The recovery of tenderness

I believe that people come into your life to teach you different things - maybe lovers even more so than friends. Or maybe "teach" isn't the right word - it's not as though it isn't all there already in you. Maybe "bring out in you" or "remind you" would be the better terminology. 

Yesterday, I was helped to retrieve my own tenderness - some deeply intimate, sensual, delicate, delightful, exploratory quality that's so very much part of me, but that doesn't see the light of day in my sexuality as often as it should. It made me pause for a fraction of a second and think "Oh!". "Oh, THAT is there too. What ever happened to THAT? How could I have forgotten?" But I didn't pause for long. Instead my teeth resumed their cheeky little pull on my lover's ear, before my lips wandered down to journey up the most beautifully swung collarbone in the world. How could I have forgotten?

But then I know, I really know. Lovers of late have not brought this out in me and slut-girl, well - slut-girl has just been wild and dirty and messy and rough so much of the time, never quite sure where and when moments of tenderness were actually allowed. Warmth and comfort with my husband yes, but spine-tingling, slow-burning sensuality all for it's own sake? I'm not sure I have ever actually experienced that quite like this. So today I am touched, I'm enriched, I'm a better lover and this good-slut-one-girl-being is just a little more whole than yesterday. Danke Dir!

BJ-gate - one controversial slut

I might be a dirty slut these days, but if there's one thing I rarely do, then it's to stick my neck out. I'm still far too keen to please people most of the time. On this occasion I decided to do otherwise and managed to stumble into much more controversy than I was expecting. Actually it all started with one of the simplest things in the world - a cock!

My friends (those of Fetish night defloration infamy) had invited me to go to a local fetish night with them. I had been horny as hell for days and the chance to play dirty and not have to travel to the capital for it sounded fantastic. However, I was aware that the venue was basically a pub and that charging people for events where they will then have sex, may legally constitute running a brothel. But apparently my friends had checked with the organiser and had, somewhat to my surprise, been told that sex was ok. We were all pretty excited to get there, especially my friend, one evil white winged angel with a whip in one arm and a vampy black-clad sub girl in the other. The venue was pretty small - one big St.Andrew's cross in the extended bar area and some spanking benches behind some curtains. The crowd was predominantly over 50, clad variously in rubber, PVC or leather, but with a good few people simply in black jeans or combats. If I'm completely honest - if you'd ignored the PVC and the 6 foot crouching rubber-clad dog man, you'd have thought you were sitting down with a regular older pub crowd. An erotic frisson there certainly wasn't. I didn't think this boded well and confirmed my expectations of a non-swinging local fetish night, but we settled down for a drink anyway, hoping for some action to happen before long.

I don't know if you've got the flavour of my friend by now, but you should know that he is always one of the first to play. He seems always horny and always up for it - literally. Perhaps it didn't help that he'd eventually read "Fetish night defloration" a couple of days previous and that my description of his "belly-wrenching monster" made him feel a little full of himself. He was sitting behind us with his big hard cock trying to escape from the superman pants. It was doing its work on my filthy mind too - it's such a beautiful cock to be fucked with and my friend's enthusiasm is totally infectious. Ah, and you know just how much I love to be led astray, especially if it's into breaking some unspoken rule. I tried to be firm and say that I certainly wasn't going to play until somebody else was at least doing some BDSM play, but he had no patience at all and under his hands in my dress my resistance was softening too. I wasn't even drinking, but my "ah, fuck it!" attitude became pretty pervasive. Before long, my breasts were out of the dress, the tight PVC dress pushed up my hips and he was kneeling in front of me, delightfully licking my pussy. People with their pints sneaked some subtle glances over their shoulders, chuckled and carried on drinking. It was pretty apparent to me that this didn't EVER normally happen, no matter what we'd been told. But seriously - you think by the time someone is licking my cunt so beautifully, I still really care that much? There was also the little devil in my mind that wanted to introduce a bit of energy into the room, hoping it would get people a bit stirred up. That's certainly what would have happened where we normally go. After a little while we switched over and I took his hard cock into my mouth, He grabbed my hair and pushed deep. I worked him for a while, my eyes watering with the effort. It was fun, but actually, it also felt weird - so after a few minutes we left it and got straightened up. He really, really did want to fuck me - and hell, so did I, but this just felt badly wrong, like putting on a sex show in your neighbourhood pub. We sat back down, still hoping for something to happen. Other than somebody coming around with free chips and one older woman being gently and silently flogged, nothing did happen. I found this so unerotic and frustrating, some little part of me did want my friend to fuck my arse hard and fast, so I could scream the place down. With what happened subsequently though, I'm glad I didn't. Eventually we gave up and left by around midnight.

Normally, I would have just put it down to experience and not gone back. But I thought given that I was new enough to fetlife, one of the kinky social networking sites, I'd actually leave some feedback. I essentially said that despite the organiser's claims I found there too little play to be going on and I'd never felt like such a pervert for giving someone a simple blow-job. Oh dear! The organiser did the right thing and opened up a discussion about whether or not people did or did not want to see sex at that particular event. In fairness, most people (except a few people who obviously found public sex acts offensive) had some pretty good reasons why it wasn't a good idea in that venue, but it certainly confirmed my impression that this just doesn't normally happen. It just goes to show that the kind of acts you eventually consider to be harmless or normal in non-vanilla company, aren't necessarily perceived as such. Each community comes with its own set of rules and conventions and perhaps pure Dionysian frenzy where anything goes isn't actually wanted or desired. And yes, before you may snap at me, I heard all that was said about legality, closing down venues for overstepping the mark, people wandering in, the space being to small for people to have a choice about whether to get involved in a scene or not etc, etc. All true, all valid. I also concede that I really don't actually understand non-sexual BDSM. However, it's been my experience time and time again, even in swinger's clubs, that so many people dissociate from the sex act in some way. They don't want to get swept up by the eroticism or their basic animal passion and be seen to do so. It's not safe, it's not nice. I'm sure many people don't even manage it in private. Myself, arrogant, show-off slut that I am - I aim for nothing less - ever. I don't always get there, but I sure as hell will try.

A perfect moment

We took the glass lift back down into the hotel lobby. It was now 3.30 in the morning. Somehow the glorious threesome that I had had in mind had gone badly awry. I still fail to see how one hunky guy and two beautiful naked women in a penthouse suite overlooking St.Paul's cathedral did not translate into mind-blowing sex, but leaving had been the best thing Banshee and I could do under the circumstances. I was just tired now and confused and faintly embarrassed.

We were halfway across the lobby, when she stopped me.
"Hang on a moment!"
I must have looked vaguely uncomfortable, but she held on to my arm which was hooked under hers. She turned me, lifted her face up to mine and fastened her fierce lips on my mouth. My lips opened under hers and her teeth nipped at my bottom lip, as she held me for what felt like an age.
When she let go of me, she looked into my eyes, still holding my hand. I made a move to go, but she still held me on the spot.
"Just take it in for a second," she said."You belong here. I know you don't believe it, but you do belong here. Just take a look around and take it in."
I lifted my head and looked around: behind me the night porter was busying himself behind the reception, in front of me the last few revellers were enjoying their drinks in the overpriced hotel bar. The big glass front of the hotel reflected a multitude of sparkling lights and the illuminated outline of St. Paul's was clearly visible outside. It was a beautiful sight, a beautiful sight in a very surreal moment. Finally, I paused in myself and took it in. She kissed me again then, long and hard. I was aware of the people around us, but I kissed her back proudly. We both smiled, wrapped our arms around each other and left.

A slut's kit bag

Mmmm, so what would be the essential ingredients in a slut's kit bag for a Saturday night out???

Tying up equipment:

• Leather collar & handcuffs for sheer erotic appeal
• Bondage tape for practicality
• Open mouth gag, because I'm feeling daring and have not been a disgusting saliva covered mess for far too long

Pleasure equipment:

• Favourite glass dildo - beautiful, always good to have and can torture my banshee friend with it on Sunday afternoon; at least one other dildo or butt plug for DP insertion option
• Evil anal beads, guaranteed to make me go through the roof. They also feel good to neighbouring cocks or so I'm told.
• Silver bullet for cheeky stimulation
• Brand new shocking Magic Wand Massager??? Downside - very, very loud, huge, heavy. Upside - unbearable vibration, near forced orgasms, the expression on banshee's face. The last point I think settles it.
• Lots of lube, lots of condoms

Pain equipment:

• I don't own any! I don't provide my own whips or paddles ;-)

Lingerie (not in the kit bag but on my body):

• Dark red silk moulin rouge style bra and matching G-string
• Consider matching suspenders and stockings, outfit-dependent (you've got to give a girl some time to dither over that)
• Alternative to change into: black leather bare-arsed spank skirt and black gauze breast revealing shoulder wrap, corset on request

Must get a bigger bag!!!!

Submissive opportunities

Since my regular dom disappeared from my life with a bang back in February I haven’t really felt like playing one-on-one with anyone. Casual club play or group constellations were fine, but not becoming one man’s slut. There were just too many painful associations – and always that ounce of fear that nothing would ever be as good ever again. But ever so slowly I’ve been getting there and now I’m ready – more than ready actually. Maybe “hungry” is the best word - hungry for new experiences, for excitement and for creeping up on some boundaries! I don’t know if you believe in this stuff, but it seems to me that once you’re open to something, opportunities will arise. Well, this week I’ve been swamped by opportunities. Intriguing dominant males have been coming out of the woodwork all over the place.

My naughty friend is extraordinarily keen to have sex in public – preferably in my favourite local sex shop, which would get us both barred!!! Beautiful banshee has offered to share her current dom who’s more than keen on having two sluts at his disposal. There’s been an enquiry on Fetlife and a VERY intriguing enquiry on Swinging Heaven. The latter was simply entitled “read me” and invited me to a hotel room one evening next week. I was to wear nothing but lingerie under my coat. I would be tied, made to taste the mystery enquirer and then my slutty tastes would be met. I picked up the message just before going to bed and I’ve not had this much trouble going to sleep in a long time. Mmmm, so bad! And so unsafe! So regrettably I had to ask some more questions first.

But the one that’s really got my juices going is one that’s been developing over the past few days. Here’s somebody who clearly understands the importance of pre-session build-up and someone who’s picking up very fast on how I tick. So I’m excited! I’ve not been this excited for some time. I’ve not met him and only exchanged photos and a couple of messages, when I picked up an email from him with the following instructions yesterday:

“What I want you to do for me, is to go into the bathroom at your work. Take a photo of your face, your breast and your pussy on your phone and send it now… I will give you some more orders in the coming days…”

Did I do it? What do you think? Of course I did!!! It took me ages, half drained my phone battery, used up an inordinate amount of work time, but did it ever make me happy! All these lovely guys do of course have one thing in common, the one thing that’s going to press my buttons in just the right way – they are making me do “bad things”! And I’m loving it!!! Böses, böses Mädchen!

My first PVC dress

Other than frilly burlesque, Fetishwear has never really appealed to me that much. Plus the thought of getting sweaty under rubber or PVC just didn't seem that sexy to me. But you know, when in Rome... But ultimately, I think it was whipping Banshee's sweet pale arse encased in shiny black PVC last Sunday that swayed me in the end. Whatever it was, come Monday morning, I'd been shopping. I received the first half of the delivery - a pair of bare-arsed leather chaps and a posing pouch for my man - yesterday morning. He was liking them so much that he wouldn't take them off. Which would have been fine, except that apparently he's now Banshee's "bitch" (her words not mine) and I'm not allowed to spank him. Cruel! This morning, part 2 of the delivery arrived: my kinky "lockable PVC Vampire style dress". And actually - I'm loving it! Apparently I now look like a mistress rather than a sub. With my stern German features it doesn't really take much to make me look a little scary. In this instance we'll work under the assumption that scary is good! 

Real life adventures: Dirty talk (epilogue)

Back in the car I settled into the passenger seat. It was 3 in the morning and it had been a pretty successful night. Sure, I hadn't been tied to a post and been pleasured and hurt by half a dozen people, but it would be more than a little greedy to expect that every time. Just one thing was still niggling me - the lack of an orgasm. Whilst I can cum pretty easily by myself or with a dedicated, familiar lover, in more complex or novel scenarios there is usually too much going on for me to even try. Add even a pinch of performance anxiety and you may as well forget about my orgasm. So I don't stress about it, but at the end of a big turn on night, I appreciate some kind of conclusion. So I did what I frequently do on the drive home from a club: I placed my feet on the dash board, grabbed my trusty bottle of lube and started stroking my clit. I let my mind drift off to words, sounds and images of the night. Still, I was struggling a little - caught somewhere between tiredness and the urge to cum. So I decided to talk to my husband.

"Was I bad tonight?"