Motivation

Or.. the lack thereof.

I have a serious lack of motivation when Master is away. I, apparently, only cook and clean for him these days. I didn’t used to be that way. Before I met him I cooked and cleaned.

Well.. I cleaned. My cooking left a LOT to be desired. *nods*

Now though, if he isn’t going to be around to see it, I can’t seem to rustle up an ounce of care about it. I’ve no speculation on whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

So the power went out yesterday at about 3:30. It wasn’t back on when I finally got bored enough to go to bed at 9:00. Srsly. Wtf did people do before electricity? I read a book. A whole book. Straight through. I’m used to reading books in one page increments when I take a potty break these days. It felt very strange to read page after page after page.

It came back on sometime during the night. I dunno what the deal was. That’s a long time to fix a power outage I think.

I probably could have (should have) cleaned in that time but, you know, we didn’t have any water so that combined with the aforementioned motivation problem lead to me sitting on my fat ass and reading a book for 5 hours.

…
…
…

Could these entires BE anymore boring?

Pathetic.

I’m in serious need of blogging material. Slavery related preferably.

*think think think*

Nope. Nothin’.

Blogging Fail.

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

And another thing!

I lied. I have a couple of things.

About the shaving… I’ve been asking pretty regularly if I could shave ever since he told me I couldn’t. I probably was asking daily in the beginning, and over time it lessened in frequency to just about once every other month or so.

I think it was more out of habit than anything. Just at random times, I’d toss out the question.

me: Can I shave?
Him: No.
me: Okay.

Until the next week or month or 2 months and we’d do it all over again.

me: Can I shave?
Him: No.
me: Okay.

Sometimes I’d vary it up with a “why not?” tossed in there but he’d either say “cuz I said so” (hate that answer. Truly I do) or he’d get kinda pissy and remind me that he could take ALL of my shaving privileges away if I’d prefer. Spoilsport.

So mostly it was just this simple exchange:

me: Can I shave?
Him: No.
me: Okay.

Until that last time, when it went like this:

me: Can I shave?
Him: Yes.
me: Okay.

~pause~

me: Huh? What? What did you say? Did you just say yes? You did! You totally did! Why? Why did you say yes? What does that MEAN? What are you going to do? You mean shave with a razor, right? And shaving cream? By myself? Nothing else, nothing more deviant or perverted or painful. Just.. shaving. Like… shaving regular-like. Like normal people. Right? RIGHT? Huh? Right? CAN I SHAVE????????!!!

He shut the bathroom door in my face.

Hmmph.

So then I was all suspicious about it because, well, because it’s HIM, you know? I didn’t even do it right away. I held onto permission for a good 24 hours, and I kept asking him if he was sure, if he was POSITIVE, because I was actually going to do it and then it would be done and the hair would be gone and it would be OVER and was he SURE, for absolutely-sure, positively sure, 100% sure?

He was.

(Srsly. He is so patient. Have I mentioned how patient he is? In-cre-duh-bly patient with me)

When I finally headed to go do it, I made sure one last time- and then when I made that first swipe with the trimmer I told him it wasn’t working so he’d come in and make a swipe himself- just to make SURE.

And then I shaved and shaved and shaved. For years I think. That hair was ridiculously thick.

Now I haz razor burn. Meh. Stoopid shaving.

So yeah. That’s my shaving story.

~~*~~

I can’t get the mower started and Master is out of town. Sometimes being a girl is frustrating.

~~*~~

I was counting the number of places to eat that I pass when I’m driving home from the gym. You know, after I’ve worked out for 3 hours and I’m fucking starving.

I’ve named the roads Fast Food Fareway and Restaurant Row.

Fast Food Fareway has a deli, a chinese buffet, a pizza joint, a muffin place, a KFC, McDonalds, Burger King, Subway and a Hardees. and I’m probably forgetting a couple.

Restaurant Row has a Big Boy, Perkins, Bonanza, Hudsons, Applebees, another chinese buffet, Culvers, Pizza Hut, and a Red Lobster.

So I have to make sure I bring an apple or a fiber bar to the gym with me so I can drive through all of those yummy smells without caving in to temptation. But for real, apples do not taste as good as cheeseburgers. And fiber bars taste like the wrapper a cheeseburger is in.

I do not know how much longer I can resist. I’ll have to take another way home.

I can’t even imagine, at this point, what Master would do if I binged like that. He’s really starting to watch what I eat. And he doesn’t even care if I’m lusting over something tasty. Like last night, I was out running errands, talking to him on the phone and he told me to pick up burgers for the kids for dinner. Then he says “and what are you going to have, cunt?” so I’m thinking a Big Mac.. a McChicken.. Double Quarter Pounder (drool) and he says “A salad, right?”

Bah. I’m hungry. Can you tell? I’m a tad food obsessed. It’s not that I’m not eating enough, I’m just not eating what I LIKE.

Cheeseburgers.. mmmmm…

There’s a snack size package of Nutter Butters sitting less than 12 inches from my face. He put it there. He left it there. He told me I can’t touch it.

He’s a bastard.

Sir.

~~*~~

So he asked me the other day if I was interested in going back to school for nursing. That if I was he’d let me do it.

It FELT like a last-chance offer. I mean, he was sincere and all, and I know he’d stick to his word, but there was something off about it. I think because I know what his requiremens are about being his slave, it was less an offer for school and a job and more a last-chance opportunity to step away from being a slave.

Not to step away from being his wife. But to, I dunno, be vanilla I guess.

I thought about it though. I really considered the offer. Sometimes slavery is really hard and really scary. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice. Sometimes I even wish for an off button.

So it felt like, as I was thinking about it, that I was making my last choice. Am I in this for real, for good, forever, and for wherever he wants to take it. Or do I want to snatch at a chance for control and independence and have a little kink on the side.

I turned down the offer for school.

I think that being his cunt in a cage is where I’m meant to be. I just do. I know it all sounds corny and shit, but I can’t imagine being anything but.

He was pleased, I think. I got the idea I’d made the choice he wanted me to make. Like it was the answer he wanted to hear.

I dunno. I’m not doing it justice because it felt more profound than the way I’m describing it. Meh. Y’all know what I mean, right?

~~*~~

As I said, Master is out of town, and on his way to his business destination, he made a detour and stopped for some extracaricular activities with another girl.

I’m completely fine with it.

I wish I could have been there, but I couldn’t, and I’m glad they had a good time. Maybe next time I can come along. :-)

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

Farewell, Sascrotch, you hairy bitch!

Just as I have no stinking idea what prompted him to deny letting me shave my hairy cootch for the last two years, I have no idea what prompted him to tell me to shave it either.

But, you can bet your sweet ass I shaved that disgusting thing. Sascrotch is no more. Sascrotch is somewhere down the drain. Bubbye!

That was a job mowing that thing down, let me tell you. I could have benefited from a weed whacker. I used Master’s trimmer and two razors and I am smooooooth. It feels nice. Slick. Soft. Even my clothes feel different. I can’t stop touching it- and maybe I was dreaming, but I’m pretty sure Master was stroking it sometime in the night.

I feel like a new woman.

I have to post a picture but he didn’t say I couldn’t hide it so I’m tossing it behind a cut. I’m having a sudden attack of shyness, probably because I haven’t posted many nude pics in a long time. However, Master isn’t shy, so here, look at his magnificent penis.

Hee.

Speaking of magnificent, Master and I went over to Collarsmith’s and Mira’s house yesterday. The food was magnificent, the company was magnificent, and Master came home with a magnificent paddle.

Take a look-see:

The beer bottle is just for size reference. This paddle is huge. And HEAVY. And holy FUCK does it pack a punch. I knew it would be bad, and I was so right. I’ve only gotten a couple of experimental whacks with it and I already dislike it bunches. So naturally I’ll make sure it’s packed and ready to use at the next play party. *nods*

Collarsmith is a deviant dude who is good with making shit. I’m so glad he lives way over there..lol. I did get to try out his suction-y device, which, while I love the sensation of suction, especially on my tits, the idea of being lifted off the table by them is a little skeery. As it was, it was nice and painful, especially considering the end of the screw that kept digging it’s way into my poor boob as it was sucked to the end of the cup! Yowers.

All around, we had a great weekend. Circuses and sex and paddles and friends… Good times. :)

Look. It’s smiling at you!

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike

I Smell Sex and Candy, Yeah.

Yesterday was an amazing day.

It started out great because we had one of those early morning fuckings wherein he yanks me out of a deep sleep by poking his dick in me and mauling on my boobs. Srsly better than any alarm clock in the world, don’t you think? Except he ended up with an orgasm exertion headache, poor baby. I didn’t though! I was fine and dandy.

Then we went into town and bummed around, and he took me out for lunch so we could visit for a bit with our favorite slut waitress before we headed home. And then when we got home, he fucked me AGAIN! One of those great romps from behind, with fingernails in the back and hair pulling and hard, hard, HARD thrusting that practically rearranged my internal organs.

Then we fell asleep -in the middle of that day- woke up and decided to go to the circus!

I’m almost 40 years old and I’ve never been to the circus. I have no idea how this circus compares to other circuses but I thought it was so much fun. There were dancing elephants, and lions and tigers and performing dogs and trick ponies, and highwire acts and motorcycles in the cage and tumblers and jugglers and and and…

…and I had cotton candy, popcorn, peanuts, soda. Why hello there, wasted week at the gym! How YOU doin’?

I think I was more excited than the 5 year old sitting behind me. At one point, Master turned to me, laughing at my glee, and asked me if I was enjoying reliving a childhood moment. When I told him I’d never been to a circus and was living it the first time, he got such an expression of shock and sadness and.. something.. on his face. Then he bought me more cotton candy and a snow cone and held my hand.

He’d make a great daddy dom, I think.

So. Much. Fun. Srsly.

We got home late, stayed up for a bit doing nothing, went to bed around 1 or 2 AM, I guess. And then sometime in the dark, early early morning, I woke to his hand gently but persistently pushing my head downward. “Crawl down and sleep between my legs.” he said, a position that used to be a regular nighttime ritual, me sleeping with his limp cock tucked right into my mouth. I did, not even opening my eyes I was so tired. I slid down and nestling my head on his thigh, lips right near his cock, hair tickling over his scrotum, my heavy, rhythmic breathing fanning warmly over his groin. In short order he was thick, and rigid, his hips starting to spontaneously thrust, so I sat up and took him in my mouth, sucking soft and slow, licking, teasing, enjoying his groans of appreciation.

“Do you want to climb up and ride that?” he asked, and since I could think of nothing I’d like to do more than climb up and ride him, I did so, settling him inside of me before he grabbed my hips and pressed me down, pushing himself deeper, painfully so, inside my somewhat sore and tender cunt.

With my hands fisted around the bars of the headboard, my breasts dangled free and unprotected in his face, too tempting to not attack, I guess, as he grabbed and squeezed, pinched and pulled, and guided me up and down his cock by lifting and pulling my nipples. I gasped, groaned, whimpered, hissed, and generally gave him every reaction he enjoys as my pussy twitched in response to the pain. When my legs gave out, unable to keep up with the pace of the tit pulling and I fell against him, sweating and exhausted, he held me and sat up, cradling me in his lap, still tucked deep inside me and began rocking me back and forth, my arms tight around his shoulders, his hands cupping my ass, pushing and pulling, and when I came, I arched my back so hard I fell backward on the bed, and without missing a stroke he was over me, in me, fucking me, pressing my legs up and open, until, with a hard grunt, he yanked me up by my hair, shoved his warm, wet cock in my mouth and came in my throat while my senses filled with the combined taste of us, the smell of sex hanging heavy in the air.

Then we curled up together and went back to sleep, until such a time as the sun was up and coffee called us awake.

The bedroom smells like sex and candy. I may not fix that. It makes me smile everytime I go in there. I don’t know why this clashing of our libidos has happened, but goddamn is it ever nice. We can’t seem to get enough of each other, the more we do it the more we want it.

I’m not gloating (this time) so much as I’m reveling in the connection. It’s been sorely missed as we each were bogged down in our personal stresses and worries. This is better, so much better.

~cunt

Be the first to like.

Like

Unlike