HappyComeLucky

This is a shared post with my man. The writing in italics is him. His voice in this post adds more than just my writing alone could do.

For a very long time, I had been wanting to buy a gift for my man. [A present? For me? How sweet! – Her Man] Not just any gift. I wanted to buy a gift that meant something, a gift of quality and that was linked to my submission to him.

Ever since my man flogged me when trying out a good friend’s flogger, I have wanted to get him a very special one of his own. To be exact, I wanted to get him a heavy, thuddy, hand crafted delight from Jack’s Floggers. I thought about ordering one online, but I realised that I wanted him to touch it, feel it and choose the one that felt as if it was made for his hand.

[That was incredibly thoughtful, and in no way motivated by the thought of being on the receiving end of the present, I am sure…]

This weekend was something that I had been wanting to do for well over a year. It was really important to me that the trip was a success – I wanted it to be more than just a shopping trip. I wanted the experience of the entire weekend to fit with the emotional investment of buying and presenting a symbol of my submission, but I was really worried about whether I could do the occasion justice. [You had no reason to worry. You made the occasion.] I was feeling bad about the way I looked, which was frustrating. The frustration was annoying me. Feeling bloated isn’t sexy, either. Add onto that the fact that I was so stressed that my mojo had gone missing – hardly the ideal recipe for a dirty weekend! The run up to the trip was full of nerves, excitement, anticipation and self doubt.

[I, on the other hand, was more concerned with getting lost on the way there, getting more lost on the way back, and running out of time before we had squeezed every last drop of fun out of the weekend. It was my birthday, after all.]

The weekend came. A trip to the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar (a fetish fair with a wonderful range of kinky goods for sale) and the hotel for the night before was booked. A meet-up with one of my man’s friends arranged for the Saturday night before the main event on the Sunday.

[Not mentioned: failing to get enough time off work, friend unsure whether they could make it, crazy driving logistics inherent in any LDR road-trip, and the probability of getting lost. Seriously. Last time, we saw an owl.]

At some point in the arrangements, the Aftermath kinky play party was mentioned by my man. I still remember all the thoughts that went through my head. My impulsive response was to doubt whether I would be welcome there. I still have this nagging issue with my self esteem that others are more than I am. [I hope you’re beginning to realise that’s not true.] This includes most things from blogging, photos, putting myself forwards for things and asking for things. I worry whether I will ever fit in. Once I put those thoughts firmly away and worked a way around the timings of getting back etc, I started to properly explore the idea. Very quickly I was looking forward to the prospect of seeing others in action. and even more excited about the prospect of my man and I playing in public for the first time – have I mentioned that I am shy? [Yeah, right…] Fortunately for me, my exhibitionist streak seems much stronger than any of my insecurities.

All of these wonders to anticipate led me to feeling both nervous and excited in the week leading up to it. I thoroughly beat myself up [That’s my job!] about what to wear. I have gained weight in the last year and I became hyper aware of that. I wanted to look good. Actually, I wanted to look damn sexy and for my man to be proud to have me there with him. [You do, and I am. Always.]

At last, my outfits were packed and my nerves controlled. It was time to set off to my man for a weekend of delights.

[The journey up was fairly simple, if a little busy. My schedule at work had put a frustrating delay on the start to the trip, and meant I needed to leave HCL in bed alone to catch up on her sleep while I went into town. Bags packed, we set off later than planned. Rain, roadworks and ring-roads beset our route, but we arrived, met our guide and proceeded to investigate the thrilling variety of food and full-on cocktail dress clubwear that was in evidence. Things I learned: 1) Halloumi and chorizo FTW! 2) Gender ratio on a Saturday in Birmingham is about 30:1 – wherever the men were hiding, we didn’t see many.]

BBB:

We slept in. Well, we more than slept in. We woke up late and then stayed in bed together for as long as we could. [Yes.] The morning was perfect. My man, relaxed, naked and happy while snuggled. [Oh, yes!] It wasn’t long before I was kissing, licking and sucking his cock. I adore the feel of his satin smooth skin on my tongue. The taste and smell of him is intoxicating and worshipping him this way is one of my favourite things to do. [Pretty high on my list as well, actually…] In a twist to our normal turn of events, my man suggested rope. Not rope for me but rope for me to use on him. I had a brief ‘rabbit in the headlights’ moment about what to do and where to start before I began to thoroughly enjoy myself. I delighted in entwining the rope between his toes even though if he does the same to me I will be crawling out of my skin with squirmy need to escape. [It’s always fun watching you work out what to do in unexpected situations. If you jump in quickly I know you’ve been giving the scenario some private consideration beforehand. That was very elegant ropework, by the way…] Once tied, and using my body to make up for some of the inefficiencies of my restraints, I went back to worshipping his cock. I used my tongue to add to the pressure and was delightfully rewarded. I was definitely the cat who got the cream.

By now, I was in a perfect headspace for the day. Happy, horny, confident and sexy. It was time to shop.

As we arrived I saw the mix of other people there. I took in the relaxed happiness of the man with sexy long legs in a fishnet bodystocking and thong as we went up the stairs to see the stalls laid out before us. There were people in everything from the aforementioned fishnets to latex outfits that I would adore to suit, and jeans and t-shirts. I felt fine in my jeans and stopped being judgemental of myself.

[While I hadn’t worried too much about the daytime dress code, it was reassuring to see such a wide range of styles there, from scruffy casual streetwear and kinky slogan t-shirts to full-on fetish gear. We’d have fitted in whatever we chose to wear.]

Now, one thing that I learnt about visiting a fetish fair with a sadist is to watch out for their grin. [*grins*] I can be my own worst enemy when it come to this. If a toy looks scary, then I am not only drawn to it but I also draw his attention to it. I managed not to tell him that I was really curious to find out how intense the multiple wartenburg wheels are [Oh, really?] but I was ready to drop to my knees and beg for mercy when he was handling a roller covered with positively evil looking spikes. The grin on his face with that made me both wary and horny. [So, should I not have secretly gone back for it, then? *grins*]

I was drawn to the pretties. The beautiful glass dildos with their lines and ridges that just called out to be touched and explored. The nipple clamps that made me want to pull my top down and try them out for the pinch. The metal cuffs that once fastened will allow no escape. So much temptation of shiny steel and pretty glass.

I tried to avoid looking at the high leather collars, but that grin was on his face again as he pointed them out to me. I was annoyed at myself for finding them pretty. I found that even looking at them made my breathing so shallow that it almost stopped. I had to remind myself to relax and take a deep breath as we turned away from that stall. I really don’t like things around my neck, which makes it all the more amazing that I love having his hand on my throat.

One item that I wished we had gone back for and is definitely on my ‘I want’ list is an anal hook. [You should have said.] So smooth, simple and wicked but with so many possibilities. I think that wicked gleam in his eye would be replaced with one of sadistic satisfaction. [*makes a note*]

We visited all of the stalls and had a mouth watering pit stop at Sam’s cake stand. Spoilt for choice is an understatement. Once we had finally managed to narrow our decision down to just one for him and one for me, we sat on the balcony while we devoured them. Light and moist and packed full of flavour, they tasted every bit as good as they looked.

[As well as all the other pretties there was rope in bulk, scary big metal bondage contraptions, knives of varying qualities and sizes, magnetic plasticky paddles, rubber and leather and wood, corsets with shoe heels to match, wigs and vintage clothing alongside tailored goth / industrial elegance. Too much to take in, and far too much to get everything we wanted. But immense fun to look around.]

I’m not good at patience. We were there for a purpose. We had gone there to make an important purchase. The browsing was fun but was also a distraction. Ever since we arrived, I had been itching to grab my man and drag him over to Jack’s Floggers. Maybe all the waiting was a test of my self control, or maybe a tease. Finally we approached the stall. I adore wood, and all of those beautiful turned wood handles were irresistible. I touched and caressed them. I stroked the falls of the floggers revelling in the different weights and textures of them. I was drawn to the purple suede because – well because I really like purple. That didn’t spark the fire of delight in his eyes though. He did love, and I do mean love, the look of a singletail. It was beautifully crafted and had a delightfully tempting promise of a sting at the end of the tail. It was one of those items that makes me quiver with both fear and fascination. A toy that would expand my limits. We weren’t there for that though, we were there for a flogger.

Amongst the floggers was one that I hadn’t looked closely at yet. Its colours didn’t stand out and its leather falls seemed more muted amongst the suede ones. The falls looked as though they had weight to them – a softness and a sturdiness at the same time. My man’s face changed as soon as he handled this one. [Oops. Did it?]  It is hard to explain but the fact that he didn’t put this one back down says a lot. We talked about the possibilities and our purchase was decided. In all of that searching and caressing, we also managed to end up with a beautiful stick and a whippy mix between a flogger and crop – I don’t know what to call it. [A flop…?] The flogger that I have spent over a year dreaming of giving him is now completely his. Now all I have to do is keep being worthy of being kissed by it.

[First of all, thank you once again. As a present, it’s incredibly generous, and more than I ever expected. As a tool and a toy, it’s simply stunning. The quality of the materials and workmanship make it a fetish object in its own right, and I think that’s what I felt when I first handled it. But the true beauty of it becomes clear with use – its weight and suppleness provide a smooth, thuddy power that seemed to match your tastes well, and the responsiveness of it lets me control that weight with a precision I never imagined. It fits me perfectly. So do you. You’ll always be worthy of it.]

Here is one of our purchase – the cross between a crop and a flogger. I can now confirm that it kisses with a stinging bite.

Just in case you are intrigued about what happened at the Aftermath play party, that is coming up in the next post.