After All A Collar

I don’t remember whether I have written about it before or not, but anyway. I like to feel phyical boundaries. Not in the sense of being exhausted by sports, but in the sense of being tied or gagged and so on. My father used handcuffs on me, he tied me to the bed for days, gagged me, put a plastic bag over my head and retained it with a rubber, constricted me with straps and so on. That’s the origin of this fetish. Like so many other things I’m into, it all started with him, and I can’t help it.

I knew I liked being tied under what I’d call “safe conditions” when I still lived with him. I guess, I was about 12 years old when I first wrapped my blanket very tightly around me, tucking it under my body and ensuring I could not really move. Being enclosed brought two different sensations, and it still does. On the one hand, I feel safe and comforted, on the other hand it might feel lustful. It does not always. So when my father hog-tied me again, I felt strange, because I had liked it when I did it to myself, and I hated it when he did. Today I know that there’s a big difference between doing things consensual and being abused, of course.

When I lived on the street with Julian, I began to understand that being enclosed, even being tied by someone I trust (more or less, but that’s a horse of another colour) can help me getting through certain stages of mental stress. There are times when words no longer reach me, but that strong physical impact of being enclosed or even tied gets through to me.

Later, when I was in the mental hospital, a doctor explained to me that being enclosed is one of the first impressions a child gets when he’s still inside his mother’s womb. Young children tend to move to one corner of their beds when being placed in the middle, because they need to feel boundaries. So, possibly feeling boundaries reminds me of that early experience, but I can’t tell.

When John started to tie me, it took a lot of courage to surrender myself to him. He promised to take care of me, and he did everytime. Nowadays, I know I can trust him, and being tied does no longer make me feel uncomforable. I’m able to relax when I’m tied. Being tied still bears these two aspects of security and lust and sometimes they mingle.

Allowing myself to live out my female part as Gina/Ginny is connected with a lot of insecurity and axiousness. It’s a part of me I have always realized, but I prevented it from coming too close to the surface. So I guess it’s no surprise that living it out feels exciting and strange as well. To my amazement allowing myself to be Gina/Ginny has a spiritual aspect, too. And that again is connected with the need and the wish to feel secure. I sometimes had a hard time opening up for Lord Shiva and all the experiences he allowed me to make, so that I would come to John and ask him to hold me tight or…well, to tie me down.

I can’t really tell why sometimes being tied feels horny and sometimes not. Of course it’s got something to do with what else happens, you know, but even if I feel horny, being tied down might calm the desire, and on the other hand it might make me horny if I had not been before. I don’t know. But being tied and gagged is an essential part of my personality, not only of my desire, I think.

Yesterday when John came home from the office, we had our daily routine, but he told me that he had bought a surprise for me I’d get later that evening. Of course I was curious about it 🙂 We had dinner, then John slumped on the couch and had me kneeling in front of him. But before I could start anything serious, he took out what he had bought for me: a dog collar made of thick black leather. It’s got a D-ring on the front. I felt strange when he asked whether he might put it around my neck, but nodded. It was very soft and comfortable, and yesterday it made me feel centered and relaxed. I don’t know if I can repeat everything he told me, but he said that he bought it as a loving gift, because he knows sometimes I need to feel boundaries to feel at ease. He told me that he did not buy it to make me feel humiliated (and I guess there are a millions ways he knows to make me really feel humiliated) or like a dog or so, but because he hopes wearing it makes me feel owned and held and helps me know my place. He said each time I might feel insecure and out of control, I may put it on and remember that I am loved. Ugh. His words brought me to the verge of tears, because I thought that this was so cute. I thanked him very much, but then he smiled and added that he had bought something else. He took out a small black bag made of velvet. I opened it and found a heart-shaped, red badge on which it says “Gina”. Ugh! He smiled and put it on the D-ring where it hung with a gentle jingle. He looked at me to see how I’d react. My heart was pounding, but it felt so good. Again I thanked him. He took out his mobile phone and made a photo of me, then told me to come into his arms.

Later he told me that he did not buy a leash and emphasized that he did not buy the collar to make me feel like a dog. I presume it was time to put on a real collar and not just regarding my wedding ring as one… That was so darn cute.

And nonetheless I’ve got a short amazing video for you about being tied very, very hard:


Did Some Shopping

Yesterday I had a task to fulfill, although I took it as a reward for good behaviour 🙂 John had advised me to go shopping, and so I did after work. It was the first time I was out alone to buy women’s undies, and of course I was a bit nervous, but Love had told me that I should pretend that it was normal for me to shop in the women’s department, then nobody would ask. He was right, by the way. I imagined I was shopping for my girlfriend and nobody threw curious looks at me or asked anything. That was pretty cool.

First of all I bought stockings. I really like to wear a belt, but those self-adhesive stockings are nice as well. They are a bit more uncomplicated to wear. In the next unit, I really took my time to stroll through the lanes. It seems to me that now as spring has arrived, there are more undies than ever! And in such cool colours, from pink to turquoise, and from purple to deep red. But my order was to buy something humiliating like a corselet in a colour named powder. Ugh. I found what I was looking for and thought that this may be something for elder women, to be honest. When I wanted to try it on, I could not resist to take three colourful bras and a fistful of panties with me. It all fitted me, so I bought it all.

When I wanted to leave the store, I came upon a beutiful bright dress. It’s quite short with straps and big flowers printed on it. Just the right dress for a spring evening. I bought it, too.

When I returned home, I put on some make up and got dressed as Ginny to surprise John. When he came home, he admired the new pieces for my collection and asked me whether I would dare to accompany him to the opera, styled as Ginny. Ugh. I dunno. I guess it was ok to be Ginny in Switzerland where nobody knew me, but I don’t know if I’m ready for being Ginny where I might stumple upon someone we know. John took my hand and smiled, telling me that he would not insist, but that he would not be ashamed. “I’m subject to so many norms and rules in everyday life that I want to be as dirty and brazen as I want to be when I’m with ya” he told me. Yeah, I know. No reservations.

Recently I have talked to a guy from the U.S. who is straight, married and likes to wear women’s undies as well. His wife does not know about his preferences and so he goes out, buys something like a panty or bra or so, then wears it a day and throws it away before returning home to prevent her from finding out about his fetish. While we were talking, I got really sad for him, and his story still resounds in my head. I regard wearing women’s clothes and undies as a quite innocent fetish, and to be honest, I feel even more manly and more like the devoted sub I’m supposed to be since I have admitted to be a gurl sometimes. I’m glad I can share this with my husband and can keep my undies. Meanwhile it would really hurt me if I had to throw them away after use. Wearing them makes me feel comfortable, a little splendid and chichi, and it sure reminds me that I’m my Dom’s.

Have Trust

I have a hard time adopting to chastity again. I know that being allowed to masturbate and watch porn as much as I like to is not good for me, as I tend to get lost in my fantasies, but being cut down completely hurts so bad that it makes me horny again. Ugh. Master is not helpful. At the moment he often grabs my buttocks, rubs my nipples and kisses me like only he can do to keep my permananetly aroused and completely helpless.

Today I found myself being deepthroated after Love came home from his weekly golf match. Having him so deep inside of me without a chance to breathe is very intense. It still takes all my trust and willpower to allow being bound, wearing a knitted and very warm ski mask, which is firmly narrowed down to my head with elastic bandages, and then being deepthroated. I have a strong gag reflex and find it hard not to belch, when Love’s so deep inside, pounding me. Usually he never makes me vomit as we’re both not into that Roman shower thing, you know, but every now and then he teases me until my last meals come up. It makes me feel completely helpless and well, dirty.

For me, deepthroating just like breath control is a sort of mental edging. He always demands “have trust!”, and I try.

The Beauty Of Destruction

There are times when Master and I don’t know where to stop. Perhaps he knows still better than I do. In our BDSM-relationship, there exist points of safe return. Sometimes we cross them. I don’t know why exactly. For me, the boundaries can always be stretched. I know that if I have a run, I would accept anything, even the dirtiest, most degrading tortures and degredations. Afterwards, I often feel ashamed and dirty, but during the games, I like it. Even more, I crave it. By the way, of course I do know that calling what we do a game is a sort of avoiding. I pretend that all I let do to myself is done in good fun. That’s dangerous, and if I did not have such a responsible Dom, I guess it already might have come to a bad end for me. Sometimes my self-disgust is that serious that I’d let myself torture and kill. I have already written about my insane dream of making the final gift of love to John: my life. I would. But I hopefully will never come to that point!

Yesterday I went to see W. We had planned to make a ritual for one of his Loas and Lord Shiva by long distance, concerning the more destructive aspects of them. To be honest, that’s Lord Shivas aspect I fear most. I have barely touched it yet. I fear that if I deal with it too often or too intense, it might overwhelm me and lead to a more self-destructive way of living. So, I had an unpleasant feeling when we started, even with W at my side. We had talked about the option to stop the ritual in case of emergency, but to be honest, by all I know about Lord Shiva so far, there is no escape from what he wants to put you through. I really see him like a sort of Dom. He’s loving, but he has this (very attractive) dominant, sadistic side, and if you let him, he puts you through hell, just to lift you up again and leave you happy like never before and quite irritated about your mental health LOL

To honour the destructive side, we had prepared meat as a sacrifice. In my everday life, I see meat as something Master obviously savours, and I’m ok with preparing it for him. But having raw meat in front of me for over two hours and honoring it as a symbol of destruction…uhm, that’s a horse of another colour.

We made a shamanic journey to the deities we worked with to get to know more about their and our own destructive side. No surprise, Lord Shiva showed up clad in a suit, smoking a cigar. Ugh. Can you be sexually attracted by a God? I honestly feel this thought is a sacrilege and try to see it as an expression of my hypersexual thinking, but yes, he was hot. And a kind of demonic, I guess. I don’t want to share what he told and showed me, but it seems I found out more about my destructive side than about his. He provided me with a task: practicing coming back from self-destructive thinking and acting in games, like following a trace back into a loving self-perception, over and over again. I asked him, how I should do it, but he just smiled faintly and replied “practice!”.

Later, when W and I sat together and talked it over, he said in his opinion Lord Shiva just demanded me to be my own guide into and out of misery. Well, yes. That’s the point. I have no idea how to look at myself more lovingly when I have that destructive drive.

When I came home, Master was already there and had a pot of milk pudding bubbling on the oven. We kissed and talked about of how our day had been, while he kept stirring and putting sugar, soy cream and peanut butter into the mixture. It was only when he added another spoonful of sugar to his pudding, when I asked what that was for. “For you, honey” he winked. I wanted to back-talk, but he just smiled faintly. “Just shut up, undress and put that feeding gag into your mouth. I’ll be with ya in a minute” he said in a sweet and dangerous tone that immediately got me aroused and hoping for the worst.

I spent the next two hours bound to our bed and being fed with that sugary, fatty pudding, being slapped hard and relentlessly fucked until Master fed me his jizz for dessert. Later, when I took a shower to get rid off the pudding that got lost in my hair, I kept asking myself, where I could start practicing coming back to a more loving self-perception. So, I went down where John lounged around the couch and came to his lap. Kissing could be a start, I hope.  I really don’t know how to resist destruction if it hurts so good.

Introducing Ginny (Gina)

When John and I visited Leo for the last time, Master asked me to find a name for that female part of me by which I want to be called. It took me forever! There were some names I really liked, but most of them were distinctively kinky or humiliating in a sense, so I quashed them. As this female part of me has quite a few facets, I did not want the name to be too simple. Sooner or later it turned out that I was searching for a name that could be varied due to the context in which it will be used. I thought I’d need a name that covers more humiliating and more loving aspects.

There was one name (Gina) that popped up in my mind ever and ever again, but only in kinky situations. I’m really sorry and do not wish to offend any Ginas, but to me, this name sounds dirty, like a slutty cockwhore, drawn to the very bad side of BDSM. Like a gurl who needs to be used, humiliated and hatefucked. Gina is that part of me which likes slutty underwear and stockings, being used anywhere, anytime, who willingly welcomes abusive behaviour and always craves for more pain, more cock, more cum. Gina likes to be treated like scum and accepts most anything, even to be treated like a she-dog in heat.

On the other hand, this female part of me is very sensitive and needs to be treated carefully, with respect and love. I guess that’s because she always had to hide away and is a bit shy and insecure. I call her Ginny. She’s in need of a caring, loving man who she likes to call Dad. She tries to be a lady, well-clad and well-behaved, quiet and low key. She’s charming and lovely, needs her Dad close and tries her best to serve him and make him happy. She likes decent clothing and make up. In bed, she’s a bit inhibited, but likes to be seduced. She fancies extended foreplay, stroking, kissing and cuddling.

I have to admit that the kinkier I get, the more of Gina comes out, even if it started with Ginny.

It’s the first time I have sourced out this female part of me and it feels a bit weird, but on the other hand offers many new possibilities.

Don’t Fight It