Kneeling in your 50’s

One of the key things a slave does is to kneel to their Master, right? There are numerous, neigh thousands of pictures online showing submission in action; a slave kneeling.

Often He is clothed and she naked. There are specific positions that slave presents herself to her Master in, perhaps with her thighs spread, leaning back onto her heels, her hands rotated to expose the palms or else with her hands behind her head, so that He can see His property.

But what if kneeling in this way is something that you as a slave want to give your Master,  and it is what He wants to receive, but you both know that kneeling in such a way is nigh on impossible for more than a couple of minutes.

There was a time when my body was flexible, pliable and supple. There was a time when my life as a nurse hadn’t caused my back to become stiff and my knees to become sore. There was a time when I was young and slim and when my muscles where taught. Though I have to admit I have never been particularly fit and athletic there was a time when I was slimmer, fitter and more supple than I am now.

But in this new life of Master / slave I crave the ability to kneel. I want to be able to forget that my knees and thighs will ache. I want to be able to pretend my back won’t be stiff. I want to imagine that I can maintain the required position for longer than 2 minutes. But the reality is that kneeling for too long means it is difficult to get up, it means that afterwards I will walk like I am 100 not 54 and it means my back will be sore.

So, realism is the thing.  I can kneel for longer on a cushion than I can on the floor. I can sit at His feet longer than I can kneel. Plus I can sit next to Him and still suck His cock, I can sit next to Him and still submit.

My submission and slavery are not dependent on my ability to kneel for longer than 5 minutes, though I would love to be able to. When you are fifty something realism is something you both get used to. But you can still dream.

From segreti

 

K is for ……….

Kneeling and knocking over your gin and tonic (more of that later)

Kneeling didn’t always carry the meaning for me that it does now. When I was in my late 20’s and early 30’s I was a district (community) nurse and in those days we spent quite a bit of time on our knees. In hospital the furniture is set at a particular height, which both allows the patient to easily move, say from bed to chair plus the height helps with the strain on the back. It was less often during that time that furniture was at the right height for either, though we had hoists, blocks to raise chairs etc. However, I know I spent quite a bit of time on the floor, on my knees. Sometimes this was about getting closer to the patient, holding their hand and in the absence of any where close to sit, I would kneel. Other times it was about dressings, often to the legs. Rather than bed, I would kneel.

All of that is a long time ago and I am no longer 30 something. My back gets stiff and painful from my nursing career and it is less easy to jump up from my knees. Plus, when I kneel my back aches.

However the desire to kneel is great.

 

There is nothing more special that when Master demands: ‘On your knees girl’. Often this means He wishes me to suck His cock. Or perhaps He just wishes to exert His Dominance and authority over me. There is something about those words that make my knees weak and allow sinking to my knees all the easier. If naked He might request I spread my knees apart so that he can feel the slickness spreading between my legs. Sometimes He will place a leather collar around my neck, or perhaps put on a harness. Somehow the combination of those things: the collar, the kneeling, feeling my cunt will almost bring me off on the spot. For me kneeling is part of  my submission, all more special because I don’t do it so often, or for long. Half an hour like that and it is difficult to actually move. The mind is willing but the body is knackered!

It has been a busy working day and I was later home because I was helping my son with the sale of the car he was given after my dad died ( it didn’t happen but that is another story). Dinner out of the way, the clearing up done, I sat down to write this post and sat for a moment wondering what word to include with Kneeling.

I glanced out in the garden and noticed in the dusky gloom, the towels I put on the washing line yesterday and which were too wet to bring in last night due to the showers I didn’t predict. I jumped up, thinking I would sort that first. I put one foot into my boot (which I had helpfully kicked off near to the sofa; oh how lazy you become when living alone) and somehow knocked over my lovely glass of gin and tonic!!!

So as I cleared up the mess and refilled my glass before bringing in the towels I named the second part of this post; K for knocking over your gin and tonic!