Assignments commandments taboos

They're like the Ten Commandments.
Sometimes thou shalt.
Or else thou shalt not.
This for his pleasure.
That for my safety.
Laws and rituals
designed and decreed.
This to learn.
Recite it on Tuesday.
That do not mention
ever again.
I make a note.
I schedule reminders.
I take no chances.
This is how I worship.
For him,
I am orthodox.

Daddy's slave seeks a housemate

Dear potential housemate,

Thank you for your interest in renting my basement bedroom. As I have asked a lot of questions about you, it is only fair and appropriate that I reveal a little about myself.

I'm a pornographer.
Or perhaps a better word would be eroticist.
But pornographer gets straight to the point.

In any case, I'm somewhat of a lapsed pornographer, as there's always something to keep me from churning out the amount of fiction you would think I could manage. These days, the distraction is this housemate hunt. And construction noise from having the bathroom re-done so I can attract a relatively high standard of housemate. Meaning one who won't claim to recycle, won't pretend he's recycling, and then really smuggle his water and soda bottles into the trash in plastic bags. Meaning one who won't put things through the garbage disposal after I specifically said DON'T put anything down the garbage disposal. Meaning one who won't get all huffy when I explain that yes, there really is a right way to load the dishwasher.

Which is a whole lot different from claiming that there is one right way to have a BDSM relationship.

Speaking of BDSM...

There's this man.
He comes to the house.
I am naked when I let him in.
I am naked when he lets himself out.
And in between I suck his cock.
For an hour.
Maybe more.
He might spank me.
If he thinks it safe.
If he thinks he can do it without loosing the beast.

You really don't want to know about the beast.

But you do need to know about the man.
Because I'll be counting on your being at work when you say you are.
If you come home unexpectedly...
Let's just say it's better if you don't.
You might see and hear things you'd rather not.

Speaking of seeing things... don't ask about any bruises on my neck. Around my throat. He likes to mark me. He likes to squeeze my throat until the world starts to spin. Sometimes he'll bite my lip. Usually the other marks you won't see. Though I don't seem to get many of those any more. Still, you never know.

And you will.
Never know.
But just in case.
And in a spirit of full disclosure.

Because the room you would be renting is part of the dungeon.
And the walls have absorbed their share of screams.

Still interested?

Masturbation mania (9) - there's a rabbit in my bed! (the Marvel)

The cats wanted to kill it.
To them, it wasn't a rabbit.
To them, it was a fiercely buzzing bug.
To them, their duty was clear.

I only wish my fingers hadn't been covered with AstroGlide. I wanted nothing more than a picture of their faces and alert bodies as they stared towards the sound emerging from my pussy.

But to back up.

It's sex toy review time again in the oatmeal bowl. It took me quite some time to pick what I wanted to try next. I had 2 lists of items from my contact at EdenFantasys, and conducted serious and time-consuming research to find the best possible candidate. My goal is always to find something I'll really enjoy. Unfortunately, I have very demanding standards and expensive tastes, and the item I'd had in mind in my ongoing search for the perfect clitoral vibrator wasn't available for testing this month.

The good part of my research was that it pushed me to analyze what I want and what I need in a sex toy. One thing I realized was that I don't really like to shove anything very fat up my cunt. So I carefully compared the width of every insertable vibrator I was offered, based on the small circumference of my sweet lavender Meany (3-1/2" per the EdenFantasys website).

In the end, I chose the Marvel, a rabbit from Evolved Novelties (4-1/4").
My very first rabbit vibrator.
And a pretty basic rabbit at that.

Or so I gather from my research.
A mere 3 speeds.
No fancy patterns.
No complicated controls.
No beads bouncing around in its belly.
No cute little ears or butterflies on the clit-tickling end.

I had my concerns starting out. My material of choice is silicone. I like the texture, and I especially like that it is so hygienic that if I wash it well (which is easy) I don't have to use a condom. Just my trusty AstroGlide. (They really should send me a lifetime supply for all the promotion I give them!) But the Marvel is a jelly rabbit. (I can see it now... hopping around town at Easter time, leaving a delicate trail of jelly bean turds...) So out came the condoms again.


On the other hand, the Marvel is flexible. Bendable. And I had read enough rabbit reviews to realize that if manufacturers can't get clothing sizes right, it's even less likely they'll be able to design a vibrator that can simultaneously hit the clit while deeply inserted in every woman who uses it.

And on the third hand, the reviews I read claimed the Marvel was quiet. And as my regular readers know, I have this problem with vibrator noise.

Which brings us back to the cats.

The beasts were banished from my bedroom for a long time, due to continuing hostilities which kept me up at night and resulted in the occasional unwelcome deposit left by Ketzel as a sign of her displeasure. Recently, though, my furry darlings have demonstrated their superiority to the US Congress by deciding to coexist in a surprising state of relaxation, even cooperating in presenting their demands for prompt meal service. As a reward, they have been allowed back onto the Garden of Eden of my bed, where they had joined me for a nap.

I woke up horny, with thoughts of my Master and a sentimental song wandering through my mind - a perfect condition for running one last rabbit test before writing my review. The cats decided to stick around for the fun.

Given that the sadist controls my orgasms, any masturbation I indulge in is for him. He requires a report, of which the following is an excerpt:

They were both on the bed with me, Daddy, when I turned on the rabbit. It buzzes horribly, with a much rougher sound than anything except that first little lipstick vibe. Like a big bee in your ear. And as soon as I turned it on both cats were on the alert, staring at my pussy, looking as if they were considering an attack. I had to laugh!

Eventually, Ketzel jumped off the bed, leaving Marko to do battle alone. At that point, he decided the sound was coming from my foot. He moved slightly closer, raised his paw, and swatted in its direction. Now I was really cracking up. It's very hard to get your head into the right erotic place when a cat is eying your foot while wondering if it's predator or prey.

Which brings me back to the noise.
A very nasty buzz.
Maybe it's not that it's so loud.
Maybe it's just the quality of the sound.
Nasty.
Harsh.

So even though the Marvel itself is slender and flexible, I experienced it as something harsh. Which is particularly odd as its vibrations aren't even that strong. I didn't feel very much inside me. The bullet in the clit part was stronger, and that little nub of flesh more sensitive, so when I position it just right (which I did) the vibrations can be almost numbing. To get any real pleasure from the phallic part I had to fuck myself with it. It was very lovely for that, being long and slender, but I think I would have preferred something a little less pliable for that function.

My goal had been to think about being watched, objectified, returning to the lesson of Tuesday's visit. But the buzzing was too distracting and the stimulation not quite right. Still, it worked hard on my clit, and I came much faster than I meant to. It was only a partial orgasm, though, in that my body peaked but there wasn't the usual crying release. I let my clit rest briefly, allowing the numbness to subside, and then used my fingers and my imagination to finish the orgasm and release the tears. A few sobs later, I was done.

As with everything I review, I must add the caution that my comments are very personal and you must take into account your own body and preferences. I'm sure that most people aren't as fussy about noise as I am, unless it's a matter of eavesdropping housemates or a partner from whom you are hiding the fact that he or she isn't giving you everything you need. (And really, how can one person give you everything you need?) Maybe it's the ADD - the noise of this thing definitely interfered with my pleasure, and makes my other toys seem not so bad.

On the other hand, the Marvel is relatively inexpensive as such things go. And the packaging is great! A really neat metal box with a form-fitting plastic insert and metal clasps resembling those on a Mason jar. Perfect for storage and pleasing for its creativity.


In the end, I think I do better with simple, expensive silicone toys designed mainly for one thing. They end up doing more for me. But I am glad I finally got to try a rabbit.

And I'm grateful that the cats didn't take a swat at it while it was inside me!

Lingering on the edge

More details.
In my comments on yesterday's post, I promised more details.

Edge play.
Keeping him on the edge of cumming for over an hour.

It's by his choice, of course.
His directive.
His training.
Never up to me.
He knows what he wants.
He taught me how to deliver.
And gets from me even more.

I do it with my mouth.

With my hands, too, of course, but especially with my mouth.
With my lips and my tongue and my teeth...
And my words.
My breath.
My sighs.
My moans.
My whimpers.

Get one of your recent toys, he said.

I should have picked the latest one. The new purple rabbit. I needed another session with it. You'll read about that tomorrow. But instead I reached for the LAYAspot. I think I may be growing fonder of it than I wrote in my review. And it's perfect for what I knew my Master wanted.

To watch me.
To watch me arouse myself.
To listen.
The noises I make...
My voice, my breath, they do something to him...

I spread out an old red bathmat, to keep from staining the carpet with AstroGlide and pussy juice. I spread my legs, turned on the lubricated little clit vibrator, and pressed it gently against me.

He watched.
With concentration.
He watched and I started rising...
It seemed like a long time but I guess it wasn't long enough.

"I may cum, Daddy. If I'm cumming, may I cum for you?"
"Don't rush," he said gently.
"Don't reach for it."

I let myself fall back.

I never did cum.

I felt his eyes on me.

I began to talk.

I felt as if I were in a peep show. Behind glass. Not because I wanted to be working there, but because I had to. I felt eyes on me. Other men's eyes, though sometimes he came to watch, too. At times I felt the chain... around my neck, on my ankle, pulled taut so I felt constrained, restrained... not that I would have refused, resisted, but to be sure I felt that none of this was for me. It was all for those watching, who got off on knowing that I felt their eyes, that I felt them watching.

That I knew I was no one.
That I had no volition.
That I was there as a slave.

And that if they fucked me, if later they fucked me, they would use me as if I were one of those masturbation toys for men that simulate cunts and mouths and tight little butt holes.

At one point, as these words leaked from my lips without my intention even as I knew that they'd please him, the sadist leaned forward in his throne of a chair. I was on the floor before him, and he leaned forward and observed me with the detachment of a researcher. He observed me. He listened. Closer, he caught every little morsel of sound.

Later, I sucked his cock. Or maybe before and after. I can't really remember. It's all part of my service. Taking as much time as he wants. As much time as he has. Teaching me to feel. To feel him feeling me. Have you tried that yet? I felt what his lips and tongue felt as they enjoyed my mouth. I felt what his cock felt as my mouth traveled up and down over him, pulling, sucking, pressing my tongue down against the base before suddenly releasing him and running my tongue or finger tips over his balls.

"Bitch!"

He cries that out sometimes when I suddenly desert his cock.

But it's what he wants.
To take him up and back.
To lead him along the path of pleasure
and keep him teetering on the edge,
only to pull him back
before leading him to the edge
again
and again
and again.

Until it's time.
And then he cums.
And I'm his sweet baby girl.

I lay my head in his lap,
and wrap my arms around his waist,
and he strokes my hair
and he feels all soft and sweet
and he tells me how good I made him feel
but he doesn't even have to say it.
Because I know.

All his tension is gone.

And my only regret is that soon he'll have to leave.

PS - I left some things out...

Edge play

New definition:

keeping him on the edge of an orgasm for over an hour.

Disappearing act

Family obligations.
Parental anniversary.
Lots of driving.
Lots of traffic.
Nasty accidents.

I think the heat sapped everyone's common sense.

But now I'm home.
It's Monday night and I'm home.
And Tuesday afternoon, my Master will be here.
Daddy.
My Master.
The center of my life.

Tuesday afternoon.
For a good couple of hours.
So he can take his time with me...

It's good to be back.

I missed him...

Free to be you and you and me

What does the word "polygamy" make you think of?

[pause inserted here so you can examine your gut reactions]

An admission.
It makes my stomach tighten.
And not because I'm trying to either hide or strengthen those lazy muscles.

To me, the word "polygamy" implies oppression of women. A religious and/or cultural system which sees women only as property. Self-centered, narcissistic men needing to be catered to. Fawned over. Worshiped.

Yeah... I know... some of that does sound like the sadist, doesn't it?
Hold that thought.

But what if we say "polyamory"?
"Multiple relationships"?
"Open marriage"?

Then many of us might say - oh yes!
How forward thinking.
Open-minded.
Loving.
Great if you can make it work.

There's a challenging and informative op-ed article in the New York Times on just this issue. It's called One Big, Happy Polygamous Family and is definitely worth a read. The Utah family featured in the TLC reality show Sister Wives is challenging the state's law which criminalizes polygamy. The author, Jonathan Turley, is the lead attorney on the case. And the case comes down to whether such plural relationships are covered by the right to privacy established in the 2003 Supreme Court decision Lawrence v. Texas.

Turley says things so well that it seems best to quote a few key sections of his article, send you off to read the whole thing (don't worry, it's not super long) and then hope you'll come back here to comment and discuss.

One might expect the civil liberties community to defend those cases as a natural extension of its campaign for greater privacy and personal choice. But too many have either been silent or outright hostile to demands from polygamists for the same protections provided to other groups under Lawrence.

The reason might be strategic: some view the effort to decriminalize polygamy as a threat to the recognition of same-sex marriages or gay rights generally. After all, many who opposed the decriminalization of homosexual relations used polygamy as the culmination of a parade of horribles. In his dissent in Lawrence, Justice Antonin Scalia said the case would mean the legalization of “bigamy, same-sex marriage, adult incest, prostitution, masturbation, adultery, fornication, bestiality and obscenity.”

Personally, I think it's also due to that pit of the stomach reaction, especially as so many of us automatically tie it in with patriarchal religious oppression and devaluing of women. But stop and think.

How would most Americans characterize the kinds of relationships that you and I and many of the readers of this little edge of blogland?

How many of you play with or have sex with more than one person?

How many are involved with someone who has a spouse or significant other who is not you?

In how many of these cases is there some agreement, whether tacit or clearly defined, for people to have other relationships of various kinds?

How does this honest acknowledgement of how hard it is for one person to meet all of another's needs - including but not limited to sexual needs - compare with pretending to be monogamous while sneaking around on the side?

Meanwhile, the quote from Justice Scalia left my mouth hanging open. I've heard that little list before, with its lumping together of homosexuality and bestiality. But I never noticed the inclusion of masturbation before. Masturbation??!!? Excuse me, buster. Although I may not agree, I can at least see the reasoning behind his opposition to the other items on the list. But masturbation? Talk about a victimless crime. Especially when women do it, because (I'm going all Biblical here) there's no issue of depriving a baby the right to be born by our spilling our seed on the ground.

I can see the irony, though, considering the huge contribution Mormons made to outlawing same-sex marriage in California. Just imagine Mormons marching side-by-side with supporters of gay rights in one grand united movement to protect our right to privacy.

[T]here is nothing uniquely abusive about consenting polygamous relationships. It is no more fair to prosecute the Browns because of abuse in other polygamous families than it would be to hold a conventional family liable for the hundreds of thousands of domestic violence cases each year in monogamous families.

And finally:

Civil libertarians should not be scared away by the arguments of people like Justice Scalia. We should fight for privacy as an inclusive concept, benefiting everyone in the same way. Regardless of whether it is a gay or plural relationship, the struggle and the issue remains the same: the right to live your life according to your own values and faith.

This is where it comes back to hit every one of us.

The right to live our lives according to our own values.

The right to use birth control if we wish to.

The right of consenting adults to give or get an erotic spanking.

Never take your freedoms for granted.

To read about one example of polyamory, spend some time with The Heron Clan, one man and two women in a long-standing relationship. Like all of us, they have their crises, with the last few years being particularly challenging. Most of the posts come from swan, who sometimes comments here. She is warm, thoughtful, and analytic, and well-worth visiting.

Your wish is my command

You need a blow job, my Master?
Today?
At noon?
With my house commandeered by workmen?

Of course, Sir.
No problem.
No arguments.
No sputtering as to how this could be potentially embarrassing.

Our motto:
You swell.
We suck.

I admit, that makes me sound much more blasé about the matter than I really was. Here are these 2 guys, with whom of course I've become friendly (no, you nasty people, not that friendly!), who've been spending hours and days in my house, re-doing the basement bathroom along with related projects, and I have to tell them... well, I said that for an hour or so I'd be home but not available to answer questions or anything. Of course 5 minutes before the sadist is due, one of the guys is out front asking if the electric outlet in my non-functioning outdoor light gets power. Quickly, I answer and remind him that I won't be available for the next hour or so and then disappear back inside.

I text my Master a warning that one of the guys is out front.
The sadist doesn't care.
Not one bit.

By the time he arrives, both guys are out there in the disgustingly thick hot air, hanging out, drinking water, eating lunch, and (one of them, cutting back) smoking half a cigarette. My Master strides up the walk as if he owns the place. Which, in a manner of speaking, he does, since he owns me and I own the house.

I am very grateful that he gave me permission to greet him clothed. With plain white bra and panties under my little jumper over a pale green t-shirt. Flat Mary Jane shoes.

He said I looked around nine.

Sometimes, you just have to do your job.
Not matter what the working conditions.

Anyway, when you're a slave, there's no negotiating.
You do as you're told.
Which I did.

He left here feeling a whole lot better.
And that's all that matters.

Sex toys, bathrooms, and blow jobs

Well.
That sums it up.

I now have a purple rabbit.
One grey tabby,
one tortoiseshell tabby,
and one purple rabbit.

So yes.
There will be a review of the purple rabbit.
By next week for sure.

I also have a bathroom.
Actually, 2 bathrooms.
The second bathroom is the dungeon bathroom.
It gets rented out with the dungeon bedroom.
And it's horribly funky.
Well, it was horribly funky.
Now it's a pile of rubble.
In a week or so it will be beautiful.
But for now - chaos.

Which means I'll have a workman or two hanging around the house for the next number of days while the cats do their best to make themselves invisible. The sadist, however, will not be invisible. No way in hell. Workmen or know, he needs a blow job and he expects his little whore to deliver.

Which I will.
Tomorrow.

Hopefully, the guys will be making a lot of noise.

And I've been given special dispensation.
I can greet my Master at the door fully clothed.

Whew!

Senior sex? Who you calling a senior?

Every so often, I call attention to how old I am.

Sometimes because it puzzles me.
The number.
It puzzles me.
I can't relate to it.

And sometimes because it's good to let people know that "older" people can still have - and do have - sex. Hot sex. Satisfying sex. Kinky sex. Moon-about-it-for days-afterwards sex.

More than sex.

A life-changing,
unacceptable,
transgressive,
admittedly risky,
and thoroughly preoccupying
relationship.

It doesn't end with your first grey hair.

Of course, I don't have that many grey hairs. Which is part of my confusion. When I look in the mirror I see beauty. Not just because the sadist taught me to see it. It's because somehow my looks improved as I got older. Odd, no?

And then there's this mane of red hair.
A head of bouncing and thoroughly natural red waves and curls.

Unless I look at my hands, it's hard to connect with the number.
Ever not sure how old someone is?
Look at the hands.
We lose that lovely, plumpifying collagen as we age.
The skin thins.
Sags.
Wrinkles.

But most people don't know to look at the hands.
So they think I'm still 40 or 45 or so.

Oh yeah.
You new readers.
Waiting for the number?

62.

Red mane,
perky nipples,
slurpy pussy,
raging libido,
the works.

I'd probably still be masturbating daily if the sadist hadn't staked a claim to my orgasms, to be doled out one by one for his pleasure - and sometimes as a reward for good service.

I'm 62.
Those 40-year olds do keep flirting with me.
(Today's guy was very tempting...)
I haunt the dreams of the man who owns me.

I'm 62.
I ooze sex.

I'm 62.
I am pussy.
Every inch of me is pussy.
In and out, every inch of me is pussy.

Just ask my Master.

I am female.
I am alive.
I am sexual.

That about covers it.
No?

My Master lets me share his teachings

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Peaceful, easy feeling

I am utterly devoid of thoughts.
No words of wisdom.
No spurts of poetry.

It feels very nice, actually.
Calm.
Peaceful.

I'm sure I'll have something to say tomorrow.

Thought control

You run your mind gently across my lips and let it slip down the soft slide of my left breast. Your thoughts nibble at my provoking nipples, one tiny red pillow adorned with the barest remnant of a scab. Memories poke up their tousled heads. You chase them away, and force your errant brain deep into the yeast dough mound of my pale belly. Your ruminations tickle my clit before slipping into my pussy.

Miles away, I groan, and wish I had permission to touch.

Masturbation mania (8) - Cumming with the Fun Factory LAYAspot

So here it is. Part 2 of my 2-for-the-price-of-1 sex toy review. Yesterday you got the somewhat dispassionate account of my exploration of Fun Factory's LAYAspot, a clitoral vibrator that is the latest donation to my growing collection of sensually stimulating devices courtesy of my [contact? handler? friend?] at EdenFantasys. OK, it wasn't at all dispassionate, nor was it completely positive. Then again, nothing is perfect.

This was a type of toy I specifically wanted to try. As I said yesterday, I'm a clitoral girl when it comes to cumming. So why keep shoving pseudo-dicks up my pussy when it's my clit that wants the lovin'? Especially as this style of clitoral vibrator seems perfectly designed to fit the female shape.


Following are a selection from the in-action e-mails I sent my Master as I masturbated with the LAYAspot. The test and report are my thank-you to EdenFantasys, my part of the deal for the pleasure and fun they are adding to my life. But my orgasms - my body - my brain - my pleasure - all belong to my Master. So I participate in this program with his permission - with the understanding that he will benefit from it.

Enough of the high-minded slave stuff.
It's true, you know.
But when I write it, it can sound kind of stuffy at times.

Here's the juicy stuff.
Straight from the front.
Or from the pussy.
As it were.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I am evoking you, my Master.
Seeing you.
Feeling you.
Giving myself to thoughts of you.

Hot Jazz Saturday Night is on the radio.
Not long ago, my Lord, he had on Let's Misbehave.

I feel your body pressing me into the bed.
I feel your fingers.
Touching me.
Fondling me.
Fucking me.
Raping me.

I'm starting to go someplace different, my Master.
To the edge of that slave place I'm starting to explore.
I feel different, my Master.
You opened the door...
I peek through.
I'm not sure what I see.
But I can't stay away.

So as your property, my Master, I will arouse myself.

It will all be for you.
How can it be anything else?
Because I belong to you, my Master.
For real.

I turn down the thermostat.
I have to, my Lord.
You make me hot.

I free my curls from the restraining combs.
My hair tumbles forward onto my cheeks.
I dig in the bag for the device and the AstroGlide.
I come across the spoon.

I strip, feeling your eyes on me.

I stand before the mirrored closet, turning this way and that, peering over my shoulder, trying to see what might be left of the marks from the perfect beating you gave me to bring me back to where I needed to be.

[ . . . ]

Last time, my Lord, I didn't think the vibrator would need lubricating, since this device doesn't go inside me. But perhaps it will feel more gentle with the AstroGlide.

I wish it didn't sound like the dentist's polishing device.

mmm... that's nice, my Master... little noises... do you hear your slave's little noises, my Master?

The "mmm..." came from touching myself with the moistened end of the device, but without turning it on. Now it feels very pleasurable. Gentle. Arousing.

Definitely arousing.

[ . . . ]

Now I will go back to touching myself with the device, and then slowly exploring the vibrations and patterns.

Watch me.
Watch me writhe.
Watch me let myself relax into the pleasure.
Watch me remind myself of your teaching.
Hear my little moans.
My little whimpers.
Watch my tits rise and fall.
Watch my belly shake with longing for you.
Watch my pussy redden and swell with longing for you.
See my legs spread.
I'll remember the flogger landing on my inner thighs.
I'll remember how I yielded to you,
how I didn't protect myself...
just the thought of my obedience is make me drip.

Time to return to the testing lab, my Master.

Wherever you are,
you will feel me.

I know you will.

I'm at the 4th level of vibrations, my Master, taking it slowly, relaxing into my pleasure.

Your pleasure.

Somewhere during my lengthy exploration of the third level, a flash of the dependable fantasy of being whipped kicked in. The vague fantasy that is nothing like the real thing. Until then, I had been doing nothing but giving myself to the sensations.

For the first 3 levels, I was moving it back and forth over my clit and pussy lips as if it were two fingers but vibrating. Then, as the 4th level settled in. I noticed that I had stopped moving the device and instead was rocking my pelvis back and forth on it.

Fucking you, my Master.
I was fucking you.

Do you feel my pussy, my Master?

Now I'm sitting up in bed, the computer on my lap, and the little vibrator tucked under my pussy, which it is designed for. Designed for you to be able to lie on it. Its name is LAYAspot, after all.

I have only 2 complaints.
Although rated the same as my others, it seems rather loud.
And the sound isn't damped by being inside me.
It is for external use only.
The noise impinges on my concentration.

The other negative, my Lord, is that being so small, the vibrations go through the whole thing and thus through my fingers. Which feels kind of weird. When I use that little insertable lavender one [the Meany], I don't think it buzzes my fingers as much.

Still, this is a very enjoyable item.

Time to continue to the next level, my Master.

Listen for my whimpers...

One thing about these lab experiments is that I end up with very long masturbation sessions. Which is good for me, my Master. It's as you have been teaching me - to give myself to the sensations.

The sensations.

I worked my way up through a few more vibration levels and then the first of three patterns kicked in. It's like this:

<

Vroom.
A strong, deliberate build-up.
And after about every other one I'd have this little involuntary...
jump?

Very intense, my Lord.
The second pattern is like that but buzzing faster so in a way it is gentler.
The third one is a series of pulses.
It's the first of the three that really has an effect.

Then I turned it off for a bit, and let my pussy recover some. The problem with keeping a vibrator going externally like that is it tends to numb the area. The little Meany is the only one that hasn't been as much of a problem that way. I think perhaps because the tip is so soft. Remember I showed that to you, my Lord? Squooshy. Like a real penis. Rather cute.

I tried fondling myself with my fingers for a little, but by then I was too desensitized for anything but the device, so I turned it back on at one of the regular vibration settings. And let my mind go back to where it had been about 5 minutes before.

Being watched.

You took me somewhere, my Master.

You took me to someone else's place, where there were a number of men and they were watching me. They were standing over me and watching me touching myself and my face reflected everything that I was feeling but only you could really read it all. And having so many there (maybe 5, my Lord?) took me beyond feeling exhibitionist and made me feel completely objectified. And... I wasn't constructing the scene, my Master. It created itself in my mind.

They made comments.
They threw words at me and around me.
They were demeaning.
They called me bitch.

And then one of them asked you something, my Lord. I'm not sure what. I couldn't really hear. And you replied: "Of course she will. She's my slave."

And then there was another little shift in me - me now, me masturbating now, not in the fantasy - and I was... it did something... it put me in another place... and I was very aroused...

And eventually I came, my Lord.
I definitely came, although my pussy was kind of numb.

And then I cried and cried, my Lord, although it was a very weird cry. Not my usually heavy sobs, although it was certainly intense. It was a rather higher wailing... I've never done that before.

Anyway, my Master, there it is.
For you.
I wonder if you felt any of it?
Even if you didn't read the messages as they came in.

I wish you really had been here watching, my Master...

But you were.
Somehow or other you were.

I felt you.

It all belonged to you.
As do I.

Masturbation mania (7) - Testing the Fun Factory LAYAspot

(I started writing this weeks ago, very late at night, before deciding it might be smart to go to bed. Since then... well, you know... trip prep, trip disappointment, trip recovery... So I'm back to finishing 2 weeks later but not inclined to throw away the beginning. So let's pretend... it's June 23rd...)

It's hard to review a sex toy when you're not allowed to masturbate.

Let me rephrase that. I certainly did subject Fun Factory's LAYAspot to my usual rigorous battery of tests. But weeks later, as I am writing this review, I am not allowed to masturbate.

These days, my Master often allows me to masturbate after he has visited. Occasionally he has me touch myself for him. Even more occasionally, he allows me to cum for him, one end of the chain clipped tight around my neck, the other end clutched firmly in his controlling hand so that my breath is restricted.

Given that he was here yesterday, I might have been able to renew my acquaintance with the LAYAspot before writing. But as he left, he specifically said that I may not masturbate. I'm not complaining. I know why. Saturday night we will be together in the hotel. Back in the room with white linens. He wants me to save everything for him.

It all belongs to him anyway.

Back to the subject at hand.
Or not at hand.
My pussy and her latest little friend from Edentoys.


Luckily, when I'm in the lab, I take copious notes.
And I send them in real time to the Professor.
I mean, my Master.
Which means that
no matter how long I postpone the final write-up,
I can still pass on my immediate responses.

So what is this LAYAspot and how did I feel about it?

I'm not a vaginal orgasm girl. I do love the feel of a cock inside me - as long as it's not too big. I'm still very tight at 62, and even with plenty of AstroGlide I'm not that hot for a big, fat cock. Not even in my mouth. I gag much too easily! But we're not talking mouth sex. We're talking pussy sex. With a cock. Or a pseudo cock.

I do like fucking.
The closeness.
The weight of a man.
The different flavours of the dance.
A well-choreographed partner routine
or a strong, determined male lead,
where he takes what he needs
and gives me what he wants me to have.
If anything.
Perhaps he just takes.
Uses.
Invades.
There are so many options.

I'm submissive.
Very submissive.
I like when he leads...
Though on top can be fun...

I'm losing focus.
The sadist is always on me about losing focus.

The point is, with me and cocks, it's not just the phallic sensation. It's the interaction. The relationship. Even if just a momentary relationship. So a cock - a phalloid pleasure object - a battery-powered super-dick - all on its own, that's not such a big deal. Especially since dicks don't normally do it. They usually don't make me cum. Not on their own.

I'm a clitoral cummer. I've been rubbing myself since I was maybe 2. So what I really wanted to try was one of those clit vibrators that are shaped to nestle in the palm of your hand and then nestled up against your sweet, needy pussy to add a little oomph to what you normally do.

As some of you may remember from back in December, what I've been lusting after is the lovely Siri from LELO. My friends at EdenFantasys weren't able to manage that at the moment, but they did send me something similar: the LAYAspot from Fun Factory. I've been very pleased so far with my Fun Factory sex toys, so had high hopes for this one. And though I had to make a change from my Variations on a Theme of Purple motif because I wasn't all that taken with the violet and vanilla model, I was able to get the one being eyed above by Ketzel. Magenta and pearly rose. How could I resist?

But the first time I tried it, I was disappointed. Part of that may have been the mood I was in. As I wrote the sadist:

I did masturbate last night. I wasn't trying to relieve any sort of urgent, persistent arousal. As I've said before, I do tend to feel some measure of release when you cum, as I've been riding your own waves as I give you pleasure. But last night it was more wanting to prolong a general sense of physical pleasure, from having been close to you... from my body having been close to yours... under yours... lying alongside of yours... and finally all that sweet time together after you came when you stroked my head...

But somehow it didn't quite come together. Or maybe, my Lord, I should have stayed with my fingers. I did follow your advice to try not to push it. I let myself enjoy the physical sensations as I fondled my clit and caressed the shaved area just above. I pushed in, which felt so good, and I thought of how you like me to push in there...

And then I tried that new little vibrator, which sort of shut things down. It has a harsh sort of buzzy sound, my Lord, and doesn't have that soft padded area that the little lavender Meany has, which makes it soft and comfy. Or maybe I really didn't want something artificial at the point. In any case, I didn't like it and dried up and was annoyed.

In the end, I abandoned the LAYAspot and did quite nicely with my fingers and my fantasies - which, as I keep learning, are sadly much more extreme than I can tolerate in real life.

About a week later, I tried again, and quickly discovered one of the reasons my previous test run hadn't been very successful. Silly me. I thought gee... I'm not putting it inside me... why do I need lube? I'll avoid the mess and use it as is.

As I said.
Silly me.

Cause this time, when I brought out the trusty AstroGlide, it felt much better! Plus I took my time in making its acquaintance. At first I rubbed it gently around my clitoris and labia, greased up but not turned on and then pressed the little + button to slowly explore the different levels and patterns of vibrations.

Tomorrow I'll share with you my on-the-LAYAspot reporting of my experience and responses. Here, though, is a summary of the results.

1. although given only 2 bees for noise level, which is the same as the other toys I've tried, it seems much louder. Perhaps that's because it is for external use only, so my body isn't dampening the sound. Whatever the reason, it seemed rather loud, which was distracting.
2. the toy is quite small, meant to snuggle under your sensitive bits. So the vibrations go through the entire thing and into my fingers. It's weird. It's annoying. The Meany is small, and does in fact vibrate up to the cap, but doesn't bother me as much.
3. a problem I've found with other vibrators as well is that when I keep it going for a long time it makes my pussy kind of numb. At that point, I can't feel much if I switch to my fingers. Again, the Meany is the only one for which this isn't that big a problem - perhaps because of its sweet, soft, squooshy tip.

As you'll read tomorrow, I did get my orgasm from the LAYAspot. And it was a perfectly fine orgasm. But when I think of reaching for silicone assistance... Oh. Wait. Silicone...

The LAYAspot is not silicone. I've become a big fan of silicone playmates. But this little baby is something called Elastomed. It's ok. But not silicone...

Anyway, come back tomorrow and follow my clit as it dances with the LAYAspot.

NOTE: Tuesday July 5 - after our very pleasant and extended lunchtime rendez-vous and excellent service on behalf of this devoted slave to his cock, my Master said I might masturbate if I wished. And oh yes, I wished. I gave myself a long, leisurely masturbation session and - all on my own - I reached for my little lavender Meany. And used it only on my clitoris. Or... have you ever tried this? Pressing it on that area at the top of your pelvis? Just above the bone? Yummy... Anyway. It was delightful. For about an hour. And I didn't go too numb. And it gave me an orgasm all by itself. So for me, in or out, my Meany is still #1!

Needing and feeding

Today at lunch - yup, second day in a row - we talked about different kinds of submissives. What it is they need.

You, he said, need to serve.
And to please.

Well, hell, I knew that.
I need so badly to please.
And to know that I have pleased.

The precious coin of "good girl."

He's been very generous lately.

My sweet and gentle and loving Master

It always happens.
Because he cares about me.
Because he does his best to protect me.
To protect me from himself.

My Master is not harsh and cruel and unloving.
He is sweet and gentle and caring and protective.

Sometimes he messes up.
Yup.
Guess what.
Even Doms are human.
Even Doms aren't perfect.

Doms, especially those who fancy themselves "Masters", like to think of themselves as perfect. Invincible. Gods. Hell, maybe they are. Some of them, anyway. Who I am to say? Except even gods make mistakes. Like those Greek and Roman gods who couldn't keep their immortal cocks in their pants. Poor Hera, always expected to stand beside Zeus as he confessed from the podium his straying ways. Must have gotten old after the first few times. Of course, they could have had an Olympic open marriage. Which I have no objections to. Except I remember hearing about some pretty big jealousy fits.

Speaking of straying, what was I talking about?

Oh yes.
Self-styled invincible Doms.
Ha!

So yes.
Things got out of hand the night we spent away.
Not that seriously, really, but too much for me.
So he is taking steps.
Steps to protect me.
New steps to protect me.

He is my Master.
He looks after his property.
And he knows what must be done to look after me.

Meanwhile...

He brought me a present!

I knew it was coming. He said it had arrived. It was made of wood, and was specially ordered, and he said that he'd enjoy it, at least, though he wasn't sure I would.

But I love it!

It's a paddle.
A beautiful hand-made wooden paddle.
Made, like the flogger, to his specifications.
But not made by his masochist slave.
Ordered special.
After consultation with assorted experts.
Made of a carefully selected and very beautiful hardwood.

The idea is that he likes to see my butt all pink and red, and feel it all warm and hot. He likes me to be down on my hands and knees with my butt thrust up in the air as I suck his cock so he can enjoy the view of it all round and rosy. And he likes to redden my butt shortly after he arrives, except then I'm not all aroused yet so it really hurts when he takes the wooden spoon to it, or strikes it with the long, ragged strip of wood he uses as a cane.

So he knew he needed something to whack my butt with that would make it all nice and rosy pink without hurting too much.

Hence my new paddle.
A gift that he'd been planning for months.

My Master does love making plans.

My beautiful new paddle did a great job.
It made my butt very pink and rosy.
But it did also hurt.
A lot.

The thing is, this beautiful hardwood that was decided on is very very hard. Very hard. And the paddle is... substantial. So it will take some practice on his part to find the right level of force. But he'll get there.

We'll get there.

We'll be just fine.
Even the occasional emotional tornado will not blow down this house we've built.

The dance of pain

Holiday weekends confuse me. Even though I'm not working, I have an inner sense of the pattern of the week that's almost physical. It's certainly visual. A holiday throws things off. I'm not sure where I'm standing.

What I do know is that tomorrow is Tuesday. And despite an impending change in my Master's schedule, Tuesday for now is still the day I serve him lunch and my mouth and my nipples - and my pale, round belly like a somewhat-smaller-than-before mound of rising yeast dough. And all the other parts of me he owns and enjoys and uses and fucks and hurts.

Tomorrow, Tuesday, he will be hurting me.
Or so it appears.

I have my instructions.
Special preparations.

Being currently minus a renter as well as minus a job, I have reclaimed the dungeon bedroom.

Place the flogger and the cane in the basement bedroom.
The flogger on the bed.
The cane in the closet.

The flogger is so beautiful.
I love my flogger.

Even more than the first one, which broke apart while he whipped me. But he'd decided that one was too hard for me to take, anyway. The ends of the cords were knotted. This one is gentler, plus 2 shades of blue and a sweet, soft brown. He can enjoy whipping me very hard and it doesn't hurt too much.

The cane, as I've said before, is not a standard cane.
It's a long strip of wood, ragged on one end.
A nasty thing.
He has to tap it against my butt very light to keep it from hurting like hell.
It usually hurts like hell.

He was thinking about hurting me this weekend.
He was obsessing about hurting me.

But you know? I'm not worried. Because I know he wants to hurt me. Needs to hurt me. I think one reason why our night in the hotel was such a shock was because that wasn't what either of us expected it to be. I was to be calm, peaceful, focused on pleasing him, focused on serving him. Our times together always end up intense because that's the way we are - although he does like to blame it all on me. But the night had been defined as calm.

Last year he beat my butt with the back of my hairbrush, but that didn't cause an upheaval because I knew I had screwed up a small but crucial task and expected to be punished. So he beat me and it hurt a lot but then it was over and I was cleansed of my guilt and then we went on and it was a beautiful night.

Tomorrow he needs to hurt me.
Because.
Because he needs to.

Maybe that's one of the differences between a sadist and someone who is merely sadistic. At times, my Master needs to hurt me. And then he will, while restraining himself as much as possible from hurting me more than I can bear.

He takes care of me.
He protects me.
Even as he is teaching me to embrace the pain.
To connect it with pleasure.
To want it.
To beg for it.

What I really want is to please him.
To serve him and to please him.

[dead air]

I just had to shake my head. I wrote those two preceding sentences and fell into an undefined reverie that was all feeling... all intimacy... that magical borderless union between the sadist and his prey...

He likes to use that word.
Prey.
And to some extent it is quite accurate.
But there is something else.
Something more.
When the victim is willing and loving and giving.
It's a dance.
A dark dance.
A sensuous dance.
A dangerous dance,
but sweet and intoxicating.

The sadist leads.
And when I'm in his arms
and he bends me back almost to the ground,
my nipples sparkling towards the sky,
he presses his mouth to my naked throat
and sinks his teeth into my neck.

Remove your panties

Remove your panties.

An unexpected message from his cell phone.

I am home alone.
There is no bar to immediate obedience.
He knows I will obey immediately.

I feel so open
So accessible.
So vulnerable.
My shorts are loose.
Fingers could easily slip up a leg hole.
Fingers could easily slip into my pleasing pussy.

Get the chain.
Keep it with you all night.

I'm in the bedroom.
A few steps and the chain is off the hook in the closet.
A few more moves and it is looped around my neck.
I throw it back over my shoulders like a soft silk scarf.
But no river of watery blues and green and purples
wraps around my throat and flows down my back.
My scarf is hard and cold and unyielding.
Steel links of silver grey, squeezing my windpipe
and reminding me who I am.

I am aroused.
It hurts.
I tell him.
My pussy hurts from wanting him so.
I feel his fingers inside me,
fucking me hard, hungry and merciless.

You may touch it lightly with the chain.
That is all.

The chain is cold and hard and unyielding,
yet kisses my pussy tenderly, like a precious pet.
My pussy opens and weeps with desire,
yet wants nothing more.

He wants to do things to me.
His thoughts would probably scare me.

It's a constant, delicate dance with no set choreography.
What he wants to do to me.
What I want to give him.
What he tries to protect me from.
What I can't handle.
What he can't stop from happening.
What I can't stop from happening.

Neither of us wants the music to end.

He is training me.
Teaching me.
Teaching me to take the pain
to want the pain
to submit to more before I feel the pain.

To beg for it.

I learn very fast.
I wish I could learn faster.

I wish I could learn faster so very soon he could do all those awful things to me that he thinks about - and I won't come apart. There will be nothing but his pleasure and his pride and my gratitude that I can give him so much and - especially - that exquisite intimacy that comes as, giving and suffering, we share the pain.

Relationships are like cocksucking - Part 2 of 2

Being a continuation of my part of the conversation about my post My Master's mea culpa. You can read Part 1 here, which includes an introductory diatribe about how all relationships are different. Even D/s or M/s or whatever you choose to call yourselves because it just feels right. Long-time readers or people who have run across my comments cluttering up their own blogs will be quite familiar with my views on the subject. Still, many of you are masochists, so just might want to hear me say it once again.

Yesterday's post was much too long when I finally quit writing from sheer exhaustion, so I'm addressing the rest of the comments today. And I'm doing it in a post because most readers don't seem to bother reading the comments. Which is a pity, because they were long and meaty this time and sure to spark more discussion.

At least I hope there is more discussion!

That was my fantasy all along, you know. To be an aging but still outrageously sexy courtesan in her Paris salon, entertaining assorted smart and sexy (and at least slightly wild and artsy wouldn't be bad either) members of the kinky class. However you define kinky. Me, I rarely use the word. But that's me. I'm weird about words.

So please say things!

[she's begging now... she's almost as good at begging as she is at cocksucking...]

Now.
Down to business.
If I had an assistant she'd be handing me the first letter...
Oops! We already did the first letter.
Let's see now...
Ah yes.
This one.

Sexperts brought up a good issue:

I'd just add that, is the "damage" to a level you can handle it and heal from quickly? My dom is not quite so sadistic as yours seems to be via your blog, but there are times he has genuinely scared me or hurt me. Lately, when he says he is afraid to lose control, I always say, "But I healed. It took a few hours or days, but the trust came back."

The few times the fiend has gone too far - or at least too far for me to handle - the big issue has not been the physical damage. It was that I would have what I call a "bad reaction." And it would take a varying amount of time for me to recover. The bruises would be around long after my equilibrium returned, but once I felt better emotionally I loved my marks!

However, this next part does not - can not - apply:

Depending on what you want, it might be okay to let him occasionally lose control if you can still get the trust back. I'm not saying every time, but on the rare occasions.

That phrase "let him"?
Not in my dictionary.

And this was the only time I have come out of my submissive fog, my state of extreme acceptance, and started wondering if I might have to think of how to handle this. Precisely because it felt so different. It didn't feel like the beast running wild. It felt like abuse. Otherwise, even when I've been scared, like the time he had the knife against my naked belly, it never occurred to me not to submit.

Now the irony of it all is that what he had done just wasn't all that bad. He was slapping my face. Hard. And once a few times in succession. For no reason I could understand. And the full irony of this came home as I was exploring a section of Sexperts' blog today. She has turned up here only recently - or at least made herself known only recently - so I had only been over to her place once before. This time I looked at the section labelled Dominance. Then at an article called Places to Hit, Spank, Bite, and Where Not To! And there, to my great embarrassment, under hitting, was this:

I enjoy being slapped across the face (lightly at first, with full force if I'm turned on and we are being wild) and my Dom says he loves the look of complete shock and then lust that comes over my face when he hits me.

I feel like such a wuss!
Which, of course, I shouldn't.
Because, as I say ad nauseum, everyone's different.
Still, it did sort of put things in perspective.
And I really, really appreciate that.

He went too far.
That is very true.
But only for me.
My life was NOT in danger.

Next.

swan.
swan is a very wise and perceptive woman.
She is both sensitive and analytical.
And she has been dealing with an armload of difficult situations.

These words were exactly what I needed to hear:

I can only offer you a deep understanding and perhaps companionship on this road you are walking.

Then she speaks about being on the edge.

You can continue to choose for yourself to remain balanced on that edge. I hope, too, that at some level known only to you (and perhaps to him), that you retain the capacity to see the way off the edge if that becomes important.

Encompassing both potentials is the most delicate power balance of all...

Holding on to the capacity to see my way off the edge... and also gaining a better perspective as to how close to the edge I actually am. I think I err in both directions - both overestimating my safety and underestimating the danger.

jcn doesn't have a blog. Not even a blogger profile, though that should be remedied very soon. She's around my age and has been living a BDSM marriage for around 40 years or so. With the same man. She's been through a lot.

In Part 1 of this post, I quoted her very accurate statement about the advisability of faking my reactions to my Master's... um... ministrations. Applications of pain. Whatever. I don't need to say anything more about that. You all, of course, are welcome to say whatever you want about anything here or in any other post.

Anyway. Here's another excellent point she made, which is something I think some of you might tend to miss:

Your fiend is experienced, and clever, and has repeatedly demonstrated both his concern for your well-being and his willingness to rework his own plans for the well-being of the relationship. I think it's remarkable that he has taken responsibility, and I feel more warmth for him that I usually do.

As I've said numerous times, the man is a sadist. Not merely someone who enjoys sadistic play. And still, he wraps himself in figurative chains to protect both me and the relationship. I am always deeply touched by this. And for him to take full responsibility for what happened last weekend - when he could easily growl and say that I overreacted - that touches me deeply. You do need to give him credit. This isn't something you often get from an absolute monarch.

He can certainly be cruel.
He'd admit to that himself.

But he is not not not one of those people whom Sophia referred to in her comment on Part 1. He is NOT a "harsh, cruel and unloving master."

mamacrow is a sweetheart. Plain and simple. And English. With a houseful of children. She often makes me laugh, and my Master has praised her intelligence because she has said nice things about him. He does have a sense of humor, you know.

I have nothing more to add, except to offer this excerpt and encourage you to read the rest of what she says. The rest of what they all have said. And then give us your thoughts.

And I'm impressed by his mea culpa too. It takes a 'real man' and a lot of courage to do that. even if it IS partly a manipulation :)

Which leads into agog's comment. I just love the name of her blog, by the way. Bumbling Towards Submission. Very honest. Really, we all of us, no matter how long we've been at it, are still feeling our way. If we ever get to thinking we have nothing left to learn, then we might as well give up.

She starts off her comment with this:

The best manipulation uses the truth, in my opinion. Just because he was manipulating you doesn't mean he didn't mean everything he said.

Which is very true.
I know it's true.

Which I why I sometimes smile to myself when he growls about how he manipulates me.

Ugh.
It's actually already Saturday here on the East Coast of the US.
But I said this would go up Friday so I'm dating it as Friday.

I admit it.
I do stretch the truth some times...

Thank you all for joining the conversation.
Please keep talking!