This girl – speaking in the third person

It was a way of getting me to settle into my new role, as His submissive. Very soon after we got together, Master asked me to use the third person when referring to myself. At first I thought he was joking. But, no he wasn’t. He suggested I use one of the following: this one or this girl. I wrote last year about being called a girl at the age of 50 something and how strange that felt. This girl was a step on from that, but it is what I chose.

For a time on this blog I wrote in the third person. I did it to get used to referring to myself in that way. I stopped because not every post lends itself to being written in the third person. Plus it wasn’t an expectation. There are plenty of times, face to face though when I refer to myself as this girl. He pretty much always calls me girl or this girl.

Where does it come from?

As far as I can see, third person speak in this context comes from the Gorean Lifestyle. Within this culture, the Master has total control over the slave, who in turn has given herself (and it is usually a her) to be owned property. An object to be used as the Master sees fit. The slave girl has no rights, not even to her own name. At the same time the Master cherishes his slave and trains and nurtures her natural femaleness, so she emerges into her true slave.

There is nothing Gorean about our relationship or lifestyle. But Master’s desires for a slave he can own and possess appear rooted in these ideals. At the beginning of the relationship, giving up my given name when with him did help me to let go of external constraints to submission.

How speaking in the third person influenced the development of our relationship

On returning from a short break away together when for several days I had referred to myself as this girl, I wrote.

The difference between Julie, the career woman, mother, daughter and estranged wife and joolz the submissive was greater than it has ever been. Ever!

31st March 2015.

I had learned to let go. To trust another person to take full control of me. One by one he took decision making from me and somehow peeled away the layers I had built up over the years. It is strange to look back now on the person I was, the one who always had to be in charge and control. Referring to him as Sir and myself as this girl was a large part of that process. Because every time you open your mouth to say something, you have to consider your words very carefully. Every time you do something you think about whether you are doing something that is for his pleasure. That was the start of my journey to becoming his slave.

This girl now

She still exists, though it is not overtly evident. Not all of the time anyway. Most days I do consider my slave self. Think of this girl and reflect. I tend to hold my collar when doing it. We don’t have rituals or rules as such. Everything is embedded. I generally know how to behave and what he expects of me. In my head I often think of myself not as Julie but this girl.

To him, that is exactly who I am. He only calls me by my given name when referring to me to others.

But the third person speech is only heard in the bedroom or during play. It naturally flows from my tongue during those times. At the same time it invigorates him and shows him where the power lies in our dynamic.

Forced to orgasm

So much is written about denial. Not being allowed to come is a major part of many D/s dynamics. The need that exists within in the person being denied, and being edged and then denied again. Being forced to orgasm several or even many times is quite something too. Both are about power and control. Of one person over another. This is often what lies at the heart of a Dominance and submission dynamic.

Restrained

Imagine you are that woman secured to the St Andrew’s cross. The leather cuffs are each lined with soft fabric, and these encase your wrists and ankles. You are attached to the cross by hooks that have been clipped onto the cuffs at each point. Your nipples have been clamped, as has your clitoris. The three are joined by a chain that jangles across your tummy. You have a butt plug in your arse and a dildo inserted into your cunt.

Then imagine you don’t actually know where your tormentor is or how long you have been secured like this. You are blindfolded and have a raunchy madonna track emanating from headphones.

Your senses are confused. On the one hand you are anxious, after all you don’t know what is coming next. But damn it, you are horny. Especially when the dildo starts to move, up and down, in and out of your wet cunt. The sense of social isolation feels weird, you call out, but no one speaks. Instead the music changes, it’s something slower, more sensual. Hold, by Vera. How apt you think. You let the music wrap itself around you after all this is your lover now. The rhythm of the dildo continues, tracing a steady path.

Tortured

Suddenly it starts. The unmistakable sound of the wand. Buzzing loudly, just detectable over the music. He is there now, in front of you and even though you can’t see him, or feel him yet. You know it.

At first this is just the feeling you need. Direct stimulation on your clitoris that you have needed all along. The pressure from your full vagina and arse has been building and now you feel release just around the corner. You press your cunt onto the bulb of the wand. All the time the dildo slides in and out, but now it feels less tight, more wet. That’s because of the fluid you are producing from inside course. The orgasm rises from deep inside and knowing you’ve agreed that you don’t need to ask for permission that need fills every space. Crying out to the unseen man, “Thank you Sir” you say. He moves the wand away and you wait to be released from your restraints.

But, that isn’t what this sadist is planning. Far from it.

He begins to stroke you. Neck, shoulders, arms, tummy and then around the shaved mound. Finally he strokes your swollen clit and at the same time releases one of the nipple clamps and then sucks hard, giving some warmth and relief. “Come” He says and you just do. Its a surprise because it isn’t what you expected to happen.

Forced to orgasm multiple times

He removes the other two clamps and caresses his property gently then more roughly. Biting your nipples one after the other, while rubbing your sore clit.

The buzzing starts again, just as the music changes. Senses are now at the very edge of pleasure and pain. Again your clit responds, even though you would rather it didn’t. You know your body wants and needs this while at the same time you wish you could run away. The sadist takes 3 more orgasms from that sensitive and painful body, before the dildo stops moving. Gradually and gently he removes the restraints and then carries you over to the nearby bed.

Without the blindfold you can now look him in the eye. He is grinning as he crouches over you, legs astride, your still twitching body. You kiss deeply and passionately.

“My slut” he says. “My wanton beautiful slut” I expect you’ve had enough for now, that you have no need for cock. Your mind screams to over rule your sore and tired body. “Please Sir, yes I do. I need your cock inside my slutty body” He moves your hand to feel his dick, already oozing with pre-cum. Slowly he pushes inside you and begins to thrust in and out. Suddenly you don’t feel as if you have orgasmed at all today. The pressure begins to build, this time around the safety of your owner, the man with the power and control. Once again you are forced to orgasm. You have no control.

Exhibited for his pleasure

E

The harness served to frame my upper body. Under my arms and around my tits, before fastening at the back. My nipples tingled, held tightly within bejewelled shields stood hard and proud. The collar, attached to the harness was wide, and quite tight. This meant I could only look ahead of me, my field of vision therefore was limited.

It was difficult to know how long ago Master left me in this position, by the main door. My legs spread wide, hands behind my back, hard nipples tingling under pressure. Quite a few people had already walked past. Some had looked me in the eye, nodding in greeting. I of course had kept my face and eyes impassive, as instructed. I couldn’t deny feeling both apprehensive and excited about tonight’s proceedings. The culmination of my training as Master’s slave.

My role during the first part of proceedings was to be an exhibit.

An object to be looked at and admired. Master planned to have people to touch and arouse me. To play with me a little and perhaps use me. This both scared and excited me.

“Most people are here now” Master suddenly appeared in front of me. “Shall we go?” He held up a leather leach and clipped it to the ring at the front of her collar. I carefully moved my feet so that I would be able to walk and then concentrated on putting one heeled foot in front of the other and followed, hands still behind my back.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still warm outside. The day had been sunny and even though it was getting dark, there was a humidity to the evening. In any case, rather than being cold as you’d expect when naked, I felt hot, aroused. It was almost as if heat emanated from my cunt and nipples.

Wearing a harness

Play thing

Master led me towards someone I recognised, a friend from our local club. “Doesn’t she look quite the exhibit” Giles smiled in appreciation. I felt myself blush a little “May I?” he asked. Master nodded and Giles looked me in the eye as he ran a finger around the front of the harness. “These are lovely” my nipples tingled as he touched the shield and squeezed a nipple.

“What would you like to do with her? ” Master asked his friend with a grin. Giles was running his fingers down my tummy his eyes on my shaved cunt. “Perhaps a little flogging?” Master led me to a bench that had been set up outside and I leaned over it. “Good girl” he whispered to me.

One by one, Master’s friends, male and female were offered use of me. Everyone else either mingled, played in their own couples or groups or stopped to watch. Over the course of the next while, maybe an hour I was watched, played with and generally used. Flogged and caned. Poked with toys and fingers. I sucked several cocks and was licked almost dry. I kneeled, and crawled for the pleasure of others. Then finally Master fucked me in full view of everyone.

At last, sore and tired I was released from the collar and harness and taken away by my fellow submissives.

I took off my shoes and went with them to prepare for the ceremony.

My permanent collaring. Master had told me that once he put the steel collar around my neck I would be his and his alone. Of course, that was the case already, but in future others would not be allowed to touch me.

My friends helped me shower and moisturise, then apply my makeup. At last they dressed me in the simple white dress I had chosen for the occasion. Low cut at the front, the dress gathered under my braless tits. The skirt flowed dreamily down to my bare feet. I was naked underneath but the garment made me look somewhat chaste. Holding the hands of Beth and Sam my two best girl friends we walked back into the garden where everyone waited.

As the three of us emerged silence fell on the large group and a pathway formed as everyone allowed us to walk through the throng. Master walked towards us and held out his hand. I took it and walked happily towards my fate. Slave to Master. A life long commitment.

The need for dominance

I am walking through the woods with my dress pulled up. I'm not wearing underwear

I thought I liked to be in charge. To have the final say, to get my own way. Well I do, but only up to a point. As an older sister I was bossy, and sometimes a bit domineering. So much so that one of my brothers bought me a post card of Adolf Hitler from a museum gift ship once. My husband was indecisive, still is of course. I made decisions because otherwise none would have been made.

When I met S, it was a relief to be given instructions, to have decision making taken from my hands. When we grew apart there were a number of things that began to grate on me. His dominance wasn’t one of them.

It’s the same with Master. It isn’t that he tells me what to do or exerts obvious control over me. But the signs are always there, often below the surface. From the first day we met, I have asked Master’s advice on things I probably would have done previously. With anyone else, save, perhaps my dad. Also I tell him things, I trust him like I have no other. Like telling him right from the beginning about my blog.

Master believes he gained a lot of useful information by having read every post I had ever written. Some of them several times. My blog has told him where my strengths and insecurities lie. Given him ideas of ways to except his power over me and give us both amazing experiences. Sometimes I have written things that I have been unable to articulate in words. This was especially useful before we lived together.

Dominance in the bedroom is always something I craved. But what I failed to recognise was my need for it in other areas. It is only now, when I look back that I can see this to be true. I like to come up with ideas of things to do and also to be consulted. But I don’t always want to be the one to have to make them happen. Or else to have to lead on making them do so. Over the years I grew weary of always being the one to make plans, or booking holidays or trips. Worse, being the one to take the brunt of stuff that went wrong.

I’m sure if others knew the extent to which I defer to Master’s decisions they would be surprised. I know I’m bratty, ‘unruly’ difficult to manage, but I am sure that is part of the appeal. For me, it is his steady unwavering control. That I feel compelled to consult even though not told to do so.

The collar is important. My commitment to him. The fact I have agreed, willingly to be his slave, his property. It serves as a constant reminder of who and what I am. Of him as my dominant, the man who put it around my neck and locked it in place. That I have a key, is irrelevant. I don’t tend to remove it without discussion. Though once or twice it has been removed in anger, it has always been put back on within hours.

Sometimes I fight against the dominance I know I need. That he knows I need. Of course, later in the series I’ll talk about my submission.

Other Ds – D/s as you would expect, day out (love a day out and wish we could have them now!) and death. Those posts relate manly to my dad who died in 2015. Lastly dungeon reviews, which I hope to continue to build on.

She wore a butt plug

Day 2 of Blogging A-Z 2020 and today’s word is Butt Plug. I’ve written many times about wearing a plug, though only ticked it as a category 8 times. Maybe because it’s often linked with anal sex. Anyway, it’s been too long since I wrote any fiction, something I regret. So here goes.

She knew no one could see it

But that didn’t make it any easier to manage. The possibility for humiliation if anyone discovered was huge. Master had introduced this rule last week. Each morning after showering and other toilet needs she bent over while he inserted the butt plug of his choice. This was to be worn at least until lunchtime and preferably until she returned home in the evening. A rule introduced because she had become so slack at wearing it without inspection. It wasn’t that she wanted to break rules, its just that life got in the way. This ritual was to ensure that she stopped forgetting. And remembered that she was His slave. To put her firmly in her place.

Her job as personal assistant to a company director involved moving around the office a lot. She was responsible for ensuring the smooth running of the office, organising and setting up meetings and chasing after contractors. Dashing about, bending over to check something, stretching to reach something else. All part of daily life and made all the more challenging when wearing a business suit, no panties and a butt plug.

Worse though was the effect the plug had on her cunt. All day she could feel her clit throbbing. And all day she longed for relief. To feel Master’s cock inside her. Or, to have him tell her to make herself come. But this was the office and she had a responsible job.

Today’s plug was a medium sized Njoy.

The bulb had stretched her anal sphincter somewhat as it was inserted and taken a moment or two to slide into place. Now, as she sat at her desk, lowering herself carefully onto her chair, she could feel the metal ring between her buttocks. Back straight she concentrated on her posture reaching for the phone as it rang. Midday, she knew who this would be. You see, there is more to this story.

“Come in to my office slut” The voice at the other end instructed.

“Yes Sir” She replied meekly. Then standing carefully she walked quickly across the office taking care not to arouse any suspicion. But then, this was all part of daily life, and no one noticed. David was great to work for. Firm but fair, generous and understanding. But he was also Master’s best friend. The person checking she was complying with the rules. Knocking on his office door she quickly entered and flicked the sign from enter to engaged before awaiting further instructions.

“Good girl” He said, looking up.

Categories beginning with B

I wrote about butt plugs last year, but I make no excuse for doing so again. Not surprisingly the category beginning with B with the most posts is BDSM. However that is a ‘super parent’ as it were with many other subcategories underneath. There’s also blogging, body image and breast cancer which feature quite frequently (for obvious reasons). Also blow job, bondage and beaver. Yes, I once categorised a post beaver. He is a little furry friend all the way from Oregon.

Hoxton Dungeon, a review

I hadn’t intended to combine the review of our visit to the Hoxton Dungeon with my Sinful Sunday post for the week. But given the events of this week and my lack of posts, plus the photographic evidence in hand, I thought: why not? Other dungeon related posts can be found here.

Some background to the decision to stay at the Hoxton Dungeon

For the past couple of years we have been sensible enough to stay in London on the Sunday night after Eroticon. We usually stay a little away from Camden because it suits us for a couple of reasons. First we like to have our own space and secondly we like the hotel we tend to stay in. On Monday, we were due to attend (and did) a concert. Master suggested we stay the night closer to that venue. I imagined a hotel close by. Instead Master decided we should stay in a dungeon further away. But who am I to argue. Plus, it turned out to be a fabulous idea.

The place

Hoxton is an up and coming area of North London, though this part of the area is not without its edginess. The dungeon is contained within a ground floor flat on an ex council estate. There is parking, along with the relevant permits if needed. We were using public transport, and the nearest station (Old Street) is about 15 minutes walk away. There are plenty of bars / café’s and places to get food around the area.

The flat is spacious, with two dungeon rooms, a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Plus that particular room contains a bath (more of that later).

The play rooms are well laid out with more equipment than it is possible to use during an overnight stay. All the more so because, although Eroticon hadn’t actually happened, we were still tired. It had as usual been a pretty full on weekend with insufficient sleep.

Equipment

The Hoxton Dungeon is owned by Madame Caramel who is a mentor and lifestyle educator, so there is a definite leaning towards Female dominance, so the equipment available reflects that. That’s not to say there isn’t more than enough to satisfy Male Dom and whatever submissive play.

My photos above, are a little moody, so check out the more professional ones on the dungeon website.

Playtime

As is often the case after a busy day / weekend I struggled to get into the right mind space. But once tied in place and blindfolded I relaxed into the situation.

I am secured to a bench. There are some lovely red marks on my right buttock and a bruise on my left.

Afterwards

The venue is kitted out with a full kitchen, and large fridge freezer. Drinks are supplied, though the fizz is low alcohol, which might be just as well. We had eaten a good lunch and took snacks with us so we didn’t need to go out. Water is supplied, though we thought ahead and took our own as we like sparkling. The bathroom is spacious and has a large bath with shower. We took advantage and relaxed post spanking in the bath. The bed was extremely comfortable.

The flat is part of a block and you can hear the neighbours moving about so care is needed to restrict noise. However that didn’t cause us a problem. Neighbours didn’t keep us awake either, since we were quite exhausted.

In conclusion

We needed more time. The Hoxton Dungeon isn’t a place to go when you are already weary from a busy weekend. But we still managed to fit in a fun play session. I’d love to go back for longer and be able to make better use of the amazing facilities.

Fucked on a picnic table

This story is loosely based on fact. I really was fucked on a picnic table in the woods while wearing a leather collar and leash. But the rest of it is part of my fantasy of what might have happened that day. Content warning: Consent Non-consent (CNC), Humiliation.

I am kneeling on the seat of a picnic table. My dress is pulled up to my waist and I am exposing my bottom.
A throwback picture not linked to the original event

A story of being fucked on a picnic table

If ever you go into the woods and stumble across a picnic table, do you wonder who was there before you? What might have happened here? And before you sit down and unwrap the sandwiches you might want to get out the wet wipes, because maybe the last people here fucked on that picnic table.

We met in the car park. As instructed I was wearing a summer dress, sensible shoes and nothing else. Although it was only around 10am the sun was high in the sky and it was warm. In those days I was yet to acquire a car with air conditioning, the open windows did nothing to cool my throbbing cunt. Anticipation rather than heat was at work here. You see, I had no idea what was in store for me. The man I was meeting was very keen on fantasy games and I was his willing victim.

I travelled light, apart from the lack of clothing I only carried a small bag, containing my purse and other essentials. Stuff you don’t really need in the woods (my phone maybe, but signals were poor). He carried a largish rucksack, containing lunch and who knew what else. Not me at that point anyway. He took my bag and put it inside his.

Of course he felt me up in the car park, in front of anyone who happened by, though I can’t remember if any one did. We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks and we had the hots for each other. I might have fucked there and then if he had requested it. He put a leather collar around my neck and attached a leash, there in the middle of the car park. Then he walked me into the dense woodland and once inside, blindfolded me.

Completely dependent on him I followed his instructions about where to step. Periodically the leash would pull tight and I’d almost stumble. But as instructed I was silent. Concentrating on the sounds and smells of the forest. I had no idea if others were around us and was both humiliated and excited at this sign of my submission. I lingered on the edge of orgasm, made worse as my cunt leaked fluid that caused my thighs to slide together as I walked. I momentarily wondered if I would be permitted an orgasm today.

Suddenly he told me to drop to my knees, as I did so the collar pulled tight against my neck. I assumed the required pose, my knees wide, hands resting loosely on them. I heard some rustling and knew what was in store. Obediently I opened my mouth to take the cock that was thrust into it. I savoured the saltiness of his pre-cum and the very size of what filled my mouth.

“Good cunt” he groaned at me. I concentrated on sucking, my mouth wide and drool already running down my chin. His fingers reached inside my summer dress and pinched my left nipple. “take me girl, take this cock” He said as I felt a sharp pain, a clamp now pinched my breast. I groaned around the huge dick filling my mouth and tensed as pain throbbed through both breasts. For a while I was lost giving him the pleasure he demanded.

He pulled away and pulled me to my feet. His fingers groping for my clit, large and engorged, before pushing two into my dripping cunt. “you are such a wanton slut aren’t you” he asked. I nodded, because it was true. I was and am. “what do you want slut?” he asked. “speak”.

“Your cock Sir”

“Come” he gently pulled on the leash and I followed. My knees knocked into something hard and putting my hands out I felt wood. I ran my hands over the grain. “It’s a picnic table” I could hear him grinning. “We can have lunch here, but first, I’m going to fuck you on it.

Sir Helped me kneel on the seat and then to lean over it. He secured rope around my wrists and tied me to the table. I was now unable to move, though had no desire to do so. I felt his cock pushing into my soaking cunt as I lay secured to the table top. My knees were grazed a little by the wood. My nipples, with the clamps still attached sending ripples of pain through my body. He took his pleasure from me. A wanton slut, blindfolded and collared. Unaware that behind her there were 3 men watching and wanking.

Because as well as taking care about the cleanliness of a picnic table, you should also beware of mentioning your fantasies. Such as the one about being fucked in the woods while others watch.

To be continued!

Co-dependent

I never thought I’d want to be dependent on another person. When my marriage was ending I was adamant I wanted to be independent and to live alone if that was required. I like my own space and at the time I had a well paid job and was exploring what being single could mean. I was 16 when I started going out with my ex, so I’ve never been single. That’s still true in a way. But this relationship is different from that one.

Master first asked me to live with him at the end of a very boozy evening in Amsterdam. It was 2014 and he had just finished with his other slave. Our hotel had an honesty bar and we sat alone there drinking dutch gin, well I did. When he asked if I’d live with him, I laughed and said no. He had to agree it was a mad idea.

But actually it wasn’t such a stupid plan, it just took a while to happen. Our dependence on each other took a while and changes were subtle. Giving up control of orgasms and my body were nothing in comparison to depending on each other emotionally. And, this isn’t a one way road. He has emotional needs that I try to satisfy, to listen to his concerns.

I also bear the brunt of his rants about the ineffectiveness of the bank of England, industry in general, government, the EU. I’m also a sounding board for his knowledge on music, film and literature. If I wasn’t there he’d just be living in his head, so it’s a worthy thing. Plus I learn stuff without having to do the hard work. I also cook and am better at it than him, though he has an amazing palate and advises on flavour He makes a mean salad dressing and is king of what herb or spice goes with what.

Since giving up work and moving in with Master the dependency ratio has swung a little. This is his property, though our home. I have an income from my work pension, but it isn’t enough to support myself completely. He is managing my savings and making a good job of it. Right now, I could walk away with a reasonable sum of money, but I’d probably need to go back to work soon after. I have no plans to do so, but I do recognise my dependence on him financially. Or maybe it is that we are co-dependent because we live cheaper as two than we did living separately.

For him, my being dependent on him feeds into his desire for power and control. I have no problem with this and have willingly given him elements of me and my body to own. There is no abuse here so I am perfectly prepared to let him have the control he so desires.

It’s easy to see how power exchange could result in an unhealthy co-dependency. That’s why consent is so important – safe, sane consensual. Plus the importance of communication, checking in with each other.

As I said at the beginning, I never expected this life. But I am happy to have it. To be with the man I love. Yes, I’m dependent on him, but he is on me. This Master / slave thing is no one way street. We co-exist and are co-dependent. Hopefully we can grow old together this way.

Chilling

For the first throw back Thursday of this years February Photofest, this photo of Master chilling out. This was taken at Stoxx, which sadly no longer seems to be available. As well as showing him relaxing, it gives an idea of some of the equipment. We can only hope the owners rent it out again sometime. I’d love to stay there again!

I am, because we are

It is a coincidence that as I walked home yesterday I was thinking about this topic. Wondering about who I am now as we enter the 7th year of our life together. Wondering whether I am worthy as his submissive and partner. I came to the conclusion that we are where we are because of who we are, together. So, some background.

Last weekend was the 6th anniversary of the day we met in person. This year we celebrated by going out for dinner. We often eat out, but usually it’s because we are doing something away from home and dinner out is easier. This was a meal out for itself.

Today I received notice that the first part of my divorce, the decree nisi will be heard in court in March. 6 weeks and one day later I will be divorced. My entire blog catalogues my own journey to this point. In many ways I am the person I was at the beginning, but of course events have changed me. Plus taking on the role of slave and starting a new long term relationship has added to that.

The person I was

Confused, probably sums it up. As I approached my 50th birthday I knew change was needed. My life wasn’t going as it should and I wanted something different. Trouble was I didn’t know what that different was or how to go about getting it. I consider my self lucky that the two men I met along the way helped guide me towards discovering what that might be. The fall out from my ex was hard to bear. Last week while reading some old posts from 2013 to link to my privacy post I came across some very disturbing writing.

My husband was playing me. I know that now since at the time he was already in another relationship (still unknown to me). But meanwhile he manipulated me and made me feel I was beyond dreadful for cheating on him. He made me sleep deprived by turning up early in the morning and then he snooped through my emails and was generally horrible. All the time I cooked meals for him if he decided to be home. Made sandwiches and did his washing. YES, I actually did those things. I was a complete doormat. I now know I should have kicked him out and changed the locks. But that’s with the benefit of hindsight.

The person I am

From the beginning of my relationship with Master things changed. He listened to me and helped me work out how to navigate the way ahead. I didn’t always to what he suggested to begin with. But usually there was some method in his ideas. His own other relationship was messy and so we worked through those times together. Sometimes that meant just being there for each other. I know there were times when he felt less dominant for it, but this was a human need not about power exchange dynamics. Not many months after we met my father became terminally ill and died. The support Master provided during that time set the scene for the kind of partner he would be.

Running parallel to all of those more intimate and personal elements of our relationship is the kink. Power, Dominance, submission, kinky sex and play. Over the years we have learned what is our norm. The things that feel safe and right. But we have also pushed each other to try new things.

For a very long time we played in the privacy of our own home and occasionally in a privately hired dungeon. It was also a while before we ventured to Munches and in the end it was through talking to people at those events that drew us to play events. Then recently we started meeting up with some people we met at one of those. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that often I’d prefer to stay at home. Well until I’m there that is. But that is also true of attending vanilla events even with friends.

Am I submissive enough? Is he dominant enough?

These were my thoughts as I listened to some podcasts while travelling yesterday (details below). My idea of submission at the beginning of this journey was based on erotica and other blogs. Training plans for submissives, men with dungeons in their basements, kneeling naked etc. It isn’t like that. For obvious reasons. But when Master tells me I’ve been bratty, I do stop and think. When he tells me to kneel and suck his cock I do it. When he asks me if I’ve achieved the things in my planner, I do reflect. And when he tells me his is proud of the person I glow with pride.

He has helped me become the slave he wants, but also I have helped him to become the dominant I need. Our life together is the one we have made together and it isn’t like anyone else’s I’m sure. But it occurs to me that we are who we are and I am the person I am because of us.

At some point soon, I am going to draw a line on some of the past. We share enough history on this blog not to need to go back further. The posts will remain but they will be archived from view. They are not ones that are retweeted anyway. Time to move on.

Thoughts generated from the following podcasts