Behind the Mask

I'm feeling a little bit low today. It's not my way to share, when I'm feeling down. It's usually only retrospectively that I tell people I've had a period of sadness, for example. R would laugh at that - he thinks I give a constant running commentary of my status about everything to everybody, but actually he only sees that because I share everything with him. With others - not so much. So I'm not quite sure why I feel motivated to do a brain-dump today, but I'm trying something new. I would like to avoid the escapist happiness whilst out socialising followed by private misery, so I'm going to record my feelings here. By venting my feelings, perhaps a little bit of equilibrium can be attained.

I've taken some risks recently, and in doing so I've made myself very vulnerable. Maybe this is the reaction to that. I've let people see my body, and now I'm feeling unattractive, made entirely of lard, I think my hair looks horrible at the moment, I look like a twat in photos, I'm gross, gross, gross. Looking at other people's pictures and feeling wistful - it must be lovely to be like that, why do I have to be so yucky?

But, to be honest, I'm used to feeling like that - it's not such a big deal. The fact that I've exposed my naked body to ridicule can join company with exposing my clothed body to ridicule on a daily basis.

It's the stuff in my head - my mind - that I'm feeling the most self-disgust and loathing for right now. I feel ugly - in my head. I slept badly last night and had nightmares. For the last couple of days I've been feeling fragile, insecure, unlovable. I've firmly set that aside and got on as if behaving as if I wasn't feeling that way.

I've written some things recently that I wish I hadn't. The whole blog thing - I've never written down anything like that before. Neither am I in the habit of writing down fantasies or erotic stories. I've never done it before - ever. I have to force myself past the inhibition - because I know if R read it, and be really uncomfortable, finding it overly sexualised. His reaction would be to laugh, nervously, and then quickly change the subject, if he ever saw anything like that. The same way he reacts if I try and be overtly sexual with him in any other way. And this makes me wonder if perhaps others react like that, too. Perhaps they wish I would keep my thoughts to myself, and not embarrass them by sharing TMI.

I've written down a couple of fantasies recently, and sent them to N, and now I'm wondering why the hell I did that. The first one was relatively tame, to test the water, as it were, and the second one was more edgy. I know it grossed her out, and she didn't find it erotic. She said it was interesting, and revealed a lot about my mind, but when I asked what, she basically said - don't go there. Leave it.

I feel sickened by my mind, my body, and my sexuality at the moment.

Part of the reason why others have always perceived me as 'odd' is because I make them uncomfortable. I'm too quiet, then this is followed by something TMI and unusual coming out of my brain. This disquiets people. Am I doing this to all my friends and they're usually just too polite to say? Is my sexuality something best left unexplored and unfulfilled, because I'm basically so damaged that I'm broken?

That's when I'm not pissing people off by being an anally retentive control freak and annoying everyone in my life by planning things in advance to the nth degree.

Definitely having a couple of days where I just feel like going out to the garden and putting my head face down in the soil and letting the rain fall on me.

And now I'm worrying that by sharing how I feel, I'm being all high maintenance and drama queen, and needy, and demanding things of people. I find it very difficult to ask for what I need, in many respects. It's hard for me to ask for reassurance at the time when I need it - usually because it means I'm feeling vulnerable, and showing that, asking for something, means making myself even more vulnerable. Fuck, I can't even get this bit of myself right. What a mess. Just - what a mess.

Two more bites of the apple...

I had two new experiences last weekend, to add to my collection of 'steep learning curves'.
I went to a members only play club, and it was both terrifying, yet reassuring; alarming, yet comfortable; strange, yet familiar.


I remember when I was 15 years old, and I went to my first goth club. I'd always been on the outside looking in - until that day. I grew up in a small town, where I was, literally, 'the only goth in the village' before I even knew I was a goth my own self. It took somebody yelling 'oi, fuck off, goth' to even make me consider maybe I was one of them funny goffick types.


The main rock/metal/alternative/goth club in those days has long since disappeared, but still conjures up a thousand cherished memories for many people who used to go there regularly. The first time I went there was the first time I'd ever been to a nightclub, and the first time I ever felt a part of anything, instead of being separate; included instead of excluded. I'd found my family - and even now, I love those moments when you walk past someone in the street who's a bit alternative, and there's a little twinkle; not even so much as a nod or a look, just a silent acknowledgment that yup, we're in this together.


Even though I was nervous, and feeling a little flaky, faint, even... that same buzz filled me when I walked into the room at the members' club. There were knockers and willies everywhere, I hardly knew where to look, but at the same time it all felt very natural and un-intimidating. I found it hard to meet anyone's eyes - but at the same time, I felt they were all On My Side. I was with the ever delightful N, who took me round the room to look at the equipment. I felt a little like a large but nervous dog with a very long tail - I was suddenly made of Tense and convinced I was going to blunder into someone/something and knock them/it over, which would in turn cause some kind of domino effect leading to everyone and everything in the club falling over, and glaring at me before sighing and rolling their eyes...


I was really starting to feel a little odd by this point, which may or may not have been exacerbated by a tight corset, choker, two large cocktails with lots of booze in, and a residual 'I've not been well, you know'-ness left over from a lurgy.


N flexed her domme muscles and inserted me into the strange suspension lattice with leather straps, which wraps around you and lifts you off the floor. Unaware that I was ailing in a consumptive fashion, she over-ruled my reservations and popped me inside. I get a bit claustrophobic at the best of times, and this damn near finished me off. Fortunately, alerted by the clammy state of my forehead, she removed me swiftly before I Came Over All Peculiar in a more spectacular fashion. I can see myself trying again at some stage when I'm feeling more myself, but it's never going to be a favourite. Unfortunately, she likes it lots, so I could find myself spending quite a lot of time in it when I inevitably misbehave...


Once I'd recovered to her satisfaction, she hauled me off to try her next toy. Oh gosh, how I was protesting...


She borrowed two fine young men to firmly strap me onto the table. I was facing forward, and my legs were spread, and tied at ankles, thigh and waist. My arms and wrists were cuffed onto the table also - it was supposed to be impossible to escape from. Even before the first cuff went on, an anticipatory warmth rushed through me. One thing that frustrates me is that I have to behave until I'm secured down - I would really love to be dragged (preferably by my hair), kicking, biting and screaming, over to a piece of equipment, able to lash out and fight even while I was being securely strapped into restraints. This would probably require a few burly types though. I'm stronger than I look and it wouldn't do it for me unless I could really writhe around without hope of escape.


Once I was safely lashed down (and I managed to get in a few verbal threats to the crew members helping N - something I later regretted...) I felt free to thrash about wildly. I was really unsure about flogging, beating, caning etc when I first stepped onto the scene, thinking that it would be just the d/s dynamic that would really do it for me, along with liking it rough. Turns out - I really REALLY like being hit with things. My body says 'yes, YES, YESSS!!' even when my mind says 'no, please, don't - you're hurting me...whimper...'. I wouldn't describe myself as a pain slut - although I like a bit of pain - but there's something about the feel and sound of something thudding into my flesh, or stinging my skin, that just sends me a little crazy - especially when I can let loose because I'm tied up. The fact that the implement in question is being wielded by a well fit bird who I happen to adore insanely, is nothing to do with it, of course 


It was while cutting loose in the above fashion that I managed to disentangle one leg from the straps on the table - several times. N was already on the verge of unleashing more severe discipline as a response to my accidentally calling her a bitch a few times, and my refusal to hold still so she could tether me back down led to her calling over the guys to pivot the table - who were more than happy to do so after my offer to punch them in the balls, earlier. I suddenly found myself upside down and screeching my head off. It was either behave and let her strap me back in, or stay upside down until I fainted. I chose the former option. Even I'm not that stupid.
With the straps pulled really tight, and the table back in the upright position, I still felt as if I was falling - but this time it was into a pit of moral depravity that I just wanted to roll around in until I was covered in dirty, perverted filth. MMm, that's right, grab me by the hair at the back of my neck and rub my face in it. Yum.


After being upended twice, all the fight had gone out of me, and I submitted meekly(ish) to further torment. Because I'd been a bit naughty, she finished off by offering me 20 seconds of nipple clamps (which I HATE) and 20 strokes of the cane. Well, actually it turns out I am that stupid, because I chose the cane. As she undid the straps and helped me down, where I slumped onto the spanking bench to take my punishment, I wondered what was wrong with my brain that I would choose the worst of two options. Even though I knew it would make her hit me even harder, I couldn't resist yelling a little, and smacking my hands into the bench, it just hurt so much.


My social reserve had pretty much disappeared by that point, having just shown my knickers to everybody in the club whilst upsidedown, so I relaxed enough to chat and talk rot with some lovely people. I peeked out from under my eyelashes at the delicious MT. Sitting next to N and MT and watching them interact was so much eye candy that I Came Over All Wrong. So much so that N had to take me off to play AGAIN! God, it's like I've become INSATIABLE! Damn that woman, she knows she only has to look at me and smile and I'll have a serious incident of Wrongness In My Knickers. Which will be shortly followed by showing said knickers to everyone in a five mile radius. Thank god all my underwear is so pretty. My husband said to me the other day 'I can tell you've been going out a lot, you've got all your best underwear on the washing line'. Damn straight, mister!


There were a couple of men who I liked the look of, but I am completely incapable of approaching assertive men without going all girly and blushing. One day soon I would like to play with a man, as long as he could stick to my limits. But I would much prefer someone to approach me, anyway. I quite like the idea of a man grabbing my wrist and dragging me off, protesting, to play, without even asking me. Realistically though, I could never allow this to happen, but the illusion of it would be delicious. N and I discussed how she would make the perfect intermediary for this, clearing play with me first by subtly checking whether I found someone attractive, and using her judgement to decide whether they were a safe player and if she was happy with it. I would never play with anyone I didn't want to kiss. In the case of men, I'm not going to kiss them anyway, as I'm married and that's a hard limit for my husband and I. But the hypothetical acid test still applies. And I would expect any woman who liked me enough to hurt me, to want to kiss me.


My final play of the night was the one that I enjoyed the most. My favourite St Andrew's Cross, being spread and shackled...pulling and tugging against the restraints enough to leave bruises on my wrists, but never able to get free. Able to cry out, without fear, yet at the same time knowing she would hurt me more because of it. Safe in that knowledge.


I crashed out afterwards into serious sleepy mode, and we left soon after. We'd both been up early, and although we checked into our hotel at 3pm, we hadn't got any rest because we'd spent all afternoon and evening fucking, playing, then fucking again. We barely made it to the club at all..


The next morning, we were virtually thrown out of our hotel where we'd overstayed past the checkout time. Ahem.


A medium sized drive later, made longer by a stop in a pub for lunch in the middle of nowhere, and my inability to perform basic functions such as putting water in my bag without leaving the top off, we arrived down south for what would be my first private play party, conveniently situated in a surburban house with its own dungeon.


The host and hostess of the party are such lovely people, it was very easy to relax and enjoy the rather strange ambience caused by having a cup of tea, whilst watching a naked man have clamps attached to his balls whilst lying on a table being beaten until he bled. I found his pained cries rather difficult to take, so removed myself to the kitchen, where my empathy was rewarded by seeing the host play with his sub. She was tied up with rope, and it looked so pretty, it made me envious. He touched her so tenderly, I found myself both aroused and moved. In the lounge, our hostess continued to give Mr Naked Man what-for. And again, despite his agonised yells, she touched him with huge compassion and gentleness, when she wasn't actually hurting him. There's something so beautiful about watching play like that, it makes me feel very privileged to witness it.


As much as I love watching others play, the highlight for me was being taken into the dungeon, stripped, tied up and beaten. The only clothes N would let me keep on, were my hold-up fishnet stockings and my bondage shoes. On the wall of the dungeon is the most solid cross I've ever seen, made of huge chunks of wood, and attached securely to the wall. A system of ropes and pulleys keeps the cuffs in place, so my arms were over my head and spread apart, and she opened my legs and cuffed them to the bottom of the cross. Opposite me was a huge mirror, and my vision was filled with the site of myself displayed and bound for her pleasure, and on the other side, N herself holding various implements of torture and beating me with them - across the breasts, on my thighs, and between my legs. I kept opening my mouth to swear and then catching her eye, and for once in my life doing something clever and thinking better of it. I managed to kick my way out of the restraining ropes a few times, but resisted the temptation to boot her in the leg. Even though I'd been extraordinarily well behaved, I still got punished though - this time I had to choose between nipple clamps, or her. I chose the clamps. Ow ow ow ow ow. I do believe my lower lip actually wobbles when those horrible things are put on me. But she can do far more hurty things to me than any piece of equipment, so I reckon I made the right choice, that time.


She let me out of the cuffs and shoved me roughly onto the oversized spanking bench in the middle of the room. Her hand in my hair, grinding my face into the leather, caused my buttocks to automatically thrust towards her. She mashed my face into the surface of the bench, as little moans escaped me. She put a mindfold on me (like a blindfold but you can open up your eyes, although you can't see anything but black). She alternated a beating with stimulation from the hitachi magic wand, which just fucked with my mind. I heard the door open and several people came inside, whispering, but I had no idea who, or how many, there were. My cries grew louder as she beat me with a toy made from little stainless steel balls, I wriggled and writhed under her hand and would have cried if she had carried on much longer, or if we'd been alone with no-one to witness my disgrace. She took pity on my whimpers and ended it with two loud, hurty thwacks from the flogger.


After a come-down from the experience, and a chat with some of the other partygoers, she took me home, all sated and satisfied and happy. The next day at work, a colleague accused me of looking so pleased with myself, I was dribbling smug all over the table. Every time I have had to deal with something frustrating this week, I let my imagination fill with beautiful images from the weekend, and think 'if you could just see what was going through my mind right now...or if you could see the bruises...!'


I would thoroughly recommend it as an anti-stress technique 

What happened at Guilty Pleasures

OR Why I Got It Wrong and What I Learned From It

I'm a fan of Laurell K Hamilton's filthy vampire stories, so a club named Guilty Pleasures, after the first book in the series, had inevitable appeal. Couple this with the promise of goth, metal, alternative, industrial music and it's irresistibly enticing!

Before I went to GP I negotiated with BD that we would play together. Ever since we first met I'd been intrigued by his ability to turn on the Look and the Voice and make me blush and go all coy and drop my eyes. I talked first to my husband and then to N, and they were both okay with it. BD and I had a chat about what my limits are with men, and what sort of thing I might like and not like (which was a really difficult conversation to have, drawing as I was from an invisible pallet due to my lack of experience). He knew this would be my first play with anyone other than Ness, only my fourth play altogether, and my first play with a man. So I was pretty confident it would be a straightforward, enjoyable session for both of us. BD is a friend, and I trust him. Ness would be present all the time, and I feel safe with her. It was in a reputable public club. What could possibly go wrong?

I know you're all rolling your eyes, sighing and putting your head in your hands. I'm an idiot, okay?

The answer is - *I* went wrong. I made some mistakes, but I was learning, and I'm still learning about what can go wrong and how to do it differently next time.

I'd played with N earlier in the evening, but not hard. BD had found someone to play with earlier, too, and so it was quite late by the time he took me over to the A-frame, chained my hands over my head, and cuffed my ankles to the sides. So far, so good. Then he blindfolded me. I didn't really want that, but I'd dropped into sub mode already by then, so didn't protest. Unbeknownst to me, BD was very sweetly checking with N every time he did anything. "Is it alright if I pull her knickers down?", he asked. "Help yourself, love" I believe was the gist of her reply.

He started spanking me for a warm-up, and I must admit, that was quite hot. It's been 13 years since a man who wasn't a member of the medical profession has touched my naked bum, and under these circumstances, it was really rather saucy. He moved onto beating me, and as usual, I started to get quite cross, and swore, shouted, and generally carried on in an unseemly fashion. And naturally, he started to beat me harder as a result. It very quickly stopped being enjoyable and moved into the realm of something to be endured. I'm not quite sure why I had it in my head that there were only 2 options: A) grit teeth, endure until it was over OR B) call a safeword, stop play entirely.

There were, in reality, many other options, of which the favourite would have been C) agree beforehand a method of checking in on my pain levels - for example, asking me out of 10 how much it hurt, and agree beforehand a number above which I didn't want to go, e.g. 5/10. However, D) whisper 'it's getting a bit much, please back down a bit' to either BD or N would also have been sensible.

I'm very confident and assertive in areas of my life which I'm experienced in. But this is so far out of my comfort zone that I worry and fret and think that I'm getting it wrong, I'm cocking it up, I'll get a rep for being a nob-end and everyone will hate me. I'd heard about 'topping from the bottom' and 'bratty subs' and didn't want - couldn't bear to - be looked down on in that way by the friends I'd started to make in this new community. Everyone's been so kind to me, BD's been willing to give me my first play with a man, he's been a friend to me. It seemed that choosing option C or D would be a poor way to repay him. I realise now that there's a subtle but distinct - and vital - difference between trying to dictate the agenda, and letting your top/dom know when you've reaching your limits. I still struggle very hard with this, but I'm still learning, and I hope I never stop being open to learning.

Because I'm a friend, BD was speaking to me in quite a joking tone, and N had to encourage him to try and sound like he meant business, because she knows I like that. The pain got more and more intense, and I lost my temper, which just made BD bring out his cane and christen it on me. He was trying to make me guess what the toy was ('Is it a flogger?' 'no...whimper', 'is it a paddle' 'nooooo...don't...', 'what is it then?') and I was refusing to say, even though I knew what it was. He started caning me in time with saying in a ridiculous voice 'It's BD's new cane! It's BD's new cane!' which caused N to look at him and raise her eyebrows in 'have you ACTUALLY gone MENTAL?' semaphore. It just shows how much I've recovered from the experience that I was lying in bed between my husband and Ness the other day, started thinking about this, and was giggling hysterically but trying to keep quiet so I wouldn't wake them up and have to explain myself!

But the caning was far, far too much pain. N kept coming to my front and checking on me. She asked if I knew my safeword, and I said yes. She asked BD to tell me what my safeword was, so that I would know that he knew it. So why didn't I safeword? Why take option A over option B? I'm still not 100% sure. I'm stubborn by nature, and prideful. I had heard doms say that they think they've failed if a sub has to use their safeword, because they've not read them right, and I didn't want to let BD down. BD and N interact in a very teasing fashion and I didn't want BD think himself a stricter dom than N, more able to administer discipline and bring me in line when I started shouting and swearing. I had to carry on yelling at him, for just as long and as hard as I would with N. Wouldn't want him to think I'm scared of him in a way I'm not scared of N - it would be letting the side down. And once I'd sworn and shouted at him, I had to take my punishment. I'd made my bed, as it were, now I had to lie in it and get beaten. I couldn't escape by safewording. It wouldn't be fair or honourable.

All these thoughts were at the back of my mind but I wasn't really thinking during the scene, just reacting. There was a point where I mistakenly thought I'd heard N's voice in the other room. I thought she'd left me alone with BD. I started sobbing, and he was banging on about being a dacryphile and how my tears would only turn him on. So I yelled 'they'll be tears of rage in a minute if you don't piss off and leave me the fuck alone!'

Not unreasonably, this got me a few seriously hard whacks, and I was quite prepared to suffer them as due consequence, when it suddenly occured to me I was about to black out. I'd been so pre-occupied by the pain and my emotional response, that I'd been unaware of the fainting sensations creeping up on me. I muttered 'feel wierd...faint...let me out' and I broke out in a sweat. The light darkened to a single spot in my eyes, there was a high pitched humming noise, and my heart was pounding. I knew it would only be moments before I passed out.
Within these rapidly passing moments, BD and N had me unchained and lowered me carefully to the floor. It seemed forever and a day to me though, and I had a powerful urge to pull wildly against the chains, but I had to flex my willpower as I knew this would only make it harder for them to release me. They both went into first aid mode, checking my reactions, giving me juice and a sweet when I was ready. My over-riding reaction was one of shame and guilt - I'd screwed it up, I'd made a nuisance of myself, I was looking like the biggest twat in the world. Poor BD and N, being lumbered with a mook like me. Everyone can see me making an arse of myself. it was the end of the night and the club organisers were trying to clear up so they could go home, and I was getting in the way.

Of course, everyone was kindness itself in reassuring me that this wasn't the case, that it happens a lot, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I wasn't being a nuisance - but that's how I felt at the time.

I got well enough to sit up, then stand, then be helped down the stairs by N, during which I came over all peculiar again. Every time I touched the memory in my mind, a fresh wave of sick dizzyness came over me. My mind was protecting itself, but trying not to think about it was almost as hard as ignoring the proverbial pink elephant. BD waited with me while N brought round the car. He held me close because I was shaking and so cold. I felt fresh waves of faintness; my body remembered it was this man right here holding me now who had hurt me. And yet, conversely, I also felt a yearning to be around him. I was strangely disappointed when he left.


I stayed with N that night and my mind and body were galloping headlong furiously, fuelled by body chemistry and unable to rest. It took hours, and N gently stroking my forehead, before I dropped into an exhausted and troubled sleep.

I woke the next morning feeling stricken, my thoughts and stomach churning. When I checked the mirror, the sight of the bruising nearly made me throw up. I've not got a weak stomach - I'm a first aider at work and have happily mopped up blood, piss and puke , I've bandaged up innumerable fingers sliced open by scalpels in the pursuit of art (don't ask...) but knowing you are looking at damage caused by someone which you asked them to do to you, you let them do to you - it's very different.

N settled me on the bus home. I'd been advised I might start feeling odd again about twelve hours after the event - and unfortunately this co-incided with an unavoidable one and a half hour bus journey. I rang my husband and asked if he could meet me at the bus stop and walk me home; only about ten minutes away but up six flights of steep stairs in an alleyway. I'd already given him a brief summary on the phone, and only needed to fill in the gaps in person. I was worried about how he'd react but simply wasn't able to cope with thinking about that too much as my brain was overloaded enough. I needed to rest and went to bed, but when I got up, I had to face up to him. He was absolutely furious, although he never raised his voice or acted as if he was angry - I just know him so well that he might as well have shouted, it was that obvious.
He said that from his point of view, another man had beaten His Wife almost unconscious for his own sexual pleasure, In Public, (there were definitely capital letters in his sentence), so much so that she could barely walk the next day.

We had the 'yes, I see why you might think that and be angry, but that's not really how it was, it was like this...' conversation. He felt plenty better after lots of explanation, reassurance and discussion. I, on the other hand, felt like shit. What the fuck was wrong with me that I would let someone do this to me? That I could hurt my husband so, for my own selfish reasons? I felt like a bitch, a slut, a sick freak. My husband refused to even look at the bruises - they disgusted and repulsed him. I was disgusted and repulsed by myself. For a few days I felt like turning my back on the scene altogether and never looking back.

But...time passes, the memory settles in, it no longer stings like a nettle every time you touch it. And the trouble with turning your back on something you really want is that it always ends up looking over your shoulder and whispering in your ear. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone screws up. It's what you do next that counts, as someone very wise pointed out to me. And what I did next was go to Club Crimson and have the most fantastic, hot as fuck play.

Betrayal

I am just letting off a bit of steam, so no big deal.

But I'm really shocked. I was logging into IC earlier when another profile name came up - and I quickly realised R must have made a profile. I logged in as myself and went to look at it, and the profile was blank but found he's posted this:

"Hi, my names Mo and I'm not the usual board member I'm the wife of a BDSMer and looking for advice/support for myself!

I've been married to my husband for 15 years and we have had mild Bondage roleplays before but recently he has become really involved in clubs/events which I have given my blessing to as it is not really my thing but I did not want him to feel frustrated or denied being able to explore this side of his nature.

However I still have worries, that:

a) He wants to try lots of new things.. what if he goes too far one night or wants to go further sexually than I am happy with (yes I know oral or full male-female sex generally never happens at most BDSM clubs but theres always what goes on behind closed doors..)

b) what if he gets bored with the sexual relationship we have together or merely indulges me out of a sense of obligation? or simply doesn't have the interest or energy for it after being out at his clubs and meetings?

c) What if he simply becomes too attached to someone (possibly younger and prettier than myself) who shares his interests in bondage and all things BDSM? I do fear that it will lead us apart one day.

While I have given him my blessing it dosn't mean I don't feel the stirrings of jealously or resentment sometimes, even if we have an agreement and it is all very above board.

Any advice or support would be great, thanks."

(obviously he has changed many of the factual details to protect the guilty)

I waited until he came home and asked if we could have a chat about things. I explained that I'd come across it and wanted to talk - asked him how he was feeling now, and we had a good full and frank discussion. Prefixed all my statements with 'I feel' and calmly and collected explained that I was quite upset and felt a bit betrayed, I've gone to a lot of trouble to be completely honest with him after all, and I expect the same in return.

I do so enjoy other people offering un-asked for advice (un-asked for by me, at least), about our relationship of 13 years. It's not as if I have regular, totally open and honest discussions with him, and beg him to tell me all his thoughts and feelings on an almost-daily basis, or anything like that.

R has said several times that he doesn't really want to go to a club or munch with me - he wouldn't like the music, he hates meeting/ talking to new people, he's totally uninterested in it sexually, and would get bored by midnight and want to go home. And if I wanted him there, I'd damn well invite him. It would be like going to a bellydancing workshop with him - he'd know nothing about it, have no interest in it, it would embarrass and inhibit me to dance in front of him, I wouldn't enjoy myself, and neither would he. I'd be constantly worried about him being bored or getting pissed off, and I'd have a crap time.

If anyone tells me I really ought to tell R how angry I feel, then they can fuck off, because they don't understand the dynamic between us. He knows I'm not happy about it, and what purpose would it solve to shout and scream at him, just to make myself feel better? I'll feel like a cunt, he'll probably be really hurt, so what's the point? I just need to vent about it a bit because I am FUCKING PISSED OFF.

it makes me feel like it's some guilty little secret, some dirty nasty thing I'm trying out. And if ONE MORE CUNTING BASTARD tells me how lucky I am to have such a kind, considerate, understanding husband, and how grateful I should be, I WILL GO INTO FUCKING ORBIT.

YES, I am extremely lucky, yes I am grateful, yes he is considerate and kind and understanding. Tell me something I don't know, fuckers. I've been telling everyone who will listen how special he is since we got together. But has anyone thought how it might make me feel to be told this over and over and over again? and does anyone bother to add 'and of course he's lucky too'? OH NO. Heavens forfend.

I should be SO INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL because of course, being a faithful wife for 13 years to the point of not even looking at other men or finding them attractive for the majority of that time, not doing a single thing without discussion and consent from him first, looking after his wellbeing, the household, our finances, the housework, making friends for us both, organising our lives, keeping him healthy, always always always putting his needs first - that's just expected of me, right? I should be so so so fucking grateful that he's allowing me to become a fulfilled person and just once, just for this one thing, ask for something all my own which isn't driven by someone else's needs.

And instead everyone's like 'you're so lucky, I hope you're suitably grateful, you should really appreciate him' and I DO, but you know what? Don't I deserve to have this? Because the subtext of the whole 'you're so lucky' thing is that I'm somehow getting more than is due to me. Because I'm just some kind of fucking cunt and don't deserve to have my needs met, don't need anything for my own self, am being incredibly selfish and should be super-grateful that I'm being allowed to indulge myself like this. Well thanks. No really. I just love to be made to feel like shit, it rules.

So I should just carry on, sleepwalking through life, repressing every ounce of sexual desire, losing my energy, my sparkle, myself. And then, this happens, and it feels right, and beautiful, and spiritual, and satisfying and fulfilling. But it's not natural and right and beautiful apparently, I'M SO LUCKY AND I SHOULD BE SO GRATEFUL that he's letting me. As if my body doesn't belong to me. As if I don't have the right to have anything good. Well, do you know what? JUST FUCK OFF. JUST FUCKING FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK OFF BECAUSE I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK.

STOP FUCKING TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! STOP FUCKING TELLING ME TO BRING R ALONG TO MUNCHES AND CLUBS WITH ME! I don't WANT him there! It would RUIN it for me. But oh no, R's feelings must come first always and always and screw mine. The fact that I would feel intimated and embarrassed and unable to be sexual when he's there is obviously far unimportant in comparison to how he needs to be reassured. HOW DARE I HAVE NEEDS OF MY OWN???!!! Never mind what I want, even this tiny piece of my life I have carved out for myself, a space I'd hoped to make where I could have a little bit of 'me-time' and not have to think about putting other people first, is apparently being invaded by every other fucker who I've connected with who seems determined to put R first. Thanks guys.

why the fuck should I ever get anything good anyway? Obviously i'm just some sort of selfish cunt who doesn't deserve it. FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHRFUCKING DOG SEMEN STAINED PIECES OF SHIT.

/end venting. Will go off and have cathartic cry and will feel better soon.

Clubs and My Collapsing Morals

I feel as if my level of club-going is gradually rising up some sort of perve club thermometer scale. It started with Torture Garden in Brighton. I'd been to TG a couple of times before, years ago, but in the capacity of 'a bunch of goths going out in some pretty clothes to see and be seen'. This was a very different experience, because although I didn't play, I was a self-defined newbie to bdsm and framed the outing for myself very firmly identifying it as part of my journey of sexual experimentation.

Or at least - that was the plan. Despite being with some lovely people, relaxing enough to zone out on the dance floor for nearly an hour, and being lucky enough to be the meat in a sandwich of two stunning women, both biting my neck at the same time, something which should have turned me to absolute jelly - I just wasn't having fun. I found the setting intimidating and disturbing, and not in a good way. There were far too many people, and the venue was stuffy and overheated. Many of the people watching play were detached and judgemental. My libido shrivelled in the face of this scrutiny -  I swore I would never expose my body to ridicule like that, never play in public, in front of people. The cruel little jibes which were being made about the play were about girls with the most perfect of bodies. My God, what would they make of ME?!

After this experience, I went really quite reluctantly to Tipping The Velvet, with N. Even the thought of any public play here, with the TG format very much at the forefront of my mind, made me feel a bit tearful. However, TtV was so different from TG it was like another world. Now TtV is my sort of club - catering to all the senses, and with a warm, welcoming, nurturing environment. I was still pretty freaked from TG, and although there were a very much smaller number of attendees at TtV, I was still intimidated about playing, because there wasn't anyone there who wasn't a stunner. Gradually I loosened up though, as everyone was SO friendly, SO kind and warm-spirited, and eventually I felt able to let N tie me up to the St Andrews Cross and hit me with a bunch of stuff.

My god, that is so sexy. Feeling your limbs spread apart and pulled, bound, out of control. How exciting to feel a hot rush of anger and know I can't hurt anyone, I can't explode the world, I can't destroy anything. At that point I was still trying not to hurt her feelings so I was shocked at my own self when I called her a bitch and told her to fuck off. Several times. I fought so hard she had to put the waist strap on - she told me afterwards she was worried I would have the whole cross over on the floor. She was a little concerned and not sure what was happening in my head, so she came to the front and said 'Do you still love me?' I kissed her...

Afterwards I was all floppy and feeble, and she wrapped me up in fluffy blankets and put me to bed right there on the floor, on the mattress we'd brought with us. At TtV you can stay overnight if you bring a bed to sleep on - considering its location, that's a great option.

The next day we went to LAM, and went to the aftershow party with N, BD and JM. I was quite relaxed by then, and looking forward to some more play. Until we went back upstairs to the party - and to my horror all the fear came flooding back. The venue was brightly lit, and people sat watching the small amount of play as if it was some sort of cabaret. I almost expected a man in a top hat to come out and compere. I suddenly felt like crying, a small part of which was disappointment, knowing there was no way I could do this. I watched with a mixture of interest and envy as N gave BD a good warm-up. How simple he made it seem, how naturally and casually he schucked his clothes and let people watch the expressions on his face, and the marking on his body develop. In contrast I felt my cheeks blaze just walking across the floor to the toilet!

And yet, and yet, and yet....I wanted it. You know those television dramas where there's some sort of disaster, and you get the set-up beforehand? And it's usually something small and insignificant, for example, a piece of glass in the sunshine on a forest floor, that in reality no-one would bat a falsh eyelash at, but because it's Fiction you know without a doubt it's an Important Piece of the Story? That's how I feel about BDSM. As if my internal landscape is being remade and reborn in the forge of sexual desire. And it all started with something so small, but the Story was waiting to happen even before that - for always before that. And it can't not continue to happen, I have to follow the Story now, as the plot unfolds and the fire burns down the forest...

So I let her tie me to the spanking bench and flog and spank and paddle and cane me...and I thrashed around so much one of the crew came and checked on us, and N had to hold me down with all her weight across my back. And obscenities poured out of my mouth and it....felt....so.....goood. I wanted to grind myself into that damn bench until I burnt a hole in it. But afterwards my brain exploded, and I felt ashamed, and found myself crying desperately on the way home. I needed time to process the experience, and reflect on it. Once I'd done this, I had nothing but positive feelings about it. I was glad I'd done it, and looking at my impressive collection of bruises made me feel naughty and saucy and all things hot.

My next outing was to Guilty Pleasures in Hastings. The club was amazing, and kitted out wonderfully. I had fun chatting to lots of new people, and we had arranged I would try playing with BD. This was to be my first play with anyone other than N, my first play with a man, and lots of other firsts besides. After a short session where I was chained with my arms above my head to the cross, and faced front while N lifted my skirt and did some quite obscene things to me, late in the evening BBD took me off and tied me to the same cross, but facing inwards. N was there all the time checking on me. But my head was in such a muddle I didn't use my safe word when I should have, and came over a little peculiar. Within moments, both of them were helping me recover, but I had to have a little lie-down on the floor. It was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in years. For extra social awkwardness, the club organisers were trying to clear up as it was the end of the night. They couldn't have been more kind, but I still wanted to find a cavern somewhere in the middle of a sparsely populated desert and live in it for the rest of my life.

I was shocked and upset about it. Even just thinking about it afterwards, made me feel faint again, until several days later. My husband was furious, and quite appalled I'd been so stupid, and worried it could happen again. But, you know what? After a little time passed, I'm okay with it. It happened, it taught me a lesson, I've moved on. The bruises have almost faded, and as my body recovered and healed, my mind did too, on much the same time scale.

My most recent visit was to the launch night of Club Crimson. It was a great venue, with blinding music, an astonishing array of kit. Esinem's rope demo made me go All Wrong - especially when he pulled out the big knife. I could feel my eyelids fluttering just watching. I was so turned on I needed play shortly afterwards, and N was kind enough to oblige. She chained me to a big frame with my wrists in cuffs but spread apart over my head. She didn't chain my ankles, which in hindsight may have been a mistake, as I nearly took out the wall in front of me, and a kind observer had to move the kneeling bench out of the way so I didn't trash it. She pulled my knickers down and spanked me - there was no need to pull my dress up as it was so short just putting my arms over my head did the job nicely! She yanked my hair right back which makes me just 'ahhhhhh' gently. God, I love being roughed up. I just want to be dragged about and thrown around and have my hair pulled lovely and hard, and my neck bitten over and over again. I've never met anyone willing to physically force me to their will before, and I think I would struggle not to find anyone attractive who could shove me roughly up against a wall just with the strength in their body. Or drop me to my knees by my hair. Or...

ANYWAY. It's probably a good thing I've got N around to put a brake on my libido. If anyone she didn't approve of tried to touch me, she'd probably whip them a new asshole.

She worked me over until I'd gone from desire to anger to submission, that delicious journey that does the trick for me very well indeed. By the time she'd finished with me I'd pretty much stopped swearing and saying 'no'. I wanted her hands all over me, and anyone else who wanted to touch me too, well that would have been welcome. I was all floppy and pliant by that stage.

My next outing will be Sweet Torments on saturday, and I can't wait. I think I'm ready to try something REALLY naughty...

A SubJective Perspective of Kissing

I remember the year I grew strawberry plants for the first time. I was so excited, every day after work I would race home and burst into the garden, eager to check the progress of my little fruits. One berry in particular was the first to ripen, and I watched as over the weeks it grew bigger and the red flush developed, the skin so taut yet so soft, and on the day I put it into my mouth it was so luscious, so ripe and perfect as I ran my tongue over it I couldn't imagine anything I wanted to bite into more.

I was wrong. The feel of her lips as I run my tongue over them is a thousand times more desirable. It's as if she's swallowed the sun and she's burning me from the inside out. I can feel her mouth with every part of my body. I want her to consume me, destroy me, and just as I think I can't control myself she will slide her hand around my throat and oh so gently, put the lightest of pressure on my windpipe, just so I know who is driving the kiss. She could collapse her hand and stop me breathing in a moment and I'm not strong enough to fight back. And instead of hurting me, the little fear just thrills me - and I think, anything, you can do anything to me, I want you to.

If I've been very good, I might get the special treat of feeling her soft, sweet touch move down my throat, and her teeth in my flesh. I can feel my breathing change as she bites down - hard - on my neck, and the pain that isn't pain floods through me as for once, my mind and body are connected and there is no more conflict. No more thought. Just sensation.

Comedown

[An entry from my private journal the day after coming back from my first play session and weekend away with Ness…]

Right now I am feeling mostly…meh. I had an amazing, mind-blowing, emotional, sexual, physical journey of discovery this weekend, but at the moment I’m worrying about R and feeling like a bit of a heel. I should have kept him better informed about what, where and when. I should have kept in touch with him more by text and phone. In my defence, he’s asked no questions, looked into the distance while doing something else while I was briefing him about the weekend to come, and sent me minimal text messages too - but considering that’s his normal approach to keeping informed about what I’m doing and he relies on me to do the honours for him - I fucked up. Guess the whole escapist, ‘me-time’ irresponsible thing went to my head.

Feeling a bit tearful now actually - think I will wait until tomorrow to update properly about how wonderful it was.

How I Popped my BDSM Cherry, Part 2

OR A Record of My First Play Session Part 2

Part 1 left our brave heroine in the foyer of a rock pub dive in Hastings, experiencing a knee trembler and a half..

N had to practically carry me along the seafront, as my legs had ceased working completely at this point. My body was almost in meltdown, my brain shut down, my heart wasn't in my mouth, it was located somewhere a LOT lower down...A month of hopes, dreams and desires since I went to my first munch, a month of expectations - what could possibly live up to that kind of build-up?

Here's what lived up to that kind of drum roll: a breathtaking woman, with whom you have chemistry so intense your knickers have spontaneously combusted, shoving you up against the cold cement wall in an underpass, and giving you the kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name but remember you who are.

She took me onto the beach and we walked over the pebbles and stood by the sea. She kissed my mouth, my face, my neck, my throat - her hands touched me everywhere, outside, inside my clothes, burning me in phoenix flame. She told me to sit down and my knees folded before my brain even had a chance to tell them to. She said the next day - 'when you collapsed in my arms I just wanted to rape you there on the beach'. She could have - she could have done anything to me, I would have let her. Her hand on my neck, her teeth in my flesh, her voice, whispering like twisted red velvet ribbon binding my will. No choice, no thought, no past, no future, only now.

I'd planned to get the train home but she insisted on taking me back herself - we got into her car and it took a while to make it onto the road. Everything I am, everything I've become during my life, the power and the control, the choices I've made, the responsibility, the duty I've taken, the decisions, the endless weight of doing the right thing, choosing, choosing...it all falls away, I yield to you, I let go...I don't have to be brave any more...I'm falling, you're catching me, over and over, like a dance...beautiful, graceful, spiritual.

We arrived at my house and I could barely tear myself away although it was early in the morning and I had to get to work the next day. She shoved me up against the corner of the car, her nails digging into my throat, her fingers closing on my neck. I heard myself moan and cry out, I writhed in the seat as if in pain, but it wasn't pain at all, it was something new and different and wonderful and terrible.

I went inside reluctantly and crawled into bed. I hardly slept, I was shaking so much, so cold, I cuddled against my husband, trying to get warm. I kept waking up, shivering, and feeling sick. At first I put it down to considerable consumption of gin, but I'd been relatively respectable with my booze quota. I now recognise it as an intense reaction to the physical and psychological stimulation. Basically, I fancied N so much it made me throw up. As compliments go, it needs some work...

I was climbing the walls with desire to see her again, but I had a holiday to go on. I'd been waiting over a year for this holiday, and I was looking forward to it so much - precious time spent with my husband, the fun of escaping work, everyday life and problems to go away to a little place in the middle of nowhere and snuggle up next to a log fire, what could be better? Work has been tough recently, life has been tough recently, and I'd spent the last few months (weeks, days, hours) saying to myself, if I can just get through this, I've got the holiday to recover in...

But...ARGGH! Although I was somewhere wonderful, with someone wonderful, all of a sudden I didn't want to be in the middle of nowhere, snuggled up against the cold. I wanted to be tied up, beaten and fucked!

My sex drive had gone into orbit and I was practically humping my husband's leg all during our holiday. I was thinking of very little else but sex, BDSM and N, and I felt hugely guilty that I wasn't making the most of the time spent with the man I love most in the world, but at the same time, my world had just collapsed in on itself and reformed with the potential for something AMAZiNG in it.

N and I were sending each other increasingly perverse texts, and arranged to see each other for my first proper play, a week after I came back from holiday. I was sending her messages like 'I'm so frightened of what will happen when I come to yours. Will you hurt me? Will you bruise me? Please?' and she was coming back with 'You can have anything you want. Is that what you want, baby?'. Blimey!

I had so much energy I barely knew what to do with it - I still have, now. I'm sleeping so much less than I used to, which considering I used to put away at least 9 hours a night, is no bad thing. I used to be exhausted all the time - now I'm partying with the best of them. BDSM has brought me back to life. On the last day of our holiday, we drove back for 6 hours, then I dropped off the hire car. Instead of collapsing into bed exhausted, I received a last minute invite from N to share a relaxed evening with her; drinking wine, watching tv and talking crap. I dithered madly - I'd had a long day, was I pushing my luck? Would all my energy disappear? What would my husband think - would it offend him that I went rushing off to be with N the very day we came back from holiday?

My husband said - go, have fun, so I decided - fuck it, I'm going. I was so so nervous about seeing N again. We ate chinese and sat on the sofa, chatting. We were tired, so I didn't have any expectations. But all N had to do was stroke my face and I faded off into contentland. She took me into her bed. It was hard for me to let her see me naked, I was self-conscious and afraid. She said wonderful things to me, she coaxed me into uncurling, she stroked me, she touched me, she made me feel so good. She made me feel beautiful. She let me touch her, too. We woke up naked together and it was tender and sensual and soft and warm.

It was a week until I would see her again, and that would be an experience of an entirely different nature. She had told me if I wanted to have this play, I had to do certain things for her. I had to refrain from having an orgasm all week, and I had to come to her house without any knickers on, and with none packed in my bag. I kicked off several times about both these things, but sulkily submitted in the end. I'd never felt so turned on in my life, without being able to do anything about it, as I had that day when I went to her. I didn't know whether I wanted to fuck her or bloody murder her.

We had both taken the day off work, and so on a friday morning I headed off to meet her at the train station. My heart pounded when I saw her again, and I felt trembly all over. She had told me that it was okay for me to change my mind about playing, I didn't have to go through with it, and that when I came into her house, if I let her shut the front door, we'd have tea, chat about the cats, and I would go home untouched. If I was the one who closed the door, I was hers to do with as she chose, unless I said 'stop'.

I was absolutely terrified. What if I freaked out, what if I reacted to being hurt by getting angry, and slapped her one? What if I said terrible things? What if I had a panic attack? What if, what if, what if?

Once she'd picked me up, we went to visit some friends of hers. We had lunch, we spent a few hours relaxing, drinking tea, chatting. It was a good way to spend time with her while calming down from my initial anxiety. But once we went in the car back to her house, all my fear returned. Every part of me was tense. But I closed the door.

We stood in the hallway and she told me to strip. When I was naked, and feeling vulnerable and exposed, she smiled and said 'imagine if I opened the front door now and everyone could see you'. I nearly flipped, thinking - perhaps she will?! Perhaps she'll shove me outside and close the door? How well do I really know this woman?!

Then she took me upstairs. She bathed me, and took off my jewellery, my make-up, even my nail varnish. Then when I was all clean and shiny and new, she put me over her knee and gave me a disciplinary spanking. It hurt very much, and I didn't like it - or at least, my mind did not. My body ...did. I was worried it would bring up some terrible things - but it didn't. I didn't have space in my head to think about anything else but the pain, and N. Maybe that's why it was so liberating that I cried, and all the pent-up confusion and conflict spilled out.

As the pain from the spanking was fading, a new and far greater pain arrived in the form of nipple clamps. They are evil. I do not like them at all. The pain was so much I felt sick and dizzy. If I hadn't already been so far deep into the headspace of wanting to please N, I would have insisted they come off straight away.

We ate some food and snuggled on the sofa. Then we went upstairs. I felt so scared again. Looking at the cuffs in her hands, I wanted it so so much, it frightened me. I was so afraid she would stop and not continue - I'd do something wrong and it would be over. I felt like my life would never be the same whatever happened. Blindfolded, cuffed to the bed. The most incredible sensation. N only has to touch me, look at me, speak to me, and warmth rushes through me, desire washes down my body. Combine this with being tied up, and it's absolutely incredible. I never knew anything could feel that good. How have I lived until now without it? She could have done anything, anything to me, and I would have been grateful.

She shaved me - and I just melted. She experimented on my body with various sensory play. The ice was painful, but my mind liked submitting to it. The wax was delicious. I had to test, and keep testing against the cuffs, to make sure I couldn't get out. I am certain I could have slipped out of them if I'd wanted to. Next time it needs to be tighter. I want my body to be absolutely at her mercy. Belonging to her as her toy to play with. Her fingers on me - god it's making my stomach drop just remembering.

She called BD in the middle of it. That made me so angry, but at the same time, I loved the attention. I loved thinking that he might imagine what I looked like, cuffed, naked, blindfolded, and maybe think that was attractive. I was yelling 'Fuck off, BD!'. He heard that, swiftly followed by N saying 'Don't say Fuck Off to BD!', then a comedy sound effect of WHACK!, then 'OW!' from me. For some reason he thought this was quite droll. The bastard.

She tried out different toys to beat me with - all of them felt so good. Then she fucked me. It was just so good, it felt so fucking good. Her beautiful body over mine - not being able to see it but feeling her covering me, pressing down on me. Knowing the strap-on was giving her pleasure too while she gave me the most amazing sensations. I think I may go mad if it doesn't happen again - and soon. God, I want her now. I want her whispering velvet voice in my ear, making my body clench. Her fingers in me, touching, stroking, making me feel alive. Her smell, her warmth, herself.

N had made plans to go to a friend's wedding the next day, and had arranged to take me with her, on our way to Tipping the Velvet in london afterwards. I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep, so dragged myself away from her bed and went downstairs. Fell asleep on the sofa with the cat, and it was a little rushed to get ready and go to the wedding. We still had time to jump in the shower where I had to concentrate on not letting myself become distracted by my soapy N. Mmmmmm. She rubbed body cream into me - no-one has ever cared for me in that way before.

We arrived at the wedding late and gave all the other guests a vicarious thrill by being so openly together. I wanted to ravage her under the table. I wanted her to bend me over the wall by the stream, rip my underwear off and fuck me like I've never been fucked before, like I need to be fucked.

I wanted her to take me into the toilet, kiss my make-up off, and let me slip my tongue inside her while my fingers stroked her clit. But we behaved and were very good. Frankly, I think we deserve a bloody medal.

How I Popped my BDSM Cherry, Part 1

OR, a Record of my First Play Session:

In some ways it seems to me that I've gone from 'OMG OMG OMG I can't do this, I'm terrified, I want to go out to my first munch but I'm SO SCARED', to casually taking my clothes off and engaging in some fairly filthy pastimes, with almost indecent speed. Having said that, it's been a short period of time in reality, but these 3 months of my life have contained, collapsed within them, the most intense emotional journey, a kaleidoscope of experiences, and a mind-blowing selection of physical sensations.

I'm glad I've started writing things down right from the beginning. It helps me make sense of the experiences, puts them in context, gets my thoughts in order, and allows me to come back to it later and get a bit of perspective.

I was out in the garden trimming my bush yesterday morning (not a euphemism!) and reflecting on my first play session, and how my life led up to that point. It's taken me 32 years to find my way here, but that doesn't mean I haven't had these desires for as long as I can remember. Like many people, I used to tie my Barbie dolls up together on their little Barbie bed. For as long as my memories stretch back, until I was a teenager, I used to comfort myself to sleep by fantasising. Every night's waking dream would be slightly different, but they all had a significant linking theme. In each one there would be something special about me, which would cause a person or group to kidnap me, hold me captive, and keep me while they tried to bend me to their will. I guess we all just want to be special and have someone desire us, at the end of the day. I didn't identify these as sexual until many years later, but they certainly aroused feelings in me which if I experienced them now, I would describe as sexual.

I remember the first new year's eve I spent with my (now) husband, leading him around Brighton with his hands tied together by ribbon. That's probably taking 'do unto others as you'd like done unto you' a bit far, but still...

I'm such a paradox, and I confuse myself muchly. In some ways I'm very old fashioned about sex and sexuality. I abhor deception, and I'd be absolutely devastated if my husband ever cheated on me. I have such an intense reaction if I ever feel I've behaved poorly, the guilt almost drowns me (and we're talking about very minor things here) and I want to vomit. I've never cheated on anyone, I've never two-timed anyone, and I can't imagine doing so. I've never had a one-night stand (or even touched a bit of cock on the first night), I've only ever had four lovers, and my husband and I have been together since I was 19. He's very special to me, of all the men in the world I can't even begin to imagine wanting to be with anyone else, and that means I want to make him happy. So he gets his shirts ironed, a beautiful house to live in, his finances organised, his household management taken care of, his dinner cooked, his health nursed, his emotional problems fixed, his cock de-spunked on demand (and quite frankly, I reckon my blow jobs get a 10 out of 10. After all, I've had enough practice at them...), he gets a shag whenever he wants, and pretty much anything else he wants, he gets, whenever he wants it. Unless it's bad for him, in which case, he can't have it at all. I wear the trousers in our house, but only because he lets me - that's the unspoken agreement. He's also cuddled and fussed over to within an inch of his life on a daily basis.

I should also add, that my sex drive has exploded over the last year or so (I'm fairly sure of the reasons for this, which include coming off hormonal methods of contraception). So that means I ALWAYS want to shag him rotten. It's like I've turned into some sort of NYMPHO or something.

Basically, we adore each other, and I worship the ground he walks on. He knows this, and adores me in return. It's the solidity of this relationship, coupled with the fact that he knows I've been quite unhappy over the last couple of years due to a series of life events - leading me to lose my mojo for a while - which has allowed him to give me the huge gift of freedom in my journey of sexual exploration. For the last few years, he's been quite happy for me to do all sorts of Naughty Things with Girls. And recently, following a lot of discussion and negotiation, we've agreed together that I can play with men, as long as there's no actual sex, snogging, no cocks touching me, and no touching of my ladies front bottom or boobies. Bum touching is Allowed though, which means I can get my arse spanked (flogged, paddled, caned etc etc), along with all sorts of yummy other stuff like biting, scratching, hair pulling, and other such delightful things.

I may be quite an old fashioned kind of girl in many ways, but once I form a connection with someone, I like a filthy fuck as much as the next person, and if they call me a slut while I'm doing it, so much the better! In fact, the dirtier, the more perverse, the more vile, well...the more I like it, quite frankly.

ANYWAY. I digress. So, the chain of events was:

3 months ago: have close friend staying at my house who mentions she's going to a munch. Cue 'what's a munch?' conversation. Ask if I can go with her. Come back that evening starry eyed. Barely eat or sleep for a week. Discover IC, make profile. Memo a few locals to ask if we can meet so I can pick their brains - mainly with a view towards building a social network.

2.5 months ago: go to St Leonards munch, be so terrified I nearly throw up before I get there. Meet whole bunch of really cool people. Be quite overwhelmed at their loveliness. BDSM'ers are Really Nice Folk! Later that week my memo'ing of locals culminates in meeting BD, who turns out to be a really nice fellow pervert. Am rather charmed by his chivalrous behaviour and extremely overwhelmed by the 60 second experience of his turning on his dom vibe to give me a taste of what it's like. Here's an extract from my email to him afterwards: "When you gave me a taste of what it is like to be around you when you are playing Dom, I was shocked at my reaction. My heart pounded, heat washed through me, my cheeks flushed, the pit of my stomach tightened, I felt shakey and tearful...

My emotions were so overwhelming I felt flustered and confused. I'm trying to sort them out afterwards. Fear, excitement, terror, anticipation, arousal, anger, guilt, shame, despair, desire."

2 months ago: meet N who I'm introduced to via BD. Oh. My. God. Actually, you know what? This needs a new paragraph all of it's own.

There - that's better, isn't it? Where was I. Ah yes, N. Mmmmmm. Sorry, what? Okay, focus Imp, focus.

ANYWAY. N and I had memo'd each other via IC, then moved on to IM for a few days. I was about to go on holiday for a week, so we thought it would be really good to meet up for a quick drink before that, so as to avoid the whole 'spend ages thinking about somebody you've met online, then either never get round to meeting up, or meet up and think 'oh dear' and end up escaping through the toilet window' palaver.

We arranged to meet spontaneously that very night, and I went over to Hastings after work as that was a good intermediate destination for both of us. I had suggested what looked online to be a nice little rock pub, but which in reality turned out to be the most ghastly, empty, brightly-lit, jukebox only, dead-end dive you've ever been in (see what I mean about false impressions from online discoveries?)

I was so scared I was shaking, and I sat at the bar texting my sister. I have the most marvellous set of messages from her, one of which goes 'have you got the shits? I always do! LOL' followed by me replying with 'yes! I am texting you from the toilet RIGHT NOW!'

Then she came in, and I saw the most sexy, the most amazing, the most incredible woman who had unbelievably come there for the purpose of meeting ME (why? how lucky am i?!) and I was so glad when we sat down on the sofa together because A) I was about to faint off my bar stool - which never ends well, and B) the sofa was really small which meant I got to sit close.

There followed a couple of hours of flirting, chatting, more flirting, and then...she was telling me about something she did with BD and as an example, she put her hand around my throat. My body just relaxed completely and my head rolled back, my mouth fell open, my eyes closed - I'd never felt anything like it before and it had never happened to me before - I'd never even seen it happen to someone else. I felt really embarrassed and blushed hugely. In fact I think I spent most of the night flushed to the point of red ears.

She kissed me cheek but not my mouth while we were in the pub, and then she suggested getting out to the ghastly location and taking a stroll down hastings beach. Get yer coat love, you've pulled.

As we went out of the door, still in the hallway of the pub, she pulled me in for a kiss, and I nearly fell to my knees. And for once, it wasn't because I'd tripped over something. There's something a bit shameful about being so turned on by someone that they can do pretty much anything they want with you. She could have hauled me off back to her house and dun me there and then, and I'd probably have let her. This is not something that happens to me normally - I'm very much in control of my actions, and I'm normally the one who does the pouncing on people.

In Part 2 (pending):

How We Steamed Up the Car Windows on Hastings Seafront. Twice.

What I did to Cause N to Remark Afterwards 'I wanted to rape you right there on the beach!'

'You Turn Me On So Much It Makes Me Want to Throw Up'

My First BDSM Experience

'Don't say Fuck Off to BD'

Edited Mon 5 Oct 09, 12:34 PM by little_imp