I’ll Tell You No Lies – VII
Those three little words. You know the ones. That sentence that will make your heart lurch up into your throat, give you butterflies, scare you to death – or all three of those options at once.
I find that from watching a lot of American TV (mainly the Friends episode wherein there’s the turkey on Monica’s head with the fez and the comedy giant glasses; Chandler professes his love, almost by accident, the phrase slipping out casually) that admitting one’s love for another can be a major Big Deal. Which it should, of course, as it is your heart being laid out in front of you. But it always seems too much of a big deal in those kind of programmes.
In view of this, I have one of my burning questions for you – I do hope you’ll oblige and answer and please please feel free to ask one of your own questions to me! I like the banter garnered from the comments box.
How soon have you professed love to a partner and how often do you say ‘I love you’ to your loved one?
This question I hope will be applicable to a few people. It is two-fold. How do you *know* that you’re in love and when do you communicate this verbally to your partner and after doing that, how frequently do you say it to one another?
I have spoken previously somewhere in the archives about when I first said ‘I love you’ to Mister – similar to Chandler (yes, can relate to a fictional character, ok?) it slipped out. It was early on in our relationship, during that blissful summer where I discovered what it was to tingle from the butterflies. He was dropping me home one afternoon and as I left the car I said it – ‘Love you lots, bye!’ Casual, cheerfully and completely unconsciously. As soon as I had spoken I realised what I had actually said, took stock of things and admitted to myself, that yes, I think I have actually fallen in love with this man without knowing it. I can’t be completely sure, as my memory hazes at times, but I think it happened after I had slept with him, but in the immediate few weeks following it.
Now, we say it all the time. We went through a phase of saying it probably about ten times a day. A knee-jerk reassurance perhaps, or merely the emotion wanting to be aired in the open again. Lately, we don’t say it as often as that anymore, but everyday, at least once, and always, always before we go to sleep, and after we have sex.
It it this need for emotional reassurance? I don’t like to think so. I say it and I mean it every time. Every Time. He is my world, emotionally. I not only love him, I lust for him, I need him, I want him, I worry about him, I care so much about him. Just those three words and all that is conveyed to him.
And when he says it to me – well. It floors me.
Every Time.
Ice Queen
I sacrificed watching Flight of the Conchords to tie up, take advantage of and use Mister. I think it was a better choice of events the other evening. Definitely worth it. Yes. I’d been meaning to get to grips with him lately – he has been missing out on being on the receiving end of some kinky goings on.
Some days present themselves to me and I wander along in a slight daze. Not due to tiredness or anything, but because my head is filled with him in my mind. Things we had done the night before, a few days ago, or ghosting memories that linger, distracting me from what I should be focusing on. And when I return – I return to see those thoughts made flesh and blood and bone in his beautiful form before me. So I can’t keep my hands off him. If he picks me up from work, I will brush my fingers against the underside of his palm as it rests on the gearstick whilst we wait at the traffic lights. I will run a finger along his thigh, making him jump a little; making me smile more.
I passed a day like this on Tuesday (seems to be a running weekly event – kinky fun on Tuesdays – see previous post if bothered) and once home my hands continued to wander. One of my favourite things to do as we eat dinner is to casually stroke along his hip-line, along the hem of his jeans as he sits next to me. His skin feels so soft, inviting, smooth and lightly cool from exposure as his shirt lifts up. Small things like this mean the world to me.
In the kitchen, too, I find him irresistable. Walking up behind him as he washes the crockery, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as best my small frame can manage. Tactile is my nature. I want to touch him always.
And so my thoughts ran to when the moment would come when I could grab him and have him. I had even laid hints, but he doesn’t always pick up on them. Time to initiate, I thought. Almost mechanical – that thought?
I drew him to the bedroom, leading him by the hand. At once an image of innocence and debauchery. I like ambiguity. I was still in my work clothes and my skirt began to ride up as I pinned him to the bed and staddled him. I hitched up the material further so I could move more freely. I think it was at this point I told him to take off his shirt. I adore that look of a topless man. My own personal weakness. I will often lose myself in staring at his creamy skin, poring over his chest and back. When he walks in from a shower, he will dress himself in his jeans before strolling back to the bedroom to find a new shirt and that just-washed-man look with the wet hair and the odd stray drip of water down his neck will cause me to place a great deal of self-restrain on myself. Especially if I’m still in bed. Wanting to dirty him up some once more.
Back to this evening, though, and it was my turn to become a little more déshabillé, shall we say? I was wearing my skirt with a black sash ribbon around the waist – and a spark ignited. I want to tie you up tonight. His eyes at the same time sparkled and faltered at those words. I had started the light clawing already, and I wished to make things more clearer in the fact I wanted to play with him tonight. I don’t think I have bound him as quick as that before. The bow behind me was loosened and removed from the loops at rapid pace. A simple hook around the metal bedhead left the two ends free for me to bind his wrists at either side of his head. I grinned. Then removed his trousers. Things were looking up – for me and for him, it seemed…
Coming back to sit over him, I took off my top and eased off my skirt completely now to remain only in my underwear. There was a strange glint in his eye and I bent forward to rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes playfully.
He looked at me oddly as I stared at him. What are you thinking? I asked. He refused to answer. I asked him again, punctuating slowly with a tone of light threat. Again, he didn’t respond. Well. That’s not playing the game. So I stormed off and fetched the ice.
He heard me clatter furiously in the kitchen as I got the cubes. Returning with the bowl of freezing ice, I asked him again, What are you thinking? Nothing was said back. He just continued to look up at me, silently challenging me.
Now the game began once more. Level Two.
I took up one of the cubes and placed it between my fingers. I let the ice melt as I hovered my hand over his beautiful and hard cock. Still no response on his thoughts. The first few drops didn’t seem to phase him, but as he saw I wasn’t going to relent and the drips came in rapid succession, I saw him wince and wriggle. His expression changed - still the challenge, but now with more uncertainty creeping in.
Remnants of the cube now in my mouth, I trailed chilled kisses over his chest up to his jaw. Kissing him with chilled lips and a cool tongue; light, small and wet kisses from the ice water, he was tender and deliciously meek in his own lips’ movements. I shot him a direct look into his eyes this time, unblinking and millimetres away from his face. Voice low and quiet, alomst a growl. What are you thinking?
That you’re bad.
But you like me like this…
Rub a Dub
Tuesday it was. Always a slog. I needed some to do some serious unwinding. A scalding bath was calling me to plunge my body into the enveloping steam and heat. I announced the fact to Mister that I was going to run the bath. His ears pricked up. Until recently, he had found the idea of a bath rather dull and uninteresting. What is there to do? he says. Very true – the exact point of having a bath is to just have that Nothing to do. A trouble in why I don’t find I have nearly as many baths as my aching muscles would desire is the same fact. I get bored. After about fifteen minutes of likening myself to a prune (even a sensually wiggly prune), unless I have a book with me that I don’t mind getting sodden edges (rare – I adore all my books too much to chance that) or a glass of wine to join me in the steaming, I too get bored.
So you liven it up. What is there to do? he says - Well, me, naturally.
I smile.
He nods.
I wander to the bathroom and run the taps.
Mister has awakened to the advantages of taking a bath with his lady. Namely, getting hot, wet and soapy with a naked LadyP.
Yesterday we had a bath that has been mentally stored as a moment to remember. Now, there are some manoeuvrability issues with being in a bath – it is essentially designed to hold one person. Unless you have a fancy flash bath (lucky devils). As I ran the water I slid in and sank into the hot hot water first. I warned him as he watched me to wait five or so minutes. He’s a tender thing, really; I worry for his pale skin. He will burn easily in the sun, so my thinking ran that he would not relish being poached as I enjoy it.
Oh, the release! I feel buffeted by the water. I can melt away the stress and the day I have left behind me. Ease away the staff politics that lies in my job. Sod them. This is time for me. For us. And he is there. He drifts in and out of the bathroom. Checking on me, each time my face is a little less creased, my arms resting, hovering just above my navel. Tantalisingly close to my pussy. The natural eye-line is drawn to where my arms are being directed. He knows. He sees. The bubbles have disappeared and I am revealed under the surface. My nipples relaxed, rounded after the initial shock of being released from my clothing into the room’s atmosphere. That’s when I know I am in that state of ease – the ‘natural nipples’ look. Of course, all it takes is a light brush for them to perk right up again. Sensitive dears.
By this time, the water is cool enough for him to join me. I have dipped my head under the surface to re-emerge blinking through the water as it drips down my face. Easing off the make-up. Fresh-faced and unmasked. Myself utterly – no clothes, no facades. All there is left is me. I have flipped over and rest on my stomach, my buttocks are gently bobbing above the surface of the bath as my feet entwine behind me. I do this on purpose. Of course. It is what Mister is greeted with as he draws back the shower curtain that is keeping the draft away from the open door. I smile up at him as he dips his toes first, then the rest of him. As he does this I twist around and lay back on the sloped end of the bath. Reclining like this I watch Mister adjust himself around me. Awkward at first, then settling into position. His legs are either side of my body. I slink further down into the water, my own legs parting around his waist. I am thankful we are the size we are. We fit, just.
It’s my turn to watch now as he douses himself. Cupping water up into his hair. Such a straightforward act reeks of manliness and masculinity. It amuses me as he is cupping the water directly in front of my pussy and every once in a while he sneaks a hand underneath to reach in and stroke along my tender skin – just under my buttocks, on the underside of my upper thigh. Feather touches that become stronger as he feels a lack of resistance from me. Why would I want to resist? I am exactly where I want to be.
I move in close to him now and place my dripping arms around his shoulders – the warm water greeting his back for the first time. We kiss. Our wet mouths tasting one another, tasting the bubbles that linger also. The kiss is fluid, gentle and light. It is followed immediately by a second, stronger embrace, his hands seeking out my own body as mine rove over his skin. I flick my nail up over his nipple and then trail it down the side of his torso – one of my favourite moves. Simple. Effective.
We shift. I see that it is now time for him to enjoy leaning back. The tricky business of moving around the bath done, I settle into mischief. We discuss, we prattle. He tells me of a fantasy he wishes me to enact as part of the payback for a terrible thing I did at the weekend (I fell asleep on him again after too much of the red – I will abstain from now on, avoid the dreaded red and the shame and embarrassment it brings to me). I tell him of where I want the evening to go. I think it’s time you tied me up I say and his eyes glisten once more. I see him bobbing in the water this time. Our conversation has had the desired effect – I’m such a schemer – and I take his cock in my hands. The water making my movements smooth and unfaltered. I have positioned myself so I am straddling him, kneeling above him, legs either side.
Like this I can easily bend down and take him in my mouth. And of course, I do. Teasingly, quickly, lightly I kiss the head of his cock, lick my way around the rim and flick over the top. My eyes have grown playful and they stare into his with need and it is reflected right back at me. His noises spur me on, I feel myself getting aroused too and my other hand moves over my breasts, nipples, down to my inner thighs, knowing his glance is upon me - not quite touching myself, however – I want to save that pleasure for him. So I restrain myself, for now. I gather pace and rhythm and sensing no hesitations from Mister, I go all out for him. The sudden jolts; his hand tightening its grip in my hair; the gasps he makes: everything he is doing makes my own enjoyment build. The final shuddering spasms and I feel him hit the back of my throat, I hold him there in my mouth, lightly bringing down my pace. And then, there it is – he can’t take the sensation any longer and he pushes me away – that’s the sign I crave. I drive him over the edge and he can’t take it any more.
We smile at one another, knowing that the night is going to get a lot more interesting. The ties came out. I was shackled to the bedframe. He drove me to my edge – only I couldn’t push him away due to the cuffs. He made me writhe and twist and scream. His spankings made me jolt and gasp, just stronger and louder. It’s funny how we mirror one another. He fucked me from behind, still tied up, I grasped at the bonds and lost count of how many times I came. It was heavenly.
Divinely devilish and a fun way to end a Tuesday.
Picture the Scene
[A living room on a Sunday afternoon. At lights up, on stage are MOTHER, MISTER and LADY-P dotted around the sofas. SISTER 1 is tapping on a keyboard looking up hen-night activities for her up-coming wedding. LADY-P has previously told SISTER 1 about her burlesque venture. All are in the know about this excursion except MOTHER]
SISTER 1: I don’t think I’m up for the spa idea anymore.
LADY-P: Oh? Well, I guess it’s not really our scene. Maybe [SISTERS 2 and 3] will enjoy it, but not really our thing. What else is on that site?
SISTER 1: Erm…Let’s see. Paintballing, no. Archery, maybe – that could be fun.
LADY-P: Ooh! Yes, I remember we talked about that a few months ago. We were going to go and try out that Sunday archery thing nearby. Shame we didn’t.
MOTHER: Archery? Oh no!
SISTER 1: No? Ok, what else… [Scrolls down the webpage] Ah! How about male life drawing! [Sniggers]
MOTHER: [Joining in with the tittering] Hah! That would be a laugh! Just imagine what [SISTER 4] would be focusing on!
LADY-P: We could just spend a minute drawing a stick man and the rest of the time simply staring!
SISTER 1: Oh! [Locating yet another item on the webpage] How about burlesque?
[Cue nervous looks at MOTHER from LADY-P, and knowing looks between SISTER 1 and LADY-P]
MOTHER: [In an unapproving tone accompanied expression of distaste] Ee..oh.
[MISTER remains silent throughout this whole conversation]
Fin
Dangers of the Catwalk
For the burlesque I went shopping for a 40s-style dress and ended up buying two. I have a weakness for pretty dresses, it seems.
So does Mister. In seeing me in them. Seeing me half out of them also.
As a girl is wont to do, I will try on my purchases when I arrive home. This results in parading of said purchases in front of Mister to see what he thinks (whilst also surreptitiously removing evidence of the price). With the dresses, I wanted to see which was the more suitable for the ‘Dress to Impress’ prerequisite on the flyer (or is it flier? hmm). I twirled for him. My moment of girliness. Showing off and prancing. I should have known I was asking for trouble. Perhaps the flash of my seams was what did it. Whatever it was, I had a Mister swiftly following me into the bedroom.
He came up behind me and ran his hands up my legs and under the hem of the dress. It left no question to what he was after. He was insistent. He was direct. He was determined even after my protests. I didn’t want to dirty my pretty new dress this soon. Unfortunately I didn’t have a say in this.
You’re being very mischievous, I told him. His hands crept up to cup my buttocks and the cleft inbetween.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, pulling me backwards to be closer to his body. I could sense the smile in his voice as he spoke.
I think you know very well, Mister. When I call him that I have mischief in my mind also. He picked up on my tone.
The next thing I knew he had tugged down my hosiery and bent me forward. My hands went out instinctively to steady myself on the bed in front of me. I made some surprised noises of shock, excitement and indignance mixed all together. How dare he take me like this!? I thought to myself. Yet these were conflicted with my body’s complete submission and arousal. The very idea of being taken like this, by mild force half against my will made my core sizzle and my pussy come alive. This was getting me off greatly.
One hand was placed on my back, ensuring I didn’t struggle. His other had raised my dress over my ass. In that position, semi-undressed with my underwear around my knees, I had an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. I felt myself getting hotter. The fire was still in my eyes from the indignancy and as I looked back behind me to stare him in the face, he had the devil about him.
Hot, quick, undignified sex. Neither of us were fully naked. He had undone his trousers and had placed a condom on his cock in no time at all. He repositioned me facing forward. My head impusively was lowered, hands splayed out in front of me. I prostrated myself in front of him, but in reverse.
We enjoy our quickies. They are always delicious and have that dirty sense of lust being fulfilled in that short, immediate experience. His thrusts were hard, fast and meaningful. He knew what was playing in my head, this fantasy of mine.
He left me in a crumpled disarray, breathing heavily face down on the bed. It was heavenly. The smile on my face put paid to the worry I had about dirtying my new dress. I didn’t care any more.
If only the credit crunch allowed me to go shopping more often.
When the Hurly Burly’s Done…pt.1
Phew. What a busy week I have had. Just a catch-up for you all; I have:
- Been to sunny Southern Spain with Mister and the Outlaws. It was warm and beautiful and I sunned myself much like the stray cats at the villa did for the best part of two days. I even went swimming in the sea. Then splattered and choked on the sea water for getting all excited for that very fact. Yes, I am that awkward at times.
- Had an arduous journey up through Spain in the Outlaws’ car for two days. We stopped off in a gorgeous 12th Century walled city and Mister and I wandered around the labyrinthine alleys, enjoying getting lost together.
- Eaten many a paella, langoustine, various other fishies and crustraceans with tasty glee. There’s something carnivorously fun about ripping open prawns (apologies to ILB if this stirs up feelings of queasiness).
- Returned and went shopping for pretty dresses.
But most importantly for the blog, I have an announcement.
I went to my first Burlesque show on Saturday night!!
My summary: It was gigglsomely wonderful and enjoyably entertaining. I will be going again.
It was at my birthday party back at my sisters last month when I broached the subject with one of my very good and oldest of childhood friends, C (she’d come down from the other end of the county to see me, love her!). Out of earshot from The Family I asked if it would be something she’s be interested in seeing. C is a very vivacious lady, with tons more confidence than I can ever hope to possess. Energy, she haz it. She is also a miles better singer and dancer than me, but that’s besides the point and something I don’t begrudge her for…honest. Anyway, I knew that she’d love the idea and via my Twitter acquaintances, I had come into the marvellous knowledge of a regular Burlesque night at one of the bars in a city not too distant from my secret location. Plans were made and things were set in motion. I was an excited little LadyP for that whole month until the night arrived.
I had gone shopping and bought a pretty purple halterneck dress to wear. Well, the flier said ‘Dress to Impress’, and there’s almost nothing I like better then donning the gladrags. Especially as I don’t have the chance to as often as I’d like. I had my seams aligned and off I trotted down to the train station to meet up with C in the city. It was rather bubbly to walk out alone in the seamed hosiery and I had a spring in my step. Glorious sun shining, my shades on – it was shaping up to be a grand evening.
It was that indeed.
We arrived at 8pm - it became very busy later on and we were thankful we got there when we did. Popular night, it seems. And getting busier each month, apparently. The crowd there was mixed. Younger, obvious students (ah! the nostalgia! We did sigh together at lost youth) into the twenties, thirties and even more mature members of the audience. It was amusing in the interval’s raffle to see the blushing 60-something lady win a set of chocolate willies.
The acts themselves didn’t start until a little after 9:30pm, so we settled ourselves in for a good catch-up session, gossiping about various family members, friends, who’s getting married/had kids as well as appreciating the scenery. Both the countryside (we were out on a little balcony overlooking a canal) and the views in the opposite direction. There were some beautifully dressed people – men and women. So many corsets (a robust Australian sounding lady commented to us that she was so strained inside the laces) as well as some handsome young gentlemen – a few in military garb which was very becoming. Then there were the idiosyncratic individuals. One guy had dressed to the nines in shirt, tie, flash jacket; later I saw him dancing in a feather boa – except he was wearing no trousers. I did hope he had some to walk home in. A stunning goth-ishlady had gone deadly-all-out for the black and red theme – long straight black hair, her pale skin accentuated with bright red lipstick. Her clothes echoed this with a corset and tight-fitting skirt. I kept finding my attention was drawn to her often. Many had gone for the vintage 30s, 40s look with the hair and accessories, which was was I had tried to do, but failed, as my hair sculpting techniques aren’t up to much, so I’d settled for a quirky half-pinned up do with the straightened hair. It did the job nicely I think.
The acts themselves were delightfully named (Miss Lucy Purr and Miss Amber Sweet for example). Each lady performed two or three dances each and of these I think I enjoyed the duet the most (two ladies, one dressed at a very feminine Elvis, the other a Monroe clone).
As this post has run on a lot, I’ll discuss the acts in full in the near future, as well as have a little musing on the whole ‘Is Burlesque basically just stripping?’ debate.
Laters!
