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

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!

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

How I could possibly live with myself

So...that post about my husband has been brewing a while, no? "Anonymous" put up several comments regarding my choices and I found it all so intriguing that I decided it was worthy of a post. For future reference A-Non, just pop your name on your comment. I won't bite (unless asked) and I really don't mind if you don't agree with me. I am glad you feel strongly enough to leave a comment and all of it is food for thought.

The first part, the regret part I will freely admit that regret is a possibility. Not a likely one as I don't really live in that mindset, however, I will offer it up to you. To be honest the effect of this on my life and marriage has been immense. My husband and I separated for a time last year and our relationship has always been quite tenuous and volatile, the volatility spawned through apathy, rather than passionate outbursts. Having lived through both I can say with certainty that apathy is far more insidious, a beast. We do not live there anymore.

As for his self confidence, it was always something which concerned me, until I looked at him and truly saw who he was. He has no need to be needy or jealous. He knows everything that is going on for me and I him because we talk incessantly about every aspect we can possibly think of. He is quietly self assured. He would have to be, knowingly sending his wife out to be fucked by someone else. He knows I come home to him. He knows I love him. This process has done nothing but allow me to see more fully the man that he is.

This is not a whim of mine where I woke up and met someone and decided to see if we could open up our marriage so I could have a quick root. We (my husband and I) have been together more than seven years (seven-year-itch anyone?) and have known each other for more than fifteen. From the very start of our relationship my then boyfriend knew what he was getting himself in for. It was in part what he desired about me. We talked about adding additional people to our bedroom from the very start and eventually talked about opening up our relationship.

From the get go we both knew that one day it would be on the cards at some point in our future. We have both agreed to it many, many times.

I guess it has something to do with the way we view sex. I asked him what his comment was. He said "Gees, its just sex..."

In that respect I guess he is wrong because the D/s is not just about sex. That however is an added dynamic for him. He looks at me and says I could never have that sort of sex with you. I know he couldn't either - that is probably why I am married to him and not to a sadistic, dominating, prick (sorry, Sir). For him it is easier (yes we talk about all of this all the time) to know that I am going out to see Sir than it would be to think that I was going out to pick a random person up at a bar to just have some beige-vanilla-sex. That, he said, would be harder for him to deal with. He accepts that I have these desires and needs which he has no desire to participate in but still wishes for me to have them met - because he loves me.

I was terrified the other day on the way to see Sir. I messaged my husband. He messaged back, "All part of your life's journey. Enjoy it!".

This newness in our relationship has made it possible for me to see a future with him that I had doubt in before. I see his commitment to me every day. I know he sees it the same way. I am not asking for anyone to make the same choices but right now, for us, this is working beyond anything that either of us could possibly have foreseen. I accept that many people will not see what we choose as "right" but it is - for us.

I sat down and had a conversation with him where I said I was concerned about him agreeing to this because it was what I wanted, not what he wanted. He said to me that he admired me, that I was courageous, that it was what he wanted too, he just didn't know if he could follow through with it in the way I had and that he was glad I had done it because of what it has given us. Everyday we seek to prove ourselves to each other anew. To make sure the other loves and adores us. This has been the best thing we have done for our relationship.

Do not mistake me for being disrespectful - sitting having honest conversations with the people I love shows nothing but honour and respect. Do not mistake my husband for a weak man, so lacking in self-confidence he would agree to this despite loathing it. He is one of the strongest men I know.

Indulged

I had a dream last night that I was sleeping and someone came in and sucked my nipples, working his way down, sucking my treasured clit almost to the point of orgasm, slowing to start again, tucking his fingers into me, building up the perfect rhythm, tongue searching, fingers working, mouth hungry. I did not feel I would ever cum, but I was chasing it, he was chasing it and then I was there, back arching, eyes wide then rolling back, gasping, panting, shaking. On recounting it to Husband Dear this morning he assures me it was no dream...just another addition to the perfect day scenario. Apparently I rolled over and went to sleep, though I swear I never really woke up.

As far as perfection goes I am hitting pretty close to the mark at the moment. My cleaner came and worked her magic, I had a pedicure, washed and blowdryed my hair with my new fantastic hairdryer and I am waiting here with my kids working and my gorgeous dog doting on me, for a lovely woman to walk in the door and give me a full body massage....it really can't possibly get much better than this!

My baking yesterday was lovely. It makes me feel a little Martha Stewart. I think the brownies are my favorite. The recipe I use is pretty much chocolate. butter and brown sugar with just enough eggs and flour to stick it together. Again I use the salted butter because of the sweet/salty contrast - I know I shouldn't. I know the cooking books say unsalted but I can't help it. I am going to say that it is probably the asian influence - that flavour balance, sweet/salty/sour/hot must be hard-wired into my cells, so much so that it even permeates my baking.

I wonder at it, what creates in me my desires in the way that they manifest. The food, the sex, the way I walk through the world. As for the sexuality part, there have been no childhood triggers - of which I can attest. I can also say with some sort of certainty that I remember feeling this, knowing this about myself from very, very young. Maybe 4? I will draw the line at detailing the memories.

Occasionally I think about my ancestry and wonder at the link. Japanese, German, Spanish, English - especially with the German/Japanese. They are renowned for their weird control issues and proclivity for what would be considered in polite company, sexual deviancy. Then again perhaps this is just mine to wear. Blameless, it just is what it is.

It is interesting though.

I am going to make the panna cotta this afternoon. Hopefully Sir will desire for me to come and see him sometime soon. I am waiting, baking, indulging - but I cannot pretend at patience.

Smiles

My husband is divine. He walks through the door and I am so happy to see him, to have his meal ready, to hear about his day and tell him about mine. Mainly though I am just desperate to put the kids to bed and be ravished by him. He tells me he doesn't understand my desire for pain, for Sir, for submission. I look at him and smile.

The pain he puts himself through. He is a runner. He ran an ultra marathon at the weekend. I love to see him, sweaty and hurting. He staggers in the door having just run 50kms. Having pushed himself past where it is comfortable, past where it is pleasure, past what is possible, through to the other side. He traces the marks on my back and I rub his legs...I am sure he will understand one day.

I arranged for someone to come and massage him while I was out last night. They were just winding up as I walked in. It was gorgeous to see him luxuriating. It was almost erotic to see someone touch him as he lay back, blissed-out - not to mention his legs were too tight to contort themselves the way I needed. Now he is better able to serve my needs *insert grin here*.

So the Panna Cotta...Well I would love to tell you how it went but I plead sleep deprivation and did not make it.

I messaged Sir last night. I had not heard from him in two days. It is funny, you know. As I have said before, I get these games, the holding back, stepping up at the right times. I understand it. I have never experienced it from this side of the fence. I always imagined it to be awful and uncomfortable. It is. I never imagined I would enjoy it however - and I am.

There is a tiny part of me that wonders maybe if he forgot about me. I relish it as much, perhaps more, than the part which knows he was just waiting. Waiting for me to come to him. We both know where I am at now. Helpless. Owned. Whether it would take two days or a month of Sundays I am tied here. I will think about it, about him, every day. It is all a matter of how well I can hold myself in feigned nonchalance and for how long I would wish to.

The terror of going there, being with him is gone now. I feel the difference in my flesh. Now it is just pure hunger. Of course as I shower, dress, kiss my husband, hug my children goodbye and get in the car to see him it may arise again.

It is interesting, this process.

He reads me from afar. I am fascinated by his capacity to know what makes me tick, what makes me squirm, what I hate, what I want. I message him and that (almost) desperation to hear a "Good Girl" or "I am so proud of you" is never lost on me no matter how many times I feel it. It makes me blush, hot and wet. Knowing that, he pushes further. My Achilles heel. I don't know how he knew. I didn't know. I should expect that by now. "Good Girl" makes me needy and cutesy and sweet and wanting but when he tells me I made him smile I am reduced to a pliant mess. He has said it several times recently, "smiling" or "smiles". I have not spoken with him about it. He has not seen me swoon. I do not know how, through the medium of text he is able to unravel me so unerringly.

Today is a baking day. Kisses and brownies, macaroons and jam-drops, a few muffins and some cookies.

Today I will be thinking about Sir and cooking to assuage my desperate need to see him. I will whip and beat and fold and taste in a vain attempt to stay present to my life and not drown in my desire.

Breathing It In

My body burns like fire. I sit here trying to think of what to write but the words don't come. I can only feel the emotion coursing through me as I try to remember yesterday. It is framed as if far off in the distance, too long ago to recreate. All I am left with are shining shards of pain and bliss.

I left Sir and picked up my children, collecting on my way a friend to come for dinner. More people arrived and I cooked and drank tea. I felt quiet. I felt all of a sudden as though I were falling through the floor. I needed him. I wanted Sir. I messaged him, he replied. I was all at once okay. I felt needy and awful - both unfamiliar to me.

My husband came in. He brushed his lips on mine, looked down, deep into me and smiled a half smile, questioning wordlessly whether I was okay. We sat and ate and drank, laughed and talked. I could see him burning to know, to see, to understand. Eventually our guests departed, children bathed and in bed. I lay on the couch, half sleeping, he rubbed my feet and asked me to recount my afternoon. I was not in the frame of mind.

I showered while he worked for a while. I lay face down on our bed and called him in. He was horrified. He tells me he doesn't understand. Softly I explain to him small pieces as he rubs arnica (which I highly recommend for bruises) and calendula (for healing) into my back and arse.

I tell him fragments. I tell him that I cried.

Sir said yesterday that I love crying. That it turns me on. I thought about it. It does not. What turns me on is that he can take me to that space where I cry and hold me there. The crying itself I do not like.

There was a moment yesterday where I was crying, sobbing actually. He was whipping my back. He has a knack for hitting right in the same spot, over and over. He leaned down and rubbed my back, soothed it. Then he started again. I loved it. I loved in the moments where it was not so hard but hard enough and I felt I could just go on forever, breathing it in.

Then there are the moments when I back my car out of the driveway and I know I am never going back. I know for that second that I do not want this, that I will not be back here. Then it shifts to won't be back for a long time, or at least a while and before I am home I am ready to turn around drive back.

My husband does not understand. He tries. I am amazed at him, so in love with him. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have someone love me enough to give me this, without understanding it, because I want it.

Today I relish the pain, I love it. I love that every movement, every stretch and turn I feel it. In my bound nipples Sir makes himself known to me. Stops me from falling through to desperation, holding me up through my pain and obedience.

My phone sounds and I jump, literally running to the other end of the house to get it. I know it is Sir. I am waiting for his message. In that moment I forget the pain in my breasts, the bruised assault on my back, the tenderness in my arse. I run like a child runs to a sprinkler on a hot summer day, with joy and forgetting and in that moment there is nothing else.

I think somehow that my husband is amused by all of this, perhaps morbidly fascinated is a more accurate turn of phrase. The most glorious moments are coming home to him. Him caring for me, loving me and the exquisite pain of him rubbing - firmly - into the whip marks left by Sir only hours before.

I had a "moment"

This one friend whom I love very much, I told him we had negotiated an open relationship. He looked at me and smiled. "So he took it well then?" I hugged him. How is it he knew me so well as to never question that it was me not my husband pulling us in this direction?

So I had a moment.

I was outside hanging washing when I felt panic surge through me. I cannot take this back. I cannot not ever take this away from our relationship. My relationship with my husband will forever have this in it, whether we continue to choose this lifestyle or not I have done this and there is a no returns policy.

I could hear the voice of God thundering down from the clouds "What have you done?"

Luckily the moment passed as all moments do.

It is blissful. My life feels so good. I am a whole person again...

BUT

piece by piece I can feel myself unraveling. I feel the burning need to see Him. I feel my temper growing short. I can feel the distance between myself and the world expanding. I need what He has.

I was yesterday a raging mess of emotion. I spoke with Him and in those moments the world stopped churning and I was back again. I do not like Him very much but when he speaks it calms me. He is trying his best to create me, strangely I think He is trying to create me into what I want to be (regardless of the fact that He wants it too). I feel myself fighting it, wanting it, fighting, wanting, needing. I wonder what it feels like to be in His shoes.

He set out rules for me yesterday. I have never much liked rules, let alone stuck to them. I must refer to him as Sir. I must not make eye contact with Him unless directed. I must bow my head even when I think about Him. I must not cum, must not have sex unless permission is granted.

The twist is that I must now write a list of my own punishments. It is so salacious. I have been thinking about it a lot. I must get them to Him before midday today and I don't know where to start. I think about punishments and my eyes glaze just a touch. I can feel my chest grow tight and my heart beat faster. Where to begin?

I wonder when I will grow tired of this particular game.

I will keep ontop of my updates now and make them less retrospective. I do have a bit to fill in from the previous two weeks still and I will do that but will stay more current.

I promise.

The Morning After The Night Before

I felt better in the morning. I looked over and there he was, my husband, sleeping next to me. He looked more gorgeous than he had the day before. I think I even loved him more. I stretched in bed, curled and uncurled myself. I smiled. I couldn't stop smiling. It has been five days now and I still haven't stopped smiling.

I looked at myself in the mirror and I remembered her. I was glad to see her. I had missed her all these years, now here she was again smiling and whole, in power and control. Awesome, amazing, filthy, hot and ready to take on the world.

I padded out to the kitchen and made my special pancakes - ones I don't think I have made since my husband and I were dating. I separated the yolks and whites and beat the whites to soft peaks, mixed the dry ingredients in another bowl, including a dash of custard powder (my secret ingredient) then added butter milk and yolks to the dry mix and folded through the white meringue mix. Perfect, fluffy, beautiful. I put the bacon in the oven and started flipping pancakes. It has never been my favorite task. Somehow though every single one was gorgeous. Golden-brown and buttery on the outside, thick and soft.

I stretched out in my chair, warmed through by the sun, gazing at my amazing husband with an espresso and hot breakfast. I sat quietly as he read the paper and I watched our kids jump on the trampoline. He looked up at me and smiled. "Thank you for breakfast, honey. It is amazing."

Tangled Webs

I spent the day checking in with my husband, making sure he was still okay, that everything was still okay. I cooked beautiful bologna and hand made egg fettuccine. I stood in the kitchen, tense, worrying about what this could lead to, whether my husband would change his mind, whether I would change mine. The hours dragged by so slowly. Pulling the eggs through the flour was a welcome relief. I made a well with the flour and added first two whole eggs and then four yolks bit by bit pulling it through the flour with my hands. I don't like to use cutters or recipes. I love to feel what I am doing, to understand what it needs to be perfect. It needed another yolk. As I pulled the dough together across the bench, over and over I forgot everything else - there was just the rhythm and the texture. I set the dough aside to rest and called my husband.

He was second guessing or maybe it was me, wanting him to. I hung up the phone and started to gently push the dough through the machine until that sound came, the small sucking sound indicating the release of the dough. I tightened the settings and started again. I wound over and over, finding comfort in the familiar repetitive actions, until the dough became pasta and the pasta became perfect. I cut it, hung it and there it sat, waiting. Beautiful, wide, yellow ribbons. I felt much the same - hung out to dry in anticipation, just waiting to be eaten alive. I was not sure if I would be eaten alive with reckless, savage, abandon or whether I would be consumed by guilt.

He pulled up and walked in. My kids were there and my best friend, my brother and sister in law - everyone was getting together for dinner. My girlfriend can read me like a book. I know she doesn't approve of the idea, let alone the practice. I told her I had spoken with my husband about an open relationship and she got very upset telling me I should make sure he is not cheating. She shook her head and knitted her eyebrows together exclaiming men are pigs and that it would lead to a very bad place. She was in the middle of a major heart-break. I did not tell her it was me who asked. I did not tell her it was me who wanted it. I could see her indignation on my behalf and feel her disgust at my husband for even thinking of putting me through such torture. I did not correct her.

I had not told her where I was going that night - I had no intention of telling her. My husband understood all of this and watched me squirm as I made vague gestures about where I was going, what I was doing, when I would be home. I could see his small delight in my discomfort as I repeated the story for my brother and his wife. I felt transparent, like they could see I was being untruthful, like they knew where I was going.

The complexities of honestly managing my other relationships had never really occurred to me as a problem within the context of this understanding. I had mistakenly thought that it would involve myself, my husband and any partners we chose to bring into our beds or whose beds we chose to visit. The need to explain away a night out only served to propel my anxiety to a whole new level.

I had many conversations with this man over the previous few days and weeks talking about what he would do, what I would do but now here it was. What happened if I did not like it? What would happen if I changed my mind? What happened if I wanted it all to stop so I could run home to my husband, tell him I loved him and that it was all a big misunderstanding? What happened if my husband was upset and it did not bother me? Worse still what happened if I liked it, if I didn't care, if I wanted it more?

I needed to go quickly before he changed his mind or maybe before I changed mine. I said goodbye to my girlfriend, brother and sister-in-law. I kissed my children and told them to make sure they got enough rest. I went outside to where my husband was playing fetch with the dog. I looked up at him, the man I had promised myself to unconditionally. He wrapped his arms around me, looked down into my eyes and I could swear a small smile grazed his mouth. I could not tell if it was sad, wistful, happy or angry. He spoke softly so no one could hear. "I love you. Stay safe, have fun...and call me if you need me." I hugged him tight but did not kiss him, then nodded and walked out. I was breathing hard, heart racing, terrified, exhilarated, wondering if I could really do this.

I got in the car, turned the music up loud and drove headfirst into my uncertainty.

Chocolate Truffle Cake

So this was becoming an addiction. I had to speak with him. He would always text just when I thought I would not speak with him again. It really was like some kind of drug.

I had switched off this memory of who I was, of what I wanted and now it was there and I could no longer hide it. Not from anyone else. Not from myself. I have played around the edges of D&S and had always worn the control, just waiting for someone to step up and take it from me. No one had - until now. No one had even come close. I have slept with musos, egotistical advertising execs, up tight accountants, CEOs, friends fathers, old men, young men, not to mention all the women and none had even looked at stepping up and taking what I wanted taken - control.

The moment I was faced with it was nothing short of terrifying. I am not sure whether I was more scared of the power that he exuded or my desire to have my power taken away. Exquisite torture.

I walked out through the world and every pore just screamed from me "SEX".

So then I started to understand. The moment I owned who I was my neck eased up and my back stopped hurting. All of this tension for all of these years, just gone. I had to know this. I had to know what it was to be there in that space, to give my control up to someone.

It somehow still felt dishonest with my husband. He had pretty much agreed to an open relationship. Pretty much. I have never cheated on him. Never been with anyone else the whole time we have been in our 7 year relationship. I know he has never looked at another girl. Funnily he does not realise how hot he is....and he is.

So I was stuck in this space. I now understand what it is I do when I feel frustrated. I cook.

I pulled together the most magnificent truffle chocolate cake. Four layers, cherry coulis and morello cherries with butterscotch schappes. It was beautiful.

I stirred by hand all of the ingredients, beating the eggs by hand until they were light, stirring the sugar through until it was dissolved, folding through the flour and melting the chocolate adding the butter until it melted through and was a thousand different flavours of awesome - that sweet salty bitterness of dark chocolate and salted butter. A lot of people I know like to bake with unsalted butter but I love salted. That balance of sweet and salt is just a match made in heaven. While the cake baked again I melted chocolate and added cream for the truffle filling, boiled down cherries, sugar and some liqueur for the coulis and pitted the morello cherries making my finger tips smell sweet, musty and tinting them pink.

I spoke with him on the phone and told him I hated him for doing this to me. I had spent weeks just trying to understand what the hell was going on. Trying to find another way out of this mess that did not involve him. He laughed.

I was in dire straits. Now I could not cum. I could not understand it. I was not intentionally listening to him. I did not want him to be right. I did not want him to win but I did. My cunt was wet and hot and my nipples hard and aching to be sucked...and here I was - I couldn't cum. I wanted to. I tried to. I just fucking couldn't. With all of the delicious desire that I had held on to for so long I knew that this was no longer a want but a desperate fucking need. This was it, the one thing I had been waiting for. There was no way I could turn my back on it whether I wanted to or not, I couldn't.

I sliced the cake while it was still hot and poured the filling over, layering perfect, even cherries and chocolate, sprinkling the butterscotch on the middle layer. It sat perfect in the fridge, cooling. It didn't even take the edge off.

So I took it to my friend's place and in the car on the way there I spoke with my husband. I told him I was serious and I really wanted an open marriage. He agreed. I sat and ate cake with my gorgeous friends in their beautiful home while our tribes of children laughed and played, just thinking about being fucked by this other guy. I sweetly sat while they said Grace at dinner, drank my tea and said my goodbyes. I got in the car, took a deep breath and said "This is hard for me to say and I know you said you were okay with the idea, Honey but I need to tell you. I have met someone I think I may be interested in seeing. Are you okay with that?" He swallowed hard and was quiet. "Yes." The questions started about how we had met and who was he, how old - all of which I neatly avoided. I got the answer I needed.

I sent the text as soon as I could - "Game on!"

So now I sit watching the hours tick slowly, slowly until my husband comes home from work to watch our children so I can go and be tied up and fucked by someone else.

Call it Coffee

The next night I talked to my husband again about having perhaps an open relationship. We have talked about it a lot, from the very start of our relationship. My darling sweet husband has not been with many other women - all of them within the context of a committed relationship. I lived a rather full sex life until we got together and I really felt I needed to let that go to become the sort of wife and mother I envisaged myself to be. He is quite amenable to the idea. He has always been. The thing I know that he doesn't is what that lifestyle actually looks like. He said yes but he has said yes before.

The next day I dropped the kids to my parents place around lunch as we were going out for the night and left my husband at home to go to the 'shops'. I went to his place for a coffee. He pulled my scarf tight around my neck. He made me kneel on the floor in front of him, suck his fingers, call him sir. He pulled my nipples and smelt my neck. He bent me over and grabbed my hair. He spanked my arse so hard it left me breathless and shaking. I was ready to cum, right there on the edge but he said no. No not yet.

I was terrified. Who am I? What the hell am I doing? I have a husband and children. I cannot be here doing this. I had to escape. I sucked down about four cigarettes ( even though I don't smoke) and drove home. I kissed my husband and packed his clothes and we drove to the beach for a party.

A thousand thoughts crossed my mind. It was like walking into the ocean and not knowing where the shore was, swimming out and trying to remember, trying to forget, trying to swim but wanting to drown.

I had a nice time. Out to dinner, laughing, a few drinks, a few cigarettes (even though I don't smoke). I decided that I was not going to call him again.