I am 48, I am someone who has struggled with my adult identity. My child; my younger self, was damaged by domestic turbulence and as an adult, I have carried my child with me, living to protect him. The fear I carried has shaped my response to the individuals around me Within this blog, I explore… Continue reading Introducing Submission
Summer simmers and he becomes quiet within himself again. Last night, I broke my silence and words tumbled from my mind into online flirts, my lust open and raw, my hand drawn to epxress my own desire and need, I came alone. What brought me back was chance, being alone, freedom. In its power over… Continue reading Too long, too long. He returns to lust and flirtation.
Allowing this makes me a masochist. Enjoying the after effects, the residual pain, reminds of the moment of escape, where pain and the thrill of submission has removed me from everything else. These scars I sought. These scars allow me to feel pain and to enjoy submitting to another. Yes, this is addictive but am… Continue reading Pain threshold, revealing my scars.
Desperately, in the confines of, what might be a borderline relationship, between vanilla and fetish, I have assumed that my partner can not fulfil the desire I have to submit and sought to satisfy that desire, with her knowledge, elsewhere. Aware of her concerns, I have limited myself to online contact with male dominants. We… Continue reading Submission to who?
He sees me, for the first time. Through a window, across the street, he gazes and inspects. Me, slim, tall, dark hair curling on a fairly fit body. Oh and that bottom, pert and almost feminine beneath the curve of my back, seems to crave his touch. Gasping, he swallows as he sees my cock.… Continue reading Watched in lace
Carefully covered, In my wardrobe, I keep a bag of undies. When I feel inclined, I dress up. In frilly knickers, I feel aroused, excited; I leak pleasure and I feel ready to submit. My dressing began as soon as puberty crashed its way into the drama of my teenage years. Somehow, dressing in my mothers… Continue reading Considering Cross Dressing
Oh my soul, I feel such need, I am so desirous for a beating and that ritual that accompanies the act. Anticipating the presentation of myself to another and standing, waiting to be told to remove my trousers, anticipating the command to lower myself, literally and submissively, floods my body with lust. Wanting that slice of… Continue reading The Caning Craving
Hell and the damnation yelped at my young heels. Masturbation and perversion were all condemning my soul to the devil. My Father had bullied us into attending church. On, Sundays, I would see a woman, Agnes, in a black veil pray and say her rosary. My Father, chastised us with his belt and his bible.… Continue reading Agnes and St. Stephen unbound.