Jumaat, 31 Januari 2014
Kink Meme, Day 27
You know, I think I'm beginning to use this Kink Meme as a crutch. No need to think of a pithy post title: it's written in the meme!...Oh no! What will happen when the meme is over and I have think up blog post ideas for myself? Badness, surely!
Can you tell I'm feeling somewhat Snarly? Sarcastic? Snippy? Even a tad bit bitchy?
"Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?"
They don't. The end!
Can't really leave it at that, can I?
I guess my writing, even though it's erotica and BDSM and kinky writing, could also be considered a non-kinky activity. The actual writing part, I mean. Sometimes I'll think up a scene, but I need to figure out the logistics of arms and legs and limbs, and then I'll ask Husband to help me out. Act it out, if you will. So in that way, I guess my major non-kink activity does find its way into the bedroom. But then, my kinks find their way into my writing, so it works both ways.
I knit, so you'd think I'd be better with rope and shibari, but I'm not. I guess I could knit Husband to the bed, but that would be ridiculous. Can you imagine? "Just wait...I've got three more stitches...don't move...."
Okay, this post has run its course. I leave with more Swedish Chef: Miss Piggy looking for her Foo Foo.
Can you tell I'm feeling somewhat Snarly? Sarcastic? Snippy? Even a tad bit bitchy?
"Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?"
They don't. The end!
Can't really leave it at that, can I?
I guess my writing, even though it's erotica and BDSM and kinky writing, could also be considered a non-kinky activity. The actual writing part, I mean. Sometimes I'll think up a scene, but I need to figure out the logistics of arms and legs and limbs, and then I'll ask Husband to help me out. Act it out, if you will. So in that way, I guess my major non-kink activity does find its way into the bedroom. But then, my kinks find their way into my writing, so it works both ways.
I knit, so you'd think I'd be better with rope and shibari, but I'm not. I guess I could knit Husband to the bed, but that would be ridiculous. Can you imagine? "Just wait...I've got three more stitches...don't move...."
Okay, this post has run its course. I leave with more Swedish Chef: Miss Piggy looking for her Foo Foo.
Auntie Liz said I could take some photos up her skirt ...
If I did not show them to anyone.....
next time she gave me her panties to wank into while I looked up at her exposed pussy.
next time she gave me her panties to wank into while I looked up at her exposed pussy.
New Release My Husband and His Brother by Serena Synn
Serena Synn
Book Description:
Camille thought her husband was stuffy and boring until she goes clubbing with him and his baby brother, Johnny over Halloween weekend.
She discovers something quite shocking about her husband and his brother- they like to share.
Camille's husband, Roger, decides it's time to take her off the "trophy wife" shelf and play with her and he is going to share the fun with his little brother, Johnny.
A New Quickie For .99
Post 82
Until she's totally naked...
Sexist office worker tip
I think that's a double entendre.
Can you imagine?
Women bare and men stare
Another chick with a fact.
Another actress interviewing for a role...
Lots of exercise opportunities here...
There's someone to appreciate everyone
Look like a nice paint job on that chassis.
Lots of girls like to play dress up - or down.
--------------------------
Joke time
In other cultures people who commit adultery are stoned; In America it's often the other way around.
---------------------------
A little breeze and a little skirt make for a great combination...
Sexist office worker tip
I think that's a double entendre.
Can you imagine?
Women bare and men stare
Another chick with a fact.
Another actress interviewing for a role...
Lots of exercise opportunities here...
There's someone to appreciate everyone
Look like a nice paint job on that chassis.
Lots of girls like to play dress up - or down.
--------------------------
Joke time
In other cultures people who commit adultery are stoned; In America it's often the other way around.
---------------------------
A little breeze and a little skirt make for a great combination...
Training a Reflex
I'll be the first to admit that in my marriage, I'm the one who has been "trained." Common thinking among many wives used to be a woman could change her husband after they were married; the wife could mold him, polish him up, and buff down all the bad habits she didn't like.
Then that way of thinking fell into bad view as others began to point out that men are men, they are who they are, and they cannot be changed by their wives simply because their wives wish it to be so. Women should marry the men they can live with, the men they can accept for who they are, not the men they want to change. Which, of course, makes sense.
I'm not going to condone marrying a person you think needs changing. Obviously, the old cliche is true: you should marry someone you love. Love means, for the most part, acceptance. Husband accepts me for who I am, and I accept who he is, too.
But do I agree it's impossible to train a person to change their behavior? Oh hell no. That is one of the fundamental principals of a Domestic Discipline lifestyle. And in a D/s relationship, it's the sub who gets trained.
Boy, have I been well trained. In a thousand different things, in a thousand different ways.
One of the ways Husband has trained me is to get wet when I'm afraid.
Yes, you read that right. When I get afraid, for whatever reason, I get wet.
Now, I know all the sadists reading this (hi, Steve!) are probably thinking 'wow, that is AWESOME.'
When I mentioned this unique reaction of mine at a munch the other week, all the sadists within earshot rounded on me with big eyes and took two steps into my circle, like I was suddenly the most interesting thing they had seen all day. I wasn't prepared for that kind of feedback, but after thinking about it, I guess I should have been.
The thing is, this reaction of mine, what has become my body's natural response to fear, is completely out of my control. It's become reflexive. And my body cannot tell the difference between sexual fear, fear that stems from my masochism, and any other kind of fear that is a result of entirely different circumstances.
Going to an amusement park is a nightmare. If I know I'm going to be dragged onto scary rides and roller coasters, I have to wear a panty-liner, or I risk getting off the ride looking like I just peed my pants. People, it's embarrassing.
Getting scared in a movie theater is slightly easier to handle. Those seats are well ventilated, and by the time the movie is over, I'm usually dry enough to feel safe standing up. But I also make sure to wear good, thick cotton panties, and you'll never see me checking out the latest slasher movie while it's still in theaters!
Now, as for Husband...Husband likes to scare me. Some days, he likes to keep me on a constant ebb of simmering fear. He enjoys my reaction. He especially loves it when he can scare me, and then rub his fingers over the crotch of my panties and feel how wet they are. He gets a good laugh when I have to change my underwear, over and over again.
But I think he loves it the most when it becomes a game, and I don't know when he's going to strike next or from where he's going to attack. He might be lurking around the corner, waiting for me to walk past so he can pinch my ass. Or he might be waiting in the bedroom behind the door, ready to shut it closed as I walk through so he can push me over the bed, yank down my pants, and belt me. I don't know when he'll pounce, and my rising anxiety of looming pain will make me soak through my clothes.
Of course, the added bonus of all this is that he knows I hate this reflex of mine, because it's completely beyond my control. I end up always worrying about what I'm wearing, where I'll be if fear strikes, and will I be able to control the adrenaline coursing through my blood. I end up fearful of being afraid.
I am afraid of fear itself.
And you know what that makes me? Wet.
Then that way of thinking fell into bad view as others began to point out that men are men, they are who they are, and they cannot be changed by their wives simply because their wives wish it to be so. Women should marry the men they can live with, the men they can accept for who they are, not the men they want to change. Which, of course, makes sense.
I'm not going to condone marrying a person you think needs changing. Obviously, the old cliche is true: you should marry someone you love. Love means, for the most part, acceptance. Husband accepts me for who I am, and I accept who he is, too.
But do I agree it's impossible to train a person to change their behavior? Oh hell no. That is one of the fundamental principals of a Domestic Discipline lifestyle. And in a D/s relationship, it's the sub who gets trained.
Boy, have I been well trained. In a thousand different things, in a thousand different ways.
One of the ways Husband has trained me is to get wet when I'm afraid.
Yes, you read that right. When I get afraid, for whatever reason, I get wet.
Now, I know all the sadists reading this (hi, Steve!) are probably thinking 'wow, that is AWESOME.'
When I mentioned this unique reaction of mine at a munch the other week, all the sadists within earshot rounded on me with big eyes and took two steps into my circle, like I was suddenly the most interesting thing they had seen all day. I wasn't prepared for that kind of feedback, but after thinking about it, I guess I should have been.
The thing is, this reaction of mine, what has become my body's natural response to fear, is completely out of my control. It's become reflexive. And my body cannot tell the difference between sexual fear, fear that stems from my masochism, and any other kind of fear that is a result of entirely different circumstances.
Going to an amusement park is a nightmare. If I know I'm going to be dragged onto scary rides and roller coasters, I have to wear a panty-liner, or I risk getting off the ride looking like I just peed my pants. People, it's embarrassing.
Getting scared in a movie theater is slightly easier to handle. Those seats are well ventilated, and by the time the movie is over, I'm usually dry enough to feel safe standing up. But I also make sure to wear good, thick cotton panties, and you'll never see me checking out the latest slasher movie while it's still in theaters!
Now, as for Husband...Husband likes to scare me. Some days, he likes to keep me on a constant ebb of simmering fear. He enjoys my reaction. He especially loves it when he can scare me, and then rub his fingers over the crotch of my panties and feel how wet they are. He gets a good laugh when I have to change my underwear, over and over again.
But I think he loves it the most when it becomes a game, and I don't know when he's going to strike next or from where he's going to attack. He might be lurking around the corner, waiting for me to walk past so he can pinch my ass. Or he might be waiting in the bedroom behind the door, ready to shut it closed as I walk through so he can push me over the bed, yank down my pants, and belt me. I don't know when he'll pounce, and my rising anxiety of looming pain will make me soak through my clothes.
Of course, the added bonus of all this is that he knows I hate this reflex of mine, because it's completely beyond my control. I end up always worrying about what I'm wearing, where I'll be if fear strikes, and will I be able to control the adrenaline coursing through my blood. I end up fearful of being afraid.
I am afraid of fear itself.
And you know what that makes me? Wet.
Euphemisms
When you're kinky, sex and play become this kind of huge metaphorical amusement park, filled with mind-bending rides, laugh-soaked shows, and breath-catching thrills. Some of the rides are short, quick, and heart-pounding; some are long, slow, and relaxing; some you go on once or twice, and decide you'll never do again; and some are so amazing, you want to go on over and over and over. Each ride is different. Each one is unique in its own small way.
When you're kinky and have children, you still want to visit the amusement park pretty often. But you don't want your kids to know you're looking forward to a trip to the amusement park, and you certainly don't want them knowing which ride you're looking forward to the most.
So, if you're like us, you start making up names for the rides. Names that sound innocuous, but hold a much deeper meaning between the two of you. Names that can be placed into an innocent statement, but signify something else entirely, something much more kinky.
Like, let's say, oh, Doctor Who. If you're a long-time reader (or a twitter follower), you know I LOVE Doctor Who. You might also know Husband does not love Doctor Who (he once called my obsession with the show "retardis"). So when Husband says he wants some "Doctor Who," he is not talking about the TV show. He is talking about a specific sex position, a mode of play we enjoy. (How the position got this name is a story in and of itself.)
Now, Husband also likes beer. He doesn't indulge all that often, but when he does, he does not ask me to get him a beer. He gets up and pours it himself, mainly because he has a specific set of glasses he uses, and a specific way of pouring the beer into the glass, one that I can never seem to get right.
So when Husband says he wants me to "get him a bottle of beer," I know he's not talking about drinking a beer...well, he's not only talking about drinking a beer. He's talking about another sex position, another mode of play. (Again, how this position got this moniker is a story unto itself--although, if you think about it long enough, you could probably figure out what he's doing with the beer bottle.)
We have all sorts of names for all sorts of kinky ways of play. Besides "Doctor Who" and "Drink a Beer," we have "La Jolla," "Get the Butter" (which does NOT involve butter, thank god, butter does NOT a good lubricant make, no matter what Marlon Brando would have you believe) (just FYI), "You Won't Be Able to Reach Your Phone," "I'll Mess Up Your Hair," "You'll Be Typing Standing Up," "Go Food Shopping in the Vegetable Aisle," and others.
In this way, Husband and I can have all sorts of conversations in front of the kids that sound completely reasonable and chaste, because only he and I understand the deeper context. Conversations like the one we had last night in the car, which went kinda like this:
Husband: So you have anything going on tonight?
Me: No...why?
Husband (smirking): I'm thinking I should have a beer.
Me (refusing to play along): Go ahead. Have a beer. Just don't drive anywhere afterwards.
Husband (frowning): You know what I meant.
Me (trying not to grin): Yeah, I know.
Child Sitting in the Back: What did you mean, dad? You're gonna get blitzed?
Husband: No, I am not going to get blitzed. And what kind of word is that?
There is a pause now, as Husband is a tad annoyed.
Husband: Maybe while I'm drinking my beer, you should watch some Doctor Who.
Child Sitting in the Back: Oh! There's a new Doctor Who?
Me, turning to Child Sitting in the Back: No, no new Doctor Whos until Thanksgiving.
Child Sitting in the Back: But then you've already seen them all.
Me: Yup, I've seen them all. But I don't mind watching some of the episodes twice. You want to watch with me, kiddo?
Child Sitting in the Back: Naw, I have better things to watch. But thanks for asking.
Me (doing some of my own smirking): Sure.
Husband is now gnashing his teeth together.
Husband: When's our next trip to La Jolla?
Child Sitting in the Back: End of summer, dad.
Husband (murmuring under his breath): Not for your mother.
Child Sitting in Back: What?
Husband: Nothing. Nothing. (Turning to me): Wife, do we have enough vegetables at home?
Me (afraid now): I...think so?
Husband: Are you sure? Cause it's never a bad thing to have a well-stocked vegetable drawer. Maybe you should go to the supermarket later, and buy some.
Me: But...but we have vegetables.
Child Sitting in Back: We're out of the cucumbers, mom.
Husband (triumphant): There you go, Wife. You need to buy cucumbers. So why don't you go to the supermarket later, and get some cucumbers? And while you're at it, get some other vegetables, too.
Me: Fine. Fine! I get it.
Child Sitting in the Back: What do you get, mom?
Me: Nothing, kiddo.
Husband: You're mom's just a little afraid I'm going to mess up her hair before she goes to the supermarket.
Child Sitting in the Back: Why would you do that, dad?
Husband: Cause I can't help it. (He reaches his hand around my head to pull me closer, giving me an innocent head-hug.) You're mom's hair is so beautiful, I need to touch it all the time.
Child Sitting in the Back: Well, you can just fix your hair, can't you mom?
Me: Yes, kiddo. I can just fix my hair. But I would rather your father KEEP HIS HANDS OUT OF IT.
Husband: Are you sure, wife? Are you sure? Cause I don't think so. I don't think so at all.
Me: I think so!
Him: How's that chair doing in your office? Still good? It's nice to sit in, isn't it?
Me (panicking): Uh, I meant, I TOTALLY THINK SO. Yes.
Him (thoroughly satisfied now, in the most irritating way): That's what I thought.
Do the kids get some idea we're talking about things over their heads? I'm sure they do. But they won't know exactly what we're talking about. They'll wonder, but they'll never know. And this way, Husband can convey his information to me and get his point across without having to wait until we're alone. He can make me wait and worry and freak the fuck out even longer.
He doesn't have to wait to implement a good mindfuck.
When you're kinky and have children, you still want to visit the amusement park pretty often. But you don't want your kids to know you're looking forward to a trip to the amusement park, and you certainly don't want them knowing which ride you're looking forward to the most.
So, if you're like us, you start making up names for the rides. Names that sound innocuous, but hold a much deeper meaning between the two of you. Names that can be placed into an innocent statement, but signify something else entirely, something much more kinky.
Like, let's say, oh, Doctor Who. If you're a long-time reader (or a twitter follower), you know I LOVE Doctor Who. You might also know Husband does not love Doctor Who (he once called my obsession with the show "retardis"). So when Husband says he wants some "Doctor Who," he is not talking about the TV show. He is talking about a specific sex position, a mode of play we enjoy. (How the position got this name is a story in and of itself.)
Now, Husband also likes beer. He doesn't indulge all that often, but when he does, he does not ask me to get him a beer. He gets up and pours it himself, mainly because he has a specific set of glasses he uses, and a specific way of pouring the beer into the glass, one that I can never seem to get right.
So when Husband says he wants me to "get him a bottle of beer," I know he's not talking about drinking a beer...well, he's not only talking about drinking a beer. He's talking about another sex position, another mode of play. (Again, how this position got this moniker is a story unto itself--although, if you think about it long enough, you could probably figure out what he's doing with the beer bottle.)
We have all sorts of names for all sorts of kinky ways of play. Besides "Doctor Who" and "Drink a Beer," we have "La Jolla," "Get the Butter" (which does NOT involve butter, thank god, butter does NOT a good lubricant make, no matter what Marlon Brando would have you believe) (just FYI), "You Won't Be Able to Reach Your Phone," "I'll Mess Up Your Hair," "You'll Be Typing Standing Up," "Go Food Shopping in the Vegetable Aisle," and others.
In this way, Husband and I can have all sorts of conversations in front of the kids that sound completely reasonable and chaste, because only he and I understand the deeper context. Conversations like the one we had last night in the car, which went kinda like this:
Husband: So you have anything going on tonight?
Me: No...why?
Husband (smirking): I'm thinking I should have a beer.
Me (refusing to play along): Go ahead. Have a beer. Just don't drive anywhere afterwards.
Husband (frowning): You know what I meant.
Me (trying not to grin): Yeah, I know.
Child Sitting in the Back: What did you mean, dad? You're gonna get blitzed?
Husband: No, I am not going to get blitzed. And what kind of word is that?
There is a pause now, as Husband is a tad annoyed.
Husband: Maybe while I'm drinking my beer, you should watch some Doctor Who.
Child Sitting in the Back: Oh! There's a new Doctor Who?
Me, turning to Child Sitting in the Back: No, no new Doctor Whos until Thanksgiving.
Child Sitting in the Back: But then you've already seen them all.
Me: Yup, I've seen them all. But I don't mind watching some of the episodes twice. You want to watch with me, kiddo?
Child Sitting in the Back: Naw, I have better things to watch. But thanks for asking.
Me (doing some of my own smirking): Sure.
Husband is now gnashing his teeth together.
Husband: When's our next trip to La Jolla?
Child Sitting in the Back: End of summer, dad.
Husband (murmuring under his breath): Not for your mother.
Child Sitting in Back: What?
Husband: Nothing. Nothing. (Turning to me): Wife, do we have enough vegetables at home?
Me (afraid now): I...think so?
Husband: Are you sure? Cause it's never a bad thing to have a well-stocked vegetable drawer. Maybe you should go to the supermarket later, and buy some.
Me: But...but we have vegetables.
Child Sitting in Back: We're out of the cucumbers, mom.
Husband (triumphant): There you go, Wife. You need to buy cucumbers. So why don't you go to the supermarket later, and get some cucumbers? And while you're at it, get some other vegetables, too.
Me: Fine. Fine! I get it.
Child Sitting in the Back: What do you get, mom?
Me: Nothing, kiddo.
Husband: You're mom's just a little afraid I'm going to mess up her hair before she goes to the supermarket.
Child Sitting in the Back: Why would you do that, dad?
Husband: Cause I can't help it. (He reaches his hand around my head to pull me closer, giving me an innocent head-hug.) You're mom's hair is so beautiful, I need to touch it all the time.
Child Sitting in the Back: Well, you can just fix your hair, can't you mom?
Me: Yes, kiddo. I can just fix my hair. But I would rather your father KEEP HIS HANDS OUT OF IT.
Husband: Are you sure, wife? Are you sure? Cause I don't think so. I don't think so at all.
Me: I think so!
Him: How's that chair doing in your office? Still good? It's nice to sit in, isn't it?
Me (panicking): Uh, I meant, I TOTALLY THINK SO. Yes.
Him (thoroughly satisfied now, in the most irritating way): That's what I thought.
Do the kids get some idea we're talking about things over their heads? I'm sure they do. But they won't know exactly what we're talking about. They'll wonder, but they'll never know. And this way, Husband can convey his information to me and get his point across without having to wait until we're alone. He can make me wait and worry and freak the fuck out even longer.
He doesn't have to wait to implement a good mindfuck.
At the school reunion
Hello, said Eileen and Rosalynn, we remember how you were always trying to look up our skirts at school - well have a good look now...
oh, and we brought these canes to teach you a lesson you should have been taught years ago..........
oh, and we brought these canes to teach you a lesson you should have been taught years ago..........
The male maid: Punishment again...
One of our young ladies reported to me, that his maid was behaving like a rude male towards her when they both were alone.
To prevent any fallback to male behaviour instant punishment was required for the maid. First to remind him to look for his words he was gagged. The gag will stay one or two days in to let the reminder work.
You see our maid standing there waiting for the expected punsihment. Of course he was reminded by me how to behave right.
30 whip strokes hurted, yes, but were the right punishment for a bad behaviour. And it was also decided that this maid recives a daily punishment now, to make him following any orders he gets...
Even the pain was unbearable, after putting an additional bra - to be excact a teenager training bra, on him - he was put directly back to work. A maid has to know where the place for a maid is.....
Tales from the Sanatorium: The Ladies Maid (1)
Today a little bit of insight of our ladies maid, and the treatment she gets recently. Rosie, our Ladies Maid, joined the Sanatorium several months ago to serve as a maid. She progresses quick, from the basic cleaning rules, towards a House Maid and in the end, as you have seen on some reports before, to a my ladies maid. But our ladies maid often tries to do the normal work of a maid. Her role is more to serve the headmistress privatly, support out debutants in things like get dressed or other finer things. From time to time she has reminded not to fall back to the behaviour of an easy maid, and start to clean the floor. By the way poor Rosie get a chastity belt some months ago. Who would allow that the ladies maid does naughty things? She has to behave and will stay in strict chasity forever, as you can see on the above picture.
It was time to settle her a bit down and remind her not to work to much, so she was made ready for a special night in my beadroom. After she was lifted on as special stand, the so called ballerina stand, she found her ancles quickly locked in some cold and heavy steal rings. Unable to move her legs a lot, and additional one a bit strict lifted up, she would spent the night in a strict restrained way. Not to forget her arms stretched back, unmoveable very hard to the backside of her body. Look on the picture how her nice waist is seeable now in this strict postion...
Langgan:
Ulasan (Atom)