this girl's journey to become the slave her Master desires
Well, the weekend hasn’t turned out quite as expected. London is less busy then usual, the hotel quiet. But things are still open and people going about their business. This might be the last opportunity for cheeky fun we have for a while. But when staying in a hotel overlooking something very cheeky, one has to take advantage.
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?
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.
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!
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.
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.
This week is all about final preparations for attending Eroticon 2020. This will be our 4th Eroticon. To say I am excited would be something of a massive understatement. This year I am going to be an Eroticon Ambassador which is a huge privilege. But more of that later.
My name is Julie or @mpbjulie on Twitter and I will be at Eroticon with my partner and Master, Graeme. He is @Master_of_MPB, not that he uses twitter much.
Graeme goes to humour me, so if asked would probably say he isn’t looking forward to anything at all. He tends to get more out of it than he says though and particularly enjoys the two socials.
One of my favourite songs for getting up and dancing is I gotta feeling by the Black Eyed Peas.
My favourite books from the past year are a trilogy (no I couldn’t choose one). Not my usual reading material but, A Discovery of Witches and the rest of the All Souls trilogy was just the best thing I’ve read in a very long time.
This is a photo of the Salt flats (les salins) where I have my apartment in France.
This is going to sound a bit dull. But we have loads to do in the house and money and time are making progress quite slow. So I’d spend the money on decorating and getting fitted wardrobes in the bedroom. If possible I’d also get a new bigger bed.
Actually not much right now. A good spanking maybe, but hopefully I’ll get one of those when we go to CMnf on Sunday! (I actually wrote this last week and got my spanking already). So all I need is for Friday to arrive!
This glass dildo is just wonderful. Cool and smooth I love the feel of it as it slides into my cunt. Just a beautiful thing.
When I saw this F4T prompt about dating and dates I wondered what on earth I could write. In fact, I wondered if I’ve ever even been on one. I guess of course it depends on your definition of what a date is. It’s also because I never called going out, seeing someone, dating. But of course I’ve dated.
My very first date was with my next door neighbour to the cinema to see a James Bond film, back in the 1970s. We only went because I refused to meet him at the back of our houses anymore until he took me somewhere. No more kissing and touching up without a trip somewhere. It was a one and only.
Next I went out with a guy over the road. He had a motorbike and my mum told me I couldn’t go on it. Of course I did and we went bowling. It wasn’t a date as such because 5 or 6 of his mates were there too. But it was fun. I finished with him soon after, the second evening with him was at his house, again with biker mates and their girlfriends. The final person I dated in our childhood street was the man I married. He took me on the bus to London, we walked in the park and ate strawberries and ice cream.
We were together for 5 years before we married and another 7 before we had our son. Plenty of date opportunity. Nothing sticks out for me, but we occasionally made an effort to do something for just us rather than with friends or family. I guess that’s how it goes.
By the time we were of an age that we should be trying to inject some excitement into our dull lives I wasn’t keen. And if I was then he wanted to invite others along. Not to say we didn’t have our moments, but overall no dating as such.
I went out with a few men while married. Most were purely platonic though fun occasions. A few involved snogs and fumbles, a bit of excitement to spice up my otherwise dull life. It wasn’t until S that I actually went on a date that ended with us having sex. We met in the bar of a small hotel / pub and lust took over soon after we downed our drinks. It was a long distance relationship and most of it took place in his house. Dates were far and few between. He was also a bit on the tight side, preferring to spend £10 on providing a picnic than £50 on a meal in a restaurant. But we did go out on actual dates a few times.
Thankfully meeting Master was a different experience. Life with him involves a lot of interesting activities and not just kink and sex. Our first meeting was in a pub. We went for a walk, a chat and a snog then went back to the pub for a second drink. Play happened the next day and sex the week after. But from the beginning we went out together on what could be described as dates.
When it was coming up to our anniversary at the beginning of February I asked if we could go out for dinner. An evening out where we went to dinner and went home again. A date. You see, when we eat out it is usually because it’s convenient. Before or after a concert, film or show. Or because we are travelling. I guess all of those could be dates in themselves, but they are actually part of our normal life. I’m not complaining and life is far from dull. Anyway we went out for our anniversary and it was lovely, a relaxed meal, the pub and then home and some sex. We did it again last weekend, so maybe it will become a more regular thing.
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.
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.
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.
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.
One of the joys of Sunday morning is a long lie in with Master and the attention he likes to give me. This morning that involved a little light spanking, as well as some delicious sex. He told me at the time and again after he sent me this image that I have a rather nice arse. From this angle, I’d tend to agree. Yay too for pink skin (now faded).
Click on the lips below to see who else is playing this week.
My happiness is complete when I look at him and see this.
Without Master in my life none of these February Photofest images would have been possible. Whether because he took them, was in them or inspired them. Thank you.
So, that’s it folks for another year. Thank you for visiting and commenting. See you next year, by which time I will have amassed a whole new collection and won’t need to search the archives. Mainly because there are none left. The cupboard is bare!
Poised for action. I’m at my mum’s tonight, though this was from my last visit. Whenever I stay here I wear by dad’s dressing gown. It is soft and comfortable and sets me up for the day.
This story is loosely based on fact. I really was fucked on a picnic table in the woods while wearing a leather collar and leash. But the rest of it is part of my fantasy of what might have happened that day. Content warning: Consent Non-consent (CNC), Humiliation.
If ever you go into the woods and stumble across a picnic table, do you wonder who was there before you? What might have happened here? And before you sit down and unwrap the sandwiches you might want to get out the wet wipes, because maybe the last people here fucked on that picnic table.
We met in the car park. As instructed I was wearing a summer dress, sensible shoes and nothing else. Although it was only around 10am the sun was high in the sky and it was warm. In those days I was yet to acquire a car with air conditioning, the open windows did nothing to cool my throbbing cunt. Anticipation rather than heat was at work here. You see, I had no idea what was in store for me. The man I was meeting was very keen on fantasy games and I was his willing victim.
I travelled light, apart from the lack of clothing I only carried a small bag, containing my purse and other essentials. Stuff you don’t really need in the woods (my phone maybe, but signals were poor). He carried a largish rucksack, containing lunch and who knew what else. Not me at that point anyway. He took my bag and put it inside his.
Of course he felt me up in the car park, in front of anyone who happened by, though I can’t remember if any one did. We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks and we had the hots for each other. I might have fucked there and then if he had requested it. He put a leather collar around my neck and attached a leash, there in the middle of the car park. Then he walked me into the dense woodland and once inside, blindfolded me.
Completely dependent on him I followed his instructions about where to step. Periodically the leash would pull tight and I’d almost stumble. But as instructed I was silent. Concentrating on the sounds and smells of the forest. I had no idea if others were around us and was both humiliated and excited at this sign of my submission. I lingered on the edge of orgasm, made worse as my cunt leaked fluid that caused my thighs to slide together as I walked. I momentarily wondered if I would be permitted an orgasm today.
Suddenly he told me to drop to my knees, as I did so the collar pulled tight against my neck. I assumed the required pose, my knees wide, hands resting loosely on them. I heard some rustling and knew what was in store. Obediently I opened my mouth to take the cock that was thrust into it. I savoured the saltiness of his pre-cum and the very size of what filled my mouth.
“Good cunt” he groaned at me. I concentrated on sucking, my mouth wide and drool already running down my chin. His fingers reached inside my summer dress and pinched my left nipple. “take me girl, take this cock” He said as I felt a sharp pain, a clamp now pinched my breast. I groaned around the huge dick filling my mouth and tensed as pain throbbed through both breasts. For a while I was lost giving him the pleasure he demanded.
He pulled away and pulled me to my feet. His fingers groping for my clit, large and engorged, before pushing two into my dripping cunt. “you are such a wanton slut aren’t you” he asked. I nodded, because it was true. I was and am. “what do you want slut?” he asked. “speak”.
“Your cock Sir”
“Come” he gently pulled on the leash and I followed. My knees knocked into something hard and putting my hands out I felt wood. I ran my hands over the grain. “It’s a picnic table” I could hear him grinning. “We can have lunch here, but first, I’m going to fuck you on it.
Sir Helped me kneel on the seat and then to lean over it. He secured rope around my wrists and tied me to the table. I was now unable to move, though had no desire to do so. I felt his cock pushing into my soaking cunt as I lay secured to the table top. My knees were grazed a little by the wood. My nipples, with the clamps still attached sending ripples of pain through my body. He took his pleasure from me. A wanton slut, blindfolded and collared. Unaware that behind her there were 3 men watching and wanking.
Because as well as taking care about the cleanliness of a picnic table, you should also beware of mentioning your fantasies. Such as the one about being fucked in the woods while others watch.
To be continued!
