Saturday, March 31, 2012

day one - submission 1

I have seen this done before, 30 posts, 30 days. I doubt whether I can get that accomplished but am finding this a useful method to nut through the 30 days and ways of submission in me.

So here it is! As I finish a post, originally and briefly written for Daddy (hello Daddy xx) but only ever sent via email. I shall post them here on this page edited and expanded in the hopes that i can nut through my submission and development.


________________________________________________

1) Does your submission – either what you practice or what you strive for – have a label? Do you view your submission as Taken in Hand, domestic discipline, top/bottom, dominant/submissive, master/slave, owner/pet, or some other description or combination? If you do not use a label, why?

I don't think I am aware of a label for what I feel. I feel an affinity with the Daddy's girl in me rather than the slave. The slave in me, if she exists at all, seems a very small part of who I am, other than wanting to please I have no desires to be a human ashtray.

I love to call a man Daddy there is a strange comfort in it for me. It has nothing to do with age play. It has everything to do with feeling safe and cared for, loved, respected and of course controlled. The first time I used it (and I have only used it with two men, online Dom's) rather than strange it felt comfortable and right. The first time I used it was with a man who did not described himself as a Daddy-Dom. He clearly erred on the side of the darker 'Master' style Dom. I was surprised and delighted when he said he like it very much, me calling him Daddy. The name, this label, guided our relationship. I felt more comfortable and could do anything he asked, with a couple of hiccoughs along the way ;).

I like it when he calls me "young lady" in that tone. In the same moment I embrace my slut, my whore and identify very closely with her. I am not sure I really understand the finer points of difference with all the labels mentioned in the question. Just to say..I may not be very Pet-like, however rattle a collar near me and I might just very well melt.

I think in the end the nature of the D/s relationship is to be negotiated between a man and his girl. The Yin and Yang of D/s is the fit of a couple to determine.
So...labels? A little way down the track from when this was first penned last year, an exercise for Daddy (my Marvellous Mentor - MM) when we first were getting to know each other, labels. I am a bottom, a submissive girl, a princess, a slut, a cherry tart. Please Take me in Hand, control and dominate me to your hearts content. I need to Please. I am a brat, a whore, His girl and His lil'one. I am precious, I am needy but will never be your burden. I am strong and weak, tenacious and fragile. I am trusting and loyal and will sit quietly at your feet, my head on your knee.


oops artist unknown

Waiting to serve (part 2)

She knelt in the corner,  her round peachy buttocks resting on the soles of her feet. Her knees were spread. She was on display for Sir's dinner party guests. Her hands gently on her thighs palms exposed. Her naked breasts, stood proud.  Her nipples betrayed her arousal. Hard little nubs of flesh. She had seen this position so many times before he taught her. She felt the tingle of the flesh between her thighs. She felt her acute embarrassment at her exposure for Sir's guests. She also felt strangely proud to be His, to be doing this for him.

She never dreamed she would be in Sir's home, entertainment for the evening. The two men and their wives sat at the dining table, the aroma of their meal making the girls mouth moist. She had not been invited to eat. She had not eaten all day, he had allowed her water and tea but not morsel had passed her lips. Her role now was to sit, open to them, open to possibility, any eventuality.

Her eyes flicked up from the floor in front of her and caught Sir's gaze. The flash in his eyes struck a little nervous shiver in her. He had told her that she was not to lift her gaze, and now she had been caught. She had been disobedient before she even knew it herself. The shiver turned to dread and excitement at the same time.

"Come here girl."

The sound of his deep voice made her gush, and his stern tone made her wet in an instant. From the first time she had spoken with Daddy on the phone all those months ago, she had dreamed of his voice in her ear. His voice was so low, that she fancied he was an announcer of some sort on the radio. He was older than her, and the gravel that usually came with age to a mans voice was mellowed like honey, dripping over her, warm and golden. She knew she would do anything for that voice, for the owner of that voice.

She crawled to Daddy, her arse round and rhythmic in the movement of her crawl. He knew she hated the crawl. He knew it made her feel embarrassed and silly and completely exposed.

"What did I say you were to do girl?"

"Stay in the corner Sir," her voice trembled.

"What else? What were you to do with you eyes?"

She looked into his eyes but didn't find the kindness there that she was used to seeing. He was disappointed with her and like any child, disappointment was the worst punishment Daddy could expose her to.

"I'm sorry Sir, I was to keep them cast down."

"And what were you doing?"

"I looked up, Sir."

"Yes you did."

"Why did you look up girl?"

She was embarrassed to say she was hungry, her mouth watered and she just wanted to see what was on the table.

"I was hungry Sir."

"Hmm my impatient lil slut."

"Would you like to punish her?"  he looked at his tall dark almost brooding companion.
The girls breath left her body. He had never allowed anyone else to touch her, only Ginny, his wife. Ginny had taken the crop and the cane to her, under his instruction. But never had he allowed another man to punish her. She was instantly fearful. What if he was to harsh, what if he touched her in a way she was not ready for. She was very new  to this and only trusted Sir. She only wanted His touch.

The male guest, smiled slightly and nodded his acceptance. The girl looked into Daddy's eyes, his hand under her chin, he smiled at her confusion, her nervousness. He loved it when his girl was at her most vulnerable and in the hands of another he knew she was feeling just that.

"Kowtow."

The girl placed her forehead on the floor without hesitation. Her eyes were filled, she tried to hold them back. her buttocks were high n the air. She forgot the embarrassing position she found herself in, she was trembling too much with the anticipation of another man touching her.

"Will you allow me to check her? "

"Of course."

The girl felt the panic rise in her,her throat closing it was hard to take breath. She didn't move as Sir's companion slid his long finger between her thighs. He swipe his finger from her clit to her tightly puckered anus. His finger slipped easily deep into her wet slit.

"She is a very aroused girl."

"Yes," Sir agreed, "she is quite the natural little slut."

The man pulled his hand quickly from between her thighs and she heard the whoosh of his hand travelling through the air a millisecond before she felt the sting on her buttock.
She fought to suppress the scream. His hand was harsh, there was no warm up, no gentle and soothing touch between swipes. He liked to plant his hand rapidly and hard. The girl prayed that Sir would stop this, the tears welled in her eyes. She was not at all sure she was enjoying this. Was Sir enjoying this? The staccato wallops eventually ceased. Her breath was ragged and she shudder as she tried to suppress the sobs from escaping lungs.

Daddy's hand began to rub her bottom, she knew His touch very well.
His hand twisted in her long dark blond soft curls gently urging her upwards. His hand cupped her chin and he wiped the tears gentle from her cheeks.

"Good girl." She recognised the kindness return to Sir's voice.

She parted her lips as he put a piece of food from his plate into her mouth.

"Good girl."

http://rickyfitts.deviantart.com/art/Vertigo-31664150

spammers beware

I have deleted a comment  ...my first piece of spam on the blog.

While I welcome comment from interested readers in blog land, the purpose of this blog is not to increase readership, it does not seek to build a following. It is a journal, a place for me to tell secrets to myself and I admit to whoever wants to read. It is not written to entertain, I do not write for you. I am grateful and humbled by the support offered to me from people who follow.

This is however an anonymous place, where people in my real world cannot see the real me. It will remain anonymous. If I was interested in self promotion I would comment on twitter about the oats and yogurt I had just consumed or cultivate a thousand friends on facebook, publishing photos and tagging people to invade their privacy. I don't have an account with either. Yes! that's right...no facebook! Though one day soon I will have to set one up in order to 'spy' on a growing and demanding child..I really don't want that day to come.

Likewise, I have not taken up offers of free products in return for review for this same reason, but at least these companies ask permission. I will not support spam seeking to advertise a website somewhere on the pacific rim on this blog.



Spammers beware...from a woman just on the edge of X-generation with a baby boomer attitude to the collective connectedness to the modern world.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

fragile life

A bit off the track and a little self indulgent..stop reading now if you, like me, don't tolerate heart on the sleeve type posts.
There goes the Australian audience ;).
Aussie, Aussie, Aussie (pronounced Ozzie)... oi!, oi!, oi!


A good man makes me feel safe.
His integrity gives me the confidence that I will be safe, that nothing will hurt me.

He wrote to me the other day after a long conversation he knew me better now.
You are fragile. You know exactly who and what you are. You are careful and understanding.

We had talked about my concerns. He explained and I believed him. He apologised that he made me feel the way he did. He understood my concerns.

The more I considered his assessment of me the more I think he was right. I am fragile, I  break easily, this way up. 

I think I am very strong too. I am strong in the art of self preservation, self protection. This is not necessarily a good thing. I am cautious, but "there is such a thing as too cautious," as a correspondent said to me the other day (you know who you are ;) ). My correspondent was right. The fear of the fragile stem being bent to the point of breaking is what holds me back.

I used to be not quite so fragile. I travelled the world before the days of Internet. I travelled alone to places where the world struggles to survive day to day. I had a backpack, slept under trucks (sometime on top of trucks if there were lions under the trucks). I hopped borders, working where my skills allowed and wasn't paid: why does western privilege need payment in places where people don't eat but once a day if they are lucky. I survived amoebic dysentery, sinking ferries, being robbed at knife point of my passport, all my cash and travellers cheques (remember those), curious hippopotamus's sniffing out my tent at night and African military with sweating skin and reddened eyes from drug use with a huge gun on a tripod slung over the shoulder and pointed at my head. 
Somewhere along the way a girl can lose her bullet-proofness. Somehow she becomes fragile.  As a girl grows, there are things that come into her life which make her so. She has a son. The light in his eyes ground her in fear. Fear that he will be lost to her, fear that she will be lost to him.. through her cancer, his father's infidelity..these things threaten the child's life more that anything she has ever been through; More than being thrown from a rubber boat into New Zealand's Class V rapids and swimming the rest of the journey through them; More than being grabbed by a man in the night in the streets of Istanbul and escaping the worst a young woman could fear; all these things and more. She never felt the delicate nature and impermanence of life quite so keenly as when she holds her son in her arms.

photographer unknown

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

sub girl struggling

Cruising around tumblr and I found...
 
The picture I adored for its beauty and then I saw the words.
I am feeling a little emotional right now. I have been a bit unwell. I am not sure if this is the cause of my emotional outbursts.
 
I am sooky and I am needing constant reassurance.
 
I am feeling a little despondent (the previous post may offer a reason for that), but these words...they are me..they are the me inside waiting to emerge..to blossom Daddy says ( xx ).
 
My greatest fear is that this she inside, my submissive self, will never have the opportunity to emerge.
 
 
 
butterflyslut:

The Submissive A submissive knows herself … every strength … every fault and failing … she is her own worst critic … a bit of a perfectionist. And yet this self-knowledge makes her strong … she is comfortable with herself and who she is … she has high self-esteem and an unshakable belief in her possibilities. A submissive is capable … curious … independent … intelligent … creative … resourceful. And yet she has the capacity to put all this aside … escape her ego … and submit to the man she loves. Because she understands that there is one relationship that needs to be primal … and that she can only be complete as a sexual being in the arms of a strong man. A submissive has a large heart … with space for many things … and a compulsion to open itself. This makes her passionate … but it can also make her overly dramatic and needy. All the same … those blessed by her presence will never know greater devotion or emotional honesty. A submissive is trusting … able to give more than most women … open and vulnerable in a way that most can never comprehend. But this is her freedom … true courage and fearlessness. Life is an adventure to her … endless challenges. She understands that dreams are meant to be lived and shared … in the moment and for always. A submissive is a complicated creature … she is many things all at once … subject to the same failings as anyone else. But more than anything she is real. She is the angel that serves her man as a lady and a friend … and the whore who serves his darkest desires. Treating all his needs with the same love and respect. She never tries to hide from the two sides of her nature … or from his … instead she embraces them and lets them run free. This submissive is Yours … possessed and owned … totally at peace. Strong in character … wantonly sexual … with a loving heart. Imperfect … but all You could ever want and all You will ever need … everything given freely by choice. She will serve you well.
butterflyslut:
The Submissive

A submissive knows herself … every strength … every fault and failing … she is her own worst critic … a bit of a perfectionist. And yet this self-knowledge makes her strong … she is comfortable with herself and who she is … she has high self-esteem and an unshakable belief in her possibilities.

A submissive is capable … curious … independent … intelligent … creative … resourceful. And yet she has the capacity to put all this aside … escape her ego … and submit to the man she loves. Because she understands that there is one relationship that needs to be primal … and that she can only be complete as a sexual being in the arms of a strong man.

A submissive has a large heart … with space for many things … and a compulsion to open itself. This makes her passionate … but it can also make her overly dramatic and needy. All the same … those blessed by her presence will never know greater devotion or emotional honesty.

A submissive is trusting … able to give more than most women … open and vulnerable in a way that most can never comprehend. But this is her freedom … true courage and fearlessness. Life is an adventure to her … endless challenges. She understands that dreams are meant to be lived and shared … in the moment and for always.

A submissive is a complicated creature … she is many things all at once … subject to the same failings as anyone else. But more than anything she is real. She is the angel that serves her man as a lady and a friend … and the whore who serves his darkest desires. Treating all his needs with the same love and respect. She never tries to hide from the two sides of her nature … or from his … instead she embraces them and lets them run free.

This submissive is Yours … possessed and owned … totally at peace. Strong in character … wantonly sexual … with a loving heart. Imperfect … but all You could ever want and all You will ever need … everything given freely by choice. She will serve you well.

wrong Sir

Tonight I feel it's likely not to happen.
So terribly long,  chatting, getting to know each other,
playing online and on the phone,
but it's not right.

I haven't used my best judgement.
It feels wrong. 
I am so eager, too eager.
So long waiting,
that makes me not using my best judgement.
I don't trust myself just now.

So why not dive in?
Because I want it to be right. Not perfection, just right.

I asked my hub again tonight.  I asked him for his Domination, I asked him for his control.

He declined.

So I continue to look for a Dom man. I need a local man. The local man now, it feels wrong so I have to step away.

arrrrrrgh!

unknown artist

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

trained?

He has been making her cum. One after another, one on top of another. Hearing her scream into the phone. Not giving her rest.

Each one becomes more intense, her clit gets more sensitive but he won't allow her to remove her hand.

"Keep rubbing it, don't you stop."

Just a couple of Fridays but he says she will do this every Friday.

He stopped her once. He didn't let her cum, she cried into the phone, angry and frustrated, 'Nooo!'

He liked that, he knew how to play her now.

Last night, she lay with her husband, touching herself. She stopped for a moment, tired in the dark. He nudged her, "Don't Stop". She continued grateful to him for pushing her.

She came quickly with a rush, but it didn't stop, she didn't stop. She was shocked at herself..she continued to rub, circle and tease her engorged little button. She came again...again...again..exhausting herself in the end as the waves rolled in on top of each other.

She was shocked, profoundly..she trained! and in such a short time. It had rolled from her Sir and into her other life, the one she shared with her husband.

unknown photographer

Sunday, March 18, 2012

out & proud

I went to my very first BDSM event last night. Part of a local festival and all part of my journey of discovery. I am tasting the delights not usually easily accessible to me.

Flicking through the festival guide I spotted it. The local BDSM community were putting on an event, a show for the 5th yr in a row. I looked at my hub...'lets go', I said.

He looked, considered and to my surprise was more eager than I thought he would be. He is changing, my sweet non-Dom man. In my dreams one day he will shake off the label non-Dom.

Having booked the tickets I became very excited as the night approached. the anticipation was like I was going on a first date. Wondering what it might be like, Who would I meet? What would a wear (a biggy)? Would anyone recognise me? My town is quite large, but very small. A small city.

What I would wear actually turned out to be the most satisfying part of the evening, believe it or not. The freedom to dress in a way I had never dressed and needed to. I was able to frock up..sky high heels, fishnets, pencil skirt, tight top unbutton to reveal far too much flesh and understructures. The girls bouncing, pushing out of their encasement. I walked through the streets dressed like a $5 hooker,  the street in town renowned for the seedier side of life. It was a fabulous release. I was embarrassed to let my slut shine in public, though I did have a red flower in my hair to bring a bit of decorum.

My husband ran his hand down my breasts, in public, most unusual for him to be unashamedly unbashful (new word :)). He was proud of me. Proud I was his. He stood back and watched as men and women approached me. I was very turned on by that. This was a new experience for both of us. He seems more sure, less threatened by my sexuality than ever before. I am relishing that. It makes him all the more sexy and desirable in my eyes.

I would go to these events again for that alone..just to be able to dress my li'l slut wet girl and be touched inappropriately by my husband with a gleam in his beautiful dark eyes. Arrrgh I am so in love with my man.
We met a couple of warm, accepting and friendly people. After they had done their thing in fact, a beautiful stylised display of a playtime, a Master, his wife and their girlfriend, which rether sounds like the title to a an English Rom-Com, approached us.

I had been noticing him all night and the girlfriend, young and very curvy in the nicest possible way. Beautiful breasts  that made me want to sink my teeth and lips into them.
He was muscular, older and bare chested. A very commanding presence, the most commanding in the room.

I have been introduced to "the scene".  I think that will sate my curiosity. It was dark and very Goth and not at all intimidating though I am more the poster girl, cherry tart type of girl. The ritual surrounding the darker leather and studded event did not really capture my imagination. Certainly the submission did, but the ritual of the M/s thing seemed out of context with the contemporary world which for me to perform these rituals would make me feel silly rather than submissive.

I have tasted the event scene and now am happy to leave it where i found it. It was nice to be 'out' and proud. Liberating to be somewhere I was accepted for my kink, even though it was not like their kink.

BDSM Barbie - Nancy Farmer copyright


a new course

I have been talking with him for a while. My first local man.  My partner has agreed, my non-Dom hub ..its been years coming, to let me explore my submission with another man. It is huge for him and me. There is much trepidation on my part.

I want need and crave exploration, but as desperate as I am to be taken in hand in real life by a Dom man I am equally as desperate not to adversely effect my primary relationship. This is the main reason, the only reason I have moved so slowly with a real life experience.

Strange feelings, anxiety. As life aligns itself for our first meeting. Just a meeting. A quiet drink. There is no going back.

He has been patient, my brat has emerged.. again the anxiety. Just jump I hear my self-talk say. Why is this so hard for me? What am I really scared about? I know myself. Once its done I will wonder why I fussed so much.

artist unknown via tumblr (and Daddy xx)

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

death of a salesgirl

For my addiction...

I am unsatisfied now with vanilla sex.

I can never go back.

I need to be taken from behind.

I need his hand squeezing my throat.

I need his fingers deep in  my mouth.

I need his fist twisted in my hair.

I need his firm control.

I need to hear his grunt, his thrust, his pleasure.

I need the brutal physical.

His cock ploughed into my hot

pink flushed

slick

dripping...

cunt.

blushes*

"...please don't fuck me while I'm on my back...not unless I'm tied, gagged with your hand and your cock is in my arse my ankles are resting on your shoulders."

 photographer unknown

Monday, March 12, 2012

UN womens breakfast..how many submissives in the room?

A bit late for this post I know but I have been busy.

Coinciding with International women's day I attended the UN Women's breakfast in my town along with 2000 other women! Aside from the phenomenal almost military exercise in delivering a sumptuous and nutritious breakfast to a cast of thousands, the format of the morning was to say the least..inspiring.

The event has been running in my town for 19 years and this year we managed to put on the largest breakfast in the country. Not bad for one of the smallest cities in the nation.

This years theme was around gender poverty. I was most interested though not surprised to hear:
  • 70% of the worlds poor are women.  
  • Women earn less than 10% of the worlds wages for performing more than two thirds of the worlds work.
  • Sub-Saharan African women own less than 2% of the land and produce more than 90% of the food.
  • Women reinvest 90% of their income into the family, men reinvest 30-40%.
I sat.

I listened to a Cambodian-Australian author who migrated to Australia in her mother's womb. Her parents were refugees from Cambodia's Khmer Rouge. Her mother took up the tools of a gold smith and laboured in the shed of a suburban Australian home making gold jewelery by hand which she would sell to local jewellery stores for $4.00 a ring. She laboured for 20 years in the shed, simulating the skill of machine made jewelery when there was little regard for 'handmade' at that time. Outworking. Dangerous chemicals, burns suffered on her skin. A "race to the bottom" they call it. The race to the bottom was never so acutely felt as when a man from Vietnam, a refugee and jeweller, was able to undercut the girls mother by 50 cents.

The girl spent her early years the oldest of four children bring up the babies. Struggling as an 8 yr old to keep her siblings safe, fed, clean and happy while her mother endured this race to the bottom.

Just to remind you...in suburban Australia. In the lucky country. In the clever country.

In twenty years when the girls mother was 43yrs old, she emerged from the back yard shed. She was unable to communicate in the surrounding community not ever having learned the local lingo. She was uneducated though not unintelligent. After all she had taught herself to smith gold, she had made a small business in her backyard and enabled four children to be schooled and fed in this new land. 

Amid this story of struggle and triumph. Amongst the 2000. In this room of politicians, influential business women, Aboriginal elder women, mothers, grandmothers, sisters and school girls, it did cross my mind..in this room of gender empowerment.."I wonder how many of us in this room are submissive".

Submissiveness and gender equality? Coexisting. Not poles apart. Not a contradiction in terms. Not inside me anyway... or perhaps a tenuous link! But different stories exist in in different places. 6 billion stories....


You?

How many submissive women in the room?

Monday, March 5, 2012

waiting to serve

The knock on the door made her shiver. The hairs on her skin stood erect forced to attention by the goosebumps. She was not cold, He had made sure the fire in the drawing room was roaring.

She stood in corner of the drawing room, waiting as instructed. Her hands were clasped at the elbows behind her back effecting the proud push of her breasts. The curve of her plump hip accentuated her slit separating her bare mound. Her delicate silver collar which she wore daily in public had been replaced tonight by Daddy. Her neck was now ringed with wide heavy leather. An O ring in front at her throat was adorned with a short chain leash that hung between her breasts. Her nipples were pink and matched the blush of her plain full lips. She was visiting Daddy's home, he said she was to be a special treat for his friends. A couple whom Daddy and his wife had cultivated and shared intimate moments.

Daddy's wife Ginny rested on the couch reading a magazine. She was indifferent to the girl as she stood not 10 feet from her. Daddy's girl was an fine piece of furniture, a lamp to light the corner of the room. Ginny never paid too much attention to her husbands girl except when he instructed her to do so. She was more excited about her friends arriving to share the evening Sir and she had planned.

The girl couldn't keep her eyes from Ginny's perfection. She admired the way she held herself. Sir had chosen Ginny above all women to keep and love. The girl loved Ginny for that reason. Everything Ginny did in the girl's eye was perfect. The way she held the magazine in her hand was as expert and gentle as the way she wielded the crop when Sir instructed her to redden his girl's arse. Daddy's girl was nothing but pleased to be submissive to his wife. To hold a place second to his wife made the girl wet and shiver just to think of it. She watched Ginny lost in her magazine, so full of grace and perfect in her submission to Sir. Her breasts were free under the sheer blouse she wore for the evening, her  round pink nipples traced by the fall of the fabric. The girl could see the rose perfection of Ginny's areolar. It made her shiver to be reminded of her lips exploring Ginny's nipples.

The knock on the door pulled her sharply from her reverie. Ginny looked up at their entertainment for the evening meeting the girls eyes. A smile at the corners of her mouth sent a shiver of excitement through the girl, the throb in her pussy had begun.

Daddy entered the room, his commanding energy unmistakable. He walked across the room to his girl. His hand slid between her thighs. "Slick. You are my little slut aren't you? Now go and let our guests in, they have been waiting long enough."

The girl moved to the door, she was nervous, excited and a little embarrassed. She didn't know what to expect, she has never been shared like this before, never on show! She had always been for the private use of Daddy and his wife should he wish it. Now he was opening her, exposing her to his friends, strangers to her. She trusted that Daddy would keep her safe. She trusted that he would never allow her to be harmed. She trusted Daddy with everything. There was a nagging doubt though, this exposure was almost terrifying to her, but the excitement she felt was undeniable.

She opened the door, naked as the day she was born, except of course for the collar, Daddy's collar. Her eyes were lowered. She couldn't look at them, not directly but she could feel the couple's eye travelling over her body. She wondered if she might be touched now.

Daddy moved up behind her greeting his guests. 'I mentioned I would have a surprise for you this evening."

"Mmm. Yes, this is going to be a pleasure!" the male guest said. His wife passed the girl behind her husband, reaching her cool hand out she brushed the girls nipples with her delicate touch and a quick pinch sending a thrill through Daddy's girl.

"Now Darling, we haven't been invited to touch."

waiting to serve  - artist unknown

Sunday, March 4, 2012

bare bottoms & burlesque

It's festival time. Late nights. Shows of all genre. The Fringe comes with it. At the edges we dance and laugh and sing.
The wine bar in between shows he said, 'I should tell you to take your panties off.'

'You should just tell me to do what you want.' (I had grown  little tired of encouraging my hub).

My non-Dom husband-partner look me in the eye and said, 'Take off your panties.' I moved to raise up and go to the bathroom, 'No...Stay here. Take them off here at the table.'

My eyes widened. I looked around me at the late afternoon clientele. I glanced around the ceiling to find the security cameras..one, two...no three!

My cheeks flushed with a slight panic encouraged by the white wine I had sipped. The heat of the day hung glistening between my breasts. The tingle in my cunt was instant. Nervous and excited. Surprised that my husband would be so comfortable with his own embarrassment of showing my slut in public. After all this was the man who told me to close my legs when I wore no panties to a dinner with him last summer.

I squirmed in my seat, pulling the sheer material from my round arse. Looking up at the cameras, I was convinced the wait staff would be over to throw me out while my panties were around my knees or ankles. I was instantly wet and hard-nippled. Little bullets in my bra. Breathless and excited at the thought of spending the rest of the evening like this. We had booked three shows. Three shows I had to get through without tripping over my dress flying up above my head and exposing my bare arse. I was glad I had chosen not to wear very high heels, I knew we'd be doing a lot of walking and I don't often suffer for fashion these days. These days I like to suffer for other things :)

As the night wore on the brush of my dress against my bare bottom was intoxicating. I watched the burlesque shows cheered and whoop-hooed as was expected. Those lovely curvaceous breasts and milky white skin, plump hips, and bright wide smiles. I grew wetter as the night wore on fascinated with the curves, bumps and gyrations of the burlesque beauties and stimulated by the brush of my dress and breeze flowing to my wetness. He made sure I remembered how vulnerable I was. His hand frequently skirting my arse, tugging my dress up a little occasionally to make me gasp with the thought that he may choose to expose me at any minute. He knew I would hate that, fear it, he knew how to keep me on edge..this non-Dom husband of mine.

The evening was a great success, sparkles and glitter and spangles, feathers and corsets and nipples. We drove home at 2 in the morning. I lay on the bed, legs apart for him to see...

"mmm.. you are very wet aren't you? A glistening and wet...good girl."

His fingers traced my slick wetness as he took advantage of his little slut-wet girl turned on by those burlesque beauties.

The Mosh Room