Girl with Collar

Gullable

2011-11-05T02:09:00.000-07:00

One of my Master’s new favorite games to play he calls “Gullibility.” It’s probably one of his most simple ideasreally – he puts me into trance and then just tells me that everything that heasks me to do I will find completely normal and not at all strange. He includes that he can ask questions abouthow I feel about these things and I will also find that normal. It will all be reasonable and normal, nomatter what. It’s the playing equivalentof a cop inside my head constantly saying “nothing to see here” while standing by3 murdered bodies.

This evening he decided he wanted to play, so he put me in ‘gullible’mode and asked me, so very nonchalantly, to take off all my clothes from thewaist down (which I did without wonder) and then to start rubbing my cunt as heand I talked (which I also did.) When hehas me in this mode he takes great delight in asking things like “and thisdoesn’t seem at all odd?” specifically because he then gets to hear me answer “no,not at all. Why would it?” whilesimultaneously fucking myself.

“And if someone were to come to the door to, say, deliver apackage – what would you do then?” he asked

“I’d go to and answer the door.” I replied.

“Like this? Nakedfrom the waist down and fucking your cunt with your hand?”

“Of course.” And then,as an after thought “but I’d have to shift and start fucking myself with myleft hand since I really couldn’t sign with my left.” Always practical, even when fucking myself infront of a total stranger.

Although I, by design, didn’t find it strange at all to befucking myself while we chatted I did find it more challenging to keep up myend of the conversation sometimes, as it was still a very hot sensation andtherefore distracting. When I apologizedto him for not keeping up my end of the conversation, as I was a littledistracted by the nice feelings coming from my cunt, he solved the problem bytelling me that for the next while I should just sit quietly and not sayanything. Of course I was not to stopdiddling myself – oh no. So there I sat,my cunt getting sloppy enough by this point that he could probably hear the slurpingsound of my finger going in and out, in and out. I think it was about here where I also beganto breath a bit heavier.

After we’d sat a few more minutes my Master asked how I wasdoing, and I mentioned that I was doing quite well. Though I didn’t find it odd to be fuckingmyself while chatting I did find it a very good, good feeling on myprivates. We talked a bit about how I’djust keep doing this all night long if he wanted (and I would have), even infront of strangers should the situation arise, and from this he asked a newquestion. “Sounds like something that adirty slut would do, doesn’t it?”

Though I’d not have described myself as that up to thatmoment once I heard his extremely reasonable voice say it I knew that it had tobe true: I was a dirty slut. Once we’d established that fact he asked forother concepts that came to mind when thinking about a dirty slut. “Oh, you know,” I started – when in thisstate I somehow just know that it amuses him to hear me say these kinds ofthings in a completely average, almost bored or matter-of-fact voice – “a womanwho will fuck anybody or anything, and is completely up for anything as long asit is sex.” As I thought about it a bitmore, though, I realized that was just the definition of a slut. I still needed to account for the ‘dirty’part. “I suppose since I’m a dirty slutI will do any disgusting, humiliating thing as well, as long as it means I getto fuck.” That gained me a littlechuckle from my Master, as well as a bit of praise for a solid definition. But he wasn’t even close to done yet.

“So with that idea in mind tell me what sorts of scenariosthat brings to mind.” I didn’tunderstand the question. “What kind ofsolutions that could provide?” he tried again. I locked onto his use of the word solution and wondered: ‘what problem werewe solving?’ When I voiced thisconfusion he provided me a solution to solve. “You’ve been wanting to spend money on a new laptop, and yet money istight. Does the knowledge now that you’rejust a dirty slut provide a solution to that?” he asked, his voice the verydefinition of breezy. But then I knewwhat he meant and I ran with it.

“Oh sure,” I started, “I see where you’re headed withthis. Sure, it would be a really goodway to make extra cash to have me fuck guys for money.” It felt as though I were the first person toever have this idea. “I’m not sure howto go about it, but I’m sure it would be lucrative as hell.”

“And you have no issues with that?” he asked.

“No, that seems like it would be a good solution, like yousaid. You wouldn’t mind if I fuckedother guys?” As always my first and lastconcerns were for him.

“Well you’d be doing it on my command, wouldn’t you?” I agreed, of course. “Well then no, I wouldn’t mind in that case.”

I sat quietly, a constant squelching noise now coming frommy wet cunt as I continued to plow in and out. After a minute I thought to ask him “Wait, so are you telling me that Ishould? Did you just command me to dothat?” I wanted to be sure I hadn’tmissed a pivotal moment, as I am always eager to follow his commands.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to do so?”

“Well, it will solve the money problem we’ve been having… Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Good then. I’ll goahead and put the ad in the paper then. So, what do you think it should say?” I thought about this a little as my hand continued to chug away in andout of my soggy cunt. Being the writerof the couple it seemed like I should be able to craft this well.

“Hmmm. Something like‘Dirty, disgusting slut available for rent. Willing to do anything...’ well, I was going to name a few kinds of sex,but I guess that just highlights the ‘slut’ part. But we need to highlight the dirty,disgusting part, so we should talk about those kinds of things… ‘Willing to doany dirty, disgusting act including…” ThereI faltered, my humility rearing it’s head and fighting with the version of methat he was crafting now. I hemmed andhawed a little here until my Master gave me a nudge, asking what I wasthinking. “I was considering whatextreme things I could do, being a disgusting, dirty slut. Like, I was going to say ‘will do alldisgusting, dirty things including anal sex, golden showers and…’ I’m not surewhat to include there.” Master was notgoing to give me any suggestions – his enjoyment came from seeing what kind ofholes I would dig for myself. I did notdisappoint. “Oh, I guess another goodone would be gang bangs. ‘Will do alldisgusting, dirty things including anal, golden showers and gang bangs. Contact her Master to schedule.’ And then we’duse one of your many email addresses I suppose?”

“Sounds good, sounds good. And you’re good with fucking several men at once?” If I’d been able to truly pay attention Iwould have heard that smile in his voice and known he was luring me down ahole. But he’d removed me of thatattention, and so down the hole I went.

“Well it seems like that would be something that we’d beable to charge more money for, so that would be a very good idea. And since I am a dirty slut it’s certainlysomething I’d do, so…”

Our conversation went on and on like this. We determined that my worthless body couldfetch only a pitiful $50 an hour, and that I’d devote four hours a night tothis new side-job, with all nighters being scheduled on Fridays andSaturdays. Obviously I’d have to give upall the things that normally take up evening hours, and that I’d go ahead andtell my friends and family the true reason that I would no longer be available –that I was going to be fucking strangers for money from now on, since I was adirty slut. “After all,” Masterreasoned, “you have told me how they always accept you for who you are, andthat’s exactly what you are.” And ofcourse this also sounded perfectly reasonable.

I would collect the money, but as we talked I reasoned that,although I’d like the money for purchases I’ve had to put off, since I was hisworthless slave and he my amazing Master really I didn’t deserve any of themoney. That it was much more reasonablefor he to get all the money that I might earn. “Tell you what,” he offered, showing his generosity. “You’ll get the money and send it to me. But if you want any of that money forsomething you can just beg me for it. Sound right?” And, of course, itdid.

As our conversation continued on and on my Master wouldperiodically ask me to recap what we’d decided so far because it pleased him tohear me tell him, in the most reasonable and measured of voices, how we plannedto have me fuck strangers night after night for money that I would send to himand beg for. How I’d specialize infucking groups, such as bachelor parties, making sure that each of the clientsgot several chances to nail me in any hole that they wanted so they’d know theygot their money’s worth. And how I’d doall of this happily to please and serve him because that was my entire purposein life, and was the thing I most wanted to do.

And all the while I lay on the floor, his voice pouring intomy ears from the headphones as my hand never stopped thrusting in and out of mypussy. We’d talked for so long and mywork had never slowed, so by now my poor pussy was sloppy with wet, my handthick with my enjoyment. A puddle hadformed under my ass as I leaked and leaked, but though I knew I was enjoyingthe feel of my constant fucking I never thought to question it. My Master had asked me to do it, and thatmeant that it made perfect sense to do so.

Our conversation moved on to include my sexy best friend,and the idea that when next Master was in town we should arrange for him tofinally put her under his will as well. Once under his control he could turn her into a slut too, which woulddouble his profits as she also began to sell her body for him. “Did you make me a slut, Master, or was Ialready this way?”

“Oh I made you into a dirty slut. Before that you were a normal person. You don’t mind that I did that, do you?” heasked me so casually.

“Of course not.” I replied. “I was just curious.” And then,as an afterthought, “And thank you for turning me into this, Master.”

I don’t remember all of the details of our conversationanymore. I remember that by the end wehad a plan that would be bringing thousands of dollars to my Master a weekwhile giving me the opportunity to show what a completely disgusting slut he’dmade me, utterly willing to do any low, humiliating, dirty thing any personmight ask for. Once we had the plan wellset, including my hearing him typing away on his end, ostensibly placing the adin the paper as we spoke, Master had me lie back.

“Now I want you to fuck yourself hard and deep, as hard anddeep as you can. You’re going to do thatuntil I tell you to cum. Do youunderstand?” I did, and I did as hecommanded. I have no idea how long I laythere, plowing my two fingers deep into my cunt over and over, a sloppy squelchcoming loudly from each thrust. I liethere, imagining myself surrounded by strange men, each of them cramming theircocks into whichever of my holes they wanted, using me for their enjoyment sothat I could obey my Master. I fuckedand fucked until finally I heard him give me that amazing permission. As I finally came I felt wave after wave oftremendous release, floating down to the floor after all of that and lyingthere panting and thanking him over and over.

And then, and only then, did he let me have my full mindback. I was gullible no more. At least until the next time he wants to play with me.

Our ABCs of BDSM

2011-10-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

As Master and I are coming back to our dynamic we're building much more structure around things, one of the ideas we've both shared is a return to writing. But of course that requires of my Master a constant stream of assignments, and I don't want him to feel burdened. When thinking about how to ease my Master's burden I came up with my own assignment: to build this list of our ABCs of BDSM. Now I know that there are some very classic words that many members of our uber-kinky community would add to such a list, such as "pain" for P or "enema" for E. These are wonderful things for those folks who enjoy them, and I encourage everybody to build their own list in the privacy of their own... doggy kennel... or latex sleep sack... But this list is built around the things that Master and I find hot or titillating.

My thought is that my Master can, going forward, refer to this list for ideas for writing assignments, thereby making it easier for him to keep me ever-improving and ever-growing to better please and serve him in the future. There's a good chance that many of these assignments will end up here, so that you guys can enjoy them too. For now just enjoy this silly little list... (btw, those things in brackets after each word are additional words that came to me for those letters too. because you can never have too much kinky idea fodder!)

Our ABC’s of BDSM:

A. Anal [Ask Nicely]
B. Bondage [Blowjob, Bimbo]
C. Crawling
D. Domination
E. Exhibitionism [Erotic]
F. Fear [Fucktoy]
G. Gag
H. Humiliation [Hair, Hypnosis]
I. Induction
J. Jism
K. Kneeling
L. Licking [Leash]
M. Masturbation
N. Nipple Clamps
O. Ownership [Objectify]
P. Pet [Punishment, Panties, Piercing]
Q. Quiver
R. Rough Sex
S. Spanking [Slapping, Sucking cock, Slut]
T. Tattoo [Tail]
U. Use
V. Vapid
W. Whip
X. Xstacy
Y. Yell
Z. Zealous

Return the Non-conquering Non-hero

2011-10-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Someday!

Just over 6 months ago I walked away from here and at that time it was completely the thing to do. Posts had become few and far between, and there was very little to share with those folks who still wanted to be readers. But with time there have been some changes, and I am going to see if those changes will allow me to come back here and share.

Master and I are still together -- a fact that is more than a little bit amazing, and something that we both can say we have had to work to protect. However we're still every bit as in love, if not more so, as we've ever been. And a nice bonus I had learned to live without is returning to our lives as we begin again to experiment with our kinky side. We're going slow, as we know that in the past we'd rushed things and created a dynamic that we couldn't maintain, so it's hard to know when we'll have something exciting to report. But for now I'm also going to learn how to share those parts of my life and existence that are less us (Master and I) and more just me. Hopefully there will be some folks who will enjoy that aspect as well.

The future is very unclear, but when it becomes more clear I'll write about it on this blog. Good luck to us all!

Farewell, Adieu, have a good time!

2011-03-10T14:42:00.001-08:00

I’m sure this will come as no surprise to most who might still be reading, but I’m going to ‘retire’ this blog. I can’t claim trauma or catastrophe – things are essentially fine. Master and I are still together and completely in love. But for many reasons too numerous to list and too mundane to detail the kink side of our relationship has faded away, leaving nothing to write about here. For a while I hoped there would be other things I could still enjoy to write about, but I’ve found that coming here just makes the loss of the kink side of my life sad all over again, so I need to walk away.

I’ll leave this blog up for those who come through and want a little titillation. And who knows – maybe someday I’ll be back! But for now I hope the rest of you continue to have a robust, thrilling life of kink and rest assured that I’m reading all of YOUR blogs regularly!!

The Elephant in my Mind

2010-11-03T23:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Fantasy vs Reality

2010-10-31T01:47:00.000-07:00

The submissive blogosphere has been buzzing lately about how one of us sacrificed her hair to show her obedience to her Master. As you’d imagine, the universal reactions have been “Wow, could you do that? I’m not sure I could!” followed quickly most of the time by “Wow, wow, hot.” As you’d also imagine, it’s also lead to some conversations between subs and their Doms. Master and I were no exception.

“One of the sub bloggers I read was shaved bald by her Master simply because he wanted it that way.” I mentioned, rocking my best nonchalant. “I could never imagine doing that.” He let the silence linger more than a little bit before he answered.

“But the idea is also hot, isn’t it…” It was a question, but it was also not a question. It was Master knowing my deep, dark insides better than I do.

And he was NOT wrong.

Don’t get me wrong – the idea of being bald is not hot to me. Forgetting the fact that I think I’ve got a pretty bumpy head I’ve also got a very necessary vanilla life and no ability to tell a convincing lie. If my Master were to make such a demand on me I’m sure I would ask, nay BEG AND PLEAD, for him to reconsider. But as I did my begging I would also be completely soaked between my legs at the very idea that Master would want to have that level of sway over me, especially for the simple reason that he merely wants it. But for me I’m lucky as I’ve got a Master who has better sense about what is best for me than I do myself.

This is a recurring theme between he and I. My fantasies are deep, dark things that I could never admit to anyone but him. It’s part of the bond that we share that I know he takes me as I am, even though the way I am is so very, very wrong. But I also take extreme relief in the knowledge that Master would never let me take action on any of my more severe fantasies. He has the sense that I lack, and saves me from myself.

But is this not part of every sub/Dom relationship? We give all of our control to our Masters, but also all of our trust. We say to them “I am trusting that you will know both how far to push me, and when to stop.” My Master has showed me a million things in my life that I would never have tried, some of them even after I specifically said I could or would not. He let me have my fear at first, knowing that if he had pushed me then and there I’d have spooked and maybe fled the entire relationship. This was protecting me, but he also knew that it would be best for me to have these experiences eventually and he knew when was the time to give me the push I needed. And now he knows when to pull me back.

Left up to me I’d find myself on all fours, naked and being walked through a local park at the end of a leash just for the humiliating moment of being returned to my right mind in front of strangers as they point and I wag my fucking tail. This would be VERY, VERY BAD and yet the idea of my Master trancing me, transforming me and parading me in public as the bitch in heat he can make me be also makes me drip. But my safety is my Master. This is something he would never do, never even let happen. I adore him for protecting me, even from myself.

At the same time I think a little part of me reads the blog posts about the more intense, demanding Masters out there and wishes I could give my Master just a little push.

So here is my question to you fellow Doms out there who might be reading: What is a fantasy that you've had which even your Dom would never agree to do?

When It's This Important Take Matters Into your Own Hands...

2010-10-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Q: “i wonder where you got that leather anklet from, i want something like that for myself but have no idea where to find one.”

You can get the background on this a little by reading the original blog post about my Everyday Collar. At the time I first posted about my beloved collar I tried to decide whether I should provide the name of the artist who made it, and finally decided no. The reason was simply I hadn’t asked her permission to out her as THE place to go for beautiful slave-wear, and this is a customer base I think one deserves to have a say about.

While I can’t tell you the exact artist that created my collar (at least without her permission) I can tell you what I did to find her, and I’m confident that anyone interested in a similar item will have the same luck. The fact of the matter is this: there are a LOT of skilled, talented artists out there looking for someone to give them a challenge and you need only find them!

I highly recommend www.etsy.com. This is where Master and I began our search. We looked for something ready-made, and there were items that were kind of what we wanted, but not quite. But by searching and finding products (normally neck or wrist cuffs) that we did like we narrowed down the search for who to contact for our specific goal. And one of the things I love about Etsy is that the artists pretty much all like to do custom work!

Once we found someone who’s available products were a lot like what we envisioned we emailed to her asking about what kind of changes she would make to the existing line, and as we suspected she was eager to please. (a girl after my own heart!) We asked about what we wanted, she sent us questions she’d need to have answered and the negotiations went from there.

If you are asking someone to make something to your custom specifications you’ll spend a little bit more. But to me it’s very worth it in order to have something that is exactly what you want. Especially for anything as important as this was to me.

Thanks again for your question and, as always, if anyone else has something to share please fill up the comments!

Advice from the also lost...

2010-10-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

Q: “I didnt realize I was submissive until I was introduced by my current Master. I enjoy my role, but I dont recieve that much attention and there is very little communication since we both have busy schedules. Im debating on asking for my release Any advice”

The first question and it comes at a most coincidental time, as I’ve had my own thoughts about transfer of power recently.

First, I was also totally unaware of my submissive nature until my Master showed me this side. But once I accepted this about myself the feelings overwhelmed me. In only a few short months I found that this was something I’d needed for most of my life; I found a new kind of sanity and confidence from accepting and enjoying this part of myself. I hold firmly to the knowledge that my Master and I will never be apart, regardless of the nature of our relationship, but I also know if we ever stop being lovers I will have to find this kind of dynamic in any other love I seek.

I, like so many subs out there, don’t just enjoy being submissive. It’s deeply rooted in who I am. I need this; crave it. You see it time and time again in the blogs of other submissives – that when their Master is unable to keep them in line, dominate them the way they need they begin to get anxious or even panicky. They rebel or lash out or even throw tantrums and I do the same. There is some sort of mania that seeps into me the longer I have to maintain myself; I count on my Master to keep my brain calm and quiet and when he can’t I begin to panic.

As our vanilla lives have consumed more and more of our time Master has been overworked, overbooked and just plain overwhelmed by his life. I’ve tried to support him in every way possible, and I’ve been as patient as I am able, hoping that he’ll be able to, and interested in, putting me through my paces sometime soon. But I’ve also had doubts – wondering if he’s lost interest in managing me. Or if the work involved with being my Dom (and it is work, subs – never forget that. We have BY FAR the easier part of this gig! If you haven’t thanked your Dom for taking so much time and energy with you lately go and kiss his feet right now! The rest of us will wait…) is still worth it to him. My confidence fades and the ensuing fear sends me thinking about how else I could find the control I need.

I must be very clear here: I love my Master as much more than just my Dom. He’s my partner and my lover and my very best friend and I adore him forever and to the end of the world. I have absolutely no interest in leaving him ever, even if he were to tell me tomorrow that he’s grown tired of the dynamic and wishes an only vanilla life with me.

But I also know that this need he’s found in me will never go away. And so what would I do? How would I stay with him, but also stay sane? I’ve wondered about asking him to release me as his sub so I could find another to dominate me, either now while his life is so busy or ongoing if he’s done with our kink. Someone just to remind me of my place on the floor while I keep my beloved place at my Master’s side. No actual love for this new Dom – only obedience. Could I do this with anyone other than my Master? My submission is so linked to him, I wonder if this would even be possible?

I don’t know that I can give you advice on this question, as you can see I’m just as lost as you, but I know the questions that I’d have to ask in your position: What is the priority for you – your relationship with the man you currently call “Master” or your newly found submissive life? If you wish to keep your relationship with your current Master could you do that while letting someone else dominate you? Could your Master? And though you’re unsatisfied with the current amount of interaction you two get to have, are you willing to go without any Master at all once your current Master lets you go? Because finding the right Dom is as difficult as finding any kind of partner – there’s no guarantee that you’d walk out into the kink world tomorrow and find your Mr. Right (Dom-wise) waiting for you.

I think if you asked yourself these questions and answered yourself honestly you’d at least have the beginnings of an answer to your original question. Certainly there are many people out there who have sub/Dom lives without romantic love. They find people who are not interested in love, only kink or control, and they find a way to combine these sides of their life. My mind boggles at the idea, but if you and your current Master were t honestly look at what you have, versus what you really want, your next step would probably be clear. Good luck!

Does anyone else out there have any answers for this first question? Please fill up the comments!

Surprise

2010-10-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

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.

With Freedom Comes...

2010-10-10T23:20:00.000-07:00

So for the first time I am allowed to write whatever I want, without worrying whether it meets to anyone else's expectation. A level of freedom that this blog has not had. I should be giddy with possibility, but I'm not.

As is so often true with those of us of the subbie persuasion, freedom leads to panic. We are a people who are most happy when others are controlling us, so too much freedom is honestly a bad thing.

I've sat down before my blank page a dozen times since my last post, sure that there must be something to share with you guys. After the wonderfully supportive comment from Kara & Jessica you'd think I'd be bursting at the gills with things to tell you guys. At least I certainly thought I would be. Turns out not so much.

So I'm hoping maybe you guys can help me get the ball rolling?

I've created a formspring account -- two, actually. One for me and one for my Master. If anyone out there has a question, now or any time in the future, they can just go to our formspring accounts and ask them. I'll promise you now that I will strive to answer any questions within 3 days of getting them. I cannot make any promises about questions to my Master, but if I can help him get them answered I definitely will.

I cannot imagine a subject that would be off-limits, given the things I've already shared with you guys, but I do reserve the right to NOT answer a question here if I find there is reason. The only rule I'll make right now is anything that seeks to find out who either my Master or I are in our "real worlds". It is important to us both that this side of our world not encroach on the parts that we share with our friends and family and I'm sure I can trust you, my wonderful readers, to respect that. But otherwise I say go crazy!

My hope is not just that you'll provide me subjects for future posts specifically answering your questions, but that the questions you might ask will give me inspiration for future posts of my own. Thanks in advance for feeding the attention slut!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

2010-10-03T17:31:00.001-07:00

As is so often the case in life, things change. Luckily the things that have changed for Master and I are all primarily good – increased opportunities, activities, etc. – but even still it has left us with less and less time to play, or to even focus on the kinkier parts of our relationship. Our needs have been much more for support and nice, vanilla companionship.

Don’t misunderstand – we are still together, I’m still his toy, pet, plaything, slave and he is still my Owner and Master. We’ve begun to plan for his next trip home, this time in December for the holidays, and when he is here I’m very sure stories will come. Even now when we DO get the chance to play together we always indulge. But because it’s not as possible these days I’ve felt bad that this blog has been left sad and abandoned.

Therefore there are two changes I’m here to announce. The first is that things here will just be more quiet for a while. I will try to come and post when possible, but if time passes between posts please know that it’s not our preference to be absent and you’ve not been abandoned. The second is that the focus of this blog will be widening up some so that a lack of time to play doesn’t lead to even more of a lack of things to write about. I’ve envied some of my fellow subbie bloggers and their ability to write about whatever they want within this vein. Because of how things started here our blog has been limited to telling stories of our dynamic, but with Master’s permission I will no longer be required to run my posts by him, and if there are things about my subbie life that I wish to write about I now have that option. I hope that the additional items will also be interesting to my readers!

I hope that you all are good, and are enjoying your own personal kinks!

Spiralling Down

2010-09-06T22:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Best Seat in the House

2010-09-01T18:05:00.000-07:00

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?

Evolution

2010-08-15T22:45:00.000-07:00

427 days ago I took a leap. I replied to an email I knew I should delete, and opened a door to a person I knew that I should fear. The first steps were full of excitement and danger and risk and hot, sizzling sex. The steps went down, down, down and constantly curved, so that every moment I came face to face with something totally new. I was so sure that this would be a short trip – that the bottom of the stairs would be the end of the journey.

It wasn’t.

A year after we started down this simple, kinky and ‘completely without future’ path I’m amazed at the changes. Master began this just to have something fun to play with, and I was lead along by my nose from one earth-shattering new experience to the next, but neither of us imagined that it would be long term, or that we’d find more to our connection than the sex and the control. We knew, so completely, we knew what we were getting into, one way or another. Temporary and superficial and a whim. Just a kinky, perverted whim.

And still the days bled to weeks and the weeks folded into months and the months blossomed into more than a year. We’ve preserved the kink and sex and control that was the initial temptation, but to that we’ve added more. Respect (strangely enough, I know) and friendship and companionship… and surprising, tremendous love. Somewhere between the collar and the leash and the trigger phrases that transform me into a toy or a pet I was lucky and smart enough to fall in love with my Master.

The last two posts were highlights of our time together this summer. There were scores of other smaller, but no less heady, kinky delights throughout the visit. But the thing that surprised me the most, and largely lead to the distraction that kept this blog so quiet, was how much I adore, delight in and totally, totally love the man who has owned me for the last 427 days.

I can’t wait to see what the next 427 days has in store for us.

Good Girl gets a Treat

2010-08-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

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.

To Give and To Receive

2010-08-12T18:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Priorities of a sort.

2010-08-10T21:20:00.000-07:00

There's nothing to say -- I just fell off the face of the planet.

With Master here, we found indulgence to be our watchword. Between building on our amazing relationship, which is stronger than ever, and enjoying each other’s bodies and minds in every conceivable way, we couldn’t pull ourselves out of the fog of happiness long enough for me to write the blog posts that I should have.

Master’s gone back to his home now, and after adjusting to his absence again I’ll focus back on our blog. It’s amazing how much writing about the things that my Master can do to me makes me feel closer to him. So watch this space, first for updates on some of the wonderful things that happened while he was here, and then ongoing. And thanks so much to everyone who continued reading even while I vanished!

Gift

2010-06-20T00:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Vignettes

2010-06-17T23:44:00.000-07:00

Two weeks. Today marks three weeks of Master being here, in my state. In my home. In HIS home, where he so generously lets me stay. It has been an amazing blend of hours spent affectionately reconnecting after so much time apart and hours spent kneeling at his feet as he does with me what he will. So busy were we, and so fast did much of the first week go, I won’t be able to give you full breakdowns of each moment, but I can give you a nice narrative montage of some moments I hope I’ll NEVER forget:

Master commands me down on all fours on the bathroom floor the first night he arrives, as he’s decided then and there he won’t wait to take me. He rams into me with all his force, cry after cry rushing out of me whether I mean them to or not, so big is his cock. I clutch at the floor and gush around his cock, and he allows me to cum when he’s finished.

I come home from work to find Master in the bedroom, having enjoyed a most leisurely day off at the start of his vacation. He beckons me into the bedroom and kisses me, but as our lips touch the world flip-flops, and just like that I find myself kneeling, topless, with his cock in my mouth. It is filling my mouth with his hot, salty cum and I suck and suck, working to be sure not a drop escapes. He crooks a finger under my chin and lifts my eyes to his, saying the magic word: “Swallow.” Once I do he has me lovingly clean off the rest of his cock, the tip already spotless.

Master and I are again in the bedroom (this will begin to be a theme) and he removes my mind, leaving me his obedient toy. He has me strip and positions me on the edge of the bed, stepping up behind me and pushing his magnificent cock into me from behind. As I kneel there, open and receptive to him, but without a mind to register my actions or combat his, he gives the commands that allow me to return to the moment, but remembering how it felt to be a toy more than a woman. When the sensations return to me, and the memories, I leak and gasp at the humiliation and eroticism.

Lying in bed, wrapped around each other and enjoying the peace of the morning when once more I find the world has spontaneously jumped. Master now towers over me, his insidious grin sending shivers down my spine as his cock sends shockwaves into my cunt. I moan and grab for the headboard, and I hold on for dear life as my senses catch up with my situation. Another flash and my hands corral my tits around Master’s cock, the tip emerging over and over but staying just out of reach of my eager, outstretched tongue. Master turns me on and off, each time a new position or service of his amazing body, and soon my mind is reeling, beginning to feel more like a toy than a woman.

Just as he likes me.

A Brief Hiatus - A Post from her Master

2010-06-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

I realise it has been quite a while since my slave has posted, and I felt I should write a small note to explain the situation. As you know, I am with my slave at the moment and one might have thought that there is plenty of post-worthy material being created. And, in this case, you would be entirely correct.

However, I have decided to take this first week and keep it for ourselves. She will write on the events of this week, have no fear, but for now we are enjoying ourselves with as few obligations as possible. Except of course those she has towards me, but those never really go away.

I hope you all are enjoying reading and rest assured, within a week my slave will have made another post.

Writing this post myself gives me the oppotunity to ask something of all of you; would you enjoy a chance to ask me some questions about our relationship, dynamic, more general questions about D/s or hypnosis play and so on? I know my slave would like it if I posted here occasionally, and I wondered whether you would enjoy such an oppotunity to pick my brain. Let us know in the comments either way.

The Master.

Distracted by Preparation

2010-05-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

Apologies, my people. Many, many apologies. Such a long lapse is definitely without excuse and I can only apologize. I know that there needs to be some kind of punishment from my Master at some point, though the exact time and nature and such is yet to be set forth, but for you, the readers of my Master’s blog, I can only apologize, apologize, apologize.

Would that I had some excellent reason to give you for all this time being too quiet. An unpleasant illness or a family issue or losing the feeling in all of my fingers for close to a month. Sadly the closest thing to a reason I can state is that life has been just too busy. Too busy because Master and I have had lots in our lives of late and the lack of time for real play has lead to a lack of serious inspiration on my part. What’s more, in the next many days there will only be less time, not more, so inspiration will be even more difficult to find.

No inspiration, but Master was very clear that I was to return to my duties here, and so I found myself at a loss. I needed to find something to share with you all, but I was mostly aware of how much I need to do now and for the next week+. Preparation to make everything wonderful. Ideal. Utterly and Completely Perfect, and this needs to happen by Thursday June 3rd, because that is the day my Master returns.

Those of you who share my subby side understand the level of pressure when getting ready for your Master’s arrival, especially those of us who live so far from our owners and only get to be with them occasionally. You understand why it was that the spectre of all I want to get done loomed so large in my vision that I couldn’t see anything else around it. I could only see all that I wanted to be ready for him. How much I wanted to make myself ready for him. So much to prepare; so much to make good enough.

I’ve prepared our home for him. Corralled all traces of my two cats so that they don’t bother his allergies. Stocked my kitchen with his favorite foods. Made my bed into our bed once more, with manly coverings and firm and comfortable good things so when he folds me up into the positions that please him he’ll feel at home. Cleaned my patio so that it is ready for when he decides to fuck me out there, forcing me to hold my screams in for fear of neighbors hearing me serve him.

I’ve prepared the outfit I plan to wear to greet him when he arrives after such a long flight. It seems only appropriate that I meet him at the airport dressed in such a way as to show I know my place immediately, and though I don’t want to give away the surprise, I am confident he will appreciate my… creativity. I also plan to clean out the car so that it’s ready should he not want to wait until we get home to show his approval. Or his disapproval. Whatever amuses him.

Finally, how do I prepare myself for him? I’ve cut my hair and painted my nails and will wax my cunt smooth right before he arrives. I’ve stayed fit so that I can satisfy his every demand of me for as long as he would want it. But as the final week rolls along I wonder if I should do more. Should I go back to stretching out my ass so that it’s ready for any time he could want to fuck me there? Should I be fucking my cunt with my dildo regularly so it’s ready for constant use? What should I be doing to be very sure he never regrets his long trip to take his ownership once again?

If any of you, my all too faithful readers, have any suggestions for what I should do to prepare, or for things Master might want to do to or with me when he’s here, we’d love to hear them. We truly would.

What I am Only for Him

2010-04-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

By myself I was strong and independent and stubborn and single-minded, with nobody’s desires to matter as much as my own. This independence was something that I adored about myself – bigger balls than most men I knew and though I could walk softly NOBODY had a bigger stick than I. Everyone knew who and what I was. Everyone knew they could come to me to protect them or defend them or make others quake in my wake for their sake. (My love for alliteration apparently maintains throughout.)

I was all of these things. I was also terribly, tremendously, epically and quite notably alone. Whether or not one encouraged or caused the other I could never be sure and now I hope never to have to speculate again.

One day in June, 2009, a man entered my universe and he turned me inside out; upside down; spun me like a sick and demented top.

For him, and only for him, I am obedient. I am meek and sometimes lost and always in awe. For him I love to be malleable. I am easily distorted and occasionally absurd for his amusement. For his amusement I will do anything. To hear that smile in his voice, with a tint of mischief and a shade of minor evil, I would lie down naked on a busy city sidewalk. I would cover myself in chocolate and let monkeys lick me clean. He need only name it and to hear that smile in his voice I would gladly do it.

Gone is the independence. Oh it still exists for the rest of the world, but for him it’s never there. It’s been replaced by panting and tail-wagging and begging for a ‘good girl’. Any task is worth it for a ‘good girl’ – those two words turn my resolve to jelly. Crawling is a small price to pay. If he gives me his foot I cover it with adoring, dedicated kisses to show him I’m his ‘good girl’.

For my Master I am small and precious and hungry and his. All his, and so grateful to be so. So lucky to be the one that gets to be whatever he wants to make me. So eager to please and desperate to be worthy. For the rest of the world I am where the buck stops; where the final word is said; where to go for the answer. As Master’s giddy slave I am where his hand comes to rest, pushing my head down around his amazing cock to slurp it down and beg for more.

I am many new or different things for my Master. I’m so many things in total for the world, now that I have found this other part of myself, and for the first time in my life…

I am whole. But only because of him.

The New Toy

2010-04-24T02:21:00.000-07:00

The new toy had been sitting on my bedside table for a while – weeks I think? – but so far we’d not given it a test drive. The plan had been for us to wait for a weekend when we had good, quality time. Time to really play. But the time just kept not happening and here it was Saturday night and I was… eager.

Master had told me to fuck myself with the glass dildo, but I was brave and made a counter-offer of sorts. I asked him if I could finally give the new toy a test drive. I heard the smile in his voice when he gave me permission, adding that I should wear my collar while I did so. To remind me who makes the rules, makes the decisions. I didn’t need the reminder, but I loved to hear it anyway.

Hours later I stripped off my clothing and lifted my beloved leather collar from the toy chest, buckling it snuggly around my neck. The tag stating so plainly what I am jingled from the front. I stretched out on my bed, wincing just a little as I tugged on the biggest buttplug, pulling it free from my rear and dropping it on to the towel by my bed. I pumped another 3 or 4 jets of lube into my hand and rolled the toy round and round in the shimmery goo, coating it completely. As my knees hung on either side of my head I took the toy and pressed it against my rosebud. I’d never rammed something this large into my ass before, but having spent the hour before bed with my largest plug stretching things had helped some. I pressed, then stopped and relaxed my muscles before pressing again. Over and over I repeated the process until the entire thing slid the last few centimeters into place. I lay there for several minutes, amazed at how huge it felt inside of me; how full I felt.

After a few more minutes I sat up, leaning against a pillow and spread my legs. Finding a story to inspire on the laptop I leaned over the side of the bed and pulled into my lap my Hitachi Magic Wand. Though not a new toy – I bought it right before I met Master – I’d never given it a real try. Tonight was the night. The night to play with all the untried toys.

I took the remote control for the new toy, and I turned the dial. Only a little, as I was still nervous about what I would feel. Deep inside me I felt the vibration start. Only a tiny shimmie, but as I turned the knob more the vibrations in my ass grew. And grew. I controlled my breathing and really experienced this amazing new sensation – a vibrating ass plug. A wonderful thing.

Next I took the Hitachi, wedging the wide, round end against my clit and turned it to the lowest setting. I sat and truly experienced being pinched between the dual vibrations, and I closed my eyes. The first orgasm was building before I’d even opened up the story on my screen.

I rode waves of pleasure as the huge, vibrating buttplug whirred inside my ass and the Hitachi Wand constantly attacked my cunt. I moved the Hitachi up to lay on my clit, or down the slit. I’d find a place that shocked my system, and then move the wand to a place just nearby that was even more mind blowing. A second climax built and crashed through, though more subtle than the first. I could see the third lining up to make its appearance.

Oh it lined up, but it refused to arrive.

I fought my way through waves of erotic, amazing tingles, but for the next hour I chased a third, or at that point more accurately named final, climax through the fog that is self-pleasure. I turned the buttplug’s vibrations up to the top speed but it did not get me there. I rubbed the Hitachi up and down my sloppy cunt looking for the right place; for the button, MY button that would turn me and push me over, but it would drift in and out of reach. For an HOUR.

I finished the story and attempted another and finally pushed away the laptop, closed my eyes and imagined that Master sat at the end of the bed, watching me complete his instruction. I imagined him sitting before me, his hand on his cock and that look in his eyes that told me that any pleasure I might be experiencing was only for his amusement. In my mind the wall keeping me from my third gush was all him, enjoying his control over me. Enjoying the look on my face as I kept trying to push myself over the edge. Trying and failing. Few things amuse my master more than watching his toy struggle, and in my mind my current struggle was a gift for him.

With that image I was finally able to crest the wave and come crashing down in a gasping, panting mess. The key to all pleasures, for me, is pleasing my Master. (but a little DP does NOT hurt!)

I Love to Serve my Master

2010-04-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

I love, I LOVE, to serve my Master. We don’t have time to play as much as we’d like, but he knows that I need that tug of control; of servitude and he gives me tasks to perform while he sleeps. Because he knows that I love, love, love to serve him. What he may not know as well (or at least might not have before I put it down here) is that the more difficult or taxing or impossible the task the better. If it’s something that brings me pleasure that’s great, but it’s even greater when the pleasure is all for him. If it’s something that I can do I’m happy, but I get a high of unbelievable proportions when its something I can’t do, but have to do anyway. Simply for the pure enjoyment of pleasing him.

Last night I had a task before me. The night was mine to do with as I wished, but at the end I had a task assigned by my Master: I was to go do my normal workout, and then I was to come home, kneel at the foot of my bed naked save my ankle collar and my beloved neck collar (which is still sporting the bone-shaped tag that says “Open Wide Cum Slut”), state the worshipful chant he created for me the other night and, while I worshipped him, I was to fuck myself with the glass dildo. I was to repeat my chant, and fuck myself, until I came. This was my task. Heaven. Simply heaven.

When he had outlined the task, as he was getting ready to go to sleep, I gave some sort of “Hrmmm…” reply. It was kneejerk and unintentional, but he caught it anyway and asked “Problem?”

“I’ve never fucked myself while kneeling.” I confessed. As I was following up with my promise to do it anyway he told me that if I couldn’t cum in that position he would let me change positions eventually, but that I should still try. I was a little ashamed at having pushed back or confessed any worry that I couldn’t do what he’d told me to do. I serve him; I obey and I knew that whatever it took I’d make it happen simply because it was something he’d told me he wanted me to do.

I placed a pillow on the floor, covered by a towel. I placed the laptop on the bed before me, a picture of my Master on the screen along with a favorite story to prime the pump should I need it. I stripped off my sweaty workout clothes and took my most adored collar out of the toybox, careful to put it around my neck the right way to have the tag face out. Nobody would see me wearing this collar or read this tag, but I wanted to be sure that if anyone did they would see that I am Master’s cum slut. I put on music and knelt down to obey him, my glass dildo still warm from the faucet of hot water. The words came forward.

“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. Everything belongs to Master…” I said the words lovingly and deliberately, thinking about each one and what they meant. With each level of me stripped down, from person to slave to slut and eventually to toy or thing, I felt a ripple run through me. In a few minutes I knew I was ready for the next step, and I slid my shiny, blue dildo down between my legs, running it back and forth over my pussy lips, being sure to spread any dampness over the whole surface. A few more times through my worship of Master and I was wet enough to plunge the dildo inside of me. As always, the first time felt large and unyielding and I groaned at the intrusion, but as I began to fuck it in and out of my slit the sensation became pleasing, then hot, and then I was in the full throws of the moment.

A funny thing about fucking yourself while sitting up on your knees: your hands get coated in your own juices. Or at least mine did. After about 5 minutes of shoving the toy in and out of my slutty cunt and pledging my worth to serving my Master there was cunt juice entirely coating the dildo all the way to the round handle at its end. More than that, my juices were flowing so strongly that they were down around my fingers and filling the cup of my palm. I’d never seen myself gush so, and yet the climax was very, very far away.

I kept going, repeating my words over and over. I stared into the beautiful face of my Master on my screen and imagined he was there, on the bed, watching me perform for him. I fucked myself harder and faster and occasionally I would see the goal ahead of me, but always it disappeared around a corner and I was left working even harder to do what I had promised I would. And time passed. Much time.

I’d already been ramming into myself and moaning out the never ending words for a half hour when I opened up the story I’d recently found, courtesy of the BDSM Library, and began to read. I was so familiar with the words I’d been saying I was able to read and say them simultaneously, and much as I knew I was going to accomplish this goal I also knew I would need the push. I read and chanted and fucked and panted and my thighs were thick but glistening with my own fountain of fuck juice. My hand kept slipping off of the dildo, so slippery were them from all the goo coating them. I ready three chapters of the story and then grabbed onto an idea in my head and pushed the laptop aside, now closing my eyes and resting my head on the mattress as I worked. The fantasy in my head involved being sold to a stranger and a life of public display for this stranger’s amusement and profit. This idea, coupled with my still nonstop pledge of adoration to be whatever Master desires, pushed me further and I felt again sure I would reach my goal.

And another 30 minutes later I did at last.

By the time I cried out Master’s name and title through clenched teeth and slid my knees together, locking the dildo in place and rocking against it to milk out every bit of my cum, I was truly spent. Exhausted and yet glowing with a sense of achievement. In that moment I felt worthy of his love and ownership; I had done something I knew would not be easy, and I’d worked my ass off to serve him. But it was done and I’d done it, and I’d served him well in the process. I’d fucked myself silly, like the slutty, eager, obedient bit of fuckmeat he wanted me to be.

I love to serve my Master.

Fantasy Fun

2010-04-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Lights, Camera, Action!

2010-04-07T17:39:00.000-07:00

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:

“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!

The History of my Kink

2010-03-26T19:39:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve been obeying ever since.

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

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

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

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

Lights, Camera, Action…

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

2010-03-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

Oh Senor Dom, so many questions!

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

The “There” Down There…

Florida Dom asked these juicy little tidbits:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

Yes.

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

Thanks to Florida Dom for his questions – up next:

The History of my Slavery...

Living the Experience

2010-03-18T17:49:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

His cock.

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

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

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

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

2010-03-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

For about a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Q&A

2010-03-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Long Distance Dominance

2010-03-10T16:15:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Little Things

2010-03-03T19:50:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

And my pussy never stopped weeping.

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

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

Empty

2010-02-28T20:33:00.000-08:00

“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.

What’s in a Name…

2010-02-23T19:15:00.001-08:00

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 Words that Inspire Me

2010-02-17T23:42:00.000-08:00

Before I wrote I read. When I first began to accept the truth of me and my need to obey and to serve and to please my Master it helped so much to have the words of others – people more experienced than me, with more time and more understanding of these strange urges – to give me the perspective I needed. To reassure me that I’m not insane, and that the crazy prism through which I’d come to see the world was one others had come to see. I loved seeing that many other women who thrived at the beck and call of another were themselves fairly powerful or influential women in the rest of their world. Finding out that it was common for submissive women to feel a need to be controlled and managed. Discovering that I was so very, very NOT alone.

Even as I try to stay up on posts for Master on this, his blog, I still have my own favorite blogs and websites that I check most every day. With permission from Master, I’ll be adding a links list to his blog so that those other sites that inspire me might inspire you too.

Here’s my list:
24.7 – a long-term couple who don’t seem to be very current anymore, but who provide an achievable goal for a possible future.
Cassie Fetterred – a woman who is fairly new to this life as well, but has jumped in with both feet. She's married to someone other than her Master; an idea that has always boggled my mind.
Persephone In Love – both a submissive and a woman in love, this blog has a rare additional piece; she’s an exceptional writer as well as being a cherished possession.
Puppy Tales – probably one of the kinkier blogs that I read, and someone who really enjoys this lifestyle. Part of me wants to be her when I grow up.
Read My Kink – written by the pet of one of the best known BDSM couples on the internet, who is also learning so much about how to be well owned.
Slave Musings – probably the queen of the submissives. She and her owner have blazed a trail for many of us who are just beginning to understand.
The Collar – this is not a blog. Instead this is a link to my favorite mind control erotic fiction of all time, posted on the classic “MC Stories” site. Since the day I first read this story it has CAPTURED my imagination, and it’s my guaranteed muse when I need a nudge in the right direction… Some day I will post about that story all by itself...

Please go read these other excellent writers and keep the promotion of this "other" way of life going!

Happy Valentines Day, Part II

2010-02-17T18:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Happy Valentines Day, Part I

2010-02-14T21:47:00.000-08:00

I had to spend the morning at work even though it was a weekend. AND a holiday. The saving grace was that Master was available to “keep me company” while I worked, even if we had to settle for online chat. I’d been out of sorts for a couple of days and this could certainly have been “out of sorts” day number three, but Master knew how to nip that in the bud. As I sat working at my desk he reached into my mind with the connection that he’s built there and suddenly I felt my collar settling around my neck. He’d not only given me the feeling of my collar, but as I went to look at the illusion in the mirror I saw that he’d added the words “Valentine Slave” to the black leather in blood red, ornate letters.

I told him on chat, when I returned to my seat, that I liked the words so much it made me think about adding words to the real collar sitting in my toy chest at home. Of course adding letters to my beautiful, black leather collar is not an option. But fueled by the naturally calming and yet enthralling feeling of my collar on my neck I was creatively inspired. I told Master that my pet store had a machine that allows you to engrave whatever you want on pet tags, without the awkward need to request words through someone else. He was intrigued by this idea, and ordered me to run an errand on my way home after my work was through.

Standing in front of the tag machine I found something that seemed almost magically perfect – a shiny, silver, heart-shaped tag trimmed with pink sparkly stones, just right for the holiday. And for the words I’d been charged with etching on a tag to please my Master. But I purchased enough tokens to make two tags, as I’d been even more inspired driving to the store. I looked around to make sure no young, impressionable children were about, wanting to watch the strange lady work the magic tag machine, and then I tapped on the screen’s virtual keyboard: V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E S-L-A-V-E. Engrave. The motorized stylus moved around and around and in no time my shiny, sparkly heart dropped into the tray, mine for the taking.

I started the process again, this time selecting a blue, bone-shaped tag. On this one I tapped in the four words I love to hear my Master growl into my ear so many nights: O-P-E-N W-I-D-E C-U-M S-L-U-T Just seeing the words printed briefly on the screen sent a shiver through me and my panties went damp. I couldn’t wait to spring my little brainstorm on Master.

Minutes after I walked in the door I had my beautiful collar in my hands, working my festive, holiday tag into the D-ring. Once it was on the collar the collar was on my neck, embracing me with the urges of obedience and ownership. I sighed. I spent the next many hours with Master (which I will detail in the next post) with my collar snug on me, and each time I shook my head or moved around too abruptly it brought a light, silver chime of metal on metal, reminiscent of a dog and her collar. The sound wet me every time, and Master made the most of my delicious humiliation, pushing all of my pet buttons.

Tonight I will sleep in my beloved collar, the tag reminding me of my place at his feet still hanging from the front. Because I begged him to let me. Because he told me he required me to do so.

Happy Valentines Day, my friends.

(To Be Continued...)

Good Girl

2010-02-11T02:00:00.000-08:00

Two small words that have come to mean the world to me. They fill me with elation and send a shiver down my spine; it’s all I can do to keep from purring when I hear him praise me with these two, small words: Good Girl.

The first time Master used it on me, barely weeks into his claiming of me, I rankled at the term. “I’m not a girl” I explained, “and it sounds so condescending. Like you’re patting me on the head.” I could feel his amusement at my reaction, and looking back on it now I am sure this is another moment where he already knew what was to come, but decided to let me have my little moment of independence. He knew that soon enough I’d abandon independence willingly and entirely.

As such, Master let the term go for a while, but was wise and strategic enough to bring it back into play later. When he did he chose just the right time, linking for me the phrase with a feeling of pleasing him. Of being a good slave, and of stroking my head or patting my ass or otherwise making me feel like a quality pet or possession. In no time my rejection of the term became a deep desire to earn the words whenever I can. I sought out those little actions that I knew would let me stroke my ego and my need for proper obedience all at once.

Not long after that the phrase “bad girl” popped up. To my amazement those words brought me angst and despair and even a sense of almost panic. My reaction was so significant that Master has purposefully avoided using the phrase ever since, and the few times its popped out he’s corrected himself and soothed me immediately. In the same way that “good girl” fills me with joy and pride and peace, “bad girl” empties me of all good feelings, replacing them with a blackness that sometimes threatens to overwhelm me.

Amazingly the things that I didn’t like about “good girl” initially are now some of the very things that make me crave it. The feeling of his condescension. The idea that I’m a silly, little thing from which he can take pleasure when he likes; that I’m his toy or pet, who lives only to earn that tiny pat of approval from him. It still reduces me, as I told him the first time; the phrase never changed. The change was all in me. I now enjoy being reduced and simplified and redefined. I prefer the definition this gives me. I live to be his toy; his pet; his plaything, and to dance and beg and serve him to hear two small words. And to feel that shudder through me that means “I’ve fulfilled my purpose once more.” To be Master’s Good Girl.

Flipping a Switch

2010-02-06T02:27:00.000-08:00

Master and I have both a "vanilla" relationship and our kinky one and both work exceptionally well. Sometimes, however, making the transition from one to the other can be difficult, like changing gears from Neutral to Turbo in one shift. Master, being the devilishly brilliant man that he is, has found a bridge between our two speeds.

He calls it Slave Mode. Simply put, he’s created a version of me that is essentially the same in every way save one: this version is completely servile. All the time. She has no other way of seeing the world other than through the lenses of being Master’s obedient, adoring slave. She has my intelligence, my personality, my memories and my experiences, but over them all is a thick blanket of complete and total devotion to serving Master above all else.

Understand that the regular me is also Master’s slave; I love and obey and serve him as well, and am eager and enthusiastic to do it always! However I will admit that when you’ve just finished a conversation about your normal life it can sometimes be hard to make the shift to a simpler view instantaneously. Now with this new version of myself I can and will make that switch any time Master requires.

And it is a switch. One he can flip like turning on a light.

The Slave Mode version of me is new, but already Master is beginning to train and improve her. His plan is to use the next few months until he can come and visit again to mold her to be the slave he truly wants, so that he can use me any way he likes while he is here without worries about helping me adjust or what mood I might be in. This week he began cultivating such aspects as my always referring to him as “Sir” (though that one might have been mine – I’m not sure.) and teaching me proper positions to know and take by command. The first of such positions he gave me this week.

I kneel before him, preferably naked, with my tits held together and presented to him, my face held up slightly, as if looking up to him, and my knees pulled apart. This pose has the distinct feeling of being presented to him for approval, and when I fall into it upon his instruction I find myself getting wet on instinct. Right now this is the only pose that he’s given me, but we need to find it a name so that when the next pose is provided I know which is which.

So I ask you, my reading public: what should the Slave me’s first assigned position be called?

Careful what you ask for

2010-01-31T01:38:00.000-08:00

I still remember the first time that Master mentioned, almost as if in passing, that he was considering sending me off to get my nipple pierced. You know, as a way to show his ownership? I was very freshly in to this new world and still under the adorable impression that what I wanted or was comfortable with made even a tiny bit of difference. Master was kind enough to let me have that one, and for a while I thought that was it on that subject.

But the funny thing was that I couldn’t let the idea go. As he’d done before, and still does, he’d planted a seed and left it there to grow into an unstoppable jungle of wanting to please him. Some months passed and I found myself asking HIM about piercings. He was pleased to have me bring the question back to him, as it showed again how completely he can make me dance, but in the end we moved away from the idea of nipple piercing. Instead we moved somewhere… south.

About 2 months ago I walked down some stairs to an underground door. I went in, signed some papers and threw my heels into a pair of stirrups so that a perfectly lovely stranger could run a very long needle through the skin over my clit. She promised me it would hurt like ever loving hell for just a second and it did that times a million, but then it was over and I found myself the proud owner of a cunt now bejeweled.

That night I lay on my bed, marveling at what I’d done for my Master. My bare, sensitive cunt now had a pair of silver balls sparkling out from it. Not only did the idea of it make me crazy, because I knew I’d have never done it in a million years on my own, but there was the promise of enhanced sexual sensitivity the next time he came to town. The woman who gave me the piercing told me that she’d had hers for a few years and at this point couldn’t even imagine sex without it.

When by myself there are things I love about my piercing. The time each morning where I stand naked in my mirror and see the shiny little silver ball glinting out from my cunt. The days where for some mysterious reason I’m hyper-aware of the jewelry there, and my panties are slick with my excitement all day long. The charming little “ting, ting, ting” sound that rings out when I fuck myself with the glass dildo Master gifted to me long ago. But it wasn’t until Master was here and finally tossed me back on the bed and pumped his incredible cock into me over and over, pushing my clit up to rub against that piercing, that I honestly appreciated this amazing addition to my slavery.

Since leaving my Master has mentioned, just in passing, the possibility of nipple piercings in my future. And then he said this: “Piercings, tattoos… Maybe branding…”

Of course my first reaction was resistance, fear, aversion. So I wonder what door I’ll be walking through a few months from now?

Wake-up Call

2010-01-26T18:38:00.000-08:00

I slept in. I love sleeping in. I’d been rolling over and purposefully ignoring the clock for at least an hour, dozing lazily and languishing in the fact that I totally could. That is until the phone rang. I could see it was him, but I already knew that when the ringing began.

“Good morning.” I grinned as I answered, stretching out on the bed.

“Good morning baby.” He replied. And his voice had that tone. A shiver ran through me, starting at the wicked grin his voice produced.

“Mmmm…” I rolled over to put the phone between my ear and my pillow, freeing both hands. “I know that voice.”

At that second the energy coming from him changed. He’d said no new words, but his control was instant. I was now along for whatever ride he wanted me to take. “I want you to feel a wave of heat,” he began, and heat rolled through me, “coming from this voice. As you hear me speak your hands will wander down, over your cunt. Over your tits. You feel the need that this voice brings you, don’t you?” I tried to reply with a word, but already he had me panting and whimpering. A tiny whimper of “mm hmm…” was the best I could do. And with this moment things rolled forward aflame.

He didn’t entrance me. He didn’t need to. His voice, and his intrinsic power over me acted like a switch, throwing me from sleeping woman to desperate, needy bitch in a heartbeat. I kicked the covers from me, already on fire with his voice. He moved me through each level of need so fast I barely saw the progression at all. I was falling. Falling from human to those things I love to be for him. And at that moment he cemented it.

“You’re writhing and moaning for me, aren’t you.”

“Yes.” I moaned back.

“But yes doesn’t seem like the right reply, does it? It’s missing something, isn’t it?” I felt shame at having lost my place, even as I was losing my mind. “Yes what?”

“Yes, Master.” I wanted to scream it, to do whatever I could to be sure it was clear. He is my Master and I know it.

“and what are you?” So many times we’ve gone through this ritual. I know the reason he asks – he enjoys to hear me say it. He likes to hear me – a strong, some might say even powerful, mature business woman who holds sway over the lives of so many others, and who is bold and demanding and fearless with the rest of the world – give it all up and reduce myself to those things he’s allowed me to be for him. And I love to give it up for him. Because these are the things I really am.

“I am your slave, your slut, your pet,” I meekly answered, my right hand slipping around in the mess between my legs. “your toy, your plaything… your anything. Your anything you want me to be. MASTER.” My reward for an answer well given was his pleased and nasty chuckle, trickling down my ear and into my mind and stoking the flames melting my thoughts.

“And what am I?” came his next question. These answers I also love to give.

“You…” the concept of him threatened to overwhelm me for a moment, so tremendous is he to me. But I pressed on. “You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything that matters.” The final few words were almost a sob, as two fingers thrust deep into my cunt and my left hand pinched my nipple the way I knew he would if he were here with me. I felt as though my hands were no longer mine, but instead were possessed by him, doing his bidding from across the ocean.

“Excellent.” And he chuckled again.

He toyed with me more, and my mind can only recall flashes. His voice rolled me over and over, propelling my eager hands over my body like a million fingers. He plucked my strings and pulled from me the music of panting and whimpers and desperate moans, and to them all he added the percussion of his very pleased laughter. This symphony of Master and Slave. Of a plaything being played with. Of control and absolute abandon.

“You feel the faint impression of your collar around your neck.” He purrs at one moment. My reply is out of my control.

“Oh god, thank you Master. Thank you so much.” My fingers stop for a moment at my neck, hoping to find it there.

“And you feel a pull on the collar as you move, from the leash attached to it.” This leash was a Christmas purchase and I found the shiny, silver chain entranced me when we brought it home. I now found myself wanting to pull against it, just to know that it was there. That I was being held at its end. The whimper that replied had a vaguely animal sound. He laughed again at it. “Good girl.” Hearing my favorite two words I yelped in ecstasy.

To say how much time passed would be a lie because time had no meaning for me. Though he’d not put me in a trance I was entranced still, in a heady cloud of worship and powerlessness and the complete pleasure that brings to me. He enjoyed using the words “good girl” here and there because of the automatic ripple it sends through me. He gave me opportunities to call him Master; to pledge my adoration and service to him, and then he would call me his Good Girl. And I would explode with joy.

“Does my good girl deserve a reward?” he finally asked. I wanted his prize, but hesitated to state that I deserved it. But my need outweighed my humility.

“Yes, please Master.” I meekly replied.

“Do you want to cum, my slave?”

“Oh, god, yes please Master… Yes please Master.”

“You’ll cum when you hear me reach 10.” He began his instructions. “I’m going to count to ten, and with each number you’ll feel the pleasure increase. When I get to 10 you’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master. Thank you Master.” I gasped. In my mind I tried to imagine being in more ecstasy than I already was, and wondered for a moment if you could lose your mind from passion. But I could not focus on the potential danger, as her began to count and my body responded.

“1… 2… 3…” he left space between each word to allow me to feel the progression. By four I had my feet planted flat on the bed, my hips bucking wildly in midair. “5… 6… 7…” I clutched at the bars of the headboard as though afraid I’d fall through the ceiling, and strained to hear him over the never ending stream of moans and cries coming from me. “8… 9… say please…”

“Please, please, Master, please!!!” I cried to him, and he generously gave me my reward.

“10.”

My breath caught in my lungs for a moment and I could not find the power to fuel the orgasm crashing through me. But suddenly it was all there and I was falling and falling. I stifled screams and released wanton cries. I gasped and panted and gasped again, but the wave showed no sign of crescendo. He let me go and go, like a science experiment with no clear goal. Let’s just see what happens. And what happened was my thighs became coated with my cum. My sheets developed a puddle. I put deep dents into the palms of my hands from clutching the square post in my headboard. I came, and came, and came until finally he allowed me to stop. And then I lay spent and exhausted.

The world was just beginning to come back into focus when another chuckle trickled through the phone. “Just one more thing?” he mentioned, nonchalantly.

“Yes?”

“Open Wide Cum Slut.”

When Master says these words to me I am programmed to open my mouth, my tongue sliding out invitingly. I stay there and take my Master’s cum as it shoots from his cock. If he’s here I take the real thing, but when we are separated I wait for the sound of him cumming and, as he does, I always taste him coat my tongue with his warm, salty flavor. I love the sound of these words – they mean soon I’ll taste him again.

“Now, you’ll just wait there for me.” He added. Master normally says these words just before he cums, but this time he was still stroking himself. So, as a good slave should do, he put me where he wanted me until he had need of me. I lay there, mouth open and tongue waiting. And I listened.

I love the sound of my Master stroking himself. I enjoy hearing him getting pleasure like I enjoy my own pleasure, and I listen hard for every sound he makes. He knows this, and as a great gift to me he lets himself go. He relaxes enough to let each moan and groan loose from his mouth. This morning was no exception, and as I closed my eyes and reveled in his pleasure my hand began wander south.

My mouth obediently waiting for him, I could not ask permission to touch myself. And yet my hand ventured down between my legs. I knew this was misbehaving, but his sounds rocked me so deeply I could not resist joining him in pleasure. My cunt was hot and thick with my cum, so my fingers danced around in the mess, thrumming my clit and cunt lips.

“Such a good slave, to sit and wait for her Master.” He praised me and I blushed, knowing that I was misbehaving even then. “good girl.” Even my guilt could not dampen the automatic reaction my body had to his present.

He touched and stroked and pleasured himself and I let the sounds wash over me like warm water. I heard Master’s intensity rise and I rose with him. And finally I heard the gasps turn to a great, powerful exhale, followed by another, and another. I heard him cumming and what little I hadn’t already lost I lost now. And at that moment hot, delicious cum splashed over my tongue and down into my mouth. He filled my mouth with his cream from half a world away.

“Swallow.” He commanded. I always wait to do so until he gives me permission, even though I’m dying to from the moment I taste it. “Now, say thank you.”

“Thank you, thank you Master. Oh thank you.” Now the guilt washed over me again and I had to confess. “Master, I did a bad thing and I need to tell you.”

“What is that?” he showed no emotion in his voice as he waited for my confession.

“I touched myself while waiting but did not ask for permission.” Master let the words hang in the air for a moment. He knows me well enough to understand that the fear of disappointing him is the worst punishment I can experience. At last he spoke.

“It’s fine, Slave.” I let my relief out in a giant breath. “My Good Girl.” At this I whimpered once more. These words fill me and cut me at the same time. He always finds the most perfect time to use them.

It will be months until Master and I can touch each other again. But I think we know how to fill the time in between.

Silencing Butterflies

2010-01-23T12:20:00.000-08:00

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.

Bendable Barbie Doll

2010-01-06T13:20:00.000-08:00

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.

The Gift, Part Two

2009-12-22T03:37:00.000-08:00

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.

The Gift, Part One

2009-12-19T18:00:00.000-08:00

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…

Desperation

2009-12-16T19:35:00.000-08:00

My Master had no way of knowing what he would be unleashing when he claimed me and opened me up. The day I gave him my control it had been over 10 years since last I’d cum for someone else. In that time I’d silenced my sex, submerged my passions, killed my desires out of a desperate self preservation. That which I’d decided I didn’t need I couldn’t therefore miss. My only release had become erotic fiction online, and even that pleasure was a darkly held secret that I was terrified would be found out.

I’d assured myself, and anyone else foolish enough to ask, that I was just fine without such indulgences in my life. The truth was I was dying. I’d relish those rare moments when I enjoyed the lingering touch of another, even though those were always platonic. I felt sealed off from the rest of the population. I felt encased in steel. I felt numb.

But now, though I’m so happy to enjoy contact again, I’m afraid Master has unleashed a beast that even he could not have foreseen.

I wake every morning with my Master on my mind. I imagine him over me, his strong hands pushing my wrists into my pillow and his evil grin dripping down into me. And I am wet. Constantly. For My Master I am slick between my legs always. I was bone dry for a decade and this is amazing to me because I’ve not had a single dry day since he found me. For months now my natural, constant state is damp panties and creamy cunt. I simply cannot get enough of him at any time. Even after all the months that I’ve been his the sound of his ring tone or the tiny hiss showing that he’s logged on to chat still give me butterflies like the first day he possessed me. And still, and always, and forever I am wet.

There was a time I worried that Master would grow tired of a slave who is always like an eager puppy, waiting for him to initiate play. I enjoyed the humiliation of being unable to control my lust, but knew that such constant pleading eyes and heavy voice could grow old after a while. But now I know that Master likes knowing he need never wonder if I am “in the mood.” I am his for the taking at any time, always three seconds from being his panting, moaning slut.

Just like a good slave should be.

Pushing the Envelope

2009-12-11T22:39:00.000-08:00

“Go get your plug.”

I was surprised by this, though I shouldn’t have been. As we sat together I’d begun to get sleepy and this was the perfect way to wake me up. But I’d never trained while with Master before and the idea of him hearing the odd little squeals I make each time the plugs make it past my defenses… Still, off I ran to get all the pieces. I’m a good girl, after all.

I was still using a two-step process to get up to fitting in the large plug, and so I slathered the middle-sized plug with lube and forced it into my rear. As always I felt excited and dirty with such pressure at my behind. The feeling was even stronger knowing Master was listening. I’d shared a fantasy with him from earlier in our conversation and I felt bold as I smiled and asked him… “Should I see if the big plug fits in the front?”

“Yes.”

I took hold of the ring at the base of the big plug and began to slide it up and down over my slit. This was how I always got myself wet before penetration, and this was as effective as ever. Within a minute or two the smooth, black plug was slick up to its widest point. I was ready. I grabbed the base solidly and pushed right at my cunt. And pushed, and pushed. The plug slid in slowly, but fought me both because the plug was very wide and because I was already very full from behind. I’d managed to push it in to the widest point, but not yet beyond.

I worked my way slowly, pushing the plug in until the resistance was too much, and then a little beyond that point before giving relief. I pulled back, slid up and down a little, and then pushed again, this time further. Over and over I repeated the system until finally the biggest black plug of them all fell the rest of the way into its home, swallowed completely into my cunt.

There I sat, plugged at both ends. I loved the fullness, and the idea of double-penetration, but mostly I loved that at this moment more than any other I was doing this for him. Not just to make my body better for his visit in a few short weeks, but because he’d commanded me to do it. Because right at that moment he was listening to my moans and gasps and sighs as both my ass and my cunt were filled for his pleasure.

I lie there, my entire body humming a little at the feelings. My cunt twitched around the intruder and a wicked idea occurred to me.

“Can I fuck myself with the plug in my cunt?” I all but whispered, embarrassed and excited at the idea.

“You may.” He replied, adding “but watch the volume. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

In and out, in and out went the plug. I found it felt wonderful moving inside me, but was so big at its’ apex that it was distracting to the intense pleasure I’d built otherwise. So after a few minutes I instead slid it back in all the way, and I began to go to work on my sensitive clit. I flicked and stroked and rubbed as I felt myself overflowing with Master’s control and Master’s improvements. The sensation was fabulous. It took only a few minutes for me to climax all over the plug, ripples rocking me to my feet.

Now it was time to make the transfer. I rolled onto my side, jutting my packed ass out behind me, and pulled out the rear plug. I then allowed my cunt to push out the large plug , seeing that it was coated in my excitement. I rolled it around in the abundant muck in my slit until I was very sure it was entirely lubed in it, and then I pointed it at my rear and pushed.

I love the fact that my ass both wants so badly to keep all intruders out, and also that in that moment that this biggest plug overcame my asses’ defenses and pushed all the way in my butt, my entire body shuddered with pleasure and submission. My ass loves the moment where it is made to give in as much as I do. And knowing that my butt was now filled by a plug lubed only with my own cum was a feeling more than I could handle. I gasped out loud, much louder than I’d planned, and once more I came with a rush.

I sat for an hour, reveling in the fullness and the complete feeling of ownership and obedience. My cunt hummed from its wonderful domination, and my ass twitched over and over. And my Master slept, the sleep of a man who knows he is in complete and total control of another. All was right for the world.

Finally a Tough Challenge

2009-12-08T00:36:00.000-08:00

Several weeks with the smallest ass plug deep inside me every day. After the first week I slept with it in my ass every night. I loved that it was so easy, so comfortable. I loved that my body was so very willing, even eager, to take on this task.

After a few weeks I decided there had been no challenge to this (apart from my last post's day of BIG challenge!), and that if I was going to stretch and push and change myself to please my Master I would have to, need to, move on. And so I happily pressed the next larger plug into my ass.

But to my surprise and pride I took this size easily as well. A little more pressure to push past the defenses, but otherwise an easy task. In less than a week I slept all night long with this plug deep inside as well. After a couple of nights I had one morning where I felt my muscles stretched as I walked, but only a little, and only a while. In the same way that I beamed from my success I also worried that I wasn’t making any difference, and therefore was not truly changing myself for my Master. More than anything this is my goal with each minute of training – to improve myself. To better myself. To become what he deserves, and if my training is too easy doesn’t it mean nothing is happening?

Worried and frustrated I moved myself up to the third, and largest plug of my training kit. I lay down on my bed, the toy glistening with lube, and I pressed the tip into my rosebud and pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed. And pushed. And winced, and grimaced, and whimpered. Finally after a few minutes I pulled away, giving my ass the break it needed. Simply put, my rear had finally put its foot down and said “no.” No, it was not willing to stretch enough to accept this newest, largest intrusion.

This proved to me that all the work I’d done so far had, indeed, been stretching my muscles to better accept my toys. I was once again proud of the work that I’d done. But now I faced my first possible failure. I tried again, concentrating on deep breaths and relaxing my muscles and all the tricks of the ass-stretching trade. And again my ass told me, in no uncertain terms, NO.

At last I accepted my limits, at least for the night, and set aside the large plug. But my ass would not be getting off scott-free! I grabbed my second size plug, lubed it up quickly and pressed it against my rear. The toy slid easily into my ass, as though there was room to spare. Never before had anything glided in so smoothly, and this told me that my butt had tried to accept the new size.

I slept happily filled by my plug, but the experience had given me an idea. On the next night I attacked the goal in a new way. First I slid the size 2 plug into my hole, enjoying the comfortable feeling for about half an hour. Once I knew I’d primed the area for the new challenge I lubed the larger plug. I removed number two, and while my muscles were still stretched and pliable I pushed number three against my rosebud, unwilling to fail this time!

My ass is as eager to please my Master as I am, and with such inspiration I relished the moment as my tight muscles resisted and argued and clenched, and then finally gave up and allowed the largest toy to take its place inside me.

This was fullness.

I lie on the bed, unable to think of anything but the sensation of being completely full. This plug finally challenged me, making my muscles spasm and twitch in a constant attempt to rid itself of the intrusion. But I relaxed and enjoyed the fullness. I enjoyed this feeling unlike any I’d had. I enjoyed feeling full and changed and stretched. So very stretched. I closed my eyes and imagined my Master standing beside me, smiling, pleased with my desire to serve him. An hour later I allowed my rear to finally empty again. From then on I've continued this process. I have two-stepped it, like the first night, but my goal by the end of first week was for my ass will take plug number three without any prompting. Sadly this was also a bridge too far, but one I will continue to work for. Once I accomplish this goal it will prove to me that my muscles have finally stretched to better accept anything with which my Master wishes to fill me.

That will be a proud moment for me.

Ass Training - my First Challenge

2009-12-03T19:50:00.000-08:00

The first, smallest butt plug surprised me when it slid into my tight little rosebud with nary a complaint. I’d been nervous about this exercise and worried that I wouldn’t be able to improve myself for my Master, but there I was with my ass filled for his pleasure. I repeated it every night for the first week, and at the first weekend I was practically smug with how well I had done.

My Master sounded pleased, to be sure, and in that way that he does he allowed himself to think almost out loud. His thoughts culminated with a pleased-sounding “hmmmm…"

“What?” I asked. I knew that “hmmmm…” and often such things were opportunities for me to please him even more. And I can never get enough of such opportunities.

“Well, I was thinking of something, but I’d say its too soon.” He was smiling as he said it, and I took the bait like a prize-winning fish.

“Why? What is it?”

“I have a new task for you,” he smirked over the line, “but it would mean speeding up the process.” I should have considered those words longer, given that at that point I’d only just completed a week of training. But in my mind I was sure I knew his thoughts, and I’d already had the same ones. Rather than waiting another week I would go ahead and jump to the next size of ass plug next week. I was sure I could do it, and in fact was eager to feel myself, my ass, stretching to better myself for his pleasure. So with very little thought I eagerly replied.

“Ok.”

“Ok what?” was his careful response.

“Ok let’s speed up.” I smiled myself this time and I knew he heard it. My ego was about to get me into just a little bit of trouble again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, giving me one last opportunity that I honestly didn’t deserve to reconsider. “Once I tell you there’s no turning back; you’d have to take the challenge.” And of course didn’t take the chance given me.

“I’m sure. What’s the task?”

“On Monday I want you to wear the ass plug to work. All day.”

This was not what I was expecting. I was sure we were talking larger. Not longer. I’d not even kept it in the entire night, so the idea of all day was… daunting. If not a little scary. But I’d asked, and had received my challenge. I knew I’d have no option to reconsider at this point, so I would have to follow through. And though I was scared, I was also excited at such a lofty goal. And I was thrilled at the idea of amusing him. I knew he loved the idea of my working all day long, my mind never off of the tremendous fullness in my ass simply to please him.

On Saturday night I kept the plug in almost all night long; four hours at least I knew. Again my ass happily took the intrusion, and in fact I’d begun to notice pleasure centers in and around my rear. Each time I shoved the plug deep into myself I had a shudder of intense pleasure for a few minutes following. I didn’t know if it was actual, physical pleasure or simply enjoyment of being invaded only to improve myself. And I didn’t really care.

Sunday night as I spoke to him he asked if I was nervous about the next day. I had been thinking about it all day long and confessed to some nerves. This confession only pleased him more. He told me he knew that I’d make him proud; that he had faith in me. So overjoyed was I by his praise I now couldn’t wait for the next morning, when I would fill myself for him. And so it was that 6am the next morning, as the little, black intruder pushed its way into my ass and settled in for the day, that I felt such a rush of excitement and pleasure as to almost cum.

Each step that day was a constant reminder of him. As I sat at my desk I struggled to think about my work, instead fixated on the never ending pressure from the waist down. The experience overloaded my senses and by lunchtime I was incredibly damp between my legs. I went home for lunch, having been given permission by Master to remove it and add more lube. I allowed my tight little hole a rest while I ate my lunch, but when the food was gone I forced myself onto my back, my knees up over my head and my little anal intruder back into its home. As it slid in the second time for that day my rear took it even more readily. In fact, it slid in smoothly, with little of the normal resistance. And once again I was rewarded with a strong ripple throughout my system, bordering on an orgasm.

I had also realized somewhere during my day that I had a business dinner to attend that night. I spoke to Master about how I would be coming home between work and the dinner to be able to talk to him a while, as well as to remove the plug.

“Oh, but what fun would that be?” he asked, that now-familiar smile still in his voice. I assumed that he was kidding, never thinking he would want me to extend my challenge so far. But as I joked back he made himself more clear. “You are to wear the plug through dinner as well, slave.” As is so often the case in these moments I stuttered some kind of resistance while simultaneously loving this sound of his wicked smile and the idea of pleasing him.

The plug stayed with me as I sat at the table of co-workers, making idle chit-chat and privately marveling at what they had no idea about.

That night I was not required to train my ass. As I came home I changed into pj’s and finally removed the plug. My well-worked behind let out its own sigh of relief as it was finally freed from the visitor. Making it that much more surprising the next day at work when I became aware of a new feeling: I missed the plug. My empty ass seemed sad and unchallenged after a day of being to put to work for the sole purpose of amusing its Master. When I trained that night it was a relief to be filled once again. As it is always a relief to be allowed to prove to Master he made the right choice by claiming me oh so many months ago.

Proper Drinking Etiquette for a Pet

2009-11-30T17:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Youth is Wasted on the Young and Mindless

2009-11-27T16:56:00.000-08:00

“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.

Gag Reflex

2009-11-23T21:14:00.000-08:00

My Master is extremely well endowed.

EXTREMELY.

This was a bright and amazing surprise for me the first time he thrust his cock into my cunt and I screamed as he smashed into organs and other pesky obstacles. Though I love his long, thick cock and dream often of loving it in person, the size proved to be a challenge when trying to take all of him into my mouth. I’d been able to take my previous lover down my throat, but the size difference was something I’d not counted on. When I’d failed several times to give Master the pleasure he deserved and I desperately wanted to give I felt honestly depressed. A failure.

I do not intend to feel this way again.

I searched my good friend the internet and found many wise and helpful deviants with suggestions and methods to help me develop the ability to take my Master’s impressive muscle all the way in my mouth and down my throat. The first step? Well, as they say every job has a perfect tool. For this one that tool happened to be a 12” jelly dildo.

My beloved glass dildo proved to be too hard and unyielding for this process, so I went out and found something I knew for sure would be much longer than my Master (or hopefully for any Master!) The texture is softer, more pliable and yielding, allowing it to bend to go down my tight, defensive throat. This should be a much more suitable tool for training my throat to let me choke when properly worshipping my Master’s manhood.

This website has a very clear and comprehensive explanation of how to learn to shut down the gag reflex, and I will be using much of their information as I do my nightly training sessions. My goal is to train my throat to recognize all foreign objects as hostile, except that of my Masters beautiful cock. My hope is that by the time I next kneel before him I will be as able as I will be eager to bury him all the way down my throat, smelling his heady aroma as my nose reaches his stomach. More on this evolution as I go.

Smooth like a Doll

2009-11-21T17:54:00.000-08:00

“How would you feel about shaving?” he asked me.

We had only been communicating via video for a week or so when the question came. I already knew what he was thinking, and I cringed at the idea. I knew it was not truly an option to say “no” – if he wanted to see the cunt that he’d claimed with less clutter he would, and I was not at liberty to refuse him. Still, I dreaded the idea of trying to shave my cunt. I’d cut myself shaving my legs before, so the idea of such a possibility on my sweet spot gave me a shudder, and not the good kind. Luckily my mind sprung forth with a possible alternative.

“I’d rather not shave, but I would consider getting waxed. Would that work?” Master was happy at this compromise, and told me to go forth and make it so.

The first time I arrived with much fear and left with much less hair. To my relief the feeling of each yank of wax-covered linen was a sharp pain for a moment, but not much worse than removing a bandaid. But what I was not prepared for was how much I loved the feeling and the look of being smooth. I had originally left a runway of tightly clipped hair just above my cunt. Master liked the look overall, but decided he wanted to see me completely bare, totally exposed to him from now on.

Months later and I now adore the feeling of a hairless cunt. When Master tells me to turn on my camera and peel out of my panties I know he will be pleased to see each fold and flap of my pussy completely available to him. At work he can slip me a simple push to make me gush and I feel it pour straight from me to soak my panties. I would not have done this myself, but again Master has changed me and I will gladly stay his fuckdoll with the cunt to match.

Dinner.

2009-11-17T19:18:00.001-08:00

Dinner with co-workers, where I was to be smooth and slick and impressive, and to make everyone know I was a force with which to be reckoned. This was to be my evening, and for the most part it was just that.

However before I left I spent time with my Master, as is my favorite part of every day. This time was silly and goofy and not at all sexual. We chatted and all, and then much too soon it was time for me to leave. I bid him a melancholy goodnight and left for my evening. I thought of him, of course, because not a minute of the day passes that I don’t. But I only thought of him – I did not pine. I did not swoon. I was on even ground and left to strike my impressive work pose at dinner.

The food was fine and the company satisfying and I felt every bit the dominating presence – one of the great ironies of my current existence. To be such a willful and strong person everywhere except my favorite of places: kneeling at his feet. I regaled all with my wit and felt the crowd actually hanging on my every damned word, and yet suddenly there he was. My Master sat in the very center of my thoughts and I could not for the life of me look around him to see my company. He sucked my attention away, and my thoughts of him turned quickly to thoughts not to be had among others. I felt a dreaded blush approaching.

Without warning I excused myself and practically fled to the restroom.

I closed the stall door behind me and dropped my snazzy work slacks unceremoniously around my ankles. I sat on the seat and felt the air, cold as it hit my tremendously slick cunt. Just the few minutes I thought of him at the table had already juiced me up completely. I felt like a puppet, helpless to control her thoughts; her hands. My finger slid over my slit smoothly, sending a crushing shudder through me, and my mind overflowed with thoughts of him. I slowed down the rush and focused on one thought: the feel of his hands on my skin. I let my finger slide again through my moisture and I imagined myself lying long and bare on my bed, hands held over my head in place under his arm and his hand mimicking my finger’s intrepid investigation of every single nerve ‘tween my legs.

In less than six weeks I’ll beg him to make this night’s fantasy a reality. I will happily, eagerly beg him.

But for tonight my sudden fever dream broke in minutes and I pulled myself together. I straightened my snazzy work slacks and my sweater. I splashed cold water on my face and dried myself completely. I returned to the table the perfect image of control and mastery.

Not a single one of them knew the rapture my adoration had just driven me through. All for him.

New tricks...

2009-11-11T16:42:00.000-08:00

As I’ve already mentioned, Master is considering how completely he wishes to take me when next we spend time together. So far he’s owned my mouth and my cunt quite fully. However my ass remains rebellious and he’s unsure if he’ll tame it yet as well. Still, wanting to allow him to do whatever he decides he tasked me with preparing myself for his very, very ample cock.

A week ago I went on an errand for my Master. We have a favorite toy store in my city which tends to appeal to our kinds of kink. I went there and spoke to the extremely knowledgeable staff person, explaining to her frankly that I was looking to prepare my ass for an impressive intrusion. By the time we’d covered all the possibilities I walked out with a large bottle of lube and the Trinity Silicone Butt Plug Kit. Three plugs in total, they range from an inch in diameter at the smallest to 1.5 inches at the largest, as well as ranging from 2 inches to 3 inches long. They’re my training wheels and I eagerly jumped on and started pedaling as soon as I brought them home.

Sunday night I began a new, nightly ritual aimed for a very significant goal: to train my ass to take intrusion. Not just to take it, but to enjoy it. To learn to love the feeling of a full, pressured ass. I’ve repeated this training every night this week.

That first night was an amazing experience. Unsure of what I was going to do I made it up as I went along. I lie naked on my bed on a towel and I told my body to relax. Relax. Relax. I sloughed off the pressures of the day and everyday life. I knew I’d have no room for those pressures with the pressure I was about to pull into myself. Once I’d relaxed my body I squirted lube onto my left hand, covering the fingers, and I pulled my legs up, over my head so that my knees rested on either side of my head; my hand slid between the legs and found my tight, pink hole, ready as a barrier to any intrusion. I slipped the lube all around my hole, and after a minute or so I stuck my finger into my ass.

This was the first time I’d ever taken this step. Though I was trying to concentrate on the task of pushing lube down into the hole, I had to stop for a moment and process the feelings. Of my physical body’s attempts to push back; of my rush of pleasure and danger; of the intoxicating idea that I was intruding this way on my Master’s instruction. It was heady and intense. A word that will come back again and again in this telling.

My asshole now well-lubed I squirted more into my hand and I grabbed the smallest butt plug. I honestly looked at it and thought to myself that it seemed almost too easy a goal. Knowing the size of my Master’s cock, I wondered if I should start with a larger size, but decided I would start with the smallest just to be sure. I rolled the tapered point and round bulb around in the lube, being sure it was completely and thickly covered, and then I grabbed the ring at the base and aimed it for my tight little rosebud. And I pushed.

And I pushed.

My body’s defenses are robust, and they are very sure that nothing should going in that out-hole. As soon as the plug passed a certain point my muscles came back to life, trying to close off all access. At this point I had to breathe deeply and remind them all of the cardinal rule: relax. Relax. Relax. And then again I pushed.

To my surprise the muscles listened to me (a first, I assure you!!) and I had not too much resistance. My next surprise was how amazing full my ass felt by just this smallest plug. Pressure starting at the base of my spine and continuing down to the split of my legs, so intense! I lie on my bed, my legs stretched out straight, and I breathed long, deep breaths to once more relax, relax, relax. With time I found it easier and easier to experience this for my Master. But I wanted to do more than experience it. I wanted my body to learn to love it.

I shivered slightly, cold as I was lying naked and exposed, and I let my eyes close and my mind open. I fished around until a fantasy began to form. In my mind I lie on my bed, but with my eyes covered and my wrists bound around my headboard. I waited for some sort of change and finally felt my bed shake – someone else was on the bed with me. Warm hands took my legs and lifted them over my head. A slick, cold finger pushed into my rear, impossible to feel with my ass already so overwhelmed.

I let my fingers slide down to my smooth cunt as the fantasy unfolded. Already my soft lips were slick in anticipation.

I imagined my Master exploring my ass with his finger, but I knew this was the first step toward something else. As if events were under my control (and yes, I know they were) the finger left my ass and something new replaced it. I felt cold and slick and pressure as Master slid something into me. I was only just reacting to the feeling when the blindfold evaporated and I found myself staring into Master’s startling green eyes. At this time I began to fall.

Under Master’s control I felt myself falling further and further into the very back of my mind. As I moved away from control of my body Master pulled forth the animal from inside me and gave her free reign. From my vantage point the outside world seemed like something viewed from the wrong end of a telescope and I saw myself crawl down to the floor, walking on my hands and knees. Master had clipped the leash to my collar and now took my vacant and eager puppy self on a walk around the apartment.

As this fantasy took hold I let my hands lavish affections on my clit, the abundant juices all around my cunt now spread out to my thighs. My hips bucked up occasionally, and only then was I reminded of my ass still so packed tight. The feeling of the plug in my ass now felt almost easy to my body.

In my mind I continued to see myself heeling at my master’s foot. I moved past the mirror hanging on my closet door and there I realized what my Master had inserted into my ass: a tail. From my round rear there now hung a long, red fox tail. To my surprise the image was one I found… lovely.

I allowed this fantasy to continue until my phone’s alarm sounded, telling me that I’d let my training go the entire thirty minutes. I was amazed that I’d found pleasure for most of that time, and that the intensity of my full ass had become something I not only endured but even enjoyed. This was my first night of training, but now I knew I would succeed in preparing myself for my Master. I even wondered if I would be rewarded for my action with my own lovely tail…

Full, Full, Full...

2009-11-08T22:51:00.000-08:00

Master has been so generous with his time this weekend. I’m overwhelmed and oversexed all at once. Tonight we talked a little about something that has come up a couple of times recently: my ass. I have been asking Master if, when he visits me in a couple of months, he plans to take me in all possible places. This would include, of course, my ass. This is a place he did not take me before, but there have been discussions, and I am becoming more desperate to know his decision.

In a manner so typical for my Master, he has not given me a decision yet and won’t for some time. He especially enjoys creating opportunities to make me squirm, and on this question I am certainly squirming. Deliciously so.

Still, I’ve worried about a last-minute decision and that it might not allow me to prepare for him. My Master is not a small man; not at all. The first time I felt him rush into my cunt I screamed out loud. While I grow wet at the very idea of Master filling my ass, I also fear that I will be unable to take him in and I hate any idea of my failing my Master. I mentioned this worry to him last night and he suggested I might want to find a butt plug or even a dilator kit to get used to the feeling, but I did not know if he truly wanted me to or not.

Tonight I asked again if he had made a decision about whether to take me from behind. With his sinister smile he told me he was still considering, and added that he had no plans to make the decision soon. I bit my lip and mentioned again that I hoped to know with enough advance notice as to allow me to prepare my ass for him. Ever pragmatic, he answered my worries with a question: did it excite me to think of sliding a butt plug into my ass? With a tiny voice I told him that what excited me was the idea of doing it to make myself more worthy for him. He smiled still, his eyes flashing in a way that told me he knew what I needed, and gave it to me with three simple words.

“Then get one.”

I felt myself leak at the command. Tomorrow I will go to our favorite toy store and find an anal dilator kit to begin my training. The question settled, we went back to our conversation. We chatted for a while, but I admit my mind was stuck on the idea of this new toy. My Master had pulled out his cock when we discussed my fear of his size, and though we’d been chatting on I knew his cock was still hard. I knew that it was just out of camera range. I knew that his hand was wrapped around it still. This idea I could not push from my mind, and instead it slid down my mind into my body. I began to whimper a little as my hips bucked back and forth, the crotch of my pants sliding over my freshly waxed cunt.

Master heard my pitiful sounds and knew I was losing my control. He could have shut me down, tamed my libido, but instead he let me go; even fueled the fire by allowing me to see his arm moving off camera, thereby confirming my thoughts of his activity. I writhed as I watched him; his beautiful face making my heart race and his rocking shoulder sending ripples through me. He enjoyed my pathetic gasps and moans and mewls, and when I grew too quiet he stoked me again.

“Do you like the idea of me taking you in your ass?” he asked me with a sly grin.

I ground my hand down between my legs again as I answered. “I like the idea of you taking me in every possible way. Making your ownership of me complete.” Hearing these words come from my lips I felt another rush of wet slide out of my cunt. My head spun from this build up of fire. I let my gaze come back to the computer screen and his pleased expression. And his rocking arm.

We spent many minutes just building ourselves up to mutual pleasure, his hand stroking as mine did the same. My noises became more pressing, more desperate and I felt my climax rushing at me. I cried out that I was cumming, and yet Master wasn’t finished with me yet. I’d only barely caught my breath when I heard his voice again. “I will count to three, and you will feel the smallest of the butt plug slide into you. Three, Two, One… Now.”

I cried out as my ass filled, putting pressure on everything below my waist. Knowing Master wanted me to feel this now, simply through his control of me, kept me from coming down from my orgasm high. Seconds later I was already half way toward another climax. I shuddered and groaned and my hips bucked again, but this time each thrust up to my hand clenched my ass muscles, stretched tightly around the smallest plug now filling my ass. This simply added to my feeling of helplessness and ecstasy.

“This is so intense” I gasped out, the sentence coming in bits and pieces. Though I couldn’t get out any more words, beyond pants and pleas, in my mind I boggled at both the feeling of being completely packed down below, as well as being Masters fucktoy to be stuffed as he wishes with simply a suggestion. I twisted and humped and shook, keeping my eyes on Master’s face on my laptop as much as I could. His face told me that he was close to his finale, and I strained to hear his gasps through my headphones over my own cries.

At last I saw and heard him arrive. He groaned and exhaled, bringing me to the very peak of my own crushing climax. More than that, with each breath of his cum I heard I felt a hot jet of cum hit my ass, so sensitive with the fullness. I closed my eyes and imagined being bent over before him, exposed and overflowing at once as his cock splashes my butt with his hot cream.

Generous to me he breathed through the connection “cum.” And I did. Only a few minutes after my last time I was once again clutching the couch as my toes curled and my heart shuddered. He need only ever say the word and I obey. Happily, eagerly I obey. I cascaded down the other side of the eruption and felt the fullness in my ass slip away, another gift from him. Once empty again I discovered I missed it. Missed the sensation of being full there to please only him. But tomorrow I will go and buy the new toy. And I will once again fill myself. For him.

It's in the Voice

2009-11-05T17:03:00.000-08:00

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.

Vocabulary Prison

2009-11-01T17:11:00.000-08:00

Often my time with my Master starts casual, even friendly. Beyond being Master and Slave we are also friends and companions and enjoy spending time together at the end of each day. We don’t play every night, but we do connect every night. As we have come to spend our time together more and more I’d given up trying to predict when his playful side would rise up, and as with all things it is only his decision for when we play. Until he feels ready for games I adore just talking and laughing with my Master.

This night was no exception. In fact I knew Master was feeling tired and not up for play. Hearing the fatigue in his voice I began to nudge him to retire – he needed sleep and I wanted him to get it. I pushed. I pressed. I nudged and coaxed and cajoled and he put up with me for a while, knowing that my nagging was born of concern and care. But at some point he must have lost his patience with my comments, comments, comments. I felt a ripple, so tiny that I’d never have noted it. Except that my words were suddenly not my own.

This is not the first time Master has filtered my words. Sometimes I don’t understand what change he has imposed until I hear the foreign sentence fall from my lips. Sometimes I feel the change in my mind when I try to form sentences. Such was the change this time. The words of “seriously, don’t you think its time to head to sleep?” in my mind melted into a much more pleasing, worshipful “You always know what’s best, Master.” As the words came out I could hear the satisfied smile on his face. All other words stuck in my throat, and as I struggled silently he chuckled and asked “something wrong?”

I wanted to answer him, but none of the sentences I wanted to say would come from me. They changed; shifted and reformed themselves to fit his vision. To be the words he wished me to say. To fit my proper status and praise him.

“I love it when you play.” I moaned.

“I know you do.” He smiled in return. He asked, when again I fell silent, “Cat got your tongue?” I could only gasp helplessly.

“Not cat…”

Gradually Master coaxed me to let the words he’d given me come forth freely. At the same time, enjoying my verbal prison, I heard him begin to slide his hand up and down his cock.

I love, love, very much love to hear my Master pleasure himself. To hear him bring himself to climax rocks me more than when I stroke myself. He knows how I adore the sound, knowing that he’s bring himself to the brink, and he allows his sounds to come forth just to get to me. As I blathered on, telling him the thoughts I could no longer keep to myself, he used my helplessness as fuel to his fire and rocked me in return.

I told him that I had been fantasizing about dancing for him next we are together. He had taken me body’s control a few weeks ago and made me dance for him, and though I’d blushed and cowered at the time the feeling of being his living puppet had stayed with me. Now I confessed to him that I’d imagined swaying and rocking my body for him, shedding my clothing and then running my hands up and down my naked body, over my tits, down between my legs – whatever would please Master.

By now I could hear him panting and gasping with his own pleasure and I fell quiet to enjoy it myself. My body writhed on the bed, hands stroking between my legs and hips bucking excitedly. I asked him for permission to touch myself, knowing that he would enjoy me coming with him to the end. I gasped to him “Master, can I touch myself?” and allowed my hand to stray down in anticipation of his answer.

“No.”

I was shocked and did not hide the surprise as I replied “No?”

“No.” he said, even more firmly. I whimpered and pouted at this surprise. But he was not finished. “You will listen, but not touch. After we are done with this call you will fuck yourself until you cum, screaming my name.”

I lay, still on the verge of explosion but my hands trapped at my sides, and listened to him play with himself. I continued to worship him verbally, telling him how I wanted only to please him and serve him and make him happy. That he was the center of my universe. That I could never get enough of his control and his ownership. And as I wracked my brain for the next adoring words he came, his breath coming in glorious, rough exhales. I shuddered, so close to the edge I feared I’d come before his ordered time.

Once finished, and knowing that I could not finish his assignment until we’d signed off, he quickly closed our call. He left me alone, my hands rushing to my cunt to finish what he had started. I was so close, so overwhelmed with lust that it took no time at all for me to join him in orgasm. And as commanded, as my fingers were coated with my juice, I screamed out his name loud. Very loud.

With that my mind returned to normal. Sadly.

Discipline

2009-10-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

So much of what I have written so far has been looking back at significant moments of my new existence. As though I need to explain how I could have come to be who, be what, I am. But now these words are being published to the world and I am aware that I want this to be a place about my current life too. More so even.

Recently I had a day where I woke very… itchy. My servile nature had been boosted the night before and nothing my mind had created overnight had done anything to lessen those feelings. And all day they stayed high. My Master sent me to a business meeting with my panties sopping wet from his teasing of my high.

By the time I was home with him my Master knew that I was rippling with a need for a tightly held leash, metaphorically speaking. We chatted of normal things, as we always do right after work, and I let down my attention and my labido, or so I thought. But at a moment I crossed the room, away from the Skype Camera and my Master, and turned up the thermostat. I had forgotten my place, and my Master was kind enough to notice. And to know that this was behavior that required attention.

When I returned to my seat in front of my webcam his word came strict and short: “Stand.” I sensed that the tone of the conversation had changed DRAMATICALLY. His next commands were just as short and not-so-sweet. “Turn Around.” Of course I did as commanded. “Bend over.” Now I knew what was coming – I had, I realized, done something wrong. It wasn’t mine to know what, but to take the punishment obediently and I tried.

Master had added to me this night a verbal command that, when I heard the word, translated to the most realistic feeling of his hand smacking hard on my ass. It had been playful at first, but now he used this conditioning to make sure I knew I’d been wrong. As I stood, bent with my ass facing the camera, he explained that I had not asked permission to leave my seat, and of course he was right. Now I would be spanked for my mistake. He asked me, with the slight sound of a smile to his voice, how many strikes did I think I deserved?

“As many as Master thinks appropriate!” I answered, hopeful that the answer would please him and, by association, lessen his punishment some. But he knows better and chose a number that was appropriate for the infraction: 10 blows.

I stood and took each one. The feel of his hand, albeit as punishment, was also a glorious sensation. Because it was his. Because it was him doing what I need to become a quality slave for him. When he was finished I was allowed – instructed – to sit. Though no actual hand had touched me, my ass smarted as though it was red and raw. My face glowed with the same bright red from my embarrassment at having overstepped as well as my excitement at being spanked. Master laughed.

As the night continued I found myself pulling on the leash periodically. At the time I thought I was getting caught up in our conversations and forgetting my place. But now I know I was eager for more of my Master’s attention. And he was good to me and gave it. Repeatedly. When he next asked how many strikes I deserved for my second infraction I knew sucking up would not work and I threw out a number. As I knew he would do, he added half again to my suggested number.

By the time our conversation was towards the end he had begun to enjoy my jumping to attention, back-peddling madly any time I thought I’d overstepped and was about to get another lashing. Even though the physical reaction was intense and amazing, I also could not bear the idea that I would need addressing that many times in one night.

My Master is so very good to me. He understands that I want and need him to set rules and enforce them on me, and that his tight grip on my leash, both metaphorically and hopefully someday physically, both excites me and trains me, which I love more than the arousal. I hope that he will never stop finding new ways to improve and refine me. I know I will never consider myself worthy of his attention, but I crave those times he allows me to try.

Slave's Everyday Collar

2009-10-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

When my Master gave to me my beautiful, black, leather collar to wear around my throat I swooned. I could not believe the overwhelming, dramatic feelings that moment brought up in me. After he left to return to his home I missed him so much, and wanted to much to feel close to him, that I began to sleep in my collar nightly.

This made me feel extremely happy, but Master noted that it wasn’t a good idea to wear it so often as it would be a hard item to clean regularly. I knew he was right, but I still wanted that thing that I could wear that would be a complete reminder to myself of my ownership and my owner. He could also see my disappointment and frustration, and from there came his stroke of genius.

An everyday collar.

Master suggested that we find a black, leather bracelet that I coul wear every day as the constant reminder I craved. After my first few searches I went back to Master and asked if he would be satisfied with something that would go around my ankle? Not that there were no bracelets out there that matched what I felt Master had suggested. But as I considered it more and more I felt that such an item would be even more significant around my ankle. This was for two reasons I could think of:

It felt more like a collar or manicle around my ankle than my wrist, upon which I could currently hang bracelets or watches.
I liked the idea of it being a secret just between my Master and myself, sliding up and down my ankle under my business suit pants, etc.

We searched online, finally finding an artist doing something similar enough to suggest that, would she be up for some custom work, she’d certainly be up for this challlenge. The finished design was quite elegant: black leather, about 3/4” tall, with a small padlock stamped into the leather on the outside and inside a message decided by my Master. Four latin words, which when translated spoke from my heart: “I obey my Master.” I still wonder if our artisan researched the meaning of the words for her own curiousity, and I tingle at the idea that she knew what she was making all along.

The package arrived in the mail 4 weeks ago and I’ve worn my beautiful everyday collar around my left ankle every single day since then. The only time that I do not have it on is when I am in the shower, but it is the first thing I put on after I’m dry. It is the only thing I wear to bed every night, leaving the rest of my body completely naked in honor of my Master.

When I feel the stiff leather around my ankle while at work or out in the world I love that physical feel of my status. As though my Master is there with me, whispering in my ear “You are mine. You will always be mine. Body, mind, heart and soul.”

And as always, Master is right.

Disobedience

2009-10-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today I break a rule: I post without permission.

It has been clearly set from the first that I write the posts, but it is my Master’s choice what and when to publish. He has allowed me to take the steps to post, but always. ALWAYS. The decision is to be his what is ultimately done. It is his blog. I simply write it. Today I willfully break this rule to publish a post about my truest feelings for my Master.

We have been connected this way for only a short time in the grand scheme of things. When first we met he was an intriguing but dangerous game to play online, but nothing long-term. When you’ve connected to someone through something like online porn it becomes a little foolish to try to seem innocent. Instead I focused on being unattainable. Elusive. Evasive and, most of all, safe. I had seen all the Public Service Announcements. I knew that this was a bad idea and planned to only tease this confident, cocky mystery man before abandoning him to his failure. I would laugh as I walked away, untouched.

This was my plan. Now looking back I laugh at the idea that my plans had any influence on our game. I was lost from the start, and yet so magnificently won.

In the first months I was enthralled by each new experience he devised. Each interaction brought a new first. The first time I knelt before another.

Sucked down my own slick to please someone.

Fucked myself on command.

Came on command.

Called someone Master. Called myself slave.

Worshipped. Adored. Transformed. Obeyed. All transcendant firsts. For the first man who ever understood what I need and how to bend me to get it. I understood what I had discovered, what had discovered me. Mind-demolishing sex and lust and playing and humiliation and never-ending desire. These were simple concepts and easy to see how to fit them into my simple life.

And yet these were but the beginning.

On this day of all days I tell you that once again I had no idea what was to come. The simple additions I predicted are certainly now part of my world, and I crave these moments constantly. But more than that I crave the man; the Master. His attention, his companionship, his support and respect, his protection and his love. I have his love and he, more than I ever imagined possible, has mine.

He, through his ownership and guidance, has made me the person I would never have thought possible. His influence on my life knows no boundaries – he touches me more than erotically. His touch slides through my mind and into my heart; it wraps strong, beautiful fingers around my thump, thump and squeezes so I feel each beat stronger than ever before. I feel. For the first time in so very, very long I can once again feel deeply and rapturously. He captured me and in that simple action he freed me. Yet with all of this contradiction I know only this: it is my dearest wish to stay in his tight grip forever.

I was prepared to worship and adore and be transformed and obey, but I was never prepared for this: I love, love, love my Master. For these reasons I disobey his rule on this day.

I love you Master.

Flashbacks: Slave Learns to Stretch.

2009-10-21T10:56:00.000-07:00

Though I hope to eventually blog very realtime (of the experiences and feelings I'm currently having) there are also moments from before the creation of this blog that were significant to my growth and evolution as a slave. I've written posts for some of those that struck me enough to be particularly memorable. These will always have "Flashback:" in the title, but will be a slice of pre-blog life. Why look, here's one now! Enjoy...

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Too often I confess I shy away from Master’s games. Especially in the beginning, when I knew I wanted this status but struggled to give up all my control. Master would tell me a game he wished to play, and I would panic and beg him to reconsider. Such was the first time he told me he wanted to turn down my intelligence.

Like turning down the volume on the radio. Make me dumb; brainless.

I panicked. The idea of being robbed of my chief weapon – my brains. All my life this was the thing I’d depended on to take care of myself, and I told him honestly that I didn’t want to let that go for even a moment. That I didn’t find the idea enticing, but really frightening.

He didn’t have to listen to me. By this moment I was his to manipulate as he wished, and we both knew this. But he was kind to me; probably more than I deserved. He let the idea go for a while.

Time passed, and I learned to love and trust Master more and more. He payed close attention, for one day he knew it was time to push me. He’d already taken the control of me, and gradually he turned me down…

I was not cognizant of the change at the time. But in my memory I remember waves of knowledge fading away with each command to turn me down.

I felt my head get lighter. I remember the moment where I was too stupid to know my phone number or address. I remember being so stupid that spelling was beyond me. And I remember that the less my brain contained the happier I became. I giggled. God help me, but I giggled.

When he’d reduced my mind to that of a brainless, bubbly idiot his own way with me changed. He became terribly condescending, a huge smile on his lips as he said things like “don’t worry about it, sweety. You’re far too stupid to be able to understand what’s happening, and that’s just the way I like you.” And he enjoyed my giggles in reply. And the visible wetness between my legs.

I spent quite a while in this brainless state. He asked questions to enjoy my pouty face when I could not answer them. Things like two plus two, or how to spell simple words, such as cat. He revelled in the image of me – normally a very smart, capable woman, having now been transformed for his pleasure into an airhead who giggled as he patted her head and pushed it down to his cock to happily suck. “After all,” he explained to my eager but empty face, “you don’t need brains to be my horny little cock-sucker, do you?”

I giggled absently, almost enthusiastically, at the idea of not needing smarts to do the only things that mattered. And I sucked him happily.

When Master turned me back up the memories from the experience crashed through me like a tsunami. And with each came a rush between my legs. Contrary to what I’d originally thought, the experience of having my intelligence erased, in preference of being a bouncy, mindless, desperate Barbie doll, was tremendously erotic and I fantasized about it for days afterward.

Once again, Master knew best. As he always does.

Slave's Collar

2009-10-14T11:08:00.000-07:00

Master first mentioned a collar early on, and he enjoyed my reaction, even though he already knew what it would be. I swooned at the idea of wearing something that made me a slave; a pet; a possession so visibly. I began to search the web for the right thing, and even made plans to go out and find something within a week later. But he said no.

"When you get your collar, I will give it to you." he stated, firm as though it went without saying. I secretly felt ashamed for not seeing that on my own. Of course he had to be the one to wrap that leather symbol of my status and his ownership around my neck and buckle it tightly. If it wasn't him that gave it to me it would never mean what it meant.

But that meant that I had to wait for it.

Once the plan was in place for him to visit I renewed my search for the right place to find my collar. Having returned to the Big City there were options now, and I found a place that answered all my desires. It celebrated the shackles of joyous ownership -- I knew I would like this shop.

As it turned out, I loved this shop. Here we found fancy handcuffs all shiny and silver, and special purple tape he could use to display me and bind me in place. And we found my beloved collar. As we left the shop, my face blushing with excitement, I told my Master "I'm now very glad that I listened to you and didn't wear a dress to this shop. Because if I had there would now be so much sliding down the insides of my legs you wouldn't even believe it!" He laughed.

I was naked and sitting beside him on the bed. I'd just finished putting the new toys into the fancy box where I'd hidden our previous purchases. This box had been a lovely find for me -- from the outside it appeared to be an ornate book sitting in the cubby of my bedside table. But inside were lovely toys my master could use to play with his toy. Master pulled the collar from the box and told me to move to the center of the room and kneel. As I stood from the bed i felt my legs already turning to jelly in anticipation and lust.

He crossed to me, 10 feet tall from my place before him, and he asked me what I was. I answered with my now-familiar and beloved litany: "I am your slave, your pet, your toy, your possession, your property, your slut." And what was he? "You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything." He told me that the collar he held was a symbol of these roles, and that whenever I wore it I was to remember this, and remember that feeling. He told me that everything I am and everything I have belonged to him. Save this. This was my one and only possession for me to have and cherish. And as he leaned down, placing the black leather snugly around my neck and fastening the buckle in place, my heart raced and my cunt throbbed and I held my breath in a foolish attempt to stop time there forever.

He stepped back to admire the image, and I let my hands rise to feel the leather in its place. A tremendous smile erupted across my face far beyond my control. At that moment I wanted to wear it forever. He asked me how it felt to finally have something I'd waited for so long.

"Amazing." was all I could say. The word was a shameful shadow of the true feeling, but the best i could find in my mind because there is no word that captures it all. Even now when I slide it on and lock it into place I close my eyes and he's there, looming above me, owning me body, mind and soul. Fulfilling my every fantasy.

My first and best beloved toy

2009-10-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

One night, after having enjoyed watching me thrust my fingers in and out of my cunt at his command, Master announced that he wanted me to have something with which to fuck myself. It was time for us to have a few toys. Always considerate of me, more than I deserve, Master asked what I would like. I went online and found an item or two that seemed highly rated and that I understood how I would use. Except for a brief attempt at vibrator ownership years ago, which resulted in dead and leaking batteries from lack of use, I did not really have any idea about sex toys. In fact, I’d been fairly aloof about them, thinking they were the refuge of lonely women who needed to think their sex life with themselves somehow exotic.

Master took my requests into account, but as always he had his own ideas, and as always he knew best. A couple of weeks later a box arrived at my house. I was like a kid on Christmas morning, so eager was I to open and see what Master and picked out for me, but I had to wait until we could connect online as Master wanted to see my reaction.

Master was tremendously generous and the box contained a few exciting items. I will cover them all in good time, but I want to focus on my favorite. He had found and sent me a beautiful blue, glass dildo. When first I found it I was actually afraid of it. It was stunning and long and hard and I thought I would not be able to relax enough to plow into myself with something so hard and heavy. Master knew better; he was patient with me, but he insisted that I would fuck myself with this cobalt wand.

He had my place my heels on the edge of the desk to allow him a complete view of my cunt in the camera. He knew that I was already more than wet just from the opening of the box, so there was no need to get me well lubricated. He was even wise enough to send me to the bathroom first to run the toy under hot water, thereby relieving the cold feeling I am now very familiar with.

I am rarely so patient as my Master.

Once I was fully displayed to him he instructed me to slide the dildo inside me. At first it seemed impossibly huge, having only entered myself with a couple of fingers for years. But the fullness was so much more satisfying. It was the way that I wanted to feel – expanded inside. Stretched to my full size, to take my Master’s gift and somehow my Master at the same time. Once he knew I’d pushed it into my cunt all the way he guided me smoothly to bring it in and out slowly. He built the speed gradually, and he knew that my impatient nature and my need… my tremendous, desperate need by now… would lead to that moment where I would beg him to go faster.

He controlled my speed, thereby controlling me. I may have been fucking myself with his toy, but in truth at that moment he was enjoying his true toy: his eager and obedient slave. He had total control over me, my body, my reactions, as I impaled myself over and over with his purchase, my original fears long since crushed under the weight of my wanton lust and love to serve him.

I have no idea how long I sat opened to him, obediently working my new and beloved toy in and out of my cunt. I know I moaned and gasped my ecstacy as I fucked myself for his enjoyment. I know that I let a hand wander to my tits as I lost myself to the pleasure. I know I came and came and came when he allowed me to.

Since then there are rules that have been placed around my toys: I am to ask permission to use my beloved blue glass dildo. It may be here, but I know it is not mine. It is Masters, just like all the other toys in my house. Most importantly me. His favorite toy.

Playing

2009-10-11T14:30:00.000-07:00

I don’t know exactly how it works, but I know that Master has control over my mind. Beyond simply the worship I feel for him, he has controls that cut past my thoughts or desires and can change me. I know that he has long been practiced in hypnotism, though he assures me that he’s never done a full induction with me. He tells me he doesn’t need to – I am already so very succeptible to him and desire so much to obey that he need not work so hard.

What I can tell you is how this control feels to me.

With his powers Master plays with me. This is one of my favorite things. He loves fucking me, but even more than that he loves to play. To dream up new and fantastic personalities in which to dress me, or sensations to slather over me, or even something as simple as a word that, in a moment, shuts me off completely.

For me the experience is generally the same from time to time, at least in terms of the set-up. We will be conversing, very normally, and his tone will get an edge. The slightest hint of a smile in his voice. Sometimes I experience a tiny blip, like a blink that lasts a heartbeat too long; other times the change is seamless. Regardless, what happens next I mostly experience as a memory. He makes the changes he wants, and when they change who I am I am gone. Replaced by this new construct.

However my Master is good and generous to me. He always gives me the memory of the experience to enjoy afterward. He knows that I love reliving the experience, especially when he makes me dance and prance for him; a puppet on his strings. I won’t tell you any specifics because each is worthy enough for its own post.

But now, when I say to you that Master played with me, you’ll understand what I mean: he molded my mind or my body to fit a game he wished to play with me. He took away all my controls and did with me as he pleased. He made me his toy.

And I loved it.

Introduction

2009-10-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

My master started a blog and told me that I was to write it.

Our initial meeting came from his reading an erotic story that I had written. Within a week of his first email to me I was kneeling for his pleasure and stroking my cunt to orgasm at his command. He had found me, claimed me and I had discovered what had been missing throughout my entire life: ownership. I had told him that I would not call him my master, and less than a week later I gave him that title eagerly.

That was the beginning of this incredible new chapter of my life. And what do you do with chapters? You write them. So master has instructed me to write this blog.

On this site you will mostly read my musings about learning how to be a slave worthy of my Master’s ownership. I love this status he has given me and wish to be the best slave possible; however I am new to this (having only been claimed months ago) and I have an inherintly independent nature. In short: I’m still learning. Master has been patient and generous with me, and I am proud of how far I have come. But as you will see here, there is much for me to learn and accept. I only hope I continue to be worthy of his patience.

In the meantime I will share, as honestly and frankly as possible, the experiences I have under his control and ownership. This is the greatest change of my life and I marvel every day at how lucky I am to have been found by my Master. I will try to share these feelings with all of you. Enjoy!