As you know, my Miss and I get up to all manner of kinky debauchery. We use toys and tools and all the good things you can find in any decent dungeon. But last night we did none of that.

She’s been away for a week (poor unfucked, unflogged me). We’d been video calling every night (because we’re also completely soppy loved-up girlfriends outside of our power dynamic), mostly from the private bar in her hotel while she waited for the evening’s events. But last night she was free to call me from her room. Hundreds of miles away in another country, with a slightly poor connection. No kink. Not so much as a vibe.

We had talked, and gone deep (because girls). My heart felt wide open to her. I also felt increasingly horny. Clearly so did she because, when conversation lulled, she got out her tits.

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The universe has conspired against me lately. My Miss was really unwell for a while (although I confess I did enjoy playing nurse) and then we were busy at different times. I’m a needy, greedy girl, so going a couple of weeks without sex has been hard for me. I’ve kept myself happy, of course, but it’s not the same as being used by Miss.

During the week, my piggy outfit arrived. (You might know from my Notes that I’m planning a pissy piggy foursome for my birthday: three slutty pigs and the good boy cuck.) I tried it all on and sent photos to the other piggies. They liked it very much. I felt like a pretty piggy.

Last night, finally, Miss (totally recovered) was able to be with me. Most of her outfit had arrived by then too, so she tried it on for me, and OMG she looked so cute. I wanted to jump her immediately. More photos for the WhatsApp group.

It was so nice to be together that we talked for a while, catching up…but I couldn’t help myself wriggling against her. She knows how to pacify me. She ordered me to suck her cock and I was delighted to comply. It was so good to have her in my mouth again.

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On our third night in the Fuck Hut, we were both tired. I had been up late each night getting used and fucked by Miss, then up early to help with breakfasts for everyone staying at my parents’ house, so I was very sleep deprived. I needed a vanilla night of affection, connection, and nervous system regulation. Miss put her arm around me and I snuggled my naked body against hers. It’s a sign of real exhaustion if I see her naked and don’t immediately want to play with her lovely body.

Instead, we just held each other and had long talks about big things, and laughed about silly things, and watched Letterkenny, and kissed, and finally fell asleep even more open and connected with each other than before.

This strong connection, and knowing that I’m not always expected to play if it’s not what I want, makes me feel safe giving Miss all the control when we do play. At New Year, she took that control beautifully. I was a pitiful wreck by the end.

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The next night in the fuck hut, there were more new toys to play with. (Do you remember that a while before Christmas I suddenly realised I hadn’t bought Miss anything she could decently open in front of my family? She hadn’t thought of that!) She had a pretty pink plug for me, which made me very happy. That got popped in straight away. Then, before the plug could get me too excited, the clamp went back on, much more successfully pre-orgasm and pre-lube. (Just a teensy bit, carefully applied, had been used for the plug.)

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Christmas was intense in many ways, not least because Miss spent four (4!) days with my extended family, crammed into my parents’ house. On Boxing Day, there were fifteen of us. There was simply nowhere for us to sleep, so we were forced to hire a fuck hut (marketed as a shepherd’s hut, but it’s in the middle of nowhere where literally no-one could hear me scream, so ‘fuck hut’ feels more appropriate). We spent our days cuddled on the sofa, chatting and laughing with my family, swapping gifts, helping make Christmas happen for that many people, playing games with the kids, each other, and my brother’s lovely fox/golden Labrador. Then during the evening, we would say goodbye to wholesomeness and drive down the road to the fuck hut.

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Miss and I are polysexual, and potentially polyamorous. That means we can play with other people sexually (and kinkily), and develop romantic attachments if that’s what happens. There are endless ways of navigating this, and I’m new to doing it well (I did it atrociously badly when I was very young), so I’m no expert. Our way is to tell each other before we do anything with anyone else, or as soon as possible after something spontaneous happens, such as pick-up play at a kink event. (Pick-up play is when you negotiate something on the spot with someone you hadn’t already arranged to play with.) We also keep each other informed about how we’re feeling around this, so we can take good care of each other and anyone else involved.

K, a primal guy I’d met on an app and had a couple of good vanilla meets with, including some excellent snogging by a river, wanted more. I wanted more too. I asked Miss and she gave me her blessing to go and play with him.

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Reader, I married him. He was tall, handsome, clever, quirky, a great artist and writer, a fiddle player, a gardener, the kindest person I’d ever met, and a hero in my eyes. We had been friends for years, but when he left for university I missed him more than I would miss even a very good friend. One drunk evening, I texted him:

I think I’m in love with you.

He replied:

If you say that again, I’ll have to come home.

Of course, I said:

I think I’m in love with you.

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