@mollysdailykiss.com

No I haven’t read the book nor do I want to..

For a start the extract I saw online I just thought “how the fuck is this a erotic story!?” It’s boring! There’s no UMPH or REAL LIFE! Hell I’m in my early 20s I read my first erotica at 17. Vivia now THAT was mainly a vampiric story but that held my interest more than this.. I’ve since read many many erotic stories and they are sultry, hot and real life and demanding you’re every last breath to the point you’re left feeling like you’re the used little slut….sighs happily

The reason I will not read it is because the author has no clue of what it is to be in an S&M relationship and is ashamed of her story and to me it’s a basic rip off of Twilight but with more sex and bondage.  I want a gripping story a story that turns me on, but has passion and life in it and a good researcher not some “I think I know it all” mother who has no clue.

I’m sorry if you like the story but if you really want to enjoy erotica then go and read one of dear Mollys post or many other erotica that are available online. I’m a virgin, a woman whose only experience of sex is her own and she has plenty of this but even I know the difference… Erotica is meant to feed the body.. is meant to be enjoyed.. but to me it’s all hyped up by a good looking male and a woman who is frightened by the fact that her boyfriend/husband/lover turns her on by tying her up.

How the fuck is that real!? the whole point of BDSM is a sharing loving relationship. It’s like a normal typical “vanilla” love life… So please believe me.. it’s soo not worth your time!

Sometimes twitter and the sexy / kinky blogosphere feels like an amazing party!

The only problem is that I do not appear to be invited.

I can understand that you don’t want to follow us unknown folk, that is unless we prove ourselves worthy of a follow. However simply ignoring @ mentions is IMHO a little rude. Worse still blocking someone as the result of simply requesting to follow.

You all claim to love your lurkers, how about us folk who actually attempt to have dialogue with you? Those who do not blog, and even some who do but who have not made it into the inner circle, those of us who are not erm cool.

I feel like I am back at school, trying to fit in with the cool girls (sorry to say you ladies are the worst offenders) and I don’t think I can be bothered to feel like I am always hoping you might notice me or reply to my tweets or acknowledge my comments on your posts.

So rant over, I have decided to close my alter ego account. The few of you who will notice will probably find a poor lost vanilla mummy following you!

This is probably me over thinking things however I just wanted to let you know how I feel, although I have stopped waiting for my party invitation to drop onto the door mat.

It’s been a long time now since I’ve called him Sir. It’s been a while since we’ve even really talked. The ache ebbs and flows but mostly the longing has settled into a soft sadness in my soul. I still see Him around the internet spaces and my heart smiles a little when I do. I miss Him less every day but I still miss Him at least a little every day. He still occupies a little piece of me. I will always belong to Him. He hasn’t given me a direction in almost six months, but if He were to do it today, I would fall at His feet and obey… without question.

10th May 2012

It is a symbol of the Dom/sub lifestyle that is so intrinsic but outsiders often react quite strongly to it.  I have found that each sub has their own reaction to their collar but there are common themes, this is my perspective.

When my Sir puts my collar on, there is sense of relief, that I no longer have to carry on living this life where I am in control and together all of the time.  He is the one who I have chosen to give my power to, and I have been supremely careful whom I chose.  The psychological shift is palpable and delicious and I feel the physical sensation of the weight lifting off my shoulders.

When he approaches me with my collar, I know he has been thinking about me, I know that he has been desiring me sexually.  There is no question of does he fancy me?  Does he want me?  The act of getting the collar, or putting the collar on me, means that I know, there is no ambiguity.  I know that whatever happens next it will be something that I will enjoy.  The next few moment, minutes or hours will pleasurable and be selected from a whole menu of all the things that we have discussed.  We have spent hours and hours talking, discussing, checking things out with each other, going back and revising things that don’t work; so when my collar goes on there is a delicious smile that slides over my face.

Certainly it is a sign of my submission, but that’s almost not the point (or at least it is another blog post).  The point is there is a thrill that courses through me when he gets my collar, he has thought about me, he loves me and getting the collar is an act and sign of his love for me.  Then it’s play time….

I feel stuck. My depression isn’t helping I’m left feeling rotten, and like my life doesn’t always have meaning these days. I miss Him, I can’t wait until we can just hang out again together here… but then I feel guilty. I hate not being able to travel due to ill health. I could go into details but my health isn’t going to get better – and it’s not weight related like half the “friends” I have think. I’m lonely beyond belief. I don’t know what I’d do without Him and the few friends I do have.

But they all have their own lives they don’t need me intruding or trying to explain why I’m depressed. I should be happier.I’ve lost 3 and half stone. (49lb for you Americans) but hospital doctors just want to keep rescheduling me, I want to work but can’t find work 1. because there isn’t much out there 2. my skills are half the time “over qualified” for the job. 3. they don’t like the fact i have ill health and may need time off.

Just shoot me now please!? Not only am I left worrying about my own life, but my parents too. My dad is at the end of his tether and may loose his job, yet he doesn’t feel he will get another job. My mums job isn’t great the council have crapped it all up and that’s also meaning she’s worrying over hers. FRUSTRATION!

I’m in my early 20s I don’t want this crap for the rest of my life.. I just want to feel happy to enjoy life.

I think I needed to do this, I didn’t want to do it on my own blog.. I needed it to be anonymous so no one knows it’s me… as I don’t want to lose people because I’m not happy.. yes.. I know I’m sad.. trying to please others and not myself but when you rely on your Other half, your friends and your family to help you then you want to repay them the only way you know how by being pleased and happy and helping them out where you can!

I need a Master. I need someone to take the reigns of my pleasure and control me. I don’t need to be told how to live my life. I don’t need direction on the mundane details of my day to day, but my pleasure is a whole other story. I need to be told, when, how, with what and how many. I need to be told no, to be told to find the edge and stop. I need to beg for more, beg for less, beg for permission. I need to feel owned, captivated, controlled. To know that a man worthy of my respect and submission believes I am worthy of his controlling and careful Domination. I need to know that no matter how I beg that I will be pushed and pushed hard. My begging for mercy will never ever give Him pause. I need to know that He will not stop until He is ready to and not a moment before. That he will see past his care for me and push me to new depths.

I yearn for her touch. I long for it. Dream of it. Slowly entice the juice from my cunt as I touch myself to thoughts of her. Unsavoury thoughts. Forbidden thoughts. She is the fruit set down by Satan to tempt me into wicked sin.

She is the ripe, juicy apple and I am desperate to have a bite, to sink my teeth deeply into her flesh and devour every inch of her perfect form. To feast on her meat and drink her sweetness as it seeps from her core.

Such beauty. Such evil beauty. She makes me hungry, greedy…wicked with every deadly sin as my fingers dance around my body, pinching and pulling, slipping and sliding. I scratch myself, my fingernails causing my skin to pucker into bumps as I shiver for her. My pussy weeps, muscles clenching as she works me into a frenzy.

This is what I do at night when I want to escape to worlds fantastic. I think of her. Whoever she is. A faceless angel. A sneering devil. A woman so wicked that I cannot help but love her completely. She sees me, through the granite and stone, and notices the potential inside. The potential to be something more…something soft…something sensual…something sexual. An adorable playmate.

But do I dare dip my toe into this big new world? I am scared, a shrinking violet, a rabbit caught in headlights, blinded by the sights of hedonism and debauchery. Bravery or cowardice…? I’m yet to decide.

There’s a fine line between love and hate. Potent passion and desire exist in both.

Equally powerful and equally destructive.

But when love breeds hate, it’s the very blackening of the soul that succumbs to the devil.

I have that black soul, my heart now withered and shrivelled, and I have the devil blowing his fire through my veins.

I don’t shy away from the pain. I embrace it, smiling as with one final puff of his lungs, the devil sweeps the last vestiges of love from my loins. My heart is cold, hardening into stone, but I am ablaze with a confident hatred and it fuels the smirk that now resides upon my face.

The love was there and it was long.

Now it’s gone.

I am bruised.

But I am strong.

And though I hate now, I will love again. And when I do, the gods of good and evil will wage war within my body and dual with an unbridled passion that has never before been felt. A battle to the bitter(sweet) end.

I am a successful woman. I am a manager with a national company and my career is ascending skywards.  I am in control and in charge.  I thrive on high pressure situations and also have children and a husband whom I love and cherish. I can (and until very recently) do manage and balance my work and home life very well, just as everyone would expect.

Sex with my husband is good, great even, but we prefer the more kinky to the vanilla.  I knew I had submissive tendencies but then something clicked in my head.  It was a shift of perspective, suddenly it made sense that I was in fact a submissive.  Not just any submissive, his submissive, my husband’s submissive.

Like all Type A personalities I have done my research but I have never felt as vulnerable or as exposed as I did when I told my husband that I was a submissive and I wanted him to be my Dominant.  He went quiet.  There was a lot of silence.  He said he loved me and that he would do anything for me….and we took it from there.  There was a flurry of emails and text messages as I chose the time to tell him when I was away from home, I couldn’t cope with that particular face to face conversation.  We realised that we had been having ‘spicy’ sex for a while and that this was just a step further forward.

Why kink? Why submission?  I am in control, not in an unfriendly or cold way, just in control of my life and where it is going.  If I want something to happen then I make it happen but never at the expense of others.  I work hard and apply myself but I have difficulty in stopping and switching off.  I have tried yoga, meditation, alcohol, everything but I find it almost impossible to go from being in control to being relaxed.  I can give him the best sex he could ever want, but I would still be in control.  My choice to relinquish control to someone whom I love and trust and who loves, trusts and respects me in turn is not so daft.  It is the psychological tussle we both enjoy.  Kind of like handing over a £20 note to someone and not letting go – you both know that I will let go but not where or when and they have to take the money from me, I will not/cannot hand it over meekly.

It is the tools that we use to allow me to give up this power and control that people would raise an eye brow at, if they knew.  I fear that I will be judged, ridiculed, that my career will stop.  People see only the ropes and the cuffs they don’t see him teasing my mind not my body.  They don’t see the gentle ways in which he holds me and allows me to explore the darker territories of my mind.  They don’t see that by giving him this power and control that I have more scope to be curious and in some ways by giving up my control I have more power.

My husband is well over 6 feet tall and is a very muscular man.  He is a gentle giant.  I was worried that asking him to use me as a fuck toy would repel him or push him over the edge as I know that he would never hurt me either physically or psychologically.  However, I am delighted to say that he is aware that he has been a Dominant by proxy for years and that my disclosure has freed him too.  He needs a sub as much as I need a Dom, we need each other, we fit together.  In a very sensible way from our perspective, but possibly more odd from the outside looking in, kink has set us free.

Dear Molly,

He called me yesterday while I was in the office. He asked what I was doing.  I told him I was secretly watching porn in the office while thinking of Him.

Well done slut, he said. How about removing  your panties if wearing any, and finger fucking  yourself right there at your desk?

I knew it was an order and not a suggestion.

I went to the toilet and removed my thong. I dropped it to the floor in the men’s toilet.
ALL guys are wondering since yesterday which whore left her thong in the toilet… do you think they know it’s me?

I went back to my seat, and finger fucked myself  secretly and quietly under the desk. My colleagues were too close so it was very difficult to cum. Hope they did not notice what I was doing… or smell what I was doing…

I sent an sms explaining Him my problem. Can I please continue fucking my cunt in the toilet? It is too crowded at my desk and I want to pound my cunt hard, I wrote to Him. He replied with an sms allowing me to go and fuck my pussy in the toilet…

I rushed back to the toilet, set my mobile to camera mode opposite me, and made a nice video for Him. Here you can see a snapshot as I am finger fucking my self fast to an exciting orgasm at work. I felt like a cheap whore afterwards, and I feel like a public whore now as I am posting those photos anonymously.

I am now wondering if my colleagues know that the dropped panties belong to me…

And what will happen if the boss finds out? Do I risk getting fired? What could also happen is that boss could  threaten to fire me unless I became his private office sextoy…

Imagine if boss starts ordering me everyday to suck and choke on his cock in order not to tell everyone that I masturbate in the office without wearing panties and my pc is full of s&m and gangbang porn….

xxx

The office public cock-hole