Match the mark to the implement and win a million dollars!
Just kidding. I don’t have a million dollars.
I don’t have any prizes, actually.
I just need a hobby. :)
2. Brass knuckle meat tenderizer
3. His fist
5. Rubber loopy hateful thing
6. His open hand
7. Misery stick
Yay! You win! Let me know what you want for a prize. ;-)
So much for easing into the Houston scene. I was super nervous about going, I’m shy and I have body image issues and I didn’t wanna. He placated me, patting my head and saying we’d just watch, check things out, see how things work. He packed the toy bag anyway because the last time he went (before I got here) he played with another girl and didn’t have any of his own stuff, so, you know, he was being a good little boy scout and soothe soothe, pat pat, don’t worry baby, we’re just observing.
I could tell he was getting itchy while we were watching another girl I’d met earlier that day getting her poor butt hammered on and she was making delightfully sexy moans and groans and whimpers- and I knew I was toast.
Anyway. Yeah. Observing, my ASS.
He wasn’t exactly going easy on me, but he didn’t make me cry so it that respect he was nicer than he could have been. I’m grateful for that because I hate to cry in front of strangers.
The cuffs work! I struggled so hard that my wrists are sore and swollen, and my right thumb is numb from the tip to the base (still, 3 days later!) but I wasn’t going anywhere. I sure tried, though. I have to admit it’s pretty easy to be restrained with these things on all the time.
That’s the point, derp. You mean they aren’t just for decoration?? ~wide eyed blink~
My ankles hurt. Still. Stairs are a killer because of the bouncing, and sometimes so is just walking because of the flexing. Where that tendon flexes at the front of the ankle? Ouchies. That’s the worst of it, right there. And on the ankle bone itself, too.
The wrists aren’t too bad, other than what I just did to myself over the weekend, making them all sore and swollen so they hurt just to be touched anyway, but the cuffs doing their everyday slipping around haven’t made them sore. I’m already starting to forget they are there, up until I bang it against something because it’s loud.
To say that he (and me, too!) is enjoying it here doesn’t even begin to convey the truth of the matter. He hasn’t called me anything but cunt since I got here. He hasn’t stopped smiling since I got here. He’s going back to the snap and point blow job/service technique–
(sidenote: it’s really amazing to me how quickly and easily some of this old stuff came back. I realized it the other day when he snapped his fingers and my head whipped around and my heart flipped and my limbs jerked- and he wasn’t even snapping them at me. He was after the cat or the dog or something. Apparently, he instilled that bit pretty well all those years ago.)
He’s gone over a whole list of expectations. Some new, some just reinstated, some easy, some hard. He’s stricter. More rigid.
And dude. I’m in fucking heaven. Seriously. He could dial it up about 10 more notches and I’d still be flying high.
Love love LOVE being a slave. Love being HIS slave. Love the structure, the rules, the consequences, the rigidity.
More, harder, meaner…
That’s gonna be my byline from now.
More. Just that.
Well. Except for this: