Muffins and More

Perrin brought me breakfast in bed this morning. My absolute favourite breakfast, cheese and bacon muffins (with chive butter). That’s only part of what has made today such a great day for me.

First, some history. We’ve said we are open to playing with others. Well some time ago each of us found a special person to play with. More than just someone to have sex with, these were people we cared for and about. People we wanted to be ‘more than friends’. Any jealousy we might have had about this opening of our hearts to others was automatically offset by the sheer symmetry of it. You love her? Well I love him. Simple.

Life is never that simple. My relationship crumbled. I had hoped to salvage something meaningful from it, but have been dodging the inescapable truth. He’s just not that into me. We may be friends, but we’re not Friends. End of.

But learning that hurts. And in the process I have become fragile, vulnerable, and uncertain. I’ve struggled to write here, finding it hard to find my sexy side. I don’t want to be like that!

So here I am, being brought breakfast in bed. I’m loved, wanted, I’m happy.

Then a switchback; while making my breakfast Perrin has been chatting on twitter, a sexy fun conversation, with another woman. I find this upsetting, which is ridiculous. Objectively, nothing gives me cause for concern.  But I’m unhappy. I’m envious, that he has women to talk to, while I feel alone. No one talks to me that way.

So here is the bit where my husband really loves me. He messages someone who I’d pointed out as interesting, to encourage them to talk to me. Then he makes love to me, and gives me a delightful orgasm, before going away to leave me to chat ‘freely’ with them.

I felt a little out of my depth here, I’d never had that kind of conversation on twitter before. Hey, I’m not sure I’ve ever had that kind of conversation. I did all my dating before mobile phones. you can’t talk dirty on a phone screwed to the wall. As I lay there, I realised how excited I was by this, talking dirty with a relative stranger. I relaxed into it, and let his images carry me away, secure in the knowledge that Perrin wanted me to enjoy this moment. Suddenly there I was, cumming, for the second time that day, this time for another man.

That moment buoyed me up, let me feel truly sexy again. I have been smiling all day. A smile only made wider when my sexy husband made love to me yet again earlier, and gave me my third orgasm of the day. Me, who usually struggles to have one!

I feel like myself again, for the first time in ages. It’s a good feeling.

Pushing my Limits

In trying to write anything about this weekend, I feel like the blind men trying to describe the elephant (if you have no idea what I mean then google for it). So much has happened and there are so many aspects which I could write about here.

For me though looking back, I think the recurring theme has been one of testing my submission. I do not mean that Perrin has been testing me (although perhaps he has) but rather that I have sought to test myself. I was not aware of that consciously over the weekend, but in retrospect I see my own behaviour and requests, which Perrin has been kind enough to grant, have been trying to assess my own submission.

The first test, which was at my suggestion, was a test of pain. Not quantity (I have a very low pain threshold, I’m ok with that), but rather testing my ability to accept it. Having realised that my whipping the previous week had been entirely on my bottom, I had wondered if I would be able to accept without seeking to protect myself, if the blows were falling elsewhere. I requested (and received) a flogging with our horsehair flogger, which is the gentlest of weapons. Perrin had me stand, naked, legs apart and on tiptoe reaching up to grasp the beam in the ceiling, while he whipped my entire body. He kept the rhythm nice and slow and I felt really focused and happy, listening to my breathing, and feeling the pain move around my body. I had my eyes shut, so the location and timing of each blow was a surprise, I wasn’t brave enough to open them and face anticipation as well.

The next test,was unexpected, but has given me a chance to banish a few demons. On Saturday evening Perrin had me on the leash, and sitting at his feet. He let me up on the sofa to eat dinner, and when I expressed a desire to go back on the floor afterwards, he suggested “in a good way” that I should “think about why I was happy at his feet”. So I sat and I thought.

I think I realised, that I wanted very much to submit to Perrin, and I wanted very much to express that feeling. I also realised I wanted to give him all of me, and all my submission, and that’s where I found my demon.

I have said previously that Sam gave me a collar. I also asked him the same question I asked Perrin. “How should I show you when I am feeling submissive and need your attention?” Sam’s answer was “crawl to me, naked, with your collar in your teeth”.

Perhaps foolishly, I trusted in that answer. My relationship with Sam was falling apart, although I hadn’t really realised it. Our sex life was practically non-existent, and I found myself desperately hoping that I could get some kind of reaction. I remember sitting in the hall, naked, holding my collar, and wondering if I dared go through with it. Needless to say, I dared, and I was rejected. I remember the hurt, but no details, a memory too humiliating (in a bad way!) to face. A reaction that left me unable to even think about any of the bdsm activities we’d shared without feeling physically sick.

Sitting at Perrin’s feet, thinking about that; I realised that over time I have reclaimed my pleasure in those activities, but the memory of that crawl still haunted me, and I wanted then to drive that demon away, and give Perrin that act of submission. At my request Perrin uncollared me, and let me walk away collar in hand without explanation. I went and stood in our hall, again facing my fear. I put my collar between my teeth, and naked, crawled back to my Master, afraid to look up, knowing that rejection would break me, but acceptance would heal me.

As always, he surprised me. He took my collar, and held it in his hands regarding me. “Are you worthy to be my slave” he asked. What a hard question. How could I say yes, when I have so much to learn, how could I say no, when I need so much to be accepted.

I gave him the truest answer I could, “I will try my very best, Master”.

He was gentle, “I can’t ask for anything more”. He buckled my collar back around my neck, and I was his completely.

The last test for me, was also the simplest. I have always known that my submission includes accepting anal sex, but it has been years since I have done it, and it still always scares me. I have known however that it was inevitable, and that anticipation and fear has dogged me for the last few weeks.  Suddenly though, as Perrin curled up behind me on Monday morning, his penis pushing gently against me, I found myself ready to accept it. He let me go on top, allowing me to control the initial penetration. Once he was inside me, I found myself relax into it, and the feel of his cock sliding easily in and out of my ass as I rode him was such a delight, I wondered why I had been so resistant.

And so, unexpectedly, the weekend became a journey through my submission. Perrin’s love and caring has enabled me to enjoy an intense array of experiences. It has revealed too, directions yet untraveled, and further adventures to take. Who knows what will happen next? *grin*

Collared

In our recently new found enthusiasm, Perrin and I decided to buy some new toys. We’d not looked very far before we came across a leather goods site which we simply couldn’t pass by without buying something. After much admiration we decided on impulse to buy a collar and some cuffs, and placed an order.

Perrin has never put a collar on me. Our bdsm play has always been implicitly negotiated, starting and ending in a fairly ad hoc manner.  It tends to the informal; playing punctuated by random side comments and discussion. Not that it can’t get quite focused, the whipping this weekend being an example of an impulsive moment which worked perfectly.

I have however worn a collar before. My ex, who we’ll call Sam, gave it to me.

My submissive fantasies have been with me all my life, but I had never given them expression. Sam and I were involved in a long distance vanilla relationship. Occasional weekends of intense sexual activity followed by long periods apart. On one of these weekends he loaned me the first Gor novel by John Norman. I read it, and wrote him a long letter (essay) discussing the story and it’s plausibility for real human relationships. The short version probably goes ‘It’s completely unrealistic but there are some great ideas in there’.

Sam clearly understood what I was saying, because he turned up to see me next with a collar and proceeded to collar me as his slave girl by candlelight getting me to sign (in retrospect) a slightly ridiculous contract. When he left he instructed me to wear my collar in bed every night; which of course I did.

Looking back I remember how seriously I took that collar. When it was on, I was totally focused on being submissive and obedient. I felt owned, and safe. For me to wear a collar is to be submissive. But a submissive without a Master is a sad thing. It was Sam’s attention that made it valuable, his exercising of control that made it meaningful. Later of course we lost all that, but that is another story.

I came home today to be greeted at the door by Perrin. Without warning, he fastened my newly arrived collar on me and proceeded to play with me, including walking me around the house on my leash (it matches the collar – it’s pretty) and fucking me on the dining table (for the first time in ages).

Then he chained me up by my collar and left me. I considered for a while and decided that I could move myself to a more comfortable spot within the confines allowed by the chain.

When he returned he was instantly angry and punished me for having moved, even though he hadn’t told me I wasn’t allowed to. It felt so unfair, and I’m pleased with myself for not talking back to him then; without the collar on, I would have objected loudly, I’m sure. Still it left me unsettled, and we ended up discussing it while he was rewarding me with my orgasm, which felt all wrong to me, still in my collar. I don’t think collared girls ought to criticise their Masters, even if they’re wrong! *grin*

So here I am, feeling we have some way to go to define what a collar means to us; but we have made a start.