FFF – 7-27

29,000.  Y’all.  That’s my sad little step count for the week.  Sigh.  I’ve been in class 8 hours/day, from 11-7, and am just worn out.   Some days, I got 2,500 steps and just din’t care.  Today is the last day of class, thank goodness, and we end at 4.

My  neck is f’ed up from looking down at my laptop for too many hours – that actually started last week, and i’ve been trying to adjust for it this week, with a little bit of success.   But there’s still significant discomfort   I’ve ordered some tools that may help – a separate keyboard and a stand to raise the level of my screen, but they won’t be here til Tuesday.  Also yoga blocks so I can raise my chair and still touch the floor.

I had my first appointment with my new doctor and LOVED her.  I would possibly even take statins if she wants me to.  Possibly.  Ok, probably not really.  Did you know they can cause weight gain and an increased risk of diabetes?  Does it make any sense to you that I need to lose weight and to put me on a med that may make me gain weight?  I didn’t think so.

Ok, I just looked at an article on statins and it says that weight gain happens becuase people think being on the med means they can eat anything.  That won’t happen for me.  But how do they know that’s why it happens?  Hmmm…

The the article talks about statins causing muscle pain and weakness.  And adds this:

Muscle pain associated with statins is most often not serious and typically can be resolved by switching to a lower dose, or different statin drug. If you’re taking a statin and notice muscle pain, tenderness or weakness, dark or brown-colored urine, or unexplained tiredness, it’s important to call your doctor right away as that could be a sign of a fortunately rare, but deadly, side effect.

Y’all.  I get all kinds of muscle pains and tenderness that I don’t pay any attention to.  I will probably have that side effect and not even think about it and die.   So ok, no statins.

But I love my doctor, so that’s super cool!!!  AND (did I already tell you this?) she removes skin tags.  She does.  If you don’t have skin tags, you may be unimpressed.  But if you do, you’ll understand how thrilled i am.

Weight range is the same.  I’m getting a bit of organizing done in my office, which is pretty thrilling.  And I have many of my picture hung, finally.

Date night was lovely last week.  He didn’t have anything planned, but ended up taking me to a little restaurant at the beach, where we had a delightful meal.  Then we walked out on the pier and watched the night fishers and those wild and crazy folks who will get in the ocean at night.  It was just nice.

Then we went home, where i was appropriately spanked and played with.  Lot of pleasure all around.  I even got to indulge in a little cock worship, which was lovely.






What will you do today?


Sleep, exercise, fresh air, meditation, boundaries, social media detox, mani-pedi, facial, quiet time, flowers, journaling, therapy, asking for help, listening to a podcast, chiropractor, a cup of tea, a nap, walking, reading, getting a haircut, going to a doctor, painting, taking a bath, seeing a friend, using a babysitter, hiring help, buying a treat, going out to eat, massage, acupuncture

What would you add to the list?


TBT on M for CWS

Don’t you love acronyms?  FYI, that’s Throw Back Thursday on Monday for Cock Worshiping Subs.  This post is from a blog i used to have, long ago in a different lifetime.  “Sir” was First Sir, the first Dom I called Sir.

I’m curious to see how this post from 2010 lands with those of you that didn’t know me then.  This is more sexually explicit than most of what i write these days, but it flows so nicely with the whole CWS concept.  Anyhow.  With no further ado, I present:

Cock Worship

i am kneeling.  Of course.  He is sitting in front of me, his cock in his hand. I rock back on my heels, tilt my head, eyebrows raised, smile slightly.  “May i?” i ask hopefully.  “Please?”

“No.” He says.  “Not yet.”

A shiver goes through me, my pussy clenches.  Why does being denied turn me on?  i lower my eyes demurely, watching the cock still in his hand.  

He strokes it a little.  I nibble on my lower lip.  Waiting.  Anticipation making me wetter.

What is it about a cock that’s so fascinating?  So desirable?  So hot? 

An analyst I know, I’ll call him JM,  might say it’s cock envy.   He insists that on some level men envy women for our power to carry life, to give birth.  And that women envy men for their cocks.  I struggle to figure out what that means exactly. 

I know I don’t want to be a man.  I can’t think of a lot of things men can do that I can’t do.  You know, write their name in the snow.  I’m not tempted by that.   I don’t think I want my own cock.

I don’t think I want my own cock

Or do i?  Maybe not to keep.  

i kneel before Him, still waiting for permission.  i want to put my mouth over His cock, breathing on it, warming it with my breath.  Close my mouth over it, wet and warm, licking the head til it’s wet.

i want to hold His cock at the base, holding it still while i lick the head with the flat of my tongue, as if it were an ice cream cone.  Licking all around as if it would melt otherwise.

Then with the tip of my tongue, running it around the rim,  just under the rim.  Pausing to attend to the opening, licking gently, delicately.  Caressing with my tongue that ridge where the vein runs, pulsing so fiercely i can see it throb.

Licking my way from the base up that vein, pressing just hard enough that a drop of precum emerges – and is licked away again.  Ahhhh.

i’ve always liked sucking cock – obviously, not just anyone’s cock.  You know, in the context of relationship.  i always thought it was a powerful act of love. 

i understand there are women who don’t feel that way, who truly don’t like to do it.  And even for me, in an unhappy relationship, it can lose its charm and become a chore rather than a delight. 

i understand there are women who think it’s humiliating, who see it as subservient and a powerless stance  for a woman to kneel at her man’s feet and serve his cock.   Maybe i wouldn’t like it either if i saw it that way.   i think they think it puts the man in a position of superiority, makes them inferior.  

And i guess if i talk about cock worship, and you think that means worshiping the man attached to the cock -well, that would be a whole different thing, wouldn’t it?  Because really, it’s not so much about Him.

This is Min, an Egyptian god. As you can see, He’s not the sexless god associated with Christianity.

i discovered a wonderful web site about cock worship,  for real, not just in a BDSM sense.  Here’s the link:


Here’s another picture of Min:

The article comment on this picture:

Min was an ancient Egyptian god of fertility. In Egyptian art and statues, Min is always shown holding his cock with his left hand and a threshing flail in his raised right hand. A flail, in case you’re wondering, is a kind of whip used to separate grain, or judging from the erection, to beat the shit out of some particularly adventurous woman who’s been naughty and needs to be punished. ”

Isn’t that great?

i am still kneeling, still waiting.  He is stroking Himself, torturing me by denying me access to His cock. 

i feel sorry for women who don’t know the power of pleasuring His cock.  When my mouth closes on Him, His cock becomes mine, for the moment.  Mmmhmmm.  Really.  i own it.  Believe me.  He gives it to me.

That may have been a secret, maybe i wasn’t supposed to tell You that.   Maybe that will make it too scary.

JM, the analyst, says that men are afraid of women, afraid of “going in.”  

“We got out once,” he says, meaning in birth, “Will we get out again?”

i smiled when he said it, but i can see that it may be true, in that Jungian, archetypal way.

i am rocked back on my heels, kneeling, waiting.  Not inferior, not humbled.  More like a priestess.


When He allows me to, i’ll make his cock slippery wet, slide my mouth up and down til He is lost in pleasure.  i guess it could be scary.  (Wicked smile.)

But the Dominant man knows ways to keep control.    He makes me ask permission.  He tells me what to do.   He grasps my hair, right there at the base of my neck, and He decides how deep or shallow i can go.

He may push me down hard, so all my focus is on relaxing the back of my throat as he presses against it.  He may, at any second, say, “Remove,” and i will have to stop.  Sadly, reluctantly, but obediently..

It is part of the beauty of submission.  Together, He and i work to serve the Cock in a way that is pleasing to – Him.  The phallic power.


Phallic power is something to be worshiped.  A force to be reckoned with. 

i can see why a man would feel better with a submissive woman at His feet.   i can see why a man would want to give detailed instructions.  It increases my respect for male subs, who have the courage to hand themselves over to a domme – how scary!  Although, i guess it’s another way to be safe.

Hover, breathe through my mouth, close, lick, go down slowly, one half inch at a time, bury it, then back up, slowly and methodically, and remove.

Those were Sir’s instructions.  i think it takes two to cock worship correctly, and i appreciate the guidance.  

But i don’t do too badly on my own initiative either.  

His cock is wet and slippery, my mouth moving quickly, rhythmically, up and down, making him wetter, harder.  It hits the back of my throat hard. Every 3rd or 4th time, i gag a little.  When it gets to be too much, i go a little more shallow, licking, swirling my tongue around.  i can feel the vein throbbing, if i put my finger on the base of his cock, i can tell he’s getting close.   

And we can wait, we can make it last a long time.  Until it cries out for completion, until He’s ready, His cock is ready, and at last He releases –  over the top Himself, much to my satisfaction.   Cum shooting forth,  fertility expressed, The Cock is pleased.

That’s what cock worship is about.  For me. 

What does it mean to you?


FFF – 7-20-18

Here we are back to another week of FFF – where does the time go?

Steps – I’ve averaged 6,071 over the last 7 days, so that’s not terrible.  I’ve noticed a pattern of doing really well on the weekends, pretty well on Mondays and Tuesdays and then going downhill over the rest of the week.  I’d like to even that out, but maybe it’s more practical to increase what i’m doing on weekends and early in the week.  Who knows…

My weeks pass in a semi-blur of work, (both jobs) grandkids, the house and pool, Sir, Facebook, sunrise at the beach, and spending time with my daughter or the couple of people i know here.  Not necessarily in that order, but maybe mostly in that order.  Oh, and my classes.  i’m taking off work to go to class 8 hours/day next week – on-line, so everything else will still be here.

I’m grateful that i can take the time off to do it, and a bit sad that it’s not going to be an actual vacation.  The last time off i took was to move.  Also not exactly a vacation.   Although i did take some time to enjoy, so i don’t need to complain.

Weight is in the same range as last week, which is fine.  I’m feeling better about how i look and feel, so even though i want to lose more weight, it’s ok to do it more slowly.  i have my appointment with my new doctor on Wednesday, and plan to talk about goals, both for exercise and such and nutrition.

I’ve been pondering submission, of course, and the submissive heart.   i think that our dynamic – mine and Sir’s – is complicated by his physical issues.  Well, i mean, of course it is in obvious ways.  But also in terms of service.  And then there’s just his own idiosyncrasies.  He is not an easy Dom to serve.

He is a selective eater, and has no interest in me cooking for him.  In the very early stages of our relationship, this was not evident, but since then it’s become very evident.  The most i can do is encourage him to eat what he wants when he feels like it.

He has zero interest in and not much awareness of whether the house is clean or neat or not.   It’s literally just not something he pays attention to.  i’m a bit that way myself – if i’m not careful, we can start looking like hoarders.  I have someone come in to clean every other week, which means we have to straighten up enough for her to clean, and that keeps things from getting out of hand.  Also, the mess begins to bother me and I know i feel better when it’s organized and neater.  Sir does not care.  He is pretty completely unconcerned about whether i’ve done the appropriate chores or not.

I know he has to make an effort to notice when i get my hair cut or my nails done – even though i make the announcement right before i go.  And for sure, I’m 100 times more judgemental about my weight than he is.

You might think that i can serve him by fetching and carrying things, since he has limited mobility and walking and carrying things can be a challenge.  So I can do those kinds of things – get his food at a buffet, carry his coffee to the table, and so on.  But – for both of us, it begins to feel like “care-giving” – as if i’m doing those things because he’s not able to.  Since his goal now is more independence, we’ve agreed that i won’t do those things unless he asks for help.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?  How do i serve him?  What does that look like?

In other news, which is exciting probably only to me, i’ve decided to start participating in some of the TBT fun with posts from my original blog.  I’ve realized that the reasons that led me to distance myself from it are no longer applicable.   This makes me feel more connected with my past and my self from a different life.  Fondles efforts to renew interest in CWS (cock-worshiping subs) is what inspired me.  In fact, i might have to post my old post about that before Thursday.

Anyhow.  Happy FFF to you.  Good times ahead.





My Submissive Heart

This post, by Nora Jean at Living a Loving Life reminded me of an aspect of submission that I hadn’t been thinking about lately.  She said:

“As a result I am trying very hard to approach our new dynamic with what I am calling my ‘submissive heart’, looking for opportunities to demonstrate my submissiveness to and for Frank.”

Those words made me realize that i have not been in touch with my own submissive heart – that it’s at least half-way covered with a self-protective layer of shell.   It seemed to be necessary at one time, and I won’t second-guess myself from here.  Maybe it is still needed.

I’ve gotten a glimpse of it lately – felt it for a moment – that opening/giving/offering part of myself.

I won’t force it.

I might have thought at one time that i needed to figure out how to speed the process, how to push myself into it.  Or, in the time before that, it would have happened totally spontaneously, without thought or caution.  One minute feeling the belt, the next minute feeling all desire to please and serve.

Now, i choose to trust myself. i am glad that NJ reminded me of that feeling – that softened openness – and i’m pretty sure i’ll feel that again.  But today, i chose to honor my own wisdom to know when and how it will happen.

Interesting that when i google “the submissive heart,” it’s all articles about submitting to God that pop up.  But when i shift to images – it’s all BDSM.   Some lovely memes.  (Ok, one was a God meme.  But still…)



A submissive is a strong, independent, talented, capable woman in her own right, yet, she hungers to please and serve her Dominant.

When she finds the right Dominant, the submissive will wear his mark on her heart and soul.  Just as she will forever be a part of His heart and soul – marked in His own way by the submissive He owns.



FFF 7-13-18 (late again, damnit)

Reporting in today – in bad news, I’m still not exercising or walking like i need to.  The days slip by and suddenly it’s evening and i’m looking at 2,500 steps on my fitbit and shrugging, oh, well, tomorrow’s another day…

In good news – i hit a new weight range just since last week. The 158’s showed up on my scale.  We’re looking at 158.2 – 161.  That’s pretty exciting!

In other good news – i got my 3 month lab results back and my glucose level was just under the diagnosis of diabetes! That’s right.  I’m now at high risk for diabetes instead of being about a point and a half over the line into diabetes.

I am particularly pleased about this – on top of just being pleased for its own sake – because it follows on an unpleasant experience at my doctor’s office.  I went in thinking he’d be pleased with my 10 pound weight loss and lower glucose readings, although we didn’t have the A1C (the 3 month test) yet.

Instead, he was super negative and told me different standards for the readings than the nurse practitioner had told me that put my readings in a more negative light.  I had brought in a blood pressure cuff for him to check for accuracy (one that Sir’s cardiologist had said was accurate) and he was dismissive of the cuff before he even checked it.  (“We can check it, but that doesn’t look like the kind that’s going to do what we need it to do.)

When I had first gotten there, the nurse took my blood pressure and it was good.  After about 10 minutes with the doctor, after I was pretty upset, he took it again and it was up.  He was patronizing and condescending about that, and when I said something about it having been lower earlier in the visit, he said that the nurse’s reading had probably not been accurate because I was so overweight, my arm was too thick to get an accurate reading.

Y’all.  Yes, I am obese. But my arm is not the thickest arm around by any means.  If I’m too fat to get an accurate blood pressure reading, I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that.  And really – if they can’t get an accurate reading, why are they even checking it??

They told me to check my blood pressure with the cuff I had brought in so they could see if it was accurate, and I started to do that.  The nurse took it off the arm I’d put it on and strapped it to the other arm.  Then she held my arm so I couldn’t move it.  This cuff has a light sensor that lets you know when your arm is in the right position to get a reading, and she wouldn’t let me move my arm to adjust it, and when I tried to explain, neither of them acknowledged that I was even talking, she just said to him, “I’m not getting any warm fuzzies about this cuff,” in a real disparaging tone, and I gave up and let her take it off.

The visit went downhill from there, if you can imagine, with more conversation about why my BP might be high and the state of the country.  It ended with him telling me I needed to quit watching the news so much so I wouldn’t be upset about things I couldn’t control.  He did not actually pat me on the head, or tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it, it just felt like he did.  Oh, and he told me maybe I needed therapy for my anger problem.

Let me be clear.  I was angry.  I didn’t yell, I didn’t call him names or cuss at him.  But when I checked my records on-line a few days later?   As I suspected, he had added “Anger Outbursts” to my list of diagnosis.  For the record, having feelings and getting diagnosed with anger outbursts are not the same thing.

I came home from the appointment all upset.  Fortunately, I was able to make an appointment with another doctor and have just been waiting to get the lab results back before I requested they send my records to the new place.   I really do think the doctor I’ve been seeing is a condescending, patronizing jerk who embodies the worst aspects of the patriarchy.

At the same time, I recognize that my reactions to him may be heightened based on some early childhood experiences with being in the hospital.  As it is, just remembering my appointment with him, I can feel my heart rate go up and my chest feels tight and my breathing gets shallow – as if I might be on the verge of a panic attack,    I’m pretty sure that’s too extreme a reaction for just remembering this doctor’s appointment.  I might come back and talk about how I think this links to that early childhood trauma in the hospital, but for now, I just console myself with the knowledge that I’m a grown up and fortunate enough to have good insurance and a bit of money so I don’t have to tolerate this doctor’s attitude any more.

Anyhow.  Thanks for reading this very non-kinky post.  Next time, I’ll tell you about date night and the benefits of a good spanking.  (In case you didn’t already know!)



The Munch and More

The day of the munch, i had to finish shaving, and thank goodness i was able to do that without any problem.  Full disclosure – i used an electric razor.  No, it doesn’t shave as closely, but i also don’t cut myself.  I did read Nora Jean’s post about shaving like a stripper, and seriously considered trying it, but it would have meant an extra trip to the store and… yeah, i just didn’t.  The little hand held electric one did a good enough job.

I debated what to wear – internally, not in any discussion about it.  Sir usually doesn’t have much interest in what i wear.  i contemplated wearing a dress, but the only one i have that’s cool enough for this weather is a little black dress and i thought it might be too dressy.  So i wore my usual black capri leggings and a tunic top that i’d just bought and hadn’t worn before.  I was feeling pretty festive.

We get to the restaurant a bit early, and tell the hostess we’re with a group – she quickly ushers us into a private room.  Only a couple of older women are there – um, older like a couple of years younger than me, probably.  They greet us, and direct us to sign in with our Fet names.  I put olivia and remember later that my fet name includes numbers.  Have to ask Sir if he remembers what they are – and go back to add “60.”

We select seats in the middle of one side of the table.  As others arrive, they sit across from us and at the ends of the table until all of those seats are full.  i feel like i am sitting on a little island of newness.

i suddenly remember how socially awkward i can be – the introvert in me is whispering, “Go home.  Just go home now.”

Eventually, everyone arrives, and some people sit next to us.  No one introduces themselves, it seems that they all know each other.  Sir and i introduce ourselves a couple of times and he shares some vanilla information about us.  One couple talks about the cruise they took, and the huge walk-in closet they’ve converted to a play room.  The Dom in that couple and Sir chat a bit.

i realize the submissives are wearing skirts or dresses.  Dommes or switches in pants.  Ooops.

One young person is a furry – not in a full furry outfit, just ears and a tail.  She giggles with delight and crawls under the table from time to time.  Our server is unfazed by this.  The group members mostly react with fond acceptance,  although i think i catch some tight-lipped tolerance.

Several people have their phones out and are checking FaceBook.  I get mine out too – a gift for the socially inept.  Someone comments, “Lively bunch tonight!” in that hearty tone that suggests this comment will somehow shift the energy.  That doesn’t happen.

They are nice people, and i assure myself it’s not my fault that the evening isn’t more dynamic.   It’s essentially dinner with a bunch a people i don’t know, what did i expect?  i think there are all kinds of undertones of all kinds of things in the room that i can only skim the surface of.  Webs of connection that criss-cross around me in ways that i can’t possibly understand.  i wonder if someday i’ll recognize the subtle messages being sent and received.

The latest arrival sits next to me, so i start a conversation with him.   He’s relatively new to the area, and i totally can’t tell if he knows anyone else or not.  Soon, he and another person are sharing stories about driving for Uber or Lyft, which is alternately amusing and horrifying.

People chat about kinky events, events they’ve been to, events they’d like to go to, play parties in the area.  i’m taking mental notes.

We order food.  We eat.  The fish is not bad.  We do not order dessert.  They have a 50-50 drawing – neither Sir nor i win.  And then it’s time to go.

Home – home where we retreat to our bedroom to act out our own kinky fantasies.  Yes, that includes the mean little mini-paddle.   Nicely warmed up – hand then belt – i am ready for the paddle, or as ready as i can be.

i’m expecting the heaviness of a paddle – the thud. And it’s there, for sure, but there’s a bit of sting too.  i don’t really understand how that works – how can it thud and then sting?  But i don’t have much chance to contemplate, because i’m busy trying to not make too much noise and noticing the feeling as it lands.

Then, just as it is getting to be a whole lot, Sir has me count – just 10 more he says, but count.  When he says “count” he doesn’t want to hear “One, two,” he means, “One, Thank you Sir, Two thank you, Sir,” and so on.  i do like that, even if that last ones are the worst.   i love the way he is upping the ante slowly, adding instruments and tools, but in a strategic way, starting with the things he knows i love

When we were finished with my spanking, we satisfied other needs, and that was lovely.

As for the munch, we survived.  We got our feet wet.  It wasn’t bad.  Sorry it wasn’t more exciting, but it is what it is.  Maybe we’ll go back, maybe we’ll try a different one, whatever, it will all be ok.

And Sir is watching for an opportunity to play when no one else is home.  i’m  not sure what he has in mind, but i imagine it will involve lots of noise – from me.  i’m excited, and just a bit nervous.  We’ll see…