Collars

Collars have been a feature of our relationship from the beginning. A sign of ownership, even before he truly owned me. They were a symbol of his power and control over me. To begin with though, the collars Master gave me to wear were meant for play. I would put one on at the beginning of a session and take it off after. Now, I wear a titanium collar all of the time and would only remove it to wear a play collar or jewellery. With permission. One of the worst things about my recent surgery was the need to go without my collar for over a week.

Collars for play and show

I encounter many people at Munches and events that don’t wear a collar every day. Instead they wear them as part of their outfit for that day. And there are some great leather and metal collars to be seen. People’s acceptance and willingness to wear say a dog collar is partly due to them being such a fashion accessory. But also because so many people in the BDSM community like to wear some kind of neck attire. 

I have two types of leather collars and have never worn them out of the house. In a previous relationship, I wore a dog collar a couple of times when out, but felt very self conscious. I love the idea of the posture collar and they are great to wear, for a while. They don’t look great, when like me you have a double chin. But those collars are good at helping me into some kind of sub space. 

Collars as a sign of Ownership 

In July 2015 Master presented me with a metal collar and I have worn it most days since. Made of titanium, it is locked onto my neck with an allen key. While many people I know, like to wear something more discreet, like a necklace, I am happy with my collar. Very few people have asked me about it and after 3 years everyone is used to me wearing it. If they know the meaning or significance they aren’t letting on. I suspect they don’t. Anyway, I have a theory that people aren’t particularly observant of others and instead are often wrapped in their own lives. 

For us, my collar is an important symbol of our relationship as Master and slave. For him, it signifies that I have given myself, body and soul to him. While wearing it I am his property to do with as he wishes. It provides me with security and the knowledge that he will care for me. 

Taking it off for surgery and recovery period didn’t mean that I stopped being owned or being his slave. But there was something very special for us both when I put it back on after my wound drain was removed. I expect to have to take my collar off for radiotherapy, but hopefully that will just be a daily ritual to have the treatment. 

One day, there may be a ring. But it would never have more significance to us than my collar. 

Halloween and all that stuff

As a focus for scary stories the ghosts and gouls of Halloween are perfect. I love the idea of the dead haunting graveyards on all Hallows eve and can see why people would want to read about them, watch films and generally celebrate. I’m even taken with the idea of some sad ghost wanting to possess my body, to replenish his lifeblood, though I have little interest in erotic vampire fiction. I like stories that are weird or full of suspense, including ghosts and poltergeists but they are for all year round not just for 31st October.

I don’t think I’ve ever dressed up at Halloween, nor have I been to a party to celebrate. I’m not a party pooper and enjoy seeing people who’ve made an effort, but I don’t feel the need to join in. When my son was little we found costumes for him to wear, we held a party for he and his cousins and a couple of friends. We went trick or treating, but only to neighbours houses. We cut pumpkins and displayed them around the house, children love that kind of thing. Now, there are no children at home and so we can be Halloween free. Maybe

Halloween feels like a construct imported (not always well) from abroad- the USA to be presise. Maybe if I found myself in the USA at Halloween and experienced it there I’d feel different. But here in the UK it feels like we are not quite getting this thing right. From the end of August costumes, pumpkin sweet holders, plastic spiders and other stuff arrives in the shops. By the middle of September, the first pumpkins are appearing, but why? Unless they are small and are for cooking they aren’t going to last.

The very worst thing about Halloween is that once it is over, the shops try to make us think we are only days away from Christmas. Perhaps it’s best I don’t get started on that one!

Happy Halloween (in 6 days time)!

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

Taking a risk

Up until my 50th birthday approached, I had taken few risks, well certainly not ones involving sex and relationships. As I’ve mentioned a number of times before, at that time I was living with my husband of nearly 30 years, the only man I’d had sex with. On a couple of occasions when bored, lonely or both I had chatted online or on the phone to men. I even met one guy, but he was unable to have sex, just as well really since I didn’t fancy him. He became a friend for a while and there were certain benefits, such as some good orgasms. I guess technically I was cheating on my husband, but I told myself that unless actual intercourse took place it was ok.

When I started chatting to S though, everything changed. For the first time I was sexually aroused and attracted to a man I had never met. Over the course of a couple of weeks I found myself doing things to please him. Weird since usually I dressed and did things for myself. I wanted to meet this man, but didn’t know how to make it happen. I lived 2 hours by car from him, was married and worked full time. He on the other hand had no transport other than his work van, and that belonged to the company. By luck I was due to go on a course in London for 2 days, though there was no real reason to stay over. So I invented one, the course was intense and everyone else was staying over. Why my husband believed me, I don’t know, other than that he trusted me.

So it was that at the end of the first day of the course I made my way to a hotel in a small town south of London, by train. When I arrived at the station it was raining, there were no taxis, I had no idea if there was a bus and S was still travelling from work. I got out my phone and walked in the rain the mile or so to the hotel, which was really a pub with rooms. This was one of S’s favourite things, a small hotel or B&B, no chance then of invisibility. Thankfully the receptionist was expecting me and S had paid in advance. I went up to the room.

It was at this point that I fully understand the potential danger I was putting myself in. I was going to meet, have sex with and sleep with a stranger. No one knew where I was and I had no means of getting away quickly. But I was excited by the prospect of these things too. A crazy middle aged woman who should have known better.

But actually it was ok. I had a shower and changed into the clothes he had asked me to wear. S arrived and I went to the bar while he showered, then he joined me. Admittedly it wasn’t much later before the clothes were off and we were having sex. It was my choice and I don’t regret it. I did however take a massive risk.

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

His voice (and other things)

I don’t think we spoke on the phone before we met. I’m not even sure we had a voice conversation on MSM (remember that messaging service). Our conversations, and there were many during that week or so, were all text. But on the basis of the things that were said, we met. It was a pub and it was a Saturday afternoon.

Sitting in that pub, with my diet coke (I needed to keep my wits about me and hadn’t eaten) we sat and talked. I probably spoke much more than him. Nerves will have given me verbal diahorrea and I tend to have a lot to say anyway. I can’t remember if I was turned on by his appearance, but possibly not. There was definitely something about him though, his hand on my leg, the smell of him and his voice.

In the most, Master is softly spoken and to me his voice is a little deeper than you expect. He is a slight, slim person but when he opens his mouth there is something about the tone that stops me in my tracks, even now. With the cultured English accent of someone brought up to speak properly, he pronounces his consonants. There is little more sexy in my book than someone speaking dirty in a posh English accent. He knows a lot of stuff, he is (scarily) well read, attended one of the top universities and is intelligent. I love just listening to him speak. True to say, mind that I sometimes drift off and forget to actually listen.

Sometimes too he says things I disagree with, we don’t share the same politics for example. But we can get around that because we have the same values and some how manage to compromise.

Accent, tone of voice or other verbal cues from another can be attractive, sexy or the opposite. But a relationship is never going to develop on that basis. Master doesn’t have a toned and muscly body, he has the thinnest legs of any adult I have seen. But he is strong, fitter than he looks and has a very nice cock, plus he knows how to use it!

He is kind and considerate, looks after me but also keeps me in check. He tells me he finds me sexy and that I turn him on, just at the time I feel worst about my body. There are some irritating things about him: he has to check out facts before he believes the expertise of others and sometimes he still prefers his own view. He gets sidetracked easily so might not get things done quickly. Sometimes he can be brusque, say something another might find offensive – a case of mouth before brain. But I know his heart is in the right place and that he can probably discuss himself out of the hole he has dug.

I never believed I would find another man to be in love with. Master has taught me so much about our dynamic and helped me find out who I am. He has shared his love of books, music, film and travel. In return I have given him myself and my submission, not to mention the benefit of my own wisdom and interests.

My instinct that February day 4 years ago has proved right. I didn’t foresee we would still be together let alone that I would be about to move in with him. But I am and these are just a few of the reasons why.
Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Sunny Sunday – Curly Hair

Last week I had planned out my Sinful Sunday based on the prompt week ‘wheel of fortune’ picks. My spins were toys and mirrors. At the same time, the current Kink of the Week is tails. This I decided was an opportunity not to be missed. Only miss it I did.

Regular visitors will know that planning and then following through are not my strongest points. The planning is often great, but getting round to doing things, less so.

The weekend was a busy round of visiting my mum and staying over, gardening and then a massive bedroom / clothes sort out. Thank goodness my weekend was 4 days or else I’d never have managed it all. The thing that had to go was the Sinful Sunday. However, tail photos were taken and a post submitted to KOTW so all was not lost.

As an aside the tail got left on the bed on Tuesday and when I got home and my ex had been round for a shower (don’t ask and anyway the shower will be all his soon). Where as in the past I might have freaked and he would have sent me weird texts, there has been no comment. Fact is I might be weird and kinky, but he is just weird.

Anyway

This week’s Sinful Sunday picture was taken last weekend during the hot sunny weather. Time when I could wear a summer dress, no underwear and expose myself to Master. Photo and edit all down to him. His title on this photo was curly hair.

Sinful Sunday

This slave’s tail

It has been a very long time since this slave felt that she had provided service in the way her Master originally expected.

She isn’t so much disobedient or even unruly (no matter what Master would tell you). But it is about circumstance, timing and yes, laziness, on both sides. But this girl can feel the end of that time in her life coming to an end.

This weekend has been about getting ready for this slave’s future. There will be many more weekends like this until our move is complete. Time when we will be clearing out rubbish, putting things in bags and packing up the things that will be going to Master’s house.

Meanwhile, this weekend, there has been sex, raw passionate sex. And there has been submission time for this this girl naked and open for her Master to take. Clothed without underwear allowing him to have access at any time. A reawakening, a realisation of what might have previously been denied and hidden. His for the taking.

Many months ago, Master bought his girl a tail. She had coveted a bushy tail after seeing one at one of the sexy markets, London Alternative or Birmingham Bizarre Bizarre. One day when the slave arrived at his place, he presented to her. This would be a way for her to show her slutty side and to be his bitch. But, for one reason or another though, probably we were busy and there wasn’t time and it didn’t get used.

On Sunday Master firmly fucked his girl in the ass. The second time in recent weeks as our sex life has taken on new life. The plan was to use the tail for Sinful Sunday, but actually that might have been a little painful. And for one reason and another we didn’t post on Sinful Sunday this week.

On Monday though, the slave finally wore the tail. Still a little sore, inserting the butt plus was a bit of a challenge. But the effect was wonderful, and it won’t be long before that tail comes out again. Maybe she may even wear it out at an event. Till then, here is a photo taken by Master yesterday.

First experience

I was nearly 50 before I had my first experience. Of sex with a man other than my husband and of anal sex. We had known each other just a few weeks and had met just the once. In a probably not to be recommended encounter, I met, had sex and slept the night with a man I had only chatted to online and by phone. But things went well, we got on well together. Enjoyed each others company as well as lusting after each other. What is more, the sex was better than anything I had experienced in a long time. Perhaps ever.

A couple of weeks later I went back for more. This time I travelled to his place. I sucked him, he fucked me senseless and then we had anal sex. He knew I was an anal virgin and I knew that he wanted to take that particular cherry. We had discussed my willingness to have anal at length and I had trained myself for those couple of weeks with a butt plug.

My only experience of anal sex before meeting S was in some of the kinky books I read. Generally the dominant man considered taking his submissive girl’s arse as the ultimate prize. Perhaps the same was true of S. While I in turn wanted to give it a try, to learn and experience new things.

He was clearly experienced and led me gently through the build up to the main event. He attended to my orgasm needs, stroked me, kissed me and made me feel like I needed to feel his cock in that forbidden place. Any pain I felt on that day (and I am sure it did hurt a little) pales into insignificance when I consider the lasting benefits. That first experience helped me see the intimacy that can come from anal sex. The trust that is needed so that I could relax enough for him to find his way inside that most secret of places. Then the resulting orgasm that seemed in some way different from any other.

That first experience probably paved the way for me to become the submissive I am now. S and I continued to have great sex and for him that tended to include anal. I enjoyed it and complied. But there were problems with the relationship, mainly that we wanted and needed different things. Looking back sex with S was predictable, starting with  me on my knees sucking him and some time later (hours or the next day) with anal.

I don’t suppose any partner wants to think of their lover having sex with an ex. But Master says that he is grateful to S for teaching me about anal. It meant I was ready, able and willing soon after we met. For us anal is something very special. It brings out the slut, the bitch in me. It is dirty and forbidden but it feels the most intimate of sexual acts. We don’t do it often, indeed we haven’t in some time. But when we do it is one of the ways in which Master expresses his ownership of me, his slave.

This post is cross linked to Wicked Wednesday for the prompt ‘The Ex’ and to Kink of the Week for the prompt ‘Anal Sex’.

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

 

What’s my name?

5 years ago, when I embarked upon this journey, one involving illicit sex with a bit of kink thrown in. I called myself Joolz on the various websites and on my new blog. The people I met at that time either didn’t know my real name or chose not to use it. To them I was Joolz.

But when Master and I met, 3 and a half years ago now. He saw me as someone else. To him Joolz was someone who was a bit scary, who had been struggling to find her true self. Joolz was someone in transition from Julie to……….. But who.

He wanted me to refer to myself as ‘this girl’. As far as he was concerned, my journey as a submissive needed to include some introspection about what and who I was. By removing the need to think of myself in the first person or as Julie the mother or daughter, the submissive inside would feel more real. At the same time he was of the opinion that Joolz was someone who had belonged to another, someone who had rejected me. By letting go of Joolz, I let go of that part of my past. Gave myself fully to him. Allowed myself to be absorbed into his ownership, to become his property.

Gradually over time this girl has become girl. He called and does call me girl. At times he has admitted that he has struggled to remember that I am also Julie. A 55 year old girl? Yes, but not any girl. His girl, his submissive and his slave. I do still refer to myself as ‘this girl’ but mainly during sex or play. The rest of the time I just know who and what I am, even when people call me Julie. I know I am His girl.

kink of the week – Jeans

This morning this photo popped up on my Facebook timeline. A photo taken by Master, a year ago as I walked up the steps to board a plane. He posted it later and tagged me with the caption ‘Rear of the day’. I was amused and just a little flattered because a public acknowledgment that he finds me attractive appeals. Some may find this sexist, but coming from him it is something I like. I like the way I look in a pair of well fitting jeans, and love the way it shows off the contours of my bottom. At the same time, I like the way that they hold my wobbly bits in place. They give the impression I have a firmer, perhaps more youthful body than I have. 

Do I feel sexy in them though? Well yes in a way because if I feel good and think I look good to others. But do I feel  more sexy in jeans than in any other well fitting trousers or perhaps a short skirt? Then no. This is partly because I don’t think Master looks at it that way. He likes the look and feel of my bottom when it is on display in that way, but also likes to see my legs, or my cleavage or my bare back. He loves leather, and I have a feeling that he would find leather trousers more appealing than jeans. However, I am not convinced that they would be very forgiving to my figure.

Having said that, he likes me naked too. With everything hanging out. But naked is not a good look walking up the stairs to get on a plane and I don’t think anyone needs to see me naked on Facebook. Though plenty have seen me naked here.

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