Sun bed

I’ve just had a lovely swim in the hotel pool and now, mindful of my still fragile skin, I’m drying off. On my sun bed. That’s it for February Photofest. Round up to come.

February Photofest

Recovering

Well we’ve arrived in Sao Vicente and after a stroll and drink we are recovering from the journey. Hopefully some balcony shots will follow, I saw our neighbour naked earlier!

February Photofest

Wrapped up

If you are reading this on the day of publication – 23rd February 2019 we are on our way to Cape Verde via Lisbon. Maybe we will be in our hotel in Lisbon and maybe I’ll be wrapped up. Or maybe I’ll be naked. 
February Photofest

The touch of our hands

The touch of his hands

I love to feel his hands on my body. When he comes up behind me and takes hold of my waist, my bottom, my breasts in both hands. Or when he strokes my leg while we sit together or even when he takes my hand in his while we watch a film. I love them all.

Best of all though is when he strokes my naked body, the feel of his fingers gently caressing my skin. A gentle, or even hard pinch of the nipple and the way he strokes my clit exclaiming that I am turned on. He feigns surprise and I smile at him in agreement; who would have imagined his touch could excite in this way. I love that he wants to spend time exploring my body, knowing me in a way no man ever has before.

His hands are smooth, he doesn’t do manual work often. This is in contrast to the hands that touched me before. There is nothing wrong with rougher hands, they tell their own story. But I like these, love them in fact. He slides his fingers inside me and then tastes them, he says he loves the scent and taste of me.

I don’t even mind when he touches my feet. I used to be much more ticklish than I am now. Sometimes I sit at one end of the sofa and he at the other, he holds my foot and strokes the instep. I find it arousing.

The touch of my hands

There was a time when he didn’t like to be touched. At the beginning it had been a while for him. But I don’t think that is all it was. While he has always liked to hold hands and to touch me he found me touching him unnerving. He only really liked it if he saw my hands land on him. He loves his nipples squeezed and rubbed when we have sex, that was the start. Now I am able to touch his arms, tummy, legs. Of course his cock was always a different matter he loves that, always did.

I like to touch and stroke him with my fingers, but even now there are times when he prefers I don’t. However he doesn’t complain if I kiss instead. Lips on lips, cock, his neck or nipples. Touch is important and touching him is what I like to do.

I don’t touch myself as much as I once did, particularly in the vulval area. Thus is partly because I have him there to touch me instead. Sometimes he tells me to touch my pussy, instructs me to show him how I make myself come. I enjoy doing this in a way I never imagined I would.

I do stroke my breast and where my other breast once was. This helps to remind me of what I still have but also because I like the feel of it. The softness of my own body, the way it feels different when I touch myself rather than he touches me is always interesting to acknowledge.

Our hands. The way we touch ourselves and each other are an important part of our sexual relationship. Perhaps more important than I previously recognised.

February Photofest

Enjoy life

We visit lovely places and enjoy ourselves as much as we can. We enjoy staying at good hotels and are particularly partial to a room with a large bath. The photo below is from a hotel we stayed in about 3 years ago. Champagne in the bath is one of our guilty pleasures.

February Photofest

Revealing my vulnerability

Radiotherapy took much more out of me than I expected. The journey to the hospital, waiting around and receiving the short treatment was fine. It has been the ensuing 3 weeks that has been difficult. I have been sore, very sore and I have been tired. Surprisingly too my mood has been low. You would imagine that reaching the end of treatment would be a high and it was. So why do I feel so low? Finally this week I admitted to Master, not only am I dead tired and weary but I feel depressed. Not seriously, just a little.

I have rarely in my life admitted these kind of feelings to another and I still feel slightly surprised that I can. Maybe not quite the astonished of the Wicked Wednesday prompt, but surprised all the same. Acknowledging my vulnerability to Master is something of an achievement. Admitting it to friends and family, now that would be something. But actually, I have.

There is strength in not admitting your vulnerability

That was what I believed for many years. I wanted to appear strong, not weak. But then was often surprised people did not see through it. People, including my husband used to tell me how strong I was. While all the time I would be crying inside, unsure which way to turn, what to do. There was always someone I needed to be strong for – my son who was a young child when my husband was cheating, my husband when he was made redundant, my parents when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. The list is almost endless.

The longer you keep that stiff upper lip going the tougher you and others think you are. But in the end something has to give and when I reached outside of my marriage for another man to love me I was searching for something else. It is no surprise that I found men who wanted to use my body, who wanted to restrain and beat me. Luckily I chose wisely and neither of those men turned out to be in any way abusive.

Letting go

Over the past 5 years, Master has helped me reveal my vulnerable side. He has helped peel away the layers of armour with which I had surrounded myself. I always held secrets, things I didn’t want to tell others. Sometimes because I didn’t want to hurt another, or because I wanted to hold something back. Now though, there is nothing to hide. There is nothing I can’t tell. Secrets and lies multiply over time and then when they are told they have a greater effect. By admitting a vulnerability at the time takes away some of the weight of the problem.

It is amazing I didn’t recognise this in me before. When my son was small, around 6 or 7 he worried about so many things. We found a book in the library which, was all about a little boy like him, who learnt how to share worries so they didn’t become a huge burden. It seems a shame I didn’t make the link then, as I would have saved myself a huge amount of heart ache.

Moving forward

My doctors, nurses and others said that the period just after treatment would be difficult. That people often feel vulnerable and they were right. The soreness, even though I knew it might happen, surprised me. As did the extent of the exhaustion. But thank goodness I am with someone who had listened and read about the effects of diagnosis and treatment. Someone who understands and wants to care for me.

This illness has allowed me to be vulnerable and to allow my family to see a different side of me. Some have embraced it and reassured me while others have chosen to ignore it. But it has taught me about myself and my body and about what is important. I hope that in the future I will take the memories from this experience and choose not to try to rebuild that armour. I’m sure Master will have something to say if I try.

Maybe I am a little bit astonished so this piece fits nicely into the Wicked Wednesday prompt of ‘astonish’ as well as the Safeword D/s club prompt of vulnerability.

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