A writer is always writing for someone.

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…

Thanks to Tony James Photography for indulging my creativity.

A writer is always writing for someone was first published on A Leap of Faith.

28th February 2019 3

What difference can you make today?

What a difference a purple pinky makes.

Suddenly I’m feeling sexy again; desirable and deviant.

This same bra last week, functional and appropriate for the day.

Last night I felt like a new woman, a mellow state of arousal engulfed me.

Did I look different to the friends I saw at the munch last night? No.

The difference was all inside me.

Lingerie Is For Everyone. #LIFE

What difference can you make today? was first published on A Leap of Faith.

27th February 2019 2

Hearts and flowers for TMI Tuesday

1. What are your romantic needs?

My romantic needs are minimal in all honesty. For the most part I get what could be seen as traditional romance from my friends. I miss having someone to cook with, but I have wonderful friends who will happily come round for dinner. Having someone to confide in, to share my joys and sadness, my friends are wonderful for filling that void (if you can call it that?) It could be made a little better if I had naked hugs in bed, and those confidences were in the form of pillow talk, chest hair tickling my nose while wrapped in strong arms. Companionable silences while each enjoying our own reading is something I miss. Conventional romance…. Flowers, if I want some I buy my own. Lingerie, again I buy my own. Chocolates, yes, you guessed it, I buy my own. (Actually, I buy myself nice cheeses instead of chocolates but you get my point)

2. What are your sexual needs?

Sexually I wax and wane with regards to my needs. I’m very skilled at managing my own physical requirements for orgasm, however what I am unable to replicate is the scent and touch of a man. I have friends who would happily be the man to stave off those cravings but I would rather wait until the dynamic is right for me too. My sexuality is mainly submissive, and with a man who can get inside my head the slut comes out to play, if that is what he also likes.

3. Do you agree that marriage was a pragmatic institution and in today’s society traditional marriage is not a need but merely a want?

For some people marriage is very much a need, a place of emotional security and a celebration of love between two families. The married couples tax allowance is also available for couples in a civil partnership, and with a maximum of £238 per year available you would be waiting a long time to recoup your wedding costs via this scheme. Apologies for my cynicism…. Having just celebrated my first Divorce-versary you may be surprised to learn that I would consider marriage in the future, but it would be choice rather than necessity which would lead me to that outcome.

4. Do you find conflict in your romantic relationships exciting?

The definition of conflict is “a serious disagreement or argument”. I do not find this kind of relationship exciting, whether romantic or platonic. That isn’t to say I want to be in constant agreement with those around me, I like healthy debate and differing opinions. This leads to interesting and challenging conversations and often I learn something.

5. During sex are you focused on positions or the quality and connection with your lover?

Quality and connection! I’ve had lovers want to go through a whole list of positions, turning it into some form of prescribed porno. Often the best moves are the least attractive. Saying that there are certain positions that I love to be in, that really get me going. And there are some that flick the off switch. Having the connection means that the lines of communication are open, that those “off” spots can be discussed in advance and avoided, or, if the passion is burning high then those scenarios are short circuited. Either outcome is a win for me.

Bonus: Men, what do you have a hard time talking to your lover(s) about?

Ok, so I’m not a man but I’m going to break the rules a little… Getting my lovers to open up about their feelings is something I struggle with. Something I have learnt over recent months is that there is strength in showing your emotional vulnerability. People who love us can’t support us if we keep it locked away. Personally I think that sharing emotions is a really intimate thing, more so than sex, and while I value a strong Dominant man I like it when they let me into their dark. Trust,strength and soft edges.

Hearts and Flowers for TMI Tuesday was first published on A Leap of Faith.

26th February 2019 0

Those who fear muddy feet will never discover new paths.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

Painting the picture of my day it was clear that I had a couple of hours free before the school run. A window of opportunity where you could play with me, push me, see what I was made of. The anticipation bubbled away as I made my way through my tasks for the morning, counting down to the arranged time. You had told me that the play would come in three phases, the first would be for me to get my feet nice and dirty.

At 13:27 I sent you a message.

It was time for me to start dirtying my feet. My shoes and socks came off, and out I went. I knew that the dry weather and road sweeper would limit my ability to get grubby so I wet my feet before stepping out of my courtyard into the street. The cold tarmac bit into my wet soles, the sharp little stones causing pretty pain to dance over my soles though they wouldn’t stick to my feet. I kept walking, finding grit and dust to trail through. It was no good, my feet were staying clean. Eventually I found some roadside shrubs with damp mud surrounding them. Digging my feet into the cool dirt I found success. And now that my feet were sticky and dirty they I picked up more filth on the walk home.

If this was the first part what was to come…

Showing you my dirty soles as I sat on my front step I didn’t have to wait long to find out. “Do you have pegs?” My little box of pain has play pegs in it, but they were up my cream carpeted stairs in my bedside drawers. Looking at my washing line I easily had the dozen pegs you had requested. “Strip and get in the shower.” My need for clarity stepped in, should I have the shower on or off? I’m glad I asked as you wanted me in the dry shower. With the pegs.

One on each nipple, close to the tip. Then, with your hands above your head, shake your breasts six times. Achy? Good…
Now, three on each of your outer labia. Stand, stretch and shake again.
Now put two on each of your inner labia. Stand, stretch and shake again.

At each stage I took a picture for you, showing you what had been happening.

Evidence for me as much as for you, when I look back and scratch my head in puzzlement.

Looking back at them now, I can feel the pulsing from my breasts, an ache that quickly subsided after the first set of shakes. The six on my outer labia set my body ablaze with sensation. The throbbing from the makeshift clamps causing my clit and inner labia to swell, making me feel needy and desperate to cum. And then the four on my swollen inner labia, a lighter sensation. It wasn’t an erotic pain, but it was a safe pain that I wanted to endure for you. The shakes before this third set of pegs had made my juices flow from the physical sensation, the third set was me becoming mentally undone.

Now, crouch down, spread yourself with the pegs and piss all over your feet to wash them.

I hadn’t even realised I needed to pee, but the flowing nectar warmed my feet and I rubbed them together under the stream to remove as much dirt as possible, watching the grime flow over my white bathtub. My feet partially cleansed you checked in with me.

How was I feeling? Throbbing.
If I said to use a toy to make yourself cum what would you choose? My Doxy.
Pull the pegs off quickly.
Edge yourself three times.
Then give yourself three orgasms.
Enjoy yourself. Make me proud.

Instructions that a girl can get on board with.

The pegs made me squeal quietly into my dirty shower, blood rushing back into my compressed and sensitive flesh. No sooner than I had got my breath back I was heading to my bedroom, the Doxy ready and waiting for me like she always is. Cresting three times, shouting “No” hoarsely each time, preventing the sensations to overtake me. Stopping just in time. And then bringing myself to two powerful orgasms. The third was elusive. Patience was my friend this afternoon, and with a sensational self-inflicted squirt the pleasure crashed over me once more.

With spray on my thighs and feet I realised the time.

I was just in time for the school run. Sending a quick “thank you” I dressed and headed from my home, dirty feet covered in my favourite socks. I love the school run with dirty secrets, and today was no different. I was aware of the filth between my toes as I stood chatting to another mum. Hugging my children and taking them on their way my brain switched from submission to motherly love. It wasn’t until later, when we arrived for their swimming lessons, that I took off my shoes and socks. My dirty, piss soaked feet were perfectly filthy.

The sight of them, brazenly naked on the poolside, sent a thrill through me.

Those who fear muddy feet will never discover new paths was first published on A Leap of Faith.

25th February 2019 6

BDSM is a game #SinfulSunday

I think it’s important to remember that BDSM is a game.

The game and the rules are decided by the players: clothes to be worn, places to touch, injuries to avoid.

But games should always be fun…

Even if it’s the kind of game that leaves you bound, broken and abandoned on the stairs of a derelict cottage.

BDSM is a game #SinfulSunday was first published on A Leap of Faith.

23rd February 2019 18

Good ideas start with great coffee.

There is nothing like a double espresso in my favourite cafe.

There is something about public exposure, and from the start of the request to “expose myself in places I could get caught while ensuring I didn’t” this was a place that I wanted to make work. This cafe serves the best espresso, and I really didn’t want to get barred. I must have tried to get this picture a dozen times but either my nerves or technique failed each time.

You see, I had to get face, breasts and background in the shot, for Him.

My heart was racing once I realised I had succeeded, what I needed was more coffee!

Check out the other contributions to Boobday, The Scavenger Hunt, and February Photofest.

Good ideas start with great coffee was first published on A Leap of Faith.

22nd February 2019 4

Don’t forget to fall in love with yourself first.

I have shared this picture before, on Sinfully spread for sinful sunday. It got me into a little trouble with the powers that be at WordPress, leading to my blog being removed in the middle of June. On the comments Molly suggested I take part in the pussy pride project, and since then I have had this post waiting to be written in my draughts.

I have a wonderful relationship with my pussy, but it hasn’t always been this way.

Where to start? Why…at the beginning of course!

It is quite well documented within my family that I was always a tomboy. My mum joyfully tells people how I would tuck toy lorries into bed with me at night instead of dollies and cuddly toys. In all honesty, at a young age I didn’t define myself as a boy or girl, why would I? My brother was my hero, and I happily trailed him round on my bike. Gender irrelevant. As I grew up I realised that my body was different to the rest of my family. Mum hid herself away under clothes, shrouding her curves in mystery. But I had, as all children do, seen glimpses of different parts of my brother and dad. I did not have one of those! So I spent some time exploring my body. That pre-pubescent night with a mirror, a torch, a book on anatomy and a pencil.

That was the first time I realised that there were three exits, and I read all about what the middle one did.

This was scary stuff for a 9/10-year-old girl. Babies and pregnancy had been covered in year 5 primary school, but they came out of there??? Holy smokes! As I grew up my body changed, and I learnt all about how these things worked. It wasn’t so scary anymore, but I knew that wasn’t for me. Babies and children, no thank you! But what else was it for? That was a mystery to me. Though learning continued apace, and it didn’t take me long, before I found my brothers stash of porn. And then I knew.

That growing understanding combined with a desire to explore…

It was a slippery slope. My first boyfriend would happily spend hours down there, devouring my soul through those lips, eyes blazing with a passion I hadn’t seen before. The worries I had about my lips being so much bigger than those I had seen in the magazines faded into nothingness. He adored them, and with that love I continued to blossom. I soon found out that toys felt amazing, and my time with a vibrator (which belonged to his mum) I reached a new high. The dildo I purchased soon after filling my young pussy, stretching it so beautifully. After we ended I didn’t give up on my practise, I became an expert on my pleasure.

With those expertise came a magnetic effect to the men I fucked.

I used them for my pleasure, often in the most sordid ways, but it was during this time that I realised the power that my pussy had over them. Looking back I can see that they were probably using me for sex as much as I was them, but I also recall the way that just a touch of my wet folds on the dance floor of a local club, or a sniff of my sticky fingers at the bar would light the fires behind their eyes. They were a mix of long-term fuck buddies and strangers I took a fancy to, but the effect was always the same. The loss of my first love put up walls, but this was a great new game that I could play without getting hurt.

I don’t remember all of their names, but the look was more or less universal.

My pussy pride dropped after I met P. Once snared by him my confidence left me entirely, as it would do when someone points out all of the negatives, delves into your perceived fears and drip feeds them back into you. They grow then, but not in the way a beautiful flower would blossom, more like bindweed, choking and stifling all in its path. Those intoxicatingly puffy lips, enjoyed by so many before suddenly became fat lips, too big to suck on, to lust after. He would go down there and fall asleep. Why? Because they weren’t good enough for him. His interest in them piqued when he needed to empty his balls, and if I wasn’t worried he would pester until I gave in.

That isn’t the same as the fires of lust that burn, erotically entwining two (or more) souls.

When I started to take control of my life again, albeit handing over that power to sir, I was given tasks, amazing tasks. They allowed this stifled and abused woman to start to spread her wings again. I had encounters, built my confidence and met M. He had not been interested in sex for a year before we met, his libido had waned and there didn’t seem to be much hope for him. My pussy cured him, the sap suddenly rising, overflowing from an underused well. My magical powers had returned, and once more I saw the fires igniting behind lusty eyes.

I have so much pride in my pussy.

For so long I loathed my body, constantly trying to fit into a box that changed shape. My pussy was the last thing P took control of, and one of the first things I took back. For a while I sought validation through the power that this dripping cunt offered me, and over the last few years I have mellowed.

Accepting the beauty, enjoying sharing it but most of all letting that pride spread to the rest of my body.

Thanks to Molly for making me aware of this project.

Don’t forget to love yourself first was first published on A Leap of Faith.

21st February 2019 1

I have learned that grief is another name for love.

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.

I have learned that grief is another name for love was first published on A Leap of Faith.

20th February 2019 14

Every mile will be worth my while.

Every mile makes me a better version of me.

1. How do you spend most of your time?

I’m a mum, first and foremost. Those lovely children of mine fill my heart and mind with tasks and chores. I’m also studying, though that probably doesn’t take up as much of my time as it should. Aside from these two I spend the most part of my life running. Outdoors and under the big sky, more often than not calf deep in mud!

2. Is this where you thought you would end up?

When I married my ex husband I believed that he was who I would be with forever. I was happy to ignore my kinks and lead a “normal” life. I didn’t expect that I would have got it so horribly wrong in my choice of life partner. I also didn’t expect to find myself a mum, let alone a single one. But this is the path my life has taken and I am so much happier. I also have goals and plans to achieve them. A marathon, for example, has been a long-held goal. Only now do I have the confidence to achieve that!

3. What would you do differently if given the opportunity?

Aside from wishing that I had found an osteopath sooner, as mentioned here, I couldn’t go back and change anything. Why would I want to? I may not have enjoyed every mile of my journey, but the scenery has at least been varied. There are parts of my life which have been unpleasant and challenging, but they have made me understand my strengths. My life now is wonderful. Not without challenges, but I am free to be me.

And I’m ok!

4. How do you encourage creativity in the bedroom?

I am an open book, people just need to ask me the right questions. Lovers tend to trust me before we get to the bedroom. I find that this trust, along with being open and non-judgemental are all the encouragement creativity needs.

5. Tell us something about yourself that might surprise us.

For all of the smut I read and porn I watch you may be surprised to find out that the most erotic moment in print that I have found is Gone With The Wind” when Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler kiss for the first time. I still get goose-bumps thinking about that.

Bonus: Sexually, who has influenced you the most?

In an odd way probably my mother. I love my mum very much, but her attitude to sex is very traditional. My Aunty is a serial monogamist and my mum does not approve. I don’t think for a moment that she would approve of my lifestyle either!! However, aside from this she has always accepted me. She has always encouraged me to be the best I can be, and she has shown me that I should follow my dreams. As my sexuality blossomed I didn’t ever think of sex in the traditional sense. Seeking out experiences, learning and pushing myself in ways that I wanted to explore.

Every mile will be worth my while was first published on A Leap of Faith.

19th February 2019 6

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

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.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QV_9pn7MGUo

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

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me was first published on A Leap Of Faith.

17th February 2019 10

All in all it’s sinful sunday.

All in all it’s just a rubber cock on the wall…

I know sinful sunday is all about the image, but every time I look at this photo my mind spins off to an eighties rock song with a twist.

So here is the original:

I hope you never hear it in the same way again.

All In All It’s Sinful Sunday was originally published on A Leap of Faith.

16th February 2019 8

Touchy Feely Food for Thought

It turns out I’m a touchy feely sensation slut.

I thought I had always been averse to touch, there isn’t a time I remember enjoying the touch of P. His hands, his body, his tongue and his beard… all made me recoil for as far back as I can think. Taking my sexuality back I somehow managed to keep the intimacy of touch at bay, though the strongest memories with Sir are of the lightest touch. A gentle finger trailing lightness through the darkness.

For me there must be balance between light and shade.

The darkness is the touch that I enjoy most, that I crave. It is the harsh bite of a belt, the fiery impact of wet bircher or the deep and thuddy vibrations of a heavy wooden paddle (or any other impact toy in between.) Although I know that it lacks the intimacy of a bare handed spanking it makes my skin come alive so that the lightness of gentle touch can be absorbed. The darkness creeps into the times when I touch myself. Pinching, pulling and stretching. But gentle strokes across my abdomen are wonderful, better when experiencing the touch of another as it turns my flesh all gooey.

The deeper the dark the brighter the light can be.

It isn’t just the sensations I can absorb though, it is the wonderful world of touchy feely intimacy which has opened up to me over the last year or so. My favourite way to arouse a lover is with my mouth. Not only am I up close and able to absorb the taste and scent of his flesh, I can see the impact of the gentlest touch my tongue. The goose bumps that erupt across a taut scrotum, the turgid flesh heating and turning darker in colour.

Worshipping a cock is one of my favourites for this reason.

I’d been speaking to some long-term friends and rubber lovers about their collection, hoods in particular. Around this time I met a latex fetishist who I took the plunge with. He was shy which I found quite endearing, he wasn’t used to sharing his fetish with others and was a gentle soul who harboured a lot of shame over his kink. He helped me into the hood he had brought for me to try, and with him all suited up he kissed me. I hadn’t really known what to expect but the sensation was like a gentle electric buzz across the contact points. This was a whole new way of enjoying touch. One that I have been enjoying exploring since, as you can see in the picture above.

I will definitely share more on this overtime.

While caress isn’t something that has been a feature in my life for long I have always had a dislike of having my belly button explored. And I don’t particularly like it when people get too close to my eyes. The first time I wore a blindfold was a huge leap of faith for me, and it opened my eyes to a whole new world of sensations.

Touchy Feely Food For Thought was originally published on A Leap Of Faith.

15th February 2019 1

In a pinch for #Boobday.

Sometimes I need to pinch myself when I see how far I have come.

It has been a difficult journey for me to learn to love the whole me. As I have documented on here often enough I struggled with my breasts for a long time. This picture, taken in a recent shoot with the theme “Anonymous kink” shows the area I am most sensitive about in a new light. The harsh glinting metal are in such contrast to the softness of my flesh and suppleness of the skin. The pinch and pull creating a sharp angle.

This picture makes me smile.

I may not have looked twice at this were it not for the weekly meme Every Friday is Boobday. A space for owners and admirers of breasts to sing their praises.

Pop on over to here to see what others are up to for #Boobday, or click the lips for more beautiful pictures on February Photofest.

In A Pinch For #Boobday was first published on A Leap of Faith.

14th February 2019 5

Just one more thing.

Rope by Angel666jr and location and photo credit to Urbstract Photography.

“It will be fun” he said as he took my hand, encouraging me from the bed.

“You won’t need to get dressed, just stay as you are.” Down the stairs we went, peering through sleepy eyes and feeling the cold blast of fresh morning air as he excitedly bundled me to through door. Camera bag slung over his shoulder, wonky smile caressing his lips and two thermal mugs of tea in the hand not holding mine, he’d left the car engine running when he came to rouse me. “Just get in, you’ll love it once we’re there.”

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon as we crested a hill and he pulled in to a neglected gateway.

The view was beyond beautiful, and we sat for a moment. Still chilly in my long nightie and bare feet I was surprised when he hopped out of the car and ran round to open my door. “No… No, no, no, no NO!!!” But there was no dissuading him, and I reluctantly stepped from the car, again taking his hand and allowing him to lead me through a gate, under some dense bushes and up a muddy bank until… In front of me there was a derelict cottage, entirely invisible from the road. Bathed in the glow of the rising sun we sat together on the doorstep and watched the day start to unfold before us, I barely noticed the chill air, safe with his arm wrapped around my shoulders and a mug of tea in my hands.

“One more thing before we can go back to the car” he stood up and retrieved his camera bag. “I want you to see inside.” With that he was off, and I was left to follow him through the detritus of the rooms, scattered with the clutter of a life well lived. Stopping in the kitchen I was distracted by the cans and bottles, left on the shelves for nature to retrieve. Use by dates long since passed.

So absorbed I didn’t register him taking my hands behind my back, biding me, restricting me.

As he rounded me I was lifted into position under a beam covered in dusty tea towels. Kissing my neck I melted as he attached the upline to my bindings. Looking me up and down I realised he thought something was missing. Stroking my legs he lifted my nightie up and away, before taking a rusty blade from the table and slicing the flimsy cotton fabric. As soon as he had free access he gently lifted my knee and bound it to the beam as well, those dark eyes on mine. “Higher?” is the question that fell from his lips though it wasn’t one I had the choice to answer as my planted foot and the beam took up the strain. Next my hair was tied, that tightness on my scalp intensifying the arousal spreading through me.

“One more thing…” his eyes lower now, and I noticed the blade again.

Fear rising, I flushed as he grabbed the cloth covering my breasts. I managed to breathe as I realised he just wanted me exposed. Milky white breasts on show. Whispering that I was his “ethereal beauty” he turned to leave, looking over his shoulder with a smirk (no,THAT smirk) on his lips and humour in his eyes “Don’t go anywhere” and I heard his footsteps echo through the building. In my rope bubble I was daydreaming about the lives that had been lived in this home, the peaceful meanderings of a busy brain which has been bound and set free. It was then that I noticed he had come back. What gave him away wasn’t his footsteps on the crunchy floor. No, it was the sound of his camera, the focus whizzing in the low light. Was it nearly time for breakfast I wondered as my gaze met his through the lens.

“Just one more thing…” As he placed the camera down, his lips met mine and his hand reached for the soft white flesh of my thighs…

This week’s prompt for Wicked Wednesday is:

If I was taking an erotic photograph of you, I would ask you to…

Just one more thing was first published on A Leap of Faith.

13th February 2019 5

Getting off is food for thought.

Do you remember your first orgasm? How old were you? Tell us about it.

My first orgasm happened while I sat on my brothers bedroom floor (he wasn’t there) I could tell you about it again, or I could send you back here to the beginning and show you the start of my depravity…

What is your favourite way to reach/be brought to a climax?

So many wonderful ways to reach orgasm… Which one to choose?? To be bound in a predicament, stuffed full and stretched, blindfolded and tormented with vibrations and electricity. All while having to ask for permission from the wonderful man who is engulfing me in these sensations, each and every time I come up to the crest of orgasm is beautiful, and I would think that I would give my all for that kind of release. However… there is something even more beautiful than this. An orgasm through an intense impact scene is the rarest and most beautiful way for me to reach climax. Not being brought to orgasm through other stimulation while being beaten, no. That moment when my brain can no longer process those sensations which are swimming over my skin; when the rhythm and my breathing are in sync and I am floating on a high of endorphins; when my brain can no longer keep up and the pleasure sweeps over me like a sunrise after the long cold night. Yes. That is my favourite way of getting off.

And it is such a rare treat. I can’t do it to myself, and there are very few people I would trust to take me there….

What is the easiest/fastest way for you to have an orgasm? How long does it normally take you?

The fastest way for me to reach orgasm is by adding in the power exchange. Playing alone I can ask thin air for permission, with no response that drives me wild. (If you fancy trying this I recommend a timer as the permission giver. Otherwise there is the distinct possibility of running out of time and being left frustrated and unfulfilled. Or perhaps that is part of the fun!) It usually takes around 17 minutes to achieve my first orgasm, and after that they come thick and fast.

How many times a week do you try to reach orgasm? Typically, how often do you manage to get off?

Ha!! I love this question. I try to make time for at least one play session a week with my primary play partner Doxy.. Sometimes I manage more alone time than others. When I do get some time to myself I tend to go a little nuts and find release 2, 3, 6, 12 times…. I often find myself at the school gate with flushed cheeks and a cheesy grin because I have cut the timings a little fine.

Have you ever had an orgasm at the same time as your partner? Who normally comes first?

It is very rare for me to orgasm through penetration and so the opportunity to orgasm at the same time as a partner is highly unlikely. However, there have been times when my partner at the time and myself have collapsed into a sweaty sticky mess, panting and wrapped u in each other. As to who normally comes first? That depends very much on the type of lover. Sir took great pride in his ability to make me orgasm, P wasn’t overly interested in my pleasure and M and I enjoyed each other either way around.

Have you ever faked an orgasm? What were the reasons/circumstances that led you to fake it?

A faked orgasm is something I have never understood. I know a lot of people are happy with it, but I couldn’t pretend to climax when I haven’t. For me sex doesn’t need to end in climax, and if it isn’t going to I would rather be open about that. Faking would feel like a lie and ruin the experience for me.

Getting off is food for thought was first published on A Leap Of Faith.

12th February 2019 6