The Rationing of Orgasms

I discovered something the other night, after He fucked my face and allowed me to use the vibrator while He went upstairs to clean my slobber off His crotch:

Orgasms are like carbonation in a pop.

For me, if I orgasm frequently, they lose their potency and it takes me longer to reach one. Its like opening a bottle of soda: If you open it often, the carbonation escapes and the pop goes flat faster. But if you only open it once in a while, the carbonation builds and doesn’t have a chance to escape. Think about when you open a soda for the first time…that sudden rush to the top, the hard hssht! of the CO2 escaping. As opposed to a pop that has been opened a lot recently…little more than a weak shhhh once allowed out.

For others, I suppose, their orgasms are like typing skills…the more you use it, the better they get!

I have always found the angry rejection and hostility of orgasm control and denial by many s-types to be mildly hilarious. Once I realized that I enjoy my orgasms in a radically different fashion than most, it made a little more sense, but apparently orgasms( to some) are essential to life just like oxygen. I’ll have to tell various nuns and monks across the world that they are on the edge of death.

He gets off on making my sexual release secondary, to making me have to ask and wheedle for an orgasm. I get off on Him off-handedly granting indifferent permission from time to time. Don’t judge my kink and I’ll keep my judgment of your kink to myself.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t give me the occasional mind-destroying knee-bending little death. He is particularly fond of ripping them from me beyond when I think I’ve had enough. They are just at His whim, much like the rest of my life.

Spare the rod, Spoil the slave?

I have seen it often postulated here and there (read: FetLife) that a D/O/M that cherishes, protects and nurtures his slave is often too lax, too weak, not a real D/O/M. That if the D/O/M takes the time to reassure the slave how precious she is, that she is more than just another possession like the car, he will spoil her, make her soft and petulant, he will create his own pillow princess.

I used to think that too. It’s the cool thing, I guess, in many of the groups I haunt. Real mastery is being an Asshole all the time, brusquely crushing off the tears, fears and shame he creates, scoffing at the concept of love and adoration, maintaining a cold aloof presence, being a god merely tolerating the human foibles of the slave.

Whatta crocka shit. Fer Realz.

Given the last tectonic shift in the relationship between N and I, He’s been more open with how much I mean to Him. He’s caressed my hair unexpectedly, planted soft kisses on my forehead, crushed me to His chest and told me in a rumbly voice that I mean more than anything to Him. At first I was taken aback, and truthfully, I distrusted it. I thought it was a ploy to lull me back to apathy. The ol’ “Tell her she’s the best and she’ll finally stfu” that my ex always pulled.

Nope. Turns out, He means it.

And I soaked that shit up like the desert after a hard downpour. My heart blossomed like the agave after the rain. I knew going in that He wasn’t the kind of man to be sending flowers every month and declaring undying love every night. And while I don’t exact exhibit lovey-dovey behavior myself, I didn’t realize just how much I missed the occasional sweet touch/word/thought mixed amongst the pinches, names and actions.

I forgot what it was like to hear someone tell me how much they needed and loved me.

I’m a greedy bitch. I blame the Taurus in me, it makes me prone to gluttony and over-indulgence. So as long as He is willing to be a font of love and devotion, I’ll shower in it. I will dance in it, delight in it, and save it away for dry times again.

Anyway, to the premise of the post: Many D/O/Ms on FetLife would be falling over themselves to caution N that He’s spoiling me, that a slave should never know that her D/O/M needs her, loves her, cherishes her. They say it would ruin their mystique, lower themselves in her eyes, make them vulnerable to the slave. She’d never fear them anymore.

I find it a bit hard to swallow. I know full well N loves me deeply, cares for me passionately. This doesn’t make me adore Him less, fear Him less, it doesn’t devalue Him in my mind.

It actually make me strive harder to be found pleasing, to serve Him, to be at the top of my game. I have to be found worthy of such an Owner, to deserve the honor of serving and being owned by Him. Anything else would not be good enough for such a Man who found the time and bother to own me!

I think it is easier for me to being completely devoted to Him, to adore Him, to worship Him, if I know that He loves me and cares for me, appreciates the struggles and pain I go through to make myself what He wants from me.

It’s a blancing act, and I think we have found it. Good example:

Last night N wrapped me in some tight rope bondage and facedfucked me in various restricted positions before propping me up on my knees and directing me by my ponytail. I gagged, I drooled, I cried, I slumped and stiffened and panted. At one point He pulled my mouth off of His cock and I heaved, hard. It was obvious I had thrown up a little in my mouth and I swallowed rapidly to force it all back down. As soon as I had it back under some control I willingly opened my mouth and forced His cock back down my throat.

He yanked my head back hard and I flinched, expecting a slap or some harsh action.

Instead he planted a quick kiss on my forehead and murmured “Good girl, for going back down deep after that.” I think I was glowing bright enough to light the room. I wanted nothing more than to make Him happy and pleased with me.

Then He shoved my face back into His crotch until I gagged again.

True love, I’m tellin’ ya.

Facefucking Done Right

Swollen lips?           check!

Cuts at the corners of the mouth?       check!

Sore throat?            check!

Hoarse voice?          check!

Bruises on throat from squeezing air off? check!

Tears running from eyes and snot running from nose? check!

Gagging and small vomiting sounds? check!

Tender scalp from using hair as a handle? check!

That’s how I spent my Friday night…what did y’all do?

I hated how even as He was fucking my face, using my mouth like a Fleshlight, I was getting hot. How even as I had tears running out from the humiliation and all the gagging, I was hoping He’d fuck me.

I hated that He didn’t fuck me, even after I completely debased myself and begged for it.

And yet I fell asleep contented and happy, and it was awesome to behold. 🙂 Even as I felt used, abused and discarded like an old kleenex, I felt loved and appreciated.

It is strange paradox.

I Still Have Fingers, Arms and a Head

Good thing last night wasn’t decapitation or limb-chopping night.

Last night, was, well, it was wow. Wow is a good word for it. And minus the first ‘w’, it still applies.


Like I wrote yesterday, it started with the butt plug. Eventually He skipped it and we went about our merry ways getting the kids to bed. After they were asleep He made me a drink, which had twice the usual amount of alcohol in it. I commented that I felt like I could breathe fire after taking a drink and He just snickered. He was so upbeat and excited, like a kid right before Christmas morning. He kept swatting my ass and pinching my tits, and it was making me jumpy and skittish.

I had to strip naked, bring my collar to Him and put on my buckle heels, and that is when I started to worry. He tied me to one of the floor jacks in the basement, spreader bar/shackle combo on my legs, spreader bar and velcro cuffs on the wrists, pulled out and above me. I struggled to hold that position in 3.5″ heels while He swarmed me, tugging on my nipples, pinching my ass, nibbling my neck, murmuring that I was right not to trust Him, chuckling as I tottered on my heels…then, the sound of the camera zooming in. I hid my face as He snapped away, laughing at me.

He took the heels off my poor feet and switched to a different style of spreader bars for my ankles, ones without manacles. He “warmed me up” with some light swats and a few bites, then started in with the thin rubber flogger. I jumped and hissed and tried to sink into the pain. Then He grabbed the leather flogger and laid in. Lightly at first, nice punchy hits that I grunted and absorbed. Once He had me lulled He started flicking it, using wrap-around on the hips and chest, intentionally wrapping it around my cunt and nailing me on the really soft flesh of my lower belly. I hissed and growled and screamed when he really bit in with the strands. He’d mock me when I yelped, asking if it hurt, assuring me that He wasn’t swinging real hard. Which is a useless fucking assurance when He’s utilizing wraparound. Really. I am not that damn dumb. The first time He snapped my stomach with it I screamed, and He came into my vision and asked so solicitously “Aw, did that hurt? I didn’t hit that hard.” to which I angrily replied “Yeah, it is called wrap-around, Asshole! Ever heard of it?!” He looked at me with the most straightest of faces and said coolly “Yes, yes I have.” before doing it again. And again, and again…

The hitting of me with various stingy instruments was randomly interrupted by moments where He would press me into the beam while finger-fucking my ass or my cunt, biting my neck and mocking me more. I struggled so hard to fight back the orgasm, to deny the pleasure, even as my cunt squelched and I could smell the musky aroma of my own betrayal. He fucked me with the handle of the rubber flogger, then whipped me with it. I cursed Him, His mother, the day He was born..

He let me down after a while and reached for the ring on my collar to drag me into the bedroom. Not knowing why His hand was reaching for me, I flinched back. He grinned before grabbing the ring, and that’s when I started to really feel the tingle in my belly that means the fear-monster is rising. He was letting the inner Asshole come out to play, and that meant it would be a long hard night.

In the bedroom He tells me to drink more of the lemonade mixer He made me. I had to lay my head over the edge of the bed after that (me protesting the whole time that if I puked it would “be on Him”, get it, aren’t I a laugh?) for some facefucking, pictures required. He attacked my clit as I struggled to swallow Him, and I was so confused my the mixed signals of “No Air!” and “Want to Cum!” going on in my brain. I was so damned turned on by this point that any more than 2 minutes of His attention to my clit made me ready to explode, which was always when He would remove said attention. After He’d had enough of the facefucking He got out the rope again and tied me up tight in a tit harness. He sat at the edge of the bed and diddled me as I sat astride His lap, and everytime I went to moan He smothered me with His huge rough hand. Smothering is one thing when you get to take a breath before hand. When it hits you on the exhale, it takes a lot less time till panic sets in. At some point it became too hard for Him to control me while He was sitting, so He shoved me into the wall and kissed me violently, raping my mouth with His tongue as His hands roamed across my body pinching, pulling, scratching, mauling. He hungrily sucked away my screams and pleas. Then He threw me across the bed, and I didn’t have the will to do anything but lay where I landed. I was gasping, trying to catch my breath. First He pulled out the locking bit gag, strapped that on tight. Then it was the blindfold. I balked at that, I know it is cheating, but I like to know what is coming at me, dammit. He commanded me to all fours, and I slowly complied, warily.

I know it is clichéd, but after the first few light hits with the mahogany bastard, I trembled with fear and pain. I hate that fucking paddle. Hate HATE HATE it. It bites, it stings, it quickly reduces me to a shaking sobbing pile of bitch. I stayed on all fours for the beginning, but as the hits started getting nastier I was doing everything I could to minimize the blows. It seemed like everything I tried just made a nice target of something else, and I began to throw myself forward or on my side. He crawled on top of me, pinning me to the bed, and continued to whale on my ass, my thighs, my back. I screamed. I gagged. I cried, I begged…I bucked and heaved and clawed…and then I broke. I sniffled into the sheets and laid limp, unable to fight anymore.

He laughingly asked me if a good fuck sounded good right about then, and I wholly agreed…only the tone of His voice had me worried that my definition of a good fuck wasn’t going to be the same as His. I was right…it wasn’t. He had me get hooked up to the fucking machine and suck on Him as I was fucked by the insistent yet impersonal toolbox buddy. As I gobbled N’s cock He fingered my ass again, teasing me with accusations of being an anal slut, shaming me about my love/hate relationship I have with ass love. After a bit of this the machine dong fell out, so while I went upstairs to clean up a little He made a few changes. When I got back, He gave me two choices: more of the DP with the fucking machine, or N in my ass. Knowing that N was going to end up in my ass at some point or another, I chose to get it over with early. Stupid me.

He had me climb on Him, which is my absolute least favorite position for anal, mainly because He can see my face and can further deride and humiliate me about liking anal. And oh, did He. The stream of mocking, sharp comments was constantly on me, and all I could do was whisper “Shut up, I hate You” over and over as my cunt dripped and my nipples tingled. After a bit of this He pushed me off and told me to get back on all fours and fuck myself with the another dong from the fucking machine. I did so, face flushed with shame and embarrassment, and then He mounted and shoved His cock into my ass. I groaned and moaned and whimpered, tears edging out of my eyes as the pressure built. I struggled to catch my breath against the pain even as the orgasm built inside of me.  I inched forward on the bed, trying to lessen the blows to my abused orifices from His thrusts, and the dong fell out. Now it was just N, slamming into my sore ass, and I was flattened to the bed, His weight pinning me in place as He buried Himself in my ass over and over again. I cried out from the pain as He made His final thrust, filling my ass with His come. Hoping that He was satiated, I asked for a towel to clean up with, and He tossed me a towel to sit on, then suggested that He beat some more sense into me. I begged and wheedled, assuring Him that I was well-informed of my place in the world, tyvm. So instead, I was due for some more fucking, and finally allowed that damned orgasm that had been mocking me all night. When it finally hit, I’m pretty sure my heart stopped and I took ten minutes off of my life.

Aftercare consisted of me helping Him put away the instruments of doom toys and cleaning up myself. I drank a little juice and nibbled on a piece of cheese while He showered, then headed back to the bedroom and collapsed into a pile of well-used girl.

Today He has delighted in all the marks He left on me, and has used every chance available to grope slap and pinch my bruised ass. I have rope burn from the tit harness He wrapped me in, bruises all over my ass, sore spots on my thighs from where He pinned me to the bed, a split lip, and an invisible bruise on my forehead where I kept hitting my head on the floor jack pole as He was flogging me. He thinks it is hilarious and is still on me, poking and prodding to get me to whimper. I’m learning to press my ass against flat surfaces whenever He’s near me.


Defiance and Science (my evening)

Since we had finished supper, N has been out in the bobcat moving snow off of the driveway and road so I can finally move my van. It hasn’t moved since last Wednesday and I have this intense urge to apologize profusely to her. N comes in every so often to warm His fingers and toes and thaw the snot off of his nose. During one of the earlier pit stops I could smell Him a mile away…He’d gotten ATF and Hydraulic fluid on His coveralls and coat and good gods above, that shit stinks to the highest heavens.

This last warm up He walked over to my seat at the desk and said “How about I warm up my dick in your mouth.” To His absolute shock I vehemently protested. He stunk. The smell of the ATF made my eyes water, and if I had to breathe it in any closer I’d prolly start to heave. He looked at me with this mixture of amusement and displeasure (If the look could speak it would say “Help, these days, can’t kill them, can’t sell them, think they own the damn world!”). And then with a heavy sigh that indicated He was merely indulging in my silly little stupidity, He slid His coveralls off and folded them over. That’s true love, right there.  rolls eyes

I got to sucking, easing Him into it, and He slides His hand behind my head and grabbed my ponytail. I immediately paused and glared up at Him (well, as much as one can glare up when orally stuffed with dick) with a feeling of exasperation that only a long-suffering slave can appreciate. I am busy actively ignoring the stench wafting from the front of His coveralls and He wants to fuck my throat. I can see this ending two ways, and neither is particularly pleasant…

So I unwillingly slid back down and He held me there, firmly but not painfully, and I patiently waited to come back up for air, reminding myself that fighting it makes it hurt more, uses up air, makes me gag more… the pressure releases and I came up for air, drew in a long breath, and pressure again. Lather rinse repeat a few times…I could sense that the last two were not as smooth, I was starting to get agitated at the end. I drew in a deep breath and slowly swallowed Him again…and waited for Him to release the pressure…waited…quashed the anxiety, and He let me up. He asked curiously “How long do you think that was?” —-

Okay, side rant: WTF is up with O-types gagging you with something and then desiring conversation?! Seriously. My mouth is stuffed full of cock.  Your cock. Let’s not start talking politics or something. Not fair. Not fair at all!
—I shrugged and grunted what I hoped sounded like “I dunno” from around His member. He said “10 seconds. Again.” The pressure, no air, calmed myself. Up for air again. “Good” He grunted. Drew a breath. Pressure again. Held the air. I had a fair guess of what 10 seconds is. I could do this. This was not 10 seconds. The edges of panic settle. How long now? I could do 10, what did He want now? Squelched the distress, waited it out, relaxed. Little muscles in my mouth tensed. Fingers curled on His coveralls. Eyes squeezed shut, ears waited for the most minute sounds of release.  Finally the pressure released and I pulled back, gasped and waited for His direction. “Fifteen seconds,” He said.

Fifteen? Just five more? How. Why. What. That makes no sense, the difference between zen and panic is five seconds. The liminal space; life as defined as a time.

Just how long...

A few more of fifteen second panics and I started to adjust. Fifteen was no longer the number of unraveling. I could do fifteen.

He let me go. He still had the bobcat running, after all. I looked around, unable to meet His eyes. I was a science projection, an experiment, a lab animal. I was an object, curiosity acted upon. I liked it, I hated it, I wanted to do it more. I wiped my mouth and calmed my queasy stomach with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be soon before He toyed with me again.

Yeah. A semi-normal evening. We are so fucked. 😀



Love that Thang He does! (04-26-2010)

So i promised a while back to write about the abuse-n-use session The Man and i had a few weekends ago. Right after i was pretty sure i was going to die a horrible death from inattention. *ahem* So, anyways…

All the stuff written after this is steamy S&M sex stuff. i will not be held responsible for sticky keyboards.

He’d warned me earlier that day that there would be face-fucking that night. Way to kill the mood, except that face fucking, for as much as i dislike it, has some secret element that makes my cunt gush. Even as i’m sniffling, coughing and gagging and swallowing back my bile, my pussy drips cuntjuice and i have to fight the urge to crawl up Him like a tree and plant my fat ass on His cock. Good thing He holds me down, no? So, we get to the “good” stuff, and His goal lately has been to teach me to take face-fucking for longer times before totally coming unglued from lack of air and unruly stomach. i’m on my back, my head hanging over the edge of a few pillows, and He’s sliding His cock in, holding it, sliding back out to let me breathe. First it was in, hold, out/breathe, in hold out/breathe. Then He stepped it up to in, two pumps, out/breathe as the routine for a few minutes. Then it was three pumps. At the end of the three pumps i was panting and gagging, and He was grinning. So we did four pumps, and that’s when i lost it. He got through maybe to cycles before i lost the ability to control the gag reflex and started to fight for air and the ability to swallow. He held it there, lingering, and i really started to panic, clawing at His thighs and stomach, bucking my head and kicking the couch. Finally after eternity a few seconds later He left up and I shot up, swallowing hard and heaving, snot running out of my nose, tears sliding down the sides of my faces and pooling in my ears. I shivered and hugged myself on the couch, crumpled into a little recovering ball of girlflesh. He put His hand on my back and said huskily, “good girl”. That was the best kind of praise and aftercare i ever needed. As a reward for being so damned good (lol!) at the face-fucking, He told me to hop on, and oh lord. I climb onto His lap and sink my hot and achey pussy onto Him, and as soon as i settled to the root He reached forward and grabbed my tits. He kneaded them, mauled them, loved them, and i ground myself against His crotch and whimpered, moaned begged and pleaded; it was bliss. A short time after that He pushed me off and told me to go get the walnut round and the paduak round paddles. I dragged my feet at this command.

Let me tell you something about walnut and paduak wood. It’s very dense, gorgeous, and hurts like a fucker. Especially when swung by a person intent on really hurting you.

So he says to climb on His cock, but facing away and i do so, folding myself to lay my head on His bony ankles. (Have i mentioned that He’s nothing but stick sand bones, no matter how much farm food i feed Him?!) i hug His legs tight, knowing that He’s about to kill me. WHACK! My left ass cheek erupted into flames and i bit my lip to smother a scream. He growls at me to ride Him like the slut i am, and i frantically bounce up and down trying to distract Him from the tempting target my jiggly ass was making. WHACK! Right ass cheek is now screaming as loud as the left. i could feel the welt rising. i whimpered into His skin as the shots began in earnest, across the top of my ass, the sides, the hips, the undersides. A few cracks made me shoot up and He’d smack my back to make me lay down. If I stopped fucking Him it was an especially hard hit and a cussing. i sniffled back salty tears and bit my lips and tongue to not cry out. Nearing the end, one hit from the walnut paddle made me jerk off of His dick. Two hits got me back on it. Then the last hit, and zing! i shot off of His dick, immediately turned around and burried my face in His chest, whimpering and sniffling. He roughly shoved my face into His crotch, where i nursed on His dick for awhile before He dragged me up to the edge of the couch and rubbed the welts on my ass roughly as He slammed into my hungry cunt, make me jump and crawl into the edge of the couch, trying to get away from the brutal assault on my cervix. With a few savage thrusts and a long, low growl, He filled my box with His seed and collapsed onto my back, crushing me into the couch cushion, where i tried to catch my breath and recuperate from the night’s adventures.

Every time i think of that night, i smile. i still have the fading edges of a bruise, it was quite the neat thing, a bruise 4 inches across, pale white circle in the middle, blue and black and red in a circle around the pale spot.

Now if you don’t mind me, i have some “reminiscing” of my own to do!