Play Day - Monday

I had been trying to get over to see Sir all weekend. For many reasons, one of which is I think his extreme pleasure in my desperation, it did not eventuate. There were plans for Monday....Oh yes, there were plans. I was to meet The Divine One at Sir's.

*sigh* give me a moment while my eyes glaze over

There were conversations over the preceding week. I have wanted to try something for a while and have only fairly recently been open about it with Sir. He had been unwilling to this point as he said I was not ready but somewhere last week he decided I was ready (squeee!).

So I waited - exceptionally impatiently. There were many, many texts. Many, many, many texts. (Did I mention that last month I sent over 1600 text messages? No that is not a typo. 1600.) I cooked, baked chocolate brownies. I went back to my Serbian-Waxing-Goddess. I made salad. I ate pizza with friends. I thought a lot. The weekend dragged by and I felt every minute. I jumped at my phone every time it blipped, hoping.

One of the rules I have is to not say "maybe" or "perhaps" to Sir. It has shown me exactly how many times I use this as the easy way out, a non-committal answer. His line is always "...is a yes or a no."

So I asked him Saturday night if, as he had alluded to, he would have me come over. His response "perhaps, maybe. LOL". So my snarky desperation ramped up. He had promised I could see him over the weekend. Well not entirely promised but this new thing...I wanted it. I was terrified but I wanted it. I was maybe a bit disrespectful, (swore at him) which he was quick to point out would earn me a punishment. I was apologetic, well a little. I also vowed and declared that I would never ever ever say to him again "maybe" or "perhaps".

Finally Monday rolled around. My exuberant previous car ride neatly replaced with the familiar, terrified, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing car ride. I drive and I think about it, this thing that I do. I think about the fact that I am knowingly choosing to drive towards the thing that I am scared of, the thing that I want but don't want. I am choosing this. Every second of every minute I am choosing it. Although I may question my sanity regularly, I rarely question anymore whether I will continue participating in ttwd because that choice doesn't seem available to me any longer. It is there but not one I would want to make or would feel capable of making with any intention of sticking to. In fact I take back the "want but don't want". I want it but it is a twisted want that does not make even vague sense no matter which way I turn it - and on days like these, I twist and turn it every which way but loose. (writing mid-sub-drop - sorry folks)

I pull up at his house, collect my things and wait at the door, unsure of whether to knock. I finally decide to. He strides over smiling, opens the door, ushers me in. I can tell something has unsettled him. We sit and talk and look at photos. The Divine One cannot come. I am disappointed. I wanted her. I wanted to taste her, touch her, watch her...

*sigh*

Realization descends on me like a bird of prey from the clouds. For the past few days Sir has been talking about his "filthy mood". She, she can take an absolute beating...me? Not me! And now it is me, here, him in his already filthy mood made more filthy by virtue of the fact that she (the one who can take the beating) is not here...several things race through my mind at this point. We talk, chat laugh. He strokes my leg, pinches it a little. Then he says "lets go play"

*shiver*

He slaps my arse as we walk towards what is now feeling like impending doom.

Kinky Excursion Part Three - A Lesson on Shoes

Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.

We moved downstairs to the smoking area. I could not think of anything but want. I begged him with my eyes, with my words. I lost count of how many times I asked to go back upstairs. His eyes were playful, enjoying my torment I think.

Interestingly talking with Sir afterward I remembered many of the same people as he had: the pretty little thing in the denim skirt with a huge mouth and gorgeous pouty lips. Not my cup of tea, though I did have one or two ideas of where I would like to see her mouth. The girl with long dyed-black hair, who was much more my style (despite her hair) and sat behind us talking loudly about true bisexuality - a conversation which did not go unnoticed by me...I actually would not mind going back to look for her one night. Another girl who was, as we were leaving, being spanked over the couch by two men...yes, much more my thing.

People moved around us, talking, laughing. There were couples pairing off, kissing and fondling, perhaps a lover, perhaps a partner, perhaps someone whose name they don't know. There were one or two people around I would normally give a second glance but really, I just wanted to cum endlessly, to feel some real pain. I was not interested in scoping. Sir would not have permitted it anyway so it just would have added to my torment.

Women swathed in too-short fake leather, cut-off shirts, plunging necklines and denim skirts that are only for this purpose - the purpose of picking-up. The different styles and choices of clothing suggesting different things. The clothes are there mainly for everyone else, what they think others want. The truth of a woman is in the way she carries herself. It is about whether they lean in, or back, touch your arm, look over, smile, touch their face, catch your eye. You can tell what sort of lover a woman will be by looking into her eyes. Stare one time into a woman's eyes who is lusty as fuck, who is smoldering, brimming with need and you will never forget it and always look for it. The problem with most men is that they get so caught in looking at breasts they never find that out.

The men in their jeans and t-shirts with a little too much aftershave all looked the same - except for their shoes. You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. Experience has taught me what sort of lovers they will be and though not all conform, it is quite accurate. There are three main categories, all were on display that evening.

There are the trainer-boys. My guess for the record - all single. These boys, wearing their "going-out" trainers, stood uncomfortably around outside talking to each other. They were leaning against the wall, pretending they didn't care they hadn't picked up and that they weren't still hopeful (they were). No confidence, just quiet and wearing their eau-de-desperation like a foggy haze - enough to gas any passing, equally desperate girl.

Trainer-Boys = immaturity but malleability. As lovers they can be hit and miss. They are much easier to mold into what you want but ladies be warned, you will have to be very specific and patient. They need a map, a compass, GPS and will still get lost, however they make up for it in enthusiasm. Don't necessarily pass them by every time, but pick carefully. They are definitely a regular partner - takes a while to train one. One night is not worth it.

There are the Work-Shoes Guys. These ones are usually a little older, their shoes scuffed and worn, they are a little more forth-coming in terms of talking with women but with about the same success rate as Trainer-Boys. Downtrodden and reeking of selfish need, a few had come to the club with their wives, a few singles. I would hazard a guess that they are there most weeks with varying success. Their shoes beguile their lack of personal care, a need for someone to take care of them and somehow a lack of confidence. These guys won't talk to the other guys, except perhaps to retell an exceptionally bad joke for the third time and are exceptionally socially awkward (as opposed to trainer-guys who just lack confidence).

Work-Shoe-Guys = selfish and needy. Needing to be looked after (read as mummies boys) and wanting to have someone care for them makes them prime stalker candidates (of which I have had a few). One night stand means little to them because they are desperate for a carer. Their selfishness means that they can't find your clit and don't care if they do, and they don't believe in a g-spot. Two minute wonders, at best. They just want to get their end in and then for you to come over to their house and do their laundry. Steer clear at all costs.

Suave-Shoes-Man. Last but not least. This is the guy you need to look for. Actually, you don't. He will look for you. He will have good quality leather shoes, not the ones he wears to work. They can be exceptionally modern but don't have to be, they will be clean and not scuffed. He is the one that will stand back and watch for a while, he will talk to everyone. Once you have noted his shoes you can take in the rest of him, he can be younger or older but he has got-his-shit-together. He knows what he wants, he knows who he is. Not to be confused with the arrogant twin who is just a Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes. This guy is smooth and alluring.

Suave-Shoes-Man = fuck. This guy knows his way around the female form. He is a Man-Whore. Man-Whores are hopeless romantics who love lust and fucking and women (not to be confused with the Trainer-Boy-in-Funky-Shoes who is just a player, out to get his end in and does not know what to do with a woman). Suave-Shoes-Man is calm, confident and knows what he wants. He knows how to make a woman swoon. He will please you - because that is his mission. Don't walk, run to your nearest hotel suite.

I thought about how I must look in there, in amongst the meat-market. I dress a little like a sassy-school-teacher, an art I have been perfecting. Walk past me on the street and you would think sweet house-wife, proper but with an edge.

We sat and Kate was talking about my cumming-on-command and asking about what the orgasms felt like and commenting on the faces I pull. Sir asked her if she would like to see another face. He pulled my shirt down, pulled my bra down and grabbed my nipples - hard and commanded I cum. Gasping, breathy, desperate for more I was taking anything he had to give. I wanted it all and I loved it right there, infront of whoever was watching. I didn't care I just wanted what I wanted.

Kinky Excursion Part Two - Want

We headed inside and I filled out membership forms. My bid for ease, (emailing to ask under what conditions I am to apply for membership) thwarted by a lack of clarity, so, standing at the front desk with increasing numbers of people waiting to get in, I had to state to three different people that I wanted to apply for membership for myself and my husband but that this was not my husband, this was my Dom and that I had had email confirmation that as long as I didn't come with both of them on the same night then it would be fine to only have one membership...yes, this certainly was a discomfort I did not need...details sorted, membership granted.

Being newbies we were required to take the guided tour. This consisted of us being met at the door by a woman who opened the door, walked us through and pointed at things from the doorway. We were standing on one side of a smallish warehouse space. It was quite warm and inviting. The flooring was black and white tiles (unless you looked closely, in which case it was white tiles with the alternate ones painted black) with a few mirrors and some framed pictures of gorgeous people up on the walls. There were a few couches set up in two U shapes, a small (tiny) stage with a pole, a set of stocks, a red fixed table with bench seating, a bar and pool table. There was one set of stairs which lead up to the bedrooms and a smoking area where another set of stairs lead to the bondage space. When I turned back to face the entrance I noticed two small rooms either side, one was a cloakroom and the other contained a massage chair, a plasma playing bad porn and a horse sort of thing. I did not venture in to have a look.

There were not many people inside. A few couples and quite a few single men. It was still fairly early. We sat, talked, flicked through a lingerie brochure. I noticed the stocks sitting quietly beside the stage. Sir pointed them out (like I wouldn't notice) and said he had been thinking about making some. (Yeah, because that sounds like a whole world of fun for me and my fellow collared sisters) We decided to head outside for a cigarette, eventually heading upstairs to check it out.

The BDSM area was small with not much equipment. Looking out over the main area, there was a saltire which is like an X with anchor points at all four corners for cuffs or ropes. There was a swing, two beds, a few ropes, two massage tables and one or two leather paddles. The odd bit of suspension equipment hung from the cage (the whole area was in a sort of cage). Next door was a room set up for live video streaming and chat. All in all I was not particularly impressed....but perhaps at the same time relieved. It was afterall a swingers club, not a dungeon.

Sir had me stand on the platform of the saltire for a second. I could tell he was assessing everyone, everything, finding his comfort within the space, trying to find where mine was. I stepped down and Sir walked Kate around explaining pieces of equipment which were of no interest to me. I was interested in the saltire and wishing I had brought my whip....and glad I hadn't.

Kate disappeared into the video room to chat with her husband. I sat up on one of the tables. He ran his hands over my legs, up my thighs (shiver) and down again. I wanted it. I wanted him. Every bit of me that cared about anything else was gone. I wanted what I wanted. I don't remember if we were talking at all. At that moment I no longer cared who was there, who was watching. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to tie me up and spank my arse. I desperately wanted him to rake his nails down my back until I came. I think as Kate got back I stepped back up on the saltire platform, still clothed. He moved to tie my wrists but decided to use the cuffs I had in my handbag instead (every girl should always carry cuffs, a ballgag and her collar wherever she goes). He unwound the paddle thonging from its hook which happened to be right in front of my eyes.

I haven't had one of those used on me before so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was not too sure what to think. It looked ouchies. It wasn't. Actually, I take that back. I reserve my judgement for a later time when I can have it thoroughly used on me.

He tapped it across my face a few times and I started that slow build to bliss where there is no one else, nothing else just the sensations and the words and his eyes. He tapped my arse. He whacked the backs of my calves. I wanted him to let loose. I wanted it harder. I wanted more - much more. I thought I was going to pass out with want. The sound echoed out over the space and I could see something was holding him back. There was something pulling him away from playing. He stepped in close, spoke softly landing the occasional soft whack. He was not comfortable. He stopped and hung the paddle. He bade me cum, until my legs were shaking but he was being so....nice.

He took me down and moved me over to the table where I sat egging him on, begging him for more, begging him to tie me up, to hurt me. He stood firm. Kate was there, somewhere, it didn't matter to me (sorry Kate). All I wanted was to be used.

I have decided I am not an exhibitionist - well a little but not much. I just didn't care. I wanted so badly to be fucked that he could have taken me out to the carpark and fucked me and I would have been happy. The other part of it is pride. I am proud to be with him, to be his. I want people to see it, to hate it, to be jealous, to be horrified, to be fascinated. He told me he could not. He said he was in such a filthy mood that he could not. He would be making me beg and he did not think I was ready for that in such a public setting. That he was making 100% sure that I would not do anything that I would regret.

He bade me cum, sitting there next to Kate, standing back, not touching me. He was just out of arms reach so I was clutching at the wall. My legs were shaking and I was gasping, wanting it, wanting him. He pulled them out of me, close together so that they were crashing over each other without a breath in between. I was there and he was nodding, commanding, quiet and then he was done.

Every pore of my body was screaming for more. I was getting pouty and petulant and sulky - playfully so but the undercurrent was very real. He was immovable. I love that as much as I hate it.

____________________________________________________________


Last night I spoke with him on the phone. He wound me up so tightly it was all I could do to not melt through into cumming. He said no. I was not to cum until 12:01. Four hours! I had to drive to the airport to collect a heartbroken girlfriend. My thoughts of cumming and fucking and him kept me company on the drive. I picked her up and hugged her, dried her tears and made soothing noises as she unburdened herself on the car ride. All the while my imagination was devoted to playing with what he had set up in my head. We got back to her place, smoked and drank coffee until 11. I went to bed and rested fitfully, waiting. My alarm set for midnight, I woke every 5 minutes to check if I had missed it. The alarm went off and at precisely 12:01 I came. Relief.

Kinky Excursion Part One - Discomfort

So I underestimated exactly how much discomfort I would experience when two of the worlds I juggle collided. Quite a bit it turns out. I had arranged with a girlfriend to go to check out a local swingers club to see if it would be a suitable place to take our husbands. Sir decided to chaperon as he deemed it inappropriate for us to go alone. I was thrilled

I was totally excited at the prospect of going out with Sir and Kate, first to dinner and then to the club. Around about 4 hours from meet time I thought about what I was actually doing. Kate is a gorgeous person, a supersmart woman who is trying to understand my brand of kink and exploring her own. Sir...well he is my Sir. How could someone who does not get it, however openminded, possibly be expected to react when confronted with ttwd? While I had asked for, begged for, prayed for best behavior from Sir, the only thing I am assured of is my lack of capacity to predict anything. In that regard he certainly came through.

I spoke with Sir and with Kate and calmed down somewhat but in all of my talking had run out of time to go through the self-waxing procedure I had decided to try. I love going and getting waxed. I have a bit of a 'thing' for my waxing girl (Serbian-Goddess with nipples that beg for teeth...sigh...back in the room...) BUT I decided I would do it myself just because I wanted to see if I could. I got about halfway done (yes I CAN do it - go me) and it was down to the wire. I was going to be running a fine line getting out the door. I had to stop and....shave....eeeeewwwww. I HATE shaving. I should point out for those who have missed it at this point that I am not talking about waxing my legs....mmmmkay? Waxing one leg and not the other would be strange and you would probably feel self conscious going out but it's likely no-one else would notice. Waxing half your cunt...well...I guess if you had done it in such a way that you had a landing strip then you would be fine but probably having one side waxed and the other not would be a somewhat unique look....shaving it was quicker, necessary and I am going to regret it in a week...well half of me will regret it...

Anyway, I dressed-up and make-upped and made the decision to wear some of my favorite (highly impractical) shoes because they are HOT. I was sweating bullets, worried that they would be there first but I arrived dead on, followed by Kate. We sat and chatted while I drank water and tried to swallow my nerves. Kate was just saying to me that she thought it was him behind me but I knew. I could feel him there.

The introduction was interesting. I was some kind of superstar. I seriously should be a professional meet-and-greet-er. "This is my friend Lil or she posts as Kate and um. Yeah which name should I say?" she shrugs and smiles. "Sorry....umm and um, Lil, this is aaaah...this um....this is my Sir. Um...yeah...my Sir...." FUCK I can't even say his FUCKING name. What. The. Fuck. It isn't like I don't know it. Fuck. Kate smiled and laughed. I noticed that he was amused. I think my bashful discomfort amuses him at times. I also noticed that he let "Sir" hang in the air and was not forthcoming with a name.

We tried uncomfortable small talk for a few minutes until it turned into comfortable banter...actually they were comfortable, I was not...even now as I write I feel my face heat with remembering. I turned into this ridiculous, blushing, quiet, giggling, blushing (yes I said it twice but that is because it is not something I do) girl.

The food was good. I didn't feel much like eating, I was too nervous but I listened and relaxed as I ate. Slowly, slowly I started to feel a little less like my chest would explode and my ability to be coherent returned. He was wonderful and funny and charming and honest. He opened doors and pulled out chairs and was the perfect gentleman.

We strolled to the car (my shoes, seriously were made for sitting, not walking). I am complaining but I think the walk was all of 20 meters. Kate came in my car (her husband dropped her off) and Sir went in his. We met up at the club. Sir could see how nervous I was. He stopped me just as we were walking up. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Yes, Sir." "No. Stop and think about this. Are you sure?" Deep eyelock. My shoulders release, tension gone, "Yes, Sir."

We headed inside and I filled out membership forms. My bid for ease, (emailing to ask under what conditions I am to apply for membership) thwarted by a lack of clarity, so, standing at the front desk with increasing numbers of people waiting to get in, I had to state to three different people that I wanted to apply for membership for myself and my husband but that this was not my husband, this was my Dom and that I had had email confirmation that as long as I didn't come with both of them on the same night then it would be fine to only have one membership...yes, this certainly was an added discomfort I did not need...details sorted, membership granted and we were IN!

Ruby at The Erotic Notebook

I don't usually do this but I read the most amazing piece of work today over at the Erotic Notebook.

It is so exceptionally beautiful that I had to share it.

It is called Celestial : A legend

A big thank you to all the recent contributors, emailers, commenters and listeners of my rambling and whinging. You know who you are and I am so grateful - my Twisted Family (Mick and the sub-sisters)!

xxx JaT

Fence Sitting or The Case for the Switch in the Affirmative

So Mick and the Sub-Sisters are at it again. SFP started talking about switching, which lead to Sin talking about switching, which lead to Mick talking about switching. As a bonafide Switch I could not pass the topic by and it has come up a fair bit for me recently.

Let me jump in to explain something first. I am arguably the Merriam Webster poster girl for Fence-Sitting: a state of indecision or neutrality with respect to conflicting positions. I identify as a bisexual, switching, sadist and masochist in an open marriage.

Lets start with Sadist and Masochist.

Well, while I am fairly certain that I could survive without inflicting pain on someone else, would life be as fulfilling? I think not. The power in your touch, in your physical being - that someone is willing to accept it, to take it, to trust you to take them there is nothing short of amazing. The feeling of a human being completely willing to give themselves over to you, to be bound and under your complete direction, to allow you to hurt them, to want you to is just an inspiration.

Why an inspiration? Because for all intents and purposes people have every reason not to trust each other. We are hardwired to recall more clearly every bad experience we have ever had. We are supposed to spend our time looking for danger and protecting ourselves from it. We should be spending our time trying to protect ourselves from hurt, to save ourselves from trusting in someone (both physically and emotionally). The fact that someone can give over so much of themselves amazes me every time; that I am able and willing to surrender that part of myself amazes me also. I do not think I could live without the masochism. I think I would wilt away. The feeling of pain in its varying forms is delicious. Really, how could I choose between the two?

I am married but I choose - we choose - to allow other people into what is presumed to be a sacred act between two married people. For me sex and emotion have never been closely intertwined. Sex is sex and if you have an emotional relationship you do and if you don't you don't. I am not sure why I am wired that way, I just am. I talk with friends frequently and (particularly when I am talking about women I would like to fuck, but men too) I realise I sound...well....like a man. I look objectively at a person, at what I want to take or have taken, my eyes glaze over and I sound like a horny old guy sitting at the bar nursing his eighth whiskey. Pick the one person you can sleep with for the rest of your life....you want me to choose that? Seriously!?

Women, men - really how could I possibly decide? When presented with the prospect of a luscious pair of breasts and a juicy cunt with a perfect little clit to tongue and nibble or a thick hard cock and throbbing balls to ride and suck and tease and pound...Pass me a coin - I can't choose. Yes, I sit neatly and squarely in the middle of the fence.

Women and D/s for me are a different kettle of fish. The relationships I have had with women over the years have been far more balanced. I guess I have a much higher expectation for emotional intimacy in relationships with women. I don't really do high levels of emotional intimacy in my primary relationships. I know that sounds like a really strange thing to say....I guess it works in neatly with the above "sounding like a man" thing. I have had three relationships with women but I find it uncomfortable - that I give over too much of myself. I prefer to keep things purely sexual. As such I have had two significant relationships with women where I was more Dominant and one where we were on even ground. Purely sexual relationships are fun and light, the air passes between us. The relationship relationships are like suffocating fire and ice. All encompassing. I do one of two things, drown or run - so I keep my significant relationships with men where I am safe and controlled.

When I examine the idea of Mistress or sub, I think about my pup in his womens panties (yellow suits him), on his knees after being brought to the brink of cumming for four days with no release. I hear him beg "Mistress please may I cum". His pleading eyes cast down as directed. When I tell him to look up, to look at me, I smile and nod my head and say "yes, pup...cum for me now" and he cums, thanking me. I feel a surge of pride in him and in myself that I have brought this from him. This secret thing that he has kept locked away that he so desperately needed and I cultivate it, refine it, make it shine. That he is happy and fulfilled in his submission makes me happy. That I am happy makes him happy. Perfect circle, akin to nothing. Then I flip and look at myself, bound, gagged, whipped, pleading, begging...I see myself as if outside my body; up on the tips of my toes shaking and cumming until it is too much then being pushed to go once more, a little further, pushing the edges of myself. Offering my body and soul to be to be owned. Blissed in my submission, happy to serve, happy that he is happy that I am happy that he is happy....How could I possibly give up either? How could I possibly choose?

As a switch I do not switch within relationships. For my Sir I am his sub. He is my Sir and that is it. Not that I haven't on the odd occasion said to him "how about I shove that there on you and see how you like it!" Not that a little part of me didn't imagine tying him to the bed the other day during his massage...Neither of us would have it though. It would not give him what he wants or me what I want. I am not after playing at Top and bottom for the afternoon. I want his Domination to be real and enduring. I want my submission to be whole and complete surrender. Not for a minute but for the duration of the relationship. It is much the same in my role as Mistress. I cannot be what pup needs if he sees me for one second as less than his Mistress. Pulling in the reigns of control re-energizes me in much the same way as submitting does. Sometimes it gets hard. Probably not as much hard work as I am for Sir. I have met one or two switches I would play with. I would not consider it even close to a D/s relationship. It would just be play. Like a pleasant evening wrestling for the remote control. I want real D/s not this top bottom fun play. To go where I want to go and to take what I want taken I need real D/s. To me (I concur Sin, SFP) you cannot get that in switching - within a given relationship dynamic. I have thought about how I would feel if Sir had a Domme. The idea makes me laugh a bit. Not in this lifetime. To be honest I don't think he would be the Dom I need if he had that little bit of Switch lurking....

Finally tea and coffee, chocolate and vanilla, day and night, summer and spring. I like both in all cases. They are both fantastic for different, opposing, complementary reasons. You want me to choose to have one and not the other....I just can't. Perhaps it is greedy. Perhaps I should make some firm choices...I want it all - everything.

I have decided I am not a fence- sitter. I have decided to look at myself as an equal opportunist. It just happens that I see everyone as an opportunity!

Much love, JaT

Update! Back with a Vengence!

As much as I hate to do it I am gunna. Its my blog and y'all can't stop me! I will finish my Degustation Menu but I have to side line it while I work through it both in script and in my head. I have struggled writing anymore about my indulgent weekend because it is scrambled up and there are things I want very much to write about but that I don't because...well I just don't...so I have been trying to figure out how much I put out there and how much not to . I have another site that I post to that was intended to be for me to vent. Sir reads it too apparently - I swear he is like a CIA agent (and I secretly love it).

Update Update Update

I am sure you have all been dying to know. I was in a world of drop unlike I could possibly have foreseen. I had a big tantrum. I refused to contact Sir (because he should have been checking on me). Eventually my tantrum subsided and he was there to scoop me up. He did not get angry, just accepted and understood where I had been and allowed me to come back in my own time. Something about my submission being a gift freely given - not taken or taken for granted. I promised him that no matter what I would be in communication with him.

I have kept my promise of communication and honesty. I have written and bared my soul. I have told him anything I could possibly think of that he may find interesting - and some things that are not. I told him how my desires have evolved and shifted. I told him about new things I want to try. It would appear that once hard limits are now a bit soft around the edges.

Another interesting development is that I have arranged to meet a friend to check out a local swingers club this Friday - Kate who sometimes comments here. Sir will escort us. He tells me it is no place for me to go unaccompanied. Perhaps he is right. I am very much looking forward to it.. We are each (Kate and I) checking to see if it will be a suitable place to take our respective husbands.

SO

I knew it. I knew I had this new shiny bit of sub-ness not available to me before. I wanted it. I loved knowing it was there. I was scared of what it would look like in real terms, splayed out there for him to see.

He had a sore back. I knew he would just be getting home from work so I text him and asked if he wanted a massage (subtle, no?) I told him I was serious and I would bring some oils over. He said sure - but you will bring your stuff too. Of course Sir.

The drive over was so fun. My music was cranked and I had not an ounce of the terror that had gripped me previous trips. I sang loud (no promises of talent though). I was excited to be going. I was excited to be seeing him.

Usually I am met there with the door half open and I creep in under his arm. He was not there so I waited (all of two seconds) and he appeared and opened the door for me - chivalrous as ever. The door was locked behind me. I had my bag in hand and went to walk up the stairs to his room. He went past towards the kitchen. He said something about having a cigarette first so I tried to back track but he laughed and swatted my arse and said Nooooo. Upstairs we went. I pulled out my massage stuff and he stripped down and lay on the bed. My what a turn of events! Here I was clothed (well I had a dress on and no bra or panties - I have deemed them to be somewhat of a waste of time now) and here was he naked on the bed. He kept chuckling and saying "you are loving this". I was.

I massaged his back and put some chinese white flower oil on it. I was worried about bringing the white flower oil because it burns like a motherfucker and I was a bit worried about where else it had the potential to end up. I stowed it back in my bag and kept that idea under my hat.

Then it started. I sucked his gorgeous cock for a bit. He asked if I had missed it. I had. He reminded me that I had missed the potential for another tryst with the Divine One (which I did not know until after and YES I was sorry about that but at that point I was still, mid-tantrum - what is a sub to do?) I knelt before him and he slapped my face and I loved it. In the past it has made me annoyed or shocked or submit just to make him stop but this time...He slapped me twice I think on each cheek and I just...wanted it...needed it. I needed to know, to remember - to be his again. I felt my chest swell with each whack. It made me dizzy and deliriously, happily his. He spanked me - again with the deliriously happy.

He pulled the whip out and started hard out. I cannot take too much of it. Pretty soon I was sobbing. I needed to sob. He would reach his hands out and rub my back, then THWACK THWACK. I tried really hard to stay relaxed, to not try to anticipate whether it would be his hands soothing or the whip biting. At some points I was more successful than others.

He walked me to the wall and I stood, legs spread, arms above my head, forehead on the wall. He started with the whipping. I wish he would start slower, softer and build in. He never does. He starts at where I can just withstand it and builds in from there. I did suggest to him at the end of our evening that he could just hit me softer and he laughed so hard I thought he would injure himself.

He pulled out a different whip and dropped it once across my back. FAAAARK! That is some serious pain! I do love the mark it left though...I want the marks without the whipping. He put the ball gag on me and whipped me some more until I was at the end and I could not take anymore.

He was there behind me and I could feel him breathing. He ran his nails down my back. It seriously sends me over the edge. He started right at the top and grated them down my back over and over and I wanted to cum so badly that I could not speak to ask permission. He bit me, bit into my back and it was fucking delicious. He stepped back and bade me cum. I came. Never one to disappoint he bade me cum again...and again and again and again...

It washed over me, cleansed me. Made me new again. My legs started to shake and give way, my arms started to fall. He demanded I keep my arms up and then told me to cum again. My knees started to buckle. He decided in his infinite Domly wisdom that at this point it would be a good time to have me get on my toes. Wow, yes. That is totally what I was thinking - not how about I just crawl on my hands and knees on the floor and dissolve at your feet. I was totally thinking how about I get up on the tips of my toes and cum some more. I love it how we sync like that! (I have heard somewhere sarcasm is unbecoming - I have yet to be presented with sufficient evidence to back that theory)

I was struggling. Every cum I could feel my knees pull in tighter, my back arch. The wall was cool on my head. I had sweat flowing in rivers down my back. My knees would start to give. My muscles burned and he was there, calm, "Again - now" and I did. Over and over. I was (I am sure) begging to stop. He told me at one point that if I moved my feet to the floor I would earn 50 whip strikes. That seemed pretty good motivation. I came and came and came while my calves burned like hell and my thighs shook - until I could not stand for one more second. Until I could not cum again.

Then he took me down (I swear to God I felt as though I had been tied there) and walked me to the middle of the room. He pulled my nipple and my eyes grew wide. Noooooo I just could not do it. He stopped me - held me up. He grabbed a nipple between each of his thumb and forefingers. "Look into my eyes, there is nothing but me. You can do this, you can take this." I looked into him. I am sure he was doing unspeakable things to my nipples with his fingers, pinching and pulling harder and harder. While I held his gaze I did not notice. Then the command came again "Cum" and I came - hard. Really hard. It was intense and amazing. As soon as I came my knees gave way slightly and I grabbed his shoulders, digging my nails in. My head lolled back a bit and as soon as I lost eye contact my nipples BURNED! "Look at me. Stay with me. You can do this." and I was back with him and there was nothing. Over and over we danced this twisted dance until I thought I would pass out.

Finally I was done, I sucked his cock and my lusty cunt was fed until I melted and gushed (twice he tells me) and I was permitted to lap at his cum.

We chatted for a while and shared a cigarette or two (yes, I am still convinced I don't smoke).

I have been on a very major blissed out high for a few days now but I have had cause to think. I have been asked a few curly questions by friends and family lately. What is a girl to do? My new standard line is to look them squarely in the eye, smile and say "I have recently implemented a don't ask, don't tell policy." Evokes a few raised eyebrows when there are teeth marks on your back...


PS I have missed you all very much and am enjoying catching up on everyone - xxx JaT

Degustation Menu - Second Course

...My hands start to explore her body, touch the shape of her breasts, slip between her thighs.

I am waiting direction but I will not wait long - nor as it turns out do I have to.

My mouth finds her nipple and sucks hungrily. We are kissing, petting, touching. We are told to explore each others cunt with our tongues. Eager (obviously to please Sir) my mouth finds its home, flicking between her wet lips, sucking, gently stroking. I run my tongue up and down building rhythm, dipping it inside her. I feel my stomach clench, the warmth in my belly brimming. She tastes sweet and salty and perfect.

How I have deprived myself of this for so many years I do not know.

My fingers slide inside her. I am soft then on her clit, swirling my tongue in little circles. I feel her tighten around me. Before she cums I am lying back feeling her tongue lapping at my cunt. I suck her from my fingers drinking in the moment.

I lie across the bed. She straddles my face, a knee either side of my head and we are at each other. Tongues, fingers, grinding hips. I am fairly certain I am under instruction not to cum as if I weren't I would have already. He walks around lazily landing blows with the whip. At some point the blindfolds are removed. Sir expects us to bring each other to orgasm together. My fingers dip inside her as I feel my cunt spread open. Sir is attentive, watching, instructing, demanding - deeper, harder, faster. I can feel her clenching. There is nothing but this. The room dissolves around me, sound is gone, time is gone, Sir is gone.

I feel the spot up inside her and work my hand in circles. I thrust in and out. She is pushing me to the edge. I want nothing more than to taste her right now, to suck her clit as she cums. The angle in which we are locked will not allow it. I know Sir is there somewhere commanding - deeper, harder, faster. I make a small circle once more and she shudders. Sir commands that we cum then, right then. My muscles clench in response. Her back arches and she is releasing, gushing. I feel the warmth of her cum bloom across my breasts, drip down my sides, flow around my neck, then I am lost to another more powerful cum. I feel myself giveway. Cum spurts from me under the ministrations of her hand but is exponentially increased by the flow of her cum onto my chest. The only thing I wish is that I could taste her, drink it from her.

I am there locked in, reveling in the majesty of the moment. Marveling at this divine creature, at her cumming around my fingers. Over and over I am lost and reborn. She thrusts and rubs at my cunt as I feel her insides pulse around me. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

Sir commands we remove our hands at the same time. We do. She with a small 'yes Master', I with a grudging 'yes Sir'.

This is the moment I take to really look at her. If I could design the perfect pair of breasts, these are them. Milky-white with perfect pink nipples. They are full and gorgeous. She is petite and lying on her stomach now, facing the foot of the bed next to me as I do the same. We are looking out the door as our Master/Sir walks outside for a cigarette. I notice the pale pink skin across her back and thighs where the whip has plead its case. I smile at her and we both giggle as we look at each others eyes for the first time and introduce ourselves. She has a fantastic, wild, curly, cherry-red bob and her lips....oh my. Her lips curve in an exaggerated heart shape and are a beautiful deep pink. We laugh some more. Sir calls out to us. We explain we are just introducing ourselves and dissolve into giggles again.

Each of us throwing on a black dress, we joined Sir on the balcony for a breather. We are (after all) settling in for a long night.



Degustation is a culinary term meaning "a careful, appreciative tasting of various foods" and focusing on the gustatory system, the senses, high culinary art and good company. (with thanks to wiki, full definition here)

Drop

So here I am quietly back from my week at the beach.

I have spent the morning washing, catching up on my favorite blogs and having coffee with friends.

I have to say I don't feel up to writing. I don't feel up to anything much. I am all melancholic and vague. Neither sit well with me.

I am tightly wound, inside myself, defensive. Interestingly I am not thinking too much. Usually I do but it seems to have left me somewhere, the thinking, analyzing thing. I am not sure where. I know at several points it has been forbidden. This cannot be the reason though. If it was I would know.

Yes, fwiw I do see the irony in analyzing the lack of analysis. You should understand though, at one point in time I would have been questioning everything inside out and back again; wondering where my crazy need to try and understand things has gone falls markedly short of true JaT analysis.

This is without the slightest hint at a shadow of doubt the worst, most enduring drop-through-the-epicenter-of-my-existence I have endured. I know it is bad because I made pizza dough last night and it didn't rise properly.

I don't need anything. I don't want anything. I don't want to talk with anyone. I don't want to see anyone. I want to sit by myself watching the trail of smoke spin webs through the air as it leaves my lungs. I want to keep everything to myself. I want to lie outside in the quiet at night, not sleeping. I don't want to think. I just want to be here, enjoying the nothing for what it is - temporary. I know it won't last long and as parts of me come creeping back (when they deem it is necessary to return) my thoughts will weave themselves into a fast swirly pattern and I will be dragged back down into reality, into thinking, into everything I strive to leave behind when I bow my head to have my collar buckled around my throat.

It doesn't suck. I don't hate it. It just is what it is. I am waiting it out. It is stalking me through my life, hunting me down, pouncing on me in waves. One of us will blink first and I am guessing it will be the drop - eventually.