This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
So here we are, just a couple days to go in 2015, and I have to say, in many ways I'm glad to see the year end. In other ways, I wish it could have lasted longer. Same thing as every year, I suppose.
Master had instituted a new task schedule for me - not sure if I mentioned it in my last post or not. Three days a week, now, I am to wear my new anal plug for 3 hours, and just once a week I am to work on my throating with Charlie (my realistic dildo). And more recently He has instructed me to get in a daily 20-minute walk. Honestly, that one is tough to do, and I have not always succeeded. He knows there have been some severe challenges in life lately, but I am really trying to follow through on His directives.
Today when I reported my completed tasks, He asked if I was enjoying this new plug. I replied that "enjoy" is perhaps too strong a word (let's be honest: I have never in my life woken up one morning and thought, I would love to spend the day with my ass plugged), but that I don't hate it - not the way I hate some of the other plugs He's had me try. They were just impossible.
The walking task is the hardest for me to handle. Every single day is a tall order, and as I mentioned, I don't always succeed. It's something I'm working toward, for sure.
And speaking of things to work toward - time to trot out the obligatory New Year's resolutions, yes?
My only real goal for 2016 is to refine my submissive journey. What does that mean, exactly? It means accepting Master's directives for my physical well-being - exercise and diet recommendations; it means working to mold my will to His as much as possible; it means learning to keep control of my temper when His ideas do not mesh with mine; it means discerning if I'm still on track to learn and grow, or if changes need to be made. Mostly it means living my submission in such a way that one year from now, I don't look back with regrets. :)
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, December 4, 2015
Sing, Ho, for the life of a bear! - Or, I wish I were Winnie the Pooh
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
Seriously - Winnie the Pooh is awesome!! All he does is eat, sleep, say silly things, eat, get himself into troublesome situations, eat some more - and Christopher Robin loves him anyway.
So really, being Pooh would be great. :)
Hmm ... looking back on what I've just written, it occurs to me that I have more in common with good old Pooh than I thought. And not just because we're both squishy in the middle.
Just today, for example, Master and I were in a Skype session, and I thought it was going rather well. I logged in on time, had my plug inserted per Master's request, had my cuffs on, things were rocking and rolling. Aaaannndd, then my big mouth ran away with me and I got into trouble. Which I then compounded by arguing with him. Say silly things, get into trouble ......
Even several states away and through a computer screen, Master scares me sometimes.
And yes, he put me through some uncomfortable things to assert his authority, and he was not happy with me. I felt rather like a child who'd been told to go stand in the corner. You know, that guilty feeling, that embarrassment? Yeah, that. And I deserved it, to be sure, I'm not saying I didn't. The kicker of it is, he'd told me to watch my mouth on several prior occasions, and I'd had to be punished for it just this past summer. So why in hell did I not remember all those lessons, and shoot my mouth off and interrupt him? It drives him absolutely crazy, I know it does. I certainly know better than to be rude, so why was I?
I find that submitting to Master sexually is far easier, and far more enjoyable, to be honest, than submitting in other areas of my life. I don't always WANT to not wear panties on Thursdays, but that is his wish. I don't always WANT to track my food and water intake, but that's his wish. I don't necessarily WANT to train each week by deep-throating a dildo, nor do I WANT to spend 3 days a week with an anal plug in place; but those are his wishes. And I don't WANT to sit there all quiet and demure while he's lecturing me or outlining his expectations for yet another task or whatever the case may be.
I find, since I feel so comfortable with him, that I treat him like anyone else, an equal, someone I don't mind interrupting because we're that close. And I forget, in those moments, that we are NOT equals. This dynamic is a power exchange. I have agreed to surrender control to him, and he has agreed to responsibly exercise that control in order to carefully mold me into his idea of a perfect submissive. He's told me many, many times - "Bent, not broken." But the bending process can hurt, both mentally and physically, and sometimes it scares me. Most of the time, the majority of the time, I believe, I do comply with his dictates. But I am human, and prone to error; I am not always secure, which leads me to read more into his statements than what's really there; I have a need to be right, which causes me to argue for my cause even before I know exactly what I'm arguing about.
Winnie the Pooh may have a simpler life, but I think I am happier with my own after all, even in the times when I'm smarting from (yet another) lesson.
Seriously - Winnie the Pooh is awesome!! All he does is eat, sleep, say silly things, eat, get himself into troublesome situations, eat some more - and Christopher Robin loves him anyway.
So really, being Pooh would be great. :)
Hmm ... looking back on what I've just written, it occurs to me that I have more in common with good old Pooh than I thought. And not just because we're both squishy in the middle.
Just today, for example, Master and I were in a Skype session, and I thought it was going rather well. I logged in on time, had my plug inserted per Master's request, had my cuffs on, things were rocking and rolling. Aaaannndd, then my big mouth ran away with me and I got into trouble. Which I then compounded by arguing with him. Say silly things, get into trouble ......
Even several states away and through a computer screen, Master scares me sometimes.
And yes, he put me through some uncomfortable things to assert his authority, and he was not happy with me. I felt rather like a child who'd been told to go stand in the corner. You know, that guilty feeling, that embarrassment? Yeah, that. And I deserved it, to be sure, I'm not saying I didn't. The kicker of it is, he'd told me to watch my mouth on several prior occasions, and I'd had to be punished for it just this past summer. So why in hell did I not remember all those lessons, and shoot my mouth off and interrupt him? It drives him absolutely crazy, I know it does. I certainly know better than to be rude, so why was I?
I find that submitting to Master sexually is far easier, and far more enjoyable, to be honest, than submitting in other areas of my life. I don't always WANT to not wear panties on Thursdays, but that is his wish. I don't always WANT to track my food and water intake, but that's his wish. I don't necessarily WANT to train each week by deep-throating a dildo, nor do I WANT to spend 3 days a week with an anal plug in place; but those are his wishes. And I don't WANT to sit there all quiet and demure while he's lecturing me or outlining his expectations for yet another task or whatever the case may be.
I find, since I feel so comfortable with him, that I treat him like anyone else, an equal, someone I don't mind interrupting because we're that close. And I forget, in those moments, that we are NOT equals. This dynamic is a power exchange. I have agreed to surrender control to him, and he has agreed to responsibly exercise that control in order to carefully mold me into his idea of a perfect submissive. He's told me many, many times - "Bent, not broken." But the bending process can hurt, both mentally and physically, and sometimes it scares me. Most of the time, the majority of the time, I believe, I do comply with his dictates. But I am human, and prone to error; I am not always secure, which leads me to read more into his statements than what's really there; I have a need to be right, which causes me to argue for my cause even before I know exactly what I'm arguing about.
Winnie the Pooh may have a simpler life, but I think I am happier with my own after all, even in the times when I'm smarting from (yet another) lesson.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
New task
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
Master has given me a new task - or rather, instituted a renewal of a very old one, with a new implement.
He has long wanted me to become able to wear an anal plug for several hours at a time, but I have never been able to manage it. I have 2 plugs, one a pliable red, the other a slightly larger, firmer black with less "give." I hate them both. They hurt like a bitch going in, it takes me forever to get them seated, and I am very limited in what I can do, because I find they are so very uncomfortable I can't really stand up straight or walk around much, and worst of all, I tend to "lose" them. Yes, they work themselves right back out, and I almost always end up dirtying my clothes, never mind the towels I keep right nearby.
Trying to get used to wearing a plug is one of the first tasks Master ever gave me, way back when, and I tried. I really did. I found that I could only tolerate them for any length of time - and I mean, 30 minutes to an hour or so - if I was able to either lie on my bed the whole time, or possibly sit on a kitchen chair. Either way they were always painful and messy, and the aftermath of wearing one, between the pain, the bleeding (I almost always bled a little), and the clean-up left me crying more times than I care to admit, most recently about 4 weeks ago. Ugh.
Then Master told me about a different type of plug, often called a Princess plug. These are shorter, made of metal, so very smooth, and the base has a jewel, so they're actually kind of pretty. I wasn't thrilled, I'll be honest, but he really wants me to do this, so I researched and purchased one.
I have to tell you, the difference is like night and day. It's SO much easier to insert, needing far less lube, and the shorter length is so much more comfortable. I have very little discomfort and I can walk around and move and not feel like it's going to pop out at any second. I'll be honest, it isn't perfect; the setting of the jewel is quite pretty to look at but the edges really dig into me and it's really painful after about 45 minutes. I have managed to last an hour with it in place, and it's really hard to imagine keeping it in for longer than that, since it almost feels like it's cutting into me. Ouch, ouch.
The company that made my plug also makes a style which they claim is designed for long wear times, with a smaller, thicker jewel setting, so I've ordered one of those. I'm anxious to see if it really is more comfortable to wear, as I know Master really wants me to be able to tolerate it for several hours at a time.
I'm not crazy about the idea, I'll be honest; I have to go to the bathroom more often than that, and it's not going to be fun having to keep cleaning and reinserting it all the time. Still, if the new plug I've ordered is as much an improvement as the current one, I will be one happy sub.
Master has given me a new task - or rather, instituted a renewal of a very old one, with a new implement.
He has long wanted me to become able to wear an anal plug for several hours at a time, but I have never been able to manage it. I have 2 plugs, one a pliable red, the other a slightly larger, firmer black with less "give." I hate them both. They hurt like a bitch going in, it takes me forever to get them seated, and I am very limited in what I can do, because I find they are so very uncomfortable I can't really stand up straight or walk around much, and worst of all, I tend to "lose" them. Yes, they work themselves right back out, and I almost always end up dirtying my clothes, never mind the towels I keep right nearby.
Trying to get used to wearing a plug is one of the first tasks Master ever gave me, way back when, and I tried. I really did. I found that I could only tolerate them for any length of time - and I mean, 30 minutes to an hour or so - if I was able to either lie on my bed the whole time, or possibly sit on a kitchen chair. Either way they were always painful and messy, and the aftermath of wearing one, between the pain, the bleeding (I almost always bled a little), and the clean-up left me crying more times than I care to admit, most recently about 4 weeks ago. Ugh.
Then Master told me about a different type of plug, often called a Princess plug. These are shorter, made of metal, so very smooth, and the base has a jewel, so they're actually kind of pretty. I wasn't thrilled, I'll be honest, but he really wants me to do this, so I researched and purchased one.
I have to tell you, the difference is like night and day. It's SO much easier to insert, needing far less lube, and the shorter length is so much more comfortable. I have very little discomfort and I can walk around and move and not feel like it's going to pop out at any second. I'll be honest, it isn't perfect; the setting of the jewel is quite pretty to look at but the edges really dig into me and it's really painful after about 45 minutes. I have managed to last an hour with it in place, and it's really hard to imagine keeping it in for longer than that, since it almost feels like it's cutting into me. Ouch, ouch.
The company that made my plug also makes a style which they claim is designed for long wear times, with a smaller, thicker jewel setting, so I've ordered one of those. I'm anxious to see if it really is more comfortable to wear, as I know Master really wants me to be able to tolerate it for several hours at a time.
I'm not crazy about the idea, I'll be honest; I have to go to the bathroom more often than that, and it's not going to be fun having to keep cleaning and reinserting it all the time. Still, if the new plug I've ordered is as much an improvement as the current one, I will be one happy sub.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Melancholy
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
So Master arranged for us to have some quality time a few weeks ago - and I almost blew it. I mean, like, majorly. He'd trussed me in some ropes and inserted an anal hook - only the second time we'd used it, so it was new, and I was tied so tightly I could hardly move. And when he ordered me to suck him, well, I had a hell of a time trying to comply. When I bent over, the hook felt like it was trying to come out through my spine. I just could not find a way to reach without pain, and after a few minutes I lost my mind.
Looking back, I feel silly, and stupid, and horribly embarrassed by how badly I reacted. It was a major, major breach of behavior. I can't stand to think of it.
And now, 3 weeks past my meltdown, I don't feel like I've recovered. Or at least, I'm not confident in my ability to submit completely. Master and I haven't really discussed it so I'm not sure of his position, either, and uncertainty always makes me unsettled.
At this point, I can think of other ways I could have - or should have - handled my issue. If a similar situation ever occurs, I hope I've learned enough to be rational about it, instead of flying off the handle.
At Master's behest I have ordered a new implement. More on that when it arrives.
So Master arranged for us to have some quality time a few weeks ago - and I almost blew it. I mean, like, majorly. He'd trussed me in some ropes and inserted an anal hook - only the second time we'd used it, so it was new, and I was tied so tightly I could hardly move. And when he ordered me to suck him, well, I had a hell of a time trying to comply. When I bent over, the hook felt like it was trying to come out through my spine. I just could not find a way to reach without pain, and after a few minutes I lost my mind.
Looking back, I feel silly, and stupid, and horribly embarrassed by how badly I reacted. It was a major, major breach of behavior. I can't stand to think of it.
And now, 3 weeks past my meltdown, I don't feel like I've recovered. Or at least, I'm not confident in my ability to submit completely. Master and I haven't really discussed it so I'm not sure of his position, either, and uncertainty always makes me unsettled.
At this point, I can think of other ways I could have - or should have - handled my issue. If a similar situation ever occurs, I hope I've learned enough to be rational about it, instead of flying off the handle.
At Master's behest I have ordered a new implement. More on that when it arrives.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
September 8
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
It's been a few weeks since I've written here. Master seemed less than pleased about my last blog, where I expressed some dissatisfaction with the names/labels he uses for me. Part of me wanted to defend myself ... that part of me seems to get me in trouble a lot. And part of me caved, because I just don't have the energy to be in conflict for long.
It goes deeper than the names (though I'm adamant about the nuances and meaning of words; we have so very many for a reason, after all). Lately I've been feeling a lot of ambivalence, a lack of identity, a "what the hell am I doing?" kind of uncertainty with this whole submission thing. I'm not excited about it, I'm not eager about it, I don't wake up all thrilled that I have tasks to complete. Master has been really streaky - sometimes he's available, sometimes he's not, sometimes he acknowledges me, sometimes he doesn't - and I am pulling away so I can pretend it doesn't bother me.
I'm having a hard time believing my worth, since it's been quite a while since he's told me I'm important to him. I'm having a hard time "feeling" submissive; it's actually kinda painful. I am trying to keep my cool, to approach this challenging time by reminding myself it won't always be like this, that eventually it will "click" for me again and then I'll be glad I fought through it. But oh, it is such a slog right now.
It's been a few weeks since I've written here. Master seemed less than pleased about my last blog, where I expressed some dissatisfaction with the names/labels he uses for me. Part of me wanted to defend myself ... that part of me seems to get me in trouble a lot. And part of me caved, because I just don't have the energy to be in conflict for long.
It goes deeper than the names (though I'm adamant about the nuances and meaning of words; we have so very many for a reason, after all). Lately I've been feeling a lot of ambivalence, a lack of identity, a "what the hell am I doing?" kind of uncertainty with this whole submission thing. I'm not excited about it, I'm not eager about it, I don't wake up all thrilled that I have tasks to complete. Master has been really streaky - sometimes he's available, sometimes he's not, sometimes he acknowledges me, sometimes he doesn't - and I am pulling away so I can pretend it doesn't bother me.
I'm having a hard time believing my worth, since it's been quite a while since he's told me I'm important to him. I'm having a hard time "feeling" submissive; it's actually kinda painful. I am trying to keep my cool, to approach this challenging time by reminding myself it won't always be like this, that eventually it will "click" for me again and then I'll be glad I fought through it. But oh, it is such a slog right now.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Labels
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
I've been doing some web-surfing over the past week or so, and I keep seeing labels like "submissive," or "bottom," or "slave," or "pet," or even "toy." There are others, of course, but I see these most frequently in my perusal.
Shakespeare aside ("A rose by any other name would smell as sweet"), too often, in my opinion, these labels carry too much weight. Why can't a person be all of these, or none of them, or a mix, or slip between them as their circumstances shift? Why lock yourself into one category, or one way of behaving?
Personally, I've flirted with them all, I think. Except perhaps for "slave," which I find a bit abhorrent, to be honest. I'm not judging, please; but it's a term I have a lot of trouble finding positive. I mean, given how horrible slavery has been all throughout history, I find it difficult that anyone would willingly agree to true, full slavery. I know there are folks who identify themselves with that title, so perhaps I'm missing the appeal.
Sometimes I don't think any of them really apply to me. I've already voiced my objections to "slave," and some of the others have the same type of dehumanizing vibe to them, like "toy." I'm not comfortable relegating myself to being an inanimate object, a plaything, akin to a piece of furniture. Master is fond of telling me that "they're only words," but really, words are important. That's why I have so much trouble with these labels.
Perhaps part of the reason I'm struggling with a label is that I haven't settled into any of them, so I can't identify. I'm submissive, yes, sometimes; Master calls me "pet," but I don't spend my days on my hands and knees, drinking water from a bowl or vocalizing only in yips or meows. I can do that for short periods, but I cannot see it as a full-time pursuit. "Bottom?" Hmm. Perhaps. That term is generally applied to someone who takes the submissive role for short, focused periods of time, such as for a sexual encounter or perhaps a play scene. I definitely see the appeal of this; participating in a power exchange for a defined length of time, then stepping back into your usual mode of living.
Some days I feel like I could comfortably become someone who identifies as submissive on a full-time, continuous basis; on other days, I think there's no way I could ever live as a meek little sub who never questions her Master or fends for herself. Ugh, I don't know. Master (and yes, I have a Master, so obviously I'm more at ease with the idea of submission that my ramblings would indicate) would tell me I'm over-thinking it, I'm sure. But on the days when the mere idea of being meek and quiet (and unseen, which is my true fear, maybe) just seems impossible, I feel like I have to strike out and get to a place where I can breathe.
I've been doing some web-surfing over the past week or so, and I keep seeing labels like "submissive," or "bottom," or "slave," or "pet," or even "toy." There are others, of course, but I see these most frequently in my perusal.
Shakespeare aside ("A rose by any other name would smell as sweet"), too often, in my opinion, these labels carry too much weight. Why can't a person be all of these, or none of them, or a mix, or slip between them as their circumstances shift? Why lock yourself into one category, or one way of behaving?
Personally, I've flirted with them all, I think. Except perhaps for "slave," which I find a bit abhorrent, to be honest. I'm not judging, please; but it's a term I have a lot of trouble finding positive. I mean, given how horrible slavery has been all throughout history, I find it difficult that anyone would willingly agree to true, full slavery. I know there are folks who identify themselves with that title, so perhaps I'm missing the appeal.
Sometimes I don't think any of them really apply to me. I've already voiced my objections to "slave," and some of the others have the same type of dehumanizing vibe to them, like "toy." I'm not comfortable relegating myself to being an inanimate object, a plaything, akin to a piece of furniture. Master is fond of telling me that "they're only words," but really, words are important. That's why I have so much trouble with these labels.
Perhaps part of the reason I'm struggling with a label is that I haven't settled into any of them, so I can't identify. I'm submissive, yes, sometimes; Master calls me "pet," but I don't spend my days on my hands and knees, drinking water from a bowl or vocalizing only in yips or meows. I can do that for short periods, but I cannot see it as a full-time pursuit. "Bottom?" Hmm. Perhaps. That term is generally applied to someone who takes the submissive role for short, focused periods of time, such as for a sexual encounter or perhaps a play scene. I definitely see the appeal of this; participating in a power exchange for a defined length of time, then stepping back into your usual mode of living.
Some days I feel like I could comfortably become someone who identifies as submissive on a full-time, continuous basis; on other days, I think there's no way I could ever live as a meek little sub who never questions her Master or fends for herself. Ugh, I don't know. Master (and yes, I have a Master, so obviously I'm more at ease with the idea of submission that my ramblings would indicate) would tell me I'm over-thinking it, I'm sure. But on the days when the mere idea of being meek and quiet (and unseen, which is my true fear, maybe) just seems impossible, I feel like I have to strike out and get to a place where I can breathe.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Room for Growth - and there's a lot of it
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
This has been a better week; thankfully, I've heard from Master a couple of times, and today he allowed me to cum while he watched. (I actually am inclined to believe that was a reward for accepting his new guidelines for my throat-training task without giving him grief about it, but I could be mistaken.)
I am (slowly, so very slowly) learning to listen when he speaks and not immediately jump to erroneous conclusions, though I will be the first to admit I still have a long way to go in that regard. Being a submissive in a long-distance D/s relationship is not an easy thing. Maintaining a submissive mindset is even more difficult, especially since he is not physically available to see when I'm performing well, and perhaps drop a bit of praise; he also cannot see when I'm slacking off or veering off the path or wrestling with some mental or emotional concern which might benefit from his direction, but since he's not here, he doesn't know about it.
And I know that when these situations occur, I tend to pull into myself and try to handle it myself, tough it out or ignore it or work through it on my own, which essentially locks Master out of his rightful place as the one in charge of me, and creates distance between us, even more than what is already present. I still struggle a lot with the notion that I Ought To Be Independent, and Not Need Anyone, and Be Able To Stand On My Own Two Feet.
And if I'm being very honest, I do not want to present myself as weak in front of him, either. I don't want him thinking I'm some helpless sniveling thing which requires constant tending and can't think for herself. I have a long-standing habit of assuming that I'm stupid, and I'm desperately trying not to prove myself to be. So when I stumble, when I struggle, when I can't quite wrap my head around what I'm expected to be doing, I play the turtle, drawing back into my impenetrable shell where I hide from all the hard stuff and pretend everything is fine.
So this week, while I was waiting, I read a lot more, blogs and web sites and more blogs, and tried to absorb the most common bits of advice I found, which include being willing to speak up (respectfully, calmly, which I admit is sometimes hard for me) when I'm having difficulty; accepting that I'm never going to be perfect, but that I can strive to always improve; asking for help when I'm struggling; and most importantly, keeping open communication with Master, because he cannot read my mind, and I am being unfair when I expect him to be able to do so.
So I'm taking a deep breath, and starting forward on this path once again, with a hopefully more open spirit and a less defensive nature, looking to allow Master to mold me into his ideal sub while still maintaining my pride and my joy in the process.
This has been a better week; thankfully, I've heard from Master a couple of times, and today he allowed me to cum while he watched. (I actually am inclined to believe that was a reward for accepting his new guidelines for my throat-training task without giving him grief about it, but I could be mistaken.)
I am (slowly, so very slowly) learning to listen when he speaks and not immediately jump to erroneous conclusions, though I will be the first to admit I still have a long way to go in that regard. Being a submissive in a long-distance D/s relationship is not an easy thing. Maintaining a submissive mindset is even more difficult, especially since he is not physically available to see when I'm performing well, and perhaps drop a bit of praise; he also cannot see when I'm slacking off or veering off the path or wrestling with some mental or emotional concern which might benefit from his direction, but since he's not here, he doesn't know about it.
And I know that when these situations occur, I tend to pull into myself and try to handle it myself, tough it out or ignore it or work through it on my own, which essentially locks Master out of his rightful place as the one in charge of me, and creates distance between us, even more than what is already present. I still struggle a lot with the notion that I Ought To Be Independent, and Not Need Anyone, and Be Able To Stand On My Own Two Feet.
And if I'm being very honest, I do not want to present myself as weak in front of him, either. I don't want him thinking I'm some helpless sniveling thing which requires constant tending and can't think for herself. I have a long-standing habit of assuming that I'm stupid, and I'm desperately trying not to prove myself to be. So when I stumble, when I struggle, when I can't quite wrap my head around what I'm expected to be doing, I play the turtle, drawing back into my impenetrable shell where I hide from all the hard stuff and pretend everything is fine.
So this week, while I was waiting, I read a lot more, blogs and web sites and more blogs, and tried to absorb the most common bits of advice I found, which include being willing to speak up (respectfully, calmly, which I admit is sometimes hard for me) when I'm having difficulty; accepting that I'm never going to be perfect, but that I can strive to always improve; asking for help when I'm struggling; and most importantly, keeping open communication with Master, because he cannot read my mind, and I am being unfair when I expect him to be able to do so.
So I'm taking a deep breath, and starting forward on this path once again, with a hopefully more open spirit and a less defensive nature, looking to allow Master to mold me into his ideal sub while still maintaining my pride and my joy in the process.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Sunday evening thoughts
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
So it's Sunday night, & I'm reflecting on the past week. It's been emotionally up and down for me, I admit; I've had very little communication from Master, & that always makes me - sad? Lonely? Unsettled? Hmm. All of the above, really.
I completed my tasks in a timely manner, and I've been working hard to maintain a pleasant attitude for him, so to have all of my efforts be ignored, really - well, it makes me wonder why the hell I bother. I feel like, if my obedience and pleasant demeanor is important, then let me know I'm improving, because otherwise I don't know if I'm changing the right things or moving toward what he wants. Grrr.
But I'm also working on developing patience, and trying not to let my immediate emotional state dictate my actions (I do tend to act impulsively, often to my detriment) so instead of firing off an angry/hurt/whiny email, I have reached out in what I believe is a quiet, respectful manner, asking to have some chat time with him when he can. His lack of response is discouraging to me, I freely admit; it's difficult to maintain a positive attitude when all I'm getting is silence. So much for the "communication is key" idea, hmm?
So while I wait, I continue to perform my assigned tasks, and hopefully Master's silence won't last too much longer.
So it's Sunday night, & I'm reflecting on the past week. It's been emotionally up and down for me, I admit; I've had very little communication from Master, & that always makes me - sad? Lonely? Unsettled? Hmm. All of the above, really.
I completed my tasks in a timely manner, and I've been working hard to maintain a pleasant attitude for him, so to have all of my efforts be ignored, really - well, it makes me wonder why the hell I bother. I feel like, if my obedience and pleasant demeanor is important, then let me know I'm improving, because otherwise I don't know if I'm changing the right things or moving toward what he wants. Grrr.
But I'm also working on developing patience, and trying not to let my immediate emotional state dictate my actions (I do tend to act impulsively, often to my detriment) so instead of firing off an angry/hurt/whiny email, I have reached out in what I believe is a quiet, respectful manner, asking to have some chat time with him when he can. His lack of response is discouraging to me, I freely admit; it's difficult to maintain a positive attitude when all I'm getting is silence. So much for the "communication is key" idea, hmm?
So while I wait, I continue to perform my assigned tasks, and hopefully Master's silence won't last too much longer.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Sub drop? Or just crazy?
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
So my post title is a bit tongue-in-cheek, I'll admit. I don't really think I'm crazy, though at times I do wonder about my mental stability.
I've heard the term "sub drop" before, and I know I've previously experienced it to a small degree - the emotional let-down after play, the sadness for no reason, even the self-doubt which can surface after intense sessions. It wasn't too bad, and I had never asked Master for any kind of aftercare, because really, I felt kind of stupid to be experiencing these emotions after having a good time.
And I will acknowledge that it may be difficult for him to reach out to me after time spent together, because we do not live in the same area and we both have to play catch-up at work when we've had a few days off.
But this last time, just this past weekend, I had asked specifically for aftercare, because we were anticipating having my nipples pierced, and I knew I would need more contact than usual in the first days post-piercing.
However, Master told me I wasn't ready to be pierced (which I wasn't), and that he would have to slow down with me. Well, let me tell you, I felt as though he'd pulled the rug out from under me. We had a hard-to-face but honest discussion, and I cried, but afterward we still played a bit, and we parted on good terms.
So this week I have tried to modify my behavior that way Master told me I ought, and I've performed my tasks as usual - all without a peep from him. I have sent a message every day, and other than one quick "how's your week going?" - to which I replied, and he did not answer - there has been silence. I hate silence. It unnerves me and scares me and pisses me off, especially since (a) I had specifically asked for care this time, and (b) I have told him several times in the past that I would appreciate him telling me if he knows he's going to be busy or out of touch for a while. Then I'm not left hanging, wondering.
Which is where I am now - wondering, and feeling sad and like I've failed, and with zero acknowledgment of the changes I'm trying to make for him, I have started feeling like I don't even know why I'm trying in the first place. So because I'm not yet ready for some things he wants from me, does that make me unworthy? Am I useless because I can't yet give him everything he wants? His silence feels like rejection, and it hurts.
And it's hitting me harder this time, I'll admit. Earlier today I was on "The Submissive Guide" - I love that site, check it out - and lunaKM had posted about loving your body (and your self, by extension) where you are, even while working toward something better. And tears spilled down my cheeks, because lunaKM said, "You are beautiful," and I had a really hard time accepting that. I haven't heard it in so long .... I never really believed it to start with, and Master has helped my self-image immensely, but the self-doubt still creeps up on me once in a while, and coupled with the sense of dissatisfaction and disconnection I'm feeling, well, yeah. I'm a blubbering mess right about now.
I guess what all this rambling has been about is, sub drop is real for me, and it leaves me feeling unsettled and vulnerable, and it compounds other emotions I may experience. I would like Master to know that I need more contact, even just a couple of texts to check in with me and let me know what's going on in his world and when I might be able to expect a longer conversation. Because I know my submissive journey is on-going, and I'm not perfect, but I'm still making progress. And I also know that my joy in submission is closely linked to feeling connected and valued. I'm struggling right now, and while I know it will pass - it always does - it's tough while it lasts.
So my post title is a bit tongue-in-cheek, I'll admit. I don't really think I'm crazy, though at times I do wonder about my mental stability.
I've heard the term "sub drop" before, and I know I've previously experienced it to a small degree - the emotional let-down after play, the sadness for no reason, even the self-doubt which can surface after intense sessions. It wasn't too bad, and I had never asked Master for any kind of aftercare, because really, I felt kind of stupid to be experiencing these emotions after having a good time.
And I will acknowledge that it may be difficult for him to reach out to me after time spent together, because we do not live in the same area and we both have to play catch-up at work when we've had a few days off.
But this last time, just this past weekend, I had asked specifically for aftercare, because we were anticipating having my nipples pierced, and I knew I would need more contact than usual in the first days post-piercing.
However, Master told me I wasn't ready to be pierced (which I wasn't), and that he would have to slow down with me. Well, let me tell you, I felt as though he'd pulled the rug out from under me. We had a hard-to-face but honest discussion, and I cried, but afterward we still played a bit, and we parted on good terms.
So this week I have tried to modify my behavior that way Master told me I ought, and I've performed my tasks as usual - all without a peep from him. I have sent a message every day, and other than one quick "how's your week going?" - to which I replied, and he did not answer - there has been silence. I hate silence. It unnerves me and scares me and pisses me off, especially since (a) I had specifically asked for care this time, and (b) I have told him several times in the past that I would appreciate him telling me if he knows he's going to be busy or out of touch for a while. Then I'm not left hanging, wondering.
Which is where I am now - wondering, and feeling sad and like I've failed, and with zero acknowledgment of the changes I'm trying to make for him, I have started feeling like I don't even know why I'm trying in the first place. So because I'm not yet ready for some things he wants from me, does that make me unworthy? Am I useless because I can't yet give him everything he wants? His silence feels like rejection, and it hurts.
And it's hitting me harder this time, I'll admit. Earlier today I was on "The Submissive Guide" - I love that site, check it out - and lunaKM had posted about loving your body (and your self, by extension) where you are, even while working toward something better. And tears spilled down my cheeks, because lunaKM said, "You are beautiful," and I had a really hard time accepting that. I haven't heard it in so long .... I never really believed it to start with, and Master has helped my self-image immensely, but the self-doubt still creeps up on me once in a while, and coupled with the sense of dissatisfaction and disconnection I'm feeling, well, yeah. I'm a blubbering mess right about now.
I guess what all this rambling has been about is, sub drop is real for me, and it leaves me feeling unsettled and vulnerable, and it compounds other emotions I may experience. I would like Master to know that I need more contact, even just a couple of texts to check in with me and let me know what's going on in his world and when I might be able to expect a longer conversation. Because I know my submissive journey is on-going, and I'm not perfect, but I'm still making progress. And I also know that my joy in submission is closely linked to feeling connected and valued. I'm struggling right now, and while I know it will pass - it always does - it's tough while it lasts.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Reflections
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
So I've just returned from a weekend with Master, which I had anticipated would include me sexually servicing him, and being bound and used and then rewarded, and fully expected to be taken to have these nipples pierced, as Master has been talking about that for a while.
Instead, Master took me to task for a poor attitude and some bratty behaviors, and I was forced to face a few inconvenient truths about myself.
Let's back up a bit - Master recently revamped my weekly task list (which I elaborated on in a previous post). And I completed my tasks, don't get me wrong; but he pointed out that I was doing the bare minimum, and that I was completely lacking a joyful spirit. I was approaching them as chores, as check marks on a to-do list, and not as something I might grow through or learn to enjoy.
And I had no idea I was projecting all of that to him. I wasn't even aware I was acting that way or feeling that way or going through the motions. So to have him sit me down and lay it all out was painful. I could see that he was right, which was a tough pill to swallow, given that I was so sure I'd been doing the right thing.
He admitted he's been pushing me, and I obviously am not ready for all of it. Oh, that hurt. But it's absolutely true. When I didn't understand what he wanted me to do, I got defensive and frustrated and snappish with him instead of asking for clarification. I admit to feeling a bit relieved about postponing the piercings, so I definitely am not ready to own them & be happy with them. There are other issues I'm struggling with as well.
So tonight my emotions/mindset are all over the place; I feel terrible thinking that Master is disappointed, I feel relieved knowing I have some breathing room, I feel conflicted about what he's asking and expecting of me in future. I still have a ways to go before I'm truly at peace with total submission, I see, and that is hard to deal with.
Please don't think the weekend was terrible; Master did bind me, he did use the flogger, he did give me some lovely bruises to enjoy. He did say that sometimes I do really, really well - but I do have to really be careful about my attitude and how I project things to him. And that is concerning me. I feel like, I've been trying to be good, and if that's not enough, then will I truly be able to fulfill Master's wishes for me? He says he has faith that I can, and that I will; I just have to come to believe it for myself.
So I've just returned from a weekend with Master, which I had anticipated would include me sexually servicing him, and being bound and used and then rewarded, and fully expected to be taken to have these nipples pierced, as Master has been talking about that for a while.
Instead, Master took me to task for a poor attitude and some bratty behaviors, and I was forced to face a few inconvenient truths about myself.
Let's back up a bit - Master recently revamped my weekly task list (which I elaborated on in a previous post). And I completed my tasks, don't get me wrong; but he pointed out that I was doing the bare minimum, and that I was completely lacking a joyful spirit. I was approaching them as chores, as check marks on a to-do list, and not as something I might grow through or learn to enjoy.
And I had no idea I was projecting all of that to him. I wasn't even aware I was acting that way or feeling that way or going through the motions. So to have him sit me down and lay it all out was painful. I could see that he was right, which was a tough pill to swallow, given that I was so sure I'd been doing the right thing.
He admitted he's been pushing me, and I obviously am not ready for all of it. Oh, that hurt. But it's absolutely true. When I didn't understand what he wanted me to do, I got defensive and frustrated and snappish with him instead of asking for clarification. I admit to feeling a bit relieved about postponing the piercings, so I definitely am not ready to own them & be happy with them. There are other issues I'm struggling with as well.
So tonight my emotions/mindset are all over the place; I feel terrible thinking that Master is disappointed, I feel relieved knowing I have some breathing room, I feel conflicted about what he's asking and expecting of me in future. I still have a ways to go before I'm truly at peace with total submission, I see, and that is hard to deal with.
Please don't think the weekend was terrible; Master did bind me, he did use the flogger, he did give me some lovely bruises to enjoy. He did say that sometimes I do really, really well - but I do have to really be careful about my attitude and how I project things to him. And that is concerning me. I feel like, I've been trying to be good, and if that's not enough, then will I truly be able to fulfill Master's wishes for me? He says he has faith that I can, and that I will; I just have to come to believe it for myself.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Update on Tasks
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
Last time I wrote here, I told you about Master's new training regimen for me. And I got better at throating - though the dildo did develop a huge crack which I had to attempt to fix. It's holding, for now, but recently I've seen a couple secondary cracks forming. Big disappointment. I will probably have to replace it. The damn thing is barely 6 weeks old.
Anyway - Master has seen improvement in my throating ability, yay for me, & he's expressed his pleasure with that. Last week he changed things up again. Now on Mondays, Wednesdays, & Fridays when I throat train, I have to recite my devotion with the dildo in my mouth. And then I am to say, "I love Master's cock" with the dildo still in my mouth before I throat it. And I have to throat it 13 times, holding for a 5-count each time.
It is not easy. I feel sort of foolish, talking with a fake cock in my mouth, & my voice sounds thick & funny cuz I can't properly enunciate my words. And I drool like crazy, which I personally find rather gross, bu I'm not allowed to remove my mouth from the dildo until I have completed all 13 throatings. So I end up letting all that excess saliva - & I'm saying there is a lot of it - just flow out of my mouth & slide down my chest & drip onto my stomach & thighs. I end up a slimy mess, which I'm not crazy about. I do train naked, so at least I don't have to change clothes afterward, but I do kneel on a folded towel, to catch the worst of the slobber. Ick, ick.
And I do still gag, though I have found that it's reduced if I do my training before I've had anything to eat. That's not always possible, so I try to schedule the training for later, so I have the least chance of vomiting.
I will be very honest with you - I am not always thrilled to do this training. It's messy, & uncomfortable, & I do feel somewhat dehumanized by it. But in the back of my head I tell myself that Master has requested it of me, so I do it for that reason. It is an obvious outward act of submission, performed by me on Master's orders.
And I will say, that even if I don't necessarily like the task itself, I do like knowing that Master is pleased by my obedience. And that's what I'm working for.
Last time I wrote here, I told you about Master's new training regimen for me. And I got better at throating - though the dildo did develop a huge crack which I had to attempt to fix. It's holding, for now, but recently I've seen a couple secondary cracks forming. Big disappointment. I will probably have to replace it. The damn thing is barely 6 weeks old.
Anyway - Master has seen improvement in my throating ability, yay for me, & he's expressed his pleasure with that. Last week he changed things up again. Now on Mondays, Wednesdays, & Fridays when I throat train, I have to recite my devotion with the dildo in my mouth. And then I am to say, "I love Master's cock" with the dildo still in my mouth before I throat it. And I have to throat it 13 times, holding for a 5-count each time.
It is not easy. I feel sort of foolish, talking with a fake cock in my mouth, & my voice sounds thick & funny cuz I can't properly enunciate my words. And I drool like crazy, which I personally find rather gross, bu I'm not allowed to remove my mouth from the dildo until I have completed all 13 throatings. So I end up letting all that excess saliva - & I'm saying there is a lot of it - just flow out of my mouth & slide down my chest & drip onto my stomach & thighs. I end up a slimy mess, which I'm not crazy about. I do train naked, so at least I don't have to change clothes afterward, but I do kneel on a folded towel, to catch the worst of the slobber. Ick, ick.
And I do still gag, though I have found that it's reduced if I do my training before I've had anything to eat. That's not always possible, so I try to schedule the training for later, so I have the least chance of vomiting.
I will be very honest with you - I am not always thrilled to do this training. It's messy, & uncomfortable, & I do feel somewhat dehumanized by it. But in the back of my head I tell myself that Master has requested it of me, so I do it for that reason. It is an obvious outward act of submission, performed by me on Master's orders.
And I will say, that even if I don't necessarily like the task itself, I do like knowing that Master is pleased by my obedience. And that's what I'm working for.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
New Training Tasks
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
Master has recently (in the past 2 weeks) changed up my usual task schedule. Now, on Mondays & Wednesdays, I'm to spend 10 minutes practicing deep-throating with a realistic dildo. On Tuesdays & Thursdays, I spend 10 minutes riding that same dildo, and on Fridays, I do both. I record these sessions, so that Master can view them and comment on them.
So far - well, it's going ok.
I'm not loving these tasks, I'll be honest; I seem to spend more time gagging and vomiting than actually achieving getting the cock all the way into my throat, and as for the riding, well, the suction cup really doesn't adhere to the stool all that well, so I end up holding it with one hand, and my legs just kill me. After each task, I'm always dripping with sweat and panting like I've run a race.
But in the past few days - remember, this set of tasks is only 2 weeks along - I have noticed that I'm able to throat the cock a bit more easily. (I have also noticed that a tear has developed along the seam, where the molded scrotum joins the shaft, so that's a bit disappointing.)
I have always had trouble when giving oral. I gag, I choke, I puke. It's not pretty. My jaw hurts like a bitch after a while, & I always end up feeling like I've had a huge workout. Still, I understand why Master has assigned this task to me, so I practice, even though my eyes tear and I cry and I gag and puke. I want to believe I'm bending to his will, that he's pleased with my perseverance, that eventually maybe I'll be able to throat him without vomiting. Eventually.
One caveat to my training is, I wear my wrist and ankle cuffs. I find that I quite like them, to be honest. Their weight is real and reassuring, an outward sign of my status as owned, and that makes me feel good. Peaceful, usually. I like being able to see them as I complete my tasks.
Master has recently (in the past 2 weeks) changed up my usual task schedule. Now, on Mondays & Wednesdays, I'm to spend 10 minutes practicing deep-throating with a realistic dildo. On Tuesdays & Thursdays, I spend 10 minutes riding that same dildo, and on Fridays, I do both. I record these sessions, so that Master can view them and comment on them.
So far - well, it's going ok.
I'm not loving these tasks, I'll be honest; I seem to spend more time gagging and vomiting than actually achieving getting the cock all the way into my throat, and as for the riding, well, the suction cup really doesn't adhere to the stool all that well, so I end up holding it with one hand, and my legs just kill me. After each task, I'm always dripping with sweat and panting like I've run a race.
But in the past few days - remember, this set of tasks is only 2 weeks along - I have noticed that I'm able to throat the cock a bit more easily. (I have also noticed that a tear has developed along the seam, where the molded scrotum joins the shaft, so that's a bit disappointing.)
I have always had trouble when giving oral. I gag, I choke, I puke. It's not pretty. My jaw hurts like a bitch after a while, & I always end up feeling like I've had a huge workout. Still, I understand why Master has assigned this task to me, so I practice, even though my eyes tear and I cry and I gag and puke. I want to believe I'm bending to his will, that he's pleased with my perseverance, that eventually maybe I'll be able to throat him without vomiting. Eventually.
One caveat to my training is, I wear my wrist and ankle cuffs. I find that I quite like them, to be honest. Their weight is real and reassuring, an outward sign of my status as owned, and that makes me feel good. Peaceful, usually. I like being able to see them as I complete my tasks.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Unfettered, Part VI
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
I'm stretched out on the bed, that beautiful four-poster, and Master has just finished binding me. My hands are bound together at the wrists above my head, and my ankles are each tied to one of the posts. My legs, quite obviously, are spread open to allow him easy access to my pussy and inner thighs.
After the scene out in the barn, he'd given me a bottle of water, for which I was grateful. I'd felt wrung out, and so, so tired, and very sore. We'd made our way back to the house and he allowed me a nap. I needed it. And honestly, I needed some quiet time to process the intensity of the scene. I wasn't kidding when I said I was doubting my sanity. When I'm in pain like that, I can't help but wonder why the fuck I allow that to happen. And then I have to process everything that happened and reconcile it.
Which brings me here, bound to the bed. I'm pretty sure he's not going to be gentle with me, despite what he'd put me through earlier, and honestly, I'm feeling pretty fragile right about now.
His persona now is quite different that what he'd shown me while we were in the barn. I have no blindfold, no gag, there are no floggers or canes or clamps in sight, just he, and I, and these mild restraints. I'm actually feeling pretty comfortable, despite the lingering bruises on my breasts and general body aches - the kind you get when you've overexerted yourself, when your muscles are sore but you know you've worked them hard, so it's a good kind of sore.
He sits on the edge of the bed so that he faces me, with his body slightly turned toward me. He regards me for a moment or two, long enough that I start to wonder what he's looking for. Without saying a word, he reaches a hand between my legs and begins stroking his property, pressing on my clit, then dragging his fingers down my pussy, then sliding one finger inside me. I sigh, because it feels good, and because he's being very gentle right now.
"There's more than one kind of pain, you know," he says, conversationally. "You did pretty well, earlier, my whore; let's see how you do with another."
I'm a bit startled, to be honest. The last thing I want to endure is more pain. I was actually hoping he would bring me to climax now, as a reward for earlier. I can't imagine what he's trying to accomplish, or teach me, or whatever his thought process is. Haven't I been good for him? Haven't I cooperated, and not fought him? I close my eyes and try to beat back a wave of disappointment. In my head, I know that I have given him control; I have agreed to be obedient and submit to his will to the best of my ability, but oh, God, this is hard to accept.
I open my eyes, and when I catch his glance, he bends his head and captures my nipple in his mouth. I suck in my breath on a gasp, because it's really sensitive - not painful, really, but I feel the peak pebble up immediately and a frisson of slow desire rolls through me. My back arches, pressing my breast up into his mouth, and I tug on my bound wrists. There's really nowhere I can go, of course; I simply must lie there, quiescent, accepting his attentions as he sees fit to give them.
His fingers continue their questing exploration of my pussy, stroking and gliding and pressing, and his mouth feasts on my breast, his tongue laving over the nipple, his lips suckling me. It's good, really, good, and I'm wet, and I can hear a squelching sound when he pumps his fingers inside me. My hips try to rock against his fingers, but tied as I am, it's a futile attempt. His fingers do some little twisting thing, and I gasp, then moan loudly, squeezing my eyes shut and arching my back. Holy hell, that was amazing, and my level of desire immediately kicks up a notch. Well, several notches, really.
His sweet torture continues, his fingers dipping and rubbing and sliding, his mouth hot and wet and occasionally nipping me. Even tied and positioned as I am, I can feel a trickle ow sweat snake its way down my back, and my breaths are coming in short pants, my heart driving a quick beat in my chest. I squirm, and moan, and arch, and yes, yes, I'm close, so close, feeling my climax drawing nearer ....
Master pulls his mouth off my nipple with a soft pop, and I whine in disappointment at the loss.
"What's the matter, whore?" His voice is soft, but his tone is not. I barely hear him, caught up in the razor's edge of desire that I'm currently balancing on.
Through panting, stuttering breaths I say, "Wanna cum, Master. So, so close, so close. Please, may I cum? Please, Master, please?"
He leans closer, speaks even more softly. "Awww, does my whore want to cum? Does it hurt, whore?"
"Yes," I hiss, and it's not untrue. The ache between my legs is past the fun happy kind and rapidly approaching the too-long-denied, deep-throbbing-ache stage. I shift and pull against my binds, and give a sharp cry, because he's keeping me right on the edge and it hurts, and I wanna cum, dammit.
"Please, Master," I try again. "Please, it hurts, please can your whore cum now?"
And then, incredibly, his fingers slow, then stop, and he pulls them free from my pussy. I give another cry, of disappointment and not understanding and incredulous stupefaction - I am aching fiercely, here! Hello! I tug at my bonds again, but Master merely brings his juice-soaked fingers to my lips. I open my mouth automatically and suck them clean, in between my panting breaths. When he deems his fingers clean enough, he sits back and looks at me.
"I am your Master, aren't I, whore?" he muses. I can only look at him, and blink, and lick my lips, and ache, fiercely, a deep inner burning and need and longing surging through my body. I groan in frustration. He ignores that. "You have given yourself to me, and I use you for my own pleasure, correct?"
I nod, still panting, still squirming, and I can feel my legs trembling now. Funny, I hadn't noticed that before. I whine again before I can help myself.
"I have decided that I don't want you to cum right now," he continues. "In fact, you are not to cum until I say so."
I'm sure I'm gaping at him. But he merely reaches up and loosens the bonds at my wrists. I bring my arms down - my shoulders are aching, too - and rub my wrists against the ghost feeling of the bindings. He walks down and unties my left foot, then comes around the end of the bed and unties my right foot. I try to curl up in a ball, squeezing my thighs together to help relieve the deep, nearly painful aching, but he stops me. He tells me get dressed and go downstairs, and mechanically, I roll off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs, then gather up my clothes and pull them on.
I go to the door, slowly, feeling that terrible deep ache and need with every step, though truth be told, it is beginning to fade just the tiniest bit. He merely raises one eyebrow at me, so I go out the door and down the stairs to the living room, where I curl up on the couch. I have to believe there's a reason, but damned if I know what it is.
I'm stretched out on the bed, that beautiful four-poster, and Master has just finished binding me. My hands are bound together at the wrists above my head, and my ankles are each tied to one of the posts. My legs, quite obviously, are spread open to allow him easy access to my pussy and inner thighs.
After the scene out in the barn, he'd given me a bottle of water, for which I was grateful. I'd felt wrung out, and so, so tired, and very sore. We'd made our way back to the house and he allowed me a nap. I needed it. And honestly, I needed some quiet time to process the intensity of the scene. I wasn't kidding when I said I was doubting my sanity. When I'm in pain like that, I can't help but wonder why the fuck I allow that to happen. And then I have to process everything that happened and reconcile it.
Which brings me here, bound to the bed. I'm pretty sure he's not going to be gentle with me, despite what he'd put me through earlier, and honestly, I'm feeling pretty fragile right about now.
His persona now is quite different that what he'd shown me while we were in the barn. I have no blindfold, no gag, there are no floggers or canes or clamps in sight, just he, and I, and these mild restraints. I'm actually feeling pretty comfortable, despite the lingering bruises on my breasts and general body aches - the kind you get when you've overexerted yourself, when your muscles are sore but you know you've worked them hard, so it's a good kind of sore.
He sits on the edge of the bed so that he faces me, with his body slightly turned toward me. He regards me for a moment or two, long enough that I start to wonder what he's looking for. Without saying a word, he reaches a hand between my legs and begins stroking his property, pressing on my clit, then dragging his fingers down my pussy, then sliding one finger inside me. I sigh, because it feels good, and because he's being very gentle right now.
"There's more than one kind of pain, you know," he says, conversationally. "You did pretty well, earlier, my whore; let's see how you do with another."
I'm a bit startled, to be honest. The last thing I want to endure is more pain. I was actually hoping he would bring me to climax now, as a reward for earlier. I can't imagine what he's trying to accomplish, or teach me, or whatever his thought process is. Haven't I been good for him? Haven't I cooperated, and not fought him? I close my eyes and try to beat back a wave of disappointment. In my head, I know that I have given him control; I have agreed to be obedient and submit to his will to the best of my ability, but oh, God, this is hard to accept.
I open my eyes, and when I catch his glance, he bends his head and captures my nipple in his mouth. I suck in my breath on a gasp, because it's really sensitive - not painful, really, but I feel the peak pebble up immediately and a frisson of slow desire rolls through me. My back arches, pressing my breast up into his mouth, and I tug on my bound wrists. There's really nowhere I can go, of course; I simply must lie there, quiescent, accepting his attentions as he sees fit to give them.
His fingers continue their questing exploration of my pussy, stroking and gliding and pressing, and his mouth feasts on my breast, his tongue laving over the nipple, his lips suckling me. It's good, really, good, and I'm wet, and I can hear a squelching sound when he pumps his fingers inside me. My hips try to rock against his fingers, but tied as I am, it's a futile attempt. His fingers do some little twisting thing, and I gasp, then moan loudly, squeezing my eyes shut and arching my back. Holy hell, that was amazing, and my level of desire immediately kicks up a notch. Well, several notches, really.
His sweet torture continues, his fingers dipping and rubbing and sliding, his mouth hot and wet and occasionally nipping me. Even tied and positioned as I am, I can feel a trickle ow sweat snake its way down my back, and my breaths are coming in short pants, my heart driving a quick beat in my chest. I squirm, and moan, and arch, and yes, yes, I'm close, so close, feeling my climax drawing nearer ....
Master pulls his mouth off my nipple with a soft pop, and I whine in disappointment at the loss.
"What's the matter, whore?" His voice is soft, but his tone is not. I barely hear him, caught up in the razor's edge of desire that I'm currently balancing on.
Through panting, stuttering breaths I say, "Wanna cum, Master. So, so close, so close. Please, may I cum? Please, Master, please?"
He leans closer, speaks even more softly. "Awww, does my whore want to cum? Does it hurt, whore?"
"Yes," I hiss, and it's not untrue. The ache between my legs is past the fun happy kind and rapidly approaching the too-long-denied, deep-throbbing-ache stage. I shift and pull against my binds, and give a sharp cry, because he's keeping me right on the edge and it hurts, and I wanna cum, dammit.
"Please, Master," I try again. "Please, it hurts, please can your whore cum now?"
And then, incredibly, his fingers slow, then stop, and he pulls them free from my pussy. I give another cry, of disappointment and not understanding and incredulous stupefaction - I am aching fiercely, here! Hello! I tug at my bonds again, but Master merely brings his juice-soaked fingers to my lips. I open my mouth automatically and suck them clean, in between my panting breaths. When he deems his fingers clean enough, he sits back and looks at me.
"I am your Master, aren't I, whore?" he muses. I can only look at him, and blink, and lick my lips, and ache, fiercely, a deep inner burning and need and longing surging through my body. I groan in frustration. He ignores that. "You have given yourself to me, and I use you for my own pleasure, correct?"
I nod, still panting, still squirming, and I can feel my legs trembling now. Funny, I hadn't noticed that before. I whine again before I can help myself.
"I have decided that I don't want you to cum right now," he continues. "In fact, you are not to cum until I say so."
I'm sure I'm gaping at him. But he merely reaches up and loosens the bonds at my wrists. I bring my arms down - my shoulders are aching, too - and rub my wrists against the ghost feeling of the bindings. He walks down and unties my left foot, then comes around the end of the bed and unties my right foot. I try to curl up in a ball, squeezing my thighs together to help relieve the deep, nearly painful aching, but he stops me. He tells me get dressed and go downstairs, and mechanically, I roll off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs, then gather up my clothes and pull them on.
I go to the door, slowly, feeling that terrible deep ache and need with every step, though truth be told, it is beginning to fade just the tiniest bit. He merely raises one eyebrow at me, so I go out the door and down the stairs to the living room, where I curl up on the couch. I have to believe there's a reason, but damned if I know what it is.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Unfettered, Part V
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
Master leads me outside, and I blink rapidly against the strong morning sun. I still don't know how he managed to find this house, in this isolated location, but whichever direction I turn, I cannot see another house, or a road (other than the driveway), or any sign of population. In my own searches for vacation rental properties, I haven't been able to locate anything this isolated.
We wander back behind the house into a nice-sized yard, well-maintained, with a stepping-stone walkway which meanders toward the back of the yard. Master directs me onto the path, and as I near the treeline at the edge of the yard, I see a patch of white daisies dancing in the shadow of the trees. That makes me smile.
I duck into the trees, following a faded but still visible trail. It's a bit cooler here, out of the direct sun, but the trees aren't very thick, so sunlight dapples the ground. After just a few minutes I reach a clearing, of sorts; I come out of the trees into a cleared area, with mowed grass and, of all things, a small red barn. It's exactly the stereotypical little red barn, complete with faded white trim and a hex sign painted on its side. The door is thrown wide, so I wander inside.
It's quite small: 3 stalls for hoses along one side, a small tack room opposite, and a large bin which must have been used for storage of oats or other feed. To my right, a set of stairs along the wall leads up to what I assume is a loft. Spaced evenly in the center of the hall, supporting the loft, are two stout beams. The beam closest to me catches my eye; on the floor surrounding its base is a soft-looking blanket. Well, I don't know for sure it's a blanket, but it sure looks like it from here.
Master comes in behind me, passes me, disappears into the old tack room. He emerges with a small black duffel bag - I have no idea when he managed to secrete it here - and walks back toward me, stopping next to the closest beam. Then he tells me to join him.
Actually, what he says is, "Come here, whore." My feet are moving before he finishes his sentence.
I stop before him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, but I stay silent. He considers me for a moment.
"Position I," he says. I shimmy out of my clothes and toe off my sandals, then kneel on the blankets (there are two, I see) with my head bent and my hands resting palms-up on my knees. I hear a zipper as he opens the duffel, and I close my eyes. I try not to listen as he roots around, pulling out whatever he's pulling out, and I focus on keeping my breathing steady. I shift on my knees, because even with the blankets, the barn floor is really hard, and my knees aren't too happy. Master comes to stand before me, grasping my chin in his fingers and pulling me to my feet. I stumble a little, but manage to keep my balance.
Master is still holding my chin. His fingers are squeezing, digging in, and I'm uncomfortable. "Who owns you?" he asks.
"You do, Master," I say.
He seems satisfied with that, at least for now; he tells me to close my eyes, and when I comply, he places a blindfold on me. I feel it when he picks up my collar, running his fingers along the chain. He lets it drop back to my chest, then presses a finger on the charm, so that the edges of the metal disk dig into the skin over my sternum. I can't help wincing; it hurts when he does that. His hand grasps me by the throat, and my heart leaps. I'm sure he can feel my pulse thrumming madly under his fingers.
He shoves me backwards, still gripping my throat, and my feet stumble backwards three or four steps. Then my back hits the beam and I jolt to a stop. My head bounces off the beam, then, and I swear quietly ("Ow! Dammit!"). There's a splinter or something poking my lower back, and I squirm, trying to shift my position and get away from that offending sharp piece. Though honestly, a splinter will soon be the least discomfort I will feel.
"Hands above your head," he orders, and I raise my arms and rest the backs of my hands on the wooden beam. He steps close enough that I feel his body leaning against me as he wraps what feels like soft rope around my wrists, winding it around each hand and then around the beam, until my hands are held securely to the beam. I give an experimental tug; there's not much play there, enough that I could probably twist my body to face the post, but not nearly enough to take a full step away.
"Open your feet," he commands, and I shuffle my feet apart, opening my legs, leaning more of my weight against the unforgiving roughness of the beam. "Open your mouth," he says, and he slides my bit gag between my teeth. Ugh. I drop my head forward so he can fasten the buckle holding the bit in place. I bite it, gently, testing it; there's not much play here, either. So I'm bound, blindfolded, and gagged; I cannot see, speak, or move more than a step in any direction. My heart is thudding wildly in my chest, my breathing quick and shallow around the bit, my ears straining for clues as to what's coming.
I hear the tell-tale rattling and clinking of the clover clamps, and I wish to God he won't use them again so soon .... he steps in front of me, one hand grasping my left nipple, rolling it, teasing it, and I can feel it tightening, growing taut. He attaches the clamp and I groan around the bit; I hate hate hate these things, they just hurt so much. He drops the other clamp, and its weight pulls painfully against my clamped nipple, forcing a stifled scream from me. Fuck, but that hurts. I hiss around the bit, because the free clamp is swinging, and every movement of that chain pulls against the clamp on my nipple, and it just never. stops. hurting.
He picks up the free clamp and teases my right nipple; I think he has to work a bit more for this one, since my body isn't quite so eager right now. Soon enough he attaches the other clamp, then tugs on the chain to test the tightness of the clamps. Fuck, fuck. I drop my head back against the beam and just moan pitifully. God damn, but I hate this. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already questioning my sanity - and my ability to endure.
Suddenly, a sharp sting lashes across my upper legs. I jump, and cry out, though it's muffled by the gag. I suspect he's using the flogger, but I'm not really thinking clearly; not only am I feeling the residual sting from his strike, but I've jostled the clamps, and they are biting fiercely into the tender flesh of my nipples. That hurts far worse than the flogger, in my opinion, and it never stops, never lessens, never eases, it just goes on and on. I try to prepare myself for the next strike, but when it falls, I flinch, sucking in a harsh breath before moaning. He brings the flogger down on my thighs, my stomach, my calves, varying the placement with each strike, and I moan or scream or whimper every single time. I am trying to hold myself as still as possible, hoping to minimize the pain in my nipples, but I can't see where he is, so I can't tell where his next strike is going to fall, so I can't really steel myself not to react - so I jolt and twist and buck every time, and the clamps on my nipples bite and dig and hurt so very much, and then finally I just kind of - give up. It hurts so bad, and I hang my head and cry, shaking, which of course jostles the clamps, which hurts more, so I cry harder, so I shake more - it's miserable.
Right now, in this second, I hate him. And I despair for my own sanity, agreeing to it in the first place.
Eventually I hear a muffled thud, which I think means he's dropped the flogger. I'm sure I look a mess, with the tear tracks on my face, and my nose is running. I sniffle, and wince, because no matter how hard I try to be still, I keep shifting/moving/twitching, and the clamps keep biting me. Master's hand touches my cheek, startling me, and I flinch, and wince, and moan yet again. He takes the clamp off my left nipple - none too gently, I can assure you - and I scream around the gag at the huge flare of pain that causes. He removes the right clamp, and I scream again, and fresh tears cascade down my face. I just hurt so, so much, and what I really want is to be able to wrap my arms over my poor abused breasts and hug them to me, but of course, I'm bound and I can't move.
He removes the blindfold then, and I blink several times, both at the brightness of the light in the barn and to try and clear the film of tears still clouding my vision. Next he unbuckles the bit, and I work my jaw, trying to relieve the stiffness in its joints. He bends his head and captures my gaze.
"Who owns you, whore?"
"You do, Master." My voice is thick, and unsteady, even in my own ears, and I have to fight against my instinct to drop my eyes.
He gazes at me for several long seconds, then straightens and begins unwinding my bonds. When I am free, I drop my arms and stretch out my shoulders, which ache from being in that position for so long. And then I do cross my arms over my chest and press against my tender, still-hurting breasts. I wipe my eyes, scrub my hands over my cheeks - and then, without being told, I again assume Position I. I know he is not done with me, so I wait for him to tell me what's happening next.
Master leads me outside, and I blink rapidly against the strong morning sun. I still don't know how he managed to find this house, in this isolated location, but whichever direction I turn, I cannot see another house, or a road (other than the driveway), or any sign of population. In my own searches for vacation rental properties, I haven't been able to locate anything this isolated.
We wander back behind the house into a nice-sized yard, well-maintained, with a stepping-stone walkway which meanders toward the back of the yard. Master directs me onto the path, and as I near the treeline at the edge of the yard, I see a patch of white daisies dancing in the shadow of the trees. That makes me smile.
I duck into the trees, following a faded but still visible trail. It's a bit cooler here, out of the direct sun, but the trees aren't very thick, so sunlight dapples the ground. After just a few minutes I reach a clearing, of sorts; I come out of the trees into a cleared area, with mowed grass and, of all things, a small red barn. It's exactly the stereotypical little red barn, complete with faded white trim and a hex sign painted on its side. The door is thrown wide, so I wander inside.
It's quite small: 3 stalls for hoses along one side, a small tack room opposite, and a large bin which must have been used for storage of oats or other feed. To my right, a set of stairs along the wall leads up to what I assume is a loft. Spaced evenly in the center of the hall, supporting the loft, are two stout beams. The beam closest to me catches my eye; on the floor surrounding its base is a soft-looking blanket. Well, I don't know for sure it's a blanket, but it sure looks like it from here.
Master comes in behind me, passes me, disappears into the old tack room. He emerges with a small black duffel bag - I have no idea when he managed to secrete it here - and walks back toward me, stopping next to the closest beam. Then he tells me to join him.
Actually, what he says is, "Come here, whore." My feet are moving before he finishes his sentence.
I stop before him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, but I stay silent. He considers me for a moment.
"Position I," he says. I shimmy out of my clothes and toe off my sandals, then kneel on the blankets (there are two, I see) with my head bent and my hands resting palms-up on my knees. I hear a zipper as he opens the duffel, and I close my eyes. I try not to listen as he roots around, pulling out whatever he's pulling out, and I focus on keeping my breathing steady. I shift on my knees, because even with the blankets, the barn floor is really hard, and my knees aren't too happy. Master comes to stand before me, grasping my chin in his fingers and pulling me to my feet. I stumble a little, but manage to keep my balance.
Master is still holding my chin. His fingers are squeezing, digging in, and I'm uncomfortable. "Who owns you?" he asks.
"You do, Master," I say.
He seems satisfied with that, at least for now; he tells me to close my eyes, and when I comply, he places a blindfold on me. I feel it when he picks up my collar, running his fingers along the chain. He lets it drop back to my chest, then presses a finger on the charm, so that the edges of the metal disk dig into the skin over my sternum. I can't help wincing; it hurts when he does that. His hand grasps me by the throat, and my heart leaps. I'm sure he can feel my pulse thrumming madly under his fingers.
He shoves me backwards, still gripping my throat, and my feet stumble backwards three or four steps. Then my back hits the beam and I jolt to a stop. My head bounces off the beam, then, and I swear quietly ("Ow! Dammit!"). There's a splinter or something poking my lower back, and I squirm, trying to shift my position and get away from that offending sharp piece. Though honestly, a splinter will soon be the least discomfort I will feel.
"Hands above your head," he orders, and I raise my arms and rest the backs of my hands on the wooden beam. He steps close enough that I feel his body leaning against me as he wraps what feels like soft rope around my wrists, winding it around each hand and then around the beam, until my hands are held securely to the beam. I give an experimental tug; there's not much play there, enough that I could probably twist my body to face the post, but not nearly enough to take a full step away.
"Open your feet," he commands, and I shuffle my feet apart, opening my legs, leaning more of my weight against the unforgiving roughness of the beam. "Open your mouth," he says, and he slides my bit gag between my teeth. Ugh. I drop my head forward so he can fasten the buckle holding the bit in place. I bite it, gently, testing it; there's not much play here, either. So I'm bound, blindfolded, and gagged; I cannot see, speak, or move more than a step in any direction. My heart is thudding wildly in my chest, my breathing quick and shallow around the bit, my ears straining for clues as to what's coming.
I hear the tell-tale rattling and clinking of the clover clamps, and I wish to God he won't use them again so soon .... he steps in front of me, one hand grasping my left nipple, rolling it, teasing it, and I can feel it tightening, growing taut. He attaches the clamp and I groan around the bit; I hate hate hate these things, they just hurt so much. He drops the other clamp, and its weight pulls painfully against my clamped nipple, forcing a stifled scream from me. Fuck, but that hurts. I hiss around the bit, because the free clamp is swinging, and every movement of that chain pulls against the clamp on my nipple, and it just never. stops. hurting.
He picks up the free clamp and teases my right nipple; I think he has to work a bit more for this one, since my body isn't quite so eager right now. Soon enough he attaches the other clamp, then tugs on the chain to test the tightness of the clamps. Fuck, fuck. I drop my head back against the beam and just moan pitifully. God damn, but I hate this. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already questioning my sanity - and my ability to endure.
Suddenly, a sharp sting lashes across my upper legs. I jump, and cry out, though it's muffled by the gag. I suspect he's using the flogger, but I'm not really thinking clearly; not only am I feeling the residual sting from his strike, but I've jostled the clamps, and they are biting fiercely into the tender flesh of my nipples. That hurts far worse than the flogger, in my opinion, and it never stops, never lessens, never eases, it just goes on and on. I try to prepare myself for the next strike, but when it falls, I flinch, sucking in a harsh breath before moaning. He brings the flogger down on my thighs, my stomach, my calves, varying the placement with each strike, and I moan or scream or whimper every single time. I am trying to hold myself as still as possible, hoping to minimize the pain in my nipples, but I can't see where he is, so I can't tell where his next strike is going to fall, so I can't really steel myself not to react - so I jolt and twist and buck every time, and the clamps on my nipples bite and dig and hurt so very much, and then finally I just kind of - give up. It hurts so bad, and I hang my head and cry, shaking, which of course jostles the clamps, which hurts more, so I cry harder, so I shake more - it's miserable.
Right now, in this second, I hate him. And I despair for my own sanity, agreeing to it in the first place.
Eventually I hear a muffled thud, which I think means he's dropped the flogger. I'm sure I look a mess, with the tear tracks on my face, and my nose is running. I sniffle, and wince, because no matter how hard I try to be still, I keep shifting/moving/twitching, and the clamps keep biting me. Master's hand touches my cheek, startling me, and I flinch, and wince, and moan yet again. He takes the clamp off my left nipple - none too gently, I can assure you - and I scream around the gag at the huge flare of pain that causes. He removes the right clamp, and I scream again, and fresh tears cascade down my face. I just hurt so, so much, and what I really want is to be able to wrap my arms over my poor abused breasts and hug them to me, but of course, I'm bound and I can't move.
He removes the blindfold then, and I blink several times, both at the brightness of the light in the barn and to try and clear the film of tears still clouding my vision. Next he unbuckles the bit, and I work my jaw, trying to relieve the stiffness in its joints. He bends his head and captures my gaze.
"Who owns you, whore?"
"You do, Master." My voice is thick, and unsteady, even in my own ears, and I have to fight against my instinct to drop my eyes.
He gazes at me for several long seconds, then straightens and begins unwinding my bonds. When I am free, I drop my arms and stretch out my shoulders, which ache from being in that position for so long. And then I do cross my arms over my chest and press against my tender, still-hurting breasts. I wipe my eyes, scrub my hands over my cheeks - and then, without being told, I again assume Position I. I know he is not done with me, so I wait for him to tell me what's happening next.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Unfettered, Part IV
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
I wake in the morning, and stretch languidly. I'd indulged in a long soak in the tub last night, so I'm not feeling too sore this morning, thankfully. The bruises on my breasts are a lovely deep purple now; I will bear those marks for several days, perhaps longer. I like them very much.
I roll quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Master, and head to the bathroom, where I quickly take care of business, wash up, and brush my teeth. Master like to be awakened by my mouth on his cock, but I can't abide doing it when my teeth feel furry from sleeping all night. Eewww. So with my now-minty mouth, I take a deep breath, and tiptoe back tot he bedroom.
Master is lying partly on his side, partly on his back, with the sheet kind of twisted around him. I climb back on the bed - I can't help it now if I wake him - and gently tug the sheet away from his body. He stirs a little, and I bend down, bracing my weight on my arms, and pull his cock into my mouth. I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to his musky scent, and stroke the tip of my tongue along his length. I gag, then, because I always do, but it's a little one, so I don't stop what I'm doing. My arms are getting a little tired already so I shift my position a bit, changing the angle of my mouth, working now to pull him as deep as I can while his cock swells and lengthens in my mouth. I know that soon enough I won't be able to take him all, so I do it now while I still can.
He groans softly, and shifts more to his back, so I follow, not allowing his cock to slip past my lips. He pulls in a deep breath and says, "Good morning, whore."
I pull away just long enough to reply to him, "Good morning, Master," then immediately latch onto his cock once again. He's harder now, almost too thick, and my lips stretch wide and my jaw pops as I try to accommodate his size. I whine in response to the jaw pop, cuz that smarted quite a bit. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head and I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to relax as he presses my head toward his groin, forcing his cock all the way to the back of my throat. That makes me gag, hard, and I have to fight with myself to remain still and not pull away. I am rewarded with a husky "Good girl."
He lets go, and I resume bobbing my head, pulling his cock in and letting it slide out, over and over again. "You are a good little cocksucker, my whore," he murmurs. I gag again, and this time I feel my stomach lurch, so I pull away and cough, my eyes tearing. Ugh. I hate when that happens. When I bend down again, he tells me to give him his pussy. I pivot on my knees so that he can easily reach his prize, then turn my attention to sucking his cock once again.
His fingers are questing, pressing inside me then pulling back out, and I open my knees wider for him. I find it difficult to concentrate on sucking him while his fingers are pounding inside me, and when he rubs my clit, it's with so much pressure that it's not pleasant at all, but uncomfortable. I squirm, pulling away from him, and he smacks my ass hard and tells me to stay still. Now I am trying to give him a good, thorough morning blow job, but his fingers are still pressing so firmly that it almost, almost hurts, and I don't like that at all. I close my eyes and chant to myself, "OK, OK, OK, OK..." It helps a little, but really, my jaw has locked and hurts like a bitch, my clit is not happy, my pussy is beginning to feel sore, and my arms ache from holding myself up.
I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and start stroking him in time with my sucking. I hope he allows me to make him cum; that would be a fine start to our day. I feel him shift position again, and his hand drops from my pussy and grasps my leg. Then, he starts speaking - or demanding, really.
"Do you like sucking my cock, whore? Has my whore missed my cock?" I hum agreement without letting loose of him - "Mmm-hmm, mmmm, mmm, " - and stroke him faster, swirling my tongue over him while I pull and slide and push. He bucks his hips up, nearly gagging me yet again.
"Do you want my cum? Do you?"
This time I do lift my head to answer him, rubbing the side of my cheek all over his cock while I reply. "Yes, Master, yes, I do." And I drop my head and pull him right back into my mouth, sucking him as hard as I can, wanting his cum, wanting to swallow his essence. He begins thrusting his hips up, fucking my mouth, and I lean back just a bit, just to prevent myself from gagging, as this is definitely not the time for it.
"If you want it, you need to take it," he says, and his voice is deep and fierce. I know he's getting close, and I want nothing else in this moment but to have him spill himself in my mouth. My heart is racing, my arms trembling, my knees sore, and if my mouth were not otherwise occupied, I would be panting. "Are you ready, whore? Take it, take it, take every drop, take it," his voice is commanding, and then his body stiffens and he groans. Thick spurts of cum fill my mouth and I swallow, and swallow, and swallow, my hand still wrapped around his cock, my tongue still working his shaft in between bursts. He slowly relaxes into the mattress, and still he's cumming, and still I'm swallowing, because I really do not want to miss any.
At last, he's finished, and I carefully pull my mouth away, coating his cock with my tongue, careful to lap up any drops of his precious essence as it oozes lazily form his spent cock. I have to lick him several times to capture it all, and when at last every drop has been consumed, I flop on my side, panting harshly. I'm covered in sweat, my body is trembling, his taste still on my tongue. I lean forward to rest my forehead against his knee, content to rest here beside him. And I say, gratefully, "Thank you, Master."
I wake in the morning, and stretch languidly. I'd indulged in a long soak in the tub last night, so I'm not feeling too sore this morning, thankfully. The bruises on my breasts are a lovely deep purple now; I will bear those marks for several days, perhaps longer. I like them very much.
I roll quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Master, and head to the bathroom, where I quickly take care of business, wash up, and brush my teeth. Master like to be awakened by my mouth on his cock, but I can't abide doing it when my teeth feel furry from sleeping all night. Eewww. So with my now-minty mouth, I take a deep breath, and tiptoe back tot he bedroom.
Master is lying partly on his side, partly on his back, with the sheet kind of twisted around him. I climb back on the bed - I can't help it now if I wake him - and gently tug the sheet away from his body. He stirs a little, and I bend down, bracing my weight on my arms, and pull his cock into my mouth. I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to his musky scent, and stroke the tip of my tongue along his length. I gag, then, because I always do, but it's a little one, so I don't stop what I'm doing. My arms are getting a little tired already so I shift my position a bit, changing the angle of my mouth, working now to pull him as deep as I can while his cock swells and lengthens in my mouth. I know that soon enough I won't be able to take him all, so I do it now while I still can.
He groans softly, and shifts more to his back, so I follow, not allowing his cock to slip past my lips. He pulls in a deep breath and says, "Good morning, whore."
I pull away just long enough to reply to him, "Good morning, Master," then immediately latch onto his cock once again. He's harder now, almost too thick, and my lips stretch wide and my jaw pops as I try to accommodate his size. I whine in response to the jaw pop, cuz that smarted quite a bit. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head and I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to relax as he presses my head toward his groin, forcing his cock all the way to the back of my throat. That makes me gag, hard, and I have to fight with myself to remain still and not pull away. I am rewarded with a husky "Good girl."
He lets go, and I resume bobbing my head, pulling his cock in and letting it slide out, over and over again. "You are a good little cocksucker, my whore," he murmurs. I gag again, and this time I feel my stomach lurch, so I pull away and cough, my eyes tearing. Ugh. I hate when that happens. When I bend down again, he tells me to give him his pussy. I pivot on my knees so that he can easily reach his prize, then turn my attention to sucking his cock once again.
His fingers are questing, pressing inside me then pulling back out, and I open my knees wider for him. I find it difficult to concentrate on sucking him while his fingers are pounding inside me, and when he rubs my clit, it's with so much pressure that it's not pleasant at all, but uncomfortable. I squirm, pulling away from him, and he smacks my ass hard and tells me to stay still. Now I am trying to give him a good, thorough morning blow job, but his fingers are still pressing so firmly that it almost, almost hurts, and I don't like that at all. I close my eyes and chant to myself, "OK, OK, OK, OK..." It helps a little, but really, my jaw has locked and hurts like a bitch, my clit is not happy, my pussy is beginning to feel sore, and my arms ache from holding myself up.
I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and start stroking him in time with my sucking. I hope he allows me to make him cum; that would be a fine start to our day. I feel him shift position again, and his hand drops from my pussy and grasps my leg. Then, he starts speaking - or demanding, really.
"Do you like sucking my cock, whore? Has my whore missed my cock?" I hum agreement without letting loose of him - "Mmm-hmm, mmmm, mmm, " - and stroke him faster, swirling my tongue over him while I pull and slide and push. He bucks his hips up, nearly gagging me yet again.
"Do you want my cum? Do you?"
This time I do lift my head to answer him, rubbing the side of my cheek all over his cock while I reply. "Yes, Master, yes, I do." And I drop my head and pull him right back into my mouth, sucking him as hard as I can, wanting his cum, wanting to swallow his essence. He begins thrusting his hips up, fucking my mouth, and I lean back just a bit, just to prevent myself from gagging, as this is definitely not the time for it.
"If you want it, you need to take it," he says, and his voice is deep and fierce. I know he's getting close, and I want nothing else in this moment but to have him spill himself in my mouth. My heart is racing, my arms trembling, my knees sore, and if my mouth were not otherwise occupied, I would be panting. "Are you ready, whore? Take it, take it, take every drop, take it," his voice is commanding, and then his body stiffens and he groans. Thick spurts of cum fill my mouth and I swallow, and swallow, and swallow, my hand still wrapped around his cock, my tongue still working his shaft in between bursts. He slowly relaxes into the mattress, and still he's cumming, and still I'm swallowing, because I really do not want to miss any.
At last, he's finished, and I carefully pull my mouth away, coating his cock with my tongue, careful to lap up any drops of his precious essence as it oozes lazily form his spent cock. I have to lick him several times to capture it all, and when at last every drop has been consumed, I flop on my side, panting harshly. I'm covered in sweat, my body is trembling, his taste still on my tongue. I lean forward to rest my forehead against his knee, content to rest here beside him. And I say, gratefully, "Thank you, Master."
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Unfettered, Part III
This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.
I don't know, really, how long we've lain here, but gradually I become aware that there is a crick in my neck, my arm and shoulder feel numb, and the sweat on my body has dried, so I feel chilled. I shiver, and yawn, and Master's hand stops carding through my hair and rests on my shoulder. It's so very warm, his hand. My stomach chooses that moment to growl rather loudly, and Master chuckles. He shifts, so I pull away and sit up.
"Hungry, pet?" he asks. I duck my head a bit sheepishly, and affirm that yes, I could stand to eat something. We clamber off the bed, and I stoop to retrieve my discarded clothes, but Master tells me not to get dressed, so I just step over them instead, and head downstairs. The wood floor is cold under my feet, but thankfully, most of the downstairs area in the house is covered with area rugs. I take a seat at the kitchen table (oh, my god, the chair is so cold against my skin!) while Master rummages through the cabinets for some cooking pots. In a surprisingly short time we are sampling succulent pork chops cooked with onions and apples, and tender mixed vegetables. As I've mentioned, Master is a terrific cook, and I eagerly eat what he's graciously prepared for me.
After the clean-up, we move to the living room, where Master sits on the couch to relax with some TV. When I try to join him, he stops me.
"Why, pet - do you think pets should be allowed on the furniture?"
I say nothing, but lower myself to the floor next to him, close enough to lean against his leg and rest my head on his knee. The floor feels very hard under the thin rug, and I have to shift position every few minutes to relieve the pressure. I wrap an arm around Master's leg, and he allows it. I sigh in contentment; I enjoy being quiet with him like this. We watch TV for a while, him on the couch, me sitting in the floor at his feet. I like it, even when my joints begin to tire from my cramped position.
Eventually, Master's hand pets my head, once, twice, a third time; then his fingers tangle in my hair, and he pulls my head back, so that I am gazing up at him.
"Are you enjoying yourself, pet?" he asks.
"Yes, Master," I reply.
"And is my whore eager to please and serve her Master?" he asks. My heart skips a beat in anticipation, tinged with just a hint of nervousness. My mouth suddenly feels dry.
"Yes, Master," I say.
He lets go of my hair and leans forward to shove the coffee table out of the way. Then he leans back against the couch cushions. "I think my whore should suck my cock," he says.
I scoot around his foot to kneel before him, and lean forward to pull his cock in my mouth. I'm terribly conscious of the meal I've just had, and I'm a bit scared I'll gag myself enough to lose my dinner. I gag at least a couple times, every time. For now, though, I breathe as shallowly as I can, and focus on the way his cock feels as it fills my mouth, how it glides over my tongue, how it swells as I'm suckling him. I shift on my knees and wrap my hand around the base of his shaft, squeezing and stroking him while I continue to suck his cock. My jaw is tiring; I can feel it beginning to ache, and I'm having trouble opening my mouth wide. I do gag, then, and I pull away quickly, swallowing against the lurch in my stomach which threatens to bring up my recent meal.
Master take pity on me, then, and tells me to budge over, so I shift around his foot again so he can stand up. He tells me to follow him, and I start to stand - but he stops me. "No, pet. Crawl, please."
He heads for the stairs, trusting that I will comply and follow him. I get to my hands and knees - my poor aching knees! - and begin crawling after him. My knees are scuffed on the rug, and the wood floor beneath them feels almost like stone. The charm of my collar swings as I move, bouncing off my sternum and then swinging under my chin. It's awkward, crawling up those steps, but Master is waiting for me, so I slowly make my way up, and up, until finally, I reach the top. My knees feel a bit sore, to be honest; I sit back on my haunches for a minute to rest them.
When I glance up, Master is watching me with a smile quirking his lips. I crawl over to him and halt with my head touching the side of his leg. I'm a little bit tired, so I'm glad for this moment of quiet.
Master touches my head briefly, and commands me to follow him again. He strides into the largest bedroom again, and I follow on my hands and knees. When I reach him where he stands near the bed, he bids me to assume Position III. I stand up, swaying slightly on suddenly-wobbly legs, and clasp my hands behind my back, focusing my gaze on one of the ornately-carved bedposts. I can't help but remember what transpired in this room, with these very bedposts, mere hours ago, and I smile.
Master circles me, his hand trailing from my arm around my back and across my chest to my arm again. He comes to a stop in front of me, and puts his finger under my chin, tipping my head back until I meet his gaze.
"You have done well, my whore," he says. "You are not being punished; you are not in trouble. Remember that."
"Yes, Master."
With his eyes locked on mine, he cradles my right breast in his left palm, then raises his right hand and slaps my breast, hard. I let out a choked whimper as the sting registers. I can't honestly say it's incredibly painful, but it doesn't exactly tickle, either. He slaps me again, and I flinch. He gently runs his thumb over my nipple before allowing my breast to slide off his palm. I swallow, and blink rapidly. My flesh feels tender, and I'm sure bruises will be blossoming on my pale skin in just a few minutes. That, of course, is the whole point, a marking of his property, a claim of ownership. He cradles my left breast, and I tense, because I know what's coming - and yes, he slaps my breast hard, once, twice, a third time. The last crack seems somehow fiercer than the others, and I flinch again.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "I can see such pretty bruises already."
I look down at my breasts, and yes, already I can see darkened areas which roughly correspond to the shape of fingers. I smile, then, because I do like to have a few bruises for remembrance, and these are going to be dark and lovely.
Master pinches my nipple, drawing a hiss from me, then steps back. He sits on the edge of the bed, and tells me to come stand before him. I keep my hands tucked behind back as I comply. He reaches out and takes hold of my breasts, lifting them slightly as he inspects them. I imagine he is admiring the effects of his work, the imprints of his fingers. He begins to play with the nipples, rolling them between his fingers, lightly pinching them, almost absently playing with them as he contemplates me.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"I am your whore, Master," I reply.
"Mmm, yes, you are," he agrees, then falls silent for a moment. His fingers are continuing their sensual assault, and the lingering sting from his earlier slaps has faded. All I feel now it the way my nipples have pebbled, and how they respond to his touch. And even though he's used me, leaving me slightly sore, and allowed me to cum twice already today, I feel a tendril of sexual desire stirring within me.
"And are you a good whore?" he asks. Before I can answer, his hand snakes down to rub across my clit, causing me to suck in a surprised breath and stumble over my words.
"Y-yes, Master," I gasp, and my head dips back involuntarily before I catch myself. His fingers on my pussy are driving and firm, delving deep inside me, and already I can feel my juices coating his fingers. He pumps his fingers, in and out, in and out, making my legs tremble. I shift my feet a bit further apart to try and give him easier access. His thumb brushes over my clit, and my whole body shudders as I moan softly. Then he pulls away and offers his fingers to me, touching my lower lip, so I open my mouth and suck them clean.
His fingers return to my pussy, stroking me, pressing inside me, pulling out again, and all the while I'm trying to be stoic, but I can't help the little whimpers and moans which break from my lips. My body starts to bend forward of its own volition, and he commands me to stand up straight. I try, I really do, but it's becoming difficult, and then he orders, "Recite."
I open my mouth on another moan and begin speaking the seven stanzas of my devotional, my daily verbal affirmation to the ideals of submission that Master has set for me. Partway through the second line, my voice breaks as a strong wave of desire spears me. I shift my weight and try to twist away from the torture his fingers are causing - trying to be all subtle and unobtrusive about it, but of course, he knows what's happening and refuses to allow me to get away. I continue my recitation, my voice sometimes catching, sometimes rising, once even squeaking because the buildup of need and desire is stealing my breath. I finish my recital and he immediately orders me to recite again. The second recitation is breathier then the first, disjointed, and sometimes my voice breaks or I have to suck in a huge breath in the middle of a word. I'm swaying on my feet, battling to remain upright, because my body wants so badly to bend forward, trying to relieve the pressure of his fingers. I finally stumble my way to the end of my devotional, and fall silent - well, silent other than my panting and whimpers.
"Who are you?" he asks again.
"Your whore, M-master," I reply, and pant, and shudder. Honestly, I know I came twice already, but my pussy is dripping wet and I feel like I'm on fire, the need to cum is becoming urgent and I would really, really like to ease that fierce aching.
"And ...?" he prompts me.
I whimper again, then say, "Your sub, your pet, your slut, and your kitten, Master." I twist my fingers together behind my back; my arms are aching from being held behind my back for so long, and my legs feel like they're made of Jell-O, all wobbly and unstable. My head drops back and my eyes close, and I bite my lip to contain yet another moan. God dammit, I really want to cum.
"What's the matter, whore?" he wants to know. Oh, he's being evil. And God help me, but I kinda like it.
"Nothing's the matter, Master," I pant. No, really, I'm panting for real now, having a little trouble catching my breath, and my heart feels like it may hammer out of my chest. I straighten up as best I can, and twine my fingers together.
"No? All right," he says, and his fingers are fucking me as I stand there. If it is possible to writhe when standing, I'm doing it now, and I choke on a loud moan, because he has just brushed my clit again and honest to God, I think I may explode if he does that one more time. I shudder violently, almost losing my balance.
He plants his free hand against my back and pulls me closer, leaning up to capture my left nipple in his mouth. I drop my head back again and there's no containing the long, loud moan which breaks from my lips now. He leans back, capturing my nipple in his teeth and stretching my flesh as he pulls away, finally letting go with a quick nip. My body bucks as I suck in my breath, and I am trembling on the edge of climax right now, and it hurts, it's so consuming, and I really, really need to cum, now.
"Who owns you?" he demands, and his fingers, if possible, plunge deeper, stroke faster, press inside harder, and I give a sob of frustration and unmet need. He likes to do this, to bring me to the edge and force me to hover there, and it hurts so goddamn bad right now.
"You! You do, Master," I say, but my voice sounds strange in my ears, all thick and gravelly. "I am your whore, only yours." I'm panting like I've run a race, and my heart is pounding in my ears.
"MY whore," he says, and his voice is both triumphant and possessive. If I were not drowning in a maelstrom of my own desire, I might feel a touch of triumph, myself.
But finally, finally, Master decides I've endured long enough, and he leans in close once again. "Cum. Now."
My orgasm breaks over me, pulling me under and tossing me violently sideways, like the undertow in the ocean. If he were not bracing me I really think I would have fallen. I throw my head back and wail, my voice sounding a long, winding cry as my entire body tenses and then explodes. I have never experienced a blackout orgasm, like other people have described, but this one comes damned close, leaving me dizzy and almost disoriented when it passes. I find myself panting in great gasping breaths, my body shaking visibly, my head resting on Master's shoulder, though I do not remember leaning forward - or maybe I fell into him? I really don't know.
His hand is stroking my back - I love it when he does that - only I can't remember when he started. I just know that he is. I feel wrung out, and suddenly exhausted, and (this thought makes me laugh tiredly in my head) I think that this climax will hold me for a while. Master shifts so that I can basically fall onto the bed, and I curl up with my knees drawn up nearly to my chest, lying there next to him, panting and still trembling and utterly worn out. Perhaps in a while I'll have energy enough to go try out that amazing tub, and I will admire my bruises and soak away my soreness, but right now, I don't want to move even an inch.
Master draws up a light blanket and covers me with it, and I mumble a tired "Thank you, Master." And I mean it - not just for the blanket, not just for the orgasms, not just for my pretty bruises, but for the care and concern he shows as he guides and mentors and owns and commands me.
I don't know, really, how long we've lain here, but gradually I become aware that there is a crick in my neck, my arm and shoulder feel numb, and the sweat on my body has dried, so I feel chilled. I shiver, and yawn, and Master's hand stops carding through my hair and rests on my shoulder. It's so very warm, his hand. My stomach chooses that moment to growl rather loudly, and Master chuckles. He shifts, so I pull away and sit up.
"Hungry, pet?" he asks. I duck my head a bit sheepishly, and affirm that yes, I could stand to eat something. We clamber off the bed, and I stoop to retrieve my discarded clothes, but Master tells me not to get dressed, so I just step over them instead, and head downstairs. The wood floor is cold under my feet, but thankfully, most of the downstairs area in the house is covered with area rugs. I take a seat at the kitchen table (oh, my god, the chair is so cold against my skin!) while Master rummages through the cabinets for some cooking pots. In a surprisingly short time we are sampling succulent pork chops cooked with onions and apples, and tender mixed vegetables. As I've mentioned, Master is a terrific cook, and I eagerly eat what he's graciously prepared for me.
After the clean-up, we move to the living room, where Master sits on the couch to relax with some TV. When I try to join him, he stops me.
"Why, pet - do you think pets should be allowed on the furniture?"
I say nothing, but lower myself to the floor next to him, close enough to lean against his leg and rest my head on his knee. The floor feels very hard under the thin rug, and I have to shift position every few minutes to relieve the pressure. I wrap an arm around Master's leg, and he allows it. I sigh in contentment; I enjoy being quiet with him like this. We watch TV for a while, him on the couch, me sitting in the floor at his feet. I like it, even when my joints begin to tire from my cramped position.
Eventually, Master's hand pets my head, once, twice, a third time; then his fingers tangle in my hair, and he pulls my head back, so that I am gazing up at him.
"Are you enjoying yourself, pet?" he asks.
"Yes, Master," I reply.
"And is my whore eager to please and serve her Master?" he asks. My heart skips a beat in anticipation, tinged with just a hint of nervousness. My mouth suddenly feels dry.
"Yes, Master," I say.
He lets go of my hair and leans forward to shove the coffee table out of the way. Then he leans back against the couch cushions. "I think my whore should suck my cock," he says.
I scoot around his foot to kneel before him, and lean forward to pull his cock in my mouth. I'm terribly conscious of the meal I've just had, and I'm a bit scared I'll gag myself enough to lose my dinner. I gag at least a couple times, every time. For now, though, I breathe as shallowly as I can, and focus on the way his cock feels as it fills my mouth, how it glides over my tongue, how it swells as I'm suckling him. I shift on my knees and wrap my hand around the base of his shaft, squeezing and stroking him while I continue to suck his cock. My jaw is tiring; I can feel it beginning to ache, and I'm having trouble opening my mouth wide. I do gag, then, and I pull away quickly, swallowing against the lurch in my stomach which threatens to bring up my recent meal.
Master take pity on me, then, and tells me to budge over, so I shift around his foot again so he can stand up. He tells me to follow him, and I start to stand - but he stops me. "No, pet. Crawl, please."
He heads for the stairs, trusting that I will comply and follow him. I get to my hands and knees - my poor aching knees! - and begin crawling after him. My knees are scuffed on the rug, and the wood floor beneath them feels almost like stone. The charm of my collar swings as I move, bouncing off my sternum and then swinging under my chin. It's awkward, crawling up those steps, but Master is waiting for me, so I slowly make my way up, and up, until finally, I reach the top. My knees feel a bit sore, to be honest; I sit back on my haunches for a minute to rest them.
When I glance up, Master is watching me with a smile quirking his lips. I crawl over to him and halt with my head touching the side of his leg. I'm a little bit tired, so I'm glad for this moment of quiet.
Master touches my head briefly, and commands me to follow him again. He strides into the largest bedroom again, and I follow on my hands and knees. When I reach him where he stands near the bed, he bids me to assume Position III. I stand up, swaying slightly on suddenly-wobbly legs, and clasp my hands behind my back, focusing my gaze on one of the ornately-carved bedposts. I can't help but remember what transpired in this room, with these very bedposts, mere hours ago, and I smile.
Master circles me, his hand trailing from my arm around my back and across my chest to my arm again. He comes to a stop in front of me, and puts his finger under my chin, tipping my head back until I meet his gaze.
"You have done well, my whore," he says. "You are not being punished; you are not in trouble. Remember that."
"Yes, Master."
With his eyes locked on mine, he cradles my right breast in his left palm, then raises his right hand and slaps my breast, hard. I let out a choked whimper as the sting registers. I can't honestly say it's incredibly painful, but it doesn't exactly tickle, either. He slaps me again, and I flinch. He gently runs his thumb over my nipple before allowing my breast to slide off his palm. I swallow, and blink rapidly. My flesh feels tender, and I'm sure bruises will be blossoming on my pale skin in just a few minutes. That, of course, is the whole point, a marking of his property, a claim of ownership. He cradles my left breast, and I tense, because I know what's coming - and yes, he slaps my breast hard, once, twice, a third time. The last crack seems somehow fiercer than the others, and I flinch again.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "I can see such pretty bruises already."
I look down at my breasts, and yes, already I can see darkened areas which roughly correspond to the shape of fingers. I smile, then, because I do like to have a few bruises for remembrance, and these are going to be dark and lovely.
Master pinches my nipple, drawing a hiss from me, then steps back. He sits on the edge of the bed, and tells me to come stand before him. I keep my hands tucked behind back as I comply. He reaches out and takes hold of my breasts, lifting them slightly as he inspects them. I imagine he is admiring the effects of his work, the imprints of his fingers. He begins to play with the nipples, rolling them between his fingers, lightly pinching them, almost absently playing with them as he contemplates me.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"I am your whore, Master," I reply.
"Mmm, yes, you are," he agrees, then falls silent for a moment. His fingers are continuing their sensual assault, and the lingering sting from his earlier slaps has faded. All I feel now it the way my nipples have pebbled, and how they respond to his touch. And even though he's used me, leaving me slightly sore, and allowed me to cum twice already today, I feel a tendril of sexual desire stirring within me.
"And are you a good whore?" he asks. Before I can answer, his hand snakes down to rub across my clit, causing me to suck in a surprised breath and stumble over my words.
"Y-yes, Master," I gasp, and my head dips back involuntarily before I catch myself. His fingers on my pussy are driving and firm, delving deep inside me, and already I can feel my juices coating his fingers. He pumps his fingers, in and out, in and out, making my legs tremble. I shift my feet a bit further apart to try and give him easier access. His thumb brushes over my clit, and my whole body shudders as I moan softly. Then he pulls away and offers his fingers to me, touching my lower lip, so I open my mouth and suck them clean.
His fingers return to my pussy, stroking me, pressing inside me, pulling out again, and all the while I'm trying to be stoic, but I can't help the little whimpers and moans which break from my lips. My body starts to bend forward of its own volition, and he commands me to stand up straight. I try, I really do, but it's becoming difficult, and then he orders, "Recite."
I open my mouth on another moan and begin speaking the seven stanzas of my devotional, my daily verbal affirmation to the ideals of submission that Master has set for me. Partway through the second line, my voice breaks as a strong wave of desire spears me. I shift my weight and try to twist away from the torture his fingers are causing - trying to be all subtle and unobtrusive about it, but of course, he knows what's happening and refuses to allow me to get away. I continue my recitation, my voice sometimes catching, sometimes rising, once even squeaking because the buildup of need and desire is stealing my breath. I finish my recital and he immediately orders me to recite again. The second recitation is breathier then the first, disjointed, and sometimes my voice breaks or I have to suck in a huge breath in the middle of a word. I'm swaying on my feet, battling to remain upright, because my body wants so badly to bend forward, trying to relieve the pressure of his fingers. I finally stumble my way to the end of my devotional, and fall silent - well, silent other than my panting and whimpers.
"Who are you?" he asks again.
"Your whore, M-master," I reply, and pant, and shudder. Honestly, I know I came twice already, but my pussy is dripping wet and I feel like I'm on fire, the need to cum is becoming urgent and I would really, really like to ease that fierce aching.
"And ...?" he prompts me.
I whimper again, then say, "Your sub, your pet, your slut, and your kitten, Master." I twist my fingers together behind my back; my arms are aching from being held behind my back for so long, and my legs feel like they're made of Jell-O, all wobbly and unstable. My head drops back and my eyes close, and I bite my lip to contain yet another moan. God dammit, I really want to cum.
"What's the matter, whore?" he wants to know. Oh, he's being evil. And God help me, but I kinda like it.
"Nothing's the matter, Master," I pant. No, really, I'm panting for real now, having a little trouble catching my breath, and my heart feels like it may hammer out of my chest. I straighten up as best I can, and twine my fingers together.
"No? All right," he says, and his fingers are fucking me as I stand there. If it is possible to writhe when standing, I'm doing it now, and I choke on a loud moan, because he has just brushed my clit again and honest to God, I think I may explode if he does that one more time. I shudder violently, almost losing my balance.
He plants his free hand against my back and pulls me closer, leaning up to capture my left nipple in his mouth. I drop my head back again and there's no containing the long, loud moan which breaks from my lips now. He leans back, capturing my nipple in his teeth and stretching my flesh as he pulls away, finally letting go with a quick nip. My body bucks as I suck in my breath, and I am trembling on the edge of climax right now, and it hurts, it's so consuming, and I really, really need to cum, now.
"Who owns you?" he demands, and his fingers, if possible, plunge deeper, stroke faster, press inside harder, and I give a sob of frustration and unmet need. He likes to do this, to bring me to the edge and force me to hover there, and it hurts so goddamn bad right now.
"You! You do, Master," I say, but my voice sounds strange in my ears, all thick and gravelly. "I am your whore, only yours." I'm panting like I've run a race, and my heart is pounding in my ears.
"MY whore," he says, and his voice is both triumphant and possessive. If I were not drowning in a maelstrom of my own desire, I might feel a touch of triumph, myself.
But finally, finally, Master decides I've endured long enough, and he leans in close once again. "Cum. Now."
My orgasm breaks over me, pulling me under and tossing me violently sideways, like the undertow in the ocean. If he were not bracing me I really think I would have fallen. I throw my head back and wail, my voice sounding a long, winding cry as my entire body tenses and then explodes. I have never experienced a blackout orgasm, like other people have described, but this one comes damned close, leaving me dizzy and almost disoriented when it passes. I find myself panting in great gasping breaths, my body shaking visibly, my head resting on Master's shoulder, though I do not remember leaning forward - or maybe I fell into him? I really don't know.
His hand is stroking my back - I love it when he does that - only I can't remember when he started. I just know that he is. I feel wrung out, and suddenly exhausted, and (this thought makes me laugh tiredly in my head) I think that this climax will hold me for a while. Master shifts so that I can basically fall onto the bed, and I curl up with my knees drawn up nearly to my chest, lying there next to him, panting and still trembling and utterly worn out. Perhaps in a while I'll have energy enough to go try out that amazing tub, and I will admire my bruises and soak away my soreness, but right now, I don't want to move even an inch.
Master draws up a light blanket and covers me with it, and I mumble a tired "Thank you, Master." And I mean it - not just for the blanket, not just for the orgasms, not just for my pretty bruises, but for the care and concern he shows as he guides and mentors and owns and commands me.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Unfettered, Part II
This is an adult blog, containing detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Some situations are drawn from real life, and some are spun from my imagination. Read at your own risk.
I stretch languidly, rolling to my back from my side, my arms reaching above my head. Obviously, I fell asleep. Huh. I didn't realize I was that tired. I crack a huge yawn, feeling my jaw pop, and then I hear Master chuckling beside me.
"Have a nice nap, pet?" he asks. I roll back to my side, facing him, and lean my forehead against his chest. His arm comes around me, and I feel his hand (so warm, so warm) stroking my back in long, slow slides. I love it when he does that. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and allow myself to melt into him.
Several long minutes pass, during which Master indulges me by allowing me to rest against him while he continues to stroke my back. But at last, Master nudges my shoulder, pressing me onto my back once again. I shift to a comfortable position, and look up to catch his eyes. While holding my gaze, he reaches across my chest and grasps my right nipple between his fingers. He squeezes it, firmly, then rolls it in his fingers. My back arches and I suck in a deep breath. Damn, that feels far more good than it should. His gaze is intense, not letting me go, and he pinches my nipple again, causing me to arch up once again. My breath hisses between my teeth and my eyelids flutter, as I fight to keep them open.
Master shifts his position a little; his hand trails down my stomach and he plunges his fingers into my pussy at the same moment his mouth closes over my left nipple. Had he not been leaning over me, I think I might have arched clear off the bed. Holy hell. His fingers in my pussy are rough, on the very edge of painful as he finger-fucks me, and he alternately nips and then licks my nipple. I let my legs fall farther open, hoping to better accept his pounding digits, but my right hand is fisted in the quilt and I'm having a hard time not tensing against the assault on my tender flesh. God, am I ever going to be sore later.
He bites me, and it hurts; I moan, but it isn't a happy sound, there's definitely pain laced in it. I turn my head away and bite my lip.
"You are just soaking," he says, and I can admit to that; God knows I can feel the evidence coating his fingers and dripping between my thighs, but I do not actually enjoy pain, and this is too close to that for me. I give another muffled moan, and then I feel him slowly pulling his fingers out of me. And that is uncomfortable, too, but I'm relieved, and I turn my head back and lie there, panting, waiting, to see what he'll come up with next.
He moves off the bed and rummages through the duffel back yet again, then comes back with - wait, what is that? I can't quite tell - oh, okay, now I see: a small black chain, a metallic clinking sound. He's pulled the clover clamps out. I close my eyes briefly and swallow. Yeah, I'm not the biggest fan of these things.
Master climbs back on the bed and leans over me again. His mouth on my breast is gentle now, slow, careful, and his tongue laves over the peak. I whimper, and this time it really is because it feels so good. A tiny thrill of desire shivers through me, and I feel my nipple hardening, pebbling on his tongue. He pulls away, and positions the clamp over the nipple, allowing the clamp to slowly close over it. I wince and whimper as the tiny teeth dig into my tender flesh. Damn, damn, that hurts. Master sets the other clamp as well, then tugs the chain to test it. Goddamn! I whimper again, more loudly. I don't tolerate these things very well, and already I'm fervently wishing they were being removed.
And oh, lucky me, he has a second set of clamps. He winds the chains together, then attaches the clamps to my pussy lips, where I swear they dig deep furrows in my skin. Ow, ow. He says the chains and clamps look nice; I maintain (in the privacy of my head) that they are simply evil. He tugs at the entwined chains, causing all four clamps to bite harder, and I moan loudly at the flare of pain. Now, the true evil of these things is, when they are twisted together like this, any move I make causes the chains to tug and the clamps to bite, so basically, I'm being treated to new flashes of pain almost constantly.
Master's fingers begin questing in his pussy again, bumping the clamps where they are attached, and every little brush against them makes them shift, which again, makes them hurt. He rubs at my clit and slides a finger inside me, and now I am caught between the pleasure of his fingers and the pain of the clamps. When my body arches or bucks or shifts, the chains tighten and the clamps bite, and it's a tossup as to which sensation is prevalent at any one time.
Eventually, though, my body gives in, and I cum around his fingers. Yes, the climax feels good, but immediately my body also arches involuntarily, and the wave of pleasure is instantly speared and deflated by the clamps as they bite me. I give a sob, because this really is not fun anymore, and these things Fucking Hurt Already.
Master, I think, senses that I'm reaching the end of my tolerance, and he pulls his fingers free and holds them to my lips. I open my mouth and suck his fingers clean, and then - thank you, thank you - he removes each clamp. I can't help gasping and whimpering and outright groaning and flinching as each clamp comes free, because they hurt, again, coming off, but shortly I am blessedly clamp-free, and I can finally start to relax. My nipples are so, so sore, I really just want to cross my arms over my chest and curl into a ball to protect them. I feel wrung out, honestly.
Master sits with his back to the head board, and I scoot around so I can lie my head on his knee. He pets my head, carding his fingers through my hair, which I find soothing.
"Good girl," he says. "You did well."
And I, with my sore nipples and aching pussy, smile against his leg. "Thank you, Master," I say.
I stretch languidly, rolling to my back from my side, my arms reaching above my head. Obviously, I fell asleep. Huh. I didn't realize I was that tired. I crack a huge yawn, feeling my jaw pop, and then I hear Master chuckling beside me.
"Have a nice nap, pet?" he asks. I roll back to my side, facing him, and lean my forehead against his chest. His arm comes around me, and I feel his hand (so warm, so warm) stroking my back in long, slow slides. I love it when he does that. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and allow myself to melt into him.
Several long minutes pass, during which Master indulges me by allowing me to rest against him while he continues to stroke my back. But at last, Master nudges my shoulder, pressing me onto my back once again. I shift to a comfortable position, and look up to catch his eyes. While holding my gaze, he reaches across my chest and grasps my right nipple between his fingers. He squeezes it, firmly, then rolls it in his fingers. My back arches and I suck in a deep breath. Damn, that feels far more good than it should. His gaze is intense, not letting me go, and he pinches my nipple again, causing me to arch up once again. My breath hisses between my teeth and my eyelids flutter, as I fight to keep them open.
Master shifts his position a little; his hand trails down my stomach and he plunges his fingers into my pussy at the same moment his mouth closes over my left nipple. Had he not been leaning over me, I think I might have arched clear off the bed. Holy hell. His fingers in my pussy are rough, on the very edge of painful as he finger-fucks me, and he alternately nips and then licks my nipple. I let my legs fall farther open, hoping to better accept his pounding digits, but my right hand is fisted in the quilt and I'm having a hard time not tensing against the assault on my tender flesh. God, am I ever going to be sore later.
He bites me, and it hurts; I moan, but it isn't a happy sound, there's definitely pain laced in it. I turn my head away and bite my lip.
"You are just soaking," he says, and I can admit to that; God knows I can feel the evidence coating his fingers and dripping between my thighs, but I do not actually enjoy pain, and this is too close to that for me. I give another muffled moan, and then I feel him slowly pulling his fingers out of me. And that is uncomfortable, too, but I'm relieved, and I turn my head back and lie there, panting, waiting, to see what he'll come up with next.
He moves off the bed and rummages through the duffel back yet again, then comes back with - wait, what is that? I can't quite tell - oh, okay, now I see: a small black chain, a metallic clinking sound. He's pulled the clover clamps out. I close my eyes briefly and swallow. Yeah, I'm not the biggest fan of these things.
Master climbs back on the bed and leans over me again. His mouth on my breast is gentle now, slow, careful, and his tongue laves over the peak. I whimper, and this time it really is because it feels so good. A tiny thrill of desire shivers through me, and I feel my nipple hardening, pebbling on his tongue. He pulls away, and positions the clamp over the nipple, allowing the clamp to slowly close over it. I wince and whimper as the tiny teeth dig into my tender flesh. Damn, damn, that hurts. Master sets the other clamp as well, then tugs the chain to test it. Goddamn! I whimper again, more loudly. I don't tolerate these things very well, and already I'm fervently wishing they were being removed.
And oh, lucky me, he has a second set of clamps. He winds the chains together, then attaches the clamps to my pussy lips, where I swear they dig deep furrows in my skin. Ow, ow. He says the chains and clamps look nice; I maintain (in the privacy of my head) that they are simply evil. He tugs at the entwined chains, causing all four clamps to bite harder, and I moan loudly at the flare of pain. Now, the true evil of these things is, when they are twisted together like this, any move I make causes the chains to tug and the clamps to bite, so basically, I'm being treated to new flashes of pain almost constantly.
Master's fingers begin questing in his pussy again, bumping the clamps where they are attached, and every little brush against them makes them shift, which again, makes them hurt. He rubs at my clit and slides a finger inside me, and now I am caught between the pleasure of his fingers and the pain of the clamps. When my body arches or bucks or shifts, the chains tighten and the clamps bite, and it's a tossup as to which sensation is prevalent at any one time.
Eventually, though, my body gives in, and I cum around his fingers. Yes, the climax feels good, but immediately my body also arches involuntarily, and the wave of pleasure is instantly speared and deflated by the clamps as they bite me. I give a sob, because this really is not fun anymore, and these things Fucking Hurt Already.
Master, I think, senses that I'm reaching the end of my tolerance, and he pulls his fingers free and holds them to my lips. I open my mouth and suck his fingers clean, and then - thank you, thank you - he removes each clamp. I can't help gasping and whimpering and outright groaning and flinching as each clamp comes free, because they hurt, again, coming off, but shortly I am blessedly clamp-free, and I can finally start to relax. My nipples are so, so sore, I really just want to cross my arms over my chest and curl into a ball to protect them. I feel wrung out, honestly.
Master sits with his back to the head board, and I scoot around so I can lie my head on his knee. He pets my head, carding his fingers through my hair, which I find soothing.
"Good girl," he says. "You did well."
And I, with my sore nipples and aching pussy, smile against his leg. "Thank you, Master," I say.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Unfettered
This is an adult blog, containing detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Some situations are drawn from real life, and some are spun from my imagination. Read at your own risk.
Master has arranged some time away for us, a chance to focus solely on each other and leave everything else behind for a bit. It's been a while since we've had an opportunity like this, so I am quite excited about it. I'm also a bit nervous, as this promises to be an intense experience; I've been told that he has much planned for me.
I'll be honest - we have just emerged from a bit of a rough patch, and while I feel more settled and sure of my choices, I also have some lingering, niggling fears in the back of my mind. What if he asks something of me I cannot do? What if I am inadequate to the tasks he sets before me? What will happen if I fail?
That's the biggest fear I have. I'm not perfect; I'm flawed and prone to doubts and unsure of myself and sometimes, I don't trust myself - or him - enough. Still, I can look back to the beginning of my journey, and I can see how far I've come, and what things I accept and comply with and revel in, when just a couple years ago they were foreign and uncomfortable.
But for now, I'm determined to put all that aside, and do my best to obey and please my Master.
The place he has chosen takes my breath away when I first see it: a small house tucked at the base of a verdant hill, far from its neighbors and seeming to blend in with the surrounding trees. The drive to the house is lined with - are you ready? - the cliched white picket fence, and widens to a half-circle as it approaches the house.
I step out of the car and take in the covered front porch, the faded green shutters, the riot of flowers lining the front of the house. It's utterly charming, and my lips curve up in a genuinely delighted smile. I ascend the steps and approach the front door; it's painted the same green as the shutters, also slightly faded, with a painted wooden sign which proclaims, "WeLcoMe" in bright white letters. The door opens into a small foyer. To the left I see the living room; to the right, a sunny kitchen. Master is an excellent cook, and if I'm lucky, he might treat me to a meal or two.
I walk through the kitchen and find, at the back, a staircase to the upper story. The kitchen leads me back into the living room, but other than a quick glance through the room, I ignore it. Instead I head upstairs, finding a smallish bedroom and a study, a decent-sized bathroom with - oh, this is awesome! - a real claw-foot tub. I can already imagine myself soaking in it. Mmm. I pass the bathroom into the last room, a larger bedroom with a beautiful oaken four-poster bed. I can't help touching one of the the skillfully carved bedposts, running my fingers over the detailed renderings of wheat sheaves and corn stalks. My imagination runs away with me, then, and I'm daydreaming about being bound to that bed.
Oh, I certainly hope I will be.
A noise startles me, and I spin around to see Master watching me with a bemused smile on his face. I feel self-conscious and silly, but he's not making fun of me. I have a sneaking suspiscion that he knows exactly what thoughts have been flitting through my mind, and, dare I say it, I think he approves.
He approaches me, almost stalking me, and I feel a thrill of anticipation run through me. The game has begun, and I am almost quivering already. He stops right next to me, and I have to tip my head back to see his face properly. In the quiet which hangs between us, I'm aware that my heart is beating too fast, and my breathing is too quick. I lick my lips.
He reaches out and tangles his fingers in my hair (which I keep short, at his request) and pulls my head back just a bit further. "Hello, pet," he says.
"Hello, Master," I reply, and my voice sounds breathy in my ears. He smiles, a genuine smile, and bends his head. When his breath washes over my ear, I close my eyes and shiver. His hand leaves my hair and slides down to grasp my neck, his fingers spanning my throat and squeezing just a hair, forcing my head to stay back. God, I love it when he does that. He murmurs into my ear.
"And is my whore ready to serve her Master?"
My breath catches in my throat, and I shiver again. Honest to God, all he's done is grab my throat and whisper in my ear, and my knees are already threatening to buckle. I feel a flame of desire sweep through my body, need beginning to burn between my legs. "Yes, Master," I manage to whisper, but it's much harder than it ought to be.
"Position I," he commands, stepping away from me. I hurry to strip out of my clothes, then drop to my knees before him, bending my head and laying my hands palms-up on my knees. I'm very grateful there's an area rug, as it provides some protection from the wood floors. It's not a very thick rug, though, so the floor still feels hard and unforgiving under my bent legs. I wait, as still as I can, and the moment stretches and stretches as he contemplates my bent form.
Then I feel his hand touch my head, sliding down my face and gently tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "I think it would be a very good idea for you to suck my cock, " he says. "Don't you agree, whore?"
"Oh, yes, Master, indeed," I say, and we both reach to remove his clothing. He pulls his shirt over his head, leaving most of the buttons fastened, then toes off his shoes before stepping out of his pants and boxers. I sit up on my knees, stretching the already-tired muscles, and run my hands up his legs before leaning forward and capturing his cock with my mouth. He's not yet hard, so I can take all of him, down to the root, and suckle him on my tongue. His scent fills my nose, so I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to the musky scent. It's like I have to relearn his unique smell all over again, every time. Soon enough, I can feel his shaft swelling in my mouth, growing on my tongue, and I start to slowly bob my head, pulling him in and letting him slide back out, the warmth and wetness of my tongue bathing his cock with every glide.
I let my left palm rest on his leg, lightly bracing myself, while my right hand cups his balls, gently kneading them in my palm. I hear his intake of breath and smile to myself, sucking him harder, sometimes swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, sometimes pressing him to the back of my throat. I'm not very skilled at it, and I end up gagging myself pretty harshly, but I don't pull away. My jaw begins to ache, my knees are terribly sore, and his cock is so swollen and full that it stretches my mouth when I pull him in. I shift on my knees and grasp the base of his cock with my fingers, and I can feel his leg shake under my palm.
"That's enough, pet," he says, and I slowly, reluctantly pull away, suckling his cock as I pull my head back, and daring to lave the tip with my tongue as I let him go. I'm panting a little, as I always do - I swear, giving oral is a workout. He tells me to stand, so I do, wincing as the blood rushes to my lower legs, and I wobble as I stand.
"Turn around," he orders, so I shakily turn to face the foot of the bed. He gently pushes me, so I walk the few steps it takes to reach the bed, then stop, and wait. My calves are prickling, still, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, hoping it eases soon. Master comes to stand beside me, and I tilt my head to look at him.
"Aren't these bedposts pretty, my whore?" he asks, and I agree - they certainly are. The foot board is rather low, and I imagine I could fairly comfortably lean forward to rest on the bed. He takes my right hand and stretches my arm out so I can touch the bedpost with him. "Wait right there," he says, and I nod my head, and he walks out the door. I can hear him descending the stairs and moving around on the first floor, then his footsteps come back up the stairs again. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder and catch sight of him coming in the door. He's carrying a duffel bag, which he drops near the bed. He unzips the top and pulls out a long length of rope. My heart skips a beat, and I can't help the small smile that teases my lips. I adore being bound, and he knows it.
He takes his time, not saying a word, but begins winding the soft rope around my hand, the one still flush with the bedpost. He loops the rope around my wrist, securing me to the post, but I have room to wiggle my fingers. The rope then winds up my arm in a loose spiral, around my back, under my left breast and across my right shoulder, then under my right breast and across my left shoulder. I give up trying to trace the path of the rope then, and merely stand still and quiet, allowing him to truss my breasts. It's a little uncomfortable, but not actually painful, and finally the rope loops along my left arm and ends up securing my left hand to the opposite bedpost. My arms are stretched out about as far as they can go.
He steps up behind me, his arms coming around me, and cups my breasts in his hands. I suck in a breath at the contact and lean back against my bonds to rest against him. "You should see yourself," he murmurs. "All tied up, so pretty." His thumbs are rubbing over my nipples and my knees are feeling weak again. I let my head drop back against his chest and close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his body, the raspy feel of his thumbs, the heat of his palms. He pinches my nipples, hard, and I shudder and gasp. Yes, it hurt, and no, I don't really love it, but oh man, I can feel the wetness between my legs now, and I would really, really love for him to finger my (his!) pussy. I whimper, and shift against him, and he pinches my nipples again, more sharply, and I can't help the whispered, "Ow," that escapes me.
"Ow," he mocks me, and I flush, embarrassed, but again, he's not really making fun of me, so I force myself to relax. One of his hands strays from my breast, down my stomach, and the muscles there contract and quiver as his fingers brush over my skin, down, down, and finally (finally!) his hand cups my mound and his fingers rub against my clit. It's almost like an electric shock, with how my body convulses and the immediate blaze of need and desire that sweeps over me. I pull against my bonds and moan, it's that good, and I shift my feet further apart to better allow him access.
But just as I do, he pulls away, and my moan this time is mixed with a whine of disappointment. No, no; please, come back! my mind protests, and I stumble back as he steps away from me entirely. I close my eyes and try to rein in my breathing; I'm gasping slightly, pulling in erratic puffs of air. I can hear him rummaging around in the duffel bag, but I don't try to see. I'm busy standing on shaky legs, my heart beating furiously in my chest.
Suddenly, without warning, a sharp sting lands across my ass, and I jump, my eyes opening wide, a protesting "Hey!" falling from my lips. I immediately realize that he's using the flogger, and in that same instant I go from "what the hell??" to "oh, this is gonna be good." Even so, I can't help tensing in anticipation of the next blow, and it falls, sharp and heavy, across my ass. I jump, again, even though I was expecting it, because damn, it stings like crazy. With my arms bound to the bedposts, I can't move much, other than to bounce on my feet a bit.
Master changes tactics then, choosing to caress my back with the flogger instead of popping me with it. I close my eyes and moan softly, because really, the feel of the tails dragging over my skin is so, so sensual, and my insides are turning to liquid fire with every touch. He allows he flogger to trail over my shoulder and down over my bound breasts, swirling over the nipples in turn, and I buck against my bonds and groan. Oh my God, I just want to cum already, I ache so very fiercely. But he denies my release, keeping me trembling and on edge, and just as I throw my head back and sob, once, he smacks the flogger against my ass again. And I jump, again, and my desire shivers and trembles, but it's not so all-consuming as before.
Several strokes later, Master steps back to admire his handiwork. At least, I assume he does, based on his next comment - "Such pretty stripes, my pet." And even though I've done nothing to warrant praise, save stand there and complacently accept his flogging, I say, "Thank you, Master." I'm trembling, aching, my knees feeling like jelly, my shoulders aching from being stretched out for so long, my pussy weeping - I can feel drips rolling down my inner thighs. Master reaches down and plunges two fingers inside his pussy, letting loose a sigh of approval and saying, "Oh, you are SO wet, aren't you, kitten?" I can only moan, and writhe on his fingers, and hope he'll allow me release.
He steps closer, fucking me with his fingers, and his thumb presses against my clit. I cry out, and buck, and I want to cum so very badly, and he leans down and whispers in my ear - "Cum for me, pet." I pull back against my bonds and let go, and my climax shatters me, absolutely tears me apart, and if not for Master's body behind me and the ropes holding me to the bedposts, I would fall down. I can do nothing but endure, and be thankful for the ropes and Master's strength. Finally, the surge ends, and I almost collapse.
Master carefully unties the ropes around my right hand, unwinding them from my wrist, my arm, and my arm falls down and tingles, while I shake it and wiggle my fingers, helping the circulation come back. He works to unbind my breasts, and finally my other arm, and I'm suddenly so tired, yet I'm greedy enough to want more. I can see the red marks where the rope has bound me, and I'm oddly proud of them.
Master presses his hand between my shoulder blades, bending me forward, down, until I'm resting face down on the bed, my feet still on the floor, and spread, my ass in the air. I keep my arms tucked fairly close to my sides, my shoulders still sore and tired, but I'm so, so happy. I hear Master fumbing through the duffel bag again, but I don't look; I'm content to rest there, and wait, until he tells me what to do.
In a few more heartbeats, I feel his finger, slick and cool, pressing inside my ass. I try to relax, to help, but he works methodically, carefully, first one finger, then two, stretching me. It feels - weird, not painful, really, but decidedly odd. Eventually, he deems me ready, and then I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I try to relax, even more than before, and he slowly, slowly presses and pushes and forces his way inside. It burns, and hurts, and sometimes feels like he's going sideways, but eventually he slides all the way in, and stills, letting me adjust to him. This, then, is the moment I've craved, when Master is joined with me, when this body provides him pleasure, when he can fuck his whore with abandon and let himself go.
And he does, his cock pounding into my ass, my lower half sliding back and forth across the end of the bed with the force of his thrusts. I'm sweating, trapped beneath his body, my ass stretched and open, and I know I'm going to be sore - but I don't care, Master is using his whore, and I am reveling in it. At last, and all too soon, with a grunt and a great shuddering sigh, he climaxes, filling my ass with his cum and stretching up to bite my shoulder. I give a choked cry at the flare of pain, which then turns into a whimper as he pulls out. He rubs my ass soothingly, and tells me to get up on the bed and rest for a bit. I climb up on top of the covers and pull a pillow under my head, smiling drowsily at him when he lies beside me. And this, too, is a moment I've craved, when he is pleased with me, and he calls me his good girl.
Master has arranged some time away for us, a chance to focus solely on each other and leave everything else behind for a bit. It's been a while since we've had an opportunity like this, so I am quite excited about it. I'm also a bit nervous, as this promises to be an intense experience; I've been told that he has much planned for me.
I'll be honest - we have just emerged from a bit of a rough patch, and while I feel more settled and sure of my choices, I also have some lingering, niggling fears in the back of my mind. What if he asks something of me I cannot do? What if I am inadequate to the tasks he sets before me? What will happen if I fail?
That's the biggest fear I have. I'm not perfect; I'm flawed and prone to doubts and unsure of myself and sometimes, I don't trust myself - or him - enough. Still, I can look back to the beginning of my journey, and I can see how far I've come, and what things I accept and comply with and revel in, when just a couple years ago they were foreign and uncomfortable.
But for now, I'm determined to put all that aside, and do my best to obey and please my Master.
The place he has chosen takes my breath away when I first see it: a small house tucked at the base of a verdant hill, far from its neighbors and seeming to blend in with the surrounding trees. The drive to the house is lined with - are you ready? - the cliched white picket fence, and widens to a half-circle as it approaches the house.
I step out of the car and take in the covered front porch, the faded green shutters, the riot of flowers lining the front of the house. It's utterly charming, and my lips curve up in a genuinely delighted smile. I ascend the steps and approach the front door; it's painted the same green as the shutters, also slightly faded, with a painted wooden sign which proclaims, "WeLcoMe" in bright white letters. The door opens into a small foyer. To the left I see the living room; to the right, a sunny kitchen. Master is an excellent cook, and if I'm lucky, he might treat me to a meal or two.
I walk through the kitchen and find, at the back, a staircase to the upper story. The kitchen leads me back into the living room, but other than a quick glance through the room, I ignore it. Instead I head upstairs, finding a smallish bedroom and a study, a decent-sized bathroom with - oh, this is awesome! - a real claw-foot tub. I can already imagine myself soaking in it. Mmm. I pass the bathroom into the last room, a larger bedroom with a beautiful oaken four-poster bed. I can't help touching one of the the skillfully carved bedposts, running my fingers over the detailed renderings of wheat sheaves and corn stalks. My imagination runs away with me, then, and I'm daydreaming about being bound to that bed.
Oh, I certainly hope I will be.
A noise startles me, and I spin around to see Master watching me with a bemused smile on his face. I feel self-conscious and silly, but he's not making fun of me. I have a sneaking suspiscion that he knows exactly what thoughts have been flitting through my mind, and, dare I say it, I think he approves.
He approaches me, almost stalking me, and I feel a thrill of anticipation run through me. The game has begun, and I am almost quivering already. He stops right next to me, and I have to tip my head back to see his face properly. In the quiet which hangs between us, I'm aware that my heart is beating too fast, and my breathing is too quick. I lick my lips.
He reaches out and tangles his fingers in my hair (which I keep short, at his request) and pulls my head back just a bit further. "Hello, pet," he says.
"Hello, Master," I reply, and my voice sounds breathy in my ears. He smiles, a genuine smile, and bends his head. When his breath washes over my ear, I close my eyes and shiver. His hand leaves my hair and slides down to grasp my neck, his fingers spanning my throat and squeezing just a hair, forcing my head to stay back. God, I love it when he does that. He murmurs into my ear.
"And is my whore ready to serve her Master?"
My breath catches in my throat, and I shiver again. Honest to God, all he's done is grab my throat and whisper in my ear, and my knees are already threatening to buckle. I feel a flame of desire sweep through my body, need beginning to burn between my legs. "Yes, Master," I manage to whisper, but it's much harder than it ought to be.
"Position I," he commands, stepping away from me. I hurry to strip out of my clothes, then drop to my knees before him, bending my head and laying my hands palms-up on my knees. I'm very grateful there's an area rug, as it provides some protection from the wood floors. It's not a very thick rug, though, so the floor still feels hard and unforgiving under my bent legs. I wait, as still as I can, and the moment stretches and stretches as he contemplates my bent form.
Then I feel his hand touch my head, sliding down my face and gently tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "I think it would be a very good idea for you to suck my cock, " he says. "Don't you agree, whore?"
"Oh, yes, Master, indeed," I say, and we both reach to remove his clothing. He pulls his shirt over his head, leaving most of the buttons fastened, then toes off his shoes before stepping out of his pants and boxers. I sit up on my knees, stretching the already-tired muscles, and run my hands up his legs before leaning forward and capturing his cock with my mouth. He's not yet hard, so I can take all of him, down to the root, and suckle him on my tongue. His scent fills my nose, so I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to the musky scent. It's like I have to relearn his unique smell all over again, every time. Soon enough, I can feel his shaft swelling in my mouth, growing on my tongue, and I start to slowly bob my head, pulling him in and letting him slide back out, the warmth and wetness of my tongue bathing his cock with every glide.
I let my left palm rest on his leg, lightly bracing myself, while my right hand cups his balls, gently kneading them in my palm. I hear his intake of breath and smile to myself, sucking him harder, sometimes swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, sometimes pressing him to the back of my throat. I'm not very skilled at it, and I end up gagging myself pretty harshly, but I don't pull away. My jaw begins to ache, my knees are terribly sore, and his cock is so swollen and full that it stretches my mouth when I pull him in. I shift on my knees and grasp the base of his cock with my fingers, and I can feel his leg shake under my palm.
"That's enough, pet," he says, and I slowly, reluctantly pull away, suckling his cock as I pull my head back, and daring to lave the tip with my tongue as I let him go. I'm panting a little, as I always do - I swear, giving oral is a workout. He tells me to stand, so I do, wincing as the blood rushes to my lower legs, and I wobble as I stand.
"Turn around," he orders, so I shakily turn to face the foot of the bed. He gently pushes me, so I walk the few steps it takes to reach the bed, then stop, and wait. My calves are prickling, still, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, hoping it eases soon. Master comes to stand beside me, and I tilt my head to look at him.
"Aren't these bedposts pretty, my whore?" he asks, and I agree - they certainly are. The foot board is rather low, and I imagine I could fairly comfortably lean forward to rest on the bed. He takes my right hand and stretches my arm out so I can touch the bedpost with him. "Wait right there," he says, and I nod my head, and he walks out the door. I can hear him descending the stairs and moving around on the first floor, then his footsteps come back up the stairs again. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder and catch sight of him coming in the door. He's carrying a duffel bag, which he drops near the bed. He unzips the top and pulls out a long length of rope. My heart skips a beat, and I can't help the small smile that teases my lips. I adore being bound, and he knows it.
He takes his time, not saying a word, but begins winding the soft rope around my hand, the one still flush with the bedpost. He loops the rope around my wrist, securing me to the post, but I have room to wiggle my fingers. The rope then winds up my arm in a loose spiral, around my back, under my left breast and across my right shoulder, then under my right breast and across my left shoulder. I give up trying to trace the path of the rope then, and merely stand still and quiet, allowing him to truss my breasts. It's a little uncomfortable, but not actually painful, and finally the rope loops along my left arm and ends up securing my left hand to the opposite bedpost. My arms are stretched out about as far as they can go.
He steps up behind me, his arms coming around me, and cups my breasts in his hands. I suck in a breath at the contact and lean back against my bonds to rest against him. "You should see yourself," he murmurs. "All tied up, so pretty." His thumbs are rubbing over my nipples and my knees are feeling weak again. I let my head drop back against his chest and close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his body, the raspy feel of his thumbs, the heat of his palms. He pinches my nipples, hard, and I shudder and gasp. Yes, it hurt, and no, I don't really love it, but oh man, I can feel the wetness between my legs now, and I would really, really love for him to finger my (his!) pussy. I whimper, and shift against him, and he pinches my nipples again, more sharply, and I can't help the whispered, "Ow," that escapes me.
"Ow," he mocks me, and I flush, embarrassed, but again, he's not really making fun of me, so I force myself to relax. One of his hands strays from my breast, down my stomach, and the muscles there contract and quiver as his fingers brush over my skin, down, down, and finally (finally!) his hand cups my mound and his fingers rub against my clit. It's almost like an electric shock, with how my body convulses and the immediate blaze of need and desire that sweeps over me. I pull against my bonds and moan, it's that good, and I shift my feet further apart to better allow him access.
But just as I do, he pulls away, and my moan this time is mixed with a whine of disappointment. No, no; please, come back! my mind protests, and I stumble back as he steps away from me entirely. I close my eyes and try to rein in my breathing; I'm gasping slightly, pulling in erratic puffs of air. I can hear him rummaging around in the duffel bag, but I don't try to see. I'm busy standing on shaky legs, my heart beating furiously in my chest.
Suddenly, without warning, a sharp sting lands across my ass, and I jump, my eyes opening wide, a protesting "Hey!" falling from my lips. I immediately realize that he's using the flogger, and in that same instant I go from "what the hell??" to "oh, this is gonna be good." Even so, I can't help tensing in anticipation of the next blow, and it falls, sharp and heavy, across my ass. I jump, again, even though I was expecting it, because damn, it stings like crazy. With my arms bound to the bedposts, I can't move much, other than to bounce on my feet a bit.
Master changes tactics then, choosing to caress my back with the flogger instead of popping me with it. I close my eyes and moan softly, because really, the feel of the tails dragging over my skin is so, so sensual, and my insides are turning to liquid fire with every touch. He allows he flogger to trail over my shoulder and down over my bound breasts, swirling over the nipples in turn, and I buck against my bonds and groan. Oh my God, I just want to cum already, I ache so very fiercely. But he denies my release, keeping me trembling and on edge, and just as I throw my head back and sob, once, he smacks the flogger against my ass again. And I jump, again, and my desire shivers and trembles, but it's not so all-consuming as before.
Several strokes later, Master steps back to admire his handiwork. At least, I assume he does, based on his next comment - "Such pretty stripes, my pet." And even though I've done nothing to warrant praise, save stand there and complacently accept his flogging, I say, "Thank you, Master." I'm trembling, aching, my knees feeling like jelly, my shoulders aching from being stretched out for so long, my pussy weeping - I can feel drips rolling down my inner thighs. Master reaches down and plunges two fingers inside his pussy, letting loose a sigh of approval and saying, "Oh, you are SO wet, aren't you, kitten?" I can only moan, and writhe on his fingers, and hope he'll allow me release.
He steps closer, fucking me with his fingers, and his thumb presses against my clit. I cry out, and buck, and I want to cum so very badly, and he leans down and whispers in my ear - "Cum for me, pet." I pull back against my bonds and let go, and my climax shatters me, absolutely tears me apart, and if not for Master's body behind me and the ropes holding me to the bedposts, I would fall down. I can do nothing but endure, and be thankful for the ropes and Master's strength. Finally, the surge ends, and I almost collapse.
Master carefully unties the ropes around my right hand, unwinding them from my wrist, my arm, and my arm falls down and tingles, while I shake it and wiggle my fingers, helping the circulation come back. He works to unbind my breasts, and finally my other arm, and I'm suddenly so tired, yet I'm greedy enough to want more. I can see the red marks where the rope has bound me, and I'm oddly proud of them.
Master presses his hand between my shoulder blades, bending me forward, down, until I'm resting face down on the bed, my feet still on the floor, and spread, my ass in the air. I keep my arms tucked fairly close to my sides, my shoulders still sore and tired, but I'm so, so happy. I hear Master fumbing through the duffel bag again, but I don't look; I'm content to rest there, and wait, until he tells me what to do.
In a few more heartbeats, I feel his finger, slick and cool, pressing inside my ass. I try to relax, to help, but he works methodically, carefully, first one finger, then two, stretching me. It feels - weird, not painful, really, but decidedly odd. Eventually, he deems me ready, and then I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I try to relax, even more than before, and he slowly, slowly presses and pushes and forces his way inside. It burns, and hurts, and sometimes feels like he's going sideways, but eventually he slides all the way in, and stills, letting me adjust to him. This, then, is the moment I've craved, when Master is joined with me, when this body provides him pleasure, when he can fuck his whore with abandon and let himself go.
And he does, his cock pounding into my ass, my lower half sliding back and forth across the end of the bed with the force of his thrusts. I'm sweating, trapped beneath his body, my ass stretched and open, and I know I'm going to be sore - but I don't care, Master is using his whore, and I am reveling in it. At last, and all too soon, with a grunt and a great shuddering sigh, he climaxes, filling my ass with his cum and stretching up to bite my shoulder. I give a choked cry at the flare of pain, which then turns into a whimper as he pulls out. He rubs my ass soothingly, and tells me to get up on the bed and rest for a bit. I climb up on top of the covers and pull a pillow under my head, smiling drowsily at him when he lies beside me. And this, too, is a moment I've craved, when he is pleased with me, and he calls me his good girl.
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