If you follow me on Twitter, you will know that I am now in England for the holidays. As nearly every year since I left the parental home, I took a week off this time again to come over to my parent’s over Xmas and the New Year. Until last year, last Season included, I was just the “lost girl” (in my folks mind) coming back in our southern England family house, reviving with the kin our Christmas gatherings of the old days. This was happy times, not always easy, as you may know if you had a read of my early blog entries, but all in all I liked it.
This time it is quite different and oddly same. Last year at that time I was further than dating with Master, we were already having a hot relationship and from my standpoint He was my boyfriend or a tad more. I was not aware that He had sharply spotted my tendency to submission and had the right feeling of my future aptitude and talents as His slave. My training started progressively but later, in February/March. And so, this very year, for the first time, I am not the routine naughty girl my family used to have with them. My look is about the same, if my dressing is a bit sluttier, and I am still the despair of my parents… But my brother and sister and in-law have noticed a change. I was known to be the easy girl, toying with men for a while, and then going onto the next one. Now, I am not anymore chatting about friends with benefits, and I am not at ease to describe the man I am living with or what I do with Him – for the good reasons you know – and I even find difficult to pronounce His given name while I keep fighting not to say ‘Master’… In a nutshell, trying not to “come out”.
A bit of background to help your understanding. I’m now 35, I was born in England in a southern city. I graduated an A level but did not go to the university. I was young (15) when I became sexually active, and it changed my life. I became soon sort of an addict. Not my parent’s style! I know I’m pretty and sexy, not a model but attractive and very early all sort of guys were around me. In turn I was attracted so much by males (not women at that time) that I left home early to move away from my puritan prissy background and my provincial city atmosphere. Not my sister and brother are puritan and prissy and provincial, but mom and dad of course. I found easily a job as secretary in London and took there a studio apartment. As I wrote in this blog, my first position at 19 was in fact “secretary with benefits,” which was the very ordinary way I found to bypass the other candidates while they were far more skilled. You may find that immoral and unethical, but at that time though shy I was already an “easy” girl, and nothing would have stopped me to gain my freedom. My boss was an old married man and there was no “night duty,” so it was bearable. You see, I was far from being a sub at that time, but already easy and a little whorish…
I was taking my extra ‘duty’ with the boss as a good deal in exchange of a job where I could gain experience for the next one and a good pay. I also remember the shy girl I was took some secret pleasure in being humiliated in private. How to explain? I was mentally in pain when sexually abused by that old swine, and at the same time, not always but frequently, I was surprisingly enjoying that role. I was certainly predisposed to become the owned slut of a Master.
I stayed a year and a half in this first job then changed, finding new ones less contingent on sex. In the following years I had a wonderful time out of work, a vast stable of studs, lots of guys often surprised to discover who that quiet girl was really in the bedroom or elsewhere… and they were passing the word around. Many men came in and out of my life, so to speak, and I hardly had a steady relationship. Sadly, few of the guys I messed with really loved me. They only liked me to be easy… On the other hand I was not interested in the ones prepared to love me and to keep me for long. I must add that at that time I had no idea of what dominance and submission really was if I have always been very docile and obedient with men, the more in a bed or in any situation where sex take place. I loved to give pleasure, and I still do!
Men have this need to seek out new women. I came however across men that I believe would have been faithful to me, but for some reason those men weren’t attractive to me. They were too vanilla, too boring, not dark enough. That’s how I enjoyed a very free sexual life and was well looked after before I met Master and fell really in love for the first time in my life since the ordinary youthful romances of the average girl.
In December last year, a branch of the company I was working for was wanting a temporary (good looking) hostess/secretary for its French office in the Paris area (not in Paris, my friends, don’t ask me “How is Paris?” I am seldom if ever in the French capital!). I was to be based in France, no need to speak French as our contacts are chiefly UK or other English-speaking foreigners, and my job was supposed to resume in the UK afterwards, so I jumped on this opportunity. This is how I met Master, His business was linked to our developments in France, and the handsome middle-aged man I met in the office invited me to lunch, then to weekend with Him and friends, and my new life got started. I wrote about that.
Master looks much younger but is in fact 56. Could call Him Daddy, lol (Apologize, Master, I know I know, we will discuss that at my booty’s expense…). When I met Him, He certainly judged at once that this girl, always showing quiet obedience, would highly repay His efforts if He cared to train her properly. In His special way, He fell in love with me at the same time He seduced me.
He had progressively His way with me in a delightful mix of pleasure, pain, discipline and hard fucking. From scratch He was my Master and I was his property but we have entered gradually into a deeper relationship, of our own free will. He is capable of filling me with so much happiness and so much pain at the same time it cannot be explained, but I know you can understand so well. Master does know me very well and is an expert on how to handle me. We have an intense mental connection. He knows exactly how I need to be treated and when. He sometimes says smirking that He took a small but talented caterpillar and turned it into a beautifully behaved butterfly! I’m so flattered when He says that!
Master authorized me without difficulties to spend the week with my family provided of course I would stick to rules and also phone Him frequently. The first difficulty I met was my attire. As you know skirts, not really mini because of stockings but the shortest possible, are mandatory as well as high heels and vintage style stockings. Master is always happy to see the top welts of my stockings bordering the bottom edge of my skirt. He really enjoys when my dress rides up my thighs and to watch my embarrassment, and when I sit I am not allowed to cross my legs. On the contrary, I must keep slightly open so whoever is in front of me can peek up to my panties if I wear undies or testify I’m a girl if not. Trying to remain decent is a hopeless battle, the more if you know He buys Himself my undies, and all my panties are the next size down and transparent.
My mother has always a lot to say about my looks, but that time she was endless about my skimpy clothing and tawdry makeup. “Not only you look like a prostitute, but you know girls should consider the weather conditions and dress accordingly,” she said drily. “Where did you find that shirt which hardly hide your breasts? Why is your skirt so short? Do you really need to wear stockings with that skirt?” and later in the sitting room “Please do close your legs for Heaven’s sake, your panties are on display. Well-educated girls cross their legs, but I see you can’t because your suspenders will point out…” “If you go outside dressed so scantily it makes the risk of hypothermia greater.” Bla bla. “It is completely mad” I heard my father say.
England is all about rules and breaking them, I told mum. One large breach was to dress as a slut in our narrow provincial community, and I thought I was looking gorgeous. Men looks were proving it. A good dress can make you feel as festive as two stiff drinks. A good dress does part of the hard work for you. In my heart of hearts, I hope a great dress can declare that whatever may have gone wrong in my life, none of it has ever been my fault. My favourite dresses are ones that make me feel appealing, deadly attractive. “You look so sexy hot,” my sister cooed. ”Me?” I said. “Are you sure?”
My mother recently suggested, fluttering her hands in the vicinity of her ears, that I get just a very little trim. I feel great about my hair. I have long hair. I’m talking about long enough to brush gently on my shoulder when I tilt my head. I’m not talking about being a couple of weeks late to the hairdresser. I’m talking long. Long enough for a ponytail with swing to it. Long enough to sit against when I’m in a chair. Long enough to have to lift it up out of the sweater I’m pulling over my head. Long enough to braid. But long hair is high maintenance. Yes, I’ll admit that it is a look that requires tender loving care. It is impossible to body surf without getting seaweed tangled up in it. It is impossible to get it completely dry when one is in a rush to get to an appointment. It is impossible to forget one’s hairbrush when one travels. It is impossible to garden or weave or cook without one’s hair getting in the way. But I like it.
My mother’s favourite expression to me is “Make an Effort.” What she doesn’t understand, of course, is that just because things don’t turn out the way she thinks they should doesn’t mean an effort wasn’t made. It is incredible how parents and children never let go of old habits of relating. My mother still makes me feel like a 15-year-old. However, that no longer feels like a bad thing, if you see what I mean.
Apart from all that, I am having wonderful times with my sister and my sister in law. We have endless talks about what might have been but didn't happen in 2010, or wonderful silly giggles sessions, real schoolgirls, when the parents and the boys are not there, about girlie subject matters, dresses, or sex, for instance wondering whether penis girth was mattering more than length (I explained how Master stretches my walls past their limits and sister in law stated our brother was hung like a horse, what we were aware of…), or Sara (my sister) asking me “Alex, do you think it's weird, but I really really enjoy going down on a guy…”
In terms of cocks, I have had many, and I must say dick size doesn't matter as much as how I am getting it. Some guys with thick long ones have left me counting cracks on the ceiling, some have made my ovaries pop out of my eyes... Some smaller guys have done other stimulating sexually gratifying things that I actually came a million times over, and others not so much. For me I don't care what size a guy is as long as he pulls my hair, licks my pussy like it is his last, and fucks me like a whore, spanks my ass like a naughty little girl, lets me squirt my juice in his mouth, and leaves his dickprint in my pussy for at least 3 days after.
Let’s stop dreaming. My stomach is slowly adjusting to the excesses of the season, a diet is in the cards and Master will punish me for what I have put on… While writing, music of my cell phone interrupted my thoughts. Master is back.
He is the devil. He’s giving me a task that will not be easy to perform. He knows it of course, and that is the reason why He’s giving it. I must here, in this city before I leave, give a head to a man I know, not a stranger, somebody who knows who I am, and without allowing him to fuck any of my other holes. Only a few days left to brush up the strategy and do what I am ordered to. I note it will be the first time I will be whoring away without Master watching. I’ll write about it when it’s over but first I must find the way without creating a big scandal. My sister would understand, I’m sure, but I’m not that confident with my brother not to speak of my parents.
I’ll be soon back to tell you how it went. Be good. With my love.