“No.”  His voice is mild, but the word is clear.

“No?  But Sir – ”

He moves quickly, two steps forward, a hand in my hair right at the nape of my neck.  He tilts my head back firmly, but still gentle, “No.  You may not.  Now, go stand in the corner.  Pull your panties down and wait.  Clear?”

i can barely move my head to nod, so i say, “Yes, Sir,” the words a bit shaky.

He releases me.  “Then go.”

My heart is racing and my breath is ragged.  This isn’t the way i planned to start the morning, but i know better than to disobey.  He isn’t angry, i can tell he isn’t, but he is firm, and he expects swift obedience.

Positioned in the corner, i pull my panties down to my knees, keeping my legs far enough apart that they won’t fall all the way down.  i know this is time to be still and centered, i just wish i didn’t feel so foolish standing here like this.

And then i remember, i don’t have to feel foolish – i don’t have to even think about it – all i need to do is obey.  My breathing slows, my heart beat settles down.  i can hear him saying it,

“You don’t need to be tormented with all these self doubts. As a slave, you just respond as requested without worrying about it any more.  Evaluation is left up to the person making the request, not you.”

i breathe deeply and settle into the corner.  Yes, Sir.


(Not really a post)

Sometimes a big ole dose of reality just smacks you right in the face, and there’s nothing you can do but take it.   It may not be a kinky smack, or the kind of pain that submissive women like to feel, but there it is.

i’ve gained almost 30 pounds since i’ve been in this relationship i’m in.  And i wasn’t skinny before that.  i was tiny, once upon a time, a long time ago.  But not for a long time now.

i wear a size 14, which might not sound too bad, but i’m only 5 foot tall, so you know.  i weigh 171 pounds.  When i got married the first time, when i was in my 20s, i weighed 95 pounds.

The first time i thought i was fat, i weighed 120.

When i got in this relationship with my partner, just 4 years ago, i weighed about 140.  So about a pound a year for 20 years, then almost 10 pounds a year, almost a pound a month for 3 years.  Sheesh.

i’ve eaten mindlessly, i’ve eaten to reward myself, i’ve eaten my anger and my frustration and my sadness.

And maybe, you know, maybe for real, that’s why my partner isn’t interested in me sexually.  It seems to me that he lost interest first, before i started gaining weight, but maybe not.  It doesn’t matter now.

Something has shifted for me.  Once i decided to quit waiting for him to be interested in me sexually again, once i decided that passive was not working for me, i’ve been able to eat reasonable portions and not stuff myself between meals and really reduce my binge eating.   So i guess i’ll lose weight – i don’t know, at my age, it’s tricky, but it could happen.

And i’m working on not sitting in front of the computer all the time, and getting some actual exercise.  But you know, i’m 60 years old.  Way past my “use by” date.   (Ok, that might have been unnecessarily pathetic.  So if i lose 25 pounds and do a bunch of yoga, i might be able to extend my shelf life a few more years?)

But ya know, right now, i’m old and fat.  Or fat and old.  The old part is not going to change, but maybe i can fix the fat.  In any case, i’m not eating my feelings anymore.

The Punishment – Part V

i don’t know if he will start with the crop or the paddle, so i’m just waiting, holding my breath.  And then – whack!  It is the paddle, landing directly in the middle of my ass, crossing both cheeks.  i make this noise, well, it’s like a “whoosh” as my breath leaves my body, and it takes me a second to be able to say, “One, thank you, Sir,”

“Mmmpf”the second one, the paddle again, slightly lower but overlapping the first.  “Two, thank you, Sir.”

“Three, thank you, Sir,” he is not wasting time between strokes, just as the pain of the last one begins to really awaken, he lands another one.

“Four, thank you, Sir,” and i realize he is not striking nearly as hard as he could be.  i should be sinking into some submissive space by now, but instead i’m painfully present and fully aware.

“Five!  Thank you. Sir.”  It hurts, omg it hurts, but still i’m not sinking into blissful submission, i’m just hurting.  My sit spot and the top of my thighs are burning.  My whole ass is burning.

“Six! Sir, thank you, sir.”  This was the crop.  Omg, it whistled and then it – it –

“Seven, Sir, thank you, sir.”  The crop, this one overlapping the first small welt.

“Eight, thank you Sir,” gasping the words out, but i think i am at last sliding under the pain.  And he stops.

My ass is burning and stinging and there are little points that are on fire already where the crop has crisscrossed over, and i’m about to slide into sub space and he stops.  He just stands there while i feel every bit of throbbing stinging misery.

“I don’t mind having to punish you,” he says, “If that’s what needs to happen.  But it’s punishment.  I’m going to keep you here for it.”

I’m listening to him, but i’m also thinking, “Eight, we’re at eight, don’t forget, eight.”  The pain is actually beginning to subside a bit when the crop slashes, landing on my sit spot, making me cry out.  “Eight, Sir, thank you, Sir.”

“It would have been nine,” he says, “But that’s ok, I’ll accept eight.” And the crop lands again.

“Nine!!!!!  Nine, Sir, thank you, Sir.”  It barely registers that I have just added an extra one to the count.

“Ten.” i’m gasping, tears are running down my cheeks although i didn’t know i was crying.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“That’s all for disobedience,” he says.  “I’ll let you breathe a minute.”

“Ohhhh, can’t you just finish, Sir?” i say.

“Are you supposed to be talking?” he says.  And the crop lands on the back of my thighs quickly, twice, stinging.  “Master, please or Please, Master, that’s what you’re allowed to say.  Let me hear you.”

“Master, please,” i say and the crop slaps my thighs, crossing where he had hit before.

“Right,” he says, “And what else can you say?”

“Please, Master?” And the crop strikes again.

“Remember that.”  His tone is light but the stinging pain is not. “Now, the next five are for lying.  You may start with one.”

i am expecting the crop, but it’s the paddle, and the thud surprises me, it takes a second for me to remember to count.  This time he alternates, the paddle, then the crop and each time the crop lands it overlaps with the other little welts and then my entire ass is on fire from the thump of the paddle and just when i think i really, really can’t take it anymore he says, “Don’t even try to pull away.  I want your ass out here where I can reach it easily.  Stick it out.”

And i do, i make myself offer my ass, despite the searing pain, and it happens ~~

~~ i slip into that other head space, the one where it hurts but it’s ok, i don’t mind, i’m just aware of how much i belong to him, and how much i want to belong to him, it’s like my body goes soft and i’m not fighting it anymore, and it’s all ok.  i don’t know if i’m at 8 or 9 but we’re almost there and i’m finally ~

~~~ Nine, thank you, Sir!!  i am just guessing, but i must be right because he doesn’t correct me.  And then, finally, moments later, the last slash of the crop lands on the back of my thighs, making me scream, before i pull myself together and sob, “Ten, Sir, thank you, Sir.”

i feel him unfasten my ankle cuffs from the links in the floor, and then my wrists.  “Don’t get up yet,” he says, “You’ll be light-headed, I’ll help you in a minute.  You can pull your arms up though.  There, that’s good.”

i’m leaning on the table and feeling pretty good considering my ass is still on fire and i know it’s gonna be hurting for a while.  i’m a bit chilled, so it’s lovely when he drapes a short, velvety cape over my shoulders.  Gently, he raises me from the table.

The cape falls only to my waist, leaving my ass bare, but it warms me, and i’m pretty sure i don’t want anything touching those welps on my butt anyhow.  Gently, he raises his palm to my mouth and,with all the tenderness in my heart, i kiss the hand that has punished me.  He repeats this with the crop, tapping it ever so lightly against my lips, and then with the paddle.

At last he leads me away from the table, back to his chair.  As he settles himself comfortably, he motions me to kneel in front of him in the little nest of blankets on the floor.

i am happy to do so.  Cuddled between his legs, i brush my lips against his inner thigh, hoping he’ll let me please him with my mouth in other ways soon.


In my life (part 2)

“I am an expression of the divine, just like a peach is, just like a fish is. I have a right to be this way…I can’t apologize for that, nor can I change it, nor do I want to… We will never have to be other than who we are in order to be successful…We realize that we are as ourselves unlimited and our experiences valid. It is for the rest of the world to recognize this, if they choose.”

Alice Walker, The Color Purple

i’m no longer sure that i want to – or need to – change the way i am.   Ultimately, i like my life, even if maybe i am failing to “live up to my potential.”  i know that my willingness to be available for people – some who need to talk, some who need to be connected to someone i know, or need information i have –  is helpful.  It’s a form of service, and one that i enjoy, even if it’s not kinky or in service to a Dom.

Does that make sense?

Being actively submissive to an individual, however, can keep me centered.  It’s still – after all these years i’ve lived and worked at being centered and balanced – it’s still too easy to get thrown off track. To get too invested in my own ego and my own sense of importance about what i’m doing.

A spanking – a quick reprimand – an opportunity to hand over control and sit at his feet – those are all ways a Dominant can help me let go of ways of thinking that lead to quagmires.  A dose of approval – the “good girl” that means so much – also helps me keep going on track.  But if i’m not going to have those, i need to keep working on how to manage myself.

Otherwise, i end up depending on a variety of people to feed my submissive soul.  Since they aren’t necessarily invested in my best interests and don’t even know they’ve been chosen to play random-Dom, it’s not really a solution.  i’ve often chosen supervisors at my work for that role, which can be helpful in some ways, not so much in others.

i downloaded a couple of apps yesterday to help me shut out distractions while i’m doing work stuff on my computer, and i’ve started a new system of organizing my work.  That was pretty successful yesterday, we’ll see how it goes today.

i notice this morning that i have already earmarked three articles to read, a TED talk to watch, and a podcast to listen to.  But often, at the end of the day, i save them on Pinterest without reading or watching at all.  i think i want to manage that differently somehow.  Maybe it means gathering material in the first half of the day, but then reading, listening, or watching in the second half?

i’ll be amazed if you aren’t mind-numbingly bored with this post by now.  i half-way am myself.  Except, if i don’t do this work now, when will i?

i started a profile on fetlife last night.  Olivia60.  i used a different image for my profile picture – this one:


Maybe i should have used that here also, but i’ve gotten attached to my little crone image so i guess i’ll hang on to her.  Anyhow, if you’re on fetlife and want to connect there, come find me.

If you came by looking for the next part of The Punishment, it’ll be up tomorrow.

The Magic of Doms

i was chatting – emailing actually – with a Dom who’s an old friend.  He’s the one that recommended i read Barbary Revenge, and i was feeling some angst about it.  It is soooo non-consensual and still so hot and i love it and hate that i love it and what’s wrong with me that i love it and i’m ashamed that i love it and i shouldn’t be ashamed and so on.  All lost in my head.

He does not share those ambivalent feelings, he just enjoys it.

i’m like, “Really?  You don’t feel any of that shame for liking it?”

HIs next email said only:

It’s a book Olivia.

Which made me laugh out loud and let go off all that fuzzy confusion in my head.  Magic.



The Punishment – Part IV

For a moment, i’m lost in remembering last night, the stories i had to read, and my longing to feel connected to Master.  And then the memory fades, i’m back in the present, kneeling in front of him.  The crop and a paddle, that’s what he wants.  And i can feel it now, the longing for him to punish me and help me put this behind me.  To forgive myself, and to feel our connection again.

i nod slightly, “Master, please?”

He nods, and i stand, with as much grace as i can muster, and walk slowly to the back of the room.  Not slowly because i’m reluctant, but slowly so my movements are pleasing.

There are many paddles and more than one crop hanging in the rack.  He didn’t specify which he wanted, so i have to choose.   Often, this is a torturous task.  This time, i just let my gaze rest on each one briefly and i notice that one crop seems to be the right one, and then one paddle seems to stand out.  i don’t think they are the worst or the least of the ones there, but they are the ones that feel right.

The crop isn’t a toy, it’s not one from the novelty store, it’s a working crop, meant to be used on horses.

i know it will hurt, and i know that Master won’t harm me, so i’m not afraid.

The paddle is homemade, not wide but fairly heavy.  It has carving on one side, but is plain on the other, so he’ll have a choice of marking me with the pattern or not, as he chooses.


i carry the crop in one hand, my hands slightly in front of me, letting it rest in my palm, the paddle in the other. Moving slowly, trying to show my desire to please him.  i kneel, offering the crop and the paddle.

“Good choices,” he says, “I am pleased.  Now I will ask you, what rule did you break?  Why are you in trouble?”

“For willful disobedience, Master,” i say.  “For disobeying the limit we had agreed to on how much time i would spend on Facebook, the limit that i had asked you to enforce.”

“How did this rule start?” he says,

“i asked you to help me, Master,” i am barely holding back tears.  “i said i was wasting too much time on Facebook and social media and asked you to help me set limits so i could be more focused and do things that i was neglecting.  This was a rule i asked for, Master.”

“What values or standards did you violate by breaking the rule?”  His voice is calm, kind even, and i feel a deep regret.

“i was disobedient and didn’t show respect for myself or for you and i let us both down.  i violated our most basic agreement, that when i ask for help, i agree to accept it.”

He nods.  “Did you confess or were you caught?:

“i was caught, Master, and,” i feel my face burning with shame, “and i tried to hide it from you.  i lied by my actions.”

“Have you broken this rule before?”

“Yes, Master, i have, and was punished for it once before.”

“Your answers are acceptable,” he says, “We’ll go through the rest of them later, after the punishment.  I’m going to give you five with the crop and five with the paddle for your disobedience.  Do you agree to submit to this?”

“Yes, please, Master,” i say, and i mean it.

“And i will give you five more of each for lying.  Do you agree to submit?”

“Yes, Master, please,” i say, but a bit breathless because i had not expected this.

“Present the crop and paddle to me.  You’ve chosen well.”

i’m ridiculously pleased that he’s pleased with my choices, and that the questions are over, and relieved that i remember the next steps in this ritual.  Standing, i approach him slowly, eyes downcast.  i grasp the crop and bring it to my mouth, lightly kissing the tip of it, and then hand it to him.

He takes it.

i do the same with the paddle, only this time i bring my mouth to each side of it, signaling my complete willingness to accept his will.  He nods and accepts it from me.

Then he holds out his hand, his right hand, the one he will use to punish me.  i bend to his hand, caressing the palm with my lips in a tender kiss.

He stands, leads the way to the punishment table.

There are hooks embedded in the floor, he has me attach my ankle cuffs to the third hook out on each side,so my legs are spread a little more than shoulder width, held securely in place.  i feel wobbly, but just for a minute.

He bends me over the table, which is padded, and then adjusts the table so my torso is lower than my ass.  He attaches my wrist cuffs to a rope on the other side of the table.  i can move a bit, but i can’t bring my legs together or use my hands to protect my ass.

“You know what to do,” he says.  “Count the strokes and thank me for each one.  Let’s begin.”


In my life

If we were once all hunters and gatherers, then you would think of me as a gatherer.   Hunters have a sharp focus and head out into the world with the intent of bagging a lion – or whatever prize they want.  A lion or a good deal on a car or a big promotion or whatever.

Gatherers go out and see what we can find.  Maybe it’s berries and dandelion root, or maybe it’s an odd assortment of friends or an unexpected job offer.  It’s not that we don’t have some kind of plan – we do.  It’s just subject to change depending on what happens that day, or that week.  It’s not so goal directed and focused, it’s more diffuse and receptive.

Some people might tell you that hunters are masculine and gatherers are feminine.  i don’t think it breaks up along male/female lines, but i think the traits that going with being a hunter are typically considered masculine while gatherer traits are stereotypically feminine.  i don’t know that it matters a lot – everyone needs some masculine and some feminine traits to be a whole person.

But i definitely think some of us are more of one than the other.  i have at least one female relative and several female friends who are much more hunter than gatherer.  i can appreciate that, and love to watch them head for what they want, confident that they’ll bag the prize.  A hunter can get distracted, but only if they see a better opportunity along the way.


i am just much more gatherer than not.  i gather ideas and friends and information and theories and relationships.  i’ve wandered different career  paths and try on different activities and interests easily.  It’s not that i don’t know who i am -at my foundation, i do.  But i like to wander.  i didn’t pick a major in college until i was a junior, and might not have then, but they made me.


i’ve enjoyed my life so far, and i don’t have any regrets.  Make no mistake about that.

And yet.

Some of the ideas i was fascinated by when they were brand new and not accepted are now exciting new developments in my field, or in the world in general.  Books i didn’t write have been written by others.

i know that part of this is just my phase of life.  In old age, we look back on the things we didn’t do and maybe mourn the loss of what could have been.  i get that.

But i wonder what could i do now if i were less of a gatherer and a bit more hunter?

Or maybe that’s the wrong question.

What if i were more focused?  What if instead of wandering quite so much, i figured out where i was going and headed straight for it?

Not in everything.  But in my daily life, for example.  i do a lot.  i actually accomplish a lot.  What i’m not doing very well – still – is taking care of myself in some ways that matter to me.  My plate is so full, i fall off it.

Not all the time, not in all ways.  But i can’t seem to set a goal and keep on the path.  i get distracted.  (No, i don’t have ADHD.)  i get sidetracked.  Someone asks me something and i respond.  i want to see if anyone has asked me anything, and i check my email, check Facebook.  i see an article and i have to read it – i might need it for this or that thing, or i’m just interested in it.

Maybe i’m like a magpie, flying around aimlessly til i see something shiny, then swooping down to check it out.


Ok, that’s not quite right either.

Maybe i’m just so busy responding to distractions that i can’t do the things i need to do as well as i want to do them?

Yeah, i’m rambling now, and i don’t know if it even matters.  Here’s the thing.  For a long time now, well, since i heard Raven Kaldera speak about Master/slave relationships, i have believed that it would be helpful for me to have a relationship with a Dominant who would help me shift my energy so i could be more focused, more goal-directed, and less receptive to whatever comes along that i respond to instead of staying on track with what i was supposed to be doing in the first place.

Today, it seems like i am not ever going to have that Dom.  So maybe there’s an app that can help me do the same things.  Maybe i’ve just become submissive to the wrong things.  But that’s a thought for a different day.

Today, in other news, i wore make-up and heels for the first-time- in-forever last night, going to an event with a friend.  i also bought new panties, discarding some granny panties along the way.  And i began to shave again.  You know, shave.

i know, you might think i should have been doing this all along, but it’s hard to keep up – at least, hard for me – without my partner noticing or caring about it.  Not blaming him at all, because it’s really another example of how i rely on others to set my goals and standards for me.  Or that i have too strong a need for approval?  i don’t know.

Whatever.  i need to stop waiting for things that aren’t going to happen and start doing what i need to do to be ok.  And be open to the possibilities of the universe.

i started to apologize for this post being boring, but no.  i don’t care if it was.  The Punishment will be back tomorrow. Hope you’re having a lovely day.  ❤