So I celebrated Christmas with a surprise shag. I celebrate New Years with a cold sore. It’s not the surprise shags fault…I’ve been getting them for years thanks to my big brother giving me a kiss when I was still in nappies. It came up three days ago - not sure why, I'm not stressed, I'm not run down, I'm not depressed and I haven't got sunburnt - and thanks to iodine and a high pain threshold I just have a little bit of healing to do. Then I can get on with New Years Resolution.
After my session in bed, on the sofa and on the floor the other day and the aching that followed the following days, I have decided to sod the gym this year. I intend to work out in the manner that people worked out in before the invention of gyms.
It’s my NYResolution to have more sex, that means at least once a week - bearing in mind that I'm recently separated and wasn't getting any - and doesn’t include play, it means bump and grind with sweat, groaning and screaming!
May 2008 bring you plenty of bump, grind and screaming too.
Monday, December 31
Wednesday, December 26
The Pleasant Surprise
I was surfing a little yesterday between sips of champagne and bad television ad I viewed a profile on a dating site I go too. As I closed it an email appeared from that very profile, spooky. A brief time later we were chatting on Messenger a brief time after that he had my address and I was re making the bed (I stripped it when I got up) and showering. We had both acknowledged it was crazy.He turned up, he was cute. We chatted, I cooked dinner and then we chatted some more and drank a glass of wine. Then he asked if I would like a foot rub, of course my toes got a good sucking first. Well, it kind of went hazy after that, after we started kissing. It was lovely…soft, gentle but passionate. It got rougher as the heat rose in the room but not rough enough to hurt. We’d agreed not to play because I’d been drinking earlier so we made out and that turned into more until he was between my legs and I was gripping the blanket on the sofa ‘til my knuckles went white. That went on for about two hours.
He stayed over, he’d driven a long way and it was very early. We had a hour or more of fun this morning after only a few hours sleep, but oddly enough I’m not that tired today.
He tasted like Raspberries.
Tuesday, December 25
Happy Christmas
to all my fellow perverts...have a get holiday season.
And if you're not already perverted, may 2008 open your eyes to the glorious possibilities!
And if you're not already perverted, may 2008 open your eyes to the glorious possibilities!
Sunday, December 23
Propaganda
I was watching a recent episode of ‘Wire in the Blood’ today while doing the ironing (yes, no sub to do it for me yet) and it was about a serial killer who preyed on young girls who wanted to be cared for and serve via the internet and taken to a room where they were lovingly bound. They were only killed when they no longer followed the rules of the Master. Incidentally it turned out to be a husband/wife duo.It got me to thinking about the way BDSM and the various offshoots of the lifestyle are represented in the media. Often, in fact in every instance I have seen show it in a negative light. Serial killers have a desire to dominate their victim without consent, control their victims with violence, they want to hear them scream. The Victims are weak, stupid and often simply victims of their own warped needs and desires.
Is it because the writers don’t understand, I find that hard to stomach. Or maybe they just write what they believe the ‘general populace’ wants to see in regards to bondage, dominance, submission, sadism and complete power transfer.
It’s my belief that they (writers of mass media and in turn the broadcasting corporations) believe that the greater masses can’t handle the truth about what it is that turns us on and or completes us. How is it possible that we can allow someone to beat us until we’re black, blue and scarlet, how we can stand over a naked someone lying on the floor and stomp on them, how we can enjoy having our wrist bound and being forced to give our Mistress/Master head or how someone would serve as a footstool for the love of the service or the feel of feet on their skin.
I can understand how it can be difficult to understand these things; I didn’t get it myself for a while. But I came to not only understand, but to embrace these things and I would love to know how we, the few that believe and understand, can convince the others that what we do doesn’t make us freaks, doesn’t make us abnormal, it just proves we can accept that everyone needs something different to make them whole.
Thursday, December 20
The Policeman - part II
He stood me up!
What happened to manners? He made a date and then stood me up. I’m sorry but in my books that just makes him rude. Also I found out a couple of weeks ago that he is on three weeks leave and has made no attempt to rearrange. I wouldn’t go even if he did, but that’s not the point really, is it?
UPDATE 1335 23-12-07 : during an online decussion yesterday (he started it) he told me he was thinking about meeting me again...but that was it, he was just thinking about it. I think I'm going to ingor any further attempts at online contact.
What happened to manners? He made a date and then stood me up. I’m sorry but in my books that just makes him rude. Also I found out a couple of weeks ago that he is on three weeks leave and has made no attempt to rearrange. I wouldn’t go even if he did, but that’s not the point really, is it?
UPDATE 1335 23-12-07 : during an online decussion yesterday (he started it) he told me he was thinking about meeting me again...but that was it, he was just thinking about it. I think I'm going to ingor any further attempts at online contact.
The Barman
I was nineteen, he was 28, although he told me he was 25. He had a good body and a square jaw and he was nice to me. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. He chatted me up while I sat at the bar, the girlfriend I was out with was being chatted up by someone else. This was in the days before stalkers existed and mobile phones were for rich banker types, so I talked about where I lived and where I worked, and agreed I’d pop into the pub next week to say Hi.
The next day I was at work when a delivery of roses arrived at the front desk. Twelve of the deepest red roses you have seen sat on the counter on the other side of the glass division. As is usual with these things we commented and asked ‘who was the lucky person?’ When my phone rang, I jumped. They were for me, from him.
This went on for a week, gifts arrived daily. A teddy bear, a ceramic cat (I'd told him I had a cat), more flowers and a couple of other things I can’t remember. Every time a delivery guy arrived, my heart fluttered and my stomach flipped. I was suffering a severe case of butterflies. I was besotted.
The next time I saw him was in the pub…he was pleased to see me. I sat at the end of the bar with stars in my eyes all night. When he wasn’t serving he was talking to me, asking me questions. We went home to my place that night (my parents were out) and had sex. He was rough, he pulled my hair and he was big, almost too big. He pounded into me from above like I wasn’t really there, everytime. There was no other postion in his book. But still I was in lust. I knew no better.
He came back for more, we ‘dated’ for two months. He behaved like a love sick puppy when we were out together and when he met my parents. He even painted the door frames for my dad. My dad thought he was the best.
But when we were alone, he turned into a nasty piece. He was rough, he was mean and it wasn’t until I was recovering from a small operation and he still wanted sex that I finally told him to piss off. He'd had sex a lot, I mostly got held down by my hair. He wasn’t raping me, because I wanted to be there, but he didn’t care about me, I felt like I was just a hole. He told me he had a high sex drive and needed relief, so I would give him hand relief, when i was too sore. Somehow I could see this was not a healthy relationship. I'd found out he was telling me lies about his age, that he had been discharged from the Army and that his brother lived just round the corner from me.
I threw all his things that had crept into my drawers down the stairs and told him to get out. He stood there, looking up at me and started to cry. He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t love him and he had to go. He picked up his stuff and left.
He called me for three weeks after, daily. He told me he was thinking of joining the army. He was shocked when I told him they wouldn’t have him back.
I’ll never date a abusing liar again.
The next day I was at work when a delivery of roses arrived at the front desk. Twelve of the deepest red roses you have seen sat on the counter on the other side of the glass division. As is usual with these things we commented and asked ‘who was the lucky person?’ When my phone rang, I jumped. They were for me, from him.
This went on for a week, gifts arrived daily. A teddy bear, a ceramic cat (I'd told him I had a cat), more flowers and a couple of other things I can’t remember. Every time a delivery guy arrived, my heart fluttered and my stomach flipped. I was suffering a severe case of butterflies. I was besotted.
The next time I saw him was in the pub…he was pleased to see me. I sat at the end of the bar with stars in my eyes all night. When he wasn’t serving he was talking to me, asking me questions. We went home to my place that night (my parents were out) and had sex. He was rough, he pulled my hair and he was big, almost too big. He pounded into me from above like I wasn’t really there, everytime. There was no other postion in his book. But still I was in lust. I knew no better.
He came back for more, we ‘dated’ for two months. He behaved like a love sick puppy when we were out together and when he met my parents. He even painted the door frames for my dad. My dad thought he was the best.
But when we were alone, he turned into a nasty piece. He was rough, he was mean and it wasn’t until I was recovering from a small operation and he still wanted sex that I finally told him to piss off. He'd had sex a lot, I mostly got held down by my hair. He wasn’t raping me, because I wanted to be there, but he didn’t care about me, I felt like I was just a hole. He told me he had a high sex drive and needed relief, so I would give him hand relief, when i was too sore. Somehow I could see this was not a healthy relationship. I'd found out he was telling me lies about his age, that he had been discharged from the Army and that his brother lived just round the corner from me.
I threw all his things that had crept into my drawers down the stairs and told him to get out. He stood there, looking up at me and started to cry. He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t love him and he had to go. He picked up his stuff and left.
He called me for three weeks after, daily. He told me he was thinking of joining the army. He was shocked when I told him they wouldn’t have him back.
I’ll never date a abusing liar again.
Wednesday, December 19
The Blue Tiger
He was my first love. I lost my virginity to him when I was 15 and he was 18.It was awkward at first, but we figured out how it was best with plenty of practice in his bed, his bathroom, the chair in his mother’s bedroom, the desk in his dorm room, my bed, on a blanket amongst the bracken in the woods behind of his house and the front and back seats of his car. I may have missed somewhere, it was a while ago and we were inventive.
I watched him marry someone else a couple of years ago. It was the hardest things I've ever done.
Sassy Shoes
Recently I counted my shoes. I only have 43 pairs.My ex always accused me of being an Imelda I would like to refute that. For someone with a passion for shoes, I think 43 is a reasonable number. I understand that some may consider this to be an excessive amount of foot covering required by one person, but I would argue that at least five pairs don’t cover my foot at all, they just have a tiny strip of leather that barely holds them on!
I also have a few pairs that are what I class as sassy, not practical in any way (practical = being suitable for work wear). One such pair is my polka dots. They look fabulous with jeans and always draw the eye.
Wednesday, December 12
The Military Policeman
I worked in a barracks for a while as a secretary, many years ago when I was in my early twenties. There I was surrounded by men in uniform on a daily basis. I used to have lunch in the Sergeants Mess and there I got to know many very nice men and women, mostly married. On occasion there would new guys around as a lot of teaching went on and The Military Policeman was one such visitor. He would come for 5 days in a month to teach recruits about the MP’s. He was flirty, charming and just what I needed.
On his second visit he sat in the Bar with me (I also worked behind the bar of the Sergeants Mess when the regular barmaid was away) all night, just chatting. There were no other customers and we spent the whole night chatting. I was infatuated. The conversation turned to sex after about three hours and we chatted about my experience. He was older and I slightly embarrassed talking about such things. But talk about we did. When closing time came an hour later I pulled down the shutters and walked with him to his room.
We made love that night. He was gentle, I was trembling.
The next day he left.
A month later he returned for another five day and four nights. On the first night he sat in the bar and watched me while I served drinks. He walked me home and we snogged for hours outside my house with my legs wrapped around him. The second night I didn’t work. The third night I didn’t work. The fourth night I worked and he was sat at the end of the bar, watching again. About half an hour before closing he slid of his stool and disappeared. After my shift I closed the shutters as I did every other night, but with a heavy disappointment. As I was leaving the building he appeared. He was wearing all black. He was standing next to my bicycle and he said, ‘I want you to spank me.’
‘You want me to what?’ I didn’t think I had heard him right.
‘I want you to spank me.’ He repeated then continued with, ‘but I understand if you don’t want to.’
‘Well, I never have and won’t it hurt?’ I was confused. I remember the feeling coursing through my body…the excitement, the fear and the embarrassment.
‘That’s the point. I want it to. The rush of endorphins through my body is amazing.’
Before I knew it, I had said ‘Ok, I’ll give it a go, but you’ll have to tell me where to hit you.’ We were on the way to his room. The small military room had a single bed, a bedside table with lamp, a small padded chair with arms and long wall mounted chrome pole for hanging clothes. The walls were painted magnolia and all the furnishing were chrome, grey or beige. I stood by the door while he undressed and talked. When I started to undress he told me to stop. He wanted me clothed he explained, that way he would feel the fabric of my skirt rubbing his stomach. He asked me to sit on the edge of the chair with my legs spread. I had a hard time suppressing a giggle, but even then the adrenaline was rushing through my veins.
Here I was, faced with a naked man on his knees in front of me asking to spanked like a little boy.
He crawled forward and placed himself over my left knee. He was kneeing on the floor, his bare buttocks facing me. And I said, ‘Now what?’ I knew, but I needed him to ask me to strike him. I couldn’t explain it then, but now I know, I needed him to be sure he wanted this.
He asked me to spank him twelve times, first on the right, then the left and so on. He also asked that I start gently and get harder. When I had completed the twelve I saw his reddened cheeks and stroked my fingers across his skin. It was warm. He was purring. I asked if he would like some more.
‘Only if you are happy, Mistress.’
I was shocked by the title, but decided I would go with the flow. I could feel my own excitement. I did however, wonder what would be in all this for me. ‘I told you if you were a naughty boy you would be punished. You were a naughty boy so now I have you across my knee and you will stay here ‘til you cry.’ I told him.
He nodded his head. I raised my hand and brought it down hard. When I heard him whimper a while later I told him to stand before me. He was rock hard. I had never been more excited.
‘Do you think you have paid the price for being bad?’ I asked.
‘No Mistress.’
Again, I was surprised by the answer; I had expected him to say yes.
‘What else do you think needs to happen to ensure your bad behaviour doesn’t continue?’ I asked, hoping not to break the mood and hoping it was my turn.
‘Mistress, if I may be so bold as to request to feel the touch of your thighs to my face?’
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so I said yes. I was new to anything other missionary and me on top. I was playing the game as best I could.
He got back down onto his knees and kissed the inside of my knee, and then he licked me. He smooched the inside of my thigh with his cheek. I leaned back into the seat and sighed. It felt so good. I had no idea he was about to pull my pants down and give me my first experience of cunnilingus. It was amazing. I came in about three minutes. I had never come so fast or hard before and while I was recovering in the chair he unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra, before carrying me to the bed. Once there he buried his face in my crotch again before I told him to ‘fuck me.’
Like any good subbie boi, he followed my instructions. Afterwards, we cuddled for ages. He asked me if I was Ok, I asked him. We were both fine.
We played many times on his visits. Mostly with me on top, but on occasion he would take control. I didn’t enjoy it as much, but it was still wonderful.
He was the man who introduced me to thing that would change my life.
On his second visit he sat in the Bar with me (I also worked behind the bar of the Sergeants Mess when the regular barmaid was away) all night, just chatting. There were no other customers and we spent the whole night chatting. I was infatuated. The conversation turned to sex after about three hours and we chatted about my experience. He was older and I slightly embarrassed talking about such things. But talk about we did. When closing time came an hour later I pulled down the shutters and walked with him to his room.
We made love that night. He was gentle, I was trembling.
The next day he left.
A month later he returned for another five day and four nights. On the first night he sat in the bar and watched me while I served drinks. He walked me home and we snogged for hours outside my house with my legs wrapped around him. The second night I didn’t work. The third night I didn’t work. The fourth night I worked and he was sat at the end of the bar, watching again. About half an hour before closing he slid of his stool and disappeared. After my shift I closed the shutters as I did every other night, but with a heavy disappointment. As I was leaving the building he appeared. He was wearing all black. He was standing next to my bicycle and he said, ‘I want you to spank me.’
‘You want me to what?’ I didn’t think I had heard him right.
‘I want you to spank me.’ He repeated then continued with, ‘but I understand if you don’t want to.’
‘Well, I never have and won’t it hurt?’ I was confused. I remember the feeling coursing through my body…the excitement, the fear and the embarrassment.
‘That’s the point. I want it to. The rush of endorphins through my body is amazing.’
Before I knew it, I had said ‘Ok, I’ll give it a go, but you’ll have to tell me where to hit you.’ We were on the way to his room. The small military room had a single bed, a bedside table with lamp, a small padded chair with arms and long wall mounted chrome pole for hanging clothes. The walls were painted magnolia and all the furnishing were chrome, grey or beige. I stood by the door while he undressed and talked. When I started to undress he told me to stop. He wanted me clothed he explained, that way he would feel the fabric of my skirt rubbing his stomach. He asked me to sit on the edge of the chair with my legs spread. I had a hard time suppressing a giggle, but even then the adrenaline was rushing through my veins.
Here I was, faced with a naked man on his knees in front of me asking to spanked like a little boy.
He crawled forward and placed himself over my left knee. He was kneeing on the floor, his bare buttocks facing me. And I said, ‘Now what?’ I knew, but I needed him to ask me to strike him. I couldn’t explain it then, but now I know, I needed him to be sure he wanted this.
He asked me to spank him twelve times, first on the right, then the left and so on. He also asked that I start gently and get harder. When I had completed the twelve I saw his reddened cheeks and stroked my fingers across his skin. It was warm. He was purring. I asked if he would like some more.
‘Only if you are happy, Mistress.’
I was shocked by the title, but decided I would go with the flow. I could feel my own excitement. I did however, wonder what would be in all this for me. ‘I told you if you were a naughty boy you would be punished. You were a naughty boy so now I have you across my knee and you will stay here ‘til you cry.’ I told him.
He nodded his head. I raised my hand and brought it down hard. When I heard him whimper a while later I told him to stand before me. He was rock hard. I had never been more excited.
‘Do you think you have paid the price for being bad?’ I asked.
‘No Mistress.’
Again, I was surprised by the answer; I had expected him to say yes.
‘What else do you think needs to happen to ensure your bad behaviour doesn’t continue?’ I asked, hoping not to break the mood and hoping it was my turn.
‘Mistress, if I may be so bold as to request to feel the touch of your thighs to my face?’
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so I said yes. I was new to anything other missionary and me on top. I was playing the game as best I could.
He got back down onto his knees and kissed the inside of my knee, and then he licked me. He smooched the inside of my thigh with his cheek. I leaned back into the seat and sighed. It felt so good. I had no idea he was about to pull my pants down and give me my first experience of cunnilingus. It was amazing. I came in about three minutes. I had never come so fast or hard before and while I was recovering in the chair he unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra, before carrying me to the bed. Once there he buried his face in my crotch again before I told him to ‘fuck me.’
Like any good subbie boi, he followed my instructions. Afterwards, we cuddled for ages. He asked me if I was Ok, I asked him. We were both fine.
We played many times on his visits. Mostly with me on top, but on occasion he would take control. I didn’t enjoy it as much, but it was still wonderful.
He was the man who introduced me to thing that would change my life.
Monday, December 10
Shoe Fetish
Like a lot of women I have a shoe fetish (I’ve also spent a small fortune on corsets but that deserves its own post). This weekend I did something bad while waiting for a friend. I brought a new pair on impulse, no planning, no saving, I just did it.I popped into a very large, but very bad shop for a little window shopping (I had an hour to kill) and I saw them, red, high, shiny and strappy. The brand has let me down in the past with narrow fitting and short ankle straps, but I thought I’d try my luck anyway. There was three of the same shoe sitting in a line next to a big sign informing me that there was 30% off.
I picked up the first, a size 36, too small.
I picked up the last, a size 41, too big.
I picked up the middle one, a size 39, just right!
I sat in the chair and took my foot out of my comfy sandal, pushing it to one side with my toes. I placed the red stiletto in front of me and hoovered my right foot above the gold lined sole. I lowered my foot and it slipped straight in. The one inch wide strip of red patent leather held my toes in its soft grip, perfectly.
I lent down and grasped the red strap, muttering that I would amazed if it was long enough. I pulled the strap through the buckle and pulled it tight, pulling until the strap was tight around my ankle, the holes in the strap easily fitted onto the buckle, releasing the pressure on my skin.
When the girl appeared with the box containing the partner for the shoe on my right foot she placed it on the chair next to me and pulled the left shoe and presented it me in both hands.
With the both on, I was only three inches taller, but felt much more than that. Everything about these shoes fitted. The colour, the shape, the size, I could stand AND walk in them…even the price. They had to be mine.
I paid the girl and because I was off to an all day event I had to leave my purchase there, in their care until I was able to return to pick them up.
I returned the next day to pick up my first pair of Malono Blahnik’s
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