It’s really not practical to send a chocoholic such as myself down the candy aisle at the store. Master usually steers me clear of the candy aisle.

But I *had* to.. for the kids.

30 bucks later…. and I still don’t have any candy for the trick or treaters.

I have a tummy ache, though.

;-)

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w00t! Candy day!

I have too much to do today so naturally I come here first. I’m not addicted, I just care soooo much about keeping all of you updated that I sacrifice the time to be here first.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. :D

I really do have a lot to do. I’m going to take a load of stuff to Goodwill, which means that I get to buy more stuff because one must reward themselves for donating to charity.

Yay! It’s halloween! I have to buy candy. The kids only have trick or treating from 4pm to 6pm. Am I delusional in remembering when I was a kid, we were out from as soon as people would answer the door until they refused to answer the door? Two hours sucks.

My son is pissed because I’m making him walk with his sister’s group. It was either her or me. He certainly isn’t going alone.. (although really, from 4 to 6, how dangerous could that be?) Maybe I need to rethink this.

Generally when the kids protest these sorts of freedom restrictions my comeback is “I don’t care if you hate me, at least you’ll still be alive to hate me.” But perhaps there are worse things than death, like the humiliation of being seen trick or treating with your older sister..lol

Speaking of my son, he’s just beginning puberty. About a week or two ago, he came running up to me, all damn excited. “Mom! I got a pube!” and he pulled his pants down just far enough for me to see it. One. One little pubic hair. Too fucking funny. I told him not to pluck it and he was aghast at the thought. He’s been waiting 11 years for that pubic hair..lol

He’s been super resistant lately about doing things for himself (picking up on too much by watching me serve Master, me thinks.) So I’ve been super resistant about doing anything for him. We’re butting heads but I will win. I always do. I do make breakfast and pack lunches, but he was sitting on the couch and asked me to load his book bag up this morning. Well.. gosh.. um. No.

“B-man,” I said. “When a parent has a child, they are given 18 years to turn that squealing diaper wearing baby into an independent, functioning individual.” And here he starts rolling his eyes. He’s heard this before. “I only have 7 more years left with you, and you have yet to master the toaster. I am failing.”

It might get me eye rolls but he gets up and does it himself anyway.

But the washer and dryer?? I’m scared to let them touch it. Maybe I’ll just save that for the last month of my 18 years.

I have to go!

Happy Halloween everyone. :-)

~cunt

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Just to clear it up…

It occurred to me that it sounds like I’m complaining about blogs that are less than sugar-coated candy-bliss happiness and I’m really not. Lord knows I’ve got my share of angst and depression and icky-life stuff buried not-so-long-ago in this journal.

The bad stuff is part of life and if that’s what you feel and that’s what is on your mind, then that’s what you post. I like to read the real stuff and sometimes that includes the icky-life stuff.

….

I really suck at being diplomatic.

I have to go to bed anyway.

‘night.

~cunt

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Happy? Or delusional?

For the last several days I’ve had a running commentary in my head. The repeating thought of how lucky I am. I’ve done other posts before about good karma and good kids, etc etc, the kind that make you walk away from here zinging from the sugar rush of my oh-so-sweet life.

But that’s not necessarily the thing I’m thinking right now. I’ve clearly had my share of bad things in life, too. But if you’ve been here with me for any length of time, you already know them. And if you haven’t and don’t want to read back, you are out of the circle of trust!

(kidding. really, just ask. i like to talk about me me me me.)

Anyway, I don’t do a lot of outside socializing. I read blogs. I have the usual reading list of my favorites and then inevitably, I’ll start the clicky clicky journey. From site to site, reading an entry or two, more if I’m interested. And couldn’t tell you when I was done how I got where I was.

The last several days (weeks perhaps), I seem to have stumbled upon a most depressing trail of clicky clickys. People seem to be unhappy. Depressed or having other problems. Relationships ending, illnesses, mental problems, money problems.

Blogs tend to suck you in, you know? Things that would normally take months and months of friendship in the “real world” to be opened up about (if ever) are things that you can read in about 30 seconds. I learn the most intimate details. Marital affairs, psychotherapy details, sexual practices, STD’s, money concerns -and not just concerns but details of bank account balances, bills overdue, house foreclosures, bounced checks, bankruptcy. I know how you relate to your children and what you really think about them. I know, probably more than your lover, what you think about as he’s trying to fuck you and I know that you hate every second of it. I know that you don’t love her but that you are afraid to leave her. I know you are sleeping with her best friend. I know the details of your last fight with your husband and I know that you were wrong, even though you don’t think so.

Read more »

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Old news is good news.

Our computer is acting up. Worried that it’s about to crash (and with the kid’s recent loss of everything on their computer still fresh in our minds) Master’s had me backing up all of our files.

We have entirely too many pictures. Almost 7,000 in fact. Those are just the ones in the hidden pervert folder and all of Him or I in various indecent positions. I’ve had to share a good bit of them here. Not all, but lots.

As I’m going through them and saving them all on cd’s, I’m coming across ones that I haven’t shared, ones that Master has asked me about now and then. Though I am required to post the pictures, He’s very patient about letting me get to it when I get to it. Generally I’m pretty good about doing it in a timely fashion and it’s usually only when a lot happens in a short time that I will push pictures back.

But since I am now in a place where not a lot has happened, I can start posting the ‘backlog’ of stuff. Old porn is still good porn, no? :-)

~~*~~

Many many months ago -and I cannot even guess the time table here- I read on morningstar’s journal about a thing she referred to as Mr. Mat. Mr. Mat is a vinyl carpet runner, flipped upside down to expose the tiny hard plastic barbs. morningstar is required to sit, bare-assed, on Mr. Mat. I read that and since I’m a notorious copy cat, decided I needed to have one of those ASAP.

The next time I saw one at the store, I bought it. It was then placed into a closet and promptly forgotten about. Oh, we’d think of it at times. Usually right after we were playing or in a phone conversation while planning the next session, but for a long time, it sat unused.

Just as you can over-load children with toys, so too, can your resident sadist have too much at His disposal. There are toys, even now, that haven’t been used yet, or haven’t been used more than once, because we have way too many things. We’ve even split them up some, keeping a nice collection at His apartment in the city and we still have too many things here.

~dramatic sigh~ The hard life of a spoiled masochist, you know? :-)

(Speaking of being a spoiled whore, I have a little ‘spoiling’ tale to share. The other night, Saturday night I think, we were cuddled up in bed watching a movie. Master was munching away at a bag of Doritos. I watched Him. He’d take one out, check both sides of the chip, and pop it in His mouth. Every once in a while, He’d look at both sides, then reach over and feed it to me. I soon realized what He was doing and was overwhelmed with feeling delightfully spoiled. He’d check both sides of the chip and if it was only normally cheesy, He’d eat it. But if it was loaded with Dorito cheesiness, He’d feed it to me. When your world is reduced to the bare minimums, and one Man, a cheesy Dorito holds all the significance of a diamond ring. Trust me on that.)

But I digress. Back to the carpet runner.

Master did finally remember to pull the carpet runner out of the closet. He rolled it out on the floor and instructed me to lie down on it. On my back at first, and to just lie there, be quiet and be still.

Ha.

I hadn’t expected it to be as uncomfortable as it actually was. Those hard little barbs dug painfully deep into the places of your body where bone is closer to the surface. I specifically recall that my tailbone was suffering the worst of it and I kept trying to lift that bit of me off the floor, only to be verbally swatted back into position by Master. As He sat on the comfortable couch. Watching TV. And only speaking to me when I’d begin to fidget.

He really, really has a thing for placing me somewhere painful and uncomfortable, and just making me sit there and suffer quietly. You would think that I would learn to appreciate the slow and easy torture that is and to not whine/complain/fidget. You would think I would learn to not draw any more of His attention to me. Because what was once a simple uncomfortable position can always be ramped up to having to remain in that uncomfortable position while being otherwise and actively tortured.

You would think I’d learn and yet..

Fidget and complain I did (though I also went several long stretches of remaining quiet and still too) until He finally heaved a heavy sigh and instructed me to roll over.

I was more than ready to flip. My tailbone and other bony parts had had enough.

See for yourself.

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Vanilla…

…with sprinkles.

We had a really pleasant weekend. It was busy, but nice. It was rushed, but relaxing. And it was vanilla, right up to the end.

This has to have been the very first time since we have known each other that we weren’t stripped and fucking like bunnies on crack within the first 5 or 6 hours of seeing each other. Friday, we went out for dinner, we watched movies, we tried to drink beer but I got halfway through the second bottle and had just had enough.

Then we got tired and went to sleep.

Saturday we spent way too many hours working in the basement and outside and in the shed, we watched more movies, minus the beer. Got tired and went to sleep.

Normally, that would have sent me on a long and emotional journey of doubt and question and worry. No s&m at all. No sex at all. Obviously He hates me and can’t wait to be rid of me, right??

But it didn’t. I wasn’t worried at all. In fact, the noticeable lack of angst was very comforting. I’m not concerned about anything. I’d much rather He use me/hurt me when it feels like the right thing to be doing and not because we’re on some limited time table and it *has* to be done. Lots of times I work myself into a panic (no, really.) if the weekend is winding down and He’s not made me cry yet.

He had to leave early on Sunday, flying off to North Dakota this time. I felt cheated out of time together, they don’t usually schedule flights on His weekends off.

We had sex this morning. Twice in fact. The usual way we do it, with lots of nipple pinching and hair pulling. Grunts and whimpers and lots of orgasms. Then He rolled me over for a nice spanking. One of those that could lull me back to sleep if I had the guts to actually fall asleep on Him. Just stingy enough to make me bounce but leaving a deep, tingling warmth behind.

Several times during the spanking, He’d pause and pull my cheeks apart, peering down at my lewdly exposed asshole. This embarrassed me to no end because fresh from the shower I wasn’t. Hardly retaining freshness from yesterday’s shower and after being fucked twice, my prudishness kicked in. Each time He did it, I’d squeeze my cheeks together as hard as I could and chastise Him, ordering Him to “git outta there!”

Of course He ignored me and though I like to think I could keep Him out of there by squeezing my cheeks together, buns of steel I do not have. So peer and examine He did, and desire to be swallowed up by the mattress *I* did. But inbetween embarrassing asshole-exams, He did deliver a lovely spanking, even pulling His belt from His jeans (and how enticing is that swish of leather through belt loops?) and cracking me several times with that. It was a new belt though, stiff and hard and soon enough I was bouncing and rolling from side to side until He quit.

As I was lying there though, submitting to those periodic moments of spread-n-peek, I started trying to think of the meanest thing He’s ever done to me. There are many. Many many many..lol. Hard to choose really, as most of them fall under the meanest in certain categories. Meanest most painful and meanest most humiliating and meanest most isolating. But meanest mean?

I had almost decided that it would have to have been the day He chained me naked to the rafter in the freezing cold basement and made me sweep. But then I thought of something else and decided this was it.

It was several months ago, back when Dusty was just a kitten. He’d had me lying naked on my stomach on the floor in front of Him. He had been caning me, and quite ruthlessly too. I was stinging and sore and already sniffling. And mad. (I do that. I get mad. I’m still struggling with that reaction. But that’s another post.)

All of sudden, little kitty Dusty expresses an interest in the tip of the cane, batting at it as He waved it through the air. He begins sliding the cane tip up and down my body, slowly, from my feet, up the backs of my legs, over my striped and stinging thighs and ass cheeks, following my spine to the top of my head and then all the way back down again. Following in hot pursuit, with 20 tiny needle-sharp kitten claws was Dusty, determined to kill the cane tip.

I don’t know how long He ran the cane up and down, leading the kitten on a mission to claw my entire back side. I only remember that it hurt. The kitten’s claws were unforgiving as he made pounce after pounce at the cane, never catching the wood, but only snagging my skin. And I remember Master laughing. He was simply amused by the pouncing kitty, and that I was under it, and had broken down into absolute hysterical sobbing, went unnoticed.

I’m not entirely sure why that time stands out as incredibly mean to me. It wasn’t the pain, He’s certainly had me in more pain than that lots of times. Yet, there it is. That’s what stands out in my mind. Weird huh?

~cunt

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Grr.

Excuse me for a moment while I bitch.

I’ve just vacuumed a pound of black dog hair off of my once-upon-a-time-it-was-white furniture, AND scrubbed off enough food-smeary fingerprints and potato chip crumbs to make a damn meal out of.

Nobody -and no animal- is setting foot in the living room ever. fucking. again.

I’ve already screamed and yelled at the kids for numerous and various reasons amounting to them being lazy and ungrateful spoiled heathen spawn.

I’ve vowed never to do their laundry again. Why should I? It’s just tossed on the floor and sent back to me all trampled and wrinkled anyway.

When I made the bed this morning, I unlocked the chain from the headboard and threw it in the toy box in disgust. It’s never used anymore. It just dangles there and mocks me. (but then I smartened up and put it back. but i glare at it plenty.)

By the way, I have pms. And Master is on His way home. I hope to God He fucks it outta me. Jesus.

~cunt

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I’m here!

I almost forgot to do this. That would not have been cool.

I much prefer wooden clothespins to plastic ones. I hate the ridges and sharp edges of the plastic ones. In fact, I believe the last time Master got these particular clothespins out, I instructed Him to throw them away.

Clearly He didn’t listen to me.

See more exciting clothespins pictures back here!

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Costume Idea.

In case you haven’t thought of one yet.

found here.

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A lot about nothing.

Though I’m not going to post about poop. How disappointing huh? :-)

I could talk a little bit about enemas though. I haven’t done that for ages. The short version is; there is nothing to say about them. That’s how it goes though. You think something looks enticing so you try it and find out, meh, nothing so alluring about it.

It turns out Master’s interest in my ass and what goes in or out of it is limited to His cock or the butt plug. The enema kit will still be used at times. He’ll tell me to go get clean if He has an assventure on the assgenda (*snicker*) but as far as enema play itself, I don’t think that’s going to be a particular kink of ours.

Except for piss enemas. But that’s not so much about the enema effect as it is about the human-toilet angle. He’s quite interested in the human-toilet degradation stuff.

Since I’m blogging about poop anyway, I was asked a while ago if Master would ever poop on me. So, yeah, *gag*, right? That’s what I thought too. I am not in to scat and more importantly, HE is not in to scat. As far as getting off on that alone, no. No way. Never in a million years.

I can’t even stomach watching a scat video. It makes me heave. And it’s not that I care if anyone else does it because I really don’t. I read blogs of some who do scat. That’s their thing. And that’s fine with me.

But here is where I am wrong in my assumption that Master would never poop on me. Because He certainly would. Not because He’d get off on the act itself, and certainly not because I would get off on it. But because it would be just one more way He could completely shatter me.

God does He like to do that.

He likes it enough that I am quite confident that He’d use whatever tool He had at His disposal (*snicker*) to get me into that mindset, including shitting on me. Just to make me sit there with it touching me, or laying on me… to watch me cry.

But I stand firm in saying He’d never make me *eat* it. Oh.. *gag gag gag*… ok… I’m going to make myself vomit. Let’s leave this topic shall we?

Suddenly I don’t like my icon anymore..lol

Moving on, moving on.

The kids are home. They’re on “fall break” from school. What the fuck is fall break?? We never had fall break. I don’t recall approving a fall break. Isn’t that what Thanksgiving break and Christmas break and Spring break is for? Christ, they’ve only been in school for less than two months. Fall break. Shit. Needless to say, there will be little to no vulgar-kaya-porn. Though I do still have some pictures from the weekend to yap about. :D

I’ve decided I want to get drunk and have a scene. I know I know, don’t lecture me. Master won’t be drunk. But I want to be. I’ve never been and I’m curious about how the pain feels. I used to like getting drunk on occasion and I haven’t been drunk for… I can’t remember. Two years Master? I’ve tried a time or two, but it seems like I can barely get through one drink. It just tastes bad and makes me shudder and feel sick. lol.. such a masochist I am that I’m going to keep drinking dammit. Drink it when I don’t even want it! And then it will probably backfire and everything will hurt more and I’ll cry and have a drunken emotional breakdown. Then have a hangover the next day.

Why yes I am a pessimist.

I spent most of the day today rearranging the living room. That included pulling cable through the floor and re-routing it in the basement, moving all the surround sound speakers, heaving the entertainment center across the floor and sorting and boxing up all those VHS movies that we never watch. I got it all done and… I don’t like it.

Master pointed out that I have pms already. LOL.. no? really? Seriously though, I didn’t know. It’s too soon! I just got DONE with pms. If it’s going to start coming right on top of the last one, one of us is going to have to get medicated. I’d hate to have kill Him when I *just* married Him. ;-)

So how is married life? *beams* So far so good. Though His family is still pretty clingy, I’m hoping that will fade soon. I had a few moments of worry when He almost mowed the lawn this last weekend. I couldn’t get the mower started last week so when He was home, He went out and got it started for me. He was acting like He was going to make a few swipes but He must have seen the stricken look on my face. He stopped and kinda hollered to me over the motor.

“Did you want to do this?”

I just nodded, all sad and pathetic like. He shut the mower off.

“That’s my job.” I pouted, giving the mower a little kick with my toe.

And it is my job. This is what I *do*. Don’t start treating me like a.. a… a wife. *spit* I’m not a wife. I’m a cunt and a slave and an object and I mow the darn yard!

He just laughed at me. Patted me on the head. He was never going to mow the lawn, He just likes to fuck with me.

Well! From poop to yardwork, I guess I covered everything huh? :D

Goodnight, sweetheart
Well, it’s time to go
I hate to leave you, but I really must say
Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight





~cunt

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