Reclaimed

It had been perhaps 2 weeks since my last orgasm. There hadn’t been much in the opportunity or indeed desire during our week apart. For one, it was too hot in a bedroom where the air conditioning wasn’t used. A preference of the other occupant. For another I didn’t feel the need and for another my orgasms really don’t belong to me. 

His fingers explored my damp folds and he leaned down to inspect his property. As he placed his mouth over my clit I felt my excitement build and my cunt grow wetter. I took his hard cock in my hand and worked it a little. His tongue still moving over my piercing, he slipped a finger into my vagina. I was moist but a little tight after the abstinence, so he moved his finger in and out, then inserted another. Suddenly the need to orgasm was at the forefront of my mind; an urgent need. Thankfully the countdown was only 5, else I might not have been able to hold back. This was a clitoral orgasm of the finest order.

As he pushed his cock inside me, a feeling of relief overwhelmed. Master is reclaiming his slave, he told me and that is how it felt. He told me to cum again, and this time I felt a gush from inside my cunt and I began to float. He asked me who I was, the answer flowed easily from my lips  – “this girl is Master’s slave”.

Pulling away he instructed me to mount him, so I got off the bed while he rolled onto his back. I climbed aboard and his cock slid into my now wide and slick hole. I tightened my hips and moved up and down on his throbbing dick as he rubbed my clit. More orgasms flowed from me and he pulled me forward arching his hips from underneath. my inner slut was now in full force and I became an orgasm producing machine. Spent, I lay beside him and he took me one last time, releasing his seed into my throbbing body.

I had been reclaimed.

In The Mood

It is a while since I followed one of the sccwriting prompts. They can be found here.

Submission and sex

There is no doubt in my mind, or indeed Master’s that my submission and sexuality go hand in hand. I am at my most submissive when we are having sex. This is, I think, because when we are having sex I am able to let go of everything else in my mind and just be. I can live in the moment, and when I do that my submission comes to the fore. At the same time, Master’s dominance is most pronounced when he is aroused. That is not to say that our M/s relationship is confined to the bedroom, or indeed playroom. Since that is the other place when my submission is in profound evidence. There are undercurrents all of the time, but they are subtle and not overt. 

Tasks when in the mood for sex

Tasks and rules come more easily to me when I am in the mood for sex, that is definitely true. Calling him Master and myself this girl come automatically and I feel I am pretty much under his spell. During sex and play, I could easily comply with any thing asked of me. As a slave, I have no specific limits, I implicitly trust him to keep me safe and I willingly submit to him. 

Interestingly, since we have been living together, I have begun to regain the ability to relax and allow him to take control much more of the time. In the past I always had to retain responsibility for a large proportion of my life. Recently the need for this has receded and it is now only things to do with my family that I retain control. I see that in the future, my submission will grow and develop and become more evident outside of the bedroom.

Not feeling it

There are plenty of times when one or other of us doesn’t feel the M/s side of our lives. Sometimes that happens at the same time. Since our relationship is strong, I don’t see this as a problem. We are not robots, we are living human beings with feelings and needs. Together we can always work through them.

Breaking the rules

What is your attitude to rules? Do you follow them completely? Do you bend them? Are they there to be broken?

I struggle with the whole concept of rules. On one hand we need laws to ensure people understand what is considered right and wrong. That there are punishments for committing murder, theft, rape etc. But the problem is people love to make rules and even laws for their own sake. Often these seem to be for the purpose of exercising power over others.  Laws relating to sex seem to be for this very purpose. I find it abhorrent that for so long it was illegal for people of the same sex to express their love for each other, have relationships and enjoy sex. Also that women couldn’t terminate unwanted pregnancies. For so many people in the world these things are still illegal and even here where they are not, stigma and taboo remain.

Do you have any self-imposed rules that you live your life by? Do you ever break these?

My personal rules relate to the things I feel are morally right. They relate to respecting others, to being kind and considerate. But also I try not to break some of the more obvious rules of society and laws of the land. I try to treat others as I would want to be treated. I try to stick to the speed limit and to do what I can to help my mum and others that need me. Sometimes though things don’t go so well. I can be intolerant of others, especially those who seem to want to waste time, people that are not prepared, and those who are down right rude. There are times when I can be short tempered and impatient and then I am inclined to forget the rules. 

Within your relationship, are there rules you abide by? Who sets these? Have you ever broken them and, if so, was it deliberate? What are the consequences of rule breaking in this context?

As a consensual slave in a M/s relationship there are rules. We have tried ones that were agreed and written down, but neither of us were very good at them. For me, us living apart meant that some of them were tricky to stick to all of the time and for him, informing them was too much trouble. 

So really our rules are about respect and remembering who has the last word. They are about honesty, about telling him everything and not bottling things up. For us, rules are about me allowing him to take control and being happy when he does. The main rule is that his decision is final. Probably for us that is enough.

My roots

Until they are older, and have children of their own, many people don’t think about their origins, their roots. As young children, my brothers and I enjoyed listening to our grandparents recounting stories of how they had met, their courtship and marriage. Soon after they married the second world war broke out, grandad went off to war. My nan and my mum who was only weeks old lives with family, but everyone muddled through. He was in France, North Africa and Sicily and she along with my mum lived in close proximity to their wider family in England. Tales of my grandad leaving a cuckoo clock on Dunkirk beach, of family members being ‘bombed out’ sounded rather amazing, exciting.

40 years ago, people were careful to recount only the less unpleasant stories of war. No one talked of fear or pain, of loss and poverty. The spirit of togetherness and making do came through, and the stories were embellished so that as children we found them exciting. The reality of course was different. 

The same grandparents had their roots in mining communities of the north east of England. They were in fact related to each other, cousins of a different generation. He was 9 years older, and went to India in the early 30s to escape the dangerous work of the pits. She was one of 9 children, whose father died when she was 5. My great grandfather’s death was caused by an accident in the slag heaps associated with the mines. A few years later, the family travelled south in search of a better life and to be closer to grown children already there. They had work in factories or in domestic service, in reality we would consider them children now, as the school leaving age was 14 at the time. By 1937 grandad had left the army (briefly it turned out) and was lodging next door to my nan and by August 1939 they were married with a child.

Grandad as a young man

I know this in some detail because my nan wrote it all down in what she called ‘her book’. It details her early childhood, the death of her father and moving south. Gives an insight to times spent with her brothers, the music of the times and to what it was like to be a child in the 1920’s and 30’s. It also tells me about the loneliness of being a mother whose husband was absent for the best part of 7 years. Of how people had to club together to afford decent food and the way in which death and destruction was just around the corner.

I feel privileged to have this memoir in my possession, along with the stories told to us and the family photos we can piece more of their lives together. Maybe it is time to put a little some of it online so their story can be preserved for future generations.

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

My body and me

I have always had difficult relationship with my body. I spent years believing I was fat and so hiding it away. Only to discover later, while looking back at old photos that I was slim. By then of course I’d put on a few stones. Before my pregnancy I had pretty small tits, but they grew and grew and thankfully stayed that way, even after I had breastfed.

Master says he likes my body, and that he wants something to grab hold of. I believe him and am comfortable in my own skin when I am around him. I love that he finds me sexy and arousing, even though I struggle to see it myself.

My mum has never held back from showing off her body. My son recently remarked that he found going holiday with nan a bit embarrassing, especially when she sunbathed topless. I never did so around him, partly after getting burnt in my youth, but mainly to avoid his blushes. Also, I thought I was fat, even when i wasn’t.

Hiding

Last Wednesday I arrived in Cyprus with my right breast covered in 2 large dressings. The day before, I attended a screening one stop clinic where I had 2 areas biopsied. A small area of calcium deposits was detected on the mammogram taken last month. The breast lump I had already found wasn’t seen on the xrays. I’m a nurse and I didn’t realise that would be the case. After much prodding, poking and an ultra sound scan, the area was biopsied. I still have a massive bruise to show for it.

The dressing was visible above my top, but if mum noticed it she said nothing. Sitting on the plane beside her, I wondered what I should say. As is often the case between she and I my decision was to say nothing. If the biopsies are negative she doesn’t need to know. However, since we are sharing a room this has presented a problem. And has led to me scurrying into the bathroom to dress, change and undress. It is a completely different situation to how things would be if I were home or indeed Master were here.

My reticence about speaking of my biopsy, of showing my body to others and in particular my mum exposes a deeper issue. She is not good with other people’s problems, she certainly managed to make my dad’s illness about her. But also we tolerate each other rather than enjoy each others company. Earlier in the week she actually described me as her carer, which I guess this week, I am.

But my inability to speak about the biopsy is also about me. It is about me coming to terms with changes in my own body. This summer I have developed a number of problems, including the lump. I am not healing as i did, bruises are taking longer to fade and disappear and there is something not right.

I don’t know if this is cancer or not, I will know on Thursday. But if it is, there will be no more hiding. If all is well, then maybe I need to take some lessons from this experience and value my body more. It’s the only one I have.

Longing

After almost 2 months of living with Master i find myself far away from him, on holiday with my mum. Suffice to say, I am missing him. This post is about the things I am longing for

To begin with I was worried that I had lost something of my identity, that caring role I both love and despise. But very soon we settled into our own new routine of cooking, eating and clearing up together. In my previous life, I decided what to cook prepared it and then cleared away. This life is different already, those decisions are being made and enacted together. This may seem like nothing, but in my experience it paves the way for much much more. Evenings spent together snuggled on the sofa watching TV, or sitting separately reading, discussing current affairs or listening to music, lost in our own world.

I am missing that feeling of closeness and easy silence. But also the sex, the kink and erotic times that are ever present in our lives. Sleeping in a single bed and waking up next your mother just doesn’t feel the same. I long to feel his body pressing against my back as I stir in the early morning stillness. I want to feel his cock grow and harden as it pushes against my lower back. His hand resting on my breast. To know he is awake because he has stroked me or squeezed a nipple.

I long to hear his voice, to ask ‘did girl sleep well?’ To see his eyes gleam when I tell him I need to pee. Knowing he wants to watch, or even have me pass my gold onto his body as he sits in the bath. I miss the way Master seems to be reading a business article online, but them starts to wank himself and when I lean in to see, he has switched to porn. Sometimes when I lay pretending to sleep he is wanking, irritatingly shaking the bed. I like to complain he is stopping me sleeping. He laughs and tells me he is getting ready to service his girl. How I would love to be used by him today.

I want to feel his hands on my body, his fingers exploring my holes, his tongue on my clit. To know his cock is rubbing against my piercing. That little jolt of almost pain as he pushes into my tight cunt. I would love those things right now.

Instead I am here, on a sunbed in Cyprus while my lover is at home. The brownie points I am earning from my mum mean though that when I get home we will hopefully be left in peace. For at least a little while. In a few days, the longing will be over and I will be in his arms. Them I may well fleetingly wish to be back here, in the sun. But perhaps with him!

Some day

So many things that I wanted to do have become reality. The fact that Master and I are living together, that we have the time to do the things we want together is wonderful. Last weekend we attended our third CMnf – Clothed Male, naked female – event. This time I was so relaxed about everything that I had no hesitation in getting stripped off straight away. I wore nothing all afternoon other than a lovely chain harness that we bought at BBB a few weeks ago. I love the way it frames my breasts – there will definitely need to be a photo on the blog soon. 

But this week I have had cause to reflect on the concept of waiting to do things ‘some day’s versus getting on and doing them now. For two years Master and I spent time working on my house and garden. I know this because over the past couple of months  numerous posts have reappeared on Facebook. Repairing the shed, painting fences, decluttering, painting walls. The same with women, for a long time I knew I had had enough but that moving house and giving up work would have to happen around the same time.

Those things have now happened and our time is our own. Now we can plan for new dreams, a new some day. Well hopefully yes. But as I lay on a doctor’s couch on Tuesday having a lump in my breast biopsied, I did consider that perhaps we should now just do what we want when we want to. My dream of having more time to myself didn’t involve breast cancer treatment, and maybe it wont come to that. I will know next week.

I now wonder about the 2 years of procrastination, of doing things right for my ex. I wonder if I should have been harder faced and concentrated more on what we needed for us. There is no turning back, butmaybe a realisation that thinking you’ll do things some day is the wrong approach. If you can, do it now.

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

Lazy days and warm evenings

I had planned to write something yesterday to accompany my Sinful Sunday post. But having arrived home late on Saturday and then needing to leave for CMnf soon after midday, there wasn’t time. 

The trip to France was arranged to make some running repairs on the apartment. Owning property abroad seems glamorous, when in reality it can be expensive and stressful. This year the lady who was meeting guests and cleaning suddenly sent notice and so I was forced to cancel all my airbnb bookings. This has meant that the place has been empty for most of the summer. Now I’m no longer working, I need to consider whether to rent in the future or keep it for family, friends and us.

Summer in the south of France this year has been glorious and still is. By Monday lunchtime we had pretty much done what we wanted to do and over lunch hatched a plan to stay longer. A friend was arriving Sunday, so we just needed to lead before then (he already had the key). 

Once the new flights had been booked and the car hire extended we settled into a relaxed routine and did very little.

Lazy days

Morning sex is our thing. Master tends to be horny when he wakes and I can be easily persuaded. So after sleeping late and just luxuriating in not needing to get up, we had sex most mornings. On the surface this might seem quite vanilla in nature, often missionary. But there are always elements of Dominance and submission as well as restraint, nipple pinching, forced orgasms  and the like. We didn’t have toys with us and so used our hands and mouths to please and excite.

When finally we emerged from bed and showered we then spent time sitting out on the balcony over coffee and then lunch. Strolling out to the shop if necessary and then returning to our nest for the afternoon. I would stretch out on my sun bed and maybe take a swim. This all may seem a little dull, but it really wasn’t. It was the end product of 3 months and more of stress, packing, unpacking and general craziness. It was what we both needed.

Warm evenings

Most evenings we ate out. Strolling around the harbour area, or into the local village for dinner. It was lovely to be able to eat al fresco and to watch others either dining too or wandering around the area. It was good to be uninterrupted by normal everyday life but to interact when we needed and wanted to. 

The only real downside to the warm evenings was that we were feasted on by the local mosquitos (me more than him). We should have been better at spraying ourselves with repellant I know. But the bites will heal and fade, the memories of our lazy days and warm evenings will remain.

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.

Our changing lifestyle

Friday 31st August was the last day in my job. I bought cakes and fruit for people in the office, went for lunch with colleagues and then sent my final emails. For the first time in my almost 38 year career I voluntarily walked from my workplace with no job to go to. 5 years ago I was made redundant, but within weeks I was working again. This time will be different, I am as yet undecided as to whether I want or need another job. What is more, I have made a deal with myself not to think about it until the new year.

This week we are in France. The weather is glorious, the days still a little longer than at home. We have nothing to do but be together and to remind ourselves of why we love just being together. On the spur of the moment we have extended our stay, because we can. We don’t need to be home till Sunday and neither of us has work or other responsibilities to pull us back yet.

The events of the last weeks – the move, winding down then leaving work – have sapped me of energy. I have struggled to feel sexy for my man even when he tells me how much he wants and needs me. I have slept alot this holiday and while awake Master has paid lots of attention to me and my body. Gradually I am beginning to feel human again and yes, a little horny. He asked me this morning how that manifests itself, and I had to think. It is a long time since I took the initiative, made it clear what I want. Now though maybe I am ready.

Our lifestyle to date has involved me working 4 days a week and spending those evenings alone at home, then us coming together for the weekend. Some Fridays I visit my mum and stay over. For months there has been work around the house, packing, decluttering. But now we have much more time to be together and make a life together.

What is clear is that certain elements of our M/s relationship which have been a little on the back burner will be able to come to the fore. We have been talking about our feelings, of ways in which his dominance and my submission is important to us. This is an evolving picture and something I will express here on my blog over the coming days, weeks and months. What I know is, for the first time I am putting me, our relationship and importantly Him first from now on.

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