Sexual appetite

Sexual appetite is awakened by some display of taking charge; perhaps a blindfold, feeling rope on the body. As the rope criss-crosses the body, across and under my breasts, either side of my pussy lips and firmly on my asscunt, I can feel my mind awaken to the tight control, like a flip has been switched 'on'. On this occasion, he pulled back the bed covers and told me to sleep. It's been a stressful few days with the ill health of one of the children to deal with and the rope aided me to sleep within seconds.

Upon waking, it felt like someone had lit a furnace deep within me. My body desired use. I don't mean intercourse exactly. My desire was to meet with an appetite that matched mine. I didn't really want a 'husband' but rather something more akin to a 'beast'. Grunts, groans, slaps; moving me around with vigour; getting at me and doing with me what a beast does with his prey.

The appetite is deep within my psyche. I not only want to be fucked. I want to feel at the mercy of the lascivious predator. I want to feel fear at the back of my throat. I want to be submerged in a gnawing hunger.

When this happens a sense of completion and satisfaction overtakes my being such that it feels like I am on a high; a levitation of sorts which allows me to float through the rest of the day or the following day, depending on the time this has taken place. It is wise not to leave me in charge of money on this day because my head is mush. Mistakes have been made on this day that have been costly!

For the next few days, the furnace will restart all over again and all on its own. I'll awaken from sleep with a burning need to reach orgasm again. This will happen over and over until the embers slowly begin to burn out and I'll start to think of something else; stop fixating on the feeling between my legs and the thoughts running through my head.

The argument could be made that the problem is that I am greedy because, alas, loving 'intercourse' will never be enough. I really do need to express the whore that resides in me.

Kinky sex

I've been feeling different lately, as if there is change afoot that I don't have any control over; movements in my psyche that are so subtle that I can't quite 'catch' them. It could be related to the fact that I have some seasonal hayfever and thus feel a bit 'out of it'. It could be that my days have been a bit different lately in that I have had an opportunity to catch up with life in the past week or two and so have had more time to 'think'. Or, it could be that I really am changing.

Not everything has altered. I still have all the same sorts of fantasies and daydreams as usual. I'm still remarkably helpless in them; subject to the whims of authority figures, and those people aren't getting any more leniant. Yesterday, to make sure that I understood that there was nowhere to run to, the Master in charge of the 'bimbo school' suggested to my father that he whip me soundly before my father left me there, so that I understood that what happened at that institution was at his behest. There was nobody who didn't want me well trained, and strictly disciplined. There was certainly no place to turn for some leniency.

My practices haven't altered either. In fact, they are more 'set in stone' than ever. I don't do what I do at anybody's behest. I just happen to sleep better, for one thing, with an anal plug in place. I feel more 'grounded' that way. All those sorts of practices are so ingrained that I simply handle those things myself with barely a 'dominant' word spoken at all. It's akin, I suppose, to a dominant wanting a girl to wear a corset, or to run daily. It's something that I do now without thinking about it or needing to be instructed.

Well, then, I can hear your mind asking, what has changed? Well, it is not just one thing. It didn't happen on Friday night with a bang, without some prior thought on the matter, but on Friday night I bought tickets for us to see John Turturro's Fading Gigolo and I absolutely loved it. I adored the music, a big part of the feel of the film. There was no power exchange involved. There certainly was no spanking or overt (rough) control, though there was a little kink. Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara wanted a three-some with Fioravante, as you do.

The really sexy thing about the film is that Fioravante is such a caring, sensitive, non judgmental dude. He knows what a woman wants. He can sense it and he goes about giving it to her, whether it is wild, orgasmic sex or simply soft caresses. He's got that special antenna for a woman's needs and he knows how to make a woman feel beautiful. He provides the safety to allow her to release her fears and unleash her vulnerability. He allows her to be fully present with him, to release inhibitions and to trust him. He's quiet; contained; a little mysterious. He's just right, and I almost went to see it again alone today. He's that special.

I've been known for enjoying degradation and my demise. The fantasies tell me that nothing has changed here. I still do get great joy, pleasure and release from such situations. However, I think there is a proviso on that. Just because I love that and crave that doesn't mean that I don't want to feel beautiful, don't want to be told that I am beautiful and don't want to feel that I am cared for. Call it 'after care', perhaps. Or, consider the fact that before I can "unleash the vulnerability" I need to know that all is well in the relationship. I need to feel that special something that enables a woman to feel safe. If that's missing, so is the desire really; the desire to get lost in that space.

For a while there, I felt that I needed to be a sort of 'pin up' type of woman. I didn't always feel myself. I struggled a bit with my own look and the sort of clothing that suited my life. On one level it felt great to have something of a dress code, but more and more I've felt the desire to return to a look that is simply my own. The good part is that all those items in my wardrobe that didn't make me feel good have gone. There's nothing left that is too conservative or, on the flip side, too young for me. What's left is clothing that works for me, on any given day and for any particular event. This includes some pants.Yes, it is just a few pairs of pants that hang in my wardrobe, but they make an appearance on a winter Saturday morning when I'm on the way to watch a soccer game or to have some breakfast with family. I'm no longer trying to fit into some male image of what a woman with a healthy libido looks like. I'm just operating from my own sense of myself and what works for me in my life.

In their heart of hearts, no matter the denial that may paper over such thoughts, every woman wants to feel beautiful. Every woman wants a man to tell her she looks beautiful. It's not so much what she wears, or the number of kilos or pounds that she carries, but the love she feels in her heart; that inner glow that comes when a woman feels wonderfully engaged with a man (or a woman); when he fulfils her and adores her and wants her. Erotic experiences do this for a woman. It's deeply and profoundly sustaining to be shaken to one's core; to be reduced to a wild female beast of a woman; to be fucked. A woman simply can't wipe the smile off her face when that happens. I know when I am most happy. I am most happy when this happens. I feel most at one when this happens. The only question on my mind is, 'when can it happen again?' 'When I do get to feel this alive again?'

So...maybe it's not kink that I so very much want to be a part of. Maybe, I don't so much need to be controlled. Maybe, I just want to feel my sexiest best. Maybe, I just want to be truly fucked. Or, maybe that's too simplistic an answer for a woman as "complicated" as me. As I said, it is just a thought; not at all sure if it a passing one or if something is more permanently afoot. Time will tell.

Doll returns

Perhaps the more people we know, the richer the life. It's possible. I'm open to the idea that every interaction can have value and meaning, however fleeting. However, I wonder, if you look at your lives closely, you might discover that there are only a handful of relationships that mean everything to you.

Even in those relationships and my guess is that you have a deeply caring and sharing relationship with those people, you need to tread relatively carefully. If you want to try to persuade and convince, to teach and instruct, to influence in positive ways, you need to be a skillful navigator of the human psyche. Come towards that person in the wrong light or using inappropriate words and the best of intentions go up in a cloud of smoke as they become defensive and close down.

It strikes me that the greatest asset at our disposal is our own self-control; the ability to pause and reflect before choosing words; to come at any matter with intention in order to effect a positive result.

I don't divide people into 'dominant' and 'submissive' when I speak of self-control because on both sides of the ledger, we need abundant self-control as well as to begin with the end in mind.

One of the goals of exploring the power exchange relationship was to improve my own self-control and I had that goal for various reasons, but all roads led to the fact that I wanted to have a positive influence on other people, but I didn't have all the tricks of the trade. I needed to learn to control my temper, anxiety and emotions , to pause and reflect when I didn't get the responses I was wanting and expecting, mainly because I let my temper get in the way.

Capturing and containing the doll is an effective way for me to be held in a small space where my responses are limited and expectations very clear. The doll has rules that make it almost impossible for her to break away from her place, not that she would want to do that anyway; just saying.

Cultural theories I may have studied, 'reading against the text' I may have done but absolutely nothing sustains me more than expressing that mindset and honing deep into the psyche of a happy, slutty fucktoy. Of course, it's not just that she (it?) may emerge and run free that creates the sense of enormous well being and happiness, but that there is interchange. Nothing is more doll enhancing than running up against control, expectations, appreciation and enjoyment of the object-state.

If you had the ability to observe my spirits soar,  my mind and body relax, the softness of being that is appreciated by all who interact with me when the doll has come out to play, you'd be completely convinced, Feminist, cultural theorist, academic and/or  naysayer of role play and BDSM that this is a very good thing.

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.

The doll's free flowing thoughts

It can be awfully easy on a blog such as this to make statements that don't hold up in reality. We're so often in an erotic sort of zone when we read and write. It can be awfully easy for statements to roll off the tongue.

A spanking a day sounds nice

She would wear her plug every morning and all through the night.

She would only wear dresses and skirts.

I want to feel tightly contained.

However, life isn't like that all the time. I am not like that all the time.

In the olden days when I had a mentor he had certain expectations of me and they involved doing things every day. Sometimes, it all seemed so easy and other times I'd rail against it. To this day I have no idea if he really expected me to accept those every day ultimatums. I am after all, human.

I know I bucked. I'd try to discuss it with other Dom friends. They'd walk the line of explaining that he did mean it but he didn't mean for me to look into the abyss and imagine that for the rest of my life I'd be doing this, just like as a dieter you don't look into the abyss and imagine never eating sugar again. You take things day by day. You eat an elephant one bite at a time.

That helped. I tried to take it day by day but even then I felt resistance. We'd be talking and he'd have his expectations and some days, in spite of my best intentions, I'd explain that I was feeling "bellyus". He'd quietly push and then when that didn't work he'd push harder. What he didn't do was relent and in the end, fearful of tapping into his anger, I'd accept my fate.

I appreciated (and needed) this push; this insistence that the rule remained. However, what I came to see and accept rather late in the day was that I always had at my disposal the opportunity to argue my point of view. If the argument was made well and the line of defense accepted, there was room within the rule for an exception. (Realistically, I rather doubt it would have worked to do this except in very rare and exceptional circumstances.)

When something works on an everyday basis, really truly works, there is no need for exceptions. I'd hardly ask for an exception for the rule about acrylic nails, now would I?

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the fact that I am responsible for the household. It is set in stone.

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the rule that I must speak politely. I know all too well the response that a lack of respect earns me, at home or on the Internet.

But, some rules are not so ingrained and maybe they never can be. What I was being asked to do is very hard on a day by day basis. If you add into the equation the presence of the Dominant making it happen, then I think it is entirely possible. But, my husband isn't inclined to make happen what he doesn't see himself as do-able or necessary. There's no-one to insist; no-one for whom the rule is entirely necessary. And so, it is not achieved on a daily basis any more. Whom am I  pleasing? If I am pleasing no-one then why should I do something that requires sustained effort and will?

Yet, if I don't do the task on a daily basis, it is I that is the loser in this equation. I cannot enter into the doll's state of mind without doing that thing daily. Without that task achieved where is the 'on' switch?

I grapple with this; find it endlessly difficult to know that I must do this thing without the Dominant's desire being expressed; must do it by myself; for myself; alone.

Is the doll still a doll alone; without a dollmaker; a puppeteer to bring the doll to life? Is there a value to her simply to know that she exists; that she lives and breathes within the realm of the doll house, ready and wanting; available and prepared?

Of course, there is, there is. But, should she abdicate her responsibilities there is no one to check; no-one to care and she wonders, if no-one is there to see her or speak with her; if she cannot impress or please or give pleasure, is she really alive?

She can feel her heart beating. She is just a heartbeat away from rising to the surface; from bubbly over with pleasure and joy. She is always there; wanting to come out; sitting just below the surface; waiting...waiting...

How much I wish to see her, breathe her air, immerse myself in her, be her. How much I envy her. I've seen her happiness; her joy; her bliss; her sexual satisfaction and profound love of life.  Gosh, but I miss her.

The Patriarchal voice

The patriarchal voice is the voice that refers to the rules and philosophy of the patriarchal system. To keep it simple, when speaking of the patriarchal system we might otherwise say, 'It's a man's world'.

I think you can argue that part of this philosophy handed down from generation to generation is that femininity is inferior to masculinity. Sometimes, women decide to mimic men's behavior because they determine that to live in a man's world, they have to play by the rules and femininity won't get them where they want to go. Thus, they put restrictions on the feminine.

The patriarchal system is not just inclined to see femininity as inferior. It is as damaging to men as it is to women because under the patriarchal system, men must play by the rules as well. It is difficult for men to express their vulnerability and their emotions because it has been thought that's not expressing strength or leadership; those skills strongly supported by the patriarchal system.

This patriarchal voice is contained within us. We take those messages in from society and we carry them within us. This voice speaks to us and effects our decision making and our behavior, often in subliminal ways. I don't profess to understand the dynamic of this voice as it effects all decision making we do but I was struck by some statements in my friend's notes on this subject.

She writes that when the patriarchal voice is suppressed or disowned it continues to live on in our lives in a dis-empowering way. This energy can come to us from a person outside of ourselves who carries that patriarchal energy and may treat us badly. A boss or a partner may use that energy and the result could be judgmental statements, an authoritarian stance, a lack of feeling or respect for others or an inflexible point or view. Both men and women may have a patriarchal voice. Women can make harsh judgments about other women just as easily as a man can make a judgment of a woman. (think: witches of Salem, perhaps)

The inner patriarch is used to leading and directing and thus, my friend concludes, if we were to give away that energy to someone else, we lose ourselves. She gives the example of a client who was a people pleaser  to the point where she lost her 'self". Her patriarchal voice had been disowned and thus manifested itself in two men - her husband and her business partner - who belittled her, negated her actions and devalued what she brought to their lives.

You might start to get the feeling that I am struggling to put these thoughts together and come up with something that makes sense to me. I think what my new friend is getting at is that her patriarchal voice silenced her and allowed her husband and even her children to make decisions on her behalf that led to a great deal of pain. She became a victim to that patriarchal voice. Other people ruled her with a iron fist and she allowed that to happen.

My friend had a patriarchal voice within her that constantly reminded her of her inadequacies as a mother, a wife, a daughter. To become successful in the world she took on patriarchal energy but she lost her femininity. Eventually, she realized she could be feminine and still powerful. She discovered she could use her femininity powerfully.

I'm still cogitating about this but I can say with certainty that my goal is to use my femininity powerfully. My husband sometimes refer to a scale of femininity and I happen to be on the furthest end. I have been a victim to a voice within my head that feels it best to put other people's needs ahead of my own, often needlessly. I'm about to jump in the car to go to a screen writing lecture that I want to go to even though it is over the dinner hour - a big move in my life!

So, I've sometimes allowed myself to be the victim of a patriarchal kind of thinking in the sense that I have felt it my responsibility to ensure everyone's comfort and satisfaction ahead of my own, as if my needs were unimportant in comparison to theirs. I'm not sure if this is patriarchal thinking that I gathered from society at large or just that it seemed easier and better to put my needs secondary to others and thereby ensure the smooth running of life. I'm not entirely sure why I took that to extremes. It just seemed to work that way.

Embracing my femininity in the form of allowing my sexuality to be front and centre in my life is certainly empowering for me and to that end I have been brave. We live and learn.   As I read more of what my friend has written my thoughts may change. One thing I can say with certainty is that she is happy and at peace now finally and her thinking about this inner voice appears worthy of more exploration.

The vital ingredient

My husband's desire for BDSM containment practices waxes and wanes. The times he binds me in some way are rare and tend to relate to a time when I am "used". I'd prefer it otherwise. I love those evenings when he comes into the bedroom and I am already in bed and he ties my wrists together for the whole night, for example. He might go back to his study for a few hours but the benefits for me are considerable, even when I am alone. I sleep extraordinarily blissfully when constrained in some way and I get the pleasure of being sexually aroused all night but without anything that I can possibly do about it (sort of). For reasons that can't be well explained, the fact that he has chosen to do this for me and to me fills me with a deep sense of being loved.

Every now and then, he ties my wrists together and then my ankles and then some rope between my wrists and ankles. In this way, I am in the foetal position on my side, my left hand side if you prefer more detail, and in this position and after several hours, I am not at all comfortable. Yet, I am entirely comfortable really, comfortable in my discomfort and I find this position deeply, deeply arousing. I sleep well but fitfully. I drift in and out of a sexual sort of consciousness whereby I am aware of every fibre of my being. My head is full of sexual sensation but not a thought can really be produced. I am simply, a sexual object.

Maybe only a handful of times, he has bound my whole middle section of my body, just as Popeye did for Olive Oil, round and round my body with the rope. This is quite marvellous. I get to watch him at work, which I love. From a farm and an able seaman he is perfectly at home handling rope and I find watching him quite hypnotic.

Busy as he is, occupied with many business projects at once, I rather doubt that he has much notion that I would dearly, dearly loved to be tied up and that tonight would be good. I don't think that thought has entered his radar. I know, and I know full well that I would only need to walk into his study later this evening, or mention to him on the couch when we have a cup a tea after dinner that I would love to be all tied up in bed this evening and he would do this for me. If I were to ask nicely...not complain that it has been a while or anything vaguely closely to any sort of criticism...I feel almost certain that he would do this for me. My happiness is something that he wants for sure.

And yet, I cannot guarantee you, sitting here at my desk in amongst making the dinner that I can do this. It seems agony to have to ask for the things I want. I can't think of anything harder. What's hard about it, you may well ask.

May I please have a spanking?
Would you please bind my wrists together tonight?
Could you please come to bed and use me?

They are simple sentences. I don't think he would say "no" especially since he knows how hard it is for me to ask him for these things.

But, why? Why is it so hard?

As irrational and just plain dumb as this is going to sound, I am going to say it anyway. The reason I find it almost impossible to ask for anything is because in my heart of hearts I believe that if he loved me enough, he would do these things for me without me needing to ask for them. He would be aware of the distress it causes me for him to not do them and he would come to me of his own volition and contain me; correct me; love me. When he doesn't come to me to do those activities that I associate with love and care, I feel abandoned and rejected. To come to him is to acknowledge that abandonment and intense vulnerability that it is to be me.

Yes, those feelings would disappear the moment he resolved the situation by responding to my request. Yes, I can resolve non-compliance by "getting off my bimbo haunches and executing", for example. But, I often feel on my own and on my own it can be easier to wallow in a sense of lack of love than it can be to solve the problem. I like to be forced to do things because I interpret the force as love and care. He cares enough to enforce the requirement. I matter. I matter to him.

On the weekend my husband spanked me quite firmly and shortly after that in the car on the way to do an errand together he said, "You really liked that spanking, didn't you? It has settled you." I am not great at talking to him about my responses and I simply said, "I haven't made a secret of the fact that spankings make me happy." The spanking did indeed carry me through the day happily. Even being told to mind my manners makes me feel loved (so long as he is not angry with me. I deplore anger directed at me.)

This incredibly profound sense of vulnerability inside of me has roots so deep within my psyche that I can tap into them but do nothing to alter them. I am capable of feeling enriched; loved; adored; wanted but at the same time I can question what is lovable about me. It is a horrible sense of being unworthy; different; not good enough that I fight with most days.

Then, I am used or corrected or contained; loved; and the sunshine comes out. I beam with pleasure; find love and light in everything I see and touch; feel an immense sense of love inside of me and surrounding me. I feel worthy of the attention and love.

This 'asking' business is that important; a skill I must hone. Nothing could be more important to my state of mind.

Feet on the ground

For reasons I can't quite tap into, I haven't had a great desire to talk about our holiday. But, the simple fact is that it was divine - three whole weeks to spend with just my husband: no kids, no responsibilities, no house to keep, no extra curricula activities. We made love over and over and there was  one particularly memorable morning where it seems that my moans and groans that spanned an hour and half were overheard. The Canadian husband shared that information with us over dinner once he realized that it was we who occupied the apartment closest to the pool. Oh well!

Of course, it is not always that easy to put one's feet on the ground - to get on with the business of daily living: school runs and messy kitchens and needing to put everybody else's needs in front of your own. I do understand the process of accepting the mundane again after such a dreamy, ideal time. Having said that, I find myself particularly out of kilter this morning and I don't like that feeling one little bit.

What I do know is that when I feel that way, I need to put my house in order and I mean that quite literally. I need to make it appear orderly and in that way, I feel more in control.  So, I have done that but the restless feeling remains. Right now I should be having a late breakfast, or an espresso and a little bun in Radda, or Castellina in Chianti or in Sienna or Rome... Or, I should be being used, just wallowing in the glory of being used; fucked and fucked and fucked.

I think my body became used to daily use and not just for a few minutes but for hours. I think I became used to a little life with just my husband and me and the strangers we met. I think my taste buds became acquainted with crusty, thick Italian bread and ripe tomatoes and mozzarella cheese and wine. Lots of wine.

We are both feeling the loss; both talking about the next trip; both wondering why we have to work; to think. He's missing his rented Mercedes and zooming around all those corners. He asked for prosciutto when I went to the market yesterday. I'm missing the Tuscan hills; the sounds of guns in the still morning air and I am missing the changing of colour of the trees that must surely be taking place now. In my mind's eye I see the monastery we visited and  already the leaves on the grape vines must surely be witness to reds and oranges. How lovely it would have been to have seen that.

Of course, I am fiddling here while Rome burns. I simply must start that assignment. But, what a bore it is to be so responsible! Exactly how old do you have to be to be reckless and carefree and do as you please?

I know. I know. This feeling will pass. But, when?

Her

Why do I write in this journal? I write here because I want to reach my soul and I hope to reach another soul; perhaps many souls. Communication that comes from one soul and reaches another soul is what my writing is about.

I want to say what few do. I want to express my drive towards some unknowable thing. I want to reach deep into myself and find out what is true and unchanging. I want to reach the real me.

Yet, the real me frightens me and sometimes I have to back away from her. She is such a greedy, demanding slut. She wants what she wants and she wants it when she wants it. She is no submissive. She demands. Give me. Give me. Give me. That is her mantra.

So I try to back away from her. I try not to give her air. I try to smother her with talk of good submissive qualities; to care about the other.

No matter what I do that harlot rises up. Fuck me. Love me. Pay attention to me. Brush my hair. 

“You are meant to say please,” I tell her. She looks at me like a little girl caught out and you can see her brain working. The clever bitch knows how to work people and in her sweetest little girl voice she says, “Pleeeeeze brush my hair.”

There’s no stopping her. There is no keeping her locked up. She beguiles. She bewitches. She demands. She pleads. She does whatever she needs to do to get what she wants. The submissive part of her personality is a bit of a hoax. She is no submissive that one. She is just a greedy, selfish, brazen whore.

Well treated

It is several months ago since the day that I walked into my doctor's office - at least six months ago actually - and said that I couldn't get control of my emotions; that I felt that I just needed to talk to someone about what I was going through. He'd never seen me remotely, vaguely like that. I had always been in control of myself; always knew what I was doing and how to do it. He made note of the new me.

He listened for a while, thought it a good idea that I see someone and had me go home and do a specific online test that would give him direction to make out a "treatment plan" for the psychologist. I did the test purposely whilst my emotional state was raging. I wanted the results to be entirely honest.

Yet, even in that state, the little weird questions thrown in at odd moments were perfectly clear to me:

Do you ever feel that a voice is talking to you? No.

And later,

"Do you feel that you are under any body's control?"

If I answered "no", there were would be no repercussions. If I answered "yes" they would think me slightly mad. I answered "yes". I did feel under some body's control. I was emotional enough not to lie about that.

A few days later, I returned to my doctor to hear him tell me that I was suffering anxiety and that some of my thoughts were perhaps "paranoid". Here we go. Silly, truthful me.

At the psychologist's office, I was subjected to the scrutiny of dozens of questions all trying to get at my sense of things that I was being "controlled". Who was trying to control me and why did I think that way? This was getting a little out of hand.

I told her I knew what this was all about; that I was in a state that day; that I felt that I sometimes had to do things that I didn't necessarily want to do and that I answered the question that way fully aware that there would be questions about it (and made a mental note to say "no" to all such questions when they asked me to take the online test next time).

The fact is that whilst the therapy has assisted me in many ways, enabling me to talk more than anything else; to talk through issues as well as to explore on my own modes of thinking that may not have been beneficial to me, I was never really able to speak to her about the fact that I was being trained as a doll, that I wanted to experience that and that I was intensely aroused by such thoughts. I was never really able to speak to the issues surrounding my sexuality and the enormous sense of power, happiness and contentment I felt in "letting go" in that way. I was never really able to speak to the fact that I was being strongly encouraged to want what the 'dollmaker' wanted; that his wants became my wants; that his wants became my needs; that in fact he was simply bringing to the surface my own internal desires. I simply knew too well that she was writing down what I said and to her intellectually trained mind it was going to sound oh so "unhealthy".

So, I skirted the issues; spoke of my "submissive bubble" and my contentment therein and discovered that her goal became to break the bubble somewhat and encourage me to be more assertive; that the bubble was okay in the bedroom but not elsewhere. I found myself monitoring things to suit all parties. It was becoming hard work. It was useful. I won't say that it wasn't useful but in the end was I simply giving to her what I felt she wanted to have, too?? Ever the good submissive...

Off the top of my head (and I am typing incredibly fast here) I can't explain exactly how the therapy helped me. She said to me the time before last, "I don't have the answer" so I don't think even she could explain exactly how I was helped. But, I was helped. I was steered in certain directions and seeds were sown in my head that enabled me to feel in control of myself; relieved of my anxieties. I recognized my flaws, I suppose; was able to see clearly that I do experience some anxiety and I felt more able to handle it when it did crop up. I recognize it for what it is now and I self-soothe, primarily. If I am feeling particularly able, I ask for what I need - love and attention - and I feel particularly proud when I am able to do that -  a key goal  of my bimbo training, in fact!

The last few years of my life have been so intense, so rich, so challenging, so full of growth, I think I just needed a time out to digest it all and to figure out the lay of the land. Even the therapy at times was intense and believe me, there were days when I wanted to make the call and say to the psychologist I was done now. Thanks, and ciao! She could really annoy me, but I stuck with it and it is probably good that I did.

I think she feels she's done a good job and I would say she has done a good job. But, here's the rub. I'm still the dolli inside. I still prefer to wear dresses and skirts. I still think of my body as a thing to be used (as often as possible please!). I still fantasize in much the same way as I have done for years and I still feel most whole, most complete when I have been nothing more and nothing less than 'the doll' with zero control, inside or outside the bedroom. But, that is going to have to be our secret because if she knew what we knew, it just wouldn't be at all good.

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.

Tik tok goz da clock

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

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

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

Waitin.

Tik tok. Tik tok goz da clock.

Ene hoo wanna pley?

Giving and receiving

A significant component of my 'training' has been to let go of anxiety; not to worry unduly. And, for that, I am truly grateful. I am given periods of time where I need not worry at all. The daily concerns of life, practical matters, are not appropriate for me and I am instead focussed on pleasure. My service is in being joyful and focussed on pleasure and in this way, I serve. I do not so much 'give' as the other 'takes' - feeds on my joy and pleasure and in doing so, finds his own pleasure and joy. It works divinely well.

I have come to realize that I am the product of two overly anxious parents. My father was a restless soul who felt obliged to worry about large and small matters in equal measure. But, in comparison to my mother, he was quite relaxed. That was not so obvious to me when they were both alive since it seemed that my father expressed his dissatisfactions and my mother did everything she could to satisfy him. If he was happy, she was happy.

Simce his death, it has become apparent that he did an excellent job in keeping her on an even keel. If she worried about something he might dismiss the concern, assuring her that it was all under control . And, his dismissal of the concern was all she needed, I now realize, since she did 'drop it' at his insistence.

But, now that he is gone, her anxieties are there in all their glory with no one to set her straight. She is staying with me at the moment and I experience her mind flitter from one thought to the next without any reason or rythme. One minute she worries that the dogs need to be walked and no sooner do we do that than we are obsessing about some governmental decision or action. Immediately after we get home from an afternoon of shopping she asks me what is for dinner, who will get the wood, where the children are and what is the plan for tomorrow. 'Resting' her restless mind is something that she does not do.

She is incredibly kind and well meaning but her natural inclination is to micromanage and to see her way of thinking as the 'right' way. It is rare for her to not talk. Frankly, it exhausts me (hence this post, which is my 'time out' for the day) and I find myself wondering if there is something, anything at all, to encourage her to just relax and let go. I know that I am 'whistling Dixie' on this score and that we will all run around pleasing her on any number of tasks in the hope that she might reach a point where all anxieties are satisfied and she is totally relaxed. I do wonder if, without my father alive, it will ever happen.

Women are such multi taskers; running about pleasing their men and families; desperately wanting everybody to be happy that they forget they can overdo it. Sometimes, people want nothing more of them than to just relax and stop worrying: to simply 'let go'.

I initiated a conversation with my husband in the car recently, worried about a financial matter.

"Leave it to beaver. That is my job."

And, he was absolutely right. Our pact is that I do not worry about matters that are in his domain. What is the point of my worry? I cannot change a thing.

I am, thankfully, well trained enough these days to recognize that I experience my own share of anxiety; immensely eager for those I love to be happy, healthy and enjoying life. But, I have come to accept what I can and cannot effect in life. Most importantly, I have come to see the enormous merit in taking time to let go of all earthly worries for periods of time. The 'practical life' no longer exists and for an hour or so, I am simply a 'thing' - an object of pleasure who provides those special others in my life with an abundance of joy.

Born with a racing mind that is not just a relief. It is the greatest of blessings. Nourished, I may again return to the world and fulfil all my roles; content that my inner self has found expression. Joy, I have discovered is the gift that keeps on giving for the more I experience it myself, the more of myself I can give.

Sexual explorations

Sex is a significant part of my power exchange relationship. In essence, a power exchange is an expression of one’s sexuality along with one’s nature. A submissive looks to sexually submit and a dominant looks to sexually dominate. My need for satisfying sex with my husband, however, is not only about maintaining the connection with him but also with providing me with a life force obtainable in no other way. I am fully aware of myself as a sexual entity and I have a strong desire for my body to be serviced as well as to be of service to him.

I’ve spoken before about my response to reading ‘The Story of O’. It was as if someone had taken a match to an unlit fire and very soon the heat was overpowering. The images that the words evoked for me in numerous scenes brought to life a part of me that I barely knew existed. For years and years, even now, I only need to read a passage to feel a desire for sex that comes from the pit of my soul. The alteration of her wardrobe such that O was more available to Sir Stephen, the use of all her body for his pleasure (and hers), the acceptance of his commands without complaint, her willingness to accept physical correction are all features of her training that leave my body ready and wanting a sexual encounter of my own. In those moments of reading the words (or later just thinking about it), I have become the girl and revel in my own demise.

I liken that response to the sub space (which can last for months or even years), when a woman unearths her submissive side. I suspect I am not alone when I say that unearthing that aspect of one’s nature creates a sexual drive which appears to have no end. One climax simply leads to the desire for the next climax. I recall that my sexual appetite was voracious and there eventually came a time when, deliriously happy as he was, my husband rejected my latest advance citing utter exhaustion and a desperate need for some sleep.

Of course, there are periods when one gets on with life but I am never truly completely happy in my skin unless my sexual drive is high and I am aware of my body as a sexual object. I want to be aware of my primal drive and need for sex in a lusty sort of way; not something that my husband can unearth but that is there on the surface. I know the submissive is meant to provide service, and be “ready for use” but frankly, I am often the one who needs servicing. I love to be ravished; held down, plundered without notice. When my body has felt the relaxation that can only come from an intense sexual experience and a deep orgasm, I experience a pleasure in living that surpasses all other experiences. I am blissfully content in spite of the fact that nothing has actually changed in my life except the great sex. I see life through a different pair of eyes. My sexual appetite is (temporarily) replete and my body flushed with endorphins.

A girl cannot be trained in terms of achieving a successful power exchange relationship without attention to her sexuality. Although I always enjoyed sex, the training that I have undergone has provided me with a new way to perceive my body. I have truly embraced all my lessons and relish the opportunity I have been given to approach my sexuality with fresh eyes. Society demands that we must accept the established code of conduct but no demand is made on us to hide our sexuality from ourselves. My mind willingly accepts all the reminders enforced on me that I am an object of desire; a desirous object. Who would not enjoy the reinforcement of one’s own long held notions; that sex is good; that one’s sexuality should be constantly present, or at least just below the surface?

On one level, I am a traditionalist; married for many years, not interested in sex with other people and only attracted to men. On another level, I am totally open to suggestion in relation to my own sexuality in the search for fulfilment and enlightenment. Of course, I could not embrace my lessons if I was not a submissive woman and for me this is the gift of having been born with a submissive nature. I am not just learning my place but the place within my mind that allows me to explore in this way with such conviction and assuredness. In this way, I think a submissive woman may consider herself blessed.

Flexibility

One of the huge benefits of expressing my submissive nature has been that I am much more flexible than I have ever been before. I am open to a great many suggestions and as far as I can recall, I haven't rejected outright any suggestion that has been put to me in recent times.

I've been introduced to new ways to speak about my body; new ways to speak even. I've been introduced to the notion of being an owned girl and to accept that my owner can do with me, whatever he wants. I've not rejected the idea of being marked, or bound, or physically corrected. I've embraced lessons of being at my owner's beck and call, and making my body of use to relax him when he is stressed. I really have demonstrated, I believe, that I have a flexible mind. And, that's a good thing.

My owner (read: husband) is delighted with his new wife. His wife now has a second name (think Sir J's h, as a rough guide here); a name for that bubbly, giggling creature who is there for her owner to do as he pleases. Yep! He's embraced her, all right. He likes her a lot.

Recently, this girl had a birthday and she received some lovely gifts, such as a voucher to pamper herself at a beauty salon. That was a lovely gift. She got another gift, too, but in fact, it was not for her. The gift was for the other one: the bimbo. And, how she loved it! She began to wear it immediately and she was so beri happi about that.

Sometimes, Vesta, the girl with the thinking brain has to use that brain to get things done. Her husband wouldn't be too happy if she claimed that the reason for not attending to tasks was because her brain had gone missing, now would he? But, the sexual creature doesn't have to think, you see, and that's a lot of fun, too. She has so much fun!

Vesta is not going away. She lives here, too! But, she's making some room for the sexual creature. She is just so giggly and bright, who could deny the wee l'il thing? So, I'm going to make some room for her here and we'll see how that goes. I do hope that she won't be too norty.