Flash Fiction Friday - Knowing

She gripped the sheet loosely around her breasts, accentuating her nakedness rather than attempting to hide it.  “I have been waiting for you,” she crooned.

“I know,” the whispered response quiet but firm.

She turned, revealing more of her flesh.  Wild hair cascading down her back in a river of chocolate satin, her creamy skin curving around the shape of her spine, her shoulders, the top of her buttocks.  “I don’t like to wait.” 

 “I know.”

“I am not used to waiting for anything or anyone.”  Her voice was even, calm, low – deadly. 

“I know.”

She turned back, clutching the fabric close around her, gathering it tight, she stepped closer, a sneer curled her lip, her eyes flashed.  “You know.  You say you know.  You know and here you are.  You are not sorry?  I could have gone home without saying a word and you would have come to my room and there would be an empty bed, without a note, just the rumpled sheets where I have been lying waiting.”

“I know...but you didn’t.”

They stood for a moment drinking each other in, air charged, eyes locked.  Her dark eyes brimming with tears, she lowered her head as her words stuck in her throat, “I...I thought you would not come for me...”

“I know...but I have, my love.  I have.”  Advancing towards her, crooking a finger under her chin and lifting her face, kissing her tears.  A hand wound its way through her hair as the other cupped her breast and the sheet dropped to the floor.  “...and I will always come for you.”

“Now I know...” she said as she smiled softly.  They kissed then, hard, lips against lips, breasts against breasts, tasting, savoring - lovers at last.  Leaving their old lives and their husbands in their wake.


Flash Fiction - The Force

Her back screamed in response to being forced up against the brickwork.  With each thrust new gouges opened themselves on her shoulders.  Her legs wrapped around him, she clawed at his chest.  Tiny speckles of blood accented the long red lines she drew with her nails.  He let out a loud growl and came inside her.  She shuddered her response. 

How deliciously ironic that he cold bite of steel should link them for an act of such debauchery. 

He winked at her, “We could have used these earlier…”

She giggled as the police officer pushed them towards the waiting van.

Second Flash Fiction...still haven't figured out how to install the button...100 words though, yay me!

Thank you Panserbjørne at Insatiabear!!


Play Day - Monday Part 2

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 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" 


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

Our genial rapport is left scattered like our clothing which seems to find its way into quiet corners to watch.  Seamlessly, wordlessly, it is replaced with bawdy personification of our lascivious-selves.  

His hand slaps at my face, my arse stinging from his hands, his cane and I think the whip.  My back burning and I am splayed across the bed.  The cane is drawn again and it bites down at the top of my thigh. That really ouchy part where your buttock meets your leg, neatly he whacks.  I think the worst bit about the cane is that you hear it coming, feel the placement, know where it will land, hear the wind and the sound as it comes for you.  The struggle in not tensing is of course, magnified.  Then, most everything in TTWD is magnified.

There are tears and clamped nipples, begging, crying.  At one point I reached out to free my poor nipples.  There is always one the hurts more than the other.  I find it strange.  He looked at me, I knew the look.  It was a don't-you-dare-touch-those look.  I didn't and was soon relieved of the clamps.  For some reason every single time I think they will come off and I will feel better.  I always forget that it hurts like a motherfucker - always.  He never does.  I know he enjoys very much those few seconds of excruciating pain and the mixture of anticipated relief and shock on my face as the pain intensifies.  I love his fingers and hands on my nipples.  I hate clamps.  

I am lying on the bed and something makes me grin.  I don't know what it is.  Perhaps it was nothing.  Sir, I think, takes this as me not being serious enough.  That I am being disrespectful or not submitting.  Sometimes though, I just need to laugh.  It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt or anything else he maybe making up stories about in his head.  It sent me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.  The cane came out and whacked across the soles of my feet which sent me into further peals of laughter.  I am not a pain-slut.  Well sort of I am.  Actually I don't know.  I want it, I like it but it hurts.  Laughing was not making sense - even to me.  Then I was saying ouch and ending it with a laugh....then his whip came out.  I stopped laughing.  I don't even remember if he hit me with it but (I know I have mentioned this before) it hurts so much.  Giggles gone - pretty much.

I am standing in the doorway, fingertips crooked over the top of the frame, legs spread, on my toes, looking out of his room.  He is behind me somewhere, hitting me occasionally with something, a cane I think.  His voice moves around.  In front of me is a small unfurnished space.  Its far wall is a giant window.  A thin white curtain allowing me to see the outline of the squares of glass glows a pale yellow in the sunlight.  I am cumming, cumming, cumming.  He is calling, commanding, demanding my fingers stretch out over the door, that I am on my toes, that my body is taught and stressed and uncomfortable.  I feel the warmth of the cumming building in intensity.  "Cum now, hard" he says and I feel it trickle slowly down my leg, down the inside of my left thigh, snaking its way toward my knee.  Instantly he draws from me another and another until I can feel rivulets of cum sluicing their way down the inside of both thighs, down the inside of my feet, finally pooling where the balls of my feet touch uncomfortably to the floor.  There is a break for a few seconds.  I peak around at him lying back comfortably on his bed, just watching.  My head hangs forward, I am gripping the doorframe with my fingertips to relieve the rest of me.  He readies me.  I am begging for no more.  I have no more.  My head lolls back.  Last one.  Big one.  He pulls it from me slowly with his words and I feel it building in my belly.  I spray a neat little cum on the floor.  I have to admit to being quite impressed.  It was quite dainty.  I think about whether he can see the cum raining down, what it would look like in the intense yellow sunlight coming through the window and doorway.  I contemplate crawling to him, to the bed.  I don't remember getting there.  I know him well enough to presume that he helped me walk.

I collapse back onto the bed.  I suck at his cock.  I feel so spent, so gloriously spent.


Sick Leave + Old Man PornStar

I have officially put in for sick leave on my blog.  I know I could sit and write while malingering on the couch but it is not fun getting turned on while you feel awful - so I haven't.

Just caught up on reading this morning so back to writing tonight!

To keep you entertained while I bang away (at the keyboard, you dirty people) have a look at this link about a kinky old man....

Japanese Porn Star

I love it!

xx JaT


Getting Real

I am struggling at the moment, fair readers, with the editing of my blog.  I will let you in on a secret.  I play a little harder than what I write about.  I want to be honest, I really do, but there are somethings I skirt around a bit....and there are other things I skirt around a lot.  What I suppose would normally take half an hour to an hour to write takes me painful hours of deliberation trying to make sure you can understand why I am in the emotional headspace I am in without being too explicit...Don't for one second think I am anything less than honest.  Everything I am feeling and experiencing is real for me, it is just some of the physical stuff I am careful with - especially since I know some of the people who read...

So what do you think, guys?  For those of you who blog yourselves, especially the subbly bunch, what do you hold back?  Do you hold anything back?  Do any of your real-time friends read or know about your life?

I personally find the duality difficult.  I am not used to holding back anything from anyone.  I am about as much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person as you can get.  Most of my close girlfriends know.  A few of my close male friends know.  My sister-in-law knows.  

The people I have around me love me and think I am crazy.  They have always thought that though, so this just serves to confirm it.  They shake their heads or say they always knew, even when I used to play back in the day, they knew.  None of them have felt it appropriate to even feign shock.  I wonder about that.  What is it about me that screams kink?  Not that it matters.  If I have always known, then why would everyone else have been oblivious?  I will say though that there was a bit of a murmur when I said I had a Sir.  It was expected that I have pup, but a Sir for you?   That has quite possibly been the most interesting part.  The reaction (especially some of my rabbidly feminist friends *waves*) to the idea of me submitting.  I have found that treatment of me is reflective of how people react to life in general.  Some of them read here religiously, some read occasionally, some don't read at all.  Some want details, want more from me, some ask and then don't ask, look and beg curiosity and then get squeemish - they are the ones who enjoy thinking things are terrible.  Some want to talk about the emotional side, want to understand the reasoning, the need, the desire.  Some want to talk about the physical.  As long as I am safe and happy they don't really care about TTWD. 

It makes me wonder how much of hiding and closeting BDSM really has to do with other people and how much it has to do with how we percieve ourselves.  People know there is 'kink' out there.  People, all people, have their fetishes.

I am not planning on handing out business cards with my blog-link to the other mums at my kids' new school, but really...this is part of who I am SO this is my warning to all you who look me in the eye.  I am going to start gradually being more honest on here.  You will be reading more of the physical realities of TTWD.  If you think there is even the slightest possibility that you will be uncomfortable - stop reading.  If you are reading out of morbid curiosity - stop reading.  If you think I am a terrible person - stop reading.  If you are a little turned on, you have my mobile number, give me a call....

I am good at keeping the pieces of my life whole within me and separate out of the necessity of life but that is something we all do.  You wear your daughter hat for your mum but it doesn't sit on your head at the office.  You wear your office hat at work, but not as a lover.  Your hats are all there, tucked away, to be pulled on when needed.  My BDSM-side is the same.  It is just a collar, not a hat!

So the questions were: 
For those of you who blog yourselves, what do you hold back?  Do you hold anything back? 
Do any of your real-time friends read or know about your life?
Why do you think we hide TTWD?


Flash Fiction Friday - The Siren

She leaned in to him and her breath hissed, hot in his ear. “Come walk with me.”  He followed her, this siren. He had watched her all night, everyone had.  He would have followed her anywhere.  He did not even know her name.

The early light wrapped around her in a golden haze.  As she danced along the track, her skirt flicked up, teasing, bouncing against the top of her thighs.  She looked back at him over her shoulder and laughed, pinching at her hem, tugging it out to the side, making sure he could see her arse.  She skipped away and then back she flitted towards him.  “Do you want to taste me?”  Without waiting for a response she knelt over him, allowing his tongue to probe her depths.  She gasped, her back arched, nectar dripping down his face.

“I told you, the fear makes it fun.  Can you feel the hum?  That is the train coming.  Don’t look so concerned.  I am sure I will have time to untie you...”  He heard the siren, heard her giggle.  He heard the siren and he could not turn away - he was locked between her thighs.

My very first flash fiction Friday peeps!  Thanks to Insatiabear! 150-200 words, phrase "in a golden haze"

Hopefully by next week I will figure out how to install the button...

xxx JaT