Old times and New beginnings..

It's New Years Eve here in Australia.
The end of an eventful year for me, and the beginnings of another are just hours away.

I have faced court ordered property settlement, a hysterectomy, I have met the love of my life, moved hours away from my family and hometown to begin a new life with Him, I have a new car, and a new motorcycle.
I have lost friends, and gained new ones.
I have found out some of those trite cliches that everybody sprouts are actually more like home truths. And that those that have been through it, often are the ones to let you learn the hard lessons yourself. Sometimes learning the hard way is also the only way.

I have said goodbye to people that have played an important part of my life, and I have met others who will be a constant source of amusement, friendship and inspiration.

It hasn't been a huge year kink wise. In the last 12 months, I have managed only 2 kink events....3 if you count last New Years Eve. But I haven't missed it really. The public scene is great in small doses for me, but it is not where I want my kink life based permanently.

I look back, remembering last New Year's Eve, getting ready at a friends home, chatting with another girlfriend on why it was I was single.
I know I was a constant source of consternation to those who knew me. I didn't actively chase men, nor did I encourage their advances towards me. My "dickhead" radar serves me well, I knew who wanted what, and what I was prepared to give, and those who advanced wanted me not for myself, but for what they imagined I could give.
She asked me to list all those things I wanted in a man. I did try and tell her this was as fluid as a river, that what I wanted now didn't mean it was what I needed or what I would need in the future. Nevertheless, she asked me to list the superficial things that turned me on, the things that given a choice, would accompany brains, intelligence and a sense of humour.

My reply?

Tall.
Standing 5'9" and having a penchant for high heels, I like to still remain shorter than those I stand beside. (in a romantic sense, most of my friends are 4 feet fuck all tall)

Dark.
The one time I deviated from this...it landed me in a bad marriage.

Bald.
I liked the idea of the freshly shaven head. I had never had the opportunity, but I wanted to try it.

Tattoo's
As the owner of 5 tattoo's (at the time) I appreciated those whose art choice were worn on their body as mine are.

Bikie/Trucker.
This is where my inner rev head slut appears. There is nothing better than a machine revving between your thighs, or the vibrations that pass through your body as a truck descends with its engine brakes on.

I figured, as long as I could get somewhere close to that list, I was going to do ok. It would at least take care of the sexual attraction bit. At least.....on my behalf.

I quickly then added 'Accent'
I am an accent slut. I have been known to hold completely inane conversations with total strangers for the simple reason, that they had an accent. Similarly, I have been known to follow men around the supermarket because they smell a certain way.

She laughed at me.

So there we were, half dressed, no makeup, she is laughing so hard she is nearly peeing her pants and I am frowning.
She gets out her phone, sends a text message and says not much more on the subject.

We ventured out and about. To a kink club. With other friends.

She then informs me, I should not be surprised if I get a message on Fetlife in the next couple of days. She has recommended that a friend of hers send me a message.
Being the insatiably curious girl I am, I then ask who.....quickly backing it up with the excuse of needing to know who she had sent in case I got other requests from our night out. She tells me, and I ponder the fact it might be lucky the car was stationary, lest I drive into something in my shock.

The gentleman she had messaged was a play partner of hers, and one I had already perved on from the comfort of my couch.

He messaged the next day, hungover. And as best I can recall, that was the extent of the communication for the next 2 weeks.

Next event....who happened to be there??? Said handsome perved upon gentleman.
Annnnd being the matchmaker she is, my friend had coached him into greeting me with an Irish saying, spoken (of course) in the thick Irish accent.

That was it.
I was done for.
Excitement ran down my leg....literally!

It was the beginnings of something I had no idea would result in the things it has.

2 weeks from that day, we had our first date. It lasted more than 8 hours, and ended with my declaration of love....and Him riding His motorcycle into the sunset.

Almost 12 months later, I love Him more today than I did then.
We are combined under 1 roof, kids, cats motorcycles and all.

Tonight I am not preparing myself for a kink event. I am not even preparing myself to leave the house.

What I am doing is contemplating on how many Wii games that 5 kids will have me playing, or how many popcorn kernels will I have to vacuum off the floor tomorrow.

I love you MY Sir, and even though you are not able to be here with me tonight at midnight, know that you mean the world to me.

I love you always.

I am yours forever more.

You are my everything and my happiness.

My Happiness

the humiliated slut..

She lies on the bed, bound and blindfolded.

There is music playing softly, loud enough to muffle the rifling of the war bag, but not loud enough to hide the click of the camera.

He is out there, taking pictures of her exposed body, the parts of her she hides from the world.
The thighs that are fatter than she likes.
The stretch marked stomach that is evidence she has given birth to children.
The breasts that are smaller than she always dreamt of having.
The scars from surgeries to correct her health.
Every mark and blemish on her body is in full view of Him and His camera.

If He was any other man, she would be feeling humiliated.

Humiliated and exposed.

Dirty and degraded.

Used and abused.

And yet... with Him, she feels loved.
Wanted.
Desired.
Trusted.
And respected.

The clicking stops.

His hands touch her body instead of the camera.

His fingers touch her, open her, expose her to His view.

He can see inside her, see the place His cock goes, His tongue goes, and His fingers enter.

He holds her open, using various toys on her clit. Playing with immeasurable patience. Taking His time, gauging her every reaction, seeing which affects her more.

She struggles mentally between the desire to relax and enjoy His ministrations, and the desire to hide from Him. The teachings of believing having someone do this to you is dirty and wrong. Her body knows which desire overrides the other. The wetness He sees tells Him that this turns her on.

He knows every inch of her body.
He has touched and played, teased and tortured.

The things they do may seem humiliating to some.
The names He calls her are not those acceptable in a public forum.
The things they do are not those her mother 'talked' to her about, prepared her for.

And yet....each and every thing they do, each and every name He calls her, each and every time He touches her, she loves Him more.

a slut in control...

I was given the opportunity this week to take control.

In the bedroom.

Sexually.

Presented with a naked male and told I had complete control to do whatever I wished.

*insert major panic attack*

Not a random male.

Sir.

I faltered. I am pretty sure I stuttered, and I am damn sure my eyes were wider than saucers.

"Ummmm, you do know that the bit about being a sub means NOT taking control right?" was the first thing out of my mouth.

"But, but.........I, ummm, errrrrrr, oh boy, sheesh" was next.

In that sixty seconds I realised that NOT taking control has become a habit I don't want to give up.
I was lost. I don't remember ever taking control like Sir was offering, and to be honest, it had no appeal. But in that instance I realised something..... It must get tiring to always be the one to make the decisions, to be the one who takes control, who plans what will happen next, with no input from a loving partner. (Moans, squeals and squeaks don't count as input, just so you know)

He reads me very well. In the past few weeks, Sir has seen close up and personal to the stress that I allow get to me occasionally, and the sassiness in me takes over. But it is an unconscious behaviour, and not one I had noticed until Sir pointed it out to me. He has become adept at taking that stress and beating it out of me with great success. I turn into Suzy Homemaker afterwards apparently. Cooking, cleaning and smiling a LOT.

But there are times when we want mostly normal adult raging hot fucking and kinky sex time, without it being to de-stress one of us, and it's those times that I am sure it becomes exhausting to always be the one to 'make the first move' and always be in control. Having said that, I have absolutely no interest in being in control and making any decisions in that scenario.

Hmmmmm impasse.


I am coming to respect the Dominants in a different way than I have before, as I suspect they often feel the same way about submissives. There is something innately awe inspiring about watching someone successfully achieve something that is a completely foreign concept, that often you cannot imagine undertaking yourself.

I don't want to take control, and therefore, am in awe of those who can and do with success.

Sir amazes me when He reads my moods, correctly judging those times I crave the need to feel control, HIS control.

But maybe, just maybe, I need to be more proactive in a submissive way in those 'in between times'