When I came home this evening, my B was busy at the kitchen counter.
I made my greetings, chatted a little about our day and confirmed her compliance with some requests I had made and permissions we had negotiated by phone earlier when she had gone for a mid-afternoon nap.
Running my hand around the hem of her skirt, I lifted it clear of her buttocks, noting the tight smooth black knickers she was wearing. Regular readers maybe a little surprised, since I had previously posted a couple of times that such underwear is the exception for B, rather than the norm. This rule has been relaxed, however, whilst we are waiting for the final piercing to heal.
Her admition that she had not been as perfectly good today as she might have been, provoked the inevitable response and I swung the palm of my hand firmly down several times. It was only after six or so strokes that I realised that, whilst jiggling, jumping and squirming, she was still dicing an onion with a lethally sharp French steel knife.
Concensual maybe, not sure it was the sanest punishment I've ever delivered.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Losing My Virginity for the Second Time
At least, that's what it felt like.
We decided on a day trip to Sitges. Its just like going out to Greystones on the DART, but with less stops and the last bit of the train journey is really cool, way above the sea like Bray Head. We even found out about one naturist beach in a little cove about 5km before Sitges but it seems the trains don't stop there any more since the only landmark is a dirty big cement factory. We debated walking, hitching or a taxi, but in the end settled for one of the naturist beaches in Sitges itself.
Now this is where it started to get difficult. Sitges is a very gay friendly town so there seems to be ordinary (vanilla) beaches, gay beaches, male gay beaches, naturist beaches, and then mixed beaches as in mixed textile/naturist, mixed hetero/gay, mixed hetero/gay/naturist/textile, male gay mixed naturist/textile ..... you get the picture.
We decided against the inappropriately named Dead Man Beach which was described as male-gay-naturist, and settled for Les Balmins which seemed to be all inclusive kind of mixed everything and within walking distance of the town centre, bars etc. It turned out to be fairly male gay naturist anyway, but this is Sitges.
Other extras to our previous foray was that B did succumb to the offers of a passing Chinese masseuse and I surprised myself by lacking any embarassment when I rolled over onto my back to instinctively dig into my non existent pockets to pay the girl, forgetting by then that my trousers were on a rock rather than on me.
After swimming, B, at my instruction, joined the promenaders at the waters edge and I detected a definite animated reaction from one woman to her male partner after they passed her which I am sure was triggered by B's recent jewellery - I'm so proud of my girl.
Out of season Sitges was really nice. Fell asleep after an excellent tapas lunch listening to two young lads jamming guitars "Stéphane Grappelli" style who weren't even collecting money, just enjoying themselves.
It was a good week in Barcelona, although the Museum of Erotica in our out of date guidebook seems to have gone out of business. Plenty of sun, nice food, exhibitionist boundaries broken down some more and we've discovered how good siesta time is for kinky play :) :)
We decided on a day trip to Sitges. Its just like going out to Greystones on the DART, but with less stops and the last bit of the train journey is really cool, way above the sea like Bray Head. We even found out about one naturist beach in a little cove about 5km before Sitges but it seems the trains don't stop there any more since the only landmark is a dirty big cement factory. We debated walking, hitching or a taxi, but in the end settled for one of the naturist beaches in Sitges itself.
Now this is where it started to get difficult. Sitges is a very gay friendly town so there seems to be ordinary (vanilla) beaches, gay beaches, male gay beaches, naturist beaches, and then mixed beaches as in mixed textile/naturist, mixed hetero/gay, mixed hetero/gay/naturist/textile, male gay mixed naturist/textile ..... you get the picture.
We decided against the inappropriately named Dead Man Beach which was described as male-gay-naturist, and settled for Les Balmins which seemed to be all inclusive kind of mixed everything and within walking distance of the town centre, bars etc. It turned out to be fairly male gay naturist anyway, but this is Sitges.
Other extras to our previous foray was that B did succumb to the offers of a passing Chinese masseuse and I surprised myself by lacking any embarassment when I rolled over onto my back to instinctively dig into my non existent pockets to pay the girl, forgetting by then that my trousers were on a rock rather than on me.
After swimming, B, at my instruction, joined the promenaders at the waters edge and I detected a definite animated reaction from one woman to her male partner after they passed her which I am sure was triggered by B's recent jewellery - I'm so proud of my girl.
Out of season Sitges was really nice. Fell asleep after an excellent tapas lunch listening to two young lads jamming guitars "Stéphane Grappelli" style who weren't even collecting money, just enjoying themselves.
It was a good week in Barcelona, although the Museum of Erotica in our out of date guidebook seems to have gone out of business. Plenty of sun, nice food, exhibitionist boundaries broken down some more and we've discovered how good siesta time is for kinky play :) :)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Losing My Virginity
Another significant milestone was passed today.
We are currently on a short holiday in Barcelona, our first. For a long time, my Bandree has flirted with the attraction of Naturist (nudist) beaches. A quick Google search revealed that Spain, and Catalonia (lets be politically correct) has quite a liberal view of such activities. Little did I realise what "liberal" means in this context.
I did the real difficult bit (working out which Metro stop, where to change trains) whilst Bandree did the piss-easy stuff (approaching elderly gentleman walking dog on seafront foot path and asking "Hay una playa naturistica aqui?"). Much handwaving indicated about 1km along said footpath at the far end of the second beach. This was just as well since Bandree's always-right travel planner had reckoned it was about 1km in the other direction and was mortified at the idea of stopping and asking a local.
Approaching the indicated area yes, there were some obviously naked elderly gentlemen. As we summoned our courage, took a deep breath, and approached the stretch of beach, we realised that it was MIXED! No, as it happened Bandree was the only female, but there were people WEARING CLOTHES ("Textiles" as they are known in this particular field) both lying on the sand and walking past, and there were no warning signs.
However, we were as they say, "committed" at this stage and, given what Bandree has done for me, I wasn't backing out, or forwarding out, as in "not sure which bits to hide from whom in any backing out situation".
So we did it. We stripped off and lay on the sand, and went down to the water's edge, and went swimming and bought beer from the passing vendors and declined the multiple (perfectly wholesome) offers of massage from the passing Chinese girls, and IT FELT GREAT. Never mind the one or two dubious guys who passed by more than twice or lingered a bit slowly on the adjacent public path. Fine mate, I've got a prick and two balls, just like you and I've a gaggle of kids to prove it all works and a fine woman beside me so I've nothing left to be uptight about. And actually, when it comes down to it, there are only two types of people you will see on a naturist beach 50% of us are one and 50% are the other.
Being a little more serious. Despite discussing this with Bandree ages back, I probably couldn't have done this a year ago. The people I have met through these blogs, through Nimhneach, through BDSM munches, have so grown me up. I have gained a confidence I never knew I had. Watching the Chinese massage girls really brought it home. As we were leaving, one of them who, remember, was working her way up and down all the "vanilla" beaches, this just being one 300 m stretch in the middle, approached a man who had just arrived beside us. I could not overhear, but it was obvious they were discussing her offers and prices. They agreed and he then undressed completely and lay on his stomach. Whilst he undressed, she smiled and exchanged pleasantries before starting her massage.
You must understand, there was nothing sleazy. It was three in the afternoon and a naked mother and young daughter were playing 50 metres away. It was just a beach masseuse rubbing another back. But I found it very thought provoking. If you are a beach masseuse, presumably most of your clients are wearing some minimal cover but, the process is so physically intimate, that the bikini or shorts are almost irrelevant. That's why that girl could get ready to massage a strange man whilst he stripped naked in front of her and neither of them had to get all shy and silly.
I've learned the same thing from my short contact with this scene. We are often like the pair on the beach. What we do is physically intimate, startlingly so when the other person is an almost stranger and their real identity, quite likely, unknown. I think we are being less than honest if we claim that there is no erotic component whatsoever. But, play can be offered in a straightforward "I know you like this and I like this" context without there needing to be any implied "I'm hoping to get to know and date you" overtones. Some of my most refreshing experiences have come from the changing rooms at Nimhneach, the request from an unknown girl to help lace her into a corset or whatever. I am so much more at home in my body and my psyche since I met the good friends I have made here that I will happily return to that beach with Bandree tomorrow, provided it isn't raining. Thanks to the lot of you.
We are currently on a short holiday in Barcelona, our first. For a long time, my Bandree has flirted with the attraction of Naturist (nudist) beaches. A quick Google search revealed that Spain, and Catalonia (lets be politically correct) has quite a liberal view of such activities. Little did I realise what "liberal" means in this context.
I did the real difficult bit (working out which Metro stop, where to change trains) whilst Bandree did the piss-easy stuff (approaching elderly gentleman walking dog on seafront foot path and asking "Hay una playa naturistica aqui?"). Much handwaving indicated about 1km along said footpath at the far end of the second beach. This was just as well since Bandree's always-right travel planner had reckoned it was about 1km in the other direction and was mortified at the idea of stopping and asking a local.
Approaching the indicated area yes, there were some obviously naked elderly gentlemen. As we summoned our courage, took a deep breath, and approached the stretch of beach, we realised that it was MIXED! No, as it happened Bandree was the only female, but there were people WEARING CLOTHES ("Textiles" as they are known in this particular field) both lying on the sand and walking past, and there were no warning signs.
However, we were as they say, "committed" at this stage and, given what Bandree has done for me, I wasn't backing out, or forwarding out, as in "not sure which bits to hide from whom in any backing out situation".
So we did it. We stripped off and lay on the sand, and went down to the water's edge, and went swimming and bought beer from the passing vendors and declined the multiple (perfectly wholesome) offers of massage from the passing Chinese girls, and IT FELT GREAT. Never mind the one or two dubious guys who passed by more than twice or lingered a bit slowly on the adjacent public path. Fine mate, I've got a prick and two balls, just like you and I've a gaggle of kids to prove it all works and a fine woman beside me so I've nothing left to be uptight about. And actually, when it comes down to it, there are only two types of people you will see on a naturist beach 50% of us are one and 50% are the other.
Being a little more serious. Despite discussing this with Bandree ages back, I probably couldn't have done this a year ago. The people I have met through these blogs, through Nimhneach, through BDSM munches, have so grown me up. I have gained a confidence I never knew I had. Watching the Chinese massage girls really brought it home. As we were leaving, one of them who, remember, was working her way up and down all the "vanilla" beaches, this just being one 300 m stretch in the middle, approached a man who had just arrived beside us. I could not overhear, but it was obvious they were discussing her offers and prices. They agreed and he then undressed completely and lay on his stomach. Whilst he undressed, she smiled and exchanged pleasantries before starting her massage.
You must understand, there was nothing sleazy. It was three in the afternoon and a naked mother and young daughter were playing 50 metres away. It was just a beach masseuse rubbing another back. But I found it very thought provoking. If you are a beach masseuse, presumably most of your clients are wearing some minimal cover but, the process is so physically intimate, that the bikini or shorts are almost irrelevant. That's why that girl could get ready to massage a strange man whilst he stripped naked in front of her and neither of them had to get all shy and silly.
I've learned the same thing from my short contact with this scene. We are often like the pair on the beach. What we do is physically intimate, startlingly so when the other person is an almost stranger and their real identity, quite likely, unknown. I think we are being less than honest if we claim that there is no erotic component whatsoever. But, play can be offered in a straightforward "I know you like this and I like this" context without there needing to be any implied "I'm hoping to get to know and date you" overtones. Some of my most refreshing experiences have come from the changing rooms at Nimhneach, the request from an unknown girl to help lace her into a corset or whatever. I am so much more at home in my body and my psyche since I met the good friends I have made here that I will happily return to that beach with Bandree tomorrow, provided it isn't raining. Thanks to the lot of you.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
An Abel & Haron Moment
Here we both are having a short holiday in the exciting, ever so slightly raunchy, opinionated city of Barcelona. We knew before we arrived that it had a pretty serious reputation for street crime and, in particular, subway crime.
So, arriving into the city from the airport, we were on our guard when we entered the Metro for the short journey to our apartment. Climbing the first set of steps from the underpass to our platform, we are overtaken by a group of obvious students, couple of blokes and 5 or 6 girls, all chattering and laughing amongst themselves. One of the blokes attempted to help me with the case I was carrying. I declined, but he was persistent and friendly. My suspicions were aroused but, as we arrived on the platform, they all headed to a door further down the last carriage of the train, which was already stopped there. I relaxed my suspicions a little, this train was, after all, headed for the university district. We boarded at the last door and crossed over to stand against the opposite doors, my wishing to keep a hand on our bags.
As the train pulled out, we both realised that our end and, actually, our side of our end of the carriage was surprisingly busy and crowded with noisy students. B reacted first, pushing abruptly through them to reach some free seats and I followed, guarding my belongings carefully. The students looked surprised and all teamed off at the next stop. At that point, I realised that the zips were open on both B's shoulder bag and my waist bag. Passports were still there but some folded papers beside them were missing. Nothing of value taken but a very close wake-up call.
As our train journey continued and I reflected on our assailants, all I could think of, in a Spanking Writers moment, was the delight I would experience of being permitted to apply suitable corrective measures with all of the young ladies involved. As for the two men, a quick boot up the arse would have to suffice.
So, arriving into the city from the airport, we were on our guard when we entered the Metro for the short journey to our apartment. Climbing the first set of steps from the underpass to our platform, we are overtaken by a group of obvious students, couple of blokes and 5 or 6 girls, all chattering and laughing amongst themselves. One of the blokes attempted to help me with the case I was carrying. I declined, but he was persistent and friendly. My suspicions were aroused but, as we arrived on the platform, they all headed to a door further down the last carriage of the train, which was already stopped there. I relaxed my suspicions a little, this train was, after all, headed for the university district. We boarded at the last door and crossed over to stand against the opposite doors, my wishing to keep a hand on our bags.
As the train pulled out, we both realised that our end and, actually, our side of our end of the carriage was surprisingly busy and crowded with noisy students. B reacted first, pushing abruptly through them to reach some free seats and I followed, guarding my belongings carefully. The students looked surprised and all teamed off at the next stop. At that point, I realised that the zips were open on both B's shoulder bag and my waist bag. Passports were still there but some folded papers beside them were missing. Nothing of value taken but a very close wake-up call.
As our train journey continued and I reflected on our assailants, all I could think of, in a Spanking Writers moment, was the delight I would experience of being permitted to apply suitable corrective measures with all of the young ladies involved. As for the two men, a quick boot up the arse would have to suffice.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
We'd Love to Love Our Lurkers
We'd Love to Love Our Lurkers, but we can't if we don't know you're there.
Looking back, I know I lurked for years. Actually its a nasty word, to lurk, no wonder no one wants to own up. It has a kind of sleazy, hanging round stage doors or bookies shops, rymes with murky, feel about it.
But it doesn't have to be like that. We're not asking you to start posting blogs (unless you do already). Its just that we get off on being noticed. If I was writing this entirely for myself, I'd use a notebook and pencil. We are all just ordinary people, each of us maybe revealing a little more or a little less about ourselves than is obvious, but I believe that all the blogs I follow are real. When I look back over them I can see moods cycling through the swings of everyday life. We need to applaud with posters' happinesses and hug them through the downer bits. The only way we can do that is by adding comments to their blog posts.
Its not essential to sign up with any particular blog service. All comments options have an Anonymous button and you can just add a (fictitious) handle to the end of your comment to identify yourself if you want to.
We would all love you to just pop your hand up and say "Hi". It need be no more than that. I've met people in real life, who on being introduced, said "Oh, its you, I read your blog." I get a real buzz from that. You might think that you are looking for notice or wasting electrons by commenting. Not so, even the smallest handwave from out there tells us that someone in the street has noticed our busking. That's often enough for us.
We bare our souls to you a little bit. We hope that it may help you to get braver. I know that reading blogs was how I discovered how this world works and gained confidence that I could trust the occupants. I'm so very glad I did. Through reading blogs I've met some really friendly people, a few of whom I've been lucky enough to meet for real, and they turned out to be just as nice as I thought they'd be. There are others I really look forward to hoping I get to meet sometime, somewhere.
So that's it. We love our followers, including our lurkers, and we'd really love to know that you're out there, pretty please ....... If you don't wave back we might stop writing, and then you'd have to go back to paying bookshops when you wanted a good read.
Looking back, I know I lurked for years. Actually its a nasty word, to lurk, no wonder no one wants to own up. It has a kind of sleazy, hanging round stage doors or bookies shops, rymes with murky, feel about it.
But it doesn't have to be like that. We're not asking you to start posting blogs (unless you do already). Its just that we get off on being noticed. If I was writing this entirely for myself, I'd use a notebook and pencil. We are all just ordinary people, each of us maybe revealing a little more or a little less about ourselves than is obvious, but I believe that all the blogs I follow are real. When I look back over them I can see moods cycling through the swings of everyday life. We need to applaud with posters' happinesses and hug them through the downer bits. The only way we can do that is by adding comments to their blog posts.
Its not essential to sign up with any particular blog service. All comments options have an Anonymous button and you can just add a (fictitious) handle to the end of your comment to identify yourself if you want to.
We would all love you to just pop your hand up and say "Hi". It need be no more than that. I've met people in real life, who on being introduced, said "Oh, its you, I read your blog." I get a real buzz from that. You might think that you are looking for notice or wasting electrons by commenting. Not so, even the smallest handwave from out there tells us that someone in the street has noticed our busking. That's often enough for us.
We bare our souls to you a little bit. We hope that it may help you to get braver. I know that reading blogs was how I discovered how this world works and gained confidence that I could trust the occupants. I'm so very glad I did. Through reading blogs I've met some really friendly people, a few of whom I've been lucky enough to meet for real, and they turned out to be just as nice as I thought they'd be. There are others I really look forward to hoping I get to meet sometime, somewhere.
So that's it. We love our followers, including our lurkers, and we'd really love to know that you're out there, pretty please ....... If you don't wave back we might stop writing, and then you'd have to go back to paying bookshops when you wanted a good read.
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