Wednesday I wrote about my "comeback", where I caned Robert just because I felt like doing it. I also told that getting back into our lifestyle, resuming control, made me feel better. I still have this wonderful feeling, this rush of power. For women who are not familiar with this lifestyle, I should say this: it is a wonderful thing to be in charge at home and have a man at your beck and call. I am not one to advocate female supremacy, simply because I don't feel that I am better than men. Our species consists of men and women and they both need each other and depend on each other. Robert is equal to me, yet we choose to act as if he is not.
Anyway, getting off my soapbox for a moment, that is not what I wanted to talk about. I have made it no secret on this weblog, that I am a big fan of orgasm control, chastity and erotic teasing and denial games. My return to power has not only made me feel more bossy than I have felt in a long time, it has also awakened feelings of lust which slept during my illness. Yesterday, I told Robert to meet me in the bedroom and to bring his chastity device with him. I saw him swallow in nervous anticipation before he obeyed me. During my illness, I have let him free and since I was not in a mood to play, I am sure he took "matters into his own hands" on more than one occasion. I can't blame him, he has needs and I was not there for him. Since I am in the process of reasserting my control over him, I decided that he needs to be refocused on my needs, not his.
Obedient as always, Robert joined me in the bedroom together with the wooden box in which we keep his chastity device. I immediately told him to strip down to his panties. He obeyed and I already saw a hint of an erection in the blue satin French knickers he was wearing. I began to massage his cock through the fabric and soon I had him fully erect. I told him to place his hands on his head, which he did immediately. I lowered the knickers to his knees, ordering him to keep them there. He spread his legs further and his hard member, completely shaved, was now alone in mid air, open on all sides. I proceeded my massage of his cock, going slowly and pushing all his buttons. The poor boy was trembling in excitement but did his best to remain still. I questioned him about the time when I was not in control, asking him if he had masturbated? He confessed he had. Whether he had achieved orgasms? Again he confessed that he had. Still continuing my slow stroking, I told him that I understood and that I was not angry. That seemed to relax him a bit. Next, I told him that I was planning to refocus him on my needs again, and not his own. That seemed to make him a bit nervous again, but he did not speak. The massage of his cock was still going on and by now he was in quite a desperate state. I saw that he was ready to squirt, so I stopped my manipulations. His poor cock stood there, erect, throbbing and twitching, aching for more. A wonderful sight that always brings a smile to my face. He was panting in desperation, holding back any spillage because I had not given him permission to orgasm.
I explained to him that this refocusing would involve him being locked in chastity at least until July 31. I normally don't use the chastity device for long periods, so this surprised him a bit. I looked at him from my position on the edge of the bed and he looked back. He hesitated only a moment before he replied that if that was my wish, he would accept. His answer pleased me enormously. I felt very proud of him to trust me like this again, after our long dry spell. With my right hand, I began stimulating him again, slowly, teasingly. I told him that I was going to milk him before his lock up began. He thanked me with gasping breath and I saw he was getting close. I know his little signals by now and can play him very well. I raised my left hand and formed a cup with it under his cock head. As soon as he passed the point of no return, I stopped my stimulation, pointing his cock towards the cup of my left hand. With a deep, frustrated sigh, he "came" into my hand. Or rather, his seminal fluid dribbled out and formed a puddle in the palm of my hand. He thanked me as he knelt down and cleaned up his mess with his tongue. I know he hates the taste, but we both love the submissive act of him licking up his semen.
After this little pleasure for him, he was quickly secured in his chastity device and his knickers were hoisted up again. Then it was time for my pleasure. I installed Robert between my knees for a long, thorough session of oral service. Ah, it's good to be in charge!
Showing posts with label AboutMe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AboutMe. Show all posts
Friday, 9 July 2010
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Back
I'm sorry that I have been away from this weblog for such a long time and without explanation. I realize that if you want to have a weblog, you have to keep it up. I was even beginning to gather a small following, much to my own surprise.
The fact of the matter is that I have been ill, very ill. I won't go into details regarding my illness but I will say that I had so little energy that I was not even able to write here. I just had no inspiration. I have also not been in much of a Domme mood, meaning that there was little to no play at our home.
My doctor tells me that I am getting better and on the road to full recovery. I'll get there in due time. And the good news is that I do feel much better than a few months ago. I have more energy and also my sexual and Domme feelings are coming back.
The last few months have not been easy on Robert, my boy, either. He missed me being me and the power exchange that normally exists between us. He took care of me better than any nurse I could imagine and he did so without a single complaint. It pained me that I could not be there for his needs and my own, to be honest.
Two days ago, I decided it was time to make my comeback. To Robert's considerable surprise, I told him to fetch the cane. He blinked, stunned after months of not getting so much as a single spank, but he obeyed. Before he knew it, it was panties down over the armrest of the sofa. When I saw his upturned bottom presented before me and I felt the familiar grip of the cane in the palm of my hand, I realized how much I had missed being in control. When I told him to fetch the cane, I had decided to make it 12 strokes. At that moment, I decided that I would make it 12 very worthwhile strokes. I told Robert to prepare for a strict caning. He just nodded. With each stroke and each yelp and squirm of him, I felt better. I had so missed doing this! The 12 strokes left 12 beautiful lines on his white flesh. I told him it was over but instead of getting up off the sofa, he sort of slid of sideways, hugged me around the waist while kneeling in front of me, pressed his head against my body and just whispered "Welcome back".
As I watched him putting on his panties this morning as he got ready for work, I smiled at the slowly fading marks on his bottom, clearly visible from underneath the tiny panties. It felt good to be back.
The fact of the matter is that I have been ill, very ill. I won't go into details regarding my illness but I will say that I had so little energy that I was not even able to write here. I just had no inspiration. I have also not been in much of a Domme mood, meaning that there was little to no play at our home.
My doctor tells me that I am getting better and on the road to full recovery. I'll get there in due time. And the good news is that I do feel much better than a few months ago. I have more energy and also my sexual and Domme feelings are coming back.
The last few months have not been easy on Robert, my boy, either. He missed me being me and the power exchange that normally exists between us. He took care of me better than any nurse I could imagine and he did so without a single complaint. It pained me that I could not be there for his needs and my own, to be honest.
Two days ago, I decided it was time to make my comeback. To Robert's considerable surprise, I told him to fetch the cane. He blinked, stunned after months of not getting so much as a single spank, but he obeyed. Before he knew it, it was panties down over the armrest of the sofa. When I saw his upturned bottom presented before me and I felt the familiar grip of the cane in the palm of my hand, I realized how much I had missed being in control. When I told him to fetch the cane, I had decided to make it 12 strokes. At that moment, I decided that I would make it 12 very worthwhile strokes. I told Robert to prepare for a strict caning. He just nodded. With each stroke and each yelp and squirm of him, I felt better. I had so missed doing this! The 12 strokes left 12 beautiful lines on his white flesh. I told him it was over but instead of getting up off the sofa, he sort of slid of sideways, hugged me around the waist while kneeling in front of me, pressed his head against my body and just whispered "Welcome back".
As I watched him putting on his panties this morning as he got ready for work, I smiled at the slowly fading marks on his bottom, clearly visible from underneath the tiny panties. It felt good to be back.
Friday, 11 September 2009
A Domme is born
I consider myself to be a natural born Domme. How do I know that? Well, I still have a kindergarten report card which says that I tend to be bossy towards the other children. And I suppose that was true then. I've always been quite dominant in my relationships with others. I grew up in a small village and had many friends there. Of course, we often visited each other's house to play. One of the favorite places we had to play, was in the backyard of my best friend. They had a shed there, where we had toys and things. We often "played house" and invariably I ended up being the "mother" of several boys and girls. And yes, when they were "naughty", "Mommy" would have to spank them. It was curious how many boys/girls went over Mommy's knee and were fascinated by it.
Because of this, I believe that I was born a Domme. Somehow, there's some gene in my body which makes me the way I am.
Of course, as I got older, less and less of my friends were interested in playing house. Curiously though, there was one boy around my age who continued to have an interest in playing house, or rather the spanking part of it. Slowly our play moved away from playing house and started revolving completely around spanking. Most of the time it was me who was spanking him but we also tried it the other way around. We started meeting secretly at his parents' house. They were gone a lot of the time, so that gave us ample time. Our games were very innocent and involved only the bottom being bare and just gentle spankings, but somehow we knew very well that what we were doing was "strange". Or rather, other people would find it strange. Instinctively, we hid our activities from everyone else.
Moving into our teens, we continued playing together. We also became more interested in other aspects of our body, of course. Our games reflected that by becoming more physical. Spanking on the bare bottom was still a large part of it but we expanded it with more nudity and sometimes bondage. By this time it was always me who was in the dominant role. My friend (I never considered him as my boyfriend though most everyone else did) became the "victim" of many of my early fantasies of domination. In that time, I devoured books and comics where there was some form of punishment, embarrassment or something similar involved. I would read them and get this strange, warm feeling which I did not yet recognize as sexual arousal. My friends arousal was of course more obvious than mine, all the more because he never got to see me naked, in underwear at the most. I became fascinated with his erect penis, since it apparently produced such intense feelings in him when I played with it. That fascination to tease and torment a penis lasts until this day.
Our games were cruelly interrupted when his family moved overseas. Despite promises to keep in touch, our letters became less and less frequent until finally our contact stopped completely. I have never seen him again. By mentioning the word "letters", am I betraying my age here?
His sudden departure meant the beginning of a long dry spell for me where it came to domination. As more and more of my friends became seriously involved with young men, I started feeling peer pressure to have a stable relationship with a nice guy. It was also the time where I left my parents' home to move to the big city for my education. Finally free of an obsessively concerned mother, I could explore my feelings deeper and more freely. However, I was still careful should anyone find out my secret. In an effort to learn more about my interest, I started frequenting the library (oops, another sign of my age) for books about the subject. I did not dare borrow them, instead I wrapped them in a magazine and read them in a quiet corner at the library itself. Strange, condemning words leapt at me from the pages: "deviant", "aberrant", "abnormal" and the worst one of all: "perverse". These words hurt me deeply. I was apparently a sick person. I was perverse. I was sexually deviant. Apparently, my illness even had a name: sadism. I felt branded.
Convinced that I somehow needed to be cured, I looked for a way to do that. The answer seemed obvious: I needed to find a normal man. I became convinced that if I found myself a normal man to fall in love with, that somehow these feelings would go away. And as luck would have it, I met a normal man. A very decent, caring, loving, strong and dependable man. The ideal son-in-law. Marriage material. And before I knew it, I was in the caught up in the stream of engagement leading to marriage leading to pregnancy. We had a son. We had a daughter. We worked normal jobs, had a normal life and my mother approved. I was happy.
Or so I told myself. But underneath it all lurked the monster. My perversion. Oh sure, I tried to suppress it. I tried to ignore it. I tried to run away from it. But I could not. It was as much part of me as my arm. Every now and then, it popped up its ugly head into our sex life. I loved to be on top (and hubby loved me to be on top too) but when I suggested to experiment a bit by tying him to the bed board, he refused. He said that it wasn't for him. He did want to tie me to the bed though, but I didn't feel for that. I didn't realize it then, but I think this was the end of our marriage. My monster went unfulfilled and became more and more hungry. As the years passed, we grew apart, each leading our own lives, caring for our children, holding up the appearance of a marriage.
By this time, we had the Internet in our home as well. And like it or not, the monster compelled me to look up things about it. At first a little but it became more and more. There was a wealth of information out there. And slowly, I became less convinced that I was in fact sick. Maybe the monster was not so much of a monster after all. I read stories, saw photos, discovered that there were many, many more people out there who were like me. That there were men who wanted to meet women like me, desperately.
However, not being very technical and unable to cover my tracks (not even aware I was leaving them), it was only a matter of time before my husband discovered what our computer had been used for. At first he thought it was our son, but the poor boy was hardly old enough to have developed such a profound interest already, let alone grasp English. I confessed that it had been me. And for the very first time in my life, I openly told someone face to face about my deepest, hidden desires. My poor husband, shocked as he was that his wife had such a dark side to her, did his best to comprehend. We talked, we laughed together, we cried together and slowly reached the conclusion that our relationship had reached a point where we didn't have much of anything in common any more. We weren't angry, just sad yet somehow also strangely relieved. We divorced on good terms shortly afterwards and fortunately to this day, we have remained friends.
And there I was, single again, though a mother of two. But this time I was more confident and started to explore my feelings more openly. My resolve strengthened by the things I read online, the knowledge that there were others out there like myself, I joined a web forum about BDSM. I also knew more about computers now and knew to be careful with my identity.
When I came out of the closet as a Domme on this forum, I was swamped by messages by men who were looking for someone like me. The desperation of some of these men, the way they addressed me, shocked me to the core. I was called things that I never even had believed I would be called in my wildest dreams. "Goddess", "Mistress" or "Lady" were common, as was the term "Madam" or "Ma'am". I allowed the use of the latter since it is more a generic way of addressing someone, although polite. Many jumped me, telling me what they wanted me to do to them. That was just wrong to my mind. I was the Domme. Shouldn't I be telling them what they should do for me?
On this forum, I met a young man (I say young because he is almost 10 years my junior) by the name of Robert (which is not really his name, of course). He seemed very different from many of the others. For one, he seemed very interested in pleasing me, not himself. He seemed open to the things I told him I enjoyed or would like to try once. We chatted privately more often. And before long, we decided to meet (we weren't that far apart, fortunately). Incredibly, we got along amazingly well. We share our sense of humour, we like many of the same films, the same type of trips, everything. Plus, we are a perfect match when it comes to the type of play. Little more than a year later, we got married. And for the first time in my life, I can say I am complete. I am truly happy and do not have to try and fool myself or deny who I am. I am a happily married Domme and wife (yes, in that order). Life as a Domme has so many perks for me. For one, imagine the looks of murderous jealousy I get from the other ladies at the office Christmas party when I proudly strut in with a man almost ten years younger than me, who takes my coat, fetches me something to drink and things like that. When they ask me how I managed to do that, I just give a wink. If only they knew how I keep him in line...
Because of this, I believe that I was born a Domme. Somehow, there's some gene in my body which makes me the way I am.
Of course, as I got older, less and less of my friends were interested in playing house. Curiously though, there was one boy around my age who continued to have an interest in playing house, or rather the spanking part of it. Slowly our play moved away from playing house and started revolving completely around spanking. Most of the time it was me who was spanking him but we also tried it the other way around. We started meeting secretly at his parents' house. They were gone a lot of the time, so that gave us ample time. Our games were very innocent and involved only the bottom being bare and just gentle spankings, but somehow we knew very well that what we were doing was "strange". Or rather, other people would find it strange. Instinctively, we hid our activities from everyone else.
Moving into our teens, we continued playing together. We also became more interested in other aspects of our body, of course. Our games reflected that by becoming more physical. Spanking on the bare bottom was still a large part of it but we expanded it with more nudity and sometimes bondage. By this time it was always me who was in the dominant role. My friend (I never considered him as my boyfriend though most everyone else did) became the "victim" of many of my early fantasies of domination. In that time, I devoured books and comics where there was some form of punishment, embarrassment or something similar involved. I would read them and get this strange, warm feeling which I did not yet recognize as sexual arousal. My friends arousal was of course more obvious than mine, all the more because he never got to see me naked, in underwear at the most. I became fascinated with his erect penis, since it apparently produced such intense feelings in him when I played with it. That fascination to tease and torment a penis lasts until this day.
Our games were cruelly interrupted when his family moved overseas. Despite promises to keep in touch, our letters became less and less frequent until finally our contact stopped completely. I have never seen him again. By mentioning the word "letters", am I betraying my age here?
His sudden departure meant the beginning of a long dry spell for me where it came to domination. As more and more of my friends became seriously involved with young men, I started feeling peer pressure to have a stable relationship with a nice guy. It was also the time where I left my parents' home to move to the big city for my education. Finally free of an obsessively concerned mother, I could explore my feelings deeper and more freely. However, I was still careful should anyone find out my secret. In an effort to learn more about my interest, I started frequenting the library (oops, another sign of my age) for books about the subject. I did not dare borrow them, instead I wrapped them in a magazine and read them in a quiet corner at the library itself. Strange, condemning words leapt at me from the pages: "deviant", "aberrant", "abnormal" and the worst one of all: "perverse". These words hurt me deeply. I was apparently a sick person. I was perverse. I was sexually deviant. Apparently, my illness even had a name: sadism. I felt branded.
Convinced that I somehow needed to be cured, I looked for a way to do that. The answer seemed obvious: I needed to find a normal man. I became convinced that if I found myself a normal man to fall in love with, that somehow these feelings would go away. And as luck would have it, I met a normal man. A very decent, caring, loving, strong and dependable man. The ideal son-in-law. Marriage material. And before I knew it, I was in the caught up in the stream of engagement leading to marriage leading to pregnancy. We had a son. We had a daughter. We worked normal jobs, had a normal life and my mother approved. I was happy.
Or so I told myself. But underneath it all lurked the monster. My perversion. Oh sure, I tried to suppress it. I tried to ignore it. I tried to run away from it. But I could not. It was as much part of me as my arm. Every now and then, it popped up its ugly head into our sex life. I loved to be on top (and hubby loved me to be on top too) but when I suggested to experiment a bit by tying him to the bed board, he refused. He said that it wasn't for him. He did want to tie me to the bed though, but I didn't feel for that. I didn't realize it then, but I think this was the end of our marriage. My monster went unfulfilled and became more and more hungry. As the years passed, we grew apart, each leading our own lives, caring for our children, holding up the appearance of a marriage.
By this time, we had the Internet in our home as well. And like it or not, the monster compelled me to look up things about it. At first a little but it became more and more. There was a wealth of information out there. And slowly, I became less convinced that I was in fact sick. Maybe the monster was not so much of a monster after all. I read stories, saw photos, discovered that there were many, many more people out there who were like me. That there were men who wanted to meet women like me, desperately.
However, not being very technical and unable to cover my tracks (not even aware I was leaving them), it was only a matter of time before my husband discovered what our computer had been used for. At first he thought it was our son, but the poor boy was hardly old enough to have developed such a profound interest already, let alone grasp English. I confessed that it had been me. And for the very first time in my life, I openly told someone face to face about my deepest, hidden desires. My poor husband, shocked as he was that his wife had such a dark side to her, did his best to comprehend. We talked, we laughed together, we cried together and slowly reached the conclusion that our relationship had reached a point where we didn't have much of anything in common any more. We weren't angry, just sad yet somehow also strangely relieved. We divorced on good terms shortly afterwards and fortunately to this day, we have remained friends.
And there I was, single again, though a mother of two. But this time I was more confident and started to explore my feelings more openly. My resolve strengthened by the things I read online, the knowledge that there were others out there like myself, I joined a web forum about BDSM. I also knew more about computers now and knew to be careful with my identity.
When I came out of the closet as a Domme on this forum, I was swamped by messages by men who were looking for someone like me. The desperation of some of these men, the way they addressed me, shocked me to the core. I was called things that I never even had believed I would be called in my wildest dreams. "Goddess", "Mistress" or "Lady" were common, as was the term "Madam" or "Ma'am". I allowed the use of the latter since it is more a generic way of addressing someone, although polite. Many jumped me, telling me what they wanted me to do to them. That was just wrong to my mind. I was the Domme. Shouldn't I be telling them what they should do for me?
On this forum, I met a young man (I say young because he is almost 10 years my junior) by the name of Robert (which is not really his name, of course). He seemed very different from many of the others. For one, he seemed very interested in pleasing me, not himself. He seemed open to the things I told him I enjoyed or would like to try once. We chatted privately more often. And before long, we decided to meet (we weren't that far apart, fortunately). Incredibly, we got along amazingly well. We share our sense of humour, we like many of the same films, the same type of trips, everything. Plus, we are a perfect match when it comes to the type of play. Little more than a year later, we got married. And for the first time in my life, I can say I am complete. I am truly happy and do not have to try and fool myself or deny who I am. I am a happily married Domme and wife (yes, in that order). Life as a Domme has so many perks for me. For one, imagine the looks of murderous jealousy I get from the other ladies at the office Christmas party when I proudly strut in with a man almost ten years younger than me, who takes my coat, fetches me something to drink and things like that. When they ask me how I managed to do that, I just give a wink. If only they knew how I keep him in line...
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