Master and I had an interesting conversation this week regarding the prevalence of violence, cruelty and sadism in the DOM/sub community. As this is not something in which we participate, it puzzles us somewhat. To one extent I understand the need to be dominated (believe me, I understand this), but I don't understand willingly allowing someone to brutalize you.
I know that he can do that. For me, that's enough. He's pushed the boundaries far enough that I KNOW it could go there, but he won't for a lot of reasons. We wondered how and why these relationships get taken to that extreme.
On the one hand, how far is it from spanking and lashings to tying someone up and putting clothes pins on their nipples (and worse)? It's truly a matter of degree and if that's what someone wants, then who am I to say that it's crazy (REALLY, who am I to judge that)? I have my own quirks. If they don't go to that extreme, then bonus for me, but who is to say that at some point, they won't? I certainly can't imagine living that right now, but 6 months ago, I wouldn't have imagined the intense joy I feel being his naked, slave girl.
We did begin to wonder, though if the reason some feel it necessary to force that level of submission on another person is because in OUR world, in OUR time, slavery isn't a reality. If we had a true society where slavery was accepted as the norm, then one would not need to subjugate their slave to those levels because society as a whole would have a vested interest in keeping slaves totally and wholly slaves.
Master asked me why I want him to talk it to me. I want to hear his thoughts on dominating me. I want to hear his fantasies. He felt uncomfortable until I explained that in our world, this really is fantasy. He can't snap a leash on my locked collar and walk me, naked, to the market. He can't, if he gets irritated by me in public, strip me and take a lash to me. What we practice is kept inside. It's private. It's personal. I have to create this world of ours inside my head. While I can certainly make it up all on my own, it's more rounded, more fulfilling to hear what he would do in varying situations.
In general, people would be horrified if they suspected what goes on behind our closed doors. They would be confused by my willingness to submit so totally to my husband. Even for those women who practice religious beliefs that include submission to their spouse, it does not usually go along these lines.
When I behave in a less than perfect way to my Master, I want to be brought into line. I want to know that he cares enough to force me, with the whip if necessary, to adjust my thinking and my actions.
Case in point, this past week was less than stellar for me. I was hurt deeply by someone I love. She could not have chosen a better way to cut a deep gash in my soul. My response was to withdraw in all ways and that included with my Master. When he wanted my obedience, I wasn't willing to pull myself out of my despair and anguish to give him what he wanted. There was another such incident later in the week.
By Thursday, I was begging to be whipped. I don't mean that figuratively, I mean it literally. He told me that he would eventually, but that I hadn't really done anything to merit a beating at that point. I said that I disagreed. This pulled him up short. He asked what I had done. I tried to avoid the question, not wanting to say it out loud, but he persisted. I pointed out to him that I had not been even compliant, let alone willing earlier in the week. I admitted that I need to know that he will enforce my submission. I need to know that he won't let me get away with being petulant and pissy. Yes, I had reason (legitimate reasons) for feeling the way I did, but that didn't remove my duty to him.
He quietly brought me out to the living room. He locked the doors and then tied me, naked and kneeling, over the ottoman. He played on his computer for awhile and looked at me for awhile. Then he rose, went to the bedroom and returned with the lash and the paddle. Then he proceeded to discipline me. You might think I'd prefer the paddle to the lash, but I would MUCH rather be whipped than paddled. MUCH, MUCH, MUCH rather. Yes, it hurts and many times, it hurts worse than the paddle, but the paddle is worse. It just is.
After, he untied my ankles and used me sexually, both vaginally and anally. When he finally untied my wrists, he brought me to our bedroom, stretched me on our bed and used me again until I couldn't contain my own orgasm any longer. I felt relieved and released. Perhaps that doesn't make sense, but it is how I felt.
We now have an understanding. If I have not been pleasing, I can and will beg to be lashed. If he notices that I'm not being pleasing, he will, without warning, spank, whip or lash me. Perhaps, at some point in time, he'll even find other ways to enforce his will on me.
I look forward to submitting more and more fully as we continue to explore this new world of ours.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
new and challenging
When you first start to walk this path, you assume that the only area you have to submit is sex. However, if one is truly going to be submissive to one's master in all things, the list of areas gets really long ...FAST.
My sassy, flirty short hair is going to go long again. At my next hair appointment, I'll discuss with D how best to keep it trimmed during that process. I like my short hair, but he prefers it long and sexy.
The kitchen, dining room and living room floors are clean again. They aren't spotless yet, but they will be and I'm trying hard to keep up with the maintenance on them. It will be a challenge over the next two weeks as we have my daughter's two dogs with us while she is on vacation.
The dishes are done. I hate doing dishes. I loathe doing dishes. I wash the dishes.
The sex is still phenomenal. There is something so primal about being totally submissive sexually to a master. He loves me and he wants the best for me and he's willing to do what it takes to help me get there.
There are some bumps in our way. My body isn't young anymore. My knees are creaky. I do have an appt with my M.D. this week to discuss some of these issues and I suspect I'll be having a bone density test soon. I need to know where I stand...more or less...before we try anything too strenuous in terms of working out and getting physically more fit.
I love him. I want him. I need him.
My sassy, flirty short hair is going to go long again. At my next hair appointment, I'll discuss with D how best to keep it trimmed during that process. I like my short hair, but he prefers it long and sexy.
The kitchen, dining room and living room floors are clean again. They aren't spotless yet, but they will be and I'm trying hard to keep up with the maintenance on them. It will be a challenge over the next two weeks as we have my daughter's two dogs with us while she is on vacation.
The dishes are done. I hate doing dishes. I loathe doing dishes. I wash the dishes.
The sex is still phenomenal. There is something so primal about being totally submissive sexually to a master. He loves me and he wants the best for me and he's willing to do what it takes to help me get there.
There are some bumps in our way. My body isn't young anymore. My knees are creaky. I do have an appt with my M.D. this week to discuss some of these issues and I suspect I'll be having a bone density test soon. I need to know where I stand...more or less...before we try anything too strenuous in terms of working out and getting physically more fit.
I love him. I want him. I need him.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Twice in one week
Not that I object. This was an old-fashioned OTK spanking, with tools. As much as it hurt, I knew I was pushing the limits. I was pushing him to see if he was up to the challenge. :::rubs ass::: Yeah, he's up to it.
We talked afterward (after sex - great sex). I told him that I thought each time he tested me, he was expecting me to throw in the towel. I was right. He does wonder about that. For now, he's taking this one day at a time, but he's still not sure if I'm serious.
He does feel a huge sense of responsibility not to hurt me emotionally. I tried again to explain it to him. I made a vow almost 29 years ago to him and I was dead serious about that. I meant what I said when I said, "I do." I'm equally serious about this commitment. I NEED this. I need him to be the Master. I need him to take the control in this relationship and in our marriage.
Because the subject of submissive wives is fodder from the religious right, too many of us free-spirited anarchists reject it out of hand, but I think we do ourselves a disservice. It also is part and parcel of the BDSM community and not being masochist, nor my partner a sadist, we could easily have missed the beauty of this, the intense joy.
As I find myself changing, growing, I see the counterpart to that growth in him. I'm watching less television, unless it's with him. He's playing less mafia wars. His reliance on porn has dissipated and has morphed into something we do as a sex enhancement.
Dishes are being done (almost daily) and I'm cooking regularly again. I offered to maintain the floors (and general state of being) in his cave IF he would clean them up first. He agreed and even offered to scrub the kitchen floors while he was at it, so I have a fighting chance of maintaining.
I know that I WANT to spend time with him now. I want to spend time pleasuring him. It thrills me when he orders me to his bed, to my knees...to whatever. I know what awaits is intense pleasure for both of us. I've gone from wanting him to leave for work to wishing he didn't have to leave.
He takes his commands seriously, and yet, he's always mindful of my physical well-being. I was ill yesterday. He didn't realize that when I arrived home after work. When I balked at his first instruction, I quickly explained that I didn't feel well. I wasn't sure what he'd do. He didn't let me escape my duties, but he altered them so that I could handle them until I felt better. I was truly exhausted yesterday. I fell asleep around 4pm and didn't wake up until early the next morning and then went back to sleep again.
I still don't understand how or why this works for me, but it does. Neither of us is really interested in bondage. Neither of us is interested in what the religious right refers to when they discuss the topic of submission. In spite of that, I can see that for some people, notably us, this works. Relinquishing control and allow him to become my Master has been more satisfying than simply enjoying hot and steamy sex.
I wish I could verbalize it better. This blog is my attempt to understand the revolution taking place within me and within my marriage. What I do know is that I have found something very special and worthy of nurturing. If that means, I have to submit to a spanking (or 2 or 10), then it's more than worth it.
We talked afterward (after sex - great sex). I told him that I thought each time he tested me, he was expecting me to throw in the towel. I was right. He does wonder about that. For now, he's taking this one day at a time, but he's still not sure if I'm serious.
He does feel a huge sense of responsibility not to hurt me emotionally. I tried again to explain it to him. I made a vow almost 29 years ago to him and I was dead serious about that. I meant what I said when I said, "I do." I'm equally serious about this commitment. I NEED this. I need him to be the Master. I need him to take the control in this relationship and in our marriage.
Because the subject of submissive wives is fodder from the religious right, too many of us free-spirited anarchists reject it out of hand, but I think we do ourselves a disservice. It also is part and parcel of the BDSM community and not being masochist, nor my partner a sadist, we could easily have missed the beauty of this, the intense joy.
As I find myself changing, growing, I see the counterpart to that growth in him. I'm watching less television, unless it's with him. He's playing less mafia wars. His reliance on porn has dissipated and has morphed into something we do as a sex enhancement.
Dishes are being done (almost daily) and I'm cooking regularly again. I offered to maintain the floors (and general state of being) in his cave IF he would clean them up first. He agreed and even offered to scrub the kitchen floors while he was at it, so I have a fighting chance of maintaining.
I know that I WANT to spend time with him now. I want to spend time pleasuring him. It thrills me when he orders me to his bed, to my knees...to whatever. I know what awaits is intense pleasure for both of us. I've gone from wanting him to leave for work to wishing he didn't have to leave.
He takes his commands seriously, and yet, he's always mindful of my physical well-being. I was ill yesterday. He didn't realize that when I arrived home after work. When I balked at his first instruction, I quickly explained that I didn't feel well. I wasn't sure what he'd do. He didn't let me escape my duties, but he altered them so that I could handle them until I felt better. I was truly exhausted yesterday. I fell asleep around 4pm and didn't wake up until early the next morning and then went back to sleep again.
I still don't understand how or why this works for me, but it does. Neither of us is really interested in bondage. Neither of us is interested in what the religious right refers to when they discuss the topic of submission. In spite of that, I can see that for some people, notably us, this works. Relinquishing control and allow him to become my Master has been more satisfying than simply enjoying hot and steamy sex.
I wish I could verbalize it better. This blog is my attempt to understand the revolution taking place within me and within my marriage. What I do know is that I have found something very special and worthy of nurturing. If that means, I have to submit to a spanking (or 2 or 10), then it's more than worth it.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Ouch
Well, it's certainly nothing that wasn't deserved. I hadn't expected to merit my first discipline in quite this manner, but one way or another, it was inevitable.
I lost a dear friend last week. She was an inspiration to me and to others. She was a phenomenal boss and deeply loved. Master and I both worked for her. I was heart-broken and devastated when she was forced to retire due to dementia. He was as hurt as I was.
Her passing this last week was the final step. I fulfilled my last promise to her. I never left her. I never abandoned her. If she had still been working there, *I* would have been at her side, one way or another.
It wasn't meant to be. She was forced out and the PTB destroyed all that she created. They almost destroyed me in the process, but I survived. It was close at the time. I was ready to take a walk to the ladies room, slit my wrists and bleed out, but it didn't happen, largely due to a friend who pulled me out of the depths of pain.
Attending the funeral though, was difficult. I hadn't realized, until that moment, how bitter I still am over how things were handled. I'm bitter and angry at what they did to her program and what they did to HER. I was seated next to the Town Crier and I knew that if I told her, SHE would tell EVERYONE. So I did. "Now that she is gone, I've fulfilled my last promise to her and I NEVER have to set foot in this building again."
Master didn't quite see that as "behaving" as I was told to do when I balked at attending the funeral. I could have been SO much worse. I was asked to speak as representative for her old staff. Had there not been so many politicians, community leaders and community members who wanted to speak, I would have. I would have told how she modeled leadership through service. It was never about her (or us). Everything was about the people we served. It's a lesson that could bear repeating in that venue, but I relinquished my opportunity to speak to honor the people we served and to allow them to express their love for her.
That doesn't mean that I didn't say anything. Remember the Town Crier. Yeah. If you want the news repeated just call "Tell-a-Mary". It wasn't accidental. I did it deliberately.
I paid for that bit of defiance, too. The next afternoon, after work, I was ordered to the living room and told to "kneel and bend over the stool". I did surprise him, though. After a few strokes, he thought I would cave in. "Are you going to behave now?" :::silence:: "No." More lashes. "NOW are you ready to behave?" :::thoughtful silence::: "No." More lashes.....this went on for 20 minutes. I took quite a few strokes and they got increasingly painful. It's a good thing he didn't beat me until I "willingly" submitted. It's been 4 days since and we'd probably STILL be there if I had to give in willingly and graciously.
I don't resent the punishment and I don't resent him. He wanted to make a point. What I said was done deliberately to hurt some folks. I knew that when I said it. I didn't think he'd punish me for it, but I guess I can be wrong occasionally. I earned it. He made his point. While I can speak my mind in private, when we're in public, I also represent him.
I will behave, but I stand by my words. I don't regret a single one of them and I meant exactly what I said. I hope someone was listening.
Afterward, he held and caressed me. He expected me to be weeping, but that wasn't happening this time. I did get royally fucked though. All is forgiven and he DOES understand why I spoke the truth, however I intended it. It really is the reason I was punished. It wasn't WHAT I said, it was the injury I hoped to inflict with my words that earned me the lashing of my life.
I proved something else to him. He really expected that I would rise off my knees and fight him. He expected me to rescind my status as his willing slave. In some ways, this was a test of my resolve. Spanked or not, I have found joy through this. How could I turn my back on it now?
I am his willing slave girl. I live to serve him. In giving him pleasure, I find my own wellspring of joy.
I lost a dear friend last week. She was an inspiration to me and to others. She was a phenomenal boss and deeply loved. Master and I both worked for her. I was heart-broken and devastated when she was forced to retire due to dementia. He was as hurt as I was.
Her passing this last week was the final step. I fulfilled my last promise to her. I never left her. I never abandoned her. If she had still been working there, *I* would have been at her side, one way or another.
It wasn't meant to be. She was forced out and the PTB destroyed all that she created. They almost destroyed me in the process, but I survived. It was close at the time. I was ready to take a walk to the ladies room, slit my wrists and bleed out, but it didn't happen, largely due to a friend who pulled me out of the depths of pain.
Attending the funeral though, was difficult. I hadn't realized, until that moment, how bitter I still am over how things were handled. I'm bitter and angry at what they did to her program and what they did to HER. I was seated next to the Town Crier and I knew that if I told her, SHE would tell EVERYONE. So I did. "Now that she is gone, I've fulfilled my last promise to her and I NEVER have to set foot in this building again."
Master didn't quite see that as "behaving" as I was told to do when I balked at attending the funeral. I could have been SO much worse. I was asked to speak as representative for her old staff. Had there not been so many politicians, community leaders and community members who wanted to speak, I would have. I would have told how she modeled leadership through service. It was never about her (or us). Everything was about the people we served. It's a lesson that could bear repeating in that venue, but I relinquished my opportunity to speak to honor the people we served and to allow them to express their love for her.
That doesn't mean that I didn't say anything. Remember the Town Crier. Yeah. If you want the news repeated just call "Tell-a-Mary". It wasn't accidental. I did it deliberately.
I paid for that bit of defiance, too. The next afternoon, after work, I was ordered to the living room and told to "kneel and bend over the stool". I did surprise him, though. After a few strokes, he thought I would cave in. "Are you going to behave now?" :::silence:: "No." More lashes. "NOW are you ready to behave?" :::thoughtful silence::: "No." More lashes.....this went on for 20 minutes. I took quite a few strokes and they got increasingly painful. It's a good thing he didn't beat me until I "willingly" submitted. It's been 4 days since and we'd probably STILL be there if I had to give in willingly and graciously.
I don't resent the punishment and I don't resent him. He wanted to make a point. What I said was done deliberately to hurt some folks. I knew that when I said it. I didn't think he'd punish me for it, but I guess I can be wrong occasionally. I earned it. He made his point. While I can speak my mind in private, when we're in public, I also represent him.
I will behave, but I stand by my words. I don't regret a single one of them and I meant exactly what I said. I hope someone was listening.
Afterward, he held and caressed me. He expected me to be weeping, but that wasn't happening this time. I did get royally fucked though. All is forgiven and he DOES understand why I spoke the truth, however I intended it. It really is the reason I was punished. It wasn't WHAT I said, it was the injury I hoped to inflict with my words that earned me the lashing of my life.
I proved something else to him. He really expected that I would rise off my knees and fight him. He expected me to rescind my status as his willing slave. In some ways, this was a test of my resolve. Spanked or not, I have found joy through this. How could I turn my back on it now?
I am his willing slave girl. I live to serve him. In giving him pleasure, I find my own wellspring of joy.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Cherished
I feel cherished. It's not that I didn't feel loved before, but since giving Master total power over my body and soul, I've learned how seriously he takes that commitment from me. I could never have guessed that this would be the result. I *KNEW* he would enjoy the ability to command my sexuality, but I thought it might stop there. It hasn't.
As I said, he's taking things slowly, but I've truly behaved like a spoiled brat for many years. While I enjoy cooking, I don't enjoy it in my dinky kitchen. I also find it difficult to cope with the chaos in that tiny place. He usually cooked and served me meals in my room. Dishes seldom were done. The floor almost never scrubbed (unless he did it).
While I'm willing to be his pleasure slave, how willing am I to cook, wash dishes and scrub floors? How happily will I clean my room? I already know the answer to those questions, and yet, being submissive to his will in all areas has its benefits. Is it only my Master or do other men fantasize about their wife naked in the kitchen on her knees scrubbing the floor while they watch?
I can't say that the visual is something that would appeal to me, but he likes it. There is also something quite titillating about showing off your body while doing mundane chores. There is also something quite exciting about your Master watching you while stroking his cock. He walked up behind me, my hands still in sudsy water, and knelt to shove his cock in my ass. He ordered me to continue scrubbing while he fucked me. As he came, he reminded me to get the floor very clean or he'd have to spank my bare bottom and then I would have to wash the floor again.
I can't wait to see how he handles cleaning the living and dining rooms. What ever would we do with a usable dining room table?
As I said, he's taking things slowly, but I've truly behaved like a spoiled brat for many years. While I enjoy cooking, I don't enjoy it in my dinky kitchen. I also find it difficult to cope with the chaos in that tiny place. He usually cooked and served me meals in my room. Dishes seldom were done. The floor almost never scrubbed (unless he did it).
While I'm willing to be his pleasure slave, how willing am I to cook, wash dishes and scrub floors? How happily will I clean my room? I already know the answer to those questions, and yet, being submissive to his will in all areas has its benefits. Is it only my Master or do other men fantasize about their wife naked in the kitchen on her knees scrubbing the floor while they watch?
I can't say that the visual is something that would appeal to me, but he likes it. There is also something quite titillating about showing off your body while doing mundane chores. There is also something quite exciting about your Master watching you while stroking his cock. He walked up behind me, my hands still in sudsy water, and knelt to shove his cock in my ass. He ordered me to continue scrubbing while he fucked me. As he came, he reminded me to get the floor very clean or he'd have to spank my bare bottom and then I would have to wash the floor again.
I can't wait to see how he handles cleaning the living and dining rooms. What ever would we do with a usable dining room table?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Our journey into the Master/slave relationship
This morning as I drove to work, I began to wonder why my husband is so willing to indulge my need to submit to him. Is it because he likes knowing he can *finally* have sex with me whenever he wants it? I'd be lying if I said I didn't think that was at least part of the equation. After so many years of almost no sex, he's not about to turn down this gift. There's more to it than that, though.
His car was pulling into the alley as I was leaving. I always like to be able to say good-bye in the mornings, but our opposing schedules often don't coincide like that. If he leaves the office just a few minutes late, I often need to leave before he arrives at home so I can arrive at my office on time. In order to satisfy myself, I called him after giving him a few minutes to get into the house.
I am truly fortunate. Some women couldn't or wouldn't be able to do this without totally freaking out their husband. For some couples, handing over this kind of control to one or the other would lead to sadism and violence. Some people would think it was gross or dirty or perverted.
My husband just took it all in stride. It may be because even after 30 years of being together, he still digs my body. No, it's not perfect. After three kids, it sags....sadly...EVERYWHERE. I'm prone to gain weight easily and while I lose it occasionally, it usually finds me again. (Perhaps I should move and not leave my fat a forwarding address the next time.) Then there is the supreme sacrifice my husband, a titty man, makes every time I diet. The twins, they shrivel up and go flat. I joke that when I put on a bra in the morning, I just roll each one up like a pair of socks and tuck them inside.
So, we've established that it's not because this naked and collared slave girl is a hottie that he loves me and my body. Love it, he does, though. At the moment, if not for my own health, he'd like me to lose a few pounds so that there are things we can experiment with sexually that simply aren't practical at the moment. Of course, one could argue that being a naked and collared slave girl isn't practical, either.
I asked him why he wanted to take this journey with me. Is it because finally, after decades of emasculating him, I actually WANT him to be the dominant one in our relationship? Is it because I've given him permission to enforce the slave rules, with spankings if necessary? Is it because the thought of all that turns him on? Is it that he likes ordering me to his bed and ordering me into the position he desires? Is it because he loves knowing that I'll suck his cock on command? Is because I will worship his cock willingly? (Cock worship entails at least an hour of kissing and nuzzling and licking and then sucking his cock.)
The simple answer to all of that is a resounding, "Yes!" It's all of that and it's none of that and it's more than that. Thankfully, it's more than just that we can easily spend 3 to 4 hours having sex. We've come up for air on occasion only to be stunned at how long we spent engaged in one another. The only drawback as I see it is that I have muscles currently in use that haven't been used this much....ever. There have been a few times when he's asked me to do something that we've had to rethink because some muscle or another is simply fatigued.
He's wise, my husband and master is. He's taking this with baby steps. He moves cautiously. He is enjoying our renewed relationship and he doesn't want a misstep to threaten what we're building. He knows that I have some history that makes some things dangerous from an emotional standpoint. He is constantly testing my limits, but gently. He mentions something. He listens to my response, either positive or negative. He tests the waters before moving forward with caution. He is patient. What other man would have lived so long with a minimum of sex? What other man would have stayed with his almost frozen wife without finding another sex partner?
He laughed this morning when I asked him about all of this. He said, "if you only knew how often I wanted to spank you...." I can only imagine. I can be frustrating. *I* wouldn't live with me.
This evening, when I returned home, he stripped me and then ordered me to his bed. Once there, his first order was to suck his cock. Today, it wasn't possible. At some time in our sex play over the last few days, I twisted a vertebra in my neck and that pinched a nerve. It wasn't terribly painful. That would have been bad enough. No, it was causing violent vertigo. Some people would say I'm dizzy anyway, but this was of the room spinning variety.
In the past, I would have shoved him out of MY room and told him to leave me alone. That didn't happen today. No, I didn't suck his cock. My neck wouldn't allow that much movement (don't ask how I drove home. I'm not entirely certain.) He got a frozen water bottle for me and then changed to a sexual position that required far less movement from me. He still spent over an hour just fucking me, pain and dizziness and all. At the end, he pulled out of my pussy. He ordered me to my knees. I must take his cock in my mouth and suck it the last few seconds and swallow his cum. In spite of bedspins, I obey.
Then he let me sleep for 45 minutes and we did it all over again. A slave girl doesn't dictate if she'll have sex, or when. This slave girl was just grateful that her Master didn't want her vomiting on his cock. This girl was grateful that Master still wanted to use her pussy and her ass for his pleasure. My Master's pleasure is my pleasure.
Thankfully, by late afternoon, the ice did its job, the swelling went down and the twisted vertebra shifted. 'Tis blessed NOT to have bed spins. THEN I sucked his cock.
His car was pulling into the alley as I was leaving. I always like to be able to say good-bye in the mornings, but our opposing schedules often don't coincide like that. If he leaves the office just a few minutes late, I often need to leave before he arrives at home so I can arrive at my office on time. In order to satisfy myself, I called him after giving him a few minutes to get into the house.
I am truly fortunate. Some women couldn't or wouldn't be able to do this without totally freaking out their husband. For some couples, handing over this kind of control to one or the other would lead to sadism and violence. Some people would think it was gross or dirty or perverted.
My husband just took it all in stride. It may be because even after 30 years of being together, he still digs my body. No, it's not perfect. After three kids, it sags....sadly...EVERYWHERE. I'm prone to gain weight easily and while I lose it occasionally, it usually finds me again. (Perhaps I should move and not leave my fat a forwarding address the next time.) Then there is the supreme sacrifice my husband, a titty man, makes every time I diet. The twins, they shrivel up and go flat. I joke that when I put on a bra in the morning, I just roll each one up like a pair of socks and tuck them inside.
So, we've established that it's not because this naked and collared slave girl is a hottie that he loves me and my body. Love it, he does, though. At the moment, if not for my own health, he'd like me to lose a few pounds so that there are things we can experiment with sexually that simply aren't practical at the moment. Of course, one could argue that being a naked and collared slave girl isn't practical, either.
I asked him why he wanted to take this journey with me. Is it because finally, after decades of emasculating him, I actually WANT him to be the dominant one in our relationship? Is it because I've given him permission to enforce the slave rules, with spankings if necessary? Is it because the thought of all that turns him on? Is it that he likes ordering me to his bed and ordering me into the position he desires? Is it because he loves knowing that I'll suck his cock on command? Is because I will worship his cock willingly? (Cock worship entails at least an hour of kissing and nuzzling and licking and then sucking his cock.)
The simple answer to all of that is a resounding, "Yes!" It's all of that and it's none of that and it's more than that. Thankfully, it's more than just that we can easily spend 3 to 4 hours having sex. We've come up for air on occasion only to be stunned at how long we spent engaged in one another. The only drawback as I see it is that I have muscles currently in use that haven't been used this much....ever. There have been a few times when he's asked me to do something that we've had to rethink because some muscle or another is simply fatigued.
He's wise, my husband and master is. He's taking this with baby steps. He moves cautiously. He is enjoying our renewed relationship and he doesn't want a misstep to threaten what we're building. He knows that I have some history that makes some things dangerous from an emotional standpoint. He is constantly testing my limits, but gently. He mentions something. He listens to my response, either positive or negative. He tests the waters before moving forward with caution. He is patient. What other man would have lived so long with a minimum of sex? What other man would have stayed with his almost frozen wife without finding another sex partner?
He laughed this morning when I asked him about all of this. He said, "if you only knew how often I wanted to spank you...." I can only imagine. I can be frustrating. *I* wouldn't live with me.
This evening, when I returned home, he stripped me and then ordered me to his bed. Once there, his first order was to suck his cock. Today, it wasn't possible. At some time in our sex play over the last few days, I twisted a vertebra in my neck and that pinched a nerve. It wasn't terribly painful. That would have been bad enough. No, it was causing violent vertigo. Some people would say I'm dizzy anyway, but this was of the room spinning variety.
In the past, I would have shoved him out of MY room and told him to leave me alone. That didn't happen today. No, I didn't suck his cock. My neck wouldn't allow that much movement (don't ask how I drove home. I'm not entirely certain.) He got a frozen water bottle for me and then changed to a sexual position that required far less movement from me. He still spent over an hour just fucking me, pain and dizziness and all. At the end, he pulled out of my pussy. He ordered me to my knees. I must take his cock in my mouth and suck it the last few seconds and swallow his cum. In spite of bedspins, I obey.
Then he let me sleep for 45 minutes and we did it all over again. A slave girl doesn't dictate if she'll have sex, or when. This slave girl was just grateful that her Master didn't want her vomiting on his cock. This girl was grateful that Master still wanted to use her pussy and her ass for his pleasure. My Master's pleasure is my pleasure.
Thankfully, by late afternoon, the ice did its job, the swelling went down and the twisted vertebra shifted. 'Tis blessed NOT to have bed spins. THEN I sucked his cock.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Music as a reflection of the soul
As I continue to wonder where this started and how I ended up sitting on my bed, naked, writing this blog, I realized that during the holiday season, I gave myself one gift, an MP3 player. Most of you are laughing by now. Could I even figure out how to use it? What would *I*, an "old lady" do with an MP3 player?
I've often said that music is a reflection ofthe state of my soul. If I'm singing or playing the piano, making music of any sort, then there is joy in my heart. In times of deepest depression, I could not play a note. I could not sing a song. It was as though all the music inside me had dried up and died.
Because my job entails a lot of computer time and great stretches of time engaged in minutiae, I intended the MP3 player to be a form ofentertainment . I use only one ear bud so I can be interrupted at any time by co-workers needing my attention. I loaded all my CDs (the ones I could find) and downloaded other favorites and installed them. After a few days, I found myself humming. Some days later, I was singing quietly. On one blessed day when I was alone in the office I sang for 8 hours.
While music may reflect my soul, it also has the ability to widen ones scope. For me, it was as though someone had breathed life into my heart again. You cannot spend that many hours listening to 70s and 80s light rock, pop and easy listening songs without beginning to internalize the message. "Sing, sing a song". Is there any idea more beautiful?
I found myself singing to my very perplexed husband. Not love songs, but songs of worship to our love. As I sang, I found I could touch and be touched. My heart yearned for his presence. I wanted to be part of him again. Like begets like. As I desired him, he responded with the full force of his nature. (Picture it - the Niagara Falls of love) He loves me. He has always loved me. That I had spent over half a decade denying him the right (or privilege) of touching me, my body, my heart, my soul had caused him many hours of frustration and anger, but he never walked away. He is a steadfast man. In return, I had merely dripped tiny droplets of .... tolerance...for him.
To be wanted again, after so long was as though a feast had been laid before him and finally, after years of living on rice crackers, he was permitted to fill himself. He scarcely knew where to begin but he was going to load his plate to the fullest in case I ripped it all away from him again. The more he touched, the more I craved touch. He found ways to trigger the beginnings of a deep need within me.
None of that really explains my need and desire to submit. I'm not a submissive woman. I will hide or run rather than submit, but more often, I'll slice and dice someone dead with my ability to wield words as weapons. In spite of all that, I have always, secretly, in the deepest, most hidden part of my soul, wanted a man who would be the leader. I wanted a man who would take charge. I wanted to submit to that strong individual.
And it terrified me. I'm a control freak. I don't relinquish control easily...if ever. I admitted to him that I wanted to be dominated last night. He laughed and said he wished he'd realized that 30 years ago. I stopped breathing for a moment.
Thirty years ago, this wouldn't have worked. I was emotionally wounded and didn't trust men. I was more afraid of men than anything else. That we ever had our first date was and is a testament to his perseverance. We spent 3 hours on the phone while I desperately tried to think of an excuse NOT to go to a movie with him that he would accept. I had already determined that I was NEVER going to marry. I would never allow another man that close to me again.
I was a princess in an ivory tower. On each level below my chamber, were stationed armed guards, ready to kill to protect me. Outside my tower, in the bailey, an army of barbarians stood guard to keep all interlopers away. The tops of the walls were manned by expert archers and cannons and vats of boiling tar. Outside the wall was a moat filled with hungry piranha and crocodiles. The land beyond the moat was riddled with landmines and was crisscrossed with razor wire. No sane man would have risked all that to get to me, or at least, that's what I believed.
To ring the alarm bell, one must sense danger. I wasn't afraid of him. I just wasn't interested in him. He was SUCH a geek. He walked safely through all my security features because I didn't sense a threat to my safety. Before I knew what was happening, he was at the door to my chamber convincing me to see a movie with him.
And I had fun with him. We talked until 3 in the morning. He went home but was back the next night. We didn't leave one another for days except for a few stolen hours of sleep.
And the sex. OMG, the sex. The man is and was insatiable, but it was good! I hadn't known what an orgasm was until we made love the first time. I cried because I finally knew that sex was good. Sex was pleasurable. Frankly, until then, I hadn't figured out why ANYONE would want to have sex more than once. If it wasn't painful, it was...nothing. Just a great, big empty nothing.
Still, the scars of my past didn't leave room to trust anyone to the level of naked slave girl. I could (and did) fantasize privately, but never did more than read the Gor stories to him. He would turn me on by telling me that he visualized me as the girl climbing the steps to the auction block or as the girl tied down to be branded. Damned horny sex, but I still wasn't trusting him.
There was also the fact that he had grown up with a very abusive step-father (the man held his family at gunpoint against the sheriff on one occasion). I knew that he was not like his step-dad but I didn't realize that when you are raised with that model of behavior, you learn it. What could have destroyed us before our second anniversary became an opportunity for growth. He hit me once in violence and anger and I had him arrested and forced the issue all the way through the courts. That they took me seriously was amazing in 1984.
He was mandated to domestic abuse training. It was a long and arduous process. It was a process that I wasn't sure would be successful. A year later, though, I had my answer. A friend of his was having difficulties with his girlfriend and was feeling violent. While I washed dishes and got our children ready for bed, I listened to him counsel his friend on appropriate ways to deal with anger. I was astonished. He not only understood it, but he could teach it!
For the record, from that day until the day I chose of my own free will, to submit to him in this way as a slave girl, he never struck me again. As in most bondage relationships, I expect that he will spank or lash me on occasion, but he told me today that my willingness to submit to him was a HUGE responsibility for him. He feels completely responsible to see that I'm not in anyway emotionally, psychologically or physically injured. To him, it must always be a safe place for us to express our needs. *I* must always be safe.
So how did we end up here? Are we playing out some Gorean fantasy? (No, this isn't Gor and while we may use some terminology and ideas from John Norman, it isn't his Gor.) I think it started the night sex got a little kinky. The rules in our house for anal intercourse have been consistent for 30 years. "He who asks goes first." That usually put an end to all debate. The few times that we did try it the pain was excruciating. Well, duh, it would be when your partner isn't ready and there is no lube. Oi.
He wanted it (this was no great revelation to me), but what he was doing to my body was turning me on, it just wasn't quite working. So, like the good geek that I am, I did some internet research. Rule #1, as it pertains to anal intercourse, "there is NO SUCH THING as too much lube". A little more research and some advice yielded the suggestion of some anal probes/toys and a lube that numbs the area. That improved things, but my body still wasn't willingly going to cooperate. It took another trip to the sex toy store and some thoughtful experimentation (which I may detail in a later post), to get close. He was patient.
In a reverse of our previous stances, I was the one desperate to try it. He could stimulate my body, but I wasn't getting the full impact of the pleasure that is possible, I could just tick my fingernail at the edge of it. I wanted more. I wanted it for him, but I wanted, needed, it for me. I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to give ME to him.
I know these were the baby steps that took us to this place, I'm just not sure when relating a sexy fantasy became a driving need within myself. As we talked about him being a Master and me being his slave and submitting, it was as though a switch were flipped and it was more real than anything else for me.
We could have been married another 30 years, happily having lots of vanilla sex. This is probably not the only way to do this. But suddenly, I wanted to relinquish control to him. I wanted to turn it all over to him. I wanted the power in his hands. Because he loves me so deeply, I KNOW that I can trust him. I trust him enough to spank me and not brutalize me. Could he get seriously kinky at some time? Could he set in motion a chain of events that will make me uneasy? Probably. In fact, I hope so. Trusting him means believing that whatever path he leads me on, he will not abandon me, lost in a forest, he will be safely at my side, guiding me through. I don't have to question if I'll make it safely to the other side. He will ensure that. I only have to worry about the steps that will take me from one side to the other. However kinky or weird or bizarre it might be, if I allow him to lead, I'll find sexual pleasure and fulfillment. WE will find sexual pleasure and fulfillment.
I've often said that music is a reflection of
Because my job entails a lot of computer time and great stretches of time engaged in minutiae, I intended the MP3 player to be a form of
While music may reflect my soul, it also has the ability to widen ones scope. For me, it was as though someone had breathed life into my heart again. You cannot spend that many hours listening to 70s and 80s light rock, pop and easy listening songs without beginning to internalize the message. "Sing, sing a song". Is there any idea more beautiful?
I found myself singing to my very perplexed husband. Not love songs, but songs of worship to our love. As I sang, I found I could touch and be touched. My heart yearned for his presence. I wanted to be part of him again. Like begets like. As I desired him, he responded with the full force of his nature. (Picture it - the Niagara Falls of love) He loves me. He has always loved me. That I had spent over half a decade denying him the right (or privilege) of touching me, my body, my heart, my soul had caused him many hours of frustration and anger, but he never walked away. He is a steadfast man. In return, I had merely dripped tiny droplets of .... tolerance...for him.
To be wanted again, after so long was as though a feast had been laid before him and finally, after years of living on rice crackers, he was permitted to fill himself. He scarcely knew where to begin but he was going to load his plate to the fullest in case I ripped it all away from him again. The more he touched, the more I craved touch. He found ways to trigger the beginnings of a deep need within me.
None of that really explains my need and desire to submit. I'm not a submissive woman. I will hide or run rather than submit, but more often, I'll slice and dice someone dead with my ability to wield words as weapons. In spite of all that, I have always, secretly, in the deepest, most hidden part of my soul, wanted a man who would be the leader. I wanted a man who would take charge. I wanted to submit to that strong individual.
And it terrified me. I'm a control freak. I don't relinquish control easily...if ever. I admitted to him that I wanted to be dominated last night. He laughed and said he wished he'd realized that 30 years ago. I stopped breathing for a moment.
Thirty years ago, this wouldn't have worked. I was emotionally wounded and didn't trust men. I was more afraid of men than anything else. That we ever had our first date was and is a testament to his perseverance. We spent 3 hours on the phone while I desperately tried to think of an excuse NOT to go to a movie with him that he would accept. I had already determined that I was NEVER going to marry. I would never allow another man that close to me again.
I was a princess in an ivory tower. On each level below my chamber, were stationed armed guards, ready to kill to protect me. Outside my tower, in the bailey, an army of barbarians stood guard to keep all interlopers away. The tops of the walls were manned by expert archers and cannons and vats of boiling tar. Outside the wall was a moat filled with hungry piranha and crocodiles. The land beyond the moat was riddled with landmines and was crisscrossed with razor wire. No sane man would have risked all that to get to me, or at least, that's what I believed.
To ring the alarm bell, one must sense danger. I wasn't afraid of him. I just wasn't interested in him. He was SUCH a geek. He walked safely through all my security features because I didn't sense a threat to my safety. Before I knew what was happening, he was at the door to my chamber convincing me to see a movie with him.
And I had fun with him. We talked until 3 in the morning. He went home but was back the next night. We didn't leave one another for days except for a few stolen hours of sleep.
And the sex. OMG, the sex. The man is and was insatiable, but it was good! I hadn't known what an orgasm was until we made love the first time. I cried because I finally knew that sex was good. Sex was pleasurable. Frankly, until then, I hadn't figured out why ANYONE would want to have sex more than once. If it wasn't painful, it was...nothing. Just a great, big empty nothing.
Still, the scars of my past didn't leave room to trust anyone to the level of naked slave girl. I could (and did) fantasize privately, but never did more than read the Gor stories to him. He would turn me on by telling me that he visualized me as the girl climbing the steps to the auction block or as the girl tied down to be branded. Damned horny sex, but I still wasn't trusting him.
There was also the fact that he had grown up with a very abusive step-father (the man held his family at gunpoint against the sheriff on one occasion). I knew that he was not like his step-dad but I didn't realize that when you are raised with that model of behavior, you learn it. What could have destroyed us before our second anniversary became an opportunity for growth. He hit me once in violence and anger and I had him arrested and forced the issue all the way through the courts. That they took me seriously was amazing in 1984.
He was mandated to domestic abuse training. It was a long and arduous process. It was a process that I wasn't sure would be successful. A year later, though, I had my answer. A friend of his was having difficulties with his girlfriend and was feeling violent. While I washed dishes and got our children ready for bed, I listened to him counsel his friend on appropriate ways to deal with anger. I was astonished. He not only understood it, but he could teach it!
For the record, from that day until the day I chose of my own free will, to submit to him in this way as a slave girl, he never struck me again. As in most bondage relationships, I expect that he will spank or lash me on occasion, but he told me today that my willingness to submit to him was a HUGE responsibility for him. He feels completely responsible to see that I'm not in anyway emotionally, psychologically or physically injured. To him, it must always be a safe place for us to express our needs. *I* must always be safe.
So how did we end up here? Are we playing out some Gorean fantasy? (No, this isn't Gor and while we may use some terminology and ideas from John Norman, it isn't his Gor.) I think it started the night sex got a little kinky. The rules in our house for anal intercourse have been consistent for 30 years. "He who asks goes first." That usually put an end to all debate. The few times that we did try it the pain was excruciating. Well, duh, it would be when your partner isn't ready and there is no lube. Oi.
He wanted it (this was no great revelation to me), but what he was doing to my body was turning me on, it just wasn't quite working. So, like the good geek that I am, I did some internet research. Rule #1, as it pertains to anal intercourse, "there is NO SUCH THING as too much lube". A little more research and some advice yielded the suggestion of some anal probes/toys and a lube that numbs the area. That improved things, but my body still wasn't willingly going to cooperate. It took another trip to the sex toy store and some thoughtful experimentation (which I may detail in a later post), to get close. He was patient.
In a reverse of our previous stances, I was the one desperate to try it. He could stimulate my body, but I wasn't getting the full impact of the pleasure that is possible, I could just tick my fingernail at the edge of it. I wanted more. I wanted it for him, but I wanted, needed, it for me. I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to give ME to him.
I know these were the baby steps that took us to this place, I'm just not sure when relating a sexy fantasy became a driving need within myself. As we talked about him being a Master and me being his slave and submitting, it was as though a switch were flipped and it was more real than anything else for me.
We could have been married another 30 years, happily having lots of vanilla sex. This is probably not the only way to do this. But suddenly, I wanted to relinquish control to him. I wanted to turn it all over to him. I wanted the power in his hands. Because he loves me so deeply, I KNOW that I can trust him. I trust him enough to spank me and not brutalize me. Could he get seriously kinky at some time? Could he set in motion a chain of events that will make me uneasy? Probably. In fact, I hope so. Trusting him means believing that whatever path he leads me on, he will not abandon me, lost in a forest, he will be safely at my side, guiding me through. I don't have to question if I'll make it safely to the other side. He will ensure that. I only have to worry about the steps that will take me from one side to the other. However kinky or weird or bizarre it might be, if I allow him to lead, I'll find sexual pleasure and fulfillment. WE will find sexual pleasure and fulfillment.
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