Stressbuster

At the core of my life, of my being and of my satisfaction with life lies my sexuality. It is only in the past few years of my life that I have embraced notions such as being a ‘fucktoy’ or a ‘slut’ but ever since I was a wee, small girlie of 5 or 6 I understood that my body was designed for pleasure.

Making use of my body fulfils me. Any fuck is a good fuck because it feels that my body is doing what it should be doing. But, a long, thrilling, demanding, primal session of fucking is what makes me come alive.

In the throes of such a session, my head is empty and my body beats to the drum of longings and needs and cravings that belong to primitive beings. I am kissed greedily and hungrily and kiss back with a lust and a strength that asks, who is the aggressor here?

We hold one another as if we are holding on for grim death: two beings locked together in a grip that defies anyone or anything to part them.

He demands that my body orgasm over and over again, with no regard to how many times my body has climaxed or how long I have been at his mercy.

He makes use of every hole with a sense of ownership and noblesse oblige. They are there to be plundered. No questions asked. It is his duty and his pleasure.

And then, unexpectedly he stops. Picks up the hairbrush and tenderly strokes my hair. Resting me. Enticing me. Making me wonder if it is over.

It is not. There will be rounds and rounds of more expectations; more pleasure; more pain; more lust and longing; more love and life.

When we are finally spent, he will hold me by the hair and have me crawl into the shower; scrub me with a force that leaves me completely pleasured and sustained. Not a girl; not even a fucktoy; just ‘it’.

I am his and he is mine.

And, no matter what life throws at us, we will remain as One.

The circumstances of our lives as they were before the session began remain unchanged and yet the stress and anxiety has...disappeared.

Goodbye, girl. Hello, it. Goodbye, stress. Hello, pleasure and happiness.

Assistance

Anyone who has read regularly on my online journal would understand that in submitting to a dominant force, I am responding to an innate sense that this is right for me. I find it erotically appealing and as well, it is my nature to respond in a submissive way.

I feel compelled however to make clear to any readers that look towards this journal for some advice as to their personal lives that over considerable time I have reached a point along my life journey where I believe that responding to my life events in a submissive way alone is an inadequate response to the challenges I face.

I am not one to run to the doctor. I certainly attend his rooms if I am due for preventative care or if my children need his attention, but only once in my life have I mentioned in passing that I have a personal difficulty of a psychological nature. I didn’t ask for help and he obviously didn’t think I needed help at that point and it was just a cursory chat. Apart from that, I have never sought psychological assistance. I have simply done by best on my own.

The moment in time when one reaches the point and understands that one has to take care of oneself is completely arbitrary, it seems to me. I could not have predicted that the past week or so would see me understand that this is something I had to do for myself.

I have made the first appointment and set in place some professional care for myself. I need to talk my issues through with someone who can guide me over a handful of sessions in the process of making things better. I see it, now that I have made the decision and acted upon it, as a very positive step, both for me and for my marriage and our lives together. There is no reason at all that anyone should feel threatened about such a step. If I had a physical injury I would see my doctor, and now that I have identified that there is an issue that I cannot handle all on my own, I will attend the doctor that can help me with that. But, I concede that it is very new for us; absolutely the first time ever and it is a bit daunting at this time for us, as well as empowering for me as well.

This step has no effect whatsoever on my submissive state of mind or on the power exchange in which I engage. Indeed, I see it as an opportunity to live better, stronger, and happier and with more balance. If all goes as I hope it will, the power exchange will be strengthened and enriched. Indeed, I intend to disclose that I am in a power exchange relationship so that it is clear how I live my life, what comes naturally to me and what I want.

I share this information with you because I do feel a responsibility to the reader of my online journal. If you feel that you need some help along the way, whether you are dominant or submissive, you should get the help. There is no reason whatsoever why it should endanger the power exchange. To ask for help is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength and I can assure you, I feel better already.

Wistful

Is it just me, or does this seem like not a bad way to fall asleep to others as well?

Personal assistant

I have been thinking about the power exchange in a new way lately. I have been thinking about it in terms of profiling the types of people or perhaps I should say, personalities, who are best suited to, or might desire a power exchange.

For reasons that should be obvious to you it is not always easy to give examples as they pertain to my own life. It just is not politic! So, I am going to draw on my past. I have already catalogued my working relationship with a dominant man. I did that right at the beginning of my online journaling when I described my working life dynamic back on Deity’s blog.

Those years of being a Personal Assistant were important in preparing me to live a lifetime with a dominant man. Of course, my job was about providing efficiency to his office but the real work took place within the dynamic wherein he was the boss of the show and I was his helpmate. I remember certain words and conversations now and realize their importance.

I remember him returning from a board meeting triumphant and saying, “Vesta, I got everything I wanted!” “Terrific,” I replied. Another time he returned and said, “They didn’t agree to (whatever).” Then it was my turn to say, “Oh dear!” and listen to him tell me how such and such was such a snivelling bastard or words to that effect.

On one occasion he was bemoaning the fact that the Chairman was such a moron and why did he have to suffer such fools, and so on. I listened quietly and patiently, as always and then I said,

“But, think about it. You’ve got the support of the entire board. You run the show. And, you know that you can convince Geoffrey of anything. You know you have that under your control.”

He brightened up. I was quite right, of course. He knew how to smooth talk anyone and the Chairman was not a difficult or divisive or contrary man at all.

On another occasion, he did something a wee bit naughty and the head of another organisation called him on it. He rang and complained. He got off the phone and went into a guilt/defensive mode and kinda obsessed about that. I listened. Always. Listened. Then, I said,

“It’s a one day wonder. Tomorrow, it will be old news. Over.”

It seemed to snap him out of it. He got over it.

One time, the receptionist, a girl of whom he was fond, asked for an appointment to see him and she put forward her case as to why she should get a salary increase. This fazed him. He wasn’t in control. She was asking for something and it didn’t give him a chance to be generous. It was as if he had overlooked something or mistreated her and it couldn’t stand. He denied her request. But, immediately after he said to me that he couldn’t understand why she would do it. He had wanted to be generous but she had not gone about it the right way. It frustrated him.

Another day, a man came into this office just before lunch with an idea. It was not necessarily a bad idea. I am sure the man thought he was doing him a favour by offering the idea. But, the idea had been presented when he had something else on his mind and he had done it immediately before lunch. It did not go well.

He opened our adjoining door and said, “What sort of an idiot would approach me with a new idea immediately before I eat my lunch??!! Never do that, Vesta. Never, ever ask me for anything before lunch. If you want to ask a man for something, do it when he is well fed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

I could go on and on.

The man I worked for wanted contol . He wanted to be right. He loathed the idea of making a mistake.

One day, I was in the car when the driver, who I knew well, was dropping my boss off at an appointment. I remember telling him something and I remember him responding to me, just before he got out of the car.

“Just do your best, Vesta. Just do your best."

We drove away and the driver, who only spoke when he had something important to say said,

“What a joke! As if your best would ever be good enough for him.”

Of everyone in the organisation, he was most hard on himself. The high standards he asked of everyone else in the organisation were simply indicative of the standards he applied to himself.

Was I sometimes frustrated with him? Of course! I was half his age and if something was not done exactly right, I got it in the ear.

He would never apologize for his outbursts per se but he did make up in his own way. Often, it was just to be there. He’d stand by me as I typed, furious with him underneath the surface, and he would try to impart the vibe that he was over his outburst and felt a tad sorry now. He never meant to have a tantrum. It was just his perfectionism; his need for control that got in the way.

He managed to create an enormous amount of anxiety in the air at times; something that I find very hard to be around. At those times, I would look into the diary and see that he had an appointment out of the office in a hour’s time perhaps and I’d hang onto that thought; that in a hour I could breathe again; in a hour I could cleanse myself from this dominant, control hungry, perfectionist dynamo.

Of course, it was not always like this. He could be quite relaxed on occasion and a bit of a devil. He liked to mimic people; to tell jokes, to sing tunes from musicals and some afternoons were really a delight. He would often call me into his office; sometimes just to collect a book from the bookshelves rather than walk around himself. “Here is your book, m’Lord,” I would say and he would smile a little sheepishly. “Why bark myself when I have a dog?” he might retort if feeling particularly cheeky. “Why indeed?” I would reply.

He liked the fact that he could get away with such things with me. I just wasn’t quick to bite and I think he liked that. It played into his desire for control that his Personal Assistant should be so independent of spirit on the inside but so controlled on the outside, I think.

What I am trying to say is that he was who he was: a dominant man: bright, able, charming, ambitious, determined. He wanted control and he controlled himself so that he could obtain control. If you were going to deal with him, and we all had to, after all, you had to recognize that fact and take the good out of the situation. Attempting to wrestle control from him was just a bad idea.

One day when he was away overseas, the Advertising Manager asked if I would be in an advertisement and I agreed. I did not ask my boss because I had a feeling that he would not agree. When he returned, he was in a rage about it and had the Advertising people can the photos. I remember being very hurt about that. At the time I figured he thought me not good enough to be in the advertising. I came to realize that if I were in the photos, it was a threat to him. Would I continue on as his Personal Assistant if I had another avenue of employment?

This was confirmed to me in later days when I asked to be transferred to the Training Department. Why on earth would I want to do that job, he asked, when I was involved with every last decision on the top level in his office? Request denied: through stupidity.

Perhaps on a sub-conscious level I am attracted to men who seek control. I have certainly been surrounded by them all my life so it must be true. It is too much of a co-incidence to not be true. I see their soft underbelly and I feel a warmth towards them. For as difficult as they can be; they can be soft and sweet. I see that. Men who seek control are complex; driven by desires they do not entirely understand themselves.

One day, late in his life, he was interviewed about his life and the interviewer asked him about a painting on the wall. He said he had bought it because it reminded him of his mother. He always spoke so endearingly of her and he told the interviewer that she was a very giving woman; that he was sorry that he had caused her so much grief.

I remember him telling me that many years after he left school he ran into some teacher of his who had been a real sadist and apparently he said to himself, “My god, I used to be so frightened of you and look at you now!”

I try to keep my eyes open now; my antenna up. I try to calm myself and soothe the beast by looking for the heart of gold; the reasons for the drive within. Perhaps, I am destined to always be “the personal assistant”.

Flight of the angels

Her moments of nostalgia came when she least expected them; a sentiment from a movie; a piece of music.

She could feel his arms around her, holding her; giving her some of his strength; enough, he hoped to last her her lifetime.

She retrieved the letter; looked again at his handwriting and affection flooded her mind; warmed her heart; released the tears.

“Think noble thoughts,” he had written. And, she did.

She remembered him and his warmth for her; his belief in her; his ability to look at her and see her as perfect enough – genuine, honest, devoted; pure of heart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she had cried one day. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You are only human,” he replied.

And another day, “Remember me fondly.”

She did. When she needed it most she felt his arms envelop her, as she did right now.

The angels had released him long enough for him to return to her fleetingly and remind her once again that she was always very much loved.

Frederick and Agnes: Agnes sleeps over

It had been a long day for Agnes. She took her job seriously and wanted very much to impress her new employer. Since she had settled in Paris she had become accustomed to getting off to bed by 11 pm at the latest. When Agnes left the restaurant she felt a little out of control. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt unsteady on her legs.

She did not want to tell Frederick that she felt a little unwell; that she was not used to drinking much alcohol and that it had an immediate effect on her. She tried to hide her unsteadiness by holding onto his arm. She was not really conscious that she also leaned on his shoulder or even that they were walking much slower than before. She was just doing her best to stay upright and appear that she had it together.

When they reached Frederick’s building, he had her go up the stairs first. She held onto the rail beside the winding staircase and at no point let go. She had grown used to these winding wooden staircases that led one upwards; little steps that were not at all uniform, especially around the corners but she was especially particular about her footing this evening, placing her foot carefully on one step before she moved upwards onto the next.

She had been there once before, of course, but she was grateful when Frederick gave her a direction as to where to go. She just wasn’t thinking straight and felt rather embarrassed when she opened the wrong door. She was aware that he had taken her by the arm rather forcibly to redirect her and she got a sense that he was unimpressed. She gave herself a little shake as if to insist that her mind not fail her. Frederick took her sweater and asked if she would like a hot chocolate.

“That sounds lovely but may I use your bathroom first, Frederick?”

He escorted her to the bathroom and turned on the light and left. She was very grateful to be alone for a few minutes. She sat on the toilet for a time and rested. The thought came to her that she should drink some water. She wiped herself and washed her hands and then she cupped them to make a makeshift glass and drank as much water as she could. She felt a little better. She was grateful to feel more alert.

She noticed that the bathroom led onto a bedroom. She wanted to go in and have a good look around but she also knew that it would be wrong to walk into Frederick’s bedroom without being invited. She put her head around the corner of the door and took it in from where she stood. It seemed an acceptable compromise in her mind.

He was without doubt a very orderly sort of man. It was a man’s bedroom; neutral tones in dark colours and everything was where it should be. The bed had been made; no clothes were in sight. Even the cushions on the upholstered chair in the corner appeared to have been fluffed. Agnes’ eyes moved about the room taking in the stack of books beside his bed, the reading glasses on top of them. She noticed an odd piece of furniture; an unusual shaped chair with a high back on one end but none on the other. Her eye was drawn to it and she found herself returning to look at it several times, trying to determine its purpose.

Agnes suddenly wondered how long she had been away. It would be dreadfully embarrassing to be caught being a ‘nosy parker’ and she moved away quickly and down the hall to find Frederick.

“May I help you?” she asked demurely.

Frederick merely gestured to her to go to the sitting area and she left him and went to take in the view of the city. Paris at night was a city like no other and she enjoyed looking at the little balconies on adjacent buildings. The buildings were so close together that she was able to look out and quite clearly observe people smoking on a balcony directly opposite them and another couple kissing.

She felt she was intruding watching them and she moved away and sat down on a couch and looked for something to glance at while she waited. All the magazines were about design and architecture and when Frederick glanced in on her she asked him about it. It delighted her to discover that he was very passionate about design; that he had many interests. She loved learning these snippets of information about him.

Agnes enjoyed Frederick’s company. She found it easy to talk to him but she was desperately sleepy too and she could feel her eyes start to close on her. She tried hard to force herself to stay awake and alert but it was almost painful to force her eyes to stay open. She tried to make her eyes go very wide as if to will them to stay open but she could feel herself starting to go under and she had no control over the feeling. She decided to just close her eyes for a moment.

When Agnes woke up, she woke in fear. She lay there, conscious of only one fact: that she was not in her own bed. She lay for several seconds trying to remember what had gone on last night and where she actually was. In a moment of relief she recalled that she was in Frederick’s apartment. He must have put the comforter over her, and a pillow under her head. She felt embarrassed that she had fallen asleep but also thought it so sweet of him to tuck her in as he had and make her more comfortable.

This experience was so novel for Agnes she had no rules to follow of what she should do. She barely knew Frederick and yet she felt so comfortable and safe with him. It really did not make any sense, even to her and she could only imagine what her father would say if he knew. And yet, she had a desperate longing to find Frederick and to be closer to him. She got up and walked to the bedroom only to discover that the room was exactly as she had seen it earlier that night. He was not there. The discovery panicked Agnes for a moment. Had he gone and left her there all alone?

But, as she left the room she was aware of a presence in the alcove to the room and she realized it was Frederick who had also gone to sleep in his clothes on the day bed. She felt a great tenderness towards him at that moment and it prompted her to retrieve the comforter with which he had covered her. She lay down beside him and covered them both. He did not awaken and she returned to slumber easily with him by her side.

When she woke in the morning and Frederick conjured the plan of them spending the whole day together she barely resisted and against all previous thoughts of diligence towards her work, quite easily told her employer a little white lie. She wanted so much to be there with him. When Frederick said in jest to tell Andre that she had been "kidnapped" she smiled, but the truth was that she was aroused. The idea of being kidnapped appealed to her more than she dare let on to him. She loved his use of the word “guidance” too. She had no idea why, but she was responding to him in ways that left her speechless; wanting; ready.

We

We say so much and yet say so little of what we mean.
We talk to each other and yet misunderstandings are rife.
We think our motives are understood.
We wonder why the other is not co-operating.

We aim to please one another.
We want the other to be happy.
We act naturally but purposefully for the other's good.
We live by a code only known to us.

We get closer and it feels so good.
We misstep unwittingly and some distance returns.
We correct.
We reconnect.

We endure.
We hold onto something dear.
We patienctly wait for matters to unfold.
We give thanks for having found one another.