Four letter word

A Four-Letter Word

Slut — 1: a slovenly woman : SLATTERN 2a: a lewd woman; esp : PROSTITUTE b: a saucy girl : MINX

Ah, “slut.” A compact little word, forceful even in the way it sounds, starting out with a hissing sibilant and pushing off of the tongue through the L and U, and then that nastily crisp T. “Slut.” Say it a few times out loud. Roll it around in your mouth. “Sssslut.” “Sss…lllut.” Say it again. Notice that it’s difficult — almost impossible, in fact — to pronounce it neutrally. It’s got a sneer built into it, that word. It’s not as twangy and unthreatening as “tramp.” It’s not as easy to yell as “whore.” “Whore” is built for screaming rage and dishes flying through the air, with a nice gusty H at the front and a big old roaring R bringing up the rear. Not “slut,” though. “Slut” is muttered. “Slut” is whispered. “Whore” comes in like a punch, but “slut” tingles, like a slap. “Slut” hides behind the teeth. “Slut” is for when your back is turned.

“Slut” is for when you don’t act like a lady. “Slut” is for when you sit with your legs apart. “Slut” is for when you wear it short, tight, without a bra, cut up high and down low and around the side, because, see, “slut” is also for when you have the nerve to enjoy your body in front of women who hate their own bodies. Don’t strut. Don’t dance with soul, or lick your lips. Don’t look too good; don’t think you look too good. Digging your own self is slutty. Making your own good time is slutty. Who do you think you are, anyway? Knees together, slut.

“Slut” is for when you forget to hate and fear boys. “Slut” is for when you talk to them, flirt with them, hang out with them and watch kung fu movies, pretend they don’t suck at guitar, sit on their laps, cut their hair. “Slut” is for when you don’t remember that you can’t have a male friend unless he’s your brother or gay, because your male friends want to fuck you, and you can’t handle that. “Slut” is liking sports and belches and messy apartments — or, rather, “liking” those things, because you couldn’t really like those things. You just pretend to like them so that you can get attention from men, because you have no personality of your own, and even if you did, men only want you for your action anyway. That’s pathetic. Get a life, slut.

“Slut” is for when, in spite of everything you’ve learned from Cosmo and your sorority sisters, you just love men, for when you want to look at them and talk about them and burrow your nose into their necks and lick them from head to toe and hop right on them when they walk in the door like that scene from Raising Arizona where Holly Hunter clings to Nicolas Cage like a wood tick. Ugh. That’s so undignified. That’s so unfeminine. “Slut” is for walking down the street and talking to a friend on your cell phone and watching a cute boy walk past in the opposite direction and looking at him and looking away and looking back and then turning around in mid-sentence to keep looking. “Slut” is for thinking of stubble burn and biting your lip. “Slut” is for remembering the way your first true love used to pin you up against his car door and flushing clear up to the roots of your hair. “Slut” is for big hands and deep voices. “Slut” is for on top of you and under you and behind you, in the closet, on the floor, under the piano. “Slut” is for liking it. “Slut” is for wanting it. “Slut” is for going after it. Men hunt, women gather; men chase, women wait. Look it up, slut.

“Slut” is for kissing boys with tongue. “Slut” is for kissing lots of different boys with tongue. “Slut” is for craving kissing lots of different boys with tongue. That’s not right, you know. It says so in the Bible, and in social hygiene films. “Slut” is for loving sex. “Slut” is for needing sex. “Slut” is for thinking sex isn’t shameful. Sex is for married people, for diamond owners, for nice girls in twin sets whose mothers hid the Erica Jong, for people totally and completely, like, in total and complete love, and it takes place behind closed doors, with the lights out. Sex isn’t fun. Sex isn’t casual. Sex is a deadly serious, disgusting, dirty, degrading business. Just lie there. Don’t move around. Don’t use your fingernails or moan or anything; that’s slutty. Don’t get on top. Don’t go down. Going down is really slutty, especially if you like it as much as he does. Ew. That’s so gross. Only a slut would like that. That’s so sickening. I bet you masturbate, too. Ew, I can’t even think about that. That’s so foul — touching yourself down there like that? That’s — well, it’s dirty and sticky and gross, dude! Nobody does that. Well, boys do, but that’s different.

“Slut” is for sex outside a committed relationship. Sex outside a committed relationship is a cry for help. It means you have no self-respect, obviously. You’re, like, a total nympho, man. I can’t believe you would even do that. God. Don’t talk about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t miss it. Don’t daydream about doing it with Josh Hartnett in a waterfall. I mean — yuck. That’s totally slutty. Are you, like, desperate or something? Why else would you just have sex with a guy? That’s so wrong. You’re so wrong. You’re such a slut.

“Slut” is for fucking on the first date, giving head instead of your number, not caring if he calls, caring if he calls but fucking another guy to pass the time. You do that stuff, well, clearly you’re a slut. What’s even worse? You, like, enjoy it. It’s so show-offy, too. Like, “look at me, I think I’m a guy,” like Samantha on Sex & The City, like, get over yourself, hon. And, I mean, Samantha brings home at least one new guy every week, but she’s, like, obviously so miserable and empty inside because she never settles down. Don’t you want to get married? How do you ever expect to get married if you keep slutting around? You have to save yourself. I mean, no man’s going to want you if you’ve slept with, like, a million other guys before him. You’re used. You’re dirty. He’ll fuck you, but he’ll never bring you home to his mother, because you didn’t stay pure and go to bed only with guys you loved. And you can’t have more experience than your husband; that’s just not done. What if he gets insecure about it? You’ll scare him off. You don’t want that, do you?

And you’ve probably got diseases. I bet you don’t even use protection. Remember? How you have no self-respect? And don’t use condoms and birth control, because you just want guys to like you, so you just fuck them? That’s so sad. I feel really sorry for you. Yeah, you say you enjoy it, but it’s just a compulsion, and it’s pitiful, really.

Just stay away from my man, okay? Don’t even talk to him. Women have to look out for each other, because men would never look out for us, because we don’t deserve their respect and fidelity. We women have to stick together. If he steps out on me with you, that’s not his fuck-up. It’s yours. I mean, you’re the slut here. You obviously came onto him all barracuda-style and lured him into bed, so I blame you completely. So just don’t even go over there to talk to him. He’d never treat me right, and if I left you two alone, something would happen.

God, I can’t even look at you. You just prance around acting all carefree like you don’t care what happens, like it doesn’t matter, like you have the right to sleep with whomever you want or something — you make me ill! I hate you! Fuck you, slut!

If you found yourself nodding along in sincere agreement with any of what’s written above, you have a serious, serious problem and need to report to your nearest therapist for a course of self-esteem rehabilitation and double-standard deprogramming. The rest of you may continue to wear your sluttishness with pride. Here endeth the lesson.

You know, your mother doesn’t know everything.
Please slut responsibly.

when memories haunt you

Each morning that I awoke next to this man in his bed, I immediately felt flushed with desire. The cool morning breeze against the thin cotton sheets would gently caress me into full wakedness, and I could feel a tingling sensation throughout my body. What’s incredible to me is that the type of desire was pure pleasure. I did not aspire to reach orgasm, ever. I merely wanted touch. The repeated rise and fall of sensory experience was what I yearned for; just the pleasure of his skin against mine, his lips anywhere on me, and even the simple pleasure of looking into his eyes as we shared space silently. Without getting too carried away, but in the spirit of honest expression, I want to say that during these intense moments of intimacy, I felt a love between us that came into a fullness unable to be articulated.

Evenings, back to back, of sucking on lips and necks and chests and fingertips, interspersed with feeding and drinking and walking and holding hands and hugging. Oh, but the kissing and licking and touching — his touch was marvelous! his hands alone brought me so much pleasure, the type of pleasure that stays with you, that I find impossible really. rocking my body against the grasp of His palm, scratching away at my insides, driving me, moving me, making me feel like I could seriously cum at any moment, whenever He wanted, again and again. I want to see Him again, if only to feel Him. He romanced me across multiple planes, and damn the sensuality of it all was overwhelming. His eyes. His beautiful eyes would watch me. He would give me pleasure, I would be floating somewhere outside of my consciousness and with the twitch of an eyelid, I could see He was watching me take that pleasure He was giving. His fingers were inside me and without blinking, His eyes set on my face, watching me in ecstasy.

on our sides, facing one another, his fingers driving me to a frenzy, for hours we were slow, kissing, licking at an unbearably light pace, the torture was delicious. he eased into me, gentle and kind. for hours we lay there, taking turns pleasing one another, tapping into a magnificent geyser of eroticism and passion. how long I could gaze into His eyes… we would go hungry. hunger for sensory excitement, hunger for touch, hunger for the soft padding of each other’s lips, hunger for drink, hunger for food, desire in such a raw form as hunger.

We unraveled one another, and I don’t really want to be put back together any time soon. this is indulgence, and relishing every moment after.

Where did the love go?

I was standing in the kitchen, pouring some juice into some glasses to go with the food that was already on the table when I suddenly, unexpectedly burst into tears. I ended up on the floor, knees up to my chest, crying until I had nothing left. Took about twenty minutes I guess.  This was the second episode of this type within a 2 hour period.

I had all this anger, frustration and sadness pent up inside of me. I have been holding in my disappointment since S got here. I feel that this is selfish of me, self-centred and pathetic, but then again I have not been nice to me these last couple of weeks so I doubt I would see it any other way. We had a wonderful weekend, totally self-indulgent and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted us to be like that always. I wanted that level of control, that level of sharing, of being together. For those 48 hours, no one else had to exist because we had each other. We could forget about the world and just concentrate on us. That is really what we did.

S tried to talk to me about it, ask me what was wrong. He wondered why a coldness had suddenly slipped into me. I couldn’t tell Him because, I didn’t completely understand. I just felt like, like we were just friends and not lovers anymore. That absolute amazing depth of love that I felt from Him was just gone. I couldn’t find it in His arms, no matter how many times I looked.

But He asked me why and because He asked I had to find the reason. I tried to put the emotion aside and follow my little drama logically. It took me most of the day playing it over and over again to find the source. I think it started the moment that He went to check emails. I felt an abandonment that I had no right to feel. I let it fester and I fed it with every appointment that He had and each email He wrote and phone call that He had to make. I let it become personal.

“Its just business.” He told me when I tried to explain what it was I felt. I grew frustrated with Him because I know it is just business, that wasn’t the point. Feelings are not logical and knowing it is business didn’t stop me from feeling it as a rejection even if I told myself that it wasn’t time and time again. I tried to explain again because I needed Him to understand and this time, He got it, at least a little. It was enough for Him to exhale and be thankful that it wasn’t something worse. Then He told me that now I had worked out what it was, it had to stop. I wasn’t to carry it on anymore. I gritted my teeth and told Him I would try.

I did try. I tried everything I could think of. I tried to distract myself, I tried reading a book, I tried a couple of different relaxation techniques and still at the end of it all my jaw ached from the clenching of my teeth. It sucked. I needed to feel Him close to me.

“If you want to be close to me, don’t push me away,” He said. “It’s not fucking rocket science, you know.” I wish I could be as logical as Him.

My head was pounding with tension that I had caused myself to feel. S asked me what was wrong and in a quiet little voice I told Him that I needed more control from Him than just the order for it to stop. I told Him that I needed it to hurt.

If I try to make S hurt me, if I try to make Him drag me back while I kick and scream, He will let me run away from Him indefinitely. He doesn’t believe in using His strength to make me submit. I do it willingly or not at all. But this time it was different, I was asking Him for help and He understood that it was not something I desired so much as needed from Him. A re-establishment of roles, re-enforcement of who we are, sometimes I need that to make me stop hurting me.

So S fucked me, hard, without any love or tenderness. He referred to me only as a ‘fucking bitch’ and He slapped me when He spat that name at me. He sucked, bit and marked my breasts then stretched my cunt open with the biggest dildo I own. He made me get onto my knees. His cock was pushed into the back of my throat and with one hand I held onto the dildo in my cunt while I tried to stop myself from choking on Him. He didn’t stop. He ordered me to fuck myself. He made me call Him ‘Sir’ each time His cock left my mouth. He held on tightly to my hair and I came as He was pumping His cum deep into my throat. When He let me go, I coughed it over the floor.

He stood in front of me, watching me for a moment. He asked if I was all right and I said I was and without touching me He walked out of the room. I heard the shower turn on. I got up and cleaned up and went to make Him some food while He showered. His food was cooking,  and my breasts ached from His teeth marks, my pussy felt stretched, my cheeks still burnt. And I just broke.

S found me there, on the floor, my knees held tightly to my chest while I sobbed and He sat on the floor next to me and pulled me close.

“It’s ok.” He whispered as He stroked my hair. “I needed it too.”

And I knew He didn’t mean that He needed to hurt me or humiliate me. He had just needed us to reconnect and the balance of power between us to be restored. He may be the one with the control in this relationship, but I certainly can throw a spanner in the works. I don’t know why I do it, why when I need to submit the most, when I need His guidance and control, I get scared of what I feel and push Him away. I somehow feel that I am doing Him a favour when I really am only hurting Him too. I have no right to sabotage us like this and if He were to do it to me, I would be devastated. It is completely unfair of me.

When we got back into the city, I didn’t want to see it for what it was, a break from reality, not a new reality we could stay inside of. I didn’t want to let it go and when I was forced to by the intrusion that is life, I did what I do best and I started to withdraw. And S didn’t understand, didn’t get it at all because He sees these things in black and white. We can’t live like that so there is no point in dwelling on it, accept it and move on and I let it hurt even more because as far as I could see, He didn’t care. He slid back into reality seamlessly and I was left on my own. I withdrew some more.

I love Him so much. Why do I keep hurting Him this way?

He has left now and will not be back for a month and a half.  In the wake of this weekend we now have confusion, hate and animosity towards each other.

S is “home” and isn’t letting me sit and waste time online. Clearly the man has no concept of Internet Addiction.

I have things to say and I will say them… when He leaves when I have time.

Have a great day!

How kinky am I?

Copy this entire list into your blog/journal.
BOLD everything about you that is true.
Leave plain anything that is false about you.
Put an asterisk (*) at the end of false statements you would LIKE to be true.

I am bi-sexual.
My spouse or lover is aware of my orientation. (Yeah, straight. What’s to know? LOL!)
My spouse or lover has watched me have sex with someone of my gender.
I have had sex while wearing a blindfold.
I have blindfolded someone else during sex.
I have had sex while watching porn.
I have had sex while surfing porn on the Internet. (Actually, just after. Hard to have sex and type at the same time!)
I sleep better after sex.
There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating.
The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
I have masturbated for my spouse or lover while on the phone.
I have masturbated for someone over a web cam.
I have had sex over a web cam.
I will have sex with someone I just met if they turn me on.
I have been tied up during sex.
I have had sex with someone who was tied up.
I have dripped wax onto a lover’s body.
I have had a lover drip wax onto my body.
I have a foot fetish. (ewwww, feet make me sick)
I have a leather fetish.
I have a tickle fetish.
I like being choked during sex.
I have had sex in a burning building.
I like having my nipples squeezed during sex.
I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence. (If spanking art counts.)
I enjoy nudie magazines. (If they’re spanking nudie magazines.)
Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget.
I think PLAYBOY is tame, maybe even boring.
I have clicked on porn links in my email.
I know the difference between girl/girl and lesbian sex in porn.
I have watched more than one gay/lesbian porn video.
Much of what I know about sex comes from porn.
Interracial sex turns me on.
I have had interracial sex with someone of my gender.
I want my spouse or lover to have an interracial sex experience.
I want to watch my spouse or lover have an interracial sex experience.
I think we should do more to understand the cultures of sex.
I would participate in sex research given the opportunity.
My current lover does not sufficiently meet my sexual needs. (ONLY in the spanking department, and we’re working on that!)
I currently have a “crush” on someone of the same sex.
I have had sex at my place of employment.
I have had sex with someone from my place of employment.
I have had sex with a former co-worker of my gender.
I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships.
Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
I am difficult to live with if I’m not having sex on a regular basis.
I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.
I have had sex under water.
I have had sex in the snow.
I am in a polyamorous relationship.
I have to have music playing while having sex.
I have had more than ten orgasms in one night.
I have flashed strangers.
I have given sex as a gift.
I have set-up a three-way for my lover.
I stopped during this list to have sex.*

Not sure how kinky that all makes me, but it was fun!

Fist

Fisting is a painful act. Which is precisely why I’m attracted to it. Go figure, huh?

It’s really not a painless insertion. It’s like giving birth… backwards.

I’m most often back-pedalling on the bed, the sheet sliding and bunching up under my bare heels, trying to scoot away from the relentless, excruciating pressure of S’s hand boring it’s way into my insides.

I moan, in much the same manner that I moaned in childbirth, low and guttural. Becoming feral in my acceptance that the only way through it is to suffer, grit my teeth, and hold out for the end.

There’s a point when the widest portion of S’s hand begins it’s slow but forceful entrance where I think I can feel tissue tearing, a sharp blooming pain. I can see it in my mind’s eye, the skin stretch so tightly, so thin, that it’s almost transparent around His fist. Though I don’t know if I have ever ripped, or if it simply feels as if I should have.

It’s at that point that I want desperately to quit, to snap my legs together with my hands cupped around my poor battered pussy and breathe the pain away. But I don’t. Not only because I can’t, but because I know what pleasures lay over this agonizing hump.

Once my skin reluctantly grants His hand passage, there is a transfer of pain. What was once highly concentrated on the ‘ring of entrance’, now rolls and fills the whole of my vagina. A deep pressure, a pressure that shifts along with the movement of His hand and fingers, sometimes sharp if He pokes a spot, sometimes dull when He rubs. But constant, always.

He likes to poke and prod, to press up as far as He can get, until my eyes pop open in stunned panic, half-believing that He’s attempting to tickle my throat. He likes to pump, a genuine fist-fucking, so hard and so fast that I no longer control my own breathing. I’m forced to exhale when He pushes in and up… and I gasp in air when He pulls back and out.

The pressure and the pain slide and mix together to create the delicious blend that is pleasure. I can’t think beyond my cunt. I’m nothing more than one giant pulsating vagina, with no thoughts outside of His hand and the throbbing need to cum.

I much prefer to be allowed to stimulate my clit when He’s fisting me. Otherwise, the intense sensations are too overwhelming. It’s system overload to the max. But give me a clit to manipulate, to direct the course and timing of the orgasms and I’m one incredibly happy girl.

Orgasms while being fisted are sensational. They’re the strongest, deepest, whole body consuming orgasms that I ever have. I don’t know if it’s because He’s in there touching and rubbing and slamming on spots otherwise left unstimulated, or if it’s because my cunt is so full, so stretched by His hand and wrist that there is no room left in there for my cunt to spasm so it shoots it out, sending it zinging across the whole rest of my body. It brings cerebral orgasm to a new meaning.

Orgasm recovery time is lengthy. My eyes do not want to uncross, my mouth doesn’t want to close. My toes stay curled, fingers clenched. Milk that orgasm for all it’s worth, twitching still against His arm.

Until He goes to pull out, chuckling at my blatantly whorish behavior. He finds me amusing. I’m too busy thinking about my pussy to care.

The extraction itself is unpleasant. It’s uncomfortable, as what hurt going in still hurts coming out, but what’s most disturbing about it is how very very empty I feel. As if the sudden physical emptiness leaves a matching emotional hole. Where a second before I’d been literally connected to Him, I’m now alone. It takes awhile for that feeling to go away.

He doesn’t fist me very often. I’m not sure I could stand it any more often than it happens. Part of what keeps it such a wondrous activity is the infrequency of it. I don’t want it to lose the edge that it carries.

Why oh why??

First things first, (for those of you that don’t know this is Angel’s Master)……..Per Angel’s request I’d like to warn “everyone” I’m about to be talkin shit! Don’t be so self centered I’m not singling ‘ANYBODY” out! I just had some shit on my mind & figured that’s what our blog is for…expression, so I think I will take advantage of that. Besides I figured that everyone is talking about it but no one will say it so I will. So for the sensitive or weak minded I’d advise you “stop reading NOW!”

Where will I begin? I’ll start with friends. It’s rare to find a real friend. You know some who will always have your back & never fuck you over. I look around in this world at all of these great friendships. & believe it or not some of these people have I never met! but yet their bond is soooo tight! & as friends do they chat, & they exchange personal information with their close friend(s). And as I do in life I sit back & observe. Just like I watched their friendship grow I watched it fall. & these mutha truckas are CRUEL! they bring up everything that was confided in them as a friend & turn it into their biggest weapon against them fuckin hitting below the belt, & you wonder why My Angel & I are Mostly anti-social with exception to a small few. But you “REAL” people you know who you are!

Now that I’ve laid the wood down……..let me attempt to start this fire. Next is for those people that like to play with the lifestyle. I’m not talking about the weekenders or the people that are experimenting….. My angel over my shoulder is asking me to cut this paragraph short. She enjoys the peace & does not want this paragraph starting shit. So I’ll give her that. You mutha truckas are lucky though! Cause I have deep seeded problems with the things like people I was about to speak of do. So here’s me re-wording this paragraph.cause I sure can’t skip it!

I take our lifestyle very seriously, & so does my Angel! It’s not about the sex, or the whippings, slappings, & all that other freaky shit we love to do. No it’s about love! it’s about a woman serving her man. It’s about the Love & Patience that this lifestyle has brought out of me & the respect that it brings out of her. Most importantly this lifestyle & our relationship wouldn’t be anything without “TRUST”. of course she is human, so i do not expect that because she is my slave that she cannot have emotions such as sadness, anger, or any of the others. & if she is angry you better believe that I ensure that she maintains that respect, but that’s as much as our M/s comes into that. At that point we are people in love with a problem that needs to be resolved! whether that problem be a “Punk Ass” family member, or a “Bitch Ass” friend! & some of this shit that I see others doing is not enough to disturb me at all yet I can say often leaves me in disbelief.

Since I’m trying to start a fire……..let me add some fuel……Men… you are gonna hate me for this: Just because you are a Master doesn’t give you any more right to be a DOG! It’s like because you have more control over your bitch you can REALLY wild-out! A dog will be a dog….A MAN WILL BE A MAN. But the way I see it if that woman is gonna sit around & let it happen “Do what you do!”

Yet again in my ear..Angel says in the defense of a woman…….”sometimes they can’t help it that’s all they have….they may be a no good asshole but they are theirs…the heart wants what it wants!”

But in my opinion you better take a stand & don’t make any room for that nonsense! Since when does Slave/Submissive equal weak? I admire Angel’s strength… cause some of the shit I put her through…………Man I couldn’t take it…..Then again that’s why I’m on top! (no that’s not a sexual joke). Now I consider myself to be a freaky mutha trucka, but some of the things you people are into is crazy. At this point I’m gonna focus on one thing in particular. That’s cutting up the titties. For those of you that do it do it Hard & Safe, but I just can’t get down like that! I mean come on Man….Not tha titties!! ANYTHING BUT THE TITTIES!! Alright, alright I’ve said enough, besides an enticing being keeps wandering by, I can’t be seated no longer. Well my fire ended up turning into half charred wood, Cause Angel pissed on it, so now I think I’ll go piss on Her! So for those of you that were looking forward to more……she’s to blame!
Payback’s a mutha trucka,

-S-

Happy 420

S wants me to write in this blog everyday. He said it doesn’t matter if it is short and irrelevant. So, because it’s been a busy day, I don’t have time to write. I just wish you and yours a happy 420!!!

Oh, btw, all of our comments are getting jumpled up and aren’t posting in the right spot.  WTF?!??!?!

the desire of my obsession

There’s always one thing that never leaves my mind & heart, & that’s my love for My Angel! She completes me in every way possible, you could say “soul-mates” like God made us for one another. And the sequences of our lives meticulously brought us together. “Fate”

I received an email from Tia’s Master about Dom Space.  I decided I would answer it here so others could benefit from it.  Concerning “Dom-Space”: some people don’t even believe that it exists. But I will bare witness that it does! I would describe it as getting lost in the moment, time stands still, & your environment/surrounds become invisible. As we are enraptured in one another “Becoming One!” & getting lost in one another, senses are heightened, & no part of her body goes un-touched. As M/s we make love, fuck, & scene all at once…..our movements “FLAWLESSLY” intense. My sadistic animalistic side consuming me entirely!!!

I think about labels, how they are necessary yet sometimes “FALSE” Dom-space is relevant to dominants but before our D/s relationship grew…..the same deep overwhelming love that I described was still present. So sometimes labels are full of Shit. But one thing’s for sure, I’m a lucky Man to have My Angel who completes me, and to have that deep & rare passionate love we have

So tonight with the house all to ourselves, we embraced that animalistic side……the environment subject to our abuse, pushing My Angel’s limits! “MMMMH I LOVE THAT!!!” Tonight I planned on giving my baby one of her special nights. Which would be “The Works” The bath with the candle lit bathroom, sexy scented bubbles & beads…….before and after. See… My Angel serves her Master better than great, and is more than pleasing to me in every way, we always complete each other’s sentences (which is cute but sometimes a BITCH!) and her knowing me soooo well gives her the power to never stop amazing me. She knows and does everything she is required to without being told. & then some! But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t fuck up, Oh she’s my little BRAT, sometimes she’ll pucker her lips, & be a little bad ass “BABY!” & I do mean “BABY!!!” she’ll throw her little fits, not because of lack of attention, but her submission is insatiable & sometimes she just needs to be thrown around & put in check, but that’s my Angel! But being the man that I am …My love is never in short supply!

But getting back to where I was… such a good woman deserves to be pampered & shown appreciation. So while I pour hot water watching it bead off of her body a little devil appears on my shoulder, the angel no where to be found, devious thoughts fuel the fire that is my lust! being consumed I too end up in the water, yet again being overtaken by that animalistic nature. Sooo…….here after her aftercare, I sit here & write this. Perhaps giving you a deeper look into our lives than before. This is US! This is what WE’RE about! It’s hard to believe that life can get any better but with I know it will.

Until next time…………..

S

Sex for a s&m tool

It was only a few hours” S protested, rolling His eyes at my dramatics. It was morning and I’d just left the bathroom from my morning tinkle.

“It hurts! I can’t even wipe. I had to tap the toilet paper.” I was referring to last night’s two and a half hour long brutal fuck-fest, that had literally left me too sore to wipe properly.

He muttered some dismissive sound and waved His hand in my direction. I bristled.

“You broke it and now You can’t touch it. I hope You’re happy!” I snapped. Spinning around I tried to execute a grand exit from the room, but it was completely ruined by having to waddle bow-legged.

As I left, I heard Him mutter “It’s Mine and I’ll use it any damn time I please”, to which I muttered back, thinking I was out of earshot, “Bastard.”

“Master Bastard?” He called after me and laughed when I declined to answer.

He did in fact, use my broken pussy shortly after that. To prove a point no doubt, though I put up a pretty good fight. A fight consisting of whinings and but Sirs! that He totally ignored as He climbed between my legs. Just the pressure of His weight touching my bruised groin area made me whimper.

“I’m going to take it all in one hard plunge.” He threatened. But He was smiling down at me and I tried to laugh, vehemently retorting back “Oh no You are NOT- Oh! Fuck! Jesus Christ! OW!” and arching against Him as He did take me in one hard plunge.

The entire rest of the fucking was hard, deep and vicious, all I could do was hang on for the ride. When He’d finished, yanking me up so I could suck the last of the cum from Him, I flopped back on the bed with my hands cupped between my legs and groaned.

He smirked, acting all King of the Sexual Universe. “I think you should do an entry about this. ‘Can sex be used as an s&m tool?’”

“You write it!” I snapped. “You know what You want to say. All I’d say is that You are a mean bastard and everyone already knows that! (And am I right about that? I thought so!) Besides, I don’t think I could sit in the chair that long.”

The rest of the day, I whined each time I had to pee. I walked funny and He mocked me for it. And any time He so much as hinted at anything sexual, I curled up into a ball and whimpered.

But then I begged for, and was gifted with chocolate. And He intended on making me pay for it.

When I looked at Him standing there in the doorway, cock in hand, my first reaction was a trembling, sobbed out “Noooo, please, no!” Can I accurately express how beat up and tender my cunt was(and still is)? Have I mentioned that He’s well endowed? Is it obvious that He doesn’t usually “do” gentle love-making kind of sex?

The thought of what was to come had tears pricking the backs of my eyes. Oh I obeyed, stripping and spreading my legs while He watched, but I whimpered the entire time. I pleaded, reminding Him of how sore He’d made me. He nodded, acknowledging my pleas, but carried on with settling down between my legs and taking me with the same force and savageness as He normally does.

For a long time, the only thing I could manage to do was lie still under Him, fists curled up and held tight to my chest, eyes squeezed shut. I was being stabbed with a hot poker in my most sensitive of all places. I was being pummeled and beaten with callous disregard to my feelings. I was angry, and hurting, and barely, just barely submitting.

Still freely pounding away, He whispered into my ear, “You know slut, this can take a long time. Is that what you want?” He punctuated that with a deep and painful grind against my pelvis.

“No Sir,” I choked out, stiffening against the ramped up pain.

“You know what you can do to make Me come faster. You aren’t doing them so you must like this.” Again, another bump and grind that spurred me into action.

I know how to move, where to lick, where to suck, where to flick and scratch and how to make my hips undulate against Him. It’s a no win situation for me, though. If I do nothing and just concentrate on “taking it”, He takes longer, drawing it out. If I do those other things, I lose my concentration on “taking it” and everything hits me full force, feeling ten times harder, and ten times sharper, and ten times more painful.. but it’s shorter.

I chose to assist. Moving and sucking, licking and flicking… with tears dripping down my cheeks.

It hurt. That’s all I can say.

After, in bed, I tried to get Him to admit that He hadn’t enjoyed it. I was petulant and pouty, with a sore throbbing cunt and my feelings were hurt.

“You didn’t like it.”

“Yes I did.”

“I didn’t!”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t like treating me that way.”

“I came didn’t I?”

Why do my feelings get hurt just sometimes? Why am I occasionally insulted that S takes pleasure when I don’t? Who knows. I sure don’t.

I am still sore and I know my rest before He want’s to take me like a savage animal again will be short. All I can say is Thank the Rock and Roll Gods that I have a child running around the house until at least 9 tonight. Maybe by then I will be able to stand having Him inside of me again.