The Deal Is Struck
Games are fun to play, aren’t they? For me they are. Especially if they involve anything sexual with Mister.
We spent today lounging around, my friend who had stayed overnight had left us and so it was just the two of us once more. He had recently showered and that always will perk me right up into the naughtier side of things. That fresh smell of washed Man, the wet hair he will possess, coupled with the clean clothes – I don’t know, it just catches me unawares sometimes and I find myself wrapped around him somehow. Hands running all over his body. Treating him like a piece of meat ready to be devoured by the Minx. Can’t help it. He’s irresistible.
Alone again, I drew him to me, kissed his neck and ran my fingers through his damp hair. He told me I was a naughty LadyP to which I promptly asked him what it was, exactly, that made my actions ‘naughty’. I was only loving him, after all. Seems to me to be the most innocent, natural thing for me to do. I pulled him into me as we lay on the bed and touched his chest, bracing my palm against him. Nothing wrong with this at all in my view.
It felt as though it was going to be a long day for me to try and resist him long enough to get anything done without jumping on him.
We went out. Looked around an old castle (very riveting, I hadn’t been since I was a little girl with my older sister and I love old buildings, the architecture and the history). That seemed to occupy my mind for a couple of hours.
We then returned home, watched the last half hour of an old film that was playing on Film4 (The Riddle of the Sands, if curious) before I noticed Mister was looking slightly sleepy. We had had a busy weekend partying (brilliant fun catching up with old friends) and a late, fitful night in which he had woken up far too early for one who was not working the following morning. With complete honesty I told him ‘You need a nap’. Taking both his hands in mine, I gestured for him to follow me to the bedroom. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, to which I simply repeated my last statement. He didn’t need much persuading. He did look tired.
Once there, I cuddled into him as is my custom when wanting to sleep. I noticed he didn’t move much. Almost as if he was thinking intently. Turned out he was.
You want to have sex with me.
What?!
You brought me to bed so that you could have sex with me, didn’t you? It felt like an accusation. Like he had caught me out or something.
No, I honestly think you need a nap, and as I am sleepy too, it’s an excuse to cuddle up to you. I meant it.
You could, you know.
What?
Have sex with me.
I don’t want to. Not now that you will think that I have been plotting to get you into bed.
Silence.
I wouldn’t even want to give you a lazy handjob as you might accuse me of it.
More silence.
You could give me a blowjob?
What? He knows that to order me to do so can sometimes put me right off it. I don’t quite know why.
I wouldn’t want to give you a blowjob for exactly the same reason as the handjob. I could tell that all this talk of sex and getting Mister off was having an effect. The duvet was slightly raised.
What about you give me a blowjob…and tonight I’ll do something extra special for you?
Silence once more.
Like I tie you up. On the bed. Or tie you to the door. He was thinking on his feet.
My breathing noticeably altered at this proposition. It heightened, became shallow in thought and titillation. He did notice.
Like bribery? You would blackmail me into giving you a blowjob? The incredulity was evident in my tone.
Yes.
That is not what giving you a blowjob is about. I protested. It should be about me wanting to give you one, not because you think I was bribed into it. I was getting a little torn at this point. I have been craving him shackle me up lately, but at the cost of letting him think it was as an obligation to him? I was undecided.
You know I would take great pleasure in getting you turned on. I may think about letting you wear your new suspenders. I might even spank you.
Thinking time.
How? I wanted to lead him on a little now, to see what he would give. Just out of curiosity.
With my hand. He noticed the silence. Or maybe something else. The whip if I can find it.
I knew exactly where it was in the cupboard.
You know I would get you so very wet.
He was completely, utterly, hopelessly correct.
I looked up at him from where my head had been resting on him shoulder throughout this whole exchange. I kissed him, saw into his eyes and recognised that look of eagerness. I knew he would stay true to his word. He was desperate for me to go down on him now, his eyes were wanting. That look of tenderness, tinged slightly with the look of the Rogue I love.
That kiss might just as well have been a handshake, for now I sit here, desperate myself for the evening to come so that he, too, will uphold his end of the deal, as I have upheld mine. Valiantly, and with flair, might I add.
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!
Masochism and Malevolence
I read a very interesting post by Elle recently. It got me thinking. How exactly do Mister and I run this ship of kink?
Since reading Elle’s post, I’ve questioned whether what we do is too focused on the pain. I don’t know if I should be worried that it is such a factor in our playing. It’s not as if we use it every time we have sex. But when we have the defined roles of dominant and submissive, pain is mostly how we express that distinction. I have seen an increase with how often we use pain. In the past it was always paired in with pleasure.
We switch. Yes, true enough. Whilst Mister has a perhaps 65/35% majority over who is in control in the bedroom, when I take the reins, I drive him hard. But how do I do it? What do I do? Is it really healthy for us? Is this what Mister wants or is it just me? And possibly most importantly, is pain too much of a force behind what we do?
I think I’ll break this down into my submissive and dominant behaviours.
Submissive
I find I need him to take things in his hands – take me in his hands. I have spoken before, and many other times, about just what it is that I dig about being submissive. The contradictory state of being restricted in your choices and will and having the freedom of mind to leave everything to your partner to steer. I will completely fall to his overbearing presence over me or his fervoured kisses on my lips, breasts or over my body. One stare from him and I melt under him.
But more than anything, I think, is the pain. It gets me off so well. Even the hint of it will get my sex yearning for him. The everyday light spanks he gives me at any given moment when we are alone. Sometimes when we are not. The other day for instance, going upstairs, him following behind he grabs my arse, misogynistically and deliberately and I jump in surprise and turn round to him in mock-disdain. Then there are the spanks he delivers in the bedroom. Deep and meaningful and carefully aimed. I feel myself getting wetter after each sting of his hand. Then there’s the tasseled whip or something wooden from the kitchen. Even writing about it and my toes are wiggling and I feel warmer. Hair-pulling, biting - more-so lately - everything I love about being submissive is linked to pain. Twisting against the cuffs/scarves/ties – I love that burn on my wrists or ankles.
Should this be so good though? Yes, he is always careful with me. He will never go too far and I let him know if things aren’t right. Although he at times will purposefully ignore my pleadings for him to stop when his form of torture is him fingering or licking me to distraction. He aims for me to pass out one day. I am not so sure.
Dominant
Not as often as I would like to be, when I am Mistress of all I survey – namely, Mister, the hold over him is strong. I use restraints to help things along. I’m a little thing really, and it aids for the menacing malevolent streak that I go for. Cruel, yet caring. Usually it involves alternating between giving Mister pleasure and pain in equal doses. A massage with spanks by various implements. Going down of him, easing him to the edge of his limits then backing down. Teasing, tortuously. Scratches. Although not as deeply as I would like – Mister isn’t keen on the idea of breaking the skin. Fair shout, really. The ice and wax games.
I feel myself pulled in by it. Drawn to him all the more because of what he is allowing me to do to him. The level of trust he gives me. It’s dangerously hypnotic.
We go down the non-ouchy route of domming. A remote control buzzy thing that Mister would be in charge of. But that was early on in our relationship. Recently, the body paint and marking him with that. I enjoyed that, fulfilling a fantasy of mine. The paint wasn’t that great unfortunately and we’ve not had another session yet. I need to find something that is the right consistency of fluid with a good colour (and possibly edible). We try things out, but if they don’t work first time, it can be months or in the buzzy thing’s case, a few years before we have another attempt. We stick to the same routine. Bondage. Spanking. The notion of ‘too much pleasure’ that he loves to exert over me. But something isn’t right. I seem to be itching for something else. Maybe it’s because it has become a little too regimented. Too predictable. I want to try more things.
So lately we have been. I bought the anal toy to explore and I’m overcoming my big mental block over that area. Mister is keen to test the waters with it on me, which is great. But I want to try something new for my dominant repertoire. Thing is, I’m not quite sure what. I’m stumped. I need inspiration. Something other than simply tying him up and using pain as the main controlling force over him. I want to get into the ‘mind-fuck’ way of thinking. Mess with his head. Toy with him. Once or twice I’ve set things up to make his mind whir with the possible things I may or may not do to him. I need to be more consistent.
I guess this is partly a shout out to fellow-minded ladies to find out what you do to you significant others and also a call out to any submissives to discover what your partners do to you that really ticks all the boxes.
I need help.
Understatement of the year.
Raising the Stakes pt. 2
For Part one, see post below. Oh, go on. I enjoyed writing it.
***
I was in a state of utter submission. Mentally as well as physically. He had so nearly broken me and there was little else left to hide. Or so I thought.
Still tied, face down with my limbs drawn out X-style to the bedposts, my breathing had become deep and protracted. It was the last vestige of any control I could have over myself as he imposed himself expertly with the tasseled whip and with his palm. And teeth. No, I mustn’t be forgetting his bites. On my neck; on my shoulders; on my buttocks. Once quite sharply that made me yelp a little. I had retreated into myself and my main focus was to channel my thoughts into breathing slowly so the sting wouldn’t become too much. It wasn’t pain. I won’t call it that. Pain, for me isn’t a good thing. Pain infers no acknowledgement of the other person. One-sided and purely sadistic. He knew what he was doing to me. He did it for mutual benefit. He made me ache. He made my skin burn and glow. Tingle with desire. Pain, never.
What he did next was to remove that last, singular act of control I had. He made my breathing go wild. He, aptly, raised the stakes. Pausing in his actions, I was dimly aware that he had moved away from the bed. You have to understand that I was quite lost by now. My hands loosened their grasp slightly from the bedframe and I attempted to shift my head over in his direction only to be met with my dark hair clouding my vision. Peering through the strands I was just in time to see him return to the bed with something in his hand. I couldn’t tell what, although I was certain it was a toy. But which one? I felt him place it between my legs, resting there, not touching my skin. Just there for safe-keeping.
…what have you got there?
I managed at least to growl out a few words.
You’ll soon find out.
He had yet to take full advantage of my exposure. His spanking and whipping had had their desired effect and I was well and truly aroused. Twice the tassels had strayed to my pussy and caught my clitoris. *Eek!* that did sting. It was sharp and yes, painful. He recognised it was too much for me and didn’t go there again. Not content with the heightened state I was already in, Mister took things to another level by introducing some tingly lube to the equation. This was the Durex Play brand and, whilst mild, worked a treat. Its tingle took a few seconds to register after application and then I was right back there grasping at my restraints and twisting.
Here was the trump card. If he gets his hands anywhere near my clit, my breathing will start to change. It becomes stilted, uneven when he pushes me beyond my normal boundaries. He toyed, he played, literally had me wrapped round his fingers. He knows which movement will make me gasp this way, and which other flicks will make me moan deeply. When he got me to this stage, he brought in the little friend that was lying between my legs, waiting for its chance to shine.
I gathered as much that it was something to penetrate, but other than that I still was unsure. Then it clicked. It wasn’t hard, like my vibrator, and it was too long to be my little buzzing bullet. Other than that, all we have is….ah. Clever boy. He had brought out the New Toy. My heart leapt in excitement as well as anxiety.
You see, the other month, I saw fit to explore a new avenue of toy. An area we hadn’t yet been to. I bought a few anal toys. To be precise, a butt plug, a little vibrator and a jelly-like pliable and soft double-ended probey thing. It was this third little beauty Mister had decided to break me in with. This is about 5 inches and at one end has four little nodules of ascending size with the other, longer end designed for something deeper. This end was currently being very slowly and deliberately thrust in and out of my pussy. And doing a damn fine job of it (I am a bit of a cock-lover and anything that penetrates will have me in throes very quickly). My voice was low and purring, it was a nice change to the fast paced clitoral stimulation a few minutes ago. Then, of course, the devil, he increased pace with this until my body was awash with flowerings of intense exhilaration. I felt the tingling through my every fibre. To remind me of where things stood, every now and then Mister added a little spank.
He stopped. I knew he was thinking, deliberating about the next obvious step. Noticeably absent, he had removed the toy from my wet folds. Then I felt it. Lightly at first, he began to run the other end up to where we had never really ventured properly with intention before. I was still a little tense, despite everything he had done to break my will, my head was still able to be in a place where I realised that, woah, this is new and different and do I really want to go there? Do I want him to go there? I mean, sure we’ve talked about it and thi….Oh yeah, ooh, that’s actually kinda nice, I wish he’d be a bit braver with it and push in a little fur…ah, there he goes.
Breakthrough!
Mister explored the anal with Pandorah. And It Was Good. Huzzah! Let the choir sing! I was flooded with mixed emotions – relief, excitement of the giggly kind (he’s stuck something up my arse! Teehee!) a tinge of humiliation as well as pure, utter warm and fuzzy loving pleasure. It swamped me. It floored me. Sure it was a little odd; unused to something being There. But it wasn’t bad. Oh No. To double up the happy place I was in, he added his fingers to the mix and carried on flicking my clit with his thumb at the same time as having his fingers inside me.
What I ultimately crave for is him, his cock, inside me. By the time he got round to it, we had been going for well over an hour and a quarter, maybe longer – which is a lot for us to spend on foreplay. Although is it really fair to say that what we had just been through wasn’t technically ’sex’? From where I was lying, I had been pretty much fucked.
Later, looking back as he held me, my shuddering frame trembling from interspersed aftershocks, I noted how, during our exploration, he on and off checked in on how I was, whether it was comfortable for me. Conscientious is a word I’m not overly keen on. It brings to mind school reports I had as a younger girl. But tonight it was a word that echoed in my head as I thought about what he had just done to me. For me. Mister is a passionate lover, a forceful and determined one too. He is also always, always caring of me and loving.
This is what makes the both of us Belong to one another. That trust I feel when I’m with him, what I can feel safe having done by him. What he feels comfortable allowing me to do to him, too.
It was a great hand he played there. I think I should go for the long game more often.
I Wonder Oh I Wonder
So, Blacksilk has posed me a question that I feel deserved more consideration than a comment box can offer. I’ll give it my best shot. If any readers have a question they would like to ask – go ahead. It may even lead to a post of its own as this particular one has done!
Do you ever wonder why you’re so submissive?
I have a few ideas. There’s a general debate between nature and nurture. Are you naturally submissive due to your genes? Or has it been conditioned into you by your upbringing and/or treatment by others? It’s a fairly common theory that tars lots of different behaviours with the same brush (Spent an age discussing this theory in regards to Caliban in The Tempest - was he born bad, or was it Prospero that made him so?). Personally if I were to ascribe to this I would say it was my nurturing.
See, I’m the youngest in the family. The baby. The youngest of a large family, predominantly of girls. I was also the product of a second marriage for both of my parents – and possibly unexpected due to their being a little more mature in years when I arrived. Due to the fact that it was a second marriage, most of my siblings had fledged already and I was left in a curious situation of being brought up in an only child environment. This all left me to depend a lot more on those around me rather than to fend for myself as I imagine I may have had to fight for my individuality more if I had brothers and sisters around me.
Leading to me not having a terribly independent streak, only surfacing in the latter years of adolescence. Take that a step further into sexual maturity and it is, I feel, a strong explanation for the submissive that is inherent within me.
But, you say. What about the love of the scratching and dom-ing of Mister?
I lay down the card of childhood once more – The only child gets her way more often than not.
A second, different theory of why I and people are submissive is that of the world of work. You know the deal – All those executives in big wig jobs just love to pay those Dominatrixes extortionate amounts to lick their PVC-clad boots and whatnot because they seek it as a balancing in their mental scales. Or something like that. In relation to yours truly, this can apply to a certain extent also.
Where I work, I have responsibility. I have duties. It’s fair to say some of the people there look up to me. I like to kick back and leave that behind when I pass over the threshold back to my dearest, darling Man. The pressure at work is something I don’t like to bring home and being sexually submissive and leaving the keys firmly in Mister’s hand is a way to escape that. The fact that he naturally falls into it kinda helps. He knows the effort I put in and worry at times I go through and he looks after me. He sends me to bed when I come home exhausted. I catch him looking at me, forehead creased in concern after my eyes open from a tired, nose-pinching squint. The bear-hug welcomes and enveloping cuddles last thing at night. It all leads to a relationship where his ‘looking after-ness’ translates into to the bedroom as him being in charge and making the decisions for me. For the majority of the time, of course, not 100%. 75% perhaps. I don’t know – numbers have never been my forte.
But, of course, theories can be bunkum.
I am submissive most of all because I enjoy it. It gets me off. It gets him off too. And of course it has much to do with the man I am with. I wouldn’t know for sure, as I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows, if faced with another partner, I may be the one calling the shots and then too, it would be because I would be having a bloody good time doing it. Sex is subjective. Each to their own. That’s why it’s so fun. No one good screw is the same as another. There are two people here that make up the balance of submission and dominance and whatever the weighting, neither would go through with any of it if uncomfortable.
When we play those roles, live the labels of D/s (eugh at all the capitalisation protocol that goes on, but hey ho) I feel I am being me when I am subbing. When we switch, I know that although I am having the best of fun, it is a rôle, a character I put on. Mantle of the Domme. It is part of me, but not who I am. I am ultimately the submissive. When he draws near me, he exudes the air of subtle dominance that melts me in moments. As when I am in control, and I loosen his ties (if that’s how we’ve been going), it can take him a millisecond in which to overcome me and I have lost myself to him. And again note, I have to be in charge with the use of implements – the whip, the bonds, the wax. He needs nothing. Just him alone is all it takes. I give him everything when I am subbing. My heart. My body. My all.
I thank him once more for making me see what it is that makes up Me. Pandorah, the Inner Minx, Real Life Her.
Whoever I am, I am his. And that thrills me.
Hesitations
My mind is in a pretty filthy mess.
You did this to me.
I think of naughtiness and niceties frequently.
You did this to me.
I want to crawl under your skin and twist you.
You did this to me.
~ ~ ~ ∞ ~ ~ ~
You were the catalyst for the unlocking of my Inner Minx. She was always there. Inert. No channel for her to unfurl into until you arrived. Like a cork from a bottle, she can never be returned to that state of hibernation.
Not everything was released, however. That little mouse you discovered those years ago is still hiding under your Wildcat. Trying to keep out of sight. She is the hesitating of words she cannot verbalise into reality. All those thoughts and feelings raging inside of your Minx – the things she longs to say, the dirty words …Call me your Whore, your fucking slave… She just can’t seem to say the words.
She wants you to not only give her those deadly stares you execute so well, the little mouse longs to tell you to call her the names, order her to do what you demand. She knows you want to say them, she sees the words playing in your eyes …Suck it, you fucking love it, don’t deny it, I know you… But the words stumble into the dust before her eyes.
You did this to me.
Enjoying my power too much, I get carried away with administrations upon your skin, your clear skin I love to sully with my nails, my scratches, my wax, oh the wax, yes. I forget to say the things we both want to hear…You will beg, you will simper and whine, I don’t care how loudly you plead to stop, I want to see you strain against the cords, I want to see the marks from the cold metal appear on your wrists… I can’t say them because it would reveal me to be that unmerciless, cruel bitch I don’t want to be. But it is who I am.
You did this to me.
All that you are, all that I am. I cannot say the things I most want to say. They don’t sound right coming from my voice. Like when I try to speak Street (innit). It just won’t wash. You laugh, as do I. I can’t wear those phrases on my shoulders, around my frame. Yet it is the cloth from which I am tailored for.
And so I write the words down. I type them into a black box and file them away. Maybe one day you will find them and see how depraved I really am. How much you perverted me.
You did this to me. I will find a way to say this to you. To tell you. But not quite yet. Soon.
Soon.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
First things first, I’m not employed by Agent Provocateur, but lately I have been rather impressed by them, They lure me in with a sale with the luscious Maggie G as their model; have beautiful riding crops to die for and now, they present me with this. What am I to do. Entitled ‘The Season of the Witch’, it pushes my slightly darker buttons.
Clickthrough for larger and zoomable image from AP website
Ladies and Gentlemen: We have semi-clad men and women for your visual delights! Pretty underwear! Paganism! Voodoo! Parallels to Lady Grey’s execution as painted by Paul de la Roche, the temptation of Eve and Rubens’ Massacre of the Innocents! Ladies being very sexy with men and women! Women asserting their sexualities over the men! Woo!
What’s not to like?
I think I may be a lost cause. No hope for me at all of redemption. Nada.
Show Off
I’ve been shopping. I bought a new ring yesterday. Don’t you agree it goes perfectly with my new underwear I bought last week?
It’s a silver band with turquoise set into it. I’ve been after one of these types of rings for years and had never been able to find one that a) fitted my fingers and, b) I liked. This fits both. I am also fond of my knickers. I bought the matching bra with this from La Senza last week. I seem to be developing a monochrome black and white theme to a number of my wardrobe items. I’m not 100% convinced about the knickers. They’re lovely, but they are more comfortable if worn with a skirt as the hem-line is floaty and loose rather than clinging to my skin. I do love the embroidery, though.
I painted my nails especially for this picture. My toes are almost permenantly this colour. I do like it. A deep red. The name on the bottle is ‘Desire’, how apt. My left hand is currently naked of colour, I may paint it later, but it will most probably chip within an hour of working at the café tomorrow morning. Still, fun while it lasts, eh?
I’m often curious as to which pair of underwear Mister prefers, and whether they are the same ones that I like the most. I have some green/turquoise lacy French knickers that look fabulous on me, I think. Especially with the matching bra. I am a sucker for coordination. He does like these, but his favourites are my pair of cream/off-white knickers which are designed to reduce VPL. I have an identical pair in black, but he prefers the lighter colour as he says it compliments my skin tone and shapely bottom. I have to admit, they look pretty fine on when I twist around to look at my posterior. The thing is, I don’t have a matching bra for them. Grr. I’m not one, really for white/cream bras. I am to be found in a black bra most days. I own very few white tops and so never really have the difficulty of disguising the colour of my underwear under such garments. The knickers do seem to go well with the turquoise bra, and I use that to great effect. Mister is always too keen to remove all my clothes at any rate, and sometimes neglects to remember the thought I put into choosing them in his hurry to get me nekkid. But he Always comments when I wear the creamy coloured pair. So I know he appreciates them. As I do the compliment.
I get very hot and steamy when he reaches into my knickers. It’s that trespassing, the crossing of a boundary. It’s not quite the same when he reaches down to me when I am without clothes. There’s something very teenage-ish in the whole ‘I’m touching you through your panties, how wicked of me!’ look that gets into his eyes. My response is almost always the same – to look disprovingly at him at the temerity of his actions then to relinquish all thoughts of denying or preventing him and sit or lie back and enjoy his attention. Usually at the same time my hand will snake itself to his crotch to find him hard and hot under my fingers. I have a little thing I do where I scratch at the fabric of his jeans, where it rouches up and no skin is directly under it, to send tingles into his groin. A nice trick up my sleeve.
So, there you go, my very own Half Nekkid Pandorah shot. In colour, too! You lucky, lucky devils. I’m not going to be going in for HNTs; not my style, I regret. Haven’t told Mister about this yet, maybe I’ll leave it for him to find in his own time.
I could be waiting a while for his response. Shhh…don’t tell on me!
Your Favourite Things
Last week I set you the challenge of being brave enough to share your first times with me and the other readers of this purple page I’ve got going on here – thank you for that. I thought I would now incorporate that into a running theme of sharing stories and bits and pieces, if you’re all game.
I’ve had a few posts about what I keep hidden away in my drawers in the bedroom. I talked about my adoration and slight obsession with scarves and tying as well as the slippery indulgences of massage oil, lubes and whatnot. So to begin with in my new exploration into the blogging side of things, what I’d like to know is:
What is your favourite thing that you keep squirrelled away in your bedroom?
Of course I’m talking sex, honeys, so let’s hear about your favourite sex toy you own, or what you like to bring out to play with your partner(s). It could be something specifically bought from an Adult Store, or it could be a pervertable – something that is perfectly innocent in reality, but you use it for kinky stuff – that you have a fancy for.
Preferably, I’d love to hear how you use said item, instead of a two word response. I know some readers like to share and boast, so some story weaving wouldn’t be amiss!
Of course, here’s my contribution:
My carnal desires vary from being a very giving lover to a selfish one from time to time and wanting all the pleasure to be directed at myself. I have a very high sex-drive, I think, and I find it hard to go a day without an orgasm. At such times when I am aroused, Mister may not be around – when I come home from work in my café and slink into bed to rest my wary feet and back my thoughts drift to the sensual side of things and I feel the need to have some, shall we say, ‘Me Time’.
It’s that kind of horny that means I need to come Right Here, Right Now and the only thing that I know will get me there quickly is lying waiting for my itching fingers to grab hold of it from my bedside drawer. It’s inches away, my mind is desperate for that release and I bring out my favourite buzzy thing. It isn’t of any substantial size. Three inches, maybe, and slightly larger than the width and weight of an AA battery. A snug fit for my hand. Pointed at the tip for targeted vibrations, this baby has the look and marketing of a bullet. And goodness, doesn’t it fire a direct hit! I’ve had it for a while and the battery is still good and delivers a stong buzz. It has a cute purple button on the base to switch it on and off it goes like lightning. Just what I need to get myself off. I find that I orgasm within a minute or two of focusing it on my clit. Heaven.
I get my relief and my daily fix, setting me up very nicely for an evening of the Real Thing.
Now, your turn.
Curious and Curiouser
And I call myself a ’sex-blogger’. Oh sure, I talk about what we do together, but there’s something missing. Something I’ve neglected to discuss on here.
I’m talking about the A-Word. Lately it’s been preying on my mind more and more.
I’ll come clean. I’m an anal virgin. There. I’ve said it. *Exhales*
Come to think about it, we both are. We’ve talked about it between the two of us, and I think it’s more of an issue for me than it is for Mister. You see, it’s something I’d like to try out and experiment with, but there’s the ‘ickyness’ issue in it for me. The whole, ‘that’s where stuff comes out, not in‘ argument. But I’m still curious. We’ve also skirted around the area when we get jiggy with it (haha!) and unfortunately I’ve not been lost in the moment enough to let things happen in that vein. I get all self-conscious again and run away from his fingers.
I also want to explore this avenue of playing on him. He reacts very favourably when my hands venture behind his balls and stimulate the (perenium? I alway get confused on the names – do help me out!) and there have been times when I’ve so wanted to run my fingers over *that* area to see what happens, but again I got all scared again and timid, and back away.
So, for any of you out there who are experienced in anal-play I would appreciate some advice for a little old anal vigin like me if you have any to share. How to go about it, the best way to introduce it into our frolics etc… I was thinking of looking at devices to use before getting to the fingers or anything of a larger girth attached to my Mister to begin with. But I don’t know.
It’s something I want to try, as I am sure it would feel fabulous. I know he would like to try it. Everything relies on me getting my mind fixed in order to see it in a pleasuable, non-scary, non-wrong way. If you get me.
Gah. Sometimes I suck at being a blogger. I do despair.
