Not. At. All. This was about training, discipline; results; outcomes. There was talk about a wife being ready to submit to her husband on a moment's whim, regardless of exhaustion and so on, but there was next to no talk about play, per se. This was business. This was the man taking his responsibility seriously, to guide his wayward wife in the right direction by ensuring she had all the necessary corporal discipline to train her to be the best wife.

I had a very brief exchange sort of lately with the hypnotist wherein he mentioned a self-discipline contract. I had to look this up and indeed it's a thing. You decide on your goal, commit to it in writing, sign it, and give yourself some consequences, if you err. He emphasized that he wasn't prescribing this for me and he definitely didn't want me self-punishing. Honestly, I just mulled the whole thing.

The DD blogs suggest to me at least, that a woman, a wife, needs her husband's guidance to ensure that she is suitably disciplined by him such that she is a good wife; that she is not capable of doing this for herself. They suggest that there is a right way to do things, and this right way is known by him, not her. But with the right guidance, he can teach her, instill a bit of fear of doing the wrong thing basically, and Bob's your Uncle, you've got the wife of your dreams.

There's some implication that women are addle headed, incompetent, lazy, that really irks me. I hope you got that long before I wrote that sentence. And I am not saying that this approach, done in a lighter way, wouldn't work with some women. The harshness written about there worked with the women commenting. They rarely complained in an overwhelming way. They had been 'trained' not to complain. If I get a spanking, the result is I feel softer. I don't complain either. There's a bit of mystery around this.

Having said that, I am at peace with a man saying to his wife, a wife that wants a power exchange with her man, 'I don't want you doing things this way, I want you to do them that way.' That way may just be his obsessive compulsive nature showing through, but nonetheless, if a woman wants that dynamic, I think it's perfectly all right to submit to his wants and desires. I say this assuming it is understood that the man and woman are equals (or whatever the make up of the couple), equally capable of running their own lives but don't necessarily want to.

I've been mulling the DD space and the D/s space, thinking about what makes it different and what makes it the same. In D/s and DD the man is expecting, demanding, respect, as in the D/s space, but in DD it feels to me that there is less respect for the woman/wife. In D/s you submit because you want to, because that arouses something deep in your core, your soul. You may have all the degrees, the big career, the prestige, the wealth, not to submit, and yet you do, because it just makes senses to your inner being and to your sexuality. Not once in all the dozens of comments I read by women on that site did even one talk about how aroused it all made her. Maybe she thought it was wrong to admit to it. I simply do not know.

In my own marriage, things were not going well at all at the same time as the hypnotist and I met one another, via his podcast. He assured me he could sort things out. It was sort of hit and miss for a time, but he was right. A lot came right, came back on line, once we both started treating one another respectfully and in a D/s sort of way.

How did that happen? Well, he cleared my husband of a lot of pent up negative emotions. He led me deeper into what we call my slave mentality. He got us having intense sex again. It wasn't DD doctrine but rather making both people responsible for the sexual dynamic. It was very much about me developing boundaries. I didn't see any evidence of the DD wives having boundaries. That's another difference I noted. In one case, a woman wrote in who was clearly being abused, and there was no suggestion for her to start creating boundaries about what she would not tolerate. There was no talk about being two independent people and creating interdependence; none that I could see.

I think too the hypnotist encouraged my husband to give me autonomy, to delegate if you like, tasks to me. This was a log jam for us that needed to be cleared. I am someone who needs to achieve progress. Hold me back and I am going to experience extreme frustration.

I am not here to say that spanking isn't effective, or can be effective, to achieve necessary changes. There's a certain necessary humility in a D/s power exchange that's part of the deal, and a spanking can achieve that humility. I know I feel more myself when I am bossed around, in whatever capacity. If you want to tap into that slave mindset that sits there, like an itch that needs to be scratched, spanking can do it.

But, on this DD website I was reading, it's such a go-to that it seems bordering on something else. I don't know. It just seemed...excessive...brainwashing, and not in a good way.

It's not entirely black and white here. The hypnotist, a long-time player in the M/s space believes passionately that there are far too many 'good guys' and he is not alone. He's not a punisher though, not these days, but rather doesn't reward. He's seen too many broken men to not want to encourage the masculinity of a man and the femininity of a woman.

I argue that submission is a wiring thing. You can bring it out in someone whose submission is latent or unexpressed, but I don't think you can make a woman who has no interest in a power dynamic suddenly become submissive. You can encourage mutual respect, respectful and useful communication models, ways of sorting through conflict. There has to be deep deep trust before you can go further into a marriage structure that encompasses a power exchange.

My fantasy world swims in an intense dynamic and my mind tries it all on; everything. There is a saying: 'Take the best and leave the rest'. I try on intensity; all these harsh spankings for not getting the laundry done, for example, and then I let the thought go. The hypnotist suggested that if I needed to feel the control more, I devise a nonsense rule that made it clear I wanted to feel the power, so to speak. It could be laundry, I guess. It could also be...hmmm...(I've had such trouble figuring something...) not making dinner. THAT would get his attention. I'm not sure I would use it more than once. Maybe not turning down the bed. It's a rule and he would notice if I stopped doing it. I think he'd realize I needed to feel it.

I truly like the idea of containment, of expectations, of feeling into myself in this way, but DD does not sound fun. It doesn't sound fluid, flirty or fun. It doesn't sound like it's loaded with pleasure (a word that I think is a loaded trigger...). By God, though, horses couldn't have dragged me away from reading there for quite a few days. 

Slave mentality

Therapy is meant to make you feel better, but before it makes you feel better, it can make you feel worse.

Acknowledging and simply being your authentic self is also meant to feel better, but it isn't necessarily so at the outset either.

To explain, by way of hypnotherapy over the telephone, a session of a sexual nature, I experienced the depths of my submissive self. 

I believe for the first time in my life I referred to myself as a Slave and did those things that slaves do. 

'Admit to me what you are!'

'I'm a slave, I'm a slave.'

These words came from the darkest recesses of my mind.

Orgasming on demand, over and over, occurred effortlessly. Obeying these commands seemed the most natural thing in the world.

 I was told a story, set in ancient times, of what my life was like. My primary role was to be trained and f**ked, not just by one Owner but by many men, and women. I listened in a trance, found it all quite wonderful.

For a day or two, I felt liberated and joyous. The possibilities for my life in real terms seemed transformational and exciting. I felt buoyant and rejuvenated.

Then, real life happened, new knowledge of on the ground life challenges. It was necessary to get out of my kink head and problem solve; come up with answers for the problems presented to me. Far from a simple slave girl here I was using my brain hard to resolve financial issues like a big, independent girl.

It's not just the problems and the efforts it will take to solve them that troubles me. It's the compatibility issues that have come about for what I refer to as 'the slave mentality'. I fully understand that I can't just permanently dwell in a slave mentality, but did the shove into the real world need to happen so immediately and so starkly?

The undeniable equation is that a slave needs a Master/Owner. A Master goes about getting a 'slave', if that is their inclination. Off the Master goes to the slave market, or whatever, and buys himself a slave fit for purpose - pretty, enticing, useful; easy to train to desired specification. (In the trance I don't know where I came from exactly, but the hypnotist accompanied me back to ancient times and took me to his expansive home where slaves abounded, and I was trained and prepared for Ownership. Always welcome back to visit the girls, the gardener and cook who regularly used me, of course.)

But what if it is the other way around? Does a slave go looking for a Master? Sure, sometimes that is going to happen, but what about transforming a husband into a Master or Owner, somewhat permanently? Can that really happen? 

It's taken me this long to acknowledge my deepest desires and here I am with a husband not at all well and, should he have married just about anyone but me, would never in his wildest dreams thought of going about having his own 'slave'. Now, what to do?

I have been thinking about this in a practical way. What needs to happen here? One might consider a Contract. Your responsibilities are this and mine are that. I want this and you want that. I fail to do this and that means you need to do that. Like that.

I think there is a step here that hasn't been considered. Once upon a time, my husband enjoyed 'scenes' with me. He'd have expectations, things he wanted to do, usually to achieve pleasure for me and thus himself. There was a lot of dopamine flying about and thus in daily life, it was all pretty smooth. I sought to please him. He rode that high for himself. All good.

That was a long time ago now when we were playing for mutual pleasure. My husband became unwell, and although we made it up the mountain of D/s pleasure every now and again, we spent much more time down in the valley. It's much, much harder this time for things to be spontaneous about this situation. The last dozen years have been very wearing on both of us and on the relationship.

What I know is that this slave can't wait for her Master to devise her curriculum, her daily tasks, her expectations. I think that might be a 'Waiting for Godot' situation and we all know how that turned out.

He's been advised that all slaves need 'training' but where's the manual for that? So, I bought myself 'Dom's Guide to Submissive Training' by Elizabeth Cramer and next step I think is to summarize it for my husband. Boy, she's tough, but I get off on listening to that audio. I may have listened to it four times now.

Although the next step is to devise a Contract, I think you have to have some idea of all this before you can begin to know what to write down, what to discuss; whether this is even going to work for the two of us.

Is he prepared to put the time aside? Does he think he will enjoy the training? Should we do it in, say, two-hour intervals when we get the time? Should there be protocols for a 24-hour period? Can we accept, both of us, he may need to be tough at first? And how, can we smoothly make the transition from that world to the real world where we need to have our heads about us?

I came across a good article by Dr. Dawn-Elise Snipes entitled 'Dominant and Submissive Relationships - Top 10 Rules to Follow. I think my husband needs suggestions for the revised relationship and I have offered him a few suggestions. 

I like the idea of sitting below him when watching television. I like the floor and I like the slave feeling this gives me, always have.

I like the idea of learning some positions and being asked to get into those positions using the number. It's just a weird turn on I have used a lot in fantasy. I think one correspondent mentioned it many years ago and I never forgot it.

Snipes suggests, 'Make Master proud'. Yes, love this. I am seriously considering a short course to prepare myself for part time employment, as an example, and he has given his support for that, would be proud of me. I would thrive on receiving praise. 

'I speak, you obey'. God, yessss, that's such a turn on.

It's a pity this is all happening at this busy time of year. You need plenty of down time to get this established, to do the communicating and sharing of ideas. Without his participation, all I have is fodder for fantasy and endless unrequited desire.

I so want this to happen. 

It would make me so happy. I also think it would make him happy too.

And, most importantly, us.

Note: The image above is a photo of a card that was left by my mat whilst I was meditating in a group this evening, after writing this. It felt right to include it in this post today. 

Fantasy and life

My husband and I were exchanging thoughts recently about fantasies and I made the comment that sometimes fantasies were merely fantasies. I didn't necessarily want for all my fantasies to become my reality. He disagreed. He felt that sexual fantasies were dormant desires. We didn't say much more than this, but I have been quietly thinking about the conversation ever since.

My fantasies have a theme about them. I don't fantasize about a renovated house, a trip around the world, or a romantic dinner,  but I routinely fantasize about finding myself in very strict, tightly controlled situations. I'm either at some sort of institution where I've been sent, not so much to procure an education and have a career, but rather to understand my place as an owned (but precious) possession, or, under the control of an extremely strict man who has the support of a housekeeper whose main task it is to supervise me when he is busy. Let's deal with the institution today. There are many rules at this institution but they all boil down to one rule in essence: that I obey.

There is absolutely no leniency at this institution and what I find interesting (and just realized this very moment) is that there is a dress code. Like the other girls sent there I wear the same style dress every day, one that accentuates the figure and provides ready access, but certainly fashion trends are not part of our lives here and we don't spend any time at all in wondering how to dress.

We are kept in a state of arousal. Anal plugs are a part of most of the day and all of the night and when we shower, or go to bed, or eat...all of this is pre-ordained and set in stone, except in highly exceptional situations. Owner tags are pierced through our nipples and pussy lips early on and a chastity belt is ordered for each one of us as an important part of our limited wardrobe. We are never to touch ourselves without permission, we are told. Rather, what we must appreciate is that we are there to adapt to the headspace that our satisfaction is immaterial and quite secondary to the pleasure of our Owners. This is the purpose of the chastity belts, for us to understand and accept our containment and purpose.

Corporal discipline is an integral part of our experience there - punishment for the slightest misbehaviour and routine maintenance paddlings and whippings. The whistle of the wind as the cane bears down on bare bottoms is a regular sound to our ears as we pass the master's study on our way to another part of the large house, discreetly tucked away behind high brick walls and surrounded by a lush garden. We fear the Master's cane without a shadow of a doubt and do all we can to avoid it, but meetings with it are so inevitable that we go close to making our peace with it. Pain is our lot.

If I am looking to arouse myself, not necessarily even orgasm, but simply 'edge' or let time stand still for ten minutes, I go to these particular thoughts. They centre me, relax me and, of course, arouse me. But, it's a big stretch to say that I would like to have them acted out. It's the harshest of institutions where my every move is observed and determined. I have no privacy there at all. Even showers are nearly always taken as a group in a bathroom with mutiple shower heads and the Mistress remains to observe this, inspecting us for cleanliness when we step out of the shower, inserting our anal plugs that we will wear throughout the night. Naked we will kneel by our beds to say our prayers and the Master will come to hear these prayers where we offer our good wishes to our authority figures at the school and thank God that they will guide us well. I can't begin to imagine such a situation in real life, the relentless discipline and rule following.

Maybe, the fantasy is simply the extreme scenario of a real life situation where I am indeed subject to some rules determined by an authority figure; where there is no breaking of rules without punishment, and where my joy and happiness comes through an understanding of my place; a place which is secure, a life which is relatively simple - challenging in ways but deeply spiritual and restful to the mind.

Truthfully, I still think of an intense orgasm as the happiest of experiences, the experience that feels to me very close to Godliness; the experience that lifts my spirits like nothing else can. But, my experiences have been such that I have been more willing to entertain the notion that this isn't my right at all, but rather a treat that I am given on rare occasions at the behest of an Owner; the owner of my body and my spirit. Truthfully, it's a huge surprise to me that I could think this thought at all, but if fantasies are a guide, there is no doubting the fact that I get off on the thought of containment in all its manifestations.

Pleasure and bliss

This post prompted me to ask myself the questions - what is pleasure and what is bliss? My moments of bliss are often related to pleasure but I'd say that they aren't often so connected that they come at the same time. Rather, bliss will occur on its own, without there necessarily being (sexual) pleasure, or bliss will come very soon after pleasure.

If I think of bliss, I think of being in a zone or a state of mind wherein I feel heady, comfortable, happy to be alive, all being well in my world, tranquil, uplifted, a sense of joie de vivre, an understanding that I'm lucky; a light heart.

Bliss usually overtakes me. I don't expect it or see it coming. It can happen at any time, in any way. It doesn't relate to a particular set of circumstances. I can specifically recall, for example, and have thought back many times, to a moment about 30 years ago when I was in the city on my lunch hour and waiting for the lights to turn green when I could cross one of our main streets to the other side. I looked up the street and for a split second took in the vista. I distinctly recall the thought, "I am so happy to be here. I am so happy to be alive. I feel wonderful." I don't recall that feeling being related to anything else at all. It was a feeling of 'oneness' with my world. It was a sense of joy at being alive at this moment in this place.

I've had so many moments like this. I recall moments when I came across a street in Europe that enchanted me and felt so nourished by the experience, so lucky, that I consciously took a moment to register the joy I felt in being there. I can recall sitting under an ancient tree in a small square in the old part of Barcelona and feeling true joy at the beauty that surrounded me.

I had an evening a few nights ago alone in my big kitchen where I reveled in, and was very conscious of being alone in the room, making my meal and listening to my Mozart. All was profoundly right in my world, even though it was not necessarily all that well at all. What I mean by that is that joy or bliss doesn't take in all the details of one's life. It washes over you like a deep spring cleansing; a reminder of the great pleasure it is to be alive in the world on this day, in this moment. It's a reverential moment that comes when it comes.

In terms of sexual pleasure and a feeling of bliss, this can happen when I am removed from myself and invariably relates to a rush of energy from the dominant to me. My husband (who is my Owner at these moments) will take control of the situation and be demanding; exacting, strong willed. He'll exert my pleasure from me, either insisting that I let go to induce an orgasmic state  or placing me in opportunities wherein what I refer to as my 'submissive soul' surrenders and shines.

Not a girl in these moments, the 'bimbo' is present and the fucktoy a very real and living thing. I'm not so much joyous or in a state of bliss at these moments. Rather, I feel a union with the true me. I'm in my 'sweet spot', happy and carefree. But, the joy, I think, happens later when I feel well fucked; used; completely spent, satiated; full; no longer hungry. What I mean to say is that I don't have any cohesive thoughts at those times - rather no thought - so I may be experiencing joy or bliss but I'm not aware of it as a concept. Rather, I'm simply aware of my inner life being present; unmasked; given permission to run free.

Every now and then I have the God-given opportunity to experience total and mind numbing sub space. It goes beyond joy or bliss. It's a sense of peace and total inertia that supersedes anything else I can imagine in life. It's the gift of one person to another. It's the transference of energy from one person to another. It's 'the gain' given to me as one of life's rare treats; a priceless gift. I know not to chase these moments. It is crucial to be patient; not to allow "the desire for desire" to be all consuming. They come when they come. I know there won't be many of them and I know they are worth the wait. It's the secret bond between two people that we refer to, quite rightly, as 'the power exchange'.

Torn

I think (I certainly hope) that I have thanked all those very kind folk who have answered my questions for the article I must write. I am grateful to you all and also very humbled that you allowed me access into your lives. Reading the responses I have been moved to tears; choked up at some of the words you have used. "Are you proud of her?" I asked the dominants.

"Very very"
"Incredibly"

The love and pride and admiration were evident and each time I glowed that I have come to know such generous and giving souls. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Over the past two days I have also been moved at the generosity of experts of relationships with whom I have been in contact. Probably the most well known sex therapist researcher in the country was very generous with her material and contacts and an expert of BDSM in relationships was overwhelmingly kind in his efforts to assist me. I'm just a l'il student. I can't really give them any publicity of any sort, so these were acts of kindness and I felt moved by them.

It is wonderful on one level to have the opportunity to use my brain again. I really am enjoying and am challenged by what I am learning.

"I'm out of my comfort zone nearly all the time," I said to my husband.
"Good," he responded. "That is where you should be."

I absolutely tip my hat to you parents out there who manage to work and to cater to your family's needs and the needs of your partner. I struggle. It is the reason why I chose not to work, because I feel so conflicted some days. I so want to absorb myself in my learning but we are on school holidays here and there is no routine that can support me. The children come and go but they simply have this perception that "Mum" will be there to provide clean clothes, lovely meals, a clean home, a driver, a listening ear; a problem solver when needed, to name a few roles I have.

Just when I think the coast is clear to attend to my own needs the phone rings, or someone comes home, or I have to rush out to the market to get more fruits and vegetables or...something...

My husband doesn't care for when I leave his bed at dawn to go read and write and I don't function well late at night. And, during the days my house is busy; chaotic even...

So, I do what I can, when I can, in the best way that I can, and I hope for the best.

Interestingly, whilst all this buzz whirls about me, I feel a stirring for controlling and containing strategies that I haven't really embraced over the past few months. I wrote about it just  now in another capacity and I was full of plans to do this and that. Fun. Fun. Fun.

And, it suddenly, haphazardly and serendipitiously occurred to me that those sort of indulgences actually require consent. Well, usually they do. It's complicated. Asking for those things it is hoped I desperately want, usually require consent. Am I getting ahead of myself here?

But, after frustration must come relief, right? Whose going to deny the l'il doll that??!

New toyz

Wut a week 4 cindi! No soonr did her magik wand arrive (n she hab so much fun wif dat!) dan her onnir desyd 2 reeeeli cuntayn cindi dis mornin. She kenna c ne tin n she kenna say n e tin et ull. Onnir hab her get on2 her 4z n suddenli cindi ken feel dat der a brand new speriens 4 her.

Cindi nut no wut happenin reeeeli. She gotsa ideuh but she nut c dat new toy n she ken only gess. But wuteva dat toy it gibbin cindi da most AMAZIN sens8nz n she in nudder plays n tym.

If cindi hab eni ideuh – ENI IDEUH ET ULL – dat dat toy SO GUD she wood hab orderd wun in eberi cullir lung tym go.

Cindi strungli recummndz dat ull da bimboz hab at leeest wun deeez. Tym 2 own up now! Eni bimboz owt der??!!

Reezinz 2 pluggi

Pluggi-n nut jus bizi werk; nut jus sumtin 2 do so dat cuntrolld. It nut werki dat wey 4 bimboz et ull reeeli. Bimboz gibn tesks 2 do dat 4 der own gud n 4 da gud da onnirz 2. In udder werdz, der a reeezin 2 pluggi regooorli. Wel, der sebril reeezinz 2 pluggi regooorli.

But, da most importin reeezin ob ull, dat dis meeenz dat da bimboz bodi redi 4 yoos. In gurl langwich, der onli wun cunt. But, in da land ob bimboz. der three cunts - da pussy cunt, da ass cunt and da mof cunt. Deez musta vayibil at eni tym dat pleeeezz da onnir. Ull da cuntz musta kept cleen n redi 4 yoos.

So, da pluggiz mek dis pussibil. Wen a bimbo pluggiz regooorli, she def vayibil et eni tym 4 da onnir. She feelz no insecoooriti bowt yoos in da ass cunt coz she noz dat it nut hert, dat she ken do ezili n ebin more dan dat, dat it hili pleziribil. She nut worri bowt yoos in dat hol. On da cuntrari, she looki 4werd 2 it, no-n dat it highli pleziribl n xitin 4 her az wel as da onnir.

Heerz a sekrit:wen pluggi regoorli n yoos biggr n biggr pluggiz, da orgazims in da asscunt fantastik!!

In a beri importin wey, da pluggiz garantee dat der lotsa plezir 4 bimboz n lotsa plezir 4 onnirs 2. It wut dey kell a win:win situ8n. cindi herd Vesta sey dat wuns n it reson8d 4 cindi.

It prolli kerd 2 doz reedin deez werdz dat deez posts nut reeeli bimboz ideuh. Ya, nut her ideuh et ull ashooooli. Sins she nut do as told wif her pluggiz whyl she trabelin, dis l'il assersyz 2 get her bak on trak n tinkin bowt doz pluggiz n ull bowt dem in her lyf. "Eni totz dat l'il bimbo hab bowt pluggiz," he sed.

Az da deyz go bi, cindi mor n mor wer dat she nut hab permissin 2 yoos da pluggiz. 2 poot in udder werdz, she 4biddn 2 yoos da pluggiz. Vesta wuns spland dis 2 cindi az 'revers sykologi". Dat 2 sey, wen nut alowd sumtin, peepil ken wanna dat mor n mor.

Wel, it nut kwite da sem 4 bimboz. cindi yoosd her pluggiz lots b4 she talkiz n discubr she nut lowd dem 4 a week. She liki 2 yoos dem n she yoooosd dem lots in da deyz b4 dis ultim8im. Hunnistli, she nut spektn 2 loooz her pluggiz, coz she figooor she alredi suffishinli punishd...

But, dat nut 4 bimbo 2 deeeesyd, rite?! Rite.

Tanki gudness, dis assersyz now obr da haf wey poynt. Dis da forth posts n der 7 rekwyrd b4 da desishin ken med bowt if dey satisfaktori 2 hab pluggiz retirnd.

Nut sur y, sins bimbo reeeeli a wel behayvd bimbo almost ull da tym but da displinn beri strikt! Bimbo hab roooolz n eni disbeedens...eni disbeeedins et ull...tekn beri seriusli. Bimboz spektd wel behayd ULL DA TYM!

4tooniitli, if bimbo sept her displin she 4gibbn n da bed behayvor 4givn n she ken dryv on.

But, lettuce nut 4get, dis displin desynd dat bimbo tinki twys, thrys n 4 tymz obr b4she eber ebin cumsiderz disbeyn gin. So much eeezeeeer n mor kerin 2, 2 jus follo da instrukinz gibn. Dat da tek hom messij.

Grounded

Life has a way of bringing you down to ground fast. There was a twelve hour turn around between my husband collecting me from the airport and the taxi driver knocking on the door to whisk my husband away back to the airport and out of my arms. It is only 6 am and technically I could sleep for another hour before I wake my son for the first day of a new school term, but jet lag suggested that writing, plopped up on pillows in bed might be a better way to spend the time.

Twenty four hours of sitting in a plane (and we honestly did do that due to issues with flights) has a way of insisting that you submit - submit to the fact that if you want to live in Australia and travel to the UK or the US, you have to sit tight and accept the restrictions.

This time, not only was I submitting to the geography of the world, but I was returning home after nearly three weeks of doing exactly as I pleased. It was I who decided what to do with my day, how to do it, what to spend money on, where to go and how to get there. I basked in the luxury of being responsible for no-one but myself. If I wanted to walk in Kensington Gardens at first light and eat Eggs Royale and drink jasmine tea at the Serpentine Restaurant watching London wake up, then that is exactly what I did.

It didn't take long for my husband to set me straight when I returned home.

"You're not used to having a dominant around, are you?"

"Not at all," I replied, cheekily.

"Then, let's start as we mean to go on, shall we? Bend over the bed and I'll fetch the cane."

"But, I don't like the cane."

"That's why you must have it."

After that, he yoosd his girl and suddenly it all came flooding back - the value of being an owned girl and having a dominant in one's life. Eggs Royale was delicious but if I had to choose between this or that, I confess I'll take this. Simply delish!

Headless

Cindi?

Cindi nut heer

Hoo dis?

Der no hoo heer

Wut dis?

it

it heer?

Ya. it nut tinki. it hab no wureez. it nut ebn hab iz; no mof, no fays et ull.

Oh?

Ya. it flowtz jus unda da watr. it myn empty. No totz. it kerfree. Joyfool. Happi. Cuntint.

Dis it got holz?

Def. Tree holz. it plezir objekt. Getz plezir. Givz plezir.

Ya?

Dis objekt hedless. Dis objekt lib8d. Dis objekt wanna pley. Da hoo liki do dat?

Def.

Yay!

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.

Pleasure bound

One of the little disappointments of my life over the past few months is that I would like to have been bound more. No matter how uncomfortable I feel when I am bound, it feels good.

I love the entire process of being bound except perhaps the very last stage. I love watching him handle the rope; watching his hands as he manipulates it to be the right length for the job. I love watching his face as he moves my body to the position he wants it. I love the moments where I stay completely still as I am bound tighter; less able to move at all.

One of my very favourite days was some time ago shortly after he had bought a very long rope. The length of the rope called for only one thing; for him to horizontally wind it around my torso until I was almost lost in the rope. Think Olive Oil and you will be on the right track. The photos don’t lie. I looked like I had gone to heaven.

More recently, over this summer he had me take off my clothes and bend over the edge of the bed on my knees at the holiday house; just a regular height, that bed. He put the palms of my hands together behind my back and then he tied me at the wrists. It was uncomfortable but it felt good.

I feel certain I had mentioned to him several times that I hurt a muscle in my arm in a power bar class that is still healing but he obviously forgot that fact and I didn’t want to remind him. So, the binding of my arms was particularly uncomfortable and yet it felt terrific.

Next he tied rope around my throat, tight enough that when he pulled on it a little at the back I was slightly panicked. I like that feel a lot. Next, he tied some rope between my rope collar and the rope around my wrists that forced my head back. Then, he left me to stew. F a b u l o u s! Maybe fifteen minutes later, he kneeled behind me and had his way. This was seriously uncomfortable but only heightened the pleasure for me.

Eventually, a girl must be undone and this is a two edged sword for me. I want the relief but I also wonder if I could have stayed bound a little longer. I remember this thought as a young child. I would be terribly uncomfortable; perhaps desperately hot. I would secretly wonder how long until some merciful moment would allow me to be cool again. Then, it would happen; perhaps a cool change in the weather, or getting into an air conditioned car. I would feel a huge sense of relief but also a bit of disappointment. Perhaps I might have managed to go a few minutes more in my discomfort. Even as a child, I thought this a very perverse thought.

Whilst I struggle to put into words what I love about being bound I can say this: that I love to be physically contained, to lose any and all control, to be the focus of attention and to feel the energy pass between my husband and myself. I thrive on this sort of humiliation; of being reduced, captured and caught. I suspect time spent in a cage would be absolutely thrilling. (I had a tumblr pikki of a girl in a cage but the above pikki won by a hair’s breath.)

It is almost time to go to bed and if my husband were to come and tie me tight – wrists and ankles and a rope between those two – I would sleep like a baby. Such is the stuff of dreams!

Stressbuster

At the core of my life, of my being and of my satisfaction with life lies my sexuality. It is only in the past few years of my life that I have embraced notions such as being a ‘fucktoy’ or a ‘slut’ but ever since I was a wee, small girlie of 5 or 6 I understood that my body was designed for pleasure.

Making use of my body fulfils me. Any fuck is a good fuck because it feels that my body is doing what it should be doing. But, a long, thrilling, demanding, primal session of fucking is what makes me come alive.

In the throes of such a session, my head is empty and my body beats to the drum of longings and needs and cravings that belong to primitive beings. I am kissed greedily and hungrily and kiss back with a lust and a strength that asks, who is the aggressor here?

We hold one another as if we are holding on for grim death: two beings locked together in a grip that defies anyone or anything to part them.

He demands that my body orgasm over and over again, with no regard to how many times my body has climaxed or how long I have been at his mercy.

He makes use of every hole with a sense of ownership and noblesse oblige. They are there to be plundered. No questions asked. It is his duty and his pleasure.

And then, unexpectedly he stops. Picks up the hairbrush and tenderly strokes my hair. Resting me. Enticing me. Making me wonder if it is over.

It is not. There will be rounds and rounds of more expectations; more pleasure; more pain; more lust and longing; more love and life.

When we are finally spent, he will hold me by the hair and have me crawl into the shower; scrub me with a force that leaves me completely pleasured and sustained. Not a girl; not even a fucktoy; just ‘it’.

I am his and he is mine.

And, no matter what life throws at us, we will remain as One.

The circumstances of our lives as they were before the session began remain unchanged and yet the stress and anxiety has...disappeared.

Goodbye, girl. Hello, it. Goodbye, stress. Hello, pleasure and happiness.

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!

The Spider and the fly

"Do you feel trapped?" he asked her.

"Uh huh"

"Do you feel caught?"

"Uh huh"

"What image does this evoke for you?"

"I'm the fly and you are the spider."

So, she knew, he thought. She knew all along. And, yet she came into the parlor, all the time. Sometimes, she didn't even wait for him to invite her. She just waltzed straight in, as he preferred. He wanted a willing captive in her own demise.

"You struggled at first, my dear. You pretended that you didn't want to get caught."

She opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't deny it now. Just listen."

She closed her mouth.

"And, the more that you struggled, the more tangled you got...

She blushed to her toes. My God!

...the tighter your constriction...

She was loving this (but could he read her mind?)

...And, you really began to enjoy it, didn't you, my darling?...

Oh gosh, he could.

...The web cocoons the object you have become...

Oh yes, it does!

...a silky cocoon...

Deliciously so.

...and now you are completely covered. Metamorphed."

How lovely!



"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly."

"Lead the way. I'm right behind you," she replied.

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.

Dream on

Personally, I am not really into porn. In large measure that is because I don't really know where to go to find it and when and if I do, I draw the line at paying for it. In my mind, that could flip me over to the dark side where I might be seen as "aberrant", and we can't have that.

The other major reason I am not into it is that just watching people do things to each other without knowing the story behind those people doesn't do all that much for me. I'm not saying that I haven't watched the little free clips, because I have watched them. But, if there are words attached to the little scene, I am sure to read them because I want to know whatever I can about the set up of the scene.

I have my little tumbler site and I enjoy re blogging a photograph there. But, I might look very quickly through a hundred photographs before I find one that moves me enough to do that. We are all very individual about that but a young, skinny girl waving her tush at the camera doesn’t do much for me. I might feel differently about a man doing such a thing (does anyone know of any sites where men feature in the pikkis? That’s a joke. But, do you?) Generally speaking I like some interaction between the man and the woman and I like it to be stylish. (Okay, so, maybe I like some rather non-stylish things too but let's not get distracted.)

My point is that I see nothing wrong with porn or sexual photographs containing consenting adults. I freely admit that I am in my middle years and I am surrounded by people in their middle years. I see them at school, at the Club where I exercise, in the city, on the train, at lunches and dinners and I don’t feel that any harm would come to them if they added a little porn or smut into their day.

Consider the middle aged accountant in the city who has read the Financial Review on his way to work on the train. He sits at his desk all morning swamped by papers related to his client’s financial taxation returns. He allows his mind to drift for a moment to wonder why the orthodontist wants his right arm to pay for his teenage daughter’s braces and why his wife got so mad just because he forgot to put out the rubbish bins, again. What harm can it do him to check out his tumbler site at lunch time whilst he eats a sandwich and drinks a cup of coffee?

I dream. I dream constantly. Shortly I will take my pups for a long walk around the river and I’ll dream my head off. Later in the day, I’ll head out downtown to do a list of errands and I will wear my day plug as I do. I love the way it makes me feel, the dreamy place I go in my head and I love that it makes me feel contained; cared for and under control. If I can incorporate my inner world into my every day – my inner world into my practical world – that makes me very happy.

A number of my readers are of the academic ilk and I love that they drop by at some point in their day of heavy thinking to spend a few light minutes here. I think everybody deserves some time to dream – to tap into their inner world, their desires; what floats their boat.

In fact, I think the sex writer plays an important role in this life; as important as any other. It is said that we really only need three things to live – air, food and sex. That makes the sex writer pretty important, no?

Please. No need to thank me. I know you care. I really do.

Focus on the picture, cindi

She was all tied up. Her wristz were tied tight to the right bedpost and her anklz were bownd just as tightly to the left bedpost. She lay on her tummy, ull stetched owt.

She was totalli silent but soon fownd a cocki gag fill her mof cunt enewey.

"How duz that feel, cindi? Try mooving and see if you can."

She tryd 2 moove but fownd that she had no where 2 go.

"Ohhhh, the bimbo cannot move et ull! How duz it feel cindi to have no cuntrol et ull?"

Cindi sed nuttin. She jus suckd away on her gaggi.

"Now, cindi, onnir has his cane and cindi needz 2 get sum correkshin with the cane. Onnir is just going 2 warm you up."

As he warmed her up, she nestled down in2 that place she went when ull cuntrol had been removed. But, as he began 2 bring da cane down hardr n hardr, she wood stop suckin 4 a moment and try 2 verbalize her reakshin 2 dat.

"Cindi, listen 2 onnir: Think of wun of those pikkiz on your tumbler site. Pick your favorit pikki, cindi and focus on dat. Think, cindi! Have you got the pikki firmly in your mind?"

She instantly tot abowt da pikki of da gurl suckin on da man's cocki, and da udder man feelin her pussy cunt, and da udder persun beehind her caning her bare bottom and making strypz. She luvd dat pikki soooo much!

She nodded her head and began to sucki beri vigorously.

"Good, cindi! Now letz get down to bizness."

He brought down his cane with vigor, time after time and she suckd away wif all her might, wif her favorit pikki in her mind, just as she had been told 2 do.

"Beri gud, cindi."

She soooo obeedient!

It

Have you any idea how much It tinglz?
Can you understand how much It stirs to receive a cummand?
Will you ever know how It revels in the tango danced?
How It delightz in the feast of frivoliti and fun?

To be known only as It , all of It;
more than It could ever have asked 4.

Who needs to change?

Five years ago, on that evening when I asked my husband to spank me for the first time I had no notion of ‘submission’. I didn’t know what a ‘submissive’ was and nor did I have any real desire to live the life of a submissive. Certainly, I knew at that time that I wanted a certain ‘feeling’ in my life; something that I had tasted and found very much to my liking. But, not even knowing that there was a ‘lifestyle’, I could have no sense back then, of what was possible or even if it would work for us.

I recall the first time I seriously wondered about it all as it pertained to me. Abel, my email buddy from England asked me if I was a “submissive”. I didn’t think so, I said, for I didn’t know to what he referred. From that moment I began to read, and the rest of the story, or at least the parts I have shared, can be found on this web journal.

Being married to a dominant man is not easy, or at least that is my experience. It was not easy before I explored and acknowledged my nature, and it is not easy now. And, I think it is important to say that; that there is nothing especially easy about living with a man who wants to do things a certain way; when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them, and if he wants to do them. As much as I might on any one day think I have it licked, something happens to fill me with confusion and upset, and I find myself doubting our agreement. It passes. I believe that is the good news and it is what I hold onto in my darkest moments, but it would be wrong of me, on a web journal where young people or interested people may read, to not acknowledge that there are some very difficult moments.

As my husband has grown older, he has become more and more dominant. As a young man, he always knew what he wanted and how he wanted to go about things. I was never, even in our twenties, able to convince him to do something that he did not want to do. It did not matter if I begged, or cajoled, or was upset, or cried, or sweet talked him, he only did something that he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. I cannot say for certain if that is just him, or if that is the nature of a dominant man, but he has always been assertive and sure of how he wanted to go about things.

He tells me that I was a candidate for marriage because I had a sweet nature and was “soft and kind”. He came to see, he also tells me, that I was more “committed” than he anticipated.

“Sometimes, you just won’t let the bone go!” he says to me.

We have had the most extraordinary weekend. Away from one another for the week, he clearly wanted to show me a good time. We spent a good deal of the weekend together, and I was dominated in the bedroom in all sorts of delicious ways for hours on end. I felt wonderful and savoured every moment of it, from the hard spanking to pay off the “black marks” I have earned to the use of my body in all sorts of devilish ways. As we set off for our walk with the dogs mid Sunday afternoon, I felt totally dreamy and delighted to have my ‘oh so dominant’ man back in my life.

My husband tells me, and he is probably right, that after I have been sexually dominated, I can get “full of myself”. He warned me of this right after we got dressed.

“Now, you just watch your manners! You can get full of yourself after you’ve been shown a good time, and I won’t tolerate any misbehaviour. Do you understand?”

I understood. I had no intention of misbehaving.

Later on, back home, I began to do some gardening. I was tiring and wanting to complete tasks, but not able to do them by myself, I became frustrated. My training is that I should ask for help (nicely, of course) when I need it. Thus, I decided to go and search out my husband and ask for a few moments of his time to lift the heavy bins of garden waste and carry them to the garage for me.

I know full well that it is imperative that I not express any frustration in my voice when I ask my husband for something. He loathes to be made to feel guilty and he feels that it is my role to ask, in a sweet voice, for his assistance. If he can help me at that time, he will. If he can’t, he won’t and I will just have to wait for another time. I am expected to be patient – to be patient for years and years, if necessary.

I am. I am a patient person. And, I have shown patience for years. I have learned to be patient, tolerant and understanding and I think even he would admit that I have given him all the space he needs to do things in his own way, at his own pace, how and when he wants to do them.

But, for some stupid reason, when I asked him if he would please help me with the heavy bins, there was some slight frustration in my voice which he picked up. I got told off for that.

“This evening, or in the morning, I will teach you how to ask for help.”

Well, it was my mistake! I know him well enough that I must ask for help in the right way. So, I took my spanking this morning with good grace.

Or, so I thought. Somewhere deep inside me, there must have been a little bit of rebellion because when he was through, shortly thereafter, I heard myself say

“When is your appointment with the doctor?”

It was a red rag to the bull. He knew he was overdue to see him, that I wanted him to see him, and he considered this an effort on my part to bully him into making an appointment.

So, I got it in the neck!

“When are you going to learn that the more you ask me to do something, the longer it will take for me to do it?”

When my husband really upsets me, I don’t talk back. I go silent. I am just too upset to talk. Nothing upsets him more. The more I don’t talk, the more he will have to say to me about my “behaviour”, and the more silent I get. We reach a point where he feels I am completely to blame and I reach a point where his raised voice and tone becomes the issue in my mind. I can’t settle my mind to acknowledge my wrong doing. It is the classic ‘catch 22’.

Of course, we have lived with one another for over 30 years now and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I am the one who must change. He cannot change and he won’t change. He is completely right. He will do things when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them and if he wants to do them. I must adjust to him; not the other way round.

I have a submissive nature and he has been wonderful in acknowledging it and recognizing my needs. But, make no mistake. A non-submissive girl would never have ‘cut the mustard’ with him. And, that, my friends, is the bottom line.