Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.

pexels-photo-434645

By asking him to consider me for his next submissive I had taken that first step onto a staircase which I couldn’t possibly see all of. I had put my faith in him, trusting him from the outset, no doubt in my mind that I was on my way somewhere. At this point I had very little trust in anyone, and this man…. I can’t even begin to explain how I felt.

It felt so alien, but so right. 

His response…received swiftly… made my heart race. Again! In fact reading it back today, while writing this entry, has the same effect on me. I have always believed that everything happens for a reason, even the difficult things, and his words were all I had hoped they would be. He made it seem so easy, to be genuine and try very hard. Both of those things are in me naturally, and he was a wave of calm, lapping at my shoreline, encouraging the natural part of me to emerge. He had already asked me to call him Sir, and, to this day, it is all I can call him. In a world where nothing else made sense I knew I was finally on the right path.

“You trust, I keep you safe”

He was open in telling me he had found me on Facebook after my initial contact and he already knew a little about me, but that he wanted to know more. He explained that he would be setting me tasks, to help him gain more of an understanding of me and to help me to start to give myself over to him. He started gently: a picture of me that was just for him, and a full breakdown of my marriage and what was happening there. When I talked through what was happening in my marriage I could not allow myself to see all of what was going on, I had shielded myself from the worst so that I could get through the days. It is only being 3+ years out, and with lots of professional support over the last 12 months, that I have been able to remember and unpick these events. The picture was me fully clothed, in a skirt! You may have guessed, with the love of mud and being a natural tomboy skirts were low down in my choice. Soon that was to change, he asked me to wear skirts with bare legs whenever it was possible (one of my roles at work was an allotment project…I was allowed to wear trousers there…) There were more questions, I responded well to his words and was always happy to give him as much as he asked for while also aiming for above and beyond. This was new to me, my family have always said that with me:

Still waters run deep

I only ever shared what I needed to with them. Now though, Sir had opened the flood gates and it was all coming out. I didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic, and as I was thinking that my next email should ask about contact (how much is enough, how much is too much) my notifications pinged, and it was him, in my head already! He instructed me to get in contact daily, as he would usually have something for me to do. I was safe to share, I never felt judged or daft, and I trusted that he would tell me if I became too much. I had no experience of submitting, but there was no other way for me to be with him. I loved the body writing task which came next. As I opened my mind to him my body wanted to follow. Geographically distant, and still early days in his consideration, he asked me to write on myself For Sir. It felt like he was on me, touching me… A physical connection to go with the emotional one that I felt. With the tasks I felt like a new woman, I would smile more, laugh a little and even dare to be happy.

My secret wasn’t quite so secret anymore, and I trusted Sir to keep me and my secret safe. 

for sir

Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.

This quote found it’s way into my email inbox last weekend  (Dankie x) and it is so fitting, because it is this point in time where I learnt to do just that. With chaos reigning supreme in my home life, I was able to find little moments of calm and utter joy. Whether that is when I was writing on myself in white board marker (handy hint: these can be removed quickly with baby wipes as the need arises!) or enjoying a moment of fun with my boys.

dancing in the rain

 

In the end we only regret the chances we don’t take

Four words, that’s all. Just four. 19 letters in total, which set the course for the journey I had decided to take.

Find a Dominant Dorset

I typed them into the search engine. Step one complete!

What came up started a crazy chain of events I could never have dreamt up, not in a hundred lifetimes.

  1. bemydom.com
  2. fetlife.com
  3. Vivastreet, and advert: Intelligent Dominant seeking submissive female

I clicked on number 3. It looked smaller, more manageable than the others. I remember how my heart started to race as I read the words, it seemed to offer everything I craved. No, no, no, no, no…. It wouldn’t be that easy. Not for me. I don’t deserve that, do I? Surely not.

Back to the search engine, clicking on number 1 “Oh. it’s free!” I signed up straight away. Before I had even completed a basic profile I had over 30 messages in my inbox. Blimey…. BACK TO THE SEARCH ENGINE!

Vivastreet….hmmmmm

Back again, next onto Fetlife. Another completely different experience. I created a very quick profile and had a quick perv. before clicking back onto my expanding inbox on Bemydom. Too much!!!!!! Another quick look at Vivastreet before sloping off to bed.

This pattern continued over the next few days. 

I found some interesting things on Fetlife, some nice people too. And discovered that Bemydom was actually one part of a very large umbrella site, where ten men for every woman hunted for sexual encounters. Not many interesting people to talk to at all. I wanted to learn about D/s, not bed hop. All the while I was planning out how to approach the Intelligent Dominant seeking submissive female. I’m a strong believer of the saying “If you don’t ask, the answer will always be no” and as I had made the decision to look for a happier life I would be foolish to pass by this advert…. So I did it. I replied. I sent a message answering unasked questions, I had thought hard about what to write, put it all together, rambled a little more than I intended to, hit send, and went to bed. I had a muddy obstacle course race the next day and needed to be up early to get there in time.

I had a response the following evening, full of questions. It seems my curiosity was not the only one which had been piqued. I spent the evening thinking on the answers, another early night as I had to travel for work the next day… I would write the response the following evening when I had more time to do so.

Next day did not go as planned

My 13 month old son had an awful accident and ended up in hospital for 8 days with horrific burns, there was one point where it looked as though he would never come home. Obviously my reply was put on the back-burner. I did not consider a quick message to ask him to bear with me. Instead I got a very polite message back 5 days later. He seemed genuine in his desire to hear back, not overbearing, just….well, just right. He attached a picture of himself, and coupled with the way he was talking to me I knew I had to send the message that, maybe, I should have sent a few days earlier. I had the evening in the hospital, my baby was sleeping and on the mend, and, well, this intelligent Dominant seeking submissive female  had a very soothing effect on me. I opened up, answered all of his questions and more unasked ones. I attached a picture of myself, taken after the race the previous weekend.first one sent

Not only was it the only one I had on my phone (I wasn’t comfortable in front of the camera, let alone selfies) it showed me at my happiest (I had the biggest smile on my face). The proverbial pig in sh*t. If he didn’t like me like that…well, as I have said before, I am just me…  I closed the email with this comment:

 I need to find someone who I can trust with my submission, who will be reasonably patient when I make mistakes, and who understands the power they have and the care that must be taken with it. If they are able to spark my imagination and not make me feel cheap for sharing my fantasies then that is all the better. 
He was obviously not deterred by the mud. I received a reply with answers to my questions, reiterating that he has his way of doing things and a submissive’s life is challenging and often requires leaps of faith
All that I could do next was to ask him if he would consider me.
So I did. I asked…
And my world would never be the same

Goodbye to the sun that shines for me no longer

Ice-Cream-Maker-Luxury-Vanilla-Ice-Cream (2)

There comes a time when we have to admit that things aren’t working.

I first reached this point within 6 months of starting university. The work was easy enough but it wasn’t what I wanted to do, and I was still as alone with my kinks as I always had been. Just now there were more people to be different to, the crowd was bigger and my loneliness was stronger. I cut and ran, moved back home with my mum, got a job and started a college course.  College was great, I was the only girl with 14 guys. I was in my element, ever the tomboy I enjoyed weekends teaching some to kitesurf, spent evenings with the “pig boys” smoking weed and playing mario-kart. Oh and we studied hard together. This all changed in the new year. I had turned 20, and work was busy. I was invited to a leaving do for a girl who worked in a pub across the square to my restaurant. I hung my coat, found the bar and looked around for a familiar face. There was P, further down, looking at me with a wonky smile. He had a beer in one hand and a whisky glass raised in the other. The night that followed involved me winning lots of drinking games, dancing with acquaintances and ending up in his room watching some movie that I can’t recall. He and I fell into the routine of sex, smokes and a takeaway. Two weeks later he texted me from his toilet “I love you”. My reply from his bed “thank you”

This is my chance for a normal life

I had been trying to switch off the urges for kink, and had been open with P about my past. He accepted me the way I was, better yet he loved me after just two weeks. Four weeks later he said “wouldn’t it be funny if we told everyone we got engaged” I laughed along, it was funny! Then we decided to get married in the march, a mere six weeks after that. My mum pointed out how fickle I had been in the past and urged us to wait until the autumn. Over the next six months I was discouraged from spending time outside of college with my friends, the pig boys, unless P was with me. And he always wanted to come with me out on the boat when I went wakeboarding. My circle grew smaller, and with it my confidence. But it was ok, because he loved me.

I cried all of the way to my wedding

Was it just nerves? Was it a sense of impending doom? Was it even excitement, as I told my bridesmaid, mum and brother? I couldn’t tell you. We moved shortly after the wedding, my new friends were his old friends. We moved again six months later, back to the town we had got married in, spending time with his friends, my new social circle. This was normal, surely? The normal that I thought I needed anyway. And when he started to drop the word “slut” into conversation or question my promiscuous past I began to believe that I wasn’t to be trusted, and shut myself away. When he was working 9am to midnight, six days a week, I reconnected with some wakeboarding friends. I spent many happy evenings with the boat boys, but he could not understand that it was platonic and accused me of messing around while out on the boat with them. Not long after I started seeing them again he suggested we try for a baby, it is only recently I have begun to question his motives in asking… We had been married four and a half years when our eldest son arrived. My world shrunk, my confidence all but vanished. Every waking moment was spent looking after the baby and P. By the time baby number two arrived, 5.5 years later, I wasn’t me anymore.

I wasn’t even a shadow of my former self, I was nothing. 

I had become conditioned to accept the way he spoke about me and to me. I took up running, it was a great way to get some time to myself and do something just for me, but when I got home he would sniff me, accuse me of having sex with other men rather than running, which explained why I was always flushed when I got home. The way he treated me in front of our children was awful too, and if I had seen someone else being treated like that I would have been appalled, but he loved me so this must just be what I deserved. Even when he raped me, with six-week old son #2 asleep on my chest—He hasn’t slept since he was born, you make a fuss you’ll wake him up, and who knows when he will go back to sleep—I took it, because that was what I deserved, and he loved me, if only I could be a better wife.

Desperately unhappy I wondered if I should try to get some of my old self back. I remember one occasion, asking if I could give him a blow job in the dark and secluded garden. He laughed in my face for two whole hours, calling me a freak and saying that I was weird. Not a week later he grabbed me by the hair, mashing my face into the kitchen cupboard and pulling down my trousers he started to spank me, hard.

This is what you want, is it?

No, stop it, please stop.

He did, eventually, and I left the room in tears. I think I knew then that I would only ever be able to stay for the boys. And as his behaviour deteriorated further I began to gain a little strength. With his moods came name calling and the start of emotional abuse to the boys. Something in me started to wake up, and things were in motion; this was not ok!!

As Sophocles said, it was time to say goodbye to the sun that shines for me no longer.

pexels-photo-278303 (2)

 

Even a White Rose Has a Black Shadow

White rose
White Rose

I always knew I was different. From a young age I would enjoy being me, embracing mud over fashion, and outdoor pursuits over make up. My friends would despair, but I wasn’t worried. As puberty arrived and my friends would giggle over the latest pretty boys and heart throbs my mind was already in the gutter. I was at Bike ’97, with my brother and his friends, Dave Hemming (my hero at the tender age of 14) signed my tee-shirt, and in big black marker he drew an arrow under my ponytail and wrote “pull here”. I knew what I wanted that to mean…

This was the first time I remember my mind tripping into the gutter.

Before long I had found my brother’s stash of porn, hidden under his bed. I remember reading a number of stories, fairly uninteresting to me even then, before flicking onto one. It was about a woman who was watering her garden (naked, obviously) and had become quite excited and started to pleasure herself with the hose pipe, which was still turned on at the tap. Her next door neighbour saw this from his bedroom window, and came down to help her out. I would return to this magazine with surprising regularity until he moved away to university.

Shortly before my 16th birthday I found myself in the back of a car with a smurf between my legs.

A fancy dress Halloween party, and the first time I met this charming 20-year-old who I literally dragged to the car for my first sexual encounter with another person. He then became my boyfriend, taking so many more of my firsts… after my birthday, of course! Over the course of our 18 month relationship I embraced my sexuality, very little that he could offer was off-limits… anal soon became my favourite, and toys. The first time he took me to a sex shop I bought  myself a 10″ blue rubber dildo, with a decent girth. I had to keep it in a Jaffa cake tube under my bed (lessons learnt from my brother on where to hide a sexy stash!) but it went most places with me. I was hooked. My “first love” wasn’t to last though. One evening, while we were enjoying each others bodies his phone rang, he answered and had a chat with a lady who, it turned out, he had met and slept with the night before. And so my path changed…

Broken-hearted I took my rubber cock and disappeared into the shadows…

I soon had a selection of “friends” who would satisfy my needs. I shut my heart off and focused on the pleasure I could take from them. Often fuelled by drink and other substances I partied hard, relishing my freedom. The following summer I went on a camping trip with my best friend at the time. A group of young men on the site took my fancy. She had her eye on one, and after dark would disappear with him. I took it upon myself to pleasure the others… I’d always wanted to be shared and this trip meant my fantasy could come true. Over three nights I explored and pushed myself, and on the final night I hit the jackpot…While she was in her tent with one, I was in their big tent with the other four.

They made full use of every inch of my 17-year-old body, and I loved it. 

With the end of the holiday came the craving for more, more, more. I embraced hedonism, filling my dance card and playing until the sun came up. I ended up at university, having somehow gotten through my A-levels. With a new city came new men, different restraints and new realms of pleasure. Moving to a city from a small town in the countryside was wonderful, but I had thought I would find more people like me. Not just men that I could enjoy temporarily before discarding when they got too close. There was no-one on my deviant wavelength, not that I knew of anyway. I had always been different, and though I never sought to be the same as my peers I hid those differences away, wondering whether there was something wrong with me for having these desires and satisfying my lust in ways my friends never discussed.

I presented myself as the white rose, keeping the shadows out of sight.

Even a white rose has a black shadow was first published on A Leap of Faith

Feelings that come back are feelings that never really went away.

Full body hishi

It was a saturday morning like many others.

My childfree weekend had freed me up to attend a local peer rope workshop. One tie in particular has foxed me since I took up tying and there was to be a demo that I did not want to miss. It was to be shown last, and as I made myself and my bunny a cup of tea before it started I pulled out my phone. One new email:

N

How’s life?

S

I felt the colour drain from my cheeks, but as I waited for the tea to brew, reading and re-reading those 4 unassuming words, my messenger pinged. I had sent him a message shortly before my first big event 16 months ago, not long after he left, and now, when I am about to learn a tie that I am desperate to master, he replies!

…back in the UK this week…I owe you an intense scene…if you want one…

If I want one…Why wouldn’t I want one? Sir….my Sir…20 months have passed and you are still in my mind. 

My brain running at a million miles per hour I finished making the drinks and took them back through. My bunny noticed something was up, offered me to sit the tie out once I had explained the situation. I didn’t want to though. Rope is a place where I go when the world seems too much. And that, right then, was definitely too much. I muddled through the rest of the workshop, and got to grips with the skill I wanted to learn, bursting into the fresh air after and replying as soon as I was safely back in my car…with an oddly short message. A brief exchange and we provisionally arrange to see each other the following friday, if he can make it, and he asks what I have been up to since he went away. I promise a full reply later, but have to continue with my day.

And so it continued through the week. I filled him in with a brief summary of the last 20 months of my life (It may have taken 2 hours to type) with a small selection of pictures. There were tasks; some I could choose for myself, some he requested, all pushing me forward as had always been the way, with him knowing what I find particularly challenging but never crossing the fixed limits. It is a long time since I have raised my eyes to the ceiling and, with a grin, wondered what on earth I am doing, but as ever with him I was doing it all because I wanted to. We discuss the potential for future tasks in his absence, with him working abroad for a couple of months and only back for short periods, and with limited access to email, he is unable to make promises to me. Somehow I don’t mind, just having him back in my life is exactly what I need. I hadn’t let myself think on how much I had missed him and our dynamic, but now I can see why no-one else has come close.

And then Friday arrived, along with confirmation that he would be free and in the area.

I arrived at the hotel, prepared and excited. I collected myself outside his door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. Reverie can play tricks on the mind, and I had almost hoped I would leave disappointed, say “thank you for the memories Sir, you have been wonderful but it’s time for me to move along.” But my memories were crystal clear, and our short time together was as satisfying as I those I had replayed over the interlude.

With the review sent the following day, another task followed, harder this time, always harder, and I completed it well…

Very well done N

Sir

And then he is gone again, as I knew he would be.

But unlike last time I have tasks, an ongoing connection with the man to whom I owe so much, and all I can offer in return is my submission.

This blog is my journey… how I came to this point and onwards, ever onwards.

 

 

 

 

A walk in the shoes of the barefoot sub

imag2305 (2)We each have our own stories to tell and as with all stories the best place to start is at the beginning.

I’m not an expert in BDSM but when it comes to my own life and travels through both the vanilla and kinky worlds I know what I am talking about. As my experience grows I find myself reflecting on the past and enjoying  many of my memories. Some are more challenging to look back upon, but each and every one has helped to shape who I am now. I want to share the many leaps of faith I have taken over the years.

And my future memories? Well, watch this space….

My Fetlife account is here.

And my rope work is on Instagram

I am just learning how to use Twitter too.

My blog is probably Not Safe For Work, and 18+. There may also be triggers for some around domestic abuse, just to forewarn you.

It is not my intention to upset people, so if I do I apologise.

What matters most is how well we walk through the flames – Charles Buckowski 

walk on the beach
Photo by Bianca on Pexels.com

A walk in the shoes of the barefoot sub has been reposted to A leap of faith.

Proudly powered by WordPress | Theme: Baskerville 2 by Anders Noren.

Up ↑