Tired

I so want to write, I have so many ideas. But to be frank, I feel tired. Being ill at the beginning of the month has left me tired. Working and the relentless pressures of being an NHS manager leaves me tired.

Hang on, a manager in the NHS and you are tired? Surely managers do nothing but sit around in meetings, sponge off of the state and go home! For those of you reading this from outside of the UK, I work for the health service. Contrary to popular belief I do pull  my weight, do more than go to meetings and answer a few emails and then go home. I don’t deny I am well paid, better than I ever imagined as a nurse, but I do work hard. I work harder than I did when in clinical nursing, not physically but expectations are higher.

My mum makes me tired. Tomorrow, it is 3 years since my dad died. I have done my best to provide the support needed and my brothers do help. But she relies on me much more than I want and need her to. It isn’t her fault, but it is a fact.

Things with my ex have improved significantly. He has stopped telling me he misses me and wants to try again. He has stopped analysing what went wrong. Stopped fussing. I am however still waiting for his partner to sell her house so that they can move in here. Tired of waiting, but I have promised to wait a little longer.

I want and need to move in with Master, but he still needs time to declutter and be ready. That is of little consequence since I am not yet ready to move in with him. But I am tired of waiting.

I need to begin to put myself ahead of others. I need to give up my job and take a break. But I need the money from the house sale so I can afford such a luxury. I need to move in with Master and be with him, but I need my ex’s partner to buy my part of the house to enable that to happen.

My mum is hopefully moving house, closer to my brother. I need to be relieved of the responsibility for her on a day to day basis and hopefully that will happen soon.

Meantime, I am tired and when you are tired, it is difficult to find the words to write.

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

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: E

E is for erogenous zone

Those wonderful areas of the body that, when touched make us aroused. For me, this includes my breasts (not just nipples), inner thighs (not just labia and clitoris), neck and back. There are more; my tummy, legs and dare I say it even feet.

But where one man’s gentle touch, kiss or lick arouses the utmost pleasure, another’s turned my stomach. Once upon a time a touch to my nipples, my thighs or tummy made me feel ill.

How can this be so?

Because you can’t underestimate the power of the mind in interpreting sensations and they flow through our body. What feels like pleasure in one moment can manifest as pain the next.

There was a time when every time my husband touched my breast, a mental picture of him touching another woman flooded my mind. Added to this, I heard his words telling me that I wasn’t giving him the pleasure he required. It meant nothing to my subconscious that these events had taken place years before because unless drunk, I couldn’t forget them.

Now though I inhabit a different world. Master has done nothing to instil negative images in my mind. When he strokes my flesh and follows those strokes with kisses I am able to focus on the pleasure. On my needs as a woman and on serving him as my Master.

But what about him?

When I met Master he was in another, long distance relationship. This meant that when they were apart he had little or no physical interaction with others. Therefore when I touched him during those first days it had been many months since another human had stroked and caressed his body.

My attempts at reciprocating the pleasure I felt when he touched my body were met with flinches. He wasn’t enjoying me touching the areas that I now know are erogenous zones. It was difficult not to automatically reach out when aroused, but instead to tentatively touch him. It took months before he became used to my attempts to reciprocate what he gave me.

Our erogenous zones are an often untold source of pleasure, when a loved one concentrates their efforts on our arousal we become aroused and ready for sex or whatever is next. But when that touch provides an unpleasant response, it is difficult to understand the cause in ourselves or that other person. Unless you can understand the reasons behind it. To know the history, the back story.

Thankfully we both know and understand where each other has been and thankfully where we are now. Our erogenous zones are different places for us both to explore these days.

Blogging update – moving on from the past

Last Sunday I finally got around to moving my blog. Just over two years ago, when it looked as if Blogger was going to ban sex related sites, I bought my own domain. I searched for and read about hosting, WordPress etc and planned to move. I worked out how to move posts across and even successfully managed to do so. Then following a public outcry Google had second thoughts. I couldn’t work out how to make my blogger blog redirect to my self hosted one, so I just gave up. Periodically I returned to look, once more I moved posts across, but still I couldn’t work out how to redirect.

A few weeks ago I received an email to tell me that my domain name was up for renewal. Should I let it go or try again? Always up for a challenge, I decided to give it one more go. So last weekend I spend time that could have been put to better use, working on the move. After much trial and error I got everything across, including photos and links. Then I managed the redirect. Somehow I then managed to re-import the posts and ended up having to manually trawl through and delete about 750 posts.

But after linking my Sinful Sunday post for last week, I heard from Molly that she had spotted a security problem. Somehow I had set up the blog with a url ending in /blog and if you typed .com  you landed at my C panel. Thankfully @DomSigns was able to help out with the technical details so by Friday I was up and running. I am really grateful for Molly and Michael’s help, without which i don’t think I would have been able to get this far.

Then, just as I got to the point where I might be able to concentrate on new material I managed to mess things up again. Having installed a plug in to delete duplicates I somehow managed to delete all the tags and categories in the entire blog. The past couple of days have been spent categorising everything, starting with this past week backwards and then today from the beginning.

Reading about a long left behind relationship has left me with mixed thoughts. Firstly, I had forgotten just how much I had written in those early days. As I explored new experiences I wrote copiously. I embraced the rules he laid down enthusiastically, if perhaps blindly. I enjoyed the times we had, but now recognise he was probably using me. His marriage had ended and he saw me as an opportunity to explore his kinky side.

5 years on, I am faced with a dilemma. I have no desire to remove that part of my life from this blog, but I wonder if those posts need to be characterised in the way they were? As I reviewed them I know labelled them differently. But should I be more radical and create an “archive” category and then move on?

The past is important, after all it made me the person I am today but I need to move forwards. I am in another relationship, one that everyone knows about. I am a slave and Master is my owner. We know pretty much everything  about each other, both positive and negative. I recognise the things that are important, I need to move on. Moving my blog is the right thing for me. I will have greater freedom about what and how I write. But it will also allow me to let go of the past. There is great value in that.

The image below was the first I posted of me on my blog in 2012. He loved me to dress up in that kind of way and I has fun doing so. But that was then and I think I prefer the way Master likes me to dress for him now. The maid will be consigned to the archives after today along with that part of my blog.

Febraury Photofest

WTF?

This afternoon I sat in a room with the person who was my manager in 2012, we had a great chat about our working lives then and now. We both agreed that we worked in a toxic environment then and are happy to be where we are now.  The meeting finished just after 4 and since I had driven there I made my way home. Given that last evening I spent time looking at posts from 4 years ago that conversation feels relevant.  It took me back, once again to the place and person I was in 2012.  person who I know is different to the one I am now.

Arriving home tonight around 5.15, I know that he would pitch up pretty soon and is as is usual the ex turned up at around 5.30. Apparently my texts to him are too direct, I need to start my sentences with: “would you mind if” and some such. But this is how it is.

He takes a shower in our house every night since his lady friend has a 1970’s style bath, no shower. He hates a bath and hasn’t sat in one for years. Obviously he hasn’t been to the kind of places I have where they have a wonderful spa bath, or tried candles, bubbles and sparking wine at home (though let it not be this home)

Discussions were cordial but to  be frank this particular statement stuck in my mind:
“I still own half of this house, I pay £80 each month. I pay for Sky TV”
As I told him £80 is nothing in comparison to the mortgage, utility bills, council tax…….In excess of £600. If he didn’t pay the Sky TV bill I would cut it off. Who needs satellite TV (other than Master using the mobile app that comes with hubby’s deal to watch cricket) any way?
Then there is the apartment in France for which he pays nothing. Meanwhile for the past 3 years he has enjoyed 2 holidays a year, for the price of the flights.
I need to get out of this situation and to leave him to it. Really! WTF?

What is His

Weeks and weeks go by in a blur. Work happens, we go out and about; concerts, theatre, films, meals. Then are the times we just chill out and do little. Sex is always part of those times as is the undercurrent of our M/s dynamic. Sometimes though a little more is needed. This week this girl must have known something, or perhaps gave off some specific vibes as she wore her but plug for 5 of the previous 7 nights. There is something very comforting about the feel of that metal inside. The weight of it, the coolness as you push it in, the sense of arousal that is ever present. Waking with it still inside, feeling the need to lie there for a few moments before the day starts imagining the metal being replaced with Master’s own hard organ.

It had been a while since this girl had taken seriously her responsibility to prepare herself in this way. It had also been a while since he had expressed the desire to use her arse. But this week she did and He let her know what was in His mind too.

He started, soon after waking, by stroking on of her pierced nipples, and then taking it into His mouth and stroking the other. Familiar feelings of arousal filled her groins, but she fought to keep them at bay. Until that was He signalled that He wanted her to orgasm, through a count down from 10. Then filled with endorphins she took His cock in her Mouth and concentrated on worshipping Him, while all the time she could hear Him talking about their roles and purpose as Master and slave. This girl’s purpose is to serve her Master and to be ready to be used by Him. That knowledge spurs her on through life, but it is easier to remember your place when you have a mouthful of cock. Pulling away, she spent a while stroking Him, but then He got out of bed and went into the playroom, returning with a glass dildo.

On all fours as instructed she felt the dildo’s coolness as it passed through her anal sphincter and slipped slowly in. As His cock brushed against her clit on its way into her cunt, she could tell just how wet she was. After a bit of repositioning to get the angles right, she could feel His cock deep inside. Her body felt like it was completely full. All the time He was asking questions about her place as His slave and in turn she responded, telling Him that He is her Master, owner of her body, mind and limits.

He withdrew and removed the dildo, then instructing her to lie flat on the bed, He pushed His cock into the place the dildo had been and took the arse that He owns for Himself. Deep inside her, she felt any resistance she may have had melt away. She felt His Dominance and she felt His ownership. She felt complete.

Afterwards as they lay together He finally touched the clit, rubbing her until the orgasm racked her body and she lay almost speechless. It had been a while since she last entered this special slave place, somewhere she will now likely stay for a while.

Tomorrow we are leaving for a few days in The Netherlands, so hopefully more chance for Master to take what is most certainly His.

 

A year on

As new year 2014 dawned I was, without knowing it in the final throws of my relationship with S. Having spent a few days together, one of them on a geocaching trip which left me with mud down to my underwear, I returned home. A few days later he unceremoniously dumped me (for the second time), for someone else.

This was probably the wake up call I needed. There really was no need for me to end my marriage for the kind of relationship I had with him. One with someone who lived 2 hours away and where I did all of the running around. Don’t get me wrong, he treated me well. We had some great times and what is more he taught me a lot about my sexual side. However he also taught me what a D/s relationship isn’t rather than what it is.
Fast forward to new year 2015, and with the benefit of hindsight I can look back on the whole of last year, on the highs and the lows. The relationship Master and I started in January last year in an Alt chatroom and in real life in February was meant to be for play. For me it was an opportunity to explore my submission and to discover much more about what BDSM is about. For Him, it was meant to provide Him with the play dates He wanted and needed until His slave joined Him later in the year. The outcome has been something completely different. What we have is a relationship which while it has the Master / slave dynamic at it’s centre is really much much more.Being with Master has given me the confidence to deal with some difficult issues over the past year. To be clearer with hubby about my intentions, so that he is at last beginning to deal with the realities. Of course, it helps that he has another relationship, one which he maintains is platonic. Whatever the truth about that is, he is spending little time in the family home and seems much less needy than he once was. The other challenge was of course my dad’s illness, his death and the subsequent problems with my mum. Thankfully things are beginning to settle down as she begins to come to terms with her new life and we work out how much support is still needed.

On new year’s day, for the first time in over 35 years, I took someone new home to meet my family. For the whole of last year, I was open that I was seeing someone, but given that I expected the relationship to be as described above, I was in no hurry to introduce Master into that part of my life. My son is different, he (kind of) lives here, and so was bound to bump into Master. What is more, it wasn’t that He was hidden, it was just that my marriage wasn’t properly ended and anyway I expected this relationship to be transient.Taking Master into my family environment was a big thing for both of us. It confirms that this is a relationship which is ongoing and that for me, I am serious about my choices. My family are important to me, and the past year, has made us closer than we perhaps were. For Him, someone who is not worried about that kind of thing for Himself, I think He found it a little nerve wracking. Of course we didn’t need to worry, I didn’t expose Him to them for too long and we emerged unscathed. My brother’s were watching football and their team won, so apparently Master is a new lucky mascot!

As this new year begins, I feel positive about the future. I know there will be plenty more bumps in the road, not least the prospect of my son permanently moving to live with his girlfriend and me leaving my home. But I have to admit, I do feel good right now.

My relationship with my mum

It is 4 weeks today since my dad passed away. In many ways it has been too busy to allow the grieving process to progress in perhaps the way it should. Other than on the day of the funeral, I have not cried. I am not sure that this in itself is a problem. But, I know I am definitely feeling a bit more vulnerable and my moods swing a little more than usual. We all feel the loss of my dad keenly, and no one more so than my mum. But I find myself irritated by her and by her inability to see anyone else’s suffering.

We have always had a difficult relationship. She always put it down to the fact that our birthdays fall within a day of each other and that they are August (Leo) birthdays at that. I have always wondered however if she has just borne a grudge for the fact that she spent her 23rd birthday in labour! There have been times when she and I have struggled to communicate, to even be pleasant with each other. We have never had that close, almost sisters bond others seem to have. My grandmother, her mother, told me she was a selfish woman. Perhaps she is.

There were times during my dad’s illness when she seemed angry that he was the one who was ill. perhaps she always believed she would be first to go. In the weeks before his death she almost seemed to avoid him, my brothers and I discussed and wondered at this. At the end though, she was there every step and it was her who was holding his hand as he passed away.

So this weekend we have had the kind break that in the past she would have loved – just the two of us. A few years ago we would have been found drinking in the local bars, perhaps flirting a little. But we never had that kind of relationship. Now, sadly, not only is she newly bereaved but she is also a shadow of the fun loving person she once was. She struggles to get around (a legacy of a couple of strokes and years of smoking), and she seems unable to enjoy the simplest thing. I don’t think that the latter is as much to do with her bereavement as perhaps a sadness as to who and what she has become.

The trouble is that it is not just me who sees this side to her. I worry that once the rawness of grief subsides people will see her as a miserable (not all that old) woman. That she will be lonely because she struggles to relate to people and snaps. I worry that I will be one of those daughters who visits out of duty, rather than because I want to.

For the most part, this weekend has been fine. She has wanted to do little and mainly this has suited me. I thought she would have talked about dad more, wanted to laugh more about good times. But that hasn’t been the case.

However, yesterday when we were out for a drive in the french countryside she told me about some of the adventures she and dad had when they were ‘lost in France’ and how, often they had found themselves on narrow tracks and once a farmers field. Perhaps dad was with us, because shortly afterwards, following a diversion sign we ended up on a small, bumpy, potholed track which might have led to a farmers field, but luckily ended up back on the main road.

 

Not just a label

I have been troubled over the last few days by a comment on a forum which appeared on my Fetlife page this week. It was written by a ‘friend’ who in fact is someone I have met, though not seen in a while and was on a forum where people can ask questions of bottoms / submissives / slaves. This person identifies as a Dominant, something he has reiterated to me on a number of occasions. In his response (to a question about the difference between a bottom and a submissive), he entered into something of a rant about definitions of types of submissive suggesting that in fact they are just a label for the same thing. The person in question states that all a Dominant and submissive in a relationship need is to define for themselves how that relationship should be and then leave it at that.

Ok, so in a way the last bit is fine. It is after all a personal relationship choice. But what if, over a period of time, a person has discovered that actually what she calls herself has become less of a label, a choice even and more a discovery of who she is.

2 years ago, I had recognised the submissive in me, another had recognised that too. That submission was only really allowed to fully emerge during play, but increasingly I became aware of its presence at other times. It has always been there, but I had not really realised it. Even then, I recognised my submission and my partner’s Dominance as more than a label. At around that time, when I first met the Fetlife ‘friend’, he told me he had identified himself as dominant for many years.

Fast forward to today and I am identifying myself as slave. This isn’t because I decided I needed a new label, wanted to in some way choose something new for myself. I identify myself in that way because I and another have discovered that is who I am. Of course, I am not just any slave, I am the slave of another person – Master. The voyage of discovery I have recently been on, has on one hand been enlightening, a positive experience, but at the same time it has been painful. The realisation that I need to serve another, that I need to put myself in their hands, need to be owned, possessed and put
their needs before my own fulfils needs I didn’t know I had. It is also frightening. Giving up control bit by bit, until you no longer have it to own can make you feel like you are falling head first over a cliff. The need to recognise your own behaviours and modify those that the person who owns and controls you seeks to change can feel odd. It can make you do and say things that you know you will regret. But the knowledge deep inside you that this is what you want, what you actually need drives you on.

I have discovered that my need for submission is not about play, about pain, about sex even, (though all of those play a part), but about the way in which I am compelled to give up control of my whole self to Him and for His part He is compelled to take. I know I exist for His pleasure and He knows I will obey Him, I will follow His rules. This exchange of power is what makes this different, it is that which means it is not a game, that I am His slave, not some kind of label.