Shafia Trial

Today's post is an angry feminist rant about current events. It's not even that coherent. I feel like I have so much to say, and I've run out of time today to say it. But I must say something.

Yesterday there was a court ruling about a case which has captured the attention of Canadians. The parents and brother of 3 murdered girls and their step-mom were found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.

The murders were carried out a couple of years ago. The parents and brother pushed a car that carried the 4 women into a canal. All 4 women drowned.

The reason? Licentious behaviour. The girls, aged 19, 17, and 13 weren't modest enough for the Afghani parents. So they killed them.

There's tons more info on the case here: 

http://www.montrealgazette.com/news/Christie+Blatchford+There+honour+shameless+murders/6070834/story.html

Every time I have heard this story on the radio, and there have been numerous reportings on it, I have thought, "those fuckers!" I wish there was a death penalty. I really do. I'm so angry at these people. Can you imagine killing your child? Can you imagine killing 3 of your children? They killed a 13 year old girl for slutty behaviour.

The family moved from Afghanistan to Canada. They're a wealthy family. There was a dad, a mom, the older brother who helped to kill them. The three sisters who died, 2 other sisters and a brother. And the dad's first wife who they brought in a couple months later as a cousin who was going to "help with the housework" or something.

The oldest daughter, Zainab was rebellious. She hung out with boys, she wore makeup and clothes that showed her body. She ran away, to a women's shelter. She got married to someone her parents didn't approve of and then had the marriage annulled. Her behaviour was pretty wild in some ways. Not so wild in others. Not so far off the beaten path of teenage-hood.

The second sister, Sahar, was rebellious too. She hung out with boys, took tarty pics of herself with her cell phone. She dated boys.

The third daughter, Geeti was 13. She asked teachers and schools for help, saying they were going to kill her and then recanted in front of her parents. Pictures of her make her look like a child, not an adolescent. She was a little girl.

The first wife, Rona, was 52. She was barren. She wanted to leave her marriage. She was afraid of her husband. Afraid he would kill her.

All 4 of these women were afraid. Justifiably.

There's a sense that the system let them down. They knew they were in danger, and asked for help, from schools and friends and social workers. They were afraid of being killed and they said so.

We are so politically correct as a culture, so stupidly liberal, that we want to believe that every culture has legitimacy even if it isn't our own. And here's the thing. They don't all have the same legitimacy. Some cultural ways, traditional ways, are just barbaric and evil and repressive. Some are just wrong. We need to say so.

Who decides? Well if you don't feel capable, I can do it, thanks.

These honour killings were that kind of barbaric, primitive, evil thing. This man, their father, obviously the mind behind the crimes, clearly felt that he had the rights to power and control over their sexuality. They were killed because he couldn't control their sexuality.

I seriously hope they put him in jail with a thousand other men and he learns something about sexuality there.

Naked Yoga Test

It feels like he's been testing me lately. To see where my limits are. To understand what I would to and not do. I think he feels like he hit a balk a week ago. And now he's exploring, unwilling to hear another "no".

Which is interesting, because he didn't hit a "no" that night at all. In fact, I did what he had said, although I admit I was a bit sulky about it.

So last night, I made some comment about how I didn't want to be naked, which he sort of wanted, because I needed to do my yoga practice. 

And he pursued it.

"Why couldn't you do yoga naked if I told you to?"

"Well I could, I guess, but I meant to do it in the living room."

"Why couldn't you do naked yoga in the living room?"

"Well, it's right in full view of the big glass front doors. And one of the kids was home with a friend."

"So, it's not that you can't it's that you wouldn't be comfortable right?

"So no Sir, I wouldn't be very comfortable."

"Oh, I know you'd prefer not to. That's not the issue to me here. I knew that part."

"I don't think they want to see me do naked yoga either."

"So you'd agree that if I chose to have you do naked yoga in the living room, you would."

"Yes Sir, sure. You seem to be testing me."

I think he's just making sure the lines were where he thought they were. Which is just this side of mayhem and murder on his behalf.

Yes Sir, I'd do naked yoga in the living room. And try to think up a reason for it if I got caught. It's good for the chakras?

Game of Denial

He plays this game of denial with me.

He heats me up, then stops me cold.

When he does it, while he's doing it, I crave the sex, the release, the orgasm. I feel like I am so focused on the cum that it's all I can think of.

Sometimes when he stops me, I moan, out of frustration, need.

Sometimes I'm frustrated with a hint of anger.

Sometimes I'm so fucking turned on, by the game, the denial, and the power and his ability to make me do as he wants.

Sometimes I'd do anything for the gift of the cum. Usually I only get that way (that "do anything for you" feeling) with submission or with pain. And this feeling doesn't last as long as that one, but it's there, the need is so strong.

It's humiliating. To be so turned on. To be played like that. To be naked and needy and begging him. 

This time the game was because he wanted me turned on, on fire for him.

But it was to teach a lesson too. Shaping me the way he wants me. Each little refusal kind of a slap on the wrist. 

Have I learned?

The lesson? That things go his way, not mine. Secondary lesson? That I'll never win a fight with him.

And what does he get? Power. Power. Power.

Caption

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So... I've actually seen this before but this time I had to share. Don't you think this is a photo looking for a caption? What would you title this?

And what's the story?

Sorry Sin Can't Come to Her Blog Right Now...

Sorry... Sin can't come to her blog right now.

She's reading A Game of Thrones.

It's REALLY good.

I'll be back when I'm done.

Would That Have Been More Submissive?

You tell me to do something and I don't want to do it. It's carries a risk of being caught, but more than that, I want to talk to you. At least a little bit, it seems like ages since we've talked. And we are scraping each other lately with harshness and misunderstanding.

So I do it but you can tell I don't want to.

Obedient but resistant.

So you ask me about it and I agree. I am resistant. I don't want this thing you want from me.

And soon you get pissed that I don't want it.

And things go downhill from there.

So ... should I have lied? Pretended I liked what you wanted?

Would that be more submissive? It would certainly have been more pleasing to you last night.

I Wonder How You'd Like...

Sometimes we are so intensely sexual and connected and I feel his dominance so clearly that it takes my breath away. This was one of those weeks.

One night he says to me, "I wonder how you'd like to sleep in clamps tonight?"

I don't say anything. Why taunt the beast? He won't do it, I know. It's just a fleeting thought. And I guess if he did he'd make it manageable.

He continues with it though. "Yes, I'm serious. Maybe tomorrow night would be better though. When you don't have to get up and go to work."

Yikes. That sounds more than fleeting.

"The only thing I worry about, and you would too subgirl, is that I wouldn't be here for 8 hours to manage you, to manage your pain. If I was sleeping with you tonight, I'd put them on you."

The Sadist, thinking things through. I didn't interrupt.

"Which ones would we use? The red ones? Or the little tweezers? I think the little tweezers for the first time don't you?"

Wow. I couldn't sleep in the red ones, that's for sure. They go on okay, and stay that way for a while, and then all of a sudden they become unbearable. The tweezers would be better. But I don't say any of that.

"The ring only pushed up 1/3 of the way maybe? or 1/4? Would they stay on at 1/4?"

He's teasing me. I know he is.

"Subgirl, run get the tweezers quick while I wait."

"Yes Sir."

He Wakes Me

He wakes me just by being there, a whisper of sound, and I jerk awake. He's been watching me. Deciding whether to wake me or watch me sleep.

I'm sleeping, exhausted from a week of mild stress and burning the candle at both ends and lots of little pieces of my Dom. Lots of sex. Lots of pain. Lots of submission. And I've fallen asleep waiting for him. But left a note saying wake me, please wake me. I want you to!

And after hesitation he does wake me and ...

it's odd. I feel discombobulated. I feel like I don't have all my faculties. I'm not together. I'm a little bewildered after being roused from my cat-nap. He has a jump on me from which I never really recover. We already play on an uneven field, so this matters. And yet it doesn't. Because I want that unevenness. Right?

But I feel sweet too. Compliant. Easy.

And he... was sweet with me too. Open. Easy. Gentle. Loving.

Yeah, it did get a big darker eventually.

And was I ready for it by then? I guess. Really I was braced for worse. I was expecting pain. Which didn't materialize.

It turned sexual. Big surprise?

But still so sweet. 

Conversation Between Dom and Sub

Me: I want a man who will adore me, who is crazy about me, who can't get enough.

Him: You have one.

Me: I know....
 
Me: But shhhh... you aren't supposed to know that I know.

Him (laughing): You know??

Me: Today I know. Today I'm sure. I don't "know" every day.

Him: You should.

Cold

It's - 28 Celsius (that's -18.4 for you Americans). It's cold. Really really cold.

So as my kids left the house this morning this was the drill.

Me with Kid One. Do up your coat. Do you have a hat? Put it on. Yes your hood is fine as long as you wear it. Do you have gloves? Really? Show me. Gloves in your locker at school do not count as you head out to the bus stop. Get different gloves. Do up your coat. And put up your hood. Really.

Me with Kid Two. Do up your coat. It's really cold. Do you have a hat? Put it on. Do you have gloves? Really? Show me. Do up your coat. Do up your coat. I SEE you. Now do up your coat.

I did a pass on nagging my husband who wasn't wearing a hat or gloves or even boots. But he was already cranky. So I just gave it a miss. 

Sigh...

I'm going to layer up and go to work. I really wish I had a remote car starter this morning.

Reintroduction

Yes I survived him reintroducing pain, though holy crap he can be a mean fucker.

I had expected him to have some fun reintroducing it slowly, over time, step by step. Getting more value for less investment for a while. Like a cheap date.

Not.

He wanted it fast. It was almost as if he was trying to get me back up to speed. Like it was just something to be gotten through to get back to where he wanted.

Like playing a game, zipping through those earlier levels to get back up to the level where he wants to play, where it's challenging for him.

Details? Hmmm, it's days ago, happened back on Wednesday, and the details are foggy, but let's see.

He put clamps on me and had me bring my weights. He didn't use the wide clamps with jaws of steel he usually uses with weights. Instead he pulled out one of the pairs of clamps he had hurt me with earlier in the week. Standard medium sized clamps, adjustable to really mean. But he opened them a bit, put them on me and yeah, they hurt like crazy. Way more than they would have a month ago. Maybe not quite as much as the clamps the night before.

And then he put me on all fours and moved me this way and that to watch the chain sway before putting on weights. So he put on a medium size weight, and then another. And then he put on one of the big weights.

And did me.

Moved me this way and that. Made me fuck, made me cum. Made me wish desperately that the clamps were off.

And then instead of taking the clamps off, he played a new game.

He stood me up in front of him, and had me lift my tits as high as I could, with the clamped nipples perkily pointing upward. I have big ones, so there's a fair bit of play there. So scoop them up, hold them, and then drop them so he could see the clamps fall and jerk, and see my face. Terrific game for a sadist.

So we played that for a while, with me getting increasingly unhappy. How long? How many times? I don't know.

Until suddenly, without warning, the right clamp slipped off, snapped off. Whatever. Came off. With a jerk, leaving a screamingly sore right nipple, all the weight hanging with a jerk from my left nipple, and me screaming and panicked.

I was crying. 

He was calm. Isn't that the best thing? The calming voice of the Dom when I'm freaked out about something.

Except that he ordered me to put it back on.

And then he said to tighten each clamp a bit. He wanted me to appreciate at that point how great it was that he hadn't made me take them off to tighten them and put them back on again. Yes Sir, that was nice.

And then we played the game again. Lift, wait, drop. Lift, higher, wait, drop. Lift, higher, higher, drop. Lift, drop.

And the other clamp came off. Leaving me screaming and crying harder, louder. With all the weight dangling from my wounded right nipple.

Put it back he ordered.

And start again.

Lift, wait, drop. Lift, higher, drop.

Til it came off again and I fell apart.

And he put it on one last time.

And then, I think he made me cum. Honestly, I do remember very well. I do know there was an orgasm in there.

And then finally he took both clamps off.

I was in survival mode by then. Just enduring.

In retrospect, I imagine there was more to it for him than just getting to the level that he wanted. In retrospect it seems that he must have enjoyed the zero to sixty of that day.

In retrospect, what he probably liked best was knowing that he could play that game with me, deliver that kind of pain, that kind of treatment to me, knowing what my body could take, knowing that I'd survive it, but that it would hurt me more than at any other time. And he likely did all that deliberately, wanting that pain.

Either way, I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it more than I did.

Awesome

I spent last night watching a baby being born. 

I helped, I encouraged.

I held her hands and got her stuff.

I breathed with her. I shouted instructions. I did what the nurses let me do.

I wished I could do more. I wanted to share some of the work, the labour. 

I held her legs and watch the baby crown.

I cried when the baby was born.

Everyone did. I wonder if everyone always cries?

It's the most amazing miracle ever. And yes, it happens every day, but it doesn't make it less amazing.

I think the world seems like a better place today.  I feel like I have my priorities straight.I feel very lucky.

Awesome indeed.

Recovery

It had been ages, weeks, almost a month. Oh we'd talked a bit, then talked a lot, and even played a little. But we hadn't played with pain.

On the weekend, he started again. A clamp on one nipple. And it really really hurt. Way more than I thought it should.

On Monday night he used the tweezer clamps. OMFG they hurt. He put them on pretty tight, then pulled them this way and that. And then told me to just hold them, holding my breasts up by the clamps on my nipples. I panicked. Seriously. I thought I might have to stop him. (A bit like stopping a bulldozer!) I thought I wouldn't be able to do what he told me to do. I don't even know how I'd have stopped it.

Last night. He got clamps out and had me put them on. Right first. I put them on myself, so gently. And as soon as the first one went on I started to panic again. It hurt. I couldn't do it. It must be on wrong. He had to stop. I couldn't take it.

He was watching me. Watching the play of emotions, of fear, on my face.

My hands were fluttering near my clamped nipple, trying to save it. Not daring to.

He told me to put the second one on.

I started to obey.

He said to me, "I know you are in trouble here if that helps you."

It did help a tiny bit.

At least he wouldn't expect me to wear them for hours. Would he?

I put the left one on as ordered.


He had me take the right one off. Better. Still excruciating but better.


And then put it back on again.


I ... did it but oh it was horrible.


Eventually, hours later, he took them off me.


Total time elapsed, for the whole thing? Not hours. It was under 4 minutes.


I guess the nerves do get blunted with abuse. I guess they do recover. I don't think recovery is going to be good for me.

And today we have hours together. I bet it seems like longer.

More on Service

He notes that when he taught me to love pain, he paired it with pleasure.

And that if he was teaching me to love service, he would likely do the same.

Imagine it. If he developed a new obsession with cleaning my bathroom. He could link it to orgasm. I could have an orgasm every time I cleaned the bathtub well, but only at those times.

So when he said it was time to clean the tub, there would be incentive, anticipation, desire.I would start to turn on right away. 

I'd do the job, knowing I was pleasing him, and working towards something he wanted, but also knowing there was an orgasm coming.

It would be exciting, sexual.

There could be other ritual around it. Special clothes, like the French Maid's outfit, or just a thong, or some other skimpy attire. He could stop me halfway sometimes, or not allow me to orgasm on some days even though I had done a great job. He could make me ask or even beg to clean the tub and cum.

He could.

Would it cue desire and sex for me?

Maybe.

Would it make me want to clean the bathtub?

Ummm... I've laid out how it could happen. Maybe.

Service

Aisha asks if he could train me to want to scrub the bathroom.

I was talking about service and said that he wanted sex and pain, and that was what he had trained me to want. And I had used cleaning as an example of other kinds of service that were not required of me in our D/s relationship. So she asked if I thought he could train me to want to scrub the bathroom.

Yes, as unlikely as it sounds I think he could.

We don't live together. So it wouldn't be his bathroom I was cleaning. So it's hard to imagine he'd care. It wouldn't match up with any obsession of his to have his environment pristine and sparkling.

And I'm not a keen cleaner, not keen about any of the little housewifely tasks that need to be done again and again. My house is pretty clean, I have a cleaner who comes and does it for me. I don't hate doing bathrooms; at least they're small, and without much clutter, so the job is pretty contained. My real hate is floors. 

But here's the thing. It's not impossible that he could decide he wanted something like that done. Just for the power of it.

It's clear that he taught me to crave erotic pain. I didn't have much interest in it before him. But he claims the building blocks were there in me and he just brought it out. I don't know if that's true.

And I don't think the building blocks to make me love cleaning the bathroom are in me. I suppose there would be satisfaction in seeing the clean bathroom. But it seems to me that the question isn't about satisfaction in the product, it's about whether I could find satisfaction in the service.

I do think he could easily train me to like other kinds of pain at this point. His focus is usually my breasts. But I think he could attach the clamps and his attention to an earlobe or a finger or tongue and make that the focus of my service that that I could get a thrill that way. I think that spanking could give me that thrill. I think my association of pain with pleasure is pretty damn strong at this point and that it would be easy to transfer the feelings.

It would really be about knowing that he was pleased and approving. That would make it a good thing for me.

If he was turned on by it, by spanking or tongue pain or by me cleaning, I think he could train me to like it.

I think it would be about power at that point. I think he could be excited by his power to make me do something because he ordered it.  And I think he could make me like it. But it wouldn't be easy.

So if we imagine him saying "Sub, today I want to come home and find the bathroom sparkling. Do it for me," it wouldn't excite me.

Or even "today I want to spend the morning watching you scrub the bathroom," and it was his focus, and it turned him on...Okay, honestly I don't see it. I don't think it would give me that submissive high.

Add the French maid's outfit and ... then it turns into sex rather than cleaning right? 

But then... if it was bossy enough, humiliating enough, dark enough. I can imagine scenarios where it just might give me that high. Like living in some dark fantasy. Maybe. 

But just straight up cleaning as service as a turn on? Even when tied in with his approval and turn on? Well I want to say no. But really, I do think he could make me like just about anything so, maybe I am stuck on "no" because I simply can't imagine him getting turned on by it. Approving of it? Sure he would. He'd like it. He'd probably like it better if there was a benefit to him in it. So maybe it's just that I can't imagine his reaction to it.

What do you think? Do you get turned on by domestic service, either as the Dom or the sub? Could you? And if so, tell me what you feel, what the excitement is?

He's Busy...

He's busy and wants to finish reading something and tells me to find something to do. A minute later he has found something for me to do, as he tells me that I can play with my tits and nipples while I wait for him.

Actually I don't really want to do that. My nipples are sore from him playing pretty rough with them a couple of days ago, and maybe from my cycle.

So I question it. Was that an order or a suggestion?

An order he says. Now do it.

I start touching my nipples. They hurt. They are swollen sensitive. And it's not very sexual. I'm not hugely resistant, but not excited about it either.

I ask him a couple of questions. Tell him a couple of things. Like that my nipples hurt. I guess I figure that if my nipples hurt, and he knows, he'll like that, and maybe he'll make me like it.

He answers briefly, and then he doesn't.

Eventually he tells me to hush and play with my sore nipples and let him finish like he told me.

I do.

It hurts. My breasts ache. Oh, I said that already.

Well it does hurt. It feels like I'm doing some kind of faintly unpleasant task (cause it's only very faintly sexual, and it hurts!) while I wait for him. Like washing the floor or cleaning the bathtubs. I'm doing it because he told me to. Because he wanted me to feel his power while he makes me wait for him.

I think about power and the fact that my nipples hurt.

I like the power actually. Does that make me like this? Yeah. Maybe. A bit anyway.

After a while he pulls my top down and has me play with my naked nipples til he finishes. It hurts more but is more sexual, and I stop thinking about how this is like cleaning the floor, and start thinking about sex and seduction and submission.

If he wanted, I'd clean the floor for him too. And try to get the thrill I need from the power transfer there.  Or scrub bathtubs.

But I'm glad that the areas where he wants my service are sex and pain.

Of course that's what he's trained me to want, right?

Is It Like That For You?

It had been weeks since we connected, weeks since he had touched me.

In a grand sweeping novel, we would have been separated by misunderstanding, war, distance and disaster. Perhaps for years.

In real life we'd been separated by misunderstanding, a little resentment, distance and disaster. Almost the same right?

We were talking, the conversation not sexual at all. We were talking, as we've been talking about it almost constantly, trying to manage and assess the aftermath of disaster.


I said... what was it? I don't remember. Something not sexual, but with a hint of yearning, of want.


"Slide your hand under your shirt," he said. "Into your bra. Now pinch your nipple. Hard. HARD. Like I would."


Violence. Passion. Desire. Heat. Want.

I knew how he wanted it. Hard. To touch me, hurt me. Own me.

HARD.


Need.


All there. 


At the flick of a switch.


All there, right below the surface.


His. 

The submission, right behind the passion. Like a train, one pulling the other.

The speed of it.


Submission. Need to submit.


Need to crawl. To give him... everything.


All there. Right below the surface.


Is it like that for you?

All Is Well

Everything is fine - will write more soon - an actual D/s post believe it or not!

Maybe even tonight.

Just no time now.

Thank you for your patience and your friendship.

Though I had some great filler posts lined up. Really!

The Canada Party - Election 2012

"We've noticed you're hurting and we're here to help... "

Skin

I feel like I need to protect myself. 

You seem to think that things I do to protect myself aren't necessary. 

But I feel they are. 

I feel like I am losing you a little piece at a time. 

And collaborating in the process. 

Being asked to collaborate in the process. 

So yes, I feel the need to protect myself. 

To grow a little skin. To be less vulnerable.

Strap-On

Strap-on?

Could I? Would I?

I was exploring online and found several references to strap-ons this morning. (Yep, that is the kind of thing I read before coffee apparently. Why do you ask?)

Maybe it's fate? Maybe it's meant to be? Maybe I should explore it and see where it takes me?

One of the things I found started with this quote. Read it and see what you think?

"My boyfriend’s butt is beautiful. It’s pretty. It’s plump. It fits in the palm of my hand. I can’t keep my hands off it, and simply touching it turns me on. I’ve spanked it, kissed it, rubbed it, grabbed it, bit it — and now I want to stick something in it. A strap-on dildo to be exact. I want to bend that boy over, face down, bum up, and do him in the most dirty of ways. I want to make his prostate gland giddy with anal afternoon delight."

Sounds naughty, and delightfully sexy doesn't it?

But umm... I just don't know if it's me.

Sticking a finger, or a plug in someone's ass is one thing, but to fuck him? That seems totally different to me.

It seems to be about power.

I can imagine the mechanics of it, me on top, opening him, penetrating, quieting him. Soothing or not. Slowing for a bit, persisting, harder, faster. However I want.

Yeah, power.

And power, in my world, doesn't flow that way.

I want to clarify and say that sex, even penetrative sex, isn't always all about power. Sometimes it's tender, sweet, loving. Sometimes it's not about power at all.

But somehow to me, fucking someone with that strap-on seems to be about power. Don't you think so?

Anyway, I found a link for a beginner strap-on kit. Comes with two different sized dildos so you can start with a smaller one.

Molly and Mick write this morning about strap-ons and their need to purchase a new one. And yes their strap on does look a bit shop worn, but what a sexy photo of Molly wearing it. M and M use it when they switch. And I think for them it's always (almost always?) associated with power, her power over him. I think it's often used in conjunction with a crop to remind him that she's the boss.

And let me say too, that I think he likes it. Not just that he likes her being the boss, but he likes the strap-on play and being the recipient of it. He likes it in his ass and enjoys that interaction. All good right?


Much of my understanding of strap-ons and how they work has come from them. Though I've done a little more research (yes that is what I call it when I cruise trashy sites!)

And I think that leaves me feeling like I don't want to drive. Do I? Okay maybe I'd try it, but I'm a try anything once kind of girl. But I,m sure I wouldn't like it. Would I?

But I wouldn't mind being on the bottom in some naughty strap-on play. Now, all I need to do is find a girl with a strap-on, right?

Resolutions?

Be healthier, be thinner, be fitter. Don't be obsessed with any of it.

Be true to myself.

Stop procrastinating.

Say what I think.

Be more content with myself, less reliant on others.

Branch out a bit more, connect with friends, with art, with nature.