feeling it

I was still sore from my spankings when I woke up this morning and sitting on the sofa with my coffee was a slightly delicate process. It was challenging to find a comfortable position given the differing levels and areas of soreness left from two days of spanking but I have to admit that I’m loving every minute of it. I’m especially enjoying Ma’am’s reactions to both my fidgeting and viewing her marks.

When Ma’am wordlessly took my hand and led me into the bedroom before she had to leave for work I was a little nervous - the bedroom usually means heavier pain and the fact that I was already sore didn't seem to bode well for me. I was right to be nervous...with my jeans on the floor, Ma’am had me bend over the side of the bed while she went about providing a very hard spanking. In this position, I tend to get up on my toes when the pain is intense – and Ma’am had me there several times. Fortunately, Ma’am’s intent this morning had not been to further mark me – she wanted me to remain sore today so that I would think of her as I sat in the hard desk chair while I was working.

So far it has been a wonderful weekend – I am a well-contented and well-spanked girl who is looking forward to what tomorrow brings. My task for today was to purchase some fresh ginger…which I hope we will be using tomorrow!

drop kick

I don’t drop often and have never dropped as badly as I did earlier this week… my mood swings were so sudden and severe that they made me feel as if I was coming unhinged. Each day the mood swings became a little more frequent and of longer duration, my mental state a little murkier in the better moments. By Wednesday, my concentration was showing signs of strain and my only comfort was that in a few short hours I would finally be able to spend some much needed time with my Ma’am. So you can imagine how I felt when I received Ma’am’s text informing me that she would have to work and that I would be spending the evening alone. It was like a sucker punch and the emotional pendulum I’d been riding tossed me off into a sea of petulance and misery.

Despite not having seen me in a couple of days, Ma’am was well aware of what I had been going through. She knew that our aborted plans would likely have a detrimental effect on me and decided an intervention was in order. So she reminded me of how much she loves me and then stepped in and took control of my evening. Brief conversations provided instructions, tasks and an assignment to be completed – all designed to ensure that I took care of myself, to redirect my focus and to give me an opportunity to be of service. They were simple things when looked at individually. But combined into a greater whole, they achieved a significance and power which somehow managed to help me to reclaim my center and emotional balance. By the time I’d completed my first task, I could already feel the hold of the drop slackening. And by the time I took myself off to bed, the erratic excess emotion that had plagued me for days seemed to be just a memory.

On Thursday, Ma’am and I spent a pleasant and somewhat unusual evening together. We talked comfortably for hours about all manner of things and connected on level we hadn’t yet reached as Ma’am and girl. As the hour turned late, I noted with a playful pout that I had hoped the evening would include a beating. It wasn’t long before I was laid out over Ma’am’s lap, jeans and panties half-mast, fairly purring from the enthusiastic attention of Ma’am’s hands and her tawse. Amazingly enough, my too resilient bottom still bears her marks today – something Ma’am was mightily pleased with as they generally fade very quickly.

conflicted compliance

I have this rule that for the better part of a year I hated. It was among the first given to me from my former Sir and upon receiving it I had a strong immediate reaction. It's not just that I didn't like what was being asked of me...I felt that it undermined my femininity and obeying it ran contrary to my personal feelings of what is appropriate in societal terms. I understand that my Sir had his reasons for the rule and he did share them with me when I asked him about them. Learning his reasons didn't make it any easier for me to accept his will but I resolved to do my best to accept and remain obedient in light of my personal feelings. It was my first real struggle in my submission, one I still haven’t resolved completely.

Ma'am made a lot of changes after Sir S left us and it had been my hope that this rule would be amended or eliminated. It wasn't. I'm fairly sure that Ma'am's reasons for keeping it in place are not the same as Sir S's but I've never asked her about it. It is her will and that should be enough for me to find acceptance and obedience. And yet it has not been enough to erase my personal struggle or the internal rebellion that seemed to continually flare. My obedience of this rule has always been more grudging and less complaisant and, although I didn't realize it, it came with a high personal cost.

Not long ago, as I began to gain a deeper understanding of obedience, I started to realize the price I was paying. My inability to accept Ma'am's will with an appropriate attitude, to be able to lay aside my conflicting personal feelings on the matter, and the resulting internal rebellion I nurtured had undermined my confidence in service and built a portion of my self esteem into a fragile house of cards. I had made personal decisions that I would have preferred not to in order to avoid what I felt were the worst implications of my rule until one of these decisions proved a major miscalculation – the outcome was something significantly less than I’d hoped for and the self esteem I hadn’t realized was so fragile came crashing down around me.

It was only after the cards fell and I spent a terrible week trying in vain to rebuild that I realized my own culpability. Until this point, it was easy to blame the rule I hated for whittling down my sense of femininity and self esteem. But it was even easier to overlook the fact that I never once divulged my personal feelings or my struggle and rebellion to my Ma’am. I knew that in order to move forward I needed to find a way to come to terms with my rule. I needed to find the silver lining - something to hold onto that would give me some measure of peace with my obedience. Once found, I would be able to obey with a more appropriate manner and attitude and would eliminate some of my struggle. But first I needed to know why I’d never found a way to speak up about how following this rule made me feel.

The reason was easy enough to identify when I finally went looking for it – following this rule made me feel something else that I’d never quite consciously realized. It made me feel Ma’am’s control - something I’d craved and felt predominantly uncertain of. There was nowhere else in our D/s relationship, nothing else that Ma’am asked or expected of me, that made me feel her control as keenly as I did when facing this terrible rule on a daily basis. I realized that even when that control chafed, it put me in touch with and helped to deepen my sense of submission. There it was – the silver lining.

Almost a year after it was first given to me, I was able to find a much needed measure of peace with Rule 3. I still don’t like the rule but my struggle and feelings of rebellion have greatly diminished since I’ve identified a positive aspect to its existence. I’ve been able to change my attitude from grudging obedience into a more complaisant obedience that is more respectful of my Ma’am and her will - which has shown me glimmers of the contentment and joy that obedience can bring. Someday, I hope to be able to say that my struggle is gone entirely...right now, though, I am content with what I have overcome, what I have learned, and how I have improved the manner of my obedience for my Ma’am.

dichotomy

Despite my current focus on improving myself, or perhaps in direct relation to it, I seem to have a growing rebellious undercurrent within me these days. Before I know it, my thoughts are idly flirting with disobedience and, to make matters worse, I've developed a consuming curiosity as to what the consequences would be of indulging certain of my rebellious thoughts...

I wouldn't dream of consciously acting upon these thoughts - I do not want to land myself in trouble with Ma'am - but my fear is that my unconscious mind will prod me into doing things I would otherwise know better than to do and that I will soon find myself in trouble despite my good intentions...

365 days

A couple of days ago, Ma'am and I celebrated our first D/s anniversary. Today a few thoughts on what I have learned in my first year:

Actually giving up control and learning to submit was much more challenging and involved than I'd thought it would be...and every bit as rewarding and fulfilling as I'd hoped it would be. I am now more sure than ever that I have chosen the right path.

A deep seated desire to please does not automatically make you a good submissive. Surely it helps. But sometimes such a desire to please can make you see failure where there is none and complicates matters. Focusing on imagined faults can blind you to what actually DOES please your dominant.

The challenges of service are multi-faceted and varied – and can change from moment to moment. Something that has been easy in the past can suddenly prove to be difficult for no apparent reason. And vice versa.

Compliance and obedience are not the same thing. Compliance is simply doing what you are told. Obedience covers a much broader spectrum – from the manner in which you comply to what exactly you choose to comply with. Intuition and understanding are crucial parts of being fully obedient.

Obedience is not always easy – many times not, in fact - but it would not be as valued or fulfilling if what is asked of you is exactly what you are comfortable giving. Finding a way to obey on those occasions when compliance is more difficult for you can open a door to growth and learning that is unparalleled.

I am not, and will probably never be, the girl that I'd expected I would become by now. The process of becoming takes its own time and can't be rushed. More importantly, the girl I am becoming is the girl that Ma'am envisions, not the girl that I saw in my head when I first began exploring this part of myself.

doing the right thing

Ma'am and I were going through some things the other night, gathering up items that we'd planned on getting rid of. I came across an old belt that I couldn't wear anymore and started to head over to the donation pile. As I looked down at the worn thick leather, I realized that this was a belt made for punishment and it occurred to me that this was probably the belt that Ma'am intended to use when the time inevitably comes. The obedient girl in me knew what I had to do...despite the fact that I did not need permission to get rid of something that belongs to me, I knew I should seek permission before giving the belt away. If Ma'am had had her eye on it, she'd be very disappointed to learn of it's loss when the time came to use it.

“Ma'am, do we need to keep this old belt for any reason?” I asked, holding the belt out to show her. I prayed that she'd say no. The leather was too thick not to pack a serious punch.

Ma'am paused in her work for only a moment. “No, stick it in the pile,” she told me without hesitation.

I turned and began walking over to the pile, a moment's relief to be rid of it. And yet as I went to drop it on the pile I found that I couldn't. I sighed. Clearly Ma'am didn't realize what she had given me permission to do. I turned back, belt still in hand, and walked back over to her.

“Are you sure we want to get rid of it?” The words didn't exactly come easy, “Um, I mean, when the need arises, do you have a belt to punish me with, Ma'am?”

“You have one I intend to use...Wait. Let me see that.”

Finally Ma'am realized what I was asking her. The belt never made it to the pile and has now been transferred into her possession.

Sometimes it is very difficult to do the right thing. Even the “good girl” I received is somewhat cold comfort when I think about being punished with that belt...

ball gag training, session five

Session 5 of my gag training was last night and things went well....erm, mostly. I surprised Ma'am and I both by how well I took to the gag last night. I managed to stay calm and serene despite the repeat occurrence of the activity that provided such harsh pain in my prior session and until “the incident” panic and fear were nowhere to be found. I was proud of myself and happy with my progress and even allowed myself to drool without immediately wiping it up!

Since I was doing so well, Ma'am decided to up the ante. She'd been playing with me idly for a while and wanting to add more pleasurable stimulation to the pain I was already feeling, she slid her hand under my skirt. She had me moaning and writhing in no time, gag all but forgotten until I realized that I had no clear means of requesting permission to cum. I did, however, find a suitable way to make my plea clear and I think my orgasm began before the words “you may” had fully passed her lips.

I didn't find it difficult to cum this first time in the gag and promptly forgot about it again as Ma'am brought me higher and higher. By the time Ma'am gave her consent to my second orgasm, I was fully lost in pleasure. As I tumbled over the edge of the abyss, I tilted my head back in ecstasy...and began violently choking on my own saliva.

It was a horrible, terrifying end to the session. I'm grateful for Ma'am - she had me ungagged in no time flat and provided endless comfort as I clung to her for some time afterward, trying to shake off the fear of the experience. Needless to say, I'm not exactly looking forward to Session 6 at this point.

Stupid, stupid girl – almost drowned herself by forgetting she was gagged....

psycholgical effects

Last night Ma'am brought me into the bedroom, had me bend over the side of the bed. She seemed to be in a quieter mood than usual – dispatching quick instructions for me take the position she wanted before lifting my skirt and murmuring a compliment about the new panties I was wearing. Few words passed her lips and a couple of appreciative caresses were the only preamble she provided before sliding my panties down and beginning to firmly spank me.

After she'd provided a bit of color, Ma'am had me spread my legs for her. She rested her hand on the small of my back as first one and then two fingers slipped inside me. They danced around for a moment, searching for moisture, and while they did find some it was much less than expected. A disappointing discovery. And, of course, Ma'am commented on it.

I'll pause here for a moment. I know what you're thinking – I'm a girl who loves a good spanking, how is it possible that I disappointed my Ma'am in such a way? The answer is a little complicated but also quite simple...I didn't know it was permissible to take pleasure in this particular spanking.

When Ma'am led me into the bedroom, I didn't know what to expect. There were elements of this session that were a departure from our norm and the location and position Ma'am had me take were those I take when I am being punished. They're rarely used together any other time. And although the other aspects of my punishment ritual were not present, Ma'am's first strikes were more firm than usual. I was confused...it didn't really feel like a pleasure spanking. The overarching feeling was that I was being punished and so that is where my mind went. And my mind took my body with it.

I never find arousal during punishment – punishment is always an intense and heavily emotional thing for me. There is no place for pleasure in it...and so I didn't feel pleasure during this spanking. When Ma'am made her disappointment at not finding me wet from her attention known, in a way it validated that I was being punished. (Yes, I realize that's somewhat twisted...)

What is even more interesting, though, is that as things progressed there came a point when finally I knew without a doubt that I was not being punished. It was like throwing a switch – freed from the mental constraints of punishment, my body suddenly and quickly began to react. Pleasure surged through and I was suddenly a very wet girl begging for permission to cum...

training update

I've had four training sessions with the gag so far and on the whole I believe I'm starting to acclimate to it. While I seem to continue to have some difficulties in my initial acceptance of the gag, I've gotten better at wearing it for an extended period and my panic episodes have diminished in frequency. I've come to terms with the fact that I will drool while wearing it (although I still find it rather distasteful) and made strides in fighting the compulsion to swallow. This, I think, is my most important progress as my inability to swallow properly is one of my main triggers for panicking.

Ma'am has varied each of my training sessions and introduced different positions and different methods of pain and stimulation into each. In my last session, I wore the gag tightly for the first time. A different and harsher pain than previous sessions was incorporated and one of my big fears was realized – crying while gagged. This is something I was very afraid to experience - I didn't think I'd be able to deal with crying in a gag. The very idea of it instilled intense fears of choking and suffocation. Fears I hope I'll be able to put behind me now that I've gone through the first experience.

It hadn't been part of Ma'am's plan to bring me to tears... There came a point when I knew that they were coming and I wouldn't be able to stop them. I began to breathe deeply and rapidly, trying to be calm and trying to push my rising fear aside. Ma'am could see I was struggling and was very encouraging – the sound of her voice helped to anchor me and soothe a bit of the edge. And as my tears loomed ever closer I put the full force of my focus on trying not to fight them, resisting the urge to compulsively swallow as I normally do when trying not to cry.

And then they came.

I sought Ma'am's eyes when they started to fall – saw a flash of surprise and the tenderness they held as she gently wiped them away. I was suddenly, and strangely, calm. These were quiet, gentle tears with no distress. A detached part of my mind wondered idly when my airflow would be cut off, wondered how I was so calm on the cusp of such great fear, but I was untouched by it. I was drooling a lot...but that didn't seem to matter to me either.

Shortly after the tears had run their course, my nose plugged up and I felt my fear creep back in. I could breathe around the gag but I wasn't getting enough air. I signed to Ma'am that I needed the gag removed and bowed my head as she unfastened the strap. Once removed, I blew my nose and took a few deep, deep breaths to prove to myself that I could breathe. I was ready to resume my allotted time. I put the gag back in my mouth and bowed my head for Ma'am to refasten it. When I looked again into Ma'am's eyes, I saw her pride and had to close my eyes for a moment. I still don't have words for how I felt in that moment...

I don't know what caused the tears. It could have been a form of release from the pain and heavy emotion that I'd recently made my way through. It could have been the pain itself or something I haven't begun to understand yet about the depth of my feelings of submission. What I do know is that these tears were important and cathartic. It was the first time that I barely registered the drooling (and was unconcerned about it when I did) and the release they provided allowed me to continue wearing the gag in a more peaceful state, somehow purged of some of those things that get in the way.

the loophole

Last week I discovered that in following my rules it is possible to follow the letter of the law and yet not the spirit of it. The possibility that I could be technically in compliance and but not actually compliant had never occurred to me before. It's gotten me to thinking and, just maybe, understanding a thing or two about my service a little better.

I have inspection on Tuesday evenings and so on Monday, as I do every week, I made a quick check of my manicure. My nails looked fine to me and I decided that there was no need to touch them up or re-do them. But Tuesday morning, in better light, I realized that they looked a little worse for wear. They weren't going to pass inspection and I've had one warning about them before. I wasn't exactly eager to learn Ma'am's reaction to a repeat offense during inspection.

When it came time for lunch, I ran out to the drug store and purchased nail polish remover and a bottle of quick dry polish. An hour really isn't enough time for a proper manicure but I needed to make due. Off went the old polish and on went the new. I used the fan in my car to help dry them but when I looked them over again I discovered in horror that the polish had dried streaky. My nails looked terrible and there was no time to start again.

Enter a quandary.

My nails were polished – which is exactly what my rule states. And yet it didn't make sense that just having them polished was all that there was to the rule. It would seem that the spirit of the rule, the reason behind it, is that Ma'am wants my nails to look pretty for her. And a bad manicure is definitely not pretty. So, yes, I was technically in compliance to the wording of my rule but probably not in compliance to its true meaning.

What to do? If I was right, and I was pretty sure that I was, I was most certainly in error and had something to confess when I got home. But I wasn't quite sure what...was I assuming too much? Is it even possible to be both in and out of compliance at the same time? Have I been missing a key part of understanding what it means to be obedient all of this time or was I being too philosophical?

The difficult and uncomfortable decision: should I leave my nails as they were (which was obedient and technically compliant) or remove the new polish and leave my nails bare (which was prettier and compliant to the spirit of my rule)? Which would be the lesser of two evils – which would Ma'am be more pleased with?

I considered my options for the rest of the afternoon. I would have to commit to a decision and see it through but I didn't like either choice. Any way you added it up the equation included something that Ma'am wouldn't like. Trying to determine the level of her displeasure and repercussion served no purpose. It wouldn't change the fact that my manicure wasn't what it should be, wasn't what Ma'am wanted.

There were a couple of other options... I could exploit the loophole if it came down to it. I could argue that my rule doesn't specify anything about them being nicely polished. I could fein ignorance - pretend I hadn't noticed how bad they looked and wait for her to point it out. If the light was the same as it had been the evening before it was entirely possible that Ma'am might not notice how bad they looked. These options just didn't feel right to me – they're dishonest and designed to try to get me out of trouble.

In the end, I decided to leave my nails as they were and come clean about the state I considered them to be in. There was, after all, a chance that my assumption about the meaning of my rule was incorrect and, even if it wasn't, bare nails seemed dangerously close to willful disobedience. I would discuss with Ma'am what full compliance of this rule meant and be prepared for whatever discipline she saw fit without invoking a loophole defense. It was the only decision I could make and it was the right one.

In the future, to better serve and please my Ma'am, I think I need to be less literal and take a fuller, more dimensional approach in my thinking. I must look past the surface and understand not only what is stated but also what is meant. I don't believe it's enough to simply follow the stated rules – to be fully obedient I must also understand the meaning and spirit of what she asks of me and take direction not only from what is indicated but also by what is meant.

training begins

Last night I began gag training – something of a necessity as Ma'am and I are working on increasing my pain tolerance and have been delving into heavier and more sustained pain than I can easily (and quietly!) take. While I've used a ball gag before, I don't tolerate them well and become distressed and panicked after only a short period of time wearing one. Because of this, Ma'am usually chooses to gag me with a bandana between my teeth and it isn't very effective in helping to dampen the noise. This past weekend we bought a beginner's ball gag. Our first use didn't go as well as we'd hoped and so Ma'am has decided that training is the best way to help me get used to it.

Ma'am thought it would be best to start me out under the least intense situation she could think of – sitting on the sofa. I was to wear it loosely for 3 half-hour periods with ample breaks in between and had been given permission to spit it out if it became too much for me. I was determined not to, of course, and Ma'am and I both knew it.

I can't say how many times I fought against the panic, for a while it seemed an almost continual thing, but Ma'am was there with me the entire time – watching over me, comforting my distress - her soothing hands caressing my thigh or smoothing my hair. She kept telling me how well I was doing and how proud she was of me, reminding me that she loves me and maintaining eye contact through the worst moments. Her obvious pleasure and pride gave me courage and strength that helped me to calm myself and the simple kindness of providing me with tissues to wipe away the drool instilled a sense of gratitude and love distinctly out of proportion to the act.

I had thought (hoped?) my evening's training was complete when I made it through my second round – a particularly difficult and drooly time in which I'd started to choke and my panic reached fever pitch. My heart sank when she she told me she wanted me to go one more round and I didn't know how I'd ever be able to do it. My voice was small and pathetic when I told her that I was ready. Improperly – but she forgave the protocol lapse.

The lapse, and particularly Ma'am's silent yet clear acknowledgement of it, helped me to move my focus from my fear and impending suffering to a more appropriate place. It reminded me of my place and my duty to be obedient to her will. And it proved to me that she was paying attention...she was watching me as she had been all night and I knew that she wouldn't let anything happen to me. Ma'am wanted 30 more minutes so I opened my mouth to receive the gag and gave them to her.

The most surprising thing was the variety of powerful emotions I went through during the course of the evening. Behind and between the panic and distress there were feelings of helplessness and humiliation, the undeniable revelation of Ma'am's control and my bending to her will, my struggle for obedience in the face of my fear, the reward of Ma'am's pleasure and pride...and even arousal. I felt my submission stretch and deepen, felt the need to bow to it – the need to bow to the woman before me whom I fought against fear to please, and I sank to the floor by her feet to receive her pleasure and her comfort.

This was not an experience or lesser intensity as intended but rather more intense because I felt every nuance of it - unhindered, undistracted, and undiluted...

dream a little dream

I'm exhausted and stressed...working long and crazy hours as the clock winds down to a major deadline at the end of the week. I'm usually very good at managing my stress but at times like these, when my work virtually eliminates my free time, stress starts to take effect. I'm having trouble sleeping and last night was the worst. The hours ticked by as I lay futilely trying to turn off my mind and get some rest. I was up half the night and woke very early from a dream that that made it hard to get back to sleep...it had aroused me so much and set my mind spinning the moment that consciousness crept in. I spent another couple of hours in tormented wakefulness lamenting my rule that restricts personal playtime without express permission...

That dream was so hard to get out of my head and still has some effect on me as I think about it now. I'd come home from work late, having forgotten to call and my Ma'am was waiting for me. But this version of Ma'am was very different – she was....stern....unrelenting. There the moment I walked in the door, ordering me to my knees to receive my service collar. She delivered a most effective scolding for my negligence as I knelt in the foyer and fairly dragged me into the bedroom by my hair when she had said her piece. Once there she pushed me firmly over the side of the bed and held me down with her knee, face planted in the mattress and bottom raised up, as she yanked my jeans down in record time. And then her belt was in her hand and she beat me so hard and fast that I almost couldn't keep up the proper count.

But Ma'am was not yet done with me – she'd decided that day that I needed to begin training and put me through unfamiliar paces for what seemed like hours. She watched me complete instruction after instruction, providing instant and painful correction each time I hesitated or failed to follow her instruction as expected. As I repeated my motions over and over, each time seeking to improve upon the last attempt, I lost myself in my tasks and achieved a grace I never thought I could possess. Finally she was satisfied, proud of and pleased with her girl, and by way of reward she took me roughly in the way she knows I like best and told me to cum for her...

Ah, this dream is so very telling...stress brings out my rougher side. It reveals the desire to lose myself in my submission and intensifies my ever present yearnings for control and discipline...I'm looking forward to my dreams tonight. :)

the currency of punishment

A new disciplinary policy went into effect this weekend – a system to track and provide correction for my smaller transgressions, those that Ma'am feels need to be dealt with yet do not warrant a strapping. The policy was inspired by a blog post we found on the web that Ma'am took a particular liking to.

Glass pebbles and stars have now become the currency of my punishment. In the middle of our living room an empty vase stands, flanked by two smaller vessels containing blue glass pebbles and translucent yellow stars. Each pebble placed in the vase will represent one firm swat to my bottom, earned by misconduct, improper focus, lapses of attention, or when Ma'am feels I am in need of a reminder. The little glass stars represent amnesty. If I am lucky enough to earn one of those, I may, with Ma'am's permission, remove a pebble from the vase and be forgiven a swat I'd previously earned.

It's a pretty arrangement with a less than pretty side. When I look at it, I don't see a jumble of pretty colored glass but a reminder to be well behaved and appropriately obedient. But I am reminded that my Ma'am loves me enough to provide discipline and additional motivation when I need it. And once the vase is no longer empty... I will be reminded of the ways I need to improve and that I do, in fact, need my Ma'am's discipline.

I wonder what my Ma'am sees when she looks upon the pebbles and stars?

perception and communication

I've been mulling over the value and role of perception in power exchange and D/s. It seems to me that perception is an element that can be both beneficial and detrimental to a relationship. It can lead to either a building up or a breaking down of control and obedience. But I have to wonder if in a PE relationship perception plays a more important or central role within the dynamic than I'd originally realized. Certainly there are times it helps matters but aren't there often times that it is a hindrance as well?

My role as a submissive dictates a certain approach to things that is radically different than how I approach them in my every day life. For example, if I perceive something negatively within my marriage I am more the type to immediately get it out in the open. I confront the issue head on with my partner so that misunderstandings and misconceptions don't cloud matters and foster negativity. But as a submissive, if I perceive something as negative within the confines of our D/s relationship, I generally approach it as something I must accept and get used to. I rarely confront the issue with my dominant. I may ask some clarifying questions to try to verify my perception but this is not always enough to validate or alter my perception.

Generally, when things aren't entirely clear, whether something is true or based on truth doesn't seem to have as much weight as what I perceive it to be. And, on occasion, my perception has led me to feel discontented or uneasy about my future path. So, at what point do perception and role hinder communication and/or erode a relationship? I realize communication is important and yet the structure of PE seems to muddy the waters for me as to which things are up for discussion and which should merely be met with acceptance and obedience...

introspection and mentorship

It's no secret – I'm a fairly introspective girl. I'm not sure if it's natural progression – that I've reached a point where I'm not constantly mulling over every facet of what I'm doing wrong or that submission has changed my focus to be less inward – but lately I've noticed a more broad-based bend to my ponderings. It seems that more often than not these days when I have the time to write I'm mulling over more general topics or concepts related to service and submission, filling pages in trying to answer questions that inevitably spawn other questions or trying to figure out how I feel about something and not really getting anywhere.

Most of what I've learned so far has been the result of my own inner examinations. It's been a difficult path on occasion and there have been so many times that I've felt adrift, as if I'm stumbling around in the dark as I try to figure out how to be and how to behave. I've had my “a-ha” moments and epiphanies but many of these revelations have been hard won and left me feeling stupid for not sooner grasping something that later seems so obvious or basic a tenet.

I've begun to wonder if maybe I would benefit from a mentor. I have mixed thoughts about mentoring – my Ma'am's experience with it proved to be more of an example of how not to mentor someone and left her largely feeling frustrated and exasperated. I'm also not sure how my having a mentor would mesh with or affect my current service situation. Or, even, how to go about finding a suitable mentor...

I'd love to hear from those who've had some experience with mentorship...anyone have any thoughts on the topic?

over her knee

Last night, in appreciation of my preparing her a special dinner, Ma'am took me over her knee for the most delightful spanking! It's been ages since she's spanked me this way...more often than not lately it's been her pleasure to string me up and have her way with flogger, crop or cane. And while I do enjoy my time on the hook, I've missed the intimacy of being taken over her lap for a leisurely and sensual spanking.

When she gave me that look and patted the sofa next to her, I couldn't get over her lap fast enough. She spent a good amount of time caressing and grabbing my eager bottom before lowering my panties and by the time she'd delivered the first spank I felt like I was in heaven...

learning

I was up far too early this morning and spent my early hours with coffee and discovering a few new blogs. I ran across an interesting post by the Thinking Dominant entitled, “Teaching". He writes:

“Who 'teaches'? Take for example the submissive [who] is more experienced than the dominant. Can the sub teach from the bottom? Should the Dom look to other Doms? Perhaps finding a mentor or start at the bottom?”

This post echoes my own questions as a submissive. Questions that relate not only to how I can become a better girl to my Ma'am but also to how I can best use my experience and perspective to help my Ma'am to learn and further develop her identity as a dominant.

Although I have a touch more experience than my Ma'am in this world, we are both somewhat new to it. There have been many moments where we've both felt as if we were stumbling around in the dark, trying and failing to figure out how to be what we are. We've both had “a-ha” moments relevant to our respective roles but for the most part they are hard won and take far longer to realize than we'd like.

For those of us who are newer to this world, what's the best way to learn outside the scope of your own experience? How does one go about finding a mentor or connecting with those who are willing and interested in teaching others?

disciplinary fantasies

Last Tuesday, Ma'am sent me to work in my street collar. It was a punishment day and her intent was to ensure I achieved the proper attitude of contrition as it had been quite a while since that punishment had been earned. She wanted me to remember and to reinforce my state of mindfulness. Wearing her collar did it's intended job...frequently throughout the day my thoughts turned toward the “memory lapse” that led to the evening's business and my continued reflections on hidden motivations and leniency.

But what was unexpected were the little snippets of fantasy that came to me throughout the day. All were related to discipline – receiving a firm scolding as I knelt before my Ma'am, looking up into her eyes from my position on the floor; being thrown over her knee without warning for a spanking so hard and fast that proper counting is an impossibility; displaying my hot and reddened bottom for her with my panties half mast and jeans around my ankles.... Each of these moments pulled me from my sense of contrition into a place made more of excitement and arousal – which, I think, is not precisely the effect that Ma'am wanted to evoke.

Disciplinary fantasies, of course, are quite a different thing than punishment. They are uncolored by the emotion punishment brings with it as a matter of course. Within the framework of actual punishment my pleasant little daytime fantasies would not be arousing at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

What this seems to tell me, though, is that my craving for more regular discipline and tighter control is something that continually lurks just below the surface of my mind. And if I'm not careful and diligent, it is very likely that these desires will continue to lead me off the path of obedience.

submission as a tool for growth

This past week I spent some time reflecting on the role and influence of choice and acceptance in submission and how what I've learned in these areas carries through into everyday life. I choose to submit to my Ma'am – it is a choice I made months ago when I entered her service that I renew every day when I recite my morning mantra and follow the rules she has outlined for me. I try hard to be good and obedient even when I don't agree with her wishes but learning to respond appropriately was a very challenging lesson for this rather strong-willed girl to learn.

Submission has taught me a lot about acceptance and the importance and value in appropriately accepting those things that I don't agree with, don't like, or don't want to do. As a submissive, I may disagree with my dominant but it is my responsibility to behave and respond with appropriate poise and grace in all situations. Learning to accept what I would not choose for myself has revealed to me a strength I didn't know that I possessed and has provided fulfillment I didn't expect. It has helped me to grow not only as a submissive but as a person as well.

This growth area was put to an extreme test mid-week in my professional life. When faced with a challenging situation and unreasonable person who was determined to provoke an unprofessional response from me with an unjustified personal attack, my submission turned out to be my secret weapon. Under fire, I made the choice to remain calm, poised, and professional. I was able to accept his unprofessional behavior with a level of grace that I was proud of and resisted the urge to join the confrontation. It is a claim I could not have made a year ago and one I credit fully to my journey into submission.

out of compliance

Just last night Ma'am was remarking on how good a girl I have been. Now, I have to say had been. Somehow I managed to forget a portion of one of my weekly rules today and had to report to her that I was out of compliance. Sigh...it is fully beyond my comprehension how one can suddenly forget to do something that is part of a regular schedule.

Ma'am also informed me last night that she is retiring her paddle as her preferred implement of punishment. What she has in mind for future punishments is something that I have been nervous about since I gave her the knowledge of exactly how effective a punishment it is – the belt. In all of my experience, a belt is the one thing has been exclusively used as a tool of punishment and the psychological effects on me are intense. I knew she would chose it eventually and I've thought with dread about the first time she punishes me with it. Now, it may well be upon me.

I've been wrapped in nerves all night...hoping that the time has not come, that today's transgression is not the one that has earned me this punishment...