aisha

No, not nine more licks with the yardstick, although at the moment that doesn’t sound half bad either.  Nine more days til i see Sir, of course.  Not counting today.

It was a lot easier being away from Him when i was the one out of town. 

i was just reading a post on slave alisha’s blog that connected with what i was thinking about yesterday.  She’s struggling with the challenge of giving – what does it mean, what does she have to offer?  She’s taking some amazing steps toward discovering her true value and worth.  Reading her blog is like watching a caterpillar turn into a butterfly – i know that’s cliche, but it really is. 

 i think i’ve told before the story of the little girl and the caterpillars?  She was watching some caterpillars hatching from their cocoons.  They were struggling so hard, beating their wings against the cocoon, and it went on for such a long time.  She was exhausted just watching them.

So she decided to help them.  She carefully picked the cocoon off their bodies, one by one, setting them free.

And there they were – in all their beauty – free of the cocoon.  And unable to fly.

The struggle to set themselves free from the cocoon strengthens their wings.  Without the exercise of that battle, their wings aren’t strong enough to carry them.

Worth the struggle...

So i read blogs, and i see us – not all of us, not all the time – but often, i see us struggling with some question, some issue.  Wrestling with it.  Often, i think there’s a connection to past abuse, but not always. 

Let me be clear, i don’t believe having a history of childhood abuse of some kind is what makes us kinky – i know many people who’ve experienced abuse who aren’t into BDSM  – although sometimes i wonder if it would be helpful for them – but that’s a different discussion, right?  i don’t think that i’m submissive because i’ve experienced some abuse – in fact, for me, the kink was there before the abuse.

But we all have issues – i mean, really, we do.  Subs and Doms and all the vanilla folks out there too.   That’s just life.   And i think we all have some drive to heal whatever injuries we’ve experienced and some drive to growing into being – well, into being more of who we are, or more of who we want to be, or whatever we decide we want to grow into.

So – there are so many blogs by subs who struggle with some aspect of growth.  It seems like we are all trying to work our way into something.  Sin – picking at the scabs of her efforts at a poly relationship.  Green Girl, Sweet KK, Submissivebf, the list goes on and on.    We do it in fantasy, like ‘Nilla, like me sometimes.  But over and over we struggle with aspects of ourselves.

Trying to be more submissive.  Trying to be submissive without losing who we are.  Trying to love more fully.  Trying to protect ourselves.  Trying NOT to protect ourselves.  Trying, trying, trying… 

And we grow.  We become more of who we are, more of who we want to be.   We deepen our selves, expand, blossom.

And where are the Doms in all this?   Where is the benefit for them?

i don’t think the answer is that our growth benefits them.  It may do that, but i can’t believe that’s what their part of the relationship is about.  That would make them two-dimensional – props in our universe.  That can’t be right. 

Even if their role is as leaders or guides – you know, being a therapist myself, i know that i grow from my experience in relationship with my clients.  And the therapist-client role is supposed to be uneven, is supposed to be all for the benefit of the client.  But that can’t be true.  If i’m not growing, then i’m not really in relationship.  If i’m just sitting back manipulating growth for my client, i’m not doing what i need to be doing.

(Note:  That doesn’t mean i ever talk about my problems or my current issues with my client.  That’s not how it works either.)

So if me-as-therapist also engages and grows through the relationship, then i believe that’s true for Doms as well. 

If i extend that analogy – as therapist, i’m always watching myself as well as my client.  Checking myself.  How did i respond – and what does that say about me?  Is there a sore spot of my own here?   Did i really understand?  That kind of self analysis. 

And through that, i grow.  Through my clients’ reactions, i learn things about myself.  i learn from their insights.  i learn from their struggle – but i have to turn it around and see how it applies to me.    i can’t just be an observor, i have to grasp it and pull the ideas, the thoughts and feelings into my own life.

Does that make sense? 

And doesn’t it seem like the same must be true for Doms?  Plus, they have the whole “how to be a good Dom” concept to measure themselves against, right?  That would be another way for a Dom to grow emotionally and spiritually.  i think.

And why am i even going on about this?  i don’t know.  Looking for the overriding mutuality, i guess.   Maybe –

Because – i’ve been both humbled and edified in my relationship with Sir D.   (A sentence that makes my pussy twitch, wake up and take notice, btw.  Don’t ask me why…) 

Ok – back on track here – there are experiences i’ve had with Sir that have clearly been restorative.  That have “redeemed” some early injury.   The experiences have been – a gift, in a way.  But not handed to me – there had to be effort and work on my part for them to happen.  And they couldn’t have happened without my Sir being who He is.

So i think – is this it? – i think we create a relationship that exists between us, like a – ok, maybe like a garden.  With a pond or lake or fountain  – some kind of water.  And with trees to represent the phallic element, right?  And we play and work in the garden together, taking fruit as it grows?

i don’t know. 

“Get me the yardstick, please,” He says, and when i hesitate, “Go on, get it now.”

i know exactly where it is.  As i walk to the bedroom, i feel my body – my heart pounding, breath ragged.  i feel my pussy growing wet, opening, throbbing. 

i am wearing a t-shirt.  My ass is covered, but barely.  i am aware of my body, my breasts, my thighs…

Damn, how does He do this to me?

The yardstick is in the corner, where i left it.  It’s light, supple.  i know it stings.  i pick it up, aware of the edges, wondering at myself.  i’ll take it to Him, knowing that He’s going to use it on me.  Knowing that i want Him to.

It’s the wanting that humiliates.   i want Him to, even though after He starts, i will want him NOT to, and then even when i want Him not to, i will not want Him to stop until He wants to.  Yes-no-yes…

i present the yardstick with a flourish – “Sir!”  on my knees, arms extended.  Perhaps a tad overly dramatic – He raises his eyebrows as He takes it.

And then He moves – faster than i can tell it – He grips my hair, yes, right there – pulls me to my feet, hustles me to the couch –

  – pushes my head down, bends me over the arm of the couch. 

Pulls the t-shirt up –

   – ass raised, exposed…

Strokes the backs of my thighs with the yardstick.  Rubs it against my ass.  Taps it lightly on my calves.

And then, while i’m squirming with pleasure, wriggling –

                – whoosh!

He brings it down on my ass, and i cry out – O!!! that stings.

And as i write – as i WRITE it – my pussy clenches and i shiver.  

 Nine more days… 

i’ve traded a good internet connection for the ocean. 

Today, i walked on the beach twice, found a perfect conch shell, watched pelicans dive for their breakfast, and it’s not even noon yet.  It’s a good trade.

i’ll be back on Sunday…

From the balcony of the hotel room

 

http://cultivateddiscipline.wordpress.com/

i e-mailed Sfp back and told her to count me in on the great cookie posting project – but –

she must not have gotten the e-mail, because on ‘Nilla’s post this morning, and Mick and Molly’s, i’m not on the list of bloggers doing cookies – which –

is actually probably a good thing, because i’m in Savannah, Ga and i don’t do a quadzillion cookies for Xmas, but had planned to do them Sunday before i left town – but –

 we got snow and decided to leave early – so i didn’t have time to bake anyhow.  But not wanting to feel totally left out, i will share a cheating recipe for cookies that i used to make with my kids.  You can do these from scratch, i’m sure, but they are a non-baking-mama way to look good real easily. 

You need:

– a large package of Pillsbury slice and bake cookies (or your favorite sugar cookie recipe) and

– hard candy – lifesavers, or similar candies – in different colors.

Then, simply:

Crush the candy between pieces of wax paper, keeping the colors separate.  you can use a meat mallet for this, or the handle end of knife works (simply wrap a hand towel around the sharp end of the knife and pound with the other end.)

If you’re using the Pillsbury cookies (DO NOT use a generic brand), simply slice the cookies as you normally would.  Place the circle of dough on a piece of aluminum foil that you will use to line your cookie pan.  (i use aluminum foil for this because it’s easier for clean up.) 

Then take a cookie cutter that is slightly smaller than the circle of cookie dough and cut out a cookie shape on the inside of the circle.   This can be any shape.  Remove the cut-out shape.  (If you’re real handy, you can actually bake a batch of these separately.)

Sprinkle the crushed candy on the inside of the cookie circle.  When you’ve prepared a batch, bake as directed on the package for the cookies.

The simplest version of the finished cookies will look like this:

Only mine were never quite that perfectly even...

 

 

 

 

 

A fancier version might look like this: 

 

 

But these are probably beyond my expertise...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope you’re enjoying the holidays…

   

 

i wasn’t planning on eating my salad, but i managed to focus on it, as Sir had told me to do.  It was hard to tear my mind away from the vibrating egg inside my pussy, even though it was quiet now.  i had yet to feel the effects of Him using the remote control.

The salad was pretty.  i poked it with my fork.  Very nice.  i looked at Sir.  He was smiling.

“Here’s our food,” He says, just as the server appears carrying our two plates.  He had chosen the grilled salmon, and it is beautiful.  And smells wonderful, i notice, as the server moves my salad plate to one side and sets the half portion of salmon and vegetables in front of me. 

i think about the egg nestled inside my pussy, and wonder if the server would be able to hear it if Sir started it now.

Then Sir’s voice penetrates the fog i’m in, “Aisha,” He says.  i’m aware that the server has moved away.  And my attention iturns where it should be anyhow, on Sir.

“Yes, Sir?”

“What are you thinking? ” i pause, thinking what to tell Him,  and He says sharply, “I want it all, don’t edit.”

So i tell Him, quickly, “i was just thinking about this – the egg?   how it’s you know,” i lower my voice,”um, inside me, and not knowing when you’re going to turn it on and whether or not the server would be able to hear it.”  

Then i notice that Sir has laid the remote out on the table, the little pink plastic thing is sitting there in full view.  He picks it up, toys with it.  Caresses the buttons on it.

My pussy throbs, my body tenses, i’m prepared.  Anxious.  Eager.  

He lays it back down.  “The salmon looks good,” He says, picking up his fork.

i sigh.  Pick up my fork.  Am i glad or sorry He didn’t turn it on?  i’m not sure.

“What would you like to do after dinner?” He asks.

i look up from my salmon, which is delicious, and blurt out, “i have no idea!  How can i possibly think that far ahead?  All i can think about is – you know!”  Laughing, “and how long you’re going to make me wait.  Are you really not going to use it?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know.  It just depends on how I feel.”  And His hand touches the remote, but just for a second.  He takes another bite of salmon.   “Would you like to go to a movie?”

“A movie?”  my mouth almost drops open.  “Um,” i censor what i was going to say just a touch – ‘fuck no’ is probably not quite the right answer – “Of course, if You really want to go to a movie, that would be fine.  i was thinking more –

– more how much i’d like to take your cock in my mouth and please you.”  And i just can’t help it, i lick my lips, just a touch.  And my index finger slides into my mouth, just the tip of it. 

“On your knees now,” He says.  “Under the table.”

i gasp, “Sir!  i didn’t mean to…”

“Now,” He says. 

“But – ” i’m ready to protest some more, but i look at Him and He’s – serious, omigod, He’s really serious.  i glance around the restaurant.  There are a few other tables, but none real close to us.

Ok.  i might be able to do this. 

“Yes, Sir,” i say, “Yes, Sir, i will, just let me…” and i slip an earring out of one ear, palm it, and  cry out –

“O!  My earring!” and slide to the floor.  Crouching first, then quickly on my hands and knees, i pat the floor.  i need to act fast before anyone offers to help.  Discretely – discretely? – i pat under the table, moving my head and torso under the table, where the tablecloth hides me. 

Quickly, quickly i move my head to Sir’s crotch.  He moves His napkin.  One hand comes down and grasps my hair – right at the base of my head, right where i love to feel it.  He pulls my head into His crotch.  Holds it there, pressed against His pants, pressed against His cock, which i can feel, pressing against my mouth.

i open my mouth, taking Him into me as much as i can, given that i’m mostly getting his clothing.  But i try to caress the cock beneath the material. 

Then – omigod – i hear Him say, “No, she just dropped her earring.  I think – Aisha, did you find it?” and He pulls back on my head, signaling me to back off. 

i scoot out from under the table,  face flushed, laughing, holding the earring up triumphantly.  “i did!”  i say.  “Here it is.  Thank goodness, i don’t know what i’d do if i lost one of these earrings.”

And i sit back down.

“I’m glad you found it, Ma’am,” says the server, “I’d have been glad to help you, but i’m glad you found it,” and i say thank you with as much enthusiasm as if He’d actually done something to help.  He moves away again. 

Sir is watching me.  Looking serious still, but His eyes are laughing.  “Get my point?” He says.  i nod solemnly, but He adds, “Don’t tease.  Don’t.”

“Yes, Sir.  No, Sir – i won’t.” i say, but we both know i probably will.  “And speaking of teasing,” i say, nodding to the remote still sitting beside His plate, “what about that?  Kind of a double standard You’ve got going on, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” He says.  He picks up the remote.  “A double standard.  That’s exactly what it is.  I do what I want to do.  You do what I want you to do.  Right?”

i nod, watching Him closely, almost holding my breath.

And He sets the remote back down. 

“Finish your salmon,” He says, “and we’ll see what they have for dessert.”