Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Equitable Submission

I am deep in a chaotic busy cycle.
Which is nice because as usual I was starting to chafe at the dormancy. Its also nice because I managed to appreciate the downtime (yea! That feels like progress) before this whirlwind hit.
And Horace and I have stolen time together--I think we are getting awfully creative about doing that or he's just decided to guard our weekends more judiciously.

I didn't want to go to the grocery store today. That took an hour out of my time , that I really didn't have.
 But Horace asked and I did (and I said, "of course, I'll be happy to go) and that is such a simplistic example of giving over submission and day-today D/s life it kind of strikes a chord of hilarity.

And that dear readers, is all I got.

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Weekend of Languor

The hovel  Our home looks like the tasmanian devil has run through it.
                   Even though it is often an inconvenience, I'm glad we now live far enough away from family for those impromptu stop-in visits because its very unlikely someone will ring by today.
 And even though its a little hard, I'm also glad I am in a little bit of a lull with work because its also unlikely that clients will drop by today.
Its just me, working from home today with a very light list and remnants of the weekend scattered around. I have taken my time this morning and haven't gotten to the tidying-up.
The dress and skirts I wore are slung over the banister instead of hung up in the newly-organised closets, there is a pair of Horace's slacks draped over a chair, left there to dry from being caught in the rain. Two sinks of dishes from little meals and baking ingredients left on the counters--Horace had a request for an 'interesting' cookie yesterday and I happily made chocolate-chip-coconut cookies--in the bedroom, blankets are strewn about and toys are littering the floor: the case for the butt plug, which I tripped over this morning, a ball gag, the paddles and flogger and the box for the awesome-amazing-body oil we found over the weekend.
I don't mind the mess; it is evidence of our weekend.
Our intent this weekend was to spend time with each other and recharge and we accomplished both those ideas.
Long walks along the lake, meals out and specialty lattes with fancy art, a trip to the garden centre, picking out organic guest soap and a pretty dish for the bathroom, more walks by the lake at night, all with talking and laughing and spending time together and just being.
 We took refuge on our way home last night and watched the lightening and the storm move over us.
I also had another intent when it came to the weekend and that was, I wanted to relinquish control.

Obviously, that isn't a new thing but I noticed lately that I had been caught up in watching Horace's reactions and wanting something different from how I feel or react--which means I was trying to control the outcome. I find when I am given a direct order, "Get my coffee"I respond and fulfil that order. My submission is what he wants it to be; so yes, I've relinquished control.
 But lately, I think I fell into a cycle of trying to adjust my actions-based on how I've felt-- for his reactions. That's not to say that I have acted or 'brat out' to get a different response, but I've been holding back just slightly on the giving-over-control thing--I don't know if any of that is making sense.
 And I know we all go through phrases were parts of this D/s is easier than others, so I knew it was only a temporarily thing. Horace of course noticed, so this weekend, I asked for his help in relinquishing control just a bit more.
He helped me, I gave over and we felt relaxed and peaceful and content in our ebb and flow, in our language of D/s.
 Against a backdrop of candles, me in blue lace and with the gag firmly in my mouth, Horace took control of my body and I went with him.. He pushed the boundaries and entered that landscape of the mind, carefully, masterfully, not pushing me to the breaking point but reaching for something deeper and he found it.
And I accepted his ardor; still youthful but tempered with strength and knowledge of the experiences of years. He dove into my submission; my desire to yield and my yearning to be taken wherever he wanted to lead us.


"Let your Love burst forth and blossom freely
 Thunder of roses 
Unfettered by harsh will 
Love willed to be Free"
~From Love is Law 

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

Reading Blues

It is a true l'heure bleue evening.
 It is 3am and I'm waiting for my tea to steep. I've just left my slumbering husband's side.
We had a fantastic, impromptu evening which all started by a simple invitation. 

But it has left me awake and my mind spinning. 
I used to have a vanilla blog. 
 Since I don't now, I'm scribbling here. 

Many topics are going through my head; paganism & BDSM (a question Green-Girl asked in March for question month and a post I keep writing and writing but I'm not happy with it, yet), mentoring and friendship (another question from March), control and emotions; weddings and holidays and train rides. 

When I was still trying for sleep this evening, I read a book, an erotica novel. 
It started off with a good premise: A couple whose marriage was floundering. The husband was hiding his BDSM side; his wife due to past relationship traumas, was withdrawing from him. 
After a separation, they are back together. 
Their reunion make-up sex, caused him to unleash the darker tastes he had kept hidden away.
 It turns out his wife was all for it. 
So far, I'm hanging on the words, though there have been a few things that have diverted my attention from the novel. 
 The husband starts to teach his wife about BDSM and this is where it goes wrong. 
He tells her about his past relationships. 
But the explanations of BDSM and Dominance and Submission---well, Wikipedia does better and that's not saying a whole lot. 
There are a few points, I as a reader took issue with (and out of respect to the author, I won't name the title of the book or author nor will I copy exact phrasing to make my point).

One, the husband explained, something along the lines of "A true D/s relationship is only about sexual gratification." 
   Really? Then, seriously I am doing something wrong. I've chosen the wrong label to apply to my own relationship. Because I swear to you, when I make the bed exactly how my Dom likes it, or when I get him a drink, I am experiencing no sexual gratification.
    Maybe its because we aren't doing it the 'true' way. 

Two, when the wife asked the husband about titles. His reply was "People who are married and in a D/s relationship do not use the terms 'Master' and 'slave'" 
       Oh. I guess I won't ever utter the word 'Master' because somehow, that has no place in marriage. 

Three, "A real Master doesn't cause pain for pain's sake."
Sadists certainly do--okay, to be clearer, sadists derive pleasure from causing someone else pain--so strictly speaking, they don't just cause it for pain's sake but for their own pleasure. But maybe the sadists who are masters and the masters who are sadists, aren't "real", that lot might even be married. 

Several weeks back, Sir J wrote a post on his blog entitled "50 Shades of Discovery"  and at the time, I meant to write a post along the same lines. Respectfully, while I agree it doesn't matter how or why people have discovered kink or TTWD or S&M, or how they arrive, when I read books like the one I'm describing in this post, I get uncomfortable. 
I shudder because the information is so wrong and its books like this that helps to feed a variety of misconceptions and misinformation. 
 I shudder because I worry about people having the wrong impressions. 
And while I think most people are mature enough and smart enough to distinguish between fact and fiction, I don't think that's always the case. 

Trend in the last few months, that I have been noticing through this blog and in my own community. A younger generation is emerging---in floods.
 I think growth and evolution is great. 
But, that group has read books and has often come to kink et al, because of those books. 
And sometimes they do not realise where fact is fact and the liberties of fiction is fiction...and though I like to think it happens seldom, the fact that it even happens rarely is once too often, its too late when they learn how untrue that fiction can be. 
 I would never tell anyone they are too young to come and learn and explore...I discovered kink when I was relatively young...I don't know where I want to go on this topic, nowhere much for now. But I have been thinking about it more and more . 

 There is a very well known review site that basically roasts an author. Sometimes there reviews are fair, sometimes they aren't but they are pretty extreme in their commentary. Many times, after reading a book like this one, I have thought of starting an erotica version of that site. 
 (Its not something I would have the time to do alone, however). 

Anyways, that's what is running through my head this l'heure bleue. 

Monday, 13 May 2013

Peace in the Hovel

For the first time in two months, we spent a weekend at home together.
 No work, functions, events or social functions.
I was so grateful to have that little piece of time because we needed it to recover from the stressful weeks, the little tiff and get us back to the even scales again.

We took yesterday and tackled the hovel. You know how I have been less than thrilled by the state of the hovel? I've mentioned disorganisation, boxes and clothes and work supplies spilling everywhere, in one section of our home? We tackled all of that and now, there is order! This makes me stupidly happy.

We were sorting through bags of clothes--keep, toss or give-a-way and Horace tried on a t-shirt I had bought him last year for our anniversary. He's been going to the gym over the last few months and his shoulders are becoming quite muscular. His shirts aren't fitting.
"Toss" was my feedback when he tried this shirt on.
"Its a nice shirt", Horace said taking it off, "you can wear it to sleep in."
"It won't be comfortable", I said.

Now...I am not very sentimental when it comes to things. I have a few treasured gifts and things that I've kept that make me happy but I don't tend to hold on to stuff once its outgrown or outlived its purpose.
 My husband has an appreciation for pop-culture, objects and can be weirdly sentimental about things like band-t-shirts, of which he's held on to because I do use the shirts for sleeping--they are comfy.
 Sometimes, I think this is is his justifiable way of hanging on to shirts that really should go in the bin.

"Take of your sweater, try it on."
With minimal grumbling, I changed out of my old sweater and he threw the t-shirt on over my head.
It fell down to my waist but its cotton and v-necked and I couldn't do anything but admit he was right: it would be a comfortable shirt to sleep in.

I kept the shirt on while we sorted and cleaned and organised. Horace started in on the next hamper of clothes.
"What's this?"
He held up a scrape of black fabric.
"Panties", I laughed.
I can be pretty ruthless when it comes to cleaning out my closets, so I have no idea how this thong has stayed in my stuff all these years. I remember buying this number back when we were dating--that's a long time ago. I was many dress sizes smaller.
"For what?" Horace said.
"Just toss them", I said.
He unfurled the lace and looked at me.
"I bet you they still fit. Put them on."
"There's no way they fit", I disagreed in a totally non-argumentative way but in a you got to be kidding me kind of tone of voice.
Horace insisted, I stopped protesting and stripped off my skirt and put the thong on.
 It fit.
And then I remembered why I don't make it habit of buying g-strings anymore.
"You look sexy", Horace said.

Frumpy, was actually the word that I would have used. It might have fit but it didn't mean it fit well and my hair was gathered in a bun, my glasses were smudged and I was covered in a good amount of dust from going through the boxes, cleaning and organising.

But my husband thought I looked sexy and as he kept looking at me like that, I felt kind of sexy.
 I really wish the story got better from here--that Horace threw me down on the pile of unorganiziation and we had great sex--but we were intent on the task and I was cold.
I changed back into my skirt and sweater, Horace handed me a cloth for my glasses and we went back to work.

Friday, 10 May 2013

Friday Fragments: Thunder and Clear Skies

It would be nice in the stormy moments, to have the realization dawn, that we always find our way back.
 Ebb and flow and get off balance we may but we do come back to centre. If I could maintain those feelings of trust when I feel emotionally torn open...maybe that would be helpful but I don't know if its possible.
 And I'm kind of lost on the details of to, when I'm angry with Horace to trust that he's going to make it right. Or maybe I just need a little bit patience.
 But we always do come back to centre, to our normal.
 This time it took some extra effort.

Yet Horace, incited the healing, the soothing, the easing. And because he started the thaw, I found I could nothing more than give in.
 Spanks landing on my bottom, his strong arms not letting me go.
 Dinner with friends.
And he put me to bed with a paddling and lecture.
Apologies were made.

It was an overcast, damp rainy day here.
I went out, did a couple of errands, came home and made bread.
 I don't make bread as often as I used to; since moving to the hovel this was only my second time making it.
 I love making bread on rainy days (despite the 'it won't rise on an overcast day' advice you often hear, I've never had a problem) and went to work making an Amish (white) Bread.
 Perfect for french toast, grilled cheese and sandwiches and perfect for the dinner I had in mind.
We always freeze a loaf and a half, white bread is a treat for us and I know when we pull it out of the freezer for those other snacks, the treat will carry over.

I took out my dutch oven, browned some stewing beef, sweated onions, garlic and ginger, added sweet potatoes and mushrooms and green peppers, carrots and petite pommes de terre (also a rare thing for us to have--we've really been mindful of cutting out the gluten this last year), threw the meat back into the dutch oven and put the whole thing in the oven and slow cooked it.
 I also like making stew on rainy days and knew we would have plenty to freeze.

My loaves turned out perfectly (shout if you would like the recipe and instructions) and the slow-cooked stew was very nice.
 Horace came home.

Did I mention last night, Horace came home with a gift?
 It was a peace offering.
This dinner, with the bread was my peace offering.
We ate, enjoyed, conversed.

Then had one of the most intense, mind-blowing play sessions.

In the aftermath, I had little doubts pop up and wonder if that was the right way, if that was a good thing to do--the play session, I mean--after all we just had gone through over a couple of days, we apologised to each other yes, but...I want to make sure its clear in my sub-brain that this wasn't a dramatic conclusion, this wasn't because I acted out of line, had the drama of making up, only to be rewarded, I worry about attention-seeking: if I am doing it and if Horace is giving into it because he doesn't know I'm doing it---I don't think so--but in this situation it did run through mind--but Horace thought the play session was another way of..bringing the points home. And I'm going to have to trust that it isn't just a band-aid but he thought it was needful and the timing for it was good.

So we're back to our normal, to being on the same page and centred in our dynamic.

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Stormy Days

(Between feeling unwell and being swamped with work, I haven't been around much. Haven't posted or commented but I have been quietly reading my blogroll and hope to get back at it consistently again, soon. Thanks for all the kind messages and well-wishes, truly appreciated) 

So a few weeks ago, Lil at Submissive Sanctuary, wrote a post on validation. And it got me thinking at the time because personally, I don't think I need to be validated.
 In fact, I was taught a long time ago that other people's acceptance (or their lack of) of me, does not validate my existence. In other words, I don't need validation to do what I will.

However, we are reacting and acting on the feedback we get all the time. You can't press the stop button on that, its something that occurs naturally. One may not be aware you are doing it--that is alternating your behaviour or response, action or thought on the feedback you are getting but you are.

But when something disrupts that pattern or we're not getting the feedback we're used to, need or require then we notice.
 ...I'm feeling a little bruised and hurt.
I'm feeling unacknowledged and tarnished.
 And I want to be shown love in action, I want to feel cherished, I want my efforts to be acknowledged, I want promises to be kept, I want woundful words to be healed.

But I'm not getting what I am asking for; I'm not getting what I want, I'm not getting what I need and its left me hurt and angry, emotionally raw and exhausted.
 I feel like I have no where to go, nothing to give, the well is just not flowing.

And then I get feedback of, "I'm not going to give in because you're asking."

Fair enough, considering all of this did amount to a childish "give me what I want" and what self-respecting Dom would give in to that?

But it still leaves me feeling how I feel and it still leaves a lot of words spoken but no action given and I feel I can't...I can't simply go on the faith of words. I need the actions.

Thursday, 2 May 2013


I haven't written a heck of a lot of safewords, other than to say they can be important and have their place, depending on your dynamic.
 We don't use them these days but we've been together long enough to know each other really well and I am fortunate enough to have a Dom who can be downright cruelly sadistic, isn't an ass and checks in with me.

But have you thought of using safewords for everyday situations? Like if you need your partner's attention? Or if you need an emotional check in? Or if you need immediate help? Have you thought of having one word that would act as a signal to serve those purposes?

To be frank, that concept is a little weird to me, because a safeword isn't simply a request for help or aid but a signal to halt. And its a word that is almost scared because in my opinion, it should only be used when the activity actually needs to be stopped.
 Its ensconced in an awful lot of trust.
Trust on the Dominant's part that once its uttered, they will respect it and obey it.
And entrusted in faith on the sub's part that once it's spoken, its serious.
 Don't use it to cry wolf, in other words (unless of course that has been negotiated and its part of a scene, etc).

But one day, I was out driving with a work-colleague.
We hit something on the road that caused a flat tire. She pulled over to the side of the road. Checked the trunk. Spare tire missing.
Called her significant other.
He didn't answer the call.
She texted him.
 He rang back a moment later, said he would be on the way shortly.

"What did you text him?" I asked, wondering why he ignored the ring but responded to the text.
"Our safeword", she replied so nonchalantly, I nearly spit out the coffee I was sipping.
(You never really know what people get up to behind close doors. But I am pretty certain kink is not this friend's thing....though this made me wonder).
"Safeword. You know, like they use in the trilogy? I thought that was a great idea. And now whenever one of us needs help, we have a safeword and when we say it or text it, the other knows that we really need their help."

Whatever works for you. And I don't think its necessarily a bad thing to have some sort of...gesture or signal or word that grabs your partner's attention if you really need help....but I would like to think, for us, simply the word "Help" would suffice.

Wednesday, 1 May 2013


We spent a few days away, for Horace's work.
 And it wasn't an easy weekend.
I wish someone had told me what to expect but really?
 No one ever talks about the grind of these things; for one it would be really bad publicity, for two there are few who have partners they bring to these events.
 Fortunately, I met other wives who felt the same way--its hard.Its hard at the best of times to watch your spouse be rejected. To see it as it happens, is harder still.
 Combine that with crowds and a strange city, its amazing I kept it together all week but I did, more or less.
 It was a great experience overall but I'm drained and tired.
 And I know Horace is drained and tired but he's right back into the fray and his endurance astounds me. There's a little guilt though; I at least have time to recover before I go back into my own fray and he's right back in the thick of it.
 Came back home with a sore throat and snufy nose.

My glands were so swollen last night, Horace took off my collar.
We were going separate ways this morning and there wasn't time or thought to put it back on.
 So I feel oddly naked without it.

And that's all I got.