Uncle! Uncle!

We have this heart shaped crop. Except, I don’t think it’s an ordinary crop. It is teh ebils.

I don’t know what the rod of a regular crop is made out of because I’m not quite brave enough to unravel any of Master’s crops to find out. But whatever it is, I don’t think it’s the same thing that this heart crop is made from.

The heart crop’s rod isn’t covered with anything. It’s a metal stick, see? It’s not whippy like his other crops. It’s stiff. Hard.

It hurts.

I remember when we bought it, it was at some seedly little roadside sex shop a couple of years ago. I thought it was “cute”.

Awww, I thought. How sweet. He can make little red hearts on my butt!

I carried it over to him gushing over how cute it was. He rolled his eyes, being the fairly non-romantic kind of sadist that he is, and tossed it on the counter.

Yeah. What a fucking dumbass I am, yanno?

So, he’s been determined to make little heart-shaped bruises with this thing.

I’m here to tell you (and to tell HIM!) that it does not make heart-shaped bruises. It makes bruises plenty; just not heart-shaped ones.

What it does leave is a welt in the shape of the metal rivet in the center of the heart. Tiny little raised red and white circles, and, a day or two later, an ugly green bruise somewhere in the vicinity of where the metal rod snapped under the heart.

But no hearts.

They will not come.

I am crying.. no, I am screaming Uncle!

Here! Here’s your hearts! Now will ya quit already?

~cunt

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Fun!

(Warning: Non-consensual humiliation play to follow.)

(And it’s not MINE! w00t!)

You know what’s way cool?

Sitting about two feet away, and on eye level with, a woman’s spread-open pussy while she’s being flogged and slapped and Hitachi’d to death- and having her SQUIRT at your FACE!

Hee.

Srsly. Master and I squealed and dived for cover under the blanket to avoid being showered.

It was so awesome.

Needless to say, the play party was great. We were going to have a “How many subs does it take to haul a Harley” contest but it was getting dark so that’s postponed for next time.

BBQ chicken, chocolate, naked girls and evil men all in one room. The stuff dreams are made of, yanno?

I got some goodies, too.

I started to cry a little bit during and I really hate to cry. I mean, it’s fine with just him but in front of other people? Ugh.

Then I got all embarrassed cuz, well I don’t know why exactly. Because I think I have something to live up to because of the blog when I really know that I don’t.

It’s just hard to seperate it all sometimes.

Anyway! It was great. We didn’t get home until almost THREE A.M.

We’re usually in bed by 10pm, for goodness sake! We’re too old for 3am.

God. Does it feel good to live though, yanno?

Damn. Fun.

~cunt

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These Feet Were Made For….. thumping??

Lately, Master’s taken a liking to whacking my feet.

A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting on the couch watching a movie, about as vanilla a moment as you can get, and I’d tucked my feet up into his lap (cuz he’s warm, see, and my feet are not), when all of a sudden he snatches up a foot and started flicking it.

Master is no ordinary flicker. He’s a Super Flicker. He has strong hands and strong fingers and he flicks like a.. a.. well I don’t know what flicks really really hard- besides him.

I mean, a hummingbird is an awesome flicker, but they don’t really conjure up an image of brutality, yanno?

Anyway. Let’s just picture Master naked except for red tights, with a big cape and a mask. Super FlickerMan.

Ever since then, he’s been oddly obsessed with whacking the bottoms of my feet. (though now I’m going to pull up the mental image of Super FlickerMan and giggle my ass off. Surely THAT won’t help.)

I have really sensitive feet. I hardly ever walk around inside bare foot, and I *never* go outside bare foot, ever ever ever. The grass, it hurts.

My feet are delicate. Dainty. Fragile even!

Like me. *beams*

I spend a lot of time like this now, feet together. Trying to find some way to cover/hide/protect my tender tootsies. Especially when he has thwacking objects in his hands.

Else he snatches one up and starts whacking on it!

And then.. THEN.. he has the nerve to say “Hold your foot still so I can beat it or it’s just gonna get worse.”

Srsly.

In what world does that even make sense!?

If I could be still I’d already be still. How in God’s name does he expect I’ll be still under threat of it getting any worse??

Honestly. He flunked Kaya Logical at Dom U.

Big fat red F.

For FAIL.

It works, but that’s not the point. As a logical conclusion to come to, he fails. It only works because I’m just THAT obedient. *cough*

Notice the heart shaped crop he’s thwacking me with. He says, mid-foot beating, all sweet and tender-like, “It’s heart shaped because I love you, honey.”

o.O

Oh rly?

Soooo… going by HIS kind of logical equations…..

I love him, too. Bunches and bunches.

:D

Dare me? Double-dawg dare me?

~cunt

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Midol Cures Subdrop! News story at 11!

‘Tis true. *nods*

Or, at least Midol cures those I’m-going-to-start-bleeding-any-second-now blahs that highly mimic subdrop.

I knew I didn’t usually drop THAT hard. Apparently, the combination of mild subdrop and pms equals some fantastically wicked blues. Way cool, yeah?

Of course, had I any inkling of impending period-ness, I’d have waited to wash those fucking sheets, if you know what I mean. Oy. Story of my life, I tell ya.

Anyway, a couple of recipes that I need to share before I forget (again). We had a dinner/play party over the weekend and one couple brought a jello salad that was uber nom, plus, my buns got good reviews and I’ve been instructed to post it so they can have it. :-)

My bread buns, not my ass buns. Pervs.

Mandarin Orange Jello Salad (People love this—good for a potluck!)

Ingredients
1 small box orange jello
1 small box lemon jello
2 cups hot water
1 can lemon pie filling
1 cup juice from mandarin oranges
2 cups drained mandarin oranges

Directions
Pour boiling water into a bowl. Add both jellos and stir until dissolved. Stir in pie filling (using a wire whisk to blend and smooth). Add juice and drained oranges. Let set in refrigerator.

Bread Machine Dinner Rolls
1 cup very warm water
3 heaping Tbsp sugare
3 Tbsp oil
1 1/2 tsp. salt
3 cups bread flour (tap cup to settle flour while measuring and then level off)
2 1/4 tsp. yeast (or 1 packet)

Directions
Add ingredients to bread machine and set on dough cycle. When finished, remove dough from pan to a lightly floured surface. Do not knead. Gently shape into a rectangle and use a knife to cut into 12 semi-equal pieces.

I grab each piece and pinch it in my fist, just to get it into a ball shape with a relatively smooth top. Place in a greased 9×13 pan, cover with a towel, place in a warm spot to rise for 45-50 minutes. (I make a warm spot in the oven by setting the oven to 200 for just 2 minutes, turning it off and placing the pan inside.)

Take the pan out, pre-heat oven to 425F. Gently brush top of rolls with some melted butter. Bake for 12 minutes or until rolls are a light golden brown. Brush with melted butter again after baking, if desired.

I make these to use for buns for deli sandwiches. But they’re great with just some butter for plain old dinner rolls, too, and go really well with soups and stews. I’m not sure how they’d fair for use as hamburger buns as they might be too sweet, but I’ll probably try it and find out. They’re pretty darn yummy anyway, I must say.

Lots of chores and errands to make up today considering that I spent the last two days mourning the end of our kink-fest. *sniffle*

We didn’t take just a whole lot of pictures this time. Too busy doing it to worry about the camera (though I do have some clips I need to put up, mainly that face fucking clip that those other pictures came from. Srsly, that was the best face fucking session we’ve had yet, imo. It was teh awesome and the movie is great.), although Master is adding pictures to his Fetlife profile that I would happily remove. Bastard.

But I’ll share this real quick:

On Saturday night, Master got some instructions on rope work from Alderon, a dude from our local munch. It was the first time we’d really spend any time with him and his girl (and for real, does it ever get easier to go from “Hello, nice to meet you.” to “Strip, cunt”? I mean, honestly!) and I just have to say, again, that the kink group up here is phenomenal.

Anywho, he tied me up. And it was good.

Hopefully, this will inspire Master to do more bondage. I heart bondage. Master’s use for bondage seems to begin and end at “functional”. A quick wrap here and there to keep me accessible, loop it around a bedpost or a hook and off he goes.

Though, really, I guess that’s the point.

It was pretty though. And I got goosebumps cuz rope is yummy. (Plus I was naked and cold, but it was from the rope!)

So, that’s all I got today. :-)

~cunt

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Oh. Hello.

Sorry.

Been busy.

:-)

:D

~cunt

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“One should never underestimate the profound resiliency of the human spirit, nor how swiftly things can change for the better – often overnight.”

Spring is in the air.

Not necessarily Mother Nature’s spring (though it is warming up considerably) but spring is in the air in our relationship. In Master’s eyes, his step, his attitude. There’s been a rejuvenation of his spirit- and by extension, my spirit as well.

All it took to create this magical miracle of high-flying wonder? One solid spanking and some hella good sex.

So simple. So fucking easy. It’s like we’ve been swimming in mud without realizing it until we slid into clear sparkling water. Suddenly, we’re light and airy- and sore, at least I am- but light and airy nonetheless.

Not even Jes’s foul mood yesterday is going to spoil this high. It’s been too long in coming and I’m going to enjoy it, dammit.

We were little social butterflies this weekend, going out to meet people all three nights. Not just any people, D/s people. People who light a spark merely by their open acceptance.

Friday night we met a couple for dinner whom we’d been emailing with for a few months or so, and we had a great time. There was nothing overtly kinky going on, we were all dressed and sitting in public like “normal” folks- well, nothing overt unless you count his hand under the table, giving my leg a painful squeeze and his stern order to “Stop wiggling. It’s irritating.” A sneaky snatch ‘n’ tug of my ear when he caught wind of us girls, giggling over hiding toys. Or the non-assuming way he handed me his mug, a mug full of that dark, deeply bitter beer that he loves so much and that I find to be disgusting, quietly telling me to take a nice, big taste just because he knows how much I hate it.

Nothing overt, though probably a waiter passing too close may have been taken aback at the conversation subjects. ;-)

Saturday we went to the munch and that is beginning to feel very comfortable as we become more familiar with the faces and names. I’ve seen quite a few of them naked now, and they’ve seen me, so, really, what’s left to be shy about?? We talk and laugh and surreptitiously grope each other when the wait staff leaves the room.

We’d had tentative plans to play after the munch but we talked too long and it got late and everyone was tired so it was decided we’d play the next night.

So! Sunday night we went over to another couple’s house and they had cooked us dinner and let us use a room for some spanking. I was afraid it would be awkward, you know, like, hi, how are ya, mind if we come over so’s I can beat my woman? But it wasn’t, not at all. They are just the coolest, down to earth bdsm couple and it was really neat to hear them playing, too, as we were.

I got a good spanking. It wasn’t a terribly hard scene, no blood ‘n’ guts, no tears (though I came close) – just lots of focused attention to my butt and then we got really super horny and we fucked right then and there. At their house. While they fucked in the next room. For a little while, I think she and I were having simultaneous ‘gasms, judging from the corresponding moans. ;)

I have to say that we don’t typically feel comfortable enough to ask to borrow a bed, nor are we horny enough that we can’t wait to get home. Like a couple of horny teenagers we were!

Honestly, having like-minded folk around to spark these thoughts and feelings has been priceless. We needed this so. bad.

And again, it happened that I had very little desire for it (the pain and spanking, etc.) right up until it started. Once the blows started coming, my desire started coming. So maybe it isn’t that I’m losing my masochism, but that I really am getting a handle on harnessing it, controlling it. Could it be? Dare I hope?

Yesterday, Master made the comment that he feels it coming back- feels the energy, the exchange, the juju and the mojo.

So if it is true that spanking is destroying feminism? All y’all ladies are screwed, cuz, Imma get me some more ASAP. Sorry y’all. :D

I dunno what this toy is called but it sucks ASS.

You just can’t go wrong with a flogger. Except for when it wraps cuz that really sucks, don’t it?

“Just checkin’.”

His hands just might be my favorite “toy” of all. :)

He didn’t want any part of me to feel left out, considerate man that he is!

So, there you have it. Spanking as a cure-all. Seems like we’ve only had to learn this lesson about 50 times.

There’s a clip up at the clip store.

~cunt

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Ugh.

Personally? I don’t think I should have to do this anymore.

Posting pictures I mean. Who hasn’t already seen my parts a bazillion times???

Besides, I JUST got done gloating somewhere else about not having to post pictures like this lately. I swear he has some sort of psychic connection with the blogosphere – he always seems to know when I’ve gotten cocky and nails me on it. (And he doesn’t read anywhere so I know it isn’t that simple. He’s sneaky-magical is what he is. A witch.)

It’s all your fault, too. “I wanna see the hair!” Pffft. You’re all on my shit list. *nods* I’m scratching yer names off my Christmas card list! Take THAT!

Though I might forgive you by Christmas. ;-)

So this was taken after a session of “you’re just a cunt, cunt”. I always feel kind of silly and self-conscious at the time, but later? Well.. you know how it goes. Later I get so aroused I leave a slimey path behind me everywhere I go. “Where’d kaya go? Oh hey! Follow the snail trail. There she is!”

What can I say? I’m a terribly belated masochist.

What I had to do was take off my pants and lay on the floor, spread my legs and then spread myself wide open and then just… stay there. Still, quiet. He sat in a chair and jerked off, staring at my obscenely spread pussy until he sprayed his come all over me.

There was no touching, no interaction, no sexual release or pleasure for me. After he finished, he had me rub it all over myself, took a picture and told me to post it, forbid me from washing and walked away.

It was all very matter of fact at the time, though NOW, my pussy is singing a capella at me. “Touch meeeeeee. Rub meeeeeee. Fuck meeeeee!”

I’m like one of those super horny dogs that helplessly humps the air as it walks around the backyard. Or Family Guy’s Quagmire. Seems like he’s always humping on something. Giggidy-giggidy-goo.

Anyway. Yeah. Here you go. Slimey hairy pussy.

Remember – you asked for this!

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LOL-Jesus

These? Crack me the fuck UP.

My mother would not be amused.

*nort nort nort*

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Don’t you hate when that happens?

You know how when you’re busy doing something, like, say, cleaning the house? You’re kind of sweaty from having just vigorously mopped the kitchen floor and vacuumed the living room. Got your sexy, ripped-up, housecleaning clothes on and you’re really just in the zone. The cleaning zone, the groove, you have a plan and it’s all laid out, from room to room, what’s next and how long it’ll take.

You’ve been cleaning for hours already and you are focusing only on where you’re going next, what’s still left to be done. Maybe you’re elbow deep in Comet cleanser, half-in and half-out of the bathtub, scouring your little heart out, thinking “and when I get done with this, I can go flip the laundry real quick – last load finally – and then unload the dishwasher and I’ll be just about fini- ERK!

I say Erk! because suddenly, from out of nowhere, you’re snatched by the hair, flipped around and shoved to your knees and before you can finish thinking “What the fuck, Chuck?” warm, wet spurts of….of… something…. splatter all over your face.

Then there’s a couple of disorienting seconds where your brain scrambles to identify and label this liquid as it splashes across your glasses. Spit? Piss? Semen? My God, it could be anything in this house and deep down inside you *know* it could be anything and isn’t it *funny* that your first instinct is NOT to duck and cover but to turn your face up and drop your hands and squeeze your eyes shut. Because spit, semen, OR piss in the eye? Not so fun, tyvm.

Of the three most-likely possibilities, I’ll take semen for $200, please, Alex.

~fingers crossed~

So you do a tentative tongue flick over dripping lips and that, along with a tell-tale happy grunt from the Man, and it’s semen for the win!

Then, just like that, the cock disappears from your vision, vision blurred by smeary globs of spunk over your once-clean eyeglasses I might add, and he’s gone, without a word, just spurt-n-go, leaving you with a wet dripping face, a goofy-ass smile and your trusty cleaning rag.

Though all of sudden you don’t wanna clean anymore. He’s done knocked you out of the zone, upset your groove, put the smack-down on your cleaning mo-jo. Try as you might, the need for sparkling appliances is gone gone gone – like your money at the gas pump.

Don’t you hate when that happens?

And by hate I mean he should do that more often.

~cunt

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The Fun They Had

We had the best weekend EVAR.

Well, it was the best in a really long time anyway.

Friday he stuck me under the desk for one of those marathon hours-n-hours long fuck sessions that have me pounding my fist on the floor in frustrated pain while struggling to keep my ass cocked in just the right position while he bangs the ever-loving snailsnot right outta my body. You know the ones.

Fucker.

Sir.

Saturday. Mmm. Saturday.

There is something about having yelping naked women around that almost ensures good times, isn’t there?

We were treated to one of the funnest scenes we have ever watched. Lord knows we appreciate a serious, sensual, edgy scene, too. But laughing so hard that you are crying while someone *else* is being caned is just WAY too much fun.

What a trooper she is.

She was delivering one-liners faster than He could swing the cane. He wadn’t exactly ticking her ass with those canes, either! He was thwapping her! She’d yelp and he’d ask her something, trying (in vain, I might add) to steer it toward serious, and she’d look at him, deadpan straight-face, and blurt out some quip or another.

We were rolling in the peanut gallery, wiping our eyes.

I think the poor Dom gave up trying to get serious right about the time she farted.

lololol

We cracked UP. He backs away from her ass and starts fanning the air and goes, “I don’t know if I wanna be working down there anymore!”

God. It was too fucking funny.

And then! Right when he seemed to be regaining some semblence of “this r serious business” composure, you know – she’s gotten quiet, he’s concentrating on walking her through some pain, we’re all on the edge of our seats, watching the energy flow between these two gorgeous people -

SNAP!

The clothespin that we had holding the curtain shut snapped in half with an usually loud crack, FLEW across the room in pieces… this poor girl on the table getting beat? Who was just starting to slide down, was quietly concentrating and waiting for that next blow? Purt near JUMPED off the table, squeaked, the Dom ducked, I think we were all heading for the floor to assume the bomb-shelter position –

Honest to God. I haven’t had this much fun in ages. What a great night that was.

I got to be Master’s Little Helper while he did some wax play on some other girly-girls, and, I gotta tell ya, hearing the two of them moaning on the floor, watching them wiggle? I about had to go wipe my thighs. I wasn’t even being waxed and I was HOT.

No wonder men are sadists. Srsly, girls whimpering and writhing under your hand? Fuck me. What a turn on.

~fans myself~

Whew.

I’ve seen Master do things to other submissives before, but not like this. He’s done quick things, like “lemme show you this” kind of stuff? This was way better though. Imma be a little brag-ish and say that he is hot when he’s in action.

S’cuse me while I touch myself.

I even had a pussy jolt when I saw him sitting on the couch, cuddling up in some aftercare with another naked chicka. He just oozes power, sitting there in his tight-ass jeans, all dressed and manly-looking with some naked, high-flying girl all wrapped up in a blanket on his lap.

God damn. I’m gonna have to go masturbate pretty soon.

Needless to say, the sexual energy flowing through the house was at an all-time high this weekend.

A couple of months ago I asked if losing the expectation would also mean losing the desire. I am happy to report that it does not.

The desire popped up when it was called on. When he asked for it. Not that pesky me-me-me angst that I carried before. Not that stomping around the house watching the clock tick down the precious time, nothing at all like how it had been in the past when the kids would bless us with a free weekend. I had no expectation. I had no angst. I had nothing but making sure he was happy, content, and his dick was pleased.

And when he picked up the whip or whatever, I was just happy to stand there and take it.

He whalloped on me pretty good, too. I am bruised and welted and scabbed. He told me he was going to “take it slow and easy” since we hadn’t played in awhile and since it was the first time we’d played with this group.

Well. If THAT was “slow and easy”? Count me OUT of the “fast and hard” play, mmkay?

Not that I wasn’t loving it or anything. I was jazzed. He coulda whipped me for the next 3 hours and I’d have still begged for more.

Before the weekend was over I had to:

Wash sperm off the bedroom door (I told him his aim was bad, he told me I made him come so hard he overshot my face. Squee!)

Scrub my own squirted come out of the living room carpet – and I rarely ever squirt! (I guess he was returning that ‘coming too hard’ favor. teehee)

Clean up about a gallon of wax (whoever discovered the iron and paper bag trick is a dadgummed genius!)

Wash blood from my vampire-gloved ass out of my favorite slut blanket.

Good times, man. Good times.

I am a happy camper today. I cleaned out the jumbled mess of a toybox, reorganized everything so it’s all easy to grab. I’m gonna go wash the sheets and clean the house and make dinner and sing along to Michael Jackson. I am in love with my life.

And I’m sore! God I missed being sore. It hurts to sit (I’ll have to ask Master to take pictures of my butt.), it hurts to move my arms, my nipples (jeebus but he was deadly spot-on cracking the whip across my nipples! They’re skinned, blushed a bright pink, and HURT.)

Did I already say good times? I did.

Well. It was. :-)

(we didn’t film any of the play Saturday night. We didn’t even think about it at the time. But Sunday morning, he whipped me again and filmed that one. It’s up at the store.)

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