Holy Fork!

It’s not very often that I see a picture that blows me away.

This one needs to be seen to be believed. If you don’t have a Fetlife account, you’ll want one just to view this photo. (and then of course you might as well add me as a friend and assist me in causing chaos. It’s the logical thing to do once you’ve signed up!)

What The Fork??

Just thinking about how much that had to hurt makes me have to piddle.

And a little bit nauseous.

I don’t know what shocks me more. That he shoved it in there and didn’t puke or that she sat there and let him do it- and didn’t die.

Just… look. Go look.

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The Games They Play

We were standing in front of the huge rolls of carpet at Menards, arguing good-naturally over the size of outdoor carpeting we needed.

“It’s 10′x12′, Master” I insisted.

“Nah.” He said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “It’s 10′x14′”

I shook my head. “Whatever you say.” And then, mumbling just loudly enough for him to hear, “But it’s 10′x12′.”

He shrugged and turned to leave. “We’ll just have to go home and measure, won’t we, cunt?”

Skipping along side him I smirked. “Wanna bet on it?” Confidentally I held out my hand for him to shake. After all, I’d been staring at the box leaning against the wall since Mother’s Day. I knew damn well we needed a 10′x12′ square of carpet. The End.

He pumped my hand twice. “10′x14′” He declared.

“What do I get if I win?” I gloated, rubbing my hands together in greed.

He grinned. “You get to lick my ass.”

Crinkling my nose, I scuffed my foot on the floor, all of the gloat seeping away. “Gee.” I said sarcastically. “What do I get if I lose?”

His grin widened. “I get to fuck your’s.”

~~*~~

Smug bastard.

Lesson Learned #1: Don’t shake on the bet before you know the terms.

Lesson Learned #2: Stop thinking you can outfox the fox.

Lesson Learned #3: Even when they lose, they win.

~cunt

PS. It was 10′x12′. Mouthwash, anyone?

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A Nursery Rhyme

(To the tune of Three Blind Mice)

(mememememe!)

Three waxed sluts.
Three waxed sluts.

See how they squirm
See how they squirm.

They begged to the sadist to “Make it burn!”
She pointed and sneered to “Wait your turn!”
Us silly girls will never learn!

Three. Waxed. Sluts.

Ta Da!

*beams*

So my headless cohorts and I were reluctanly dragged, kicking and screaming under threat of great bodily harm, to our molten lava demise-

Okay okay. Fine. Not really.

In fact, as soon as “wax play” was uttered, at least one of us (No names mentioned. Squeakers!) was naked and on the floor purt near before the first match was lit. Eager beavers, I tell ya.

And speaking of beavers- pulling wax out of pubic hair is just… it just fucking hurts.

We had a most excellent weekend. Naked girls and evil men (and evil women!) milling around my house gives me the warm fuzzies. This is how life is supposed to be. Naked, well-fucked, and grinning from ear to ear.

However.

The next time that we all get together, I’m going to mount a large, blinking neon sign on the wall that reads “A Little Less Talk, A Lot More Action.”

In fact, let me lay out a proposal for group voting:

Next time, everyone who comes in the door puts on a ballgag. Yes, even you Toppy-type folk. Gag yourself (and stop whining. It’s not THAT bad!)

That way, the “talking” will be done with your hands. Or your toys, your teeth, your whips and canes and ropes and…

All in favor, say Aye! raise your hand.

Motion passed (it’s my world and in kaya’s world, I make teh rulez.)

BYOB- Bring Your Own Ballgag goes on the next invite.

Seriously, they talk too much.

And by they, I mean Master.

*snicker*

(Poke The Sadist- the kinky version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey)

Poor Alderon has been wanting to tie up some girls for weeks now.

Next time. *nods*

~cunt

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The Return of Sascrotch

I’ll give you one guess as to who got his photo-mojo back.

Is it incredibly sad that when he said “Present yourself, cunt.” I froze and replied, “I forgot how!”

And look! My faithful furry friend is still alive and well. And growing!

I, personally, don’t see the appeal in naked cleaning. Things kind of… hang. And flop. And spread. *shudder*

Look at all those freakin’ dishes! I seriously need to learn how to cook without using every dish I own.

Hee. It’s warm out! Finally.

I need a hair cut. Can we take a vote?

Those marks are from last week. Mostly.

See that big bad ass cat of mine? He’s hiding.

From this monster. How vicious is he?

Look at him. “And stay up there!”

“Okay.”

~cunt

(we’re dog sitting. Idn’t he sweet?)

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Clean Your Plate

Click the image. I double-dawg dare ya!

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Comfort Zone

Moms will get this:

You know when your sweet little one is nagging at you? Like, they’re standing there tugging at your sleeve or tapping your arm and going “Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom. MOM!”

And you don’t hear them? Or feel them.

It’s like we become immune to interference when we’re trying to do something. It’s a survival skill! A finely honed talent. An admirable ability.

But. If I could offer a little tidbit of advice from the kaya files?

Don’t do that to The Boss Man.

Not a good idea.

I was engrossed in *cough*Fetlife*cough* and didn’t hear him or feel the glass that he was tapping on my elbow.

A biff upside the head though? That’s an attention-getter, let me tell ya!

;-)

Master was home sick the last two days so now the house is a mess.

What? That doesn’t make sense? Sure it does!

I don’t clean when he’s home. I can’t.

I follow him around like a needy puppy. I’ll wander away from him for a minute or two but eventually I just kind of.. drift back to him. If he would only walk with me as I clean, I’d not have this mess!

Completely his fault.

The first day that he stayed home, I’d made prior plans to go help a friend (The Squirter) with some stuff. He would have let me go, but… it just doesn’t feel right. I should be here to fetch kleenex and stuff, right?

Maybe I’m too clingy. I…. hover.

He says it’s just the way he wants it though. It’s one thing for him to say “cunt, you’re staying right here by my side.” and have me obey.

It’s another thing entirely to have me to the point where there is nowhere else I can comfortably be. Nowhere else that feels right. When we’re in separate rooms there’s a nagging sense of something missing. I get nervous, edgy. That same feeling you get when you leave for vacation and you can’t remember if you shut the iron off.

That feeling goes away the second he’s back in sight, within touch.

I don’t feel that way when he goes to work and I’m at home. I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

That feeling is multiplied by a million if I leave the house without him. Getting groceries when he elects to stay home is a nightmare. My stomach churns, my hands tremble, I can’t think. Without a list, I’d stand in the aisles like a dumbass. I’ve done it before.

The longer it takes me to get the errands run, the worse I get. I’m practically pissing my pants in angst by the time I get in the door.

Some of it is fear, too. I know that. He can be strict, you know? He’s been known to get on my case if I’ve been gone longer than he thinks it should have taken, or gone somewhere that wasn’t where he thought I should go.

So, yeah. Right by his side is my comfort zone.

Now if only I could keep my attention in the same place my body is at, eh? There’d be a lot less head biffing going on. ;-)

~cunt

P.S. I have to send a huge Thank You! to luna for the new layout. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Now I just need a new header. I wanna lose the quote and just have Under His Hand, and lose my ugly mug. I told Master we’ll have to mess around with taking some pictures.

Anyway, thank you so much Luna!

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Uncle! Uncle!

We have this heart shaped crop. Except, I don’t think it’s an ordinary crop. It is teh ebils.

I don’t know what the rod of a regular crop is made out of because I’m not quite brave enough to unravel any of Master’s crops to find out. But whatever it is, I don’t think it’s the same thing that this heart crop is made from.

The heart crop’s rod isn’t covered with anything. It’s a metal stick, see? It’s not whippy like his other crops. It’s stiff. Hard.

It hurts.

I remember when we bought it, it was at some seedly little roadside sex shop a couple of years ago. I thought it was “cute”.

Awww, I thought. How sweet. He can make little red hearts on my butt!

I carried it over to him gushing over how cute it was. He rolled his eyes, being the fairly non-romantic kind of sadist that he is, and tossed it on the counter.

Yeah. What a fucking dumbass I am, yanno?

So, he’s been determined to make little heart-shaped bruises with this thing.

I’m here to tell you (and to tell HIM!) that it does not make heart-shaped bruises. It makes bruises plenty; just not heart-shaped ones.

What it does leave is a welt in the shape of the metal rivet in the center of the heart. Tiny little raised red and white circles, and, a day or two later, an ugly green bruise somewhere in the vicinity of where the metal rod snapped under the heart.

But no hearts.

They will not come.

I am crying.. no, I am screaming Uncle!

Here! Here’s your hearts! Now will ya quit already?

~cunt

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Guest Post- I Obey

From lunaKM.

More than “I Obey”

There is a lot to the words, ‘I obey’. The power of submission, the control of a dominant and the surrender of self come out in these words. When I first started exploring submission these were the first terms that I had to grip and hold close to me. I must obey, I will obey and my obedience helps me surrender.

After several years these words till have the hold on my submissive heart and keep me returning back to the center of my purpose; obedience. I thought I had understood them well and that I was progressing well on the path to my ultimate surrender.

That was until I read the book, “SlaveCraft” by a grateful slave. It’s a collection of essays by a slave with more experience and eloquence for words than I have. He puts together visual thoughts and metaphors to help explain the ideas he puts forth. I was transfixed and deeply interested in what he had to say. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in intensifying their submission.

One of his essays was about obedience and for me it changed something in the way I now think of submission and the words, ‘I obey’. He reiterated again and again that it’s not just that you obeyed, but the manner and the way you obeyed. I never really thought this part through and now that I can see clearer I know that I had a huge stumbling block in the road of my surrender.

I thought that just because I obeyed that I was fulfilling my promise to Master to please him. For years now I have thought that is all I needed. Now I know I was wrong. Anyone can obey, but for my surrender to intensify I needed to find the right way and the right manner in which to serve.

For example, I have chores, things I need to do everyday to make Master’s life at home comfortable and relaxed. These things I do to obey with his wishes. But the manner in which I do them is far from satisfactory. Even if I perform my duties completely that was not enough. I needed to bring pleasure to my service in these chores. The extra things I could add to washing the dishes; like environmentally safe detergents, putting them away with less clatter and getting them done swiftly so that he does not have to see the mess of dirty dished piling up. Serving in obedience for me is serving so efficiently that he need not know the extent of my service.

I crave having him see me as a happy submissive and when my mood isn’t right I seek focus in his Dominance. Part of this obedience is expressing my struggles with my mood in terms that will not elevate the situation. I give them to him to deal with so that my service can be more complete.

If you read my blog, you already know that a reoccurring theme is my aberration of blow jobs. When I obey, it is to oblige him with an orgasm. My attitude towards this is one of, ‘let’s get this done so I can do something else.’ Realizing now, and yes even then, that the manner of my obedience was insufficient I have turned my mind to figuring out how I can obey and get through my dislike of the act for his pleasure. My obedience in this needs improvement. I used to say that, at least I obeyed, but now that is not enough. The work I have before me to change my manner of obedience is clear.

For this I have a better outlook on my life of service. I love my Master and want to obey him completely. I know that armed with this new outlook I can find happiness in my obedience once again. I can rise from my knees and say, “I obey.”

lunaKM has been in the BDSM lifestyle for over 5 years. lunaKM authors The Submissive Guide (http://www.submissiveguide.com) where she offers articles for novice submissives on the mindset and growth and learning opportunities of a submissive. You can subscribe to her feed here: http://feeds2.feedburner.com/SubmissiveGuide

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Just (Face)Fuck it!

I was tasked tonight with finishing that facefucking clip that I was supposed to do some two months ago and putting it up at the clipstore.

I can’t go to bed until it’s done and I’m a sleepy girl. :-(

Anyone who still thinks we’re in this for the money? Pffft. Apparently not since I haven’t gone near the store for months.

I probably make the whole clip loading process ten times more difficult than it has to be because I’m a complete computer/techno loser. Ah well. It’s getting done now. Most of “work” involves just sitting here waiting for it to finish loading.

Which is why I procrastinate doing it for so long. Sitting here doing nothing drives me batshit crazy.

Anyway.. /whine

Actually, having taken two months to get to it was a benefit I think. I was able to view it with fresh eyes. I’d practically forgotten about it.

I’d certainly forgotten how good it was.

I’m not trying to toot my horn or anything, because, let’s be honest here, I pretty much just drooled and gasped and otherwise laid there and took it.

But Master was on his game that day. He was all kinds of mean and bossy and shit. He was… he was just on fire.

Watching it again got my motor revving.

So, of course, he’s in bed and I’m here. Loading it up.

Still. It’s a hot clip.

If you like that sort of thing.

Forgot what I’m talking about? Lemme refresh your memory.

It’s up. At the store.

Best one yet, if you ask me.

~cunt

Good Night!

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Leaving your mark.

So. There are a couple of reasons why I’m posting these.

They’re not of me. They’re of the squirter.

I think that’ll be her name now. The Squirter. Hee.

The first reason is that I find it utterly fascinating how much men like it when they see their handprint adorning someone’s ass.

The second reason is because The Squirter, just a few short days ago, was mortified to be seen naked in public.

So. Yanno. I figure the best way to get over that is to be splashed naked on a website that gets a couple of thousand hits a day.

And, too, I just like knowing that she’s squirming right now. :D

She’s a right neat squirmer. And squealer. She’s a full night’s worth of entertainment all by her lonesome.

Me? I’m a quiet masochist. I kind of dive into myself and try to suffer quietly. I often fail, but I like to think I’m quiet. I’m quiet in my head anyway. I don’t care what the rest of you hear.

Squirter, on the other hand? She sings. Delightfully.

Wait.

Squirmer. Squealer. Squirter.

Hee! Too funny.

The pair of them are a joy to watch.

Energy, connection, interaction. I got horny. *nods*

Maybe it’s the snow. I mean, it’s too cold to go outside most of the time so we’ve all got to find something else to do. Indoors.

Maybe all that bitching I do about the weather should, instead, be grateful mutterings. Cuz, all y’all Yoopers are kinky motherfuckers.

“What? It’s snowing again? Guess I’ll tie you up in front of the fireplace again!”

Hell yeah.

BTW, we aren’t moving.

*beams*

Oh! I almost forgot.

At the party, Master gave me a butthole full of icy hot. His “revenge” (that so violated the statute of limitations that my Slave’s Rights lawyer is practically salivating in glee!) has been extracted.

I know.

*yawn*

I mean! Um. Ouch. Owie. Oh, it burrrrrrrrned!

(what? poking the sadist with a stick is my new hobby.)

;-)

~cunt

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