View from the Bridal Suite

The glittering panorama before her seemed an echo of the thousand camera flashes from the daylight hours. The land viewed acted as the perfect vista of calm that she needed. She stood on the hotel balcony with her hands braced on the barrier in her quiet manner listening to the muffled hubbub below as the last guests enjoyed their time together. He sat a few feet back, reclined on the sofa with this same view but all he could see was her silhouette. A reversed negative, her white outline against the night. His beacon in the darkness.

Say hello to the girl who danced to ‘Submission’ by the Sex Pistols on her wedding day.

Not the First Dance, however; we chose something a little more personal that harkened back to our first few months of dating all those years ago for that.

As we took our leave from the remaining members of the wedding party I unravelled one of the sashes from the chairs. A memento, true, but I had immediate plans to be bound by it in the Bridal Suite.

He was directly behind her now, standing with one arm around her waist, the other across her chest to rest his hand on her shoulder. Holding her close, into him. She closed her eyes and breathed peacefully, smile widening in contentment. He was looking out over the water, scanning the horizon with its twinkling lights. Distant enough.

Let’s get you undressed, he spoke softly into her ear and led her to the bedroom.

There had been a point earlier in the evening when I was adjusting my internal scaffolding of my wedding dress that I thought to myself, What if I took off my knickers now? No-one would know. After all, the petticoats of the dress are fairly substantial. But I had gone to the trouble of choosing the right shade of ivory to match my bra and I thought Mister deserved the sight of a lingerie delight once he had wrangled his way through all the buttons that trickled down my spine. There were over thirty of them.

I mentioned in my previous post about regaling you with what it would be like to fuck in a wedding dress, but cometh the hour, cometh the nudity. When it comes to Mister, I tend to like getting naked fairly swiftly. That, plus the dress was a little restrictive in flexibility.

Walking together with only the far away lights from the world outside to guide them, they returned to the wide window of the balcony. They had switched off the light as they entered the living room of the suite. Some anonymity had to remain of their nakedness. They resumed their earlier position and now she could feel his erection pressed against her all the more evidently without the inconvenience of satin between her skin and his. Tilting her head, he moved to kiss down her neck making her squeeze his hands tightly as she melted.

I want you to face the world as I go down on you. He moved to kneel in front of her, a sight she always adored to look down upon. Her eyes gazed past the slight swell of her breasts to fall on the night-lit figure at her feet. His lips kissed at her tenderly, warmly. Tongue soon followed making her fling her hands forward to press against the glass, eyes snapping forward, ahead, darting across the horizon, her slight exhibitionist side revelling in the position.

One of Mister’s long-standing fantasies is to install a ceiling hook or to have some contraption to allow him to suspend part of me a little more vertically. So when we arrived in the Bridal Suite and saw that there was a four-poster bed his gleeful expression was beautiful to behold.

After our initial thirst for one another had been slaked we went to the bedroom where he surprised me by suggesting we test out the beams of the four-poster. Ever inventive when it comes to tying me up, he took the one tasselled rope holding the four poster’s curtains and the blue sash from the wedding chair and looped them over either side of the wooden frame so they hung loosely. Telling me to kneel up, each wrist was carefully knotted into the fabric leaving me spread-armed like some pagan sacrifice in the centre of the bed. Already intensely aroused from ten minutes or so before, it wasn’t long until his combination of spanking and hands over my pussy was all too much for me and I needed to curl up with him into the softest sleep I have had for a long time.

Her knees were feeling delicate on the coarse carpet after she had returned the oral favour to allow him full advantage of the view, her considerations always with him in the forefront of her mind. Her movements had been thickened and deepened by the climaxes he had given her and she savoured every lick and kiss that had intoxicated her. He helped her to her feet and swivelled her body around so they both stood, facing the window.

I’m going to take you now in front of all this. Again she placed her hands against the cold glazing, bracing herself as he pressed into her. As always in this position, she rose on her tiptoes to meet his height a little more easily and held her ground firmly, matching his pressure as they began their dance.

As I’m sure wedding nights must go, ours was sublime. A mixture of well-loved kinks, passion, tenderness and new ground was covered that night. Some I think only right not to divulge too much detail. Something sacred must be kept for us alone on this occasion. It’s definitely reawakened my desire to be strung up, wanting to dig out the over-the-door cuffs before the end of the Summer draws near.

After we climbed down from our wedding high, a few days later we went on a short city break, or our ‘mini-moon’ – of which there are some tasty tales to tell from the next hotel bedroom we stayed in.

Until then, hopefully not too far away, I take my leave as a proudly wedded Lady.

MrsP xo

Coffee Table Kink: Door Sex Swing

A little while ago I was provided with the Door Sex Swing free of charge in exchange for an honest review by the lovely people at Bondara. Here are my thoughts.


The Door Sex Swing is a handy collection of tethers and loops that allows couples to add a little adventure into the bedroom without having the hassle of drilling ceiling hooks above your head or needing an unwieldy contraption from which to suspend yourself. Mister and I have been intrigued with playing with the idea of suspension but living in rented accommodation I’m not sure we would be able to get our deposit returned after installing something as heavy-duty as a hook above the bed. So when Bondara got in touch asking if we would like to choose an item for review, this caught our eyes.

The Door Sex Swing came packaged in a flimsy plastic bag with the company’s name stickered in the middle of it. As it is not a small item, a box or something that would contain it more permanently would have been welcomed. The product itself comprises of two identical, independent wide nylon straps that hook over a door by means of a small silvery rod with two rubber ends to protect your door material. Dangling from this is a hand-loop and a leg-loop, both of which are adjustable in length. Both loops are made of soft foamy materials, the leg-loops being more padded and supportive of weight. The loop circumference isn’t adjustable and I would have concerns that these would fit round some people’s legs.

Fully extended hand and leg-loops

Fully extended hand and leg-loops

In use

We started by lowering the leg-loops so I could ‘step in’ the swing and effectively be hoisted up using the hand holds as leverage. After a few moments getting used to the feeling of slight suspension involving asking Mister to tweak the height of my legs and hands, I was happily off the ground. Mister was particularly enamoured with the view the swing granted him and soon was kneeling between my legs taking advantage of my position with his tongue. I liked using the hand-loops to grip on to and haul myself slightly up and out of his way and following about 10 minutes or so it began to feel like I was experiencing something I had never done before: A Work Out.

Height we found most comfortable

Height we found most comfortable

I also found that where the leg-loops pressed into my thighs, my muscles began to ache a little. This could be partly because I am a weed when it comes to exercise, but following 20 minutes the ache was distracting me too much and Mister helped me out of the swing. He then asked to try it out for himself and – with some degree of laughing between us as he tried to get the height correct – he was in and looking all supersexyhot and vulnerable for me to go down on him.

On a second occasion in trying out the swing we had great fun adding another dimension to sex against a door with me now suspended although in supporting my weight my back was arched slightly when I personally prefer to brace myself against the door for this position for the best comfort, but as an alternative and kinkier version it was definitely one to have as a ‘now and then’ treat.


Both Mister and I enjoyed playing together using the Door Sex Swing for short periods of time. I personally wouldn’t want to spend more than 30 minutes in the device as my arms would tire and the leg-loop would have that dull muscular ache on my thighs. Mister shared the same view as me, commenting on the fact it can feel like a work out after some time in it.

The Door Sex Swing retails here at £23.49 at Bondara which is a reasonable price for a good quality product that I would happily recommend – just be aware of your muscles!

New Horizons

I’ve been rather busy for the past few months and so my post rate here has suffered rather badly! I’m afraid this will only be a short little update as well.

But! I couldn’t leave this weekend behind without putting a few words together. It’s quite an important weekend for me – I’m getting hitched!

After eleven quite fantastic years with Mister, we are tying the knot. What an appropriate euphemism for our relationship that has enjoyed its fair share of bondage?

I’m sure that any of you who have stuck around here for long enough will have gathered just how much the day will mean to me and how much he means to me. I’m even breaking with tradition and giving my own small speech during the proceedings – wish me luck!

This blog I hope stands testament to the love and desire I still continue to hold for him, it gives me great glee and tingles to read back over the archives and remember all the mischief we have concocted for ourselves, places we’ve visited and been kinky in.

A new chapter lies ahead for me – everyone has been asking me if I am nervous yet to which I simply reply, No, I’m not nervous. I’m excited. As it is the truth. How could I ever be nervous of something that I have been looking forward to for a little while now? How could I be anything but excited to share with everyone, friends, family and the Interwebz that I am officially his Lady, as he becomes my husband.

Nervous? Never. His? Always. And that thrills me.

Oh, and as to the bit of sex for this post in a sex blog? The other night during a particularly steamy moment (it is rather hot here in the UK right now), as I was straddling him I leaned down to whisper in his ear, I wonder what it would be like to fuck you in my wedding dress.

I’ll keep you posted on that one.

Cheers, everyone.

Leaving Present

I’ll miss you when I’m away.

Then stay.

Looking at him buried in the duvet that morning, just his head poking above the covers, his words were sorely tempting me to reach out for the phone and cancel everything just to stay with him. But alas, I had to absent myself from his company. After all, I was the Hen.

Life over at my Sanctuary continues, as does the countdown to our Big Day. Last week I was called away to a simply superb Hen Weekend organised by one of my longest, dearest friends who is my Maid of Honour. We had planned the whole thing together and, apart from a few pesky tricks set up by my sisters, all went according to what suits me for a good time with the girls.

Which included life drawing *grins*

But, all those excited feels that morning came to a head when it dawned on me that it would mean I had to leave that delicious man all snuggled up in bed for our early departure. Made all the more difficult after his own special send-off celebration he had given me the night before.

We had been sitting in the living room, all fresh after a shared bath – we continue to have many of these lately – I was clean, no trace of work left hanging on my skin from the daylight hours previous and my mind was at ease. It was also unprepared for the sudden twitching of Mister beside me, like a cat that spies something moving in its peripheral vision and its focus shifts from lazing feline to precision hunter in the blink of an eye.

You’re going over my knee.

Am I?I was caught off guard, but equally my body tingled at his words.

Yes, right now.

Okay.Well, how else would I reply?!

I slipped down to my knees in front of the sofa, eased down my knickers and hitched up my top to then place myself leaning over his lap with my head resting on the arm of the chair. One hand helped me to brace myself on the carpet.

Mid-way through his spanking, he pauses, I look round at him, mind in a half-haze.

I’m going to use the glass dildo on you. Will you get it for me?

I was in no state to be upright, I would probably topple on the stairs with the floaty head he had given me, so he lifted me away from his lap and left me curled on the sofa to retrieve the glass. He’s recently taken quite a shine to using this on me. Although the last time I got quite out of control with wild thrashings that in reaching my orgasm limit I hastily grabbed his hand that held the glass to remove it from me. Unfortunately this coincided with his head being between my legs and there was an uncomfortable ‘Donk!’ as the glass met with Mister’s forehead.


When he came back to me I hadn’t moved a muscle. He helped me back into position over his knee, although this time I stretched my legs out on the sofa cushions in anticipation of the glass. I was very slick from how well he had turned me on with his spankings, hair grabbing and passionate, full kisses over my skin and the dildo entered me with little give. I love the way he uses this with me. Slow thrusts, alternating with delicate twisting movements. My glass has a wonderful swell to the tip of the shaft and I like the feeling of it going inside me. Like, really really.

As before, I couldn’t take too much of this – I must try to work on pushing through my ‘too much pleasure’ limits, Mister keeps threatening to tie me down so I can’t fight back – and I just wanted to have him instead of the glass. Again, surprising me with his Boy Scouts preparation, he produced the little silver wrapper from his pocket and soon was ready to have me.

Still woozy from the spanking and now the glass, he had to direct my movements, helping me to my feet and resting my back against the living room door. My smile lighted my face, we hadn’t had ‘standing up sex’ for a while and I eagerly hooked my left leg around his hip as he supported my weight as we began to move together. It struck me just how much I had missed this position. More of it will soon be on the cards.

It’s a very different sensation, for me, to be fucked standing up. Not only on the physical change but also there is always that element of feral-ness to it, a tinge of the sordid alleyway liaison. That notion alone was enough to get me off and I played along, biting into his shoulder and his free hand moved down my arm, up to feel my breast and squeeze a nipple. He bent his head forward then, to bite me there.

Definitely a memorable parting gift, that bite.




I often take the time to look through my list of posts to reflect on particularly hot moments that Mister and I have shared together. It’s one of the most important reasons for blogging for me – remembering all the supersexyhotness. I also find it interesting to read over what I have written when I know I had been going through a tough experience, either with work or family, but I wouldn’t have shared in the post itself. It affects the style of my writing by either becoming more reflective or emotionally driven in its tone.

What I am aware of is that being close to Mister, emotionally as well as physically, remains a constant in seeing it through the storm.

One evening calls itself forward. A few weeks ago and a few glasses of wine shared between us. I always will find myself intensely attracted to him more than the usual level after wine. I suggested a back rub for him and we set about moving the coffee table in the living room to put down the blanket. A pillow was procured for his head and the electric fire switched on. I lit a few candles and turned off the harsher overhead light. Perfect.

His body had that inscrutable softness of skin above the strength of slightly toned muscles that cries out for stroking, caressing. Kissing. My hair trailed over his back as my lips met his shoulder, hip and behind before I raised myself up, straddling his legs, to reach for the oil. A good covering, slick over his back.

When his breathing had deepened I leaned forward and down, bringing my face almost parallel with his just slightly higher. I like to look at his expression as I draw my fingers up his neckline and into his hair. I love to watch his eyebrows relax and lips part as my hand clasps the crown of his hair. Just for a second, then release. I kiss him then, on his ear. Tongue flicking his lobe then sucking. Noises usually escape my mouth now. Words of enjoyment. Words of his beauty. Words of possession.

This evening he asked for the wax. We hadn’t played for so very long. The tall church candle we use with its natural groove where we have poured its liquid fire sadly neglected. I was out of practice with my control and accuracy and so I proceeded slowly and with care. I eased more oil onto his back as we have found that makes the removal of the dried wax less painful.

Once I was satisfied there was a deep enough reservoir of melted wax in the middle of the candle I brought it and held it vertical over his back. The warm light from its flame seemed to darken my peripheral vision, making me concentrate only on its spotlight, Mister, centre stage. My hand tilted and a fast stream fell onto his skin. I made sure to move my arm as the wax flowed to avoid a large amount of hot wax on one spot on his back – I didn’t want to burn him, after all. His breath quickened for a second and his back tightened until the as sudden relief and relax of his body sinking into the haze of the afterburn.

Following that first drip I made an artwork of that boy’s back.

Long lines of wax along the side of his spine. Drips that were sent running down the side of his hip. Spots that were sprinkled over his arse. Beautiful. He wanted more on the back of his thighs and I gave them to him. He turned over and more was applied to his chest as he sat up to allow the white lines to harden.

I drew myself around him as he sat there, easing him inside me, his arms holding me close to him as we moved together. My fingers were kept busy, returning to the dried wax on his back to peel it off. Sometimes it would flick off with ease, other more stubborn pieces had him hiss as we were kissing. I left those alone for him to deal with.

We were both a hot, sticky mess. He with his wax and I with my mussed hair and oiled body from keeping it close to his own.

I find half the fun with wax play, for me, is the clean up afterwards. My Minx continues to have her playfulness fulfilled in itching off the wax from his skin. Sometimes deliberately picking on the more stubborn, painful crumbs just so I can lick the reddened skin that lies beneath it better.

Such a gorgeous canvas. I shall play the artist again soon.


I see him take the razor and hold it flush to the skin. His other hand pulls the flesh taut across the bone to get the closest, smoothest shave. I catch his attention as I apply my eyeliner in the half-clouded mirror.

It takes great care to do that. It would be a terrible thing if you lost your concentration, wouldn’t it?

He was lying in the bath. I had recently vacated it after a hot, bubbly soak facing opposite him left to dry off and moisturise and returned to the bathroom in only my underwear. Quite deliberately. I was in a playful mood after staring at him and his beautiful glistening skin for the past twenty minutes.

My decision to be in his presence just in my underwear hadn’t gone unnoticed. I had seen him take an appreciative look over my body to which I had given him a small wiggle of my behind.

Eyeliner perfected, I turned around and knelt at the side of the bath, resting my hands on the rim to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. My wet hair slipped down over my shoulders with the movement and a few strands dipped into the surface of the water.

Eyes roamed over his body taking in every contour, watching the slight flex in his muscles as he set to work on shaving his beard. His chin lifted upwards as he worked around his jaw line with the blade. Water dripped down his forearm and fell into the bath. I was enjoying his precision in such a prosaic act.

My mischievous mind set to work as my hands left the side of the bath and delved under the surface of the water seeking out those contours. The tip of his penis was just lifting itself out from the water and a new thought sprung to mind.

Let’s see how well you can concentrate on your shaving if I’m going down on you.

A raised eyebrow from him as one of my hands encircled his shaft, the other stroking along his chest. Loving the encouraging feeling of him getting firmer under my fingers, I gathered my hair to the side and held it out of the way as I repositioned my kneeling pose to comfortably lean down to lift his erection to my lips.

Warm and wet, his skin was beautiful to kiss. My tongue tickled around his head and I took the very tip of him into my mouth. Letting him escape my lips, I looked to the side to glance up his body to see that his strokes of the razor had slowed noticeably as he watched me work him. I smiled and continued on.

With my hand holding the base of his shaft, I took more of his length between my lips, pressing my tongue against him knowing the right amount of pressure he likes. All the while he carried on with his razor. Now on to the tricky neck area he really would have to keep his cool. There was something oddly enjoyable about the underlying threat and danger that could take place should I send him over the edge, with that blade in his hand. The decision to take my time, no sudden jolts.

A contented purr reverberated its way along his erection and I picked up a steady rhythm, pairing my mouth with my hand at his base, occasionally taking a finger to stroke on and behind his balls. I gathered a rocking pace to this movement and he was soon having to stop his shave altogether, grip on to the rim of the bath and reach out to my hair as he climaxed so perfectly giving out a gasped moan that resonated in the small tiled room.

Letting him rest momentarily I kissed my way up his body on the places here and there that were out of the water until I reached his jaw. I couldn’t help but inspect his own work before smiling my way through the line,

You missed a bit.




Smooth with the Rough

I write what I live and I love what I write.

A simple and very satisfying equation of sorts for a girl who has a strong distaste for anything mathematical. The feeling is mutual, I have concluded.

Many things have happened since I last posted on the Sanctuary. A few changes have been made to the fabric of the blog which may be discussed at a later stage. But not quite yet.

After this year’s excellent Eroticon in Bristol I returned with a rather unique business ‘card’ from Renee Rose which I immediately handed over to Mister to take care of. You see, there was an unfinished, splintery manner about this spanking stick that was calling out for the care and attention of my master craftsman. After the superb job he had done with our home-made spreader bars and canes I had high, albeit anxious, hopes for what he could do with this new acquisition.

He spent about an hour sanding, shaping it and dying it with the exotic-sounding ‘Peruvian Mahogany’ wood dye. He then left it outside to dry in the daylight hours – after asking me what alibi he should use were he to be questioned about this wooden implement by our neighbours. Over the next three days he delicately added a few coats of finishing oil giving the stick a gorgeous sheen. In his sanding he has even given the tip a slight taper to its end as well as gently rounding all the edges. Much love had gone in to this new plaything.


Beautiful, isn’t it?

Between the first weekend of March and today – almost at the end of the month – we had yet to try out the stick. The mood wasn’t quite right or various other impositions came between us and any kink. But this evening, as we sat down to the task of deciding on our takeaway dinner, I noticed him stretching down to reach under the coffee table and retrieve the wooden splint as my eyes glazed over the familiar words on the leaflet before me.

Your usual?

*Pat* *Pat* The stick tapped against his palm in response to my query.

I shifted a little in my seat next to him on the sofa. Anxious, apprehensive, yet ultimately a flutter of anticipation arose in me with the hope we would get to christen our new addition to the variety of hitty things we possess.

But when?

As I went to make the telephone call to the restaurant, he rose with me to draw the curtains. My mind ticked over. He couldn’t mean to do this now? The obvious bulge in his trousers suggested otherwise. I returned to the living room with him still standing.

How long till food?

Twenty-five to thirty minutes.

Perfect. Just enough time. 

I see you’re eager to test out the spanker. I raised an eyebrow and a tentative sideways smile, motioning to his erection with my head.

He had been holding on to the spanker with each hand at either end and he now lifted his arms and drew the stick over my head to pull me in to his kiss. Captured. Captivated. Damn, that man is a good kisser. My whole body sank a few centimetres into him and my fingers went out to his shoulder to hold on for fear of losing myself too quickly.

The skirt that I had been wearing was hitched up to reveal my behind – oh, did I forget to mention I was going commando this weekend? He began by stroking the flat of the stick over the back of my legs and the swell of my bottom. The wood was cool and smooth. Gentleness belying the crack that soon followed across my cheeks.

Well, that’s loud!


The impact soon had me leaning forward on my hands on the back rest of the sofa, my eyes crinkling with the smack of the stick against my skin. Yelps and gasps as he found his stroke and gauged the pressure required to control the right amount of intended delivery. Whilst it made me wince, I was delighted to be his guinea pig.

He practised his thuddy hits which had me whip my hand around to rub the soreness out. He tried spanking both cheeks at once versus alternating left and right. Where he stood at my left hip, his spanks of my right cheek made me hiss the most with its bite. He trialled his fun ‘butterfly kisses’ of the stick where he places a very quick succession of light taps over the best part of thirty seconds to a minute until I have to break away, or scuttle away in this evening’s case, humorously running on the spot as I yelped. The giggles helped ease out the sting here and allowed me to resume my position I had been forced out of.

Amongst all of this the kisses and the eye contact. Me looking back over my shoulder to see his careful aim being placed. Him looking up at me as he kissed my behind after a big jolt was wrought out of me. His hand dropping the spanker momentarily to stroke over my reddened skin and reach between my legs to tease out the wetness and my moans. The cool surface of the wood pressed once more onto my heated flesh. I really liked that. More please!

I had completely forgotten about the food delivery until now. Right up until he led me to the door, placing my hands up against the frame, keeping my legs parted as he took the condom from his pocket – When had he gone and got that during the day?!

My ears pricked up for any sound coming from outdoors. Each engine that revved in the background. Every faint footstep that could be a momentarily unwanted intruder to our activity. And then I was returned to the immediacy of the here and now as he entered me, my feet lifting to tiptoes to accommodate him comfortably. Forearms braced against the doorframe, I looked behind me again to see his own eyes crinkled now as they looked back at me with that hunger I love.

I began with a simple truth, one I shall leave you with again:

I write what I live and I love what I write. Mister. It encompasses everything here. I write about him – for him.