Slink...slinky...slinkier

2012-01-26T07:52:00.001Z

Some people just don't get it. They can come to work day in, day out and never catch my attention. But one day, they'll put on some secretary glasses, or show some shoulderblade, or tease a bit of hair into curly waves down their back. Then it all changes. How's a girl supposed to get any work done around here? It's like Billie all over again.

Take Me To Bed

2011-05-16T17:56:00.003+01:00

"Take me to bed," I whispered.
He wasn't listening, so I got his attention and said it again. He didn't need asking a third time. Without saying a word, he picked me clean off the floor and threw me onto the bed. There was an ominous crash, and I dropped another half a foot towards the floor. The main bed side plank was smashed in two, all along the length, and the slats were in tatters.

Horny as anything, we ended up on the floor by the side of the knackered bed, with the curtains open and the midday sunlight streaming in, fucking frantically and ignoring the lack of space and the risk of carpet burn to our knees. It was what we both needed.

Later, we went to buy a new bed and assembled it together the next day. Maybe next time I will consider the dangerous and unpredictable consquences of those four little words.

The Breakfast of Champions

2011-03-06T18:14:00.001Z

It had to happen eventually. Basic maths, really. Take one straight male best friend (ex-funbuddy), add in that we tell each other everything and that he practically lives at my flat. Now add copious amounts of wine/lager one night, a good film and a not-quite-platonic snuggle on a tiny sofa. The end result is an inevitable and slightly pissed unveiling in a communal lounge where a flatmate could enter at any point. Inevitable and very satisfactory.

In the morning, I dressed and was preparing to drive him home. Somehow, inevitability stuck again, and the sight of me in some rather burlesque matching underwear was too much for him. He took me to the bed, lay the top half of my body on it, lifted the rest of me up, and had me for breakfast.

The Debate: Hear hear!

2011-03-05T10:57:00.001Z

It's the age old question - when discovering that a new date has reached the 'in bed' stage, how loud is acceptable? I don't have a massive frame of reference, but I am told that I am rather vocal. Do I hold back, protecting the neighbours behind their paper-thin walls and preventing scaring off the date, or do I let it all out in pursuit of a damn fine orgasm?

The question is academic, really, as I think I lost all debating and reasoning skill around the same time at which I bit the pillow, made a noise like a woman in second-stage labour, bunched up the undersheet in my hands (ripping it off the bed), and begged for "hard, harder, frig me harder".

He said before that I was really lovely, and he didnt know how I was so lovely - I'm pretty sure he changed his mind a little around the same time that I used the word "frig" whilst simultaneously wrecking his bed in an orgasmic flurry.

Fairy Fear

2011-02-28T22:25:00.001Z

I texted directions and a photo, but still watched him get up the escalator and take out his phone to call me. He saw me chuckling to myself and mouthed "you?" - I nodded. We went off and ate more meat than is humanly advised then walked back to his sumptuous flat. We snuggled, then he took my hand and took me to bed. But that's as far as it went. I stayed clothed, citing "fairy fear" as my excuse. Really I think it was a respect thing - I rather like him, and want a good friend, not just a one-off fuck. Not like me to not have my cake and eat it.

Poly-lemma

2011-02-07T05:19:00.001Z

If you are in a polyamorous open relationship, can you still cheat? I say you can, and not only that, but you can make your partner unwittingly cheat too. Picture this: the male counterpart of a straight polyamorous couple (Mr. A & Ms. B) starts a relationship with a monogamous Ms. C, not telling her the truth (or anything like the truth?) about his coupling with Ms. B. He therefore makes Ms. B become the cheating partner in his new, monogamous relationship with Ms. C (follow me?).

Now, if you ask me, that isn't fair and is mostly cuntish behaviour. I don't mind a man who is honest about wanting his cake and eating it - someone who is straightforward about their hedonism - it is those cheating bastards I can't subscribe to. To try and hide infidelity under the veil of polyamory just makes it all so much worse - he is trying to get away with it! I think Ms. B does good to get out of this one, sharpish. Am I wrong? Answers please!

Plusone

2011-01-29T18:32:00.001Z

"Just messaging about wedding and if you need a plus one?"

What an interesting request from someone I thought knew me well. Maybe he knows me better than I even thought, actually. I didnt know I was allowed a plusone, but then I didnt know he suspected me of having one either. I've never been to a wedding before where I was allowed a plusone, nor ever been anyone else's plusone.

He went on to hedge his bets around his suspicion.

"Well, only plusone if you need one at the moment? We can alter for definite up to 8 weeks before the wedding. Better to be on the safe side and have one if you possibly might need one - easier to cancel closer to the time"

What a thought - calling to cancel a plusone. Even if I broke up with a special someone, I'd still find a plusone somehow. I'd find some way of revenge on an old lover - maybe take a girl to cause a stir. And what's more embarrassing than cancelling a plusone? The truth.

"Can I have a plusthree?"

Of course I didn't really say that. But requesting a plusone has its own pitfalls.

"Anyone I know? Someone special? The Mrs is curious too..."

"Maybe someone you know who is also special...if he'll come..."

Nothing sensible

2011-01-27T08:11:00.001Z

I received an email the other day, asking me to send a photograph of myself for my new job (yes, I'm moving) - something suitable to be used on a noticeboard somewhere, so people would know who I am. I somehow couldn't find anything appropriate at all, even though I have a whole portfolio of gorgeous pictures of myself. Strange.

New Year's Resolutions?

2010-12-27T12:53:00.001Z

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of 2010: If I could offer you only one tip for the future, being yourself would be it. The long term benefits of being yourself have no doubt been proven by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth (or, if you are old and goodlooking, enjoy it now). Oh nevermind - you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded (unless you are lucky and use it to your advantage at parties and fetish clubs). But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself (you know, those glamour shots with flowing hair, scrunched-up cumface and lashings of rope) and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous (and damn pale, Nancy!) you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine (except that one time, when you came back from holiday with one burnt arm - but you worked that off pretty quickly with a patented exercise regime of 'shagging and wanking').

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to have a comfortable alfresco shag up a picturesque Welsh mountain whilst it is snowing. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday, or panic you into trying to shout the safeword around a ballgag. Do one thing everyday that scares you, even if it involves a violet wand. Sing. Scream. Shout. Grunt. Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts (even if it looks that way - hearts are very different to bodies, you know); don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re poly, sometimes you’re mono…sometimes you're gay, sometimes you're straight…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive; forget the insults - if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. However, if being humiliated turns you on, ignore the previous point. Don't gloat about 'understanding women' for two weeks. Neither should you tell all your mates that I said you were well-hung. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements, and don't lose your membership card to Torture Garden. Stretch (and always make sure hands and feet are warm to the touch and pink, despite restraints).

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life, nor which gender you want to do it with…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 27 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 35 year olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Only swallow if you want to. Be kind to your knees, you’ll spend alot of your time on them. Don't tumble dry your cotton shibari rope - it can shrink. Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you'll have a civil partnership. Maybe you'll be in the sort of relationship which makes tickboxes on forms difficult to fill in. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much OR berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, but so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can (pilates helps!)…NEVER be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own. Flick your secret weapon hair about. Flash your nipple bar through thin silk on a rainy lunchdate. Wear a celebratory dress even if it is cold. Embrace summer.

Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Read Midori, even if you later ignore her. Get your erotica signed, even if they can't sign their name for anonymity reasons. Do NOT read Mills and Boon seriously, it will only make you laugh.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Softly explain kinkery to them when they ask. Be nice to your sibling(s); they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Spoil your niece(s?) and nephews. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. You have free mobile minutes for a reason. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young. Buy your traintickets online in advance and always avoid the congestion charge. Use an oystercard, but understand walking distances. Worship tubemaps (and maps in general, because they are precious), and don't be too posh to laugh a little at tourists whilst helping them out.

Live in London once (or twice!), but leave before it makes you too perverted; live in Yorkshire once, but leave before it makes you boring. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians wil philander, blogs will end, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, bloggers all got publishing contracts, and people on the tube respected your ludicrously high heels. Carry emergency ballet flats. Bring your own condoms. Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it wil look 85. Remember its power: use this power wisely. Remember your arse flirts with people when you aren't looking. Shave.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Don't listen to illogical reasoning. Remember: double beds should have double duvets, petrol tanks should be filled *before* going up the mountain, doggy style wasn't invented for both of you to shout the answers to Only Connect (though that sounds fun), and lunch and fucking are not mutually exclusive.

Advice is a form of nostalgia; dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the dustbin, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. But trust me on being yourself.

Topping from the bottom?

2010-11-27T19:49:00.001Z

When preparing for a (straight) date, girls usually have the upperhand. In a world tugging its way back from female inequality, it is oddly they who decide how the night will end, whether or not the date will occur at all, and indeed whether or not the rendezvous in question should be classified as a date or not.

I realised this power recently, as with a smug smile on my face I debated meeting a certain boy I had been stringing along for some time. We had never met, only spoken via. the written word, and he accused me of being 'abrupt' in my text messages. What can I say? I am a busy girl. Eventually, I decided to go out and meet him for a few hours, on my terms.

He turned out to be a very odd sort of sub. He worshipped me a bit whilst retaining his slightly chauvenistic power, and refused to fuck me because we had 'only just met'. I could see his thinking, but the logic of it (along with him defining as submissive) appeared to be very flawed as I thought about it whilst I sucked his cock until he came on my tits.

Tight-laced anger

2010-11-27T13:33:00.001Z

After having arranged to be paid for new corsetry, the corsetry-abuser is now backtracking and saying she has somehow managed to rescue the corset from the flames in some way akin to the phoenix. This is no use to me, however, as measurements have already been taken and a new one is winging its way to me, at my cost. I am putting my foot down and insisting she sticks to her side of the bargain, and pays me the money for the new one. She is saying she now can't afford it, and has 'gone to alot of effort'. Well, shame for her, she should have thought about that before she wore fake tan on someone else's expensive garment.

As you can tell, I am quite angry. And suggestions on how to cheer myself up?

Lesson-learning in Laundry and Lingerie

2010-11-08T01:55:00.001Z

You might remember that a few months back, I was mostly being rather bitchy regards the unfortunately chavvy travels my tight-lacing undergarments were being taken on without me. I would just like to note that a particularly lovely, tailor-fitted, steel-boned black and white corset (modelled by me here, on some idle half-nekkid thursday, no less!) is still absent without leave. I caught up with the offending borrower recently (disappointingly not in the flesh), who informed me that she had had 'some problems' with returning the corset to its rightful owner (yours truly). These problems, when questioned, appeared to mostly entail some fake-tan staining, a bad handwashing/soaking job, some inexplicable rusting, and some apparent misshaping (shrinking??). She claims to be able to 'make it okay' by taking it to a 'friend of hers' who is apparently some kind of drycleaner (or lives above one? To her, this is probably close enough).

I doubt I will ever see the beautiful garment again. I tell thee, one has learnt a rather expensive lesson in the lending of bespoke garments. She may also hopefully learn her valuable lesson in corset-borrowing etiquette, and will probably achieve this enlightenment around about the same time that I tell her the price to replace it for new.

The Jury Have Spoken...

2010-10-02T22:00:00.003+01:00

"Your result for The Sexual HELL Test...

HELL LEVEL 3

Raw score: 95%

There's a special place in Hell for you: the basement penthouse. You scored the nastiest possible score on the Sexual Hell Test. You have no sexual restraint whatsoever. You'll take pleasure however you can get it, and my guess is you get it a lot. If for some reason you don't right now, you will soon, as people in your category only tend to spiral down ever deeper into the abyss of carnality and delicious sin. Congratulations.

I, personally, think that this category is the best. Paradoxically enough, sexual liberation and indulgence can only bring you closer to purity.

AVOID: all but level 3 hellions like yourself. You wouldn't want to ruin anyone, now would you?

Take The Sexual HELL Test at HelloQuizzy"

Ammunition

2010-10-01T11:01:00.001+01:00

I have a secret weapon. I know its power; I know how it brings grown men to their knees. I know how to hide it until an appropriate moment, and how to flaunt it on an inappropriate sort of date. This knowledge is what leads me to meet someone for the first time, sensible and bunched up tightly - hidden from view - only to end up taking them to bed to release it - a cascade of sensation, filling all the senses, shaking out the scented pheromones all over his naked chest. It blocks out the light like a curtain around our faces, and suddenly everything is condensed into this small space, concentrated, intense. He listens as it swooshes down, and smells me, and tastes me, and lets thick, soft brunette waves fall into his open palms.

Face it

2010-09-26T13:22:00.001+01:00

I love dressing up. I love a little bit of pretending I'm someone I'm not, glamming up, getting a dress on, and getting the hell out there. I love making the accessories, sticking on the bling, arranging the feathers.

This week, I sent a text to the fiancé of a very vanilla friend of mine, asking him to pick me up some plastercast bandages to make a mould of my face for a mask. He neither questioned where I got his number from nor why I wanted a moulded facemask. I suspect my reputation for obtaining numbers/making burlesque accessories preceeds me.

Whilst I await arrival of the mask-making materials, I will busy myself today with the adaptation of a waistcoat into a burlesque male-corset of glory. That is, unless one of my Fancymen calls, because then I might just go out. A girl's gotta have her priorities.

Performing

2010-09-17T12:07:00.001+01:00

Have you ever considered what job you were really born for? You know, the job you would do if you weren't stuck doing the thing you do now - the job you would do if you could be guaranteed some semblance of success at it. Your ideal vocation.

I was born to be a performer. Life is full of performances. There are the careers that you readily associate with performance, such as trapeze artists, singer/songwriters, burlesque dancers. Then there are those which you don't see as a performance in quite the same way: doctor, lawyer, salesperson. I say that if it has a touch of glamour somewhere in the performance, and involves a little razzle dazzle, I'm in.

Discreet

2010-09-14T22:28:00.003+01:00

I don't think this will be a revelation to anyone, but I confess - I am loud. I like to be noisy, chatty, energetic, exhibitionist. I accept all these things, but I can keep a secret too - I am good at those. I can sit you in a quiet corner of a bar and secretly flash you my metalwork. I can steal a kiss secretly in my car, behind the darkened glass, seats pushed almost horizontal. I can secretly sneak out to see you on the pretence of going somewhere else.
I am brash and discreet, outgoing and secretive, yours and theirs.

Forgotten

2010-09-13T00:34:00.001+01:00

I drove out of my way to pick him up, and ended up in all-too-familiar territory, like a surreal film, finding my way along long-forgotten streets in my car, trying to spot him. He stood at the edge of the road, smoking, and I pulled over and took him off for a drink. We chatted, went back south together, and chatted some more.

Bits of my memory have faded from that night, but I remember that it wasn't like the old days, those days when he used to call me darling and he would snuggle me close and just love me, for me. I knew all that had gone, and he had forgotten me like that, just as I had forgotten his body and the way he fucked. But some things I never forget, whether I like that or not.

Snuggle

2010-08-18T20:14:00.001+01:00

It is the easiest thing in the world to claim independance when everything is alright. You can go it alone when there is nothing to go against. The problem comes when you have to battle, and you face an army of problems sizing you up, and they can see you are weak and small and tired and beaten. That's when you need them, those friends you foolishly dismissed. That's when you need your special boys and all their snuggles.

Stained

2010-08-12T10:57:00.001+01:00

Practically all of my duvet covers are stained with tea. Single-sized tea-stained polycottons. T's kingsized's are occasionally stained with cum. Often *my* cum. Who is winning here?

Apologies

2010-08-11T21:25:00.001+01:00

Look, I know you're all reading this and judging me, but, to be honest, you knew what you were signing up for from the beginning.

How did my writing become so boring? I apologise. You can always count on an NHS-worker for a fancy prose style.

Anyway, I am sorry for the lack of bloggery of late; I have been rather busy, and rather reluctant to blog, which is a shame. Please bear with me.

Happy Birthday, Harlot

2010-07-29T14:50:00.001+01:00

A moulin rouge night, my birthday. A last-minute call confirms the attendance of someone I previously hadn't thought was coming, and who needs somewhere to stay for the night. For some reason, I am appointed the task of arranging this on my birthday. I do so, via. another party guest, and end up booking a twin hotel room for two men who do not know each other to share.

It is a while into the party before the second roommate arrives, and, standing outside the bar, he decadently phones me to collect him and bring him in. He is dressed in a pinstripe suit and carrying a bag containing a leather box with my gift in, along with two black sticks wrapped in binbag plastic. I know this to include my birthday gift, and I also know the plastic to really be the impromptu birthday wrapping of wide, black bondage tape. He hands one of the sticks to my friend who shares a joint birthday party with me. With some difficulty, she eventually opens the package to reveal a long, black spanking crop. Much hilarity ensues as she tries it out, oblivious to its actual risk of damage; risks that Present-Giver and I know only too well.

Later, we lose the others to different bars, and to their beds Three boys and I, an obvious harem, go to find a bar and dance a little - I am elated to have my boys but sad they don't live nearer. One boy goes home - wants me to leave with him - I cannot, I am busy tomorrow morning, and I wish he had stayed out. The other boys need showing to their hotel room. I should have gone home hours ago.

Somehow, I end up smoking out of the window in a twin hotel room, with two boys who do not really know each other, both of whom I know too well. There are hidden gropes and kisses, but both boys know what the other one is up to...soon the kisses are not hidden, and it is not long before I am being undressed from my corset and being thoroughly pampered. Soft yet greedy mouths envelop both my nipples. I beg someone to lick my clitoris. I like hearing the words exchanged between the two strangers.

"Have you got a condom, mate? She wants fucking."

It was cocooningly gorgeous, being fucked from behind by one, whilst the other held me tightly as I came, again and again. I need to get some more stamina, if I am to continue receiving birthday presents like this.

Medicinal

2010-06-12T10:01:00.001+01:00

It was pushing 11pm by the time I arrived at the hotel. I drove my car up to the metal barricade and it clanked open to let me into the doll-sized carpark, full of unnecessary concrete columns to avoid and impossible spaces. I hastily abandoned the car next to an expensive-looking BMW, and went to find him, lounging in the bar, sipping spirits and tying the conversation together. He was all at once more fabulous than I remembered. Taller and lither and cuddlier and bigger; it was as if, over time, the coloured inks and caracatures of my memory had physically acted to grow him into some sort of bizarre ideal.

Everything felt natural and delicious. His soft, big, full kisses. His hand on my waist. His tongue licking my pussy clean. He made me lie sixty-nine with him, and my freshly-shaven lips could not cope when he pushed past them easily to put the tip of his tongue, with pressure, to swirl upon my clitoris. I kept stopping with my mouth as I got close to orgasm to dip my head and nip at his groin with my teeth.

He knows how to fuck a mouth, and did so with delight, relishing it as I gagged on his large cock. Unable to co-ordinate sucking and swallowing at that speed, and with such a large (but welcome) invasion of my mouth, I ended up with saliva running down my hand, over his balls, round my mouth. Messy, but gorgeous.

He obliged when I breathlessly stopped and told him I wanted him to fuck me. He obliged when I told him to ignore my shouting and carry on. He obliged when I told him that his cock was long enough to hurt my belly from inside, but that I liked it, and would he please not stop. He obliged when he fully understood that afterwards, I was to get dressed and go home, and not stay all night.

It's a shame I have missed him for so long. It's a shame that he needed it so much. But it is lovely that we gave it to each other like a medicine. See you in a few months for your booster dose.

Shrift

2010-06-07T12:02:00.001+01:00

"I have a confession to make."

What was to follow this sentence? Was he an axe-murderer? No. People rarely admitted to that type of behaviour in such a rational way. Was he married? No. We had discussed his relationships and his children; I had even met his son. Was he gay? No. Catagorically no.

"The jacuzzi...it's broken."

Oh. Is that all?

Later, we lounged in a large double-bed-sized bath, without bubbles, and we chatted there until I couldn't feel any surface anymore because of the wrinkly, leathery, water-logged skin of my palms.

"I have a confession to make."

Don't mention the L-word.

Any 'Adventures'?

2010-05-25T23:23:00.001+01:00

I sometimes get asked if I have "any new adventures" by impatient blog-followers, in an attempt to make me detail all my juicy gossip online. Perhaps I should let you all know - I have adventures all lined up, this weekend, and I intend to enjoy them to the full, be thoroughly pampered, and maybe end up a little marked (it all fades with time, don't worry!).

I intend to lounge like a queen in a jacuzzi, get my feet expertly massaged, and partake of some general kinkery. Oh, and if you're all very good, I might just blog about it all.

Exhibit B

2010-05-19T22:08:00.002+01:00

"Although, to balance, I show you the nicest picture I could salvage from their chavtastic evening."

This picture is in storage. If you want to see it, email me?

Exhibit A

2010-05-19T21:56:00.002+01:00

"As if you needed proof. Yes. Those are my corsets, the heathens."

This picture is in storage. If you want to see it, email me?

The Noble Eight-fold Path

2010-05-19T20:55:00.007+01:00

It turns out that corsetry makes up a very personal part of a wardrobe. I fully realised this as I saw the photographs of my lent-out corsets being worn by girls I do not know (and those I do), and felt the blow-to-the-stomach reaction when I realised they were not being used, as they should be, for decadence and hedonism, but for McDonald's eating and cheap wine. Sadness. I felt they had been whored out, and not in a good way. However, my naive and grave error occured the minute I lent them - without rules.

Well, actually, I recall specifying a single rule: "Do not have sex in them". Why I specified this rule I do not know, but I think it was to avoid the appearance of certain tell-tale stains. It was not a good rule in the end, as what actually happened was far worse (fast food!?!).

Therefore, in order to keep anyone from suffering the heart-wrenching loss of their corsetery's MaccyD-virginity, I have devised this set of groundrules for anyone planning to borrow their friend's steel-boned beauty.

The Noble Eightfold Path to Corsetry Enlightenment

1) At all times wearing the corset, live the life of one who wears the corset.

2) Regarding corsetry soiling - obviously this should be handwashed off, but remember - grease stains are not acceptable, whilst stains such as cream and champagne are more so (I won't go into the other "c" stain - my position on that has not yet been decided).

3) The corsetry must be worn tightly. Breathing is only a luxury after all, please remember that. For guidance, measure your waist in inches...and then take off fifteen.

4) When wearing corsetry, consideration must be made to exposed armpits and their appearance. The corsetowner can assist you with this, with waxing, epilation or gratuitous use of a violet wand.

5) You may have sex or erotic adventures whilst wearing the corsetry (or stockings or my special velvet gloves), so long as it is sufficiently subversive enough to warrant a group on IC and you provide a full written account for me, in ready-for-bloggery form, with open rights for me to guestblog you.

6) Flirting is compulsory whilst wearing the corsetry and associated garments. Flirting must be conducted in a hedonistic and non-chavvy way, with adequate levels of 'tease' and 'wit', with appropriate non-chavvy men, preferably with good arses. Low levels of 'tease' will result in your corset-wearing rights being revoked.

7) As a rule of thumb, knickers are not considered mandatory for the corsetwearer, however any worn should be comparable to tiny scraps of lace, or possibly have tie-sides, and should never be crotchless, but can removed as required for spanking, caning, whipping etc. If necessary, undertake further reading on the difference between 'tease' and 'crude'.

8) At all times the corsetwearer must bear in mind what a great sacrifice the corsetowner has incurred, and what privileges have been bestowed upon the corsetwearer - you should remember that the corsetowner took many long hours moulding the steel bars to her shape, and once you have worn the corsetry, it will take many long hours wearing their shape out of it. In fact, the only solution for the corsetowner will be to undertake the labourious hardship of physically fucking the corsetwearer's shape out of them, a task with which she will require special help.

Lunch

2010-05-17T23:07:00.006+01:00

When I got on the tube, the day was promising to be sunny and bright. It was fairly hot as I alighted, south of the river, and began a short stroll towards coffee. I sat and talked politics to a Canadian man who had flexed his Greek citizenship through the EU and had voted in the UK. It all sounded a bit odd and not entirely legitimate. I tried to appear polite as he talked about things I didn't understand and I wished the time away quicker than my latte. He was a nice man, but I wouldn't elect him as PM.

Finally the time left, and with it so did the weather, and the heavens opened. I hid amongst the fruit of a grocer's stall to keep my silk top dry. I secretly knew that tit-tape was a bit much for a lunch-meet, but I wore it anyway as it was summery, and now I looked foolish and cold, wrapping my coat over it, trying to hide my visible nipples and metalwork.

When he arrived, glowing and kissing like a European, we ate and chatted, but I felt as I always did. Happy to flirt with him, but knowing this was a life I couldn't be part of, and would always pretend at, and someone would eventually find me out because I was doing it all wrong.

Vanillas are not the only flavours

2010-05-16T15:48:00.001+01:00

I have been invited (by a work colleague) to what can only be described as a 'ladies' night'. I have been to numerous fetish clubs, burlesque nights and cabarets before, but never to such a cheesy/sleazy event as this, and am suddenly coy about it. There's something wrong about full frontal nudity for the sake of it, with no real tease or dance or flirt with it... My friend (the inviter) has some awareness that I am a kinkster, and doesnt appear to understand my sudden coyness. How can I explain to her my odd distrust of the vanilla, and also my belief that most cocks aren't all that pretty, and therefore my confusion at the concept of a "full monty" male stripper? Or that I really feel the female form is much more attractive?

I should add that it's all academic because I can't get the shift off work at the moment anyway...

EDIT: Looks like someone will swap a shift with me now...any ideas on what to wear for such an evening??

Connecting

2010-05-08T23:12:00.001+01:00

We rolled in late, a little drunk like teenagers, but sober enough to use the massive espresso machine. I remember a feeling of freedom, a bit out-of-body, and a vague recollection that we should be quiet becuase his mother and her fancy man were upstairs. I like his mum, and suspect that she likes me. She is open and honest, and appreciates a good pair of heels. She chats like a girl. She would make an excellent (if slightly posh and pretentious) swinger. Sex, with a croissant and coffee after, and a maid to make the bed again and line up her shoes. I knew she probably heard the giggling, and, even worse, that she probably secretly approved of it.

Later, full of caffeine from the overpriced German fake-starbucks, we stumbled upstairs - we may have had red wine too, I don't remember - and into bed. Things are blurry for a while after that, and culiminate in this: a leash, spanking, giggling, cuddling.

The haziness left my mind a little later, when, in the bathroom, I crouched over him and just let go, emptying a warm, golden flow of kink and intimacy, and with it letting go of all my inhibitions.

It wasn't about the whip. It wasn't about the alcohol or the environment or the kinkery or the watersports. It wasn't about the leash, or even the spanking, or the possibility of getting caught.

It was all about looking into his eyes as I did it, the intimacy inside the kink, the switching of power, and the way in which we worship each other, mentally and physically. It was, and is, always all about the connection. About us.

Billie part 2

2010-05-03T19:25:00.001+01:00

I had quite a shit day today, only perked up by the fact that I saw Billie (you remember Billie!) on the stairs. She smiled to me, just me, and her features condensed down to this: billie-blonde hair, eye makeup, SMILE. That boyfriend is one very lucky man.

Tipping the Velvet (gloves)

2010-04-27T22:31:00.005+01:00

A work colleague and good friend of mine was recently talking to me about a party she is going to - a Moulin-Rouge-themed party. She seemed very concerned about what to wear, and talked about looking for cheap rubbish on eBay, worring about how much time she had to compile and appropriate outfit (the party is still weeks away). I should add, it was coincidental that she discussed this with me at this time. In fact, we were having a conversation online that I had initiated, unrelated to this.
Luckily for her, I can offer her sack-fulls of burlesque items of clothing, of excellent non-fancy-dress quality. Good job she came to me first, although I don't think she knows what she is letting herself in for. I fear she will be alarmed when she sees exactly how much of my wardrobe I can bring to fit the 'Moulin Rouge' theme. She may further question my private life. If she wears any of it, others may question hers. She actually expects me to bring all of these heavy, steel-boned items into work for her to peruse.
Also, I can pretty much lay money on the fact that she will not want the (unwashed) velvet gloves. She may not know everything, but she is a good friend, and she knows where those long black velvet gloves have been.

To all the Jonahs...

2010-04-21T18:01:00.001+01:00

It strikes me as odd that people will sit and read this blog, not commenting or making any effort to contribute, and yet when it is taken away (I haven't gone, I've just been a bit busy), they complain or inquire as if they owned it (and apologies for the biblical reference...kudos to those who get it).

So, to all the mysterious stalkers, the lurkers, the voyeurs, the quiet little peeping toms (or thomasinas?) - please rest assurred that I am not gone, and will be back.

Oh, and while I'm here - please support Pippa the Ripper on Britain's Got Talent. The girl absolutely rocks.

50 words: Dream

2010-03-31T00:03:00.001+01:00

I fell asleep with the dildo still inside me. I woke up soaking wet from crotch to thigh, thinking my wrist was still shackled to the bedpost, as in the dream. It took me a while to come around and bring into focus the blurred line between dream and reality.

Playtime

2010-03-27T20:40:00.001Z

"I know who you are, of course I do. You like to play out with my boy and his schoolfriends"

I was surprised that she knew me, and felt as if I had been caught out somehow. I was a little bowled over by her matronly ways and how articulately she spoke, making me feel like a naughty child with her odd mention of school. I didnt know if I should feel awed, ashamed or frightened.

"I just take him to play," I blushed. "I'll always send him back home again."

She broke into a laugh. "I know, and that's fine!"

Her face then slowly settled thoughtfully into a downcast expression as she mused, "Why doesnt anyone ever ask me out to play?"

I asked her what sort of playmate she wanted, and she described a need to be tied and to occasionally tie. She was switchy, it transpired, with a strong subbish side. Not surprising, considering I knew her boy.

I caught her off-guard by asking, "Man or woman?"

She blushed and confessed, describing the Domme in more detail. It sounded like me.

Wake Up Call

2010-03-25T18:16:00.001Z

"Sleepy sex is the best sex", he declared, yawning as he did so.

We spooned for a while, slowly fondling each other - I stroked his morning glory; he ran lazy wet circles with his finger around my clitoris. I pushed back into him; each knew what the other lazily wanted. Rolling me over, he asked me if he should put a condom on. He was doing so anyway, knowing the answer without words. Somehow I lose all power of speech in the mornings, and my eyes drifted shut in sleepy ecstasy as he dipped into my wetness.

As we spooned, he fucked me slowly, laid behind me. He has a sturdy, long cock, and has no difficulty in making love to me in this position. Somehow, although we began sleepily snuggled in the bed, spooning and fucking, it was not long before I was on all fours, pillow under my hips, running a bullet vibe over his balls, my clitoris, his perineum, and up and down my labia. It was not long before I was pushing my sex hard against his, and my sounds were changing from higher-pitched squeals to deep, throaty growls, pushed from the depths of my belly, where his cock now massaged. It was not long after that when we both heard, mid-way through one of my screams, the enquiries of a concerned passer-by outside, the other side of the paper-thin wall.

They got no response (I couldn't have spoken right then anyway), other than the only time I manage silence during fucking. When they had gone, I squeezed his cock hard with my cunt, pulling him into me, encouraging him.

It was not long after that before I had a curve of beautifully shiny steel anal beads in my arse, and his cock deep in my pussy, and the vibe on my clit, and the feeling of gorgeous, dizzy loss of control in my head, my legs giving way beneath me.

The first time I actually spoke to him was when I had recovered from the orgasms.

"Good morning", he said, watching me starfish out onto the bed, red-faced, spent and breathless.

"Morning."

I almost kissed the word onto his mouth, and pulled him against me. Nobody wanted to move for quite a while. However, it was not too long after that before I washed, dressed, and went with him downstairs to hand in my key to check out.

HNTish: Latex

2010-03-25T09:42:00.001Z

Well, thank fuck for that.

HNT: More corsetry

2010-03-18T23:03:00.001Z

Another corset? Ohh yes. But this is your last one for now, I think.

HNT: Hands

2010-03-11T21:41:00.001Z

HNT doesnt have to be nudity. It can be soul-baring. At present, all I can think about is the way my hands are burning with glove-allergy and over-washing at work. So, here's my HNT. I'll post something more sexy when my hands settle down.

Thursday

2010-03-11T21:06:00.001Z

I know it's Thursday, but do you really need HNT?

HNT: Bikini

2010-03-04T19:32:00.001Z

Booked my holiday :-)

Fist

2010-02-25T23:56:00.003Z

I had the house to myself, so eventually, after housework and laundry of contraband items, I did what any girl would do - I had a noisy wank. Being the exhibitionist that I am, I felt it my duty to inform someone of said self-abuse. I made an impromptu social call.

He likes to whisper his dirty talk into the receiver but I always end up grunting over the top of it - I often have no idea of the actual content of what he is saying. He is urgently whispering to me now, and I know that it is filth. I imagine how he looks as he whispers his pornographic fantasies to me, his blood trapped in a denim jail. I can almost see him conspiratorially pushing his lips close to the telephone, in case someone should hear.

Bizarrely, even though I am masturbating loudly down the phone, I feel briefly embarrassed that he can likely hear the buzz of my vibrator and its pulsing speed. Soon, my inhibitions melt away, and the noise is joined by the unmistakable wet slaps of smooth plastic slamming into soft, dripping wet pussy.

He continues to slowly whisper his filth, whilst I gasp mine in unstructured staccato. It is really difficult to be literate as you fuck yourself to the brink of orgasm.

"Fist me," I gasped.
"I want to thrust into you, yes, hard..."
"No, (gasp) fist (gasp) me"

As truthful and kinky as it was, I think it probably threw him totally off-balance. At the same moment, I too was thrown off balance, my body concentrating down into a raging fire of senses, combined with the act of pushing a hard scream into a soft pillow.

HNT: Backless

2010-02-25T23:34:00.005Z

I always feel at my most slinkiest sort of slinky in a backless dress. But is this too much flesh to flash in a dress? I mean...I don't want people getting these ideas, you know, like thinking I'm some kind of sexual deviant or pervert.

HNT: Underbust sweetness

2010-02-18T22:44:00.005Z

HNT - pink corset

2010-02-11T22:31:00.001Z

Wait a minute - it's Thursday! And a new corset arrived. I see how these link up. HNT-time :-)

Enslaving Aled

2010-02-11T18:14:00.005Z

He responded well to being subbed. He was on all fours, fixing the bed slats under the mattress (they had slipped earlier from the sort of heavy-duty use that probably didn't fall within the year's guarantee), and whilst he was still bent over the bed, I playfully slapped his arse a couple of times. I made sure to stand over him, making myself tall, whilst I did so. Instead of batting me away, he lent further over the bed, proffering his backside to me. He knew I had brought rope, and lots of it. He wanted to be dominated.
I stood over him and politely but very firmly told him to stand, pull down his trousers, and allow me access to spank his arse. I sat next to his lent-over body on the bed, facing the opposite way to him, and I sharply tugged down his boxers just enough to watch the inevitable reddening of his buttocks.
I then began to spank him, concentrating my efforts firstly on his right buttock, comparing the colour to the the left one. As I sat on the bed (I'm sometimes a lazy sort of Domme), I could see my suitcase and the small velvet-handled flogger just peeping out from amongst the clothes. I began to ease it out of the case surreptitiously between my slaps and blows to his hot buttocks. My hands were beginning to tingle and smart a little - goodness only knows how his hot, red arse felt by now. He was gasping and moaning a little now, and even without looking or feeling, I knew his cock was hard and hot and tense.
I stood up, to gain better access to the paler left buttock, picking up the flogger by its soft red handle in the process. I stroked him over with the leather tails of the little whip.
"Ooh, what's that?"
"Oh, just soft and stroke-y, nothing really, just softness"
He foolishly relaxed.
I drew back and hit him hard, all my force snaked down my wrist, along the red velvet and flicked into the leather tails, which licked like flames across his left buttock whilst the ends stung their electric shocks onto his raw right one. He gasped, wriggled, withdrew, and then composed himself and stuck his buttocks out towards me again.
I continued to flog him for quite some time, occasionally interjecting with reasons to explain the need for the flogging, how naughty he was, how he was a dirty, filthy poshboy, how much he loved his own arse and how he had to pay for it. I explained the reasons why I was Domme - driving him everywhere, travelling miles to come and see him, putting up with him giving me directions just to pass me through villages with humorous names on the way here. He hadn't been to see me in ages, and made me come to see him, driving into what was essentially another country. All highly bad behaviour.
I did not mention the true behaviour of his that had really made me desire to dominate him. The thing is, he is a frantic lover. He really needs to be made to wait sometimes. He always kisses as if he had just come in your arms; his mouth makes love to yours - it fucks it; you can't breathe or move away. Sometimes, it is too much. But then I wouldn't really change it. He is a very sexual person, but it is for precisely this reason that the cruel domme in me likes to see him squirm, and make him just wait.
Later, once his arse was glowing with both colour and heat, I tied his torso into a delicious Romanesque bodice of rope, enslaving him - all carefully-placed knots and a loop for his cock and balls to fit through. Before that, however, I made him sit bolt upright on his smarting buttocks and read filthy erotica to me, whilst I slowly masturbated in front of him.
I liked him in the rope, all bound up like a special delivery, getting wobbly and rope-high. I liked showing him new things he had not felt before, and seeing his reaction to them. I tied his hands together, attached them to a knot of rope near his xiphysternum, just a little too far away to cover his nipples and prevent my mouth from enveloping them.
He has incredibly sensitive nipples, and moans if I so much as brush my hand over them. I kissed the right one whilst he faced me, and then I brought out a small but powerfully buzzy bullet vibe. I tickled it around the edge of his areola and watched him helplessly squirm and moan, trying to turn away. I forced him back upright and made him give himself over to me, using the rein of leftover rope that was attached to his immobile wrists. Then I pushed the bullet firmly onto his nipple. He reacted as if it were a hard clitoris, squirming, thrashing, moaning, gasping, and doubling over in an exquisite mixture of maximum pleasure and torturous overdose of sensation.
I turned my attention in a similar way to the left nipple, and watched as his smooth, hard cock dropped pearls of pre-cum onto the laminate floor.
I kept his torso tied whilst he read the filthy story aloud, but I was kind enough to untie his hands to hand him a glass of water, plus it meant I didn't have to watch him struggle with the pages so much! Whilst he painted the scene (with help from some skilled erotica short-story author), I rubbed my clitoris slowly with my middle finger, dipping in to feel my wetness like you dip your finger to pick up sugar grains. All throughout the story, my hand worked under the scant pink fabric mesh of my knickers. He lay naked, and read breathlessly, which made it difficult to follow the story with him; the words became quicker and blurred together. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he tried to pull himself together to continue. I did not help him compose himself, but instead I lazily brushed his cock with my stockinged foot, and occasionally I licked his little hard stone of a nipple.
After he had managed to finish reading the filth, he sat and watched me masturbate, until I was close to orgasm. Lying back, I ground the thick rabbit vibrator into my soaking wet and needy cunt, relishing the exhibitionism of it. I was vaguely aware of how much he had submitted - he was no longer jumping me, but sat still and watched, frustrated and desperate, waiting for me to give him the permission to touch me. He watched as I got closer to climaxing, and then saw me summon outrageous strength to overcome it, pull out the vibe, turn it round to keep the rabbit buzzing on my clit, and then gasp the word to him. I ordered him to fuck me as hard and fast as he possibly could.
Now that I had given permission, he was frantic and desperate, and pushed hard into my wetness, pushing for his own release. It was not long before he came, having held back so long, and I was proud of my new-found sub's restraint. I imagine that, if I had not said the word, he would have quietly sat in agony and frustration, and watched me cum onto the dildo - the same dildo he had sucked earlier as if it were a ménage à trois - the same dildo I had found so difficult to give up to allow him to enter me.

Billie

2010-02-02T09:15:00.001Z

"So, who's in charge for the morning shift...?" I trailed off. As I asked the banal question, and the midwife turned round to answer, so did her student. Suddenly I was struck by a gorgeous young blonde thing with heavy black eye makeup and a smile that could knock a man (or, in this case, a woman) down.

"Ooh, don't you look just like Belle de...Bille Piper??"

"Oh, everyone says that," she blushed.

Then she dropped the bomb that ended it all.

"Even my boyfriend's mum calls me Billie"

Oh well.

Ten years, given back

2010-01-23T23:24:00.005Z

The nightshift was finally over and the mythical ten years were fading from my life, so I lit an illegal cigarette and crossed the carpark to the on-site Nurses' home. I really needed to move out - living at work was suffocating, and the long shifts didn't help. The thick steel door swung behind me and closed with a bang, waking everyone in the building up, so I did the usual - I cursed, opened the door to my room, undressed, set my alarm, and fell into bed.

Minutes later, there was a knock at the window. I saw his face behind the net curtain - pale-skinned, yet cheeks flushed from the cool morning wind, and with a cheeky glint in his eye. I threw on a dressing gown and rolled lethargically out of bed to let him in.

Wordlessly, he opened the bag he had brought, took out my favourite fruit juice, and poured me a glass. Then he escorted me back to my room, telling me I needed some pampering time for once. He asked me to lie face-down on the bed, and massaged my aching muscles until I melted into his comforting, familiar hands. He kissed my neck, and told me I worked too hard. Then he turned me over, kissed down to my navel piercing, and then put his hot open mouth over my pussy.

I was tired, so I spread myself out lazily on the bed. He took his time, and enveloped my pussy with his delicate kiss; occasionally flicking my clit with his tongue as it hardened in his mouth. I relaxed back onto the pillows and submitted, whilst he continued to politely give me morning head. Then I quietly came into his mouth.

It was like valium - the orgasm was a heavy sedative after a night's work, and I vaguely remember him tucking the duvet over my spent body, kissing my forehead and leaving, saying he'd be back again for my next block of nightshifts.

HNT

2009-12-26T23:15:00.004Z

Sorry I had some HNT issues the other day - it should be just about fixed now. I have since punished my Android and spanked it into action to make it post this pic of me getting dressed today. You've got to have new underwear at Christmas. It's essential. x

Your present, I presume?

2009-12-24T23:58:00.005Z

Merry Christmas to all you kinksters and perverts out there. I send you a HNT (just in time!) as some offering of a Christmas gift to you. Loving my new 'suicide-girl-esque' look. What do you all think? should I run with it in 2010?

Have a kinky Christmas and a fulfilling new year ;-)

Nancy

x

Beg

2009-12-08T01:54:00.001Z

I probably shouldn't have started it, but it was just too tempting. He stood as I pushed him round and coiled the rope around his tall, sturdy frame. I dont remember how I reached to bind his upper chest - maybe he knelt down - but I remember that as the rope coiled down his torso, his whole demeanor changed. He grew quiet, submitting and letting me dominate him and push him gently but firmly round as I desired, and he began to sway lightly sometimes on his feet.

The room was cold, and we had alot of skin open to the elements, but his hands were warm when I added a second line and tied them behind his back.
This caused me problems later, when the tightness of this rope (I'm pretty sure he struggled a bit to test the restraint) and the weight of his body on his arms made his fingers go colder; it was then I was grateful for the safety loop I tied in, even if it did leave a delicious yet incriminating rope-mark on his wrists.

Bound, I made him lie helpless, my cunt inches from his tongue, and my hands on his chest, pushing him into the bed. I teased him for a while like this, listening to him beg and plead, and watching him strain and try to dart his tongue out to taste me. I began a slow rhythm of bringing myself within reach for a desperate lick, and then pulling away, all the while restraining his hungry tongue from outstepping the boundaries I had set for him, until I was ready to push my sex into his open mouth.

The Proposal

2009-11-21T23:29:00.001Z

"I want to make you all subbie, but I need space. I'm quite shy in public. Submit to me, babe. Don't smother me. I'll give you what you need all in good time. You need to restrain yourself, because I like the tease, the thrill of the chase, the possibility of denial. I like the foreplay, the flirting. I like playing the game."

I knew his eyes were opening wider and wider, and once he had brought his eyebrows down from the crown of his head, he collected himself, made the decision, and vowed his submission to me.

Melt: 50 words

2009-11-18T13:12:00.001Z

Blonde curls casacade down her back, freshly tumbled from a tight bun, falling into my hands. I bunch them up in my fist and pull her in, my mouth hot on hers. Now she is mine - owned by me; ruled by me. She submits, and melts her body into mine.

Maturing?

2009-11-13T00:52:00.001Z

Just incase you didn't know, you can grow out of being gay or bisexual. I know this because an accquaintance of mine told me. I'd better bear it in mind, because when I've grown out of mine, it turns out he might then be my good friend again. I suppose until then I'll have to wait inside my little chrysalis, waiting to mature into a perfect and socially-acceptable monogamous vanilla straight girl.

Nightshift Nattering

2009-10-31T14:50:00.001Z

4 night shifts in a row, and a student to teach as well. Bored and tired. She casually mentions that she bought a corset the other day.
"Oooh, where did you buy it from?" I inquired.
"Some website...cant quite remember the name of it"
"Oh, the one with the special offer on it?" I said, and described the offer in question.
"Yes actually...how do you know??"
She raised a curious eyebrow at me.
I explained. "Like I said the other week, if I explained my lovelife to you, I'd have to kill you!"

I'm such a damn dark horse.

Flirt, babe, flirt!

2009-10-26T22:55:00.003Z

It was a searingly hot day in the middle of summer, and Carly (a longterm friend and ex-workmate of mine) and I were in a Central London Starbucks, with the conversation decidedly one-sided. I was trying my best to emit a mixture of attentiveness and healthy concern for her apparent 'food racism' (she won't consume white-coloured foods or drinks), but it wasn't an easy job. I was drinking the best hangover cure - raspberry frappuccino - through a straw, and Carly sipped an orange juice. Then I looked up and I saw her.

She was perched on the edge of her chair, sucking cappuccino froth from an index finger. I wondered how long she had been sitting there, with one eyebrow raised at me over a well-positioned newspaper prop. She could hear Carly's monologue; she rolled her eyes and then let her heavy lids fall, lending a sultry seductiveness to the smile she then gave me. I blushed and immediately looked away, only to look back again to see that gorgeous secretarial look for a second time.

I knew she knew I was looking, ogling even, but she let me peruse her from head to toe. Blonde, but definately not from a bottle, her pinned-up hair had small strands escaping here and there; little cascades of softness framing her pale face. She had on a black slightly office-looking dress, quite sensible in neckline and length, but with a waist-cinching belt round it, making it hug her small frame to perfection. Her breasts were small but easily visible under the fabric, and the gorgeous contrast between her milky skin and the black dress made it even more difficult to resist the urge to go over and 'accidentally' brush against her body as I walked past. The shoes were slightly heeled, and when she got up to use the ladies'. she caught me watching her shimmy across the floor of the coffee shop, calves toned, her pert behind sashaying to and fro under the tight black pencil-skirt style of the dress.

Most of our communication is non-verbal, apparently, so when she came back, I non-verballed my socks off, over an unaware Carly's shoulder. She kept batting her eyes over the newspaper, apparently reading the same small section over and over for the last 40 minutes. She pouted her painted lips at me, and I, in turn, made a show of dipping my finger into the sugar and licking it. It was shameless flirting, but I couldn't take it any further with Carly there. I was hotly aware of my lack of underwear under my own black dress, as well as the way that the crossover neckline made it just possible, at the correct angle, to catch a glint of sunlight silver from my nipple bar.

When she looked at me one last time, before she left the shop, and pushed her glasses up her nose sternly, I briefly lost control of myself and melted inside. Later, as he caressed me at the hotel, he cocked an eyebrow at me and asked me why my inner thigh was so very wet. Blushing, I explained all.

Laundry day

2009-10-05T16:54:00.001+01:00

I've just been giving myself quite a workout in the laundry department. Running that much cotton rope through your hands (slowly, mind!) really gets the muscles working, which is rare for someone as lazy as me. A friend once informed me that the reason I don't have amazing skin is because my only exercise is "shagging and wanking". I couldnt even realistically deny it either.
Good job my family weren't in. The shibari-related laundry took me considerably longer than I'd really set aside for the job, especially when I started to reminisce on how I got the rope dirty in the first place...

Retail Therapy

2009-10-04T14:52:00.001+01:00

"This pinstripe one, please" I said to the gorgeous girl behind the counter, passing over the industrially-boned underbust corset. She wiggled out from behind the counter in the cramped market shop, and as she turned to unclip the garment from the hanger, I took a moment to assess her ample buttocks encased in her tight jeans. She wiggled her hips purposefully, raising her heels a little off the floor, as she presented the corset to me with a flourish. With her other hand she put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me round dominantly, so my back faced her.
I felt as if I should be putting my arms behind my back, ready for her to tie me up. Instead, I lifted my arms above my head as she wrapped the heavy fabric around my waist. Then she began to pull me in, with authoritarian firm tugs. I could feel myself involuntarily squirming from foot to foot, trying to somehow quench the burning need that was growing in my centre, spreading itself to my clit.
"You can go a bit tighter, you know," I said, urging her along.
When she had finished and tied the ends of the thick black cord, she put her hands onto my now firm and cinched-in waist, and span me to face her again. For a second, she held me in her embrace, and I caught the exotic scent of her long waves of brunette lovliness as they brushed over my face as she moved me to admire her handiwork.
I looked into her slightly Spanish eyes for a little too long before stepping across to see myself in the mirror.
"Ooh that's nice!" I beamed. I looked like a professional office-jobbed not-so-secret kinkster.
She frowned. "You need to push them up, like this," she lilted, as she cupped my breasts, lifting them over the pinstripe fabric. As she did so, the fingers of her left hand fell onto the little metal bar running through my nipple beneath, and she cocked an eyebrow at me.
"Ooh it suits you, you look gorgeous!" she remarked, as she stepped back. I pouted into the mirror a little, unzipped the corset, and handed it to her to put in a bag for me. I think she knew I planned to return to her little boutique sometime.

See one, Do one, Teach one

2009-09-27T21:27:00.001+01:00

It was strange, the way I wanted to tease him, mother him, fuck him, and teach him bondage all at the same time. It was not long after I arrived at the houseparty when I ended up squashed next to him on the sofa; me on one side of him, a girl he knew as a friend but wanted for more on the other. He was very boyish looking (5 years my junior); dark-haired and fairly pale-skinned, and he wore a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that sat a little too low on his tight arse. He kept cocking his head at me in a mock cheeky yet intrigued way, occasionally revealing a thinly veiled lack of self-confidence. I decided that I was in a charitable mood; I assessed his potential girlfriend, and realised that he needed something new to show her; something unique. The sort of something that I could teach him.
I began to flirt outrageously in a fiercely intelligent mistress way; constantly looking over my glasses and ever-so-slightly putting him down. I made a point of our age gap, and of my level of higher education. In short, I was a stern and dominant filthy bitch. Then I left them and went to get a drink.
Later, he came specially to find me, and the conversation culminated in a boyish brag from him that he was more sexually experienced than I. I recall that he asked me if I was any good at giving oral sex, as he claimed that he was amazing at it. "To a man or a woman?," I said, trying to clarify the ambiguity. He was speechless, so I took him outside, to my car, and performed a practical demonstration. Once I had engaged in his requested competitive sex, I lay naked on the back seat of my car, rolled on a condom as I stroked his cock, and guided him into me. I told him to 'fuck me like a man, not a boy'. He knew the lesson was over when I screwed up his t-shirt in my fist, bit hard into his flesh to try and stay quiet, and came like a train.
When we got back to the party, I smiled as I saw him approach her, somehow suddenly more mature and commanding respect. She lifted her face, adjusted her glasses, and looked him straight in the eye, ready for whatever it was he had planned for her. My job was done.

Cherished

2009-09-26T19:35:00.001+01:00

We were teenagers when we first met, and began a friendship of flirting over candyfloss and delaying going home to our curfews. People used to say that he was a male me, or that I was a female him. We were alike - we were into the same jokes, the same music, the same kink. He taught me things I probably shouldn't have known, and I loved him for it. He was the first man to ever kiss me, and I was the last girl to ever kiss him. Something inside me died with him that day, a little space now filled with memories of our candyfloss and kink days, and the way his Cherokee-like hair felt as I stroked it in my hands.

Social Flirtworking Sites

2009-09-22T23:59:00.001+01:00

I'm going to a party on Saturday with a student friend of mine, and being the inquisitive girl that I am, I checked out who else is going using the RSVPs on Facebook (you know what these students are like). I then clicked on the profiles of the females to assess their nymphness. Is that wrong? Disappointingly, research showed they were all far too straight and far too young for me. Oh well.

Casual Little-Bit Love

2009-09-14T01:13:00.001+01:00

I can't fall for her; she likes men. Ok, admittedly she likes women too, apparently, but she is definately looking for a man at the moment. Just my luck. And there's no dissuading her either. Not even the wonderfully life-stopping kiss we shared the other night - no, she still wants her man, even after all that. Me and my stupid emotions. Casual encounters never allow for you actually falling in love a bit - not even a little bit - do they?

A Close Call

2009-08-29T01:31:00.003+01:00

"Answer your phone before I cum", I messaged him.

I was grinding a thick plastic rabbit vibe, a terribly cheap-looking affair, but honestly the only vibe I've not managed to break within a month or so. My house is like a special vibrator graveyard - you can actually watch them buzzing their way to the back of the shelf in the shop to avoid me buying them, my reputation for killing them is that widespread.

Anyway, I was grinding this fabulously indestructable vibe, which was good because I was grinding it HARD. I'd got the house to myself, and had spent my time reading erotica and teasing myself until I couldn't hold off masturbation anymore. Now I was close to coming, and he wasn't answering the phone, and soon it would be his loss. When he finally answered, I suddenly remembered how difficult it is to talk and wank at the same time.

It turned out that it didn't matter. Once I'd stopped growling and screaming down the phone, I could hear his little breathy gasps and the unmistakeable sound of him squirming a little as he pleasured his hard cock, desperate for his own release.

Kiss and Make Up

2009-08-19T22:12:00.002+01:00

I always aim to arrive in that magical window between 'too eager and under the thumb' and 'where the fuck is she?'. Mostly, I feel I manage this feat. However, sometimes technology fails me, batteries die, and I go beyond and into 'where the fuck WAS she??'. So I find myself on a Tuesday morning, trying to make it up to a very annoyed longterm friend. When I pushed my knee between his on the platform and leaned in to kiss his neck, I felt that I was melting his angry resolve away. When he whispered into my ear about how much he wanted me in bed, I was sure of it.

Polite Filth

2009-08-09T02:27:00.001+01:00

Sometimes, his words turn me on even more than what he's doing to my body. He's an absolute gentleman, and likes to be tremendously polite when he's dirty. This always gives the rudeness more punch, which sends a shiver right to my clit.
He likes to rub a thumb over my anus, slick with lubricant, with the other hand on my back, stroking me, checking I'm ok. All the time he will whisper a filthy dialogue into my ear, in his trademark matter-of-fact way. "You're sooo tight, but that's how I like it. That's it...relax, relax...you'd really better relax, darling, because soon it'll be my big, hard cock, not my tiny little thumb, whether you're ready or not."

City girl

2009-08-09T01:51:00.001+01:00

I'm a city girl at heart. I don't believe in being somewhere where you can't get signal and internet on your mobile, or where you're more than a short busride away from a Topshop. Don't get me wrong, I don't even shop at Topshop, but it's the principle of the thing.
Lately I have been accused of going to the capital for one thing only, and I resent these allegations! Even if they do hold truth occasionally. But this time I'm going to a wedding, ok? A wedding. Not an orgy.

Unless I'm very lucky.

Dress up and play

2009-08-02T15:10:00.004+01:00

He suddenly became quiet and still, mouth hanging open, as I unzipped my black summer dress and let it drop to the floor to show the secrets underneath. Like a veil, it swished down my body, revealing the restrictive steel-boned purple corset (perhaps laced a little too tightly) and black stockings with their deep panels of red lace hugging my pale thighs. I caught him checking - yes, I was wearing underwear, but it was more of an excuse for knickers; a tiny frill of soft lacy black fabric attempting to cover my wetness.
It was rare, but somehow I had managed to silence the master of dirty talk. When he finally regained the power of speech (beyond superlatives such as "WOW"), it was to sweetly ask me to walk to the door and back. I felt his lustful eyes burning into my arse as I sashayed across the carpet. When I did the walk the second time, I knew he would not be able to resist for much longer, and relished the teasing along with the exhibitionism. It was difficult to resist the urge to throw him on the bed and push my hot wet cunt onto his tongue.

Sex tourism?

2009-07-10T18:48:00.001+01:00

It's like a holiday, although with admittedly more scummie-brummie public transport than usual. I cant deny that thinking about it in a 'holiday' way makes me feel even more like the sex tourist I am (probably not wrongly) accused of being. God bless the internet. One or two clicks and now I'm sat on a bus, armed with a suitcase, en route to a nearby paradise of no work with excellent company. The only downfall is trying to pack all the men (no women, much to my disappointment) into one weekend. Hmm...I can think of one viable, pleasurable way...

Dirty bitch

2009-06-14T20:08:00.005+01:00

The sun came up long before I rang for the taxi. By the time I was home, it was quite bright, promising to be warm and sunny. I got changed for bed, one earring missing, and took off my now uneven stockings. I peeled off my soaking knickers and brushed the soil out of my bra. My hair was a mess, and my lipstick smudged. It was satisfying to know that somewhere not too far away, he too was getting ready for bed, removing the rest of my smudged lipstick, assessing the bite to his right nipple, and brushing dirt from his hair.
When I woke up four hours later, for church, my fingernails were filthy and there were still specks of earth pockmarking my pale skin.

Sex sells

2009-06-13T00:31:00.004+01:00

Perils of looking at underwear online - I start thinking 'I like that', then when I view it again, don't know why I thought I liked it...and then it dawns on me - 90% of my wishlist is full of models I like, not necessarily underwear I like. I'm just not quite straight enough...

Steel

2009-06-09T08:13:00.001+01:00

"Ah, it's nice to see nipple jewellery in the morning," he mused, as I sleepily straddled his lap.

Actions speak louder

2009-05-30T11:08:00.005+01:00

I found him at the bar, and after greeting his friends, I wrapped myself around him from behind and began to kiss his neck. He has his little places he likes - neck, ears, nipples. I watched as he began to drift off into pleasure, and then as he caught himself back to the reality of the bar again.
"How many times do I have to tell you - don't kiss me like that unless you intend to follow it up"
Kiss.
"I'll take you at your word"
"I didn't say anything," I murmured into his neck.
"Your actions then"
Kiss. Lick.
"If you do that again, I'll have to take you to your car and have you in the carpark...over the bonnet"
Kiss.kiss.kiss.kiss.kiss.

Forbidden Fruit

2009-05-28T21:13:00.004+01:00

As she took off her dress, I remember thinking how tiny she was; it was as if I hadn't noticed her small frame in the black velvet. Once I saw her pale body being unveiled, it was like the unpeeling of a ripe fruit, and it awakened my senses with it. She peeled off the dark soft skin, and revealed the smooth white flesh underneath, begging to be licked, bitten, savoured. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, and pushed my lips into her hair, nuzzling them into her neck.

Gasps

2009-05-28T20:58:00.000+01:00

I like to pin him down, and make him wait. Watch him squirm under me, patiently waiting for a touch, a kiss, a lick. I like the tiny intakes of breath when he's off-guard, the little gasps, just loud enough to hear. Quiet, yet there's no mistaking them. This is how I know what he likes - he gives it away with the breaths & tiny moans. Like when my tongue touches; when my teeth nip; when I suddenly grind; when I break free from my restraints.

Breakfast

2009-05-10T00:10:00.006+01:00

I brought luggage for the evening, and dropped it off at the hotel - pretending my thoughts were chaste; really knowing I'd have to go back to pick it up. This same luggage sat under my chair at breakfast together.

Reflect

2009-04-22T22:16:00.002+01:00

He got up to use the toilet, and I followed. I remember the reflection in the landing mirror - him on the seat, me on his lap, both of us with a cigarette in our hand, and a smooth black strapon dildo standing proud and erect on me. I remember the odd look of innocence on my face, framed by messed-up soft waves, and the way he snuggled me into his chest.

Get ready

2009-04-13T14:23:00.002+01:00

"Go upstairs and get yourself ready and I'll be up in a minute"

I scooped up my half-abandoned clothes and made my way upstairs, thinking about what 'ready' really meant. I was not in my own house, so resources were limited, but a dirty mind is usually an inventive one. A blindfold can be made from a shirt, and a nice chunky belt feels good on the wrists. I was in a slightly submissive mood, and wanted to be tied up.
Slightly disappointed about the lack of corsets or whips or leashes, I did not feel 'ready' when he came to join me. Happily, he helped me out with the improvisation, and settling into an unexpectedly dominant role, added his single rule.

"I will tie you up if you want, on the condition that whatever I put on your lips goes in your mouth."

Needless to say, I agreed. Anyone know how a safeword works when your mouth is full?

Sofas are dirty charlatans.

2009-04-07T22:47:00.003+01:00

I am beginning to distrust sofas. They make you all relaxed, get you snuggling, and before you know it you're in bed together, if you're lucky (on the sofa together if you're not - you know what I mean). Sofas are "I'm not staying all night" or "let's just watch TV". Sofas lie. No other furniture lies as much as a sofa does. Settees, sofas, couches - call them what you will, but they are dirty charlatans.

In Kind

2009-04-07T00:59:00.002+01:00

I really should stop using the phrase "I'll pay you in kind" - it seems a lot of people out there have minds almost as filthy as my own, if given a push in the right direction. Ok, maybe that was a little harsh - not almost as filthy, but maybe just a little dirty then.

Smirk

2009-03-31T21:35:00.002+01:00

When I'm left to myself for a while, listening to other people's conversations, sometimes my mind goes down the sort of roads that make me smirk or chuckle knowingly to myself. Today I watched him do the smirk with me. Maybe having The Smirk in common isn't so bad...

On being 'good'

2009-03-15T16:23:00.002Z

In general, I would say I am a good girl. I don't steal, only really swear when driving, and I don't kill people. If a spider is in my house, I don't stamp on it, but instead get a glass and catch it and throw it out the window or door (ok, I usually put a glass over it then get a man to scoop it up and throw it out the window or door). However, I don't think anyone can profess to be good ALL of the time. I certainly can't. And I don't think that should be held against me. After all, I'm only human.

Stare

2009-03-02T19:00:00.002Z

We sat round a table at our favourite haunt, singing along to the old-time classics and talking work, and occasionally brushing our rough lips together in a stolen embrace. She got up to leave, I leaned over the table to hug her goodbye, and as I did so I could feel his eyes warmly exploring every inch of my bent-over ass. As I sat down, I pulled his arm round me and drained my glass.

Missed me?

2009-02-23T15:38:00.002Z

Ah...almost a month blog-free. Annual leave and nights and being busy in general will do that to you. Anyway, I'm not gone, but thanks everyone for your texts etc. of concern...*laughs*
I suppose you want to know my latest tales in the world of Nancy. Well, 4th feb I added some metal to my small collection, to accompany the navel piercing. Loving it already! I can see how people get addicted to this stuff!
There have been exploits in backpacker-style hostels, stories in cars, and things I probably shouldn't disclose too loudly. Anyway, must dash for now and update you later - haven't eaten all day and am hungry.

Thirty words in a quiet moment

2009-02-01T21:05:00.003Z

I like to let my mind wander when it's quiet - driving, working, church...
I like to recall things that make me bite my lip; things that make my pussy tighten.

Corset is here!

2009-01-29T21:23:00.000Z

Here it is. Lovely...

Rosa's underwear of power

2009-01-26T22:57:00.003Z

My corset should arrive tomorrow or Wednesday. A white one...almost bridal. I do worry that if I continue to wear such nice ligerie, what will I wear on my wedding day, assuming I have one? It will have to be absolutely amazing to upsatge my current wardrobe. And I do mean wardrobe. It's no piddly little underwear drawer for me...I have boxes of it under my bed, three drawers of knickers and bra sets, camisoles and slips...a box of hosiery in my wardrobe...basques and suspender belts and whatnot on my wardrobe's inner shelf...I just love the stuff. People must be catching on; I received underwear from my sister for Christmas just gone. Anything that makes me feel a bit more sexy and full of that bit extra feminine power that we burnt all our bras for in the first place. What was that about? Those feminists should have known women have the power, we had it all along. All we had to do was assert it. Look at Rosa Parks. She probably wore the best bras.

Cher was right...almost.

2009-01-25T19:10:00.002Z

The old song was right, yet oh so wrong. If you want to know how a woman is in bed, it's in her kiss. That would have been more true, but probably less catchy, and also far ahead of its time...
I remember holding her tiny frame against me on the dancefloor and letting her tongue flick and explore my mouth, butterflying to my ear and neck. I felt the dizzy rush of so much blood rushing to my clit, and whispered words "shall we leave?", with our lips still touching, breathing them into her mouth, her upturned face blissfully submitted to mine. I already knew her answer.

Slow down...

2009-01-24T23:06:00.002Z

I met him in town, eventually, after work and getting lost a little. His hands were warmer and bigger than I remembered, and he grasped mine quickly as the swing of his arm fell into step with mine as we walked along; I didn't resist it. We wandered towards the cathedral, we kissed, I remember telling him he kissed me too quickly; I wanted to tease him, dominate him, make him hold back...he pushed me against the railings of the church and caught hold of my wrist and held me, and kissed me slower, but with a searching desperate tongue. I responded, nipping his lip and mightily wishing I had worn a skirt and stockings.

Normal?

2009-01-21T02:00:00.003Z

Sometimes I wonder if I'm all that normal. Which other girl masturbates alone at 2am and uses anal beads, lube, 2 different types of vibe, and nipple clamps? Which other girl sometimes gets an odd twitch in her eye after 3 orgasms, which she has to have prior to sleep? Am I doing something wrong or different, or are there just a lot of quiet girls out there, keeping their secrets?? Please, if you know, tell me!

Silver Screen Surprise

2009-01-21T00:08:00.002Z

It's no secret I like man films, and don't much watch chick flicks. So it wasn't much of a surprise for him to ask me to the cinema to see the latest fighting/fantasy flick. I couldn't get into the story though, so after I'd got bored, I entertained myself. The surprise, I think, was his.

I began to rub his thigh, feeling him respond with a tense under my hand, eyes fixed on the screen as if he hadn't noticed. I leaned in to kiss him, and as I did, I let my hand slip down to his crotch, and felt his semi, which stiffened under my hand as I let it linger. Then I kissed him again, and as I broke away, I gave him the naughty eyes; he looked quizzical at me. Slowly and quietly I unzipped him, deftly released his firm cock and snuggled into his chest in a hug. I looked down the row, everyone was watching some badly-choreographed swordfight. I began my own, better choreographed version. I hugged him lower and deeper, until I could kiss the tip of his now hard cock in the flickering blue light of the screen. He let out a quiet moan as I enveloped him and got to work with my tongue.

Perfection

2009-01-20T01:05:00.002Z

He asked for perfection. Arrogant, but to the point. He probably wanted some kind of page-three plastic and a sleep afterwards. Maybe a beer.
He didn't know what true perfection was.
As I carefully folded the blindfold and put it next to the long silky rope in my bag, I knew that tonight I would teach him all about it.

Proper corset

2009-01-15T00:31:00.003Z

I'm fulfilling a life-dream. I'm buying a proper corset. Overbust, made-to-measure, fully steel-boned (none of this plastic 'glorified boob-tube' nonsense), proper cord lacing (no ribbon), proper steel front busk, all ready for ultra-tight lacing and possible 'waist-training'. I already have a box of beautiful hosiery and suspenders. I intend to put them on...and keep them on, if you know what I mean ;)
Actually, imagine changing at work with that under your skivvies. Now that would get the office gossip going!!

Worship: 20 words exactly

2009-01-14T23:24:00.001Z

He knelt down, cupping my thighs, gently lifting me to his mouth. He closed his eyes and began to worship.

Toilet break

2009-01-09T19:43:00.002Z

I joined them back at the bar afterwards, smoothing down my skirt as I walked back from the ladies'. The lads were all laughing and pointing out short skirts and outragous cleavages. "Got your eye on anyone then?" they joked, their bravado as blinding as their hawaiian shirts. "Not anymore," I answered, "I've just had her."

There's no time

2009-01-01T22:11:00.006Z

Sometimes I check the time and remember...
He pushed me into the wall, and kissed me hard. We were both drunk, and the warm fuzziness of our brains heightened the arousal. We stumbled back from the pub, him groping and kissing me and whispering filth into my ear. I turned him towards me, and ran my hands down his shirt. I could feel his hard-on pressing into my thigh. We walked this step-grope-kiss dance on past the crowd of pub-leavers and towards the spire at the bottom of my road. He changed the kiss in the dance, and began tonguing my ear; I scratched watch-face onto brick as he slammed me into the church wall on the corner and slipped his hand under my skirt, fingers creeping up the cool bare flesh of my thigh, to the warm, wet nakedness underneath. We'd better get you home...", he said into my neck.

Beckon

2008-12-30T23:51:00.005Z

"Touch me....please touch me...I need it," I pleaded.
He had me right on the edge, and was teasing, not quite touching me. He ran his hand up and down my thigh, over my white abdomen and up to pinch my hard pink nipples. He brought a finger up to my lips, and I licked and sucked it into my mouth, running my tongue under it in a mexican wave, as if it were a cock. I could see him losing his ability to tease.
"Touch me," I whispered determindly.
He pushed a finger into me, slowly and easily, and it was soon accompanied by another. Then he beckoned them up to my g-spot, and began to rub my clitoris with his thumb. I came hard onto his hand in a gush as he urged me on - "cum to me....cum to me..."