Senseless

I’m cutting this entire entry because it may be disturbing to some viewers. No joke, no sarcasm. There is no bdsm or smut, it’s just some stuff I had to get out of my head concerning a death.

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So last night I…

… was NOT sucking Master’s cock! Can you believe it? Too tired for a blow job is seriously tired indeed. Poor guy.

He got a back rub though so I didn’t feel entirely useless. :-)

I had a light bulb moment last night concerning Master’s (stupid ridiculous) body hair thing. First, I thought that He must have turned gay and is trying to make me as man-like as possible, but He assured me that wasn’t the case. I’m glad too, because I really don’t look right wearing a strap-on. So what I’m thinking now is that He’s going to make me hate it so much that I’ll BEG Him to rip it all off with duct tape.

This came to me when I decided I was going to sit Him down for a come-to-Jesus-meetin’. I was just right on the verge of saying “I hate this body hair so much that I’ll beg you to pluck it all out one by one” when it came to me. Uh-huh. That’s what He’s waiting for. He’s waiting for me to WANT it. Sneaky fucker. It’s a win-win for Him and a no-win for me. I can be hairy and be grossed out and humiliated and hate it (cuz He totally has plans to display me at public play parties) or I can beg to have it removed in the most painful way possible (which is the only way it’s coming off apparently!) and hate that too. Either way, He’s set up for full enjoyment.

Were I not always the one on the receiving end of the cunning way His mind works, I’d be impressed. As it is, I’m .. well fuck. I’m still impressed. It’s just buried under a whole lot of “you sneaky motherfucker!” type feelings.

Enough about that.

So yesterday I was at the store getting some groceries and as I walked past the greeting card display I caught sight of an anniversary card. I aww-ed and thought, gee, Master and I have an anniversary coming up. I should do a little sumpin sumpin for Him. I walked on and then thought, oh hey! Our anniversary was 3 days ago. Well damn.

We both forgot about it. We’re so not into “special” days. Every day is special with Him! Awww! ;)

Anyway, I did buy Him a present, a dvd and some beer (ah! romance!) and then I thought that He’d just feel awful not having a gift for me so I bought Him one to give me. I’m ever-so-thoughtful like that.

When He got home from work and I lavished Him with the dvd and beer, He asked what He got me. He got me a waffle iron! w00t! My inner domestic diva is pleased.

Master has waffles every morning for breakfast. Frozen toaster waffles. That will just never do! I can do better than frozen toaster crud! So. Bright and early this morning (5-freakin-a.m.) I was in the kitchen whipping up waffle batter.

It’s a little trickier than I had anticipated. Master was sitting at the table at 6a.m., literally tapping His fork on the tabletop and reminding me that He had to leave soon. I was wringing my hands as the waffle iron spit batter at me through the edges and saying “I know I know! They’re just not perfect yet!”

The first set had too much batter and after it puked half it all over the counter top, the waffles were burnt in the middle and doughy on the edges. The second batch had not-enough batter and it was more holes than waffle. The third set I tried to put cinnamon on and accidentally dumped WAY WAY too much on.

The fourth set looked all right. He ate them. He declared them to be “okay”. He pointed out that His frozen toaster waffles have cinnamon baked in them.

*sigh*

I think the homemade waffles became much more about me than about Him. Ego-centered service? Something like that. Or so says Fetlife. ;)

The kids rocked on their chocolate chip waffles though.

I think I just need better recipes (I just used the bisquick box recipe. I’m certainly open to suggestions?) and more practice. I shall not be beaten out by Eggo and a toaster.

~cunt

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So last night I was sucking Master’s dick…

Wait. I used that title already didn’t I? :D

Seriously though, last night I was sucking Master’s dick and I really, really, really didn’t want to be doing that. I was so far down in pms-fueled self-pity, it was pathetic. One of the (many many) pms symptoms I have is a complete halt to my libido. Orgasms are unreachable. Add to that the extreme exhaustion and general leave-me-the-fuck-aloneness, and His snap and point to His dick damn near had me spitting nails.

I told Him, too. “I don’t wanna.”

“Too bad.”

“No, I mean I really really don’t want to.” (like, let’s stop playing M/s dress-up and go to sleep)

“Do it anyway.”

I hesitated, contemplating the consequences. I don’t know what they would have been and I’m not gonna guess, but I concluded that doing it would probably be less traumatic. I r smart.

So I’m sucking and the whole time I’m whining silently to myself. Because pms makes me feel really sorry for me. Oh sure. You get your dick sucked so you can get turned on enough to fuck. And who’s going to make ME horny, huh? You think saying “hey cunt, wanna do it?” is enough, ffs? Lazy fucker. I NEED STIMULATION TOO! *sob* You’re just gonna ram it in there with no regard to whether or not I’m even turned on, like the mere sight of your penis should be enough to send me into throes of orgasmic need. Fucking ego. Ever heard of FOREPLAY???? Men just don’t under-

and then He grabbed my head and slammed me down the length of His cock where I proceded to gag and erk and struggle to breathe. Then He did it again. And again, again, and again. He talked, too, pouring down filthy words of slut and whore, nasty, filthy and gag-on-it-bitch, and you-like-it-cunt, and swallow-it-you-fucking-worthless-object

And when He flipped me over and slammed it in, darn if I wasn’t wet and ready and horny as all fuck.

Foreplay. Yes, He has heard of it.

*beams*

~cunt

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It’s ugly out there.

Nobody ever wants to talk about the ugly side of slavery. I don’t mean the beatings or the piss drinking or the needles through the sensitive bits etc. etc. etc. I mean the nitty gritty dirty details.

But I will. Because I lost my dignity some time ago. (Scoff if you want. You post almost daily pictures of your hoohah and see how much dignity YOU retain!)

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and I don’t have a thousand words anyway, so a picture it is.

But I’m warning you not to go there. Honest. If you aren’t prepared for seeing the ugly side, don’t go behind the cut. Trust me on this one. Just scroll on by.

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Now wait! I don’t think you are listening to me. Go. Click the next link on your blogroll and forget you came here.

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…

You are persistent aren’t you? Well, all right then. Let’s just agree that when you blow your lunch all over your keyboard, I warned you not to look.
…

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PMS. I has it.

*I felt the exact moment it hit me, too: this morning, when Jes asked me for two dollars to buy a pack of gum. Prior to that I’d been perfectly fine. It was literally like a switch was flipped. From 0 to Bitch in 2.2 seconds flat.

~sigh~ I’m so tired of pms. Though probably not as tired of it as those around me. I remember throughout my teen years, my mom would lock herself in her bedroom and not emerge for 2 or 3 days when she had pms. I used to think that was just so stupid, but now I figure she probably did it more for our safety than for her sanity.

I also now quite long to do it myself.

Gum. Jeez. The nerve!

*We’re being invaded by asian lady beetles. It’s quite creepy, to be honest. Swarms of anything freak me the hell out.

*We went to the local munch here over the weekend and it really seems like a great group. We’re looking forward to interacting with them more.

*I’m about this close (see? >.< close) to adopting another cat from the shelter. I fell in love with her and had her picked out up until I was told that she doesn't get along with other cats, so we got the other two cuties. Now I see they've realized that she was simply sick and cranky and gets along seemingly well with other cats, even though they still recommend that she be an "only child". Master even told me I could get her if I wanted, she's an older cat and at a reduced adoption rate. But man, we have 3 already and I'm not sure how fair it would be to her. Still... close. So close. I luffs her. I mean, even if she doesn't like our other 3, the house is big enough that she could find a comfy corner to snooze in, right?? It's so so hard to not take them all though. I could easily be the cat lady. Hell, I AM the cat lady.

Anyway, I'm gonna close with this as it's on topic for me today. From the best of craigslist:

I Cleaned Up Your Mess Today

I’ll never meet you to ask you those questions. I just hope I meet the person who will be good enough to give your baby that sunny spot to sleep for the rest of her life (however long that is). She deserves it, and it’s a crying shame you didn’t have the decency to give it to her.

~cunt

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Violating the Code

The code of the safety police, that is.

The other day Master and I were talking and He made some mention of a kinkster we know who did the terribly unsafe and un-smart thing of meeting up with a stranger for play and ending up hurt.

I had to laugh when He said “what kind of moron does that?” and wave my hand around saying “Me. I’m the kind of moron who did that. With YOU.”

I did, too. Big capital-M Moron right here.

I’d never met Him before, the only thing I knew about Him was what He told me online. I gave Him my home address to hook up for a “booty call”, nobody knew He was coming, nobody knew where I was. Nobody knew who He was, I had no safe call or safe word, we didn’t spend hours and hours discussing limits. The limit conversation was more or less a matter of ‘what do you like?’ ‘I like to be hurt.’ ‘Cool. I like to hurt girls.’ ‘Yay. Come over.’

“But I knew what I was capable of.” Master said, trying, I think, to excuse my moronic actions of that night.

But there is no way to excuse it or pretty it up. *I* didn’t know what He was capable of. I gambled in the online predator lottery – and got lucky. He was what He said He was and He did what He said He would do. It worked out for me; I suppose for Him, too, as I could have been a psychotic bitch with a dried penis collection in my basement.

If I had it to do over again, I doubt I would do anything differently anyway. There is no guarantee of safety, no matter how stringently you follow the safety police’s code. You could be dead within 30 seconds of making your “safe call”. You can spend weeks and weeks negotiating a scene and discussing safe words and as soon as you are bound, the only thing keeping you safe is the top’s integrity – not your utterance of ‘red light’.

Somebody who gets his (or her. Equal-opportunity psychos here) jollies off of being an online predator isn’t going to be so careless or reckless as to be tripped up by those silly safety codes. He’s not going to stab you in the eye in the middle of your public meeting place. He’s not going to be the respected member of your online chat group who was the last one to see you alive. He’s not going to strangle you prior to, or during, your “safe call”.

I don’t know. I just think it’s a risky game no matter how safely you try and play it. By all means, take whatever precautions you need to to ease your mind, but don’t think you’re out of the danger zone merely because you followed the code. Keep in mind that predators know the code, too. And they’re probably better at manipulating it than you will ever be.

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Did you know…

That armpit hair is soft. It has the velvety feel of a man’s freshly trimmed crewcut.

It also leaves tiny little drag marks on the top of solid deodorant sticks. Today I gave my stick a plaid pattern. It amused me.

Leg hair, on the other hand, is like the rough side of velcro. It works like velcro too, in that material snags against the pokey little hairs and, while it doesn’t *hurt* exactly, it’s just… fucking weird. I feel like I am constantly plucking my clothing off my legs.

What DOES hurt (or is uncomfortable anyway) is laying one leg on top of the other. That causes the prickly little bastards to attempt to penetrate the skin of the other leg. If He wanted me to sleep with my legs spread all night, all He had to do was say so. There was no need to have me grow needles to force the issue.

You know how your mom always used to warn you to always put on clean underwear because “what if you get into an accident!”? Well I’ve been obsessing over just that very thing. Let’s face it here. Shaving wasn’t only about personal comfort. I shaved, in part, for precisely the reason I wore clean underwear. What if I DO get into an accident and some poor trauma-team has to snip my clothes off and is confronted with my Chewbacca-ness??

If that happens, I may never forgive Him for the humiliation. For real.

It’s been a matter of arguing myself into obedience the last couple of days as I stand in the shower with the razor mocking me. I want to shave really really really badly. It’s stopped being kinky and started being irritating. I don’t feel pretty or sexy or attractive. One simply is NOT sexy in silk lingerie with bushy armpits and a dead furry animal trapped between their legs. No amount of make-up or hair primping keeps lace from snagging upon your spikey legs.

I wonder if He knows that at one point in my life (at one point in every bar-slut’s life) not shaving was additional birth control. I would purposely not shave my legs before heading to a bar because I knew I would NEVER take some guy home if I had prickly legs. If I shaved, it was open season. Unshaved? Closed til further notice.

Well. I dunno. He’s just… a butt. A big mean butt.

And that’s all I got to say about that.

~cunt

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Trust vs. Control

I hear things like this a lot:

“If He trusted you, He wouldn’t need to read your emails.”

“Master knows I can handle myself so He doesn’t have to “babysit” me.”

This one, from another thread: “if you need to keep your partner in a box, they aren’t your partner.” or this one “if you have to brainwash her to the point where she can’t leave, you aren’t a dom, you’re a weak, insecure, fool who can’t keep her by any other means.”

“He actually PRE-READS your fucking email? On what planet is this not indicitive of a TERRIBLE case of insecurity on his part?”

“What does that say about the women that are brainless enough to obey”

So, what I have to ask is – what part of control don’t they understand? Why does it have to be indicative of a lack of trust or insecurity? Could it POSSIBLY be just one more measure of control?

Seems like bdsm has a lot to do with control. But maybe I’ve been misinformed. ;)

There are some people who get into bdsm for more than just kinky sex. Some dominants actually want to control “stuff” and some submissives want their “stuff” controlled, including such inane things as emails and friends lists.

What smacks of insecurity is the propensity people have to put down a kink they don’t have/understand/want.

I have a Master who controls such silly things as my emails. I think, and call me crazy here, that this is HARDLY an indication of being distrustful or insecure. As evidence of what I consider His trust and security, let me point out that I am, currently, sitting alone in His house, with two of His credit cards snug in my purse, the keys to both His car and His truck hanging by the door while He’s at work, and I can guarantee that He won’t be home for at least the next 10 hours. I am not chained to anything (though I’d like to be!). Yet I am not inviting the neighbor over for raunchy sex, I am not shopping with His credit cards, I am not cruising around town picking up hookers. I could, as I certainly have the means, but I’m not, nor does He think I will and I know this because He leaves every morning and leaves those items in my possession, perfectly convinced they will be right where He left them. As I will be right where He left me.

But that He reads my emails and pre-approves the books I read, He’s insecure and doesn’t trust me, nor does He really have control over me.

???

Baffles me. Honestly and truly.

What DOES this say about the women who are brainless enough to obey?

Um.. maybe that we’re submissive. ;-)

~cunt

(x-posted to FL)

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For Trade –

One 16 year old who knows everything.

Except:
How to cook.
How to clean.
How to manage money.
How to wipe up spilled water.
How to drive.
How to write a check.
How to answer a phone.
How to do math.
How to treat people.
How to be nice.
How to be polite.
How gas is paid for.
How cell phone bills are paid.
How to work the can opener.
How to take medication.
How to sweep, dust or vacuum.
How to make a bed.
How to do laundry.
How dictatorships work.
How to shut up.
How to get a job.
How important it is to finish high school.
How the world goes round.

She can text. And she can argue. What else does she *possibly* need to know in life??

I’d like to trade her in. For a puppy.

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Let’s talk about sex, baby…

Do you really want to hear any more stories of being fucked into oblivion? I mean, rly, it does get redundant.

Though I was. Fucked into oblivion that is. Under the desk, with my ass cocked up and my hand stuffed against my clit and Him behind me pounding the ever-loving shit right outta me. And it hurt – omg – my innards (and outards) are sore so I had to pull up the mental cheerleading section, urging myself on, reminding myself to keep that ass cocked! keep those knees wide! keep that back bowed! Keep that head down! Keep still! You can do it waterboy you filthy slut! This is what you were made for cunt! This is your purpose! Smile and LIKE it!

I did. I liked it a lot. A lot a lot.

Speaking of sex, several months ago I got a comment here (anonymously dontchaknow) that said something to the effect of Master and I not having sex for months on end. Now, I gotta ask – just whose journal was she reading?? Cuz it sure as fuck wadn’t this one! Master and I haven’t gone more than a week without fucking, unless He’s outta town, let alone months. Goodness. I can’t imagine the bear Master would be if He hadn’t gotten laid for a month. Yikes.

I don’t blog about each time though. If I did, every entry would start with – So last night we fucked or Yesterday when we were fucking or Today as He fucked me – nah. We fuck plenty, tyvm. :-)

Instead of fucking, what else can I babble about? Let’s see…

I took a long and lazy break from doing any of the remodelling work downstairs. Actually I was hoping to convince Master that putting up panelling was the way to go because I srsly hate mudding and sanding and painting drywall with a PASSION. I think I had Him convinced too, right up until He added up the cost of buying panelling. A couple of hundred dollars compared to having me do it with supplies we already have for free? Yeah. He done told me to get off my lazy keister and get-r-done. Blah. So that’s on today’s list of things to do.

Oh oh oh! I can’t believe I almost forgot this. About that Sasquatch b.s. Listen to this sheeeeet!

So the other day, we were fucking (I know I know, I said no fuck-talk, but it’s pertinent I tell ya!) and He’s haggling me about my sprouting bush. Trying to give the shit right back to Him I warn Him, mid-fuck, to not rub all up on my legs because I hadn’t shaved them yet that day. Of course He immediately starts rubbing my prickly legs, and He jokingly says “I oughta not let you shave anything and see just how Sasquatchy you can really get.”

Now. He CLAIMS that right when He finished saying that my cunt spasmed around His cock. I say no-effing-way, I prolly had a queef or something. So now guess what the newest mindfucking b.s. rule is? Oh yeah. Sick bastard.

I’m doing fairly okay with not shaving my legs. It’s only been 4 days, and even though I generally shave every day, it’s not too bad yet. Prickly and itchy, but not uncomfortable.

But the armpits? Nah. This is fucked up. I am ridiculously obsessive about shaving my pits to extreme smoothness. I don’t even like armpit hair on men.

It wasn’t that long ago in the comment section that I confidentally stated that should Master deny me shaving my pits or legs I would simply accept it as I easily accepted not shaving my cootie hairs. But I only said that because I was confident He’d never go there.

He went there.

I have no clue what He’s after but I hope like hell this is a quickly passing interest for Him. I ask Him whaddup and He just shrugs and smiles.

Maybe if I whin- well that never works. Hmmph. Why on earth is He turning me into all the things that He dislikes when He watches porn on the net???! Gah!

Oh gawd. Do you think He’s thinking He’s going to duct tape those too? Oh owie.

Maybe He’s just trying to save money on the heat bill?

I have figured out why a man is in and out of the shower in 5 minutes though. There isn’t a damn thing to do in there after washing!

Anyway – enought about that. Thinking about it reminds me that my pits itch. Hmmph.

I was gonna babble on about the new Master-approved menu plan but I suppose I should get my ass busy on that drywall. Y’all behave!

~cunt

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