How to keep a long-distance kinky relationship alive

He wakes me up in the mornings with a message on Kik. 

Him: G’morning baby. Eyes are like sacks  [string of cute emojis]  Love you xxx

Me: Love you too… even with baggy eyes.  Oh babe and it’s only Wednesday.

Him: Yeah I need more sleep for sure.

Me: Were you late to bed after tucking me in?

Him: Yeah, a bit.  Had to iron [shirt for work] and wash. Running now for the train.

Me:  Thinking of naked Hof in the shower.

Him: Ooh you can watch next time… But on your knees.

Me: Squeeeeeeeee! [a general noise emitted to indicate high state of excitement]

Him: So very much.  Gonna be a wet ride to work (grin) [he’s not talking about the weather]

Another string of pathetically cute emojis and kissing icons pass between us while he rushes for the train.  He’s tired and he likes to snooze on the journey into the city, so I leave him alone until he buzzes me when he arrives at work. 

Him: Cute girl. My cock salutes your hotness.

Me: Oooo how delicious… suspecting you are somewhat aroused my darling?  I’m still in my slave position, waiting for you.

Him: Oh darling pet, I will reward you firmly for your devotion. I will be inspecting you thoroughly when I arrive.

Me: …. dribble…

Him: Need to have you.

Me: So much.  Long long long endless having bodies together twisting aching soothing.

Him: Oh god yes.  I want to ram you hard. Thrash you. Use you. Cast you away.

Me: …. wet….

He makes some silly joke, like he does, to which there can be no verbal response.  Just a rolling of eyes, or a brief “Hahaha”, which is what I go for this time. 

Me:  Have you arrived?  Making your tea now?  I follow your day in my mind.

Him:  Just logged in.  Need to change shoes then tea.

We chat about the quality of the tea, and the fact that his office only provides takeaway paper cups to drink from, a clear indicator that his employers are a bunch of bloody savages.  

Me:  Worshiping your cock all day I have decided.

Him:  Delicious pet. Now, get under the table between my legs and start worshiping me as I have work to do.

Me:  Yes Master.


Him:  I hope you’re enjoying your feed.  I’m enjoying cumming down your throat.  Had to get up and get earl grey tea to replenish my body fluids.

Me:  oh! I should have done that for you.  And one for myself… with sugar…. to wash down the cum.  Yes, I’m enjoying myself very much.  Your cock is really a thing of beauty and deserves much attention.

Me:  Can you grab the back of my head and pull me down hard onto it a few times?  I like it dirty like that. Your selfish desire is all I want.

Him:  Pet, you outdo yourself! I’m so proud you’re all mine! I’ve cum several times now. But you’re not allowed. This is my pleasure, not yours x

Me:  Master I only want to serve you. I would NEVER cum without your permission.

Him:  Good slave. I will consider treats for you tonight.  Meanwhile bring me to orgasm again. I need to choke you with my cum.

Me:  I’m running my tongue around the tip now and sucking the length of you slowly and steadily.

Him:  Firmer. It’s not a clit.  [this makes me chuckle and turns me on at the same time.  I love it when he’s commanding with me and treats me like I’m useless – I’m actually pretty good at this]

Me:  Yes. Please guide me whenever you need to.

Him:  I will. You need to adapt to my requirements pet and then you will have your rewards. I need you to lick my precum right now.  [now I’m sure there’s genuine precum involved, and this is not just fantasy talk, and I want it…. damn LDR]

Me: Lapping it up like the cat that got the cream!

Him:  Going to the bathroom to jack off.  Wish you were here, cream n all xxx

I’m deeply satisfied at this point.  He’s going to actually cum, at work, thinking of me. 

Me:  Sweetie! You’re going to cum?? How wonderful.

Five or ten minutes pass – a reasonable length of time, though it probably only took him a few to reach orgasm, as I’m sure he was already half-way there.  And he picks straight up with,

Him: Yup.  All over you. Feel clearer now.

Me:  Oh bliss xxx


I get that no one else is probably interested in this except for me and Hof.  We’re daft and corny but we’re in love and this stuff keeps us going.  Six weeks since we were last together.  8 more days until we can fuck properly again.  Bliss.




Covering my tracks on the way back: overcoming a dementor when you don’t have a reasonable Patronus charm in your bag of tricks

I had to face something disturbing about myself today: I tell lies.
He calls them “small half truths” and I receive that as a kindness which I know I don’t deserve. And I realize that I have been fashioning the truth for years. I could accept it as creative licence for rewriting a reality I don’t accept but that doesn’t feel like it comes close enough to what I owe to make redress.
Maybe it was just a defence that I got too comfortable with. I can know how dirty, tragic, vulnerable I am, but if I let him see it too then I’ll be lost. I need his good opinion of me so badly. But why didn’t I trust that I could be real and he would still accept me? In the moment of not-trusting, the fear became a self-fulfilling thing. And so the real crime here was my own doubt…. doubt that I AM a good person. It’s my fault. I behaved badly, damaged his opinion of me… caused him harm, even. I don’t know.

I write this much and walk away for a few hours. Put the kettle on. That’s how I work lately. There is so much I’m processing that I can’t get perspective on it. I try reading poetry or erotica here – stuff that I used to love a few weeks ago – and the words won’t line up coherently and make any sense in my brain. Some words jump out at me. That’s as good as it gets. I force my eyes to track along the lines but the sound of my voice in my head speaking the words is gone. All I can hear is that extended beeeeeeeep that the TV used to make when the programmes finished late at night. I used to like that time: switch off. Enforced single-pointed focus. The time when you knew that the best option was to go to bed, maybe read a book, but you’d be asleep with it on your chest within half an hour. Now I have the option for constant communication with someone in the world somewhere at any time and the circle of people I care about is truly global. It’s eating my neural pathways and turning me into a goldfish.

Whilst hopping around and wondering where this journal entry is going, I read this:

Growing up I didn’t have the luxury of venting, saying negative things I didn’t mean. I couldn’t just say something and take it back later. Being angry wouldn’t have been an excuse. I was angry for decades, and I still had to watch what I said… {A World Where People Don’t Say What They Mean }

My house/family was like that too. You learned to be careful about what you said. Anything you said might be used against you later in anger, twisted around to hurt you by a parent that couldn’t deal with their own emotional lability. Only one person in my household was allowed to vent. And she was also the one that always had to remain blameless, whose virtue and glory we all tried to uphold for the sake of world peace.
But it got me back to thinking about my small half truths.
My mother was like a highly trained sniffer dog, hunting out your little gems of joy and nuggets of experience {I just saw her as a Dementor from Harry Potter and it’s a pretty good analogy, only she couldn’t be deflected by a Patronus charm or thinking happy thoughts}. I learned to hide my truths and gems and nuggets of life in places where she couldn’t find them. And you had to hide the trail too, so that her suspicions weren’t aroused. Put the little shiny thing in a sealed container, inside a locked box, in a dark corner of an abandoned room in the furthest reaches of your heart-palace. Brush over your tracks on the way out and wait until you were fully and safely and properly alone before returning and taking the precious treasure out to turn it over lovingly in your hands. This usually took place at night, when I felt safest to travel there. I would stay there for as long as possible and enjoy the silence and the space. The being alone-ness. Then creep back into my human shell before dawn for some deeper sleep before waking up in the Mad World once again: the Mad World of walking on eggshells around this crazy woman that could go off at any time. And the man with the gaping sucking heart wound at his centre that terrified the life out of me.

And here I find myself, wondering why, despite everything he and I have said about honesty, I’m still covering my tracks and hiding small half truths in places that I hope he won’t find.

Can I offer my submission, and my need to be owned whilst holding this fear of being torn apart and psychically possessed? Where do the boundaries lie because I’ve never experienced relationship this way, and it’s so intense and richly beautiful but I’ve been possessed before and it’s no fun. Am I extending myself into a position of potential abuse, similar to the relationships I’ve had in the past? Can I trust that this man is truly different… I feel he is, and we are… but experience has taught me to be wary and I’ll still be covering my tracks on my way back from my heart-palace at night. But it’s possible I’ll share the map with him soon.

True sub or Domme? Switching roles, nurturing others and hedonism

“You seem quite assertive for a sub,” a Fet friend said to me last week.
“Oh no, I’m a true sub,” says I, “Looking for a real Dom.”
(Fingers down back of throat… I know, it’s ick).

“You’re Dorset’s sluttiest woman,” says another Fet friend on WhatsApp yesterday. I take that as quite an accolade. Yeah, I’m happy with that.

And now, this week… Switch. Who knew? Seems like Peggy did but she failed to tell me (the other part of me that resides in her body, because she definitely owns the body).

Learning to Domme is super-fascinating, and maybe even more so because I’ve recently experienced being Dommed. I don’t know if I’m much good at it yet but I have to say that it’s coming more easily than I thought it would (big pun intended).

This isn’t just about sexual kicks for me… and that’s the biggest aha lesson of this. I suddenly have more people to take care of in my life. People to check in with each day and respond to; emotions to consider. There’s this weight of their wellbeing that comes with it. And actually, I realize I can do that and I might even be good at it. THIS is what I felt the last guy who was trying to Dom me was overlooking. He didn’t give a big enough shit about my wellbeing, and seemed mostly interested in how much he was planning to punish me and with what implements.

Do I still want to be Dommed? I am a pain slut, and a little trip into subspace this weekend would help to relieve the stress and I know there are people willing to help me out with that.

So what happens if I chuck away the labels? Are they really necessary?

After laughing about my silly ‘true sub’ statement with my friend, he said, “I would place you as a hedonist who enjoys both elements of the given roles, depending on who you are interacting with.”
Perhaps I could be a Mutable Masochistic Hedonist? A Nurturing Slut? I think I’m just a lover of human beings, finding new ways to make people happy.

The Ballad of Kali and Shiva

The phone has been silent for 18 hours now.
Your daily flow of messages dried up. The morning announcement of your feelings for me, missing. All day I’ve waited. Sent thoughtful little texts to nudge you… trying not to seem needy or neurotic. Now it’s 5pm and the desperate panic has arrived because THIS is new territory. We’ve been in each other all along: we never had to find each other but now I’m lost.

Two days ago we fell hungrily on each other in the afternoon, ripping clothes off without care. You pushed my face into the carpet, thrusting your hips against my ass and burying your giant cock inside my cunt…. waves of pain and bliss rolling through me. It was always like this, as you tore orgasms from me with greedy glee. Delighted at your own mastery, as you could demand, “One more for me, you’re not done yet,” and time meant nothing, measured only in our cum, the dampness of the sheets, the daylight passing, you riding me, into a state of shared exhaustion.

When we met we fucked so much, so hard and long that you injured your knees. One kneecap swollen up to twice its size. So we fucked standing up. We fucked in the kitchen, me pressed against the counter as you slammed into me hard. Me bending over touching the floor, your hands pulling me in tight against you and then sliding the length of your glorious cock in and out of me slowly until every inch of my pussy could feel the power and the strength of you. I thought nothing so beautiful could ever exist. We didn’t seek the orgasms that day, just the sensation of being inside each other, becoming one. We didn’t seek orgasms but they’d always come.

Perhaps no mere mortal can live with the burden of all that beauty. Perhaps we were always doomed to be consumed by the forces we created, the many lifetimes that we’d shared, stretching out across dimensions. The millennia of hatred for each other accumulated after every time we’d left or scorned the other. Who can live with this kind of knowledge? I’d hoped we could.

I take my evening walk along the river, the dog by my side, and try to find calm. The water, the trees, that usually work their magic on me, do nothing tonight. I’m torn apart and barely holding in a wail of agony because this is where we talked about our love. This is where I challenged you to admit your feelings for me and where the flood began. This place always empowers me to be bold. This is where the visions come in thick and fast. But in this moment I feel the hollow pain of your absence and know that you are truly gone.