On The Train

It felt like the hottest day of the summer and there was no shade to  be found on the station platform. I could feel little rivulets of sweat running down my back and the valley between my breasts, so maybe the black wool dress had been a mistake that day. I looked at Paul, my boss, who was looking as hot and miserable as I felt and he smiled back. We had been out for the day in a particularly dismal series of meetings and neither of us were in the mood for waiting for this train.
"Maybe we should go for a drink instead", I suggested with a grin,
He looked at his watch, and shook his head "It'll be here in a minute. Maybe we'll get some relief on the train"


The situation on the train itself was no better - people were spilling out of the carriage - there were  no seats left. He pulled me into the corner of the standing area near to where a window had been pulled down a couple of inches and I ended up standing with my face against the wall, holding onto the overhead handle with one arm. We were crowded in from every other angle, with far too many people standing and no room to move.  The train pulled slowly out of the station and I realised, with a feeling like lead weight in my stomach, there was no air-conditioning. There was no air-conditioning and our stop was 30 minutes away. I leaned with my cheek against the wall and tried to focus on the thin flow of air that was coming in through the window.

I could feel Paul standing behind me as he also held on overhead, his body resting lightly against mine. The smell of his aftershave was impossible to avoid as his face could only have been inches away from mine and I breathed it in, I loved the way he smelt today. As the train rocked and swayed along the rails I became more conscious of his body moving against mine. I smiled to myself; things had to be bad if I was thinking that way about my pain in the ass boss. My objectively attractive but absolute pain in the ass of a boss.

The train suddenly jolted and about 30 bodies fell back against me,forcing me even tighter into the corner of the train. I could feel the contours of his body pressed hard against me now and his other hand went out to steady himself but as the train righted itself he did not move back; his hand remained against the wall and his body remained right against me. He had to be kidding, didn't he?
His weight shifted again as he took his hand down from the overhead bar, and I stiffened as he placed it on my hip. A move that would have felt totally natural and intimate had it been my boyfriend squeezed against my body like that, but felt alien and provocative under these circumstances. But, since I'm being honest,  it didn't feel entirely unwelcome so I remained against the wall with my eyes shut, thinking maybe it would stop there, but how silly of me to think that would be the end of it. After a few minutes he moved his hand again, and he began to gently trace the outline of my bottom with his finger - a stroke so soft it was almost imperceptible but felt like it was burning a trail on my skin. My mind was racing at the implications of this. I knew it was wrong, I knew I had no real interest in this man, I knew that letting your boss touch you on public transport was a Bad Thing. I also knew that there was a real chance I was going to get to like it.
When his hand reached down to the hem of my dress, I took a sharp intake of breath. Maybe this was going too far. He paused, for maybe 10 seconds before he pushed his hand up behind the back of my skirt and I felt his hand land on the inside of my bare thigh.
"Open your legs" he bent his head and whispered in my ear but I was paralysed with indecision now, unable to move at all. I opened my eye and looked up at him and he was staring down at me like he had caught me doing something unprofessional in the workplace,
"Open your legs" he repeated, his whisper turning into a hiss. He pinched my thigh quite hard and turned his hips against my bottom and pressed his erection into me. Regardless of my internal panic this flicked a switch in my head. This was my last chance to bat his hand away, or shout 'stop!' or turn around and admonish him for this. But I wasn't going to. I didn't want to.
"Open. Your. Legs. Now."

I closed my eyes again and spread my legs a few inches apart, holding my breath against what he was going to do to me next. He started to stroke my thigh where he had pinched me, hand moving up further with each caress, until his fingers were grazing the bottom edge of my knickers. I knew I was wet, but I didn't want him to know how aroused I was so I shifted my pelvis forward with the hope that he would be satisfied with stroking my legs. Some hope. He used his body to push my hips hard into the wall of the carriage and it was all I could do not to cry out in surprise. I could feel his hard cock straining against my bottom and he began to kiss and bite my neck. I became suddenly aware of my arm, still dangling from my handle and I dropped it to my side, trying to relax my body into him.
"Good Girl",  he whispered as he pushed a knee between my legs and wiggled it, pushing my legs further apart and I let my body drop further so he was supporting my weight. His hand persisted now between my thighs, and began to lightly stroke my pussy through the thin silk of my knickers; trying to detach myself, I opened my eyes to look back at the countryside speeding past the window and noted we were still 15 minutes from home. I couldn't distract myself from his fingers though, and could feel myself beginning to react to his touch. He paused again, for longer this time, and I felt a thin pinch of disappointment inside. Was he really going to stop? Maybe it's better he stops, I thought to myself,  this is.. this is..
And then he put both hands up inside my dress and slowly began to roll my knickers down, from the waistband, past my hips, until they were halfway down my thighs. I began to wriggle again. He couldn't remove my pants in this carriage, could he? He returned one of his arms to propping me up against the wall and the other went straight between my thighs and began to stroke my pussy again, as gently as before but occasionally catching my clit with his finger. I wanted to cry out but I knew I had to be perfectly silent with so many people in such close proximity. I grabbed behind me, blindly seeking something to hold onto and found his shirt, which I began to tug on impatiently.
"Good" he whispered again, and began to concentrate his attention on my clit. I moved my hand down between my dress and the hard bulge at the front of his trousers and held on; "Oh, good girl, you are such a good girl", he whispered and began to rub more quickly. I could feel the pressure building up in the pit of my abdomen but I didn't know how to let go because I was sure I would fall. He teased and pinched, rubbed and stroked, and I was so close, so close but there was nothing to hold onto that would keep me upright and so I began to think I would not come. I began to push his hand away, feeling certain that this could not end well, and then his mouth in my ear:
"Come for me, you little slut", his hand fighting hard against mine now, "come on you dirty bitch, come on my hand"

And there it was. A gut wrenching, heart-stopping orgasm where despite myself, I feel my legs did probably give out from underneath me, such was the intensity. I suppose he must have stopped me falling on the floor. He held his hand between my legs, two fingers against my pussy while I rode down the aftershocks, my sweaty forehead resting against the now slippery wall.
As I dozily came back round from my stupor I noticed we were pulling into our station and I straightened myself up. Had anyone noticed? Maybe they had, but no-one was staring at me like I was a Whore of Babylon. I didn't care.

Paul got me into a taxi home once we got out of the station and nothing happened again between us. There were changes though. Files to be checked were returned with a smiley face on a post-it note rather than being wordlessly slopped on my desk, and a particularly fine job was rewarded with a  'Good Girl' and a bar of chocolate. Maybe he just worked out how to motivate me, in the end. I moved on to another job within the company within a couple of months and  he gave me a glowing reference. But he would have given me a glowing reference anyway, right?

Pain is.. pain?

There's not been much to write about here over the past couple of weeks.  A dearth of material. I could have written many posts about how I wasn't getting any, that's for sure, but after weeks of consecutive daily posting about the lack of sexual interest in my life, who would come back? Not me.

Anyway, I didn't 'get any' today. I did however, spend a couple of hours in bed with 'good kisser'. We didn't have sex because I, after a whole week of infected bladder and antibiotics that made me feel like I had been steamrollered, got the curse. Again. As an aside, I have just finished 5 years of the mirena coil, which is an IUS intended to stop the monthly nuisance - it worked very well..all that time that I wasn't having sex. My GP mentioned that I might notice an increase in the nuisance for a while, when she couldn't persuade me to have a replacement fitted. And she was bloody right. And now I'm trying to have sex and I keep being limited by this. How's that for bitter irony?
So, I kept my pants on. I have to say though, it was the best pants on fun I've had in a looong time. Mr 'good kisser' is a very sexy man indeed. We have a great deal of chemistry, and when I am with him, moments slip seamlessly into hours. I don't know where the time goes when I am with him.

But you know, he's..it's.. he's the first man that's made me cry in bed for a very long time. Even with my most sadistic lover in the past, in the foulest of tempers, my hair has never been pulled so hard, for so long. Pulled so hard at the roots in either direction that he has immobilised my head and all I can do is open my mouth to cry out. He bit my tits until I almost saw stars, and 6 hours later, it's still uncomfortable to wear a bra. I am a masochist, I have no doubt that pain gets me off. But wow, I've been tested. On reflection, I think I'm complaining because it isn't the pain I 'like', it isn't the pain of implement hitting ass, for example, which is pain I'd choose.
Do I want it to stop, is the question. He would stop, if I wanted, I know it. I don't think he wants to torture me - and spends the vast majority of time we have together focusing on my pleasure. Further, as a sexually submissive woman, when he pins me down so I can't escape and does what he wants to me, I love it. I don't want it to stop, I don't think. I'll still love it in the morning when I have bruised nipples that still hurt, or, like last time, I have little finger shaped bruises on my upper arms as souvenirs of those delicious moments where I've tried (not hard) and failed to escape from his clutches.
I know I can't wait to be with him again, and you never know, next time I might even get nekkid. And maybe I'll take some ibuprofen.

Not Getting Laid - ur doin it rite

Well, Paris was great. It was hot and it was tiring, and I am officially skint, but we had a nice time. I do feel like I need a proper holiday that just involves lying by the pool and drinking cocktails now, but that may just be a bit out of reach this summer, so I'm concentrating on being grateful for what I've had. A bit of time away from my normal life helped me get a bit of perspective on the stuff that's been bothering me, so, whatever the cost, I suppose it was worthwhile.

Otherwise, a fair to middling week. A couple of lunches with friends, plenty of staring out of the window and praying (to whom?) for the rain to stop. My results came through for my first undergraduate year. Seems I am an exactly average 2:1 student. Happy enough with that. All well and good, as weeks go.

But no fucking. Not a sniff. No sweaty bodies wrapped around eachother, no head buried in pillow, no panting and groaning, no frantic undressing, no hot breath in the ear, no orgasms.
Even after spending a couple of hours in the company of a man who makes me weak at the knees when he kisses me (alright, there was kissing) I couldn't do it due to a  combination of not being able to get away at the right time and a really inconvenient surprise(!) bladder infection. Which made me cry. You know, when I look back at some of my encounters over the past couple of months, some of which not described yet on this blog, I am appalled to the degree that my body has worked against me in terms of getting it on. There is nothing you can do it seems, about biology no matter how willing you are.Still, in retrospect, I am happy and grateful that I have found someone who makes me weak at the knees when he kisses me. I didn't have that, not so long ago. It is apparently national kissing day today and I am a bit tempted to ask of he wants to meet up for a snog.

As a brief aside, I have never read 50 Shades of Grey, because I hear it is badly written, and for me life is a little too short for a bad book. Especially when it is a bad book about something that other people supposedly find shocking, and you just feel like what is being described is a bit... cliched. Never mind, here is a very good article about it, for my non-guardian reading pals.

Smoke and Mirrors

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy and Toto take a long journey up the Yellow Brick road in order to meet the Wizard, and get home to Kansas (although frankly, Kansas didn't look great did it?). On this trip, I'm sure you remember, she meets a variety of figures also with needs and they all sort of talk eachother into the idea that this mythical Wizard might be able to help them all out. They get there and lo, the Wizard happens to be a slightly eccentric old man with no powers, no special abilities and no way of giving them what they need. He had nothing. Zip, zilch, nada.
How fucking awful must that have felt, huh?
Happily for that fairy story, the moral seems to be that Dorothy and all of her friends already possessed what they believed they were seeking and went on to lead fulfilling and purposeful lives. Happy days.

Now, I'm not Dorothy, and W doesn't stand for Wizard. I'm not trying to get home.
My point is really that last night, the curtain fell between W and I and the line, the line that divides the D/s just sort of.. dissolved. That's the problem. Power isn't anything really to do with physical strength, although thats always a bonus, right? It isn't anything to do with who is the brightest, or richest. It's just about who wants to take the power. But as a submissive, you have to take the view that the person you are submitting to, has got their shit together to the degree that they are equal to the term 'Dominant'.  And when something happens that kind of reveals that it's just a fairly average man, a trick of the mind that allows you to hand over all sorts of authority to someone else, you can't unsee it for that person. I don't know if anyone can become un-average in your perception.

D/s isn't so much about sex for me, really. I mean, it IS about sex, but I can get kinky sex anywhere. I can find a man who is willing to nourish my inner masochist. I can see a man tonight, who will pin me down or tie me up and cover me with bruises and whisper dirty things in my ear and fuck me until I see stars. The physical control is always covered for most women with above average looks and brains. What I'm really looking for is a mental and emotional connection that exists within and without the bedroom. I don't need to have orgasms when I'm with my Dominant - my pleasure is in his pleasure. I don't even really need to physically have teh sex to attain fulfilment. But as the s, this only really works if you think the D gets it.
I used to think W gets it, but I... I have changed my mind. If I didn't get an orgasm (and I so bloody didn't, reader), it was not because he had decided I was not to have one, it was because he didn't know how to give me one. He got me on the bed, told me to 'get ready' (take off my pants, is what he meant) and then gave me less than 10 minutes of missionary position sex where he lay directly on top of me and crushed my poor ribs, and then after he came he got off so that we could cuddle. He didn't smell nice.
I know that after 2 years of celibacy that the concept of actual sex may have taken on an idealisation and importance extra to the reality of it. But I don't think I can remember anything like that before, but the worst moment was when he asked me if it had been any good with such appallingly genuine concern and I realised that this whole experience had not been about him underlining that sex between us would not be about prioritising my sexual pleasure over his. It was about him not knowing what to do with me. And clearly not minding too much about physical hygiene.
We then got up so he could watch the end of the Spain-France game. I just wanted to go home, but we had decided that he would take me home later and then he wanted to watch a film after the game and I was too polite to demand. In almost ironically poor timing, 'Love Actually' was on the telly, so we watched that, uncomfortably. He wanted to cuddle on the couch, I wanted to go home and not smell him. After the film he wanted to go back to bed with me for a while, I wanted to go home. He brought me home.

As a submissive, I cannot be the educator. I cannot give the 'here is my clitoris' talk, I cannot give the 'have a shower' talk. I cannot teach him how to read body language, or not pick inappropriate films for adulterous wives. But as he's 31, and apparently Dominant, why should I have to? I know he's had girlfriends, had submissive girlfriends even. Am I the only one who has failed to see the magic in the experience?
What's worse in a way, is that it doesn't really add up. It's never felt weird with him before. The last time I went to his house it was great, it was hot. Hotter than July. The only difference was that we weren't going to have sex that time so I never ..knew?
He's texted me three times already today. I don't know how to say to him that I don't want to see him again. Because I was obviously into him before last night. And now I'm not. And I won't be anymore.
Gah. Back to the drawing board, I guess.

It's Such A Pity

That is all.