I have a massive love hate relationship with mirrors. On the one hand they show me things about myself I would rather not see. The way my face is aging, where wrinkle show and hairs grow from my post menopausal face. They show me that my body bulges in places I would rather it didn’t and that my clothes fit less well than I would like. But mirrors are also a wonderful way of showing you things you wouldn’t other wise be able to. Hidden parts of your body, or a view you would need an out of body experience to see. Mirrors can also be beautiful in themselves.
Mirrors help you see yourself
Without a mirror there are many parts of your body you can’t see. Maybe you don’t want to see if your bum looks big. But being able to view your own vulva or clitoris is only possible with a mirror (or camera, but that captures a moment). Being able to watch yourself, or another touch your most intimate places is a wonderful thing. It also helps you to be able to understand your own body. Being able to feel that your clitoris is engorged through arousal is one thing, seeing it is something else.
Mirrors in self portrait photography
Other than my kitchen, the main thing I miss about my house is the mirrored doors of the wardrobes. (I miss the wardrobes too as all my clothes fitted in them). Those mirrors featured in so many of the photographs I have taken over the years. Like the one below, which is from a Sinful Sunday in July 2017.
Often in hotels you can find the most beautiful mirrors. Especially those places where furnishings are less basic and let’s say clinical. We have had the pleasure of visiting some lovely hotels over the years and so mirror opportunities pop up frequently. The one below was taken in our room at a hotel close to where my mum now lives. That means there is every chance we’ll visit again.
It’s funny too, that when looking at myself in that mirror I probably hated what I was seeing. But the mirror is so beautiful that I had to take a picture of myself reflected in it. Next time though, I would probably move our bags out of the foreground first. That’s the whole thing with mirrors though. They very rarely lie.
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.
As I wrote here in 2016, mutual masturbation has become a part of my life that is different from what happened before. Now that we live together, all elements of our sex life have moved onto another level. There is more sex and more masturbation. Plus there is more time for fun and games while masturbating.
Slave to the machine
We lay in bed. I was browsing twitter, blog comments, the news. Regular stuff. He was looking at porn, while stroking himself, almost absent mindedly. Or so I thought. Suddenly he turned to me and told me he wanted me to fuck the machine. I was comfortable, warm and happy doing what I was doing, but the idea did appeal. Plus, cock in hand, he was half way out of bed. I rushed to get the machine from the room next door and within moments was hovering above the condom covered dildo. Briefly I stroked my slick vulva, already wet with anticipation and then sat down on the silicone cock. It felt good.
“Go on girl, fuck the machine” He grinned, perching on the end of the bed. I rocked, using the handle to help me ride the thing like a rodeo horse. The dildo moved in and out of me as I rode forward and back. All the time he was stroking himself, and egging me on. He told me I was a slave to the machine, and so I was.
Reaching for his camera, he told me to look at him. It was easy to see that he had me just where he wanted me. I was on the edge of orgasm, the pleasure seeping from every orifice, the pleasure showing in my face. Photos of my face would show me heavy eyed, lustful, lost in my submission as I listened for instructions. The photos he took showed something else, though expressive in themselves.
Afterwards he fucked me on the bed. As is often the case, our masturbation session led to sex. And orgasms.
There was a time in our relationship that I rarely wore underwear when we were together. It was one of the things that Master requested of me from the start. Going out with nothing underneath my clothes in summer feels thrilling and cool, literally. If a breeze catches your skirt and travels upwards, it can be very pleasant and even arousing. Similarly being braless is comfortable, not just in summer but when sitting around the house relaxing. Kink of the week is about knickers, so here goes.
There are times when wearing knickers is about being functional. For example, under jeans. I don’t find it particularly comfortable to be bare under my jeans and so will generally wear knickers underneath. Plus, I like them to be comfortable, so they will usually be something with a bit of substance rather than a G-string.
Speaking of which, while I own thongs and G-strings, I rarely wear them. They can be damned uncomfortable and don’t prevent chafing so you may as well go without.
When wearing leggings I tend not to wear anything underneath. Partly to avoid a VPL but also for comfort and practicality. No need for knickers in my opinion.
Mixing and matching
I own many pairs of knickers, a whole drawer full and I also have lots of bras. Most of them don’t match each other. While I change my knickers every day, I admit I don’t change my bras. Plus, the complicating factor of my recent mastectomy, means I can’t wear most of my bras right now. So I currently have 2 bras with matching knickers. So the chances of my underwear matching at the moment is slim.
For that special occasion I will make sure I am wearing something that matches, unless of course I am gong commando.
Naked under my clothes
As mentioned above, there was a time when I rarely wore underwear when we were together. Gradually that changed. Mainly for practical and comfort reasons of reasonably big boobs plus chafing during hot weather. In the winter if wearing tights, I may as well wear knickers too. What’s more, this winter, since I’m not working I tend to wear trousers, jeans or leggings most of the time.
But once the weather improves (and when I go on holiday) I plan to make a concerted effort to leave my knickers off. We have been discussing how to reintroduce some of those past rules now we are together all of the time. And this wouldn’t be a bad one to reintroduce. Not wearing a bra won’t be easy for now, but not wearing knickers will. Another resolution for 2019 perhaps.
I am not a great fan of intense eye contact in any context. But I do struggle with people who avoid it all together. I worked with someone once who would launch into long monologues at meetings and training events and simultaneously close her eyes as she did it. I found that distinctly unsettling, especially if she was sitting near me, or referring to something I had said. Some eye contact in a work or social situation is important. It helps you to know whether people mean what they say, if they are telling the truth or a lie. What is more, some people have very attractive eyes, ones that change colour depending on the situation.
When it comes to intimate moments including sex, I am a fan of closing my eyes. S is the only person I have encountered who seemed to stare when kissing or during sex. His gaze was piercing and at times unnerving. A little bit like the woman with the closed eyes. Of course I never kissed or had sex with her!
Master mostly closes his eyes too when we kiss. After almost 5 years we know each other well enough that we don’t need to keep our eyes open all of the time. But there are times when he will insist I open my eyes and look into his. This is particularly the case when he is in the process of forcing an orgasm from me.
As he counts me down and tells me to cum, he will insist I meet his gaze. I have to concentrate as I prefer to immerse myself in the orgasm rather than meet his eyes. But of course I do as I am told as I am (usually) a very good girl. So if he says – “Look at me when you orgasm” I do. He loves the power involved in making me do what I would rather not. I guess that is part of the Dominant hold he has over me and why I am his submissive.
This year, more than most I can remember has been a time of immense highs and unbelievable lows. It has also been one of great change. For so long I talked about making those changes and there were many times that I thought they would never happen. This blogging year has also been one of highs and lows, a year where my writing has developed and grown but also one when I almost lost my blog. There is so much to write about this year and so many people to thank and mention so here goes.
The year started in a bit of a whirlwind as I supervised the packing and moving for my mum. There was over 30 years worth of stuff in her large 3 bedroom house. The concept of downsizing was completely alien to her and consequently this was a stressful time for me and my brothers. She tended to sit watching it happen, then complain when we threw things out she later said she wanted. On moving day, she took more furniture than it was physically possible to put into her bungalow. So more pain followed.
In the midst of all of that, it was difficult to find time to blog or be particularly sexy. As is often the case the memes (Wicked Wednesday, Sinful Sunday, Kink of the week and SoSS kept me going). This year I have learned that writing about something is better than not writing at all. This month too, I joined the Smut Marathon (more of that later).
This post pretty much highlights that sex and kink was a bit lacking in our lives at the beginning of the year. Not entirely surprising given the whirlwind of January. At that time we were also planning for me to move in with him and had begun to get the house ready. Once again meme’s kept the blog going including TMI Tuesday, Food for Thought Friday and Art Twist. Indie and I have discussed bringing the latter back to life and maybe we will do that in 2019. I only recently realised that Kilted Wookie runs F4TF and it took a while to realise also that we had all week to write a post based on the prompt. Sometimes I am pretty slow on the uptake!
At the end of the month, while away for a weekend I managed to delete my blog! I still shudder when I think about how it happened and the work required to put it back together. Thankfully Dom Signs was there to help, I am so grateful to him. The full horror story is here.
This photo was taken hours before my blog went down and so didn’t appear until 3 March. It brings back the better memories of that weekend. In this post I write some more about the blog, but also for the first time about participating in the smut marathon as well as sex and coffee (all important things).
Our sex and kink life was at last on the up. In this Masturbation Monday post I describe some impulsive kinky sex and later in the month our first public play event. I haven’t contributed to Masturbation Monday as much as I would have liked to this year. Mainly because my sex blogging libido has been a little off kilter. But I did have the pleasure of meeting Kayla Lords and her husband John Brownstone at Eroticon. I followed John’s blog first and clearly remember the run up to Kayla moving to be with him which was so exciting. Together they have become quite a force to be reckoned with in the blogging (and podcasting) community.
Eroticon was a wonderful weekend of fun and laughter, plus some amazing sessions at the conference. Apart from Kayla and John we met so many other bloggers and writers that were previously words and pictures on a screen. Marie and Master T, May More, Posy, Eye, Cousin Pons to name but a few. I wrote about it here.
Once again I joined in with the Blogging A-Z challenge. Although there are 31 posts for April, which is getting on for a record I still had to combine some of the A-Z daily posts. Keeping with a mainly kink theme, the posts can be found here.
For the Wicked Wednesday post on Driving Lessons, I wrote about my rather unpleasant driving instructor. I guess this is my Me too incident; thankfully mild, though as you could tell it has stayed with me.
In April we travelled to Seville for the Feria celebrations and had a wonderful week of rest and recuperation. Seville is one of those places that we have pretty much seen and done but return to. The relaxed lifestyle, long lunches, dinners in several parts suits us.
By May, preparations for my move were in full swing. Our weekends were filled with decluttering, house maintenance and beginning to pack. However we did manage to find time for some fun and games. It had been a while since Master bought his girl a tail, but I hadn’t really had the chance to wear it. Until now.
The Smut Marathon moved onto round 5 and to my surprise I was still in the competition. As I mention in my post about round 4, my editing skills were coming under pressure. I tended to write pieces that were much longer than needed, sometimes 4 times as long. Since being out of the competition I have started to try to write stories that are already short and so need less editing. The Smut Marathon was a wonderful competition and I am grateful to Rebel for all her hard work in making it the success it was and will be again.
Hy from A Dissolute Life Means challenged herself and others to Post Every Damn Day in June. I got off to a good start even though at the time I was on holiday in Slovenia. Much of the country is under developed, with beautiful lakes, hills and mountains to explore. A great opportunity for some natural photo opportunities. While away I participated for the first time in Hyacinth’s regular meme: Boobday. I look at my contribution with some sadness as this is the boob I no longer have. The cancer was already growing inside me, though I didn’t know it. I do hope to participate again soon, but more of that in the post I am going to write about the coming year.
There was one final trip away (for a weekend) before the end of June, providing a great Sinful Sunday opportunity. After that, life was crazy as we prepared for my move.
The weather was wonderfully hot. A proper English heatwave. Probably not what you need when you are spending much of your life packing boxes. On one of the last weekends spent before the move, we frolicked in the garden. Not only did I run around naked but we also had anal sex out there. My anxiety about the neighbours seeing anything dissipated under the influence of a bottle or two of wine.
The rest of July is a mad blur. I didn’t post anything of substance until 26th. After the antics in the garden I developed a urinary infection (perhaps the two are linked) and needed antibiotics. Then as soon as I was recovered I moved house. I wrote about it all here. To be honest, I was pretty glad to see the back of July.
August was about finishing up at work. Luckily, with many people away on holiday the roads and railways were quiet, though London was as usual busy. There were few meetings so I was able to declutter my work environment in a reasonably calm way. I had a wonderful send off from colleagues and left on 31st. I also started to reorganise my blog a little, ending one journey page and starting another.
As we gradually settled into our life together we began to rekindle our kinky sides and also had some fun.
All through August I was waiting for the inevitable. I revealed at my mammogram early in the month that I had found a lump in my breast and knew I would be recalled. The first date I was given was for 31st August, but as this was my final day at work I asked for a later appointment. So on 11th September Master and I spent the entire afternoon at a one stop breast clinic. We came away already knowing that cancer was suspected, but had to wait a week for confirmation. The following day I travelled to Cyprus with my mum with a massive plaster on my boob. Over the coming days a huge bruise formed.
Cyprus was beautiful though. Hot sunny days and warm evenings. Even my mum and my attempts to hide my bruising didn’t spoil it. But I really did miss Master and wrote about my longing for him here.
On my return I received the news that we had been both expecting and dreading. I had breast cancer.
I think we saw the inside of more hospital wards and departments than I experienced in the first 3 months of my nursing career. Master was beside me the whole way and has been my rock and guiding light ever since the first appointment. Our hopes of a lumpectomy were dashed as the tumour was too large. So on 15th I had a mastectomy.
Many blog and twitter friends and followers have congratulated me on my positivity in coping with the surgery and aftermath. While I wanted to catalogue my journey and will continue to do so, I didn’t seek to make it seem easy. The operation was straightforward, but the recovery painful and frustration. I wasn’t the best patient, I don’t think nurses usually are. But I was determined not to succumb to self pity and so I guess that is why it came across that way. I started a series of regular posts about my recovery which will continue for as long as necessary.
I felt ready on 11th November to give Sinful Sunday followers a glimpse of my new body. I always knew that I was part of a body positive group of people but have been overwhelmed by the support. None more so than from Molly and that is why I chose Sinful Sunday for this post. Being able to go to the munch that Molly and Signs run and speak openly to others including Sub Bee has really helped. I am looking forward to getting together with Molly in the new year so she can photograph me lots more.
Thank you to everyone who has commented on here, sent me emails and messages on twitter. I know too that Master has found the support from this community to be a really positive thing.
A month of end of year lists and reviews, and I find myself on so many. After everything that has happened this year, I am overwhelmed. Looking back over my blog, I can see that it has been a good year for my writing.
Thank you to those who nominated me for the Kinkly and Chaturbate top sex blog lists. Thank you to May More for the wonderful messages of support and for including me on her Top of the Blogs list. To Floss, who named me as one of her top 20 Lovelies. To Kilted Wookie for putting me on the Naughty List, to Master Venture for including me on his list of people worth following and to Marie Rebelle for including me on her Top 20 of ’18. I am incredibly honoured to have been recognised by so many of the wonderful people I admire in this community.
Thank you to everyone who has read my blog this year and to those who have commented and supported me. Here’s to 2019 – more of that to come.
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.
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!
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.
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.