Recently, I was offered the thought that I wrote to impress: to impress the reader. The opinion I was given was that I didn't write to write, to express myself, or to figure things out, but rather so that people would say that I was a good writer. It was felt that I was still ego laden.
These words have had an amazing effect on me. Frankly, I am troubled by them every day. I have conjured all sorts of ideas to resolve this: from writing only on my private blog, to opening a new public blog to writing differently here on Vesta.
On top of that, this particular period of time is very difficult for me as I begin to express all of myself verbally; something I am not at all comfortable with or have done before. When I told my doctor that I wanted to see a psychologist and why, I was aware that my voice had changed; that these revelations were in fact, an out of body experience. Somebody else was saying all this; surely it couldn't be contained, happy, in control, can cope with anything Vesta!
In the past few days, my inner turmoil has not just seeped out, but emotions have gushed in much the same way my country experienced an inland tsunami: in an abrupt, wild and threatening manner.
Whilst the waters are receding now and I'm returning to normal too, it occurred to me this morning that perhaps now is a good time to try to write in a way that is more true. This will not impress the reader. This is quite simply the free flowing and open thoughts of a submissive woman run off the rails but desperately trying to find her way back to a lifestyle that means everything to her. This is Vesta as you haven't seen her before.
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10/02/11
It came up a few weeks ago with M (for Mentor). I said, or rather cindi said, that she didn’t think that containing her emotions was a good idea and he replied that bimbos (non thinking fuck toys like cindi) didn’t need to contain themselves. Rather, they needed to be contained.
I deduced from that comment that it was all right to express my emotions, although I remain unconvinced of this fact. I think that the men I know want what they want and that includes a self contained, self evolved woman (or fucktoy, as the case may be).
O (for owner) is often completely absorbed in his own thoughts and projects, preferring to work into the dead of the night. It would suit him if I were happy, self-contained and able to always bounce back fast when he speaks to me in a way that I perceive as rude and uncaring (but which he forgets about the moment the words have passed his lips).
He wishes me no harm but at the same time is hopeful that I can take care of myself in stretches of time when he wishes to hyperfocus on his projects. That I give the impression that I am coping is what he takes to be true. He’s not inclined to delve further than that and I’m not inclined to express the distress that lays below the surface at those times when it is clear he wishes to be left alone to think or work.
In much the same way, M wants to interact with cindi. In fact, it is the only form of interaction available. Cindi, being a fucktoy doesn’t think and she doesn’t worry. She is playful, joyful; happy and obedient. She is contained and as I see it, her emotions must be contained, too. Hence, she can’t communicate if she is experiencing negative emotions for any reason. She simply doesn’t come on.
All hell broke loose yesterday. The dam burst and my emotions, long contained were released. I said a lot of things. I was very blunt. I need attention regularly, not sporadically. I want more sex. Stuff like that. But, the biggest thing I said was that I had put a lot of work into myself and he had put next to none into himself. It was time to stop referring to my behaviour and to look at his behaviour if we were to get this thing right.
“I want to have fun. I want joy in my life. I don’t want to just cope. I want to live my life. If you can’t do that, tell me now.” I remember saying that. I didn’t exactly mince words.
I had come to the end of my rope and he knew it. I needed him to hear me and I needed things to change. To his great credit, he let me rant and he comforted me the best way you can comfort a woman that has lost the plot.
I have taken and taken and taken until I can’t take any more. I need real change. I need him to look at life in a new way. Somewhere in there I think I said that I wanted to go live alone. The pain of living with a man who couldn’t embrace me for who I am was so burdensome; it seemed an agonizingly slow death. Better to just cut my own throat, was the thinking going on in my head, as best I understand it myself.
Seeing more clearly than I, he said that it was more of him that I was really asking for – not to go away - and that’s right. I need him to sort his affairs, and be prepared to enjoy the rest of his life as I want to enjoy the rest of my life.
Am I anxiety laden? Of course I am. I have been in the pressure cooker for far too long and I am making one huge leap up and out of there.
I want to live with my heart and soul filled with joy and peace and contentment. I want to live according to my nature. I want lots of lovely sex. I want what I want too.
Contain me to your heart’s content. Great! Remind me of my place. Fantastic. I’ll play and play and play. I adore to play. But contain my emotions at your peril for I am an emotional soul. I do experience all the emotions and I need to express them. It can’t always go the top’s way. I serve willingly and enthusiastically but I am a complete human being and I ask for care. Care for me, all of me (even the parts you don't necessarily want or like) and yea shall receive in abundance. That’s a promise.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Pleasure bound
One of the little disappointments of my life over the past few months is that I would like to have been bound more. No matter how uncomfortable I feel when I am bound, it feels good.
I love the entire process of being bound except perhaps the very last stage. I love watching him handle the rope; watching his hands as he manipulates it to be the right length for the job. I love watching his face as he moves my body to the position he wants it. I love the moments where I stay completely still as I am bound tighter; less able to move at all.
One of my very favourite days was some time ago shortly after he had bought a very long rope. The length of the rope called for only one thing; for him to horizontally wind it around my torso until I was almost lost in the rope. Think Olive Oil and you will be on the right track. The photos don’t lie. I looked like I had gone to heaven.
More recently, over this summer he had me take off my clothes and bend over the edge of the bed on my knees at the holiday house; just a regular height, that bed. He put the palms of my hands together behind my back and then he tied me at the wrists. It was uncomfortable but it felt good.
I feel certain I had mentioned to him several times that I hurt a muscle in my arm in a power bar class that is still healing but he obviously forgot that fact and I didn’t want to remind him. So, the binding of my arms was particularly uncomfortable and yet it felt terrific.
Next he tied rope around my throat, tight enough that when he pulled on it a little at the back I was slightly panicked. I like that feel a lot. Next, he tied some rope between my rope collar and the rope around my wrists that forced my head back. Then, he left me to stew. F a b u l o u s! Maybe fifteen minutes later, he kneeled behind me and had his way. This was seriously uncomfortable but only heightened the pleasure for me.
Eventually, a girl must be undone and this is a two edged sword for me. I want the relief but I also wonder if I could have stayed bound a little longer. I remember this thought as a young child. I would be terribly uncomfortable; perhaps desperately hot. I would secretly wonder how long until some merciful moment would allow me to be cool again. Then, it would happen; perhaps a cool change in the weather, or getting into an air conditioned car. I would feel a huge sense of relief but also a bit of disappointment. Perhaps I might have managed to go a few minutes more in my discomfort. Even as a child, I thought this a very perverse thought.
Whilst I struggle to put into words what I love about being bound I can say this: that I love to be physically contained, to lose any and all control, to be the focus of attention and to feel the energy pass between my husband and myself. I thrive on this sort of humiliation; of being reduced, captured and caught. I suspect time spent in a cage would be absolutely thrilling. (I had a tumblr pikki of a girl in a cage but the above pikki won by a hair’s breath.)
It is almost time to go to bed and if my husband were to come and tie me tight – wrists and ankles and a rope between those two – I would sleep like a baby. Such is the stuff of dreams!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Agnes - Into the Courtyard
follows on from Frederick - Into the Courtyard
As Agnes proceeded along the stairway she discovered foliage was in her way and she slowed right down so that she could move the overgrowth out of the way of her face. Her imagination was starting to come into play and she had put herself into a jungle sort of scenario with Frederick along to protect her from all the wild creatures. It was a game she often liked to play; to imagine scenarios in her head and she slipped into the role of a jungle explorer quite easily. Even better, there were no mosquitoes to deal with here, although she did look above her from time to time to check for snakes, so able was she to enter a world of her own creation.
When Agnes found that she had landed into a small pond, she was quite disoriented for a moment and she stopped dead. Fortunately, Frederick told her where to go and she stepped across the stepping stones that led to the open space of the courtyard. She found it rather magical and she told Frederick so, although she didn’t want to let on all was going on in her mind. She held onto her imagination as a lovely secret and had never shared that with anybody.
She was impressed with what Frederick had done with the garden and she liked to hear him talk about it and how it had come to pass that he cared for it. She very much liked people to be multi-layered, to have various interests and even to be complicated. She liked that Frederick was a surprise package. She found so many boys so dull and one dimensional and felt privileged to be in the company of this sophisticated man. She worried that she was not interesting enough for him.
It had been rather humid amongst all the plants and Agnes was used to getting much more sleep than she had last night. Perhaps she had not drunk enough water, she wondered, for she felt a little dizzy. She tried to ignore the sensation but it was not going away. She eventually had to tell Frederick before she fainted and he was quick to sit her down.
Agnes felt Frederick place his arms around her shoulder and pull her in. He seemed to be looking at her in a concerned way and it embarrassed her. She didn’t like the fact that she felt unwell in front of him. Yet, as he touched her hair or moved his hand on her shoulder slightly and seemed so generally solicitous of her, she began to realize that he was not at all cross with her but genuinely caring and looking to ease her discomfort. She felt very warm towards him. He was a good man, she felt.
Absentmindedly, she murmured in response to these gestures of kindness until she felt moved to hold his fingers across the palm of one hand and to rub his index finger. The giddiness had gone and although she did not feel entirely well, she did not want to ruin Frederick’s plans. She willed herself to be perfectly all right.
“I think I am feeling better now...”
As they got off the bench and proceeded with the tour Agnes was very aware of how Frederick was holding her. He had taken her by the wrist and this was a new feeling. It left her powerless and she liked the sensation of being led in this way. She felt very soft; rather small; happy. Agnes loved the way that Frederick took the initiative to move her body this way and that as he pointed out various details around the courtyard. She loved being shown about and given this very private tour. It made her feel special in his eyes.
When his mobile phone rang and he excused himself to take the call, he made it clear he wanted her to wait right there. In spite of what he had directed, she had the thought that he would be on the phone at least a few minutes and in that time she could do a little exploring herself. For reasons she didn’t know entirely, she felt drawn to a corner of the garden where there were tall bushes. She wondered if she could hear a sound coming from that direction; perhaps the chirping of birds. She wandered towards the bushes.
Just as Agnes almost disappeared into the bushes, she felt an arm yank her back. Shocked for a moment, she realized it was Frederick and he did not look amused. Although his words were measured, she could sense some agitation. She wanted to explain herself; that she meant no harm and was just filling in time but her explanation and her flattery of what she saw seemed to make him even more agitated. She felt the need to apologize but even that was unacceptable to him.
“It is not enough to be sorry. You need to be careful,” he responded.
For the first time, she felt the age difference between them acutely; a young, inexperienced girl with a mature sophisticated and professional man who was making it clear that he meant what he said. She was embarrassed at the sudden chiding and felt foolish. She looked down and realizing that he was expecting something of her, she quietly said, “Yes, Sir”.
She was confused by his sudden change in demeanour and she felt put off her balance. This was a side of him that she had not seen before. Yet, as quickly as the friction had arrived, it was gone and the Frederick she knew before that moment returned. He pointed to a spot where he liked to picnic or to lie out on a blanket. It was as if her wandering away had never taken place. She felt a bit confused.
He put his arm around her, smiled and continued on with his explanation about the building and garden and the story of it all. It interested her well enough for she was also interested in these topics and she tried to pay attention. Her mind kept wandering off to thoughts about Frederick and her own behaviour. She was going over it in her mind wanting not to make a similar mistake again.
Returning to the grassy area, Frederick asked her if she was hungry and although she wasn’t really hungry as yet, she said she was a little hungry, working on the basis that he must be if had mentioned it. He held out his keys to her and asked her to return to the apartment and put together some lunch in a basket and bring it down.
This request surprised and worried her. It had never occurred to her that Frederick would allow her in his apartment alone. Most of all, she worried that she would not be able to prepare the food in the manner to which he would approve. He seemed to do everything so effortlessly and to have strong opinions. She didn’t want to do something that made it any more evident that she was really just a simple, young girl with no particular abilities or finesse. At least, that is how she felt about herself.
Perhaps to him, she looked like she knew what she was doing with her life, but inside her head, she lacked enormous self-confidence and questioned why he would want to spend time with her in the first place. His reassurances gave her the confidence to accept the challenge and she walked towards the stairs, trying to evoke the feeling that she was under control and had more than enough confidence to accept any challenge. It was something that she did all the time around Paris, standing tall and walking with a gait that suggested she was a woman who knew herself and her power. It was her mask.
As Agnes walked up the spiral stairs her mind was focussed on making the picnic as delicious and enticing as she possibly could. This man had got under her skin and more than anything, she wanted him to be pleased not with just her but with every move she made and every last little thing she did.
As Agnes proceeded along the stairway she discovered foliage was in her way and she slowed right down so that she could move the overgrowth out of the way of her face. Her imagination was starting to come into play and she had put herself into a jungle sort of scenario with Frederick along to protect her from all the wild creatures. It was a game she often liked to play; to imagine scenarios in her head and she slipped into the role of a jungle explorer quite easily. Even better, there were no mosquitoes to deal with here, although she did look above her from time to time to check for snakes, so able was she to enter a world of her own creation.
When Agnes found that she had landed into a small pond, she was quite disoriented for a moment and she stopped dead. Fortunately, Frederick told her where to go and she stepped across the stepping stones that led to the open space of the courtyard. She found it rather magical and she told Frederick so, although she didn’t want to let on all was going on in her mind. She held onto her imagination as a lovely secret and had never shared that with anybody.
She was impressed with what Frederick had done with the garden and she liked to hear him talk about it and how it had come to pass that he cared for it. She very much liked people to be multi-layered, to have various interests and even to be complicated. She liked that Frederick was a surprise package. She found so many boys so dull and one dimensional and felt privileged to be in the company of this sophisticated man. She worried that she was not interesting enough for him.
It had been rather humid amongst all the plants and Agnes was used to getting much more sleep than she had last night. Perhaps she had not drunk enough water, she wondered, for she felt a little dizzy. She tried to ignore the sensation but it was not going away. She eventually had to tell Frederick before she fainted and he was quick to sit her down.
Agnes felt Frederick place his arms around her shoulder and pull her in. He seemed to be looking at her in a concerned way and it embarrassed her. She didn’t like the fact that she felt unwell in front of him. Yet, as he touched her hair or moved his hand on her shoulder slightly and seemed so generally solicitous of her, she began to realize that he was not at all cross with her but genuinely caring and looking to ease her discomfort. She felt very warm towards him. He was a good man, she felt.
Absentmindedly, she murmured in response to these gestures of kindness until she felt moved to hold his fingers across the palm of one hand and to rub his index finger. The giddiness had gone and although she did not feel entirely well, she did not want to ruin Frederick’s plans. She willed herself to be perfectly all right.
“I think I am feeling better now...”
As they got off the bench and proceeded with the tour Agnes was very aware of how Frederick was holding her. He had taken her by the wrist and this was a new feeling. It left her powerless and she liked the sensation of being led in this way. She felt very soft; rather small; happy. Agnes loved the way that Frederick took the initiative to move her body this way and that as he pointed out various details around the courtyard. She loved being shown about and given this very private tour. It made her feel special in his eyes.
When his mobile phone rang and he excused himself to take the call, he made it clear he wanted her to wait right there. In spite of what he had directed, she had the thought that he would be on the phone at least a few minutes and in that time she could do a little exploring herself. For reasons she didn’t know entirely, she felt drawn to a corner of the garden where there were tall bushes. She wondered if she could hear a sound coming from that direction; perhaps the chirping of birds. She wandered towards the bushes.
Just as Agnes almost disappeared into the bushes, she felt an arm yank her back. Shocked for a moment, she realized it was Frederick and he did not look amused. Although his words were measured, she could sense some agitation. She wanted to explain herself; that she meant no harm and was just filling in time but her explanation and her flattery of what she saw seemed to make him even more agitated. She felt the need to apologize but even that was unacceptable to him.
“It is not enough to be sorry. You need to be careful,” he responded.
For the first time, she felt the age difference between them acutely; a young, inexperienced girl with a mature sophisticated and professional man who was making it clear that he meant what he said. She was embarrassed at the sudden chiding and felt foolish. She looked down and realizing that he was expecting something of her, she quietly said, “Yes, Sir”.
She was confused by his sudden change in demeanour and she felt put off her balance. This was a side of him that she had not seen before. Yet, as quickly as the friction had arrived, it was gone and the Frederick she knew before that moment returned. He pointed to a spot where he liked to picnic or to lie out on a blanket. It was as if her wandering away had never taken place. She felt a bit confused.
He put his arm around her, smiled and continued on with his explanation about the building and garden and the story of it all. It interested her well enough for she was also interested in these topics and she tried to pay attention. Her mind kept wandering off to thoughts about Frederick and her own behaviour. She was going over it in her mind wanting not to make a similar mistake again.
Returning to the grassy area, Frederick asked her if she was hungry and although she wasn’t really hungry as yet, she said she was a little hungry, working on the basis that he must be if had mentioned it. He held out his keys to her and asked her to return to the apartment and put together some lunch in a basket and bring it down.
This request surprised and worried her. It had never occurred to her that Frederick would allow her in his apartment alone. Most of all, she worried that she would not be able to prepare the food in the manner to which he would approve. He seemed to do everything so effortlessly and to have strong opinions. She didn’t want to do something that made it any more evident that she was really just a simple, young girl with no particular abilities or finesse. At least, that is how she felt about herself.
Perhaps to him, she looked like she knew what she was doing with her life, but inside her head, she lacked enormous self-confidence and questioned why he would want to spend time with her in the first place. His reassurances gave her the confidence to accept the challenge and she walked towards the stairs, trying to evoke the feeling that she was under control and had more than enough confidence to accept any challenge. It was something that she did all the time around Paris, standing tall and walking with a gait that suggested she was a woman who knew herself and her power. It was her mask.
As Agnes walked up the spiral stairs her mind was focussed on making the picnic as delicious and enticing as she possibly could. This man had got under her skin and more than anything, she wanted him to be pleased not with just her but with every move she made and every last little thing she did.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Agnes - Friday morning
When Frederick began to massage her leg, Agnes felt herself drop into a pleasure zone. She adored being touched in this way and would take as much of it as he was willing to offer. When he pulled her into a sitting position on the side of the bed, her body readily complied.
She liked the fact that he was telling her what to do. It felt very right to her for she had no ideas herself in this situation. She went into the bathroom and took off her clothes and placed them on a hanger she found. Once alone, she took a few moments to metaphorically ‘pinch herself’. Was this really happening to her? She felt giddy with excitement and hugged herself.
She loved his bathroom. It was simple with neutral tiles on the walls and darker ones on the floor. His towels were thick and dark chocolate brown. His soap was handmade with the hint of vanilla and the shampoo and conditioners were matching bottles and expensive looking. Everything was spotlessly clean. She felt so indulged.
By the time Agnes had her shower and washed her hair, she felt fresh and clean. She put a towel around her body and one around her wet hair. She walked into the bedroom, all the way this time and saw that Frederick had laid out something for her to wear on his bed, as he had said he would. She picked up the garment, surprised that he should have something for her to wear at all really and delighted that she should find it so appealing.
It was a cotton shift of a pink and white design. She took off the towel from around her body as well as the towel around her hair and put the shift over her head. In his long mirror she surveyed herself and liked the look. She felt good in it. It was the sort of garment that she imagined she might wear if she were ever to go to an island. She was aware that she was wearing no bra or panties but she tried to think of the shift as like a nightgown. She never wore panties or bra under those either.
Agnes returned the towels to the bathroom and then attended to her hair as best she could. She saw no comb or brush. She did find some moisturizer and she was pleased to moisturize her face even if she had no makeup to apply. She hung the towels up straight and even on the towel rack. Her mother had trained her well in the art of being a good guest. With a quick check of her appearance in the mirror she ventured out into the hall.
Agnes could see Frederick sitting at his desk and she wanted to be reassured that she looked all right. “How does this look?” She felt a little self conscious when he gestured to her to display herself but she turned in a circle as instructed, rather enjoying his focus and pleased by his obvious approval.
“I think I...” she began, but he put his finger to his mouth and shushed her. Agnes stopped talking mid sentence, confused. She didn’t know what to do and she simply stood there feeling embarrassed.
When Frederick began to do her hair, she melted; putty in his hands. She wondered if he had any idea the positive effect that this was having on her. She stayed perfectly still and would let him do whatever was his pleasure. When he turned around and with gestures asked if this was what she had intended to ask about, Agnes instinctively put her palms together and bowed in much the same way she once saw a geisha girl bow in a movie. She liked this game more than she dare let on.
When Frederick led her to the kitchen table and took a piece of rope which he wound around her waist twice, she was silently mesmerized. His comment that they may need the rope later enticed her and aroused her in ways she had never before imagined. At no point did she have the slightest desire to question him or to object. Why would she object to something she found so pleasing and so right? The shrug of the shoulders was merely to keep him off the scent; from knowing how much she loved it all.
To be fed nutritious food, prepared by Frederick himself and on her behalf gave her a warm glow and she happily ate the delicious but simple fare in silence. She also was happy to sit in silence on the couch where he placed her whilst he readied himself for the day. She was in her own little bubble of excitement and anticipation and sitting still and silent was the perfect thing to do as she contemplated her situation.
Yet as she waited, thoughts and questions began to flood her mind and when she saw Frederick she had an impulse to speak that she did not ignore. But, the moment she began to form a sentence he corrected her by putting a finger to his lips. Again, she silenced herself mid sentence, a little annoyed with herself for giving in to her impulse so easily.
He gestured to her to put on her sandals and then he led her out the front door onto a broad balcony and down the spiral stairway into the garden below. Her heart was pounding. Only when she felt she might asphyxiate did she remind herself to breathe.
She liked the fact that he was telling her what to do. It felt very right to her for she had no ideas herself in this situation. She went into the bathroom and took off her clothes and placed them on a hanger she found. Once alone, she took a few moments to metaphorically ‘pinch herself’. Was this really happening to her? She felt giddy with excitement and hugged herself.
She loved his bathroom. It was simple with neutral tiles on the walls and darker ones on the floor. His towels were thick and dark chocolate brown. His soap was handmade with the hint of vanilla and the shampoo and conditioners were matching bottles and expensive looking. Everything was spotlessly clean. She felt so indulged.
By the time Agnes had her shower and washed her hair, she felt fresh and clean. She put a towel around her body and one around her wet hair. She walked into the bedroom, all the way this time and saw that Frederick had laid out something for her to wear on his bed, as he had said he would. She picked up the garment, surprised that he should have something for her to wear at all really and delighted that she should find it so appealing.
It was a cotton shift of a pink and white design. She took off the towel from around her body as well as the towel around her hair and put the shift over her head. In his long mirror she surveyed herself and liked the look. She felt good in it. It was the sort of garment that she imagined she might wear if she were ever to go to an island. She was aware that she was wearing no bra or panties but she tried to think of the shift as like a nightgown. She never wore panties or bra under those either.
Agnes returned the towels to the bathroom and then attended to her hair as best she could. She saw no comb or brush. She did find some moisturizer and she was pleased to moisturize her face even if she had no makeup to apply. She hung the towels up straight and even on the towel rack. Her mother had trained her well in the art of being a good guest. With a quick check of her appearance in the mirror she ventured out into the hall.
Agnes could see Frederick sitting at his desk and she wanted to be reassured that she looked all right. “How does this look?” She felt a little self conscious when he gestured to her to display herself but she turned in a circle as instructed, rather enjoying his focus and pleased by his obvious approval.
“I think I...” she began, but he put his finger to his mouth and shushed her. Agnes stopped talking mid sentence, confused. She didn’t know what to do and she simply stood there feeling embarrassed.
When Frederick began to do her hair, she melted; putty in his hands. She wondered if he had any idea the positive effect that this was having on her. She stayed perfectly still and would let him do whatever was his pleasure. When he turned around and with gestures asked if this was what she had intended to ask about, Agnes instinctively put her palms together and bowed in much the same way she once saw a geisha girl bow in a movie. She liked this game more than she dare let on.
When Frederick led her to the kitchen table and took a piece of rope which he wound around her waist twice, she was silently mesmerized. His comment that they may need the rope later enticed her and aroused her in ways she had never before imagined. At no point did she have the slightest desire to question him or to object. Why would she object to something she found so pleasing and so right? The shrug of the shoulders was merely to keep him off the scent; from knowing how much she loved it all.
To be fed nutritious food, prepared by Frederick himself and on her behalf gave her a warm glow and she happily ate the delicious but simple fare in silence. She also was happy to sit in silence on the couch where he placed her whilst he readied himself for the day. She was in her own little bubble of excitement and anticipation and sitting still and silent was the perfect thing to do as she contemplated her situation.
Yet as she waited, thoughts and questions began to flood her mind and when she saw Frederick she had an impulse to speak that she did not ignore. But, the moment she began to form a sentence he corrected her by putting a finger to his lips. Again, she silenced herself mid sentence, a little annoyed with herself for giving in to her impulse so easily.
He gestured to her to put on her sandals and then he led her out the front door onto a broad balcony and down the spiral stairway into the garden below. Her heart was pounding. Only when she felt she might asphyxiate did she remind herself to breathe.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday: Double dose doubly good
(Source image: Playboy Playmates Karissa and Kristina Shannon)
Bob was tired of Janice’s complaining, bitchy ways. He was on the cusp of divorcing her when by chance he met a man in a bar who talked of his invention that turned complaining girls into wanton, greedy, cum-seeking sluts. The thought was irresistible and he bought it right there and then.
As instructed, Bob fucked Janice blind first and without question she lay down in the contraption with the promise of even more pleasure. The man’s instructions had been clear but Bob figured a double dose could be doubly good.
He was right. When he opened the lid, Janice had the body and mind of the fucktoy of his dreams. But, she also had a twin. He now had at his beck and call, two service toys ready to play.
Tennis, anyone?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Just saying...
For the third day, my 'owner' has worked from his study in the house and for the third day in a row he has had very little sleep. This being the third day of living on the edge, my defences are wearing down. I have felt an urge to sit and write, to calm myself and settle myself by getting something down on paper but there are constant interruptions putting my nerves on edge.
I abandon the idea. I exercise. I clean the kitchen. I do the laundry. I do anything at all that will give my body momentum in lieu of my mind and thereby, with any luck, combat that sense of agitation I feel.
He finds me. He asks a question about the credit card bill. Then, he wants to know if the Internet is down. It is. I was waiting for him to get off the phone to ask him if it was okay to reboot but he tells me I am wrong. I should reboot if it goes down. “I was in the middle of doing something,” he chides, which is exactly the reason why I was previously told to wait and ask!!
I bring him some lunch and hear him clearly frustrated with the answers he is being given by the person on the other end of the phone. I drop the food and run. But, he comes to tell me what fools the people at the bank are and how they managed to inconvenience him again. I nod. I listen. I hope the explanation is over soon.
I retreat to the laundry and he comes to tell me he is sorry. I try to explain, again, that I find all this commotion tough to be around since there is nothing I can do to make it better and is it at all possible that not having hardly slept at all for three nights, he might be a little grumpy due to lack of sleep?
He expresses his lack of understanding. If he was not directing the upset towards me why should I be bothered to listen to upset directed at someone else? Again, I try to explain that I find it tough to have my day engulfed in this way, and that I’d like an opportunity to retrieve what I can of my day.
“You need a spanking,” he says.
Well, maybe I do. Maybe that is exactly the best outcome because it would settle him down; give him a sense of control over himself to feel that he is controlling me by spanking me. I’m not saying that it wouldn’t do me good, too. I’m just saying...
I abandon the idea. I exercise. I clean the kitchen. I do the laundry. I do anything at all that will give my body momentum in lieu of my mind and thereby, with any luck, combat that sense of agitation I feel.
He finds me. He asks a question about the credit card bill. Then, he wants to know if the Internet is down. It is. I was waiting for him to get off the phone to ask him if it was okay to reboot but he tells me I am wrong. I should reboot if it goes down. “I was in the middle of doing something,” he chides, which is exactly the reason why I was previously told to wait and ask!!
I bring him some lunch and hear him clearly frustrated with the answers he is being given by the person on the other end of the phone. I drop the food and run. But, he comes to tell me what fools the people at the bank are and how they managed to inconvenience him again. I nod. I listen. I hope the explanation is over soon.
I retreat to the laundry and he comes to tell me he is sorry. I try to explain, again, that I find all this commotion tough to be around since there is nothing I can do to make it better and is it at all possible that not having hardly slept at all for three nights, he might be a little grumpy due to lack of sleep?
He expresses his lack of understanding. If he was not directing the upset towards me why should I be bothered to listen to upset directed at someone else? Again, I try to explain that I find it tough to have my day engulfed in this way, and that I’d like an opportunity to retrieve what I can of my day.
“You need a spanking,” he says.
Well, maybe I do. Maybe that is exactly the best outcome because it would settle him down; give him a sense of control over himself to feel that he is controlling me by spanking me. I’m not saying that it wouldn’t do me good, too. I’m just saying...
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Ego and letting go
I have a strong sense of self. There is no doubt about it. I didn't come down in the last shower. I am no spring chicken and I know who I am.
Why do I write here? I see it as something of a personal journey; chronicling that journey and getting my thoughts down in a structured and coherent way. Yes, it can be read by whoever wishes to come along and read it but for reasons I am not entirely sure about, this way of getting down my thoughts provides a bit more discipline and structure for me.
I have a private blog with no readers whatsoever and no one but me knows the code. I guess you could say that it is more 'stream of consciousness' writing over there but as well, it is overly dramatic and in some ways not authentic, because it is writing at the top of my head, without thought and embarrassingly so. More than that, it would be hurtful to others for it is emotions gone awry and what I say in one moment can be negated in the other.
So, I come here to try to write down my story in a way that bares some weight; in a way that is true. In my mind, if my words are to be read by others, they need to have some measure and every word needs to be true and to feel right. I don't re-read my posts hardly ever, but if I did, I want to be proud of them; that I said what I meant but also that I applied some guidelines to my thought; that I didn't type so very much on the tips of my fingertips that I typed without some thought as to whether the words would stand the test of time.
Am I aware of the reader? Do I care what the reader thinks? Well, sometimes, I monitor what I say for a few reasons. I am aware of a few particular readers, though I try not to let that influence what I say.
Are some posts unnecessary? Yes, more than likely some posts did nothing more than indulge my desire to write something; anything at all. From the youngest age, I picked up a pen and wrote as my way of expressing myself and I love to write; to create sentences and paragraphs and posts and stories. I can't write very much with a pen these days, unfortunately. I love to type my thoughts because I think too fast most times to write them all down with a pen. Though interestingly, if a thought is very important to me, I write it into one of my kinky notebooks that travel with me wherever I go and to which I refer constantly.
A new school year began here today. The heat wave is over and there is some coolness to the air. It feels like a good moment to try something new - to move into the next chapter of this journey of discovery. So, for this next chapter, a conscious effort will be made to write as if I am writing for myself alone; as if there were no readers at all. And, let's see how that goes, if something changes and there are a whole new set of lessons to learn; if I can let that ego slip away and provide me with new sights and insights.
Why do I write here? I see it as something of a personal journey; chronicling that journey and getting my thoughts down in a structured and coherent way. Yes, it can be read by whoever wishes to come along and read it but for reasons I am not entirely sure about, this way of getting down my thoughts provides a bit more discipline and structure for me.
I have a private blog with no readers whatsoever and no one but me knows the code. I guess you could say that it is more 'stream of consciousness' writing over there but as well, it is overly dramatic and in some ways not authentic, because it is writing at the top of my head, without thought and embarrassingly so. More than that, it would be hurtful to others for it is emotions gone awry and what I say in one moment can be negated in the other.
So, I come here to try to write down my story in a way that bares some weight; in a way that is true. In my mind, if my words are to be read by others, they need to have some measure and every word needs to be true and to feel right. I don't re-read my posts hardly ever, but if I did, I want to be proud of them; that I said what I meant but also that I applied some guidelines to my thought; that I didn't type so very much on the tips of my fingertips that I typed without some thought as to whether the words would stand the test of time.
Am I aware of the reader? Do I care what the reader thinks? Well, sometimes, I monitor what I say for a few reasons. I am aware of a few particular readers, though I try not to let that influence what I say.
Are some posts unnecessary? Yes, more than likely some posts did nothing more than indulge my desire to write something; anything at all. From the youngest age, I picked up a pen and wrote as my way of expressing myself and I love to write; to create sentences and paragraphs and posts and stories. I can't write very much with a pen these days, unfortunately. I love to type my thoughts because I think too fast most times to write them all down with a pen. Though interestingly, if a thought is very important to me, I write it into one of my kinky notebooks that travel with me wherever I go and to which I refer constantly.
A new school year began here today. The heat wave is over and there is some coolness to the air. It feels like a good moment to try something new - to move into the next chapter of this journey of discovery. So, for this next chapter, a conscious effort will be made to write as if I am writing for myself alone; as if there were no readers at all. And, let's see how that goes, if something changes and there are a whole new set of lessons to learn; if I can let that ego slip away and provide me with new sights and insights.
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