It started as a gift from my Master – one where I was allowed to wander my hands and my mind to a gorgeous climax. But as is often the case with my Master, this gift did have a tiny payment afterward. Master asked only that I share with him what naughty things filled my mind while my fingers filled my cunt. A reasonable request, though one I found so difficult to fulfill tonight as we talked. My face hot with a full blush, I stammered and stuttered the images I’d relished.
As I’ve said before, my mind is a very easy, obedient puppet to my Master. He can, with very little effort, bend and mold it to please him. I explained to him that my fantasy included the idea of being made to look, physically, like a slutty, airheaded bimbo only because the thought might please him. Within minutes of my sharing this idea a mirror appeared before me, reflecting back just such an image of me. He had changed my face, my body, to be that bimbo I’d imagined and he’d given me the ability to see how I would look. There was no warning. With the minute between one breath and another I found myself staring at my face painted permanently with whorish makeup. My hair, normally brunette and straight, was now blonde and almost curly. My tits resembled two volleyballs crammed into my sweater, huge and bizarrely round. And so obviously fake.
I could only stare and stare. I felt like I was gazing at someone else entirely. Master asked what I thought of the new version and I could only blather about how very wrong it looked. How very not me this image was.
To help some he made an additional change, stripping away my normal clothing and replacing it with slut clothes. My porn boobs wedged into a tight, leather bra. My hips wrapped in a tiny leather skirt. Four inch heels on my feet. But still this was just not me! He pressed and I explained again that this was so foreign and bizarre and just. Not. Me.
And then suddenly it kind of was me.
I’d been staring and staring at the image. Couldn’t pull my eyes away, and though my overwhelming reaction was how odd this version of me looked, as I stared I began to appreciate the visual. The blond hair seemed to exotic; so sexy. My makeup made my face dramatic, as opposed to the plain Jane I normally am. Even the fake tits – I wanted to grab them; squeeze them. Feel how artificial I knew they’d be. As I stared the image stopped being wrong. Now the wrong thing was me; the life I have and the way I could never live that life and look this way. I was the wrongness.
Master asked me more questions. He wanted to know how I felt about the improvements he’d allowed my mind to make. He sensed the changes in how I looked and looked. I began to explain how the changes appealed, but could never be in my life, and he pressed for the reasons why. What about me made these improvements so impossible?
“My I.Q.” I joked, but meaning it too. “My job – I could never go to my job looking this way! My way of life…” The more I tried to explain the more difficult it seemed to be. “This is the face, the look of a brainless, slutty bimbo and that’s just something I’m not.” I recognized the tiny wave of regret in my mind as I said the words. I was not a brainless, slutty bimbo. Even if for just a second there I secretly wished I could be.
As is so often the case, my Master knew. My flash of longing may have never left my lips, but he knew that I had a want. Being so generous to me he wanted to give me what I wanted, and knew that first I had to say it. Say the want that burned in me, despite my desire for pride and respect. He kept me talking about the difference between my life and the life that this person staring out of the mirror could have. My IQ; my job; my self esteem, my IQ…
“What job would you have if this were you?” I knew what he wanted me to say – we both did. But I couldn’t say the words. Still, I laughed as a moment from the other night popped into my head.
“This was in my fantasy,” I laughed.
“What job would you have?” he repeated.
“In the fantasy I had been drawn into thinking about this new version of me would be like; what kind of job. In the fantasy I knew I wanted a job that was safe, but had a lot of…” oh those words. So easy to want, so hard to say. “…a lot of fucking.”
“What job?” he kept up the question, having not yet received an answer.
“We talked about stripper or whore.” I confessed, feeling the hot in my face again. “But whore was too dangerous, and stripper too… too boring. Not enough action. Since I’d come up with both of those you came up with the third idea…”
“What job would you have?” never stop asking. Get your answer. As we talked he could sense that the words were coming easier. The words easier, but the thoughts slower.
“Porn star. You suggested porn star. Safe, but also plenty of fucking. And in the fantasy that was the right job for me…” I tried to prevent the wide smile but it slid itself across my face anyway. This job idea seemed so appealing now. I closed my eyes and thought about this option. Thought about the freedom it could provide. I floated away in my mind but Master’s words brought me back.
“What is your job?” I answered now without thinking.
“I’m an actress. I’m in the movies.” I giggled as I said the words, peeping up at him under my sculpted, made up eyebrows and heavily painted lids.
“Are you really an actress?”
“Well, I really am a movie star.” I laughed back. Then I corrected myself. “I work in the movies. In a specific kind of movies.”
“What kind of movies?” I knew the word he wanted to hear, but I tried to negotiate around it. Still, the paths available to me seemed to be dwindling as my world got simpler. I giggled again.
“I could say adult movies. But that’s not what you want to hear, right? You want to hear the other word?” Master tells me he just wants me to tell him what my job is. I can hear that he’s smiling as he speaks. I give him what he wants. “Porn. I’m not sure I’m a star, but I make porn movies.”
This new life is so comfortable and easy now. I enjoy that the leather outfit and my sexy blond hair staring back at me in the mirror. “Tell me about yourself; your life.” I’m confused by the question – Master knows me better than anyone! But he explains to me its like a game – I am to tell him about me like we’ve never met. I like games – we play them at work all the time.
And so I tell. I tell of my life working I porn, and how Master was the one who found my career. How I loved it because it let me fuck all the time, which we both know I love. How we’d talked about my being a whore, but it was too dangerous and how my Master took pity on me and let me go this safer, but still fun, way. How it was hard for me to fuck strangers at first, but not anymore.
“and who am I?” he asked. This question is even more confusing for my simple mind, and I struggle to imagine the world where I don’t know who he is.
“You’re… you’re… you’re everything. You’re my Master, my agent, my… my everything!” How do I feel about you? “I love you, I serve you, I worship you, I…” all of these questions confuse me, as if he’d asked why I breathe. Because to not feel the way I do about my Master would be to die. “Its ok with you that I fuck other guys?” I ask.
“Well, baby, you kind of have to for your life, right? And you do it to please me. So no, I don’t mind.” I’m relieved, both because I don’t want him unhappy, but also because I love fucking all the time. I’ve come to love this life as a slutty bimbo and am relieved I can keep it. The gift from my Master.
“What do you like to do?” he asked next.
The answer to every question seems to start with a giggle now. What I like to do? Such a silly question, but I’m enjoying Master’s game now so I reply. “What do I like to do? Fucking. Working. I don’t know?” You laugh at me and I laugh too. “I used to like to read, but not anymore. So hard? I used to watch movies, but these days mostly ones from people I work with. Mostly porn movies… It’s good for getting ideas-“
“Open Wide Cum Slut.”
His words break me out of my reverie and activate programming that has been in place for months now. Any time my Master says this to me I stop everything, falling into an obedient pose with my mouth open, my tongue sticking out of my mouth, the perfect position to allow his cock to shoot its jets of cum into my eager, hungry mouth. I sit and feel hot cream sliding down my tongue and collecting at the back of my throat, waiting for his next command. As I hear him gasping and panting through his orgasm I feel jolts in my cunt – I love to hear him cum almost more than anything.
“Swallow.” Comes his next command, which gives me permission to gulp down his gift and I do joyfully. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.” I gush, pleasure blasting through me.
“OK, sweety, I want you to count from 1 to 10.” Master instructs. He can see the furrowed brow on my face as this direction worries me. “go up as far as you can, baby.” He responds.
“You know I have a hard time after 6, right?” I ask, hating the idea of failing any request from my Master.
“I know, baby. Do your best.”
I begin to count, confident in the first few numbers. As each comes out I feel changes ripple through me. My mind seems to expand and fill itself with now familiar information. By 5 or 6 I look back up at the mirror Master had given me and see my hair now more brown than blonde. My face no longer the dramatic palette. Me more myself again than the bimbo I’d become. By 10 I’m back to myself, with the memories of my evening crashing through me.
Once again my Master had changed me for his pleasure. He’d enjoyed taking my mind and leaving me vacant. Taking my inhibitions and leaving me wanton. Taking my life, and giving me one where I fucked for his pleasure and giggled and struggled through the easiest of questions. And I loved knowing that this version of me brought him enough pleasure to fill my mouth with his cum. I love it when I can please my Master. Any way he wants me.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
Saturday, 19 December 2009
The Gift, Part One
It started as a gift.
Master and I had been wandering through a very interesting fantasy about a mission on which he could send me, and by the time we were finished there was much sweating and heavy breathing for us both. As a reward for my part he told me this:
“You may use the glass dildo tonight. But when you are thrusting it in and out you are to be filled with the largest of the butt plugs.”
For the rest of my night this was all I could think of. My lust never abated even as I did chores and wrapped gifts and did other mundane things. At last I completed enough to allow me to fade to bed, and I shed my clothing like a slutty butterfly her boring cocoon.
I stretched out on my bed with only my everyday collar around my ankle, and slathered my plug with plenty of lube. Due to many other challenges in my life I’d not trained my ass for a few days, but I was determined not to take a step back. I would not need the smaller size plug to prime my ass for largest intrusion. I took deep breaths and pressed and relaxed muscles and pressed and bit my lip and god dammit pressed! And at last my determination was rewarded by my tight little hole sighing and sliding the intruder deep inside.
With the abrupt allowance I found both a bit of pain but more a rush of pleasure and many shudders, ripples of sex washing over me and over me. Riding the wave I grabbed my glass dildo, warmed under the hot water before I lied down, and relaxed myself even more to allow my hungry cunt to swallow its own happy penetrator.
Full completely in front and back I lied there. On one other occasion I’ve been doubly-filled and I found then, and found now, that the pressure from the rear makes it very difficult to move the unyielding glass dildo in and out pleasurably. I think if it weren’t my own cunt I’d be able to do it, but I wimped out, instead leaving the dildo buried deep inside me. With both hands I began to trip over and around my sensitive clit, stroking and twirling all the sensitive areas. And in my mind he was there.
He stood at my feet. He lay beside me on the bed, up on a shoulder to allow him to be over me. He controlled where my mind went but talking to me on and on, doing more to rise my fires than any sex toys ever could. In my mind I could hear his voice clearly running through all the ways that I am a very lucky slave. By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep the way I look, as we both know that he could request me to deck myself out as a slutty bimbo and I would. I would dye my hair a slutty blond and tattoo whorish makeup on my face and even get the breast implants that every porn start invests in. All to please him.
By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep my intelligence, as he has already in the past and could again, at his whim, turn my I.Q. down until adding single digits would be beyond me. I know how much he enjoys me giggly and dingy and flummoxed by the simplest mental challenges. When he has me in such a toy state his voice takes on the most insidiously condescending tone; the verbal equivalent of him patting me on my silly little head.
In my fantasy, as my fingers strummed my clit furiously, he continued to talk about how my life could be different if he were to change one little decision. How would I like to give up my job and my life? Find work more fitting a slutty, airheaded bimbo such as he might make me? In my mind I felt myself yearning for that other existence. We discussed the job opportunities that I could have once my pesky intelligence no longer plagued me. Something simple, safe and with plenty of constant fucking. Porn star. And as his smooth, warm voice poured down me and my fingers kept up their frontal assault; as I pictured myself vacantly doing anything and everything to please him with no pesky brains to get in the way, my climax finally made itself known, tumbling through my body.
It started as this gift a few nights ago, but it certainly didn’t end there…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Master and I had been wandering through a very interesting fantasy about a mission on which he could send me, and by the time we were finished there was much sweating and heavy breathing for us both. As a reward for my part he told me this:
“You may use the glass dildo tonight. But when you are thrusting it in and out you are to be filled with the largest of the butt plugs.”
For the rest of my night this was all I could think of. My lust never abated even as I did chores and wrapped gifts and did other mundane things. At last I completed enough to allow me to fade to bed, and I shed my clothing like a slutty butterfly her boring cocoon.
I stretched out on my bed with only my everyday collar around my ankle, and slathered my plug with plenty of lube. Due to many other challenges in my life I’d not trained my ass for a few days, but I was determined not to take a step back. I would not need the smaller size plug to prime my ass for largest intrusion. I took deep breaths and pressed and relaxed muscles and pressed and bit my lip and god dammit pressed! And at last my determination was rewarded by my tight little hole sighing and sliding the intruder deep inside.
With the abrupt allowance I found both a bit of pain but more a rush of pleasure and many shudders, ripples of sex washing over me and over me. Riding the wave I grabbed my glass dildo, warmed under the hot water before I lied down, and relaxed myself even more to allow my hungry cunt to swallow its own happy penetrator.
Full completely in front and back I lied there. On one other occasion I’ve been doubly-filled and I found then, and found now, that the pressure from the rear makes it very difficult to move the unyielding glass dildo in and out pleasurably. I think if it weren’t my own cunt I’d be able to do it, but I wimped out, instead leaving the dildo buried deep inside me. With both hands I began to trip over and around my sensitive clit, stroking and twirling all the sensitive areas. And in my mind he was there.
He stood at my feet. He lay beside me on the bed, up on a shoulder to allow him to be over me. He controlled where my mind went but talking to me on and on, doing more to rise my fires than any sex toys ever could. In my mind I could hear his voice clearly running through all the ways that I am a very lucky slave. By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep the way I look, as we both know that he could request me to deck myself out as a slutty bimbo and I would. I would dye my hair a slutty blond and tattoo whorish makeup on my face and even get the breast implants that every porn start invests in. All to please him.
By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep my intelligence, as he has already in the past and could again, at his whim, turn my I.Q. down until adding single digits would be beyond me. I know how much he enjoys me giggly and dingy and flummoxed by the simplest mental challenges. When he has me in such a toy state his voice takes on the most insidiously condescending tone; the verbal equivalent of him patting me on my silly little head.
In my fantasy, as my fingers strummed my clit furiously, he continued to talk about how my life could be different if he were to change one little decision. How would I like to give up my job and my life? Find work more fitting a slutty, airheaded bimbo such as he might make me? In my mind I felt myself yearning for that other existence. We discussed the job opportunities that I could have once my pesky intelligence no longer plagued me. Something simple, safe and with plenty of constant fucking. Porn star. And as his smooth, warm voice poured down me and my fingers kept up their frontal assault; as I pictured myself vacantly doing anything and everything to please him with no pesky brains to get in the way, my climax finally made itself known, tumbling through my body.
It started as this gift a few nights ago, but it certainly didn’t end there…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Desperation
My Master had no way of knowing what he would be unleashing when he claimed me and opened me up. The day I gave him my control it had been over 10 years since last I’d cum for someone else. In that time I’d silenced my sex, submerged my passions, killed my desires out of a desperate self preservation. That which I’d decided I didn’t need I couldn’t therefore miss. My only release had become erotic fiction online, and even that pleasure was a darkly held secret that I was terrified would be found out.
I’d assured myself, and anyone else foolish enough to ask, that I was just fine without such indulgences in my life. The truth was I was dying. I’d relish those rare moments when I enjoyed the lingering touch of another, even though those were always platonic. I felt sealed off from the rest of the population. I felt encased in steel. I felt numb.
But now, though I’m so happy to enjoy contact again, I’m afraid Master has unleashed a beast that even he could not have foreseen.
I wake every morning with my Master on my mind. I imagine him over me, his strong hands pushing my wrists into my pillow and his evil grin dripping down into me. And I am wet. Constantly. For My Master I am slick between my legs always. I was bone dry for a decade and this is amazing to me because I’ve not had a single dry day since he found me. For months now my natural, constant state is damp panties and creamy cunt. I simply cannot get enough of him at any time. Even after all the months that I’ve been his the sound of his ring tone or the tiny hiss showing that he’s logged on to chat still give me butterflies like the first day he possessed me. And still, and always, and forever I am wet.
There was a time I worried that Master would grow tired of a slave who is always like an eager puppy, waiting for him to initiate play. I enjoyed the humiliation of being unable to control my lust, but knew that such constant pleading eyes and heavy voice could grow old after a while. But now I know that Master likes knowing he need never wonder if I am “in the mood.” I am his for the taking at any time, always three seconds from being his panting, moaning slut.
Just like a good slave should be.
I’d assured myself, and anyone else foolish enough to ask, that I was just fine without such indulgences in my life. The truth was I was dying. I’d relish those rare moments when I enjoyed the lingering touch of another, even though those were always platonic. I felt sealed off from the rest of the population. I felt encased in steel. I felt numb.
But now, though I’m so happy to enjoy contact again, I’m afraid Master has unleashed a beast that even he could not have foreseen.
I wake every morning with my Master on my mind. I imagine him over me, his strong hands pushing my wrists into my pillow and his evil grin dripping down into me. And I am wet. Constantly. For My Master I am slick between my legs always. I was bone dry for a decade and this is amazing to me because I’ve not had a single dry day since he found me. For months now my natural, constant state is damp panties and creamy cunt. I simply cannot get enough of him at any time. Even after all the months that I’ve been his the sound of his ring tone or the tiny hiss showing that he’s logged on to chat still give me butterflies like the first day he possessed me. And still, and always, and forever I am wet.
There was a time I worried that Master would grow tired of a slave who is always like an eager puppy, waiting for him to initiate play. I enjoyed the humiliation of being unable to control my lust, but knew that such constant pleading eyes and heavy voice could grow old after a while. But now I know that Master likes knowing he need never wonder if I am “in the mood.” I am his for the taking at any time, always three seconds from being his panting, moaning slut.
Just like a good slave should be.
Friday, 11 December 2009
Pushing the Envelope
“Go get your plug.”
I was surprised by this, though I shouldn’t have been. As we sat together I’d begun to get sleepy and this was the perfect way to wake me up. But I’d never trained while with Master before and the idea of him hearing the odd little squeals I make each time the plugs make it past my defenses… Still, off I ran to get all the pieces. I’m a good girl, after all.
I was still using a two-step process to get up to fitting in the large plug, and so I slathered the middle-sized plug with lube and forced it into my rear. As always I felt excited and dirty with such pressure at my behind. The feeling was even stronger knowing Master was listening. I’d shared a fantasy with him from earlier in our conversation and I felt bold as I smiled and asked him… “Should I see if the big plug fits in the front?”
“Yes.”
I took hold of the ring at the base of the big plug and began to slide it up and down over my slit. This was how I always got myself wet before penetration, and this was as effective as ever. Within a minute or two the smooth, black plug was slick up to its widest point. I was ready. I grabbed the base solidly and pushed right at my cunt. And pushed, and pushed. The plug slid in slowly, but fought me both because the plug was very wide and because I was already very full from behind. I’d managed to push it in to the widest point, but not yet beyond.
I worked my way slowly, pushing the plug in until the resistance was too much, and then a little beyond that point before giving relief. I pulled back, slid up and down a little, and then pushed again, this time further. Over and over I repeated the system until finally the biggest black plug of them all fell the rest of the way into its home, swallowed completely into my cunt.
There I sat, plugged at both ends. I loved the fullness, and the idea of double-penetration, but mostly I loved that at this moment more than any other I was doing this for him. Not just to make my body better for his visit in a few short weeks, but because he’d commanded me to do it. Because right at that moment he was listening to my moans and gasps and sighs as both my ass and my cunt were filled for his pleasure.
I lie there, my entire body humming a little at the feelings. My cunt twitched around the intruder and a wicked idea occurred to me.
“Can I fuck myself with the plug in my cunt?” I all but whispered, embarrassed and excited at the idea.
“You may.” He replied, adding “but watch the volume. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
In and out, in and out went the plug. I found it felt wonderful moving inside me, but was so big at its’ apex that it was distracting to the intense pleasure I’d built otherwise. So after a few minutes I instead slid it back in all the way, and I began to go to work on my sensitive clit. I flicked and stroked and rubbed as I felt myself overflowing with Master’s control and Master’s improvements. The sensation was fabulous. It took only a few minutes for me to climax all over the plug, ripples rocking me to my feet.
Now it was time to make the transfer. I rolled onto my side, jutting my packed ass out behind me, and pulled out the rear plug. I then allowed my cunt to push out the large plug , seeing that it was coated in my excitement. I rolled it around in the abundant muck in my slit until I was very sure it was entirely lubed in it, and then I pointed it at my rear and pushed.
I love the fact that my ass both wants so badly to keep all intruders out, and also that in that moment that this biggest plug overcame my asses’ defenses and pushed all the way in my butt, my entire body shuddered with pleasure and submission. My ass loves the moment where it is made to give in as much as I do. And knowing that my butt was now filled by a plug lubed only with my own cum was a feeling more than I could handle. I gasped out loud, much louder than I’d planned, and once more I came with a rush.
I sat for an hour, reveling in the fullness and the complete feeling of ownership and obedience. My cunt hummed from its wonderful domination, and my ass twitched over and over. And my Master slept, the sleep of a man who knows he is in complete and total control of another. All was right for the world.
I was surprised by this, though I shouldn’t have been. As we sat together I’d begun to get sleepy and this was the perfect way to wake me up. But I’d never trained while with Master before and the idea of him hearing the odd little squeals I make each time the plugs make it past my defenses… Still, off I ran to get all the pieces. I’m a good girl, after all.
I was still using a two-step process to get up to fitting in the large plug, and so I slathered the middle-sized plug with lube and forced it into my rear. As always I felt excited and dirty with such pressure at my behind. The feeling was even stronger knowing Master was listening. I’d shared a fantasy with him from earlier in our conversation and I felt bold as I smiled and asked him… “Should I see if the big plug fits in the front?”
“Yes.”
I took hold of the ring at the base of the big plug and began to slide it up and down over my slit. This was how I always got myself wet before penetration, and this was as effective as ever. Within a minute or two the smooth, black plug was slick up to its widest point. I was ready. I grabbed the base solidly and pushed right at my cunt. And pushed, and pushed. The plug slid in slowly, but fought me both because the plug was very wide and because I was already very full from behind. I’d managed to push it in to the widest point, but not yet beyond.
I worked my way slowly, pushing the plug in until the resistance was too much, and then a little beyond that point before giving relief. I pulled back, slid up and down a little, and then pushed again, this time further. Over and over I repeated the system until finally the biggest black plug of them all fell the rest of the way into its home, swallowed completely into my cunt.
There I sat, plugged at both ends. I loved the fullness, and the idea of double-penetration, but mostly I loved that at this moment more than any other I was doing this for him. Not just to make my body better for his visit in a few short weeks, but because he’d commanded me to do it. Because right at that moment he was listening to my moans and gasps and sighs as both my ass and my cunt were filled for his pleasure.
I lie there, my entire body humming a little at the feelings. My cunt twitched around the intruder and a wicked idea occurred to me.
“Can I fuck myself with the plug in my cunt?” I all but whispered, embarrassed and excited at the idea.
“You may.” He replied, adding “but watch the volume. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
In and out, in and out went the plug. I found it felt wonderful moving inside me, but was so big at its’ apex that it was distracting to the intense pleasure I’d built otherwise. So after a few minutes I instead slid it back in all the way, and I began to go to work on my sensitive clit. I flicked and stroked and rubbed as I felt myself overflowing with Master’s control and Master’s improvements. The sensation was fabulous. It took only a few minutes for me to climax all over the plug, ripples rocking me to my feet.
Now it was time to make the transfer. I rolled onto my side, jutting my packed ass out behind me, and pulled out the rear plug. I then allowed my cunt to push out the large plug , seeing that it was coated in my excitement. I rolled it around in the abundant muck in my slit until I was very sure it was entirely lubed in it, and then I pointed it at my rear and pushed.
I love the fact that my ass both wants so badly to keep all intruders out, and also that in that moment that this biggest plug overcame my asses’ defenses and pushed all the way in my butt, my entire body shuddered with pleasure and submission. My ass loves the moment where it is made to give in as much as I do. And knowing that my butt was now filled by a plug lubed only with my own cum was a feeling more than I could handle. I gasped out loud, much louder than I’d planned, and once more I came with a rush.
I sat for an hour, reveling in the fullness and the complete feeling of ownership and obedience. My cunt hummed from its wonderful domination, and my ass twitched over and over. And my Master slept, the sleep of a man who knows he is in complete and total control of another. All was right for the world.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Finally a Tough Challenge
Several weeks with the smallest ass plug deep inside me every day. After the first week I slept with it in my ass every night. I loved that it was so easy, so comfortable. I loved that my body was so very willing, even eager, to take on this task.
After a few weeks I decided there had been no challenge to this (apart from my last post's day of BIG challenge!), and that if I was going to stretch and push and change myself to please my Master I would have to, need to, move on. And so I happily pressed the next larger plug into my ass.
But to my surprise and pride I took this size easily as well. A little more pressure to push past the defenses, but otherwise an easy task. In less than a week I slept all night long with this plug deep inside as well. After a couple of nights I had one morning where I felt my muscles stretched as I walked, but only a little, and only a while. In the same way that I beamed from my success I also worried that I wasn’t making any difference, and therefore was not truly changing myself for my Master. More than anything this is my goal with each minute of training – to improve myself. To better myself. To become what he deserves, and if my training is too easy doesn’t it mean nothing is happening?
Worried and frustrated I moved myself up to the third, and largest plug of my training kit. I lay down on my bed, the toy glistening with lube, and I pressed the tip into my rosebud and pushed.
And pushed.
And pushed. And pushed. And winced, and grimaced, and whimpered. Finally after a few minutes I pulled away, giving my ass the break it needed. Simply put, my rear had finally put its foot down and said “no.” No, it was not willing to stretch enough to accept this newest, largest intrusion.
This proved to me that all the work I’d done so far had, indeed, been stretching my muscles to better accept my toys. I was once again proud of the work that I’d done. But now I faced my first possible failure. I tried again, concentrating on deep breaths and relaxing my muscles and all the tricks of the ass-stretching trade. And again my ass told me, in no uncertain terms, NO.
At last I accepted my limits, at least for the night, and set aside the large plug. But my ass would not be getting off scott-free! I grabbed my second size plug, lubed it up quickly and pressed it against my rear. The toy slid easily into my ass, as though there was room to spare. Never before had anything glided in so smoothly, and this told me that my butt had tried to accept the new size.
I slept happily filled by my plug, but the experience had given me an idea. On the next night I attacked the goal in a new way. First I slid the size 2 plug into my hole, enjoying the comfortable feeling for about half an hour. Once I knew I’d primed the area for the new challenge I lubed the larger plug. I removed number two, and while my muscles were still stretched and pliable I pushed number three against my rosebud, unwilling to fail this time!
My ass is as eager to please my Master as I am, and with such inspiration I relished the moment as my tight muscles resisted and argued and clenched, and then finally gave up and allowed the largest toy to take its place inside me.
This was fullness.
I lie on the bed, unable to think of anything but the sensation of being completely full. This plug finally challenged me, making my muscles spasm and twitch in a constant attempt to rid itself of the intrusion. But I relaxed and enjoyed the fullness. I enjoyed this feeling unlike any I’d had. I enjoyed feeling full and changed and stretched. So very stretched. I closed my eyes and imagined my Master standing beside me, smiling, pleased with my desire to serve him. An hour later I allowed my rear to finally empty again. From then on I've continued this process. I have two-stepped it, like the first night, but my goal by the end of first week was for my ass will take plug number three without any prompting. Sadly this was also a bridge too far, but one I will continue to work for. Once I accomplish this goal it will prove to me that my muscles have finally stretched to better accept anything with which my Master wishes to fill me.
That will be a proud moment for me.
After a few weeks I decided there had been no challenge to this (apart from my last post's day of BIG challenge!), and that if I was going to stretch and push and change myself to please my Master I would have to, need to, move on. And so I happily pressed the next larger plug into my ass.
But to my surprise and pride I took this size easily as well. A little more pressure to push past the defenses, but otherwise an easy task. In less than a week I slept all night long with this plug deep inside as well. After a couple of nights I had one morning where I felt my muscles stretched as I walked, but only a little, and only a while. In the same way that I beamed from my success I also worried that I wasn’t making any difference, and therefore was not truly changing myself for my Master. More than anything this is my goal with each minute of training – to improve myself. To better myself. To become what he deserves, and if my training is too easy doesn’t it mean nothing is happening?
Worried and frustrated I moved myself up to the third, and largest plug of my training kit. I lay down on my bed, the toy glistening with lube, and I pressed the tip into my rosebud and pushed.
And pushed.
And pushed. And pushed. And winced, and grimaced, and whimpered. Finally after a few minutes I pulled away, giving my ass the break it needed. Simply put, my rear had finally put its foot down and said “no.” No, it was not willing to stretch enough to accept this newest, largest intrusion.
This proved to me that all the work I’d done so far had, indeed, been stretching my muscles to better accept my toys. I was once again proud of the work that I’d done. But now I faced my first possible failure. I tried again, concentrating on deep breaths and relaxing my muscles and all the tricks of the ass-stretching trade. And again my ass told me, in no uncertain terms, NO.
At last I accepted my limits, at least for the night, and set aside the large plug. But my ass would not be getting off scott-free! I grabbed my second size plug, lubed it up quickly and pressed it against my rear. The toy slid easily into my ass, as though there was room to spare. Never before had anything glided in so smoothly, and this told me that my butt had tried to accept the new size.
I slept happily filled by my plug, but the experience had given me an idea. On the next night I attacked the goal in a new way. First I slid the size 2 plug into my hole, enjoying the comfortable feeling for about half an hour. Once I knew I’d primed the area for the new challenge I lubed the larger plug. I removed number two, and while my muscles were still stretched and pliable I pushed number three against my rosebud, unwilling to fail this time!
My ass is as eager to please my Master as I am, and with such inspiration I relished the moment as my tight muscles resisted and argued and clenched, and then finally gave up and allowed the largest toy to take its place inside me.
This was fullness.
I lie on the bed, unable to think of anything but the sensation of being completely full. This plug finally challenged me, making my muscles spasm and twitch in a constant attempt to rid itself of the intrusion. But I relaxed and enjoyed the fullness. I enjoyed this feeling unlike any I’d had. I enjoyed feeling full and changed and stretched. So very stretched. I closed my eyes and imagined my Master standing beside me, smiling, pleased with my desire to serve him. An hour later I allowed my rear to finally empty again. From then on I've continued this process. I have two-stepped it, like the first night, but my goal by the end of first week was for my ass will take plug number three without any prompting. Sadly this was also a bridge too far, but one I will continue to work for. Once I accomplish this goal it will prove to me that my muscles have finally stretched to better accept anything with which my Master wishes to fill me.
That will be a proud moment for me.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Ass Training - my First Challenge
The first, smallest butt plug surprised me when it slid into my tight little rosebud with nary a complaint. I’d been nervous about this exercise and worried that I wouldn’t be able to improve myself for my Master, but there I was with my ass filled for his pleasure. I repeated it every night for the first week, and at the first weekend I was practically smug with how well I had done.
My Master sounded pleased, to be sure, and in that way that he does he allowed himself to think almost out loud. His thoughts culminated with a pleased-sounding “hmmmm…"
“What?” I asked. I knew that “hmmmm…” and often such things were opportunities for me to please him even more. And I can never get enough of such opportunities.
“Well, I was thinking of something, but I’d say its too soon.” He was smiling as he said it, and I took the bait like a prize-winning fish.
“Why? What is it?”
“I have a new task for you,” he smirked over the line, “but it would mean speeding up the process.” I should have considered those words longer, given that at that point I’d only just completed a week of training. But in my mind I was sure I knew his thoughts, and I’d already had the same ones. Rather than waiting another week I would go ahead and jump to the next size of ass plug next week. I was sure I could do it, and in fact was eager to feel myself, my ass, stretching to better myself for his pleasure. So with very little thought I eagerly replied.
“Ok.”
“Ok what?” was his careful response.
“Ok let’s speed up.” I smiled myself this time and I knew he heard it. My ego was about to get me into just a little bit of trouble again.
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving me one last opportunity that I honestly didn’t deserve to reconsider. “Once I tell you there’s no turning back; you’d have to take the challenge.” And of course didn’t take the chance given me.
“I’m sure. What’s the task?”
“On Monday I want you to wear the ass plug to work. All day.”
This was not what I was expecting. I was sure we were talking larger. Not longer. I’d not even kept it in the entire night, so the idea of all day was… daunting. If not a little scary. But I’d asked, and had received my challenge. I knew I’d have no option to reconsider at this point, so I would have to follow through. And though I was scared, I was also excited at such a lofty goal. And I was thrilled at the idea of amusing him. I knew he loved the idea of my working all day long, my mind never off of the tremendous fullness in my ass simply to please him.
On Saturday night I kept the plug in almost all night long; four hours at least I knew. Again my ass happily took the intrusion, and in fact I’d begun to notice pleasure centers in and around my rear. Each time I shoved the plug deep into myself I had a shudder of intense pleasure for a few minutes following. I didn’t know if it was actual, physical pleasure or simply enjoyment of being invaded only to improve myself. And I didn’t really care.
Sunday night as I spoke to him he asked if I was nervous about the next day. I had been thinking about it all day long and confessed to some nerves. This confession only pleased him more. He told me he knew that I’d make him proud; that he had faith in me. So overjoyed was I by his praise I now couldn’t wait for the next morning, when I would fill myself for him. And so it was that 6am the next morning, as the little, black intruder pushed its way into my ass and settled in for the day, that I felt such a rush of excitement and pleasure as to almost cum.
Each step that day was a constant reminder of him. As I sat at my desk I struggled to think about my work, instead fixated on the never ending pressure from the waist down. The experience overloaded my senses and by lunchtime I was incredibly damp between my legs. I went home for lunch, having been given permission by Master to remove it and add more lube. I allowed my tight little hole a rest while I ate my lunch, but when the food was gone I forced myself onto my back, my knees up over my head and my little anal intruder back into its home. As it slid in the second time for that day my rear took it even more readily. In fact, it slid in smoothly, with little of the normal resistance. And once again I was rewarded with a strong ripple throughout my system, bordering on an orgasm.
I had also realized somewhere during my day that I had a business dinner to attend that night. I spoke to Master about how I would be coming home between work and the dinner to be able to talk to him a while, as well as to remove the plug.
“Oh, but what fun would that be?” he asked, that now-familiar smile still in his voice. I assumed that he was kidding, never thinking he would want me to extend my challenge so far. But as I joked back he made himself more clear. “You are to wear the plug through dinner as well, slave.” As is so often the case in these moments I stuttered some kind of resistance while simultaneously loving this sound of his wicked smile and the idea of pleasing him.
The plug stayed with me as I sat at the table of co-workers, making idle chit-chat and privately marveling at what they had no idea about.
That night I was not required to train my ass. As I came home I changed into pj’s and finally removed the plug. My well-worked behind let out its own sigh of relief as it was finally freed from the visitor. Making it that much more surprising the next day at work when I became aware of a new feeling: I missed the plug. My empty ass seemed sad and unchallenged after a day of being to put to work for the sole purpose of amusing its Master. When I trained that night it was a relief to be filled once again. As it is always a relief to be allowed to prove to Master he made the right choice by claiming me oh so many months ago.
My Master sounded pleased, to be sure, and in that way that he does he allowed himself to think almost out loud. His thoughts culminated with a pleased-sounding “hmmmm…"
“What?” I asked. I knew that “hmmmm…” and often such things were opportunities for me to please him even more. And I can never get enough of such opportunities.
“Well, I was thinking of something, but I’d say its too soon.” He was smiling as he said it, and I took the bait like a prize-winning fish.
“Why? What is it?”
“I have a new task for you,” he smirked over the line, “but it would mean speeding up the process.” I should have considered those words longer, given that at that point I’d only just completed a week of training. But in my mind I was sure I knew his thoughts, and I’d already had the same ones. Rather than waiting another week I would go ahead and jump to the next size of ass plug next week. I was sure I could do it, and in fact was eager to feel myself, my ass, stretching to better myself for his pleasure. So with very little thought I eagerly replied.
“Ok.”
“Ok what?” was his careful response.
“Ok let’s speed up.” I smiled myself this time and I knew he heard it. My ego was about to get me into just a little bit of trouble again.
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving me one last opportunity that I honestly didn’t deserve to reconsider. “Once I tell you there’s no turning back; you’d have to take the challenge.” And of course didn’t take the chance given me.
“I’m sure. What’s the task?”
“On Monday I want you to wear the ass plug to work. All day.”
This was not what I was expecting. I was sure we were talking larger. Not longer. I’d not even kept it in the entire night, so the idea of all day was… daunting. If not a little scary. But I’d asked, and had received my challenge. I knew I’d have no option to reconsider at this point, so I would have to follow through. And though I was scared, I was also excited at such a lofty goal. And I was thrilled at the idea of amusing him. I knew he loved the idea of my working all day long, my mind never off of the tremendous fullness in my ass simply to please him.
On Saturday night I kept the plug in almost all night long; four hours at least I knew. Again my ass happily took the intrusion, and in fact I’d begun to notice pleasure centers in and around my rear. Each time I shoved the plug deep into myself I had a shudder of intense pleasure for a few minutes following. I didn’t know if it was actual, physical pleasure or simply enjoyment of being invaded only to improve myself. And I didn’t really care.
Sunday night as I spoke to him he asked if I was nervous about the next day. I had been thinking about it all day long and confessed to some nerves. This confession only pleased him more. He told me he knew that I’d make him proud; that he had faith in me. So overjoyed was I by his praise I now couldn’t wait for the next morning, when I would fill myself for him. And so it was that 6am the next morning, as the little, black intruder pushed its way into my ass and settled in for the day, that I felt such a rush of excitement and pleasure as to almost cum.
Each step that day was a constant reminder of him. As I sat at my desk I struggled to think about my work, instead fixated on the never ending pressure from the waist down. The experience overloaded my senses and by lunchtime I was incredibly damp between my legs. I went home for lunch, having been given permission by Master to remove it and add more lube. I allowed my tight little hole a rest while I ate my lunch, but when the food was gone I forced myself onto my back, my knees up over my head and my little anal intruder back into its home. As it slid in the second time for that day my rear took it even more readily. In fact, it slid in smoothly, with little of the normal resistance. And once again I was rewarded with a strong ripple throughout my system, bordering on an orgasm.
I had also realized somewhere during my day that I had a business dinner to attend that night. I spoke to Master about how I would be coming home between work and the dinner to be able to talk to him a while, as well as to remove the plug.
“Oh, but what fun would that be?” he asked, that now-familiar smile still in his voice. I assumed that he was kidding, never thinking he would want me to extend my challenge so far. But as I joked back he made himself more clear. “You are to wear the plug through dinner as well, slave.” As is so often the case in these moments I stuttered some kind of resistance while simultaneously loving this sound of his wicked smile and the idea of pleasing him.
The plug stayed with me as I sat at the table of co-workers, making idle chit-chat and privately marveling at what they had no idea about.
That night I was not required to train my ass. As I came home I changed into pj’s and finally removed the plug. My well-worked behind let out its own sigh of relief as it was finally freed from the visitor. Making it that much more surprising the next day at work when I became aware of a new feeling: I missed the plug. My empty ass seemed sad and unchallenged after a day of being to put to work for the sole purpose of amusing its Master. When I trained that night it was a relief to be filled once again. As it is always a relief to be allowed to prove to Master he made the right choice by claiming me oh so many months ago.
Monday, 30 November 2009
Proper Drinking Etiquette for a Pet
Living this life is not an easy thing really. Like most good things, it takes energy and effort and work. Also like most good things, there are times when life is too much to get through to allow for such energy and effort and work. For Master and I, these times in life tend to manifest themselves in him getting distracted and me getting tetchy. I do not take the adult tack of telling him that I’m feeling neglected, but instead I pull on the leash. I pull very, very hard.
Recently Master and I had a period like this. His life required more and more effort, and though I knew this to be true some little part of me couldn’t resist pulling anyway. I began to mock him, calling him a “big softy” each time he allowed me to resist or misbehave without discipline. The interactions were light and airy, but we both understood somewhere that each time I was allowed to get away with these moments it slightly altered our dynamic. I knew those changes weren’t what I wanted, but without knowing for sure what Master wanted for us I simply continued to pull and yank and strain that leash.
At last Master had had enough. He and I first discussed life of late and we both agreed that things had been hectic, leading to a relaxing of the rules. We both reiterated that we wanted to keep our dynamic in its original form, and that we would both work to maintain it. I was relieved that he also still wanted to keep me, to stay my owner and Master, and I foolishly thought that was that. But Master was not quite finished.
We had another moment of my pulling on the leash, probably a moment of my subconsciously testing the resolve that we’d both just voiced, and it seemed to me that once again I’d gotten away with it. At the moment I thought very little of it, but found that I was thirsty, so asked for permission to go get a drink which I was granted. It was not until the moment that I pulled my hair back in one hand and lowered my face into the dog bowl full of Pepsi that I realized what I was even doing.
I drank deeply from the soda covering the bottom two inches of the big, black plastic dog dish. I’d purchased the bowl months before but had rarely ever used it other than as additional food for my cats when I’d been on travel. Now I slurped my beverage down from within it like a fucking pet.
I carried the bowl back and put it on the coffee table beside the laptop, asking my Master “so where are we going with this?” He feigned ignorance for a moment, but once I was forced to specifically state what it was I’d done I heard that wide smile cross his features as he replied “guess you’ll have to see.”
For the next two nights I drank every beverage from this dish. With each time my face lowered below the walls of the bowl I found myself excited by the humiliation of the task. It was clear the message he was delivering to me: pull on the leash and I will treat you like the little bitch that you are for me. Not to mention “do not forget who is the Master and who is the Pet.” And that was what I felt like each moment I lapped drink up from the bowl: his humble, obedient pet. Doing as I had been commanded to do because in all things he was the final decision.
I had to learn how to do it without getting my drink up my nose, and soon became very adept at keep my hair out of the wet or staining my chest with the liquid dripping from my chin. In fact, by the second night it wasn’t just easier. It was…
It was comfortable.
I felt myself get incredibly wet as I realized that I’d begun to enjoy this. I enjoyed the feeling of him controlling me, and of him reiterating my status as his pet. I fantasized about being on hands and knees beside him, he sitting in his comfortable leather chair as his pet laps up her drink from her dog bowl on the floor. I imagined his hand stroking down my head and back as I slurped away, reminding me that I am his to do with as he pleases.
On the third night, freed from the requirement, I told him how it had become much easier over time. “Good.” He replied. “It will make it that much easier when you spend a week drinking from the bowl when I’m there.”
Though I wanted to resist and challenge the idea, and did ask him if he was kidding (which he would neither admit nor deny), truth be told the idea thrilled me. It still does. And so does he.
Recently Master and I had a period like this. His life required more and more effort, and though I knew this to be true some little part of me couldn’t resist pulling anyway. I began to mock him, calling him a “big softy” each time he allowed me to resist or misbehave without discipline. The interactions were light and airy, but we both understood somewhere that each time I was allowed to get away with these moments it slightly altered our dynamic. I knew those changes weren’t what I wanted, but without knowing for sure what Master wanted for us I simply continued to pull and yank and strain that leash.
At last Master had had enough. He and I first discussed life of late and we both agreed that things had been hectic, leading to a relaxing of the rules. We both reiterated that we wanted to keep our dynamic in its original form, and that we would both work to maintain it. I was relieved that he also still wanted to keep me, to stay my owner and Master, and I foolishly thought that was that. But Master was not quite finished.
We had another moment of my pulling on the leash, probably a moment of my subconsciously testing the resolve that we’d both just voiced, and it seemed to me that once again I’d gotten away with it. At the moment I thought very little of it, but found that I was thirsty, so asked for permission to go get a drink which I was granted. It was not until the moment that I pulled my hair back in one hand and lowered my face into the dog bowl full of Pepsi that I realized what I was even doing.
I drank deeply from the soda covering the bottom two inches of the big, black plastic dog dish. I’d purchased the bowl months before but had rarely ever used it other than as additional food for my cats when I’d been on travel. Now I slurped my beverage down from within it like a fucking pet.
I carried the bowl back and put it on the coffee table beside the laptop, asking my Master “so where are we going with this?” He feigned ignorance for a moment, but once I was forced to specifically state what it was I’d done I heard that wide smile cross his features as he replied “guess you’ll have to see.”
For the next two nights I drank every beverage from this dish. With each time my face lowered below the walls of the bowl I found myself excited by the humiliation of the task. It was clear the message he was delivering to me: pull on the leash and I will treat you like the little bitch that you are for me. Not to mention “do not forget who is the Master and who is the Pet.” And that was what I felt like each moment I lapped drink up from the bowl: his humble, obedient pet. Doing as I had been commanded to do because in all things he was the final decision.
I had to learn how to do it without getting my drink up my nose, and soon became very adept at keep my hair out of the wet or staining my chest with the liquid dripping from my chin. In fact, by the second night it wasn’t just easier. It was…
It was comfortable.
I felt myself get incredibly wet as I realized that I’d begun to enjoy this. I enjoyed the feeling of him controlling me, and of him reiterating my status as his pet. I fantasized about being on hands and knees beside him, he sitting in his comfortable leather chair as his pet laps up her drink from her dog bowl on the floor. I imagined his hand stroking down my head and back as I slurped away, reminding me that I am his to do with as he pleases.
On the third night, freed from the requirement, I told him how it had become much easier over time. “Good.” He replied. “It will make it that much easier when you spend a week drinking from the bowl when I’m there.”
Though I wanted to resist and challenge the idea, and did ask him if he was kidding (which he would neither admit nor deny), truth be told the idea thrilled me. It still does. And so does he.
Friday, 27 November 2009
Youth is Wasted on the Young and Mindless
“I’ve got a game I’m considering playing; I’m just working out the details…” These words sent more than shivers down my spine. Still, I tried to be stoic. I stared intensely at my left big toe, making it out as fascinating as possible. Focus on my toe, unfortunately didn’t keep me from asking.
“What kind of game?” I had never seen a big toe so fascinating. Up until his evil laugh poured into my ears.
“Let me first ask you this: did anything bad happen to you when you were 18?” I didn’t understand the question, but considered the answer. The few late teen traumas I’d ever had were later than that, so I gave the go ahead. Master then explained that he was going to take me back to my eighteenth year, to play with a younger me and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t bump into the day my parents divorced or that time my best friend ran over my cat. Even when playing with me my Master looks out for me.
Only after the game was finished would I somewhat remember the scenario that Master set forth for me. I danced through his play on the end of his strings, but a tiny bit of the true me sat deep in the back of my mind enjoying the show.
I woke and I was 18 years old. I remembered being at the shopping mall a few days prior, and being approached by a man who told me he was a professional photographer. He’d given me his card and told me that I could be a model; that I should call him if I wanted to learn more. As I sat in this office I still could not believe that I’d actually called him; that I thought I’d really be able to be a model. I shook my head to clear out the fog and there he sat beside me.
As we talked he assured me that I would be a terrific model, asking what kind of shoots I’d be interested in. High fashion was not me, but maybe things more normal, more… average? He mentioned many different options, but then told me that today I’d just be shooting a “portfolio”. And let’s get started. And like that I stood before his camera and his bright, hot light.
He asked me to smile for the camera and I explained that I can’t do fake smiles. The first shot brought a bright “FLASH” and I relaxed. And smiled a little brighter. Another “FLASH” and I beamed the wide, eager smile he told me to give him. Next he asked for a laugh and I explained my limitations again. Yet with each new “FLASH” of the light I found myself following his instructions. Such as to give the camera a sexy pout. Something I do not do. Until after a few more flashes I pouted for him.
And a few more had me changing my top. And removing my top. And with flashes he had me slide out of my jeans, standing before him in panties and the beaming smile he coaxed from me. Those flashes melted my resolve, my restraint, my… control. The control to keep from removing even those panties. I spread my legs and arched my back and smiled as his camera kept documenting his total domination over me.
“Now, get down on your knees.” He instructed matter of factly, never giving any indication that the directions he gave me were beyond those of any other photo shoot. I never stopped to question as he had my hand stroke my clit, even as poor, innocent, virginal 18-yr old me began to drip down inside her thighs. He stepped to me, continuing to shoot pictures and flash that light; the light that burned away my options. Standing before my panting form he told me to open my mouth. He pulled out his cock, its form hovering before me, and told me to suck it. And for the first time I pushed back.
“FLASH!” “Suck my cock” I knew this request was not quite right. I’d only ever done it once before, and this man was a stranger. But still… ‘FLASH! “Suck my cock” his huge member filled my mouth completely, but his words assured me it was perfectly right and I moved my mouth down on to him per his command. He assured me that I loved to suck his cock and with a flash or two I knew he was right. He told me to look up at the camera as each bright, new ‘FLASH’ cemented his control over me and captured the image of my slurping him down.
Time passed as I obediently, eagerly slid my tongue around his cock. With his thorough and steady programming, supported by the effect of the flash, I had come to love this and desperately wanted to please him. As his cock surged he ordered me to take it in my hands and pump it, aiming at my face. Each jet of hot, salty cum landed on my face and I smiled for him still. He made me love the feel of his stain on me. And I loved it completely.
He handed me my clothing and we discussed my future modeling career options, specifically in the area of porn, where he was sure I would be most happy and successful. I allowed this happy idea to mold into my mind, shifting from horror to pleasure. And with a final beaming smile he brought me back to myself and the present.
As I remembered this adventure and the ways that he took me and changed me I felt even more wetness coat the inside of my thighs. Master and I discussed the feelings his game brought to me, and before I knew it we returned to the game, to what he called ‘Act Two” My young self lie on her bed, just having cum from her own fingers, and the phone was ringing. Each new word from this dangerous, unescapable photographer slid me where he wanted me to be – inviting him to my home for our next photo shoot. As I waited his arrival I struggled with what to wear, finally deciding on a blue skirt and tank top, with panties but no bra.
In no time he had arrived, looking around my home with satisfaction. This time he moved to his goal quickly, my weak mind already primed to the idea of following his instructions. We moved to the bedroom, where he asked why I dressed as I did. I explained the thoughts that had flitted through my head, and when I mentioned the panties he asked to see them. And then for me to be free of them. And the tank top as well.
His flashes once again dissolved my resistance, slowly reducing me to an obedient puppet. I lied down in each position he suggested, and somewhere I noticed that my private parts were slick. When I was 18 years old I’d never had sex and barely had experiences to pull from. I spread my legs wide for him, no longer a fear in my universe about the pictures he kept snapping of my almost naked body.
Per his instruction I’d pulled myself up to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at him and his flashing light, when I noticed the drops sliding fast down my legs. “I’m so wet between my legs” I whimpered, not used to such physical reactions to a person.
“I have a solution for that.” He replied, then commanding me to stay in my position on the bed. As I felt his body come up behind me on the bed, still flashing shot after shot, I sensed something was happening. I considered fleeing the feeling of his manhood sliding across my delicates, but I stayed as he’d not allowed me to move. Even as he pushed into me, filling me completely, I could not resist him. In fact the sensations conquered my sanity. I asked if he would be having sex with me, and he corrected me.
“Fucking.” He said to me. “It’s called fucking.” I wanted to resist this idea, but his flashes assured that I understood he was fucking me. I meekly asked my question again, correctly this time. “Are you fucking me?” I whimpered. He assured me he was, and that I loved it. And I did. He began to program me with simple, strong ideas.
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You need to fuck me.”
“I need to fuck you.”
Methodically he built on these ideas, the flashes of his camera crushing any resistance and I came to want and need this fucking more and more. But still the internal conflicts of the young, just-virginal me tried to push forward through his fog. I panted and struggled to get out the words vexing me as his cock filled and filled and filled me. “This…” I stammered, “this seems…” I could not make the words come out, so embarrassed was I by the idea. At last I said “This doesn’t make me a slut?” I could hear his smile immediately.
“You are a slut.” I resisted through the next flash but that was all. “You are my slut.”
“I am your slut.”
“You want to be a slut”
“I want to be a slut.”
“You want to be my slut.”
“I want to be your slut.” The words slid past any and all obstacles, molding me as his happy, horny slut. But he was far from finished.
“You want to be my slave.”
“I want to be your slave.”
“You need to be my slave.”
“I need to be your slave.”
On and on he remade the young me into the mirror image of his present day slave, enjoying the pleasure of once again stripping me of my independence. I desperately wanted to cum, but sensed I couldn’t make that step without his permission. Finally he pulled out of me and commanded.
“Kneel beside the bed before me.” I moved as if his words were my thoughts, looking up at him from my kneeling position in seconds. “What are you?”
As if the words had been scripted for me I answered easily. “I am your slave.”
“And who am I?”
Pleasure rocked through me each time I reiterated my new universe for him. “You are my master.”
“Until when?”
“Forever.” I beamed, joyful in my permanence. “I am yours forever, Master.” My smile was all consuming, and he rewarded me and my obedience and submission.
“Cum.”
This, my new first orgasm, shattered me completely. I cried out and moaned and writhed before him, overwhelmed by this new experience. At last he brought me back to myself and the present, and allowed me to relive the experience.
My true first orgasm was a fine, vanilla moment in my life. But for me this will always be my favorite first orgasm.
“What kind of game?” I had never seen a big toe so fascinating. Up until his evil laugh poured into my ears.
“Let me first ask you this: did anything bad happen to you when you were 18?” I didn’t understand the question, but considered the answer. The few late teen traumas I’d ever had were later than that, so I gave the go ahead. Master then explained that he was going to take me back to my eighteenth year, to play with a younger me and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t bump into the day my parents divorced or that time my best friend ran over my cat. Even when playing with me my Master looks out for me.
Only after the game was finished would I somewhat remember the scenario that Master set forth for me. I danced through his play on the end of his strings, but a tiny bit of the true me sat deep in the back of my mind enjoying the show.
I woke and I was 18 years old. I remembered being at the shopping mall a few days prior, and being approached by a man who told me he was a professional photographer. He’d given me his card and told me that I could be a model; that I should call him if I wanted to learn more. As I sat in this office I still could not believe that I’d actually called him; that I thought I’d really be able to be a model. I shook my head to clear out the fog and there he sat beside me.
As we talked he assured me that I would be a terrific model, asking what kind of shoots I’d be interested in. High fashion was not me, but maybe things more normal, more… average? He mentioned many different options, but then told me that today I’d just be shooting a “portfolio”. And let’s get started. And like that I stood before his camera and his bright, hot light.
He asked me to smile for the camera and I explained that I can’t do fake smiles. The first shot brought a bright “FLASH” and I relaxed. And smiled a little brighter. Another “FLASH” and I beamed the wide, eager smile he told me to give him. Next he asked for a laugh and I explained my limitations again. Yet with each new “FLASH” of the light I found myself following his instructions. Such as to give the camera a sexy pout. Something I do not do. Until after a few more flashes I pouted for him.
And a few more had me changing my top. And removing my top. And with flashes he had me slide out of my jeans, standing before him in panties and the beaming smile he coaxed from me. Those flashes melted my resolve, my restraint, my… control. The control to keep from removing even those panties. I spread my legs and arched my back and smiled as his camera kept documenting his total domination over me.
“Now, get down on your knees.” He instructed matter of factly, never giving any indication that the directions he gave me were beyond those of any other photo shoot. I never stopped to question as he had my hand stroke my clit, even as poor, innocent, virginal 18-yr old me began to drip down inside her thighs. He stepped to me, continuing to shoot pictures and flash that light; the light that burned away my options. Standing before my panting form he told me to open my mouth. He pulled out his cock, its form hovering before me, and told me to suck it. And for the first time I pushed back.
“FLASH!” “Suck my cock” I knew this request was not quite right. I’d only ever done it once before, and this man was a stranger. But still… ‘FLASH! “Suck my cock” his huge member filled my mouth completely, but his words assured me it was perfectly right and I moved my mouth down on to him per his command. He assured me that I loved to suck his cock and with a flash or two I knew he was right. He told me to look up at the camera as each bright, new ‘FLASH’ cemented his control over me and captured the image of my slurping him down.
Time passed as I obediently, eagerly slid my tongue around his cock. With his thorough and steady programming, supported by the effect of the flash, I had come to love this and desperately wanted to please him. As his cock surged he ordered me to take it in my hands and pump it, aiming at my face. Each jet of hot, salty cum landed on my face and I smiled for him still. He made me love the feel of his stain on me. And I loved it completely.
He handed me my clothing and we discussed my future modeling career options, specifically in the area of porn, where he was sure I would be most happy and successful. I allowed this happy idea to mold into my mind, shifting from horror to pleasure. And with a final beaming smile he brought me back to myself and the present.
As I remembered this adventure and the ways that he took me and changed me I felt even more wetness coat the inside of my thighs. Master and I discussed the feelings his game brought to me, and before I knew it we returned to the game, to what he called ‘Act Two” My young self lie on her bed, just having cum from her own fingers, and the phone was ringing. Each new word from this dangerous, unescapable photographer slid me where he wanted me to be – inviting him to my home for our next photo shoot. As I waited his arrival I struggled with what to wear, finally deciding on a blue skirt and tank top, with panties but no bra.
In no time he had arrived, looking around my home with satisfaction. This time he moved to his goal quickly, my weak mind already primed to the idea of following his instructions. We moved to the bedroom, where he asked why I dressed as I did. I explained the thoughts that had flitted through my head, and when I mentioned the panties he asked to see them. And then for me to be free of them. And the tank top as well.
His flashes once again dissolved my resistance, slowly reducing me to an obedient puppet. I lied down in each position he suggested, and somewhere I noticed that my private parts were slick. When I was 18 years old I’d never had sex and barely had experiences to pull from. I spread my legs wide for him, no longer a fear in my universe about the pictures he kept snapping of my almost naked body.
Per his instruction I’d pulled myself up to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at him and his flashing light, when I noticed the drops sliding fast down my legs. “I’m so wet between my legs” I whimpered, not used to such physical reactions to a person.
“I have a solution for that.” He replied, then commanding me to stay in my position on the bed. As I felt his body come up behind me on the bed, still flashing shot after shot, I sensed something was happening. I considered fleeing the feeling of his manhood sliding across my delicates, but I stayed as he’d not allowed me to move. Even as he pushed into me, filling me completely, I could not resist him. In fact the sensations conquered my sanity. I asked if he would be having sex with me, and he corrected me.
“Fucking.” He said to me. “It’s called fucking.” I wanted to resist this idea, but his flashes assured that I understood he was fucking me. I meekly asked my question again, correctly this time. “Are you fucking me?” I whimpered. He assured me he was, and that I loved it. And I did. He began to program me with simple, strong ideas.
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You need to fuck me.”
“I need to fuck you.”
Methodically he built on these ideas, the flashes of his camera crushing any resistance and I came to want and need this fucking more and more. But still the internal conflicts of the young, just-virginal me tried to push forward through his fog. I panted and struggled to get out the words vexing me as his cock filled and filled and filled me. “This…” I stammered, “this seems…” I could not make the words come out, so embarrassed was I by the idea. At last I said “This doesn’t make me a slut?” I could hear his smile immediately.
“You are a slut.” I resisted through the next flash but that was all. “You are my slut.”
“I am your slut.”
“You want to be a slut”
“I want to be a slut.”
“You want to be my slut.”
“I want to be your slut.” The words slid past any and all obstacles, molding me as his happy, horny slut. But he was far from finished.
“You want to be my slave.”
“I want to be your slave.”
“You need to be my slave.”
“I need to be your slave.”
On and on he remade the young me into the mirror image of his present day slave, enjoying the pleasure of once again stripping me of my independence. I desperately wanted to cum, but sensed I couldn’t make that step without his permission. Finally he pulled out of me and commanded.
“Kneel beside the bed before me.” I moved as if his words were my thoughts, looking up at him from my kneeling position in seconds. “What are you?”
As if the words had been scripted for me I answered easily. “I am your slave.”
“And who am I?”
Pleasure rocked through me each time I reiterated my new universe for him. “You are my master.”
“Until when?”
“Forever.” I beamed, joyful in my permanence. “I am yours forever, Master.” My smile was all consuming, and he rewarded me and my obedience and submission.
“Cum.”
This, my new first orgasm, shattered me completely. I cried out and moaned and writhed before him, overwhelmed by this new experience. At last he brought me back to myself and the present, and allowed me to relive the experience.
My true first orgasm was a fine, vanilla moment in my life. But for me this will always be my favorite first orgasm.
Monday, 23 November 2009
Gag Reflex
My Master is extremely well endowed.
EXTREMELY.
This was a bright and amazing surprise for me the first time he thrust his cock into my cunt and I screamed as he smashed into organs and other pesky obstacles. Though I love his long, thick cock and dream often of loving it in person, the size proved to be a challenge when trying to take all of him into my mouth. I’d been able to take my previous lover down my throat, but the size difference was something I’d not counted on. When I’d failed several times to give Master the pleasure he deserved and I desperately wanted to give I felt honestly depressed. A failure.
I do not intend to feel this way again.
I searched my good friend the internet and found many wise and helpful deviants with suggestions and methods to help me develop the ability to take my Master’s impressive muscle all the way in my mouth and down my throat. The first step? Well, as they say every job has a perfect tool. For this one that tool happened to be a 12” jelly dildo.
My beloved glass dildo proved to be too hard and unyielding for this process, so I went out and found something I knew for sure would be much longer than my Master (or hopefully for any Master!) The texture is softer, more pliable and yielding, allowing it to bend to go down my tight, defensive throat. This should be a much more suitable tool for training my throat to let me choke when properly worshipping my Master’s manhood.
This website has a very clear and comprehensive explanation of how to learn to shut down the gag reflex, and I will be using much of their information as I do my nightly training sessions. My goal is to train my throat to recognize all foreign objects as hostile, except that of my Masters beautiful cock. My hope is that by the time I next kneel before him I will be as able as I will be eager to bury him all the way down my throat, smelling his heady aroma as my nose reaches his stomach. More on this evolution as I go.
EXTREMELY.
This was a bright and amazing surprise for me the first time he thrust his cock into my cunt and I screamed as he smashed into organs and other pesky obstacles. Though I love his long, thick cock and dream often of loving it in person, the size proved to be a challenge when trying to take all of him into my mouth. I’d been able to take my previous lover down my throat, but the size difference was something I’d not counted on. When I’d failed several times to give Master the pleasure he deserved and I desperately wanted to give I felt honestly depressed. A failure.
I do not intend to feel this way again.
I searched my good friend the internet and found many wise and helpful deviants with suggestions and methods to help me develop the ability to take my Master’s impressive muscle all the way in my mouth and down my throat. The first step? Well, as they say every job has a perfect tool. For this one that tool happened to be a 12” jelly dildo.
My beloved glass dildo proved to be too hard and unyielding for this process, so I went out and found something I knew for sure would be much longer than my Master (or hopefully for any Master!) The texture is softer, more pliable and yielding, allowing it to bend to go down my tight, defensive throat. This should be a much more suitable tool for training my throat to let me choke when properly worshipping my Master’s manhood.
This website has a very clear and comprehensive explanation of how to learn to shut down the gag reflex, and I will be using much of their information as I do my nightly training sessions. My goal is to train my throat to recognize all foreign objects as hostile, except that of my Masters beautiful cock. My hope is that by the time I next kneel before him I will be as able as I will be eager to bury him all the way down my throat, smelling his heady aroma as my nose reaches his stomach. More on this evolution as I go.
Saturday, 21 November 2009
Smooth like a Doll
“How would you feel about shaving?” he asked me.
We had only been communicating via video for a week or so when the question came. I already knew what he was thinking, and I cringed at the idea. I knew it was not truly an option to say “no” – if he wanted to see the cunt that he’d claimed with less clutter he would, and I was not at liberty to refuse him. Still, I dreaded the idea of trying to shave my cunt. I’d cut myself shaving my legs before, so the idea of such a possibility on my sweet spot gave me a shudder, and not the good kind. Luckily my mind sprung forth with a possible alternative.
“I’d rather not shave, but I would consider getting waxed. Would that work?” Master was happy at this compromise, and told me to go forth and make it so.
The first time I arrived with much fear and left with much less hair. To my relief the feeling of each yank of wax-covered linen was a sharp pain for a moment, but not much worse than removing a bandaid. But what I was not prepared for was how much I loved the feeling and the look of being smooth. I had originally left a runway of tightly clipped hair just above my cunt. Master liked the look overall, but decided he wanted to see me completely bare, totally exposed to him from now on.
Months later and I now adore the feeling of a hairless cunt. When Master tells me to turn on my camera and peel out of my panties I know he will be pleased to see each fold and flap of my pussy completely available to him. At work he can slip me a simple push to make me gush and I feel it pour straight from me to soak my panties. I would not have done this myself, but again Master has changed me and I will gladly stay his fuckdoll with the cunt to match.
We had only been communicating via video for a week or so when the question came. I already knew what he was thinking, and I cringed at the idea. I knew it was not truly an option to say “no” – if he wanted to see the cunt that he’d claimed with less clutter he would, and I was not at liberty to refuse him. Still, I dreaded the idea of trying to shave my cunt. I’d cut myself shaving my legs before, so the idea of such a possibility on my sweet spot gave me a shudder, and not the good kind. Luckily my mind sprung forth with a possible alternative.
“I’d rather not shave, but I would consider getting waxed. Would that work?” Master was happy at this compromise, and told me to go forth and make it so.
The first time I arrived with much fear and left with much less hair. To my relief the feeling of each yank of wax-covered linen was a sharp pain for a moment, but not much worse than removing a bandaid. But what I was not prepared for was how much I loved the feeling and the look of being smooth. I had originally left a runway of tightly clipped hair just above my cunt. Master liked the look overall, but decided he wanted to see me completely bare, totally exposed to him from now on.
Months later and I now adore the feeling of a hairless cunt. When Master tells me to turn on my camera and peel out of my panties I know he will be pleased to see each fold and flap of my pussy completely available to him. At work he can slip me a simple push to make me gush and I feel it pour straight from me to soak my panties. I would not have done this myself, but again Master has changed me and I will gladly stay his fuckdoll with the cunt to match.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Dinner.
Dinner with co-workers, where I was to be smooth and slick and impressive, and to make everyone know I was a force with which to be reckoned. This was to be my evening, and for the most part it was just that.
However before I left I spent time with my Master, as is my favorite part of every day. This time was silly and goofy and not at all sexual. We chatted and all, and then much too soon it was time for me to leave. I bid him a melancholy goodnight and left for my evening. I thought of him, of course, because not a minute of the day passes that I don’t. But I only thought of him – I did not pine. I did not swoon. I was on even ground and left to strike my impressive work pose at dinner.
The food was fine and the company satisfying and I felt every bit the dominating presence – one of the great ironies of my current existence. To be such a willful and strong person everywhere except my favorite of places: kneeling at his feet. I regaled all with my wit and felt the crowd actually hanging on my every damned word, and yet suddenly there he was. My Master sat in the very center of my thoughts and I could not for the life of me look around him to see my company. He sucked my attention away, and my thoughts of him turned quickly to thoughts not to be had among others. I felt a dreaded blush approaching.
Without warning I excused myself and practically fled to the restroom.
I closed the stall door behind me and dropped my snazzy work slacks unceremoniously around my ankles. I sat on the seat and felt the air, cold as it hit my tremendously slick cunt. Just the few minutes I thought of him at the table had already juiced me up completely. I felt like a puppet, helpless to control her thoughts; her hands. My finger slid over my slit smoothly, sending a crushing shudder through me, and my mind overflowed with thoughts of him. I slowed down the rush and focused on one thought: the feel of his hands on my skin. I let my finger slide again through my moisture and I imagined myself lying long and bare on my bed, hands held over my head in place under his arm and his hand mimicking my finger’s intrepid investigation of every single nerve ‘tween my legs.
In less than six weeks I’ll beg him to make this night’s fantasy a reality. I will happily, eagerly beg him.
But for tonight my sudden fever dream broke in minutes and I pulled myself together. I straightened my snazzy work slacks and my sweater. I splashed cold water on my face and dried myself completely. I returned to the table the perfect image of control and mastery.
Not a single one of them knew the rapture my adoration had just driven me through. All for him.
However before I left I spent time with my Master, as is my favorite part of every day. This time was silly and goofy and not at all sexual. We chatted and all, and then much too soon it was time for me to leave. I bid him a melancholy goodnight and left for my evening. I thought of him, of course, because not a minute of the day passes that I don’t. But I only thought of him – I did not pine. I did not swoon. I was on even ground and left to strike my impressive work pose at dinner.
The food was fine and the company satisfying and I felt every bit the dominating presence – one of the great ironies of my current existence. To be such a willful and strong person everywhere except my favorite of places: kneeling at his feet. I regaled all with my wit and felt the crowd actually hanging on my every damned word, and yet suddenly there he was. My Master sat in the very center of my thoughts and I could not for the life of me look around him to see my company. He sucked my attention away, and my thoughts of him turned quickly to thoughts not to be had among others. I felt a dreaded blush approaching.
Without warning I excused myself and practically fled to the restroom.
I closed the stall door behind me and dropped my snazzy work slacks unceremoniously around my ankles. I sat on the seat and felt the air, cold as it hit my tremendously slick cunt. Just the few minutes I thought of him at the table had already juiced me up completely. I felt like a puppet, helpless to control her thoughts; her hands. My finger slid over my slit smoothly, sending a crushing shudder through me, and my mind overflowed with thoughts of him. I slowed down the rush and focused on one thought: the feel of his hands on my skin. I let my finger slide again through my moisture and I imagined myself lying long and bare on my bed, hands held over my head in place under his arm and his hand mimicking my finger’s intrepid investigation of every single nerve ‘tween my legs.
In less than six weeks I’ll beg him to make this night’s fantasy a reality. I will happily, eagerly beg him.
But for tonight my sudden fever dream broke in minutes and I pulled myself together. I straightened my snazzy work slacks and my sweater. I splashed cold water on my face and dried myself completely. I returned to the table the perfect image of control and mastery.
Not a single one of them knew the rapture my adoration had just driven me through. All for him.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
New tricks...
As I’ve already mentioned, Master is considering how completely he wishes to take me when next we spend time together. So far he’s owned my mouth and my cunt quite fully. However my ass remains rebellious and he’s unsure if he’ll tame it yet as well. Still, wanting to allow him to do whatever he decides he tasked me with preparing myself for his very, very ample cock.
A week ago I went on an errand for my Master. We have a favorite toy store in my city which tends to appeal to our kinds of kink. I went there and spoke to the extremely knowledgeable staff person, explaining to her frankly that I was looking to prepare my ass for an impressive intrusion. By the time we’d covered all the possibilities I walked out with a large bottle of lube and the Trinity Silicone Butt Plug Kit. Three plugs in total, they range from an inch in diameter at the smallest to 1.5 inches at the largest, as well as ranging from 2 inches to 3 inches long. They’re my training wheels and I eagerly jumped on and started pedaling as soon as I brought them home.
Sunday night I began a new, nightly ritual aimed for a very significant goal: to train my ass to take intrusion. Not just to take it, but to enjoy it. To learn to love the feeling of a full, pressured ass. I’ve repeated this training every night this week.
That first night was an amazing experience. Unsure of what I was going to do I made it up as I went along. I lie naked on my bed on a towel and I told my body to relax. Relax. Relax. I sloughed off the pressures of the day and everyday life. I knew I’d have no room for those pressures with the pressure I was about to pull into myself. Once I’d relaxed my body I squirted lube onto my left hand, covering the fingers, and I pulled my legs up, over my head so that my knees rested on either side of my head; my hand slid between the legs and found my tight, pink hole, ready as a barrier to any intrusion. I slipped the lube all around my hole, and after a minute or so I stuck my finger into my ass.
This was the first time I’d ever taken this step. Though I was trying to concentrate on the task of pushing lube down into the hole, I had to stop for a moment and process the feelings. Of my physical body’s attempts to push back; of my rush of pleasure and danger; of the intoxicating idea that I was intruding this way on my Master’s instruction. It was heady and intense. A word that will come back again and again in this telling.
My asshole now well-lubed I squirted more into my hand and I grabbed the smallest butt plug. I honestly looked at it and thought to myself that it seemed almost too easy a goal. Knowing the size of my Master’s cock, I wondered if I should start with a larger size, but decided I would start with the smallest just to be sure. I rolled the tapered point and round bulb around in the lube, being sure it was completely and thickly covered, and then I grabbed the ring at the base and aimed it for my tight little rosebud. And I pushed.
And I pushed.
My body’s defenses are robust, and they are very sure that nothing should going in that out-hole. As soon as the plug passed a certain point my muscles came back to life, trying to close off all access. At this point I had to breathe deeply and remind them all of the cardinal rule: relax. Relax. Relax. And then again I pushed.
To my surprise the muscles listened to me (a first, I assure you!!) and I had not too much resistance. My next surprise was how amazing full my ass felt by just this smallest plug. Pressure starting at the base of my spine and continuing down to the split of my legs, so intense! I lie on my bed, my legs stretched out straight, and I breathed long, deep breaths to once more relax, relax, relax. With time I found it easier and easier to experience this for my Master. But I wanted to do more than experience it. I wanted my body to learn to love it.
I shivered slightly, cold as I was lying naked and exposed, and I let my eyes close and my mind open. I fished around until a fantasy began to form. In my mind I lie on my bed, but with my eyes covered and my wrists bound around my headboard. I waited for some sort of change and finally felt my bed shake – someone else was on the bed with me. Warm hands took my legs and lifted them over my head. A slick, cold finger pushed into my rear, impossible to feel with my ass already so overwhelmed.
I let my fingers slide down to my smooth cunt as the fantasy unfolded. Already my soft lips were slick in anticipation.
I imagined my Master exploring my ass with his finger, but I knew this was the first step toward something else. As if events were under my control (and yes, I know they were) the finger left my ass and something new replaced it. I felt cold and slick and pressure as Master slid something into me. I was only just reacting to the feeling when the blindfold evaporated and I found myself staring into Master’s startling green eyes. At this time I began to fall.
Under Master’s control I felt myself falling further and further into the very back of my mind. As I moved away from control of my body Master pulled forth the animal from inside me and gave her free reign. From my vantage point the outside world seemed like something viewed from the wrong end of a telescope and I saw myself crawl down to the floor, walking on my hands and knees. Master had clipped the leash to my collar and now took my vacant and eager puppy self on a walk around the apartment.
As this fantasy took hold I let my hands lavish affections on my clit, the abundant juices all around my cunt now spread out to my thighs. My hips bucked up occasionally, and only then was I reminded of my ass still so packed tight. The feeling of the plug in my ass now felt almost easy to my body.
In my mind I continued to see myself heeling at my master’s foot. I moved past the mirror hanging on my closet door and there I realized what my Master had inserted into my ass: a tail. From my round rear there now hung a long, red fox tail. To my surprise the image was one I found… lovely.
I allowed this fantasy to continue until my phone’s alarm sounded, telling me that I’d let my training go the entire thirty minutes. I was amazed that I’d found pleasure for most of that time, and that the intensity of my full ass had become something I not only endured but even enjoyed. This was my first night of training, but now I knew I would succeed in preparing myself for my Master. I even wondered if I would be rewarded for my action with my own lovely tail…
A week ago I went on an errand for my Master. We have a favorite toy store in my city which tends to appeal to our kinds of kink. I went there and spoke to the extremely knowledgeable staff person, explaining to her frankly that I was looking to prepare my ass for an impressive intrusion. By the time we’d covered all the possibilities I walked out with a large bottle of lube and the Trinity Silicone Butt Plug Kit. Three plugs in total, they range from an inch in diameter at the smallest to 1.5 inches at the largest, as well as ranging from 2 inches to 3 inches long. They’re my training wheels and I eagerly jumped on and started pedaling as soon as I brought them home.
Sunday night I began a new, nightly ritual aimed for a very significant goal: to train my ass to take intrusion. Not just to take it, but to enjoy it. To learn to love the feeling of a full, pressured ass. I’ve repeated this training every night this week.
That first night was an amazing experience. Unsure of what I was going to do I made it up as I went along. I lie naked on my bed on a towel and I told my body to relax. Relax. Relax. I sloughed off the pressures of the day and everyday life. I knew I’d have no room for those pressures with the pressure I was about to pull into myself. Once I’d relaxed my body I squirted lube onto my left hand, covering the fingers, and I pulled my legs up, over my head so that my knees rested on either side of my head; my hand slid between the legs and found my tight, pink hole, ready as a barrier to any intrusion. I slipped the lube all around my hole, and after a minute or so I stuck my finger into my ass.
This was the first time I’d ever taken this step. Though I was trying to concentrate on the task of pushing lube down into the hole, I had to stop for a moment and process the feelings. Of my physical body’s attempts to push back; of my rush of pleasure and danger; of the intoxicating idea that I was intruding this way on my Master’s instruction. It was heady and intense. A word that will come back again and again in this telling.
My asshole now well-lubed I squirted more into my hand and I grabbed the smallest butt plug. I honestly looked at it and thought to myself that it seemed almost too easy a goal. Knowing the size of my Master’s cock, I wondered if I should start with a larger size, but decided I would start with the smallest just to be sure. I rolled the tapered point and round bulb around in the lube, being sure it was completely and thickly covered, and then I grabbed the ring at the base and aimed it for my tight little rosebud. And I pushed.
And I pushed.
My body’s defenses are robust, and they are very sure that nothing should going in that out-hole. As soon as the plug passed a certain point my muscles came back to life, trying to close off all access. At this point I had to breathe deeply and remind them all of the cardinal rule: relax. Relax. Relax. And then again I pushed.
To my surprise the muscles listened to me (a first, I assure you!!) and I had not too much resistance. My next surprise was how amazing full my ass felt by just this smallest plug. Pressure starting at the base of my spine and continuing down to the split of my legs, so intense! I lie on my bed, my legs stretched out straight, and I breathed long, deep breaths to once more relax, relax, relax. With time I found it easier and easier to experience this for my Master. But I wanted to do more than experience it. I wanted my body to learn to love it.
I shivered slightly, cold as I was lying naked and exposed, and I let my eyes close and my mind open. I fished around until a fantasy began to form. In my mind I lie on my bed, but with my eyes covered and my wrists bound around my headboard. I waited for some sort of change and finally felt my bed shake – someone else was on the bed with me. Warm hands took my legs and lifted them over my head. A slick, cold finger pushed into my rear, impossible to feel with my ass already so overwhelmed.
I let my fingers slide down to my smooth cunt as the fantasy unfolded. Already my soft lips were slick in anticipation.
I imagined my Master exploring my ass with his finger, but I knew this was the first step toward something else. As if events were under my control (and yes, I know they were) the finger left my ass and something new replaced it. I felt cold and slick and pressure as Master slid something into me. I was only just reacting to the feeling when the blindfold evaporated and I found myself staring into Master’s startling green eyes. At this time I began to fall.
Under Master’s control I felt myself falling further and further into the very back of my mind. As I moved away from control of my body Master pulled forth the animal from inside me and gave her free reign. From my vantage point the outside world seemed like something viewed from the wrong end of a telescope and I saw myself crawl down to the floor, walking on my hands and knees. Master had clipped the leash to my collar and now took my vacant and eager puppy self on a walk around the apartment.
As this fantasy took hold I let my hands lavish affections on my clit, the abundant juices all around my cunt now spread out to my thighs. My hips bucked up occasionally, and only then was I reminded of my ass still so packed tight. The feeling of the plug in my ass now felt almost easy to my body.
In my mind I continued to see myself heeling at my master’s foot. I moved past the mirror hanging on my closet door and there I realized what my Master had inserted into my ass: a tail. From my round rear there now hung a long, red fox tail. To my surprise the image was one I found… lovely.
I allowed this fantasy to continue until my phone’s alarm sounded, telling me that I’d let my training go the entire thirty minutes. I was amazed that I’d found pleasure for most of that time, and that the intensity of my full ass had become something I not only endured but even enjoyed. This was my first night of training, but now I knew I would succeed in preparing myself for my Master. I even wondered if I would be rewarded for my action with my own lovely tail…
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Full, Full, Full...
Master has been so generous with his time this weekend. I’m overwhelmed and oversexed all at once. Tonight we talked a little about something that has come up a couple of times recently: my ass. I have been asking Master if, when he visits me in a couple of months, he plans to take me in all possible places. This would include, of course, my ass. This is a place he did not take me before, but there have been discussions, and I am becoming more desperate to know his decision.
In a manner so typical for my Master, he has not given me a decision yet and won’t for some time. He especially enjoys creating opportunities to make me squirm, and on this question I am certainly squirming. Deliciously so.
Still, I’ve worried about a last-minute decision and that it might not allow me to prepare for him. My Master is not a small man; not at all. The first time I felt him rush into my cunt I screamed out loud. While I grow wet at the very idea of Master filling my ass, I also fear that I will be unable to take him in and I hate any idea of my failing my Master. I mentioned this worry to him last night and he suggested I might want to find a butt plug or even a dilator kit to get used to the feeling, but I did not know if he truly wanted me to or not.
Tonight I asked again if he had made a decision about whether to take me from behind. With his sinister smile he told me he was still considering, and added that he had no plans to make the decision soon. I bit my lip and mentioned again that I hoped to know with enough advance notice as to allow me to prepare my ass for him. Ever pragmatic, he answered my worries with a question: did it excite me to think of sliding a butt plug into my ass? With a tiny voice I told him that what excited me was the idea of doing it to make myself more worthy for him. He smiled still, his eyes flashing in a way that told me he knew what I needed, and gave it to me with three simple words.
“Then get one.”
I felt myself leak at the command. Tomorrow I will go to our favorite toy store and find an anal dilator kit to begin my training. The question settled, we went back to our conversation. We chatted for a while, but I admit my mind was stuck on the idea of this new toy. My Master had pulled out his cock when we discussed my fear of his size, and though we’d been chatting on I knew his cock was still hard. I knew that it was just out of camera range. I knew that his hand was wrapped around it still. This idea I could not push from my mind, and instead it slid down my mind into my body. I began to whimper a little as my hips bucked back and forth, the crotch of my pants sliding over my freshly waxed cunt.
Master heard my pitiful sounds and knew I was losing my control. He could have shut me down, tamed my libido, but instead he let me go; even fueled the fire by allowing me to see his arm moving off camera, thereby confirming my thoughts of his activity. I writhed as I watched him; his beautiful face making my heart race and his rocking shoulder sending ripples through me. He enjoyed my pathetic gasps and moans and mewls, and when I grew too quiet he stoked me again.
“Do you like the idea of me taking you in your ass?” he asked me with a sly grin.
I ground my hand down between my legs again as I answered. “I like the idea of you taking me in every possible way. Making your ownership of me complete.” Hearing these words come from my lips I felt another rush of wet slide out of my cunt. My head spun from this build up of fire. I let my gaze come back to the computer screen and his pleased expression. And his rocking arm.
We spent many minutes just building ourselves up to mutual pleasure, his hand stroking as mine did the same. My noises became more pressing, more desperate and I felt my climax rushing at me. I cried out that I was cumming, and yet Master wasn’t finished with me yet. I’d only barely caught my breath when I heard his voice again. “I will count to three, and you will feel the smallest of the butt plug slide into you. Three, Two, One… Now.”
I cried out as my ass filled, putting pressure on everything below my waist. Knowing Master wanted me to feel this now, simply through his control of me, kept me from coming down from my orgasm high. Seconds later I was already half way toward another climax. I shuddered and groaned and my hips bucked again, but this time each thrust up to my hand clenched my ass muscles, stretched tightly around the smallest plug now filling my ass. This simply added to my feeling of helplessness and ecstasy.
“This is so intense” I gasped out, the sentence coming in bits and pieces. Though I couldn’t get out any more words, beyond pants and pleas, in my mind I boggled at both the feeling of being completely packed down below, as well as being Masters fucktoy to be stuffed as he wishes with simply a suggestion. I twisted and humped and shook, keeping my eyes on Master’s face on my laptop as much as I could. His face told me that he was close to his finale, and I strained to hear his gasps through my headphones over my own cries.
At last I saw and heard him arrive. He groaned and exhaled, bringing me to the very peak of my own crushing climax. More than that, with each breath of his cum I heard I felt a hot jet of cum hit my ass, so sensitive with the fullness. I closed my eyes and imagined being bent over before him, exposed and overflowing at once as his cock splashes my butt with his hot cream.
Generous to me he breathed through the connection “cum.” And I did. Only a few minutes after my last time I was once again clutching the couch as my toes curled and my heart shuddered. He need only ever say the word and I obey. Happily, eagerly I obey. I cascaded down the other side of the eruption and felt the fullness in my ass slip away, another gift from him. Once empty again I discovered I missed it. Missed the sensation of being full there to please only him. But tomorrow I will go and buy the new toy. And I will once again fill myself. For him.
In a manner so typical for my Master, he has not given me a decision yet and won’t for some time. He especially enjoys creating opportunities to make me squirm, and on this question I am certainly squirming. Deliciously so.
Still, I’ve worried about a last-minute decision and that it might not allow me to prepare for him. My Master is not a small man; not at all. The first time I felt him rush into my cunt I screamed out loud. While I grow wet at the very idea of Master filling my ass, I also fear that I will be unable to take him in and I hate any idea of my failing my Master. I mentioned this worry to him last night and he suggested I might want to find a butt plug or even a dilator kit to get used to the feeling, but I did not know if he truly wanted me to or not.
Tonight I asked again if he had made a decision about whether to take me from behind. With his sinister smile he told me he was still considering, and added that he had no plans to make the decision soon. I bit my lip and mentioned again that I hoped to know with enough advance notice as to allow me to prepare my ass for him. Ever pragmatic, he answered my worries with a question: did it excite me to think of sliding a butt plug into my ass? With a tiny voice I told him that what excited me was the idea of doing it to make myself more worthy for him. He smiled still, his eyes flashing in a way that told me he knew what I needed, and gave it to me with three simple words.
“Then get one.”
I felt myself leak at the command. Tomorrow I will go to our favorite toy store and find an anal dilator kit to begin my training. The question settled, we went back to our conversation. We chatted for a while, but I admit my mind was stuck on the idea of this new toy. My Master had pulled out his cock when we discussed my fear of his size, and though we’d been chatting on I knew his cock was still hard. I knew that it was just out of camera range. I knew that his hand was wrapped around it still. This idea I could not push from my mind, and instead it slid down my mind into my body. I began to whimper a little as my hips bucked back and forth, the crotch of my pants sliding over my freshly waxed cunt.
Master heard my pitiful sounds and knew I was losing my control. He could have shut me down, tamed my libido, but instead he let me go; even fueled the fire by allowing me to see his arm moving off camera, thereby confirming my thoughts of his activity. I writhed as I watched him; his beautiful face making my heart race and his rocking shoulder sending ripples through me. He enjoyed my pathetic gasps and moans and mewls, and when I grew too quiet he stoked me again.
“Do you like the idea of me taking you in your ass?” he asked me with a sly grin.
I ground my hand down between my legs again as I answered. “I like the idea of you taking me in every possible way. Making your ownership of me complete.” Hearing these words come from my lips I felt another rush of wet slide out of my cunt. My head spun from this build up of fire. I let my gaze come back to the computer screen and his pleased expression. And his rocking arm.
We spent many minutes just building ourselves up to mutual pleasure, his hand stroking as mine did the same. My noises became more pressing, more desperate and I felt my climax rushing at me. I cried out that I was cumming, and yet Master wasn’t finished with me yet. I’d only barely caught my breath when I heard his voice again. “I will count to three, and you will feel the smallest of the butt plug slide into you. Three, Two, One… Now.”
I cried out as my ass filled, putting pressure on everything below my waist. Knowing Master wanted me to feel this now, simply through his control of me, kept me from coming down from my orgasm high. Seconds later I was already half way toward another climax. I shuddered and groaned and my hips bucked again, but this time each thrust up to my hand clenched my ass muscles, stretched tightly around the smallest plug now filling my ass. This simply added to my feeling of helplessness and ecstasy.
“This is so intense” I gasped out, the sentence coming in bits and pieces. Though I couldn’t get out any more words, beyond pants and pleas, in my mind I boggled at both the feeling of being completely packed down below, as well as being Masters fucktoy to be stuffed as he wishes with simply a suggestion. I twisted and humped and shook, keeping my eyes on Master’s face on my laptop as much as I could. His face told me that he was close to his finale, and I strained to hear his gasps through my headphones over my own cries.
At last I saw and heard him arrive. He groaned and exhaled, bringing me to the very peak of my own crushing climax. More than that, with each breath of his cum I heard I felt a hot jet of cum hit my ass, so sensitive with the fullness. I closed my eyes and imagined being bent over before him, exposed and overflowing at once as his cock splashes my butt with his hot cream.
Generous to me he breathed through the connection “cum.” And I did. Only a few minutes after my last time I was once again clutching the couch as my toes curled and my heart shuddered. He need only ever say the word and I obey. Happily, eagerly I obey. I cascaded down the other side of the eruption and felt the fullness in my ass slip away, another gift from him. Once empty again I discovered I missed it. Missed the sensation of being full there to please only him. But tomorrow I will go and buy the new toy. And I will once again fill myself. For him.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
It's in the Voice
My Master has many skills. Tools to use to make me dance and kneel and perform for him. He told me when first he laid his traps for me that his voice was his medium and I’ve remembered those words many times in the months since. He picks only the perfect words, knowing that each one has its own meaning and not just any words will do what he wants them to.
On a recent night I discovered that it is not just his words. It is his actual voice. Not just the syllables but the decibels; the tone and the rhythm and the… who am I kidding. I’d be lying if I said I know how he does what he does to me. With just that voice.
What I do know is this: he melted me to a puddle and walked through me with rain boots using only his voice.
We were talking on Skype about things so very not special. I’d noticed that as he’d grown a little more tired, a little more relaxed, his voice blended gradually into his sexy voice. I pointed it out, because if he wasn’t careful that voice would drag me from our nice, normal conversation to something richer and more desperate. He then brought out a new voice; one I’d never heard before.
This voice. This voice is magic. Dark, vicious magic. With but a thought his new words flowed through the headphones, directly into my mind. The voice was thick and slow, like warm molasses, and coated everything as it flowed. He spoke of nothing. Purposefully so. As I moaned and gasped and whimpered in response to each simple word I heard one new ingredient to the voice: a smile. A pleased, satisfied smile. And he began to play.
“What if I speak of something boring. Like the weather?” he purred, and in response my cunt panted and whimpered. He gleefully melted me with this voice while speaking of umbrellas and snow. I twisted in the bed, my legs rubbing together and stroking my clit with the gyrations. After some minutes I begged to touch myself as he spoke. He said no.
“you’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” he oozed, and I told him I would. “You’re going to cum for me while I talk about the weather…” I will, I will cum for you Master. And this was, I knew, a foregone conclusion as each new drip from my headphones trickled down through me; trickled out between my legs; my lips. His talk of rain and heat and absolutely nothing sexy had me soaked. So wet, so hot, so completely out of my control. So completely his plaything. I felt the corners of my sanity begin to curl up under his heat.
But I was stuck. Brought to the brink of his goal but no permission to touch myself and not quite able to complete his order. I begged for help. “Push me…” I moaned through my microphone. “Please, Master, please push me over the edge.” Once again I asked for permission to touch myself; to slide my fingers down into the slick he’d created and do as he’d asked. For him and for me I wanted so very, very desperately to do as he’d asked and cum for him. But I was completely stuck. And still he refused to let me touch myself. He was determined I would cum for him merely from this newly discovered voice.
But the voice could say new things.
“Pinch your nipples for me. Now.” He commanded and my hands shot to my chest, pinching both nipples hard. I cried out from the pain and pleasure. “Can you kneel on the floor by the bed?” came the next instruction, and as I told him I could I was already sliding toward the edge of the bed. “Then do so.” He commanded. I felt so appropriate as my knees landed on the expensive hotel carpeting. A position I take for him often, and one I’ve come to love.
“How does it feel to obey this voice?” he asked. Even just this question boiled my blood and crushed me under its weight; that voice had such control over me.
“Powerful.” I replied. “Amazing. Right.” As he continued to play and I continued to melt my body folded over, my head coming to rest on the floor in front of me.
“What are you?” he asked. This is a question he often asks me, as he relishes hearing me say the words he’s cemented in my soul. The answer is always the same. This makes it no less entertaining to him.
“I’m yours.” I gasped from my heap on the floor. “Your slave. Your pet. Your toy. Your puppet." I whimpered and swooned at those words, feeling them more strongly than ever before. “Oh god, I’m so your puppet.”
“And what am I?” came the next question. Again, a ritual we know well and one designed to please him as I eagerly renew my status.
“You’re my Master. My owner. My puppetmaster.” Again I felt overwhelmed with this new feeling of helplessness and lack of control. “You’re everything.” I finally spilled out. “everything.” As the words fell out of my mouth I rocked back and forth on the ground, my hands beside my head and my cunt throbbing at his control. I felt drops trickle down between my legs from my drenched panties.
“Open your mouth.” He commanded next. I know this well. I know that he has stroked his cock as he played with me, my abandoning my mind and body to his control feeding his pleasure. And now he is close. And when he cums he will fill my mouth with his incredible cream as a reward for pleasing him. I fling my head back up, my mouth opening and my tongue sliding out as is the position he’s instructed for me. The blood rushing to my head again causes a dizzy spell and I barely manage to keep on my knees from the sensation.
But I am only focused on the sound of his breathing, ragged over the line. He’s there. Now I will receive my reward. As I hear him climax I feel hot cream slide down my tongue and land in jets in my mouth. I taste his salty, delicious cum fill my mouth. I feel my own cream gush out in response. I kneel obediently, mouth full and head light, waiting.
“Swallow.” He allows generously. I do. With tremendous joy. And my head collapses back onto the carpet. As I sit there in my heap again the same two words fall from my mouth over and over and over.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you…”
Here Master returned me to a mind of sanity and we sat and chatted for a while longer. He asked me to describe or explain how it was that this voice could have such an impact, and I tried to explain how it wormed its way under all my defenses, straight to my core. But I’m not sure what words I used or whether they made any sense. The time after this moment is fuzzy for me. Fuzzy in comparison to how vividly I remember kneeling, my head on the carpet and my mind wiped away by Master’s complete and total control.
On a recent night I discovered that it is not just his words. It is his actual voice. Not just the syllables but the decibels; the tone and the rhythm and the… who am I kidding. I’d be lying if I said I know how he does what he does to me. With just that voice.
What I do know is this: he melted me to a puddle and walked through me with rain boots using only his voice.
We were talking on Skype about things so very not special. I’d noticed that as he’d grown a little more tired, a little more relaxed, his voice blended gradually into his sexy voice. I pointed it out, because if he wasn’t careful that voice would drag me from our nice, normal conversation to something richer and more desperate. He then brought out a new voice; one I’d never heard before.
This voice. This voice is magic. Dark, vicious magic. With but a thought his new words flowed through the headphones, directly into my mind. The voice was thick and slow, like warm molasses, and coated everything as it flowed. He spoke of nothing. Purposefully so. As I moaned and gasped and whimpered in response to each simple word I heard one new ingredient to the voice: a smile. A pleased, satisfied smile. And he began to play.
“What if I speak of something boring. Like the weather?” he purred, and in response my cunt panted and whimpered. He gleefully melted me with this voice while speaking of umbrellas and snow. I twisted in the bed, my legs rubbing together and stroking my clit with the gyrations. After some minutes I begged to touch myself as he spoke. He said no.
“you’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” he oozed, and I told him I would. “You’re going to cum for me while I talk about the weather…” I will, I will cum for you Master. And this was, I knew, a foregone conclusion as each new drip from my headphones trickled down through me; trickled out between my legs; my lips. His talk of rain and heat and absolutely nothing sexy had me soaked. So wet, so hot, so completely out of my control. So completely his plaything. I felt the corners of my sanity begin to curl up under his heat.
But I was stuck. Brought to the brink of his goal but no permission to touch myself and not quite able to complete his order. I begged for help. “Push me…” I moaned through my microphone. “Please, Master, please push me over the edge.” Once again I asked for permission to touch myself; to slide my fingers down into the slick he’d created and do as he’d asked. For him and for me I wanted so very, very desperately to do as he’d asked and cum for him. But I was completely stuck. And still he refused to let me touch myself. He was determined I would cum for him merely from this newly discovered voice.
But the voice could say new things.
“Pinch your nipples for me. Now.” He commanded and my hands shot to my chest, pinching both nipples hard. I cried out from the pain and pleasure. “Can you kneel on the floor by the bed?” came the next instruction, and as I told him I could I was already sliding toward the edge of the bed. “Then do so.” He commanded. I felt so appropriate as my knees landed on the expensive hotel carpeting. A position I take for him often, and one I’ve come to love.
“How does it feel to obey this voice?” he asked. Even just this question boiled my blood and crushed me under its weight; that voice had such control over me.
“Powerful.” I replied. “Amazing. Right.” As he continued to play and I continued to melt my body folded over, my head coming to rest on the floor in front of me.
“What are you?” he asked. This is a question he often asks me, as he relishes hearing me say the words he’s cemented in my soul. The answer is always the same. This makes it no less entertaining to him.
“I’m yours.” I gasped from my heap on the floor. “Your slave. Your pet. Your toy. Your puppet." I whimpered and swooned at those words, feeling them more strongly than ever before. “Oh god, I’m so your puppet.”
“And what am I?” came the next question. Again, a ritual we know well and one designed to please him as I eagerly renew my status.
“You’re my Master. My owner. My puppetmaster.” Again I felt overwhelmed with this new feeling of helplessness and lack of control. “You’re everything.” I finally spilled out. “everything.” As the words fell out of my mouth I rocked back and forth on the ground, my hands beside my head and my cunt throbbing at his control. I felt drops trickle down between my legs from my drenched panties.
“Open your mouth.” He commanded next. I know this well. I know that he has stroked his cock as he played with me, my abandoning my mind and body to his control feeding his pleasure. And now he is close. And when he cums he will fill my mouth with his incredible cream as a reward for pleasing him. I fling my head back up, my mouth opening and my tongue sliding out as is the position he’s instructed for me. The blood rushing to my head again causes a dizzy spell and I barely manage to keep on my knees from the sensation.
But I am only focused on the sound of his breathing, ragged over the line. He’s there. Now I will receive my reward. As I hear him climax I feel hot cream slide down my tongue and land in jets in my mouth. I taste his salty, delicious cum fill my mouth. I feel my own cream gush out in response. I kneel obediently, mouth full and head light, waiting.
“Swallow.” He allows generously. I do. With tremendous joy. And my head collapses back onto the carpet. As I sit there in my heap again the same two words fall from my mouth over and over and over.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you…”
Here Master returned me to a mind of sanity and we sat and chatted for a while longer. He asked me to describe or explain how it was that this voice could have such an impact, and I tried to explain how it wormed its way under all my defenses, straight to my core. But I’m not sure what words I used or whether they made any sense. The time after this moment is fuzzy for me. Fuzzy in comparison to how vividly I remember kneeling, my head on the carpet and my mind wiped away by Master’s complete and total control.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Vocabulary Prison
Often my time with my Master starts casual, even friendly. Beyond being Master and Slave we are also friends and companions and enjoy spending time together at the end of each day. We don’t play every night, but we do connect every night. As we have come to spend our time together more and more I’d given up trying to predict when his playful side would rise up, and as with all things it is only his decision for when we play. Until he feels ready for games I adore just talking and laughing with my Master.
This night was no exception. In fact I knew Master was feeling tired and not up for play. Hearing the fatigue in his voice I began to nudge him to retire – he needed sleep and I wanted him to get it. I pushed. I pressed. I nudged and coaxed and cajoled and he put up with me for a while, knowing that my nagging was born of concern and care. But at some point he must have lost his patience with my comments, comments, comments. I felt a ripple, so tiny that I’d never have noted it. Except that my words were suddenly not my own.
This is not the first time Master has filtered my words. Sometimes I don’t understand what change he has imposed until I hear the foreign sentence fall from my lips. Sometimes I feel the change in my mind when I try to form sentences. Such was the change this time. The words of “seriously, don’t you think its time to head to sleep?” in my mind melted into a much more pleasing, worshipful “You always know what’s best, Master.” As the words came out I could hear the satisfied smile on his face. All other words stuck in my throat, and as I struggled silently he chuckled and asked “something wrong?”
I wanted to answer him, but none of the sentences I wanted to say would come from me. They changed; shifted and reformed themselves to fit his vision. To be the words he wished me to say. To fit my proper status and praise him.
“I love it when you play.” I moaned.
“I know you do.” He smiled in return. He asked, when again I fell silent, “Cat got your tongue?” I could only gasp helplessly.
“Not cat…”
Gradually Master coaxed me to let the words he’d given me come forth freely. At the same time, enjoying my verbal prison, I heard him begin to slide his hand up and down his cock.
I love, love, very much love to hear my Master pleasure himself. To hear him bring himself to climax rocks me more than when I stroke myself. He knows how I adore the sound, knowing that he’s bring himself to the brink, and he allows his sounds to come forth just to get to me. As I blathered on, telling him the thoughts I could no longer keep to myself, he used my helplessness as fuel to his fire and rocked me in return.
I told him that I had been fantasizing about dancing for him next we are together. He had taken me body’s control a few weeks ago and made me dance for him, and though I’d blushed and cowered at the time the feeling of being his living puppet had stayed with me. Now I confessed to him that I’d imagined swaying and rocking my body for him, shedding my clothing and then running my hands up and down my naked body, over my tits, down between my legs – whatever would please Master.
By now I could hear him panting and gasping with his own pleasure and I fell quiet to enjoy it myself. My body writhed on the bed, hands stroking between my legs and hips bucking excitedly. I asked him for permission to touch myself, knowing that he would enjoy me coming with him to the end. I gasped to him “Master, can I touch myself?” and allowed my hand to stray down in anticipation of his answer.
“No.”
I was shocked and did not hide the surprise as I replied “No?”
“No.” he said, even more firmly. I whimpered and pouted at this surprise. But he was not finished. “You will listen, but not touch. After we are done with this call you will fuck yourself until you cum, screaming my name.”
I lay, still on the verge of explosion but my hands trapped at my sides, and listened to him play with himself. I continued to worship him verbally, telling him how I wanted only to please him and serve him and make him happy. That he was the center of my universe. That I could never get enough of his control and his ownership. And as I wracked my brain for the next adoring words he came, his breath coming in glorious, rough exhales. I shuddered, so close to the edge I feared I’d come before his ordered time.
Once finished, and knowing that I could not finish his assignment until we’d signed off, he quickly closed our call. He left me alone, my hands rushing to my cunt to finish what he had started. I was so close, so overwhelmed with lust that it took no time at all for me to join him in orgasm. And as commanded, as my fingers were coated with my juice, I screamed out his name loud. Very loud.
With that my mind returned to normal. Sadly.
This night was no exception. In fact I knew Master was feeling tired and not up for play. Hearing the fatigue in his voice I began to nudge him to retire – he needed sleep and I wanted him to get it. I pushed. I pressed. I nudged and coaxed and cajoled and he put up with me for a while, knowing that my nagging was born of concern and care. But at some point he must have lost his patience with my comments, comments, comments. I felt a ripple, so tiny that I’d never have noted it. Except that my words were suddenly not my own.
This is not the first time Master has filtered my words. Sometimes I don’t understand what change he has imposed until I hear the foreign sentence fall from my lips. Sometimes I feel the change in my mind when I try to form sentences. Such was the change this time. The words of “seriously, don’t you think its time to head to sleep?” in my mind melted into a much more pleasing, worshipful “You always know what’s best, Master.” As the words came out I could hear the satisfied smile on his face. All other words stuck in my throat, and as I struggled silently he chuckled and asked “something wrong?”
I wanted to answer him, but none of the sentences I wanted to say would come from me. They changed; shifted and reformed themselves to fit his vision. To be the words he wished me to say. To fit my proper status and praise him.
“I love it when you play.” I moaned.
“I know you do.” He smiled in return. He asked, when again I fell silent, “Cat got your tongue?” I could only gasp helplessly.
“Not cat…”
Gradually Master coaxed me to let the words he’d given me come forth freely. At the same time, enjoying my verbal prison, I heard him begin to slide his hand up and down his cock.
I love, love, very much love to hear my Master pleasure himself. To hear him bring himself to climax rocks me more than when I stroke myself. He knows how I adore the sound, knowing that he’s bring himself to the brink, and he allows his sounds to come forth just to get to me. As I blathered on, telling him the thoughts I could no longer keep to myself, he used my helplessness as fuel to his fire and rocked me in return.
I told him that I had been fantasizing about dancing for him next we are together. He had taken me body’s control a few weeks ago and made me dance for him, and though I’d blushed and cowered at the time the feeling of being his living puppet had stayed with me. Now I confessed to him that I’d imagined swaying and rocking my body for him, shedding my clothing and then running my hands up and down my naked body, over my tits, down between my legs – whatever would please Master.
By now I could hear him panting and gasping with his own pleasure and I fell quiet to enjoy it myself. My body writhed on the bed, hands stroking between my legs and hips bucking excitedly. I asked him for permission to touch myself, knowing that he would enjoy me coming with him to the end. I gasped to him “Master, can I touch myself?” and allowed my hand to stray down in anticipation of his answer.
“No.”
I was shocked and did not hide the surprise as I replied “No?”
“No.” he said, even more firmly. I whimpered and pouted at this surprise. But he was not finished. “You will listen, but not touch. After we are done with this call you will fuck yourself until you cum, screaming my name.”
I lay, still on the verge of explosion but my hands trapped at my sides, and listened to him play with himself. I continued to worship him verbally, telling him how I wanted only to please him and serve him and make him happy. That he was the center of my universe. That I could never get enough of his control and his ownership. And as I wracked my brain for the next adoring words he came, his breath coming in glorious, rough exhales. I shuddered, so close to the edge I feared I’d come before his ordered time.
Once finished, and knowing that I could not finish his assignment until we’d signed off, he quickly closed our call. He left me alone, my hands rushing to my cunt to finish what he had started. I was so close, so overwhelmed with lust that it took no time at all for me to join him in orgasm. And as commanded, as my fingers were coated with my juice, I screamed out his name loud. Very loud.
With that my mind returned to normal. Sadly.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Discipline
So much of what I have written so far has been looking back at significant moments of my new existence. As though I need to explain how I could have come to be who, be what, I am. But now these words are being published to the world and I am aware that I want this to be a place about my current life too. More so even.
Recently I had a day where I woke very… itchy. My servile nature had been boosted the night before and nothing my mind had created overnight had done anything to lessen those feelings. And all day they stayed high. My Master sent me to a business meeting with my panties sopping wet from his teasing of my high.
By the time I was home with him my Master knew that I was rippling with a need for a tightly held leash, metaphorically speaking. We chatted of normal things, as we always do right after work, and I let down my attention and my labido, or so I thought. But at a moment I crossed the room, away from the Skype Camera and my Master, and turned up the thermostat. I had forgotten my place, and my Master was kind enough to notice. And to know that this was behavior that required attention.
When I returned to my seat in front of my webcam his word came strict and short: “Stand.” I sensed that the tone of the conversation had changed DRAMATICALLY. His next commands were just as short and not-so-sweet. “Turn Around.” Of course I did as commanded. “Bend over.” Now I knew what was coming – I had, I realized, done something wrong. It wasn’t mine to know what, but to take the punishment obediently and I tried.
Master had added to me this night a verbal command that, when I heard the word, translated to the most realistic feeling of his hand smacking hard on my ass. It had been playful at first, but now he used this conditioning to make sure I knew I’d been wrong. As I stood, bent with my ass facing the camera, he explained that I had not asked permission to leave my seat, and of course he was right. Now I would be spanked for my mistake. He asked me, with the slight sound of a smile to his voice, how many strikes did I think I deserved?
“As many as Master thinks appropriate!” I answered, hopeful that the answer would please him and, by association, lessen his punishment some. But he knows better and chose a number that was appropriate for the infraction: 10 blows.
I stood and took each one. The feel of his hand, albeit as punishment, was also a glorious sensation. Because it was his. Because it was him doing what I need to become a quality slave for him. When he was finished I was allowed – instructed – to sit. Though no actual hand had touched me, my ass smarted as though it was red and raw. My face glowed with the same bright red from my embarrassment at having overstepped as well as my excitement at being spanked. Master laughed.
As the night continued I found myself pulling on the leash periodically. At the time I thought I was getting caught up in our conversations and forgetting my place. But now I know I was eager for more of my Master’s attention. And he was good to me and gave it. Repeatedly. When he next asked how many strikes I deserved for my second infraction I knew sucking up would not work and I threw out a number. As I knew he would do, he added half again to my suggested number.
By the time our conversation was towards the end he had begun to enjoy my jumping to attention, back-peddling madly any time I thought I’d overstepped and was about to get another lashing. Even though the physical reaction was intense and amazing, I also could not bear the idea that I would need addressing that many times in one night.
My Master is so very good to me. He understands that I want and need him to set rules and enforce them on me, and that his tight grip on my leash, both metaphorically and hopefully someday physically, both excites me and trains me, which I love more than the arousal. I hope that he will never stop finding new ways to improve and refine me. I know I will never consider myself worthy of his attention, but I crave those times he allows me to try.
Recently I had a day where I woke very… itchy. My servile nature had been boosted the night before and nothing my mind had created overnight had done anything to lessen those feelings. And all day they stayed high. My Master sent me to a business meeting with my panties sopping wet from his teasing of my high.
By the time I was home with him my Master knew that I was rippling with a need for a tightly held leash, metaphorically speaking. We chatted of normal things, as we always do right after work, and I let down my attention and my labido, or so I thought. But at a moment I crossed the room, away from the Skype Camera and my Master, and turned up the thermostat. I had forgotten my place, and my Master was kind enough to notice. And to know that this was behavior that required attention.
When I returned to my seat in front of my webcam his word came strict and short: “Stand.” I sensed that the tone of the conversation had changed DRAMATICALLY. His next commands were just as short and not-so-sweet. “Turn Around.” Of course I did as commanded. “Bend over.” Now I knew what was coming – I had, I realized, done something wrong. It wasn’t mine to know what, but to take the punishment obediently and I tried.
Master had added to me this night a verbal command that, when I heard the word, translated to the most realistic feeling of his hand smacking hard on my ass. It had been playful at first, but now he used this conditioning to make sure I knew I’d been wrong. As I stood, bent with my ass facing the camera, he explained that I had not asked permission to leave my seat, and of course he was right. Now I would be spanked for my mistake. He asked me, with the slight sound of a smile to his voice, how many strikes did I think I deserved?
“As many as Master thinks appropriate!” I answered, hopeful that the answer would please him and, by association, lessen his punishment some. But he knows better and chose a number that was appropriate for the infraction: 10 blows.
I stood and took each one. The feel of his hand, albeit as punishment, was also a glorious sensation. Because it was his. Because it was him doing what I need to become a quality slave for him. When he was finished I was allowed – instructed – to sit. Though no actual hand had touched me, my ass smarted as though it was red and raw. My face glowed with the same bright red from my embarrassment at having overstepped as well as my excitement at being spanked. Master laughed.
As the night continued I found myself pulling on the leash periodically. At the time I thought I was getting caught up in our conversations and forgetting my place. But now I know I was eager for more of my Master’s attention. And he was good to me and gave it. Repeatedly. When he next asked how many strikes I deserved for my second infraction I knew sucking up would not work and I threw out a number. As I knew he would do, he added half again to my suggested number.
By the time our conversation was towards the end he had begun to enjoy my jumping to attention, back-peddling madly any time I thought I’d overstepped and was about to get another lashing. Even though the physical reaction was intense and amazing, I also could not bear the idea that I would need addressing that many times in one night.
My Master is so very good to me. He understands that I want and need him to set rules and enforce them on me, and that his tight grip on my leash, both metaphorically and hopefully someday physically, both excites me and trains me, which I love more than the arousal. I hope that he will never stop finding new ways to improve and refine me. I know I will never consider myself worthy of his attention, but I crave those times he allows me to try.
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Slave's Everyday Collar
When my Master gave to me my beautiful, black, leather collar to wear around my throat I swooned. I could not believe the overwhelming, dramatic feelings that moment brought up in me. After he left to return to his home I missed him so much, and wanted to much to feel close to him, that I began to sleep in my collar nightly.
This made me feel extremely happy, but Master noted that it wasn’t a good idea to wear it so often as it would be a hard item to clean regularly. I knew he was right, but I still wanted that thing that I could wear that would be a complete reminder to myself of my ownership and my owner. He could also see my disappointment and frustration, and from there came his stroke of genius.
An everyday collar.
Master suggested that we find a black, leather bracelet that I coul wear every day as the constant reminder I craved. After my first few searches I went back to Master and asked if he would be satisfied with something that would go around my ankle? Not that there were no bracelets out there that matched what I felt Master had suggested. But as I considered it more and more I felt that such an item would be even more significant around my ankle. This was for two reasons I could think of:
The package arrived in the mail 4 weeks ago and I’ve worn my beautiful everyday collar around my left ankle every single day since then. The only time that I do not have it on is when I am in the shower, but it is the first thing I put on after I’m dry. It is the only thing I wear to bed every night, leaving the rest of my body completely naked in honor of my Master.
When I feel the stiff leather around my ankle while at work or out in the world I love that physical feel of my status. As though my Master is there with me, whispering in my ear “You are mine. You will always be mine. Body, mind, heart and soul.”
And as always, Master is right.
This made me feel extremely happy, but Master noted that it wasn’t a good idea to wear it so often as it would be a hard item to clean regularly. I knew he was right, but I still wanted that thing that I could wear that would be a complete reminder to myself of my ownership and my owner. He could also see my disappointment and frustration, and from there came his stroke of genius.
An everyday collar.
Master suggested that we find a black, leather bracelet that I coul wear every day as the constant reminder I craved. After my first few searches I went back to Master and asked if he would be satisfied with something that would go around my ankle? Not that there were no bracelets out there that matched what I felt Master had suggested. But as I considered it more and more I felt that such an item would be even more significant around my ankle. This was for two reasons I could think of:
- It felt more like a collar or manicle around my ankle than my wrist, upon which I could currently hang bracelets or watches.
- I liked the idea of it being a secret just between my Master and myself, sliding up and down my ankle under my business suit pants, etc.
The package arrived in the mail 4 weeks ago and I’ve worn my beautiful everyday collar around my left ankle every single day since then. The only time that I do not have it on is when I am in the shower, but it is the first thing I put on after I’m dry. It is the only thing I wear to bed every night, leaving the rest of my body completely naked in honor of my Master.
When I feel the stiff leather around my ankle while at work or out in the world I love that physical feel of my status. As though my Master is there with me, whispering in my ear “You are mine. You will always be mine. Body, mind, heart and soul.”
And as always, Master is right.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Disobedience
Today I break a rule: I post without permission.
It has been clearly set from the first that I write the posts, but it is my Master’s choice what and when to publish. He has allowed me to take the steps to post, but always. ALWAYS. The decision is to be his what is ultimately done. It is his blog. I simply write it. Today I willfully break this rule to publish a post about my truest feelings for my Master.
We have been connected this way for only a short time in the grand scheme of things. When first we met he was an intriguing but dangerous game to play online, but nothing long-term. When you’ve connected to someone through something like online porn it becomes a little foolish to try to seem innocent. Instead I focused on being unattainable. Elusive. Evasive and, most of all, safe. I had seen all the Public Service Announcements. I knew that this was a bad idea and planned to only tease this confident, cocky mystery man before abandoning him to his failure. I would laugh as I walked away, untouched.
This was my plan. Now looking back I laugh at the idea that my plans had any influence on our game. I was lost from the start, and yet so magnificently won.
In the first months I was enthralled by each new experience he devised. Each interaction brought a new first. The first time I knelt before another.
Sucked down my own slick to please someone.
Fucked myself on command.
Came on command.
Called someone Master. Called myself slave.
Worshipped. Adored. Transformed. Obeyed. All transcendant firsts. For the first man who ever understood what I need and how to bend me to get it. I understood what I had discovered, what had discovered me. Mind-demolishing sex and lust and playing and humiliation and never-ending desire. These were simple concepts and easy to see how to fit them into my simple life.
And yet these were but the beginning.
On this day of all days I tell you that once again I had no idea what was to come. The simple additions I predicted are certainly now part of my world, and I crave these moments constantly. But more than that I crave the man; the Master. His attention, his companionship, his support and respect, his protection and his love. I have his love and he, more than I ever imagined possible, has mine.
He, through his ownership and guidance, has made me the person I would never have thought possible. His influence on my life knows no boundaries – he touches me more than erotically. His touch slides through my mind and into my heart; it wraps strong, beautiful fingers around my thump, thump and squeezes so I feel each beat stronger than ever before. I feel. For the first time in so very, very long I can once again feel deeply and rapturously. He captured me and in that simple action he freed me. Yet with all of this contradiction I know only this: it is my dearest wish to stay in his tight grip forever.
I was prepared to worship and adore and be transformed and obey, but I was never prepared for this: I love, love, love my Master. For these reasons I disobey his rule on this day.
I love you Master.
It has been clearly set from the first that I write the posts, but it is my Master’s choice what and when to publish. He has allowed me to take the steps to post, but always. ALWAYS. The decision is to be his what is ultimately done. It is his blog. I simply write it. Today I willfully break this rule to publish a post about my truest feelings for my Master.
We have been connected this way for only a short time in the grand scheme of things. When first we met he was an intriguing but dangerous game to play online, but nothing long-term. When you’ve connected to someone through something like online porn it becomes a little foolish to try to seem innocent. Instead I focused on being unattainable. Elusive. Evasive and, most of all, safe. I had seen all the Public Service Announcements. I knew that this was a bad idea and planned to only tease this confident, cocky mystery man before abandoning him to his failure. I would laugh as I walked away, untouched.
This was my plan. Now looking back I laugh at the idea that my plans had any influence on our game. I was lost from the start, and yet so magnificently won.
In the first months I was enthralled by each new experience he devised. Each interaction brought a new first. The first time I knelt before another.
Sucked down my own slick to please someone.
Fucked myself on command.
Came on command.
Called someone Master. Called myself slave.
Worshipped. Adored. Transformed. Obeyed. All transcendant firsts. For the first man who ever understood what I need and how to bend me to get it. I understood what I had discovered, what had discovered me. Mind-demolishing sex and lust and playing and humiliation and never-ending desire. These were simple concepts and easy to see how to fit them into my simple life.
And yet these were but the beginning.
On this day of all days I tell you that once again I had no idea what was to come. The simple additions I predicted are certainly now part of my world, and I crave these moments constantly. But more than that I crave the man; the Master. His attention, his companionship, his support and respect, his protection and his love. I have his love and he, more than I ever imagined possible, has mine.
He, through his ownership and guidance, has made me the person I would never have thought possible. His influence on my life knows no boundaries – he touches me more than erotically. His touch slides through my mind and into my heart; it wraps strong, beautiful fingers around my thump, thump and squeezes so I feel each beat stronger than ever before. I feel. For the first time in so very, very long I can once again feel deeply and rapturously. He captured me and in that simple action he freed me. Yet with all of this contradiction I know only this: it is my dearest wish to stay in his tight grip forever.
I was prepared to worship and adore and be transformed and obey, but I was never prepared for this: I love, love, love my Master. For these reasons I disobey his rule on this day.
I love you Master.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Flashbacks: Slave Learns to Stretch.
Though I hope to eventually blog very realtime (of the experiences and feelings I'm currently having) there are also moments from before the creation of this blog that were significant to my growth and evolution as a slave. I've written posts for some of those that struck me enough to be particularly memorable. These will always have "Flashback:" in the title, but will be a slice of pre-blog life. Why look, here's one now! Enjoy...
Too often I confess I shy away from Master’s games. Especially in the beginning, when I knew I wanted this status but struggled to give up all my control. Master would tell me a game he wished to play, and I would panic and beg him to reconsider. Such was the first time he told me he wanted to turn down my intelligence.
Like turning down the volume on the radio. Make me dumb; brainless.
I panicked. The idea of being robbed of my chief weapon – my brains. All my life this was the thing I’d depended on to take care of myself, and I told him honestly that I didn’t want to let that go for even a moment. That I didn’t find the idea enticing, but really frightening.
He didn’t have to listen to me. By this moment I was his to manipulate as he wished, and we both knew this. But he was kind to me; probably more than I deserved. He let the idea go for a while.
Time passed, and I learned to love and trust Master more and more. He payed close attention, for one day he knew it was time to push me. He’d already taken the control of me, and gradually he turned me down…
I was not cognizant of the change at the time. But in my memory I remember waves of knowledge fading away with each command to turn me down.
I felt my head get lighter. I remember the moment where I was too stupid to know my phone number or address. I remember being so stupid that spelling was beyond me. And I remember that the less my brain contained the happier I became. I giggled. God help me, but I giggled.
When he’d reduced my mind to that of a brainless, bubbly idiot his own way with me changed. He became terribly condescending, a huge smile on his lips as he said things like “don’t worry about it, sweety. You’re far too stupid to be able to understand what’s happening, and that’s just the way I like you.” And he enjoyed my giggles in reply. And the visible wetness between my legs.
I spent quite a while in this brainless state. He asked questions to enjoy my pouty face when I could not answer them. Things like two plus two, or how to spell simple words, such as cat. He revelled in the image of me – normally a very smart, capable woman, having now been transformed for his pleasure into an airhead who giggled as he patted her head and pushed it down to his cock to happily suck. “After all,” he explained to my eager but empty face, “you don’t need brains to be my horny little cock-sucker, do you?”
I giggled absently, almost enthusiastically, at the idea of not needing smarts to do the only things that mattered. And I sucked him happily.
When Master turned me back up the memories from the experience crashed through me like a tsunami. And with each came a rush between my legs. Contrary to what I’d originally thought, the experience of having my intelligence erased, in preference of being a bouncy, mindless, desperate Barbie doll, was tremendously erotic and I fantasized about it for days afterward.
Once again, Master knew best. As he always does.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Too often I confess I shy away from Master’s games. Especially in the beginning, when I knew I wanted this status but struggled to give up all my control. Master would tell me a game he wished to play, and I would panic and beg him to reconsider. Such was the first time he told me he wanted to turn down my intelligence.
Like turning down the volume on the radio. Make me dumb; brainless.
I panicked. The idea of being robbed of my chief weapon – my brains. All my life this was the thing I’d depended on to take care of myself, and I told him honestly that I didn’t want to let that go for even a moment. That I didn’t find the idea enticing, but really frightening.
He didn’t have to listen to me. By this moment I was his to manipulate as he wished, and we both knew this. But he was kind to me; probably more than I deserved. He let the idea go for a while.
Time passed, and I learned to love and trust Master more and more. He payed close attention, for one day he knew it was time to push me. He’d already taken the control of me, and gradually he turned me down…
I was not cognizant of the change at the time. But in my memory I remember waves of knowledge fading away with each command to turn me down.
I felt my head get lighter. I remember the moment where I was too stupid to know my phone number or address. I remember being so stupid that spelling was beyond me. And I remember that the less my brain contained the happier I became. I giggled. God help me, but I giggled.
When he’d reduced my mind to that of a brainless, bubbly idiot his own way with me changed. He became terribly condescending, a huge smile on his lips as he said things like “don’t worry about it, sweety. You’re far too stupid to be able to understand what’s happening, and that’s just the way I like you.” And he enjoyed my giggles in reply. And the visible wetness between my legs.
I spent quite a while in this brainless state. He asked questions to enjoy my pouty face when I could not answer them. Things like two plus two, or how to spell simple words, such as cat. He revelled in the image of me – normally a very smart, capable woman, having now been transformed for his pleasure into an airhead who giggled as he patted her head and pushed it down to his cock to happily suck. “After all,” he explained to my eager but empty face, “you don’t need brains to be my horny little cock-sucker, do you?”
I giggled absently, almost enthusiastically, at the idea of not needing smarts to do the only things that mattered. And I sucked him happily.
When Master turned me back up the memories from the experience crashed through me like a tsunami. And with each came a rush between my legs. Contrary to what I’d originally thought, the experience of having my intelligence erased, in preference of being a bouncy, mindless, desperate Barbie doll, was tremendously erotic and I fantasized about it for days afterward.
Once again, Master knew best. As he always does.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Slave's Collar
Master first mentioned a collar early on, and he enjoyed my reaction, even though he already knew what it would be. I swooned at the idea of wearing something that made me a slave; a pet; a possession so visibly. I began to search the web for the right thing, and even made plans to go out and find something within a week later. But he said no.
"When you get your collar, I will give it to you." he stated, firm as though it went without saying. I secretly felt ashamed for not seeing that on my own. Of course he had to be the one to wrap that leather symbol of my status and his ownership around my neck and buckle it tightly. If it wasn't him that gave it to me it would never mean what it meant.
But that meant that I had to wait for it.
Once the plan was in place for him to visit I renewed my search for the right place to find my collar. Having returned to the Big City there were options now, and I found a place that answered all my desires. It celebrated the shackles of joyous ownership -- I knew I would like this shop.
As it turned out, I loved this shop. Here we found fancy handcuffs all shiny and silver, and special purple tape he could use to display me and bind me in place. And we found my beloved collar. As we left the shop, my face blushing with excitement, I told my Master "I'm now very glad that I listened to you and didn't wear a dress to this shop. Because if I had there would now be so much sliding down the insides of my legs you wouldn't even believe it!" He laughed.
I was naked and sitting beside him on the bed. I'd just finished putting the new toys into the fancy box where I'd hidden our previous purchases. This box had been a lovely find for me -- from the outside it appeared to be an ornate book sitting in the cubby of my bedside table. But inside were lovely toys my master could use to play with his toy. Master pulled the collar from the box and told me to move to the center of the room and kneel. As I stood from the bed i felt my legs already turning to jelly in anticipation and lust.
He crossed to me, 10 feet tall from my place before him, and he asked me what I was. I answered with my now-familiar and beloved litany: "I am your slave, your pet, your toy, your possession, your property, your slut." And what was he? "You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything." He told me that the collar he held was a symbol of these roles, and that whenever I wore it I was to remember this, and remember that feeling. He told me that everything I am and everything I have belonged to him. Save this. This was my one and only possession for me to have and cherish. And as he leaned down, placing the black leather snugly around my neck and fastening the buckle in place, my heart raced and my cunt throbbed and I held my breath in a foolish attempt to stop time there forever.
He stepped back to admire the image, and I let my hands rise to feel the leather in its place. A tremendous smile erupted across my face far beyond my control. At that moment I wanted to wear it forever. He asked me how it felt to finally have something I'd waited for so long.
"Amazing." was all I could say. The word was a shameful shadow of the true feeling, but the best i could find in my mind because there is no word that captures it all. Even now when I slide it on and lock it into place I close my eyes and he's there, looming above me, owning me body, mind and soul. Fulfilling my every fantasy.
"When you get your collar, I will give it to you." he stated, firm as though it went without saying. I secretly felt ashamed for not seeing that on my own. Of course he had to be the one to wrap that leather symbol of my status and his ownership around my neck and buckle it tightly. If it wasn't him that gave it to me it would never mean what it meant.
But that meant that I had to wait for it.
Once the plan was in place for him to visit I renewed my search for the right place to find my collar. Having returned to the Big City there were options now, and I found a place that answered all my desires. It celebrated the shackles of joyous ownership -- I knew I would like this shop.
As it turned out, I loved this shop. Here we found fancy handcuffs all shiny and silver, and special purple tape he could use to display me and bind me in place. And we found my beloved collar. As we left the shop, my face blushing with excitement, I told my Master "I'm now very glad that I listened to you and didn't wear a dress to this shop. Because if I had there would now be so much sliding down the insides of my legs you wouldn't even believe it!" He laughed.
I was naked and sitting beside him on the bed. I'd just finished putting the new toys into the fancy box where I'd hidden our previous purchases. This box had been a lovely find for me -- from the outside it appeared to be an ornate book sitting in the cubby of my bedside table. But inside were lovely toys my master could use to play with his toy. Master pulled the collar from the box and told me to move to the center of the room and kneel. As I stood from the bed i felt my legs already turning to jelly in anticipation and lust.
He crossed to me, 10 feet tall from my place before him, and he asked me what I was. I answered with my now-familiar and beloved litany: "I am your slave, your pet, your toy, your possession, your property, your slut." And what was he? "You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything." He told me that the collar he held was a symbol of these roles, and that whenever I wore it I was to remember this, and remember that feeling. He told me that everything I am and everything I have belonged to him. Save this. This was my one and only possession for me to have and cherish. And as he leaned down, placing the black leather snugly around my neck and fastening the buckle in place, my heart raced and my cunt throbbed and I held my breath in a foolish attempt to stop time there forever.
He stepped back to admire the image, and I let my hands rise to feel the leather in its place. A tremendous smile erupted across my face far beyond my control. At that moment I wanted to wear it forever. He asked me how it felt to finally have something I'd waited for so long.
"Amazing." was all I could say. The word was a shameful shadow of the true feeling, but the best i could find in my mind because there is no word that captures it all. Even now when I slide it on and lock it into place I close my eyes and he's there, looming above me, owning me body, mind and soul. Fulfilling my every fantasy.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
My first and best beloved toy
One night, after having enjoyed watching me thrust my fingers in and out of my cunt at his command, Master announced that he wanted me to have something with which to fuck myself. It was time for us to have a few toys. Always considerate of me, more than I deserve, Master asked what I would like. I went online and found an item or two that seemed highly rated and that I understood how I would use. Except for a brief attempt at vibrator ownership years ago, which resulted in dead and leaking batteries from lack of use, I did not really have any idea about sex toys. In fact, I’d been fairly aloof about them, thinking they were the refuge of lonely women who needed to think their sex life with themselves somehow exotic. Master took my requests into account, but as always he had his own ideas, and as always he knew best. A couple of weeks later a box arrived at my house. I was like a kid on Christmas morning, so eager was I to open and see what Master and picked out for me, but I had to wait until we could connect online as Master wanted to see my reaction.
Master was tremendously generous and the box contained a few exciting items. I will cover them all in good time, but I want to focus on my favorite. He had found and sent me a beautiful blue, glass dildo. When first I found it I was actually afraid of it. It was stunning and long and hard and I thought I would not be able to relax enough to plow into myself with something so hard and heavy. Master knew better; he was patient with me, but he insisted that I would fuck myself with this cobalt wand.
He had my place my heels on the edge of the desk to allow him a complete view of my cunt in the camera. He knew that I was already more than wet just from the opening of the box, so there was no need to get me well lubricated. He was even wise enough to send me to the bathroom first to run the toy under hot water, thereby relieving the cold feeling I am now very familiar with.
I am rarely so patient as my Master.
Once I was fully displayed to him he instructed me to slide the dildo inside me. At first it seemed impossibly huge, having only entered myself with a couple of fingers for years. But the fullness was so much more satisfying. It was the way that I wanted to feel – expanded inside. Stretched to my full size, to take my Master’s gift and somehow my Master at the same time. Once he knew I’d pushed it into my cunt all the way he guided me smoothly to bring it in and out slowly. He built the speed gradually, and he knew that my impatient nature and my need… my tremendous, desperate need by now… would lead to that moment where I would beg him to go faster.
He controlled my speed, thereby controlling me. I may have been fucking myself with his toy, but in truth at that moment he was enjoying his true toy: his eager and obedient slave. He had total control over me, my body, my reactions, as I impaled myself over and over with his purchase, my original fears long since crushed under the weight of my wanton lust and love to serve him.
I have no idea how long I sat opened to him, obediently working my new and beloved toy in and out of my cunt. I know I moaned and gasped my ecstacy as I fucked myself for his enjoyment. I know that I let a hand wander to my tits as I lost myself to the pleasure. I know I came and came and came when he allowed me to.
Since then there are rules that have been placed around my toys: I am to ask permission to use my beloved blue glass dildo. It may be here, but I know it is not mine. It is Masters, just like all the other toys in my house. Most importantly me. His favorite toy.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Playing
I don’t know exactly how it works, but I know that Master has control over my mind. Beyond simply the worship I feel for him, he has controls that cut past my thoughts or desires and can change me. I know that he has long been practiced in hypnotism, though he assures me that he’s never done a full induction with me. He tells me he doesn’t need to – I am already so very succeptible to him and desire so much to obey that he need not work so hard.
What I can tell you is how this control feels to me.
With his powers Master plays with me. This is one of my favorite things. He loves fucking me, but even more than that he loves to play. To dream up new and fantastic personalities in which to dress me, or sensations to slather over me, or even something as simple as a word that, in a moment, shuts me off completely.
For me the experience is generally the same from time to time, at least in terms of the set-up. We will be conversing, very normally, and his tone will get an edge. The slightest hint of a smile in his voice. Sometimes I experience a tiny blip, like a blink that lasts a heartbeat too long; other times the change is seamless. Regardless, what happens next I mostly experience as a memory. He makes the changes he wants, and when they change who I am I am gone. Replaced by this new construct.
However my Master is good and generous to me. He always gives me the memory of the experience to enjoy afterward. He knows that I love reliving the experience, especially when he makes me dance and prance for him; a puppet on his strings. I won’t tell you any specifics because each is worthy enough for its own post.
But now, when I say to you that Master played with me, you’ll understand what I mean: he molded my mind or my body to fit a game he wished to play with me. He took away all my controls and did with me as he pleased. He made me his toy.
And I loved it.
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