I am struggling with obedience. Not because I can't do it, but because I don't understand why I am doing it. It's never been up there on my list of skills or qualities I need to cultivate. To be frank, it's never actually occurred to me before.
But here I am being, well, pretty damn compliant and obedient. I have even done things that have been a little bit of a stretch for me. Nothing shocking...just things I don't usually do. Sir is coaxing me into talking more freely about sex. I have always had a problem with it. Even writing about it is difficult. You may have spotted there are few really sexual references here. I like to dance around the subject without being too descriptive. I use the excuse that it's atmosphere that really matters, but in truth, I just find it difficult to use overtly sexual language.
But, coming back to obedience, I am now feeling myself start to respond to Sir and talk a little more sexually...because he asks me to. I'm sure it's pretty pathetic and feeble and I cringe as I say it but it is actually quite a big thing for me.
But, that's an illustration. I am actually more concerned with why I am doing as I am told. I am looking for some good websites on the psychology of submission and domination but so far drawing a blank. I could watch BDSM porn online, find a multitude of lovers online, order a whole hamper of sex toys or torture tools online...but I cannot seem to find an answer to the question WHY?
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Self-Bondage - A Story
Beatrice had often wondered what it would be like to be tied up. She had never had the nerve to ask her boyfriends, well none of them except one who looked at her as if she was a crazy woman and told her she wouldn't like it, not really, even if she thought she would.
She didn't have a boyfriend now. Once the initial rush was over, they were always annoying, impinging on her work, wanting attention, demanding...well, demanding her...and for what?
To leave her with a broken heart. She was better off without them..less emotional
investment, and she didn't need them for anything, really. Look, she was such a clever girl she could even practise self-bondage if she wanted.
She did some research on the net. She wondered how you could tie a knot strong enough to hold you, and yet easy enough to get out of. She wondered if she wanted it to hurt, if she wanted her wrists to go numb, or whether she just wanted to feel bound, tight.
She chose a weekend day. She hardly ever did anything on the weekends anyway, it wasn't as if she had hoards of friends knocking down the door to beg her to go out partying with them.
She tended to keep away from building friendships. It was distracting, putting the effort in.
So instead, she enjoyed planning the day and put together her own afternoon tool kit....a scarlet silk scarf, some new french underwear, her best bed linen, one of her favourite smutty books and The Police on continuous play. She didn't know why she included The Police in the set-up, just maybe that it reminded her of being a teenager, and today she felt like she wanted to remember how it felt to be that free and carefree.
She tied herself carefully to the iron bedframed bed. It was an antique, rescued from a hotel bankruptcy sale. Of course, tied this close to the frame she could see the years of scratches in the brass, deep marks where furniture had knocked against it. She could even smell some small vestige of old brass cleaner. It must be from the hotel days; she couldn't remember the last time she even ran a duster over the frame.
She took a while to get the knot quite right. She had to use her teeth a fair bit too, and she was trying to be careful as she didn't want to split her favourite silk scarf.
She came almost as soon as she had finished tie-ing herself, an endorphin rush that
spasmed violently through her body. The aftershocks made her wish she brought some chocolate, or a jam donought, just to keep her going. She imagined having someone with her who would put the donought to her lips so that she could lick the sugar off with her tongue, bite into it and then watch as her partner would take the sweet sugary jam and wipe it over her breasts, before licking it off. She climaxed again at the thought, but was secretly glad there was no sticky jam to get on her expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.
With a bit of manouevring she managed to open her book, the Story of O. She came again reading the book, her head pressed into the pages as she rubbed herself into the bed beneath. But it was hard to read and turn the pages and she began to wonder what it would be like to have someone next to her, reading to her in a soothing but seductive tone.
Enough, she thought and wondered what next. She looked around. Being tied up was starting to wear off now. She wanted a pee and she was getting a bit fed up with Sting's voice. She could see the Black Eyed Peas just there...how easy would it be untie herself and change the CD? But no, she told herself, the point of going this was to feel what it would be like to be tied up for any period of time.
She leant forward, her head against the cool brass. Now she could smell her scarf and the faint remant of perfume that she had worn on her trip to Paris. The thought made her smile and brought back other smells from her travelling...incense in Bali, coffee in Rome, the temples of Nepal, cow shit in India. For a brief moment her head felt heavy with them, crowded even, but all too quickly they drifted away again, back into distant memories she hardly ever visited.
The familiar song Roxanne began to play and she blinked back a tear. It was the song she used to listen to when she was revising for her exams, the song she used to play to annoy her boyfriend, who liked Pink Floyd and the Rocky theme tune. She sighed. If she had a boyfriend now she really wouldn't mind if he wanted to listen to Pink Floyd.
She lay back, motionless and started at the ceiling, Perhaps it would have been nice if there was someone here to get jam on the sheets. To share this with. What was a bit of extra washing after all?
The scarf was beging to chafe slightly. She raised her head to look at it. It was a long time since she'd bought herself something like that. It was a long time since she had been to Paris, or anywhere else that wasn't something to do with work.
She looked out of the window where she could see the sun heading southwards. The window was open slightly, and the faint breeze brought in smells of barbecuing meat and the shouts of children.
She heard a strange sound and couldn't place it. It took a while before she realised she was moaning.
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps it was time to stop practising self-bondage.
She didn't have a boyfriend now. Once the initial rush was over, they were always annoying, impinging on her work, wanting attention, demanding...well, demanding her...and for what?
To leave her with a broken heart. She was better off without them..less emotional
investment, and she didn't need them for anything, really. Look, she was such a clever girl she could even practise self-bondage if she wanted.
She did some research on the net. She wondered how you could tie a knot strong enough to hold you, and yet easy enough to get out of. She wondered if she wanted it to hurt, if she wanted her wrists to go numb, or whether she just wanted to feel bound, tight.
She chose a weekend day. She hardly ever did anything on the weekends anyway, it wasn't as if she had hoards of friends knocking down the door to beg her to go out partying with them.
She tended to keep away from building friendships. It was distracting, putting the effort in.
So instead, she enjoyed planning the day and put together her own afternoon tool kit....a scarlet silk scarf, some new french underwear, her best bed linen, one of her favourite smutty books and The Police on continuous play. She didn't know why she included The Police in the set-up, just maybe that it reminded her of being a teenager, and today she felt like she wanted to remember how it felt to be that free and carefree.
She tied herself carefully to the iron bedframed bed. It was an antique, rescued from a hotel bankruptcy sale. Of course, tied this close to the frame she could see the years of scratches in the brass, deep marks where furniture had knocked against it. She could even smell some small vestige of old brass cleaner. It must be from the hotel days; she couldn't remember the last time she even ran a duster over the frame.
She took a while to get the knot quite right. She had to use her teeth a fair bit too, and she was trying to be careful as she didn't want to split her favourite silk scarf.
She came almost as soon as she had finished tie-ing herself, an endorphin rush that
spasmed violently through her body. The aftershocks made her wish she brought some chocolate, or a jam donought, just to keep her going. She imagined having someone with her who would put the donought to her lips so that she could lick the sugar off with her tongue, bite into it and then watch as her partner would take the sweet sugary jam and wipe it over her breasts, before licking it off. She climaxed again at the thought, but was secretly glad there was no sticky jam to get on her expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.
With a bit of manouevring she managed to open her book, the Story of O. She came again reading the book, her head pressed into the pages as she rubbed herself into the bed beneath. But it was hard to read and turn the pages and she began to wonder what it would be like to have someone next to her, reading to her in a soothing but seductive tone.
Enough, she thought and wondered what next. She looked around. Being tied up was starting to wear off now. She wanted a pee and she was getting a bit fed up with Sting's voice. She could see the Black Eyed Peas just there...how easy would it be untie herself and change the CD? But no, she told herself, the point of going this was to feel what it would be like to be tied up for any period of time.
She leant forward, her head against the cool brass. Now she could smell her scarf and the faint remant of perfume that she had worn on her trip to Paris. The thought made her smile and brought back other smells from her travelling...incense in Bali, coffee in Rome, the temples of Nepal, cow shit in India. For a brief moment her head felt heavy with them, crowded even, but all too quickly they drifted away again, back into distant memories she hardly ever visited.
The familiar song Roxanne began to play and she blinked back a tear. It was the song she used to listen to when she was revising for her exams, the song she used to play to annoy her boyfriend, who liked Pink Floyd and the Rocky theme tune. She sighed. If she had a boyfriend now she really wouldn't mind if he wanted to listen to Pink Floyd.
She lay back, motionless and started at the ceiling, Perhaps it would have been nice if there was someone here to get jam on the sheets. To share this with. What was a bit of extra washing after all?
The scarf was beging to chafe slightly. She raised her head to look at it. It was a long time since she'd bought herself something like that. It was a long time since she had been to Paris, or anywhere else that wasn't something to do with work.
She looked out of the window where she could see the sun heading southwards. The window was open slightly, and the faint breeze brought in smells of barbecuing meat and the shouts of children.
She heard a strange sound and couldn't place it. It took a while before she realised she was moaning.
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps it was time to stop practising self-bondage.
Submission and the Art of Not Thinking
I have come to the conclusion that I think too much. It's a strange thing for me to say as I was brought up in a household where thinking was valued highly. Whilst other kids were reading Enid Blyton my Dad had me reading Ellery Queen novels and trying to come up explanations of locked roomed murder mysteries. When I asked about life after death, and if there was such a thing, I didn't get platitudes or religion. Instead I was driven to the library and told to read some Philosophy and make my own mind up.
Thinking our way to University was the only way my sister and I could get away from our Welsh mining/steel works roots where poverty mentality ruled.
I can't knock thinking, and I do love it ...Edward de Bono, Mind Mapping, Plato...I find thinking about stuff quite compelling. I even find people who think deeply hugely attractive. One past boyfriend was able to chat me up with the simple statement that he was in Mensa and his favourite author was John Steinbeck!When people ask who you would invite to your dream dinner party I would merely love to have dinner a deux with Stephen Hawkin....
But living your life by thought alone means that you grow up not trusting feelings...or getting in touch with your gut instinct. It also means that your brain never stops. And I mean never.
My main two ways of dealing with this have been alcohol and exercise. I don't mean serious alcohol addiction, but I do like to drink. I relish being able to feel, and let my brain step back a little and just tick over in the background. I am no fitness fanatic, any of my friends would laugh at the idea, but I have to swim at least 45 lengths twice a week, and do half an hour of running or cross-training at the gym just to stop my mind churning over. In theory yoga should work too, but I personally need something mind-numbing and repetitive.
But my small forays in BDSM seem to sometimes (not always) provide an even better release. There are times when I cannot think straight. There are other times when I cannot even think. Actually there are moments when I cannot speak...my brain and mouth are not connected. And I absolutely love it. Whilst being spanked, for instance, is extremely erotic for me, it's also intensely physical and it is such a relief to be able to be so wholly in the moment, so concentrated on one place, one feeling, one desire, that the brain just goes quiet.
On the times when I have felt really, truly dominated there's been a lovely stillness in my head. I want more of it.
Thinking our way to University was the only way my sister and I could get away from our Welsh mining/steel works roots where poverty mentality ruled.
I can't knock thinking, and I do love it ...Edward de Bono, Mind Mapping, Plato...I find thinking about stuff quite compelling. I even find people who think deeply hugely attractive. One past boyfriend was able to chat me up with the simple statement that he was in Mensa and his favourite author was John Steinbeck!When people ask who you would invite to your dream dinner party I would merely love to have dinner a deux with Stephen Hawkin....
But living your life by thought alone means that you grow up not trusting feelings...or getting in touch with your gut instinct. It also means that your brain never stops. And I mean never.
My main two ways of dealing with this have been alcohol and exercise. I don't mean serious alcohol addiction, but I do like to drink. I relish being able to feel, and let my brain step back a little and just tick over in the background. I am no fitness fanatic, any of my friends would laugh at the idea, but I have to swim at least 45 lengths twice a week, and do half an hour of running or cross-training at the gym just to stop my mind churning over. In theory yoga should work too, but I personally need something mind-numbing and repetitive.
But my small forays in BDSM seem to sometimes (not always) provide an even better release. There are times when I cannot think straight. There are other times when I cannot even think. Actually there are moments when I cannot speak...my brain and mouth are not connected. And I absolutely love it. Whilst being spanked, for instance, is extremely erotic for me, it's also intensely physical and it is such a relief to be able to be so wholly in the moment, so concentrated on one place, one feeling, one desire, that the brain just goes quiet.
On the times when I have felt really, truly dominated there's been a lovely stillness in my head. I want more of it.
Friday, 21 May 2010
A Stand
He suggests she go and run herself a bath and get some breakfast. With the image of a maple syrup covered stack of pancakes in her head she runs herself a bath, unsure of whether to lock the door and claim her own space, or leave it open for him to come in if he likes.
In the end, she leaves it open. The Bubbles tickle her arse and thighs, sore and sensitive where they have been slapped and spanked. The water's hot, but frustratingly not as hot as the water at home. She's annoyed. She needs the comfort of heat now. She's been having multiple orgasms for what must be five hours and all she wants is to hunker down in something hot enough to both soothe and revive.
As she sinks slowly down the bath, her eyes closed and the sound of bubbles popping in her ears, she feels rather sees or hears him him come in. He kneels by the side of the bath and smiles. They exchange a look. They have had a night to smile about, after all.
"Do you want to come again?" he asks slowly running his fingers through the bubbles near her pussy.
"No," she admits. Christ, she's exhausted, can't he see that?
He lifts one eyebrow...
"Do you want to come again for me?" he asks, this time slipping his finger inside her. Her back arches instantly.
She looks at him. She's sure he's trying to train her to orgasm on demand. She heard about it once, and laughed at the very idea, but here he is, trying it on her, of all people. He's even started trying to count her to orgasm of all things. Ridiculous.
It has to be said, intellectually, she's a little intrigued by the idea...what if... surely not...it can't really be possible can it? And she has to admit the idea gets her aroused. But, a significant part of her is outraged...who the hell does her think he is...and more to the point, who does he think she is? His new toy?
"I'll say it again, do you want to come again?" he asks.
"Yes," she nods. She'll choose another time, when he's not staring at her with those eyes of his.
A week later they are on phone. She's come too many times to count and is tired. This could be the time to say no. She waits until he asks.
"Do you want to come again?"
"No," she squeals. She realises she is developing a habit of squealing when she's not sure of herself and what's she thinking or feeling. It's really quite annoying. She wishes she could stop it.
The silence on the other end of the phone is a little unnerving. She wonders if he is still there. Shit, if he wasn't her stand would all be for nothing. Finally, she hears him sigh...
"No..what?"
"No Sir," she bleats out and climaxes against her own will. Fuck, that wasn't meant to happen.
In the end, she leaves it open. The Bubbles tickle her arse and thighs, sore and sensitive where they have been slapped and spanked. The water's hot, but frustratingly not as hot as the water at home. She's annoyed. She needs the comfort of heat now. She's been having multiple orgasms for what must be five hours and all she wants is to hunker down in something hot enough to both soothe and revive.
As she sinks slowly down the bath, her eyes closed and the sound of bubbles popping in her ears, she feels rather sees or hears him him come in. He kneels by the side of the bath and smiles. They exchange a look. They have had a night to smile about, after all.
"Do you want to come again?" he asks slowly running his fingers through the bubbles near her pussy.
"No," she admits. Christ, she's exhausted, can't he see that?
He lifts one eyebrow...
"Do you want to come again for me?" he asks, this time slipping his finger inside her. Her back arches instantly.
She looks at him. She's sure he's trying to train her to orgasm on demand. She heard about it once, and laughed at the very idea, but here he is, trying it on her, of all people. He's even started trying to count her to orgasm of all things. Ridiculous.
It has to be said, intellectually, she's a little intrigued by the idea...what if... surely not...it can't really be possible can it? And she has to admit the idea gets her aroused. But, a significant part of her is outraged...who the hell does her think he is...and more to the point, who does he think she is? His new toy?
"I'll say it again, do you want to come again?" he asks.
"Yes," she nods. She'll choose another time, when he's not staring at her with those eyes of his.
A week later they are on phone. She's come too many times to count and is tired. This could be the time to say no. She waits until he asks.
"Do you want to come again?"
"No," she squeals. She realises she is developing a habit of squealing when she's not sure of herself and what's she thinking or feeling. It's really quite annoying. She wishes she could stop it.
The silence on the other end of the phone is a little unnerving. She wonders if he is still there. Shit, if he wasn't her stand would all be for nothing. Finally, she hears him sigh...
"No..what?"
"No Sir," she bleats out and climaxes against her own will. Fuck, that wasn't meant to happen.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Slave
One of my readers, a certain Iron Man, has suggested that I seem to have slave-like tendencies and were he my Dom, that's the avenue he'd be taking me. Hmm, well apart from being extremely cheeky, I am pretty sure Iron Man is way off the mark here.
I must admit I can't quite see the master and slave thing..I mean in general, not just for me. Okay, I get the ownership bit...in fact the thought of Sir owning me does induce a very strong physiological reaction. Okay, I admit it...It's kind of hot and I get that....BUT...in real life? Really. it's hardly practical and I'm pretty sure you can't sustain that heat 24/7..or even if you meet up part time. And what use is a part time slave?
And when the heat's gone...what's left?!
Domestic duties? Hmmm, that leaves no appeal. Some of the best advice I got off my father (who I am sure longed for a son rather than two daughters) was "never learn how to sew, type or clean as you'll end up doing it for someone else... A man, probably." And he was so right. I have never learned to sew. Any stray man who wants me to sew up his trousers or coat pocket is directed to the dry cleaners. I do tidy and clean but I am so lazy that I do a crap job and everyone else decides they'll do it instead. Indeed, my own children tidy up after me!
I gave in on the typing thing...I don't think my Dad was envisaging a world with computers at that time. And I do cook, mainly because I find it relaxing. But his advice seems to have worked well...I don't really have to do that domestic drudgery side of things on the whole....so the thought of offering to do it for someone else is kind of ...well, I can't even imagine it.
Okay. domestic drudgery aside...what about the control thing. Having someone make decisions for you. Some of the Doms I have spoken to have been looking for slaves they can do just that with, and manage them full time. Once again, I can sort of see the attraction...maybe for a day. I am such a control freak that not being able to make a decision for a day or so might be quite a nice holiday...either that or it will some kind of stress-induced mental breakdown.
But full time? I really don't get that.
Mind you, the more I write on this the more I can see the appeal from the Dom's side. Sigh..maybe I just need my own slave....
I must admit I can't quite see the master and slave thing..I mean in general, not just for me. Okay, I get the ownership bit...in fact the thought of Sir owning me does induce a very strong physiological reaction. Okay, I admit it...It's kind of hot and I get that....BUT...in real life? Really. it's hardly practical and I'm pretty sure you can't sustain that heat 24/7..or even if you meet up part time. And what use is a part time slave?
And when the heat's gone...what's left?!
Domestic duties? Hmmm, that leaves no appeal. Some of the best advice I got off my father (who I am sure longed for a son rather than two daughters) was "never learn how to sew, type or clean as you'll end up doing it for someone else... A man, probably." And he was so right. I have never learned to sew. Any stray man who wants me to sew up his trousers or coat pocket is directed to the dry cleaners. I do tidy and clean but I am so lazy that I do a crap job and everyone else decides they'll do it instead. Indeed, my own children tidy up after me!
I gave in on the typing thing...I don't think my Dad was envisaging a world with computers at that time. And I do cook, mainly because I find it relaxing. But his advice seems to have worked well...I don't really have to do that domestic drudgery side of things on the whole....so the thought of offering to do it for someone else is kind of ...well, I can't even imagine it.
Okay. domestic drudgery aside...what about the control thing. Having someone make decisions for you. Some of the Doms I have spoken to have been looking for slaves they can do just that with, and manage them full time. Once again, I can sort of see the attraction...maybe for a day. I am such a control freak that not being able to make a decision for a day or so might be quite a nice holiday...either that or it will some kind of stress-induced mental breakdown.
But full time? I really don't get that.
Mind you, the more I write on this the more I can see the appeal from the Dom's side. Sigh..maybe I just need my own slave....
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Paradox
I've challenged Sir to a chess game. This is what I do when I feel myself losing control...fight back with something I think I can win.
I am very competitive. Even with myself. I am always pushing myself to write more, earn more, swim more lengths, run for longer at the gym...god, sometimes it is so bloody tiring being me. But I do love games. I adore Poker, Black Jack and Maj Jong and think a weekend playing the strategy game Risk is as good as sex (well sometimes) so it's pretty inevitable that I want to challenge him to something I at least have a chance of winning.
But therein lies a paradox. If I win...what then? If I can beat him...what does that mean?
Sometimes I can be too competitive for my own good.
I am very competitive. Even with myself. I am always pushing myself to write more, earn more, swim more lengths, run for longer at the gym...god, sometimes it is so bloody tiring being me. But I do love games. I adore Poker, Black Jack and Maj Jong and think a weekend playing the strategy game Risk is as good as sex (well sometimes) so it's pretty inevitable that I want to challenge him to something I at least have a chance of winning.
But therein lies a paradox. If I win...what then? If I can beat him...what does that mean?
Sometimes I can be too competitive for my own good.
The Shrink
I have a psychoanalyst. Being brought up on Woody Allen movies I always figured I would have one sometime and I have found mine. She's not what I expected.
Mind you, I am not what she expected either. The first time we had a session I asked her for a cup of tea and a biscuit because I hadn't had any breakfast yet. She rustled them up whilst I admired the view from her city flat and listened to her tell me she didn't usually do this for clients. We both laughed.
When we moved into her consulting room and I found myself telling her that I had taken a lover, I expected some deep dark exploration of subterranean issues to do with my childhood. We dug a little, I admit, but not before she had leant forward, looked at me with a pair of piercing but kindly eyes and said "we put so called normal morals aside here and look for what's right for you...and if it's good for you to have lover after lover then that might be what you need to do...and (as she looked me up and down) I am sure you will have no problem doing it."
Of course, that was it... I was all on for finding out that it was good for me to have lover after lover...but it's never that simple is it?
She knew that my relationship with Bad Boy would descend into a dominant/submission one before I did. I remember stumbling over the words as I told her, and then the simple shrug and the reply that she had been waiting for this. We laughed. She had known that Bad Boy and I were Dominant and submissive from the start. I was starting to catch on. The only one that wasn't up to speed was Bad Boy himself....
I haven't told her about Sir yet. I don't think she'll be surprised. When I first told her about my interest in DS she suggested I do my own exploration...and I think she knew what would happen. Well, seeing as she knows me so well I am sure she knew what would happen. The question is...does she know what will happen next?
Mind you, I am not what she expected either. The first time we had a session I asked her for a cup of tea and a biscuit because I hadn't had any breakfast yet. She rustled them up whilst I admired the view from her city flat and listened to her tell me she didn't usually do this for clients. We both laughed.
When we moved into her consulting room and I found myself telling her that I had taken a lover, I expected some deep dark exploration of subterranean issues to do with my childhood. We dug a little, I admit, but not before she had leant forward, looked at me with a pair of piercing but kindly eyes and said "we put so called normal morals aside here and look for what's right for you...and if it's good for you to have lover after lover then that might be what you need to do...and (as she looked me up and down) I am sure you will have no problem doing it."
Of course, that was it... I was all on for finding out that it was good for me to have lover after lover...but it's never that simple is it?
She knew that my relationship with Bad Boy would descend into a dominant/submission one before I did. I remember stumbling over the words as I told her, and then the simple shrug and the reply that she had been waiting for this. We laughed. She had known that Bad Boy and I were Dominant and submissive from the start. I was starting to catch on. The only one that wasn't up to speed was Bad Boy himself....
I haven't told her about Sir yet. I don't think she'll be surprised. When I first told her about my interest in DS she suggested I do my own exploration...and I think she knew what would happen. Well, seeing as she knows me so well I am sure she knew what would happen. The question is...does she know what will happen next?
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