Baths @ MindSay 
relax
I am actually pretty excited about tonight. After my long tiring weekend with friends over till late Sunday afternoon, I vegitated all day yesterday. I didn't do shit! I even took the fajitas I made Saturday and reheated the meat and veggies for last nights dinner! I should have used that for tonights dinner but that is okay! I busted out the patato soup I made a few weeks back and froze the left overs!
I need some help with two subjects for my next paper. We are doing a compare and contrast paper. I want subjects/topics that are orginal. DeLaney suggested Dogs and Cats. Coltin sugested marital arts (any two), Randy has made no suggestions. My girl Teri suggested Paganism vs Christanity (to indepth of topics I think) and my girl Bree suggested long hair vs short hair. The only thing I have come up with is washing the dishes by hand or by dishwasher!
I want topics that that is orginal but not a lot of research. I have to have all my homework done by Friday afternoon before I pick the kdis up from school. We are leaving for Sioux Falls for the weekend right after I pick them on Friday. We are going to our Regional TKD tourny. I can get the majority of my homework done today but I need my subjects for my next paper to do a compare/contrast chart for one of the assignments! Please help!
Anyway I have an IEP meeting today at 2:30 with DeLaney's speech teacher, then we have to blaze to TKD, after TKD we blaze home, I'll get the kids feed, Randy can get their homework and baths done and at 7, I'll blaze to the Pub. Our pool league starts tonight. Yay! I have decieded I am treating myself with a few drinky drinks tonight! I need them! :D
I can't wait! Tuesdays are definatally going to be my night!
She lost track of time as they drove, it could have been 1 hour, it could have been 3. She was consumed by emotion. Her mind was spinning with excitement, with nervousness and with fear. It was the duality of the fear that had her pulse racing. The fear of knowing that she was about to be stretched to every possible limit and pushed over the edge so she could fly. Mixed in was the opposite fear of wanting to turn around, to go back to the familiar, the comfortable, and the normal. But she knew she couldn’t ever turn back now and be complete.
Her ass had become comfortably full with the butt plug and she wondered with a growing throb in her belly how would it feel to have her pussy and her ass filled at the same time. She was sure she would be finding out. But she let her mind drift again, questioning, reexamining her reasons for embarking on this journey because the moment she stepped one foot out of this vehicle onto the soil of that ranch, there would be no turning back.
She had come to the conclusion that submission is about embracing a part of yourself and freeing the vulnerable side of your spirit. Vulnerability is not to be confused with weakness. She no longer would be weak. This may be the area that will be a hard struggle for her mind and spirit to meld. It will take incredible strength to submit and serve.
Turning away from what's inside myself would be easier but is no longer an option. She was going to step forward, into the light, and kneel proudly.
The car came to an abrupt stop and the doors opened and she felt herself being grasped by her arm to step out. Then to her utter shock she was lifted off of the ground, her bare feet kicking out instinctively as she felt her body just thrown over a very hard and sturdy shoulder, like she was just a sack of dog food or something. With her hands cuffed she couldn’t flail her arms and grab at anything to steady herself, she felt humiliated at the thought of arriving at the ranch looking like something just picked up along the way.
“Put her there” a deep voice gruffly demanded. And she was gently set down on a hard chair that jolted the butt plug, sending waves of shock thru her belly and she gasped.
The voice continued, “We are not here to break you, we are here to spend the next few days measuring your strengths, your weaknesses, your character. You are a diamond in the rough and we welcome you here. It will not be easy. Thru it all if you recall anything I say to you, remember I said, we are not here to break you, there is no sparkle in a shattered and chipped diamond. We are polishing you.
Being submissive does not mean a loss of individuality or self. A sad misconception is that a submissive becomes whomever and whatever her Master wishes. In fact, if the Dom/me is truly invested in the relationship, His/Her wish is only for the sub to be herself and be the best she can be in all things.
And the converse is also true. A good sub will encourage and support the Dom/me as He/She grows, caring for Him/Her based upon who He/She is rather than what He/She can do.”
She strained and leaned forward as his voice had gotten very soft, very deep and she wanted to follow every word, absorb everything.
”It is easy to be lead by the firmness of the hand and the swiftness of the crop, but one must keep in mind, it is the heart, soul and mind that draws us and remains long after the hand is infirm with arthritis and the crop is too heavy to wield. So with all of that said, “Who are you?”
Jill squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, felt her ass consuming the butt plug and began to speak.
“My name is candidate s, and I am a submissive woman here to be trained and I seek ownership. But I am not looking for abuse, I am not looking for just some kinky sex and I have been an independent strong willed woman with a quirky sense of humor. I am always going to be politically liberal, intellectually active, outspoken, focused on my work, and eager to masturbate when you're not eager for sex. I might be willing to compromise on a few of these, given the right incentive!”
She let her shoulders relax and wondered if she had said too much because she was met with complete silence. She heard the sound of feet moving about the room, then the sound of a door closing. What? They left her alone in here? Her “Hello?” met no answer, no echoing answer. Her heart was beating fast, her lips were dry but her palms of her hands were damp with nervousness and now they trembled slightly. Take a deep breath jill, slowly breathe.
Not even a clock ticked, no birds chirping, not a sound filtered in. She began to breathe in
1
2
3
4
Held her breathe and counted
1
2
3
4
Breathed out
1
2
3
4
Did nothing for 4 more counts. She did this several times and upon hearing the door open, her ears alert, her flesh tingling with heightened awareness she inclined her head.
“Good girl” Sally’s voice crooned, stroking jill’s head softly, reassuringly. She then unlocked jills hands, but left the wrist restraints on her. Gently pulled her to a standing position she removed the jacket from jill. The cool air tossed about jills skin, her nipples taut and erect inviting and begging to be touched. But they were denied. Next Sally removed the blindfold and jill had to blink several times as her eyes adjusted but she kept her eyes lowered. She had learned her lesson at the coffee shop about that!
“Follow me” Sally spoke softly. Almost reverently. Jill wondered what was going to happen, but padded barefoot, completely naked except for 2 strips of leather on her wrists. She wanted to touch them, to feel them with her fingertips. She could smell the leather. Sharp and foreign to her nostrils. But somehow comforting.
Sally opened the door and walked thru and jill’s breath caught in her throat as she walked into a large and lavish bathroom. The bathtub was enormous and it was in the center of the room. Gold fixtures adorned the cabinetry and faucets gleamed and glistened reflecting the candles that were staggered all over the mirrored walls. Every wall was mirror from top to bottom and jill let her glance follow the line up and was startled to see the mirror was also all across the ceiling. There was no hiding in this room. Full exposure. Complete vulnerability
It was then that she saw that she and Sally weren’t the only ones in this room full of scents and mirrors and mysteries exposed, but there was a row of people sitting in a horseshoe pattern in the far left of the room. She quickly counted 3 men and 3 women before she lowered her eyes. These must be her potential owners. They were already here! She felt the world spinning at the unreality of what was occurring. She never felt more alive then she did at this very minute. She had never allowed herself to feel like she was feeling. She began to surrender to the process. She could feel it just come over her. She began to let go of what she thought kept her together.
Sally led her to the bathtub, guided her in and told her to stand there, with her back to the Dominants. This was not going to be a run of the mill bubble bath! “Bend over” Sally said, her tone of voice quiet and intent.
Sally removed the butt plug that had been nestled in her ass and it made a sucking pop sound as it left its warm cave. Jill felt the emptiness immediately and a moan escaped her lips. She heard a male chuckle and it jolted her knowing that someone, no a stranger, just saw this come out of her and her obvious pleasure at having it in her.
Sally then began to using a large sponge and began to gently wash jill all over, slowly, as if she was a bride getting ready for her wedding night. Jill gave into the pleasure of it, the sensual seduction of water and soap sliding on her skin, fingers touching her, opening up her pussy lips and sliding around mixing her juices with the soapy water. Her breasts were lovingly lathered and rinsed off, the musky soap scent was filling her core, her whole being was being baptized. With each stroke she felt reborn, new, and she delighted in it, feeling her body sway to the beat of the music that was swelling in the room, completely forgetting the audience that was mesmerized by her beauty as Sally turned jill this way and that way to make sure she was not only bathing jill, but giving the Dominants full view at every angle.
Sally helped jill step out and swathed her in a towel and began to pad her dry, occasionally wafting the towel so the air could blow across her warm, moist flesh. Jill shivered but kept her eyes lowered. In fact, for the most part, jill’s eyes remained closed as she basked in the sensuality of being bathed by another woman.
“Go to them and stand before each one and do as they ask” Sally then nudged jill and it seemed like an eternity to walk those 5 steps over to them.
To be continued…
Proust had it right. One small act or sensory impression leads to a panoply of remembrances , appreciations, sadness and joy. For him it was that bite of the Madeleine. For me last night it was bubbles in the tub. I know one isn’t suppose to use bubbles in a Jacuzzi. It gums up the works and shortens it’s life but what is the point if you can’t be engulfed with the scent of something you love. And being a confessed addict of hot baths I enjoy a long soak and hydro massage every night. It was a ritual enjoyed by my mother and inherited by me. For her it was being surrounding with the scent or arpege perfume followed by clouds of dusting powder. For me it is kneipp in several scents, last night was juniper. And as I lay in the tub, the bubbles rising faster than I had ever seen I wondered if I would be totally immersed in the bubbles before the Jacuzzi timer stopped the attack. It was a delicious dare, all I had to do to stop the war was to stand up but I wanted to see how long it would take for the bubbles to surround me and maybe even overtake me completely before accepting defeat. As they neared my chin I had to blow them from my mouth and this only attenuated the north woods scent blowing up from the steaming water. And of course I thought of my mother. And an early memory where I had jumped from the bath, ran naked and maybe damp into her room to plop on the bed waiting for the dusting powder she swept across my little body. And occasionally the naked escape afterwards to run naked around the house with three year old glee. Two other early memories are sitting on the floor between her and Hilda’s knees and using a low coffee table to hoist myself up to standing. It was a glorious moment , to rise up on my own power and see the world before me. And then there is an even earlier one , still crawling – moving to my grandmothers treadle sewing machine to push the platform back and forth. Sewing and powder and autonomy all converging more than half a century later to help me write this nonsense little blog. But the memories didn’t stop with my mother. They roamed over to my dad, the biggest love of my life until Jim and then to NYC and Picasso and trains and new haven and paper white narcissus in march. But that’s another entry. A love affair with NYC begun early and completely entangled with the men in my life and babies and freedom and emotional incarceration and how once NYC enters your blood it never, thankfully leaves. All this from a bath? No wonder I love them so.
Lennie at 21
When he wasn't around, his sisters called him The Prince but his parents named him Leonard. To his colleagues and friends he was Len. The red haired Irish woman who married him always called him Lennie. And to his daughter he was, and always would be, Daddy.
He was born into money and even after the family lost much of it in the crash of '29, he moved through life like the heir to a vast fortune. He had the nose for a deal and long after his family left the old neighborhood and moved uptown, he spent Sunday mornings bargaining in broken Yiddish with the clothing vendors on Orchard Street. He could spot a bound buttonhole from twenty paces. Few men his age could tell the quality of a jacket from the feel of the interfacing as well as Lennie. He demanded impeccable tailoring and he flirted his way into the graces of the elderly men who spent their lives making the tiny alterations that suited his self image.
He had never learned to cook, but he could iron a shirt so that it looked newly purchased. He had never washed a dish in his life, but he could replace a button with a tailor's stitch that would make a seamstress proud. The guilty pleasure of towering over a man who slapped and whipped his shoes into a high sheen never failed to lift his spirits.
As the first born son of recent immigrants from Russia, the world was his playground. Boats and cards and good food. He saw little point in self sacrifice. Coming first into his family, he learned the role well and expected everyone else to assent. It seemed so little to ask. His pleasure in having things his way was so evident, most people deferred to Lennie.
His wife, whom he always called Babe, would say, "Lennie would flirt with a cat if he thought it would get him something he wanted. " And people flirted back. To Lennie, the laughter and the compliments felt as good to give as to get. Being surrounded by beautiful things, interesting people, and ample time to enjoy them was Lennie's goal in life. It made sense.
Lennie drew the redheaded Irish woman to him like iron to a magnet the summer of 1940. It was his dancing that converted her, first to liking him, then loving him. He waltzed her through her entrance into Jewish life. They tangoed at their wedding. They moved in such awesome unison to a melody of their own making that other dancers often paused to watch.
And photographs captured it all. Dressing like gangsters on New Year's Eve. A slender black haired man gliding the woman in dark taffeta over the oak plank floor of Roseland. Lennie and Babe clicking cocktails at The Stork Club. Dinner at 21. The sepia images captured not only what the eyes saw, but also the laughter and the voices of the young lovers. And if one looked well enough, the photographs conveyed the music that echoed through the time: Glenn Miller, the Dorsey brothers, and Paul Whiteman. The images hummed with the romance of early married life in New York City.
When their first daughter arrived ten months later, Lennie danced the nurses down the hospital hall. And while the settings of the pictures changed to bathtubs, beaches, and naps on the chenille covered couch, the love that spilled into the photographs was barely containable. Lennie must have carried that camera everywhere: into the bathrooms, cafes, train stations, and synagogues that comprised family life. Each photo held the record of Lennie and Babe, and then their baby, dancing with their delight in the gurgles bubbling out of this product of their love.
So when their baby's throat swelled with that furious infection, it was no surprise to anyone that the photographing stopped. The laughter lost its sound. All that took their place was the stillness of a funeral walk in the full heat of July. Maybe he wanted to stomp out a dance over her grave. But the crying eyes that watched him bury his daughter the summer she turned two held him back .
In years to come, Lennie and Babe would get up to dance again, at a wedding, at a nephew's Bar Mitzvah, in the solitude of their living room. Maybe they swayed together the night their next daughter precariously entered the world. But one kind of music stopped for them that summer and they never danced to that song again.
Copyright dku July 1 2000
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