blind obedience or stupidity?

As a consequence of my personal problems, I have distanced myself from other submissives and left the group I was running. Its hard to support others when your mind is preoccupied and your questioning everything you do as a submissive, am I qualified to offer anyone advise?  The decisions he has taken in my life, the things I have accepted, I would never encourage another submissive to do the same. In fact I would probably advise a great degree of caution. Saying all this, I will try not to make this post too depressing but this blog will be my emotional outlet so I make no promises. Three weeks yesterday he pierced my right nipple. Its healing, the ring runs smoothly and the cleaning fluid no longer burns and importantly, wearing a bra is now comfortable. I have large breasts and that’s made it a little more difficult. Though I would also suggest anyone who considers a nipple piercing use a bar rather than a ring, the ball on the rings just catch everything. His plan was to do one and allow that to recover before doing the other, a plan I was originally happy with. Truth be told though I would not volunteer to do the other one, he has though said he would happily leave it at the one. In time though I know he will want to do the other despite his comment and I know I will accept it. On a related note, I do not know why women would voluntarily put themselves through this in the name of vanity? The weeks following Christmas have not been easy. He has enforced a little more structure and discipline in my life with him, the structure and pain keeps a handle on my moods and enforces my obedience. He made me wear my collar one night in bed, a mixture of leather and metal, so it would not be quiet to wear, nor comfortable, but despite how unwelcome it felt at the beginning, it made me feel owned, it made me feel cared for.  Not all of this may have not been welcome, it was however needed and perhaps necessary for my state of mind and ultimately our relationship. Being him, he is not content with my obedience and in the last couple of weeks he has wanted further evidence of my submission. While knelt on the floor in front of the sofa he presented me with two options. Neither options were going to be pleasant, but they weren’t supposed to be. One of the choices he gave to me would result in me inserting a needle in to my left nipple. I asked him why and could not understand why he wanted further evidence of my submission given that a week earlier I had acquiesced to his wishes and accepted another submissive in our lives for him. He said to  me recently he does not make that many demands of me compared to other submissives and I know he is right, it just the demands recently have been particularly great. It showed me a side of him I had never truly seen, it also showed me how much he could manipulate me and if he so chose, abuse me. In all honesty it scared me. I don’t know how to move on, my thoughts aren’t with me all the time, but small acts trigger my doubts and insecurities about him. I’m scared of letting go of what’s happened, because the inevitable consequence will be trusting him again. Though to be happy I have to trust him. Its funny, I will obey him, but I don’t completely trust him, is that blind obedience or stupidity?

Submission

 

I am not a rag doll, but it feels as though he can put his hand inside of my head and tug on pulleys and flick switches without my consent. Does that make sense, probably sounds insane? I am deeply susceptible to his dominant charms, especially sexually, I crave his sexual dominance, but even that would not have been enough under these circumstances. I will not go in to the details of why this week has been tumultuous other than other than to say he has shaken me to the core. Despite his betrayal, he has reaffirmed his control over me, he is my master and I am his submissive (in his mind slave). Should I be aroused, should I be delighted? Truth be told this scares me. I desired submission, but I never considered that the circumstances in our relationship would leave me unwilling to submit to him. Does that mean I wanted submission only on my terms? Whether I did or didn’t, the truth is that it is not truly on my terms and he has shown me just how much he can make me bend to his will. He made me his a long, long time ago and even his recent actions did not prevent him reasserting his control over me. He did not punish me to reassert his control. I let him hold me, but I wanted no more than that and even the gentlest touch of his fingers on my nipples was unwelcome. I knew what he was doing, getting back inside my head again and this continued with a few words in my ear, even though I asked him not to do this. Like Samson, my hair is also a weak point and he continued touching me with the firm strokes from my hairbrush. This was the second day and the hardest day emotionally, though he would have my submission, my trust will take longer to earn. The following day I made “demands” due to my lack of trust, however well phrased I thought they were at the time, these were subsequently not well received. I thought he had agreed to them, to be later told that they were unacceptable. We were in the living room at the time, the house to ourselves and I had been resting beside him on the sofa. Even if he agreed to my “demands” first thing that morning, the moment he told me to get the heavy cane was the moment it became clear that they were no longer acceptable. I walked upstairs, accepting the inevitable in my head while searching through our toys for the cane. The canes are always easy to find, in an arrow tube in our wardrobe and so I returned quickly, just a few minutes later. I returned to the living room and he was still sitting on the sofa as I handed him the cane. As per his instructions I closed the living room curtains before undressing, my clothes abandoned on the floor. He instructed me to bend over in front of the coffee table, my backside sticking out in the air as I leaned on the coffee table with my hands supporting my weight. He did not say a word before this happened, though I knew why he was about to punish me. As the strokes landed I began counting in my head knowing that he would expect this, hoping that I could keep an accurate account. Some of the strokes had me standing on tip toes and others had me wanting to cower in to the floor. The pain from each moment had to be dismissed as he expected me to be in the correct position for every stroke. I hope he would stop at twelve, though when he said to count to eighteen and I should tell him when that figure was reached that set my expectations. Nineteen strokes later he stopped, my backside relieved even as I knelt on the floor in front of him. He did not follow this up with any form of sexual pleasure which was most unlike him and in truth it did not even dawn on me that he hadn’t as he instead instructed me to make him a gin and tonic. This was most unlike him, even after punishment he has always taken his pleasure, I had obviously angered him, though that had never been my intention. He had always intended to pierce my nipples over Christmas, though I did not expect him to follow through after what had happened. The following day he made it clear that he intended to follow through. I asked him if he would reconsider this, his reply was unsurprisingly no. I accepted my fate and fetched the required “materials” from the draw under our bed. With heavy legs I walked up our stairs and entered our bedroom. Within minutes I found the Betadine and nipple piercing kit, but even as I was looking it went through my head did I really want to do this? The answer was no, but this was for him and given the circumstances it was also a means for him to stamp his mark of ownership on me (something I had always desired), not that he needed to do so. I can be playful cheeky with him sometimes, but when it comes down to it I may as well have slave tattooed inside my head, for even if I do not see myself as one it is how I behave at times. He was sitting on the floor when I returned to the living room, waiting for me, though at least he didn’t look impatient. Still naked I lay down on the floor next to him, my backside still sore and the carpet wasn’t helping with that. Very few words passed between us at this point, other than his instructions to move closer. I wasn’t really watching what he was doing, I didn’t want to think what he was about to do to me. I wanted something to hold on to, but I had nothing other than the blanket he had put on the carpet beneath me. I felt him wipe down my right breast before he said “sharp prick coming..” and then out came a scream. It felt like an eternity as he pierced my right nipple, though he told me afterwards it had only taken around five seconds to do so. I tried to look up to see it, but he told me to lie back down as he hadn’t quite finished, he still had to close the piercing with the ball. I personally had quite enough of it by then and made a few more noises as he sealed the ring. He told me I could sit up, surprised and relieved that he had no intention of doing the other nipple. He said he wanted to see how well the other nipple healed first. I felt a bit dizzy as I tried to sit up, so instead lay there for a while longer. The pain, a constant distraction that remained with me all night and days later I am still struggling. My left nipple is also suffering as I no longer have two for him to play with and the left one is going to end up as sore as the right one at this rate!

Nipple Piercings

 

I haven’t been well this weekend, in truth I am still not feeling well, a chest infection. Being the caring dominant that he is, he has been running around after me, ladies never accept anything less. Your dominant (a good dominant) should care for you as much as you do for them, as he would say he takes good care of his possessions. As a consequence of this, my writing will be somewhat briefer than usual. This will not be a deep and meaningful post, though there are many words in my head for that. Piercing is the topic of conversation, well to be precise, nipple piercings.  The motivation for this topic is simply the package that arrived in the post this weekend. He handed me this little clear plastic packet and it took me a minute to recognise the contents. At the same moment he said it was a nipple piercing set, I caught sight of the barbells in the plastic bag. This took me back for a moment as he had made no mention of this, not even in passing. I have always known that there would come a point in time when he would try again, but we have never discussed when that would be, other than my nipples needed to heal. So as soon as I see the bag it triggered the memories of me laying flat on my back on the floor in his office, naked. At least I didn’t have any fear of our daughter walking in on us as she was having a sleepover at a friend’s house. The biggest issue was that I had no hand to squeeze to death as he put the needles through my nipples. Of course, I can’t hold on to his hand as he needs them free. I have taken no drugs, no alcohol and there is no sub space to assist with the pain as he pushes the needles through. I remember thinking do I really want to go through with the other and I am sure he tells me one would look odd. At one point I go in to a state of panic as it appears as if something isn’t right, but at that point he isn’t telling me what, I think it was his contentment with the alignment of the piercing. I remember feeling dizzy as I tried to sit up and he had me rest for longer. So if he’s already piercing my nipples, well why is he doing it again? Sadly one of them became infected after about three weeks and he subsequently took both of them out, rather than leaving one of them in. I had experienced play piercings before this, but I believe the needles had never been so big. It wasn’t just about the size, play piercings had always occurred within the context of a scene and under these circumstances my mind accepts pain easier. If anyone has any suggestions on how he could make this easier on me (assuming he would want to as he is a sadist) then I am all ears. So now I am faced with a replay of this affair, knowing full well how much its going to hurt this time, along with the daily aftercare. With hindsight, I think the aftercare is worse than the initial piercing.  At least you only have to pierce it once, whereas the turning daily can be incredibly sore and it goes on for a considerable length of time. I speak as if I do not welcome it, in truth I am mixed, I appreciate the beauty of piercings and I know he desires the end result. Though I think neither of us will appreciate the time required for healing before he or I could begin to play with them again. When it happens I will write a blog post.

Punishment – The Highs and Lows of Submission

 

I would call this the highs and lows, the life of a submissive. Some of you may find this post arousing, others may empathise with the feelings and experiences and there are of course those who will read it with horror. I am struggling with life at the moment, I cannot pin point one particular cause as I believe there are many, but what I can say is that this is having an impact on my behaviour and my moods. Submissives by their very nature desire to please, but I can whole heartedly say I am not doing that right now. I do not want to go in to the reasons why, but the end result is negative and unwelcomed by him. He will always give me time, time to adjust my behaviour and attitude. He will try to charm me around, if this fails, there are varying ways to correct my behaviour. If charm or subtle hints do not work, then comes the silent treatment. If I wasn’t aware of his unhappiness with me before, the silent treatment usually bring the message home as he knows I hate being ignored. However, the message wasn’t hitting home this time and he took matters in to his own hands. It was early morning and still very dark outside. I hadn’t slept well spending most of the night restlessly tossing and turning in our bed. I lost count of the number of times I turned over, but the last time I did I felt his arms snake around me pulling me towards him.  Was I truly in the mood for this?  No, but my mood at the time isn’t always relevant and especially with the way I had been behaving recently it would be considered less so. I did not fight him, he pulled my naked body backwards, my back into his chest and with both hands he began to play with my nipples, his fingers were tickling them, annoying me. I half heartedly tried to stop him with my hand, knowing that if he really wanted to do this he would, and my hands would be pushed out of the way. My memory of this night is vague though it was only two nights ago now, so this story will not be a perfect recollection of the nights events. He continued to toy with my nipples for a moment longer, even when the pressure and pain increased, I had no desire for his attentions to continue. He withdrew one of his hands and quickly covered my mouth and nose with the whole of his hand, an activity I usually enjoy for the briefest of moments. I struggled and pulled away from his grip on my face as quickly as I could. His fingers ran over my face, and I feared that he would cover my mouth again and I tried to evade what I thought was going to be inevitable. This though was not his intention; two of his fingers slowly forced their way in to my mouth, pushing deep down into my throat, making me gag. In that moment I desperately wanted his fingers out of my mouth, though any other time I would have welcomed this invasion being aroused by it. He continued toying with me and randomly, I tried to deny him until he pushed my arms behind my back, at which point I gave in. I stopped pushing him away and let it happen, I always give in and I knew he had no intention of giving up. In truth though, I would never have wanted a dominant who just rolled over and gave in at my slightest resistance. He took his hand off my body, moved away from me and slid off the bed. I did not turn over and look to see what he was doing, I never do. He returned seconds later, his cool body slid in beside me, but there was one part of his anatomy that was not cool. His left hand slipped under my body and his right hand held on to the base of my breast firmly. I felt the gentle tap of the cane on my nipples, I would have considered it pleasant at other times and under other circumstances. The gentle tap increased and it began to sting, but it didn’t last as he grabbed hold of my nipple and twisted firmly. I did not feel aroused but began to writhe around on the bed from the pain. He relinquished his grip on my nipple and scraped my hair away from my right ear before whispering in to it, “Who am I?” I knew exactly what he wanted me to say, though despite his expectations, I remained silent. I never sought a man who could control me the way he can, a man that could be the master of my life but in my husband I found him. Twice more he asked me that question, swallowing hard on nothing but the saliva in my mouth, I replied in a hoarse, “My Master.” He wasn’t ready to let this go and asked me what does that mean. In a quiet voice I replied, “I should not disobey you, I should want to please you.” A very brief conversation ensued where in I admitted I had behaved most inappropriately in recent times. He told me to lie across the bottom of the bed and slowly I scrambled up on to all fours and edged to the end. It was the middle of the night and the room felt cold. I felt very on edge. I turned around on all fours, my head facing the wardrobe doors and my backside facing his side of the bed, I knew his intentions. He told me to count out loud, something he never does and frequently I lose the count in my head, at least this time I shouldn’t and didn’t lose track of the coming strokes He had the heavier of our canes, the one we call the dragon cane as it landed hard on my rear I could not dispute the name came from the fire it ‘breathed’. He did not tell me how many would follow, nor did he tell me why he was doing this. This was not for pleasure, this was a reminder of my place in our relationship and as much as I did not welcome it at the time, it was, and is the right thing for me. I know many people may not understand and will certainly disapprove of the way we conduct our relationship, but that is for them to worry about, not me. This for me is better than any prescription from the doctor or bottle from the supermarket. Was there a swish before hand? I cannot recall. I do recall the instant it landed and my attempt to voice the word “one” as I was required to do. I couldn’t describe the pain as stinging, for it wasn’t, it was a deep pain which drove down into the depths of my flesh, it’s fire spreading all over my backside. I maintained the position expected of me counting each stroke, though after the third stroke my feet had started to rise up behind me, as if I were in a vain attempting to protect my burning backside. I felt the cane pushing down on the base of my feet, he wanted them moved out of the way and of course I complied with the unsaid request for I know him well. At the count of six I could no longer remain still and this is where I put my arm out and moved away from him on the bed. An act he completely unwelcomed and he firmly told me to return back to my position. I hesitated for the briefest of moments, knowing to return would mean more strokes of the cane and perhaps even more punishment for moving in the first place. He never binds me for punishment, believing that my own mind is sufficient bondage and knowing that I enjoy being tied so much that it would seem to make this a pleasure rather than a punishment. I returned with as much haste as I could muster, given the state of the bed linen and my sore behind. I reassumed my position, but joy nothing happened there were no further strokes. I realised why, in my returning I had already proved my obedience. He could have gone further, he could have punished me more, but he had made his point and his demand for my obedience had been met. The story was not quite finished there, his need is always inevitable and I deep throated him to relief. For me however this was a punishment and there was no orgasm, despite the wetness between my legs and my desire to be released from the agony of my arousal.

Self deprecation

 

I should warn you now, this will not be my conventional style of post and definitely a different tone, but it will ultimately give you an insight in to me. Isn’t it funny how one simple act triggers memories from your childhood? To give you some background, my husband is a lover of Cambridge Footlights actors/actresses and Stephen Fry (along with Hugh Laurie) was a member of this theatre group. Amongst my husband’s collection of books, he also possesses Stephen Fry’s autobiography on CD. I don’t know why, but the CD player in the kitchen seemed the appropriate place for me to listen to it this morning. Despite listening to Stephen Fry’s upbeat voice, I felt somewhat mixed after listening to one of the CDs.  He conveyed his childhood so well, but every joke was tinged with sadness, for every joke was self deprecating. When you can joke about yourself in this way, is this an acceptance of self or a self defence mechanism? It was a behaviour I indulged in many a time through my own childhood and in to adulthood. I would laugh about myself before anyone else could. It was also an attempt at making friends, putting myself down in front of another, which looking back was a subservient behaviour. In hindsight it was foolish, no one should deprecate themselves to develop friendships, no matter how submissive the individual is. They say submissive’s are strong, outgoing, assertive individuals and that may be the case with many, but not with me. I am not sure when I stopped doing this, though I think it was in the early years of my working life. At this point in my life I had friendships, I attempted to be sociable, but ultimately I would have described myself as shy. I look back and wonder why my behaviour changed and in truth I can only attribute it two things, my now husband and master and the scene that I had become embroiled in. I developed friendships with people that accepted who I was and who had no expectations of how I should look and how I should behave. That acceptance reassured me, I didn’t have to be anyone different. I look back now with fond memories, but I still distinctly remember the fear I felt before meeting people in the scene. I am sure I was convinced that they would all be two headed, or at the very least distinctive in their appearance, surely people in this lifestyle couldn’t look normal? J Ultimately though I attribute some of the major changes in my life to him, he made me feel special, important, he made me feel wanted and he helped me accept who I was and what I wanted.  I struggled for some years to come to terms with my submissive and masochistic nature and even the simplest desires, such as being spanked, seemed quite contrary to the expectations I had of me and how a modern day woman should behave. Ultimately that was one of my easier desires to accept, what made it hard was the depth of submission I desired to explore.  I look back now and wonder why I worried so much, why I feared so much, but that comes with dare I say inevitable aging, experience and acceptance of ones needs and wants.

At last too bed

 

This was not a normal day, but definitely a memorable day. To see the beginning of this day, please click here. So where was I…? The wood was smooth not rough, no risk of splinters then with this toy. He doesn’t like causing unnecessary damage to his property and in fact moans about my body forever being covered in bruises. I should probably add at this point that the majority of my bruises are caused by me walking in to things, I am somewhat clumsy. He does not mind the ones he puts there himself! The poles were pushing down hard on the base of my swollen breasts. My erect nipples had become taut from the clamp and I dared wonder for a moment what they would feel like with a nipple clamp attached. The wooden pole pressed against my rib cage, though the pleasure I felt in my nipples distracted me from that particular discomfort. He began to flick my nipples with his fingers, my desires increasing with every flick and I hoped for more. He told me lie down on the bed and stretches my arms and legs out. It was hard to move with the contraption strapped to my breasts, it required careful movement if I did not want to hurt myself or him with the ends of the poles. The tone in his voice changed, lowering an octave as he called out the word “arms.” I think he was losing his patience with me. I tried to hurry up as quickly as I could. I did think of a sarcastic reply but didn’t think he would approve and neither would my behind. I heard him loop rope, it such a distinctive sound, through the cuffs attached my wrists. Subsequently my arms were pulled in the direction of the bed head. Moments later my legs were equally secured to the baseboard, my legs stretched out wide, leaving my carefully trimmed intimate  bits fully exposed. The story becomes somewhat confused in my head after this as all the tortures begin to merge together. He played with my nipples gently, though the breast clamp amplified any gentle touches I felt. The sensual feeling did not last long as he replaced his fingers with a pair of clover clamps instead. They can be painful under normal circumstances, but these were truly hurting. I became alarmed for a moment. I thought I heard my daughter walking around on the landing and that moment would not have been a good time for visitors. He told me that I must have been hearing things and to stop worrying. With that, he took the opportunity to slap my breasts, they were already aching and I stifled a cry. Forever conscientious of my safety, he checked the temperature and colour of my breasts. He commented that he still had more time, they weren’t ready to fall off yet. He stood up and I watched him walk towards the wardrobe, I closed my eyes not daring to consider what may come next. I felt so tired and my eyes remain closed until the crop made contact with the clover clamps. I yelled out, wishing I had a ball gag in my mouth to muffle the noises. Panicked a little by my yell, I listened intently for our contraception to start wandering about on the landing anticipating the call of mommy and the inevitable end to our play. He looked at me quizzically for a moment, smiled, and asked “Did you hear a bomb go off?” “No.” I replied. Still smiling he said. “Then she is still asleep.” He rooted around in the under bed draw for a moment and brought out two bungee cords and attached them between the clover clamps on my nipples and the bedstead, almost stretched to their limit they pulled hard on my nipples making me wince. He placed the Hitachi with its dildo adapter between my legs and pushed hard, I was so wet it slid in with little effort. Switching it on he looked at me and asked “Darling are you ready to cum for me?” Having waited all day for this, I whispered back “Yes!” God I’m a dirty bitch…

His Toys

 

This is not a normal day, our life doesn’t allow for such entertainment during the day, but I relish every moment of it. To see the beginning of this day, please click here. They love to leave us in a state of anticipation and he does enjoy watching me suffer this way. After he disappeared out in to the garage I let my desires burn out, I had to so I could get on with the household chores. They say a woman’s work is never done and isn’t that the truth, I should add I am not complaining here, its just that there is an endless set of tasks, whether its cleaning, cooking, washing or tidying up our daughter’s bedroom. No matter how bright or capable she is, she doesn’t seem to have grasped the simple things, like making her bed or tidying up her room. I think she is following her father’s trait of not seeing disorder. Lunchtime approaches and I think of him working hard in the garage, it must be time for a cup of coffee and I imagine he would also like something to eat. Being the dutiful wife and submissive I attend to those needs, though there is no more Valhalla coffee, so he will have to make do with a strong freeze dried. To accompany his coffee, a cheese and pickle sandwich, we have no white bread only granary and of course the butter must be spread to the edge of the bread! He will never stop being pedantic. I take out his lunch only to find him standing in front of his welder, though it doesn’t look much like his welder anymore. It’s all in pieces on the floor. He tells me in a heartbroken voice, “it’s broken.” I look at him and then back at it and nod empathetically. How do you console a man who’s got a broken toy? You give him food! I push the sandwich in to his face and he looks at me like a little puppy, I do have a moment of sympathy and then it suddenly dawns on me, no welder, and no toy! He goes on to tell me it does not look repairable, then smiles at me before saying, “it’s replaceable.” Being the typical woman I am, I think of all the things that need replacing in the house and should a welder come before them? Well whatever I think is not relevant and he goes on to say he will buy a new one at the end of the month. The frame he’d begun to construct sits on the work bench, it barely resembles the design he explained to me. I feel a moment of loss, what fun we could have had, though I am sure he will come up with another idea to satisfy both our needs. His garage, like his office is an Aladdin’s cave. You notice how I say it’s his garage. It’s a workshop, with a lathe, drill and all manner of other man toys that I keep my distance from. The eves and corners of the garage are rammed full with tat, he says it’s useful tat. Wood and metal in all various shapes, to his mind all useful I am sure. He goes on to tell me that he has a new idea, no welder required. A breast crusher. It’s not a new idea, it’s an old, one of his many which he has yet to realise. While disassembling the welder he redeveloped the design in his head, the new improved breast crusher and now he just needs to check what materials he has in the garage. While he continues to explain the materials required and how he will build it, I think about the possibilities. The last thing I really remember him saying to me was that it would be ready for that night, at least for a trial fitting anyway. I leave him working in the garage and disappear back in to the house, planning dinner, Alicia’s early bedtime and our evening’s entertainment. I really shouldn’t be getting carried away at this point as I do not yet know if he will have it finished for tonight, he might not have all the parts. It’s now eight o’clock, the evening has gone quickly and I still feel full from dinner. Alicia is in bed, sound asleep and I am a little worn out, but still energized like the Duracell bunny. I take my time in the shower, preparing my body in the way he likes, though he has accepted that a hairless pussy is not an option for me these days. The scent of the conditioner fills the shower room as I wrap myself in a short thick terry towelling robe and dry my hair with a towel very quickly. I check on Alicia again, she is out for the count, very similar to her fathers sleeping patterns. It would take an earth quake to wake both of them, or the smell of bacon cooking in the morning. I go back to the bedroom and text him as we had agreed. At this point I know he is going out to the garage to retrieve the toy. I have yet to see it, he has though told me it’s not perfect and is sure that it will require some adjustment. This gives me a moment to put my hair up in a bun and this would have been the moment to slip in to some sexy lingerie, but he prefers me naked. I would kneel naked on the bed for him if it weren’t for my daughter. Until he is in the bedroom and we can lock the bedroom door, I cannot risk it. I remain seated in my robe on the bed, until the bedroom door opens fully. I am sure it isn’t my daughter and my suspicions are correct as he stands in the doorway with two long wooden poles in his hands. He walks through the doorway, leans them up against the bedroom wall, shuts and lastly locks the bedroom door. I smother a sigh of relief, my daughter is nowhere in sight and does not appear to have been disturbed by our activities. I stare at his homemade contraption whilst attempting to remove my robe. I am somewhat distracted and fumble with a robe belt! It is still leaning against the bedroom wall and I wonder to myself how heavy it must have been that he needed to put them down before locking the door. I hope to god that he doesn’t put his back out again, that would certainly ruin any plans I had for the Hitachi wand tonight. He puts them in my arms and I am surprised as they are not as heavy as I thought. His toy consists of two wooden poles, about two inches in diameter and they measure approximately one metre long. The poles are joined with metal rods which he calls stud and they secure the poles together using wing nuts. The stud is located at two points and he unscrews the wing nuts to pull the poles apart.  He takes the wooden poles off me and places them alongside me on the bed. He looks me in the eyes, the whites of his beam at me like the moon. His command follows quickly afterwards, “the collar and the leather cuffs for your wrists and ankles.” I slip quickly off the edge of the bed, open his bedside draw and retrieve the key for our under bed draws. We had to secure those a long time ago, Alicia went looking for Christmas presents one year, as all children do and found our toy collection. Luckily for us, she was too young to recognise what they were and still doesn’t remember to this day. It takes me a minute to unlock, retrieve the toys and return back to my position on the bed. I remain kneeling as I put the collar on myself. I begin to feel his impatience and yes I know I should have done this already, or at least have been prepared to do so. The black wide thick leather padded cuffs fit my wrists as snugly as usual and I envisage that he will secure both of my hands behind my back. He does not, I should know better by now as even after these years he still likes to keep me on my toes. In a firm voice he tells me to put my hands beside me on the bed and I do so, but my curiosity about my fate fades as he begins to tug gently on my hair. I stare at the bedroom wall, though not really seeing it. The cream colour holds no interest for my eyes, but I am still drawn to the space until his voice pulls me back. He tells me to grip both of my nipples firmly and pull my breasts out away from my chest. The pressure and pain makes me wince for just a moment, though the appearance of the breast crusher distracts my mind from the sensations in my nipples. My breasts slip in-between the two poles easily and come to rest at the base of my breasts. I look down to see him turning the wing nuts on the studs, as the nuts twist further down the bar, I feel the cool firm grip of wood pressing down on my breasts. Last post

Being his submissive is never boring..

 

This is my life, well to be exact my life from yesterday, not an excerpt from the book. Okay he is at home today. Whilst I love his presence, it does hinder me around the house! To begin with, I have just spent hour or so of what was actually going to be a busy morning for me, sitting with my boobs on show. Ah! Play you say, but you would be wrong I say. Read on dear friends I got the offspring out the door to school having gone through the usual last minute whinge about, you have not signed this for my school trip and it needs to be in today. So we have the, No I have not, because this is the first time you are showing it to me conversation with more whingeing etc. As much as I love her Jesus Mary and Joseph I sometimes I wish I could get a warranty replacement! The car pool is waiting outside for which we have a two minute rule. If your child is not in the car within two minutes of the horn sounding you are taking ‘IT’ yourself which works well most of the time. So I signed the form without really reading it or knowing what it’s going to cost or even what it’s for, just to get peace and her in the car. It could be skydiving in Outer Mongolia for all I know… I ponder that for a moment and dismiss the thought as wishful thinking. More importantly though I am hoping I can get to the coffee machine before he has the last of it and I have to make more, then sit for five and collect my thoughts. I do not know anyone who drinks as much coffee as he does in the morning. The brand he likes comes from the US and is called ‘Valhalla Java Odinforce Blend’ from Death Wish Coffee. It is supposed to be the highest caffeine content in the world. Google it girls I am not joking! Surprisingly it has a smooth taste to it, which despite the strength I rather like. He likes it with a small amount of salt in the filter saying it smooth’s the flavour. I think it just adds to the death wish and when I nag him (very carefully, there is flogging and there is flogging if you know what I mean) about the health issues of salt. He just gives me that there there dear look. Responding it’s within my 6 gram limit for the day. To give him his due he has little salt on anything else and never cooks with it. Being married to someone who knows a lot about health care when you do not is a real pain. The amazing thing is, he is, with all that caffeine, still functioning like a normal human being and not a screaming maniac. I hear him as he comes tramping through the back door in his heavy boots from the garage and does what I feared, he has the last of the coffee! I can smell the distinctive scent of burnt metal over his Dior aftershave. He has been welding and has an odd looking frame in his gloved hand still smoking slightly at one end. Without a kiss, cuddle or the more usual nipple squeeze, his normal way of greeting me. He asks me if our daughter has gone to school? Odd how she is always ours when she is being good and mine when there is a problem, I say “yes” and start to explain about the trip he nods sagely and says nothing in reply. I know it’s a mom problem and I can see he has other things on his mind. “Upstairs now I need you.” I smile hopefully, as he heads upstairs and think promising! Daughter is out, he is home and he needs me upstairs. If you have kids you know that they give new meaning to Coitus interruptus, particularly in a BDSM relationship. Sort of hard to explain to a 9 year old why daddy has mommy tied up and is whipping her arse, from out of which she has a large black plug protruding and connected to an enema bag. So you grab your chances when you can! So I follow him up the stairs. He has not gone to the bedroom, he is in the man cave. A place I rarely go because I cannot deal with the chaos and am not allowed to tidy. “Okay don’t panic Victoria,” I say to myself, not a total disaster! We do play in there sometimes but most of the toys are in the locked in draws under the bed. I go into the room and he says get them out and sit on the stool. This usually means business, that is I am about to get my breasts tortured, I would have preferred my bum flogged, but hey ho whatever a girl can get. He turns round and looks at me and I see what he has in his hands, a vernier calliper and a black marking pen he puts them down. The idea of a morning of pleasure is going downhill fast. I sit there contemplating what he is about to do when something catches my eye on the bench. It is four circular rings of rubber and metal, all of which he purchased recently from the local DIY store and to think he only went in for screws. They are on the bench and now clamped to the frame he came in with. He puts them on my exposed breasts. They’re a bit loose on the frame and he tells me to stop fidgeting or they will fall off. I sit still. He tightens them up and I feel the crushing sensation on my breasts, which has an immediate effect elsewhere. Once he is satisfied they are in the right place he measures up, marking weld and drill points. While doing this he is nattering on about blood flow in my breasts and their swelling over time making the rings feel tighter. I often wonder when he is like this if he realises my boobs are actually connected to my brain in some way. Of course I know he does, he is a nurse but all the same. I am half listening to him natter on like a jubilant toddler with a new toy, all the while wondering, is he going to notice my increasing need from this pseudo play. If he does and I in truth know he will, he has a nose for my arousal, will he satisfy me? He drags me back from day dream to reality with an “all done”, like he has just given me an injection and I can leave. Lost in his own world he picks up his bits and pieces and heads back to I assume to the garage. While I go to find some wet ones and a dry pair of knickers. I pondered my Hitachi vibrator for a moment, damn I should have asked for permission. He is generally good and says yes. Though I have to wonder is he winding me up for later play with the new ‘toy’. Watch this space I may have news.

Unconventional Desires – What Women like me Want

 

Some desires are thoughts that are fleeting, often idle musings of no consequence, gone completely almost in the moment of their conception. Others though are true desires and some are distressing, obsessively hidden from others but impossible to hide from one’s self. Particularly when those desires are sexually motivated and unconventional in their nature. They have a way of being obsessively pursued, driven by the compulsion to have them satiated. Unconventional Desires is the diary of Victoria, whom has two sides to her character. Her public persona is that of an ordinary girl, a biology graduate with an ordinary job. The other side to her persona is a character which is deeply buried in a desire that she considers dark and obfuscates it from her friends, family and most of all from herself. She fears this darkness that lives deep inside her mind, she does not understand it and cannot accept its nature. So she represses it out of fear, fear of losing herself to it and the fear of being rejected by those she knows and loves if they ever saw it. The darkness though is given light by a simple fictional story she reads. This leads to a place where others live in this same darkness. A darkness that most would consider unconventional if not abominable. Her journey begins the moment she walks through the virtual door of an internet chat room, a room which she knows very surely having passed into, she can never leave and close the door behind her never to return. This room allows her to open her mind to her desires. Brightening the light of her darkness and giving motivation to her unconventional desire, the desire to submit to a man, to be controlled by him and to feel pain at his hands for his pleasure and in that giving receive her own pleasure. She ultimately finds such a man to meet her desires and fill the void in her darkness. He wines and dines her, brings her flowers and chocolates, and is ever the gentleman, he opens doors for her. Doors that lead her in to places where she is willing suffer for him. Satisfying his need to control her and in return gaining the control she needs to fulfil her desire. The physical objects of her desire are the collars, gags, restraints, and whips he uses to meet her physical and psychological needs, allowing her to accept him as her master and lover.