Delicious

3 kinds of nipple clamps.
Chains and leather bands.
One big black flogger.
And an orgasm.

Oh yes.
And a massage.

I wasn't even going to say that much.
My Master seemed disappointed.
He said I should add "More to come."

Was he talking about another post?
Or another event like today's?

In any case, it was a wonderful way to welcome Spring.

Thank you, Daddy.
And... to the other guy.

Iron rings in the concrete floor

Chains or rope?

That is the question.

Nipple clamps...

... in my future.
My very near, if undefined future.

My pussy is so aroused that she's screaming.
I do hope he lets me cum on Saturday.

Please, Daddy?
Please let me cum on Saturday?

Apart, yes. Lonely? No.

An Anonymous comment on yesterday's post asked:

No disrespect intended, but, are the four of you involved with married men? If you are, doesn't the loneliness outweigh any other benefit of the relationship? 

The sadist has an assortment of relationships, which serve his various needs. In fact, I'm very grateful for them. Certainly, you can understand my appreciation for his masochist slave, whose existence you've heard about before. Whose existence in physical fact saves my ass. My Master could never protect me to the extent he does without having his slave as an outlet for his most severe sadistic urges.

Lonely?
Not me.
Occasionally wanting more?
Sure.
Marriage to my Master?
Heaven help me, no way.
We are both very intense.
Very intense.
We'd combust.
I'd suffocate.
Think of a fine chocolate truffle.
High quality chocolate.
Dark chocolate, if it's for me.
Belgian, perhaps.
When you have one, you eat it slowly.
Savoring every mouthful.
The taste, the smoothness, the richness,
they linger in your mouth long after you're done.

But one truffle after another?
Throughout the day?
Every day?

Too much.
Too rich.
Too intense.

This isn't mere rationalization.
I'm not sure I'd want a regular boyfriend of any sort.
Or girlfriend, for that matter.

As it is, I have this intense relationship with an astonishing man. The connection is... probably not wholly explicable. And incredibly strong. Sometimes I think it would be nice to see him twice a week. But I'm not so sure. This way... it's not like we're only together during those couple of hours once a week.  We e-mail. We text. We feel each other. Plus it's not like I have no other life. No other interests. No friends. Certainly he has them. Not to mention the other submissives.

I've learned a lot from the sadist.

And confirmed my belief that there are many ways for people to be together. For all relationships as with those involving BDSM, it's about the people involved. What works for them. For some people this would not work. And I don't deny that there have been frustrating times. Like now. When he's been ill. But would I want to face him over the dinner table every night? Discuss utility bills? Know that he's heading out to beat the shit out of his masochist slave so he could suppress his desire to do it to me?

Then, I think, I'd be lonely.

Saved by the masochist slave

He gets these urges sometimes.
Seriously sadistic urges.
You know.
I've written about them before.

He wants to torture me.
Seriously torture me.

It keeps him up at night when he gets in that mood. He sees it. He tastes it. He hears my screams and sees my body writhing, my back rising and arching, hears me moaning, begging - and then screaming... His description sounds as if it could as easily refer to passion, orgasm...

Certainly his words catapult me into an agony of arousal.

But that's not the kind of pain he has in mind.
And the only guaranteed orgasm would be his.

He doesn't dare do to me what he wants to do.
He knows I couldn't handle that much pain.
He's afraid he'll go too far.
He's afraid it would destroy us.
And more than anything,
he doesn't want to lose me.

But the thought of it.
It's so seductive.
To me it's so seductive.
And he knows that, too.

He won't tell me what he wants to do to me. He won't tell me the horrible things he does do to his masochist slave. He has, in the past, mentioned some things that he knows I'll eventually accede to. As if I had a choice. Not that he would force it on me. He's more like a snake. Hypnotizing me. Knowing that I will never make him stop. The only thing I react against is when he slaps my face in a way that makes me worry about bruises. In a way that lets me know he's out of control. That scares me. And now scares him, because he doesn't realize things are going bad until the the next day. Until he reads my account of it the next day. He worries about that now. Because he... because of what he feels for me.

I wish I could give him what he needs.
I wish it were safe for him to torture me.
Whatever that means.
He has talked about electro-torture in the past.
Serious electro-torture.
The thought scares the shit out of me.
In a way, it scares him too, I think.
The thought of doing it to me.
Because, again, he's afraid of losing control.
Of going too far.

So he protects me.
He continues to protect me.
Because he has these feelings for me.
Feelings he says in every way he can
without saying those dangerous words.

He protects me.
And tortures his masochist slave instead.

He had been torturing the slave before.  Before he found me. That's the point of owning a masochist, isn't it? And each of them has a need filled. Not just the giving and receiving of pain, but also being served and providing service. Relieving pain while receiving pain. For the sadist does suffer during these times. He suffers from the unbearable need to inflict pain, the overwhelming need to hear the screams, and the awful desire to have me be the one writhing and screaming and sobbing as he demonstrates his desire and feelings for me by making my suffering surpass his own.

It doesn't happen that often.
He doesn't have such attacks that often.
But he did last weekend.
And he found relief today.

He wants to figure out why the attack came on when it did. and why it was so severe. I have my own theories. One of those perfect storm things, part of which was being deprived of my body on Saturday because I was sick. Part of which was knowing that I was with S-- on Wednesday night. He's always very aroused at the thought of others enjoying his mistress. His treasure. So first there was his awareness of another man touching and kissing and fucking me, an awareness that filled him all through that night. And then he read the account of the night that I was required to send him the following day. Add to that a different sort of event on Friday - not a sexual activity but related to his activities. And here we return to his doing without me on Saturday, followed by an electronic conversation Saturday night that was frightening in its intimacy and new revelations.

He can't help himself.
Sometimes he tells me things...

So of course by Sunday the bars on the beast's cage had been bent apart and the hungry monster was prowling the halls.

Luckily, my Master had already arranged to use his slave today.
For some people, today was a holiday.
So the slave was home.

And the slave's ass saved mine.
Knowing it was for my protection.
Being told how grateful I was.

While I waited.

The fiend e-mailed me his ETA.
I was at work.
"You'll share the experience with me," he wrote.
My breath stopped.
I had been feeling tense all day.
Feeling his presence, his hands on my body,
slashes of the cane and of the single tail whip burning my butt.
Finally, lunchtime, I left the building.
A message arrived.
There was screaming.
He had almost called me.
I don't know that I could have tolerated the sounds of such pain.

I tried to walk, but instead sat outside on a low concrete ledge and waited. The screams had eased his desperation. All that was left was to cum.

Was for him to cum.

I was there with him.
Not physically.
But there with him nevertheless.
Waiting.
Not breathing.
He gave me a 4-minute warning of when he would cum.

The time passed.
My body let go.
I took a deep breath.
He was OK.
I knew he was OK now.
And I knew he had felt me there with him.

I had to be with him.
Because it all had to do with me.

He wrote me from the car.
He was feeling much better.
His slave was fine.
I was grateful for the reassurance.
I always feel guilty.
And especially now.

I think this was the first time the slave was explicitly told that it was all because of me. Another pain my Master inflicted. I felt bad. Bad and guilty and very, very grateful.

Grateful that my body was saved from horrors I can only imagine.
And grateful that this sadist I love was saved from the torments he visits on himself.

Love can hurt.
In so many ways.

Daddy likes to share his toys

They're salivating at the thought of me.
There's a gang of "old guys" salivating at the thought of me.
The thought of getting their hands on me.
The thought of getting their cocks in me.

And the sadist is quite delighted at getting to watch.
Delighted?
He's hot.
I could probably get him to cum just by talking about it.

He loves to think of watching them admire me.
Inspect me.
Poke and prod and explore me.
Spank my lovely pale white ass.
Fuck me in every possible hole.
Sit back and revel in the services of my expert mouth.
My tongue.
My teeth.
My lips.

He wants to see me work hard to please them.
He wants to see me suffer.
To see me reduced to a thing.
And he'll know.
He'll know it's all for him.
That I'm doing it all for his pleasure.
Because I love him.
Because he owns me.
Because he wants it.
And if he wants it,
then so do I.

(And the guys? They're pretty excited, too. Though I won't service them all right away. We're working up to it. The first event will be me and Daddy and the ringleader and his male sub. Date not set yet - my new employment status has made scheduling more difficult, as a weekday afternoon encounter had been under discussion. But I expect within the month. And yes - though you didn't ask - he declared condoms de rigueur. After all. I'm his property. I'm his baby girl. A Daddy like to look after his baby girl.)

Being his little whore

He wanted his whore today.
Which has its advantages.
His whore's nose doesn't need blowing.
As opposed to his little girl's nose.
Or his emotional pet's nose.
There was none of that.
No crying.
No mooning.
No mourning the fact that this was our last Tuesday.

Which doesn't necessarily mean we won't have long visits any more. He says that quite a number of my Saturdays will be devoted to serving his pleasure. But no more regular thing.

I'm not worried, though.
I'm really not.
I feel calm.
Secure.
Treasured.
Happy.

And tomorrow I start my new job for real.
I start my job,
and my brain is waking up from its SADdened stupor,
and Daddy was VERY understanding about the effect of the SAD.

He challenged me today.
He said he wanted his whore.
Focused.
Detached
Working for him.
Working for his pleasure.
But he wanted to see me struggle.
And he's a tease.
He is.

So while I was trying to stay focused and detached, he was saying things with his mouth... with his lips... with his tongue... and he gave me that happy, contented smile when I said how hard it was not to yield to my feelings...

I hear Allison Krauss...

"You say it best when you say nothing at all."

And after.

After he came, which he badly needed, we sat and talked for a long time. About the holidays, and his hometown, and an old friend, and developing plans for him to share me with a Dom friend of his. With the Dom and his male sub. And about the possibility of taking me away to a beach town, and whether he'll let me sleep between his legs with my mouth by his cock.

[she sighs happily and wriggles at the thought]

And about the absolutely perfect framed print that he gave me for my office.
The print that was his.
Actually, it's still his.
Which is even better.
It will be his presence in my office.
There's no face in the picture.
But I'll feel his eyes on me,
as if the frame contained a small hidden camera.
So he can keep his eyes on his property.

On his treasure.

I am his treasure.

And he is my everything.

Strangled

I've lost my voice.
Oh, not physically.
Mentally.

I'm being strangled by SAD.

Strangled... the sadist had his hand very tight around my neck last Tuesday. After I had made my confession. After he had whipped me with his belt as I was down on my hands and knees on the futon, every part of me draped in my nun's habit.

Every part of me but my reddening butt, now adorned with the stripes of pain and penance left by his belt.

It was after that.
As I knelt before him to serve his pleasure.

After I had stripped off the pieces of the habit.
Slowly stripped off the black and the white and the yards of black.
Stripping before his eyes.
Letting the long dress drop to my feet.
Revealing my nakedness beneath.

I was naked in so many ways.

But I digress.
I'd much rather be strangled by his large, firm hand.
It somehow makes me feel safe as it circles my throat.
As I hear myself gasp for air.
Or gurgle.
This time I was gurgling.

Being strangled by SAD does not make me feel safe.
I am its prisoner.
And not in a good way.
There is no affection in its stranglehold.
And I return none.

You might say there is intimacy, as we live close together for a few months each year. We are so close that when SAD moves in I see everything through its eyes. And even when it isn't here, I feel it looming. Breathing on my neck. When it finally leaves, its soft seductive voice breathes into my ear: "I'll be back." And I know it will.

Yes, its voice is seductive.
It draws me down into sleep.
Sleep from which I never quite awaken.
Sleep.
Stupor.
A mind that is dulled by the shortened days.
Even today, when the sun was dancing.
Laughing.
Beckoning.
Come! it smiled.
Come out and play with me.
But I lay on the couch as if drugged.
I lay there with Ketzel on my belly.
And I slept like a cat.

Perhaps today that was from hormones.
Could be.
They play games with me,
coming and going so fast that I sense no cycle.
But whatever it was,
I lost another day.

Still, I should be grateful. The SAD held off, and didn't fully move in until now. Except for the sabotage of grey skies, it should start moving out by the end of the month. At first it will move out slowly. A fork one day, then a pile of towels, eventually a box of books. But it will move out. Until suddenly, in March or April, I'll be unbearably bouncy.

My manic season is short.
But I love it.
My compensation prize.

For now, though, I'm dulled and sleepy, soft and vulnerable, struggling to get through the day, and excited only by thoughts of the sadist and his kisses and the leather belt which now hangs in the closet with the belts that I wear.

I think of the leather belt.
I feel its tail gently whipping my pussy.
I feel its weight landing hard and sharp on my ass.

And I ponder the teasing morsels the sadist is feeding me about a plan which seems to be drawing nearer to being realized.

A plan?
What plan, you wonder.

Ha!
The sadist isn't the only one who can tease, you know.

The multiplication of pleasure

An old lover was in town this week.
S--
He spent two nights in my bed.
Per order of the sadist.

Our sexual relationship had ended a couple of years ago. S--'s decision. He "realized" he could no longer have sex without a love relationship. Interesting - and a big reversal for him. A year later he reversed again, but I turned him down - partly because I was afraid it might screw up our friendship relationship but mostly because I was completely absorbed with the sadist.

The sadist, however, was not happy.
He says I was born to provide sexual pleasure.
He wants me to have sex with other men.
He wants me to focus on their pleasure.
He wants what I do to reflect what I've learned serving him.
He wants me to feel that in the act I am serving him.
And then he wants a complete report.

Because it arouses him to think of his pet slut serving other men at his command. This isn't a cuckolding thing, because he is always in control. What I do is in obedience to him - especially since it's not necessarily something I am always comfortable with. What finally changed things for me was when I really understood that it would be arousing for him. Something clicked, and then I was fine.

So I felt his eyes on me, as if he were standing over the bed watching S-- make a delicious meal out of my pussy. Delicious for S-- and delicious for me and properly arousing for the sadist.

Everyone ended up happy.

Check back for more details.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe not.
Life has me busy.

PS - when the sadist was here last Tuesday, he deliberately made sure not to mark me. He thought it would be impolite, knowing that the next night I would be with S--. On the other hand, he was also tempted to be sure to mark me. His mark of ownership. But good manners prevailed.

Masturbation Mania (11) - orgasmic explosion from the Silky G

I do keep my promises.
Eventually.

Here at last is Part 2 (read Part 1 here) of my review of the Silky G vibrator from Evolved Novelties, my August adventure in sex toy exploration courtesy of the kind folks over at Eden Fantasys. This really has been an adventure. I've gone from a monogamous devotion to clitoral love from the first two fingers of my right hand to constructing orderly plans of which devices to use and in what order.

I'm hooked!

Given my persistent state of unemployment, it's a good thing I don't have to buy the things. Despite having firm preferences, I'm always hoping that the next shipment will bring a new thrill that will eclipse my passion for the latest favorite.

The Silky G definitely fell into that category.

Go back to Part 1 for the story of how I made my selection, an initial description, and the reason I didn't finish writing my review at the time. And now... now that the sun has finally come out again... here is a moan by moan description of what the sweet thing did to me.

The following is edited from e-mails I sent my Master during and after my two main toy trials, as well as during the session that cut short my previous attempt at writing this review.



From August 5th:

Good morning, Daddy.
I had one great orgasm last night.
Yummy.
I'll write back shortly with more details.

My only regret, Daddy, is that it got me so excited I couldn't take much time to explore the sensations. I'll need to try one more time before I write the review. Whenever it's all right with you, my Master, who owns my orgasms and everything else.

[...]

So the thing about this vibrator, Daddy, as I think I said yesterday, is that it strikes me as so cute that it makes me want to use it. The tip looks like the top curvy point on a soft-serve ice cream cone. And it's got these 2 curves on it that bulge while generally being slender that just make me want to stick it up inside me.

Technically, my Master, it's not all that fancy. Just 3 speeds, no complicated vibration patterns, and I'll bet a lot of women would think it's not strong enough. Or fat enough. But for your little girl... perfect. It slid into me as if it had been designed with my pussy in mind.

It's supposed to be a G-spot vibrator. So is the little lavender one I like so much. But this is longer, and has that cute little point on the end in which are concentrated the vibrations. So I pushed it inside me and didn't even fuck myself with it. Just kept it there. And then I started feeling these things, Daddy! Right up in my womb! And I was only on level 1 or 2 of the vibrations.

Wow.

I couldn't think about anything but the physical sensations, my Master. Fantasies? Scenarios? Barely. I wanted to take more time with it, to explore it more, and I just couldn't. I fucked myself a little, and felt the little bulges push in and out of me, which I liked, but mostly it was just those vibrations deep inside and I just couldn't prolong it, Daddy! I did manage briefly to recall that sense of objectification, but then that was it. I pulled my new purple friend out and pressed the pointy tip against my clit. Didn't take long at all.

No little moans.
Loud shouts instead.
And then I came.
Boom.

Still not like my orgasms used to be - and I'm still not sure how much of that is due to age and how much to all my meds - but it did feel big. Followed by a very strong crying fit that was completely tension release. No upset in it at all.

Great.
Really great.

I love my new toy, Daddy!

But I do need to try once more, if possible this weekend, so I can write it up before I go to camp. May I, Daddy?

[As you can tell from the following, permission was granted.]



August 7th:

Your naked slave, sitting up in bed, having slept off this morning's orgasm.

Thank you, Daddy my Master. I did need to give my new toy one more test. Plus I woke up early and hoped that cumming would help me go back to sleep for a bit.

This time I let myself enjoy the pure form of it, Daddy, before turning on the vibrations. It's got these couple little bumps in it, rather than being one, smooth form. Which is nice, as it really is very slender. And it's also good for me. Remember, how I've said that I actually need to fuck myself fairly regularly to keep my tissues young and pliable? But I haven't really had anything that I've wanted to shove up there. This is very comfortable, with that little extra bit of stimulation and stretch from the 2 bumps.

Oh, and it's got the pointy tip, Daddy. It reminds me of the end of those little chandelier light bulbs, that you can get with either a straight end or a curved end. This has the curved tip, Daddy, which makes it so very cute! Plus it helps it slip in. Nice...

So the upshot of all that, Daddy, is that it's good for maintaining your little slave's pussy.

The vibrations are nice, too. They go straight up into my womb. Very yummy. In the end, it wasn't as big an orgasm as last time, Daddy, but very good nevertheless, and it was all very pleasant. And I was very aware of how it was good for Daddy's pussy, and would make it all nice and fuckable when you finally bring your friends to shove their cocks up me.


[And then I was off to "Band Camp" followed by post-camp recovery and too much rain and who knows what and suddenly it was the end of August and I really needed to finish the review by the end of the month. So with Hurricane Irene on her way, and my Master out at a bar, I settled down on the couch with Ketzel and my purple-encased MacBook Pro, intending to write. But first there were my wake-up messages from bed.]


August 27th:

Good morning, Daddy. I woke up very early and had a bout of painfully aroused insomnia. Then fell back to sleep and dreamt that all these men wanted me, Daddy, and I was flirting with them. But I wanted only you.

My pussy is still twitching and whimpering, Daddy.

[...]

Another dream detail I just remembered, Daddy... one of the men... he kissed me and it was AWFUL, Daddy. He had thin, dry lips and didn't know how to do it right.

Not like you...


[Later...]


Twitching twitching twitching...

I'm writing up my vibrator report, Daddy, and describing how good it felt is getting your little slave very aroused... And oh, Daddy, it feels so good knowing I can't touch myself unless you give permission!

The chain of your ownership is cutting into your little slave's pussy, my Master.

I wrote that and the twitching kicked up a notch.
I feel you tormenting me, my Master.
And I embrace it.

Is it the storm, Daddy?
Or errant hormones?
Whatever it is, I'm falling deeper and deeper into that slave place...


[The sadist replies that I'm too sensitive not to respond to the storm. He says I may masturbate, but must report before, during, and after - which is what I normally do. I picture him reading my reports as he sits imbibing at the bar. I know what it will do to his cock...]


Oh, thank you, Daddy my Master!

I wish I were at the bar with you, my Master.
I wish I were standing naked beside you.
I wish you were offering me around to be touched and inspected.
I wish I were bent over a table to be beaten and raped.
I wish your chain were tight around my neck
so everyone could see
that I am your slave.

I am, my Master.
I'm your own little slave.
And now
I'll rape myself with silicone on your behalf.

[...]

In the bedroom, my Master.
On the bed.
Door closed.
Clothes off.

Except I left on those support knee hose and my socks with cats on them, Daddy. They somehow make me feel more naked. The contrast, I guess. And the socks... they make me feel younger.


I'll use that newest toy, my Master. To stick inside me. And maybe the lavender one, too.

[These descriptions of my masturbation alternated with episodes of what would be happening to me in the bar as the sadist offered me around to the other drinkers. This is a recurring, shared fantasy, but was written for my Master's pleasure and feels too personal to share. Anyway, I'm sure you can fill in details from what I wrote above.]

Oooh. Daddy...

It feels so good.
It slips right in.
No resistance except for that little extra pressure from the bumps.
And the curved tip is reaching towards my womb.

I haven't even turned it on yet, my Master.
And I'm afraid to think too much about what you will subject me to in the bar or I'll cum too fast.

I need to feel the torture of the pleasure.

[...]

I turned it on, my Master.
Just at the first level.
Not very strong but yes... it's torture.

Who would think that pleasure could be torture?

The vibrations from the curved tip are heading into my g-spot as they were designed to do. I'm suffering, my Master... it feels so good that it inspires a sense of short thin lashes flogging my pussy.

[...]

I've taken the vibrations to Level 2, my Master.
They are spreading from my pussy towards my tight little butt hole.

[...]

Turns out it accidentally went all the way to Level 3, Daddy. This pretty thing isn't very strong, my Master.  But it fits perfectly.

I ran the curbed point of the tip in a semicircle over my outer labia and above my clitoris. Just around it, trying not to touch directly. And I pressed it into the pubic bone above my clit. Delicious, Daddy..
I'm trying very hard to prolong this...

This is tricky, my Master, typing on the laptop while lying on my back, knees up, vibrating purple silicone shoved up my pussy.

[...]

I pulled it out, my Master, squeezed on more AstroGlide, then shoved it firmly back in and started fucking myself with it.

It's no longer silicone.

It's my rapist.

[Insert a handful of fantasy installments here.]

I switched to the little snub-nosed lavender Meany at the end, my Master.
I love how its soft round nose feels against my clit.
It snuffled and poked at me and felt so good, Daddy!
Plus it's yummy inside me -
fatter than the other one, I think, though very short.

Whatever it is inside me that's been forcing these dark fantasies on me took me back to a place where my ass and my pussy door were being whipped. And I came. A real orgasm, my Master, inside, the rising up and rolling over, which I pushed for a little more even. It still wasn't super strong, but it was a real physical orgasm, Daddy, and I was - I am - grateful for it.

I rested a bit then.
But didn't let myself sleep.

And all that activity made me need to pee.

The new vibrator was buzzing away inside me, Daddy, all those times I wrote you once I said I had turned it on.

Thank you, my Master.
Thank you for allowing me to masturbate.
Thank you for allowing me to cum.
And most of all, thank you for having me share it with you.



[End of e-mail reports.]


So yes.
I really liked it.
A lot!

A couple of points to remember.

Including one thing I don't mention enough. I have a very strong preference for silicone toys. I love how they feel - so velvety! - and I love how well they clean up (especially when they're waterproof), meaning I don't have to bother with a condom. A big advantage. But remember that you need to use water-based lubricant only, and keep the toys from touching each other. Who knows what they would get up to in your toy box? (No, seriously, silicone and silicone don't do well together.)

Otherwise, remember that the Silky G is fairly slender, so could be unsatisfying for those of you who like something big and fat shoved up your cunt. Plus the vibrations aren't super strong, and there aren't any fancy patterns. Which obviously didn't interfere with my pleasure one little bit. But it's something to keep in mind if you're laying out your own money for your pussy's next best friend.

For me, though...

Wow!

PS - and no, I will not be posting anything about the 10th anniversary of September 11th. Observance is appropriate, and I don't begrudge people what they need. I certainly have not forgotten. But for me, once was enough.

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...

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.

Working for the Beast

I'm writing sadistic porn for the Beast. He likes me, it seems, or perhaps merely enjoys my suffering. So I have been assigned to serve his literary appetites, with the chance that he will put in a good word for me with the sadist.

The story I just sent him was so dark that I almost vomited as I proofread.
Which is no surprise, really.
I've been nauseous most of the day.

We've talked a lot today, the sadist and I
"Talked."
The modern way.
E-mails, texts, long conversations via IM.

He went to see his slave this morning.
It could have been me.
He had the time and it could have been me.
He even thought of that, of visiting me.
He pictured me.
The way I greet him,
standing naked behind the open door
so as not to embarrass the neighbors.
The way I stand against the dungeon wall,
the way I kneel before his chair.
And then...

I can't even describe the horrible, horror movie fantasy that came unbidden into his mind and left him afraid to look at my face. Afraid to look into my eyes. Because last Tuesday, when he looked into my eyes, the way he always looks into my eyes, he didn't find what was usually there. And in some ways I think that hurt him more than anything.

So he didn't come to see me.
He went to see his masochistic slave.
The slave survived - I'm assured he's all right -
and the sadist was somewhat cleansed.

He did a lot of thinking on the drive home.

We took a break, then he e-mailed me that he was sending me 4 more e-mails, which I should read without responding. He would then sign on to IM in 5 minutes. Except it must have been about 10 minutes, because I had time to read the e-mails and then listen to an assigned gut-wrenching song by his favorite singer-songwriter.

One of the e-mails told about the hour he had accidentally spent with the solider Friday night. Back at the bar. They didn't spend the whole time speaking of me. But obviously they did. Speak about me. What a concept.

Two of the e-mails referred to the possibility of never seeing me again.

I felt as if I'd been punched in my pale white belly. Something the sadist in fact likes to do. But he holds himself back with me.

Excuse me.
He has held himself back with me.
No assumptions can be made about the future.

And then we talked.
Instant messaging.
Must have gone on for hours.
So many ups and downs.
So many tears.
But in the end...

He is working on a new plan.
Very cautiously,
very vaguely,
he is working on a new plan.
There are no guarantees.
And so far there are only 2 points.

1. It will take time.

2. Since the stories I write specifically for the beast seem to win myself some support from him, the sadist thinks it would be a good idea to continue that activity. Except for scaring myself with how extreme and dark my imagination can be, I'm glad to be doing it. I hadn't written much in the way of fiction for a long time. And at least this way I feel that I'm doing something when really there is nothing I can do.

The sadist must heal.
He must recover.

The question that came up is whether he will recover from me, or merely from the wound that was inflicted by an arrow coming from my direction. At least, today, he mentioned the possibility that he might be able to consider (even if not believe) the idea that I didn't fire it deliberately. A small step, for sure, not to be given more weight than it deserves, but a generous step nevertheless.

So I wrote him (or, rather, the Beast) a story that makes me want to vomit.
I wrote a poem, too, though it's not quite finished.
And I'm not sure I should send it.
Perhaps I'll post it here instead.

Before I go off to watch one of his all-time favorite movies and then report my reaction, I want to add one caution about what I have been and will be writing about all this and everything else.

Especially about all this.

Be careful about what you assume about him and his reactions and feelings and psychology. What you read is my interpretation. It is not objective. It is filtered through my own weaknesses and emotions and neuroses and faulty memory. In some ways, for him, for any of us, objective truth is irrelevant. All that matters is how we experience the world. That is our reality. His experience of what I did and what I said and what was not in my eyes is his reality. What happens hereafter must proceed from there.

And my eyes?
I do not dispute that something he usually finds was absent from my eyes.

This I cannot dispute.
And therein lies my grief.

Success

The soldier left a very happy man.
With a very happy cock.

And me?
I was pretty happy, too.

The main problem was that I was afraid the condom would come off. He hadn't brought any, not wanting "to be presumptuous." (He's very sweet and polite, although a little dumb for being so smart - and he is very smart - and a Democrat.) Of course, I have a goodly supply and plenty of Astro-Glide. But the condoms... well, they're normal size. He isn't. Oh my, he isn't.

And I enjoyed his company.
So we'll see each other again.
Two smiling people.

Isn't that nice?

Spreading around my sexual favors

So many ups and downs... so many twists and turns... and more to come.

I started writing one post along the way.
And then stopped as things started changing and evolving.
So maybe a summary will have to do.

Daddy sees me as a sort of "sexual Florence-Nightingale-to-the-world" (his term). I was created to give sexual pleasure. Generously. He really believes this. He thinks it's a crime and a waste for me not to use my talents broadly.

Which is all well and good. And sometimes I almost believe him. Almost. He knows I don't though. not really. And while I do go through these horribly horny spells, when it comes down to it I hold back. Even with these two old friends/lovers who have wanted to have sex again. I turned them down. Partly because I don't want to mess up what we've managed to achieve with our friendships, after some rough spots connected with our former sexual relationships. But partly because I felt so filled with the sadist that I felt I would be only half there with either of the other guys.

Meanwhile, the fiend keeps trying to connect me up with people, without fully registering the possible complications if I end up dating any of them. One of the guys he has in mind he met through business, and has a house that's visible from mine. Which would mean the guy would see Daddy's car in front of my house from time to time. Not cool if he and I were dating.

It's odd, you know. I feel fine with him bringing over who knows what sex fiends to do who knows what awful things to me while he watches and enjoys. But I'm really struggling with the idea of meeting some guys with whom I'll probably enjoy spending time, and with whom I'll probably enjoy having sex - precisely because Daddy does really want me to have sex with them. Because he feels this is what I was meant to do.

It does sound weird, doesn't it?

It's weird.
It's hard.
It's a challenge.

Which so far I have been failing.

Saturday evening, the sadist surprised me by inviting me up to hang out at a bar in his town. [Here were a lot of details that I've chosen to edit out.] Eventually I relaxed and stopped feeling so out of place. And eventually we - well, Daddy first - made the acquaintance of a good looking , lonely young soldier a few stools down the bar from us.

Young like the philosopher.
39.

It was inevitable that Daddy should decide that it was my destiny to relieve the young man of his loneliness and horniness.

Certainly, the soldier was interested in me. Aside from anything else, I was dressed per instructions in a sexy, clingy, very low-cut black sweater. Without a bra. And I'm sweet and sometimes I even agree that I'm beautiful and I was definitely both flirty and kind. And he was lonely. New to town, working at a nearby base, and not wanting to hang out with other military people. A sweet guy.

One of the things that I admire so much about Daddy and that give him so much power over me is that he sees into my head and heart as if I were made of clear glass and running non-stop electronic signs spelling out my every thought and feeling. But this time his vision was clouded. he was drinking. A lot. And while he certainly knew what the soldier wanted, despite the guy's being confused - or maybe not - about my relationship with the fiend - he misread me. Or maybe was just indulging in wishful thinking. he thought we both wanted to go off together. So he kept leaving us alone and then left the bar early (well, not that early, maybe 5-10 minutes before he needed to), intending for me to go home with the guy.

I refused.

The guy was actually very sweet - is actually very sweet - but I just didn't want to. Cautious, I suppose. Which wasn't a stupid thing to be. And just having trouble with it. So I said no, but gave him my number and e-mail address and offered to get together this week. The guy was disappointed, but happy, I think, at the thought of having made contact with someone.

Daddy was angry.
I let him down.
I was not taking seriously his intentions for me.

And rightly enough, he reminded me that we both say that we are not playing. This is for real. Which means sometimes I will be doing things I don't want to do.

As the sadist likes to say, you prove nothing when you order an ice-cream loving submissive to eat ice cream.

There was more about Saturday night.
Daddy was drinking.
A lot.
We were in an environment in which we are usually not together.
He often seemed different from the man I know.
Certainly, we were mostly behaving together in a different way.

It was so odd. Especially in the presence of the soldier, I was teasing in the way I never could be if we were alone. But we were trying not to broadcast our relationship. Fat chance. A few times the soldier asked point blank what our relationship was. He said he saw how I looked at the sadist. How my eyes were on his face all the time. It's hard to hide something like that. It's hard to change something like that. I told him we were just old friends, but I'm not sure he swallowed it.

So.
We each went home to our own homes.

And the next day, and even Monday, I was feeling different. Uncomfortable. A bit estranged. Disconcerted by how Daddy had seemed. There was a vulnerability about him... he seemed to grow shorter... We had two conversations that were rather revealing on his part, which I treasured for their openness, but which also revealed his vulnerability, although that kind I can deal with and love him for.

And he was quite annoyed with me for not going home with the solider.

Still.
Things are moving along with that.
So maybe I'll get to redeem myself.
Or not.

He's a nice guy, the soldier.
hes a sweet guy, and polite and considerate and with more depth than I first thought.

He called me late Sunday afternoon, having waited all day, trying to figure out the right time to call. We talked for 40 minutes. He's coming over on Wednesday (tomorrow as I'm writing). He'll bring a DVD. I'll make dinner. Daddy is assuming we'll end up in bed, that the guy will be all over me after 10 minutes of the movie. But really, the solider is so phenomenally polite and thoughtful that I'll be surprised. But if I wants to fuck me, I'll let him. (And yes, of course, safe sex!!) It could be very sweet.

A few more things.

Yes, he knows that I'm 23 years older than he is. (I wonder how old his mom is...) He asked straight out. Politely, of course. He took me for early 40s. I wonder what he'll think when he sees me in full light?

Daddy was here this morning. After I made him feel ever so good, we talked about the soldier's upcoming visit. Which Daddy fully respects will be a cumming visit. We talked about what to say about our relationship, expanding on an early e-mail discussion. And Daddy gave me a gift. He said that I could say that we were friends with benefits. Or tell even more of the truth if I wished. I doubt I would do that. But I'm so glad that I can say - or at least imply, depending on the situation - that we're involved. That I have an involvement. That he - or anyone - shouldn't assume that I am available to be his girlfriend.

That was such a relief.
Part of me is so afraid of being swallowed up.
I'm already swallowed up.
Swallowed and burnt by digestive juices.

I do think Daddy knew that I needed to be able to say that. And then he went further. He said that if I wanted I could tell the soldier exactly what our relationship was. Now that I don't think I'll do. I think it would shock him. make him uneasy. But if I did, Daddy said, I could tell him that the sadist was here today - and deliberately didn't mark me because he knew I would be seeing the soldier tomorrow.

Now that could be interesting...

I'm afraid to re-read this for editing. I suspect it's much too rambling. So I'll just check for mis-spellings and hit PUBLISH POST. What the hell. I'm living dangerously already.

(Actually, not as dangerously as it might seem. Daddy grilled me on making sure someone knew the soldier was coming over. And of course he knows. And the solider knows he knows, and will see me text Daddy on his arrival. Daddy does take care of me. My only concern is that the guy is so polite that he may not actually try to fuck me. I sure hope he at least tries to kiss me or I'll really be in trouble!)

Daddy the Pimp

The man is incorrigible.

Although maybe that's not an appropriate word to use for such an innately dominant sadist. You don't try to correct a sadist. Still, I do sometimes wonder whether he has thought everything through.

He can't help telling other men about me.

I know that he strongly believes that my destiny is to provide sexual pleasure. Largely to men, it seems, although he knows my desires are fluid and he himself is omnivorous. I also know that he is extremely aroused by both his fantasies and the reality of watching me serve and being used by other men. So I am never surprised - and mainly amused - by reports of the latest man to whom he has marketed me.

But every so often he gets the urge to play matchmaker.
He can't help himself.
He knows -
or runs into -
a man who might want to date me.
A man who won't, who can't, be told about our relationship.
A man who might want to date me.
Not just fuck me.
And certainly not cane me.

Or at least not as far as Daddy knows.

These men do not get to see any of the pictures or video clips that Daddy carries with him on his phone. These men aren't told that Daddy owns me.

And the sadist doesn't stop to think what might happen if I did start dating any of these guys. How do I phrase my involvement with other people, even without mentioning him by name? How do I deal with my not being ready to give him up for a more standard relationship? How would he deal with my falling in love with someone he couldn't keep from giving me to?

The latest guy?
Daddy met him through his business.
The guy lives within sight of my house.
Jewish.
(Not really a plus - I have this thing for the Irish.)
My age. (But 60 is too old for me.)
Divorced. (Inevitable.)
Government employee. (Around here? Also inevitable.)
Well educated. (But how does he feel about Shakespeare?)

Of course, my own feelings about it are irrelevant.
I'll do whatever the fiend wants.
Until it comes down to hurting someone else.
Unless the guy pisses me off.
Unless the guy tries to smother me.
Unless the guy bores me.
At which point I will extricate myself.

Of course, who knows if it will comes to anything. I've been hearing about all sorts of men and only one has ever actually gotten his hands on my body. I'm starting to think that a lot of these sales pitches - and his telling me about them - have been as much for their current entertainment value as for whatever may come of them.

He loves to plan.

So now he is concocting a plan for me to meet this man whose house I can see from mine but who, being on the next street, I have never met.

A man who really wants to meet me.
A man who says he knows what 60 looks like.

I admit that, like Daddy, I can't wait to see the look on this man's face when he realizes that no, he doesn't really know what 60 looks like.

Not to mention 62.
Which I'll be in a week and a half.

We'll see...

I feel...

I feel...
uneasy.

There are new plans.
Hints of unpleasantness.
For me at least.
Committed by one,
savored by the other,
amplified,
if not enjoyed,
by me.

I feel...
queasy.

I've been sick for too long, home this weekend instead of up in Brooklyn with a bunch of close friends and two thousand others. Home with my tea and my cats and my soup, slowly getting better, slowly getting stronger and now... getting hoarser. And a little queasy.

Damn.

Enough already!

I need to feel better
so I can feel pain.
So I can feel vulnerable.
So I can feel...
fear.

I already feel fear.

I feel...
aroused.

Hints are dropped
of nasty things
and my pussy weeps
and my womb erupts
and I tell the truth
and my Daddy says

I know, angel.

And now I want my Daddy to hurt me.
And he knows that, too.

He knows me much too well.

And so I will feel...
whatever he wants me to feel.

Dildo play - on his orders

In the next 48 hours I want you to re-acquaint yourself with any dildos you may have in your possession. I want an orgasm from one before, let's say.... aw hell, let's make it a challenge, Monday COB.

The order arrived last night, just after I had abandoned my post in front of my MacBook Pro in its purple plastic case. So there it was, waiting for me this morning. I knew immediately the message had something to do with serving Daddy's friend.

Of course, being me, I had a lot of questions. Some were a result of my natural curiosity, while others came from my desire to clarify terms, and then to get things exactly right. I reminded him that I had both one dildo and one vibrator. Was he specifying the inanimate dildo only?

Either or both, and I want you constantly working with them throughout the weekend when you have a chance. And reporting, naturally.

This unleashed more questions on my part:

My orgasm will still probably be clitoral, Daddy, unless that is forbidden, as I have almost never cum purely from the actions of a cock inside me. Almost never as in maybe 3 times if that? Is that important, Sir? With a vibrator at least I can position it so it is stimulating the clit while fucking me. Is this in preparation for my new boyfriend? Is it important to his pleasure that he fuck me into cumming? I do want to give him - and by extension you - what he wants.

To which he offered his usual, rationed response:

So many questions (as per usual).

Whatever you can accomplish is fine. Yes, this is related to your playmate. No it is not going to be required that you cum while being fucked (if indeed fucking is what he wants at the moment) but using those implements on yourself probably will be. That's right, my pet. You, naked and spread wide, all eyes upon you, working yourself with tools like a pot of hot candy, perhaps being licked, tickled, pinched, spanked and otherwise manipulated while you do.

So now that I think more on it, make sure you incorporate the large dildo into your regimen this weekend, if only for the sake of stagecraft.

I mentioned that I have a little butt plug. Should I practice with that, too? Yup, he wanted that, too. And a couple of hours later came the final instruction for the day: if I was able to practice before late this afternoon (meaning if the electrician who seemed in permanent residence was done by then), I should call his voice mail once the chosen item had been inserted.

Which I did.

By 4:45 the electrician was gone and I was naked, my nipples hard and shining from the cold and the monstrous purple dildo, encased in a condom and coated with AstroGlide, plunged deep into the embrace of my tight, moist pussy. I put my Blackberry on speaker phone and positioned it on the pillow next to me, gave the giant purple dildo a few good, hard shoves to get it properly rooted in my cunt, and then called the fiend's phone.

Fucking myself for him, for them, on top of calling his phone and hearing his voice in the outgoing message, immediately put me in that place. I was transformed. My own voice changed, as it always does for him without any deliberate effort. My voice changed and my face changed and I was in another dimension as I forced that horribly big purple piston past the guardian gate that keeps my pussy so tight. Slowly, I pumped the phony phallus in and out and described my actions and described my feelings until a buzz signaled that my time was up.

In fact, my time was just beginning. Here is what happened, as I e-mailed him when I regained my strength and awareness.

I came, Daddy!
Just from fucking myself with the monster purple dildo!

I really surprised myself, Daddy I didn't expect that to happen without my paying attention to my clitoris. And it didn't even take that long. It happened around 5 o'clock, so not that long after I called you. (I hope you could hear my words OK, Daddy. I put the phone on speaker and then put it up on a pillow not far from my head. Did that work?)

After I hung up, I fucked myself a little more and then changed position so I could see my pussy in the mirrored closet doors, and watch the purple monster moving in and out. I think you both will find the view quite enjoyable, Daddy. I moved the giant thing around a bit, to get different views, and then went back into my regular spot on the bed and focused on impaling myself. First I went slowly, and then started going faster and faster and suddenly I felt everything start to build, Daddy, and started wondering if I could possibly be working towards an orgasm and then suddenly there it was!

If I feel myself cumming again, as I continue to practice, am I allowed to let the orgasm happen, Daddy?

Thank you, Daddy.

Oh, and I really did concentrate on the exercise as being for you, for the enjoyment of those watching me, with my own enjoyment only tangential as it would increase your own pleasure.

To which, a few hours later and mere minutes ago, he replied:

Your last sentence probably explains why you were able to cum, as well as why it sort of snuck up on you.

Not only do you have my permission, but I encourage you to climax as many times as you can, but no pressure. You have already fulfilled my requirement.

I am a very happy little girl, knowing that I have performed well.

Serving his friends - details emerge

He calls them my boyfriends, these men to whom he is offering me.
People within his sphere of influence, he said.
Me, I sometimes just call them his friends.

This evening, he had dinner with the one probably next in line to enjoy my services. My talents, my body. He has been working on two scenarios. One involves one man, a nice one, who had asked what I enjoyed. The other involves two men, at least two, and they are not nice. They will hurt me - within, of course, the protective guidelines that Daddy has established.

Dinner tonight was with the nice man. Again, the man asked the sadist what I liked. Daddy said it took a while before he could stop laughing.

The man is tall, professional, around Daddy's age. Since he is described as "nice", I assume he is not a sadist. But he knows that I am Daddy's to offer, and he has "specific preferences", as Daddy puts it. So kinky in one way or another.

And that's pretty much all I know for now, except for one or two other details that I don't want to mention so as to protect his identity. Which means I'm squirming with curiosity to know more.

The interesting result of what I was told is that now I don't feel like I'm Daddy's little whore, and that he is pimping me to his friends. Rather I feel like this is a chance for me to help someone. Take care of his needs. Make someone feel good.

Isn't that nice?

When the sadist first mentioned giving me to his friends to use, ever so long ago, I was very uneasy about the whole thing. And now...

I can't wait.
Daddy does love to make me wait...

Coming soon: Daddy shares his toys

Well, one toy anyway.
A very special one.
His treasure.

There has been an agreement in principle.
Now, as the sadist says, it's all a matter of logistics.
Coordinating availability.
Gathering the cast members,
preparing the set,
while the fiend puts the finishing touches on the script.
He will be writer, director, producer, and audience.

And me?

I guess you could say I'll be the prop.
Used by everyone.
Presented.
Examined.
Probed.
Passed from hand to hand,
from mouth to mouth,
from cock to cock.
Appetizer, entertainment, and dessert.

There are, of course, details I don't know. Is he talking about the one friend? The one who will give me pleasure for my Master's pleasure? Or the more difficult event, with two or more, at which even with the sadist's safeguards, I will suffer as I embrace my objectification. For me, even a small amount of pain put me in that place, and although the torment will come from people I don't know - especially because it will come from people I don't know - I will yield to it in perfect surrender.

Whatever you want, Daddy.
Do to me whatever you want.
Watch them.
Watch me.
I will give you what you've been waiting for.
And I will make you very proud.