New Years

It's Rosh Hashanah, Jewish New Year.

For me it's a time of family and friends.

It's a time of contemplation. Yes really. There's lots of time in synagogue to think about life and love, morality and satisfaction and regret.

It's not about kinky stuff. Somehow synagogue doesn't lend itself to that kind of thinking.

But I have thoughts in my head about memory and faith and trust and spirituality.

And very few regrets.

I'm happy with my life.

Shana Tova, a good year to all of you, whether you believe or not.

Airport TV

Occasionally I am struck by the shame of a particular story that puts me in a bad light. 

I feel a reluctance to out myself with a particular story that shows me as a slut. I actually have lots of stories like that and I've certainly shared some here.

And then I think about why I'm shamed by it. Why it matters. And that it's ridiculously anti-feminist to feel this way. Because of course women aren't really supposed to be turned on by sex are they? And if they are, it's supposed to only be nice girl duty sex. The boundaries of nice girl duty sex have expanded a bit I think, in the last half century. Thank goodness they now include oral sex. The mind boggles...

Ooops. I'm rambling. Stalling the post about today's sluttiness.

I'm an exhibitionist. I think you know that. And a little embarrassed about it because it's not something nice girls do. If they are excited about the idea of showing, that's okay, as long as they don't act on it. Because people seeing you naked is bad. Right?

He's travelling today, spending his day in airports. Early this morning he sent me some messages from an airport on the east coast. Not a giant one, but not a little tiny one either.

We chatted briefly, using webcams, and he told me that the conversation better be good as he had paid $7.95 for an hour of internet time, and something about me making it worth his while.So I said we better hurry up, and he said we should get my clothes off fast and get started. I said maybe he should just take his clothes off, and then he would get his money's worth. He didn't seem very impressed with the idea. Anyway, he commented that it was kind of naughty to be having the conversation we were having with him in the airport, me at home in my living room in my cute little purple nightie.

And then he asked me if I wanted to meet a few of his new airport friends.

I laughed. It was faintly threatening, mostly funny.

But I said no thanks anyway. No I didn't want to see his airport friends. Because then of course they would be able to see me.

He was hinting that he'd somehow let the people around him at the airport know that I was his submissive, or his sex slave. Presumably this would happen either by letting them see a conversation or the webcam picture.

But really, he'd be outing himself at the same time, and honestly, he's more enthusiastic about putting me in embarrassing spots, than putting himself there. So this one seemed safe enough.

Til suddenly it wasn't.

He told me to push my nightie down so that it was under my tits. He had me put my hands behind my back, what he calls my submissive position.

Then he turned his screen so that I could see people walking around the airport. Which meant they could see me.

It was scary, exciting. Sexual.

They likely didn't see me, or if they did, they didn't see much. It certainly didn't draw a crowd. And yet,I saw them, I knew they were there. I knew they could see me. It was a turn on. I think just because it's such a "bad girl" thing to do. To do, and to be excited by. And I was excited by it.

So he showed me to the people in this east coast airport. That was all. No big crowd. But there's an element of public nudity and exposure that's really freakin hot about it.

And he ran out of time. I had to go and he had to catch a plane. That's probably a good thing. Or maybe not. I don't know.

What made him do it? I don't know. Maybe it was me hinting that it would be hard for him to sit there with those people during and afterward? Maybe the conversation we had about how he could train me to want that exposure? That's a whole other post.

I'm not sure. I do know that it turned him on. He loved showing me. I think it's the power of it. I think it's knowing that he gets to decide whether or not to expose me to complete strangers, and that I'll do as he directs. And it's probably knowing that it turns me on, and that makes me squirm and that's one of his favourite things in the world. Yeah. That's it. Power and shame. Aphrodisiacs.

The Path

He'd been away and often when he's away I withdraw. I'm so wrapped up with him normally that it's a big deal for me when we're out of our routine and I get none of him. I feel a hint of abandonment and I know how foolish that is, so I just withdraw.

Sunday night I talked to him briefly online and he did me. That's all. I guess, guy like, he was reconnecting with sex. So there he was reconnected right?

Monday was a shitter of a day. A memorial service for a friend who died too young. Brutal. Her sad parents and sisters and her kids. So we all cried and then had to think of something to say to her parents and her husband.

And there are some other stressful things going on in my life right now, this week, changes in my family situation. And I'm worried about how they're gonna work out.

Monday I had no contact with him, but Monday night he came online again, we chatted briefly, about how badly my day had sucked, and then he sent me for my collar and clover clamps.

I had a flash of oh-that's-not-what-I-want. A spark of resistance or reluctance. I hesitated on my way up to get them. I said "Master?"

And then I got up to get them. I didn't want to fight. Didn't want to add resistance or refusal or disobedience to the lack of connection I felt with him. I came back to him with collar and clamps.

He said "Yes, I know you don't want them,"though I hadn't actually said so, and then he asked me what I was going to say.

I said "nothing" but he pushed for an answer.

And then I tried to explain.

But explain what?

I really wasn't sure what I thought, what I wanted. I just...

Finally I managed to say that I just wanted some conversation that would be Us. Us with a capital U.

He told me that he loved me. And he put my collar on me.

When I tell it, it seems so tender, so clearly loving. But I was so confused by that point. All twisted up in almost saying no. And somehow unable to read him well. Not knowing what I wanted or what he wanted.

Writing this I sound like I'm 15. I felt 15 that night I think.

I was a bit shocked at my own tiny balk. Because it may have been barely noticeable, but I knew it had been there. That flash of I-don't-want-that.

He took my nightie down to bare my breasts, he told me I was beautiful and he kissed me. And then set me back and said alright, if you don't want the clamps, then find a conversation that's Us. Find something that interests me, and maybe I won't put the clamps on you.

A challenge. A Scheherazade challenge. Amuse me. Interest me. Intrigue me and you win a reprieve.

But I was confused.

Suddenly I wanted desperately to give him what he wanted. What he had wanted. I wanted not to be taking him off the track that he had been on. I didn't want to be on this new path I had created. I wanted things the right way, the way they were supposed to be, the way they would have been if I'd just obeyed without hesitating.

And still I couldn't read him, as he sat watching me. He leaned back, watching me. He stroked his lip with his finger, an unusual mannerism for him. He waited.

I backtracked. I didn't want...

I told him I was willing to wear the clamps. I offered them to him.

And he said he knew it. That I'd been obedient throughout.

I tried to explain what I'd felt, what I felt then. And I failed completely.

I'm not used to not being able to communicate, but I felt confused about my feelings and my motivation.

I kind of twisted. Trying to get back to the way we usually are, where I could hide in my normal submission.

I didn't want to rebel or revolt. And I didn't want him to let me.

He kept offering me the chance to divert him, though we both acknowledged that I was sucking at creating a real diversion.

Finally he said he wasn't angry at me at all, just watching to see where I went. I said I didn't think I was going anywhere, just circling around my submission. He said that was exactly what he saw too. And he said that he thought I knew what I wanted, and that it was tenderness, lots of non-sexual connection and love.

Yes. Yes of course that's what I had wanted. Though I had just thought of it in terms of what I didn't want. And I hadn't thought of it as clearly as he expressed it.

And then he threaded my clover clamps through the ring in my collar and put them on my tits. And I cried. Totally fell apart and cried. Which sounds like it was so mean but, it was what I needed.

He let me cry, made me cry I guess. I just kind of sobbed. And told me that he loved me, and that we'd get through the bad stuff and that our relationship was strong enough to survive. He murmured sweet things about how much he loved me.

Was it meant to be all about release or connection or catharsis? I don't know.

I was so grateful for feeling his again, for feeling all was good between us, for feeling connected, even though I was crying my eyes out. Maybe the cry I had needed all day or all week?

I asked him how he understood things about me that I don't even know about myself.

He kind of laughed at that. And told me that he has devoted years to knowing me that way, that well, and that he loves me more than he can say. He told me he just wanted to wrap me up tight and show me, somehow, how much he loves me.

I felt safe. Connected. His.

All in all, not much of a rebellion huh?

Toy Story

Aisha wrote a post yesterday on home made toys and it made me think about just that kind of thing. Do you or your significant other buy toys or prefer to make them?

And if it's the latter, what do you or they make?

My dude loves intricate bondage-y contraptions where if I move I am in danger of tearing off a nipple. I think those are his favourites.  I often think of them as Rube Goldberg contraptions.

Really I should take a picture of them but it wouldn't be the same without me in the middle of it, and then how would I get the picture, right?

So... what's your best home made toy ever?

The Power to Decide - Part 2

We played a bit, and talked a lot, sweet, and fun, and all over the map.

It was sweet, but a bit rough too. He came, and I didn't though he gave me the chance, but I couldn't. Not enough time. He'll say there was plenty of time. But, of course I didn't cum so, clearly there wasn't. I didn't care, I was so relieved he had shifted from his plan of figging me, I wouldn't care if we'd been cleaning the kitchen.

And we talked about everything. Travel and people and sex and work and politics. We never seem to run out of things to say to each other. And when we do we just play again.

I had felt sick. And humiliated. And scared. Or desperately anxious at least. And then relieved.

But by mid afternoon I felt better.

From where I was sitting I could see the clamps lying there. Abandoned. Unused at all today because I had been sick.

And ... I don't know. Did I feel guilty or needy or what? Or maybe just that the day was slipping away from me, from us, and that I needed to squeeze all the fun I could get from it?

I think it hovered in the back of my mind for an hour.

Until finally I said that he hadn't used them at all. And that it wasn't too late.

He grew still. Intent.

He wanted them. Wanted a fix of it at least as much as me.

He's an addict too, isn't he?

He asked me if I wanted them. Quietly. And I whispered that I did. Whispering because I was scared suddenly.

Because I knew as soon as they went on I would be sorry I'd offered.

He put them on me, and they hurt, because my nipples were already sore. But I wasn't sorry. I was riding a high, from myself, from him.

And he played with me. Balancing pain and pleasure for me. Loving me and our connection and the sex. And eventually the pain was winning. And he had me roll over and masturbate to orgasm.

So that then he could take the pleasure away and just drink up the pain.

Til finally he let me take the clamps off.

Afterwards he said to me that I was sweet. That I had offered the clamps because I didn't feel he'd gotten enough out of the day without them.

It's crazy but he's exactly right. I hadn't thought of it in exactly those words but he gets me. He knows me better than I know myself.

The Power to Decide

Wednesday was supposed to be our day. He had planned the day, and told me to buy ginger. Clearly figging was on the menu. It was planned and  purchased and sitting in the fridge.

I was showered and shaved and dressed for him. And I was sick.

The night before I'd had sharp stomach cramps. This morning. Sigh. Some diarrhea.

What to do?

Tell him and ask him not to put anything up my ass?

Not tell him and hope it would go away?

Not tell him and hope that somehow he wouldn't notice and that I could get through it.

I was leaning towards not telling.

I soooooo didn't want to tell.

Partly because omg how embarrassing, and partly because he might make it worse. He's a sadist after all. Now some of you are murmuring "Oh surely he wouldn't". I wasn't so sure.

So we both arrive to the date on Wednesday morning. He's had me peel and prepare the ginger. Clearly he's intending to stick it up my ass.

He hates changing his plans. Once he's made them, and especially once he has communicated them to me, he doesn't change. He'll change if he has to but I doubt he would think that this constituted a game changer.

I'm sure he feels that if he changes or shows a willingness to change for me or my preferences, then I'll take advantage of that and eventually I'll be running the show. He might be right about that in general, but that's not any comfort on Wednesday morning.

I'm wondering if I'm done yet, empty yet. I'm praying that it's so.

He'd told me to bring the ginger, cloverclamps, my black vibe.

He starts to play with me.

Pinching and rolling my nipples. Making them ready for the clamps. I was trying to relax into the play.

He told me to take my black vibe and put it at my asshole.

I started to obey, then asked if I could go to the bathroom.

He told me I could. And I rushed off, but there was nothing.

So I came back and he started again, telling me to pick up the vibe and use it on my ass. I panicked, I needed to go again now, I asked again, he allowed it again and I rushed off and emptied myself this time.

And I realized that I'd have to tell. I put my head in my hands. Wishing I could vanish and never have to come out.

Long pause.

So I came back and confessed that I was having ... Oh I don't even remember what I said. Some prissy thing about bowel distress? Tummy trouble? And how is it almost easier to tell here to the whole internet than it was to him in that moment? I don't know.

Well partly because he teased me about it. As I had known he would. Well first he clarified. Diarrhea? Yes.  And then he was quiet, considering.

Considering whether to use it. Whether to go ahead and use the ginger and damn the consequences. Or maybe... use the consequences.

I was silent. Waiting.

Knowing he was thinking about it. About playing with my ass and the ginger and my shit and my total humiliation and helplessness.

Thinking "no no no, please no, please don't".

Saying nothing because saying anything might have pushed him to a place I didn't want him to go. 

Willing him to drop it. To let it go. To do something else, change his plans, let me be. Please.

My fate totally in his hands.

Waiting. I don't say no to him. I never do. It would be a mistake, would make him implacably determined to do whatever it was I had said no to. In our relationship I give him the information and live with the results.

If he went ahead with his plans it would be horrible. And yet he could make it even worse if he wanted to. That was clear to me. To both of us.

But surely he wouldn't. It would be disgusting. And what would be the point of it for him?

Power.

Knowing he could. Knowing I'd do as he said, though with every single part of me hating it.

Humiliation. Unbelievable humiliation.

I waited.

The decision seemed to take forever. He actually told me he was thinking about it.

I was quiet. Kneeling. In acceptance and submission and dread. Please.

And he decided not to. Went a different way.

The relief...

And yes. He has huge power over me.

Sweet

He'd told me to buy ginger. He'd wanted it the week before but left it so late that I couldn't get any in time. This time there was no doubt. He told me in plenty of time. He wanted it. Definitely.

I bought the ginger. I made the time to go to the store that usually has the best ginger. They have huge fresh hands of it. I always smile. It's a very white, middle class area. Who uses that much ginger and for what?

This time the selection wasn't great. The pieces were fingers instead of hands and I many of them were kind of soft, not firm and fresh. Nonetheless I got the best, biggest, firmest piece I could and took it home. I kind of like that it's a multi step process. I make a plan to go and get it, then shop for it, and for other things as well, and bring it home, put it away, see it in my fridge, then cut it, smelling the fresh sharp ginger smell, and then, then the figging right?

This time ... I brought it home Tuesday night for our day together on Wednesday. I wasn't feeling great on Tuesday. I had sharp stomach pains and was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

He was sweet to me Tuesday night, oh he was so sweet and lovely to me. He started off mean as he often does, or harsh or stern or whatever the right words are. But then once he realized I was sick he was sooooo nice to me. He was gentle and loving, interspersed with sex and tiny tidbits of sadism. Just to take my mind off my tummy? Uh, probably not.

And I was so grateful, and by the end of the night I was feeling so much better, and suddenly I felt sexual and sexy and I asked him if I could masturbate. I think he was so astounded by my question he said yes. Actually he thought a moment, and I had no idea what he would say, and then he said "God, how could I say no to this?" and then he said yes, and told me to cum, and watched me, and it was amazingly hot.

I never do that. Ask to masturbate and cum. I mean I do if he tells me to, if he orders it. I guess I also do it if I know he wants me to, but just out of the blue like that, I don't. And if I'm honest, I did know he'd like me asking, love me asking, love the power in me offering that, even if he didn't let me, and I didn't think he'd let me.

Did he let me because he wanted it? Because he knew I wanted it? Maybe because he was so surprised I had asked?

And oh it was sweet, that night. So sweet.

Sometimes we are so freaking amazing. Like two teenagers who can't get enough of each other. Beautiful.

How to Store Ginger

How do you store ginger long term if it's already been peeled?

My research says it will keep for 2 months wrapped tight in the freezer. And you can grate it into things from frozen.

It might be a bit softer and might lose a bit of potency after freezing.

I chopped mine up first before bagging and freezing.

Helpful domestic tips brought to you by me.

Riffing on Safewords

So the coolest thing happened yesterday - and that's that I saw several other posts that were riffing on my safewords post. Now I know that I didn't invent the idea of safewords and that we've been around it several times before. The neat thing though, was that the first one mentioned me, and the second one mentioned the first one and me, and ... well it was just neat. It makes me feel like you listen to what I have to say and that it shapes what you have to say.

AND it makes me feel like part of a community which is also neat.

Btw, reading the comments on that post made me realize a couple of things. First that I don't think I have a strong opinion on whether a safeword is a good idea or not, in general I mean. I think for me at the beginning of our relationship it might have been a condition of play. A bit like having a safe call. Playing with a net. I must have a safeword, that was a safety condition that made it possible for me to play at all.

But my Dom would hate the idea of me saying no to him, ever, in any way. So he just keeps pushing my limits little by little so that I never actually say no to him. He's the most patient man I've ever met. He's slow as ... well something really slow! But he's persistent too! So he pushes things a little more each time. Til eventually I want it faster, more, harder than he's going, and I ask. Well... sometimes.

Several of you commented on my connection issues in that post and I do think I felt something different that night, less connected with him than usual, that does make the pain harder to take. And that's why I even considered the use of the safeword. Because I say right in my post that it wasn't that the pain was enormous. I just found it unbearable.

And Nilla raised an interesting point, as an "either/or". Am I declining the use of the safeword or simply afraid to use it? I don't think it's either of those things. And I could see how you could ask the question, perhaps thinking it's a point of pride not to use it, or that I'm afraid to say no to him. But I think it's more that when I'm in a place of pain, it's just hard to think straight at all, hard to process, things have to be simple for me. And in that time, the act of saying "Stop" to him would be anything but simple. There are years of training (yes I said training, though I cringed a bit as I said it) underlying my obedience to him. On the rare occasions where I do hesitate he can push me through something. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes just in a Dom getting what he wants way.

Which probably comes back to Nilla's other point where she asks whether I would recognize the moment where I should use the safeword. I don't really know. I do know I trust him to take care of me, not to damage me. We have many years of trust and behaviour underlying that too. So I know he has and will continue to take care of me, and watch me like a hawk when he's playing with pain, and make sure everything he does is something I can recover from so he can do it all again.

So do I need a safeword? Does it still serve a purpose? Jeez, I don't know. I don't think he'd be more careful with me if I didn't have one. I think he'd be exactly the same. It's a bit like having my own credit cards, a vestigial holdover from the days where my independence was everything. But now... maybe more style than substance?

But I also know that anything once conceded to him never comes back, once he takes something he takes it forever, so I don't want to give it up too cheaply.

Thanks for reading and commenting.

edit: And another blogger talks about safewords here

Controlled Sexuality

Used. Bruised. Controlled. Owned

That's what I could say about myself this morning. At some point last night similar words were running though my head. Actually, I can't remember exactly the words I was hanging onto in order to keep doing what he said to do. But they were something like those.

Along with my safeword.

I never use my safeword. I never have. It sounds like a point of pride there, and perhaps it is a little. But it's also a fact that I forget that I have one. So at the crucial moment where he's doing something awful to me I forget there's a way out and just focus on surviving it.

Last night the idea of the safeword floated into my head.

To be honest, I had seen something about safewords earlier in the day. An article which I hadn't read, but which probably stuck in my head.

Safeword.

Get out of jail free card.

Time out.

Home free.

You have to stop.

I told him afterward about my thought about using it. I think it surprised him on a couple of levels. His first response was that he wouldn't have wanted to stop because he knew I could take what he was doing to me.

I think maybe he didn't realize how much it hurt. And how little emotional support there was last night, and how crucial that can be.

Actually, he knew it hurt. He did it to hurt me. He kept stepping it up. And up. It was like he was saying "Oh, you can take that? What about this?"

I felt like it wouldn't end. Like it would go on and on, winding its way up and up this path of pain.

So I thought about ending it.

One word could have stopped it.

I asked him if he thought he had to stop under our rules of engagement if I used the safeword. He said that he would stop, but didn't think he had to. He'd stop to be sure I was okay.

I didn't use it. Because he's right, under our rules I'm supposed to use it if I'm not okay. I'm supposed to use it if I think he's going to damage me. It's not about him hurting me. That stuff I'm just supposed to roll with. Oh, I can moan or whimper or cry. I can tell him it hurts or ask him not to. I can scream or beg him to stop. I can tell him and show him how much it hurts. But if it's not going to damage me then I'm supposed to keep going. To just obey.

Last night wasn't so unique that way I guess. It wasn't mega hurt. So why was I even thinking about that safeword?

I think partly because I'd seen the word earlier in the day.

I think partly because I felt like he was trying to use me to prove something with me or to me or on me. That he controls my sex even if he isn't using it for a while.

And partly because I wasn't feeling like he really was connected enough to me to know how much he was hurting.

Three other points.

I'm not sure I actually thought about the actual word. Just the concept of "safeword". So would I have been able to think it and use it? Still uncertain.

I think he sees last night in a different light from the one I saw. I felt it was about control. For him there was love, desire, and want in there too along with control and ownership.

And yeah, he hates when he feels like my sexuality is just running amuck, wild, uncontrolled. So he stops it, reins it in, makes sure it's under rigid control for a while. That's where we are now.

I've been quiet lately and someone asked me about it.

My new Domme - gosh is she really something so formal, or is she still a prospective Domme - is posting fantasies about me, about Him.

And I'm quiet.

I'm ok. I think its lovely of you to notice, to wonder, to be concerned.


As you know I post all kinds of stuff here, both positive and negative about my relationship with Big Bad. You don't get all of it, but you get a lot. You probably think I'm bi-polar. I don't think I am, but you definitely read about the peaks and the valleys in our relationship. But you didn't see that relationship from the beginning. You started in the middle.

It's not hard for me to write stuff when I'm mixed up, and I am a bit. I'm not mixed up in a bad way. But I don't know what I want. With her, from her. And I want it to be driven by what she wants. And ...

And so whatever I post, whatever I say, will be seen in such a big way. If I say I love it, be rough with me, drag me around by the hair, that sends a strong clear message. Maybe it escalates things. If I say something less enthusiastic then maybe it turns things in another direction. If I say nothing, then that's confusing too.

I'm less certain of how she'll react to me posting confusion for the world to see. Big Bad just rolls with it if I seem critical or if I want something he isnt giving me. He and I have been together so long, he's pretty damn sure of me, and of himself.

I don't have any idea of where I want things with her to go. And I'm reluctant to influence things there very much. I want to wait and see. And so I'm quiet about it. Knowing that she will read whatever I write.

I feel like I'm frozen, unwilling to commit too much to print.

So things aren't "normal" for me. But they are okay. I'm okay with where they are and with exploring where they are going. I'm enjoying it.

thanks for wondering. for asking. I AM ok this time. But yes, often when i get quiet its cause I'm not okay.

A Line of Questioning

I'm required to tell him when I masturbate and cum. But there aren't rules about having to tell right away. Just that I have to report in some timely way.

And yesterday I did masturbate, and then didn't report it, though I was honest about it when he asked me about it. And I wasn't way past a point where it would have been timely to report but by the time he asked me he seemed suspicious, and the porn sucked and....

And suddenly, telling him about it, I felt like a reluctant witness in a courtroom drama. I was stammering, stuttering, starting and stopping. Or a bad teenager under the eagle eye of her unimpressed Daddy.

He was cold. Stern. Insistent. Demanding.

He was the hard lawyer. He was the judge and jury. And he wasn't impressed by any of what he was hearing.

Eventually I got the story out.

I woke up kind of horny and decided to masturbate and cum. I went looking for a dirty story to get off to. I tucked my favourite vibe between my thighs as I looked, just to get myself into the mood. As I started the search he arrived. I wasn't really in the swing of things yet and didn't want him to tease me about it, so I didn't reveal what I was doing at that point.

Also, as I tried to explain to him later, we'd been very non-sexual in the 24-48 hours leading up to that point and I was ... I don't know, was it that I was reluctant to impose my sexuality on him when he didn't seem to want it?

Whatever it was, I didn't tell at that point.

Then he went off to church, and I stayed home to masturbate.

I found a story and got started. It was bondage-y, about a D/s relationship, and seemed to have potential. It focused on a mistake and punishment and gags, so that was all good, and then suddenly it was about breath play, which really doesn't do it for me at all. So I was skimming that part, looking for bits that did turn me on, but the breath play went on and on, and then, the story was pretty much over.

And I hadn't cum.

So I looked for another story. Still with the vibe buzzing away between my legs.

The next story was a Daddy Dom story. I don't normally gravitate to those stories, though I do love my Daddy, but I think this one said in the description that it wasn't about incest, or at least it didn't say that it was, so I thought I'd give it a try.

It went badly wrong. Which means that it went in a direction I didn't like. It turned into a story about infantilism, where the Daddy wound up forcing the girl, drugging her, diapering her, and eventually brutally raping her, tearing her open. Um. So not my thing.

So I finished without porn. Thank goodness for my vibe. I got off.

And then I think I put the toy away and went to shower, kind of disgusted with myself and the whole process. It wasn't a banner orgasm or a great start to my day.

See? Not so complicated really, but Oh it took me a long time to get it out.

What did he say when I was done?

Not much. He said that me being uncomfortable did not mean that I didn't have to tell him what I was doing, and that he would expect me, would have expected me, to tell him I was masturbating.

Um. Yes Sir.

He also said that he should set rules around my masturbation. For my own benefit of course. And because he just likes to control things. He didn't set any new rules though.

He moved on to something else, some other topic of conversation, where I think he also gave me the third degree. Or maybe that's just the way I remember it?

Sorry Your Honour. I will try to do better next time.

Oh Shit

Mouse asks: What is the one thing that your Dom does that makes you think "Oh shit!"?

Occasionally it's pain. When I begin to realize that the sadist has been thoroughly roused and and not been sated enough to stop after a session. I can't stop him, just endure. So sometimes I hear him tell me to go get the clamps and I know I am in trouble and then I think "Oh shit!" I'll never survive this. But then sometimes I love the pain and crave it. So that one varies, you know?

If I'm honest, the thing that makes my heart sink consistently is anything to do with piss. So he teases me with it, punishes me with it, threatens me with it. It's something that he uses when he wants to step things up a bit. He knows I hate it. I'm one of those girls who can't even pee if there's someone listening. Much less someone watching me. That's probably my biggest "Oh shit" moment.

sin

Stuff

Hi guys,

Sorry, there's just nothing been burning inside me that I need to write down.

It's September. It's cold here already, this week at least. Though I hope it will get warm again for a while.

I have a new fuzzy soft red fleece. It's nice. Feels right. Seasonable I guess.

School has started, not for me, but for my kids, which shifts me back into more of Mommy mode, as they need supplies and homework done, and drives to everything.

It moves me away from the pool - lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.

Hey, speaking of crazy, I think I want to read Carolyn Kennedy's new book about Jackie. I'd actually rather listen to the tapes but haven't found real copies of them. Does anyone know where they are? If so, leave me a link?

Maybe it's time for another round of questions. Maybe that will motivate me. So, ask away, and I'll answer.

Sin

Text

A text on my phone this morning said:

"Hey girl, I love you"

He makes me smile. We are so awesome together sometimes.

Foolhardy

Today I had one of those moments where... I was overtaken by a momentary madness.

He was doing me. Not for the first time. He was running out of time, had to go. I was in the homestretch for an orgasm.

He said something about not having used a skirt hanger he had me bring today. When he ordered it, he had talked about the clamps on it, so i had assumed he had an evil plan for it. I actually thought I even knew what it was.

 I reached for it and held it up in front of him, right in his face. "This one?"

I could feel the surge in energy as he leaned forward.

Was it incredulity?

And Sadism.

"Do you want that?"

Fiercely intent.

"Yes. Yes Sir."

"Put them on your sore tits then. Lying there, put them on."

Was he shocked? Gleeful? Delighted?

I put the first one on, and it hurt about 8 times as much as I had expected. Holy fuck! I asked for this. Waved it in his face!

I put the second one on and it hurt about 7 times as much as I expected. Why the difference? I don't know.

And then he made me cum in about a minute and then, after what seemed like an hour, he let me take them off.

I have a strong streak of crazy sometimes.

When he took them off, I laughed, delighted to have survived. Exhilarated. I felt like I could probably fly. Or at least leap tall buildings.

He said to me that he wasn't sure whether it was a gift to him or whether I really wanted them. I honestly don't know.

Let's call it a gift Sir.

Afterward

After I cum I want to sleep. Don't you? He says I'm such a guy about that. I guess he's right.

Or eat pizza. Like in college. Combination pizza, extra grease. Err, bacon I mean. Anytime we had the money... Wasn't that amazing? Eating that hugely fatty meal at midnight?

Or smoke, though I've almost broken myself of that one. Occasionally I miss smoking but not really after sex.

Or... ice cream. Ooooh that would do it. That would be wonderful after cumming.

Soooo, sleep or food or a cigarette for me.

You?

Return to Yoga

My body is stiff today from tons of exercise yesterday. Basically a good thing but, oh, I feel it this morning.

Yoga yesterday morning on top of a long vigorous bike ride the day before and a brisk walk in the forest at dusk last night.

I think it's the yoga that's making itself felt this morning. I haven't been to yoga in 6 weeks. I hurt myself and knew that yoga would be exactly the wrong thing to do. And then I wasn't excited about going back. You know how you get out of the habit of doing something, and then suddenly it's just not something that you want to do anymore.

But yesterday I had agreed to go with a friend (and couldn't reach her to cancel!) so I went.

As soon as it started, as soon as I sat down on my mat I thought, "Jeez, why did I resist this? I love this!" The class itself was tough, lots of the movements harder than I remembered them being when I was going all the time. But so satisfying by the end. And yeah, I was glad when I got to the end.

The yoga itself is so good for me in so many ways. It gives me time and space and calm. It's supposed to be a time when I'm not thinking of anything but the movements and breath. Though I do think of other things of course, both during and after.

And I'm often struck by how much I like just doing as I'm told. There's something that really works for me there, and I feel the internal "good girl" when I've done it right, even when I don't hear it.

So yesterday my return to yoga was good.

And today... Oh I feel old.

Remembering

September 11th sucks doesn't it?

And yet it's gorgeous here this morning. Sun shining. Brilliant blue sky. Just a hint of fall in the air. I want to hold onto summer, I love summer, and yet, fall is good too isn't it?

And we're supposed to be sad. We are supposed to mourn and to commemorate.

I don't want to challenge any one's choices today.

But... I do want to forget.

I didn't know those people.

And I'm sad for them of course. I was sad for them then, and still feel that now. The people in the buildings and the people in the planes and the people who tried to rescue them. And their families. It all sucks doesn't it?

As well as grief we felt and still feel shock. Who would do this? Did they know what would happen? Could they really have meant for it to be so terrible? Was that a plan or a unplanned benefit?

And anger.

And the desire for vengeance.

And yet the perpetrators are long gone. Dead with their victims.

I don't know if remembering helps.

Which isn't how I felt last year at all. I looked at my post and listened to the youtube videos I linked to and cried all over again. Of course.

But maybe I'm starting to wonder if this terrible action has pushed us, the whole world, towards being terrible to each other, pushed us into suspicion and anger and fear and retribution. Maybe the way we feel now was what the baddies wanted.

I don't know.

I don't have any conclusions, or any easy answers. I'm normally a vengeance girl. But somehow today, I don't have any answers. Just big sad questions. Maybe vengeance on a world wide scale is just wrong?

Thanks for reading. Be good to yourselves today okay?

sin

Sweet

This week he's been... sweet?

Some of you will roll your eyes, thinking Big Bad just isn't sweet. And some of you will click to something else. Cause you don't want him to be sweet. That's okay, I don't mind.

He has been.

He's been allll over me. Loving. Tender. Adoring.

Oh some of that bad-ass stuff too. Nipple clamps of various shapes and sizes and types, til he put the old "regular" clamps on me on Wednesday night and I cried. He never gets too far away from that these days.

But he was sweet too. Telling me over and over how much he loved me, how close to me he felt.

We've talked about the possibility of me playing with someone else. A Domme. And it's a maybe, not a certainty.

In that context he's so protective, so possessive.

He loves hurting me, that's a bit part of what he does with me, to me. But he's worried about someone else doing it. He's worried about someone going too far. Of me being such a pleaser that I'd let someone go too far. He's worried about someone damaging me.

And ... he wants to take care of me. To wrap me up and make sure no one else ever hurts me.

But then he gets that that's my kink, as much as his. (Be careful what you wish for Sir? Have you created a monster?)

It's not his way to hover or to fuss around. His way is to boss the Domme. To control her, to limit her, and warn her and lecture her. His way is to dominate.

I feel treasured. Adored. Loved. Cared for.

I don't feel crowded at all.

I feel special.

Intimidation - Vanilla

This isn't dirty, so if you are here looking for something dark and twisty today, you'll want to move along quickly. This is kind of angsty real life stuff.

I have to  write something for work and I'm nervous about it.

I write stuff all the time. I write here, as you know.

And for work I write memos and letters and presentations and briefing notes and persuasive stuff and ... this is different.

It's different because it's something to be published and I'm nervous about the permanence of it. I'm nervous about people reading it now or in 10 years and thinking wow, she was so stupid, she didn't get this at all. I'm nervous of them thinking I've missed the point, or made a bad argument or (worst of all!)  not done enough research.

It all just paralyzes me. I've started this paper I'm trying to write at least 3 times before. I research it, write it, play with it a bit and then for no apparent reason I just leave it and walk away.

I don't HAVE to publish stuff in my job. But it would sure help. It would help in terms of prestige and credibility and those would be good things.

I do presentations all the time. I'm good at them. Somehow the transience of the oral presentation helps me. Even if it's not perfect I can cover. I can distract, turn the conversation, shape the discussion. Control things.

I think it's needing to be perfect that intimidates me. But it's also somehow, just submitting the project and letting it sink or swim on its own.

Interesting how the language fits here isn't it? Control, submission.

So in this coming week, I need to find some way past that intimidation, to producing a product.

Wish me luck.

Power

Yesterday I was speculating about where the power would be in a relationship that I might have with a new Domme. I wondered about what it might look like, and where the power would come from.

One of my readers (Cocktoy) said this in the comments: The power is all his...allowing you to be with her and allowing you to want to be with her. He will never give up his power on and over you.

Yeah. Pretty damn perceptive Cocktoy, though you say you are new to all this.

I think you've got it exactly right.

Actually, I like that. I hope it's true.

I've Been Thinking About

I keep thinking about submitting to the girl who wants to Domme me. And my Big Bad Dom is okay with the idea, I think he likes the idea. Though he wouldn't just give blanket permission, where would be the fun in that for him? He'll work it a bit more than that.

I don't know if it will happen. Timing is a challenge but I've been thinking about it, about her.

I'm not obsessed, let's call it intrigued.

I've had lots of quiet time driving and walking to think about whatever, and some of those thoughts have settled on her.

See? That's not obsessed, now is it?

I wonder what it would be like with her.

I wonder what she wants from me.

I have no idea what I want from her.

I wonder where the thrill comes with this. It's still all about power isn't it? So where does the power come from and how does it manifest?

I wonder if I'm thinking it to death, over thinking before the fact. Maybe nothing's ever going to happen.

And yet...

Is there power because I do as she says? Is there power because I want to do as she says. Is there power if she knows that I will? Does that grow over time?

In any interaction I've had with other people since I've known Big Bad, he's kind of (kind of, HA!) called the shots, telling me that I was to obey, and then watching pretty closely to make sure I did. In this one, he has backed way off, so I don't think he will order my obedience. And yet I don't think it even occurs to him that I wouldn't obey. Because with him I always do.

And yet with her, surely there would be a period of growth, of testing, of us testing each other. Where trust and communication develop and where we figure out what we want from each other and how to get it. She won't expect me to be for her what I am for him. Will she? And would she want that?

So will she demand obedience? Submission? Sex? Will she want it from the beginning? How will she shape it?

I think for me, basic obedience is physical, it's about physical manifestations of obedience to orders. I'm told to stand, I stand. I'm told to kneel, I kneel. I'm told to masturbate or do jumping jacks or just stay there, and I obey.

Submission is a bit different. I think it's a combination of the decision to obey the orders and the feelings about it.

And so, when she gives an order, will I decide each time? I guess I will, at least at first.

I don't with him. I did once, but now I just obey. Some of that's training, and habit along with desire and trust. How much of that would carry over into another relationship with a different dominant?

I'm second guessing, should I write this for my blog? It's too new, just a tiny shoot of a relationship yet, but I guess it qualifies as "finding my submission" too.

So that's where I am. More questions than answers as usual.

See You in September

It feels like Monday. Don't you think so? It's always seemed to me that the day after Labour Day (and yes it does have a "u" in it) is like a Super Monday, a Mega Monday, the Monday to end all Mondays, at least all the Mondays of summer.

Sigh.

Back to school day.

And while that's full of new promise and new challenges and new resolve, it also means the end of summer, relaxation and hot days by the pool. It's the beginning of needing to be more organized.

Sigh.

I woke up early cause my husband was travelling today. Earlier than I wanted to. Strange dreams last night, lots of packing and unpacking and travelling in my dreams. And I never seemed to have the right stuff.

I woke up to the realization that I hadn't moved the laundry last night. So no dry clothes for my youngest this morning. I suppose he could go to school in his bathing suit, t-shirt and sandals. He's lived comfortably in them all summer, but the first day of school seems to demand more rigour. It was still salvageable so I got up and put the clothes in the dryer.

Husband left to wait for his cab outside.

Folded a mountain of laundry.

Husband came back to tell me he was done waiting for cab, it was late, he was driving to the airport.

Then I made coffee. Water in the pot, ground the beans, water into the coffee maker, took the old filter and grounds to the garbage. Ground coffee into the coffee maker, and as I'm pouring it in I think "Shit!" No filter. I didn't put the filter in. Empty the coffee grounds into the filter, clean the coffee maker. Press the start button and hope I have enough coffee now.

Cab arrived, 30 minutes late. I put on enough clothes to go to the door, and told the cabbie that his passenger was gone cause he was late. And then got to argue with him about what time the cab was ordered for, and whether he was 15 minutes late (his version) or 30 minutes late (my version). I apologized by the way. Cause that's what we do sometimes right? Okay, I didn't apologize with much sincerity, but still.

I want to go back to bed and wake up and have it be the middle of July!

The coffee's okay though, thanks for asking. And the laundry is almost done. Better go shower, make lunches, get everyone ready and out the door.

Happy Back to School.

Wanted

What If?

Ages ago I had a commenter ask me this question. Today I was back in the archives rummaging around and I came across it. And it makes me wonder.

The question is this:

The humiliation is only temporary and it ends.
What if it never did, if it was constant?
Could one get any satisfaction from that?
Or would one just sink into an abyss of despondency?
 
I don't think I could get satisfaction from it. I really don't. I'm not sure what makes me tick, really, and I don't get how humiliation is a turn on for me at all, ever. But I also know that it's connected with the aftercare I get, and with knowing I'm loved and desired and respected. I need to know that he thinks I have value even when he treats me as if I don't.
 
And my turn on changes. Over time I clearly like more humiliating things than I ever did before. He says that he teaches me, trains me. He says that he is part of what moves the frontier for me on that front. I think he's right. So things that used to be deeply humiliating, like being called whore and slut don't rattle me as much, and in fact, if said during sex they add to my pleasure and turn me on.
 
So maybe I can take more humiliation, different kinds of humiliation, more intense humiliation than before. Even for longer periods of time.
 
But if it lasted forever?
 
If he never said to me, "God I love you, you are so special to me!" how would I feel?
 
I couldn't take it. I'm sure I couldn't. I think it would crush me.

Would You Rather?

If you could live one scene from my blog which would it be?

I've offered some possibilities below, things that you've referenced in conversation or which seemed to impress in the comments or maybe they were just scenes that made an impression on me. But there must be 100 clamps scenes, 100 humiliation scenes. The ones I've picked are classic or intense or extreme. Maybe you'd pick another.

Want to play?

The clamps scene

The ginger scene

The ponygirl scene

The running shoes scene (version from the top here)

The exhibition scene

The humiliation scene

The pet scene

Something else...? Pleasure? Control? Obedience? Rules?

A love scene? If I offer that will you all pick that one?

Would you want to live it from the top or the bottom? What variations would you like? Rougher, gentler? Tears or no tears? What's your game?

The Idea

There's a girl who wants to do me. I feel like that should be in big, bold letters. She wants to DO me.

She wants to domme me, to top me.

I know because she told me.

I told her I was intrigued.

Um. I'm more than intrigued. I'm imagining it. Fantasizing about it even.

What she'd want. What she'd make me do.

It turns me on.

She said that she'd like to see me on my knees.

We haven't gone any further than that. Kind of flirting with the idea.

Partly cause it's all up to my Big Bad Dom whether anything at all happens there. If I want more I'll have to ask permission and he'll decide.

But oh, the idea of it is so damn sexy.

And Today I Adore Him

I adore my Daddy sometimes.

Yesterday was a good day. I went from sad and stupidly jealous and cold to settled and adoring.

He listens to me. He really does. He wants to know just what makes me tick. He digs for it, listens to me, gives me (usually) a safe place to tell him things. Sometimes he's like the imaginary boyfriend who is just perfect for me. Conversation and sex.

And yesterday our play involved the Hitachi. Jeez I love that thing.

He played with it with me. On and off, step in so it buzzes my clit, and then step back. It's ... amazing. And someone else controlling it with intent, makes it even more so.

He made me beg, tell him what I wanted, to be explicit. He went slow. Excruciatingly slow. Little bits of lust. So it felt like my whole brain was centered between my legs. The pull, the sex, the warmth, the need. I want it so bad. I need to cum, I'd do anything to cum.

And then he put clamps on me, an almost unconnected thing to all the pleasure that had gone before. Gallons of pleasure and then a little hit of pain, though it wasn't really so little as my tits already hurt from the night before.

And then he gave me back the Hitachi again, slowly, slowly in his measured increments, so damn hot and then finally got me off.

He was watching me, he loves the pain, loves watching me absorb the pain, and the struggle between pain and pleasure, and I could tell how turned on he was by it, and I was too, by him watching me, by his arousal. And he came and then let me cum too. Just as I started to worry that he wouldn't.

And then, then the clamps hurt like crazy and I wanted them off. Needed them off. If you've never tried this, there's a huge wallop of pain right after the orgasm.

He didn't let me tell him though. He murmured, "Shhh, shhh, I know. I know what you need. I'll take them off in a minute. I'll take them off when I'm ready. Shhh, you don't need to tell me. I know" He's so gentle sounding, so sweet, and sometimes I'm totally sucked in by that voice, adoring me, helping me.

But done then, as I'm wearing the clamps and desperate to have them off, and he's telling me he knows? Like he knows how this feels? He doesn't know. If I was his Domme, I'd show him, then he'd know!

I stand there panting from my orgasm, with the clover clamps hanging from my tits, sore, oh so fucking sore and he murmurs that he knows? He's watching me, drinking up my pain, this is the real hit for him, my pain in the moments after, when it's most intensified and there's nothing to distract me. Just pain,and the orgasm over, and even the memory of it vanishing fast, and the seconds ticking away.

Finally he takes them off me. My fingers shake as I unclasp them. I'm terrified of slipping, hurting myself.

And I catch my breath and my heart stops pounding and I stop sweating and cool down. He settles me on the bed.

And then we love and talk and murmur. We tease and laugh. About sex and D/s and life. We giggle a bit, and yes he giggles too. 

And today I adore him.