Groupie

Princess and I are basically opposites in every way except one crucial one. Both being sluts, we were obsessed with the groupie lifestyle when we were teenagers. I suspect this was a bit of a chicken and egg situation. I don’t know if being a born slut made me seek this stuff out or if coming across it made me a slut but unlike chicken and eggs, you can combine both to enhance your enjoyment.

Sadly neither Princess or I grew up anywhere with access to being a proper groupie (although my first ever email address did have a reference to wanting to as I drunkenly allowed a friend to pick it for me and she clearly knew me well.)

Princess stuck to reading Pamela des Barres’ book along with listening to the music of those who had the pick of those notorious groupies. And clearly she had better taste in sexual fantasies than my teenage interests in tight trousered, big haired LA cock rockers because she neither regrets her early email addresses or her sexual awakenings.

These days I’d probably decline my chances with some of the men I dreamed of back then (debauchery means most haven’t aged well) but my original fantasy has never got old. I’d still get down on my knees in front of a line of horny men with hard cocks and suck their cocks in turn as they watched each other.

So when Princess and Sir went to see the Rolling Stones recently and she revelled in reliving her teenage feelings about Mick Jagger it made me wonder who my band line up would be now if I was creating my own supergroup of cocks to suck. Being indecisive I didn’t make any firm choices but there was one person I’d never say no to and would take any chance to let my inner groupie out to play with.

I have never been a fan of Led Zeppelin’s music but from an early age Robert Plant in leather trousers made me feel all kinds of things I didn’t completely understand. The infamous mud shark story left me with a guilty sense that I should be more disgusted than I was but definitely should have alerted me to my kinky interests sooner.

I think I’ve made my feelings about men feeling the need to speak to women in public clear before. So when years ago when standing perusing a selection of biscuits in a posh deli in central London I whipped my head round ready to use the equivalent of Choco-Liebniz as a weapon when I heard a man striking up conversation about cookies with me.

I could literally feel my mouth fall open as time stuttered into freeze frames and the biscuits hung in my hands like I had T-rex arms as I realised that man was in fact Robert Plant. Large as life and right in front of me discussing biscuits as my mind immediately ricocheted between blank incomprehension, disbelief, filthy thoughts and guilt over my (literally) naked objectification of him over decades. I may even have blushed.

Unlike many hell raisers, he wore living well extremely well and there was definitely that sense of sexual confidence I’d always imagined. I stuttered something back about the biscuits my mouth as dry as my knickers were suddenly wet and I almost willed him to leave me alone before I was so star struck I embarrassed myself.

I must be able to bullshit brilliantly about biscuits because he started asking me questions and advice on cake too. My mouth kept answering calmly and logically about marzipan while my mind screamed at me to just abandon all my life rules about consent and hang ups about initiating sex and just throw myself at him in public right now.

Each time I opened my mouth to reply to his conversation I had to double check I hadn’t just said ‘fuck me now’. I didn’t have the background of Continental foods in mind when I’d fantasised about sucking his cock, but sluts are nothing if not adaptable. I could fuck a long term obsession up against a freezer if it was my only chance and not care about the criminal record for public indecency to fulfil a lifetime ambition.

Being a slow learner and prone to overthinking I started to think as the conversation went on that actually he’d mistaken my taste for dressing all in black for being the shop staff instead of anything raunchier. And then I heard him say ‘shall I get us a coffee then?’ I don’t drink coffee but as I say, sluts will be flexible the situation calls for it.

Before I could accidentally sabotage myself, he ushered me to a table, paid for the cake and biscuits we’d been conversing about and ordered drinks. I attempted to look nonchalant, pretending as such things were everyday occurrences to me. I wondered if I should Google the nearest hotel where he could take me and fuck me senseless or if international rock stars with a reputation knew these things without my help. I did think fast enough to text the friend I was meeting to ask could we cancel, knowing fine rightly I’d fake my own death if that was the only way to excuse myself.

A cup of coffee and some cake appeared on the table and he sat down waiting for the waitress to bring the rest. I normally love flirting. Flirting is foreplay usually. But twenty plus years of fantasising is also foreplay and I needed little else. He started eating the cake and asking me about myself rather than prolonging any more chat about baked goods.

Robert Plant was quite definitely flirting with me and I have no idea what I told him. In my mind he was giving me orders to strip for him, not asking about my interests and hobbies. What do you say to this? Well, I enjoy going out and staying in and picturing your cock going in and out of my mouth until my eyeliner runs and I beg you to fuck me?

I was almost relieved when the waitress came over to give me a moment to breathe. I needed a moment to regroup my slutty superpowers. I waited for the second coffee to be set on the table so I could flirt properly. And waited. The pause was momentarily longer than expected and I looked around to hear him say ‘oh did we arrange to meet here?’

It was me guilty of mistaking someone for the shop staff this time as the well dressed young woman in front of use was clearly his girlfriend and if looks could kill, it wouldn’t be my awkward flirting that finished me off after all.

I introduced myself as politely as you can when you were shamelessly about to fuck someone’s partner as he started the kind of innocent explanation as to why we were having coffee that only ever sounds extremely incriminating. I’ve rarely felt as frustrated in my life sitting there as she whisked him away briskly making damned sure I didn’t have the chance to pass him my number and cursed that he of all people didn’t have an open relationship.

His girlfriend then insisted on ordering drinks to take out so they were standing just enough in my line of sight as to be both awkward and tantalising in equal measure. Plus I had to sit and drink the coffee I hate in order to cover my less than innocent intentions while kissing goodbye to the chance to turn my adolescent fantasies into very adult actions.

I watched them walk out just as my extremely prudish friend walked in. She hadn’t got my text and she certainly hadn’t got the interest in slutty men I did so I couldn’t even share my moment of almost groupie glory with her.

Instead I sat and nodded occasionally as she talked as I used my brush with reality to really enhance my fantasies for when I got home. I think the orgasm was definitely increased by the delayed gratification but also the seal of approval of my sluttiness by one who knows best…

Groupie

YES!

As I write something incredible and life changing has happened: Ireland has repealed the 8th Amendment to their constitution which considered the life of an unborn foetus equivalent to the person carrying it. This effectively prohibited abortion even in the most exceptional and life threatening circumstances within Ireland.

To access abortion Irish women had to travel outside the country, mainly to Great Britain but sometimes to Holland and pay the full costs of the travel, time off work and the procedure itself. This put abortion outside the reach of most people. The younger you were, the poorer you were, if you already had children and needed childcare, if you were disabled or had immigration issues, abortion was priced out of your reach. Even budget airlines cost too much on social security.

And you couldn’t just ask people for help. The shame and stigma of abortion in a country that for years had mother and baby homes and Magdalene Laundries that literally locked women up for being pregnant and took the babies they were forced to birth away was immense. In places like Tuam, those babies ended up in a mass grave. Elsewhere they were sold to couples wanting to adopt. The last mother and baby home in Ireland closed in 1996. That’s the year I turned 18.

The culture was cloaked in wanting to protect the unborn but really it was about shaming sexually active women and denying their rights and bodily autonomy. The case that triggered yesterday’s referendum was that of Savita Halappanavar, an Indian dentist who came to work in Galway. When her wanted pregnancy turned to miscarriage and infection set in, she requested an abortion to save her life. But because the foetus still had a heartbeat as it miscarried the 8th Amendment prevented doctors from acting as to hasten the end of the miscarriage was illegal.

Savita took took seven days to die from sepsis in a Western country with less access to maternal rights and healthcare than her native India. The case was pivotal for Ireland and set the path for the referendum (Ireland must hold national referenda to change any aspect of its written constitution. It has previously held them on divorce and same sex marriage as well as the 8th itself in 1983 when it was still illegal to buy condoms without a prescription.)

The only countries with more oppressive abortion laws in Europe than Ireland are Northern Ireland, Malta and the Isle of Man (although there is campaigning under way there to change the laws.) Northern Ireland has the unique quirk where its citizens can hold equal Irish and British citizenship but access the full rights of neither country. The UK government exempted Northern Ireland from the 1967 Abortion Act meaning that abortion is still illegal there. It will not become legal or easier to access because of Ireland’s referendum.

Northern Ireland remains the only part of the UK that still prohibits same sex marriage and in many ways the mindset of the politicians who govern it is back in the 1950s (at best.) Amnesty International has polled Northern Irish people who back similar on demand abortion up to 12 weeks as Ireland voted on and the same roughly 69% of people back it north of the border.

Yet there have been prosecutions and convictions in Northern Ireland in 2016 and 2017 of women who bought abortion pills over the internet because they could not afford to travel to access abortion. Many Irish women, north and south, had those pills seized and in both countries buying them can incur a life sentence in prison. Abortion law in Northern Ireland is from 1861 and a law created before the invention of the lightbulb is not fit for the online era.

Until recently Northern Irish women, despite being considered part of the United Kingdom were unable to access abortions on the NHS if they travelled to Great Britain. Again they had to pay privately for everything forcing many women to choose if they could afford the fee for the anaesthetic and the cost that would incur of staying in a hotel to recover from it rather than travel back the same day. When you reduce medical care to your financial ability you automatically create inequality in your system.

I have never been pregnant. I have never had to access an abortion. But I grew up in Northern Ireland and the lack of abortion rights across the island of Ireland haunted every woman. Something as enjoyable and affectionate and life enhancing as sex felt like Russian roulette.

A country that denies its women the right to choose denies them all reproductive choice. Contraception is treated like a shame on society too. When I was a teenager it was incredibly difficult to access the Pill and condoms were prohibitively expensive. We’d go to the Brook Clinic in the centre of Belfast in our school uniforms and run the gauntlet of people screaming ‘slut’ and ‘murderer’ at us, clearly unaware of how Durex work. Even now my Northern Irish peers are given less access to long acting contraceptives and had to endure protests by anti choice activists like Bernie Smyth to get it.

We had no sex education either and it was pre internet. We learned about genitals from a diagram in a biology book on a frog. Periods were often called ‘the curse’. There was nowhere to go to ask for help or advice. With this repressive background and an ongoing civil conflict meant we didn’t even need the legality of Section 28 to prevent LGBTQ issues and rights being mentioned at all. We simply had the bigotry of the Save Ulster From Sodomy campaign instead. And of course this archaic attitude did little to stop us having sex.

Everyone I knew was fucking rings round themselves. Not only did all that repression make sex forbidden fruit that we thought would taste all the sweeter, but in the middle of an armed conflict your leisure opportunities were fairly restricted and all there was to do in a country that still chained the swings in the park up on the Lord’s Day was have sex.

But the irony was that sex was all about the risk and not the fun. Every time you fucked you were running the consequences of having to ‘take the ferry’ through your head rather than the pleasure you should be experiencing. There was this collective fear and shame about sex. We discussed our escape plan for an unintended pregnancy more than our sexual desires or our bodies (and yet I was still 17 and had been sexually active for 2 years before I first heard of the morning after pill.)

The act of sex for pleasure was shrouded in deep deep shame because that was to admit you were one of those women who put your own selfishness before the unborn child’s rights even if you never had an abortion. You were a slut and a disgrace simply by association. We never discussed masturbation. We never discussed queerness. We never asked if this was normal or acceptable because we’d internalised the idea that any sex made us abnormal and wrong. We went in for self loathing rather than Cosmo quizzes.

Being able to access abortion due to my health (and the sheer fact I’ve never wanted kids) was a huge reason I moved to England. But in order to access the right to choose I had to leave everyone I knew and everything I grew up with and I left with a sense that my country was ashamed of me and I was unwelcome there. Many of my friends didn’t even have that choice or were unwilling to trade family and connections for hypothetical situations and so stayed.

But there was consequences. A girl at school concealed her pregnancy for eight months until she went into premature labour at home with a stillborn baby. She blamed herself for the death and killed herself a decade on after years of mental health issues. 80% of the girls I went to school with had children by 21.

Even if their children were chosen, they suffered from post partum mental health conditions at a rate far higher than their GB peers because it’s hard to switch from the mindset of being told that having a baby ruins your life to loving one. I’ve lost count of the cases of postal natal depression, PTSD in childbirth and post partum psychosis my school friends have mentioned. Infant mortality in parts of Northern Ireland remains the highest in the whole of Europe. Reproductive choice in Northern Ireland is class based and compounded by post conflict sectarian divides.

I’ve received out of the blue Facebook messages from people I barely remember more than once which under the ‘oh I was just thinking about you’ jollity was the question ‘could I stay with you in London for a night?’ It was always an interview or some cover story but I was just the only person they knew with a free place to stay or an address they could use. I asked no questions and played along.

I even let a friend of a friend use my English address her to have abortion pills delivered to knowing having them delivered directly would arouse suspicion and possible seizure in Belfast. I wrapped them up disguised as a birthday present for her and posted them on. They were for her 14 year old daughter who had been raped.

We both knew the risks but she did it for her child and I did it for all the people who that culture failed to prevent from abusive relationships. Again compared to my non Irish friends we, myself included, were so vulnerable to levels of abuse, coercion and sexual trauma it’s hard for people who grew up with legal abortion rights to comprehend.

Our lives and transition into adulthood was marked mainly by fear and shame. I haven’t lived in that atmosphere for nearly 20 years and it still impacts me now. It took a long time to shake off the fear of judgement and (self) blame around sex for me and to not feel profound shame for being sexually active but knowing I didn’t want children.

The things we are told as children and teenagers by our families, teachers, religious leaders and community linger in our minds for a long time and it breaks my heart that my friends’ children are hearing the same shame inducing ‘morality’ we heard from the same people. I wonder how it must feel to be a teenager in Northern Ireland today seeing the Yes vote next door and seeing that campaigning and solidarity can change things that we thought would never change.

If you are celebrating Yes today then please take a moment to sign Amnesty’s petition for Northern Irish abortion rights or support the work of the grassroots Alliance 4 Choice organisation or the fantastic Abortion Support Network who raise money to help women on both sides of the border travel for abortions. The need for their work will not be eradicated overnight.

And remember, you can be pro choice while not having an abortion yourself. No one is going to start forcing women and pregnant people to abort. But people who can get pregnant need the choice whether to continue that pregnancy or not. We don’t force people to give blood or donate organs and extending abortion rights will not detract from your right to refuse a termination.

But you can give Northern Irish women a choice not to grow up and live with the sense that pregnancy is a trauma in its own right. You can help make sure all children are wanted children. There is no sex positivity in a country that is negative on reproductive rights and I want rights for everyone I left behind.

YES!

Working It

One of the many things I’ve learned by fucking Princess for almost two years is weirdly to appreciate men more. Because until I had a go at fucking someone else with a cock, I had no idea what hard work it is.

I sort of assumed it was similar to being fucked in that you could make it as energetic or not as you wanted but only when I first tried using a strap on on Princess did I realise it’s a world apart. There’s a lot more rhythm and angle skills going on required practise than I quite understood (blame this on me starting my fucking life with grown men and not teen boys still finding their way.)

And more than that, it takes core strength and stamina I had never imagined. How anyone with a cock fucks someone to orgasm was beyond mine. No wonder so many men like to lie back like a log in a wood you’ve been able to mount and let you fuck them on top without them moving. They need the rest.

Luckily Princess prefers my penetration of her to involve fingers so I’ve been able to skive off and save my muscles and the shame of having stop each time it gets good and starting to hit the spot and regroup. My version of nailing someone with my strap on is about as good as I am at banging actual nails in walls.

Princess however is getting seriously good with the double ended dildo (which reminds me to buy one for my flat too. You know a sex toy is good when you literally double up.) She’s developed quite the knack of fucking me to multiple orgasms with it. Her cunt is tighter so grips it better and my stretched cunt just loves any kind of penetration and gobbles up a good fuck.

We’d been playing with the double ended dildo when my Master was away recently and I’d absolutely loved her technique with it squirming and hoping it would make me squirt. Perhaps subliminally I’d left it by their bed when Sir got home. So when we all woke up from a little power nap feeling horny it was no wonder his eye lit on it.

He lay back cock in hand and ordered Princess to fuck me with the dildo while he watched. Once I was wet and wanting more, he lay over her and put his cock in her mouth as she kept fucking me. Her rhythm skills are definitely above mine keeping both cocks moving and happy as she was used by both of us.

Just as I was getting very into being fucked as she sucked, Sir sensed that I was being rather lazy and ordered me make more effort and start fucking Princess instead of making her do all the work. It felt hot to have my legs so open to slip the toy into her while she had her head thrown back swallowing Sir’s cock but it took me a while to find my stroke.

I had to fuck her cunt at half the speed my Master was fucking her throat but the problem was that doing it was making me so wet and turned on my cunt was even more stretched and open than usual and the dildo was hard to hold in place to keep going.

I need a double ended toy with a smaller size for Princess and the width and heft of the John Holmes for me. Why do all the double ended toys assume both users want the same dimensions as each other? And why so many toys designed to be held in the cunt not work with the wetness of a well lubricated one?

Whether you are fucking another woman or pegging someone, there are few things hotter and wetter to do but lubrication becomes your enemy with an in-cunt toy especially if you aren’t a very set size of tightness. I pouted and complained that my fun was being spoiled and Sir quite rightly punished me for my brattiness.

He took the toy out of my cunt and turned me onto my side on his cock and fucked me so hard I had to curl up in a ball as he held me against him, pulling my hair at the same time and shut me up with the skill of his stamina and rhythm. Princess kept the dildo in her cunt and pressed the Doxy against her clit watching us fuck.

I presume she came like the Doxy slut she is but I was distracted by my Master coming into me hard enough to make me do things I didn’t know my core muscles could do with a cock inside me either.

If he hadn’t made me come hard enough to lie down, I think I might have been tempted to use his come to see how it helped the double ended dildo hold in place in my cunt and see if I could give Princess another orgasm.

Definitely one to try in a future threesome once i’ve had time to practise my angles and abs more…

Working It

Pillow Princess

I love Eurovision. Partly because I’m Irish and we excel at it and partly because it’s such high camp it’s known as Gay Christmas. I love the unbridled kitsch of it from costumes to songs you really shouldn’t love but do. I even forgive it for unleashing Michael Flatley on the world. And I adore that it owns its LGBTQ+ heritage and often shows the mainstream world aspects of queer culture they didn’t know about before.

In fact it was the one day of year the gayness didn’t have to hide or make itself acceptable in 80s and 90s Ireland and so I was very very surprised on my first Eurovision in England that there was a lack of campness or kitsch around it, more lot of self knowing jokes about European history. So when I found myself at my first English Eurovision party listening to middle class uni types winking about the former Czechoslovakia’s voting intentions I did the only thing you can do. I necked all the gin I could find and fucked the hostess’s flatmate without her knowing.

He was a ridiculously good looking semi professional swimmer with the smooth sleek body and core strength of someone who spends a lot of time in the pool. He was also very serious and bookish and totally out of his comfort zone with a tipsy Irish woman who actually likes the music at Eurovision rather than showing off their intellect ironically.

Yet he happily kept pouring me drinks and asking me lots of questions about Irish politics and the border in a very serious attempt to geekily flirt and offered to stay behind to help me clear up when I insisted on doing so to thank our hostess for her hospitality. She went to bed grateful and gin filled and left us to it unaware my intentions were not as clean as my manners.

So I came in from the kitchen irritated to see that my crush was carefully laying out a sleeping bag on the sofa for me. There’s nothing like thinking you’ve been cock blocked by something as ugly as practical sleepwear. I tried to shake the rejection off with a gracious smile until he said ‘ the pillows are in my bedroom. You should come with me to get them.’

I did not need asking twice because even if I was mis-reading the signals I need two pillows to sleep or I hate the world. But once inside his room, his upright demeanour seemed to disappear and within seconds, his smooth body was wrapped round mine and we were kissing hard.

It was like one of those TV sex scenes where you kiss hard enough to devour each other and start pulling your clothes off at the same time. He was lying back on the bed watching me undress when I realised he was actually wearing a pair of tiny swimming trunks and nothing else.

Normally I’d judge the shit out of a man who wears his sports kit in scenarios not involving said sport. Plus I’d have my ‘oh really?’ face on if confronted by the dreaded budgie smugglers with their image of middle aged European lotharios but maybe out of Euro solidarity, I didn’t mind so much that night.

Not only did he have the kind of body made for them including those well defined crests above the hips that serious swimmers get, he also had a beautiful thick hard cock poking out of the top of them. One of my favourite things is a ready to fuck cock rising out of a waistband like an erotic invitation and this was a particularly glorious example of the genre.

He pulled me on top of him and rubbed his hard but semi clad cock against my very bare cunt as we kissed again. I had much smaller tits in those days and he took delight in sucking my nipples hard and biting them in between kisses, using his knees to lift me away from his cock when I squirmed too greedily against it.

Having made me wait all night, he was going to keep me waiting a little bit longer before I got my hands or mouth on his cock. He pulled me up and turned me round onto my hands and knees over him with my ass in his face so I could look down at his incredibly hard cock but unable to touch.

He slipped two fingers into my incredibly wet cunt and proceeded to lick my ass with great enthusiasm much to my surprise. Certainly not something I’d encountered back in Ireland either, it was yet another English twist to the evening. The taboo feel of it made it more enjoyable than the act itself but it was the effect it was having on his cock that made me a big fan.

Making me come with his fingers, he pulled those teasing trunks down enough with the other hand to let his cock spring free. Even harder than it had been and glistening with that pre come that shows just how turned on a guy is, he finally pulled me down onto it and fucked me hard.

I do love that moment when you finally get a cock inside you and this felt particularly good from the delayed gratification and how clearly horny he was. I’ve rarely fucked in that position as usually being on top is about seeing the man’s face but following on from him eating my ass it worked well. He came hard into me as I ground against his hips for another orgasm for myself.

It probably would have been a better finish if he hadn’t reminded me while I was still on top of him, cock inside me not to forget the pillows I’d come for. I awkwardly scooped up clothes and dressed again aware of his come dripping out of me as I did and went back to my sleeping bag on the sofa.

My only small comfort was that I scooped up his trunks along with my clothes and kept them to remind me and to inconvenience the fuck of him next time he tried to dress for training. Sluts get the best revenge…

Pillow Princess

A Real Buzz

I like to think all my fears in life are completely rational. The Tory government, abandonment, stepping on the cracks on the pavement, all the usuals. But really I am lying to myself because my greatest fear in life is wasps. Which is completely irrational since they are small, I’ve never been stung and like the rest of wildlife in the UK they can’t kill you unless you have an allergy.

But I am terrified of them (and by extension bees because when I’m running in the opposite direction at hysterical speed they look like they might be wasps) and I even had hypnotherapy to deal with my phobia of them. I can just about tolerate them in their outside environment but in my indoor space, the freak out continues.

This generally makes me not a fan of summer. All that sun and sticky drinks are usually bad omens for my ability not to look like an arm flapping lunatic around people. But age must be mellowing me because I spent the evening with my Master and Princess on Friday with the windows open to embrace the warm weather and drinking a few ciders and not watching the window like a hawk.

So we were all in the perfect mood to have an impromptu threesome next morning. My Master hadn’t seen the pussy pump in person yet so it seemed a good time to use it on Princess as she sucked Sir’s cock. She squirmed with each pleasure-pain pump of it and each stinging slap of the paddle I was using on her bare ass too.

Her cunt was swollen and dripping wet and her eyes got that glazed look of horniness where all she wants is orgasms. Sir kept his cock in her mouth and slipped  two fingers into her cunt and one in her ass and brought her to the kind of writing gasping state of orgasms where you want to keep sucking cock but your mouth just falls open with pleasure and all you can do keep gasping in enjoyment and for a hard cock resting on your lips unable to do more.

Having left her in that state of sated but waiting more Sir started fucking her ass while I put a finger inside her. The feel of his cock in her ass determined the pace at which I fucked her cunt as we both filled her up and worked in tandem to turn her into a begging mess of horniness. Greedy slut that she is she asked for the Doxy as well and she came dripping my Master’s come out her ass and they both slumped on the bed looking very content.

I was incredibly wet from watching them fuck and Sir knew it, telling me to put the pump on my cunt for him so he could see the piercing in my clit rising and falling with each time he sucked the pump tighter on my cunt. I’ve enjoyed playing with that toy on my own but someone else dictating the pace made me ridiculously horny.

So when Sir ordered Princess to play with my clit while he watched, all I could do was lie back, eyes closed only aware of the work her fingers and tongue were doing. I came several times before the kind of final orgasm that lifts your whole body off the bed and made me feel like I would squirt from so much sensation and sexual pleasure.

It’s taken me a while to get the hang of just enjoying being fucked without feeling like I ‘owe’ someone pleasure in return. The fear of being bad in bed or a pillow princess made me often unable to relax in simply receiving pleasure and believing the person giving it was enjoying it as much as I enjoy giving my partner pleasure.

Lying in bed in a just fucked heap after our threesome I discovered just how far my ability to relax has come when my Master told me a wasp had flown into the bedroom while Princess was fucking me, done a loop of the room round us, gone back out and then returned for a second sweep all without me noticing. In fact I’d managed to orgasm while it was buzzing around.

I imagined Princess and my Master looking at each other thinking ‘fuck, sex is over if she sees this’ and then laughing at how much they must have been trying not giggle or draw attention to the interloper in the room.

I’ve rarely felt sluttier or more bisexual than at this moment. Discovering wasps are little voyeurs who like to watch threesomes helps make them less terrifying. And it turns out that  all I need to cure my phobia was getting fucked by my girlfriend while obeying the man who owns me’s orders. That’s my kind of exposure therapy for sure and the ultimate act of submission…

A Real Buzz

Monogamish

Half of me wishes I’d known all the words and terms for relationships involving more than one person years ago and half of me cringes hearing them now because I have never been a fan of anything with very strict social codes.

When I met my Master he told me that his relationship with Princess was open. In my experience this was usually just the thinking man’s version of ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ or ‘we aren’t having sex’. An ‘open relationship’ to many men seems to have mutated into ‘I’m open to do what I like but my partner doesn’t know and the same rules don’t apply to her.’

But my Master doesn’t do dissembling and it was clear quite quickly even after the effects of the free bar we met at had faded that he really was in an open relationship that had agreed and defined terms between him and Princess and he was not bullshitting me with a form of performance art as fucking.

Being staggeringly un-self aware at the time (to the point where I was wondered if I was aromantic) this was a real plus point for me as my first thought about this was since he had a girlfriend there was was no danger of him developing any emotions for me (or me for him…)

I had it neatly mapped out in my head that he and I would fuck until he was bored of me, I would never really think about his girlfriend and that being compartmentalised and formal was very grown up and mature because essentially I had no idea sex and affection could co-exist. I was thinking this was the way to have cake and eat it without realising the point of cake is for it to taste good rather than just look impressive.

I was so fearful of stepping outside that ‘cool girl‘ role I’d always ended up in in that and across as negative things like ‘needy’ or ‘clingy’ or jealous that it never occurred me that people like to feel needed or like you matter to them and that most people consider emotions the standard setting in relationships no matter how informal.

I think we all know how my plan worked out. Three years later I’m disappointed I couldn’t go to Ikea with him and Princess today because I had other stuff to do. Not even sharing a bed with both of them fairly often could quite convey how much my compartments turned into feelings and commitments to both of them.

For the first six months I was still fucking other people while seeing him and then he set boundaries about that alongside gifting me my collar and I was almost relieved by those rules. Having thought I never wanted to be ‘tied down’ to be claimed felt reassuring and I had little desire to fuck anyone (except Princess on his say so.)

Branching back out into sex with other men under his orders a few months later surprised me in how uncomfortable it felt. It was like putting on an item of clothing you once loved to find it was out of fashion even though it still fit and you felt like a previous version of yourself in it. I felt strange mentioning it like going from being the slutty no boundaries fun time girl who had agreed to openness  now wanting to close things on her part was somehow reneging on my part of the deal.

A bad date ended up saying it for me and the subject of other people didn’t really come up again. I was surprised when Sir showed little interest in sex with anyone else and wasn’t sure how I’d feel if Princess wanted to date but at the same time I was aware that while I’d changed the dynamic of their marriage in some ways it wasn’t my call to make on how open they were within that.

People who love terms like ‘polycules‘ and ‘metamour‘ always bang on about how much talking is essential to non monogamous relationships of any kind and while I agree up to a point, I’m not a fan of talking for the sake of it. I like to let relationships feel natural and keep the bullet point style for therapy instead.

And sure enough in the last few weeks the subject of other people floated back into the orbit of our relationship. Sir found a potential sissy he might fuck and was invited to another threesome and Princess met a couple of women online keen to see if Tinder would offer up friends with benefits and a little exploration for them.

The thought of Sir fucking other people is hot (and the idea an ex-fuck of his wanted him to guest star just made him all the more desirable to me. No higher compliment than someone being that attracted to your partner after all.) And anything else would have been hypocrisy as that’s how I met him after all.

The idea of Princess dating caused me slightly more pause. I have generally never felt jealous. It’s an emotion I simply can’t relate to but I do have spectacular abandonment issues thanks to my fucked up childhood and I often can’t predict what will set them off. My girlfriend dating seemed like it could be a *thing* where the man who owns me fucking wasn’t.

She and I discussed it and something felt like it wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was I secretly struggling with her fucking other people? Like 90% of my useful thoughts it came when I was washing up. That not quite in place feeling wasn’t jealousy or abandonment or feeling left out. It was feeling like I *should* feel those things when I didn’t. It was the same feeling of being in the wrong room and not knowing how to excuse myself I got when I tried to be monogamous in the past.

Both my Master and I have had the time and opportunity to explore our sexuality and sexual preferences in the way that forms you who you are as a person. Princess being younger and flipping the script round to have found life partners early on hasn’t had that and I would hate to deny her that chance we both so revelled in.

For queer kinky people who and why you fuck like you do is often so intrinsically wrapped up in your personality and your social life that it’s basically your hobby as well as your way to pleasure. It’s the basis of how you discover who you are and it would be really weird if I objected to Princess doing this in a sexual context but approved of her going to a book group in comparison. By determining her hobbies and opportunities I’d be clipping her wings and the thought of doing that was what was sitting so awkwardly.

Once I’d realised that the itchy scratchy feeling I had subsided. I also imagined straight or monogamous people asking me was I not worried she’d meet someone else and chuckling because frankly it’s damn near impossible to meet someone on Tinder or online even if you make it your life’s work. Plus I know just how underwhelming most casual fucks are in bed. There was nothing to fear.

In fact I walked Princess to her date and went home with no worries at all. My only interest was whether she had fun. I didn’t spend my evening tormenting myself picturing her in bed with someone else or catastrophizing in any way. I watched Coronation Street in bed which was frankly more dramatic than my thoughts and hope the casual sex she was having lived up to her expectations.

Spoiler alert: she’ll probably do it again so clearly it wasn’t a disaster but she didn’t have much to say. It sounded remarkably like book group in that respect. I have no issues with her or my Master fucking other people casually and the whole relationship being open in that respect.

But in seeing that happen I realised I have no interest in fucking anyone else myself unless actively involves my Master and Princess being there with me. It turns out for me casual sex involves me being emotionally closed and the openness I need in my relationship is developing that side of me that is open with feelings and love.

That’s the bit my slutty past never taught me when I was picking up sexual skills and good anecdotes and it’s something only my Master and Princess can show me. Turns out I’m soppy, sentimental and my version of romantic with the right people (and my prior lack of awareness was that I was dating dickheads and hanging around with people with personality disorders.)

I just hadn’t realised til now that with all those terms for non monogamy there was more than one way to be open in a relationship…

Monogamish

Spring Warmth

The absolute best time of year for your boiler to stop working is the Saturday afternoon of a four day weekend. I had to get naked at my Master and Princess’s over Easter for purely practical reasons to use their shower while I waited for my landlord to get back to work.

But it did offer up another opportunity to invite a boiler engineer into my house since we all know I love flirting with men who come to my door for work. My Master has me back in stretching training and he’s never a man to miss the chance to push my training further.

So while waiting for the engineer I was to train my cunt with the giant jiggle balls and my waist with the corset, both of which I’ve been neglecting a little bit recently. I love both but potentially wearing them for a time slot between 2pm and midnight was daunting.

The last time I wore the corset, I struggled a bit to get it done up and was panicking a little that I’d lost my hard won waist training milestones. It’s been hanging there taunting me while I’ve been working hard  with the waist trainer.

I brought it down to try it on over the dress I had picked out to make sure there was just slightly more hint of nipple piercings than there should be and was pleased to see that the reason I’d struggled to pull it tight enough was that the laces on one side had twisted and ruined the tension.

A few minutes untangling and untwisting them and a few minutes reminding myself how to pull the laces behind my back properly and the corset went back into place perfectly. I was tempted to keep going but my tits were quite perky enough with an inch to spare so I decided not to push myself in case I was wearing that corset until the clock struck twelve.

I was so pleased that after my worries the corset fitted so well that it didn’t occur to me that I had meant to take it off and put it back on to wear it under my dress. I’ve really missed wearing it and that comforting feeling of being held by it made me only concentrate on enjoying the movements within its structure. I love that feel of being shaped yet supported by the corset just like my submission to Sir.

I was so distracted by that and how wet it was making the panties I’d also been ordered to wear that next thing I knew the boiler engineer had arrived earlier than I’d expected and I had to answer the door with the corset fully on display. And I think it worked well.

Not only was the engineer even friendlier and flirtier this time (bearing in mind he practically invited to visit his parents’ house in Portugal before) but he resisted the temptation to laugh in my face when it turned out the boiler fault was because of my own incredible stupidity with my gas meter. He solved the issue easily but just ‘double checked’ the previous fault again to linger slightly.

I was half enjoying him staying with all the flirtation and flashes of exhibitionism that entailed being the slut for that that I am but I was also desperate for him to leave because Sir had ordered me to make myself come the second he left and I was more than ready for that moment.

I managed to reassure him that my carbon monoxide levels were perfectly safe and I wasn’t going to touch my gas meter again and he finally left. The second I heard my front door close as he let himself out I was leaning against the kitchen work top with my fingers down my panties and not stopping myself from touching my clit.

The corset held me up as I pressed my hand onto my cunt and made myself come hard and fast. It reminded me of when Sir uses the constriction of the corset to hold me up in place while he fucks me against the front door and the thought of that exhibitionism on top of my afternoon made me come very easily.

It was only after I’d texted my Master to thank him for the orgasm and show him my waist training progress in the corset I remembered how visible it had been to the engineer. Even Sir was impressed by that level of blatant sluttery putting it down to my inner instincts rather than accident.

Now all I have to do to impress him further is keep up my training and find a new home for the panties I was wearing when I came…

Spring Warmth