I shot something witty (it was witty, I’m sure of it) at his back as he was heading out the door. Whipping around, he took one giant stride and was suddenly standing right in front of me, like a fucking ninja.

“Stick out your tongue,” he said, holding up his thumb and finger like a vise grip.

I did, little obedient me, poked it out and sucked it right back in.

And giggled.

I saw his lips twitch and he shifted a little closer, rising to the challenge. “Again.”

I did, quick as a flash, his fingers touched but didn’t catch and I giggled again. “You’re too slo–OW OW OW!”

Those two fingers he’d had poised at the ready had jammed themselves up my nose and he now had that delicate bit of between-the-nostrils flesh trapped in his vise-grippy fingers and was trying to lift me off my feet. “Oh yeah?” he said, chuckling. “What were you saying, cunt?”

“Okay okay! Here!” I frantically shoved my tongue out at him, my eyes watering as he continued to pinch and lift. “Owwww! Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.”

With his other hand, he repeated the vise-grip on my tongue (which is really only slightly less painful than the nose btw) and for a moment delighted in having both, making me prance in place and think I was dying before letting go of my nose.

“Now. Did you have something you wanted to say, hmm?” he said, giving my tongue a vicious yank/twist/pinch.

I blinked teary eyes at him. “I hoe oo got oogers on oor ingers!”

He glanced down at the fingers he’d just extracted from my nose, looked back at me and grinned. “Oh, I hope so, too.” and then slowly and carefully wiped his boogery fingers all over my tongue.

“Gahhhhhhh!! Oo uck! Ow! Ew!”

He chortled. “I know! It’s so awful to be you.”

When he’d thoroughly washed his fingers with my tongue, he finally let go. I scrubbed my tongue on my shirt and flashed him a look. He reached out and thunked me on the forehead. “Pwned again, cunt.” and then he sauntered off, smiling.

Ugh. I make it too easy for him, right?

I need to up my game.

~narrows mah eyes and plots~


He came home for lunch

ate some soup

pissed in my mouth

and left.

Run, fatty, run!


3 1/2 miles of rope wedgie enjoyment.

Yeah I don’t know what the other day was about. O.O

Saved by the Snort

He lunged at me and I jumped so hard I snorted.

He started laughing so hard that he couldn’t do whatever painful thing he’d been going to do.

Laughter really IS the best medicine!

~skips away~

Asked and Answered

It was nothing a little rough ass fucking couldn’t fix.

Maybe rough ass sex is the cure for pms? Or maybe it’s the cure for disgruntled masochist since I’m not sure what it was anyway.

Or maybe he just got horny.

I vote for the latter because he hasn’t even read that earlier entry yet, lol.

Maybe I’ll get something worse when he does? Ouch. I really need to learn when to shut up. (haha! yeah, that’s funny to me, too.)

He took pictures after. I cried a little bit during.

We found out that tossing me over a bean bag and shoving it and me under the desk renders me practically immobile. But also oddly comfortable.

Well, until he shoved himself up my ass. That was not comfortable.

And I bled (and cried) and it never quite reached that place of not hurting like ass sex can sometimes reach, but the whole immobile bit while he was hurting me so much was so fucking erotic that I was ready to come almost before he got a good, colon-pounding rhythm going.

That’s my ticket right there. My currency, if you will. Render me unable to resist and then hurt the holes you own and I am yours forever and ever, amen. I’m so fucking easy.

But he wouldn’t let me come. “No” and “Wait” and “Don’t you fucking dare” and “I’ll tell you when you can, cunt” and I edged for-fucking-ever.

Then he got all ramped up for the finale wherein he was trying to get the head of his dick to pop out my throat, and THEN he said I could come..

…and then I couldn’t come. Uggggggggggh!

Then he was done and he was all “Sucks to be you, cunt” and I whined until he let me masturbate with my bullet.

See? He loves me.

In summary, “cunt! Get the fuck in here and wash your bloody shit off my cock.” could be the hottest thing I’ve heard all week.

Pics behind the cut. I’m suddenly shy and he didn’t say they had to be on the front page. Loophole!

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Is it live, or is it memorex?

I’m trying to decide if I just have pms or if I have a legitimate reason for feeling…. gah, what do I feel. Ignored, neglected, forgotten, unused, misunderstood, rejected, fat, ugly, ashamed…

I’ll let you know when I know.

Dear M,

Using the Dom Card to make me to hold still so you can peel my sunburn (~herk~) is a SERIOUS abuse of your power.

If you ask me.

Which you didn’t.

But I’m just sayin’.

No Love,
Your cunt.

Covergirl is behind the times.

Petechiae. It’s all the rage in slave eye makeup.

It matches my ass anyway. That’s kind of like the belts and shoes rule, right?

Walked Right Into It

Me, after the umpteenth trip up the stairs to deliver a beer to him in his mancave: “We need a dumbwaiter.”

Him: “I have one.”

Ba-dum ching


Lately I’ve been obsessed with finding a life theme song. I can’t find the perfect one.

This one just gets me in trouble.

Which is maybe why I have it on repeat.