Battle of wills

For most people, I imagine, sexual arousal doesn't happen every day. Supposedly, men think about sex copious times a day but even then I have to think it is a fleeting thing; a short circuit of the thinking, responsible brain that knows it must attend to business/economic matters. As Nicholas Cage in The Weatherman reminds us, the brain can be obsessive and that's when arousal overwhelms us. We just can't stop thinking about it. I've certainly known that feeling and it's a good feeling, until life gets tricky because you forget something as critical to your life's happiness and well being as remembering to bring home the tartar sauce for your wife.

I'm aware that some 'bottom' partners have daily rituals - to wear a corset, or to wear no panties, or to be naked at home. Then, there are the rituals like one member of the partnership irons the shirts or pays the bills. At times, there is something very sexy about a ritual. I think, for me, it is that there is a certain amount of force - control - associated with this. Maybe I feel that rituals are better than no rituals.

Yet, if something happens every day, if it is so ho-hum and defined that there is no doubt about it, does the arousal remain? Kinksters, of course, will find their love object always desirable - be that feet, or boots or long nails - but even then, I wonder if we all don't need a rest from that endless, circuitous desire for lust.

I read this morning that a remedy for some kinks is to initiate a very unpleasant smell around the kink object so that the kinkster will associate the nasty smell with the object and want to avoid the experience. Sometimes, my ongoing lust will initiate a feeling within me that I associate with 'too much'. I know that I need to take a break - immerse myself in activities that having nothing to do with sex, lust, power exchange or control. I live with certainty that the lust won't disappear so it's not at all a risky thing, certainly a good thing, to take a break from those activities, thoughts and apparatus that make for my lust. In this way, I can return to enjoyment of the lust later.

I think daily rituals can certainly be put in place. Once you've worn a corset daily for a while, living without a corset might seem unsettling. Once you've had long French acrylic nails the thoughts of regular nails may well seem impossible. And, this is where my argument falls down. This is a daily ritual, of sorts, for me, and it is well entrenched in my life. It suggests I can do rituals.

But, I'm struggling with another daily ritual, struggling to see it as something I can do continuously and struggling to see having the ritual as arousing, even though it has an erotic component. Actually, I struggled with the permanency of the acyclic nails at first too. Maybe, I'm in that stage again; struggling to accept that my own will means nothing here. I'm struggling to accept the significance of the daily ritual as to its power and effect on my day, my state of mind, and yes, to my high state of arousal. I'm caught in the vice between understanding that obedience is 'de rigeur' and the knowledge of what the daily ritual does to me. And, right now, the struggle is not being experienced so much as a turn on but rather a bit of a turn off.

I know that I am a natural submissive. My arousal of concepts associated with this state tell me that. Yet, I do find the 'every day' concept very difficult. Like, you mean there is no time off, I ask? There are no exceptions? There is no holiday or excuse acceptable? You mean, you're going to be a tyrant; an obsessive compulsive/anal retentive; rigid? Don't get me wrong, part of me loves rigid but part of me fights rigid, tooth and nail. In a battle of the wills, who must win? Don't even bother answering. I know. I know. Sigh.

Obedience

When I backed away from doing the task as prescribed, I knew that I was making a mistake. I had allowed my own comfort levels to dictate my reaction to the girl's objections to my request. Why did I do that? Well, for one thing people were listening to our conversation and for another thing, she was making me feel ridiculous; as if my request was absurd.

"You want a new set? A centimetre? That's too long!"

I was quickly losing the will to argue with her. But, the moment that I said, "Okay" to her suggestion, I knew that I was making a mistake. I didn't enjoy the process of having my nails done one little bit. I was agitated, on the verge of saying "Stop! This is wrong!" a hundred times over. Yet, when they were done, all baby pink and long, I just loved them. I couldn't stop looking at them. I was incredibly torn. I knew I had done wrong and I knew this would not be the last of it, but the outcome was just beautiful. I adored them in every way.

I confess that I have managed to be somewhat manipulative in my life. I have managed to get away with things before and I just assumed that I would get away with them again. It was stupid, I know. But, the idiot voice inside my head figured that an apology, an explanation of what had happened, would allow him to see my fragile state of mind. As I look back on this thought, I realize that I was fooling myself; totally. We had been talking back and forth about really professional slutty nails for weeks. He's a patient man but even I could see that I was wearing his patience thin. When I finally made the statement that I was going to the nail salon tomorrow and what length should I ask for, he was direct and to the point. There was nothing to misunderstand: "A whole centimetre". Out came the ruler as I tried to imagine such long and oh so slutty nails. "That's very slutty," I said. He knew what I meant. I was baulking. "This is not a suggestion." The die was cast. I said that I understood, and I did.

Needless to say the apology that I sent was rich with my sense of sorrow at this outcome and of course I said that if he was not satisfied, I would do it all over again. It was the right thing to do after very wrong behaviour. There was no response. I had not expected one, either. The following day, I tried again. I swear that both of us have some sort of telepathic sixth sense and I knew right away that this chat was going downhill fast. It was the way he typed "Hello". It was a bad sign. Don't ask me to explain, but I knew. I asked him if he was disappointed with me. In an almost cheery sort of way that might have fooled others, but didn't fool me, he asked me what I thought. I said, that I thought I had made a mistake.

When he told me that I had made a BIG mistake, I wasn't surprised, but I confess I was taken aback when he told me that he thought it a good idea to leave him alone for a while. Of course! I should have known that my correction would take this form. I was being sent to Coventry to think about my behaviour. I had disobeyed a very direct command and now it was time to pay. For the entire day, I did my best to put the matter out of my mind but by the time I went to bed, I was full of sorrow. How had I managed to get myself into this sort of big time trouble? Why didn't I just do it? What an idiot I had been! I willed myself to sleep and to stay asleep as long as I could, but by early morning, the knowledge of what I had done was sinking in. I had been dreadfully naughty and I had to put it right.

I dared not try to engage him in conversation. I may be naughty but I wasn't nearly so bold at to try that. I sat at my computer and unable to communicate I chose to write a poem; something to express my state of mind. When I had finished it, a thought occurred, and I sent it through. The chances of a response were less than 50:50 but in some small way I felt better for having tried. The sentiment of the poem was that I knew what I had to do and I knew that there was only one way to resolve the breach. The minutes ticked by, and just when I had assumed that there was to be no response, a response came. In less than a dozen words, the message was crystal clear. Until the task was done correctly, there was nothing to talk about.

In essence, the task that lay before me that day should have been dead easy, but it was not. Yes, I knew what I had to do, but there were some matters to address in my mind. I had to watch my beautiful nails being cut from my fingers. I had to accept that my will was insignificant to his. It didn't matter what I felt about this. It only mattered that I obey. For a girl who has been exploring submission for a few years now, that may seem obvious. But, never before had I felt the resolve of the Dom in this way. Yes, I'd been told that I would be punished if I did not obey. But, never before had I been told that if I did not obey, I would pay the price of rejection.

That morning, I sat at my desk and seriously fought my desire to resist. I was irrationally frightened of what I had to do at the same time as I knew that there was no way out. I drove to a different suburb this time and parked my car. As I walked to the new nail salon Mersault popped into my mind. Mersault? Yes, the man in 'The Outsider' who finds liberation at the moment of his death, as he faces the guillotine. I was frightened stiff at the same time as I knew that I was doing the right thing; that this was the beginning of a new life; a time when I completely accepted my status of an owned girl; a girl who accepts the other's will and not her own.

As soon as I began to talk to the stranger in this new nail salon, I felt strong; in charge of myself. Yes, this was the length I wanted. Yes, I wanted a new set. My sense of conviction must have been apparent, I suppose, because the arguing with me ceased and she went about satisfying me until it was time to cut the new nails to the prescribed length. "One centimetre too long," she began. I was ready. I brought out the ruler and measured. "This is one centimetre. This is what I want." She nodded and did it my way. By the time we said goodbye, she was on my side. She must have sensed somehow that this was something I needed to do and she was doing something important. Indeed, she was.

Our next conversation began shakily, at least from my perspective. I was not sure if this would be the end of the matter or not. He wanted some information and he wanted some answers. He wanted to know if I understood why he had insisted and we talked about that. Ultimately he was full of praise; incredibly proud. I confess it humbled me. I told him that something had changed that day and it certainly had. I had come to learn this day that my own will was really of little importance to me after all. Months and months ago, I had a conversation with a dominant friend who had tried to explain something to me. He said that a submissive gives away to the Dom and then she sees what she gets back. Well, this day, I got back in spades. I gave away my will to him and received everything in return. I never felt more submissive. I never felt more whole. I never felt more me. I had travelled over many mountains to reach this point but finally, here was proof that I had been on the right road all along. I am an owned girl, an incredibly lucky owned girl and a very proud one at that.