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.
Monday, 30 November 2009
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.
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