DV? WTF?

Someone please explain to me how a black eye is any more or less “abusive” than anything else we do in this crazy, crazy bdsm world.

I don’t see it.

Someone got hit. Someone else was the hitter.

What does it matter if it was ass or eye? If it was consensual and everyone walked away smiling… why does seeing that black eye leave some who are otherwise cheering about marks feel uneasy?

(Not about me, btw. I do not have a black eye. Just a picture on Fet.)

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Bullety Goodness

• Drag Queen Show- I’d never been to one before. I had no idea what to expect. To be honest, what I DID expect, especially since I knew it was being held at the college, was a bunch of college boys with facial hair and badly applied make-up, teetering around on heels while wearing gawdy dresses.

  I was. so. wrong.

  These women (men? women? I don’t know what the pc term is! Ahh!) were professional. They were entertainers. They looked fucking HOT. They sang (lip synched), they danced, they joked, they worked the crowd. They looked GOOD.

  It was so much fun. The energy in the room was amazing. The acceptance was out of this world. I keep being surprised, over and over again, at this rural area.

  Am went, too, with a group of her friends, and I think it really opened her eyes to the kind of gay community that exists outside of the tiny, narrow-minded world of high school. There were so many gay people there! The phrase “gay and proud” could practically be felt. It was just awesome. Really really awesome. I’m so glad we went.

• I just watched an episode of Clean House where the daughter was totally wearing a Turian slave collar. I could see the hinges and everything. The only thing that bugged me was that she looked way young (didn’t catch the age if it was said on the show, but she was still living with mom; had braces. She looked like a teenager). I wonder if she’s on Fet.

• I’m cooking a roast with wine. I’ve never cooked with wine. I feel so grown up now!

• A min-rant: About blogging.

  I don’t make money blogging. So… I guess I’m a tad baffled where the entitlement syndrome comes from. Fortunately, it’s just a few select readers, not the majority. It’s a curious thing though. I mean, when I’m paying for a service I tend to feel like I have the right to demand a certain amount of satisfaction for that service.

  But when I’m not paying for it, when I’m obviously not a customer? I don’t really feel that.

  So.. none of y’all are paying to read here. Obviously. I advertise only for the companies that I do business with. The places I shop, the places I watch porn. I link to places I read or support. What little kickback I get for keeping those ads on my sidebar doesn’t even cover the cost of the domain. So, honest to Pete, I’m not making money here.

  More importantly, I’m not trying to.

  When I first switched from LJ to my own domain, I kicked around the idea of making money. But, fact is, it’s not me. I’m just not cut out for doing the reviews (tried it, hated it), I don’t like the idea of pushing the sites on anyone, I just want to blog when I feel like it, or not when I don’t.

  Point is, I don’t have a lot of “must please the reader!” coursing through me, you know what I mean? Because I’m not relying on keeping a certain number of readers. So it just puzzles me to pieces when someone makes a comment that insinuates that I’m somehow in the wrong for choosing to spend my online time somewhere other than sitting here making a blog post. As if I somehow OWE them a post.

  Here’s the deal.

  If I ever become a pay site, and you’re spending YOUR hard-earned money to finance my domain, you’ll get to have input on the contents. Whether quality or quantity, your opinion will have weight. I’ll need your opinion, won’t I, if I’m relying on you to make that payment?

  But until that happens (and rest assured, it never will. My ego isn’t big enough to warrant a pay site), you are so completely in the wrong to think that you should even have a say on where I spend my time. So. Fucking. Wrong.

  One person has that right. One. And you ain’t him.

  Also- if you think this is about you, it probably isn’t. I’m not talking about the good natured teasing. They know who they are.

• Speaking of money, I have no idea how we’re going to do Christmas this year. There’ve just been too many other things sucking up the extra lately. I dunno, could be a lean one. And- I haven’t a single lick of guilt over it if it is a lean one. God knows the kids want for nothing and get spoiled all year long. Even if it isn’t a lean one, I may make it one on purpose. Any family who leaves poop balls on my kitchen floor should not expect a lavish Christmas, right? Damn right.

• Speaking of Christmas!! I want to go watch the animated Christmas Carol movie so freaking bad! In the theater, in 3-D. Not on DVD, not in my living room. I wanna gooooooooooOOOOOoooo…. /whine
  

• This last Saturday night, we went out for dinner with some lifestyle friends (I’ve decided to name them Jack and Jill. Jill from “IDK, my bff-jill?” and Jack because if she is Jill then he has to be Jack. It goes together). So we went out for dinner with Jack and Jill, and after dinner we were supposed to kind of end up at their house in their basement having wicked fun- but we never got past cheesecake and drinks in the living room. We just talked, about kids, about grandkids, about relationships, about kink, about fetlife, about everything.

  And really, I think I had more fun than if we’d have made it to the basement. It was exactly what I needed.

  Even though when we got there, Master and I were snipping at each other a little bit..lol. Gah! He drives me bonkers sometimes! And I’m terrible at shutting up if I have something to say (NO! Really!?). But whatever. We worked it out. We always do. :-)

• Babygirl has Master so wrapped it’s hilarious. She has figured out, in 4 short months, what it took me years to figure out.

  The way to snag Master’s heart? Worship.

  When he picks her up or when he talks to her, she is absolutely mesmorized. She quiets down immediately, folds her little hands together and just gazes up at him. She stares, she’s not smiling or laughing, not playing cute- she just studies. He has her complete and undivided attention.

  AND! She favors him. Man, she is goooooood. She can be the fussiest little fuss-budget for Jes or myself, not happy with anything we’re doing, but he comes in, picks her up and.. like magic.. she’s calm. Watching him, listening to him.

  So you know what I overheard him telling her the other day? Heh. In that high-pitched sing-singy voice that adults reserve just for ickle babies, he was crooning, “And grandpa’s going to buy you whatever you want, isn’t he? Why yes he is! Because you are SO CUTE! and I’m not going to be able to tell you no, am I? I don’t think so! Nuh-uh! I’m not! Not for my little babygirl!”

  Hee. I don’t know what happened to the hard-ass that was around when Jes was pregnant, but I like this one much better. ;-)

• That is all. My chores, they call me.

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Listen to yourself.

So. Yesterday. I was cleaning the kitchen floor, right? And I see this little brown ball of goo on the floor, next to where the garbage bag was sitting, waiting to be taken out to the can.

And I says to myself, self, that little brown ball of goo looks like poop. I bet it IS poop. and then I answer myself with Self! P-shaw! Surely that is NOT poop. Because nobody in this civilized household would drop a ball of gooey poop on the kitchen floor! My goodness. You don’t live with animals here!

So I poked it with the broom, watched the broom bristles sink in before it slid a few inches.

It left a short brown trail.

Again I thought to myself. Poop. That has to be poop.

And again I dismissed such a thought. Could not accept that there was a ball of poop on my kitchen floor.

It was chocolate, perhaps. Halloween was pretty recent so it certainly COULD be chocolate. A half-melted Goober maybe.

Or cereal even! The kids eat Reese’s puffs, which are little brown balls of fat and calories. Soaked up with milk, dropped on the floor. Sounded somewhat reasonable.

It could even be cat food. They eat Whiska’s, which are little brown balls of.. of… I don’t really know.

So.

You know.

I have limitless amounts of faith.

I picked it up. With my bare fingers. It could not be poop! I would prove it by using my bare hands! I believed!

It squished.

I smelled it.

It was poop.

*sigh*

I figure a tiny turd rolled out of one of Babygirl’s diapers. Because I cannot otherwise fathom how a ball of poopy goo ended up in my freaking KITCHEN.

Now there was poop on my broom bristles (try cleaning THAT sometime), and poop on the floor, poop on my hands.

All because I ignored myself.

Never, ever ignore yourself. You could end up in deep shit.

*snicker*

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Generic Title

I’ve been a bad blogger.

The biggest obstacle for me when it comes to blogging is time. I rarely have any uninterrupted time and trying to blog through constant interruptions frustrates me to pieces. So I just don’t even try.

It’s that reason that makes Fet appeal to me as much as it does. It’s not that Fetlife is so omg! awesome stuff!, because, really, it tends to be repetitive and drama-ridden most of the time. But that I can go there for 5 minutes, post a sentence or two, and then zip off back to kids and chores and Master fulfills my need for interaction, as well as my interest in talking about all things kink-related.

Trying to blog in 5 minute spurts would turn this into something too much like Twitter.

I keep telling myself things like, well, as soon as such-n-such happens, things will calm down and be routine and I’ll find my time again. But even when such-n-such happens, something new replaces the such-n-such.

Clear as mud, no?

I don’t even know when I lost time. When we moved here? When Jes got pregnant? When Master and I went through that god-awful period of thinking we were going to split? When Master started volunteering me as the work-crew lunch bucket? When the baby came? When kids started bombarding me with appointment after appointment?

All of the above?

I can’t find my routine. Can’t figure out where the day goes, or why, at the end of it, I’m exhausted yet don’t feel like I’ve accomplished much more than the minimum.

Anyway. It is what it is, right?

Jes had her wisdom teeth pulled Thursday. All four of them at the oral surgeon. Couldn’t possibly be one of those easy dental extractions because we don’t operate under that kind of luck. She’s currently doped up and hurting so I’ve picked up a lot of Babygirl’s care. I know I don’t have to, I could be a hardass and let Jes suffer through it- but what is the point in acknowledging that, at 17, she needs help and then not being there when she needs it.

She’s still dealing with issues leftover from childbirth. In fact, next week we have to take her to a specialist (some 9 hours away from us, ffs). I’ll know more after this appointment, but surgery looks to be a likely outcome.

What a clusterfuck. The whole thing just makes me livid. Some pompus doctor rushing through a simple and routine procedure probably because he was late for Saturday morning golf, and my kid faces reconstructive surgery. Just… angry.

B-man has had some health issues lately, too. We’ve settled on trying an albuterol inhaler for the symptoms. Am gets her braces off next month. She’s understandably stoked. She and B-man both have appointments with a dermatologist in the next couple of months. I expect B-man to be put on Accutane, but I’m not sure Am will be. Her acne isn’t as severe as B-man’s. I dunno- acne for teenagers is awful. And kids are so mean about things like that, too.

Master’s had some stress at work. He was up for his review, there were rumors of eliminating positions, he was sweating it. But his review was great (cuz he’s great. *beams*), and the positions that were eliminated weren’t his. Whew.

And that’s that. I’m interrupted and can’t finish. *sigh*

Remind me to tell you about the drag queen show we went to when I come back. :)

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But he doesn’t sparkle.

He rolled on top of me, pinning me under him, his cock already seeking entrance. Even though I was wet and hot and ready, I couldn’t hide the wince or the whimper as he pressed against my tender groin.

I think it was the wince that sealed my fate. Or the whimper. Both, undoubtedly. His eyes brightened, his smile widened. Pure glee settled on his face.

“Still sore from before?” He asked, sympathy tinging his voice. I nodded, but I was not the least bit fooled by the sympathy.

Oh, not that I doubted its sincerity. I think he is sympathetic to my discomfort.

But I also know seeing me in pain turns him on like nothing else. Sympathetic or not, his cock stiffened even more. And I braced myself for the painful plunge I knew was coming.

But it didn’t come. Not like it usually does. Not that homerun slam where he has to wrap his arms around my shoulders and his fists in my hair to keep me from scrambling backwards against the piercing pain of his cock forging its way inside.

Instead he loomed up over me, his face over mine, his eyes locked on mine. It wasn’t his cock that pierced me this time. It was his eyes. Boring, penetrating, probing. Caught off guard, I stared back at him, unable to look away.

“Good.” He said softly, practically breathing the word out as he adjusted his hips.

Slowly yet insistently, he moved his hips against mine. Pain, steady pressing pain as he pushed inside me. I winced again, discomfort rippling through my body, and he leaned closer, pressing harder, his eyes remaining locked on mine.

It was the eyes. Those eyes.

It was unnerving. I shifted underneath him, actually trying to draw him in faster, wanting to get it over with, wanting, mostly, for him to close his eyes or look away, anything to break the contact, to stop the feeling of him invading my mind with those fucking eyes.

“Don’t move.” He commanded quietly, punctuating the order with a short, sharp jab of his cock. I grunted in pain, and stared up at him. He smiled- Cheshire Cat style.

He held onto me with his eyes. Forced me to watch, to acknowledge the obvious pleasure he gets out of seeing pain on my face. How his eyes sparkle when I moan, how the corners of his mouth tug with each wince. Every breathless groan of hurt that I made was answered with an equally breathless grunt of glee from him.

His enjoyment is not just physical. The evidence of physical pleasure lay snuggled deep in my cunt, probing still. That one is easy to spot.

The mental pleasure though… a little harder to spot when you tend to shut out the world, closing your eyes amidst your own pain, sinking into yourself where you can process and deal. I had missed seeing his face, seeing his enjoyment at my expense. Missed it as I dealt with myself.

Now it loomed above me, stark, clear, pinning me with it. Like a bug to a board.

His fingers sought and found my breasts, my nipples, pinching and rolling as he continued to grind against me, bruising the already tender flesh. As the pain increased, my mental defenses decreased. Tears sprang into my eyes and I closed them, finally, shutting him out, shutting myself in. For a time, I could still feel his eyes on me, that crawling sensation you have when you know you are being watched.

And then he sat up, sat back on his knees, gripping my breasts in his fists like fleshy handles, and I felt it break. The connection, the probing, the mental raping. I had a moment to think vampire. he’s an emotional vampire., and then he was slamming into me, his hands practically tearing my breasts from my chest, and I let go of all thought, falling toward that place where pain and pleasure meet and mix, like lovers dancing in the night.

Now, it’s been a couple of days. I’m no longer sore. But- I close my eyes and I can still see his, looming over me, sucking from my soul.

Fucking vampire.

~cunt

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Copycatters!

THIS was mine.

$95.00.

$95.00!!!!

I charged ten.

You can make it for about three.

Hee.

I make a horrible affiliate, don’t I? *snicker*

Maybe this will make up for it-

I want this. Since my butthole will never smell like a rose, can it at least look like one? Why yes! Yes it can! *beams*

And I want this for the Hitachi that I can’t use because it jitters all the fun out of my orgasms. Maybe this is just what I need! Besides, it looks hella fun, don’t it??

I want this. No I don’t. Yes I do. No I don’t.

I do. God dammit.

I NEED this. NEED it. (have you seen his cock?? NEED, I say.)

I’ll never get this, much as I want it. Look at that price. *whistles*

Okay. That is enough wanting for one day.

But that pussy spreader was totally mine. Fuckers.

;-)

~cunt

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AND!

wtf is wrong with Fet?

*shakes fist*

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Kinky Convenience

Master’s trip ended up being longer than expected. Whenever he gets somewhere, they want to keep him. While I understand the sentiment, he’s mine, dammit. Let him GO!

So they did. He’ll be home today.

Anyway, rather than sit around and mope about him being gone, I threw myself into some fall cleaning projects. I like to think I’m a fairly decent housekeeper, but man, start pulling furniture out and watch the dust fly. Yech.

I have about 10 more bags of stuff to take to Goodwill. Sad to say that a couple of those bags are things that I bought at Goodwill. Oh well. At least they won’t have to price it. It still has the tags on it.

I did our bedroom from floor to ceiling. Closets, drawers, corners, under the bed- everything. I made two Kinky Convenience Bags that I HOPE will encourage more frequent playing.

When we moved here, we lost the dungeon. We also lost the locked closet that held all of our toys in a most convenient and organized manner. They were all packed away into a big rubbermaid bin and put in the closet. It was hard to get to and impossible to find anything.

So, I took two satchels and put in just a couple of our favorite things. Each bag has a few bondage items, a few hitty things, a couple sharp things, one or two clampy things… easy to grab, easy to use. The big bin of toys is still there if he wants something else, but between the two Kinky Convenience Bags, we can grab-n-go!

Now if I could just bag up some time and energy and toss THAT on the shelf to grab, we’d be golden.

I also, finally, unpacked the chain and restraints for the bed. He’s been after me to do that since we moved here. I just.. didn’t. I mean, it wasn’t like he gave me orders that I ignored. It was just he’d say something like ‘you should find the bed chain’ and I’d say, ‘yeah, I really should’. And off we’d go about our business, and a month or two later he’d say, ‘you should find that bed chain’… etc.

But I found it! Found four locks that work with the same key, too. One for the chain to the bed, one for the chain to my neck, and two for each wrist cuff. He’ll be pleased. Before, I’m thinking we had four locks and four keys. THAT made having to pee in the middle of the night a fun challenge.

It’s funny, really, whenever I used to talk about being chained up and locked into bed, how often people would comment on how much work that made for the master- how unreasonable it was or whatever. But, sheesh, if the master wants it and isn’t bothered by it, then it’s not really work, is it? Or maybe it’s just work that is worth it. I dunno. It’s not my place to question such things. He does what he wants to do. *shrug*

Now to have to get used to sleeping in bondage again. That’s another one of those love-hate things. This life is just full of them, isn’t it? :-)

Anyhow. He’s on his way home and I need to do the dishes and take a shower and shave my legs.

I wonder what would happen if I shaved my cootch. Really. Just how mad could he possibly be??

Oy. Temptation. I haz it.

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