It takes a special kind of stupid to spend two hours looking at porn when you’re on a week long orgasm denial. I am an intelligent woman in many ways, but this is assuredly not one of them. So horny. Lying naked on my back with my legs spread, flipping the duvet off my thighs …
Tag: submission
Aide Memoire
Going through my photos I stop and linger over one in particular. I hate this photo and love it similtaneously- it shows me, lying on my back, legs spread and knees pulled back so my cunt and arse are on show from the least flattering angle possible, my tits splayed flat to either side of …
Evening
He asks me if I need to cum. I don’t need to, but I’d like to. I tell him I’m horny, and he asks why. I tell him: we’ve been talking about him using me as a footstool after a hard day’s work, relaxing with a glass of fine wine, his feet resting against the …
12 more months
So I just renewed my annual subscription to WordPress with a slightly heavy heart, because it’s been so long since I updated- August, in fact. Partly this is due to the fact that I ended my relationship; I’ve naturally had less to write about (but not nothing), but I also haven’t had a Dom prodding …
Oh, the things you’ll do
I am trying to write about my most recent experience playing in public with Sir. It’s hard, because it was so intense. There’s so much to write about. Where we are as a couple- just that part is a (very serious, not so horny) post on its own. It’s been difficult recently, very difficult. We …
What to write about
I don’t know what to write about this week, I say. It’s Sunday, and nothing’s coming, and I’ll have nothing to post. Write about last night, he says. Write about that thick cotton rope. Write about how it felt. How did it feel? Lovely, I say. A bit thuddy? A bit thuddy. We like thuddy. …
Stripy vest
The stripy vest was sitting deep in the corner of the Drawer of Iniquity, under the rope, cable ties, dildos and dog bowls. The Drawer of Iniquity used to be the Drawer of Forgotten Clothing- the cheap shit bulk buys you pick up and throw in your basket on payday and then never, ever wear, …
8 weeks
I open the front door, and there he is. He grins his deafening grin, and we are hugging, tight, my arms round his waist, and my face in the curve of his neck. I had forgotten how well we fit together. In the kitchen I make coffee, cut smoked salmon, rattle plates, dither awkwardly. We …