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.

 

Dangerous distractions – Erotica (05-26-2010)

It was hot, even though she was topless and wearing only shorts. She armed sweat off her brow, leaving a smudge of dirt in it’s place. She stretched tall and glanced towards the other end of yard, stealing adoring glimpses of her Owner as He tinkered with their ancient, cantankerous tractor.  Suddenly, weeding the garden didn’t hold much importance in the scheme of things, so she sauntered over to where her Owner lay prone under the tractor. She smiled as she heard half-muttered cursing and snarls drifting up from Him, accompanied by clanks and bangs and even the occasional grunt of pain. He sounded frustrated. Angry. Maybe He needed to cool off too…

Quietly slipping her foot free of her flip-flop, she quickly rested it firmly against His crotch, pressing noticeably, stopping short of pain but leaving very little wiggle room. It was a calculated risk, she knew, to not only interrupt Him but to be aggressive against Him. The sounds of frustrated work stopped immediately; a voice grumbled, low like an idling diesel engine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girl? He snarled menacingly.

“I’d think it rather obvious, Master.” she retorted. “Stepping on You.”

She smiled, but underneath she was anxious. This could either go really really well, or she severely miscalculated His mood, and this could go horribly bad, for her at least. She braced herself, expecting a sudden change in position. She was prepared then, when He quickly brought the foot nearest her out and up, trying to sweep her off her feet. She dodged it and quickly moved to His other side, pressing a lilttle bit harder on His crotch to giver her a better chance of prolonging the outcome of this fight. He groaned and snarled, a strangled moan rushing towards her, and she had to fight against all of her training to not immediately drop to her knees in supplicant apology. To her surprise, He scooted away from her foot, out the underside of the tractor, and suddenly she was looking into His snapping blue eyes over the engine block of the tractor. His face was dirty, smeared with grease and grit. He had a forbidding look to his handsome angled face, a jut of arrogance in His jaw. The electricity snapping in His piercing eyes made her knees weaken once again, but she gritted her jaw and thrust her face out defiantly.

“Are you looking at a beating beyond no other, girl?” He demanded, cold amusement and dangerous desire playing across His features.

“Surely You wouldn’t be able to do such a thing, You must be too tired after getting nowhere on the tractor” she smirked.

“Oh, I think I can find it in me,” He growled.

Before she could even frame a response, He was lifting Himself up and over the tractor’s engine, meaning to squash any defiance in her to a meaningless pulp. She turned and bolted, feeling the rough callused fingers tips of His left hand skate across her bare shoulder as she launched herself away from His leap. She heard the thud of His feet hitting the ground behind her; then the air was filled with her breathing, light and rapid, and her footfalls, beating a quick staccato on the soft grass. Those sounds were quickly overcome by the sound of His breathing, heavier and somehow more alive, and His steps, solid and sure in pursuit of her. She jagged left, throwing a quick panicked glance over her shoulder as she adjusted her balance. He was right there behind her, His eyes alight with the effort of capturing her. She looked forward and scanned the yard, desperate to avoid the eventuality of her defeat. Spying the lilac bushes, dense and full, she dashed behind them, working herself into the thick foliage and ducking. Waiting for His footsteps to pound past, she was at a loss when He never came by. She rose up a bit on her knees, trying to see through the thicket, when a quiet, iron-clad voice whispered next to her: “Looking for me?” She screamed in surprise, and that scream was choked off short as as He wrapped a strong hand around her throat and pulled her back, the other hand nesting deep in her hair. He dragged her out, and released His grip on her throat once she was forced to her knees in front of Him.

“Explain yourself, slut!” He demanded, alternately amused and infuriated with her playful rebellion. She looked up at Him, that face that could melt her heart or cause her to tremble in fear, and smiled. He looked incredulous at this smile as she whispered, her voice raw from the choking, “You needed something to distract you from the tractor, did You not?”

He stood, jaw agape for a moment, then roared with laughter. When it was down to chuckles, He shook her firmly by her hair. “I’ll show you distraction, you disobedient slut. I will be quite distracted, indeed. And I have a feeling that you will be rather…distracted…for the next week.”

Her smile faded slowly as she tried to imagine the next few hours of her life. Perhaps she should have thought this through a little more? There was no more time to reflect as He dragged her by her hair, headed to the garage. She stumbled and skip-crawled along, trying to bite back the pleas for mercy as they crowded behind her lips…

Change is in the Air (03-16-2010)

It’s spring, folks. The calendar may not agree yet, but the snow is melting rapidly and the rivers are flooding just as fast. It’s muddy and gloomy and wet, the wind dances from side to side, there is the undefinable scent of shifting seasons in the breeze.

i’ve always been a person tied to the seasons. Summer finds me optimistic, energetic, raring to go. Fall charges me to stock and hoard, canning and drying food, digging out blankets and cleaning the house in preparation of cold weather. Winter creates a sluggish me, reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of my cozy hidey-hole, introspective and dark.

Spring, however, has it’s own clutch of fun. i’m excitable and fractious, prone to hi-jinx and sassy misbehavior. A slap on my ass might find me quickly returning in like kind. A command from Up High is often met with teasing compliance. And, just sometimes, i get mired down in mental mud and really don’t know when to shut up. (i know, me, being disobedient? perish the thought!)

i could sense the spring tora rising this weekend. He’s been in an ass grabbing mood lately, sometimes lil pinches, sometimes caresses, sometimes big ol swats that make me yelp and jump. i never know which of those it will be until He’s already done it, so i’m a little twitchy right now when He walks behind me.  Saturday He had been a monster, molesting me whenever the chance presented itself, and i was becoming quite annoyed with the whole deal, especially when trying to get supper on the table while avoiding 6 busy children. So, He cracks me on the ass as i’m pulling dishes out of the dishwasher, and without even realizing it, i shot up and thrust my arm out to hit Him back.

i just about died as i came to my senses.

It must have been funny to see, i shoot straight up with every unthinking intention to hit Him back, and right before the point of impact i come to and flap my hands stupidly, trying to shake the stupid uprising out or something, flashing my smile of appeasement and avoiding eye-contact. He watched the whole thing, laughed and sauntered off.

i don’t know what was worse, the fact that i still have a section of my brain that will try and clobber Him, or that He finds that amusing. Not threatening, not interesting, amusing. Is there anything more infuriating than staging an coup and being brushed off like a pesky fly?

i’ve been trying to lure the slumbering sadist out of Him again. It’s like there’s this tiger sleeping in its den, quietly dozing, and i’m prancing about in front of the entrance wearing a ground beef bikini. While washing my hair with bacon grease. Can i scream “i’m stupid and want You to hurt me a lot!!!” any louder?

Teh dumb. i haz it.

i’ve promised Him that at some point this summer, i will wait until we are outside and He is busy with something. i will come up and haul off and crack Him as hard as possible. Then start running. Again with the infuriating, because He just smiles. There’s a gleam in His eye that tells me He will relish that moment. A bit of a smirk around the edges of His sensual lips that suggests He doubts i have the balls to do so. A whole history’s worth of experiences that promise me any action on my part will be ruthlessly crushed on His.

Change is good, wakes us up and reminds Him why He took me. A certain ground-line of stability is also nice. 😀