Posts
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted. ~Percy Shelley, A Defence of Poetry, 1821
Receiving pain can be casual for me, but submission could never be. Whilst I can enjoy pain for its own sake, and I can enjoy sex for its own sake, the best kind of sex involves pain, just like the best kind of pain involves sex. BDSM is poetry of the body – and with the right partner(s), it becomes poetry of the heart, mind and spirit, too.
How can something so distorted be so beautiful? I like to be used – used badly. I crave degradation, and abuse. I need to be hurt, broken, debased – shattered into a thousand pieces, ruined. And then remade. I want to love and be loved. I want to adore. I want to submit. I want to fight back until I scratch weals in your skin. I want to scream your name in rage and panic. I want to sob until make-up runs down my face, my eyes huge and terrified. I want to be safe. I want to be frightened. I want to be torn apart, then reborn. I want to be empowered; I want to become the person I love being - who can say yes as well as no.
And...when I play with you, it is so beautiful to me. It leaves me feeling content and happy and safe, wanted, cared for, shining. Little pieces of my soul made whole again. No matter how you abuse me, no matter how depraved or violent, dark and nasty our play is, no matter how badly you use me, I will be uplifted by it.
When we take pleasure in each other's bodies, out of love - Agápe, Éros, or philia - whether it lasts for a night, or a lifetime, however marvellously twisted and unique and debauched it may be – it cannot be ugly. This is a joyful thing, precious and to be cherished, no matter how abundant and plentiful it becomes in our lives.
I am so very lucky to have so much joy in my life.
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Sunday, 24 January 2010
But he that dares not grasp the thorn...
..Should never crave the rose.
And he who dares, wins. Mixing my quotations somewhat, but the sentiment is accurate.
I've been a bit quiet recently because I've been taking some time to re-centre myself, and also because everyday life has suddenly got insanely hectic and my time is getting eaten up at an alarming rate.
I'm being careful and cautious. I'm not as innocent and naive as I was, just a few short months ago - although it feels like much longer ago than that. I can't believe that less than a year ago, I didn't even know BDSM existed, really, and certainly didn't have any fet friends or go to any events, and had never played, never explored the side of me which I hadn't even acknowledged existed, and yet was such a huge part, in waiting.
I'm trying to protect my heart, and my body, and I think I'm doing quite well. I'm keeping quiet about what's new with me, at the moment, just in case I go running round screaming about how great it is, and then it all goes tits up. Again.
But I am having a lot of fun - god yes, am I having fun! I'm trying some things that are very different, and I feel very sure that what I'm doing at the moment is right for me. Very intense, very mind-blowing, but very right.
Je rêve de toi. Mon rêve était beau. Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas.
And he who dares, wins. Mixing my quotations somewhat, but the sentiment is accurate.
I've been a bit quiet recently because I've been taking some time to re-centre myself, and also because everyday life has suddenly got insanely hectic and my time is getting eaten up at an alarming rate.
I'm being careful and cautious. I'm not as innocent and naive as I was, just a few short months ago - although it feels like much longer ago than that. I can't believe that less than a year ago, I didn't even know BDSM existed, really, and certainly didn't have any fet friends or go to any events, and had never played, never explored the side of me which I hadn't even acknowledged existed, and yet was such a huge part, in waiting.
I'm trying to protect my heart, and my body, and I think I'm doing quite well. I'm keeping quiet about what's new with me, at the moment, just in case I go running round screaming about how great it is, and then it all goes tits up. Again.
But I am having a lot of fun - god yes, am I having fun! I'm trying some things that are very different, and I feel very sure that what I'm doing at the moment is right for me. Very intense, very mind-blowing, but very right.
Je rêve de toi. Mon rêve était beau. Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas.
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
Born Bad [erotic fiction]
I watch you out of the corner of my eye. You are, as always, beautiful to me. You are more like a dream of a wolf, than a wolf itself. Thick-furred, your haunches are dark with muscle, and the snow settles gently on your brow like jewels. Gently, gently I begin easing myself into the space between us, closer to you - but a subtle flick of your ear tells me to stay where I am. There will be mention of my behaviour later - but for now you want me to wait until you choose to punish me.
I forlornly place my head back on my paws and breathe out, slowly, thinking of my latest transgression. The cold has made prey scarce, and discipline even more important to the pack. There is no energy to waste on running outside of the hunt, and I longed for the heady dash through our territory, whole body suspended in the air between bounds, weightless and free. I wonder whether the excitement of running again, after waiting so long, got too much for me; I shake my head and close my yellow eyes. As you always says, it's a Reason, not an Excuse. I never, ever should have bitten you, no matter how caught up I was in the joy of the chase: as an alpha it is your right to eat first. I was only playing, it was only meant to be a little nip, but the moment I tasted fresh blood in my mouth, I knew there would be consequences.
The snow on my fur melts slowly and drips down my cheekbones onto my paws, little drops of water falling like tears into the dark space between. My whole body feels heavy and sick. As the sun goes down, the others in the pack quietly move away, to sleep close together in warm piles, content to be near each other, cuddled close. Re-breathing each other's warm breath, they remake the group scent, the scent of our pack, thick and filled with musky hints of green, waterfall bitter, but at the same time warm like rich dark soil. Only you and I remain behind, and my stomach roils with anxiety. The weight of your disappointment, sadness, and my hopelessness, press down on me once more. My breathing becomes panting, as I wonder how long you will chose to punish me like this, with your silence, and the thick, heavy scorn of my pack-mates.
I am focused so intently on you that I move almost before you do, alert to the tiny muscles of your body which signal your impending change in posture. As you stand and pad quietly through the trees, I know you mean me to follow you. I trot eagerly on your heels, pleased that the time between now and your forgiveness grows shorter. You stop when we have moved some distance from the remainder of the pack, and turn towards me. You sit, and I stand still at first, unsure as to what you want from me. I crouch awkwardly for a few moments and then sit down on my haunches, in front of you. The low harmonic of your howl starts to sound slowly, slowly, building until my ears fill with it, my head thrums with it, and I add my own whine of protest to the sound for a moment before biting it off with my teeth on catching your eye.
I remain sitting, while you circle me. The fur starts to stand up all over my body, the sense of threat is imminent. I resist the urge to turn and face you, trying to stay in properly submissive posture. But when you lunge, growling, suddenly nightmare huge and all ivory teeth and claws, my resolve flies away and I turn, wheeling away on back feet and lurching off in a run. You're on me in a moment, you're so much faster and stronger than I am, and I feel you before I see you, black jaws clamping down on the back of my neck, sinking through fur into skin. You shake me in your jaws like prey, throwing me into the air and slamming me into a tree, so that I slump to the ground. Your body is on me again in seconds, and you've got me in a neck-hold. I buck frantically underneath you, but I can't shake your hold. You put your front legs over my shoulders and use your own body weight to force me back into position, into the exact place that you want me to be in.
You mount me, suddenly, unexpectedly, and take a new grip on the back of my neck with your jaws. You enter me without preamble, roughly having me, exercising your right to take what you want, when you want, to assert your dominance over me in whichever way you choose. And what you want right now, is to be inside me. You feel so hard, and your thrusts are passionate but not uncontrolled, rhythmic, pounding into me, pushing me into the wet earth, shoving yourself so hard into me that I feel your heavy balls slap against my skin with each thrust. You're very big, and I struggle to take it all, but I want to, for you - anything for you, you can take anything, do anything to me. I want you to. I need you to. Desperate to be yours again, I need this, I need you to do to me whatever it is that you want, whatever it is that it takes, and as you bite down harder on my neck I feel your big thick knot pushing at me, forcing its way in, shoving itself inside me, my moist cunt stretching and widening to accommodate all of you. Once the knot has pushed all the way deeply in, and you slam into my ruined pussy again, hammering all of yourself deep inside, I feel you start to give me your seed. I feel you spurt with each thrust, it seems like forever, but it is still not long enough - each time you ram into me, your tight knot inside my cunt loosens, and the knot in my heart loosens still further. Each time you drive your cock in me I drink down more of your cloudy fluid that flows into me, drink it deep down with my body.
As you pull out of me I collapse on the ground, exhausted and sore, and my ruined body dribbles semen and blood into the snow, melting patterns like an early thaw. You straddle me one last time as I lie on my side, mounting my head, and I clean you with my tongue, big licks tasting us both together on your softening shaft.
And as fast as you had pierced me, you leave me, tongue hanging from your open mouth leaving clouds of breath in the air; you just leave me, running back to the centre of the pack, while I lie there, content to wait a while until I return, covered in your scent, content to know that I am yours again and beloved.
I forlornly place my head back on my paws and breathe out, slowly, thinking of my latest transgression. The cold has made prey scarce, and discipline even more important to the pack. There is no energy to waste on running outside of the hunt, and I longed for the heady dash through our territory, whole body suspended in the air between bounds, weightless and free. I wonder whether the excitement of running again, after waiting so long, got too much for me; I shake my head and close my yellow eyes. As you always says, it's a Reason, not an Excuse. I never, ever should have bitten you, no matter how caught up I was in the joy of the chase: as an alpha it is your right to eat first. I was only playing, it was only meant to be a little nip, but the moment I tasted fresh blood in my mouth, I knew there would be consequences.
The snow on my fur melts slowly and drips down my cheekbones onto my paws, little drops of water falling like tears into the dark space between. My whole body feels heavy and sick. As the sun goes down, the others in the pack quietly move away, to sleep close together in warm piles, content to be near each other, cuddled close. Re-breathing each other's warm breath, they remake the group scent, the scent of our pack, thick and filled with musky hints of green, waterfall bitter, but at the same time warm like rich dark soil. Only you and I remain behind, and my stomach roils with anxiety. The weight of your disappointment, sadness, and my hopelessness, press down on me once more. My breathing becomes panting, as I wonder how long you will chose to punish me like this, with your silence, and the thick, heavy scorn of my pack-mates.
I am focused so intently on you that I move almost before you do, alert to the tiny muscles of your body which signal your impending change in posture. As you stand and pad quietly through the trees, I know you mean me to follow you. I trot eagerly on your heels, pleased that the time between now and your forgiveness grows shorter. You stop when we have moved some distance from the remainder of the pack, and turn towards me. You sit, and I stand still at first, unsure as to what you want from me. I crouch awkwardly for a few moments and then sit down on my haunches, in front of you. The low harmonic of your howl starts to sound slowly, slowly, building until my ears fill with it, my head thrums with it, and I add my own whine of protest to the sound for a moment before biting it off with my teeth on catching your eye.
I remain sitting, while you circle me. The fur starts to stand up all over my body, the sense of threat is imminent. I resist the urge to turn and face you, trying to stay in properly submissive posture. But when you lunge, growling, suddenly nightmare huge and all ivory teeth and claws, my resolve flies away and I turn, wheeling away on back feet and lurching off in a run. You're on me in a moment, you're so much faster and stronger than I am, and I feel you before I see you, black jaws clamping down on the back of my neck, sinking through fur into skin. You shake me in your jaws like prey, throwing me into the air and slamming me into a tree, so that I slump to the ground. Your body is on me again in seconds, and you've got me in a neck-hold. I buck frantically underneath you, but I can't shake your hold. You put your front legs over my shoulders and use your own body weight to force me back into position, into the exact place that you want me to be in.
You mount me, suddenly, unexpectedly, and take a new grip on the back of my neck with your jaws. You enter me without preamble, roughly having me, exercising your right to take what you want, when you want, to assert your dominance over me in whichever way you choose. And what you want right now, is to be inside me. You feel so hard, and your thrusts are passionate but not uncontrolled, rhythmic, pounding into me, pushing me into the wet earth, shoving yourself so hard into me that I feel your heavy balls slap against my skin with each thrust. You're very big, and I struggle to take it all, but I want to, for you - anything for you, you can take anything, do anything to me. I want you to. I need you to. Desperate to be yours again, I need this, I need you to do to me whatever it is that you want, whatever it is that it takes, and as you bite down harder on my neck I feel your big thick knot pushing at me, forcing its way in, shoving itself inside me, my moist cunt stretching and widening to accommodate all of you. Once the knot has pushed all the way deeply in, and you slam into my ruined pussy again, hammering all of yourself deep inside, I feel you start to give me your seed. I feel you spurt with each thrust, it seems like forever, but it is still not long enough - each time you ram into me, your tight knot inside my cunt loosens, and the knot in my heart loosens still further. Each time you drive your cock in me I drink down more of your cloudy fluid that flows into me, drink it deep down with my body.
As you pull out of me I collapse on the ground, exhausted and sore, and my ruined body dribbles semen and blood into the snow, melting patterns like an early thaw. You straddle me one last time as I lie on my side, mounting my head, and I clean you with my tongue, big licks tasting us both together on your softening shaft.
And as fast as you had pierced me, you leave me, tongue hanging from your open mouth leaving clouds of breath in the air; you just leave me, running back to the centre of the pack, while I lie there, content to wait a while until I return, covered in your scent, content to know that I am yours again and beloved.
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Ravens, ravens everywhere, and me without wings..
There are ravens everywhere in town today, but I don't feel like flying anywhere.
I've worked so hard, and for so long, to drag myself out of the doldrums. Made so much effort, which really seemed to be paying off. Recently I've been all shiny and new, and felt like I was on much firmer ground. And then just one tiny thing, one tiny pathetic insignificant thing, and I've fallen so far down again I'm shocked at the speed and intensity of my emotions. Which tells me that the ground wasn't as firm as I thought it was in the first place.
One by one I find myself cutting off my sources of support. Can't talk to R, I can say I'm feeling down, but not why, if it's got anything to do with kinky. It only confuses and upsets him, and he's asked me not to share stuff with him to do with BDSM. Can't talk to family or non-kinky friends anymore, as I feel they disapprove. Really don't feel like talking to anyone or seeing anyone in person. Feel like I've leant far too heavily on my kinky mates anyway, during my last rather severe episode of crapism. Which leaves wittering away to unknown correspondents on IC and posting maudlin weblogs. How the mighty have fallen!
Just the slightest bit of emotional engagement with someone, and I fall to pieces. I wish, desperately, that I could be emotionally detached and not care so very damn much. I wish I could lock the door again on my needs. I was fine how I was. I liked me, and I liked my life. And now there's just this huge hole, this well of loneliness, this huge aching NEED for fulfilling sex, the satisfaction of emotional intimacy and sheer physical pleasure of BDSM, and it seems to be drawing people to me, but I'm afraid that it's my vulnerability which attracts people, and not my strength, and that's never good. That, and the fact that I'm presenting myself as a total slapper at the moment, and everybody thinks I'm easy, when the truth couldn't be further away, I've snogged half of brighton it would seem, and played with a couple of people, sure, but that's as far as I've taken it, I didn't even shag my ex, the one I was madly in love with, who broke my heart, because I wasn't ready. I'm tired. I'm lonely. I feel so lost.
I need a bloody slap in the face and to stop being so pathetic. I hate this side of me. I think I need to back off from physical contact with people for a bit. I'm so so desperate just to touch and be held, how do I do that and get close to people without taking it any further? Every time I go to the pub recently, I end up snogging someone. I reckon that's got to stop. Even if it means giving up the chance to touch, and be touched. Even if it makes the loneliness even worse. Everything I touch at the moment becomes problematic.
I've worked so hard, and for so long, to drag myself out of the doldrums. Made so much effort, which really seemed to be paying off. Recently I've been all shiny and new, and felt like I was on much firmer ground. And then just one tiny thing, one tiny pathetic insignificant thing, and I've fallen so far down again I'm shocked at the speed and intensity of my emotions. Which tells me that the ground wasn't as firm as I thought it was in the first place.
One by one I find myself cutting off my sources of support. Can't talk to R, I can say I'm feeling down, but not why, if it's got anything to do with kinky. It only confuses and upsets him, and he's asked me not to share stuff with him to do with BDSM. Can't talk to family or non-kinky friends anymore, as I feel they disapprove. Really don't feel like talking to anyone or seeing anyone in person. Feel like I've leant far too heavily on my kinky mates anyway, during my last rather severe episode of crapism. Which leaves wittering away to unknown correspondents on IC and posting maudlin weblogs. How the mighty have fallen!
Just the slightest bit of emotional engagement with someone, and I fall to pieces. I wish, desperately, that I could be emotionally detached and not care so very damn much. I wish I could lock the door again on my needs. I was fine how I was. I liked me, and I liked my life. And now there's just this huge hole, this well of loneliness, this huge aching NEED for fulfilling sex, the satisfaction of emotional intimacy and sheer physical pleasure of BDSM, and it seems to be drawing people to me, but I'm afraid that it's my vulnerability which attracts people, and not my strength, and that's never good. That, and the fact that I'm presenting myself as a total slapper at the moment, and everybody thinks I'm easy, when the truth couldn't be further away, I've snogged half of brighton it would seem, and played with a couple of people, sure, but that's as far as I've taken it, I didn't even shag my ex, the one I was madly in love with, who broke my heart, because I wasn't ready. I'm tired. I'm lonely. I feel so lost.
I need a bloody slap in the face and to stop being so pathetic. I hate this side of me. I think I need to back off from physical contact with people for a bit. I'm so so desperate just to touch and be held, how do I do that and get close to people without taking it any further? Every time I go to the pub recently, I end up snogging someone. I reckon that's got to stop. Even if it means giving up the chance to touch, and be touched. Even if it makes the loneliness even worse. Everything I touch at the moment becomes problematic.
Friday, 1 January 2010
Obligatory New Year's Day Ramblings...
Yes, well it's practically some sort of BYLAW isn't it? A single post summing up my experiences/ learning curve/ highs and lows and feelings and thoughts and and and...
Okay, so that's probably not going to happen. But someone rather nice suggested a period of quiet contemplation might be a good idea for me at the moment, so in the spirit of that, here is my summary of 2009.
1) A Transformational Year
I changed inside myself. External stimulus effected change in me. I effected change in my environment and relationships.
I began the year, not anticipating the metamorphosis to come. With hindsight, it's all so clear. I have *always* been sexually submissive, and I have always had a very high libido. I buried these desires so deep within me because, what is the point in wanting things you can't have? Married, been together for 14 years, and very very happy except for sexual compatibility. I abhor lies and deception and cheating, I would never ever do that, and cannot imagine being without my husband. So what do you do with these feelings except push them behind a door? I closed it and hid it and forgot the door was even there. I denied the existence of the door to myself and others. But this year was the one in which desire blossomed into need.
Step by tiny baby step, my husband and I negotiated and discussed (and occasionally argued) our way to poly (see below). I probably *should* have taken the same approach to BDSM, but I rather threw myself into it (a friend described my experiences as sounding like someone threw a cat into a minefield...) From where I stand now, I can't say I'm sorry. I had some fucking awful downs as well as some liberating and transcendent highs, but I'm still here, I didn't get broken, or if I did, then I remade myself even better than I was before.
2) Who Have I Become?
I've tried a lot of things in the last year. I liked most of them, LOVED a lot of them, and was bored and/or annoyed by a few of them. I had my infatuation with the scene, then fell out of love with it, and am now embracing it again for what it *really* is, rather than a newcomer's rose-tinted view. [caveat: I'm allowed to change my mind again at any moment, and also I reserve the right to say this time next year, how naive I was and how much I've learned since posting this very weblog]
Prior to this year, I'd spent a couple of years quietly just pootling around at home. My social circle was really small, and generally consisted of chums to hang out with at home over dinner or a nice cup of tea. This year I've got that spark back again, that enjoyment of other people, and I've hugely widened my group of friends. Looking through some photos of a holiday at the start of the year, I'm struck by how....static... I look, just tired and frozen and worn and OLD, like someone who's come to the end of their go on life. I don't look like that now. And I don't feel like that now. I've come back to life again. I've never felt so crazily in love with life as I do at the moment. I feel impassioned by people, by music, by how pretty the world looks. I want to dance, I want to kiss in the snow on the beach, I want to paint and write and tell stories and touch people.
People are beautiful. The world is beautiful. And for the first time, I mean REALLY the first time, in ever so ever so long, maybe just the first time that ever was, I feel a little bit beautiful and desirable and fuckable too. Can't be bad, really.
3) What's Good for the Goose is Good for the Gander
Husband (R) would never have sought out 'doing poly' without the impetus of 'well, you're having a go on other people, maybe I ought to try it too'. He's yet to move from being poly in his head to poly in practice, but I'm encouraging and hoping for him.
It's taken time to get to where we needed to be, in terms of him being comfortable with me playing with, having sex with, others. At the moment it all seems to be good, he's happy, I'm happy, we need to work on his self-esteem and my sense of guilt so that every time he feels down, I don't feel that it's because I'm emasculating him. I've also been working on my discretion. Poor boy really doesn't need or want a blow by blow account, but I keep wanting to tell him more than I should do, because that's just my nature. I'm working on it.
What poly means to both of us is the same, but with different emphasis in practice. He wants emotional intimacy, with a tiny bit of sex and no BDSM whatsoever. I want LOADS of sex, and BDSM, with masses of emotional intimacy too. We both see it as about opening up your heart as well as your body, to others. I don't (can't, am unable to) put restrictions on the way I feel about other people because R is my 'primary partner'. It just doesn't work that way for me. I just feel the way I feel about people, and it's completely and utterly separate from the way I feel about R. They have no relation to each other.
4) Are You Okay?
Yes, I'm okay. I'm still kind of in recovery phase after a relationship break-up which left me reeling. But I think I'm sort of 95% over it. And increasingly able to identify it as a learning experience, rather than one in which I fucked up horribly. Areas of self-improvement however, are:
A) I am not (and should not behave as if I am) desperate. There will always be arseholes out there looking for a bit of a go on me. My task is to learn to identify said arseholes and avoid them, and not go 'what? You like me, you say? Oh, how wonderful! I'm so grateful! Do you want to get me drunk and/or take me home and abuse my trust a lot? K thx bai'. I've been very lucky so far, but some of my more alcohol-fuelled adventures have been edging into self-destructive territory, so that's something to keep an eye on and improve.
B) Self-esteem. Yeah yeah yeah, I know. But if you don't feel it inside, you just don't. I am getting increasingly on board with the 'fake it till you make it' philosophy, though.
C) I am a masochist as well as a submissive. And it's okay to enjoy a safe, sane and SOBER play with someone who doesn't push all my buttons but can deliver the pain I need, without then having urgent frantic sex with them followed by making their dinner and cleaning their flat. Emotionally and sexually detached play is a bit like junk food. It'll do until something better comes along, if you're really hungry. But this doesn't mean I have to lower my standards to MacDonalds or something. There ARE limits, after all....!
D) I'm really getting quite good at this writing porn, palaver. It's fun, gets me loads of compliments, and is a legitimate dumping ground for my sexual and play frustration. What's not to like?! I'm going to carry on, and quite possibly get even MORE vulgar and debauched.
E) I quite fancy getting something pierced. A nipple barbell, or a lip ring. What do you think?
F) I also quite fancy learning to dance something new. I already take bellydancing classes which, as it turns out, I'm quite good at. It's the hips, y'see? I'm very drawn to the passionate latin dances, salsa, tango etc. But I think I'd have to learn from a dom. No normal man is going to be able to lead me.
Okay, so that's probably not going to happen. But someone rather nice suggested a period of quiet contemplation might be a good idea for me at the moment, so in the spirit of that, here is my summary of 2009.
1) A Transformational Year
I changed inside myself. External stimulus effected change in me. I effected change in my environment and relationships.
I began the year, not anticipating the metamorphosis to come. With hindsight, it's all so clear. I have *always* been sexually submissive, and I have always had a very high libido. I buried these desires so deep within me because, what is the point in wanting things you can't have? Married, been together for 14 years, and very very happy except for sexual compatibility. I abhor lies and deception and cheating, I would never ever do that, and cannot imagine being without my husband. So what do you do with these feelings except push them behind a door? I closed it and hid it and forgot the door was even there. I denied the existence of the door to myself and others. But this year was the one in which desire blossomed into need.
Step by tiny baby step, my husband and I negotiated and discussed (and occasionally argued) our way to poly (see below). I probably *should* have taken the same approach to BDSM, but I rather threw myself into it (a friend described my experiences as sounding like someone threw a cat into a minefield...) From where I stand now, I can't say I'm sorry. I had some fucking awful downs as well as some liberating and transcendent highs, but I'm still here, I didn't get broken, or if I did, then I remade myself even better than I was before.
2) Who Have I Become?
I've tried a lot of things in the last year. I liked most of them, LOVED a lot of them, and was bored and/or annoyed by a few of them. I had my infatuation with the scene, then fell out of love with it, and am now embracing it again for what it *really* is, rather than a newcomer's rose-tinted view. [caveat: I'm allowed to change my mind again at any moment, and also I reserve the right to say this time next year, how naive I was and how much I've learned since posting this very weblog]
Prior to this year, I'd spent a couple of years quietly just pootling around at home. My social circle was really small, and generally consisted of chums to hang out with at home over dinner or a nice cup of tea. This year I've got that spark back again, that enjoyment of other people, and I've hugely widened my group of friends. Looking through some photos of a holiday at the start of the year, I'm struck by how....static... I look, just tired and frozen and worn and OLD, like someone who's come to the end of their go on life. I don't look like that now. And I don't feel like that now. I've come back to life again. I've never felt so crazily in love with life as I do at the moment. I feel impassioned by people, by music, by how pretty the world looks. I want to dance, I want to kiss in the snow on the beach, I want to paint and write and tell stories and touch people.
People are beautiful. The world is beautiful. And for the first time, I mean REALLY the first time, in ever so ever so long, maybe just the first time that ever was, I feel a little bit beautiful and desirable and fuckable too. Can't be bad, really.
3) What's Good for the Goose is Good for the Gander
Husband (R) would never have sought out 'doing poly' without the impetus of 'well, you're having a go on other people, maybe I ought to try it too'. He's yet to move from being poly in his head to poly in practice, but I'm encouraging and hoping for him.
It's taken time to get to where we needed to be, in terms of him being comfortable with me playing with, having sex with, others. At the moment it all seems to be good, he's happy, I'm happy, we need to work on his self-esteem and my sense of guilt so that every time he feels down, I don't feel that it's because I'm emasculating him. I've also been working on my discretion. Poor boy really doesn't need or want a blow by blow account, but I keep wanting to tell him more than I should do, because that's just my nature. I'm working on it.
What poly means to both of us is the same, but with different emphasis in practice. He wants emotional intimacy, with a tiny bit of sex and no BDSM whatsoever. I want LOADS of sex, and BDSM, with masses of emotional intimacy too. We both see it as about opening up your heart as well as your body, to others. I don't (can't, am unable to) put restrictions on the way I feel about other people because R is my 'primary partner'. It just doesn't work that way for me. I just feel the way I feel about people, and it's completely and utterly separate from the way I feel about R. They have no relation to each other.
4) Are You Okay?
Yes, I'm okay. I'm still kind of in recovery phase after a relationship break-up which left me reeling. But I think I'm sort of 95% over it. And increasingly able to identify it as a learning experience, rather than one in which I fucked up horribly. Areas of self-improvement however, are:
A) I am not (and should not behave as if I am) desperate. There will always be arseholes out there looking for a bit of a go on me. My task is to learn to identify said arseholes and avoid them, and not go 'what? You like me, you say? Oh, how wonderful! I'm so grateful! Do you want to get me drunk and/or take me home and abuse my trust a lot? K thx bai'. I've been very lucky so far, but some of my more alcohol-fuelled adventures have been edging into self-destructive territory, so that's something to keep an eye on and improve.
B) Self-esteem. Yeah yeah yeah, I know. But if you don't feel it inside, you just don't. I am getting increasingly on board with the 'fake it till you make it' philosophy, though.
C) I am a masochist as well as a submissive. And it's okay to enjoy a safe, sane and SOBER play with someone who doesn't push all my buttons but can deliver the pain I need, without then having urgent frantic sex with them followed by making their dinner and cleaning their flat. Emotionally and sexually detached play is a bit like junk food. It'll do until something better comes along, if you're really hungry. But this doesn't mean I have to lower my standards to MacDonalds or something. There ARE limits, after all....!
D) I'm really getting quite good at this writing porn, palaver. It's fun, gets me loads of compliments, and is a legitimate dumping ground for my sexual and play frustration. What's not to like?! I'm going to carry on, and quite possibly get even MORE vulgar and debauched.
E) I quite fancy getting something pierced. A nipple barbell, or a lip ring. What do you think?
F) I also quite fancy learning to dance something new. I already take bellydancing classes which, as it turns out, I'm quite good at. It's the hips, y'see? I'm very drawn to the passionate latin dances, salsa, tango etc. But I think I'd have to learn from a dom. No normal man is going to be able to lead me.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Spellbound [erotic fiction]
I watch the others watching you. You capture their attention, your voice rises and falls, binding them, holding them still for you to play with. Your hands dance the same spell in the air. You have the most beautiful hands - they are not overly large, meaty, over-sized, like those of some men I've known. Neither are they manicured, perfect, delicate, smooth. They are like you - capable, hinting at a strength and roughness inside, the hands of an engineer, or a paramedic, perhaps. Someone you could turn to in an emergency, for help - practical, or a matter of the heart.
I am suddenly seized with a fierce longing for your cock inside me. I'm flushed, the gin has gone to my head, perhaps. I tense the muscles in my thighs, try to relax them, feeling a longing, a yearning for you. I imagine you turning, halfway through a sentence maybe, and just reaching out for me, climbing across the laps of your adoring audience to get to me, then taking me by the throat and...I cut my imagination off with a sharp shake of my head. I stand and go outside, to join the others who are smoking. I don't smoke, but I need the break from your presence. Just being near to you makes me wet. The cold cuts into my throat, I breathe in deeply, savouring the air free of your scent.
I walk back inside the pub, and stop for a moment, waiting. I don't want to interrupt you now, much as I want you. I wait. I watch the patterns you make, the story you are telling and your voice weaving back and forth, hypnotic. Your fist slams into the red leather of the sofa as you make a point, and there is an audible intake of breath from my female friends. I smile to myself, knowing the effect you are having on them. I feel the pulse between my legs jump, syncopated to your voice. Your energy fills the whole room, so intensely fascinating, so electric I can see the light in you drawing people closer. I take a step forward, compelled, despite myself, despite knowing better. I wonder if all the people who surround you, listening with their faces turned upwards to your shine, can also see the darkness in you that I know is there.
I should go now, while I can. I know you want to hurt me. I know I can't let you. We both know it would end badly.
I decide not to say goodbye, so I leave you, stepping quietly out of the back door, leaving you shiny and illuminated. I bring out the darkness in you. I'm not good for you, and you would drown in me. The air is so icy my breathing makes shapes in it, and like making images from the clouds on a summer's day, I amuse myself by watching my own body's warmth become cold and fall to pieces in the dark. I walk to the train station - my house is only five minutes through the woods at the other end, not far, and I know the path so well even the foxes don't run from me anymore when they hear me coming. I'm climbing the stairs to the station when I see your car pulling up beside me. You roll the window down. "Get in".
"No, you know I won't. Go away".
"Come on, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to fucking RAPE you, you know. Just let me give you a lift. You can't walk home on your own, it's not safe, I won't let you. Don't be such a stubborn twat".
"Just fuck off, I'm not going to get in your car, just go".
We have this exchange every time. I don't know why you keep bothering with me. You know I'm not going to give in, give up, to you.
I hear your frustrated grunt, and your car pulls away with a great deal of noise and roaring. I smile and shake my head. You idiot. I dash up the stairs as my train gets in - you nearly made me miss it, arsehole.
I get a text while I'm on the train. 'One day I am going to drag you into my fucking car, beat the fucking shit out of you and just stick my fucking cock in your pretty mouth to get you to shut the fuck up. I may well destroy you, you cockteasing little whore'. Despite myself I'm wet again, reading it. God, I hate you. I text you back. One line - 'uhuh *rolls eyes*'.
I hop out at the next station and saunter through the woods. I feel safe here. This is MY place, my territory. I've walked these woods so often, in daylight and after dark, I know the path under my feet without needing to look. Every branch, every bump underfoot, every turning, every sound, is familiar to me and loved. I've lived near here all my life and nothing will stop me walking home the way I want to, when I want to. Not you, not ever.
I'm halfway along the path when something isn't right. Some sound...or absence of sound...feels wrong. I pause, looking around, listening. I step forward again, reach down and pick up a branch. I smell the moss which is crushed under my hand as I grasp the wood. The path divides in front of me, an old pine marks the centrepoint of the Y shape. Some shadowed shape unfolds in front of it, rises up, I hear the sound again, a rumbling, growling wordless noise, the hairs on my body rise, adrenaline floods through me, my breathing changes - then the shape moves, and I see who it is.
"You absolute fucking CUNT. You scared the SHIT out of me. What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You ARSEHOLE!" I scream at you, starting to move forward ready to slap you a good one. Then I see your eyes clearly for the first time. You are...not yourself. I've only ever seen you like this once before, the time you hurt me so badly I walked away from you. The fact that I wanted you to, ASKED you to, frightened me more than what you did to me. I opened the door to something inside you - something predatory and barely even human. I thought that door had shut again until...this. Your pupils are dilated, it's not just the darkness, it's the lack of light in you. You've changed into someone or something that frightens me. And I hate it. I hate you like this. My whole body shudders and my knickers are wet through. I hate you for this.
Even your walk has changed. It's fluid, graceful, as if the dancer in your voice is in control of your whole body now. You come towards me and your hand is on my throat, choking me. I struggle to breathe. You've turned me and walked me backwards, so that I'm pushed up against the pine tree. I smell the needles, and the rainfall from last night. My legs angle forwards, you come so close to me you're almost straddling me. I feel how hard you are for me, and you shove your groin into my flesh, emphasising each word with a thrust. "I. Want to be. Inside. You". You use your other hand to pull my head back, yanking my hair so hard I think you'll pull it out by the roots. "You're such a hot little bitch. I'm going to smash you into fucking pieces and use you like the whore you are. I'm going to just stick my fucking dick in you, and use your soaking wet cunt until your tears make me cum in you".
I start to struggle, gasping for breath. You put your thumb to my windpipe, and push. I start to panic, and fight even more, choking, trying to cough, struggling against you, against myself. You step back suddenly and I fall to the ground. My hands dig into the muddy roots of the tree, searching for something to hold on to. My skirt is dirty, smeared with earth. I put my hands to my throat, soothing the skin, touch my face. You pull me sharply up by the wrist, and I stagger, landing on my knees. You're pulling at my skirt, tearing, and I'm fighting you, but I can feel tears are close now. You're so angry, I don't think I've ever seen you this angry. I slap at your hands, and you belt me, hard, across the face. I fall against the tree and hit my head. My skin breaks, and I feel something trickle down over my eyes. I'm crying now, I can't pretend I'm not scared anymore, the fear is too much for me to be angry at you, I just want you to stop hurting me. My face is covered with dirt, smeared make-up, tears and blood from the lasceration on my scalp.
You pull the shirt off from over your head, and despite myself, I'm struck by the beauty of your skin, so white and perfect in the halflight. I could run now, but I'm just lying there, sprawled and frozen, clothes half torn and sobbing, waiting for you to come for me. You rip the remains of my skirt from me, and take my top in both hands, pulling it into pieces. You reach round then, and gently unhook my bra. You throw me against the ground like a rag doll, and you dig your fingernails into me, ruining my pale flesh, marking me as yours, scratching, tearing, biting. You use your mouth on me, you bite into me so hard I think I'll faint from the pain, your hands are all over me, stroking me, then disfiguring me. You rip my panties off and stuff them in my mouth, and I don't fight you, I'm too afraid. I just look at you with tears pouring down my face, and only whimper and struggle a little, pointlessly, as you take off your belt and use it to tie my hands behind my back. You straddle my legs and open your flies, pulling your cock out, then slapping me across the face with it. You use my hair to smash my face into your dick, as you grind yourself against my gagged mouth.
"I'm going to spread your tears all over your face with my cock, you little fucktoy. I am going to fucking RUIN you, you little cunt, you are MINE". Your voice makes me cry harder, makes me want you even more, and hate you even more. You push me towards the earth, shove my face into the ground, and hold me down. You start to hit me, first with your hand, and then with the riding crop that I recognise the feel of so well, even though it's been so long since I've felt it. I spit out the panties from my mouth and start to scream, shouting and frantically struggling, some of my rage returning. "Don't you fucking dare fight back, don't you dare, you bitch". You yank my head back by the hair and then smash my face into the ground, and spit into my mouth. My lip has split open from the impact and I taste more blood still, as well as your saliva. You hit me over and over again with an anger and intensity I've never imagined, even with all the rage you hide so well. By the wrists and hair once more again you throw me, and the weals on my back and thighs scratch and press against the wood on the ground.
"Spread your fucking legs, you little cunt whore. Open your legs, NOW". I gaze at you, broken and wordless and so, so afraid again. I can't move, so you hit me in the face and dig your fingers into my thighs as you shove them apart. You stick your fingers inside me, I'm shamefully, humiliatingly wet, but it hurts still, you're so very rough, and I'm scared of what you're going to do to me. You ram your whole fist inside me and I cry out, sobbing. You stop my sobs with your cock as you push yourself inside my lips, and start to fuck my mouth. You hold me so close to your body that I gag, my eyes stream even more, and my body flops, out of my control as you use my mouth and throat to fuck your cock. You pull out, and start slapping my pussy with your crop. I moan, and cry out. I'm so close to coming, that when you push yourself inside me, I sob with need instead of fear or pain.
"Oh god, please", I whimper, "please, please, let me cum, I need to cum".
"Not yet, whore", you whisper in my ear as you take me. "This is for me, not for you. But you look so pretty with Daddy's cock in your pussy".
Your thrusts become more and more frantic, and I can't hold on much longer. You take your cock out of my cunt and fuck my arse instead, so hard and deep I start to cry from pain again. Just as I think I'm going to black out, you cry out, fuck me with two more hard thrusts, and then pull out and spray your cum all over my face, droplets landing in my hair, running down my throat, hot and liquid. You rub them into my breasts, then run your hands over my face, collecting more, and push your soaked fingers into my mouth. "Lick it all up, little whore. Drink it all down, take it, bitch". I suck on your fingers, desperate now, needing my own release so much I almost cum just imagining your fingers to be your cock inside my mouth again. My hands are still tied behind my back, my legs spread, pussy soaked and wet and sore, my hair dishevelled, covered in blood, sweat, mud, leaves and your cum, looking like the slut I am - your slut that I am.
You hold me down with one hand as you use the other hand on me, and I moan and writhe for you, mewling pitifully as I try and push myself against you more, which only makes you hold me down all the harder. I feel the pain from the scratches, weals and tears in my skin, as I thrash, struggle and twist around, to get closer to you. "Please please please, let me cum, I need to cum now, I'm begging you", and all the time you shake your head, smiling, as you shove your fingers inside my hot little pussy and I moan for you, soaking your hand. You finger fuck me and rub my clit with your thumb, you push more fingers inside my ass and I cry out, looking at you pleadingly, begging you with my eyes. You lean down and just as you shove your fist inside me, you growl next to my ear, and I cum for you, screaming, arching my back until I'm barely touching the ground, sobbing and crying and moaning your name, over and over and over again, as the waves rush through me, shattering me, breaking me so thoroughly and completely, making me utterly yours.
Afterwards, I look at you and just eat you up with my eyes, I can't STOP looking at you, as you rock me and stroke my hair, and whisper little things to me, telling me I'm good, I did well, I'm yours, that you'll look after me. You have made me who I want to be. You have made me myself again.
I am suddenly seized with a fierce longing for your cock inside me. I'm flushed, the gin has gone to my head, perhaps. I tense the muscles in my thighs, try to relax them, feeling a longing, a yearning for you. I imagine you turning, halfway through a sentence maybe, and just reaching out for me, climbing across the laps of your adoring audience to get to me, then taking me by the throat and...I cut my imagination off with a sharp shake of my head. I stand and go outside, to join the others who are smoking. I don't smoke, but I need the break from your presence. Just being near to you makes me wet. The cold cuts into my throat, I breathe in deeply, savouring the air free of your scent.
I walk back inside the pub, and stop for a moment, waiting. I don't want to interrupt you now, much as I want you. I wait. I watch the patterns you make, the story you are telling and your voice weaving back and forth, hypnotic. Your fist slams into the red leather of the sofa as you make a point, and there is an audible intake of breath from my female friends. I smile to myself, knowing the effect you are having on them. I feel the pulse between my legs jump, syncopated to your voice. Your energy fills the whole room, so intensely fascinating, so electric I can see the light in you drawing people closer. I take a step forward, compelled, despite myself, despite knowing better. I wonder if all the people who surround you, listening with their faces turned upwards to your shine, can also see the darkness in you that I know is there.
I should go now, while I can. I know you want to hurt me. I know I can't let you. We both know it would end badly.
I decide not to say goodbye, so I leave you, stepping quietly out of the back door, leaving you shiny and illuminated. I bring out the darkness in you. I'm not good for you, and you would drown in me. The air is so icy my breathing makes shapes in it, and like making images from the clouds on a summer's day, I amuse myself by watching my own body's warmth become cold and fall to pieces in the dark. I walk to the train station - my house is only five minutes through the woods at the other end, not far, and I know the path so well even the foxes don't run from me anymore when they hear me coming. I'm climbing the stairs to the station when I see your car pulling up beside me. You roll the window down. "Get in".
"No, you know I won't. Go away".
"Come on, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to fucking RAPE you, you know. Just let me give you a lift. You can't walk home on your own, it's not safe, I won't let you. Don't be such a stubborn twat".
"Just fuck off, I'm not going to get in your car, just go".
We have this exchange every time. I don't know why you keep bothering with me. You know I'm not going to give in, give up, to you.
I hear your frustrated grunt, and your car pulls away with a great deal of noise and roaring. I smile and shake my head. You idiot. I dash up the stairs as my train gets in - you nearly made me miss it, arsehole.
I get a text while I'm on the train. 'One day I am going to drag you into my fucking car, beat the fucking shit out of you and just stick my fucking cock in your pretty mouth to get you to shut the fuck up. I may well destroy you, you cockteasing little whore'. Despite myself I'm wet again, reading it. God, I hate you. I text you back. One line - 'uhuh *rolls eyes*'.
I hop out at the next station and saunter through the woods. I feel safe here. This is MY place, my territory. I've walked these woods so often, in daylight and after dark, I know the path under my feet without needing to look. Every branch, every bump underfoot, every turning, every sound, is familiar to me and loved. I've lived near here all my life and nothing will stop me walking home the way I want to, when I want to. Not you, not ever.
I'm halfway along the path when something isn't right. Some sound...or absence of sound...feels wrong. I pause, looking around, listening. I step forward again, reach down and pick up a branch. I smell the moss which is crushed under my hand as I grasp the wood. The path divides in front of me, an old pine marks the centrepoint of the Y shape. Some shadowed shape unfolds in front of it, rises up, I hear the sound again, a rumbling, growling wordless noise, the hairs on my body rise, adrenaline floods through me, my breathing changes - then the shape moves, and I see who it is.
"You absolute fucking CUNT. You scared the SHIT out of me. What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You ARSEHOLE!" I scream at you, starting to move forward ready to slap you a good one. Then I see your eyes clearly for the first time. You are...not yourself. I've only ever seen you like this once before, the time you hurt me so badly I walked away from you. The fact that I wanted you to, ASKED you to, frightened me more than what you did to me. I opened the door to something inside you - something predatory and barely even human. I thought that door had shut again until...this. Your pupils are dilated, it's not just the darkness, it's the lack of light in you. You've changed into someone or something that frightens me. And I hate it. I hate you like this. My whole body shudders and my knickers are wet through. I hate you for this.
Even your walk has changed. It's fluid, graceful, as if the dancer in your voice is in control of your whole body now. You come towards me and your hand is on my throat, choking me. I struggle to breathe. You've turned me and walked me backwards, so that I'm pushed up against the pine tree. I smell the needles, and the rainfall from last night. My legs angle forwards, you come so close to me you're almost straddling me. I feel how hard you are for me, and you shove your groin into my flesh, emphasising each word with a thrust. "I. Want to be. Inside. You". You use your other hand to pull my head back, yanking my hair so hard I think you'll pull it out by the roots. "You're such a hot little bitch. I'm going to smash you into fucking pieces and use you like the whore you are. I'm going to just stick my fucking dick in you, and use your soaking wet cunt until your tears make me cum in you".
I start to struggle, gasping for breath. You put your thumb to my windpipe, and push. I start to panic, and fight even more, choking, trying to cough, struggling against you, against myself. You step back suddenly and I fall to the ground. My hands dig into the muddy roots of the tree, searching for something to hold on to. My skirt is dirty, smeared with earth. I put my hands to my throat, soothing the skin, touch my face. You pull me sharply up by the wrist, and I stagger, landing on my knees. You're pulling at my skirt, tearing, and I'm fighting you, but I can feel tears are close now. You're so angry, I don't think I've ever seen you this angry. I slap at your hands, and you belt me, hard, across the face. I fall against the tree and hit my head. My skin breaks, and I feel something trickle down over my eyes. I'm crying now, I can't pretend I'm not scared anymore, the fear is too much for me to be angry at you, I just want you to stop hurting me. My face is covered with dirt, smeared make-up, tears and blood from the lasceration on my scalp.
You pull the shirt off from over your head, and despite myself, I'm struck by the beauty of your skin, so white and perfect in the halflight. I could run now, but I'm just lying there, sprawled and frozen, clothes half torn and sobbing, waiting for you to come for me. You rip the remains of my skirt from me, and take my top in both hands, pulling it into pieces. You reach round then, and gently unhook my bra. You throw me against the ground like a rag doll, and you dig your fingernails into me, ruining my pale flesh, marking me as yours, scratching, tearing, biting. You use your mouth on me, you bite into me so hard I think I'll faint from the pain, your hands are all over me, stroking me, then disfiguring me. You rip my panties off and stuff them in my mouth, and I don't fight you, I'm too afraid. I just look at you with tears pouring down my face, and only whimper and struggle a little, pointlessly, as you take off your belt and use it to tie my hands behind my back. You straddle my legs and open your flies, pulling your cock out, then slapping me across the face with it. You use my hair to smash my face into your dick, as you grind yourself against my gagged mouth.
"I'm going to spread your tears all over your face with my cock, you little fucktoy. I am going to fucking RUIN you, you little cunt, you are MINE". Your voice makes me cry harder, makes me want you even more, and hate you even more. You push me towards the earth, shove my face into the ground, and hold me down. You start to hit me, first with your hand, and then with the riding crop that I recognise the feel of so well, even though it's been so long since I've felt it. I spit out the panties from my mouth and start to scream, shouting and frantically struggling, some of my rage returning. "Don't you fucking dare fight back, don't you dare, you bitch". You yank my head back by the hair and then smash my face into the ground, and spit into my mouth. My lip has split open from the impact and I taste more blood still, as well as your saliva. You hit me over and over again with an anger and intensity I've never imagined, even with all the rage you hide so well. By the wrists and hair once more again you throw me, and the weals on my back and thighs scratch and press against the wood on the ground.
"Spread your fucking legs, you little cunt whore. Open your legs, NOW". I gaze at you, broken and wordless and so, so afraid again. I can't move, so you hit me in the face and dig your fingers into my thighs as you shove them apart. You stick your fingers inside me, I'm shamefully, humiliatingly wet, but it hurts still, you're so very rough, and I'm scared of what you're going to do to me. You ram your whole fist inside me and I cry out, sobbing. You stop my sobs with your cock as you push yourself inside my lips, and start to fuck my mouth. You hold me so close to your body that I gag, my eyes stream even more, and my body flops, out of my control as you use my mouth and throat to fuck your cock. You pull out, and start slapping my pussy with your crop. I moan, and cry out. I'm so close to coming, that when you push yourself inside me, I sob with need instead of fear or pain.
"Oh god, please", I whimper, "please, please, let me cum, I need to cum".
"Not yet, whore", you whisper in my ear as you take me. "This is for me, not for you. But you look so pretty with Daddy's cock in your pussy".
Your thrusts become more and more frantic, and I can't hold on much longer. You take your cock out of my cunt and fuck my arse instead, so hard and deep I start to cry from pain again. Just as I think I'm going to black out, you cry out, fuck me with two more hard thrusts, and then pull out and spray your cum all over my face, droplets landing in my hair, running down my throat, hot and liquid. You rub them into my breasts, then run your hands over my face, collecting more, and push your soaked fingers into my mouth. "Lick it all up, little whore. Drink it all down, take it, bitch". I suck on your fingers, desperate now, needing my own release so much I almost cum just imagining your fingers to be your cock inside my mouth again. My hands are still tied behind my back, my legs spread, pussy soaked and wet and sore, my hair dishevelled, covered in blood, sweat, mud, leaves and your cum, looking like the slut I am - your slut that I am.
You hold me down with one hand as you use the other hand on me, and I moan and writhe for you, mewling pitifully as I try and push myself against you more, which only makes you hold me down all the harder. I feel the pain from the scratches, weals and tears in my skin, as I thrash, struggle and twist around, to get closer to you. "Please please please, let me cum, I need to cum now, I'm begging you", and all the time you shake your head, smiling, as you shove your fingers inside my hot little pussy and I moan for you, soaking your hand. You finger fuck me and rub my clit with your thumb, you push more fingers inside my ass and I cry out, looking at you pleadingly, begging you with my eyes. You lean down and just as you shove your fist inside me, you growl next to my ear, and I cum for you, screaming, arching my back until I'm barely touching the ground, sobbing and crying and moaning your name, over and over and over again, as the waves rush through me, shattering me, breaking me so thoroughly and completely, making me utterly yours.
Afterwards, I look at you and just eat you up with my eyes, I can't STOP looking at you, as you rock me and stroke my hair, and whisper little things to me, telling me I'm good, I did well, I'm yours, that you'll look after me. You have made me who I want to be. You have made me myself again.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
On the outside, looking in...
Quite a few friends seem to be thoroughly depressed and miserable at the moment, struggling to reconcile their 'real' selves with the self that will be welcomed and included in the end of year family/ friend/ work festivities.
The ordeal of christmas with family, or christmas meals at work, social occasions where there is an enforced sense of jollity, and limits put on when/where/how you interact with people...so many of us find this horribly trying.
Picture the scene. You're arriving at the Parents, presents in hand (that you didn't want to buy), children running amock at your heels (that you can't stand), a grin plastered to your face (or is a rictus of rage...?)
You sit down to a badly cooked meal, shoulder to shoulder with relatives you only see once a year, have absolutely nothing in common with except for shared genetics (a miniscule fraction in addition to what you share with every other human on the planet), and you know, you just *know*, that if these people knew the 'real you', you would be confronted with expressions of horror, distaste, incomprehension, disgust, fear...
If you have a partner who knows, loves and shares that inner side of you, then at least you can share amusement, 'in-jokes', and sly glances that hint at 'if only they knew...'
But when you have to face these things alone, it's even harder. Put in this situation, I can guarantee that within half an hour and one glass of gin, I'll be talking about clit piercings and anal sex, and getting my knockers out in order to demonstate lapdancing on some random uncle.
Which is why I don't do it. Fortunately, I'm in the position of being able to take or leave family and work christmas stuff. Parents and colleagues have long since given up trying to force me to do anything I don't want to do. And even if I'm made to, I can take my lovely husband with me, so I've got some moral support. Even if discussion of anything to do with sex or pervery totally squicks him, I'm still very lucky.
But even so, I myself am struggling with a little bit of the 'kinky single at christmas' syndrome. I know I won't be getting any text messages telling me to sneak off to the toilet, take my knickers off, and taste my own cum, halfway through christmas dinner. There will be no bruises between my legs to savour, as I cook breakfast on christmas morning for my husband.
But kinky or otherwise, we *all* feel like this sometimes. Some more than others. I remember sitting through some wanky training course at work on 'bullying in the workplace', where they asked us to think of and discuss, an example where we once felt excluded from the group. It made me smile...I've *always* felt like this. As a bookish, bespectacled, highly 'academic' child...then later, as a dirty goffick, then as an alternative person who rejected the alternative social life for homely pursuits like knitting, baking and snuggling up on the sofa with a book and the cats...and now, most recently, as a kinkster. It's very rare for me to feel *included*. I am, always and forever, on the outside looking in.
But what I've realised is, that to a greater or lesser degree, we *all* are. We're born alone, and go into death alone. Times like christmas are socially acceptable ways of easing a little of that loneliness, or giving us the illusion of easing it. So maybe the trick is to enjoy it, throw yourself into the family festivities with a glad heart, knowing that your kinky friends, goth mates, knitting club...whatever...they'll still be there waiting for you, when you come home. And maybe, just maybe, someone will send you a text anyway, even if they aren't your lover, your play partner, your dom or your sub. Maybe it will even be me.
We all hide from the emotion of loneliness, we use different ways to ease that pain. The most obvious one is sex, which is perhaps why being single at christmas cuts deep to the heart for some. Sex is a route to the all-too fragile and transient moment where the isolation within all of us is dispelled.
But maybe if you can't have sex, you can still challenge that isolation, be it with a touch, a cuddle, a text message, or even the shared understanding implicit within a look.
I must be feeling a little soppy today. My cat left big muddy paw prints all over the bed linen this morning and I didn't even spank his paws.
The ordeal of christmas with family, or christmas meals at work, social occasions where there is an enforced sense of jollity, and limits put on when/where/how you interact with people...so many of us find this horribly trying.
Picture the scene. You're arriving at the Parents, presents in hand (that you didn't want to buy), children running amock at your heels (that you can't stand), a grin plastered to your face (or is a rictus of rage...?)
You sit down to a badly cooked meal, shoulder to shoulder with relatives you only see once a year, have absolutely nothing in common with except for shared genetics (a miniscule fraction in addition to what you share with every other human on the planet), and you know, you just *know*, that if these people knew the 'real you', you would be confronted with expressions of horror, distaste, incomprehension, disgust, fear...
If you have a partner who knows, loves and shares that inner side of you, then at least you can share amusement, 'in-jokes', and sly glances that hint at 'if only they knew...'
But when you have to face these things alone, it's even harder. Put in this situation, I can guarantee that within half an hour and one glass of gin, I'll be talking about clit piercings and anal sex, and getting my knockers out in order to demonstate lapdancing on some random uncle.
Which is why I don't do it. Fortunately, I'm in the position of being able to take or leave family and work christmas stuff. Parents and colleagues have long since given up trying to force me to do anything I don't want to do. And even if I'm made to, I can take my lovely husband with me, so I've got some moral support. Even if discussion of anything to do with sex or pervery totally squicks him, I'm still very lucky.
But even so, I myself am struggling with a little bit of the 'kinky single at christmas' syndrome. I know I won't be getting any text messages telling me to sneak off to the toilet, take my knickers off, and taste my own cum, halfway through christmas dinner. There will be no bruises between my legs to savour, as I cook breakfast on christmas morning for my husband.
But kinky or otherwise, we *all* feel like this sometimes. Some more than others. I remember sitting through some wanky training course at work on 'bullying in the workplace', where they asked us to think of and discuss, an example where we once felt excluded from the group. It made me smile...I've *always* felt like this. As a bookish, bespectacled, highly 'academic' child...then later, as a dirty goffick, then as an alternative person who rejected the alternative social life for homely pursuits like knitting, baking and snuggling up on the sofa with a book and the cats...and now, most recently, as a kinkster. It's very rare for me to feel *included*. I am, always and forever, on the outside looking in.
But what I've realised is, that to a greater or lesser degree, we *all* are. We're born alone, and go into death alone. Times like christmas are socially acceptable ways of easing a little of that loneliness, or giving us the illusion of easing it. So maybe the trick is to enjoy it, throw yourself into the family festivities with a glad heart, knowing that your kinky friends, goth mates, knitting club...whatever...they'll still be there waiting for you, when you come home. And maybe, just maybe, someone will send you a text anyway, even if they aren't your lover, your play partner, your dom or your sub. Maybe it will even be me.
We all hide from the emotion of loneliness, we use different ways to ease that pain. The most obvious one is sex, which is perhaps why being single at christmas cuts deep to the heart for some. Sex is a route to the all-too fragile and transient moment where the isolation within all of us is dispelled.
But maybe if you can't have sex, you can still challenge that isolation, be it with a touch, a cuddle, a text message, or even the shared understanding implicit within a look.
I must be feeling a little soppy today. My cat left big muddy paw prints all over the bed linen this morning and I didn't even spank his paws.
Monday, 21 December 2009
Fuck me hard, fuck me up, but don't fuck me over..
ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
I am SO fucking frustrated at the moment. It's been a good couple of months since I had a decent play, PLUS about the same amount of time since I had a decent shag, and I swear to god I'm going to Actually Do Someone an Injury if someone doesn't relieve my frustrations soon.
When I get like this, I become....quite 'aggressive'. I just want to grab some gorgeous bit of totty, throw them down on the bed, rip their clothes off and ....then probably be sadly disappointed because they will fail to overpower me and I'll end up doing 'hmph' and pouting.
My libido has gone into uber max overdrive now, partially because I had a sizzling affair de la memo via IC over the last week, which unfortunately didn't work out in real life. At least I'm no longer second-guessing my instincts. I should have gone with my initial 'no, this isn't going to work' response, rather than doubting myself.
Also, I did something really fucking stupid the other day. I drank about six pints and asked someone I barely knew to take me home and hurt me. We got back to his house whereupon he dragged me up the stairs by my hair, slapped me in the face (to be fair, I slapped him first), and threw me in the bedroom. Whereupon I burst into tears. Congratulations me, for being a total and utter twat. On the other hand, my judgement that he was trustworthy turned out to be completely sound, as he just cuddled me better, fussed over me, and sent me safely home untouched. Not that I'll be taking that risk again, of course, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. But on the other hand - go me, with the intuition!
What I really need is someone who can terrify the shit out of me, frighten, beat and fuck the aggression out of me, and then cuddle me into some state of relaxation afterwards. But given I don't have any current play partners, casual or otherwise, and I don't do casual sex with men ANYWAY..the getting fucked hard bit is going to have to wait a while. Let's not hope it's too long or my tetchiness is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
So it looks like I'll have to search for release in the form of someone who can fuck me up a bit, leave me with some lovely cane stripes, bite marks, take me to that endorphined up, adoring heaven where I really need to go, give me a part of what I'm craving, so I can at least let some of my control drop for a little bit. Because my infamous self-control is being severely tested at the moment.
Of course I shall have to employ my gut instinct in seeking someone who can do this for me without fucking me over. In the meantime, I'll just grit my teeth and growl at anyone who looks at me funny today.
ETA: Ooh, I tell a lie. BD 'did' me a few weeks ago, but that was topping not domming and so, wonderful as it was, only released the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.
I would normally exorcise this frustration through vigorous physical exercise, such as my thrice weekly stompathon constitutional down the seafront. However, we are currently in the grip of, to quote our taxi driver last night, 'the worst case of iced up roads and pavements I've seen in 42 years of living here'. There are tree'd, lampost'd, and abandoned cars spread throughout the town. It could be worse though...on my bus trip to work I saw a blind man making his way along the ice, and then a few minutes later, a homeless man clutching his can of special brew. Grim - made me a bit ashamed of the rant I was composing in my head, at the time.
I am SO fucking frustrated at the moment. It's been a good couple of months since I had a decent play, PLUS about the same amount of time since I had a decent shag, and I swear to god I'm going to Actually Do Someone an Injury if someone doesn't relieve my frustrations soon.
When I get like this, I become....quite 'aggressive'. I just want to grab some gorgeous bit of totty, throw them down on the bed, rip their clothes off and ....then probably be sadly disappointed because they will fail to overpower me and I'll end up doing 'hmph' and pouting.
My libido has gone into uber max overdrive now, partially because I had a sizzling affair de la memo via IC over the last week, which unfortunately didn't work out in real life. At least I'm no longer second-guessing my instincts. I should have gone with my initial 'no, this isn't going to work' response, rather than doubting myself.
Also, I did something really fucking stupid the other day. I drank about six pints and asked someone I barely knew to take me home and hurt me. We got back to his house whereupon he dragged me up the stairs by my hair, slapped me in the face (to be fair, I slapped him first), and threw me in the bedroom. Whereupon I burst into tears. Congratulations me, for being a total and utter twat. On the other hand, my judgement that he was trustworthy turned out to be completely sound, as he just cuddled me better, fussed over me, and sent me safely home untouched. Not that I'll be taking that risk again, of course, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. But on the other hand - go me, with the intuition!
What I really need is someone who can terrify the shit out of me, frighten, beat and fuck the aggression out of me, and then cuddle me into some state of relaxation afterwards. But given I don't have any current play partners, casual or otherwise, and I don't do casual sex with men ANYWAY..the getting fucked hard bit is going to have to wait a while. Let's not hope it's too long or my tetchiness is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
So it looks like I'll have to search for release in the form of someone who can fuck me up a bit, leave me with some lovely cane stripes, bite marks, take me to that endorphined up, adoring heaven where I really need to go, give me a part of what I'm craving, so I can at least let some of my control drop for a little bit. Because my infamous self-control is being severely tested at the moment.
Of course I shall have to employ my gut instinct in seeking someone who can do this for me without fucking me over. In the meantime, I'll just grit my teeth and growl at anyone who looks at me funny today.
ETA: Ooh, I tell a lie. BD 'did' me a few weeks ago, but that was topping not domming and so, wonderful as it was, only released the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.
I would normally exorcise this frustration through vigorous physical exercise, such as my thrice weekly stompathon constitutional down the seafront. However, we are currently in the grip of, to quote our taxi driver last night, 'the worst case of iced up roads and pavements I've seen in 42 years of living here'. There are tree'd, lampost'd, and abandoned cars spread throughout the town. It could be worse though...on my bus trip to work I saw a blind man making his way along the ice, and then a few minutes later, a homeless man clutching his can of special brew. Grim - made me a bit ashamed of the rant I was composing in my head, at the time.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Addendum
And another thing...
My bloody mother on the phone yesterday. Jesus, that woman. She suggested that I shouldn't get emotionally attached to anyone again, I should just fuck 'em, basically. Because 'you know what happened last time...you can't go through that again and you don't want R (husband) to be ill again, do you?'
'What's me falling in love got to do with R being ill?' I asked, not unreasonably. (Back story - R was in hospital a couple of times recently with seizures. Long story short, diabetic hypos resulting in fits, used to have them regularly years ago, 5 year gap, has just had two again. We're a bit gutted)
'Well, all that suppressed emotion can't have been good for him. After all, knowing you're in love with another man, even though he says he's fine with it...that might well have caused the seizures'.
Thanks mum. Gotta love family. Or murder them and bury them under the patio. One of the two.
My bloody mother on the phone yesterday. Jesus, that woman. She suggested that I shouldn't get emotionally attached to anyone again, I should just fuck 'em, basically. Because 'you know what happened last time...you can't go through that again and you don't want R (husband) to be ill again, do you?'
'What's me falling in love got to do with R being ill?' I asked, not unreasonably. (Back story - R was in hospital a couple of times recently with seizures. Long story short, diabetic hypos resulting in fits, used to have them regularly years ago, 5 year gap, has just had two again. We're a bit gutted)
'Well, all that suppressed emotion can't have been good for him. After all, knowing you're in love with another man, even though he says he's fine with it...that might well have caused the seizures'.
Thanks mum. Gotta love family. Or murder them and bury them under the patio. One of the two.
Lifelong Learning
Hurrumph.
A year ago I would have said I knew myself, and my needs, pretty damn well. It's winter now, which is *thinky* time, not *doey* time; I'd say now that I have learned more about myself in the last year, than in the entire lifetime prior to that. However, it's made me even more aware of how much more I need to learn about my needs, my desires, and why I do things the way I do.
If anyone say anything about the wisdom of knowing that you know nothing, I *will* hit them.
I've got PMT, I'm sexually frustrated, pain frustrated, and no appealing play partners available to hand. Grr. Also, husband (R) is getting the full force of my techniness today, the poor boy. In the last two days, he has:
1) Wound me up by making my tea the wrong way. This is not just a failure to use the right cups (One tall, white, with picture of Tatty Teddy eating biscuits on it, one short, wide, with 'Good Girl Gone Bad' written on it), or to make it how I like it (2 sweeteners, strong, not too much milk...and two cups at the same time, one with a inch of cold water in, so that I can drink it straight away and not wait, and the second as a chaser). Worse that that - he came in the room carrying the porridge, and mumbled at me..I asked him to repeat himself, and he....SPAT MY COLD WATER FROM HIS MOUTH, INTO MY CUP! And then asked me why I was looking horrified. Okay, using his mouth as a handy carrying receptacle, is at least...inventive...but...!
2) So we're in Maplins, and I'm looking for new headphones, batteries, and a replacement mouse. I go looking for the mouse, and he's getting underfoot. So I say - can you find where the headphones are? He wanders off....five minutes later I've selected my mouse, and I find him staring aimlessly out the window. 'Did you find the headphones section?', I ask him. 'Oh, was I supposed to? I didn't know...I was just concentrating on doing my boot laces up'. ARGH!
3) I remind him to log in to Sainsburys and add any shopping that he wants for christmas. I've already set up the order and had the 'like gold-dust' delivery slot booked for weeks. He finishes off, and a couple of hours later I check my emails...which include one from sainsburys saying 'you have cancelled your order'. 'Did you check out properly?' I ask him. 'Well I thought I did', he replies. 'Did you actually click on the checkout button and get confirmation?' I ask. 'Err....what checkout button?'
Head. Desk.
Poly Man in Buried Under the Patio Shocker. News at 11.
A year ago I would have said I knew myself, and my needs, pretty damn well. It's winter now, which is *thinky* time, not *doey* time; I'd say now that I have learned more about myself in the last year, than in the entire lifetime prior to that. However, it's made me even more aware of how much more I need to learn about my needs, my desires, and why I do things the way I do.
If anyone say anything about the wisdom of knowing that you know nothing, I *will* hit them.
I've got PMT, I'm sexually frustrated, pain frustrated, and no appealing play partners available to hand. Grr. Also, husband (R) is getting the full force of my techniness today, the poor boy. In the last two days, he has:
1) Wound me up by making my tea the wrong way. This is not just a failure to use the right cups (One tall, white, with picture of Tatty Teddy eating biscuits on it, one short, wide, with 'Good Girl Gone Bad' written on it), or to make it how I like it (2 sweeteners, strong, not too much milk...and two cups at the same time, one with a inch of cold water in, so that I can drink it straight away and not wait, and the second as a chaser). Worse that that - he came in the room carrying the porridge, and mumbled at me..I asked him to repeat himself, and he....SPAT MY COLD WATER FROM HIS MOUTH, INTO MY CUP! And then asked me why I was looking horrified. Okay, using his mouth as a handy carrying receptacle, is at least...inventive...but...!
2) So we're in Maplins, and I'm looking for new headphones, batteries, and a replacement mouse. I go looking for the mouse, and he's getting underfoot. So I say - can you find where the headphones are? He wanders off....five minutes later I've selected my mouse, and I find him staring aimlessly out the window. 'Did you find the headphones section?', I ask him. 'Oh, was I supposed to? I didn't know...I was just concentrating on doing my boot laces up'. ARGH!
3) I remind him to log in to Sainsburys and add any shopping that he wants for christmas. I've already set up the order and had the 'like gold-dust' delivery slot booked for weeks. He finishes off, and a couple of hours later I check my emails...which include one from sainsburys saying 'you have cancelled your order'. 'Did you check out properly?' I ask him. 'Well I thought I did', he replies. 'Did you actually click on the checkout button and get confirmation?' I ask. 'Err....what checkout button?'
Head. Desk.
Poly Man in Buried Under the Patio Shocker. News at 11.
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