In Stitches

I was delighted to read these words, “Well, seeing as I’m planning on making a comeback to blogging in 2017…” on Charlie’s blog and was eager to join in her fab writing competition, #Freshly Polished.  However, when I DMed her and received my allocated title, my heart sank somewhat… “In Stitches?” I despaired, “WTF will I do with that?”

After about all of five seconds, a wee grin spread across my face, as a deliciously deviant idea popped into my head: a kink I am very interested in trying out one day… it ticks so many boxes for me – medical, clinical, pain, sensation play, power, restraint, trust, photography, exhibitionism… I could go on.

I really hope it pleases Charlie, and all of you, my lovely readers. Please do let me know in the comments if it works for you or if it squicks you out!

Here we go…

“Today, my pet, I am going to make something pretty for you,” he says as he taps my chin and places the ball gag in my open mouth. My arms are bound to the bedpost above my head and my thighs are spread far apart, my ankles tightly tied to them.

Except for my collar, I am naked for him, just as he likes me.

His fingers grab my nipple and he pulls, stretching it deliciously, making me arch my back for more. A chuckle from him as he says, “Just wait, my love, just wait…”

I expect to be blindfolded, as usual, but am surprised to find he has decided to allow me to watch today. He leaves me for a minute and returns, placing something on the bed beside me, just out of my sightline. From his jeans pocket, he takes black latex gloved and snaps them on, smiling down at my confusion.

He touches my breast; it feels completely different to bare skin on skin, it catches slightly, creates a dragging sensation that I am yet to decide if I enjoy or not. It feels… clinical. The thought of that word, the imagery it brings to my mind, provokes a trickle of wet between my spread legs and my nipples tingle.

Gently, tenderly stroking my skin, he lifts the mysterious plastic device and places it against the delicate skin of my breast, above my nipple. I hear the click nanoseconds before I feel the pinch as the staple pierces me, inhaling sharply in shock and fear. The fear passes quickly as he presses it against me again, a centimetre or two below the first clip and this time I brace for the sting.

Blood rushes to the surface of my skin, I feel flushed; adrenaline racing through my veins, counteracting the shock of the violation. The puncture only bites for a second and, rather than hurting me, leaves me yearning for another, which he promptly delivers.

I tense slightly just before he reaches my nipple, anticipating a much sharper pain.

He runs his gloved fingers over my cheek towards my parted lips and traces them, “Are you enjoying your surprise, my love?” I nod, my eyes pleading with him to continue.

He moves the stapler to my other breast and repeats the ritual until, once again, he stops short of my nipple. He closes his lips over it and sucks. It is already hard, but he pulls it further, stretching it, making me squirm as the wet between my legs increases. Releasing my stiff, swollen nipple, he takes it between his finger and thumb and carefully applies the staple gun to it. The clip pinches as it closes around the peak, like a hard flick but more intense. I groan. Saliva drips from my mouth, down over my chin. He caresses my face, “Good girl”.

My other nipple receives the same treatment; first he prepares her, playing enough to make her stand proud, glistening in the low lamp light, before piercing her. The combination of discomfort and pleasure is exquisite; my nipples have never felt so sensitive or alive.

He sits back, kneeling between my open thighs and traces his finger across my wet lips, sliding it into me, his eyes on mine as he strokes inside. A swell of heat surges through me from my groin, to my nipples, to my scalp.

“Now for the decoration,” he says, producing from his pocket a long, thin, satin purple ribbon and grins devilishly at me, “You trust me, baby girl?”

One again, excited by what he has planned, I nod vigorously, my eyes wide and eager.

He threads the end of the ribbon through the top staple and laces it to its twin on my opposing breast. My skin is hypersensitive and the ribbon chafes slightly as it rubs against me.

I watch his face; the intense concentration on it, as he slowly creates a corset of beautiful purple thread linking my breasts together.

All that remains is the final clips in my nipples. I tense with apprehension as he glides the ribbon through. It grazes against my engorged tip; a sensation unlike any I have ever felt before. Sweet torture that makes me crave more.

My cunt throbs, my mouth waters. He pulls the ribbon ever so slightly, drawing my breasts towards each other, creating a valley for the spit that dribbles over my chin and pools on my chest. He ties the corset in a bow and sits back on his heels to admire his work, watching my chest rise and fall as I struggle to control my breath.

“My pretty baby girl,” he murmurs, as he lifts his phone and takes some photos of me, angling it downwards, a look of pleasure on his face as he breathes, “look how wet you are!”

A groan escapes me. I want his mouth on me, and reading the need in my eyes, he dips his head and traces his tongue up along my inner thigh before he takes my aching clit between his lips and sucks gently, licking and lapping at me while his fingers tug on the ribbon, stretching my skin further. He slides two latex covered fingers inside me as his tongue brings me to the edge and back, time and time again. Every time I squirm or move, the ribbon rasps against my skin more. Feeling close to delirious, not quite sure where I am or what is happening anymore, I feel him tug the ribbon at my nipples as he flicks his tongue and I am vaguely aware of crying out as the sweet pain/pleasure combination finally tips me over into an orgasm that rips through my entire body.

As I struggle to breathe, almost choking on my own saliva, he kisses his way up to my face and removes the gag. I gulp in air while he smooths back the damp hair from my forehead, whispering to me, telling me how much I have pleased him. He brings a glass of cool water to my lips and I sip, trying not to swallow too much at once, and then gently unties my restraints and massages the marks left by the bindings.

Curling me up onto his lap, kissing the top of my head, his fingers once again wander down to the corset he has crafted for me, strumming on it gently, as if it were a guitar, “I think we should leave this on for a little while pet, don’t you?” and I look up at him, “Yes, Sir.”


Copyright, 2017,

All rights reserved.


Her Struggle

She lies before me, face down, stretched across the spanking bench; her wrists and calves strapped firmly to the legs by leather bindings. The skin of her back and buttocks shines beautiful, pale white, her exposed cunt smooth and pink.

“Are you ready, little one?” I ask.

She breathes, “Yes, Sir.”


He traces his hand across my ass, stroking me gently, running it up along my spine to grab a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, stretching my throat.

Slap! His other palm connects with my bum, making me catch my breath. He releases my hair and allows my head to sink back down as he begins to caress my buttocks with his leather belt. Gently at first; warming my skin, sending shivers through me. I moan, “Oh thank you, Sir, that feels so good.”


Her ass is turning a fetching shade of pink. I strike her harder. She squirms and moans out loud.

“Count,” I tell her.


“One. Thank you, Sir,” I sigh as his belt stings my skin deliciously. He thrashes me as I count and thank him, building the force gradually, but certainly. My ass feels red hot. Each strike makes me whimper and twist against the velvet padding of the bench. My thighs start to tremble against the hard wood and, as I writhe, the leather bindings at my wrists dig into my skin. He pauses to caress my burning cheeks, murmuring under his breath, “That’s my good girl.”

I can feel myself growing wet.


She has begun to struggle against her restraints, which she knows is pointless as they are firmly buckled. I smile, knowing she enjoys the feeling of the straps cutting into her wrists and calves. More marks for her to admire later.

I lash my belt down on her glowing bum, leaving a clear stripe of burning red.

She whimpers loudly. Her cunt has started to glisten with arousal. I lick my lips and focus. It would be too easy to just take her and fuck her right now.


He hits me harder than ever and I sob, tears sting my eyes as surely as his leather stings my flesh. I feel my cunt throb and seep warm, wet want.

“What do you want, little one?” his voice is deep in his throat; he is unable to conceal his desire.

“I want you to hurt me, Sir. I want you to fuck me, Sir.”


I take one final swipe with my belt, marking her already scarlet skin a deep, dark crimson. She cries out a guttural, primal sound of pain and pleasure and spasms against the bench, the leather strap bruising her calves.

I kneel down and touch her cunt. It is hot and wet; swollen.

“You have been a very, very good girl,” I say, as I unbuckle the binds on her legs and spread her thighs wider. I bury my face in her, drinking in her unique scent, devouring her with my lips and tongue. She tastes sweet and salty at once; her sweat mingled with her juices.

My little girl moans and grinds against me as her orgasm forces her to cry out again, her flavour intensifying as she comes, before she slumps, exhausted and spent. I tenderly kiss her bruises, her skin hot against mine, and move to untie her wrists.

I look into her eyes; unfocused, cloudy, heavy lidded.

I lean forward and kiss her mouth before I lift and carry her to the bed, where I will show her how proud I am of her.

My girl.


F4TF #10 – Limits


This week I set the question:



Is there something, (or things), that you would absolutely say no to in a sexual context?

What are your limits? Are they hard? Soft?

Have your limits changed over time?

I am not remotely turned on by or interested in any sort of scat or peepee play… just not for me thanks. Same goes with vomit. Those would be hard limits. As would anything involving anyone underage or animals!

As for pain; I love it! In fact it’s the OH that struggles with increasing the pain he can dish out. We are still, relatively speaking, babies at this whole BDSM thing, so I can wait until he feels more comfortable slapping and spanking me harder, and for longer periods of time. I hope one day we will get to a point where he is pushing my limits rather than vice versa.

I encouraged him to try face slapping, but we quickly discovered it did nothing for either of us.  I think, if you witness or experience face slapping in an abusive contest, it might be harder to embrace it as a kink.

I love oral sex, giving and receiving and I will happily give just about any toy I can think of a go to see if we like it.

I am fascinated by knife play and needle play but we have yet to explore either. Again, perhaps a case of me being more interested than him. I have seen needle art and blade marks in photos from other sex bloggers and long to experience the same. I would certainly not rule out any activity that results in blood – I find blood highly erotic.

The same goes for wax play. As a youngster I enjoyed playing with wax alone and loved the sensation of it on my skin.

What else? I love being bound and restrained. I enjoy predicament bondage, the challenge of it. I adore being blindfolded to the extent it happens almost every time. I have enjoyed the times we experimented with breathplay – I found it very sexy to feel so vulnerable.

It may or may not surprise you to read that I confess to being an anal virgin. I am very curious about it, but I can’t get my head past the poop issue! (I know! I know! But hey, I’m stuck!) Perhaps we will file this one under ‘soft limit’ and wait to see if I can get past my hygiene hang up. (Mind you, he is not at all interested in using my back door anyway, so it probably will never happen.)

My favourite fantasy is about being ‘used’ by several men, or being ‘given away’ by the OH to other men, but I want this to remain a fantasy only. I do not wish to try it for real. For the record, neither does he. He says he doesn’t like to share!

Basically, if he wants to try something, I am happy to give it a spin. I love him and trust him. I think in relationships it is important to be open to trying new things. It shows that the other person’s needs matter and, of course, it also helps keep things fresh!

As for have my limits changed over time, I am not sure how to answer. I have always been open to trying things so maybe it isn’t so much they have changed, as I have discovered more things to try! It is about knowing yourself, having confidence and trusting your partner.

And what are limits for if not to be tested, right? 😜(Except for my hard ones… those are firm!)


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

F4TF #3… Punishment or Pleasure?


This weeks F4TF opened with:

Within the D/s community, there are times when it is necessary for a Dom to administer a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing. Our question this week, however is directed to those on the receiving ends of such punishments.

Do you consider a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing as a pleasure or a punishment?

This is an interesting question that raises several further questions for me about the very nature of  D/s relationships. I think one thing that is very important in the world of kink is the acceptance that there is no one “true” or “right” way to do D/s. Being dictatorial about how D/s “should” be does not sit well with me.

As long as the basic principles of SSC or RACK or PRICK are at the forefront, (whichever phrase suits your mindset), there are no hard and fast rules that couples should feel they need to adhere to.

So, bearing that in mind, I have to challenge the opening line, “Within the D/s community, there are times when it is necessary for a Dom to administer a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing.” I think a more accurate phrasing might be,Within some of the D/s community, there might be times when it is necessary for a Dom to administer a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing, if that is part of the dynamic in that relationship.”

(You might think I am being picky and pedantic, but I think it is important to be clear in order for me to write my response to the question.)

So… without any further ado…

I am a submissive woman who loves experiencing pain… a spanking is, for me, always a pleasure.

To call a spanking a punishment simply doesn’t work for me for a number of reasons:

Firstly, and obviously, if I enjoy something as much as I enjoy being spanked, whipped, pinched or hit, it is impossible to think of it as a negative thing or as a punishment. If it were used in our relationship as a punishment then I am afraid I would spend all my time misbehaving in order to earn my marks!

Secondly, I identify as a service/natural submissive. By this I mean that I have a very deep rooted need to please and serve. I will always try to follow any instruction given to me to the letter and if I fail, that in itself is punishment enough for me. For him to tell me he is disappointed with me or feels I have let him down is crushing to me. For me to know this is unbearable and trust me, I will punish myself plenty for it.

Finally, I have a problem with a dynamic where he feels entitled to punish me physically. This may well be linked to my views about using corporal punishment on children, which I am 100% opposed to. I think if a child, (or a submissive for that matter), requires correction for bad behaviour, there are far more effective and fairer methods of achieving this than using a hand/cane/belt. I think, for me personally, the idea that my husband has the right to physically punish me sits too closely to domestic violence. (I know BDSM is not the same as DV, ok? I know this, but I cannot accept that anyone has the right to use any form of violence to punish another person for their behaviour – I know plenty of you will vehemently disagree with me! That is fine too.)

Add to this my personal belief that a D/s relationship is grounded in equality and respect, and that the D can make mistakes or engage in less than perfect behaviour just as easily as his submissive can, and I cannot accept the concept of punishment.

Our relationship is grounded in good communication. If he thinks I have fucked up he tells me. If I think he could improve his behaviour, I tell him.

For us, spanking, pinching, slapping, cropping, paddling… whatever… is a pleasurable form of release for me, as well as being a powerful representation and demonstration of my submissive status, and for him it is a potent and effective way for him to exert his dominance and control.

I am sure many people reading this will have completely opposite views on this topic, but that is one thing that, for me, makes BDSM/kink so wonderful. There is room for everyone!




All rights reserved.

Good Girl


The muscles in my calves quivered, stretched to their limits. Cramps began to set in my ankles and toes. Beads of sweat freckled my forehead, pasting my fringe to my damp skin.

I was not sure how long I had been standing on my tiptoes now but it felt like eternity.

“Open your eyes!” he commanded and I obeyed. He sat in his dress shirt and charcoal trousers in the leather chair in the corner of the room, collar button undone, ankle resting on his knee, a glass of scotch in his hand.

“You hurting?” he asked.

I nodded my head furiously, “Yes! Please Sir, may I take a break?” feeling that I might simply have to give in and break his orders in spite of what his answer may be.

He tilted his head, his eyes scanning my face and body, observing the physical and mental effort it was taking for me to remain in position, “Ok.” He raised himself up from his chair and approached me, his hands on my waist to help me place my feet flat on the ground, avoiding the upturned Thumb Tacks he had placed on the ground beneath my raised heels.

“Into position,” he said as he opened the top drawer of the dresser. I flexed my ankles and tried to ease the ache in my calves, then lowered myself to my knees, my forehead on the carpeted floor, arms outstretched in front of my bowed head, buttocks in the air. The stretch felt good after standing on my toes for so long.

I heard him rummage in the drawer and wondered what he had in store for me next.

The unexpected tickle of the soft leather of the flogger over the skin on my back caused a shiver down my spine and goose bumps all over my body.

Naked expect for my collar, I remained motionless as he circled me, tracing the straps over my skin, teasing me.

“Why are you being punished?” he asked.

“I was disobedient Sir. I was bad.”

“Sit up! On your knees.”

I lifted myself up and sat back on my heels, hands resting palm up on my thighs.

“Open your legs.”

I followed his instruction and felt the sweet sudden sting of the flogger between my parted thighs. I squeal.

“The more noise you make the harder I will go, understand?”

I nodded and bit my lip.

“Hands behind your head!” I linked my fingers together at the back of my head, pushing my breasts out, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

The next strike was across my belly, hard and sharp, leaving red lines on my pale skin. I clenched my eyes and jaw shut tight, determined not to make another sound.

“Stand girl.”

As I steadied myself his fingers found and squeezed my nipple, twisting it until it burned, bringing tears to me eyes. The leather slapped against my already tender nipple. I winced; involuntarily, l flinched away from him.

From his pocket he produced the steel clamps and fixed them onto my nipples before lifting the linking chain to my mouth and making me take it between my teeth, raising my breasts up off my chest.

I stood before him, trembling as he laid down the flogger and reached for his metal ruler. The impact was light at first on the underside of my breast and I relaxed and exhaled. Seeing this, he, without warning, slapped the delicate area hard with the ruler; so hard I couldn’t stop myself from crying out. His hand rubbed the reddened patch of skin, soothing it, before bringing the metal down sharply on my other breast, repeating this, switching from one side to the other until my skin burned.

I pinched my lips together and breathed through my nostrils, struggling to maintain my composure.

“Such a stubborn little girl aren’t you?” he grinned at me, making me giggle despite the pain.

Taking the chain from my mouth, he pulled firmly, stretching my nipples more than I thought possible, lead me over to the bed and pushed me face down over the edge.

Tying my wrists together over my head with a stocking I had discarded earlier as I had stripped for him, he forced my legs apart, leant down, his breath warm was against my ear, as he growled, “Stay!”

Heat flared between my legs and I became even wetter than I already was; I love his breath in my ear. The clamps on my nipples bit into me more as my weight pressed them down onto the mattress.

“I don’t think you’ve truly learned you lesson just yet…”

I heard him unbuckle his belt and tensed for impact, smiling against the bed covers.

He teased me with the tip of the belt, flicking it gently over my exposed wet clit, making me tremble in anticipation, before bringing it down on my buttocks with force, back and forth in altering directions.

The sting was glorious. Liberating. Releasing.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to surrender entirely to the pain, feeling myself begin to drift away into heavenly bliss. Trusting him completely to give me what I needed. My hot tears soaked into the duvet as he reigned down my correction without mercy.

I felt him enter me with a swift, fast thrust; his hot, hard erection filling me, splitting me open. I bit down hard onto the bed-spread to stop myself crying out as he pounded into me, the head of his cock persistently rubbed against my g spot, making my stomach flip somersaults and my thighs quake and tremble.

“Come for me! Come now!” his throaty voice betraying his own impending orgasm.

I gave myself over to the surging rush of my climax, feeling it swell and travel through my entire body, my muscles squeezing him tighter, milking him as he exploded inside me.

His weight pressing down on my back as he laid over me, his lips on the back of my neck, whispering, “Good girl, baby.”

I basked in a warm mixture of love, joy, release and belonging.





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Breaking News! Painslut Can’t Handle Pain!

I think I might have to disown my best friend and soul sister, Felicity.

She deceived me!

Allow me to share the story…

Several weeks ago she excitedly Skyped me to say she had purchased an epilator. She was beside herself with anticipation of using it. I warned her that it might be painful… I have waxed before so I thought, (note that thought, it’ll be important later,) I had some experience of the matter.

She used the torture device, sorry, epilator on her legs and underarms and was delighted at the results. She said the pain was “really not that bad at all” and urged me to buy one, “Kat you’d fucking love this! I know you will! I have movie star legs!”

I asked the Big Question… you know IT…

She had not yet used the device “down below” and was trepidatious about it. I talked her through what waxing there entailed; virgin follicles, slight bleeding, chicken skin. (Yes boys! This is what we do to keep it all pretty!) She told me to stop with the teasing and yet again urged me to buy one. I decided to wait and see how she faired with the old lady garden before I committed to anything.

Fast forward and Feli Sykpes me that, “I did it!” So of course I want all the details. Again, not too bad at all. Certainly nothing like she had feared, “You’re a pain-slut Kat, it’ll be a walk in the park for you!”

So, trusting my bestie, I went online and found a top of the range, state of the art epilator with all the attachments a girl could wish for, it is cordless, can be used wet and dry, and it even has a little spotlight to see what you’re doing!

I paid my €165 and waited.

The OH collected it from the store and brought it home to me. We opened the box and I turned it on. We both leapt about a foot in the air and I was very close to dropping it.

This thing was fucking terrifying!

Its little steel jaws spun at an alarming speed and the sound was nothing less that bone-chilling. He fell about laughing pointing to all the bits I had intended on using it on, (he’s sweet that way). I asked could I try it on his arm… seeing as I am a lady and do not have hairy arms. He said it was fine and teased me for being a wuss. It was a warm evening, so he was wearing shorts. He turned away form me and like a flash I swept the epi along his substantially hairy calves and he did a very impressive Riverdance routine in the kitchen.

So… days went by. I am normally VERY neat… think mannequin yes? So I had to wait a while to use the epi. I read the instructions and they suggested for first timers using it in a hot bath… opens the pores don’t ya know?

I decided about an hour ago that it was time to go for it.

I ran a hot bath and settled in. Thinking I’d start with my underarms I soaked awhile and then sat up, stretched my arm back and applied the epi…

And almost passed out! Not that bad? Not that bad?! Are you kiddin me?

I have waxed my own, well everything, for a very long time and let me tell you! It takes something to apply wax to your most scared little area and rip it off again, but this was torture. I closed my eyes and gave my self a talking to, “Come one Kat you can do this!” Applied it again and kept rolling it over and over until I really couldn’t take anymore. I hopped out of the bath and looked in the mirror to see a very red and patchy underarm. Not a good result.

But hey! This is me people! I won’t stop now.

Back into the warm water and on to the legs. Now, this wasn’t too bad at first until I realised it really wasn’t so much pulling the hairs out as breaking them off so I am now the proud owner of two red legs that resemble plucked chicken skin but with stubble. (You all want to ravish me now don’t you?!)

That one area left undone remained. I looked down at her; she looked back up at me. I had to at least try it. Kneeling up in the bath I had a go… not too bad at the very edges but once I ventured lower and further in, sitting legs akimbo on the edge of the bath, (there’s a sweet image for you all), sweat running down my face, I thought “Fuck this! Enough!”

Now, maybe my technique was off, I don’t know. I can tell, you in the bedroom, or several other rooms in the house, I love pain. I relish pain. I beg for more and have not yet been forced to use any safe word, but this is not an experience I am eager to revisit.

Oh! I am not allowed use deodorant for 24 hours so that’ll be fun. The OH is taking tomorrow as holidays and there was me thinking I’d get myself all sparkly and smooth and irresistible. What will he get? A red, chicken skinned, stubbly, sweaty wife who, if he so much as tries to touch THERE will be risking his own balls.

So… I’m stuck with this epilator from hell and sore everything… but Feli?

Hats off to ya girl! You are one tough chick you know!

Can you fly over and maybe hold me down so I can actually use this blasted thing?!


note: I wrote this post on Thursday… Hence the OH time off!

Copyright, 2015,

All rights reserved.