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.
It’s amazing how, when you enjoy your work – really enjoy your work – you get out of bed with a whole different energy on a Monday morning. When I worked as an administrative assistant for the NHS, I got out of bed with loathing for doing the same old routine, over and over again. Seeing Matt get up and sign in each morning, I can tell that he too doesn’t enjoy his work, either. By 6AM though, I was wide awake and eager to begin my day. 6AM is too early, or is it? Is 6AM too early to start my day? Can I log-in yet? Who decides? Oh, bother!
Even on my first formal day off, I hadn’t forgotten about the blog. Even on my day off, I still went through some of the British snacks and took pictures for tomorrow. I thought about posts, I thought about letters, I thought about a whole lot of stuff that I still need to do. Even on my day off, I hadn’t really relaxed and rested all that much. I did some of the things that I hadn’t said that I’d do and didn’t do half of the things that I said I would. Days off, it seems, will require a little bit of adjustment.
I’d love to say that the last few days have been fairly innocent, civilised and normal, except that they haven’t been, not on the grand scheme of things. It all started on Thursday evening, after my next water-only shower. No sooner than ‘week four‘ was up, I knew where I needed to be. I was hot, I stunk, I needed to freshen up and I needed to cool off.
I intentionally left the blind up, a practice that feels as daring as it does liberating. There’s something about the sun’s rays lighting up the bathroom that just enhance that “natural” experience for me. Yes, there’s always the chance that a neighbour (or a workman!) could pass by the window, but most often it’s just me and mother nature. It feels sexy and enlightening to shower this way and I can’t deny that it turns me on a little bit, too. What is life if not for doing the things that we enjoy?
If I’d wanted to string myself from the shower rail before, then this time, I wanted to monkey swing off of it. There was no denying the change in my mood – I felt good! I was happy and confident and stress was the very last thing on my mind. Yes, I decided, I really should do these soap-free showers a heck of a lot more often.
Outside of the bathroom, I noticed that the door seal hadn’t sprung a leak again, as it had done before. For some reason, I’d always managed to flood the bathroom floor which then seeps out into the hallway, so I wanted to put a door seal down as a way of at least reducing the carnage. My first effort was probably 80% successful – a good grip on the rubber upholstery strip. but absolutely no seal with the sealant. Not to worry, I decided, I’d add another line of sealant and blend it in again. 100% on the second attempt, no flooding the hallway whatsoever. Perfect!
I relaxed in front of the fan whilst wrapped in just my fluffy bath sheet. On such a warm day, there was no denying that it felt good. Simple pleasures, I decided, I’d get up, get dressed and do something else in a moment. But for now…
The problem for Matt and I is that, fresh out of the shower, it does wicked, wicked things to us both. He knows that I love the way he tastes fresh out of the shower and, it would appear, I make a tasty treat, too.
I’ve never been devoured in front of a fan before, but then, I supposed, there’s always a first for anything. It was undeniable – the feel of the cool air coursing across my skin and his warm tongue against my clean skin was more than enough to excite every nerve. Misbehaving with the window open and the curtains only partially drawn also felt daring, but then, I also didn’t mind running the risk. Come to think of it, I actually didn’t mind running it at all.
Friday was date night, or it should have been date night, except that we both agreed that it was too hot. Neither of us fancied spaghetti bolognese, or pasta, or much at all for that matter. I opted for making mozzarella-stuffed meatballs with a chunky tomato sauce, served simply with garlic bread. Sure, they looked a bit odd without the pasta, but under the circumstances then the garlic bread more than made up for it. It was enough without being too much – perfect when it’s 29 degrees outside.
Saturday started off in the same way that almost every Saturday morning does, usually between the sheets (although sometimes on top of them), sometimes it’s tender, and other times not quire as much.
Ever since opening up about my breeding kink, it’s been one of our most fun things to explore. It changed our whole relationship and ignited something in us that we didn’t know was there. The tender bits of our former Daddy Dom dynamic largely stayed, but there was something in Matt that changed. He’s more possessive, more primal and raw now and I, for one, absolutely loved it.
In the breeding kink, I’d come to accept my position, at least to him, in BDSM. Of course I still have rights and responsibilities and of course I still get to chill out on the sofa like nothing happened afterwards, but I’ve also readily accepted that it’s his pleasure before my own, that Sir cums where Sir wants to, that Sir can giveth and taketh away as he chooses, when he chooses and however he chooses, and that I should always be grateful. It wasn’t something I’d ever wanted before and it wasn’t something that I’d stepped into by choice and yet, with him, I’d just kept tumbling deeper and deeper into my submission.
“What am I for?” I whisper, my words are both a question and a plea. Fill me. Fertiise me. Breed me. I’m yours, Only ever yours.
“To breed” he growls. His words resonate from somewhere deep within me. Yes, yes! To breed.
I should add a little disclaimer here, because whlle the breeding and impregnation fantasy is great fun to explore, I do take the min-pill religiously and we don’t actually plan on having children. Fantasy is one thing, but parenthood is quite another!
“I’ll take care of myself now” I said casually.
“Will you now?” he challenged.
“After a wash, yes.”
“I don’t think you should wash first. Exactly as you are, a reminder that you’ve been bred.”
Oh really? So filthy! It’s hard to believe sometimes that this is the same innocent man that I corrupted. What happened? He outdoes even me! But no, that’s not happening. It’s just a little bit of a limit for me. Even if nothing else, I don’t like to dance around and run the risk of a UTI. Sex is fun, but sex is also rather messy.
I’m not usually one for douching, but this time I did it if only to spite him. He’d thrown down the gauntlet and, naturally, I picked it up. Avoiding a UTI was one thing, but I was undeniably even a little bit smug. I wasn’t just clean, I was extra clean!
I returned to the bedroom feeling remarkably clean and fresh, albeit also incredibly sexually frustrated. It needed sorting out, but it was a time-critical situation with my father-in-law now less that two hours away. I knew that I could also do something about it in almost no time at all – all I needed, really needed, was my ‘friend’.
Make no mistake, Matt’s good at what he does and I have no qualms about what it is that he does, it’s just that, sometimes, a girl still gets shy and insecure about sharing her thoughts and fantasies. Sometimes, “I want you to force me to cum” or “I want you to spank my clit” feels too hard to say. Sometimes, a girl just needs to be left to her own thoughts and imagination instead of trying to explain it. Most of it I’m pretty open about, but there’s always going to be one or two things.
I spent a time in a sulk and a mood with myself. I knew that sulking isn’t particularly mature and yet, for a time, neither did I care. I knew that I’d hurt Matt by turning him away, and that bothered me. Hurting him was the very last thing that I’d wanted to do.
I was loud, I know that I was loud, and I know that there was no way that he nor anyone within about a four-house area didn’t hear me. I tried to be quiet but, well, all of those repressed fantasies had to go somewhere!
I lay for a moment caught between relief, laughter and emotion. I knew that he’d heard me and that amused me, but I was also sad that it was like this. I know that I should do better and I knew that not communicating made me a bad submissive, but it was so damn hard. Somewhere deep down inside, a part of me also knows that I sort of shouldn’t want it either – I should be a respectful, respectable, kind, modest lady, not this. Not a wanton, reddened, breathless slut.
After clean-up, I laid in bed for a while and listened to Camilla Cabello’s Liar, again loud and also on repeat. For me, it made sense and it was about how I felt towards BDSM. I’d tried lately to seem casual about not playing, about not exploring, about not needing. I’d tried to not be bothered about not playing so often with Matt working from home and so as to help keep the pressure off of Matt, but this was as much a part of me as is my arm or my leg. No matter how much I try to pretend that I don’t want or need kink, I keep coming back here time and time again, it’s just a part of me.
Even if I shouldn’t like it.
Society has a perception of women who are sexually liberated, some might say it’s jealously, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt nonetheless. It doesn’t matter that we’re faithful, it doesn’t matter if we’re aware of risks, it doesn’t matter if we work hard in all other areas. If you’re having the best sex and you’re happy about it, you’re cheap and nasty. Just recently, I’ve been ghosted twice for what I do. It’s gotten to the point now where I’ve disclosed that I am a ‘sex & sexuality’ blogger, right off of the bat. I’m not going to compromise who I am or what I do because a few people would rather pretend that they were delivered by stork or a sprinkling of pixie dust. People fuck, deal with it – we’ve been doing it for centuries and that’s not about to change!
After Saturday’s antics, I managed to haul myself out of bed and make myself presentable enough to spend some time with my father-in-law. I’m fortunate enough that he doesn’t notice that I don’t wear nice tops and make-up anymore. These days, if I’ve brushed my hair then it’s been a good day. One of the nicest things I found about getting married is that my extended family are a bit more ‘life in the slow lane’. My mother likes to be in bed by 10PM and up by 7, and if you’ve not done something productive then it’s been a waste of a day. TV had to be good, clean, family fun, preferably with added educational value. Until Matt, I didn’t know or appreciate the value of streaming a series on Netflix, but now I do. I got to know comfortable clothing and the beauty of ‘doing nothing’. I learned to relax and I learned to have fun without having to achieve a goal. These days, he nor his Dad care if I’m wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, as long as I’m dressed, I’m comfortable and I’m happy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s easier on the Saturday’s when I see my father-in-law than it is on the days when I see my own Mum. As much as I love her, there isn’t a need to be doing something constructive, just a need to be.
Sunday should have been more chilled, and it was, at least in part. Not too long after exercising the dog, I was aware of particular feelings creeping up on me again. Dear God, when does it end? Can’t I have a day when I don’t think about sex? No, the answer was no by now, it would seem.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, sensing my frustration at something. I’d planned ten minutes to… regulate myself, and with him setting up the clothes dryer in the bedroom, I knew that wasn’t possible.
By now I was sure that if I were a man, I’d have been busting my flies. I get ungodly moody when I’m sexually frustrated, my internal monologue is snidey and, to be honest, completely corrupt. Everything becomes an inneundo for me – it’s just a lot easier for everyone if I don’t let it get that bad,
“Are you a type of H?” Matt pressed.
“Happy? Yes,” I replied, ducking out of the situation, “though I could be hopeful too, that’s another H-word…”
“Hmm, I think you’re another kind of H word…” he purred as he traced a finger down my spine. I involuntarily squirmed against his touch. Damn him.
We rested afterwards, my body once again succumbing to exhaustion. I napped against him for a couple of minutes and woke, peeking up at him and that beard that, by now, could definitely use a trim. For a moment, I realised that the way he looks when he’s asleep would be the same as he would look if he were dead. I shook that thought from my mind. No Aragog, I won’t let you upset me.
Whilst making some lunch, we talked in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge/dining room.
“I knew it!” Matt shouted, I startled a little. You knew what? Not much, maybe? No, mustn’t say that.
“This lady,” Matt said, showing me a TikTok video om his phone, “there’s something about her and when you look…”. He scrolled down and pointed out an OnlyFans link with his thumb.
“Some people do that” I offered with a shrug. “Not me personally, but to each his or her own.”
“Apparently she wants to peg a submissive boyfriend.”
“And? What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know.”
For the moment, I thought that was the conversation over, but apparently I was wrong.
“It just seems unnatural to me” Matt said, leaning against the worktop and watching me.
Part of me wanted to jump up and hug him but I refrained, I was enjoying interrogating him far too much. For Matt and I, men are naturally alpha and that was also the way of our relationship. Still though, I wanted to keep the pressure on for at least a little bit longer. Why so judgey?
“It’s natural for some people, for some women. Try it sometime, maybe?” I smiled as I brushed his cheek.
He walked his fingers up to my throat and squeezed gently, the look on his face told me all that I needed to know as I gasped and sighed softly under his grip.
“That ain’t happening, sweet cheeks” he laughed.