That’s it. Grab it, a good handful now. Twist it round your fist. Control me. Hurt me.
Hair-pulling is one of those things that I mostly have to indulge in through fantasy more than practice, because there’s too much of a risk that I’ll dislocate, or subluxate or strain something, which would take all the pleasure out of it very quickly.
more “#Pervember 12: Hair Pulling”
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)
more “#Pervember 6: Sensory Deprivation”
Ahhhh, my favourite thing. There aren’t enough words in any language to express how much I love…want….need bondage in my life.
more “#Pervember 2: Bondage”
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.
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
Part 1: The Governor’s Wife
Part 2: The Storm
Part 3: In The Cargo Hold
Part 4: Mutineers’ Bounty
Part 5: The Prize
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.
more “A Binding”
I close the door of the hotel room and lean against it, kicking off my kitten-heel shoes with a sigh. Conferences are always so exhausting once the high of getting my geek on wears off. My mind is racing; notes to make, follow-up emails to send, ideas, conversations, names, faces…it’s all too much to cope with right now. I reach for my phone and text Him.
more “Conference Call”
I’m not remotely susceptible to hypnosis, much to my bitter disappointment. Probably because of that, I find it fascinating and live in hope that it will work on me one day. I’d love to play with hypno-kink.
Quinn Rhodes wrote a very sexy story this week involving girls and cake. It made me wet and urgently horny as hell. In gratitude for the inspiration, I dedicate this to her – she’s a great writer and a lovely person.
It was just a tiny nibble. A small corner of a small slice of choclate cake, the slightly-rounded edge my teeth had left barely visible except on close inspection.
But inspect it she did. She knows me too well.
The note He left me gave clear instructions in His spiky drunken-spider handwriting
Take off your clothes.
Insert the earbuds
Put on the hood.
Present yourself and wait for me.
Keep absolutely still at all times. If you move, you will be punished.
I dislike the term ‘foreplay’ with its insinuation that penetration is the main event; and as though anything non-penetrative is trivial and frivolous compared to the Real Business of sticking something somewhere.
But even if I were to use that term as shorthand for ‘the introductory stages of sexual activity for the purpose of stimulating arousal’, I’d still have issues with the ‘play’ part. I like my getting-revved-up activity to be serious. Not necessarily solemn, but with focus, intent and dedication. No messing about here, I want to see hunger and need in your eyes. That turns me on, more than any caress. more “Mindfucking”
She is a silent presence behind him. Bound to the chair in the corner, blindfolded, commanded to stillness and quiet; her very presence is a vortex of frantic energy. She wants attention, gratification, sensation, and has yet to learn that these things must be earned. more “Patience”
CONTENT WARNING: this post describes an abusive, violent relationship, which may be traumatic for you to read. If domestic violence, consent violation, gaslighting or alcoholism are subjects that you cannot safely read about then please back out now. Always take care of yourselves and each other. more “Face slapping – a hard limit”
“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”
The question is delivered half-chidingly, half with amusement. It’s a rhetorical question but one that I am still expected to answer. Contrition or cheekiness? I weigh up which is most likely to be rewarded and opt for blatant laciviousness
“I am, Sir. I want whatever you will grant me” more “Greedy”
Submission is not masochism, although you know she becomes aroused by pain, you’ve seen and heard how she shudders and gasps at the sting of the paddle. You’ve twisted her nipples and felt her response in the flood of wetness from her cunt. You’ve held her throat while driving yourself hard and fast into her, watching her eyes glaze with pleasure, feeling her tighten and spasm around you. It’s pain as physical pleasure, sure – but it’s more than that. It’s tangible surrender, the marks you leave are badges of her trust in you, symbols of faith and belief. more “Your girlfriend is a submissive.”
He licked me as though he were a sun-blind desert nomad and I an ice sculpture of his most longed-for mirage. No tip-of-the-tongue delicacy, no butterfly-soft tease; he gave me the full weight of his tongue from the cleft of my buttocks to the nape of my neck as I moaned and my legs opened in involuntary expression of my arousal. more “Licking: A Love Story”