It seems I only just finished posting about the role punishment has in our relationship, and now I'm sitting here waiting for one.
In all fairness I knew I was heading this way. Whenever there's a shift in our dynamic I feel the need to push and test where the boundaries are. This is not the most mature way of doing things, but I can't seem to help myself. I want to submit to him willingly - that's the point, after all. But at the same time I need to know that he means it. I want to know that he will put his foot down when he needs to.
Last night was that kind of night and I had a couple of 'gentle reminders' of my place. It was mostly in good fun, and kept a playful tone until I went one step too far and disobeyed an order (no more snacks) when he was in bed and I was up with the baby. He heard the cupboard door closing. Busted!
So now I'm waiting on my punishment - 100 strokes.
That's a decent amount for anyone and for us it is a lot. We're not heavy players, I'm not a pain slut and 20 strokes might be a testing play session for us. And that is with the appropriate warm up and sexy stuff going on too. I may get the odd 'correction' spanking with five or ten smacks but real full scale punishment like this is rare. 100 is... well, it's difficult for me to imagine what that's going to be like.
My stomach is in knots and I have at least another seven hours to wait until we have privacy. I keep squirming in my seat and feeling cold shivers. I have spent a good part of the morning attempting to bargain and negotiate with no success. One minute I think that I will accept and submit gracefully - I did earn it - but then next minute I find myself pleading with him for mercy. But honestly, I don't want him to let me off. I need this. I need to know I can't wriggle out of it and that I will be held accountable. The most disturbing part is that I'm kind of looking forward to it.
Don't misunderstand me - it is going to be a tough experience. The worst I've endured up until this point was fifty strokes and I sobbed all the way through it. The fact that he's intending to tie me down means he doesn't think I can cope with it otherwise. He has threatened to make me count and thank him for each stroke, something we never do, in order to 'give the lesson time to sink in'. I think he's teasing (right, sweetie?). Nevertheless amongst the fear is a tiny seed of excitement. No escaping. No mercy. I will atone for my behaviour and when it's over we will be stronger for it. I will be better for it.
But best of all, this anticipation will be over.
So if you read this, darling husband, merciful, generous, love-of-my-life... I'm ready. I'll submit to your punishment and learn my lesson gratefully. But please don't make me wait too long.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Friday, 5 October 2012
A Nice Night In
I've posted before about how D/s is not all about sex and whippings. I stand by that. It's mostly regular life. Lately regular life has been weighing heavily upon us. Playtimes have been few and far between because we're both so exhausted.
We have been talking about setting aside one night a week which is just about us, and our dynamic. A night for play, perhaps, or just for focusing on my submission to him. To reconnect and remember why we started down this path.
This is something I wrote for Himself, posted with his permission. I was trying to express how I hope these evenings will go.
We have been talking about setting aside one night a week which is just about us, and our dynamic. A night for play, perhaps, or just for focusing on my submission to him. To reconnect and remember why we started down this path.
This is something I wrote for Himself, posted with his permission. I was trying to express how I hope these evenings will go.
I want to be pushed and tested. I want to be made
uncomfortable, to be challenged, to struggle with myself and win. I want you to
take me further than we've been before. I want you to demand my submission and
make it hard for me.
I want you to hold me accountable. I want you to look back
over the week and question me. I want you to scrutinise our interactions and
make me account for every mistake. I want you to hold my feet to the fire. I
want your praise, but I want to know I've earned it.
I want you to hurt me. I want to feel pain at your hands. I
want you to slap, scratch, pinch, whip, pull, shove and beat me. I want to feel
pain build up in waves until I feel like I can't take any more, and then fade
away only to start over again. I want to beg and scream and cry and still
endure more. I want to offer myself up as a sacrifice to you and feel your
excitement at your power. I want you to let your sadistic streak free and to
delight in my agony. I want to feel the burn that fades into arousal and the
warm glow of being owned.
I want to serve you. I want to pamper you, to feed you and
bring you drinks. I want to bathe you and lay out your clothes, to make your
life beautiful, to respond to your every desire.
I want you to give me orders I don't like. I want you to
ignore me and humiliate me. I want to experience discomfort and embarrassment
at your command. I want you to make me do things just because you can. I want
to be laid bare before you and have you see all of my flaws. I want you to call
me names, to stand me exposed and vulnerable, to send me away to wait for you
in the dark.
I want to be frightened. I want to fear what you may do to
me, or what you may ask of me. I want to know you won't hesitate to command me
to do things which scare and disgust me. I want to be off-guard, to wonder what
you are thinking. I want to feel real danger at your hands, fire and blood and
bruises and tears and your fingers over my mouth controlling my very breath. I
want to experiment with you. I want to go to the edges of our sexuality, to
play new games together. I want to try everything with you.
I want to be fucked. I want to fuck as though the world in
ending. I want to drip with anticipation. I want to shake and tremble
underneath your touch and scream your name as I cum. I want to give you all of
my body - I want you to take it for your pleasure and use it without regard for
me. I want to be held down, bent over, taken. I want to be raw. I want to fulfill every fantasy and then create more with you.
I want to anticipate it. I want to know the day is coming. I
want to prepare myself for you carefully, my mind racing with possibilities. I
want to worry about what will happen, I want to be excited. I want to look
forward and have dark thoughts dancing in my head for days as I wait. I want
you to leave me clues and let me wonder.
When Punishment is a Good Thing
I've been mulling over this post for a long time, trying to work out exactly what I want to express.
Fair warning: if you're hoping this will be a hot little story about a spanking, you'll be disappointed.
There's a lot of debate about punishments in the online BDSM communities. What most people seem to agree on, however, is that it isn't a punishment if you are enjoying it. While punishment is a popular theme for BDSM porn, the general concensus is that if you're having any fun, it's not really a punishment. They go so far as to give this 'play punishment' scenario it's own cutesy name to set it apart: funishment.
Real punishment, it seems, should be a thoroughly wretched experience. After all, we don't send people to prison to have fun (I'm not opening a political debate here, just go with it), and we don't punish unruly school children with extra time on the playground. How can punishment be a deterrent if it is desirable? Ideally it seems even the dominant should be miserable throughout, wracked with disappointment and questioning his own ability to lead. Everyone should want to avoid punishments completely.
OK, got it.
Then there is a school of thought which takes this a little further, and states that having a punishment dynamic at all is a bad thing. 'We are all adults,' so the line of reasoning goes, 'and we shouldn't need to be threatened and coerced into behaving.' Other arguments are that punishment, especially physical punishment, does nothing to address the deeper issue at hand. If a person really wants to submit, they will submit and obey and the need for punishment will be removed. If they don't, well, the dominant should just leave. And naturally a sub shouldn't be punished for a genuine mistake - subs are human beings after all. Real life long-term D/s relationships just don't have punishment dynamics, I've been told.
Huh. What does that make us then?
I dislike this attitude because it implies that a relationship which includes a punishment element is dysfunctional at the core. It suggests that the sub is childish and irresponsible and the dom is a brute who believes violence solves everything. It takes an overly simplistic view that because a couple decides to use punishment, they are skipping over the important communication at the heart of the relationship. It assumes the only possible reason for punishment is to beat the rebellion out of the sub until he or she is too scared to screw up again.
And it's bollocks.
Punishment works for us, and here's how.
Something happens. An order is not completed. A rule is broken, intentionally or accidentally. I have a bad day and give him a mouthful. This is a bad thing. It is also part of life, and part of being in a relationship. Sometimes you screw up.
And then we fix it. The thing gets done, we make up, we talk about why that happened and how we can stop it happening again. We both get the chance to express feelings and concerns - in other words, we work it out like adults. See how punishment doesn't give us an excuse to skip that part? But then he punishes me anyway.
The punishment is part of the ritual. It is a symbolic line drawn underneath whatever little upset occurred. It is catharsis. It allows me to put aside my own worries and anxieties and to stop questioning what he is really thinking. He is displeased, he is forgiving me. There are no games being played, no sulking or passive-aggressive behaviour. I know exactly where I stand. We go through the punishment and start again with a clean slate. And yes, usually it is a physical punishment.
I don't like the sensation - it's not hard for him to make a physical punishment unpleasant because I'm a big softie in that respect. But I'll admit that on some level I like being punished. I like it because after the unpleasantness of whatever has come before, this is us focusing on each other and recommitting to the dynamic we have chosen. I like it because in our own way we are saying 'this still matters, I love you, we are alright'. I like it because it's a way of conquering my own insecurities about whether or not he is still angry with me. I like the reassurance of knowing I will be held accountable. I want him to hold my feet to the fire and help me to be the absolute best I can be. And he likes it too. And yes, sometimes it ends in sex. That doesn't make it a 'funishment'. It just means that we're a couple who love each other and we've found a dynamic that makes us both feel it.
One last thing: there seems to be a belief that enjoying punishment leads to a downward spiral. Either the sub misbehaves more and more to get the lovely fun times, or the dom creates imaginary infractions for an excuse to punish. This is where the 'we are adults' line really does make sense. We have a good thing going on here. Neither of us are about to weaken or damage our relationship by deliberately doing things to upset the balance. Punishment is good, the things that bring about punishments are bad. I wouldn't burn my hand on the stove just to feel the relief of the ice pack. I wouldn't screw up our relationship just to get punished. Punishment is the tool to strengthen our relationship, not the goal.
Fair warning: if you're hoping this will be a hot little story about a spanking, you'll be disappointed.
There's a lot of debate about punishments in the online BDSM communities. What most people seem to agree on, however, is that it isn't a punishment if you are enjoying it. While punishment is a popular theme for BDSM porn, the general concensus is that if you're having any fun, it's not really a punishment. They go so far as to give this 'play punishment' scenario it's own cutesy name to set it apart: funishment.
Real punishment, it seems, should be a thoroughly wretched experience. After all, we don't send people to prison to have fun (I'm not opening a political debate here, just go with it), and we don't punish unruly school children with extra time on the playground. How can punishment be a deterrent if it is desirable? Ideally it seems even the dominant should be miserable throughout, wracked with disappointment and questioning his own ability to lead. Everyone should want to avoid punishments completely.
OK, got it.
Then there is a school of thought which takes this a little further, and states that having a punishment dynamic at all is a bad thing. 'We are all adults,' so the line of reasoning goes, 'and we shouldn't need to be threatened and coerced into behaving.' Other arguments are that punishment, especially physical punishment, does nothing to address the deeper issue at hand. If a person really wants to submit, they will submit and obey and the need for punishment will be removed. If they don't, well, the dominant should just leave. And naturally a sub shouldn't be punished for a genuine mistake - subs are human beings after all. Real life long-term D/s relationships just don't have punishment dynamics, I've been told.
Huh. What does that make us then?
I dislike this attitude because it implies that a relationship which includes a punishment element is dysfunctional at the core. It suggests that the sub is childish and irresponsible and the dom is a brute who believes violence solves everything. It takes an overly simplistic view that because a couple decides to use punishment, they are skipping over the important communication at the heart of the relationship. It assumes the only possible reason for punishment is to beat the rebellion out of the sub until he or she is too scared to screw up again.
And it's bollocks.
Punishment works for us, and here's how.
Something happens. An order is not completed. A rule is broken, intentionally or accidentally. I have a bad day and give him a mouthful. This is a bad thing. It is also part of life, and part of being in a relationship. Sometimes you screw up.
And then we fix it. The thing gets done, we make up, we talk about why that happened and how we can stop it happening again. We both get the chance to express feelings and concerns - in other words, we work it out like adults. See how punishment doesn't give us an excuse to skip that part? But then he punishes me anyway.
The punishment is part of the ritual. It is a symbolic line drawn underneath whatever little upset occurred. It is catharsis. It allows me to put aside my own worries and anxieties and to stop questioning what he is really thinking. He is displeased, he is forgiving me. There are no games being played, no sulking or passive-aggressive behaviour. I know exactly where I stand. We go through the punishment and start again with a clean slate. And yes, usually it is a physical punishment.
I don't like the sensation - it's not hard for him to make a physical punishment unpleasant because I'm a big softie in that respect. But I'll admit that on some level I like being punished. I like it because after the unpleasantness of whatever has come before, this is us focusing on each other and recommitting to the dynamic we have chosen. I like it because in our own way we are saying 'this still matters, I love you, we are alright'. I like it because it's a way of conquering my own insecurities about whether or not he is still angry with me. I like the reassurance of knowing I will be held accountable. I want him to hold my feet to the fire and help me to be the absolute best I can be. And he likes it too. And yes, sometimes it ends in sex. That doesn't make it a 'funishment'. It just means that we're a couple who love each other and we've found a dynamic that makes us both feel it.
One last thing: there seems to be a belief that enjoying punishment leads to a downward spiral. Either the sub misbehaves more and more to get the lovely fun times, or the dom creates imaginary infractions for an excuse to punish. This is where the 'we are adults' line really does make sense. We have a good thing going on here. Neither of us are about to weaken or damage our relationship by deliberately doing things to upset the balance. Punishment is good, the things that bring about punishments are bad. I wouldn't burn my hand on the stove just to feel the relief of the ice pack. I wouldn't screw up our relationship just to get punished. Punishment is the tool to strengthen our relationship, not the goal.
Friday, 28 September 2012
One Rough Week
This has been a hard week. Everything has gone wrong!
I've been ill, the baby has been up even more than usual in the night.
And on Tuesday, we were in a car accident, and the car was written off. You might remember that we ordered a new car, but we won't be getting it for another two months, and the tiny amount of insurance money won't stretch very far, so we're a bit stuck for the next few weeks.
We're not hurt, thank goodness, though I did have a migraine for the next couple of days.
All in all, it's been a rough week. I'm worn out with all the running around and phone calls and lack of sleep. All I want is an hour of quiet.
Thank goodness I have my husband to watch over us.
I'm really craving some hard and heavy play this weekend. I'm hoping we'll find a couple of hours one evening to focus back on each other and get the stress out. There's something very cathartic about a good beating, and giving up control in such a literal, physical way is the best way of reconnecting.
Roll on Sunday.
I'll try to have something a bit more chirpy to post next time!
I've been ill, the baby has been up even more than usual in the night.
And on Tuesday, we were in a car accident, and the car was written off. You might remember that we ordered a new car, but we won't be getting it for another two months, and the tiny amount of insurance money won't stretch very far, so we're a bit stuck for the next few weeks.
We're not hurt, thank goodness, though I did have a migraine for the next couple of days.
All in all, it's been a rough week. I'm worn out with all the running around and phone calls and lack of sleep. All I want is an hour of quiet.
Thank goodness I have my husband to watch over us.
I'm really craving some hard and heavy play this weekend. I'm hoping we'll find a couple of hours one evening to focus back on each other and get the stress out. There's something very cathartic about a good beating, and giving up control in such a literal, physical way is the best way of reconnecting.
Roll on Sunday.
I'll try to have something a bit more chirpy to post next time!
Friday, 21 September 2012
Body Bootcamp
I've been increasingly falling prey to crushingly negative self image. I'm not going to dwell on it here; I've already spoken about it elsewhere and I'm sure continually raking over it will only give me more excuses to be critical of myself.
In summary - I hate my body, and it's starting to affect my ability to submit.
My husband does not hate my body. He still enjoys getting me naked. I can feel his sadness for me that I can't see myself through his eyes. When we play, I want to throw myself into it with abandon and confidence. We just got some underbed restraint straps and boy, would I love to lie there vulnerable and exposed and have a great old kinky time.
But I know when the time comes, I will be lying there thinking 'Oh god, my stretchmarks. Is he looking at my stomach? Does he wish I was better looking'. (He doesn't, once again, this is all my insecurity). Now that's not fair on anyone. Where's the fun in torturing a sub who's too busy torturing themselves to notice?
Anyway: I have moped, and now I am ready to fix it.
The next month, with the support of His Lordship, I am on body bootcamp. I'm exercising every day, tracking everything I eat, drinking more water, taking my vitamins and getting back on board with the stretch mark creams. No excuses. This is one of those moments where I feel particularly lucky to have someone to be accountable to. He's going to be checking up on me. In addition, come pay day it's time to get a haircut and a few decently fitting pairs of jeans. Lastly, no more feeling sorry for myself. This is going to be the hard bit.
One month is manageable - I can keep that end in sight, and with any luck I should see enough of a result to spur me on.
One month. And now that I've made it public, I'm committed to it.
In summary - I hate my body, and it's starting to affect my ability to submit.
My husband does not hate my body. He still enjoys getting me naked. I can feel his sadness for me that I can't see myself through his eyes. When we play, I want to throw myself into it with abandon and confidence. We just got some underbed restraint straps and boy, would I love to lie there vulnerable and exposed and have a great old kinky time.
But I know when the time comes, I will be lying there thinking 'Oh god, my stretchmarks. Is he looking at my stomach? Does he wish I was better looking'. (He doesn't, once again, this is all my insecurity). Now that's not fair on anyone. Where's the fun in torturing a sub who's too busy torturing themselves to notice?
Anyway: I have moped, and now I am ready to fix it.
The next month, with the support of His Lordship, I am on body bootcamp. I'm exercising every day, tracking everything I eat, drinking more water, taking my vitamins and getting back on board with the stretch mark creams. No excuses. This is one of those moments where I feel particularly lucky to have someone to be accountable to. He's going to be checking up on me. In addition, come pay day it's time to get a haircut and a few decently fitting pairs of jeans. Lastly, no more feeling sorry for myself. This is going to be the hard bit.
One month is manageable - I can keep that end in sight, and with any luck I should see enough of a result to spur me on.
One month. And now that I've made it public, I'm committed to it.
Sunday, 26 August 2012
Slave Training 101
On CollarMe a lot of people post in the forums or put in their profile that they are willing to 'train' subs and slaves, either on behalf on their existing Dominant, or just to better prepare them for future relationships. Which, obviously, is bollocks, because how on earth can someone else teach you what pleases your Master or Mistress? How can some stranger teach me how Husband likes his steak/blowjobs/coffee/whatever? And surely a dom would want to train their own sub - isn't that part of the fun?
Y'know, if I were a cynical person, I might think this 'slave training' is just a way to get naive newcomers to put out under pretense of helping them.
However the prevalence of these profiles has convinced me that there must be a market for it, and I don't want to miss out. Therefore, I have drafted the following syllabus for my slave training 101 course. To sign up, just send me an amazon giftcard/western union money transfer/expensive gift and a message telling me how unworthy you are.
Unit One: Oral Sex
1.1: On your knees bitch
1.2: The tongue: not just for tasting
1.3: Enthusiastic Noises
1.4: Advanced breathing techniques
1.5: What to do with ejaculate
Assessed by: Ongoing observation, Practical examination
Unit Two: How to Dress
2.1: Underwear, and why not to wear it
2.2: Leather, latex and love
2.3: How to slut it up in public
2.4: Things you can attach to nipples
2.5: Mowing the lawn in high heels
Assessed by: photographic portfolio, ongoing observation
Unit Three: All About Ass
3.1: Bend over baby
3.2: Yes it will fit
3.3: Plugs for beginners
3.4: Rimming and related activities
3.5: Appropriate booty shaking
Assessed by: practical examination
Unit Four: Punishment
4.1: Oh you're such a slut bend over this instant
4.2: Writing lines and kneeling on rice
4.3: Receiving beatings - by hand and with implements
4.4: Showing how hardcore you are by taking more than the sub playing in the next room
4.5: Suitably humiliating yourself over webcam
Assessed by: Practical examination, submission of written work
Unit Five: Being a True Submissive
5.1: Slashy typing and third person speech
5.2: Intermediate kneeling
5.3: The bum-tit-tit dance and assuming positions whenever entering the room
5.4: Leashes in public
5.5: How to forget everything you know about relationships as soon as someone declares themselves dominant
Assessed by: Written work, ongoing observation, evidence of posts on the internet telling people how real subs do it.
ALSO, sign up now and I'll throw in my free one-day workshop entitled 'Cock Shots - don't all women love them?'
Y'know, if I were a cynical person, I might think this 'slave training' is just a way to get naive newcomers to put out under pretense of helping them.
However the prevalence of these profiles has convinced me that there must be a market for it, and I don't want to miss out. Therefore, I have drafted the following syllabus for my slave training 101 course. To sign up, just send me an amazon giftcard/western union money transfer/expensive gift and a message telling me how unworthy you are.
Unit One: Oral Sex
1.1: On your knees bitch
1.2: The tongue: not just for tasting
1.3: Enthusiastic Noises
1.4: Advanced breathing techniques
1.5: What to do with ejaculate
Assessed by: Ongoing observation, Practical examination
Unit Two: How to Dress
2.1: Underwear, and why not to wear it
2.2: Leather, latex and love
2.3: How to slut it up in public
2.4: Things you can attach to nipples
2.5: Mowing the lawn in high heels
Assessed by: photographic portfolio, ongoing observation
Unit Three: All About Ass
3.1: Bend over baby
3.2: Yes it will fit
3.3: Plugs for beginners
3.4: Rimming and related activities
3.5: Appropriate booty shaking
Assessed by: practical examination
Unit Four: Punishment
4.1: Oh you're such a slut bend over this instant
4.2: Writing lines and kneeling on rice
4.3: Receiving beatings - by hand and with implements
4.4: Showing how hardcore you are by taking more than the sub playing in the next room
4.5: Suitably humiliating yourself over webcam
Assessed by: Practical examination, submission of written work
Unit Five: Being a True Submissive
5.1: Slashy typing and third person speech
5.2: Intermediate kneeling
5.3: The bum-tit-tit dance and assuming positions whenever entering the room
5.4: Leashes in public
5.5: How to forget everything you know about relationships as soon as someone declares themselves dominant
Assessed by: Written work, ongoing observation, evidence of posts on the internet telling people how real subs do it.
ALSO, sign up now and I'll throw in my free one-day workshop entitled 'Cock Shots - don't all women love them?'
Thursday, 23 August 2012
Dirty Weekend - the New Toy
Before I begin:
I debated whether to post about the sex, because I don't want this blog to become all about the sex, since there's a lot more to this whole D/s thing than that. Then again, for us the sex is an important (and lovely) part of it, so by not discussing it I might make it seem less important than it is. After all, we both get a lot of things from D/s, but neither of us would ever have started down the path to begin with if it didn't turn us on. And if you think the sex-talk is tacky, here's my excuse. 'I want to see you write more about sex,' says Husband. 'I like that.' And what Master wants, right?
Since I described my first experience with the cane (which as you will see has become a go-to implement in our household) I figured I'd also let you know about my first go with our newest toy, the mindfold.
We've had blindfolds before but never given them much use. This is because they don't really work. I can usually see around the edges or it slides off my face and spoils it. We had long since abandoned the idea. But the mindfold advertises 'complete darkness with your eyes open' and you know what? It really is.
We were just messing around in his study when we put it on me - I was kneeling at his feet and we just wanted to see what it was like. 'You can't see anything at all?'
'Right,' I said, and at that he got up and walked out of the room.
I called after him and got no response and so I waited. I wasn't really sure what he expected me to do - did he want me to leave it on, or had he lost interest? Was this some kind of test to see if I would wait for his return or was he thinking nothing of the sort and just going to get a drink?
I decided to leave it in place - better to be over-cautious than to risk disappointing him. It's amazing how suddenly vulnerable you feel when you can't see. I waited and waited. I shifted my weight around. I listened very hard. After a few minutes I was getting impatient and wanted to look, so it became an exercise in self-control. I became convinced that he was standing very close to me, just watching me, which made me very self-conscious about how I was holding myself, and I was straining to listen for the sounds of footsteps or breathing to give me a clue where he was.
I think I was there for about fifteen minutes - it felt like hours.
Finally he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me up to my feet. He put me against the wall in his preferred spot and I automatically put my hands up flat against the wall as he likes. Most beatings are administered hands against the wall - he doesn't like to 'make it easy' for me by lying me over something. Despite my best efforts I nearly always twist and jump out of position following a hard stroke (and often in anticipation of one, luckily Husband is careful and has quick enough reactions that I've never been injured this way). I've often begged to be restrained before a whipping, but he rarely does because he loves to see me struggle to obey and keep still, and to watch me reluctantly get back into position for him to continue. This time I didn't even ask, I just whimpered like a scared animal.
He gave me a few short but firm smacks across the ass with something hard and stingy as I fought very hard to stay where I was put. He changed it for another hard implement - he still won't tell me what he was using, though I suspect a wooden spoon was involved - and gave me a few more quick whacks until I was dancing around. I tried to get out of his reach and he pulled me back by my hair to finish up with a few open handed slaps which were hard enough to almost knock me off balance. Then he stopped and turned me around, the pain now receding with a rush of adrenaline and arousal.
He ran something over my hips and up my waist. 'Ah that's cold!'
'Yes, it's metal.' He circled it around my nipple and I stood, trembling. My nipples are incredibly sensitive, and nothing scares me more right now that pain to them. The object hovered over the right nipple and then began to crush and pinch it as I hissed with pain and rose onto my tiptoes. He stopped just before the pain became unbearable.
He took me upstairs - itself an exercise in trust when you can't see and put me on my back on the bed. 'Hands behind your head.' This is always an order I dread because it invariably means pain to my poor tortured breasts. I complied. He ordered me to open my legs, and he got the cane (this implement at least is unmistakable, even when blindfolded). He gave me a series of very fast strokes to the inside of my thighs. He's never done that before and it was like nothing I had felt. The first one or two didn't seem too bad as they weren't that hard, but very quickly the pain built up, one wave layering over the next with no chance to process the sensation or recover. It was a hot, fiery, crackly type of pain that soon overwhelmed me. Several times he paused to let me regain myself, only to put me off guard by giving me a sharp stroke or slap across the pussy before returning to my legs. Each time it felt like he was taking me almost to the point that I couldn't stand it and then backing away.
Until he stopped caning my thighs and turned his attention to my breasts. Rather than the short fast strokes here he gave me single hits, giving me the chance to dread each one. About the fourth stroke was directly across my nipples. It was agonising. I doubled my whole body over, unable to keep myself in position.
'I'm sorry,' I whispered and I felt the tears start to flow as he finally pushed me over that edge. He whispered reassurances into my ear, how he didn't expect me to take the suffering stoically, how I was his... After that it gets a little blurry. I'm honestly not sure if he hurt me more past that point (is this the sub-space everyone talks about?). Then he fucked me. My whole body was raw from the pain and my heart was pounding and I was crying and shaking and he took me so hard I felt like he would rip me in two. And it was amazing. I came hard right away and many, many times after that.
Once it was done I lay shivering in his arms, wanting desperately to say something but struggling to form the thoughts into words. After I had calmed down I could still feel the heat and pleasure in my body for the rest of the night. Wow. Oh, and he had to turn the lights off! The blindfold did its job so well the dim bedroom lights were unbearable once I took it off.
So umm... not exactly a review, but yep, we liked the mindfold.
Bonus confession:
High-Rise Sex
I had requested a room on the highest floor available for our stay. The hotel is fairly modern with floor to ceiling windows in every room which were that shiny type of glass which looks dark from the outside. Once we checked in, we admired the view and then did what any self-respecting couple would do next - we did it right in front of the windows. Certainly we couldn't be seen through that tinted glass anyway. You don't need to know the intimate details but suffice to say I spent an extended period on my knees in front of those windows.
Later that night we returned from dinner and looked up. The lights from the occupied hotel rooms were very bright from outside, and we could very clearly see people walking around...
If you happened to be in Birmingham on Saturday night, and saw a couple going at it through the hotel windows... it wasn't us, honest!
I debated whether to post about the sex, because I don't want this blog to become all about the sex, since there's a lot more to this whole D/s thing than that. Then again, for us the sex is an important (and lovely) part of it, so by not discussing it I might make it seem less important than it is. After all, we both get a lot of things from D/s, but neither of us would ever have started down the path to begin with if it didn't turn us on. And if you think the sex-talk is tacky, here's my excuse. 'I want to see you write more about sex,' says Husband. 'I like that.' And what Master wants, right?
Since I described my first experience with the cane (which as you will see has become a go-to implement in our household) I figured I'd also let you know about my first go with our newest toy, the mindfold.
We've had blindfolds before but never given them much use. This is because they don't really work. I can usually see around the edges or it slides off my face and spoils it. We had long since abandoned the idea. But the mindfold advertises 'complete darkness with your eyes open' and you know what? It really is.
We were just messing around in his study when we put it on me - I was kneeling at his feet and we just wanted to see what it was like. 'You can't see anything at all?'
'Right,' I said, and at that he got up and walked out of the room.
I called after him and got no response and so I waited. I wasn't really sure what he expected me to do - did he want me to leave it on, or had he lost interest? Was this some kind of test to see if I would wait for his return or was he thinking nothing of the sort and just going to get a drink?
I decided to leave it in place - better to be over-cautious than to risk disappointing him. It's amazing how suddenly vulnerable you feel when you can't see. I waited and waited. I shifted my weight around. I listened very hard. After a few minutes I was getting impatient and wanted to look, so it became an exercise in self-control. I became convinced that he was standing very close to me, just watching me, which made me very self-conscious about how I was holding myself, and I was straining to listen for the sounds of footsteps or breathing to give me a clue where he was.
I think I was there for about fifteen minutes - it felt like hours.
Finally he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me up to my feet. He put me against the wall in his preferred spot and I automatically put my hands up flat against the wall as he likes. Most beatings are administered hands against the wall - he doesn't like to 'make it easy' for me by lying me over something. Despite my best efforts I nearly always twist and jump out of position following a hard stroke (and often in anticipation of one, luckily Husband is careful and has quick enough reactions that I've never been injured this way). I've often begged to be restrained before a whipping, but he rarely does because he loves to see me struggle to obey and keep still, and to watch me reluctantly get back into position for him to continue. This time I didn't even ask, I just whimpered like a scared animal.
He gave me a few short but firm smacks across the ass with something hard and stingy as I fought very hard to stay where I was put. He changed it for another hard implement - he still won't tell me what he was using, though I suspect a wooden spoon was involved - and gave me a few more quick whacks until I was dancing around. I tried to get out of his reach and he pulled me back by my hair to finish up with a few open handed slaps which were hard enough to almost knock me off balance. Then he stopped and turned me around, the pain now receding with a rush of adrenaline and arousal.
He ran something over my hips and up my waist. 'Ah that's cold!'
'Yes, it's metal.' He circled it around my nipple and I stood, trembling. My nipples are incredibly sensitive, and nothing scares me more right now that pain to them. The object hovered over the right nipple and then began to crush and pinch it as I hissed with pain and rose onto my tiptoes. He stopped just before the pain became unbearable.
He took me upstairs - itself an exercise in trust when you can't see and put me on my back on the bed. 'Hands behind your head.' This is always an order I dread because it invariably means pain to my poor tortured breasts. I complied. He ordered me to open my legs, and he got the cane (this implement at least is unmistakable, even when blindfolded). He gave me a series of very fast strokes to the inside of my thighs. He's never done that before and it was like nothing I had felt. The first one or two didn't seem too bad as they weren't that hard, but very quickly the pain built up, one wave layering over the next with no chance to process the sensation or recover. It was a hot, fiery, crackly type of pain that soon overwhelmed me. Several times he paused to let me regain myself, only to put me off guard by giving me a sharp stroke or slap across the pussy before returning to my legs. Each time it felt like he was taking me almost to the point that I couldn't stand it and then backing away.
Until he stopped caning my thighs and turned his attention to my breasts. Rather than the short fast strokes here he gave me single hits, giving me the chance to dread each one. About the fourth stroke was directly across my nipples. It was agonising. I doubled my whole body over, unable to keep myself in position.
'I'm sorry,' I whispered and I felt the tears start to flow as he finally pushed me over that edge. He whispered reassurances into my ear, how he didn't expect me to take the suffering stoically, how I was his... After that it gets a little blurry. I'm honestly not sure if he hurt me more past that point (is this the sub-space everyone talks about?). Then he fucked me. My whole body was raw from the pain and my heart was pounding and I was crying and shaking and he took me so hard I felt like he would rip me in two. And it was amazing. I came hard right away and many, many times after that.
Once it was done I lay shivering in his arms, wanting desperately to say something but struggling to form the thoughts into words. After I had calmed down I could still feel the heat and pleasure in my body for the rest of the night. Wow. Oh, and he had to turn the lights off! The blindfold did its job so well the dim bedroom lights were unbearable once I took it off.
So umm... not exactly a review, but yep, we liked the mindfold.
Bonus confession:
High-Rise Sex
I had requested a room on the highest floor available for our stay. The hotel is fairly modern with floor to ceiling windows in every room which were that shiny type of glass which looks dark from the outside. Once we checked in, we admired the view and then did what any self-respecting couple would do next - we did it right in front of the windows. Certainly we couldn't be seen through that tinted glass anyway. You don't need to know the intimate details but suffice to say I spent an extended period on my knees in front of those windows.
Later that night we returned from dinner and looked up. The lights from the occupied hotel rooms were very bright from outside, and we could very clearly see people walking around...
If you happened to be in Birmingham on Saturday night, and saw a couple going at it through the hotel windows... it wasn't us, honest!
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
First Kink Event - The Bizarre Bazaar
Child deposited with grandparents?
Check.
New underwear?
Check.
Outrageously expensive room service?
Check.
Husband and I were long overdue for some serious alone time, and so this weekend we booked ourselves into a hotel in Birmingham to 'reconnect', so to speak. We've been wanting to check out the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar for some time so this was a perfect opportunity.
We've never been to any kind of kink community event before, for a few reasons. We're both pretty shy at the best of times, and certainly neither of us are all that comfortable with dressing up in fetish gear in public (in all honesty, we don't even do that in private, it's just not us). But curiosity is a powerful motivator, and by all accounts the bazaar is a very low-pressure event.
We went in our regular street clothes, and at a guess about half of the other guests did as well, with the rest in some degree of kinky clothing, ranging from revealing clubwear to full-body latex, adult baby to sissy maid to elaborate puppy outfits. It was awesome to see people rocking so many different things, and it was clear that people were having a great time just being out and about in an environment where they could be whatever they wanted to be without judgment.
The fact that the bazaar is a market made it less threatening for newbies like us. Rather than having to interact and chat to people as you would at a munch, we were focused on the shopping so there was no awkwardness. There were a few toys which caught our eyes but we didn't want to take anything too big back on the train. We did, however, buy a Mindfold (don't worry, it's a work-safe amazon link), which is the best blindfold we've come across by miles.
To top the visit off we saw our very first demo, which was on the subject of 'erotic impact'. His Lordship isn't a particular fan of sensation play, and generally doesn't get excited by any kind of impact not designed to cause pain. This was perhaps why he looked politely unimpressed through the demos of horsehair floggers, but his eyes lit up when they got out a carriage whip (we're getting one of those, apparently). He must have been paying close attention though, since I've definitely noticed him experimenting with some new techniques.
We didn't stay for the after party, and to be honest watching the demo confirmed for me that I am not ready for public play and possibly never will be. Whilst it's always good to learn from others, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching something terribly intimate, and I couldn't feel entirely comfortable with it. I don't know how I expected to feel really, but I certainly knew I would not want to be on display as she was. So that's an issue of mine I may need to look at.
Anyway - in conclusion, it was well worth a visit and curiosity was well rewarded.
Check.
New underwear?
Check.
Outrageously expensive room service?
Check.
Husband and I were long overdue for some serious alone time, and so this weekend we booked ourselves into a hotel in Birmingham to 'reconnect', so to speak. We've been wanting to check out the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar for some time so this was a perfect opportunity.
We've never been to any kind of kink community event before, for a few reasons. We're both pretty shy at the best of times, and certainly neither of us are all that comfortable with dressing up in fetish gear in public (in all honesty, we don't even do that in private, it's just not us). But curiosity is a powerful motivator, and by all accounts the bazaar is a very low-pressure event.
We went in our regular street clothes, and at a guess about half of the other guests did as well, with the rest in some degree of kinky clothing, ranging from revealing clubwear to full-body latex, adult baby to sissy maid to elaborate puppy outfits. It was awesome to see people rocking so many different things, and it was clear that people were having a great time just being out and about in an environment where they could be whatever they wanted to be without judgment.
The fact that the bazaar is a market made it less threatening for newbies like us. Rather than having to interact and chat to people as you would at a munch, we were focused on the shopping so there was no awkwardness. There were a few toys which caught our eyes but we didn't want to take anything too big back on the train. We did, however, buy a Mindfold (don't worry, it's a work-safe amazon link), which is the best blindfold we've come across by miles.
To top the visit off we saw our very first demo, which was on the subject of 'erotic impact'. His Lordship isn't a particular fan of sensation play, and generally doesn't get excited by any kind of impact not designed to cause pain. This was perhaps why he looked politely unimpressed through the demos of horsehair floggers, but his eyes lit up when they got out a carriage whip (we're getting one of those, apparently). He must have been paying close attention though, since I've definitely noticed him experimenting with some new techniques.
We didn't stay for the after party, and to be honest watching the demo confirmed for me that I am not ready for public play and possibly never will be. Whilst it's always good to learn from others, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching something terribly intimate, and I couldn't feel entirely comfortable with it. I don't know how I expected to feel really, but I certainly knew I would not want to be on display as she was. So that's an issue of mine I may need to look at.
Anyway - in conclusion, it was well worth a visit and curiosity was well rewarded.
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
One Size Fits All - or - What Kind of Sub Are You Anyway?
Yesterday I went out to a showroom and bought us a car.
All by myself.
I mention this because in the wonderful world that is the internet, there are lots of people who say 'A true sub always...' or 'a real submissive never....' I'd be willing to guess that a real, true submissive, would never be allowed to choose the family car. That's a pretty big investment of money and a big commitment. Certainly a responsibility for the dominant.
He made the decision that it was time for a new car, because he doesn't want his wife and child driving around in the current heap of junk any longer. But that was where his involvement ended. I did the research - fuel economy, insurance groups, reliability and so on - and I went out and got us one. Did I mention I also chose our house? He didn't even see it until the day we moved in.
While we're on the subject of un-subly things I do, I also pick his clothes, hire tradespeople, arrange social occasions and go to the bathroom whenever I please. What kind of sub am I? What kind of dominant is he, that he allows this?
D/s is not one size fits all. I've had one two many people tell me, during an otherwise sensible conversation, that 'your Master shouldn't allow that', 'he's not training you properly' or 'If you were a true submissive...' Ultimately submission is not in the actions but rather the intent behind those actions. It so happens that Husband couldn't care less about what type of car we have, as long as it runs and is safe. He also has better things to do on his evenings and weekends than listen to sales pitches and discuss the cubic capacity of the boot. Therefore, as his sub, I see it as my job to take care of it. Just like I take care of the clothes shopping or the sending of birthday cards or anything else that cuts into his precious home-time. Perhaps you would never allow your sub to do such things, and that's fine, but don't tell me my submission is less because of it. If I'm making him happy, I must be doing a good job!
Also, I've never had a brand new car before, and I am so excited! Roll on delivery day!
All by myself.
I mention this because in the wonderful world that is the internet, there are lots of people who say 'A true sub always...' or 'a real submissive never....' I'd be willing to guess that a real, true submissive, would never be allowed to choose the family car. That's a pretty big investment of money and a big commitment. Certainly a responsibility for the dominant.
He made the decision that it was time for a new car, because he doesn't want his wife and child driving around in the current heap of junk any longer. But that was where his involvement ended. I did the research - fuel economy, insurance groups, reliability and so on - and I went out and got us one. Did I mention I also chose our house? He didn't even see it until the day we moved in.
While we're on the subject of un-subly things I do, I also pick his clothes, hire tradespeople, arrange social occasions and go to the bathroom whenever I please. What kind of sub am I? What kind of dominant is he, that he allows this?
D/s is not one size fits all. I've had one two many people tell me, during an otherwise sensible conversation, that 'your Master shouldn't allow that', 'he's not training you properly' or 'If you were a true submissive...' Ultimately submission is not in the actions but rather the intent behind those actions. It so happens that Husband couldn't care less about what type of car we have, as long as it runs and is safe. He also has better things to do on his evenings and weekends than listen to sales pitches and discuss the cubic capacity of the boot. Therefore, as his sub, I see it as my job to take care of it. Just like I take care of the clothes shopping or the sending of birthday cards or anything else that cuts into his precious home-time. Perhaps you would never allow your sub to do such things, and that's fine, but don't tell me my submission is less because of it. If I'm making him happy, I must be doing a good job!
Also, I've never had a brand new car before, and I am so excited! Roll on delivery day!
Monday, 6 August 2012
The Way to a Man's Heart
Sometimes you see a recipe and know immediately that it's going to be a winner. This is based on a Hairy Biker recipe, tweaked to better match my husband's tastes and because I have neither the time nor the inclination to spend five hours tending to a barbeque.
Pulled Pork:
2kg boneless pork shoulder
50g brown sugar
4 tbsp smoked paprika
3 tbsp salt
1 tbsp cumin
1 tbsp mustard powder
1 tbsp black pepper
1/2 tbsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tbsp thyme
200ml tomato passata
1. Combine the dry spices in a bowl.
2. Score the rind of the pork. Rub the spices all over it, being sure to tuck it into all the folds of the meat and into the scored rind.
3. Put the meat, rind up, into the slow cooker with about 1 cup of water, cook on low for 8-10 hours.
4. (Optional, and very bad for you!) Half an hour before serving, cut off the rind (it falls away easily) and place in an oven proof dish. Heat the oven as hot as it will go and put it in for about 30 minutes or until it crisps and blisters.
5. Remove the meat from the cooker and allow to stand. Pour the spicy liquid into a saucepan with the tomato passata and simmer until slightly thickened.
6. Shred the pork with a fork, discarding any soft fat. Mix the tomato sauce back in.
7. Serve with crusty rolls and the crackling, if desired.
As a bonus - I had lots of extra sauce left over, so I threw it into a casserole dish with some cannellini beans and cooked for three hours on a low heat in the oven. Delicious smoky baked beans for just about no extra effort.
This is so good and makes a huge quantity very cheaply. I can see this coming out on bonfire night. And - hooray! My husband liked it. One more meal for our menu.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
how duz he punish u?
I have a collar me profile and have a lot of people contact me asking to discuss my life in a 24/7 relationship, which I'm happy to do. After all, there's always something we can learn from others and it's interesting to hear how other people do what it is we do.
Sadly these conversations don't usually work out the way I hope. In a good 85% of cases, the conversation becomes about fishing for dirty stories within the first three or four messages. In general, it tends to be people asking about what type of punishments I receive. For some reason, these messages are always written in text speak, almost as if the sender was already typing with one hand in anticipation of the response. I try to steer the conversation in the direction of an interesting discussion about punishment dynamics and styles of dominance, but find myself being pressed for the specific details. They want a blow-by-blow account (no pun intended) of the whole procedure. I can only assume they are hoping for a story that begins with 'He walked in and caught me with a cucumber....' and ends with '...all over my face'. You can feel free to fill in the middle with whatever pleases you.
I'm by no means shy about the details of my sex life, but I always resist this type of chat. After all, this is my life, not a fantasy. If I've been punished, that means there has been a hiccup somewhere in our domestic bliss. There's something mildly disturbing about the thought of someone getting all excited over something bad happening to us. I totally understand that lots of porn and erotica uses the premise of a punishment as an excuse for naughty fun time, and that a lot of these people have fantasies which involve the words ''You bad girl, bend over this instant!'. So I can see why this might be an appealing topic of conversation. But honestly, we're grown ups, we don't need an excuse to break out the paddle. I've given myself to my husband, if he wants to whip me for fun, he can. A punishment means something has gone wrong.
I don't blame people for asking the questions, though I do slightly blame them when I try to explain the above, and get the follow up message 'Duz he hit ur tits?' It further adds insult to injury when people asking these questions do so under the pretense of learning or getting ideas on how to discipline and maintain control of their own sub. Really? You're so lacking in imagination that you need to know whether Husband likes me in a particular colour of underwear for spankings?
Anyway, I'm going off on a rant here. I just wanted to explain, in the unlikely event that any of those people read this, why I get tired of this question.
And as a peace offering and gesture of goodwill, I have decided to describe my most recent punishment for your reading pleasure:
As a punishment for continuing to ask for a mars bar after he said no, I have been banned from eating mars bars for life.
Isn't that hot?
Sadly these conversations don't usually work out the way I hope. In a good 85% of cases, the conversation becomes about fishing for dirty stories within the first three or four messages. In general, it tends to be people asking about what type of punishments I receive. For some reason, these messages are always written in text speak, almost as if the sender was already typing with one hand in anticipation of the response. I try to steer the conversation in the direction of an interesting discussion about punishment dynamics and styles of dominance, but find myself being pressed for the specific details. They want a blow-by-blow account (no pun intended) of the whole procedure. I can only assume they are hoping for a story that begins with 'He walked in and caught me with a cucumber....' and ends with '...all over my face'. You can feel free to fill in the middle with whatever pleases you.
I'm by no means shy about the details of my sex life, but I always resist this type of chat. After all, this is my life, not a fantasy. If I've been punished, that means there has been a hiccup somewhere in our domestic bliss. There's something mildly disturbing about the thought of someone getting all excited over something bad happening to us. I totally understand that lots of porn and erotica uses the premise of a punishment as an excuse for naughty fun time, and that a lot of these people have fantasies which involve the words ''You bad girl, bend over this instant!'. So I can see why this might be an appealing topic of conversation. But honestly, we're grown ups, we don't need an excuse to break out the paddle. I've given myself to my husband, if he wants to whip me for fun, he can. A punishment means something has gone wrong.
I don't blame people for asking the questions, though I do slightly blame them when I try to explain the above, and get the follow up message 'Duz he hit ur tits?' It further adds insult to injury when people asking these questions do so under the pretense of learning or getting ideas on how to discipline and maintain control of their own sub. Really? You're so lacking in imagination that you need to know whether Husband likes me in a particular colour of underwear for spankings?
Anyway, I'm going off on a rant here. I just wanted to explain, in the unlikely event that any of those people read this, why I get tired of this question.
And as a peace offering and gesture of goodwill, I have decided to describe my most recent punishment for your reading pleasure:
As a punishment for continuing to ask for a mars bar after he said no, I have been banned from eating mars bars for life.
Isn't that hot?
Monday, 30 July 2012
Domestic Goddess
Just to prove I do have my moments of Nigella-esque domestic goddessness: Cupcakes!
Baked as a thank you for my parents who are babysitting overnight for us tomorrow! I can't wait for some grown up time.
(Okay, not quite as good as Nigella)
 |
| Lemon Sponge, Chocolate Whoopee Pie, Strawberry Ice Cream Cake |
(Okay, not quite as good as Nigella)
Arts and Crafts
I'm one of those people who loves to be creative but has
zero talent. I can't draw, I have a guitar and a violin that I play poorly, I
can knit but never have the patience to finish a project, I can't sew... you
get the picture. But every now and then I have an urge to make something.
(forgive the rubbish photography, I'm a rubbish photographer)
This week I've been making floggers.
Inspired by a poster on fetlife, I thought I'd give making
my own toys a go. We don't really have many toys, because honestly, we've never
felt the need. There's usually something lying around the house that can be
called into action in a pinch. But I was feeling the creative urge and off I
went to poundland.
Someone suggested that a hank of cotton clothes line makes a
good base for a gentle flogger, so that's what I was looking for. They didn't
have cotton, but they did have a type of clothes line: it's steel wire coated in plastic. Pretty, huh?
A set of wire cutters and an hour or two later, we have
this:
This was my first attempt at making a toy, so go easy on me.
There are 36 falls on this, and they are about 18 inches long. They are pretty
stiff and heavy and so require a bit of force to get them moving. This flogger
doesn't know the meaning of the word 'gentle'. Husband was only too happy to product test. Verdict: Ouch. Raised welts from the first touch. As a
bonus, a mini-version (from the leftovers) also ouchy.
Next: A rubber one, made from stripped down bungee cords.
This one is kind of yummy, and also mini at about 12 inches total length.
My final attempt involved garden twine braided together - no
pictures of this because it was abandoned very quickly. Yuck, scratchy and
unpleasant.
Now what to make next?
Sunday, 29 July 2012
My First Caning
It Came.
Taa-dah!
(The hand belongs to my gorgeous hubby, in case you are wondering)
I had picked a shortish cane, because from what I remember of high school physics, I figured the force of the impact would be less. I'm a wimp, remember? Also with the added bonus of it being relatively easy to control and to use in a small space. It's about 10mm thick.
I've been building this experience up in my head for a while now. The cane invokes images of a stern headmaster, the agonising wait outside his office, the painfully long lecture and build up, and of course, the snap of pain that comes with six of the best. I'm too young to have experienced corporal punishment at school of course, and I was a goody two shoes so probably would never have been caned anyway. Still, the image of the errant school child bent over for punishment is part of the collective consciousness. I was intrigued, and nervous.
Husband had given the thing a few practice swings menacingly in my direction. He didn't look overly impressed, and announced that he couldn't imagine it would be much worse than the riding crop. I think he was enjoying watching me squirm as he experimented with it.
Once we finally got a few minutes to ourselves it was time to try it out.
He gave me a little practice tap and I jumped. It stung.
'Wow,' he said. 'That hurt?'
It did hurt.
'That was maybe five percent force'.
Uh oh.
He had me bent over the sofa. He gave me a few more flicks from the wrist and after the third one I jumped up out of position. This is a bad habit I have. He told me that it was already leaving some nice little marks, and he was wearing that smile that he has when something tickles his sadistic side.
I got myself back into position. He built up the intensity gradually, giving me two or three strokes in quick succession, then pausing to let the anticipation build up. I focused on breathing and tried very hard to stay still and take it. It was very painful but to my delight the endorphins kicked in much faster than I'm used to, and I was able to say I could take more when he offered to give me a break.
'Can I change my mind if I want to?'
'No. If you say you want more, that's it. You're getting at least five good strokes, plus maybe some lighter ones.'
I don't know how many there were, but it was a lot more than five. I went between giggling, squirming, yelping and breathing very slowly as I tried to hold position.
His face (and another part of his body) told me that he was very pleased with the new toy. We only got up to about 20% force this time, but I can see this becoming one of his favourite implements so who knows where we will go with it.
I got a lovely rush of endorphins from the pain once it was over, and better still, a lovely set of beautiful double-edged cane welts to show for the experience. I can still feel it as I sit and type, and I love the reminder of what I went through. And let's just say I was well rewarded for it!
In case anyone is interested, the cane was purchased from FREAK Clubwear whom I highly recommend, not only for their quick service but also for their very helpful videos about their equipment. (And although I've never purchased their clothing, I think its very cool that they do fetish clothing in a huge range of sizes and will make to measure for no extra cost - how many places can say that?)
P.S. Yes there are pictures of my ass after the caning, but I'm much to shy to share them. Sorry!
Taa-dah!
I had picked a shortish cane, because from what I remember of high school physics, I figured the force of the impact would be less. I'm a wimp, remember? Also with the added bonus of it being relatively easy to control and to use in a small space. It's about 10mm thick.
I've been building this experience up in my head for a while now. The cane invokes images of a stern headmaster, the agonising wait outside his office, the painfully long lecture and build up, and of course, the snap of pain that comes with six of the best. I'm too young to have experienced corporal punishment at school of course, and I was a goody two shoes so probably would never have been caned anyway. Still, the image of the errant school child bent over for punishment is part of the collective consciousness. I was intrigued, and nervous.
Husband had given the thing a few practice swings menacingly in my direction. He didn't look overly impressed, and announced that he couldn't imagine it would be much worse than the riding crop. I think he was enjoying watching me squirm as he experimented with it.
Once we finally got a few minutes to ourselves it was time to try it out.
He gave me a little practice tap and I jumped. It stung.
'Wow,' he said. 'That hurt?'
It did hurt.
'That was maybe five percent force'.
Uh oh.
He had me bent over the sofa. He gave me a few more flicks from the wrist and after the third one I jumped up out of position. This is a bad habit I have. He told me that it was already leaving some nice little marks, and he was wearing that smile that he has when something tickles his sadistic side.
I got myself back into position. He built up the intensity gradually, giving me two or three strokes in quick succession, then pausing to let the anticipation build up. I focused on breathing and tried very hard to stay still and take it. It was very painful but to my delight the endorphins kicked in much faster than I'm used to, and I was able to say I could take more when he offered to give me a break.
'Can I change my mind if I want to?'
'No. If you say you want more, that's it. You're getting at least five good strokes, plus maybe some lighter ones.'
I don't know how many there were, but it was a lot more than five. I went between giggling, squirming, yelping and breathing very slowly as I tried to hold position.
His face (and another part of his body) told me that he was very pleased with the new toy. We only got up to about 20% force this time, but I can see this becoming one of his favourite implements so who knows where we will go with it.
I got a lovely rush of endorphins from the pain once it was over, and better still, a lovely set of beautiful double-edged cane welts to show for the experience. I can still feel it as I sit and type, and I love the reminder of what I went through. And let's just say I was well rewarded for it!
In case anyone is interested, the cane was purchased from FREAK Clubwear whom I highly recommend, not only for their quick service but also for their very helpful videos about their equipment. (And although I've never purchased their clothing, I think its very cool that they do fetish clothing in a huge range of sizes and will make to measure for no extra cost - how many places can say that?)
P.S. Yes there are pictures of my ass after the caning, but I'm much to shy to share them. Sorry!
Doubts
Last night I had one of those nights.
We've had a rough week, Husband and I. Baby is teething, and we've all had colds. It may not sound like much, but as anyone with kids will know, teething is a parenting trial-by-fire. Our baby has never slept through the night, but lately there's been no sleep at all, for any of us. Between the screaming, the vomit, the sniffles and the restlessness, we're all exhausted and grumpy. To make things worse the baby (who will happily sleep through the sounds of heavy machinery and fire alarms) is scared to tears every time my husband sneezes.
So what does this have to do with submission? A lot, as it turns out.
I'm the type of person who tends to overthink things at the best of times. And when I'm sleep deprived, my ability to keep that in check decreases dramatically. I feel frustrated at the baby when she spits out the medicine that I know will make her feel better. Then I feel guilty for feeling frustrated. Before you know it I'm feeling like the worst mother in the world.
It works the same way with submission. I want to submit to my husband. I do, oh so badly. But I find I easily slip into that negative cycle of questioning and doubting myself and I'm particularly vulnerable to it when I'm tired and stressed out. The house is a mess - I've barely had a minute when the baby hasn't needed me, and when I have got a second to myself, I slacked off. I sat my ass down and enjoyed the silence. We haven't eaten well - we've had several takeaways since I've also slacked off on the cooking. So much for the healthy diet he requires. Husband understands - he's not an unreasonable Master. But I feel bad. I start to beat myself up. On one hand, I wish he would punish me because I want to be held to higher standards and I don't want to be let off the hook at any slight inconvenience. On the other hand, would I really want to be in a power exchange relationship with someone who punished me for being human and for having a bad day? After all, he's struggling too after this tiring week - would I want him to punish me for feeling the same way?
You can see what I mean about overthinking. It starts here and ends with me feeling like jelly and wondering whether this is the right type of relationship for me at all.
It is, of course. I always come through these wobbles with my husband's support. But after six years I feel I ought to be on top of this now.
We've had a rough week, Husband and I. Baby is teething, and we've all had colds. It may not sound like much, but as anyone with kids will know, teething is a parenting trial-by-fire. Our baby has never slept through the night, but lately there's been no sleep at all, for any of us. Between the screaming, the vomit, the sniffles and the restlessness, we're all exhausted and grumpy. To make things worse the baby (who will happily sleep through the sounds of heavy machinery and fire alarms) is scared to tears every time my husband sneezes.
So what does this have to do with submission? A lot, as it turns out.
I'm the type of person who tends to overthink things at the best of times. And when I'm sleep deprived, my ability to keep that in check decreases dramatically. I feel frustrated at the baby when she spits out the medicine that I know will make her feel better. Then I feel guilty for feeling frustrated. Before you know it I'm feeling like the worst mother in the world.
It works the same way with submission. I want to submit to my husband. I do, oh so badly. But I find I easily slip into that negative cycle of questioning and doubting myself and I'm particularly vulnerable to it when I'm tired and stressed out. The house is a mess - I've barely had a minute when the baby hasn't needed me, and when I have got a second to myself, I slacked off. I sat my ass down and enjoyed the silence. We haven't eaten well - we've had several takeaways since I've also slacked off on the cooking. So much for the healthy diet he requires. Husband understands - he's not an unreasonable Master. But I feel bad. I start to beat myself up. On one hand, I wish he would punish me because I want to be held to higher standards and I don't want to be let off the hook at any slight inconvenience. On the other hand, would I really want to be in a power exchange relationship with someone who punished me for being human and for having a bad day? After all, he's struggling too after this tiring week - would I want him to punish me for feeling the same way?
You can see what I mean about overthinking. It starts here and ends with me feeling like jelly and wondering whether this is the right type of relationship for me at all.
It is, of course. I always come through these wobbles with my husband's support. But after six years I feel I ought to be on top of this now.
Saturday, 28 July 2012
Vanilla is Delicious
The word 'vanilla' is often used to mean 'not kinky' or at
least 'not as kinky as me'. Often this word seems to be used in a disparaging
way, as if those with so-called vanilla tastes are somehow less enlightened
than those of us who like to whip out the odd pair of handcuffs.
Two things spring to mind when I hear the word used this
way:
1) You don't really know what those 'vanilla' folks are getting
up to behind closed doors. Your friends, your neighbours, even dear old Granny,
could well be into things way out of your comfort zone.
2) Vanilla is delicious.
There's a reason vanilla is the standard flavour of ice
cream. Because it's yummy. Because it goes with everything. Because everyone
likes it. And because it is so wonderful at putting other flavours into
scrumptious contrast.
I am certain that from the outside my husband and I appear
vanilla. And that's fine with me! Because most of the things we get up to are
vanilla. When you're living 24/7 D/s, it can't all be kneeling and nudity. At
some point, the bills have to be paid and the dishes have to be washed and you
can't take the car to be serviced whilst wearing only a pair of nipple clamps and
some six inch stilettos (well you can,
but you shouldn't). Most of the time,
I don't even call him Sir or Master. The dynamic is always there beneath the
surface of course, because it's an integral part of our relationship. But most
of the actual day to day activities are very vanilla. My service to him is
translated into caring for the family and the home. His orders more frequently
relate to running errands or staying healthy that they do to begging and
crawling. Friday night was spent cuddled on the sofa, watching bad movies and
wearing... wait for it... baggy pyjamas. And it was lovely.
I love our vanilla moments - a trip to the cinema, a quiet
family dinner, a snuggle in bed. And best of all, when the kinky mood strikes
or the sadist comes out to play, the contrast is all the more striking and
beautiful.
Friday, 27 July 2012
The Wimpiest Masochist on the Block
I'm not sure I have any right to call myself a masochist,
since I don't really like pain. I am a huge wuss, and it takes very few strokes
of any implement to make me shriek. To complicate matters, Himself is a sadist,
and believes that toys are meant to hurt.
I do enjoy all the other things that go along with the pain.
I love feeling that I really endured something for his pleasure. It's easy to
submit to something you really like, but submitting to those things that are
tough makes me feel that I did a good job. Next, I love the fear, and you don't
get fear unless there's something to be frightened.
Mostly, I love marks. I love a lasting reminder of what I
went through. Unfortunately I don't bruise easily, so those marks, when I get
them, are hard earned.
I know he holds back on his sadism for my sake, which I
appreciate, though at the same time I want to make him happy - I want him to
take what he wants. That's why I was pretty excited this week when he gave me
the go-ahead to purchase a cane.
After a little bit of research I've ordered a Junior Dragon
Cane. I'm thrilled, and terrified.
Wish me luck!
Love, Honour and Obey
My name is Athena, and I'm the perfect wife.
Picture this:
He comes home after a long day at work. The house (which is immaculate) smells faintly of freshly baked bread and home-made chocolate chip cookies. His wife, perfectly turned out and made up, greets him with an ice-cold drink and a kiss. The baby plays contentedly with her highly educational toys. After dinner (organic, ethically sourced and delicious, naturally) and baby's bedtime, we enjoy sparkling conversation on the topics of politics, philosophy and the arts. He snaps his finger and off I hurry to cater to his every whim and desire. A little hanky-panky and off to bed by half-past-nine.
Well, that's not my life.
My husband and I are in a 24/7 D/s relationship. What that means, in layman's terms, is that he's the boss. He orders, I obey. He makes the rules. I try ever so hard to follow them. I'm a long way from perfect.
From the outside we look like a very traditional relationship. He goes out to work, I stay home. I do the housework, the cooking, the cleaning. I look to him for decisions. He doesn't micromanage, but he has standards that he expects me to meet and there are consequences for disobedience.
Some days, D/s for us means hot kinky sex in the bedroom and idyllic, 1950s Better Homes and Gardens style domestic bliss outside the bedroom. Most days, it's just two people doing the best we can to make a good life for each other and our family. It just so happens that for us, that includes a power-exchange relationship.
People occasionally talk about being a 'natural submissive' - if such a person exists, I am not one of them. Submission, for me, takes work. I submit to my husband because he inspires it in me - he is dependable, reasonable, loving, firm and kind. But it is still hard work. There are days when following orders is an inconvenience. There are days when I doubt myself, my ability to submit, and even whether submitting is the right thing to do. I was not brought up in a world where women submit to men. My parents and grandparents had very equal relationships. I had a good education where the girls were expected to achieve in the same ways as the boys. I worked in a male-dominated environment making decisions that put my ass (and other people's asses) on the line. Surely to come home and sit at my husband's feet goes against all of that?
I'm hoping this blog will document the tiny struggles and victories that go to making a strong and successful D/s relationship, as well as give me somewhere to share the little things that don't often come up in conversation amongst my other circles of friends.
Picture this:
He comes home after a long day at work. The house (which is immaculate) smells faintly of freshly baked bread and home-made chocolate chip cookies. His wife, perfectly turned out and made up, greets him with an ice-cold drink and a kiss. The baby plays contentedly with her highly educational toys. After dinner (organic, ethically sourced and delicious, naturally) and baby's bedtime, we enjoy sparkling conversation on the topics of politics, philosophy and the arts. He snaps his finger and off I hurry to cater to his every whim and desire. A little hanky-panky and off to bed by half-past-nine.
Well, that's not my life.
My husband and I are in a 24/7 D/s relationship. What that means, in layman's terms, is that he's the boss. He orders, I obey. He makes the rules. I try ever so hard to follow them. I'm a long way from perfect.
From the outside we look like a very traditional relationship. He goes out to work, I stay home. I do the housework, the cooking, the cleaning. I look to him for decisions. He doesn't micromanage, but he has standards that he expects me to meet and there are consequences for disobedience.
Some days, D/s for us means hot kinky sex in the bedroom and idyllic, 1950s Better Homes and Gardens style domestic bliss outside the bedroom. Most days, it's just two people doing the best we can to make a good life for each other and our family. It just so happens that for us, that includes a power-exchange relationship.
People occasionally talk about being a 'natural submissive' - if such a person exists, I am not one of them. Submission, for me, takes work. I submit to my husband because he inspires it in me - he is dependable, reasonable, loving, firm and kind. But it is still hard work. There are days when following orders is an inconvenience. There are days when I doubt myself, my ability to submit, and even whether submitting is the right thing to do. I was not brought up in a world where women submit to men. My parents and grandparents had very equal relationships. I had a good education where the girls were expected to achieve in the same ways as the boys. I worked in a male-dominated environment making decisions that put my ass (and other people's asses) on the line. Surely to come home and sit at my husband's feet goes against all of that?
I'm hoping this blog will document the tiny struggles and victories that go to making a strong and successful D/s relationship, as well as give me somewhere to share the little things that don't often come up in conversation amongst my other circles of friends.
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