The only difference between friends and lovers is about four minutes.

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MrN pushed me in ways that were new and exciting, and we had some fun times.

From sharing videos and fantasies, to stretching myself to be able to take a patent leather heel, I was exposed to some different kinks and perhaps he was too. Before I met him I had been confused by the idea of a shoe fetish, but experiencing his passion for heels showed me that it was not odd or scary, and could actually be quite erotic. But we were both incredibly busy, and the distance between us, coupled with our vanilla lives, got in the way of our sharing of time with each other.. Ultimately we couldn’t commit to the others’ expectations and we drifted out of the dynamic after about 4 months. There were no bad feelings though and until about 6 months ago we were still in fairly regular contact.

Life is funny though, and my friend M was single again.

While I was with MrN he had given me permission to get my physical needs met with M, who was playing the field, so we had arranged a dirty weekend. Having parted ways with MrN I now had the freedom to do exactly what I wanted, and explore what M wanted too. Since I had met him as a task for Sir, M and I had become good friends. Over the year he had been a source of support, throughout my separation from P and the loss of Sir, and I was so excited to be seeing him again. The date came round quite quickly and I was on my way down to his place, singing along to the music on my car radio.

The year between meetings had provided enough foreplay to ensure fireworks.

And the night was full of unbridled passion. Vanilla, yes, but fulfilling none-the-less. And when we were spent we lay together, curled up in the dark, talking about life, the universe and everything, before falling asleep wrapped up in each other. That was peculiar for me as I am not a snuggly sleeper. When I woke the next morning, alone in a strange house I had a moment of worry. But as my mind ran through the night before my nose picked up the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. M had got up early and nipped to the shops, and now he was cooking me a breakfast of bacon and poached eggs. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been cooked breakfast for when I woke, and as he came up to the bedroom with a smile, a kiss and cup of tea (though the smell of freshly brewed coffee was welcome I don’t often drink it) I felt truly spoilt.

We spent the rest of the morning exploring each other’s bodies.

Then we went to town, exploring the market, visiting his favourite cafe for lunch, and finding an opulent bakery where we found the most ridiculous cakes for eating with a cup of tea before my drive home. On the walk back to his house I spotted some curious wicker flowers in a charity shop window. I went in and bought a bunch, at 70p each these were a steal… They were not for display though, when I saw them I had immediately thought of my toy box, they looked like vicious little impact play toys.

I had no idea who would be using them on me but they were too good a find to ignore.

I didn’t have long to wait, as when I explained to M he said he would be keen to try them out, both ways. After getting back to his I helped him with a couple of things before we inevitably ended up naked again. This time my vanilla friend presented his back to me and I used the wicker flowers to make his olive skin glow, using both the bloom and the stem. We then swapped and he used them on me. With my lily-white flesh the bloom made me red, and the stem left angry raised welts. Seeing the effect the pain had on me, and spurred on by the welts as they appeared, he was rather turned on by whole situation. Taking full advantage of this excitement I took him in my mouth, enjoying his arousal once more before it was time for a cup of tea and cake.

As soon as our time together started it was over and I was driving home again – a happy girl indeed. 

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Be brave. Take risks. Nothing can substitute experience.

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I wonder how many submissives have been tasked by their dominant with anal stretching?

Both of mine required this of me during my time with them. It was a task that I relished because anal play is a particular weakness for me…. It was my first step outside of “normal” sex at the tender age of….um….16. I have always loved it, and since beginning to stretch and train in that area play has been even more satisfying. Since learning to cleanse myself the prospect of ass-to-mouth has been an achievable fantasy, and I had shared this perversion with MrN. Because I was pushing against my hard limit of scat the risk felt really taboo, but I knew that I would never have to go there if it was dirty.

So far so good, no mishaps with my cleaning routine, and a gradual increase in the depth and girth of stretch.

MrN was happy and I was happy. Things were progressing nicely. And then we both had an impromptu evening; his partner was out for the night, and my children had a surprise overnight with their dad. He asked me to be available for him at 7.30. He told me he would be pushing me further, and I should prepare myself for all eventualities. There was the problem… I was working until 6 and had an hours drive home. There would not be enough time to clean thoroughly, and doing half a job was worse than not doing it at all. After checking if there was any way out of work sooner and realising there wasn’t, I sent him a quick email outlining the problem I was facing.

His response was that if it came out dirty he expected me to clean it.

“I’m sorry but, as discussed, that is a hard limit, I will not be doing that” was pinged back immediately, and he acquiesced. If it was visibly dirty I wouldn’t need to suck it clean. There had been a brief moment when I thought I should not have said anything, just gone along with his request. But the reason I (we?) have fixed limits is because we know what we are not willing to do, under any circumstances. And making myself heard was a new skill which I had been working on, with both P and H. Now that I had enough self-confidence to speak up, I wasn’t going to stay quiet if I needed to.

The drive home was good, my mind filled with impure thoughts about the approaching session.

I still didn’t know what it was going to be: a plug? a vibrator? a selection of pens?Wondering about all of the possibilities for the evening it is amazing that I got home in one piece! After freshening up and having a quick bite to eat it was time to catch up properly. I already knew that it would be an anal training session, but I was not expecting him to request I find one thing larger than my largest plug which I would be able to insert without damaging myself. Frantically searching my home I found my way to the kitchen and rummaging through my utensil drawer I found my rolling pins. I had two, one with corners at the end, and one with curved knobbly ends. The former would damage me, if I could even get it past the entrance. The latter was a winner. I chose to sheath it because… well… health and hygiene!

My choice went down well with MrN…

…and with lube, patience and a firm hand I managed to exceed my expectations. But then came the withdrawal. Oh dear! I’m sure you don’t need me to elaborate further than it not being clean. Safe in the knowledge that I had fought my corner and I could just rip off the condom without repercussions I decided that it was now or never. And how could I say that it was a hard limit if I had never tried…. It may end up being an amazing experience, in the same way that pee play had been, maybe? With my eyes raised to the ceiling with an all too familiar smile, questioning my sanity, I did it.

I cleaned the rolling-pin!

Actually, I didn’t fully clean it, but I did enough to cement that hard limit into place. As always I had pushed myself past what I was comfortable with, exceeding my expectations and pleasing MrN in the process. He had respected me and my limits, when I had reminded him of them, I had found it in myself to try something which I had would never have done but… I’m a curious girl.

The next week P decided he needed a rolling-pin… Guess which one he took. 

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If it scares you it might be a good idea to try.

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The saying “Be careful what you wish for” comes to mind as I continue on with my memories.

Actually the exact phrase that comes to mind is Be careful what videos you save to an xHamster account that you share with your Dominant, but it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. I have mentioned before that MrN wanted me to set up a shareable page on the popular porn site xHamster and that I had one already set up with videos of things I was curious about. When we had our next scheduled evening there was part of me which wished I had cleared out the account before sharing the log-in details, started with a clean slate with him. While I was trying to maintain concentration on the conversation, with a medium butt plug in place, he brought up one of the videos I had saved a while back…

It was a lady who was fisting herself, and she looked like she was really rather enjoying it.

He asked what had inspired my choosing that one, so I came clean. When I had started on my journey with Sir he had asked about fisting, and I said I would try but was scared as I didn’t think it would be possible for me. I may be a mum of two, but they were both born by caesarean! So I had taken to the internet for research and inspiration, following a trail of filth through stretching and fisting, anal fisting and rosebuds, finally ending up on self-fisting. The video I had saved (and watched over and over to make sure it was real, obviously) was of a young lady getting into an uncomfortable looking position, and actually managing to insert her whole hand into vagina. The faces she pulled while the video went on were not particularly alluring, but the fact that she could do it made me excited that one day I may be able to do that too. And if I could do it to myself…? Well, someone would be able to do it to me.

Why don’t you get started then? he asked me.

He made a very good case, I could take the time that I needed to gain flexibility and also to stretch myself. He didn’t mind if it took a while, but he would like to see that I was trying. The facts were that I had saved it myself and wanted to do it even though I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to. These made a good enough reason for him to ask. Not including his desire to watch me in my very own video for him… complete with those faces, which were unattractive to me but had the opposite effect on him.

That was all the incentive I needed.

At the time I was slim and fit, with very little excess tummy and a decent level of flexibility and strength. I worked out that if I wore my killer heels and perched on my bed the angles all made sense and I could reach where I needed to. It helps that I am partially double-jointed, the only use I have found for this oddity of my body (aside from being able to win hands-on-the-floor competitions at the pub.) Confident that I could reach I started working on stretching myself so that my hand would fit. The reading I had done focussed on fisting someone else. Did you know there is a Facebook group for fisting, complete with safety guidance and technique discussions??!! Because of the angles I wouldn’t be able to fully twist my wrist at the halfway point…

I was just going to have to work it out for myself, google just wasn’t ready for my curiosity!!

It took me a couple of weeks, with regular stretching and attempts, to get to the point where I thought it may be possible. I had been keeping MrN in the loop as per my progress, and he was encouraging in the face of my scepticism. I still didn’t believe that this would work. So I set up the camera, got my heels on and perched on the edge of my bed. Using my wand to moisten me up a little I used insertables to stretch myself open, and once I had an orgasm there seemed little else to do but go for it. I lubed my hand up and started.

Feeling the ripples from the preceding climax around my bunched up fingers was quite arousing in itself.

Getting to the knuckles I started to pull my fingers into a ball and managed a slight twist in my wrist. It had the desired effect of drawing the rest of my hand in, like a corkscrew. I was so surprised that I had managed it. And I was so full, I could feel my arousal all over my hand now, as I clamped down on myself. It is an indescribable sensation, and had I been more comfortable  I would have stayed there longer, but I was starting to get cramp in my side and had to remove my hand. Taking a deep breath and feeling my overstretched muscles return to size I was left with a sense of calm. The kind of peace that I associate with deep sexual satisfaction. And while the video was uploading for sending to MrN I enjoyed the company of my Doxy for a little longer, and floated off in my little bubble of joy.

The feeling of achieving a long-held goal is powerfully erotic for me, and knowing that I had pleased someone else as well… I was one happy submissive.

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If the plan doesn’t work change the plan, but never the goal.

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MrN and I had an evening scheduled in for conversation and a short scene.

As usual it had been planned the week before, he was working late and my boys were with their dad. We had tried it when they were home, but their bedtime pushed back our time for talk so everything became rushed which is never ideal. We spoke about my time with H coming to an end. He was supportive of my decision to end that play relationship and I felt less like I had been over-reacting to something small and insignificant. We also spoke about the kinky crafting I had been tasked with.

It was time to get those strings out from their hiding place. 

The four lengths of string with a loop in one end and a peg on the other were requested, as was my Doxy wand. When he told me to put the loops over my big toes (two on each side) the light dawned and I realised where the pegs were for.

Yes N, run the string up your leg and attach the peg to the lip on that side. 

So I did as he asked, and it felt wonderful…

Now, bring yourself to orgasm with your wand and as you cum for me I want you to straighten your legs and pull off the pegs.

I actually felt fear at this point. It had been a long time since I had experienced pain in this way (in any way.) Sir had used clamps on my nipples and labia. He had also made me orgasm with a wand while jiggling the clamps, and occasionally he would rip them off during my climaxes. I knew I loved the sensation, but it had been so long and I had never had to torture myself.

I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to do it, I was afraid that it would hurt too much. 

After a moment’s hesitation (it felt like a lifetime!!) I applied the wand, starting with a mild vibration as I had decided to start slowly and build up intensity. MrN was happy with that too, I think he sensed the nerves in my message. No sooner had I pressed down than two of the pegs twisted apart, the other two popping off. Hmmm, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

No problem, tie some more on, try again.

So I did, and the same thing happened again! I realised that my lips must be too voluptuous for the pegs and if I was to complete this task I would have to think of something else. Looking in my box of tricks I spotted the bulldog clips. Dare I??? If the pegs had scared me imagine how I was feeling looking at those!

But I don’t like to be defeated, and I had one job to do this evening. Produce a painful orgasm.

Could I do it? Well… I could try, at least. And if it was too much I could go back to the drawing board and head to the shops the next day. I had to cut the string to remove the pegs, before tying on the clips. With the strings shorter I would be able to rip them off with more momentum, which made me feel better in a strange way.

Attaching the clips I winced, they were sooooo much tighter than the pegs. 

With the camera going I pressed the Doxy against myself once more, at a much more intense vibration. I needed to get through this as quickly as possible now, these clips would be the end of me otherwise! The pain they gave me was exquisite torture, a white-hot pain that sent pleasure across my labia… Sir had called me his pain monkey, and this act brought memories of our time together back to the forefront of my memory, intensifying the sexual energy greatly. Before I knew it I was cresting a wave of such intense pleasure that I couldn’t have kept my legs bent if I had wanted to. Stretching my legs away the bulldog clips ripped off of me, I shattered into what felt like a thousand pieces as another wave of orgasm ripped through me.

Broken by the pleasure which had enveloped me I took a while to come to my senses. 

As soon as I did I had to stop the camera, and then inspect my nether regions. In spite of the intensity of the pain everything was in the same state it had been when I attached the clips! Having sent the video over to MrN, I awaited his response. He was pleased with my efforts, which in turn made me smile.

What did I learn from this experience?

  • I learnt that I really do enjoy pain. I hadn’t come across masochist as a way of describing people (i.e. me) but the title bestowed upon me by sir in the early days was definitely fixed for me now.
  • I would push myself for someone important.
  • MrN was important. Though my mind wandering to sir half way through playing with myself was confusing.
  • I would not be indulging in bulldog clip masturbation of my own free will… No! As an act of submission inflicting the pain on myself was extremely erotic, but just because I wanted to get my kicks…? I felt that it could become an unhealthy outlet.

Not a bad set of learning points for an evening of play.

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Tigers die and leave their skin; people die and leave their names.

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I have always been keen to push past my soft limits in safe environments.

I will also happily test out my hard limits privately, if I feel it would be a benefit to me and my journey. What I won’t tolerate is having my hard limits crossed by those I have a play relationship with. I have a very considered list of hard limits, and even though some of them may seem daft or off the wall they are all there for a reason.

As I settled into a pleasant routine with MrN I began to hit snags with H.

H and I would meet every three weeks, and we had a decent friendship developing. He would always insist on bringing food for after a session, sandwiches were my favourite, and though prawns were a hard limit which I had told him about he seemed to always bring at least one prawn sandwich! This may seem silly, but it upset me a little because I had always been open about my dislikes and he didn’t seem to pay attention to that one. I did remind him, but ultimately let it slide, because he never got upset with me for not eating the prawn sandwiches. Though I hate waste, and he would make me take home whatever hadn’t been eaten, and I just had to toss them in the bin.

H identified as a sadist, and would tell me that I was the one who let his “kinky sadist fly”.

It felt odd being told how incredible I was, and I was uncomfortable at the revelation that I was “so much better” than his other submissive for a couple of reasons.

  1. life isn’t a competition, we all have different strengths and weaknesses.
  2. I was not his submissive. I never had been, and I had always been clear with him on that fact.

The way he spoke to me didn’t feel genuine somehow, and it certainly felt like he was trying to control me that way. There were also gifts, every time he picked me up there was a new bottle of perfume, a new toy, or…. There are worse ways to try to control someone, but this felt forced and fake to me. I’m not sure how to describe how it made me feel, but claustrophobic and ungrateful are the two most memorable sensations.

I also felt a little cheated as he would describe himself as a savage sadist, but I would always arrive home feeling a little underwhelmed.

I would communicate to him about my desire for more intensity, and he would say that he was taking it slowly to ease me in, assuring me that next time he would push me harder and further. It never came; I was patient and tried to keep my expectations low, but I was beginning to feel like I was topping from the bottom, asking for more all of the time. I never had bruises after we had met, and anyone that has seen me post-play knows how easily I mark. I love marks, they are such a wonderful reminder of the scene that went before. To not get them always left me a bit sad, perhaps watching the colours develop was an antidote to drop?

The nail in the coffin was when he stepped over a very important hard limit…

Twice…in one session!!! 

The limit he crossed was one that I think people find hard to understand. I will respond to being called most things in the right context, {Sir’s slut was always a winner!} but being called Bitch, or having my name shortened are the two things which are unacceptable for me. Shortening my name, in particular, takes me to an emotional place I don’t want to go, it also makes me physically itch. On this occasion we had arranged to meet with a friend of his. H introduced me to his friend as N.. I re-introduced myself as N…… and reminded H of my limit. Half way through the scene, when I had a wand pressed on my clit and a cane working over my soles H said it again, “Cum for me N..” I said my safe word, and he didn’t stop. I repeated it, and then said STOP. His friend stopped first, and then H stopped with a tut, and I was released from the restraints. I pointed out what he had called me, and then how he had ignored my safe word “oh, I forgot what your safe word was” 

It is funny how things that seem so small to one person can have such a large impact on others.

I know that many think my aversion to having my name shortened is silly, and I respect their point of view. At the same time I don’t feel the need to elaborate on how it makes me feel and why, but if you cross those boundaries, however small and insignificant you think they are, the trust is broken. And forgetting a safe word is unacceptable! Though we remain on good terms, that was the last time I met with him. A sure sign of personal growth, that I would stick to limits, setting my own bar as far as what I would allow from those I share my time with.

H wasn’t a bad person, but it wasn’t right for me to continue seeing him.

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The Mystery Blogger Award

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Thank you to Curious Clitty and Lady Clio for nominating me for the Mystery Blogger Award, created by Okoto Enigma to highlight amazing blogs which have yet to be discovered. 

Here are the rules!

• Put the award logo/image on your blog.

• List the rules.

• Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.

• Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well.

• Tell your readers 3 things about yourself. (Two nominations so I have doubled up!)

• Answer the questions you were asked. (ten in total, grab a cup of tea!)

• You have to nominate 10 people.

• Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog.

• Ask your nominees any five questions of your choice, with one weird or funny question.

• Provide a link to your favourite post.

So, six things about me:

  1. One of the many things I have discovered over the last 3 years is that I am an introvert. I always thought I was socially inept, but actually I’m not. I love people, they are endlessly fascinating! INFJ is my “official” Myers-Briggs personality test result, and, although I tend to take these things with  pinch of salt, I can see how well I fit into that box.
  2. Speaking of boxes, I am hesitant to get stuck in one. Labels are a source of frustration for me. In the kink community I am known as The Barefoot Sub, but there is so much more to me. Yes, I do identify as submissive and with Sir I have no other way, but I also have so many other interests (keep following my blog, all will be revealed) so I skip merrily from box to box, and the only label I am comfortable wearing is Me
  3. I am a believer in the saying “You never know how strong you are until you need to be” There are things that nobody should ever have to go through. I have been through some bad times, but I have found there is a huge well of strength which I have been making use of. Finding the strength to not be angry anymore was a surprise. Discovering that I am strong enough to not need external validation… Mind Blowing! 
  4. I am a dog person. If I could commit the time I would have an Irish Wolfhound, a Great Dane, or a Lurcher. 
  5. My favourite season is autumn. Partly due to the changing colours and the cool but not cold temperatures, but mostly because I love stormy weather and jumping in puddles is the most fun I can have with my children.
  6. If I was a flavour of ice cream I would be Lemon Meringue, because I look vanilla but when you start looking closer I have many different textures and layers, and I’m a little bit of a tart!

Here are Curious Clitty’s questions, and my answers

1. What is your first ever memory?

My first memory is of being at the swimming pool with my mum and brother. We were all together in the shallow end until I climbed out while mum was distracted for a moment.  Freedom!! I started wandering up towards the deep end. I can still remember the black and white tiles under my little feet as I made my way up with my arm bands on. When I got there I jumped in… absolutely no fear! Sadly that is where the memory ends, but I’m still here so it can’t have been too awful.

2. What is the first book you remember reading as a child?

I remember reading Dogger by Shirley Hughes It was the book that I wanted to borrow from the library over and over again. When I had worn it out, and the library were getting rid of it, my mum bought it for me (for 10p) and I still have that much-loved hardback book in my dwindling collection of sentimental keepsakes.

3. What is the first album you ever owned?

I saved all of my money and bought a CD player just before Christmas when I turned 14. The two albums that I was given for Christmas were The Ultimate Disney Collection and Michelle Gayle’s self titled album.

4. If you could choose to go back in time when would you choose to go back to and why?

I have a recurring back injury which was initially sustained while out wakeboarding. The last time I had an awful flare up a friend recommended I see an osteopath. I didn’t for about 3 months, and I struggled on. When I finally gave in to the advice it was a revelation! I haven’t had a flare up for 2 years now. If I could go back in time it would be to the time I was given the advice, and I would take it.

5. If you were a perfume/cologne which one would you be?

I’m almost embarrassed to say, but… Joop pour Homme

Here are Lady Clio’s questions, and my answers.

1. What was the best piece of advice you ever received?

Something my dad always used to say “You can’t live your life backwards.” It set me up for a life of no regrets, just constant learning.

2. If money was not an object, what building would you restore and why?

I wouldn’t buy a building, I would go for a vintage double-decker bus and kit it out for luxury travel, then I would take my boys on adventures around the world. (Also, I love the idea of a mobile dungeon!)

3. What do you do to relax and unwind?

I go for a run or a long walk on the moors. I will often take my rope too, and do a quick  self tie on top of a tor. 

4. How do you show love to someone?

I give people my time and I feed them. I also give them the space to be them, and I show them my soft underbelly. Not many people have seen me cry, and if you have then it is a sure sign that I love you and trust you enough to be that vulnerable with you.

5. How old were you when you first started your blog?

I was 35. I started my blog two months ago now. 

Here are my five questions:

  1. What is your most embarrassing memory?
  2. What flavour ice cream would you be, and why?
  3. What are your top five favourite books?
  4. What would you have for your last meal? No restrictions, go wild!
  5. Where would you go for your next holiday, and what would you do? As with question 4, no restrictions!

And my nominations are:

Unoriginal (love) notes

Verse In Emotion

hotlilmess

An Accidental Anarchist

Building The Love Shack

The Indecisive Writer

Dominance in Progress

junk4joy

deviant wench

Heart and Soul

I look forward to reading your answers.

This is my favourite post to date.

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Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment.

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My journey with MrN was underway and I was giving over a little of myself to him.

It was a peculiar sensation because I had given myself to Sir so completely and I hadn’t had the chance to take that back. MrN was the first person who had a hint of what I needed and so I felt some conflict during this phase, luckily I have always been open and honest and he was patient with my worries. It can’t have been easy to hear that his potential submissive still felt tangled up with her former Dominant, but he was understanding and made it as easy as possible for me. Just by being him and showing me the way that he wanted things done I stepped away from the past and moved forward, opening up a little at a time.

I had shared with him my initial dislike of watersports, and how the fear had given way to curiosity.

I had pushed myself to pee on camera for a self-assigned task with Sir, but had never taken it further. This was soon to change. MrN had a strong interest in pee play, and seemed to delight in my uncomfortable curiosity. The first thing that he asked me to do was to use a bowl as a toilet, and tip it over my head. He also asked for videos of both acts. I have never been gifted with technology, so it was the video part that caused me the most worry for this task. Fortunately I had a fair amount of practise with tasks over the previous year, but this was my first time in months and I felt out of practise and extremely vulnerable.

The best way to tackle those nerves was head on, so I got started on the job in hand.

Holding the phone in my hand I was able to easily capture the bowl being filled. The next stage took a bit more preparation though, if I got the angle wrong I would have to repeat the task and at this stage I didn’t know if I would be able to!! I had to move fast though, because the thought of pouring cold pee over my head was even less appealing than repeating the task. I got my phone balancing just so, sat in my bath, hit the record button, closed my eyes and….surprised myself that I wasn’t completely disgusted with myself for what I had just done. With my own pee dripping from my eyebrows, I stopped the recording, started drawing a bath and watched both back repeatedly while the bubbly hot water rose around me. Washing my body and hair I could then relax and compose an email for his inbox when he had the chance to read it.

I think he must have been very pleased with my efforts.

The next day I received a very positive email, complimenting me on my efforts and asking how I felt the following day, now that I had been able to reflect. Satisfied that I was still happy with what I had done, he asked me to repeat the task…almost. I had a pair of patent leather heels and he asked that, at my next opportunity, I pee in one of them and then drink it, again with video evidence. This was quite a big step to take, he knew that it would be a big push for me, but he also knew that I liked to be stretched.

Make sure you have plenty to drink, it will taste less strong that way was his guidance. 

So, on the next occasion where I had a child free home I hydrated well, took my phone and shoe into the bathroom, and off I went. The shoe was tricky to pee into, because of the shape. For some reason it was important to me that it didn’t overflow, so I had to stop mid flow! When I moved onto the second phase I just kept the camera on, holding it in one hand while, on the selfie screen, I watched myself tip my head back and drink. I drained the shoe. Not in one fluid motion, it took me a few goes and I gagged a number of times, but I did it!! I was pleased to be well hydrated, the flavour wasn’t unbearable to me but I could see how awful pee would taste if there was a lack of fluids.

Again, I ran the bath, and emptied myself while I did so. 

Relaxing in the bath I sent him the evidence and a short email. I explained how pleased I had been to complete this challenge, that I was surprised at how not-unpleasant the experience had been and discussed how, in my efforts for perfection, I was disappointed in the way my gag reflex had betrayed my willingness. His response “Well done N, you have done really well, good girl” It seems that I was the only one disappointed in my gag reflex. Life is all about experimenting and trying new things, and having someone to share that with made me more at ease with myself. shoe

And suddenly you just know it is time to start something new and trust the magic of new beginnings

happiness

Life seemed to be going quite well.

The sale of my marital home was nearing completion and I had a new flat to move into with my boys. They were settling into a new life with two homes. I had been promoted at work, had an increased case-load and became responsible for training new staff. I had some new friends who made me smile, and offered unconditional support. I had been able to assert myself in the kink world with my foot caning play partner. Also, it was the summertime so I was swimming in the sea and running as often as possible.

To top it all off I finally had an interesting message on BeMyDom.

He was polite and respectful, not pushy or sex orientated. He was looking for a submissive, someone who was keen to push themselves and try hard for him. I was hesitant to start with. He was in a long-term vanilla relationship and had no intention of leaving her. I struggled most with this aspect as I had no desire to be a dirty secret, especially if she was a good person. I could rationalise my infidelity, because P wasn’t very nice but this felt bad, and not in a good way. Also he was 3-4 hours drive away, which would mean we would mainly have an online relationship, hotel meetings may happen once every 3 months or so, but chances would be slim. I didn’t know if I was ready to give myself over to someone else, and if I was would I be good enough…? Also, he didn’t like to share his submissive.

In the end the prospect of an online relationship, with a married man, felt safer than a local single Dominant.

There was less pressure on us both, and I could start to free myself a little bit. MrN had a way about him which put me at ease, he was gentle and kind though firm.  We were both busy with our lives and so contact was an evening every week or so, with an email each way every day. We discussed likes and dislikes, needs and boundaries, hopes and dreams. I made a case for having freedom with other men if I asked first, he agreed because he would be in bed with his partner every  night and wanted things to be fair for me.

And so he began to set me to work, with tasks and rules.

The tasks that he set me in the first couple of weeks were sourcing items. Nothing expensive or that would need specialist retailers. My list included:

  • little bulldog clips
  • string
  • drawing pins
  • pegs
  • deep heat
  • medicine syringes
  • a small bucket

True to form I got hold of everything that was required. Then I had some preparations to do, DIY deviance. The syringes became nipple and clitoral pumps. He had originally suggested the calpol syringes for this, but I had to go to the local country stores and buy some animal medicine syringes for the right sizes. I had to cut four length of string to match my inner thighs, tying a loop in one end of each and attaching a peg to the end.

These strings puzzled me, I could not figure out what they were for! I was told to pop them in a safe place for a later date.

There were more things to make, things to keep me out of mischief. Many of the creations puzzled me, but my questions were met with the same answer… Put them away, try not to think about them. So I would put them away and mull over the possibilities. He asked me to set up an xHamster account for us to share. I could then save videos that I liked, as could he, and we could discuss. I already had an account, so sent him over the details. A couple of the videos which I had saved before coming into contact with him later became inspiration for him. And the videos that he shared with me were very interesting for different reasons. He had a heel fetish, as well as a sadistic streak when it came to pretty feet and a love of watersports. We had common ground in feet, and my curiosity about pee play, but my inability to walk in heels meant that his shoe fetish scared me in the best possible way.

I never felt that MrN was my forever Dominant, but for now we were able to give something to each other. 

carpe diem

To be outstanding- get comfortable with being uncomfortable

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Two of the strangest things happened at my next meeting with H.

He had arranged for us to visit The Annexe a holiday let attached to the home of a pair of veterans in the community. It was a place that I had discovered when Sir had tasked me with finding alternatives to hotels, and the set up seemed ideal. A kitchen/diner/living room with a sofa bed, a bedroom, shower room, kinky store-room and a dungeon. People can hire it for a kinky holiday, and fulfill their desires with the large selection of toys and furniture.  It was quite a trek for me, but before I could voice my concerns I was told he would collect me and we could drive up together.

As it was somewhere I had been curious about I could hardly complain.

We drove up with his music going through the speakers, general conversation and good company. We arrived at The Annexe after almost two hours driving, and the owners met us at the door. He showed off his latest creations that he was taking orders for, and she showed me around the space while pointing out the kettle and plate of biscuits –sneakily snaffling a couple while she chattered away. Introductions over with they left us to get comfortable. I made cups of tea then sat on the sofa while he got his things in order. While I sat there he popped his head around the door and tossed a velvet bag in my direction “that’s for you” he said, before disappearing again.

I tentatively opened the bag, almost dreading it, I knew what it felt like and felt fairly awkward.

It was a collar. A metal ring that could be locked in place with an allen key. It was shiny and felt cool to my touch and… made me feel a little bit sick really. This was my third time meeting with H, my second time to play with him, and as far as I was concerned he wasn’t my dominant. As we had discussed previously we would be friends who played, the collar felt too much, too official, too significant…. well, it wasn’t right for me. He came back to the room and said that he wanted me to have it because he felt strong feelings for me. So I had to have an uncomfortable conversation: I told him that I couldn’t offer more than we had agreed, that I didn’t feel that way for him, suggested that maybe we should call off the evening if he was going to be feeling hurt.

He asked me to wear it for the play, and I agreed on the proviso that it was a play collar and didn’t represent ownership in any way.

It is strange the effect that a band of leather or metal can have on me. The feeling of something being not quite right when I received this one was second only in discomfort to when I let another lady try on MY collar from Sir. My leather collar from Sir felt like going home, and this metal band made me feel like running away.

Once we got started we actually had a very pleasant play. 

I had my feet suspended and caned, H made videos promising to share them with me. I was tied to the St Andrew’s Cross and flogged. There was a bright light above it which made me hot and a little light-headed, so we changed furniture again. There was more foot caning, and he used a belt on my soles too. If it was possible this felt even better than the canes. The sensation would track up my body to my nipples and then back down to my clitoris. There was no denying it, this was really, really good… It was a fair trade-off for wearing the collar.

If I hadn’t been expecting the collar what happened next was really off the chart…

We finished up, packed away and I wiped the room down before making a cup of tea. He sat opposite me, fiddled in his bag and then pulled out a wad of notes. He waved them in my direction and said they were also for me. I couldn’t accept them. He said that he wanted me to take it to cover my “expenses.” The look on my face must have told him more than words ever could, but I found the words eventually. Each to their own, and I would never judge people who make money from their sessions, but for me it changes everything. As a single mum I would never have enough money and so it may well have made things much more comfortable at home, but I felt strongly that money could not exchange hands for play with me. And I was learning that if I didn’t defend myself (politely and respectfully) I would end up hating myself. And I had already put in a lot of hard work to prevent that. After what felt like an hour but was probably just a couple of minutes, H understood that if he tried to give me money again then that would be an end to meeting him.

So being brave enough to feel uncomfortable was the only way to ensure that I could lead the life I was striving for.

 

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When your self esteem rises your life will follow.

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With the removal of P from my home life I suddenly had some head space.

Not a huge amount, I felt guilty for moving him out and he was still asking me to deal with this, that and the other. The late night knocks on the door, the calls and the texts were not welcome… but I felt responsible for him, for his misery, for his loneliness. I may have removed his physical presence, but he wasn’t gone yet. While I supported him in his new home I had two small boys to get settled into a new way of living. They were incredible, and a source of inspiration to keep going when things were difficult. And things were very difficult at times.

Break ups are challenging at the best of times, without being told repeatedly that you aren’t good enough to cope alone.

Over the months that followed things began to change, slowly but surely, in the way that a dripping tap still fills a sink, I began to realise that. My time with Sir had started my seeds of self-confidence growing. I had been strong enough to get to this point. I could just make out some of the ways that I had changed already. Trusting my own judgement, making a plan and sticking to it, learning to ask for help when I needed it, understanding that I was worth more than being treated like dirt. However, what was becoming clear to me was that I was becoming excited about the future. It was a faint buzz rather than all out joy, I still had a lot of healing to do before I could trust that everything would be ok, but I started to make plans.

Plans for my future started taking shape.

I had enrolled on a foundation course with the Open University. I could study alongside my full-time work and the children. The course material would help with my work and in theory would tell me that I was good enough to continue onwards with my career path. I had to battle those demons, informing them almost daily that I would be able to do the work, that I was good enough… a capable and intelligent woman. At the time though I had just enough confidence in my ability to start and complete tasks that I believed I could get through the access module, at the very least. My tasks as a submissive were bearing fruit, even four months after they stopped.

My confidence in my ability as a parent improved too. 

I had felt the impact of strict boundaries and moving goal posts for many years, and seeing the confusion on my eldest’s face when he met these ever-changing rules and regulations was awful. As a submissive I had also experienced a very fair set of boundaries, knew where I could push and what the consequences would be. Operating as a single mum I could take inspiration from my other secret life and build stable foundations for my boys. Watching the boys flourish, even as they pushed back against the safety nets I had put up, filled me with pride. Watching them grow made me more aware, more present, as a parent, and that made me more capable. A positive cycle which I had learnt through Sirs example of being both patient and strict. I could do it!!

I was also coming around to the idea that I was an ok person.

I had been socially isolated throughout most of my marriage, only being allowed contact with certain permitted friends. With the removal of P from my life came a loss of most of those “friendships” I was suddenly blocked on social media, people wouldn’t answer my texts, and the ones that did would shut me down. The lies which were being spread about me were vile; friends, family and colleagues having their heads filled with nonsense. All a way for P to continue bullying me, he always played the victim card. As hard as it is to see these doors close, to feel the isolation, I soon began to see little rays of sunshine. In the place of the long-standing friendships I started to meet new people, people who fitted with my new sense of self. No longer the drinkers, pot heads and gossips… I had control over who I wanted in my world, and as much as being cut off hurt at the time this was another reason to be excited. R and M to start with soon to be joined by more along the way.

Out with the old, in with the new.

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One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood.

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I kept dipping back into Bemydom to see whether there was anyone of interest to me.

I had met with H a couple of times and that was looking to progress quite nicely as far as my foot caning initiation went, and I had met E but hadn’t been physical with anyone sexually since her. That site seemed to be a good place to start looking once more. As ever there was no shortage of offers, the reason I had made myself scarce was the sheer volume of idiotic requests. This time someone took my fancy. We were chatting on and off for a while, he had an exhibitionist streak so we switched to kik so we could swap pictures.

I arranged to meet R for a swim at the beach a couple of weeks later.

I slipped out on the evening and headed down to the bay, it was a stormy grey evening and the wind had picked up. I love to swim in the sea, and consider myself a strong swimmer, but I knew that plans would need to change as it wouldn’t be safe to go in. I think R was pleased when I told him, he told me later that he isn’t a confident sea swimmer. So we sat in the back of his van with a cup of tea, watching the sea and having a really good chat. A couple of weeks later I had moved P out, so R picked me up from my house and we went for a really great walk down the river. More tea drinking, more chatting. The next time he came down we made it into the sea, and he was wearing a mankini! I had never seen a sober man wearing one, and this was a sunny summers evening at the beach… R earned a huge amount of respect from me that day.

It turned out that we were actually quite compatible as friends, which was so frustrating because I was in a near constant state of arousal by this point…

Now, R had a workshop, and a backlog of boat engines to work through plus the electrics to do on his own boat. I have some skills in those departments so offered to help him out one day; I would work for cups of tea. He agreed, but it would have to be the electrics in his boat, and we would both need to be naked. Hooray!! I was getting somewhere. It is funny really, because he had made it abundantly clear that I could do anything I wanted to do to him… but my brain couldn’t quite figure out how to do that. By the time I made it up to his workshop we had been real life friends for about 6 weeks, and we were sat in his boat in the middle of his workshop, both completely naked and drinking tea.

The lack of clothing was a non-issue, nothing could have felt more normal.

It was incredible to be so relaxed and confident in my own skin. It was less than a year since I had felt fat, ugly and undesirable. Sir had worked hard to help me learn to appreciate myself but this was the first time away from him that I had realised how liberated I was from that self-loathing. Armed with this new-found confidence I pottered off to his kettle and made new cups of tea. What I found when I got back was enough to change the course of our friendship.

R was laying on his back, head under the seating in the back of his boat, lower half completely exposed.

It was a beautiful sight, and one that made my mouth water. He wasn’t showing signs of excitement but I had been given free rein to explore him and so I did. He was quick to respond, although he did bump his head on the underside of the seating. I’m not sure who was more surprised at my taking advantage of him? R, who had clearly baited me but wasn’t expecting anything. Or me, who had actually pounced, pounced on his vulnerable and exposed body.

Well, we both enjoyed ourselves that sunny afternoon.

It stays in my mind for so many reasons:

  • the first time I drank tea on a power boat
  • naked tinkering on the boat
  • the first time I performed oral on R
  • the first time I realised independently that I was at ease in my own skin.

This was the first time I had cemented a friendship in this way. We both knew that we had each made a good friend, and I don’t think either of us had designs on taking things further than a mutually pleasurable friendship, but to feel totally at ease with him, and with myself… I had forgotten that friendships like this could exist until I met R.

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Beyond a certain point the whole universe becomes a continuous process of initiation.

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It was soon time to meet with H again.

We had been in regular contact over the two weeks since we went out for dinner, we had discussed my likes, concerns and boundaries. I had asked questions which had been answered openly and easily. He had hired a play space for the evening, and we had arranged that he would pick me up from a service station and drive up together. That would mean I could relax and we could chat easily about any last-minute worries.

I was safer than at my previous encounter but I still had a lot to figure out!

He had already given me his telephone number and car registration, I even knew where he worked. At the time I didn’t have anyone I could tell where I was going, or what I was doing, but he didn’t know that, and I felt safe in his company, comfortable and relaxed on the drive up. When we arrived at the studio I was introduced to the owner who gave me a tour. I made a cup of tea and wandered around the rooms taking it all in. This was my first visit to an official dungeon, and I was surprised at all of the toys on display, the ropes and equipment. It also was clean, light and airy… Not what I had been expecting. The play space upstairs was well equipped, and the area downstairs was comfortable and relaxed. Drinking my tea, H went upstairs to organise the things that he had brought, before coming back down for me. Then it was my turn…

H bustled down the stairs and ushered me up them ahead of him. 

I took my clothes off, as we had discussed, and I was directed to the spanking bench which I folded myself over and the spanking began. With my behind nice and warm H tried out his belt and then his cane. I was more than comfortable to continue, his technique felt good and even, and he checked in regularly. It was our first time playing together, and I was unsurprised that he was gentle at this stage, I wasn’t stretched or outside of my comfort zone. So we changed equipment, and I offered up my feet for him to cane. This was what I had come for, the reason we had started talking. To say I was excited about this part of our session would be an understatement, but I was also a little nervous.

I needn’t have worried about how things would progress.

As H had been gentle on my backside, an area which was an established pleasure zone for me during impact play, it followed suit that he would not push me when he started work on my feet. He wouldn’t want to scare me off after all! I enjoyed the sensations a great deal, when I had used the spoon on my soles I had felt a nice tingly pleasure over my feet with each sting. As the cane strokes fell on that evening the tingling spread up my calves, it was altogether pleasant and I was a happy lady. I knew that this would be an area that I could push myself in, I would love to find out how far those tingles would spread. With H satisfied with his foot caning we changed equipment again. and while I lay down he produced a Lelo wand and used it on me until I reached orgasm, and that was the end of our play session.

I dressed and we tidied up the play space before going downstairs again.

Once there he handed me the wand, telling me that he had bought it for me that day, that it was top of the range and I should really enjoy it. Then he pulled out a selection of sandwiches, drinks and biscuits, insisting that I eat…once again he didn’t… but we had a nice chat about the space, what we had both enjoyed and what could be different another time.  As long as he was happy I knew there would be another time as I was curious about whether I could take more, and whether he could give more. And he was happy with that, though I did ask him not to bring me prawn sandwiches again, as prawns are a hard limit and I did not want to offend him by not eating them.

A small thing I know, but he was happy with my request. 

Following a brief chat with the owner, and making sure that everything was as I had found it, we were on our way again, back to the service station where my car was parked, and then off to our separate homes. I was armed with my new toy, and my brain was whirring around with the possibilities for a future session with H. I knew I would have to get used to a different style and not compare H to sir; try to forget the intensity from before and enjoy H and his foot fetish for what they were.

My initiation into Bastinado had begun in earnest.

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Humanity was drawn to turmoil and self-destruction as inevitably as the earth was drawn to complete its annual revolution of the sun

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I had read about sub frenzy in the early days of my research.

My understanding was that it affected new subs in their early days, wanting to try anything and everything as soon as possible. Under the strict care of Sir I had sidestepped this phenomenon. My hand had been held while I went through that phase in my earliest explorations. Now though, with this big wide world to explore, I had all of the self-confidence to try new things, but lacked a certain amount of self-respect to go with it.

As a result I got myself into some situations which were less than ideal. 

The first risky scenario I found myself in was with a man I met on Alt, having joined after a couple of months without contact with sir. I still recall his handle on there, and I cringe at my naivety now. Or perhaps naivety is the wrong word? Maybe I was hell-bent on self-destruction at this point, choosing to meet with someone who showed signs of being unsafe? There was a lot of sadness and a general feeling of being lost and worthless. Why should I take proper care of myself? No-one would miss me anyway.

Hmmm…. I’m glad I’m not that woman anymore! 

Anyway, I started talking to this man, A, on Alt, later switching to email. In our conversations he seemed quite normal, friendly and kind. We arranged that I would visit his office one friday afternoon, I would travel to him after I finished work at 1.30. It was early summer, and the drive should have taken about 45 minutes. Only there was a crash, and so it took me 2 hours, and then I couldn’t find his office. It was on a dairy farm up a narrow lane outside of a town I knew fairly well.

Not in the town as I had originally thought.

We had discussed a “job interview” type scenario, and I would be in his office while his employees were hard at work in the main office just the other side of the door. Well, I pulled up in my car, and there was just one car in the parking area. ONE. Something wasn’t quite right about that, bearing in  mind I was in the middle of nowhere arriving at a supposedly busy office. But he was at the door, waiting for me. Smiling, friendly, actually he looked as normal as he had seemed on the site. After my long drive I needed to use his toilet, when I came out he offered me a drink and then sent me through to his office while he made my cup of tea. Walking through the main office I looked forward to a nice hot cuppa, barely registering that it was empty. I saw his desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. He appeared with the drinks and it started

“Who told you that you could sit down?”

Oops, I hadn’t been thinking! He made me stand against the wall, turn to face it and lift my skirt above my backside. After a harsh bare-handed spanking (my least favourite technique for a tanned behind) he played with my pussy. I was by this point wondering what the f*ck I was doing there, regretting my hasty meet up. The fear and the spanking had made me wet, and after he shoved his fingers in my mouth to clean my mess off of his hand he unbuckled his belt, sat down and got me to take him in my mouth. Then he wanted me to ride him, in his office chair. As quickly as it started he was finished.

And we sat down on opposite sides of the desk to drink our cups of tea, which were still too hot. 

A was actually a very nice man, and we chatted for about half an hour before I went on my way again, no plans to remain in contact. It was with surprise when he tracked me down on Fetlife a couple of months later I’ve found you little one and I did receive an email from him this Christmas asking how I am and would I like to meet him again.

Eighteen months after a single, brief session…?

I was a silly girl who had gotten off very lightly, all things considered. He didn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t have done anyway, though the experience did make me consider how lucky I was, and how things could have gone so horribly wrong. A mistake, maybe. But a valuable lesson for me. It was the first time I had raised my eyes to the ceiling and asked myself what on earth I was doing, without a smile on my face.

I did not want to do that again…I knew that much.

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I really respond to putting myself out of my own depth and finding my feet.

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There is something which was of interest to me, something I wanted to learn more about and I definitely wanted to try it.

Bastinado

I had seen clips of it in a large number of porn movies, and I was curious about it, but I had no idea how to get started. For the first time in my journey I was stepping into unknown territory without an experienced hand to guide me, or discuss possibilities with. So I found some groups on Fetlife and got chatting with a number of people. It seems that there is a shortage of female submissives who are interested in having their feet caned! I could not think why; I had grown up walking barefoot on shingle beaches, sometimes for miles and once shredding my soles.

It had always had the effect of making me feel alive, invigorated. 

With a gap in the market I was inundated with offers for play with “experienced” men, many of whom were across oceans. I was always polite in my rejections, pointing out that it was unrealistic to pursue play relationships with them, and am still in contact with some of them. It is always nice to see what people are getting up to when they pop up on my newsfeed. There was one person who was fairly local, had a full profile and checked out well. H was very open about the fact that feet and foot caning were his main fetishes and he had not met anyone locally who could endure this kind of play, let alone enjoy it.

We agreed to meet up for dinner the following week, and I continued with my research. 

H had labelled himself as a sadist, but all of his pictures were of smiling bottoms. I did a bit a digging about him, because there is no point being part of a community if you don’t use it, he came up in a positive light even if he was a bit of a player… but that didn’t matter because I wasn’t looking for a new Dominant, just a mutually beneficial friendship. So we met up in the town I had suggested, and then struggled to find somewhere to eat due to it being the local beer festival the following day. We finally found a pub which had space for us. He turned out to be a feeder, ordering soup while I ordered lasagne. He barely touched the soup, but made sure I finished all of my meal. Over this peculiar mealtime we chatted, and he was very good company. He had interesting stories to tell about his upbringing and what brought him to the world of kink. He was married to a vanilla wife, and they lived separate lives. He had a submissive who had a boyfriend. It was clear to me that he wanted the same thing as me, friendship and foot caning.

The perfect way to start mending my broken kinky heart.

We agreed to meet up a couple of weeks later, and he asked me to try out using a wooden spoon on my feet in the meantime. And so it began, I was finding my feet, and learning more about myself. My task was to spank the soles of my feet ten times each, at a medium intensity. I did this one night after the boys were in bed and P was at work on a night shift, it meant that I could take my time to endure or enjoy, whichever it would be. What a sensation?! A little bit of a sting, but I was not expecting a funny pins-and-needles type feeling to spread over my soles. I realised that I was definitely going to fall in the enjoy group for bastinado. Next he suggested I stand on my door mat, bare foot, for a period of ten minutes. It was easy so I stayed longer, seeing if it would get uncomfortable (it didn’t). After reporting back to him he replied that he was very pleased with my level of submission, and that I was very close to the level he would want me to be at. This was a surprise as I had no feelings of submission towards him just a sense of exploration and adventure, but it had a healing effect on me.

Maybe I wasn’t a bad submissive after all.

11

Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway.

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Nothing could have prepared me for the sense of loss and abandonment that I felt.

It is hard remembering how difficult I found the first few weeks. I had given part of me to this man and then he left, taking that part with him. Aside from sending him the email I didn’t really know what to do, so I continued with my rules and tasks. I can see how that may read to others; why would I keep on when he had vanished? Honestly, it makes little sense, even now, except that I was floundering, I had no idea how to transition back to “normal”, or if he would pop up and say it was a test and I should have carried on, or…. At the time I needed the routine of the tasks, looking back I’m so pleased I kept on.

If I hadn’t kept on I would never have met E.

I had told him early on that I was curious about being bi-curious, and I would never have had the courage to explore that side of me without those tasks. I had been building in confidence, flirting and had even scened with another woman and her husband. When I started talking to E she was a breath of fresh air. Her fabswingers profile stated she was a highly sexed lesbian looking for no strings fun. About 5 weeks after sir went P was working nights, and the boys were in bed… E arrived at my door. She was 6 feet tall, slim, blonde and giddy. She had brought a bottle of wine with her, and a bag of toys. She knew that I was very inexperienced but keen, and she was excited to be playing with me.

A couple of glasses of wine later and the exploration began in earnest.

She was very caring and gentle, she was also very appreciative of my efforts. E shared her love of oral, scissoring and a strap-on. She was very attentive with her mouth, and when we swapped she was clean and smooth, not scented with urine which was a step up from the last time. I decided then that I only wanted to go down on smooth women. Scissoring was something I had never come across before, it was clumsy and awkward and I still don’t understand how it works in a pleasurable way. Now, the strap on was something different for me too. I had never seen one before and had no idea what they were meant to look like or feel like. The one that she brought (and enjoyed) was, I believe, a vibrator sheath attachment for the harness. It didn’t enter me and I found it a little disappointing, I wondered why people would rather this than a beautiful cock. She went wild though, loving every minute that it slid over her. I have since googled and seen in person other strap-ons, and I would love to try it again, with a woman who is less vanilla. And maybe with less wine!

When she left to go home I was so proud of myself.

I had pushed through a boundary and enjoyed myself. With a willing partner I had explored new areas and tried new toys. I was still stuck with the thought that this must mean I am a lesbian, that perhaps P had been right all along, that the reason I hadn’t wanted sex with him was because I wanted to sleep with women. And I didn’t have the option of contacting sir, to tell him all about it. I had always been asked for reviews after each scene or challenging task, not only did it give him feedback on my thoughts and feelings, but it was also a positive thing for me to reflect and digest what had happened.

Now though, I didn’t have that outlet, that form of after-care if you like. 

This was an important learning point for me. That I would need to figure out a new way to process my wandering mind after new experiences and intense sessions. I’m nothing if not tenacious so this was a welcome puzzle for me, a distraction from what else had been going on in my life at the time. I just had to figure out how to embrace this new world on my terms, without an abusive husband calling the shots or my Dominant guiding the way. The first one I couldn’t wait to see the back of, and the other, Sir, I missed with every aching ounce of my being.

My mind was working again, and I was setting the rules. Maybe it wasn’t all bad…

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