Goals – the next day

i wake up early.  i lie there for a minute, trying to remember what’s different today.  Then it comes to me – oh.  Yes.  Oh.

I want to go to the bathroom, but i can barely get out of bed.  One ankle and one wrist are attached to the bed.  i could untie myself, theoretically, but i would not want the consequences of doing that without permission.  And theoretically, i could stand up, but i don’t want to take the chance of ending up on the floor on my ass.

“Hello?”  i call out, knowing that the video camera and the monitor are on, someone can hear me, but that’s no guarantee that they’ll answer.  “I need to – um, i need to pee.  Please.”

There is silence for a long moment.  Then The Voice – the disembodied voice of the monitor – says, “You may untie your wrist and use the pot at the end of the bed.  If you want to, your choice.”

i sigh.  Fuck.  i don’t want to use the pot.  i have to squat. They’ll watch me.  i hate that.  But if i don’t, they’re liable to leave me here til i have to do it, just to teach me a lesson.  Fine.

i roll over enough to use my right hand to take the rope off my left wrist.  i sit up, the rope on my ankle looks long enough to stand up easily, so i scoot to the side of the bed, put my right foot to the floor and let the left follow.  Yep, piece of cake.  And there’s the pot, right there in easy reach.  AND toilet paper.  It is clearly my lucky day.

i finish and am trying to decide what to do with the toilet paper when The Voice says, “Go ahead and unfasten your ankle now.  You can empty the pot yourself.”

Annoyed, but trying not to show it, i set myself free, carry the pot carefully to the bathroom, where i empty and wash it as i’ve been taught to do.  “Good girl!” and i could swear The Voice is laughing at me.

It is my master who opens the door, he walks in as if this is just another day.  “Good morning,” he says, kissing my mouth and pinching one nipple at the same time.  i’m delighted, despite myself.

“Kneel,” he says, just as casually as he’d said good morning.  The change of pace throws me, but just for a second.  Quickly, i kneel.

“Today, all of your activities will be monitored.  It will be a day of punishment, a day of self-improvement, and I hope it will be a day that you make progress on your goals.  I’ve scheduled you for body buffing today, you’ll be inspected tonight.  Is that clear?”

My mind is cloudy, this is a lot to take in, but i answer, “Yes, Master,” quickly.

He smiles then, and my heart beats faster – i know, that’s silly, but it does.  He reaches down to stroke my cheek.  “You are a good girl, you know,” he says.  “And I know you’ll do well today.  Make me proud.  I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes, Master,” i say, and this time i say it knowing that i will do whatever tasks he’s assigned me today, with pleasure.  Ok, maybe not all with pleasure, but whole-heartedly.

He reaches down, offers me his hand to help me to my feet.  “Come here,” he says, “come bend over the spanking bench.  I’ll give you the first spanking of the day myself.  Yes, right here.”

i admit, i’m pleased he’s doing it himself, and i hope there’ll be an orgasm at the end of it too.  So i drape myself over the spanking bench, offering my ass quite willingly.

Five licks with the paddle later, i am rubbing my ass and resigned to a day with no orgasms.  My Master kisses me again, pinching both nipples this time, hard.  “Bye, baby,” he says.  “No orgasms, don’t forget.”  And he’s gone.

He has barely left the room when Jamie comes in.  She’s a trainer, and i assume she’s going to be in charge today.

“Hey,” she says, friendly enough.

“Hi,” i’m not sure whether to relax or be more anxious when she’s being this nice.

“Ready?  Have you showered yet?”  i shake my head, no, and she says, glancing at her phone, “That’s ok.  I see your Master gave you 5 with the paddle, but you have another 10 coming.  Back over the bench please.”

i am not nearly as enthusiastic this time, but not stupid either.  Obediently, back over the bench i go.  The paddle hurts like a mother, and Jamie is no slacker.  i am almost crying by the time she’s done.  But i can feel myself opening, my willingness to obey increasing every time the paddle lands on my ass.

“Ok,” she says with a sigh, as if this has been tougher on her than on me.  “Let me look at your schedule.  You’ve got exercise class next.  Get me your leash, we don’t want to be  late.”

Too Tired

Shygirl wrote a lovely post about being sleepy – you may want to read it here, because she says it so well.  All i could think was, “Oh!  Me too!!”

i don’t know why i’m so tired – i’m even waking up kind of tired, even when i get up at my normal time.  i wonder if part of it is not eating right?  Too many carbs?  Not enough exercise?  Feeling a bit trapped in my relationship, and in my home?  i dunno.

But today, i bring you this:


Don’t wait for someone

to bring you flowers,

plant your own garden,

decorate your own soul.




“How much did you get done today?”

His voice is gentle, not demanding at all, but i cringe.  “Um, i did the dishes and laundry and made the bed, and i even straightened up part of the utility room.”  Despite myself, my voice goes up in question at the end of that sentence.  Is that good enough? my voice asks.

He tilts his head, curious.  “Were those your assigned tasks today?”

Of course not, he already knows that.  i hang my head, i can’t look at him.  “N-no.  Sir.”

“What were you supposed to do?”

i can’t answer, the words are stuck in my throat, sudden tears in my eyes, not quite spilling over.

“This is really hard for you,” he says, matter-of-factly.  “Painful.”  i nod.  “That’s ok,” and his tone is brisk, “Of course it’s painful, you’re embarrassed and maybe even ashamed.  That’s ok. Come here.”

i move toward him, prepared to feel his arms around me, but that’s not his plan.  He puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me to face the wall.  “Hands against the wall, good, now take two steps back.  One more step.”

This leaves me leaning against the wall.  “Open your legs, yes like that, and put your ass out.”  Even as he says it, and as i obey, i hear his belt swish as he pulls it from the loops.  Shit.  i love the belt, but not like this, not without warm-up, not standing here naked in the public room leaning against the wall.

Not when he’s disappointed in me.

But no time to think about it, because the belt slashes through the air and lands, hard.  I cry out.  Again, and this time i try to tuck my butt under, try to move it away, even though i can’t.

“Put your ass out and don’t move it again,” he says.  This time the belt hits my upper thighs – i had not expected that and i squeal.

Hard, he’s hitting me hard, my ass is burning.  He pauses once, “This is painful,” he says, “You let me know when you’re ready to have a difficult conversation.”

“Now!” i say, “i’m ready now!”  But, “I don’t think so, not yet,” he says, and the belt continues to slash across my ass cheeks, landing on my sit spot and occasionally my upper thighs.  i don’t know how many times it lands before i move past the pain, accepting it, moving into submission.  Finally, welcoming it.

Each time the belt lands, raising welts, i feel a bit of resistance slip away.  i feel myself opening to him, my willingness building.  Crying a bit but no longer completely aware of pain, just aware of wanting his acceptance, wanting to please.

When he stops, i wait while his hands run over my ass, stroking the tender heat.  i whimper.

His hands between my legs, feeling the wetness there.  i moan and shudder.

His hands  moving around to my breasts, his body against my back, while he tugs on my nipples.  My nipples are already hard, he stretches them until i cry out.

He helps me stand upright, leads me to the center of the room, in front of the fireplace.  He motions to a spot in front of the big leather armchair, helps me settle on the floor.  He positions me on my knees, head to the floor, arms stretched out in front of me.

i hear him move away, walking around the room, ice clinking.  A drink, he’s getting himself something to drink.  i wait.

i hear him get seated in the chair in front of me, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.  i wait.  As i wait, i become calmer.  My heart rate slows, my thought are no longer racing.  i know i have fucked up, and this beating was not my punishment.  It was a release, designed to free me from the shame of my failure.

At last, and i don’t know if it has been minutes or hours, but at last, he says, “Are you ready to talk?”

“Yes, Sir,” i say, with some enthusiasm.

“Then sit up,” he says, “and let’s try not to make this difficult conversation any more painful than it needs to be.”

“Yes, Sir,” i sniff, sitting up carefully.

He hands me a kleenex.  “Blow your nose.  And then tell me what your task was today.”

i smile shyly.  “Yes, Sir.”




On your knees

“On your knees,” he says.

i do it quickly.  There has been talk lately of a training school, an idea that alternately excites and terrifies me – or maybe that’s the same thing.  But the thought inspires me to quick obedience.

Besides, i love to kneel at his feet.

He is naked under his robe, his cock in hand, already half erect.  “Closer,” he says impatiently, and i move forward, on my knees, til i am nestled between his thighs.  “Shall I let you suck my cock first?  Or should I let you feel my belt on your ass first?  Or maybe the ruler slapping your cunt is what you’re craving first tonight.”

I know those are not questions for me to answer.  i wait.  Wait and shiver with anticipation, any of those would be fine with me.  All of them would be a rare treat.  And there’s no guarantee that he won’t spank my pussy and leave me longing to taste his cock.

“Open your mouth,” he says.  i obey, opening it wide enough that it could take his cock if he chooses to put it in my mouth.

“Hover,” he says.

i lean forward, placing my mouth directly over his cock, just barely above the head, without allowing my lips to touch it.  Mouth open, poised, waiting for the next command.  He strokes himself a moment, and i feel my pussy throbbing.  i want so badly to taste him.

i think it’s crazy that i feel this way – what is it about being made to wait that drives me wild?  i don’t know, but he’s a Master of dragging it out, making me suffer.

“Put your tongue out,” he says.

He rests his cock on my tongue, but “Don’t move,” he says.  i can smell him, see a tiny drop of pre-cum on the head of his cock if i look cross-eyed down at it.  i can see the veins begin to throb and think that he won’t be able to wait much longer –

– when he suddenly pulls it back.  “No.  Not yet.  Rock back and present your pussy.”

It is not an easy position change, shifting from kneeling back on my heels to lying on my back with my knees pulled apart and up to my chest.  But i manage it not too badly, i think.

He pinches my pussy lips, “Look how wet you are!” he says.  i flush, my face and neck turning red.  i can see that he has the ruler in hand and i brace myself for what is coming.

The first whacks are gentle.  Right between my legs at first, landing sharply, then alternating – inside one thigh then the other.  i begin to squirm, but he laughs, “Hold still, girl, it hasn’t begun to hurt yet.”

And then it begins to feel good, i can feel the tension rising, and i know that i could cum.  Right now, i could cum from him whacking me with that damn ruler.  He must know it too, cause he stops.  Leaving me whimpering now from the loss of pain.

“Hush,” he says, “Bring that mouth up here so I can fuck it.”

Happily i kneel in front of him again.

“Open,” he says.


“Now take it.”  And with his hand on the back of my head, he pushes me down so his cock is buried deep in my throat, making me gag.  Before i can adjust to the assault, he pulls back, lifting my head off him, then pushes me back down.  i struggle to relax my throat, wanting to take him all.

He holds my head steady, pushes himself against the back of my throat, fucking my mouth while tears stream down my face.  “There you go, good girl,” he says.

And i am content.



i was wondering today when and how i began to think of myself as unfocused and disorganized.  No, wait, that’s not quite right, but i began to think of myself as “not focused enough,” and “not organized enough.”

i think that i’ve been missing the point.  i can be super focused and super organized ~ when i’m focusing on what other people need, and organizing things so that those goals can be met.  i don’t mean i’m super altruistic or unselfish or that i don’t think about my own needs.  That wouldn’t be accurate.

But my energies have been directed, mostly, to focusing on goals that other people have set for me and in organizing around those goals.  So once upon a time, long ago, i was in graduate school, and taking care of my kids , who were in elementary and middle school, and i was working  full-time and at least trying to be a good wife, although not always successfully.  i was organized and focused enough to do all that.

Juggling all those moving balls.  Wears me out now just to think about it.

But i mostly only do it when it’s somebody else’s balls.  (Stop that.  i am not talking about that kind of balls!  And you know it.)

Anyhow.  I don’t know.  Maybe i’m actually ok just the way i am – Mr. Rogers would think so, right?

i read this fascinating article that Jade from The Chrysanthemum and The Sword posted on Facebook.  It’s called You probably know to ask yourself, “What do I want?” Here’s a way better questionwhich is an awfully long title.  But it suggests:

A more interesting question, a question that perhaps you’ve never considered before, is what pain do you want in your life? What are you willing to struggle for? Because that seems to be a greater determinant of how our lives turn out.

So, i’d like to have a great body (for an old woman) but am apparently obviously not willing to exercise a whole lot more and eat a whole lot less to get there.  i’d like to be a famous author, but not enough to risk rejection by sending my work to a publisher.

The article says:

Everybody wants to have great sex and an awesome relationship—but not everyone is willing to go through the tough conversations, the awkward silences, the hurt feelings and the emotional psychodrama to get there. And so they settle.

That kind of makes me feel guilty (i do guilt really well, you know) and i think, do i just need to talk to MP more?  Then i remember the conversations we’ve had, and his health issues, and a bunch of other stuff, and i shrug off the guilt.

The article is worth reading, and has some truth to it, i think.  At the end, it says that it’s not just another “no pain, no gain” article, but it kind of seems like it is, to me.  But maybe what it means –

~~let me see if i can express this ~~

Does it mean that you should pick suffering that you enjoy? So even if you don’t succeed (and hard work and suffering DON’T always lead to success) you will enjoy the struggle you went through?

i don’t know.  i don’t think it’s saying that.  It seems like it’s saying if you haven’t achieved something it’s because you didn’t want the suffering you would have had to go through to get it.  When i put it that way, i don’t think it’s necessarily true.

Oh, hell, i don’t know.  It is an interesting article.  What do you think it’s saying?  My brain gets twisted when i try to sort through it.  Of course, maybe that’s because i keep waking up at 2:30 a.m. and not being able to go back to sleep.  That kinda sucks.

Pacific Islander businesswoman yawning at desk

But ultimately, i think my beliefs and my life experience are more aligned with Joseph Campbell, who says:

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”


“Here.”  He snaps his fingers and points to the floor at his feet.  “Crawl,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

i hesitate – just for a moment – but crawl?  Alan and Mindy are here!  It’s bad enough that i’m naked, and the only one naked.  Although, Mindy is barely dressed.  Still, a corset and a skirt, even a short one, is a lot better than naked with a butt plug.  And now he wants me to crawl over there?

i’ve paused too long, he raises one eyebrow and my heart rate speeds up, ok, yes, no, he doesn’t have to tell me twice.  i drop to all fours and begin to crawl.  Not in a scurry, but slowly, with some grace, in a way i know will please him.  Head up, but eyes down.

At his feet, i stop, rock back on my heels.  Classic first position, back straight, knees spread slightly, hands resting on my thighs, palms up.  He does not even glance at me, deep in conversation with Alan.  i keep my eyes down, not wanting to see the look on Mindy’s face.

i try to keep my mind clear, focused on my posture, but the words begin to penetrate.  “So,” my Master says, “Did you like the training school?”

“I did,” says Alan, laughing.  “I’m not sure Mindy did, not all of it anyhow, but she came back much more obedient.  And more pleasing.  I think it was worth it.  Plus, of course, they marked her for me.  Did you notice the one here, on her tit?”

“Oh, let me see!”  My Master leans forward, and i look too, trying to look up without anyone noticing.  But it’s ok, my Master motions to me, “Here, look at this,” he says.  “I think something like this might look nice on you.  My initial of course, and a different design.”

It is pretty.  The letter A in block capital and a woman, a nymph or a fairy beneath it, leafy green design around it.  Very pretty.  But.  But.


“Not just there,” says Alan.  “Show him, baby.”  i’m feeling bad for Mindy, but she looks happy enough as she pulls her skirt up on one side to show the same design on one ass cheek.  “And?” says Alan.

And she pulls her skirt up in front, raises one knee and turns her leg out from the hip so her inner thigh is exposed.  There it is, high up on the thigh, the same design.  “I thought about marking her cunt,” Alan says, “But decided i liked this better.”

Mindy continues to stand there, leg raised and bent, toe touching her other knee, like a ballet dancer.  And i realize she’s proud of it

It is a shock to realize that i might be too, if it were me.  i feel myself flush, and there’s a roaring in my ears that makes it hard to pay attention.  Do i want to be marked?  Am i insane?  But i can feel the attraction to it

A long moment, before Alan nods and Mindy puts her leg down.  My Master is looking at me curiously, and i wonder what my face is showing.  “That’s nice,” he says, still addressing Alan.  “Very nice.  But I’ve been wondering if branding wouldn’t be better.”

“Well, it’s more permanent, that’s for sure,” Alan says seriously.

i can’t breathe at all now, and i’m pretty sure my heart has stopped.  He’s kidding, i know he’s kidding, he wouldn’t do that.  Really, he wouldn’t.

“Not as pretty though,” he says, and now i’m hoping he wants me tattooed.  Clearly, i have lost my mind.  “Well, no need to decide now,” he adds.  “Do you  want to go out for dinner, or have something brought in?”  This question is addressed to Alan too, of course.

i quit listening, my mind wandering, thinking of all the questions i want to ask Mindy about the school she’d been sent to, and the tattoos.  i wonder if they hurt a lot.

My mind is jerked back to the room by the sudden pinch of my Master’s fingers on my right nipple, bringing tears to my eyes and making me gasp.  “Listening now?” he asks, releasing the nipple.  i can only nod.  “Then crawl into the bedroom and put on a skirt and top.  Heels.  Fix your hair and do your face, whatever you need to do to be ready to go out.  Ten  minutes before we walk out the door.   I’ll decide about whether or not to let you take the butt plug out once you’re dressed.  Clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

i smile, i can do this.  “i’m to – to crawl into the bedroom and put on a skirt and top. Do my hair and face.  Wear heels.  i’ve got ten minutes to be ready and you’ll decide about the butt plug when i’m dressed.”

“Good girl,” he says, and my whole body shivers with pleasure.  “Maybe I will just have you tattooed.  Now go.”

Crawling away from them is even worse than crawling toward him, but i search for grace and try to look like a cat and not an armadillo as i go.


Sunday Check-in 4-23-16

i went for a walk yesterday, and the day before, which was really nice.  There’s a park not too far away – ok, i have to drive to it – but it’s really nice.   And i played some music.

This:  (Sacred Spirit Drums; David and Steve Gordon)

And this:  (Squeeze Box; The Who)

And this:  (Swing Low, Sweet Chariot; Etta James)

…to name a few.  It was pretty lovely.  And i thought.  You know, about stuff.

i thought about how getting snatched up by a Dom – that moment when you  know you’re “in trouble” – is such a turn on.  The hand in your hair, or even the tone of voice, and suddenly i’m feeling all hot and wet.   Just thinking about it makes me wet.

But we know – the scientists tell us – that we get wet when we’re exposed to sex, when there’s a chance that sex is in the mix, we get wet.  Lubricated.  It’s a safety precaution that our bodies take.  So in case we get raped – we’re not going to get hurt as badly as we would if we were dry.

Like frigging chameleons change colors so they blend in.  Not because they’re just that cool; it’s a safety measure.

So that whole, “Oh, look, you like this, i can tell cause you’re so wet!”  That’s bullshit.  Yep.  Here’s one resource for that in Psychology Today.  The article itself is stupid, but the research is interesting.

On the other hand, why don’t we get wet for boring, vanilla sex?  i don’t know, but i don’t. Never have.  i just don’t.  Don’t know why, and don’t really care.*

But i love the thrill of submission.  Some people like roller coasters.  i like giving my power to some Dominant man.  Slipping down into that submissive mind space…  feeling my knees go weak, my body tingle… yes.  Just yes.

Anyhow.  i didn’t gain weight or lose weight this week.  i was fairly productive.  i walked a couple of times.  Got my hair colored.  Traveled a bit.  Took my cat to the vet.  Ate healthy and binged some.

i still exchange email with my old high-school friend – the one whose friend i dated for a while, way back when.  We’ve been emailing each other every day – or close to it – since the end of February.  It’s really casual.  He – we’ll call him DK – still seems like the guy i knew when he was 17.  Bad puns, and a sort of cynical pseudo-sophistication that was probably more impressive then than it is now.  But kind of sweet at the same time.

i remember feeling drawn to him in some way, back in those days.  He had what i thought of as a dark side and i’m always a bit pulled by that.  His friend was more light and earnest boy scout, although the friend had some amazing sexual skill.  He could finger fuck like nobody i’ve known before and hardly ever since.  (I can say that here, right?  My blog, sure i can.)

Anyhow.  After the friend left town to go away to college,  DK and i might have gone out a couple of times .  It didn’t work for me, but i’m not sure why anymore.  i remember some awkward groping in a dark car though and the realization that nope. not gonna work.

i still love it that every night, i get an email from him.  Every night for almost 2 months now.  i am a girl who loves that kind of consistency.

So today, i have this fantasy  that DK suddenly emails me and asks if i still like being spanked.  In the next 30 seconds, i imagine that i told him that all these years ago, and since then he has discovered that he’s really into dominance and …


That is SO not going to happen.  That is the stuff that Harlequin BDSM romances are made of, and i suppose i could work it into a story someday.  But not today.  And not for real.

However.  We are entering the Season of Good Times in my part of the world.  Lots of festivals and festivities and friends visiting.   My goal today?  To enjoy it without beating myself up too much for the things i’m not doing.  And to stay open to possibility.

*Actually, there’s another article that explores this concept in much more detail.  You can read it here.  i don’t have time to do it right now; that will have to be a post for a different day.