I haven’t been married very long. This fall we’ll be approaching our seventh wedding anniversary and I’ll be stuck trying to find a traditional wool or copper gift. I do look forward to spending every day for the rest of our lives together; some really breathtaking days, some days I’ll never want to relive, mostly just every day days filled with life’s simple ups and downs. I’m always looking to keep my marriage strong. We have small children in the home, my husband has a busy career, and the idea of “free time” makes me chuckle. In my search for ideas to keep the spark alive in my relationship I often see the suggestion of “date night.”

This married lady refuses that idea.

It’s not that I don’t date my husband (my Dominant, my Master, the man who sets my soul and body on fire). It’s that I’m always dating him.

Why should things change so much when your relationship gets serious or you get married or have kids? So much so that you have to schedule in a time on a calendar to date your spouse?

Stop scheduling a “date night” every week or, let’s be honest, every month and simply go back to dating your partner.

Whatever you were both doing in the beginning worked.

Speak in the same kind, caring, curious manner.

Treat them like what they have to say is fascinating to you, even if it’s the thousandth similar work day story.

Look in their eyes at every meal. Not a phone.

Shoulder rubs, butt swats as they walk by, hugs for no reason.

Make out with passion. Even when you’re not planning to get sex.

Make their coffee in the morning. Offer to take the garbage to the curb instead. Listen to them, really hear them, when they are speaking.

Be their whore. Send naughty texts and naked pics. Have we already forgotten the thrill of having a video recorder in our pockets? When’s the last time you sent a self made porn to your spouse? Dirty talk. Sneak off during the day for a quickie. Bust out the hitachi before bed. Wake him up with your mouth on his cock. Not because it’s “date night.”

Because you’re still dating.

Manners. Respectful conversation. Compliments. Encouragement. Excitement.

Looking forward to seeing them at the end of the day pulling into the driveway…. and telling them so.

Marriage and kids and careers and stress can indeed bog you down. Just never forget to give up on planning the perfect “date night” and instead just dating your partner.

Forever.

 

Kind Regards,

Mrs. Darling

 

I never really understood objectification mainly because I never actually considered it before. It had never gotten my panties wet. It was off my radar.

Sure I’d seen pictures of a woman being used as a footstool or a man as a table. Interesting, but not for me. And sexual objectification, being used as a “tool” or “toy” for sexual pleasure, was only a tad ahead on my radar.

So how have I come to realize that objectification is not just a fetish for me but a summation of the entire functioning of both self and marriage?

It rooted in Master/slave.

–

When making a transition from D/s to M/s a transition in our wording happened too. I began using phrases like “I am owned” and “I am a possession” and “I belong to another person.” I meant them.

When I tried to explain how we as a couple work, what it means for us to live this way, it became easiest to explain as if I were an inanimate object being handed for another to own. Easiest cause it’s truest, of course.

My go-to became, “So… I’m like a beautiful piece of glass that has been handed into somebody else’s care.” It resonated with the person listening, allowed them to have a visual of our marriage. Sometimes “slave” creates a vision of a doormat and it couldn’t be more different for us. Master would never step on me. I am delicate, and prized, and beautiful.

The more I used this example, the more it resonated with me.

I’ve become this object.

Nobody is more surprised than me.

–

I am a piece of glass.

I am delicate, and prized, and beautiful.

I wear my heart on my sleeve; I show my soul. I am transparent.

I am easily broken. I need protection. From my environment. From myself.

If I handed myself over to the wrong hands: I’d be easily mishandled and irrevocably destroyed.

In the right hands, the hands of a Master: I’d become something far better than I’d ever dreamt possible.

In the hands of a Master, over time and work and skilled practice, he’s all of a sudden crafted me into a prism.

Mostly I’m still just me, a simple piece of glass, only sleeker than I was before being owned; rarer. I’ve been given to an Owner that keeps me close to him. Not just a possession but the very most special possession he has ever owned. He’d give his life to keep me safe. He protects me at all costs.

I am at my best existence when I do as is intended: when I silence myself in his presence, still myself until he moves me on his accord, and act as this object.

When I can do that, Master lifts me to the sun and uses his skill, his absolute knowledge of the thing he’s created, and shifts me just so.

Only then can I reveal my real beauty.

My true colors can finally shine.

 

Kind Regards,

Mrs. Darling