Keeps Coming Back Like a Bad Penny

Yay! I’m back.

I do apologize for the abrupt disappearance but it was unavoidable really. There were some bandwidth/website issues that needed to be sorted and we had to be offline to sort them.

It was a nice break but I was more than ready to come back. I missed you guys! *sob*

Tomorrow I’ll put up a real post, it’s late and I just wanted to pop on and say hi. :-)

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Note From The Webslut

I’m working on something for kaya and it’s mucking up her pictures.

We know they’re missing, promise. ;)

They’ll be back up as soon as I get everything situated again.

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“Power without abuse loses its charm”

(apparently yanked from a seminar about identifying healthy BDSM from domestic abuse.)

BDSM activities are ALWAYS Safe, Sane, and Consensual. Abuse is NEVER safe, NEVER sane, and NEVER consensual.BDSM follows established rules. Abuse has no rules.

You know what I feel after reading this? Defeat. It’s pounded so hard and so often that what we have, what we’re doing, isn’t right and it isn’t healthy. Declarations like that create doubt and worry.

No matter how secure or how happy I am in my relationship, or how much I enjoy and thrive within the dynamics Master creates I read so many of the above lists and a little niggle starts in my brain. Maybe I am being abused. Maybe this isn’t healthy. Maybe we aren’t doing it right.

Then I just get pissed off, at myself mostly, for succumbing to what is, essentially, peer pressure. I’m no better at resisting it now than I was in high school.

I don’t feel abused, therefore, no matter how much we deviate from the above list (and we do, on every point) I am not being abused. I am not “too stupid” to recognize the difference. Nor too cowed, too scared, or too brainwashed. I resent the implication that I am. Then I wonder if perhaps it’s true. Maybe I am too stupid. Does a stupid person know they are stupid?

It’s such a ridiculous cycle.

By some miracle (of ignorance, or of naivity perhaps) I wasn’t subjected to these sorts of table-banging, bdsm one-true-wayer’s in my early days of kink discovery. My exposure was pretty sheltered and I was lead, largely, by my own fantasies and desires. I shudder to think what would have happened had I been taken under the wing of a group or person who so thinly defined what are, and are NOT, acceptable practices in bdsm. I am grateful now that I was quite secure in who I am and what I wanted before being exposed to these people and places that try so hard to limit my world.

I know these sites and these publications are trying to do a helpful service. But I have trouble seeing it that way. Surely some other newly-kinky girl or boy is being trapped with the frequent preachings of what should be rather than being encouraged to explore and experience and discover. Surely they are too afraid to step out of the rigid boundaries the Safety Police have erected to know if other pleasures await on the “dangerous” side of kink.

What it is that Master and I do perfectly meets, or even exceeds, the definition of abuse according to the “experts”. I don’t promote that everyone should have a go at how it is that we do things. But I find such closed-minded approaches to what you should NOT do to be just as unhealthy, if not more so, than our “abusive” style.

~cunt

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No sympathy.

I’m one sore little slut.

My jaw is aching. Hours spent in a gag, followed by several blow jobs is hard on a gal’s mouth.

The back of my thighs – the infamous ‘sweet spot’ – is welted and bruised from that f&*^ing misery stick.

It hurts to pee, it hurts to wipe, it hurts to sit, He’s fucked me so often and so hard that I don’t know why His dick hasn’t fallen off.

And today I had to wear the tack bra as we drove around town, going over bumps and Him reaching over to poke and stab and squeeze and, you know, just being Himself (mean). About 4 hours worth of mean.

I’m not complaining! It is as it should be – He’s the sadist and I’m His toy and I’m feeling well played with.

But.

He’d just straight-armed me in the car as He hit the brakes, smashing me by my tack-covered tits to the back of the car seat while momentum carried my body forward, and laughed that maniacal laugh of His. And then He kinda snuffled, coughed, and groaned.

“My sinuses are acting up.” He whimpered (okay maybe He didn’t whimper exactly, but He was sure whining) and looked at me all pathetic-like.

That’s where I’m supposed to coo and pat His arm and ask if I can help somehow. The poor man, my Owner, my Master, my God- is suffering! I opened my mouth to utter out some words of comfort and my right nipple chose that moment to send a stabbing arrow of pain straight down my arm as a tack, helped by my seat belt, stuck smack in the center of it.

Sympathy failed me.

“You know what?” I snapped, yanking the seat belt off my tit. “I’m having a hard time being sympathetic to you right now, Master! I always have something hurting because of YOU. Forgive me if I cannot muster up an “awwww!” for your sinuses!”

For a moment He just stared at me, wide eyed and open-mouthed, shocked at my little outburst. Then He leaned forward and cracked. up. He patted my tits, still laughing – but He didn’t whine about His sinuses anymore.

Shortly after, He took me home, demanded another blow job in spite of my aching jaw -

Pictures!

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My nemesis.

I got my ass kicked by a thin rod, thinner and about as a long, as a standard No.2 pencil. Some masochist I turned out to be.

I absolutely cannot conquer the misery stick. I hate that I can’t find a way to gracefully make it through the pain that stupid skinny stick causes. He tells me to be still, to take it – and I want to, I really really do – yet one snap makes me flop about like a fish out of water. All I can think when He starts snapping me with that thing is Danger, Will Robinson! Abandon ship! Enemy attack imminent!

It started out well enough. Trussed and masked and completely exposed – a masochist’s wet dream!

Read more »

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Not choking – strangled.

Last night, with His cock buried in my cunt and His hand wrapped tightly around my throat. My own hands lay unrestrained and limp at my sides, the idea of reaching up to pull at the fingers locked around my throat not even entering my mind.

It’s interesting, the thoughts that type of surrender allows. I can become so much more focused on the sensation rather than the fear, quelling the rising panic to identify and feel each passing second. Live it in each excruciating detail as the seconds tick by in agonizing slowness.

I notice how the very second His hand brushes against my throat, I instinctively inhale in a great gasping rush, filling my lungs before He blocks it off.

I notice when He presses down hard, pinning me by my neck to the mattress under me, I pull up a mental picture of a butterfly pinned to a board.

I notice that my body goes still and quiet as there is no use flailing around, wasting precious oxygen. His hand, and the arm it is attached to, is stone, solid and unmoving.

I notice the bright blooming pain that fills my throat. Scary pain, sharp pain, the kind that makes my eyes water. Pain that I can still feel today with each labored swallow.

I notice how my face begins to feel hot and swollen as His squeezing fingers restrict the circulation. I hear a rushing in my ears, feel pressure inside my head, my lips gasp open and my eyes fall shut and my chest begins to burn, my lungs screaming out the need for air.

I try to squeak out a moan, and I cannot. I try to swallow, and I cannot. I try to wiggle.. and I cannot. And that’s when He leans in, just when fear bursts open in my belly, pressing just a bit harder as He lies on top of me until His lips find my ear and His voice penetrates the roar in my head and He starts fucking me, hard and fast, using my neck as a handle to bounce me up and down and still He squeezes and squeezes and tells me to come, come now, come hard if I want to breathe -

And there’s just a moment of I-can’t, oh-my-God-I-can’t-come-I’m-dying panic that fills me and it’s then, and only then, only when the full depravity of being choked and fucked half to death and liking it, wanting it, slams into me that an orgasm chases right on it’s heels and it’s only then, after Master feels the rhythmic pulsing of my climax twitching around His buried cock that He lets go of my neck, and light and air and clarity floods back in.

He smiles and pets me as I heave in ragged breaths and blink tears from my watering eyes. He coos in my ear and bites at my nipples and smacks at my sweaty skin, leaving bright red handprints on my flesh. His palms meet my cheeks in a rapid succession of cracks, first one side and then the other, my hair whipping into my mouth and into my eyes as my head rocks from side to side, until my jaw and my teeth ache and I cry out.

Finally satisfied with the tears and the sweat, the tousled hair, the deep red ring around my neck and the handprints across my body, pleased with the look in my eyes and the compliant form lying in front of Him – He comes Himself, and we lay for a moment in a tangled mess of limbs and trickling wetness and rapid breathing.

The toybox was never opened. Not a rope or a cuff or a crop in sight. Yet today I bear the marks anyway. Tiny red dots are scattered across my neck, my cheeks and surround my eyes. My eyes themselves are puffy and bloodshot. My throat burns. My nipples and my cunt are throbbing.

Please, Sir, may I have some more?

~cunt

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Sale!

Extreme Restraints is having a clearance sale. Scroll down to where it says “clearance” on the right-hand sidebar and you get to take another 50% off the close out prices of those items.

Like this – (and I cannot for the life of me figure out what this reminds me of. An alien movie I’ve seen? Something.)

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Choking.

Question: If You’ve recently punished Your slave for forgetting a task or rule and You then forget something Yourself… do You feel guilty for punishing her for something that You also fail at?

Answer: Nope. It’s my job to hold her to a higher standard. She’s the one under the microscope and any lil flaw or fault will be exploited to the full extreme. So if she does fail or forget, which is NOT allowed for her being a slave, then punishment will be doled out. I don’t think she will like this answer, but sucks to be her….She is there to make me proud. Failing is not an option.

As a matter of fact – I do not like that answer. Hmmph.

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“Life at any time can become difficult: life at any time can become easy. It all depends upon how one adjusts oneself to life.”

There’s always a bit of an adjustment period when Master returns from a long trip. I need to acclimate myself to being bossed around and told what to do and how to do it again. In the back of my head is that nasty little bitch of a voice rolling her eyes and saying “gee, however did I manage it while You were gone. It’s a wonder we all remembered to eat and breathe!”

Of course I head her off at the pass because I rather like my skin where it is, but she’s there, the sarcastic little whore, making my life hell. Anyway, along with being absolutely delighted to have Him home and really relieved to be relinquishing the wheel, it’s been a tiny bit tense (more on my side than His I think) as we get through this adjustment. I’m sure He’s aware of it, I just don’t think the adjustment is so much about Him as it is me. And it’s about done, I can feel it. Hard as it is to do it, it feels damn good too – like coming home. :-)

We did manage to get one welcome-home fuck in before I began the postively worst period in the history of periods. We dont usually let periods interfere with things, and, as Master likes to say, if He’s not in the mood to look like Jack the Ripper in the groin area, I do have two other holes available for use – but, my periods aren’t usually this severe either. Pain, headaches, exhaustion and a general feeling of looming death have wiped me out. He’d take it anyway if He wanted to but I don’t think He’s feeling all that energetic either. In fact last night He went to bed at 6:30, right after dinner, and I woke Him up when I crawled into bed at 9:30.

Which is the long way of saying that I have nothing of any perverted interest to report.

But I will. Soon. Next month we’ll be kid-free for a couple of weeks (god bless grandma) and Master’s already warning me. I don’t know if I should call it high protocol or how to describe it, but it’s going to be intense. And painful.

And hopefully this weekend and next will involve some fun stuff, too. We’ll probably head to the play party in Milwaukee (fingers crossed) and that means time away in a hotel (w00t!). But for right now, it’s work and kids and everyday life. Tonight I plan on giving Him a much-needed full body massage and a blow job.

If He wants that of course. :D

~cunt

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SQUEE!

I have replies I want to make to the comments on the last several posts, especially the penny pinching tips (my word, you all are frugal! I’m impressed. :D ) and more on the ruminations, too.

But.

Master is coming home today.

TODAY!!

I’m squeeing all over the place.

I didn’t lose the 20lbs I wanted to lose while He was gone (I lost 5 though!) and I didn’t become stunningly beautiful while He was gone (still look like me) and I didn’t win the lottery (still have to work) and I’m due to start my period, probably today (still female) but ain’t nothing puttin’ a damper on me today. I am horny, so is He, and we’re fucking.

And I have company coming this weekend! My bestest friend who knows what I am (perverted) and loves me anyway and tattles on me to Master, the bi-atch (and I love HER anyway!)

So! Have a great weekend. I have to go shave 3 weeks of hair off my legs and pussy (lazy when no one is here to see it) and I’ll see you on Monday.

*beams*

~cunt

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