Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Feminism

I was enjoying a dinner out with my husband. Nice wine, great food, quiet restaurant. One of those rare nights of escape when the family is absent from our responsibility, so we take advantage and run to restaurants, shows, sex right through the house. I love those times!

Anyway, we were sitting enjoying our evening when something he said made my heart flutter, my excitement grown and my breath leave my body.

Quietly, barely audible (it was a quiet restaurant), he said "this Domination and submission thing..."

After having recovered from choking on my wine, he went on, "Well, I've been thinking. I've been surrounded by strong women all my life and equality in the sex's and in my relationships. It seems to go against that."

I almost had an orgasm there and then...he was thinking about it! He was considering the implications for our relationship..oh JOY!!


If you have read anything here, you will know I am new to recognising what I now think has been there all my life and I understood completely his question, his concern, as I'm sure you do. So there, in the restaurant, we had a discussion about feminism, D/s and my interpretation of the dynamic between them. I explained that for me there is no contradiction. Recognising and then embracing my submissive self, is an act of feminism. I think I have said not too long ago, that choosing to submit is, for me, an expression of feminism. I am not being forced to this decision, I retain the power to choose to submit. I remain a strong, intelligent woman. D/s will not deny me opportunities to grow or live my life. It will not deny me educational or career opportunities, because I know he would not deny me these things. For me submission is feminist rhetoric made real..I am in possession of the power to choose, and I choose to submit....Now if i could just find a Dominant man! ;-)
xx

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

red lace parisienne

A quick thought to start my day..

He told me to wear the red lace Parisienne panties today.
I woke and lay in the hot near summer morning on cool cotton sheets. My thoughts drifted to him.
I rose, showered and washed my hair.

In the dimly lit bedroom, the morning light creeping around the corners of the blinds, I began my ritual.
Naked, I looked in the mirror, loving the curves and the shape of my arse, the hang of my breast.
I bent over into the draw looking for the red lace.
Pulling them out, I lay them on the corner of the bed.
I sat on the floor, as I do every morning after my shower, mixing the cream and oil in the palm of my hand.
I smoothed the mixture over my body. First my feet, calves and thighs up to the curve of my arse.
My arms and shoulders, feeling my breasts and pink nipples.
My neck and my back. This has become my ritual, my time alone.

I sat, my knees tucked under my chin, hugging them to me, deep in thought, the world racing past outside, the warm summer air drifting through the open window.

I stood, pulling the red lace Parisienne panties from their rest and pulled them on, up and over my arse. Thinking of him, as instructed (though I didn't really need that instruction). I had been thinking of him since my eyes opened.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

finding Dom

Just some thoughts to start my day. I have said in the past that this blog is a way for me to live in secret. Cloistered thoughts given a place to be. So if you do come by and read, thank you and I appreciate any comments or emails. 


I make no apology for the personal and self indulgent nature of the words. For me this place is like the diary I used to write as a little girl. It is not clever nor thought provoking, as many of the blogs are here. But if you want to read you are welcome. I guess that's part of it for me..making it public without being known, like telling a friend my thoughts, my secrets that I cannot tell anyone in my real sphere, so i tell you.


My yearning for this lifestyle has become acute, painful. An itch that is often not scratched, not nearly as much as I need. I am a needy bitch, so needy it hurts. An independent and assertive woman all my life, outwardly in charge, work, family, wife (well partnership) but its a marriage nonetheless. Then there is that other me, my other self, my other she. The she that hopes that man, that Dominant hand will move into my sphere (told you I was needy).


I was reading A Discerning Dom  today. His latest post describes the anguish and longing, the craving for his girl in a far off distant country. I identified with this so much, as I do nearly all his posts, just like I was living them..uncannily so, really. I have only had smatterings of contact with the D/s relationship online and being in a far off country, timezones have been an issue that for one reason or another have played a part in the failure of any real connection. I applaud the DD and his girl for somehow making that work and in truth, I envy it.


In finding a man online who suits me, who makes me crawl to him with delight, I have learned that the Internet is like real life really. There are men who are wonderful, but equally there are men who are not. I had a most recent experience with the latter which left me feeling rattled, ashamed and violated (and not in a good way). The sordid detail I cannot even deal with here, but his effect on me was profound, so much so that I shrank back, small and closed. I found myself, after this encounter, seeking out trusted men that I know to be good. I found myself cocooning in familiarity, but with men unavailable to me. I have never felt more alone in my life, needing to confide in someone, to make this hurt go away, to feel safe and protected. That man is not there though.


The episode illustrated for me that a Dom man is going to be essential in my life, I can ignore that no longer. Funnily enough, the one man I have regular contact with, I would give everything to. I have only just realised that this is the one man I measure every other by, every facet of him I look for in others however, there exists no formal arrangement between us and we may go for weeks without contact. The tyranny of our distance makes me ache, the need for him is strong in me and I find myself thinking about him quietly whenever I am alone in my head, almost in meditation. I would like to have an explicit understanding between us, but I don't think this will ever happen, for one reason or another.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

the virgin spanked

New to this deliciousness...spanking. Last night he spanked me. His hand came down hard enough to make me draw breath quickly into my lungs.

A little shocked, like the first hand received on her arse by the secretary in the film of the same name. I remember the look in her eyes as she gazed at him incredulously. There was that crossroads right then as she looked at him, still bent over, elbows on the desk; she could stand up and walk away right there and then, or she could submit. The tension at that moment was palpable and very exciting I remember.

Here it was for me, that moment of surprise. It was not likely however, that I would walk away! The excitement in me was thick with anticipation. His hand came down on my arse in between my cheeks, his fingers curling to reach my pinkness. This is where I discovered the why people loved a good spank! I felt the heat grow instantly and my juices were evident. I am usually moved quickly to arousal, even sometimes in a permanent state of arousal which can be very uncomfortable if I can't be relieved. This however cause me to be immediately aroused and quite happily dripping!

He continued with a rhythm that was almost comforting. The strokes became harder, heavier. The sting was delicious but I began to squirm, to try and get away. It was beginning to hurt!..badly. He pushed my head down, holding me by the hair. Harder, faster...my thoughts raced, I was in between needing to cum and needing him to stop.

He didn't stop though, he kept going, holding me in place, smacking my red arse until I was so wet my thighs were covered. I needed to cum desperately. He slid his fingers inside my hot wet hole. I clamped down on them, almost involuntarily but not quite. Fucking me with his fingers, spanking me with his huge hand. I realised I had stopped struggling, stopped trying to get away...and as I realise this, the wave built in me and was released almost at once. My moans turned to screams as the wave passed through every muscle in my body.

I was a spanking virgin no longer...I was a spanked slut and I became a fast convert at the temple of spank!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

have you ever been...

Have you ever been so needy it hurts?
Have you ever felt the ache that won't be sated?
Have you ever had the burn deep inside?
Have you ever felt close to tears..driven there by the longing that will make you scream with just a tiny push?
Have you ever felt the loneliness of offering and not being taken?


I have.


I feel the frustration,
the irritation.
I feel the longing deep inside.
My breath grows shallow, my sweet pinkness swells and throbs,
screaming to be taken,
to be used,
to be loved.


My submissive she cries with impatience, having offered herself freely in sweet devotion,
..ignored...


crushed.

Monday, November 8, 2010

mmm I wake

mmm I wake, sleepy eyed but with a smile over my face to his whispers...'baby girl'..'goodbye'.
He says how delicious my warm skin is under the sheets.
He says I smell like I should, filled with his cum. All dripping down my thighs.
I like to sleep, all messy in his arms once he has filled me...
Once he had pushed his way in from behind to my aching slick cunt.
Once he had put his hand around my throat and one hand over my nose and mouth.
Once he had taken me from behind...and filled me with hot ribbons of his cum.
Once he had roared as he filled me...
Then I like to sleep in his arms and wake to his voice as he leans down to kiss me goodbye...
goodbye baby girl.

Friday, November 5, 2010

The style of submission I choose

So much is happening, it remains confusing at times. My husband enjoys the blogs I have led him too, (my own blog though remains a secret from him..my own private Idaho!). Like a switch flicked, he is beginning to understand my journey and he is starting to follow a path that is pleasing to both of us. This journey together might be nice.

I have played online with wonderful men and one has walked into my vision that now I can't get out of my head. I wonder, thinking of my secret self that the author of 'A Dominant Character' spoke of, and a concept that I have not been entirely unfamiliar with, I wonder if my secret self will stay secret for very much long. Secret and anonymous.

There is only a few blogs here which I read, not because I am not interested in anyone else but simply due to the restrictions of time. I follow a few blogs written by 'Dom's'...at the risk of incorrectly labelling these wonderful men who share their thoughts. I have been thinking lately about who I am with reference to labels. David, in A View from the Top, poses a question about the type and quality of submission a woman chooses. He offered a precis on current discussions regarding three styles of submission; passive, active and aggressive. David suggested that to be passive in submission, the traditional idea of submission, could lead a woman to becoming lost with regard to her own desire and creativity and become a purely passive recipient of her Masters attention and command. At least this was my interpretation. I felt my feminist rise and throw her head back (steady girl). To be actively submissive, I interpreted, is to be active in the titillation of your Dom/ Master/ Sir...(and so many other labels). Finally, aggressive submission requires some show of force by the Dominant partner. The submissive she must be overwhelmed by their strength and superiority.

As a novice in this bright, shiny and wondrously delicious world of submission and Domination, I find these arguments describe the subtlest and greyest of differentials. When applied to myself, I see me in each of these descriptions and each of them in me. In the end each of these styles of submission will be defined and agreed inside the relationship between a man and his girl.

Returning to my feminist self; I love her..this feminist she. As a liberated woman I have the power to choose...and I choose to submit. I have a freedom in that power, I am happy and released in the power of consentual submission or consentual non-consent.