Underestimate me at your own risk.

Don't underestimate me
Image found on Pinterest, shared by Lizardianaamalia

I love it when people underestimate me. Particularly men who tell me they are Doms.

This week saw a bizarre conversation, which felt very much like a game of cat and mouse. It is no secret I am on Fabswingers, but what may surprise you the most is why. When I first signed up it was to help with tasks. Over the years I have found the site incredibly useful for a variety of things. Some I’ve already shared on here and others are still to come. When sir has been out of the picture my account has often lain dormant. Occasionally I’ll open it up and have a look to see what is about. I mean, a girl has got to eat. Invariably there are slim pickings and so, rather than deal with the deluge of “wuu2?” and “Hi, want fun” I hide my world away again. Recently a good friend has been asking me to keep a bit of an eye out for her on there. And as my page has been available I have had lots (and lots and lots and lots) of messages. I’m rather daft, I feel duty bound to say thanks but no thanks to everyone. I will usually have a brief exchange before I tell them I will block them so I don’t distract them anymore. I like to treat people in the way that I would like to be treated myself.

Occasionally someone keeps pushing, and they truly underestimate what I am like…

Just this week I had a message from a 30 year old (too young) gym bunny (pretty boy) from london (too far away) who told me he is a Dom. (Really???) He had the usual rebuff, and continued to talk. I made all of the points around not wanting a young, pretty thing. Especially as he lives so far away. He latched onto this last point, stating that he was moving to my town the next day, and he has his own place with a Red Room. At this point I was hooked. He had put his stupid into my inbox and wanted to play with me… Perhaps I could play with him after all. His next message suggested whatsapp would be easier, sending his number. I quickly responded on the app, happy to seem desperate. I wanted to know what this silly boy wanted with me. Turned out, pretty quickly that he wanted videos. He went to great lengths to tell me he likes to make videos and he had some, if I wasn’t going to be shocked. Explaining that it takes a lot to shock me, that I have my own videos which I don’t share because I choose not to, but that if he felt the need to send some my way then I wouldn’t be offended. He did. 3 mediocre 20-40 second videos. Oddly, each one seemed to have a different cock in it… He told me to rate them. 4, with the camera work being so rubbish, but that the woman in the face fucking video seemed to have some skills. “Bring it” is the recorded voice message that pinged onto my whatsapp. “Bring what exactly?” And then I reminded him I don’t share my videos.

He’s obviously not too disappointed as next thing I know my phone is ringing…

We had a little chat, I’m looking at the lock thinking about the blog post I am trying to write… We had a pleasant conversation. He didn’t stop talking, I made occasional non-commital noises to fit in with what he was saying. Next he’s telling me he’s naked except for his black calvin kleins. He wanted to know what I would do if I was stood there in front of him. In just his black Calvin Klein boxers. I said I’d probably pop the kettle on. “no” pressing for more “what would you say?” He sounded a little disappointed at my response of asking if he’d prefer tea or coffee.

However, he was undeterred.

“I promised I wouldn’t play tonight, but here we are flirting…”

“Are we?” I asked, not knowing how he could have mistaken my occasional comments and lack of enthusiasm for flirting… Suggesting if he doesn’t want to play he shouldn’t, that it won’t bother me.

“…Yes, and I’ve got a right bell end” He sends me a picture. Turns out his Calvin Kleins were white. Again, he asks what I think. I think the fabric looks soft, but apparently that wasn’t what he meant. Next thing I know I hear a familiar gentle stroking sound, who is going to win? I wonder if he is going to beat off before I call him on his behaviour. But it is at this point he starts to tell me all about his fantasy, and the game changes…

I’ve got you on all fours, and I’m fucking you doggy style with your ankles tied together. I grab your hair so you have to look at us in the mirror and then I slap your feet.

“What? How does that even work?” I ask. I can hear his enthusiasm through the phone, but I am so confused at the physics of what he is beating off to that I have to find out what the actual fuck he is talking about. “So, you’ve got this woman in doggy style with her…”

“You, I’ve got you.”

“Right. So, hypothetically let’s say, you’ve got me in doggy style. And you’re fucking me from behind as you pull my head up and back by my hair I can see us in the mirror. How are you going to get to my feet?”

Apparently he has long legs, and would be straddling  mine. And as he was fucking me and pulling my hair up I would lift my bound ankles to his backside and he’d reach behind to slap them.

So. Many. Questions….

  • How would I be able to balance in that position?
  • How would he ensure my airway was safe for breathing if he was concentrating behind him on my feet?
  • How would he be able to administer quality blows to my soles?
  • How would he keep a rhythm up that satisfied him? (Even if my pleasure wasn’t his concern?
  • Would I have something to kneel on?

In fairness to him he did answer them. but the fapping became less vigorous with each response. Apparently he wears a tie and belt to work and his belts are all made of leather.

  • But how will you get the angle right for using a belt on my feet if you can’t even see them?

In an effort to stop me badgering him with the complexities of his proposed fantasy he lowered his voice and said:

“Sir demands that you keep eye contact with him at all times in the mirror”

At this sentence I disintegrated into fits of hysterical laughter, replying after a snort “There is only one man I have ever called Sir, and you are not Him!” The fapping had ceased altogether by this point, and I breathed in a deep breath of victory! Then I bid him a good night and hung up. A couple of minutes later he messaged hat it was a shame I hadn’t sent him a video as it would have tipped him over the edge. Given that the only person that it was a shame for was him I decided to block him.

The mouse caught a cat when he went fishing!

I’m not sharing this story because I am laughing at him. Part of me is really ashamed at my behaviour towards him. I know full well that I played a game of cat and mouse with him, and perhaps that was unfair. But there is another part of me which gets frustrated with people like him, exerting their perceived authority over the unsuspecting new submissives who are swayed by a pretty face and an overworked fantasy. I also know a number of subs who would have happily shared videos with him, and potentially he would have passed those around to others. More women still (and men actually) who take it personally when they get played with like he was trying with me. I’m quite thick skinned, and I have had a laugh at his expense. But I wanted to share to show that this does happen, that life is full of all sorts of characters and that we should just try and be aware of the twerps among us who are not what they seem.

My behaviour wasn’t big and it wasn’t clever, but if you underestimate me the end result may well be a funny story.

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Underestimate me at your own risk was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Don’t let someone get comfortable disrespecting you.

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Photo credit: JerBear

If he wanted to see me cross all he had to do was stretch out in the sunshine, erection on display in all of its glory.

Since his behaviour two weeks before I had been nursing my hurt feelings, brooding. Not only had he topped me from the bottom, but he had bratted me. Neither were things I consented to. Bruised I’d withdrawn, and despite his advances I didn’t know how to move past it. The longer I waited the more he tried to seduce me. And the more he tried the greater the distance became. Talking hadn’t worked, he still thought that I would feel better if I would just let him fuck me but the power exchange lay in tatters.

I wanted him to understand how I felt, but couldn’t work out how.

Since switching roles things had become more complicated in my mind, confusing. And now he was laying on the kitchen bench, tight balls and straining shaft, and all I wanted was to put the shopping away and get started on dinner. Pulling things out of the bag I laid my fingers on the ginger, an idea started to form. Could he? Would he? catching his eye, I raised it, eyes brightening as I heard him gasp. “You wouldn’t…” he said. Smiling I reached into the drawer for the peeler. I knew full well that this piece was as fresh as it would be, and that would make the intense pain last longer.

“I can’t take that Miss, It’s too fat. You know I’m not stretched”

The way Miss fell from his lips… The fear that made his voice crack, just a little bit. My cunt twitched. “Don’t worry about that boy, I’ll be peeling it , I can trim it to fit…  but not too much. I want to see you squirm” and with that I reached into the drawer by my hip and withdrew the peeler and a paring knife. As I whittled away at the knob his eyes grew wider. His pride and joy began to lose its smooth edges, withering slightly as he realised I wasn’t playing.  “You will learn not to disrespect me boy. If I didn’t think you could take this I wouldn’t be asking you to pull your knees up and show me your sweet little hole” Disbelieving eyes looked back at me, sweat blossoming on his forehead. The more fear he showed the wetter my pussy became. My cold, dry useless hole of earlier quickly becoming a dripping furnace of desire.

“I’m not lubed though Miss, and that looks fatter than your finger. Do you really think…?”

The words stopped abruptly as I edged closer, but he kept his legs down. “I can always grate it, stuff your foreskin and staple you closed” I suggested, with a sweet smile. Knowing full well that I meant every word he pulled his knees up as swiftly as the last of his hardness disappeared. Running a finger over his puckered opening I began to salivate. “Thank you boy” was all I could say before spitting on him, pushing first one finger and then a second inside him, and briefly fucking him roughly with them. Removing my dirty digits and replacing them with the ginger, as he silently screamed at the pain that threatened to overwhelm him I pushed those fingers into the gaping chasm that looked so inviting. “Clean them properly and I’ll have something else to distract you”. With my free hand I discarded my knickers and pulled up the skirt, running my ginger laced fingers over my own swollen sex, delving between my now puffy labia, seeking friction while I waited for him to finish showering my hand with adoration. Watching his pain, what he was taking for me…

Balance was restored… for now.

Masturbation Monday

 

Life is more fun if you play games

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“I’ve got a five-day game for you next week.”

My phone lit up again. This time with a list of items to gather up.

  • Suspender belt
  • Rope
  • Leather
  • My favourite sensual material
  • A scouring sponge
  • Tea tree oil

With just one thing missing from my list I had to go shopping. Oddly it was just the suspender belt that I needed initially. Checking in about my leather laces the following day he suggested that it may be a little too intense, best to find something a little wider.

I love to spend time wondering, trying to work things out.

Clear instructions are important, but having a little time to wonder and guess has always been something I have enjoyed. Sometimes because the nervous curiosity makes me wet. Sometimes because I can work it out immediately and feel all pleased with myself. I thought I was mostly there with this one, I thought I had worked it out, but something wasn’t figuring in my mind; the last two items.

Once I had gathered all of the list together I was told what the week would entail.

  • Monday – rope tied between my legs front to back, attached to the suspender belt. Knickers over the top.

  • Tuesday – leather attached to the suspender belt in the same way as the rope. Again with the knickers.

  • Wednesday – Sensual material attached in the same way. And knickers again.

  • Thursday A.M. Scouring sponge to be work inside my knickers, scouring side up.

  • Thursday P.M. Sponge to be soaked in Tea Tree oil, with the sponge side up this time.

  • Friday- TBC

It looked like I was going to be having a busy week!

Monday was a challenge, it took a couple of attempts to get the tension right with the rope. Every time I thought I had it the rope began to feel loose. I wondered if I should just lose the belt and use rope instead? Tension would then be maintained rather than the belt stretching. No. I would follow the instructions given, I have never been one to deviate mid task unless life changes beyond my control. I was going to be free early afternoon and sent him a message at the agreed time. “I’ll be half an hour. Keep busy, and find your two favourite toys” When that half an hour was up he messaged, I was to be naked, and ready on my bed, I confirmed that I was all set, and he said he was going to call.

“Fuck” was the silent scream in my head.

I don’t talk to many people on the phone. I don’t like my voice, and get terribly embarrassed. I also find understanding tone of voice challenging without non verbal communication. But it was too late for that now, my phone was ringing! That first call went surprisingly well. Following his instructions I edged three times and followed that up with three finger plunging, squelching orgasms. He was happy and I was sated, giddy and still trembling an hour later on the school run.

Tuesday was the leather.

I loved the way it felt, nestled between my labia. Warm and comforting. Rope is something that I automatically have a strong reaction to, but leather wasn’t far behind. My day was full, so we kept in contact through the day although conversation was limited. By the time bed time arrived my leather thong was impregnated with my scent, and I was ready for the reward on offer.

The sensual fabric was wonderful.

I had chosen a blue sparkly fabric. A little bit rough, and almost sharp in the way that it rubbed between my ever swelling and moistening lips. By the afternoon I was hungry for the phone call I guessed would be coming. This time I was to gather some pegs and a candle. Once I was naked he called, and set me to work attaching pegs to my breasts before exercising. Star jumps, touching my toes and twisting at the waist. Only one of the pegs went flying off, but it was no less painful. Attaching pegs to my labia and then passing the gentle warmth of a lit candle between my legs. Dripping some wax onto my nipples before laying down and dripping a little on my belly and inner thighs.

Then the timer started.

He told me I had 5 minutes to reach orgasm as many times as possible. The timer ticked by, but none would come. Humiliation is something I enjoy, but this was beyond that. I felt something I hadn’t experienced for a long time: shame. Why couldn’t I come, my doxy is powerful, power exchange is powerful. I reasoned with myself that the standard 17 minute rule (that’s how long it usually takes to reach climax alone) still stands. No problem, he said, I want you to have 3 before the school run. Which gave me 40 minutes. Could I orgasm? Could I hell…

One grumpy mummy at the school gate, feeling ashamed for not achieving the task she’d been set.

The following day was the sponge though. No time to think about my abject failure the previous day, my lips wrapped around the stiff sponge. Rushing from one appointment to the next, pulling my knickers up to keep the irritant in place. My clit pulsed as the sensitive skin smarted brutally. Lunchtime saw me removing the sponge and lacing it with tea tree oil. Not before taking a long inhale of the sponge which now smelt of my sticky cunt, laced with a little pee. Sitting through a long meeting through the afternoon, in close quarters with my peers I was very aware of the scent of the oil. I was the only person in the room who knew what the smell meant, the secret as arousing as the stinging oil lapping at my pussy. At tea break time I glanced at my phone Give yourself a squeeze under the table. With no table I had to improvise, and spent the second half of the afternoon pressing my thighs together in plain sight.

He was pleased with my day, but there were two surprises in store for me.

The first was that Fridays task was confirmed as No Knickers Friday.  The second was that I had done so well I was to be rewarded with 3 orgasms, to be taken before midnight, along with the 3 from Wednesday. Two restless children made this incredibly difficult, but it was with a huge amount of relief when I achieved my sixth orgasm at 11:57. Sending a smiling photo of my success, I was happy and so was he.

Waking up the following morning it soon became clear as to why I wasn’t to wear any knickers…

The exertions of Thursday, with the abrasive sponge between my lips causing irritation. I had to make sure I kept myself distracted from the discomfort. I almost broke, nearly asked if I could put some sudocreme before thinking better of it. I am a lot of things, but I’m not delicate. I wouldn’t give in that easily! He told me that permission would have been granted if I had asked, but I hadn’t and that made me proud. I had recovered a little of my self-appreciation that I had lost on the Wednesday. When he told me how pleased he was with my hard work and how I had gone above and beyond on more than one occasion that made me feel proud of myself once more.

What a week!! A true roller coaster.

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Life is more fun if you play games was first published on A Leap of Faith

On The Road To Eroticon- Meet and Greet

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I’m winding my way down the road to eroticon.

I’ve been looking forward to attending Eroticon since I saw the posts surrounding last years event. I knew then that I wanted to be there this year, and would find a way to make that happen. My gran died in June, and I was given a little bit of money. Early bird tickets were released almost straight away, and I knew that I had to sign myself up. The closer it gets the more nervous I become. Seeing the “Meet and Greet” posts have built

NAME (and Twitter if you have one)

I’m N, barefoot and @thebarefootsub
Tell us 3 things you are most looking forward to at Eroticon 2019

  1. There are so many people I have met online, it is exciting (and a little bit nerve racking) to meet you in person.
  2. I’m looking forward to discovering more about blogging, learning new skills and gaining in confidence in my abilities.
  3. Eroticon is a huge leap of faith for me. Meeting new people en mass is always scary, and a weekend of full on learning is going to be a big challenge. It would be easier to stay at home and relax with my children, more comfortable. But I was never one for sitting in my comfort zone, and I’m looking forward to stretching myself in a new way.

We are creating a play list of songs for the Friday Night Meet and Greet. Nominate one song that you would like us to add to the play list and tell us why you picked that song.

I love to dance to this song with my children, even on the most stressful day we will end up relaxed and laughing. I’m sure more than a few of us could use a bit of musical courage. Add in that as sex bloggers we rely on social media to spread the love this song seems like a great tribute.

What is your favorite item or book you’ve purchased so far this year?

This year has only been short. In the last year I could tell you exactly, but I’m a stickler for details and…. The favourite item I have purchased this year is a 9″ girthy suction cup vibrator. It isn’t so much about the toy, more about the shopping trip itself. My wonderful friend B had a very important request for me, but I think that is probably a blog post in itself.

You can have an unlimited supply of one thing for the rest of your life, what is it? Sushi? Scotch Tape?

An odd answer for the barefoot sub… Footwear!

I don’t just mean sexy heels (that I can’t walk in.) I mean bamboos socks, snuggly slippers, supportive walking boots and flip flops. I love having a nice pair of knee high boots for moseying around in the autumn, and fluffy socks for evenings in. But I mostly will need running shoes and socks, and they are more pricey than thigh high patent leather lace up boots with scarlet soles…

What is your favourite quote from a movie?

My favourite movie is Burn After Reading. A bizarrely funny Coen brothers film which I have watched numerous times. Silly and dark, and the quote I have chosen just about sums it up.

Report back to me when, uh…I don’t know. When it makes sense.

What is your word suggestion to next years Eroticon anthology?

Explore

Complete the sentence:
I feel…

Going for a bare foot puddle stomp in the rain. That should stop the nerves building too much!

Eroticon 2019 Attending

 

On the road to eroticon- meet and greet was first published on A Leap of Faith.

A writer is always writing for someone.

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Writing is a funny thing.

It gives me the a wonderful outlet, a way to process events and mull things over. Over the last year or so I have found a community in which I feel like I belong. The sex blogging community have welcomed me with open arms, supported me when I have had my blog removed from wordpress and given me new and exciting ways to open up to the world around me. My kinky friends have appeared to enjoy learning a little more about me, and seeing themselves in my posts.

Writing with block is not fun.

When I first started the blog my objective was clear, and my audience was obvious too. It was a way for me to have a conversation with sir. One way, yes, but a conversation non-the-less. I knew he was reading from afar. He left again in July, and while I tried to believe that he would be keeping an eye that feeling kind of left me, and as it did so did my ability to write. When I first started the blog I read that it is “important to know who you are writing for.” That wasn’t clear anymore, and though I found joy in participating in the weekly memes my main objective faltered, and then stopped altogether. January saw just 3 posts, all in response to prompts. I couldn’t find 150 words to describe me for the Smutmarathonso I had to pass until next year. I didn’t even have anything worthy of submitting to elust 115.

Something had to change.

That change came with a university assignment and February Photofest. Once I had got the formal writing out of the way I was able to start thinking about my posts. The pictures of others were so intimidating I almost froze again but… I had a great selection of images I had been keeping back for this month and they would have been wasted just sat in my dropbox… So I started, a little late but any start is better than none. And the more I posted the more my brain would release words. As the month progressed I found it hard to keep up but not impossible. Inspired by the many other bloggers participating in the challenge, and weekly memes I was able to get through the rest of the month aside from one day. Today is the last day of the month, but I have found a new way to focus.

A new audience if you like.

Thank you to all of the wonderful bloggers and meme hosts who have made it feel like I have never been away. I am so lucky to be able to choose the top lists for various different memes over the coming months, and with Eroticon in a couple of weeks, I have some exciting times to look forward to, new people to meet and lots of things to learn.

Now then, where did I put my pens? I have writing to do…

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Thanks to Tony James Photography for indulging my creativity.
February Photofest

 

I have learned that grief is another name for love.

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I still find it astonishing, even after 21 years.

You would imagine that it would get easier, and in many ways it has. I can now celebrate the many times we enjoyed, and I can look back with joy in my heart rather than total devastation and, more often than not, anger. Anger with you for not going to see the doctor sooner, that they couldn’t catch it in time because you wouldn’t tell anyone. You fought it for a number of years, never admitting that you were going to die, even after they said it had spread to your bones, and liver. The time they thought you had a stroke, but it was really rogue cells floating around in your brain.

Your strength has probably inspired me more than I admit.

For many years every time I saw someone whose life you had touched they would say “oh, haven’t you got your father’s eyes.” They always missed out the eyebrows, chin and nose!  And what about your stubbornness, dry wit and sense of adventure. Did I get those traits through nature or nurture? You were a stay at home dad until I started school, and even after that I was like your shadow. Saturday mornings in the shop are memories I will always treasure, the touch of felt will always take me back to that time.

Grief is a funny thing though.

Every year in the lead up to your anniversary something makes me feel like my heart has been broken. I never equate the two immediately, but tonight was a quicker realisation than the standard day or two. Maybe I am learning with time. Perhaps next year I will surprise myself with allowing the sadness without needing other hurts to bring it out.

This evening I was driving home from delivering my children. It’s the holidays and I get a rest too.

I was thinking about events from the last week or so. You see, when Sir left again in July I felt a little sad. I knew that I wouldn’t hear from him until at least February, and even if I did I wasn’t sure how that would feel. My need to submit took a sabbatical. I have been exploring this wonderful world of kink in different ways and enjoying myself greatly, but as time wore on my mojo drifted. Recently a few things have happened which have made me realise that, although enjoying the opposite sides of myself, I had actually been hiding my submission. It hadn’t left me, just curled up inside too scared of being exposed and vulnerable. The intensity of my submissive love and the loss thereafter too hard to face again. Grief is not just felt for those who have died.

Driving along I felt my heartbreak all over again, my eyes burning with tears held back too long.

I knew that I needed to run, and once I was safely home I did just that. Not 200m from my front door I realised why. I have come home and spoken to one of my lovely friends (you’d love her, she’s completely mad) and I have talked about you more than I have with anyone in years. I hope you would be proud of the woman I have become, the way I have conducted myself when times have been hard and the way I am raising the two grandsons you will never get to meet. More often than not I need to be strong just like you were, sometimes I need to laugh until my sides aches and occasionally I need a good cry.

Tonight, astonishingly, I have done all three.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

February Photofest

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

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Photo credit: Dark Lion photography and extra hands:Dr Lovelace.

There was a time when I couldn’t stand touch.

As a child I was always loved, my family were close-knit and always there for me, no matter what. But it was never shown in a tactile way. Love was shown through actions rather than hugs and kisses. My adolescence saw me exploring sex in all its glorious technicolour, but I after having my heart-broken at 17 I didn’t seek intimate touch, just lusty liaisons. After I married the touch I became used to quickly became something other than intimacy. It was a kind of ownership that is not intimate, or pleasant, or erotic. The feel of P’s hands on my thigh would make my skin crawl, knowing what he wanted and what I didn’t want to give.

Not so many years ago that all started to change.

As I touched upon in Touchy Feely Food For Thought I have become quite the sensation slut. Gentle touch and firm, strokes and swipes. I have become tactile with my friends. Platonic intimacy is wonderful, hugs and gentle caresses, even massages. And my children, showing them my love through touch as well as actions. I am constantly learning how to be a better person. It isn’t always easy but it’s a process I like to go through. And as I opened up I began to notice new things.

The touch of hands is healing.

Most sensations I can recreate on my own. As a single mum this is quite important, time is short and little minds are enquiring. My own hands can run over naked skin and leave gentle trails of self-love wherever they go. But the hands of a lover allow those same gentle trails to penetrate deeper and slice through to my core. The cool kisses of my own fingertips replaced by a blazing wake of lust. The sensation is deep and feeds a part of me which needs occasional nurturing. Skin to skin contact, particularly strong hands, make my soul sing. But it’s not just the touch.

Seeing strong hands excites me in a way I still don’t understand.

A man with thick, long fingers drinking coffee from a (comparatively) delicate mug is a delicious sight. I can look at a man’s hands and imagine the feel of them on my lips, on my skin. The taste of them as I run my tongue over them, particularly after they have explored the places that are difficult for me to reach. I found myself having coffee with a fellow runner last week and I may have slipped off briefly when he picked up his drink… wondering how it would feel to have those hands restraining my (comparatively) delicate throat.

You can take the girl away from the kink (briefly) but you can’t take away the perversions.

Click the lips to see what other people are up to for Kink of the week and February Photofest.

February Photofest

No one ever fell in love without being a little bit brave. #26

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The prompt for today was pretty tricky. I wasn’t sure how a song could make me want to fall in love. My ex husband’s family never quite hit the mark of family, even though we were closely linked for over 12 years. The thought of having in-laws again is a bit of a difficult idea for me… However, it seems that I’m not alone, and when you realise you aren’t alone life, or in this case the idea of love, becomes a lot easier… Jake Thackray’s La-Di-Dah is a triumph that challenges my fear of in laws.

I love music and am always on the lookout for something new to listen to, so I hope the 30-Day Song Challenge inspires some of you to share.

Sweet little angel #13

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I like so much music but generally have no idea what decade tunes are from, unless I can date it with release from significant life events. However, it would seem rude to choose a tune from the 70s and skip disco, so I bring you one of many smile-making tunes: Tavares- Heaven must be missing an angel. They are so in sync with each other, and their costumes are awesome. But, from a girlie point of view, I would love to be someones sweet little angel.

I love music and am always on the lookout for something new to listen to, so I hope the 30-Day Song Challenge inspires some of you to share.

Give a little whistle for #boobday.

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Hunter’s Tor

With the whistle of the wind in my ears I lifted my top and blew…

Now the weather is turning cold, wet and windy I have begun to get back in the swing of things with the challenge I set myself: Tits out tor bagging.

I love dartmoor and want to show it off in all its beauty, but sadly my arms are just not long enough to do that and show my breasts so I was a little grumpy for a while. And then I remembered an app I used to have on my old phone, which is such an easy idea. Of all of the remote trigger apps I chose whistle cam after being recommended it by a rigger. She uses it for her more complex self ties and I used it until my old phone ran out of memory. At which point I filed it away in my own internal archives.

With whistle cam installed I set off running, towards Hunters Tor and set things up. My whistling worries proved unfounded and the app detected my toot with no problem at all.

Happy #Boobday everybody!

See what everyone else is up to here.

boob day meme

Give a little whistle for #boobday. was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Third time’s the charm: #SOSS

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I have had a really manic week for so many reasons, but have managed to keep half an eye on my blog and the wonderful posts that pop up in my reader. 

I had been a little worried about Curious Clitty, she had been a very regular writer and I missed her posts. This week she made a return with a post which made me stop and think. I think we are all evolving constantly, and while I am entirely submissive with Sir in other parts of my life I can very much identify with CC’s words.

In TMI Tuesday this week the first question was about feminization. It isn’t something that works for me, but I do enjoy learning what makes other people tick and Porn Girl must have read my mind! She sheds some light onto what she enjoys about it, and although I never thought there was anything wrong with it I can now appreciate feminization from a different perspective.

Dayliacatt is a blog that I like to keep up with and yesterday she did not disappoint. I loved the pictures, and reading the post I could almost feel the lesson being learned!

I like to read poetry as well, and sometimes get a little emotional if it hits home. I love time spent in my own company, and with groups of friends, but it has been a long time since I have felt lonely in a way that hurts my soul. For me Scarlett A. Rhiannon sums it up perfectly, and I may have had wet eyes after reading.

This image  from submiss34f really captured my attention. She has some other wonderful images too, I recommend anyone to pop over and give her a peek.

There is no one giant step that does it, it’s a lot of little steps.

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Following Kink and Cake my Fetlife profile suddenly became more interesting.

Before I had even arrived home I had received half a dozen friends requests, and as I accepted them my feed gradually took on a different feel. No longer was it littered with pictures and writings by unknown kinksters, there were now updates from people I had met, experiences that I could relate to. Over the following days I uploaded a couple of pictures of my bruised feet and had likes and comments from people I knew. My confidence was still fragile and I hadn’t quite come round to the fact that people may actually like me; this was providing more evidence to the contrary.

I had a little over two weeks to wait until the fetish night and I was starting to worry.

I had the usual butterflies chasing each other around in my belly at the thought of going somewhere new. But more than that, I also had no idea what I should be wearing, how I should behave and how I would feel faced with 70+ kinksters in a setting I had never experienced before. When I started my journey as a submissive I assumed that these kinds of events would be experienced under the supervision of Sir and his ideals would be spelled out for me. As this was not to be I had to keep pushing myself, driving forward to this monumental task of my own setting!

True to form my curiosity got the better of me.

Rather than sitting and wallowing in my doubts and fears I took to the internet. Reading the event’s page on Fetlife gave me a clue on the “rules” and reassured me that I would be safe. It also gave me an insight into WHO would be attending. I had never noticed this before, but on events there are lists of people going, maybe going and friends going. I probably hadn’t noticed this because until this point I hadn’t had any fet-friends. Now though there were 7 people going that I had already met, plus the two hosts.

So I sent a few private messages.

The first person I messaged was Tr who had decided that he would be going along with CC. They had been to events together before, and as this was the relaunch party they were happy to travel a bit further than they usually would, and spend the night in a hotel so they didn’t need to travel back the same night. I asked what they would be wearing, and was told that they would be wearing latex. We arranged to catch up in the club and I looked forward to seeing them in their outfits, but I knew that wasn’t something I would be wearing… yet.

So no outfit tips for me there but at least I would know two people. 

Next up I messaged MT, the submissive man who had flexed his switchy muscles on my feet the previous week at Kink and Cake. He really put my mind at rest in a lot of ways. His Domme was going with her husband so he would essentially be going on his own and he said that he would meet me inside the door when I arrived, he always arrived to things early so expected to be one of the first in. When I asked him what he would be wearing I was a lot less intimidated by his answer; he would be wearing smart black trousers, a smart black shirt and smart black shoes. I knew that I didn’t want to wear all black, but I knew now that I didn’t have to go all in with expensive outfits. I had no idea if I would want to attend more events in future and was reluctant to spend out a lot of money on something I would wear once.

With MT’s outfit in mind I started looking for inspiration online.

I found a number of ideas and sent the links to MT. With his help I narrowed it down to one outfit that I would be comfortable with. I wanted to check with someone on the other end of the outfit spectrum and sent the links to Tr who thought it looked a good choice. I ordered myself the corset style top and had decided I would wear black leggings and my killer heels with it.

Outfit sorted with a week to spare, next I needed to work on what I would need to take.

This was easier as I didn’t have a lot of kit. I did have a pair of carpet beaters and a little leather slapper. My children had a lot of hot wheels track so I borrowed a length of that as it was something we had been discussing at Kink and Cake as a potentially stingy pain. With my kit planned and my outfit on its way all that was left was to wait. Fortunately work and the children took up so much of my time I barely had time to worry, and when I started to fret I did something I have never associated with stress relief.

I painted my nails, toes and fingers, to match the colour of the top I would be wearing.

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My only requirement for life is that I don’t get stuck in a rut.

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Though there was sadness at not being owned, I understood and accepted the turn of events.

If wanted to make the most of my life and not be stuck at home wallowing in the what ifs I had to get going. I knew that I wasn’t looking for a new dominant, I wasn’t ready for that, but I did want to get out and meet new people, make friends with fellow kinksters who I would be able to explore with. There were events on Fetlife which interested me, but I was shy of going along on my own. I had no idea what others on the local scene would be like, or how they would react to a new female submissive entering their midst. Hindsight is a wonderful thing….

I spent a little time getting to know people on Fetlife. 

One of the first people I had been interested by was a rigger and photographer about an hours drive from me. I had liked some of his pictures, and we had been in vague contact since. He and his wife were quite well-known in their local community and were in the process of relaunching a fetish event local to them. I sent the event page a message asking about it, and wondering how safe it would be for a single submissive woman to attend on her own. As I knew no-one I was rightly nervous. I received a reply very quickly and after a little back and forth we arranged that I would go to meet the pair of them one sunday afternoon. My visit to their home would be sandwiched between her slave cleaning her home, and her son being dropped off mid afternoon.

I was nervous about meeting this couple, even though it was just for tea and a chat.

I needn’t have been though. They were so welcoming, and they made an excellent cup of tea….or should I say truth serum! As we chattered away, sharing kinky ideas and experiences, I may have let slip a few things that would bite me. She needed to go shopping, but suggested he and I have a play, as we were both getting along well. Nothing too intense, just a little fun. I thought that sounded great, and with time on my side we ran through my limits. I took my clothes off while he got some bits and pieces together, and before I knew it I was blindfolded, hooded, collared and handcuffed. Over the next hour or so, I was brought to within a moment of orgasm a number of times (NEVER mention to A Dom/me couple that you fancy more orgasm denial), made to gag and drool like a good girl, and teased with the taste of him on my lips…

Then things took a different turn

While I was seated on my bottom I was released from the cuffs, gag and collar. The jangling of metal, the snap of it around my wrists, then neck, and finally ankles…I was stuck…utterly stuck… His voice, so full of praise just minutes earlier, commanding me to roll onto all fours.

 

Images from Hogtied.com to show the device.

I’m not sure who thought it was funnier, me or Him, but I wish there had been a camera…so undignified…but entertaining those with whom I play is a thrill, and it was so much fun! A moment that will stay with me for a long time to come. Then the serious stuff came. It was time for my feet and cheeks to receive some attention. While my feet turned to tingling blocks on the ends of my legs, and my bottom started to sing with the whip, I heard another woman’s laugh, and I knew that the Mistress of the house was home, and approved of my predicament. And the biting of my soles after he had thrashed then, new realms of pleasure to explore.

How had I never known my feet were an erogenous zone, and each and every time they are battered and bruised it becomes clearer that this is the case…

When asked how I felt in that moment, bound and beaten, with my face crushed into the carpet, I responded ‘liberated.‘ I find the freedom to be me, just me, when I’m at my most vulnerable. It was such a pleasure to meet this couple, and I don’t believe I have ever tasted such a delicious cup of tea as the one I had while trembling on their comfy chair, floating back to earth through the post-play haze. With Sir and my other experiences up until this point, I had accepted that my kinks were a part of me. I felt that now I would be learning where I fit into the world of kinks.

My world was changing, and I wasn’t going to let myself get stuck again.

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Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.

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Sir had been called in to attend a meeting not far from me, so K and I were invited to join him the evening before.

When he emailed us in the morning, I responded promptly and chattered to K via text but, unknown to me, she didn’t respond to him. I received an email later in the day asking if she had changed her mind as sir hadn’t heard from her to confirm. I reassured him that I was due to be at hers at 6pm, and we would be there in plenty of time. Our instructions for the start were the same as I was used to. This time there would be two blindfolds waiting, one each. We were definitely not allowed to draw attention to ourselves as we walked through reception! He emailed shortly after 6 to confirm the room number and K, who was testing my patience by being predictably tardy, replied that we were getting our stuff together and would soon be on our way.

By the time we finally got on the road I was a little bit frazzled.

In fairness to K she was nervous, and chattered away as we drank our cups of tea on the drive towards the hotel, a very familiar route in my kink life as well as my personal and professional ones. I was able to talk through her jiggling nerves with her, explaining what my experiences had been and what my expectations of the evening would be. I had to remind myself that this was her first experience of BDSM, and that it was a good thing that she was asking questions. Her chatter turned to her swinging experiences and I was able to just listen, and run through my thoughts as I drove. When I parked we nipped to the restaurant toilets to freshen up, and I put my heels on, then we were good to go.

The room was the first door you arrived at after walking through reception.

It was open, as always, and we walked through into the darkened room which smelt so familiar. Putting my bag of toys down next to me (as instructed) I handed K her blindfold and put mine on, and encouraged her to settle. My heart racing. Then he was there, greeting us, running his hands over my body and claiming me back. Today there was no collar for me, its absence weighed more than the thick leather band itself. First we were tied together, and then encouraged to explore each other. Then he used a wand on each of us, his Hitachi on K and the electro wand on me. Sadly the vibrations and static didn’t produce the intensity required to take me over the edge, and when he told me I was to be quiet with each orgasm I told him that the wand wasn’t getting me close, the vibrations weren’t going deep enough.

I had brought the doxy, and he switched over to that… which worked a treat.

And then I came repeatedly. Although she hadn’t been expecting it K experienced orgasms too, and was quite vocal. I understood why I had to be quiet… Two moaning ladies would attract undue attention. And when he swapped back to the electro wand it was even more fun trying to keep the noise down. That evening I was exposed to a number of firsts. Reading through my review for the evening I can see the disappointment I felt. During a scene he would always ask “Are you bored yet?” and the answer would always be a resounding no. This night he didn’t ask me that question, and it is the only night I would have said yes.

There were bits that I really enjoyed, and I was really surprised about them.

Such as when K and I were sharing his cock with our mouths, kneeling either side of him. I loved that. And when he showered us with his cum at the end, feeling those drops fall on my body and my face is engraved in my memory. Understandably there was no impact play due to the proximity to reception, but when we were bent over the bed, side by side and tied at the ankle, I could have wandered off and made a cup of tea. And when K and I were in a 69 (I have never been a fan of that position) I may as well have not been there while he took her from behind. We spoke about this afterwards and he told me that some Dominants would have had me sit on a chair and watch them use another woman but he didn’t see me ever not being involved. It was a form of humiliation. Something that I still don’t fully understand.

What surprised me was how I felt about sharing him. Not that he was mine to share.

I had worried that I would feel lacking in some way, or jealous at his attentions being laid elsewhere. There was none of that, for hich I am extremely proud. I felt left out, but never not good enough. And though there were parts which I wasn’t enamoured with, there were many parts which I did love. I have always felt selfish because of my mixed feelings about that night when I know full well that scenes with sir would sometimes not be about my needs, and given the meeting he had looming over him the following day… Speaking to him about it just a few weeks ago it turns out that he was a little disappointed with the evening too. Not being able to include impact play for me, us having to be civilised because K was more about the swinging than the kink and he didn’t want to scare her, and me not being as free in my sexuality to fully embrace it. I am looking forward to revisiting this scenario at some point, and seeing what we have both learnt from that experience and over the (almost) two years between then and now.

This was my first time with Sir of my expectations not matching the experience. Not bad for a journey of almost 2 years…

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