Confessions of an unruly slave

I often worry that I am just not slave material. That I am too wilful and yes, unruly. You see I am just not like the slaves you read about in BDSM fiction. You know the ones, compliant and respectful. They spend their lives kneeling or else serving their Master in other subservient ways, their eyes downcast, demeanour calm.

Of course, Master never asked me to behave that way, so I guess I am not really breaking any rules there. But I am better at breaking the rules I have than sticking to them. I am better at grumbling than just saying ‘yes Master’.

The trouble for me is that real life gets in the way of any fantasy I have about slave behaviour. Plus my head struggles to empty when my mind could do with focusing on his cock for example. Instead it is full of appointments, my mother and whether this would make a good blog post.

Master’s favourite name for me, after ‘this girl’ or MPB is unruly. He is right, I am. I have always argued with authority, challenged it and fought it. My natural instinct with Master is no different. The question is: does it matter?

We have had a set of rules for a long time, we agreed them in 2014. They were applicable at the time and a number still are today. To begin with I was conscientious and followed them, even if Master wasn’t present. But there were no consequences as such if they weren’t followed. Gradually over time and also circumstances, they slipped by the wayside. Punishment has never been a thing for us and certainly spanking or impact play, is reserved for play.

For a while now we have talked about reviewing and reaffirming the rules from 2014 and that is what we are in the process of doing. These will be much more about overall and guiding principles of our Master / slave relationship than specific actions. Though there are one or two of those. They are designed to make me think much more about the things I do and say, day to day. But I think the key issue we need to address is whether there will be consequences.

Master calls me unruly and sometimes I know I am. Perhaps now is the time for me to be a little less so.

Taking a risk

For most of my life I was decidedly risk averse. I looked for certainty and security, but I was frightened that if I took the wrong decision it would backfire and terrible things would happen. I was moribund by fear. Lately I have discovered that if you never take a risk then life may well pass you by. Opportunities will fall in the lap of others and you will be left wondering; What if?

I was just 21 when I married my childhood sweetheart. It was what was expected since we had already been together for 5 years. I had an inkling that this wasn’t going to be the best choice, but how do you get out of such a thing when everyone is in full preparation mode. I’m not saying we weren’t happy, because we were, for a while. But in hindsight it set me up for what was to come.

We waited to have children firstly because we were young and I was starting my nursing career. But mainly we wanted to be more financially stable. We only had one child because the level of financial stability required never actually happened. Plus, I didn’t trust my husband by then since he had already had an affair.

Speaking of which, I didn’t throw him out when he had the affair since I was frightened of being alone. Worried about what others would think or say.

I stayed in jobs longer than I should. While ambitious, staying in a safe job appealed more than applying for something that I might fail at.

I look back and wonder why I behaved as I did. Why it was I never took a risk, until the day I did.

Taking that first risk was a catalyst

In 2012 I decided to have sex with a man who wasn’t my husband. Having found someone online that I was attracted to, I went off and had sex with him. Actually there had been a few occasions before that. I had met up with a couple of men I’d met online for lunches, days out and a bit of a snog and grope. But when I went off to meet S in south London on that day in 2012, I went with the intention of having sex. He was the second man I had had PIV sex with in my life. He was also the first man I had anal with and the first man I had knelt before.

Once I had taken that first risk there was little to stop me. I embraced new experiences and decided to begin to put myself before the needs of others. That’s not to say I completely disregarded them, far from it. But it set me on the journey to discover what I was missing in life and how to make the changes I knew I needed.

It has taken 7 years but the end result is here and now. In many ways, again risk free. But at least I know what I want, what I need and what I can have from life. That is something of a difference.

Sex education

This is a catch up post for the Erotic Journal Challenge. Meme overload and a busy social life has meant I’ve missed a few posts. Sex education is as important as any other topic of education, but it is also vast and complex. What’s more it isn’t something that can just be learnt at school and it isn’t something that you learn once and then move on. Sex education is part of life long learning.

When I was a child

I don’t think my parents really ever spoke to me about sex in any constructive way. It was something that was for adults and they didn’t really talk to us about it. I think it was assumed we’d learn it at school.

Sex education in school was mainly instructional. The physical aspects of how vaginal penetration happens and how a woman gets pregnant, for example. We did learn about menstruation and periods, but the boys were excluded from that one. I don’t think there was much about relationships, and certainly nothing about gender or sexual preference. It was assumed we were all heterosexual. We did cover other topics as part of the same syllabus for example drug taking, particularly heroin. That felt so removed from my own life though we saw an interesting film that has stuck with me.

Nursing

I really knew very little about my own body when I went off to train to be a nurse at 18. While we didn’t receive sex education as part of our course, we did learn about anatomy. Probably the most useful thing I learnt, which helped me understand the female body was catheterisation. This is a very intimate procedure and one that can be very embarrassing for the recipient. As a nurse you really do have to examine the woman’s vulval area to ensure the catheter goes into the bladder and not the vagina. The urethra has a very small opening, so it is easily missed.

I also had the ‘pleasure’ of having to hold a few men’s penises so they could pee. It wasn’t until I was qualified that I catheterised a man.

While there is nothing sexual about this work, it did prove to be invaluable in understanding more about the human body. After all I was still a virgin at the time. Although I had a boyfriend we didn’t have sex until I was at least 18 and had left home, though we did everything but penetrate.

There was also a requirement to talk to people about their own sex lives and this was challenging. Both in terms of my own lack of experience, but also embarrassment on both sides. Sex really wasn’t discussed much in the early 1980s.

I think that HIV and AIDS changed things beyond recognition. I was working in a London teaching hospital and began to care for people who we later discovered had AIDS. This required new procedures around infection control, but also new conversations about safe sex. Nurse and sex education of children and the public changed, slowly, but change it did.

Motherhood

Unlike my own experience I talked to my son about sex and relationships a lot. From a young age he had a book called: The Body Book. It was functional, but it did enable us to have conversations about other elements of sex education.

This approach meant he had a good working knowledge of the body. This slightly backfired when at age 5 he told everyone on our holiday beach that he knew how babies were made and how they came out of a mummy’s body. I wanted to jump into one of the holes he was digging in the sand and disappear.

On the way to school one morning, it was announced on the radio that David Beckham and Posh Spice were to have a baby. He turned to me and said: “but they aren’t married” Oops! I seemed to have failed to cover that aspect of relationships, but it provided the opportunity to cover that one off.

Children are inquisitive beasts and they ask a lot of questions. I tried never to be scared to answer those questions and where possible (and when we had time and the place was right) to expand on the topics. I’m not sure if his school sex education was much better than mine, though it certainly covered more topics. But at least he was able to come home and discuss what had been taught at school. That is something I never really felt I could do when I was a child.

Lifelong learning and sex education

Of course my own sex education has continued. Sex positivity isn’t something I really even considered until I was in my 40s. What’s more I have learnt more about actually having sex in the past 10 years than the previous 20. Reading and participating in our community has helped me understand more about sexual identity and preference.

Luckily my nurse education focused heavily on treating people with dignity and respect. This allowed me to muddle through the stuff I really knew little about. Things like transgender, non-binary and even being gay. I can understand why people are nervous about teaching children about sex positivity when they have had little education themselves. Talking about sex still seems to be a taboo subject, something to be frightened of rather than embracing. Change has got to come through better sex education and a realisation that you never stop needing to learn.

Thoughts of distress

Do you now find, or have you ever found, anything distressing or uncomfortable about your sexual thoughts, fantasies, desires, or actions? Is there anything that you want or need that you have trouble asking for or are reticent to admit because it makes you blush? Have you had any experiences that have caused you embarrassment?

For an apparently liberated woman, my mother was oddly repressed. Especially when it came to discussing sex and relationships with us children. She was keen that I didn’t sleep with my boyfriend, mainly because that way I wouldn’t get pregnant. She used to tell me and my brothers not to touch ourselves, I don’t know why. What I am sure about it that they ignored her, but I did as she said, at least for a while. The thought of upsetting her caused me more distress than not doing what I wanted.

The embarrassment of youthful sexual feelings and desire are long gone. But there is still something a little repressed about me. Even the me who is willing to strip naked for her lover before he applies restraints and then photographs her. I still find it difficult to ask for what I want and need. Half the time this is because I really don’t know and the other half because of some long held belief that it is wrong for girls to ask. Good and nice girls that is.

Back in the early days of marriage I was probably more forward with my desires. But later on after he had watched porn videos I struggled with the idea I should copy anything ‘those girls’ did. I do still have a problem with that. Master will sit watching porn on his phone and if it looks or sounds too false to me I find it a little embarrassing. Something deep inside me says, don’t look at that, it’s wrong. But of course it isn’t wrong and it is only as false as any acted film. The thing that I hate is the noises some of the participants make which seem incredibly fake. But who am I to judge whether they make those sounds when having sex with their boyfriends.

I am sure the subliminal and implicit messages from parents stay with us. My mum is and always was a strong influence in my life, not always in a good way. Even now, I often worry too much about what she thinks. Partly because she expresses her opinion so strongly. Even in my mid 50’s I find it difficult not to be affected by her. This is clearly stupid since my life is my own to live and anyway who cares what she would think. Mum has the habit of making me feel like I’m 15 again, with one short and cutting sentence. Thank goodness she has no idea I have a sex blog and take part in the activities I do. My history with mum meant that I found it difficult to talk about sex with anyone, including friends and my husband!

Thankfully now I have a relationship where discussing sex is required. To a great extent I have shaken my repression off. Writing this blog helps, because here I can write about an experience and then Master will use it as a source of discussion. I also have real life friends these days with whom I can speak. But strangely it is easier for me to discuss BDSM and kink than it is actual sex.

I guess it is difficult to shed the psychological influences of our teenage years. It certainly has been for me. Does this distress me? Not really, I am more frustrated. About the baggage I still carry and also the way I still allow my mum to control me. That isn’t all sex related but it is definitely part of the issue.

Sexual style

I’ve never really considered if I have a sexual style, never mind what it is. But I guess that just as I have altered my hair style over the years, there have been changes when it comes to my sexual style. In the past, I was some what repressed and while I had fantasies, they weren’t something I discussed. Even with my husband, though he would have liked it if I had.

When it comes to sex, I like to be led

Before I knew I was submissive I wanted my man to take the lead. I wanted to be told what to do. Trouble was, I wasn’t very good at expressing my needs. Instead, I needed someone who knew what they wanted. I certainly have that now. Master does like me to tell him what I want, but if I can’t or won’t he is perfectly able to take control (as you would expect).

I like to exhibit my sexuality to others

I love to show off, it is who I am. An extrovert by personality, while I don’t always appear so to strangers, once comfortable in their presence, I like to perform. Master uses this to his advantage and gets me to show myself in public for his pleasure. Many of my photos involve me undoing my top or showing off my bum or cunt to him. Often there is no one to see, but sometimes there is, though they tend not to notice. I love to stand in front of the window naked, but again people don’t often look up. I also love to be naked under my clothes, for easy access and exhibitionism.

The clothes I wear demonstrate my sexual style

My preference is tops and dresses that show some cleavage. This is a little more difficult since my mastectomy, but I have discovered that showing some lacy bra is fine too. I prefer to wear my skirt shorter, I’m not all that keen on midi length. My legs are still reasonable, though a bit fatter at the top than they were, or I’d like. But, I’m not averse to wearing shorts in summer or a shortish skirt. This winter I tend to have hidden myself under leggings and jumpers, and am looking forward to spring and fewer clothes. Heels are not my thing. I am tall (taller than Master) and I really do like comfort over style. But if I own lots of shoes and boots (something I only realised when I packed my stuff to move last summer).

My writing helps me express myself

This blog and twitter have allowed me to express myself in a way I didn’t expect. I enjoy writing about my experiences and constructing fiction. My journey into this M/s relationship and kink has been liberating. While I still struggle to articulate my thoughts about it into spoken work, I can express myself through my blog. The sexual being I am comes though loud and clear. And that can’t be a bad thing.

Throwback Thursday – The exhibitionist
February Photofest

Everybody hurts

Everybody Hurts – REM

When the day is long
And the night, the night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had enough
Of this life, well hang on

Don’t let yourself go
‘Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong
Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone (Hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go (Hold on)
If you think you’ve had too much
Of this life, well hang on

‘Cause everybody hurts
Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts
Don’t throw your hand, oh no

Don’t throw your hand
If you feel like you’re alone
No, no, no, you are not alone

If you’re on your own in this life
The days and nights are long
When you think you’ve had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes

So hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts

No, no, no, no you are not alone

The biggest hurt of my life

The problem is that when you are hurting you neither know, nor care that others do too. When someone has done something terrible to you, and you are lying awake thinking about it, or sitting at your desk unable to work nothing else matters.

One Saturday afternoon while my 2 year old son was napping and I was ironing, a woman knocked on my door. She told me she was in love with my husband and that they were engaged to be married. He arrived soon afterwards and shooed her from the house. He told me not to believe her, that she was vindictive. A few days later she sent me a long letter with photos of them together. She was telling the truth, but so was he. It was a fine mess and it hurt.

In fact it hurt so much I had to take sick leave from work. I went to the GP, blurted out what had happened and was signed off for 2 weeks. I walked around like a zombie, and struggled to care for my child. What should I do? Who should I tell? In the end I did nothing and told no one. Not then. My husband ended the relationship with the woman soon afterwards and I decided to try to forgive him. That experience sewed the seeds for what happened later. Because I never forgave and I never forget. But the killer was that I never trusted him again, with good reason actually.

Now I know that there were always others I could have turned to, for support and guidance. I could always have sought professional help. There were other friends who had been cheated on, but at the time I neither knew nor cared. I wasn’t alone, but I didn’t know it.

This song makes me cry, but I love it too. Because good things came from bad and in the end the person I am now emerged and that is the best thing. It is never too late.

Re-exploring anal sex

This week’s Erotic Journal Challenge is about exploration and experimentation. Rather than exploring a large and wide ranging topic, we have been asked to focus in on something small and specific. My topic is anal sex.

Why anal sex?

There was a time when we were enjoying lots of anal sex, but over time this has changed. It isn’t because we don’t like it, we do. But more that anal sex requires more time, both in preparation and execution. It can be more messy and it can be technically more challenging. So for those reasons we have stuck to oral and vaginal sex much more. But we are both very keen to rediscover our love of things anal.

What we will do over the next 30 days

I have two lovely butt plugs which are sitting in the cupboard, I’m not sure when they last came out. Let alone find their way inside me. So first thing has to be to start wearing them. Master has suggested twice a week on days beginning with T. He has bought some new lube, to try, something more specialist looking than the general stuff we buy.

We have been having lots more sex generally over the past few weeks and this feels like something we both want and need.

I’ll report back at the end of next month about how things have gone.

Talking dirty

I’m not a vocal person when I’m having sex. But just because I don’t scream with pleasure, doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it. Nor does it mean that I am not aroused or not about to come. Given the choice I would internalise all of the feelings I have about what I am doing and just allow them to wash over me. But I don’t really have the choice, since Master demands a reaction from me. During sex he will be talking dirty and when he does, I do too.

Running commentary

Master likes to tell me exactly what he is doing to me and how it is making him feel. If his cock is deep inside me he will let me know how deep it is and how wet I am. These tend to be things I already know, but the fact he is telling me concentrates my mind. He loves to talk about breeding me, which is something I would have liked too, if we had met sooner. This is one of his fantasies and I actually find it reassuring, it shows he loves me that much.

Much of what he says though could be described as both dirty and degrading, if you were of that mind. He call’s me a bitch and a slut and asks me who I am and if I am his. He derives enormous power from the things I say to him, that I am his slave, his pleasing bitch, his slut. You see I am not just any bitch or slut, but HIS and that is what is important. His dominance over me is confirmed for him when I am talking dirty to him, especially as my natural stat is not to speak at all. This confirms his power and authority and in that moment he is not only my Master, but my Lord too.

How talking dirty feels to me

When I tell Master that I am his pleasing bitch it reaffirms my submission. Reminds me of the slave I agreed to be and am. It helps me to focus on him and on nothing else and to remember who is the boss here. I am a consenting and willing participant, but he is in charge and calls the shots. I am there to please him, to be the slut he wants and needs. Uttering those words puts me into a space I don’t tend to inhabit all of the time.

That means that while most of our dirty talk takes place in the bedroom, or perhaps playroom there are other times. He might come up behind me, hold me and whisper in my ear: “who’s bitch are you” and of course I will answer that I am his. He rarely calls me Julie, but instead girl. This is all part of his belief that I remember my submission better if I am constantly reminded of it. Knowing that I am this girl really does focus me. And when he calls me bitch or slut instead of girl, my cunt clenches and submission becomes sexual arousal. Which I guess is all part of what I am and who I am. Master’s Pleasing Bitch, sex slave to her Master.

Discovery

Week 2 of the Erotic Journal challenge is about the discovery of our sexuality and ourselves as sexual beings. This week’s Wicked Wednesday is about the technical aspects of sex. This post will attempt to combine the two.

The beginning

I first met my future husband when he moved to live opposite us. He was 11 and I was 7. Our mothers were friendly, though not exactly friends. However we did play in each others houses when one of the mums visited for a cuppa. By the time I was a teenager and he was leaving school our mums both worked and so any contact was pretty accidental. I did like him, but he wasn’t one of the boys I fancied back then, they tended to go to my school and he had gone elsewhere.

Soon before my 16th birthday, during the half term before my o’levels he phoned and asked me over to his place to sun bathe. It was a hot May day and his family were out, we sat in the garden and chatted. I didn’t take much account of the heat of the sun and returned home a little burnt. The next day he took me to London for the day. We had fun, walked miles and ate strawberries and ice cream. My usually good appetite deserted me and my tummy was full of butterflies, all day long. The aroma of the soap he used and the aftershave he wore was very alluring. This was the first boy who I think turned me on without actually touching or kissing me. Though of course, within days there were kisses.

Over the ensuing months we spent a lot of time together, both out with friends and on our own and in doors. Spending time in my bedroom alone together was pretty much frowned on and anyway I had an annoying younger brother who tended to burst in. But his parents seemed more relaxed about things. So we often spend hours in his room, lying on the bed listening to music. We never took off all of our clothes but did strip down to underwear, touch and kiss.

“Don’t come back pregnant”

I would lie with his leg between mine and he would flex his quadricep muscle. This believe it or not, was enough to get me off, though I’m not sure if I actually orgasmed. I touched him outside and inside his pants and found the whole thing pretty daring. But we didn’t attempt to have sex. I was pretty happy with what we were doing and didn’t feel the need for more right then.

When I was 17 we decided to take a holiday to Jersey. My parents weren’t overly keen on us going away on our own, but didn’t try to stop us. But on the departure day as we were leaving my mum came to me as I finished packing. “Your dad isn’t happy about you going away with B and all I can say is please don’t come pregnant”

I was pretty indignant. She didn’t know if we were sexually active or not and I didn’t take kindly to the suggestion I was stupid enough to get pregnant. B and I slept together, but didn’t attempt to have sex. The holiday though was fabulous, mainly because we could do what we wanted without parents being present.

The challenges of having sex

In October 1980, another year later, I went off to begin my nursing career. We all lived in tiny rooms in the nurses home and were watched upon by a hawk of a home sister. She was a spinster, who had spent her entire career in nursing and later managing the home. Boyfriends could visit but were meant to be out by midnight. However there were ways to smuggle people in and out and so we ignored that rule.

B was a frequent visitor especially at weekends. At last a door that could be closed and locked. Reasonably thick walls and some anonymity. At last, after 2 years together we finally took the plunge and had actual sex with penetration. Well we tried to anyway, since our first couple of attempts were failures. I owned no toys and had never so much as slipped my own fingers into my vagina. I am not even sure he had either and when it came to trying to sick his hard cock inside me we struggled. We had no real idea about positions or what might work for us and less idea about how difficult (or easy) it should be.

I resorted to consulting with my closest student friend who was already engaged to a sailor and she offered me some friendly advice. Essentially to keep trying and not get frustrated. The following weekend we tried again. Helped along by a bottle of wine and the knowledge that we needed to relax more, eventually we made it happen.

Sex during marriage

Looking back, sex with B wasn’t all it could have been. Soon after we married I bought a copy of the joy of sex which at least offered some help on positions. We tried many and had fun doing so, but I often felt I could take or leave it. My nursing job was demanding and I worked shifts. Even when I was in the mood, there seemed to be something missing but I didn’t know what it was. Within 4 or 5 years he was having an affair with an older woman which for a while helped us, since he had learned some new techniques. But when I discovered the affair my view of him changed. I never again trusted him and I was somehow turned off by him. We carried on having sex for the remainder of our marriage, but not for enjoyment.

When I was in my 30’s I bought my first sex toys and had my first real orgasms. But these happened when I was alone or when he was asleep rather than as something we shared.

I was almost 50 when I first orgasmed during PIV sex and since then I haven’t really looked back sexually. I feel sad about my sex life with B and that we were never able to fulfil each other in the way we should. Perhaps we were never really compatible as sexual partners. Or perhaps the mistake was in carrying on past our 20s. But I don’t regret meeting him or marrying him or having a child together. I just wish we had been better at communicating and been more honest about our needs. Thankfully he has also found someone new and I hope their sex life is better than ours ever was.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Sensuality and the senses

It is with pleasure that I am able to contribute to a new meme hosted by Brigit Delaney. I am approaching 2019 with some blogging enthusiasm and so, having the time to sit and write is a massive bonus. The first prompt is about sensuality and the senses and considering my topic and approach led me to our last play session in early December.

We have attended the club in question a few times now for both CMnf and more relaxed social events. That day was a Christmas social and I had dressed in my Santa girl outfit, complete with stockings. My only other lingerie was my bra.

Touch

I climb up onto the bench and lean over so that my knees and shins are positioned on the leg rests. stretching my arms I am pleased to find that I can find a comfortable position for them. I lay my head on the cool plastic on the bench and close my eyes. Master lifts my dress and slowly strokes my bottom with soft fingers. He starts with a soft rubber flogger and brushes it over my cheeks, teasing as he strokes between my already moist thighs.

Hearing

There is music playing in the background. One of those CDs that comes out at Christmas with all of the old favourites on. Since it is early December, this is the first time I have heard Christmas music this year. I can also hear the sound of people talking, mainly in low voices to each other and also the sounds of others playing. The swish of a flogger, the impact of a paddle or cane and the cries of other submissive girls in the midst of pain and pleasure.

Master moves around quietly, choosing the next toy with which to torture and from time to time he checks in, whispering in my ear. Calming me, reassuring me and making sure I am in a good place, and I am.

Sight

I have my head down, and so my field of vision is limited. I am also facing the Christmas tree and the speaker from where the music is coming. Anyway, I keep my eyes closed for most of the time. It helps me to concentrate on the pain and on channeling my feelings about it. By concentrating on the sounds rather than what I can see I can block the real world from my head.

Smell

To begin with the main smell if of plastic and the alcohol used to clean the bench. It is not unpleasant, but kind of clinical. But as time passes and the intensity of the impact on my bottom increases, I become aware of something else. My nostrils fill with the aroma of my own arousal. That sweet smell of sex and this increases as he runs his fingers over my slick pussy lips. He sniffs his finger and then leans his head over mine. “you’re very wet” he says. “Girl is very turned on”. Indeed she is and she can feel and smell it.

Taste

When I had first lay down on the bench all I could taste was the Prosecco I had just sipped. But within minutes I can taste my apprehension. My mouth dries and I have to lick my lips to maintain some moisture. As time progresses and my own sex fills my nostrils so my mouth waters and I can almost taste my own juices. As the session draws to a close he leans and kisses me and then I taste a mixture of him, me and prosecco. An intoxicating blend.