Friday, 29 June 2012

Taped and Ready

Its seven o'clock on a Saturday and I'm rushing around, putting on the last finishing touches, getting ready to go. We are on our way to a house-warming party.
"We're going to be late."
"Relax", my husband called from the den. 
I grab the loaves of wholewheat bread from the counter, stuff them into a gift-bag and put the the bag on the table by the door. 
"The invite says they want the women to wear black" Husband said.
"What?" I asked, peeking into the den. He is sitting on the couch, tying up his boots. 
"Here". He passes me the invitation and in glittery ink, there is a polite request that women wear black.
 Had this invite on our fridge for six weeks. 
"That's so like them", I said.
"Artists are weird like that", he said.
I take off my white blouse. 
"We're going to be late now" I said. 
"We won't be late. Come here", he says. There's an amused look on his face.
"I have to change". I turn around, walk out of the room.
In the bedroom, I grab the first black dress I see, put it on, take my skirt off. 
"You can grab the tape", he said.
He can't be serious but I know he is really serious. His tone has changed from light and amused to a tone hovering around disaproval. 
I grab the tape.
"Now. Come. Here." 
We don't have time for this, but I stand in front of him and he puts a leg on either side of me.
I pass him the roll. He takes down the top half of my dress.
Deftly, he peels off a length of tape and winds it around my breastline, up and around my breasts.
A corset of tape in less than a mintue. 
"There", he said. "We're ready".

The most often asked question, I am receiving from readers (thank-you for the email) is:
 "Are you always in a submissive mindset?" And its a hard one to answear. 
The example above illustrates no. 
Now, you might not catch the reason why my husband bound me up in tape and sent me out into the night. He was making a point...several in fact. 
He wanted my attention. I was too distracted and worried about the time about the soical event, to slow down and to trust that all is just fine, the world won't end if we're late. 
He tried to distract me. If I had come, when he first asked, it probably would have been a different outcome. I mean, goodness, I had just flashed the man my breasts. He has a pulse. It would have probably been some nipple pulling/twisting, kisses and hugs. A nice few stolen moments. 
Instead, I didn't listen, I wasn't paying attention and I didn't submit--in that moment. 
Being bound and taped was the consequence. 
I got off lightly. It could have been monarch clamps. 

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Not the Good Pain

A casual read of BDSM/erotica fiction could leave you to believe in any situation the submissive is always ready and willing to serve, no matter the situation. I remember reading an erotica novel where even though the submissive was sick, she still obediently serviced her dominant.

In life—at least ours—there are many times, when the sex-play side of our BDSM-ness is put on hold.
Though we do have a couple of “protocols” or “routines” that we use, both of our work lives can be very hectic and causes us to put that on the back burner, not to mention life in general.
But no matter what the situation, it doesn't mean we drop our “roles”. For one, I don't think of this D/s relationship as roles we are playing. Even though there might not be time or space for a full-out scene or play, the attitude, the mentality doesn't shift.
My husband makes decisions. I may find it challenging at times to come in alignment with those decisions but I do bow to them. He calls the shots and my part is to be as supportive as I can—even if I am having a tough time getting on the same page emotionally. It doesn't mean that my opinions/concerns aren't heard and considered, they are but my husband is the one who steers this ship. And I trust him to do that, to do what is best for us and our family and what is best in light of the goals we have and what we want to accomplish.

Yesterday, after working an incredibly busy morning but finding a good amount of time to write over a lunch break—which was blissful----pain made its presence known. I was in quite a bit of physical discomfort, the source of which, has a lot of negative emotions attached to it and contagions and something that if I gave it attention, could have led to feelings of fear and anger and despair.
I said to my husband, “I am in pain and I'm feeling a little weak.”

This, I think speaks to the benefit of having known each other for so long. My husband knows that I would have fought through, gone on with our evening plans if that's what he decided (really, I wasn't bleeding or dying, yes, there was pain but it was the emotional pull that was more forceful). My husband is well aware of all that I have lived through with my disability and knows the importance I place on being as independent as possible.     He took control by giving me the night off and giving me space. He knows how this pain hits me and in that initial moment of experiencing it, I couldn't communicate what was going on without going into the emotional spiral of fear/despair. I needed to have it sorted out in my own mind before broaching the subject. For the most part, he is also an easy-going, laid-back kind of guy. 

He encouraged me to relax, to stop work for the day and to take the time I needed to get in a better-feeling place. So I closeted myself in our bedroom and took my attention off the pain. I ignored it as best I could and did things that would try to make me feel better, emotionally. I played with my tablet, Skyped with a friend across the pond, watched an episode of Vicar of Dibley (one of the funniest Brit comedies ever created) and my husband made dinner.

By the time we ate dinner—and I expressed my sincere gratitude--I was feeling a little bit better. I was in a better emotional state and more equipped to deal with the practical physical details of the pain.
Today, I felt and feel much better and things are back to normal.
Where was my submission yesterday? It was in fully accepting that he could take care of me and “allowing”myself to be taken care of. It was in uttering, “I am in pain and I'm feeling a little weak”.
It was also in not giving in to the feelings of guilt, of simply accepting. 
After all these years, I still struggle with admitting when my physicality has gotten the better of me, when I'm not feeling as strong, or when I'm feeling tired or weak.

The idea of “service” or of being the epitome of a housewife, who always has the laundry done and the floors cleaned, is an appealing one but its not practical with our lives. Its also reassuring to know, that if I am feverish and feeling sick, my husband isn't going to demand that I give him head. Its nice to know when I am down and out, the house isn't going to fall apart, dishes are going to get done and my husband isn't going to starve because he is capable of feeding himself and us.


Sunday, 24 June 2012

On the Road: Sourdough Bread

"With bread and wine you can walk your road."
~Spanish Proverb

I know this is a blog primarily about: "living all the time in BDSM", “domestic discipline” lifestyle, being a "submissive female", bondage artwork, BDSM with a male partner, and l'heure bleue.
I think of it as the place I use to come and write anything and share and think and talk.
So today, I offer thoughts on bread. Complete with recipe.

There is just something about making bread for me, it does fit into the concept of l'heure bleue---its magical, its calming, its work, its play, its meditative, its important, its fun, its entering, its calm, its a small part of the whole---
I've been feeling stressed lately and my mind has been everywhere (that begs for another post on whether or not one can always be in a submissive frame of mind...) and I've been distracted, unable to focus on much. 

But for a few days, all of that was put on the shelf.

Two years ago, for our wedding, I made bread, a lot of bread. Every couple and a few singletons went home with a loaf. I was feeling sentimental and wanted to make a loaf in honour of the occasion...especially after a few days of celebrating the feat.
It didn't hurt that the temperature outside finally came down after a stretch of hot, humid and muggy weather. It was one am and I wanted to make bread. My favourite time to make bread is when the skies are overcast or when its dark. On this particular night, I wanted to make sourdough. To make sourdough, you need a good starter, which I didn't have.
The only person I know who makes bread and would be able to "lend" me a starter is the mother of a good friend, who lives on the other side of the world. A little hard to obtain on a moment's notice. 

My friend did the next best thing and gave me a recipe her mother came across years ago, while on holiday to the States for a sourdough bread without a starter. I made a few modifications to the recipe and ended up with two nice loaves. Not a true sourdough, but a very good impostor. It has the weight and the tang that makes a sourdough bread so recognisable.

Here's the recipe and process.

Sourdough Impostor (Sourdough Bread Without a Starter)

(This is an extremely “wet” dough. Try to avoid the temptation of adding more flour, instead oil your surface/board before you begin and flour your hands. You want this dough to be tacky.)


4 to 5 cups flour (total)
2 Tbsp.traditional yeast,
2 Tbsp.wheat germ
1 Tbsp.sugar (or honey, or molasses, or other sweetener...I used honey)
2 tsp.salt
2 tsp.ginger
2 tsp. nutmeg
1 cup warm water (after a kettle has come to a boil and sat for a couple of minutes)
1 cup sour cream
2 Tbsp.vinegar

Before starting any bread, I have found its a very good idea to lightly oil all bowls and tools. It makes the clean-up so much easier.

Proof yeast, according to the instructions from the jar/package. 
In a large bowl combine 1 cup and ½ cup flour, the yeast, wheat germ, sugar and salt. 
Blend all the ingredients well and add water, sour cream and vinegar.
 Blend until moistened and using a whisk (or a mixer) beat for at least three minutes—you want a lot of air in this dough.
Slowly add 2 to 2 cups and ½ cups flour until the dough forms a ball, or pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
On an oiled/flour surface, knead in remaining ½ to 1 cup flour until dough is smooth and elastic (it will still be tacky).
Put the dough in a well greased bowl, cover with a damp tea towel (or plastic wrap) until the dough doubles in size (I left it to rise overnight).
When dough has risen, punch down and divide in half. 
Form two oblong loaves, place on a greased cookie sheet and leave to rise (anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour).
After the rise, using a sharp knife, make diagonal slashes on top of each loaf. 
Cover and let rise for about 15 minutes.
Put the bread in an oven that has been pre-heated at 375.
Baking time: 25 to 30 minutes.

My oven is on the smaller side and gets hot right away, when I have used bigger ovens to bake bread in, I have turned it up as high as it will go (usually 500) and then put the bread in, turning it down to the baking temperature, in this case 375.
If I want more crust on bread, I put a pan of water (creating steam) underneath the rack I use to bake the bread.
Maybe not the best-looking bread but a tasty good result.

“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.”
 Ursula K. LeGuin

Tuesday, 19 June 2012

TMI Tuesday:You Say Its Your Birthday...

(Yes, another blog meme...pretty much all there is time for this week. This one is from the TMI Blog and other entries can be found here TMITuesdayBlog)

1. What star sign are you?
Gemini. Quote recently come across on this air sign:
"Gemini is characterised as the reporter of the Zodiac; the sign that finds out the facts. But Gemini is also a teller of stories, a weaver of tales. Gemini does not just get the facts and spill them out in a disordered heap. Instead the facts are shaped, trimmed, remoulded to create a narrative." The Oxford Astrologer 

2. Do you believe in horoscopes?

As much as I believe in Kabbalah.

3. When is your birthday?

3 Juin. Wrote about that recently here.

4. What’s the worst birthday gift a partner has given you?

He won't be happy to know I've told you..and I'll preface it by saying, usually my husband is a very thoughtful gift-giver. But the worst gift was a turquoise stone and a rock on a string..also turquoise. To be fair, that was two years ago and only a couple of weeks from before our wedding.

5. Are you organised when it comes to other people’s birthdays?

Yes. It is fun to plan and scheme.

6. How do you normally celebrate your birthday?

With cake.

7. If you could be one age again what would it be? Why?

Six...because the world was all new. Twenty-three because the world was all new but I knew more than I did at six.

8. What would be your ideal birthday treat?

To spend it alone, away in a cabin. Which wouldn't be fair. Birthdays seem to be an awful lot about other people.

Bonus, Bonus: May we see you in your birthday suit? (post a photo)

Oh, I'm not that brave....but aftermath of birthday spanks looked similar to this:

Thursday, 14 June 2012

Erotica Short: Welcome to Inner Sanctuary

(Initiations—in myth, fantasy and life--usually happen in front of a crowd. In other writings, I love playing with those themes and the concept of voyeurism....some actions and settings are more intimate than sex. Much appreciation to all the erotica writers out there!)


Forty pairs of eyes watched Maria. Slowly, taking each step carefully she made her way down the long staircase and into the hall. The blue marble was cool on her feet, her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Ever so slowly, Maria shuffled to the centre of the room.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maria caught glimpses of the other girls. All of them, perfectly attentive with heads down, kneeling silently beside their masters. Maria wanted to be in this inter-sanctum, she wanted to be one of those girls but that would only happen after this, if she could continue forward. Another few steps brought her closer.
Taking a deep breath, Maria tried to steady her nerves and quickly stole a look up. She saw the girls hands, all with thumbs-up. The gesture of solidarity gave her a burst of courage.
Maria walked quicker towards the throne.
The leather clad fee came into view and Maria knelt. Two firm hands landed on her shoulders from behind and took off her gauzy gown.
A snap of leather echoed in the hall, a hiss sung through the air. Maria jerked as the flogger came down hard on her back.
For weeks, this initiation was all Maria could think about. Now that she was here, naked and trembling slightly, her eyes glued to those boots, the instincts to flee pushed through her body. The leather thongs curled around her shoulders and Maria tensed.
A strong hand clasped the back of her neck and Maria felt the tension in her body give. She would go through with it.
Maria put her hands on either side of those dark books, touched her forehead to the top of the right and began to lick.
A collective sigh fluttered past her ears, the entire audience sighed in relief. They wanted her to be here.
The flogger fell, squarely over her back, the strike heavy, invoking a thudding pain.
Maria continued to lick the right boot, the texture of the leather gum like as she swiped her tongue across the black leather. Maria finished the toe, seeing the wet trails caused by her tongue as she moved her head forward and started at the top of the foot.
A rustling behind her, someone moving and the flogger crashed across her ass, sharply. Maria bit her lip to keep from shrieking after the first few strikes from a heavier hand, Maria relaxed and furiously licked the boot, coming up to the laces.
Lashes fell and her body grew warm, as she lifted her head slightly and stroked the ankle of the black boot with her tongue. She was almost finished.
Excitement blazed through her body and Maria made an effort to keep her movements slow.
Maria cried out, the flogger catching her on the side of the ribs. With effort, she kept her head lowered and fought not to move but tears picked at the corner of her eyes. The crowd gasped and Maria felt a spark of fear, wondering if her reaction was unacceptable.
Footsteps behind her and a gentle hand caressed her shoulders. Maria wanted to press her cheek against the hand but a little tug of her hair returned her to focus and she moved over to the left boot.
She kissed the leather on the toe and made longer laps with her tongue. The lashes fell in a steady rhythm, matching her own. Maria felt the heat of desire through her body ,she closed her eyes as her mouth and tongue worked at the boots.
Several footsteps behind her and low whispers.
Maria didn't move, she was almost done. Maria leaned forward, her head slightly higher and started to lick the top of the boots. The flogger snapped between her shoulder blades, Maria clenched her fists but didn't react—she was too close now. Furiously, Maria licked the final stretch of leather and mercilessly the heaviest-handed lashes fell against her back, her shoulders, the back of her legs.
Maria hung her head, her nose back at the toe and waited.
The boot stretched, Maria gasped as the toe inched between her legs.
Calloused fingers were against her neck, lifting up her chin. Maria finally looked into the eyes of the Master.
“Submission accepted”
The declaration made, the audience exclaimed, started to celebrate as Maria was scooped up and settled in his lap, she had made it into the inner sanctum.

Copyright 2012, Bleuame

Please do not reblog, repost or copy the contents.
 Shared and posted links are welcome--would love to return the 

Monday, 11 June 2012

Where to Put that, Sir?

(merely thinking out loud. I do take my cues from him--but he does find it amusing to watch me spin my wheels) 

In typical introvert-fashion, I have mulled this over for quite awhile. I tried explaining it to people, to get a general opinion and even mentioned it in casual conversation, but not having the thoughts together, it came out "I don't-look-or-shake-hands-with-strange-men" which wasn't really what I was going for, and ended up confusing everyone.

Couldn't help but thinking of a friend of mine, while I was mulling all this over and putting this post together.

Goodness knows how we have stayed friends for so long. She is a proud patriot, church-on-Sunday, housewife with a gaggle and and I'm a Canadian, out-of-the-broom-closet pagan, just a wife, with no immediate plans for geesehood. In a twenty-minute conversation with her, I can count on being called "ma'am" at least twice.
To my friend, to give respect to a man, by saying "Yes, sir" is no big deal.

If, however, you are living in the urban landscape and you are out with your husband and a "Yes sir" escapes your lips, you might encounter some strange looks. Even a few raised eyebrows. Its not the manner of speaking around these parts.
 More and more, I am finding it harder to engage with men who are strangers to me (depending on the setting) and when I decline to do so, it has been seen as being "aloof" or "rude". That is a little hard to take, given I have so much to overcome on a first impression basis, anyways.

Obviously, if I am out in the world, it isn't a problem and I employ the manners and protocol that I know.
For instance:

For months, I was working on a rather important project. Had to make a presentation to the board--which consisted of six men all in their sixties--at the end of the presentation, I thanked them for their time and extended my hand, each of them shook it.

Granted,  a BDSM event we attended was unusual in circumstance, and we were the odd ones out (being married, of course), but how people interacted that night in a public, coffeehouse setting, was all over the place and a couple of incidents bothered me.

Like this one:

My husband is to my left, in animated conversation, I am sitting side-by-side and having a conversation with a gentleman, actually enjoying it. A man makes a beeline for our table, reaches across the gentleman I am speaking with and sticks his hand out to me.
My response was to give a quasi nod and look away.

The strange man, while probably well-intended, didn't introduce himself to my husband first. I don't know (again, not the best at any social gathering) but its pretty obvious we're attached. Reaching across anyone, I think is just bad body language, no matter where you are and expecting me to shake your hand, because you offered it, just doesn't seem all that polite, to me.

But again, others disagree and no matter where we go, I never seem to get it right.
Do I give another dominant male the "Sir" greeting, even when I don't want to? Yes.

In this case...

We are out with a long-time acquaintance of my husband. Personally, I hate spending a second with this person. I think he is boring and pretentious.
Do I call him "Sir?"
You bet I do.
 I don't ever want to do anything that would put my husband in a bad light and what I say, how I act is a reflection on him, which is really why all this interaction stuff bothers me so much.

And what about the women?
Oh, that's too confusing to go into any great length but somehow, I seem to get it better with them, no matter whether they are "Mademoiselles" or "Madames"

Thursday, 7 June 2012

Thursday Thirteen: Quotes for a Submissive Mindset

Another meme for Thursday 13. To join and read all the other entries, visit here 

I love quotations. One of the best 'jobs' I ever held, was finding, sourcing and researching quotations to be used on bookmarks and cards. Finding quotations that speak purely on BDSM or the S/M dynamic, isn't the easiest undertaking. Here are 13 Quotes that speak to the Submissive Mindset. 

1. “Give up all bad qualities in you, banish the ego and develop the spirit of surrender. You will then experience Bliss.” 
Sri Sathya Sai Baba 

2. "Fear may induce the show of submission; but love only can truly subjugate a haughty spirit.” 
    Mary Cowden Clarke 

3. "Wholeness is not achieved by cutting off
a portion of one's being, but by integration of the contraries."
Carl Jung

4. “How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.”
Oscar Wilde 

5. "I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous  demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman."
Anais Nin

6. “You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question.” 
       Albert Camus 

7.  "The essential surrender happens within you, it has nothing to do with anybody outside you. The basic surrender is a relaxation, a trust — so don’t be misguided by the word. Linguistically, surrender means to surrender to somebody, but religiously, surrender simply means trust, relaxing. It is an attitude rather than an act: you live through trust."

8. "... must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned,
so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come."
  Joseph Campbell

9. “That which yields is not always weak.” 
        Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel's Dart

10.  "If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins." 
          Benjamin Franklin

11.  “Sometimes what seems like surrender isn't surrender at all. It's about what's going on in our hearts. About seeing clearly the way life is and accepting it and being true to it, whatever the pain, because the pain of not being true to it is far, far greater. ” 
      Nicholas Evans

12. “When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.”
       Kahlil Gibran 

13. "Please," she said, "you're so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I'd sooner be eaten by you than fed by anyone else.” 
    C.S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy

Image Source: Many Faces Art 
 Please do not repost, or use the image without permission from the artist. 

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Play and Discipline: Present, Acte II

(As I fumble along, trying to write erotica and with this blog, my respect for authors who write in this genre—especially the ones who do it incredibly well—continues to grow. Much admiration to all erotic writers out there.)
It takes a certain mindset, I'm discovering and the second part of this short, didn't quite have that of the first part.

I whimper and he pulls my jeans off, spanks me hard and, reflexively my ass is raised. He poses over me, teasing with his length. Rhythm spanking is raining down, on alternating cheeks and I swallow the sounds I want to make in my throat.

“Want this?” he asks, slipping in me and quickly out. Without words, I convey I do and feel something wet and cool against my back.
“What about this?” His left hand is firmly on my back and with his right hand, he is rolling the piece of ginger root over my butt cheeks. I know exactly where that ginger will be placed.
He rests the ginger between my cheeks and positions me exactly where he wants me. His hand clamps around my neck.
“Stay” he orders.

Tensing and anticipating, I stay still and silent. The pressure of the ginger, feels like a stopper and is in tense as he presses it firmly in place. He is over me now, the weight of his hips on top of me, holding the ginger securely and he starts to thrust, hard. The pleasure of his cock inside competes with the firey sensation the ginger is causing, it is burning and fiery pangs shoot right up into my womb. He is not being gentle, every time he moves within me, I feel the ginger in my ass and between the intense figging and the drool starting to form over the gag, my attention is being jerked from one pleasure and pain combination to another. I want to latch on to one sensation and loose myself: in the humiliation of the gag, or the indignity of the ginger, or the pleasure of feeling his strength over and in me, but its impossible. He teases me with these three, a finger along my chin, a slap to my thigh, a change of pace to his movements.

The pressure is released, as he removes the ginger. He knows exactly where I am trying to go. The warm burning has turned to a kind of numbness and he changes rhythms again: very slowly, in and out, making me curse in my head, his self-control.

“Now” he orders. For a second, I feel lost, kind of a resistance creeping in, not wanting to give away to anything now, having kind of made peace with being taken from one intensity to another. Deftly he unhooks the strap over my neck.

“Release” he says.

The gag falls away, he thrusts into me once more and I let go, lost in the rolling conclusions of the platitudes of the bliss of pain and pleasure.

Friday, 1 June 2012

Bon Week-end!

Just wanted to say, have a very nice weekend. 
From Canada...where this is so very true and made me laugh: