Built from experience. Designed for practice
I love lace. I love the feel on my body, the way it makes me feel sexier, just sliding it over my skin. I love how it looks, giving me a feminine edge but loads of sex appeal. Just thinking about wearing it makes me feel more womanly, pliable, and sensual.
“I feel great, Sir”, I reply. “And I will be eating, just not dinner.” Lowering myself to my knees, I crawl under the table until I am kneeling between his feet. I slide my hands up his legs, stopping at the fly of his pants, looking up at him through my lashes.
Role play is an area we don't navigate much, so it was fun to try something new.
There was a time when getting my period would be a huge blow to my sex life, but with a little compromise and some negotiating, we’ve found that it doesn’t have to be sex or nothing.
We’re currently living in a strange time. One where the love and support of our neighbours and friends have become a threat and keeping to ourselves is the cure. As a race, we are not designed to be isolated, confined, separated.
Some days you need a hug, on the butt, with a paddle.
We all have dreams. We dream of having it all figured out, leaving the world a little better when we leave than it was when we found it. We dream of rising to the challenge and becoming who we aspire to be.
Domestic Service – Where’s the Value? I’m not sure if domestic service is a kink for me, or if it just seems to fit inside my thoughts of what a “good” submissive looks like. Maybe it’s very 1950’s of me…
The Worst of a Good Situation I am an overthinker, 100%. About everything. I have this theory that by thinking something through, even when it’s been thought and re-thought and revised and thought about again, the thinking will make it…
Remembering Grandpa This is not a post about kink, but rather first loves and reminiscence. Being raised in foster care, I’ve had many people come and go from my life. Some were with me for a short time and others for longer, but all of them share the final departure. For most, it was because it was a job and the job had ended. For others, it was a choice. Either way, I’m sure each person has left a little bit of themselves, imprinted on me. For the people who did stay for the duration (which has been very few), my grandfather is who I remember fondest. Born in 1937 on a small farm in Ontario, Canada, he was the oldest son of a man he would never meet. His father died at the age of 33, a couple of months before my grandfather’s birth, but was the love of my great-grandmother’s life. She spoke fondly of him until her death at the age of 71. My grandfather married my grandmother in the early ’60s, and I am sorry to admit I know little about his life between his birth and their marriage. Looking back, I was always so focused on the now and not the before. Had there been more time with him, maybe I would have asked. I could, in theory, ask my grandmother, but second-hand stories are not usually as good as the ones from the source. One story that I remember fondly though, is of when he asked my grandmother to marry him. They were driving down a dirt road, windows down, the car full of hot summer air and gravel dust. My grandfather had one arm on the back of the seat, his other loosely over the steering wheel. Turning his head, he looked over […]