I won!

According the my email this morning, I just won the British National Lottery!

 Hell, I didn’t even know I was playing! Nor am I British! Anybody know how much I’m getting?

I was also notified that an “Elder Mouther Swallowed Sons Pecker”. Whatever a “mouther” is.

The information super-highway is being highly abused me thinks.

~~*~~

 I may get to another post today, about the punishment and how it was completely FUBAR-ed and why  and whathaveyou… but just to answer a few questions about it real quick right now:

The sentence changes based on what lesson I’m supposed to be learning. It’s a sentence of His choosing and an amount of His choosing. He’s real good at picking a dictionary definition that’s meant to drive home the meaning of something, but He’s also just as prone to make it a repetetive reaffirmation of a rule.

This particular time was this: Obedience – the act or practice of obeying; dutiful or submissive compliance.  250 times. Which is a LOT of paper and a lot of time and a lot of hand cramping.

I think I’ve mentioned a time or seven how much I loathe writing sentences, yes?

The bench (aka, the bitch bench) is covered in sandpaper, something like 20 and 40 grit, which translate to ‘gravel-grit’. Those circles are round sandpaper pieces meant for a sander I think.

I sit there, bare-assed, for however long it takes me to finish writing whatever sentence He’s given me in that hateful ‘punishment book’. Or I’m supposed to. But as I said, last night was fucked up, which is a rather long and whiny and complicated story. And now, Master and I are miffed at each other.

But, I have a lot to do this morning so perhaps later.

~cunt

Evil has a name….

Evil has a name…and it is Master.

Master called me early this morning and told me to take the dog for a nice long walk. Wearing the butt plug. And the scrunchy pad.

*groan*

The scrunchy pad is such a handy thing when it’s sitting on the edge of your kitchen sink awaiting some baked on food to obliterate. The one that sits in Master’s toy box is awaiting the chance to peel away the delicate pink tissues of my oh-so-tender cunt.

The real challenge is in forcing myself to tuck it in there the way Master would. Just placing it on loosely doesn’t hurt so much.. and it’s only the fact that I know He’ll ask me and I can’t lie and still look myself in the mirror every day that makes me press it firmly up between the lips, with a small bunch of it just entering me. Yanking up the tight jeans before I change my mind and hurrying outside where I can’t stick my hands down my pants and pull it out… and I’m ready. Impaled in the ass and in agony on my cunt.. and I’m quite sure I heard Master chuckling from 800 miles away

It doesn’t feel too bad if you don’t move a muscle. That’s not an option though when you are holding one end of a leash and the other end is attached to a 100lb black lab. I’m not too sure who is walking who when me and the dog are out. And being outside where friendly small town neighbors wave from porches and chit chat about the weather keeps you from walking bow-legged too. In short, the tears that glistened in my eyes when I gingerly climbed the steps after getting home weren’t from the cold January wind.

Pussy pain is taking on a whole new meaning for me lately. After all that, the 15 clothespins on each tit was a breeze.

The proof