My orgasms come relatively easily, quickly and in multiples. Because of this, I don’t value them as much as I might – while pleasurable and desirable, they are often commonplace and functional – rarely the Earth-moving fireworks display that fiction has programmed the modern woman to expect – even demand. I’m hopeless at self-denial, only managing once to hold off for any length of time while playing solo – a wholly gratifying experience but one I have not yet had the self-discipline to revisit. I know that if I back off at the last minute enough times, the release when I finally get there is intensified to the near pyrotechnic point I mentioned earlier. I’m just too greedy and impatient to bother.
CW: this post describes disturbing feelings and harm-related imagery. Please, if that will distress you, don’t read any further. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
I had a difficult end to my day. Things got away from me. I panicked.
Panic, for me, manifests as anger. In fact, most disturbances to my emotional stability become anger at some point, whether as waypoint or destination. I’ve learned to recognise it for what it, although getting a grip on it still eludes me.
I call it the demon.
(I’m ok now, by the way. Feeling much better)
Max’s tone is stern, his face set. Only the slight deepening of the creases around his eyes betrays his intention. This is a game he plays, a game that Latisha enjoys very much. He points to a spot on the floor in front of him. “Now.”
She carries on buffing her nails, giving every outward appearance of indifference. “Busy” she throws over her shoulder, locking down the grin of anticipation which twitches at the corner of her purple-painted lips.
I haven’t been blogging for very long – although I seem to have managed to produce quite a bit of writing in the less-than-12-months since I started. In that time, I’ve been bolstered and encouraged by the likes, comments and mentions that kind people have bestowed upon me, and participated enthusiastically in various memes and prompts.
Today was an amazing day – my name appeared on Kinkly’s top 100 Sex Blogger Superheroes list, alongside so many of the writers I admire and enjoy. Being on a list – wow. Being on a list with Girl On The Net, Coffee and Kink, Hannah Lockhardt, Cara Thereon and Molly’s Daily Kiss (to name just a handful of the writers I hugely admire) – MEGA WOW! I’m so pleased, I’ve been hugging myself all day.
It’s such a sensitive spot. Hidden, tucked away from all but the most intimate of perspectives, a convergence of tightly-gathered muscle and nerves awaits.
There is so much to enjoy about sensory deprivation. For myself, as a submissive; the element of handing over control to someone else and making myself vulnerable, is all kinds of delicious.
It was with great enthusiasm then, that I participated in the sensory deprivation workshop at Kinkfest, earlier this year which was led by the wise and experienced Phoenix Flight. The Mr was willing and eager, (although I suspect he was only half-joking when he let out a sigh of relief and declared “this is why I really came along” after fastening a gag firmly in place around my head)
Far below her, the Earth hangs bright and sparkling, a jewel of blue and white and green and brown nestling against the black velvet of space.
Tanya comes here as often as her full schedule permits, likes the serenity and spectacle of her home seen from orbit. As close to silent as possible in this humming, buzzing, creaking, clanking tin can, sometimes she visits for the tranquility. Not today though.
Now here’s a topic I have ambiguous feelings about.
Some aspects are totally hot – voicing my submission, vocalising the power and control that I have gifted to someone else, uhuh, oh yeah.
Begging for permission to orgasm, and getting only a cruel smile and a firm no in response.
Pleading for mercy as the slap of leather, or wood or plastic meets my tender reddened skin.
Making wide beseeching eyes of entreaty to a stern unyielding Dom/me as I am tormented and used to their satisfaction.
All of these things excite me.
But there are things I will not beg for because they come with too much baggage – sackfuls of shame, duffels of doubt, tote-bags of trepidation.
I will not beg for attention. I hate being made to feel as though interacting with me is effort or chore.
I will not beg for sex. Too many years in a relationship where my partner could not be honest about his absence of physical desire for me wrecked my self-confidence. I hinted, I flirted, I enticed, I begged – and finally I left. I can’t cope with the feeling that I’m asking for something I should have, don’t deserve or that I’m simply unworthy of. I might – in the heat of the moment – beg for teasing to turn into fucking, but rarely so and only if I know for certain that that is indeed what we both want.
I will not ever beg for freedom or love. Even though one is mine by right and the other is elusive; to be the supplicant for either feels like an outrage. Don’t I deserve both?
So much yum
Oh yes, fill me with your heat and your hardness.
Press yourself to the back of my mouth, then push further.
I’ll open my throat, hold my breath, strain the cords of my neck to fit every last inch of you in.
Crouched over your supine body with your hands on the back of my head and your hips thrusting your proud cock past the root of my tongue, urgently seeking the core of me-
lying back in the bed as you cradle my face in your hands and fuck my open, willing mouth until your knees tremble with need-
or my favourite of all; standing over my kneeling form, my hands tied behind me, grabbing fistfuls of my hair to hold my head steady until my breathing is smothered by your flesh and the drool runs from my mouth to coat your balls.
Bruise the back of my throat, make me gag and choke and shudder. I enjoy every twitch and stiffening of your cock between my lips; the questing-taut head and the sturdy solid shaft stretching my jaws apart. Pulsing, pushing, your musky scent filling my nose, your wiry hair scratching my cheeks and chin, oh god yes please, take me and use me until I feel the warm salty splash of your come pumping out of you and into me – swallow, you rasp, your voice hoarse and breathless with lust and you hold my head down firmly until you feel the wave of pressure across your glans as I squeeze every last drop of you down my gullet.
Ahhhh, my favourite thing. There aren’t enough words in any language to express how much I love…want….need bondage in my life.
No-one has ever offered me a collar – I’ve just never been in a relationship where that was either desirable or appropriate. Although I fantasise about having that intensity of D/s relationship, in many ways I’m still too jaded and distrustful to contemplate that degree of commitment without fear.
Having been (briefly, disastrously and unhappily) married, I’m wary of any kind of ceremonial binding that indicates permanence. In that, I am a hard-headed rationalist first and a romantic last. Nothing is permanent. Everything changes. Promising lifelong devotion is just setting myself up for failure. I made those promises once before a roomful of happy people, and I broke them. Extenuating circumstances; but nonetheless, I did.
I know that collaring doesn’t mean permanence unless the participants choose it to do so (and even so, the relationship can be dissolved by either party at any time) – in that, it’s much more sensible (to my mind) than the model of marriage we have in this country at the moment. And that makes me wonder if my aversion is more sour grapes than principle, simply rejecting the idea because it’s not within my reach? It may come within my reach someday and if it does, perhaps my feelings will change. Perhaps, if ever offered a submissive’s collar by a Dom/me who I love and trust enough to accept the symbol from; I will admit that this is what I’ve wanted all along.
And perhaps not.
I do have a couple of leather collars that I wear because I enjoy the look and feel rather than any symbolism. I like having my throat encircled. I like to run a chain from one nipple clamp, through the ring on the collar, to the other clamp so that my breasts are lifted, and they tug at the collar as they swing to the rhythm of being vigorously fucked.
I worried at one point that it was somehow ‘not ok’ for me to appear in public wearing a collar for my own pleasure, that collars were somehow reserved only for subs who had been granted them by their Dominant. And then I thought ‘sod it, I’m not hurting anyone by wearing something which I like simply because I like it’ and stopped worrying about it. Feel free to disapprove of my choices but do please refrain from sharing it with me.
Collaring is not something to which I aspire.
Amalia likes the Tube. Except at rush hour, no-one likes being on the Underground at rush hour. Not being employed, she has the leisure to ride beneath and between the streets of London all day if she chooses but it never comes to that. Sooner or later her attention is distracted – a throaty laugh, a lustful glance, a bulging crotch; it doesn’t take much – and she has found her next vehicle, her next adventure. more “Joyriding”
This is part 6 of the tale of the Governor’s Wife – you can catch up with the story so far at the links below
She runs her fingers lightly across the welts and bruises blooming on her pale skin, luxuriating in their heightened sensitivity, their vibrant colours. She has never felt so alive and so much at peace; bound and beaten she was finally freed from the constraint of corsets and conventions which had thus far imprisoned her spirit.
She steps into view and-
oh, hel-lo gorgeous
-for she is, truly.
Often a source of displeasure, tonight her appearance sparks joy across my synapses. Luminous, carefully made-up dark eyes peer anxiously before widening with delighted recognition.
Featuring my favourite wanking gloves, Bijoux Indiscrets pasties and my new friend Baz the Bat; a weekend of near-Halloween deliciously sinful, kinky decadence deserves a suitably-themed picture to accompany it.
Most of my friends would agree that I have bats in the belfry – but who knew that bats would turn up in other places too?!