March 2008 Archives

Now that's what I call a good weekend.

There are many, many things I could say about the club itself, and no doubt I will in due course. I need something to compare it to first though (hence we'll be trying a different one in a few weeks time), as I'm not convinced it was the best place I could've gone to. That said, I have very little to actually complain about (apart from the lack of a patio heater).

Plenty to smile about though. I've been places I've never been, done things I've never done, and seen things I've never seen, and today I just feel so fucking liberated I wouldn't be surprised if I grew wings.

I've had this fantasy for the longest time to see the boyfriend 'with' another woman. However, in the back of my mind has also been this fear that in reality I would hate it, that I would - shock, horror - be consumed by jealousy. And that in turn led to the fear of being a hypocrite, after asking him to take all my own trysts on the chin, which he largely has. I never ever want to be a jealous girlfriend.

Well, not without a fucking good reason, anyway ;)

Yet again, the reality has blown the fantasy clean out of the water. He didn't even fuck her, but just watching her sucking his cock was hot. But the horniest thing I have ever seen in my entire life was when he went down on her and had her moaning and writhing about on the bed. It was.... mindblowing. There wasn't the slightest twinge of jealousy like I'd feared there would be, and he didn't even eat me out at the club.

It was such a fucking buzz to see her enjoying him and him enjoying her - I could've watched them all night. It was certainly much more fun than when I went down on her myself. Not that there was anything wrong down there - strangely enough her cunt looked exactly the same as mine, and it tasted nice too. But that night my voyeuristic nature definitely took over, and grr. It was beautiful.

And considering I wasn't expecting anything that night, I think we can call that a result.

I mentioned earlier in the week that we're going to a club tomorrow night. And while I'm not expecting anything, I still want to be prepared. But there is too much to think about and I've still got to paint my nails, dye my hair, shave, scrub, preen, stand in front of the mirror for three hours, etc etc etc. And I have to pack some things as I'm staying out the night (Oh my God, the excitement of it all!), but I'm bound to forget some essential item or another...

Condoms - a variety of. I've just sorted through them, and I can't believe there are two that expire this year; apparently I'm not a lover of the mint-flavoured ones. Green cocks are just so wrong.

Cuffs, gag, rope. This stuff goes with us to any hotel we stay in. We haven't as yet used any of it in a hotel, but there's always a first time.

Baby wipes. Because sex has a tendency to be 'dirty'.

My jewel butt plug. Never worn it in public before, but I think I might tomorrow night. Just in case.... what? Just in case I get my arse out? Just in case anyone tries to put anything in my arse? I don't know - it just seems like a good idea. At the moment.

Dildos and dongs. Well. A girl slut can never have enough cock.

The camera. We're not even allowed phones in the club, so as to prevent any photography taking place there, so my camera is purely to capture any special (and classy) Travelodge moments that might or might not occur.

Lingerie. As usual, I shall be taking far too many knickers, tights, stockings and bras... just because I can. And probably also because secretly, I'm always hoping I'm going to have things ripped off me.

Boots. Or shoes? Oh bugger, perhaps I'll take both.

The outfit. On this occasion, that's one bodystocking, and one outrageously shiny "Brighton dress". I think.

Various potions, ointments, perfumes and powders. Because I'm a tart.

Lube. This one should be self-explanatory.

I-pod and speakers. People knocking on your hotel room door to complain about all the noise when one is midway through a threesome is somewhat distracting. If I have my music turned up though, hopefully I won't hear them knocking!

The boyfriend. Because I need someone to carry my bag, hahaha. ;)

I think that's everything...?

The Story of O - the classic BDSM story, originally written in the 1940's, caused much disgust and disturbance back then. It's about a young woman who allows herself to be whipped and prostituted, out of her love for Rene - the man in her life. Her master. Until, that is, Rene decides to give O to his step-brother, Sir Stephen, who is keen to whip and prostitute her for himself.

I'm on page 235 of the book - I've only had one wank so far, and that was on page 48.

Perhaps the film (which I shall endeavour to watch over the weekend) will be better, where the quaint language used in the book to describe such delicacies as hard cock ('his stiffened sword of flesh') and blow-jobs ('she caressed him with her mouth') shall be unnecessary and shall therefore not distract me (make me laugh) in the way it's currently doing. Or perhaps it won't.

But one thing is for sure; as shocking as it was then, with it's sadists and dungeons and rape and debauchery in the name of a 'love' that many people simply cannot understand, even in this modern age, it's very tame compared to what goes on in my own debauched head.

No watersports or knives or pet-play, O? Lightweight.

You haven't lived until you've been pissed on.

I came across (ahem) a MySpace type site for the kinksters the other day - Fetlife it's called, and although I haven't really had a chance to see if it's something I need or want in my internet life yet (a couple of stalker experiences on Friends Reunited kind of soured the whole 'networking' idea for me, way back when), I can see the appeal.

And I owe something to that site already. For there I was, idly filling in my profile, you know; all the usual age, sex, location questions found on every other bloody profile-based website in the world. Then the question of my sexuality came up (surprise surprise); heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual, pansexual... so I idly ticked the bi-sexual box, because that's the box I always tick. Because as much as I dislike that term, there never seemed to be a better option.

But afterwards, something didn't seem quite right. Perhaps it was because I've never liked the term 'bisexual', and yet there it was in bold letters next to my name, or perhaps it was something else. My mind pondered the choices I had in that question, and 'pansexual' kind of stuck there, like a sticky label or something. You don't see that on every other bloody profile-based website in the world (not even the swinging/BDSM ones). In fact, it's a word I see so little of, I quite forgot that it even existed. But I felt curiously drawn to it in a way I definitely wasn't the last time I heard it (which was probably sometime in 1999).

So I went back, and ticked that box instead.

And then, I went and rubbed a wok all over my naked body.

People in the BDSM world love to analyse their kinks and deviances, and I am no different in that respect. I suppose it's because (especially) in the beginning I enjoyed things - like being tied up and spanked - that I just could not reconcile in my head. This wasn't the sex I'd grown up learning about, it was better. But wasn't that a bit weird? So I questioned everything, and turned myself inside out trying to make sense of it all. Why did I like being restrained?; why did I like the 'pain' endured from a good spanking?; why was I much happier when I wasn't in control?, and so it went on. Never really did find the answers to those questions, and I've long since given up looking for them. It just is, and that's good enough for me (now).

But I haven't been able to feel like that about everything, in particular those activities I love that are reminiscent of certain "bad" things that happened in my past. That one never sat easy with me. It always felt wrong that I could get such a kick out of a good rape scene when I've actually been raped and know first hand how horrific it is. I mean, it's just fucked up, isn't it.

It wasn't until last year I finally made some sense of it. As you may or may not know, many years ago I was physically and mentally abused by cuntface (the ex-husband). Ever since then, I haven't been able to be in the vicinity of violence in any shape or form without having some sort of panic attack. In terms of BDSM, being hit in the face and having my hair pulled were real hard limits for the longest time. But one night the boyfriend and I were playing and it was getting quite rough, but I was completely lost in myself and really enjoying it. And out of nowhere I heard myself say to him "Hit me. In the face". So he hit me. In the face. Several times. I came like a fucking train that night.

And that's when it occurred to me that at least some of my kinks are a kind of therapy, a reclamation, a weird and private victory over the cunts that tried to hurt me. I channel all my pain and guilt and terror into sex, and it somehow loses its hold on me. So rather than lay there like a good girl and be raped, which is basically what I did at the time, now I scream and struggle and fight back, and make it mine.

And if that's sick and/or perverted, tough. It works for me.

Well, this is a rather rubbish weekend innit. Fucking Easter, fucking chocolate, and fucking snow. And our plans for Saturday night socialising went up the swanny too, so I'm not altogether a happy bunny right now. Still, there's always next weekend, which I don't think I've mentioned yet, so I shall mention it now. Next weekend we're skipping off down the A13 to a swingers club. We've got a hotel room booked too, so one way or another, I'm going to get to have sex without waking up the kids (or neighbours). Fantastic!

I'm not expecting anything other than that though, apart from maybe a little voyeurism. To be honest, I haven't got a clue what to expect, but I'm certainly not banking on a gangbang (although wouldn't it be nice if I could?), and I very much doubt that I'll end up in the middle of a bukkake shower... but that's alright. It's enough for me that we're even going, after talking about it for so long.

I don't know why it's taken us this long - although it's probably something to do with the fact that I couldn't decide what was "appropriate" wear for such an establishment; my main concern being that I really don't want to be over-dressed. Or indeed under-dressed. But after much umming and ahhing, I finally made a decision. I'm going to wear my "Brighton dress", even though it's slightly less "Brighton" than it was, after my eldest kindly put it in the tumble dryer! And the reason it's called my "Brighton dress" is because I wore it on our unforgettable trip to Brighton. And it's a bit gay.

With that out of the way, all that was left to do was talk about it some more. Although saying that, it's very difficult to talk about something you have no knowledge or experience of, so it's mostly been a whole lot of whats, ifs and maybes; what do we do if someone approaches us?; maybe nobody will approach us?; what are their playrooms going to be like?; maybe everyone will be horribly horrible?; etc etc etc.

This time next week, I shall be able to let you know the answers to all these questions and more ;) Good, eh?

kisses · fishnets · hair-pulling · boots · OBJECTIFICATION · "cock" · men in red lacy knickers · rope · bondage · leather · smooth skin · FORCE · high heels · ***submission*** · red lipstick · GUNS · pretty cunts · voyeurism · kidnap fantasies · humiliation · forbidden fruit · "BIG colourful TATTOOS" · words · tits · watersports · "being called a filthy cunt" · RED · collars · stockings · sadists · gloves · DISCIPLINE · face-slapping · love · floggers · "DIRTY TALK" · blindfolds · amateur porn · bukkake · pain · FAKE PLASTIC TREES · fear · lap dances · cuckoldry · *BLACKMAIL fantasies* · studded belts · "sluts" · summer sun · log fires ·

HOT WAX · guitars · EYES · having my clothes ripped off · knives · breath play · vulnerability · "over the knee socks" · androgyny · being smacked · HEADFUCKS · chastity · white vans · flame red hair · tights · exhibitionism · root ginger · "back-scratching" · root ginger · girls with cocks · TRIBADISM · age-play · BLACK · ***open-mindedness*** · hands around my throat · shoes · RAPE FANTASIES · homoerotica · "painted nails" · CORSETS · peeping toms · PUNISHMENT · being spat on · brunettes · BURLESQUE · gang-bang fantasies · restraint · DANGER · latex ·

Having a sense of identity is something I've lacked for a long time. Party due to the ex-husband (aka cuntface) more or less wiping all signs of life from my soul, and partly through denial on my part, I've been a bit wishy washy in the identity department; wanting to express myself but not knowing quite what I want to express. I never had this problem as a teenager. I was a rebel with a brain and a sewing machine. Had I not been sidelined by cuntface I probably would've developed my own sense of style further, and maybe found my way alot sooner.

Alas, I did not, and at almost [insert age] I've still got it all to do. But I am doing it. Slowly. Over the last year or so, I have changed. Although 'changed' is probably the wrong word; the 'me' that is emerging isn't a different 'me', it's the 'me' that's been buried under years of debris and despair. And who is this 'me' who's emerging?

Well, she's someone who likes Ebay very much, for a start. Tights, and skirts, and corsets and heels... so many things I wouldn't have dared to wear a few years ago. I wore a tartan mini-skirt the other day; haven't done that since I was seventeen. It felt great.

I've dyed my hair red.

I'm getting a tattoo on my birthday.

And slowly, I'm expressing myself again.

I think embracing my sexuality and the idea of non-monogamy has played a big part in this. Hiding these vital signs of my identity wasn't doing me any favours, that's for sure. With hindsight, I think I've pretended for too long to be somebody I'm clearly not, and now I've unleashed the insatiably perverted beast that I really am, I feel much better. About me, about everyone else, about spending ridiculous amounts of money on shoes...

Does anyone want to buy me these gorgeous and utterly fabulous little numbers for my birthday? ;)

Actually, I don't love humiliation... it's humiliating and I hate it. I don't know why I crave it when I hate it, I just know that I do. But, my cunt loves it. I don't know why that is either. But it's not hurting anyone (apart from me, hopefully), so it doesn't really matter 'why'. It just is, and that's that.

I got smacked about with a flogger at the weekend. Reason? Being a gobby bitch - can you believe it?! Anyway, I was. Jeans pulled off, leg-spreaders attached (to my legs), hands cuffed behind my back, and my knickers pulled down just enough to expose my arse.

Humiliation number one: he left my socks on!

Humiliation number two: I had no make-up on!

Humiliation number three: I was lying face down with my legs spread very wide and my arse out!

God knows what I looked like, but I felt *this* stupid. And sorry, of course. But not as sorry as I was when the flogger made contact with my bum. Over and over again. I was even more sorry when he decided to use the studded spanker instead.

Humiliation number four: I cried and whinged like a baby.

Humiliation number five: He just mocked me for it.

It carried on like this for a couple of hours, my arse and my thighs stinging more and more with every strike, my screams probably entertaining the whole street. Several years ago, I would've begged for more I was that much of a pain slut, but now I just cry and beg for it to stop. I'm such a bloody wimp.

There was nothing sexual about this little session (for me, anyway); it was there purely to 'teach me a lesson'. His actions were calm, his voice stern, and his manner sadistic. The names he called me would have made me cry even if I wasn't taking a beating. So the biggest humiliation came when he reached in between my legs, and felt how utterly soaked my knickers were.

Like I said, I don't know why. I ain't fucking complaining though - I daren't! ;)

I am getting very excited, for I am soon to meet somebody new! We'll call her Lady Godiva, although that isn't her real name - that would be silly. I don't think she has a horse, for a start. But anyway, I am soon going to be meeting L.G and I am very excited indeed. Very nervous too, as this is a whole new experience for me.

You see, L.G isn't your average lady. This is most prominent from the fact that she is actually a man - a real 100% man. A man who shaves his legs, puts on his hair and heels, paints his face, and becomes something of a beautiful Dominatrix.

Obviously, this excites me a great deal for all the obvious reasons; she's a Dominatrix; she's beautiful; she adores perverted little sluts; she too has a boot fetish; it's fucking HOT. And when she said she's going to fuck me with her strap-on cock... I nearly melted.

Of course, as already mentioned, I am also nervous as hell. I've never been at the mercy of a Domme. I've certainly never had sexual contact (or indeed any sort of 'contact') with a woman who isn't really a woman. Woman is the wrong word though, she is a Lady. A lady who commands respect, and to tell you the truth, I'm bricking it. I was always nervous around Dommes, and this is no different. In fact, it's worse. It's scary.

I'm scared of being out-womaned. What if she has nicer shoes, prettier hair... better make-up?! What if she's elegant and classy and basically all of the things I'm not? It would be bad enough if she was a woman, but to be out-womaned by a man? I'm not sure my delicate little ego could take the humiliation.

But, then again, I love humiliation too. Bloody hell.

For all the un-nerving things I discover about myself, I am still immensely proud of the fact that I'm not scared of exploring my sexuality. I do uncover demons I wish weren't there, and I do like things that would make some people throw up. But it's better than the alternative - to go through life unsatisfied with sex, and worse still - accepting that's the way it is.

We can't grow if we don't spread our wings, and I've spread mine far and wide in the sexual arena. And I remain constantly amazed at how much I've grown - and continue to do so - on my "journey". That word makes me cringe a little because it's used so often in BDSM circles, but there really is no better word to describe it. It's not just sex I've discovered, I've also discovered a strong sense of identity that I couldn't place for the longest time.

From that young girl of sixteen who got put over someone's knee and spanked, and then felt confused and wrong and excited, I've grown into a masochistic submissive woman who isn't confused, or wrong - just different. And still excited. Still excited by spankings, but now I like many other things besides... things I'd never know about if I didn't explore and push my boundaries and allow others to push them for me.

In the last year alone, I've changed. My mind is more open now than it ever has been before. Violence and chastity excite me in ways they never, ever did before. Dominant women I find incredibly attractive, but this time last year I was absolutely terrified of them. I have a boot fetish since the boyfriend sexualised them in a scene or two, and my perception of 'beautiful' has changed beyond all recognition.
But I think the biggest change over the last twelve months is my attraction to gender benders. Cross-dressers, TVs, Transsexuals... I'm fucking smitten. I've always been totally accepting of them, and even interested in finding out more, but I used to feel physically sick at the idea of my boyfriend wearing stockings, or even nail varnish. I always said that I liked my men manly and my girls girly, because that's the way it always was. Without question.

It isn't anymore, though. It's all mixed up and everso delicious. Mmm.

I'm generally quite happy being a submissive little slut-face, except for the times when I wish I wasn't. it doesn't happen often, but sometimes I would like to bend the boyfriend over the desk and show him how to be the boss. Because even though I'm not wired that way, I've had enough experience (*cough*) to know things about the art of domination that the boyfriend is yet to discover. I can even use a flogger without maiming anyone.

So I could - in theory - give him a (much needed) practical lesson.

In reality, however, it's just never going to happen. I tried it once, many moons ago (with someone else), and that was enough for me, ta. So I continue on my mind-bending search for a way to guide him into the dark side without actually doing anything that could be seen as topping from the bottom.

And it's bloody hard work, I can tell you.

I think, "I'll buy him The Loving Dominant" - it's recommended as a great introduction to BDSM, so I figure that would probably be more use than me. Or at least it probably would be, if it was in stock.... anywhere in the fucking world!!

So, I'm sulking. Alot.

But I am wearing the best skirt today, so it's not all bad.

I've been having the technological nightmare from hell, hence my absence these last couple of weeks. First the internet went wrong, then - having 'fixed' it, I left myself open to hackers who hacked me. Wiped most of my OS files out, the bastards, so I had to do a complete restore. And then, my blog randomly went up the swanny for no good reason, and then randomly started working again after I'd deleted and reinstalled everything.

Oh it's been such fun.

In other, nearly as exciting news, I met the whole world at the weekend. Well, a great big bunch of swingers anyway, some of whom know about this blog. So that's good, eh. Now where am I going to write down my fantasies involving forum members? ;)

It was an interesting evening - I was very surprised that nobody had two heads, four arms, or green skin. And quite overwhelmed that everyone knew who I was before I knew them. Other than that though, what a diverse and beautiful bunch of people! Never again will I think of swingers as hippies with a penchant for fruitbowls. Honest.

I dyed my hair red (sort of) especially for the event, and the boyfriend hasn't been able to take his hands off me since. The man, it seems, loves a redhead. Not that I'm complaining; I do so like being groped. I am just miffed that I never knew the effect a bit of hair dye could have on him before now.

I get a feeling I might do it again. And again. And again.