I have been writing here regularly for quite some time now and to say that I have been absorbed in issues relating to the power exchange relationship is an understatement.The time has come to take a little self-enforced break from writing on these pages. I am literally forcing myself here, by making this statement, to stay away for a little while from considering and expressing my thoughts on this subject.
Knowing myself as I do, I suspect that my thoughts will take another form and that my files will soon be encumbered with another story or two that I might be able to share with you upon my return. And, I will return because I only have so much will power. Best wishes.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Knight
A girl seeks out and consents to a power exchange because she enjoys and desires to be controlled. The situation may not always go the way she would like, but fundamentally she is uplifted by the control of her, not to mention that she gets off sexually on the control. Sometimes, the control in a relationship isn’t so uplifting. Sometimes, the behaviour is more controlling than exhibiting control.
Often when I read about this situation, it is a ‘them versus us’ sort of discussion. The good guys control intelligently and with empathy and the bad guys are just controlling. But I’d venture to say that in any man’s life who considers himself a top or a dominant, there are moments of which he is not proud. Possibly, he was rather selfish in his younger days. Perhaps, he had issues with anger management or perhaps being controlling got him what he wanted, which was for the other person to do as he said. Perhaps he still is challenged by recognizing the difference between the two strategies to this day.
When we speak of submissive women, no matter what their accomplishments, we speak of women who want to please their men and have a giving sort of nature. They tend, if they feel it necessary, not to be slow in taking the blame for an argument or to feel that an upset was in some way their fault, even if it was not. In all likelihood, they are as capable of poor behaviour as any other person that walks this earth but they look to restore the harmony soon after and only feel right within themselves when the balance of power is restored.
It can therefore be surmised that should their dominant or top become controlling with them, they are particularly vulnerable. A submissive woman may be able to stand on her two feet in an economic sense or if she had to, but her strongest tendency in life is to find a strong, deep and abiding connection with a man on which she can depend for her needs. Controlling behaviour will lead to confusion and dismay but in the relationship she shares with him, she may feel that it is her responsibility to make it right nonetheless. She has placed herself in a most vulnerable position and before the thought of ever leaving pops into her head, she will exhaust all avenues to make it right.
There can be no doubt that in her mind she wants a white knight; a rescuer, a valiant and good man. This is no small order and older dominants who write in this space have earned their stripes most likely with many battle scars along the way that they could recount, but never will! It is completely absurd to say that the dominant is always right because along the way to where he is now, he most likely made dozens and dozens of mistakes. Wisdom is rarely found in the young, headstrong man; let’s face facts. It is no wonder that so many girls are fixated on ‘daddies’ because an older man provides the wisdom of a lifetime of mistakes whereas the younger man still has so many more to make. Let me be clear: I’m not saying that only old dominant men know what they are doing. Some men are born to lead and to control with finesse and intelligence and can do so no matter what their age, but they are the exception to the rule, I think.
My point is that it really is a worthwhile exercise for any dominant/top and for any submissive as well to consider what strategies a dominant may use to control her. Is he playing fair; acting with honour and as the white knight would? If a submissive fears her dominant or top, not the consequences of her actions but the physical or emotional toll of experiencing his displeasure, I suspect that the situation has wandered over to the side of controlling. We will displease dominants for sure, time and time again, because we are human. Disobedience and rebellion must surely get tiring to deal with, but if the submissive obeys out of real fear, that is a red flag.
It seems to me that the dominant should feel compelled not to use those age old manipulation tricks on his submissive. He has been placed in a position of trust and making her feel guilty whilst refusing to take any guilt himself, withdrawing from her should she displease, being passive-aggressive (stubborn or procrastinating), impacting her self-confidence and exaggerating (or minimizing) what she had done to get the upper hand are all strategies that don’t allow the submissive to think of her dominant as her shining light.
Of course, he will correct and discipline her but it needs to be logical, fair and reasonable. She needs to understand exactly what it is she had done; what she should do in the future and why. She’s a bright girl and she will see through the above strategies for what they are: manipulating the situation to his favour. And why did he manipulate the situation? Because he could! But, how many times is she going to fall for that before her feelings for him change? That is the real question.
In a power exchange there is always a boss; always the same person to take that role. The submissive should always know that it is not her. I believe that. At the same time, she never seeks a controlling dominant/top. She seeks a thinking, emotionally intelligent and mature man who will control her by the force of his evident good will towards her and love and affection for her.
Often when I read about this situation, it is a ‘them versus us’ sort of discussion. The good guys control intelligently and with empathy and the bad guys are just controlling. But I’d venture to say that in any man’s life who considers himself a top or a dominant, there are moments of which he is not proud. Possibly, he was rather selfish in his younger days. Perhaps, he had issues with anger management or perhaps being controlling got him what he wanted, which was for the other person to do as he said. Perhaps he still is challenged by recognizing the difference between the two strategies to this day.
When we speak of submissive women, no matter what their accomplishments, we speak of women who want to please their men and have a giving sort of nature. They tend, if they feel it necessary, not to be slow in taking the blame for an argument or to feel that an upset was in some way their fault, even if it was not. In all likelihood, they are as capable of poor behaviour as any other person that walks this earth but they look to restore the harmony soon after and only feel right within themselves when the balance of power is restored.
It can therefore be surmised that should their dominant or top become controlling with them, they are particularly vulnerable. A submissive woman may be able to stand on her two feet in an economic sense or if she had to, but her strongest tendency in life is to find a strong, deep and abiding connection with a man on which she can depend for her needs. Controlling behaviour will lead to confusion and dismay but in the relationship she shares with him, she may feel that it is her responsibility to make it right nonetheless. She has placed herself in a most vulnerable position and before the thought of ever leaving pops into her head, she will exhaust all avenues to make it right.
There can be no doubt that in her mind she wants a white knight; a rescuer, a valiant and good man. This is no small order and older dominants who write in this space have earned their stripes most likely with many battle scars along the way that they could recount, but never will! It is completely absurd to say that the dominant is always right because along the way to where he is now, he most likely made dozens and dozens of mistakes. Wisdom is rarely found in the young, headstrong man; let’s face facts. It is no wonder that so many girls are fixated on ‘daddies’ because an older man provides the wisdom of a lifetime of mistakes whereas the younger man still has so many more to make. Let me be clear: I’m not saying that only old dominant men know what they are doing. Some men are born to lead and to control with finesse and intelligence and can do so no matter what their age, but they are the exception to the rule, I think.
My point is that it really is a worthwhile exercise for any dominant/top and for any submissive as well to consider what strategies a dominant may use to control her. Is he playing fair; acting with honour and as the white knight would? If a submissive fears her dominant or top, not the consequences of her actions but the physical or emotional toll of experiencing his displeasure, I suspect that the situation has wandered over to the side of controlling. We will displease dominants for sure, time and time again, because we are human. Disobedience and rebellion must surely get tiring to deal with, but if the submissive obeys out of real fear, that is a red flag.
It seems to me that the dominant should feel compelled not to use those age old manipulation tricks on his submissive. He has been placed in a position of trust and making her feel guilty whilst refusing to take any guilt himself, withdrawing from her should she displease, being passive-aggressive (stubborn or procrastinating), impacting her self-confidence and exaggerating (or minimizing) what she had done to get the upper hand are all strategies that don’t allow the submissive to think of her dominant as her shining light.
Of course, he will correct and discipline her but it needs to be logical, fair and reasonable. She needs to understand exactly what it is she had done; what she should do in the future and why. She’s a bright girl and she will see through the above strategies for what they are: manipulating the situation to his favour. And why did he manipulate the situation? Because he could! But, how many times is she going to fall for that before her feelings for him change? That is the real question.
In a power exchange there is always a boss; always the same person to take that role. The submissive should always know that it is not her. I believe that. At the same time, she never seeks a controlling dominant/top. She seeks a thinking, emotionally intelligent and mature man who will control her by the force of his evident good will towards her and love and affection for her.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Put away
It is the long weekend here and my husband is currently away. It seemed an ideal time to free myself of my need to experience control and I have wallowed in freedom - gone to bed when I wished, dressed when I wished, ate when I chose and just focused on me (and my boys).
It was interesting then, to wake this morning and discover that I had an urgent desire to write about something - anything - that would give me at least the illusion of being controlled. I felt absolutely exasperated that I was on my own with nothing but a pluggi to ground me to a sense of control!
The story was written in a little over an hour. It is the machinations of a kinky, submissive girl and perhaps only pleasurable to me. But, I put it here and if it should bring you pleasure too, then be my guest and have a read:
PUT AWAY
“Come and sit by me.”
She stood in front of him and with her eyes solicited further information.
“On the floor by my heel. Raise your skirt and part your cheeks; sit cross legged on the floor; palms down.”
She turned away from him and spread her cheeks so that he had a perfect view of her ass cunt, as she knew he wanted. She sat as instructed with her ass cheeks directly on the carpet. She felt pressure on the top of her head as he brought it forward so that all she could view were her own breasts. She heard him pick up the newspaper that he had put down on the table beside him when she had entered the room and then there was silence again.
She had no idea of how much time passed. There was no clock in her vision even if she dared sneak a peek but he was an avid reader and she never anticipated that this would be a short affair. Within several minutes she was aware of some discomfort as her legs became used to the position and as usual she found she had strong unrequited desires to move her hands to scratch an itch or adjust her hair. She spoke internally to herself regularly as a reminder to do only what he had told her. She wanted him to be pleased but on a practical level, she did not want to experience his displeasure.
At last, he put down the paper and his hands found her pert breasts. Her nipples were standing up for him since the room was a little cool for one so exposed. He tugged at the small rings in her nipples and the sensations went straight to her pussy cunt. There was nothing as predictable as her state after he had her wait for an hour or more; so close to him but untouched.
“Prepare for bed, darling.”
She raised herself off the floor and left the room. She took her shower and scrubbed herself clean; brushed her teeth. She applied her night time facial cream, rubbed a body moisturizer into her arms and legs and feet. He had yet to arrive. She sat on her wooden chair beside the bed and read on in her current novel, hoping that he would arrive soon. She longed to get under the covers.When she heard his feet on the floorboards in the hall outside she closed her book and put it down on her bedside table.
“Let’s inspect you.”
She immediately bent across the high bed. He had designed the bed himself and had it custom made so that she could be bent across it at the height of her hip. He spread her cheeks open and stretched her ass cunt as much as he could. He held it open like that for his own pleasure more than her embarrassment. This routine was common and she was used to it. He took a wet wipe from its packet and ensured that her ass cunt was scrupulously clean. Then, he opened her pussy cunt lips and breathed in her scent. He brought his hand to her pussy cunt and felt the slick surface; teased her bud with his tip of his thumb.
He had her stand and she raised her arms as soon as he indicated that she should do so; opened her mouth cunt when he touched her lips and stood still while he checked with a tissue that she had dried her ears.
“All scrubbed clean. That’s a good girl. Now, over the bed again.”
She tipped herself over the bed.
“Which hole would you prefer to be used?”
“The ass cunt, please.”
“Such a polite girl! If you wish.”
She was aware of him placing the rubber over his cock, a little lube on her ass cunt and he glided almost effortlessly into her. She let out a long sigh. She revelled in the luxury of having him inside her and feeling the fullness; no longer empty. But, he was hungry tonight and within moments he began to thrust, hard and fast. She grunted as his cock fucked her and with no restraints to hold her or a mouth gag to bite, she had no choice but to suck on the skin of the fleshy part of her arm near to her shoulder for some relief from his persistent grinding.
Without a word but with moans of pleasure he spurted wads of cum into her ass cunt until he was totally spent and lay down on her back. She was aware of his sweat and was grateful when he raised himself again and brought a tissue to wipe some of the cum away. He left her then and went to the bathroom and showered.
When he returned to her she first felt his hand lube her ass cunt and then she felt her night plug being placed into her. It was his way to fuck her with it – in and out, in and out – until with one deep push he inserted it into place. He had her stand and she moved to assist him as he put the chastity belt on her and locked her in.
“Time to be put away.”
He pulled the covers back. He watched her get into bed and settle herself on her side and place her palms together under her right facial cheek, as she was inclined to do. She may just have been fucked like a slut but now she was more like a little girl.
He bent over her, brought the covers up high and tucked her in; smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.
“Good girl. Straight off to dreamland.”
He turned off the light and closed the door. He would work in his study now for at least an hour. Her pussy cunt throbbed but of course, touching herself had been rendered impossible. She squeezed as hard as she could but without his countdown, her orgasm eluded her and she gave up and drifted into sleep. What she dreamed is anybody’s guess.
It was interesting then, to wake this morning and discover that I had an urgent desire to write about something - anything - that would give me at least the illusion of being controlled. I felt absolutely exasperated that I was on my own with nothing but a pluggi to ground me to a sense of control!
The story was written in a little over an hour. It is the machinations of a kinky, submissive girl and perhaps only pleasurable to me. But, I put it here and if it should bring you pleasure too, then be my guest and have a read:
PUT AWAY
“Come and sit by me.”
She stood in front of him and with her eyes solicited further information.
“On the floor by my heel. Raise your skirt and part your cheeks; sit cross legged on the floor; palms down.”
She turned away from him and spread her cheeks so that he had a perfect view of her ass cunt, as she knew he wanted. She sat as instructed with her ass cheeks directly on the carpet. She felt pressure on the top of her head as he brought it forward so that all she could view were her own breasts. She heard him pick up the newspaper that he had put down on the table beside him when she had entered the room and then there was silence again.
She had no idea of how much time passed. There was no clock in her vision even if she dared sneak a peek but he was an avid reader and she never anticipated that this would be a short affair. Within several minutes she was aware of some discomfort as her legs became used to the position and as usual she found she had strong unrequited desires to move her hands to scratch an itch or adjust her hair. She spoke internally to herself regularly as a reminder to do only what he had told her. She wanted him to be pleased but on a practical level, she did not want to experience his displeasure.
At last, he put down the paper and his hands found her pert breasts. Her nipples were standing up for him since the room was a little cool for one so exposed. He tugged at the small rings in her nipples and the sensations went straight to her pussy cunt. There was nothing as predictable as her state after he had her wait for an hour or more; so close to him but untouched.
“Prepare for bed, darling.”
She raised herself off the floor and left the room. She took her shower and scrubbed herself clean; brushed her teeth. She applied her night time facial cream, rubbed a body moisturizer into her arms and legs and feet. He had yet to arrive. She sat on her wooden chair beside the bed and read on in her current novel, hoping that he would arrive soon. She longed to get under the covers.When she heard his feet on the floorboards in the hall outside she closed her book and put it down on her bedside table.
“Let’s inspect you.”
She immediately bent across the high bed. He had designed the bed himself and had it custom made so that she could be bent across it at the height of her hip. He spread her cheeks open and stretched her ass cunt as much as he could. He held it open like that for his own pleasure more than her embarrassment. This routine was common and she was used to it. He took a wet wipe from its packet and ensured that her ass cunt was scrupulously clean. Then, he opened her pussy cunt lips and breathed in her scent. He brought his hand to her pussy cunt and felt the slick surface; teased her bud with his tip of his thumb.
He had her stand and she raised her arms as soon as he indicated that she should do so; opened her mouth cunt when he touched her lips and stood still while he checked with a tissue that she had dried her ears.
“All scrubbed clean. That’s a good girl. Now, over the bed again.”
She tipped herself over the bed.
“Which hole would you prefer to be used?”
“The ass cunt, please.”
“Such a polite girl! If you wish.”
She was aware of him placing the rubber over his cock, a little lube on her ass cunt and he glided almost effortlessly into her. She let out a long sigh. She revelled in the luxury of having him inside her and feeling the fullness; no longer empty. But, he was hungry tonight and within moments he began to thrust, hard and fast. She grunted as his cock fucked her and with no restraints to hold her or a mouth gag to bite, she had no choice but to suck on the skin of the fleshy part of her arm near to her shoulder for some relief from his persistent grinding.
Without a word but with moans of pleasure he spurted wads of cum into her ass cunt until he was totally spent and lay down on her back. She was aware of his sweat and was grateful when he raised himself again and brought a tissue to wipe some of the cum away. He left her then and went to the bathroom and showered.
When he returned to her she first felt his hand lube her ass cunt and then she felt her night plug being placed into her. It was his way to fuck her with it – in and out, in and out – until with one deep push he inserted it into place. He had her stand and she moved to assist him as he put the chastity belt on her and locked her in.
“Time to be put away.”
He pulled the covers back. He watched her get into bed and settle herself on her side and place her palms together under her right facial cheek, as she was inclined to do. She may just have been fucked like a slut but now she was more like a little girl.
He bent over her, brought the covers up high and tucked her in; smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.
“Good girl. Straight off to dreamland.”
He turned off the light and closed the door. He would work in his study now for at least an hour. Her pussy cunt throbbed but of course, touching herself had been rendered impossible. She squeezed as hard as she could but without his countdown, her orgasm eluded her and she gave up and drifted into sleep. What she dreamed is anybody’s guess.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Openness - part 2
Without a shadow of a doubt, there is something profoundly wrong with me. Think about it. At the ripe age of 20, I chose the only boy who had the balls to make it clear from the get go that he was in charge. On our very first date, he told me off in no uncertain terms that I had parked my car in the wrong place at his dorm. I was literally stunned at the way my error put him in a dark mood and let's face it; any sensible girl would have got back in her car and headed as far in the other direction as she could get, as fast as she could get.
I often didn't take kindly to his lectures and I still don't always take kindly to them. My sense of my place in the dynamic has evolved such that I am largely at peace with it. Rest assured, however, that I still have my feisty and even bratty moments when I express my displeasure. He didn't take kindly to that over 30 years ago and he still doesn't take kindly to it today.
I talked about openness recently but it has to be said that openness with highly dominant men used to getting their way is a dangerous proposition. I simply can't put onto the airwaves any further comment about openness without that warning attached.
I tried, ever so politely this morning to point out to my darling husband that there was strong evidence over a period of decades to point to the fact that he was a control freak. He rejected it as out of hand. In fact, he said he was insulted that I should say that. Well, I have thought it for eons and perhaps that is where the thought should have stayed - locked in the recesses of my mind. Let's face it. He has passed the mid way point of his life. He has the courage of a lion and is not afraid to take anyone on. What makes me think that just by being open, I can effect any sort of change in him? As far as he is concerned, he does what he does with good intention and that should be good enough for me.
My training tells me this as well. I don't have any control and that is an irrefutable fact. Yet, I have powers of persuasion available to me and I should use them, eating the lion one bite at a time, so to speak. There is no use in walking up to the lion and telling him you want him to change, or move, or not eat you or anything else, now is there? You need to be more subtle with a lion than that. Where does openness get you standing before a lion, for heaven's sake?
And, that is not the only reason I think something is wrong with me. Look at my other choices in life. When I returned from the US what job did I take? What job did I actively seek out simply because I found the man who interviewed me so devilishly opinionated and dominant to the point of being difficult and stubborn? The job where I would need to be submissive to that man; thats what job!
Not to mention that I have a mentor who loves to push me; to instill notions into my head that I am an owned girl; that I should know my place and my purpose. What sort of girl willingly; nay, enthusiastically seeks having that in her life?
All my life, and I don't just mean all my adult life, but all my life, I have gravitated to men who exude a desire and a need for control. And, when they chose to control me, I loved it at the same time as I sometimes hated it.
Yet, it happens time and time again. I blissfully accept the control until I don't and I rebel. Then, there is upset for this reason and this reason alone: the dominant does not want openness at all if it means the submissive says something he does not want to hear. If what she wants to disclose disrupts his control over her, it totally destabilizes him and nothing can be put to right in his mind (or hers) until the submissive is back where she belongs: back in her place. So, what does she do? Of course, she gets back where she came from and she throws the notion of openness out the window as she goes.
I continue to believe that openness is a goal worth striving for but in reality it is ever so much easier said than done.
I often didn't take kindly to his lectures and I still don't always take kindly to them. My sense of my place in the dynamic has evolved such that I am largely at peace with it. Rest assured, however, that I still have my feisty and even bratty moments when I express my displeasure. He didn't take kindly to that over 30 years ago and he still doesn't take kindly to it today.
I talked about openness recently but it has to be said that openness with highly dominant men used to getting their way is a dangerous proposition. I simply can't put onto the airwaves any further comment about openness without that warning attached.
I tried, ever so politely this morning to point out to my darling husband that there was strong evidence over a period of decades to point to the fact that he was a control freak. He rejected it as out of hand. In fact, he said he was insulted that I should say that. Well, I have thought it for eons and perhaps that is where the thought should have stayed - locked in the recesses of my mind. Let's face it. He has passed the mid way point of his life. He has the courage of a lion and is not afraid to take anyone on. What makes me think that just by being open, I can effect any sort of change in him? As far as he is concerned, he does what he does with good intention and that should be good enough for me.
My training tells me this as well. I don't have any control and that is an irrefutable fact. Yet, I have powers of persuasion available to me and I should use them, eating the lion one bite at a time, so to speak. There is no use in walking up to the lion and telling him you want him to change, or move, or not eat you or anything else, now is there? You need to be more subtle with a lion than that. Where does openness get you standing before a lion, for heaven's sake?
And, that is not the only reason I think something is wrong with me. Look at my other choices in life. When I returned from the US what job did I take? What job did I actively seek out simply because I found the man who interviewed me so devilishly opinionated and dominant to the point of being difficult and stubborn? The job where I would need to be submissive to that man; thats what job!
Not to mention that I have a mentor who loves to push me; to instill notions into my head that I am an owned girl; that I should know my place and my purpose. What sort of girl willingly; nay, enthusiastically seeks having that in her life?
All my life, and I don't just mean all my adult life, but all my life, I have gravitated to men who exude a desire and a need for control. And, when they chose to control me, I loved it at the same time as I sometimes hated it.
Yet, it happens time and time again. I blissfully accept the control until I don't and I rebel. Then, there is upset for this reason and this reason alone: the dominant does not want openness at all if it means the submissive says something he does not want to hear. If what she wants to disclose disrupts his control over her, it totally destabilizes him and nothing can be put to right in his mind (or hers) until the submissive is back where she belongs: back in her place. So, what does she do? Of course, she gets back where she came from and she throws the notion of openness out the window as she goes.
I continue to believe that openness is a goal worth striving for but in reality it is ever so much easier said than done.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Restrictions
Heer da ting: Cindi took a l'il break from her pluggiz n wen dat situ8shin reveeld, cindi had her pluggiz taken wey. If cindi nut appreshe8 dem n decide 4 hessef nut 2 yooos dem, den she ken hab l'il rest n nut eben tuchi dem 4 5 deys.
At ferst, dat nut such a bed ting 4 cindi. It neba comfirtibl dat she in da bed books, but she beri bizi n 4 few deyz she nut mynd. She nut reeeli miss dem. She wer at certin speshel momins in da dey dat normilli she wood poot pluggi in at dis tym, n it feel odd, but she funshinin ull rite so far. Or, so she tot. Onnir wood nut gree wif cindi bowt dat. She ashoooli aktin silli n ovareaktin n jus emoshinel. As eeach day wor on, she missin her pluggiz mor n mor.
Dis mornin, da restrikshinz ova. Tanki gudness! But, cindi nut hab chans 2 poot in pluggi as yet n wen reeeli evalu8 da situation, it a hol 9 deys since she pluggi. Dat far far far 2 lung! Wen onnir talkiz wif cindi dis mornin she nut behayd well n he nut et ull impressd. He tyrd of cindi n go wey 2 da jim n tel cindi 2 stop dis bed behavyor meed8li!
Wen onnir get bak he c dat cindi hab dat certin look in her iz - dat gilti, notti l'il bimbo look she gets - and he pick up da wide, flat wooden spatula n tek cindi bi da hand 2 da bedroom. He tek off her kimono n he now poot nakid cindi ova da bed n tie her hanz 2 da posts of the bed. She well stretched owt. N he tel cindi it tym she remynded of how she expekted 2 beehayv.
Cindi sey, "Pweeeeeeeez!!", but onnir def 2 her pleees. He thwack da horribl wooden tingi on2 cindiz bottom beri hard n she hooooowwwwwwl 2 da moon. Boy, duz dat sting! N den he do it nudder 5 tymz. Eech tym cindi hooooowwwwl n pull on da ropz, but she nut goin enewhere - nut eben ken mooov an inch. Her paw bottum beri red n stingi.
"Am gettin trew to cindi?"
"Yessiiii, def gettin trew."
"Sure? Nut need ene mor paddlin?"
"Noooo tanki."
"Well, it tym da bimbo yoooosd. Tinki best yoooosd in da ass cunt. Cindi gree?"
"Wuteva onnir wans."
"Gud cindi."
Cindi gotsa plenti yooos n she beri gr8fool, of cors. Bimboz liki dat.
"Cindi redi now 2 hab gud dey?"
"Beri redi."
"Wut cindi sey?"
"Tanki onnir, 4 da currekshin n 4 da yooos."
"Gud bimbo; in2 da showr n onnir wash his bimbo."
Der a morel 2 dis stori: Bimboz need der pluggiz n if nut get da yooos from da pluggiz, dey ken get owta cuntrol. Wen owta cuntrol, dey stert aktin silli n get bit miserabil. It jus nut a gud ideuh.
So, tankfooooooli, cindi bek 2 pluggeen eberi singel dey. Dat best. C, it liki dis. Pluggi da sem 2 a bimbo wut a secoooriti blanki liki 2 a babi. Unfortoon8li, it nut until it taken wey from bimbo ocasinli dat she ken c dat pluggi essenshil. She unastandz dat now n so happi 2 haf her pluggiz gin. She alredi stertin 2 feeel gr8 n she hab beri fun dey!
Sumtymz u donna no wut u got til it gone.
At ferst, dat nut such a bed ting 4 cindi. It neba comfirtibl dat she in da bed books, but she beri bizi n 4 few deyz she nut mynd. She nut reeeli miss dem. She wer at certin speshel momins in da dey dat normilli she wood poot pluggi in at dis tym, n it feel odd, but she funshinin ull rite so far. Or, so she tot. Onnir wood nut gree wif cindi bowt dat. She ashoooli aktin silli n ovareaktin n jus emoshinel. As eeach day wor on, she missin her pluggiz mor n mor.
Dis mornin, da restrikshinz ova. Tanki gudness! But, cindi nut hab chans 2 poot in pluggi as yet n wen reeeli evalu8 da situation, it a hol 9 deys since she pluggi. Dat far far far 2 lung! Wen onnir talkiz wif cindi dis mornin she nut behayd well n he nut et ull impressd. He tyrd of cindi n go wey 2 da jim n tel cindi 2 stop dis bed behavyor meed8li!
Wen onnir get bak he c dat cindi hab dat certin look in her iz - dat gilti, notti l'il bimbo look she gets - and he pick up da wide, flat wooden spatula n tek cindi bi da hand 2 da bedroom. He tek off her kimono n he now poot nakid cindi ova da bed n tie her hanz 2 da posts of the bed. She well stretched owt. N he tel cindi it tym she remynded of how she expekted 2 beehayv.
Cindi sey, "Pweeeeeeeez!!", but onnir def 2 her pleees. He thwack da horribl wooden tingi on2 cindiz bottom beri hard n she hooooowwwwwwl 2 da moon. Boy, duz dat sting! N den he do it nudder 5 tymz. Eech tym cindi hooooowwwwl n pull on da ropz, but she nut goin enewhere - nut eben ken mooov an inch. Her paw bottum beri red n stingi.
"Am gettin trew to cindi?"
"Yessiiii, def gettin trew."
"Sure? Nut need ene mor paddlin?"
"Noooo tanki."
"Well, it tym da bimbo yoooosd. Tinki best yoooosd in da ass cunt. Cindi gree?"
"Wuteva onnir wans."
"Gud cindi."
Cindi gotsa plenti yooos n she beri gr8fool, of cors. Bimboz liki dat.
"Cindi redi now 2 hab gud dey?"
"Beri redi."
"Wut cindi sey?"
"Tanki onnir, 4 da currekshin n 4 da yooos."
"Gud bimbo; in2 da showr n onnir wash his bimbo."
Der a morel 2 dis stori: Bimboz need der pluggiz n if nut get da yooos from da pluggiz, dey ken get owta cuntrol. Wen owta cuntrol, dey stert aktin silli n get bit miserabil. It jus nut a gud ideuh.
So, tankfooooooli, cindi bek 2 pluggeen eberi singel dey. Dat best. C, it liki dis. Pluggi da sem 2 a bimbo wut a secoooriti blanki liki 2 a babi. Unfortoon8li, it nut until it taken wey from bimbo ocasinli dat she ken c dat pluggi essenshil. She unastandz dat now n so happi 2 haf her pluggiz gin. She alredi stertin 2 feeel gr8 n she hab beri fun dey!
Sumtymz u donna no wut u got til it gone.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Openness
If I understand correctly, what I am now being asked to do is to reach out and grab freedom - to let go completely and say whatever is on my mind; to not restrain myself or hold myself back but to simply reveal myself.
I've been around these parts long enough to know that 'openness' is part of the deal. The submissive is meant to open herself to the dominant/top and put herself in his hands. It is the beauty of the dynamic, is it not, that one soul can reveal itself to another, warts and all?
I think my hesitation and even confusion and resistance to the idea right now is that I have felt that I have made progress in my life - with relationships, with self-control, with finding my happiness and peace - by holding myself back. I learned to not refuse ideas just because they were not comfortable at the outset. I learned to accept my husband's will and way by holding myself back. And, I learned to stifle emotional pain by holding myself in check in various ways. If, for example, I was hurt by someone, I learned to find ways to compensate, or understand or even not to allow it to hurt me by hiding the hurt away.
It is fair to say that I have dealt with some of life's more difficult moments by burrowing deep inside of myself and putting on a pretty darn good show that I was perfectly all right and well able to cope.Then, in a moment of great vulnerability (I write this on the one day of the year that is personally difficult for me), I found myself being asked to not hold back any longer.
But, what if I said something that was not at all pleasing? What if I sounded impolite or disrespectful, I wanted to know. Then, in that case I should take my correction and learn from it. Dolls learn from correction, do they not?
Dolls do. But, I have kept a cocoon of safety around myself for so long now, I find myself wondering if I really can sloth it off.
One evening, long ago, I was with my mother alone at her house and it was completely still. The only sound was the fire. My little family was on the other side of the world and my very sick father was fast asleep.
"There's something very wrong, isn't there?" my mother asked me.
I began to shake. My mind tried to sloth off the hard shell of protection yet at the same time held onto it with all its might. And, finally, in a tiny voice that did not belong to me, I told her what I had held onto with a tight grip for several excruciating months. She listened patiently and reminded me that there was nothing she had not heard. The business she ran meant she knew about people and what happens in people's lives all too well. I unburdened myself and in so doing I think I freed myself from torturous pain.
This morning, whilst I did my Pilates class, my emotions were right at the surface and several times, I teared up. I fought with them until it was the relaxation component and my eyes were closed and then I let them fall down the sides of my face until there came a moment when I knew I had to get myself under control. I began to breathe deeply. I began to visualize calm and I listened to the instructor's words.
I was on a mountain top when she said, "Set yourself free". With the glider on my back, I took the lead of faith and soared into the open air, gliding effortlessly. I had set myself free. The tears dried up and I felt only exhilaration.
I didn't stop for coffee but hurried home to write here, only to find a message from my daughter in London - a divine message that any mother in the world would hope for with all her heart. And, now the tears flow again - good tears.
To be loved; to love: it is all I have ever wanted. So, perhaps it is time: time to embrace the openness that a good power exchange relationship demands. The time has come and what a perfect day to choose as the first step in the next chapter of this glorious dynamic they call a power exchange.
I've been around these parts long enough to know that 'openness' is part of the deal. The submissive is meant to open herself to the dominant/top and put herself in his hands. It is the beauty of the dynamic, is it not, that one soul can reveal itself to another, warts and all?
I think my hesitation and even confusion and resistance to the idea right now is that I have felt that I have made progress in my life - with relationships, with self-control, with finding my happiness and peace - by holding myself back. I learned to not refuse ideas just because they were not comfortable at the outset. I learned to accept my husband's will and way by holding myself back. And, I learned to stifle emotional pain by holding myself in check in various ways. If, for example, I was hurt by someone, I learned to find ways to compensate, or understand or even not to allow it to hurt me by hiding the hurt away.
It is fair to say that I have dealt with some of life's more difficult moments by burrowing deep inside of myself and putting on a pretty darn good show that I was perfectly all right and well able to cope.Then, in a moment of great vulnerability (I write this on the one day of the year that is personally difficult for me), I found myself being asked to not hold back any longer.
But, what if I said something that was not at all pleasing? What if I sounded impolite or disrespectful, I wanted to know. Then, in that case I should take my correction and learn from it. Dolls learn from correction, do they not?
Dolls do. But, I have kept a cocoon of safety around myself for so long now, I find myself wondering if I really can sloth it off.
One evening, long ago, I was with my mother alone at her house and it was completely still. The only sound was the fire. My little family was on the other side of the world and my very sick father was fast asleep.
"There's something very wrong, isn't there?" my mother asked me.
I began to shake. My mind tried to sloth off the hard shell of protection yet at the same time held onto it with all its might. And, finally, in a tiny voice that did not belong to me, I told her what I had held onto with a tight grip for several excruciating months. She listened patiently and reminded me that there was nothing she had not heard. The business she ran meant she knew about people and what happens in people's lives all too well. I unburdened myself and in so doing I think I freed myself from torturous pain.
This morning, whilst I did my Pilates class, my emotions were right at the surface and several times, I teared up. I fought with them until it was the relaxation component and my eyes were closed and then I let them fall down the sides of my face until there came a moment when I knew I had to get myself under control. I began to breathe deeply. I began to visualize calm and I listened to the instructor's words.
I was on a mountain top when she said, "Set yourself free". With the glider on my back, I took the lead of faith and soared into the open air, gliding effortlessly. I had set myself free. The tears dried up and I felt only exhilaration.
I didn't stop for coffee but hurried home to write here, only to find a message from my daughter in London - a divine message that any mother in the world would hope for with all her heart. And, now the tears flow again - good tears.
To be loved; to love: it is all I have ever wanted. So, perhaps it is time: time to embrace the openness that a good power exchange relationship demands. The time has come and what a perfect day to choose as the first step in the next chapter of this glorious dynamic they call a power exchange.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Training School - chapter 5
Nicholas closed the door and rearranged the chairs so that he was sitting directly opposite Lucille. He crossed one leg over the other and made himself comfortable. When he was settled, he stared at her for what seemed to her like minutes. If he was trying to make her feel unsettled he was doing very well. She called on her ability to appear cool and unflustered on the outside, even though she was a jumble of nerves inside.
“Lucille, tell me, what word do you use to describe your vagina?”
“What word?”
“Yes.”
“Well...I say “vagina” if I am at the doctor.”
“And if you are not at the doctor...?”
“Then, I say ‘pussy’.”
Lucille did everything she could to hide the fact from him that she was rattled. She purposely kept her body still, consciously trying to project an image to him that this was not at all difficult for her. The last thing she wished to do was to have him know of how uncomfortable he was making her and how much she longed to walk out that door and away from his disturbing questions.
“And, what word do you use to describe your anus?”
“Gosh! Well, I think I use that word.”
“What word?”
“Anus”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Well, I might say ‘ass’.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm”
Nicholas got up and walked over to a set of filing cabinets. Lucille was agitated now beyond the point where she could fully control it. She felt an internal upset that presented as a deep desire to express her distaste for him and his questions. Yet, she maintained an awareness that she didn’t want him to win by reacting in an out of control way. She felt like a fast cooker at risk of losing its lid.
He seemed in no hurry and his sudden distractibility only heightened her annoyance with him. In spite of her best efforts, she moved about in the seat and crossed her arms over her body until she was holding her shoulders. Finally, he found whatever it was he was looking for and he glanced through a file and then put it on his desk. He returned to his seat and crossed his long legs again.
“How many cunts do you have?”
“How many cunts?”
“Yes.”
“One.”
“Is that so?”
“Isn’t it so?”
“How many holes do you have?”
“Holes?”
"Mmmm-hmmmm”
“Counting my ears?”
“Answer the question.”
“Three”
“Name them.”
“Pussy, mouth and ass.”
“What is the true purpose of these three holes?”
“Well, if you mean what other purpose do they have other than the obvious they can be used for fucking me.”
“They are your three cunts.”
She could barely believe him; his audacity, the smug way he had of making such a statement and not blinking an eye.
“Are they?”
There was a hint of attitude in the response. She didn’t even try to hide it.
“Certainly.”
“Name these three holes again.”
Lucille simply couldn’t respond. This was ridiculous.
He waited.
“Nicholas...Sir...honestly, what do you want me to say?”
“Again Lucille, my command is perfectly straightforward. I will not repeat it.”
The hairs on Lucille’s arms were standing up in response to her upset.
“Pussy cunt.”
“Go on.”
“Mouth cunt.
“Good”
“ Ass cunt.”
“Repeat that. Name your three cunts.”
“Pussy cunt. Mouth cunt. Ass cunt.”
Repeat . Keep saying them until I tell you to stop.”
“Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.”
She looked at him suggestively, seeking some confirmation that she could stop.
“Keep going, Lucille. Don’t stop.”
She must have said that line twenty times before he told her that she could stop.
“Good girl. Now, why should these holes be referred to as ‘cunts’?”
“Well...I can be entered in any of those places, I guess...”
“What is your status, Lucille?”
“My status?”
“Mmmm-hmmmm”
“I am submissive. Is that what you mean?”
“What status are you in the relationship? Top or bottom?”
“Ohhhhhhh, the bottom, of course.”
“Mmmmm-hmmmm”
“And, what is your role in the relationship?”
“My role is to obey.”
“and to be used.”
“Used?”
“Certainly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your role is to be available for your owner’s use in whichever cunt he wishes to use.”
She willed herself not to respond to this talk in an uncontrolled way. He was pushing at her and she wanted to close down to protect herself.
“From now on, you will use only these words to describe these holes. Now, what word would you use to describe William?”
“He is my husband.”
“Anything else?”
“My dominant.”
“He is your owner.”
“My owner?”
“Of course.”
“You own dogs and cats, Sir, not women.”
“There is nothing at all different between the relationships of a dog to its owner and yours to William, Lucille. You are an owned girl and you have an owner that you must obey.”
She was holding herself in as best she could but she had an urgent desire to tell him what she thought of his “tutorial”.
“Ohhhhh, do I? Comparing a grown woman with a dog, Nicholas is just not on. You really have a nerve! Just who do you think you are?”
She was up on her feet now and ready to walk out that door.
“Sit down immediately or I will tether you.”
“So, now you are going to tether me like a dog, are you? Just because I won’t take this bullshit?”
“Now, now. Surely William has a cage or a pole for tethering you when you display this temper...”
“A cage???”
“Certainly”
“Nooooo, as a matter of fact, he doesn’t have a cage at all.”
“Then, we shall have to correct that anomaly.”
“Nicholas...”
“Excuse me?”
“Sir, if you speak to me like that, naturally I am going to get angry.”
“Naturally?”
“Yes, naturally. Surely it is reasonable for a girl to be angry when she is provoked. It isn’t healthy for her not to express herself.”
“She is welcome to express herself so long as she is safely secured. I do not allow my dogs to run about the farm when they are worked up and barking. They are secured. This makes them feels safe and they are free to bark at their will. You too are free to express yourself, Lucille...to have your little tantrum...in the safety of a cage, if you wish.”
Lucille was breathing hard now. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d get up right now and punch him. She took a long, deep breath and tried to settle herself down.
“Sir, I am not having a tantrum.”
“What would you call it?”
“I am simply disagreeing with you.”
“Lucille, the sooner you understand that you are your husband’s property and that he may do with you as he pleases the better. For now I will do with you as I wish.”
Nicholas got up and gathered an exercise book and a pen and ordered Lucille to come to a single, school style desk and chair that was to the side of his desk.
“Sit down, Lucille.”
She sat.
“This is your discipline book and you will use it to write your lessons down. You will sit here and write down in this book 300 times,
‘This girl is the property of her owner.’
“Make sure it is in your best hand-writing, girl. I expect you to take pride in your work here. You have just enough time to get the work done before it is time for you to prepare for the evening.”
Lucille picked up the pen and wrote the line down. She tried to calculate how many lines there were to a page and how long this was going to take her. It was a tedious and boring task and yet she could feel bubbles of excitement emanating from somewhere in her throat. She had never written lines in her life, not even as a school girl and this had a sense of novelty and arousal about it. Even when her hand began to hurt, she carried on writing the lines in a dreamy sort of state, as if some deep longing was being satiated. She remained incensed at his words but it did not prevent her from feeling a level of enjoyment in the task.
Meanwhile Nicholas sat at his desk; worked on the computer, paid bills and made calls. All the while he kept a close eye on Lucille. If she slowed at the task or looked up he was right on it and chided her to get on with it. It made no sense to her but she felt a sense of care as she sat there under his tutelage and it comforted her.
“Lucille, tell me, what word do you use to describe your vagina?”
“What word?”
“Yes.”
“Well...I say “vagina” if I am at the doctor.”
“And if you are not at the doctor...?”
“Then, I say ‘pussy’.”
Lucille did everything she could to hide the fact from him that she was rattled. She purposely kept her body still, consciously trying to project an image to him that this was not at all difficult for her. The last thing she wished to do was to have him know of how uncomfortable he was making her and how much she longed to walk out that door and away from his disturbing questions.
“And, what word do you use to describe your anus?”
“Gosh! Well, I think I use that word.”
“What word?”
“Anus”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Well, I might say ‘ass’.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm”
Nicholas got up and walked over to a set of filing cabinets. Lucille was agitated now beyond the point where she could fully control it. She felt an internal upset that presented as a deep desire to express her distaste for him and his questions. Yet, she maintained an awareness that she didn’t want him to win by reacting in an out of control way. She felt like a fast cooker at risk of losing its lid.
He seemed in no hurry and his sudden distractibility only heightened her annoyance with him. In spite of her best efforts, she moved about in the seat and crossed her arms over her body until she was holding her shoulders. Finally, he found whatever it was he was looking for and he glanced through a file and then put it on his desk. He returned to his seat and crossed his long legs again.
“How many cunts do you have?”
“How many cunts?”
“Yes.”
“One.”
“Is that so?”
“Isn’t it so?”
“How many holes do you have?”
“Holes?”
"Mmmm-hmmmm”
“Counting my ears?”
“Answer the question.”
“Three”
“Name them.”
“Pussy, mouth and ass.”
“What is the true purpose of these three holes?”
“Well, if you mean what other purpose do they have other than the obvious they can be used for fucking me.”
“They are your three cunts.”
She could barely believe him; his audacity, the smug way he had of making such a statement and not blinking an eye.
“Are they?”
There was a hint of attitude in the response. She didn’t even try to hide it.
“Certainly.”
“Name these three holes again.”
Lucille simply couldn’t respond. This was ridiculous.
He waited.
“Nicholas...Sir...honestly, what do you want me to say?”
“Again Lucille, my command is perfectly straightforward. I will not repeat it.”
The hairs on Lucille’s arms were standing up in response to her upset.
“Pussy cunt.”
“Go on.”
“Mouth cunt.
“Good”
“ Ass cunt.”
“Repeat that. Name your three cunts.”
“Pussy cunt. Mouth cunt. Ass cunt.”
Repeat . Keep saying them until I tell you to stop.”
“Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.
Pussy cunt, mouth cunt, ass cunt.”
She looked at him suggestively, seeking some confirmation that she could stop.
“Keep going, Lucille. Don’t stop.”
She must have said that line twenty times before he told her that she could stop.
“Good girl. Now, why should these holes be referred to as ‘cunts’?”
“Well...I can be entered in any of those places, I guess...”
“What is your status, Lucille?”
“My status?”
“Mmmm-hmmmm”
“I am submissive. Is that what you mean?”
“What status are you in the relationship? Top or bottom?”
“Ohhhhhhh, the bottom, of course.”
“Mmmmm-hmmmm”
“And, what is your role in the relationship?”
“My role is to obey.”
“and to be used.”
“Used?”
“Certainly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your role is to be available for your owner’s use in whichever cunt he wishes to use.”
She willed herself not to respond to this talk in an uncontrolled way. He was pushing at her and she wanted to close down to protect herself.
“From now on, you will use only these words to describe these holes. Now, what word would you use to describe William?”
“He is my husband.”
“Anything else?”
“My dominant.”
“He is your owner.”
“My owner?”
“Of course.”
“You own dogs and cats, Sir, not women.”
“There is nothing at all different between the relationships of a dog to its owner and yours to William, Lucille. You are an owned girl and you have an owner that you must obey.”
She was holding herself in as best she could but she had an urgent desire to tell him what she thought of his “tutorial”.
“Ohhhhh, do I? Comparing a grown woman with a dog, Nicholas is just not on. You really have a nerve! Just who do you think you are?”
She was up on her feet now and ready to walk out that door.
“Sit down immediately or I will tether you.”
“So, now you are going to tether me like a dog, are you? Just because I won’t take this bullshit?”
“Now, now. Surely William has a cage or a pole for tethering you when you display this temper...”
“A cage???”
“Certainly”
“Nooooo, as a matter of fact, he doesn’t have a cage at all.”
“Then, we shall have to correct that anomaly.”
“Nicholas...”
“Excuse me?”
“Sir, if you speak to me like that, naturally I am going to get angry.”
“Naturally?”
“Yes, naturally. Surely it is reasonable for a girl to be angry when she is provoked. It isn’t healthy for her not to express herself.”
“She is welcome to express herself so long as she is safely secured. I do not allow my dogs to run about the farm when they are worked up and barking. They are secured. This makes them feels safe and they are free to bark at their will. You too are free to express yourself, Lucille...to have your little tantrum...in the safety of a cage, if you wish.”
Lucille was breathing hard now. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d get up right now and punch him. She took a long, deep breath and tried to settle herself down.
“Sir, I am not having a tantrum.”
“What would you call it?”
“I am simply disagreeing with you.”
“Lucille, the sooner you understand that you are your husband’s property and that he may do with you as he pleases the better. For now I will do with you as I wish.”
Nicholas got up and gathered an exercise book and a pen and ordered Lucille to come to a single, school style desk and chair that was to the side of his desk.
“Sit down, Lucille.”
She sat.
“This is your discipline book and you will use it to write your lessons down. You will sit here and write down in this book 300 times,
‘This girl is the property of her owner.’
“Make sure it is in your best hand-writing, girl. I expect you to take pride in your work here. You have just enough time to get the work done before it is time for you to prepare for the evening.”
Lucille picked up the pen and wrote the line down. She tried to calculate how many lines there were to a page and how long this was going to take her. It was a tedious and boring task and yet she could feel bubbles of excitement emanating from somewhere in her throat. She had never written lines in her life, not even as a school girl and this had a sense of novelty and arousal about it. Even when her hand began to hurt, she carried on writing the lines in a dreamy sort of state, as if some deep longing was being satiated. She remained incensed at his words but it did not prevent her from feeling a level of enjoyment in the task.
Meanwhile Nicholas sat at his desk; worked on the computer, paid bills and made calls. All the while he kept a close eye on Lucille. If she slowed at the task or looked up he was right on it and chided her to get on with it. It made no sense to her but she felt a sense of care as she sat there under his tutelage and it comforted her.
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