I read a blog post that got me thinking about life and relationships and what we post here. She said that her readership began to pick up when she and her master broke up. I think she interprets that increase in readership to people wanting to see a disaster. I do agree that there's some of that, but I also think that you, my readers, have a genuine interest in my life.
I think that you come for the essays where I am finding myself, or for the somewhat more pornographic pieces where I describe our sessions. Well, I think that's what you are here for. There aren't photos, so it isn't that. though I do hear the requests.
But I think that many of you become interested in me, in what makes me tick, in what moves me to happiness or passion or tears.
Not all, I get that. Some are just passing through, depending on the day, and on how much time they have, interested in a long juicy piece with pain they can read and ponder, or a quick hit of something fun.
For those of you who are interested in me and my life I can tell you that my Master and I had a huge fight this past weekend. We have made up now, but it was a big one. I am still awaiting punishment. Sigh.
I don't know what it will be. I do know I won't like it.
I should ask you to propose something, it's hard to imagine you would think of something nastier than he will. Yeah, even you sadists.
I didn't post about the fight at the time because I hate the idea of fighting it out in public. It didn't really matter who was right or wrong, what mattered was that we were fighting. What mattered is that we took all the passion we normally put into love and sex and D/s and put it into hurting each other.
And that much as I would have liked you all to say he was wrong and was being horrible to me and should be way nicer to me, I worried about how you would feel if the fight didn't stick and we got back together again. Which we have. Kind of like in high school where you had to decide whether to tell your friends about your fights, knowing they wouldn't ever feel quite the same about your boyfriend again.
So, in summary, we fought. We yelled at each other. We said shit to hurt each other. I cried. How girly huh? We eventually made up. We kissed. At some point in the future he will punish me.
And I guess my point is that without this particular post you wouldn't have known that about something really important that was going on in my life. It's not that what I posted this weekend was a lie, it just wasn't the most important thing in my life right then. It was a truth, but not the only truth. It was a truth that suited me at the time. A convenient truth perhaps.
Wish me luck in getting through the punishment?
carpe diem
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Precocious
My first memories of sexuality were with a girlfriend. And in retrospect they are so D/s that it's incredible to think I never really twigged to how much I was built this way.
She was my best friend, and though she was a year younger she was an equal partner, as strong as I was in the relationship. I know, I know. The idea of kids is very creepy for some. Way too young. But there aren't any grown ups in this story, just me and her. Exploring each other.
There was touching but not much. Or I don't remember much touching. Let me say that. We didn't caress each other, we didn't rub, or stroke or kiss.
There was nakedness. I would expose my body. Pulling off my shirt, or my shorts and panties. Sometimes she would too, though not always. And sometimes we couldn't do that safely, so we would settle for brief exposures of pertinent parts, showing and then recovering ourselves so we didn't get caught.
The name of the game. I don't really know that it had one. An actual name I mean, that we referred to it by. Probably "that game where you make me do stuff".
Because that was the objective of the game. She would make me do stuff. She would tell me what to do. And if I didn't do it she would expose me or pinch me or touch my nipples or even spank me.
What kind of stuff? Chores. Cinderella stuff. Cleaning. Scrubbing. Often partly undressed. I guess humiliating stuff, where she had power and I didn't.
I don't know how we got there the first time. I don't know how it evolved but I remember playing it. Knowing that it was evolving. Knowing that it was wrong and that we would get in trouble if we were caught. Knowing that we couldn't tell or play it with the littler kids.
She tied me up. Sometimes clothed, sometimes in varying degrees of nakedness. Sometimes with my hands behind my back. Sometimes more exotic or more humiliating.
I remember wanting her to hit me with her dad's belt. He used to spank his two older kids (my friend and her little brother) with a belt and I was curious and excited and terrified by it all at once. I wanted to know what it felt like. My parents, on the very rare occasions when they did spank, smacked my bum with an open hand. She pretended to hit me with the belt but didn't hurt me that way.
And I remember that I wanted to play the game more often and more exclusively than she did. She either lost interest or felt uncomfortable or worried about us getting in trouble. She resisted my desire for it sometimes. I remember if I asked nicely, promised to play other games afterward, games that she preferred she would agree.
It's disturbing now, to think about it. Not because it happened but because we were so young. If we had been 15, it would be naughty, sexy, maybe precocious to think about but we were so much younger.
I think we were 8 or 9. I was 10 when it ended, when we moved away. We never got caught. We never really talked about it. And I forgot it for years. Not buried, not anything that was so repressed that I couldn't recall it. Just forgotten, not part of the sexual being I became as a teen and young woman.
And now I look back and am uncomfortable because I am adult and I am proposing that you read and think about childhood sexuality, as sexuality.
It was our version of Doctor obviously. It was innocent and yet so far from that. It was sex and power games. No doubt about it.
And the rest of you? Did you...?
She was my best friend, and though she was a year younger she was an equal partner, as strong as I was in the relationship. I know, I know. The idea of kids is very creepy for some. Way too young. But there aren't any grown ups in this story, just me and her. Exploring each other.
There was touching but not much. Or I don't remember much touching. Let me say that. We didn't caress each other, we didn't rub, or stroke or kiss.
There was nakedness. I would expose my body. Pulling off my shirt, or my shorts and panties. Sometimes she would too, though not always. And sometimes we couldn't do that safely, so we would settle for brief exposures of pertinent parts, showing and then recovering ourselves so we didn't get caught.
The name of the game. I don't really know that it had one. An actual name I mean, that we referred to it by. Probably "that game where you make me do stuff".
Because that was the objective of the game. She would make me do stuff. She would tell me what to do. And if I didn't do it she would expose me or pinch me or touch my nipples or even spank me.
What kind of stuff? Chores. Cinderella stuff. Cleaning. Scrubbing. Often partly undressed. I guess humiliating stuff, where she had power and I didn't.
I don't know how we got there the first time. I don't know how it evolved but I remember playing it. Knowing that it was evolving. Knowing that it was wrong and that we would get in trouble if we were caught. Knowing that we couldn't tell or play it with the littler kids.
She tied me up. Sometimes clothed, sometimes in varying degrees of nakedness. Sometimes with my hands behind my back. Sometimes more exotic or more humiliating.
I remember wanting her to hit me with her dad's belt. He used to spank his two older kids (my friend and her little brother) with a belt and I was curious and excited and terrified by it all at once. I wanted to know what it felt like. My parents, on the very rare occasions when they did spank, smacked my bum with an open hand. She pretended to hit me with the belt but didn't hurt me that way.
And I remember that I wanted to play the game more often and more exclusively than she did. She either lost interest or felt uncomfortable or worried about us getting in trouble. She resisted my desire for it sometimes. I remember if I asked nicely, promised to play other games afterward, games that she preferred she would agree.
It's disturbing now, to think about it. Not because it happened but because we were so young. If we had been 15, it would be naughty, sexy, maybe precocious to think about but we were so much younger.
I think we were 8 or 9. I was 10 when it ended, when we moved away. We never got caught. We never really talked about it. And I forgot it for years. Not buried, not anything that was so repressed that I couldn't recall it. Just forgotten, not part of the sexual being I became as a teen and young woman.
And now I look back and am uncomfortable because I am adult and I am proposing that you read and think about childhood sexuality, as sexuality.
It was our version of Doctor obviously. It was innocent and yet so far from that. It was sex and power games. No doubt about it.
And the rest of you? Did you...?
Tech support
I need help. Tech support I think.
I often notice when other bloggers write about how people find their blogs, the search terms that are used.
But I don't know how to do this, and I've tried.
I'm sure it's ridiculously simple.
But, ummm.. So am I.
Can someone tell me how to do it please?
I often notice when other bloggers write about how people find their blogs, the search terms that are used.
But I don't know how to do this, and I've tried.
I'm sure it's ridiculously simple.
But, ummm.. So am I.
Can someone tell me how to do it please?
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Math quiz
He was like a little kid with a new game, dropping hints the day before, the evening before, the morning of.
His hints told me that it was a game, and eventually a math game. He told me, and I hoped it wasn't true, that the game was going to be about differential calculus. He teased me about that around the same time that he told me to bring my clamps and my weights to the game.
Umm, yeah, there's a scary thought. Because though I did once pass differential calculus I sure don't remember anything beyond the fact that it exists and pretty much defeated me. And I expect that HE could still do it and might even be shocked at how much I don't know there.
And he told me that he thought it would be fun. And not fair.
And that he had slanted the game to favour him.
And that he thought I would enjoy it, at least for some of the time.
I tried to take my cue from him and expect things to be fun, at least part of the time. Might as well start off positive right?
That morning I showed up as ordered in little booty shorts, super short, and a cute lilac sweater. No undies. So of course my nipples showed through the sweater and once he had pulled my shorts up into the crack of my ass a little to show off my butt cheeks and had unbuttoned my buttons one by one (why he asked for a top at all is kind of beyond me, but he asked so he got) he heated me up for about an hour, til I was panting for something and we were ready to play.
He laid out the toys, a couple of rows of weights to go with my clamps, and my favourite vibe, and a blindfold which I assumed meant he intended to blindfold me (maybe he forgot? Though it might have been a red herring?). He put the clamps on my tits, backed me up against the pole of my fourposter bed, having me squirm and move and gyrate like a stripper. I guess just to put him in the mood. Or maybe to hurt my nipples before we got going.
He explained the rules of the game to me. We were going to play Frog! Each frog has 2 eyes and 4 legs, so when he called out a number of frogs I had to say how many eyes and legs. I had a second and a half to do it. Simple multiplication right? And I'm sure he got this idea from the fact that I have been drilling my kid in multiplication tables.
I was relieved that it wasn't calculus and somewhat pleased that I had been boning up on multiplication tables but I wasn't under any illusion that I was going to win. He'd told me that. That it wasn't going to be fair and that he had tilted the field to favour himself.
If I got the answer right he would give me 30 seconds with the vibe. If I got the answer wrong, or too late, he would give me a weight on the chain attaching my clamps.
He gave me an example. 2 frogs, 4 eyes 8 legs I said. Right but too slow. You'll want to just say the numbers if you want to be in time. Ok, so I guessed I was ready.
We started for real. I got the first one wrong. Well, ok, not wrong but not in time. "Three." "Six and twelve." "Yes but too slow. Pick up a clamp."
I picked up a clamp and attached it to the chain between my tits. Go again. Second time. Too slow again. The first time I had been stunned, a bit startled. This time I was ready, and fast, and still too slow. Huh. I picked up another clamp and put it on. Another question. Correct this time and I was rewarded with the vibe. I picked it up and put it on my pussy. OMG it was good. Keep in mind that he had been messing with me for an hour. Heating me up and making me squirm and want and beg. And now the clamps and the vibe. Yum.
And fun too. Because he was so pleased with his game mostly. And it was wonderful. I got lots wrong, but some right too, maybe 50-50. I don't really know. Do you Sir? The game was fun, and I felt so sexual, so happy. The pain was excellent, exciting. The game was fun and I was feeling competitive, and like I wanted to please him. I wasn't really afraid of more pain, but the pain that there was became more and more exciting. It just added an edge.
And then the atmosphere changed. Bonus round he announced. The last two weights were the biggest two. They weigh 4 ounces each. So added to what was already hanging from my tits it was intimidating. Or might have been except that by that point I wanted him to hurt me, really hurt me, and he could have hung 2 pound weights from me and I would have said thank you Sir.
First bonus round I think I won. A minute with the vibe. Wow. So fucking hot. I was almost on top of an orgasm when he stopped me. Maybe 15 seconds from it. A bit dazed by the desire and the pain and the pleasure of the session. As soon as the minute was up he put my hands back over my head and asked me the next question. Big numbers. 14 frogs. 28 and fuck. Not fair I thought. He wanted me to lose. Wanted me dazed. Wanted me wearing the heavy weight.
I picked it up, placed it on the chain. It hurt, pulling at my tits, elongating my nipples. Pain. Pleasure. Service.
Hands over your head. Again. 13. 26 and 52. Fast enough. The vibe. I was so hot by then. Liquid-y ready. Needy. Begging for the cum. And he let me. Let me cum so that he could watch the sex and then the pain of it.
But you know what he did? He put conditions on me cumming. That when I started to cum I had to stop stroking myself and put the vibe in between my legs and just hold it there with my legs. Which meant that as soon as I started to cum and did that, the orgasm that had started tapered off pretty fast and the pain hit from the clamps.
What a bully?
The thing that struck me most about the whole thing was that the game was so light, despite being about sex and pain and unfairness, until suddenly it turned dark with his bonus round.
And I do love the darkness in him. Honestly it speaks to the corresponding darkness in me, that loves the pain and wants to take more and more and more of it for him. It makes me feel passionate and hungry.
That darkness returned again last night, and again this morning. Sometimes once we start we just can't get enough of the dark.
Addicts.
His hints told me that it was a game, and eventually a math game. He told me, and I hoped it wasn't true, that the game was going to be about differential calculus. He teased me about that around the same time that he told me to bring my clamps and my weights to the game.
Umm, yeah, there's a scary thought. Because though I did once pass differential calculus I sure don't remember anything beyond the fact that it exists and pretty much defeated me. And I expect that HE could still do it and might even be shocked at how much I don't know there.
And he told me that he thought it would be fun. And not fair.
And that he had slanted the game to favour him.
And that he thought I would enjoy it, at least for some of the time.
I tried to take my cue from him and expect things to be fun, at least part of the time. Might as well start off positive right?
That morning I showed up as ordered in little booty shorts, super short, and a cute lilac sweater. No undies. So of course my nipples showed through the sweater and once he had pulled my shorts up into the crack of my ass a little to show off my butt cheeks and had unbuttoned my buttons one by one (why he asked for a top at all is kind of beyond me, but he asked so he got) he heated me up for about an hour, til I was panting for something and we were ready to play.
He laid out the toys, a couple of rows of weights to go with my clamps, and my favourite vibe, and a blindfold which I assumed meant he intended to blindfold me (maybe he forgot? Though it might have been a red herring?). He put the clamps on my tits, backed me up against the pole of my fourposter bed, having me squirm and move and gyrate like a stripper. I guess just to put him in the mood. Or maybe to hurt my nipples before we got going.
He explained the rules of the game to me. We were going to play Frog! Each frog has 2 eyes and 4 legs, so when he called out a number of frogs I had to say how many eyes and legs. I had a second and a half to do it. Simple multiplication right? And I'm sure he got this idea from the fact that I have been drilling my kid in multiplication tables.
I was relieved that it wasn't calculus and somewhat pleased that I had been boning up on multiplication tables but I wasn't under any illusion that I was going to win. He'd told me that. That it wasn't going to be fair and that he had tilted the field to favour himself.
If I got the answer right he would give me 30 seconds with the vibe. If I got the answer wrong, or too late, he would give me a weight on the chain attaching my clamps.
He gave me an example. 2 frogs, 4 eyes 8 legs I said. Right but too slow. You'll want to just say the numbers if you want to be in time. Ok, so I guessed I was ready.
We started for real. I got the first one wrong. Well, ok, not wrong but not in time. "Three." "Six and twelve." "Yes but too slow. Pick up a clamp."
I picked up a clamp and attached it to the chain between my tits. Go again. Second time. Too slow again. The first time I had been stunned, a bit startled. This time I was ready, and fast, and still too slow. Huh. I picked up another clamp and put it on. Another question. Correct this time and I was rewarded with the vibe. I picked it up and put it on my pussy. OMG it was good. Keep in mind that he had been messing with me for an hour. Heating me up and making me squirm and want and beg. And now the clamps and the vibe. Yum.
And fun too. Because he was so pleased with his game mostly. And it was wonderful. I got lots wrong, but some right too, maybe 50-50. I don't really know. Do you Sir? The game was fun, and I felt so sexual, so happy. The pain was excellent, exciting. The game was fun and I was feeling competitive, and like I wanted to please him. I wasn't really afraid of more pain, but the pain that there was became more and more exciting. It just added an edge.
And then the atmosphere changed. Bonus round he announced. The last two weights were the biggest two. They weigh 4 ounces each. So added to what was already hanging from my tits it was intimidating. Or might have been except that by that point I wanted him to hurt me, really hurt me, and he could have hung 2 pound weights from me and I would have said thank you Sir.
First bonus round I think I won. A minute with the vibe. Wow. So fucking hot. I was almost on top of an orgasm when he stopped me. Maybe 15 seconds from it. A bit dazed by the desire and the pain and the pleasure of the session. As soon as the minute was up he put my hands back over my head and asked me the next question. Big numbers. 14 frogs. 28 and fuck. Not fair I thought. He wanted me to lose. Wanted me dazed. Wanted me wearing the heavy weight.
I picked it up, placed it on the chain. It hurt, pulling at my tits, elongating my nipples. Pain. Pleasure. Service.
Hands over your head. Again. 13. 26 and 52. Fast enough. The vibe. I was so hot by then. Liquid-y ready. Needy. Begging for the cum. And he let me. Let me cum so that he could watch the sex and then the pain of it.
But you know what he did? He put conditions on me cumming. That when I started to cum I had to stop stroking myself and put the vibe in between my legs and just hold it there with my legs. Which meant that as soon as I started to cum and did that, the orgasm that had started tapered off pretty fast and the pain hit from the clamps.
What a bully?
The thing that struck me most about the whole thing was that the game was so light, despite being about sex and pain and unfairness, until suddenly it turned dark with his bonus round.
And I do love the darkness in him. Honestly it speaks to the corresponding darkness in me, that loves the pain and wants to take more and more and more of it for him. It makes me feel passionate and hungry.
That darkness returned again last night, and again this morning. Sometimes once we start we just can't get enough of the dark.
Addicts.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Lisa's Dom
In my last post I wrote about humiliation, and I talked about a session of cyber humiliation. My Dom had set me a task, to find a Dominant who would cyber with me and agree to humiliate me.
But I didn't find the right guy right away. There were conditions to him doing me, that made it somewhat complicated to find someone who would agree. He had to agree to do me, play with me, and humiliate me, and he had to agree to send my Dominant an email about the experience, and giving me a grade after the fact. If he didn't send the email or if I didn't get a good grade then my Dom wouldn't consider that I had been compliant.
So I looked and looked and looked. I had the world's trashiest photo on my profile, not of me, but it could have been, face didn't show. It was a girl in a bathroom, with her face in a urinal. Chained to it I think. Miniskirt, heels. In retrospect, maybe a bit over the top.
I talked to all kinds of chatroom assholes. I'm making it sound like it took weeks, and it didn't but it did take several days. My conversations included such gems as "on your knees bitch" and "I'm gonna tear into your white cunt" and a conversation about home nipple piercing and whether my refusal to consider it during a first conversation made me less of a submissive.
Actually even at the time it was funny.
The search was interesting. Fun. Often hot. Cause after all I was talking to Doms and flirting and getting turned on by exploring my submissive humiliating-wanting self. It was unique, scary and so fucking exciting to ask a stranger, or a succession of strangers to humiliate me.
And finally I found a guy. A Dom. Kind of a yummy Dom. Well ok, definitely a yummy bossy dominant Dom. I liked him, he was hot, the turned me on, and he agreed to all the conditions.
And he did me, cyber fucked me, complete with requisite humiliation, and he got off and so did I. And I said thank you very prettily, and he agreed to email my Dom, and that was that. Right?
Well... the internet can be a pretty small place sometimes.
The day after it happened, I talked to a another girl. She had had a brief fling with my Dom and had moved on, partly because of me, partly because of her I think.
I copied our conversation.
She did you find one to cyber with?
Me : i did
She : smiles
She : who?
Me : ironmaster2005a
She : holy shit
Me : why holy shit?
She : that's...
She : nevermind
Me tell me
Me : tell tell tell
Me : please
She : Master...
Me : you keep erasing , tell me
She : the one that disappeared...then came back
She : today was supposed to be his first day back from his trip
Me : your current guy
Me : shit
Me : shit
She : no wonder he didn't contact me all day until just before he left
Me : i am becoming a real pain to you arent i?
Me : sorry
She : no need to apologize
Me : umm, i sort of feel like there is...
She : It's not your fault
Me : you had shown me a different name, different profile...
Me : at least i think you had
Me : we are fishing from the same pool arent we? you and i?
She : http://profiles.yahoo.com/ironmaster2005a
She : Him, right?
Me : has to be, let me look
Me : yup, thats him
She : nods
Me : had you shown me that profile before?
She : no
Me : cause the name wasnt familiar, but i knew i had seen the pic before, but it clearly wasnt his pic, so i didnt think abt it
Me : bad friend
Me : sorry
She : no
Me : sorry
She : no don't
Me : well jeez
Me : grrr, you spend 4 months not doing mine cause he's mine
Me : and i do yours
Me : tell me how you feel
She : i don't even know the words
Me : sigh
Me : try
She : i can't
Me : sorry
She : I'm not upset...at you
She : I have no right to be
Me : sorry, you should be upset at me too i think
Me : damn, i am so sorry, i didnt have any idea. i really didnt
She : don't be sorry...
Me : how can i not?
Me : you feel so strongly about this kind of thing
Me : and it sounds like he left you hanging to boot...
Me : what are you going to do?
Me : anything?
She : i don't know
Me : who will tell my Dom? you or me?
She : Does he have to know?
Me : i cant not tell him
Me : i better do it
She : nods
Me : he would hate if i kept a secret like that from him
Me : lisa i am very sorry. i dont know what else to say
Me : i feel terrible
She : it is my fault for asking...
Me : sigh.
Me : or his fault for fucking around
She : my fault for trusting him or myself
Me : or my fault for doing as my Dom said
Me : or his for sending me looking
Me : i have to go, am supposed to be out shopping. i will come back later,
She : no...it's mine...
Me : so think about the "now what?" part
Me : and i will come back
Me : i'm sorry, i do have to go, t
Me : i will be back though
Me : bye
Like watching a train wreck, isn't it? And yeah I left his screenname in. Poor Lisa. I don't think they lived happily ever after. Imagine being in that position, hearing your guy had blown you off, lied, in order to cyber with a stranger and then saying "It's my fault for asking"?
But I didn't find the right guy right away. There were conditions to him doing me, that made it somewhat complicated to find someone who would agree. He had to agree to do me, play with me, and humiliate me, and he had to agree to send my Dominant an email about the experience, and giving me a grade after the fact. If he didn't send the email or if I didn't get a good grade then my Dom wouldn't consider that I had been compliant.
So I looked and looked and looked. I had the world's trashiest photo on my profile, not of me, but it could have been, face didn't show. It was a girl in a bathroom, with her face in a urinal. Chained to it I think. Miniskirt, heels. In retrospect, maybe a bit over the top.
I talked to all kinds of chatroom assholes. I'm making it sound like it took weeks, and it didn't but it did take several days. My conversations included such gems as "on your knees bitch" and "I'm gonna tear into your white cunt" and a conversation about home nipple piercing and whether my refusal to consider it during a first conversation made me less of a submissive.
Actually even at the time it was funny.
The search was interesting. Fun. Often hot. Cause after all I was talking to Doms and flirting and getting turned on by exploring my submissive humiliating-wanting self. It was unique, scary and so fucking exciting to ask a stranger, or a succession of strangers to humiliate me.
And finally I found a guy. A Dom. Kind of a yummy Dom. Well ok, definitely a yummy bossy dominant Dom. I liked him, he was hot, the turned me on, and he agreed to all the conditions.
And he did me, cyber fucked me, complete with requisite humiliation, and he got off and so did I. And I said thank you very prettily, and he agreed to email my Dom, and that was that. Right?
Well... the internet can be a pretty small place sometimes.
The day after it happened, I talked to a another girl. She had had a brief fling with my Dom and had moved on, partly because of me, partly because of her I think.
I copied our conversation.
She did you find one to cyber with?
Me : i did
She : smiles
She : who?
Me : ironmaster2005a
She : holy shit
Me : why holy shit?
She : that's...
She : nevermind
Me tell me
Me : tell tell tell
Me : please
She : Master...
Me : you keep erasing , tell me
She : the one that disappeared...then came back
She : today was supposed to be his first day back from his trip
Me : your current guy
Me : shit
Me : shit
She : no wonder he didn't contact me all day until just before he left
Me : i am becoming a real pain to you arent i?
Me : sorry
She : no need to apologize
Me : umm, i sort of feel like there is...
She : It's not your fault
Me : you had shown me a different name, different profile...
Me : at least i think you had
Me : we are fishing from the same pool arent we? you and i?
She : http://profiles.yahoo.com/ironmaster2005a
She : Him, right?
Me : has to be, let me look
Me : yup, thats him
She : nods
Me : had you shown me that profile before?
She : no
Me : cause the name wasnt familiar, but i knew i had seen the pic before, but it clearly wasnt his pic, so i didnt think abt it
Me : bad friend
Me : sorry
She : no
Me : sorry
She : no don't
Me : well jeez
Me : grrr, you spend 4 months not doing mine cause he's mine
Me : and i do yours
Me : tell me how you feel
She : i don't even know the words
Me : sigh
Me : try
She : i can't
Me : sorry
She : I'm not upset...at you
She : I have no right to be
Me : sorry, you should be upset at me too i think
Me : damn, i am so sorry, i didnt have any idea. i really didnt
She : don't be sorry...
Me : how can i not?
Me : you feel so strongly about this kind of thing
Me : and it sounds like he left you hanging to boot...
Me : what are you going to do?
Me : anything?
She : i don't know
Me : who will tell my Dom? you or me?
She : Does he have to know?
Me : i cant not tell him
Me : i better do it
She : nods
Me : he would hate if i kept a secret like that from him
Me : lisa i am very sorry. i dont know what else to say
Me : i feel terrible
She : it is my fault for asking...
Me : sigh.
Me : or his fault for fucking around
She : my fault for trusting him or myself
Me : or my fault for doing as my Dom said
Me : or his for sending me looking
Me : i have to go, am supposed to be out shopping. i will come back later,
She : no...it's mine...
Me : so think about the "now what?" part
Me : and i will come back
Me : i'm sorry, i do have to go, t
Me : i will be back though
Me : bye
Like watching a train wreck, isn't it? And yeah I left his screenname in. Poor Lisa. I don't think they lived happily ever after. Imagine being in that position, hearing your guy had blown you off, lied, in order to cyber with a stranger and then saying "It's my fault for asking"?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Humiliation
Stop me if you've heard this one already...
Years ago, when our relationship was fairly new he set up a scenario where I had to go find a Dominant in a chat room and ask him to cyber fuck me. I forget lots of the details of it, but this wasn't such an unusual order for us at that time. What made it unusual, the reason that it still sticks in my mind years later, is that part of the instruction was that I had to ask the Dom to humiliate me.
"Please Sir, can you also humiliate me?"
Yeah.
I agreed to do the task, not much choice really. And I did it, found a guy, asked him to humiliate me, and he did. And then came back to my Dom and asked the question. Why? Why did he make me do that? And why did he want me humiliated?
He said that I liked a little humiliation with my D/s.
I was shocked speechless for a minute.
I was a feminist. A new submissive. But I wanted to be treated with respect. I wasn't ... that kind of person.
And yet I was. He was right. I hadn't ever stared that in the face before. But he was right. He reads me so well. Often knowing me better than I know myself. He isn't afraid of the darkest parts of me that I don't want to own.
We'd known each other maybe a year at that point, and he had already brought me to know that I liked pain, that I loved submission. This was just another facet of what he wanted me to be and face.
And of course he encourages it, cultivates it. Because he likes it.
He's careful with it. Kind of. He calls me slut, whore, cunt. I struggled with the names a bit. Some more than others. Slut was huge for me, bad memories of teenage insults. Whore was bad too. And it's particularly stinging when he's been lending me out or showing me around. They sting a bit.
And they hold heat for me too. I cum faster when he calls me them during sex. I heat for him when he tells me what a slut I am for him. I hear it almost as love words I think, but I know they are naughty, nasty, and I own them then. Afterwards, I don't like them.
There are other aspects of humiliation of course. Different kinds of games he plays with me, humiliating me for himself, and sometimes in front of others. Some are hot for me, some just for him or his audience. Sometimes there's heat in that for me too, the knowledge of the power and the submission works to turn me on sometimes. And sometimes I just get through it.
There are things he doesn't do too. He doesn't insult my body. He doesn't call me fat, and didn't even when I was. He always made me feel desirable, made me feel he saw the curves I wanted him to see rather than the chub I hoped he would miss.
He doesn't call me ugly, though he will say I look used sometimes.
He doesn't call me pig or cow or dog or anything like that. I would probably cry. And more importantly, I guess that's not his kink. (It was a conversation with Good Girl about this that inspired this post!)
The things he makes me face and do, lumped under the heading of humiliation are varied. Some hardly rate a blip on the H-scale, some way over on the far end. OK, there hasn't ever been an H-scale but he's assigning numeric values to everything else lately.
So much more to say here. About aftercare, and how I need it more after humiliation. About the factors that come into play. About why the hell it's hot for me.
And remind me to tell the rest of that story, about the cyber humiliation. That's about 3 posts all on its own.
Years ago, when our relationship was fairly new he set up a scenario where I had to go find a Dominant in a chat room and ask him to cyber fuck me. I forget lots of the details of it, but this wasn't such an unusual order for us at that time. What made it unusual, the reason that it still sticks in my mind years later, is that part of the instruction was that I had to ask the Dom to humiliate me.
"Please Sir, can you also humiliate me?"
Yeah.
I agreed to do the task, not much choice really. And I did it, found a guy, asked him to humiliate me, and he did. And then came back to my Dom and asked the question. Why? Why did he make me do that? And why did he want me humiliated?
He said that I liked a little humiliation with my D/s.
I was shocked speechless for a minute.
I was a feminist. A new submissive. But I wanted to be treated with respect. I wasn't ... that kind of person.
And yet I was. He was right. I hadn't ever stared that in the face before. But he was right. He reads me so well. Often knowing me better than I know myself. He isn't afraid of the darkest parts of me that I don't want to own.
We'd known each other maybe a year at that point, and he had already brought me to know that I liked pain, that I loved submission. This was just another facet of what he wanted me to be and face.
And of course he encourages it, cultivates it. Because he likes it.
He's careful with it. Kind of. He calls me slut, whore, cunt. I struggled with the names a bit. Some more than others. Slut was huge for me, bad memories of teenage insults. Whore was bad too. And it's particularly stinging when he's been lending me out or showing me around. They sting a bit.
And they hold heat for me too. I cum faster when he calls me them during sex. I heat for him when he tells me what a slut I am for him. I hear it almost as love words I think, but I know they are naughty, nasty, and I own them then. Afterwards, I don't like them.
There are other aspects of humiliation of course. Different kinds of games he plays with me, humiliating me for himself, and sometimes in front of others. Some are hot for me, some just for him or his audience. Sometimes there's heat in that for me too, the knowledge of the power and the submission works to turn me on sometimes. And sometimes I just get through it.
There are things he doesn't do too. He doesn't insult my body. He doesn't call me fat, and didn't even when I was. He always made me feel desirable, made me feel he saw the curves I wanted him to see rather than the chub I hoped he would miss.
He doesn't call me ugly, though he will say I look used sometimes.
He doesn't call me pig or cow or dog or anything like that. I would probably cry. And more importantly, I guess that's not his kink. (It was a conversation with Good Girl about this that inspired this post!)
The things he makes me face and do, lumped under the heading of humiliation are varied. Some hardly rate a blip on the H-scale, some way over on the far end. OK, there hasn't ever been an H-scale but he's assigning numeric values to everything else lately.
So much more to say here. About aftercare, and how I need it more after humiliation. About the factors that come into play. About why the hell it's hot for me.
And remind me to tell the rest of that story, about the cyber humiliation. That's about 3 posts all on its own.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Holes II - Another Version
I'm kneeling in front of him on the bed when it starts.
“Unbutton your shirt and pull it open. Wider, so I can see your tits.”
I unbuttoned my white blouse slowly as he watched me. Slowly because that's the way he likes it. That's what he's taught me. One button at a time, exposing skin. His attention completely on me.
“Bend over. Bend further. Further. So you can rub your nipples on the bed. Now do that for a while.”
I knelt, bending over the mattress, the tips of my breasts scraping gently there as he watched. It was slow. I could hear my own breathing and his too as he watched me. I braced on my arms, obeying him, my ass tilted up.
“Your ass is higher than your head, you know that?”
The curve of my back and my spread thighs making me feel exposed and vulnerable.
“Now reach back and unzip your shorts. Pull them down, below your ass. Further, halfway down your thighs. Good.”
The shorts restricted the spread of my legs, pulling them in a little, and I could fee the coolness of the air on my nakedness.
“Now put your head and shoulders down on the bead. Press them down into the mattress.”
With a little whimper I pressed my head and shoulders into the mattress, my spine curved, my head on the bed, my ass in the air. Exposed, open, vulnerable. Long pauses.
“Available.”
I knelt, thinking of what he saw, what he did to me, what he made me. Owned, sexed. Humiliated but so fucking turned on too.
“Your holes are higher than your head. You are holes.”
His voice was deeper now. He was turned on too. By the sex of it, the power, the obedience.
“Turn around so what I see is your holes. Stuck up in the air.”
I shift myself around, still kneeling so he is looking directly at my asshole. I hate when he does this. I hate him having this view of me. Exposed. Nasty. Yet its intensely sensual. I'm breathless with it.
“Your asshole, your cunt. Holes”.
My back arched. He's looking directly at me, my head pressed to the bed, my ass tilted in the air, open. The sexual tension is so strong.
“Say it. What you are to me. Holes.”
My voice a whisper, “Holes, Sir.”
And he cums on me.
“Unbutton your shirt and pull it open. Wider, so I can see your tits.”
I unbuttoned my white blouse slowly as he watched me. Slowly because that's the way he likes it. That's what he's taught me. One button at a time, exposing skin. His attention completely on me.
“Bend over. Bend further. Further. So you can rub your nipples on the bed. Now do that for a while.”
I knelt, bending over the mattress, the tips of my breasts scraping gently there as he watched. It was slow. I could hear my own breathing and his too as he watched me. I braced on my arms, obeying him, my ass tilted up.
“Your ass is higher than your head, you know that?”
The curve of my back and my spread thighs making me feel exposed and vulnerable.
“Now reach back and unzip your shorts. Pull them down, below your ass. Further, halfway down your thighs. Good.”
The shorts restricted the spread of my legs, pulling them in a little, and I could fee the coolness of the air on my nakedness.
“Now put your head and shoulders down on the bead. Press them down into the mattress.”
With a little whimper I pressed my head and shoulders into the mattress, my spine curved, my head on the bed, my ass in the air. Exposed, open, vulnerable. Long pauses.
“Available.”
I knelt, thinking of what he saw, what he did to me, what he made me. Owned, sexed. Humiliated but so fucking turned on too.
“Your holes are higher than your head. You are holes.”
His voice was deeper now. He was turned on too. By the sex of it, the power, the obedience.
“Turn around so what I see is your holes. Stuck up in the air.”
I shift myself around, still kneeling so he is looking directly at my asshole. I hate when he does this. I hate him having this view of me. Exposed. Nasty. Yet its intensely sensual. I'm breathless with it.
“Your asshole, your cunt. Holes”.
My back arched. He's looking directly at me, my head pressed to the bed, my ass tilted in the air, open. The sexual tension is so strong.
“Say it. What you are to me. Holes.”
My voice a whisper, “Holes, Sir.”
And he cums on me.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Holes
Unbutton your shirt and pull it open. Wider, so I can see your tits.
Bend over. Bend further. Further. So you can rub your nipples on the bed. Now do that for a while.
Your ass is higher than your head, you know that?
Now reach back and unzip your shorts. Pull them down, below your ass. Further, halfway down your thighs. Good.
Now put your head and shoulders down on the bead. Press them down into the mattress.
Your holes are higher than your head. You are holes.
Turn around so what I see is your holes. Stuck up in the air.
Your asshole, your cunt. Holes.
Say it. What you are to me. Holes.
Holes
Bend over. Bend further. Further. So you can rub your nipples on the bed. Now do that for a while.
Your ass is higher than your head, you know that?
Now reach back and unzip your shorts. Pull them down, below your ass. Further, halfway down your thighs. Good.
Now put your head and shoulders down on the bead. Press them down into the mattress.
Your holes are higher than your head. You are holes.
Turn around so what I see is your holes. Stuck up in the air.
Your asshole, your cunt. Holes.
Say it. What you are to me. Holes.
Holes
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Some Ramblings on Sharing
Surfing blogs before breakfast this morning (what a bad girl!), I came across a new one,
strength through submission . It was new and fun and I liked it a lot. What I liked best was one para in a blog entry that read:
Still blindfolded I was allowed to suck your cock. It's been ages and it tasted so good felt so perfect. Taking you completely into my throat, making myself gag because I know you love it. You filled my head with "you need to find a girly who could be licking you right now" and "you need to find a girly who will help you suck daddy's cock" And I didn't say a word because I was so ashamed how horny that made me.
strength through submission . It was new and fun and I liked it a lot. What I liked best was one para in a blog entry that read:
Still blindfolded I was allowed to suck your cock. It's been ages and it tasted so good felt so perfect. Taking you completely into my throat, making myself gag because I know you love it. You filled my head with "you need to find a girly who could be licking you right now" and "you need to find a girly who will help you suck daddy's cock" And I didn't say a word because I was so ashamed how horny that made me.
Isn't that yummy? It's so ... bossy and dominant and greedy and even a little mean. Subs like mean selfish Daddies sometimes don't we?
Imagine sucking his cock, blindfolded, he's pushing his dick into my throat, making me gag, though I know I'm not allowed to, and he's demanding I find him another girl, another sub, another slut, another mouth servicing him. I'm not enough girl for him. He's humiliating me, lowering me, pushing me down, and I'm eating it up, eating him up. I would do anything for him when it's like this.
He wraps it up a little nicer, he tells me she will be licking me too, playing with me too, a playmate for us both, but really I know what he wants. Greedy greedy bastard.
Or is it that having me makes him euphoric, makes him feel ten feet tall, and that his cock is huge, enough for 2 or 3 or 7 women. It makes him want more and more and more. Makes him greedy, makes him want it all.
And maybe he is enough for all of us. All seven of us? (Ok, really seven is likely too much even for him!)
He has enough sex and enough dominance to share with more than just me. For him, sex seems to breed more sex, dominance more dominance, and sadism certainly breeds more sadism.
And when I'm wallowing in pain, loving it, basking in his attention and love, sometimes I wonder if I would share the pain if I could choose that. And when I'm hurting after a week of it, and hoping praying that he will stop, that something will divert him I would share it in a minute. And then would I be jealous?
And though I can be possessive of him too (even the words, "My Dom", "Mine") I love the idea of sharing, the knowledge that there is enough of him to share. And of course his excitement with it.
Comments?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Disappointment
What to do when I disappoint him?
Sometimes I know he is disappointed, not so much in me but in the details of the lives that surround us. Sometimes it's a day we thought we would have together that gets derailed, by kids or commitments or a broken water heater.
And he's not a child, of course, and neither am I. We are adults and realize that perfection is rare and that stealing time to be together is selfish. But honestly, the days we have are so precious, the time together is so treasured that the disappointment is fierce when we lose that.
I'm sorry Sir, that tomorrow won't be ours alone to share. Sorry for you, sorry for myself too.
Sometimes I know he is disappointed, not so much in me but in the details of the lives that surround us. Sometimes it's a day we thought we would have together that gets derailed, by kids or commitments or a broken water heater.
And he's not a child, of course, and neither am I. We are adults and realize that perfection is rare and that stealing time to be together is selfish. But honestly, the days we have are so precious, the time together is so treasured that the disappointment is fierce when we lose that.
I'm sorry Sir, that tomorrow won't be ours alone to share. Sorry for you, sorry for myself too.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Thoughts on the Blog
Thoughts on the blog.
As I write this I have 85 followers. Which is pretty neat. And flattering. And makes me feel good. I remember when I had my first one. I was THRILLED.
Of course, when I started, I started with the idea that I would write for me. Just me. Nobody's business but mine what I wrote. And I would write to work things out for myself. Using the internet to store and view and organize and archive my stuff.
And then I told my Dom. I told him because I tell him everything, especially about my online life. And it seemed like a big deal to keep something like this from him.
At first he was wary of it, not knowing or understanding where it would take us. And then he began to enjoy it, the various aspects of it. I think what he liked most would come to be the community of it. Bloggers are a community. Umm.
The blogs are the real estate. Bloggers are landlords. Readers are tenants. Lurkers are tenants too but perhaps more transient, or more secret or perhaps they are transients, coming from other areas to play or learn in this real estate... Maybe my analogy begins to fall apart or maybe it just needs more work. But in any case, there definitely is a community.
We read each others blogs and comment and are influenced by what we read of course. We begin to write for each other, for our readers, influenced by the comments we receive. We are influenced by approval I think, something that submissives are particularly susceptible to.
And while I try not to write things that are too influenced I know that knowing you, my readers, are here, shapes what I say and how I say it.
Nilla says I should only write for myself. And of course this is a good idea, but in this particular case it's Nilla's idea and her conviction, not entirely my own.
I'm a pleaser, and don't want to offend, so I am careful with things. I don't often write "God" as an exclamation, as I know some find it offensive, and I don't use it much that way in my real life for the same reason. But somehow in sex I use it tons, for emphasis, for the exaltedness of it.
But mostly I am too aware of the power and particularly of the endurance of the written word to be perfectly comfortable with writing things down for everyone to see forever.
And I love to be liked, I love the approval. I love comments that say "yes, me too". And I loved and was shy and a little embarrassed at the same time when goodgirl said to me that she had seen herself in my writing and had gone back and read everything from the beginning. I have done that too with blogs I found and loved. How flattering, and how humbling in a way.
My Dominant reading here shapes my writing A LOT. Sometimes he shapes it explicitly, telling me what to write about or even how to write something. Sometimes he bugs me to write more often, cause I get busy. Or to own up to something if he feels I am being coy. Or if he just wants to humiliate me in front of the world.
Him reading here limits some of what I say about him, especially when I am really really pissed at him. While in theory I have the right to say whatever I want on my blog and he hammers at that point regularly, the fact is that it seems ridiculously self destructive to say things on the blog that I wouldn't say to his face. So if what I really want to say to him is "you are a controlling asshole and you are being insanely unfair and I hate that you are punishing me (only in a childish rant)" I won't say it here any more than I would really say it to him. Because maybe he would be fine with it. But more likely not.
And I won't say to someone who asks about posting pics "absolutely not" because I don't want to wake the sleeping dragon.
I am careful about saying anything that looks like a dare. Phrasing is important and in the same way I don't say to my Dom, "I would never do that," I don't say it to you either. Because he loves my writing, and my blog, and reads it all, including all the comments.
And I am careful, careful, careful in writing or not writing about new relationships with other subs, little forays and experiments with other girls. Because he decides what happens there, and I don't want to talk about his exploits or foul his pitch.
So the community shapes the writing, taking away some of the anonymity that was the initial draw here.
As I write this I have 85 followers. Which is pretty neat. And flattering. And makes me feel good. I remember when I had my first one. I was THRILLED.
Of course, when I started, I started with the idea that I would write for me. Just me. Nobody's business but mine what I wrote. And I would write to work things out for myself. Using the internet to store and view and organize and archive my stuff.
And then I told my Dom. I told him because I tell him everything, especially about my online life. And it seemed like a big deal to keep something like this from him.
At first he was wary of it, not knowing or understanding where it would take us. And then he began to enjoy it, the various aspects of it. I think what he liked most would come to be the community of it. Bloggers are a community. Umm.
The blogs are the real estate. Bloggers are landlords. Readers are tenants. Lurkers are tenants too but perhaps more transient, or more secret or perhaps they are transients, coming from other areas to play or learn in this real estate... Maybe my analogy begins to fall apart or maybe it just needs more work. But in any case, there definitely is a community.
We read each others blogs and comment and are influenced by what we read of course. We begin to write for each other, for our readers, influenced by the comments we receive. We are influenced by approval I think, something that submissives are particularly susceptible to.
And while I try not to write things that are too influenced I know that knowing you, my readers, are here, shapes what I say and how I say it.
Nilla says I should only write for myself. And of course this is a good idea, but in this particular case it's Nilla's idea and her conviction, not entirely my own.
I'm a pleaser, and don't want to offend, so I am careful with things. I don't often write "God" as an exclamation, as I know some find it offensive, and I don't use it much that way in my real life for the same reason. But somehow in sex I use it tons, for emphasis, for the exaltedness of it.
But mostly I am too aware of the power and particularly of the endurance of the written word to be perfectly comfortable with writing things down for everyone to see forever.
And I love to be liked, I love the approval. I love comments that say "yes, me too". And I loved and was shy and a little embarrassed at the same time when goodgirl said to me that she had seen herself in my writing and had gone back and read everything from the beginning. I have done that too with blogs I found and loved. How flattering, and how humbling in a way.
My Dominant reading here shapes my writing A LOT. Sometimes he shapes it explicitly, telling me what to write about or even how to write something. Sometimes he bugs me to write more often, cause I get busy. Or to own up to something if he feels I am being coy. Or if he just wants to humiliate me in front of the world.
Him reading here limits some of what I say about him, especially when I am really really pissed at him. While in theory I have the right to say whatever I want on my blog and he hammers at that point regularly, the fact is that it seems ridiculously self destructive to say things on the blog that I wouldn't say to his face. So if what I really want to say to him is "you are a controlling asshole and you are being insanely unfair and I hate that you are punishing me (only in a childish rant)" I won't say it here any more than I would really say it to him. Because maybe he would be fine with it. But more likely not.
And I won't say to someone who asks about posting pics "absolutely not" because I don't want to wake the sleeping dragon.
I am careful about saying anything that looks like a dare. Phrasing is important and in the same way I don't say to my Dom, "I would never do that," I don't say it to you either. Because he loves my writing, and my blog, and reads it all, including all the comments.
And I am careful, careful, careful in writing or not writing about new relationships with other subs, little forays and experiments with other girls. Because he decides what happens there, and I don't want to talk about his exploits or foul his pitch.
So the community shapes the writing, taking away some of the anonymity that was the initial draw here.
Friday, May 14, 2010
They really hurt you
Sometimes when he uses me he talks and talks, and the words flow over me as I obey whatever it is that he is telling me. His voice is deep, so fucking sexy, the accent deep south. And the words filthy. Or loving. Or darkly sadistic.
Last night he put a pair of clamps on me, a pair with very wide tips, so they squeeze in an odd way. The spring on them is very strong, and the pressure is enormous.
He put them on me, at what was probably the end of a run of sadistic excess. And then he leaned back and looked at me, at the suffering and the tension, teeth gritted as I tried to breathe through it.
He said to me,
"Damn, that's hot. They really hurt you. Lots of pain here, same as when I did this before.
Get on all fours, slowly, facing me, so your tits and the chain hang down now.
God. Look at your face. Look at your face. This really hurts you.
Slide a hand between your legs and feel your cunt. It's wet slut. You fucking little slut of course it's wet."
And then, a little later he said,
"I want to fuck you now. With the clamps still on you. Where I can pull the chain and make you scream as my cock pounds into your pussy."
God. Could he ever have questioned whether he was a sadist?
Last night he put a pair of clamps on me, a pair with very wide tips, so they squeeze in an odd way. The spring on them is very strong, and the pressure is enormous.
He put them on me, at what was probably the end of a run of sadistic excess. And then he leaned back and looked at me, at the suffering and the tension, teeth gritted as I tried to breathe through it.
He said to me,
"Damn, that's hot. They really hurt you. Lots of pain here, same as when I did this before.
Get on all fours, slowly, facing me, so your tits and the chain hang down now.
God. Look at your face. Look at your face. This really hurts you.
Slide a hand between your legs and feel your cunt. It's wet slut. You fucking little slut of course it's wet."
And then, a little later he said,
"I want to fuck you now. With the clamps still on you. Where I can pull the chain and make you scream as my cock pounds into your pussy."
God. Could he ever have questioned whether he was a sadist?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Ponygirl
I have tried starting this post 5 different ways and don't really know where to start and what to say, and how far to back up and what to include. I'm sure there's a tidier way to tell this story but sometimes the writer gets lost in the details. Because sometimes all the details seem important.
This morning was all about humiliation for me.
He dressed me as a ponygirl. With my collar and cuffs, and a bit, and my shiny black waist cincher, and knee pads, and the horse tail butt plug. And showed me to someone that way.
There are a couple of girls he has been messing with a bit. Submissives of course. And I like them both and like that they want him and that he likes them. I like the idea of polygamy. Both read this blog.
And he's shown me to both of them. One, a couple of weeks ago, was embarrassing, at least I thought so at the time, him showing me to a girl he wants to do, partly because she's a girl, partly because... jeez, it's just embarrassing to be displayed to anyone. If I am honest, I will confess that it was exciting too, the badness of it, my slutty exhibitionist streak.
I think that it being a woman makes it more embarrassing because I expect their response to be more clinical, perhaps more critical. I expect them to see the humiliation for what it is and not be swept with lust for my body. I do kind of think that men are more forgiving about stuff. I dunno. And perhaps I think a woman would agree to see me simply because he asks, to please him, rather than out of any desire to really see. Which makes it more humiliating for me, if you see what I mean.
So he's been talking to one girl, flirting, more than flirting, and he asked her to propose a scenario for me. She proposed a ponygirl scenario. With waist cincher and butt plug. I wasn't thrilled at the time, but I didn't think much more about it. He'd done something similar before and likely will again, but I didn't really think about it in connection with her.
Yesterday he was chatting with her and told her that he was going to have me do the ponygirl thing today. And asked her if she wanted to see me on webcam. She said that she'd like it but wasn't sure how to do it on her computer. So they left it as something not likely to happen. I know all this because he forwarded the transcript of the conversation to me accidentally. Well, he meant to send me the email, but meant to take most of that conversation out. He wanted to just leave in a teaser, letting me know that she knew more about my day than I did. Master Mind Fuck.
So today he gets me all rigged up and then asks her if she'd like to see me and she says yes. So he showed me to her. I was mortified. I should put that in huge font. She'd never seen me before, had seen one picture of me, and honestly this has to be the most embarrassing, humiliating way for her to see me. She's my friend. And he had her see me with a horse tail. And swish it. And stuff.
And he's created a power imbalance in my relationship with her. Does that make sense? She was nice about it afterward. She said that submission was beautiful and that I glowed.
Ummm... really I didn't. I do think submission can be beautiful, and especially for me, when it's about pleasure and pain and submission, it's fucking amazing. Humiliation can be hot for me. I admit it. See Master, I do admit it, right here in print. But I don't feel beautiful. I don't feel that Zen state of submission. I squirm with it. And get wet with it. But I'm not beautiful then. I get that there's power for him. I understand what appeals to him better than I understand why I like it actually.
So I feel she was being nice. Which was nice of her. And I appreciated it.
Anyway, 3 weeks ago I felt like it was a big humiliating deal when he showed me to the first girl. And now this. What next Sir?
This morning was all about humiliation for me.
He dressed me as a ponygirl. With my collar and cuffs, and a bit, and my shiny black waist cincher, and knee pads, and the horse tail butt plug. And showed me to someone that way.
There are a couple of girls he has been messing with a bit. Submissives of course. And I like them both and like that they want him and that he likes them. I like the idea of polygamy. Both read this blog.
And he's shown me to both of them. One, a couple of weeks ago, was embarrassing, at least I thought so at the time, him showing me to a girl he wants to do, partly because she's a girl, partly because... jeez, it's just embarrassing to be displayed to anyone. If I am honest, I will confess that it was exciting too, the badness of it, my slutty exhibitionist streak.
I think that it being a woman makes it more embarrassing because I expect their response to be more clinical, perhaps more critical. I expect them to see the humiliation for what it is and not be swept with lust for my body. I do kind of think that men are more forgiving about stuff. I dunno. And perhaps I think a woman would agree to see me simply because he asks, to please him, rather than out of any desire to really see. Which makes it more humiliating for me, if you see what I mean.
So he's been talking to one girl, flirting, more than flirting, and he asked her to propose a scenario for me. She proposed a ponygirl scenario. With waist cincher and butt plug. I wasn't thrilled at the time, but I didn't think much more about it. He'd done something similar before and likely will again, but I didn't really think about it in connection with her.
Yesterday he was chatting with her and told her that he was going to have me do the ponygirl thing today. And asked her if she wanted to see me on webcam. She said that she'd like it but wasn't sure how to do it on her computer. So they left it as something not likely to happen. I know all this because he forwarded the transcript of the conversation to me accidentally. Well, he meant to send me the email, but meant to take most of that conversation out. He wanted to just leave in a teaser, letting me know that she knew more about my day than I did. Master Mind Fuck.
So today he gets me all rigged up and then asks her if she'd like to see me and she says yes. So he showed me to her. I was mortified. I should put that in huge font. She'd never seen me before, had seen one picture of me, and honestly this has to be the most embarrassing, humiliating way for her to see me. She's my friend. And he had her see me with a horse tail. And swish it. And stuff.
And he's created a power imbalance in my relationship with her. Does that make sense? She was nice about it afterward. She said that submission was beautiful and that I glowed.
Ummm... really I didn't. I do think submission can be beautiful, and especially for me, when it's about pleasure and pain and submission, it's fucking amazing. Humiliation can be hot for me. I admit it. See Master, I do admit it, right here in print. But I don't feel beautiful. I don't feel that Zen state of submission. I squirm with it. And get wet with it. But I'm not beautiful then. I get that there's power for him. I understand what appeals to him better than I understand why I like it actually.
So I feel she was being nice. Which was nice of her. And I appreciated it.
Anyway, 3 weeks ago I felt like it was a big humiliating deal when he showed me to the first girl. And now this. What next Sir?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Photo Task
He gave me a list of tasks and asked for feedback. My first response wasn't about the details of what he had demanded. It was outrage at the way he had phrased it. Gosh, I'm not even sure that outrage is the right word.
He had demanded 4 days worth of naked photos, in poses that he had chosen. And I'd never given him naked pictures before. So it was a huge deal already. And one I wasn't sure yet, in those first moments, how I would respond to.
He had been very specific about the poses he wanted. And several of them seemed very difficult. Ridiculously difficult. Level 9.5 difficulty. (Don't you just love when I quantify things that can't really be quantified?)
And on top of that, he told me that he would grade my submissions to him. Which kind of bugged me. And he told me, in the same set of instructions that a basic submission that met the criteria he had given would earn a B, but that with "creative additions" I could earn extra points, get an A.
I still can't put my finger on why that was big to me, but somehow it was adding insult to injury. Here he was demanding naked pics, and specifying really tough poses too. And then he wanted creative additions? Like what? Another person in the pic? A cop? A neighbour? My kids in the picture? Pissed at him, I asked the questions, yes sarcastically, and he answered as calmly as if I had asked them for real. No, not my kids.
He did tell me at the end that he knew that part would bug me, being graded. That it was humiliating and demeaning and he knew I would respond huffily to it. Huffily.
No reward for an A by the way, or for a B. Just the joy of having served him, pleased him. He did say that if I didn't do the photos, that would be an F and I would be punished. I would have known that anyway. And I ALWAYS do his tasks. So why even say that?
Four days of pictures, specific pictures on specific days. Monday and Thursday the hardest. He wanted:
Monday - I want this to be a picture of you completely topless at work. I don't care where at work you do it but it must be in your building somewhere. When I say topless, I don't mean just lifting your blouse and bra, I mean totally topless, completely naked from the waist up.
Tuesday - I want a set of 3 pictures of My greedy whore. All 3 pictures will show your face and as much of your arousing body as possible. The first pic will be her just starting to arouse herself. The second pic will be her aroused to a level of 6-7. The 3rd picture in this set will be that same greedy whore aroused to a orgasm level of 8-9. This 3rd picture will show you wanting and needing an orgasm. Then you will stop, not cum and send your Master those 3 pictures, having completed this days assignment. No my lil slut, no cum with this one - just pleasure for your Master this time. this assignment will ready your body and mind for our day together on Wednesday.
Wednesday - This picture will be of your pussy with the black vibe turned on, shoved into your cunt as deep as it will go. I want to see a hard clit and swollen wet pussy in this picture. This is Wednesday so you will not cum without My permission, as usual, on this day.
Thursday - This picture will be taken in your car. You will be topless again with your collar on, your tits clamped with the clover clamps and the chain of the clamps threaded through the big metal ring of the collar. Yes, slut, it must be taken in your vehicle and the picture must prove to Me that it was taken in your vehicle. No, it doesn't have to be in the drivers seat.
Naked picture at work. Naked pictures at home. Naked chained clamped picture in my car. That's what I saw when I read the list. Okay, okay, topless picture at work.
Like what? Like at my desk? Sitting prettily at my computer, typing my resignation? Maybe someone else could take the pic? We have no private restrooms at my office of course. Just shared ones.
And there was no way I could get my car into my garage. Too much junk in the garage. No escape that way.
And most pics I just take with my phone and send him, but I didn't think that was going to work for this, managing the phone and getting my face and tits in the damn picture and I didn't even know how to work the timer function that almost certainly had to be there on my real camera. And maybe on my phone. It was going to be fussy, fiddly, lots of extra props and technical difficulties. Topless at work. And he proposed "creative additions for extra credit"?
It's too bad he reads here, cause if he didn't I could put in all my nasty little mutterings from this past week. The names I called him, the things I thought, said, wanted to say to him. I'm sure you'd find that funny.
The upshot was that of course I did figure out how to work the camera timer. I did get the pics taken. Even the ones I absolutely dreaded. I didn't get caught or fired or arrested. I didn't wind up with a neighbour or an outraged little old lady or some chainsaw wielding pervert knocking on my window as I did the car one.
I did get all the pics taken and submitted. He liked them all. Raved about them even. I didn't soak up his approval the way I usually do, because each day I was thinking about the next days challenge, with the car picture looming over everything, and about how I was uncomfortable about the whole idea and about his creative additions for extra credit.
I even asked him to take the last task away. He had given me an opening. I was worried about it Wednesday night and tense, trying to figure out how to do it, where to do it, and knowing I had a day already too full of other things. He asked what he could do to help me. Sweet huh? And I said take this task away. And he said no. And then he said that he had been afraid I would ask that, after he opened the door, and that he hadn't asked just to set me up. But that he wouldn't do it. And I don't know why that didn't make things worse, but it didn't.
He said after that he hadn't realized how much I would struggle, though of course he knew it would be big for me. But maybe he didn't know how big. And he knew that the work one and the car one would be huge. And they were.
And he knew that it would make me crazy, being graded on the tasks. I don't think that was why he put that part in though. He said that he wanted me to just want to serve him, please him. But he also knew that wasn't necessarily going to be the result. When he said that I felt like I had missed a chance to please him. I wish I was different sometimes. Softer. Sweeter. Wouldn't life be easier?
Would I react differently if it happened again? Probably not. Obedient yes. Submissive, maybe.
He had demanded 4 days worth of naked photos, in poses that he had chosen. And I'd never given him naked pictures before. So it was a huge deal already. And one I wasn't sure yet, in those first moments, how I would respond to.
He had been very specific about the poses he wanted. And several of them seemed very difficult. Ridiculously difficult. Level 9.5 difficulty. (Don't you just love when I quantify things that can't really be quantified?)
And on top of that, he told me that he would grade my submissions to him. Which kind of bugged me. And he told me, in the same set of instructions that a basic submission that met the criteria he had given would earn a B, but that with "creative additions" I could earn extra points, get an A.
I still can't put my finger on why that was big to me, but somehow it was adding insult to injury. Here he was demanding naked pics, and specifying really tough poses too. And then he wanted creative additions? Like what? Another person in the pic? A cop? A neighbour? My kids in the picture? Pissed at him, I asked the questions, yes sarcastically, and he answered as calmly as if I had asked them for real. No, not my kids.
He did tell me at the end that he knew that part would bug me, being graded. That it was humiliating and demeaning and he knew I would respond huffily to it. Huffily.
No reward for an A by the way, or for a B. Just the joy of having served him, pleased him. He did say that if I didn't do the photos, that would be an F and I would be punished. I would have known that anyway. And I ALWAYS do his tasks. So why even say that?
Four days of pictures, specific pictures on specific days. Monday and Thursday the hardest. He wanted:
Monday - I want this to be a picture of you completely topless at work. I don't care where at work you do it but it must be in your building somewhere. When I say topless, I don't mean just lifting your blouse and bra, I mean totally topless, completely naked from the waist up.
Tuesday - I want a set of 3 pictures of My greedy whore. All 3 pictures will show your face and as much of your arousing body as possible. The first pic will be her just starting to arouse herself. The second pic will be her aroused to a level of 6-7. The 3rd picture in this set will be that same greedy whore aroused to a orgasm level of 8-9. This 3rd picture will show you wanting and needing an orgasm. Then you will stop, not cum and send your Master those 3 pictures, having completed this days assignment. No my lil slut, no cum with this one - just pleasure for your Master this time. this assignment will ready your body and mind for our day together on Wednesday.
Wednesday - This picture will be of your pussy with the black vibe turned on, shoved into your cunt as deep as it will go. I want to see a hard clit and swollen wet pussy in this picture. This is Wednesday so you will not cum without My permission, as usual, on this day.
Thursday - This picture will be taken in your car. You will be topless again with your collar on, your tits clamped with the clover clamps and the chain of the clamps threaded through the big metal ring of the collar. Yes, slut, it must be taken in your vehicle and the picture must prove to Me that it was taken in your vehicle. No, it doesn't have to be in the drivers seat.
Naked picture at work. Naked pictures at home. Naked chained clamped picture in my car. That's what I saw when I read the list. Okay, okay, topless picture at work.
Like what? Like at my desk? Sitting prettily at my computer, typing my resignation? Maybe someone else could take the pic? We have no private restrooms at my office of course. Just shared ones.
And there was no way I could get my car into my garage. Too much junk in the garage. No escape that way.
And most pics I just take with my phone and send him, but I didn't think that was going to work for this, managing the phone and getting my face and tits in the damn picture and I didn't even know how to work the timer function that almost certainly had to be there on my real camera. And maybe on my phone. It was going to be fussy, fiddly, lots of extra props and technical difficulties. Topless at work. And he proposed "creative additions for extra credit"?
It's too bad he reads here, cause if he didn't I could put in all my nasty little mutterings from this past week. The names I called him, the things I thought, said, wanted to say to him. I'm sure you'd find that funny.
The upshot was that of course I did figure out how to work the camera timer. I did get the pics taken. Even the ones I absolutely dreaded. I didn't get caught or fired or arrested. I didn't wind up with a neighbour or an outraged little old lady or some chainsaw wielding pervert knocking on my window as I did the car one.
I did get all the pics taken and submitted. He liked them all. Raved about them even. I didn't soak up his approval the way I usually do, because each day I was thinking about the next days challenge, with the car picture looming over everything, and about how I was uncomfortable about the whole idea and about his creative additions for extra credit.
I even asked him to take the last task away. He had given me an opening. I was worried about it Wednesday night and tense, trying to figure out how to do it, where to do it, and knowing I had a day already too full of other things. He asked what he could do to help me. Sweet huh? And I said take this task away. And he said no. And then he said that he had been afraid I would ask that, after he opened the door, and that he hadn't asked just to set me up. But that he wouldn't do it. And I don't know why that didn't make things worse, but it didn't.
He said after that he hadn't realized how much I would struggle, though of course he knew it would be big for me. But maybe he didn't know how big. And he knew that the work one and the car one would be huge. And they were.
And he knew that it would make me crazy, being graded on the tasks. I don't think that was why he put that part in though. He said that he wanted me to just want to serve him, please him. But he also knew that wasn't necessarily going to be the result. When he said that I felt like I had missed a chance to please him. I wish I was different sometimes. Softer. Sweeter. Wouldn't life be easier?
Would I react differently if it happened again? Probably not. Obedient yes. Submissive, maybe.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Photographic Memory
This week the theme is photos. He gave me a list of tasks that I was to complete and all of them involved photographs. Of me. Nekkid. Or exposed at least.
Nude photos has always been a limit I hadn't crossed. We've been together for years and of course he has photos of me, and some of them are nude but they don't also show my face. Or my face, with my body in seductive, but basically covered poses. Nothing with my face and my body in the same picture.
I always thought that with my mom still alive (Happy Mothers Day, Mom!) and teenage kids who do NOT want to see nekkid pictures of me romping or fucking or wearing chains or whatever, that just not taking the pics in the first place was easier than trying to explain them.
Because pictures last forever, don't they?
After giving the instructions on the pictures he wanted (and that's a whole other issue!) he listened to my concerns. He nodded. He thought. Eventually he said to me that he would delete the pics after the task was over. The he did understand that the safest thing for me was if the photos didn't exist anymore. That it was possible though not likely that someone would see them on his computer eventually.
That was sort of good. Sort of what I wanted. And yet the concern lingers. Not because I think he wouldn't delete the pics. He's a good man and if he says he will, then he will. Probably. But of course lots of girls have thought that, haven't they? And their pics are all over the internet.
I am certain that he wouldn't post them on purpose. Even if he was mad at me. Even if we were done and he was furious with me. Even if, even if, even if... He wouldn't use pictures taken and sent with this assurance of secrecy for something like that. He isn't like that. He might do other mean shit to me, and there's no assurance that he wouldn't take and use other pics, but these particular ones, he wouldn't because he said he wouldn't. It's a limit he would put on himself. Do I sound too emphatic? I trust him and I don't think that's naive.
And I get that I'm not Paris Hilton. And that nobody actually cares about seeing my pictures. They wouldn't race through the internet like a hurricane. They would drop into the pond without a ripple. Except if people that I loved saw them.
So that's one concern. And today is the day that I am supposed to remind him to erase the photos. And ... I feel weird about it. Like I am making him do something he doesn't really want to do.
Does it really matter to me? It's not life and death, just a line I hadn't crossed before. A line I have crossed now. And if it doesn't really matter, why would I enforce the promise I extracted from him?
Master, we need to talk. I think you can keep the photos. As long as you keep them private.
Nude photos has always been a limit I hadn't crossed. We've been together for years and of course he has photos of me, and some of them are nude but they don't also show my face. Or my face, with my body in seductive, but basically covered poses. Nothing with my face and my body in the same picture.
I always thought that with my mom still alive (Happy Mothers Day, Mom!) and teenage kids who do NOT want to see nekkid pictures of me romping or fucking or wearing chains or whatever, that just not taking the pics in the first place was easier than trying to explain them.
Because pictures last forever, don't they?
After giving the instructions on the pictures he wanted (and that's a whole other issue!) he listened to my concerns. He nodded. He thought. Eventually he said to me that he would delete the pics after the task was over. The he did understand that the safest thing for me was if the photos didn't exist anymore. That it was possible though not likely that someone would see them on his computer eventually.
That was sort of good. Sort of what I wanted. And yet the concern lingers. Not because I think he wouldn't delete the pics. He's a good man and if he says he will, then he will. Probably. But of course lots of girls have thought that, haven't they? And their pics are all over the internet.
I am certain that he wouldn't post them on purpose. Even if he was mad at me. Even if we were done and he was furious with me. Even if, even if, even if... He wouldn't use pictures taken and sent with this assurance of secrecy for something like that. He isn't like that. He might do other mean shit to me, and there's no assurance that he wouldn't take and use other pics, but these particular ones, he wouldn't because he said he wouldn't. It's a limit he would put on himself. Do I sound too emphatic? I trust him and I don't think that's naive.
And I get that I'm not Paris Hilton. And that nobody actually cares about seeing my pictures. They wouldn't race through the internet like a hurricane. They would drop into the pond without a ripple. Except if people that I loved saw them.
So that's one concern. And today is the day that I am supposed to remind him to erase the photos. And ... I feel weird about it. Like I am making him do something he doesn't really want to do.
Does it really matter to me? It's not life and death, just a line I hadn't crossed before. A line I have crossed now. And if it doesn't really matter, why would I enforce the promise I extracted from him?
Master, we need to talk. I think you can keep the photos. As long as you keep them private.
Monday, May 3, 2010
I Forgot
This has been a week of many many things. Keeping all the balls in the air. It was crazy at work, at home, socially. And with my beloved Dom as well.
And two of the balls went splat. One at home with one of my kids. I forgot something. He did too. And he's old enough that it should be his responsibility. But damn, I totally let him down. And that soooooo sucks!
And one with my Dom. In a way, a much more minor thing than the big one with my kid. But...
It was our day together. He told me what he wanted me to wear for him. And I showed up wearing it. A shiney black patent waist cincher, a skimpy black thong, high heels. These ones were gold. That's it. He told me I looked splendid. And I was delighted of course.
He played with me a bit. Teasing me, heating me. My little thong was halfway down my thighs and my pussy was wet as he played.
And then suddenly he said to me, "subgirl, where is your collar?" And my heart sank. Had he asked for the collar? I wasn't sure. He had told me what to wear in a message. Surely the collar hadn't been in that message. But had he asked for it somewhere else? Fuck Fuck. Double FUCK. My mind racing, I said that I didn't think he had asked for it. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the bedpost. Waiting.
It was quiet while he looked. Then he read it to me. Collar, waist cincher, thong, heels. Fuck.
I apologized. This was going to be bad. Forgetting anything isn't good. But forgetting the collar was going to be worse.
"Go and get the black office clamps."
I bit back a protest. No recourse. No protest. Nothing was going to get me out of this. The only way through it was through it.
I went to get the clamps. Brought them back and showed them to him. I was playing with them in my hands. Opening them with the long silver clips. One of them was stiffer than the other. Perhaps it was newer, the black metal not as flexible. I opened it frantically, forcefully, pressing it wide, trying to make it softer, gentler, easier in the 30 seconds I had available. Just trying to survive it.
He had me put the collar on the floor by the door. Then come back to him. He explained to me that I would put the clamps on my nipples, then crawl to the collar, pick it up, bring it back and wait for further instructions.
My hands were shaking.
He told me to start, to put the clamps on my nipples, starting with the right one. I dropped my head into my hands, wishing it would somehow magically go away and we could be back where we started.
I put the clamps on my nipples, gritted my fucking teeth and did his punishment. Crawled to the door, my thong halfway down my thighs, still wearing the high heels, my tits swaying, or so he told me later. I crawled, picked up the collar between my teeth, like a dog he points out. I brought it back and he told me to sit and wait, though not long thankfully. Then he took the clamps off me. One by one again. At his pace.
He told me he was done with the punishment. And that he wanted me to let it go too, and to go back to the state of mind I had been in before he realized I had forgotten. Easier said than done.
I cried. Fell apart completely. The stress, and the pain. The intensity. He waited. Then told me again what he wanted. For me to let it go. So hard for me to do after something like that.
Oh, and I apologized. Did I say that already?
And two of the balls went splat. One at home with one of my kids. I forgot something. He did too. And he's old enough that it should be his responsibility. But damn, I totally let him down. And that soooooo sucks!
And one with my Dom. In a way, a much more minor thing than the big one with my kid. But...
It was our day together. He told me what he wanted me to wear for him. And I showed up wearing it. A shiney black patent waist cincher, a skimpy black thong, high heels. These ones were gold. That's it. He told me I looked splendid. And I was delighted of course.
He played with me a bit. Teasing me, heating me. My little thong was halfway down my thighs and my pussy was wet as he played.
And then suddenly he said to me, "subgirl, where is your collar?" And my heart sank. Had he asked for the collar? I wasn't sure. He had told me what to wear in a message. Surely the collar hadn't been in that message. But had he asked for it somewhere else? Fuck Fuck. Double FUCK. My mind racing, I said that I didn't think he had asked for it. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the bedpost. Waiting.
It was quiet while he looked. Then he read it to me. Collar, waist cincher, thong, heels. Fuck.
I apologized. This was going to be bad. Forgetting anything isn't good. But forgetting the collar was going to be worse.
"Go and get the black office clamps."
I bit back a protest. No recourse. No protest. Nothing was going to get me out of this. The only way through it was through it.
I went to get the clamps. Brought them back and showed them to him. I was playing with them in my hands. Opening them with the long silver clips. One of them was stiffer than the other. Perhaps it was newer, the black metal not as flexible. I opened it frantically, forcefully, pressing it wide, trying to make it softer, gentler, easier in the 30 seconds I had available. Just trying to survive it.
He had me put the collar on the floor by the door. Then come back to him. He explained to me that I would put the clamps on my nipples, then crawl to the collar, pick it up, bring it back and wait for further instructions.
My hands were shaking.
He told me to start, to put the clamps on my nipples, starting with the right one. I dropped my head into my hands, wishing it would somehow magically go away and we could be back where we started.
I put the clamps on my nipples, gritted my fucking teeth and did his punishment. Crawled to the door, my thong halfway down my thighs, still wearing the high heels, my tits swaying, or so he told me later. I crawled, picked up the collar between my teeth, like a dog he points out. I brought it back and he told me to sit and wait, though not long thankfully. Then he took the clamps off me. One by one again. At his pace.
He told me he was done with the punishment. And that he wanted me to let it go too, and to go back to the state of mind I had been in before he realized I had forgotten. Easier said than done.
I cried. Fell apart completely. The stress, and the pain. The intensity. He waited. Then told me again what he wanted. For me to let it go. So hard for me to do after something like that.
Oh, and I apologized. Did I say that already?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Finally Closure
I had needed and wanted and asked for conversation about our play session the week before.
But for a couple of weeks there had been way less talk, way more rough mean sadistic sex. Did I say sex? I likely mean pain. There was sex, but the focus was definitely the pain of it. How far he could push me and that I would take it and take it and continue to take it. Nice to be the top huh?
A day or so after that really rough session, which included the exhibition and various other elements, he told me he knew I wanted that discussion, needed it even.
But he didn't allow it to happen. I don't think he was avoiding the discussion. He just wanted other things. And he wanted all the mean shit to go on. He wasn't done being the sadist yet.
And then life intervened and we didn't have the opportunity and he moved on. There I was still needing to talk (such a girl!) and he was watching basketball (what a guy!).
And I was stewing about it, and thinking that he wasn't allowing the discussion because that was all part of his big plan for me. And trying to be a good sport and not letting it go. And he was watching basketball. Cutting the grass. Going to church. Oblivious.
Finally I had the chance to tell him. To talk to him about it. To say to him, that was really hard for me to do, that exhibition. And he said yes, and we talked about the technical shit and what really happened. And what it meant to both of us.
We talked about me blogging about it too. And that while I don't mind sharing some of that with the world (because I really am an exhibitionist), and that I don't even mind telling it as an embarrassing/humiliating story about myself, perhaps even cut with a little humour. But I don't want to be vulnerable to the world. And that the vulnerability is saved for him.
And that conversation was my very favourite part of the day we spent together. Talk of trust and openness and vulnerability. And how they create the intimacy between the two of us.
We spent all day together. There was heat and sex and Dominance and submission. There was obedience and punishment.
I could tell you his favourite part, because I asked him what it was. I was pretty sure it wasn't the same as mine. And it wasn't his was all about sex and power and dominance.
At least his favourite part wasn't the punishment. Cause there was some of that too. Boo!
My favourite part was that conversation. It occurred after sex of course. And after the punishment.
It's rare that the talking is my favourite part. It's certainly a foundation part of our relationship. That both of us can talk for hours, analyzing every part of our relationship. But the crucial part of us is typically the D/s or the sex. Or maybe that's simply the part we focus on.
And then suddenly all the sex and pain and dominance wound down, and post orgasm he was gentler and ready to let me talk. And reconnect. And feel loved and connected.
He told me that of course he understood I needed closure for that day. That it was heavy and hard and that I was a good girl and that he adored me.
Which of course made me feel loved and safe and adoring and that I would do anything for him.
But for a couple of weeks there had been way less talk, way more rough mean sadistic sex. Did I say sex? I likely mean pain. There was sex, but the focus was definitely the pain of it. How far he could push me and that I would take it and take it and continue to take it. Nice to be the top huh?
A day or so after that really rough session, which included the exhibition and various other elements, he told me he knew I wanted that discussion, needed it even.
But he didn't allow it to happen. I don't think he was avoiding the discussion. He just wanted other things. And he wanted all the mean shit to go on. He wasn't done being the sadist yet.
And then life intervened and we didn't have the opportunity and he moved on. There I was still needing to talk (such a girl!) and he was watching basketball (what a guy!).
And I was stewing about it, and thinking that he wasn't allowing the discussion because that was all part of his big plan for me. And trying to be a good sport and not letting it go. And he was watching basketball. Cutting the grass. Going to church. Oblivious.
Finally I had the chance to tell him. To talk to him about it. To say to him, that was really hard for me to do, that exhibition. And he said yes, and we talked about the technical shit and what really happened. And what it meant to both of us.
We talked about me blogging about it too. And that while I don't mind sharing some of that with the world (because I really am an exhibitionist), and that I don't even mind telling it as an embarrassing/humiliating story about myself, perhaps even cut with a little humour. But I don't want to be vulnerable to the world. And that the vulnerability is saved for him.
And that conversation was my very favourite part of the day we spent together. Talk of trust and openness and vulnerability. And how they create the intimacy between the two of us.
We spent all day together. There was heat and sex and Dominance and submission. There was obedience and punishment.
I could tell you his favourite part, because I asked him what it was. I was pretty sure it wasn't the same as mine. And it wasn't his was all about sex and power and dominance.
At least his favourite part wasn't the punishment. Cause there was some of that too. Boo!
My favourite part was that conversation. It occurred after sex of course. And after the punishment.
It's rare that the talking is my favourite part. It's certainly a foundation part of our relationship. That both of us can talk for hours, analyzing every part of our relationship. But the crucial part of us is typically the D/s or the sex. Or maybe that's simply the part we focus on.
And then suddenly all the sex and pain and dominance wound down, and post orgasm he was gentler and ready to let me talk. And reconnect. And feel loved and connected.
He told me that of course he understood I needed closure for that day. That it was heavy and hard and that I was a good girl and that he adored me.
Which of course made me feel loved and safe and adoring and that I would do anything for him.
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