Word for Wednesday

Word for Wednesday #3

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I originally had another word picked for this week but after a conversation with Sir on Sunday I had to go with this one instead:

Tumescent: adj

  1. swollen or becoming swollen

[C19: from Latin tumescere to begin to swell, from tumēre]

We were just chatting when apropos (another good word) of nothing he asked me if I knew what intumescent meant. Apparently someone he knows had to install a fire door with an intumescent seal. I hadn’t heard of it, I had heard of tumescent, so I went to Google as you do but my phone was being an arse so I looked it up in a proper dictionary. Basically both mean to swell, but after finally looking it up online I found that intumescent is more often used to describe foam or paint that swells when it gets hot – hence the intumescent seal and tumescent is usually from sexual arousal – when the body gets hot 😉

Revisiting

Wicked Wednesday #7

I haven’t been at this blogging lark for very long and I have a grand total of 43 posts! So when I saw this weeks prompt I wasn’t sure what I could revisit. I decided to go all the way back to last Thursday – Finding the words?

It was getting on for three weeks since I’d seen Sir and all I could think of was him using me. I couldn’t concentrate on writing properly, and having to go out into the vanilla world I live in was so hard, I couldn’t talk to anyone out there. I know it’s part of my depression that makes me feel like that, the being unable to communicate, the feeling that no-one could understand how I felt. In the past I wouldn’t talk to anyone about anything, I kept everything bottled up. In the last three or four years things have changed. By allowing other people in, allowing myself to talk to them, it really made such a difference. And when I started college full-time I was lucky enough to have two tutors in particular that I could talk to about anything, they were the best two years of my life up until that point. The problem was that the course finished, one of them retired and moved away and even though I went back to the same college last September it wasn’t the same. Different course, different people, I could still have the occasional chat with the other tutor but I really missed the long conversations we’d have in class. I had a flick back through the journal I started at the end of last October. I’ve had some bad episodes in the past but I think that was the closest I’ve ever come to actually giving in and going into hospital. But what a difference a year makes! Keeping up with the writing, meeting Sir, being able to explore my kinks, finding and reading other blogs, all this has helped me so much. Having this space to express how I feel has become a kind of safety valve, even if I don’t actually post some of the things I’ve written. Sometimes it’s enough to open a fresh page and just type, I may not finish, it may not make sense but it helps. And as crappy as I felt last week I know my life right now is good, I can’t believe how good it is. I have so much less stress in my life, I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world and to top it off I have Sir.

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Yesterday the tutor who retired came back for a visit. When I spoke to her she said she barely recognised me, that I looked so much happier, (she said I looked ten years younger, but I’m not so sure about that 🙂 ) She knows a lot about how my life was, we both had abusive exes and we discussed it a lot. She’s been happily married to a really nice guy for the last fifteen years and she was delighted when I told her I’d finally met someone. Our conversation made me realise how much I missed her but sometimes we just need to move on – and she really does look ten years younger.

Go see who else is being Wicked this Wednesday.

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

My Journey – part 3

I know it’s been a while since I last talked about this but I’ve been a bit distracted 🙂 but here’s the next installment.

And Violet I think this is pretty safe 🙂

We’d been talking online for a couple of weeks and it was rare that I’d had so much in common with anyone – even down to which biscuits we liked. There had been very little talk of sex, really only how long it had been – I won – five years to his few months. It was mostly about how much we both missed having someone in our lives and the lack of hugs. In one message he wrote:

‘I have a collection of unused hugs. The longer, lingering face-burying kind. The little ones I can offload easily, kids, friends, relative etc. but the ones that either slow the heart or make it race, well I need to get out and exchange some of those.’

I think I really fell in love then.

The only time things got a little more, let’s say interesting, was when we were talking about him wanting to attach a camera to a kite using duct tape to take some photos. The next message he sent was about ‘…taking duct tape and a camera to meet a stranger…’ he also says he has a cold. I text back that I hadn’t even realised about the duct tape and camera until he mentioned it and that he could bring it as long as he didn’t give it to me. So he texts back ‘Are we still talking about duct tape?’ And my reply is that I was talking about his cold, and that I don’t know if I’d like duct tape, it’d be too hard to remove. After I sent it I though WTF am I doing? But the conversation went back to the usual, safe topics. I was really only looking for someone to meet up with occasionally, someone to have dinner with, someone to have a decent conversation with. I really would have settled for just a hug but obviously it would be great if there was sex too. Once we had arranged to meet I was staring to feel physically sick, getting more nervous as the day approached. The first time we met he drove across the country to see me and the first thing we did was hug, it felt amazing. He took me out to dinner, and although I was still feeling nervous gradually I calmed down. After dinner I took him for a walk around town and then we went for a drink. The whole time we didn’t stop talking, or laughing. Afterwards he offered to walk me home. I’d gotten someone to mind the kids overnight, we were getting on well and he had a hotel room – what was I going to do? I thought it better to get the whole sex thing out of the way – if we weren’t as compatible in bed as we were in everything else wouldn’t it be good to find out now instead of him having to drive all that way again? So we went back to the hotel, I’m not going to give all the details but for me it was as if he could see inside my head. At one point he asked me if I was a bit shy because I hadn’t asked him to do anything but I told him that I hadn’t needed to, he did it all anyway. We talked quite a lot about sex, our likes and dislikes, his surprise at finding out I wasn’t shaved or waxed and that I hadn’t given him a blow job. Those things seemed to have become the norm, but I had found it bad enough getting my eyebrows waxed a couple of times, no way anyone was going near my bits, as for shaving I didn’t fancy a cut there either. When it comes to blow jobs it’s not something I’d ever really liked, I have sucked a few cocks in my time but I preferred not to, and if a bloke didn’t want to give me oral that was fine too. I told him that I had always had a thing about being tied up but never found anyone willing or able and he asked me if I liked to be spanked. No-one had ever asked me and I had no feelings one way or the other, I’d had the odd swat on the behind but nothing more. So that night I got my first spanking, it was only a few light slaps but I’d found something else I liked. Life had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting!

Used 2

Masturbation Monday #5

I love to watch as he prepares dinner. I lean against the kitchen worktop, cup of tea in hand, watching his strong hands, peeling, chopping, every movement controlled. He glances over at me, ‘Go get your shoes.’ I put my tea down and got to the bedroom, I know which shoes. I pick them up from the floor and go back into the kitchen where he is finishing up the vegetables. As he clears up I put on my heels, I wish I could wear them all the time. He stands in front of me, still taller, and kisses me, walking me back until I’m against the worktop. His strong hands wandering over my body, arse, hips, tits, stroking, pinching, squeezing. Heat between my legs as he turns me around, bending me over the worktop, slapping my arse, pulling down my trousers and knickers as he holds me down, one hand on the back of my neck. His fingers exploring, probing my wet cunt, pushing deeper inside me, sliding over my clit, rubbing and pinching. ‘Such a needy, greedy little cunt.’ I’m grateful for the worktop holding me up, my legs weak, I whimper as he continues to fuck me with his fingers, wetness running down the inside of my thighs. He stops fingering my cunt and slaps my arse hard enough to make me yelp, his hand tightens on my neck. I try to keep quiet as he spanks me, but can’t help letting out another cry as his hand lands on a spot already starting to bruise. He stops slapping me and I hear him undo his belt, another whimper escaping as he pulls it through the loops of his jeans. That sound alone would be enough to make my cunt drip even if he hadn’t already touched me. He lets go of my neck just long enough to wrap the belt around his hand and the feel of cold leather trailing across my back and down my arse sends a shiver of anticipation through me. The belt soon leaves marks to go with the bruises on my arse from his hands and adds its own to the tops of my thighs, the stinging heat spreading until everything is burning. Finally he drops the belt beside my face. As he undoes his jeans and I feel his cock filling me, seeing the belt lying there sends another rush of heat through me, makes my stomach flip as I realise I actually love this thing. I love how it feels when it’s biting into my skin, I love the marks it leaves and I love the feel of his body slamming against my tender skin as he fucks me. But I also feel a little sad, seeing it lying there, abandoned, its work done for now.

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Finding the words?

This has been a period of dark thoughts, twisted fantasies growing ever more extreme. Thoughts of bondage, spankings, slapping, clamps, pain. Thoughts of being hurt and used beyond our norms. Our norms are dictated by circumstance, not need, wants or desires. I want to travel beyond, I need to be taken beyond. To find that other, to experience the darkness and explore it.

The hardest thing is being unable to express this need, to find the words. Lately I find I can’t even write, too many thoughts swirling around in my head, incoherent visions, incomplete…

The darkness is growing, the mask an almost permanent fixture but this time for different reasons. To hide my needs from those who don’t/can’t/won’t understand. Even if I could tell them. How to explain to others that it not only his presence I miss but all that his presence means to me. How to find the words to express that I need, when I can’t even find the words myself.