She's tied up right now

Sometimes, things turn out just right by serendipity. I have been ogling this picture for several days. Being a particularly flexible person from early childhood, this is the sort of thing I could have done with ease. I am not entirely sure that I could manage it now, but I don't dismiss the thought as out of hand. I think I probably could do it. What a lovely thought.

So, without knowing about this picture at all, or my thoughts about it over the past days, this morning my husband put me on my stomach and bound my hands behind my back such that they were in a very similar position to this picture. I immediately began to float...

I can't for the life of me understand why vanilla people have such objections to being tied up!

Inner strength

When one happens to be born with a submissive nature, and I do think I was born with a submissive nature, 'relatedness' is how one operates. We submissive types relate to the other person/people in our lives. If those relationships are going well, we are at peace and when those relationships are not going well, we tend to feel 'unhooked'.

It has been a year with some lovely moments and I have learned so much and grown so much. But I cannot fool myself. It has also been a tough year for me where it has been difficult to engage my husband in any consistent sort of way. He has been working non stop and the massive hours he puts in to his work eventually take their toll. He is often deliriously tired and of course, tired people can be cranky people with short fuses and a general sense of being 'under par'. A person cannot be hundreds of hours short of sleep and not eventually experience a sense of feeling unwell and stressed.

It is my belief that a woman, even a woman with the strong needs that a submissive woman has to relate, must find strength within herself to overcome those times when the Dominant in her life is not able to satisfactorily connect with her. Any person can only change their own behaviour. They are not able to change the behaviour of anyone else.

Of course, they can do all sorts of things to encourage the person and I know my husband responds to pampering and TLC. He has certainly enjoyed the various strategies I have used to engage him and he has rallied to the call (!) at those times. But, at the end of the day, if he needs buckets of time to devote to his work, and then loads of sleep and rest to recover from the overwork, then that is what he needs. I can't change that or do anything about it.

In the past, we have partaken of morning tea or a light lunch together on a regular basis. We have gone for a walk together, or seen a movie; anything to stay in touch and for both of us to feel connected, even within a heavy workload. Very little of that has taken place in the past few months. In fact, the last time we tried to enjoy a breakfast out together, his phone rang as we were placing the order, and I ate my meal alone while he paced the walkway outside taking the call. To be frank, I have not suggested breakfast out since then.

He tells me regularly that this situation is only temporary and good times are just around the corner and I hang onto that thought. I do my best to understand, to support and to maintain a positive mind. But, in the end, I do feel that if I rely on him for my sense of contentment with life at this time, I am only hurting myself. He does not have time to nurture me right now and so I must nurture myself; find sustenance in other aspects of life until he can give me a bit more of himself.

This is an enormous challenge for a submissive woman but one that must be met. I think there is a certain peace in accepting that there are times when one must rely on oneself for a sense of peace rather than pine for what one cannot have. All things come to an end and one day, this too shall pass.

Seasons

I am a product of a conservative (if not eccentric) background. My mother married young to a man she fell in love with whilst still in her teens. He had considered himself a life time bachelor until he met her but ultimately he agreed that if she felt the same way about him when she turned 20, he would marry her. Their wedding took place a week after that date and they remained blissfully happy and deeply in love until his death. Her devotion at nursing him until his dying day was inspirational. No one could have done what she did unless they have in their hearts a huge capacity for love.

For his part, he led her, guided her and loved her every day of her adult life. That is not to say that she was not capable because she was more than capable. She had people skills in abundance and the capacity for hard work. Together, they managed successful businesses, but he was always the boss. If the word went out that he was on his way onto the floor, we all knew what to do: act busy. He abhorred laziness.

Conservative as they were in many ways, my parents were not thrilled with my choice of a husband. This is not news to my husband and to his credit, he was always, and still is, gracious and welcoming to my family. I suppose they figured that I was still too young to know my mind and the fact that he was immediately taking me to the other side of the world didn’t aid matters.

Although my mother quite naturally accepted my father as the boss, she has a wilful, independent streak and she knew how to work my father. She saw my husband as too demanding, too much wanting his own way; altogether too opinionated and anal-retentive. If I complained that I couldn’t get him to make a decision about this or that; say painting a room, she would encourage me to just organize it myself. Patience is not her strongest suit.

In fact, she continued to make private retorts and complaints to me, away from my husband’s ears for many years and I was torn. I have never fought with my mother because I know that cross words from me would hurt her profoundly but I also knew that her lack of respect for him as my husband, even if only expressed when with me alone, was destructive to my state of mind and all our relationships.

This rather difficult circumstance continued on through the years until a few years ago when I talked to my husband about creating a more formal ‘power exchange’ relationship. With a better understanding of what I wanted and how to achieve it, I now felt more empowered to deal with her complaints.

I didn’t argue with her but what she experienced was that I was now standing up for him with a new verve. She was not against him now unless she chose to be against me, too. She wasn’t going to do that. She loves me with a passion and if I was happy, she was happy.

This was a revelation to me. Immediately, our relationships improved on every level. She no longer so much saw a man who was inclined to want his own way but rather a man who would protect his wife and children through all and any eventuality. Her daughter oozed happiness and contentment and that being the case, what was there to say?

I am inclined to think that being confronted lately by criticism of becoming the ‘doll’, and taking that criticism hard, relates to my choice all those years ago to fore go a career for myself; to give of myself to others so intensely. My mother had difficulty at the time understanding my choice of a large family. She has said to me endless times that I could have been anything. I could have had a good career. I have given too much of myself to my family.

At a school reunion a year or so ago, my old school friends echoed her sentiments but in a more sympathetic way. As one of the high achievers, they had anticipated I would go on to a career in education or writing (perhaps journalism). It was a shock to learn that once the children were born, I had devoted myself largely to the family.

The reality is that I could never have split myself into two in this way. With the strongest desire to care for them, I needed to do that as well as I could without distraction or endless frustration. My husband understood that and enabled it, just as he enabled this blog, a mentor, moving into the power exchange relationship that I requested. He is, in fact, the right man for me and bringing up a large family together was the right decision for us.

Of course, I understand my mother’s concerns. I have strongly encouraged my daughter to reach her potential with her god-given talents and I wish her every success in her chosen profession. I urge her to consider using her talents for a lifetime. But, I also urge her to keep her eye out for a man she can love and respect, and who will love and respect her, too. I know the sort of man she wants. I’ve paid close attention to her comments over the years and she has a fervent need to be cherished; to love with intensity.

It is only now, later in my life that the opportunity exists for me to explore my own needs in any focused way. 'Balance' need not necessarily mean that we spread our time equally between career and family/spouse at all times in our lives. Rather, for some of us, to everything there is a season. My earlier adult life was given to my family and perhaps now is the beginning of a time in my life when my own more intense personal needs and interests might find flight.

For me, that does not mean that my husband gets the flick and I go off to ‘find myself’ on my own. Rather, that means that I might now have the chance to wallow in my husband’s attention, companionship and love.

We must all choose our path in life and I chose mine with open eyes. Alas, the messages that surrounded me (and still surround me at times) that I was choosing poorly derailed me from accepting my true nature in total. But, that is over now. I’m back on track and there is nothing left to stand in my way.

Peeling the onion

It is hard to recognize now the girl that there once was. So much about her has changed. Yet, nothing has actually ‘changed’, but rather thoughts and desires have surfaced; been revealed and embraced.

We all recognize the phrase ‘peeling the onion’ and perhaps if one were to ask enough questions in a skilled way, deep (dark) thoughts will emerge. But it is, I think, not as easy as convincing someone that it is safe and acceptable to reveal all, as if the person had only been waiting for a safe harbour on which to dock and offload their deepest and strongest needs with a caring and understanding person.

As well, a person may also need to convince someone of what it is they actually want; so hard is it for them to put their needs into words. They may not know the words that describe their needs or their needs may be so entrapped that they can only express themselves in phrases such as 'something in their life being missing'.

A person who seeks to aid someone to unmask their true self must have and make use of strong instincts. As time goes by, it will become obvious whether those instincts hold up to scrutiny. No one is right all the time but the person with strong instincts about another is a powerful resource. Patience is a vital ingredient but so too is the capacity to be firm and hold one’s ground. Strong instincts often govern, I believe, when one approach is better than another. As one comes to know the person, such decision making becomes second nature to those attuned to the process. Interpersonal skills are vital. Only a gifted communicator need bother attempting such intricate negotiations.

As the weeks went by, what the girl wanted became apparent. Although there was any number of approaches that interested the girl, all of them could be located under the title of ‘control’. She wanted to feel firm control. Did she want to feel that control in the form of anything remotely close to ‘abuse’? She did not. She was not a ball to kick around. She was a dolly; a pretty, precious, much loved dolly.

A good owner takes care of his possessions and it was the dolly’s good fortune to have a very good owner. She was used regularly, when and how he wanted, but rather than making the dolly feel bedraggled in any unappealing way, this use enriched and uplifted the dolly. She was not only energised by it but profoundly satisfied.

The dolly wished to be contained in ways too numerous to mention. She had a voracious appetite for it and one course simply led to the other. She had been waiting a long time and she was mighty hungry. At times she baulked and needed to be corrected and at those times, she was grateful that he did not give up. Her desires were strong but they had been well hidden from those who found them unacceptable and she sometimes still could not tap into them herself without aid. Always, she was grateful to make the next breakthrough – to peel one more layer of the onion with his help.

Over time, success begot success and the girl came to see that the man’s instincts were powerfully accurate. She was less and less the rather sad girl she used to be and more and more the very happy dolly of her owner’s dreams. She was less and less angry and frustrated and more and more enriched, fulfilled and headily happy.

The girl had come to see that with adequate and appropriate containment and control she was better, bolder and braver; stronger, secure and satisfied; enriched, enlivened and enthralled. In his efforts to ‘peel the onion’, he had discovered that the girl was more; more than she had even imagined possible in her wildest dreams. With containment and control, the girl had transformed into something less, but so much more.

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.

Remorse

If I were to say that my husband is a patient man that would not be completely accurate. At the same time, he knows me well and he has come to know when it is right to cajole me or provide me with some special attention and when it is right to ‘read the riot act’. I think he feels that a bad mood, left uncorrected sometimes leads from bad to worse, and the girl needs saving from herself. I have come to see that he is usually right about this. I’m not afraid to admit that my behaviour is not angelic all of the time.

Sometimes, I’m a bit like the little girl with the little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. I’m usually very good. And, occasionally, I’m horrid. About a year and half ago, there was a particular day when I was horrid. I can’t for the life of me remember what precipitated this nasty turn of events, but I do remember that ultimately my husband was disgusted with me. He told me that he was leaving the house and would be out for the day and not to contact him on his mobile. He didn’t want to talk to such a nasty girl for the rest of the day.

I was shocked. He had just said, in so many words, that he wiped his hands of me and didn’t want to be with me. When he was gone, it very quickly dawned on me that I had pushed him too far. Nobody and I mean nobody hates being in the doghouse more than me. I am very, very quick to apologize in such situations and try to put things straight. It matters not to me who is right or wrong in these situations. I just want harmony restored. I called his mobile number ready to express my sincere apologies.

“Did I not tell you already that I did not want to talk to you for the rest of the day? I do not want to hear from you again. You just think about your behaviour!”

He hung up. It wasn’t just his words that stung me. It was his calm, but angry voice that really threw me into the abyss. My apologies were worthless. He was not interested. I was more than upset. I was lost. I had no idea what to do. I felt abandoned and feeling that way made me want to flee. I had to go. I took my car keys and my handbag, got into my car and began the long drive to our holiday house. Tears were flowing down my cheeks and I was a total wreck.

Somewhere down the highway, I had a desperate desire to make contact with him. I knew not to call him. I couldn’t recall him ever being this angry with me ever before and I dared not call him against his instructions. And yet, I felt that in some way I just had to connect. I wrote a text message and sent it to his phone. I’ve no idea what I wrote but I suspect I said that I was too upset to stay at home and that I was going to the holiday house for the night and was half way there; something like that. Mind you, on some level I knew what I was doing. I was alerting him to the fact that I was out of control and doing a dumb thing. I, sort of, knew that; that I was looking for him to take control.

Sometime thereafter, I turned the car around. Even a nutcase such as I was at that moment, knew that she was being ridiculous. But then, a few miles back to the city, I thought of being at home and so sad, and I turned the car around again, heading out of the city once again. I did that, probably, three times in all. Did I mention I was acting like a nutcase?

Maybe an hour or an hour and a half later, my phone rang and I stopped the car and answered it. I remember at this stage I was on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by huge, swaying trees.

“How dare you take off like that? You know that tomorrow is an important day (Mother’s Day) and it is unforgiveable what you are doing?”

Of course, that isn’t all he said. My husband can give a mighty fine lecture and trust me, they are not short and to the point. At some point, in a flood of tears and feeling completely bereft, I said,

“Well, you don’t love me anymore!”

“Of course I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. But, I loathe your behaviour at the moment.”

The next bit I can quote verbatim. He definitely said these exact words:

“You are just a very, very naughty little girl.”

I was crying my heart out down the phone but it just didn’t seem to deter him one little bit.

“Well...what do you want me to do? Just tell me what you want me to do?”

“Here’s what you are to do! You turn the car around right now and come home. When you get home we will eat the dinner that I am about to prepare. And, after dinner, I am taking you to the bedroom and I am going to give your naughty bottom the caning it deserves. Now, you drive home safely! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“All right. By God, your backside is going to be sore when I get through with you. Now, are you in control of yourself?”

“Yes.”

“All right, where exactly are you?”

I told him, as best I could.

“Then, I’ll expect you at around 7 pm. You drive safely. Bye bye.”

That I was to be corporally punished was not at all alarming to me. He had rescued me from the deep, dark hole. I could see through the fog. I had a plan. I knew what to do. Any strokes of the cane were manageable because I had been told what to do and what I had been told to do was to return to him. I was to be punished but of what significance was punishment really so long as I was not rejected. One punishes a loved girl; one abandons an unloved girl. At least, that is the way it felt to my mind.

I drove home feeling a thousand times better than I had before his call. I had been told to come home and so I now knew that I was heading in the right direction; back to him. I was still in trouble but it was trouble with an end. I’d take my caning and give my apologies and it would be over. I would be forgiven. I almost looked forward to it.

Rejection of a submissive is a powerful tool for the dominant to use. If she is so bad and so unacceptable to the dominant that he chooses not to speak with her, she swims in the murky waters of her own guilt and his disappointment with her. She cannot swim there long before she begins to feel that she is drowning. Her only wish is to find a way to please him; to feel his affection again. It is the most severe of punishments. A caning is child’s play in comparison to that.

It cannot be denied that I learned a lesson that day. I had pushed him too far and to this day, I have yet to do it again and he has yet to find cause to dismiss me from his sight; to reject my call. It was a very hard lesson to learn but learn it well I did.

There is someone else who has reason at the moment to be displeased with my behaviour; to be displeased enough to feel it right that he should be left alone at this time; that we should not talk. Needless to say, I am filled with regret and with guilt. I chose very poorly and I am paying a high price. Yes, I disobeyed. I didn’t do it as I should have. I weakened and the moment I agreed with the person to do it her way and not the way I had been directed, I felt sick. I knew I was doing it wrong. I knew that dumb decision would come back to bite me in the bum. I deserve his displeasure, as awful as that is.

As beautiful as the job is, as wonderful as it looks, I know in my heart that I must do it all over again, and this time, do it right. I know in my heart that it is the only acceptable course of action to take. As I look at them right now, they are devastatingly beautiful. I wonder if he could see them, would he not agree that to break them and re do them is unnecessary. But, it is not the point, is it? A submissive girl who is given a direct command is wrong to offer excuses. Did she obey the specifications given? No. Is that acceptable? No. If only I had chosen to be strong and obey. I sit here chastened, repentant and full of remorse.

The mirror (by cassie)

There is a woman walking down the street. She is in a chic neighbourhood, looking at expensive shops. It is late afternoon, the shops are closed.
There is something about her. The way she walks, confident, her stride is full of purpose. She seems to know where she's going, she has a destination.

Suddenly she stops, takes her time while looking at some underwear displayed at the other side of the glass. She carries herself proudly: shoulders back, chest out, head held high. While standing in front of the shop window she turns sideways, as if to look at herself. What does she see? Black riding boots, jeans tucked inside. A black blouse and black jacket, a french silk scarf round her long slender neck, in the colours of red and yellow. A red Italian ostrich leather handbag hangs from her elbow and she wears her dark Jackie O. style sunglasses on her head. Keeps her blond hair from falling into her face... Everything about her is timeless, feminine, with an elegant restraint that brings the best out of a woman.

She is satisfied with what she sees and moves on to the next shop. The sun has almost set...she'd better hurry...and she sets off, holding onto something shiny with her hand, right under her chin.

Another time, another place:

The Villa's living room. A fireplace, two big comfortable sofas with golden and dark green cushions, a big coffee table in between with books on it. One of them is open, showing Olga posing for Bettina. Olga does everything Bettina says, sometimes innocent, sometimes bewildered, sometimes just curious. But nobody is paying attention to them.

Because there is a woman kneeling on the wooden floor. The straps of her black cotton dress have fallen from her shoulders but she is unable to pick them up. Her wrists are tied to her ankles and she is bending forwards. There is something that looks like a tattoo under the left ankle cuff. Through the straps of the harness gag one can see from her face that she is unhappy, uncomfortable, maybe even in a little bit of pain. Is she stiff from remaining in this position for so long? Has she been whipped, caned or flogged? Is she carrying something inside her that is painful?

She lets out a long sigh as if resigning herself to her fate, drops her head, and as her ponytail falls from her shoulders, a shiny stainless steel chain becomes visible round her neck. In this position, so easily thrown out of balance, she remains perfectly still.

The Domina is standing right behind her. Tonight she is wearing a white silk blouse and a gray pencil skirt, just below the knee. She is barefoot, no boots, no shoes, no stockings.

"So" says the Domina in a stern voice, "I hear you've let your Master down. Is that true?"
"Yes, Ma'am" the woman says through the gag. Her words are only comprehensible to those who know what to expect...
"And in what way is he punishing you?" asks the Domina
"i really need to pee. And he won't let me. But i really need to..." says the woman in a mixture of saliva and tears, barely audible.
"Well" says the Domina, "you can be of service to me. Aren't you a slave?"
"Yes,... Ma'am,... i am" says the woman, almost sobbing.
"Good!" says the Domina and without another word places her right foot on the woman's back making her fall forwards, left cheek on the floor. With slow and confident moves she then lifts her skirt to her slender waist and lets go of the contents of her bladder over the back, neck and head of the helpless, awkwardly kneeling slave.

Well trained as the bound and gagged woman is, she keeps her position, her cheek still touching the wooden floor, in a puddle of yellow liquid. The Golden Shower stings in her eyes but makes her feel warm inside, useful, used, something. Shivering slightly, her black dress clinging to her back and with the tiny droplets hanging from her hair, the slave can now only wait for her Master...and hope he releases her soon, real soon...

And now i turn to you, readers of this post. And, since you found your way to this blog and my gracious host Vesta, there must be something special about yourselves as well. Let me guess:

you're just curious, maybe you ended here by mistake. You may have heard something about Domination and submission but you're not really into it. That's fine.

you consider yourself to be Dominant but you are alone. Or the sub you would like to have as yours isn't in a very subbie mood most of the time. It happens.

you could be the proud Master/Mistress of a slave. In real life or on line. You may see your slave every day in your own home or on the web cam every other night. But you still are the Master/Mistress. Excellent.

or maybe you are a switch. Then you are lucky, you get to feel both sides of the flogger.

you could be a man or woman that likes to be dominated in the bedroom. Very erotic but your submission only goes as far as the bedroom door. Great also!

you could be the "s" in a D/s relationship. Your submission fulfills your need to obey and be controlled. You may also need to be corrected once in a while. Nothing wrong with that.

you could be one of those girls or boys that call themselves a 24/7 real life slave, owned by a caring Master/Mistress and your only purpose is to serve and make Him or Her happy. You may have a contract, perhaps even wear a collar all the time. Good!


Regardless of what you are or what you consider yourself to be, your reaction to the humiliation of the female slave mentioned above will be different than the reaction of other persons reading here. You may love it or hate it. You may think it is unworthy of a human being to be treated that way or you may find the idea of warm piss running down your back arousing. You may find the punishment of the slave too harsh or you may feel your hands itching, wanting to reach for that plaited riding crop and give her a few extra swats since she's kneeling with her ass up anyway.

Or, on the other hand, you may want yours (or yourself) to be like the first woman i mentioned: settled, self-confident, mature in her manners, elegant in her dress, nothing submissive about her. Just a woman radiating happiness and satisfaction, making her look beautiful.

Now look at yourself in the mirror. Can you see yourself standing there? Do you like what you see? Can you identify with any of the characteristics of the women i described earlier? Before you answer, stop and think for a while. Are you really looking at yourself with your own two eyes? or are you using the eyes of others?

Do you measure the effect of your Dominance by your sub's bow?
Do you measure your submissiveness by the strength of your Dom's control?
Your Mastery by the way your slave speaks or dresses?
The degree of your enslavement by how many misdemeanors you can get away with unpunished?
Your torturing skills by how much pain the bottom can handle?
The kinkiness of your fantasies by what you see on the net?

i don't have the answer. But i don't have to look very far. The answer is within each one of you.

All i can say that there is no BDSM bible. No book that one Must read, no protocol that one Must follow. No sub is exactly as masochistic as a Dom is sadistic. No slave has exactly the same need to be owned in exactly the same way the Master wants to own him/her. None of these relationships is symmetrical. They are complimentary. Remember, it is your own image you see in the mirror, not your owner's or your pet's. It is just yourself. And it should be enough to make it work.

Bondage and Discipline and Dominance and submission and Sadism and masochism have changed a lot since the old, plain, slightly underground s/m days. But they still have a gift to give: a sense of achievement, an elevation of the self through pain, humiliation and submission or through exquisite and precise Dominance and overwhelming, liberating sadism.

Only when we are strong enough to let go of our ego, be it Top or bottom, will we be able to see ourselves through the eyes of others and find it sublimely rewarding. Only after having given our body and soul to the "other", to do with them as he or she pleases, can we look in our heart and see that our darkest fears are gone. We are nothing and all, full and empty at the same time, our souls a vehicle for passion, our bodies a vehicle for pain.

Until you are ready to completely let go, there are two things you can do: either look in the mirror again, harder this time, or turn around and walk away. Then this thing is not meant for you.

To Master, the light and love of my life.

Your cassie