Control Is Given

This weekend, Daddy and I celebrated 3 years of me being collared to him. On Friday night I served him a 3 course meal and champagne in my maids dress. The dress is just play for us, but the servitude was anything but a game.

On Saturday afternoon we sat down to a meal at our favourite restaurant with a print out of my rules. Across 5 full pages of A4, in font size 10, the rules are quite a read. They range from my daily routine, to my behaviour towards Daddy, to etiquette, punishments, and how we communicate. At that dinner table we read the entire document, making sure each rule was still relevant and desired by both parties. With very few amendments, the pages were tucked into my handbag for later that evening.

At The Grey Area, an amazing new ageplay and BDSM fusion event, Daddy and I had a collaring anniversary ceremony in front of scores of our friends. I knelt opposite my Daddy and I began to read out my rules. I spoke with pride, sharing the way I live every day of my life with a room full of people. After section 2 of 5 I looked up at my Daddy. He nodded, a look of approval and agreement. I stopped at that point and the celebrant asked if I recommitted to my rules and to my submission. I looked up at the person I give all control to and beamed “yes, Daddy”. Daddy reaffirmed his promises to me, too, and spoke from the heart about how much I mean to him. I jumped up from my knees, not because I had been dismissed but because I wanted to hug my Daddy who is my world. He held me tight, and the moment will be with me forever.

I live by a LOT of rules. They aren’t about kinky things, they’re about my time, my health, my money. They cover every aspect of my life. I can’t spend a day not feeling entirely controlled by Daddy. We don’t feel like we know anyone who lives under the level of power exchange we share. As I knelt before my Daddy, as I looked up at him and we silently communicated in the way that is so natural for us, I wondered if people thought I have too many rules.

At that moment I knew the entirety of the rules were between me and Daddy. Not reading them all in no way devalued our moment. We had just reread them in private, we had discussed them, haggled them out, sat as two equals, two adults in the boardroom. You see I asked for most of the rules. The document was typed up by me. At that table I had all the power. If I vetoed Daddys desire to have a rule, we would discuss it, but the final say would be as much mine as his. 

The rules are what I asked for. What makes Daddy special is his willingness to enforce them. If they didn’t mean as much to him as me, then I wouldn’t feel Dominated, and it would feel empty and meaningless. It is the partnership, my craving the rules, his making me keep to them, that means we have the most amazing dynamic which lasted 3 years and will go on to last a lifetime. 

I need his control, it tastes more satisfying than freedom ever did. But I know that, just as Daddy said in that ceremony with tears in his voice, he needs me just as much. He cares for me. My value to him isn’t as a sub it’s as a friend. If I chose to live without rules tomorrow he would still be by my side. He controls me because it is my deepest desire, because I give the power to him every day, because he sees me flourish under them, and because as a submissive too himself he knows how much having someone care enough to make you keep to the rules means. He knows just as much how it feels to have someone dominate you but not really hold you to the rules you crave or punish you with consistency. He knows how amazing it feels to live under someone else’s control. So he gives, not takes, and he does it wholeheartedly. My submission is just my expression of my eternal gratitude for him allowing me to live in this way.

Dotty The Pony Diapers – A Review

There is nothing that excites a babygirl quite like her Daddy treating her to new diapers. Especially when those diapers are – correct me if I’m wrong – the only all-over pink diapers on the market.


Dotty the Pony diapers have taken the AB world by storm with their princessy design and exuberant use of the best colour in the realm. Babygirls and sissies alike have been waiting for a diaper that looks like this for a very long time.

Upon first inspection let me make clear: these diapers are NOT ABU V2s. They’re not even ID Slip. Nope, they’re so thin that I was transported back to my Boots nappy wearing days. But size isn’t everything, so undeterred I set about my second favourite job to putting on new diapers: wetting new diapers!

Ok, hold up, you say. Before we get to the soggy part, there’s lots more to be said. So, these diapers have the elasticated edge that I love. The landing zone is a large film strip at the front which crinkles loudly (good or bad? You decide) and which does peel off a little at the edges if you aren’t careful. But the tabs hold super tight and I didn’t have any issue with tabs ripping when you pull them hard. They can be adjusted after wearing for a while and restick just as well as the first go.

So now we’ve got the foreplay over and done with, on to the main event. Upon first wetting of this thin diaper I can’t say I wasn’t a little worried. The sloshy feel in my diaper was not one I’m used to. So let’s get technical for a moment. There’s this thing called “wicking”. It works alongside absorbency. Incontinence products (those boring white rhings) are designed to be high wicking – they absorb the moisture ASAP to keep it away from the skin. This is best done with expensive stuff like gels and crystals and pixie dust. Cheaper products use pulp and other things which may absorb as much fluid in total, but they do it a lot slower.


To my surprise, my Dotty the Pony diaper did absorb my initial wetting. In fact it went on to hold a fair few small wettings. But from the first moment I peed, it felt sodden. Now to me that’s quite a sexy feeling… For a few minutes. Then the diaper rash begins to set in, and before long you have to change, not because you’re leaking but because you’ll be red raw if you don’t.

Now I say this is what happens with cheaper diapers, but the problem is Dotty the Pony diapers aren’t cheap! At £2 a pop, they’re bloody extortionate. Before I get hyper critical, let me say I do understand it is a small start-up company: you can see that through their only currently retailing through eBay. When you’re that small a business you can only buy-in a small amount of stock and so China wallet rapes you good and proper. However this isn’t the consumer’s fault, and with the explosion of AB diapers on the market recently, competition is tough.


I wish all the best to this UK based company, and I applaud them for their super pink design. I know the pink alone will continue to sell these diapers and I expect to see them popping up lots in ABDL porn. Visually it’s a 10/10. But for us hardcore wearers they are too pricey, thin and quick to feel wet for them to become our new cutesy playtime nappy. I will wear mine when a pink overdose is called for, but I don’t think I’ll be buying anymore.

Fin

After just over a year at therapy, we have agreed a 6 week ending period. This is a monumental point for me. I knew from the moment I recognised that I was damaged that I needed therapy. But I also took an awful lot of convincing from Daddy to have faith that therapy could work on someone as broken as me.

I stand in the strongest place I’ve ever been since the abuse began. I believe in myself. I enjoy life. I am not haunted by flashbacks. I do not break down every few weeks. When I get low, I know how to pick myself up. I feel in control of my emotions and my life. 

I never ever believed I could experience life like this. Remembering that is painful. It’s hard to think about how much hurt I carried. Now I feel almost frustrated as I want everything else in life to catch up with where i am… To progress in my job… To find a partner to share my happiness with.

I’m no longer scared of feeling ok, because it isn’t something fleeting or a sign that I’m on the peak before a fall. It is something I’m becoming comfortable with as a normality within my life now. I feel true calm, and I gain true enjoyment from the things I do.

This blog has been such a great documenting of my journey and I thank you for travelling with me. I’m glad so many of you message me to say you’ve found hope in my words, because hope is what I really desire people to take from my story. I don’t know what direction this blog will take now. I know I’ve posted a lot less regularly lately. But having my words here online means a lot to me. So thank you, and I wish you all the same peace I have found.

World Peace

Today when I got home from yoga class, I found a woodlouse wandering around my lounge. The poor chap was clearly lost, and every time I touched him he rolled into a ball. An old part of my mind said “squish him.” But the new, louder part told me to pick him up and put him outside. And that I did.

Inner peace is the ONLY path to world peace. I don’t know if the reports are true that the Orlando gunman was a frequent visitor to Pulse club, as well as having a profile on gay dating sites. Whether he acted out of a deep unrest with his own identity or just a hate for the sexuality of others, he wasn’t in a place of inner peace, that much is for certain.

You might say, “I can work to improve my inner peace, but how do I help others find peace?” The simple fact is your own actions send massive ripples into the world. I know five people who have started running simply because they’ve been inspired by my running. (My running is a 38 minute 5k, you don’t have to be exceptional to be inspirational.) 

Sure, you and I aren’t people who are one yoga class away from shooting 49 innocent people. But I doubt many of us are that at peace within ourselves, not really. Life keeps us so busy we don’t even notice the hurts we’ve held on to and been carrying for years. Silent scars that direct our behaviour and sabotage our emotions. But we all have them. And only through things like therapy and yoga can we address them and heal ourselves. And THAT is how our inner peace causes world peace.

Because now I walk into work a different person. I just want to spread love, by the bucket load. I’m slow to speak if I don’t think my words will build or bless. I’m quick to encourage those I work with, to celebrate their successes with them. I do my all to brighten a customers day and go the extra mile. Not because this sounds like the opening paragraph of a perfect resume, not for promotion or praise, but because love begets love begets love. And maybe that way, my inner peace can lead to world peace.

Namaste.

Borderline

I’m not thick skinned. I was born sensitive, I will die sensitive. I will live proudly sensitive. I feel deeply, intensely, passionately. There is no grey, no in-between. Call it a disorder or a superpower. I burn, and sometimes my own fire consumes me and I have to rise from my own ashes. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It exhausts me. A normal day is a whirlwind for me. Everyone whose pain I see, I feel as my own. Everyone’s story becomes woven into mine, I do not know how to distance myself from anybody. The energy I am surrounded by becomes my own. 

This is why working on my own energy bubble in yoga is so essential to me. I am able to claim my own space and emotions and emit more than I consume. I can radiate the way I want others to feel and perceive me, rather than only absorbing the way they feel and wish to be perceived. In that I become my own self for the only time in my day. 

Namasté isn’t a meaningless phrase, it is my identity. My soul is intertwined with every other soul I meet without my having a say. The humanity in me doesn’t just see the humanity in you, it feels it, it becomes it. I am the sum of every person I have ever met, every story I have read, every song I have heard. I am an emotional sponge and I find it hard to carve out my own path amid the sensory overload of the journeys of those around me. 

I have to escape and be alone to recover from how intensely I feel the world around me. I cannot close my eyes or heart to the wounds of the world and I live every moment to try to heal it. I may sound like a hippie but to me buying fairtrade and supporting charities is a small way to ease the pain of the world and thus my own pain which is felt simply because I know the world is broken and hurting and it feels like I am one of the few souls who hear. 

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is the buzz word when it comes to abuse therapy. The first therapist I saw, just months after the abuse stopped, told me to pray for my abuser. She was as useful as a chocolate teapot needless to say. Over time, I’ve struggled to forgive many people related to the circumstances of the abuse. The vicar of the church where I met my abuser. The “child protection officer” whose title seemed a joke. My parents who seemed to allow it to happen right beneath their noses.

I’ve spent 9 years filled with anger at these people. Only this year did I realise I don’t need to forgive them, rather I have no need to even blame them, hate them or feel anger towards them. The child protection officer was just as fooled as everyone or she’d have done her job. My parents may have seen signs but they never believed him capable of what he was doing or of course they’d have protected me. I know that now because I’m now able to process their pain and guilt at not protecting me. The only person who deserves any anger is the vicar who did lie to the press that he would support me when really his interview was full of bull to cover his ass. He never did anything to help me heal, but I forgive him as I know he was just not a very good person, and those exist, that’s life.

But in my story the one person who truly wronged me is my abuser: he’s the only one who actually deserves my anger. He may never get it, he groomed me so well I may love him until the day I die and protect him in my memories as I did at the time. But that’s ok too. Because the one other person who could benefit from forgiveness is myself. And I forgive myself for not being angry at the only person who actually deserved my anger. Now I am released from anger at those who were as fooled as I, I needn’t seek anger against my abuser if it isn’t there. I am so much more at peace now and so I will allow anger to become an emotion of the past. 

I didn’t need to forgive. I needed to realise I was blaming the wrong people because I could never bring myself to blame the right person. And because those I blamed were still accessible where as he was gone. So my anger had a tangible recipient, not an illusion from my past that I barely know was real. I am so glad I see that I shouldn’t hate those I’d taken my anger out on for all this time. Just last week I walked out of an awfully triggering service on child abuse at church. There was a poem about a child left to carry ashes she never asked for. That child protection officer who I hated for so long ran out of church after me and held me sobbing in her arms. It took 9 years for something to happen for me to know she cared… Or maybe only now I was ready to see her offers of love instead of only seeing someone I could choose to blame.

Restoration Project

Here is an excerpt from my journal that I wrote a year ago when first embarking on my therapy journey.

“I’m scared of getting better. That sounds so stupid but I have never ever even imagined my life free from the effects of my past. My whole identity is based on the lies it told me, it is based on me being damaged goods. Being broken but beautiful is who I am. Having days where I want to die is who I am. Cutting was who I am. And now therapy is actually doing something, and I’m scared! Who will I be after therapy, after recovery, after healing? What will I be left with? What defines me if I don’t have my scars, my insanity, my story? I don’t know what I’ll be like!”

I recall these fears with a smile. I may not be at the end of the recovery journey, but I’m a million miles from where I was when I began. And I’m fascinated with who I’ve become. It’s not someone different to who I was, actually it’s a me more authentic to myself than ever before. Im getting back into things I loved as a teenager. I’m not becoming a new me, I’m rediscovering the old me. Yoga. Drawing. Photography. Reading. I’m released from the lethargy, the lack of self-belief, the constant dark cloud over me. And now I can do these things and feel happy with what I do again. I have energy and motivation. I get pleasure out of things rather than just surviving. Life is so bright and I love every day now. Sometimes I battle but the battles are fewer, shorter, easier to win each time. Therapy hasn’t changed me. It’s restored me.