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.)
1 person likes this post.