I still remember the first time that Master mentioned, almost as if in passing, that he was considering sending me off to get my nipple pierced. You know, as a way to show his ownership? I was very freshly in to this new world and still under the adorable impression that what I wanted or was comfortable with made even a tiny bit of difference. Master was kind enough to let me have that one, and for a while I thought that was it on that subject.
But the funny thing was that I couldn’t let the idea go. As he’d done before, and still does, he’d planted a seed and left it there to grow into an unstoppable jungle of wanting to please him. Some months passed and I found myself asking HIM about piercings. He was pleased to have me bring the question back to him, as it showed again how completely he can make me dance, but in the end we moved away from the idea of nipple piercing. Instead we moved somewhere… south.
About 2 months ago I walked down some stairs to an underground door. I went in, signed some papers and threw my heels into a pair of stirrups so that a perfectly lovely stranger could run a very long needle through the skin over my clit. She promised me it would hurt like ever loving hell for just a second and it did that times a million, but then it was over and I found myself the proud owner of a cunt now bejeweled.
That night I lay on my bed, marveling at what I’d done for my Master. My bare, sensitive cunt now had a pair of silver balls sparkling out from it. Not only did the idea of it make me crazy, because I knew I’d have never done it in a million years on my own, but there was the promise of enhanced sexual sensitivity the next time he came to town. The woman who gave me the piercing told me that she’d had hers for a few years and at this point couldn’t even imagine sex without it.
When by myself there are things I love about my piercing. The time each morning where I stand naked in my mirror and see the shiny little silver ball glinting out from my cunt. The days where for some mysterious reason I’m hyper-aware of the jewelry there, and my panties are slick with my excitement all day long. The charming little “ting, ting, ting” sound that rings out when I fuck myself with the glass dildo Master gifted to me long ago. But it wasn’t until Master was here and finally tossed me back on the bed and pumped his incredible cock into me over and over, pushing my clit up to rub against that piercing, that I honestly appreciated this amazing addition to my slavery.
Since leaving my Master has mentioned, just in passing, the possibility of nipple piercings in my future. And then he said this: “Piercings, tattoos… Maybe branding…”
Of course my first reaction was resistance, fear, aversion. So I wonder what door I’ll be walking through a few months from now?
Sunday 31 January 2010
Tuesday 26 January 2010
Wake-up Call
I slept in. I love sleeping in. I’d been rolling over and purposefully ignoring the clock for at least an hour, dozing lazily and languishing in the fact that I totally could. That is until the phone rang. I could see it was him, but I already knew that when the ringing began.
“Good morning.” I grinned as I answered, stretching out on the bed.
“Good morning baby.” He replied. And his voice had that tone. A shiver ran through me, starting at the wicked grin his voice produced.
“Mmmm…” I rolled over to put the phone between my ear and my pillow, freeing both hands. “I know that voice.”
At that second the energy coming from him changed. He’d said no new words, but his control was instant. I was now along for whatever ride he wanted me to take. “I want you to feel a wave of heat,” he began, and heat rolled through me, “coming from this voice. As you hear me speak your hands will wander down, over your cunt. Over your tits. You feel the need that this voice brings you, don’t you?” I tried to reply with a word, but already he had me panting and whimpering. A tiny whimper of “mm hmm…” was the best I could do. And with this moment things rolled forward aflame.
He didn’t entrance me. He didn’t need to. His voice, and his intrinsic power over me acted like a switch, throwing me from sleeping woman to desperate, needy bitch in a heartbeat. I kicked the covers from me, already on fire with his voice. He moved me through each level of need so fast I barely saw the progression at all. I was falling. Falling from human to those things I love to be for him. And at that moment he cemented it.
“You’re writhing and moaning for me, aren’t you.”
“Yes.” I moaned back.
“But yes doesn’t seem like the right reply, does it? It’s missing something, isn’t it?” I felt shame at having lost my place, even as I was losing my mind. “Yes what?”
“Yes, Master.” I wanted to scream it, to do whatever I could to be sure it was clear. He is my Master and I know it.
“and what are you?” So many times we’ve gone through this ritual. I know the reason he asks – he enjoys to hear me say it. He likes to hear me – a strong, some might say even powerful, mature business woman who holds sway over the lives of so many others, and who is bold and demanding and fearless with the rest of the world – give it all up and reduce myself to those things he’s allowed me to be for him. And I love to give it up for him. Because these are the things I really am.
“I am your slave, your slut, your pet,” I meekly answered, my right hand slipping around in the mess between my legs. “your toy, your plaything… your anything. Your anything you want me to be. MASTER.” My reward for an answer well given was his pleased and nasty chuckle, trickling down my ear and into my mind and stoking the flames melting my thoughts.
“And what am I?” came his next question. These answers I also love to give.
“You…” the concept of him threatened to overwhelm me for a moment, so tremendous is he to me. But I pressed on. “You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything that matters.” The final few words were almost a sob, as two fingers thrust deep into my cunt and my left hand pinched my nipple the way I knew he would if he were here with me. I felt as though my hands were no longer mine, but instead were possessed by him, doing his bidding from across the ocean.
“Excellent.” And he chuckled again.
He toyed with me more, and my mind can only recall flashes. His voice rolled me over and over, propelling my eager hands over my body like a million fingers. He plucked my strings and pulled from me the music of panting and whimpers and desperate moans, and to them all he added the percussion of his very pleased laughter. This symphony of Master and Slave. Of a plaything being played with. Of control and absolute abandon.
“You feel the faint impression of your collar around your neck.” He purrs at one moment. My reply is out of my control.
“Oh god, thank you Master. Thank you so much.” My fingers stop for a moment at my neck, hoping to find it there.
“And you feel a pull on the collar as you move, from the leash attached to it.” This leash was a Christmas purchase and I found the shiny, silver chain entranced me when we brought it home. I now found myself wanting to pull against it, just to know that it was there. That I was being held at its end. The whimper that replied had a vaguely animal sound. He laughed again at it. “Good girl.” Hearing my favorite two words I yelped in ecstasy.
To say how much time passed would be a lie because time had no meaning for me. Though he’d not put me in a trance I was entranced still, in a heady cloud of worship and powerlessness and the complete pleasure that brings to me. He enjoyed using the words “good girl” here and there because of the automatic ripple it sends through me. He gave me opportunities to call him Master; to pledge my adoration and service to him, and then he would call me his Good Girl. And I would explode with joy.
“Does my good girl deserve a reward?” he finally asked. I wanted his prize, but hesitated to state that I deserved it. But my need outweighed my humility.
“Yes, please Master.” I meekly replied.
“Do you want to cum, my slave?”
“Oh, god, yes please Master… Yes please Master.”
“You’ll cum when you hear me reach 10.” He began his instructions. “I’m going to count to ten, and with each number you’ll feel the pleasure increase. When I get to 10 you’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”
“Yes Master. Thank you Master.” I gasped. In my mind I tried to imagine being in more ecstasy than I already was, and wondered for a moment if you could lose your mind from passion. But I could not focus on the potential danger, as her began to count and my body responded.
“1… 2… 3…” he left space between each word to allow me to feel the progression. By four I had my feet planted flat on the bed, my hips bucking wildly in midair. “5… 6… 7…” I clutched at the bars of the headboard as though afraid I’d fall through the ceiling, and strained to hear him over the never ending stream of moans and cries coming from me. “8… 9… say please…”
“Please, please, Master, please!!!” I cried to him, and he generously gave me my reward.
“10.”
My breath caught in my lungs for a moment and I could not find the power to fuel the orgasm crashing through me. But suddenly it was all there and I was falling and falling. I stifled screams and released wanton cries. I gasped and panted and gasped again, but the wave showed no sign of crescendo. He let me go and go, like a science experiment with no clear goal. Let’s just see what happens. And what happened was my thighs became coated with my cum. My sheets developed a puddle. I put deep dents into the palms of my hands from clutching the square post in my headboard. I came, and came, and came until finally he allowed me to stop. And then I lay spent and exhausted.
The world was just beginning to come back into focus when another chuckle trickled through the phone. “Just one more thing?” he mentioned, nonchalantly.
“Yes?”
“Open Wide Cum Slut.”
When Master says these words to me I am programmed to open my mouth, my tongue sliding out invitingly. I stay there and take my Master’s cum as it shoots from his cock. If he’s here I take the real thing, but when we are separated I wait for the sound of him cumming and, as he does, I always taste him coat my tongue with his warm, salty flavor. I love the sound of these words – they mean soon I’ll taste him again.
“Now, you’ll just wait there for me.” He added. Master normally says these words just before he cums, but this time he was still stroking himself. So, as a good slave should do, he put me where he wanted me until he had need of me. I lay there, mouth open and tongue waiting. And I listened.
I love the sound of my Master stroking himself. I enjoy hearing him getting pleasure like I enjoy my own pleasure, and I listen hard for every sound he makes. He knows this, and as a great gift to me he lets himself go. He relaxes enough to let each moan and groan loose from his mouth. This morning was no exception, and as I closed my eyes and reveled in his pleasure my hand began wander south.
My mouth obediently waiting for him, I could not ask permission to touch myself. And yet my hand ventured down between my legs. I knew this was misbehaving, but his sounds rocked me so deeply I could not resist joining him in pleasure. My cunt was hot and thick with my cum, so my fingers danced around in the mess, thrumming my clit and cunt lips.
“Such a good slave, to sit and wait for her Master.” He praised me and I blushed, knowing that I was misbehaving even then. “good girl.” Even my guilt could not dampen the automatic reaction my body had to his present.
He touched and stroked and pleasured himself and I let the sounds wash over me like warm water. I heard Master’s intensity rise and I rose with him. And finally I heard the gasps turn to a great, powerful exhale, followed by another, and another. I heard him cumming and what little I hadn’t already lost I lost now. And at that moment hot, delicious cum splashed over my tongue and down into my mouth. He filled my mouth with his cream from half a world away.
“Swallow.” He commanded. I always wait to do so until he gives me permission, even though I’m dying to from the moment I taste it. “Now, say thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you Master. Oh thank you.” Now the guilt washed over me again and I had to confess. “Master, I did a bad thing and I need to tell you.”
“What is that?” he showed no emotion in his voice as he waited for my confession.
“I touched myself while waiting but did not ask for permission.” Master let the words hang in the air for a moment. He knows me well enough to understand that the fear of disappointing him is the worst punishment I can experience. At last he spoke.
“It’s fine, Slave.” I let my relief out in a giant breath. “My Good Girl.” At this I whimpered once more. These words fill me and cut me at the same time. He always finds the most perfect time to use them.
It will be months until Master and I can touch each other again. But I think we know how to fill the time in between.
“Good morning.” I grinned as I answered, stretching out on the bed.
“Good morning baby.” He replied. And his voice had that tone. A shiver ran through me, starting at the wicked grin his voice produced.
“Mmmm…” I rolled over to put the phone between my ear and my pillow, freeing both hands. “I know that voice.”
At that second the energy coming from him changed. He’d said no new words, but his control was instant. I was now along for whatever ride he wanted me to take. “I want you to feel a wave of heat,” he began, and heat rolled through me, “coming from this voice. As you hear me speak your hands will wander down, over your cunt. Over your tits. You feel the need that this voice brings you, don’t you?” I tried to reply with a word, but already he had me panting and whimpering. A tiny whimper of “mm hmm…” was the best I could do. And with this moment things rolled forward aflame.
He didn’t entrance me. He didn’t need to. His voice, and his intrinsic power over me acted like a switch, throwing me from sleeping woman to desperate, needy bitch in a heartbeat. I kicked the covers from me, already on fire with his voice. He moved me through each level of need so fast I barely saw the progression at all. I was falling. Falling from human to those things I love to be for him. And at that moment he cemented it.
“You’re writhing and moaning for me, aren’t you.”
“Yes.” I moaned back.
“But yes doesn’t seem like the right reply, does it? It’s missing something, isn’t it?” I felt shame at having lost my place, even as I was losing my mind. “Yes what?”
“Yes, Master.” I wanted to scream it, to do whatever I could to be sure it was clear. He is my Master and I know it.
“and what are you?” So many times we’ve gone through this ritual. I know the reason he asks – he enjoys to hear me say it. He likes to hear me – a strong, some might say even powerful, mature business woman who holds sway over the lives of so many others, and who is bold and demanding and fearless with the rest of the world – give it all up and reduce myself to those things he’s allowed me to be for him. And I love to give it up for him. Because these are the things I really am.
“I am your slave, your slut, your pet,” I meekly answered, my right hand slipping around in the mess between my legs. “your toy, your plaything… your anything. Your anything you want me to be. MASTER.” My reward for an answer well given was his pleased and nasty chuckle, trickling down my ear and into my mind and stoking the flames melting my thoughts.
“And what am I?” came his next question. These answers I also love to give.
“You…” the concept of him threatened to overwhelm me for a moment, so tremendous is he to me. But I pressed on. “You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything that matters.” The final few words were almost a sob, as two fingers thrust deep into my cunt and my left hand pinched my nipple the way I knew he would if he were here with me. I felt as though my hands were no longer mine, but instead were possessed by him, doing his bidding from across the ocean.
“Excellent.” And he chuckled again.
He toyed with me more, and my mind can only recall flashes. His voice rolled me over and over, propelling my eager hands over my body like a million fingers. He plucked my strings and pulled from me the music of panting and whimpers and desperate moans, and to them all he added the percussion of his very pleased laughter. This symphony of Master and Slave. Of a plaything being played with. Of control and absolute abandon.
“You feel the faint impression of your collar around your neck.” He purrs at one moment. My reply is out of my control.
“Oh god, thank you Master. Thank you so much.” My fingers stop for a moment at my neck, hoping to find it there.
“And you feel a pull on the collar as you move, from the leash attached to it.” This leash was a Christmas purchase and I found the shiny, silver chain entranced me when we brought it home. I now found myself wanting to pull against it, just to know that it was there. That I was being held at its end. The whimper that replied had a vaguely animal sound. He laughed again at it. “Good girl.” Hearing my favorite two words I yelped in ecstasy.
To say how much time passed would be a lie because time had no meaning for me. Though he’d not put me in a trance I was entranced still, in a heady cloud of worship and powerlessness and the complete pleasure that brings to me. He enjoyed using the words “good girl” here and there because of the automatic ripple it sends through me. He gave me opportunities to call him Master; to pledge my adoration and service to him, and then he would call me his Good Girl. And I would explode with joy.
“Does my good girl deserve a reward?” he finally asked. I wanted his prize, but hesitated to state that I deserved it. But my need outweighed my humility.
“Yes, please Master.” I meekly replied.
“Do you want to cum, my slave?”
“Oh, god, yes please Master… Yes please Master.”
“You’ll cum when you hear me reach 10.” He began his instructions. “I’m going to count to ten, and with each number you’ll feel the pleasure increase. When I get to 10 you’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”
“Yes Master. Thank you Master.” I gasped. In my mind I tried to imagine being in more ecstasy than I already was, and wondered for a moment if you could lose your mind from passion. But I could not focus on the potential danger, as her began to count and my body responded.
“1… 2… 3…” he left space between each word to allow me to feel the progression. By four I had my feet planted flat on the bed, my hips bucking wildly in midair. “5… 6… 7…” I clutched at the bars of the headboard as though afraid I’d fall through the ceiling, and strained to hear him over the never ending stream of moans and cries coming from me. “8… 9… say please…”
“Please, please, Master, please!!!” I cried to him, and he generously gave me my reward.
“10.”
My breath caught in my lungs for a moment and I could not find the power to fuel the orgasm crashing through me. But suddenly it was all there and I was falling and falling. I stifled screams and released wanton cries. I gasped and panted and gasped again, but the wave showed no sign of crescendo. He let me go and go, like a science experiment with no clear goal. Let’s just see what happens. And what happened was my thighs became coated with my cum. My sheets developed a puddle. I put deep dents into the palms of my hands from clutching the square post in my headboard. I came, and came, and came until finally he allowed me to stop. And then I lay spent and exhausted.
The world was just beginning to come back into focus when another chuckle trickled through the phone. “Just one more thing?” he mentioned, nonchalantly.
“Yes?”
“Open Wide Cum Slut.”
When Master says these words to me I am programmed to open my mouth, my tongue sliding out invitingly. I stay there and take my Master’s cum as it shoots from his cock. If he’s here I take the real thing, but when we are separated I wait for the sound of him cumming and, as he does, I always taste him coat my tongue with his warm, salty flavor. I love the sound of these words – they mean soon I’ll taste him again.
“Now, you’ll just wait there for me.” He added. Master normally says these words just before he cums, but this time he was still stroking himself. So, as a good slave should do, he put me where he wanted me until he had need of me. I lay there, mouth open and tongue waiting. And I listened.
I love the sound of my Master stroking himself. I enjoy hearing him getting pleasure like I enjoy my own pleasure, and I listen hard for every sound he makes. He knows this, and as a great gift to me he lets himself go. He relaxes enough to let each moan and groan loose from his mouth. This morning was no exception, and as I closed my eyes and reveled in his pleasure my hand began wander south.
My mouth obediently waiting for him, I could not ask permission to touch myself. And yet my hand ventured down between my legs. I knew this was misbehaving, but his sounds rocked me so deeply I could not resist joining him in pleasure. My cunt was hot and thick with my cum, so my fingers danced around in the mess, thrumming my clit and cunt lips.
“Such a good slave, to sit and wait for her Master.” He praised me and I blushed, knowing that I was misbehaving even then. “good girl.” Even my guilt could not dampen the automatic reaction my body had to his present.
He touched and stroked and pleasured himself and I let the sounds wash over me like warm water. I heard Master’s intensity rise and I rose with him. And finally I heard the gasps turn to a great, powerful exhale, followed by another, and another. I heard him cumming and what little I hadn’t already lost I lost now. And at that moment hot, delicious cum splashed over my tongue and down into my mouth. He filled my mouth with his cream from half a world away.
“Swallow.” He commanded. I always wait to do so until he gives me permission, even though I’m dying to from the moment I taste it. “Now, say thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you Master. Oh thank you.” Now the guilt washed over me again and I had to confess. “Master, I did a bad thing and I need to tell you.”
“What is that?” he showed no emotion in his voice as he waited for my confession.
“I touched myself while waiting but did not ask for permission.” Master let the words hang in the air for a moment. He knows me well enough to understand that the fear of disappointing him is the worst punishment I can experience. At last he spoke.
“It’s fine, Slave.” I let my relief out in a giant breath. “My Good Girl.” At this I whimpered once more. These words fill me and cut me at the same time. He always finds the most perfect time to use them.
It will be months until Master and I can touch each other again. But I think we know how to fill the time in between.
Saturday 23 January 2010
Silencing Butterflies
The silence of my words, here in this blog, was due to devoting all my time and energy to my Master. I know that those of you who read this blog do not need me to explain this priority. It’s where we live.
I honestly expected there would be many more stories to tell you here from his trip. Unfortunately I didn’t count on both Master and I coming down ill during his trip. While it did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm for being together, and though we weathered the storms of germs so well in our relationship, we didn’t play much at all from that point on. Now Master is back in his home and we’re reminding ourselves how this works with a continent and an ocean sitting between us. We work – we work surprisingly well. But the adjustment always takes time to make.
And this is true both coming and going.
Master had been here only about an hour. I was doing my duty, unpacking his suit case and getting him settled. I was so eager to have him here I couldn’t keep my hands from reaching out and touching him constantly – still I had butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous and I was finally smart enough to share this with him. “I have to admit I’m nervous.” I confessed.
“Why?” he smiled as he answered, already setting me more at ease.
“I’m nervous about the sex.” I blushed through my reply. “I have had so little sex in the last few years I’m constantly worried that I can’t please you. That I’m not as experienced in that place as I should be.” The embarrassment burned over my face as I focused my energy very intently on the socks I was sorting. I heard him chuckle over my shoulder.
“You’re just as experienced as I want you to be.” He reassured. This helped, but the butterflies refused to shut up. We left this conversation here and I finished my task. And time passed.
Later that night I walked back into the bedroom and the world stopped. Master had used his magic word to change me from partner to plaything. I have no way of knowing what happens when he blinks me out, or how long I’m gone. But that night when I came back… things were very different.
I found myself naked and on my hands and knees. My face rested on my bedroom floor, my shoulders being shoved hard into the carpet as my Master’s amazing cock filled my cunt over and over and over. A scream ripped from my mouth in a heartbeat as I was reminded of the tremendous size and impact of Master’s cock, but it blurred into a gasp and a moan as my mind regained some level of control. I could tell, from how easily he slid into me, and how soaked my cunt was, that he’d been fucking me as a mindless doll for a while. This idea sent another rush shuddering through me.
Again and again I gasped and screamed as he filled me. Somewhere along the way I began to beg him to fuck me, and to thank him for each new thrust. My own joy dripped down my thighs, and I pushed back against his cock all I could, making sure my legs stayed firm against his force. I felt owned and used and fucked and I loved every second of it, and as I came and came again I felt him folding over my back, laughing in my ear.
As I lie on the floor, feeling so stretched and leaving a puddle on the carpet, Master smiled down at me. “I thought we should get that fear out of the way sooner rather than later.” He grinned. Sure enough, the butterflies had flown away. Now I only craved for my Master to fuck me more. The best beginning of an amazing visit.
I honestly expected there would be many more stories to tell you here from his trip. Unfortunately I didn’t count on both Master and I coming down ill during his trip. While it did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm for being together, and though we weathered the storms of germs so well in our relationship, we didn’t play much at all from that point on. Now Master is back in his home and we’re reminding ourselves how this works with a continent and an ocean sitting between us. We work – we work surprisingly well. But the adjustment always takes time to make.
And this is true both coming and going.
Master had been here only about an hour. I was doing my duty, unpacking his suit case and getting him settled. I was so eager to have him here I couldn’t keep my hands from reaching out and touching him constantly – still I had butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous and I was finally smart enough to share this with him. “I have to admit I’m nervous.” I confessed.
“Why?” he smiled as he answered, already setting me more at ease.
“I’m nervous about the sex.” I blushed through my reply. “I have had so little sex in the last few years I’m constantly worried that I can’t please you. That I’m not as experienced in that place as I should be.” The embarrassment burned over my face as I focused my energy very intently on the socks I was sorting. I heard him chuckle over my shoulder.
“You’re just as experienced as I want you to be.” He reassured. This helped, but the butterflies refused to shut up. We left this conversation here and I finished my task. And time passed.
Later that night I walked back into the bedroom and the world stopped. Master had used his magic word to change me from partner to plaything. I have no way of knowing what happens when he blinks me out, or how long I’m gone. But that night when I came back… things were very different.
I found myself naked and on my hands and knees. My face rested on my bedroom floor, my shoulders being shoved hard into the carpet as my Master’s amazing cock filled my cunt over and over and over. A scream ripped from my mouth in a heartbeat as I was reminded of the tremendous size and impact of Master’s cock, but it blurred into a gasp and a moan as my mind regained some level of control. I could tell, from how easily he slid into me, and how soaked my cunt was, that he’d been fucking me as a mindless doll for a while. This idea sent another rush shuddering through me.
Again and again I gasped and screamed as he filled me. Somewhere along the way I began to beg him to fuck me, and to thank him for each new thrust. My own joy dripped down my thighs, and I pushed back against his cock all I could, making sure my legs stayed firm against his force. I felt owned and used and fucked and I loved every second of it, and as I came and came again I felt him folding over my back, laughing in my ear.
As I lie on the floor, feeling so stretched and leaving a puddle on the carpet, Master smiled down at me. “I thought we should get that fear out of the way sooner rather than later.” He grinned. Sure enough, the butterflies had flown away. Now I only craved for my Master to fuck me more. The best beginning of an amazing visit.
Wednesday 6 January 2010
Bendable Barbie Doll
Oh so quiet from me, I know. But the reason is very good and most appropriate, and it is this: Master is here.
You may or may not know that Master lives very far away from me. A continent and an ocean separate us, though nothing else ever could. So the times that we spend actually together are rare and magnificent, and in that time I focus on nothing but him.
But last night he mentioned that the blog had been left unloved for too long, so here I am, as he does some of his own computering beside me.
Having him here is truly the most wonderful of things. We have nice, vanilla times where we go out for food or go see movies or play boardgames (and right or wrong, he lets me win when I can make it happen). We have marvelous conversations, sharing even more of ourselves with each other which amazes us both, so connected do we already feel. We share little tidbits, such as movies and books, with the other and without fail we like the same things again and again.
But these are not the things for which you read this blog, and I know it.
Master has a trigger he created in the months before he came here. As is true with the others, I don’t know what the magic word is. But he’s let me remember the experiences a few times, and they shatter me. This trigger removes my mind, leaving me an obedient, mindless plaything. His own life-sized Barbie, if you will, but with parts that actually bend. When he reduces me this way he then gets to play with me with no concerns for what I want or need or think. Because when I’m in this state I don’t want. I don’t need. I don’t think. I obey and serve and do as he commands. I’m just his toy.
Since he arrived I know he’s used the trigger many times. A couple I remember, but most I do not. What I do remember is this: he smiles at me, and then I “wake” somewhere else, in a new position, often dressed differently and usually with his cum either splashed over me or filling my mouth. And always, always my cunt is dripping, dripping, dripping. That is the part that I really don’t get – though my mind is shut off and I have no wants of my own, my cunt still reacts to whatever it is that we do. I think that’s a testament to how strongly I respond to my Master – nothing can stop me from leaking over him. Not even him.
I’ve asked him if he gets the same enjoyment from fucking someone, or even more accurately someTHING as I am in that state, who doesn’t react to him with moans or sighs or even a smile. He tells me that the biggest appeal for him of this play is that he need not spare even the tiniest thought for me. We both understand that my wants and needs mean nothing compared to his, but he loves me and cannot help but think of me when I’m writhing and squirming under him. When he simplifies me to a living doll like this such automatic concerns are wiped away, replaced with something that looks and sounds like me, but is completely his object there only to please him however he wishes.
I will ask him if he will, someday, write a blog post for you all describing what it is like when he reduces me this way. But for now I will focus on pleasing him. My greatest joy.
You may or may not know that Master lives very far away from me. A continent and an ocean separate us, though nothing else ever could. So the times that we spend actually together are rare and magnificent, and in that time I focus on nothing but him.
But last night he mentioned that the blog had been left unloved for too long, so here I am, as he does some of his own computering beside me.
Having him here is truly the most wonderful of things. We have nice, vanilla times where we go out for food or go see movies or play boardgames (and right or wrong, he lets me win when I can make it happen). We have marvelous conversations, sharing even more of ourselves with each other which amazes us both, so connected do we already feel. We share little tidbits, such as movies and books, with the other and without fail we like the same things again and again.
But these are not the things for which you read this blog, and I know it.
Master has a trigger he created in the months before he came here. As is true with the others, I don’t know what the magic word is. But he’s let me remember the experiences a few times, and they shatter me. This trigger removes my mind, leaving me an obedient, mindless plaything. His own life-sized Barbie, if you will, but with parts that actually bend. When he reduces me this way he then gets to play with me with no concerns for what I want or need or think. Because when I’m in this state I don’t want. I don’t need. I don’t think. I obey and serve and do as he commands. I’m just his toy.
Since he arrived I know he’s used the trigger many times. A couple I remember, but most I do not. What I do remember is this: he smiles at me, and then I “wake” somewhere else, in a new position, often dressed differently and usually with his cum either splashed over me or filling my mouth. And always, always my cunt is dripping, dripping, dripping. That is the part that I really don’t get – though my mind is shut off and I have no wants of my own, my cunt still reacts to whatever it is that we do. I think that’s a testament to how strongly I respond to my Master – nothing can stop me from leaking over him. Not even him.
I’ve asked him if he gets the same enjoyment from fucking someone, or even more accurately someTHING as I am in that state, who doesn’t react to him with moans or sighs or even a smile. He tells me that the biggest appeal for him of this play is that he need not spare even the tiniest thought for me. We both understand that my wants and needs mean nothing compared to his, but he loves me and cannot help but think of me when I’m writhing and squirming under him. When he simplifies me to a living doll like this such automatic concerns are wiped away, replaced with something that looks and sounds like me, but is completely his object there only to please him however he wishes.
I will ask him if he will, someday, write a blog post for you all describing what it is like when he reduces me this way. But for now I will focus on pleasing him. My greatest joy.
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