Archive for May, 2013

May 29th, 2013


I want to be your pet

I want you to dress me up and made me feel special

I want to be at your every command, to be at your beck and call

I want to kneel at your feet and be stroked, looked after

I want to be yours to play with and abuse

I want to sleep curled on your bed

I want to be locked securely into a collar and protected

I want to be yours for that moment

May 19th, 2013

Some changes

I’m not sure how many of you will have noticed, especially as my blog was down for a few days just after I changed things, but I’ve been making a couple of changes around here and one of them is a very much adapted About Me section.  Take a look if you want to know what’s been going on in my head a bit more!

May 19th, 2013

Labour of Love

You’re waiting for me, kneeling on the floor, head bowed, patient.  I see you have everything prepared, lined up neatly beside you, ready for the task ahead of you.  I crack a smile, knowing your little perfectionist ways, happy with you being ready for me.  I stand over you, reaching down to stroke your hair, caress your cheek, gently raising your face so our eyes meet.  The look of eagerness and excitement makes me smile again.  I know you will enjoy this; my little treat for you.

We have our ritual, mainly unspoken, established through our mutual love and enjoyment.  You start at my waist, spraying the polish generously and working it into the latex with care and attention.  You pride yourself in the shine almost as much as I do, wanting to do a good job and please me as well.  Your hands sweep over the surface, caressing the material, working with a rhythm and flow.  I see the look in your eyes as your nose is filled with that delicious smell.  I see you pause for a second whilst you bring yourself back into the moment.

You work down my legs, your face almost touching them, both hands caressing and smoothing polish into my calves.  I see you inhaling, that look of glee.  I feel tension disappearing from my body, your touch amplified, feeling more intimate than if you were touching my naked skin.  Enclosed and yet so vulnerable, so exposed.  I try to stand steadily, stay focussed, but it becomes harder the longer you are working at the job in hand.

My arms are next and then onto my back.  As the time passes, the smell engulfs the room, making me take deeper, longer breathes.  You massage polish into my shoulders, working away knots whilst making sure my outfit shines.  I can feel your breath on my neck, as slow and careful as my own, taking pleasure in the proximity to the latex.

The final part of our ritual.  You move around to my front again and dedicate a significant time to polishing my chest.  Your attention to detail obvious as I watch you, every inch checked and double checked for shine, making sure there’s enough polish, no corners cut.  Your face a mix of concentration and joy, my body melting from your touch and my pride in you.

You finally decide that you are finished and look at me for approval, for praise, for confirmation that I am happy.  It takes all my strength not to grab you and pull you into my body, to let you into my secret, to take what I really desire.  Instead, I act in control and tell you how pleased I am with you, whilst desperate for the next time, for that touch again.

May 12th, 2013

The Brat

I’m still not quite sure if I like this piece but I’m posting it anyway. Maybe I shall write what happens next someday too.

It’s just another night, sitting at home and watching a film.  You ask me to get you a drink.

“Get it yourself!, I’m busy watching this.”

I sense the mistake the moment I catch the look in your eyes but I can’t help it.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” sticking my tongue out.

It’s stupid; I’m not even trying to egg you on.  You get up and head towards the kitchen and I shout after you, asking for my own.  I know I’m pushing my luck, but I don’t see the harm. I’m distracted by the film so I don’t notice you coming back into the room until you’re placing the bowl in front of me.

“What’s this?” disgust undisguised in my tone.

“Your drink”

I look up to you and you’re smirking.

“I’m not going to drink it.  You can’t make me.”

What am I saying?  Your hand is firm on the back of my head as I try to resist, locking my arms out, palms on the floor.  Your hand grips at my hair, disabling me as if you were scruffing a cat.  My face is in the bowl, mouth open from protesting, held down for as long as you dare, water filling my nose and mouth, making me struggle.  You pull me back, sitting me up and looking straight into my eyes.  A sensible girl whould be meek and apologetic but it seems that she’s not here today.  I stick my tongue out again and you react by pushing me straight back into the water.

When you let me back up, water is dripping from my hair and I splutter water straight out from my mouth and into your face,  You’re clearly not impressed.  You grab me roughly and pull me over your knee.  I’m not going easily though, kicking, scrabbling, wriggling.  My knickers are tugged down and I try to pull them back up.  Again, you pull my hair.  A moment of calm and my knickers are down again.  I’m about to protest when the strap comes down on my backside.  The pain is intense, burning, stinging, catching my breath.  Before I know it, the strap cracks down again and again.  You hesitate a moment and I start to wriggle again, trying to get up, to escape, but you have an iron grip on my back.  Another series of strokes from the strap and I can feel the heat rising from my bottom but, instead of feeling sorry, I just want to kick and scream.  You seem to know this and pull me up off your lap.

“Stand up straight, facing me”

I do it, looking sullen, apathetic.

“Get the cane from the hook and present it to me”

You’re trying to gain control, to get me to behave.  I amble over to the wall, grab the cane and hold it out to you, lazily.  You glare at me.  I know why; I’m not doing things the way I should, the way you have trained me.


I hold them out, palms down.  Instead of shouting at me, you roughly turn them over and place them one on top of the other.  Three strokes on each hand.  Three stripes on each palm.  It hurts and it’s hard not to let it show.

“Clothes off and pull up your kickers.”

I do as you tell me, leaving my discarded garments untidily strewn over the floor.  I stand, fidgeting, playing with my hair, looking bored.

You’re on me in a second, pulling me by my hair, dragging me to the cage, my feet barely keeping up with you, my body feeling out of control.  Bundled inside, cramped, body folded over, I hear you snap shut the padlock.

“You will stay here and contemplate your actions.  You will have all privileges removed.  No clothes, no attention, no acknowledgement,  no voice.  Food and drink will be limited.”

You don’t even look at me.

You walk off and I wait.  The minutes tick by and I sit, still bored, still fidgeting.  I shiver a little in my nakedness but try to control it, in case you come back.  I don’t want you to get pleasure from me struggling.  More time passes and I rearrange my body, trying to avoid stiffness and discomfort.  There’s enough space in here to move but never quite get comfortable. When you haven’t come back in what seems like hours, I finally realise that this is no joke.  I have disappointed you.  I have disappointed myself.  The tears start then, the second I realise that all I want is to be your good girl again.

May 7th, 2013

Longing for protection

Since I had major hip surgery 4 weeks ago, my kink life has taken a bit of a back seat as the pain I’m in and the breaks in my bones mean I really should be taking it pretty easy.  That doesn’t mean that my mind shuts up though and kink is frequently on the brain, on both sides of the switchy divide.  My cravings change on an almost daily basis, mainly because I know I can’t have any of it but it keeps coming back to something in particular that I haven’t had for a long time.

Although I was never formally collared during my time with S, I did wear one for her at times during play and when out together and I did form a psychological bond with it.  It made me feel protected and safe, looked after and secure.  There was something very comforting in being able to feel the leather against my skin, bound around my neck.  The smell is heavenly too ( I’ve got a bit of a thing for leather, can you tell?).  Recently, I have really wanted to feel that again, and extend it to leather cuffs too.

The thing is, this all got me thinking about D/s relationships in general.  I’ve never really had much of a formal arrangement, having fallen into D/s relationships before, but there are aspects that I would love to see if they would work for me with someone, as a submissive.  I did a lot of reading when I found myself as a submissive, as well as going to several workshops and I became rather interested in protocol and service.  I like the idea of ritual and rules regarding my behaviour and actions.  I am too stubborn and independent to ever want a 24/7 relationship, plus I always wonder how that would work in poly, especially as a switch but I do have a desire to explore this side of myself again in the future, with the right person, when I am well again.  The idea excites and interests me, as well as missing some of the things I had before that came with my submission.

May 3rd, 2013

Things no one will tell fat girls…

…so I will

I don’t normally just link to other blogs but I love this post too much not to.  It’s really awesome and reaffirming for me.  Plus Jes is hot!

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