Under His Hand » 2006

The slate is wiped clean again.

He’d gotten home at about 8:30pm. I knew we’d have to be up early in the morning so I wasn’t expecting anything. I was happy, blissfully happy to have Him home. He didn’t have to come home, you know? He was already in the Big City where He was flying from. He drove two and a half hours *only* to see me. Two and a half hours here, two and a half hours back. For one night together.

He got His welcome home blow job. I got my welcome home fuck. It was good. Good hard sex. A fervent coupling, I needed to taste Him all over, to hold Him tight with my legs, my arms, my mouth. He talked in heated whispers in my ear, feeding my soul with the words that I dream of. Who I am, what I am, my purpose. After the sex, He hurt me. Nice hurts, hard hurts. We laughed, and sometimes I moaned while He laughed at me. Other times, neither of us laughed and I clung to Him, holding on to Him while He worked to mark my skin to suit Him.

There was a lull. The toys scattered across the bed had been used. I was bruised where He wanted. His lust (and mine) was calm for the time being. I was still somewhat trussed, wrist cuffs linked to the bars that had been squeezing the life out of my breasts. As if a switch had been flipped, the atmosphere sobered. I looked at Him, suddenly feeling small and scared. His face was sober… and sad.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Time for bed?” Not trying to be flippant, it was late. But He only shook His head. My heart hammered in my chest.

“It doesn’t have to be done tonight, does it Master? Can’t it wait?” I pleaded. I wanted the mood back. I wanted the fun back. I wanted Him to smile, to wipe the seriousness from His face.

I think He wanted that as much as I did. I could see that He was debating, thinking. The night was short and the list of fun things had just barely been scratched. Time was the enemy. I hated that any of it was going to be spent on a punishment. We’ve been so starved for each other… and here was a tiny sliver of opportunity to feast. But instead of being able to indulge in that, there was this. This ugly pall that had fallen over the night, a situation that I had caused. My faults, my mistakes had brought us here.

He answered by picking up the blue stick. “This needs to be taken care of now. If I don’t do it now, it’ll be some time next or two weeks from now. No, it’s time.”

Desperate, not to avoid my fate, but to erase the sadness. He didn’t want to do this anymore than I wanted to have it done. Consumed with guilt, only 12 short hours together and it’s this that has to be done. I gave one last plea.

“Let’s not waste time on this!”

The gravity of what I’d just said hit me like a ton of bricks. I saw it first in His eyes, a quick raise of the brows, and then the determined set of His jaw. I didn’t mean it like that! I opened my mouth to explain and He silenced me with a look. Taking hold of the bar still linked between my wrists, He pulled me over the bed. He gave me the usual stern warnings, don’t move, count and if you lose count, it starts over.

By the 7th stroke, I was tearfully begging Him to slow down.

By the 18th or 19th stoke I was sobbing. He leaned down next to me and spoke in my ear. “Do you still think I’m wasting your time, cunt? Is correcting you a waste of MY time?” My cries of “No Master!” seemed to satisfy Him.

On the 23rd stoke, I stood up and He cracked me across the back. That pain was immense, body consuming. I didn’t stand up again.

The 30th stroke, my legs were trembling, the blanket was balled up in my sweaty fists. My count, while still accurate, was incoherent drooling sobs.

On the 35th stroke, He tossed the stick down. “You need a break.” He said and I collapsed to my knees. I don’t know what His reason was for stopping then. I do know that the sight of me on the floor, crying, cuffed and looking up at Him stirred His loins. He gripped my hair, shoving His cock into my mouth and I sucked Him with all I had. Anything to hold off the next 35. Anything to please Him again. (It was right about then that He snapped that last picture He had me post this morning. Don’t I look miserable? And that’s what turns Him on.)

From there I went under the desk. It was a very long… long… long.. fuck. He’d already come twice in the previous two hours. He was chatting to people as He fucked me. To me He spoke not a word, except for one uttered reprimand for sliding away from Him (and dare I point out that I wasn’t sliding, I was being *pushed* by Him? I did dare, but not until the next day.) I’m used to being ignored down there. But this carrying on multiple conversations about who knows what while He’s absentmindedly fucking me… paying no attention to the agony that I’m in. Really, truly not caring, not even noticing. It took fucktoy to a whole new level. Dehumanizing to the max. For those of you that He was chit chatting with, at least know that I was suffering badly while you occupied His attention. (No guilt trips. Nope. Not from me. And you know who you are!) I don’t even know if He mentioned that I was there. I don’t know if it’s more humiliating if He did or didn’t.

I try not to break under there. It’s one of those mindfucks where I lose either way. He’s going to make it as painful and awful for me as He can until I beg. Until I break down and beg Him to stop… and then He’s going to make it worse because I begged Him to stop. Fucktoys don’t talk. Fucktoys don’t beg. Think it was bad before, cunt? I was just getting started. And He was. The worst is always yet to come.

When He was finally ready to come, He pulled out and grabbed a handful of my hair. Using my hair like a silky glove, He finished Himself off over my head. (He asked me if I had liked that but to be honest, all I got out of it was my hair pulled while He jacked off and a wet, sticky head. I was just so glad He was done fucking me that I’d have liked anything at that point.)

We were tired then. Both ready to drop from exhaustion. I wasn’t about to say anything about the remaining 35. I just waited for Him to tell me where to go. Bed, shower, closet, bend over. Anything, anywhere. I was wiped. When He picked the blue stick back up and snapped and pointed for me to get into position I started crying before I even got there. But I went, without argument, or dawdling. He then gave me the best gift I’ve ever received from Him.

He went through the 35 with just enough force to make me ow, just enough so that I knew I was getting them. In comparison to the first half, they tickled. He laid them out quick, only making the last five hurt, threw the stick in the toy box and hugged me.

“Thank You, Master.” I said. And meant it from the bottom of my heart.

He kissed the top of my head. “Be good, baby, okay?”

That made me cry. Again. He hates punishing me as much as I hate being punished. He hates taking the time out of our meager time together to do it. But He has to weigh that against the damage of not doing it… the goal of making me what He wants me to be. And the only person who has the power to eliminate this for both of us, is me.

I do try. I have to try harder.

~cunt

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Uncategorized | kaya | Thursday July 27th, 2006 9:10pm | Comments (17)

Bit-o-This, Bit-o-That

“You might as well take that home with you,” Master said, pointing to His cell phone, dangling from the car charger.

“Why?” I asked, a tad panicky. Though I’d suspected He wouldn’t run His bill up by calling me while He was gone, I didn’t actually expect it to be that way.

“Because it’s U.S. Cellular.”

I blinked at Him. “So?” I said stupidly.

He had to look at me to see if I was joking. He looked twice, in fact, and I continued to stare blankly at Him.

“U.- S.- Cellular,” He said slowly. “U.S. United States Cellular. It’s not Australian Cellular. I can’t use it there.”

“Well you’d think U.S. Cellular would have planned for this!” I said hotly.

Who knew? I didn’t. Have I really dropped that far out of the technology-loop? I don’t even have a cell phone myself. I don’t need one. I’m never that far away from the house phone.

So it really is going to be that I can’t get in touch with Him. After patting me on the head like the cute little ignorant soul that I am, He carried on informing me of things about cell phones and chips. For instance, before He goes to China, He’s going to have chip installed in His phone so He can use it there. But then it won’t work at all here unless the chip is removed. Why are there no Australian chips? Why wouldn’t a cell phone work anywhere? These things baffle me.

“Is Your laptop going to work?” I asked, in all seriousness. Honestly, I don’t understand these things. He said He thought it would and that we should be able to see each other on msn now and then… of course it’s going to be a nightmare of figuring out time. 15 hours ahead over there. He then began talking to Himself about power strips or cables and wondering what they had over in Australia, pointing out that England has different outlets than we do and maybe Australia does too, which would quite fuck with laptop functioning.

He talks over my head a lot. And I told Him so, last night, as He was telling me something about work. I do listen to Him and I try to pick up key words, words that I actually know. I try to remember names so that I can maintain a conversation. But really, most times I don’t have any idea what He’s talking about. And I’ve tried asking so I can understand it, but the explanations are… oh my God. I don’t know. In order to understand this, I first have to know that, but I can’t quite grasp that if I haven’t heard of this.

So He prattles on about engineering programs and I listen attentively. I think maybe I’ll someday have enough of a grasp to participate in the conversation.. and then He blows my mind with some cell phone trivia that probably everyone in the free world knows about except me.

Bah. Anyway.

So after working so hard, driving two and a half hours home, needing to be up at 6am and anticipating some 19 hours of travel time through 5 different airports, He still took the time to play with me some last night AND today. One blow job, three intense fucks, three swallowed loads of cum and one ejaculation into the masses of my hair. One punishment. One spanking for fun. And one nipple sit up torture exercise. Lots of laughter, one good cry, four wonderful hours of sleep and one long communicative car ride to the airport.

One terrifying drive home in a torrential downpour in a Big City with lunch-hour traffic when I haven’t been behind the wheel in weeks.

I’m tired. Sad, but happy too.

Not quite up to answering comments yet. Certainly not up for answering that anonymous comment. Maybe later. Or tomorrow.

And… because I’ve been getting some requests to be added to messenger? I would love to add everyone, if it were up to me. But I blew any chance of adding anyone for a long time. Nobody new for 6 months. 6 MONTHS! That’s an incredibly long time. Feb. 1st, He said is the next time I can ask to add anyone. I did add someone without asking first and even though the answer would have been yes and I knew it would have been yes… 6 months. None of you will probably even still want to add me in 6 months!

For those of you who are just going ahead and adding me anyway, I accept it but block it. I have to. I’m sorry. I accept because otherwise it continues to ask me each time I sign on. That’s not a pleasant occurrence in Master’s house.

I so did not forget titty torture Thursday!

Pic behind cut

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Uncategorized | kaya | 4:07pm | Comments (15)

Drive-by posting

Edit** Does the fact that I have such anal-angst make a little more sense now? Do you see the size of that thing?! It’s like being anally clubbed!

Master’s locked Himself in the bathroom with the radio and a Creed CD so I’m going to entertain myself here for a few. :D

We’ll be heading out for the airport in about 20 minutes. It was a good night, of which I shall share details post-haste. The relief of having that punishment over is insanely wonderful. It was not as bad as it could have been but more about that later.

For now, I’m tossing up these few pictures.

Roll that beautiful cock footage…

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Uncategorized | kaya | 6:30am | Comments (11)

sigh

If you do not care to read whiney, depressive posts, skip along now. Because this is going to be a doozy.

I want to get it out here, now. This place is useful for these things. Squeeze out the poison before I come face to face with Master and taint what precious time we have together. I will not whine to Him. I will not whine to Him. I will not whine to Him.

I will whine to you.

I despise Master’s job. I loathe it. I hate it. Abominate, be sickened by, detest, dislike, execrate, feel disgust for, scorn, view with horror (courtesy of Thesaurus.com). Yes, and then some. I’ve never asked Him if I could share details of what He does, so I won’t.

The company itself is great, His co-workers are great, pay is great… blah blah blah. They need Him too much. I need Him more. And fuck it all if I ain’t losing.

I last saw Him on the 17th. After tonight, He’ll be out of the country for *at least* ten days. When He first called this morning and told me He’d be flying out, the news was buffered with the gift of having two days to spend together before He left. Then it was almost immediately changed to one.

Since then it’s been one phone call after another, each one dwindling our time together until, almost literally, I’m doing nothing more than sleeping with Him tonight and driving Him to the airport tomorrow. I’ll be surprised if He even has the energy for a fuck, I figure I can forget about anything else.

So. No pictures. No fun. Sorry Charlie. Life sucks.

Master loves His job and in this day and age, when so many people hate where they work, I’m glad for that. He says He’s never bored (incidentally, one of the things He loves about me too. I never bore Him). But.. isn’t there always a ‘but’?… I’m bored.

Some days I feel like I am wasting away. My mind is going soft. I have no purpose. My posts are memories of fucks and pictures of cats. Bor-ring! It’s not just that I miss the s&m and the sex. Of course I do, I am a slut and a masochist. But, dammit, I miss Him. I miss interaction. I miss stimulation. I miss my partner.

I’m tired of sleeping alone, I’m tired of masturbating, I’m tired of every day being exactly as empty and long and identical as the one before it. I’m tired of getting my hopes up on a promised visit only to have them dashed. I’m tired of waiting.

The isolation and decision to keep me home and not at work is all well and good if He would be able to give me motivation. He can’t. He continues to say that He’s not willing to have me lose this mindset but I think He’s even too busy to see that I’m losing it anyway. Or I feel like I am.

We probably won’t even talk while He’s away. I mean, seriously, cell phone bill from continent to continent? No way. I’d like to think we’ll at least have msn but typically, while on a site, it’s non-stop work until the problem is fixed. That always seemed a very unfair position. I could have His time in the evenings at the price of Him being gone longer. Or I have none of Him and He comes home sooner.

I don’t know if I can do it like this for another 8 years. Something has to change. I’m barely making it through 3 or 4 days before another meltdown hits anymore. It’s hard to believe that it’s not all talk when nine times out of ten, it *is*. I’m on a continuous cycle of being lifted up by talk and promises and then being dropped because this happens or that happens or whatever. Expectations and Disappointment. Over and over and over.

When things do come together and it does happen as promised, it’s almost a cruel tease anymore. A tantalizing sniff of what I could have, if there weren’t ten thousand obstacles in the way.

I would much rather that both of us worked at McDonalds flipping burgers and have time together than put up with this. Money and health benefits just are not adequate compensation for not having Him. Dare I say I would even go vanilla if it meant He’d be home more? I would. In a heartbeat. (But don’t hold me to that.)

Okay. I guess He’ll be here in about an hour and a half or so. There is that. I do get to see Him, I get to smell Him and sink into His arms, even if it is for just a little while. I am appreciative of that. I know others who would kill to have that much. (*hugs* sugarpie)

And see. I feel so much better. It’ll be a good night with Him. I’ll sleep well for a change.

Take care everyone. Thank you for listening.

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Uncategorized | kaya | Wednesday July 26th, 2006 5:56pm | Comments (44)

Good news/Bad news

Good news: Master’s coming home today!
Bad news: He’s only home for about 24 hours.

Good news: The kids will be gone for those 24 hours!
Bad news: The punishment is going to be *bad*.

Good news: I’m going to get laid!
Bad news: It’ll probably be in my ass.

Good news: It should be an intense and painful 24 hours!
Bad news: It will be an intense and painful 24 hours.

Good news: Lots of pictures of sick and disgusting events!
Bad news: You all have to look at them. :D

Good news: Master’s coming home today!
Bad news: I am not ready..lol

Bye!

~cunt

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Uncategorized | kaya | 11:20am | Comments (18)

The promised butt sex.

“Have your ass ready for Me.” is what He told me when He called to tell me He was on His way home. We chatted a few more minutes, hung up and then I stood there in perplexed silence, contemplating that warning.

In all honesty, my panicked reaction is to frantically hold my ass open, to stretch and loosen things up as painlessly as I can on my own terms before He gets anywhere near it. But I don’t. Not even I am that much of a masochist.

We’ve not yet begun the enema process (though I was just told last night to be expecting that) so “get your ass ready” is not an easy command. I wonder if the hand held shower attachments would force any water up there but I dismiss that as quickly as I thought of it. It might actually push some water in, but.. ow, you know? No thanks! I do a mental rundown of squirt-bottle type things we have in the house, looking for an enema bottle improvisation but unless I want to empty and wash out the mustard container, enema type bottles aren’t kept in my cupboards.

So I dismiss the entire enema thought. I’ve just under two hours before He’s due home and I’m wasting time stressing over an enema that I can’t even give myself. I’ve still got to shower and shave and primp and paint. If I can’t get it clean on the inside, I can at least get it shiny on the outside.

Once I’ve finished with that and He’s due to be home very soon, I still have those words cycling in my head. Have your ass ready for Me. In desperation, I shoot my butt plug in, just seconds before He walks in. It occurs to me, right then, that ‘have your ass ready’ could very well mean that He plans on beating the bejesus out of it and not that He meant to fuck it at all!

Straight to the bedroom we go, where I kneel before Him. I lean down and kiss the top of His shoe, remove it, kiss His sock, remove that, and then kiss His bare foot. Can anyone tell me why this process is so incredibly demeaning? It’s terribly embarrassing and I was blushing furiously before I had finished both feet. Something that amuses Him greatly, by the way.

From there I’m supposed to strip Him down and worship the cock that I haven’t seen in a week. I’d like to describe how I smoothly and erotically peeled off His clothes… but this is me and as I told taea_doll, Grace is not my middle name. I’m flustered by the whole foot-kissing thing as well as preoccupied by my plugged ass, wondering how in the hell I’m going to get that plug out and put away without Him seeing me. Because let’s face it, if He hadn’t meant that He planned on fucking my ass, I certainly don’t want to plant the seed!

My shaking hands and fumbling fingers get hung up on His belt buckle. It’s a new belt and it’s stiff and I can’t quite figure out which way it needs to go. I’m oh-so-sexily yanking and tugging Him back and forth, feeling much like a teenage boy confronted with his first bra clasp. He brushes my hand away, giving me a strange look. “This way.” He says and unbuckles it for me. He again tilts His head back and tries to sink into the pleasure of being tended to.

I slide His pants down as He lifts His feet one at a time so I can pull them off and I promptly knock His cell phone off the belt loop holder, sending it clattering across the tile floor. As I cringe and hurry to grab it, the rest of the contents of His pockets spill. Change, keys, wallet. He peers down at me and I just stop for a moment. Take a deep breath. Try again. I *can* do this. Again, He closes His eyes and tries to moan appreciatively. I choose not to point out that He’s no actor and reach for His underwear.

But His shirt is hanging in front of His underwear and it only makes sense to me that the shirt come off first so that when I do remove the undies, I’m unobstructed in my cock-worshipping skills. Right? So I try to lift His shirt off while remaining in my quite submissive kneeling state. Now, Master is already a full foot taller than I am when I’m standing. Why I decided I could pull His shirt over His head while kneeling, I have NO clue. Does it occur to me that He should not, under any circumstances, be bowing down to me? Oh no.

I tug Him down… or I *tried* to tug Him down and He resists, giving me the oddest ‘what the FUCK are you doing??’ look at which time I think that perhaps I should stand up. I am a smart one, eh? So what if I used His shirt as a handle to get my fat ass off the floor. I got up didn’t I? By this time He’s lost all attempt to erotically enjoy this fiasco. On pulling His shirt over His head I forget about His glasses until it’s half off and He’s halting me.

“Wait baby.. just let me-.. hold on!” He says and I keep tugging because dammit, I can do this!

With His hands now wrapped up in His inside out T-shirt, glasses askew and hair messed, He glares at me. I sheepishly smile back. I wonder if this would be a good time to ask to use the bathroom and see if I can rid myself of the plug that’s squishing around my insides. I decide no upon seeing the look on His face.

I kneel back down to come face to face with His tidy whities and those I remove without a hitch. That is, if you don’t count the pubic hair I caught with my finger and plucked out. I cringed as He yelped, fully expecting a swat on the head or something but He just sighed heavily.

Finally, some cock! I do miss His cock lots when He’s gone and I don’t hesitate to scoop it up with my tongue and slather it with welcome home kisses and slops. I forget about the plug and about my ass and about everything as I work Him into a full, raging hard on. I expect to finish Him off with a blow job and I’ll run to the potty and then we’ll go on about the business of His weekend home.

He fucks my face for a good while. And then He tells me to get up, to strip and to climb up on the bed. I’m stuck. I’m caught with my ass plugged and there is absolutely no way out of it. In my nervousness, not only do I turn beet red, I also begin to giggle. He notices. Go figure.

“What’s that shit eating grin for?” He asks and I almost lose it. Shit eating. Ha! That’s funny. Without answering (because I can’t) I simply climb up on the bed and spread my legs. He sees the large end of the plug and His entire face brightens! I see my anal doom flash before my very eyes. “Oh you naughty little ass slut.” and He plunges into my cunt with new fury. Apparently, seeing me unexpectedly plugged peaked His interest.

I’m laying on my back with my ass perched on the edge of the bed while He stands between my legs. I rapidly discover that this is not a position conducive to being fucked while plugged. He’s quite getting into it, getting into the dirty talk, pounding away at me and I realize the plug is slipping out. The angle of His cock is pushing it out or something. I squabble with myself on announcing this fact and almost decide not to and then figure the humiliation of having a warm, wet, and ass-covered butt plug plop on Master’s bare feet will be worse than my announcement of slippage.

“It’s slipping,” I pant, my voice rising and falling with His thrusts.

“What?”

“It’s slipping! It’s falling out.” I repeat.

“So push it back in,” He says, eyes still closed, intent upon fucking me.

But I can’t reach it. My legs are trapped under His arms and I can’t get around them. I can’t reach down from the front because He’s busily pounding away at me. I do try and the sharp edges of my ring poke and scratch at His pelvis.

“What are you doing??!” He barks.

“I’m trying to-.. I can’t reach it.” He gives a frustrated sigh and reaching down between us He pokes it back in. “There. Better?” I nod and pretend not to see Him rolling His eyes at me.

I close my eyes and try to focus on the delicious fucking I’m getting. He eventually gets back into it Himself and the dirty talk starts up again in my ear. I’m mmm-ing and ooooh-ing when all of sudden, I feel it slipping again and before I can even say anything, it pops out and promptly rolls under my ass cheek.

I debate. Do I say anything or not? I’m seriously on the edge of making Him mad I think. Yet, I also can’t help but wonder what icks are currently being smeared on my bedspread, not to mention my buttcheeks. I pretty well decide to not interrupt Him again when He begins some hot and heavy talk about how I’m liking being filled in both holes. Now I do have a dilemma. I could not say anything and if He finds out afterwards that He was babbling away about it when it wasn’t even in there and I was panting out agreements of how much I do like being fucked and plugged when I’m not even plugged! Can you imagine? That’s akin to faking an orgasm don’t you think?

“How do you like this, cunt? We’re going to get you two cocks someday. You’re going to be double-fucked. Big ol cock in your ass, big ol cock in your cunt. You like that, slut?” In fact I would like that, like that a lot I think. “How’s it feel being so filled up? Maybe I should pull that plug out and just fuck your ass myself. You want that cunt? You want your Master’s cock in there instead of that plug?”

“Um, it fell out.” I’m quite sure that was a very anti-climactic answer. And not what He was expecting to hear. I so did not know what to say.

Again with the confusion. “What?”

I sigh, feeling the destruction of the moment quite heavily on my shoulders. “It fell out. The plug fell out.”

He pulls out. For just a minute I’m afraid He’s going to stalk away and finish masturbating in peace. And who would blame Him? I mean, high-maintenance slave is one thing. High-maintenance sex is another.

But He doesn’t. He flips the plug away from me (thank God, it was grossing me out, smearing all over me), props my legs up higher and begins forcing Himself into my ass. With no lube except for leftovers from the plug and what pussy juice already coated His cock, He pressed.. and pressed… and pressed. My ass tightened and tightened and tightened.

Instinctively, my hands meet His torso, gently pushing Him away. My knees draw together. Looking up at Him, I see the change come across His face. All joking aside, no more silliness. He’s going to take it forcibly. He pushes through my feeble resistance without a word and takes what is His to take.

Several long and painful moments as I struggle through that initial pain. My tiny little butt plug simply does not prepare me for the size of His cock. He stretches me. He hurts me. I want so badly to make it through this without those baby-ish whimpers and I can’t. I do whimper. He lays over top of me and at least I am able to stop pushing, to stop pulling my legs together. I do submit, opening my body as He thrusts. For now, that’s all I can do. Submit.

He’s talking to me as He plunders me but even now, I can’t tell you what He said. I’m not able to pull my mind away long enough to comprehend. He takes me hard, and deep, and I only hear a word echoing. Mine. Mine.

He yanks back suddenly, pulling out of me and without hesitation, He pulls me up and pushes my face to His cock. And without hesitation I open my mouth and pull Him in. My mind screams, loudly protesting, objecting, but my body obeys. I suck. Until He’s clean. I shut my mind off. I don’t want to taste it. I don’t want to think about it. I just *do*. I just am.

He pushes me back and takes my cunt again. I fight not to cry. I don’t want to cry. It’s not the pain, it’s not the degradation of cleaning His cock of my ass. I don’t know what it is exactly. I’m just overwhelmed with emotion.

But I blink back the tears and swallow the sobs and spread my legs the way He likes and come when He tells me to and suck His sperm from Him when He pulls out and presses His warm cock to my lips once again.

And just like that, it’s over. Kids need fed and laundry needs done and errands need to be ran. But inside, its not over. I feel like I’m on a slippery slope downwards where being made to puke in the shower and sucking ass-covered cock is becoming normal. I do it without outward protest and I know from past experience that once my body obeys without hesitation, my mind is quick to follow. Once my mind follows, I’ll be eager to get to the next step, to reach the next level.

That scares me so, so much. Just how many levels are there? How deep will it go? It’s no longer a question of *if* I will follow Him. I will. Anywhere He takes it. How twisted is He? I haven’t a clue what His depths are, what all runs through His mind. I’m confronting how completely powerless I am to resist Him. For a very long time, I’ve had people tell me “He’s a mean one. He’s a sadist. He’s evil.” and I’ve laughingly agreed with them, but was secure in thinking that I could match Him, point for point. I had it under control. I had Him under control.

I don’t. Not even a little bit. There seem to be no footholds on this particular part of the path.

~cunt

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Uncategorized | kaya | Tuesday July 25th, 2006 1:17pm | Comments (68)

Abuse My Cunt Tuesday!

I begged my way out of this task last Tuesday but considering my success at adding up swats, I didn’t even try to beg out of it this week. Suck it up, buttercup, right?

It only took about an hour. An hour of sitting, squatting, lying down, crying, cussing (sorry Master, but I have called You some most unpleasant things this morning). It hangs up on your pubic bone, you know? It doesn’t have the tapered head that eases entry, it’s simply round and flat and big. So I rock, twist, push, back off, wiggle, rotate and literally, move the bones out of my way. Or out of it’s way.

There comes that moment when it’s almost in, when my body is right on the edge of surrendering to the constant attack and the pain is at it’s highest peak, sharp and biting. I have to wonder what damage I am doing, is the skin stretching or ripping? Am I bleeding inside or out? Is it permanent, unhealthy, risky? (Of course it is. Duh.) Hovering on that brink I know if I can make it through one more agonizing moment of intense pressure, my body will succumb and open and the pain will fade. I also know if I back off just a bit, the pain will fade.

I’m stuck in that spot for an eternity. I think I’m there and I force myself to push harder, to suffer a bit more, and find out I’m not where I thought I was. I’m not as close as I want to be. The pain just seems to get sharper and deeper and I continuously back off.

Until finally, with ease that surprises me and a blessed lessening of pain, it slides in. Effortlessly now. Deliciously filled and stretched I can fuck myself some -not a lot- but some. Enough to bring me to orgasm rather quickly, accentuated by the remnants of discomfort still lingering in my now bruised and battered pussy.

I find that having an orgasm around such a large and cunt-filling object is different. As if there is no room left inside of me for the twitches and contractions that accompany an orgasm, it’s pushed away from my cunt and tingles it’s way down my limbs in exceptionally strong waves. Leaving me quite weak and breathless, and in wide-eyed wonder.

Even with that pleasure following it, this is a task I’m glad is separated by months and months. It’s most definitely a pussy punisher.

Pussy Punisher, take two

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Uncategorized | kaya | 11:58am | Comments (30)

Spankings and Yard Work.

I know I promised you a post about butt sex and I do hate to break a promise but.. I’m going to. I’m just about exhausted and terrified at the alarming rate that I’m racking up numbers and butt sex is not on my mind.

A few weeks ago Master and I discovered that there was a nice wood floor underneath our carpet. I knew when I saw it that I’d be ripping that carpet out. So I did. That’s not an easy job to do alone. My fingers are aching from tediously yanking out staples. And dirty. Oh my Lord. Think your vacuum cleaner is doing it’s job? Try pulling out your carpet. Yuck. Tomorrow I’m going to pull out the bedroom carpet.

I wonder what’s under the linoleum in the kitchen? :D

One good thing I got out of it is a nice set of knee pads that Master was hiding in His tools. Those fuckers are in the bedroom now. I plan on using them.

The numbers. The swats, the whacks. He’d originally added on the ten because I added someone to my msn without asking. I did it because I already knew the answer would be yes. And yeah yeah yeah, not the point. I get that now. (She was worth it either way.) But then He decided that was going to need a separate and special sort of punishment, as yet undecided upon, and took those ten back. Yay me, right? You’d think.

First, the ‘separate and special’ punishment is bound to be worse. I actually argued to get those ten back. The unknown scares me. During the course of that conversation, as I got progressively more frightened and nervous, as He carried on with details of..of…*things* to do to me to make me cry, I succeeded in adding on another 15!

It’s 70 at the moment. And I’ve decided I’m not going to talk to Him for the rest of the week..lol.

People are asking what it is that I’m doing to add up these punishments. I’m having a hard time giving an answer. The easy answer is that I’m not saying ‘yes Master’ when I should be. But it’s the reason why and what it means that I have trouble articulating.

I don’t have any problem with saying that at normal times. Remember those two hundred clothespins? Cured!..lol. But when we’re in the midst of an important (to me) conversation and He’s said His piece and He’s done with it, He prompts me. Usually with a “Got it?” or “Do you understand?” and I’m supposed to say “Yes Master”, which also means I shut the fuck up about it, that even if I don’t agree, I submit to His decision. And I’m struggling mightily with that. Horribly, terribly, miserably failing at it.

Me? Extreme? No way!

I used to think of BDSM as having levels. A staircase or plateaus. I had assumed it was the normal and natural progression of things to step from one level to the next. I honestly don’t think it ever occurred to me that people didn’t.

To not do so seemed a bit like stopping at kindergarten. Stop at spanking? Just carry the title? Someone saying that they didn’t want to take it as far as I do was as ridiculous as a 5 yr old saying they weren’t going to start 1st grade.

Such are the thoughts of a newbie masochist I suppose. I’ve since grown up. I understand that for some people..for most people.. this life I have isn’t desirable. I no longer make the apologies, I’m not inclined to try to explain the psychological reasons, the physiological aspects of endorphin release. If someone cares enough to find out the ‘why’s', there are resources available to do it. I am not wikipedia by any means.

That post I made about the shower yesterday was, in my opinion, mild. So mild, in fact, that I hadn’t posted it up until that point because I thought you would all find it boring. I barely registered it as a “bdsm thing” and had anyone asked me about my time with Master last weekend, I would have said “we didn’t do anything perverted.”

I don’t see myself as extreme. I don’t see most of what we do as outside of the norm of bdsm practices. And when someone points that out to me, I’m shocked really. I don’t know if that comes from hold-over thinking of still believing that all bdsm-ers get to this point, or if what we do is just so commonplace to me that it’s lost it’s shock value. (which also, incidentally, is where I get into the “Master’s gone vanilla” troubles. I get bored with what we do. I want more. I want it harder and faster. I’m not a kink-seeker pretending to be a masochistic slave. I *want* more than what He gives me.)

And so, I’m really hesitating posting about the ass-stuff from last weekend…lol If *I* thought the ass-scene was way more extreme than the shower thing… you see?

What to do, what to do…

~cunt

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Uncategorized | kaya | 4:06pm | Comments (58)