t time and cowering

Heart shaped owie

Heart shaped owie

Last night’s dinner was a happy success. Date number 1 is now going to be referred to as “t”. I might change this later on, but for now, “t” will suffice.

“t” was on time and dressed in shirt and tie, just as instructed. Both boy toys were given the same instructions, and both looked incredibly dashing.  He met us at the door, and I could tell he had some nervous but excited energy about him. I smiled at this. I had a good feeling that he and my boy were going to hit it off, and they appeared to do just that.

We got a corner table in the back. Not one I would normally seek or even approve of (no one puts baby in the corner, remember??) but it seemed appropriate.

I had instructed each boy toy to bring with them three to five questions that they would present to the other. They each wrote down five things they wanted to know about the other. The list also included one thing they wanted to share with the other regarding something they were concerned about. An example could be, “I am worried about pain, and how much I can tolerate”. That sort of thing.

We each ordered a big, lovely cocktail and that helped set the stage. All three of us are foodies and specialty cocktail people, so it was a good platform form which to start chatting. The tally of similar interests what significant, and talking was easy. We filled the minutes as the minutes turned to hours. Every gap was filled.

Our talk was largely vanilla. I did not want to scare him off. I know he was deeply nervous but as the night progressed, he admitted that his anxiety was waning. He was enjoying himself, as we all seemed to be.

I am not going to say much more, except that I did have to keep sexy and evil thoughts at bay during certain points of the evening. t would be talking, maybe something about work, and in the privacy of my mind, I really wanted to see him in my kitchen, naked, with a gag in his mouth, doing some cooking or cleaning. Nothing major, nothing to scare him off, but certain enough to make sure he knows who runs the show.

It was a great evening. I am pleased.

I don’t know if john is all that pleased, though. Not with dinner, but with what followed dinner. I am not sure what got into me, but when we got home, he sort of pushed upon me the seventh fucking of the day, and I got a bit rough with him in return. I needed to hear his whimpering and begging to make sure he knew who really was in charge. It’s me, in case there is any doubt. I was rough on him. I beat  him for a while, simply because I wanted to. I made sure he spent some moments cowering because I wanted him to cower for a bit. Not too many moments, but some.

The photo that accompanies this post is a mark I left on his body. My mouth put it there. I like how it looked.

Even in our consensual pain, there is love.

 

 

When I’m on fire…..

I want to make a few comments on john’s post from yesterday, “Switching“.

For me, I thought it was hot as hell. I know that’s a very personal observation, and I am being purely subjective, vs objective.

It’s personal because when I took my first, terrifying, tentative steps into the world of BDSM, John was there. He was, and has been, my primary partner and my most trusted everything. I learned my entire platform of learning from him.

I started as a submissive, or, at least, I thought I was submissive. All of my fantasies….the ones that turned me on, the ones I’d reach under the covers and touch myself to when when I was a teenager…. all had me as the heroine in distress, where I was rescued, held captive, and loving tortured for the rest of my happy days. For years and years (like, 25!), those were my fantasies.

Then, I met John, and he was the exact embodiment of those fantasies, and I swooned.

I still swoon over this guy, and it’s been a decade.

We learned very quickly that there is nothing submissive about my personality. I simply can’t hack being submissive and being told what to do for more than about 9 minutes. But bottoming? I didn’t know there was a difference, but once I learned the difference between bottoming and submitting, I clearly knew that I was a dominant who liked to bottom on occasion.

Really….the absolute best of both worlds, if you ask me.

As I learned and saw more within the BDSM world, my fantasies became deeper and darker.  They became darker because I included things in them I didn’t even knew existed. Who knew you could actually apply  lots of fire to a human body and have it be sexy and amazing??  I didn’t know that at age 20 or even 25. I didn’t know until I did fire play….one of the nicest things ever! I’ve tried so many things, things I never, ever thought I would try.

I am also very content knowing that some things are much better left in fantasy than in reality but for the most part, so much of it is simply amazing!

So it goes.

But John was always the exact cornerstone of my fantasy base. When I met him, I lost 40 pounds because I forgot to eat. I am not kidding, at all. That is how much I was captivated.

So, about John’s post from yesterday, his dominant side: I know it is there. I know how turned on I get when I get to see it. It’s the best aphrodisiac in the world for me.

But reading it also make me realize something that was hard for me to admit. Sad, even.

What hit me when I read his post ‘Switching’ was that I am simply not brave enough to handle his deepest, sadistic side.

I really don’t think I will get to be that girl, because I just don’t think I can hack it. I don’t think I could handle what I know he could mete.

2108370287_d419171a8d_z

 

These are particularly deep, kinky places that we are talking about. They are not for everyone. I don’t know that they are for me, even.

I have  been in professional dungeons more times than I can remember, and I have seen everything I can think of seeing, including what I would call “the most extreme” while still remaining SSC (safe, sane, consensual). I really don’t know what John means when he talks about the deepest aspects of his sadism. I haven’t asked, because I don’t actually want to know. Because what if we did decide I could handle it, or try handling it? Then I’d know what to expect, and I don’t want to know those things, I don’t want to remember them. If I am able to have that experience with him, then I want it to be brand new to me.

Knowing that John loves me as he does, it makes my head tingle knowing that we can do these things to one another. How deeply, deeply sexy to create loving torture on the one we care about so much??  John could, if we played out that scene, do terrible things to me, but defining ‘terrible’ is in the eye of the beholder.

And if that were happen, I would want to be sexy about it. I would want to be tied and gagged and immobilized. I would want to be retrained from screaming and running away. Because, I have struggled to handle when he has been particularly hard on me, and with snot running down my face, I have tried to get up and run. Not very sexy at all. I dislike the mental image of that. In my mind, I am strong and stoic and sexy as I endure. In reality, I am a blubbering, sloppy, begging mess. Ugh. Very Unsexy to me.

But I also know that this  messy image is a turn on for others. Again, all in the eye of the beholder.

I just happen to be my own beholder, that’s all.

I don’t have to decide now. But we have not really talked about this level, this side, of his kink in years. Until, that is, he posted about it yesterday. And I smile, knowing we still have so many stones unturned, so many places we can still visit if we so choose.

When I get an itch to bottom, I will crave  him pull my hair, rough me up, spank my ass, boss me around, and fuck me hard and it is enough.  He can intimidate and scare me with his strictness, which I love (ok, it makes me verrry wet). He is a very strong guy, and he can literally do what he wants with me, if he is allowed to. It completely satisfies. And really, I can handle an evening of it, and the itch is scratched, and I am done. It is so incredibly interesting to me, because when nights like this happen, I can literally feel my dominant side (we call her Madame) standing off to the side, tapping her foot, getting impatient to return. I love that she is standing there, as though the bottom of me were getting its tires changes, and Madame is eager to hit the road.

I get that bottom fix, those tires changed, and I am done. Those bags are packed, and I am out the door, as quickly as I came.

Bottoming to me is like vacationing…..nice place to visit a couple of times a year, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

I love living in the land I do: where this female rules the roost, where I am queen of the hill, and where that complex, loving, submissive, loyal, sexy boy john awaits me. That is where I live.

It’s been nice posting about this, thinking about it, and getting roughed up a little bit by John as of late. Such a lovely vacation. Back to reality.

Reality is, it’s 9am, and my boy john is still sleeping, and I am itching to wake him.

<Insert evil smile here>

Use caution

Use caution, explosion risk

Use caution

In an interesting experiment, I thought I’d report here on the (non-scientific) results.

Just because you can make a man orgasm without ejaculating, does not necessarily mean he won’t return to fucking after that orgasm and not be ready to instantly blow his load.

This is the lesson learned this morning. See, she was very wet and horny this morning and, well, I’m a dog and am almost always horny. So she used me. She teased me. She finally got me to the point where I could give her some fucking, but then she started whispering to me. Damn it, woman, don’t you remember what happens when you do that?

Eventually, she tired of my not being able to really fuck her hard (else I’d explode!) and I lay back on the bed. And then I felt it. Oh there was that squeeze, that contraction in my body. And I knew what it was. And I accepted it, I wanted it and I breathed at her “squeeze me, please” and she squeezed my cock. “My balls, hard, please” I managed to utter. Her other hand grabbed my balls and she squeezed the hell out of them. I writhed under her, not from the pain, but from the orgasm that was jolting my body. It’s weird when it happens, but I was able to make it happen, pull that orgasm right out of my body and let it flow. It wasn’t the best orgasm ever, but it certainly WAS an orgasm.

So, well, being the dog I am, I suggested “Maybe after that, I can fuck you harder now.” And she invited me to try. And I failed. Oh boy, did I fail. I didn’t cum, but I still couldn’t fuck her. Five or six strokes into her beautifully wet pussy and I was back again at the edge of ejaculation and she was smiling up at me with one of those “Damn it, boy” grins on her face.

I don’t like that I can’t fuck her the way she wants and deserves, but I also know now that she really does enjoy watching me struggle against cumming inside her. Her cruel side takes great pleasure in watching my struggles. And I know that, if she really did want to be fucked, she’d summon that other side of me that really can fuck her until she begs to stop. But in the meantime, we’ll continue on, for science, in learning what limits can be pushed, what should be pushed and what shouldn’t. And I’m a willing lab rat in the series of experiments. Because, well, for science, after all!

 

Constructing Tales

My boy has become accustomed to me telling him stories. Often, when we are fucking, I will whisper tales to him that are more or less fantasies we both individually and collectively share. Sometimes I will let stories unfold, vividly painting him in the picture, setting the stage, and adding enough detail so that he can envision the imagines created in my mind.

Other times, I will delve straight into the heart of the matter, surpassing all of the background and backstory, and I will put my energies into portraying him as the main character, the sexual slave who is at the complete will and mercy of a roomful of strangers who have gathered for the soul purpose of using my boy for their sexual pleasure.

I will be riding my boy, grinding down upon his cock, my hips slightly swaying so that I might swallow every possible inch of him, and I will start to talk. My voice ends up being more throaty than usual because I speak in hushed tones, wanting him to concentrate on hearing me, forcing him to remain quiet so he won’t miss any of the details. I will talk about his training, how one day there will be another in our lives who will exist for the exclusive purpose of helping me train my boy.

I envision this man……and yes, more often than not, the fantasy is of another man…..as a dominant counterpart who is more than happy to be aggressive and assertive with my boy as he instructs him on how to  pleasure and please. Sometimes my fantasies are of another submissive male that I have acquired, one who is dominant to my boy, but submissive to me. I will use them both as players for my fantasies and training objectives. Or, I will use one as punishment for another.

My boy has spilled his seed many times over the months, without consent, without permission. At times, he has been unable to control himself, and ends up spilling his mess despite strict orders not to. Training is required. Punishment must be summoned. And I thoroughly delight in the idea that another will be invited in to assist with those two things.

We are finally at the point where those fantasies have a real shot at becoming realities. Soon…..very soon…..the personal ad I have been constructing in my mind will become a reality, and I will begin my search for  the ideal confidant

7563557368_a16438f66b_zwho will be more than delighted to be an occasional but regular visitor in our home. This man will show up after work, in winter darkness, and will do as instructed. He will use my boy, his holes, his service, and he will be an instrumental part of the rewards and punishments. The stories that once thrived only in my mind will become realities, and they will breed new stories, real stories, and more fodder from which my boy will feed.

When I straddle my boy, and ride him as I did yesterday, and I instruct him to keep is mouth wide open (his cunt, as I call it), it is for a reason. Because that WILL happen one day. One day…..one night, really….I will be using my boy. He will be on his back, and I will be atop of him, taking my pleasure, and another will be using him mouth to take their pleasure too. My boy will be in service to me, never forgetting the hierarchy of whom he belongs, but servicing us both.

It begins to feel different when fantasy begins to become reality. I am a fairly monogamous person by nature, and I do not wish to change that. My love is for my boy. But that doesn’t mean that training and intimacies with others won’t take place. We have the opportunity to make the private whisperings of sexual utopias real, and I think that makes us lucky.

And so the careful search begins. I will not settle for less than what I want. The right person is out there…..I feel certain of this. It’s just a matter of finding them.

 

Good morning, indeed

She awoke before me, as is normal. I had put her to sleep last night reading to her from an author on literotica.com, a lovely place I’ve been perusing for well over a decade. She loves my voice and I love serving her this way. She pet my cock and balls during some of the time I read to her.

I awoke this morning and took on my typical morning duties. Still collared but without my glasses, I made the bed. I was just putting the wool blanket on the bed when she came in. “You’re up” she said with surprise.

“Yes, Ma’am” I replied. She was surprised I was up on my own without her coming in to wake me. I often snooze and she ends up being my alarm clock.

“Lay on the bed, head over the edge.” I knew what was coming. She dropped her robe and now naked, turned to present me her ass. I kissed her cheeks until she spread them open and planted herself on my tongue. I dutifully tongued her ass for her until she shifted and presented her pussy to me. She smothered me with it as well, though she didn’t appear to be in the mood to really smother me. She dismounted, walked around the bed and climbed up. “Do you think you’ll be a good fuck toy for me?”

She straddled my legs “Are you going to be able to fuck?”

She put my cock at her opening. “Are you going to be useful to me?”

She slid my cock into her, in and out a few times before she settled down with my cock fully inside her. “I hope you’re a useful fuck this morning, boy.”

And then she rode me. I had treated all her questions as rhetorical, as she had already had me stroking myself while I orally serviced her and my cock was already at the edge several times. I knew that I didn’t have a good fucking in me and that I would soon be struggling with my own physical need to explode and spill my cum. Replying to her questions would have sealed my arousal in my mind and further brought me to the edge.

“STOP!” I heaved…

She stopped. “What? Why? Aren’t you my fuck toy?”

“STOP!” I implored, pleading with her to stop using those words. She knows the power some words have on my sex, simply saying the right words in the right way when I’m at the edge can easily push me over and result in a rather large mess.

She slapped my face. Hard. I winced and instinctively put my hands up to defend my face. “Hands down!” she barked. I put my hands down and she slapped me again. “At your sides, you know how I want them”. This was not the first time we had been in this place. I knew what she wanted. When she wants my hands out of the way and she is riding me, I put them at my sides, she pulls her legs in while straddling me and I am imprisoned that way. I likely COULD get my hands free, but I dare not, else I would face harsher treatment.

She continued riding me, still verbally taunting me. “What are you?”

“Your fuck toy”

“And what do I want?”

“Fucking…” I queried.

“Good fucking. Hard fucking. I want to get off on this cock, this toy, this thing that I own. Who owns this cock?”

“You ma’am, you.”

“Yes, I do” she groaned as she settled down onto the cock and buried it deep within her.

“STOP!” I implored. She slapped me half a dozen times with both her hands. My face was sore and smarted. I was sure it was red.

“Why the FUCK do I have to stop?!” she smacked my face again.

She rode me more. She had put me, finally, into that place where she can fuck me. And that is what she did. She ground her hips against me, really getting a good fucking going. She did that for a few minutes really enjoying her ride, taking great pleasure from riding her toy, fucking her cock, using her boy.

“Now that’s a good toy. That’s a good fuck toy. Are you allowed to cum?”

“No Ma’am!” I replied.

“No, you’re not and you won’t for a long time.” I could hear her smiling. “Open that mouth. Open it. Open your eyes. Look up at me.” She put three fingers into my mouth and fucked my face with her hand. “This is how I want you once I find the right cock to visit us. Riding your cock while you suck off a beautiful cock. LOOK AT ME!” I had closed my eyes. She had taken me from that point of being able to withstand the fucking and pushed me further into danger. She knew what she was doing. She was done fucking and ready to climb off but she wanted to torture me again. She kept me like that, forcing me to open my eyes and my mouth wide for her while she alternatively rode me, slapped me and taunted me. She knew that talking about cock sucking would push me to the edge and she did it skillfully.

“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” I almost shouted. She did.

She caressed my face, causing me to flinch at her touch. She smiled. She climbed off, brought her pussy back to my face for a little post coital cleaning and told me she was done. My cock throbbed. It probably dripped too.

Yes, a beautiful morning, indeed. The taste of her on my lips combined with my coffee was heady. I hate having to wash her scent from my face when I shower and brushing my teeth removes more of her scent. But I served her well last night and then this morning and that’s a very good thing. Everyone started their day with a smile.

Sleeping beasts sometimes wake up

It’s already common knowledge that my lovely Mistress and owner does, on occasion, feel the need to be dominated. She and I have many personas within our lives together, though our primary ones are of Mistress and slave. There is one persona of mine that comes out on occasion, sometimes bidden, sometimes unbidden.

I have within me a sexual beast. An animal. It has a heightened sense of smell, sees clearly in darkness, is thankfully without actual claws and is driven by one primary need: sex. This beast always finds its prey in bed. He will sniff at her, paw at her, grab her, throw her around the bed, move her in any way he pleases and will genuinely take sex from her. As she has already written, she knows what might happen when she awakens this beast on purpose. She knows the consequences of her actions.

Sleeping beasts

Sleeping beast

Yesterday, she taunted this beast, from morning until bedtime. In the morning it was teasing an innocent dog that only wanted to play. By the evening it was sidelong glances at the dinner table as she watched him tear into the meat on his plate. He was very hungry. Dangerously hungry. And it wasn’t for the pot roast.

After dinner guests left and roommates went to bed, he took her. The most finite details are not important, but it is worthy to note that there came points where she was unable to protest. A hand at the throat certainly prevents much protest. He was thick and hard. He took her intensely, deeply and without regard for her, but completely for his own pleasure. And her discomfort was part of his pleasure. He was not completely merciless. He used lube. He rewet the lube at times. But he definitely used it to his own advantage. She ended up having a big beautiful orgasm while he punched his fingers into not just one of her holes… but two.

And then he took her again after she came. And he used her hard. And they fell asleep. At one point she whispered “rape me up later… “* not expecting it to ever happen.

But she was sorely mistaken. And her sore pussy was assaulted again in the middle of the night. Silently his cock swelled while lying beside her. He stroked it to hardness, gently and quietly. And when he was ready, he made his cock wet, sat up, straddled her one leg while she lay on her side and slid himself deep within her. She woke with a start, realizing it wasn’t a dream. Again, leaving finite detail to the imagination, he used her again, but he indeed “raped her up” * This time was more for him, however. Grunting, groaning and drooling over top of her, his hands grabbed her arms, then her chest, pulling at her pectoral muscles, making her whimper, but it was for him. He was at the center. He fucked. He fucked so hard. And his body tensed… from head to toe his body tensed and shook and shuddered so very deeply. His orgasm was intense and shook them both. But his orgasm was without ejaculation – his body working through it’s practiced motions of being able to orgasm without releasing his seed. He shook and then his muscles released, then he slid off her.

Several minutes passed while they lay in each others arms. Then, reaching for the lamp at the side of the bed, she grabbed a collar, the one normally around her slave’s neck and started to place it on him. This proved that the beast was not gone, but was just resting. She managed to keep her hands at his neck and keep the collar in place there, but he was on top of her. As she slid the leather into the d-rings, his cock was at her entrance. As she folded the leather and tried to slide it back in to fasten the collar tight he was just inside her. As she pulled hard on the collar, choking him, he was almost balls deep into her, but she wrapped her hand under the collar, pulled him back down, twisted her hips, dislodging his cock from her sore pussy and put his head down to the bed. Her dominance again established, the beast left the house, leaving behind it a pet, a dog, a toy, a slave. She slowly relaxed her grip on the collar as the beast let the door slam on his way out of the house and her pup lapped at her skin with his tongue.

The beast had come and gone and left all with a smile on their face.


 

* We use the term “rape me up” as an identified act of consensual non-consent. We have long negotiated such behaviors and know each other well enough to know what is an is not acceptable and that we respect each others safe words. No non-consensual activity is occurring.

Quick ride

Not much going on this morning, though Mistress was horny and played with me this morning a little. She found my cock hard when she woke up, as my body has taken to getting a woody when her alarm goes off (Pavlov!) in the idea that there might be sex involved. This was not, however, her choice of time to use her cock, so she went to have her coffee while I snoozed.

On her return, she found a sleepy dog and a sleepy cock in the bed though it didn’t take much time to wake either, though I think the cock was fully awake before I was. I also was able to revel in a brief little bit of oral pleasure as her loveliness wet my cock with her mouth to make it ready for her. It wasn’t necessary to wet it that much, however, as she was already wet and I easily slid into her as she settled herself on top of me. She rode for several minutes, feeling my cock swell to it’s thickest point, which is where it really does tend to stretch her out. I managed to keep myself in check and did not have to ask her to stop a single time.

She's on top

She’s on top, where she belongs

Time got the better of us, however and she needed to jump into the shower and then off to work. I snoozed a little more until she came back from her shower, then went for my own coffee as she took over the bedroom. (It’s a small bedroom after all. Only one of us can do the morning dressing rituals at a time!)

We made out a little more before she left and I was at the kitchen sink, naked, doing the dishes as she left. The roommates even stayed away while I finished up in the kitchen, which was nice, particularly since she took the hairbrush to my bottom for a couple cheeky remarks I made this morning. I certainly started my day off well and I think Madame did as well.