How interesting it was in the film “Quills” to see how Marquis de Sade was encouraged to write in an attempt to keep him from acting in reality.
I’ve seen the film before, a long time ago, years before BDSM was part of my life. It didn’t have the same meaning then as it has now. But more and more I realise how intrigued and attracted I was to all this, but lacking knowledge about pain. I remember the fear of “going too far” and not being able to ever come back from it.
With that last one, I was right. You’re indeed not able to ever feel the same again. Only, it shouldn’t have been fear. It is fantastic to be able to live in accordance with your nature.
And so how jealous I felt, when I saw Kate Winslet strung up and whipped. How enormously, deeply, tremendously jealous! The welts and marks on her back were beautifully drawn on by the make-up artist, and I wanted to look just like her.
I do wonder often if the reflection in the mirror will be something I like again one day? Will I see bruises and welts again? Will I find proud submission in my eyes?
Or will I lead the rest of my life pursuing a cure? Act like an ordinary woman, doing ordinary things, having ordinary sex?
And so at night, I would be writing. Writing like a madwoman. Pouring my passion and lust on paper, fantasising about being humiliated and kept as a slave, putting my nipple clamps on in the dark and stretch my holes pretending I am preparing for abuse.
During my sleepless night, trying to keep my mind away from the horrible reality at the moment, I kept concentrating on the tingle in my belly and between my legs. I fantasised about being caged –one of my biggest yet unfulfilled dreams. Soon I will write a story about it…
But does writing only can keep you “sane”? I know last year I intended to write more, so my physical desire would become less. I thought if I can live out my submissiveness in my stories, I don’t need the reality. But it is really so?
Is it maybe not the other way around? Don’t I get more horny, excited and lustful with every story? Do my masturbation sessions become tougher, wanting more every time?
Isn’t it outrageously sad to push in my big plug, put on my collar, clamp my nipples and blindfold myself, sitting on my knees fucking myself with my rabbit to an orgasm with nothing else but the image of somebody watching.
Frustration hits… unlike the whip.
At this moment though, whilst stress is peaking and emotions are extremely low, would I be able to handle any of my fantasies? Or is it just now it would be good for me?
Questions, many questions. But I know I will learn the answers one day. I always do. As long as I keep writing…
Friday, August 10, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
FORGETFUL IS NOT A MISTAKE
Not sure what I feel. Bored, anxious, indifferent, … I am talking about my orgasms.
There are only very few and far in between these days. And when under orgasm control, this is one of the most exciting exercises, something that can make me suffer immensely. Because I don’t just like them, I really truly deeply love them.
With my first Master I used to sort of “buy” them. I knew the punishment for having them and I’d calculate what I think I could handle and had as many as I could. Very often I was assisted / encouraged by a switch-friend online (I like to blame others for my orgasms).
My second Master had a different way of working and so I couldn’t negotiate my pleasure. And he found out very soon that he could make me do anything if I would think there was an orgasm to be earned.
And yes, I love them, whether they come with loads, or not at all because I am restricted. The thought of them, just as much as the feel. It all keeps me happy, wet and feeling submissive.
But lately things are different. I am –not exaggerated in any way- at possibly the most stressful period I have ever been in my life. That is personal. Work is immensely busy too, which I am quite happy about because it keeps me sane. There is absolutely no time for niceties, no time to thoroughly relax, or read hot stories, or write them. If I am lucky to come across a bit of porn, then it better be a short clip.
And whereas I didn’t have to get a lot of stimuli to get myself all hot and excited, I feel like my lust is waning.
I have had a few moments in the last few weeks, where I thought of an orgasm, where I thought I wanted one, where for a brief moment I really desired a touch. But that were moments, not that constant lovely tingling feel.
Last night, I was alone, thinking that after a lot of very hard work constantly for days or even weeks now, I could do with an orgasm. Or at least with feeling nicely horny again.
So I took my beloved rabbit, and placed it between my legs, the vibrating bit against my clit. My new rabbit has loads of settings, so I switched between a few, trying to enjoy the moment.
My cunt responded and got wet, so I slid the shaft in, and changed vibrations again. I laid on my bed for a while like that. Normally by now my mind would be in overdrive, rushing with fantasies. But nothing happened. I could feel my clit was having a nice time, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep any of my fantasies going, and had to force myself to think of one.
I then changed in one of my favourite positions –on my knees- and started fucking myself. Still nothing. I realise I start to get frustrated, so I take a deep breath and think of all things nice. I lean forward so I have to support myself with one hand, I arch my back, close my eyes, and continue to fuck myself. I get wetter, but I have no joy.
I could cry. Did I forget how to be horny? Did I forget how to orgasm or at least get close to it? What happened to me???? This is not right!
So this morning I decided to do something.
Firstly, I am going to work harder on my weight. I will be stricter in my diet and start exercising more intensely. Losing weight always makes me feel better about myself, makes me feel more attractive and gives me confidence.
The day after tomorrow I will have broadband again at home. And I will browse sites such as literotica again and print a lovely bedtime story daily.
Also, I am going to ask A. if I can attend a party. The club I went to last year has restarted parties, and slave will keep me updated about when and where, and provides me with care and protection.
I think that will get me back to “normal”. Of course, this particular period of abnormal stress will soon be over too. And I do hope, that really that is the reason for my sex-drive to be out of sorts.
There was time for some fun during work last Sunday when I was the lucky receiver of some wise words from my very wise six-year old. She was struggling doing some of her homework, and just about to get seriously angry and throwing her pen (she gets her temper from her dad!). “I hate making mistakes!” I could hear, so I try my best to calm her by explaining that mistakes are good, cause you learn from them. Still, she is not convinced and reiterates that she really hates making mistakes and that I never make any. I try not to burst out in laughter and tell her of course I do, plenty even. It is then she looks up and says:
“Forgetful is not a mistake, mum”.
There are only very few and far in between these days. And when under orgasm control, this is one of the most exciting exercises, something that can make me suffer immensely. Because I don’t just like them, I really truly deeply love them.
With my first Master I used to sort of “buy” them. I knew the punishment for having them and I’d calculate what I think I could handle and had as many as I could. Very often I was assisted / encouraged by a switch-friend online (I like to blame others for my orgasms).
My second Master had a different way of working and so I couldn’t negotiate my pleasure. And he found out very soon that he could make me do anything if I would think there was an orgasm to be earned.
And yes, I love them, whether they come with loads, or not at all because I am restricted. The thought of them, just as much as the feel. It all keeps me happy, wet and feeling submissive.
But lately things are different. I am –not exaggerated in any way- at possibly the most stressful period I have ever been in my life. That is personal. Work is immensely busy too, which I am quite happy about because it keeps me sane. There is absolutely no time for niceties, no time to thoroughly relax, or read hot stories, or write them. If I am lucky to come across a bit of porn, then it better be a short clip.
And whereas I didn’t have to get a lot of stimuli to get myself all hot and excited, I feel like my lust is waning.
I have had a few moments in the last few weeks, where I thought of an orgasm, where I thought I wanted one, where for a brief moment I really desired a touch. But that were moments, not that constant lovely tingling feel.
Last night, I was alone, thinking that after a lot of very hard work constantly for days or even weeks now, I could do with an orgasm. Or at least with feeling nicely horny again.
So I took my beloved rabbit, and placed it between my legs, the vibrating bit against my clit. My new rabbit has loads of settings, so I switched between a few, trying to enjoy the moment.
My cunt responded and got wet, so I slid the shaft in, and changed vibrations again. I laid on my bed for a while like that. Normally by now my mind would be in overdrive, rushing with fantasies. But nothing happened. I could feel my clit was having a nice time, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep any of my fantasies going, and had to force myself to think of one.
I then changed in one of my favourite positions –on my knees- and started fucking myself. Still nothing. I realise I start to get frustrated, so I take a deep breath and think of all things nice. I lean forward so I have to support myself with one hand, I arch my back, close my eyes, and continue to fuck myself. I get wetter, but I have no joy.
I could cry. Did I forget how to be horny? Did I forget how to orgasm or at least get close to it? What happened to me???? This is not right!
So this morning I decided to do something.
Firstly, I am going to work harder on my weight. I will be stricter in my diet and start exercising more intensely. Losing weight always makes me feel better about myself, makes me feel more attractive and gives me confidence.
The day after tomorrow I will have broadband again at home. And I will browse sites such as literotica again and print a lovely bedtime story daily.
Also, I am going to ask A. if I can attend a party. The club I went to last year has restarted parties, and slave will keep me updated about when and where, and provides me with care and protection.
I think that will get me back to “normal”. Of course, this particular period of abnormal stress will soon be over too. And I do hope, that really that is the reason for my sex-drive to be out of sorts.
There was time for some fun during work last Sunday when I was the lucky receiver of some wise words from my very wise six-year old. She was struggling doing some of her homework, and just about to get seriously angry and throwing her pen (she gets her temper from her dad!). “I hate making mistakes!” I could hear, so I try my best to calm her by explaining that mistakes are good, cause you learn from them. Still, she is not convinced and reiterates that she really hates making mistakes and that I never make any. I try not to burst out in laughter and tell her of course I do, plenty even. It is then she looks up and says:
“Forgetful is not a mistake, mum”.
Monday, July 02, 2007
THE END OF AN ERA
Ok, the title seems a tat dramatic, but it does feel like it. After all, the last three years have been quite something in this little life of me.
I have moved house, and with it I got overwhelmed with an awful lot of emotions. Totally unexpected I found myself crying, feeling very sad and as if I had lost someone dear.
Last Saturday all my stuff was put in a new house, and since then at night I went to bed fighting myself and my little one a route through unpacked boxes and stuff on the floor which has been orphaned from its cupboards.
All my free time in the week following that Saturday, I spent cleaning the old place.
At first I was ok. I only had a little crying fit on the moving day and I blame my neighbours for that entirely. They just had to come out of their houses to tell me how sorry they are to see me go. And one of them emphasised that if I ever have trouble again with my ex he would come over to help and protect me even at my new place. I went inside, emptied my kitchen cupboard and let the tears flow.
That night I was lucky enough to sleep in A’s arms, and I was determined to focus on all the good stuff about my new place.
The whole week following my time went to the cleaning up of the house. And whilst in the beginning of the week my thoughts were just filled with a bit of panic of how to get it ready in time to hand over the keys, nearing the end of the week that pressure left and my mind started wandering free again.
And how! It was strange. It started in the back garden. I was sitting on the ground picking up cut-off branches. I lifted my head to blow the hair out of my face when I saw myself in a flash. In the space between my conservatory and the fence I suddenly saw myself sitting on a bucket, relieving myself from holding up all day because I was not allowed to use my toilet all weekend. My imagination took over and I could see the dark sky and the stars I stared at those evenings, and feel the butterflies in my stomach again.
I shook off the image and continued. But the flashes came more frequently after that.
When I wiped the bedroom door I saw myself being tied to it, gagged with my breasts pressed in a bondage of rope and bamboo, my legs in a spreader.
Or when I was in my living room scrubbing a stain out of my carpet I remembered how I was in nearly that exact same position receiving the belt. Or how I assumed that position so many times in front of my webcam, plugging myself. Or… ah, so many memories in my living room.
How I loved that particular room. No windows, no direct doors to outside. The perfect place to feel free, be naked and collared, perform on webcam, feel safe,…
Of course I also have other memories, but they are just as, if not even more crazy than my BDSM experiences.
The front garden for example, where I got caught once by on of my neighbours at 2 in the morning, when I was trying to get rid of the weeds by stabbing them out with a sharp knife.
Or the sad and scary times, when I had to call the police to remove my ex from the front door.
Lots has happened and changed all the time I’ve lived there.
My little one is twice her age from when we first entered! From hardly being able to speak to writing, reading and counting (and arguing and outsmarting me). What a journey that was!
I had my first woman in that house. I made friends of my own. I discovered my true nature. I bought my first webcam, and got very close to people far away from me. I started writing. I developed a life…
Moving house has always been some sort of hobby for me. Gipsy blood, restlessness, need for change,… whatever you like to call it. I couldn’t stay anywhere very long, and moved house a hell of a lot.
So why so sad now? Why do I feel de-rooted? Seriously homesick? Completely out of sorts? As if I am grieving…
Sometimes I think I understand. That house meant a huge break for me, where I started MY life. And the move I have to make now is not the one (abroad) that I am longing for.
Hopefully that will happen soon though. And in the mean time, let’s try to fit in a few happy memories here.
I have moved house, and with it I got overwhelmed with an awful lot of emotions. Totally unexpected I found myself crying, feeling very sad and as if I had lost someone dear.
Last Saturday all my stuff was put in a new house, and since then at night I went to bed fighting myself and my little one a route through unpacked boxes and stuff on the floor which has been orphaned from its cupboards.
All my free time in the week following that Saturday, I spent cleaning the old place.
At first I was ok. I only had a little crying fit on the moving day and I blame my neighbours for that entirely. They just had to come out of their houses to tell me how sorry they are to see me go. And one of them emphasised that if I ever have trouble again with my ex he would come over to help and protect me even at my new place. I went inside, emptied my kitchen cupboard and let the tears flow.
That night I was lucky enough to sleep in A’s arms, and I was determined to focus on all the good stuff about my new place.
The whole week following my time went to the cleaning up of the house. And whilst in the beginning of the week my thoughts were just filled with a bit of panic of how to get it ready in time to hand over the keys, nearing the end of the week that pressure left and my mind started wandering free again.
And how! It was strange. It started in the back garden. I was sitting on the ground picking up cut-off branches. I lifted my head to blow the hair out of my face when I saw myself in a flash. In the space between my conservatory and the fence I suddenly saw myself sitting on a bucket, relieving myself from holding up all day because I was not allowed to use my toilet all weekend. My imagination took over and I could see the dark sky and the stars I stared at those evenings, and feel the butterflies in my stomach again.
I shook off the image and continued. But the flashes came more frequently after that.
When I wiped the bedroom door I saw myself being tied to it, gagged with my breasts pressed in a bondage of rope and bamboo, my legs in a spreader.
Or when I was in my living room scrubbing a stain out of my carpet I remembered how I was in nearly that exact same position receiving the belt. Or how I assumed that position so many times in front of my webcam, plugging myself. Or… ah, so many memories in my living room.
How I loved that particular room. No windows, no direct doors to outside. The perfect place to feel free, be naked and collared, perform on webcam, feel safe,…
Of course I also have other memories, but they are just as, if not even more crazy than my BDSM experiences.
The front garden for example, where I got caught once by on of my neighbours at 2 in the morning, when I was trying to get rid of the weeds by stabbing them out with a sharp knife.
Or the sad and scary times, when I had to call the police to remove my ex from the front door.
Lots has happened and changed all the time I’ve lived there.
My little one is twice her age from when we first entered! From hardly being able to speak to writing, reading and counting (and arguing and outsmarting me). What a journey that was!
I had my first woman in that house. I made friends of my own. I discovered my true nature. I bought my first webcam, and got very close to people far away from me. I started writing. I developed a life…
Moving house has always been some sort of hobby for me. Gipsy blood, restlessness, need for change,… whatever you like to call it. I couldn’t stay anywhere very long, and moved house a hell of a lot.
So why so sad now? Why do I feel de-rooted? Seriously homesick? Completely out of sorts? As if I am grieving…
Sometimes I think I understand. That house meant a huge break for me, where I started MY life. And the move I have to make now is not the one (abroad) that I am longing for.
Hopefully that will happen soon though. And in the mean time, let’s try to fit in a few happy memories here.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
CALM, COOL AND COLLECTED
What a week! What a day…
After a massive high last week, it was time to come down again I suppose. It has been a little bit of struggle.
With my new found strenght, I managed to be assertive on a few occasions. It is quite amazing, the feeling you get from saying NO. I feel so stupid sometimes, because everybody does it. Wether it is to a pushy sales assistant, a job at work, your child or husband. But not me. I have to muster courage for days before I finally shakenly get that two letter word out of my mouth. And then I look at my friends and colleagues, and for them it is so normal. But when I then finally do, and once I stop shaking, I find this tremendous amount of achievement. And so I have been able to enjoy that feeling a few times, which was nice.
In my previous blog I mentioned a program on Five about obedient wives. I’ve watched it eagerly, and found it to be very endearing. It didn’t come across very strong, but that is of course from my point of view. I could only imagine the upset, disbelief and indignation of most viewers. The women featured in the program followed the learnings of a book titled “the surrendered wife”. A book most interesting (people, remember, there is a birthday coming up!!) and I can’t wait to read it one day and compare with the teachings and training I had so far in submissiveness.
I talked to my dom-friend MJ about the program, and it was lovely to be fully enthousiastic about the subject without inhibition or shame. But we both predicted some sort of public disgust going on.
And we were not wrong. Only since a short while ago, I started listening to the radio. And how I regret that now. Because, on my way to work on Wednesday, as soon as I turned it on, I had to listen to a lot of verbal abuse about how ridiculous and hilarious those obedient wives were. How miserable they must be and so on. I am not exactly known for my stoicism and I got very upset about it. Now normally I would get into work, and immediately talk about whatever it is I saw that morning, telling a story, making it sound funny, and then laughing at it all myself. Then I would get on with the day and leave it behind me. Of course, this was slightly different, and didn’t feel I could say anything.
But being upset as I was, I did write to the radio station the following:
My morning didn't start of too well as the first thing I heard on my favourite radio station was the ridicule and disrespect of my personality.
No, I am not an obedient housewife, but I wish I could be. I am single, raising my child on my own, holding down a responsible, well-paid full time job. But I have a submissive nature and watched the program on Five feeling envious.
I know a lot of people don't understand. Why would anybody want to be nice to their spouse these days anyway? Why take the best care of someone, and in a selfless way put your own needs aside? Why would one accept someone else's view and decisions when instead you can argue and make life difficult and miserable?
Surely, if you make other people happy and make that your priority, you have to be totally and absolutely miserable! Even more, to honour and obey is "hilarious".
As I said, I know a lot of people do not understand. But exactly that is what makes you impossible from judging it. Not understanding does not allow you to throw rocks and stones, on the contrary.
Please, it is ok for asking the question, or be curious about something. But when you don't understand, don't disrespect. It is most hurtful!
Still not fully recovered from my upset that morning in the car, and failed to write it off me –in fact making it worse cause whilst writing the frustration built up even more, feeling inadequate finding all the right words trying to be compact (not my best feature!) and afterwards thinking of all the others things that I should have said and wanting to re-word the whole thing. This is why A. always tells me to leave a night before sending anything! And then we had a bit of fun in the office. About a book I lent to my boss (How to kill your husband and other handy household tips). We were laughing at some of the brilliant one-liners in it, when my French colleague decided for some unknown reason to suddenly include the surrendered wife book in the conversation. She then stated that the surrendered wife book should be burnt like Hitler’s books…
And so suddenly the house was too small. I shot up like a rocket and with all my might I defended submissive women all over the world. I expressed (uh… shouted out) my disgust about prejudice. When she kept on insisting and saying most ridiculous things like “those women are stripped off their personality” I was nearly in tears. So much unjust criticism, so totally unfair. Even when I explained it is “their” personality. And questioning what is so wrong with serving the one you love and putting your own needs aside and how possibly you can compare it to a racist mass-murderer?
My dear friend N (my porcelain doll) who sits at the other side of the building, heard me and started typing on MSN Messenger to me, calming me down. My boss in the mean time, came between me and my french colleague telling us to agree to disagree.
And so it ended, a rather big row I must say. I felt rather bad the rest of the day. Firstly cause I hate rows. But mostly cause I felt like shouting out really loud “I AM SUBMISSIVE”.
And nobody has ever said about me that I have no personality or that I am pathetic and miserable.
It all has made me more determined in a way, to carry out my submissiveness, not to betray it or deny myself to be myself.
Unless of course…
what if the ultimate act of submissiveness it to give it up?
The week went on and I keep to my diet very well. The plug training is going well. But otherwise I struggled a bit. I got declined by estate agents, who refuse to take me on as a tennant because of bad credit history –despite the fact that my boss wants to stand guarantee for my rent. I had a letter telling me my gas supply will be cut off after my final reminder came in last week (didn’t expect it so quickly), still tootache of hell, my solicitor who just doesn’t do a tiny thing (like answering a very simple question of mine but still cost me thousands of pounds). And then to top it off this morning I found out that my little one had been very bad in school again yesterday. I have had a lot of trouble with her, and it scares me so much because her dad is trying to take her from me. So for her to act up and behave oncontrollable in school scares me. Really frightens me. My morning started in tears. I went to work, cried all the way, feeling helpless and not knowing what to do.
Once at work, I phoned the telephone and broadband provider, because once again my line had a fault. So immediately I had to turn back home to do some tests. After dealing with the ludricous stupidity which derives from sitting in a call center 8 hours per day, I went to the council. Because after the blow from being refused by estate agents, I slept bad worrying sick about finding a house for me and my little love. Once again I am frightened to death about losing her, and the worst scenarios go through my mind about not finding a place in time.
Again lots of tears, I couldn’t stop it. I hate it, it is so humiliating. But it resulted in being raised a band of urgency for a council house.
I went back to work. Feeling exhausted. It was midday and had not eaten yet and stressed to the bone. I started talking to J. my boss about having a friend of them who is a world renowned children’s psychologist talk to my little girl. And suddenly I just collapsed. I couldn’t finish. I hung on to her, crying with all my body. After a while she sat me down and poured me a big glass of wine, which I gratefully accepted. She also offered me chocolate but (even then) I remembered my diet and didn’t take any piece. We talked for a long time, and she resolved a lot. She calls herself my good karma. I wish I could do something for her. I am sure one day that opportunity will arise. For now, I thank heaven for her.
And so tonight I saw a house. A really nice and big (yes, it does exist in England!) cottage. Very close to school and tucked away. Huge gardens and a general really lovely feel. More so, very affordable. I will know after the weekend if I can have it. Please please please, burn a candle for me.
Now it is late Friday evening, and will go to bed very soon. I caught up with a few household chores, and am listening to the sweet sound of the washing machine and the dishwasher. Suddenly I feel calm. Tomorrow I will work hard again and continue to do things right. The rest will follow…
After a massive high last week, it was time to come down again I suppose. It has been a little bit of struggle.
With my new found strenght, I managed to be assertive on a few occasions. It is quite amazing, the feeling you get from saying NO. I feel so stupid sometimes, because everybody does it. Wether it is to a pushy sales assistant, a job at work, your child or husband. But not me. I have to muster courage for days before I finally shakenly get that two letter word out of my mouth. And then I look at my friends and colleagues, and for them it is so normal. But when I then finally do, and once I stop shaking, I find this tremendous amount of achievement. And so I have been able to enjoy that feeling a few times, which was nice.
In my previous blog I mentioned a program on Five about obedient wives. I’ve watched it eagerly, and found it to be very endearing. It didn’t come across very strong, but that is of course from my point of view. I could only imagine the upset, disbelief and indignation of most viewers. The women featured in the program followed the learnings of a book titled “the surrendered wife”. A book most interesting (people, remember, there is a birthday coming up!!) and I can’t wait to read it one day and compare with the teachings and training I had so far in submissiveness.
I talked to my dom-friend MJ about the program, and it was lovely to be fully enthousiastic about the subject without inhibition or shame. But we both predicted some sort of public disgust going on.
And we were not wrong. Only since a short while ago, I started listening to the radio. And how I regret that now. Because, on my way to work on Wednesday, as soon as I turned it on, I had to listen to a lot of verbal abuse about how ridiculous and hilarious those obedient wives were. How miserable they must be and so on. I am not exactly known for my stoicism and I got very upset about it. Now normally I would get into work, and immediately talk about whatever it is I saw that morning, telling a story, making it sound funny, and then laughing at it all myself. Then I would get on with the day and leave it behind me. Of course, this was slightly different, and didn’t feel I could say anything.
But being upset as I was, I did write to the radio station the following:
My morning didn't start of too well as the first thing I heard on my favourite radio station was the ridicule and disrespect of my personality.
No, I am not an obedient housewife, but I wish I could be. I am single, raising my child on my own, holding down a responsible, well-paid full time job. But I have a submissive nature and watched the program on Five feeling envious.
I know a lot of people don't understand. Why would anybody want to be nice to their spouse these days anyway? Why take the best care of someone, and in a selfless way put your own needs aside? Why would one accept someone else's view and decisions when instead you can argue and make life difficult and miserable?
Surely, if you make other people happy and make that your priority, you have to be totally and absolutely miserable! Even more, to honour and obey is "hilarious".
As I said, I know a lot of people do not understand. But exactly that is what makes you impossible from judging it. Not understanding does not allow you to throw rocks and stones, on the contrary.
Please, it is ok for asking the question, or be curious about something. But when you don't understand, don't disrespect. It is most hurtful!
Still not fully recovered from my upset that morning in the car, and failed to write it off me –in fact making it worse cause whilst writing the frustration built up even more, feeling inadequate finding all the right words trying to be compact (not my best feature!) and afterwards thinking of all the others things that I should have said and wanting to re-word the whole thing. This is why A. always tells me to leave a night before sending anything! And then we had a bit of fun in the office. About a book I lent to my boss (How to kill your husband and other handy household tips). We were laughing at some of the brilliant one-liners in it, when my French colleague decided for some unknown reason to suddenly include the surrendered wife book in the conversation. She then stated that the surrendered wife book should be burnt like Hitler’s books…
And so suddenly the house was too small. I shot up like a rocket and with all my might I defended submissive women all over the world. I expressed (uh… shouted out) my disgust about prejudice. When she kept on insisting and saying most ridiculous things like “those women are stripped off their personality” I was nearly in tears. So much unjust criticism, so totally unfair. Even when I explained it is “their” personality. And questioning what is so wrong with serving the one you love and putting your own needs aside and how possibly you can compare it to a racist mass-murderer?
My dear friend N (my porcelain doll) who sits at the other side of the building, heard me and started typing on MSN Messenger to me, calming me down. My boss in the mean time, came between me and my french colleague telling us to agree to disagree.
And so it ended, a rather big row I must say. I felt rather bad the rest of the day. Firstly cause I hate rows. But mostly cause I felt like shouting out really loud “I AM SUBMISSIVE”.
And nobody has ever said about me that I have no personality or that I am pathetic and miserable.
It all has made me more determined in a way, to carry out my submissiveness, not to betray it or deny myself to be myself.
Unless of course…
what if the ultimate act of submissiveness it to give it up?
The week went on and I keep to my diet very well. The plug training is going well. But otherwise I struggled a bit. I got declined by estate agents, who refuse to take me on as a tennant because of bad credit history –despite the fact that my boss wants to stand guarantee for my rent. I had a letter telling me my gas supply will be cut off after my final reminder came in last week (didn’t expect it so quickly), still tootache of hell, my solicitor who just doesn’t do a tiny thing (like answering a very simple question of mine but still cost me thousands of pounds). And then to top it off this morning I found out that my little one had been very bad in school again yesterday. I have had a lot of trouble with her, and it scares me so much because her dad is trying to take her from me. So for her to act up and behave oncontrollable in school scares me. Really frightens me. My morning started in tears. I went to work, cried all the way, feeling helpless and not knowing what to do.
Once at work, I phoned the telephone and broadband provider, because once again my line had a fault. So immediately I had to turn back home to do some tests. After dealing with the ludricous stupidity which derives from sitting in a call center 8 hours per day, I went to the council. Because after the blow from being refused by estate agents, I slept bad worrying sick about finding a house for me and my little love. Once again I am frightened to death about losing her, and the worst scenarios go through my mind about not finding a place in time.
Again lots of tears, I couldn’t stop it. I hate it, it is so humiliating. But it resulted in being raised a band of urgency for a council house.
I went back to work. Feeling exhausted. It was midday and had not eaten yet and stressed to the bone. I started talking to J. my boss about having a friend of them who is a world renowned children’s psychologist talk to my little girl. And suddenly I just collapsed. I couldn’t finish. I hung on to her, crying with all my body. After a while she sat me down and poured me a big glass of wine, which I gratefully accepted. She also offered me chocolate but (even then) I remembered my diet and didn’t take any piece. We talked for a long time, and she resolved a lot. She calls herself my good karma. I wish I could do something for her. I am sure one day that opportunity will arise. For now, I thank heaven for her.
And so tonight I saw a house. A really nice and big (yes, it does exist in England!) cottage. Very close to school and tucked away. Huge gardens and a general really lovely feel. More so, very affordable. I will know after the weekend if I can have it. Please please please, burn a candle for me.
Now it is late Friday evening, and will go to bed very soon. I caught up with a few household chores, and am listening to the sweet sound of the washing machine and the dishwasher. Suddenly I feel calm. Tomorrow I will work hard again and continue to do things right. The rest will follow…
Monday, May 07, 2007
TRYING IS FAILING
A most therapeutic evening it was on Friday. As always, I had a fabulous time with MJ, but this time I could smell the NLP between laughter and fun. I had some very good lessons and gained a tremendous amount of insight in some of the things I think and do, want and need. I learned the difference between want and need too, which is helpful of course. And at the end of the evening I had one last very important, more general lesson: “Trying is Failing”.
Whenever one says I’ll try…. you can bet it will never happen. I never really thought about it, but it is so true! I’ll try to be on time is one of my old-time favourites and very often used. Or I’ll try to loose weight is another one.
I have had an enlightening week, very manifest. I have been freed from some serious depressing or better said oppressing feelings. And that resulted in some behaviour which at its turn accumulated to the freer feeling. I stopped wearing panties again, spend a lot more time being naked, masturbate with a greater awareness of how it feels, started training with but plugs again,… I am starting to find myself again and it gives me a lot of strenght. Which is of course just what I need in this difficult time.
Tonight on channel 5 is a program titled “Obedient Wives”. It tells the story of women who decided to enter the blissful world of obedience and submissiveness. I will watch it. Probably be green with envy. And so will a lot of subs in the scene with me I am sure. Because, let’s face it, these days subs are no longer allowed to be truly submissive any more. Check out the Doms’ profiles and read with me how, time after time, they are looking for a so-called sub, but really she has to be independent, have a good job, and basically be able to take all her own decisions!
What happened to good old-fashioned leadership, to taking responsibility and care in return for our submissiveness, obedience and adoration?
I suspect that the women featured on the program are possibly much more in a submissive role and also more dedicated than a lot of us in the scene. All that and no pain…
It makes me wonder. In all my jealousy, would I be happy living like a domesticated, obedient housewive? Just like that? No element of SM. In all honesty I don’t know. Despite my fear for pain, I suppose I still am some sort of masochist. No I don’t kick on pain, but I kick on standing the pain for the pleasure of my Dom. And I believe that qualifies me as a masochist. I also kick on being pushed, expected from. My Dom’s confidence and pride in me and his satisfaction are my rewards.
Talk about satisfaction… a disaster happened this week. My rabbit broke!!!
So, this is a VERY URGENT APPEAL to all who care. Please buy the biggest most rampant rabbit and send it quickly!! Please…
And so I will be turning 36 soon. And besides a rabbit and a party with strippers and whipped cream, what would I like?
A place to live would be nice. Or the right to live outside England, at least to move back to my own home country. Full official custody of my little girl. No more tootache. …
Mostly though that the friendship and love I receive now will last.
Whenever one says I’ll try…. you can bet it will never happen. I never really thought about it, but it is so true! I’ll try to be on time is one of my old-time favourites and very often used. Or I’ll try to loose weight is another one.
I have had an enlightening week, very manifest. I have been freed from some serious depressing or better said oppressing feelings. And that resulted in some behaviour which at its turn accumulated to the freer feeling. I stopped wearing panties again, spend a lot more time being naked, masturbate with a greater awareness of how it feels, started training with but plugs again,… I am starting to find myself again and it gives me a lot of strenght. Which is of course just what I need in this difficult time.
Tonight on channel 5 is a program titled “Obedient Wives”. It tells the story of women who decided to enter the blissful world of obedience and submissiveness. I will watch it. Probably be green with envy. And so will a lot of subs in the scene with me I am sure. Because, let’s face it, these days subs are no longer allowed to be truly submissive any more. Check out the Doms’ profiles and read with me how, time after time, they are looking for a so-called sub, but really she has to be independent, have a good job, and basically be able to take all her own decisions!
What happened to good old-fashioned leadership, to taking responsibility and care in return for our submissiveness, obedience and adoration?
I suspect that the women featured on the program are possibly much more in a submissive role and also more dedicated than a lot of us in the scene. All that and no pain…
It makes me wonder. In all my jealousy, would I be happy living like a domesticated, obedient housewive? Just like that? No element of SM. In all honesty I don’t know. Despite my fear for pain, I suppose I still am some sort of masochist. No I don’t kick on pain, but I kick on standing the pain for the pleasure of my Dom. And I believe that qualifies me as a masochist. I also kick on being pushed, expected from. My Dom’s confidence and pride in me and his satisfaction are my rewards.
Talk about satisfaction… a disaster happened this week. My rabbit broke!!!
So, this is a VERY URGENT APPEAL to all who care. Please buy the biggest most rampant rabbit and send it quickly!! Please…
And so I will be turning 36 soon. And besides a rabbit and a party with strippers and whipped cream, what would I like?
A place to live would be nice. Or the right to live outside England, at least to move back to my own home country. Full official custody of my little girl. No more tootache. …
Mostly though that the friendship and love I receive now will last.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
GREY HAIR
I’ve announced it. No birthday party for me this year. At least, I won’t be organising one. My friends are of course more than welcome to throw me a surprise party (preferably with some strippers and lots of whipped cream handy), as long as everybody jumps up yelling “surprise” and then start complimenting me on how good I look for being 29.
What a total nightmare it is to look in the mirror these days. For starters I have gained weight. A lot of weight. Admittedly, all my own fault, and now that I am starting to feel better (more in control I suppose is what it is), I can do something about it. Hopefully quite a lot. In a month’s time A. comes for a long weekend, and it would be nice for him to get me in a slightly better shape again. A month later I have to attend our annual company party, looking dazzling for all our clients. And there are other reasons of course. I am actually hiding from some friends. I postpone outings to the pub and find excuses not to appear on webcam.
But weight is not the only reason the mirror has cracks. My hair! My –what is supposed to be- pride and joy! I saw greys… and not just one that I can quickly pull out and pretend it was never there. Oh oh, what a disaster. This is physical, undeniable proof that I am getting older. Me! Getting older!! Somebody must be having a joke…
To make it worse, A. mentioned I was getting a bit older, and therefore less resilient against staying up all night, drinking a whole bottle of wine. He tried to comfort me by saying that there are good things about getting older. So I challenged him and asked what exactly could possibly be so good about that. Other than the supposedly getting wiser, he himself could not think up anything. And as we all know, wisdom has not reached me yet!
I did however find the most endearing poem about this very subject, called “Warning” by Jenny Joseph. It is better known as “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple”. It basically describes this woman looking forward to her old age, during which she can let go, do crazy things and behave outrageously. Now that I call a pro for old age! But, do I really need to wait some more decades for this? Am I in fact not crazy enough, and behave weird? And yes, I do already wear purple.
Knowing yourself is the start of all wisdom. This is one of my favorite sayings of both my parents. And rightly so I believe. It is so incredibly hard to be completely objective and honest about yourself.
7words is a method of getting to the core of your personality, getting to understand yourself a little. I do love a good personality test! And MJ had taken this test about a year ago already. The result showed that I have difficulties saying “no”, but otherwise I am a sociable person.
The website tells you to take the test regularly. You can see how you change, hopefully progress. And so, before putting the link up on my blog, I took it again. And guess… nothing changed. Still I am told that I am a free-spirit, somebody with good social skills who can make friends etc. But on the other hand I am a pushover, totally unable to say no or be assertive. Or, put in other words: I was, and still am the perfect slut!
What a total nightmare it is to look in the mirror these days. For starters I have gained weight. A lot of weight. Admittedly, all my own fault, and now that I am starting to feel better (more in control I suppose is what it is), I can do something about it. Hopefully quite a lot. In a month’s time A. comes for a long weekend, and it would be nice for him to get me in a slightly better shape again. A month later I have to attend our annual company party, looking dazzling for all our clients. And there are other reasons of course. I am actually hiding from some friends. I postpone outings to the pub and find excuses not to appear on webcam.
But weight is not the only reason the mirror has cracks. My hair! My –what is supposed to be- pride and joy! I saw greys… and not just one that I can quickly pull out and pretend it was never there. Oh oh, what a disaster. This is physical, undeniable proof that I am getting older. Me! Getting older!! Somebody must be having a joke…
To make it worse, A. mentioned I was getting a bit older, and therefore less resilient against staying up all night, drinking a whole bottle of wine. He tried to comfort me by saying that there are good things about getting older. So I challenged him and asked what exactly could possibly be so good about that. Other than the supposedly getting wiser, he himself could not think up anything. And as we all know, wisdom has not reached me yet!
I did however find the most endearing poem about this very subject, called “Warning” by Jenny Joseph. It is better known as “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple”. It basically describes this woman looking forward to her old age, during which she can let go, do crazy things and behave outrageously. Now that I call a pro for old age! But, do I really need to wait some more decades for this? Am I in fact not crazy enough, and behave weird? And yes, I do already wear purple.
Knowing yourself is the start of all wisdom. This is one of my favorite sayings of both my parents. And rightly so I believe. It is so incredibly hard to be completely objective and honest about yourself.
7words is a method of getting to the core of your personality, getting to understand yourself a little. I do love a good personality test! And MJ had taken this test about a year ago already. The result showed that I have difficulties saying “no”, but otherwise I am a sociable person.
The website tells you to take the test regularly. You can see how you change, hopefully progress. And so, before putting the link up on my blog, I took it again. And guess… nothing changed. Still I am told that I am a free-spirit, somebody with good social skills who can make friends etc. But on the other hand I am a pushover, totally unable to say no or be assertive. Or, put in other words: I was, and still am the perfect slut!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
MORE IMPORTANT
I’ve been struggling lately. Life had become less than pleasurable. Overwhelmed with stress, fear, anxiety, sadness, and more than once downright despair.
But I am fighting, with all my might. And fighting I have to keep doing, as the bad luck keeps on coming back to hit me in the face. Although now, with every hit I get, I do feel getting stronger. Very much like getting physical blows. And one day this will be over, a new phase in my life will start. And how will I glow !!
However, no matter how strong I would like to be, it is still hard and at times I just don’t feel like participating in life. So when I am not being sociable, stay offline for days or sometimes even weeks, not answer my phone or texts, please forgive me.
To write about it all is not something I feel like doing. Not because it is too hard or something, but because this blog was originally meant as some story-telling about becoming a good slave. Now I am not a slave, and have to forget that ambition. So the blog will go in a completely different direction –ah, this is life of course !. But I would still like to make it predominantly about BDSM and its role in my life. I certainly do not want to make it a rant about difficult court cases, nasty exes and money-raking no-good solicitors. Not to mention unruly children and uncooperating schools or even worse the tootache-saga! (so, got that off my chest then…)
Today my unhappiness got put in perspective again. A while ago, I asked everybody to burn a candle for the little boy of my colleague, who seemed to be in some sort of coma. That coma, as I now understand it, was induced by medication, after the little boy suffered a heart attack. The consequences from this event is that the boy’s brain got damaged and is now still, nearly a year after it happened, under 24 hour care, cannot walk or talk. But he has now recently started to brighten the days of his parents with an occasional smile.
Read the full story, written by my colleage –the little boy’s dad.
Jack's Story
And so lately, with all the struggling and fighting, there is lots of provocation to start thinking about what is really important. And if you read Jack’s story, just about anything fades away in comparison. Nevertheless, last week I discovered the importance of my relationship with A, when he helped me talk, let me cry my heart out and then stroked my hair and face patiently till I fell asleep.
I miss him.
But I am fighting, with all my might. And fighting I have to keep doing, as the bad luck keeps on coming back to hit me in the face. Although now, with every hit I get, I do feel getting stronger. Very much like getting physical blows. And one day this will be over, a new phase in my life will start. And how will I glow !!
However, no matter how strong I would like to be, it is still hard and at times I just don’t feel like participating in life. So when I am not being sociable, stay offline for days or sometimes even weeks, not answer my phone or texts, please forgive me.
To write about it all is not something I feel like doing. Not because it is too hard or something, but because this blog was originally meant as some story-telling about becoming a good slave. Now I am not a slave, and have to forget that ambition. So the blog will go in a completely different direction –ah, this is life of course !. But I would still like to make it predominantly about BDSM and its role in my life. I certainly do not want to make it a rant about difficult court cases, nasty exes and money-raking no-good solicitors. Not to mention unruly children and uncooperating schools or even worse the tootache-saga! (so, got that off my chest then…)
Today my unhappiness got put in perspective again. A while ago, I asked everybody to burn a candle for the little boy of my colleague, who seemed to be in some sort of coma. That coma, as I now understand it, was induced by medication, after the little boy suffered a heart attack. The consequences from this event is that the boy’s brain got damaged and is now still, nearly a year after it happened, under 24 hour care, cannot walk or talk. But he has now recently started to brighten the days of his parents with an occasional smile.
Read the full story, written by my colleage –the little boy’s dad.
Jack's Story
And so lately, with all the struggling and fighting, there is lots of provocation to start thinking about what is really important. And if you read Jack’s story, just about anything fades away in comparison. Nevertheless, last week I discovered the importance of my relationship with A, when he helped me talk, let me cry my heart out and then stroked my hair and face patiently till I fell asleep.
I miss him.
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