Sublimation..

The encyclopedia:

To transform sexual impulses or "sexual energy" into creative energy. Or to transform a primitive urge into a sublime outcome. An impulse transformed into a higher purpose..

He says, this is what he has been doing, what he does sometimes. Transforms his urges of SM and dominance into his creative work. Sometimes his lust or sexual impulses yields for other things, this time his work, and other things.. So we have been the victims? of sublimation these last 3 months, except one time only, when he found his cane, and I was too squeamish and unused to really be able to receive it..

I am very fond of scientific "foreign" words, but I am not sure, that sublimation and sublimate will be my favorite words, and I am terribly glad, that he has finally finished with his sublimation. Or perhaps he has found another impulse to sublimate than the spanking-impulse..

Philosophizing over the words, I find, that the "sub"limation was the cause of me not being a "sub", "sub"elimination.. I am glad his sublimation didn't lead to subelimination..

And, as an inserted sentence, I have of course had my issues, too, and carry part of the responsibility. I have, to be in the same line of words, very clearly sublimated my girlfriend-energy into other things, though not quite so higher purposes.. :-D

Well, enough of the nonsense, it is certain at least, that we, after a summer with children everywhere, a lot of challenges, so to speak, and very little adult time finally had planned an extended weekend far away, in the cottage in the woods. Him and I alone, without any plans but him and I, alone.. Very certain, too, in my head at least, that if he was ever to find his urge to swing his whip again, it would be this weekend..

I was told, Friday morning after lovely vanilla, that I this day could expect shopping (not so exotic, only shopping for dinner in the evening), a nice walk, and sex.. 

Some might not believe this, but in my wardrobe there are other types of clothing than tight dresses and stilettos (sorry to ruin my image). My wardrobe has so unbecoming shorts, that not even a man that has been without sex in a decade, would find them desirable, and boring unsexy sneakers, both ideal for a walk in the hills, looking for chanterelles.. And to make bad worse, I was nicely scented by my "mosquito-and-ticks-go-away-spray", as the area is full of insects, and Lyme disease wouldn't be my preferred home-coming gift.. And insecticides are not exactly aphrodisiacs, no matter how much lavender the manufacturer has put in the bottle to mask the foul smell..

Shopping and walking over and done with, together with a swim in the lake. A lake that can make any woman’s nipples erect (being cold). As an opposite to the generally negative effect on the male anatomy, that cold water seems to have.. Dinner also cooked, enjoyed, and eaten, and as usual on a Friday night, I was tired.. A powernap on the sofa can kill any naughty evening in the make, even if I for once was well prepared, and had remembered to bring and wear a pair of stilettos as well as a tight black dress.. But of what use is it all, if I, as always, can sleep anywhere and at any time, even when it brings an end to a wildly romantic day, with loads of fun and closeness, the perfect beginning of a game..

So I slept again, on the sofa..!!

I was woken up by him simply removing my blanket. I felt him take a firm grip of my hair, while I was still dizzy of sleeping, not quite understanding, what was happening. In the middle of the fogs I felt how he lifted up the skirt of my dress, turned me around so I was laying on my stomach, and then let his hand fall down my buttocks.. And he did it again and again, while his grip tightened around my hair. I felt how he let my favorite whip follow his hands, the horse whip that warms and stings, for, in the end, to take the cane.. All the way I was dazed and dizzy, I never got to prepare myself for it, and I could do nothing but feel and accept, enjoy, receive..

.

I think I used up all my creativity today..

He said, and sat down on the sofa with a smile.


I looked at his grey hair, his deep blue eyes, saw his smile, and felt the way my nipples hardened by the thought of waking up his creativity again.. Of course I knew, he was talking about work, but work wasn't exactly what was on my mind...


A tired man, who needs to be woken up..


I walked into the kitchen and opened the bottle of red wine, one of the bottles always in hand. A little too warm to his taste, but not my fault, that I like red wine with taste and temperature like mulled wine..? And what is a girl going to do when mulled wine is a drink for the winter period, and not for the month of June..


I looked down at myself, black skirt, nicely shaped and flattering around my slightly wide hips. Soft, see through black blouse, cut to a shape, showing the edges of my bra.. Just the blouse to get a man.. My breasts, the nipples feeling pointy and sensitive against the fabric of the bra, just by the thought of seduction.. The cunt, tickling.. Knickers, that I removed straight away in the bathroom, knickers wet with moisture..


I put the red wine at the table, 2 glasses, and did what I love to do, positioned myself with one leg on each side of his lap, knowing, that the cunt would rest on his leg. Feeling horny, my head full of fantasies, and without the will to resist rubbing my cunt just a little bit along the length of his jeans clad leg..


I felt his hands walking up my back, one hand taking a grip of my hair, his voice..


"You are wet like a slut.. I have fantasies of whipping that slut.."

.

Philosophying effeminacy..

Well, first of all, I hope the "head liner" is correct, sometimes I use Google translate to find just the right word, and even though Google may be God, it is not always right..

In the early days of blogging I promised myself, well, hmm, early days, when I was very very young, 6 months ago.. I promised myself, that I would only "kiss-and-tell" about myself, and not about Him. It was my choice to blog, not his..

Sometimes it is really hard to find that limit of telling, which is why I haven't blogged a lot recently.

We have our challenges these days. We promised ourselves and each other, also in the early days, and felt absolutely certain, that our fabulous and great sex life would never suffer like others sometimes do, because of vanilla challenges. But we, I, have had to come to terms with, that even with our 40+ years experiences of love and life, we have exactly the same challenges as everybody else, sexually, too. The lust is reduced when challenges rise, and this can go on and on, like a vicious circle.. If we don't do something about it..

One of us needs closeness, the other needs acknowledgement.

One of us needs caresses, the other needs sex.

One of us needs conversation, the other needs understanding, that lack of conversation isn't lack of understanding..

We both need each other..

And please do not believe, that you now know exactly who is the woman and who is the man in this list of masculine and feminine needs, because it is not as simple as that. All the needs are universal to us, and perhaps is it so, that all we need is for one of us to take initiative.. Take the jump..

And, saying this, I will spank myself, literarily of course, in my ass, because of my habit of persevering over and over again in the same topics, into the extreme, a woman never knows when to shut up and stop the philosophies.. All I really want is a good spanking and a bit of physical sex.. Because with good sex, whether it being kinky or vanilla, everything else follows.. Closeness, acknowledgement, conversation, understanding..

.

Quiet awakening..

It is turning spring time again.. OK, admitted, the calendar says it is summer, but well, this isn't a blog about the weather, I think.. Danes love to talk about the weather, by the way, just thinking of a sexy way to describe the sunshine today.. Suggestion, me being the weather girl on the news channel, telling you, that today will be very sunny, and then with innocence in face showing you a nice place in the woods with a picnic blanket on the ground, telling you that this is the perfect weather and place for a good fuck.. Wouldn't that make weather forecasts more interesting, perhaps..

Awakening, this morning..

I felt his hand on my throat, tightly, and I moaned..

I felt his hand pinch and twist my nipple, hard, and I whimpered..

I felt his hand, and my cunt got soaking wet, again.. The smallest of signs, a mere suggestion of what could happen shows the power he has over me, over my lust.. So little he needs to do, a hand, a pain beginning, a thought of more, and I get so horny, I can feel the moisture almost dripping, in my cunt..

He has taken control over my body, again..

.

Vanilla Life..

My every day vanilla life hits me strongly these days. So this is truly a submissive blog, the blog itself being made to wait. I hope it is a good girl, while I am away..




Anyway, I had 15 minutes of fame being described in a banish tabloid magazine, like this:




Here, the sense of closeness and intimacy doesn't disappear in pompous metaphors and poetic candy floss. Here the body is a pounding machine of pure lust, who needs a good spank!




Now I have been hit by vanilla life again.. It would have been nice to ride on (so to speak), on the wave of fame, with one kinky and of course eloquent blog entry after another. Instead I was hit by a good scent of vanilla, with its all its fights and battles. Without hanging out my dirty laundry (well, why not do that, I think it probably smells better than my fabric softener by Proctor and Gamble..), the last 2 or 3 weeks have been no fun. I have been fighting, and I am still fighting, fighting for my dearest, and this takes up all my time and all my energy..




So admitted, I have had sex perhaps once in a week or a fortnight, and I have hardly missed it.. I told a bit of my misery to a good friend, about my lack of energy, and lack of the sexual kind of energy, too, and was told not not to complain and be a good girl, I still got more than him!




So, perspective, hmm.. Take your pill and don't complain..




Anyway, why do I all of a sudden use a phrase like "have had sex"? Why can't I all of a sudden write fuck, or another naughtier word? Now I write "having had sex", like a nice and good girl, using words my granny would have used without a blush at all.. OK, admitted, I never ever think my granny used the word sex, and I am sure she hasn't had sex since 1969? But that is another topic for another day..




I have even less energy for creativity, so I have sent many thoughts on to my blog, but not much writing.. Inspiration is for the moment like the size of a cock who has been swimming in an iced ocean.. But oh, how I would love a good spank in my ass for that remark..




In stead I will awaken one of the fantasies I had, before I got non-sexual.. Alas, well, who am I kidding with that remark, me being a pounding machine of pure lust.. :-D

.

I wonder..

who is in charge, in this picture..? And how fast could the power be turned around..? If she wants it..? If she gets the choice..? Or if he gets the choice..

If it was me.. He would allow me to touch him, to give him pleasure, and let me get the tingling sensation in my hand of his hard and fully erect cock, through the soft material of his trousers.. And afterwards, he would take a firm grip in the back of my neck, in my hair, and I would be in no doubt at all..

To hit it right and hit it to the right..

What does a slut do, when the cane, the whip, the tawse, doesn't hit it right?

A very accurate or not quite accurate? problem, a couple of days ago.. Someone would surely say "You are a submissive slut, take on your punishment, and stop whining!!" Or "You should be grateful that your Sir gives you that kind of attention, that he uses his valuable time, to spank You..!" "Nonsense with you..!

But it hurt, it hurt in a bad way, taking all my concentration away, the emotional involvement in the session disappeared, the experience gone, and it made my tears run down my cheeks..

Are you at all supposed to write about this, no one wants to read about it, they want horniness, juices running, and pounding flesh..

I suppose, I wouldn't write about it, Mr. and I didn't sort it out afterwards. But we did, we talked, we told, we explained, and, the next time I will think more about us playing, because we want to, because it makes us forget everything else, but the lust and the horniness. And if a small lash hits it wrong, it only means, that we will continue the game another time, or continue straight away.. And, I will take it as a good slut..

Like the morning after..

.

Finally tied up again.. Tied up with my hands tightly fastened together with the rope. The rope pulled up and around the hooks nicely placed over the French doors in the living room. Tied up and naked, with my back to him, positioned with my legs spread wide.. With the ball-gag in my mouth, soft to the touch of my fingers, but hard, when it is placed in my mouth..




The flogger, suddenly hitting very precisely, then hard on my thigh, leaving a bundle of red marks.. And the new found (from his drapes) wooden stick, not bendable.. Leaving stripes on one buttuck, and dark plum intensely coloured bruises on the other..

And a happy slut, with the pleasure of naughty memories during the next two days, every time I chose to sit on a chair. And I make that choice often..




.

Knickers..

I slept at his place.. I am so bad at packing my bags reasonably, I always bring too much stuff with me. But well, why shouldn't I need 3 pairs of shoes and 4 different dresses, when staying for only one night? I must say, though, that I always remember clean knickers, even though some might say, that I forgot them this day on purpose. I didn't!!!! But, as Mr. said drily,

 

 

"You will just have to  walk around all day without knickers.."

 

 

In thin, tight, white trousers? Yes..

 

 

My day was quite interesting, first I went for a walk round the park with a male friend. All the time I was aware of my naked cunt against the seam of my trousers and the tickles caused by every step I took, not to mention the moisture..

 

 

Later on, the fitting room in the clothes boutique. Ok, the dress actually looked its best without me wearing knickers, but I still got serious heart palpitations when the sales person too quickly shouted through the curtains:

 

 

"Are you wearing the dress? Are you ready?"

 

 

Oh, I was very, very ready..

 

 

.

 

 

Evening, after a long week of being busy from 5.38 am until 0.30 am (or was it 0.32?). You can guess, what happened, after eating sushi and drinking champagne, and after a quick little stroll trough the park.. Me, laying on the sofa, deep deep asleep..

 

 

When I finally woke up at 1 am., I asked, why he hadn't woken me up to get his way with me.. He answered, that he had indeed tried, but I was just laying there, saying girlish happy murmuring sounds, so he couldn't bring it over his heart to wake me up.. But what if you are a slut and just dream about being pulled by the hair into bed (or the sofa, I am not choosy), and used..

 

 

I finally managed to persuade? him to use his tawse, just a bit, before we went to sleep, just such a shame, it doesn't leave any marks. But my cunt didn't care about marks..

 

 

Saturday morning.. I used all the female skills of power, I had, and set my alarm clock for a whole hour before having to get up.. I was well rested, and who wouldn't be after sleeping away all of Friday evening.. Lucky again (who said luck, when it comes to a horny woman with soft hands), I was allowed to feel his hands, regular beats, firm, hard on my buttocks, and he made me whimper for more, for the cane.. Gucci is at my place (my loving name for what is just the best..), but he has a wooden stick that is normally used to turn down his wooden blinds..

 

 

"Slut, you will just have to wait until tonight. I have plans, I want to make use of my rope, but you have to walk around with no knickers on until then.."

 

 

He knew very well, that I was going out for lunch with the girls..

.

PS: I forgot...

Yesterday to write a line about that Fanny O (I, I have not been told to speak of myself in third person) doesn't get sex when we are:


- stressed, occupied, busy, worried, sad, impossible, or watch too much television.. (But, well, sometimes I do get sex anyway, luckily.. :-D)




.

An ordinary life..

I talked to an  internet friend the other day about why one reads blogs. This in connection to me wanting for a while to write a bit about how my life also is. Her argument was, that people read kinky blogs because of the kinky stuff, nobody wants to read about peoples ordinary lives with laundry and Wellington Boots..

And well, I suppose she is right. So you will never hear about my absolutely wonderful kitchen machine of the brand "Kenwood", or my passion for Orchids.. (Orchids because it is the only flower, that I know of, that actually thrives from being forgotten for 14 days or so..)

So, to get my needs over and done with, and to make the blog return afterwards to its normal kinky look of life. Here it goes:

The List:

"When Fanny O doesn't get sex.."

- When I am really sick (and I have to be really sick, I blogged earlier in Danish about how the endorphines of kinkiness is an excellent cure for for instance headaches..)

- When Mr. is away alone to the summer house..

- When Mr. is sick.. (It is a well known truth that all men are just miserable, when they are ill, I have seen no exceptions from this, so far, at all..!!)

-  When there is children everywhere in the house during weekends.. (Or at least, when they are awake.. With the exception of one morning in the summer house. Which happened way before I started blogging, and therefore no one will want to know anything about..)

- I have never been punished in the way of being denied sex as punishment.. Hmmm, looks wrong in the context of things on this list.. Perhaps this belongs to another list..?

- When I am chatting to my girlfriends and Mr. is watching Champions League football on television. (No one gets sex when Barcelona plays in Champions League!!!)

I will work out more lines to the list on the way, as things goes.. Perhaps one should make a "line of the day"?

And now, for a little spice, just to prove, I haven't forgotten all..

A very virtuous and chaste cut picture of one of my buttocks after my last spanking..

I received a postcard..

Think associations..

I received a postcard..


This cheerful young animal is
enjoying life in the long grass and
glad to smile at the cameraman.
The true essence of what it means
to be a young  ... just radiates
from its little face..


The words made me think of a beautiful, though slightly childish description of a submissive woman..

Actually it is an extraordinarily silly description, in a postcard from New Zealand, of a sheep!!

So, the comparison to a submissive woman, well, I don't think it stands comparison. I hope not..

Another evening in the sofa..

The story so far: I hated my sofa when I was married. I ended up in it every night, next to my now ex husband, and it took me only 20 minutes to fall asleep, so so sad.. I then thought, that I had to do something, to make me more available to him. (In this connection, only a metaphor, never any wishes for anything kinky from him apart from the missionary position in bed, and if it was a real party, from behind, with us both laying on our sides..)

Available, yes, so I started to crochet.. At least it kept me awake, if he wanted to talk with me, about anything, everything? He didn't, ever, but at least I got to crochet a lot of very nice scarves, and a big blanket.. (Do you have any idea, how long it takes to make a blanket!!!)

Well, the sofa setting now is a bit different from then. Last evening, I was lying with my head in his lap, tired, long day, a lot of worries and considerations. I love to lie with my head in his lap, it is safe, comforting, and I love the feeling his hand softly on my hair.

Almost half asleep I suddenly felt, how his hand tightened his grip around my hair, and as a small warning, I felt a slap of his hand, on my cheek. After that, holding my breath, more slaps in my face, on each cheek, harder.. I lost my breath, felt how he pulled me over his knees, lifting up my skirt, finding my cunt with his fingers. Very clearly he wasn't quite satisfied with the degree of moisture there, so I felt the first stinging stroke with his hand on one buttock, hitting my still sore bruises from last weekend.. A loud sound came out of my mouth, and I felt how my cunt rewarded the stroke..

"Quiet, Slut, I don't want to hear another sound from you tonight."

After this, he hit me with his hand, over and over again, my heartbeat racing off, and my body wanting more. And more..

I love my sofa now..

Statistically significant..

We have been practising this weekend, with marks and bruises. Practice is always a good thing, and one has to test different methods and possibilities to be able to draw scientific conclusions. And as I am scientifically schooled and trained, I am more than willing to participate in such scientific tests..

We tested different implements and remedies, compared to the power behind the strokes..

Our scientific conclusion, of course statistically significant and thoroughly tested is, that it is with marks and bruises as it is with different clothes labels. There is just some brands of better quality and longer durability.

I think I will name his cane and from now on call it only "Gucci"..

Just an intersting angle..

To what is seen when hiding in the shadows.. I wonder what he will do, next..

A Slut to be labelled..

I knew the evening would be an evening without me wearing my knickers. I had put on the new, long, black dress, very fashionable, yes, but I chose it just as much because I know, that it falls very flattering around my buttocks, and shows the curves off very nicely, through the thin fabric.. I had chosen it because I know, he enjoys looking, and because I of course like to be admired.. Chosen it because it very easily shows off, with a hand put on the right place, that I wear no knickers at all..

 

 

I took off the knickers standing in front of the elevator. I showed them to him, and took the elevator up to the party, we were going to. I felt, standing in the elevator, how my cunt got moist and wet, and I felt the cool air around the lips of my cunt, walking out of the elevator. All night I felt the moisture between my legs, felt the horniness, and felt the nervousness wondering, if I would get so wet, the fabric would show a stain..

 

 

We came home late, tired, filled with food and drink, happy, not having been together for 5 days. I also knew, that we were too tired for there to happen anything sexy, going to bed. I hadn't calculated with my restless sleep all night, feeling his hand on my erect and sensitive breast nipples, or between my legs, in his sleep feeling the moisture of my cunt, and the soft groove between my buttocks.. A very restless night, many times awaken, feeling the lust rushing through my entire body..

 

 

Morning.

 

 

3 orgasms flushing through my body, the first one, that should have been a quite one, decided the number of strokes with the whip. 35 strokes, that ended up with many, many more.. But before I was allowed to feel the first stroke of the whip I was made to lay in the bed, like the horny slut I am, with my heart beating fast, waiting..

 

 

Waiting for the whip, with one end like a tawse. Waiting and finally redeemed with hard beats, making red marks on my buttocks, on top of the old bruises. The old bruises that are now just a bit faded.. Red marks that I know, quickly disappears again, even though I wish, they would stay..

 

 

Red marks, that I allowed myself to suggest, could be supplemented with strokes, using my leather belt with little metal plates on.. A kind suggestion, that he might feel inclined to use, if I am lucky. Because what if I don't get any marks? So that there soon is nothing to look at, strolling past a mirror? Such worries, a pain slut can have..

 

 

Well, if I am lucky, I will get spanked for having those worries. After all, there is fortunately nothing to worry about..

 

 

A real dream..

He had a dream. One of the real kind pf dreams, a nightly dream, a dream of the kind, that your sub conscience boils up for pleasure and diversion, when you are supposed not to experience anything, but just collect energy and regenerate brain cells.

 

 

I have been allowed to tell about his dream. It is not necessarily an example of how my Mr. sees the ideal world, nor me, but I think it is a nice little picture of a kinky dream, and I have been permitted to.. (And if I give the story too much of an artistic twist he will certainly find a way to put me straight.. But, I don't twist it..?)

 

In his dream he meets a woman, a doctor, who knows the cure against female horniness. He meets her on a hospital, where female horniness is treated. In my head I see a hospital like the ones you see on films, a tall yellow brick building with wooden squared windows, in the middle of a beautiful an picturesque park. A nice place, well accomplished to treat ailments of any kind..

 

He is allowed to enter inside the building, and he is introduced to the doctors idea, how she treats her patients. He sees her standing in a room with a clip board, very professional, wearing a nice little suit with a short skirt, a knot tying back her hair, shoes with high heels, in control..

 

The method she has discovered, can cure female horniness, is to tie them up. spank them, and then letting them suck a cock afterwards.. He allows himself to make the remark, that he is in doubt if this method is the right way to do it, if the cure is really efficient, but she is certain of it. She says: "I will show you, how it is done.."

 

In the room there is 25-30 women. They are all tied up on hands and feet, their hands on their backs, and the wrists, tied up with chains fastened to the wall behind them. This prevents them from moving forward in the room. They are standing in a semicircle, and in front of them are 4, maybe 5 men. The men each have a cane in their hands.

 

Before the punishment and the cure can begin, the men each receives a hard stroke by the cane, on their bottoms, by the doctor. They are all not very pleased about this, them wanting no cure. But the female doctor claims it is a necessity, to put them in the right mood..

 

Not the treatment starts. The women are naked, very clearly horny, standing on line with their tied up hands and their chains, pushing each other with their bodies to get to the men, to be one of the ones, who are allowed.. Women pushing each other, fighting, who can't get in front to the men with their canes and erect cocks, because the chains doesn't allow them to.. So filled with lust, all of them.. And they have to wait their turn, to feel the wanted hits of the cane, and the reward afterwards..

 

 

I have to agree with my Mr. in his dream, I am not sure, that the treatment with will be efficient..

 

For everyones taste..

Actually I promised myself, that this would be a blog of a certain standard, so to say, that I wouldn't show any pictures of cocks.. Of course, I will without another thought use the word "cock", and I can easily describe different kinds of perversities, that would give a lot of people blushing cheeks and red ears, but I am proud to say, that I try to do it with a certain kind of style. The kind of style that will make a girl stride around with nose up the air (that doesn't sound very submissive, oops).

Actually I like a good picture of a cock (I would be a hypocrite claiming otherwise), but that is a subject of another blog entry.. And perhaps I better not touch the subject of what I like about a well shaped cock and what I like to do with it, that might not sound very submissive either..

Well, I am beating around the bush (anyone who needs a good spanking in bushes?), here is my point. I am breaking my own, unwritten rule of not showing a picture of a cock. I am doing it because I hope a Domme might be stopping by, (or perhaps a switch m/f), and that person might just like to see a picture like this.. Lots of pictures like this with Dom men, but this picture is a bit special.. Notice the legs of the woman, ordinary womans legs like mine, which of course is what immediately springs to mind..

Limits of pain..

A pretty ordinary headline when the subject is BDSM, limits which has to be pushed, limits one wants pushed, are scared to push, limits to be found..


Luckily, no ones limits are quite the same, and what perhaps sometimes might be a cliché in the BDSM world in general isn't, when it comes to the individual experience. At least not, if it is one of the good experiences..


I thought a lot about where I am situated in the world of limits of pain. I always saw myself as a bit of a weakling (I don't like to talk about myself as a wimp, but translated this is probably what I mean). I have thought even longer about if I, when it comes to receiving pain and wanting pain, am of the "hard-core" kind of persons, or if I am still a weakling, like when I hit my pinky toe against the corner of a table leg, and tears roll out of my eye sockets..


I have been looking around the internet, and seen amazing pictures of stripes on asses, where blood is drawn and almost running (I am not there, yet?), or pictures of asses mostly rosy colored, and where the color quickly disappears.. (I have always been more than that).. I have a Danish blog, too, and in Danish there is no such proper word for it, but in English it is easier to describe, what I am. I am a pain slut, and the further down the road, Mr. and I thread, the more obvious to me it is.


Yes, I am submissive, too, and I will follow his wishes no matter what he asks of me. I have great confidence, that he knows my absolute no-go's, and that he will not try to push me to doing what I can't. But mostly, I am a masochist, I want the pain, the whip, the cane!!, so it aches all the way into my soul.. 


When it comes to the strokes themselves in a spanking being hard or hard enough it is of course obvious, that it is not the force applied in each stroke, that makes the difference, what makes the difference is, that it is the right force and the right number of strokes, in a given situation. On the bottom line, even for a pain slut with a red-and-blue-striped bottom like mine, the slut will always wan't just that little bit more. Alt least afterwards..


Last night..


We watched a few more or less silly TV programs, who ever thought it was nice to sit and watch quiz game shows with an actor from a B-movie and a white hair-dyed radio studio host saying silly things on TV!! ( I will of course immediately send my apologies to those of my readers who actually think that this is good entertainment for a Friday night). On the other hand I can always polish my self righteous angel halo thinking, that I am better off and smarter than all the people who actually enjoys that kind of TV..


In the sofa, sitting close, 5 days since we were last together, 5 days of missing him.. Soft kisses, my heart pounding, just nice, a bit exciting. Especially because I in the back of my head remembered what I wrote in the good night texted message the night before.. On writing knees I begged him for the pain, promising: "I will do anything, be so quiet, if you just please would.."


"Slut, in a few minutes I will ask you to go downstairs to get the cane. And then I want you to do exactly what you promised me, you would. I do not want to hear a sound from you.."


I was placed in the sofa, first laying down flat on my stomach, but, not good enough..


"Slut, get op on your knees, point your ass towards me, and spread your legs just a bit more.."


No warm-up. I felt the cane, again and again, making exactly those parallel stripes on both buttocks, I wanted.. And in the middle of the pain the knowledge, that the pain doesn't lessen by more and more hits, nor by the fact that I am in subspace.. The pain for me is just as present and sharp with each hit that I receive, and so is the knowledge that I still want more, want to feel more, take in more.. The knowledge that I want to and can show him, that I can take what ever he gives me, that I am proud of it, that I want it, that I want him.. But also the knowledge that I desperately want the marks which the cane leaves on my buttocks. The marks which are his way of marking me on the outside as well as on the inside, the marks that makes me so proud, that I have to watch them again and again, the swelling, the tenderness, the colors.. 


The marks from last night an hour later were beautiful, striped, closely placed, centrally on the buttocks, so that it still hurts, badly, or nicely, every time I sit down. Today they are colored like blueberries, big, and confluent. They are of the kind I can enjoy watching for more than a week..


Last night I first got the cane, then soft, tantalizing, exciting touches, his tongue, my reward. And then, I got the cane, again.. And I was quiet..


Last night I took more than I ever did before.. And I am happy..

A picture..

I am sitting on a chair in the bedroom. Because he has seated me there..

I am still wearing the dress I bought for the occasion, for a Friday night without our children. The dress is short, it only goes down to the middle of my thighs, when I am standing up, and it is even shorter, when I am sitting down. With black and white stripes, a soft material that clings to my body, and a cleavage that is very flattering to my tits.. (You can tell, this is written by a woman, who else would go to such details with the dress..)

I am sitting on the chair, an ordinary, white painted kitchen chair, not very comfortable, it is not meant to be pleasant. I am not wearing any knickers, I have been told not to, and I love the sensual feeling of my always shaved cunt, brushing against the fabric of the dress. My legs are dressed in stockings, but my black stilettos have been removed. I haven't been allowed the dignity in knowing that I have very beautiful high heels on my feet.. I am sitting on the chair with my legs spread out, as he arranged them, the dress so short now, that my cunt is very visible, with the lips red and just a bit swollen. What is not seen in the picture, a well placed butt plug, I was told to put there, myself..

I am blind folded, with a black leather blind fold that fits perfectly around my eyes and nose, making everything black as coal, and all other senses, smell, touch, sound, even stronger.. He has put on my collar, the wide, black leather collar with the metal rings around it, the rings he puts to use when he ties me up.. He has pushed the dress way down, so that I am showing both my tits. He has put metal clamps on both nipples, the clamps are like crocodile teeth, they have small sharp teeth, hurting my sensitive skin. To the clamps are attached metal chains, that are fastened to the collar, the chains lifting up my tits and pulling my nipples..

I am alone in the room, and visible in my face, pain. I am waiting..

And I have the picture to prove it..

Sharing a picture I found

Browsing through a lot of tumblr's. A lot of pictures all the same, tits and cocks jumping up my face, when I lurk around.. Not perhaps quite my likings, but I have chosen to go look around, so only myself to blame.. or, well, hmm, can't say, that a cock isn't my liking, wouldn't quite be truthful.. And I also like the curves of a beautiful tit.. Anyway, while seeing through all the rather explicit pictures, once in a while something different and beautiful pops up..

The Sunday Run..

I really had the most lovely weekend, a weekend where love and closeness was in the center of everything..

 

I also had the pleasure of my Sunday morning run, as usual. Sunday is the day I run my 5 km. I would love to run (jog) more often, but my children still are of an age that means, that I can't run and leave them alone, while they sleep. And 9.pm is the only time in general, except for weekends, where I have time for running. But well, never mind, I don't think it is much fun to run looking like mine worker, wearing a helmet with lights on..

 

This is what happens on my Sunday run (yesterday, too):

 

- Music in my ears. If I get started with one the right song from the 80'es, I fly, almost (not much flying doing 5 kilometres in 31 and a half minutes..)

 

- Reflections on different problems, challenges, shopping, notes "to do" (better to do it running, than during sex?)

 

- What to write in my next blog entry.. (Too bad that the endorphins does something to my memory after about 25 minutes, so that I forget all the golden sentences I thought of.. and the "to do's"..)

 

- Kinky fantasies, reliving the mornings wonderful experiences with Mr.. (And here the run usually gets a bit faster again..)

 

- While running, serious ache in my stomach muscles yesterday, not from sex or running, but after the laughing fits I had Saturday, going out with Mr..

 

Interjected sentence:

Had laughing fit, seeing him estimate what time it was, looking at the sun. Until I saw the clock on the wall, hidden behind a tree for me, but not for him.. Another laughing fit during dinner in the middle of a crowded restaurant. He told me the story about his mum, who always after a nice dinner wanted a good taste in her mouth (something to do with chocolate). I very loudly asked, if she meant good taste by sucking cock..

 

The run, to be continued..:

 

- From every step I take, I feel the tenderness and ache from the marks he put on my buttocks, this Sunday morning, too (So much for my resolution about no kinky sex this weekend. No such thing, luckily..)

 

But, I am still considering, if I shouldn't choose a different kind of breakfast before the run than 3 mugs of coffee with milk, a bit of fruit and an orgasm..

The scare of a lifetime..

This is a post, which isn't about sex, but just about an ordinary life with ordinary worries, and a bad scare..

It is not that I want to be theatrical, sorry, but this morning I lived through one of my life’s biggest worries. For 24 hours I couldn't get in touch with Mr., he didn't answer is phone, he didn't respond to my mails or texted messages, and he didn't contact me, either. He always do that during the day or night, at least to say "Good Night.." I took the consequences this morning the only way I could, and drove the very long drive in morning traffic to his apartment, instead of sticking to my planned "working-at-home-day". And on that drive, I lived through all the worst fantasies a very imaginative female brain can accommodate, about death, accidents, misery, that he didn't want me anymore, and many many other thoughts..

Luckily it turned out, that it was just a change of phone companies that had happened 10 days earlier than expected. And that he just hadn't been on-line last night, but doing other things. I complete collapsed, when I saw him safe and sound in the apartment. And I scared him just as much, when he all of a sudden was standing with a weeping and shivering woman in his arms, her being completely out of control..

My point isn't, that you should pity me (even though I of course was pitiful :-D). My point is to forward the thought, that life in all senses pass, and that it is so important to enjoy life and each other, while we have it..

Very trivial, I know, I am sorry, but when you for less than half a day ago has been so scared of losing your love as I was, focus has a tendency to move a bit.

I will this weekend forget clearing up, cleaning, and laundry, and instead enjoy a weekend without kids together with my love, with lots of emotional intimacy, and I will even lay away some of the kinky fantasies.. I know that sounds a bit naive (I mean forgetting the kinky fantasies), and quite impossible, too? If interesting things happen they will of course be very welcome, me being a Slut..

But my primary focus this weekend will be on just being together with Mr., turn off the television and the computer!!!!!, and simply enjoy the company of my love.

No news from me this weekend is good news..

My red fuck shoes..

After I bought them, he gave me a gift of 32 parallel stripes (there was to be 30, something to do with my counting wrong, he said..), made by the cane, on my ass..

Late night visit..

I had a visitor at 2 o'clock last night..

I am a bit annoyed, that I sleep the way I do, deeply, but always aware of any sound, after years and years listening for a dreaming child, for cries, or any other sound indicating, that the children need their Mom..

I heard him coming through the front door, I knew, he had plans to come, but I fell asleep so late in the night I thought, he didn't want to bother after all. It is difficult to get to my place in the middle of the night, no subway trains nearby, and last night not possible for him to take the car..

But he came, and I felt the smile spreading on my lips, hearing him, hearing him quietly walk around in the house, taking off his trousers in the hall, perhaps to prevent me from waking up. And, I expected, to come to bed and go to sleep quickly, as he usually does, without much hanky - panky, at least at that time of night.

"Be quiet, slut,  not a sound.."

His hands, caressing my ass, the room completely dark, but I still knew his voice, the feeling of him, his body behind mine..

"If you mumble as much as a word or a sound, you know, what is waiting you.."

His hands knowingly examined the depths of my cunt, the lips and the soft skin, he felt my moisture, and suddenly he pinched my nipple so hard, that a stifled murmur came over my lips.

"Quiet now, slut!"

I felt his hands gripping hard around my mouth, the other hand touching my clit so hard, it almost hurt, but also aroused me even more, and made me even more wet. Another sound came out of my mouth, without me even noticing, it was on its way..

His hand immediately stopped its titillating touch, and now followed searing, burning beats on my buttocks, by his hands. I tried hard not not wiggle and moan, and he just kept on marking my skin, making my buttocks red with his blows, again, more..

How it is now..

Mr. came to see me. Dinner, ordinary family time, a movie on the television, that certainly didn't make me think of sex or SM. A film about sociopaths, the kind of film, that makes me almost physically ill, even though I know it is only a film and skilled actors. But my inner core turns into a knot of pain.. It has something to do with my past, but it has also to do with some kind of sensitivity, that I have. An empathic way to think and feel, that is definitely widening these days, with all the fantasies and all the experiences, I get.

I looked at him, and all of a sudden I saw the look in his eyes, that special look, that instantly sends cascades of shivers down my spine.. Because I know, what the look means. I had seen, he had brought his black bag, so I knew..

"A slut, who teases will be punished today. How many blows have you deserved?"

5, silence. I quickly corrected it to 10, together with the 10 blows, I saved up another day.. For making a noise last time he made me come.. For wiggling when I was told not to..

"I think, that first I will spoil you, just a bit.."

I felt his tongue, his hands, on my body, tracing their way towards my cunt.. I knew just as he knew, that my whole body was tense with excitement.. Tense with the pleasure of his touch, but just as tense with the expectations of what I knew, would follow..

Kneeling in the sofa with his body in front of me and his hands tightly round my hair, I suddenly felt a slap on my cheek, the first one a light one, and the shock that went through my body, when he did it. The next ones, harder, more painful.. And I heard his soft voice "My little slut.."

"Kneel in the sofa over the backrest, slut."

I felt how he quickly locked my hands on my back with the metal hand cuffs, hard and cold, a bit sharp, and not of the kind I can remove myself, if I wanted to. He gagged me, the ball in my mouth hard and just that little bit too big for it ever to be pleasurable or comfortable at all. But, well, that is the point, I suspect.. He chose the whip, my favourite of the ones he have, al least. It is also a point, that I am not allowed to choose if I want to feel the whip or the cane. The whip, that doesn't make the same beautiful marks as the cane.. The slut isn't allowed to choose when she gets to get her marks..

He whipped me, his one hand with such a tight a grip around my hair, it almost made tears roll down my cheeks.. 10 blows or more..? And the 11th, the hardest of them all..

"Now there is still 10 blows left for you to think about.."

His fingers then found my cunt. It was dripping wet and ready..

A picture, I like..

My beginning..

I have another blog in my native language, Danish. I started the blog because I had a growing need to tell someone, perhaps just a nonpersonal computer screen, about my secret life of BDSM. (Again, noone says that BDSM and exhibitionism is linked in any way..!) I am a very talkative person, of course I can keep a secret, but god, how it sometimes itches, to tell.. And keeping the secret of my new found life of kink made everything all twitch in my mouth. Many times I have thought of telling just one close friend my secret, but I still haven't got the nerve. Maybe this English blog is just a way to keep on telling without telling..

Well, I will tell you about me, and then perhaps a bit about the pleasures, I enjoy.. (This is meant as a tease, perhaps you guessed..?)

My life before BDSM lasted 38 years, I grew up in an average family, raised in a sheltered environment as the correct and polite big sister in a paternal Danish family with lots of inhibitions. I got an education, worked, lived serially monogamously, married, divorced, married, divorced, smaller children.. Boring sex, often no sex at all, innocent games, mostly when I was younger, with hand cuffs, rope, but without the ability or safety to give myself in to it. I mostly thought it was a bit funny, while I in the midst of it all was planning the grocery shopping I had to do the day after..

I was single again 2 years ago, after more than 2 years of considerations of whether my marriage would last, while fighting for it. So, when the divorce happened, I knew my state of mind well, and soon started dating. Normal, straight forward dating, some dates more succesful than others, a bit of sex, too. And then I met him..

His dating profile was different than the others, more than hinted something of a dark universe behind. I quote (and translate.. Sorry if I do a poor job of it, and sorry to say sorry, sorry if I am too self conscious..): I enjoy the psychological game in a relationship between a man and a woman, where the man leads the woman down a path, where she gives up her right to make her own decisions and lets herself fall into a state of pure pleasure and oblivion of self..

Honestly, I didn't quite know what to think about his words, but I was more than curious to meet the man behind the words.. The Date, the first date, was a dream, very special, an ordinary date with a walk in the park, coffee, lunch, the air so filled with sexual tension, that we would surely have ended up in his appartment, if we had had the time.. Instead it ended with a kiss, and a sense of falling in love..

After this my first date he initiated my training towards the universe of submission, masochism. Carefully, slowly, teasingly, skillfully he took me down the path where we still go, next to an ordinary life with each our children, two houses, being lovers and friends, girlfriend and boyfriend..

He was, he is, fantastic, formidable (Who said anything about being in love...) He has during the last 1½ year taught me more about devotion in passion and the pleasures in lust and pain than I have known for all the previous part of my life. He pushes me further and further down our path together, firmly, tenderly, determined, dominant, and he has total right of decision, over my erotic life. And all the way I have felt, how my lust for more, more experiences, deeper submission, just grows stronger and stronger..

I earlier hated beats on my ass, but now it turns me on like I never imagined, it could. From impatiently waiting for the ropes to be tied I now submit to the process, the feeling, the expectations, the devotion to him. As to the spankings, I love the whip, the tawse, the cane (and almost the flogger..), and I feel both proud and happy for the marks, it leaves on my skin, as a proof of my lust and my submission..

The way he touches my neck, the way his hands tightens their grip or pulls my hair turns me on immediately. It makes my heart pound, it makes my breath heavy, my cunt wet, for him. An arm around my shoulder, a look from his deep blue, burning eyes, a texted message, a mail.. I have never experienced so strong a need towards a man before, the need to give it all, the want, for more all the time, and I have never experienced the way it just gets better and better and better..

I call him Mr.