My boyfriend and I were sitting in the sunshine. We were drinking coffee and watching an old couple cross the road. She had a bandaged leg and was walking with two sticks but the two of them were a couple who, like us, had just been sitting in the café drinking coffee.
My boyfriend turned to me. “Do you think we’ll still be perverts when we’re ninety?” he asked.
I replied that I did, after all why should our relationship change because we’re older.
“You realise no one else will find it sexy?” he pointed out. I did and I do. That doesn’t mean we should stop feeling or being sexy though.
There may of course be fewer pictures on the blog and perhaps the tales of our adventures will be blander. After all, getting naked may take us longer, we may no longer be agile enough to do things we now take for granted but I cannot imagine not holding my Boy’s head in my lap and reminding him that he is mine.
Actually the one thing that frightens me about that thought of us being ninety and being kinky is that biology itself may steal it from me.
I’ve been kinky since childhood and my sex drive and my kink drive are effectively the same thing. They have only been separated once when I was made to feel so ashamed of my submission that I couldn’t face it anymore. That shame still occasionally haunts me, a shame which my Domme side is thankfully free of.
My sex drive is something therefore which is part of me, an important part of who I am. Important enough that this blog is a part of my self-expression. That drive was lost though when I was on the pill. The scary thing was how little I realised what was wrong. The sheer delight, the buzzing, vertiginous feeling of pleasure was gone and I couldn’t remember how it felt. I couldn’t feel desire, I was not myself. By choice I will never let go of that part of myself again but nature may have other ideas.
To get from here to ninety the menopause hangs like an ominous bridge between us. Another hormonal shift and this one I cannot avoid. It is, I hope, still a very long way away but I cannot know what it will bring. Perhaps nothing, Puberty didn’t change me so why should its inverse?
In the meantime however I intend to go on being a perverted, dirty little girl and loving every second of it for as long as I can. Hopefully until I’m ninety.
This blog has been a little quieter than usual recently but it’s not been that I’ve lost interest. It isn’t even that I’ve been too busy; although admittedly I certainly have been busy with some very pleasant things.
Instead the problem has been this: I have been planning a surprise.
A kinky birthday surprise for Mat; a play party especially for him. Aside from the actual planning, the practicalities of arranging and acquiring things, my thoughts and fantasies have been working overtime on this, imagining the various things I want to do to him or to watch others doing. Taking his fantasies and blending them into my own, enjoying the concept of making them real.
Writing up such fantasies however, would give too much away, and might build up expectations that I’d then be afraid the reality wouldn’t meet.
In some cases it’s held back my play too. Not wanting to duplicate anything I might have planned, with my creative energies focused on that, play has been low key and familiar. All this means less adventures to write about here.
For me this time has been immensely frustrating, I’ve been unable to share or express some deeply kinky thoughts and desires. Unable to share them with Mat, I could also not share them here with you.
Finally though, my surprise has been sprung. The result was, for me, worth all the planning and worrying which went into it. Even better, I can now share the adventure here with you and I will do very soon.
It was an audio file. her finger hovered over the button for a long moment before she pressed play.
Female: Come in.
Male: Yes Mistress.
Female: Good boy, naked already.
Get on your knees.
[pause] Continue reading “The Tape”
Waking up on Friday and I want my fucktoy.
I want him flat on his back, his cock erect; he is my slut and I will ride him for my pleasure.
I want to slap his face, again and again; he is my bitch and I will hurt him as I please.
I want to put my hands around his throat and choke him; he is my whore and his every breath is mine to control.
This is no gentle lovemaking. This is me taking what is mine.
Using my boy for my pleasure. Using his body to give me satisfaction. Oh I may even choose to wank his cock for a while, that can be fun after all, but it is my choice how I use him. It is my choice how I take my pleasure from him.
His cock is mine, his whole body is mine. Mine to use, abuse and enjoy.
He is my fucktoy and I want him.
So it was suggested recently that I think about my dirtiest and most depraved fantasy. This raised a question in my head as to what actually constitutes depravity. This question is hard for me to answer because my fantasies seem quite normal and natural to me (as yours do to you) but let’s consider the options.
My most innocent fantasy, that could belong to a vanilla girl, is a purely sexual and romantic one. So taking that as one end of the scale where do we end up?
At this point my fantasies head off in different directions. My darkest submissive fantasy is intense in a D/s context but relatively innocent in a sexual sense.
My currently darkest dominant fantasy (which I’ve not yet written down) is focused on the intensity of the experience for the submissive. In it I am the controlling mind, while other hands may help me, but it is in some ways barely sexual at all.
Yet while those fantasies thrill me intensely they don’t feel dirty. On the contrary they have a simple purity linked to the love I feel for the men who inspired them.
My more directly sexual fantasies, on the other hand, do hold a depraved delight for me.
They step outside the realm of the possible, into a place where I could not go in real life. I can be a slut, service many men, be covered in cum and drink it all down eagerly.
These are purely impossible fantasies because I fear the emotional backlash from them. I fear my own self hatred if I was to live them out. I fear more than that the reaction from the men I love, who might think less of me, love me less; I fear seeing rejection in their eyes.
In my fantasies though I can enjoy being such a slut. Enjoy those dark, dirty ideas from the back of my mind.
Just as long as nobody else ever knows.