It is said that in any marriage, one person loves the other more. In any relationship, somebody initiates contact. One person approaches the other. Somebody has to make a move for anything at all to happen.
I initiated our new dynamic. Initially, I asked to be spanked and as time passed, I asked to be dominated. He said to me then, what he says to me now:
"Just tell me what you want. I am more than happy to oblige."
I don't wish to confuse you, however. It is a rare day that I will initiate very much at all. I'm one of those girls who waits for the man to approach her 99% of the time, and none of this was easy for me. It still is not easy. My preference would be for announcements to be made:
"As of today, you will..."
Instead, I offer suggestions, send copies of material by email, and write stories loaded down with erotic happenings that I hope he reads.
There is a difference between my needs at first, and my needs now. At first, any activity, suggestion or order was erotically charged for me. I was in submissive heaven and even the things I did not like, were a great charge for me. I could never have imagined such fulfilment.
Nowadays, I need things to go beyond the erotic. I need things to make good sense as well. I am not a girl who only wants to be dominated in the bedroom. I want to feel it at other times, too. So, whatever is asked of me, whatever corrections are undertaken, need to be those that make sense to me within my life.
What do I mean by that? Two things:
1) I want the dom to have his own wants, and I want him to get what he wants. That makes sense to me. He is a very important part of this relationship and I want him to be happy about being in this relationship with me.
2) I want the dom to have expectations of me; for his own pleasure and for mine. I want those expectations to be well thought out. I am his submissive and his charge, and his expectations of me should be, in one way or another, for my betterment.
In other words, it all has to make sense. It all has to be achievable. And, it all has to fit in with the lives we lead.
I am doing my best and I want him to do his best, too. If it is worth doing, and it is, it is worth doing well.
We've achieved many wonderful things in our lives together. A successful, happy and constant D/s relationship is most certainly within our grasp.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Fantasy play
As a girl writing BDSM stories, life can be a bit lonely. I love the notion of collaboration. It goes right back to the days of watching 'The Dick van Dyke Show' and seeing Dick with Buddy and Sally in the writing room, teasing out the next episode of the show. I knew right then, that if I ever got the chance, that is what I would love to do: collaborative writing.
I've thought, many times, about joining a writing class or group, and I must go to our writer's festival this year. Yet, I think you can understand, that for me, writing about BDSM, I can't contribute to the discussions too well.
"And what do you write about?" people ask, when I am silly enough to tell them that I am enjoying writing at home. It is not easy to satisfy their curiosity and in the end, I have to change the subject.
One of the lovely things about mothering my youngest child is that he has a strong interest in writing as well as considerable aptitude for the task. He is part of a select group at school who have been pulled aside to write about a fantasy world. It is an exciting project and one he embraces. This morning, for inexplicable reasons, we were early to school. The world seemed a bit different; almost as if we had mucked up something and shouldn't be there.
"Perhaps, you could incorporate this into the fantasy world. Maybe, all the clocks lose time and that changes what happens next."
He smiled at me. I could see the thought going through his mind.
"My mum really is a bit odd."
But, the thing is that once you start inventing stories, it is a bit hard to stop. It is quite intoxicating.
There is an opportunity that has just opened up to write a wonderful story. It would be a collaborative effort and filled with naughtiness, lust and deep longings fulfilled. I am excited about it.
Interestingly, my desire to wrap up my last writing project, to edit it and hopefully find it a home, is now strong. I loved concocting Edward and Susan, and having Edward steer Susan through all her doubts and fears of becoming the person she truly wanted to be. It will be hard to let go. It is not lost on me that there is a lot of me in Susan.
Still, a new idea, a good one, is always so darn exciting, and I look forward to it immensely. I sit in my dining room alone but my thoughts are keeping me very good company.
I've thought, many times, about joining a writing class or group, and I must go to our writer's festival this year. Yet, I think you can understand, that for me, writing about BDSM, I can't contribute to the discussions too well.
"And what do you write about?" people ask, when I am silly enough to tell them that I am enjoying writing at home. It is not easy to satisfy their curiosity and in the end, I have to change the subject.
One of the lovely things about mothering my youngest child is that he has a strong interest in writing as well as considerable aptitude for the task. He is part of a select group at school who have been pulled aside to write about a fantasy world. It is an exciting project and one he embraces. This morning, for inexplicable reasons, we were early to school. The world seemed a bit different; almost as if we had mucked up something and shouldn't be there.
"Perhaps, you could incorporate this into the fantasy world. Maybe, all the clocks lose time and that changes what happens next."
He smiled at me. I could see the thought going through his mind.
"My mum really is a bit odd."
But, the thing is that once you start inventing stories, it is a bit hard to stop. It is quite intoxicating.
There is an opportunity that has just opened up to write a wonderful story. It would be a collaborative effort and filled with naughtiness, lust and deep longings fulfilled. I am excited about it.
Interestingly, my desire to wrap up my last writing project, to edit it and hopefully find it a home, is now strong. I loved concocting Edward and Susan, and having Edward steer Susan through all her doubts and fears of becoming the person she truly wanted to be. It will be hard to let go. It is not lost on me that there is a lot of me in Susan.
Still, a new idea, a good one, is always so darn exciting, and I look forward to it immensely. I sit in my dining room alone but my thoughts are keeping me very good company.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
What a difference a day makes
What a pity it is that there is no official association for people such as us, who can keep statistics and so on in relation to what we do, how we feel about it and so on! The government gives out grants for all sort of useless activities and yet they never seem to get around to some analysis of doms and subs.
I am doing my best to set the record straight. You do want me to be analytical, don't you?
Okay, good! I thought so. So, here is what I have been thinking...
It is not at all easy for a submissive woman to hold onto her upset. At the time of the explosion/implosion, at the time she shoots up to the stars like a "bottle rocket", it might seem to the poor Dom looking on, wondering what the hell just happened, that she is down for the count. He won't be doing any more BDSM activities with this lass! She is clearly not into this whole power exchange routine at all!
But, twenty-four hours later, she can barely remember what the upset was about. She remembers being distressed but she can't for the life of her, remember why!
This must be terribly confusing to the poor man, who looks on in wonderment. How can she be so light and breezy, such desirable company today, when she was a blithering, crying mess yesterday?
Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I actually don't have the answer. The simple fact is that a submissive woman, as far as I can tell, just has that happy knack of being positive a good deal of the time. After an upset, the next day, she has no interest in the blame game and instead, she is most contrite. Whoever started it, whoever said what to whom, is of no further interest to her. She has had her say and she wants to get back to where things were. She wants to get to the place where she belongs: the bottom.
It is, therefore, the easiest thing in the world for her to be contrite. She is sorry for her part in the little break in proceedings. She tells her man that she loves him. She asks, demurely, if he loves her. In fact, he does! And, life is back to normal.
Consider exhibit number one: an email exchange the morning after a fracas:
"Sir
I have your phone. It was left in my car. Thank you for a lovely morning.
Love
girl
XO"
"Thank you girl for the lovely morning also. What a difference a day makes. Perhaps you might remind yourself of that when you feel like you are about to blow/go off!
Thanks re phone.
Love Sir"
Yeah. Yeah. I skipped over the punishment thing. But, this is my blog, and you didn't want to hear about that. Or,did you?
I am doing my best to set the record straight. You do want me to be analytical, don't you?
Okay, good! I thought so. So, here is what I have been thinking...
It is not at all easy for a submissive woman to hold onto her upset. At the time of the explosion/implosion, at the time she shoots up to the stars like a "bottle rocket", it might seem to the poor Dom looking on, wondering what the hell just happened, that she is down for the count. He won't be doing any more BDSM activities with this lass! She is clearly not into this whole power exchange routine at all!
But, twenty-four hours later, she can barely remember what the upset was about. She remembers being distressed but she can't for the life of her, remember why!
This must be terribly confusing to the poor man, who looks on in wonderment. How can she be so light and breezy, such desirable company today, when she was a blithering, crying mess yesterday?
Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I actually don't have the answer. The simple fact is that a submissive woman, as far as I can tell, just has that happy knack of being positive a good deal of the time. After an upset, the next day, she has no interest in the blame game and instead, she is most contrite. Whoever started it, whoever said what to whom, is of no further interest to her. She has had her say and she wants to get back to where things were. She wants to get to the place where she belongs: the bottom.
It is, therefore, the easiest thing in the world for her to be contrite. She is sorry for her part in the little break in proceedings. She tells her man that she loves him. She asks, demurely, if he loves her. In fact, he does! And, life is back to normal.
Consider exhibit number one: an email exchange the morning after a fracas:
"Sir
I have your phone. It was left in my car. Thank you for a lovely morning.
Love
girl
XO"
"Thank you girl for the lovely morning also. What a difference a day makes. Perhaps you might remind yourself of that when you feel like you are about to blow/go off!
Thanks re phone.
Love Sir"
Yeah. Yeah. I skipped over the punishment thing. But, this is my blog, and you didn't want to hear about that. Or,did you?
Monday, July 27, 2009
I am sorry
In my university years, I had a waitress's job. The customers would come up to the blackboard and make their selections for dinner and then they would place their order with me. I can still recall in detail, a particular couple who stood at the blackboard deciding what they would order. They were about thirty years old. At the time, I considered them the ideal couple. He was attentive and loving to her, and she was basking in that love and attention. It was obvious they were having trouble keeping their hands off each other.
It was exactly what I wanted; to be in love and for a man to be in love with me. In my late teens and early twenties, I tended to want to be thirty. I wanted to have the air of sophistication that I felt a thirty year old carried. I wanted the sense of stability that I felt came with being thirty; a home of one's own and a little bit of money to decorate it tastefully. It is no secret that I am a bit of a homing pigeon. My thoughts were always to make a comfortable home and to share it with a man.
I thought about that couple as I walked this morning, right around the river. It felt good to be out early amongst the bikers and walkers and my mind was drifting, trying to settle itself from listening to my husband's upsetting words. I thought about my kink and all that has happened in the past three years. And, I thought back to the young girl that I was; wanting love and stability.
As our marriage has gone on, the importance of my following his lead, come what may, has increased. He will brook no argument with me and under those circumstances, I do my best to contain my thoughts, my needs and my wants. I do my best to live the life that he has deemed is the one we will live.
When he is good to me, loving and kind, my little world seems much bigger and better than any celebrity or heiress. When he is rude and without understanding for my concerns, my little world caves in on me. I wonder why I am living in such a cramped, little space.
For a woman to express her submission with ease and beauty, she needs her man to treat her very well. Therein is the secret of the D/s relationship. A woman such as me is prepared to lose everything, even her humanity at times, if the dominant man of her life treats her with the utmost respect.
It is for this reason that I continue to believe that a man in a D/s relationship, has no alternative but to express his apology when his behaviour has been below par. He loses nothing by doing so and in fact, her respect for him is restored. Three little words will change her day and her mindset. I see no reason why dominance and humility cannot, at times, be perfect partners.
It was exactly what I wanted; to be in love and for a man to be in love with me. In my late teens and early twenties, I tended to want to be thirty. I wanted to have the air of sophistication that I felt a thirty year old carried. I wanted the sense of stability that I felt came with being thirty; a home of one's own and a little bit of money to decorate it tastefully. It is no secret that I am a bit of a homing pigeon. My thoughts were always to make a comfortable home and to share it with a man.
I thought about that couple as I walked this morning, right around the river. It felt good to be out early amongst the bikers and walkers and my mind was drifting, trying to settle itself from listening to my husband's upsetting words. I thought about my kink and all that has happened in the past three years. And, I thought back to the young girl that I was; wanting love and stability.
As our marriage has gone on, the importance of my following his lead, come what may, has increased. He will brook no argument with me and under those circumstances, I do my best to contain my thoughts, my needs and my wants. I do my best to live the life that he has deemed is the one we will live.
When he is good to me, loving and kind, my little world seems much bigger and better than any celebrity or heiress. When he is rude and without understanding for my concerns, my little world caves in on me. I wonder why I am living in such a cramped, little space.
For a woman to express her submission with ease and beauty, she needs her man to treat her very well. Therein is the secret of the D/s relationship. A woman such as me is prepared to lose everything, even her humanity at times, if the dominant man of her life treats her with the utmost respect.
It is for this reason that I continue to believe that a man in a D/s relationship, has no alternative but to express his apology when his behaviour has been below par. He loses nothing by doing so and in fact, her respect for him is restored. Three little words will change her day and her mindset. I see no reason why dominance and humility cannot, at times, be perfect partners.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Pandora's box
She was just a little girl, really. She knew that because he often said to her,
"You are such a little girl!"
He'd been saying it for years!
But, unlike good little girls who are seen and not heard, she had an inclination to be vocal. She had an inclination to air her views, and sometimes she was even strident in the airing of those views.
That had to stop. The little girl needed to learn that it was much better if she remained quiet and chose her words very, very carefully. He had told her that many times. But, not even his stick had managed to convince her of the benefits of holding her tongue.
He opened the box and delight was written all over his face. She had withdrawn to the foetal position; reduced to the state of a worried, wee little thing.
She opened her mouth as instructed and bit on the penis-shaped gag whilst he secured the strap around her head.
For more than an hour all that he would hear were her myews and moans as he played with her; this hole and that. A greedy boy, he produced other toys to insert in her holes. In and out, in and out. She was made helpless; secured as she was by the wrists and the ankles. She was no more than his plaything; a dribbling mess.
Later, when he had washed his toys well and prepared her for her day, he warned the little girl that inappropriate words could be silenced in other ways now.
She looked up at him with wide eyes; a little petulant, perhaps. Yet, his words had an effect on her. For the rest of the day, she was very demure indeed.
She was just a little girl; his good little girl.
"You are such a little girl!"
He'd been saying it for years!
But, unlike good little girls who are seen and not heard, she had an inclination to be vocal. She had an inclination to air her views, and sometimes she was even strident in the airing of those views.
That had to stop. The little girl needed to learn that it was much better if she remained quiet and chose her words very, very carefully. He had told her that many times. But, not even his stick had managed to convince her of the benefits of holding her tongue.
He opened the box and delight was written all over his face. She had withdrawn to the foetal position; reduced to the state of a worried, wee little thing.
She opened her mouth as instructed and bit on the penis-shaped gag whilst he secured the strap around her head.
For more than an hour all that he would hear were her myews and moans as he played with her; this hole and that. A greedy boy, he produced other toys to insert in her holes. In and out, in and out. She was made helpless; secured as she was by the wrists and the ankles. She was no more than his plaything; a dribbling mess.
Later, when he had washed his toys well and prepared her for her day, he warned the little girl that inappropriate words could be silenced in other ways now.
She looked up at him with wide eyes; a little petulant, perhaps. Yet, his words had an effect on her. For the rest of the day, she was very demure indeed.
She was just a little girl; his good little girl.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Box
The package sat on the chair by her bed. It had been there for the past three days. She had received a note in her mail box to inform her that a package was waiting for her at the post office. After she attended a music lesson, she went straight there and presented her slip, signed for the package and took it home. It was a brown parceled box and she carried it back to the car with pleasurable anticipation. When at home, she placed it on the chair near to the bed, on her side of the bed.
That night, her husband asked her what was in the box and she told him. Would he like to open the box with her? He informed her that he was looking forward to making good use of the contents of the box but the next few days were packed, and they would open it together on Friday evening.
When Friday evening came, they were both very tired, having had little sleep the night before. The Ball had been fun, but a big social event on a week day was draining, nonetheless. She reminded him that it was Friday evening, that the box was right there beside them. However, his mind was already elsewhere; his thoughts were more for slumber.
She caressed him a little to see if there was any chance of imbibing him but he was lost to sleepy bye time. She soon fell asleep herself.
In the very early part of the morning, when it is still pitch dark, she awoke with her cunt on fire. Her thoughts related directly to the contents of the box. She thought about how she could be made use of, and once she did that, all thoughts of sleeping were useless.
She woke and she wrote. As she wrote she thought about the little box beside her bed and she wondered how long she could wait before she tore the thing open like a little girl at Christmas time...
That night, her husband asked her what was in the box and she told him. Would he like to open the box with her? He informed her that he was looking forward to making good use of the contents of the box but the next few days were packed, and they would open it together on Friday evening.
When Friday evening came, they were both very tired, having had little sleep the night before. The Ball had been fun, but a big social event on a week day was draining, nonetheless. She reminded him that it was Friday evening, that the box was right there beside them. However, his mind was already elsewhere; his thoughts were more for slumber.
She caressed him a little to see if there was any chance of imbibing him but he was lost to sleepy bye time. She soon fell asleep herself.
In the very early part of the morning, when it is still pitch dark, she awoke with her cunt on fire. Her thoughts related directly to the contents of the box. She thought about how she could be made use of, and once she did that, all thoughts of sleeping were useless.
She woke and she wrote. As she wrote she thought about the little box beside her bed and she wondered how long she could wait before she tore the thing open like a little girl at Christmas time...
Friday, July 24, 2009
Count your blessings
One of the nicest things you can do for yourselves as a married couple, I believe, is to go out together, to a formal function. Formal functions require formal attire and as soon as one starts to prepare for such an evening, the pleasure begins. I had fun late afternoon choosing my outfit, showering,doing my hair, my nails and my makeup, putting on my perfume.
Of course, it doesn't take him long when he returns from the city to have a shower and put on a tuxedo, but I think he understands by now that girls need that lead in time to make themselves look their beautiful best. And, I did. I did feel good.
When I came out of my room, good to go, the older children were very impressed. Both photography enthusiasts, they snapped a variety of shots of me alone, and with my husband, their Dad, and it really was good fun. It felt a bit like a school formal, because that is what we had done for them; snap away in order to remember that special moment.
It was not lost on my husband that I was wearing my special necklace as well as my special bracelet, but this time I was wearing the beautiful silver, slightly irregular 'O' with my multiple stranded fine red leather necklace, which matched the colour of my nail polish. It was a stroke of genius at the time he bought it that he asked the woman to order in the red leather necklace as well as the black one that came with the pendant. I love the contrast with the black clothes, I must say.
So, it turned out to be one of those events where there is a silent auction. I rather like those sorts of auctions and I wandered about looking for something on which to make a bid. Were the smiles I got from various men simply ones of politeness and admiration, or did they read more into the choices of what I had chosen to wear around my neck and wrist? I will never know. Nor will they ever know that the 'night and dinner in the city' prize, won by me, would see us enjoying a very kinky and smutty weekend some time soon.
We danced the night away, really. We had the best time doing that. But, as well, we met some very interesting couples on our table, for our invitation had come from an old friend, and these other people were strangers to us. One lovely man engaged me in conversation and to our delight we had so much in common. He'd lived overseas where we had, we'd been born in the same town, he's attended the same university and at the same time, and even was in the college next to me. It had simply taken a few more decades for us to meet. I wasn't sure about his wife at first. He seemed a bit disengaged from her. But, when they went onto the dance floor, I could see that decades of marriage, children and an international life, had done nothing to diminish their connection at all; like us. When he left, a big bear of an Indian man, he hugged both my husband and I tight. We were of the same ilk.
Marriage has its tough spots; like life. Yet, it is who I am; a married woman with children; a beautiful, happy and loving family. It is what I always wanted. My need and desire for opportunities to express and explore my kink is a side of me that few people will ever see, but it remains a very important part of me and I think it always will. I am loved for who I am. I don't think you can ask for more than that.
Of course, it doesn't take him long when he returns from the city to have a shower and put on a tuxedo, but I think he understands by now that girls need that lead in time to make themselves look their beautiful best. And, I did. I did feel good.
When I came out of my room, good to go, the older children were very impressed. Both photography enthusiasts, they snapped a variety of shots of me alone, and with my husband, their Dad, and it really was good fun. It felt a bit like a school formal, because that is what we had done for them; snap away in order to remember that special moment.
It was not lost on my husband that I was wearing my special necklace as well as my special bracelet, but this time I was wearing the beautiful silver, slightly irregular 'O' with my multiple stranded fine red leather necklace, which matched the colour of my nail polish. It was a stroke of genius at the time he bought it that he asked the woman to order in the red leather necklace as well as the black one that came with the pendant. I love the contrast with the black clothes, I must say.
So, it turned out to be one of those events where there is a silent auction. I rather like those sorts of auctions and I wandered about looking for something on which to make a bid. Were the smiles I got from various men simply ones of politeness and admiration, or did they read more into the choices of what I had chosen to wear around my neck and wrist? I will never know. Nor will they ever know that the 'night and dinner in the city' prize, won by me, would see us enjoying a very kinky and smutty weekend some time soon.
We danced the night away, really. We had the best time doing that. But, as well, we met some very interesting couples on our table, for our invitation had come from an old friend, and these other people were strangers to us. One lovely man engaged me in conversation and to our delight we had so much in common. He'd lived overseas where we had, we'd been born in the same town, he's attended the same university and at the same time, and even was in the college next to me. It had simply taken a few more decades for us to meet. I wasn't sure about his wife at first. He seemed a bit disengaged from her. But, when they went onto the dance floor, I could see that decades of marriage, children and an international life, had done nothing to diminish their connection at all; like us. When he left, a big bear of an Indian man, he hugged both my husband and I tight. We were of the same ilk.
Marriage has its tough spots; like life. Yet, it is who I am; a married woman with children; a beautiful, happy and loving family. It is what I always wanted. My need and desire for opportunities to express and explore my kink is a side of me that few people will ever see, but it remains a very important part of me and I think it always will. I am loved for who I am. I don't think you can ask for more than that.
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