I had a coffee out with my daughter this afternoon and she told me of her troubles with her boyfriend; that now that her departure overseas for an extended period is imminent, he has withdrawn from her, barely able to speak to her. We sat there trying to analyze the fellow. Was he too attached to her and shattered by her imminent departure to be able to speak to his girl now that she was almost (temporarily) out of his life? Was he hurt? What the hell was the boy thinking to act in such a childish way as to not talk to her??!!
She told me she heard my husband and I talking last night in that passionate way we do, and that it was so different; that we just said everything that was on our minds. We are still intently passionate about one another and a fight does not seem to do us any real harm. We talk through what is on our minds and clear the air. He thinks that is entirely healthy and he tells me that all women like me need me a "safety valve", where the steam can find its way out. Certainly, he makes use of his safety valve regularly and it is a rare day when I don't know exactly what is on his mind!
It was interesting to talk to him in bed this morning. He told me that he read my tumbler site for ages last night and that he learned something; that I am a very kinky girl, with a particularly dirty (but in a nice way) mind. He said that what I was doing, exploring my submissive and kinky side was right for me; that being dominated was right for me, and that I should never even think of giving up. He told me that I "thrive on the stick" (!!) and being lead. And, I don't disagree with any of that.
I am learning things about myself all the time; even now. I am becoming a better person and a happier and more enriched person. I think there is still work to be done in working out how to be that submissive and kinky person that I want to be, yet be able to express all my emotions in a satisfactory way. I want to express my submissive nature right throughout the day and every day, but still have the opportunity to share what is on my mind in a way that is pleasing and acceptable and allows me to feel that my thoughts are recognized and considered.
As it was pointed out to me today, if the pilot dies, I won't jump into the seat to fly the plane. I am not the person best equipped to fly the plane, or even drive my own life. I like very much having an owner and living 'an owned life'. However, I do need to sometimes express my less positive emotions and I need to know that that is okay.
As my daughter is trying to explain to her boyfriend, she would rather hear what is on his mind, whatever it is, than endure his silence. Silence may work in the short term, but as my dear friend pointed out to me this morning, "the more you ignore the universe, the louder it gets until it gets your attention". Every girl should have such a wise and good friend!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Frustration
It pleased me to see upon a search of this web journal that I have very rarely mentioned 'frustration'. I mentioned it in the last post and according to the record, back in March 2009 when I wrote a post about 'anxiety'. That's not bad.
For, you see, I do experience considerable frustration. As I wrote to my husband just now,
"It is a very, very hard thing to live through someone else - for their wants and desires and ways of doing things; their priorities and their interests to be the sole arbiter of what happens; to expect a person to have eternal patience and to never express frustration and thus, by inference to never HAVE frustration."
Rightly or wrongly, I have tried my absolute best to be satisfied with living my life according to my husband's version of the world. From time to time, I mention that it will be great when we can do this or that, but apart from that, I really just nod when he tells me something, accept his decisions, patiently wait for him to attend to something (or not), and in a nutshell, just wait.
I've become good at this - at living according to the desires and decisions of another person; at keeping my frustrations well hidden and distracting myself in order not to be upset that the things that I would love to see take place, do not.
I think I could have gone on with this positive spirit almost forever...until that moment two days ago when I did express a very minor amount of frustration and experienced his wrath that I should do so.
I'm not an angel. I'm not a perfect person. I'm just one human being doing her best to be pleasing; patient, considerate, understanding, calm and patient.
I just can't seem to get over it. I am shattered that he can't apologize for upsetting me so.
I have asked him to look inside himself - to try to understand how hard I work to see the world through his eyes and to put aside my own wishes. For me, this was what it was all about - to make for a life of harmony - to find a way to go beyond the everyday.
I can't seem to bounce back up this time.
For, you see, I do experience considerable frustration. As I wrote to my husband just now,
"It is a very, very hard thing to live through someone else - for their wants and desires and ways of doing things; their priorities and their interests to be the sole arbiter of what happens; to expect a person to have eternal patience and to never express frustration and thus, by inference to never HAVE frustration."
Rightly or wrongly, I have tried my absolute best to be satisfied with living my life according to my husband's version of the world. From time to time, I mention that it will be great when we can do this or that, but apart from that, I really just nod when he tells me something, accept his decisions, patiently wait for him to attend to something (or not), and in a nutshell, just wait.
I've become good at this - at living according to the desires and decisions of another person; at keeping my frustrations well hidden and distracting myself in order not to be upset that the things that I would love to see take place, do not.
I think I could have gone on with this positive spirit almost forever...until that moment two days ago when I did express a very minor amount of frustration and experienced his wrath that I should do so.
I'm not an angel. I'm not a perfect person. I'm just one human being doing her best to be pleasing; patient, considerate, understanding, calm and patient.
I just can't seem to get over it. I am shattered that he can't apologize for upsetting me so.
I have asked him to look inside himself - to try to understand how hard I work to see the world through his eyes and to put aside my own wishes. For me, this was what it was all about - to make for a life of harmony - to find a way to go beyond the everyday.
I can't seem to bounce back up this time.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Who needs to change?
Five years ago, on that evening when I asked my husband to spank me for the first time I had no notion of ‘submission’. I didn’t know what a ‘submissive’ was and nor did I have any real desire to live the life of a submissive. Certainly, I knew at that time that I wanted a certain ‘feeling’ in my life; something that I had tasted and found very much to my liking. But, not even knowing that there was a ‘lifestyle’, I could have no sense back then, of what was possible or even if it would work for us.
I recall the first time I seriously wondered about it all as it pertained to me. Abel, my email buddy from England asked me if I was a “submissive”. I didn’t think so, I said, for I didn’t know to what he referred. From that moment I began to read, and the rest of the story, or at least the parts I have shared, can be found on this web journal.
Being married to a dominant man is not easy, or at least that is my experience. It was not easy before I explored and acknowledged my nature, and it is not easy now. And, I think it is important to say that; that there is nothing especially easy about living with a man who wants to do things a certain way; when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them, and if he wants to do them. As much as I might on any one day think I have it licked, something happens to fill me with confusion and upset, and I find myself doubting our agreement. It passes. I believe that is the good news and it is what I hold onto in my darkest moments, but it would be wrong of me, on a web journal where young people or interested people may read, to not acknowledge that there are some very difficult moments.
As my husband has grown older, he has become more and more dominant. As a young man, he always knew what he wanted and how he wanted to go about things. I was never, even in our twenties, able to convince him to do something that he did not want to do. It did not matter if I begged, or cajoled, or was upset, or cried, or sweet talked him, he only did something that he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. I cannot say for certain if that is just him, or if that is the nature of a dominant man, but he has always been assertive and sure of how he wanted to go about things.
He tells me that I was a candidate for marriage because I had a sweet nature and was “soft and kind”. He came to see, he also tells me, that I was more “committed” than he anticipated.
“Sometimes, you just won’t let the bone go!” he says to me.
We have had the most extraordinary weekend. Away from one another for the week, he clearly wanted to show me a good time. We spent a good deal of the weekend together, and I was dominated in the bedroom in all sorts of delicious ways for hours on end. I felt wonderful and savoured every moment of it, from the hard spanking to pay off the “black marks” I have earned to the use of my body in all sorts of devilish ways. As we set off for our walk with the dogs mid Sunday afternoon, I felt totally dreamy and delighted to have my ‘oh so dominant’ man back in my life.
My husband tells me, and he is probably right, that after I have been sexually dominated, I can get “full of myself”. He warned me of this right after we got dressed.
“Now, you just watch your manners! You can get full of yourself after you’ve been shown a good time, and I won’t tolerate any misbehaviour. Do you understand?”
I understood. I had no intention of misbehaving.
Later on, back home, I began to do some gardening. I was tiring and wanting to complete tasks, but not able to do them by myself, I became frustrated. My training is that I should ask for help (nicely, of course) when I need it. Thus, I decided to go and search out my husband and ask for a few moments of his time to lift the heavy bins of garden waste and carry them to the garage for me.
I know full well that it is imperative that I not express any frustration in my voice when I ask my husband for something. He loathes to be made to feel guilty and he feels that it is my role to ask, in a sweet voice, for his assistance. If he can help me at that time, he will. If he can’t, he won’t and I will just have to wait for another time. I am expected to be patient – to be patient for years and years, if necessary.
I am. I am a patient person. And, I have shown patience for years. I have learned to be patient, tolerant and understanding and I think even he would admit that I have given him all the space he needs to do things in his own way, at his own pace, how and when he wants to do them.
But, for some stupid reason, when I asked him if he would please help me with the heavy bins, there was some slight frustration in my voice which he picked up. I got told off for that.
“This evening, or in the morning, I will teach you how to ask for help.”
Well, it was my mistake! I know him well enough that I must ask for help in the right way. So, I took my spanking this morning with good grace.
Or, so I thought. Somewhere deep inside me, there must have been a little bit of rebellion because when he was through, shortly thereafter, I heard myself say
“When is your appointment with the doctor?”
It was a red rag to the bull. He knew he was overdue to see him, that I wanted him to see him, and he considered this an effort on my part to bully him into making an appointment.
So, I got it in the neck!
“When are you going to learn that the more you ask me to do something, the longer it will take for me to do it?”
When my husband really upsets me, I don’t talk back. I go silent. I am just too upset to talk. Nothing upsets him more. The more I don’t talk, the more he will have to say to me about my “behaviour”, and the more silent I get. We reach a point where he feels I am completely to blame and I reach a point where his raised voice and tone becomes the issue in my mind. I can’t settle my mind to acknowledge my wrong doing. It is the classic ‘catch 22’.
Of course, we have lived with one another for over 30 years now and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I am the one who must change. He cannot change and he won’t change. He is completely right. He will do things when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them and if he wants to do them. I must adjust to him; not the other way round.
I have a submissive nature and he has been wonderful in acknowledging it and recognizing my needs. But, make no mistake. A non-submissive girl would never have ‘cut the mustard’ with him. And, that, my friends, is the bottom line.
I recall the first time I seriously wondered about it all as it pertained to me. Abel, my email buddy from England asked me if I was a “submissive”. I didn’t think so, I said, for I didn’t know to what he referred. From that moment I began to read, and the rest of the story, or at least the parts I have shared, can be found on this web journal.
Being married to a dominant man is not easy, or at least that is my experience. It was not easy before I explored and acknowledged my nature, and it is not easy now. And, I think it is important to say that; that there is nothing especially easy about living with a man who wants to do things a certain way; when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them, and if he wants to do them. As much as I might on any one day think I have it licked, something happens to fill me with confusion and upset, and I find myself doubting our agreement. It passes. I believe that is the good news and it is what I hold onto in my darkest moments, but it would be wrong of me, on a web journal where young people or interested people may read, to not acknowledge that there are some very difficult moments.
As my husband has grown older, he has become more and more dominant. As a young man, he always knew what he wanted and how he wanted to go about things. I was never, even in our twenties, able to convince him to do something that he did not want to do. It did not matter if I begged, or cajoled, or was upset, or cried, or sweet talked him, he only did something that he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. I cannot say for certain if that is just him, or if that is the nature of a dominant man, but he has always been assertive and sure of how he wanted to go about things.
He tells me that I was a candidate for marriage because I had a sweet nature and was “soft and kind”. He came to see, he also tells me, that I was more “committed” than he anticipated.
“Sometimes, you just won’t let the bone go!” he says to me.
We have had the most extraordinary weekend. Away from one another for the week, he clearly wanted to show me a good time. We spent a good deal of the weekend together, and I was dominated in the bedroom in all sorts of delicious ways for hours on end. I felt wonderful and savoured every moment of it, from the hard spanking to pay off the “black marks” I have earned to the use of my body in all sorts of devilish ways. As we set off for our walk with the dogs mid Sunday afternoon, I felt totally dreamy and delighted to have my ‘oh so dominant’ man back in my life.
My husband tells me, and he is probably right, that after I have been sexually dominated, I can get “full of myself”. He warned me of this right after we got dressed.
“Now, you just watch your manners! You can get full of yourself after you’ve been shown a good time, and I won’t tolerate any misbehaviour. Do you understand?”
I understood. I had no intention of misbehaving.
Later on, back home, I began to do some gardening. I was tiring and wanting to complete tasks, but not able to do them by myself, I became frustrated. My training is that I should ask for help (nicely, of course) when I need it. Thus, I decided to go and search out my husband and ask for a few moments of his time to lift the heavy bins of garden waste and carry them to the garage for me.
I know full well that it is imperative that I not express any frustration in my voice when I ask my husband for something. He loathes to be made to feel guilty and he feels that it is my role to ask, in a sweet voice, for his assistance. If he can help me at that time, he will. If he can’t, he won’t and I will just have to wait for another time. I am expected to be patient – to be patient for years and years, if necessary.
I am. I am a patient person. And, I have shown patience for years. I have learned to be patient, tolerant and understanding and I think even he would admit that I have given him all the space he needs to do things in his own way, at his own pace, how and when he wants to do them.
But, for some stupid reason, when I asked him if he would please help me with the heavy bins, there was some slight frustration in my voice which he picked up. I got told off for that.
“This evening, or in the morning, I will teach you how to ask for help.”
Well, it was my mistake! I know him well enough that I must ask for help in the right way. So, I took my spanking this morning with good grace.
Or, so I thought. Somewhere deep inside me, there must have been a little bit of rebellion because when he was through, shortly thereafter, I heard myself say
“When is your appointment with the doctor?”
It was a red rag to the bull. He knew he was overdue to see him, that I wanted him to see him, and he considered this an effort on my part to bully him into making an appointment.
So, I got it in the neck!
“When are you going to learn that the more you ask me to do something, the longer it will take for me to do it?”
When my husband really upsets me, I don’t talk back. I go silent. I am just too upset to talk. Nothing upsets him more. The more I don’t talk, the more he will have to say to me about my “behaviour”, and the more silent I get. We reach a point where he feels I am completely to blame and I reach a point where his raised voice and tone becomes the issue in my mind. I can’t settle my mind to acknowledge my wrong doing. It is the classic ‘catch 22’.
Of course, we have lived with one another for over 30 years now and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I am the one who must change. He cannot change and he won’t change. He is completely right. He will do things when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them and if he wants to do them. I must adjust to him; not the other way round.
I have a submissive nature and he has been wonderful in acknowledging it and recognizing my needs. But, make no mistake. A non-submissive girl would never have ‘cut the mustard’ with him. And, that, my friends, is the bottom line.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Stability
She felt a restlessness that caught her by surprise and threw her off balance. Her chest was tight again and her breathing chaotic. She roamed her horizon for something, or someone to blame but found no offence nor event to explain the feeling. She simply wanted more. She wanted to feel more intensely. Feel what? She was not sure.
But, she had a sense that she wanted to be swept up in the big waves: not the still waves of the shore that she was accustomed to now but the big waves: the waves that scared her and the waves she did not know how to handle.
She remembered the big waves from all of the summers. She had never really learned the skills to handle the big waves, with a board or her own body. Instead of riding the waves, she let them toss and turn her until they broke over her and she could come up for air: gasping and pulling her hair away from over her eyes. It seemed to her she would never tame those waves, and yet she went back for one more try, every now and again. In her mind, she was trying yet again to ride the big waves, all by herself.
A memory popped into her head. They had been up North and she felt out of control. Her owner had got very cross with her and before he took her to the beach, he had slapped her hard and she wore a red mark to that beach. She was embarrassed to admit even to herself that it calmed her. He took her deep into the water with her board, where the big waves lay and he put her on her board and pushed hard.
She was riding the wave and she felt elated to be doing so. She had needed some help to ride that wave but even so, now she was triumphing over the wave! She felt so close to him for giving her that; her stability.
She was sometimes restless. She was sometimes saved from herself.
But, she had a sense that she wanted to be swept up in the big waves: not the still waves of the shore that she was accustomed to now but the big waves: the waves that scared her and the waves she did not know how to handle.
She remembered the big waves from all of the summers. She had never really learned the skills to handle the big waves, with a board or her own body. Instead of riding the waves, she let them toss and turn her until they broke over her and she could come up for air: gasping and pulling her hair away from over her eyes. It seemed to her she would never tame those waves, and yet she went back for one more try, every now and again. In her mind, she was trying yet again to ride the big waves, all by herself.
A memory popped into her head. They had been up North and she felt out of control. Her owner had got very cross with her and before he took her to the beach, he had slapped her hard and she wore a red mark to that beach. She was embarrassed to admit even to herself that it calmed her. He took her deep into the water with her board, where the big waves lay and he put her on her board and pushed hard.
She was riding the wave and she felt elated to be doing so. She had needed some help to ride that wave but even so, now she was triumphing over the wave! She felt so close to him for giving her that; her stability.
She was sometimes restless. She was sometimes saved from herself.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Training - back to basics
Controversially, in my discussions with dominant men over time, I personally, and submissive women generally, have been compared to dogs; the training, keeping and owning of dogs as pets. I have an open mind, a good sense of humour and an interest in comparing one thing with another in the light of learning more, and I have enjoyed and benefitted from those discussions.
Some readers may recall that I have two little puppies and it is not lost on me that they need training, order and discipline in their lives if we are to live in harmony, peace and order. Whilst there were days when I was so mad with them I got the children to give them their dinner rather than be seen to reward them for such atrocious behaviour, some semblance of order now reigns at my home in the city. For one thing, my husband established himself as ‘top dog’ and they get that point now, loud and clear. Things were going along well - until my mother arrived.
My mother has always had a very strong connection with dogs. Her dogs live lives of luxury and she rotates her life around them. Their comfort and wants and needs are all well under control living with my mother; the best beds and blankets and food and warmth and so on. Of course, I concur with taking very good care of a pet but I don’t condone allowing a dog (or dogs in this case) to rule my life.
Thus it is that this submissive girl has just made a line in the sand. My little dogs have just been put outside on their leads attached to a long rope, where they not may pee in my house, may not run about the open garden where we currently are in the country to wander onto the road, may not choose to come to us only when it pleases them. They will stay on their leads until it suits us (and not them) to take them for a long and fun walk off their leads where it is safe for them and they will learn to come inside when they are called. I am insisting after several days of high disorder that they accept that they are to do the right thing whether my mother and her naughty dog is here or not.
A dominant friend of mine, clever man that he is, said to me recently that he didn’t believe all my talk that I was an ineffectual mother, unable to rule my roost. I giggled, for he is exactly right. I am incredibly good to my children but woe betides them when they behave in obnoxious and downright upsetting ways. They know what is right and what is wrong, just as my puppies know too, and I won’t be taken advantage of, just because I have a submissive nature.
It is no co-incidence that I married the man I married. He calls a spade a spade and he always has done so. He has standards and no child, so far, has been willing to take him on in any major way. He’s the boss and we adhere to his high standards of behaviour. If he were here, those naughty puppies would never have behaved so disgracefully and taken such advantage of my kind mother. They would have accepted that the boss was home and they would do what is right. This is what upsets me so; that they can take such advantage of sensitive souls.
Over the years when we were bringing up the children, children with strong minds and strong opinions, I found myself saying over and over to my husband, “I can’t believe that they would treat me so.” I often thought that my deep, deep love for them should be enough for them to behave themselves.
“Oh darling, it doesn’t work like that,” my husband would explain to his teary wife. “They are children! They don’t look at it that way. You need to set rules and have structure and you have to tell them what you expect.”
I am not sure that today is the day to compare such raising of children and dogs with the development of a submissive girl. (Can you tell I am a bit emotional?) Would a submissive girl take advantage of a man who was too soft? Does a submissive girl need some guidelines as to how to behave? Such dangerous territory this!
Some readers may recall that I have two little puppies and it is not lost on me that they need training, order and discipline in their lives if we are to live in harmony, peace and order. Whilst there were days when I was so mad with them I got the children to give them their dinner rather than be seen to reward them for such atrocious behaviour, some semblance of order now reigns at my home in the city. For one thing, my husband established himself as ‘top dog’ and they get that point now, loud and clear. Things were going along well - until my mother arrived.
My mother has always had a very strong connection with dogs. Her dogs live lives of luxury and she rotates her life around them. Their comfort and wants and needs are all well under control living with my mother; the best beds and blankets and food and warmth and so on. Of course, I concur with taking very good care of a pet but I don’t condone allowing a dog (or dogs in this case) to rule my life.
Thus it is that this submissive girl has just made a line in the sand. My little dogs have just been put outside on their leads attached to a long rope, where they not may pee in my house, may not run about the open garden where we currently are in the country to wander onto the road, may not choose to come to us only when it pleases them. They will stay on their leads until it suits us (and not them) to take them for a long and fun walk off their leads where it is safe for them and they will learn to come inside when they are called. I am insisting after several days of high disorder that they accept that they are to do the right thing whether my mother and her naughty dog is here or not.
A dominant friend of mine, clever man that he is, said to me recently that he didn’t believe all my talk that I was an ineffectual mother, unable to rule my roost. I giggled, for he is exactly right. I am incredibly good to my children but woe betides them when they behave in obnoxious and downright upsetting ways. They know what is right and what is wrong, just as my puppies know too, and I won’t be taken advantage of, just because I have a submissive nature.
It is no co-incidence that I married the man I married. He calls a spade a spade and he always has done so. He has standards and no child, so far, has been willing to take him on in any major way. He’s the boss and we adhere to his high standards of behaviour. If he were here, those naughty puppies would never have behaved so disgracefully and taken such advantage of my kind mother. They would have accepted that the boss was home and they would do what is right. This is what upsets me so; that they can take such advantage of sensitive souls.
Over the years when we were bringing up the children, children with strong minds and strong opinions, I found myself saying over and over to my husband, “I can’t believe that they would treat me so.” I often thought that my deep, deep love for them should be enough for them to behave themselves.
“Oh darling, it doesn’t work like that,” my husband would explain to his teary wife. “They are children! They don’t look at it that way. You need to set rules and have structure and you have to tell them what you expect.”
I am not sure that today is the day to compare such raising of children and dogs with the development of a submissive girl. (Can you tell I am a bit emotional?) Would a submissive girl take advantage of a man who was too soft? Does a submissive girl need some guidelines as to how to behave? Such dangerous territory this!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Day dream
Cindi wokiz erli in da mornn ull lone in her bed n her pussy cunt beri needi. So, cindi tuchi hessef n as she tuchi hessef she begin 2 haf vivid deydreem:
She in bed wif her onnir n she nut haf enetin on her bodee. She nut eben werin pluggiz. She fast sleepiz wen she feel her onnir roll her oba from her syd 2 her bak. She nut rezizt in ene wey n he enter her pussy cunt wif his cocki n he yoos her. A few minutz l8r he tern her ova on2 her tummi n he tel her 2 neel on her neez wif her tummi on the bed, ull strechi owt n he enter her ass cunt n he yoos her der 2. Wen redi, he cum insyd her.
By now, cindi wyd wakiz n onnir tellz her 2 go toylet whyl he runs a baf. He has shower himself whyl she sits waytn n wen redi, he has her stand in baf whyl he washz her – her sholderz n brestz n arms n hands n bak n tummy. Den he has her kneel in da baf faysn wey from him n he telz her 2 push owt pussy cunt n ass cunt n he washz dem beri well 4 her.
Afta she ull scrubbd, he towelz her dry n he dressz her in a loose fittin skert n a bra n pretty top n sandalz, sum silver jewelri, n he send her down 2 prepare da brekfist.2getha dey haf breakfast – sum scrambled eggz n towst – but he tel her 2 bring him his tee in2 da studee, where he workiz 2dey. She ken tek her tym, he tel her n haf her tee n reed her paper ferst – der no hurri – 10 oclok ok.
Wen cindi enterz da studi she poot da trey of tee – teepot n cup n sorca n juga milk – on da desk n he tel her 2 sit on da woodn seet he keep on da udda syd of his desk. Of cors, she spred her cheekz as she leend 2 do b4 she sit her cheekz direktli on da seet. She neva wer panteez at her onnirz insistens n so she feel radda vulnibil ull da tym but speshelli at dis momen. Onnir wans 2 talkiz wif her. He tank her 4 his tee n he tel her how pleezd he wif her. She gud bimbo n beri well behavd. Dus she unnerstan dat he ken do enetin he wan? Woteba pleez him?
She assoor him she unnerstan dat, n he prayz her 4 her gud behavyor. Dus she haf her pluggi wif her as she no 2 do? Of cors, she duz. She tek her pluggi owt of her pocket. She bring pluggi in a pretty velvet bag n she hand da bag 2 her onnir.
“Gud bimbo”
“Mek yor wey ova 2 yor displin bench now whyl onnir finish his tee.”
Cindi goz ova 2 her displin bench. It a wooden bench but it speshelli desynd wif a soft letha cervd seat 4 her tummi n high at wun end so dat it present her ass cheekz wel. At da udder end it haf a plays 4 her 2 strech owt her armz n rest her handz n she hold on2 da bar firmlee so dat she gud bimbo n stey stil 4 her onnir.
Wen redi, onnir cumz ova 2 da bench n lift up cindiz skert. He loob bimbo n pluggi n he playz da hooooj pluggi – mr big – in her asscunt. She meow bit but he ignor dat.
“Skweez, bimbo,” he sey and she skweez n skweez.
Afta dat, bimbo jus gettn yoosd 2 da new sens8shun of pluggi wen she feel onnir poot her cocki gag in2 her mofcunt n fill dat hol 2. It lung cocki gag n her mof radda full but she ken suki on da gag n she begin 2 do dat 4 cumfort.
“Onnir goin 2 spankiz cindi wif a letha paddle 2dey. Spankiz beri gud for cindi n eneweyz it pleez onnir 2 tern cindiz bottom beri red. Redi cindi?”
She nod her hed.
“Gud bimbo.”
Onnir begin 2 paddel cindiz bottom n he wak her wif da paddle hard. Beri soon her bottom ull shadz of red n it bern. Cindi stert 2 maki noysz threw da cocki gag dat she nut liki dat paddle but if onnir heer, he nut pay attenshun 2 dat n he keep paddelin wey. He definitlee njoy paddlin cindi n he nut wanna stop eben do cindiz bottom extremelee red n sor lookn now.
She beegn 2 akt liki hors. She begin 2 nay, moovin her hed up n down n stompn her feet, do she hold on2 da bar beri beri tyteli wif her hanz.
Ventooli her onnir poot down da paddle and rub her bottom bit 2 releees da sting n he tel cindi he prowd of her 4 taki her spankiz wel. It so gud 4 her he sey 2 haf sor bottom 2 sit down on.
No sooner has onnir sey dat, n wif her asscunt filld n her mof cunt filld, she heer him upzip his trowzerz n meediatlee afta da, she feel him push in2 her pussy cunt.
Da moment he duz dat, enter her pussy cunt, dat beri second, she feel da enromus push on her – on her filld pussycunt n da pressur on her assplug n she experiens intens n mediat orgazmz dat haf her leev dis werld. She feel da orgasm so intenslee n wif ull her holz filld, she no lunga enetin. Her mynd completlee blank 2 enetin et ull sept her sooblym plezer n fulfilment n ull she ken do, bello liki a cow. She jus a nuttin – a ting makin a bellown sown.
Wen she stert 2 tink she ken bello no mor n der joos runnin down her chin n da pressur sooo intens on her bodee, he cum deep insyd her pussy cunt. 2getha dey bof bello now n she feelz lite aza fetha n totalle happi n kerfree. She njoyz him fillin her up wif his cum.
Onnir haf sum tissooz n he wipe wey da hooj mownta joos runnn from her b4 he run his hanz ova her bak n bottom, prayzn her n telln her how much he luv his bimbo. She savorz dis momen.
Ventooli, he poot down her skert n he tel her stand n he teki wey her cocki gag n wipe her chin. He hug her n she hug him bak.
“Wot bimbo sey?”
“Tanki onnir 4 da yoos. Cindi njoy beri much. Cindi luvz onnir.”
“N onnir luvz cindi. Tym 4 workiz now cindi. Off u go n do yor chorz.”
“Yes, onnir.”
Cindi leevz da studi wif da trey; beri, beri happi. She nut memba wen she wuns jus gurl. She beri happi she bimbo; tranformd.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
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.
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.
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