She only wishes to please

It's a rare thing for a woman to have the opportunity to spill her mind's contents to another person. She knows that if the thoughts are too slutty, it opens her up to correction and castigation. I've been lucky. I had someone who was happy to know all the corners of my mind until one particular day when I was in a very sharing sort of state of mind (when cindi lets loose all bets are off) and I told him about a visualization I had had in group meditation class.

I was in a gorgeous, gorgeous violet colored cave and in that cave I felt incredibly aroused and content. I came to a contained space in the cave and laid out on the floor were a mass of beautifully colored cushions. I laid down naked on the cushions and along came a man, a beautiful man, and he ravished me with kisses, entered me and brought me to climax. I was in a sort of reverie because it had been the most amazing visualization and it really was nothing short of a body and mind climax.

However, I didn't quite get the response I was expecting.

"Well, cindi needz correktin der coz she shood nut hab tots bowt enebodi but her onnir."

cindi studied those words carefully because nothing quite like them had ever appeared on her screen before.

"ohhhhhhh, cindi hab no ideuh hoo dat man. cood onnir or cood nut. He nut hab identiti, no fays. She nut no hoo he, jus wut he did wif cindi."

(something like that, it would be a long haul to find the exact words, but that's the gist of it)

The next time I was asked to share my thoughts about a similar sort of thing I reminded him that last time cindi had been corrected.

"tel mr d"

Cindi did tell and no such correction was again uttered.

Now, fast forward to last night. A doll and I were having a very intimate conversation sharing all sorts of intimacies, as dolls tend to do when they get going. It put me in a dolli frame of mind. It reminded me of how utterly divine it is to be the doll in all her glory; immersed in her happy and slutty, her obedient and completely willing state of mind. I absolutely adored this state of mind. I glowed as the doll. When nothing but 'cindi' this woman who writes to you now in  the English language (needing to correct every second word because she feels the doll within her and really cares not to express herself in English) was the happiest and the most gloriously complete  she has ever been.

It was very late. I had a shower, went to bed and straight to sleep. Sometime thereafter I dreamed. Whatever I dreamed I cannot say, but something happened. My sleeping psyche had merged with the psyche of the doll and some entity was with me, kissing me all over and demanding of me what he wanted. Whatever he wanted was what cindi wanted and it seems he wanted to enter her ass. I semi woke, realizing that I had brought my knees up under me and was making myself available for him. I wanted very much to feel him enter me and I was disappointed when I realized it was just a dream.

However, I wasn't unhappy. For a few fleeting moments I had reached the cindi state of being and I welcomed her like the old and dear friend that she is; the very deepest, darkest,  lightest and best part of me.

 Who was he? I do not know. I only know that cindi wishes to please.

She 
only
wishes
to
please.

Dreams, threats and electric cords

My husband rarely shares his dreams with me in great detail, although I do know when he is dreaming usually because he will inadvertently move or call out and I know that he is chasing off a robber or trying to save us from a calamity or whatever. This morning he wanted to tell me about what he had dreamed. Apparently, he had been whipping me with an electric cord and it had left incredible markings, he said, and I had been crying out begging him to stop. I acknowledged the dream but I didn't ask any questions because I had a sense of what the dream had done to his state of mind.

Unsurprisingly, he soon blindfolded me and the games began. Just before the blindfold went on I took note of the time - right on 9am. And, when he took the blindfold off I noted that it was 12.25. Some dream, huh?

In the midst of such play I am never cheeky. It just wouldn't make sense to be cheeky when one is tied to all four bedposts, or is wearing a tight, tight corset and nothing else, or is being flogged with a flogger, or penetrated with various paraphernalia or having one's breasts sucked or twisted. I simply burrow deep down into a space in my mind where I have no say and what happens, happens.

It was at the 11.30 am mark that I dared to ask if I may know the time. Two and half hours. I had thought it much closer to three hours. I was aware that my patience was starting to wear thin but a word or two out of place, even at the end of a play session spoils it entirely for  him (and thus me) and I kept in my dumdum place through to the very last moment when the blind fold came off. (At one point I asked if the rope around my wrists could please be loosened and another time further down the track I asked if I may please be released from my corset because my efforts to procure enough oxygen felt thwarted, but each time I was extremely polite and patient so no problem there.)

When he had taken off the blindfold and I was starting to rub my eyes to acclimatize to the light he issued a warning. I was not to rebel in any way just because I had been contained all morning. Not a word of cheekiness was to pass my lips all day or I'd find an "electric cord" wrapped around my bum. Do you know, even after all that I almost said, "But, you don't have an electric cord" when I remembered that the iron's electric cord had an issue last year and thinking one day that he would fix it, he kept it in the garage. I recall seeing it there recently and in the nick of time I stopped myself from saying anything. The fun of saying the cheeky comment wasn't worth the risk that his dream was still in his mind. I haven't ever been whipped with such a thing but judging from what happened in the dream, it has a sting that I don't think I want.

If a threat is to be believed and there is a chance it will be carried out, threats can indeed modify a girl's behavior. It doesn't always work, mind you. I've allowed temptation to take me to the dark side before but I have always regretted it; always given myself a talking to as to why I can't push the words back down. Yet, I think I am definitely improving. It's almost time for bed, and I have been an angel all day. There is hope for me yet!

Dirty, dark fantasies

I've been doing a yoga breathing workshop all week that requires me to get up each morning at least 2 hours earlier than I normally do. Since I can't go to bed all that much earlier than I usually do, I am running on a deficit of about 10 hours sleep for the week.  It all must sound like torture but I've really wanted to do this and I have had some outstanding bursts of energy and clear thinking along the way. Today, I mentioned it to my regular yoga teacher and she said she did the breathing for 6 months and kept a journal. Apparently, after a few weeks into the breathing she couldn't bear the smell of alcohol or sugar. Her body was insisting on all things clean.

I can't say that sort of effect has kicked in with me, although I haven't even contemplated a glass of wine this week. However, that's not all that unusual for me and just now I have had a few blocks of dark chocolate, my first sugar for the week after an afternoon nap. I'm not entirely pure yet. Quite the contrary has occurred, I am sorry to say.

What I have noticed is that the sexual thoughts are running amuck; very intense, constant and with no end. I fell asleep thinking them and I awoke thinking them. Fundamentally, it is like a pornographic channel running in my head and nobody can find the controller to turn it off. I hesitate to talk about them and yet I feel a need to expunge them somewhat. If I can't talk about them here, then where? I rather doubt the ancient yogis would approve. I don't think this is the sort of benefits they had in mind at all but it is what it is, and here it is...

I'm in a big room. It's quite grand: think Eyes Wide Shut and that's about right. We've been blindfolded, about a dozen of us. We're naked. We've been told to kneel with our legs under us, so that we can pout our backsides and present our holes. (The word present is an extraordinary turn on for me always.)  Of course, our breasts (the men in charge call them our titties) flop on the wooden floor and we are told to hold our mouth cunts open, as if ready to be fucked. We form a circle and that means that when the man who is looking for a plaything  comes to see us, he can see all the holes easily. There are mirrors all over the walls, you see. There is  no place to hide.

The man we know is showing us off, much as a man might show off his horse to a potential owner,  talking up our good points, encouraging the stranger to notice various aspects of our bodies; broad hips here, a wide ass there, a particularly slutty hole there, and the unknown man is inspecting us closely. He looks more than touches the merchandise but he has stopped by me and is asking the man a question. He wants to know what size anal plug I am using at this time. The man goes to a cupboard and produces a plug of the relevant size and this seems to prompt him to want to inspect more closely.

I can feel his slightly cold hands on my buttocks. (As he requested, we've all been well warmed with a leather paddle so any slight coldness was going to be noticed by any of us.) Now, he's stretching my buttocks apart to look at the slutty hole, running his hands over and in my pussy cunt as well. Modesty would like me to be able to say that my pride is incensed by this but it just wouldn't be the truth. I am wet with anticipation of what this man may do to me should he choose me and the touch of his fingers is divine. I am virtually organismic already.

He makes his decision abruptly and within a moment I am hoisted onto a bench and told to rest in the same way as on the floor; kneeling with my legs under me and all holes accessible. Quickly and firmly I am tied to the bench so that any hope I might have of escaping is completely gone. (As if I would...)

The bench is the perfect height so that when the man releases his cock from his pants it can be easily and immediately placed at the entrance of my ass cunt. (The men use these words repeatedly.) As I feel his cock about to penetrate me he reminds me that I an nothing more than his play thing; his toy; just a hole. If this is meant to insult me or incense me, the ploy has backfired because I don't feel any disagreement in my mind. That is indeed what I am. I've been trained to know my purpose.

He enters me and I gasp with shock. He pulls out of me repeatedly only to thrust again and eventually he rhythmically fucks me, seemingly fucking deeper and deeper into my hole. With each thrust my mind and my body is disappearing into a space; a deep, dark hole of pleasure. The sensations are primal; earthy. I feel that my pussy cunt has expanded to be three times it size and from where the orgasms come it is hard to detect. Is it felt in the ass cunt or the pussy cunt or is the overwhelming pleasure coming from a place and a space so unidentifiable that I  no longer exist and have been carried away to some sort of orgasmic heavenly bliss?

My loud moans and groans are no longer wanted and it seems that the man riding me has asked the other man to fill my mouth cunt with his cock to keep me quiet. I accept the gift of his cock with lusty acceptance and I can only hope that this attention will go on and on; that they will not tire or desire to climax too soon.

Eventually, they must and do. I feel the cum filling my two holes and it fills me with satisfaction. This is, after all, the purpose of the two holes. (Here comes the squirmish part...) One of the men retrieve from the cupboard a jug and my ass cunt is milked of cum, leaving enough inside so that when they fill it with a large plug the rest of the cum will leak down my legs for the rest of the evening. (Our training has demanded that our holes are always scrupulously clean and now I understand why this is so.)

I am untied and made to sit on the hard, wooden stool and to place my hands behind my head. Of course, this leaves my breasts free to be tortured and nasty, tight nipple clips now bite at my nipples. It is just more containment for the plaything. It bites to be sure but there is pleasure in the pain; their devilment is her aphrodisiac. (I'm no longer an I. I'm just she at best; more like it, in fact.)

Just as she is about to pass out in a dreamy sort of head space that is unquantifiable they remove the clips. She screams and her mouth is immediately covered with a man's big hand until the desire to scream passes and she is passive; still. The stranger pats her on the head and tells that she has been a good fuck toy, a very pleasurable doll. She has done well. "Good doll," he coos.

This is enough for her. (Who, in fact, is using who here...?). She is returned to the circle and content in her child pose again, she drifts into a near slumber, eternally grateful that to day it was her turn to be used.

Let there be light

I enjoyed very much reading Haron's excellent post about guilty feelings with regard to embracing one's kinky nature. Long ago I stopped feeling guilty about my kink but I well remember such feelings of guilt. I remember wondering if I should perhaps just return to the way I was; not entirely satisfied with life but at least not having to deal with the guilt. Happily, I pursued understanding myself for all that I am and am delighted to say that guilt about being perverted no longer exists.

It is rather marvellous I must say to read Haron's post having met her so recently and discovering what a delightful and sincere person that she is. Both Haron and Abel surround themselves with the loveliest of people with a similar kink and this morning I found myself thinking that for me, they both represent 'the light'.

The previous statement may make some people reading this giggle for both Haron and Abel can be found role playing most intense (and hot) scenes. If you were to play with them you might find yourself in a old fashioned and sinister reformatory at the turn of the century, punished for the slightest act of disobedience. But, when the scene is over, you may also find yourself down at the pub laughing and enjoying the memories of a great time had by all. I am drawn to that kind of light which is partially an explanation of why I so enjoy their company. There are a lot of laughs to be had and I do so enjoy to laugh!

Yet, the truth is that is my exploration of BDSM in the past couple of years has led me to an exploration of the 'dark side'. I had one of the most amazing nights of my life last night. I had a dream that explored that dark side with a great deal of intensity and clarity. I can't go into it yet. It is too recent to talk about but I distinctly remember my shallow breathing as I held my husband incredibly close.

I remember thinking of him as my light; as my beacon of light in a night of much darkness. I needed much more than for him to hold me tight and protect me from the dark forces. I explored his body with my hands. I kissed him passionately and in his stupor he returned the kiss, took off my pristine new white cotton nightgown from London and fucked me until I begged him to stop. In my heart I knew the dark forces were still out there, but I had been comforted by the light; by the man who was always my beacon of light - a force of good.

I now know exactly why I stray over to the dark side. I am confronted by my own nature to explore that which is the opposite to the light. The clarity of thought in my dream state was illuminating. My mind gravitates to something most would find unacceptable. Lord knows I crave tenderness like any other woman. Yet, the exploration of darkness is a part of my psyche that has risen to the surface and I do not shy away from it.

There have been times in my life when I have needed to walk away; to walk away from situations that I considered dark; to walk back into the light. It was a preservation instinct at work; a respect for myself. I do not have a crystal ball but I wonder if I may now have the strength to embrace the darkness of a soul; to walk towards the darkness unafraid in the hope and faith that within or just beyond the darkness, there lies a special kind of light; a light that is rarely seen by the naked eye; a light that I may experience to illuminate my own state of mind and to take me to places that I somehow feel a need to see and experience.

My journey in the past few years has been built on trust. In one element of the journey there is a form of care, but there is little if anything discernible as tender in the darkness. My question to myself is if I have enough of what I need in reserve to trust that within the darkness, just a little further along the lonely tunnel, lies a special light. Millions would say I was a fool but my instincts, beyond all common sense and the fitness of things is to venture further into the dark forest with faith that what lies within is a transformational and divine light. I may come to my senses and discover that life is really quite wonderful enough living completely in the light. Part of me hopes that I do. Certainly, at the time of writing I have no answer.

My friend

The post that I had written for you yesterday was rejected, and with good reason. It was not good enough. My friend was quite right. So, let me try again to express myself, as befits the occasion.

A submissive woman, if I am any guide, has a way of compartmentalizing her life. I got an enormous ‘kick’ out of being required to write the list of ’25 bad things I had done recently’. I could not complain about the assignment. I had, after all, asked what I could do to repay my friend after I improperly excerpted our private discussion on my blog. He had told me what I could do, and I did it.

In a sense, in situations such as this, one only jumps one hurdle at a time. I hadn’t really thought through to the next hurdle yet. I didn’t await the suggestions of readers with any sort of dread or apprehension, as you might expect. I was enjoying myself. There is no surprise there, I don’t think. But, I just hadn’t taken in the seriousness of the situation. In one part of my mind, it was a game, you see.

A few days went by, and a few suggestions were made, on the blog and more privately. I sort of snuffed them off. Another joke, another laugh, but the concern I felt was buried deep. I still hadn’t tapped into it.

A day or more went by, and I thought it might be safe to ask my friend if I could consider my correction complete. On the pretence of something else, a technological achievement, as a matter of fact, I opened the little window again. It did not take long for the conversation to come around to my correction.

He wanted to know how I would be affected by having 25 pages of my little novel published on the blog. I explained the problems with that outcome. He assured me that although the matter remained unresolved, this was not necessarily a bad thing. The list was good, he said. I was focussing in on this new tone. It was lulling me into a sense of false security. He had paid me a compliment, which I hadn’t expected, and I had been put into that dreamy state that submissive women go when a man tells them they did well.

So, when he told me that I had a choice, to await another idea from my readers or to allow him to decide my correction for the list of bad behaviour, I really did not think twice. It took me no more than a split second to advise him that I would like him to choose my correction. I was deep into my own world. The outside world had stopped existing while I waited for him to type in something. I did not know what he would say, but I can tell you that I never expected him to type in

“25 strokes”.

Although I asked “of what” I knew already that it was “the cane”.

It was surreal. Was this a game or was this real?

At some point of the conversation, only the transcript could tell me exactly when, for it is a bit of a haze now, he typed in

“Are you starting to regret your decision to reach out and chat?”

How can I explain to you the feeling I had coursing through my body? It was the dark side I had gone over to, and yet the dark side was so darn irresistible.

“Me?” I asked.

No, I was not missing this opportunity for the world. Take all my possessions, but leave me with this. I live for this.

“You must be joking.”

The terms were laid down and we said our goodbyes.

The next morning I wrote my post for you, readers, but what I didn’t do was admit how much I relished the conversation; how much I enjoyed reading the transcript again later.

He is one in a million. I knew that the moment I read his words, quite some time ago now. It isn’t that he knows how to press a girl’s buttons, a girl like me, although he certainly does know that. It is that he just is. He is darkness and light. He is sadistic and kind, all at the one moment. He’s my gift.

So, I’ll take my 25 strokes of the cane. It is more than I have ever taken before and I live with my heart in my mouth. I am frightened. I am aroused.