The chain clinks and my heart melts

There is definitely something hot about the sound of a chain, not a dainty one that suspends a pendant, but a heavy chain like my collar.

I love it when my Husband grabs my collar, whether that is simply holding his hand across the back of my neck during a passionate kiss, or the sound of it cinching tighter and tighter if he pulls on the padlocks. Just recently I have discovered a love of pleasing him, rather then simply being a selfish lover. I have discovered I actually rather enjoy giving him blow jobs and he certainly isn’t complaining. Over the last few months we have ended up having more oral sex than standard sex, yay.

Why am I telling you this? Well, I’m not really sure, but as a lady that used to Hate giving head, I guess I’m writing about this for myself. It used to make me feel physically sick, the idea of ramming a penis into my face. The idea of swallowing his semen, gagging as my tonsils get covered in salty sticky goo, it was vile to me.
But now I enjoy it – I enjoy watching his body move and react, the glint in his eyes, that look of almost pain as he climaxes. It is rather bloody satisfying if I’m honest with you all. That feeling that my mouth can do so much to his entire body, almost make him dance. When I try to make love, be that loving gentle sex or fast and furious fucking, I feel awkward and clumsy. I really cannot move my whole body as easily or gracefully as my tongue.

But my Husband had to go one better, and be in charge still. He will grab my hair, and direct my head down the bed. Then after several times taking the control back by using my ponytails, he started using my collar. Grabbing my collar firmly and pulling my face up his shaft, and pushing me back down with the other hand. Up and down, and up and down, harder and harder until I am stifling tears from the pain of my gag reflex versus forced deep-throat.

It is glorious, the sound of my chain clinking as my head bobs up and down fast. My padlocks hit his balls, and my nose bashes on his belly. It feels like it lasts for hours, but it is just minutes. I roll my eyes to the side and glance in our big mirror – the joy on his face would make me smile if I was able to, but, yanno, penis stuffed in my mouth and all that.

I lift my head away after he cums, and he releases his grip. I snuggle up with my head on his chest, he will stroke my hair, wipe my tears and kiss my forehead. In those moments, I feel special, I feel overwhelming love from him. It’s not just sex, it’s so much more than that. It’s like blind trust, the pulling of my collar, (which is a symbol of trust and love) and restricting my breathing. All the time I could tap out (safeword) and stop it, but I don’t.

There is a beauty in brutality.

Kink is my Mindfulness

Today I had to go to a “mindfulness” group. We are all sat on chairs in a circle, like an AA meeting. The group leader says to sit still, close your eyes, and slowly goes through a script, which he knows off by heart. Concentrate your mind on a certain type of feeling, a certain type of sensation, or a certain body part. Try to declutter your mind, to free your body. It all feels a bit silly at first.

Mindfulness is a sort of meditation almost, thinking yourself calm as things around you go belly up. Every time I go there I get asked “how did home practice go?” and I say something evasive like “ohh, I forgot” or “I just did mindfulness in the bath” when what I really want to say is I kinked the hell out of it.

One of the exercises we often do is called a body scan – this is a slow meditation thingamybob where you almost over concentrate on your breathing, your movements, automatic sounds your body makes – almost to the point of ignoring everything but the instructions on the script (or app, or podcast or similar). That is how is supposed to be done.

What we do….

I will tell my Husband I want kink time, maybe directly, maybe by being bratty. Either way, it’s ending up in bondage, impact play, role play or some other kink. More often than not, impact and sensation play. Instead of laying on my back on a yoga mat pondering why my leg hurts, I’ll be laying front side down on my bed, knowing exactly why I am feeling that. The script is my master’s voice “well done Wife”, the gentle caress before a spank, the whispers near my ear to check I’m listening. The firm grip on my wedding hand to remind me I’m loved.

My normal vanilla stresses are pushed aside whilst he’s in charge of my body and mind. For all I care there could be a hurricane outside, I wouldn’t hear. He makes me laugh, wriggle, talk, cry, smile and so much more.

I wish I could recommend kink to the mindful group, but I suspect I’d be considered a freak. I mean, why would a seemingly strong woman WANT her Husband to hit her? Believe it or not, it’s about controlling my own life, not being controlled by him, which is often the assumption if folk ask why I wear this chain around my neck, this padlocked collar. I am going to suffer everyday, the exhaustion, all over pain and everything else that goes with my illness wether or not I want to. Yet when he spanks me, or runs a pinwheel across my skin, that is the only part of my body I feel.

Obviously, I am not saying kink cures illnesses, it so doesn’t. But when I’m in his loving hands, my normal pain melts. Just us in the room, just us in the universe, and nothing else matters.

I don’t do canes

Canes are a hard limit of mine, the look and feel of them gives me flashbacks and triggers panic in me.

However I felt my sadist was missing out. I decided I should make him a cane. I took a branch from one of our fruit trees (morelo cherry) and I spent a couple of hours whittling it away with a Stanley knife. All the bark is gone and the bumps where new branches jutted out are now smoother. The surface is not utterly smooth, but it is now safe. Along the “cane” you can see darker bits of wood grain that have been sliced into.

The branch itself was not straight and perfect, but the bends and kinks add to the pain. It has a gradual curve along the branch which makes it good for flicking too.

I presented it to him as he got in from work and I almost regretted giving him a new toy. I was shrieking. I had tears in my eyes and was tempted to safe word, then I caught a glimpse of his face. His face had a massive grin and was clearly loving it. A few more strikes and he rolls me over in a dominant manner and passionately kisses me. I feel safe, warm, protected and loved.

No words were needed but he let’s me know he’s proud of me. I melt in his arms, feeling utter love. He is my Top, my sadist, my Husband, but he’s also my safe place. I’m learning to trust him as much as I love him.

How did this happen? Freedom

A long long time ago my life felt like it was over. I had no future, no freedom, I did as I was told, I barely existed.

Yet here I am, with my body draped over a lovely chap that respects me, head on his chest feeling almost blessed. I’m pondering how unlikely it was that we even met, let alone that we would end up with each other. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking as he says “happy happy happy”, “what are you happy about?”, “that I’ve got you!”.

I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. we’ve been in love for 15 years now, but the last year has definitely been the best. We’ve been vanilla(ish) most of our relationship, with things getting gradually more fun as I learnt to trust again. I learnt to live, and how to be free.

I proposed to him in January, married in June and got collared in September. Since being married I’ve felt such love, protection and acceptance that I suggested that he collar me. Now that sounds strange, finally able to feel free, and I ask for a virtual chain.
But it is not a desire to be chained, shackled or hurt – it’s a deeper level of trust. Husband pretty much owns my soul, and my heart, why not my body too?

It’s a strange feeling of liberation, being collared. I feel stronger and happier knowing that we have such a connection. Even when vanilla types glare at my (very unsubtle) collar and seem disgusted or offended by it, I feel proud. I chose my Husband. I asked his parents permission. I dropped to one fucking knee and told him I wanted him. I married him. I submitted to him. And all as my own choices.

I never thought I’d be here. I truthfully didn’t think I’d live past my early twenties – I escaped from the danger I was in, but I still got death threats. I still had meltdowns and nightmares – part of myself was still there, locked in to my own home and being raped, abused and hurt. I never thought I would have the strength to run. To survive. To make it through the suicidal times. But somehow I did. It wasn’t easy, and I have no idea how Husband coped with me in the early years of our relationship – I know I was a fucking wreck. But now I feel completely over it, safe, happy and settled.

I still pinch myself sometimes, I’m alive and married. Respected and loved completely. I matter and I’m so much more than just a survivor.

I’m HIS.

Bloody good sex 

A few days ago Husband went shopping online after I dropped hints. By dropping hints I mean I put my phone in front of him on the checkout page of Lovehoney. After the kids went to bed we went shopping properly and chose a few more things. A collar for me, fleshlight for him, stockings, a new flogger, lube and specialist fisting lube.
When the parcel arrived poor husband got several “can I open the box” messages from me, “patience Wife!” and “self control Wife!” were among the replies. I bet he was giggling at work with my begging messages.
When he eventually got home he didn’t open stuff straight away but I got my toys in the end.

We went to the gym late that night, with me collared. I was being a bit of a Brat, “I don’t wanna do that” – “it’s going to hurt” and similar, to which I got quietly reminded “if you don’t I won’t flog you” so I did as told, sort of. He made me do monkey hanging bar pull ups, which made my hands blister and ache, I needed slight revenge, so rather than just lifting my legs off the ground, I swung my feet and kicked him in the stomach/chest whilst still hanging. So technically still doing as I’m told here! After a bit more mucking about with exercise we go home (after midnight) and to bed. Not for sleep obviously…

I got the fleshlight on him, I wasn’t sure at first but I think it’s a hit. There just aren’t enough sex toys for men out there are there, it’s mean. Anyhow I seemingly overdid the lube as I wasn’t sure what was correct for this toy, the noises were comedy gold, squealching and bubbling everywhere. His hand wanders to my throat, so I move my chin up in silent submission, and he grabs me gently and pushes down. Not a violent suffocation, a sensual reduction in breathing, taking control. He shudders and wiggles and I go down on him whilst still using this toy on him. I can confirm that got him happy.

I didn’t get my flogging, but I did feel loved, desired and needed as he hugged into spooning, grabbing carefully at my boobs. Normally I hate his snoring, not tonight though, it sounded like grateful exhaustion. Cute chap woke up a few times and adjusted his grip to keep me pulled close. Thank you husband, the love is mutual, it’s not just sex.

Last night
Bloody sex. As I’m sure you know if you’ve been reading my diary, I like fisting a bit too much. Well if you’re a bit blood squeamish, stop reading…. that’s your only warning folks.

It is my period. We are no strangers to shagging during bleeding but I wanted to push things. I want fisting whilst bleeding. A big soft bath towel goes on our bed, and I lay naked waiting. A bit of mutual masurbation and a whole lot of dampness, I catch a glimpse of his Red bloody hand a few times. Blood is a bit of a phobia for me, owing to a nonkink near death experience, so for me this is edge play. It’s more than just a physical wank. He moves down the bed to get into his usual comfy position for fisting. Half of Me wants this desperately, for him to take my fear and turn it into a massive clusterfuck of multiple orgasms and trust. Part of me is terrified of dying, of bleeding to death, of saying goodbye in hospital again. He is respectfull and knows it’s more than sex, way more.

Sadly a combination of gym related pain from overdoing things and possibly the phobia it hurts to much to fully get his arm inside me. I’m disappointed in myself that I can’t do this… but we will at some point. He’s not grumpy or nasty as I call the game over instruction, he moves back up the bed and kisses me hard. His stubble feels like it is ripping my face. Then his hand comes up to my neck. His hand has my blood on it, and he’s carefully stopping my breathing with it. My mind is a ablaze. My blood is being spread on my body, and rather than being terrified I want more. I wish for a moment he was less caring, and he hadn’t stopped the fisting attempt. I want my blood all over my own tits, I want his happy wandering hands to paint me happy.

I keep wanking him as he presses harder with that damp hand on my throat, he stops me breathing long enough a couple of times to feel slightly light headed, and I’m ridiculously horny.
He shoots all over me, warm and sticky, satisfied and messy. He pops to the toilet for a quick wash, I just lay there grinning. I hold him as he sleeps, watch him as he breathes in and out and think about just how lucky I am to have such trust in my Husband. How the hell did I find someone like him? I’m a happy bunny, but too sexually high to sleep.