hot drip

He pushed her firmly back to sit in the chair. The cold metal pressed into her heated flesh.
A simple chair, heavy and anchored to the ground by its weight.

Her legs were open wide, she dare not close them, his instruction was clear. The wrist cuffs were clipped either side to the metal frame and her ankles were fastened in the same way to the front legs of the chair. Her collar and cuffs reminded her all the while of the reason she was there. At His pleasure.

He had refrained from tying the ropes around her thighs and fastening them to the chair. She had promised to keep her knees wide where he could admire the glistening of her cunt.

"Close your eyes now honey."

She always complied, or tried to do what he bade her. Her mind was racing as she heard him move around the room. This was new and he was preparing something at the table where he kept all the toys he used when she came to the room.

She didn't dare look. His hand covered her mouth and pushed her head back so far she thought her neck might snap. Then in an instant the heat and burn seared her nipple. She heard the muffled exclamation of surprise and realised it came from her own lungs. Her eyes remained shut. Panic didn't even have time to take hold before the sensation subsided. The heat came again quickly. Her skin was on fire. She began to writhe. The burn dripped on her nipples and little splashes sprang to her belly and thighs.

His hand moved to cover her nose and mouth. Her cunt tightened and throbbed. Then as she began to settle into the sting and burn of her flesh, her clit screamed in pain as the burn found its tender mark. She was growing dizzy without oxygen. Writhing, squirming, her thoughts slipped away and all she knew was the burn.

He released his hand and she drank in two gulps of sweet air before he pushed into her face again bending her back over the chair. Her collar digging into the nape of her neck was to leave her marked that day.

Her wet pink flesh burned. She thought nothing and felt everything. The burn overwhelming her as the waves of joy moved through her tremouring body. She was his, giving him her pain and fear in the moment she came. He considered her muffled scream and wax drenched body was one of her most beautiful moments.
  

photographer unknown

adrift without a D to my s

I have been thinking after a quick read over on Vesta's blog and her post 'home coming'. It occurs to me that with Local D away and I am feeling a little homeless.  A little lost disjointed and disconnected. I am achy and pouty and bloody needy tonight. I feel a sense of displacement. There is no comfortable peace, just the frustration of waiting and wanting for a place to rest. 

The greedy lil girl can't take phone calls easily and Local D's work commitments means he is not readily contactable, although if I text he does text back within a few hours (not terrific when one is seeking permission to cum!). He is in such remote locations that he hasn't even got internet access!! there's my first world problem for today.

Non-Dom asked if Local D had gone away. I nodded and said I was a little stir crazy. I said I was missing the kiss of the flogger, the sting of his hand. To his credit, Non-Dom held me by the throat and kissed me hard..bringing a smile to the girls face and to a some degree bringing me home.

unknown photographer. Source: Internet

release the hounds! (breasts on display)

Local D is away and I admit I am struggling. We have not had the opportunity negotiate a relationship or rather the character of the relationship when he is away. He is a long way away in remote locations with days that begin early and go late into the night, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. I have taken to keeping my phone on silent as there have been text messages as late as 1am, very unusual for him, though the risk is kind of exciting for me. Traditionally I have not been a girl that responds well to risk.

He issued an instruction today, one that made me anxious. No panties of course, no problem (when I'm not at work). When I'm at work without stockings and only a summer frock, well that's a different story! In addition to a bare arsed girl, he decided that I should go out into the world with no bra. I was silent when I heard the words. Is he serious? He knows I hate this thought and he has not ever demanded it before. He has hinted that one day he might, but until now nothing.

"Text me when it is done."

I am not in my twenties. These puppies have done their womanly duty in child-rearing and girl fun. These fun bags deserve the over-shoulder boulder holder in situ. These boobs, hooters, tits, tatas are shapely and on the larger side, though not enormous. This puts me in mind of the first question asked by most men online, 'bra size?'  When I dabbled in online forums I thought it such a strange thing to ask. After all there was no cam involved, I could have said anything, 'big or small, what's your pleasure?' So what was the obsession with the answer to this question? I never really came to a satisfactory conclusion. But I am off the track...

The instruction was explicit. "No bra or panties around the house today, no bra at least once when you go out today." I hesitated, silent. My mind spinning, thinking...too much as I am want to do.

Now I know this is a basic thing, this little task. The thought of going out with the girls swinging free however, bouncing buoyantly, but frankly not as perky as they once were, drove in me an anxiety that threatened to overwhelm my submissve self.

"Yes Sir."

I went out, bra securely in place. Panties not so securely in place.

Later in a large shopping centre car park I sat in the car thinking. Silence. I looked around at the cars surrounding mine. Not a soul in sight. I reached under my shirt to my bra clasp and let it loose. As I watched a motorcyclist in the rear view mirror travelling toward me, my hand slid first up the sleeve of my right arm and pulled my bra strap down and off. The left repeated, I reached up under the front of my shirt and pulled my bra away to decamp my breasts from their comfortable citadel.

I was struck by the tension between the freedom I felt and the anxiety in my breath. Though my next move should have been to start the car, slip into drive and point the wheel to home, I opened the car door and got out. Closing the the door behind me, I stood looking at my reflection in the glass. I drank in the hang of my breast under my tight shirt, the shape of my nipple standing proud. I saw too the shape and pink colour of my areolar though the white of  the cotton fabric. I messaged my obedience while I gazed at my reflection. Then, I got back in the car and drove home.

photographer unknown. Source: the internet

Whip

Now we know that my relationship with local D is about play.
He has been 'soft' with me...his words not mine..but yes I agree. We laugh a lot together and I admit I really don't know what darkness might fill his mind.

I was adamant that this softness as he described it was not some sort of failure or mistake. I am aware that he has been gentle with me. He has been this way because I am new to this game. I am aware he didn't want to overwhelm me or scare me away. I admit though I am keen for him to step it up a notch or two. How he does that without losing what we have I am not sure.

So yesterday we were chatting online and he asked the question,

"How much do you trust me, honestly?"

I took this to mean how much do I trust him with my well being, when he is in charge of me physically.

"Implicitly" and I have to say I do. I have every confidence that he will hit me, beat me, whip me and I will come out the other side relatively unscathed. Bruises and marks notwithstanding. They will fade.

Then he began to talk about the whip. Now this would be new. A whip. Crack that whip!

"How would you feel about the whip?"

I jumped at the opportunity is the reaction I had. I have never really given it much thought before because he had earlier said it was too much for this lil chick. Well the delicious little whore was getting excited for a lot of unusual reasons. I have learned I am not a pain slut, so why would I be excited about the whip? I have learned I am a slut for control. I need to be overwhelmed with pure unadulterated strength. Unfortunately Local D likes the odd bit of pain, to inflict it. Here is where he has been easy on me. He knows I don't appear to get off on pain in and of itself. As part of a very hard flogging. As part of a slap and spank..oh yes please. But it is not the reason I get wet. It is being held down and controlled that is the clincher for me.

So this leads to my questions around the whip. I am led to believe that the whip is harsh and painful. In fact he says he wants to move to the whip because I can take all he can give with the flogger (apparently - mental note to self...scream more!). I got all excited at the thought of the whip. I keep saying I want to try everything. The girl doesn't know what she doesn't know. I have begged him, implored him to pull everything out of his bag of tricks. His reply...

"Be careful what you wish for."

So now I'm excited and nervous...more nervous...but very very excited.

I'm excited! Unknown Photographer. Source: the Intranet

part 2...love submission love ...the response

This is a topic that has provoked some fantastic debate and was clearly close to a lot of people's hearts. Thank you to all of you who have taken part. I thought with the learning's I took from all the comments and some private discussion as well as some deeper thought, I might just round off the topic. In my first post here I pondered whether I must experience love for Him in order to submit truly and more deeply.

There were a couple of issues highlighted in the responses.

1. The capacity to love deeply more than one while that person may not be one's significant other (non-Dom and Local D in my case).
2. The difference in the nature of love. We love differently in different relationships and all are valid, healthy and an experience of honesty to oneself and others.

However my original question, which perhaps was not very well expressed was not really touched on.

I think I am not asking if it is right or wrong to love more than one man (or woman, insert your favoured gender here) and at which point? Rather, in searching for a more perfect submission..in searching for my submission, will any submission I offer only deepen or carry authenticity if I love? Does Love bring the strength to submit? If I never love, never give into these feelings which I have experienced in the moments where he Dominates me (and I want to wrap myself around him in love, like a koala in a high waving eucalyptus tree, face buried in the trunk eyes closed away from the sun), if I never give myself completely in Love, can I ever deliver an authentic overwhelming submission to him? Do I really care if I have another to love? I can answer this last one, I do care though sometimes I feel very mercenary in all this and most decidedly unsubmissive!

There is an issue for me in loving more than one man at once. It would feel like infidelity to me. This is an important boundary not to be crossed for the very real fear that it would hurt non-Dom. If I could get past that, if I could live with real secrets from non-Dom then all would be well! One of my biggest barriers in all this TTWD is my overwhelming sense of guilt that my actions will not honour non-Dom. Loving another man would be crossing the line. I truly agonise over these things...thinking too much. This is the man however with whom I hope to share myself to the end of life.  If I fuck it up there is no recovery, not really. We have survived one such major fuck up, no matter how many years, no matter how much forgiveness, the memory has not faded.

If I let myself love in order to submit, it would be in secret, in a lie to non-Dom. This is not part of our agreement around this episode in our lives. Would I risk this though if it meant a more authentic experience of my submission? An honest experience?

In his comment on the post, Bruce may have come the closest in addressing the relationship between submission and love, calming me in the same moment, when he said,

I like to think of D/s love as occupying that grey area between spousal love, and parent-child love. And it is on a sliding scale in that grey zone. I believe as the trust and submission grow, so too will the scale move. And just as the scale moves, so too can the submission deepen.

In a private conversation, a friend advised to stop thinking and enjoy the moment, enjoy where you are and stop thinking about the future (how did he know I was thinking about tomorrow, wondering if it would be as good as today?..lol).

So would I take the risk and love in order to engage with submission? Maybe...even probably. Or should I wait for the pendulum to swing traversing the sliding scale of grey light between spousal love and parent-child love?...Most probably.  This is the paradigm that fits most closely with who I am and takes the dilemma of choosing to love another man away from me. It is no longer in my control and isn't that the point after all. Submission, in this paradigm is inextricably linked to a love that is comfortable and has its place in the grey light where D/s lives. Funny the wisdom one can find in the strangest of places.

unknown photographer: sourced from the interweb

love submission love

There are so many thoughts speeding through my head.
Yes yes Daddy I think too much...slap!

I have been reading blogs with some very insightful posts. As I search for my submission I feel there is something missing. I read other women's thoughts, other men's thoughts and I wonder if what is missing is love.

I am immersed in play. I love to play but there is no love. I am not free to love. I read blogs that not only border but fall into deep descriptive submissions of hearts and flowers. Submissive women who are free and some not so free, to love. I am not criticising this in any way. In fact I wonder if this is what I really need, not just the freedom to submit but also the freedom to love.

I am lead to ponder the question is true submission grounded in love? Or maybe, like the old chicken and the egg question, is love born of submission? Arrrrrgh! Who knows? I just know that I don't love, I can't love and possibly won't ever be free to love. I have not chosen for love..perhaps then I have chosen for the wrong reason. I am put in mind of one of my favourite characters in one of my favourite books, Gatsby's Daisy made a mockery of his life's work to win her away from her athletic husband when she admitted 'I loved you both.' I would like to be able to love both and though I care..deeply and affectionately, given the choice I would choose the man I love over the man who loves me in the a way I need, with strength and control and the expression of whips, pulleys and bruised skin.

photographer unknown, source : Interweb

ruin

A contraversial view and one that is not fully formed inside my mind, nothing is fully formed. I am an evolutionary process, a project, no timeframes,focus groups formed, some evaluation tools employed and the project continues:

Ruin is a gift

Ruin is the road to transformation

-eat pray love

In the context of D/s..of TTWD, I want to feel ruin.

I want to be ripped down,muscle fibre by fibre, corpuscle by corpuscle, bit by bit, brick by brick. Torn down. I want him, no, NEED him to rip every last shred of the outside me away.

I need Him to find that inner core that has no more protection. That space inside me that is vulnerable and bare. The point where I can let go of the fears, protections and barriers.

Transformation.

To be my own pheonix.

My belief is that moment will never come. It never can, not in my circumstance, but the dream is always there. The possibility that one day it may be ok to let go, to bend in every way to Him.

This is the fantasy.

The reality? I am not mine to give, neither am I owned.

Photograph remains the property of its owner

waiting..3 sleeps

It's 1130 pm and non-Dom is in bed. I can't sleep. So many things are playing on my mind.

We have plans to meet, to play. It will be my first experience with a Dominant man in the flesh.

I feel lots of things. Excited, relieved - it's been such a long journey and this feels like a culmination of that journey.

I am nervous and a little scared though not too much. I feel the trepidation of a school girl. I remember all those butterflies when I was young. I am counting sleeps (when I remember). A girl in a candy shop.

I ask myself, will it be grand? will it be fun? will it lift me? or will it bring me down?

He will be a Dominant play partner, a teacher, an instructor. He is no great love, I am not in-love nor is he. There is no illicit affair. Non-Dom knows and has approved which means there is no guilt for me (yay!). I have been wracked with guilt in the past as I explored this alone and in the dark. Non Dom suspecting but not knowing.

Bad news today though. Local D is unwell and so our play may never eventuate. * She buries her sweet virginal head in her pure creamy hand. Sigh. Ever the glass half full kind of girl she, like Scarlett her silver screen heroine, will think about this tomorrow.

Julia Bedenko

i'm back Daddy

I am back having done as i was told.

Panties off in the bathroom of the restaurant.
I removed my black heeled shoes and my stockings, my feet bare on the cold tiled toilet floor. I slid down my panties and stepped out of them one leg at a time.

Pulling my fishnet stockings back on I was careful not to rush and tear a hole in them.
Once the stockings were straight and in place I felt the breeze fly up though the tiny diamond spaces to my bare pussy. I stepped into my shoes. I liked the click-clack sound the leather shoes made on the tiles of the toilet floor as I tried to step into them quietly and delicately avoiding anyone else in the bathroom hearing and wondering why I had removed my shoes in the restaurant toilet. Screwing my thong panties into a little ball I placed them in the palm of my hand and thrust them deep into my handbag and returned to the table where my three girlfriends sat laughing with glasses of wine raised to their lips.

I had already begun to feel my pussy throb, growing warm and moist. I had already been pretty moist in anticipation of carrying out your instruction, but now, it was almost like I was opening, stretching, in search of something to fill my aching pink flesh.
I spent the rest of the evening through the main meal and then coffee squirming in my seat with the growing heat of my bare pussy.

After dinner I was wet and tingly. My mind drifted to my pantyless state as I drove home "sitting proper" in my seat, my skirt hitched up, my bare fishnet clad pussy wetting on the seat.

I had enjoyed my task.

Her...and She

Amazing post : Her (Vesta's Submission) cut directly down to my she. Clarified my delicious little whore..yes that's it, my she is two she's.

One she is Daddy's girl, a little pouty she. "yes Daddy", "Yes Sir", "Please Daddy can I?".

artist unknown
Via tumblr

The other she? hmm I like that other she. Maybe like Vesta describes, not very submissive. Maybe! there is no maybe about it! This she knows her power..the power of a slut. The She who is greedy, demanding, attention seeking, provocative..and revels in her whore. This she wiggles her arse in the knowledge of it's power. This she..the she that breathes with each pulse of her blood, this she wants to be taken and subdued. It's this she who begs for his control through her attention seeking, her wiggling arse. She needs to be spanked and she wants her cheek slapped. Surprised into submission, feeling his strength as she bend under him. 

my task

so...

I waited until later that night to do what you 'asked', what you expected.

I crawled into bed next to my sleeping husband. My hand slid down over my stomach, tugging slightly on the piercing in my belly button, over my smooth mound and quite nicely onto my little pleasure button moist with the anticipation of cumming in the dark, silently, for you, not for me, not for him.

Round and round, I wished I could have used my little purple buzzy beast, but the noise and activity was sure to wake him and frankly, I was a little tired, so too much leaping about was something that I wanted to avoid.


I became breathless and very aroused quite quickly, my mind drifting to "Seattle" and white hot thoughts of a man, a fantasy I had been playing with for some time now. In an instant you were there with me, standing over me in the dark, watching my slippery cunt, my fingers working for you. I imagined the silence you stood in, smiling slightly, hard as steel, sniffing the air and the drift of my scent to your nostrils, knowing that I was doing what you wanted, what you demanded, while I lay next to my husband, the man I fuck every day.


My toes began to curl, my legs grew taut as every muscle in them clenched bringing me closer to the edge. So very wet as I imagined you there, heard your voice in my head.


Your smooth voice, deep, strong and so bloody sexy. Filled with confidence in every word you say, not sleazy, just sure of every word you utter. That's half the attraction I think, your voice that can take me to those pretty places, with such confidence, like a play rehearsed a million times. You never stumble over those words. You always know what's coming next. You never appear to feel uncomfortable uttering things that belong better to a porn movie than to my everyday life. You are always present, in that moment, as if you exist for that, to be uttering those words across the distance to me, where I exist only to respond to them. It's all very sexy, potent.


As my head played all these thoughts, something unintentional happened. My husband stirred, rolled toward me and found me pleasuring myself for you, though I believe he didn't see you standing over me and he certainly didn't see your hand resting on my belly, palm pressing on my mound, nor your long fingers splayed down to my clit.


His hand moved to my round ample breasts, flicking at my hard nipples. I felt a little disgruntled at first. Pushing him away didn't seem an option as clearly, I was close to coming. I was looking forward to coming. A silent coming somehow builds more energy for my pussy. Energy unable to escape from my mouth is diverted to my pussy, making my orgasm electric. Then afterwards, slight nausea as I try to catch my breath in quiet, controlled, dizzy, chest heaving, bottom tingling. But now with him stirring it was unlikely I was going to be able to get to complete my task and sleep quickly.


His hand moved to squeeze my throat. He pushed his face into my cheeky, his hot breath on my ear. I felt his hard, hot, cock on my thigh. I knew I was going to be fucked. I closed my eyes, I kept you there, your hand round my throat, your hot breath in my ear, your voice telling me to come, your hand sliding around my clit, so close to coming.


A gush and a hurry, his hand squeezing tighter round my throat, (something I love, the shame of admitting that makes my cunt tingle even now - all those things that nice girls are expected to deny exist in themselves), I came, his hand moving over my mouth, 'shhhh' growled in my ear.


Hardly having time to finish my orgasm, your orgasm, to its conclusion, he flipped me onto my stomach, pushed my head into the mattress, thrust my legs apart with his knee and pushed himself inside so forcefully, I let out a cry muffled by the mattress. FUCK!, that was a surprise! His hands on my head holding me down, his forearms pinning me under his full weight on my back. Pulling slowly out and then in again, gaining strength speed and depth. My agitation at him interrupting my 'task' was dissipating, especially as he had chosen the method I most liked (mind you he rarely chooses any other these days; the genie is out of the bottle).


It became quite clear that at that moment I was lost in his need, I was being used, I was there to serve his desire. Objectification...oh my my. I was still breathless, still dizzy, and being fucked in the most deliciously unexpected way. I smiled into the mattress and wondered at your approval, then, the most primal cry came from him and he collapsed into me...pulling my hair away from my neck, soft lips kissing it gently, he rolled off me, cum spilled from my pussy...gathering me in his arms...my thoughts drifting to you..hmm I don't think this is quite what you expected from me... sleep.

The style of submission I choose

So much is happening, it remains confusing at times. My husband enjoys the blogs I have led him too, (my own blog though remains a secret from him..my own private Idaho!). Like a switch flicked, he is beginning to understand my journey and he is starting to follow a path that is pleasing to both of us. This journey together might be nice.

I have played online with wonderful men and one has walked into my vision that now I can't get out of my head. I wonder, thinking of my secret self that the author of 'A Dominant Character' spoke of, and a concept that I have not been entirely unfamiliar with, I wonder if my secret self will stay secret for very much long. Secret and anonymous.

There is only a few blogs here which I read, not because I am not interested in anyone else but simply due to the restrictions of time. I follow a few blogs written by 'Dom's'...at the risk of incorrectly labelling these wonderful men who share their thoughts. I have been thinking lately about who I am with reference to labels. David, in A View from the Top, poses a question about the type and quality of submission a woman chooses. He offered a precis on current discussions regarding three styles of submission; passive, active and aggressive. David suggested that to be passive in submission, the traditional idea of submission, could lead a woman to becoming lost with regard to her own desire and creativity and become a purely passive recipient of her Masters attention and command. At least this was my interpretation. I felt my feminist rise and throw her head back (steady girl). To be actively submissive, I interpreted, is to be active in the titillation of your Dom/ Master/ Sir...(and so many other labels). Finally, aggressive submission requires some show of force by the Dominant partner. The submissive she must be overwhelmed by their strength and superiority.

As a novice in this bright, shiny and wondrously delicious world of submission and Domination, I find these arguments describe the subtlest and greyest of differentials. When applied to myself, I see me in each of these descriptions and each of them in me. In the end each of these styles of submission will be defined and agreed inside the relationship between a man and his girl.

Returning to my feminist self; I love her..this feminist she. As a liberated woman I have the power to choose...and I choose to submit. I have a freedom in that power, I am happy and released in the power of consentual submission or consentual non-consent.