Under His Hand

Eye Candy

Between the belt…

The bulge…

The ass…

And the boots…

I could just stare at him all day.


The Struggle is Real

He was more tired than I’d seen him in a long time when he walked into baggage claim. He’d been traveling for 36 hours by then. Fatigue was etched around his eyes, evidenced in his slumped shoulders. He gave me a weary kiss and leaned against me for a brief second. “Hi, baby,” he said. I smiled, breathed him in. Under the odor of travel was him, his scent, all man and musk and uniquely him. I miss that so much when he’s gone.

It was 8pm or so, maybe a bit later, and the usually bustling airport was weirdly subdued. I’d even managed to snag a parking spot on Level 2, just a few spots from the elevator door. Even he was surprised, but also grateful, as he trudged toward the car, our footsteps echoing in the odd quiet as we walked.

He struggled loading his bags into the car. It seemed too complicated; there were other items in the trunk and everything wouldn’t fit and he was getting uncommonly irritated until I was like “Dude.. erm, I mean Master… the back seat is empty. I got this.”

“Okay, fine,” he grumped and got into the car. I shook my head and finished loading the bags. Poor guy needs a serious nap. I thought to myself. He’ll probably be asleep before we get home.

So I was a little taken aback when I got settled into the driver’s seat and got my seat belt on to look over and find his dick out of his pants and a big grin on his face.

Apparently, one is never too tired for that. :)

Traffic was light (-ish. Houston is rarely, if ever, traffic *free*) and it was dark so I happily fondled him into a raging hard on as we zipped down the freeway. “Is this too distracting for you while you’re driving?” he asked, pressing his hips up into my hand.

“Nope. I’m good,” I replied, smiling, deftly changing lanes without missing a stroke. He reached out and slid his hand down the neck hole of my dress, under my bra, and captured a nipple between his fingers, squeezing and rolling. “How ’bout now?” he asked. The car wobbled. He chuckled and withdrew his hand.

“I’m hungry. I want bacon and eggs when we get home.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Maybe I’ll come all over your food. I like watching you eat my come.”

I nodded in the dark, still softly stroking. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to fuck.”

“Okay. Am I cooking first or fucking first?”

He huffed, seemingly confused as to why he couldn’t have everything all at once.

Doms. Their struggle is real. ;)

“I’m tired. Maybe I’ll sleep first.”

“You look tired,” I said, soothingly.

“Maybe just some quick fast food, then sex, then sleep.”

And so it went the rest of the way home, him fighting between prioritizing those three basic needs: Food, sleep, sex.

Men. The struggle is real. ;)

We got home and I started to grab his luggage but he waved me off. “Tomorrow. I’m too tired.” I nodded, we went inside, and I moved ahead of him into the kitchen. He’d still not reached a final decision on which need was getting met first but for now he was greeting the dog. The dog’s need to shimmy and shake and wag all over her owner was greater at that moment than any other need anyway.

Not that I didn’t completely understand her sentiments.

I pulled the skillet out of the cupboard and bumped into him when I turned around. He snatched me by the hair and threw me face down over the table. I grunted–and grinned–on impact.

“I guess it’s sex fir-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He threw my skirt up over my back, yanked my thong to the side and spit on his cock. I just had time to think but you didn’t even see my cute bra and panty set and then he was thrusting, ramming, forcing up into me. Pain blossomed as my dry cunt struggled to rearrange itself around him. I pressed forward as hard as I could, thighs against the table edge, and lifted up on my tip toes, seeking a measure of relief from the relentless stabbing. He waited until I couldn’t move any further away and then followed, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back, slamming me against the table.

Each thrust was met with a whimpered “ow”, involuntary mostly. He loves this kind of sex, the painful-for-me kind. Loves watching me obey and spread my legs and offer my holes while my body clenches and my face tightens against the pain. “It isn’t hurting me” he says, pleasure smeared across his face. He laughed somewhere behind me. And then “You fucking whore” before his other hand smacked loudly against my ass, and then punching, 2, 3 times, deep bone-thudding punches that sent instant cramps into my ass muscles.

Funny thing about masochism– I like it when it hurts. I like it when he takes me, ripping into my dry cunt or slamming into my ass, grinding the pain into my fuck holes, no escape, no choice but to just hurt and suffer for his pleasure. It turns me on, it makes me wet

It makes me wet.

Too soon, too wet. It stops hurting.

Masochism: that struggle is real, too.

Entirely too soon I’m wet and slippery and he’s sliding in and out with ease. The pain eases and my ‘ows’ turn to ‘ohs’. My body relaxes and I begin to lean back into it. My hands unclench, my ass lifts.

He flips me over and sets me up on the table, shoving me backwards, yanking my ass to the edge. His thumb finds my clit, his cock buried. With his other hand he grabs a tit, squeezing and smashing and using it as a handle to hold so I don’t go sliding across the table away from him.

Soon I’m begging and growling and gasping around orgasms. My hand flutters over the thumb assaulting my clit, raw nerves exploding like internal fire works, making me twitch and jerk. I want to stop him, I don’t dare stop him, I don’t want to stop him.

“Master, please. Jesus. Oh, god…I can’t.. can I come? Pleasepleaseplease…” My back arches off the table and my hands grip the edge. I can feel it building, starting in my toes, rising up my legs. “Master! Please!”

He grunted something, I don’t know what, but it didn’t matter because it had already zipped up my legs and met my clit and exploded in my belly and squirted out my cunt. I felt the gush, heard it, but it was just background noise barely cutting through the roar of pleasure that was currently coursing through my body.

“Jesus.” I heard him mutter, but Jesus, like wow. Jesus like oh my god. Jesus like fuuuuuuck, and then he was driving and it was sloppy wet smacking and he gave a deep guttural moan at the ceiling

And then it was over and he stopped, still buried in me, leaning over me, breathing heavy.

“I think I squirted,” I announced.

“Gee, ya think?”

He lifted me off the table, cautioning me not to step in it lest I slip and fall. “Ew!” I exclaimed, looking at the puddle on the tile floor. It’s much different looking at a wet spot on the sheet, it’s not quite so… so.. puddle-y.

“I want a picture of that.” he said proudly.

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”

“I’m posting it.”

“That’s even grosser.”

“You’re putting it on the blog.”

“You’re nasty.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I do.

That struggle is also real.


(and then I washed up, made bacon and eggs, and then sleep. So the priority is obvs sex, food, sleep. In case there was any doubt.)

The cute bra and panty set he totes missed out on! Struggle!




Master comes home today! In 7 hours, almost exactly. Not that I’m counting down or anything (yes I am)

I didn’t lose the extra 5 pounds he challenged me to drop. In fact I gained 2. Lulz. Oh well. I’m not in (any extra) trouble for not losing, and probably not for gaining I don’t think. Maybe. But I’m also heading into pms week so I want to believe the 2 pound difference is bloating and not the margaritas and party food I indulged in last week. Or the two days following where my ass was glued to the couch. Nah.. it’s pms. ~cough~

We have such a busy time ahead of us. Our friends will be here in two days. So excited! We have sight-seeing to do, a munch to go to, a kink party to attend. The following weekend there’s another party we’re going to. And then we’re trying to decide on taking a vacation or whether or not we’re going to move.

We don’t *have* to move. Our lease is up soon- can you believe it’s almost been a year? Sheesh. We’re not ready to buy anything yet so we’re still going to rent, but now that we know the area better, we have more options for where we can live. Moving out of this particular suburb, where it seems rent prices are higher because of the school district, and since we don’t need to worry about the school district, we could probably get a bigger house with a bigger yard for the same, if not less than what we’re currently paying. There are pros and cons to moving and it’s not my decision anyway (which sucks sometimes, lemme tell ya) but if he decides to go ahead with moving we won’t be able to take vacation right now. And that sucks too because we were going north to see Am and B-man and I am looking forward to that. But I’d also be quite on board with moving into a house that offers more space so we can set things up the way we want them, particularly play equipment *wink wink nudge nudge*.

Anyway. We’ll see how that turns out. :)

Master and I started to get into a little tiff a few days ago. At least this time we were able to recognize that we aren’t mad at each other, it’s just the frustrations of the separation getting to us. We have had the same little tiffs toward the end of his other trips as well. The closer it gets to time for him to come home, the longer the days seem to stretch. We’re anxious for it be over, we’re fed up with the communication difficulties of long distance.. and we’re both pretty horny lol. Apparently, that sometimes comes out in arguing over disappearing facebook links. *nods*

Before I run off out of here to pretend like i’ve been keeping the house spotless all month and to get showered, shaved and primped, just a quick word to the prize winners from last month: I haven’t forgotten you. I am working on it. In part I’ve been busy and when I haven’t been busy I’ve been lazy. I have supplies gathered and will commence creating after this busy busy week is over. Luv!




Remember that movie from the early 90’s, The Cutting Edge? It was about a super bitchy figure skater who couldn’t keep a partner because she was.. well, super bitchy, so her richie rich dad paid some hockey player to learn how to figure skate so his super bitchy daughter could compete… or something like that. ~flaps hand~ I haven’t watched it in years and years.

One of the bitchy things Super Bitch would say, in this annoyingly perky like-you’re-like-so-dumb valley girl voice was “Toe pick!” every time cute hockey guy would wipe out. So it was “Toe pick!”, “Toe pick!”, “Toe pick!” until you wanted to shove a toe pick right up her cunty cunt.

Anywhore, I’ve adopted Bitchy Toe Picks intonation only instead of toe pick I say “Veto!” every time Master says something I don’t want to hear.

“Cunt, I’m going to brand y-”


Like that.

I used to say RED but he stopped listening to RED.

Well okay, he never listened to RED but he stopped even pausing when I said RED. So now I veto.

“Cunt, that dildo is going up-”


“And I’m going to be fisting your a-”


“Maybe both of them at the sa-”


Forget princess. Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat.

I’m the got-dam president.


veto bitch.


Kinky Bucket List- Check!

I have long had a fantasy of being whored out to men in exchange for, or payment of, labor or services. Not for money, not a prostitute. But perhaps to the landlord, or to the landscaper, or the plumber. Or perhaps to the guys who carry heavy things for me because I’m a weak girl.

It was one of those fantasies that I accepted would always likely be just a fantasy, for a hole host of reasons, not the least of which is that I’d given myself to a guy who doesn’t share his toys.

Or… well.. he used to not share. :)))

I hadn’t talked about this particular fantasy for quite some time. Years, perhaps. Like I said, it had been put away. Even when he’d talked a little about gangbangs and such it hadn’t been in the context of “payment”. I’d only thought he was beginning to consider maybe perhaps, if I was a lucky cunt, he’d think about maybe perhaps letting another penis into the picture.

11 years and that’s the closest I’d gotten to it. “Maybe perhaps”.

And I was happy with that! (See? I’m so easy. Yes I am. Shut up.)

Sex of any sort was the furthest thing from my mind when I put out amongst our kinky friends (because they are the only people I know here) that I needed something heavy carried up a flight of stairs. I did not expect any of them to volunteer to help, I was more asking for recommendations about hiring outsiders, or, if any of them wanted to earn some cash, I’d happily pay them for their time.

I also wasn’t planning on doing it right NOW, but was thinking in a few weeks, lol

I hadn’t even talked about it specifically with Master, other than in general terms of ‘I think we should move that upstairs to give us more room in the living room’ and him agreeing. My asking for referrals was simply to gather information so when the time came, I’d be ready.

Imagine my surprise when, as I’m asking about hiring folks, Master says “Or you could give blowjobs to our friends if they all move it.”

Tra la l– Wait, what?

It just so happened that I was already planning on having a bunch of them over for dinner that next day. Just for fun, some drinks, food, good conversation about kinky things, lots of laughter. They plan a get together about once a week or so, as circumstances allow, and I was doing it at our house to give the usual host a break.

We really were welcomed into a great group of folks here, and we’re so very lucky and so very grateful for them all. They have made Master’s work trips so much more bearable, not to mention the move here being not so bad. I am only lonely or bored if I choose to be at this point. That is really pretty amazing. ~sniffle~

But I digress. Where was I?

Right. Blowjobs.

I still wasn’t planning on moving the big thing. I wasn’t ready, I didn’t have anything moved around for it, or have stuff out of the way. I guess I hadn’t thought anyone would take that seriously, though I knew Master wouldn’t have said it if HE wasn’t serious. I was just like, oh haha, you’re funny, it’s too heavy even to make a blowjob sound appealing.

Next thing I know all four of the men in attendance are hauling that fucking thing upstairs.

It was quite the job getting that thing upstairs, too. At least from my nervous perspective it was. And then after it was up there, there was a bit of awkward, foot shuffling waiting, and I’m like, no way dude, I am not forward enough to make the first move. I’m the slave, you tell ME what to do…and then one of them did and it was fine, haha.

I was very much deer-in-headlights, omgineedanotherdrink, wtfdidigetmyselfinto.

And holyshitisthisreallyhappening.

Also, jesuschristidonthaveskillz.

AND shit! if I gag I’m going to pee. Only Master delights in that nasty shit. Dontgagdontgagdontgag…fuuuuuck.

Of the four guys, one of them we’ve known for a couple of years as he’s also from Michigan; one of them we’ve known for a few months since we moved here; and one of them I just met that night, though I’ve known his slave-wife for much much longer. The fourth guy chose not to partake of the blowjob, which was fine because guy #2 came around for seconds anyway lol.

I thought it would be awkward- and it wasn’t.

I thought it would be difficult- and it wasn’t.

I thought I’d have guilt or shame, or there’d be some residual mess with Master- and there wasn’t.

I really felt in my element. True to myself.

Oh god I’m such a whore, haha.

It was fun, and we were all having fun.

And then.. THEN… I wore a strap on for the first time ever, and even though I just sat there with it and Miss Piggy-Poop-Toe did all the work on herself with it… man.. penises are power. I wanted to smack her in the face with it.

What? Master does it to me all the time. It’s what they’re for, right? Smack smack smack!

I may possibly be earning a reputation here. And it’s probably not for being classy.

Ask me if I care. :D


There is Safety in Numbers

Except when there isn’t.

Like the numbers on the bathroom scale that are conspiring against you.

He’d set me a goal of losing 15 pounds in the 4 weeks he’d be gone. He knew it was a pretty lofty goal and likely unattainable but he also knew I’d try real hard. I’ve lost 9 so far, but he’s due home in 6 days. I told him there was just no way I was going to lose 6 pounds in 6 days.

So then he said he’d knock back some of that unfairly acquired punishment I have coming my way if I can lose 5 pounds before he gets home.

Actually he said that several days ago and so far I’ve lost zero of that five lol. This is naturally the time my body will plateau. Because karma.

I’m down 17 pounds from my starting weight in January when he cracked down on me about my size. However, I yo-yo’ed a few times in there: once when the grandkids were here for a month and I loved them with food, and again after my friend passed and I went through a few weeks of “Life is short, let’s eat cake”. Both times I gained and then lost about 5 pounds.

I’ve lost a total of 13 inches, including almost 3 inches from my waist and 2 1/2 from each thigh. Easy to tell where I carry the bulk of my fat, eh?

I can certainly tell a difference in my clothes, though I don’t think visually it’s very noticeable.

I still have a ways to go. I’d like to drop at least another 40 pounds. Master refuses to give me a number goal, he just says he’ll tell me when I look good.

That’s kind of frustrating for me. I think I do better when I have number to strive for. So, for now, for my own motivation, I’m going for 40.

I am exactly where I was the last time I fell off the wagon, last fall. When Master started his teaching of the Great Lesson of 2014; which, apparently, I ate my way through. :D

In good news though, I’ve lost enough that it’s been a good long while since I’ve felt like I was strangling to death in my collar. :)


Friends, Funnies, and Follies

Thanks for all your comments on the last post. I’m absorbing and thinking and talking to Master about it. :)

I have been very social lately – by my normal standards anyway. I went to the party on Saturday, last night I went to a friend’s house for dinner and good conversation. Today I’m going to visit BigDdy (the recent widow of my friend who passed. I try to get over to visit with him whenever I can, I take some home cooked food, provide some company, see if he needs anything) and on Thursday I’m planning on having some friends over. At this rate I’m going to get kicked out of the hermit’s club. I’ll have to be in the new Social Butterfly Club.

It’s been great, though. Everybody is kinky and everybody gets it. I am quite enjoying having some of those things… what do you call them? Those things that you can talk to and count on…starts with an f… Oh, yeah! Friends. Those things. I like them. ;-)

One of the comments on yesterday’s post was about enjoying the texts between Master and myself and I realized that I hadn’t shared here the latest thing he’d posted on Fet. So if you’re on Fet you’ve probably already seen this.

Scott615’s Writing
Journal Entry | 55 Comments · 68 Love It | 13 days ago

Title: Why does she bother?

She thinks that since I’m not on the receiving end of things that I don’t know what I’m talking about. We are on the phone talking about these two different spikey mats we have and she insists the one is going to be “way worse” than the other. I tell her it’s not, she keeps arguing with me.

I don’t have to sit on them to know. I just have to look at it. Call it sadist’s intuition. grins

So I tell her to sit on the one she thinks will be easy for 30 minutes. Just 30. She scoffs. I laughhhhhhh.

Some time later I get this text: “Dude–”

(Interjection- I don’t know when Dude replaced Master but we’ll address that soon. Now back to the story.)

I get: “Dude. I can’t do 10 mins on that mat let alone 30. You win. You were right. It’s awful. Mercy. Worst pain ever!”

Now how do I know she genuinely tried for 30 mins? Probably more than once over the day? Because it killsssssssss her to be wrong. I know she sat her ass raw trying to be right.

All I have to do is sit back and let her do the work for me. She’s so great that way LOL

She’s still going to sit for 30 mins on the other mat, just for comparison’s sake, and she’s going to finish out the 30 on the awful one just for my sake.

But I sense I will enjoy it too much to not want to be there in person. Damn……. there goes my sadist’s intuition kicking in again. LOL

Probably we will see to the remainder of those 30 mins when we discuss “Dude”. Seems fitting somehow.

Dude. Seriously. Worst pain EVER.

Search acupressure mat on Amazon or Google and you’ll see what I’m talking about. Supposedly, people buy these and LIKE them. Probably they don’t have to take out the foam pad and put it on a hard wooden chair first, but even so, I can’t imagine liking this.

It was pretty awful, lol. Masochist? Not me. Hopefully he’ll forget all about it before he gets home. :D

I already have a punishment coming, even though I’m officially protesting that I deserve it. He is wrong, wrong, wrong.

It’s about the phone, of course, because what else, right? It started when he misread a text that I’d sent explaining why I wouldn’t be answering my phone for a little while so when I didn’t answer my phone for a little while he got livid about it and was adding up punishments by the second (hyperbole, but almost!) and because we were then out of communication for a bit, he just stewed about it for like a whole day, getting more and more pissed off about it.

Then, before we could hash it out, he’d called me on skype like literally the second I’d walked out of the room so of course I missed it and since he was already livid about the first one and still hadn’t yet realized that he was wrong had misread the text, he got more livid and added more punishment, even though I called him back within a minute probably.

So we finally get the chance to talk about it and I plead my case about the first text and luckily he hadn’t yet deleted the text. I begged him to scroll back and reread it, which he did, and then he was like oh, my bad, okay so I’ll take off that part of the punishment but you’re still getting it for Day Two.

The thing is, had he read the first text right he wouldn’t have already been pissed about it so when the next day happened, he wouldn’t have considered that a punishable offense at all. Or at the very least not with the severity of which he declared it’s going to be.

Honestly. I’m writing a strongly worded letter of complaint.

Well, I mean this is it right here but you feel me, right?

Right! Thanks. :)


Thinking, whoring, blogging


Hee. He makes me laugh. :)

Only 9 more days until he comes home. This round has gone by super fast but I know his time back is going to go by even faster because we aren’t even going to be home for about half of it. We’re planning a long road trip, lots of people I want to see. Primarily my kids, my parents, his family– and some friends.

We are also having some visitors here for a weekend before we leave, so that will be fun. I’m hoping we can find a kink event to go to but if not that’s okay. We’ll find stuff to do.

I went to a play party last night, first time ever attending anything like that without Master. We’d had an interesting conversation a few days prior about playing, etc. He’s normally quite the non-sharer when it comes to me- in fact, he’s normally quite the “yeah, I think you don’t need to go without me at all, cunt” type of Owner-guy, but this event in particular had special circumstances so that I was going was already set. I hadn’t expected that I’d be allowed to do anything there so it was quite a shock to get permission not only to play, but to even fuck someone.

~blink blink~ Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my Master??

I knew that I wasn’t likely going to play OR fuck as I’m not the forward sort of person to arrange that for myself, plus I still don’t know very many people in the Houston scene, and certainly know less who’d be up for playing or fucking on the fly. I’m not sure what the motivation was behind this change of heart but I kind of love it a lot. :)

I know that doesn’t translate into “You have permission to become the town whore!”, but I could maybe sometimes be a whore. A small one perhaps.

He’s also said he’s been thinking a lot about gangbangs, throwing me to the wolves, that sort of thing. That had always been off the table due to his refusal to share. Now he’s got me all hot and bothered with possibilities.

Anyway, back to the play party without Master– I had fun there. I knew enough people that I was never alone and I met more people which is always great. It was weird being there without him, though, and I felt his absence pretty deeply. I’m not sure I’d realized how much I physically touch him when we’re out and I felt that emptiness from the lack of touch. It felt isolating, even though I wasn’t ever sitting alone or without someone talking to me. I’m very glad I went, everyone was great, the venue was great, lots and lots of people were playing. Truly a good party. I’m bolstered again, about the Houston scene. I know if Master had been there, we’d have played. So I’m a little wistful that way today.


I need to improve my fetish wear I guess. :-/

I’ve been thinking lately about the blog here, and how I can get a fresh perspective on it, or.. I don’t know… stoke the flames a little (for myself, particularly). Master’s mentioned maybe going back to having expectations on content, posts per week, writing assignments, etc. That would help but I’ve also got to figure some stuff out for myself, as well.

Have any of you gone through blogging slumps? What helped you to overcome it?

What about you as a reader- have you lost interest in reading certain blogs?

I’m really just trying to flush out what I want to do. Do I want to talk more about my daily life, specifically his expectations on my routine, chores, etc., or would I (or you) find that mind-numbingly boring? Sometimes I think the routine of it would help me focus more.

What would you like to see here? More of, less of, none of…


Waving my Magic Wand

Today I’m going to do a review of the most popular vibrator ever, the Magic Wand.

I’ll start with the Packaging and Shipping:

Shipment was very quick. I had my wand within 3 days.

Packaging was discreet. The wand arrived in a plain white padded envelope. It was so discreet, in fact, that I didn’t even know what was in it until I opened it.

The wand comes in a simple box, no bells or whistles. The cord length is pretty decent.



The wand measures just slightly over 12 inches long, not including the cord.


Compared to the bullet vibe I’m used to, I found the wand to be huge and heavy. That’s not necessarily a con, just an observation.


The head of the wand is great, large and round and able to cover a lot of area at once. Lots of pink area. Lots of pink, juicy, clitty area. If you compare the size of the vibrating head to the size of the average clit, it’s plain to see there is NOWHERE for your clit to hide.


That could be a blessing or a curse, depending on who is at the controls I suspect.


The wand has a single flip switch in the middle of the body, and two speed settings. Down is Low, middle is Off, up is High. I found the settings very easy to switch, even in the middle of using it. My thumb rested right near it.


If you’re hoping for stealth masturbation, this may not be the vibe for you. It’s quite loud. It’s not lawnmower-loud, but it’s definitely not whisper-quiet. If you’re cursed with thin walls and/or “little pitchers with big ears”, this may not be the vibe for you.

I took a short video clip so you can hear it, as well as see how powerful it is.


The Magic Wand is rather notorious for being powerful. It seems to be the vibrator of choice in almost every porn clip I’ve seen. Quite probably because of the aforementioned “nowhere to hide” observation.

I’ve had the wand for about a week. I wanted to be able to use it several times so I could give an accurate review. Each time, I’ve been blown away by how powerful the vibration is.

I have yet to be able to take it off of low and still find it pleasurable. High seems to want to sandpaper my vulva off by sheer friction.

I find low to be powerful enough by itself. Even through a thin pair of pants I rapidly begin to feel numb from the vibrations. Interesting that in just a week I’ve already begun to notice some desensitizing of my clit.

But powerful vibrations do indeed lead to powerful orgasms. They come hard, not the slow, lazy spready-melty ones I’m used to. Quicker, too. I’m spitting them babies out like a machine gun with this thing. Riiiiiight up until my clit goes numb, that is. I’m not sure if that’s something I’ll adjust to with more frequent use, maybe I’m extra sensitive because I normally cater to my clit with a gentle bullet vibe. But maybe, too, I’ll need to temper my use of it so I don’t become permanently desensitized.


If you need power to get off, this is your vibe. It is second to none in that category.

If you want power to torture your lady’s sweet, sensitive lady bits, this is your vibe. She’ll be writhing and screaming and begging for mercy in no time.

Something tells me that will be my experience with my new, beautiful Magic Wand. I better enjoy being at the helm for the time I have left before Master gets his talons on it. ;)

Now you know where I’ve been for the last week. I’ve been doing uber important scientific research. I am an R&D girl! It is a heavy burden to bear, this business of comparing orgasms. But I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the greater good. Take one for the team!

You’re welcome.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must go find out how the Magic Wand works in the middle of Thursday afternoons. I’ll report my findings. :)

Want one of your own? If you live in the US or Canada use link Magic Wand. For UK orders use link UK Magic Wand.

Happy Orgasming!

I almost forgot, hurry over to MaxiWand.com and enter the contest to win a free Magic Wand!



I have been incredibly lax about transferring what gets posted on fet to here. No reason other than laziness. :)

The night before he was scheduled to leave, he left me some love notes. He’s such a sappy romantic at heart, amirite?


I really enjoy it when he labels me this way.


Though he most often uses a knife or something similar to write on me, this is nice, too.


We’d both hoped it would be a little more permanent than it ended up being.


Which is probably why he uses a knife or something similar instead. :/


It gives me a small peek into his mind, how he sees me.


It was all well and good until a bitch had to pee, though.


Now it looks like a clown took a shit in my bathroom. :D

Then he wanted a white glove handjob.


The gloves are silky, which is a sensation he loves, but we need to find a better lube. The gloves suck it all up!

Here’s a short clip that he took. He never records through the finish. Must be because he has other things on his mind. ~waggles eyebrows~

After that he used my mouth as his urinal backsplash, which is definitely his favorite in the least-messy, no-fuss way to pee on me. He’s not all that interested in having me drink it all down (and thank you jaysus!). I think it’s a visual thing. He likes to see it. If I’m swallowing it all, he’s deprived of the visual. So he mostly just uses me as a backsplash.

Since he’s been gone, he’s been on a nipple torture kick. You’ve already seen the short jog with the clover clamps, which I had to do twice, two days in a row, the second time being double clamped. I’ve had various other clamping orders randomly given, as well.















Then, after I went on strike (wha..?) he made me wear the tack bra, go for another short jog and then wear it the rest of the day, over night and until 7am this morning when he finally said I could take it off. Until I said that yes, he can cross ALL THE LINES.

I had hoped that he was moving away from the breast area since last night’s task was to see how many clothespins I could fit on my cunt:


(17, btw.)

But alas, I have another boob task today.

Le sigh.

However, there’s no denying this evidence:


The proof, as they say, is in the pussy pudding.


Fucking traitorous cunt.