Soooooo….

I got nothing.

Srsly.

Nothing.

Things here are rolling along. The kids started school and other than the usual difficulties of trying to switch from the summer sleeping schedule (up all night, sleep til 2pm) to school sleeping (in bed at 10pm, up at 5:30am), that’s going well.

Babygirl is amazing and cute and has all of us wrapped around her teeny tiny finger already. She’s cooing and smiling and trying to grab her toys and is just… cute.

Jes is still having some recovery-issues from her botched childbirth experience. Possible reconstructive surgery in the future. But her hips are back in place, she’s already back in her pre-pregnant size 5 jeans, and is otherwise doing great. She’s doing a combination of classes at the high school and classes online, a new program offered by the high school for kids who need a more flexible schedule.

And I’m.. I dunno. Just busy. It seems like I don’t stop from the minute he rolls me out of bed at 4:30am, until the minute he lets me back in at 10pm. Yet… you ever have those times where it seems like no matter how busy and exhausted you are, you look around the house at the end of the day and it doesn’t appear like you’ve done anything at all?

Yeah. That’s been me, ever since we got back from camp.

Anyway, Master had a few unkind words to say about that the other day.

:(

I don’t know if there’s anything more, to a housecunt like me, that cuts straight through the heart than “It’s not good enough, cunt”.

I haz a sad.

So, I busted ass yesterday and I’m busting ass today- and I still don’t think it’s going to be good enough.

Pity Party: My place. All day long. BYOW.

(BYOW=bring your own whine. Get it? Whine? Wine? Ha.)

Also, every computer in the house is getting ready to take a big, fat dump. Do I have an extra couple of thousand set aside to replace computers? Why no! No I do not.

Bah humbug.

Well then. So now you see why I haven’t blogged lately. I got nothing.

Soon though. Cuz I never have nothing to say for too long. ;-)

~cunt

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Spankfest Recap Part 4- The End

The last day of Spankfest had a much different feel to it than the previous days. Most people were already packing up to leave, the dungeon was being torn down, there was a more relaxed, kind of final atmosphere.

There was one difficult thing that he made me do. It’s just going to sound easy to most of you probably.

At the closing ceremonies, the Spankfest staff hold a Black and Blue competition.

I am probably the least competitive person you’ll ever meet. In fact, I go out of my way to avoid competition. I don’t put myself in a position to be judged as a winner or a loser, or to make myself the center of attention. (haha. I know. But I swear, I am not the same person offline as I am here. The safety of my monitor and all that jazz)

Plus, I have ridiculous social issues.

It’s all very hard to describe because most people who read this and who know me aren’t going to believe it. But Master knows. He knows how I can’t muscle my way up to the bar to order a drink because it involves “competing” (seriously!) with people for space and for the bartender’s attention. He knows I can’t approach a group of people or go ask a question or make a simple phone call or answer the door or stop the waitress for a straw or a hundred other simple examples of social phobias.

He just knows.

He knows that I’ll have frantic and whispered conversations with him when he orders me to do any of those kinds of things. I literally am instantly on the edge of tears, panicked, my stomach rolls-

It’s just all incredibly stupid and shameful.

The simplest order will be one that has me contemplated the repurcussions of refusing. Ordering him a beer from the bar? Well.. maybe the punishment for disobeying will be less stressful than trying to do that.

Most of the time, I choose to obey. Most of the time.

Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes… the anxiety wins out and I’ll stand, rooted to the spot, and just stare at him in defeat.

And most of that takes place very privately, very quietly, between us.

Anyway, stupid long story short, he told me I was going to go up on stage for the Black and Blue competition. What followed as we sat at the table waiting for that to be announced, was hands-down the most difficult and anxiety-ridden period of the entire Spankfest experience.

The conversation, that I doubt anyone near us even knew we were having, was held between speakers and between applause, and went something like this:

“Master I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Sincerely panicked look: “Please.”

“Do it.”

“Master… don’t make me do this.”

“Go.”

“Please no.”

“Go on. Now.”

I went, though I weighed the option of refusing. I truly contemplated just how angry and disappointed he would be if I flat out refused to stand up and walk, and how embarrassed he’d be if I caused a scene in public and how.. honestly.. how close would I be to being released if I dug my heels in that much and just. didn’t move.

I’m sure nobody had any clue how incredibly nervous I was or how much I would rather be anywhere else but up on that stage talking about my bruises.

Or maybe they did have a clue. Maybe I’m not as good at hiding it as I think I am.

Who knows. Doesn’t matter anyway. What trips the trigger for one, won’t for another. What is difficult for one is a piece of cake for another. Other ‘contestants’ were up there, hamming it up and practically dancing. I probably looked like I was attending a funeral.

Either way, of all the experiences at camp that qualified as humiliating and degrading, of all the activities that involved my naked body on display for strangers, of everything that caused me to lower my dignity to ground level?

That was the worst of them all.

And that is so. fucking. stupid.

I got 3rd place anyway. I won a jumbo flyswatter. :)

Once that was over and I could breathe again and Master was done giving me The Look™, I found out I’d gotten an award. I got the Sir D and sub s “Friends of Spank” award. That was a real shock, but it felt pretty cool, too. I guess I maybe sent some traffic their way. ;)

The closing ceremonies were really emotional. Nobody wants it to be over, nobody wants to have to go home. The open-arm acceptance is just… indescribable. There were tears everywhere.

~sniffle~

After the ceremonies, there were still several groups of kinksters who were staying another night.Us included and Master didn’t let it go to waste either.

But there was a light-hearted feel to everything. He pulled out that anal ring toss game and had me do that for the neighboring campers. It was all sorts of humiliating, but fun-humiliating.

And srsly? They all had bad aim. Like, fer real. I expected better aim from a bunch of doms. Of course, every time they missed I got swatted for “moving and making them miss!”

Yeah. Bastards. *beams*

Let’s see… what else.

Oh. There was some play with the rubber band gun, but that thing really doesn’t hurt. It’s just fun. It stings a bit if you get close enough and hit the right spot, but mostly it was just for fun.

I had to stand there with my legs speads and my hands on my head, and after they were done “shooting” me, I had to scurry around picking up all the rubber bands.

Another fun thing was the grinder. Alderon and his woman, niya, had brought an angle grinder and a piece of metal and he was having a grand time shooting sparks at anyone who would let him. Again, not a really painful experience but it looks cool as hell, the noise of the grinder is a mindfuck and the tiny little sparks hitting your pink bits feels delicious.

Later that night, there was a campfire and some wax play followed by some knife play.

Then it was one last exhausting night on the blow up mattress, one last group shower in unisex bathrooms, and off we went to come home.

Our tent broke and was repaired for the last day/night with duct tape (duct tape fixes everything, dontchknow.)

Speaking of duct tape, one of our friends, dragonfly, helped our other friend, Star, make a duct tape dress for one of the dungeon parties. And it was seriously the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. She looked HOT. And it was duct tape! Freakin’ neat-o!

Camp cooking wasn’t nearly as difficult as I had expected it to be. We had bacon and eggs and steak and eggs and pancakes and bacon. We had turkey sandwiches and potato salad, we had brats and burgers and vegetable soup with grilled garlic rolls.

But none of the food and cooking would have been as easy as it was without the foresight and generosity of our fellow campers. They brought the tables and the extension cords and the coffee pot (that broke. Oops)

There was a cooperative effort to keep the fire burning and the coolers stocked with ice. Someone was always running to the store and stopping by to ask if we needed anything.

It felt a lot like coming home to a family I’d never met.

Next year is too long to wait to do this again. There should be year round Spankfests.

Now.. next time I say “See you all at Spank!” are you going to be there?? ;)

~cunt

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Spankfest Recap Part 3- The Smell of Fear

Master likes to play with fear. He likes to talk about things, detail plans of big scary things to watch the play of emotions on my face.

He likes to watch the physical reactions, too; the way my throat works. My skin pales, my breath quickens. He likes to watch the hot squirt of urine drip down my leg. (Okay, okay. That’s just hyperbole. I don’t really pee down my leg. But it feels like I might.)

What he likes to see, mostly, is something he can’t SEE. It’s only something he can sense, something his spidey senses pick up. It’s the battle of wills inside of me. His will over mine. He knows when his has won.

But as I said, he likes to play with it. He’s not always going to do everything he says he’s going to do. Often, once he’s satisfied that he’s won the battle, and I’ve resigned myself to doing this awful horrid thing he’s detailed, he’ll pat my head and send me on my way.

And just as often, he follows through and does exactly what he detailed.

The trick, of course, is to not begin to think I know which way it’s going to go.

And that would be what I failed to do on Saturday afternoon at Spankfest.

I went and bought the nails at his order myself. I was there when he picked out the exact board he wanted to use. I saw him pack the hammer in the camping equipment.

I never, in a million years, would have thought he’d do THAT in a public setting. Not ever. I just didn’t think he’d set himself up for the public scrutiny and disapproval that generally follows such a thing. I didn’t think he’d chance casting a bad atmosphere over camp, or leaving someone with a bad impression.

I got too comfortable thinking I know him and how he ticks.

Even when he started telling me to go get the board, cunt! And get the nails, cunt! I was all “Oh, ok! Whatever you say, Mr. Domly Dom!” I cheerfully cleaned off the hammer and laughed it up, already counting on this being one of those times where he’d just make sure I obeyed and then pat me on the head and send me on my way. Then me and the girls would guffaw over what a hardass he thinks he is, and how “lucky” it was that I’d escaped by the skin of my tit.

Right up until he gathered it all up and started heading for the dungeon.

And I dug in my heels. Insofar, as I ever dig in my heels. Which means that I make feeble attempts to find the words to convince him to take a new path while he shoves me ahead of him. Because where I cannot muster up the courage to go willingly, he’ll take me.

There is comfort in that after the fact. At the time? Not so much. I pretty much just think he’s a brute during the taking. ;-)

I don’t know how it looked to the observers. I found it very surreal to hear, after I’d made mentioned of how I’d screamed throughout the nailing, that I’d not made much of a sound at all. All of that screaming and cursing and struggling that I was doing? Was inside.

I know it doesn’t sound like much to try and express it here, but that’s definitely a mindbender for me. I was screaming. I was cursing. I was struggling. How could I have believed that to be apparent when.. it wasn’t.

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for him to be The Evil Doctor. All of my resistance is my head.

Weird. I’m still.. I dunno what. Shaken by that. This must be how people who have hallucinations feel when it’s proven that what they see isn’t there. Because I’d have sworn I was screaming my fool head off with every single smack of that hammer.

Anyway.

So, he nailed my boobs to a board.

When the nails were all in, I had a deathgrip on the board. He’d had me stand up and I was quite sure that if I let go of that board, it’d fall and rip my tits off with it. So I wasn’t about to let go.

He told me to let go.

I told him no.

He told me again.

I said no.

In my mind, that was the end. Afterward, I apologized to him for defying him and not letting go. He looked at me rather quizzically.

“You did let go, cunt. You dropped your hands to your sides.”

Oh.

Well, in the scene that *I* remember? I saved my tits and hung on that board like it was my newest and bestest friend EVAR.

He tells me he hooked the board up to a pulley (? Or a winch?) I’m not sure because that part of the scene? Didn’t happen. Nope. I wasn’t there for it.

He put me on my knees and placed an open can of soda on the “serving tray”. Another Dom we know put a flask on the “serving tray”.

Then Master swatted at my tits with a crop, warning me not to spill either item.

I really couldn’t tell you if I did or not. The items on the board faded away when he began tapping the crop against my nipples, smashing them against the board.

Taking the nails out hurts more than putting them in. I don’t know why, maybe it’s all in my head, but there it is. I think I asked him to just leave them there but he didn’t listen.

You know what part I do remember? Round about the removal of the 3rd nail, when my pain tolerance was at its max and my submission level had maxed out two nails ago, and the only way I think I can survive is to snatch a tiny bit of control? I put my foot down.

“I’m totally NOT fucking you tonight!”

Without missing a beat, he looked up at the people watching and said, “Rape scene tonight.”

He so wins.

~cunt

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Spankfest Recap Part 2.3- Whip Cream

Friday evening brought another dungeon party. Which basically meant a reason to dress up in fetish wear and watch people get beat.

Honestly.

Does it GET any better than that?

No. No, it does not.

Master and I really don’t do the whole fetish wear thing. I suppose we would if we had any place to wear the stuff, but we’ve never had that so we’ve never bought any.

Fetish wear was hardly required, though. Plus, naked IS fetish wear (according to Master who didn’t have to be naked).

I’d really expected to be more body conscious than I was while I was there. But, you know, while there were plenty of gorgeous, trim, hot-bods walking around, there were also plenty of gorgeous, not-trim, hot-bods walking around.

Where beauty really shined was in the energy passing between the people playing, in the confidence of being on display and the overall willingness to dive into the moment. That made it all beautiful, regardless of the size of one’s latex dress.

/pc sappiness

So, dungeon party. Friday evening.

I try really hard not to go into these things with expectations. It not only saves me from the crash of disappointment if nothing materializes, it also leaves me reeling in pleasant surprise if something wonderful happens.

This night, something wonderful happened.

It’s difficult to describe the atmosphere inside the dungeon. Imagine the biggest, noisiest cocktail party- throw in some screams, some cracks, a couple of penises and bouncing boobs…

If there were 20 different pieces of dungeon equipment, then there were probably 17 different scenes going on. All at once. There might be a loud, screaming, take-down scene going on in one corner. An intimate suspension scene in the middle. A humiliation scene going on there, a brutal paddling here, a giggling bondage scene that way. A chorus of ow ow ow’s, yelps, whimpers and the unmistakable noise of someone, or several someones, in the throes of an orgasm.

Too many places to look all at once, too many sounds competing with the music bouncing through the speakers, conversations, people to see… It’s crazy. Overwhelming. I felt like podunk country girl been dropped smack dab in the midst of NYC.

My long-winded point being that the very idea of having ‘a moment’ in the middle of all that wonderful chaos was preposterous. No way could I block that all out, sink into the scene, narrow my vision down to just him and I. Not just no way, but no fucking way.

Even as he was tying my hands above my head I was straining to see around him, trying not to miss anything. I was still bouncy and “Look! Look what they’re doing!”, craning my head over his shoulder and going “Git out the way, Man! I can’t see!”

It wasn’t until he pulled the hood over my head that the first prickle of fear ran down my spine.

I have such a phobia of having things over my face. Not my eyes alone, as being blindfolded doesn’t bother me at all- but the whole face-covering thing just… *shudder* I can’t have the blankets over my head, I can’t wear a scarf over my mouth, I can’t wear a hat, ffs. Ever. I feel constricted, suffocating, claustrophobic.

So the hood, a full head leather hood with zippers over the eyes, a zipper over the mouth, tiny little nostril airholes, pushes every single button I have there.

I’m quite convinced I’m going to die and he won’t notice because he can’t SEE me dying. So I work and work my tongue and my chin to keep the zippered mouth opening as wide open as possible. Which isn’t much.

Normally I beg him to keep the mouth part unzipped. I begged him this time, too, as he tugged the hood into place and started lacing up the back. I begged him to please check that I was breathing, to please leave that open-

And something, some niggling memory, is trying to tell me that at some point mid-scene, he zipped the mouth hole shut. Maybe not, I’ll have to ask him, but- I think he did. And, if he did? I was too far gone to care.

There was a gradual dimming of outside intereference. He started hard, right out the gate, with the singletail. Warm up is a concept that is lost on Master. It’s not his style, not his thing. Maybe he considers it a waste of time, I dunno. Whatever his reasoning, he goes from 0 to 60 and leaves me gasping in an attempt to catch up.

He’d tied me with my hands overhead, leaving my legs untethered, giving me the opportunity to spin and twist. Usually he targets one area, or one side, securing me so I have limited movement. Times like those become a battle of endurance. Having some freedom of movement gives me the illusion of escaping the pain.

That is what ended up bringing on the tears. The shattering of that illusion.

I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t talk. There was no connection between him and I, there was nothing but the constant snap of the whip, nothing but the desperate yanks to avoid what I couldn’t see coming.

I was doing a decent job of maintaining my composure, twisting from front to back, until he started to somehow whip both sides at once. I had a period of thinking that he was losing it and that his aim sucked fucking ass, as the strokes began wrapping, or so I thought, from front to back, back to front, side to side.

Until there was a volley of double strikes. That’s when I realized he’d invited someone else with a singletail to play, too. That’s also when I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to spin away because they were everywhere.

And I got pissed.

Livid.

Sometimes, it just feels so mean, you know? More cruel than it has to be. Let me have that illusion. Let me have a way to manage the pain and maintain control of my reactions. Just let me fucking deal with it.

But noooOOOOoooooOOO. Attack it from every angle so there is no way to escape, even when that escape was all an illusion anyway.

The part that really pissed me off, and I mean really really REALLY had me seeing red, was when he made a show of being the caring, concerned Dom. When he stepped forward to feel my hands or stopped whipping me long enough to rub me down with a soft, sensual piece of fur.

Was it a show? No. Of course not. I know he checks those things and has concerns that I’m really okay. But at the time? When I’m feeling like he’s the meanest bastard to ever walk the earth and wishing painful things upon him? Don’t fucking play nice. Don’t fuck with me like that. You wanna whip me? Then whip me. Be mean. Be cruel. Don’t fucking worry about my hands when you don’t give a fuck how much the whip hurts. And, seriously, don’t PAMPER me with a piece of fur, you fucking Fucker.

So I kicked him.

Well, I tried to. I couldn’t see him so I was probably a mile off target, but I tried.

I tried to kick the other guy with the whip, too. (Sorry, Sir D!)

Not exactly a shining moment of submission, but at the same time, an honest reaction to the moment. Perhaps if I’d have actually landed a kick, one of the two of them might have been angry. But since I missed, they seemed to find it humorous.

And can I just say that hearing laughter and snickers when I’m so mad I could spit (if I thought it wouldn’t just collect in the hood and be rubbed in my face again) did NOTHING to improve my headspace. Like, fer real. Don’t snicker at the angry chick with the hood. She bites.

And if she can’t bite, then eventually she just gives up and sags against the ropes and sobs pitifully. Cuz you fuckers always win.

The chaos of the dungeon and the people around me had faded in a quick hurry. In fact, I’d have sworn that the music had stopped playing and that everyone had packed up and gone home had you asked me mid-scene. When it was over, and the hood was removed, it was like someone slowly turning the lights and volume up as the surrounding noises and scenes came back into focus.

Then he took me down, delivering my sniveling mess of self into the arms of a soft and soothing girl (thank you, darling and I’m sorry for snotting in your hair. :D). He gave me a minute to cry it out and then pulled me into his arms where I burst into tears again after saying “I tried to kick yoooooo! Waah! I’m suh-suh-sorry!”

He thought that was freakin’ hysterical. Sweet and cute- but hysterical.

After that I was really wiped. Hungry, cold and tired.

He fed me, fucked me, and put me to bed.

This shit is way better than drugs. Dude. Srsly.

~cunt

ps. I got my hands on a couple of photos taken by the camp photog. I’m plugging them in to the last two entries. w00t!

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Spankfest Recap Part 2.2- Pony’s Bitch

(I’m still on Friday, it’s probably noon-ish or early afternoon I think)

Let’s talk a little more about Pony. Remember that sweet, elvin-voiced angel that stuck her pussy in my face and pissed down my belly? Yes, that’s the one.

Prior to going to Spank, I’d asked her if she would shine Master’s boots. These aren’t fancy leather fetish wear boots, just plain old steel-toed work boots that he wears all the time.

They are (were) filthy, scuffed up, torn up workin’ man boots.

1) I wanted to watch what bootblacking was all about. I honestly had just the vaguest idea of it and what better way to see it than by the reigning champion herself.

2) He really needed those boots cleaned up. I mean, occasionally they are on my face, so, yeah, they needed washed.

3) She mentioned she might use my tongue for part of it, and I have this strange mouth-taste-tongue fetish going on.

4) I suspected it would be hot as hell to watch Master get his shoes shined by a big-boobed sexy chick on her knees.

It was.

Hot as all fuck!

We go in the dungeon where she’s set up her little bootblacking station and he sat down on this bench while she sat on the floor in front of him and they started in on “shop talk” about .. oh, who the fuck cares what about. My ears tuned out and my cunt turned on.

I was horny in, like, 2.7 seconds flat.

Master is fucking sexy, you know? And he’s sitting there all domly looking with this hot girl who had cleavage from here to there at his feet, and man oh fucking man… I wanted him baaaaaaaad. Right then. Right there.

So I wriggled inbetween her and him, poking my ass in her face, and started sucking Master’s cock.

You’ve heard of Steak and a Blow Job Day? This was Boot and a Blow Job Day. There were people walking around, someone took pictures, Master was chit chatting with whoever walked by. It was so cool.

Now, I thought that I’d suck him off while she shined his boots, and that would be that.

Not so.

Because, somehow, I dunno if she just had slippery hands or what, but those damn boot shining brushes of hers kept slipping and slapping the fuck out of my backside.

Like.. slapping the FUCK out of my backside.

Her fingernails, too. She was just a clumsy girl that day. “Accidentally” pinching and scratching, spanking and poking. I dunno. I think she should see a doctor or something. She might have been having seizures or sumpin.

Or maybe.. just maybe.. my ass in her face made her feel all toppy, cuz she topped the shit out of me.

I TRIED to suck Master’s dick. I mean, I DID, I sucked it now and then. Inbetween yelping and trying to squirm away from the scrub brushes. And she’s all “What’s the matter , kaya? Suck that cock! *SMACK SMACK SMACK* Aww! What’s wrong, honey? Can’t concentrate? *WHAM WHAM WHAM*!”

I told her, around a mouthful of dick, that she was an evil whore.

So she hit me again.

Sweet little submissive MY ASS.

Then she’d grab a handful of hair and yank my head back and drag the bootblacking brush over my tongue… or over my cunt, gathering wetness to shine his boots with… and I think I started dripping on the floor…

She probably hit me for that, too.

But then she gave me a reach-around, or a reach-under actually, and fingered me to an orgasm so then I liked her again.

A bunch. :D

Poor Master never did get to come, but I sure did!

His boots looked purty though.

I spent the rest of that day and the next marked as Pony’s bitch. Somewhere amongst the smacking with the brush and the pinching with the nails, she’d signed “Pony” across my back in shoe polish (?) that would not wash off.

So I was Pony’s bitch. I told her I was gonna tell on her for randomly marking every slut she encountered as her own. Min? She should be spanked. Repeatedly. Greedy ol’ whore anyway.

;-)

That was Scene Two for Friday that required another shower. I alternated between dirty, wet whore and sparkling clean quite a bit that day!

More to come….

~cunt

PS. I just thought I’d mention that I ended up with more bruises from Pony that day than I got from Master all weekend. Almost. It was a close count anyway. ;)

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Spankfest Recap Part 2.1 Pool Party

I seriously need to write faster. Just last night while talking with Master we were both going, erm, was that Friday or Saturday that we did that? What did we do on Sunday? ~head scratch~

I swear we need some Gingko Biloba.

Okay. So. As my memory best serves me:

Another celebrity that we got to meet was Ms. International Bootblack 2009.

Otherwise known as Mins Pony.

I knew her when. I can say that, cuz.. I did. Way back when she was just a wee boot worshipper, before she went international pro-

Okay, okay.. Actually, she and I had been flirting around each other’s LJ’s for years. I don’t know why it is that sometimes you just feel a connection with a person you’ve never met. The way their words wiggle into your brain or something. Anyway, we’ve been nagging our Domly ones to arrange a meeting between us for forever, but you know how it is trying to coordinate schedules and such (and how cooperative Doms can be. Oy.)

But we met. Finally.

And I just have to say that she is so beautiful. Her pictures don’t *even* do her justice. She’s gorgeous. And she has this tiny little elvin voice that is SO flippin’ sweet-

And that voice is so fucking deceiving!

More on that in a bit, though.

So, Friday morning, Master wakes up bright and early. And it were colllllld outside. The sun was hiding behind a haze of clouds, there was a misty fog covering the ground. And there was a lovely breeze to make it that much more enjoyable.

Master had to pee.

Remember that thing I mentioned where he told me to buy some goggles and a snorkel for wicked piss play? That thing that I kept telling myself “he would never!”?

Yeah. That.

I did get the goggles, just in case (I’m not very brave at tempting fate). He grabbed the camp-provided kiddy pool.

Seriously. Camp-provided. “Oh, you want to do piss play? Here! We have equipment!” How fucking cool is that, huh? They think of everything!

But I digress.

So, bright and early Friday morning, colder than a witch’s tit outside, he plops my naked ass down in a plastic swimming pool and pisses all over me.

And then he leaves me there. Directly outside the bathroom, naked, wet, cold, waiting for anyone else who wants to take a piss on me.

It got off to a very, very, very slow start. People just aren’t thinking kink at 7 freaking a.m. (or whatever time it was. 8am maybe. TooFuckingEarlyforKink O’clock.) And I was so. fucking. cold.

Which, and it pains me to say this, truly, was bloody fucking brilliant on his part, because as my goosebumps piled on top of goosebumps and my teeth chattered out my head, I was hungering for any single drop of warm liquid that anyone was willing to give me. Srsly. Pee on me PLEASE! Thaw my ass out!

I couldn’t even guess how long I sat in that pool, or how many people actually pissed on me. Activity picked up as the morning got later and people headed to the bathroom for morning showers and such.

One guy who didn’t have to pee but was brushing his teeth spit on me instead. That was grosser, and not nearly as warm.

There was the occasional group, standing around hooting it up, pointing and laughing.

Master is exceptionally good with humiliation. I mean.. expectionally good. He rox my sox. He rubbed my nose in it, telling me how disgusting I was and how bad I smelled. Making faces when he walked by. Isn’t he the bestest of the best? *beams*

And! I got pissed on by a pony.

Remember her? Ms. International. That sweet and lovely submissive. (cough)

Well, Master went looking specifically for her to drag her back to me just so she could pee on me. Wasn’t that nice of him? He’s a dear, truly.

She, and Lizzy (the girl with the death wish from yesterday’s post), held hands and straddled me to do a joint pissing. I had my face in Pony’s pussy while she peed down my front and Lizzy warmed up my back and it was soooooo… nice and warm and lovely.

Then they left me to freeze again. Fuckers.

I didn’t start getting really squicked out until the urine collected enough in the pool that it started to puddle and splash when I moved. That was just… ~gag~…

That’s when he’d decided I’d had enough. When I started dry-heaving over the side of the pool.

I had never felt so covered with filth, so… crawling with the heebie jeebies… so fucking nasty, ever. In my life. Ever.

I showered and washed my hair and brushed my teeth and showered and washed my hair and brushed my teeth and showered- well, you get the idea.

All in all though? For a sick and twisted girl like myself, how fucking lucky am I that he lets me wallow in misery like that? And still kisses me afterward? Well, way way WAY afterward. After the whole showering and hair washing and teeth brushing marathon.

Actually, he accidentally touched me before I made it to the shower and I swear he shuddered. LOL. I was amused.

That was Friday morning. More on Friday to come- after I take the garbage out! Brb!

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Spankfest Recap Part 1 The Beginning

Master said I look like a bruised turd.

According to Babel Fish, translating from Domspeak to English, “you look like a bruised turd” means “I had an awesome time, cunt”.

*nods*

So did I. :)

I only have two complaints about the entire weekend. The weather. And no pictures.

Though I understand the reasoning behind not allowing photos, and I can respect other people’s privacy, I rely on pictures dammit. Now there is just that much more typing for me to do.

The weather was just enough on this side of cold, wet and windy that being naked was uncomfortable, and playing outside at your own campsite was (mostly) eagerly passed up.

However! There was an indoor dungeon. *beams*

I wish that I had enough foresight to take notes or jot down points of interest when I know I’m going to want to write about it later but I’m days away from actually writing it down. So many details slip by me because my memory is about as long as “Thats cool. I’m totally going to remember tha- Oh look! A chicken!”

But let me try and rewind. I’m probably going to have things out of order but tough titty said the kitty. Work with me.

I suppose it started with picking dweaver up at the airport late Wednesday night. He came bearing gifts, a cane that naturally required testing before bed. (It’s a nice cane and again, thank you dweaver. :-) ) But it was late and we had to get up early, so it was just a quick couple of strikes and off to bed we went.

There are two moments to that first glimpse of camp that stand out in my mind. The first was driving around the corner and seeing, first thing, a naked girl with a rope bra on walking down the lane, just as nonchalantly as you please.

The second was the very first walk into the dungeon.

Huge. With bondage frames and metal cages and tables and spider webs and spanking benches and suspension frames and kneeling benches and bondage chairs and…. everything you could imagine.

Abso-fucking-lutely amazing. My eyes musta been saucers.

The first celebrity that I met was embre of Slave Next Door. Of course I go all fan-girl on her and gush out “OMG! I’ve masturbated to you so many times!”

Cue wishing for the ground to swallow me alive.

It’s true though. I have. I mean, fuckin A- she’s smokin’ hot. What was really cool about it though, was that way back when I was just discovering that there was name for my “illness” and that name was BDSM- her website was one of the first I found. I joined it and then perved on her life for awhile, before deciding to get my own life. So meeting her was awesome, meeting the man behind the evil doings was awesome-er (they’re alway so normal, you know? These men that have these evil internet personas? They’re actually just really nice guys. If Master heard that once over the weekend, he heard it a thousand times. “But you’re so nice!”)

Anyway- she was cool. I instantly loved her. And him. And we’re going to play evil paintball games I think. I’m torn on whether or not I want to be on Master’s team or on the opposing team. Part of me is thinking that if I’m on the opposing team, this could be my one chance to git him, right? On the other hand- he’s got way better aim than I do and I’m not sure I want him gunning for ME.

I met so many people. Putting together faces with Fetlife profiles, comments here on the blog, it was so much fun.

Then it was immediately jumping into the swing of things. With only 4 days to perv, they don’t waste any time. Orientation was soon after we got there, then a presentation, then a quick bite to eat and we were heading for the dungeon.

I know there were countless demonstrations and performances, but.. shoot.. way too much information to retain. Everywhere you turned someone was doing something cool.

Master and another Dom friend of ours had spent some time before camp negotiating a wicked scene with a girl who, in my mind, had a death wish. Srsly. Not even I goad Master into being his most evilest and I am certifiably nuts, you know what I mean? But this chick, God love her, wanted something wicked and these two men were just the ones to deliver it.

He was pumped and primed. The pair of them were… wild-eyed. It were skeery. I missed the take down portion of it because they had to find her and surprise her with a kidnapping of sorts. I found them in the dungeon when they were well into the scene.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen Master play with other girls. Not the second or third time. But it was the first time I’ve ever seen him play with someone who’d agreed to practically a no-holds barred, make-it-hurt-bitch kinda scene.

It was intense to watch. Seriously intense.

She’s a tiny thing, and these two guys, Master and D, are not. They had her pinned down on a table, while she kicked and flailed and grunted… they were focused on one thing and one thing only. Pain. Like they couldn’t give it to her fast enough or hard enough or… man. It was just wild. The sheer power was practically tangible. And it made me hotter than all fuck to watch Master do that. The way he got down in her face and egged her on, his voice… and he cunt punched her.

Dear god, I squished in my panties and nobody even touched me.

~fans myself~

So, as you can imagine, after they’d stopped turning her into a bruised turd and finished her off with a couple hundred screaming O’s, Master was a tad keyed up. (in fact, he’s still flying high off that scene. He LOVED it.)

When we headed to the dungeon, they were playing a game called “Scene in a Bag”. Simple concept; you randomly chose a bag off the table that contained a couple of items and you created a scene from them. It’s supposed to be fun, an ice breaker.

Our bag had two claw-type hair clips, a paper painters mask and a standard wooden ruler. He did a quick hand tie to a post, had me stick out my tongue where he put both hair clips to hold my tongue out and put the painter’s mask over my mouth. He then proceeded to beat the holy hell out of me with that stupid ass ruler.

Honestly! WHY do the silly little innocent things hurt the most? I’m still sporting bruises from that god damn ruler.

So much for showing off my masochism and stoically accepting the pain. I was a dancing, whimpering fool from the very first strike. Bloody Bastard.

Of course, whimpering tends to make one drool in copious amounts and with my tongue out, it flowed forth like a faucet. Where it collected in the painter’s mask.

I mean, remember how much I love spit, right? How utterly disgusting I think it is? How it squicks me out and makes me cringe and it stinks and it itches and it’s just… gross.

So, once he’s finished whapping me with that stupid ruler, he pulls back the painter’s mask and comments on the disgustiing puddle of saliva, inviting people to look at it, which totally makes me wanna die. And then he-

~gag~

He rubbed the whole wet mess all over my face.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I hate him so bad.

*beams*

After that I somehow ended up on a spanking horse, with embre, dweaver and Master caning my ass.

Again, I fail at being the graceful masochist.

Fuck that. Pain hurts. I’ve never claimed to like pain, I only like being forced to take it. And I do have to be forced cuz given the first opportunity to avoid it, I am out of there like a bat out of hell.

So Master locked my collar to the horse to block my escape. He knows me well.

I think we fucked and went to bed after that. It gets kind of fuzzy at that point.

That was just the first day.

There is so much more to tell.

Later. ;-)

~cunt

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