mothert731

Learning to use them

Lying here feeling sensuous I  map out a plan to seduce myself.  I remain frustrated without my gadgets that move and make humming sounds that are silenced and no buzz of a tingle anywhere in sight.

It’s thundering and lightening outside, late evening, and as always I have the windows wide yearning for the chill of cool the air carries to glaze over my annoyingly hot body.  Master again invades my mind and consumes my thoughts, remembering in this glorious evening of valance how he entices me.  My hand and fingers roam as I hear him in my imagination whispering to go lower.  Show me, feel what you have learn his voice echoes.  I want you to see I silently speak as my fingers to where they too would please him, to where I wish to feel him.  My nipples are frozen and erect from the seduction of the breeze as I squeeze.  Oh, to tease would please him and I pull hard then harder.  I like the pain of pleasure as I spank it and squeeze; a different vibe, a lovely vibe as the need for the heat is demanded.

Bypassing the throbbing harden bud seeking the wetness that once rubbed on it will ensure the explosion I berry my finger deep.  Another sensation begging for attention as I penetrated deeper with now two and three fingers gyrating as the greed for more propels me to slam my palm down hard and the exquisite pain drives the now massive bud to explode as the reservoir of squirt cools me to stillness.  

A lovely thought; no more need for toys as I was born with all I ever needed to vibe.

sub t

Brushes, Who Said They Were Only For Painting

Brushes are not just used for painting, or at least painting in the conventional way with water or oil color.  I painted once….by the number and within the lines, giggles. What a disaster that turned out to be.  Never could I stay within the boxes; even at that age it seemed I wished to tempt the limits of my nurtured conditionings.  My only love for this display of creative expression is in viewing the beauty artist can create from a single slate of blank canvas.  Trying to decipher the artistes thought and vision surrounded with camouflaged brilliance.  A game of creative imagination, I could stare for hours secretly wishing I in kind possessed similar traits of creative genius.

It was a lesson to be remembered.  Saddened by may lack of imagination and the absence of my friends I laid on the freshly laundered, crisp, air cooled sheets massaging its softness, a thousand counts it think.  I reached for the two tapped brushed I use to paint my face.  Feeling the bristles firm fullness of both I stared noticing their differences; one wide and flat resting on a long tapered stem, the other widely rounded with an evenly measured handle.  Startling me from my trance he whispered for the flattened one. Glide the brush tips from the base of you head along the back of your ear, down your neck just under your chin and back.  Don’t focus on the brush itself but rather the touch of the soft tips warming so lightly, he said.  The action instantly warmed me; my fingers loosened their grip desiring the softest of touch.  My canvas responded, stretching its scape and displaying the elevation of my nipples and the moistness slickness on its surface.  Now, easy baby, brush the air.  Spread it down you neck; stroke it side to side and down between your breasts.  It breathed, the canvas did, more in anticipation for the next stroke knowing where it was to go, as a magnet drawn it approached my nipple.  Stilled by the mere touch not wanting to move, he yearned for it.  Circle it he said soft by strong.  His skilled eye seeing the hesitation he enforced, circle it with the brush, demanding now.

On fire and in pain for release I circled the rounded brush tips between my legs grazing repeatedly the tip of my protruding clit; with each stroke threatening to erupt he pulled me away and again he commanded the same; again.  Just as an artist do not can prefect no further, nor could the dance of passion Master drew. The shades of blue ran strong.

Later that evening while looking under the kitchen sink I saw a paint brush is used to stain my post box.  I had washed it well I thought it was soft.  I stroked my body, my nipple with it. Before I knew, I turned sharply and tossed it in the trash. With a big grin I pranced proudly; whispering only in my mind, good night Master, soft and sure.

sub t

No More Toys

Remembering how it started, one day frustrated with the loneliness of my life and the absence of physical touch and the pleasure only a lover/mate could deliver, I ticked at the keys on my computer.  I identified my ills at ease and decided to try the alternatives a few friends had recommended…..toys…..love toys….toys guaranteed to give you feelings and take you places no mate could.   

Although well into my adult live I had never tried any and found myself flushed with the idea of it.  With no more sex in sight and no need for another broken disappointment it sounded like a lovely concept.  As with most things I don’t understand I consulted the net.  This was no different, to my surprise there was much information and all kinds of interesting gadgets to view.  I needed more hands on information so that evening I visited a locale adult store.  Nervously, I browsed.  It felt forbidden and secret. I felt anxious and sneaky.  I loved it, smiling and times, giggling at times, and in shock and speechless at other times.  It was overwhelming and needed guidance/ and or direction.  Shyly I approach a woman sales clerk.  She was lovely as I remember answering all questions, asking some, and offering advice and suggestions.  An hour or so later I had in hand two books on self-masturbation, bottle of lube and my very first, very large vibrating dido.  Although only seven inches it to me was a very intimidating device; partly because I have never used one and partly because I did not know how to use it.

Over the years however, my insights have grown with respect to the physical pleasure I could bring to myself with various tools.  With regular use of them I derive the pleasure of orgasm a mate gives.  Now instead of spending an hour building towards climax I could cum in minutes with those battery operated, moving sticks and eggs and things.  So whenever I felt the need for quick pleasure I turned to them, depended on them to comfort, soothe, and tranquil the desires of my body.

Not till recently have I come to realize the difference between using toys as an enhancement to sexual please as it is designed for oppose to using them solely for a replacement to compassionate and loving intimacies of a complemented companion or returning to the passion I once gave to myself solely with my hands full of scented surprises.

Well needless to say Master has acknowledged the flaws of this behavior and has instructed NO MORE TOYS OF ANY KIND; has forbidden any further use of them.  I need not tell you how devastating it was to hear this.  To protest came to mind but refused to be heard, I dare not question or reject his command.  We all know better now.  Moreover, he has a good point and I need to learn how to naturally ignite my orgasms and use toys as added fun and play and not as my only source of pleasure.

This will be a difficult task to incorporate since they have been such a dependent part of my life, but worth the effort to withdrawal from.  thank you Master for you wisdom.

sub t

His Forgiveness is Blissful

Master is no longer upset with me; I pushed the red button and got silence for more the forty eight hours, I was silenced.

He asked me to insert him and wear him for a while, inserted high within I carried him.  as we moved I remember why we were apart.  I was not respectful of my Master, failing to obey one’s Master is a major offense.  Disobedience is an indication of failed trust; trust that what your Master says is in your best interest, one of protection against harm even to one’s self, and one of uncaring.  Oh, how not my intention.  The stubbornness of the inexperienced, how foolish I was.  The time away was painful, sleepless, and lonely.  He asked me to carry him, to feel him, and I felt his love.  I felt in me his soft pounding just with the tip, as I moved.  He had forgave me I thought and smiled within.  As I thought of his smile to the lesson learned, his approval in his reprimand, and finally with a stroke of his love I cam; full and with too short a notice it burst free.  I gave my love back to him.

sub t

Nakedness From Below

 I pondered a long time over my most recent request to dress without the normalcy of wearing undergarments.  As the act in the vanilla world would be considered taboo, here in the bdsm world, to wear them, would be considered taboo, or maybe I should instead say, undesired.   

There are many things I must get use to in my new lifestyle.  One such thing is the required nudeness, the disarmament of undergarments.  The first time I was asked to do this, although uncomfortable, I was in an environment acceptant of this behavior which eased my initial nervousness.  I felt beautiful, desired and very sensual.  Like a juicy ripe piece of fruit waiting and wanting to be squeezed and sucked of all the nectar within.  It was exciting and I felt very powerful, feelings I wished to capture again.

Master categorized my outfit for the day.  The event was to the library.  (the fall semester was to begin in a matter of weeks and I wanted to get a jump on syllabus understanding and familiarize myself with the beginning chapters.)  As he described his desire; top, short skirt, two inch heel, no bra or panties; of course, hair down, and lip gloss, I was excited to be dressing for Master for the first time.  Something respectable and plain I thought, I was after all going to the library.  However, the excitement of dressing for Master” only”, sent my pelvis into a rhythmic pulse which of course instantly moistens me, hell I had not even gotten out of the house yet and the erotic juice began to flow; panties would be good here.

At the library, I was surprised at the lack of eroticism I felt.  As I navigated though my task of review, I felt void of my dress, with the exception of a movement here and there which caused my nipples to brush a certain way against the fabric and harden or a shift in my seat, elevating my skirt, receiving a chilled breeze to cool the wetness between my legs.    I worked diligently and only on occasion when I allowed my thought to drift to Master did I feel the pulse in my clit. Lovely so, was the feelings I allow to distract me welcomingly.

As I travel home, I acknowledge my comfit, I felt good, satisfied of my accomplishment, remain controlled and unaffected by my surrounding at the library.   Surprised how unaffected I felt without full dress attire.  I felt very much a sexy woman.

subt

Master’s Protection

As I maneuver through my training toward becoming a submission woman I remain astonished at is structure, while I learn more about myself and the environment I am surrounded by.  I have always prided myself as having a keen sense of intuition (a spidy sense if you will) for danger and harm in my way.  Surprised was I, then to realize without foresight or warning when danger touch me.

When I began to explore my inner self, I was befriending by a Master who instantly realized I was in need of guidance and friendship more than a Dom or Master.  He grabbed me under his wing before I was devoured by this lifestyle and before I was driven back under the rock I had emerged from.  One of his teachings was of the responsibilities of a Dom/Master.  Protection was a primary responsibility he said.   As I thought of this, I chuckled, “I am a grown woman, have lived in the adult world for many years, what kind of protection could be given which I could not provide for myself.”

Well, evening past I was reintroduce to Master’s protective hand.  I say reintroduced because as I write this I am reminded of another time his force was exerted, I just had not realized it, he made some bogie men reframe from continued invasion into my page space.  However, this was a more serious infiltration; it affected my mind set, a very dangerous place to play.  Apparently, a Dom I have been conversing with as a friend, only, had brought to my attention that although we were friendly towards each other, it was still important to him that I address him accordingly.  Throughout our conversation this particular evening, as we were in phone talk opposed to texting, I had not addressed him once as Sir.  Instantly I became ill at ease, remembering a painful writing I had to deliver on this very issue.  As I thought of my Master at that time and the disrespect I have brought upon him, at that I apologized, asked forgiveness, and corrected the behavior.  He forgave me and as we progressed in the conversation he noticed the shift in my demeanor and questioned it.  I tried to explain to him how badly if had felt for disrespecting his title and that I should have knew better, since I have been taught differently. I again asked for his forgiveness.  Inside however, I was mortified, how could I have been so careless as to get so comfortable in conversation that I failed to address him.  Moreover, I had disobeyed the teachings of Master which for me was a fatal mistake and one I would need to inform Master about as soon as possible.  My belly was uneasy as I explained this to my friend and I could not get passed it. I felt awful even a bit sick at this point.  As my distance in conversation grew, he asked what I thought would ease my discomfort.  Although serious, I made an attempt to ease the tension by saying jokingly that maybe if whipped, I would feel forgiven and better about myself.  After a short moment, he asked me to in vision a scenario where I was tree tied and blind folded.  Surprisingly,  it was not difficult for me to imagine and as I got the picture in my head, he began to lash me, as he described the effects of the whipping to me, my skin, the whelps which formed,  even some blood (although I am not to bleed in real life),  and spinning as the whip circumferences my body.  I felt it, it was not a dream, daydream or otherwise.  How was this possible, I began to weep, he asked was I satisfied that Master would forgive me and I said no, why, why would I say no.  He describe more lashings more pain, and I felt more, somehow I could not leave this vision.  He lashed more, to fifty, and asked again was a satisfied, hysterically I sobbed out yes and he cut me lose, I fell to the ground.  He removed the blind fold and said I was forgiven.  In my vision, as I look to the feet of this assailant I could see Master for real.  I could not breathe nor move, in pain I just remained.  I could not feel his forgiveness, just disguised and his anger as he looked down at me.  I remained curled and just sobbed trying to keep my voice as low as possible.  When I opened my eyes to peep, I was aware that I was in my bathroom on the floor curled in a ball and sobbing uncontrollably.  On the phone was the friend, begging for me to speak, pleading for me to get control of myself.   It took maybe twenty or so minutes for me to get control of my breathing and resume the seating position on the toilet seat.  He stayed with me, followed me on phone picture to my office where I sat down on the couch, as I stared at him for the first time he look like the bogie man.  Big, dark face staring at me, so dark he was.  He asked how I was feeling I could only think of Master and how I need him.  I saw him carrying me, holding me close, even a kiss, I felt forgiven.  I mention to my friend I was fine, thanked him for forgiving me for my disrespect of his status and mentioned I was tired and only wished to sleep.  The call ended.

Needless to say want I woke the next morning I felt lost and afraid.  Lost because I did not understand what had happened to me the night passed and confused as of what to do.  First I thought about Master and what if would think of me, what he would say about this, was it my fault, it there fault, wasn’t sure, and then what he would do or not do to me.  I was afraid to mention it to him, though I knew I would have to tell him of the event.   Then I thought of my mentor, would he also be disappointed in me, would he also be angry, what teachings would he have for me to evaluate, he always makes me fish for the answer, never outright giving them to me.  I respect him or that and his kind advice.  Well the less of the two evils would be to speak with my mentor first, but the truth was that the only one that matter at that moment was Master, and the harder of the two to speak with.  But it was the right decision.

I waited most of the day to get the chance, he was a busy man and did not want to disturb him, especially with such,  oh….disappointing news of his subs behavior.  Why was I so afraid of telling him, I had really done nothing wrong, well yes, I did.   I disrespected him and myself by not respecting another.  The scene of the night past bothers me only in as much as I did not understand it, why I transported to a vision; for lack of a better explanation.  I need him to explain what happen to me. I did not feel however, that I had done something wrong with it, if that make any sense.  Well, Master finally connected to me that evening and after talking about the day and some other things, I took a few breaths and disclosed my actions and activities of the past night.  Without interruption he listened.  He needed no to say anything I could feel him and I felt his chill, interesting how I could.  After which all he asked was for the name.  And again I remember how he protected me from the prowlers of before.  In an instant I felt calm and knew that I was ok.  That he would make whatever was wrong here right.  I moved from fear to confusion in seconds, wondering what happened to me, I asked as one would ask a daddy for guidance.  He briefly explained to me that I had been in and fell victim to a power exchange.  He explained that I should never ever again allow anyone other than him take me to a place as that.  That I was taken advantage of by a friend, and to remember that there are many who will try to take advantage in this way.  He as a daddy often does, calmed me and instructed me to stay away from him as well as anyone else attempting to get into my head; Dom/Master.  He reiterated why he had insisted on me not inviting other to chat, in the name of friendship.  I felt covered, protected, and guarded.  I felt cared for in that moment like I had never before felt.

He played with me for only a few minutes showing me how to use a new gadget I have finally receive at his request, sent me love and wished me a good night.  My sleep was restful.

subt

The Dance of Foreplay (dance of submission)

As I contemplated this lifestyle for all it is and as fear erupts from within, so too does my longing to begin my life here. It’s taken half my lifetime to get here and refusing to turn back I began my search for the one who could free me from the cloak of sinister taboos of torture and pain and the submission forfeited  which lies within the bdsm playrooms and bedrooms along with the darkness which lies there to.   I hide it over me to mask my true feeling afraid If  anyone to know I desired the submission as well.

As my progression within this lifestyle prevails I began to learn how distorted the belief that a submissive woman is weak; one who willingly and expeditiously submits to being used and abused by their mate.  As I try to still I am rocked and spun around my eyes see, I learn and I understand. Finally I understand; it’s my mind you seek. Master wants more of me,  shows me the beauty of it. He spins me again, this time pulling me hard to him and I whisper, “many have said I am weak if I allow it.”  soothing me calm,  Master asked me, “what do you feel”? “what do you need”. When has anyone care for what I needed?   I’ve been worried about it and asked Master more than once.  And it hits me, my need that is.  I need to please; to feel safe, to feel full, to not have to think, to decide.  My desire, I need to fill the yearning.  The yearning to please, the trust in your appreciation to fill you with your pleasure, then, that is where my desire lies.  To willingly give to consent strong and sound,  to possess the power to give you what you need and desire, to sate you still.  where is the weakness; submission if beauty, not weakness at all.  Courage is strong and sure.  I am strong and sure.

Ah, but what is weak?  weakness is not being able to do for one’s self, unable to stand assured and confident, fragile and despondent. Weak and helpless are those.  A submissive woman is aware of her passivity, her Master is as well and loves her more for it.  Her desire to please; evidence by her willingness to give up her personality, submit to his desires and to his sexual pleasure is no indication of weakness but rather deserving of his respect and care and many times his love. I  open my heart, offering my trust in him knowingly knowing that he will not abuse the power I have gifted to him with all its control; mental as well physical and allow him to decide, complying to his wishes and  sharing with him my strong body; a body she willingly allows him to develop and train in order to withstand the levels of rigorous tortures of pleasure and pain she will no doubt endure under his hand.  In doing so I will feel highly treasured and adore,  his gift to me, in appreciation for me .  Master considers my feelings always as well as his own,  he thinks about me in all exercises performed aware of the great  responsibility to guard my trust of him and will reinforce with a stern hand or praise one, when a task if carried through.

Master has truthfully and patiently extracted all questions and worries enabling me to be still and joyous in trusting in him with the faith that he will secure me.  His strength and power hold my mind, body, and soul close as I eagerly fill my heart with only his pleasure.  Ready now am I, without hesitation, do surrender all of myself to him.

My body only serves as the formality of finality, the climax of the dance, a climax that is endless, with my mind and soul already being surrendered.  I am a beckon now, a glow which comes from giving love, filling my heart with every pleasure I give, every stroke to his body I receive and endure, I give him love, every kiss I bestow to pleasure him, whatever Master’s pleasure is will give me joy.  I will submit to him, to fill his pleasure with love. I gladly await his lashes it eases his pain and restores his love.

Submission is my honor and my gift to him for he has given back to me a full heart.  Master’s pride will reined, as  I will be a woman to be held in awe by all who know of  me and I will be his posed submissive woman.

Respectfully,

subt

Squirting: A growth process

Master brought my clit to life.  What an enjoyable revelation.  I’ll call it the balm for the throbbing and heat; an unbearable pleasure.  We won’t talk about age here, since for once this has no bearing on this amazing function of the body to release such a calming antidote.  One I’d say most women, at least in the “vanilla world” don’t really experience, here only the basic lubrications of vaginal arousal, most call it cum or the easy climate when it is attained.  For most women this preparation begins at the onset of stimulation and subsides somewhere, between her “climax” and his orgasm.  I’ve always thought that that moment of pleasure, where the gyration of that last thrust hitting that pulsing pleasure of my orgasm.  Oddly, though, afterwards, I was always left feeling its incompleteness, masked to the out burst of eruptions of my partner’s unmistakable pleasure.  Always wondering why i never felt such a satisfying release that burst of euphoric calm.   Always wondering why I still felt wonton after sex.  Yes, it felt good most times, felt the exhaustions of my body’s workout, and the comfort of my mates satisfaction in me as they’d drift off.  However, to be honest,  always I  felt a lingering sensation, a heated throb so heated that a masturbation session often followed, while observing the partner of just moments ago hollering “cum with me baby”, now passed out and useless.  And after each unsatisfied, satisfaction; still feeling wonton, but satisfied with the ceased throb, I would lay and wonder if there was more, was I missing the mark, that there had to be more to this, that I as my partner should be moaning and groaning in a pleasure pain bursting for release. (Stimulated by my own envy, I developed a plan for myself to learn how to induce these feeling in my partner and dangle his ejaculation; develop my own strength and power, this however, another story)

Well, as with all new things, new experiences follow, so why should this be any different. 

One of my most basic fantasies, one which has been with me most of my sexual live is the elements of masturbation and a whisper.  a whisper of a soft base tone speaking softly of erotic tales in my ear, watching; no instruction, just watching me stimulating myself and offering only little pieces of an idea of pleasures to come. (hidden fantasy of being watched again creeping in to arouse this arousal)  So, natural when an unexpected guest requested me to masturbate, an unconscious light flashed, not realizing this fantasy would soon live.  The anxiety of its reality suddenly drew me back, embarrassed to share.  The demand came (shock that my recent training to respond without thinking applied), and I relaxed into the task now given.  Though not in my ear but in print I read the erotica swayed my hand it the direction in which Master wish them to go.  Touching points and pleasures I had never known existed, probing and poking, pulling and slapping with my hands; his hands orchestrated a musical tone with my body my mind’s eye has never done.  I began to pant and my clit grew hard, so hard I had to look, shit is was huge, was blood red, and was throbbing with unbearable pleasure, so much so I wanted it to bust, to relieve me.  Can you imagine a pleasure so great you want it to end, beg for it to stop?  Impossible, I always thought it was, just something extra to fill up pages or an out of proportion claim, or the ranting of a close friend daring to confide her sexual confidences with me.   And yet he continue to manipulate the desire, I begged in silence for peace.  My body wet with moisture from a heat like no other, never ever felt before, and just as I burned it exploded, deflating quickly singeing me, from who knows where, (I found out from where, I looked it up) a gush of pleasure surrounded my throb an easy stream washed over and quenched the heat, oozing a tranquil massage so soft in its violence, whispering the balm liquid and stilling me.

The after effects were even more alarming.  Embarrassment and shame, pleasure and amazement, shock and acknowledgement.  This electrifying ejaculation is far more superior then a man’s, his stops shortly after his orgasm, mine, however, lingered and leaked long after.  I am changing; I have grown, in allowing myself to challenge my fear hidden in a dream.  A lovely ride, it was

Fear of Who I am

For the first time in my life is made aware of my ethnic assimilation (of acceptance within, for there was never any fear of rejection with culture, acceptance was guaranteed).  As I enter the gathering hall I could instantly feel my difference; difference of color, the ratio almost fifty to one.  The difference unnerved me, irritated me, and made me fear who is was, normally a strong secure black woman proud of her inheritance of her culture; appreciated very late in life.

Raised by a Caucasian mother I was raised and to a large extend nurtured in her culture, taught from the classics, feed from the cuisine of her mother, and groomed as a lady, I felt sated in my confidence of self.  Never having anything disrupt or rock that resolve.  As I matured I became aware of my true cultures hardships and fought to understand them; difficult to do without empathy.  I felt the empathy, this night.

As the discussions of the evening got underway and I at first painfully participated the tension eased, I realized that yes I was indeed different; nothing to do with race at all (was not brought up to dislike for the sack of an ethnic denomination) instantly understood that the difference was my newness, all others new this lifestyle and know I did no.  The difference in me was to be accepted while all others were already accepted, that I was afraid of whom I was and all others had embraced it.  In that difference, I began to feel a calming, an acceptance that I had accepted myself.

Why Sir

As a child one is usually taught to address the male figure of the household as Sir when acknowledging a response made by him or as a gesture of respect.  Consequently, adulated persons are tuned to and instinctively recite it in an honorary replacement of a given name and address of politeness.  Men usually addressed as Sir are Teachers, Masters, and honorary stations of Knighthood.

For this entry’s purpose I will address the use of Sir as it relates to one’s Dom/Master and the implications of the lack of this most basic usage.  Sir is given in title to a man who has honorably gained wisdom through experience, rite of passage, and gallant behaviors; demonstrations of bravery, heroic feats and displays of seniority.  Dom/Masters are presumed to be teachers of disciplines of correctives.  They are looked up to wise and intelligent individuals who have mastery skills, the understanding of the mind and body; knowledge of thought patterns and body language and can identify irritations of either internal medium.  When connected properly (in tune with) with their Submissive or Slave, like a mother feels her children internally when something is wrong) they too are able to intuitively detect calm, fear/terror, anxiety, excitement, joy, worry, and even arousal.  His ability to detect the current emotions and thoughts of his sub/slave allow him to better handle, discipline, and care for them appropriately.  This skill, ability to read them, further allows him to keep control over them, affording them little room to get into unwanted situations and protects them against harm.  Care if a prerequisite which carries over to permanency of responsibility after her submission to him.  Care is a primary concern of his and his mastery experience with effectively allows him to protect her.  Moreover, without it trust is lost and control over her no longer remains.  Thought she will still respect his position and will do as instructed, the life in it will be gone and her soul he will no longer fell or possess.  One of the reasons why the identification of Sir is so important to your Dom/Master it implies trust; trust that you are a gentleman, trust that you carry responsibility, trust that you will protect and trust that his is of goodwill and character.  For the Dom/Master Sir is an honor bestowed.

Common courtesy is given when addressing a man worthy of the address.  For a sub/slave to indicate this acknowledge by completing each thought with Sir informs him she understands and appreciates his worth and time spend on her as a treat and gifted to her. Her thoughts must always be on him and to demonstrate this she reminds him by calling him; Sir.  Failure to do so anoyes and even in cases angers him, makes him feel unappreciated or worst that the sub/slave has no trust in his worth.  As I have learned by my lack of display in refusing to address Dom/Master properly even after repeated warning.  Being new to the lifestyle and not being aware of the proper protocol is one thing.  However, the excuse does only as good as not know them.  Once made aware of infraction and correction is not mended, no longer is the “new” explaination valid. This continued behavior I exhibited became disrespectful and rude.  Two behaviors meriting disciplinary action thus, this journal entry: Why Sir.  I should thank Sir for it not being more serve and displaying leniency for being a bad girl and refusing to acknowledge and respect his earned status.  I would like to take this moment to again apology to Sir for failing to follow the proper protocol in communicating and addressing him.

Since I have never had a male figure in my youth on any consistent basis, the earlier conditioning and repetitive usage of Sir never became embedded. This routine will be in my conversations from now on and I will be constantly aware and will nurture this new formality with eagerness.  I am confident this lesson has been learned and reminds me each time I complete and sentence or thought when conversing with my Dom/Master.

Sir is a nice exchange of word play and a pleasurable taste, which roles off the tongue when used to draw Dom/Master’s attention.  Dom/Master is expert enough and in tune so with his sub/slave that he can detect the tone of its use, an indication of sub/slave’s mood and desires.  Skills so gifted and rare that understand the need of his sub/slave generated more of a reason to always be grateful even being allowed to call on him so richly (Sir).  To even have the right is an honor.

First of many entries:

This post is at the request of the Dom/Master I desire.

Very recently I realized I was hiding; maybe not so recent. More like I realize I couldn’t hide any longer.  Not discussing the series o or which event was that straw the finally broke this camel’s back, but events of a life forgotten has brought me here.

Always feeling and against early rearing, there was something different about me, never being able to put my finger on it exactly, I went through the motions of normalcy, the “proper way” of doing things, the traditional way of behaving.  Just every so often my mind drifted, though of the unconventional way of seeing thing.  Five year ago, for example I was honored as Martian of Honor for my best friend’s wedding.  As I stood there, I thought of Gail, adorned with a sassy mouth as is my own and wonder if she got out of line, would Donald (groom) turn her over his knee and spank her good and hard to remind her of her place, to remind her to obey him.  Of course he wouldn’t and she, know her, wouldn’t allow it.  Then I thought if she fought would he hold her down, tie her; restrain her and continue with his punishment.  Of course he wouldn’t, and she would not allow it, I knew, know her as I do.  The thing here is that she wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, but in that position, I would, I wanted to allow it.  Not with him of course, but my own groom, my own lover.  The thought, as inappropriate as it was for where I was, was exciting.

Years before even that event Id daydream of dark knights, and hidden persons doing rude and “unusual” things to me.  Boys in school pulling my hair, a sense of enjoyment, awful words spat at me never seem to bother me much; almost as if expected.  In my night dreams, instead of Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella, I dreamt of erotic tales, tales of slaves in chains, dungeons housing orgies, and lustful acts being bestowed on them.  Little hints of inner thoughts I had not paid much attention to it.

I’ve always felt sensual, in hind sight.  In my thoughts I have always loved the idea of romance and its implications.  To give of yourself, to make one happy and give whatever it was that brought about that happiness. Too, feel pleasure, in pleasing.  It’s the strangest thing I thought.

As I stood at the alter at my own wedding, and I wonder if this man, during the “honeymoon night” would throw me on the bed and take what he wanted, instead that night he sweet, passionate, and asking.  No orgasm came for me that night. Nor did it come for many nights after.  Not realizing at the time I wanted rough not sweet, I wanted male straight not so much the passion; though I wanted that to, just not as much as him “man handling” me.  I want to fight and be made to still, to tie and made to beg for release.  At time I would purposefully try to insight anger, push buttons, even deny his desires just to make him react in a more forceful, determined attitude.  He had a nice touch, but in my mind at times I wonder how it would feel to be spanked with a hard touch, or to demand his meal with a bitch hurry up after it, or any number of other words, why not I would think in private, yes it would be ok.  To demand of me, to desire for me, to handle me, I wanted to feel the need.  Yet I thought not, just in my mind’s eye.

Throughout the years little thoughts like those would invade my thought, not staying long; just long enough to remind me that deep down a longing existed.  I hide those thought, when friend would get together (girl’s nights) where discussion of men and sex, husband and boyfriend drama would come up I remember always being reserved and shy in discussing my behaviors, but listening with interest to theirs. Issues of orgasms, and sexual acts never explored. Dominance and acceptance refuted in “oh my gods” and “I’d never do that’s” reinforced my desire not to share and insured my silence.  No one really to talk to about my longings for more different kind of handlings, I hid, bundled my feeling under a rock and let lie there.

Well, now all grown up, well mature, two adult children, and an inactive husband, the emptiness has crawled under that rock and removed its treasures; my treasure, my desires.  Consequently, I am ready to reveal me.  I began to search, not knowing for what or where exactly, just looking.  I went to my favor adult store, just looking around and came across a section with BDSM label and wondered what it meant.  Not really wanting to ask the many shoppers or the sales rep. I picked up a book “the story of O” scribbled the letters on the back page and purchase it.  The book was interesting and sad, the letters insightful and fascinating.  I began to research its content, it meanings and associations.  A year or so later, continuing my investigation of this new and exciting world here and there, stopping and starting, unsure if I dare to go deeper, dared to want more, I stumbled on to this site.  I’ve always been aware of it, I’m not dense to the knowledge of it, nor naive to some acts of it, but was so intrigued by it.  Now, with all I have uncovered, I realize what I needed, had hidden for so long was real, the feeling inside were real.  The question was what to do about it, how to come to terms with it, who to talk to about resolving it.  I’m here and the search has changed a bit.

My search now is to identify one to fit my desires into and offer myself to him.  Which brings up, how I feel now.  It’s a difficult, challenging and most times I discovering, a frustrating task.  This site however, is assisting in giving me the awareness tools necessary for that identification.  Through trial and error I’m learning quickly that even in this lifestyle there are many who take advantage of unaware, confused, and lost souls.  Its teaching me that shame and humiliation is of former teaching; of the normalcy of a forgotten life.  This new life has no normality, consequently no shame or humiliation.  Teaching me that my mindset has shifted and to be open minded if a prerequisite for learning and acceptance. That I am a vestal for which ones pleasure is extracted.  Whether that is used to display dominance over ones will or any sexual pleasure to be derived from it, my mind and soul are to be use and display.  I’m feeling pleased to understand what I need finally, but dismayed to find that my journey has just begun.  This path has for me at least, been painful, discouraging, and sometimes even scary.  The trolls and pests lurking in this lifestyle are waiting to pounce on the new, unaware, and unprotected are many.  Many who keep the taboos of this lifestyle alive, preventing vibrant, exciting and the uninhibited individuals interested in exploring the beauty and freedom of this lifestyle from entering into it.  Taboos of violence, wickedness, preventive behaviors, and non-consensual explorations of women were all one saw.  I was one who throughout life believed those taboos. My mind however, saw that there was beauty in a bound woman, saw the elegance of flushed fever completion, saw the respect of a bended or bowed body in respect of her Teacher or Master; very much the same as a student and their sen se.  Well, want it, wanted to be free, a freedom void of distain and judgment.  Want the freedom to free my soul and mind of its own will, to absorb the will of another through trust, understanding, and even love, free from the reared thoughts imbedded within so early in life like independence and superiority.  There is nothing wrong with these qualities, I rather like some independence, but it feels foreign somehow, unwanted even.  The longing for direction and instruction, though no a follower, comforts me somehow.

Through research and study I’ve been able to get a better understanding my haunted desires.  Leading me to begin the process of searching for my instructor/teacher/dominant/master, I find myself here. A place where if feel drawn and at ease.

Knowing now what is needed to fulfill me; to become a submissive woman of elegance and pose.  A woman ready surrender to my will, mind, spirit and body to someone of strength, wisdom, and someone I can trust completely.  It I not my intention to become a foot mat or become passive in all areas of my life, but seeking to become stronger woman of strong will and intelligence.  I have met a man, here who I believe I have found the man who will allow me to embrace him, who will lead me, and who I can pleasure and support.  Found a man who I can submit to sexually, mentally, and emotionally.  In narrowing my search for this Dominant Male figure, I almost missed him.  Distracted by so many others offering and inciting their strength and experience I engage in conversations hoping to glimpse a connection of attraction.  Some of those conversation lead to acts of humiliation, objectification, and unwanted exposure of self and exploitation.

At a low point, about two weeks ago, I felt the need pull back a bit and reassess if this is the correct avenue to pursue or forget these long burred feelings.  I went to the site to talk, to forget, and to seek distraction of turmoil and discuss within myself for the lengths with which I would go to confirm my readiness.  Responding to messages of interest he popped up again, this time I read him, felt immediately, his words seduced me, his diction impressed me, his soft tone calmed me, and his stated experience frighten me.  He felt strong and assured, confident but not cocky with a detectable quite dominance that pulled me.  I mentally withdrew but physical engaged.  He allows me to ask instead of take, he engaged my mental senses rather than my physical ones and I waited for familiar request never receiving them.  Instinctively I left my minds door ajar, to assure I would not bypass this man again, not yet at least.  I made myself pull away though, mentally attempting to disregard him as just another smooth talker with experience to dangerous to tamper with.  With each conversation with him, I felt sadden at the close of it.  I began to replay conversations in my head and feelings stated ignited; dismissing them as desperate desires of loneliness, emptiness, and sexual frustration.  Not being touched, desired, or reinforced of what a beauty I am can play on one’s psyche in so many ways. Additional feeling emerge, to learn a bit later that they were the same feeling which spooked me throughout my life; feelings called submissive feeling; there always there, have always been there just beneath the surface; well maybe deep beneath the surface. I’ve learned that I need a dominant man to recognize, nurture, and bring out there vulnerable feeling, bare and untamed.  This man I’ve left my door open for need to push it wide open and take those feeling and manage, control, and settle them to his will.  I need this man to mold this virgin to the BDSM lifestyle into the most perfect submissive woman. I feel this Dom/Master can articulate what disciplines of protocol is need for my development. I feel he is experienced enough to control my very strong will, seduce her body and soul with love and trust so I can lovingly and completely be able to fulfill all of his pleasures.

It is the desire of this most perfectly molded submissive woman to give love, pleasure, and service to him as I wish him to be my Dom/Master.