Disclaimer: This post mentions topics involving sexual activity and consensual sexual violence. Not suitable for individuals under eighteen years of age. Reader discretion is advised.
Contains some strong language.
“Hey, no peeking!” I chastised. I caught him reading my last blog post almost no sooner than I had published it.
“Why not?” Matt replied coolly, “you’re my wife, and my submissive.” He’s right of course; I am, and I am, it’s just quite a bizarre feeling to see your work being read right in front of you, that’s all.
I didn’t have much else to say at that point, though I was taken aback by his words. His submissive. Of course I am, how could I ever forget?
I allowed my lips to over over his for a moment, my messy hair softly sweeping his face. This wasn’t over, and he knew that this wasn’t over, it’s just that I didn’t know what more to say.
Yesterday, pure anarchy descended on the blog, My Business plan had expired and I couldn’t downgrade without talking to a Happiness Engineer in the process. I had nothing against them, I just wished that it was as simple as clicking a button and checking out. Of course, it would be a fine thing if life were ever that simple.
I was asked if I wanted to back up my files, and of course I opted for ‘yes’. Ten minutes later and it seemed as though my blog had been reverted eighteen months.
My old logo and name – Big, Bold & Bright – were back. I’d almost regretted buying that name now, it feels a little too ‘out there’ for me, even if it felt perfect at the time. I quickly scurried it away, replacing it with everything to do with Kinky With A Twist. Even if one sounds like a tooth whitening company and the other sounds like a hair stylist for ladies with kinky hair, I liked this one better. To me, it sounds curious, playful and fun.
Over the day, my old blog posts returned and I was able to breathe a heavy sigh of relief. I’d imagined the workload that was a ahead of me as I restored my blog, and I was delighted to see that it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes it feels very start and stop with blogging, in fact, no, it feels very start and stop with life. It seems, any time you make progress in one area, there is always guaranteed to be something else around the corner, just waiting to trip you up. It sounds pessimistic to say, but it’s usually a fact of life. I think, what matters is not what’s waiting for you, but rather how you handle it. Do you take a moment to think about it but then take a hold of the challenge, or do you moan, scream and give up? A few expletives and a sigh, I can proudly say that I’m much more of the former. I’d already made a plan to organise everything little by little each day, so I was thankful to see that WordPress had me covered.
Yesterday, my arm started to sting a little more, almost akin to the way it does when we get bloods drawn. I groaned a little, but to be honest, I didn’t mind it at all. It felt sick and twisted, good, but in a bad way. Of course I don’t like or enjoy anything to do with animals (unless of course it’s walking them or playing games with them), but I wasn’t adverse to a little pain. Every now and then the euphoria set in and it was blissful. Kinky, in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, we haven’t played in too long and to be honest, I think my body was just willing to take whatever it could get. I don’t like heavy pain, but a little pain? Tasty.
Last night, we entertained Matt’s Dad again. For whatever reason, whenever he’s here, our dynamic is lowkey on in the background. We exchange knowing looks, playful exchanges and hidden connotations. I challenge Matt, and he pushes me back: You know I can’t do anything. Behave.
Yesterday, I had to divert what was narrowly a catastrophic situation and could have exposed our antics. As I busied potting up an aloe vera “pup” for him to take home, my father-in-law asked if he could make himself another cup of tea.
“Yes, of course!” I replied, “you know you don’t need to ask if you’d like another one. Would you like me to make it?”. We always make sure that our guests have something to eat and drink, but once family and friends are comfortable, we’re generally pretty open-house. Don’t go in the bedroom though, and don’t cook up a feast in our kitchen without asking first. If you’re coming for dinner, it’s us who does the cooking, not our visitors.
“I got it, you’re busy” he said. I shrugged it off, as long as he’s happy.
“Does it matter which mug I use?” Shit! Kinda.
In his hand, he had old of Matt’s Anne Stokes “The Protector” mug, a design which we’d very much fallen in love with and was meaningful in our dynamic. On the grand scheme of things though, it could be worse, much worse.
At the very back of the shelf are two other mugs, both mugs which I’d purchased, and both which belong to Matt. On one reads the message “who needs hearts and flowers when you have handcuffs and silver balls?”, and the other, which I bought having been told that anything that mentions handcuffs was not appropriate for family occasions, simply reads “breed me, please?”. Of course. I absolutely could have been sensible, but such an opportunity was simply too good to pass up.
Crisis averted, I returned to potting up the aloe.
By nightfall, I slinked into bed and settled myself down for some Youtube shorts. I know that I should stop watching them, a lot of them are the “did you know?” types that may or may not be entirely factual in the name of views. Just because I shouldn’t watch them into the early hours though, doesn’t mean that I don’t.
Last night was hot, and to be honest, I had no shame in sleeping in nothing but my smalls, fan on and with the duvet off of me. The cool breeze on my skin was sensual, and after a while, it encouraged… things.
Maybe he’s gone to sleep? It’s 2AM, maybe I can…?
No such luck, pulling my earphones from my ears, I heard Matt crashing around in the kitchen. Still, I supposed, if he’s not too drunk, maybe I can encourage… other things.
No such luck on that front, either. Now what?
I stared at the ceiling for a while, comtemplating how the heck I was going ot now get to sleep at what, it must be getting on towards 4AM? I wanted him, he didn’t want me, but he was also wide awake. Now neither of us can sleep, and to be honest, I’d sleep sound if I could at least take care of things!
When I’m sexually frustrated, for whatever reason, one of my favourite things to do is to stare out of the bedroom window and watch the night-world go by. My side of the bed is closest to the window, and I can sit on the end of the bed and watch the street with ease. It’s not that I’ve ever seen much interesting, mind you, apart from some residents at the end of the street, taking out there bins in the early hours of the morning. I smiled to myself weakly in the moment – at least I wasn’t the only one wide awake. I also strive not to sink into my thoughts and feelings but rather to distract myself from them. Self-pity won’t get me very far. Instead, I distract myself from the tension and frustration for so long as it takes it to go away, and then I sleep.
Last night, far from my frustrations, I thought about my blog and now, Youtube. I’d started off as a nobody, and already within 48 hours of having my Youtube channel set up, I already have my first subscriber. My concern wasn’t so much if it will take off, but rather, where it will end? I’d been raised a nobody, a nothing, a mere existence on this planet. My brother, a small-scale actor, singer and didgeridoo player, was far more popular than me. I was used to slinking into the background, I was used to being ignored and not listened to, and so I didn’t think that I had anything interesting to say. All of a sudden, people are liking what I write and liking what I had to share. From not trying to be popular, I was seemingly somewhat popular anyway. It just left me with just one question: Why me?
As daft as it sounds, I imagined having a ‘Red Button’ turn up, and to be honest, I found the idea almost daunting. Where would I put it? What would I do with it? It just wasn’t something that I aspired to have. I write my story and I shared my stuff because I didn’t know if anyone would care, but they did and somehow, it even makes me a little bit popular and liked. I almost didn’t want fame and yet, I feared, by not wanting fame, I was somehow pushing myself closer to it anyway. It’s scary, emotional, and strange. I’m not trying to be famous!
This morning, my frustrations hadn’t gone away. This morning, those feelings were back just as strong as they had been the night before and this morning, I was going to act upon them.
“Hey, Daddy” I called, sitting up in bed and locking Matt in my gaze from across the room. “It’s too bad you’re working, I’m just saying.”
“And why’s that?” he asked, trying his best to appear naïve.
“Why do you think?” I teased, and skipped off to complete my morning bathroom routine.
On my return, I pulled some clean underwear from my wardrobe and returned to the bed to get changed. In lockdown, we had to divide our bedroom in two to make room for Matt to work, and so dressing typically happens at ‘the bed end’.
“Hey, Daddy” I said huskily, sliding my sleepwear off, “you know that there isn’t a stitch on me right now?”
“Keep teasing, and I’ll leave you very tired for the day ahead” he warned.
Seeing him rise from his seat, I quickly pulled on my clean underwear and wriggled them up.
“But now there is!” I giggled. For someone with limited mobility, then just sometimes, I can be surprisingly agile.
A joke from Matt this lunchtime…
There’s an interesting recipe for holy water, you just have to boil the hell out of it.
(I don’t get paid enough for this.)