Naked thigh with a lion tattoo tied into a futomomo with rainbow rope. Shared for the post Can't do it.
My beautifully bratty friend, as tied by me.

My brain was screaming loudly, though my mouth remained clamped shut. Silent.

Staring at the blank screen in front of me I had been counting down the hours until my deadline. That had now passed, words for the extension request almost failing me too. It was the worst case of block I have ever experienced and the cause of it was entirely unknown. The screaming continued, louder by the day. Drowning out every little piece of understanding that sat in the recesses of my brain. Strange how running quieted my grey matter brat. While thundering around the trails I could form sentences, prove my understanding and make headway with the words.

As soon as I sat down to that little screen the paragraphs evaporated.

They came eventually. Dribs and drabs of incoherent blathering. Not up to my normal standard, but technically I wouldn’t need to hand this one in to get a pass mark so I could afford this temporary glitch. Stretching back in my seat I growled. The frustration coming out in a growl of rage, my inner brat vocalising for the first time. With her voice came hot tears, burning at my eyes and clawing to get out. Angrily swiping them away with my sleeve I knocked the laptop with my elbow and brought up the internet browser.

Fuck It!!

As I’m here I’ll just have a quick look… 

My Xhamster login was automatic, and my favourites easy enough to pick through, to find exactly what was going to hit the spot. Hot tears dried and dormant folds began to heat and swell. Dropping my hands to my pussy, stroking gently in time the slaves hands as he stroked his mistresses clit. Delving into my inviting wet hole with more vigour than I’d realised I had in me while his colleague fucked her withe shiny black dildo gag. Climaxing with the Domme on the screen as her body was wracked with sensation, gushing over my cushioned chair as her mouth poured obscenities at those caged boys.

The brat was quiet, for the first time in a couple of days. Sated…

Maybe now the brat has cum the words will follow.

Can’t do it? Won’t do it, until she gets her way.

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Can’t do it! was first published on A Leap of Faith.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twice…in one session!!! 

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, we both enjoyed ourselves that sunny afternoon.

It stays in my mind for so many reasons:

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

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

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