Beautiful Pain

I don’t consider myself a masochist. I  don’t love pain. In fact in most cases I avoid it at all costs. For example, my epidural was the first thing I paid for when I found out I was pregnant. Best $99 I’ve ever spent. 

Yet, when Sir makes it hurt, he makes it hurt so fucking good. 

I’m happily soaking in my soreness. Happy hump day!

Abstinence Sucks Nasty Balls Day 8

I still haven’t brought myself to fully write about my conversation with Sir last week. Which in turn has kept me a little closed off here. A lot of my emotions over the last week is tied to what is going on us Us.

So here is a bit of a run down. I haven’t had an orgasm in 8 days!!!!

I would say that I am miserable, but it doesn’t quite cut it. While completely realizing that people live in chastity for insane amounts of time. I kind of feel like I am dying. This morning Sir used my mouth. That isn’t a phrase I use very often, because it doesn’t often fit our dynamic, but this morning he did. I’ve been used as a vessel on and off for the last week as punishment, and I almost want to cry.

I don’t cry. Though, I am getting there, and now I am wondering if that is what Sir is waiting on. I don’t know. I just know, that I am very much ready for this to end.

Confessions of a Bad Submssive

Last weekend I had a not so pleasant conversation with Sir; he gave me that look. In essence I was coming clean. I am going to have to have another one of those not-so-pleasant conversations with Sir, and surprise surprise I am not looking forward to it.

His reaction will be cool, calm, and collected, as always when handling something of a more serious nature, so that isn’t bothering me. What is eating away at me, is the fact that I need to talk to him, and what that means. This is me over-analyzing:

Last week it came to my attention that one of my orgasms didn’t completely belong to Sir. It was spurned by someone else, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem. Normally, I’d tell Sir exactly what turned me on – exactly why I needed him so urgently. Last week, I didn’t. Sir let me have my way, and I was wildly appreciative. It was only later that I realized a piece of that release was held back from him, and I had some guilt.

I reached out to him immediately, and all should have been well. Except this one little thing kept nagging me. I liked it. I want more of this outside force, and that is where the wheels really started turning in my head. I need to understand why. Is there something missing between Sir and I? The fact that I posed the question – scares me.

It was sometime yesterday that I realized just how much I am betraying Sir. Not because I have done something truly wrong, but because instead of going to him with my thoughts and feelings immediately I have let them stew. I have analyzed and analyzed some more, which isn’t in itself bad, but as a submissive I should be handing all of these thoughts over to Sir. I am ashamed to say that I still haven’t, and to some extent it has thrown my submission for a loop. I don’t know why something so small has turned in to something bigger.

I will add one more infraction. I have every intention on continuing in my wayward ways until I talk to Sir tomorrow. When I am sure he will look at me like this,

in a way that makes me wet and quake with submissive fear, as he decides just what to do with me.

With a slight hope that he allows me to continue on.

There. I feel a little better already. Writing truly is therapeutic.

An Anatomical Matter

A few nights ago Lola was going haywire. She was in desperate need of attention. Sir was in a deep slumber, and I being the good little submissive that I  try to be, didn’t want to wake him,  and couldn’t masturbate. 

What is a girl to do except fall asleep plotting just how to get my hands on Sir’s most.. useful anatomical part?

I  quickly settled on an early morning approach. So I  set my fit bit to wake me ten minutes before his alarm went off.  

Waking up horny I tore my pjs off heading to his side of the bed.  After kneeling , I took in his sleeping form.  He really is sexy as helll, even covered in sheets. 

I was going to wait until his alarm sounded,  but the need was too great.  “Jackson” I whispered.  

Sleepily he acknowledged me.  

“I need you babe” my voice thick with need and sex.  

He looked down at me, and proceeded to swipe fingers between my folds causing me to groan.  

“So it seems. I could get used to waking this way.”

“Mmm-mmm that don’t work” I said singing part of the chorus to one of my favorite songs.  With a smirk I took what I needed in my hand,  stroking through the sheets.  “Babe” I moaned,  as he continued his fingered assault. I  rose from my position.  ” Guess how I’d like to wake every day” I climbed on the bed straddling him.  My pussy inches away from his face.  

“I won’t shut you down like you did me” he said nipping my inner thigh, sending sharp sensations through me,  “tell me more” he said as he moved his tongue against my labia. 

I  grabbed both of his hands,  moving them up my body,  to my breasts, he massaged and squeezed both handfuls as I began to rock against his mouth. “This,” I said ” I’d like to wake up to your tongue inside me. Knowing your lips taste like me.” Reaching back I captured his cock,  and continued stroking.  “Knowing you’re hard for me, mmm god I want to impale myself on you.”

Separating his tongue from my clit he simply said “Go ahead.”

Moving quickly I aligned him with my entrance,  and slowly sank, letting him stretch me.  “Thank y..”

“Don’t. Thank you” he said slightly strained. “That cunt feels so fucking good.” 

I purred, and got to work,  fucking myself with his cock.  Riding him, feeling every inch as it slides home.  It took a moment to realize he wasn’t touching me.  His hands behind his head he simply watched.  I quickened my pace,  so close to my goal.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” a crescendo escaped my lips,  as his hands came from their nest to steady my hips, as he began to thrust meeting me.

“That’s it baby. Come all over my cock.” 

Like a good girl, I did. Moments later he followed me down the rabbit hole. 

“Mmm thank you love” I said with a sated grin,  rolling over.  He smacked my ass as he got out of bed.  “Wait!” Moving back across the bed I sucked all of our juices off of him.  ” now you can go.” I said with a bigger grin.  

Rules of Being Owned

Rule Number One- There are no rules except the ones you make.

In the last day or so I’ve thought about the rules Sir has set for me more than usual. Partly because of the question posted here, and partly because last night I had a more difficult time than usual following a rule. Particularly the one that prevented me from doing this 

I can be a pretty independent woman. I have a pretty decent head on my shoulders, and for the most part I don’t like to need people. (As my relationships got more serious, that was always a problem for me) So when it came to the rules a Dominant would want to impose it was sometimes a struggle.

I once served a Dom that wanted to control everything. When and what I ate. What I wore. When I cleaned. How often I contacted him. It did’t last long. I felt stifled, and micro-managed, and just bad.

Now I serve a Dom that in reality probably has more rules than the aforementioned one. However, his rules make me feel cherished, loved, special, and owned. Sir’s rules remind me that I don’t belong to myself, they send me further into my submission, and that makes me feel hot and whole.

So you won’t find me complaining that I have to exercise four times a week, or that he knows my schedule for the day, or that if there any major changes I must notify him, or that I am not allowed to wear my hair up without permission, or that paying a bill late will have negative consequences, or that I have to take 30 minutes to myself daily, or that I must wear an approved outfit when we attend lifestyle events, or that I don’t dare orgasm without his permission, or that I can only masturbate on Mondays.

The list goes on, but those are rules I strive to obey.

Because I am submissive

Because I am fulfilled

Because I serve

Because I love Him

 

 

Pick a Dom, Any Dom

As a submissive you are putting your life into a Dominant’s hands, and that can be downright trickyscarydangerousandfuckedup. I was lucky enough to be introduced to BDSM by my first real boyfriend Mike. Throughout the first couple of years of high school I was a pretty good girl. Then Mike came along becoming my best friend, my first Dominant, and eventually the man that stood next to me as I married my husband.

Mike turned me out.

My life has never been the same since meeting him. At the time he had a basic knowledge of BDSM. I was green. The more he showed me, the more I fell in love with him and this lifestyle. We were going strong exploring the BDSM as teenagers.  Then tragedy struck in my life, and while he tried to stay strong for me, we couldn’t make it work anymore as a couple.

We were young and dumb. I still didn’t understand that for me, I wasn’t just “playing a role”. That my submissiveness was a part of who I was, and not something that could simply be turned off when a relationship ended. Cue sub-drop of epic proportions. I can’t even begin to explain how dark that time was in my life. Mike and I remained friends, and he thank goodness suggested that maybe we continue the BDSM side of our relationship. In my head that simply softened the blow of not being together anymore. I didn’t realize that I NEEDED to submit. Which is why, when I was truly no longer in love with Mike I thought I could just stop submitting to him as well. We really were dumb. We started seeing other people, and the D/s stopped for us.

Another disaster, but this time, I couldn’t go back to him and kneel. I was lost. I remember getting on Fetlife and looking for a Dominant. I was going through that nasty nasty thing called sub-frenzy. Except I didn’t know it. I went through Dominant after Dominant giving myself emotional scars along the way. Not knowing what I needed, but simply that I wasn’t getting it.

Enter my dashing mentor. He served a similar purpose as to what ( Insert name here.. I really have to start learning some names) talks about in his Bigger Brother post. He helped me. He recognized my frenzy for what it was. He gave me the Dominance that I needed to be strong. He helped me understand my feelings; helped me understand what I wanted and needed from a Dominant; helped me understand that my thoughts were valid. That being submissive didn’t mean that I had to simply do whatever I was told by any Dominant, but that I had to find the right Dominant for me. For a while I really wanted that to be him. Sidebar:

I remember being in a hotel room with him after he’d provided me with my first anal orgasm. My gosh my body remembers that moment so well. He wanted to push me more. So we went to shower, and that night I ended up having my first and last golden shower. What still touches me about him, is that he didn’t allow me to simply say. I don’t like that lets move it to the hard limit side. He made me explore WHY I didn’t like it. I remember the Ah Ha! moment I had when it finally dawned on me that I do not enjoy feeling truly dirty. I don’t enjoy humiliation. It doesn’t make me feel good about submitting, but it sucks all the joy out of it for me.

It was little and/or big things/conversations like that that enabled me to become a stronger submissive. He let me know it wasn’t selfish or un-sub of me to know and ask for what I wanted. Now… truth be told because of that it took me a little longer to find the right Dominant for me. It was hard work, and there were some bumps along the way. A few relationships that still failed, but even those were more meaningful. My connection with those Doms were strong.

This writing all came about because as I was reading last night I came across a post where the writer relayed a conversation she had with a new submissive. In the conversation the newbie said something along the lines of ‘relationships are two way streets, don’t I get to pick him too’. Then this newbie was told NO. That she was simply to present herself, and if a Dom wanted her, then she would need to respond accordingly. That shattered me, and I politely disagreed. We as submissives are not meat to be picked over  as if meat on the the market. We have every right to choose our Dominants just as they choose us.

(Now, in a sort of Fetlife disclaimer if you are the type of subby to want that meat market style of life then so be it) However, not all of us are meant for that. Just life not all of us are meant to be 24/7 slave. So for those newbies, explore yourself first, and/or find a mentor to help your explore before you go off searching for a Dominant.

Never do you want to be in a position where you simply picking a Dom, any Dom, because your life is in the palm of their hand.

With all that said my experience was my own. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter. There should be a comment button somewhere down there… or up there maybe.

 

Because of Becca…

I came while bent over my bathroom vanity this morning. I will start at the beginning.

One of the many sacrifices I made with the career change was giving up my weekly massage. It was difficult, but my chiropractor tamed the change in three ways. One. Becca is kind of hot. Two. My insurance pays Becca. Three. Becca massages low.

My masseuse Angie was wonderful, and as massages go, my time with Angie could be described as fairly intimate. I would walk in strip, and Angie would do magical things to my body.

Until Becca my experiences with chiropractors were cold. I saw them post car-wreck, they would put me in room, attach the electro-pads to me, tug, push, make me crack, and send me on my way.

Becca was noticeably different from the first time she pulled my panties down to massage my lower back. I didn’t mind the electro-pads, tugs, pushes, and cracking from Becca because each session ended with my feelings as if I’d enjoyed a ‘half-body massage’ instead of an ‘adjustment’.

Now that I am off for the summer, my morning routine has changed, and I get to enjoy watching Jackson move around as he prepares for this day. This morning we were in a heated debate about Labor Day weekend; I am dreading spending it in Hilton Head with his family. No- with his mother. I digress. Walking out of the bathroom I flippantly declared,”thank god I am going to Becca today, she can work off this tension in my neck.” I couldn’t stop my footsteps fast enough as I felt his hand grab and then wrap around a fist-full of my hair. This is when time seems to slow a bit. My pulse quickens. I am suddenly hyper aware, because I feel the change.

I am not often the bratty type I swear. This morning though, I was irritated. So when he asked if I was going to Becca so she could make me feel good, I looked straight ahead as his grip tightened against my scalp, the thrill sending tingles throughout my body, and I said “she is going to make me feel great”. I knew what I was doing, but to be honest, it was fun. What happened after was even more fun.

As if my hair was a leash Jackson pulled, and I stepped backwards towards him my back flush with his chest. My breathing betraying all attempts to hide my arousal as he lowered his head to rest on my shoulder momentarily before trailing his tongue up past my neck to my ear.

“Does Becca make you feel this?” He inquired in a whisper.

“No Sir.” I responded, barely audible. His left hand circled me, caging me in, and then drifted, agonizingly slowly under my blue teddy, past my mound and directly into my heat. He turned us so that we faced the large vanity mirror.

“Look at you. What about now? Does Becca make you feel like this?” He said harshly in my ear. His fingers curved hitting that perfect spot. My head falling back against his chest, as he released my hair to allow his right hand to circle my clit. Losing proper function of my legs, I reached out with both hands against the vanity to support myself.

“No Sir she doesn’t.” I admitted via half moan, closing my  eyes as my hips began to rock forward against his hand, and backwards against his cock.

“Really, open your eyes, look at yourself. You are humping my hand. Can Becca make you feel this?” He asked again as he withdrew his fingers from inside me. I moaned in protest, and he quickly unsheathed his cock before thrusting into me.

It is always so perfect the way he feels with that first thrust, my body quickly adapting. Throaty, raspy, moans, and pleas rip from my throat as he fucks me. Hard. Deliberate. Punishing. Thrusts.

“When you see Becca today, and she has her hands on you, I want you to remember this.” Each phrase punctuated by another breathtaking thrust inside me.

“Yes Sir.” I yelled silently begging for the release that was coming far too quickly.

“Do you want to come for me?”

“Yes please Sir”

Will Becca ever ask you that?”

I grunted in frustration. “No Sir. Please!” I begged as he intensified his assault on my clit.

“Come with me baby.” And beautiful little white spots burst behind my eyes, as he burst inside of me.

So when I was splayed along the table, and Becca pulled my panties down and out of her way, a soft moan escaped my lips, but I didn’t tell Becca it was all her fault that I sort of

looked like this

Kinky Sex Club

as I came while bent over my bathroom vanity this morning.