Shared fantasies

Boxing Day. A leisurely start to the day. He kissed me in several places and then he pulled the night gown over my head. He returned to his position of laying down with his head resting on two pillows.

He asked me of the morning rule and rather than answer in words I went between his legs and sucked his cock until it was very hard. After a minute or two of that he had me sit up on his chest and he held me tight against him.

I'm not entirely sure I heard every word correctly, for it was quite shocking in its own way, but what I heard was, 'I wish I had a close male friend that I could talk to about this. Imagine being used by someone else in this position.'

I did. I did think about that instantly. I arched my hips such that I was presenting myself to the absent second male; that close friend of my husband.

I felt an instant and intense arousal at the thought. I admit that. I imagined my husband holding me tight, just as he was doing, and at his command another man, perhaps a man I would never see, or a man who understood that he was secondary to a union he could never tear assunder, quietly taking his pleasure in my back hole.

This was more than fantasy. This was a fantasy I was sharing with my husband and we both got off on it. That's when I realized that shared fantasies are hot.

Spirituality within power exchange

My immersion into spiritual practice and my overwhelming attraction to SM practices and power exchange relationships in general collided several years ago such that it is hard for me to separate one from the other. That this might mean something tangible to the reader, I give the following example of how the two worlds mingle in my mind.

In Eckhart Tolle's Stillness Speaks he has a chapter on 'Relationships', and in that chapter he writes,

'When you get attached to objects, when you are using them to enhance your worth in your own eyes and in the eyes of others, concerns about things can easily take over your life. When there is self-identification with things you don't appreciate them for what they are because you are looking for yourself in them. When you appreciate an object for what it is, when you acknowledge its being without mental projection, you cannot not feel grateful for its existence. You may also sense that it is not really inanimate, that it only appears so to the senses. Physicists will confirm that on a molecular level it is indeed a pulsating field. Through selfless appreciation of the realm of things, the world around you will come alive in ways that you cannot even begin to comprehend with the mind.'

When I first read Tolle's words, and when I re-read them as I often do, they immediately resonated with me because of experiences I have had through a power exchange relationship. The world of the doll manifests itself in a very small and contained world and when the conditions are just right all egoic thought and concerns based on the real world drift away. The mind shuts right down and my experience is simply a physical one. I can feel the sensations of the body. I can feel arousal. On the great days, I can feel complete peace.

I can get to this sublime place through wearing a large butt plug which chokes thinking off, or I can get there through wearing a latex mask. They are quite different experiences, one not better than the other, but I've a particular partiality to the former experiences because I can maintain the connection with 'the other' better.

There have been experiences where 'bimbo' permeates me. She is inseparable to that never-changing  'I am' entity. There is no past or no future. There are no worries or thoughts; certainly no attachments to identity or worth or worldy possessions. Bimbo responds to direction, absolutely, but in the most special situations the feeling is light, warm and easy. It is understood that bimbo won't say very much because she has found herself in a world of comfort and grace; ease, peace and beauty.

I remember on one particular early morning she was in the country chatting oh so quietly on her computer. Not that much was being said because her world can often be simply peaceful with few words necessary. She was aware of the sun coming up to light the world; of the darkness making way for some light; the shapes of trees. More than anything she was aware of the stillness of this time and the stillness within her. Ever so quietly she found her attention drawn to the objects around her; a blue and white cup and a jug. She marvelled at the beauty of them as if she had never before seen a cup or a jug; the vibrancy of the colour; the very essence of these objects designed to do specific tasks. A sense of peace and pleasure welled up in her. She was living in this moment. Her cup runneth over.

There are no doubt a variety of ways to reach these peaceful moments in life, yet in my life the way towards them has often been to be led down a path where I may reach them. I have procured these peaceful moments through power exchange; perhaps not the ideal way to navigate a spiritual life, and yet many a monk has sought out help along the way.

I remain attached to people. It's not that I live through them but rather that it is still hard to imagine life without them. To date, I respond very naturally to the submissive role and thus yearn for the sort of dominance in my life where there is understanding of a spiritual life. My personal goal is to get to that spiritual dimension on my own at any time, if need be; to find respite and comfort in the 'I am' entity which never changes and to let all other worldly concerns and worries, identities or pride loosen and shake off. This is the life of the monk, the nun; those who wish to live as Buddha taught.

It cannot be denied that my interest in power exchange relationships began when the material I was reading aroused me to the core. It was entirely sexual. Every word I read at first was an aphrodisiac to my mind ready to take it all on. It didn't take on a spiritual dimension for me, something akin to subspace, until I quite simply experienced that spiritual dimension. This was the true gift. This was the opportunity I am so grateful to have seized with both hands and all my heart.

Getting between a woman and her shoes

In pursuit of gifts for my mother to give to her family, a task I do for her so that she is less anxious about the holiday season, I came across hardtofind.com and on that site I happened to spot a pair of sandals that seemed to fit the bill for me for summer. They are white and tan, casual, with a bit of European flair.

I've been vacillating over them for a few weeks.  On occasion I enquire as to my husband's opinion of something I see online but he's currently working extremely long hours, so I decided to ask the opinion of a male online friend. That is, I sent a link to a picture of the shoe and asked if he liked them. He has a tendency to use one word responses and the word he chose was 'Nope'. I immediately shot back, ' Why don't you like them?' He explained that the shoe had a wedge and hence he didn't like the shoe. 'No wedges,' he said. (see what I mean about the responses?)

I had to absorb this information. I rather like espadrilles. You see countless pairs on the feet of women in France and Spain and they have always conjured for me that continental feel. Of course, as I thought about it some more, it made sense that he didn't like female shoes with a wedge shape. He likes all things hyper- feminine and whilst I would argue that my espadrilles can look quite feminine, they don't have the ultra-feminine look that he admires.

Just now, this morning, as flat chat as I am, I couldn't help myself. I simply had to do a review of my shoes. Sure, probably most of my shoes would absolutely pass the 'no wedges' test, but several of them would not. Almost unknowingly I had bought over the past years several shoes and sandals with a wedge.

I can only say that there must be an awful lot of wedge style shoes about that it seemed okay to me, or perhaps I was trying to tend towards a more casual style. I've so often been accused of being 'elegant', as if I am a bit too dressed up for the modern age and I think this might have influenced me to choose wedge style shoes at times for fear of being too dressed up in other styles.

For the first half day after this conversation, this friend of mine who is so inclined to make statements as if he is Moses on the hill issuing an edict, had me really irritated. Just because he didn't go for shoes with a wedge for girls shouldn't influence me! But, here's the truth. He had me rethinking the way I wear shoes and the way I put together outfits. Was I dressing to please some sense of how I should dress according to the overall public sensibility who surely don't really give a damn about my choices, or was I dressing to please myself?

I am most authentically myself not only in dresses and skirts but also in a style that resonates with me - good quality items of a relatively dateless style and feminine footwear. When I truly assessed the situation beautiful shoes are gathering dust in my wardrobe whilst I swan about mostly in casual footwear, attempting the 'dressed down' look. (And, by the way, it's not a money thing. The 'dressed down' look can be just as, if not more, expensive than the more 'dressed up' look.)

Here's part B of the truth too. I actually love it when a man steps up and says what he likes. I am way more comfortable with an edict than no edict. I'd almost love to be able to report that I don't care what he thinks about wedges. The facts are that I know myself so much better than that. You know what I am going to say, don't you? Yep. I won't be buying those shoes at hardtofind., nor any other wedge shaped shoes from now on. (Damn, but I am so easily lead!)

Getting our groove back

If you make it through your child rearing years still liking and loving your spouse, there is an opportunity to create something new from the union. With more time to be alone, whether in the house or outside of it, conversations ensue that hopefully enable you to see over the horizon where intimacy and mutual understanding is at the forefront.

With two opportunities to be alone for the entire weekend in the past month we've played, but more importantly, we've talked about what we want going forward and what that might look like. He was very honest and I appreciated his honesty. He has, after all, been observing me for the past 40 year so when he shares his observations, I listen.

He said that I did best when we had a mutually agreed disciplinary relationship in place. He said that I would be nervous as the week came to a close, which he liked, and that the corporal discipline did me good; made me happy, light and youthful. He said that I would often try to provide reasons why the reckoning couldn't happen now but that it was never a good idea to listen to me; that things were best when I just let go and did as I was told. He said that we'd been together forever and that if I didn't trust him now, I never would. He'd never do anything to intentionally hurt me. Sure, the spanking would hurt but any temporary pain was for my own good, and that was all there was to that.

He said that it had never been the case that I didn't get wet over submitting to his will, and he'd never not got aroused by giving me a spanking. He said that I was wired in this particular way and that was all there was to that. He said that it hadn't always been something he wanted but that I created this 'perversion' in him and he liked that he had been taken to the dark side; was no longer bothered by it.

On both weekends he didn't give me a choice about the disciplinary side of things, nor, now that I think about it, did he offer a reason for the spanking, except to say that I needed it. He likes to insist that I stay in position even when not tied down. He tries to talk me through it, basically by using a deep voice and words that make it clear that things won't get any easier by coming up. Inevitably, however, he resorts to very contained roping where any resistance is simply against the ropes.

I do love the time he puts into securing the ropes, even whilst aware of what will happen next. When the implement comes down on my ass I attempt to refrain from yelling and screaming but more often than not he'll ask if I want something for my mouth and I, gratefully, say, 'yes, please'. It's a relief to be able to bite down on something.

With the ball gag secured yesterday, it was nice to know that I'd make less noise. There is a row of trees between the neighbours and us but something about the positioning of the house on a little hill makes for incredible echoes. I do worry I can be heard all over town! It was something of a disappointment to realize, therefore, that when the edge of a tawse catches your pussy that your scream, even with a big red ball in your mouth, will sound quite blood curdling. Fortunately, it didn't deter him from presenting his challenges.

It was nice to know that he had enjoyed his time swinging. Lost in bimbo non-thought I suddenly found myself having the ball gag removed so that it could be replaced with a hard, demanding cock that wanted to fill the hole instead.

On the way home in the car I asked him, 'Do you want to go back to keeping a black book then?' I thought he'd jump at this. I'd asked specifically; committed. But, I think he had his own ideas, already formulated.

'Maybe one day you'll find that this process has already begun.'

My husband couldn't be more aware of the fact that I like surprises; predicaments. I am hopeless as the one in control and I very much prefer to be led in nearly any situation.

I was delighted when, last Friday, we shopped together, a rare experience for us. The girl had me trying on a garment which she thought fitted well, but when my husband saw me he immediately said it wasn't right and had her bring another style, which was much more flattering. Later, I thanked him for the garment and especially for getting involved in the selection. I revealed to him that the purchases I make myself really don't do much for me. I want to feel the power exchange in so many facets of my life. This, instinctively, is what makes me happy and content. This is what feels authentic.

Mentoring for the Dominant

Those people who identify as having a kinky nature live outside the mainstream of 'normal' sexuality. But, people such as Galen Fous are altering the long held perception that there is a 'normal' and a 'alternative' way of expressing sexuality, concluding that we are born with our sexuality and that's our 'normal' and natural way of sexual expression. I think it's reasonable to assume that as this word spreads we'll begin to see people more comfortable with outwardly identifying, within reason, as a 'dominant' or a 'submissive', or whatever is their sexual identification.

As Fous explains, it makes complete sense to have conversations with a potential lifelong partner about the details of each other's sexuality and fantasy life. That so many of us did not do this, instead hiding our inner thoughts and lives (for obvious reasons that we didn't feel we would be accepted) is what has caused the difficulties. It is quite impossible to have a deep and sustaining relationship with someone when they don't know, and perhaps cannot accept, all that is you.

Still, Fous gives hope to those couples who may not initially appear ideally suited. He cites a client who was having great difficulty accepting his fiance's desire for rough sex and pseudo rape scenes until Fous worked with this man to uncover his latent masculine force and energy.

By the end of their sessions together his client was perfectly comfortable with a whip in his hands and with the overall idea that he was interacting with his beloved entirely with her consent and for their mutual pleasure and joy. They married and invited Fous to the wedding. Those who have access to such a consultative process have a most valuable resource, but he's 10,000 miles away and I certainly know of no such resource where I live.

A few years back, my husband was excitedly expressing his frustration about something that had happened of a business nature. I listened, as I do, and when there seemed a bit of a gap in this monologue I asked him, quite sincerely and seriously, if it would help him to spank me. I distinctly remember his response. He told me not to be ridiculous. I took that to mean that the very thought of spanking his wife to overcome his own frustration was an unthinkable thought, and I accepted the sentiment was quite an alien one for him. I never brought it up again.

But, even back then I had this sense that if he could somehow garner his power, his energy, his passion, his masculinity; his arrogance and his sense of the fitness of things; that I might have the benefit of that aspect of his personality.

Am I making sense?

What I am trying to say is that I am married to this man who takes life on; who takes people on; who believes that he is right and his way is right. Isn't that the sort of man who, if he were shown how to function in a relationship with a submissively minded wife, would thrive in expressing that dominance  both sexually and day to day within the structure of a power exchange relationship?

From observing this man closely for decades it is clear to me that he, like all people, has only so many resources; so much energy. For long periods of time he is perfectly capable of taking that passion, energy, drive and masculine persuasion and dumping it into a business project, thus leaving nearly none for me until the project is complete. I'm not complaining here. I'm just stating a fact.

But, what if  he was shown how to hold onto that drive and power of persuasion at home to exert it over me for our mutual benefit; no longer an 'all this or all that' situation but rather expression of his dominant nature in all facets of his life? What if he had a few strategies to ensure consistency in the dynamic even when he is, by necessity, self-absorbed in business matters for stretches of time?
Like the man Fous worked with I believe that my husband, and many other husbands, have what it takes to satisfy the submissive woman, but they could benefit from a little mentoring.

I once read that it is not the submissive who needs a mentor but the Dominant. I think the sort of work Fous does suggests that this may well be the case.

Flow

It's perspiration even more than inspiration that gets the job done, they say. It's the inability to sit down and say, 'I am doing _____ right now', to focus, that has me berating myself some days. In an effort to motivate myself to adjust my mood I walk, and as I do, inspiration pays me a visit.

I sit and begin to write, a scene that's about, as it turns out, that fickle nature of mine, and others, where moods gyrate back and forth, according to the other person's responses, gestures, tone; appraisal.

Spiritually speaking, this is NOT the way it is supposed to go. The gurus will tell you, 'Don't let him/her bother you. So, he's not as evolved as you, no matter. Notice. Move on. Focus on the breathing. You're the calm, the stone in the river. Let the forces go around you. Nothing bothers a stone.'

Nice. If it always worked like that, wouldn't it be nice?

But, of course, it's not so easy to snuff off other people's moods, responses, non-responses. It's not so easy when one wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. It's imminently useful for creating drama in writing because that's what people do day in and day out: infer, assume, respond inappropriately, agitate, ignore, become absorbed elsewhere; behave less than ideally for the other. People rub one another up the wrong way, often without realizing that happened, and this sends signals up the put. It leads to other courses of action and one mistake might magnify mindless other miscalculations. Before you know it it's a 'Woody Allenesque' farce.

I do wonder some days, do I need a BDSM experience to centre me, exorcise, or do I instead exercise, or sort, or write, to deal with the sense of disorder that mirrors my mood and moves illogically. From where does this appetite come and how the hell can I get fed fast before low blood sugar (metaphorically speaking) does its worst?

I think this is what happens to submissives sometimes, and to Dominants as well; an overwhelming desire to use the other for support and to scratch the itch. Maybe that's what I needed today, ideally,  for the desire needed to be fed in some way. It is, in a sense, second best, but that hunger led to resuming a project that has laid dormant waiting for the seed of inspiration to be met with perspiration; in other words, focus. It's 'flow', flow that must calm the mind and soothe the soul, one way or the other.

Enduring kinky thoughts

I took a survey for Galen Fous which asked questions about my kinks and fantasies; when they started and what they looked like. This prompted me to think about the sort of archetypes, thoughts and images I might have been inspired by in early childhood, for my fantasies began at a very age. I had kinky thoughts as early as four or five years old. I masturbated to them most days.

That period of my life is now over 50 years ago so it’s hard to remember much detail, but I distinctly remember bath time. As my bath was running I would often bend over. To anyone who might walk in it seemed I liked to touch my toes, but what I was doing was imagining being told to bend over for a spanking. I also remember touching myself to orgasm as a very young child. When I went to bed and the lights were turned off, this seemed the ideal ‘cover’ for my fantasy life where I could masturbate to certain images and experience the pleasure of the arousal and the climax of my body. Falling to sleep was then certain and I’m sure that I sometimes fell asleep during the process. It was my relaxation time; my time to think my own nasty thoughts.

I can distinctly remember a day in primary school (elementary school) when it occurred to me that if it was possible to read minds, I was in big trouble. Could I be letting off signals of the thoughts going through my mind? I determined that day to be vigilant about ensuring that I kept my dirty secret safely guarded.

I recall becoming aroused when there would be some sort of discipline in a story. It could be in a school setting or in a home setting. I’d know on what page it had occurred in a novel and I’d return to that page over and over. If it happened in a movie or in a show I was watching I’d hold my breath as if struck dumb by a kink filled meteor. I’d take those images to bed with me that night, and all the nights after that to re-enact.

I never made myself the perpetrator of the action, but rather the person who needed to be disciplined. I’d struggle sometimes, as I do now, to come up with a real offence, since I made it my business as a young child to stay out of trouble and not to bother anybody too much. Yet, I was immediately and profoundly aroused when in my fantasies I was lectured, sent to the Master’s office,  placed in a corner to think about my behaviour, made to write lines, put over someone’s knee and spanked.

I needed to find in my mind suitable people who would naturally behave sternly and firmly. I needed to find people quite different to my parents who would not have dreamed of behaving this way. I needed to locate for these guilty pleasures images of people who were particular; particular about rules and keeping a girl in her place. I suspect I came up with the sort of people I saw in movies, men who wore suits and looked formal and strict; men who saw it as their business to keep young girls in check, for their own good. Sloppy attire, eating sweets behind closed doors, being late to class or smudging the ink were all behaviours that could be stamped out with a good, hard bare bottom spanking, and they didn’t hesitate to make these behaviour adjustments.

I didn’t confine my disciplinarians just to males. I had a soft spot in my kinky mind for the nasty House Mistress of a boarding school who would call girls into her study after school for such behaviours as not making the bed well enough, for not passing room inspection or for bringing mud into the boarding house, having not wiped their shoes at the door. Later, she was the one who gave enemas, and who delighted in informing of a whipping that would take place on Saturday morning. She’s the sort of woman who took private delight in a girl festering and squirming for a few days just thinking about what was to come; when the girl would get her ‘just desserts’.

I also explored the situation of being in a friend’s home and her father being a stern disciplinarian. Of course, to keep the matter sorted my parents would have told her parents to treat me as if I was their own child and this led to both my friend and I being spanked whenever it was deemed a necessary correction.

Later, naturally enough, I added all sorts of concepts and scenarios to my fantasies. There would be stern lovers and husbands; there would be trips to institutions where a girl was transformed into the ideal wife. I left the more innocent world of spanking to a world where roles were far less well defined. One minute a ‘Master’ would be thrashing me and the next he’d have me over a table and feast on my holes. Hold on! Aren’t I at a school where they can’t do that? Apparently, they could do anything they wanted with me. I let my fantasy take me where it wanted to go and that often led to bondage, to anal play, to use by multiple men; to being pierced and wearing heavy rings; to more whipping than I think I could possibly ever manage in real life. I was an ‘owned girl’ and the only rule now was to obey and accept.

Today, if I need a quick fantasy, or even if I don’t and one just fleets across my mind, it is of me waiting; waiting to be disciplined; shamed, lectured, beaten and/or used. If the fantasy is particularly fleeting, there might simply be a leather strap or a cane hurtling through the air on the way to a waiting bare backside. If you’d been watching me you might see me look slightly startled as I brace myself for the awaiting pain, and pleasure in the thought.

I am today not terribly different to that little girl who grew into a big girl at secondary school and a woman at University and later in the work place and home. I try not to bother anyone and to get along under my own steam. I do my work. I am responsible, reasonably quiet living; take great joy in many small things; sometimes struggle to overcome obsessive thoughts and worries; to keep my world in some sort of order.

Getting back to the survey, I don’t think I was overly burdened with archetypes of femininity or how a girl should behave (more on that next time) except to say that I was probably a good child in an effort to not be disciplined or lectured; to not be any trouble to anyone. My parents worked very hard and were largely unavailable to me so it made sense to get on with things on my own and not to cause them trouble. Also, I didn't want to be in trouble. It wasn't at all comfortable for me to be corrected.

It’s interesting that my fantasies were and are about scenarios that I try to avoid. If I do something naughty, even now, I’m not looking to get caught and be dealt with. Guilt might mean I must confess and that will probably lead to consequences. The consequences may well lead to sexual arousal somewhere down the track but I hate consequences. I hate trouble and I especially loathe getting into trouble. I am fearful waiting to hear my fate and I’m mad as hell when it is meted out.

I absolutely love attention. Since a dominant must pay attention – to the bad as well as the good – then those consequences are part of the deal that I accept. He might be meting out disciple, but if he’s doing that then he’s paying attention, which after all is, even when being undertaken by the meanest of Masters responsible for my fantasy education (of even the most debauched kind) a form of affection and care.

Did the lights just go on? I was a lonely child, responsible for myself from a very early age. There was virtually no discipline, no rules, because there didn’t need to be. As a young child I created my own rules; to do my work, to not to be a burden to anyone. So, what could be more sensible than create scenarios in my mind where I lived in an entirely different world where there were rules; where people did pay attention to me; and where thus I was subject to discipline? And, over time, why not add in sexual components; more lovely, passionate, pleasurable attention!

I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I have fantasies every day of my life. Nor am I exaggerating when I say that my hunger for expression of my sexuality is with me as a constant companion. I can taper it down at the edges with absorption into tasks, busyness, reading, writing, cooking, walking, talking and living life. But, my dears, it never ever goes away. Without a doubt I’m your classic perverted attention sponge.