“Let’s get down to brass tacks here, man”

I’d kinda hoped thought he’d forgotten about the tack bra.

I was wrong.

~cunt

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Don’t you hate it when…

…you’ve been down there with your face buried in his crotch for what seems like an eternity, doing your thing, sucking harder than a Dyson. Your jaw has cramped up so bad that you know it’s going to be sore for days and the circulation to your lower extremities has long-since given up trying to reach your toes. You’ve pulled out all your whorish tricks; sucked with just the precisely enjoyed pressure, twirled your tongue in the correct spots, tickled his balls- not too hard nor too soft. You know he’s got to be close to the finish line.. HAS to be… and in your head is that silent cheering section. “Come on baby, give it to me, I’m not gonna last here much longer! Come on darlin’, let me have it, jesus christ man, let it go already, I’m dyin’ here!”

And then he says, his voice all husky with lust and selfish pleasure, “I could have come a dozen times already, cunt. It feels too good to let it end.”

GAH!! What the HELL!

Bastard!

So, do you suppose he’s doing it on purpose; taking me to the end of my marathon-blowjob-skillz only to force that big finish out of me, leaving me gasping and half-crying with come dripping down my chin?

Yeah, I think so too.

Bastard.

Although, you know today as I’m working the cramp out of my jaw and my throat is sore from the repeated thumping of his cock against my tonsils, the whole experience is downright hot.

~cunt

ps. Giving a blowjob with a stuffed up nose is ridiculously, snufflingly difficult. For a moment, when he reached down to gently stroke my hair and rather tenderly asked “are you having trouble breathing, cunt?” I thought I’d tapped into some compassionate vein of his and he’d let me up. But no. He merely tsk’ed sympathetically, and pushed my head back down his cock. *snicker*

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Ack!

I’m so caught up in debating stuff that I almost spaced out the return to tasks and pictures. Not such a great beginning to that “rebirth” I was on about, eh? ;-)

So, three specified poses, three specified snapshots. And boy, lemme tell ya…

…I really, really…

…miss being allowed…

…the LJ cuts.

*blush*

It’s nasty, ain’t it? *shudder*

He got himself a handful of it last night though. Yowsers. There’s some potential pain being grown there.

Speaking of last night! Any of you who have ever experienced ovarian cysts will know what I mean when I talk about that deep, internal crampy pain that accompanies ovulation. The kind that makes you feel like you are sitting on a broomstick when you *aren’t* being fucked into next week? Yeah. That was me last night.

So of course I begged to be fucked into next week, cuz.. srsly? That’s some horrifically painful intercourse. And my GOD did it hurt. He took me first on my hands and knees, back arched, ass cocked up, no way at all to ward off the brutal assault… and then on my back, hands on my heels, elbows to the mattress, spread wide and again, not a chance of alleviating the jack-hammer like thrusts.

H-O-L-Y FUCK. Pain. Deep inside pain.

I left a puddle the size of Lake Michigan on the bed (that I had to sleep in of course!). I haven’t come that hard in a LONG LONG time. It is so nice to reconnect with pain again. I’d forgotten how much it enhanced orgasms. I’d forgotten how I feel after, submissive and meek and slightly embarrassed and incredibly, terrifically sated.

I wanna do it again. :D

~cunt

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Limits of abuse.

Well! That was a helluva long trip to the mall! :P

 Okay, my opinion on abuse in a no-limits M/s relationship. First, since the question of the definition of abuse came up, let me define it according to my view.

In the other post where I mentioned that what we do falls under the term abuse, I’m using it in it’s more general sense. Abuse, in it’s simplest definition is “to use harshly”. If I am not “used harshly” in this household, I don’t know what is. ;)

 But for the purposes of the question I asked, rather than get bogged down in a semantics war (again), let’s take it as it’s generally meant whenever a person says they were involved in an abusive relationship. I’d venture to guess that we all have some sort of commonly agreed upon idea of what that means when we hear it, no matter the capacity or form the abuse took on.

My opinion is that in a no-limits M/s relationship, abuse can NOT exist.

I disagree with the notion that a Master is obligated in any way to “take care of” or provide for the well-being of or has the responsibility of ensuring happiness or health or any other such niceties to his slave.

Because once you’ve put those conditions on the relationship,  terms of what he *has to* do for his slave, you’ve fallen out of the realm of no-limits. Requirements, conditions, expectations… that’s not a willingness to accept any sort of treatment. That’s a willingness to accept a certain sort of treatment and nothing less. That’s a limit placed on what behaviors you expect from your dominant.

 Which isn’t at all to say that’s a bad thing. I absolutely think people need to think and choose wisely before submitting in any capacity, with or without limits.

 Sinn mentioned the parent/child analogy and while I agree there are a thousand similarities between M/s and parent/child relationships, I don’t think this is one of them. Solely because the child did not voluntarily enter into a relationship where the possibility of mistreatment exists. A slave does. Unless, of course, the slave puts limits on that mistreatment.

Now obviously, the Master’s decisions on treatment affect the outcome of his work. Depending upon the type of slave he wishes to end up with, he has to adjust his behaviors. But what is he *obligated* to do? In my opinion, in a no-limits situation, he’s *obligated* to do nothing. He’s obligated to do whatever he damn well wishes to do.

What irks me the most are those who come out of a supposed no-limits M/s relationship with the cry of having been abused. You cannot go into a situation with pleas of how you have no limits and you desire to be hurt and used and broken.. and then come out whining because you got what you asked for. No matter what opinion one might have of a dominant who chooses to take, and use, what is offered to him, the onus initially was upon the slave who claimed to be “no limits” when in fact, she was not. Don’t put your hand in boiling water and then be shocked that you got burned. I don’t subscribe to the notion that slaves are weak, blameless creatures who can’t possibly know what they are doing. Bullshit. I think cries of abuse are a smokescreen used to distract from the real issue. How stupid one might feel to have gotten into something they didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

So. That’s that. I had more but I’m running out of time and trying too hard to find a nice way to say what I think (and failing miserably). I suppose the shorter, and easier, answer is what rayne just said in a comment: “No limits means no limits. Neither of those words are ambiguous. So, in my opinion, no. Abuse cannot exist in a “no limits” relationship. Perhaps people should be careful claiming “no limits” if they actually have some?”

~cunt

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Opinions?

Can abuse exist in a “no limits” Master/slave relationship?

I’ll lay out my own thoughts when we get back from the mall (God have mercy on my soul). It will no doubt piss people off. ;-)

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A re-birth, perhaps.

I feel an itch. An itch to get back to living the life we had before everything came to a standstill.

I could, probably, sit back and list a handful of things that led to this “break” that we took. Things to do with kids, with jobs and money, things within our relationship… and more. But that seems pointless now as one by one these things have (or are in the process of) resolved themselves.

I don’t at all think this was a bad thing. Though you, as readers, may disagree. Fact is we needed it and had we not had the guts to do it voluntarily, no doubt a much harsher “break” would have forced itself upon us sooner or later.

We seemed to have been stuck, spinning our wheels in the mud and doing nothing but making a huge mess, each of us blaming the other for the lack of progress, the lack of direction. My confidence in him was plummeting while I yanked and pulled and tried to force the wheel. His belief in me, in my devotion and intentions equally fell as my actions belied my words.

Sometimes I think you just try too hard, you know? All of the expectations and the ‘should-be’s cloud reality. But reality has an annoying way of sticking around and forcing itself in. Not to be ignored. So, eventually, we both just stopped. Stopped pushing, stopped pulling, stopped being angry, stopped searching for the continued high… and let reality settle things.

Once the dust settled and the hurt feelings soothed, we were able to view, clearly and without prejudice, where the cracks were. What needed fixed or tweaked, what didn’t. What was working, what wasn’t. As Master likes to say, you cannot continue to build on top of a shaky foundation. The occasional foundation inspection seems prudent.

I have done a lot, A LOT, of introspection on being a masochist. Almost, at one point, coming to the conclusion that I was not a masochist at all, that I’d hid behind masochism in search of love, in search of acceptance (don’t ask how, it made sense at the time). Even questioning myself on the truth of whether or not I’d seen masochism (or abuse) as a “necessary evil” in order to be in a relationship. Something I was willing to put up with just to avoid being alone. That perhaps allowing myself to be treated in such a manner disguised the rest of my flaws, made me stand out (somewhat) as desirable in a world where nothing else about me made me desirable.

It was all kinds of convoluted and twisted and sick thinking. But it was also really honest. It was exploring voices within me that I’d been shutting up for a long time. Had I gone this path because I was truly a masochist, because I felt a pull to slavery within my being.. or had I gone this way on false pretenses. The doubts had been steadily growing over time as I struggled more and more with aspects of slavery and service. More often I required “motivation” in order to do what should come easy and natural, if indeed I was drawn to slavery by pure reasons.

Master too, was sick and tired of the work it had become. There was no joy anymore in what we did. Though I can’t, and won’t, speak for what he’s felt or thought.

For me though, I needed a complete step back to regain perspective and truth. Why do I serve. Do I crave pain. What do I want. Where do I want to go.

And about a million other questions.

The answers come, are coming. It was important, to me, that Master and I establish the basic of a relationship outside of the rules and regulations of M/s. I guess because I needed to know that he loved me, wanted me, and not because I let him “abuse” me. Can he relate to me, can we relate to each other without the threat of violence in the back of our heads? We can. It’s probably strange to say that I didn’t know that before. It’s probably strange to use words like abuse and violence with so many negative conotations surrounding them, but let’s call a spade a spade. S&M, punishment, discipline, all of those practices in the way we do/did them fall under the descriptive terms of violence and abuse.

I said before that we’d discovered that if you pluck the M/s out of us we’re still left with us as a couple. Now we are adding back the M/s. In some ways, certain things never stopped. I have continued to serve, and continued to obey, and continued to think of myself as his property… yet without the shadow of pain, it seems like I did it all in a different light or for a different, purer reason. I feel like I touched a deeper meaning. It wasn’t a trade off, or to “earn” (or not earn) a beating because no play or pain was allowed.

I’m not sure I’m making much sense. Which is nothing new, eh? ;)

Anyway, I sense the end of this period of s&m “celibacy”. I’m beginning to think that we’ve accomplished what needed to be accomplished, discovered what needed to be discovered, repaired what needed repaired. And I can’t deny the growing need to sink into pain. To once again be a sobbing, sniveling mess at his feet.

This time I’m quite secure in being a masochist. I don’t “let” myself be abused. I crave abuse. In ways that don’t fall under any BDSM SSC mantra.

It’s also laid to rest any suspicions I had that his sadism was created to cater to me. As I continued to deny and withdraw from any “play”, it was interesting to watch his frustration at squelching his own need. Though I didn’t set out to see that, it simply happened and I’m glad it did. His desire for s&m, for slavery, for domination and control is completely separate from my own. We really are a matching of needs and not a response to each other. That’s quite comforting because I’ve carried the suspicion before that we were trying to please each other instead of being true to ourselves.

So. I sense good things coming. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, as desire, no matter how strong, won’t make Christmas vacation any shorter… but I sense it all the same.

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Sick

I’m sick. So pathetically snot-filled sick. I’m existing in a world of vick’s vapo rub, nyquil and kleenex.

Master is sucking up airborne and avoiding me like the plague.

 This makes for nothing of excitement to report.

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Happy Holidays!

We hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

~Master and cunt

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Close enough

Well, there was no spreader bar. No wrist to ankle cuffing, nor bondage of any sort.  Not one toy made it’s way of the closet. And there wasn’t a belt crashing into the tender flesh of my exposed cunt.

But.

 There was a full body massage that started at his shoulders and ended at his cock. There were lips and teeth and tongues. There was sucking, there was moaning and there were lots of orgasms.

No complaints here.

~cunt 

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Ahh! Me so horny!

I was horny yesterday. In kaya’s old world being horny would have been no more news worthy than saying I woke up and had coffee yesterday. But it’s been several weeks since I’ve been *that* horny. I’ve been in a dry spell of epic proportions.

In fact, I didn’t even recognize it for what it was at first. I felt “funny”. I wondered if I was getting sick, coming down with a cold, or having another occurance of Family Flu ’07. It took a moment to realize that the “funny feeling” was centered around my groin. An experimental touch or two proved the suspicion. I was horny. Hallelujah.

I made myself wait, enjoying that need, the want, the build-up of sexual tension.

Well that’s not true. I would have immediately dove for my vibrator had the world not conspired against me. There was first a Very Important Phone Call (well worth it darling) and in the midst of that, another phone call, the school nurse informing me that Am had had an asthma attack that scared her and she tearfully wished to come home (and fix her make-up). Of course once she was home there seemed little reason to actually go back to school, so instead we went to the mall. (What can I say? We’re women).

From the mall back home where I zipped around cramming in chores and making dinner and doing homework, all the while anxiously waiting Master’s return home from work so I could surprise him with the knowledge that I was horny!

And getting hornier by the minute, letting my thoughts dwell on his cock, his ass, his body. I had planned out full body massages, I mentally ran through the toy closet, picking out implements of sexual pleasure to play with. I imagined the salty taste of his sweat as I would suck my way around his neck. I imagined the feel of his curly chest hairs brushing over my nipples. I imagined wrapping my legs around his waist, that breathless moment just before penetration, his hands tangled in my hair, hips forcing my legs apart, wider, unimpeded access to plunge, that very quick tinge of pain that I would feel as he forced me open, and then the smooth warmth of my body welcoming him, closing around him. I imagined how wonderful that first orgasm was going to feel, knowing it would come quick, hit me deep, spiraling out from my cunt to my fingers and toes and back again, milking his cock, waiting for the next one.

Oh I had it all planned out.

I planned while we ate dinner and I watched the clock. I planned while I ran to the store for cat food. I planned while deciphering fractions. I planned and planned and planned.

You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men? Apparently it holds true for the best laid plans of horny sluts, too.

It’s God’s cruel little joke that the one day in two months when the only thing I want is to fuck my Master until his eyes cross, is also the one day that he has to put in a 17 hour work day.

By 11pm, my eyes were drooping and I figured I’d made a Herculean effort to make myself wait. So I blew the dust off my vibe, checked to see if the batteries were still good, and touched it, gently, to my clit.

I came before I’d even had time to get my panties off. There a was a brief flash of a fantasy, a quick remembrance of bondage and leather belts… and it was over, exploding wetness and moaning into the dark.

As wonderful as any orgasm was that one, even though it left my head spinning. So I went for another one.

This time my body, slightly sated, slowed down and I delved deeper into the fantasy. I pictured myself locked into a spreader bar, on my knees with my wrists pulled and locked to my ankles, head on the floor. About like this.

Isn’t that a gorgeous position?

And then I imagined Master’s belt crashing over and over and over again against the tender flesh of my unprotected cunt.

Sweet Jesus, what an orgasm followed that fantasy. Lip-biting, limb-thrashing, porn-star quality. I came, and I came good.

The next thing I remember is being startled awake as Master’s fingers brushed along my cheek. I remember curling into his tired body, moaning contentedly in his arms.

This morning he was up and at ‘em at 5am again. Crunch time at work and I felt guilty knowing I’d lounged in orgasmic bliss while he was tired and cold and hungry at work. I brushed my hand over the stiff swell of the zipper on his jeans and asked what I could do to help make it better.

“You can suck my cock tonight.” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I can do that.

“I was horny last night.” I said, grinning.

“Figures. Did you take care of yourself?”

I nodded, blushing a bit. I still find admitting to masturbation in a face-to-face setting to be slightly embarrassing. He laughed, and held up his fist. “Knuckle-bash! You go girl.”

It’s wonderful to be supported in my sexuality, both when it wans and when it peaks.

Maybe tonight God will smile upon me and my sex life and the best laid plans of horny sluts will not go awry. Cross your fingers for me, will ya? ;-)

~cunt

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