Rekindling

We played for the first time in a long time, as the sounds of the Santorinian family Sunday afternoon drifted in through the open shutters and mingled with the murmering of the waves pulling in and out over the black sand in front of our window. In stark contrast He made no sound as He pulled my hair to gain leverage to push Himself into me.

The sound of His belt being pulled through the loops on His shorts had sent an immediate request for lubrication to my cunt. My eyes widened, their pupils dilated as I waited for His requirements to become clear. I instinctively lowered my gaze and noticed my focus had become narrowed only to this room, to this us. He pinched my nipple hard and grinned in satisfaction as my yelp was followed by my offering Him its pair.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit to relief at the immediacy of my responses. I had wondered how the expansion of our us from its foundation in D/s to include plans for the future would affect this vital source of energy and connection. It caused me to wonder what happens to relationships when age, illness or disability interrupts the pattern of relating. If we couldn’t do this, or even aspects of this what could we call on to refresh and revitalise us?

Where would the centre of us live if not here?

I had always considered myself a trusting person, this was mostly when comparing myself to exes who were less immediate than me in their own leaping in. What I saw then in myself as trusting (and somehow superior if I am truly honest), I regard now as a kind of recklessness with my own heart and with the things I loved most such as my children and my home. In mistaking co-dependency for love I leapt in because of the immediacy of connection that happens when their teeth fit your wound.

It felt right, how could it be wrong?I

Which eventually, sadly becomes why does something that felt so right now hurt so much?

In our us with the man I call Master I have had the opportunity to learn what it is to truly trust. The shared roles, rules and responsibilities we agreed taught me not to be reckless with my heart, and also the beauty of flying when you know there is always an arm waiting for you to perch on when you return.

Beyond this I also now know that whilst we none of us can truly foretell the future, what we can stand on however, is the firm foundation we have built in trust and love.

When He says He’s got us I know He has, that’s us. That’s love regardless of what it looks like from the outside.

πŸ’‹β€πŸ’‹

#SinfulSunday – kneeling

Kneeling with lipstick and a half grin

I love to kneel and wait. Sometimes at His feet, sometimes before Him, sometimes for Him. What matter most is that it is with Him, our mutual needs meet in this simple action.

πŸ’‹β€πŸ’‹

Technical stuff: this is another in my series of photos taken wearing this outfit and using a tripod and a clicker. A first for me and something I will repeat.

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

Sinful Sunday

#SinfulSunday – work legs

Work legs - fishnets

Imagine, for a moment you worked alongside me. Could you keep your eyes on your excel spreadsheet as I walked by?

No?

I thought not πŸ’‹

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

Sinful Sunday

This is the day

Black and white eye with cushions

This is the day, my life will surely change

This is the day, when things fall into place

Just like that rainy Thursday morning in 2013 as I drove to kneel for the first time before anyone other than God, what happens today will change my life again. I feel it as my heart bounds with excitement and my grin threatens to dazzle all who see it.

When you know, you know, and I always have.

I didn’t know if the universe shared the same view although I would have found it hard to believe it didn’t since it felt right even through the hardest of times and even though many others thought it was obviously wrong. But here I am, hours away from driving to see my love and to laugh, and play, and talk about our future with him and I simply can’t wait.

Soon, my love, soon.

πŸ’‹β€πŸ’‹

A new country

Our bed is a strange country, what has been, even if unhappy, was at least familiar and this is not that, although it is welcome.

Which side will be yours? Do you like a light to see my curves and judge my response or will you pull me to you in the dark, lips hot and heavy with desire, and devour me?

Your chest has hair, a different slope and is broader and more welcoming. The journey to your navel does not guarantee a shiver of desire as it used to with him but your waistline shakes as I brush it, in a newly delicious way.

Your hands hold me down, not mine hold yours and it feels so much more right than anything else did before. I drown in your eyes not search them to find out the right response to you, the one that will keep me safe.

My body still twines around like ivy, an involuntary and entirely sexual response. Legs interlock and I, newly trained, open my mouth and keep it open to allow you access.

Turned onto my front and entered from behind I lock my feet behind your thighs to pull you in. There is no sense of resignation or of compliance, only a sense of more, please, more.

I can never have enough of you.

We sleep connected. If I am not in your arms, my outstretched foot touches yours. Butterfly kisses land on my shoulder if you wake in the night.

There is no list of grievances to divide us, nor emotional wounds that we have caused each other to fester or split us apart.

Calm and warmth pervades the space, grins and cups of tea begin the day.

The new geography of this unexplored land is our Eldorado. We are settlers, lately weary from the journey but now full of hope and ambition.

#SinfulSunday – sheela na gig

Sheela na gig , represented by mounds, slits and cuts in the earth.

Worshipped for her fertile sexuality and unapologetic earthlinked eroticism it seemed apt to take pictures of my freshly waxed cunt here.

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

Sinful Sunday

A Neolithic earthwork was the location for this week’s #SinfulSunday.

I parked by the side of the road and walked the 400 yards to the entrance, a cleft in the small mound that was created so long ago.

You have to crawl to get inside the damp dark space. The floor covered in beech leaves blown in from countless autumns, the thick loamy smell accompanied by the sounds of drips from the limestone ceiling.

Once inside I quickly stripped, positioned myself and the camera and began to take photos.

On my way back to the car I passed the next visitors heading towards the landmark.

Another close shave getting my #SinfulSunday picture!

I want you

Black and white eye with hair

I want you to find me so beautiful that your breath catches in your throat when you look at me.

That all your carefully laid plans fly out of your head at the sight of me and you feel you must have me, there and then.

That all thoughts of making me wait are superseded by your throbbing need.

That your belt, with which you had intended to mark me, becomes a mere impediment to the fulfilment of your desire.

That my breath, tremulous and halting, is the only sound in the room.

That when you see my eyes, lightened with arousal, pupils large with lust and need, you only want to drown and drown again in me, surging and pulling in our aegir.

That our moment of connection, which has in it all that we have been and all that we will be, swells and grows until we no longer are two people but one luminous being crying out in our simultaneous ecstasy.

That our lying together, you with your arm around my shoulder, me with my head on your chest is where we breathe ourselves into our future.

I want you.

Leaning in

Jaeger dress

We met on a hot day in April by Harrods, you in your suit with laptop and a City grin and me with a charity shop Jaeger dress and my feet sore from London walking. I had a twitter friend with me, and was strangely anxious about you both meeting, what if you didn’t like each other? As it was, who could resist your eyes? Warm, friendly, alive and an unusual hazel colour. They warm the personality denying City uniform and speak always of a lively intelligence and a very special pair of hands.

We said good-bye to my friend and caught the tube to the Tate Modern. A Picasso exhibition had caught our eye and we thought we would go. I got to the down escalator first and you stood behind me and for the first time we connected. I could feel you behind me, your surprising warmth as the blood pulsed around your body, your solidity as you stood there, feet wide, heels braced, and I leaned in. Chin up, head back, my shoulders onto you chest, your hand around my waist. And I breathed so deeply.

You had me, I could feel it.

Right in that moment you were there, as much there as when you hurt me with our eyes locked, as when you fucked me as we looked in the mirror, as much as when I cried out in pain as my world collapsed and I was left with nothing.

Later that evening we chatted with a girl from the USA over drinks in the Globe Theatre and I saw your look as I spoke so expansively and articulately of our us. The same look of desire as when I took the extra strap from your belt. The same sense of wonder that I was yours and the same sense of pride of what we had created.

Our us.

It is a wonderful thing.