Friday, January 21, 2011

Daddy's back!

I have noticed I write in the third person when I tackle something personal and emotional..Its easier to pretend its somebody else or some fiction.. maybe one day I should write a book in the third person...a memoire of she...

The first steps with Daddy..he brought her back to him at her invitation. Weeks before he had set her free, adrift. Logically she saw it was the right thing to do. She didn't argue she was passive in his decision, but she screamed inside. She wanted them both. One shouldn't interfere with the other, but it was hard to balance. 

The arrangement was good for them both. They lived a great distance away from one another and they were both committed to another. She had her vanilla life to continue, but the ache in her had been building for some time. Part of her had wished she had been aware if this life, this need in her before she had readily committed to her vanilla existence. Now, having made the discovery, she felt that living it online was only half an existence. A shadow of what she really needed. It was the best she could manage though.

She felt the invisible string connecting her to her husband, her vanilla husband and their life. She barely understood why she maintained this commitment. He had not proven worthy. He had disrespected her and abused her trust. But as she grew older the idealism of her youth gave way to a more mature and realistic vision of the world around her.

She spent long hours wondering why she didn't have an affair, why she didn't follow her heart, her desire, her need to bend and bow to another's will, to give herself completely but remain uncrushed by it. But she knew that what she needed was not just about sex. She happily engaged in all manner of sexual appetite. She bent to her partners will, they visited her kink together, they played, they discovered the excitement of his domination over her sexually, she submitted in that way. But it was more than just sex she needed and that's where Daddy came in.

Daddy and she had built their arrangement only briefly, and she needed to move incrementally. It was all so new. Her vanilla self had the heart of a lioness. She had faced many things and survived. She survived despite her husband, not because of him, but she continued to love him and stand with him..she never knew why, but she did. Her other self though had the heart of a church mouse! The other she was not so brave and many times her courage wavered. Daddy had let her go, released her. She was never really sure why, perhaps a range of reasons, but she missed him, even though he had challenged her to the point of anger and then tears.

Now Daddy was back and she resolved to be brave. She trembled inside though. He had promised he'd try to move more slowly, to gauge her better. But he asked that she help him, to tell him when she needed more. Over time she guessed this would change, when she knew him better, when her submission deepened to the point she hoped it would. She thought about the nature of this otherness with Daddy and hoped she could be brave this time, brave enough not to let Daddy down. Then she crawled gently back to her vanilla life and into bed with her husband, so as not to wake him, she knew he would fuck her in the morning, but not now, not when she wanted to just think about Daddy

Thursday, January 20, 2011

she couldn't sleep..

She lay next to him, the heat beading into rivulets and running down between her round ample breasts. She listened to the rhythm of his deep breath in the dark as he slept peacefully beside her. His hand lay on her thigh, the slightest movement of her body would rouse him, so as to draw her closer to him, his to hold, to own. 

Her mind wandered in the dry heat of the summer night. A whirling cloud of mixed up thoughts and demons pulling at the edges of her psyche. The longing and awe she felt for the new world she was discovering rose in her to almost painful levels. Her thoughts drifted to the afternoon when in the dull shaded light of their bedroom, she bent over the bed. She wondered what it was like, what he saw everyday, what he loved to see and take from her. Not quite being able to see in the mirror of the dresser she slipped her panties down to her ankles and crawled up on the bed on all fours. She turned around to peer into the mirror behind her and there, in the reflected glass, she saw what all the fuss was about. 

She pulled her knees together, she spread her legs apart. She bucked her pelvis to see the shine of her moist pink puffy folds of flesh. She was delighted with the delicious view. She had removed her pubic hair on his instruction, not really keen on the idea at first, but once it was done the look and soft touch of her newly defoliated mound and cunt was captivating to her. Now bent over and on display, she admired the line of her round bottom and the fall into the recess of her slit, slick, soft and rose. She understood now why this vision was so enticing to him and why, on occasion, with a slight wriggle of her hips she could beckon him  to her. 

She thought about him so far away now, out of reach, as she lay silently with her husband and she could feel the pressure building between her thighs and her nipples growing harder. He travelled a lot, which meant she was able to contact him usually whenever she pleased. There was no one in his life on the road to hide from. She enjoyed sending him messages and imagining him smiling at her cheeky emails. She liked to think she was distracting him from his important meetings and clients with the turn of a phrase, or a report of a task completed.

She missed him at times like this, in the dark. Theirs was an arrangement that she had discovered by accident. His ways thrilled her and she had discovered something in her that she had not allowed herself to recognise. She saw the woman in her that she had denied herself most of her life. It was the most natural and peaceful place she had ever been. It was for this reason she was his. He knew what she needed even more than she knew it herself. He gave her permission to be herself. He pushed her to be herself and he somehow made that feel safe though her courage often wavered. 

Yes in the dark, with her husband's hand on her thigh, her thoughts drifted to him. She missed him at times like this, in the dark.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


Tonight I am at a stalled state in my journey. Tired and treading water. Afraid and filled with anxiety that this journey will nothing. I consider stepping outside my relationship to calm my frustration.

Satisfaction is minimal at the moment with online pursuits. Time is limited online. I am busy with work life and the seasonal round of holidays...and that means little privacy.

I am a private person, believe it or not, letting most things out from my mind under the guise of anonymity. Sometimes I think this is the only place where I can be me, but then I feel me begin to self censor. Stories, real or imagined, I commit here...though most are real, only a few have been fantastical stories of longing and desire.

Taking delight in reading the thoughts of others it give me a sense of connectedness, a feeling that my secret passions are not so secret and not so unusual. I am also aware of the cruel irony that a lot of you are like me. We exist as half a story, as a Ying to somebody else's Yang. Encouraging and leading the partner we love to act in a way that we need. To embrace ttwd. I live in envy of those of you who have found someone with which to share this.

Monday, January 17, 2011

fullest bloom

Summer is in its fullest bloom. The end of our holiday phase has arrived. My husband returns to work tomorrow, as I did last week. A time of attention to play and us (when respite is found from the family) is coming to a close. We took a long bike ride through summer's haze today. Hot, Breathless and with sweat dripping between my breasts and down my back, I dreamed in the sun of ice cream and the cool of the ocean. A reward at the end of our ride.

I love the heat of summer. Summer dresses and no panties. A bare woman wandering the street. Going about my shopping, chores, work and everyday-ness with warm summer breezes blowing up my soft cotton dress to kiss my emancipated and moist pussy. I am led to wonder, how many other women delight in such pleasures encouraged and sometimes demanded as a consequence of the freedoms of summer.

The things we do in the heat of the night stretching into the white haze of the day. Bare skin warmed by hot northerlies, glowing with minute droplets of salty sweat, shining in the southern light. The taste of summer fruits on our lips. Cool water to dip in, and clear air to breath. The sound of the birds dancing through the trees which bend in the gentle breeze.

Does everyone feel this all women leave their much loved panties at home pining in the draw...or is that just me?

Monday, January 10, 2011

last night

I left the panties I had worn today on his pillow. Layed out. A present for him on his return. He beckoned me, I wasn't ready for bed, working in another room. I came to him, questioning him with my eyes.

"Hands above your head"

He slid the zip on the side of my summer cotton dress down and lifted it up over my hips to reveal my naked bottom and pussy. He pulled it up over my head and as the soft material fell at my feet, his arms wrapped their warm strength around me. He pressed my back to his chest and I felt his hard heat snuggling to rest between my bottom cheeks and reach to the small of my back. His fingers clutched hard at my breasts his warm palms pressing them to him, as if at any minute he would press them through my chest to his. His breath was hot on my neck.

He bent me over the bed with force, my face pressed with an increasing pressure into the quilt.

The  buckle on his belt made a soft jangling clink and the leather whooshed as it pulled from his waist through the trouser belt-loops. One hand rested on the small of my back, making me still, quietening me. His hands slid to my wrists, tying them quickly and tightly behind my back with the belt. He slung the length of leather around my neck and secured it to my restrained wrists. The leather around my neck became tighter when I moved my wrists, causing me to concentrate on keeping my hands and arms in one position to avoid the tightening pressure on my neck.

His hand came down with a hard smack on my cheek. My bottom reverberated and wobbled its response. Thoughts of work unfinished slipped easily from my mind as the heat gushed though my dripping pussy. We had begun...

Saturday, January 1, 2011

it's the little things

Your hand squeezing the back of my neck,
expressing your claim,
My head bowed, laying on your lap,
Your fingers twisting though my hair,
I am yours.
Pushing me against the wall,
Possessing my face in the palm of your hands,
Trapping my gaze with your eyes,
I am yours.
Touching to guide me, to quiet me,
Holding gently the curve of my waist and hip,
Pulling me back to you as you pound your heat into me,
I am yours.
Circling the sting on my reddened bottom with the soft touch of your hand,
brushing the tear from my cheek,
I am yours.
Your hand on my throat,
Your fingers in my mouth,
I am yours.
Walking through the door at the end of the day,
I am yours.