Dirty minds

I confess. I do enjoy my Tumblr account very much and I do watch the odd little clip that gives me even more insight into a photograph such as the one above. It was in a documentary about making porn where I watched a girl in the same testing position as the girl here. Her mouth wasn't gagged and she was calling out phrases, "oh, my poor little hole, my poor little hole". Maybe she had rehearsed the line, but the words and sounds she emitted sounded authentic, the sort of whimpers and cries and pleas that any girl in a similar situation is likely to produce! Finally she said with desperation evident in her voice, "I can't take any more, I can't take any more...", but on the camera rolled, the producers waiting to see, I think, if she calmed down a little, could take a little more, pushing and prodding her mind as well as her ass.

It's an interesting thing to consider, arousal and libido and its relationship to the power of suggestion. I lived 50+ years before I ever saw such a evil contraption and yet the moment I saw it my mind was turned 'on'. That's probably because I was ready to see it. I had explored power exchange enough whereby the notion of the body of a 'toy' being trained in various ways was acceptable to me, to the point where it was arousing to my mind to observe.

In fact, I lived 50+ years before I knew very much about the range of sexual activities at all. My own rather perverse mind had gone as far as it could go without training or someone in my life actually wanting and needing me to go much further in my explorations. When I was introduced to various new ideas, some were embraced immediately and others took time to cement themselves in my mind. It's very far from a situation where I was comfortable with more extreme thoughts overnight. It was a step by step process. Objectification, humiliation play and the owning of 'property' is not suited to those in a hurry. My point is that if you plan to train a girl (or bottom) it's best to have a good supply of patience and to accept that it may be two steps forward and one step back for quite some time. There is quite a lot to take on here.

I think energy for life comes in all sorts of guises. If one puts a great deal of energy into, say, painting or writing or trading markets or model car collecting, there may not be quite as much available sexual energy in that person. The time and effort they put into those other endeavors may be compensation for, or an alternative to, the energy they might have put into exploring sex and the body. Neither is the right or wrong way to live, but to have a robust sexual life, it takes two people who share an interest in sexual exploration and challenge. To have a robust and fulfilling power dynamic it takes consistent effort on both sides.

Over time, the sexual act can become repetitive and relationships can morph into something other than what began as the union of two young libidinous souls. For some people they move on, putting their pent up energies into other pursuits (bridge, tennis, sports cars, what have you...) whilst in other cases, one or both of the members of the union decide to ram it up a bit, to try new activities, new games, and even to do a little 'mind fucking'.

Although to many people the above image seems severe and off-putting, mean and nasty stuff, to other people, such as women like me who like to imagine being put in this situation, as challenging as it is on various levels (!), it's an incredible turn on. What I have come to understand is that sometimes a woman needs to say "oh, that's gross and offensive and I hate it" before she can say one day later, or months later in time, "okay, the truth is that that is a real turn on, but I think I'm not meant to say that or think that..." It takes time and patience, just quietly and consistently penetrating a woman's mind before she'll show you just how dirty it really is.

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.

Toyz

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cindi wanna no how dis werk. She beri cooooorius.

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

"Dat cood werk..."

"Bimbo got sins now how it toy?"

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

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Pandora's box

She was just a little girl, really. She knew that because he often said to her,

"You are such a little girl!"

He'd been saying it for years!

But, unlike good little girls who are seen and not heard, she had an inclination to be vocal. She had an inclination to air her views, and sometimes she was even strident in the airing of those views.

That had to stop. The little girl needed to learn that it was much better if she remained quiet and chose her words very, very carefully. He had told her that many times. But, not even his stick had managed to convince her of the benefits of holding her tongue.

He opened the box and delight was written all over his face. She had withdrawn to the foetal position; reduced to the state of a worried, wee little thing.

She opened her mouth as instructed and bit on the penis-shaped gag whilst he secured the strap around her head.

For more than an hour all that he would hear were her myews and moans as he played with her; this hole and that. A greedy boy, he produced other toys to insert in her holes. In and out, in and out. She was made helpless; secured as she was by the wrists and the ankles. She was no more than his plaything; a dribbling mess.

Later, when he had washed his toys well and prepared her for her day, he warned the little girl that inappropriate words could be silenced in other ways now.

She looked up at him with wide eyes; a little petulant, perhaps. Yet, his words had an effect on her. For the rest of the day, she was very demure indeed.

She was just a little girl; his good little girl.

The Box

The package sat on the chair by her bed. It had been there for the past three days. She had received a note in her mail box to inform her that a package was waiting for her at the post office. After she attended a music lesson, she went straight there and presented her slip, signed for the package and took it home. It was a brown parceled box and she carried it back to the car with pleasurable anticipation. When at home, she placed it on the chair near to the bed, on her side of the bed.

That night, her husband asked her what was in the box and she told him. Would he like to open the box with her? He informed her that he was looking forward to making good use of the contents of the box but the next few days were packed, and they would open it together on Friday evening.

When Friday evening came, they were both very tired, having had little sleep the night before. The Ball had been fun, but a big social event on a week day was draining, nonetheless. She reminded him that it was Friday evening, that the box was right there beside them. However, his mind was already elsewhere; his thoughts were more for slumber.

She caressed him a little to see if there was any chance of imbibing him but he was lost to sleepy bye time. She soon fell asleep herself.

In the very early part of the morning, when it is still pitch dark, she awoke with her cunt on fire. Her thoughts related directly to the contents of the box. She thought about how she could be made use of, and once she did that, all thoughts of sleeping were useless.

She woke and she wrote. As she wrote she thought about the little box beside her bed and she wondered how long she could wait before she tore the thing open like a little girl at Christmas time...

Control

I have been reading some of Tristan's writing about control. A few months ago, his words would not have impressed me. Tying his pet to the bed for a few hours because he felt like doing something on his own! Well, I never!

Yet, today, it resonated with me. Imagine that! Imagine being bound and tied to the bed, left to wait for your owner to come and get you. Gosh, but that does sound interesting!

You know those slow cookers? The ones where you throw in all the ingredients at the beginning of the day and when you come home from work, the casserole melts in your mouth?

Well, perhaps being bound and put aside may be like that. (If you have experience of this, please do share.) You await your owner’s return with eager anticipation. You have to wait some time but you know that when your owner comes to get you, you will be very savoury, indeed. You will delectable and he won’t be able to resist you; your aroma, your taste, what you will do to his insides; how he will feel when he has eaten you. Perhaps being devoured might be rather wonderful, too.

Once upon a time, ‘control’ was not something I dwelled on. I wanted the orgasmic rush as often, as hard and as immediately as I could, but I didn’t think about control for control’s sake too much. I was not inclined to wait; to want to experience control per se.

Now, like the meal in my slow cooker, I am prepared to wait to experience the succulent dish. I am prepared to consider that the waiting may be as much a part of the experience as the meal. Being used like a ‘toy’; put on the shelf and awaiting the time when my owner was ready to play with me. Who would have thought that I would be into that idea?