Soul mates

I've a tendency to view my submissive response as part of my desire for peace and serenity in my life.  Whether I am feeling dominance in a physical sense, or whether I am able to sink deep into a meditative trance I am blessed with an arresting of my overactive mind.

It becomes obvious when I am in need of one form of 'therapy' or another. Two Saturdays ago my husband performed a wonderful therapy session for me, providing me with a range of sensations that left me feeling 'objectified', cared for and closely connected to him. I like to feel some physical force, to be in no doubt that he is in control of me and what happens next. This enables me to give into his animalistic desires and to experience a floating feeling. The more he tells me that I am just a sexual object for his 'use', that I'm to do as told, that my holes need to be filled, stretched, fucked, plundered, the better.

Sex is a marvellous therapy but it certainly isn't the only therapy I use. I am blessed to be part of a group where one woman plays her crystal bowls for us for over an hour once every month, and this experience I consider sacred. She focused last time on the bowl that is symbolic of the heart - said that the group dynamic and energy led her back to it again and again - and I knew this instinctively during the meditation because I could feel my heart opening up and a huge wave of empathic feeling wash over me. When I first started going to the group about a year ago I was a little uncomfortable that everybody hugged me, but now I look for my hugs. They are very evolved people, especially the woman leading the group and I draw energy from them. Perhaps they draw energy from me too. I don't really know.

Today, I just knew when I woke that I needed to go to my Tuesday noon meditation group and sit with myself. I rushed through my tasks this morning so that I could get there and sit on my cushion amidst like-minded people. I'd read several days ago now that going to that meditative dark hole that we attempt to reach is like death and thus we should not fear death. The thought resonated with me and I have been using it ever since, finding great solace away from the noise and complexity of my life in that dark, death-like state. The meditation today was one of the best experiences I have had there for a long time, helped, I am sure, by a cooler day. I've passed out before in summer in a small, closed room of meditating people and it is not a fun experience.

I am firmly convinced that we see the world through our eyes and our eyes see according to what we feel inside. If we are unsettled we pick up on the flaws and difficulties and when we are settled we see the flaws and difficulties but they don't seem nearly as important or as close up.  We know we have the strength and resolve to deal with them quietly and calmly.

I've found it to be critical that I speak to or be in places silently with like minded people; people resolute in finding peace in their lives. It has been this way in the D/s/power exchange arena as well. I choose gentle people. One or two of them along the way have been sadists but that doesn't mean that they aren't gentle folk. I adore the feeling of being cared for. In those moments, in play or just thinking about them alone with my thoughts, I get a great welling of love in my soul which feels exactly like a soul to soul exchange. I think there are several pathways to a kind of heaven on earth. It could be riding a bike for 20 miles for some people for all I know. You just have to find the right one for you.

The Devil

"This pain is not to make you sad, remember. Thats what people go on missing. This pain is just to make you more alert–because people become alert only when the arrow goes deep into their heart and wounds them."

Osho

 For all the light and love I've written about for years, there are days when I feel that some sorcerer has scourged my soul such that I am eternally damned to desire to dance with sadistic malevolence.

I might enjoy a movie, get sustenance in sustaining friends and family around my table, take pleasure in a walk through the well-established gardens of the east side, but I am only completely alive when I can tango with a well coiffed vampire, all the time wondering if tonight is the night when he might display his fangs.

To live on the edge, to face my fears, to walk into the arena and offer myself up, this is what thrills me. To be removed from the arena pulsates with pornicious provocation. The devil knows this. The devil uses this against me. The curse that plagues me demands challenge and defies easy. The visitation cannot be undone.

My sighs during the day that disclose the inner need for sadistic stimulation of my spirit are only put to rest when this masochist is in mutual motion with her oppressor.

I want dastardly. I want demanding. I want the devil.

The arrow is securely lodged. I surrender.

Masochistic drive

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect little angel and the wolf

In my writing I'm currently creating a couple of characters. She's a submissive type although she doesn't really quite understand that yet. I pretty much know this character (!) so I don't have much work to do on her.

She's met a man who's actually a really nice guy. He's sweet; romantic; caring; kind. Initially, she was incensed and aroused by this man all at the one moment. He displayed a truck-load of arrogance towards her initially and it made her angry (and hot!). Oh God, but I don't have to explain that to readers in this forum, do I?

However, as she'll come to understand he's also other things as well and only time will tell if he's the man for her.

Now, I've taken a look at a few online quizzes to try to think through my thoughts about this male character and it turns out that he is rather high on the scale of narcissism. That's a bit of a dilemma for me as the writer because first and foremost he's really a very good and well meaning man. I hold onto that central fact as I write and I definitely don't want to let it go.  I'm working on the basis that you can be a good man with a tendency to narcissism at one and the same time. Put it this way. He's a good guy with flaws and he's trying to overcome some of those flaws whilst seeing others of them as strengths which he doesn't intend to do anything about.

Are you still with me?

Right. So, let's look at his traits. He has a strong sense of entitlement. As an example, he might say to himself, "I insist upon getting the respect that is due to me." He would not say, "I usually get the respect that I deserve". Do you see the difference here?

He is exploitative. This is a given. My god, did he exploit her when they met! Whoa! He really deserved a smack across the mouth but you see, she didn't do that. She was up for the game. That's how he knew she was for him. He'd respond to the question, "I find it easy to manipulate people" and not "I don't like it when I find myself manipulating people." So, definitely exploitative.

He's superior. He would say, "I think I am a special person" and not "I am no better or worse than most people."

He's self-sufficient.  He will answer, "I can live my life any way I want" and not "People can't always live their lives in terms of what they want."

He's authoritative. He will answer, "People always seems to recognize my authority" and not "Being an authority figure doesn't mean that much to me."

So, what do you think? Can you be high on the scale of narcissism and still likable; lovable; right for this sweet girl??

What's that? You don't think she is a perfect little angel either????

Well, we'll  just have to wait and see about that. I am, after all, the one writing this story!

What comes naturally

I've a very dear online friend who keeps a fascinating online journal about her thoughts and explorations. Lately, she's become more bold and honest, not just with readers but with herself and she's discovering and accepting things about herself at a fast rate.

In the past few days, she embraced the sadistic tendencies in herself and I think if you read her writing about that , the energy and electricity, the hunger and appetite will be easily discernible. I recognized a persistence, a control and a demanding force that I've read a few times before in sadist's words when they play with a submissive who wants to be played with just as badly. It's the yin and yan of two complementary souls and takes place when the hunger between them is palpable and irresistible.

On reading the post, I sat back and tried hard to find any sadistic tendencies in myself. I thought. And, I thought again. But, nothing. I have absolutely no desire for physical or emotional sadism of anyone. I'm completely unqualified for the job.

And, then I thought, that maybe that 'there's nothing there' feeling  I had is what so many women have if asked to locate submissive tendencies within themselves. They might try to imagine pleasure in being controlled, reduced, spanked, told off, set a task, told to do something they don't want to do and find that nothing is there: no pleasure in those thoughts whatsoever.

Here's a secret: When given a direction, I often question it. Of course, I understand the directive. But, I get such a buzz out of hearing on the other end his slight annoyance at the need for clarification. But, I want to feel the control; the fact that a directive is a directive whether I like it or not; that I'm the lucky one that gets to be directed.

So, the thought of giving a direction to someone does nothing for me and perhaps this is unfortunate on some level, but it is the way it is. We aren't doing something here that we have to work to do. We do what comes naturally; what turns us on and makes us feel complete. We are exploring the length and breadth of our sexuality and that's a good thing.

Relaxing wth strict thoughts

My fantasy life is almost as old as me. Even whilst I was working it 24/7 so that I didn't get into any trouble at home or at school, in my mind the Masters and Mistresses were very strict and quite sadistic and I took the brunt of their committed minds to exact obedience from me, as well as all the other girls.

There are parts of 'Jane Eyre' at the beginning that I would happily fast forward. It is painful (not in a good way) to watch the way they treat her friend and her ultimate death from their lack of care. But, I don't feel the same way about their behaviour when it comes to placing Jane on the stool in the middle of an empty room for most of the day. Yes, I felt sorry for her, of course, but it enacted something in me and I still recall that scene in my fantasies more often than I should probably admit.

My fantasy life is for the purposes of complete relaxation and fulfiment. My thoughts go (just did a few minutes ago actually)  to scenarios that are very cruel in some people's eyes and incredibly politically incorrect. In my dreams 'feminism' is an unknown word or concept and girls are for use; for service. Education is about training them for the life they were born to lead and most importantly, they need to understand and come to terms with the fact that their bodies are for the pleasure of men.

In my educational establishment it is not uncommon for girls to be lectured on the purpose of their bodies; on the purpose for each part of their body. Girls' buttocks, they are told, are round and soft  because they were made for the purposes of correction. A girl could be stroked or paddled and within a few days her buttocks were good as new, back to alabaster white; a new and clean canvass on which to paint again.

A girl, we are told, should receive regular corporal discipline, not just for the purposes of punishment wherein they attend the Master's study for a plentiful dose of the cane, but for the purposes of reminding her that she is designed to serve. A weekly correction on a Sunday evening, immediately after Chapel is the perfect way for a girl to begin the school week; the perfect reminder that it is her duty to carefully listen to all instructions, to speak only when spoken to or when permission is granted and to do her best in all her studies and exams at all times.

It is no mere co-incidence that after we are all soundly strapped each Sunday evening we are sent to sit our bare and very red bottoms on cold, hard seats to write lines. What better way to keep the sting of the strap present in our minds as we write 200 times,

"Young ladies must be obedient, honest and respectful at all times."

The educational establishment of my fantasies is designed to produce young women best suited to become the wives of old-fashioned and up standing men who keep a woman in her place; at their heel and ever ready to serve him in any way they should desire.

It is not an easy training. I would be kidding you if I said that. However, perhaps it will please you to know that the young woman...well, most of the them... come to appreciate their training. It has been said that the students of the boarding house dormitories are never more settled and content than on a Sunday evening tucked into their beds.

Far from finding the school a wretched place they pray one day to leave, they come to have a fondness for and an acceptance of their life there. Diligence is richly rewarded and the young women look forward immensely to the small doses of praise they are given. This is not an everyday event. It is important not to let praise go to a girl's head. But, if their Masters and Mistresses are pleased, this is pleasure enjoy for them. It is a small life, but a richly rewarding one. One by one, this lesson is imparted.

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.

Choosing to struggle

I think I have earned my stripes (little joke there!) as a submissive woman by now. After all of these thousands of words of my thought processes, wants, needs and desires, I think that is a given. Yet, after all this time and all those words I can also say with authority that ceding control is rarely easy for me.

Is this a contradiction in terms? I say it is not. I know that some women take to their submission like a duck to water and all power to them. I am not one of those ducks. I feel internal struggle in about the same quantities as I feel a sense of coming home in being submissive. In other words, I am regularly in internal struggle with the giving up of control. Relinquish it I do, but not without a struggle.

I really do not wish for control, necessarily. I don’t care to be controlling or to boss or to have great responsibilities on my shoulders. I’m not the sort of mother that wants to have her chickens live in the same location as her all their lives, for example. If one chooses Paris, the other London and another New York, so be it. I only want their happiness and satisfaction and I can adapt to their needs. I know how to buy a plane ticket.

Nor am I a fool. I married a man who demands to be in control; not just in terms of our path through life but of the most minor of details. No woman who demanded control of him would last three hours let alone 30 years. Yet, when he instructs me how to do something that I have done thousands of times before perfectly satisfactorily, I can feel my ire rise. Almost always, I bite down on the irritation and allow it to pass without expressing it. I’ve learnt over time that it is not worthwhile to express my frustration. It is a far better outcome for me in the long run to bite down on the irritation and let it pass away. There is nothing I hate more than getting a telling off for being rude at such moments. It only exacerbates the whole getting irritated thing by a country mile.

My husband has learned that when I am agitated or out of sorts it doesn’t do to leave me to fester. These are moments when I need to feel his control to get back my equilibrium and he’ll demand of me something that I don’t want to do. Inch by inch he brings me back to that little space of mine where I find the most comfort – my place, on the bottom. But, I don’t go there, quite often, without a bit of a struggle. I don’t necessarily go there willingly at all. I’ve wondered at times, if there was a photographer there at those moments, could he or she manage to capture that internal struggle?

Of course, I know that I might never get to that happy place of mine without a committed man in my life. Any man who thought, “Oh well, I guess she just doesn’t feel like submitting today...” would not work for me. I need to feel that resolve. There is little that I cannot do now in the hands of a committed and caring dominant.

But, I do have a sticking point and I rather hope that all submissive women do, too. A submissive woman deserves respect and she needs to feel that respect at all moments; no matter what it is she is being asked to do; no matter what is happening to her; and no matter how debased she has become for him in any given moment. I think there is a real risk in this dynamic that a man might forget how essential respect is to a submissive woman. She gives of herself to him, for him and for the betterment of the power exchange they share. If she smells the slightest sniff of disrespect in the air; if she needs to wonder for half a second if he is exhibiting a lack of respect for her, then she will back away for fear that the trust she has put in his hands has been corrupted.

She needs to know with certainty that whilst he will do things that hurt her, he would never want to hurt her feelings. She needs to know with certainty that whilst he will do things that suggest he does not care about her, he will always care for her and want the best for her. She needs to know with certainty that whilst he has sadistic leanings, he would hate to think he has damaged her sense of him as her protector.

I think a submissive woman has a most healthy dose of self-respect. She may crave to submit to a man but when she does so it is with the sure knowledge that she is a confident woman who has given of herself because it is her choice. Should he take her for granted, she may choose again.

Collaboration

A few months ago, seven months actually, a cyberspace friend and I talked about collaborating in a little story. I can't reconstruct how we came up with this theme but as the conversation evolved it became apparent that my job was to get a group of girls out of their relatively comfortable lives and deliver them into the hands of a sadist who would have complete control over them until such time as they were suitably trained for the next stage of their lives.

We talked a little over the next day or two as to how the story would unfold and with each passing moment it was apparent that poor little Vesta was in way over her head. These poor, darling little things were about to undergo a series of trials and it was she who had to lead them there with her pen.

Now, I have written many a story before where a poor l'il thing has undergone a sound whipping or what not, but in all those stories that was me. I was not hurting anybody else. I was only hurting me. In this story, there are no less than twelve young damsels in distress and they can't all be me, now can they?

This has been a dilemma in my mind and I'm sure the dear friend in question long gave up hope of receiving the requisite first chapter of our lurid tale. But, if that is so, well he made a big mistake, didn't he? (giggling madly here...)

For, when he wakes up, what he will find in his in box is the first draft of a story that leads all twelve girls to his door in the one hit (possibly not the best word there!).

There is a quiet, reserved, earnest and intelligent one (that's me) and there's a bold, brassy, beautiful one. And, there are ten others - ranging in size, age, nationality, background and personality.

And, guess what? They have all signed an indemnity clause; all left their mobile phones at homes; all ready to be challenged.

See! Little Vesta isn't a scaredy cat at all. She's up for it. Let's see what the man in question plans to do with his darling dozen...

Yayayayayayayayayayay! This is going to be soooooo much fun!!

Collaboration

The 'collaboration' of a new story is proceeding and the process is, indeed, most enjoyable. Much headway is being made as to the elements of the story and this girl is learning a great deal in these collaborative discussions.

Mind you, collaboration with a sadist can be a bit tricky. Dominant men with a sadistic streak might have a different notion of the word 'collaboration' than a wee little thing like me with a submissive nature. But, that's okay. I think I can hold my own. (He smirks as he reads this. He says to himself, he has only just begun. She is in for the ride of her life...)

Of course, I can't tell you the contents of the story as yet. But, I think I can tell you that these sadists are a shifty, conniving lot. The things they do to girls! And, all for their own good, apparently! Or, is it, all for the sadist to get what he wants. Or, is it both?

The correct answer is (d). All of the above. For you see, my dear readers, it all comes down to trust. Sure, the dear sweet girls have their trials to bear. But, this is a growth opportunity and who would want to miss one of those? They must learn to trust him and trust him they eventually will. If he should use nasty tricks and clever deeds to secure their success, such is the nature of dominance. They will learn to respect that.

I ask myself, 'But, is the sadist enjoying the experience?' What do you think?

Oh! Were you wondering if sweet submissive me was enjoying herself, too? I'm having a blast!