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.

Out of the Blue

I decided on the title for this post for the Wicked Wednesday prompt Blue because it’s the name of a record I own. Written and recorded by the Electric Light Orchestra in 1977 it was one of their most successful albums. It has the bonus of being a double album and now that I have a new shelf for my vinyl records in the living room, I can play it once again. My favourite track from the album is Mr Blue Sky. Which is fitting for this post.

In many ways my life is unchanged from a month ago. I was already doing what little work I do from home. We don’t need to buy a lot of things at the supermarket since there are only the two of us here, so not finding things wasn’t a big problem. Often we buy products other than food online so have no great need to go shopping more generally. But we do eat out a lot and we do go to social events. We also travel. After a long winter being at home, seeing few people, we were ready to emerge. Into the blue if you will.

On Monday March 16th we went to a lunch time concert in London. A fabulous hour of music, a tenor and a pianist. Little did we know that by that evening life would change. Now we don’t know when we can again attend any kind of gathering, much less eat in a restaurant. Or drink in a pub.

The weather though decided to play games with us. After the longest of wet and miserable winters the sun came out. Over several days the air warmed and we were able to go outside in lighter clothes. Finally last week we sat on our balcony enjoying a late afternoon gin and tonic. Sadly the weather has returned to dull and cool, though this may change at the weekend. The forecast looks promising.

The key thing though is that on the balcony we noticed that the sky is clearer and was bluer than before. There are just no aircraft flying overhead. There is little traffic and few people around. Everything looks and feels fresher. Also, events have made it necessary to appreciate different things. It now seems unlikely we’ll be able to go on holiday this year. Certainly for the foreseeable future. All our planned trips are now cancelled. But that means I can grow plants in the garden. Flowers, but also some herbs and perhaps tomatoes. We can also carry on with some decorating and decluttering.

When I go out for a walk I am taking care to listen to the birds and other sounds. The absence of traffic helps with this. I am looking at the plants, the blossom on the trees. At the sky and the clouds. I am trying to appreciate the good things that around me. Soon I should be a little busier, but for now I at least have time to think and be.

When the sun shines, as I hope it does again this year, I will be looking up at Mr Blue Sky. It feels that Out of the Blue, something terrible is offering new thoughts and feelings.

Hugging

Two people hugging
Photo by Christiana Rivers on Unsplash

Apparently I wasn’t the kind of child who liked to be cuddled or hugged. Having two younger brother helped because there are usually only so many hugs to go around. Unless of course you are at a party with lots of aunts. Both my parents were only children, but my nan had 9 brothers and sisters each with their own offspring so there were a lot of aunts.

I’ve noticed that a lot of teenagers especially girls hug each other a lot. That would not have suited me. I’m not sure my best friend at school and I ever went in for hugging. Chatting on the phone half the evening yes, (much to the annoyance of my dad who couldn’t understand the need after a day at school). But hugging not really. A whole group of admin staff at my former office used to hug a lot too. Especially if one of them was off on leave or had just returned.

That’s not to say I haven’t done and received my fair share of hugs. I just need to know the person well and be in some kind of close relationship with them. Or else for one of us to be in a lot of distress. My son loved to sit on my lap and be cuddled, and we still hug on greeting or saying goodbye now. For a while when he was a teenager, I couldn’t get within a mile of him, but thankfully that was a phase. I love hugs with Master and find lying in his arms safe and fulfilling. We did a lot of hugging and holding during the whole breast cancer time. But I am not usually the initiator, I forget because of my overall reticience.

Therefore, I am a respecter of personal space. I like it and so give it. There is nothing worse than someone you don’t know well or don’t particularly like standing too close. Even if they have perfectly fresh breath. I find it threatening when someone in authority does it and prefer everyone respects space.

So, not surprisingly I am a massive fan of social distancing. It’s something I’ve been trying to do all my life. I’m a fan of holding hands with a child, or partner but other than that no thanks. My mum tends to hold my arm and that’s fine. But she then tends to lean in and I find it irritating. I know she needs some support, but strangely she is one person I don’t like too close and haven’t for as long as I can remember. I don’t know why, because she hasn’t really done me any harm. If someone I know and like asks for a hug, I’m likely to say yes, but people often instinctively know.

You should never think though, that just because I’m not a hugger, that I don’t care. I do. But prefer to show it in other ways.

Perseverance

A person swimming at night time.
Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

When does perseverance become stubbornness? That’s the question I ask myself as I write this post. My last post was about sport and the fact that while I’m in no way sporty I do at least persevere with it. Even when I don’t really enjoy it. Because sometimes we do things because they do us good. It’s the same with relationships.

That’s why I stuck with my marriage for so long. I believed in the vows I took, even though I’m not particularly religious. Those vows were spoken in a church in front of family and friends and I wanted to see them through. But of course he broke them swiftly afterwards and I definitely didn’t want to be the one giving up on us. In the end their meaning faded from mind and I took the inevitable step.

I often think about what is different now, with this relationship. For one thing I am in my 50s and not 20s. I am more tolerant of the differences between us and our thoughts and ideas. But also I recognise that we have something special to give to each other. Often we have spoken about what would happen if we had met sooner. But the truth is that things might not have gone so well. I have definitely mellowed with age and am less short tempered than I know I was. However the chemistry between us would have been there and he wouldn’t have gone behind my back to find another woman. There’s every change Master would have wanted us to experiment more, introduce others into the relationship, but he wouldn’t have done so without my consent.

I often wonder if we had met each other sooner, then would I have found my submissive self sooner. Because once that person revealed herself to me, I realised I needed to do something about it. To find myself a dominant person and also to explore more of my submissive and sexual self. There was a definite sense of persistence as I navigated myself through the relationship with S. That I couldn’t give up what I had discovered even when my husband found out. The idea of going back to my former life frightened me more than riding out the journey to my new one. Which eventually led to meeting Master and to where we are now. That journey hasn’t always been easy either, but it did feel like the right thing to do and so it has proved.

So whether it is perseverance, stubbornness or bloody mindedness, I’m here, in a good place. One I intend to maintain.

Curves

Me in the bath showing my curves. Legs, and tummy rolls on show.
Bath colour caused by a Turmeric Latte bath bomb!

I am very curvy. I have curves in places I like, but also in places I don’t. For years I hated the sight of my body and would only look at it in a mirror that I found flattering. I also avoided the camera. This was helped along by the fact I always seemed to be the one behind the camera. Whole holidays passed with 60 photos of my son, a few of my husband and lots of the scenery. There’d be an occasional one of me, but if I felt I looked too fat, I’d hide it away or throw it out. We’re mainly talking pre-digital here, because those just never saw the light of day.

But things have changed. While I am still not sharing photos of myself in a swimsuit with family and friends I have no problem with showing my curves here on my blog. So, what has changed?

Writing about sex and kink

To begin with my posts were pretty much just words, though one of my first ever posts did contain a photo of me in a maid’s outfit. Gradually I introduced images, mainly those I found on Tumblr. But then I met Master and he took photos of me, some of which I liked more than others. S also took a few and they too appeared here, but there aren’t many. Now, I like to use a photo of or by me to illustrate my blog where possible.

Body positivity

I’ve definitely grown to like and love my curves more since I’ve been with Master. Partly because of his body positivity. He always tells me he loves my curves, loves to feel them, see them and photograph them. He loves the way I look in leather and other fetish gear. Admires my nipple piercing jewellery and me generally naked. In fact that’s the thing that set’s him apart from the other men I’ve had in my life. That he likes me naked. I’m not always so thrilled with the finished product. So, I’ll try and crop out what I think is the worst of my lumps and bumps.

Post mastectomy was a difficult time. But at the moment I feel happier posting a photo of my chest on my blog than going round without a bra. Go figure that one out!

Sensorship

There are few places that it’s ok to show photos of a naked body. It’s ok to show a man’s naked chest on Instagram, Facebook or Tumblr but not a woman’s. A self hosted blog and twitter for the moment are ok. But who knows when this creeping censorship will creep up on us further.

Sinful Sunday and February Photofest

It was really joining in with these two meme’s created and run by Molly Moore that sealed my place as a shower of my own curves. I’ve just completed my fourth February Photofest and am proud that I posted every day. Most of the images were of me. They ranged across the history of our relationship and if you look you’ll see that sometimes I have more curves than others. At the moment I’m proud to be shrinking down a little and that makes me happy.

As for Sinful Sunday. Often I’ll only post once or twice a week when I am busy or away travelling and one of those will usually be a Sinful Sunday. Our images aren’t always as creative as others but we try to make some effort.

When I look back over the almost 8 years of this blog I am amazed to see how far I’ve come. Not just in the quality and quantity of my writing but also in what I’m prepared to share of myself and our relationship. I can’t see that changing any time soon. I’m 57, I have had a mastectomy and I am a big curvy woman. And, I’m proud to share myself with anyone who would like to see me.

Keep believing

Keep believing

This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is: Don’t Stop Believin. But, because I’m such a positive person, I’ve decided my post will be entitled Keep Believing.

I love our community and the way is sticks together and supports each other. Of course we are all different, from our relationships, gender and sexual preferences politics and our take on life. But in the main that doesn’t prevent us from coming together when we need to. I’m especially looking forward to Eroticon at the end of next week and meeting up with friends as well as new people. Putting faces to names is always great fun as is discussing the topics we write about face to face. That includes when a drink or two has been consumed.

But recently there have been undercurrents of unhappiness that not everyone is kind and understanding towards everyone’s differences. So much so that last week a tiny event caused a storm. I’m not going to go into that whole thing, but Rosie wrote a fabulous piece that sums up events. She also includes some very useful links in her post. That should be the end of things, except I’m left with a bad feeling.

Free speech

Indeed for me it isn’t the direct responses to any post. As a writer I can write what I want here and people can read or not. They can also comment, or not. It is rare I don’t publish a comment so if you don’t like what I say I’m not censuring. But it isn’t on blog posts where most disagreement takes place. Instead it is on twitter, often without the subject being part of the conversation.

I’d be the first to admit I struggle to understand the desires and needs of people who are very different to me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t read their perspective with interest. I often don’t comment because I don’t believe I am the right person to do so. I am a middle aged CIS heterosexual woman who doesn’t fancy other women. Nor do I understand how it is to realise you are bi sexual or gay, much less non binary. But I do respect other people’s experiences and love to read about them.

Content warnings

Thankfully I have never suffered physical abuse (though I increasingly see my ex as emotionally abusive). I recently started reading a very well written book that turns out to be all about physical, emotional and financial abuse. I’m finding it difficult to read even though I want to. I’m not triggered, as I’ve never experienced the things that are happening in the book. But it is uncomfortable. I first wrote about content warnings in this post. It was a stupid thing that triggered me, but it did get me thinking and that in my book is a good thing. Since then, when I see one I do consider whether I want to read on. My experience shows that these things can creep up on you.

For me one of the worst things about the episode has been that people describe others as snowflakes or use the term Boomer in a derogatory way. These are things I hate. I’m a Boomer myself and don’t want myself lumped together with people others determined as bigots. Nor do I like millennials called snowflakes since my son is one and I believe him to be sensitive and thoughtful partly because I brought him up that way.

Social media etiquette

Twitter can be an evil and upsetting place. But it can also be a place of support and encouragement. As members of the sex blogging community, we could easily be set upon by trolls who don’t understand or care for our point of view. But instead we choose to attack each other. Personally I want a kinder community than that.

And I will keep believing that is the community we all want. One that is kind, that respects individual difference and people’s desire to be referred to in the way they feel appropriate. A community that acknowledges mistakes and then moves on. Otherwise we are no better than those who would attack us for having the audacity to write about sex or kink. Finally, if you wouldn’t say something to someone’s face even after a drink, then don’t say it on twitter.

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.

Showing some leg

Me in a pair of lacy tights. Lifting my leg up you can see my heel and sole as well as my left leg and thigh. Plus a little of my right leg.

There was a time in my life that I owned many pairs of stockings. Sheer, lined, fancy patterns, fishnets. In 2012 got myself involved with a man who had something of a fetish for stockings, preferably attached to suspenders. He loved me to show my legs and much more. He also liked me in heels even though they made me much taller than him.

At work I usually wore dresses and with those, tights (pantyhose). If I wore stockings it was most likely to be because they were the ones without holes. I rarely wore heels, they are uncomfortable and make me too tall.

When I met Master he was more interested in me naked or wearing some kind of kink wear than in stockings and heels. This was something of a relief as while I like the look of them on me I do prefer comfort. Stockings are something of a faff, especially as they are often too short for my legs.

Fast track to today. I rarely wear a dress or skirt. Not working has affected the elements of the wardrobe I wear. If I wear tights they will likely be opaque. The last time I wore stockings, was to a kink event, they were black sheer. Worn more to keep my legs warm, though they set my outfit off nicely.

This morning I went in search of fishnet stockings for this post. I was pretty sure I didn’t have any in my sock / tight drawer. After drawing a blank in two shops I decided that it was too wet and cold to look further. Plus I was on my way home from swimming and hadn’t yet had coffee.

So I searched the drawer and found these tights. Then slipped on some rarely worn heels and even if I say so myself my legs do look pretty good. Indeed, I should show more of my legs. I really do need to equip myself with more stockings and occasionally get my heels out of the box under the bed.

Fishnets is the prompt for Wicked Wednesday and this is the closest I could manage. Click below to see who else is participating.

Romance

Flowers - mainly pink and violet
Flowers I received on my birthday one year. Not romantic but beautiful.

I wouldn’t say I am unromantic, in fact I love a little romance, but I’m not a big fan of St Valentines day. Partly that is because it is over commercialised, in a similar way to Christmas and Halloween. Flowers cost twice as much, restaurants are overbooked and over priced. Plus, in the main the gifts on offer are stupid. Who needs a teddy carrying a heart shaped cushion? Apologies if you do.

But, actually my main problem with St Valentines is something a bit more basic. I challenge anyone to view 14th February in quite the same way when they once spent it in labour. My son was born 3 weeks early, so it wasn’t expected. But in the afternoon of the great day everything started. The bundle of joy arrived at around 1.30am and what happened in between was much less romantic than the conception. As you might imagine.

After that, we were either busy with birthday parties and / or (mostly both) had no money. However, a lack of romance on the day of hearts and roses has offered me the opportunity to reflect on what romance is to me and how to approach it.

Romance isn’t just one day a year

It’s the little things that find their way into my heart. That unexpected piece of sexy clothing or a sex toy. Dinner out when you have hardly felt less like cooking. A massage when you ache. Champagne in the bath. Things that could happen any time and don’t need an advert to remind them.

I love flowers but I don’t believe Master has ever bought me any. That would be a romantic gesture, so long as it wasn’t attached to some other motive. That is part of the history of my marriage, so I’m happy to over look the lack of flowers in my vase. Indeed I can buy my own and I do. I’d buy them for him but he says they give him hay fever.

I’m happy for others to be romantic

I love to see others buying gifts for their loved ones for St Valentines, though I prefer not to see them ripped off. A meal out can be romantic, especially if it isn’t something you do often. As I said before, we went out for our anniversary, for no other reason than it was a special day. That felt romantic, even though it was just at our local curry house.

The most romantic thing I’ve done

Last year I booked us into a really lovely hotel for Master’s birthday. It was expensive, but so worth it. It’s where this was taken. I wanted to treat him because of all of the support he had given me over the previous few months and longer. Great memories were created that weekend that will live with both of us.

I’m sure there will be lots more romance to come in our lives. We’ll be out this weekend (on Sunday) to celebrate my son’s 29th birthday. But we’ll be steering clear of any over hyped pseudo romance on Friday.

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