Brat

From Kinky.com:

“Brat is a term for the BDSM role of a bratty submissive or bottom. Unlike the common conception of a submissive, a brat talks back, misbehaves, and is otherwise difficult”.

I admit it.

While I am always keen to please, I also argue and talk  back. As far as Master is concerned, I am something of a brat.

Let’s be clear here, I don’t set out to disagree. But I have opinions and need to get them out there.

Trouble is, my opinions are not always wanted or needed and so I am labelled as a brat.

That does not mean I am not a slave. In essence, I always comply and follow the rules laid out. But it would also be true to say that I want to discuss what those rules are. Or else I am keen to know where boundaries lie.

He both loves and hates my approach to living within the boundaries already set out. He both wants my compliance and also wants me to challenge.

But he is my Master. So I really do want to strike a balance. Even when I am being the brat I crave correction. Unless of course there is no correction necessary.

Does that make me a brat?

Obedience

Does obedience come easy for me?

In so many ways the answer is no. At work I hate being told what to do, I prefer to be in control, have freedom to act. Not that I don’t invite comment and advice, but I am not keen on being directed. Luckily my job carries autonomy and my manager has better things to do than tell me what to do (most of the time). I was the bossy sister and I am a bit bossy with my mum (if she allows it). But take me out of those situations and I crave control. I don’t particularly want to make decisions, which is lucky since I am now with someone who wants to do just that. Master has a great knack of controlling the things we do and the way we do them. That isn’t to say I don’t have choices, of course I do. But I rarely challenge the over all issue the choices are about. I am not sure some people would recognise me as the same person when I am with Master.

Which of us derives the most pleasure from my obedience?

He loves the power that comes with being the Master. He loves to know that he has control over me. For him this provides sexual excitement, particularly when the control involves elements of my body. But for me also I almost need to know that he is there making decisions for us. That responsibility for the things we do lie with me. The sense of sexual fulfilment and personal happiness I have right now are as a direct result of knowing that I am his slave and he is my Master. In turn that helps me with the way I manage my professional life.

Are there consequences for disobedience?

Funnily enough I am rarely disobedient. But then we are not really following any specific rules right now. I don’t often argue about the decisions he has made, partly because anything important has been discussed anyway. However I do challenge him from time to time. When I do he calls this being bratty. This seems to be a loose term for anything I say that he considers to be so. Moaning, being negative, challenging his world view, suggesting alternative ideas are all being bratty. We don’t do punishment and I am happy with that. That is because there is little to be punished for, but also because he is a little lazy.

Did I really write that? That statement is, I am sure, very bratty.

SCC Writing is a Tumblr blog that contains lots of prompts for submissives along with the posts written in response.

His kinks and our plans

There are many ways in which we are on the same wavelength when it comes to kink. Being his owned slave is probably the main one. While I am naturally bratty and rebellious, I love the way that he takes control and keeps me within defined boundaries. I am at my happiest when the boundaries of our relationship are clearest to us both.

Pain as a way of him exerting control is important, but it is not the main thing. Control of our sex life, and the power it gives him is. He loves to catch me unawares and to suddenly tell me what to do – get on my knees, suck his cock, bend over, strip off. Whatever. He loves the gadgets of kink, the violet wand, the bindings and blindfolds. They have an amazing effect on me. I love the way in which he surprises me with new ideas, new toys. I love the control he has over me.

He loves tattoos and piercings.  He loves women to wear slutty clothes and to expose themselves in public. I have the piercings – nipples and clitoral hood. On occasion I wear something a bit slutty and am prepared to show myself to him in a public place.

Sometime over the past three years or so though we have settled into a comfortable place. We talk about more piercings, about tattoos. But they haven’t happened. In the main I don’t leave the house without underwear as I used to, and the times I expose myself in public has reduced in frequency.

Partly this is due to life – work, caring responsibilities, social life, being a middle aged couple (and any other excuse you might mention). In many ways, though it feels as though I have just become complacent and lazy. Also just a little tired as work and caring plus keeping up with our social life takes its toll.

A quick look at his Tumblr blog tells me however, that his kinky fantasies remain as they were. I have to admit they are mine too. I really do still want more piercings. I would love to walk around, knickerless with weights hanging from my labia. I would love to cut my hair as he really wants. I still want that tattoo. I want to be the slut he desires.

What I need to do is to take control of my life. Or to get into a position where he truly can take control of my life. We are still waiting for my ex to sort himself out. For he and his lady love to be ready to buy my house. We are close, but not quite there.

Meanwhile I really am planning my exit from work. Preparing myself, those around me and the work itself for that day. I have given myself a deadline of early March when I will hand in my notice. By then, my mum should be living nearer to my brother and be less of a burden to me. And I should be preparing to give myself to Master properly. If the ex isn’t ready by then, well something different will have to happen.

I want his kinks to be my kinks, but I need to make some changes here for that to happen. I have a plan, a real plan.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Being naked

The idea of spending several hours completely naked in public freaked me out. Stupid really since this is something I wanted to happen. Ever since I found out about play parties where the male Dominant is fully clothed and the female submissive naked, I wanted to try it. I am an exhibitionist, I do like to be naked for Master and wanted to attend a play event.  But theory and reality are two different things and yesterday I faced that head on.

The car journey, me wearing a little dress and cardigan with nothing underneath, passed far too quickly. We arrived just before the doors opened at 2pm and having to wait in the car made me feel even worse. So much so that I actually told Master I wasn’t going in.

But, as people started to get out of their cars I found myself following. Inside the building I encountered 3 or 4 entirely naked women, people helping at the event (as well as some clothed gents). My feelings of anxiety melted a little and I headed for the changing rooms.

Many women kept some clothes on, lingerie, stockings, shoes. Others sported chains or harnesses much like I own. I made the decision before leaving home that being naked would be best for me for this first day. Lingerie or stockings would be an easy option and kind of cheating. However those wearing more than nothing were pretty sensible as they kept warmer than I was able to.

Out in the main rooms, there were sofas for relaxing and various benches, crosses, pulleys for play. Most people brought implements and toys with them. As mentioned yesterday, I haven’t been well and so to avoid any temptation Master left his at home. While I was jealous of those being spanked, tied and played with I know that he had my best interests at heart. Plus it doesn’t mean that he didn’t sit touching and fondling his slave. I found watching others quite the turn on and know that next time I will be ready to be watched.

We met some great, very friendly new people and I discovered that I wasn’t alone in  being nervous about displaying myself to everyone else. It was good too to meet new people outside of the munch scene. To meet others who are part of a D/s or M/s dynamic. This felt a fun, but very safe place to explore this side of myself in a more public place.

By the time we left I was already looking forward to the next time. Thinking about what Master might do to me, how he might want to play with his slave. This morning Master texted me to tell me how proud of me he was. How much he liked displaying me to others.

I have to admit that I enjoyed being naked on public display much more than I even imagined I would. Next time hopefully I’ll be a little less nervous.

What’s my name?

For most of my life I was only called by my given name, Julie. I hated it when people shortened Julie to Ju, it struck me as lazy and uncreative. A family friend called me Jools, and for a while that stuck. As a young teen at the time it felt grown up, and smart, unlike Ju. After my marriage I became JJ and tended not to mind that either. But my parents called me Julie, as did my husband and most other people around me.

5 years ago, when I embarked upon this journey, one involving illicit sex with a bit of kink thrown in. I called myself Joolz on the various websites and on my new blog. The people I met at that time either didn’t know my real name or chose not to use it. To them I was Joolz.

But when Master and I met, 3 and a half years ago now. He saw me as someone else. To him Joolz was someone who was a bit scary, who had been struggling to find her true self. Joolz was someone in transition from Julie to……….. But who.

He wanted me to refer to myself as ‘this girl’. As far as he was concerned, my journey as a submissive needed to include some introspection about what and who I was. By removing the need to think of myself in the first person or as Julie the mother or daughter, the submissive inside would feel more real. At the same time he was of the opinion that Joolz was someone who had belonged to another, someone who had rejected me. By letting go of Joolz, I let go of that part of my past. Gave myself fully to him. Allowed myself to be absorbed into his ownership, to become his property.

Gradually over time this girl has become girl. He called and does call me girl. At times he has admitted that he has struggled to remember that I am also Julie. A 55 year old girl? Yes, but not any girl. His girl, his submissive and his slave. I do still refer to myself as ‘this girl’ but mainly during sex or play. The rest of the time I just know who and what I am, even when people call me Julie. I know I am His girl.

A new day, a new year

Today is my birthday, and as I enter a new year of life I somehow find myself ready to blog again. The past couple of months have been somewhat quiet here. Save the occasional, writers block post Sinful Sunday has been my only regular offering.

Last week’s Sinful Sunday post, a spur of the moment shot of Master changing a lightbulb naked  was rated in the top 5 by Molly. It is those kind of shots that really are the best. Therefore this week, since I have taken no photo involving stairs (this week’s prompt) I am taking a rest.

Instead I am happy to report that our sex and M/s life is resurrecting itself. Or rather, perhaps we are finding the time to get it going again. Since holiday we have been busy. Weekends away, stuff to do around the house and garden. Plus we both seemed to have returned from holiday with a strange malaise that wouldn’t seem to shift. Master has a painful shoulder, which I hope he will seek medical help for soon. This weekend though, we have shoved all of that aside.

Two mornings in a row we have had sex. Raw, just woke up and wanted to grope and kiss each other sex. Yesterday, my eyes were barely open before I found myself on my knees before him, sucking his cock. This morning I was awake first, reading birthday messages on Facebook when He began to finger my clitoris. Then he went down on me, orgasms flew through me in a way that I haven’t experienced in months. Mindful of his shoulder pain I have been on top more than of late. I had almost forgotten how wonderful that feeling is, his control from beneath me is something to behold.

As recently as Friday I was wondering if I was still his submissive bitch. Something in the things I said, and my body language that night seem to have seemed through. To us both. We have reminded ourselves of who we are to each other and that feels really good.

Sinful Sunday will resume here next week, meantime if you read this please do click on the lips and see the great photos everyone has contributed this week. But for me, today I will enjoy my birthday and savour the thoughts of yesterday, this morning and all the days to come.

Sinful Sunday

slave stuff

There was a time when pretty much all posts on this blog were written in the third person. Each sentence that might have used the pronoun ‘I’ began instead with ‘this girl’ or ‘she’. This blog was about a personal journey, about being trained and about learning how to please and serve Master. Somewhere along the line, that part has been lost from this place.

Never writing in the first person became challenging. There were occasions that I seemed more appropriate and gradually I replaced she. This girl, the slave was lost from the conversation.

But perhaps it is time to bring her back. Perhaps she needs that aspect of her life to get back to the slave she wants and needs to be. There is, deep within this slave a yearning to reclaim the structure and the rules. To focus back on what was agreed at the beginning of our relationship and part of that is acknowledging that this slave has no specific name. That she should refer to herself not as I but to recognise her status as an object or possession.

This girl

He always refers to her as girl. She is without a name, she is His slave. She is good at complying with the requirement to refer to herself in this way during sex or a scene. Less so at other times. The blasé way in which this girl approaches her slavery has led to other lapses in behaviour and often in forgetting her place and role.

These include wearing underwear (it is often cold and anyway the middle-aged body needs support), not wearing the butt plug, not asking if clothing is required. This list could go on.

But there is no chance that this girl has completely forgotten that she is His slave.

Being His slave always

He is Master. She rarely thinks or refers to him as anything else. This girl thinks about Him constantly and does consider whether the actions she takes are something he would be happy with. This happens most often at work, a place where he is never with her. She often takes time to reflect and wonder what he would say if He had been present.

There are times each day when she touches the tangible symbols of slavery. The collar, the nipple jewellery and sometimes even the clitoral hood piercing. They serve as a constant physical reminder a way of grounding one’s self.

When Master and slave are out together there are rules that are always followed. He keeps control of any tickets or passes. He takes total control in restaurants, though there is often discussion about choices. Plus at any time there is ambiguity, or the potential for disagreement it is His word that is final.

Master is Master and slave is the slave. But this slave feels that now is the time to back to basics. Back to what was agreed at the beginning and back to blogging for its original purpose.

Going forward there will be more posts where the pronoun ‘I’ is not used.

The realities of life

It had been a busy week. Work was as frenetic as usual, and by Friday followed with daughterly responsibilities. When did it seem a good idea to become part of the social committee at my slimming club? After all, Friday afternoons with mum are stressful enough.

But by the evening the half a pound gain was behind me. Mum had been relatively restrained in Marks and Spencer’s. The traffic was kind. And yet.

Master showed me the new swing in the play room. Yes a swing. Thinking about it, he had made mention of the purchase the previous week. Somehow though, that knowledge had disappeared into the recess of my brain.

Kneeling before him as he demonstrated it’s finer points I sucked his cock and all seemed good.

But naked, exposed, sitting on the seat, I wasn’t sure who I was. Whether I was worthy of him. His slave or an imposter?

I wanted to love and enjoy his new toy but something made me want to curl up somewhere with a bottle of wine instead. Trying to distract me and turn me on, he licked my pussy, squeezed my nipples and stroked my clitoris. He used the words that usually make me melt; the ones that reaffirm our M/s dynamic. My head responded but something held me back. My body was unresponsive, he said otherwise but my brain told me so.

Memories of sex with my ex flooded my brain. Perhaps I am the frigid person he had exclaimed me to be. Maybe this past 3 years has been a dream?

Climbing down at Master’s request, we lay naked on the bed. We talked and we held each other.   I don’t know the reason for my sudden freak out but know I am not frigid. I am the sexy woman Master loves, I turn him on, and please him. We love each other, and he certainly makes me horny. In the future we will have fun on that swing.

We moved on to christen the new jacuzzi bath. To have fun and to enjoy each other’s bodies. We drank sparkling wine together and talked about what might have been wrong. I came to the conclusion that if the bath had happened first events may have taken a different course.

I wanted so much to have a wonderful tale to tell about the swing and to have photos for Sinful Sunday. But rather than looking back on these memories as a failure I know that our love is not just about kink it is about being there for each other. About recognising when we need reassurance from the other.

The story about the swing in the playroom is still to be told along with the corresponding pictures. Just watch this space.

Blogging A-Z Challenge: L

Last year I wrote about limits, love and lust. Having read it back, it is one of those posts that on reading again makes you glad you keep a blog. What about this year though? This year, L is for labia

L is for labia

This is not an area of my body that I had given much thought to. Partly because you can’t really see your own labia very easily without a mirror. Master though is very interested in inspecting all aspects of his property. That includes the inner and outer folds of the vulva, as well as my clitoris. According to this cosmopolitan article the labia majora are 7-12cm in length and the inner, labia minora 2-10. Who measures their labia? Obviously mainly people who read cosmopolitan magazine. I’ve never measured mine, but suspect they are longer than most. The outer labia have also been stretched from time to time with weighted clamps. Surprisingly this doesn’t hurt particularly and I find that it makes the inner labia and clitoris more sensitive.

It would be great, I think to get my inner labia pierced, a nice accompaniment to my clitoral hood piercing. I suspect this would be a painful procedure, but probably worth it. I really do need to get around to having it done rather than talking about it.

 

Blogging A-Z Challenge: G

G is for Girl

This girl’s given name is girl. Just 2 weeks after Master and I met, I wrote this post. At that time I was sceptical that referring to myself in the third person was something I could get used to. Let alone that doing so would have an influence on my submission. But I was a novice back then, not that I knew it since I thought I knew everything about D/s. The learning curve was steep but I was an eager student.

In those early days, to get used to referring to myself as ‘this girl’ I began to write my posts in the third person. It is only recently that I have reverted, though in many ways prefer writing as this girl. When we have sex, or when we are playing I don’t just refer to myself as this girl, I am she. It is my name, my identity, my slave persona. The rest of the time it is an undercurrent to my life. Master rarely uses my real name, and has admitted that sometimes he has to think about what it is. I usually call him Master, since that is who he is to me. Unless I am speaking to someone else about him, and even then I have sometimes let slip.

Illeism – the act of referring to oneself in the third person

Much more common in literature than in real life, illeism is I think an interesting concept. It distances you from your own individual self and places you in  secondary place to the other. In a power exchange relationship, being required to refer to myself in that way makes me consider each sentence I utter. It makes me think about my place as his slave, my role and function.

Of course, I don’t go around speaking in the third person all the time, for example at work or with family. That would be considered a bit on the weird side. Nor do I do so all of the time Master and I are together. But there are times when I would never refer to myself as I with him. We both know when they are and that is a rule I tend not to break.