Insistence

The complexity of some women is that they like things to be steady, calm and ordered at the same time as they need challenge in their lives. They take the time to organize their lives and those in it because they want to feel ‘in control’. At the same time as they want to feel ‘in control’ they need to experience challenge. They want to go out of their comfort zones.

For a partner handling both of these impulses it can be tricky, no? Making love or accepting a command would be good for both of you, but how to keep her mind off all the other things she has racing through her head? How to impact that desire of hers to seek  her own comfort and follow her own impulses; to make her own choices? These are the questions you ask yourself.

Part of her just wants to sink down in the warm comfortable bed and go 'ni ni' but the other part of her would rise to any challenge you offer her too, yes? Well, not necessarily. She is caught between her two needs – that of slumber and that of having her mind (via her body) stimulated.

She says she wants to go to sleep. You say you want her to do as she is told. You banter back and forth. It isn’t so much that she hopes that you stop repeating yourself as that she needs to feel your control, your insistence, a little force.

When she is sure that you will not waver, that you mean for her to obey you no matter how long it takes, she concedes. “Very well,” she says, possibly a little petulantly; maybe in a resigned tone.

Off she goes to fulfil your demand. Quite suddenly, she is not sleepy any more. She feels bright, alert, switched on. She offers these observations to you and you say, “Imagine that”, as if it were a revelation; as if this outcome had never occurred before. She likes to pretend that there is no sarcasm in that remark, even though she knows it is there.

The dynamic between the two of you is restored. When she does fall to sleep, it will be with a lightness of being. She followed instructions. She pleased you and you are proud of her. She glows. You prevailed. Right now, all is well in your world.

Childlike helplessness and vulnerability

I read these words, "childlike helplessness and vulnerability" and a wave of memories came flooding back to me. Discerning Dom was actually talking about stories with a spanking theme wherein the person was back at school getting spanked (or much worse) but for me the memories of my experiences with childlike helplessness and vulnerability were as cindi.

You really can't imagine how small I was within that persona and just how vulnerable I truly felt. You can't possibly know these things unless you experience them. There he was thousands of miles away from me and yet I felt completely helpless and totally at his mercy.

I play a very honest game or to use another phrase, I play a very straight bat. I don't pretend to follow orders if I don't follow them no matter how far away the Top. If I didn't do what I was meant to do, I told the truth.

Why did you do that, I can hear some of you say? Well, for one thing I wanted the most authentic experience I could possibly get. And for another thing, he was uncannily brilliant at detecting if I wasn't telling him the whole truth. But, most important of all, cindi is a doll. cindi just isn't capable of those girl type behaviours. In the head space of a doll, cindi knows what is expected of her and she knows that if she lies or disobeys, the axe will fall.

I don't have to search my mind for examples of when cindi felt vulnerable and helpless. They are front and centre in my mind. The first example that comes to mind is when the doll maker was upset with her for disobeying his instructions. She knew she was in trouble but she figured that he would eventually forgive and forget her mistake. But, time just didn't seem to be healing the wound and whilst she mustered the courage to one day say "hi hi" she was paralyzed in her efforts to say any more. He seemed confused and cindi typed in "cindi duzznt no if she lowd 2 sey netin mor". cindi waited for direction. cindi knew her place and cindi understood that she must impress, cajole, tantalize and most importantly obey mr. _. To disappoint him, to earn his ire, to be summarily lectured for her poor behaviour was terrifying in the extreme.

When cindi was in the good books she twirled her party dress like a little girl. She giggled and laughed and exhibited the abandon of a little girl in a candy shop. When she was in trouble she put her head down and listened to the lecture and said that she was very sorry and hoped that she was not sent away to think about her bad behaviour. Her happiness relied on him being proud of her, satisfied with her, entranced by her.

cindi was as helpless as a small child, vulnerable to the whims of her guardian. I would argue that cindi was considerably more vulnerable and helpless than a girl in a school with a headmaster that makes use of a cane. Headmasters tend to cane and move on and tomorrow is a new day, but to this day cindi could tell you of every time she disappointed and of every time she failed to impress. It was that terrifying to her and the wounds caused by her misbehaviours seemed to have a permanence about them.

Some days I look back and perhaps like you, wonder why cindi kept returning to a place where she was so helpless and so very vulnerable. The answer is simple. cindi had a childlike innocence, complete trust and faith and a reverance for her guardian. He understood her needs better than anyone ever could, looked out for her and kept her safe; had her best interests at heart. In that very safe place, with his guidance, direction and care she could come alive and thrive. It made her indescribably happy.

Her

Why do I write in this journal? I write here because I want to reach my soul and I hope to reach another soul; perhaps many souls. Communication that comes from one soul and reaches another soul is what my writing is about.

I want to say what few do. I want to express my drive towards some unknowable thing. I want to reach deep into myself and find out what is true and unchanging. I want to reach the real me.

Yet, the real me frightens me and sometimes I have to back away from her. She is such a greedy, demanding slut. She wants what she wants and she wants it when she wants it. She is no submissive. She demands. Give me. Give me. Give me. That is her mantra.

So I try to back away from her. I try not to give her air. I try to smother her with talk of good submissive qualities; to care about the other.

No matter what I do that harlot rises up. Fuck me. Love me. Pay attention to me. Brush my hair. 

“You are meant to say please,” I tell her. She looks at me like a little girl caught out and you can see her brain working. The clever bitch knows how to work people and in her sweetest little girl voice she says, “Pleeeeeze brush my hair.”

There’s no stopping her. There is no keeping her locked up. She beguiles. She bewitches. She demands. She pleads. She does whatever she needs to do to get what she wants. The submissive part of her personality is a bit of a hoax. She is no submissive that one. She is just a greedy, selfish, brazen whore.

Inspiration

I am so happy! I have begun my writing course and am meeting fellow writers in my tutorial group. I haven't quite mastered 'Blackboard' but I will. I have been to a Writer's Festival this week and only wish I could have spent more time there. There were wonderful writers there from the USA, from Ireland; all over the world really. I learned so much. My notebook is brimming over with ideas.

I have had fun reading 'The Spanking Collection' mentioned in my last post and all in all, I woke up this Saturday morning desperate to get down a story and it has been a long time since that has happened, I assure you.

I am sorry that I can't share it here. I may need to share it with my tutorial members and we don't want an overlap with this blog now, do we? But, I have sent it off to a few close friends to read in the hope of some feedback. My only regret is that I can't send it to someone who would have enjoyed my enjoyment of the tale very much I think. I guess you can't have everything. But, I am greedy and I want everything!

Isn't it funny how the world can change on a dime?! I feel so inspired quite suddenly;  as if everything is going to be all right. Yay!

Spanking stories

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Well treated

It is several months ago since the day that I walked into my doctor's office - at least six months ago actually - and said that I couldn't get control of my emotions; that I felt that I just needed to talk to someone about what I was going through. He'd never seen me remotely, vaguely like that. I had always been in control of myself; always knew what I was doing and how to do it. He made note of the new me.

He listened for a while, thought it a good idea that I see someone and had me go home and do a specific online test that would give him direction to make out a "treatment plan" for the psychologist. I did the test purposely whilst my emotional state was raging. I wanted the results to be entirely honest.

Yet, even in that state, the little weird questions thrown in at odd moments were perfectly clear to me:

Do you ever feel that a voice is talking to you? No.

And later,

"Do you feel that you are under any body's control?"

If I answered "no", there were would be no repercussions. If I answered "yes" they would think me slightly mad. I answered "yes". I did feel under some body's control. I was emotional enough not to lie about that.

A few days later, I returned to my doctor to hear him tell me that I was suffering anxiety and that some of my thoughts were perhaps "paranoid". Here we go. Silly, truthful me.

At the psychologist's office, I was subjected to the scrutiny of dozens of questions all trying to get at my sense of things that I was being "controlled". Who was trying to control me and why did I think that way? This was getting a little out of hand.

I told her I knew what this was all about; that I was in a state that day; that I felt that I sometimes had to do things that I didn't necessarily want to do and that I answered the question that way fully aware that there would be questions about it (and made a mental note to say "no" to all such questions when they asked me to take the online test next time).

The fact is that whilst the therapy has assisted me in many ways, enabling me to talk more than anything else; to talk through issues as well as to explore on my own modes of thinking that may not have been beneficial to me, I was never really able to speak to her about the fact that I was being trained as a doll, that I wanted to experience that and that I was intensely aroused by such thoughts. I was never really able to speak to the issues surrounding my sexuality and the enormous sense of power, happiness and contentment I felt in "letting go" in that way. I was never really able to speak to the fact that I was being strongly encouraged to want what the 'dollmaker' wanted; that his wants became my wants; that his wants became my needs; that in fact he was simply bringing to the surface my own internal desires. I simply knew too well that she was writing down what I said and to her intellectually trained mind it was going to sound oh so "unhealthy".

So, I skirted the issues; spoke of my "submissive bubble" and my contentment therein and discovered that her goal became to break the bubble somewhat and encourage me to be more assertive; that the bubble was okay in the bedroom but not elsewhere. I found myself monitoring things to suit all parties. It was becoming hard work. It was useful. I won't say that it wasn't useful but in the end was I simply giving to her what I felt she wanted to have, too?? Ever the good submissive...

Off the top of my head (and I am typing incredibly fast here) I can't explain exactly how the therapy helped me. She said to me the time before last, "I don't have the answer" so I don't think even she could explain exactly how I was helped. But, I was helped. I was steered in certain directions and seeds were sown in my head that enabled me to feel in control of myself; relieved of my anxieties. I recognized my flaws, I suppose; was able to see clearly that I do experience some anxiety and I felt more able to handle it when it did crop up. I recognize it for what it is now and I self-soothe, primarily. If I am feeling particularly able, I ask for what I need - love and attention - and I feel particularly proud when I am able to do that -  a key goal  of my bimbo training, in fact!

The last few years of my life have been so intense, so rich, so challenging, so full of growth, I think I just needed a time out to digest it all and to figure out the lay of the land. Even the therapy at times was intense and believe me, there were days when I wanted to make the call and say to the psychologist I was done now. Thanks, and ciao! She could really annoy me, but I stuck with it and it is probably good that I did.

I think she feels she's done a good job and I would say she has done a good job. But, here's the rub. I'm still the dolli inside. I still prefer to wear dresses and skirts. I still think of my body as a thing to be used (as often as possible please!). I still fantasize in much the same way as I have done for years and I still feel most whole, most complete when I have been nothing more and nothing less than 'the doll' with zero control, inside or outside the bedroom. But, that is going to have to be our secret because if she knew what we knew, it just wouldn't be at all good.

Passion

I have been thinking about 'passion' lately; what makes one person so very passionate and another person hardly at all passionate. This led me to consider 'attachment styles ' and that led me to this statement:

"People with a preoccupied attachment style and anxious people tend to experience passion more often than other people." 

According to Wiki "people with this style of attachment seek high levels of intimacy, approval and responsiveness from their partners. They sometimes value intimacy to such an extent that they become overly dependent on their partners..."

I am still chewing all that over in my mind so I won't go on and on about it now but I know that I am a very passionate person and my husband is a very passionate person. In fact, all my children are very passionate people. But, none more than my youngest son. His father just dropped him off at an art festival. He had made a costume for the event (everybody does) and his excitement was palpable. Don't tell anybody but we even let him miss school on Friday afternoon so that he could attend all three days.

My husband has been concerned about his interests. Will it all lead to a real job he wanted to know? Aware that there was no containing this passion I have encouraged it, supported it and applauded his successes. And just now my husband returned from taking him there and said, "Boy, he could hardly wait to get out of the car. He was biting at the bit to be there. I'm not going to kill that kind of passion. It is just amazing to see." And, it is. He is absorbed in a world of his creation; he adores expressing himself via numerous crafts but none more so than his drawing.

I think what really bothered me about the statement about passion that I quoted was that it implied that in some way passionate people were not as high functioning; not so securing attached as other people; less passionate people. And, maybe that's right. I see other people around me, happily married they say, who are not nearly as passionate as me; much more consistent really.

Yet, I adore passionate people; was attracted to my husband because he was so passionate about so many things; continues to be passionate every day in every way. Yes, those sorts of people can tire you but I know I couldn't be without them; thoroughly enjoy them.

I feel quite feisty about the statement, actually; as if passion was a dirty word. That just can't be right.