Journal Prompt

Write down the first 5 things that come to your mind when you think about domestic service to your partner. What is involved in these things? How are they unique?

1) Household management. This is deliberately very broad because if I listed individual chores, I'd take up all five things! Household management is everything from outside chores (yardwork, grocery shopping) to housecleaning to laundry and cooking. This is probably the majority of my domestic service to Beloved and I'm not really sure how it is unique - I have a hard time explaining my submission because this particular service is so vanilla. I suppose it might be unique because of the pride *I* take in the house. I feel that it reflects directly on me rather than Beloved.

2) Personal assistant. I often run errands for Beloved, such as dropping off UPS packages, taking care of specific purchases, and other needs that are generally "business hour" places he doesn't have time to get to. I also manage his calendar and provide social networking for him. Again, this is something I have always done, even before D/s, so I'm not sure it is unique. I enjoy being able to provide the extra time for Beloved, though.

3) Hostess. This is just like it sounds...I play hostess or servant for events ranging from vanilla parties to the DOM. I consider this service to be unique because I try to remember and serve to any special preferences a guest might have.

4) Accountant. Managing the finances, paying bills, keeping the household on a sustainable budget, etc. Because I am detail-oriented, getting the bills paid on time is another service that Beloved expects from me. From my understanding, access to money that I haven't personally earned is somewhat unique in the D/s world.

5) Child-rearing. This is a tender subject. Even five months before I got pregnant with Boy, I declared I never wanted to have children. That opinion changed after spending a lot of time with a couple who were pregnant and some heart-to-heart talks with Beloved. *soft smile* He told me that it was the big family reunions that made him want his own children. I always wanted to adopt, but it was very clear this meant a lot to Beloved. While Beloved and I agreed to have children together, I never dreamed I would be the stay-at-home parent. On the bad days, this is most definitely a service I provide! I feel horribly guilty about those feelings, but there are times when it is Beloved's steady voice and stern direction that keep me from panicking. Please don't get me wrong...I love Boy and Girl! This just isn't exactly what I expected out of my life. Of course, if it weren't for the children, I might never have started this journey in the first place...

Silly, shy pixie...

Last Sunday, I slipped on the stairs. I fell off the ladder while taking Halloween decorations down. I did some other asinine thing that a good little vanilla girl would do.

*sigh* Yes, the truth is that I am still a silly, shy pixie. The truth is my husband beat me, and I've been feeling embarrassed about the whole scene. What better thing to do than to put it on the blog, get it out, and maybe in the process figure some things out in my head. Here goes...

When we dropped the children off with Grandma, she asked what we were going to do with our time. Beloved said, "Go home and have sex." I choked; she snickered and told us to have fun. After 15 years, I haven't gotten used to the completely frank relationship there, but I also still blush when Beloved grabs my ass...and after 15 years, he still grabs my ass regularly. Anyhow, we went home and I asked what Beloved wanted to do as he sat down on the couch.

"I plan to put my cock in several of your orifices." This time, I mostly just blushed, dropped to my knees, and reached up to undo his jeans. The sparkle in my eyes betrayed me.

"Going to make this a contest?" I laughed, and didn't answer. He kicked off his jeans, I latched on to his cock, wrapped my arms around his thighs, and didn't stop until he climaxed.

Didn't stop despite his thrashing. Didn't stop despite the hair pulling. Didn't stop despite his throwing himself off the couch, twisting around, dragging me across the room. There was one point that he managed to pin my arms to the floor, only to realize my arms were on top of his legs and he still couldn't escape me. He also managed to stand up partially, but I dragged him back down. He tried begging me to stop and finally...FINALLY promised to be "good" if I'd let him sit in the chair while I licked, sucked, and teased him until he came with an echoing groan.

*giggles* Yes, I was quite please with myself!

Then he shook his head. "There's a switch in you afterall!" What?

"You initiated, you took control, and you did it your way." Oh. um...er...well...I guess I did.

"Don't worry...It was fun. But you did Top me." *ponders*

While I was pondering this, Beloved sat down in front of me.

"I want to try something. Slap me." What?!

"SLAP me. And put something behind it." I gave him a few very playful slaps.

"Slap me, and if you don't put something behind it, then I'll slap you with something behind it!" er...I couldn't do it. It wasn't comfortable. But I did block him when he tried to slap me, which quickly resulted in his pulling me over him and landing a heavy THUD on my ass and the wrestling began.

We both held back...he didn't pin me and avoided most of my chest area (because I'm nursing), I didn't disable him with any crotch-shots...but he punched and slapped me, and I kicked and punched back. There were a couple of back-off moments, teasing feints. At one point, he half-picked me up and I landed on my left shoulder...THAT hurt. A truce was called eventually, and I wasn't nearly as winded as he was and therefore declared myself the "winner"...He rolled his eyes and smiled.

We cuddled a bit, recovering. "Did you enjoy that?"

I could feel my eyebrows knit up. No...er...no...but... But I did. For one thing, Beloved said that I was very strong, and my question about whether or not I could be a victim again was answered. Not easily. If I learned a few pointers about fighting SMART, I would make an attacker's life pretty miserable. THAT made me feel really good. And I felt powerful.

*frowns* Switch? well, maybe...I don't know. I'll have to figure that one out.

I am sporting some interesting bruises. The only GOOD one is on my right arm, but there are a smattering of them everywhere. A lot of them are deep aches. I told Beloved on Monday that I felt like someone had beaten me. He laughed and said he felt the same way.

*wry smile* So that is the real story. It's just taken me a few days to get past the "good little vanilla girl" excuses enough to admit it. And yes, I fully expect a few of you are chuckling at this...

*sigh* What can I say? I'm nothing but a silly, shy pixie.

Weekend survived...

but the kids are a little strung out. Boy hardly let us sleep at all last night, and Girl has been fussy all day. *sigh* It doesn't help that I bruised my left shoulder and that' the side I carry Girl on...

Hopefully the disappearance of candy will eve things out a little...

Zen lesson

One day two traveling monks reached a town and saw a young woman waiting to step out of her sedan chair. There were deep, muddy puddles and she couldn’t step across without getting mud on her silk robes. She impatiently scolded her attendants, who were burdened with heavy packages.

The younger monk walked by the young woman without speaking. But the older monk stopped and picked her up on his back, carrying her across the mud. Not only did she not thank the monk, she shoved him out of her way when he put her down and scurried by him haughtily.

As the two monks continued on their way, the younger monk was brooding. After a long time, he finally spoke out. “That woman was so rude but you picked her up and carried her! She didn’t even thank you.”

“I set the woman down hours ago,” the older monk responded. “Why are you still carrying her?”

I wish I would learn this lesson. I'm tired of being angry with ungrateful people. It only burdens myself.

Rough Body Play

Do you ever wonder where time goes? I do. Frequently these days. Between playdates and classes and lack of sleep, the days slip past. *wry smile* When you have something hard to say, time slippage becomes an easy...almost legitimate excuse.

Beloved and I have had a couple of discussions about harder...rougher...sexual play...edge play, breath play, and forced pleasure. It tears me up. Mentally, I'm screaming NO NO NO NO NO. I do NOT like this. GOOD girls do not like this. I never asked to be raped...

But as Beloved has pointed out, my body is turned on.

The juxtaposition has been very hard for me to wrap my head around. Thinking about it gives me a sour stomach, and blogging about it...well, truth is, I've known about this a lot longer since it was some of what Sir played with. It's taken months for me to put it into blunt words, even if it was all hinted at.

It is absolutely terrifying to me in many ways. Beloved teases that he will have to convince me of the "Mr. Hyde" in him since he doesn't *quite* see me getting lost in the moment. I might not have believed there WAS a Mr. Hyde until the other night...

On Tuesday, the DOM met for the monthly gathering. I was serving, but BruisedMaria was the demo sub for Rick's presentation on Rough Body Play. I've known Rick for years and years. He is a good man, a loving father. Until recently, I've shared sympathies as a service SUB with him... While I wasn't invited to sit and watch the demo, the pieces I saw while serving the other Dominants were very intense. Rick describes it as "watching a train wreck and not being able to look away." He was using his whole body behind the punches, there was no remorse in the face slaps, there was blood drawn. Just listening was a little edgy for me. *wry smile* I was asked more than once if I was okay with the scene.

Okay? *shrug* I try not to judge what others do when it comes to kink. I don't get squigged easily because I look at it objectively...clinically. And while the scene was intense, it was obvious that Maria was okay before, during, and well-cared for afterwards. So yes, I was okay with it.

But trying to imagine a different scene...one with Beloved and me...THAT put butterflies in my stomach. My head ached. I wanted to be alone to digest the thoughts and feelings, and people just wouldn't LEAVE! *wry smile* I used the kitchen, the head ache, and Girl to excuse myself over and over, hoping to settle the cyclone in my head. Finally, when we did go to bed, I couldn't relax. When Beloved's breathing slowed, I slipped out of bed for a long, hot shower and cried some...and then I went to sleep without nightmares.

I'm still having a hard time sorting it out. Do I want to be abused that way? The automatic response is Of COURSE NOT! But when Beloved said I wasn't really a masochist, my pause made him raise an eyebrow in consideration. So...I don't know. I really don't. All I know is that SOMETHING is there...

The Tricky Business of Being Submissive

In response to my last post, Beloved wrote:

You wear many more titles than WIFE and MOM. You are mentor, organizer, teacher, student, submissive, slave, life-saver, cute poly chick, etc. Just because there is not a single perch upon which you call home does not invalidate the contributions that you make to others lives, and to your own, in each and every role your flighty heart calls you to land upon.

There is more room to write upon your collar. If there is a calling in your heart to find room to enscribe SLAVE or SUB upon it then you should do what you do best and follow your heart.

One of the things I do best is write, so here I am trying to unscramble the lines of communication, straighten out the paths, and make sense of what is in my head. This is one of those times that I have to go all the way back to the beginning, so bare with me...


To be clear, it was never my dream to be a mother, let alone a stay-at-home mother. Although the decision to become parents was mutual, "The Plan" was that Beloved would stay home and I would return to work...until Beloved was offered an incredible opportunity and it made more sense to go for it. I tried to suppress my disappointment, frustration, and fright. Society tends to not appreciate the role of housewives and stay-at-home moms. I tried to put on a good face, but I was crumbling inside. Six months after Boy was born, I fell apart. I was forcibly committed to a mental hospital and Beloved had to rescue me.

Something HAD to change...and so I began looking for something. The term "odalisque" came up and I was curious. Of course, being excused from housework and reserved for sexual service was quite enchanting. I wanted a collar because it would be my salvation. *sigh* There is a D/s fantasy world where all the submissive's cares are magically taken away, where the Dominant has endless resources and always has the answers, where there are no challenges presented by colicky babies or tight budgets or lack of time.

But no matter how many books you read, how wonderful the roleplay is, how hard you wish for the fantasy, the Real World intrudes. I remained myself. I didn't appreciate being told what to do, and Beloved didn't relish the chore of sorting it out for me. I resented limits on housework because things never seemed done to my satisfaction. I struggled with formal protocols that weren't clearly explained or understood, regardless of who tried to implement them. I rejected my collar over and over and over again. I wasn't "doing it right". Where was the reassurance and peace and confidence that was "promised" in the lifestyle?

Attending SJW was an incredible experience and it validated my sense of service. Being surrounded by others who claimed "submission" and yet were perfectly normal PEOPLE helped my understanding, but I still see the external status, the sugar-coat.

I am also frustrated by the occasional questions about my life as a submissive. I try to describe my day-to-day and can't explain how my relationship is different than an ordinary albeit healthy husband-wife relationship.

I am a stay-at-home mom. I do my best to keep up with the housework, keep the kids busy, keep food in the fridge and meals at regular intervals. Unlike many women I know, sex hasn't gone by the wayside because we have kids, but that hardly makes a D/s relationship.

On the BDSM score, I was disillusioned with club, circumvented the rules and got into trouble with Cole, threw away the explorations with Master Ron, ran away from Sir. There seemed nothing about the lifestyle that I could embrace.

My second pregnancy took a real toll on an already struggling "lifestyle". The last three months were void of any involvement with the D/s or BDSM community or even "normal" huband-wife intimacies. We agreed that the collar I had worn...a key on a black silk cord...wasn't going to be a collar any more. On July 22nd, Beloved cut the cord because I was having a c-section.

That didn't change anything in our lives. I continued to do my best to keep up with the housework, keep the kids busy, keep food in the fridge and meals at regular intervals. But as we have slowly gotten back in touch with the lifestyle community, I have fretted over my lack of a collar when attending events.

Last Wednesday, I finally asked Beloved what it would take to earn a collar. I wasn't happy with his answer. There are changes he'd like to see if we going re-enter a collared relationship...protocols, conditioning, training. I rejected this instantly...I struggle to keep up with what I HAVE, let alone adding to it! I just don't have more to give right now, and I was furious that Beloved would ask it of me!

We talked again Thursday night, and I was resigned. I wasn't going to have anything to do with a collar ever again. I was going to give it all up. It was pointless because I just am not collar-material.

Friday was MAsT. There was going to be drumming again, and more importantly, there were going to be people I liked there. I wanted to go but questioned the appropriateness...after all, I wasn't collared. I don't want people to know I'm just a housewife.

Even as I write that, I know how idiotic that is. Submission isn't defined by a lock on a chain. It isn't something that can be given or taken away. Submission is allowing other peoples' will take priority over your own.

I delight in serving others, in providing them with tokens of my service. It brightens my day to hear the surprise in someone's voice when I remember a preference or present them with something they needed/wanted. I have always styled my home around being open and available to others.

Beloved asked me to explain what what a collar means to me, and in the process of writing this, I think I have figured out the answer. For me, a collar isn't something that will drastically change my life or my relationships. While I have fought HARD with labels and titles, the core reason that I sought out D/s has never changed.

A collar...Beloved's collar...excuses me from society's expectations and enables me to embrace my life in service. I want and need to be recognized and celebrated for what I am. A submissive.

No matter where you go, there you are.

If we shadows have offended,Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream...

Beloved is perhaps wiser than I would like to admit. I asked directly what I had to do to earn a collar. He said that I had to prove I wanted it. So I asked what I have to do to prove it. He said I have to write out what a collar means to me, then test my acceptance with a trial week, then we have to discuss it.

The quagmire of emotion is overwhelming. I'm furious, heartbroken, resigned, and despairing.

All my life I wanted to be something else...someone else. My childhood was filled with imaginary friends and adventures with Robin Hood, King Arthur. I would go for walks when it got foggy, hoping but not-quite believing that I might wander into some other time, place. I wanted to be special.

I survived into the young adulthood and exchanged those daydreams with ambitious goals of getting into politics and changing the world, saving the environment, making a real difference. I wanted to be special. I got as far as a job offer in the US Senate that I was unable...unwilling...to take.

So my life got reinvented again. I had a child. Perhaps with children, I could regain the joys of the imagination, recover the fascination of holidays, find the magic again. I wanted to be special, but apparently someone has to do the work to make such things appear real, and I am now that someone.

Disillusioned, I scrambled to find meaning in my status, some way that I might possibly give up everything I had imagined and be content with the "American Dream" of a house in suburbia, two kids, pets... If I could surrender to it, if I could submit and had a Master to care for me and keep me sane, maybe then I would be special...

But over and over and over I fought against the labels. *wry smile* I'm a fiesty, flighty PIXIE...right? I'm wild and fae and stubborn and cannot be collared by any one! Not even my beloved husband wants to risk it without written essay, trials, and discussions.

After simmering in bed and then coming downstairs and sobbing, the conclusion I come to is that he's probably right. I'm enamored with the image, the idea, the perception of what submission is. I forget that I already have a collar and I cannot escape it.

The names my collar bear are WIFE and MOM.