Things I never did before D/s…

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I was reflecting recently about things I’ve done and experienced during the years of our D/s, things that I had never dreamed of doing or welcoming prior to this. Given we had nearly 24 solid years behind us before commiting to each other this way and developing our D/s in our marriage, I thought I’d make a list as a ‘note to self’ to recall how far I’ve come.

Whilst some of this is ‘just’ kinky fuckery fun stuff, our D/s created the precious space to encourage these parts of ourselves to come to the fore.

For me, however, the most meaningful ones are the ways we have grown together in intimacy, trust, connection and respect.

What things had you never done before embracing submission, D/s or BDSM?

In no particular order, my 100 things;

  1. welcome vulnerability
  2. share my deepest needs
  3. be bare hand spanked in public
  4. lead a D/s munch
  5. attend kink and fetish events
  6. wear latex
  7. allow myself to be physically hurt
  8. kneel for him
  9. beg for him
  10. post intimate photos of myself online
  11. squirt
  12. wear a collar
  13. nipplegasm
  14. call him Sir
  15. ask permission to come
  16. ask him to break me
  17. accept his final word
  18. talk about my therapy openly
  19. play in public
  20. write about our D/s
  21. join online communities
  22. accept my body as it is
  23. find peace in submission
  24. talk about my relationship
  25. crawl for him
  26. be marked by him
  27. go knickerless for him
  28. wear a buttplug in public
  29. be used by him
  30. be honest about how I am feeling
  31. allow him the opportunity to lead
  32. explored pain play
  33. discover my masochism
  34. experience orgasm control
  35. ask for help
  36. know myself deeply
  37. go to a munch
  38. make online friends
  39. tweet
  40. blog
  41. experience subspace…and subdrop
  42. wear a leash
  43. be restrained
  44. rope play
  45. deep throat
  46. ask for more
  47. let things go
  48. safeword
  49. live a dual life
  50. fear exposure
  51. compare myself to others
  52. get a manicure
  53. discover my hidden sexuality
  54. fisting
  55. really listen to him
  56. put him first
  57. kiss a girl…and like it
  58. wear bruises with pride
  59. look after myself for him
  60. experience wax play
  61. enjoy a double top scene
  62. anal play
  63. belt whipping
  64. learn new things about myself
  65. learn new things about him
  66. rediscover our passion
  67. know my triggers – good and bad
  68. relinquish control
  69. trust my body
  70. appreciate my strength
  71. Hollywood wax for him
  72. dress up for him
  73. orgasm in public
  74. feel so desperately needy
  75. learn to communicate better
  76. listen to my inner child
  77. see myself through his eyes
  78. not take things for granted
  79. allow him to headfuck me
  80. cry for him
  81. document gratitude
  82. pet play
  83. understand power exchange
  84. eye up utensils as pervertables
  85. take photos just for him
  86. take pride in housework for him
  87. feel owned
  88. seek acceptance
  89. learn new things together
  90. present myself to him
  91. accept being told ‘no’
  92. wear corsets
  93. appreciate my safe space in him
  94. slow down
  95. sex under the stars
  96. swallow
  97. try harder for him
  98. push my healing
  99. accept all that I am
  100. appreciate how blessed I am

When your mind says yes but your body says no…

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…and then they both conspire against you. Have you ever experienced the utter frustration of this?

Yesterday morning I woke to his arm snaking around my torso as his fingers squeezed my left breast. He pulled me back against his hot naked body, his hard cock twitching against the base of my back. This man emits a crazy level of body heat, my own personal radiator, particularly when he wakes horny.

I smiled into my pillow and stretched, arching my back on purpose and pushing my arse into his groin, as I know this is when he’ll grip my hip bone and yank me back against him even harder. He moved his other arm so it was under my neck, his fingers wrapping around my throat. I knew what he wanted.

“Open your legs for me.”

I spread my legs wide under the duvet, and leant back against him. He held my chin high between his fingers and thumb as he bit the side of my neck. I squeaked and wriggled as he lifted his hips and nestled his erect cock between my arse cheeks as he started to play with me.

He stroked gently to start, infuriatingly too much yet not enough. He chuckled as I bucked my hips upwards, demanding more, wanting his fingers deep inside me.

“Keep still,”

“not yet.”

I tried really hard to stay put and concentrate on the back and forth swipes of his fingers, the pull on my clit, the hint of a dip from one finger tip. I knew I was whimpering. I concentrated on the length of his cock, so near to where I wanted it, his grip on my jaw, his teeth at my neck, his chest hair grazing against my shoulder blades. And steadily he stroked.

Now, usually I’d be getting wetter and hotter and achy by now, gasping for a finger fucking, a fisting, to be taken roughly from behind as he uses my hip as leverage for his thrusting. Desperate to be used and taken over by him, to be consumed and become part of him.

But…I. Just. Couldn’t. Concentrate. I was concentrating on too much at once. And the more I was aware I was concentrating, the less I could concentrate.

‘I can’t come’

The words formed in my mind as quickly as I tried to shush them away. I tried to focus again, to sink into what he was drawing from my body with his hands, but my body wasn’t playing ball anymore.

The bedroom door swung open slightly and the cat jumped on the bed and curled up to sleep. I stretched one leg to open wider for him and my foot prodded the cat who frooped in surprise. I was thinking about the cat. Then I could hear our eldest jump down from his high sleeper, open his bedroom door and pad into the main bathroom in the hall, then back again. Faint music from his tablet and the latest YouTube channel drifted along the hall as our door was still ajar. Bloody cat.

“Are you ok?” he asked. I should have just said but I was stubbornly not wanting to give up just yet. I wanted this. I wanted so desperately to come for him. I wanted him to have me. I was jiggling, and there was a wince as he stroked over one particular spot. I still insisted I was ok. He wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sore?”

I shook my head and wriggled again. I wanted to cry, I wanted to come. Neither was going to happen. I was desperately trying to prevent one and encourage the other.

“I’m just a bit dry now” I whispered, ashamed, into his arm. He slicked his fingers with saliva and gently circled me, before pushing into me. More saliva eased his efforts. He felt so good, his cock rocking against me, his fingers inside me, his breath at my ear.

His fingers, the cat, the music, his cock, the door, the ouchy bit, his fingers, the cat, the music, his cock, the door, the ouchy bit.

“I just can’t come” I sighed, tears prickling, “I’m sorry.”

He rested his hand on my mound, one finger lazily circling my frustrated clit, and held me tighter in the grip of his other arm.

“It’s alright” he reassured, kissing the nape of my neck. I relaxed my legs and closed them on his hand, trapping it there as I didn’t want him to move it. We lay for a while snuggling, me spooned and cocooned by his still roasting body, him allowing me to capture his fingers between my not wet lips. The cat purred and the music drifted. Our youngest awoke and ran out his room to see his brother. His cock slowly softened against me as it, too, relaxed.

“Later.” he murmured.

 

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When the Mantas Come

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There are only two places I feel absolute peace, the kind that is soul deep, nourishing and centering. Precious spaces where long held sighs can finally flow and be free. One is under the ocean, the other is under his hand.

My soul sings under the ocean, it calls to my adventurous spirit and submerging and descending allows the calming Diver Reflex to kick in, slowing my heart rate and prioritising blood flow to my core and my brain. I am suddenly overwhelmed by the sensory overload of the myriad beauty of this other world as the sunlight filters through the depths and reveals teeming life. Cradled and caressed by the pressure of the water I submit to the force of the currents, suspended in the alluring hypnotising blue that stretches in all directions.

My cumbersome dive gear that weighs me down on land moulds against my form as it becomes part of me. I glide over and through reefs, rocks, caves and caverns with the control in my breath and perfect neutral buoyancy powered by the strength in my legs. My eyes grasp onto every wonderous sight, desperate to commit it all to memory. The only sounds are my steady breathing, the wheeze of my regulator delivering air to my lungs on my inhale and the flow of my bubbles on my exhale.

Here I experience the absolute contrast of danger and security, of risk and sureness, of excitement and peace, of adrenaline and intense, all consuming calm.

When you dive you must dive alongside your dive ‘buddy’. They are your lifeline to an additional air supply and the surface if anything goes wrong and your life really is in their hands, as theirs is in yours. The level of trust is immense at depth. Cuiplash is my dive buddy and together we have dived the seas and oceans of the world. We’ve explored wrecks and reefs, coral gardens and sand flats, rock walls and drop offs. We’ve been surrounded by sharks, glided alongside rays, and been mesmerised by the minutiae of the tiniest life forms. Together, we discovered passion in shared adventure.

The other place is under his hand. There are many parallels between the two spaces and in the paradoxes that exist. Here there is immense pleasure and wonderful pain, giving and taking, vulnerability and strength, control and relinquishment, Dominance and submission, and in the depths of subspace, as in the depths of the ocean, I may be sensory overwhelmed but I am completely free and deeply at peace. 

As in water he protects me on land, ever my ‘buddy’, my lifeline to protection and love. Monitoring me, guiding me, pushing me, my wellbeing his focus as he expertly carries me through a controlled ascent to the heights of my subspace. 

This is where the mantas come.

I never expected to see them there, the place he leads me during play. They skirt in and out of my peripheral vision in the darkness, catching my attention. As I drift I seek them out behind closed eyes and every time, they come. I watch them for a while, as higher still I go, my looping, twirling gliding companions in tranquility.

I suppose it makes sense why they come to me there, the strong associations between the peace I find in the depths of the ocean and the peace he provides in the depths of my mind, and it’s blissful when they do. 

“And it’s peaceful in the deep

Cathedral where you cannot breathe

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under

Oh, and it’s breaking over me

A thousand miles out to the sea bed

Found the place to rest my head

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me

And all this devotion rushing over me

And the questions I have for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean deliver me”

Florence & the Machine

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The Fabrics of my Life. Wicked Wednesday #324

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We all wear uniforms, whether seen or unseen, we adopt our roles and responsibilities. Some are chosen by us, some for us. I wear many uniforms, and each are woven into the fabric of my life.

My work uniform is crafted from creativity, a rich palette of vibrant colour and texture. It is edged with leadership and trust and embellished in belief, encouragement and praise. This uniform is bold and strong with a soft lining, heavy enough to help carry the pressure of the workload of my charges yet comfortable enough to care and guide. It is decorated with ideas and inspiration, imagination and insight. It is well worn, frayed at the edges from loving and learning, marked with experimentation and fun and printed with achievement.

My mother uniform is soft and warm, it is big enough to wrap around my babies and protect them from harm. It sometimes feels ragged and in need of attention, yet over the years this uniform has moulded to my body and stitched itself into my heart. It has large pockets to carry memories and laughter, and is woven with hopes and dreams. This uniform is a garment in progress, and will never be completed as long as I can wear it. This uniform is wet from splashing in puddles, sandy from playing at the beach and is beaded with cuddles.

My daughter uniform is uncomfortable, it needs wearing in more but has not really been given the chance for a while. It can feel stiff and starched, too smooth and formal to crumple in the non existent catch ups and spa days. I do not feel at home in this uniform like I should, even though it is my oldest. I wish it fitted better and felt softer. Some parts are damaged, when care wasn’t taken in dressing me, some parts are heavy with richly textured layers that may never be seen, some hidden forever. It is still pierced with pins along its unfinished edges, it’s old lining no longer matches the outer layer and it is always at risk of ripping.

My friend uniform is changeable, it has concealed pockets and flaps full of sparkle and fun, if you know where to find them. I’ll let you stitch your name on it and keep it there forever if I can stitch mine on yours. Its sleeves are long for hugs and dancing, its pockets full of tea and Prosecco. This uniform takes careful handling, because it’s a delicate one built on trust. Sometimes the zips conceals me, other times I’ll rip it off and show you the lining, but only when I trust you. 

Only his hands are adept at peeling off all my uniforms, freeing me from their layers to reveal the one I wear just for him.

This one is gilded in trust and lust, embellished with the rich tapestry of our lives. It flows and wraps around me, protecting me. It feels as soft as a second skin yet is so light and sheer, revealing all to him as he embroiders his love all over it and me. This uniform is bejewelled with intimacy, authenticity and vulnerability, yet is as strong as armour. When the others have been hung up for the day, I slip into this one and feel free. We made this uniform together, the one he rips off in passion then carefully knits back together, strengthening the fibres. We treasure this garment, this creation of ours. In this uniform I am his.

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Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Striped Stockings. Masturbation Monday #206

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She waited. 

Perfectly poised yet quiet, aware of never taking up too much space in his home. 

Patiently she’d sit and watch him going about his daily business as he barely gave her a second glance. Occasionally he’d pause and look at her quizzically as he passed through whatever room she was in, as if waiting for a response, before carrying on.

She tried her best for him, every day. To do as he’d decided. Without slumping or failing or disappointing. He’d chosen her so she was his to do with as he pleased, and oh how she wished to please. Pleasure in service fuelled her heart and her heart now belonged to him.

It was only at night that he focused his attentions on her fully. It was only at night when she came alive to him. He’d gather her up, pressing her body to his solid frame. She felt loved when he’d carefully carry her from one room to the next, gently placing her down wherever he chose. Taking his time as his large strong hands moulded her body to his will. She’d watch his eyes as he concentrated on her, a smile flickering across his lips when she did as he wanted. Each night he’d play with her, devoting his efforts to shaping her, caring for her, owning her. 

He’d control her body entirely, moving her limbs into positions she learned to hold, just to make him proud of her. He’d make use of every room, every surface, to enjoy her and what she could do for him. Sometimes he’d try new things, adorn her in outfits he’d picked out for her and bring her pretty new accessories. His favourite, however, was always her striped stockings. The ones she was wearing when he saw her for the first time, and knew then he wanted her.

But when he was finally done he’d leave her there. In the dark, waiting for him again until the next night. 

She grew sad as the days and nights moved on, closer to the date she’d have to return to her own home. To the kind elderly gentleman with the sparkling eyes who’d looked after her when she was young. To her family and all her friends. But oh, how she’d miss him. He’d been the first to make her his, and every day she’d find herself silently dreaming of those firm hands all over her, how the heat from those fingers penetrated her very fibre. The twilight hours when the time together was theirs alone to cherish. 

“Daddy!”

Thundering footsteps and excited squeals grew louder as they came closer. 

“Daddy, we can’t find her! Where IS she?” they yelled. 

She saw him before they saw her. His proud eyes on her for the last time, a precious moment stolen before they both roughly grabbed at her tiny body.

“We found her! We found her! We found elf!” they squealed.

And pulled her right off the shelf. 

 

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Connecting the Dots. Sinful Sunday #383

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“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever.” Steve Jobs

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Sinful Sunday

 

When the Dom Drops. Food for Thought Friday #60

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We’d been playing for a while that morning, indulging in the luxury of an empty house and a rare day alone together, the children at nursery and our holidays aligning. It was relatively early in our D/s, maybe a year or so in, and we both still felt the frenzy and hunger to do it all. Cuiplash had carefully planned an elaborate and full scene, and we were already an hour or so into mixed impact play. I only knew how long it had been afterwards. 

I lay naked and face down on our bed, my arms stretched above my head like a diver, shielding my face as the flogger falls whipped across my upper back. Up and down the length of my body from the soles of my feet to my shoulders they landed, hypnotic in their rhythm as he threw a repeated figure of eight across my form. I can no longer remember exactly what else he had used or in what order, or at what point he stopped talking to me. But I do still remember the sound of the flogger hitting the floor, then the bedroom door opening and then closing as he walked out.

I lay still for a few seconds, assuming he’d gone to fetch something he’d forgotten, my ears straining to hear him as I expected his footfall on the carpet any moment. Nothing. I became concerned so I rose to my knees and waited. Still nothing. I was worried now so I called on him. Silence. Now, he’s not in the habit of suddenly leaving me alone during a scene having never done it before, or since, or into head fucking me this way. I called on him again, my voice betraying my rising panic.

He immediately returned and sat down next to me. “I’m sorry” was all he said. It was like a different man had walked back into the room. He appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders when not less than an hour previously he’d been entirely in charge. He looked broken, sad and lost. I remember my mind, still somewhat compromised from the intensity of our play, increasingly whirring with confusion and concern. I didn’t understand what had happened and I remember wanting to cry. 

He’d dropped. Hard. Unexpectedly and right in the middle of whipping me. He felt devastated he’d left me, disappointed in himself for being overcome with doubt over what he had spent the best part of an hour doing to hurt my body. His wife, his lover, his best friend and the mother of his children. He explained he’d suddenly felt so overwhelmed he had to leave the room to try and get a breath, and he felt so sorry for letting me down because he’d needed to do that. He could barely get his words out.

Selfishly, I’m ashamed to admit, my immediate gut instinct was that it had been my fault, that I had caused him to drop by doing something wrong. Or not doing something I should’ve done. Placing expectations on him, expecting something unrealistic, wanting this too much? Guilt over being the potential cause of his distress flooded my consciousness and I was aware of balancing on the edge of a massive emotional trigger event when he pulled me back. He took my face in his hands, demanded I look at him and spelled out that I was not to blame. He did not let go until I accepted that. 

We curled up together in silence, then began to talk it out. He’d been tired and was not feeling entirely well, he’d placed too much weight on remembering his overly complex plan. He’d focused intensely and physically exerted himself for too long and had experienced a sudden overwhelming cognitive dissonance over what he was doing. He’d felt an emotional and physical overload and had tried to do the ‘good’ thing, the ‘strong’ thing to push past it. And he’d simply crashed. 

He badly needed aftercare and I wrapped myself around him, and massaged and stroked and kissed and snuggled him. I got him a drink and a biscuit and kept him cosy. I told him I’d enjoyed what he’d done greatly, that it was what I’d needed and wanted and I held him so tightly. Together we replaced doubt with belief, concern with assurance, insecurity with confidence. I soothed and calmed and surrounded him with my love. We laughed and it helped to lighten the load. We cared for each other that afternoon. Under the covers we slowed everything down, we just talked and touched. Gently, our needs were met by just looking after each other. And that is what is most important under all the kinky fuckery, what enables the kinky fuckery to happen in the first place. He knew he was still my Dom, and I his sub and it was all ok, despite how devastating it had felt to both of us at the time.

He’s never dropped to that extent again since, although has absolutely experienced many instances of post play drop, as have I. We put a number of things in place to prevent something similar happening to him again. Time and experience has since helped us both too in terms of confidence, understanding and having realistic expectations of ourselves and each other. We no longer feel we need to rush and do it all, all at once, that our basic day to day love and care is often more than enough.

Dom/top drop is just as physically and emotionally exhausting as sub/bottom drop, and it is really important to know about this and recognise it for what it is when it happens. Drop doesn’t just happen when there’s a problem either, we’ve both experienced it after our most exhilarating and fulfilling scenes. It’s easy to suddenly view the Dom as some strong infallible being that is in perfect control of themselves and everything else around them, as that conveniently feeds the fantasy, but at the end of the day they are just your partner, your husband, and your best friend and holding them to some standard you can’t even meet yourself is unfair at best and damaging at worst. It is not weak to experience a perfectly natural and understandable physical and emotional reaction to play.

What will affect and work best for each person will be very individual of course. It’s easy to feel like it’s the end of the world at the time, easily giving rise to major setbacks in your dynamic, but as with all of it, communication and a lot of caring goes a long way. Some people make good use of a drop kit, and include things like a soft blanket, sweet snacks and music. Sometimes you both just need to be patient and kind to each other and yourselves and wait it out. We now know what it feels like, how to recognise it and how important it is to alert each other, in doing so we’ve learned what works best for ourselves and each other when and if drop strikes. 

What was an ‘abrupt end’ to a kinky play session became the beginning of a deeper understanding and appreciation, strengthening our D/s foundation in the process.

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#F4TFriday

Public Play

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I still remember the first time Cuiplash and I attended our local Torture Garden fetish event and I witnessed people playing in public. I felt excited and aroused, fascinated by their dynamics and scenes as floggers were thrown, spankings administered and bodies bound. I discovered then that not only did I experience a physical and emotional thrill in watching others, I felt a much deeper craving…and next time I wanted that to be us.

Later that year Cuiplash and I were able to return and agreed we would play in public for the first time. We headed to one of the dungeon spaces, toy bag in tow. I knew what was packed, but not what he had planned as not anticipating what is coming next during play both excites and quietens my head. We were both nervous, having never scened with an audience before, and also because this pushed our boundaries around exhibitionism and openly showing our D/s dynamic and our S&M to others. We had concerns about not ‘doing it right’ and being scrutinised by others and we were aware we were putting ourselves out there somewhat. I’m glad to say our concerns were not realised.

Stepping barefoot onto the St. Andrew’s Cross as Cuiplash secured my wrists with the heavy leather cuffs chained to the wood, my bare arse exposed to the gathered crowd, was a delicious cocktail of humiliation laced with glee. I remember shivering with anticipation of showing to a gathered crowd, for the first time, that I am his. That my submission belongs to him, and that I honour him as my Dominant. A push and pull of adrenaline and joy and pride. I was practically bouncing on my toes as Cuiplash led me through an intense and freeing impact scene. Experiencing a new level of trust and connection in our D/s combined with an awareness of ‘putting on a show’ fed our newly found appetite for public play and the seed was firmly sown.

We played a number of times that night, gaining confidence and enthusiasm as we used the different spanking benches and returned to the cross, exploring the potential of the wonderful BDSM furniture that allowed us more freedom in positioning and space than we are afforded at home. To stand bound and hold posture at a solid wooden cross felt very different to relaxing over a padded leather bench and his play exploited these nuances. We learned a lot by observing others, the toys and techniques used and it was interesting to watch how scenes and aftercare were conducted by others.

I would say that despite knowing we are being watched I find the space narrows to a focal point of just us, how he is touching me, what he is saying to me, how he is hurting and arousing me. Everything and everyone else expands outwards to the periphery of our awareness as we focus on the responses of each other. He has been tender and cruel, playful and serious, tolerant and uncompromising. I have had to admit out loud which implements of pain I want, admit I want more, count for him. This pushes pleasurable humiliation buttons for me, and he knows this. I’ve shown what my body can take, what gets me off and how he does it. I’ve been restrained to benches, crosses, pentangles, A-frames and, recently, a wonderfully hand crafted creation called the Scorpion.

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We have found that I react quite differently to public play than private play. I am usually able to take more, I think this is because I push myself harder, as does he. I want to please him, and to show that I am a good submissive and masochist to him to make him proud of me in that situation. There’s also definetly something about being fully dressed up to play, and knowing others are looking at us as we do. I slip easily into a giggly high subspace as we are playing, which amuses Cuiplash no end and makes for some fun scenes. My masochism dances with and pokes his sadism in a wonderful bubble of us, surrounded by the hypnotic beat of the music, observers and the sights and sounds of fellow players. It is utterly immersive and incredibly freeing.

I am grateful we have had opportunities to play together in public a number of times, primarily but not only at Torture Garden events, and including their infamous Halloween Ball in London where Cuiplash was able to push our D/s boundaries even further as laws around sex at events are different there. We made additional use of the couple’s room and chill out area and Cuiplash made me come in public as we watched others play sexually rather than just with impact and bondage as in the dungeon spaces. It was certainly an exhilarating and affirming experience to be so intimate and vulnerable, yet incredibly hedonistic!

We are travelling to Kinkfest in a couple of weeks and are very much looking forward to meeting new people, seeing friends, learning new things during the workshops and talks and to indulge both our voyeuristic and exhibitionist sides by playing together in public once more. Bouncing on my toes at the thought…