TMI Tuesday: 19th June 2018

woman carrying baby at beach during sunset
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

1. What was your biggest worry five years ago, do you still have that same worry or feel the same about it at this minute?

Five years ago I was heavily pregnant with a child I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to love or care for. My first birth was followed by 3 years of not liking my son, and this surprise pregnancy brought back a lot of those feelings of inadequacy and fear. Add onto that P had decided we were going to find out the sex of the baby, and upon discovering we were having another boy repeatedly made the points that he had a wanted a girl, he was deeply unhappy that I was growing a boy and I probably should have had that abortion he had suggested at the start of the pregnancy. (He is a real charmer)

Five years later and my fears have been proven unfounded. I didn’t experience postnatal depression second time round, and though there have been very challenging times I have removed the highly toxic P from my life (as much as possible) and found a strength of character which is proving to be more than good enough for raising two lovely little boys.

2. Do you have a positive or negative body image? What factors contribute to your self body image?
a. advertisements
b. media and social media
c. comments from others
d. introspection and analysis of self

I finally believe I have a positive body image. I see my body for what it is, and I am proud of what my body can do. Over the last five years I have gone from loathing my body to being fairly ambivalent about it. Just in the last year (from my heaviest last October to a healthier weight now) I have come to really appreciate certain parts. My breasts were the last part, with everyone else having the perfect shape or size and mine being, well, different. Following tasks from an exasperated Sir, and some great photos I have realised that when I say “all breasts are beautiful” that can include mine too. So much so that I even got fitted for a bra two weeks ago! Got to love Sir’s tasks and a spot of self-counselling.

Sadly, no amount of people telling me they like my breast, bum eyes or [insert preferred body part] has helped me in this journey. I have friends and lovers who enjoy my body, and sir has always been appreciative. But he has set tasks so that I can accept myself in my own time. And as my confidence has grown in my body so has my appreciation of it, and my willingness to look after it.

I have been a bit frustrated at the media and certain apps, one called My perfect body which allows you to shape and mould your photos to create the “perfect” shape. It makes me worry for the next generation. I may have downloaded it and had a go…

3. How confident are you as a person?
a. no confidence at all
b. confident around friends and family
c. confident at work, and in my job
d. very confident in my surroundings–work, social settings, with strangers

I have a quiet confidence which I find useful in most situations. From meeting strangers, to public speaking and with people who I know well. Strangely it is the people I know a little but not well who I feel shy around. Perhaps with strangers I can have the walls up, and those I’m close to have already found the secret hiding place for my spare door key. Those in the middle ground are, perhaps, more risky? Who knows…

4. How creative a person are you? Why?
a. not creative
b. average creativity
c. creative in some situations
d. very creative

When it comes to food I am very creative, particularly with store cupboard staples. Otherwise I rely on reflection or academia (writing) and patterns or pictures to copy (drawing and crafty things) I’m happy with my level of creativity.

5. Do you resent things being uncertain and unpredictable? Why?
a. agree
b. undecided or Don’t Know
c. disagree

I can find uncertainty challenging, but resent predictability.

Bonus: What do you wish you had invented?

LEGO TAPE!!!!!

Click the link to see what other people have to say:

TMI Tuesday blog

 

Life shrinks or expands, in proportion to one’s courage

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Up until this point my experiences had all been private.

My online presence could only be described as “lurking.” Now though I had decided to get out and about to events when I was available. My visit to the couple had been planned as a step towards this goal, and now that I knew the couple hosting a club night I felt I really wanted to attend. It was still a huge step so I found a sunday afternoon event which looked friendly. Kink and Cake was held at Studio Onyx and looked lively. Having a look at the profiles of the others listed as going I decided that I would send some messages in advance. The lady from the couple, MsD, was going to be there, and I spotted another profile where the owner had just posted a writing about his first experiences of events, making friends and finding his fit. He put some things that helped him in meeting new people, including this:

Here’s another tip… Well….I think it rings true at least… Be interesting, learn an oddball skill, find something you like and get better at it, I make whips, they aren’t too bad and I’m getting better at it and with them, but they make a great conversation starter as does so many other things!

I may not be able to make whips but I sure as hell can bake so I left a little comment thanking him for the writing and that I was going to take my own conversation starter in the form of cake. He replied later with encouragement to attend, recommending that I just be myself and people will respect that.

The next day I had a private message from him.

He had noticed that my first event would be Kink and Cake, that he would be going and that he was looking forward to meeting me. It was a friendly crowd, and they had welcomed him with open arms. All I had to do now was ask myself those two questions:

  1. Is it safe?
  2. Do I want to?

The answer to both was YES so now all I had to do was be brave. That sunday came round quickly, and I made a raspberry cake where the topping was made of icing sugar and raspberries blitzed together. With the ripeness of the fruit the icing was almost fluorescent pink.

If I had wanted to spark up conversation this was certainly one way to do it!

I walked in to the venue and popped my cake down on the table, suddenly there was a group of people cooing at the cake and chattering with me. The hosts made me welcome and introduced me to some people, MsD came downstairs from the playspace and introduced me to her slave SL (he quickly snaffled the first of his three slices of cake) and then the whip-maker Trautaruan (Tr) arrived with his play partner CC. There were so many people there, and everyone made me feel welcome. I chatted half of the afternoon away and ended up deep in conversation with a male sub (MT) and a foot fetishist (LTM) about bastinado. MT quite fancied learning a little more in his switch side and LTM had the skills, equipment and enthusiasm.

I had the feet so off we went upstairs, a merry trio.

LTM had a little rubber paddle and a pin wheel, and after I reclined fully clothed on a bench with my feet in some stirrups he took my right foot, showing MT how and where to hit me. They swapped back and forth with the paddle and as MT struck my left foot LTM would run the pinwheel over my right sole, stretching my toes back. They were working on my feet for what felt like half an hour and the pleasure was quite something, my body was responding in the usual way with pleasure tingles spreading like fireworks up my legs… Only this time the effort on my soles was relentless, the sensations were overwhelming and the tingles joined at my apex causing a totally unexpected orgasm.

An orgasm with no genital stimulation… I thought that was the stuff of legend….

The orgasm was a surprise and the fact that I had been fully clothed and not in a sexual situation threw me completely, would I be able to accept that I had reached orgasm through pain? I didn’t know, but at that point I decided not to think about it as it was too much of a challenge. I went back to socializing and chatting, the orgasm was a sign that I was very comfortable in the company of these new people. I had always believed I was socially inept, and during my marriage had been so isolated that I hadn’t been able to challenge myself to become confident in myself. Sir had worked hard to show me that I had every right to be confident and now, in his absence, I was able to reap the rewards of his labour. I even made plans to meet up with a couple of them at the Fetish club a couple of weeks later, and many of the people I met that day have become firm friends.

I drove home and went to the beach, where I admired my puffy soles and soaked up the early evening sunshine.

I had done it!

I had gone to my first munch, I had pushed myself hard and come out stronger. 

Life shrinks or expands, in proportion to one’s courage was first published on A Leap of Faith.

 

Sometimes asking for help is the bravest move you can make.

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I can’t place the next memory on my submissive timeline, aside from it being before the next phase of my life. It is one of the most important lessons I had to learn in both my kink and vanilla life.

The memory of asking Sir for help when I was at my most vulnerable still gives me shivers.

I was lying on the bed, naked but for my heels and blindfold, with cuffs at the wrists and ankles. My wrists were free and my ankles were linked by a spreader bar. The orgasms and anal play I had endured for Sir had made my head a little fluffy, and my legs a little wobbly. After he helped me into a sitting position at the edge of the bed I heard him walk across the room and from there he asked me to follow him. I managed to get myself to standing, JUST….

And then I was stuck!!

I struggle to walk in heels at the best of times, and blindfolded and fuzzy is not the best of times. Add into that the spreader bar and you get one very confused submissive. He obviously saw my struggle, and I heard him gently say something about my left leg. But I couldn’t work out which was my left leg, let alone how to move it. While I floundered around he must have moved back to my side because as soon as the words “Help me please Sir” escaped from my lips his hands were there. He was on my right, and took that hand firmly, before tapping my left knee by way of instruction. And as soon as I had started my slow and steady move across the room it was over and we were able to continue with our evening. I had never felt more submissive than when I had to ask for him to guide me across that chasm of vulnerability.

I had never been one to ask for help, strong and bloody-minded through even the toughest times.

One cold, wet and dark February evening, after picking my children up from P, my oldest jumped out into the road in front of a car. Scared I grabbed him and made him hold onto the pushchair handles, telling him that’s where he would need to stay until we get home and he said “Good that’s what I want.” A very uncharacteristic statement from my son who wasn’t quite 7 at the time. By asking open questions I was able to get to the bottom of what had happened.

P had scared the boys when he lost his rag due to not being able to shut a drawer.

I was told how Daddy had thrown things around, shouted and screamed, swearing all sorts of obscenities. It was a scene that I could easily picture, from my own experiences with him, but I had expected that his bad behaviour would never spill over when he was the responsible adult. I automatically went into work mode, and made sure that there was a “safety management plan” that the boys could follow if they ever found themselves in that situation again. I spoke to P who told me that I was over-reacting as always, that he hadn’t been that bad. As he said he was struggling at that point I took the opportunity to make sure the boys didn’t have to see him for two weeks. That gave me time to think about next steps. Steps which would prove even more difficult than the ones I took with Sir in that hotel room all that time ago.

I needed to ask for help from the experts in child safety.

It may seem odd to think at such a challenging time in my vanilla life, as a mum, that I would be able to take inspiration from my kink life, as Sir’s slut. The knowledge that I had been able to ask him for help when I was stuck and vulnerable showed me that I would be able to ask; it also demonstrated that if I didn’t ask I would stay stuck, like a blindfolded submissive in heels and a spreader bar.

So I asked. I contacted the health visiting team and found the strength to tell the nurse everything about P’s behaviour toward the boys.

With her encouragement I made the single hardest phone call I have ever had to make. No parent wants to phone social services, but I needed support, and they are the experts. The social worker I spoke to was very helpful, and I ended up with a plan of action and a direct contact number.  With my plan I visited P, and told him exactly what would be happening, and I told him that if there was a sniff of that behaviour from him I would not hesitate to contact the authorities for advise. (I chose to keep my previous contact to myself.) By being brave and getting the support, then challenging his behaviour something changed in P’s attitude towards me, and more importantly towards the boys.

Through vulnerability and submission I had unlocked a fierce and protective creature. Fearless? Not quite, but not fragile in the face of fear anymore.

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

Full body hishi

It was a saturday morning like many others.

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

N

How’s life?

S

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very well done N

Sir

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

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