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Month: July 2015

In sickness and in health

In sickness and in health

Last week Mr Kitty was away on another business trip. He was only gone for a couple of days, as usual. Also as usual, those days were fairly uneventful for me, except for one night when the cat decided to hunt something in my room, in the middle of the night. That something turned out to be… a butt plug. In fact, it was a butt plug whose existence I’d completely forgotten about. It barely registered on my pre-coffee hazy mind. It was only on the drive to work that I realised the ridiculousness of the situation. Thank God I don’t have children!
The weirdest thing isn’t even that my cat was trying to hunt an inanimate object while I tried to sleep, but that my first thought was: “this reminds me of something…”. Yup, it reminded me of this post. It turns out that things are funnier when they happen to other people.

Mr Kitty came back from his trip in a really terrible mood. I was at work when he got home, so I didn’t realise how cranky he was. These things aren’t conveyed all that well through texts. By the time I got home, he was looking like a depressed little version of himself. He told me he wasn’t feeling well and decided to try and sleep it off. He got worse over the next few days. It was nothing serious, thankfully, but he was feeling bad enough that my only instinct was to look after him as best as I could. So I spent my weekend attempting to make him tasty food that he might actually eat, being around when he needed me, and generally trying to be a good girlfriend. The cage was off; it still is. He’ll be back in it when we both feel like he’s ready.

Since going out wasn’t much of an option, I decided to finally make him the skirt that I considered making ages ago. I like it when he does his household chores naked, wearing a pink skirt. The one he’s been using so far was an impulse purchase he made, which I ended up liking more than expected. I wanted to give him something more special, maybe a little girlier, so I thought a tulle skirt was the most appropriate direction.

This isn’t a sewing blog, but in case anyone is interested, my method for this type of skirt is essentially the same as the one in this tutorial.

I used 6 or 7 metres of tulle: 5 of pink tulle, and a bit of white tulle that I happened to have lying around.

6 ish metres of tulle, before gathering into a pretty skirt.

Gathering it all was a bit tedious, but the white tulle gave it a lovely multi-tonal effect.


Since my kittyslave has the most sensitive skin ever, I used this gorgeous, über soft pink satin for the lining.

I don’t even like pink but…


This is the finished result. For such a quick (impromptu!) project, I’m quite happy with it. According to Mr Kitty, the soft lining makes it very comfortable. I’ll be so happy when I see him doing his chores again, looking like a pretty princess!


Sexiness & Desire

Sexiness & Desire

This is the first topic for the Domme Bloggers Topic Challenge. =]

This month’s topic is Sexiness & desire: “As women, we hear a lot that to be ‘sexy’ means being desirable/desired. But if we’re doing the desiring (or even the up-against-the-wall kissing!), is there still room to feel ‘sexy’? Or maybe you think of being ‘sexy’ and being desirable as two different things? How do you like to know that your partner desires you, and how do you like to express your desire for them?”

I see being sexy and being desirable as two completely different things. I can’t speak for anyone else, but at least for me, being sexy comes from inside me; being desirable is more of an outward thing.

I went to an all girl secondary school. I’m not convinced that it’s healthy to spend that many years in a single-sex environment. It really fucked me up, negatively affecting my perception of the world and of myself. The shrill voices, the caked-on makeup, the bitchiness… I hated being among so many girls. Maybe because I was only a teenager, because I was a skinny little thing with not much going for me (or that’s what I thought!), maybe because I always felt tempted to hide from the public light except when I felt strongly about something, maybe for all those reasons I felt very much like the least sexy thing in the world. I never had trouble getting boyfriends but I wasn’t at all comfortable with who I was. I didn’t feel sexy regardless of how much makeup I wore or how short my miniskirt might be when I went out with my friends.

I was, however, desired. Funny that. It was always easy to get male attention because the boys’ school was close enough to the girls’ school that we could easily meet up with them after class. I wasn’t bullied either, because no one who’d ever try would want to do it again. So I’d meet guys easily, and they’d want me. I was desired.

Somehow in the intervening years, I came to realise that if I don’t give two shits about what other people think of me, I feel sexy. Very sexy. And it’s even easier to get whatever, or whoever, I want. With adulthood comes confidence, and of course confidence itself is sexy, but I’m not sure I’m that much more confident than I was, adjusting for teenage awkwardness. Sure, I now usually know exactly what I want, and I’m assertive enough to just go and get it, which is probably the biggest difference between the teenage me and the adult me. What’s really happened is not so much an increase in self-confidence, but a realisation that there is no reason to be scared of getting what I want, since most people will barely notice the little features and details that I might have felt insecure about in the past. What really matters is how I project myself. When it comes to relationships and sex, there’s so much slowness and inaction due to fear of failure that it seems like people simply wait for someone to take control of the situation and just take the first step. I now know that as a woman, in most cases I’m the one with the upper hand (sorry guys!), so I might as well grab my chance and take that first step. If it works it works; it nearly always does. If it doesn’t, well,there’s plenty of people out there who will fulfil me just the same. When I keep that mindset, which these days is pretty much my default mindset, I feel sexy because I feel powerful. Whether I’m wearing makeup or nice clothes is completely irrelevant. I will often wear pyjamas around the house, and messy hair, and still feel sexy because I know that I’m doing what I want, and I still have the power to get what I want.

Feeling and being desired is a different story. I’m lucky that my boy loves me, so even in a vanilla relationship I know I’d feel desired. Circumstances might change in the future, but as of today, I know I’m still desired by him. I’m even luckier that we get to play the chastity game, which causes him to want me so much that he truly worships me in every way that he can. We’ve been together for five years, and I know he craves my body more today than he did on that first illicit night. It’s hard to not feel desired when not a day goes by without some sort of worshipping gesture from him, be it sex-related or romantic. However, when it comes to the outside world, I don’t feel desired by other men if I’m in my pyjamas, with my messy hair. I feel inherently sexy enough that I’m fairly sure I could pull if I wanted to while doing my groceries, without any makeup or sexy clothes. At least I’d try! But it would be more difficult because I wouldn’t exactly feel desirable. I feel more desirable, and therefore desired, when I make an effort to wear nicer clothes and pretty hair and makeup.

In conclusion, I think being sexy and being desired are very different concepts. Being sexy arises either from some sort of self-confidence, or from a resistance to trying to please others, opting instead to do what one really wants. On the other hand, being desired most often occurs as a result of external appearance or demeanour, unless, as in my case, there’s some serious love shit going on, and possibly a chastity device too. Either way, on a personal level, both words relate to how easy it is for me to get laid. =P

Trust and ball crushing

Trust and ball crushing

I’ve spent this week in a haze of sewing, cooking and ploughing through a mountain of work. If I can keep my sanity for the next couple of months, everything will be okay.

Mr Kitty has also been very busy, so I’ve let him stay unlocked for the last week or so. I don’t mind unlocking him when he’s in a particularly busy period and working to deadlines, because I know that his sex drive dips a little anyway and he knows what happens if he cums without permission. Whenever he’s unlocked and isn’t given explicit permission to wank, he’s required to tell me if he thinks he might do it due to not having enough willpower. That way I can act on it. There has been instances in the past where he has put himself back in the cage, on purpose, without me telling him, because I was uncontactable at the time and he thought it easier to stop himself if he was locked up again. I didn’t think it was much of a deterrent since he had the key those times, but it was the best he could do, and I’m glad he did it. Whether he’s actually locked in a cage or not means very little to me. I like to control his orgasms, not necessarily his access to his cock. Though controlling access to his cock is a nice bonus.

Well, this week he didn’t seem to struggle at all. It was as if he had no urges to masturbate. I could easily make him hard, but he was so good at not trying to cum despite his horniness, that he actually had a wet dream, like he did when he was a teenager! Awh!!! After a couple of days I thought that maybe what was happening was that his sex drive was very low because of how busy he was. It was beginning to bug me that it seemed so effortless to him. Was he controlling himself so well out of love and respect for me, or was it because he simply had a very low sex drive?

So today I made him have sex with me, even though I didn’t particularly feel like it (I had some serious fun with a couple of dildos a few days in a row…). If his performance is any indicator, I think his sex drive is just fine. Regardless, we both know that I can’t trust him to be good for a very long time, busy or not, and there’s no fun in that anyway. I won’t be locking him up just yet because he’s going away on a business trip this week, but as soon as he is back, he’ll also be getting back into his cage. I might even bring it with me when I pick him up at the airport…

Something weird happened after we had sex. We have a habit of lying in bed for ages just chatting or cuddling or giving each other rubs, playing with the cat, etc., instead of doing whatever it is that we’re supposed to be doing at the time. It’s not particularly responsible, especially when he’s working to very tight deadlines, but I think it helps to keep us sane and happy. Well, today I accidentally crushed his balls with one of my feet! I think I was trying to get up from the bed, and I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the very loud scream that he let out. It was so loud that I thought I’d caused serious damage, but no, I only stepped on his balls lightly, if unexpectedly. I apologised immediately, but I must admit that there was something about it that made me feel really powerful, even if I hadn’t planned on it at all. I don’t know how to explain it because I’ve never been one to inflict pain for the sake of it, other than in very specific circumstances. But I felt very powerful and high and I don’t know… I really wanted to do it again. Specifically, I wanted to find a man —any man — and crush his balls. I badly wanted it.

As I tried to explain this to Mr Kitty, he crossed his legs very tightly in an attempt to block any access I might have to his balls, and that was that. I think I might have genuinely scared him.

Writing this out has reminded me of how I used to kick boys in the balls for fun when I was little. They never did anything stop me from doing it (these were boys that fancied me, not just random boys) and it made me feel very good, but I wasn’t sure why. It’s also really weird because I can’t stand any sort of human (or animal!) suffering. I don’t know, I guess I do like to inflict pain when it comes to punishing Mr Kitty, and I do have fantasies about cutting him with a very sharp razor and just watch the blood flow. Not that I’d act on that, as I don’t think it would be right to mark his body that way. He scars easily. Still, I don’t consider myself a sadist at all. I’m more of a control freak. But I really, really want to crush someone’s balls.

The day he embraced anal play

The day he embraced anal play

We’re officially at that stage of our relationship. No, no one is saying the D word yet (those who watch Last Man On Earth will know what I’m talking about). But he did say “I’m full of pee”.


For all my openness in sex, and my perfect ability to completely ignore societal boundaries, I can’t deal with crude forms of humour involving bodily functions. I could walk down the street naked if I had to, without giving it a second thought (the neighbours across the road would call the police, but I would feel no shame)… but I don’t want to think of other people in certain ways involving certain functions.

I’m not even squeamish.

Mr Kitty is squeamish. He won’t ever admit it, but he is. He will not, for example, have sex if I’m on my period. I won’t force the issue because I’d rather not put him off sex forever, and because I find it quite amusing that he chooses the option of having an anal attachment in his chastity device during my time of the month, over the option of having sex with me. Crazy, huh? He’s lucky I haven’t yet tried to change his mind. One day I might, if I feel like it. There’s a precedent too!

When I first met Mr Kitty, he was terrified of the possibility of ever having to participate in anal play. He considered himself as straight as you can get, and was adamant that anal play would never be something he could ever, ever try, let alone enjoy. I have met several other men with the same issue. Some, like Mr Kitty, eventually changed their minds. Most never attempted it. Obviously, Mr Kitty had an advantage in that he was very open-minded, enough that our chastity game was already in full swing. But he still refused to try it every time I suggested it.

I’m not one to force people outside their comfort zone. I prefer to encourage them once they are ready, and he clearly wasn’t ready. To me, it seemed strange that a person who would try so many other activities would have such an issue with this one. At the time, I didn’t think it was due to any insecurity on his part. Squeamishness, perhaps. Looking back, I think his reluctance was caused by sexual insecurity, just as with many of the men I have met with this issue. He insisted that there was no insecurity on his part, but I honestly think there was.

I wanted to solve the issue. I wanted to be able to do some of the things that I couldn’t do due to his reluctance, so I decided to try to find a good way to convince him. I realised that he felt so negatively towards anal play that any real pressure to just do it would cause even more severe negativity. For all I knew, he might never try again, and I really wanted to avoid that. The method had to be positive and so mind-blowing that he would want to do it again and again. It also had to evoke strong submissive feelings. My aim was to cause a double impact, affecting both the physical and the emotional spheres. The only way to do this was, of course, an anal orgasm.

I didn’t think he would simply use a toy in his ass, just like that, and I definitely didn’t expect him to get an orgasm from it. Instead, I told him that he would be unlocked and allowed to wank… but only with a toy in his ass. If I remember correctly, this was met with a lot of complaining. I tried to make him see that if he were to try some prostate stimulation while wanking, he’d get so much pleasure that he’d wonder why he hadn’t tried it earlier. He was still hesitant. So I reminded him of his bucket list.

Now, the bucket list is a list that I have never seen. I’m not convinced it has ever existed in written form. It was a bunch of sexual things a teenage Mr Kitty thought he’d like to try one day, even though deep down he knew he wouldn’t. All sorts of crazy things are purported to have been on this list. While no evidence of its existence has ever been found, it’s exactly the sort of thing I imagine him writing out. Mr Kitty likes to be adventurous even when sometimes it can make him uncomfortable.

After much persuasion, he decided that he would try it, but only because it was what I wanted. Even when I’m not giving orders he still tries to do what I want! So he took a smallish vibrator and used it in his ass while he masturbated.

I wish I remembered his words after he came, but it’s been a few years and my memory isn’t that great. I do remember that he was amazed at the intensity of the orgasm. So much so that the next few times any prostate massage happened, it was carried out by me. At first I let him masturbate while I did the anal bit. Then I started giving him handjobs. Finally, it was anal toys without any penile masturbation. The squeamishness about it was gone, and so was the insecurity. He knew he could still consider himself straight (hah!) whether he liked his prostate played with or not.

My plan had worked! And very well too! So well, that now he’s looking forward to meeting the other guy again. I’ve decided that he’ll be getting a nice piece of cock inside him soon. I bet he’ll enjoy it.

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