Facials

Different places, different pages in our lives, the mechanics of sex can be very different.

There was a period in my life, about eight or nine years ago, when Mr Hunt and I needed to be really creative. I had already proven to be ridiculously easy to get pregnant. With two young and boisterous children at home we were not ready to add a third, but neither were we willing to make that decision permanently.  I’d had years on the pill as a teenager to combat appalling PMT, and didn’t want to fuck up my new finely tuned mental health balance by fiddling with the hormone settings again, and condoms and me…we don’t get on. Not long term…and not after those glorious windows of time when he could come in me with impunity, in the glorious anti-taboo moments of being married and trying to start a family.

Sex could have become something stale or even worse, disposable, in the changing challenges of being a family, but it seemed too important to become a victim of over-familiarity and exhaustion, so instead we experimented.

Secure in our relationship, I could admit sex didn’t need to follow any sort of plan that included tit for tat orgasms. In fact, I quite liked it if my orgasm was inconsequential or even better ignored. Becoming a parent, especially the breast feeding, had changed my relationship with my body and “sexy” felt different than it had before and I needed to be honest about that.

Before, I would have found it much harder to admit I wanted to be used.

I wanted to be a hole he could fuck. To be a toy, not a mother.

By necessity of avoiding pregnancy, and a whole lot of creativity, I became his spunk splattered whore.

PIV sex was emotionally hard, instead of being the one step shop it had been before. I could never relax and enjoy it in the way I wanted to. I wanted to trust Mr Hunt in everything, wanted to trust he would never get carried away and come in me, but I couldn’t. Then would get really cross at myself for not quite being able to have faith in him, even though as he admitted it, it was a calculated risk.

He loves anal sex. And so do I… but with the proviso of prep. After years of access to a vagina that pretty much did all the prep itself we were lazy. It couldn’t replace the “just having a sleepy cuddle that finishes with sex” sex, nor the “just woken up and have time for a quickie” sex.

I became a fan of feeling him come on me. Any part of me.

That hot splash of jizz that conferred he still wanted me despite the rainbows of stretch marks and the night feeds and that he wanted me respectful of our decision to not have another child right now, despite knowing he’d rather be buried in my cunt or my arse.

The snake trails of dried cum that marked me as his life choice.

I think necessity increased our freedom to get messy.

I love a cock in my mouth. In preparation for full-on adulthood, getting to grips with the social skills needed to have a sex life, I identified being able to give a damn good blow job was a necessary life skill. Cosmo had a new article on it every month and I had studiously read every tip, then found friends I could practice on.

I cringe as I write that. I wish I could go back and tell 17 year old me that all those little party tricks were not the thing that was going to find me someone who loved and appreciated me, but then, confidence and bravado go a long way when you start dating. I still am the type of person to read the manual before I get a toy out of its box.

It came as a surprise when I first met the lovely Mr Hunt, that blow jobs are not his favorite thing. But that was ok…

…I didn’t want to give him a blow job. Didn’t want to give him some sort of carefully orchestrated performance of lips and tongue and the tiniest hint of teeth.

I wanted him to fuck my face.

The gagging, choking, overwhelming peacefulness of being used.

And then it didn’t matter if I liked it when he came down my throat, or preferred it when he nearly pulled out and coated my tongue to make sure I registered every bitter, salty splash.

Whether he deliberately pulled out to paint my lips and make me hold position for long seconds without licking them clean.

When he’d bark the instruction to keep my eyes open, and I ‘d have front row seats to twitching spasms of his ejaculating cock inches from my face or when he’d cover my eyes and leave me with the whispered friction of hand and skin, punctuated with the tightly controlled pants and grunts of a man who knows the benefits of a near silent fuck, before wiping his spent cock clean in my hair.

We are years past this point in our lives now. Things have moved on. He has had a vasectomy giving us the freedom to have PIV sex without the risk of pregnancy. We no longer need a silent fuck to simply be about not waking the baby…although silent fucks are undoubtly hot. And it is rare for him to come anywhere but deep inside me.

It was only when I read the prompt for this post that I realized we were in a different place and on a different page of our sexual journey.

I think, maybe, they are places and pages that are worth revisiting.

Kiss the lips
You know you want to x
Two kisses?
Go find out who else is being Sinful this week x

What’s Lust got to do with it?

When you practice any elements of BDSM away from a community, either online or in person, it can be very difficult to gauge how what you are doing relates to what others are doing, either in terms of practices or intensity. Even as part of an online community, I only know that what we do suits Mr Hunt and myself and don’t quite know where this fits in with the practices of others.

While sex is important in our relationship, it is not everything, neither are routines and rules and rituals. We have been together 17 years or so, married for 14 and parents of special needs children for all but the first 9 months. It is important that we communicate and support each other. There are many different ways to practice BDSM, but communication is key. Being very aware of each other, our verbal and non-verbal tells, as well as explicit communication is vital to our survival as a couple.

I am a sensory seeking autistic, with children who are also sensory seeking autistics, and we all enjoy what is termed by the occupational therapist “heavy touch”. This might include tasks to calm the children from the health team that involve squashing them with a therapy ball or restraining them with what is called deep pressure. My eldest has a very fidgety body and likes to have things to push against. In a school lesson situation this includes tying a therapy band around chair legs that they can push against, but in the evening, when watching tv at home, he is calmed by having his legs tied together with the same band.  Some people with autism find things like weighed blankets very relaxing and the feeling of this can be very similar to the feeling I get from bondage.

In the last week, Mr Hunt and myself have been experimenting with a mermaid tie around my legs. He can be very exacting about how these things appear on camera, so we often have one or two practice ties to decide photo angles and what sort of underbeneaths I would feel I wanted to be wearing. This tie was very relaxing, but scored low on the turn on factor from the actual rope. The calming factor was very strong and it reminded me of the calm brought on by having a therapy band to push against.

Other ties have a very high turn on factor. Usually, for me, these include rope around the torso and perhaps a little constriction around my ribs that I can feel when I’m breathing. The feeling of being manoeuvred and controlled as well as other cues from touch and words turn things sexual. Rope is the thing most likely to push me out of myself into a dreamy state of turned on relaxation.

We mainly play with rope but have begun to branch out after I had an experience I wasn’t expecting at Eroticon trying out the Vac bed. The whole point of the Saturday pm session was to try new things, and it is all very light hearted and giggly…so I gathered all my personal confidence to try the vac beds at the second opportunity. What I didn’t expect was to find myself sliding under and to come out feeling completely disorientated and lost. It was only when I’d scurried back to my hotel room and had a little cry that I realised that I had full on sub drop and needed to ring home for a virtual hug and treat myself with water and get my blood sugar up a little. Bondage can be sexy, or it can be calming, and on that occasion, it was just extraordinarily powerful without being particularly either, and it really took me by surprise.

Whether you read the D as discipline or domination, again I can find this is a sliding scale for me, between calming me down or turning me on and sometimes both. I struggle with disordered mood and executive function as part of my autism, so handing decision making over to someone I love and trust completely is a relief. But just like being a sub doesn’t make you less, being autistic also doesn’t mean someone should take control of your life. Knowing someone can when I need it, gives me room to recover.

I wouldn’t characterise our relationship as being solely a D/s dynamic, but before we got married and before we were more than occasionally spanky in bed, we defined where we thought our relationship dynamic was going. We talked about it in terms of agreeing a direction, or a way of choosing a direction. Not that we don’t discuss things and work to change each other’s opinions, but ultimately, he is steering the ship. With that power comes responsibility. With our vanilla families that is the joke- anything goes wrong, it’s Mr Hunt’s fault.

It delighted us to be able to marry with the traditional words where I promised to obey and he to cherish. For us, it is core to the total dynamic of our relationship, and sex is an extension of that rather than the defining feature. Whether he is helping me with my executive functioning by sitting with me to work out a list of things I need to do in my work life, breaking a huge chore I need to do into small achievable goals with frequent rewards to help me when my head is fogged up with overload or responding calmly and firmly to me effectively bratting when I burn out, our dynamic is both in line with D/s but also with good autism structure.

I am comforted knowing that give or take a few kids, I am the focus of his life and he is the focus of mine.

But yes… there is a “D” dynamic in the bedroom. And sometimes there is cross over. Sometimes I will brat just to get a rise from him. Sometimes his instructions are just a path to our mutual pleasure…and especially if my pleasure is found from him taking his.

I am also in another relationship that is impossible to define by traditional characteristics, but when you understand the vibe Mr Hunt and I live at home, perhaps makes more sense. I fell in love with a friend, and the defining feature of that relationship is that she is firmly Dominant within our interactions, but we are not sexually intimate. Does that stop what I feel for her being love? Definitely not. She appreciates my submissive behaviours, meets my needs by taking control and letting me let go. Mr Hunt appreciates she can do this for me sometimes when he can’t, maybe because of work commitments. Sometimes he sends me to her because I need her specific brand of control. She presses every submissive button I have, and at the same time, just like Mr Hunt, I trust her when sometimes I’m exhausted from trying to navigate life. We came into this relationship from an autism community stance, so some of the behaviours from that over-spilt, but when I realised more was involved we did discuss it fully and she went away and read up on the type of domination she was unconsciously providing. Now it is consciously delivered.

And then we are back in the sensory experience.

Does Mr Hunt like hurting me? Probably not as much as I would find manageable. He loves to experiment and I like to be experimented on. It is a niggly frustration that I don’t mark up well when I’ve been spanked or caned, but that because I have poor healing and potentially circulation issues we can’t go as hard as we might like.

One of our future goals would be to perhaps train with someone as to new techniques we can use at home. In reference to the prompt, I think we’d both feel comfortable that this is not lust driven experience.

Sometimes stimulation can be helpful in our normal lives too. I have periods where my brain doesn’t work well and I struggle with social anxiety and the inability to focus. One of the ways to support me to work through or around this is to raise my endorphins, and a quick route to this is a little targeted discomfort. Mr Hunt has lots of tricks up his sleeve to help. There is nothing ground breaking about this, as the science for pain raising mood is well understood, but having the trust and openness as a couple to use it like this is, I think, unusual.

The takeaway for me from this prompt is that my life is underpinned by principles that whilst they align with BDSM, cannot be principally characterised as kinky sex or as a lust driven experience. For Mr Hunt and myself, our relationship is an expression of communication and trust through the media of restraint, pain and discipline, through acts of service and denial. From rope bondage and pictures on the internet, to cooking dinner for the family and cleaning the bathrooms, from fisting and staples to the school run, which I delight in being able to ignore as it triggers my social anxieties, we do what we do because it meets each other’s needs. . He is dominant from a position of love because he knows that is what I need. I can be safely submissive because I trust him to value my contributions to our family and challenge me to be the best person I can be.

And if that involves sex…all to the good!

Do you agree with me..?
Go see who else has been writing this week and see if they challenge your opinions or support your viewpoint.

The Mermaid

I guess if you’ve been here once or twice, you might have realized by now that one of my favorite kinks is rope… well not just rope, but bondage generally. I love the feeling of being restrained.

When we were playing around with the this tie we started by tying my ankles together, even though the pattern for the tie starts at the tops of your legs. I needed the rope to take the strain to enjoy the process as this one was a bit fiddly to get the ropes to lie beautifully.

Sometimes rope is the process of being tied, sometimes it’s how it feels when the tie is complete. This is one of the latter. The rope hugs you and constrains you in a very even pattern. Secondly, this is one for being tied in place as your restraint means moving around is tricky. The other in the series all start with getting the kids to bed and cracking out the box of ropey bits hidden under the sofa, then creeping out into the garden to get some decent shots that don’t have lego in them. Tonight was a little different. More time went into setting the scene, thinking about the angles for the photos and working out anchor points. I really wanted to have tension on the ropes in the shots, and that meant our bedroom, which has several points set into joists or coach bolted into the walls. It also, delightfully, has black satin drapes so I have something to photograph against…

Enjoy the photos… and maybe follow the links to try the tie yourself, as it is one you can self tie if you’re all on your lonesome. I can however vouch for this as “fun with your partner” if you are lucky enough to have one to hand. The lovely Mr Hunt took his reward for patient rigging by stringing my legs up to one of the roof ties while I lay on the bed and the angles this created were definitely worth the patience needed for him to finesse the lie of the ropes.

Follow the link to find out how to replicate this tie and see others having fun with rope

Alethea and I

Alethea Hunt is a work of fiction, dreamt up to go in the blurb of the first short story I put onto Smashwords about 9 years ago. At the time I was mum of two strange children and about to become pregnant with a third.

I needed to be something other than a mother to two non-verbal toddlers who wanted to watch the same three Pixar movies in the same order every day. Alethea was born with a single line.

“I remember the kisses with most regret.”

Something only found in fiction, Alethea started as a notion of a person and gradually became more and more solid, and that wasn’t just because they liked to lie around on the sofa eating calorie-free chocolate and could always find time to write. They can always find time to write even at the moment.

Allie would look at the one of those silly internet memes where you work out how many things in a list of forty you wouldn’t eat and would score zero. “If it’s edible, I’ll put anything in my mouth!” they would say with a smile that suggested a million innuendos. I didn’t have the smile, but allowing for risk awareness, I was pretty much an eat anything once type of girl. Allie made me look at this differently. Perhaps I was a secret risk taker.

Alethea had a daring sex life. I didn’t. But then it turned out, I did, I just didn’t appreciate all the experiences I’d had. Allie made them seem much more daring. Perhaps starting your dating life with a poly relationship wasn’t as run of the mill as I’d thought. That power aware role play stuff I’d done as a lark with friends (and found I really enjoyed) was useful, if only so Allie had something to write about. Who hadn’t had a selection of threesomes in different configurations? Thrown in partners of different genders? Had sex for money?

Alethea loved to take all these vignettes of life and turn them into something more polished and sexy. To me they were just the memories of a worn out mum who couldn’t properly remember what life was like before nappies.

In 2017, Alethea finally had enough of a life to need a wardrobe and struck out to Eroticon in London alone, with the blessing and encouragement of the increasingly lovely Mr Hunt. (I mean, of course he would take their name…they definitely have a dramatic personality!)

Mr Hunt, it turned out, was very fond of Alethea, and I found myself in a very strange threesome. Alethea was not shy about sex toys or positions, or exactly what they needed from us. Sometimes they’d whisper in Mr Hunt’s ear, some saucy thing they wanted to write about, so could we just experiment a little. Just for them to watch and take notes.

In London, Allie made friends and they’ve  shared those friends with me. With every friend and comment on the blog they became more and more rounded. Eventually, we couldn’t share my computer anymore and had to be bought one of their own. They entered Sinful Sunday and became flesh in more ways than I ever had imagined.

Allie and I will never quite see eye to eye, but over the last 9 or so years we have become more and more alike. They voice the opinions I dare not. Dares to love openly and honestly even if that doesn’t fit the tightlaced life I chose for myself. Challenges me to speak up when the mums at coffee insist their daughters thinking babies come from eating apple seeds is ok or that you shouldn’t ask your child’s consent to a cuddle because it’s your right to just take one (or insist grandad has one).

We can’t really be seen in the same places. I have one of those jobs where people think your sexual morals should be debatable in the court of public opinion and raising the children turned out to be far harder than I could ever have dreamt. Alethea meets it all head on in a lace dress and a collar Mr Hunt made, so their place in our lives was obvious to observers. If my social worker met Allie, it could bring down a shitstorm of hell I’m not ready for, because Allie isn’t the type of person social workers are good at understanding. I can’t introduce her to my minister at church either, even though their on good terms with God and has more than a few things to say about biblically literal theology they’d like to air. My psychologist however, she really likes Allie and thinks they’re good for me and Mr Hunt and in fact for the children, because someone needs to  know how to have fun. They have coffee with my mum and dad and they think they’re unusual, but if meeting her keeps me happy, they can cope with that. Mum and Dad will never get used to their preference for a gender neutral pronoun though, so it’s a good job Allie still answers to she/her and has a lot of patience.

Allie is my friend. Keeps me sane when the world is full of unsolveable tedious knots of problems. Has a million ideas for spicing up our sex life. Writes pretty hot porn and takes a decent photo when pushed. They slow down every second of an encounter and makes me consider it with wonder.

When they were born, fully formed like Venus rising from the sea, Alethea changed my life, very much for the better. I’m still a frumpy mum, with too much work to do, messy kids and an adventurous palate. And I can be that, because Alethea exists, and not drown in it.

Allie writes truth disguised as fiction, and fiction disguised as truth.

Gives me a place to hide and a place where people can truly see me.

The Little Blue Dress

Monday night is rapidly becoming rope night and I am really appreciating the kick up the backside to get playing.

I love the rhythmic feeling as I am shaped by each pass of the rope. Just discarding my work clothes and putting on a little something for under the rope felt decadent.

Here I am, all dressed up and only one place to go.

Leftovers

Kiss the lips to see who else is being Sinful this week

I had ideas…lots of ideas for this week, but nothing has panned out. Mainly because there have been children everywhere I wanted to take pictures whenever I wanted to take them, or screaming over the wii controller when I tried to get a few minutes in my bedroom.

But then again, I had indulged with the camera a little this week for #TiemeupTuesday and #Kinkoftheweek, so there were pictures left in my phone to reassess.

So I offer you my unedited heated up leftovers.