Happy Thanksgiving.

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‘Cause I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all…

I’ve been thinking about sex and pain. Or, more accurately, painful sex. The deeply-felt, internal pain with intercourse, not sex with accompanied pain in other places.

I’ve been checked out by the doctor and, according to him, my female parts are all in fine working order. There is no obvious reason for the pelvic pain that often accompanies sex. So I figure it’s just a damn good thing I’m a masochist, otherwise, I’d be screwed.

Heh. I said screwed. ;-)

The other day, Master’d sent me under the desk for His favorite sexual pasttime of under-the-desk fucking. There is a definite disconnect that occurs with under-the-desk fucking. I can’t see Him, I can’t touch Him, I can’t talk to Him and I really can’t hear Him. His voice, on the rare occasion He tries to talk to me down there, is muffled, far off, distant.

Which is all well and good and as it should be and whatever other smarmy phrase fits here. That IS the purpose of the under-the-desk fucking. I am, as Master tells me, a masturbation tool, nothing more, nothing less. He’s happily lost in His own little world, looking at porn, reading porn, watching porn videos. I’m forgotten, silent, a “thing”. It’s the grown-up equivalent of locking himself in the bathroom with mom’s handlotion and the JC Penney catalogue opened to the women’s underwear section.

I am allowed to get myself off if I want to. But my pleasure during an under-the-desk occasion is not His concern. In other circumstances He’s a very generous lover, making sure I’ve orgasmed several times before coming Himself, but under the desk is different. I am the pocket pussy and pocket pussies don’t need consideration. He’d not worry that the pocket pussy was pleasured and so, down there, He doesn’t worry if I am pleased. If I am, it’s all my own doing, with my thoughts and my fingers and the rythmic pumping of His cock in my unmoving cunt.

I’ve gotten quite good at it over the years. I can come, I can have out-of-this-world orgasms that zing through my entire body and make my eyes cross, and not move one half of an inch out of position or make one audible sound. Other than the pulse of my cunt around His cock, a sure-fire indication of my doings, He’d have no clue to my pleasures I don’t think. And I can continue to hold perfectly still and perfectly silent through that awfully intense, highly sensitive, immediate post-orgasmic minute as He carries on pumping in and out of me.

And I can hold perfectly still and remain almost silent as He pounds away at me through deep, internal pelvic pain.

On this occasion, His deep thrusts and the constant pelvic pressure that spiked with each upward thrust was feeling divine. It was feeling good. I kept catching myself thrusting back against Him each time He stabbed in, trying to deepen and harden the upshot, to raise the pain up a notch. He rose to the unspoken challenge and began slamming me, knocking into me so hard that I fell forward, smashing my face into the carpet and getting rugburn on my forehead.

The pain was intense, but just right. And later, after I’d crawled out and sucked Him of my juices, I sat on the floor cradling my abdomen and waiting for the sharp cramp to fade to a dull ache. He sat in a chair and I noticed that He was cradling His groin.

“Ow.” He said. I looked at Him quizzically. Ow was usually my line.

“Ow?” I repeated.

He nodded. “When I fuck you like that, there’s no give. It hurts sometimes.”

I blinked. “It hurts YOU?” I was confused and… appalled. He hurt? For my pleasure? My brain was twitching. He’d never indicated that fucking me so violently caused Him anything but extreme yum. “But…. why?”

Misunderstanding what I was asking an explanation for, He reached out and began jabbing His finger on the unweilding wood of the desk. “It’s like fucking this,” He said, His fingertip bending with each jab. “Whatever my dick is hitting inside of you doesn’t give. Too long and too hard and my dick gets sore.”

“But why do You do it?” I asked again. “If it hurts, I mean.”

He just smiled knowingly, in that secretive, there-are-things-you-don’t-need-to-know way, that is, I think, particular to evil dominants, and patted me on the head. “Oh, you’ll figure it out soon enough.” and off He went, leaving me to hate not being able to stamp my feet and demand that I be told what I want to know when I want to know it. (Which is maddening, really, don’t you think? I think so.)

I’m not going to claim that after a fuck of that sort I walk bowlegged, or that I’m hunched over in pain. Nothing quite that dramatic. I do sit a bit gingerly. I do ache in my pelvic region. I do cringe at the thought of fucking again anytime soon.

And by soon I mean anytime in the next week. But Master tends to have other ideas. No surprise there, really.

It was the next day though. I would say He waited a whole day in order to let me recover, but that would be a lie. The only thing that happens in a days time is swelling, bruising, and increased tenderness. Just the touch of His cock against my pussy lips and I hissed.

And He smiled. He… leered.

“Hurt?” He asked, pressing harder against me.

“Yes, Sir.” I answered between whimpers.

“You’re tight. Swollen.” He said, more to Himself than to me, still pressing, pushing, forging entrance through the bruised tissue. Again I whimpered out a “yes, Sir”. He pinned my legs back and in simple, missionary style sex, with not a toy around, no bondage, no smacking, no effort, He made me cry.

This was not the good pain that I bucked back against, this was deeper, sharper, more intimate. A pain I couldn’t harness and direct. A pain that consumed my mind and my body, a pain that took every ounce of willpower I had to not resist, leaving nothing left to control the whimpers and quiet cries that flowed on each breath, nothing left to control the trembles that racked my limbs, nothing left to mask my face. Genuine, naked, vulnerable pain.

He drank it in, He leaned His ear close to my mouth so as to not miss a single whimper and He hurt me. “This is why,” He said, barely rocking His hips against mine while I shivered beneath Him. “So easy.” He breathed.

When a single, unchecked, gutteral sob escaped from my lips to caress His earlobe, He softly cried out “Oh. God.” and shuddered to an orgasm.

Later, still feeling exposed and vulnerable, I curled up close to Him, seeking reassurance and comfort. He pulled me to Him and let me find my own way back. I always do.

“You’re mean.” I accused, tracing my finger around His nipple.

“Yes.” He said.

“That really hurt.” I pouted, feeling around for any hint of regret or apology on His part.

“Good.”

I grinned against His chest. “Bastard.” I said affectionately. He laughed, the sound echoing through His chest and into my ear. I sighed, contented. Sore and achy – but happy.

It is as it should be.

So glad He’s home.

~cunt

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Fetishes Explained

So. Funny.

Seen here.

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Full of Fail?

The boredom is eating my brain. I watched Free Willy on HBO, ffs. And then I made macros!

or

~~*~~

Master will be home tomorrow. Thank you Jesus. We will soon return to your regularly scheduled smut and vulgarity. Thank you for your patience during this time of sidetracked bullshit that Master will not like and will probably beat me for, for cluttering up His loverly deviant website with sweetness and light and snow and kittens.

At least one can hope He will. :)

~cunt

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Snow Dom

M:e, over at Aspects of me wrote up a little snow diddy that she said I could share. Given my current (forced) snow obsession (Master has this (ridiculous) theory that goes like this: “cunt, it’s easier to shovel one inch six times than to shovel six inches one time.” Me? I think He’s full-o-crap and likes to make me go out there in the blistery wind and work!), it seemed apropo.

I made a quick little video to set the mood while you read. :-)

~~*~~

Ode to a Snow Dom

He stood there before her, and Oh he looked grand!!
A ‘weapon of choice’ in each of his hands
A cane, and a flogger, and to her surprise
She thought she saw clover clamps shine in his eyes

Long coils of rope around his neck lay
He’d come meaning business, he wanted to play
The thick leather belt which he wore round his waist
A clear indication of one of his tastes

She shivered before such an impressive sight
Dropped to her knees, and cried out with delight
“Oh Master, I’m yours, do with me as you will”
Bowed her head as he’d taught her, kept perfectly still

He suddenly vanished, nowhere to be seen
Had she imagined him? Was he a dream?
No………in his excitement he’d got in a muddle
Switched on the electro and dissolved in a puddle!!!

~~*~~

Detailed Local Forecast Today:
Mostly cloudy with snow showers and occasional heavier snow squalls. High near 20F. Winds NNW at 15 to 25 mph. Additional snow accumulating 3 to 5 inches. Heavier amounts in persistent snowbands.

Tonight: Mostly cloudy with snow showers and heavier snow squalls, especially early. Low around 15F. Winds NW at 15 to 25 mph. 4 to 6 inches of snow expected.

Tomorrow: Variable clouds with snow showers. Cold. High around 20F. Winds WNW at 10 to 20 mph. Chance of snow 80%. Snowfall around one inch.

Extended Forcast

Fri
Nov 21
Snow Shower
20°F

Sat
Nov 22
Mostly Sunny
29°F

Sun
Nov 23
Snow Shower
34°F

Mon
Nov 24
Snow Shower
32°F

Tue
Nov 25
Snow Shower
31°F

Wed
Nov 26
Few Snow Showers
32°F

Thu
Nov 27
Partly Cloudy
31°F

Fri
Nov 28
Snow Shower
33°F

Okay, after this I promise no more snow bitching. Maybe. I’m a little fascinated with it actually. I mean, we had snow down there in Wisc/Illinois, but this is SNOW. I have the urge to stockpile food and supplies and hunker down and hybernate.

~cunt

ps. There will be no naked snow angels!

I want a safeword.

:-P

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It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

Ev’rywhere you go!

I have snow pictures. When I took them I was all kinds of snow-happy. I’d even shoveled the walk before 7am, go-gettin’ little slave that I am!

But then Jes got her car stuck in the ditch and it cost me (cost Master) sixty-freaking-dollars to tow it out, so after that I was a snow-hating little bitch.

But the pictures were still pretty and since I have nothing else to share because I am pathetically desperate for bdsm sustenance, I’m going to post them anyway.

Behind the cut, of course. :-)

~cunt

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Kitty Love

I have a bunch of cat pictures that scream for macros.

All behind the cut!

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She sees me! She sees me!

Courtesy of Daddy Sin. Isn’t She the best?

*beams*

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To exclude or not to exclude, that is the question.

I’ve been watching Fetlife’s groups splinter.

I’ve spent WAY too much time at Fetlife in Master’s absence. It occupies my time, though the jury is out on whether it occupies it in a good way or a bad way. Doesn’t matter, really. I know it’s temporary. Once Master is home my time there will dwindle significantly.

I’m aware that the site will continue to flourish even without my input. ;-)  

There are, at last check, 2,323 different groups on Fetlife. 2,323. Granted probably half of those groups are bogus; the group creation function is open to anyone for anything. But still, even if it’s half, that’s some one thousand ways that people try to isolate their kink. Not all of them in the spirit of “one true wayism”, though some of them are that, for sure. More in the manner of trying to relate to a specific group of people.

It’s interesting to me to watch it being narrowed down.

The Submissive Women’s group was too convoluted and from there spawned the Master/slave group in an attempt to narrow down the participants. It soon became apparent that the M/s group didn’t specify well enough either so along came the Real-Time group. But Real-Time didn’t exclude people who don’t live together and so the 24/7 Live-In group was born.

What I see happening is groups sitting dead in the water. The groups that are thriving are the ones that include everyone because everyone is clamoring. The opinions differ, the viewpoints vary, an approach is different. A new thread is started because someone wasn’t there last week to know that we already covered that topic and it’s buried 20 pages in so we discuss it all over again. It’s a continuous cycle of conversation based almost entirely on the groups inclusion of different kinks.

Sure there are arguments and disagreements. People become passionate about defending this apparent attack to their kink. On the rare occasion someone even learns something or has their mind opened a tiny bit.

But what can be accomplished in the elite groups? What, once it’s finally narrowed down to Only Purple Cunt-lipped Jabberwockies (thank you Sinn, for the wording), will be learned? What growth can there be? Advice, sure, from the more experienced purple cunt-lipped jabberwockies on how to deal with problems specific to purple cunt-lipped jabberwockies.

But it all seems so stagnant.

It’s not that I don’t understand the desire to communicate with “my own kind”. As a slave, but not *just* a slave, a very specific sort of slave, I do sometimes want the ear and advice of other slaves who get me. Slaves who, when I ask a question, spare me the rigamarol of first debating what “slave” means and then debating what “TPE” means and then debating what “power” means and then.. well you see what I mean.

So, I’m on board with it, honest. But I get bored with it very quickly.

Maybe I just thrive on turmoil.

Probably I thrive on turmoil.

I sure seem to find it without trying.

I need a feckin’ hobby.

Subject Change-

Would it be considered topping from the bottom to buy Master a certain book for Christmas because it just might contain information that will spur Him into domming me the way that *I* want to be dommed rather than the way HE wants to do it? Maybe? Perhaps? A little bit?

*sigh* Probably He wouldn’t read it anyway. He’s stubbornly set in His ways, the stodgy old fart.

~~*~~

I woke up this morning thinking about Romper Room. More specifically, about Romper Room’s magic mirror. She never saw me in her magic mirror. I don’t have a popular name, or else I missed that episode, but either way, she never ever saw me no matter how good of a Do-Bee I was (I was never a Don’t-Bee!). And here I am, 37 – almost 38 - years old  and I had a sad this morning remembering that I never appeared in Romper Room’s magic mirror when I was 4. 

It must be true that you spend your whole adult life recovering from your childhood.

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“Do you have the time to listen to me whine?”

There is still a whole week left before Master comes home.  *whine*

I’m bored, cranky, horny and lonely. *whine*

I totally missed Love Our Lurkers day. *whine*

I have nothing to blog about. *whine*

It’s really cold sleeping alone. *whine*

Anyone up for some Q&A fun? Something to occupy my time and keep me from arguing myself to death on Fet. You ask me something and I’ll ask you something. Or pass on a good meme. Anything!  

Anyone?  Buehler? Buehler?

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