Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

My nemesis.

I got my ass kicked by a thin rod, thinner and about as a long, as a standard No.2 pencil. Some masochist I turned out to be.

I absolutely cannot conquer the misery stick. I hate that I can’t find a way to gracefully make it through the pain that stupid skinny stick causes. He tells me to be still, to take it – and I want to, I really really do – yet one snap makes me flop about like a fish out of water. All I can think when He starts snapping me with that thing is Danger, Will Robinson! Abandon ship! Enemy attack imminent!

It started out well enough. Trussed and masked and completely exposed – a masochist’s wet dream!

(more…)

The 2 Hour Blowjob

A few nights ago, Master and I retired to bed. He started reading a book, an almost-nightly ritual for Him, reading until He nods off. (Nods off three times EXACTLY before He closes it and shuts off the light. Men can be so *weird*) Anyway, as He very often does, He flips the blanket off of His nether regions, snaps His fingers and points. That’s my cue to crawl between His legs and get jiggy wit it.

Most nights I perfectly accept this. Most nights I enjoy it immensely. Most nights I’m rather moist in the crotch before He’s anywhere near being done. Most nights.

There are a few nights when I simply ain’t in the mood.

Occasionally I can persuade Him that He is really too tired for a blow job and He should just go to sleep.. He works very hard and very long hours you know! Sometimes I can entice Him into a lovely round of S&M type sex with lots of choking and slapping and moaning and groaning and begging, the kind that leaves you breathless and dizzy, dehydrated and sore and a little fuddled in the head for a few minutes.

That leaves the rare night when I just do NOT want to… and He is absolutely NOT going to accept anything else.

Of course He wins.. He’s the boss. That’s His ‘perk’. I do it, and I usually do it sufficiently. It’s not a performance that would land me in a porno by any means but it’s enough that He gets to go to sleep with empty testes. The end result is the same.

Then there were nights like last Monday. It was an “I don’t wanna, He didn’t care” night. But I was also in the rare ‘I’ll do it cuz You make me but I’m gonna make sure You don’t like it’ mood. Honestly, those moods always always end up badly for the slave. When will I learn??

So, He is reading.. and I start sucking. Sort of. I have my mouth open and I’m barely moving the cock in and out. Very very little effort here. So little in fact that I’m ashamed even to type it. I am such a bitch sometimes.

He manages to maintain an erection though I have no idea how. I mean, the dog licks his butt with more enthusiasm than I was showing. And what was irritating me the most (what always irritates me the most) is how He just….plain…..ignores…. it. So, I upped the ante.

I kept taking His cock out of my mouth(big no-no) to move my hair.. to swallow the build up of spit.. to shift positions.. to rest my jaw. Still..nothing. No reaction.

Talk about maddening! But there was not a chance in hell at that point that I would have asked to stop. No way. No how.

This went on for at least an hour and a half. My jaw was so sore at that point (and remained sore for two days).

Oh yes, I am a stubborn bitch.

Finally, He puts His book down, pushes me away..and I’m thinking “Good, now we can just go to bed, ffs.” Erm.. no. Not yet. He gets up on His knees, pushes me to my hands and knees, grabs the hair.. after a few face slaps and nipple twists to “wake me up”… and starts to vigorously fuck my face. Now, I’ve been sucking His cock for an hour and a half, I’m cramped in places I didn’t know existed and..well damn! It wasn’t supposed to work that way. He was *supposed* to get irritated enough to push me off and flop over to go to sleep. Umm.. yeah.

As He’s pounding my throat.. stretching my mouth (Master is very well-endowed *grins*)… He’s cracking my ass with His huge paddle-like palms… cutting off my breath… reaching down and grabbing dangling tits and squeezing and pulling (days later I’m still sporting fingerprint bruises on my tits..:))… the drool is running down my chin.. a steady stream pooling between my arms.. slicking His cock, coating His balls…

He’s making me fight for air… reinforcing what He owns, His power… my breath, my life, belong to Him. For His pleasure, His amusement, His use.. to take or to give… and He lets me breathe.. when the prickles hit the backs of my eyes, when my body begins to panic.. He pulls back just enough for a small stream of oxygen.. not near enough to satisfy my burning lungs.. not near enough to calm the rising panic.. just enough to keep me conscious.

And I cry… for so many reasons known only to a submissive who is living the power she gave to her Dominant. The pain as His hands claw and pull at my burning boobs, or slap handprints into my ass and thighs… the fear, the helplessness, the overwhelming aspect of knowing that your life belongs to another… the shame of knowing that you’ve disappointed, been less than what you are supposed to be…

And He begins to talk, as His hands grip tightly into my hair and His pelvis beats mercilessly into my face, talking over my chokes and gags…over the heated hiss of the small bits of air I can find.. over the sobs that find their way around the cock filling my mouth.. He talks.

My place as His… my meaning as His. Over and over, He tells me, shows me…until I am nothing. The sobs change from panicky and pain-filled to joy and relief… He cares. He notices. He owns me.

He sits back on the bed a little then.. stroking my face, in all it’s slobber, tear and snot covered glory… His cock jutting stiffly from His body…

“Now make me cum.”

And I do. As I should have in the beginning.

Canes hurt.

Master and I went to bed last night per the usual routine. I was lying in the dark, my head snuggled to his chest, when He just jumped up, throwing the blankets off and ordered me to “turn over”. Thinking I was gonna get something nice, I flipped. What followed was a terribly yummy painful hot hard caning from my feet, up the backs of my thighs, across my ass. God damn.

Canes hurt. Thats about all I got to say. It was definitely one of those ‘I wish I had a safeword so I could SCREAM it right now!’ moments (though the bruises across the back of my legs are oh-so-pretty today).
When something hurts that bad, I think it’s impossible to *not* be a little angry, even within the confines of consensual bdsm and slavery and etc etc. I was a little angry, and a lot turned on, and so the battle waged inside of me. Do I pout and bitch or beg to cum. Decisions decisions.

Well, Master was turned on too so that pretty well took the decision out of my hands. Hard to bitch, pout, OR beg with a cock down your throat…:) Still, I wasn’t all that receptive at first to giving the blow job. My legs were on fire, along with my ass, and I had twisted myself into some uncomfortable position in the chains and He was sitting on the chain attached to my collar so I couldn’t hardly move my head. But the magic of being a masochist kicked in and the whole situation, from burning thighs to wrapped chains to a mouthful of cock, to a Master who isn’t afraid to be a Sadist even when it pisses me off; I was horny, pure and simple.

But appealing to a Sadist’s sympathetic side never really does get you very far does it? Now there’s a lesson to be learned…lol. What He wanted was for me to ask for 5 more strokes and then I could cum. Kept me sucking, knowing how much giving head turns me on, touching me, talking in that soft, cajoling voice. Calling me “baby”. Damn Him. When did he learn all the buttons to push and where was I when that happened?
And then, worried that he would give me the 5 strokes anyway and deny me an orgasm because I didn’t ask! Somewhere along the way… the idea of taking 5 more strokes on my welted and stinging legs made me fucking hot…lol. So, I asked and I was scared when I did. And more scared when he jumped up and grabbed the cane and I held the headboard and buried my face in the pillow and heard the command to count. And the strokes came… soft.. and gentle, barely a sting. I counted with trepidation thinking the next stroke would be the hard one. But it was over and we had sex and lots of juicy orgasms.

What a wonderful end to an otherwise blah Tuesday.
kaya