Making Up for Lost Time

There is nothing like marathon make-up sex to make it all better.  Since M’s been back, we’ve been back at it…each and every and any opportunity we can.

In the morning before work…

Those” run home for a quick lunch” Nooners…

The “we have 30 minutes before the kids get home from school” afternoon delights

Those “time for bed” at 8:30 evenings where we don’t actually go to sleep until 1:00 am

The wee hour “wake up call” where there’s no need for an alarm, beacause we never go to sleep.

And as much as I love how he takes me.  How he controls me.  The immense pleasure we share…what I really love, is how close we are becoming.  It feels like the brief hiatus ignited our devotion to one another.  I find myself more submissive.  I am more acutely aware of my service to him.  I want to give more of myself to him.

And on a side note, all of this action is great for my fitness routine.

Now if I can just get some sleep.

all the time

 

 

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Our Story of “O”

Sometimes, life gets in the way.  The desire is there.  The passion is there.  But so are the kids.  The bills.  The housework.  The jobs.

And waiting in the corner…staring at me smugly is that ever-growing bastard…the laundry.

So what’s a couple to do with limited time on their hands?  This is an age-old question and I bet if you Google it, I am sure you will find several versions of the same Ladies Home Journal article, along with multiple Cosmopolitan articles about how to keep the fires hot.  There may be some valuable advice in there about making time…about connecting…about reverse-cowgirling your lover like Seabiscuit till you both win the race.

But let me ask this….what’s a kinky couple to do with limited time on their hands?  A couple who pushes limits.  A couple who teeters towards edge play.  A couple whose marathon scenes have been known to go on for days.  How do they find the time to-do-that-thing-they-do?

For M and I, we have always somehow found a way, and the only rule (which is more like an anti-rule) is “anytime, anywhere and any way we can get away with it.”

But a little while back, we were struggling to find a way.  It had been a couple of weeks since we’d engaged in anything sexual.  I’d been dealing with putting my father on hospice and we’d both been busy getting the kids settled in school.  There was little to no time for anything other than kids/parents, bills, meals and everything else that demanded our attention.

But one night lying in bed as I was about to fall into a deep coma from exhaustion, I felt his breath in my ear.

“Assume the position, my little slut.”  I could feel his hand clasp my throat and I quickly rose to my knees and faced him.  He stroked my hair and face.  I was immediately awake and at attention.  He pulled me to his lips and kissed me as if it were our first kiss.  Long and passionate and purposeful.  I could feel his hand between my thighs searching for his perfect spot.  Within minutes I was a puddle of a mess.  He kissed me again.

And then he said, “Go get a towel.” I am glad thought of that.  My M definitely knows best.

For hours we worshipped each other’s bodies.  It was a session of pure, uninhibited play.  I don’t know when, if ever, I’ve had orgasms like that.  They were so fast…one after another…after another…after another.  The towel was soaked from his handiwork. We barely came up for air…each of us pleasuring the other.  I loved that his hips came off the bed as he plunged himself deeply in my mouth, clutching my long hair in his hands as he unloaded himself down my throat. Neither of us could get enough.  It was as if we made up for lost time, many times over.

My journey to subspace was swift and beautiful.  I was able to find the peace I so badly needed.  I let go of all that was vying for a place in my thoughts, and realized that my only real need is to serve M.  If I do this.  If I give Him my everything, he will lighten my burden.  He will ease my mind.

And he will fuck the ever-living shit out of me at a moment’s notice.  DAMN…..

Oscar

When we finally passed out, sated and exhausted, it was almost 4:00 in the morning.   I was up early for work the next day.  Rejuvenated.  Refreshed.

And reminded…that I am His.

 

The River Wild

rafting

Maestro and I took a little sojourn yesterday. White water rafting through some tumultuous “rapids”. It was another of our spontaneous trips. No planning or notice. No time to pack. No need for anything.

We never even left the bed.

As M entered my raft, it was obvious that he was to be my guide for the evening. He was adept at navigating the rough waters ahead. He was in total control.  He led me into the river, maneuvering towards the first set of rapids.  The wetness was all around and I could tell the waves were increasing in intensity.  I decided to assist my guide by grabbing his oar and paddling toward the first part of our expedition.  He was appreciative of my attention to detail, showing me how best to steer.

The waves lapped over the raft again and again.  The intensity continued to build and his skilled maneuvers took me straight into another set of rapids.  These were even more intense and I found myself soaked.  The rush was incredible and he could see that I was ready for more.  He navigated the raft with sharp expertise, changing direction to yet another set of rapids.  These were so fierce…so consuming that we both ended up drenched.

We never capsized.  M kept the raft afloat and each set of rapids proved more powerful than the ones before.  I was eager to go farther each time.  I wanted more, and the way he maneuvered the raft in perfect direction, gave me the ride of my life.

At the end of our lengthy expedition I was parched and only he could quench my thirst.  After drinking my fill, he guided me out of the river and we basked on the shore…both of us spent and energized at the same time.  Quietly lying there, recollecting the journey we had taken.

As I adjusted my pillow and rolled over to spoon into his form, I smiled to myself.

Wonder where our next trip will be?

 

ABC’s of BDSM/Kink

In celebration of Dr. Seuss’ birthday this month…let’s go on a little sojourn into the ABC’s of BDSM and kink, shall we?

A is for Anal.  Come on ladies, ass up.  It’s no longer just for birthdays, anniversaries and make-up sex.  I’ll Analyze it for you.  It is Amazing. So get off of yours and get some…

B is for Bondage.  Bound by ropes, cuffs or even words…there is no freedom like it. Hog-tied.  Tied to the bed.  Hands in front.  Hands behind.  Legs.  Ankles.  Hands tied to legs…to ankles…to the bed…I could go on…

C is for Control. The word itself stirs me…In my humble submissive opinion, it is best given away and Consensually coerced with the use of a strong Crop and well-positioned Clamps.

D is for Dominant.  Delicious.  Decisive.  Direct and Demonstrative.  All I can say, in Southern-speak is DAAYYUUMM. (Which is DAMN…for those of y’all who don’t speak the language)

E is for Exhibitionism.  Could you would you in a boat? Could you would you in my throat?  Could you would you in plain sight?  Could you would you when it’s bright?  It’s anytime.  Anywhere. Exposed.  Erotic.  Exciting.

F is for Fetish.  Fly your freak flag. All are welcome.  Flags of a feather Freak together, with Floggers and all.

G is for Good Girl.  These 2 words, when used together, dripping from the lips of my M, ignite a fire in my loins that burns like the flames of Hades. That’s HOT…Damn HOT.

H is for Hitachi Wand.  You know you’re in for a fun night when the lights flicker and dim as it is switched on. Now, that’s some powerful shit…Hello and HOWDY, Mr. Hitachi.

I is for Insatiable. To quote the late-great-Barry White…”My darling..I can’t get enough of your love baby”  (Sing it to yourself in his baritone and you’ll totally get it)

J is for Jesus.  Not trying to be funny here…but I guarantee I say His name about 100 times in the midst of a kinky weekend.  Just sayin’.  As God is my witness…

K is for Know thyself.  To set boundaries and establish limits, one must know who they are.  K is also for Kink.  And lots of it.  Go big or go home.

L is for Little.  It’s a wonderful place to be…sometimes stocked with glitter and rainbows…It can also stand for Love.  Lust.  Lustful.  Lusting after…

M is for Masochism.  The sheer pleasure from pain. Mouth-watering smacks on the ass that Melt. My Master is a master at this…More, please.

N is for Nipple clamps.  These implements demand upright attention.  And there is something so Naughty about having someone tug on your chain.  State of Nirvana guaranteed…

O is for OH MY GOD…Orgasms.  Preferably lots of them.  Sometimes they are denied, but when allowed…they are Overwhelming.  Oh..my.

P is for Paddle.  Ah, the precise Pain from the use of a Proper Paddle. It’s Penetrating.

Q is for Quiche.  In order to do all of this kinkery…one must eventually eat to keep one’s strength up.  On a side note..real men do eat quiche and they also eat pussy for that matter. So eat the fucking quiche already.  You already know what’s for dessert.

R is for Rope.  Japanese silk.  Jute.  Nylon.  Regardless of the material, it’s the technique that counts, Scout’s honor.

S is for Safe and Sane.  It’s the Sadists out there you have to watch out for, you know.  Sluts beware.

T is for Talk.  “I am your dirty whore from way back, Daddy.” I fucking love to Talk dirty during hot, carnal sex.  Although I don’t always get to say much when his cock is halfway down my Throat.

U is for Use Me.  Analogy:  What “good girl” is…when spoken to me…”Use me” is…when I say it.  It’s global warming, climate-changing dialogue that turns me into a dripping mess…as I anticipate the Unspeakable things awaiting me.

V is for Vibrators.  Be mindful of the friendly Vibrator packaged as a personal massager…it’s certain to Violate you in ways unfathomable…such Vigor.

W is for Wet. Here it is used in a sentence.  Whips and Wartenburg Wheels make me Wet. Weally…Weally…WET.

X is for, you guessed it…X-RATED.  Once again…my humble and submissive opinion.  Handle your business in the bedroom (or wherever it may be for the Exhibitionists) and act like you are making an XXX rated movie.  Crank it up a notch whether or not the camera’s rolling.  Or whether or not you know it’s there….

Y is for Yours.  It is about belonging to your One.  It should be said frequently.  It’s a powerful statement.  Practice with me, “I am YOURS.”  Say it loud.  Say it proud.  You know who You are.

Z is for Zen.  We, subbies out there refer to this as “subspace” which is a state achieved when you lose all conscious awareness and rely on the sublime feeling of pure ecstasy as you float in the moment.  It is heaven on earth.  ZEN….Namaste…hey…hey…hey

So I will close with this…

Down and dirty and downright flirty, this little post is meant to amuse those who use those

For their pleasure, with a feather or even paddled and likely straddled.

Some like it hot and some like it cold.  Some want them young.  And some want them old.

Some crave the pain while others like to restrain.  Some prefer the view from the top as they wield their crop to their unsuspecting bottoms’ bottoms…

Waiting to hear that first “POP”

But it’s all in good fun, for now I must run.  The wheel calls my name in decibels of pain.

Waiting for “good girl” to drip from his lips as I arch my back and hips and spread my thighs, I watch his eyes and I hear my sighs ring out into night’s sky…

I recite in my head as I approach the first O…

Oh The Places You’ll Go.  And Go.  And Go. And Go.

Oh the places

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss…

 

 

Joy, Pain, and Minnie Pearl

Where were we?  Oh that’s right…we just finished up Saturday.

Maestro conducted a full orchestra throughout the weekend.  By the time Sunday rolled around (we affectionately call Sunday, Subday around here) I was soft putty in his hands.  Honestly, he could look at me and evoke a reaction.  Every nerve in my body longed for his touch and I found myself, once again, sequestered to the bed.

Under his spell.

He held me captive for hours delivering immense pleasure as only he can.  I love that he keeps a close check on my needs.  He got up and brought me some water, but paused before returning to the bed.

He rummaged through our bag of tricks and I was once again redirected…this time to keep my eyes closed.  He came back to the bed and put my collar on.  The collar that has his affectionate pet name for me (SLUT) in silver on the front.  Once I have that on, I find that any inhibitions I may have are erased from my being.

“I didn’t tell you to open your eyes.  Now close them, my dirty little slut”

Damn…he has a way with words…

I could hear him open something…like a cap.  I realized it was the tube of lubricant in the bag.  I wondered what would come next…

I readied myself.  I could feel him looking at me.

“Open your eyes.”

I opened them and saw that he’d selected a new item from our collection.  He was holding the new anal plug I’d ordered.  He wanted me to see it.  He wanted me to know what was in store for me.

It is a bit imposing, I must admit.  Have you ever ordered too much in a restaurant, only to realize that your eyes were bigger than your stomach?

In this case, my eyes were bigger than my ass…

I had a slight bit of fear pulsating through my veins as I watched him position me, ready me for this session of play.  I knew it would be intense, but I welcomed the opportunity to push more limits…and as I pondered this limit-pushing…

Maestro slowly pushed the tip of the plug inside me.

(Here’s a bit of trivia for you folks at home…I have named it Minnie Pearl, because when it goes in it makes me want to say….”HOWDY!”)

He continued to push further in….slowly…checking to see if I was okay.  And I was.  I was really okay.  It was wonderful.  I wanted it deeper…and Maestro obliged.  Once fully engaged, he took out another trick from the bag…

The riding crop.

He taunted me with it…rubbing my back with the tip.  Gliding over my legs and circling my backside.  He walked around me, surveying his best angle and then he delivered the first blow on my upper right cheek.

Such a sweet combination…the sting of the crop caused me to flinch, enhancing the depth of the plug.  He continued to find targets all over my bottom and was quick in his work.  I found myself close the edge when introduced the crop’s cousin…

The flogger.

Maestro is a professional when it comes to flogging.  He knows the exact force to use, the best places to strike, and the perfect rhythm and I found myself over the edge with Minnie in tow, before I could say Chuck Norris.

Then he began to alternate the crop and flogger and things became very intense.  I could feel my back warming from the sensations and I wanted more.  Being the adept Master he is, Maestro obliged and brought me to oblivion with swift precision.  I ended up in subspace once again and found myself joyously laughing from the experience.

Once I was back from the clouds and onto the bed…Maestro had another implement pulled from the bag (the never ending bag…reminds of Mary Poppins’ carpetbag…what else could possibly be in there). This time I was not allowed to open my eyes and felt the sharp sting of something metal…

The Wartenberg Pinwheel…or as I now call it, the Wheel of Fortune.  He started on the bottom of my right foot and came all the way up the back of my leg, across my reddened bottom, up my back and back down the other side…when he arrived at my left cheek, I began to laugh uncontrollably.  The sensation was unlike anything I’d felt before and I LOVED IT!  I felt the sensation of pain from the sharp points on my ass, but the feeling was more like a relentless tickle.  Maestro loved hearing me laugh and he tortured me with the wheel and his nimble fingers until I could take no more and I ventured into subspace again.

For those of you at home, keeping score…yes, that was twice in one day.

At this point, I wanted nothing more than to pleasure him.  He had given me an afternoon of hedonistic delight and it was my turn.  I love when he watches me take him deep in my mouth.  I love hearing him moan.  I love it when he talks explicitly dirty to me.

And I love the prize I receive when I bring him over the edge.

After all of the fun, I collapsed in his embrace and we woke up just in the nick of time.  The babysitter was due back any minute with the kids and everything was a mess…the room…the bed…and especially me.  We gathered everything up in the room…straightened the bed and hopped in the shower in record time and were ready to greet the kids as they came in the door.

Sigh….

What a perfect “Subday” Sunday…

 

 

“Sister Christian”

Thought I’d lure you in with the title!  Who can resist that?

The sheer mention of the Night Ranger classic takes me back to a simpler time…when the biggest dilemma in my life revolved around which acid-wash jeans to wear to school. When my biggest inconvenience was having to fast-forward through the songs I didn’t like on my worn-out Footloose soundtrack cassette.  When my hopes and dreams were as big as my hair. It was a time when my burdens were few.

Life was good.

And Sister Christian was the song.

What a venture down memory lane…

If you will recall, I recently wrote about meeting one of my readers in person.  That may not seem like a big deal to some of you.  For me it was huge.  The fact that I write about D/s along with spirituality, attracts a mixed group of followers.  This particular reader finds herself on a similar journey within her marriage.  So we do have common ground, but within very different contexts.  She is married and engages in D/s with her husband.  Until recently finding the One, my Maestro, I went through men like I went through those acid-washed jeans in 1983…fast-forwarding to the ones I liked.  Thank God, I found Him in the midst of the chaos.  And thankfully I am finding what I seek spiritually, reconnecting with God.

I was initially nervous about meeting her in person.  Like I mentioned before, there is a safety and comfort of writing behind a computer screen…putting your deepest, in my case-darkest, thoughts out there for the world to see.  So the thought of meeting a reader, face-to-face, was a bit unsettling at first…there is nowhere to hide.  This is where the shit gets real.  And it did.

She was an absolute delight.  We met in a nearby restaurant and immediately hugged, like long-lost friends do.  The conversation was non-stop from the moment we got together.  She is a brilliant woman with several degrees, one of which is a PhD in Theology.  How fascinating.  We dished on everything from D/s…to kids…to marriage…to all of the different kinks we’ve read about on here….to spirituality….to business ventures….to health and wellness…to the Bible….to discipline…to healing spiritually…and all the way back around to the subject of D/s.

We eventually went to my house where we could have some privacy to talk in more depth.  We were standing in my kitchen when she asked about different blog characters.  I provided a bit more detail about those she asked about.

She then said, “Tell me where you have found God in all of this.”

Wow…that’s the question, isn’t it?  Where did I find God in the midst of my turbulent descent into BDSM?

My answer, “Everywhere.”  Which is so true.  As I reflected on the question, I realized that He has been everywhere. First and foremost, as my protector…I did some risky things in the beginning, scary things, things I haven’t even written on here, and through His grace, I came out of it safely.  And then He has served as my guide…helping me to discern those who were worthy, from those who weren’t.  Giving me the insight to know when to let go.  And then as a father…forgiving me of my trespasses. loving me unconditionally as I sorted all of this debauchery out.  So in a strange sort of way, God has been the prototype, the example of the ultimate Dom.  Which is completely her line of thought.  She just helped me arrive at the same place by posing the question.

You know, she helped me through a lot things.  And I don’t feel this was a coincidental meeting at all.  I feel that we were meant to meet….meant to be friends.  She is an amazing woman and I have deep respect for her.  I admire her commitment to her husband, to her family, to her faith.  I know I will learn things from her.  I realize that our meeting was yet another one of those God-moments in my life.  Despite her background in theology, her knowledge of the Bible, and her deep and unwavering belief, she was not “judgey” at all.  Like me, she is who she is and she is a real person. She is a person who understands my journey, without critical judgement.  A person convicted in her faith that didn’t try to condemn me for my unorthodox path.  And she didn’t try to convince me to drink the Kool-Aid.  There was no Kool-Aid.  All she was offering was friendship.

And because I felt a sister-like kinship with her immediately, I am sure she understands my choice for the post song.

So my dear friend…my Sister Christian, thank you for the visit.

And many thanks for the gift of your friendship.

Full Disclosure

I have always lived a double life.  Until now.

I remember when I began exploring a secret life.  There was an excitement to it.  I was able to escape my reality by living in an alternate, yet parallel existence.  It’s where I began my first experience with D/s.

To my family and friends I was an intelligent, driven 16 year old, well-spoken and self-assured.  I knew what I wanted out of life and I had the ambition to make it happen.  They saw me as the obedient good girl, who did what was expected and rarely questioned authority.

Funny how that paralleled into my secret life…

Because, in my secret existence, I was still the same girl, just a much darker version.  I was involved with a man many years my senior, my mentor at work, who introduced me to the lifestyle, without ever labeling it as such.  I was just as obedient and did what I was told to do.  It was a very natural place for me.  I learned early on that I enjoyed pushing limits and exploring different things…things my high school counterparts knew nothing about.

It was part of my secret existence.

Now fast-forward 25 years.  Since then, I have always kept a part of my life secret.  Neither of my former spouses knew of, or would have ever accommodated my eclectic tastes in kink.  They saw me in a completely different light.  I was the one in control of the relationship, so I could never be my true submissive self.  When I would recommend different things, they would become uncomfortable and withdraw, so I stopped communicating.  Keeping it all on a surface-level.

I always looked for an outlet elsewhere.  It’s not something I am proud of at all.  But luckily, neither of them were ever aware of my extra-curricular activities.  That was never the reason for the breakup…there were many other reasons that ended the marriage.

So, here I am.  Almost 42 years old.  And for once in my adult life, I have nothing to hide.  I want to share it all with Maestro.  There is no shame in my past transgressions.  There is no hesitance in disclosing my dark moments.  I know that his love and adoration is unconditional, just as mine is with him.  There is no need to keep anything from him.  He loves and accepts all of me.

From a spiritual place, this type of love and acceptance epitomizes the concept of grace.  It’s where love cannot be earned, but rather, it’s given freely as a gift.

Through this grace…

I have freed myself of any distractions.  Those that were part of my secret existence no longer have a place in my life.

I am freed of the need to hold on to secrets.  To keep secrets.  To live a double life.

I am unlocked.  Open.  Ready to share.  Ready to receive.

Seems each corner I turn, with Maestro as my guide, I find myself closer to the enlightenment I’ve sought all these years.

Faith.  Love.  Peace.  Grace.

Each day brings deeper understanding as we journey along together.