Saturday, December 31, 2011

Sneaky posting

He touched me all over, my back, my legs, my sides, my breasts...the lightest, feathery touches, and I was nothing but a constant moan. The sensations his fingertips were causing rolled over me in waves of pleasure, an occasional "oh my god" spilling from my open mouth. I tried to get away a couple of times, and he just pulled me back to him, telling me to take it for him.

When I finally begged him to fuck me, he taunted me a bit before consenting. "I'm just touching you, and you're making so much noise. Did you just beg me to fuck you?"

He spooned me, pressed his cock against my wet pussy, then finally inside. So good. I threw my top leg over his hip as he moved inside of me, and his hand wandered all over my front.

"Hurt me," I begged.

"You want me to hurt you?"

I whimpered an agreement and his hand came crashing onto my breast, then my other breast, my pussy, my thigh. I cried out softly and arched up into his touch, begging for more. He still moved slowly inside of me, whispering dirty things into my ear.

He pinched my nipple hard and I cried out that it hurt. "I know," he responded as he thrust faster and I moved with him. He got more and more excited, moving his hand from one nipple to the other, practically crushing the poor nub. I screamed, and he exploded inside me with a last flurry of motion.

Happy new year, blogoverse! I've got another week of vacation before I'm back.

We're enjoying the hell out of ourselves in the mean time. :)

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Merry Christmas!

Good gracious, you people write a LOT. Here I am with no internet and I seem to have 136 blog posts to read. I don't think I'm going to be able to tackle that kind of backlog.

I'm having an awesome time on holiday, not much sex but that's because we're too exhausted from everything else.

Heard a story about someone's threesome last night, and another story about a crazy girl. We didn't get back until after 5 AM... fantastic night.

I hope you all enjoy whatever holiday you happen to be celebrating!

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Scheduled post. Enjoy!

A comment on slashdot regarding TV:
"It's just boring to sit down and talk about something. I do that already when I go out eat with my girlfriend and it's enough."
Seriously? I'm sure this fine gentleman had ladies chomping at the bit to be his girlfriend.

My husband and I talk all the time. If we do watch something then we sit down and talk about it afterward, or we talk about it snuggled together in bed, which really is our preferred method of talking and always has been.

Perhaps the online nature of the formation and initial growth stages of our relationship led to this apparently bizarre way we enjoy each other, but I like to think we just like each other a hell of a lot.

A sampling:

We were getting ready to go to bed and I had a bunch of things to say, that blanket doesn't go there, it's cold, how did you manage not to hear me when I was explaining this thing to you, etc.

He finally responded jokingly: "You complain a lot! I should probably beat you, but I'm too tired," and he climbed into bed with me and we laughed together.

He held me snuggled close to him and was explaining a problem he's having at work: "So there's a rectangle, and when you rotate it.."
I interrupted: "Is it on a plane?"
"A plane?"
"Yeah, a plane." I held my hand flat against his chest to indicate what I meant. It went over his head.
"No, love, it's not on a plane."
"So it's 3D?"
"What? No, I thought you meant an airplane. Yes, it's on a plane."
"I'm not stupid, baby."
"Well I am!"

I collapsed into giggles against his chest while he went on to explain the rest of the issue.

Kinky or not, we're talkers, and the hours can disappear and the daylight fade outside while we lie all tangled up in each other and just talk. It's really quite beautiful. When we've had great stretches of time alone, (hardly ever in the last few years) we've made love, talked, made love again, talked.

Boring? Not by a long shot, mister.

Maybe the problem with that commenter's conversations is himself.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Last hoorah

Scheduled post. :)

"How nice of you to be here for me," he said seductively as he climbed into bed behind me, running his hand from my hip to my breast and cupping it there.

"I'm not here for you." He'd gotten angry at me a bit earlier for some stupid thing, which never ever happens, and I was feeling a little put out.

"You're not? Who are you here for then?"

"Nobody, I'm just here."

He started hitting my ass, hard. "If you're not waiting for anybody, then I guess nobody will mind if I do things to you, huh? You really should be more careful of the things you say."

He slapped my breasts. After several moments he said "If only someone hadn't convinced me to pack away those toys. It's almost like I've been tricked."

I giggled.

"Oh, you think it's funny, huh?" He slapped each breast two more times. "I don't think it's funny at all. I wouldn't be laughing if I was you, there are still some things over here in this drawer." I heard clanking and I was confused. "Turn over," he whispered, "and you'll find out what it is." He slapped the vinyl belt hard against my ass and I squealed. "Ring any bells?" he asked as he hit me again and the smack resounded through the room. "It's loud enough to ring some bells." I started giggling. "It's loud enough to be a bell." I couldn't handle it, I giggled more and more and I curled into a little ball. "You know, loud noises aren't my favorite," he informed me softly, and started hitting me with his hand again, on my ass, my thighs, my breasts. My giggle-fit subsided slowly as he struck me.

"What are your favorite noises?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Mmm, they come from your mouth."

"Why are you hitting me anyway?"

"Because I can. To remind you who's in charge. Maybe to remind you I don't like it when you act all annoyed with me." He punctuated each sentence with a hard slap to a different part of my body.

"Did I do that?"

"Yes, earlier."

"You got angry with me!"

"Isn't that my right? If I want to get angry, can't I, without you turning all grumpy faced?" He kept hitting me.

"Yes, don't ever."

"I see... so I beat you, flog you, use you, but I never get angry at you?"


He didn't respond, but his fingers sought out my arousal, and he commented on how much I must like it. "No, no, no." I responded, denying it all. He seemed to disagree as his fingers easily slid against my aroused flesh.

"What we have here is a girl who gets more turned on the more I abuse her," he whispered to me as I protested. "No? I guess we'll see," he muttered, pulling his fingers away from my pussy and slapping my breasts. "See, you could get away.... or you could arch your back so your breasts are closer to my hands, as if to say 'Here they are, for you to use'... oh look, that's what you're doing." Again and again and again he hit me, then slipped his hand between my legs once more and pressed his fingers within me.

"You could get away if you wanted... but look, you just stay here and take it. You're mine, aren't you?" His fingers stroked inside me, pushing moans and gasps out of me, and then he pressed hard against my g-spot.

"Oh, fuck," I gasped, humping against his hand.

"What's that?" he asked. "Is there something you...want?"

"Fuck me," I pleaded, dropping every pretense in my need.

"Oh, you want to be fucked, do you?"


"Well, I've got this cock that needs sucking first," I whimpered pleadingly, really wanting him inside me. He grabbed my chin, "and you're gonna suck it for me. Be a good girl."

I moved down and slowly started to lick around the head of his cock. "It's big," I breathed out.

"You're the one who made it that way." I opened my mouth more and pressed down around him, taking him all the way to the back of my throat and then a bit farther, until sounds were forced out of me. He tossed his leg over my neck and tangled his hands in my hair, tugging on it and telling me what a good, sweet cocksucker I was. "This is where your face belongs, wrapped around my cock, being fucked." I started shoving myself as far as I could onto him, forcibly gagging myself, turned on beyond belief. He yanked my head off of him for a moment. "Too good, sometimes," he whispered before allowing me to suck him back inside.

After a time, he said "I believe I promised your pussy some of this cock, didn't I?" I moaned an affirmative around my mouthful, and he kept thrusting. "I guess you'd best save some for your pussy, then." I don't remember if he pushed me away or if I stopped on my own, but then he was ordering me to come up and turn over, and I did.

He pushed his cock inside me and we moved together for a long, glorious time, until I pulled away instead of pushing toward him. "Ooh, are you trying to get away from me?" he asked, pulling my hip hard against him.

"Nuh-uh," I said, well and truly possessed. I would never!

"Oh, then you want to be fucked somewhere else?"



I whimpered.

"Your ass?"


"You want this big hard thing," he pushed it firmly inside me, "in your ass?" he asked, his tone disbelieving.

"Mmhmm." My internal muscles clenched around him at the thought.

"Well.. I think we should give it to you." He turned his upper body to find the lube, and I bent forward, him thrusting into me the whole while.

He got the lube, and worked a finger inside my ass while his cock still plundered my pussy. I cried out "ohmygod."

"Mmm, you like that, huh? You like having your ass played with while I fuck your pussy?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He pulled away and repositioned his cock at my asshole, which had not been used for anything beyond a nicely tapered (although large) plug or a finger in much, much too long a time. He pushed and pushed and pushed, but it wasn't doing anything but teasing me. Finally he was inside and I was all-but-screaming with the immensely full feeling of it.

"Too much!" I cried out as he moved.

"Mmmm, take it, slut, you wanted it, now take it," he told me firmly. My leg crept backwards over his hip and he buried his fingers in my pussy, which was uselessly producing copious amounts of lubrication.

His fingers fucked my pussy, his thumb stroked against my clit and his cock moved in my ass and I was out of my mind. I just screamed "Oh, my, GOD," over and over. He talked about me being a good fuck toy, about needing all my holes fucked, about how he'd taken them all and he could take any part of me any time he wanted and I screamed with the pleasure and the joy of it all, occasionally agreeing with some question he'd ask.

When he finally came inside me he continued finger-fucking me. "I don't know how much of this I can take," I whispered when he didn't stop after my first orgasm.

"Mmm, let's find out," he told me wickedly, "because you're going to take it until I say it's enough. You're mine."

I couldn't tell you how many orgasms he ripped from me.

I could tell you that he pulled me close afterward, telling me how much he loved me, and we slept very well.

I could tell you he's magnificent and I adore him.

You probably know that already.

Have a nice weekend, everyone.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

One moment before I go

We'll be travelling for quite some time soon, and I don't know how much time I'll have for blogging.

Two nights ago we had fantastic sex that I can't remember well enough to write about - it's just a series of seemingly isolated moments and I have no timeline to arrange them upon.

Last night he pulled me close to him and snuggled me, said "Sleeping time is now," but then he started to kiss me.

He began to fondle my breasts; I could feel his erection growing against me and I couldn't just let that pass. "Hit me, please," I begged.

"Hit you?" he asked incredulously. "But won't that just get you worked up? And then I'll fall asleep..."

"That's okay... forewarned is forearmed," I stretched, offering my breasts. He hit them, spurring an "oh yes, more please," from within me. Heavy hard slaps fell on my soft flesh, and I begged for them again and again. His other hand that was wrapped around me started hitting my ass, and I pressed closer to him to give his arm more room. After a few moments he pushed me onto my back and went after my breasts again. He knocked against my jaw on one of his swings and he checked to see if I was okay. "I'm okay, I'm okay, don't stop," I gasped.

He'd stop once in a while to pinch and tug on my nipples, making me squeal. I was very turned on and I started humping the air as he hit me. "Silly slut, you know you can't have me, I'm too damn sleepy," he admonished me as he kept hitting me. My hand curled loosely around his cock and he thrust into it. That part of him wasn't sleepy. My breasts were very warm and my nipples were burning. After several minutes, I turned on my side away from him and positioned myself so his cock could slide along my pussy when he humped, my leg tossed back over his hip. "What are you doing with my cock?" he asked suspiciously.

"Feeling it," I purred, making lots of little pleased noises as he moved his cock against my desire-slick membranes. Eventually it was too much teasing for me and I made the small adjustment in my position that made his entering me more possible. His next thrust opened me and pushed inside, and we both moaned with pleasure.

"How does it feel like that?" he asked, like he didn't know.

"Very nice," I responded, as he moved within me. Heck yeah it felt very nice.

We moved together; I tried to make most of the effort because I knew he really was tired. He wrapped his hand around my jaw and sank a finger into my mouth, his other hand fondling my breasts, stroking my skin, then playing with my clit.

He finished with a groan, then he actually had it in him to give me an orgasm too.

I was impressed, delighted, and mostly boneless.

I snuggled against him. "That was damn good for a sleepy man," I whispered, "not that I'm saying it was your best."

"I would certainly hope you're not!" he responded, pulling me tight against him.

Sleepy sex and deep sleep wrapped in my lover's arms. Fantastic.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Symbiotic relationships: where angst fears to tread

This is my hundredth published post. I had a whole long post about the trials of my life all ready to go for number 100, but that seems wrong, somehow.

It's Christmas! Some really terrible things have happened to my family and property back home this weekend, but I have my love, my child, and I do have some really fantastic friends and family even if I never do get to see them. So I am trying to be happy, to count my blessings. The other post can sit and wait a while.

While we were snuggled together grieving over one of the terrible events, this conversation transpired between my husband and I while our child was busy trying to separate us.

"This little person seems to think we're two people or something," I observed.
"Yeah, funny, that."
"You are part of me, aren't you?"
"A part that likes to hurt me?"
"Yeah," he nodded, "are you a part of me that likes to be hurt?"
"Mmhmm," I buried my face into his shirt.
"Thought so," he said smugly, squeezing me tightly against himself.

That exchange has been stewing in my head all day. It's true, we're those people, the ones that make people roll their eyes and fake-gag, the ones that don't go anywhere without each other, the ones that actually get irritated when couples events are divided into "girls decorate ornaments, guys play cards." Screw that, I want to do stuff with this man, not separately from him. Besides, those events are so diluted for general consumption that they're practically meaningless, surely. My man isn't interested in cards for the sake of cards, I know.

So, if you're in one of this beautifully symbiotic relationships with your other half, and if, like me, you sometimes come to question the validity of your desires, stop it.

These guys? No angst. None.
When your back itches, you scratch it or you find someone who will. You don't mumble to yourself about your stupid back needing to be scratched, what the hell is wrong with the stupid retarded back, normal people's backs don't itch. Yours itches, so you scratch it. If your head aches, you lie down or you take something or you remove yourself from the thing that started it aching. You deal with your parts on their terms, and you do what needs doing to them to keep them as happy as you can, to maintain good working order of yourself as a whole.

If you're in a dedicated relationship with a person, you're part of each other. You scratch each others' itches because that's what the hand does for the back, or the head, or the balls.

Angst over "does s/he" or "should I" has no place in this sort of relationship. I have absolutely no qualms asking my husband to literally scratch a part of my back I can't reach. He even lets me grab his arm by the elbow and stick his hand wherever I want it to scratch! That right there is fabulous, you guys should try it. Seriously.

So then why do I often try to work myself into knots about my sexual desires? He's not working himself into knots. He just does what he does. The fact that I'm submissive shouldn't come into play as a bother here - he has no qualms, he's not concerned about anything, so neither should I be. He's not complaining because his figurative back itches, he just scratches it.

I'm going to stop it.

I'm going to simply be thankful for the blessing of deliciously kinky sex, and all the itches that get scratched between us.

Friday, December 9, 2011


He forgot the details of a conversation we'd had about transportation, twice. The first time was one thing, but the second time I just said "You realize that means we need to leave now, right?" and I went to quickly get ready to go. If he hadn't wanted to take us he could have just said he didn't feel like it, not repeatedly "forget." I also felt like the extra time with me meant nothing to him vs. his own inconvenience.

Anyway, it was over, I was going to drive. He tried to hold me in place for the extra hour, but I eventually managed to convince him to let me go. It's not really quality time if I'm just trying to leave the whole time.

Hours later, after the outing, we went to bed. I kept to my side and laid flat on my back.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked.

"No." I wasn't, really. I was just saddened and frustrated by the entire situation.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

A nightmare

Yesterday I read this post by faerie, and it struck a chord with me that vibrated the rest of the day, and apparently into the night. I think a trigger warning might be appropriate right here too.

Thankfully my situation never became like hers, my mom took me and left my dad as soon as he began showing strange interests in me when I was around 3, so I don't know if it would have escalated or not. He's dead now and I never had a conversation with him - the one memory I have of him is of torturous neglect bordering on abuse.

I still have contact with his family though, and I'll be visiting them this holiday season. Faerie's post and this fact seem to have combined to give me a nightmare that was truly terrifying.

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza 2011

Organized by the awesome Jz, and I'm thrilled to be participating!

Chocolate chip coconut cookies:

Scrambling to create a recipe, I kind of stumbled on this one during Thanksgiving prep.

The holidays have always meant coconut to me, probably something to do with the coconut candy my grandfather always brought home from the local mom & pop grocery store.  I've seen similarly shaped and colored candies in big box stores in my adulthood, but they lacked the soft suppleness of the ones from my younger days. Sadly, that grocery store is long out of business, though thankfully a local man runs a hardware shop in the building, which is by far better than it being torn down.

I'm nowhere near that town right now, but I still take comfort in knowing these small details.

So, these cookies are mostly coconut, but all around the edges and on the bottoms it becomes crunchy and it kind of dissolves in your mouth like fabulous sugary wonderfulness.


1 cup sweetened coconut flakes
1/2 cup all-purpose flour (unbleached preferably)
1/4 cup confectioner's sugar
dash salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (optional, but awesome)
3 tablespoons coconut oil, melted
2 tablespoons mini chocolate chips (or more if you like a lot of chocolate)


Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Mix the coconut, flour, sugar, and salt together
Pour the melted coconut oil and extracts over and work until moistened throughout
Add the chocolate chips and mix.

Form thin-(ish) cookies with your hands, then place them about half an inch apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake for around 12-15 minutes, until the cookies look crispy around the edges and toasted on top.

Remove cookies from oven, let cool on pan for several minutes, then remove carefully with spatula to a cooler spot. Cooling is very important with these cookies, they'll turn crispier as they cool and be much more awesome.

In our family of 3 adults and 1 child, my cookies were gone before the day was out.

Here's the list of everyone else who's participating, looks like an even 40, including me:

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

How does he do it?

I was sitting at the table, commenting on someone's blog, and he came over to see what I was doing.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Just checking on you," he responded, kissing my cheek, threading his hand through my hair at the back of my head, and pulling firmly, just once, just enough. Right there in the room with my mom! Such a thrill.

Later, there was sex.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Late-night scene


Got my ass belted, for nothing in particular.

I was kneeling, folded up, my face down on a pillow and my arms out, palms pressed against the wall. I just sort of folded up into that position when we went to bed, exhausted from a long day of fun. I had no idea we were about to do anything but sleep.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, a little amused by the position I was in.

"Nothing," I responded, my voice muffled by the pillow.

"I think your ass wants some attention," he said while he slowly rubbed his hand across it.

"Is that right?" I wonder what could possibly give him that idea? This was one time I would actually have been okay with sleeping. Not that I'm complaining, mind!

"Oh, yeah." I heard the clink of a buckle and then heard the loud slap of a belt against the curve of my posterior. I drew in breath sharply as the next slap landed, a little higher. That hurt, dammit. WTF. He miraculously landed three blows in the same spot, and I moved forward to get away from the burning pain but quickly settled myself back into position. "That's right, little bitch, you take what I give you, don't you?" He was really getting into it, and I kept moving up-and-down on my knees in the vain hope that the next blow wouldn't land on already marked flesh. Squeals I was no longer able to muffle spilled between the lips I was biting in order to keep the noise down. He hit my lower back, the curve of my ass, the backs of my thighs, but most of the pain was focused on the top half of my right cheek. It burned like crazy.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Vibrations without batteries

We went to bed insanely early (like 8 PM), he held me and we talked for a long, long time.

I told him if he has irritants that he can't work out of his system I'd be awfully pleased if he'd work them out on me.

He asked me to teach him something. Out of the blue, just, "Teach me something."

I stammered for a while, unsure what to say before I finally stumbled onto something.

"You don't like to bind me much, and that makes me sad," I told him quietly, normally, like that's something a person says to another person. It's so bizarre, This Thing We Do.

He responded that he doesn't like to fumble, and so I told him he can tell me what to do, to put my limbs in position and tell me not to move. While that's perhaps not as satisfying as rope or cuffs, it's a lot better than nothing at all.

Then he asked me about role play, and how one starts it. "Don't you remember?" I asked him. It's not like we've never played roles before, but admittedly, it's been quite a long time.

We talked and talked and talked. I love talking to him; he makes me feel normal, just by his complete acceptance.

He turned the lights off and did stuff to me, but of course I don't remember it all. He put my hands over my head and told me to keep them the hell out of his way and to make sure not to touch him, then he flogged my thighs and breasts hard. "Take your shirt off!" he barked at me when it fell down from where he had shoved it and covered one of my breasts. I rolled on my side to do it and he flogged my ass while my back was turned. "Good girl," he told me when I rolled onto my back again.

I didn't feel like a particularly good girl. I felt like a hurting girl; my thighs were stinging and it was all I could do to keep them open. I can't take as much pain there as I can on my breasts, but he seems determined to hurt me more there. He sucked on one nipple while he flogged the other one and I actually screamed once in mid-sigh. The scream was more from surprise at the sudden impact than the pain, although it did hurt quite a bit.

He made me suck his cock, told me I could use my hands but not to touch anything but his legs and cock, so I was careful. He fucked my face violently, flogging my ass while he did. I was gasping and shuddering by the time he pulled away and ordered me atop him. "Get up here and fuck this cock for me," he told me roughly. "That's a good fuck toy," he whispered as I settled down over his hardness, "and now, since you get the cock, I get to play with these breasts. They are for my amusement, right?" He played with them and tugged on and squeezed my nipples, drawing little "oh, oh, oh" cries from me. I tried to sit all the way up and rock like that, but the intensity of the position knocked me forward - he forced me to stay mostly upright with his hands gripping my breasts, until finally he let me bend more, much to my relief. It was pretty hard to do all that without touching his upper body too...

My legs were wearing out at one point, and the intensity was overwhelming me. I started grunting small little "nuh-uh" noises, and he slapped my ass and said "What? You don't get to say nuh-uh, you get to fuck me until I'm done. Fuck toys don't get to say no."

He made me ride him until he spent himself, although he did finally let me touch him when I begged.

Afterward, while he held me, he shoved two fingers in my mouth, ordering me to suck. My left leg was bent slightly as I lay on my back, and my entire thigh started vibrating while I sucked his fingers. I'm not talking exhaustion tremors, we're talking full-on battery-operated vibration. I had no control over the damn thing, and at first I thought it was something he was doing to my leg with his other hand while I sucked. It was quite titillating at the time.

I pulled my mouth off his fingers long enough to ask what the hell  he was doing to me... and it turns out, nothing at all. He put his hand on my thigh and felt the vibrations there, and he freaked out. "Stop it!" he told me. No dice. I can't comply with an order if I can't control whatever's going on.

So weird.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Polishing up lovemaking

A few days ago, while having a conversation about my blog, my husband said "I dunno. It seems like you take the act of our lovemaking and... polish it up."

I stared at him, my mouth open. "I do what now?"

"You know, you make me sound less awkward and stuff."

"Oh, baby, you are not awkward. You are so not awkward."

This is what I mean when I say I'm missing half of what's going on.. how does he take the things that go on between us and come away from that thinking he's awkward?

Last night he flogged my inner thighs until I screamed and tried to close my legs, and then he forced them open again and kept flogging them, tossing a few strikes to my breasts when he felt like it. Was I in any condition to think he was awkward? No. I wasn't in any condition to think much of anything.

Most of the time I look at something I've written and I think "No, no. That's not quite it." My writing comes close, but it still fails to completely capture the magnificence of our interactions. 

I do not polish anything up.

Silly man.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Ruminations on Hannah Cullwick

Happy December, everybody! Isn't life fantastic?

I've been reading this fabulous book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life. The book is awesome, but it's taking me forever to read it (months!) because it gives short descriptions of all of these fascinating topics, which then causes me to research each one more in-depth. It's really a great book. In it, Bill Bryson mentions Hannah Cullwick (1833-1909), a woman diarist and servant who wound up secretly married to a higher-class gentleman.

Hannah was a kinkster, you guys. No lie.  
She would have probably been a blogger if she had the tech. Check out the chain around her neck, the strap on her wrist. Did I mention that this is a topless photo of a woman taken before the turn of the 20th century, and not for public consumption, but for private perusal? If you do a google image search for her, you'll find other images. There was an independent film done about her writings as well. It's all very interesting and sheds a completely different light on what life was like at that time - for me, anyway. You think of people being prim and proper and, well, Victorian. These guys were living the life - before easy birth control. It's amazing! 
Have any of you heard of her?  

From wikipedia: 
Cullwick proudly referred to herself as Munby's "drudge and slave", and called him "Massa", an example of a Master/slave relationship. For much of her life, she wore a leather strap around her right wrist and a locking chain around her neck, to which Munby had a key. She wrote letters almost daily to him, describing her long hours of work in great detail. She would arrange to visit him "in my dirt", showing the results of a full day of cleaning and other domestic work. She had a particular interest in boots, cleaning hundreds each year, sometimes by licking them. She once told Munby she could tell where her "Massa" had been by how his boots tasted.

Despite her display of subservience and loyalty, Cullwick remained independent. She stood up for herself if she thought the terms of her relationship with Munby were being violated. She entered marriage with Munby reluctantly, seeing it as dependency and boredom. They were secretly married in 1873, after which she moved to his lodgings, where she lived as his servant, though she sometimes played the role of his wife. She also retained her own surname and insisted that Munby continue to pay her wages, and she had her own savings. She left him far more often than he did her, and in 1877 she returned to working as a servant in Shropshire. Munby was a regular visitor from 1882 until her death.
Her diaries reveal that the erotic games with Munby often included infantilism and ageplay, with Cullwick carrying Munby in her arms and holding him on her lap.

Cullwick appeared in Munby's photographs in many different roles: a farm girl, a kitchen drudge, a chimney sweep with blackface, a well-dressed lady (though with her hands, unmistakably those of a working woman, prominently displayed), a Magdalen, and even a man. Her ability to take different roles delighted Munby.
Kink isn't new, not a bit, we just have a stronger grasp on how many people are practicing kink due to our fabulous wealth of information. Bill Bryson doesn't mention the M/s aspect of this relationship, merely using the diary itself as a window into the world of servants of that era - but Hannah Cullwick hardly seems to be a "typical" servant, now does she? He does mention how even getting a bath seems to be a major accomplishment for her, as she often sleeps "in my dirt," but I'm not entirely sure that's not a kink itself. The diaries were apparently written for her "massa," at his request, too.

What kind of examinations do you think our blogs will get, a hundred+ years from now? Will they just fade from existence, be deleted on a whim, or relegated to the background noise of ten million self-publishers? I'm making some effort to preserve mine. There may be a lot more windows into existence now than there were then, but private life is still quite hidden, mysterious, and fascinating.