Ah, there it is. My kinky side.

January has been a good month with lots to appreciate… except for, there’s been very little sex and no kink! February started with me changing that story. Here’s how that happened.

January saw me going on several beautiful walks in the countryside with good friends; some really lovely dates and evenings in with my partner; a nice session with my other partner at his place.

The first few weeks of my new job feel like they went …OK? I think. I concentrated really hard on taking it slowly and consciously and not allowing myself to run off in all directions or cave to outside pressure to DO STUFF before planning it. I think that paid off, as I now feel pretty calm and in control of what’s quite a difficult programme of work.

But, I haven’t been very sexual, for a few weeks now.

Since Christmas, probably, if I’m honest. Work has pretty much taken a front seat. Everything else…has fallen by the wayside.

And it was starting to make me feel… sad. Numb.

I didn’t even realise it until a few days ago.

Jack and I were discussing his dates with A, his new partner, and I said: ‘I do feel a tiny bit anxious that you might start doing kink with her and enjoy it more than you do with me.’

(Actually, I thought it was a pretty irrational fear, and I wasn’t really that anxious. In my head, our kink connection was so strong, there’s very little that could threaten it.)

He looked into my eyes. Said, gently, ‘Well, you know it’s been a while since we really did much kink.’

I paused. ‘What’?

He said: ‘I think it’s probably been nearly 6 months since we did a proper kink scene.’

I was stunned. I sat there with my eyes on the table, wracking my brains.

He was right. I mean, we’d had kink play to ’embellish’ the regular sex we have, of course; all of our fucking is kind of based in power play. We’d had the odd spanking session too. But we hadn’t actually planned out a detailed, long-form scene, the kind where we both role-play for a couple of hours and luxuriate in all the filthy things until we’re both utterly sated in our D/s roles and can’t actually stand up any more.

‘Oh, fuck’. I said.

I couldn’t keep the worry and panic out of my voice.

Maybe my concern about his new girlfriend being a better sub than me was actually a very reasonable one, if I had been failing to meet his needs for so long. Where had the time gone? ‘Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I had no idea it had been that long’.

‘It’s OK’, he said. ‘It’s not your fault, it’s both of us. We’ve been doing other things. We’ve been processing poly stuff, we’ve been going to sex parties and festivals and dating. We’ve both had other priorities.’

I must have still looked stricken. He said again, ‘Really, don’t worry. If it had been a big problem, I would have said. But… it would definitely mean a lot to me to spend some more time on kinky stuff soon.’

Yes, dammit, this needed to happen. I am his sub. I am his little girl. I need to act like it.

‘Me too’. I said. ‘It would mean a lot to me too.’

The next day, we had some fun morning sex (I wore a new black lace bodystocking, and felt pretty damn sexy). That boosted my confidence, and my sexual appetite. I wanted more. I think he could tell!

Curious mermaid in a bodystocking
Black lace bodystocking FTW

We went out for coffee- flat white with oat milk, at our local hipster cafe (yes, I’m that person). As he finished up his Americano and went off to get a haircut, he caught my eye and said, ‘What do you think about playing later?’

Because my sexual desire is allergic to pressure, Jack’s developed a great way of seeding a sexy idea, but then backing off and leaving me to come back to him when I’m ready. It’s a nice way of allowing me to ease into my sexual self in private and get myself psychologically in the zone.

Yes. He had picked the right time to ask.

That afternoon, at 3pm, I was ready.

‘So’, I said, conversationally.

‘I would like to do some kink, if you’re still in the mood?

And, I’ve been thinking about a scene. I’d like to be your secretary, and you’re my boss. You’re going to discipline me in the office, because I’ve done something… against the rules? I’ll go get some office lady clothes on. What do you think?’

A big smile spread across his face.

I went and got dressed.

When I came back into the living room, I wore a see-through buttoned blouse, hold-up black lacy stockings, a short black skirt, and high black heels. I’d made sure the top of the hold-ups was just visible under the skirt. Stereotypical, yes, but fucking hot – if I do say so myself.

I saw Jack had laid out various toys and implements in our living room, across our leather sofa. I drew breath in as I looked at:

  • A paddle
  • A flogger
  • A ball gag
  • Two long ropes, one red, one black

We know each other well enough and communicate often enough about what we like that we didn’t really need more discussion about the scene ahead.

He looked me up and down. ‘I’d like you to be kneeling on the floor when I come back in’.

Left the room.

I knelt down. I felt a tiny excited pulse begin to beat between my legs, deep inside my pussy.

I took a breath. I closed my eyes.

Twenty minutes later, I was on all fours, my skirt rucked up around my waist, with saliva drooling out from behind my ball-gag, tears still in my eyes from being facefucked until I choked.

Jack is behind me, leaning over me. Running his hands over my tits, sometimes squeezing my nipples with his fingertips until I cry out in pain.

I can’t talk through the gag, of course. It’s hard to even make much noise, apart from a muffled and teary ‘mmmph’. I love the way my emotional noises contrast with his utter calm as he talks to me in a casual tone.

He’s given me a small silver ball which I can drop if I need him to stop the scene, since I can’t talk. It makes a tinkling sound on the floor. I am holding it tight so I don’t drop it by accident. If he stops, I’ll die. I need, need, need him to keep going.

He’s forced my legs apart, so that he could look closely at every part of me- he knows how much this excites me. Every now and then, as he continues to talk to me in his calm, quiet voice, he slaps my sensitive pussy through my panties, gently. He’s just getting started. I feel like I can’t get my legs wide enough for that thought.

He whispers in my ear, one hand gripping and kneading my tit: ‘This is who you are, isn’t it? You’re a dirty little slut.’

Yes. This is who I am.

I am so glad he reminded me.

(Oh, and- my apologies to our new neighbour for all the noise- it’s better you know now what you’ve let yourself in for!)

Author: CuriousMermaid

I am a thirty-something woman. I write about sex, bi/pansexuality, kink and open relationships/polyamory from personal experience.

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