Wednesday, 1 October 2014


I had a session last Thursday, almost a week ago, a session with Luke. It was way over due, I ached for pain. We had planned this for a week earlier, but life interfered, as it does. But the day finally came, and Luke was here, with a cane and a sjambok.
When I got into position for the caning, leaning over the back of a chair, before the first stroke fell, I already was crying. With every stripe painted on my behind, I cried harder, and harder, and harder, while I wanted more, still more, even when I had enough I still wanted more.
But Luke refused to give me more, and the sjambok never got used. He stopped, told me I needed a friend more than the pain, took care of the few drops of blood, we had tea, I sat at his feet. We spent the afternoon together, went over to his place, watching silly movies on the computer, chatting, me crocheting, me crying, crying, crying.

The evening before I had been texting with Andrew. The exchange had unnerved me, not so much because of the news he gave me, but of the way it was delivered. So when Luke came that morning I was upset. That was why I cried even before even we started, that was why I was crying the rest of the day. It had hit me: I was not happy with the relationship between my Dom and me, and I had not been for some time.

When I came home from Luke, I took a look at the messages my Dom and I had exchanged over time. I realised that Andrew and I are mismatched. I felt all the hurt there had been, the hurt I had closed my eyes against, because I wanted, needed it to work.
But it did not work. No matter how much we both want it to, it does not. I have him under my skin, he is part of me, I have no idea how to go on without him, I want him, need him.
That evening I broke up with him.

Sunday, 14 September 2014

I think I dodged a bullet here

This is long, very long. It starts of nice and light, gets curious quickly, and after that it becomes really weird. All of this are conversations on FetLife.
I loved one of her pics, a rope bondage one. According to her profile she lives in Antarctica. Cool, not everybody cares to let people know where they live.
I live in New Zealand now, but until last year I lived in the Netherlands, which has Belgium and Germany as neighbours, so I have knowledge of both countries.
My comments in italics
"Translations into English in quotation marks"

Tnx for loving my pic
written 3 days ago:
I'm just an ordinary german girl.
Nothing special.


written 3 days ago:
Ah, well, I love bondage (pics), and I don't care about the nationality of the person being tied.
I had been looking at her other pictures. Dutch text, she told me she is German, so I answered her partly in Dutch, partly in German, partly in English, just because I can.
"Are you really German? Your text with the picture of Antwerp is surely in Dutch. Well, you should know best." Antwerpen is a beautiful city, it has been way too long since I was there last.


written 3 days ago:
Antwerp is full of all kinds of criminality !

Even IS and Syria-recruiting.

Stay away from some parts of Antwerp!!!!!


More info in a PM (if needed)

No idea why Syria would be recruiting and absolutely no idea what she means by IS, but it sounds like a friendly warning nonetheless.

written 2 days ago:
It will be a while until I get back to Europe again, let alone Antwerpen. I mainly remember the city from my youth, visiting the Zoo.
I am not surprised there is a lot of crime there, there always has been: diamonds and tourists attract criminals, it is the same in Amsterdam. Luckily most tourists encounter nothing worse than the occasional purse snatcher, and I am not in the habit of visiting shady neighbourhoods.
But thank you for the warning.


written 2 days ago:
Hello to Canterbury, NZ!

where we lived crime was sometimes 98% of the habitants.

That's why I fled as first to [European country].

As promised, I will look at your pics now.

If intererested, a free visit at Sylvester (the 31st of December) in [European country] can be arranged.


Now I am thinking: did she really offer to pay for a trip to Europe for me? Really? Can't be, I must be mistaken. But let's make sure. Because if she did, there must be something she wants in return.

written 2 days ago:
New Year's Eve in [European country], that would be a first.
But spending all that money just to attend a party, that's not in my budget.

One of these years I will visit Europe again, see my friends, have fun with them, buy myself stroopwafels.

written 2 days ago:
Hello, good morning !


Why don't you not consider waffles from "Jules De Strooper" ?

Even King Filip I and Queen Mathilde buys them !


° For those who fucks on the party !

OK, where did she say totally free of charge in her previous message? And if I need to fuck in return: how is it free? Still, it seems to be too much, a trip for a fuck, so I ask some questions.

written 1 day ago:
What is the catch? You would pay for my trip from New Zealand to [European country], just to see a 57 year old woman fuck at a party? There is nothing on my profile to tell you I would be into that. So why?

written about 23 hours ago:
Hello Julia,

sorry, let's stop it here.


Now I am to blame because I don't know how things go in Europe, and because I dare to ask for clarification.

I checked her profile and found a large text in Dutch, with some hints to tell me she is not German, but Belgium, from the Flemish part, where the first language is Dutch. To avoid misunderstandings, I decide to address her in Dutch now.


written about 22 hours ago:

"Let's change to Dutch, with hour Flemish and my Dutch background that should be no problem." I made a typo here, hour instead of your. This becomes slightly important later.
"No, it is not true, not everyone in Europe dates. There are people in committed relationships that don't cheat. There are people that don't sleep with just anybody. There are people that do not want to have sex in public. I can not believe that this has all changed in the year since I left there."
"And it is not strange that I wonder what the meaning is of this generous offer. But if the answer to my question is met with this much outrage, it would seem clear the motivation is not good."


written about 18 hours ago:
"Hour indeed!" She saw my typo, and seems to be insulted by it. I have no idea what is so terrible about it. And now she starts raving. And I have no idea what she is going on about. Her stepfather, her mother, her same sex lover, her pictures, an old enemy. Anything and everything that has nothing to do with me or her offer.

"You have not ever hear about the (by now) more than 35 years old vendetta between the "proper" gentleman [Name] and my stepfather (because the last one did **not** want to smoke hash at the organisational meeting of [Organisation])"

"You also don't know that this called one of the deep red colour; retained the correspondence of [Nameto be able to give every female potential sub/slave/slut :his own brand of "greeting"! (Most of them never returned)"

"You also don't know that this "proper" gentleman wants to live like Serge Gainsbourg (the late) BOOZE AND DRUGS! Brigitte Bardot, Brigitte Lahaie will never have been in "[Name]'s bed..."

"You will also don't know then, that being a woman you need to pay for your own gang-bang in the sex shack of the "[Name]" (according to the diary of my horny mother)"

"And you certainly won't know that [Name] designed a bollenstand once; that could should loose into your uterus! Yes, pregnant woman can be horny at times as well ..."
I have no idea what she's trying to say here, or what a bollenstand might be.

"You don't even realise, that the Dutch only talk with their own "friends clique" (and the Dutch that moved to Berlin)."

"Once I waited weeks and months, in vain, for a 19 year old "man" from [part of the Netherlands], who did not "dare" come to have a coca-cola!!! (the man of 2001 excuses …) (from his worried parents to the obligation to take care of the pets from minute to minute: I thought they had a farm at their home ....)"

"And yes, I removed Skype and other IM's from my laptop!"
"On the advice of my mother, who is a criminologist and therefore knows best about preventing crime (there are repeats on the Flemish news broadcast about every two days, isn't that nice?)"

"I can show you all the 24x36 mm or 6x6 cm negatives or memory cards from my digital camera, right!"
"We have had it with the nonsense of the FetLife "caretakers"."

"And I have totally finished my education at the [redacted] art academy."

"My mother really has had skin cancer twice and got early retirement. Her own lover and the guys she wants to entertain can+must do just about anything, except hitting her face; but the men LOVE THAT…."

"I really live in [redacted] and we have supplied jobs for people from less fortunate countries."

"So now I have to pay 2 Euro to the frauds of (who managed 112 dating-sites with the same female members on all) ???"

"I can check those little women's notebooks with the hope of family and (girl)friends. I can do the girlie-talk..."

"Am I a dirty dyke, because I have a relationship with a woman right now?"

"Are my cunt and arse lost for the male chauvinist pigs?"

"Together with [Partner] we can get enough of them for successful threesomes!"

"Am I a real whore, because my cunt is no longer "tight"; as the unploughed teenager's (18+) cracks??"

"You are married, so you can give me the life's lessons, I have been told since my [Youth] in [European city]."

"Yes, a real German bitch..."


written about 17 hours ago:

"Nicely observed by [Partner], who came out of her kitchen for a moment, because I saw red with anger."

"Ah well, "stupid youth" fooled again by someone from one of our former neighbouring countries."

"And that Maxima is a winner!" That is true, the Dutch queen, Maxima, is an awesome woman.

"(See picture in Bild with her all leather suit, which for once will =not= be from Nathan, or borrowed from our deep freeze Mathilde)"

"Real_Name is really angry, OK!!"

written about 2 hours ago:
"My apologies for the typo, I meant "your", not "hour"."
"Yes, I am single, you saw correctly and I never denied it. But how have I fooled you? What did I do to you? You made me an offer, I asked further, because it surprised me you would want go give an unknown, older woman such a trip as a present."
"Did I insult you because I asked further? Because I am careful? Because I do not have blind faith in every stranger on the internet?"

"I did not mean to hurt you, or to judge you. I am sorry if you got that impression."

"Can I give you one word of advice, please? When you make this offer to another woman, it might be a good idea to share the meaning of it all straight away."

"Real_Name, the best to you."


Are you all still there? Well, she sent another message, outlining what would be expected of me. I did not read that until after my reply above.

"And that .../…"

written about 18 hours ago:
".../... our mum was looking for some great women to demonstrate hand blown dildo's (real Icicles only) from Pipedream between Christmas and New Year's Eve."

"They really do not work on Christmas and New Year's Eve in German speaking countries!"

"So: an air plane ticket and a stay for 8 days, in exchange for topless service and two (with security personnel keeping an eye on things) masturbation shows is a truly generous payment, isn't it?"

"You didn't even need to be beautiful; spontaneity, guts, not "acted horny" and just showing everything off would have been enough!!"

"That a gang-bang was on the agenda as well, would have been handy for me and my if possible even hornier girlfriends (I am not present for everything)"
"At some point I would like to know in our group, what honey the other GF's have used to catch the bees..."

"Sucking the balls empty from a few guys while you can't get away: no big drama!"

"I will answer all remarks. Remember: my pictures were a bit old, so I will replace them by more recent ones!"



So from fuck to demonstrating dildo's, to topless serving, to masturbation, to gang-bangs, to sucking off while restrained. And I still did not jump at the chance, instead I blocked her.

And if you think that was the end, you have a surprise coming, because I got another message. Supposedly not from her, but very similar to her way of writing. Apparently she does not like being blocked.

"Esteemed Single Lady,"
"it is ==not== because our German_Girl, writes entire volume of truths,"
"that you therefore need to block her straight away."
"A "warning" states, that hooligans are not welcome in our hotel."
"Do we need to extend that urgently to the Dutch (including the emigrated ones) as well?"

I blocked stepdad as well, and reported the both to FetLife, for harassing me. And now I find she blocked me: that will teach me.

Still, what is going on here? What is the catch? And did they lure other women in?
Luke and Andrew are thinking about people trafficking, sex rings, that kind of thing. Andrew even thinks that if I were to accept the offer (as if!) I might not survive. I am thinking more about smuggling. And another friend thinks the woman just has the hots for me, but he is projecting.

But whatever it is, it is disconcerting.

Friday, 29 August 2014


You remember when I wrote about My Naked Truth? I had originally written it for FetLife, before deciding to post it here as well.
People liked that post, one person in particular not only commented on it, but also messaged me privately. We started chatting for a bit and became friends. Not just FetLife friends, but real friends. There was an instant connection. It happens, not as often as we'd like, very rarely, but so much the sweeter when it does. Feeling that affection, that closeness, when it is all effortless, sharing jokes, talking about emotions freely, flirting, feeling the love, the kindness, the warmth.
Every morning, after starting up my computer, checking his feed, seeing what he has been reading while I was asleep, following his breadcrumb trail to the writing of others. Such a delight. Reading what he has read, liking what he likes, befriending his friends. And then messaging with him, back and forth, for hours on end, until it is his bedtime. The web is an awesome place to connect with people, but different time zones suck. By the time it is late at night in New Orleans, it is not even the end of the afternoon here. But we always have tomorrow.

Saturday night I had my play party where I was suspended. Mm, rope. Sunday morning Tom was ready to hear all about it. While I was describing my experience, he urged me to write it down and to share it with others. "Wow, you described it so well you ought to cut and paste that into a journal piece about that experience." I had already been thinking about that and his enthusiasm made sure I followed through. I shared that with you as well: Floating Peacefully. He could not that day give my story all the attention he thought it deserved, because he was talking with another friend of his who needed his support at the moment. We did chat some more, about everything and anything, and he went to bed.
Monday, Tuesday, I messaged him, no answer. Well, that happens, life gets in the way of chatting with our friends. No big deal. Disappointing, but no big deal.
On Wednesday I got a message from someone I did not know: Subject "Good evening", message "My name is ******, I'm a friend of Tom's (********). I have sent him several messages over the past couple days and he had not responded. I just called his cell to check on him and his neighbor answered. With great sadness, I'm sorry but our Tom has passed away. They think he may have had a heart attack."

I started crying and I have not stopped yet. It has been 2 days, I had only known Tom for 2 weeks when he died, and I can not stop crying. I cry big heavy sobs, tears running down my face, I stop, blow my nose, have some water, keep myself busy, and start to cry again, and again, and again.

I felt sucker punched, kicked in the gut. It hurts so much. I am raw, as if I have been skinned alive. This man, this wonderful, vibrant, loving, caring, sharing, sexy, funny, kind man, so full of life, had died? He is no longer here? I refuse to believe it and I will not. He is not dead. No one really dies until they have been forgotten and I still remember him. The friends I made through him still remember him. We write about him and share our writing. We talk together, cry together, remember him, reminisce, laugh, share, care. We are his legacy.
He has touched our lives, our hearts, our souls. Us meeting him has enriched us. His leaving us hurts, but it is better than to never have known him. He made this world brighter for having stopped there, he has made this world better through his love and care.

Even know he is bringing people closer together, even now he is forging bonds that would never have been forged had he not been here.

I love you Tom, I will always love you, do not ever leave me.

Monday, 25 August 2014

Floating peacefully

Have you ever tried suspension? No? You have never been strung up?
I hadn't, not ever. I'd seen the pictures, of course, looked at them, feeling envious, studied them, the total relaxation of the models, the peace.
Oh, how I wanted that.

So when at the last munch someone offered to suspend me at the next play party, I accepted, or rather, I jumped at the chance. And that play party was last Saturday.

Do you want to know what happened? Whether you want to or not, I'm going to tell you.

I had seen pictures of his riggings before, I knew him, and I trusted him.

Since I had no experience at all with suspension, I put myself completely in his hands. And I was right to do so.

It was so awesome! Better than I could have imagined.

He started by laying the equipment out, checking every piece of rope, while I took off my skirt and top, and touched the rope myself, feeling it, looking at it, smelling it, anticipating.

Then he offered me a lollipop and started on my legs, wrapping the rope around me.

From the first touch of the rope on my skin, the feeling was so sensual I just started to melt (and moan). The tightening, the knotting, finally the suspension, everything slow, deliberate, making me feel safe every step of the way. He explained to me what he would do beforehand, and then got on with it, not talking overly much, just checking every once in a while I was fine, everything was good.

First one leg was lifted, and secured, then the other one, and I was suspended! Tightening here, lifting there, adjusting, until I was horizontal, on my back, floating, drifting.

When I was fully suspended he offered me a blindfold, which I accepted, shutting out the world even further, so it was only him, me and the rig. No dungeon, no spectators, no other play around us.

My hands were now tied behind my back, I was helpless, vulnerable, safe, cared for, free, floating peacefully.

And that was when he got his flogger out, he was sure I wouldn't mind. And indeed I did not. He used it to caress me: belly, upper body, arms. This added to the sensations I was already experiencing, but soon it was not enough, I got more and more excited, I opened my legs, and I started to crave pain. At last I used my words and told him he was allowed to be more forceful, and then he gave me some nice, but still gentle, pain.

It ended in no time at all, after an eternity, when 40 minutes had ticked by. I was lowered, one leg at a time, seeking his support because I found it hard to stand again. He held and steadied me, then untied the ropes from my torso, had me kneel before him, still blindfolded, while the knots became undone, the rope untangled, once again sliding over my skin. Untying me took about as long as getting me up there.

It was one of the best experiences ever, and I now get the relaxation you see on suspension pictures. The feeling is unique and awesome.

I have thanked my rigger in person, of course, and again next morning through a message, because he totally deserves it.
Thank you again, for making this such a wonderful experience for me, thank you for your attention, your patience, your skill, and the lollipop.

I always thought I liked rope, I was wrong: I LOVE IT!

Tuesday, 29 July 2014

My 'Naked' Truth

This is a little something I wrote on FetLife.

I've been reading. Yes, that happens, but what I want to write about is this: My 'Naked' Truth. It's about a mature woman who gets turned down by a potential lover because she's "too wrinkly". And why do I want to write about this? Because it resonated with me.

I've been unsure about my appearance for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I can't remember a moment I felt beautiful, ever. Until I met my love, who showed me how beautiful I was to him. All was well with me and the world, and I basked in his love.

Unfortunately, we don't live in fairy tales and our Happily Ever After, wasn't. And here is where that article comes in.
I truly believed that whenever I'd start dating, seeing other men, they would react like that Dave. I was convinced they'd judge me as being too old, too flabby, too wrinkly, too plain. I anticipated looks of disappointment and downright disgust. I never saw anything of the kind. Now, granted, I haven't started dating yet, but I have played, I've been undressed with men, they have seen me, and I saw them looking at me. I saw no disappointment, no disgust. What I did see was excitement, pleasure, looks of concentration, amusement at my reactions, people having fun. And that when my play partners all have been younger than me.
It definitely helps me feeling good about myself, and slightly silly about my apprehensions.

So tell me, how come it’s all been so nice for me?

Is it that kinksters care less about appearances than vanilla’s? Do they look for/at different things? Have I just been very lucky? Is that Dave the exception and are most men nicer than he is? Am I more attractive than I give myself credit for? OK, if you never met me, you don’t have to try to answer that last question.

I do feel better about the prospect of dating ever again though. Thank you gentlemen (you know who you are).

Crime and Punishment

No, nothing to do with the legal system, but I was in trouble.
Remember my post about Andrew and orgasm control? That is hot! Listening to him on the phone, me begging him for release, him telling me to cum for him, my body reacting to his voice: that is great, I love it. But then there's also the orgasm denial, where he will tell me I'm not allowed to cum and where no amount of begging or pleading will make him change his mind. I do not love that part, I can tell you.

But of course orgasm denial was part of the deal as well. And not only was I not allowed to cum, we also chatted about that daily, with me pleading and Andrew making me tell him how hard it was for me and what I felt. He also told me that I would be punished, if I dared cum without permission. Yes, he was setting me up for failure, I knew that at the time. He is seeing how far he can push me and what I am prepared to take from him. But I was coping: not happy, but coping.

This had been going on for what, a week? And then, one day, I was chatting with Luke and told him. Of course he was amused, he would be! And to "help" me, he pointed me to some porn he thought I'd like. Mind you, I was already thoroughly frustrated by this time, I didn't dare touch myself because that would surely set me off, and Luke made sure I got worked up even more. But when I went to bed I was still in control.

That night I woke up because I was orgasming. Yep, you read that right, I woke up because I was cumming. You know, there was that very vivid dream, I came, and I woke up. And when I did wake up, was I touching myself? Was I masturbating? No, not at all. I had been behaving so beautifully, and all for nothing. If only I hadn't woken up, but I had.

In the morning I texted Andrew, confessing what had happened. He told me to contact Luke, to ask him to punish me. Yes, that's right, he had me ask for it. And I did.

It took some time to get it sorted, since Luke was quite busy. In fact, it was several weeks before I was punished. As you can imagine, my nerves were playing up. Even though Luke had said it would be funishment, not punishment, because my offence was unintentional, it would be painful. The only difference would be in the mindset. And of course, Luke is into giving pain.

Painful it was, terrible, glorious, awesome, awful, wonderful. There was more pain than I ever thought I could deal with, but I took it, all of it. I never soared higher than after that session, and my high lasted for days. During the session I wasn't thinking of Luke, but of Andrew, and the pictures I posted of my markings were for Andrew, not for Luke or me.

At some point Luke called Andrew my Dom, and I wanted to say: "No, he is not my Dom," but I couldn't get those words out, because I suddenly realised that, yes, he is my Dom now. That is how I call him, and I call myself his sub. Just like that.


Judgement, being judged, weighed and found wanting. I've felt judged all my life, and yes, I always felt wanting.

I never felt I was a good enough daughter, sister, student, employee, wife, mother, aunt, friend: you name it. And some people came out and said those things to me. Sometimes I could laugh about it, other times it hurt me. People telling me I was a bad wife for not using my husband's last name? That was worth a chuckle at most. People telling me I was a bad mother for not being a SAHM? That hurt.
At some point you find out that you can't please everybody anyway, and it gets a bit easier, hopefully.

When I was young, there was no such thing as the pill, and it wasn't freely available until the time I started university. Up until that time, being engaged in sex meant having a large probability of a pregnancy. And since it's the girl that gets pregnant, and not the boy, it was on her to behave correctly. That was the message all of our society let me know. Sex was only for married couples, it led to babies, and unmarried girls who had sex were sluts and not very smart. Or as my father would say: "She is a nice enough girl, but I don't want her as the mother of my children." Oh, the irony. Men can have fun with girls like that and still be good enough to become a father, but the girl isn't good enough to be a mother.
But yeah, the pill and penicillin meant I could have sex without worrying about pregnancies or STD's, and I did, and I loved it! And I felt guilty for loving it without even being married, and learned to love it even more.

I met my loved one, we clicked, sexually as well, and were happy. He loved that I was enthusiastic about sex, until he didn't any more.
He changed the rules. And I scrambled to find out what the new rules were. I asked him: got no answer, started to improvise: no success, suggested therapy: big failure. I wanted this to work so bad, I loved him so much, I needed him so.
I felt judged as I never had before. When I saw him looking at me, I thought I heard him think: "Too old, too fat, too eager." And still I wanted to work it out, and still I was met only by silence and denial, no matter how much I asked, begged, cried or, yes, screamed.
So I ended it. I had no options left: either I ended it or I would be miserable for ever. Enough was enough.

So growing up I learned to never be promiscuous, in my marriage I learned that wanting sex too much was wrong: is it any wonder that I don't like being called a slut? That word has so many negative connotations for me.

Only I now do behave like what I would call a slut, and I'm embarrassed about it. This isn't me! I never did this, this is wrong, I must stop. But I don't want to stop, and I'm not hurting anyone, and I would not judge others who behave like this, but I do judge myself. And I find myself wanting. Always harder on myself than on others.

In the meantime the two guys I'm involved with call me a slut, and like me for it. They want me to feel proud to be a slut. I want to feel proud as well, but it's so hard. A life time of conditioning can't be swept away in weeks or even months.

I'm working on it.

Thursday, 19 June 2014

New games, additional play partner

Yesterday I wrote my first post about Andrew, and I told him about it through a message. When he was on-line later, he read it and we talked about it.

We also talked about Luke: Andrew likes the fact that Luke's so much younger than I am (Andrew and I are about the same age), and he believes it's further prove of my sluttiness. I think he also enjoys I'm slightly embarrassed about the age difference.

At some point, I forget why, he says that he'll have Luke beat my ass and tits black and blue if I don't change my attitude. I answered him that Luke does that anyway, so he asks me if Luke also beats and bruises my pussy. When I say no, he threatens to have Luke do just that. I found it very funny. After all: they're nowhere near, don't know each other, and I have done nothing, ever, to deserve this. I love guys with a good sense of humour!

More chatting, more him calling me slut, me telling him it turns me on and that I'm about to cum. So he tells me I need his permission to cum. OK, orgasm control and denial: when, where and how did I agree to that? Never, nowhere, no way, is the answer. But if he likes it, why not play along? So I do. And let's be honest: I knew that we were going in this direction anyway, so it wasn't a surprise, really.

We stop chatting when the family comes home and I need to take care of dinner.

After dinner it's game night again, so before I leave I text Andrew, to let him know I'll send another text when I get home again. I immediately get told off, because I hadn't included a "respectful Sir", so I resend my first text, adding Sir.
I go to the game night, we play, Luke drops me off again and in the car we chat. I tell him about Andrew threatening to have Luke beat me, Luke laughs, I laugh, all good. He then starts a cautionary tale about on-line Doms who pray on naive subs. Isn't it wonderful how he looks out for me? I don't think it is that he doesn't trust Andrew, but he does think I'm too trusting.
We got home, Luke torments my nipple for a bit, I go in and text Andrew. I then go upstairs, very horny still. While I get ready for bed we text.
Andrew wants to know if I saw Luke that night and what we talked about. I tell him we were talking about him beating me on Andrew's orders and how that amused Luke. I also said that Luke worries about me.

Andrew likes that Luke's near enough to me to tend to my physical and mental needs, which I think is a very sweet thing to say.
I ask him if I'm also on orgasm denial when Luke wants to fuck me, and he tells me no. Luke can fuck me whenever he wants, but I'm not to ask for it. Since this is our dynamic anyway, there's no problem here. There would have been a problem had the answer been different, because I can't/won't just change things between Luke and me on Andrew's orders.

And all the while my need for release keeps growing. By the time he finally calls me, I'm just about ready to climb the walls.
Not that he's in a hurry, oh no. He just keeps on teasing me. He orders me to touch myself, wants to know how wet I am, listens to me moan and keeps denying me. I beg him, I call myself his slut, I offer myself to him again and again, and he still won't let me come. I tried to not be too loud, so I could still hear his voice, and got told off that I didn't moan any more. It was hell, it was heaven, it was so frustrating. I have no idea how long it took, or how much I begged him, until he finally started to count down and I came. I came hard, and long, shuddering, sweating, moaning, again and again.

Next time I need to make sure I have a glass of water waiting: all that moaning and begging gives me a dry mouth.

Afterwards Andrew told me to ask Luke to contact him. I did so this morning.

I so want to know what they'll be discussing, but I'll have to wait and find out in due time. After all, even though the talk will be about me, all decisions will be theirs, not mine. But I'm willing to bet that there will be talk about Luke punishing me in Andrew's name, and I don't know what I think about that yet.

The games sadists play

So, let's talk some more about Luke.

Luke is a self-professed sadist, and I'm not contradicting that, at all. We have played a couple of times, and it's all about and for him: he wants to hurt me and see the evidence. He marks me and laughs at me as I cry, and then he marks me some more. He just loves to see me cry, which I do every time.

And yet, when I'm dancing to cope with the pain, when I need a breather, he's there: he holds me, hugs me, rubs the sore spots, helps me through it, encourages me to go on, and starts hitting me again. He also tells me to curse and shout, to do whatever helps me cope. So I shout "Fuck!" a lot, and sometimes I tell him how he's not a nice guy, he grins and carries on, happy he's got to me.

Afterwards he fucks me. We don't make love, we don't have sex: he fucks me, and since he prefers anal, it's never in my vagina. He tells me the lube is just to prevent the condom breaking, and not for me, he doesn't care whether or not it hurts me. He stops when he cums, I never cum, but then it's about him, not about me. And I don't care! I love every moment of it, I crave it as much as he does, I want it, and I don't need an orgasm, all I need is the feeling of being taken, and I love feeling the tears rolling down my cheeks as I cry out. The orgasms come later, usually when I'm sitting behind the computer, thinking back, nursing my new bruises. Then I cum, without even touching myself: one, two, three times.

He used a riding crop on my breasts the other day. A couple of days later, while I was still black and blue and hurting, he was giving me a lift to friends for a game night. In the car he pinched and twisted my nipples so hard I came up from the seat, fighting to cope with the pain. And when we arrived, before we got out, he did it again. Now there were tears of pain, so I needed a couple of minutes before I could get out of the car. When we were inside, he bumped me a couple of times, when nobody saw it, just to try and get a reaction out of me.
Last night, at the end of our game night, he gave me a lift home as always. He asked me about my breasts, I told him they were almost back to normal, apart from some bruising around my nipple, he said: "Gross!" That didn't stop him pinching and twisting some more before I got out of the car though. I held onto him, moaning, almost screaming, fighting not to bite him. He laughed.

We message back and forth in FetLife. We talk about our day, the games we play together in public, the games we play in private, other people: we talk about whatever comes up. And while we're talking, there are the questions he sneaks in. Questions that have made me agree to only getting anal sex from him, and to have him fuck me anytime he wants, and not because I want it (as well). Essentially, we're going down the route to CNC (Consensual Non-Consensuality: A mutual agreement that within defined limits, or subject to a safe word or other restrictions, and to common sense, consent to activities is given without foreknowledge of the exact actions planned), so I don't have any input into what happens or when, I can't refuse, all I can do is safe word.
This is terrifying and hot and an exercise in trust.
He asked me: "Do you give me permission to take what I want?"
And I answered him: "Damn, you always sneak in these kind of questions. In a way, I think I already have done that: I don't think I've ever told you No. I guess what it comes down to now is: do I trust you enough to believe you won't go too far, that you will stop when I need you to, that you will take care of me even when it seems to be all about you? Then the answer must be: Yes."
And there we are, I've given him permission.

Wednesday, 18 June 2014

I used to be a nice girl!

Once upon a time I used to follow the rules, be well behaved, do as I was expected to, be friendly, polite, helpful, loving, accommodating, put the need of others above my own, conform: I used to be a nice girl! Used to be.
Yes, I know, people don't really change, and I haven't really changed either, but I have turned into a slut.

As I type this, it makes me laugh, and it makes me blush as well. I never saw myself as a slut, I've been a serial monogamist all my life, I was faithful to my husband and sex was always private.

So what happened? It's not just that I've started exploring my kink, after all sex wasn't originally a part of it, but my boundaries are definitely shifting.
About a week ago, 2 men messaged me on FetLife, concerning things I'd posted. 2 different men, talking about 2 different posts, nothing weird about it. Neither gave me creep vibes, they both are intelligent, funny and like SF, so all made of win, and after some messaging back and forth I added them as friends. The person from the States is someone I'm just friendly with, we chat a bit every now and then and that's about it. The person from New Zealand on the other hand ... A name, I need a name for him: Andrew will do.

Andrew commented on some pictures I'd posted. We're talking boobs here, red, black and blue from a riding crop (ouch!). People seem to like those pictures, I got a lot of *likes*. Anyway, Andrew made very clear he'd love to get his hands (amongst other things) on my breasts, and buttocks, and indeed the rest of me. So what do I do? I retreated, after telling him off blushingly. Yeah, as if: I started flirting back.

I got invited to a play party, but it was very short notice and also a considerable distance from here, so I had to decline. Now I was thinking "What's the hurry here?", but I still get no creep vibes and I don't believe he wants me to come over because he can't get any other play partners. On the contrary, it feels like he can get all the action he wants and then some, and for some reason he's very interested in me.

So you all want to know about the slutty part?
Within days we had cyber sex. In a week after meeting on-line we had phone sex. We Skyped, just to see each others face. We're planning to meet and play in RL fairly soon. We know each others' real name and relationship status.
There has been no talk about exclusivity, but there are thoughts about ramping it all up a bit. Andrew is a Dom when he's talking with me, and he's interested in finding out what happens if I submit to him. (What is it with me and Doms? Do I attract them, or are they just likely to contact me?) All this and his first message to me was only 10 days ago.

And do you know what makes me feel even sluttier?
Not only do Luke and Andrew know about each other, they encourage me as well. I tell them what's happening and I often chat to both of them at once. And more than that: I don't feel ashamed about it!

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Sub-drop and aftercare

So, I've only had 3 play partners till date and I never experienced a sub drop yet. In fact, I never even heard of the phenomenon until a few weeks ago, when I saw the term on FetLife. I then had to check to find out if I understood the meaning correctly.

I do get high from playing, but I don't drop, but rather I float down, which can take me several days.

The first times were very special. We're talking about me being introduced into BDSM by some very dear friends, in a caring and loving atmosphere, taking a whole week. During that week my after care consisted of cuddles, talks, more cuddles and having a laugh together. After my first session I felt great, and surprisingly normal. I didn't realise I was far from normal until next day, when I came down. Then I had a "Well, that was different" thought, and went on reading my book. Looking back, I realise I hadn't come down all the way, and in fact, I probably never really came down all week. When I went back home, I must still have been high as a kite, but I never recognised it. And coming down from that coincided with realising there would be no more sessions with those friends ever, as per the agreed to terms, so everything was very mixed and confusing. By the time I came down I was home again, at work, life the normal humdrum, nothing to get excited about, except the prospect of getting out there, in the local scene.

My next sessions, with John, were in public. Of course, being public, they were not intimate, which influenced my mood considerably. Couple that with the fact that John and I were really strangers to each other, this meant I didn't high. I enjoyed myself very much, but I could not allow myself to go any further. I still had no idea what to expect, or even what feelings were "normal", so I didn't worry about it. I also had no idea about after care, and when John offered me cuddles, I didn't want them. I just didn't feel close enough to him to want cuddles, and I didn't think I needed them. He gave me his FetLife name, his email address, told me to contact him when I needed to, and I didn't understand why he'd think I would need to. What we shared for me was purely physical, not emotional, there was no real high and certainly no drop. And before we got to really know each other, I travelled to the other end of the world and stayed there.

Then I met Luke. I got to know him, and to play games with him, before I found out he's a fellow kinkster, and I'm at ease around him. Well, I'm at ease unless we're about to start a session, then I'm very, very nervous. He's primal and full on and our sessions are very intense for me. And often so painful that I can't just breathe through it. Cold caning, anyone? It hurts, a lot! When we play, I cry. Not from the pain, but from all the emotions that go with our play. And I cry hardest when he compliments me, or tells me how beautiful his marks on my butt look, or calls me a good slut. Afterwards we cuddle, have a bite to eat, something to drink, and cuddle some more, spend time together before it's time for me to go home again. Now I recognise my high, and I appreciate the after care, and I know how important it is.

Fortunately I still haven't experienced a sub drop and I hope I never will.

Monday, 21 April 2014

But: I'm familyyyyyyyyyy

My relationship with my siblings is ... complicated. There was always (and I mean always!) drama. A was fighting with B, then they would close ranks to fight with C, then everybody would turn against somebody else: it was even too much effort to find out which siblings were even talking together. I never got that and they never got me: they just tried to make me just like them. I tried to stay out of the family wars, but they wanted me in, so at some point I let go of the rope and walked away.
That decision brought me a lot of peace for the next couple of decades.

And then Facebook happened and one sister contacted me with a friend request. By now I'd moved to the other side of the world, she and I never had any real problems, so I agreed. We occasionally comment on each others posts, exchange birthday and New Years wishes and that's it. Just the way I like it. I even friended some other siblings and we're all friendly, polite and non-interfering.
All was well, or so I thought.

Until that message from another sibling. She's 3 years my senior, and always tried to tell me what to do and even what to feel and think. (My remarks in brackets.)

Hi Juul (a diminutive of my name nobody only my parents and husband were allowed to call me by)
Saw that you're on facebook as well, but now at the other side of the world.
Divorced as well by now, if I see this correctly (nothing about my relationship on Facebook, since it's nobody's business), heavens a lot of marriages in our family have ended badly, could that be a result of our screwed up upbringing? (My husband and I grew apart, that can happen after 30 years of marriage, not exactly a bad end, I don't think.)
Jim and I have split up as well, unfortunately the alcohol became too big an issue between the two of us, two crates of beer a day is no competition. (Now she's dumping all over me.)
Remarried in 200x, but unfortunately Alex died shortly after, so widowed. Luckily I now have a very sweet new man in my life, we're living together now in Y. And therefore big family as well, because he has 5 children with their partners.
Hope your life is fine as well and that you're finding what you seek in far away America. (Because it's very easy to confuse New Zealand with the USA: both English speaking and both far away from Europe.)
Your sister Margaret (She's Margaret, I never called her by a diminutive of her name when she insisted on her full name, but she can't return the courtesy.)

I had no idea what to answer her, so I didn't. Then she sent me a friend request and I, foolishly perhaps, granted it.

Next thing I know she's remarking on a picture I've been tagged in:
Girl, how much you and Lisa look alike, and how well you look these days.

Lisa is another sister, I've been told we look alike since I've been 4, I know that already. And what does she mean that I look well these days? Unfortunate choice of words or backhanded compliment?

A posting on my wall:
So far away from the netherlands, but by the looks of it a very good and nice life over there. Hopefully you don't miss the salt liquorice too much, because that's hard to find in a lot of countries. Love, big hug, Margaret.

Yeah, I never figured that Dutch liquorice might be harder to find abroad. It's a good thing my elder sister enlightened me on that point. OK, I'm getting annoyed by her now, but I still don't react, because I don't know what to say and because I don't want to get too close. Sis, take a hint already and back off.

And then, today, another message. Please read it and let me know how justified I am to feel thoroughly ticked off.

Hello Julia, After all these years I'm very curious about how you ended up in New Zealand and what happened in your life. You never were very involved with the family (that's right, I've always been the introvert between the extraverts), something I got fed up with after years of Christmas cards (cards I never received), you never reacted, so sent you a last one with the words, if you don't send anything back, you choose to not have any contact. (Must have been about the time that I, after a last letter to all of them, decided to drop the rope.) But you still added me (I did not initiate that contact) so despite everything you do want some kind of contact, actually. Therefore, tell me about your life these last years. (It's not upon others to define how much I want to share, now is it?) Saw the picture of you and your granddaughter (not my grandchild actually, as she could easily have found out), a beautiful, well groomed woman, what a change, because when we saw each other last you didn't take such good care of yourself. Like when wearing your office dress at the wedding anniversary of Mary and John. (A new dress, in which I looked great, IIRC.) You look great in this (jeans and a sweater, nothing special), grooming becomes you. And you resemble Lisa very much now, in looks and taste. Cheers and big hug, Margaret

I don't know what to answer her. I'm not sure I even want to. Perhaps just block her and let the drama roll on without me?

Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Submissive? Me?

All my life I've had an inkling that I might be masochistic and submissive, even before I knew those words. I also knew these feelings weren't "normal", so I hid them far, far away, where even I had problems finding them.
Then I met this amazing guy: smart, funny, kind, loving, generous. He fell in love with me, I loved him back, we got married, raised a family, were each others' friend, lover, spouse, co-parent. I gave him all of me, except the "abnormal" part, there was no place for that in our marriage. But that didn't matter, I could easily live without that, forget it even was there. But everything else was his, I was his body and soul. I told him so and I thought I showed it as well. We were happy, so happy it hurt. Although he accepted all I gave him, he didn't seem to realise how totally I was his, but that didn't really matter either.
And then his love stopped. I still don't know what happened, according to him nothing had changed, but he stopped telling and showing me he loved me. No more love, no more appreciation, no more sex. But I still loved him, I still wanted him, I was still his, only his, totally his. He just didn't want that anymore. When I finally got that, I could move on.
Our relationship ended, I started to explore my kinky side and found out I love it! Well, I love the masochism, not so much the submissive part.
I've never had a long(er) term BDSM relationship. The first one was for a limited period only, under strict terms. The second one can hardly be called a relationship: we met at play nights, played together twice, had fun together, but nothing personal developed between us.
My first play partner was a Dom I've known for years, he's a dear friend of mine and I love and trust him. He wanted me to submit, I thought I'd enjoy it, so I agreed wholeheartedly. I found out that I didn't mind the kneeling, not speaking until spoken to, following orders, doing domestic chores etcetera, but that I also did not enjoy it in the least. It was something I did because it pleased him, not because it pleased me.
I also discovered that I don't like mind games. I think that's the fault of my analytical mind, at least partly. The mind games start and I go: "Hm, I wonder what's that for. Oh, hold on, he wants me to feel ... OK, that makes sense. So my best reaction would be ... Yes, that seems to have made him happy: success!" All in all not conducive to submission. Cooperation Yes, submission No.
Partner number two liked me to submit as well, but he met with even less success. During play I would follow his orders, move how he wanted me to move, allow him to tie me up, but that was about it. After play I did kneel when he wanted me to, but that was the extent of my submission. I couldn't even call him Sir, because I didn't feel we had that kind of relationship. I didn't see him as my Dom, not even during play.
My present play partner has Dom tendencies as well, and he seems to enjoy mind games too. Since we only will be playing together and not pursuing a more serious relationship, we agreed to keep it strictly SM, without the D/s elements, and that suits me fine.
For the moment, I've decided to not try submission. It doesn't do it for me, at all, but it still attracts me.
Does that mean I am a closet submissive, who hasn't found the Dom yet that's right for her? Or do I really believe that being a masochist also means I need to have a submissive side as well? Or have I been burnt in the past, by offering myself up and having that thrown back into my face, so that I'm now afraid to show my submissive self?
I don't know. Do you?

Friday, 11 April 2014

That was the week that was

On Monday I got an inkling that Luke might be a kinkster. On Sunday I got the confirmation. On Monday I came out to him and we planned a meeting to discuss for the Wednesday a week later.
Until that time, we talked in person twice, and a couple of times more on Fetlife, where Luke asked me to fill in a questionnaire. Truth be told: I hate those. I've done it before, and probably will do it time and time again, I see why they're important, but I just hate filling them in. What do I want, what do I need, what do I expect, what can't I do, what are my limits, how's my health, what are my experiences? You go over them point by point, reading and thinking and answering, and find out later you missed a couple of questions, checked the wrong box, misunderstood, or otherwise goofed.
Sent the questionnaire, saved a copy. Agreed in chat that our relationship will be non-exclusive. This is not for a Happily Ever After, but just for the Here and Now, for as long as we're both happy with it.
Tuesday, the day before, we chat on Fetlife, determining to meet at 10, my place, go out for a coffee/tea, talk and possibly more. And then Luke mentioned sex, and I freaked.
For those of you that don't know this: a BDSM session may include sex, but that is not at all necessary. In fact, parties in the scene often have a No Penetration rule. This means that when I played in the Netherlands, there was no sex. Neither was there any sex with my first play partner, since he is in a committed relationship and although our sessions were suggested by his partner, this was a hard limit for her. So for me there is no correlation between play and sex. To that now add that I haven't had sex in longer than I care to remember, and certainly longer than I'm going to tell you all, coupled with the fact that Luke is so much younger than me that it's impossible to believe he could be attracted to me, and you start getting my freak.
Wednesday morning came and I got busy. Helping everybody get ready to leave for work and daycare, having a shower and dressing (just jeans and a thin sweater, but nice underwear), doing laundry and ironing, get the meat defrosted, preparing what I can for dinner, drinking a pot of tea and waiting for 10 o'clock. I was not just nervous: I was terrified. Not afraid of what Luke was going to do, but of what I was getting myself into. How much of a slut was I, taking the initiative like that? Was I really ready for this? Did I want to talk about what I crave? Would we play today? Could I go for a session? And would there be sex?
Luke was on time and we drove to the beach. I grew up close to the sea and have always loved it. We walked and talked, sat and went through the list, walked and talked some more, found a place where I could get a pot of tea. The weather was nice enough, so we sat outside, where we could chat without being overheard.
Most topics had been discussed by now: hard and soft limits, wants and cravings, double penetration and anal sex, my past experiences, my last relationship, my dry spell, expectations, outlook on mind games (I don't like them, Luke does), what to do if it doesn't work out between us.
Me: "So: sex sex. Are we going to have that?" Luke: "We can have sex, if you want. Do you want to?" Me: "I think it's bloody well time." That made us both laugh, and we talked about safe sex.
We drove to his place. Until this moment we'd hardly touched at all, and I reached over to take his hand. He pressed mine, grinned, and reached over to play with my nipple, teasing it out of my bra, under my clothing, while I leaned back and relished the touch.
At his place I needed the bathroom, urgently. Not surprising, with the nerves and after all that tea.
In the bedroom Luke got his toys sorted and put a towel on the bed. "Right, let's get you naked." I waited for a moment, to see if he wanted to undress me, but he just watched me and I stripped. It had been ages since I last undressed with a man looking on and I was surprised I wasn't more nervous. When I was naked, he checked me out, making me very uncomfortable. I know I look good for my age, but I'm a middle aged woman, slightly overweight, sagging, with my body showing clear signs of past pregnancies. Having someone watch me like that, feels like I'm being judged. At least he didn't look repulsed. And I looked at him, in his jeans, no longer wearing his shirt, looking so lean and trim and young.
Luke told me to get on the bed, on my hands and knees, and I did. Don't ask me what he used on my bum, I didn't look, and I didn't care, I just felt. And what I mainly felt was pain. Next time, we'd better go for a bit of a warm up, I never expected Luke to go at it as he did right from the bat, so I never discussed that with him. As it was, it soon became too painful for me, but I expect that I could take a lot more if we started a bit slower. It was good, but it was too much. What was even nicer was when he would pause occasionally, pull me up against him and hold and stroke me.
Luke: "Do you want to be well used by me?" Me, polite as always (well, most of the time):"Yes, please."
The sound of a wrapper being opened and then the feel of Luke's fingers, checking me out. No worries there, I was already wet. Then his penis entered my vagina and he started moving. It didn't take long for me to get really vocal, letting him know how much I liked this. And let me tell you: the guy has stamina and I loved every moment of it, which I showed by .. crying. I sobbed, the tears were streaming down my face, I moaned and I cried out.
After checking I wanted it as well, Luke lubed a butt plug and inserted it while he kept fucking my cunt, making it even more intense.
Then Luke decided that I needed his penis up my arse. He made sure I was well lubed up before switching holes and he slipped in quite easily passed my sphincter. I cried even harder now, lowering myself on my forearms, pushing my butt back: "You fill me up so good." "I love fucking your arse."
I have no idea how long this went on for, but it felt heavenly. Being held like this, skin on skin contact, having sex again, all the while feeling the pain he inflicted on me earlier. It made me feel cherished, loved, heard, desirable, sexy.
A nice shower afterwards, changing the sheets of the bed together, and we laid down on the bed, side by side, watching silly YouTube video's, caressing, relaxing.
After lunch I was driven home. I came down from my high that night, Luke checked in on me, on-line, the day after. I am still black and blue and loving it.

Thursday, 3 April 2014

BDSM down under: please tell me I'll be fine

I haven't been active yet, here. A new environment, not knowing where is safe and where isn't, no job, therefore no money and no own place to life. It's really frightening to just get out there, and I just can't do it yet. With money and transport, I can leave a situation where I don't feel at ease, without them I might just be stuck. So no, instead of going out there I decided to wait a bit.
Life is busy enough. Hunting for a job, taking care of the (grand)kids, doing the laundry, cooking diner, gaming with the friends I made here, surfing the net and posting on Facebook. Busy all day, every day, and usually bored with waiting for my residency and finding myself a job.
One group of people I'm gaming with got a new member recently, an old friend of one of the other members. I say old friend, even though he's way younger than me, but then they all are, Our group uses Facebook to remain in contact, and that new person, let's call him Luke, reacted on one of my posts with a BDSM reference. I reacted on that, rather ambiguously, not wanting to give anything away on a public forum, Luke basically told me I didn't know what I was talking about, I asked him how he could possible know, and all the while I was thinking "Hmm, could he really?".
Next game date, I heard Luke telling about a party he'd been to and it definitely sounded like BDSM. So, even though we could be overheard by others, I asked him about it and it turned out I'd been right. I had to be careful, some of the people present are close friends of my daughter, so I couldn't give anything away. Luke was mildly surprised, because my reaction to his story was different than the ones he usually gets from Vanilla's, so now he was thinking "Hmm, could she really?"
Next day I mailed him, referencing to the Facebook post and telling him I'd prefer to keep a further discussion more private, asking him for his Fetlife identity. We messaged back and forth on Fetlife for a bit, and agreed to meet up for coffee next Wednesday.
Last game night we were both present, our private meet up still to come, and I was nervous as heck. I did manage to react normally to him, not avoiding him or paying him too close attention, but it was hard. Harder still when he offered give me a lift at the end of the evening. We did have a chat and a bit of a laugh on our way, and our "date" next week still stands.
What happens next, I don't know. But when two unattached people, a masochist and a sadist, come together, life changes for both of them.
More later, when I have something to report.

A new life

Any of you ever thought about moving to the other side of the world? Anyone? Do you have any advice for me?
A year ago I flew to the kids, for the impending birth of my grandson. Being there was very moving and beautiful, and knowing I would have to leave again moved me to tears. My only grandchildren are in New Zealand, which is way too far from the Netherlands. I still remember how heartbroken I was going back after my granddaughter had been born. I was crying so hard I could hardly see where I was going.
And then I suddenly realised that being with in New Zealand made me happy, and that I hadn't been happy in years. I'd been struggling with a relationship where I was the only fighting for it, my job was awful (due to management, not to colleagues), my grandchildren were too far away, and I didn't have enough opportunities to pursue my BDSM interests, being tired all the time.
I didn't want to go, my daughter didn't want me to leave, my son (in law) loved having me there, so I decided to stay. Isn't that something? A major, life changing decision, taken before I had even consciously thought about it. But the moment I said it out loud, I knew it was the right thing to do.
Not that is has been easy, mind you, especially not for somebody used to the EU and the open borders for EU citizens. Had I known all this a couple of months sooner, it would have been a breeze, but my 57th birthday meant I was too old to get a work permit straight away. Now I got into a Catch 22: in order to obtain a work permit, I needed to have a job offer, and in order to get a job offer, employers wanted to see my work permit. Finding myself a job was proving difficult.
Change of plans. Instead of going for a work permit, let's go for residency. Yes, you read that right, it's easier for me to become a New Zealand resident, than it is to find myself a job here. Why is that? Because I have a daughter who is a resident, and grandchildren who are citizens. And that means I'm eligible for residency under the parent category, assuming my daughter sponsors me, I have a clean bill of health, my English is up to par and the Dutch police has nothing awful to report about me.
So: extend visa and send an Expression of Interest, pay for both. Get an Invitation to Apply for Residency. Extend visa again, for a further fee. Get a health screening (including X-ray and blood tests), police certificate, birth certificate (of myself and my daughter, to prove we're truly related), sponsorship form including evidence of sufficient income, take an English language test, include dozens of pass photo's, send everything of, with my passport of course.
It's all in the works now and I should hear about their decision soon, they tell us. How soon? Who knows, we're talking about government officials after all. But soon.

My residency has been granted!