Q&A

What is the hawtess play you have done to date that gets ur juices flowing ?

I wish I knew why these kinds of questions are so difficult for me. Anything that asks for a favorite makes my brain jerk to a halt. Favorite movie, favorite book, favorite color, favorite whatever- and I start categorizing everything. There are just too many categories to pick ONE favorite.

So I’ve avoided answering this question for a long time..lol Sorry!

There are some moments that stand out in my mind as being more intense. I don’t necessarily mean more painfully intense because the amount of pain seems to depend on too many other things.

I’m thinking more of instances where Master seemed to have tapped into something inside himself and I disappeared as a person. He detaches from me.

Does that make sense?

It’s like he absorbs my reaction, breathes them in and they just fuel him on and on and on, but he doesn’t react to my reactions. I can cry, beg, scream, snot, fight, give up, give in, surrender– and at every step, he’s there… but he’s not THERE. He’s soaking it up, taking my energy as his own, but there isn’t a single change in his demeanor or his expression or how he’s doing what he’s doing.

He’s just doing… and I’m just there as a prop. A means to an end.

When he does that, then I can get to a place inside that is amazingly free. It’s a helluva trip to get there, painful and scary and lonely and difficult. But it’s a beautiful place.

That hasn’t happened in a long time and I miss it more than I can even explain. It makes me sad that he’s either lost that desire or lost the ability to do it himself. Everything about me depends so hard on him that if he’s lost it, so have I.

I’m hopeful that it’s a temporary loss, for both of us.

I noticed that except on the kinky craft page, there aren’t any pictures of the syringe suckers in use… Just had some made for me thanks to your kinky craft page, and so though I’d return the favor and remind you (and more importantly someone else) of their existence…

It’s not a question but I thought I’d assist in reminding “someone else” of their existence, too!

Thanks.

Why did you pick now to start dieting? What changed to make you want it? Did the negative comments here finally get to you?

I’m glad this question came in because I don’t think I responded very well to the motivation question in the last post.

So what made it real this time?

Well, first let me say what DIDN’T make it happen.

It had little to do with my appearance. I’ve really not been incredibly bothered with how I looked. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about as far as appearances go is whether or not Master still found me attractive. And he did. So, the motivation did not come from that.

It also had nothing to do with the fat comments here on the blog. Someone coming here and saying “Oh hey! You’re fat!” is like someone saying “Oh hey! You have brown hair!”. Like, d’uh, yanno?

I have an entire wall of mirrors in my bedroom. I know exactly what I look like, exactly how fat I am- AND I know I have brown hair. So, not a big eye-opener, nor a big insult.

There was a series of events, I guess, that pushed me toward that place of motivation.

The first was going down to see my mom this past Thanksgiving.

My mom needs to lose about 80 pounds. She hasn’t always been fat though. She was thin throughout her childhood and teenage years, thin throughout her childbearing years. I have a picture of her, taken the summer after I was born- and I was her 6th, and final, child- she was 30 years old then, wearing a mini skirt and go-go boots, and she was skinny.

The women in my family hit 30-35 years old and the weight starts to pack on. I’m following tradition.

So my mom started gaining weight, didn’t lose it, told herself the same excuses I’d been telling myself for years (“my husband is still attracted to me so who cares”, “I”m married, I have no one to impress”, “I’m old and I just want to relax”, etc., etc.) and now, some 30+ years later, she’s suffering.

What hit me while I was down there was having to watch her deal with all her health problems. And every. single. health issue she’s having right now is because she’s overweight. And they are mostly irreversible problems. Even if she loses weight now, the damage is done.

She’ll be lucky to have another 5 years left. Her heart is damaged, her arteries are clogged. Her knees are shot, her back is shot, she has a hernia they can’t fix because her heart isn’t strong enough. Now, all of these physical problems prevent exercise so losing weight is even harder.

I watched her get winded from going up the stairs. I watched her get dizzy from sweeping the floor. I watched her have to take frequent breaks from standing at the sink. I watched her take upteem pills a day.

I know she’s going to die.

She’s 68 years old.

The last couple of times I’ve been to the doctor, my blood pressure was high. Beginning hypertension. My last cholesterol check was too high.

I was following in her footsteps and I started thinking about how, when the kids are grown and moved out, and Master and I are finally able to indulge in some of these things we’ve had on hold for so long, I’m going to be too fat, too sick, and too far on my way to dying to even be able to do them.

I thought about only having so many more years left and how I wanted to live those years. Did I want to be making frequent trips to the hospital like my mom is doing, standing with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel? Worried every time my heart skips a beat that this is the last beat? Saying goodbye everyday because it might just be goodbye today?

I started thinking about not being around to watch Babygirl grow up.

I started getting scared.

Regardless of needing to lose 20lbs or 50lbs or 100lbs, if I’m unhealthy, then I’m unhealthy. I may not have been classified as obese or having to waddle sideways through the doorway. I was not even “big enough” that the doctors were advising that I watch my weight. My BMI isn’t in the obese range.

No matter. I was feeling the effects of my weight already. It certainly wasn’t going to get any better.

Having that personal motivation wasn’t all I needed though. I needed a buddy. Because, scared of dying or not, new situations intimidate me enough that I’ll avoid them. Forunately, my BFF-Jill was also looking to tone up and work out, and she wanted a buddy, too.

There was just enough of a buddy-push in the beginning to get us both past the “omg! new place! hold my hand!” stage. New classes aren’t so scary when you aren’t the only one in there having no clue what to do. Now, we each tend to go our seperate ways because our schedules are so vastly different. We try and go together when we can but we don’t use the other person not going as an excuse to skip it. We helped each other over the hump and that’s pretty cool. I’m so incredibly grateful, not only to her, but to our M’s who let it happen.

So thats my motivational story. I don’t want to die. Yet.

Have you ever gone to counseling? Why or why not? I have been reading your archives, and you went through quite a bit between your childhood, your mother, and your ex-husband. (From what I have read, I think that the answer is no, you haven’t been to counseling, so based on that) Have you considered it? Please elaborate.

I did a lot of counseling in my teenage years. Lots and lots. I spent about 3 years in and out of the hospital (psych ward). I went to group therapy, individual therapy, I had shock treatments, I had sodium pentothal (truth serum) interviews.

I’ve been to psychiatrists, therapists, counselors, social workers- you name it, I was there.

I weaved baskets in the stereotypical craft class while locked away. No lie.

I’ve been in the “rubber room”. (It’s not rubber, btw. Just very very squishy.)

I don’t know that ANY of it did any good.

I simply found something to live for. I’m still just as fucked up as ever.

When he’s sick, do you do anything special to serve him? By ‘special’ I mean above what any domestic might do for his/her partner (outside of a bdsm dynamic, that is – like maybe make soup, or pick up a bigger share of chores), and also beyond what you do anyway within the structure of your dynamic. If that makes sense!

I don’t think so. LOL

I’m rather unsympathetic to people’s illnesses. Maybe that comes from working for so many years in nursing homes. Everyone there is sick, everyone hurts, and we still have to get them up and bathe them, feed them, etc. You kind of lose sympathy after awhile.

Well, maybe not LOSE it so much as you stop letting it affect you. You can’t leave them in bed all day where they’d much rather be so even as they are crying about being in pain or being tired and sick, you’re still nodding and getting them dressed and up anyway. You get hardened, I think.

I’m the same way with people in my life. My kids, Master.

It’s not that I don’t believe they are sick or that I don’t feel bad that they are sick, it just irritates me to hear them whining about it. Take your medicine, go to bed and shush. Whining is not a cure. Whining will not make you feel better.

I can whine. But they can’t…lol (kidding!)

I’m getting better though. Really I am. Master’s melting that hardened heart of mine. Mostly by babying me a bit when I’m sick. It kinda feels nice. So I’m trying to do that more with those around me.

I will make soup if he wants some. I like that kind of babying. That’s a service I can get behind and it makes me feel useful and helpful.

There is no “share of the chores” because we don’t share chores at all anyway. He doesn’t do chores, I do.

Mostly I would say nothing changes, though.

~~*~~

I’m out of March questions. If I missed yours, smack me upside the head. (I’ll like it. ) Thank you all so much for another terrific March Q&A month!

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Q&A

What are your thoughts on pegging? Do you think you’ll ever try it with your Master?

The reason I’m asking is because I’m somewhat conflicted on the matter. You see I try to be open-minded about sex and kink. I have no problems with male-on-female anal sex or even male-on-male anal sex, but the thought of a woman taking a man up the ass is repulsive to me. I honestly don’t have a reason beyond “it’s just not something a woman should do to a man”. Call the backwards, irrational, intolerant or whatever you want, but it’s honestly how I feel. I remember in previous blog entries, you’ve mentioned that you’re uncomfortable with the idea of women in leadership positions and traditional male roles, so I’m wondering if your opinion towards pegging is similar to mine.

Well, it’s not something I would ever do with Master for one big reason: He isn’t the teeniest bit interested in it..lol

But, I also wouldn’t want to. I have no interest in DOING it either. It would repulse me to have to do it (especially to Master), but it doesn’t repulse me to know other people do it.

I don’t necessarily see it as a male/female “role” so much as I see it as a sexual kink, which doesn’t really have a gender assignment.

I mean, things do in my personal relationship. Our sexual roles are very much defined- by him.

That’s my pc answer.

My non-pc answer is this: If someone’s Master wanted a little anal play now and then, that’s cool in my book. A little prostate massage is hot. A finger, maybe a small plug, a bit of intimate and erotic pushing- I get it.

But you let your woman strap on a 9 inch cock and ream your ass while you scream like a girl and my opinion on your dominant status starts to wobble.

It’s completely wrong to say so and lots of people tend to jump on me for assigning dominance or submission to certain “acts” but there it is. Thats how I feel. ~nods~

Does your Master ever control your orgasms? And what is the most times you have cum in one day?
(I was told to tell you that my max is 30 (so far) – it was a task to tell you this – I truly am not a competitive cunt)

Yes and no. I’m a pretty easy orgasm-er (it is too a word) so “controlling” them is perhaps too strong of word. I simply have them. A lot.

He certainly knows how to move- or how not to move- to delay them or to bring on another one quicker than I would like. But even that has its limits. Sometimes I’m too close to stop, or I’m just not going to come no matter what he does. Fortunately that’s not the norm because that would suck donkey balls.

I multiple but not in the double digits (you lucky girl!). I’m good for 4, maybe 5, during a fuck. And we’ve never fucked 6 times in one day (that I can remember!) so I’m nowhere near 30. (Again. Lucky, lucky girl!)

Orgasms from vibrators are a completely different thing for me. I don’t usually have multiples that way so there isn’t a chance I’d get close to 30 that way either. My clit would fall off.

How do you find the motivation and the *time* to do all of your exercise? You said you had been going almost daily for something like 6-7 weeks now and that’s incredible. I fail to find that kind of strength most days, and I don’t even have kids and kids’ kids to manage like you do (just Master, job, and University)! Any advice *cough*kick in ass*cough* for someone who is struggling with weight-loss success? How do you find YOUR motivation?

I found the time by letting other things fall to the wayside. Let’s face it, there are only so many hours in a day. I’m fortunate in that, because Master makes my schedule and I don’t have work or school to dictate where I spend my time, he made the gym a priority.

The first thing that is always dropped whenever I’m pressed for time is the internet. Thats why I hardly ever reply to comments here or make timely replies to email (which bugs me to no end. It srsly does. Especially the comments,but thats another blog entry.). My internet time was already limited and I had to choose where to spend it. I used to sneak internet time (not sneak like sneak it behind his back or anything, but sneak it in between chores) in the early morning hours. Now, those hours are when I’m at the gym. All total, with driving time and workout time, I’m gone for 4 hours 3 or 4 days a week. That’s a huge chunk of time pulled away from other stuff.

So, I’m hardly on the internet anymore. I haven’t been to Fet in days. I’m not reading it, I’m not reading anything anywhere. I just don’t have the time.

Even with mostly cutting out the internet, I’m also falling behind on some of the household stuff. Though that has more to do with Babygirl than the gym. It’s a struggle to keep up with the laundry and the dishes and the floors- some of the other stuff tends to build up. As long as he has clean underoos and dinner, he’s willing to be (somewhat) lenient on the chores. He’s rearranged the priority list for the time being. The baby and the gym are way up high on the list, and as long as I’m not taking advantage of his goodwill and I’m still *trying* to get the housework done like he wants it done, he’s turning a blind eye to some of it.

Yesterday I took the day off from the gym AND from the baby and threw myself into catching up on some stuff that’d been sitting for awhile. I don’t like that I can’t do it all and sometimes I catch him looking around and I know that look on his face. I hate seeing that look. I know he’s evaluating and I’m coming up short. That’s a sucky feeling. So I took the one day that is my “easy workout day” at the gym and then I probably worked harder here than I would’ve at the gym anyway. I made umpteen million trips carrying books from a hope chest in the bedroom to the bookshelf downstairs. Then I carried the hope chest down there too. There’s a room down there that tends to become the catch-all for everything else I don’t know what to do with so I got that all cleared out and loaded up a car load of stuff to donate. That, and the regular housework took me all day. From about 6am to 6pm. Then I had to cook dinner (it totally would have been an ‘order pizza’ night in my pre-Master days. Ugh, I was so tired!)

The motivation to keep going when my legs feel like they’re going to fall off and my eyelids are drooping (or an argument on Fet is tempting me!) comes from being extremely appreciative of my situation here, of the gift that Master’s given me, and my being unwilling to risk losing it. I’m very lucky to be an at-home cunt and I know it. I could be having to do all this AND work 40 hours. I’m sure he has lots of times where he’s tired as hell and he still goes to work, every day. He does that for me, so I do this for him.

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Complete Idiot

I got a package in the mail yesterday. It was just the sweetest thing.

Check it out-

How perfect is that for me right now?? I’m stoked. I’m going to read them cover to cover.

As for this part here?

You know what they say– “If the shoe fits….”

Thanks Doc. It’s much appreciated. I’d tell you what The Boss said I should do to show my appreciation but it makes me blush.

On that topic, good news! I don’t know if it was the switch to aerobics, staying off the scale for a few days, divine intervention, or if Karma reads my blog, but THE SCALE MOVED!

I’m a’feered to say by how much in case it was a fluke **FIVE FREAKING POUNDS** or the scale was broken so we’ll just not mention the number **FIVE FREAKING POUNDS** and leave it at saying it was **FIVE FREAKING POUNDS** lighter than the last time I stepped on it.

*beams*

AND! Yesterday, Master sent me off to buy new workout clothes because mine kept sliding down during the aerobics class. All that hopping and dancing around and I’d be holding up my pants with one hand and reaching into them with the other to pull up my underwear cuz they’d be somewhere just below the cheek area. AND! Not only did I get new stuff, it’s not even XL. Nope. Just L. The bottoms anyway. I still went XL on the shirts cuz I hate tight-fitting shirts.

Totally stoked. Like, flying high kinda stoked. Do you know how long I’ve only talked about this and not DONE it? I’m chuffed.

Anyway. This won’t turn into a diet blog, I promise.

Maybe.

Also, if any of you are on my Babygirl flickr, I finally updated with new pictures and I added a little clip of her playing with the cats. It’s too cute. And if anyone wants on the flickr, just shoot me an email with your flickr name and let me know who you are.

Good days. Golly.

I got laid too. I mean, damn. Someone slap a gold star on the calendar.

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Rambling Man, er.. Girl. Slave. Cunt!

I have nothing in particular to talk about (though I feel a rant coming on!) but I have lots of little things to yak endlessly about.

First, I want to thank all of you so much for the comments on the diet entry. All that information is awesome. And most all of you supported what the others said so I don’t even have much conflicting information to confuse myself with. I’m readjusting my workout schedule, dropping body pump down to 3 times a week, pilates 2 times and adding in a 3 time a week cardio/aerobics class. Then I’m cutting way back on the treadmill junk. I feel a lot less overworked already.

The food/nutrition stuff is a tad daunting for someone who has never really paid any attention to food labels. As soon as I find something that is low cal/low fat/low sugar, the sodium is astronomical. And if the sodium is low, the sugars are high or something. It’s no wonder people pay the money for something like Jenny Craig, and no wonder they gain it all back when they stop that delivery. I know I’ll get it all down eventually but in the meantime I only feel safe eating a celery stick!

What’s the nutritional verdict on Special K’s Protein Plus cereal? Cuz I really like it.

Frustrated as I am with it, I’m not giving up.

~~*~~

So I haven’t talked about Babygirl in awhile. She’s 8 1/2 months old already. Can you believe it? It seems like I was still talking about Jes’s pregnany belly just last month! Babygirl is doing great. She’s crawling like a pro, and is pulling herself up to stand and walking around furniture. She’s into everything. I had the cat dishes blocked off with a chair that I laid down, but she’s figure out how to go around or climb through the legs so I need to figure out something else. I need to put childlocks on the cupboards that I don’t want her in because that’s just hella fun, yanking everything out of there.

Her favorite thing to do is to take this cat toy that we have and wave it around for the cats to play with. She just thinks it’s HILARIOUS to watch them try and get it while she yanks it away. It keeps them all busy so win-win for grandma! The cats are pretty gentle with her. She’s gotten a couple of scratches, but she crawls all over them and they don’t even care. Dracula really seems taken with her and stays somewhat close to her most of the time. The other two only come around when she’s waving that toy.

She does a lot of babbling and screeching, clapping her hands and hollering to make sure she stays the center of attention at all times. She really dislikes being ignored and between her and the gym and the rest of my chores, internet time can be pretty scarce.

Most days I wouldn’t change it for the world. Other days, she exhausts me beyond all reason. She is never still. Ever.

You’d think, seeings as how she’s not my baby, I wouldn’t be so tired, right? Sadly, not so much. Jes is… she’s struggling. A lot. The reality of it hit her pretty hard and she crumbled. I kinda figured it was coming, she’s very much got her head in the clouds (or stuck in the sand, whatever) and doesn’t like to think about the hard stuff. Unfortunately, Babygirl is nothing but hard stuff really and she’s flaking out on us.

It’s difficult because I don’t really know how best to handle the situation. She at least had the balls to come to me and say, look, I can’t handle this and I don’t want to take it out on her, so what should I do? Other people who can’t admit that end up with hurt babies.

It hurts me a lot to see her fail in this. I’m hopeful it’s a temporary stall. So I am stepping in and taking on a lot of Babygirl’s care to relieve some of the pressure so she has a minute to get herself together. I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do, but it’s the only thing I know to do. I’m not taking any moves toward guardianship as of yet, though talk did turn that way. I don’t want it to get that drastic, neither does Master- though we’d do it in a heartbeat. Even though the parenting finish line is a short 3 years away, we’d sign on for 18 more if we had to. There is not a chance that either he or I would let Babygirl go to foster care, if it came to that. He’s as in love with her as I am.

But that’s worst case scenario anyway. I’m not losing faith in Jes, I know she has it in her to do this and do it right. She just needs a boost right now. Anyway, I’ve given her a month as a time limit to lessen the worry of the baby and to get her education/employment straightened out and if there isn’t a significant step in the right direction, we’ll see where her thoughts are about custody, etc.

So I’m definitely more in role of mom than grandma and it’s a very confusing and stressful place to be.

It all trickles down to everything else, too. It’s certainly affecting the time and energy I have for service. The housework isn’t really up to par and I’m only getting done what is important to him. Master’s understanding though, he’s seen this child in action.

Anyway, she’s been clawing at the laptop keyboard and I’m backspacing more than I’m typing so even though I wasn’t finished here, I’m finished here..lol. Y’all have a good one.

ps. I have another 2 or 3 March questions and that’s all of them, unless I missed one somewhere!

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Pop Quiz

M-type to s-type: “I’m horny. Let’s fuck.”

Which is the appropriate s-type response:

A) Yes, Boss.

B) Race you to the bedroom!

C) Dude! No way! I just painted my nails!

Bonus points if you can guess which answer I gave.

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Not Q&A

I’m a Frustrated Fatty.

So, I’ve been going to the gym regularly now for 6 weeks or so. I go 4 to 6 days a week and I work out for 2 to 2 1/2 hours, sometimes 3, but usually closer to 2. I’m doing body pump class 3 to 4 times a week, pilates 1 to 2 times a week, and walking on the treadmill for 1 to 3 miles, mostly uphill, averaging around 5 on the incline, sometimes more (though I can’t seem to get past 10 without dying) sometimes less, depending on my energy level, and 3 to 3.5 speed. At 4 I’m jogging, cuz, apparently I have short legs. I mostly walk, though sometimes I’ll jog for a bit.

I dropped yoga, for now, even though I really liked it because I feel like I need to get slimmer and stronger to do yoga. Also I wanted to do these more aggressive workouts with the time I have at the gym.

I’m drinking lots and lots of water. I’m (trying to be) eating less and eating smarter.

In the first 2 weeks I dropped almost 10 pounds.

Since then?

Nothing.

Not a single. fucking. pound.

I’m irritated as all get out.

I know the exercise is paying off. I know I’m toning and firming. My clothes fit better, the people around me comment on it.

I certainly feel better, have more energy, my stamina and endurance are way up, I’m stronger, my skin looks better, I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

But all of those things were secondary benefits for me. I WANT to lose weight. I don’t CARE if I’m stronger. I don’t want to be stronger, I want to be SKINNIER.

So, obviously I need to adjust my diet more than I have. That’s proving extremely difficult when the other people in the house aren’t dieting and my grocery budget is limited. Eating healthy is expensive. I’m having trouble figuring out how to make this happen.

Advice? Hints and tips? Any dieting myths out there that I’m falling victim to and sabotaging myself? Exercise recommendations?

Help a fatty out, would ya?

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Q&A

From reading your blog, I noticed that you and your Master have a pretty no-holds-barred relationship. You don’t seem to have any limits in the “conventional BDSM” sense! No safewords, nothing. (I’m pretty sure I’d die if I were in that situation. lol I admire you!) So – here’s my question.

If you could give your Master hard and/or soft limits, what would they be? I’m sure you and Master have certain things you don’t mess with that are considered limits (My Keeper and I, for instance, by mutual agreement and squickishness, don’t go golden showers or scat play.) but that doesn’t count! I mean like … If my Keeper said he wanted to do electrical play, I’d tell him, very proudly and firmly, to go to hell and that it’s a hard limit and he is NOT allowed. So yeah. What would yours be?

Soft limits- Gimme back the chocolate. Don’t even THINK about denying me American Idol. Let me quit the gym if I want to. Loosen up the purse strings. Lets go bar hopping, get drunk and dance our asses off. YOU clean up the dog poop (if we ever get another dog, that is). Snow shoveling. Urine (Unless Im in the mood.)

And- one cigarette. Just one.

Hard limits- Hammers and nails. Misery sticks. Anal sex. Scat, kids and animals. (We don’t do scat kids or animals but lets cover the bases here, shall we?? ) Public displays of nudity. Taking off his dirty, sweaty socks after work. Licking balls BEFORE a shower. Spit (blech!). Having to kneel on the bathroom floor when he’s going #2. (Srsly! What the hell was that all about, you sick fucker. Sir.)

I’m sure I’ll think of more as the day goes on. This is kinda fun.

And, just for fun – If you were allowed a safeword, would you just use “red” like all the normal folk, or would you have a superspecialawesomesecret safeword?

I have a particular affection for “Stop it, Motherfucker” as a potential safeword. It’s certainly easy to think of in the moment, you know what I mean?

Otherwise, I think I might go with “assualt and battery” or “Bubba’s prison bitch” or “domestic abuse charge”. Something that really has an impact, you know? None of this pansy-ass traffic light kindergarten bullshit. *snicker*

I gots a question too! Actually, lots, but I’ll just post a few and let ya choose. 1. Does using pain to punish a masochist work?

From everything I’m told, it can. In my personal experience, it does not.

Some people say the intent matters, or the lack of warm up and aftercare matters- I say pain is pain and I’ll find a way to get off on it no matter what.

So, depends on the masochist I guess.

(Though that tiny little cynical and jaded part of me says that masochists who claim pain as punishment works are lying through their perverted little teeth and have figured out a way to get some pain, the fucking junkies. But that’s not nice to say, so shhhh.)

2. What does it feel like to have your breasts nailed to a board?

Well. It hurts, of course.

He’s actually nice about it. He won’t go right through the nipple (which is where it would hurt the most, I’d think) because he isn’t willing to risk any sort of nipple damage. And he doesn’t (hasn’t yet?) used those ridiculously large spikes or gone down through any really meaty breast tissue.

Nonetheless, it hurts. It’s still a regular old hardware store nail going through flesh and ending up in a board.

More than the pain though is the mindfuck of it. You’re NAILED to something you know? That’s insane! Who does that??

That’s something that really fucked with my head. Still fucks with my head. Who does that? He does. And without even a hesitation, no worry, no angst. He’s just like, oh hold still and let me pound this nail through your tit. Like he’s making a fucking sandwich or something!

He’s so weird!

3. Where’d all the kitty love pics go??

I guess I got bored with them. Or distracted with baby love. Or I figured all of you were bored with them.

All of the above.

Why? Does that mean you WANT more kitty love??

4. What’s the best way to make a handle for a home made lexan rod? (thought I’d ask cause you’re the queen of crafts and all lol)

Oh jebus. Why would you WANT to? lol. I loathe the lexan cane.

Okay, so, I’m assuming you already have the cane part, yes? I think what I would do is try two things:

One, zip on over to your local wal-mart (or better yet, a sporting goods store) and browse their bicycle hand grips. I bet you could find one that’s pretty cool looking and it’ll already have the handy-dandy hole in the center. Fill said hole with some sort of glue and shove your cane down in there. Let it dry and viola! Lexan cane handle.

Check a hardware or craft store for a small wood stair baluster. It’d (probably) be all fancied up with some carving, you could paint/stain it to your color preference, and if you get the right thickness, you should be able to drill out a center hole deep enough to set the cane in.

Otherwise, I’d take a plain wood post, drill out the center like I mentioned above to glue in the cane, and wrap the post in leather.

Actually, what I’d really do is toss the cane and tell him it simply couldn’t be done. But that’s me.

Assuming you were allowed any one type of chocolate with no restrictions, what would you choose?

Do you dream in chocolate?

Okay, a second question:

Even though I’m drunk posting will you still respect me in the morning?

I respect anyone who, when drunk, gets even more perverted than they are sober. And you, my friend, are a pervert.

Since I’m asking questions about your M,and you both say ask, he on his Fetlife profile, you here…I know from reading you that he got the nickname on his birthday, but exactly how did he become the “sparkling, grand master cupcake”, and what does it mean?

Actually, he didn’t get the nick on his birthday.

Or maybe he did. I can’t remember now. All I remember is some good-natured ribbing between doms where terms like cupcake, sugarbritches, honeydumpling were being thrown around- and cupcake stuck with him.

That might have been his birthday though. No matter anway.

Sparkling, grand master cupcake. At some point just prior to going to a munch, I’d made a journal entry with some obscure reference to the sparkling Twilight-esque vampires in the title and Master being an emotional vampire. That entry had been read by some of the munch goers and during conversation Master Cupcake just kind of morphed into being sparkly and from there…

You know, we really hang out with some weird folks..lol. Cuz this just sounds crazy to try and retell. I love them all dearly, but there is just no predicting the flow of things when with this group. Rly. *nods*

Does your Master pick out your daily clothes? Does He ever pick out anything for you to wear that you absolutely hate and what do do (or would you do) if it was just a really bad fashion choice?

Basically would you tell Him there is no way you would wear something

When we first got together, Master mostly solved that problem by approving, or disapproving, of the clothes I already had and then buying everything else himself. So everything I own has already been “pre-approved” by him and he, nor I, has to worry about the daily process of picking out something pleasing.

He will pick out a particular outfit if we’re going somewhere, especially if it’s somewhere kink-related. Often I’ll have to try on this or that and model it for him so he can decide.

For his birthday last month, he’d given me permission, for the first time, to buy a couple of kink-outfits without letting him see them first. I was extremely nervous about that. I kept trying to beg out of it for fear that he wouldn’t like what I’d buy. He finally had to tell me to stfu and do it, and it all turned out fine anyway, but it’s not something I want to repeat anytime soon. I much prefer that he picks the stuff out, tyvm.

He has picked out things that I don’t like. Sometimes he listens to me, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I can convince him that his fashion sense is off, other times, he doesn’t give a shit about fashion. Most of the time, I can change his mind by offering something that looks better but still has whatever attribute that was appealing to him about the first outfit.

He did buy me one skirt one time that is just.. man. It’s not that it’s hideous, it’s just.. well, it’s hideous. LOL.

It’s hideous, unless you are a mexican salsa dancer doing a performance. It’s bright, bold colors (blue and green and pink and white) with ginormous flowers and lace trim- and it’s big and flowy and long and flouncy and-

He bought it for me when he was on a trip in Mexico and he just thinks it’s beautiful. So I wear it here at home and he loves it and I love that he loves it and, truthfully, it makes me feel very feminine and twirly and free..

But I don’t wanna wear it to the store. Nuh-uh. It’s not fashionable AT ALL.

So far, he hasn’t made me. He’s content that I’ll wear it here. Would he make me? Yes. Would I do it? Yes.

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“Life can only be understood looking backward.”

I wasn’t thinking about how much it was going to hurt when I sat down to pee. I was distracted, berating myself for being such a stupid cunt.

It’s not a urinary tract infection. I haven’t had one of those in a long, long time. It just burned so bad–

But first, that ‘stupid cunt’ part…

I have a tendency to start slacking when it comes to asking for permission to use the bathroom. I don’t NOT ask, I just stop asking properly. I’ll announce it with a hurried “gotta go!” or I’ll gush it out in one single unidentifiable word “canipeepleasesir” or I don’t wait for the answer, I’m asking as I’m shutting the bathroom door.

None of those are acceptable. What is expected is that I find him, look him in the eyes, and ask “May I go to the bathroom, please, Sir?” and then wait quietly for a yes or a no response.

Me? I’m in a hurry. I just wanna pee and get on with whatever I was doing. This slow, methodical, formal business of pottying is… bah… yanno?

Master tends to give me time to self-correct before taking any corrective action. And, truthfully, at this stage of the game, I should be able to catch it and correct it before he has to point it out. One of Master’s favorite expressions is “I’ll give you just enough rope to hang yourself, cunt”.

Apparently, I’m quite good at swingin’ on a noose.

So it was that this time, as I zipped past the doorway of the room he was in, I hollered in “Gotta pee!” and, hesitating just a millisecond to see if a denial was forthcoming, I headed toward the bathroom.

Then I heard him clear his throat. Very deliberately.

That’s the audio version of The Look™, in case you didn’t know.

I paused in the hallway, hoping that perhaps he just had a frog in there. It could happen!

“Come here.”

I slumped, closing my eyes. Shit.

I went into the room, at least having the decency to look ashamed. I smiled sheepishly at him.

“Shut the door.” He said, unamused.

Double Shit.

“Now then. What did you say?” Stonefaced, he stared at me.

“May I go to the bathroom please, Sir?” I recited.

He reached up and snatched both nipples –both very sore and very tender nipples– and pulled me to him. “Is that the same thing as ‘gotta pee’?” he asked, mocking me.

“No, Sir.” I groaned.

He gave a little twist and I gave a lotta gasp. “Are you sure?” He asked, almost singing it, taunting me.

“Yesyesyes. Yes, Sir.” Letting go, he made me ask properly one more time ‘just to make sure I knew how’ and then let me go.

So, I was busy mentally reprimanding myself. We’re coming up on six years of asking for permission to use the bathroom. Stupd, stupid cunt, I tell ya.

The burning when I started to pee took me by surprise and I hissed. I continued to silently ow to the empty bathroom as urine flowed, stinging my raw and abraded lips. Snatching a handful of toilet paper, I hurried to wipe it off, only to find that that hurt even more than peeing did. The lips were swollen and tender. Wiping felt like poking a bruise.

I pampered myself with a moist, soft babywipe instead. I decided I’d earned a little pampering. Because-

Earlier that morning, an hour or two before the sun was up, he poked me out of a sound sleep by pressing his rock hard dick against my asscheek. “I’m ready for Round Two. Get up and go pee,” he said.

“Uhn.” was my oh-so-coherent reply.

“Do you have to pee?” he asked, now actively humping my leg. I nodded without opening my eyes. “Then go. Now.”

I stumbled to the bathroom, still more asleep than awake. How on earth he wakes up all randy just boggles the mind because I find mornings to be painful. Hateful. Mornings suck. I sat on the toilet, trying to blink myself into a semi-awake state. I needed to be somewhat on my game for this.

His insistence that I pee first meant one of two things: He was either so concerned about my ability to orgasm and enjoy this morning romp in the sack that he didn’t want me distracted by a painfully full bladder–

OR

He was planning on fucking me up with his cock and didn’t want me to give him a non-consensual golden shower.

Which, I’m embarrassed to admit, has happened. Because he thinks it’s hot as hell to pound me so hard that I lose control of my bodily functions.

I think he’s a sick fuck.

But I digress.

As I sat there on the toilet, picking gummy boogers out of my eyes and trying to pry them open, I was pretty darn sure that Option Numero Uno was probably NOT the one.

I’m no a psychic but I think I know him pretty well. He’d been a mean fucker all night long and I didn’t think he was done yet.

And, surprise surprise! I was right!

First, he pushed me to knees and elbows and snapped a couple of clothespins on my sore nipples. Then he took me from behind, forcing his way in my already tender pussy.

He pounded and pounded and pounded while I maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bedposts, trying simply to remember to breathe and to hold my position. The pain was immense, the brutality shocking.

After one particularly long burst of rapid, deep thrusting, I broke, crying out and falling forward. It hurt and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my crotch.

Instead, he rolled me over and took me again, missionary style, with orders to “keep those fucking legs spread, cunt”. The urge to close them, to squeeze shut, to protect myself as much as I can from his full-body-weight slams into my person was strong, to fight it I kept my hands under my knees, pulling my legs back and wide. All I could think of, all I could focus on was submitting. Holding. Just that. Nothing more.

Leaning down and panting heavily in my ear, he told me how the whimpers turned him on. How the look on my face made him hard. How much he enjoyed my pain, how much he loved dragging it out of me. Then he ordered me to come, ordered me to do it right then, right now. Do it or else!

And I broke a little, sobbing that I was trying trying trying and that I couldn’t. I couldn’t get on top of the pain enough to find it, to find that place, and I couldn’t. I just. couldn’t.

He laughed. Laughed and drove in harder until he came, finally, ohmyfuckinggodthankyou FINALLY, he was done. He left me then and I did curl up, my hand cupping my pussy as it pulsed and throbbed. God-fucking-damn, did that hurt.

It might not have been quite as painful as it was had he not torn my shit up already that night. Just 5, maybe 6 hours before, he’d shoved his cock in my mouth while he twisted my nipples, fucking my face before flipping me around and taking my cunt.

That time had been good. It had been great! It was smooth and hot and juicy. He’d sat back on his knees so he could push in deep, grinding and pumping against my clit and I’d creamed underneath him, lost somewhere in a world of deliriously delicious orgasmic heaven.

We had both been so hot and so horny because just prior to that fucking he’d finished from tying me up and working me over with a knife blade and the singletail. Front, back and sides, from shoulders to knees.

It felt, to me, like he’d focused on the breasts, which were mighty sore from having been clamped and then snapped with rubber bands only minutes before he got the whip.

He’s deadly accurate with his aim on the nipples. As much as one on the receiving end wishes for the one on the giving end to have good aim when one is snapping a whip just inches away from one’s face- that can be a double-edged sword when one’s aim is concentrated on a tiny, half-inch round area of flesh. Flesh that was already singing, tyvm.

I, however, was NOT singing. Not only had he (smartly) gagged me before starting, I was alternating between floating off to LaLa Land and then snapping back to curse him a blue streak- that he could neither hear nor understand.

He got the message though, stopping only long enough to make sure I finished each verbal assault on his personage with the required ‘Sir’ at the end. Somehow, ending it with Sir makes it less-offensive and quite funny.

I failed to see the humor myself.

Another place that suffered hugely that night because of his bullseye aim was my cunt. My poor, poor cunt. His repeated demands to keep my legs spread so he could pop the singletail against those tender pink folds was NOT well received. Sascrotch provides no discernible amount of padding or protection.

Oh I did it, I spread em and he popped it, over and over again. But if looks could kill? He’d be so dead. I’m just sayin’.

It hurt. So. fucking. good.

Not when I peed though. That just burned like a bitch. Dayum.

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Q&A-Master’s Answers

How did you manage the darkness when you where younger? The fantasies that I think are referred to as serial killer fantasies around 2005, 2006. Now you know there is a place for them, that this beast within can find a home, but when you where young, and didn’t, how did you deal with locking that part away? Did you hide it at all? If so, successfully? Ever wondered if you needed help?

being raised in a very strict family..I knew the difference from right and wrong…so I don’t think I had very strong serial killer tendencies.

My main fantasies were always dealing with women/girls (being a adolescent/teenager at the time) tied up and at my mercy. We had woods by our house and we would play with the neighborhood kids….tied up some of the girls…and play doctor and such…show me yours and I will show you mine sorta thing. so to “feed the beast” so to speak, I and my friends had ample and willing subjects to play with all the time…probably from 3rd grade on up.

I was always the leader of our pack or at least second in command at times depending on what was going on. we hung out with a group of roughly 20-30 kids at any given time….not all at once..but friendships flucuating and all as they do when you are younger. With regards to hiding it, even though my family was strict…we were a very open family and could tentatively talk about anything. So the topic of sex was brought up frequently and questions answered in very objective terms. I don’t think I hid who I was…just that I blended well with the group I hung with. Our g/f’s were always submissive to us and took care of us as well.

I knew I was not “normal” as society would describe me…but with “normal” being defined as the majority of people. I didn’t like large crowds and only hung with select friends and all. Rough and tough crew for sure. No drugs, but we did drink like fish. so with regards to needing help…the crew I hung with was “normal” to me…. and didn’t think anything about it. I feel that if I really thought about it when I was younger, I would have had issues, but again….the friends and people I hung with, it was all good.

A question for the Masterly One. What is it about kaya and her submissiveness that makes your cock the hardest? If there was one thing that you would change about her, what would it be?

everything makes me hard when it comes to kaya, but mostly her willingness to please me no matter what…like a slave should do turns me on mentally, physically and spiritually.

Physically, it’s her eyes, smile and her fricking awesome hair.
Mentally, it’s her smartass mouth, being able to carry a conversation, and how intelligent she truly is.
spritiually, it’s how well we mesh and think and are able to read each other.

These are the things that make my cock the hardest…..also how she responds to my touch, my pain onto her and our fucking.

One thing that I would change…give her smaller teeth or a bigger mouth to be able to deepthroat me like she struggles to do.

What was M’s first bdsm experience? What was he like as a teenager?

My first experience was when I was a pre-teen and we were playing in the woods and a girl by the name of carla was captured by me…we were playing team tag….and we had rope and all…tied her up..and she was very playful and I was able to play and squeeze her breasts and suckle and bite them. We played many times like this in the woods where I grew up.

I was what one would call a loner, but hung with a very select crowd. I was athletic, but didn’t like playing school sports..but enjoyed playing street sports.Football, basketball, volleyball, baseball, etc. my very first girl friend that took my cherry at the age of 16/17 was very submissive to me..and probably today….she would bend to my will if I really asked her too. and all g/f’s from that time on have been submissive to me in one way or another.

My first experience with a known submissive was in the early 90′s. I met at her place and spent the night there. we didn’t do a lot of bondage or spanking, but she was mainly a service type submissive. I received many blowjobs and a few complete body tongue baths. If you haven’t ever gotten one..try it….

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Q&A

What exactly are the vampire gloves? I’ve read about them and only found one, not very clear picture.

Vampire Gloves. That’s where we got ours.

They are just gloves with sharp needle-like points on the fingers. A light touch scratches. A hard poke penetrates. A swat brings blood.

Master likes to snatch a nipple in his fingers when he has them on. And just very slowly, very very slowly, squeeze until (I think I can feel) each sharp point pop through my skin. It’s quite deliciously excruciating.

Or he’ll just lay a finger on me somewhere, anywhere, and press down. Hard.

Spanking with them on, while certainly leaving me with a bloodied ass, isn’t quite as painful as those slow, hard presses. Maybe it’s too fast or something.

But my all time favorite thing to do with them is when we’re having sex, missionary style, and he grabs meaty handfuls of tit meat and just wrenches and squeezes and twists and oh.my.fucking.god. That kind of pain with his cock battering my cunt is masochism heaven.

did you start the blog to blog or was it a spout off from selling the video clips? Are the vids still selling and do you see a correlation between sales and the popularity of the “freebe” stuff available on the internet? Basically curious of the trends you’ve seen with such.

I blogged for several years before we started the clips4sale store. I didn’t start blogging with the intention of selling anything. I didn’t even know people did that, and when I found out they did, I never thought we would. Not in a million years.

It was through another blogger that I was told about the clips site. She’d been doing it, and since we’d been posting video clips on the site every now and then (when we could find a place that would host them without immediate deletion for being obscene), she suggested we give it a try. So we did.

They sell. It would certainly help if we’d put up new stuff every now and then, but they’re still selling.

I’m not sure really about how the free porn on the net affects sales, for any porn site. We didn’t start the clips store until well after free porn was rampant on the net so I couldn’t tell you in sales went up or down. They fluctuate a lot as it is, but the only correlation I can see is we sell more when we make more.

What I can say is in spite of the free stuff floating around, places like Kink.com and Paintoy seem to be cruising along just fine.

I’m sure there’s been some negative impact. But just like the ability to get free music exists but I ain’t seeing no starving pop stars out there, yanno?

My question is what you thought of the fetlife sascrotch picture.

The fetlife sascrotch picture (that I tried to go back and find the link to and couldn’t find it) hit a little too close to home..lol

Though I’m not QUITE as sascrotchy as that poor girl was I can well identify with the possibility of looking like I’m carrying a dead poodle on my lap.

Pubic hair is nasty, man. And these days people are just all…. ewww…. about it. Like, everyone shaves. It’s somehow become synonymous with submission, this idea of keeping oneself clean and smooth for Master, so I feel all kinds of less-than whenever my hairy old crotch has to be on display somewhere.

But that picture made me feel a little bit better, as in, “thank god I’m not as hairy as she is!”.

Do u prefer giving/receiving oral or your cunt..If u have to rank it

I definitely prefer getting it in my cunt. No question about it.

I srsly do not like getting oral. I never have. It feels far too much like he’s servicing me, for one. Two, it really doesn’t feel good because, well.. because he bites, the mean old fuckhead. Three, I dunno what to do with my hands.

He does it sometimes. I mean, he likes to do it and I can’t tell him no, sooo… But thankfully I’m not required to like everything he does. I’m just required to let him do it.

I do like to give oral. But you’ve seen the pictures, right? Given the option, I choose fucking over blowjobs just cuz my jaw hurts.

Would you say M is a total meanie or a big softie? (sERIOUSLY! HE seems like a mixture of both n a lil of a sexy hardass softie )

He is absolutely a mixture. It depends entirely on the situation at hand. He’s leaning a bit too much toward softie lately to suit me, but it’s a nice break from the Billy Bad Ass he usually is.

What made u realize this was the lifestyle for you. Was it more of a specific moment or was it more of alot of lil things leading up to it. What was your first experience like?

Right about the first time I became aware that it WAS actually a lifestyle and not some mental illness that I had. As soon as I realized that people really lived this way I knew I needed to live this way, too. I can’t even explain what an amazing realization that was. All that angst I used to carry around, thinking I was seriously sick in the head, never feeling complete, and, sad to say, suicidal thoughts because I was just never happy. Never thought I could be.

One specific moment that sticks with me was very shortly after I got with the times and bought a computer, I stumbled across a picture of a woman tied up over a barstool, set off in a corner of the room. The caption said “ready and waiting for anal” or something like that. I’ve never forgotten that photo and never forgotten how it made me feel. There was just something so incredibly RIGHT about how she looked to have been put away, set aside, until she was needed for use. Like coming home.

And, you know, once that door had been cracked, there was no turning back. I was on a mission to discover everything I could about bdsm. The rest is history, as they say.

My first experience with bdsm, I’m sad to say, doesn’t even stick out in my mind. There was kind of a whirlwind of wanting to try everything right now- unfortunately, the person I was doing it with wasn’t a dom. He was a switch though he was far more submissive than dominant. The things he did to me were things he mostly wanted done to himself so it lacked the… energy. The intensity. That guy’s play was filled with his own longing. It was sad.

The first time Master and I played, I got what I didn’t even know I’d been missing. His thorough enjoyment in causing me pain, his absolute natural and easy acceptance of himself, his dominance- it was amazing. In one session with him I lost that sense of not being whole that I’d carried for so many years. He was IT.

I’m having so much FUN with this.

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