The History of my Kink

When last we saw our heroine she’d been asked a very exciting collection of questions from our good friend Florida Dom, and she’d decided to break up the entire group into three chunks. Today we address chunk number two, which we’re calling “The History of my Slavery.”

“And when you started in the lifestyle, did your Master start off slowly and bring you to different levels or just take total control at once?

How young were you when you knew you wanted a Master?”

It would probably be a surprise to many of you to know that prior to meeting my Master I’d been celibate for close to 13 years. That I’d only had one sexual partner before this dry spell. That my level of kink was being happy to swallow and not appalled at the use of the word “cunt”. I had no idea that I was submissive, as most of my life I’d been a Grade A, gold-plated, bulletproof control freak.

My Master saw the truth in me and in my writing and he brought it out of me and showed me what I’d wanted forever and ever and never known until just then. In all honesty he let loose a caged beast that I don’t think either of us recognized, and now we work very hard to keep her leashed and in check, because she craves constant and total dominance and sway. Her cravings are so strong that its amazing to me I’d never heard her before now.

So answering his last question first and his first question last I tell you that I was the tender age of almost 40 when I discovered that I desperately wanted to be a slave; to have my Master. It sort of boggles my mind now to think of all the time I wasted NOT being this submissive slave.

I honestly had to go back and look at some of the early communications between Master and I to know the answer to FD’s first question. From the very first I felt a sexual tension between us and felt that he and I were engaged in a dance of words. I also knew early that he was confident he could have me any way he wanted me, and this confidence was completely intoxicating to me. But I do not remember how quickly he brought me to the first pivotal moment. I think it took only a week or so before he instructed me to, at my place of work no less, go to a private place and kneel. Kneel just because he told me to and I wanted to obey.

I’ve been obeying ever since.

Still, there are levels of trust and obedience and decadence and Master brought me through those levels gradually but steadily. I balked at each new thing initially, such as the fear of having my intelligence altered or of being reduced to a panting, barking animal, and whenever I pushed back my Master let me have my hesitation. He gave me time, knowing that the idea would stay in my mind and burrow down, getting a foothold I would not be able to shake. He would come back around, or sometimes just flip the switch without warning and then enjoy watching me writhe and moan and cum.

I still remember very vividly an afternoon where my Master hypnotized me and transformed me, slowly… oh so slowly… into a well-behaved bitch. I could see him standing beside me, despite his body truly being a continent away, with my leash in his hand as he took me for a most humiliating and astounding walk around my apartment, crawling on my hands and knees. I remember being on all fours in the living room, still beside his hallucinatory form, as the effect of this and the sound of his voice pushed me and pulled me and worked me up and over the sexual peak and I came, whining like the bitch in heat that he’d made me at the moment. I was completely overwhelmed and rocked to my core and wanted to go again and again. And yet only a little while before that I’d rejected this idea outright. But he, as always, knew me so much better than I knew myself. He always has.

Now my trust is such that there is nothing Master could ask or suggest that I would refuse. My obedience is total and enthusiastic and I love it any time Master comes up with a new idea for play. His imagination is one of his sexiest traits. And I know there is much farther than he can take me. I just hope we never stop moving forward.

One last chunk still to come from F.D.’s collections of queries:

Lights, Camera, Action…

The "There" Down There, and related questions...

Oh Senor Dom, so many questions!

I considered answering all of F.D.’s questions in a big pile, but there’s so much to work with here! Seems a pity to waste, so I’m breaking it into a few chunks. We’ll call the first chunk:

The “There” Down There…

Florida Dom asked these juicy little tidbits:

“You tweeted that you like to clean the house in collar, slut pumps and ass
plugged and nothing else.

How often are you naked in the house? How
often do you have butt plug in your ass? Do you have just one piercing down
there and are you considering more? Will you ever consider posting photos of
your piercing?”

If the questions had come a few weeks ago I would have been able to honestly answer that I am naked every day after I get home. As you already know I purchased a pair of slut pumps. Since that post I’ve been wearing these pumps every day when I get home from work, especially as I’ve been with Master on Skype. I guess it’s fairly symbolic, but I enjoy the feeling of having a special uniform I wear for my Master to reinforce my position. After a few days of just wearing the shoes I took my own suggestion to heart and began removing all my clothing when I added the pumps. Every afternoon, for a few hours, I would sit or lie here on this couch, my ears full of Master’s voice, my body adorned by my slut pumps and nothing else.

Sadly things in this place got chilly and I got lazy. The last couple of weeks I’ve been good about the pumps (mostly) but haven’t been stripping down the way I should. But F.D.’s question has me wanting to be better and I’m going to go back to stripping to talk to him. Beyond time with Master on Skype I also sleep naked, save my beloved everyday ankle collar, every single night. It helps me for those nights/mornings when Master calls to wake me up and, if I’ve been VERY good, play with me.
There is a post coming going into much more details about my ass and the plugging of same. I will tell you now that I sleep with my ass plugged a fair number of nights. Sometimes because Master has specifically ordered me to do so, and sometimes just because I crave the feeling of improving myself for him.

Right now I have just the single piercing “down there”. I don’t know that there will be any others – this is really more of a question for my Master. (you might woo him to answer for himself if you specifically ask him for it? Hint? Hint, hint?) We have chatted a little here and there about adding nipple piercings, and I’d be lying if I said the idea of being further modified for his enjoyment didn’t excite me. However Master hasn’t had the chance to play with his first piercing as much as he’d like just yet and feels it would be “greedy” to send me for new piercings before he gets to really enjoy what I already got. Stay tuned for further adventures on this one!

And then the question about posting a photo of the piercing that I have. Oh, that question. It is one that has often been discussed. Master and I honestly did discuss his taking just such a picture when last he was here with the goal of posting it. We didn’t take the picture, and it’s not an easy one to take on your own. But here’s the thing you really want to know: Would I post a photo of my cunt here on the internet for all to see?

Yes.

And will I do that if Master approves and if he can help me to take that picture when he’s back here in June?

Yes.

My sparkly little cunt with it’s little silver ball and it’s flashy purple jewel. It’s spicy and it’s shiny and it makes me feel more sexy than anything other than Master has in months. The idea of showing it to all of you is all that times 100.

Thanks to Florida Dom for his questions – up next:

The History of my Slavery...

Living the Experience

Jayne asked if I’m able to really “live the experience” and my short answer is no. Followed by a slightly longer answer of no, dammit. And we all know that there must also be a long answer, don’t we?

As you most likely know by now if you’re a regular reader my Master lives far, far away. We get to see each other, when things go as planned, about 3-4 times per year. The rest of the time we interact online, mostly through Skype.

Do we all have the lay of the land now? Very good.

Because of all of these obstacles we don’t live the experience 24/7. I control vast fields and valleys of my life with no reference to my Master at all. The day is too long and too complex to give him the amount of control that I would like. But it is more than that.

Though Master and I met and connected immediately through kink we’ve found a kind of vanilla life as well. We are always aware of our places in this relationship. Always. But we don’t find a need to live those places constantly, so often we have hours of interaction that would seem totally vanilla to anyone who might hear them. We chat and discuss and even debate things on and on. And then when Master gets any sense that I need to be reminded of his complete and total control over me he will toss me on my head and watch me wriggle there.

Take tonight: We sat together for over three hours with no kink to speak of. Wonderful conversations and all but no kink and not even that much sex. But then suddenly he said to me these words: “I think you should look at Skype.” I was looking at other screens and didn’t realize that he’d turned on the camera on his end, but when given the hint I rushed for the button and reveled in the view of his body; his face.

His cock.

He stripped down, getting ready to sleep, and once his shirt and belt and jeans were gone he slid his boxers down, pulled his already alert cock out and began to stroke. And stroke. And stroke. And I watched. And panted. And drooled.

He knew – he always knows – how it wrecks me to see or hear him fuck his fist. So completely in control most of the time it’s an amazing change when I hear him out of control, and I could listen to that all day long. It reduces me to a moaning, whimpering mess and that’s just what I became tonight as he stroked himself and groaned in my ears. This was his way to very clearly remind me that I am his property to play with as he wants any time he’d like. To reiterate how we, in our hearts, always live.

So you ask if I live the experience and the answer is “no”. But Master finds ways to let me live the experience as often as possible. And to remind me how lucky I am to be his.

To Pierce or Not to Pierce, (that was her question…)

Many thanks to Pickypaws, the first person to reward my shameless request for attention with questioness! She asked a few questions about my piercing, and I’m sure that others have similar questions so I really do appreciate her putting it out there.

First, and most importantly: did it hurt? This was the question I asked the lady who was preparing to pierce me initially. I was lying on the table, feet tucked onto the tiny edge, trying to be brave and cool and stoic, and mostly trying to SHUT THE FUCK UP because I babble when I’m nervous. Just ask both of the people who have tattooed me. For that matter ask my Master – he’s made me nervous for verbal blathering plenty of times and I know he enjoys it when he can see how nervous he’s making me.

But I digress. (see how I do that?)

In mid-babble I asked her to be honest with me – how badly was this going to hurt? She said that she gets this question all the time, and that after years of trying every answer in the end honesty is best. She then looked me square in the eye and told me that it was going to be one of the most painful things I’d ever experience in my life!

For about a second.

But then it wouldn’t hurt at all. And that’s exactly what I found. For the second that the needle pierced the skin it was so painful I could not believe it. Much worse than stubbing your pinky toe or biting your lip or a bikini wax – yes, even the full monty wax – but for just the time it took to actually make the hole. The second she was done poking me it was done hurting. Since then the only discomfort I’ve had is the one or two times when I’ve been a wee bit too rough on that area, and I’m sure it would smart down there with or without my fancy bling.

Once the painful part was over I must admit the piercing itself was a breeze. Not too hard to take care of – the place that I got the piercing is an extremely well respected shop and they give you excellent guidance on how to care for your piercing. It normally takes a couple of weeks to get to a “healed” place but mine seemed good to go in only about 5 days. I had the bar downsized in 2 weeks and now I just get to buy new and wonderful pretty things to wear down there! Just be sure you get a barbell with the threads INTERNAL, not external. Trust me, you do NOT want to be pushing some threaded piece of metal through sensitive skin parts…

The last question that the brave and beautiful (I just have a hunch) Pickypaws asked was about whether I remove my bling when I go to the gyno. I haven’t been since I got the piercing, but I think really the question she’s asking is this: does it embarrass you when the vanilla world sees it? To that I can say NO. I haven’t shared it with any of my friends or family, but really we spend very little time chatting about my naughty bits. But I leave it there when I get waxed and when I DO go to the doctor, whether normal doctor or naughty-bits doctor, I’ll be leaving it in then too. As far as I’m concerned if they’re not embarrassed to stick their face into my areas they certainly shouldn’t be embarrassed if it twinkles back at them!

My best friend is having a pool party for her big birthday this summer, and I realized the other day that this could be a place it would be difficult to keep my bejeweled vejayjay a secret, as I’ll be changing either into or out of a bathing suit in the changing rooms there. I mentioned this to my Master and it was no surprise to me to hear him tell me he quite liked the idea of my friends seeing my fancy fuckhole. (my words, not his, but the gist is the same). We shall see how that goes once July arrives.

Pickypaws, I understand the temptation of the nipple piercing completely. That was the original suggestion that Master made only a few weeks into his having claimed me and though I originally balked at the idea I admit now I find myself thinking about it regularly. I’m more of a fan of the barbells through the nipple than of the rings (and they seem easier to hide in your vanilla life) but just the idea of being pierced in multiple places to show my ownership is an incredible rush. If you decide to do so, and if your owner gives you permission, please do write back and let me know! Maybe you can be the thing that pushes me to finally ask permission too!

If anyone else has any questions please be sure to let me know. This is kind of fun!!!

Q&A

So did you guys know that it’s Q&A month or something? I honestly don’t know what mailing list I need to be on to find out about this stuff, because imagine my embarrassment when I don’t even know about it until half-way through the month! But I’ve got 2 weeks left, so I wanted to at least open up the floor to anybody who has a question.

The last post here was actually in response to a few questions that have been asked. But even still I find it hard to imagine that I’d have any knowledge to share, as I’m new to this lifestyle. Honestly I find myself scouring the blogs out there all the time because each time I do I learn more about myself. I’m probably the last to discover it, but there’s been a really interesting conversation happening over at an amazing blog written by Little Girl. The basic question that was raised was about why people like us like what we like, love what we love, indulge in the things in which we indulge.

What I most appreciated were how many of the people who chimed in on that conversation or were inspired (as I apparently was) to write separately shared the experience that I did: finding this life was a relief and made me feel so much BETTER about myself than I ever had. It was compounded by having met an amazing person who also boosts my ego up constantly and fabulously, but I knew as soon as I let the monster out of her cave that I’d released a lot of personal demons at the same time.

Indulging in this life with my Master has made me feel light and free. I think before this I was carrying around a lot of guilt and shame for the things that I secretly wanted. I found a person who could see this side of me and didn’t recoil, but instead wanted to set it free for me. Wanted to be able to play with me in the ways I wanted to play. At first it was a secret that I finally could share with him. Since then it’s become something I share with you guys, and even sometimes little bits are shared with my best friends. I sometimes imagine that eventually I’ll be so comfortable in my own skin, kinky warts and all, that I’ll be able to tell anybody about it.

But for now I like that I can share it with all of you. As so many others have said in their own avenues, knowing that there are so many others out there who share the strange delights that I do has meant so much to me, and has allowed me to face myself more and more openly and honestly. So if there’s anything about my kinks that you’d like to ask please do. Plus, as an added incentive, if you have a question for my MASTER he's also said he'd happily address them. This is your chance to finally hear from the horse (trainer's) mouth!

Long Distance Dominance

Master lives far away. Far, far away. Farther than that. Farther. Even farther. To put this in perspective, to get here and put me in my place my Master has to get on a plane, cross and ocean and an entire danged continent. THAT far.

People ask how we came to be in this relationship. We met online, through a series of bizarre and totally unexpected events which neither of us saw coming. Still out of nowhere I found myself kneeling in my boss’ office, hiding this baffling and exciting and transcendant moment from co-workers and dripping into my fancy work panties. From there it has been months of learning how to kneel and crawl and serve and obey and love every second of these things.

But all of these have been continents away from each other.

Probably the single, most often asked question/comment we’ve received through this blog is about the long-distance challenges of this relationship. There are two things without which what Master and I have together would never have been possible. The first is hypnosis. This is something that Master has practiced for years, and has found particularly successful when playing with me. He tells me that I am uniquely submissive to him; to his voice and his words.

You may have already enjoyed a few moments from our life which swirl around Master’s ability to, with a word or phrase, turn me into his empty-headed Barbie doll or his ass-wagging bitch. The first few days or weeks of his playing with me and changing me and controlling parts of me I’d have always thought to be my own were intoxicating. My head swam. I’d never been so drenched between my legs from someone’s tiny touch. I think there were times when I even wondered if it was all in my head because it was the answer to fantasies I’d had forever and it just couldn’t be real.

The beautiful thing about Master’s ability to control my mind this way is that it is totally doable from afar. He need not be here at all to do it. I need only to hear him; his liquid-gold voice pouring into my ear and into my mind and making me beg or whine or pant. But I do need to hear him. And for that I refer to the other essential item of our relationship: the internet.

I thank the tech gods over and over and over for the internet, and most especially the wonder that is Skype. We started our connection via email, and then moved to chatting. Chatting worked really well, and I figured that was how it would go for a few weeks until we were done. Then Master explained to me that if I were to get a microphone and a camera and a Skype account I could do an amazing thing: I could see him. This I wanted to do so very badly, I had the necessary technology by the end of that day.

Through Skype not only could I hear that voice that even today turns me into melted butter, but I could see him. I could see his amazing cock and see him stroke it while I drooled into my keyboard. But even more importantly, he could see me. See me perform for him. See me spread my legs and slide my fingers into my cunt because he told me to. See me do things that I don’t even know I’m doing until they’re done. See me be his toy and plaything and fuckdoll. It makes me feel even more his slave when I can obey for him, and I think it makes him feel even more my master.

Master has scores of snapshots taken through my Skype camera where my legs are spread or my hands touching me or my tits presented to him eagerly. He has an audio recording of me fucking myself until I came which he can play any time he wants. Thanks to the technology of the day and Master’s ability to instantly own me through his mind control we’ve been Master and Slave for nine months come Sunday. I wish we were closer, but I’d not give up what we are for anything.

The Little Things

There are many grand, magnificent, overwhelming things that Master can or could do to show my place; to make me feel owned and controlled. When he morphs the way I look or feel or think; when he makes me cum on his command. I love the big things, and in fact the bigger the better is how I tend to think automatically. When I indulge in fantasies of time with him they are epic and fictional and go places that I could never really go; places he would never take me. Bigger. Better. Epic.

But sometimes I am reminded that there are little things that can be every bit as profound and significant.

Take today: through a random series of events I found myself stepping into my pair of slut heels. These are black, shiny pumps with 4-inch heels and peep toes. I bought these pumps so that I could meet my Master appropriately dressed when he arrived at the holidays. Never in my life have I ever owned or even worn shoes such as these and I’m embarrassed to report that when I strode down the halls of our airport scanning for a face I adored I worried that my teetering would be sad and lame to him. I cannot stride proudly in these shoes. I clomp and I weave and I pitch forward sloppily. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care (hopefully the low-cut top and tight skirt was the distraction I was going for) but I did, and I swore I would master these slut heels before June and his return.

But to today and when I stepped into these heels. I did not put them on to pursue this goal. I needed relief for aching calf muscles and thought these might do that, and they did. But even after the original need was finished I found that wearing them was providing a different practice: these shoes make me feel like Master’s slut. They make me aware of my every move. They make me feel ornate and foolish and humbled. I cleaned the kitchen and did laundry and cleaned the toilet in these foolish, ridiculous, slutty damned shoes.

And my pussy never stopped weeping.

When I told Master that I was sporting the heels I purchased just for him I heard amusement in his voice. As I finished my wandering around and settled down to share time with him I asked if I should take them off or leave them on; he instructed that they remain. I imagined that he liked the idea of me stretched out on the couch, slut shoes on my feet and his voice in my ear. And though we didn’t really indulge in playing, instead just sharing company, The feel and the view of these shoes at the end of my legs kept me constantly aware of my place and my role for him. Renewed in me my wanton desire to be his toy and his puppet and his Barbie, for him to dress in whatever way pleases him.

Before he went to sleep we discussed a new rule going forward: When I come home from work, before he and I jump onto Skype, I am to put on my slut heels. This has practical value, as its this constant wearing that will make me able to stride down the airport halls confidently when I go to greet Master this summer. But more than that I shudder at the idea that each night I have a uniform to put on to remind me of my place at Master’s feet. Perhaps the rule should be modified: that I would put on my slut heels and remove all else.