#Lingerie is for everyone – Wednesday evening 6pm

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It’s an after-work thing. Take my clothes off a look at myself in the mirror.

My bra and pants always match, it’s one of my rules from my M. Because of this I weeded out the graying, loose elasticated knickers that used to line my dressing table drawers and now only have matching sets of every colour. It feels like self care to me now.

That brings me to this post, I love pretty lingerie but today’s is a classic black set with velvet trim, paired with matt black holdups and black suede boots for a demure work day.

I sashayed around the rooms a couple of times, enjoyed admiring myself before settling down with a post work GnT.

Thanks are due to Violet Fawkes for this great meme. I will enjoy showing you some more of my lingerie soon 💗

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#SinfulSunday – pretty in pink

Early morning cosy

I have been travelling and this is my first Sunday morning in my own bed for three weeks. My body still hasn’t adjusted to all the time and climate shifts and I wake early these days.

Lacking sexy inspiration this week got me thinking about what my body needs right now and I find it is comfort and warmth. My old cotton pyjamas and a hot water bottle as I wait for the dawn give me those things.

Hope your Sunday is a good one, sinful or not, and don’t forget to click on the lips to see more of the wonderful images created for your enjoyment

Sinful Sunday

#SinfulSunday – Best of 2018 – May’s edit

Part of the wonderful thing about the sex blogging world is the great people you meet who you would not normally cross paths with.

May is one of those people. We met first at Eroticon in 2017 and then again just before Christmas for an evening full of wine and the kind of leg slapping ‘I know!’ exclamations that tell you when you have found a kindred spirit. By then i was thoroughly smitten by her personality as well as her excellent writing and photographic eye.

As May knew I was travelling with my son in early January she offered to create a collage of her favourites of my #SinfulSunday posts this year for me to post this week. It is kind of her but I was also interested in what images she would choose.

I was also intrigued as I know that she asked her man for his input and it always give me a frisson of excitement when I imagine others looking at my posts. Exhibitionist much, moi?

So, here they are May More’s favourites of 2018 posts from me. Which one is yours?

Don’t forget to click on the link to see who else is being sinful this week

Sinful Sunday

A moment in time

Stepping from the warmth of the car to the crisp fresh air should not have come as a shock, the drive here had, as instructed, been carefully executed. The strangely satisfying crunch of Dubarry boot into freshly layered snow resonated in the still air. She thought back to the drive here, only three red lights, only three occasions when her right hand slipped within her knee length faux coat, under the coat to her warm, and yes wet, naked flesh, feeling the pulse of anticipation in her now throbbing clit.

The instructions were simple, embedded in her mind, no room for error, no opportunity to feign misunderstanding. “Walk please, the path in the south west corner, do so until instructed otherwise.” The instructions, both comforting and exhilarating, concluded, “do not worry, you are safe, I will be watching you.”

She shut the car door carefully behind her, the lights under the handles casting a pale shadow onto the white carpet beneath her feet. She allowed herself a moment, a moment of “Oh my God” as her mind scrambled to comprehend where she was and what she was doing and in that moment simultaneously thought two things, one, that he had told her she was safe and two, that she had no idea which direction was south west.

Her mind immediately went to work – she had come in from the right beginning her journey by heading left across the country and then dropping down through small towns and villages. Since there had been only one left turn that meant that south west had to mean bottom left of the car park and she risked a glance of confirmation in that direction. A white painted sign pointed to a stile, a footpath! She put the key in her coat pocket, time to get moving.

The night air was cool through the gap in the coat with every stride she took. A shiver started at the base of her neck and struck out left and right making her shake her head and hunch her shoulders in response to this; this astonishing set of circumstances and sensations. Her boots crunched, her thighs rubbed their slickness together, she could hear the clicking sucking sound of her clit and cunt as they moved against her, then away, then against again. Nipples erect against the silky lining of the coat, hair shining in the moonlight, she allowed herself another moment, this one of joy, of being here, of doing this, and reined herself in once more.

Over the stile, the woods, dark and ominous, waited and, she hoped, so did he. Walk until instructed otherwise she thought, that shouldn’t be hard should it? And yet each step seemed a step closer to a cliff edge. Her legs began to shake slightly, anticipation, fear, excitement? A heady potent mixture of all three with arousal thrown in for good measure which threatened to make even the simple process of putting one leg in front of the other beyond her.

Putting one booted foot up on the stile step she instinctively reached to pull the coat across to cover herself as the coat gaped, and in that moment realised the absurdity of this action. She responded by unbuttoning the coat allowing the air to reach her exposed breasts, stomach and pubis. And swinging her other foot over the top to stand astride the stile she faced down the trees and stars, unfettered by modesty or shame, and laughed aloud.

Beyond the stile the path moved through a thicket of silver birch trees, their delicate golden winter plumage dancing against the ghostly white of the trunks which looked as though they extended seamlessly from the snowy ground around them. She thought again how they were her favourite trees, it’s almost as though they were planted for me, she thought and simultaneously noticed a darker shadow to the left of the path and pulled her coat around her once more. Stick to the path until told otherwise, she thought, and don’t worry you will be safe. His voice echoing around her head once more brought calm. She imagined his eyes on her, watching, judging and appraising and stuck out with the conviction of a studious child taking her homework to be marked by a fair teacher.

When it happened though it was still a shock, the hand on the shoulder, the words “stop” breathed in her ear, a lick from jaw to cheekbone and the blindfold placed over her eye. She instinctively bowed her head, waiting for his instruction, a hawk, hooded, as he took her arm and placed it through his. “We’ll walk for a little shall we?”

So they walked, as he requested, as if it were a stroll through Green Park, with him having first pulled apart the coat to expose her to the moonlight and as they walked she heard her pulse thrumming in her ear, felt her nipples harden at the night’s closeness, sensed her heart begin to expand at the extraordinary pleasure of this communion.

They stopped, at his behest, 5 minutes further into the wood and he removed her coat with such care that it brought to her mind an image of the exquisite Japanese vase he treasured on his shelf at home. She knew that it would be hung from a branch that he had selected earlier for such a task such was his attention to detail and concern for her wellbeing and in this cosy glow she gasped as her arms were yanked upwards, wrists tied with competent speed and hooks attached to an overhead branch. Her attention was pulled downwards to her feet as he kicked the inside edges to make her spread her legs wide and the shock as the first handful of snow hit her already erect nipples jerked her body up and her mouth open wide. Another and then another icy ball was pushed against her skin, stomach, chest, back, buttocks. In the cleft of her buttocks sprays of chilling water trickling down joined the sticky moisture already collecting there. She rolled and dipped. Trying to guess where the next attack would come from, her skin burning with cold, nerve endings on fire, no part however intimate, safe, until she acquiesced, head bowed as the final ball was inserted into her hot cunt and cried, tears of gratitude squeezing out from under the blindfold.

Home again once more.

His hand smoothed her hair and unfastened blindfold with the other he held up a cup of steaming peppermint tea to her lips and breathed “drink. You’ve done well.”

As her eyes adjusted to the light she noted that her wrists were tied with her favourite deep red rope and that he was in the process of letting it out so that she could be bent forwards over the fallen tree in front of her each wrist clipped separately and wide this time . Momentarily she contemplated protesting about the prickliness of the bark her tender flesh was headed for but only for a moment as she hit the trunk first with her nipples then with her breasts and mound and finally with her stomach. Before she registered discomfort completely he moved in front of her and tapped under her chin to encourage her to look up at him. A second tap on the cheek and she opened her mouth to receive his cut cock which he had released from his trousers. Rolling and tasting him in her mouth she began to make appreciative noises as she felt him harden under her tongue. Pausing to flick his frenulum on the way past she pointed her tongue and pushed it into the eye noting with satisfaction the grunt and push back against her it provoked. She could feel the heat beginning across her shoulders and knew that her “fuck me” rash would be proclaiming her readiness to take him in her cunt and that he would make her wait until he wanted to, just because he could.

The sound of gentle buzzing presaged his withdrawal from her mouth and with her legs spread wide and bum in the air he had easy access to her clitoris as he moved swiftly around to the other side of the tree. The buzzing moved from tip around the edges of her vagina where the arms of her clit extended and at the same time she felt him insert his fingers into her and begin massaging the inside wall. The world kaleidoscoped down to this nexus and she felt herself begin to contract and expand at the stimulation and the heat from her shoulders was replicated in her pussy. As she heaved and gasped it occurred to her that she was only here, all of her was only here in this moment, nowhere else and with no-one else, only here, as she came.

Within moments she felt his fingers withdraw and his cock enter her, thrusting in so deep and so far that it hit her cervix sending cascades of sensation through her with every jerk. They moved together, she pushing back, he pushing in, the bark ribbing and poking her, her arms spread over the trunk of the tree, her pale ass in the air, as their gasps and groans rose to the stars and fell onto the scattered leaves beneath their feet. His spunk hit her cervix. Hot liquid released to bathe her inside with his essence, coat her with his presence, leaving something of himself behind in her as her surrender had in him.

Released from tree and rope they hug, her head on his shoulder as she began to shake from cold and exhaustion. The coat, collected from the tree where it hung and placed around her shoulders again, gave comfort as they made their way back to the car. The wooded night closed around them again, a safe place for a secret to be held. A safe place for a life- changing moment.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

#SinfulSunday – f is for

For me – my collar, a tangible expression and reminder of our connection

For Him – my body, sitting opposite Him at the table for Him to enjoy whilst we eat

For Us – care of ourselves and each other so that we can enjoy many happy years together

Don’t forget to click on the lips to see who else is being sinful with the letter f this week

Sinful Sunday

#SinfulSunday – home

It isn’t a place. It is a feeling. Comfort, love, desire, all three in one place = home 💋❤💋

Don’t forget to click on the lips to see who else is being sinful this week

Sinful Sunday

2018 – I am changed

Fire and legs

Sitting on his leather sofa in front of the fire and surrounded by the contented snores of sundry animals, I pause to consider what this year has meant to me, to us, and who has been a co-conspirator and fellow traveller along the way.

Two main themes leap out at me as lie in His arms in the limbo land between Christmas and New Year. Those of endings and beginnings, the Alpha and Omega of life if you will.

Many of you will know, indeed will have so kindly offered support through the last year of my dad’s decline and his death in late September. There is no getting away from how hard a process that was. Whilst it was happening I often floundered, one moment, raging, one moment caring, next regretful. I begged him to be the man I saw him as growing up, God-like in his ability to make things right, indefatigable, present. Often I wished he was different to the man I knew, capable of change, appreciative, humble in the face of loss, noble in the face of suffering perhaps? Instead he was his own worst self, irritable, manipulative, bereft and angry as he slipped into a world of pain, loss and humiliation, no longer able to do the things that gave his life meaning and increasingly not caring. Seeing my dad cast adrift from life in this way lanced the last vestiges of childhood from my blood.

I am changed by this.

Life, however is not.

It continues, expanding and contracting through time regardless of how much my world has changed and so even as my dad was dying another part of my life was growing. My LDR relationship moved into the world of visits, holidays, shared experiences and plans for more to come. With this has come the opportunity to grow into vulnerability and honesty, with the expectation of being met by the same. Weekends in a field with shared goals and aspirations have shown us both the power of our connection and how it functions around others. Holidays with hour after blissful hour of nothing to do has enabled an ease I usually struggle to experience. Life begins to open up in front of me at a point that the opposite is happening in many others’ and I am grateful.

I am changed by this too.

These changes have been reflected in my blog and twitter account and many of you won’t be surprised by what I have just written. Because of this I need to say thank you to those who have held my hand in the quiet of the night, stood with me in the middle of the storm, and raised a glass to celebrate with me at its end. I want to particularly mention a few twitterers who have offered me comfort and solace and the opportunity for a dirty martini and cake this year.

Thank you

Caroline Swirly GG 💋 Sal Tiggs Haiku MandaPen Violet and Missy

You have all helped me more than you will ever know xx

Also thanks are due to all of you dirty bastards (affectionate term 💋) out there that like and retweet my #SinfulSunday posts every week regardless of quality, adherence to the prompt or bad timekeeping.

I am truly grateful x

My blog list of friendly and supportive bloggers and readers is greater than I deserve given my limited output this year. To those running memes, competitions and prompts I salute you for your contribution to a community that does its best to be inclusive regardless of gender, inclination or geography. Those of us who are not based in London can at times feel left out however, what I know is that this is never intentional and that means a lot to me.

Your support and my inclusion in lists has helped me to become more secure.

Thank you.

I have learned that I am not good in writing competitions and such like, access to my creativity is not a given and I fear failure too much for it to be a positive experience no matter how grown up about it all I attempt to be.

I have also learned that my output is not easily categorised (mostly by me if I am honest).

This is not to say that I won’t seek to be challenged, this is the lifeblood of a healthy creative after all. But i commit to encouraging myself rather than castigate myself when I fall short. Life is too short for self inflicted pain. I joined in the Smut Marathon this year from a misguided desire to push myself and in so doing not to focus on real life issues. This won’t be happening in 2019 as my intention is to focus on what makes real qualitative change in my life.

Please take time to look through my list of followed blogs. I will update this regularly and you may find new and slightly left of field content there.

I wish us all the very best for 2019 which is shaping up to be iconoclastic politically and personally.

Good luck to us all!

#SinfulSunday – winter city dawn

I was up North last week for work and staying in a hotel with a panoramic view of the city as it woke to another day from the window.

At the turning point of this year I would like to thank you all for your support. It has been a tough one personally but by no means all bad. Your support here and on Twitter has helped me get through the hard times more than I can say.

Thank you 💋

Sinful Sunday

#SinfulSunday – in search of bokeh

In search of bokeh

It became something of a quest. I wandered the streets of my small town, breasts exposed under my coat, in search of the circles of lights known as bokeh.

Eventually I paused, finding a spot where I could unzip my coat and take the photo with the street lights twinkling in the distance. Cars passing within feet of me as I clicked. Flushed with success I went home and toasted all the other intrepid Sinful Sunday posters who venture out to bring pictures to us all each week.

Don’t forget to click on the lips to see who else is being sinful this week

Sinful Sunday

KOTW – collars

I am His – this is one of the ways I know it


The sting of the wings

Imprinted on my shoulders by your belt.

Each stroke creates a sting, creates a gasp, creates an involuntary twist away, followed by a voluntary twist back.

Each stroke is accompanied by a wish that this will be the last stroke, followed swiftly by a desire for it not to be.

Your sulky cock, aroused by our sinuous tango, pushes in and pulls out, each thrust accompanied by sting, gasp, twist, twist.

Your hand in my hair arching my back, we ride out and across the sky, sting, gasp, twist, twist

Collared anew, pony hair and suede, I trot and gasp for you, for us.

We pull the year across, tracking autumn into winter, winter into spring, sting, gasp, twist, twist

Belted sting and you deep in me, we are one winged thing, one charged with remaking the year, remaking time, deep in me, flying for us.

eye November 2015

And now, we create our world anew.  Master and eye, older, wiser and more committed than ever before this tangible evidence of our connection arrived through the post.  Before He put it around my neck and I wrote the piece above.

Three years later and so much has changed apart from this. I wear my collar, precious, treasured and waiting until He places it around my neck again.  Then we will ride, trot and gasp at His will. 

Sometimes booted and clothed, fresh-faced, into the wind and chariot driven through the lanes. 

Sometimes naked as the fire I lie in front of  warms us, His eyes on mine as He asks, “are you ready?” and I reply “yes Master”