Dust Bunny

As a new found lover of Sinful Sunday I was excited to see the competition from Exhibit A: taking an image from the submissions for Sinful Sunday and using it as inspiration for a written piece. My image inspiration can be found here, from Cammies on the Floor and what a lovely image it is. My first time writing fiction in years, here is my rusty comeback.


“Oh Daddy!” the voice was sweet and playful as she sprawled herself out onto the grass, elbows giving way, landing with a thud. Back twitching from the impact, she listened. A neighbour to her left fighting wet laundry onto the line – thankfully hidden from view by overgrown, cascading butterfly bushes – sent the fresh smell of mint and tea-tree. But her thoughts were miles from the mountain of laundry awaiting her.


Tiny feathers brushed up the outside of her thigh and to the  of her waist, the grass prickling her naked ass and tickling her lower back. It wasn’t fair – him keeping her waiting like this – and she was beginning to wish for the picnic blanket, still in its plastic packaging. They weren’t the picnic going type.


The last official day of spring, there was no chill in the air as she laid in the sun. But she knew that if he chose to leave her out there into the evening, she would be shivering.


But why wait? She could make herself shiver perfectly well and it would be far more enjoyable her way.


Nipples hardening beneath the feathers, she wondered momentarily if He had heard her. Perhaps not? Maybe she could call again? Maybe she should give up, get and go find Him. But those ideas were silly and were tossed from her mind as His words repeated in her mind. Patience. That’s all she needed.


A cute little tickle to her cheek made her smile but it was the test swat with the handle to the pale skin just above her nipple that brought the real happiness. The excitement.


The written rule was a primal ‘obey’ that reminded her of cavemen and those wearing that stupid hat. Twats, she thought. But they had other rules, too. Unspoken, long standing rules which she knew better than to break on the sly. No toilet breaks without permission. No letting the cat out during the day. It was known to fight with dogs so they avoided peak walking hourslike the plague and yet, in her haste to set her tits free in the open air, the door had been left open. The pompous walking cloud of a cat was found sat, basking in the sun as if it were a lizard.

“You let the pussy out.” She heard him before she saw him and once he came close she looked between him and the damn cat. One step towards it was all it took for him to get the cats attention and it legged it, under the bush, between fence posts and away.


Unphased, he rolled his shoulders and set his attention onto her by his feet. “A guy can make do with just one pussy. And this one is all out and ready, huh?”


She wanted to be fucked hard.


“What do you want? Out here, all alone with a bloody feather duster. You have some cobwebs that need busting?”


“I want to be fucked. By you. Please.”


“I’m afraid I don’t have enough details. You went to so much trouble taking your clothes off and dumping yourself amongst the dandelions. Do tell me how I can make you feel special and where the hell you left your clothes. The neighbours might see from their upstairs window-”’


“I already told you!” Reaching over, tapping his calf with the tickler, she whined and snorted. Attractive. Speaking of her wants so bluntly left her awkward. Shy and red in the face, she hated the way he stared down at her so intently. She looked away only to feel his foot press into her cheek, forcing her head back to its previous position slowly.


“I’m up here and still waiting.”


“And I was here, kept waiting!” She knew, even as the words left her mouth, she was speaking out of turn. “I want you to fuck me hard.”


“Oh. And you think that type of answer will get you what you want?”


“I want you to pick me up, throw me into tulips and fuck me. I want to be on my knees with you pounding me, slamming into my red, stinging ass as you keep my back against your chest, your fingertips digging into my scalp, your fist full of my hair. I want you to press my head down into the soil and battered flowers, your hand on my cheek, your thumb hooked in my mouth. But what I really want right now is to take this,” she waved the tickler around, beating the air. “and shove it up your fucking arse.”


“Nice. Time to go inside.” Crouching down, the tickler was snatched from her hand, fingers left grasping at air.


“That’s mine!”


“You don’t need it anymore. Playtime is over.” He grabbed her still dangling wrist, kissed the back of her fingers and yanked hard. Once she was on her knees, staring up at him in confusion, he turned and walked back toward the door, never letting her go.


“Flowers aren’t this way!” She wasn’t aware that playtime had even begun, nevermind ended.


He shook his head, “No, but your fucking is.”

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” On her hands and knees, she had only made it a little beyond the stairs, head in their bedroom, ass and grass stained feet on the cheap laminate of the hallway. Her wrist, red and stiff from the way he’d dragged her, didn’t matter anymore as she wiggled her ass and squinted over her shoulder into the harsh white light. He never used nice light bulbs.


“I am.”


And it was true. What she had meant to ask was why he wasn’t doing what she wanted him to. His hands were never coming close to leaving her skin, kneading the plump area of her thighs, just beneath her ass. A deep roll of thumbs proved his point and had her wavering.


It didn’t hurt. Not like the pussy slap that followed. That stung like a bitch and had her squeezing her eyes shut and snorting through her nose.


She couldn’t stand the waiting. Forever waiting for permission to piss or change the channel. Forever waiting to be told she could cum. But she hated pussy slapping most of all.


Full Circle



I almost didn’t do this. There were tears and an attempt at retaking it so that I would be happier. But now I don’t care so much. It’s not what I see as perfect but that’s the point. We go back to this tie over and over but perfection is not needed. It’s not the point. We have fun. We feel connected. We may have gone full circle with our bondage, but that doesn’t mark the end. We will still grow and learn and enjoy it.

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

TMI Tuesday – 29,04,2014


1. For me, it was the best sex I’ve had in a long time.

2. That idiot cashier who runs away when she sees a queue at my local supermarket.

3. Behind the tree there is a bumblebee!

4. Writing is something I always wanted to do.

5. When it was over, I was finally free and did everything I had previously not been allowed to.

6. Tonight I’m looking forward to having sex with Him, followed by sleeping beside Him .



TMI Tuesday blog

Yes or No? Shower Sex




Yes or No is my new weekly series. Every Monday we will explore sexual situations and see what makes them so great and why they aren’t for everyone. First up is shower sex.


When we’re looking to take sex out of the bedroom, an obvious option is to fuck in the shower. But the idea divides people. Lover or hater of some steaming, wet sex (with possible slip accidents), here are the pros and cons of getting it on in the shower.


  • Yes for period sex. It’s seen as cleaner in general, especially when it comes to easy clean up at the end and at any point during. Upright sex will leave gravity in charge of flow but when you can wash it away and never see it again, who cares?


  • Yes for the warmth. Chilly and horny? Fuck in the shower. The steam and heat also act as a relaxant.


  • Yes for time saving. Always short on time, we often have to choose to do something, losing out on the other. Fucking in the shower means there’s little to no down time between cumming and scrubbing.


  • Yes for the chance to focus. The sound of the water is distinct and loud, working well to block out neighbors slamming doors and your own thoughts.


  • Yes for outside the bedroom. We have many ways to keep sex new and exciting but taking our asses out of the bed is the easiest and cheapest.


  • Yes for water play. We stumbled upon this accidentally and it’s amazing for my sub space. On my hands and knees, head under the spray, my senses are bombarded. All I hear is water. The primary feeling is  the spray on my head and back, water pouring down my face and hair sticking to my forehead and neck. I can see only the floor, where my hair swirls slowly in the water around my fingers. It makes my mind quiet and my body come alive. Orgasms are always strong for me this way.


  • Yes for taking your breath away. Shoving your head under the harsh spray of the shower takes your breath away. It makes me shudder from head to toe and gasp for air. An incredibly mild form of breath play, but pretty safe and very fun.


  • Yes for masochistic excitement. Hard floors and hard walls. If you cum hard from your head banging into a wall and bruised knees, you’re in luck.


  • No for tired times. The shower isn’t the best place for sleepy, exhausted sex. The positions can be taxing and it can make you a little too sleepy.


  • No for bruised knees. I like bruised knees and show them off with pride but we all have different jobs. If you don’t want bruised knees, stay on your feet. You could put a folded up towel on the floor but know it’s going to end up soaked.


  • No messy bathrooms. Kids stuff, toiletries, bleach. Those things might not turn you on. If they don’t then tidy up or shove them in the sink where you won’t be able to see them.


  • No for bad sub space location. Once sex is done with, if you’re in sub space it can be awkward and unnerving. It’s easy to get cold fast and the floor being slippery means if you need help getting up, it can get dangerous. Play with care.


  • No for extra lube. Shower sex is better with lube. Water messes with lube. We have a choice of either pure water based or water and silicone mix and neither of them handle the spray well. It can be done, but positioning and extra lube help.


Shower sex, yes or no? Do you stay on your feet or get down and dirty on the floor?

to say hi and see more!

Bad Body Days


Sometimes I feel fat.


Sometimes I hate my body in general and I know that many people feel this way from time to time. This self hatred that I have for myself affects me severely. I don’t want to write, be touched, fuss over my appearance. I hate choosing clothes – nothing looks good enough – and can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror.


How I look from day to day is affected by many things. Sleep is a big deal for me. I’m not one of those people who can have five hours. I have a variety of sleep disturbances pretty often including waking many times a night, being unable to hit deep sleep and simply insomnia. This lack of quality sleep makes me look like I’ve been partying pretty damn hard for seven days. It makes my thinking and movements slow. It puts me in a grumpy haze.


My IBS also contributes to my body confidence issues. Bloating that comes on suddenly and lingers regardless of what I do, aching and general discomfort do not make me feel pretty or sexy.


This is part of something deeper for me which is depression. Almost four years ago I was diagnosed with anorexia and I’m yet to shake that disordered way of thinking.


The guilt doesn’t go as quickly as the weight comes back.


It’s reassurance I need. Over some of the strangest things, it’s a constant requirement. We were driving along and suddenly I didn’t know where to go. I knew the area. I knew the places we were meant to be going at that point but I couldn’t make the choice myself. I needed him to do it. I needed Him to take over and make that choice for me not because I couldn’t myself. I needed the reassurance that where we were going was okay with Him.


I needed to be told I was doing okay.


Once I had been told where to go and parked the car, the realization I was feeling low set in. I was sad and I was tired.


Finally, an hour later something happened, forcing me to slow the fuck down – I trapped a nerve in my damn ass.

The Loyal Submissive


My pride and joy.


I see loyalty being fussed over on Fetlife. It’s something the vast majority of us look for in a partner or friend. It’s a trait that people see as good, yet I have seen it work against them. It stole years of my life and resulted in abuse.


Being able to honestly (and being honest is great) say that you are a loyal person, be that loyal to you partner, your friends, your family or your tutu wearing chihuahua, will get you in peoples good graces. No one really wants someone around for long that isn’t loyal.


My personal experience didn’t bring about the idea to write this but it’s a good example of how loyalty can screw us over. My ex was my first proper boyfriend. I was young and thought he would give me the world, mainly because he was the first person to show interest in me and I met him when I was going through the height of being bullied in school. He was abusive physically.


I felt guilt. Shame. It was my fault. It had to be.


But what pushed me to the edge multiple times was his emotional abuse. It started as soon as we were married when I was 18 but it became frequent when I was pregnant. I stayed with him through it. I stayed with him because I believed it was the right thing to do. Surrounded by disloyal people, I thought I knew what a good wife did.


I stayed with him after a year long bout of post natal psychosis because I thought I my strength came from him. He had helped me through it and everyone was telling me that an average man would have left. I believed huge, horrible lies which brought us to a country where I knew no one. He led me into isolation so that he could abuse me freely and trample me down into a doormat. And I remained because I was loyal. That loyalty left me blind and for so long I didn’t want to see reality.


When I allowed myself to see the truth I wasn’t prepared for what was to come. The names I was called aren’t worth repeating but the theme was strong. I was wrong. I was bad. I was disloyal.


A friend of mine, a male submissive, worries about looking disloyal. Yet he is the most loyal person I have met online thus far. He fights to stay with his wife when she tells him she will not – cannot – give him what he needs. He seems to struggle with the idea that his desires and interests are okay. He speaks of being willing to give up learning about himself, give up who he is, in order to stay by her side.


I wasn’t prepared to do this in the end. There is no single answer for everyone and, though it bothers me to see someone contemplate throwing away who they could be, it’s not my choice. The places we  can go with submission are endless, but they are not for everyone.


The last time I spoke with my friend, he was giving himself a few days to decide whether he would walk away for a while. From researching submission, from FetLife, and thus from talking to me. Selfishly I hope he stays around but ultimately all I want is for him to be happy with who he is, whoever that may be.

Have you lost friends because of their loyalty? And when is loyalty a tad overrated?