I should have seen tonight coming. Master informed me this morning that I was not allowed panties. I was already at work when this edict came, which I foolishly thought might absolve me from the fashion requirement. His response? “Guess you’ll have to do something about that then.” I knew what that meant, and 5 minutes later I returned to Master with my panties bunched into my pocket. He rewarded me with the greatest of praises: “Good girl.”
This pantiless sensation kept me aware all day. Aware of my submission, of my obedience, of my cunt. He added to this constant distraction with words that push, push, pushed me down to the place he likes me. In my head I spent the bulk of my day kneeling at his feet, gazing up at him longingly. When I went to the restroom I discovered I’d soaked through my pants and had simply been lucky that nobody had stopped by to chat yet that day!
By the time I came home the work day had cut into my focus and I’d pulled out of the mindset he’d created that morning. As I lay on my bed chatting with him via Skype I felt very normal; very mundane. I had someplace to be this evening so I couldn’t stay forever, so we chatted about life, love, everyday things. Soon he’d be headed off to sleep and I’d be off to my evening. “Could I see you?” he asked and I turned on my camera.
“Before I go to sleep,” he purred into my ears “you’ll need to show me that you are, in fact, not wearing panties.” My body hummed as I unfastened my slacks, kneeling on the bed so that the camera captured me only from knees to waist. As I pushed my pants down my legs I heard the front edge of that word: “Freeze.”
When I came back to myself I was in the same position with one important difference: my right hand was wedged between my legs. I could tell from the remaining tingle that he’d had me rubbing myself for the camera. I composed myself and then, remembering the importance of permission, I asked if I could move my hand away. He gave me some non-committal approval and I pulled my hand away, sitting back on the bed. Or at least that was my plan. But instead, seemingly in response to my attempt to pull away my hand, I began to fuck myself, my middle finger diving deep into me over and over. I erupted in squeaks, pants, groans as Master, his voice thick with amusement, asked me “What’s going on, baby?”
I tried to speak, but my voice escaped between deep breaths. “You tell me!” I snapped back (clearly too focused on my dilemma to consider what a bad time it was to talk back to my Master.) I gave up trying to control my hand and once I changed the goal my assault on my cunt stopped. “As soon as I tried to move my hand…” I felt like I shouldn’t have to say any more – my situation was obvious, as was the fact that it had to be by his design.
“Yes?” he grinned, forcing me to find the words to finish my sentence.
“I started fucking myself.” I finished, frustrated. “I couldn’t stop fucking myself.” Now I felt trapped – kneeling on the bed, my right hand deep inside my cunt. If I tried to pull it away I knew I’d go straight back to fucking. I’d found the solution, but only part of it. So very trapped. But Master wasn’t going to leave it there.
“And even as you sit there, thinking about what you want to do, you realize that just the simple thought of removing your hand now has that effect, does it not?” As he said it, it became so and my hand went back to work, fucking me furiously. I groaned in passion and frustration. He laughed in response, enjoying the show.
On and on it went, with my finger burrowing into me and my body betraying me. I could not NOT think about my hand; about what I couldn’t stop doing to myself. Instead I tried focusing on something else. Nothing could compete with the thought of Master watching me fucking on camera. Finally I found a thought I could focus on completely: my mouth sliding up and down on Master’s cock. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to kneeling over my Master, filling my mouth with his organ hungrily, and my hand slowly came to still. I fell down onto my other hand on the bed, exhausted. I thought I’d found the solution, and he’d be proud of my ingenuity. My creativity. He’d free me from his trap now. I heard his laugh grow.
“What are you thinking about, my pet?” he asks. I tell him the truth – that by thinking about worshipping his cock I could stop my thinking about my hand. I heard in his voice he was proud of my solution, but he wasn’t about to let me get off that easy. “Very good. Still, you know what you are working so hard to avoid. And really, do you want to stop?” I knew that my cunt was now throbbing from attention. Even when thinking about his cock fucking my face I could still feel the thump of my heart in my pussy. I tried to stay focused by his words pushed my new image back, and gradually my hand came back to life.
Though I could stop things for small windows it wouldn’t last. Over and over and OVER my hand would get away from me and I’d be back to panting and moaning. Soon my symphony of worship included the thick “slurp” of my hand as it plunged into my cunt over and over, my juices squishing out around my fingers. I gave up trying to stop – I’d lost control completely and I could hear how much my Master was enjoying his win. But as I built up speed and enthusiasm I felt myself hearing the edge of the cliff. So I asked, begged him. “Master, can I cum?”
“Not yet.” He smiled. I cried out in dismay. I fucked and fucked, holding myself at bay but I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. The combination of the feeling of my hand and the feeling of his control; of my helplessness; of my humiliation were getting the best of me. I started to worry out loud.
“What if I can’t stop from cumming?” I asked him. “what if I can’t help it? If I cum without permission? What if I do it, Master?” He held me back with encouraging words for a while, but finally he changed his mind.
“Alright, my dear. You can cum.” I was sure that would be my release. “But you can’t stop.”
“Can’t stop cumming? Or can’t stop fucking myself?” I panted, panicked.
“Well in a way both.” I could hear how amused he was. “You cannot stop latter, and that will cause the former.” He was right, of course.
I let the walls down and fell back on the bed, cumming and cumming. Each wave that crashed over me seemed like it would have to be the end, but then another would follow behind it. And all the while my hand kept cramming into me, deeper and faster and hotter. It was an unstoppable maze of fucking and cumming; cumming and fucking. I have no idea how long he kept me in this puzzle. I was his toy and he enjoyed the playing. I fell into a hole in my own mind, where I could not escape the loop. Things became simple; clear. I need just keep pleasing Master in this way. If I kept fucking myself, my hand and my cunt in view of the camera, providing him the show he desired then I’d need worry about nothing else. I was doing the only thing that mattered in all the world: obeying. Just as I began to fear that he’d leave me this way forever, fucking my mind into oblivion, I heard the words I cherish.
“Open Wide Cum Slut.” My hand never stopped, but now I focused on opening my mouth wide to allow my Master’s cum to fill it. Once he finished cumming he told me “swallow it all down.” And I eagerly did so. I was still swallowing when he said “now you will cum for me once more. Once you’re finished you will return to normal, remembering everything.” This, my seventh and final time cumming, was the most amazing. I cried out over and over as I finally came down from this high. My hand, soaked with my cream, finally stopped moving. I lay there spent. And content. And happily obedient. The way that Master so often makes me.
Showing posts with label playing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label playing. Show all posts
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Friday, 15 October 2010
Surprise
Life is too, too full. The more it fills, the less my Master and I have time for play. I know, this is an old song that I’ve played so many times before. The vanilla world sometimes forces the more interesting flavors to take not just a backseat, but to sit in the trunk or run behind, and lately that’s been our situation. With the many new pressures burdening Master my duty now is to be whatever support he needs, and in all things as long as I am doing what he wants I’m happy.
But I still miss our play.
At four this morning my alarm sounded. I’d set it because I’d not been able to stop pining for Master since he’d gone to sleep on the other end of the internet the previous afternoon. I knew that he’d be awake now and hopefully free, so I woke up and reached out to him. The conversation was lovely; I blame my still sleepy brain on having missed any indication whatsoever that Master was in a mood. When I went from lying sprawled across the bed to on my knees, my shoulders dug into the mattress and my finger slipping over my wet slit I wasn’t even slightly ready. Even less so for the feel of his incredible cock plowing into me from behind.
I think I was moaning and gasping before I became fully conscious.
His cock ramming into me shoved my face into the bed over and over, drowning out my squeals. I wondered if anything more was coming, but this morning he was focused; driven. He fucked me over and over, basking in my helpless noises, occasionally chuckling at my pleading for mercy. But he knew I wanted no mercy, and he showed me none. I couldn’t know how long I bounced there, but eventually I heard my voice panting that I needed to cum. He asked me with a sly smile in his voice “do you want to cum?” I think my “Yes!” escaped before he finished the question, but still he asked another question. “Do you need it?” Still I cried out to him.
“Then beg…”
And beg I certainly did. I needed it, I would do anything for it, whatever he wanted, I loved to be used this way, please let me cum… anything that came to my mind tumbled out of my babbling, desperate lips as he never let up on my sopping wet cunt. He let me beg, but he told me no anyway; possibly just to hear my sob at having to hold on longer. I had to be so careful to not lose control – for just a split second I wondered if he was stroking his cock as he played and the image in my mind almost pushed me over the edge. But I was a good girl – I held on as he fucked my cunt and he fucked my mind.
But at last he began the countdown and I knew I was almost at my release. When his warm, thick voice poured the word “one” into my ears I exploded with yelps and gasps and words of thank you, thank you, god thank you…
He always says it was his pleasure. But I know that nobody has the pleasure that I do in that moment.
But I still miss our play.
At four this morning my alarm sounded. I’d set it because I’d not been able to stop pining for Master since he’d gone to sleep on the other end of the internet the previous afternoon. I knew that he’d be awake now and hopefully free, so I woke up and reached out to him. The conversation was lovely; I blame my still sleepy brain on having missed any indication whatsoever that Master was in a mood. When I went from lying sprawled across the bed to on my knees, my shoulders dug into the mattress and my finger slipping over my wet slit I wasn’t even slightly ready. Even less so for the feel of his incredible cock plowing into me from behind.
I think I was moaning and gasping before I became fully conscious.
His cock ramming into me shoved my face into the bed over and over, drowning out my squeals. I wondered if anything more was coming, but this morning he was focused; driven. He fucked me over and over, basking in my helpless noises, occasionally chuckling at my pleading for mercy. But he knew I wanted no mercy, and he showed me none. I couldn’t know how long I bounced there, but eventually I heard my voice panting that I needed to cum. He asked me with a sly smile in his voice “do you want to cum?” I think my “Yes!” escaped before he finished the question, but still he asked another question. “Do you need it?” Still I cried out to him.
“Then beg…”
And beg I certainly did. I needed it, I would do anything for it, whatever he wanted, I loved to be used this way, please let me cum… anything that came to my mind tumbled out of my babbling, desperate lips as he never let up on my sopping wet cunt. He let me beg, but he told me no anyway; possibly just to hear my sob at having to hold on longer. I had to be so careful to not lose control – for just a split second I wondered if he was stroking his cock as he played and the image in my mind almost pushed me over the edge. But I was a good girl – I held on as he fucked my cunt and he fucked my mind.
But at last he began the countdown and I knew I was almost at my release. When his warm, thick voice poured the word “one” into my ears I exploded with yelps and gasps and words of thank you, thank you, god thank you…
He always says it was his pleasure. But I know that nobody has the pleasure that I do in that moment.
Monday, 6 September 2010
Spiralling Down
I sensed something was up – there was an edge to his voice. A tension in his tone, but he was making me wait and wonder what he had in mind. The camera was on me this night, and I was wearing the slinky, short dress that he likes. As I sat on the couch, talking about whatever it was we were talking about then, I heard the shift just as the word came from his mouth. “Freeze.”
I came back to myself with a faint image in my vision, like when you look at the camera just as the flash goes off and see that flash the rest of the night. Everywhere I looked I saw the world overlapped by this spiral, turning before me. It distracted me, almost irritating, and I closed my eyes to clear the view. It stayed, and I found myself distracted by something else too… a need.
Master could see I was struggling. “What’s the matter?” he asked. I tried to bury the twinge, but at last I confessed to him that I was feeling a pull from between my legs. I asked him for permission to indulge, and with a smile in his voice he took pity on me. He had me make sure the camera is pointed to where he can see, but he let me touch. And touch I did. One hand stroked my clit while the other wandered from cunt to chest. I stroked and probed, but it was not enough.
I asked Master for permission to use my glorious, blue glass dildo and he once again showed me his generosity and granted me permission. I worked the cold glass into my cunt, then back out, and in a few minutes I’d found a fast, furious rhythm. I fucked myself in full view of the camera, moaning and gasping. Master asked how I’m doing and I purred something about doing so well…
He asked again, and each time I enjoyed finding another naughty response, but the third time I stumbled in my mind a little. I was hot, and horny, but something else. Something in my head was getting… fuzzy. The edges of my thinking was getting slightly frayed, but not enough to keep the need from moving me forward. So I fucked myself on and on, loving that Master could see me doing it.
The fucking, I realize, was causing the fuzzy. Though I wanted to just love the feeling of the hard, smooth pole slamming in and out of me, I was distracted by the way my brain was clouding over. Master could see my struggles and asked what I was thinking, and I tried to explain, but the most I could say at first was that I was getting fuzzy. As I kept plowing into my pussy he continued to probe about what I was thinking, what I was feeling.
The blur over my thoughts became a shadow, and then I recognized what was happening. He was pushing me down again, sliding the true me back down into the hole where I stopped being a participant and became instead a spectator. This was a new facet to our play, and it stokes me up intensely. Once my strong hold on the world starts to slip I know I’m changing – the question is always what will he change this time?
The answer this time comes with the first growl. Master knows that the thought of being his eager, obedient pet, trotting along on my hands and knees at the end of his leash, is one of THE most erotic ideas for me, and lately he’s been generous indulging me here. This night was another gift from him, and the dildo crashing in and out of my cunt pushed my mind further into the hole as his pet took more and more control. Growling and whining and panting I fuck my mind away.
Master asks me repeatedly what I’m thinking and feeling until the words are gone once again, left just with animal sounds and my animal mind. When I can no longer answer him with words he laughs that dark, sinister yet sexy laugh that I adore. I listen carefully over my pants and whines and I hear him stroking his cock on his end of the line. He’s got his happy, horny slut puppy back to play with and play he does. With me, and with himself.
The fucking goes on for a long time, each thrust just moving me further from my mind and more wild in the throes of passion. But at last through the animal fog I hear his voice.
“Open Wide, Cum Slut."
I open my mouth to him and I feel his hot, tasty cum shoot into it. He lets me swallow. He lets me cum, all grunts and pants and barks. And as I cum I come back to him, human once again. But still, and always, obedient to my Master.
I came back to myself with a faint image in my vision, like when you look at the camera just as the flash goes off and see that flash the rest of the night. Everywhere I looked I saw the world overlapped by this spiral, turning before me. It distracted me, almost irritating, and I closed my eyes to clear the view. It stayed, and I found myself distracted by something else too… a need.
Master could see I was struggling. “What’s the matter?” he asked. I tried to bury the twinge, but at last I confessed to him that I was feeling a pull from between my legs. I asked him for permission to indulge, and with a smile in his voice he took pity on me. He had me make sure the camera is pointed to where he can see, but he let me touch. And touch I did. One hand stroked my clit while the other wandered from cunt to chest. I stroked and probed, but it was not enough.
I asked Master for permission to use my glorious, blue glass dildo and he once again showed me his generosity and granted me permission. I worked the cold glass into my cunt, then back out, and in a few minutes I’d found a fast, furious rhythm. I fucked myself in full view of the camera, moaning and gasping. Master asked how I’m doing and I purred something about doing so well…
He asked again, and each time I enjoyed finding another naughty response, but the third time I stumbled in my mind a little. I was hot, and horny, but something else. Something in my head was getting… fuzzy. The edges of my thinking was getting slightly frayed, but not enough to keep the need from moving me forward. So I fucked myself on and on, loving that Master could see me doing it.
The fucking, I realize, was causing the fuzzy. Though I wanted to just love the feeling of the hard, smooth pole slamming in and out of me, I was distracted by the way my brain was clouding over. Master could see my struggles and asked what I was thinking, and I tried to explain, but the most I could say at first was that I was getting fuzzy. As I kept plowing into my pussy he continued to probe about what I was thinking, what I was feeling.
The blur over my thoughts became a shadow, and then I recognized what was happening. He was pushing me down again, sliding the true me back down into the hole where I stopped being a participant and became instead a spectator. This was a new facet to our play, and it stokes me up intensely. Once my strong hold on the world starts to slip I know I’m changing – the question is always what will he change this time?
The answer this time comes with the first growl. Master knows that the thought of being his eager, obedient pet, trotting along on my hands and knees at the end of his leash, is one of THE most erotic ideas for me, and lately he’s been generous indulging me here. This night was another gift from him, and the dildo crashing in and out of my cunt pushed my mind further into the hole as his pet took more and more control. Growling and whining and panting I fuck my mind away.
Master asks me repeatedly what I’m thinking and feeling until the words are gone once again, left just with animal sounds and my animal mind. When I can no longer answer him with words he laughs that dark, sinister yet sexy laugh that I adore. I listen carefully over my pants and whines and I hear him stroking his cock on his end of the line. He’s got his happy, horny slut puppy back to play with and play he does. With me, and with himself.
The fucking goes on for a long time, each thrust just moving me further from my mind and more wild in the throes of passion. But at last through the animal fog I hear his voice.
“Open Wide, Cum Slut."
I open my mouth to him and I feel his hot, tasty cum shoot into it. He lets me swallow. He lets me cum, all grunts and pants and barks. And as I cum I come back to him, human once again. But still, and always, obedient to my Master.
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Best Seat in the House
Life is very full. Very busy. Master and I only get so many chances to play, and as with all things it’s up to him to decide when; decide where; decide how. I trust his decisions, as the way his mind works is one of the sexiest things about him. But sometimes the suspense kills me.
One weekend I woke and found he was there. Starting my day with him is one of the perks of weekends; as we chatted and lazed around my guard dropped. I was surprised when, in a split second, I went from sprawled across the bed to on my hands and knees, his hard, strong cock pumping into my cunt. I pushed my mind to catch up; soon I pumped back, enjoying the feeling of him inside me even as his voice fell from the headphones into my mind. I adore the feeling of being fucked by my Master and revel in it whenever he gifts it to me.
But there was more happening here. After a few minutes I began to feel something… shifting? Something in my mind was sliding back, losing some purchase. Losing grip. I groaned and ground back and grunted and… growled. A low, guttural rumble from my chest. Where it came from I couldn’t say, but it sent a shockwave through my already slippery snatch. I was powerless to stop the fucking, fucking, fucking, but I began to realize that this was pushing me toward something.
Master asked me how I was doing and I tried to reply, to use my words. I think I said fine? Good? Something like that, but whatever the word I used wasn’t the important part. It was the amount of work to get a word to come out that I focused on. The further along he fucked me the more my grip on humanity became slippery. I clutched at speech and spit out some word that showed me I was still a person, but almost immediately after my words came the first whine. High and squeaky and beyond my control. And here I noticed that my heavy breathing was coming in shorter, staccato dashes. Fast, quick breaths in and out.
Pants. I said my word, my totem of humanity again even though the lame word came nowhere close to an accurate description of the way he was rocking me. I just needed to hold on to my humanity and this word was how I was sure I could do it. I slammed back against the feel of his cock in my cunt, pushing along my descent, and told him I was fine. And then I growled and groaned and panted and panted.
I felt the hard, hot leather around my neck and the pull of my leash holding up my head. The sound of his pleased laughter sent a warm gush of cream sliding down my thigh and I panted harder and harder. The growls became more primal, and when next Master asked how I was doing the words were gone. I whined instead, the closest way I had anymore to beg him for mercy. I begged for him and he enjoyed my fall away from being his slave, further down to being his pet.
He fucked me and fucked me, and finally he asked if I wanted to cum. I made my animal noises, not sure how to get what I needed, so he gave me a clear command: “Beg.” And beg I did. As my animal rutting continued non-stop I let my desperate, wanton begging whines fill the room and he let me beg for a long time. When at last he told me to cum I let my head fold down onto the bed and growled into the start of the rush. When I heard myself barking into the orgasm I wanted to stop, to quiet, but the need was so much stronger than my pride. I barked and yelped and growled and whined and came and came and came for him.
As I felt the rush I also felt the last of my humanity fall down into a dark hole. From inside this tiny place I could see my world around me, but couldn’t touch anything. I felt this new bitch me around me like a shadow, but I was a voyeur of everything that happened now. I felt myself being my Master’s bitch. I felt the emotions and sensations, but I also felt my human reactions to the humility and degredation, and my inability to do anything but ride along.
In my new bitch form I knelt on the bed, my tongue hanging gently from the corner of my mouth, with my Master’s voice in my ears. My mind, so simple now, lay satisfied and flat. Master commanded me to speak and I barked happily for him. He commanded me to beg and my eager, begging whines flowed out. He called me a good girl and I swooned. At some point I became aware that I was “wagging” my “tail”, so happy to be obeying Master.
“Speak.” Again I barked. He repeated this one a few times, and each time my obedience was instantaneous. There was no thinking – only obeying. When next he told me to beg he included that I should assume the proper begging position. I faltered for a moment, nervous about trying to balance on only my hind quarters, but with a moment’s preparation I tucked my paws below my tits, careful not to block his view of them, and begged again. And my reward, another “good girl”, was the greatest gift possible. Each time he praised me I panted excitedly for my Master; for his pleasure.
Eventually Master brought me back to reality. My legs were slick all up and down from my constant and overwhelming pleasure at being his pet. He let me go, but he let me live these moments, and let me wonder for even just a second whether he might leave me this way, barking and begging for his love and enjoyment. Wonder… would that be the worst thing? Or the best?
One weekend I woke and found he was there. Starting my day with him is one of the perks of weekends; as we chatted and lazed around my guard dropped. I was surprised when, in a split second, I went from sprawled across the bed to on my hands and knees, his hard, strong cock pumping into my cunt. I pushed my mind to catch up; soon I pumped back, enjoying the feeling of him inside me even as his voice fell from the headphones into my mind. I adore the feeling of being fucked by my Master and revel in it whenever he gifts it to me.
But there was more happening here. After a few minutes I began to feel something… shifting? Something in my mind was sliding back, losing some purchase. Losing grip. I groaned and ground back and grunted and… growled. A low, guttural rumble from my chest. Where it came from I couldn’t say, but it sent a shockwave through my already slippery snatch. I was powerless to stop the fucking, fucking, fucking, but I began to realize that this was pushing me toward something.
Master asked me how I was doing and I tried to reply, to use my words. I think I said fine? Good? Something like that, but whatever the word I used wasn’t the important part. It was the amount of work to get a word to come out that I focused on. The further along he fucked me the more my grip on humanity became slippery. I clutched at speech and spit out some word that showed me I was still a person, but almost immediately after my words came the first whine. High and squeaky and beyond my control. And here I noticed that my heavy breathing was coming in shorter, staccato dashes. Fast, quick breaths in and out.
Pants. I said my word, my totem of humanity again even though the lame word came nowhere close to an accurate description of the way he was rocking me. I just needed to hold on to my humanity and this word was how I was sure I could do it. I slammed back against the feel of his cock in my cunt, pushing along my descent, and told him I was fine. And then I growled and groaned and panted and panted.
I felt the hard, hot leather around my neck and the pull of my leash holding up my head. The sound of his pleased laughter sent a warm gush of cream sliding down my thigh and I panted harder and harder. The growls became more primal, and when next Master asked how I was doing the words were gone. I whined instead, the closest way I had anymore to beg him for mercy. I begged for him and he enjoyed my fall away from being his slave, further down to being his pet.
He fucked me and fucked me, and finally he asked if I wanted to cum. I made my animal noises, not sure how to get what I needed, so he gave me a clear command: “Beg.” And beg I did. As my animal rutting continued non-stop I let my desperate, wanton begging whines fill the room and he let me beg for a long time. When at last he told me to cum I let my head fold down onto the bed and growled into the start of the rush. When I heard myself barking into the orgasm I wanted to stop, to quiet, but the need was so much stronger than my pride. I barked and yelped and growled and whined and came and came and came for him.
As I felt the rush I also felt the last of my humanity fall down into a dark hole. From inside this tiny place I could see my world around me, but couldn’t touch anything. I felt this new bitch me around me like a shadow, but I was a voyeur of everything that happened now. I felt myself being my Master’s bitch. I felt the emotions and sensations, but I also felt my human reactions to the humility and degredation, and my inability to do anything but ride along.
In my new bitch form I knelt on the bed, my tongue hanging gently from the corner of my mouth, with my Master’s voice in my ears. My mind, so simple now, lay satisfied and flat. Master commanded me to speak and I barked happily for him. He commanded me to beg and my eager, begging whines flowed out. He called me a good girl and I swooned. At some point I became aware that I was “wagging” my “tail”, so happy to be obeying Master.
“Speak.” Again I barked. He repeated this one a few times, and each time my obedience was instantaneous. There was no thinking – only obeying. When next he told me to beg he included that I should assume the proper begging position. I faltered for a moment, nervous about trying to balance on only my hind quarters, but with a moment’s preparation I tucked my paws below my tits, careful not to block his view of them, and begged again. And my reward, another “good girl”, was the greatest gift possible. Each time he praised me I panted excitedly for my Master; for his pleasure.
Eventually Master brought me back to reality. My legs were slick all up and down from my constant and overwhelming pleasure at being his pet. He let me go, but he let me live these moments, and let me wonder for even just a second whether he might leave me this way, barking and begging for his love and enjoyment. Wonder… would that be the worst thing? Or the best?
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Good Girl gets a Treat
I am many things for my Master, and often he enjoys having me tell him, over and over, what all these things are. The words would fall from my mouth in a kinky waterfall, liquid and languid: “I am your slave, your slut, your toy, your fuckhole…”
Your pet.
Of all my titles, the one that most shakes me and makes me tingle is pet. A few weeks after he first found and claimed me he had me crawling through my home at the end of an invisible leash and the profound impact on my mind, on my libido, on my gushing cunt shocked me. Rocked me. Has never let me go, not since. I loved how low and humiliating that moment had me, simply to please this man. This was a flavor I’d never tasted before, but I have craved it ever since.
Master knows this and I think he holds these moments as rare because of it. He knows that I would do just about anything for this feeling, and that if I am allowed to indulge in it too often it will lose some of its shine. He lets my cravings rage and boil and every once in a while he gives me just a little bite from his end of the leash. This night was one of those moments.
He told me to strip. Wanted me bare and defenseless before him, and I quickly complied. Once naked he put me to my knees, buckling my collar around my neck, my leash already attached to the ring at the front. He turned and walked around the bed, pulling me crawling behind him. Once we reached my designated side of the bed he helped me hop up into it, positioning me where he wanted me before he began to lock my leash to the headboard. I loved the idea of being locked into place, unable to escape despite the fact that escape is always the farthest thing from my mind.
Once locked in place my Master began his own end-of-day process, climbing into the bed beside me. Late was the hour and he had been tired already, so I knew not to expect any more excitement. I lay beside his amazing body, my nipples tingling at the thoughts flashing through my mind, but I was good and didn’t push. Didn’t beg or whimper, didn’t show him my puppy dog eyes. I simply lay there, naked and chained and lightly panting. And just that was enough to bring his amazing cock hard, and his attentions to his eager pet.
He knelt before me, pushing my legs open and spread wide for him, and his hand snaked out, wrapping around the leash where it connected to my collar. He pushed his cock into my cunt, soaked and dripping with anticipation, and began to force himself to the back of my hole. Within a few strokes his movement went from fucking me to pounding me. Hard and deep, lightly snarling as his fist tightened even more at my throat, my collar.
I dissolved into my favorite pet persona as he held my leash and clobbered my cunt. I squealed and moaned and cried out with the passion and a little bit for pity, but I knew from the look in his eyes there would be none of that. And next came his magnificent words.
Like a dirty Disney narrator he told me what I was and what he was doing to me. He called me slut and pet and he pounded away, one hand never leaving the firm grip on my collar and leash while the other twisted my nipples or pulled my ass tight to allow for a harder hit. He fucked me and played with me and put me so perfectly in my place with each word and thrust.
When he finally let my orgasm crash through me I swear I secretly wanted to howl; my inner animal let loose as I look into his deep and evil eyes smiling down at me. I drifted off to sleep with visions of walks through the park on my leash running through my head. Happy to be pleasing my Master.
Your pet.
Of all my titles, the one that most shakes me and makes me tingle is pet. A few weeks after he first found and claimed me he had me crawling through my home at the end of an invisible leash and the profound impact on my mind, on my libido, on my gushing cunt shocked me. Rocked me. Has never let me go, not since. I loved how low and humiliating that moment had me, simply to please this man. This was a flavor I’d never tasted before, but I have craved it ever since.
Master knows this and I think he holds these moments as rare because of it. He knows that I would do just about anything for this feeling, and that if I am allowed to indulge in it too often it will lose some of its shine. He lets my cravings rage and boil and every once in a while he gives me just a little bite from his end of the leash. This night was one of those moments.
He told me to strip. Wanted me bare and defenseless before him, and I quickly complied. Once naked he put me to my knees, buckling my collar around my neck, my leash already attached to the ring at the front. He turned and walked around the bed, pulling me crawling behind him. Once we reached my designated side of the bed he helped me hop up into it, positioning me where he wanted me before he began to lock my leash to the headboard. I loved the idea of being locked into place, unable to escape despite the fact that escape is always the farthest thing from my mind.
Once locked in place my Master began his own end-of-day process, climbing into the bed beside me. Late was the hour and he had been tired already, so I knew not to expect any more excitement. I lay beside his amazing body, my nipples tingling at the thoughts flashing through my mind, but I was good and didn’t push. Didn’t beg or whimper, didn’t show him my puppy dog eyes. I simply lay there, naked and chained and lightly panting. And just that was enough to bring his amazing cock hard, and his attentions to his eager pet.
He knelt before me, pushing my legs open and spread wide for him, and his hand snaked out, wrapping around the leash where it connected to my collar. He pushed his cock into my cunt, soaked and dripping with anticipation, and began to force himself to the back of my hole. Within a few strokes his movement went from fucking me to pounding me. Hard and deep, lightly snarling as his fist tightened even more at my throat, my collar.
I dissolved into my favorite pet persona as he held my leash and clobbered my cunt. I squealed and moaned and cried out with the passion and a little bit for pity, but I knew from the look in his eyes there would be none of that. And next came his magnificent words.
Like a dirty Disney narrator he told me what I was and what he was doing to me. He called me slut and pet and he pounded away, one hand never leaving the firm grip on my collar and leash while the other twisted my nipples or pulled my ass tight to allow for a harder hit. He fucked me and played with me and put me so perfectly in my place with each word and thrust.
When he finally let my orgasm crash through me I swear I secretly wanted to howl; my inner animal let loose as I look into his deep and evil eyes smiling down at me. I drifted off to sleep with visions of walks through the park on my leash running through my head. Happy to be pleasing my Master.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
To Give and To Receive
He had THAT look in his eye. Wheels turning; gears clicking. I asked what he was thinking, and contrary to his normal M.O., he actually told me. “I’m thinking that this weekend we’ll have one full day of submission.” My heart skipped a beat, excited at a whole day to do nothing but serve. Much as Master and I both enjoy our places with each other we find that real life makes it hard to indulge constantly. Nothing like calling someone “Master” in the lunchmeat section of the grocery store to make you feel COMPLETELY conspicuous. But with this announcement I knew Master would be dedicating a whole day to our dynamic. The rest of the week went much too slow for my liking…
The night before our day he tranced me and adjusted my view on the world ever so slightly – he simplified me so that my focus was only on serving. I was still myself, but all the superfluous concerns of the world were quieted – I only concerned myself with whether I was pleasing my Master. I loved this focus; my shoulders were lighter and my smile easier. With this adjustment the world made complete sense, and how often can any of us say that? Master placed my beloved collar around my neck, attached the leash and shackled me to the bed for the night.
I woke a little early and crept out of the bed, careful not to wake him. After serving him a hot breakfast in bed I enjoyed an hour of cleaning the house. A task that would normally be a complete chore was a joy simply because I knew Master would enjoy a clean house. He came out of the bedroom to the couch, chatting with some online friends as I finished the house cleaning, and I beamed with pride as he bragged about his obedient slave, eagerly cleaning around him. To give himself just a little more to brag about, he pulled me to my knees before him, continuing to chat as I slurped hungrily on his cock.
I love to suck Master’s cock, and I love to serve. But the overwhelming pride of that moment, giving my owner pleasure and demonstrating my value all while my mouth was filled over and over with his tremendous manhood was so amazing as to be dizzying. Topped only by the moment when he took my hand and lead me to the bedroom so he could fuck me.
And fuck me he did. Master filled my cunt over and over, building me so quickly to a peak I’d rarely felt. I writhed and whimpered below him, feeling so lucky to be worth his attention. Worth his hands and his mouth and his hard, huge cock. His every touch was a gift; I couldn’t get enough of him. When the orgasm hit me it melted my mind to a puddle of happy, and I lie there on the bed completely conquered. There Master blindfolded me and bound my wrists and ankles to the bed, leaving me to stew in my ecstatic juices. He returned to the living room for a while, and I found the feeling of being left, as though I had fulfilled my purpose; a toy played with and now left, dirty and used on the floor – this only added to my intoxicating feeling of service to him.
After a while I heard Master come back into the room, sitting on the bed beside me. I heard him clicking on his laptop, but soon another sound caught my attention: he stroked his cock beside me as I lie there hoping to be interesting enough to attract his attention again. He ignored me, and that made me even more desperate. I focused my whole dark world on the sound of him stroking himself, picturing him in my mind, wishing I could reach out and touch any part of him. Was the sight of me, naked and wriggling against my restraints, any inspiration for him? Or was I barely an afterthought? His manipulations of my mind, of the way I looked at the world, focusing absolutely everything on him and his pleasure, made my desperation positively tasty. Made it sweet and thick and hot, like a syrup coating me. I panted as he came closer to the edge; as he came closer to me, crawling to my body.
The first warm, salty jet of cum hit my face and I gasped. And moaned. He coated my happy, grateful face with his cum, allowing me to rub his cock over my features before he slipped the tip in my mouth to suck the last drops. Once he was finished he once more left me there, letting the cum dry over my face as I remained trapped on the bed. I sneaked my tongue out little by little to lick the cum off of my lips, enjoying the familiar flavor. But mostly I lied there, still in the dark, happy to just wait for Master to want me again.
Finally he came back, enjoying the sight of his slave with her face smeared with his seed. He removed my blindfold and restraints, and pulled away the changes from my mind, letting me lie there and revel in my morning, but as myself rather than as his simplified slave. Though I thought that I’d slowly come down from the excitement, soon I realize that all of the moments had overwhelmed my libido and I was desperate for a little more pleasure. I asked my Master if I could fuck myself with my favorite blue, glass dildo, and he generously allowed me. As he sat beside me, once again sharing the joys of Masterhood with his online friends, I began to push my indigo toy in and out of me, building quickly to a head. I fell over the edge of the cliff and thanked him and thanked him and thanked him for a wonderful, mind-shattering day. Though I am always his, to do with as he wishes and pleases, it was a special joy to be ONLY his toy. I hope we get to do it again when he comes home for the holidays.
The night before our day he tranced me and adjusted my view on the world ever so slightly – he simplified me so that my focus was only on serving. I was still myself, but all the superfluous concerns of the world were quieted – I only concerned myself with whether I was pleasing my Master. I loved this focus; my shoulders were lighter and my smile easier. With this adjustment the world made complete sense, and how often can any of us say that? Master placed my beloved collar around my neck, attached the leash and shackled me to the bed for the night.
I woke a little early and crept out of the bed, careful not to wake him. After serving him a hot breakfast in bed I enjoyed an hour of cleaning the house. A task that would normally be a complete chore was a joy simply because I knew Master would enjoy a clean house. He came out of the bedroom to the couch, chatting with some online friends as I finished the house cleaning, and I beamed with pride as he bragged about his obedient slave, eagerly cleaning around him. To give himself just a little more to brag about, he pulled me to my knees before him, continuing to chat as I slurped hungrily on his cock.
I love to suck Master’s cock, and I love to serve. But the overwhelming pride of that moment, giving my owner pleasure and demonstrating my value all while my mouth was filled over and over with his tremendous manhood was so amazing as to be dizzying. Topped only by the moment when he took my hand and lead me to the bedroom so he could fuck me.
And fuck me he did. Master filled my cunt over and over, building me so quickly to a peak I’d rarely felt. I writhed and whimpered below him, feeling so lucky to be worth his attention. Worth his hands and his mouth and his hard, huge cock. His every touch was a gift; I couldn’t get enough of him. When the orgasm hit me it melted my mind to a puddle of happy, and I lie there on the bed completely conquered. There Master blindfolded me and bound my wrists and ankles to the bed, leaving me to stew in my ecstatic juices. He returned to the living room for a while, and I found the feeling of being left, as though I had fulfilled my purpose; a toy played with and now left, dirty and used on the floor – this only added to my intoxicating feeling of service to him.
After a while I heard Master come back into the room, sitting on the bed beside me. I heard him clicking on his laptop, but soon another sound caught my attention: he stroked his cock beside me as I lie there hoping to be interesting enough to attract his attention again. He ignored me, and that made me even more desperate. I focused my whole dark world on the sound of him stroking himself, picturing him in my mind, wishing I could reach out and touch any part of him. Was the sight of me, naked and wriggling against my restraints, any inspiration for him? Or was I barely an afterthought? His manipulations of my mind, of the way I looked at the world, focusing absolutely everything on him and his pleasure, made my desperation positively tasty. Made it sweet and thick and hot, like a syrup coating me. I panted as he came closer to the edge; as he came closer to me, crawling to my body.
The first warm, salty jet of cum hit my face and I gasped. And moaned. He coated my happy, grateful face with his cum, allowing me to rub his cock over my features before he slipped the tip in my mouth to suck the last drops. Once he was finished he once more left me there, letting the cum dry over my face as I remained trapped on the bed. I sneaked my tongue out little by little to lick the cum off of my lips, enjoying the familiar flavor. But mostly I lied there, still in the dark, happy to just wait for Master to want me again.
Finally he came back, enjoying the sight of his slave with her face smeared with his seed. He removed my blindfold and restraints, and pulled away the changes from my mind, letting me lie there and revel in my morning, but as myself rather than as his simplified slave. Though I thought that I’d slowly come down from the excitement, soon I realize that all of the moments had overwhelmed my libido and I was desperate for a little more pleasure. I asked my Master if I could fuck myself with my favorite blue, glass dildo, and he generously allowed me. As he sat beside me, once again sharing the joys of Masterhood with his online friends, I began to push my indigo toy in and out of me, building quickly to a head. I fell over the edge of the cliff and thanked him and thanked him and thanked him for a wonderful, mind-shattering day. Though I am always his, to do with as he wishes and pleases, it was a special joy to be ONLY his toy. I hope we get to do it again when he comes home for the holidays.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Gift
We’d talked about it a few times. Master knew completely how I felt about it – how the combination of the taboo and the utter and complete lack of control combined in this one act to make me shudder at the thought of it. In most relationships you’d expect the man – and especially the dominant man – to be pushing for this, but not with us. I’ve held my breath now for almost six months, wondering if I’d made my Master sufficiently intrigued with the idea that he might give it a try. Wondering if I might, while we’re finally together for weeks on end, feel my beloved Master fuck me in the ass.
There are many things at which my Master is (if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase) masterful; the mindfuck is most definitely one of them. Dangling ideas in front of me like steak before a dog, making me whimper and beg for them. Though he’s talked of ass-fucking, and has even let me feel it in my head, my Master has been ‘on the fence’ himself. The act doesn’t give to him, as it does to some men, that feeling of control. For him the best, most complete and satisfying control is that which he already has over me: total control of my mind. With a turn of some secret phrase he could have me down on all fours, wagging my tail and licking his hand, and so what satisfaction is there to take from the simple, and not entirely unmessy, act of cramming his huge cock into my rear? But he knows that for me it does all the things others might think it would. And as such he’s let me think about the idea of it almost constantly.
Screw that. CONSTANTLY.
On the second full day of my Master’s visit we enjoyed a long, hot shower together. I spent some time kneeling, his cock filling my mouth. The heat between us dwarfed the heat of the water, and that was enough for me. He pulled me to my feet and I thought we were finished with the shower and getting ready to step out, when he spun me around to face the opposite wall and, using his powers over my mind, “chained” my wrists to the wall above my head. At this point I knew something was happening. He positioned me just so, and I felt the tip of his cock sliding between my ass cheeks. My breathing quickened as he put his lips to my ear and whispered all the things I was thinking; that he could do this to me any time he wanted to. That I was his to do with as he pleased. That with but a small bit of extra pressure my ass could be full of him to overflowing.
I knew he was teasing. He was enjoying the mix of panic and lust in my panting. He was reveling in his complete and total ownership of me and of our dynamic. I enjoyed the thought that he still might do it, but I knew it wasn’t coming now. And so as his cock pushed against my rosebud and began to enter me I almost didn’t believe what was happening.
But within a few moments I felt myself stretched and full of him. He had decided that the time to reward me was right then after all.
I gasped and groaned. To both of our surprise some of his thrusts brought loud, almost painful cries from me, but I was quick to assure him I was feeling no pain. It was everything I had hoped for – dirty and hot and completely out of my control. His words in my ear never stopped, proving to be almost the more insidious of the fucking deep inside me, and I lost track of the number of times he had me thanking him for this oh so generous gift.
I hope there will be an encore of this moment – Master was only able to get about ½-way into to me, so large is his size and so unprepared was my ass. I think that my chance at round two is pretty good, given how many times my Master has enjoyed reminding me that he’s already taken me there once. Needless to say, it’s a thought that has filled many, many, many of my dreams and fantasies since.
There are many things at which my Master is (if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase) masterful; the mindfuck is most definitely one of them. Dangling ideas in front of me like steak before a dog, making me whimper and beg for them. Though he’s talked of ass-fucking, and has even let me feel it in my head, my Master has been ‘on the fence’ himself. The act doesn’t give to him, as it does to some men, that feeling of control. For him the best, most complete and satisfying control is that which he already has over me: total control of my mind. With a turn of some secret phrase he could have me down on all fours, wagging my tail and licking his hand, and so what satisfaction is there to take from the simple, and not entirely unmessy, act of cramming his huge cock into my rear? But he knows that for me it does all the things others might think it would. And as such he’s let me think about the idea of it almost constantly.
Screw that. CONSTANTLY.
On the second full day of my Master’s visit we enjoyed a long, hot shower together. I spent some time kneeling, his cock filling my mouth. The heat between us dwarfed the heat of the water, and that was enough for me. He pulled me to my feet and I thought we were finished with the shower and getting ready to step out, when he spun me around to face the opposite wall and, using his powers over my mind, “chained” my wrists to the wall above my head. At this point I knew something was happening. He positioned me just so, and I felt the tip of his cock sliding between my ass cheeks. My breathing quickened as he put his lips to my ear and whispered all the things I was thinking; that he could do this to me any time he wanted to. That I was his to do with as he pleased. That with but a small bit of extra pressure my ass could be full of him to overflowing.
I knew he was teasing. He was enjoying the mix of panic and lust in my panting. He was reveling in his complete and total ownership of me and of our dynamic. I enjoyed the thought that he still might do it, but I knew it wasn’t coming now. And so as his cock pushed against my rosebud and began to enter me I almost didn’t believe what was happening.
But within a few moments I felt myself stretched and full of him. He had decided that the time to reward me was right then after all.
I gasped and groaned. To both of our surprise some of his thrusts brought loud, almost painful cries from me, but I was quick to assure him I was feeling no pain. It was everything I had hoped for – dirty and hot and completely out of my control. His words in my ear never stopped, proving to be almost the more insidious of the fucking deep inside me, and I lost track of the number of times he had me thanking him for this oh so generous gift.
I hope there will be an encore of this moment – Master was only able to get about ½-way into to me, so large is his size and so unprepared was my ass. I think that my chance at round two is pretty good, given how many times my Master has enjoyed reminding me that he’s already taken me there once. Needless to say, it’s a thought that has filled many, many, many of my dreams and fantasies since.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Fantasy Fun
As you know, I’ve spent some time training my ass so that, should he want to, Master can take it freely when he comes back to me in June. At this time he is still making me dangle on the end of the line, desperately curious if he will actually take my ass. I don’t know if he wants to. I only know that I dearly want him to.
I’ve done anal in the past a time or two. I didn’t hate it, but I also didn’t love it. Frankly I was left with the distinct impression that the man who fucked me there had no idea what he was doing, and he certainly didn’t know how to really make the most of the experience. He had no deep, dark insides and he certainly didn’t know about mine. To this day I’ve felt sure that were I to experience it with someone who understood me, and understood the dark places that I like to be dragged by my hair, that it could be an experience both amazing and mind-blowing.
My Master is someone who knows what makes me tick. What makes me squish and leak. He knows that the idea of being fucked in the ass makes my heart race and my cunt drip, and he uses this knowledge to tease me, body and mind. Tonight we were chatting, lovely and plain, when I realized that it was getting late and I’d not yet done my daily pledge of worship to Master. I quickly stripped off my clothing, knelt on the floor before the camera, shoved my tits together and began my chant.
“This Slave belongs to Master. This slut belongs to Master. This cunt belongs to Master. This toy belongs to Master. This thing belongs to Master. This pet belongs to Master. Everything belongs to Master.” At his command I repeated the chant over. And over. And over.
I’d been through the mantra several times, so it was a surprise when I suddenly felt his cock thrust deeply into my cunt as I said the word “slave” again. Each new word sent his huge cock deep into me over and over, and I started to get fuzzy as he fucked me and I babbled away. Next his cock moved and began driving deep into my ass over and over. I love the feel of his cock in my cunt – love it like all the amazing things in the world all at once – but feeling him take my ass so confidently and purposefully not only made me drip, but pant and moan and jump each time. I began to go a little dizzy as he fucked my ass with each phrase. I knew it could not get better than this.
And at precisely that moment I began a new round of my chanting and felt my cunt and ass both full of his cock.
I continued this worship of words until he came, at which point I lifted my mouth into the air and felt and tasted it fill up with his hot cum. As he came he let me do the same, and once he’d given me permission to cum I sat, kneeling and once again my sane, exhausted, floating self, with the last of the feeling of being double-penetrated buzzing in my head. I remembered that I don’t chant for him and worship him each night, despite his having made me sure that I did. I remembered all of the subtle ways he’d changed me as he played. I remembered being so incredibly full of him, no matter that it wasn’t real this time.
I don’t know if Master will make my fantasy come true this summer or not. But he’s giving me much to think about until then.
I’ve done anal in the past a time or two. I didn’t hate it, but I also didn’t love it. Frankly I was left with the distinct impression that the man who fucked me there had no idea what he was doing, and he certainly didn’t know how to really make the most of the experience. He had no deep, dark insides and he certainly didn’t know about mine. To this day I’ve felt sure that were I to experience it with someone who understood me, and understood the dark places that I like to be dragged by my hair, that it could be an experience both amazing and mind-blowing.
My Master is someone who knows what makes me tick. What makes me squish and leak. He knows that the idea of being fucked in the ass makes my heart race and my cunt drip, and he uses this knowledge to tease me, body and mind. Tonight we were chatting, lovely and plain, when I realized that it was getting late and I’d not yet done my daily pledge of worship to Master. I quickly stripped off my clothing, knelt on the floor before the camera, shoved my tits together and began my chant.
“This Slave belongs to Master. This slut belongs to Master. This cunt belongs to Master. This toy belongs to Master. This thing belongs to Master. This pet belongs to Master. Everything belongs to Master.” At his command I repeated the chant over. And over. And over.
I’d been through the mantra several times, so it was a surprise when I suddenly felt his cock thrust deeply into my cunt as I said the word “slave” again. Each new word sent his huge cock deep into me over and over, and I started to get fuzzy as he fucked me and I babbled away. Next his cock moved and began driving deep into my ass over and over. I love the feel of his cock in my cunt – love it like all the amazing things in the world all at once – but feeling him take my ass so confidently and purposefully not only made me drip, but pant and moan and jump each time. I began to go a little dizzy as he fucked my ass with each phrase. I knew it could not get better than this.
And at precisely that moment I began a new round of my chanting and felt my cunt and ass both full of his cock.
I continued this worship of words until he came, at which point I lifted my mouth into the air and felt and tasted it fill up with his hot cum. As he came he let me do the same, and once he’d given me permission to cum I sat, kneeling and once again my sane, exhausted, floating self, with the last of the feeling of being double-penetrated buzzing in my head. I remembered that I don’t chant for him and worship him each night, despite his having made me sure that I did. I remembered all of the subtle ways he’d changed me as he played. I remembered being so incredibly full of him, no matter that it wasn’t real this time.
I don’t know if Master will make my fantasy come true this summer or not. But he’s giving me much to think about until then.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Lights, Camera, Action!
Sorry for the delay in posting, friends. Between life being way too much and my creative motivations being a little too little my beloved Master’s blog suffered and that’s just not right. Master has been very kind and there has been no talk of punishment yet, but I expect there will need to be something. The blog is his, but it’s been my responsibility to keep it active. But for now I will focus on being better, and that means a post!
Florida Dom asked a lovely bunch of questions and we’ve covered 2/3rds of them. Here we’ll answer the final few, which were:
Something else to admit before I answer the first question: I am someone who is incredibly turned on by humiliation. I mean INCREDIBLY so. The stories that most ‘turned my crank’ for years before I discovered just how wide my crank CAN turn usually contained kink the depth of which would make the Marquis de Sade blush and pee a little.
Early on Master suggested that, using his ability with hypnosis and my emensely suggestible mind, so eager to dance to his tune, we try turn my brains down. I said no. Or I said as close to “no” as I did then, which was mostly to look very obviously uncomfortable and wait for him to ask if I was ok with the idea. Because of my furrowed brow Master let the idea slide, but later he came back to it. I honestly don’t remember now whether I knew where that scene was going that day, but either way in a matter of minutes I sat before my camera giggling and jiggling and vapidly mewling about how much I wanted to suck cock. Anyone’s cock. His cock, of course, but if he said so I would have sucked 10 cocks of 10 strangers picked at random to make him happy.
Master had turned the dial on my intelligence down and down and down until I struggled to spell four-letter words and pouted at the challenge of two plus two. He’d also turned up the dial on my sluttiness, so that I was easier to fuck than a $1 prostitute. But the best part was how these changes changed how my Master dealt with me. Even though I am his slave and he is my Master he normally treats me respectfully. We have decorum between us. But when he reduces me to his brainless, slutty bimbo he also enjoys treating me like one. When I can’t answer easy questions he patronizes me, saying things like “It’s ok, baby, it’s not like a slut like you needs to be able to think.” or “you know I like you brainless, slut.”
And then my cunt gushes in response and I giggle and touch myself and other things a bubble-headed fuckdoll does.
This may not be my favorite scene, but it’s one of them. In the same way that my submissive life is so far away from the way I live the rest of my life this scene is one of the few ways I can get even further from my real life. By letting Master actually transform me it reinforces his control, my surrender, and it makes me feel like every bizarre fantasy that might cross my mind is possible. Some day I’m sure I’ll tell you another one of those bizarre fantasies…
But as much as I love to share my scenes and stories with you, my eager readers, I have no friends with whom I can share this life.
My bff’s know that I’ve discovered a submissive side of myself, but no idea at all the scope of that submissive side. They don’t know that he can hypnotize me, or what things he does when my mind becomes his toy. They don’t know about my collars or my toys or my piercing or my blog. If they knew a tiny fraction of the things that now fill my life they’d fall over dead from the shock. The only friend I have with which to share some things, besides you guys, is a woman who wrote a story on the Erotic Mind Control Stories archive. I was impressed enough the first time that I read it that I felt compelled to write to her and we sparked an online friendship from there. I love having someone to whom I can occasionally gush about some amazing scene or moment, and she shows the level of enthusiasm a good friend should. But other than my mystery friend I have nobody to share my shades of kink with.
Now that we’re into April the questions are officially over, but I’ve really enjoyed answering them so I strongly, STRONGLY encourage others to ask more questions if they have them! And thanks again to Florida Dom for asking such a great batch of questions!
Florida Dom asked a lovely bunch of questions and we’ve covered 2/3rds of them. Here we’ll answer the final few, which were:
“What’s your favorite scene? Do you share scenes with any friends?”I will first admit that I’d been kneeling and obeying my Master for at least a few months before I’d ever finally learned what a “scene” is in this context. Master and I love to play, and honestly because our interactions are almost entirely online this magical concept of the “scene” is critical for us. In fact, our scenes can sometimes be something so conceptual that they become almost like a dramatic scene themselves, and these are the ones that most excite me.
Something else to admit before I answer the first question: I am someone who is incredibly turned on by humiliation. I mean INCREDIBLY so. The stories that most ‘turned my crank’ for years before I discovered just how wide my crank CAN turn usually contained kink the depth of which would make the Marquis de Sade blush and pee a little.
Early on Master suggested that, using his ability with hypnosis and my emensely suggestible mind, so eager to dance to his tune, we try turn my brains down. I said no. Or I said as close to “no” as I did then, which was mostly to look very obviously uncomfortable and wait for him to ask if I was ok with the idea. Because of my furrowed brow Master let the idea slide, but later he came back to it. I honestly don’t remember now whether I knew where that scene was going that day, but either way in a matter of minutes I sat before my camera giggling and jiggling and vapidly mewling about how much I wanted to suck cock. Anyone’s cock. His cock, of course, but if he said so I would have sucked 10 cocks of 10 strangers picked at random to make him happy.
Master had turned the dial on my intelligence down and down and down until I struggled to spell four-letter words and pouted at the challenge of two plus two. He’d also turned up the dial on my sluttiness, so that I was easier to fuck than a $1 prostitute. But the best part was how these changes changed how my Master dealt with me. Even though I am his slave and he is my Master he normally treats me respectfully. We have decorum between us. But when he reduces me to his brainless, slutty bimbo he also enjoys treating me like one. When I can’t answer easy questions he patronizes me, saying things like “It’s ok, baby, it’s not like a slut like you needs to be able to think.” or “you know I like you brainless, slut.”
And then my cunt gushes in response and I giggle and touch myself and other things a bubble-headed fuckdoll does.
This may not be my favorite scene, but it’s one of them. In the same way that my submissive life is so far away from the way I live the rest of my life this scene is one of the few ways I can get even further from my real life. By letting Master actually transform me it reinforces his control, my surrender, and it makes me feel like every bizarre fantasy that might cross my mind is possible. Some day I’m sure I’ll tell you another one of those bizarre fantasies…
But as much as I love to share my scenes and stories with you, my eager readers, I have no friends with whom I can share this life.
My bff’s know that I’ve discovered a submissive side of myself, but no idea at all the scope of that submissive side. They don’t know that he can hypnotize me, or what things he does when my mind becomes his toy. They don’t know about my collars or my toys or my piercing or my blog. If they knew a tiny fraction of the things that now fill my life they’d fall over dead from the shock. The only friend I have with which to share some things, besides you guys, is a woman who wrote a story on the Erotic Mind Control Stories archive. I was impressed enough the first time that I read it that I felt compelled to write to her and we sparked an online friendship from there. I love having someone to whom I can occasionally gush about some amazing scene or moment, and she shows the level of enthusiasm a good friend should. But other than my mystery friend I have nobody to share my shades of kink with.
Now that we’re into April the questions are officially over, but I’ve really enjoyed answering them so I strongly, STRONGLY encourage others to ask more questions if they have them! And thanks again to Florida Dom for asking such a great batch of questions!
Friday, 26 March 2010
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.”
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:
“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?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.
How young were you when you knew you wanted a Master?”
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…
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Empty
“You are my empty, mindless slut.”
There is a tone of voice that Master takes when he is about to turn me on my head. If anything it’s him being TOO nonchalant. I know it by heart in hindsight, but somehow cannot see it coming when I hear that voice. This was how it went this week when I came home from work and jumped onto Skype. I’d spent the day completely aware of my cunt anyway, due to a “wardrobe malfunction” when I got dressed that morning. I’d somehow forgotten to wear panties, leaving my rubbing my clit against the rough seam of my jeans all day. Master had confessed at the end of my work day that I’d forgotten nothing, but rather he’d planted the suggestion the night before, and with that I should have come home expecting play.
I didn’t.
When the first words poured through the headphones I melted. I felt my cunt throb and I closed my eyes, feeling my mind click; become loose. I had all my faculties still, but these words had primed me and now everything in my head felt free-floating – his to move or remove as he wished.
“Get naked.” He commanded and as fast as possible I’ve stripped. He told me I’m his empty, brainless slut, and I took up the chant. Over and over I told him I am his empty, brainless slut. I said the words and little by little they made it so. Next I began to run my fingers over my clit as I repeated the mantra. I was already wet from being played with, but this soon had juice leaking out of me. Master heard my voice go more ragged. “Feel your brains leaking out your cunt, don’t you slut?” I nodded – clearly I was already getting stupid, nodding an answer to someone who couldn’t even see me. The words and the strumming continued and my head began to feel lighter; less cluttered.
Another few minutes of my trying to both remember to chant and touch myself and Master solved the problem. “Rub your slit each time you say the words.” He commanded.
“It will make me go faster.” I giggle to him. Somehow I worry this will be a problem, but he assures me that chanting these words faster is not a bad thing. Soon I’ve been saying them so long they’re beginning to lose their meaning, but I never stop. Never stop chanting or touching.
“Now you feel my cock slide into your mouth and begin to fuck your face.” He adds a new wrinkle. “Continue to say the words around my cock.” The added challenge crashes into my ever simplifying mind and I struggle to keep track of it all while more and more of my brains pump themselves out of my cunt and get all over my hand.
More minutes, less mind and I’m just beginning to float a little. I don’t know when the silly, simple smile smeared over my face, but I’m sure Master can see it even over the divide. “Now you feel my cock push into your cunt, fucking you. Keep chanting, slut.” The more horny I get, the more my brains pour out my cunt and the stupider I get. After only a few minutes of fucking me my Master moves his cock from my cunt to my ass and continues to pound into me. He also tells me I do not need to keep chanting. Though I was oblivious to the pieces of the puzzle then, I realized later that the chanting was no longer necessary – as long as my cunt kept leaking I was being reduced more and more. Literally fucking my brains out.
I vaguely remember asking for permission to touch my cunt as he slammed deeply into my ass, and he granted it. And why wouldn’t he? My hands began molesting my clit and cunt, and I found myself on the verge of cumming constantly, my hands completely coated with my excitement quickly and eager to fill with my cum. I had a residual flash of thought enough to realize that my hands were only speeding up the process, and I tried to protest to Master, stammering in little sentence chunks that I was making myself stupider faster. Stupider faster. Stupider. Faster.
Master said that was just fine, and that I was not to stop fucking with my cunt.
“How do you feel?” Master asked.
“Fucked. Empty. Light.” I panted around my double-assault.
“What do you want?” he asked me
“To be fucked.”
“Do you want me to cum in your ass?”
“Oh god, yes.” I panted so heavily now I felt almost like a dog playing a game of fetch.
“Then beg.”
Master recently discovered how much fun it can be to make me beg. Not only does he enjoy hearing my pleading, but he knows I’m never sure I’m doing it right; doing what he wants. The added desperation of my situation on top of the humiliation and my obvious, but degrading, pleasure at both is a cocktail he’s come to love. And beg I did, pleading that he fill my ass with his cum. That he leave me with his cum leaking out of my ass.
At last I heard him cumming over the line, and as he moaned his final pleasure mine came too. By the time I came I had only the tiniest bit of my intelligence left, and was fully floating on a cloud of pleasure and obedience. As my mind flooded back with my orgasm I thought once again how lucky I am that Master wants me to have my intelligence normally.
And how lucky I am that he likes to take it away too.
There is a tone of voice that Master takes when he is about to turn me on my head. If anything it’s him being TOO nonchalant. I know it by heart in hindsight, but somehow cannot see it coming when I hear that voice. This was how it went this week when I came home from work and jumped onto Skype. I’d spent the day completely aware of my cunt anyway, due to a “wardrobe malfunction” when I got dressed that morning. I’d somehow forgotten to wear panties, leaving my rubbing my clit against the rough seam of my jeans all day. Master had confessed at the end of my work day that I’d forgotten nothing, but rather he’d planted the suggestion the night before, and with that I should have come home expecting play.
I didn’t.
When the first words poured through the headphones I melted. I felt my cunt throb and I closed my eyes, feeling my mind click; become loose. I had all my faculties still, but these words had primed me and now everything in my head felt free-floating – his to move or remove as he wished.
“Get naked.” He commanded and as fast as possible I’ve stripped. He told me I’m his empty, brainless slut, and I took up the chant. Over and over I told him I am his empty, brainless slut. I said the words and little by little they made it so. Next I began to run my fingers over my clit as I repeated the mantra. I was already wet from being played with, but this soon had juice leaking out of me. Master heard my voice go more ragged. “Feel your brains leaking out your cunt, don’t you slut?” I nodded – clearly I was already getting stupid, nodding an answer to someone who couldn’t even see me. The words and the strumming continued and my head began to feel lighter; less cluttered.
Another few minutes of my trying to both remember to chant and touch myself and Master solved the problem. “Rub your slit each time you say the words.” He commanded.
“It will make me go faster.” I giggle to him. Somehow I worry this will be a problem, but he assures me that chanting these words faster is not a bad thing. Soon I’ve been saying them so long they’re beginning to lose their meaning, but I never stop. Never stop chanting or touching.
“Now you feel my cock slide into your mouth and begin to fuck your face.” He adds a new wrinkle. “Continue to say the words around my cock.” The added challenge crashes into my ever simplifying mind and I struggle to keep track of it all while more and more of my brains pump themselves out of my cunt and get all over my hand.
More minutes, less mind and I’m just beginning to float a little. I don’t know when the silly, simple smile smeared over my face, but I’m sure Master can see it even over the divide. “Now you feel my cock push into your cunt, fucking you. Keep chanting, slut.” The more horny I get, the more my brains pour out my cunt and the stupider I get. After only a few minutes of fucking me my Master moves his cock from my cunt to my ass and continues to pound into me. He also tells me I do not need to keep chanting. Though I was oblivious to the pieces of the puzzle then, I realized later that the chanting was no longer necessary – as long as my cunt kept leaking I was being reduced more and more. Literally fucking my brains out.
I vaguely remember asking for permission to touch my cunt as he slammed deeply into my ass, and he granted it. And why wouldn’t he? My hands began molesting my clit and cunt, and I found myself on the verge of cumming constantly, my hands completely coated with my excitement quickly and eager to fill with my cum. I had a residual flash of thought enough to realize that my hands were only speeding up the process, and I tried to protest to Master, stammering in little sentence chunks that I was making myself stupider faster. Stupider faster. Stupider. Faster.
Master said that was just fine, and that I was not to stop fucking with my cunt.
“How do you feel?” Master asked.
“Fucked. Empty. Light.” I panted around my double-assault.
“What do you want?” he asked me
“To be fucked.”
“Do you want me to cum in your ass?”
“Oh god, yes.” I panted so heavily now I felt almost like a dog playing a game of fetch.
“Then beg.”
Master recently discovered how much fun it can be to make me beg. Not only does he enjoy hearing my pleading, but he knows I’m never sure I’m doing it right; doing what he wants. The added desperation of my situation on top of the humiliation and my obvious, but degrading, pleasure at both is a cocktail he’s come to love. And beg I did, pleading that he fill my ass with his cum. That he leave me with his cum leaking out of my ass.
At last I heard him cumming over the line, and as he moaned his final pleasure mine came too. By the time I came I had only the tiniest bit of my intelligence left, and was fully floating on a cloud of pleasure and obedience. As my mind flooded back with my orgasm I thought once again how lucky I am that Master wants me to have my intelligence normally.
And how lucky I am that he likes to take it away too.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
What’s in a Name…
My Master calls me by my full name. Though Delilah is not my real name, imagine that everyone calls me “Di” and only he calls me Delilah. Nobody has called me by my full name for most of my life, and hearing it from his lips is just another example of a way he has claimed me like no other ever has. I hear his smooth voice purr my name and I positively melt.
The other night, as we had a simple, vanilla chat, I noticed that he was using my name. Using it a lot. He would start one sentence with my name, and end the next with it. And the reason I became so aware of it was because I was getting progressively more wet. I had a flash of embarrassment because we were not having such moments and yet there I was getting hot and spicy. In my head I found myself thinking “Good god, woman, are you ALWAYS on???”, knowing full well that the answer was, and always is, YES. But still, we were chatting about things not at all sexual and I was starting to drip.
He’d used it about 4 times and I’d finally made a comment, which he laughed off. Upon the fifth time I heard it I was suddenly, and with no warning, completely naked. As if he’d snapped his fingers and my clothing had evaporated. Then I knew why I’d reacted so strongly to my name – he’d been using it to trigger something in me. And like that I was naked for him. And still dripping.
But when I commented on it to him I suddenly found myself fully dressed again. This is something I often struggle with: I cannot trust my senses to ever tell me the truth, as my master can control what I see and hear and smell as easily as telling me to kneel. So I sat on the couch completely unsure – was I really dressed and the naked had been a mirage? Or was I really naked and only thought I was dressed? He delighted in my conundrum as I sat and fretted. But at least he admitted that yes, my name had been some kind of trigger.
So I wasn’t surprised that he continued to use it, over and over. Or that I got progressively more excited. I could easily use the term “sopping wet” to describe myself eventually, though I couldn’t know what else was happening to which I was oblivious.
A few more uses and once again I was given the clue, this time when I heard my name and found myself slavishly shoving my fingers into my cunt, and then licking them clean enthusiastically. Once I was finished moaning and gasping and licking and sucking I laughed at the surreal moment I’d experienced, but he was far from done.
I don’t remember how the rest of the evening unfolded exactly – these kinds of nights often get a little muddled in my sex-rattled head. I remember moving to the floor, on my knees like a good slave. I remember shoving all four of my fingers into my cunt – something I’m not sure I would have expected that I could even do – and then pulling them free to clean them with my mouth while my other hand burrowed into my cunt even deeper. Back and forth I fucked my cunt with my fingers as my mouth slurped my juice off of my other hand. One hand fucking, the other being sucked, and swap and swap and swap…
He left me there, moaning and whimpering and writhing on my knees, as he built himself to his own orgasm. I loved the feeling of helplessness, knowing that my sounds were inspiring his own pleasure and that was all the purpose I served at that moment. When he uses me I have value. The most value I ever have.
At last I remember hearing him cum, and it filling my mouth the way he does. I know it’s not real – he’s not even on this continent – but each time he fills my mouth with his hot, delicious cum I shudder from the taste and feel of it. Still, though he’d reached his goal I continued to be on the ragged edge of climax, still wriggling on my spot on the floor. Master said the words I longed to hear.
“Cum for me.” And I did.
The other night, as we had a simple, vanilla chat, I noticed that he was using my name. Using it a lot. He would start one sentence with my name, and end the next with it. And the reason I became so aware of it was because I was getting progressively more wet. I had a flash of embarrassment because we were not having such moments and yet there I was getting hot and spicy. In my head I found myself thinking “Good god, woman, are you ALWAYS on???”, knowing full well that the answer was, and always is, YES. But still, we were chatting about things not at all sexual and I was starting to drip.
He’d used it about 4 times and I’d finally made a comment, which he laughed off. Upon the fifth time I heard it I was suddenly, and with no warning, completely naked. As if he’d snapped his fingers and my clothing had evaporated. Then I knew why I’d reacted so strongly to my name – he’d been using it to trigger something in me. And like that I was naked for him. And still dripping.
But when I commented on it to him I suddenly found myself fully dressed again. This is something I often struggle with: I cannot trust my senses to ever tell me the truth, as my master can control what I see and hear and smell as easily as telling me to kneel. So I sat on the couch completely unsure – was I really dressed and the naked had been a mirage? Or was I really naked and only thought I was dressed? He delighted in my conundrum as I sat and fretted. But at least he admitted that yes, my name had been some kind of trigger.
So I wasn’t surprised that he continued to use it, over and over. Or that I got progressively more excited. I could easily use the term “sopping wet” to describe myself eventually, though I couldn’t know what else was happening to which I was oblivious.
A few more uses and once again I was given the clue, this time when I heard my name and found myself slavishly shoving my fingers into my cunt, and then licking them clean enthusiastically. Once I was finished moaning and gasping and licking and sucking I laughed at the surreal moment I’d experienced, but he was far from done.
I don’t remember how the rest of the evening unfolded exactly – these kinds of nights often get a little muddled in my sex-rattled head. I remember moving to the floor, on my knees like a good slave. I remember shoving all four of my fingers into my cunt – something I’m not sure I would have expected that I could even do – and then pulling them free to clean them with my mouth while my other hand burrowed into my cunt even deeper. Back and forth I fucked my cunt with my fingers as my mouth slurped my juice off of my other hand. One hand fucking, the other being sucked, and swap and swap and swap…
He left me there, moaning and whimpering and writhing on my knees, as he built himself to his own orgasm. I loved the feeling of helplessness, knowing that my sounds were inspiring his own pleasure and that was all the purpose I served at that moment. When he uses me I have value. The most value I ever have.
At last I remember hearing him cum, and it filling my mouth the way he does. I know it’s not real – he’s not even on this continent – but each time he fills my mouth with his hot, delicious cum I shudder from the taste and feel of it. Still, though he’d reached his goal I continued to be on the ragged edge of climax, still wriggling on my spot on the floor. Master said the words I longed to hear.
“Cum for me.” And I did.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Happy Valentines Day, Part II
Valentine’s day, a little later. I called Master, having just finished putting together a little lunch. Master’s voice was cool, calm… He gave no hint of what was happening in his mind until he said my name with that almost sing-song tone. “Yes?” I replied, still just beginning to recognize this new tone, but I was too late.
“You are my slave.” He all but commanded of me. I felt my chest cave in and put down the fork before I dropped it. Under my breath I framed the word ‘yes.’ The words that followed are a blur to me now, but I vividly remember how each sentence reduced me, seduced me, enslaved me… Only a few sentences and I was trembling and waiting for the next words to make me whatever next he wanted me to be.
He commanded me to strip naked and I did. QUICKLY. I put the headphones back on and stood, naked save the slave collars on my neck and my ankle. Master bent me over the couch, my legs spread, waiting. “What are you?” he asked, giving me that opportunity that I crave constantly to say to him those words; to tell him what I am.
“I am your slave.” He let loose with that sultry, controlling chuckle that told me I had pleased him. The first trickle slid down the inside of my thigh.
“You feel my hands on your hips.” He began, and with that I felt them. Warm. Strong. “One hand slides a vibrator inside your cunt.” It was humming as it brushed my thigh, and as it moved deeper and deeper my legs threatened to buckle. “You feel my hand in your hair, pulling your head up.” My head jerked back, forcing me to be aware of where I stood; of the moment I was wrapped within. A second trickle worked its way around the vibrator filling me.
“My cock slips between your ass cheeks.” He brought me back to the moment and I felt him beginning to work his way forward, as I stood, clutched in the twin moments of fear and want. I heard my own voice as if from very far away; tiny.
“Oh god.”
“You feel my cock move up against your asshole.” He waited right there, poised. Ready, and I realized I’d stopped breathing, waiting for the next moment. But it was not to be that easy. “Tell me what you want.”
I knew what he waited for. I knew that he knew the words that wanted to leap from my mouth. I could taste them right there, right on the other side of my lips, but letting them go was so much harder than I could have ever imagined. This was something I’d thought, but never actually said. But I also knew that he would only wait so long. And that no matter what else I loved, I loved to obey him. So I spoke.
“Fuck me. Please.” I gasped.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, and I whimpered something affirmative. “Do you want me to move into you?” Again I hoped that making encouraging noises would give him what he demanded. “Then beg.”
I wanted this and we both knew it. We also both knew how hard it would be to say these things out loud. And this was exactly why he demanded it. So I gulped in a big breath of air and I pushed my heart out through my mouth. “Please,” I started, still too timid. “Please fuck my ass, Master.” Hearing my voice saying the words gave me courage and I pressed on, getting louder even as my words became a mish-mash of talking and moaning, the vibrator in my cunt still whirring and his hand still pulling my head back by the hair. “Please fill me up with your cock. Fuck me and make me feel owned.”
“You feel my cock pushing forward, pressing against your asshole.” He rewarded me, and I felt him moving. “S-l-o-w-l-y I slide inside of you, pushing deeper and deeper until I’m buried totally inside you.” I’d felt him open me up and fill me, and once again I almost collapsed at the moment that the nerves and muscles shifted from resistance to acceptance; even pleasure. His hips warm against my cold ass, his hands still on my hips and in my hair but now his voice breathed hot air on my neck as he never stopped speaking. “How do you feel?” he smiled in his voice.
“Full.” I replied automatically, as at that moment all my mind could grasp was how full I was. My cunt and ass both filled to the limit. My cunt pouring down my legs. But that was not all I felt so I kept talking. “Owned. Used. Fucked.” All this and much, much more.
“Still slowly I pull myself back out of your ass until I get to the opening, and then I thrust back into you. You feel me thrusting in and out of your ass.” I whimpered and pleaded and gasped and I don’t know what else. This was something I had been thinking of for so long and now it was happening and my mind was not up for the moment. I wanted to remember every tiny detail – the feeling of his balls as they smacked the round of my ass; my nerves that fought the penetration while still sending shockwaves of pleasure through me; the amazing sensation of complete and abject abandonment of all control…
“Fucking deeper…” continued his voice, giving me no time to gather my wits. Because this was how he liked me: witless. “Fucking faster…” The sounds coming from me began to take on an almost animal-like quality. “Do you want me to cum in your ass?” he asked next. The words were leaving my lips before his had completely hit the air.
“Yes, please Master.” When had I begun to rut back against his penetrations?
“Then beg me, slave.” I could hear how much he was enjoying this new game. Could he hear how much I was as well?
I do not remember all the words that spilled from me for the next many minutes as his cock continued to pound into me. I remember begging him to fill my ass, to humiliate me, to fuck me like an animal, but I know there were many more words. Because every time my flow would slow Master would prod me again, telling me “don’t stop begging, slave.” I remember the second before each new flow of words, when I would realize what I was about to say and take a deep breath, as if a big gust of wind would push these words out of me when my own heart or mind wouldn’t be able to. I begged him to fill me in that place that nobody ever wants to admit they want to be fucked. I thought of this because it was the sheer admitting of how much I wanted this that had my face bright red and hot as a coal. The tremendous shame and degradation of desperately craving his fucking my ass. “Please,” I ended, “I want to feel your cum slipping down out of my ass.”
“What are you?”
“Slave. Pet. Slut. Toy. Possession…” He continued to thunder into me, my ass taking his length more and more eagerly.
“And what am I?”
“Master. Owner. Possessor. Fucker.” My thighs were slick and cold from my pleasure leaking – no, pouring. Pouring out of me.
I heard him cumming, and simultaneously I felt him filling my ass. I knew he was honestly cumming on the other end of the line, and between hearing his pleasure and feeling mine I was overwhelmed. I hoped that I'd remembered to ask to cum, but I know I came, with my legs shuddering under me and my head coming to rest sweatily on the back of the couch. As I came down from the orgasm my brain cleared; the vibrator faded away; my ass emptied.
I thanked him and thanked him and thanked him.
“Can I sit?” I asked at last, once I could breath and think again. His response surprised me.
“No. Place your food on the floor. Kneel on the floor and eat your food there.” I couldn’t believe there was any ecstasy left to drip out of me, but these words shook me once again. I asked for permission to kneel on a pillow, as my hard, wood floors and my knees have never made peace, and he was kind enough to allow me that. As I sat and ate; sat and talked with him, spent my night kneeling at his symbolic feet I felt at home and right and so where I love to be. Master knew what I wanted most of all on this Valentines Day: to be the slave and pet and slut he likes me to be. And then some.
“You are my slave.” He all but commanded of me. I felt my chest cave in and put down the fork before I dropped it. Under my breath I framed the word ‘yes.’ The words that followed are a blur to me now, but I vividly remember how each sentence reduced me, seduced me, enslaved me… Only a few sentences and I was trembling and waiting for the next words to make me whatever next he wanted me to be.
He commanded me to strip naked and I did. QUICKLY. I put the headphones back on and stood, naked save the slave collars on my neck and my ankle. Master bent me over the couch, my legs spread, waiting. “What are you?” he asked, giving me that opportunity that I crave constantly to say to him those words; to tell him what I am.
“I am your slave.” He let loose with that sultry, controlling chuckle that told me I had pleased him. The first trickle slid down the inside of my thigh.
“You feel my hands on your hips.” He began, and with that I felt them. Warm. Strong. “One hand slides a vibrator inside your cunt.” It was humming as it brushed my thigh, and as it moved deeper and deeper my legs threatened to buckle. “You feel my hand in your hair, pulling your head up.” My head jerked back, forcing me to be aware of where I stood; of the moment I was wrapped within. A second trickle worked its way around the vibrator filling me.
“My cock slips between your ass cheeks.” He brought me back to the moment and I felt him beginning to work his way forward, as I stood, clutched in the twin moments of fear and want. I heard my own voice as if from very far away; tiny.
“Oh god.”
“You feel my cock move up against your asshole.” He waited right there, poised. Ready, and I realized I’d stopped breathing, waiting for the next moment. But it was not to be that easy. “Tell me what you want.”
I knew what he waited for. I knew that he knew the words that wanted to leap from my mouth. I could taste them right there, right on the other side of my lips, but letting them go was so much harder than I could have ever imagined. This was something I’d thought, but never actually said. But I also knew that he would only wait so long. And that no matter what else I loved, I loved to obey him. So I spoke.
“Fuck me. Please.” I gasped.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, and I whimpered something affirmative. “Do you want me to move into you?” Again I hoped that making encouraging noises would give him what he demanded. “Then beg.”
I wanted this and we both knew it. We also both knew how hard it would be to say these things out loud. And this was exactly why he demanded it. So I gulped in a big breath of air and I pushed my heart out through my mouth. “Please,” I started, still too timid. “Please fuck my ass, Master.” Hearing my voice saying the words gave me courage and I pressed on, getting louder even as my words became a mish-mash of talking and moaning, the vibrator in my cunt still whirring and his hand still pulling my head back by the hair. “Please fill me up with your cock. Fuck me and make me feel owned.”
“You feel my cock pushing forward, pressing against your asshole.” He rewarded me, and I felt him moving. “S-l-o-w-l-y I slide inside of you, pushing deeper and deeper until I’m buried totally inside you.” I’d felt him open me up and fill me, and once again I almost collapsed at the moment that the nerves and muscles shifted from resistance to acceptance; even pleasure. His hips warm against my cold ass, his hands still on my hips and in my hair but now his voice breathed hot air on my neck as he never stopped speaking. “How do you feel?” he smiled in his voice.
“Full.” I replied automatically, as at that moment all my mind could grasp was how full I was. My cunt and ass both filled to the limit. My cunt pouring down my legs. But that was not all I felt so I kept talking. “Owned. Used. Fucked.” All this and much, much more.
“Still slowly I pull myself back out of your ass until I get to the opening, and then I thrust back into you. You feel me thrusting in and out of your ass.” I whimpered and pleaded and gasped and I don’t know what else. This was something I had been thinking of for so long and now it was happening and my mind was not up for the moment. I wanted to remember every tiny detail – the feeling of his balls as they smacked the round of my ass; my nerves that fought the penetration while still sending shockwaves of pleasure through me; the amazing sensation of complete and abject abandonment of all control…
“Fucking deeper…” continued his voice, giving me no time to gather my wits. Because this was how he liked me: witless. “Fucking faster…” The sounds coming from me began to take on an almost animal-like quality. “Do you want me to cum in your ass?” he asked next. The words were leaving my lips before his had completely hit the air.
“Yes, please Master.” When had I begun to rut back against his penetrations?
“Then beg me, slave.” I could hear how much he was enjoying this new game. Could he hear how much I was as well?
I do not remember all the words that spilled from me for the next many minutes as his cock continued to pound into me. I remember begging him to fill my ass, to humiliate me, to fuck me like an animal, but I know there were many more words. Because every time my flow would slow Master would prod me again, telling me “don’t stop begging, slave.” I remember the second before each new flow of words, when I would realize what I was about to say and take a deep breath, as if a big gust of wind would push these words out of me when my own heart or mind wouldn’t be able to. I begged him to fill me in that place that nobody ever wants to admit they want to be fucked. I thought of this because it was the sheer admitting of how much I wanted this that had my face bright red and hot as a coal. The tremendous shame and degradation of desperately craving his fucking my ass. “Please,” I ended, “I want to feel your cum slipping down out of my ass.”
“What are you?”
“Slave. Pet. Slut. Toy. Possession…” He continued to thunder into me, my ass taking his length more and more eagerly.
“And what am I?”
“Master. Owner. Possessor. Fucker.” My thighs were slick and cold from my pleasure leaking – no, pouring. Pouring out of me.
I heard him cumming, and simultaneously I felt him filling my ass. I knew he was honestly cumming on the other end of the line, and between hearing his pleasure and feeling mine I was overwhelmed. I hoped that I'd remembered to ask to cum, but I know I came, with my legs shuddering under me and my head coming to rest sweatily on the back of the couch. As I came down from the orgasm my brain cleared; the vibrator faded away; my ass emptied.
I thanked him and thanked him and thanked him.
“Can I sit?” I asked at last, once I could breath and think again. His response surprised me.
“No. Place your food on the floor. Kneel on the floor and eat your food there.” I couldn’t believe there was any ecstasy left to drip out of me, but these words shook me once again. I asked for permission to kneel on a pillow, as my hard, wood floors and my knees have never made peace, and he was kind enough to allow me that. As I sat and ate; sat and talked with him, spent my night kneeling at his symbolic feet I felt at home and right and so where I love to be. Master knew what I wanted most of all on this Valentines Day: to be the slave and pet and slut he likes me to be. And then some.
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.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
The Gift, Part Two
It started as a gift from my Master – one where I was allowed to wander my hands and my mind to a gorgeous climax. But as is often the case with my Master, this gift did have a tiny payment afterward. Master asked only that I share with him what naughty things filled my mind while my fingers filled my cunt. A reasonable request, though one I found so difficult to fulfill tonight as we talked. My face hot with a full blush, I stammered and stuttered the images I’d relished.
As I’ve said before, my mind is a very easy, obedient puppet to my Master. He can, with very little effort, bend and mold it to please him. I explained to him that my fantasy included the idea of being made to look, physically, like a slutty, airheaded bimbo only because the thought might please him. Within minutes of my sharing this idea a mirror appeared before me, reflecting back just such an image of me. He had changed my face, my body, to be that bimbo I’d imagined and he’d given me the ability to see how I would look. There was no warning. With the minute between one breath and another I found myself staring at my face painted permanently with whorish makeup. My hair, normally brunette and straight, was now blonde and almost curly. My tits resembled two volleyballs crammed into my sweater, huge and bizarrely round. And so obviously fake.
I could only stare and stare. I felt like I was gazing at someone else entirely. Master asked what I thought of the new version and I could only blather about how very wrong it looked. How very not me this image was.
To help some he made an additional change, stripping away my normal clothing and replacing it with slut clothes. My porn boobs wedged into a tight, leather bra. My hips wrapped in a tiny leather skirt. Four inch heels on my feet. But still this was just not me! He pressed and I explained again that this was so foreign and bizarre and just. Not. Me.
And then suddenly it kind of was me.
I’d been staring and staring at the image. Couldn’t pull my eyes away, and though my overwhelming reaction was how odd this version of me looked, as I stared I began to appreciate the visual. The blond hair seemed to exotic; so sexy. My makeup made my face dramatic, as opposed to the plain Jane I normally am. Even the fake tits – I wanted to grab them; squeeze them. Feel how artificial I knew they’d be. As I stared the image stopped being wrong. Now the wrong thing was me; the life I have and the way I could never live that life and look this way. I was the wrongness.
Master asked me more questions. He wanted to know how I felt about the improvements he’d allowed my mind to make. He sensed the changes in how I looked and looked. I began to explain how the changes appealed, but could never be in my life, and he pressed for the reasons why. What about me made these improvements so impossible?
“My I.Q.” I joked, but meaning it too. “My job – I could never go to my job looking this way! My way of life…” The more I tried to explain the more difficult it seemed to be. “This is the face, the look of a brainless, slutty bimbo and that’s just something I’m not.” I recognized the tiny wave of regret in my mind as I said the words. I was not a brainless, slutty bimbo. Even if for just a second there I secretly wished I could be.
As is so often the case, my Master knew. My flash of longing may have never left my lips, but he knew that I had a want. Being so generous to me he wanted to give me what I wanted, and knew that first I had to say it. Say the want that burned in me, despite my desire for pride and respect. He kept me talking about the difference between my life and the life that this person staring out of the mirror could have. My IQ; my job; my self esteem, my IQ…
“What job would you have if this were you?” I knew what he wanted me to say – we both did. But I couldn’t say the words. Still, I laughed as a moment from the other night popped into my head.
“This was in my fantasy,” I laughed.
“What job would you have?” he repeated.
“In the fantasy I had been drawn into thinking about this new version of me would be like; what kind of job. In the fantasy I knew I wanted a job that was safe, but had a lot of…” oh those words. So easy to want, so hard to say. “…a lot of fucking.”
“What job?” he kept up the question, having not yet received an answer.
“We talked about stripper or whore.” I confessed, feeling the hot in my face again. “But whore was too dangerous, and stripper too… too boring. Not enough action. Since I’d come up with both of those you came up with the third idea…”
“What job would you have?” never stop asking. Get your answer. As we talked he could sense that the words were coming easier. The words easier, but the thoughts slower.
“Porn star. You suggested porn star. Safe, but also plenty of fucking. And in the fantasy that was the right job for me…” I tried to prevent the wide smile but it slid itself across my face anyway. This job idea seemed so appealing now. I closed my eyes and thought about this option. Thought about the freedom it could provide. I floated away in my mind but Master’s words brought me back.
“What is your job?” I answered now without thinking.
“I’m an actress. I’m in the movies.” I giggled as I said the words, peeping up at him under my sculpted, made up eyebrows and heavily painted lids.
“Are you really an actress?”
“Well, I really am a movie star.” I laughed back. Then I corrected myself. “I work in the movies. In a specific kind of movies.”
“What kind of movies?” I knew the word he wanted to hear, but I tried to negotiate around it. Still, the paths available to me seemed to be dwindling as my world got simpler. I giggled again.
“I could say adult movies. But that’s not what you want to hear, right? You want to hear the other word?” Master tells me he just wants me to tell him what my job is. I can hear that he’s smiling as he speaks. I give him what he wants. “Porn. I’m not sure I’m a star, but I make porn movies.”
This new life is so comfortable and easy now. I enjoy that the leather outfit and my sexy blond hair staring back at me in the mirror. “Tell me about yourself; your life.” I’m confused by the question – Master knows me better than anyone! But he explains to me its like a game – I am to tell him about me like we’ve never met. I like games – we play them at work all the time.
And so I tell. I tell of my life working I porn, and how Master was the one who found my career. How I loved it because it let me fuck all the time, which we both know I love. How we’d talked about my being a whore, but it was too dangerous and how my Master took pity on me and let me go this safer, but still fun, way. How it was hard for me to fuck strangers at first, but not anymore.
“and who am I?” he asked. This question is even more confusing for my simple mind, and I struggle to imagine the world where I don’t know who he is.
“You’re… you’re… you’re everything. You’re my Master, my agent, my… my everything!” How do I feel about you? “I love you, I serve you, I worship you, I…” all of these questions confuse me, as if he’d asked why I breathe. Because to not feel the way I do about my Master would be to die. “Its ok with you that I fuck other guys?” I ask.
“Well, baby, you kind of have to for your life, right? And you do it to please me. So no, I don’t mind.” I’m relieved, both because I don’t want him unhappy, but also because I love fucking all the time. I’ve come to love this life as a slutty bimbo and am relieved I can keep it. The gift from my Master.
“What do you like to do?” he asked next.
The answer to every question seems to start with a giggle now. What I like to do? Such a silly question, but I’m enjoying Master’s game now so I reply. “What do I like to do? Fucking. Working. I don’t know?” You laugh at me and I laugh too. “I used to like to read, but not anymore. So hard? I used to watch movies, but these days mostly ones from people I work with. Mostly porn movies… It’s good for getting ideas-“
“Open Wide Cum Slut.”
His words break me out of my reverie and activate programming that has been in place for months now. Any time my Master says this to me I stop everything, falling into an obedient pose with my mouth open, my tongue sticking out of my mouth, the perfect position to allow his cock to shoot its jets of cum into my eager, hungry mouth. I sit and feel hot cream sliding down my tongue and collecting at the back of my throat, waiting for his next command. As I hear him gasping and panting through his orgasm I feel jolts in my cunt – I love to hear him cum almost more than anything.
“Swallow.” Comes his next command, which gives me permission to gulp down his gift and I do joyfully. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.” I gush, pleasure blasting through me.
“OK, sweety, I want you to count from 1 to 10.” Master instructs. He can see the furrowed brow on my face as this direction worries me. “go up as far as you can, baby.” He responds.
“You know I have a hard time after 6, right?” I ask, hating the idea of failing any request from my Master.
“I know, baby. Do your best.”
I begin to count, confident in the first few numbers. As each comes out I feel changes ripple through me. My mind seems to expand and fill itself with now familiar information. By 5 or 6 I look back up at the mirror Master had given me and see my hair now more brown than blonde. My face no longer the dramatic palette. Me more myself again than the bimbo I’d become. By 10 I’m back to myself, with the memories of my evening crashing through me.
Once again my Master had changed me for his pleasure. He’d enjoyed taking my mind and leaving me vacant. Taking my inhibitions and leaving me wanton. Taking my life, and giving me one where I fucked for his pleasure and giggled and struggled through the easiest of questions. And I loved knowing that this version of me brought him enough pleasure to fill my mouth with his cum. I love it when I can please my Master. Any way he wants me.
As I’ve said before, my mind is a very easy, obedient puppet to my Master. He can, with very little effort, bend and mold it to please him. I explained to him that my fantasy included the idea of being made to look, physically, like a slutty, airheaded bimbo only because the thought might please him. Within minutes of my sharing this idea a mirror appeared before me, reflecting back just such an image of me. He had changed my face, my body, to be that bimbo I’d imagined and he’d given me the ability to see how I would look. There was no warning. With the minute between one breath and another I found myself staring at my face painted permanently with whorish makeup. My hair, normally brunette and straight, was now blonde and almost curly. My tits resembled two volleyballs crammed into my sweater, huge and bizarrely round. And so obviously fake.
I could only stare and stare. I felt like I was gazing at someone else entirely. Master asked what I thought of the new version and I could only blather about how very wrong it looked. How very not me this image was.
To help some he made an additional change, stripping away my normal clothing and replacing it with slut clothes. My porn boobs wedged into a tight, leather bra. My hips wrapped in a tiny leather skirt. Four inch heels on my feet. But still this was just not me! He pressed and I explained again that this was so foreign and bizarre and just. Not. Me.
And then suddenly it kind of was me.
I’d been staring and staring at the image. Couldn’t pull my eyes away, and though my overwhelming reaction was how odd this version of me looked, as I stared I began to appreciate the visual. The blond hair seemed to exotic; so sexy. My makeup made my face dramatic, as opposed to the plain Jane I normally am. Even the fake tits – I wanted to grab them; squeeze them. Feel how artificial I knew they’d be. As I stared the image stopped being wrong. Now the wrong thing was me; the life I have and the way I could never live that life and look this way. I was the wrongness.
Master asked me more questions. He wanted to know how I felt about the improvements he’d allowed my mind to make. He sensed the changes in how I looked and looked. I began to explain how the changes appealed, but could never be in my life, and he pressed for the reasons why. What about me made these improvements so impossible?
“My I.Q.” I joked, but meaning it too. “My job – I could never go to my job looking this way! My way of life…” The more I tried to explain the more difficult it seemed to be. “This is the face, the look of a brainless, slutty bimbo and that’s just something I’m not.” I recognized the tiny wave of regret in my mind as I said the words. I was not a brainless, slutty bimbo. Even if for just a second there I secretly wished I could be.
As is so often the case, my Master knew. My flash of longing may have never left my lips, but he knew that I had a want. Being so generous to me he wanted to give me what I wanted, and knew that first I had to say it. Say the want that burned in me, despite my desire for pride and respect. He kept me talking about the difference between my life and the life that this person staring out of the mirror could have. My IQ; my job; my self esteem, my IQ…
“What job would you have if this were you?” I knew what he wanted me to say – we both did. But I couldn’t say the words. Still, I laughed as a moment from the other night popped into my head.
“This was in my fantasy,” I laughed.
“What job would you have?” he repeated.
“In the fantasy I had been drawn into thinking about this new version of me would be like; what kind of job. In the fantasy I knew I wanted a job that was safe, but had a lot of…” oh those words. So easy to want, so hard to say. “…a lot of fucking.”
“What job?” he kept up the question, having not yet received an answer.
“We talked about stripper or whore.” I confessed, feeling the hot in my face again. “But whore was too dangerous, and stripper too… too boring. Not enough action. Since I’d come up with both of those you came up with the third idea…”
“What job would you have?” never stop asking. Get your answer. As we talked he could sense that the words were coming easier. The words easier, but the thoughts slower.
“Porn star. You suggested porn star. Safe, but also plenty of fucking. And in the fantasy that was the right job for me…” I tried to prevent the wide smile but it slid itself across my face anyway. This job idea seemed so appealing now. I closed my eyes and thought about this option. Thought about the freedom it could provide. I floated away in my mind but Master’s words brought me back.
“What is your job?” I answered now without thinking.
“I’m an actress. I’m in the movies.” I giggled as I said the words, peeping up at him under my sculpted, made up eyebrows and heavily painted lids.
“Are you really an actress?”
“Well, I really am a movie star.” I laughed back. Then I corrected myself. “I work in the movies. In a specific kind of movies.”
“What kind of movies?” I knew the word he wanted to hear, but I tried to negotiate around it. Still, the paths available to me seemed to be dwindling as my world got simpler. I giggled again.
“I could say adult movies. But that’s not what you want to hear, right? You want to hear the other word?” Master tells me he just wants me to tell him what my job is. I can hear that he’s smiling as he speaks. I give him what he wants. “Porn. I’m not sure I’m a star, but I make porn movies.”
This new life is so comfortable and easy now. I enjoy that the leather outfit and my sexy blond hair staring back at me in the mirror. “Tell me about yourself; your life.” I’m confused by the question – Master knows me better than anyone! But he explains to me its like a game – I am to tell him about me like we’ve never met. I like games – we play them at work all the time.
And so I tell. I tell of my life working I porn, and how Master was the one who found my career. How I loved it because it let me fuck all the time, which we both know I love. How we’d talked about my being a whore, but it was too dangerous and how my Master took pity on me and let me go this safer, but still fun, way. How it was hard for me to fuck strangers at first, but not anymore.
“and who am I?” he asked. This question is even more confusing for my simple mind, and I struggle to imagine the world where I don’t know who he is.
“You’re… you’re… you’re everything. You’re my Master, my agent, my… my everything!” How do I feel about you? “I love you, I serve you, I worship you, I…” all of these questions confuse me, as if he’d asked why I breathe. Because to not feel the way I do about my Master would be to die. “Its ok with you that I fuck other guys?” I ask.
“Well, baby, you kind of have to for your life, right? And you do it to please me. So no, I don’t mind.” I’m relieved, both because I don’t want him unhappy, but also because I love fucking all the time. I’ve come to love this life as a slutty bimbo and am relieved I can keep it. The gift from my Master.
“What do you like to do?” he asked next.
The answer to every question seems to start with a giggle now. What I like to do? Such a silly question, but I’m enjoying Master’s game now so I reply. “What do I like to do? Fucking. Working. I don’t know?” You laugh at me and I laugh too. “I used to like to read, but not anymore. So hard? I used to watch movies, but these days mostly ones from people I work with. Mostly porn movies… It’s good for getting ideas-“
“Open Wide Cum Slut.”
His words break me out of my reverie and activate programming that has been in place for months now. Any time my Master says this to me I stop everything, falling into an obedient pose with my mouth open, my tongue sticking out of my mouth, the perfect position to allow his cock to shoot its jets of cum into my eager, hungry mouth. I sit and feel hot cream sliding down my tongue and collecting at the back of my throat, waiting for his next command. As I hear him gasping and panting through his orgasm I feel jolts in my cunt – I love to hear him cum almost more than anything.
“Swallow.” Comes his next command, which gives me permission to gulp down his gift and I do joyfully. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.” I gush, pleasure blasting through me.
“OK, sweety, I want you to count from 1 to 10.” Master instructs. He can see the furrowed brow on my face as this direction worries me. “go up as far as you can, baby.” He responds.
“You know I have a hard time after 6, right?” I ask, hating the idea of failing any request from my Master.
“I know, baby. Do your best.”
I begin to count, confident in the first few numbers. As each comes out I feel changes ripple through me. My mind seems to expand and fill itself with now familiar information. By 5 or 6 I look back up at the mirror Master had given me and see my hair now more brown than blonde. My face no longer the dramatic palette. Me more myself again than the bimbo I’d become. By 10 I’m back to myself, with the memories of my evening crashing through me.
Once again my Master had changed me for his pleasure. He’d enjoyed taking my mind and leaving me vacant. Taking my inhibitions and leaving me wanton. Taking my life, and giving me one where I fucked for his pleasure and giggled and struggled through the easiest of questions. And I loved knowing that this version of me brought him enough pleasure to fill my mouth with his cum. I love it when I can please my Master. Any way he wants me.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
The Gift, Part One
It started as a gift.
Master and I had been wandering through a very interesting fantasy about a mission on which he could send me, and by the time we were finished there was much sweating and heavy breathing for us both. As a reward for my part he told me this:
“You may use the glass dildo tonight. But when you are thrusting it in and out you are to be filled with the largest of the butt plugs.”
For the rest of my night this was all I could think of. My lust never abated even as I did chores and wrapped gifts and did other mundane things. At last I completed enough to allow me to fade to bed, and I shed my clothing like a slutty butterfly her boring cocoon.
I stretched out on my bed with only my everyday collar around my ankle, and slathered my plug with plenty of lube. Due to many other challenges in my life I’d not trained my ass for a few days, but I was determined not to take a step back. I would not need the smaller size plug to prime my ass for largest intrusion. I took deep breaths and pressed and relaxed muscles and pressed and bit my lip and god dammit pressed! And at last my determination was rewarded by my tight little hole sighing and sliding the intruder deep inside.
With the abrupt allowance I found both a bit of pain but more a rush of pleasure and many shudders, ripples of sex washing over me and over me. Riding the wave I grabbed my glass dildo, warmed under the hot water before I lied down, and relaxed myself even more to allow my hungry cunt to swallow its own happy penetrator.
Full completely in front and back I lied there. On one other occasion I’ve been doubly-filled and I found then, and found now, that the pressure from the rear makes it very difficult to move the unyielding glass dildo in and out pleasurably. I think if it weren’t my own cunt I’d be able to do it, but I wimped out, instead leaving the dildo buried deep inside me. With both hands I began to trip over and around my sensitive clit, stroking and twirling all the sensitive areas. And in my mind he was there.
He stood at my feet. He lay beside me on the bed, up on a shoulder to allow him to be over me. He controlled where my mind went but talking to me on and on, doing more to rise my fires than any sex toys ever could. In my mind I could hear his voice clearly running through all the ways that I am a very lucky slave. By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep the way I look, as we both know that he could request me to deck myself out as a slutty bimbo and I would. I would dye my hair a slutty blond and tattoo whorish makeup on my face and even get the breast implants that every porn start invests in. All to please him.
By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep my intelligence, as he has already in the past and could again, at his whim, turn my I.Q. down until adding single digits would be beyond me. I know how much he enjoys me giggly and dingy and flummoxed by the simplest mental challenges. When he has me in such a toy state his voice takes on the most insidiously condescending tone; the verbal equivalent of him patting me on my silly little head.
In my fantasy, as my fingers strummed my clit furiously, he continued to talk about how my life could be different if he were to change one little decision. How would I like to give up my job and my life? Find work more fitting a slutty, airheaded bimbo such as he might make me? In my mind I felt myself yearning for that other existence. We discussed the job opportunities that I could have once my pesky intelligence no longer plagued me. Something simple, safe and with plenty of constant fucking. Porn star. And as his smooth, warm voice poured down me and my fingers kept up their frontal assault; as I pictured myself vacantly doing anything and everything to please him with no pesky brains to get in the way, my climax finally made itself known, tumbling through my body.
It started as this gift a few nights ago, but it certainly didn’t end there…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Master and I had been wandering through a very interesting fantasy about a mission on which he could send me, and by the time we were finished there was much sweating and heavy breathing for us both. As a reward for my part he told me this:
“You may use the glass dildo tonight. But when you are thrusting it in and out you are to be filled with the largest of the butt plugs.”
For the rest of my night this was all I could think of. My lust never abated even as I did chores and wrapped gifts and did other mundane things. At last I completed enough to allow me to fade to bed, and I shed my clothing like a slutty butterfly her boring cocoon.
I stretched out on my bed with only my everyday collar around my ankle, and slathered my plug with plenty of lube. Due to many other challenges in my life I’d not trained my ass for a few days, but I was determined not to take a step back. I would not need the smaller size plug to prime my ass for largest intrusion. I took deep breaths and pressed and relaxed muscles and pressed and bit my lip and god dammit pressed! And at last my determination was rewarded by my tight little hole sighing and sliding the intruder deep inside.
With the abrupt allowance I found both a bit of pain but more a rush of pleasure and many shudders, ripples of sex washing over me and over me. Riding the wave I grabbed my glass dildo, warmed under the hot water before I lied down, and relaxed myself even more to allow my hungry cunt to swallow its own happy penetrator.
Full completely in front and back I lied there. On one other occasion I’ve been doubly-filled and I found then, and found now, that the pressure from the rear makes it very difficult to move the unyielding glass dildo in and out pleasurably. I think if it weren’t my own cunt I’d be able to do it, but I wimped out, instead leaving the dildo buried deep inside me. With both hands I began to trip over and around my sensitive clit, stroking and twirling all the sensitive areas. And in my mind he was there.
He stood at my feet. He lay beside me on the bed, up on a shoulder to allow him to be over me. He controlled where my mind went but talking to me on and on, doing more to rise my fires than any sex toys ever could. In my mind I could hear his voice clearly running through all the ways that I am a very lucky slave. By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep the way I look, as we both know that he could request me to deck myself out as a slutty bimbo and I would. I would dye my hair a slutty blond and tattoo whorish makeup on my face and even get the breast implants that every porn start invests in. All to please him.
By his generosity alone I am allowed to keep my intelligence, as he has already in the past and could again, at his whim, turn my I.Q. down until adding single digits would be beyond me. I know how much he enjoys me giggly and dingy and flummoxed by the simplest mental challenges. When he has me in such a toy state his voice takes on the most insidiously condescending tone; the verbal equivalent of him patting me on my silly little head.
In my fantasy, as my fingers strummed my clit furiously, he continued to talk about how my life could be different if he were to change one little decision. How would I like to give up my job and my life? Find work more fitting a slutty, airheaded bimbo such as he might make me? In my mind I felt myself yearning for that other existence. We discussed the job opportunities that I could have once my pesky intelligence no longer plagued me. Something simple, safe and with plenty of constant fucking. Porn star. And as his smooth, warm voice poured down me and my fingers kept up their frontal assault; as I pictured myself vacantly doing anything and everything to please him with no pesky brains to get in the way, my climax finally made itself known, tumbling through my body.
It started as this gift a few nights ago, but it certainly didn’t end there…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Monday, 30 November 2009
Proper Drinking Etiquette for a Pet
Living this life is not an easy thing really. Like most good things, it takes energy and effort and work. Also like most good things, there are times when life is too much to get through to allow for such energy and effort and work. For Master and I, these times in life tend to manifest themselves in him getting distracted and me getting tetchy. I do not take the adult tack of telling him that I’m feeling neglected, but instead I pull on the leash. I pull very, very hard.
Recently Master and I had a period like this. His life required more and more effort, and though I knew this to be true some little part of me couldn’t resist pulling anyway. I began to mock him, calling him a “big softy” each time he allowed me to resist or misbehave without discipline. The interactions were light and airy, but we both understood somewhere that each time I was allowed to get away with these moments it slightly altered our dynamic. I knew those changes weren’t what I wanted, but without knowing for sure what Master wanted for us I simply continued to pull and yank and strain that leash.
At last Master had had enough. He and I first discussed life of late and we both agreed that things had been hectic, leading to a relaxing of the rules. We both reiterated that we wanted to keep our dynamic in its original form, and that we would both work to maintain it. I was relieved that he also still wanted to keep me, to stay my owner and Master, and I foolishly thought that was that. But Master was not quite finished.
We had another moment of my pulling on the leash, probably a moment of my subconsciously testing the resolve that we’d both just voiced, and it seemed to me that once again I’d gotten away with it. At the moment I thought very little of it, but found that I was thirsty, so asked for permission to go get a drink which I was granted. It was not until the moment that I pulled my hair back in one hand and lowered my face into the dog bowl full of Pepsi that I realized what I was even doing.
I drank deeply from the soda covering the bottom two inches of the big, black plastic dog dish. I’d purchased the bowl months before but had rarely ever used it other than as additional food for my cats when I’d been on travel. Now I slurped my beverage down from within it like a fucking pet.
I carried the bowl back and put it on the coffee table beside the laptop, asking my Master “so where are we going with this?” He feigned ignorance for a moment, but once I was forced to specifically state what it was I’d done I heard that wide smile cross his features as he replied “guess you’ll have to see.”
For the next two nights I drank every beverage from this dish. With each time my face lowered below the walls of the bowl I found myself excited by the humiliation of the task. It was clear the message he was delivering to me: pull on the leash and I will treat you like the little bitch that you are for me. Not to mention “do not forget who is the Master and who is the Pet.” And that was what I felt like each moment I lapped drink up from the bowl: his humble, obedient pet. Doing as I had been commanded to do because in all things he was the final decision.
I had to learn how to do it without getting my drink up my nose, and soon became very adept at keep my hair out of the wet or staining my chest with the liquid dripping from my chin. In fact, by the second night it wasn’t just easier. It was…
It was comfortable.
I felt myself get incredibly wet as I realized that I’d begun to enjoy this. I enjoyed the feeling of him controlling me, and of him reiterating my status as his pet. I fantasized about being on hands and knees beside him, he sitting in his comfortable leather chair as his pet laps up her drink from her dog bowl on the floor. I imagined his hand stroking down my head and back as I slurped away, reminding me that I am his to do with as he pleases.
On the third night, freed from the requirement, I told him how it had become much easier over time. “Good.” He replied. “It will make it that much easier when you spend a week drinking from the bowl when I’m there.”
Though I wanted to resist and challenge the idea, and did ask him if he was kidding (which he would neither admit nor deny), truth be told the idea thrilled me. It still does. And so does he.
Recently Master and I had a period like this. His life required more and more effort, and though I knew this to be true some little part of me couldn’t resist pulling anyway. I began to mock him, calling him a “big softy” each time he allowed me to resist or misbehave without discipline. The interactions were light and airy, but we both understood somewhere that each time I was allowed to get away with these moments it slightly altered our dynamic. I knew those changes weren’t what I wanted, but without knowing for sure what Master wanted for us I simply continued to pull and yank and strain that leash.
At last Master had had enough. He and I first discussed life of late and we both agreed that things had been hectic, leading to a relaxing of the rules. We both reiterated that we wanted to keep our dynamic in its original form, and that we would both work to maintain it. I was relieved that he also still wanted to keep me, to stay my owner and Master, and I foolishly thought that was that. But Master was not quite finished.
We had another moment of my pulling on the leash, probably a moment of my subconsciously testing the resolve that we’d both just voiced, and it seemed to me that once again I’d gotten away with it. At the moment I thought very little of it, but found that I was thirsty, so asked for permission to go get a drink which I was granted. It was not until the moment that I pulled my hair back in one hand and lowered my face into the dog bowl full of Pepsi that I realized what I was even doing.
I drank deeply from the soda covering the bottom two inches of the big, black plastic dog dish. I’d purchased the bowl months before but had rarely ever used it other than as additional food for my cats when I’d been on travel. Now I slurped my beverage down from within it like a fucking pet.
I carried the bowl back and put it on the coffee table beside the laptop, asking my Master “so where are we going with this?” He feigned ignorance for a moment, but once I was forced to specifically state what it was I’d done I heard that wide smile cross his features as he replied “guess you’ll have to see.”
For the next two nights I drank every beverage from this dish. With each time my face lowered below the walls of the bowl I found myself excited by the humiliation of the task. It was clear the message he was delivering to me: pull on the leash and I will treat you like the little bitch that you are for me. Not to mention “do not forget who is the Master and who is the Pet.” And that was what I felt like each moment I lapped drink up from the bowl: his humble, obedient pet. Doing as I had been commanded to do because in all things he was the final decision.
I had to learn how to do it without getting my drink up my nose, and soon became very adept at keep my hair out of the wet or staining my chest with the liquid dripping from my chin. In fact, by the second night it wasn’t just easier. It was…
It was comfortable.
I felt myself get incredibly wet as I realized that I’d begun to enjoy this. I enjoyed the feeling of him controlling me, and of him reiterating my status as his pet. I fantasized about being on hands and knees beside him, he sitting in his comfortable leather chair as his pet laps up her drink from her dog bowl on the floor. I imagined his hand stroking down my head and back as I slurped away, reminding me that I am his to do with as he pleases.
On the third night, freed from the requirement, I told him how it had become much easier over time. “Good.” He replied. “It will make it that much easier when you spend a week drinking from the bowl when I’m there.”
Though I wanted to resist and challenge the idea, and did ask him if he was kidding (which he would neither admit nor deny), truth be told the idea thrilled me. It still does. And so does he.
Friday, 27 November 2009
Youth is Wasted on the Young and Mindless
“I’ve got a game I’m considering playing; I’m just working out the details…” These words sent more than shivers down my spine. Still, I tried to be stoic. I stared intensely at my left big toe, making it out as fascinating as possible. Focus on my toe, unfortunately didn’t keep me from asking.
“What kind of game?” I had never seen a big toe so fascinating. Up until his evil laugh poured into my ears.
“Let me first ask you this: did anything bad happen to you when you were 18?” I didn’t understand the question, but considered the answer. The few late teen traumas I’d ever had were later than that, so I gave the go ahead. Master then explained that he was going to take me back to my eighteenth year, to play with a younger me and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t bump into the day my parents divorced or that time my best friend ran over my cat. Even when playing with me my Master looks out for me.
Only after the game was finished would I somewhat remember the scenario that Master set forth for me. I danced through his play on the end of his strings, but a tiny bit of the true me sat deep in the back of my mind enjoying the show.
I woke and I was 18 years old. I remembered being at the shopping mall a few days prior, and being approached by a man who told me he was a professional photographer. He’d given me his card and told me that I could be a model; that I should call him if I wanted to learn more. As I sat in this office I still could not believe that I’d actually called him; that I thought I’d really be able to be a model. I shook my head to clear out the fog and there he sat beside me.
As we talked he assured me that I would be a terrific model, asking what kind of shoots I’d be interested in. High fashion was not me, but maybe things more normal, more… average? He mentioned many different options, but then told me that today I’d just be shooting a “portfolio”. And let’s get started. And like that I stood before his camera and his bright, hot light.
He asked me to smile for the camera and I explained that I can’t do fake smiles. The first shot brought a bright “FLASH” and I relaxed. And smiled a little brighter. Another “FLASH” and I beamed the wide, eager smile he told me to give him. Next he asked for a laugh and I explained my limitations again. Yet with each new “FLASH” of the light I found myself following his instructions. Such as to give the camera a sexy pout. Something I do not do. Until after a few more flashes I pouted for him.
And a few more had me changing my top. And removing my top. And with flashes he had me slide out of my jeans, standing before him in panties and the beaming smile he coaxed from me. Those flashes melted my resolve, my restraint, my… control. The control to keep from removing even those panties. I spread my legs and arched my back and smiled as his camera kept documenting his total domination over me.
“Now, get down on your knees.” He instructed matter of factly, never giving any indication that the directions he gave me were beyond those of any other photo shoot. I never stopped to question as he had my hand stroke my clit, even as poor, innocent, virginal 18-yr old me began to drip down inside her thighs. He stepped to me, continuing to shoot pictures and flash that light; the light that burned away my options. Standing before my panting form he told me to open my mouth. He pulled out his cock, its form hovering before me, and told me to suck it. And for the first time I pushed back.
“FLASH!” “Suck my cock” I knew this request was not quite right. I’d only ever done it once before, and this man was a stranger. But still… ‘FLASH! “Suck my cock” his huge member filled my mouth completely, but his words assured me it was perfectly right and I moved my mouth down on to him per his command. He assured me that I loved to suck his cock and with a flash or two I knew he was right. He told me to look up at the camera as each bright, new ‘FLASH’ cemented his control over me and captured the image of my slurping him down.
Time passed as I obediently, eagerly slid my tongue around his cock. With his thorough and steady programming, supported by the effect of the flash, I had come to love this and desperately wanted to please him. As his cock surged he ordered me to take it in my hands and pump it, aiming at my face. Each jet of hot, salty cum landed on my face and I smiled for him still. He made me love the feel of his stain on me. And I loved it completely.
He handed me my clothing and we discussed my future modeling career options, specifically in the area of porn, where he was sure I would be most happy and successful. I allowed this happy idea to mold into my mind, shifting from horror to pleasure. And with a final beaming smile he brought me back to myself and the present.
As I remembered this adventure and the ways that he took me and changed me I felt even more wetness coat the inside of my thighs. Master and I discussed the feelings his game brought to me, and before I knew it we returned to the game, to what he called ‘Act Two” My young self lie on her bed, just having cum from her own fingers, and the phone was ringing. Each new word from this dangerous, unescapable photographer slid me where he wanted me to be – inviting him to my home for our next photo shoot. As I waited his arrival I struggled with what to wear, finally deciding on a blue skirt and tank top, with panties but no bra.
In no time he had arrived, looking around my home with satisfaction. This time he moved to his goal quickly, my weak mind already primed to the idea of following his instructions. We moved to the bedroom, where he asked why I dressed as I did. I explained the thoughts that had flitted through my head, and when I mentioned the panties he asked to see them. And then for me to be free of them. And the tank top as well.
His flashes once again dissolved my resistance, slowly reducing me to an obedient puppet. I lied down in each position he suggested, and somewhere I noticed that my private parts were slick. When I was 18 years old I’d never had sex and barely had experiences to pull from. I spread my legs wide for him, no longer a fear in my universe about the pictures he kept snapping of my almost naked body.
Per his instruction I’d pulled myself up to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at him and his flashing light, when I noticed the drops sliding fast down my legs. “I’m so wet between my legs” I whimpered, not used to such physical reactions to a person.
“I have a solution for that.” He replied, then commanding me to stay in my position on the bed. As I felt his body come up behind me on the bed, still flashing shot after shot, I sensed something was happening. I considered fleeing the feeling of his manhood sliding across my delicates, but I stayed as he’d not allowed me to move. Even as he pushed into me, filling me completely, I could not resist him. In fact the sensations conquered my sanity. I asked if he would be having sex with me, and he corrected me.
“Fucking.” He said to me. “It’s called fucking.” I wanted to resist this idea, but his flashes assured that I understood he was fucking me. I meekly asked my question again, correctly this time. “Are you fucking me?” I whimpered. He assured me he was, and that I loved it. And I did. He began to program me with simple, strong ideas.
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You need to fuck me.”
“I need to fuck you.”
Methodically he built on these ideas, the flashes of his camera crushing any resistance and I came to want and need this fucking more and more. But still the internal conflicts of the young, just-virginal me tried to push forward through his fog. I panted and struggled to get out the words vexing me as his cock filled and filled and filled me. “This…” I stammered, “this seems…” I could not make the words come out, so embarrassed was I by the idea. At last I said “This doesn’t make me a slut?” I could hear his smile immediately.
“You are a slut.” I resisted through the next flash but that was all. “You are my slut.”
“I am your slut.”
“You want to be a slut”
“I want to be a slut.”
“You want to be my slut.”
“I want to be your slut.” The words slid past any and all obstacles, molding me as his happy, horny slut. But he was far from finished.
“You want to be my slave.”
“I want to be your slave.”
“You need to be my slave.”
“I need to be your slave.”
On and on he remade the young me into the mirror image of his present day slave, enjoying the pleasure of once again stripping me of my independence. I desperately wanted to cum, but sensed I couldn’t make that step without his permission. Finally he pulled out of me and commanded.
“Kneel beside the bed before me.” I moved as if his words were my thoughts, looking up at him from my kneeling position in seconds. “What are you?”
As if the words had been scripted for me I answered easily. “I am your slave.”
“And who am I?”
Pleasure rocked through me each time I reiterated my new universe for him. “You are my master.”
“Until when?”
“Forever.” I beamed, joyful in my permanence. “I am yours forever, Master.” My smile was all consuming, and he rewarded me and my obedience and submission.
“Cum.”
This, my new first orgasm, shattered me completely. I cried out and moaned and writhed before him, overwhelmed by this new experience. At last he brought me back to myself and the present, and allowed me to relive the experience.
My true first orgasm was a fine, vanilla moment in my life. But for me this will always be my favorite first orgasm.
“What kind of game?” I had never seen a big toe so fascinating. Up until his evil laugh poured into my ears.
“Let me first ask you this: did anything bad happen to you when you were 18?” I didn’t understand the question, but considered the answer. The few late teen traumas I’d ever had were later than that, so I gave the go ahead. Master then explained that he was going to take me back to my eighteenth year, to play with a younger me and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t bump into the day my parents divorced or that time my best friend ran over my cat. Even when playing with me my Master looks out for me.
Only after the game was finished would I somewhat remember the scenario that Master set forth for me. I danced through his play on the end of his strings, but a tiny bit of the true me sat deep in the back of my mind enjoying the show.
I woke and I was 18 years old. I remembered being at the shopping mall a few days prior, and being approached by a man who told me he was a professional photographer. He’d given me his card and told me that I could be a model; that I should call him if I wanted to learn more. As I sat in this office I still could not believe that I’d actually called him; that I thought I’d really be able to be a model. I shook my head to clear out the fog and there he sat beside me.
As we talked he assured me that I would be a terrific model, asking what kind of shoots I’d be interested in. High fashion was not me, but maybe things more normal, more… average? He mentioned many different options, but then told me that today I’d just be shooting a “portfolio”. And let’s get started. And like that I stood before his camera and his bright, hot light.
He asked me to smile for the camera and I explained that I can’t do fake smiles. The first shot brought a bright “FLASH” and I relaxed. And smiled a little brighter. Another “FLASH” and I beamed the wide, eager smile he told me to give him. Next he asked for a laugh and I explained my limitations again. Yet with each new “FLASH” of the light I found myself following his instructions. Such as to give the camera a sexy pout. Something I do not do. Until after a few more flashes I pouted for him.
And a few more had me changing my top. And removing my top. And with flashes he had me slide out of my jeans, standing before him in panties and the beaming smile he coaxed from me. Those flashes melted my resolve, my restraint, my… control. The control to keep from removing even those panties. I spread my legs and arched my back and smiled as his camera kept documenting his total domination over me.
“Now, get down on your knees.” He instructed matter of factly, never giving any indication that the directions he gave me were beyond those of any other photo shoot. I never stopped to question as he had my hand stroke my clit, even as poor, innocent, virginal 18-yr old me began to drip down inside her thighs. He stepped to me, continuing to shoot pictures and flash that light; the light that burned away my options. Standing before my panting form he told me to open my mouth. He pulled out his cock, its form hovering before me, and told me to suck it. And for the first time I pushed back.
“FLASH!” “Suck my cock” I knew this request was not quite right. I’d only ever done it once before, and this man was a stranger. But still… ‘FLASH! “Suck my cock” his huge member filled my mouth completely, but his words assured me it was perfectly right and I moved my mouth down on to him per his command. He assured me that I loved to suck his cock and with a flash or two I knew he was right. He told me to look up at the camera as each bright, new ‘FLASH’ cemented his control over me and captured the image of my slurping him down.
Time passed as I obediently, eagerly slid my tongue around his cock. With his thorough and steady programming, supported by the effect of the flash, I had come to love this and desperately wanted to please him. As his cock surged he ordered me to take it in my hands and pump it, aiming at my face. Each jet of hot, salty cum landed on my face and I smiled for him still. He made me love the feel of his stain on me. And I loved it completely.
He handed me my clothing and we discussed my future modeling career options, specifically in the area of porn, where he was sure I would be most happy and successful. I allowed this happy idea to mold into my mind, shifting from horror to pleasure. And with a final beaming smile he brought me back to myself and the present.
As I remembered this adventure and the ways that he took me and changed me I felt even more wetness coat the inside of my thighs. Master and I discussed the feelings his game brought to me, and before I knew it we returned to the game, to what he called ‘Act Two” My young self lie on her bed, just having cum from her own fingers, and the phone was ringing. Each new word from this dangerous, unescapable photographer slid me where he wanted me to be – inviting him to my home for our next photo shoot. As I waited his arrival I struggled with what to wear, finally deciding on a blue skirt and tank top, with panties but no bra.
In no time he had arrived, looking around my home with satisfaction. This time he moved to his goal quickly, my weak mind already primed to the idea of following his instructions. We moved to the bedroom, where he asked why I dressed as I did. I explained the thoughts that had flitted through my head, and when I mentioned the panties he asked to see them. And then for me to be free of them. And the tank top as well.
His flashes once again dissolved my resistance, slowly reducing me to an obedient puppet. I lied down in each position he suggested, and somewhere I noticed that my private parts were slick. When I was 18 years old I’d never had sex and barely had experiences to pull from. I spread my legs wide for him, no longer a fear in my universe about the pictures he kept snapping of my almost naked body.
Per his instruction I’d pulled myself up to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at him and his flashing light, when I noticed the drops sliding fast down my legs. “I’m so wet between my legs” I whimpered, not used to such physical reactions to a person.
“I have a solution for that.” He replied, then commanding me to stay in my position on the bed. As I felt his body come up behind me on the bed, still flashing shot after shot, I sensed something was happening. I considered fleeing the feeling of his manhood sliding across my delicates, but I stayed as he’d not allowed me to move. Even as he pushed into me, filling me completely, I could not resist him. In fact the sensations conquered my sanity. I asked if he would be having sex with me, and he corrected me.
“Fucking.” He said to me. “It’s called fucking.” I wanted to resist this idea, but his flashes assured that I understood he was fucking me. I meekly asked my question again, correctly this time. “Are you fucking me?” I whimpered. He assured me he was, and that I loved it. And I did. He began to program me with simple, strong ideas.
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You need to fuck me.”
“I need to fuck you.”
Methodically he built on these ideas, the flashes of his camera crushing any resistance and I came to want and need this fucking more and more. But still the internal conflicts of the young, just-virginal me tried to push forward through his fog. I panted and struggled to get out the words vexing me as his cock filled and filled and filled me. “This…” I stammered, “this seems…” I could not make the words come out, so embarrassed was I by the idea. At last I said “This doesn’t make me a slut?” I could hear his smile immediately.
“You are a slut.” I resisted through the next flash but that was all. “You are my slut.”
“I am your slut.”
“You want to be a slut”
“I want to be a slut.”
“You want to be my slut.”
“I want to be your slut.” The words slid past any and all obstacles, molding me as his happy, horny slut. But he was far from finished.
“You want to be my slave.”
“I want to be your slave.”
“You need to be my slave.”
“I need to be your slave.”
On and on he remade the young me into the mirror image of his present day slave, enjoying the pleasure of once again stripping me of my independence. I desperately wanted to cum, but sensed I couldn’t make that step without his permission. Finally he pulled out of me and commanded.
“Kneel beside the bed before me.” I moved as if his words were my thoughts, looking up at him from my kneeling position in seconds. “What are you?”
As if the words had been scripted for me I answered easily. “I am your slave.”
“And who am I?”
Pleasure rocked through me each time I reiterated my new universe for him. “You are my master.”
“Until when?”
“Forever.” I beamed, joyful in my permanence. “I am yours forever, Master.” My smile was all consuming, and he rewarded me and my obedience and submission.
“Cum.”
This, my new first orgasm, shattered me completely. I cried out and moaned and writhed before him, overwhelmed by this new experience. At last he brought me back to myself and the present, and allowed me to relive the experience.
My true first orgasm was a fine, vanilla moment in my life. But for me this will always be my favorite first orgasm.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)