My Dog Ate My…

Let’s play “Mad Limericks”. Did you ever play that as a kid? Fill in the blank in this line:

My dog ate my ___________ while I was __________ with ____________.

Write your entries in the comments section. 🙂

Here’s mine:

My dog ate my glasses while I was being beaten with a rusty pitchfork.

No, I am not making that up. Only my life would hand me such stupid shit and then sit back and laugh at me.

We can buff those right out. 🙂

Continue reading

Me and That Damn Pole

So last night N decided to be a service top. No lie! He felt that my Njoy performance had been satisfactory and my behavior had been fairly good, so He let me pick what He would use for this month’s beating.

Only, He’s not very good at topping from someone else’s demands. 😀

He asked what I wanted. I said I hate stingy, I hate how you target the top of my ass, and maybe we could give a little attention to the tits. Do NOT bring out the Bastard paddle. Flogging is always welcomed.

Well I didn’t say it like that. I kinda dribbled the information out over the day, because I feel ashamed and greedy to be blurting out instructions, even if He asked me what I wanted.

Er, so...would You hit me? Hard? Cause, see, I'm twisted and get off on it...

Teh evening falls and we wandered downstairs after I showered, so that He may commence to beat me to our mutual happiness. He tied me to the floor post, at wrists and ankles, and through the ring of my collar. Blindfolded me, gagged me with my own leather belt.

Started out with His hands and the rubber flogger. I had decided that I was going to approach the pain in a different way this night. I wasn’t taking the pain for Him that night, so I was going to try to fall in the rhythm of it, embrace it, transform it into pleasure.

In the beginning I could do it. He started off firm and consistently, and asked if I was bored when I didn’t start off adversarial and vocal. The leather flogger kept me at a good heightened state, I was wet and moaning occasionally.

Something switched though. He hit me a few times across the sensitive top part of my ass with the stingy rubber flogger, caught me a few times off guard on the calves, nailed my nipples a few too many times. I started to growl. My fingers started clawing at the air, I started gnawing on the leather belt. He clawed me from the top of my shoulders to my ankles, bit my back and ass and shoulders.

I don’t remember much beyond that. It’s kinda like a red hazy blur. He says I was growling, screeching, yanking and trying to claw the post. I asked if I was a cat or a dog, and He said a cat…but not a cute lil housecat. I was making noises like tigers or mountain lions. Hissing, throaty growls, angry screeching howls…I asked if He had been scared, and He just laughed at me. I guess it actually just made Him want to hit me more, and harder.

Really want to go there? Damned good thing You had the foresight to tie me up...

I started coming back when He fingered me to orgasm. I was still pretty primal, and I just kept shoving my ass into the air, begging Him to mount. The sex was hard, fast and rough, clawing and biting and gripping, sweaty and fundamental in its purpose. I fully re-emerged as He untied me from my favorite post, come dripping down my legs, sore and fulfilled.

I don’t have any marks, but I have a lot of invisible bruises: places that are sore to the touch but unmarred. One that goes from my hairline to my eyebrow ridge right down the middle of my forehead, one at each wrist, one at each ankle from the restraints. It was good. 🙂

I find it hilarious that He fails at servicing topping. Even when He says its my choice He is gonna drive me crazy once I’m in the ropes. Thank the Gods. 😀

I’m Not A Reluctant Masochist!

I’m just a very confused one.

If I were to list my relationship with pain a la FetLife, it would say “It’s complicated with”. No lie, it’s more screwed up than a Jerry Springer trailer trash reunion.

Makes your brain itch, doesn't it?

I enjoy certain kinds of pain. Take me to task with a heavy flogger and I’m blissing on the punches. Slap my cunt and I’m wetting myself. Choke me, slap me…we are going to need a puppy pad for the bed. For these activities, I am a masochist. Oh hells yeah. The more, the better. 🙂 I’m a greedy one, apparently.

It’s when we start talking about canes, stingy pains and electricity that we start wading into downright “don’t wanna” territory. Unfortunately, “don’t wanna” only applies to half of my brain – the logical half, which is often overruled by the “lacking survival tactics” half.

I hate stingy pain. Really really. It makes me want to rise up and do very nasty things back to whoever is hitting me. Crops, mean sticks, hand paddling, hard paddles…anything that leaves bad welts is going to require that I be bound if you want to do it. I have ripped my hand out of a rope tie to try and get at N as He went after me with a heavy paddle.

What part of hitting me with that seemed like a good idea?!

But it is the stingy pain, the unbearable “I will fucking kill you if I can get out of this!” pain that gets me where I want to be after a heavy session…the tired, grateful, calm and owned feeling, a sense of acceptance and completeness, something that can reach into my soul and soothe the rankles. A good flogging doesn’t do that. Face slapping (as we have done it so far) doesn’t do it. Choking/smothering can do it if we do it face to face and He whispers those nasty loving things into my ears as I’m starting to fade away…

*ahem* Where was I?

Oh, right. I don’t know what it says about me, or my personality, as a slave that a good sound thrashing brings me inline with my desire to be a slave to Him better than any pep talk or shaming. But I know it has a definite effect on me, because when we go for months without any kind of S/m activity I get resentful and lonely. I miss the feeling of being smaller, of being broken, of being aware of just how badly He could fuck me up, knowing that it is because He chooses not to that I’m still the whole and healthy being typing away right now.

It lets me brush my fingers against mortality, against tainted love, against deadly desires. That moment of exhilaration where He balances us on the brink of sadismgonewrong and pulls me back from the edge.

I think we all know what happens at the bottom...

Maybe I am a risktaker after all. Wouldn’t everyone else who knows me vanilla-wise be shocked. The steady plodding Taurean, a risktaker? Naw!

All I know is the more I talk to Kaya, and the more N reads what I talk to Kaya about, the worse off I’ll be. For better and for worse!

 

Patience, grasshopper. (04-04-2010)

The Man has been lazy lately. i am totally justified in saying that. He works all day, He goes and plays/works outside after work until the kids need to go to bed, then He comes in and does the bills or watches tv. Then it is our bedtime. It isn’t in physical activity that He’s been slacking. It’s been in the physical mastering and forceful subjugation He’s less enamored with. When we started figuring out what we both wanted, we discovered that i wanted the pain play as much as He wanted to give it. Even with the kids, we found time to indulge both of our desires. Recently, He has felt the urge to beat me less and less, so i’ve been scrambling to learn a new way to squelch the seething need to be taken down and reduced to sniveling pile of sore bitch-flesh. (See that line made me hawt. That’s how hard-up i am.) i’ve asked for a session, i’ve begged. He has no interest in it, so i have accepted that He isn’t in that head-space. Not graciously, not without a little bitterness and cuntishness. Right now, all i can give is the acceptance. i have no way of knowing if i will ever feel the lash of His belt or the punch of the flogger handle. This kills me a little, not knowing where He is taking me. i understand in my mind that His will overrides mine, but in my heart (my slavie heart *snicker*) i rail against it. i don’t want to accept it, i want a good solid beating and some rough sex to finish me off. Can i subjugate that desire? Can i beat the tiger into the cage again? i am going to have to learn, because i don’t see the drought easing up.