The sadist is truly the sexiest man I have ever known, on so many levels, although he always gives me this skeptical look when I say so. It's true, though. For one thing, there are his amazing kisses... Damn. I knew it. All I had to do was mention his kisses, and I started to float off into a reverie of memories... He has the most amazing mouth, my Master, even when the beast takes charge and his teeth emerge from behind his soft and tender lips...
As with everything he wants and does and needs, the sadist is very specific with his preferences and instructions. Which, of course, is perfectly reasonable. After all, everything I do is for his pleasure. I exist for his pleasure. (I do believe this. Everything in my crazy, frustrating, often unsatisfying life was leading me to the moment when he found me and started freeing me from my inner chains so that in his chain I am now a pleasing, useful, and beautiful wholly owned creature.)
Where was I?
Learning to do things his way.
For his pleasure.
He has the most extraordinary kisses.
But most of the time, we don't kiss.
We don't kiss.
I offer my mouth
and he enjoys it.
I offer it for his use and pleasure.
And it must be offered in a very specific manner.
He taught me this fairly early on.
Back in the first month, perhaps.
One day, suddenly, out of nowhere, he kissed me. He'd never done it before. And then, suddenly, he did. Why? Because he thought he'd enjoy it. One of his main guiding principles. He thought he'd enjoy it, and he did. Over and over again, he has enjoyed my mouth. But he had to teach me how to be enjoyed.
I must make my mouth available.
Without his asking.
I must part my lips.
I must make my mouth soft and yielding.
And I must extend my tongue.
That tongue must go out just the right amount.
It's like I'm a waitress
and I'm bringing out the platter from the kitchen.
And then he commences to dine.
We are not kissing.
He is enjoying.
Which sounds really weird.
Very passive on my part.
Except it's not.
Two admissions, though. Maybe three. I am, it seems, incapable of being completely passive. I'm sure there is always at least a hint of my kissing back in our interactions. I manage to restrain most of my impulses, but a tiny bit often breaks through the mental shackles. And I know I don't make my mouth as soft as it should be, although that is something I've been concentrating on lately and I've made good progress there. But that's not the worst. And that's not why I am writing this post, which I was ordered to write.
I forget about sticking out my tongue.
I really shouldn't forget about sticking out my tongue. It's standard operating procedure. It's part of the basic instructions, given to me as soon as he realized how much he enjoyed kissing me - meaning after the very first kiss. The problem is - while it all feels wonderful while he is enjoying my mouth, sticking my tongue out feels very... weird? Ugly? Clumsy? Lacking in grace? I can't come up with the right word to describe what it feels like... unnatural, maybe. And when my mouth is open - not just parted but really open although not too open... it's a three bears sort of thing... it already feels like my tongue has been stuck out although in fact it is still firmly inside my mouth.
So my tongue doesn't always get stuck out.
And yesterday, it wasn't stuck out.
Not for the first time.
So all of a sudden, I was being spanked.
The spoon, I think.
And the strip of wood he uses as a cane.
And the jagged, pointy end of the strip of wood,
with which he poked at my left tit,
leaving a small, dark bruise.
All this hurt. Not like the other spanking, which came after he got me very aroused so that I felt the impact each time his palm landed on my butt, each time with greater force, but felt no pain whatsoever. None. Rien. Nada. It amazes me every single time.
And the beating for correction? Yes, I learned my lesson. Especially since, while I was on my hands and knees on the bed, with butt raised, he had me write down
I haven't been offering my tongue.And after that he told me that I was to write about it here.
Which I have done.
What was nice about this little beating for correction was that, unlike the horrible long excruciating punishment beating of a few weeks ago, my Master did enjoy it. He admitted that. He admitted that he was glad to have had an excuse to hurt me. So that's good. I'm glad he had a little outlet for his sadistic urges, although I'm sorry - I'm always sorry - that I can't manage to remember everything I should.
All in all, though, it was a delightful, happy visit on a beautiful sunny day. As usual, my mouth was worshiping his cock on and off during the entire two hours. He does love the way I attend to his cock. In fact, he commented - and suggested I could pass on to you - that "[my] mouth is the most intelligent pussy in the world." Isn't that sweet?
My pussy was allotted some pleasure time as well. It was a multi-purpose exercise. I was adoring his cock with my right hand and touching myself with my left hand... a surprisingly intimate activity, to the extent that at one point my finger in my pussy seemed to transform into his cock stroking me just inside those lips...
It's also a great challenge to my poor, addled brain, as I must concentrate on 2 things at once. I can't neglect his cock and I can't neglect myself, all while I'm becoming more and more aroused... The other purpose of which was to prepare me for my continuing training in connecting pain and pleasure.
And then he started saying things...
The philosopher used to say things.
We'd be on the phone
or he'd be here
and he'd say those things that he knew would make me cum.
He'd talk about what he would do to me.
About how he would hurt me.
About how the cane would come down hard on my butt.
The cane which still hangs in my closet.
Just as I say things to my Master,
to arouse his mind as well as his body.
My Master says things to me now.
He sees my eyes change and he starts to say things.
About how he wants to hurt me.
About how he will eventually do whatever he wants to me.
He is training me, I think I said.
He is making me ready.
No, he said.
He will do whatever he wants to me
even before I am ready.
I was very close to cumming.
He didn't let me cum.
Which isn't a problem.
My satisfaction comes from his pleasure.
From giving him pleasure.
And, finally, from making him cum.
Although he did say that I could masturbate after.
And I did.
As I went to sleep.
I touched myself.
Just with my fingers.
I found myself thinking of nasty things being done to me.
By a friend he had mentioned.
And then I came.
For years and years, I used thoughts of awful things being done to me to help me cum. For years, for decades, I've had these fantasies. Except now I know they could happen for real.
One more thing. Every so often, he checked his phone for a text he was expecting, something he almost never does. Finally, it came, and he wanted to forward it to his boss. He just couldn't get it to work, though - maybe because I was sucking on his cock at the time? Finally, he decided he'd have to call, after much joking between us about such an eventuality. He stood over me as I knelt before him, inserted his most delicious and very precious cock in my mouth, and placed the call while I sucked away. He feared he sounded like an idiot during the call. I don't know how he usually sounds on business calls, but he seemed all right to me. Can't imagine how he did it.
And now it is a sweet, happy, laughing memory for us to share of another lovely lunch together - sexy, sensuous, and slightly sadistic.
All with my new purple Bootie shoved up my ass.