TMI Tuesday: Sexiness

1. What type of clothes make you feel sexy? 
a. a specially selected casual outfit
b. lingerie or silky pajamas
c. elegant, dressy evening clothes
d. anything that leaves me almost naked

I love to wear a low cut evening dress, perhaps with no underwear. Trouble is, to get the cleavage right often a bra is necessary, though this too can of course be sexy. But also being almost naked is very sexy and something I know Master likes a lot. So a harness, sexy lingerie, under bust corset for example. 

2. Which do you prefer?
a. pillow talk
b. sexy texting
c. love notes

Pillow talk. I love lying in bed in the mornings chatting and one thing leading to another – sex usually. The written word is nice, especially early on in a relationship, but right now I’d take pillow talk any day.

3. Which do you do best?
a. pillow talk
b. sexting
c. writing love notes

I’m not massively adventurous and tend to rely on him to take the lead. But I have my moments and could engage in any or all 3. Pillow talk still wins though.

4. You been granted just ONE of the following in your favorite city/place in the world. Which would you choose and why?
a. 24 hours of romance
b. 24 hours of lust (intense, overwhelming sexual desire but not acted upon mixed with enthusiasm for life)
c. 24 hours of sex

24 hours of lust. Romance is fine, but it has to go somewhere other than hearts, flowers and a romantic meal. Sex for 24 hours would be knackering. So, yes lust please. 

5. How do you tap into your sexiness?

A soapy bath, perhaps a glass of something cool and fizzy. Putting on sexy clothes or something Master chooses. Otherwise reading something sexy or kinky. Failing all of that, there are always toys that buzz!

Bonus: Which is better–your digital sex life or your in-the-flesh sex life?

Definitely real life. The digital stuff is good for getting to know people, but can’t replace what happens in real life. 

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The lure of the sea

There is something about the sea that draws me to it. As I stand, on land – perhaps the beach, on a cliff head or perhaps a beautiful promenade and look out towards the sea – I am filled with wonder. I am in awe that when you look towards the horizon the sea carries on even though you can’t see it. That the water can be so many colours from a beautiful clear blue to a dirty brown or black depending on it’s depth, or the weather or location in the world.

When I met S, the fact he lived right by the sea was a definite attraction. Apart from the hot sex, we spend quite a bit of time walking near the sea. I say walk, sometimes it was more of a hike, but we did have some lovely picnics on the shoreline as well as walks across the cliffs.

I have dreamt of wading naked into the sea with a lover. Swimming together, having some fun splashing around then embracing and having sex. But that has never actually happened. For one I was married to a man who barely went in the sea, or at least not further than getting his feet wet. And I haven’t been in the warm sea of the Mediterranean (for example) with a lover.

The cold water around the United Kingdom holds little appeal – we would be clinging together for warmth rather than having sex. For me the sea holds a romantic appeal; walking along the sea front, eating dinner over looking a harbour. I can’t get enough of that and so it is lucky that next weekend we head off to France for a few days. We will be close to the sea, though I doubt there will be an opportunity for naked sex. Just being there will be enough for me. However I do hope that the sea will be calm. It can be less pleasant walking by the sea when it is blowing a gale and that bit of France can be a bit prone to windy weather.

The Beach View of the Sea

Black bra

This afternoon, given the cool and wet weather we decided to sort out some of my clothes. Since I moved in with Master a month ago, the weather has generally been pretty warm and dry. Over the past week there has been a gradual deterioration until today it is dull, cool and very wet. With the change in seasons waiting around the corner there was a need to unpack more clothes. Plus a couple of trips away in the next few weeks mean that I will need to free up some luggage. 

The first bag I unpacked contained underwear. As I sorted through the bras, Master picked out this lovely black number. He was interested to understand when I bought it, and if I had ever worn it, since it is padded. To be honest, it fits him better than me. And to answer his questions, I don’t know and probably never. 

He looks amazing and what’s more he loved wearing it and put his shirt back on, over the top. Next we found a couple of leather bras Master bought me, but which I have rarely worn. Of course I slipped into one of them and also the fetching collar you can see me wearing below.

Me wearing a leather bra and collar with the words bitch.

That’s pretty much all the unpacking we did today, since one thing led to another and we retired to bed. I am not sure that some of the other unpacking we still need to do will be quite so much fun, but you never know.

Sinful Sunday

Looking back at my Smut Marathon experience

Today the round 7 Smut Marathon results were published. We had been out for the day, but as I was the passenger rather than driver, I was able to take a look at the comments and then results. I was pleased to see that my favourite story came top and that others I enjoyed did well. The quality in this round was amazing and voting especially difficult. 

Round 6

In round 6, I was eliminated from the competition, something of a relief. On 15th July, when the results were published I was feeling rather unwell. At that time I didn’t know what was wrong, but for a few days I had been tired and lacked energy. Worse my bladder had developed a mind of its own. When I needed to pee, I really did. 

I was also in the middle of packing up my house to move. Months, if not years of preparation to leave my marital home and move in with Master were coming to a conclusion. The Smut Marathon was really the least of my priorities. In the run up to the deadline, I wasn’t sure I would even be able to write. But in the final few days I wrote something.

In hindsight it is clear that just dumping my thoughts into a document and editing for word count only is not going to be enough. But to be honest, I felt the need to send something, anything. It felt wrong not to submit an entry when others had been eliminated in the previous round. So time for a confession. Until today, I have not looked at my entry, I haven’t read anyone else’s. I didn’t vote and I didn’t comment. when the results were published, I responded to Marie’s email telling me I had been eliminated. But I didn’t look at the scoring or anything else.

I feel embarrassed to admit this today. But in mid July I had no energy for a writing competition. I had a urinary infection, was about to move house and like most of the rest of us in the northern hemisphere was existing in a heat wave. 

Today I have read comments on my entry – #14 Slave’s deepest fantasy. People were in the main kind but clear. My punctuation left something to be desired, I used the same or similar words in close proximity (a pet hate) so clearly I hadn’t edited properly. What is more, mention of the prompt was at best transient. I could have done better.

What I have taken from the competition

Fiction is something I have to work at. It doesn’t come naturally to me, even adapting my own life experiences feels like hard work. I struggle to be creative, to think outside the box. I am in awe of my fellow participants who easily write about crime, vampires and science fiction. In part, this might be due to the fact I don’t read masses of erotic fiction and when I do, it is reasonably mainstream. But I know my writing has improved during the time I was part of the Smut Marathon. I have been encouraged by the wonderful feedback and help from Marie. But also the comments left by the judges and those voting. 

My favourite round was 5 – I wrote a story from the perspective of a sex toy. I will post the story on my blog in the next few days since I am proud of it. Somehow I found my creative juices and allowed my writing to flow. In that round, I received my best votes and also feedback. I will take that forward into next year. Because people, I know I can write, I can edit my work and I can put commas in the right places (most of the time). I also do have a creative side and I can show it. I will take the experiences of this year with me. But also, I will continue to learn from those still in the competition.

The rediscovery of my submission

Master reminded me on Friday night that we have hardly used my birthday present from last year.  For various reasons I have ridden this beautiful toy only once or twice. It’s purchase dates back to my experiences at the Secret Dungeon a few months before for his birthday. I could never have imagined just how much fun you could have fucking a machine. While the one at the secret dungeon was a sybian, more sophisticated, not to mention automated, this one relies on the user to do the work.

The fucking machine

Back to Friday night. I hadn’t realised quite how turned on I was just discussing the fact that we hadn’t used this fucking machine for several months. But by the time I had put the dildo in place, applied the condom and slid onboard I was pretty aroused. The dildo slid easily in and out of my  wet cunt as I moved backwards and forwards. As Master stood over me, playing with my nipples, sucking me and pinching I knew an orgasm wasn’t far away. 

He stroked my clit and counted down and I came to his demand. Sliding a finger into may arse, he demanded another and more. “Whose slut are you?” 

“This girl is Master’s slut”

The magic words came easily to my mouth. After months of me and I suddenly it was about ‘this girl’ about ‘His pleasing bitch’, ‘slave’. He became Lord and Master, the words falling from easily my tongue During sex I never have problems remembering who I am, of saying what is expected, but somehow this was different. It was as if for months ‘this girl’ had been sitting outside of my body, watching as I went about my crazy life. All at once she crashed into Julie and a submissive was awoken. All of a sudden I was telling Master that more control was needed, that I was proud to be his slave and wanted more of this. More sex, more orgasms, more time on the sex machine. But also rules. More, much more time remembering I am a slave. His slave.

This girl going forward

Today, sober (we had drunk quite a bit of wine) but also not high on the endorphins of recent orgasms I have had time to reflect. After 4 years as Master’s slave it feels as if I am starting from scratch. Learning again what it means to be his property, not just in bed or on a fucking machine, but in everything. 

The machine seems a good leveller. I defy anyone to strip naked, sit on the dildo and begin to rock while their Dominant watches and not feel the need to concentrate. I remember looking up at him as he stood naked in front of me, stroking his cock. I remember him asking me over and over again to repeat who I am, who he is. I remember the feeling of submission sweeping over me and I remember asking for the magic wand. For a different kind of orgasm. 

Life is not all about sex and fucking machines. It isn’t all about Dominance and submission but in this relationship those things are important. Very likely increasingly so. For us, this toy may enable us to get back to being the people we need to be and on a daily basis. Please.

Journey’s end?

This journey

Yesterday I had some time to sit and think about my blog. About the journey I began over 6 years ago when I started writing. I pondered whether that path had reached its conclusion. At the beginning I had no idea where I was going, if anywhere. All I knew was that I needed something different in my life. Something more than I had then. I understood this was to be a journey and thought I would know when I had arrived.

The two relationships that were in place back then are history. Extracting myself from my marriage of 30+ years has proved harder than I imagined. That journey has been painful and emotionally draining. But he is now happily living in what was our home with his (not so) new partner. Recently I attended his mum’s funeral and saw them together. It was clear that they have a strong relationship, something he denied to me for a long time.

Last night I mentioned to Master that I wasn’t sure about continuing this blog, because my journey is complete. But is that true? For him, my moving in to his home as his 24/7 slave has greater meaning than I understood.

Being his Slave

Over the past few months I had almost forgotten about that element of our relationship. Of course, I wear my collar and cuff and my piercings are a constant physical reminder. Our sex life is always a reminder of the M/s nature of our relationship. But during the busy and very hot days of June and July we didn’t have loads of sex. Preparations to move meant we spent lots of time at my place, but we were busy and everything we did was about working towards the move.

The first week or two were a period of adjustment but gradually we are settling into something of a routine. Only now though am I able to see the subtle changes that are coming to be. Even as I considered whether I wanted to write my blog any more, even as I uttered the words about the journey, I knew.

Over the past couple of years being Master’s slave has in the main been about what we do in the bedroom or play room. Not about our every day life. I am, as he often tells me an unruly slave. Rebellious, open with my thoughts and feelings, often pushing back against any attempt to control me. That’s easy when you have your own home and don’t live together. Also when you are financially secure and don’t need to rely on another.

Now though things will be different and what I have discovered is that he is excited by this. He loves the fact I am here with him, he wants to have more control over me. Also that I will be more financially dependent on him (though I have my own money and may yet get another job). He enjoys taking care of me, cooking and so forth. I also want to take care of him, and find my submissive self reawakening.

We had some very hot sex last night and again this morning. It is often during those moments of heightened arousal and passion that the truth is spoken. I clearly saw in myself, particularly last night a need I had forgotten existed. Over the coming weeks I fully expect to need to articulate this much more. What better place to do so than here on my blog.

The end of the journey? I don’t think so.

What you see is what you get

This week, Food For Thought Friday has asked about anonymity online;  to what extent do we hide (or indeed show) who we really are.

As those who know me in real life, or have met me at some event will know, I am reasonably open and out there. The person I write about is completely me, since fiction is not really my bag. Stories are often based on me, or my fantasies. Which is probably why they lack excitement and drama.

Julie really is my name, though MPB isn’t. Well it is to one person and he doesn’t need to read anything to know who I am. I wasn’t creative enough to develop my own clever pseudonym and anyway wasn’t all that troubled about people knowing my name is Julie. Of course there are a lot of people, mainly of a similar age with my name and so I can remain relatively anonymous. If you knew my surname, that would be different, I am the only one of me on Facebook and I have never met another. There is no need for anyone on my blog or Twitter to know my surname, unless I am buying something from them.  For the Smut Marathon I gave myself the name Jones, which goes reasonably well with Julie.

As I grow older, and as my career comes to something of a close, I am less worried about discovery as a sex and kink blogger. No one is going to sack me now. However I do have people to protect, those who wouldn’t want to know and definitely wouldn’t understand. So, best I retain that final bit of anonymity. After all, it will also serve as protection to me, from myself.

One of the questions asked as part of this was: is your anonymous/pseudonymous online self a secret or more a form of protective “camouflage”?

The answer is probably the latter.  I show much of myself on my blog (in words and pictures) and am open about who I am to those who meet me. But still I wish to retain something of a screen. Yes camouflage.

What the camera sees

I loved the little cabin room that we stayed in near Lake Bled. It provided us with lots of photo opportunities, most of which have now been shared.

This image though was a selfie, that I took of myself. Afterwards I noticed that I also captured Master in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

A great Sinful Sunday memory that hopefully fits this prompt for this month.

Sinful Sunday