April 2008 Archives

I did something today that I have never done before. I watched the House of Lords.

Obviously, there would need to be a bloody good reason I would do something so out of character, and there was. For snuggled in alongside amendments to sentencing and immigration laws was a new offence, the likes of which are going to leave thousands upon thousands of us (myself included) as criminals.

It is The Extreme Porn Act.

I'm no expert, surprisingly, on politics, or law. All those words confuse the fuck out of me. But on a very basic level, some of the porn us BDSM lot enjoy is about to become illegal, to the tune of possibly three years inside.

Joy.

This is happening now. Please at least be aware, if nothing else :(

(expect an essay soon. Very soon)

So. At approximately 7pm last night, I finally gave in to the by then unbearably wet and throbbing sensation between my legs, and had a much needed wank. That's eleven whole hours I lasted without even a sneaky touch! I am such a good girl (except that I exploded all over the bathroom floor, but lets not go into that, eh?!). I would still like to try a mechanical device though - my willpower falters all too easily. And I'm thinking of all the rubbing caused from wearing a chastity belt as well (- of course - but I don't want to admit that, really). And those padlocks! And the leather! And that delicious feeling of being captured, and controlled...

*takes a moment*

Did I mention that I'm fucking insatiable at the moment? I don't know what to do with myself (quite literally) to get the relief, if indeed there is any. I hope there is, the idea that I could stay this horny forever isn't one that even bears thinking about. I'd be a danger to society (even more than I am already ;)). I don't think the chastity belt would be enough to rein me in either - I would probably need a straitjacket and a high dose of horse tranquilliser to keep me out of harm's way.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that though - knowing me I'd probably enjoy that too.

I'm attempting some self-chastity today - I played with myself so much last week I was almost ashamed of myself (and quite sore too, might I add)! I have gone through-the-roof horny, and while there is nothing wrong with that, I am just totally bloody insatiable, and no amount of sex or masturbation is going to sate me at the moment. The most is does is take the edge off - for about ten minutes, haha.

So I'm going to abstain. All day. Just to see what sort of mess I'm in later, really. I've never played with chastity before; always seemed a bit backwards to me that people would get turned on by not having (physical) sexual pleasure, but I am very curious about it lately. I even looked wistfully at chastity belts the other week.

I suppose it's the control that appeals most, but there's also the forbidden fruit effect - the effect being that the more I can't have something, the more I want it. And the knock-on effect of that is that it keeps my mind focussed on my cunt, and there's no escape. At all.

Until I have a wank, anyway.

Is the day over yet?

For some people, kink is just something that goes on in the bedroom - a little bit of spice in an otherwise ordinary relationship.Maybe some pink fluffy cuffs and a spanker from Ann Summers, and a bit of sexy lingerie, but not much else. And if that floats your proverbial boat, then fantastic. But for some other people, kink isn't something that only goes on in the bedroom. For some people, it's a central part of their identity. This - in case you hadn't guessed - is the category I fall into.

It hasn't always been like that, though. It might've 'started' when I was sixteen, but it was only when I was about 27 that I decided I had to 'come out' - I can't explain it any better than to say it meant as much to me as admitting I'm bisexual, or even female, it was that important.

But when you're a half queer pervert, the world you live in is a scary place full of people that don't understand, don't approve, don't want and can't accept. And it's fucking hard to live in a world like that. Sometimes I've wished I was normal, wished this beast inside could be exorcised, wished that I'd never met Jules, wished I didn't adore being a slut... the list goes on. But when none of those wishes came true, I wished I could find someone who would make me feel like I wasn't so alone anymore.

I'm still struggling with that one. Actually, we're both still struggling with that one.

Last year, once we'd finally gotten off the starting blocks, I flung myself head-first into things like the thrill seeker that I am, while the boyfriend did not such a terrific job of reining me in. But even if he had managed to rein me in physically, mentally I was already thinking beyond threesomes and dogging. I was thinking about non-monogamy, polyamory, and the fella who'd been chatting me up for several weeks.

Next thing I knew, I was seeing (and fucking) this fella on a regular (ish) basis.

Then I would come home, and the boyfriend and I would either argue, or fuck like rabbits. But whatever we did, it was quite clear to me that he saw me differently when I'd just got home from being out with another man. I like to think he saw me as a slut, because that's what I am, and when we had sex, that's how he'd treat me. To the untrained eye, this might look like a bad thing - but it most definitely wasn't. It completely changed our dynamic when that other fella was on the scene and made us both feel good.

It's just a shame about all the arguments, really. But I suppose that's what happens when you try to run before you can walk. I don't have any regrets though - this year, we're older and wiser. Well, we're more aware of our boundaries and hard limits, anyway. And the boyfriend has learned that sex is very separate to love.

But when he last week suggested I find myself a playmate, my eyes popped open, my jaw fell to the floor, and my brain started exploding. Not with surprise, or joy, but more abject shock. After all that grief last year, he wanted to do it again?

I know it would be different the next time. For a start, last time it was my idea, this time it definitely isn't. Last time, there was jealousy - this time there's a better understanding. I've just never had such a suggestion put to me, and I'm not quite sure how to take it, or what to do about it.

Shall I write an ad? What would I say? The boyfriend wants me to find a playmate, so who's up for it?... or what? More subtlety, or less? Perhaps I shouldn't bother with an ad... last time we tried that, I spent more time sending 'no thanks' messages than I did fucking. If he just wants me to find a playmate, I could easily accomplish that in a sex club. I could have a different playmate each week, if I really wanted to. Or if he really wanted me to. My little cuckolded head could probably tune itself into that.

If, however, he wants a re-run of last year, he's going to have a long wait. But by some strange coincidence, guess who asked me out for drinkies yesterday...

It's exciting - but none the less strange - the path your mind can take once you start fantasising and experimenting. The cuckolding for example; it was the last thing I would have expected to get turned on by, but through a series of events and mental images, that's the way it's gone. And going back much further than that - if someone had told me when I was fifteen that in a years time I would be getting spanked and engaging in pet-play, I would've punched them for being outrageous. Yet, when the next year came along, that was exactly what I was doing.

And more recently, if someone had said to me last week that I would fantasise what I fantasised about yesterday, I probably would've reacted much the same way. I can't even explain where it came from... I was thinking about tits, then I was thinking about my tits, then I was thinking about how big they became after I'd given birth, and then I was obviously thinking about being dominated, and the next thing you know, I'm fantasising about lactating boobs - my lactating boobs - a breast pump, and a shitload of milk.

The strange thing - apart from the obvious strangeness - is that when I gave birth, I hated the idea of both lactating and breastfeeding, and suffered the agony as they filled more and more, simply because I knew that any immediate relief (ie, pumping or breastfeeding) only led to more milk being produced. A vicious circle, indeed.

Oh my God! And the leaking nipples! I really, really disliked that too.

But in my fantasy, the leaking was turned into a point of humiliation for me. I had big/ger boobs, humiliation, and I was being dominated by my own body, in a round about way. And it was very, very erotic.

And I find that strange.

From reading a really hot bit of erotica several years ago, about a woman who's 'forced' (she isn't really, but I like that word) into watching her boyfriend fuck their Thai maid (Oooh, ooh, I have found it! Have a read dear reader, it's one of my favourites), I have slowly but surely been more and more drawn to cuckoldry (even though I had no idea at the time that was the term for it).

The first thing someone thinks of when they hear of cuckoldry is an impotent old man being 'forced' to allow his wife (the cuckqueen) other lovers (bulls), and then being ridiculed for it. This does happen, and when I first became aware of the word, that's the first thing I imagined, too. But the more I look into it, the more I see it's a much bigger picture then that. The article on Wikipedia was a real eye opener. Not so old, and not so impotent men are cuckolded too. As are women. Enforced chastity (another of my 'interests') is often one of the themes of cuckoldry as well, but what I was really surprised to learn was that it also works in the reverse: being 'forced' into sex with other people is a way of being cuckolded that I had certainly never considered before.

Having learned that though, I have (not surprisingly) become even more interested in it - and when I say interested what I mean is that being cuckolded (in every sense of the word) is the basis for about three quarters of the fantasies that visit when I'm having 'me' time (more commonly known as a wank).

I don't doubt that some of this is down to My Muse, who's been talking of making me watch him with prostitutes, and of making me fuck people I generally wouldn't choose to. At one point, he even referred to me as the 'helpless girlfriend', and I think I soaked my knickers there and then. Mind-gardening, I think he'd call it. But as if that isn't tantalising enough, The Boyfriend has now suggested (rather strongly) that I get a 'lover' (that's such a shite word, isn't it?).

Or at least i think he did. I didn't dream it... did I?

I'm a big knot of emotions and anxieties this week. Pretty much standard stuff for a neurotic bint such as myself, I suppose, but this week it's been knotty than usual. Now I like being tied up, especially with red rope (mmm), but this kind of mental bondage is no fun at all.

I'm sexually frustrated. I'm so sexually frustrated in fact that I can't even be bothered to be horny. What the bloody hell that's all about, I don't know. But I don't like it.

Needless to say, I didn't manage to write any smut either. I stared and typed and deleted for a few hours, and then I gave up. It's not that I don't have any ideas - got plenty of those rattling around my head - I just quite literally can't get them out of my system.

I need a bloody good shake. Whilst being fucked ragged.

No, I haven't been away having a sex-marathon for the last four days. If only I had! No, instead I've been indulging in the rather less exciting activity which is pc maintenance. Joy of fucking joys! It had to be done though - i can't live with my computer now. I seriously don't know how I managed all those years without one, although I must say, my house was alot cleaner back then.

But I was isolated. Not physically, but emotionally, sexually isolated. Meeting fellow kinksters was hard. No, hard's the wrong word. Fucking lucky is a better one, because those I did meet then I met by chance in a pub or some other vanilla setting, and it was only after getting to know them a bit that the kinks sometimes started to rear their latex heads. On the whole though, I didn't meet anyone who really shared my somewhat sexual perversities, and so I assumed that I was just weird.

That isn't the best feeling in the world, to be honest.

But then I found the internet. I found chatrooms and porn and more importantly perverts. I found shops for perverts, chatrooms for perverts, ads for perverts, porn for perverts... blogs for perverts. And I found a word for that weird thing I liked so much. BDSM. And it really gave me a sense of belonging when I googled BDSM and got about 20 gazillion search results. So I stayed.

And i'm so glad I did. I've bought floggers, cuffs and paddles, met people for sex, discussed watersports and DP, and made some really good friends online, the likes of which I probably never would have met if it had not been for Mr Tim Barners-Lee. I love that man.

It's not just the internet though. I can download and watch porn, free of charge. I can take and print naughty photos safe in the knowledge that Boots won't report me to the police, and I can open up Word, and attempt to write some erotica.

If I'm gone for another four days, you know why.

I'm definitely going to sex it up a bit more at our next club visit. Not that I didn't sex it up at our first club visit - I just think I could do better. Outfit wise, anyway.

As we sat by the bar discreetly eyeing up the talent, I quickly observed that me and the boyfriend looked exactly like every other couple there: we were generic. Generic is the absolute last word anyone could normally use to describe me, but on this night that's exactly what I was. I had on a dress, black stocking-ed legs, and black thigh-high boots. As did every other woman in there. It was only funny because it was so cliché I should've anticipated it, really.

Sex clubs are always going to be full of women wearing black sex-boots.

There has to be more than one way to skin a cat though. And I certainly don't need to wear thigh-high boots to feel sexy, all boots give me the horn. Even my wellies, although I probably wouldn't wear those on a night out - unless it was a night out dogging (oooh, now there's an idea: mud, wellies, cock... yum yum!). Actually, how sexy I feel is more dependent on how many people look at me, which is completely egotistical probably, but true nonetheless. I'm an exhibitionist, afterall.

So what I clearly need is to get more naked and/or slutty.

I can't wait!

Don't know what I'm going to do with the boyfriend though.