Princess By Day.. Slut By Night

Returned.

2009-04-26T18:20:00.001-07:00

I apologize to my readers, if any remain, for my prolonged absence. I had been unwell and then had some "life" occur that prevented me from blogging - followed by a lost password and other small bits of annoyance.

With any luck I will avoid further interruptions.. and, if you continue to read, I thank you (and would love to know you're out there - by email or comment.)

Truly,
Slut By Night

Granted.

2009-04-26T17:10:00.000-07:00

She is naked, shivering, standing at the side of the bed. Her clothes are in a heap at her feet, tossed quickly aside at his request.

He lies across the bed, his head at the edge, and smiles. "Put your pussy on my lips. Lie across my body and suck my dick." He is naked and very clearly aroused.

She is certain that she is dripping cum on his face before he finishes speaking. Before she has moved, even. "Yes, sir."

Awkwardly, feet planted on the carpeting, she spreads her legs and places her pussy lips somewhere near his mouth. It is far easier for her to put his dick in her mouth, of course, and she gently licks him up and down before sliding him fully onto her tongue.

Using her hand to hold him tightly at the bottom of his shaft, she begins to move her head slowly in circles, wetting each part of his dick with her watering mouth.

She can feel his breath on her pussy and she begins to throb and ache in anticipation of his tongue on her clit. Instead, she feels a sudden, sharp pain as his teeth grab onto the flesh between her legs. Her mouth flies open as she gasps. His dick springs out and away. In return, he bites harder.

Through nearly-clenched teeth he growls, "I said, suck my dick, slut."

She whimpers, feeling her flesh caught and pained, but leans forward again and resumes her task with as much enthusiasm as when she started.

"You are dripping." He confirms, unaware that she was certain of it already. He releases her from his teeth and she feels the cool air rush as he inhales - followed by the hot wetness of his exhale. Now that he has stopped, she is wishing his teeth were biting again, perhaps even harder.

His hands move to her breasts, kneading them roughly in his palms. She pauses for a brief moment to sigh her enjoyment but quickly returns to sucking, feeling him tighten his muscles under her. She knows this roughness will soon be moved to her nipples, still sore from earlier in the day, and she is correct.

Her breasts are pulled away, toward her sides, as he pinches and tugs on her nipples. She is panting now, her mouth opening and closing on his dick, pressing her pussy against his face in the hopes that he will oblige her and allow her to cum.

Her breasts are aching, her nipples are stinging, her pussy is in agony from lack of touch, and she is aware of the orgasm building quickly. "May I cum, sir?" she begs.

"No." He replies.

"I am not sure I can stop it." She is honest, feeling her knees begin to tremble.

In a flash he has shoved her off of him and onto her side, on the bed, quickly removing all touch from her. "Then we'll wait."

"What? Wait?!" She can't help herself. The bruised feeling in her cunt is beginning to subside, slightly, and she is unhappy with its departure.

A sharp slap to her face. "Was I not speaking English, slut?" His hand grabs her hair and pulls her head backward, causing her to move onto her back without moving her limbs.

He turns her head toward him and she sees his hand on his dick, moving slowly. She whimpers, begging, and he moves her face closer, but not close enough for her to touch.

"You are not permitted to cum until I am fucking you. You are to tell me, immediately, when you are within a few seconds of orgasm." He pulls her head away from him, again, and she nods. Wordless.

"Now, hold my dick in your hand but do not stroke me or move." He kneels beside her hip and she obeys from her position on her back. It is difficult for her to keep her hand still.

"Spread your legs." She obeys. "Wider." He pushes her thighs apart and she can feel the cold air on her wetness.

He reaches beside him and finds the riding crop, slapping it gently onto her thigh once, then twice. "You are not to close your legs or move them, slut, or your punishment will be far worse."

She nods and is rewarded with a sudden slap of the crop on the top of her mound, above her pussy lips. A second slap arrives almost immediately in the same spot. A third. A fourth. She can easily endure this without moving. A fifth, a sixth, a seventh and she begins to lose count.

Of course, he knows she can endure this without moving and, as this thought occurs to her, she feels a blinding pain in her clit. She yelps and begins to giggle - her usual reaction to pain.

"Do not move." He warns. And then another strike and another and another, hitting her pussy lips and her inner thighs and grazing her clit. She bites her lip and gasps. The orgasm begins to build again and she half-whispers this to him. "I am.. close.. again... ohh..."

"Let go of my dick and turn over." He prods her hip with the crop and she flips onto her stomach, letting go of him. He moves the crop in straight lines up her and down her back and she realizes it feels like fingertips. She smiles in her haze.

Her legs are still spread and she is not surprised to feel his hand move between her thighs, cupping her pussy and squeezing gently. "My slut needs to work on her self-control, doesn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

"Every time you approach orgasm and are unable to stop yourself, you will tell me and I will punish you."

"Oh god. Oh. But.. oh.. "

"Don't worry; you will only enjoy some of the punishment. But you will learn your lesson. I have plenty of time to work on this with you. Now, say thank you, slut."

"Thank you, sir."

She feels his weight shift on the bed and hears the drawer of her bedside table open. A hard, cold object is pressed into her pussy lips and her cunt opens to accept it - a dildo. "You will keep this in place."

"Yes, sir."

As her voice trails off, he begins to spank her ass gently with his hand. She feels herself drifting lightly, enjoying the fullness in her cunt and the light sensation on her flesh.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

"Mmm." He replies, and begins to spank harder. Her ass feels warm under his touch but not painful. His hand is certainly warmer.

"I am going to make sure you remember this tomorrow, slut. You will be reluctant to sit down." Immediately she feels the weight and cadence of his slaps increase. "Count each slap out loud for me."

Her voice shakes as she counts each slap to twenty. He picks up the crop again. "Count." He strikes in a pattern across her cheeks - vertical then horizontal then vertical again - and begins to shift from the gentle tip of the flogger to the hard stick-handle.

"Ah!" She cries out, immediately correcting herself, "Thirteen.. fourteen.. ah.. fifteen.. sixteen.. ah.."

He does not stop at twenty this time and she continues to count to thirty-seven before he pauses yet again.

"You will not cum without my permission. Say it."

"I will not cum without your permission, sir."

Her ass is throbbing already as he begins to slap and crop her flesh over and over and over. "Say it after each blow, slut."

Slap. "I will not cum without your permission, sir."

Crop. "I will not cum without your permission, sir."

Slap. "I will not cum without your permission, sir."

Crop. "I will not cum without your permission, sir."

She is finding it hard to speak, gasping for air between each strike and stammering the words between clenched teeth.

"Good girl, Princess. Now, on your back again. Take the dildo out of your cunt and lick it clean before you set it aside."

The cum on the dildo is thick and tastes of sweat and her juices as she hurridly cleans it with her tongue. "You are a slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

He moves between her thighs and pushes his dick into her. "And you like this, don't you? You like what I do to you."

"Yes, sir." She raises her hips against his thrusting, her eyes closed tightly and her hands gripping the sheets on the bed.

"You may cum."

And she does.

Shopping.

2009-04-25T11:42:00.000-07:00

"While the children are at school, you will go to the local adult 'toy' store and purchase an inexpensive dildo that is wide but short." His hand is on her pussy lips as he speaks.

"How wide?" she replies.

"Wide enough that you will be able to feel it intensely and frequently when it's inserted. Not so wide as to cause you a great deal of pain or make you walk in a way that anyone might suspect."

She nods. "What if I can't find one?"

"You will find something appropriate regardless of its intended purpose. We will modify something if required." He tugs on her pussy lips distractedly. "It should be inexpensive, as I said."

"When will I be wearing it?"

"In the morning, as I get up to prepare for work, I will insert a dildo or the pleasure-balls into your pussy. I may or may not use lube, depending on how much time we have. You will wear it until I am home at night, unless I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sir."

"You will wear something in your cunt to remind you that I own you and that your pussy is to be at my service whenever I choose to use it. It will help you to remain mindful of your purpose. You will wear something even when you are 'not in the mood' or when you are working. It must be wide enough or heavy enough that you can feel its presence." He repeats himself.

"Yes, sir."

"You will go and get this tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." She nods her head, dreamily.

Silenced.

2009-04-24T18:17:00.000-07:00

"Remove your clothing and lie, on your back, in the middle of the bed."

She does as he requests and, within seconds, he has affixed her wrists above her head and anchored them to the bolt in the wall behind the mattress.

"Open your mouth."

Obediently, she complies. He gags her with a clean, balled-up sock that sits in her mouth. He does not need to secure it into position as she will not remove it.

"Will you lie still?"

She looks at him, pondering her ability to remain in this position. After a moment she nods.

"If you do not stay still I will tie you into position. Do you understand?"

She nods again, taking a deep breath through her nose.

Carefully, he arranges her limbs. Legs, spread as far apart as she is able. Arms point downward but outstretched so the palms of her hands rest on her thighs. She can feel herself becoming wet.

He gently lifts her head and ties a blindfold over her eyes. "I am going to insert ear plugs now. I know you don't like the sensation but I want for you to be as unaware as possible. You will tolerate the earplugs, slut, or you will be punished."

A sound comes from her throat that she is not able to recognize - a combination of fear and arousal. Before the sound fades, the earplugs are slipped into place. She hears the beating of her heart, the sound of her lungs filling with air and... nothing else.

His hand slides gently along her inner thigh, brushing her labia but not lingering before slipping away again. He is rubbing her flesh with the palm of his hand - thighs, stomach, breasts - never spending more than a second in any place.

She begins to relax as, after all, there is nothing else she can do. It is not painful to lie still, even as she feels apprehensive of what he may do next.

His hand gentle caresses her breasts, one at a time, then cups her pussy for a few seconds, pulsing gently. She feels herself grow increasingly aroused but does not have any problems remaining in the position in which she was placed.

There is a sudden explosion of sensation in her pussy. She fights the urge to clamp her thighs closed and cover herself with her hands. A sound comes from her mouth, she is certain, before she realizes that he has pushed an ice cube into her cunt and that it is slowly dripping cold water between her ass cheeks. The cold is numbing, though, and after a moment she feels nothing at all beyond the dripping wetness.

And then she feels his teeth on her labia - lightly, at first, and more insistent as he begins to tug on them and pull them apart. She wants to squirm but, again, she remains still.

There's a pause for a moment and she feels the mattress below her shift as he moves again. She feels her breath quicken and wishes she could see what he was doing. Did he grab an implement or was he simply changing his position? She tries to relax again.

A sharp pain rings through her nipples - he has attached clamps or clips of some sort and they are digging into her flesh. Now she is resisting her inclination to arch her back, to moan. She chants, "be good. be good. be a good slut." inside her head to keep herself from moving.

His hands pull her pussy lips apart, again, and she feels a sudden pressure and a quick give of her cunt as the wide dildo slides into place. She is close to orgasming as he leaves the dildo in place and begins to angrily bite the flesh of her thighs and pussy lips. She imagines the sounds of his own arousal and it nearly pushes her over the edge.

She feels his tongue on her clit and he begins to suckle it.. and the orgasm hits her - powerful waves and contractions and, she imagines, despite the gag in her mouth she is screaming her pleasure aloud. Her thighs clench and close together as she rides the waves of her orgasms.

Abruptly, the dildo is removed and his hands push her legs apart again. There's a searing pain in her nipples as he yanks the clips and slaps at her breasts, over and over. She knows he is not pleased that she has cum already and she knows that she will be punished.

He slaps her face over and over until she is focused on that and not her cunt. He slaps her breasts and she feels them swelling and growing tender. He yanks the nipple clamps until she is positive she is bleeding.

And then she feels the riding crop on her pussy lips, gentle at first.. and building in intensity. When she has reached her peak - he stops, suddenly, and rolls her onto her stomach.

He slaps her ass - a gentle spanking - and she finds herself immediately aroused. He slaps and caresses, alternately, as he sooths the flesh and inflames it again. She wishes she could hear the sharp slap of his hand hitting her flesh. Thinking of it makes her wetter. She struggles to remain in place as the blows to her flesh grow stronger and, after a pause, she realizes he has selected one of his many implements with which to continue.

Her ass is in agony and yet she still feels herself raising it slightly as he strikes her.

His hand finds its way to her cunt again, fingering her roughly and sliding his fingers - one, then two, then she loses count - into her pussy and pulling the wetness out with them. He continues to spank her and whip her and slap her as he fingers her and she reaches the edge of orgasm yet again.

He slides his dick roughly into her cunt, his weight on her back, and grabs her throat with one hand as the other yanks her head backward by the hair. She is certain that a great deal of her screaming is escaping the gag as he begins to thrust his dick in and out of her pussy.

She is choking and smothering and, oh god, she is cumming and cumming and cumming. She can feel his dick under the tight muscles of her cunt and, soon, he is cumming too.

When he is finished he releases her to lie flat on her stomach on the bed. She is sweaty and shaken as he removes the earplugs and the gag and the covering from her eyes. There are tears in her eyes as he unties her wrists and gentle curls her into a ball.

"My good slut. You are a good girl, aren't you?" He whispers and she feels herself nodding as she moves closer to him. "You are a very good Princess."

She nods again, grateful to hear his voice.

Desire.

2009-04-24T17:13:00.000-07:00

The email:

You will shower and trim all of your body hair - do not shave any of it - before I am home from work. Use the shampoo that I prefer and the soap that I prefer so that you smell acceptable to me. You will give yourself one orgasm in the shower and, before you towel off, bring yourself to the edge of orgasm and stop. Dress in jeans, no underwear, a normal t-shirt and bra. When I arrive home, you will have dinner on the table for the kids and we will eat as a family. We will play this evening when the children are asleep.

She follows his instructions carefully, grooming herself accordingly and preparing dinner at the ideal time for his arrival. He comes through the door as always, his words calm and cheerful as he greets the children and removes his shoes.

The children run off to another room after saying hello and he walks into the kitchen where she stands, waiting.

He holds her close to his body and she feels his arousal against her. He holds her hair tightly in his hand and leans forward, "I am very pleased with you for following my instruction." He speaks into her ear so there is no chance of the children overhearing. She blushes, slightly, though she is not sure why. "Now, go to the bedroom and put the pleasure balls into your pussy so that they are there during dinner."

She complies, immediately, finding herself wet and aroused as she pulls down her pants to push the wide balls into her cunt.

At the table, the children are clamoring about and telling their father about their day. He smiles and asks the appropriate questions while resting his hand on her knee. She is focused only on the pressure inside of her and willfully resisting the urge to rock back and forth to increase her own pleasure - she is distracted.

After dinner, they carry the dishes into the kitchen and the children head off to brush their teeth. He leans in, again, and grabs her breast tightly in his hand. "Did you do as I asked?" he inquires. She nods. "Good. Very good."

There are bedtime stories and the ritual for the children lasts for several hours - they are of different ages and have bedtimes that span a good amount of time. She wishes desperately that sedating the children was legal but, instead, focuses her attention on the weight of the balls inside her cunt. She tidies the kitchen.

As he goes upstairs to read the final bedtime story, he pauses and beckons her closely. "Go to the bedroom and apply a very thick coating of Pleasure Balm to your pussy, including the outer lips. Do not stop until it burns. Wait for me in the bedroom, fully clothed." She nods.

The pleasure balm is a lotion she purchased that is comprised of mint and some other extracts that tingle in small amounts and grow increasingly painful with larger applications. There is no way to ease the pain - it is applied and endured.

She feels herself growing wet as she walks down the hallway and closes the door. She likes the Pleasure Balm as much as she dislikes it. With the door locked, she pulls her pants down, again, and with her fingers massages the lotion into the wetness. Instantly, she feels its effect. She resists her urge to grab her vibrator, to use her fingers, and closes up her zipper.

The bedtime story will take 3o minutes, at least, and she is not sure what to do with herself in the meantime. She waits patiently, curled up on the bed. She can feel herself growing wetter and more aroused. She knows her pussy lips are becoming swollen and tender.

The door to the room opens and he enters.

"Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes."

"Good girl. You're a good girl, aren't you, my Princess?"

"Yes sir."

He stands beside the bed and points to the floor. "Get on your knees at the end of the bed. Put your hands behind your back."

She moves quickly into position and clasps her wrists together. He sits on the bed and leans against the headboard, facing her.

"You have been avoiding your duties for the past while, haven't you?" He speaks evenly and calmly.

"I.. Well.. It's just that things have been busy and.. well, y'know?" She tries to be playful and evasive at the same time.

"You signed a contract, did you not?" He asks. She feels her stomach sinking.

"Yes, but.."

"You are my property, are you not?" He interrupts her.

"Yes, but I mean, there's been so many.."

"You are my property and you have not been abiding by our contract, slut." He growls the last word.

"The kids.."

"..go to bed at night. You have no excuse." He finishes for her. "You are the Princess by Day and you are my slut at night. When I wish to use you, or to be serviced, you will do it."

"Well, the thing is.."

"There is no 'thing' to discuss. Tell me why you have not been serving me and abiding by your contract."

She squirms uncomfortably on her knees. "I.. I have not been feeling attractive and I have not been feeling sexual and I find it hard to be subservient when I feel that way and..."

He moves forward and slaps her face swiftly. She sways, briefly, and looks up at him as he speaks. "You do not deign to tell me what I find attractive or not. You do not tell me what sexual is. You do not have the right to tell me when you will be 'aroused' or not because your arousal is meaningless to me. You exist to serve me, do you not?"

She nods, silently, unsure of what to say.

"Let me make this clear to you, slut. By day, you are a strong woman who does as she pleases. You will raise our children to respect you and obey you. You will have your hobbies and your enjoyments but, when night falls and the children are asleep, you are my property whether you like it or not. If there is a failing with your body, if you cease to be attractive to me, I will be the one to say it and you will not attempt to second guess me."

She nods, silent still, and feels the tears in her eyes.

"Now, stand up and remove your clothing."

Hesitantly, she stands and obeys him, placing her arms at her sides and facing the bed.

"Your body belongs to me." He stands beside her and, grasping her hair in his hand, he pulls her head backward. "Say it."

"My body belongs to you." She whispers.

He reaches for the length of rope and begins to tie wrap her wrist and secure her to the anchor in the ceiling, her body outstretched and unconcealed. "You exist for my pleasure and if I do not obtain pleasure from it, I will direct you as to how to remedy that problem. You will obey me."

One hand cups her swollen pussy as the other slaps her face swiftly. "Say it."

"I exist for your pleasure and.. if you do not obtain pleasure.. you will direct me to remedy it." Again, a whisper from her.

"I am asserting my control. You will accept it." He walks to the bedside table and removes the riding crop from the drawer.

Slowly, he traces the leather of the tip along her flesh, watching as the goosebumps rise. She moans, quietly and long, and sways on her feet.

He strikes her hip first, sharply, and then her side. She cries out and regains her composure, biting her lips as he strikes her again.

"Who owns you, slut?" he demands, striking her back and shoulders.

"You do, sir."

"Who controls you?" A sharp crack of the crop on her ass then her breast.

"You do."

"And who do you serve, bitch?"

"You, sir. I am here to serve you. It's just that.. my body isn't perfect. I do not look like any of the women in the porn you view and I.." Another slap from his hand across her face.

Again, he walks to his bedside table. He returns with clothespins and attaches them firmly to her nipples, squeezing them into place so she feels the teeth dig into her flesh.

"I am not certain that you are understanding me, but I am also not an unreasonable person. I will help you overcome this sudden shyness. For the next 14 days, you will be intoxicated in some manner each time that I intend to use you." With one hand on her pussy and the other on the clothespins, he alternates pressure. "Tonight you will be given alcohol. Tomorrow will be the same. For the rest of the week you will either smoke a joint until your inhibitions are gone or you will take one of your sleeping pills to lower your resistance. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And while you are under these influences I will ensure your safety, of course, but I will use you in whatever manner I choose while reminding you that you exist for my pleasure and that you do not have any right to refuse me or tell me what is, or is not, attractive." He slaps her face, hard and she feels tears in her eyes. "After these 14 days you will be occasionally permitted an intoxicant of my choosing but you will be expected to comply regardless of your mood or your arousal or your desires."

She nods, quickly.

"Then we shall begin immediately with your re-training."

He walks towards the bedside table. She lowers her head.

At Night.

2009-04-24T13:51:00.000-07:00

It's dark and she's asleep. Curled up, quiet, oblivious to her surroundings.

She's awakened by his touch and finds herself irritated - never good at waking up, even worse at being awakened by someone else. He whispers, "You can keep sleeping, it's okay. But curl up closer to me." She complies, tiredly, and burrows her face into his chest inhaling his scent.

He waits for her breathing to slow and lengthen. Minutes pass and his voice croons, "My beautiful goddess.. you are so loved. So safe and warm..." as he strokes her hair with his fingers, occasionally letting his touch linger on her neck and cheek. She relaxes again, irritation fading.

She's almost asleep again when he gently pulls her heavy limbs out of the curled-up ball and moves her onto her back. Again, she struggles out of the seduction of sleep and makes a whimper of frustration.

"You don't like that, do you?" he asks, in a tone that suggests he's already very much aware of what she likes - and doesn't. Her eyes open again, quickly, and she tries in vane to focus in the darkness.

"I.." she starts, beginning to move away from him.

The hand that had gently held her tightens its grip and she finds she's unable to move far at all. "You? No, no, this isn't about you." He moves quickly and holds her by the throat, effectively pinning her to her pillow. Her breath is restricted, and she feels her heart quicken.

"I was sleeping!" she squeaks, her mind still clouded by sleep.

"Mmm. You are my Princess by Day, are you not? And you are, without discussion, my slut by night." he replies, tightening his grip on her throat. His other hand pulls her covers down to her waist and lifts her t-shirt up to expose her breasts. She feels her nipples harden, instantly, in the cold air.

"But.. I'm tired and we have to get up at 7 and..", suddenly she can't speak. His hand squeezes her throat nearly closed. She gasps a last drop of air into her lungs and waits, silent.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, slut." His voice is cold and low. "You will stop speaking now or I will be forced to fill your mouth with something to keep you quiet. This is the last choice you'll have, for a while, so I suggest you decide quickly."

His grip on her throat relaxes briefly. She pauses as the white flashes of light dissipate back to darkness and then whispers, "I'll be good."

"I have no doubt of that." He snickers and her heart pounds and she waits, motionless.

Keeping his hand on her throat, he moves his body away from hers and positions his hips next to her face. "Suck." She realizes he has already removed his clothing and his dick, hard and swollen, is pressed against her lips. He is enjoying himself.

Turning her head toward him, she tastes the salty precum, briefly, before his pushes into her mouth fully. Her tongue moves over his flesh, so hot against her, and her mouth begins to water. He moans and thrusts deeply once.. twice.. before pulling out and away.

His free hand finds her nipple and his fingers pinch quickly. She lets out a sharp noise of surprise, and pain, feeling herself sinking into the bed. "Ah, now this you like. Let's see how much you can take, then, shall we?"

Tighter and tighter he presses his fingers, tugging and twisting. She bites her lip to keep from shouting and he suddenly releases her throat.

"I think you enjoyed that!" He suddenly slides his hand down her stomach, and his fingers find her wet cunt. "Yes, you most certainly did enjoy that, slut." She is trying not to cum, already, and he can feel her muscles straining to push her up against him.

"Do not move." A quick slap to her pussy and her muscles give out again. His hand is back on her throat as he slaps her face once, then twice. Her cheeks are hot and stinging and her ears ring and she's dizzy. She is on the verge of orgasm.

"If you cannot be obedient on your own, I will restrain you. And if you are restrained I will be much less gentle than I have been so far, slut. Do not move. Do. Not. Move."

Her moan echoes inside her head and she's unsure if it was out loud or imagined. Another slap to her cheek comes suddenly, then the other cheek as quickly.

And then he is pressing her face against his chest. "Poor Princess.. it's been so long since you've been used and abused, hasn't it? I'll have to change that." His hand is stroking her hair again, fingers weaving in and out. He lifts her chin toward him and gently kisses her.

As she returns his kiss, softening against him, his teeth sink into her lip and she yelps.

"Get out of bed, undress, and light the candle on the dresser. Stand at the end of the bed with her hands at your sides."

She hesitates and he grabs her hair tightly, pulling her head sideways. "Not a request, slut."

In a moment she finds herself, naked and shivering, standing at the end of the bed in the candlelight. He pulls the covers from the bed and lies down, his hand on his dick. "Now, play with your breasts and your pussy while I watch. Do not cum."

She is self-conscious and nervous as her hands find her breasts - warm and heavy. She dips her fngers into her pussy and trails the cum across her nipples, feeling the sharpness in her left aereola where he had earlier pinched.

His hand moves slowly on his dick and, watching him watching her, she moans again on the verge of orgasm.

"I.. can't play anymore without cumming." she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear her.

"You are out of practice!" he replies, rolling to his side and opening his bedside table. His hand emerges with a length of rope. "We might as well work on that now, then. Move under the hook in the ceiling."

Her legs weaken, but she complies.

Oops.

2008-09-18T08:02:00.001-07:00

I've been ridiculously sick for the past week-ish, so please excuse the lack of updates, HNTs and other assorted blog things. I'll be back when I'm caught up on the non-blog tasks that need doing!

Unmarked.

2008-09-10T13:16:00.000-07:00

There are no marks.

Not a single mark on my body when we are done playing. Perhaps a small red spot from his lips sucking my flesh, or a wrinkle in my flesh from a bunched-up sheet beneath me, but nothing that announces what we've been up to.

I may be sweaty or chilled or trembling or flat-out exhausted.. but there are no marks.

This is both disappointing and thrilling.

It's thrilling because, for whatever reason, it feels more like a secret when there's nothing visible. You could strip me down in the middle of the daylight hours and see nothing amiss. You'd never know!

It's disappointing because, well, there's no lingering evidence. Nothing for me to see in the mirror or while dressing myself in the morning other than the usual quirks of my flesh.

Even when he flogs me and the leather feels as if it's biting into my flesh my skin calms quickly.

And I wonder...

When he is gentle to start - stroking, touching, caressing - it feels wonderful. And when he slowly pulls harder and squeezes tighter and swings the flogger through the air faster.. it feels even more wonderful.

I love the build up, the gentle priming! The way my blood begins to flow and my senses blur and my mind becomes fuzzy and laser-sharp simultaneously.

The harsher sensations arouse me most when he leads up to them.

So I wonder, of course, whether that holds true for floggings and spanking and slapping. With the proper "warm up", would I be capable of enjoying harsher floggings? More brutal physical attention?

Would I be able to 'take' the kind of act that leaves lingering marks? The kind I could see the next day, even, and smile to myself over?

Homework #15.

2008-09-09T11:53:00.000-07:00

I want you to write about how it feels when I over stimulate your pussy, as well as address whether I've ever gone close to your limits with that.

At first, I tried to tell him that he's never over-stimulated my pussy. He has, of course, played with it and touched it and fingered it and sucked it and.. oh, I'm getting sidetracked just thinking about it.

But then he reminded me of those times when I've just come and I'm sensitive and he does what I think of as "scribbling" on the masterpiece.

And that's what he's talking about.

I'm multi-orgasmic (you may feel free to be jealous) and my orgasms vary from light and fluffy to hard and thudding.

Just like flogging, now that I think of it...

When I have a 'small' orgasm my body simply yearns for more of the delicious pleasure. It's a bit like a drug addict seeking a bigger high after a small taste.

I arch my back and ache and toss and throw myself around in the hopes of attaining a stronger orgasm.

Sometimes the small ones can even overlap; I'm on the trailing end of one when the next intense wave appears.

The "harder" orgasms are the kind where my entire body clenches and releases. My pussy throbs and my clit feels explosive and I see stars and colours and, if I were religious, I'd hazard a guess that I'd be able to easily see the Face of God.

Those big, fat explosive orgasms end in an incredible sensitivity in my clit and, really, my entire body.

When I'm in the middle of a major orgasm and I'm coming and coming and coming, he will occasionally finger/lick in rapid "scribble" motions. My clit screams, my brain is overwhelmed, and I'm inclined to flail.

It's mean, really. I don't get to enjoy the whole delicious orgasm!

And sure, it sometimes leads to another orgasm. But the bursts of sensitivity lessen my enthusiasm, briefly, and it can be hard to come again for a while.

Has he come close to my limits? Yes and no.

He has not caused me pain in the sense that I'd be likely to shout my safeword or that I'd want to stop playing.

He has definitely caused some sensitivity in the extreme and temporarily ruined my intense pleasure (generally before giving me MORE pleasure, though!) but it's not fatal even as it makes me growl..

HNT.

2008-09-04T16:07:00.000-07:00

Today's HNT doesn't feature me naked - or half-naked, either - but instead shows my daytime collar and my nighttime collar..

Daytime

Nighttime

Now With RSSy Goodness!

2008-09-04T13:52:00.000-07:00

After much finagling and whimpering on my part, you can subscribe to the blog by RSS by clicking over on the right..

Homework #14.

2008-09-03T06:21:00.000-07:00

We had been playing for a bit when he had me straddle him, topless but still wearing my pants, and I could feel his hard cock between my thighs. Delicious.

I started to grind myself against him, as best I could through the fabric, while he played with my breasts and my nipples. Squeezing and pinching and stroking me while I tried to maintain my balance.

And, after a while, I wanted him to fuck me.

I really wanted him to fuck me, I mean.

My pussy was wet and tingling and swollen from my grinding. So, like an idiot, I attempted to climb off of him. To take off my pants? To lie back and beg? I have no idea.

In my (admittedly pitiful) defense, my head was completely fuzzy at the time. I was overridden with sensation from my pussy, my nipples, my breasts... and I was obviously nowhere near to thinking clearly.

When he wouldn't let me simply climb off of him, I started flailing - hands, fists, slapping and punching his thighs and his stomach. I wanted to be fucked and I wanted to be fucked immediately.

He tolerated it for a few moments, waiting for me to wear myself out I imagine, and then he tossed me onto the bed. Clothes off, legs spread, and my mind started to purr with anticipation - he was going to fuck me!

Except he didn't.

He straddled one of my thighs - holding my legs apart - and started to stroke his cock with his hand. Slowly.

And I wanted to scream; I knew what was going to happen.

I'm pretty sure I was begging him at that point - half watching him jerking off and half hiding my face - wanting him to fuck me and realizing more and more that he wasn't going to do it.

He used my come, my wetness, as lube. Dipping his fingers into my pussy, ignoring my whimpering, and then wrapping his fingers around his cock.

He stroked and he teased and he had me pinned in place.

My cunt was in literal pain as I watched, pleading with him, begging him, asking politely, but mostly moaning and whimpering incoherently.

When he came, hot and sweet all over the outside of my pussy and my stomach, he smiled at me and told me I could go and clean up. Brush my teeth and then bedtime.

A lesson to remind me of my purpose: to please him and satisfy him and to obey. Always to obey. My pleasure is secondary to his.

Homework #13.

2008-09-02T10:58:00.001-07:00

One day, on the long weekend, I found myself feeling petulant and grumpy and downright sulking. He was working on something important and I was feeling neglected.

I bitched. I whined. I sulked. I sulked some more.

And, perhaps tired of my sulking and whining, he stripped me naked and fucked me.

Like magic, my mood improved and I was finished sulking and whining. I was just fine with him continuing his important tasks.

He asked me to write about how I felt when I was petulant and he forced me to comply - and the only answer I have is, "elated".

Totally elated.

Homework #12.

2008-08-31T10:40:00.000-07:00

Imagine yourself starving - so hungry that your entire body aches. So hungry that your mouth is watering non-stop.

Then imagine someone comes along, tempts you with a slice of luscious peach, and tells you that you may only hold it on your tongue and swallow whatever juices drip down your throat. No biting or chewing and only the tiniest bit of sucking is permitted.

And the juices do drip, drip, drip between your teeth and cheek and down your throat.

The flavour intensifies, tormenting you, as your stomach clenches in hunger and your mouth waters more and the only thing you can focus on is the moment when you'll be permitted to chew and suck and swallow that fleshy fruit.

You're aware of every droplet of sweetness and every variation in the juices. A bit of tangy, a bit of sweet, a bit of sour..

You're aware of the texture of the peach slice in your mouth - soft, smooth, slippery.

And while you know that the fruit in your mouth is sweet and that you're enjoying it, you can't quite enjoy it enough. Each tiny dribble of juice in your throat reminds you of what you could have if you were permitted.

-*-

Last night he splayed my legs apart, pressing my thighs far open with his palms and tugging on my pussy lips.

I moaned and sighed and whimpered as he played with me - stroking my clit and my cunt and the inside of my thighs. I stifled louder noises as he slapped and spanked me.

And as I neared the edge of orgasm, tripping and falling and stumbling into it, he pulled his hand away and forced me to come without his help.

I did. I mean, I couldn't stop it if I had tried - he anticipates the tripwire of my orgasms. He knows the signs of one impending.

He knows, too, how much I like direct pressure on my pussy as I come. I like to thrash against his hands (or mouth) and press hard against him.

And so I came and it was good but it was hollow without that pressure.

Again and again he made me come - and again and again he held himself away from me.

Every contortion I attempted made him press my thighs back open. I raised my hips, tightened my ass, twisted left and right and.. he denied me.

But I still came.

And an orgasm is never a bad thing. It's like the juice from the peach - sweet and tangy and unbelievably vivid.

Orgasms with his hand on my pussy, though, are like biting into the peach. Ravishing the delicate fruit and grinding it into pulp with my teeth and sucking the juice and flesh down into my throat.

He laughed. He laughed while he denied me that overwhelming pleasure.

It's good that I'm multi orgasmic without much fuss - I'd have been curled against him all night, grinding myself against his leg or my own hand.

He did let me come against his flesh, later, when he was ready. It didn't cure me of the need, though. My body wanted to be compensated for the other orgasms - even now, writing this the next day, a part of me still feels like I'm holding that peach slice in my mouth..

Just Lookin'.

2008-08-29T11:38:00.001-07:00

If you need more - more more! - of me, you can find me here, too, along with a whole heap of really talented (and really kinky) writers.

Homework #11.

2008-08-29T07:26:00.000-07:00

I want you to write about how you feel when you get to play with me for a bit, but then I leave before I let you make me come.

Knowing him, as I do, I realize that my one word answer ("frustrated!") is not going to be sufficient.

But that would be the best way to describe my feelings.

When his cock is in my mouth, hot and soft and hard all at once, I want it to stay there. I want to coat it in wetness from my tongue and lips and slide, slide, slide it into my throat.

I want to lick and suck and gently nibble. I want to feel his body tense, his cock harden further, and taste the salty-sweet droplets of pre-cum with the tip of my tongue.

Closing my eyes, I crave the smell of his cock. In the mornings, quite often, it still smells faintly like my pussy, my come and his come, too.

I want to fuck him. I want to make his cock taste like my pussy so I can lick him clean again and start over immediately.

And no, I don't want to wait a few hours. I don't want to spend the day thinking and dwelling.

Of course, I know that's exactly what he wants me to do when he leaves me hanging.

Like this morning, when he gave me exactly 10 seconds (counted!) to lick and suck and play with him - before he zipped up his jeans and left the room.

My only comfort is that he, too, is now dwelling on it. I like to think he knows my mouth is watering, literally, in anticipation. I like to think that he's aware of my wet pussy, trapped in my thong and jeans, waiting for him to get home and waiting for him to give permission for me to climb on top of his cock.

Frustrated. Definitely frustrated.

The Contract.

2008-08-29T06:02:00.000-07:00

I, VX, evidenced by my signature below, respectfully give myself to CX within the bounds of a Dominant and submissive relationship with myself as the submissive for the period commencing August 19, 2008 and ending on September 19, 2008.

I understand that this relationship may include, but is not limited to, bondage, sexual frustration, sexual acts with him and with anyone else he so chooses, public nudism, exhibitionism and pain and / or punishment with whatever implements he may wish to use for any length of time he feels appropriate and reasonable.

I accept any decision he may make as to the time, place, reason, severity, length and implement of any punishment he may see fit to inflict upon me. I understand I may be punished for no reason whatsoever.

I understand that this relationship may include sexual acts of an oral, anal and vaginal nature. I understand and accept that I will be used for his pleasure, at his whim, in any location or time that he wishes. I understand that my pleasure is secondary to his and that he may choose to deny me pleasure at any time.

I understand that photographs or videotapes of me engaging in any activity may be taken.

I have provided him with a list of my limits, both hard and soft, and will renegotiate these limits at any time he sees need. I have chosen the safeword "blue" and know that I will not be punished should I use it for any circumstance in which I require an immediate stop to an activity or action. I will not use the safeword except when truly necessary. I understand that, with the exception of this safeword, I am not permitted to refuse his requests.

I have granted him consensual non-consent to be used as he wishes. It is my desire to be his toy and plaything. He is permitted to use any force necessary, including punishment, bondage or pain, to enforce my compliance with his wishes.

In exchange for being allowed to enter into this relationship, I give to the him the sole and exclusive use of my body. This may include, but is not limited to, the length of my hair, removing of my body hair, piercing, tattooing, body weight, food intake, exercise and manner of dress and undress.

I freely give him the right to refuse or order any modification to my body as he may see fit. I agree that I will enter into no other
agreement with any other person for the use of my body, to include sexual relations, without first obtaining permission from the bearer of this document.

I understand that he will use his judgment to keep me safe, healthy and uninjured.

I freely and knowingly sign this document on the ______day of _________, _____.

SIGNATURE:___________________________

SIGNATURE OF WITNESS:______________________________________
DATE:_______________

HNT.

2008-08-28T16:43:00.001-07:00

Apologies for the lateness - had some camera issues and have now decided to simply go with an older (but previously unposted here) photo..

Happy HNT!

Homework #10.

2008-08-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

Homework for today is to try and explain how you went from not being a sub to wanting to not only be my sub, but to wanting to for life, despite my insistance on raising term contracts. How you can be so sure at this point that it's a permanent shift?

One of my personality traits is a reluctance to do things that I know I'll enjoy. That's kind of warped, isn't it? If I'm invited out with friends, I'm quite likely to say "no, thanks" as my mind fixates on the time spent getting ready, driving to the location, getting home later, etc.

And yet, if I actually put my shoes on and go, I come home refreshed and revived and renewed and enthusiastic again.

Sex is a very similar thing for me.

My mind fixates on the prep and clean-up, the location of the kids, the hour on the clock (and how many hours of sleep I can get), whether I've showered recently.. and then it seems like just too much work to get laid.

I realize how ridiculously stupid that sounds. I do.

If you were to ask me, mid-fucking, whether I was concerned about any of those things I'd be more likely to clench your ass with my fingernails embedded than I would be to say, "Hey, y'know, it IS getting late and we SHOULD go to sleep."

And when all is said and done and I'm curled up in my jammas and tucked into bed, I don't recall ever thinking I should have gone to sleep instead of getting naked. Ever.

Not ever.

You'd think my brain would hold onto these lessons. You'd think someone would invite me out and I'd be all, "Oh! Yeah! Going out makes me happy!" or someone would invite me to fuck and I'd be all, "Oh! Yeah! Fucking makes me happy!" but... I don't.

I used to think that he had a stronger libido than me - what with his groping and lewd comments and whispers. But it's more that he has a better skill for prioritizing. Eye on the prize'ing!

And every time I've let him "talk me into it", I've enjoyed it. Not a moment of regret. Not a second of, "Gosh, I should have said no and gone to floss my teeth for a second time."

I've said before and I've said again that I trust him.

That's the first reason I'm able to say that I want to be his submissive.

I've always been submissive to varying degrees - and, perhaps, now I'm finally comfortable enough with myself and my relationship to state that. That's reason number two.

I find it really, really, really fucking hot when he's turned on. That's reason number three.

I'm having fun. That's number four.

He's enjoying this, too. (Number five!)

And I can't see any drawbacks. I mean, I just can't think of anything that isn't appealing about the entire lifestyle.

How can I be sure it's a permanent shift and that I'll want to be dominated and controlled by him forever? The short answer is that I don't.

There's no guarantee of anything, anywhere, at all in life.

But from my perspective, here, now, what I want is to be his submissive. To be his toy. To give him pleasure and, too, to obtain my own pleasure through his.

And I want to give that to him - a gift, if you will, or an offering. I want to lay myself open, bare, and let him take what he wishes as he pleases.

And yes, I do want it to be forever.

Homework #9.

2008-08-27T08:33:00.000-07:00

I like sex toys as much as the next girl and, if it were possible, I'd happily spend my spare cash on the entire stock of a local sex shop. I'd like to try all those soft and pointy and bumpy and hard and wiggling and vibrating and.. well, I'd like to try them ALL Every last one of them!

But budgets being what they are, and kids needing the proverbial new shoes, there's just no chance for me to experiment much with new purchases. I have to pick items that I'm fairly confident will last - work well, do what they're expected to do, perhaps even multitask.

My Laya is the perfect vibrator. Perfect size for my hands, perfect contours for my body, perfect ability to pulse fast or slow, strong vibrations.

It takes me mere seconds, most times, to knock of an orgasm. Another few seconds to knock off a second (or third or fourth or fifth).

When he's here, he can place it on my clit, the lips of my pussy, or anywhere near me (I exaggerate only slightly) and it only takes a few seconds for me to come.
Though, if he's here, of course I prefer his hands/mouth/cock...

It's my standby. My favourite. My best (sextoy) friend.

And when the time comes to purchase a new companion, I'm positive I'll select the Laya's friend, Ms. Delight.

Dissolved.

2008-08-27T07:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was in a mood by the time he got home. The kids were manic, the house was a disaster, and I had done nothing all day to blow off any steam.

And I was tired.

When he came home I was alternating between whimpery-tiredness and hostile energy. I bitched for a while. I whined. I muttered to myself and to him and I flailed my arms around.

And he was sweet and soft and snuggled up with me for a while. Together we got the kids into bed, stories read and teeth brushed, and then we sat in our room talking.

I worried, though, that he'd be easy on me. That he'd remain soft-handed for the night in order to not provoke a worse mood than I was already experiencing.

I worried I wouldn't get fucked, to be blunt. I worried that he wouldn't want to play with his toy.

It's his "job" to take care of me - as his toy, as his wife - to make sure I am happy and content and in good shape for him both physically and mentally. And if he feels what I need is a good sleep, and not to be cropped, well, then, that's what I get.

But I really wanted to come. I really wanted him to help me lose my attitude and my angst. Distract me for a bit from my nasty mood so that, with the right attentiveness, all the right chemicals and stimulation could flood my brain and bring on the happiness.

Servicing his wishes is a good way to distract myself from whatever else is going on. I didn't want my mood to deter him, make him less desiring.

And then he did it. He cropped and slapped and grabbed and pinched and yes, he fucked me. I came.

It was delicious in the most pure meaning of the word. Every bit of angst and irritation dissolved into sugar water.. This morning I can't remember what I was feeling so negatively about.

Homework #8.

2008-08-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

I've never been particularly comfortable being on top while fucking. Just the mention of it, the threat of it, makes me self-conscious.

My boyfriends have always been fine with letting me off the hook.

He is not.

He, in fact, likes when I fuck him from the top. He likes me above him, breasts-in-his-face, thighs squeezing his hips.

He likes to balance me over him - using his hands/arms to support my shoulders/arms - so I'm helpless and off-balance and he's totally in control.

When I'm fucking from the top, I always hear the little voice inside my head - the one that tells me I'm doing it wrong. The one that suggests I have no rhythm and no sense of how to pleasure him.

But lately, that voice has been silenced. He is pulling me on top of him more and more often - or simply telling me that I'll be fucking him.

After he plays with me and my cunt is dripping, aching, swollen and ready for his cock, I can hardly surround him with the wetness without instantly coming. I have no self-consciousness and no concept of whether I'm pleasuring him.

I am totally, completely and utterly driven to put his dick inside me over and over again until I can't move anymore.

I've even heard myself ask to fuck him.

He's a bad influence, no?

-*-

Last night, after we had played, snuggled, brushed our teeth and otherwise prepared ourselves to sleep, he rubbed the sensitizing lotion on my nipples, played with them briefly, and instructed me to have good dreams.

Wait, WHAT?

He left me tingling - hot and stinging nipples and with my pussy growing wetter - and he simply rolled over to sleep after informing me that I wasn't permitted to come until he made me.

And I lay there with every muscle tensed, every nerve-ending awake.

It felt like hours.

He reminded me that this was a kindness - that it was "just" my nipples he was torturing for a brief period of time. That the sensation would fade after a while.

And of course it did fade after a while, yes, and I did fall asleep eventually.

But this morning I still haven't come and it's going to be many, many hours until he's home and the kids are asleep.

This would be a good place to stomp my feet and sulk - if I thought it would get me anywhere.

BBBB.

2008-08-26T08:12:00.000-07:00

The Better Built Bondage Book arrived in the mail today. I'm delirious with anticipation - so far it looks to be more than worth the cost. Rawr!

Further review(s) to come..

Biology.

2008-08-26T07:54:00.000-07:00

Every morning, when I first wake up, I absolutely positively completely need to pee. It's near painful some days.

I assume I've trained my body to hold said pee until I wake up naturally, rather than waking me at 4 am to relieve myself, and for that I'm grateful. It's been this way for years.

But it puts a serious cramp in our morning playtime when I am in agony, particularly because I'm unable to pee if I've been teased OR if I've just come... but that doesn't stop me from being horny.

And so he is kind enough (and yes, it really is a kindness) to not play with me and cause pain - but then he gets up and ready for work and leaves and.. I'm alone and horny.

But I'm not in pain.

It's not fair.

(And, sadly for the situation, neither one of us is into golden showers.)

Drop.

2008-08-25T12:41:00.000-07:00

He called me over, casually, as if he were planning to ask me how my day was or whether I could hand him something he needed from the other side of the room.

And then he stopped me and pointed. Told me to stand on that spot and remove my pants.

Yes, yes, leave them around the ankles. Yes, the thong must be pulled down too.

Pull the shirt up. Expose the bra and the breasts.

With one finger, he scooped up a dot of sensitizing gel, parted my pussy lips, and massaged it on my clit and the surrounding area.

His hand squeezed my right nipple to a point and rubbed the remainder of the gel into the flesh.

And then he told me to get dressed.

For the next 45 minutes or so, the only coherent thought I was capable of was about my cunt. How beautiful is that?

Homework #7.

2008-08-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

I am his toy and, as such, I am his to be used in whatever way he wishes.

Like anyone with an interesting toy, he may wish to show me off to a friend or, even, to strangers. He may require me to reveal all or some of my flesh. He may request photos (for himself and/or to be posted in my blog).

He is required only to keep me safe while I do that which he asks of me. His attentiveness to my safety and well-being permits me to simply comply and enjoy.

I know, for example, that he will not do anything in front of our (or others') children.

I know he will not require me to do anything that may get me arrested.

I know, too, that he may push a boundary or may require me to do something in a way that is "risky".

If we had guests over to visit and he wanted to expose a part of my body - or, for that matter, all of my body - I would remove my clothing to the extent he wished. If he wished to play - with my pussy or breasts or mouth - I wouldn't bat an eyelash, though I might ask our guests if they'd like a drink first.

If were were in a public location and he wanted me to expose myself in some particular way, I would absolutely comply - whether a short flash of my breasts or something more extreme.

If he wished for someone to watch me fucking him (or being fucked), it would definitely happen.

My experiences with exhibitionism have been varied - from my strip-teases for neighbours, to having sex with the lights on and the drapes opened for any passerby to see.

From sex in the same room as others to being fingered and groped in front of houseguests.

From sex in the middle of a field (while friends were nearby) to showing photos and videos of myself via webcam.

Perhaps surprisingly, I do not like my body; I realize that seems the antithesis of exhibitionism, of course. How can someone who views her flaws as near-fatal actually enjoy being naked (or exposed to any degree) in front of other people? I don't know, but if the audience (of one or many) sees any appeal in my nakedness, I am more than willing to share it.

And for him? He is the only audience I am concerned with - so he gets what he wants, whenever he wants it. He may use, expose, share or otherwise do with his toy as he wishes.

Talk Dirty.

2008-08-22T17:22:00.000-07:00

Verbal humiliation - calling me a slut, dirty, or reminding me that I am his to use - gets me hot. Hearing him command me, tell me what to do, tell me what he wants.. yum.

When he is doing something to punish me, or when he's cropping me and I grow wet, it is delicious to have him point out that I am a slut for liking it. To tell me that a "good girl" wouldn't be enjoying herself and that I am definitely not a good, clean innocent girl.

Sometimes his voice lowers to a near-growl and he reminds me of my place and my purpose. He tells me that it doesn't matter if I like it, HE likes it, and so I will do it (or he will do it to/for me, depending). He will remind me that he chooses to do something and doesn't have to explain it to me beyond stating that it gives him pleasure.

There is a deliciousness inherent in my body's reactions to his words.

There is an excitement that comes from knowing he has control - that, even when I try to be stubborn and not come from his actions, my body will simply comply. I will grow wet and I will tense my muscles involuntarily and, yes, I will come because he decided I would come.

Words are important to me. Being his slut, whore, filthy tramp, whatever, is important to me. Hearing him say it is.. even better.

Homework #6.

2008-08-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

I don't remember when I discovered that I had breasts. Surely there was something between flat-chested and the D-cups that adorn the front of my body? Surely there was some discomfort as they grew?

I don't know. I don't remember.

My awareness of them as anything, at all, started in grade six when I obtained my first t-shirt material'd, completely-unsupportive training bras. They were pink and light blue and had a triangle of cotton in place of cups.

And, of course, they were the highlight of my gym class days - changing in front of the other girls, secure in the knowledge that I had something going right for me even if my mother wouldn't buy me the Reebok running shoes I coveted.

Then through the years my breasts were in the way as I was running and shooting pool and bending over to do things. It was hard to find bras that were pretty and lacy and sexy when my breasts had outgrown the "chic" shops and "D" cups were "no longer in style".

At some point, my breasts became an accessory - something I dressed up for show. Low-cut shirts and tight tees and push-up bras in various colours and lacy bodysuits. Attention, people, I have breasts!

I have bemoaned my large areola as they seemed matronly and old-lady-ish when my friends had tiny little brown circles, the size of pennies, and I had what I referred to as "dinner plates".

Even my nipples - as common as nipples are - have been at times a glorious thing (hard, pointy, drawing your eyes to them and making you tingle) or a complete bother (with large breasts, one may discover one's nipples pointing in disturbingly different directions despite being crammed into a bra).

But I've never regretted my breasts or felt unhappy with them beyond passing moments of wishing for: bigger, smaller, firmer, softer, higher, less sensitive, more sensitive and, well, all the other options at various times.

I have dated men who coveted extremely large breasts (the kind that scare me more than a little with their veins and puckers and bras that appear to be made from space-age fabrics and steel) and who felt mine were only adequate in their shape and size.

I have also dated men who have desired tiny little breasts that made mine feel fat and ugly and excessive and, when they moved (okay, bounced) I felt completely inappropriate in ways I couldn't describe.

But I am reasonably content with what I've got.

If I could do anything to my breasts, at this point, I'd wish for nipple piercings that would heal (mine wouldn't) and for enough money to appear in my bank account a decade or two from now that I can afford to have them lifted when they begin to sag significantly. That's it.

I would like to have my nipples tattooed - flowers around them, I think, or stars.

I've also said that were I to have breast cancer, or something equally as devastating, I'd simply have them removed. It wouldn't phase me whatsoever to have them lopped off and, too, I doubt I'd bother to have them reconstructed with implants.

(I say that, of course, having no direct experience with breast cancer or the need to make such decisions, but as a woman it's something I've had to ponder as others around me have experienced cancer and the related choices.)

He frequently wonders, aloud, how I am able to stop myself from playing with my breasts - that they are soft and smooth and have a certain feeling of weight to them that he finds seductive. At times he'll simply cup one, hold it in his hand, and wonder at them.

But to me, they are not actively pleasurable unless someone else is enjoying them. Well, no, that's not true. I do enjoy a good nipple squeeze when I'm playing with myself, but beyond that, there is very little appeal.

His hands on them, however, are like a bolt of pleasure.

Like everything else, it depends on my mood. I like his hands gently caressing and massaging my breasts, running his hands flat-palmed over my nipples as they harden.

I like when his finger and thumb find my nipple and gently press, flattening my flesh between them. Or when he presses hard, hard, harder and they tingle and burn and sting and all-but glow.

I like his mouth on them, kissing the sides and tops and bottoms of my breasts before he slips the nipple between his teeth or sucks the point onto his tongue.

When he slaps them or flogs them, gently or harshly, I try hard not to visualize them wobbling around and, instead, focus on the beautiful sensation of spreading warmth.

When he attaches pegs to my nipples, or the flesh on my breasts, and leaves them there as he moves away from them to pleasure my pussy or kiss my face, the sensation of touch remains vivid and incredible. As he runs his hands up and down my sides, ribs, ass, my mind hears the white noise of pleasure and my nipples scream for more and I ache with the most delicious combination of longing and satisfaction.

I am able to come, quite easily, from his attention to my nipples. It's never the same strength of orgasm as when his fingers or mouth or toys or cock are in my pussy (of course) but it's still an orgasm and it's an absolute gift from him. Sometimes I come simply from his sucking - even gently - and something it's from something more harsh.

Were it not for the expense required to purchase them, I would absolutely wear low-cut shirts exclusively and bras that pressed my cleavage up to the heavens.

And, too, had I the time, on my own without children around, to spend in a store that sold (good, quality) bras in my size, I'd absolutely adorn my breasts with that which they deserve.

But even without that time and expense, he knows that underneath my t-shirts and hoodies and sweatshirts, are two spectacular gifts for him to hold and cup and fondle and use.

Homework #5.

2008-08-21T09:03:00.001-07:00

No one knows, in public, what my collar means. There's no emblem on it, no tag of ownership visible, no shining beacon with his name spelled in caps.

The kids have complimented me on it and they, too, have not considered it to be a strange accessory for me to be wearing.

On me - on my body and with my personal style - it does not look out of place or strange. It does not immediately scream "she likes to be tied up!" nor does it shout, "she is owned!" and so, to the unknowing eye, it is just.. a necklace.

If I am being honest, part of that disappoints me. Part of me would like it to be noticeable that I am owned and submitting to him.

When it is around my neck, though, I am definitely aware of it. I feel secure and safe and protected, despite his general absence during the day. I feel calm and centred. It's a similar feeling to looking down at the wedding ring on my finger.

HNT.

2008-08-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

Happy HNT!

..And Then We Went To Sleep.

2008-08-20T11:25:00.000-07:00

Last night I was tired. Grouchy. Irritable. I wanted to curl up and go to sleep about an hour before he came home from work. By the time dinner was over and the kids were asleep I was fully ready to collapse.

Everything irritated me. The sound of my own breathing, the sound of the aquarium burbling, the sound of him doing some minor home renovations outside the door to our bedroom.

I was feeling contrary and difficult and everything I said had some snark to it.

To sum: I was a petulant child after a missed afternoon nap.

So he flipped me over, secured my wrists to the wall-bolt, pulled down my pants and made me come.

And then we went to sleep.

This morning I was in a much better mood. This afternoon I'm still in a better mood. I may take a nap this afternoon, though, to keep that better mood floating along nicely..

Homework #4.

2008-08-20T07:38:00.000-07:00

The anchor bolt in the ceiling was a surprise that we hadn't planned.

It was easy to find the stud into which he sank it and, a day or two later, we added a panic release clip into which ropes can be easily tied. It hangs in the middle of the ceiling, looking totally out of place, and I can't help but stare at it every time I'm in the room. It taunts me!

(I am perpetually amused, by the way, at the prices for things like panic clips sold via assorted BDSM stores versus the price in the regular ol' hardware stores.)

Once it was installed, he wound the rope around my wrists and up through the anchor bolt's loop, tugging and twisting to make sure everything was secure. My hands were above my head in a flash.

The problem with being tied upright for long periods of time is that my focus sometimes shifts from what he's doing to what I'm doing - namely, trying not to wobble and sway away from his touch.

But it is good - so good! - to be upright sometimes. I'm fully exposed on all sides and with my arms above my head I can't go anywhere at all. He has free reign over my body.

I am on display when I'm standing and, too, I know that I'm not likely to get fucked while I'm upright (we have a height difference to contend with here). I know there's no point, even, in begging to be fucked. I have the pleasure of enjoying the sensations.

But orgasms are difficult while standing - I struggle to not let my legs collapse under me (the rope and anchor will definitely hold me upright, of course, but I'd like my wrists to stay attached to my body!) and I imagine that if he were to make me come once too many times I'd need to be released before I caused myself pain.

I'm looking forward to being tied upright with the spreader bar at my ankles - keeping me further off-balance, yes, but also allowing him greater access. Making it impossible for me to close my thighs or keep him away.

Limits.

2008-08-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

He knows most of my limits simply by virtue of conversation over the years. But when he asked me to fill out the BDSM Checklist, I complied and arranged for my responses to be emailed directly to him at work.

We discussed the details after the kids were in bed. Things I like, would do for him, wouldn't do at all, things I've done and how I felt about them..

Now it's all out on the table.

To make things even more interesting, we played a game of "1 to 10". He slapped and he flogged and asked me to rate the feeling. Easier said than done, however, since it's very hard to rate the intensity level of something that shocks you.

It's even harder when the second slap/flog/whatever comes and you're still in a state of surprise and there's a light sting from the previous hit.

His hands, slapping my face, are delicious. I love the sharp sound and the unavoidable sensation and the fact that, seconds later, I'm still flinching.

We have begun to negotiate our agreement for 30 days. I will post it here when it's completed (with some information excluded simply so I may remain somewhat anonymous here, of course.) If all goes well, we'll redo the contract for 90 days..

I'm Just Sayin'..

2008-08-18T14:27:00.001-07:00

If you have sinus/allergy issues, a ball gag may not be your best option.

On that note, my O-ring gag is finished and ready for use.

Advance Permission Granted.

2008-08-18T07:10:00.000-07:00

Within our day to day relationship, we are equal. Walking into our home, you would see and hear things that would convince you (rightfully) that we share responsibility for things like child care and cooking and keeping things running smoothly.

We make decisions together. I tease him, punch him in the shoulder, talk back to him, and sometimes, yes, put my foot down and say, "No!" with nary a bat of an eyelash.

You would see nothing to suggest anything "kinky".

My belief is that, as a submissive slut, I have an extremely powerful position. The majority of the world believes a submissive has no power whatsoever; a submissive is an empty vessel, so to speak.

The truth? I am trusted to fulfill his desires, needs and whims, much as one might come to expect a partner to take out the trash or do the grocery shopping as part of their "role" in the relationship.

I define my role quite openly.

In order to be a good slut, and in order for me to serve my ultimate purpose, it's important that he have ready and easy access to that which he wants, whenever he wants it, and however.

"Pre-consent for non-consensual acts" means that I grant permission, ahead of time, for him to force me to do something (anything) he wishes for the simple reason that it will please him.

He is stronger than me. He is bigger than me. He may use that to his advantage.

I have given permission - verbal and now in writing - for him to do that which he pleases whenever he pleases. I have told him that my body is his toy.

I am his toy.

I feel no conflict about this. I know he will take care of me, protect me, and that he does not harbour a particularly malicious streak. Evil on occasion, yes, but not sadistic to the extent of injury.

I know that he, like me, has no desire to scar the children or get me/him arrested.

And, too, he wants a toy that is not damaged or hurt or lacking. A toy that can perform particularly tasks for him.

Knowing this - that my well-being is of importance to him - means that I also know he will only push me to limits he feels are safe and reasonable.

This does not mean I will not be annoyed. Or angry. Or irritated. It does not mean I will be instantly turned on by an action. It does not mean I will not fight him.

I assure you there will be many occasions on which he will need to remind me of my status: I am his toy. I service his needs.

It is not my goal to fight him and, in fact, it's my goal to cheerfully serve him as he requests. My belief is that a good slut does not require coercion and is enthusiastic about her position.

Being a slut - a toy - is an honour. A privilege.

I am a stubborn, sometimes fiery, woman. He is not required to 'tame' me and turn me into a passive, simpering, child-like persona. But yes, there will be times when he will need to simply do what he wants and ignore my snarling. Hold me down, tie me up.. and remind me that this is what HE wants.

And so I have given consent in advance.

Secured.

2008-08-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

I want to fuck.

I mean, that's it.

I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck.

The bolts in the wall are sturdy and in place. He added one in the ceiling - conspicuous, indeed - and I'm looking forward to being strung up.

And all day long.. little nibbles. Gropes. Grabs. Flicks to my nipples. Fingering me in the kitchen while the kids are out playing. Making me moan and whimper and beg.

Is it any wonder I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck?

I am wearing my new daytime collar. It's pink and silver and very pretty. He picked it out for me. It's a dog choke collar, to be specific, with ribbons run through it. Tomorrow the rings will be secured to the sides with locks - giving it a doubled-up appearance.

We'll finish my nighttime collar shortly.

I will be visibly owned.

Attentive.

2008-08-17T10:02:00.001-07:00

At 4am his hand found my pussy and he woke me; I was already growing wet by the time my eyes opened.

I like this - him, awake and horny, taking full advantage of the slut beside him under the covers. Waking me from my slumber to fulfill his needs. The idea that, no matter what I am doing, he can fuck me or tease me or simply torment me because it gives him pleasure.

He knew, of course, that I was warm and soft and that sleep made me pliable. I fell back asleep afterward with my flesh still aware of each place his fingers touched.

And this morning, waking up, I curled into his back. Wet, again, and ready.

Confession: I am a collared submissive who has not been wearing a collar.

My night/sleeping collar was custom-made for me by a friend who works in hard metals. It needs to be lined with leather (for comfort) and, of course, the time to do that never seems to fall into our laps.

It is a beautiful collar. A thick band with a large ring on the front (for attaching a leash, a rope..) and a hasp through which the padlock is attached. One glance and it's obvious that I am owned.

At night I will be locked into the collar. The very idea makes me quiver. The sound of the ring against the metal reminds me of my place. I am hopeful that he will have a tag made for me with my name - Slut - engraved into it.

And today I'll be receiving my daytime collar; A subtle chain with a spot to attach an emblem. Obvious only to those who recognize it.

Today bolts are being put into the wall behind the head of our bed - secured into the studs - so I can be easily restrained at night. The bolts will be hidden from view by the mattress.

Much like any task, I am glad to have each item taken care of at once. The sense of completion gives me a sense of security.

And I cannot wait for night to come.

Toyed.

2008-08-16T19:02:00.001-07:00

This is exactly the sort of thing I once did with my dolls. Tied them up, tied them together, tied them 69'ing. Such a precocious child..

Safe, Sane, Consensual.

2008-08-16T18:59:00.001-07:00

If you're totally drunk - like, five sheets to the wind instead of three - does it count as sane?

My vote is for yes.

When I Was Seventeen.

2008-08-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

We were holding hands, sitting on a leather sofa in the middle of the living room in a very non-descript townhouse.

Our hostess, the owner of the home, offered me and my date a drink. On acceptance, she strode into the kitchen and poured a glass of vodka for me and a rum and coke for my date. The glasses were icy cold and very full. I took a long sip and knew I'd be drunk in mere moments.

Our hostess, we'll call her Ann, and her boyfriend, we'll call him Joe, sat on a sofa across from us. They crossed and uncrossed their legs, looking nervous, as we sipped our drinks and made polite conversation. The weather, sports teams, the colour of the paint on the walls, the value of leather furniture over fabric..

Ann smiled at me, crookedly. I smiled back.

Joe smiled at me. I smiled back.

My date held my hand tighter.

Joe explained to us the process of painting the living room, covering nail holes, sanding the drywall down. His voice was half-hearted at best. He was saying words but only for the sake of speaking and breaking the silence.

He might as well have been chanting his phone number. His address. Speaking pig-latin. No one cared.

And when his speech faltered, suddenly, my date took over. He suggested Ann and Joe give us a tour of the house.

Ann leaped to her feet and began.

The kitchen, with the marble countertops and black appliances.

The dining room with the thick, wooden furniture.

The family room with a gas fireplace.

The front hallway, where our shoes sat.

The small powder room with the fan that turned on the moment she flicked the light switch.

And then she stopped.

Did we want to see upstairs? She waited a heartbeat before dashing up the stairs, her husband trailing her. I followed next. My date stared at my ass the whole way up. I know this; he told me later.

Joe took over the tour, explaining the extra bedrooms (a guest room and office at the time) and pointing to the shower he and his brother had installed. Ann fluttered around us, opening and closing doors and hurriedly arranging pillows in the guestroom that, to my eye, didn't require arrangement.

And then we reached the master bedroom.

I could feel Ann vibrating - nervousness - from across the room. She stood on the far side of the enormous bed, smoothing the covers repeatedly.

My date and I followed Joe into the room. I noted the mirrored wall and the thick, plush carpet under my feet. The lack of clutter. The sleek furniture.

Joe laughed and pointed to some feature, fixture, item. My date laughed too, obligingly.

I sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing myself in the mirror. I appeared calm. Relaxed. Innocent, even.

I looked like I was: just a girl, on a bed, in a near-stranger's house with a date who happened to be her boyfriend's arch enemy.

Ann sat down beside me, looking at our reflection in the mirror. She smiled nervously and raised her hand to play with my hair. I nodded that it was okay and exhaled sharply when she began to twist sections around her fingers.

Joe looked over at us, nudging my date at the same time as he strode over to grab Ann's hand away. My eyes widened as he forced his mouth onto hers, roughly it seemed, though she quickly opened her lips for him.

My date, less confident, motioned for me to join him across the room. I stood, and, as I began to step across the carpeting, watched Joe and Ann begin to recline onto the bed.

I sank to the floor, comfortably, with nowhere else to sit.I leaned into my date's arms.

And when I glanced up, Ann's breasts were exposed and Joe's hands were kneading them harshly. I watched the toes on her small feet begin to curl with pleasure. There wasn't a sound in the room. No moaning of pleasure. No conversation. No discussion.

My date began unbuttoning my shirt. His fingers trembled. I didn't move my hands to help or stop him. My eyes were transfixed on the scene in front of me.

Ann: nipples hard, back arching. Hair all over the pillows. Curled toes.

Joe: grabbing and pulling and kneading and plucking her flesh. An obvious bulge in his jeans.

I knew where this was going. I knew Ann would soon be naked and Joe would be fucking her. I also knew I would soon be naked and my date would, if not fucking me, at least be trying.

But I didn't want to fuck. I wanted to watch. I wanted to see, firsthand, how he used his fingers and tongue and hands. I wanted to watch her grow wetter, to come, to hear the sounds she made.

My date slid his hands into the waistband of my jeans, inching downward to my own wet spot. I barely felt it. I was absorbed into Ann and Joe.

And I watched them while my date fingered me. I watched while my date slid his cock into my mouth - a surprise, really, since I hadn't noticed him undressing.

I sat in my crumpled spot on the carpet and I pleasured him in every way I could while maintaining a view of the bodies on the bed.

They thrashed. They writhed. And then they lost the pretense of control - they moaned and they growled demands to each other. They clawed and trembled and tensed. And then she made eye contact with me - making sure I was still there, still watching.

And oh, god, I wanted to be Ann.

When she came, loudly and dramatically and, I dare say, authentically, her body turned pink. I was positive I could feel the heat radiating from her - impossible, of course, but I was positive.

And Joe came, a moment later, with a grunt and a small twitch. I felt nothing for him - no tingle or wistfulness or even happiness.

My date nudged me, again, my hand still on his cock. I looked at him, smiled, and tried to look apologetic for being distracted. My hand felt weak as I slid it up and down his shaft, doing my best impression of a handjob. When he came, I was relieved.

Ann spoke first. "Oh. We forgot to show them the garage workshop, Joe."

She winked.

Naked.

2008-08-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

I feel exposed, writing here, despite knowing that very few people have the URL. Despite knowing that the likelihood anyone from my "day life" will stumble across this blog.

And, of course, that feeling of being exposed makes me want to write more and more and more.

I want to expose it all. I want to post every picture, tell every story. I want to expunge it all out onto the screen.

But I can't. I won't. I must do this in small, metered doses.

Homework #3.

2008-08-15T06:47:00.000-07:00

Pussy torture. My homework for today is to write about pussy torture for him.

Can I do this without coming? Can I do this without sitting in a puddle of wetness before I'm done the first paragraph?

Probably not. I'm already tingling.

If you want to stop me from breathing or moving - and if you want me to focus very deeply - just tug my labia. Inner or outer. Hard or lightly. With fingers or teeth or implements or anything you happen to have nearby. I don't care, really, what you use. Tug the flesh or the hair. Yank. The harsher your touch, the more likely I'll enjoy it.

If you're looking for wetness - the dripping wetness - find a way to hold/keep my labia open so all the delicate, sensitive inner bits are exposed to the air and your eyes and your touch. Tease me. Open up my lips and then ignore my pussy. Open my lips and then focus on my pussy. Fuck me.

Pinch. Affix clips/clothespins to my labia. Spank and slap and crop and whip.

And my clit, ohgod.

My clit responds to both delicate, sweet gentle touch and much harder play.

If your intent is to torture, to punish, to make me whimper - be harsh. Suck and bite and pinch and, if you want your hands free for other pursuits, add a clothespin or a clamp. I won't hear a word you say for the next hour, of course, but I'm guessing you're okay with that.

If you wish to keep me from coming - you'll have to listen to my breathing. Finger me, lick me, bite me.. and back off until my breathing slows again. Be gentle if you want it to last - but know that, sometimes, gentle makes me come faster. Listen to the breathing.

If you want me to arch my back and beg, touch gently and slowly. Tease. Stroke.

And when I've come, give me a moment to recover - but not long. The overwhelming sensitivity happens when I'm given too long to recover before being touched again, for the most part.

I have piercings - with only one ring in, at the moment - that can be tugged. I'd like more piercings - more more more - for this very reason. But they don't provide much sensation, ultimately. I dream of having my outer labia pierced; one ring on each side. Tied together or hooked together or clipped together.

Tease me by putting your cock inside me, getting yourself wet, and asking me to lick it clean before you do it again. Make my mouth taste like my pussy.

Make me play with myself. Make me hurt my own pussy the way I'd like you to do it.

Make me come and then ask me to clean my fingers repeatedly. My come in my mouth.

Make me taste my come repeatedly so I'll know how wet I am and how I taste to you.

I love the application of "stimulation" gel - applied to my pussy while it's dry. Let it sting and warm and burn for a while, calling my attention downward for an hour. Do it to me before I sleep. Do it to me before you leave for work. Tell me to do it just before you come home or right before I head to the bedroom at night to wait for you.

Toothpaste. Icy Hot. Listerine strips. Essential oils of cinnamon or mint.

Have me spend the day without a thong. Wear a skirt with no underwear. Pleasure balls in my pussy - that I must lick clean when I pull them out covered in my come. A clip on my clit while the kids are outside playing. A dildo in my pussy but no permission to come or use my vibrator or touch myself otherwise.

I'm a slut. I'm a slut for your pleasure. And if you wish to spend the day imagining me dripping wet or focused on my cunt or torturing myself slowly.. I will obey. My pussy belongs to you.

Fantasy.

2008-08-14T13:14:00.001-07:00

I am lying alone in a hotel room bed on the fifth floor of the building.

It is dark outside the windows and I have the drapes pulled back so, from my bed, I can see the parking lot across the street.

Underneath the cold white sheets, I am naked and warm. The bedside lamp is on, casting a short glow across the blankets.

I roll onto my back and prop myself up against a stack of thick, firm pillows. Barely disturbing the sheet over my body, I press my ankles together, bend my knees, and let my legs fall open.

The parking lot across the street is empty. Not a single car. I imagine it belongs to one of the office buildings around it - employees all gone home for the night to their families. Dinner on the table. Light conversation.

And then I notice a figure standing at the edge of the concrete. With the light in my room, it's hard to make out any details - man, woman, how they're dressed. As I lean slightly forward, preparing to turn off the light and slide from the bed to get a better view, the phone on the bedside table rings.

On answering, confused by who would be calling so late at night, a stranger's voice tells me to remove the sheet.

I don't do it, of course.

There's a pause, a low snarl of anger, and he tells me to remove the sheet now - now, bitch, now - or he'll make me sorry.

He'll remove the sheet himself and I'll be sorry.

This would be where a normal person would ask who was calling and how they got the number.

This would be where a normal person would slam down the phone, turn off the light, leap from the bed and close the blinds, and then call hotel security.

Instead, I slide the sheet off of my legs and look at my hazy reflection in the glass. I appear distorted and wavy, but most definitely naked. My skin is prickling with the cool air.

The voice on the phone tells me to open my legs again. I do. There's a short laugh, followed by silence again. I spread my legs wider.

Another pause before he speaks. He tells me to keep my legs wide - as wide as I can - and not to touch my pussy. I am to place the phone beside me, without hanging up, and play with my nipples until they are hard and sore and reddened. Until I cannot bear it any longer.

Again, I comply.

The phone rests against my thigh, pressing into my skin. My hands cup my breasts for a moment, squeezing and plying the flesh. I feel my pussy throbbing before I've even touched a nipple.

It's impossible to sneak up on yourself, of course, but that doesn't stop the feeling of shock as I pinch my nipples between my fingers. I roll them lightly, pinch harder, pull on them..

The caller, it would seem, doesn't realize how much torture my nipples can take.

After a few minutes, with no toys or accessories to help me, I use my fingernails to pinch - a sharper pain. My nipples burn under my fingertips,and I find myself on the verge of orgasm; I'm not one who requires direct stimulation to come.

I pick up the receiver, now slightly tucked under my leg, and whisper that I have completed my task.

There's a pause, again. I wonder why I'm doing this. Why haven't I closed the drapes yet? What's wrong with me?

He doesn't praise me for my obedience. He doesn't tell me I've done a good job. He pauses, takes a breath, and tells me to stand up in front of the window. Hands at my sides. Chin up. Looking straight ahead.

He wants to see what I have to offer.

I do. I pull myself up to a standing position, still holding the phone, and I walk toward the window. The glass is radiating the chill from outdoors as I stand, a millimeter or two away from the frame.

Left hand at my side. Chin up. Phone in my right hand, held by my ear.

There is wetness on my thighs. I am suddenly afraid that this will offend him. I am afraid of what might happen next and what might not.

I do not know which outcome I fear more.

His voice tells me that he notices my wetness; he sees the beads of come on the lips of my pussy and on my thighs.

He chastises me for having impure thoughts. He tells me that it's the mark of a slut to be so wet, so quickly, and for a stranger, no less.

I can tell that he approves but I am embarrassed by my eagerness. My face flushes lightly and I wobble slightly in my stance with the distraction of my thoughts.

He tells me to take two fingers and spread my pussy lips apart. He wants to see everything. Is my clit swollen? Is my flesh puffy and red? Am I ready to be used?

Within a moment, he is assured that I am ready. He sees it and he hears it.

I am ready to be used and, yes, I do want it very much and I am acheing and I am wet and I am swollen and I would like it very much, please, if I may be used now.

Clearly he is the one in the parking lot - with binoculars? Strong glasses? How can he see the wetness from across the street?

He tells me to stand still, against the glass, and to play with my nipples again. They are not red enough, not pained enough. He wants them to be sensitive enough that a quick breeze would cause me to call out in pain.

I whisper that I cannot do this for him. My nipples are not capable of the pain he requests. I will oblige by pinching and squeezing and rolling.. but they will not become that painful without clips or clamps or abrasive objects.

He laughs, not unkindly but not warmly, either, and tells me to get my useless ass back on the bed. To take the cotton pillowcase from the oversized pillow and create a blindfold for myself. To tie it across my eyes.

And then to wait, hands at my sides.

I tell him, quickly, that I have locked the door to my hotel room and that he cannot come in. That I will scream, that I don't even know who he is, that this has been fun, yes, but that I'm not sure this is a very good idea and..

He cuts me off, quickly, and tells me that I am not being asked to do this. I am being told. And that, again, it is in my best interests to comply. The punishments will be far harsher, far more painful and humiliating, should I pretend to have a choice in the matter.

I turn from the window and walk to the bed, crawling across it on my knees to reach the pillows. The pillowcases are thick and starched and easily made into a long, well-folded mask to cover my eyes. I tie it behind my head, catching some hair in the knot.

And then I am lying on my back. Arms at my side. Blindfolded. Every cell of my skin is alive and awake and anticipating and trembling and afraid and aroused.

He tells me to leave the phone off the hook and simply shove it to the floor. I will not be taking phone calls. It lands with a plastic thud in the thick carpeting.

The sound makes me realize that by putting down the phone I can no longer hear his words. He is coming to me.

And a moment later, I hear the swish of the keycard door unlocking.

Another moment later and I hear a dull thunk and the rattle of chain. He has cut the small security chain that I was certain would provide me safety as I slept.

I am shivering, chattering teeth and goosebumps. Tears in my eyes.

Nipples hard as rock, pussy throbbing, wetness everywhere.

It occurs to me, yes, that I am fucked up. The situation is fucked up. This is dangerous and ridiculous and, if anyone from my life knew I was in this position, they'd slap me upside the head in a most un-kinky manner.

There is warm breath on my nipple. And then the other.

There is a hand pushing my thighs apart.

There is hand on my throat, holding my down and making it harder to breathe.

There are hands on my ankles.

And in my mind it seems possible, feasible, that there are two hands and that they are simply moving quickly. A quick flick here and a quick hand there and a short grasp there..

Until I am pinned down - my hands at my sides, secured. My ankles, spread almost painfully apart, secured. My throat still held.

And there is one hand tugging on my pussy lips. Pulling them apart. Pulling them outward. Twisting them the way I twisted my nipples earlier.

I open my mouth to speak and, without a moment's pause, find myself gagged. A sock? My underpants? A towel? There's too much of it in my mouth to allow my tongue to explore the texture.

My instincts tell me to sit up, but I'm unable to make the smallest move. I cannot thrash and I cannot move and I cannot protest and I cannot scream.

I can hear ragged breathing, not my own, but no one is speaking. I don't know if the caller is holding me down or tugging my lips or shoved the gag into my mouth or who's in the room. How many people?

Other than my pussy, nothing else is being touched.

And then a voice, not the one from the phone, remarks on my wetness. My tense muscles. My hard nipples. Calls me a slut and a whore and, in a lower voice, tells me he knows how much I want this. How I am lucky he is willing to do this to me.

There's a sudden smash of pain as a hand connects with my face. My cheek stings.

And then another voice raises above the white noise in my ears to ask me if I like how this is going so far. Do I want more? Do I want them to show me just what my body can be used for? The lengths of pleasure my body is capable of delivering to them?

Do they not realize I can't speak? I can't move my head to nod or disagree.

I imagine they wouldn't be surprised by my answer. I imagine they already know that I do.

I do want them to show me how my body can pleasure them. I do want them to use me. I do want them to share me and hurt me and use me use me use me USE ME. The words blur inside my head. Yes please. Yes. More. Please. Yes. Use Me. Yes. Do it. I want it.

The voice from the phone is close to my ear - I can feel his breath on my neck. He tells me that I cannot have it now, tonight, and I must wait for his next call.

I am not to close the drapes. I am not to touch my pussy. I am not to tell anyone what happened. I am to wait for him - for them - and be patient. They will be watching me, all night, all day, all week.. until they call.

I am to count to one hundred before I move - before I remove the blindfold.

I do.

Cropped.

2008-08-14T09:18:00.000-07:00

He let me play with him, first.

I trailed the tip of the crop over the creases in his pants, gently, moving closer and closer to his cock.

Light taps here and there, along his inner thigh and up toward his hips. Tracing the creases. Tracing the shape of his legs.

A few harder smacks. An evil glint in my eyes knowing he was testing the sensation on himself - under my hand - before using it on me.

He dropped his clothing onto the floor and let me gently, and directly, strap his flesh. I continued to play softly - up and down his thigh.

One hip bone got a harder slap.

The other hip bone followed.

I trailed the tip of the crop over the head of his cock and wanted, really, to spread my own legs. To feel the leather on my clit.

Not time. Not yet.

A few quick slaps on his shaft. A few quick slaps on his thighs.

And me, wetter and wetter.

He took the crop away. Told me to lift my shirt and expose my nipples - already hard with anticipation - so he could slap them with the leather tip.

I complied quickly. He rewarded me with a few quick snaps of the crop before moving downward to my pussy. He made me come with a few small twitches of his wrist.

And now I know: I like the crop. I want it harder and faster and harder and did I mention harder?

I knew I should have bought the buggy whip. ;)

HNT.

2008-08-14T09:09:00.001-07:00

Happy HNT!

Cropped.

2008-08-13T14:00:00.001-07:00

Visited the tack shop. Bought a short crop. Paid a whopping $8 for it and felt pleased.

The kids watched me carry it around, watched me pay for it, watched me carry it to the car... and not one of them asked what it was or why I was buying it.

And, no, we don't own a horse.

Relations.

2008-08-13T09:38:00.001-07:00

I do not call him Sir or Dom or Master or anything other than his name and the affectionate 'pet names' I have for him.

During the day, he goes to work. I occasionally email him (and vice versa) but my day is mostly spent dealing with our kids and handling things at home.

We discuss things like finances and groceries and repairs and cars and kids and life.

Sometimes he cooks dinner. Sometimes he does the dishes. Sometimes I spend an afternoon lounging with a book in my hand while he works around the house.

We are equals in all ways but.. he owns my body. It is his for his use. He may take or give whatever he requires in order to obtain his own pleasure.

There are practicalities involved, of course. The kids, rightfully, must remain oblivious to our activities. We cannot play if they are not properly distracted (or asleep or not home). Most of our fun takes place in the evening or late night.

This does not mean he doesn't grab my breasts in the kitchen. It does not preclude him cupping my pussy, though my jeans, and squeezing lightly.

It does not mean that I do not have Pleasureballs in my cunt or tingling "stimulant" gel on my clit while I'm making dinner.

And if he arrived home from work and told me to do something - anything that would please him - I would do it. I would excuse myself from the table where the kids eat or ask him to please finish stirring dinner while I made my way to a place where I could take care of his request.

Knowing that I am pleasing him, making him hard, satisfying him, comforting him.. that's my station. That's where I want to be.

If he chooses to fuck me or spank me or deny me pleasure.. it is my privilege to experience that.

If he chooses to make me suffer or make me come.. it is his decision.

If he wishes me to fuck him, to strip for him, to spread my legs for him, to write or speak for him. I will. And I will do it to the best of my ability.

If he wishes to wake me in the middle of the night, finger me or have me suck on his dick for a brief moment, I will. If he demands more, I will rouse my sleepy body and provide.

If he leaves me clinging to the edge of orgasm while he rolls over to sleep, I will accept his decision and lie still while my clit screams for mercy.

I trust him - implicitly - to take care of me. I know he will only ask for that which gives him pleasure and there is nothing I want more than to give that to him. No matter what he asks, no matter what he instructs, I will do it.

I want to be used by him. I am his toy and his slut and his outlet for frustration. My body belongs to him and is his for his own purposes.

He is my Master and my Dom and my Sir, indeed. I am a very lucky submissive.

Homework #2.

2008-08-13T05:45:00.000-07:00

When he is smacking my breasts, open-handed, I begin to laugh.

I am only partially aware that any sound at all is escaping from my mouth, and what little awareness I have tells me that the sound is one of pleasure.

He told me to write about how it feels to have my breasts slapped. Squeezed. Smacked. Pinched. Flicked...

When he slaps, the surprise of his hand against my breasts is the first sensation - sharp and sudden and (usually) unexpected. My flesh is instantly warmed and feels immediately softened as if he has removed some sort of rigid support.

I begin to anticipate and hope for a second strike.

If he doesn't immediately hit again, if he leaves my breast exposed and untouched, the skin begins to cool and the tingling slowly dissipates.

When he strikes again, right away, the heat builds. The stinging makes the flesh feel swollen and tender and, yes, wanting. If he continues to slap, the sensation grows further.

I have not, yet, been slapped enough to cause lasting pain beyond a minute or two. I don't know how that feels but, of course, I suspect I'd like it.

When he squeezes my breasts - for binding them or for holding them or simply because he feels like it - the blood rushes in and stays in place. My flesh throbs, for lack of a better word, and my nipples become unspeakably tender even if they haven't already been batted around and abraded.

And my nipples, of course, are almost always aching for some sort of play. Squeezing and pulling and biting and pinching and twisting and sucking. If there is one part of me that most craves "play piercings" that would be my dream location.

I'm not sure it's possible to hurt my nipples - it seems to just keep causing more pleasure.

When he plays with them heavily I feel it in my clit. Sometimes I orgasm from nipple-play alone, but every time he touches them I feel it.

If he clips or clamps or pinches them for a long enough period of time it guarantees that, when his hand or mouth slides downward, I will come almost instantly. Strongly and heavily and, possibly, loudly.

Beyond his hands, he has not hit my breasts with anything other than, a long while ago, our small flogger. It was delicious then and, should he feel like striking me with something else, I am certain I'd enjoy it.

The torture of writing this while he's at work is killing me. I'm sitting in a puddle of my own wetness. I'm imagining each vignette as I type it: his mouth, his hands, his fingers, clips and clamps..

I suppose that's the point, isn't it?

Last Night.

2008-08-12T18:03:00.001-07:00

Slowly, he wraps the bondage tape around my wrists, being careful to make the wrap smooth. No twists or crumples to cause discomfort.

He carefully straps my ankles together, pulling the cord tightly in place.

I am still fully clothed. I am wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt. Casual.

He toys with me for a bit - pulling my pants downward and letting them *snap* back against my pussy. I can feel myself growing wetter. He does this a few times, pulling the pants further down each time.

He leaves them down a bit below my cunt and I can feel the cool air on my lips. I can feel my back arching in the hopes that I can press my pussy against his jeans, his shirt, his hand.. anything at all.

He pushes my bound wrists above my head. Pauses for a moment to make sure I'm comfortable before he begins twisting and plying my nipples with his fingers. He pulls my shirt against my lightly chafed breasts. Then he does it again.

We have to be quiet. I cannot moan loudly and, of course, I cannot move my hands to cover my mouth.

He tugs on my pussy lips. Then he quickly pinches a nipple. Back to the lips. Back to the nipple.

And then he stops. Sits back and looks at me.

He unties my wrists and demands that I remove my shirt. I comply.

He re-binds me and forces me to sit up so he can better manipulate my nipples. He clamps the wooden clothespins in place and flicks them a few times.

He slides a finger between my lips and smiles at the wetness. I am nearly dripping with anticipation and pleasure.

Another flick of the clothespins. Another moan from me.

"Get on your hands and knees. Here." Removing the clothespins, he points to the place he wants me to kneel and begins gathering the rope. I suspect where this is going and, as he loops the cord around my breast, I realize I am right.

Tighter. Tighter. And then he ties a knot.

He flicks his tongue across my nipple and I nearly explode - the sensation is unspeakably intense thanks to the breast binding. I tremble. I shake. I'm sure I make noise.

As I kneel, doggy-style, he lowers his head underneath my breasts and begins sucking and licking. Biting gently. Gliding his tongue across the tight flesh.

We've just begun and I'd like to beg him to fuck me already.

He unties my right breast and begins to circle the rope around the left. My right breast throbs lightly, deliciously, as if it would like nothing more than for him to rebind it.

He repeats his slow, methodical knot tying. He dips his head down again to let my nipple hang into his mouth. Wet tongue against taut flesh.

I feel wetness dripping down my thigh.

When he is finished licking and sucking he unties my left breast and motions me onto my back again. My pants are still at my ankles where they fell.

And in the next while - minutes, hours, who knows? - he attaches the clothespins to my pussy. He clips my nipples. He slaps my pussy over and over with his hand, pulling my lips apart so his fingers strike against my clit.

For a while he lets me come as I wish - over and over I find my body arching and tightening and releasing. He does not stop playing, though, and his fingers and tongue and mouth are anywhere and everywhere the very moment I stop writhing.

And then he begins to deny me release. Once he knows I am getting closer to that one, big, unspeakably powerful orgasm. He denies me.

I can't put into words the actions - it's a blur of fingers and slapping and spanking and brief moments in which he fucked me so I'd feel how hard he was. I remember begging him to fuck me and I remember begging to come.

And then, suddenly, I'm on my back, head over the edge of the bed, blood rushing to my face. He finds my vibrator in the bedside table and sets it on my clit and he waits.

He waits and he waits.. until I'm nearing tears with frustration and delight and orgasm and bliss and anger and white noise filled my head and I feel absolutely incoherent.

And then he fucks me hard and fast and I come and I come and I com.. and I swear - I swear - the entire world dissolves. I claw him and I bite him and, were he to ask me for anything in the entire world at that moment, I'd give it. As long as he promises me more of that heaven.

Is it any wonder I enjoy submitting to him?

Good Evening.

2008-08-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

I have SmartBalls rocking and rolling in my pussy, meatloaf in the oven, and my husband will be home soon.

It's a good day to be me.

Block.

2008-08-12T09:21:00.001-07:00

Between childhood escapades and teenage slutting, and then between teenage slutting and adulthood understanding, I have attempted to avoid or hide my sexuality.

Girls are taught so many contradictory things, aren't we?

Don't make the first move and don't call him. Don't tell him you're interested. Don't seem needy. Don't have sex with him. Don't lose your virginity until you're married. Don't go anywhere alone with a boy/man. Don't flirt. Don't get labeled a slut or easy. Don't sleep around. Don't go on the pill because it just means you want to have sex. Be ashamed of any part of you that isn't perfect.

But...

Make sure you're thin and attractive. Diet. Struggle to fit into the right peer group. Wax and shave and pluck and trim. Show pride in your appearance. Find a good man. Get married. Make babies. Stand up straight. Break up with any guy who doesn't treat you properly. Dress nicely. Emphasize the right parts of your body. Date guys who make you look good.

And let's not even get into the concept of kink. I mean, really.

The problem is that sex feels good. And things that feel good are totally irresistible to me.

Immediately afterward, though.. I'd feel guilty because, after all, I wasn't supposed to like it (because only sluts do).

I wasn't supposed to do it, at all, in the first place (because only sluts do).

And I certainly wasn't supposed to do it in any way other than missionary AND for the purpose of making babies or making looooove.

There's nothing worse than being a slut, right?

I wanted to be a 'good girl'. Wanted to be loved. Wanted to be with someone fabulous. (And be spanked by that fabulous one, of course, but.. y'know..?)

So I'd slut around for a bit, and then I'd try to reign it all in.

I watched my friends crucified for being sexual. I watched my friends be labeled "easy" and "slut" and "whore".

I made sure I always had a boyfriend - serially, in fact - so as to never be put in the position of seeking sex for the sake of sex itself.

Then I discovered food as a substitute for sex.

It's not the same feeling of pleasure, of course, but it's a good escape. It feels naughty but, really, it's perfectly socially acceptable to eat a chocolate bar (or whatever).

The chocolate bar never says I need to lose weight, look differently, or be embarassed by cellulite or my pudgy belly.

There's no rejection and there's no chance of the chocolate bar being "too tired" or "not really interested" and, hell, the chocolate bar has never suggested that I go shave my legs before it would let me play.

This would, I suppose, be a good time to let go of that.

My fear of rejection is somewhat sated in that, honestly, my husband's libido is far stronger than mine - and the chances of him saying, "No, I'm too tired" are pretty damned minimal.

He doesn't care if I shave anything, anywhere, at all. Ever.

He has seen me naked. Continues to see me naked. Finds me attractive. Doesn't expect a great deal of effort (makeup, fancy outfits, etc) to be done before he'll play.

Is comfortable with my submissiveness and encourages it.

The only thing standing in the way of me leaping on him all day and night is that fact that we have kids. Our play has to be limited to times when they're not around - either at night when they're sleeping or when we've just purchased a new Wii game which buys us several days' worth of uninterrupted time.

And so I shall work to put that behind me.. Release the blocks and tighten the ropes, so to speak...

Expand The Horizons.

2008-08-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

A friend loaned us some assorted playthings a while back. He has a rather large collection.

The magic bag of goodness contained breast cuffs, a posture collar, some restraints, collars and attachments, a flogger and.. well, let's just say it was a nice selection of stuff.

We have, of course, our own set of toys. Assorted implements and tools and homemade/store bought goodies.

But from my friend's magic bag of goodness, I fell in love with the breast cuffs. I mean.. after the first use of them, just thinking about them made my eyes nearly roll back into my head.

I was downright sad when the time came to return them. I'm now glad for (soft) ropes and for my husband's ability to neatly wind those ropes around my breasts and knot them in place.

The same friend dressed me up in his pony girl head gear - bit in my mouth (caused drooling and a lot of giggling), plume on top (pretty!), straps tightened in place. Not really my kink but zow, it was an interesting sensation and, really, what are the chances I'll have that opportunity again?

And that same friend made me my very own collar and matching bra - both shiny and beautiful and custom-fitting.

Always accept invitations where possible.

We missed the last local munch - sadly - but are planning to make it to the next one in September. I'm also hoping to make it to the Triple-S Discussion Group that month.

I've joined FetLife to meet more people and to expand my sense of community. Talk to people with shared interests (ahem) and make some new friends. All good.

And I've started this blog where, with any luck, someone may feel the urge to comment.

It makes me wonder.. What's next?

Homework #1.

2008-08-12T06:26:00.000-07:00

He insists that he wants to take care of me. He insists that, as his slut-by-night, he's required to keep me in good shape for playing by not pushing me too far.

He insists that I write this, too.

Skin is sensitive. Skin is made even more sensitive by biting and squeezing and tormenting and licking and.. made more sensitive the following evening and more sensitive the evening after that.

I love his mouth/fingers/dick on my nipples. I love his teeth biting down and I love the clothespins clamped on. I love the nipple clamps (when we know where they are..). When I was pierced I loved the feeling of him tugging on the ring.

When my nipples are chafed or bruised, I want only solid pressure/biting. No sliding of fabric across them and no gentle touching. No licking or gentle flicking.

That's right - when my nipples are in agony, I want heavy play and not light play. There is no limit to how much of the heavy play - no limit I've experienced, yet, at least. My skin likes it.

It's rare that my pussy is chafed. It may be tender. It may be swollen. But I'm a "juicy" girl and, on those extremely rare occasions, I'm not afraid to use (or request) lube if I think it's needed.

Caring for my pussy is easy - just use it.

Clipping and biting and tugging and pulling and slapping and spanking and flicking and squeezing my pussy? All good. Exceptionally good, in fact.

(So good that, just thinking about it, I'm ready for action..)

I don't think my clit has ever been chafed. The vibrator pressed against it last night, however, after I had already come a thousand times? Zow!

Want Me.

2008-08-11T17:05:00.000-07:00

My arousal is a loop.

It begins, perhaps, on its own. A tingle. A thought. A sensation or a slight wetness. A body part calling me to focus.

Or it begins by suggestion. A whisper, a command, a demand. Something I read or see. I could be looking at porn or reading a book or simply catch sight of someone attractive walking by me.

The arousal grows when someone else is aroused by.. my arousal. If I whisper my own words to someone, "I'm wet" and they respond with a short moan.. well, that causes my heart to speed up further.

If I spread my legs and he comments, "You're so wet!" it's a guarantee that I will spread them further in the hopes that he will grow harder.

As the once-popular song goes, "I want you to want me.."

I once thought that the reason I enjoyed being submissive was because telling someone what I wanted, sexually, made me uncomfortable. I thought that I simply preferred my partner to be the one who instigated "kinky" things so that I wouldn't have to suggest them.

Not that I've ever been particularly demure.

As I grew up, and as I dated various people and found myself naked in their beds, I realized that I wasn't really uncomfortable asking for what I wanted - but, like anything else, it involved slow disclosure.

First we'll make out and then I'll tell you that I like it when I bite your lip.

First you'll lick my pussy and then I'll tell you that I like it when you suck hard.

First you'll gently caress my nipples and then I'll suggest you pinch them harder. And harder.

If those suggestions were received happily and not uncomfortably, I'd continue to make suggestions. "I like it when you.." and "Could you please..."

If my partner was uncomfortable, well, then, I'd simply accept what I was given. Sex is almost always a good thing, even if no one is biting anyone, right? I'd drop back to something resembling vanilla.

But.. the truth is that if you wink at me when I make the suggestion? Look pleased by the idea? Please just know that you'll soon be standing in a puddle of.. me.

I enjoy talking about what I want and what I like. I enjoy making suggestions and I enjoy finding new things to try (online, generally) and I love it best when my husband stores those suggestions in his head and brings them up when I'm not expecting them.

I tease my husband that if he wanted to indulge in any particular fantasy or fetish, I'd certainly go along with it. Especially if he didn't give me a choice and simply insisted. Then I immediately say, "Except, I don't really want to do X or Y or Z." and he laughs.

But I would.

I would try anything.. twice.

And as long as I knew it would get him off? I'd do it three times or four.

Because my arousal is a loop..

Buck Seventy-Five.

2008-08-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

Today I'd like to take every penny I can scrounge together and go on a shopping spree. I could even do it with the kids around - seeing as how I'd be buying innocent-seeming items.

I'd first make my way to the local "farm" store. The place where you can buy vet tape (a very inexpensive alternative to bondage tape) and, perhaps, some assorted ties and soft ropes.

Then I'd take whatever money remains to the local hardware store where I could buy some other inexpensive toys - certainly cheaper than those found at the local sex toy shop.

And tonight, when my husband returns home, I'd like to lay each item out on the bed in front of him. Take off my clothes and let him try them all out..

Blinking.

2008-08-11T08:36:00.000-07:00

When I was about 5 years old, my only friends were boys.

We lived in a rural area - no bus lines, no highways, only a few cars drifting up and down our road - and we spent our days running through fields and forests.

It was rare that we had adult supervision unless we played inside and, with all that open space, we didn't see much point in being under someone's thumb all day. In retrospect, I'm sure the adults appreciated our absence, too.

Until I was older, I didn't realize masturbation had a name. I thought it was something magical and wonderful that I had invented. I called it "blinking" because the contractions and pulsing felt like my pussy was.. blinking. I assumed that blinking feeling was visible, too.

One particular day, I gathered up the boys in the neighbourhood and informed them that I was going to show them the Greatest Thing Ever. I knew they didn't have the same anatomy that I did - but I thought they might appreciate my 'trick'.

Dustin offered his living room - and though it seems extremely unlikely that he was home alone, there were no parents to be found - and the boys (four or five of them) stood watching me as I stripped off my pants and dropped my underwear to the carpeted floor beneath me.

I remember the look of awe on their faces. None of them had sisters. None of them, I suspect, had ever seen what I had to show. All of them stood, shuffling their feet, as I sat down on the sofa and spread my legs open.

Cupping and fingering myself, I found it hard to concentrate on "blinking". I was aroused, of course, but couldn't make the arousal grow as much a I needed to come.

I asked Dustin for a blanket - thinking I'd lie back, finger myself a bit, and then remove the blanket right before I started to "blink" so the boys could see.

And I did.

As it turns out, "blinking" is not visible. The boys saw nothing when it finally happened.

I can't remember what we did next. Did I put on my clothes again, over my scrawny legs, and head outside to play? Were the boys disappointed that my magical game was so, for them, anticlimactic?

Do they remember, now?

For my part, I remember vividly the feeling of all those eyes on me. How they stood, mesmerized, as I clumsily manipulated myself...

Years.

2008-08-10T11:27:00.000-07:00

I've always known I was submissive - but, too, I've always been firey and mouthy and opinionated.

Definitely not the sort of submissive who simply takes what's given, but the sort who growls and spits and requires a very firm hand to keep her in line.

The sort who requires a very confident partner.

And I've always known that I liked kink; pain and some pleasure combined.

From the first moment I discovered my clit, discovered the sensation of orgasm, I was insatiable. I masturbated in my bedroom and living room. At other people's homes. At sleepovers. In the bathroom stall at school. While watching television or reading a book.

My hands were always in my pants. I believe I was about 3 when I had my first (known) orgasm and oh, I liked it.

I remember finding my Dad's porn stash - hidden high on a shelf in his workshop - and I'd stand for hours on top of the tall stool to reach into the seemingly bottomless box. His stash wasn't anything that'd be considered kink in this day and age - just naked bodies, occasionally spread lips, women, women and more women.

That's when I realized I was attracted to men AND women.

And from looking at that porn, I learned that my own orgasms could be enhanced. I could make them better and stronger and more powerful all by myself.

If one finger was good, two was better.
If a light pinch felt good, a harder one felt delicious.

I began to experiment when I was about 9 or 10 years old.

I'd sneak the family's container of dental floss out of the bathroom. Alone in my room, lights out and door closed, I'd bind my own ankles with floss and shove my fingers onto my pussy. Not being able to spread my legs made me work harder for that orgasm.

I'd use another length of floss to slide between my pussy lips - the sharp sensation as the string scraped against my clit, biting into the flesh but never cutting.

I'd crawl under my covers and breathe deeply until the lack of cool air would make me deliriously anxious with anticipation - and I'd make myself come so powerfully I'd swear I could levitate.

I smeared toothpaste on my labia to feel the flesh rise and swell - the sweet mint making my flesh burn and tingle.

I'd squeeze my nipples until they felt bruised.

And then I'd come.

And come.

And come.

I'd put my hand over my mouth to stifle the whimpering as I attached hair clips to my pussy lips and pressed the sharp teeth into my own flesh.

And I'd daydream about someone else doing it to me. For me.

I'd imagine someone ripping off the blankets and exposing my naked body, flushed and swollen and ready to be used.

I'd daydream that I was passive - fully willing but passive - while someone opened my legs and prodded with his fingers. Checking to see if I was suitable for his needs. A commodity. An item.

Sometimes I'd dream that I was being taken by force - that he, the faceless stranger, would grab me and have his way with me because I was such a shameless tease. He'd press my legs apart with strong hands and tell me all the reasons why I deserved it.

I'd imagine how I'd feel, tied up and spanked, for the pleasure of someone else. Being used. Being someone's toy.

When I learned the word, I knew I was submissive - and that was long before I ever lost my virginity.

Late at night, after my family was asleep, I'd turn on the lights in my room and open the blinds on the window. Our house faced the neighbours' - a man, his wife, and their three sons.

I'd wonder if any of them were awake as I slowly removed my clothing underneath the harsh overhead light. Perhaps the father, returning late from work, would glance over to see me naked?

I'd stand, facing the window, staring straight ahead. Letting anyone who watched know, without question, that I was aware that they could see me. This was no accident.

Perhaps one of the sons, unable to sleep, would see me pressing my breasts together and find his own hand drawn downward for further pleasure?

When I learned the word, I knew I was an exhibitionist.

My pleasure, aside from that brought simply by physical sensations, has always stemmed from any pleasure another could take from me. Use me.

I'm now in my 30s. Married. A parent.

Life has moved into a new phase and it's one in which I'm struggling to maintain my self as a human and not just a mother. I spend my days catering to everyone's emotional needs. I hunt down toys and chase down lost shoes.

I rule the roost, so to speak, and I expect the kids to listen to me as much as kids are able. I cook and I clean and I do laundry. I help with homework and I pack lunches and I remind people when to shower and that no, soap is not optional.

But at night, when the kids are asleep and I'm alone with my husband, I am quite desperate to be just me. Used and controlled. Appreciated as something sexual.

Let the games begin.