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..

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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.."

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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..

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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..

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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

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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..

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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..




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