The "F" Words - Get Figged

Sometimes I am a bad sub.  I have said get fucked.   I occasionally call Him a cunt - I think it more regularly but I also feel that considering the level to which we play and the fucked up things He does, it is justified.  Seriously.

He had a BRILLIANT idea over the weekend.  He was mussing over whether or not I had any ginger and I looked wide-eyed and said I did not. Grateful I did not. I think He didn't think I knew what figging was but I do....oh yes, yes I do. I remember reading about it on another blog a long time ago and it has stuck with me.

Anyway, figging sounded awful so I did not dare mention to Him that I had read anything about it at the time.  I know He knows most of these things but why draw something up in His memory, it seems like a seriously crazy thing to do.   Anyway, He was sitting at my kitchen table, ruminating about figging with ginger and chillies (as you do on a pleasant Saturday morning).  When He slapped His hands down on the table and got His "I have just thought of something so twisted and wonderful you are going to struggle to even comprehend my brilliance" look.  His eyebrows raise up really high and He gets this massive grin, He leans forwards and says "Chillies on your needles" and grins again with His eyes getting wider waiting for me to tell him it is the best idea I have even heard.

Oh yes, yes....that sounds like a grand fucking plan if ever I heard one...

A Change in Title

I have been very quiet for a long while.

Many things have happened.

Life is good.

Mostly.

And then I find myself back here.

It is good to catch up on where people are at, to read sin's wonderfully witty writing and to hear how mick and Molly are getting along.  I miss it.  I miss you all.

But here I am again at a cross roads.  The path does not matter much, suffice to say it has been long and very windy.  My (nearly) exhusband and I have been officially separated for nearly 18 months and in the last few months we (Sir and I) have been seeing a lot of each other.  Most weekends and a few weeks days.  At first I was very sure that I was not ever going to introduce anyone to my children.  That I would never move in with someone.  That I would have a part of my life that was what it was and another part that was TTWD.

So it comes down to this.

I love him.  With a fullness and hope and sweetness and terror that I cannot describe.  I have tried hard to move around it.  I have thought about not seeing Him although somewhere that stopped becoming an option.  I am no longer terrorfilled with the prospect of Him arriving at my house, knowing it means for me pain and lust and fucking.  The anxiety has shifted from being about the physical to the emotional.

It is strange.  We had quiet times over the last few years where we went months without seeing each other but I knew He was there in the background.   I knew if I called (and sometimes I did) that He would be there.  The only safe space in the world for me to curl up and cry when everything became too much.  If you read any of my other blogs, you would know that I loved Him, even then.  This is different though.  This is more.

Over and over in my head I have been trying to find the words to express what I want to say and they come but when He sits and looks at me, my head bows and my mouth becomes still and even my head on occasion becomes quiet.  I know He knows.  I know He has been sitting watching me squirm uncomfortably for weeks.

My favorite obsession at the moment is piercing.  I did tell you we play harder than I initially stated.  I will write about it at some point in time.  Ropes and whips and paddles and canes, needles and stretching and fisting and gagging...somehow I want more.  Right now I want these physical things to take me away from thinking.  To stop my heart and brain from reacting.  To be still.  How could He leave me here today, like this.  Today I can't be here alone and thinking.  And that is why I am alone here thinking, I suppose.

If we move from where we are at now, we move not to things as they are but to M/s.  Sir will no longer be Sir but Master.  For those of you who don't know, that is a BIG FUCKING DEAL.

I feel like He is giving me everything and taking everything from me at the same time.  My head is spinning and everything aches.  I am so sleepy.  I want to go for a massage but I don't feel able to leave the house.  I want to cry.  I want comfort.  I want Him to tell me He loves me and that He will take care of me.  I HATE saying the word Master.  It feels awkward and uncomfortable.

After a quiet time where we had not seen each other for a few months I said that I wanted to leave the Sir/sub wording behind, that it felt redundant.  We did, mostly, for a bit.  Then there was this one moment one Saturday evening where we were fucking and He was slapping my face hard and I was crying and cumming.  He said "I own you."  and I said "yes." and he said "yes what?" and he was Sir  but on a whole new level.  He bent me over the bed and fucked my cunt and my arse over and over until I was screaming with the need to cum and He kept saying He was fucking His cunt and His arse.  And He was. 

I look at the thousand tiny things He has said and as new elements of submission descend on me I remember that as I have sucked his cock for the last three months, He has been saying "suck your Master's cock".  I see all of these tiny pieces where I have been being trained, or perhaps rather have allowed myself to fall into submission and He has watched and waited.

I don't know if I can do this.  I cannot think I would possibly be happier in a different relationship than this.  I want it.  I want it so much that I want it all yesterday but I don't understand how it will look, how I will cope in two years, in three years, in ten years.  I don't know how it will look for my kids or for our kids if we have any.  What happens in three years time if something I agreed to that was okay now, becomes not okay?  What if it has a shelf life?  What happens to me if He leaves?

This is different.  This is a whole new ride.  Master and pumpkin.  I know on the one hand it is exactly what I have always, always wanted.

I don't know if I am enough.





I don't have the headspace to reread this or edit it.  Sorry if it is disjointed.


Love to you all.  I will be in and out again sporadically posting as things come up.  I have a feeling that at the moment I may be posting a lot as I try and work through this.


xx JaT

Play Day - Monday Part Three

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

I am pulled out of myself or into myself depending on how you look at it. Floating and spacey, I lie back as instructed. My cunt is sopping wet. He works his fingers inside me until he is fisting me - hard. We don't play with this anymore. There is no gradual process of working into being fisted. It is expected that I open and accommodate his hand. I do....Oh God I do. When he has his fist inside me I lose my head. It draws out the most intense orgasms. Each movement he makes is magnified by a thousand. His hand twists and shifts and my whole body lurches and I am gasping. I don't remember him telling me to quieten down so that either means I was a. quiet (not likely) or b. he had other plans and he was allowing me to go off in my head so he could unwind his deviousness out to its fullest.

** Note **

Kendra at TBK "came out" last week (see how long ago I wrote this). I find her bravery and honesty refreshing and inspiring. She also did a gorgeous post on fisting . SO, dear readers (as promised) here I am being more honest with YOU! I have been a little reluctant to come out about fisting. It is something I thoroughly enjoy. If you sift back through my archives there are several spots where I talk about it, though not expressly. You may find it if you know what you are looking for. Now I am calling a spade a spade! Oh and for any my sub-sisters who may be a tad scared of the prospect - don't be...Being fisted is as close to God as I think you will get in this life and a goal well worth working towards!

** End Note **

He had other plans. I came. My ears were ringing with the intensity. Being fisted is like drowning in the shallows while waves keep pummeling you and you can not stop to draw breath.

I was in such an exhilarating combination of off in my head and totally present to my physical experience. Usually he is inside me deep and hard. I felt myself stretching and pulling. I have no idea what he was doing. I remember begging at one point for no more. Usually he pushes me through that. This time he did not. He stopped. He told me to lie back on the bed and rest while he went and had a shower. I lay back and did not move a single muscle.  I am not convinced I could have if I had wanted to.

Back in the saddle

Thank you gorgeous people for your emails and kind regards. I have been on a surprise extended hiatus as I sorted some things out in my real actual life.

And now I am back in the saddle...not that sort of saddle, you pervs - although I am sure that will come. So here is my theme song for today if you would like to listen while you read my brief catch up.

Just to update you I have now separated from my husband. Surprisingly it had nothing to do with our little "arrangement" (arrangement being our open marriage). In fact that was one of the things we agreed worked well for us.

It is all a little ridiculously amiable, he comes and stays, spends time with the kids, has dinner sometimes, mows the lawn. We laugh and talk. Actually it is kind of the same as when we were married, well we are still married but, you know what I mean? We have always been great friends, just never quite got the husband/wife thing going so we decided to keep the bits we were good at and let go of pretending the marriage bit worked.  Our relationship feels the same.  It feels really good. 

Actually the bit that has been hard has just been the excruciating understanding that this decision will impact my children.

And it did.

And it does.

And they are okay.

Sometimes sad, sometimes confused but because we are okay, they are okay. Because we are still family and always will be. Because we still parent together and care for each other and for the kids and talk with each other.

...and you know?

Like everything, the actuality was not nearly so bad as the anticipation.

I am glad we got married. I am glad for the time we have spent together. I am glad to have him in my life, as my husband and now as my very dearest friend. I know we are both better people for it.

As for Sir, he has stayed quiet. He has checked on me from time to time but very much respected my need for space to deal with things in my own way.  He asked me if he could help, if I wanted to talk - I couldn't. Text was safe. We have stayed out of each others daily lives for months now, checking in occasionally but not talking. I did not want to (could not) feel weighted down with my thoughts and emotions. When I talk with him, it is like being split open.  I picture myself cut from chin to belly like an 18th century autopsy, organs spilling out over the table in an amphitheater for everyone to gawk over. No amount of grasping and pulling at the edges can get the seams back together. I felt the need to stay away so I could think for my self, for my kids.  So I could cope without getting tangled up in my own head.

I have never come to him to be fixed, to be rescued. I have always come as a whole, for enjoyment, for exploration of who I am. To run to him now? That is not who I am.

...but maybe

...just maybe

I need to learn to be embraced by the warmth of people around me.

I missed you all.

And now I am back-in-the-saddle!

xxx JaT

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 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.


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.