The sadist

There's the part of me that's simply submissive. I don't want to lead. I want to follow. I want to know my place; to be of service; to feel owned. Lots of people want that. They want to be good and to get the praise and the care, and all's well. I guess that's what you call 'D/s'.

For me, it's not enough. It's a whole lot better than nothing but submission alone isn't enough for me. I'm a masochist. I get off on physical and emotional sadistic glee pointed in my direction.

I don't mean I want some mean and nasty man in my life. I want a nice man in my life who just so happens to get off on being sadistic in the same way I get off on experiencing masochism.

I don't want to be able to predict everything. I don't want to predict much at all. I want to be caught off guard; to feel like prey. I want to suddenly find myself at the behest of his beastly bastardry.

His is a particularly keen, gourmet appetite, this diner with whom I wish to sit at my table. There's no doubt he's a planner and he's orchestrated this meal; soup to nuts.

There's only one detail of this meal of which I can be sure. He'll feast on my desire and I'll come away satiated, because he would never allow me to go away hungry. He can be such a glutton, but he wouldn't dream of not sharing the repast!

Even if it means I'll think of him as the dick that he can be on such occasions, I'll revel in that too. Oh dear. He knows me too well.

Modification

The record shows that I've been anally 'trained'. It's not just about anal sex being easier. Maybe it is all about that for some people, but it's not so in my case. It's got a great deal to do with how I function best. I sometimes refer to it as an addiction, because I have come to rely on anal plugs as being an important part of my life. They are necessary for my well-being. They cannot be done without. There's no negotiation here. If you have high blood pressure you take some sort of medication for that. I use anal plugs for my own good mental health.

You'd think - my goodness, after all this time it's a reasonable damn assumption - that I wouldn't forget this; that it would not slip my mind. You'd also think, that like someone who takes lithium for a condition, you'd reconcile yourself to the fact that you must take your medication every single day.

In an ideal world, in an ideal mindset, this would be the case. I don't think a Dominant should necessarily be the one to insist that the treatment is taken routinely. But, being dumdum sometimes happens to even the smartest people. It happened to me this morning.

I semi-woke aware of there being something wrong. It can be hard to identify what is wrong in that sleepy state but I recall making the effort to go and retrieve a plug and insert it. In my haze more sleep won over my understanding of what I should do. The day got going. I dressed and did some chores, but this aggitation refused to let go of my psyche. Nothing was going quite like I'd like it to go. In my mind that was a much bigger deal than it ought to have been.

Two hours later the aggitation was still firmly in place and refusing to budge. I worked through it, in the sense that it didn't derail my plans, but the world, even with the winter sun painting a shine over the day, was annoying the hell out of me. I knew enough to know that my company was of no worth to anyone. Oh sure, I listened to the Moroccan boy wax lyrical about his new cheese, and the flower girl and I talked plant species, but inside I just wanted to put my head in my hands and be by myself.

I came home. All I could think to do was to take a 'St. John's Wort' tablet. These nerves were too close to the surface. Something needed to settle them down. And, then, the thought was there. What about plugggi?? PLUGGGI. Of course. It had been days since I had embraced plugggi.

I moved quickly, anxious for that moment when it hits home. And, there it was...

A blank mind.
Aggitation gone.
Peace.

Is it all in my mind? Has the suggestion been put into my head that I must use pluggi every day, forever? Was my mind manipulated to suit his fancy? Or, did it just happen that way - that my body accommodated pluggi and insisted thereafter that an empty hole was an unnatural state? Or, both?

Well, it is done now, written in stone. It doesn't really matter how it happened any more.  Pluggi = peace. That's just the way it is.

Love

Don't you think it is the most wonderful thing that a man can love you, or feel so tenderly for you that they want to contain you, beat you, arouse you and make your heart beat lighter; make your life brighter?

Don't you feel one of the luckiest girls in the world that you need to ask permission before you purchase an item of clothing; that he cares enough to monitor your wardrobe?

Don't you sing a little song of gratitude every time he finds you alluring in that gag, hood or restraint; that his idea of beauty is of you panting in pain or slobbering in your saliva?

Isn't that love? Isn't that peace? Isn't that beauty?

Of course it is. Kinky style. The best.

Obedience

It took me considerable time to learn how integral obedience is to the power exchange relationship. It's obvious that it is vital to the smooth running of such a relationship, I get that, but knowing that intellectually and knowing that in your bones is two different things.

I had a number of erroneous thoughts about the place of obedience. Mostly, I would disobey because my emotions were upside down and when my emotions are upside down I can act or speak irrationally. On other occasions I'd convince myself that it would be all right, that I'd be forgiven soon anyway, that I wouldn't be punished, that I didn't care if I was punished; that I was in the right; that it surely didn't matter all that much anyway. It did.

I hadn't realized how important it is to the Dominant to be in control all the time and thus on occasion I drove a sword through the arrangement, only to feel an intense sense of guilt and regret very soon thereafter.

Eventually, it dawned on me that obeying was a far easier option than disobeying. Possibly, I am a slow learner on this matter, or maybe the older you are the more difficult it might be to break down the ego and the sense of self will.

Most of all I think it was a matter of not communicating well. Instead of asking for something, or explaining my upset; holding my upset in for as long as I could, I'd eventually 'chuck a wobbly'. Having learned eventually to communicate any feelings of distress, when I asked for something and got the answer 'no', I'd feeling really hardly done by and that's when I might act out.

Little did I know that the training process is a wild and glorious ride, filled with ups and downs, but that eventually the emotions subside and the message is understood down to your core that you can run up and down the main street ranting, but nothing changes the fact that you've signed on to obey, and obey you shall.

There was a time when I crossed a line because I was curious as to what would happen, or excited about what would happen. or was too worked up to care what would happen. There were moments when I masochistically did enjoy the correction, on one level or another, but I don't think I ever did NOT regret a correction. I hated being in trouble. I hated the disconnection. I'd take every one of those situations back if I could, but back then I didn't know any better. I was simply doing the best I could.

I can still be a flighty person. I've yet to reach some nirvana state where I am always angelic, kind, empathic, reasonable, patient, accepting; obedient. But, I get that that is the goal. I get that obedience is the natural state if you want an authority figure in your life. I've given up fighting that fact, finally.

Erotic images

I imagine that, like me, most people masturbate to images that please them and arouse them. I'll note here my most recent images, those of this morning; images that brought me to climax at my own hand.

I have an Owner. This becomes very apparent because when I knock on his study door on my return home he reminds me that I have failed to complete a task.

It is true. The task has slipped my mind. I apologize and say that I will tend to it immediately. He replies that before this takes place, a written task, he needs to "correct me" to impress upon me the most important rule of all; the rule from which all other rules originate.

'What is your most important rule, girl?'

'To do as told.'

'To do as told. The correction will help to impress this upon you.'

He produces a tawse. He has me take off my panties and bend over his desk. He has me count each stroke and to thank him for each stoke; strokes that help me to learn my lesson.

I have yet to climax. I need to feel the connection with my sadist Owner more intensely.

He lectures me a little; not sternly, just more talk about training me to respond to his every whim instantly; the desire to please him as being my first and uppermost thought.

Then, he says that he wants to keep my attention right now on my warm ass. Thus, I am to stand close to the open fire with my bottom presented to the fire, to maintain the heat; to remind me of the work of the tawse.

He assists me into position, bends me over and spreads my cheeks. He wants, he says, for every last inch of my backside to feel the glow of the embers.  Noting my anal plug is in place (God forbid I'd broken that rule!) he tells me that today it will remain in place for longer than usual; that I am not to remove it until I am granted permission.

Buzz words do it for me - 'permission' is an instant turn on for me. I am much wetter now; way more aroused now.

Of course, I struggle. The flames are making it incredibly difficult to remain in place and yet, having disappointed once already today, I know that I must endure. He might as well say, 'suffer for me', because that is what he wants me to do, and that is what I know I must do, for his sake and for mine.

The whimpers become more intense, more desperate. He comes to me finally and allows the back of my skirt to fall down over my very red ass. He tells me to rise. He holds me close. 'Good girl'.

'Do you wish to serve your Owner?'

I am desperate to do so. I nod. He leads me further away from the open fire and silently commands me to my knees. My mouth opens at the sight of his cock and without further invitation I take it into my mouth as one might put one's lips to the Holy Grail; with reverence and awe. Immediately, I feel at peace.

He speaks to me at times - that it is my place to serve him; that it is his pleasure that matters the most, and all through these words, I hear them merely as distant music in the background. My head is empty of thought. My mind is absorbed in a sense of grateful fulfilment and abandon.

Unexpectedly, he holds my head tight in his hands, the signal that he will dictate the pace from now on. He thrusts his cock deep in my mouth at rapid speed. Meanwhile, I am lost in sensations of being used, of being of use; of having an Owner; of being at one with him and of being at one with myself.

 He comes hard, grunting, spurting hot cum into my mouth. I have my own version of an orgasm;  it is a massive relief to the soul to be treated in this way.

 In real life, I'd reached my own climax, but even so it's hard to let the images go. They provide me with intense relief from a fundamentally vanilla marriage. I am the kinky one around these parts. So, I added one last little detail to the scene. The task was a written one. In his study is a school desk - wooden with a wooden chair  to match. He has me complete the overdue written task sitting at that desk, with my corrected bottom directly on the seat.

Of all the events that afternoon I find this one the most humiliating. I can't get lost in sexuality. It is all about 'place'; humiliation; enforcing my role as his charge and his role as my authority figure. It just thrills me to the core, that image.  

Expectations

There was an inspiring story on Australia's 60 Minutes last night explaining how PTSD sufferers had a real chance of moving on with their lives after they'd completed a gruelling 3 day bicycle ride which  makes up part of the Tour de France. I noted a couple of things in particular:

First of all, those most able to walk in another person's shoes were most likely to suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, probably putting the submissive profile most at risk of this condition.

Secondly, the punishing exercise and the sense of achievement gained from completing the course seemed to reset their minds to a sense of a positive future. Of course, it didn't hurt that they had the wonderful Cadel Evans, winner of the Tour de France and the ever funny Hamish Blake there riding with them, but it says something about how crucial exercise is to a healthy and positive state of mind.

I'm only a few days into committing to beginning my days with exercise in the park but I am already astounded at my improved state of mind, my sense of positivism and my daily output.

I've always felt that you do a submissive person like me a favour when you give them an expectation that they'll exercise regularly. We so like to please and for there to be expectations of us to which we can aspire. If we get fit and happy as a result, where's the downside of including fitness into the regimen?

Guiding Hand

There's not a doubt in my mind that I do better with supervision, a coach of sorts. Whether we are talking about weight loss or physical fitness, writing or learning output, I do best when expectations are noted and monitored. If my husband wants me to speed up on the streets he takes my hand and comments that it never ceases to amaze him how I am perfectly able to walk faster once I have that guiding hand.

At one point I was expected to write down everything I ate. The expectation was removed and things got harder. I was aware of this just now when I put together a light lunch. There's a half of a yummy lemon slice sitting in the refrigerator. This is where supervision comes to the fore.  You may be able to convince yourself that eating this treat doesn't really matter, but can you convince someone else who is monitoring your very own goals? Of course you can't. The lemon slice has no place in your meal and you both know it.

It's the same with writing output. I chained myself to my desk yesterday (figuratively speaking) because my tutor pointed out how my script could be improved, and having a mindset to want to please, and knowing without any doubt that he knows what he is talking about and I should most certainly take his advice, I put the effort in to achieve a much better result.

I was talking to a woman last night who goes to 'Weight Watchers'. She said that they got cross with her that day because she hadn't achieved as they would have expected.

Are you going to commit or not? 

So, she said that she'd be good this week. But, since she has one week to go before she has to face the music again, she had two glasses of wine that I observed (and a couple before I got there) and she heartily shared in a group dessert. I truly believe her when she says that she will have celery and tomato tonight for dinner, but what exactly is she doing here?

If she had a Dominant in her life, and she does not, let's face it, he'd close down that sort of thinking very quickly. Three healthy meals, he'd say - one or two little treats per week is allowable - and - watch the wine consumption!

Of course, a lot of gals don't appreciate this type of supervision and a lot of girls have an iron will. I do appreciate supervision and I don't have an iron will.

I think one of the factors that I hadn't quite taken in before is that if you allow the thought 'I want to please him' dictate your state of mind, doing the right thing is much easier. You want the great outcome not just for yourself so that you feel good about yourself, but because you will be most pleasing to him.

It's not just that you might get punished if you disobey, but that you'll receive the most delightful praise if you do as he tells you so that you can benefit from his guidance.  And who of us doesn't swoon with praise?