My orgasms are no longer mine. They are doled out by the sadist, sometimes upon request and sometimes in a transient fit of generosity, or as a reward for an especially pleasing performance.
I don't often ask for one. It doesn't occur to me. They are no longer a regular part of my life, a situation I accept as appropriate with only a minimum of sighs. Our relationship is inherently unequal. We are not lovers, there is no expectation that we each work to maximize the other's sexual pleasure. My position in my Master's life is defined and enabled by my ability to provide him with pleasure. The satisfaction that I experience from serving him and pleasing him in the manner he requires is a bonus, not a goal.
It feels really weird to write this, and I find it even weirder to hear these words from someone else - but truly, the mere fact that he wants me and owns me is enough. Serving him, being controlled by him, pleasing him, submitting to him, even being punished by him so that I will remember to follow his directions as demanded... all this is making me happier than I have ever been.
The urgency of my need for an orgasm is usually triggered either by hormones or by a period of intense creativity as I write for his pleasure and amusement. When I act as his Anaïs Nin, as I did on Friday night, he is not the only one who gets stimulated by my kinky scenarios. By Saturday, I was in a state of virtually painful arousal.
I requested an orgasm.
I described my desperation.
My Master granted permission
with the usual proviso
that I submit a report,
which follows below -
with his permission.
Sometimes I feel that it is only with his permission that I breathe. And sometimes, in fact, that is exactly the case.
Losing ownership of my orgasms has lost me the luxury of leisurely mid-day masturbation. I usually think to ask late, and receive permission even later. Knowing that cumming will put me to sleep, I delay my self-indulgence till bedtime, when I'm struggling to hold on to consciousness. I'm aware of the time, I'm aware of the need to be alert in the morning, and I polish things off pretty fast. Touch, arouse, cum, cry, sleep. When I wake up, the haze of satisfaction is gone.
Ah, but this time, my Lord... I had time for anticipation. Exercising, grocery shopping, snarfing down a 5 o'clock lunch of chicken fresh from the rotisserie... I knew what was ahead. My mind kept making brief visits to the stories I sent you last night, and to all the tempting memories that remain from earlier times... the Phantom, your kisses, lying beside you on the bed, on the futon, cumming for you, sobbing for you...
I made my preparations, freshly washing the little purple butt plug, taking out the K-Y jelly, the blue vibrator, the Astroglide, a condom. Ketzel sensed that I was coming back to bed, and was already in place at the foot. Waiting for me.
She wouldn't stay long.
I'm not sure that I've ever masturbated with the butt plug on my own. Once at the most. It was a present from the philosopher and therefore the smallest size of the series. An appropriate gift from a man who was so risk averse.
I inserted it first thing.
I wanted to feel inhabited.
In tribute to you, my Master, I took the position you had taught me and poked away with the tip until I was able to get it past the tight guardian of my anal passage. Somehow, I hadn't gotten the lube on the very tip, so it was even harder to insert than it should have been. I was grateful that my colon had taken the initiative to clean itself out that morning.
It hurt going in.
I'll admit to that.
There were moments when it was definitely painful.
Does that please you, my Lord?
And then I opened a little further, and the lubed part transferred its grease to my ass hole, and it was in and...
I started whimpering.
I started crying.
I'm going somewhere else now as I write about it. I can't really come up with appropriate words for how it felt except to say - intense. It didn't feel great. There was a sense of discomfort, both in the immediate passage and all the way up through my digestive system, with the sense of pressure traveling all the way to my belly. But it was intense, my Master, and the tears were a form of orgasm.
I kept it in, having deliberately avoided over-lubing so it wouldn't pop out. I slid my naked, plugged body between the sheets and found that I was still whimpering. I passed my fingers through my public hair, lightly touching my clit, and realized that I was saying "no... no..." out loud.
And now my memory gets a little confused. I realize now that I forgot my intention to play with my nipples. I wouldn't have hurt them as much as you do. But I did mean to hurt them. I wanted pain to remind me of your sadism.. I wanted pain to remind me of you.
Next time, my Master.
I lay on my back, hoping the butt plug would be obedient and stay in place. I twiddled my twat, rubbing my fingers gently over my clit. I tried to hold back, I tried to delay it, but the effect of the pale purple plug was stronger than my will. I came.
I came and I cried.
But I wasn't done.
I reached for the vibrator, already sheathed in latex. I squeezed on Astroglide like mustard onto a hot dog. It's a fairly fat thing, so it took some work to get it inside - I really should use it at least once a week to keep the muscles elastic. I admit [sigh - bad girl] that I've mostly been forgetting to do my Kegel exercises, and I should use the vibrator sometimes when I do them, even if I'm not turning it on and using it for pleasure.
Finally, it made it in. I kept it turned off, and clenched my muscles around it again and again. Clench, hold for 10 seconds, and release. Exercising my pussy the way I earlier exercised other parts at the health club. If only they had machines there for our cunt muscles the way they do for our pecs and abs!
Finally, I felt I had earned the right to turn it on. I kept it wedged deep inside and let a low level of vibrations move through me. I must have started contracting, because the butt plug popped out. I accepted the anal statement and returned it to the bedside table.
Now I started fucking myself. I moved the artificial cock in and out, slowly, deliberately, enjoying the sensation despite the fact that the thing is a little too big. I changed the angle so it pressed against my clit.
My clit smiled.
My clit said thank you.
My clit demanded more.
All this time, I was feeding myself X-rated mental movies. But my mind was restless and unfocused, and I never stayed on any one thing very long. I flitted through the different scenarios I had offered you last night, especially lying naked on the equally bare barmaid while you flogged me, and being brought to the biker/thug bar, where you showed me off and invited them to touch me, to hurt me, to use me. I thought of your spankings, I thought of your canings, my buttocks remembering the awful, horrible, painful sensation of the strip of cherry wood landing on my ass - which for some reason I appreciate even though there is no way I could say I like it.
Why, my Master?
Why do I want you to hurt me like that when I really don't enjoy it?
Why do I want you to hurt me?
I turned up the speed on the vibrator, pulled it out of my canal, and held it against my clit. The vibrations almost numbed that greedy little finger of flesh, but I went higher and higher and the tension built and my mind...
We were at the bar with 5 of your friends. One had a house not far away. You all adjourned there, taking me with you. You wanted me to be truly debauched, humiliated, not at all as a human being, merely as a conduit of perverted pleasure.
The house was modern, and the living room had a lowered, heavy wooden beam running across it. You tossed a long rope over it, tied my hands with one end, and then used the other to pull me up till I was stretched and exposed. My feet were bound to cinder blocks that had been brought in beforehand, keeping my legs spread but with enough give to allow me to squirm a little for your amusement.
One by one, the men removed their belts. I screamed and writhed and dripped as the beat me on my ass and thighs. And then I felt the burning slice of the cherry strip landing right across both buttocks.
And that's when I came.
I cried long and hard and slept for about 45 minutes, lazing about for a while afterwards, feeling very drained and sated and grateful.
It's hard to write this without the freedom to masturbate again. But in fact I love no longer having control over my own orgasms. It's another of those odd things that makes me feel safe and secure and very very owned.
Thank you, my Master.
Thank you for letting me masturbate.
Thank you for allowing me to cum.
Thank you for controlling my life.