Kneeling and knocking over your gin and tonic (more of that later)
Kneeling didn’t always carry the meaning for me that it does now. When I was in my late 20’s and early 30’s I was a district (community) nurse and in those days we spent quite a bit of time on our knees. In hospital the furniture is set at a particular height, which both allows the patient to easily move, say from bed to chair plus the height helps with the strain on the back. It was less often during that time that furniture was at the right height for either, though we had hoists, blocks to raise chairs etc. However, I know I spent quite a bit of time on the floor, on my knees. Sometimes this was about getting closer to the patient, holding their hand and in the absence of any where close to sit, I would kneel. Other times it was about dressings, often to the legs. Rather than bed, I would kneel.
All of that is a long time ago and I am no longer 30 something. My back gets stiff and painful from my nursing career and it is less easy to jump up from my knees. Plus, when I kneel my back aches.
However the desire to kneel is great.
There is nothing more special that when Master demands: ‘On your knees girl’. Often this means He wishes me to suck His cock. Or perhaps He just wishes to exert His Dominance and authority over me. There is something about those words that make my knees weak and allow sinking to my knees all the easier. If naked He might request I spread my knees apart so that he can feel the slickness spreading between my legs. Sometimes He will place a leather collar around my neck, or perhaps put on a harness. Somehow the combination of those things: the collar, the kneeling, feeling my cunt will almost bring me off on the spot. For me kneeling is part of my submission, all more special because I don’t do it so often, or for long. Half an hour like that and it is difficult to actually move. The mind is willing but the body is knackered!
It has been a busy working day and I was later home because I was helping my son with the sale of the car he was given after my dad died ( it didn’t happen but that is another story). Dinner out of the way, the clearing up done, I sat down to write this post and sat for a moment wondering what word to include with Kneeling.
I glanced out in the garden and noticed in the dusky gloom, the towels I put on the washing line yesterday and which were too wet to bring in last night due to the showers I didn’t predict. I jumped up, thinking I would sort that first. I put one foot into my boot (which I had helpfully kicked off near to the sofa; oh how lazy you become when living alone) and somehow knocked over my lovely glass of gin and tonic!!!
So as I cleared up the mess and refilled my glass before bringing in the towels I named the second part of this post; K for knocking over your gin and tonic!
This post is inspired by this one by Geno Day. Turmoil of the mind and its effects on the body, and vice versa.
Generally these days I am a reasonably calm person. I say these days, because perhaps that wasn’t always so. For a period of time my life itself was in a state of flux as I worked through the decisions I had made to stray from my marriage and then to end it. Meeting Master occured during that time and I struggled to balance the various elements of my life as it was then with discovering my apparent deep seated need for submission. Times spent with him, meant learning to let go of my daily life, and embracing the new experiences he offered me. I learned to go for whole days and longer without considering my job or the other people in my life who had a call on me – the nearly ex husband, my son, my parents. Instead I learned to concentrate on me and on him, my Sir as he was at the time. We played quite a bit in those early days and through that play, I found out so much about my body discovering that by letting go of the turmoil present within my mind, something else took its place. A freedom in my head, the ability to allow my submission to build and to take its place. Perhaps though the turmoil moved to a new place; somewhere around my groin area.
Orgasms were for a long time a way of gaining release from the frustrations of my life and the marriage where I seemed unable to enjoy sex with my husband. The freedom that came with those orgasms were however short lived, momentary even. Meeting Master, however meant that things felt different. Sex was different, I enjoyed it, embraced it, loved it even. Orgasms were no longer mine to own, and in the main, he decided when they occured. Having that control removed, freed me even more, allowing my body to respond to him and my mind to focus on him. He trained my to respond to his command, counting me down from 5 or 10 or heaven forbid, 20. I found that by focusing on him and not on what the end result was to be meant that I was able to orgasm on his command. My body responded in a way that I would never have imagined.
Fast forward to now, just over two years into the relationship. Now his slave and his property, I am the writhing slut he wants and needs. My body often enters a state of physical turmoil towards the end of the count, as I fight to control it until it is time. My body writhes and reacts almost of its own accord as the physical conscious reacts with the unconscious. Fluid gushes from my pussy, demonstrating the physical arousal. My clitoris hardens and sounds emerge from my mouth as all of the emotions come together in climax. He loves me to look at him as I cum. He loves to see my eyes shining and I love to see the power that he recognises in himself at that moment. As the turmoil passes, so I thank him for the gift of that orgasm. He owns them, but gives them freely to me and then he tells me I am a good girl.