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.

bread-food-salad-sandwich (2)

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


Life seemed to be going quite well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

carpe diem

To be outstanding- get comfortable with being uncomfortable




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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