Under His Hand

Reflection. Oh.. and M’s pictures.

I had my days mixed up. I thought yesterday was the 31st and today was the 1st. Maybe I was in a hurry to end March, lol. I didn’t figure it out until this morning when I fretted that I’d forgotten to take the garbage to the curb and Master’s like, derp, it’s Tuesday, not Wednesday.

So there’s still time if you have any other questions. I rushed through getting that last post done before midnight last night because I’m a dork. :)

Oh well. I try.

In other news-

To say that Master brought his A Game home with him would be the understatement of the year. This is the M of old days, the one that I remember. And I? am scrambling to catch up. Haha.

Not that I’m complaining, just remarking. He’s making me work for it. It’s interesting though, if I view it objectively. My head has changed. He’s commented on it several times. My demeanor, my actions, my words, all improved.

Those last few months of 2014 were rough, there’s no denying that. But what he did worked and that’s all that matters.

I have a new level of shame now when I think back to my behavior those first few months here. I was holding onto some serious resentment. I was not on board with his plan. I was angry and spiteful. I was difficult and argumentative. I wanted him to… I don’t know… not just to recognize the giant “sacrifice” I’d made for him but to… to pay for it. Indefinitely. I completely dismissed the ‘giant sacrifices’ that he’d made for me, that he’d been doing for years. I stopped thinking of him, of what he wanted and what he needed. It was all about me me me.

That’s bad enough as just his partner, his wife, to do that to the man I love. Add in the M/s and for a slave to do that? I’d obeyed but in physical actions only. That’s not the obedience he expects. That’s not the kind of obedience that really counts, or that really matters.

We’ve lived here now for 9 months. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. In those 9 months, my kids haven’t only not fallen apart without me, they have been better than fine. He had far more confidence in them than I did. He also knew that what was holding them back was me, that they would never come to believe in themselves as long as I was there hovering.

All of the animals are doing fine in their new homes. None of them were abandoned, not by us and not by their new owners. None of them ended up at a shelter. None of them were left to starve or die. Animals are just that- animals. Not people, not family, not beings that he is willing to sacrifice his happiness and well being for. He (we) treat our animals well. But we also eat meat, so… you know. You draw the line somewhere I guess.

And then there’s him. He’s happier than I’ve seen him in years. He’s more relaxed. He laughs more, he’s not so quick to anger, he’s more energetic. He loves his new job, he gets along great with his co-workers.

So I think back to how I was when we first moved here, how I acted, and then I look around me at all of the good things that have come of it, the things he knew were possible, the things I should have trusted him to know because he deserves no less than that from me- and I didn’t. I failed in a spectacularly epic shameful awful horrible way.

What he did to bring me around was harsh. It really was.

But even I know nothing else would have made this sort of difference. Nothing else would have made me see what he needed me to see.

I am grateful to be his. Now. And that’s showing in my service, in how I speak to him, in my adherence to rules. Maybe a decade late but that’s beside the point. ;)

Now here, have some pictures because Master said I have to post them and I’m all about the graceful obedience these days (cough).

Master was humming the Jaws theme song.

Ready holes. Which one will he pick?? Decisions, decisions.

“Ass up, face down.”


Pussy first…

Ass next…

To the finish line.

Good to the last drop.

Then the mouth.

“Clean it off. Alll the way. Good girl.”

Pussy, asshole, mouth: The Perfect Trifecta!

And last but not least, linky link to a short clip: had I known he was filming I would have stopped whining like a little bitch and pretended to be hardcore. But god damn, y’all, buttsecks hurts.


Q&A: Squeaked in Under the Wire

Dave asks: Question to find out if you’ve met Mick and Dee… my understanding is they are down in your neck of the woods (country). Found it very interesting, though I know I shouldn’t at this point, that I followed both you and Kaya… to suddenly see some form of mention on the other one’s blog… too funny! :) It’s a small world… after all.

I’m not sure what you mean by mentioning them but that aside- We have not met them though I used to follow them as intently as I followed Phrank and Leesa. If I remember correctly, Dee stopped blogging, right? I’ve lost touch with what they are up to currently. They are pretty great, though, aren’t they? She amazes me with her level of submission and his creativity is unrivaled. Love them.

fiona asks: OK…quick question(s) – right before the last day of March :)

Sir is looking for an anklet for me. I know you have them…would you mind taking a picture of it on your ankle…and tell me how they have felt wearing them?


Ignore the black thing on the side. When you’re naked, there are very few places to store a pedometer. ;)

The physical- it was really uncomfortable at first. Really really. Every step, my ankles hurt. Stairs? KILLER. Even now I don’t hurry up or down the stairs because it makes the cuff bounce and metal bouncing on your ankle bone is painful. I don’t know how well it shows in the photo (I moved the cuffs up my leg a bit to show it), but I have two red callous-y spots on the front of my ankles from the constant rubbing. A lump comes and goes under those red spots. I don’t worry about it, it’s not a painful lump at all. It’s just there, like a small cyst-like thing.

But now, I’m mostly used to them. They really only hurt if I do something stupid, like sit down on my feet. Socks help a lot with the bouncing so I always wear socks on the treadmill or out walking.

Socks also hide them. That’s just an FYI if you’re self conscious about wearing them in public like I am. Which brings me to..

Being self conscious. Oh yeah. HUGE. The whole set together, neck, wrists and ankles? People do double takes. The collar and the wrist cuffs are passable but you add in the ankle cuffs and it looks like exactly what it is. So! Since Master’s objective with the whole set isn’t about shocking the public (though neither does he care what anyone thinks about it) he doesn’t much care if I try to ‘disguise’ it a little bit. Socks are one way, long skirts work pretty well (thank goodness maxi skirts are ‘in’), barring either of those I’ll add in a couple of extra ankle bracelets, most that I’ve made myself fairly cheaply and then hope I just look gypsy-ish lol.

But how I feel when it’s just me and him at home and I’m naked except for my matching set? Glowing comes to mind. :)

They’re useful, too, for bondage. They aren’t just for decoration!

Also, Scott requires you to be naked all the time at home. My Sir has asked me to be naked periodically and I’m always so self conscious. I do it, but I am always nervous that someone will see me or that I look enormous or or or…So how did you adjust to this or have you always been comfortable in your birthday suit?

I am not comfortable in my birthday suit. Not at all. But I’m not very self conscious about it anymore. At least not if it’s just me and him. I mean, look at the many many humiliating things he’s made me do or seen me do… a few extra rolls are pretty tame, haha.

He’s very complimentary, too, which is hella helpful. He genuinely thinks I’m sexy and he tells me so many times a day. He can’t walk by me or let me walk by him without reaching out to fondle or grope, or to rub his dick against me while he tells me how hot I look. Gosh, what that can do to a girl’s self esteem, you know?

Adjusting is simply that I don’t have a choice. I’m going to be naked, end of. I can angst about it (and really pretty much ruin the moment) or I can believe him when he tells me he loves looking at my naked body.

Do you know what’s super sexy regardless of the scale? Confidence. When we’re at a play party and there are men and women of every shape, size and age walking around naked, it’s the ones who do so without a care in the world who draw the eye and make me smile. Who I am attracted to. I don’t care if s/he is 100 pounds or 400 pounds. Master feels the same way. It’s that personal acceptance. Once you get it, other people do, too.

(not that I’m one of those people at a party lol. Nope, I’m the one trying to hide behind the potted plant.)


March Q&A: The End

Meg asks:
1-Before you moved, did you keep in contact with Tigger?

In a fashion, yes. She’s something of a… hm, what’s the word I’m looking for. A wanderer? A flitting butterfly? So, yeah, if she were the butterfly in this scenario, we were the flower. We were there in the same place, she’d be in and out as she wanted. She was exceedingly difficult to contact directly and in fact, didn’t even know we’d moved until she made contact with us after the fact because she’d disappeared again. She is on and off of other social networks and has more contact with M than with me at this point.

2-Have you gotten more comfortable in the local kink scene?

Um… no. Haha. More comfortable with a small circle of kinksters, yes. The Houston scene is something else, truly. To a degree, I’m not sure we want to. It’s really almost too much.

3-I remember a couple old posts where M had given you tasks while he was away. In particular I remember a certain Christmas Nutcracker post haha. Do you still get direction to do these sorts of things?

LOL. I remember the nutcracker. Poor little soldier. He was never the same after that. ;)

He is just starting to pick that back up, actually. There were a few directives this last time he was gone. The mile on the treadmill with the clover clamps on, the whole banana thing… I have a sneaking suspicion those things will increase.

Nice Anon asks: Are you still helping out re fostering for the dog shelter? or volunteering? How did the little scared one you had, get on?

I am not at the moment. When the babygirls were here I had told them I wouldn’t be able to take in any new dogs because these shelter dogs almost all come to me with issues of one kind or another. Whether it’s behavior (aggression, fear, territory, etc.) or even something as simple as having never been house trained, never taught not to jump on people or not to bark at every spider fart in the wind. The unpredictable behaviors with a 2 year old around just wasn’t something I wanted to deal with. And, too, I knew I was going to be busy with them, I wanted to devote all of me to them, and that’s hard to do when you’re trying to train a dog or two.

So, long story short, I didn’t have any and then Master said he didn’t want to me volunteer for any when he was here, since I had an empty house already. He wanted all of my attention on him for now, so no weekends at the adoption event and no dogs at the house. At this point, I’m not sure if that’s going to be a standard rule, but if it is it will essentially end my fostering because you can’t just sign up to take a dog for 4 weeks. You sign up to take a dog until it’s adopted, whether that’s a day or a year.

Not that they don’t understand that things happen and people’s circumstances change, but to be the one who says “Well I can take this dog for the next 4 weeks but then someone else has to take him for the other 4 weeks while my husband is home”, that’s difficult for them to find placement like that.

It’s entirely up in the air for now. I really enjoy doing it. Like, really really love it. I also really enjoy not cleaning up dog shit in the house and would like to not have to replace anymore blinds that the last dog chewed up. Or the remote that got chewed up. Or my cell phone that got chewed up. Or my shoe. Or or or…

Edited to add: I forgot to answer about the little scared one I had. She was adopted. All of them that I’ve had have been adopted. She, in particular, went to an absolutely perfect fit of a family. They came back a few weeks later to give an update and said she was doing great. It was so good to get that update. :)

Long-time lurker asks:

1. What is your heritage?

Technically we’re American Mutt, haha. Far back in the lineage we’re both German, and he has a good bit of Scottish, as well. As for our American roots, I’m pretty standard 100% midwestern farmer, and he’s 50% midwestern (his dad) and 50% southern belle (his mother)

2. How would you react if you’d see a blog or clip showing your super-religious parents doing hard BDSM stuff? 3. Or one of your kids?

The answer is really the same for both. I’d weigh what I was seeing with what I knew of them. Are they happy? Do they seem to be enjoying life? Is whatever brutality I’m seeing offset by the demeanor of the person I know?

I can tell you that my two girls already know a fair bit about what Master and I do. If they’ve seen the clips or the pictures or read the blog, I have no idea. They’ve never said. But even knowing that we get up to some wicked stuff, they don’t think any less of him or of me. They are not worried about me.

I want to believe I’d do the same for them. I might need to ask, to clarify the consent and the overall satisfaction of their choices but I hope that’s all I’d do.

Zeke asks:

You have the best blog on the web.

Thank you! That’s really sweet. My ego appreciates the stroking, haha.

1. Does Scott use any methods of control other than pain and force (sadism) to controll you? Ex: Forced nudity, filming/pics of you stripping before sex, making you the only naked one at a party? would you like this?

I am naked in the house, always (except right now because the Comcast tech is here fixing our internet, lol). I’m to strip as soon as we walk in the door if we’ve been out. He loves seeing me naked, in just the shiny collar and cuffs, and the peek of the shiny njoy handle as I walk around doing chores, etc. He likes the dichotomy of him being fully clothed while I’m naked. He enjoys sitting back and watching me walk on the treadmill naked.



I am very very often naked at parties, or at the very least made to strip before play. I can’t say that I’ve ever been the ONLY naked chick there because most parties have lots of chicks and lots of doms make their chicks (and their boys) get naked.

He takes lots of pictures. All the time. Ugly, nasty pictures that he, thankfully, doesn’t always make me post anywhere, though he posts a decent amount on his Fet profile that, given my druthers, would never be in existence. I’m not so sure that’s really a method of control, though. A method of humiliation, yes.

Other methods of control. Well… it’s not nearly as hot but the reward system works pretty well. I do good things, I get good things in return. I do bad things, I get bad things in return. The more pleasing I am, the happier my life is overall. You’d think that wouldn’t be so hard to internalize but here I am lol.

He’s been super heavy handed about controlling my diet since he’s been home, and not just diet as in my calorie count (though that too) but literally approving or not approving every morsel going into my mouth. Hunger is a pretty motivating method of control. He’s controlling what I eat and what I drink, from specific type to specific amount.

Forced exercise, too. For instance, he bought me a new lawnmower recently.


Nice, huh? We have a manageable amount of yard so it’s not awful, but it’s hard. It’s hot and it’s sweaty. Pushing that thing up and down the yard in rows is the equivalent of walking about two and a half miles according to my step counter.

If I’m pestering him or look too lazy on the couch, he’ll send me off to do one of the many exercise dvd’s I have or plop me on the treadmill for a mile or two. Is it any wonder I’ve dropped 4 pounds in the week he’s been home? Not to me.

I don’t know if I’m even answering the question now. I started babbling. :)

2. Any additional videos for sale in the future?

Anything is possible. He seems to be getting his funk on pretty well lately (my holes would wave white flags if they could) and he’s very fond of the camera, so probably, yes.

3. Any info on Phrank/Leesa?

Only that they are alive and well and farming and cooking and raising dogs. She doesn’t blog any more that I know of so that’s just about all I know about them. I hope to meet up with them again sometime though!

4. What could Scott do that would humiliate you the most?

What he does do that I find the most humiliating is make me spread my cheeks and show off the njoy to anyone who is interested in seeing it. What he COULD do? I don’t even know. Anything that puts me on display like that for other people is pretty rough.

5. Any chance of a weekly front, back, side, spread cunt picnic to show your weight loss?

Funny you should ask that because he was talking about how some accountability here might be a little motivating than I’ve been able to accomplish on my own. He was not at all pleased with the stalled weight loss while he was gone this last time which is why he’s on me like white on rice this time. That would definitely tap into some of that humiliation I was just talking about.

As it’s now the last day of March, I hope I answered everyone’s questions. If I missed yours I do apologize! Thanks so much for making another March my favorite month of the blog-year!


Q&A- the ex edition

clf asks: first of all, how did you become involved in the lifestyle and at what age did you know that vanilla was not for you? second, any news on the ex husband? is he is contact with y’all regularly or off living his life? I am curious to know how you became involved with him and why it didn’t work out.

I’m going to keep these two questions together because one answers the other.

My ex and I met when we were 15 years old at the birthday party of a mutual friend. He didn’t go to my school, he lived in the neighboring town so I didn’t know him at all. What drew me to him at the party was that he possessed a natural aloofness and just seemed to… lord over the party, almost.

We began dating and continued to date on and off throughout high school, though we had a very tumultuous relationship, even then. He’s very controlling. He’s very violent. Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I have no doubt that I was attracted to the control and the violence- just neither of us knew how to properly channel it. I had other relationships, nicer ones, calmer ones (normal ones lol) but I’d always end up back with him.

I finally learned what it was I seeking. Violence, sure, of a fashion- but not the kind that included drunken fist fights, jealous rages, or broken toes. And control, yes, but not the kind that involved blocking me in my own driveway when I needed to go to work or abandoning me and the kids for days with no money or food, leaving me to call my parents begging for help.

He never learned what he was looking for. He still thinks kink is “sick”. He’s still controlling and violent- but not to me. In fact, it wasn’t until I met Master at the ripe old age of 34, that I was able to get out from under his control and stop being victimized by his violent outburts.

He and I (years after our split) once had a very pleasant few instances of communication wherein we delved into the failure of our relationship and discussed kink in honest, frank terms. He, in his very very expert manner of manipulation, pulled information out of me about my private life. He commiserated with me, told me he’d “found kink” (like he’d “found God”) and I (over)shared.

He then proceeded to call my mother and out me to her, probably in an attempt to convince her to take my kids away from me because he knew he couldn’t do it himself. He is an alcoholic with a long(-ish) arrest record for domestic assault, orders of protection, DUI charges, drunk and disorderly, bar fighting, leaving the scene of an accident, contempt of court for not paying child support/court fees/other fines… so his chance of stealing custody was slim to not a snowballs chance in hell.

But that was the one instance where his history of lying and being a first class dickhead worked in my favor. I simply told my mother he was full of shit and trying to start trouble and she dismissed his claims.

But where are we know? Well! Let me tell you. B-man’s 18th birthday was the happiest day of my freakin’ life. B-man’s graduation party was the very last “event” where I felt obligated to include him in the festivities.

He’s still, at 44, living the bar scene. He’s become the creepy old dude at the bar touching on the young hot chicks. He’s single, lives alone. He gets in bar fights. When Jes and her husband visited with him he got drunk and started a fight with her husband so he is still an asshole. He got fat. And, judging by how he looked the last time I saw him, if he’s not in the beginning stages of liver failure, I’d be surprised.

He is now trying to get me to wave the over 100 grand in arrears (back child support) he owes me. I guess the state has told him that if I’ll forgive the debt, he doesn’t have to pay it. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to do that. :)

He did pay child support for a few years. Long after I desperately needed it, but for the last 3 or 4 years of the kids’ teen years I got a regular check. I guess the judges were tired of seeing him and tossing him in for his 30 day contempt charge and he’d gotten threatened with a longer stint. That didn’t sound so fun so he toed the line. That stopped on B-man’s 18th birthday. But I guess now the state is still hassling him about the arrears. I’m not inclined to do him any favors, to be honest. I don’t feel like I owe him any.

Just the other day Am called me and told me that he’d called her and was bitching at her because I won’t sign off on this and I told her the next time he tries to talk to her about an issue with me to hang up on him. Not her circus, not her monkeys.

So as far as contact goes, he doesn’t have a way to contact me directly. He doesn’t know my address or my email or my phone number. I have him blocked on facebook. I have no reason to be in touch with him anymore and good riddance. His contact with the kids is intermittent. He tends to make drunken middle of the night phone calls to them now and then telling them how much he loves them but otherwise, I don’t think they talk to him very often at all. He likes to plaster pictures of the granddaughters on his facebook profile like he’s some super grandpa but the girls don’t even know who he is.

I love that as far as the grandkids are concerned, Grandpa is the guy sitting right here next to me. :)

All three of the kids have said that they only remain cordial with him because he will sometimes send them money. And honestly, he owes them that much at the very least. I don’t blame them at all for it.

So- when did I know vanilla wasn’t for me? When I was 15 lol. I just didn’t know it had a name, I didn’t know there was a good or bad way to get it. I didn’t know other people did it. I spent a lot of years trying to scratch that itch in the wrong way.

I did my fair share of provoking and antagonizing the ex into violence. I own that. I didn’t know it then, wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing or why, but I know I did.

I “formally” got into BDSM when I was first connected to the World Wide Web. I was 29, and I’d just discovered porn. BDSM porn, that is. It was like someone had turned the lights on.

Then I found chat rooms, message boards, communities, blogs, pictures. I learned and experimented and read and watched and talked. I kissed a few frogs along the way, trying to figure myself out. I even tried topping (puke).

And then I met Master. The rest, as they say, is history. :)

I’ll get to the other questions later today or tomorrow. Thank you!

(March is not over yet. Leave any further questions as a comment down below or use the Contact tab at the top! Thank you for playing along!)


March question

Rye’s question for Master: In reference to ‘the experiment’, I’m not sure what to call it; the events of last year that led Kaya to believe that you were no longer interested in a BDSM relationship. Your explanation after everything came to light was much appreciated and I fully understand that you owe her readers nothing. But I will admit a curiosity as to how she should have responded. When you set the scene of this test (if you will), what would have been the most favorable response for you? Was the intention for it to go on as long as it did, and was that the point? Or, if she had come to you within a week or so and begged and had the endgame epiphany you were looking for, would that have been it?

The favored response would have been to have not needed to do it at all. It wasn’t a test, it wasn’t an experiment, it was a necessary course. kaya needed to internalize a lesson and to accept some truths. That wasn’t going to happen by writing lines or beating her ass. Her failure to get on board and for her to believe that I had wronged her with my expectations was disappointing to me. That was my failure as much as hers but correcting it wasn’t her job, it was mine. She’s a much different cunt these days than she was 4 months ago. Much more pleasant and pleasing.

She responded as I thought she would. Sometimes you can’t force a person to a conclusion or make them see things that are right in front of their face. You have to give them the space to wallow in their own thoughts and come to the conclusion themselves. Yes it was trying, yes I was lacking in some areas , yes it took a long time, but in the end, she came to the conclusion that I knew she would, with a few subtle hints with a 2×4 here and there to adjust her mindset.

She came to me several times, begging and upset. But what she was upset about wasn’t the right thing, and what she was begging for wasn’t the right thing. Had she gotten there in a week though…. probably not, honestly. She needed to come full circle. I’d have been suspicious of the lesson making a full impact in just a week. She still needs some tweaking and polishing but I don’t expect to ever have to do that again. The impact has been pretty significant.

Thank you for your question.


(March is not over yet. Leave any further questions as a comment down below or use the Contact tab at the top! Thank you for playing along!)


His Reputation

I am supposed to let everyone know that Master is a kind and caring dom who is soo concerned about my well being that he cured me from being constipated.

(I didn’t know I was constipated (because I wasn’t) but that’s beside the point, apparently.)

He also wants it known that, because he loves and cares for me, he made sure I stayed hydrated by making me drink the remainder of the urine in the enema bucket after my colon was full.

(I also wasn’t thirsty)

Master is sweetness and light.

(Master is full of crap)

Master is also reminding me that yes, he slapped me across the face a few (hundred) times but he took my glasses off first. Because that’s just practical. He is smart and wise.


And yes, he brought home a beautiful box of European chocolate just to taunt me with, and will probably eat it in front of me while I sit at his feet and watch, because he only wants me to stay healthy and well and not consume unnecessary sugars.


Master is reminding me that his reputation lies in my hands, in how I present him. I am to present truth and accuracy and not skim over the true intention behind his actions.

(His intention is to make his dick hard.)

Which is that everything he does, he does with my best interests in mind.

(wait, wut?)

He is not an Abusive Bag of Dicks.


So when he ambushed me as I was leaving the bathroom, having just brushed my teeth and washed my face, and proceeded to smack me around, throw me on the bed, spit in my face, assault me with a dildo until I cried, punch me in the tits, tried to rip off my vagina, choked me with his cock, throatfucked me with his fingers, smothered me, strangled me, fucked me, and pissed in my mouth… having a boner was merely a coincidence.

(oh, the lies! they burn!)

He did all that because he loves me.


The End.



It Could Be You

Update: “I am heartbroken to report that Warren passed away March 23rd. His family never bothered to notify Jade. She just found out this morning.

Fundraising has been closed, but this campaign will remain available to view for updates for a while.

The love that has been shown here is overwhelming. Please hold Jade and Adam in your hearts, and remember Warren fondly, as a man who lived a full, rich, and worthy life. As for the status of the fundraiser and the donations received, I will update everyone soon, once there has been some time for remembrance.


Thank you to everyone who shared, donated, or sent love and best wishes.




Beautiful people that we’ve met at kink events. She’s gorgeous, sexy, devoted, happy, outgoing. She is the writer of a blog on my blogroll called Kink and Poly (currently closed) and the creater of Kink of the Week, which many of you have used as a catalyst to conversation on your blogs.

And he.. he is gregarious, joyful, perverted, and a master of woodwork. The connection they have is palpable. When they play, it’s electric.

This is what a puritan society can do to you, to the ones you love. This is heartbreaking. Soulless, selfish people ruin other people.

If you can give, great. If you can’t, then share. Please.


Welcome Home Favorite Part

Shhh. Master’s sleeping. I’m typing vewy vewy quietly.

My favorite part of his coming home happened almost right away, when we got into the elevator at the airport. I did not notice how he’d steered us into an empty one because I hadn’t stopped chattering since he swooped me up in baggage claim. I didn’t notice the empty elevator car until the doors slid shut and my nonstop yammering was cut off by his hand on my throat as I was being slammed against the back wall. His other hand dug brutally into a nipple, and he stopped my squeals by kissing me so passionately that I felt it in my stomach.

No, seriously, I think he was trying to taste what I ate for lunch.

For 6 floors, his lips crushed mine while one hand crushed my breast and the other hand crushed my windpipe, until a second before the elevator doors slid open, he stepped away, turning to face the doors, face composed, arms loose, a polite smile on his face and me, left in the corner, disheveled and a little stunned.

Then he said “Where’s the car parked?” all normal-like, like “Have you seen my pen?” or “Do you have the time?” and I answered “My legs are shaky.”

And then he laughed. So yes, that was my favorite part so far.

Or maybe it was when we were about halfway home, and he was behaving himself because I was driving and it was rush hour and Houston traffic is legendary so I was concentrating and we’d made simple small talk and he was ever so sleepy and quiet and then he suddenly turned to look at me.

“So! Are you still feeling cocky? Feeling mouthy? Have anything more you want to say to my face now that I can reach you?”

and I choked a little on a spurt of fear

The cockiest thing I managed to say was “No, Master.” In my peripheral vision I saw him nod and lean his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

Then, quietly, “We’ll finish that later.”

That spurt of fear came out of my cunt.

No, that was definitely not my favorite part.

Perhaps then it was when we got in the house and there was luggage to bring in and the dog to greet- the cats, of course, gave him a look and then showed him their assholes as they trotted away up the stairs because cats- and he went in to use the bathroom while I was letting the dog out, then he slams open the bathroom door, pants down around his ankles, pinching the end of his dripping cock and says “cunt! drop down on your fucking knees and suck the piss out of my cock.” and so I did, and it wasn’t much, just enough so the essence hangs around in the back of your throat for awhile.


For a long while.

And though I’d only been sucking the tip like living toilet paper is supposed to do, he grabbed the back of my head and slammed me all the way down until my nose met his pelvis and rocked me there for a little bit, then he pushed me away onto the floor and said “Enough, you greedy whore. I’m tired.”

Yes, that might have been my favorite.

He headed up the stairs with me on his heels like a good dog, although I was still yapping so maybe not such a good dog but I haven’t seen him in a month and I just wanted to soak him in and soak him up, his smell, his voice, his eyes, his chest…

He closed the bedroom door behind me and cut me off mid-sentence by once again slamming me against the wall, pinning me there by the throat, my last word coming out a strangled “erk!” and his knee forcing between my legs. “Spread ‘em, bitch” came the warning through the muffled roar in my ears as I struggled to inhale but spreading meant moving and I was pinned like a bug to the wall and I could not move and I couldn’t tell him I couldn’t move because I also couldn’t talk so I just stood there, strangling, arms loose at my sides, waiting for things to compute.

What computed was his knee against my cunt, at first just grinding oh so pleasantly, so hard, smashing against the bone and my legs seem to spread of their own accord and he grunted something but I don’t know what it was and then his knee was bashing up into my cunt, whooshing the air out of me where it whistled through my narrowed windpipe. Once, twice, five, eight, who’s counting times.

That was for sure my favorite part.

After that though, when he’d dropped me from the wall and extracted his knee from my crotch, and walked sleepily toward the bed, I followed like I was being drawn, like he was leading me on a leash, like a moth to the flame, I followed, and he climbed on the bed and I followed, and he spread his legs and I followed

“Suck my dick,” and I followed directions.

I did. I sucked. Or… I tried. But I was soon competing with my hair, in my face, up my nose, in my mouth, no matter how many times I pushed it back it fell right down again, and the whole time I’m peeking up at him, thinking “you have one job…” and I say “Can I go get a hair tie, please?” and he thinks about it like I asked if I could have an affair, or if I could drop 20 grand on a new car until he finally sighs and says “well hurry the fuck up then” and I do.

I get my hair situated and his dick back in my mouth and I’m really not entirely sure he’s going to stay awake to the finish line because he’d been awake already for 26 or 27 hours, but instead of snores I hear “Face down, ass up” and I do, only not face-downy enough as he grabs the back of my head and smashes my face down into the mattress and says “THIS is face down”, then he pulls my arms behind me and uses my wrists as handles to hold onto while he fucks the ever loving shit right out of me.

He fucks me so hard, he shoves the njoy all the way into my ass and has to go rooting around for the handle.

He fucks me so hard, my throat hurts. I think he was tapping it from behind. Or maybe it hurts from the strangling. Or maybe from the orgasms that I screamed my way through.

Or maybe all of the above.

He fucks me like a man who hasn’t fucked in a month. Like a man who has just been told he will never fuck again. He fucks me with his balls slapping so hard up against my clit that it stings a little. He fucks me so hard that involuntary grunts are pushed out of my stomach, keeping time with his thrusts.

He fucks me. And I can’t hear through the pleasure coursing through my body, the pain in my shoulders as he yanks my arms back, trying to breathe against the mattress, the hurt-so-good sharp jabbing of his cock against my post-hysterectomy, nothing-is-in-the-same-place-anymore insides. He might have been stabbing my liver with his dick, who knows, it hurt like it could be true.

I can’t hear except this: “You better fucking beg me, bitch.”

And I did. Like a begging beggar. Like I needed that orgasm to save my life… and my dog’s life… and my Master’s life. To end world hunger. To save the whales. To stop the melting polar ice caps. I begged.

Maybe I squirted, maybe I peed, maybe I’m just a juicy bitch, I don’t really care, it was the best orgasm in all of Fetville.

Best. Orgasm. EVAR.

That was, for sure, without a doubt, my favorite part.

I cleaned him off and tucked him into bed. He told me to make him some chicken tetrazzini. He told me to leave him so he could sleep. He told me I better thank him.

I did all three.

My legs are rubbery. My arms are rubbery. And apparently my down there downstairs bits are rubbery because the njoy keeps slipping out of my ass and plopping onto the floor. (not my favorite part.)

I’ll be cracking tiles at this rate.

If this is how the rest of his time at home is going to be, it’s going to be my favorite month. :))))))))



Regretsies. I have a serious case of them.

Why why why am I so stupid???

Neither of us can just be happy he’s coming home. I mean, we are, of course, but now there’s a cloud hanging over it. Blah!

I thought maybe if I wore this shirt, he’ll just laugh it off-


But no. Probably not, huh? No points for honesty?

The thing is, if I’d have just kept my mouth shut (or kept my fingers still), he’d probably have apologized for getting on me about the phone. Everything I had said about it was true, and he even said that before he leaves again, he’ll sit down with me and make sure his expectations are crystal clear because obviously they were not (to me).

But then I had to go and get all bitchy about it. He has no tolerance for disrespect, which is surprising to most people because he’s so very informal and I’m such a snarky bitch that things appear disrespectful to most observers.

The intent behind it is everything, though. To him, anyway.

I can joke. I can tease. I can make him laugh with my antics. I can smile and say ‘fuck you, Sir’- as long as I’m obeying when I say it, haha.

And I can be angry and dissatisfied and upset. I can even express those emotions. He doesn’t fault me for feeling what I feel.

Cripes, I was dissatisfied for 3 months straight last year and I still managed to not be disrespectful. So why do I gotta fuck it up now, huh? Shit balls.

I really do understand that it needs to be dealt with, that he’s not going to let it slide and it would be damaging if he did, especially for us, especially now. I understand the necessity for there being a line that I’m not to cross. I’ll be grateful afterwards.

I’m just going out of my mind stressing over it. ~breathe breathe breathe~ I hate not knowing what’s coming.

Plus, he’s had several days to think about it. That’s never to my benefit. He’s delving into the why’s of it all and what the deeper issues might be and I doubt he’s going to come to a very pleasant conclusion. Nor do I think he’s going to choose a very pleasant path to fix it.

It is true when they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It is also true that absence makes the sadism run deeper because if even half of the stuff he’s been thinking about gets put into practice, it’s going to be a pretty intense next few weeks. I won’t have much to complain about, probs. Except for maybe how sore I am.

We’re ready, though. Everything else seems to have calmed down, especially now that Jes and co. are settled in Germany. They’re there, they have housing, Babygirl has started school… it happened. They’re gone. The other two kids are doing well, Am has just signed a lease on a new apartment for another year so it’s unlikely that she’s heading this way anytime soon. B-man has also renewed his lease for the year. I had it in the back of my head that one or both of them would follow us down here, or that something would cancel the Germany move, and…. none of that happened.

We’ve made our choices, all of that angst has dissipated. He’s gone above and beyond(!!) to show me how unhappy I am without BDSM and how much I don’t want an egalitarian relationship. While it was a hard choice to make, I did make it. I left them, I want this. So here we are. I’m back to smiling. I’m done being angry. I’m done being sad. I have no resentment left. I’m ready to get back on my knees.

But all he’s going to do today is sleep, lol. Probably tomorrow will be sleeping, too. Though he tends to recover pretty quickly from jet lag, that doesn’t mean he’s back at 100%. By the time he gets home today, he’ll have been awake and traveling for 24 hours straight. He has a long layover in Atlanta so maybe he can snooze a bit while he’s waiting.

The jury is still out on what I think about how easy or hard it’s going to be to maintain TTWD if his work schedule stays as it is with the 30 on/30 off. The first month he was gone was all sorts of fucked up because of the Great Lesson Learned of 2014, and this month has been weird because the kids were here for most of it.

I oddly don’t feel like I’m in an LDR or that the separation is taking a toll. He holds me to the same tasks and chores, the same expectations. We’re in contact often enough that I’m not relieved of asking for permission to do things. I certainly do get a break on service and that really sucks. I miss sex, and his directives to stick things in my holes aren’t even nearly the same as when he’s doing it. I just can’t be mean enough to myself like he can. :)

Skype helps. Lots. He watches. He notices. I was talking with him one time and he all of sudden leaned up to the monitor and all angry-like said “Pull the collar of your fucking shirt down right now, cunt.” which I did and he sat back and said “You’re lucky. I couldn’t see your collar. Don’t even think about taking that off.” I wasn’t, of course, and I wouldn’t. But knowing that he can, and has, gotten me on cam out of the blue and will demand to see the njoy, for instance, or want to see a picture of my step count on the fitbit, or check the collar, or see if the house is clean… He just doesn’t seem that far away.

He still tells me when to go to bed and when to get up. I don’t chain myself into bed at night though, that’d be just silly. But I miss it. I also don’t have to ask for the bathroom, unless I happen to be talking to him at the time. He’s too busy for that, and we’re pretty much on opposite schedules anyway.

Though I don’t know why I don’t change myself around to his time schedule when he’s gone. Wouldn’t that make sense? I’ma ask him.

I am babbling. I’m full of nervous energy. I miss his presence, his energy. He has big energy. It’s a noticeable difference in the house. Everything is more vibrant when he’s here.

I think I’m just gonna glom onto him and not let go.