All the self-respect of a......

Lately I've been loving being offered in exchange for work done on my Master's house. I'm being treated like a slutty object, a fucktoy to be used. The other day I had to be there on show for the refridgeration guy, then drive to another house to be used, and return in time for the electrician to fuck each of my holes. Walking through town in a tiny mini skirt and stockings on a hot day, I felt like an obvious whore... and, I hoped, a cheap one.

The other day, Master allowed me to make copies of many of the photos he's taken of me in use. It started me thinking about all the people he has had inside my holes since I've known him. I don't even think I'd be able to count. I want to laugh now, when I think about the promise he made me on that day..... that if I was his, he would make sure I was an extreme slut. I can't believe I doubted him at the time! Now, I honestly think I am far bigger a slut than I could ever have become of my own accord. And I know he will make me even better.

Two things are bringing all this to mind right now. The first is Master's observation, and my own, that somehow I've been less desperate than usual to have my holes fucked lately. I sincerely don't know what exactly it is, but I've been strangely "take it or leave it" a lot of the time. Its a little bewildering. I think a part of it is in my devotion to him - thankfully, the one lust that has not reduced in the slightest is my desire for Master and the drive to please him. Ironically, though, its led to him becoming somewhat disappointed with my sluttiness and desire for others.

Master's solution has not come as a surprise to me. Back when he took control of my sex life, bit by bit, I began to fear that one day he would take control of my masturbation, too. And now, the loss of that right not only reminds me that I am completely possessed, but it also serves another purpose: he is forcing me to remain hornier and hornier, so that I become utterly desperate to be fucked. Its a cruel kindness. And so far its working exactly as he planned.

The other statement bringing me to contemplate my slut's state of mind, is a suggestion, in an online forum, that to be used this way, I must have questionable self-respect. I found the idea intriguing, because it made me realise something vital: its amazing how much more pride I take in myself now, than I used to! And all it took was to be enslaved, whored, abused, and placed on the bottom of the heap for anyone to use! Its amazing what a sense of having found your place can do for one's self esteem :)

I believe there was once a time when my self-respect really was low. Its hard to remember now. But the way Master has trained me, my most degrading behaviours have become my greatest sources of self-worth. And I guess that makes it even more important that I re-ignite my horny state quickly - so I can be sure to maintain all the self-respect of a deserving, deviant, dirty slut!

Slut appreciation

There are two types of men in the world: those who like sluts, and those who don't. The tricky part is, its not always clear which is which. Some guys who say they can't stand women like that, harbour a secret fascination for promiscuity. And others who truly get off on it, do so more out of anger and hatred than genuine desire. Its a shame, but I think its these mixed reactions that give sluts a bad name among women more than the sluts themselves.

There is nothing inherently offensive about a women who loves to be fucked indiscriminately. Not that I can see, anyway. There may well be some real objection to 'enticing' otherwise virtuous men, or to the degrading treatment of women - but they are characteristics of the men, not the slut. A true slut doesn't judge a man's motives, she just shares in the fun.

Master says all men love sluts, when they are honest about it. In a way I can see his point, there is probably some testosterone-driven part of all men that gets a reaction from a horny bitch no matter who they are. But on the other hand, I have been rejected enough for my sexuality that I can't help question the significance of that.

When I had only just met Master, when he was still gradually increasing his control over me, I went out on a date with a straight, vanilla guy. I look back and think, what the hell was I thinking? As I explained at the time, I didn't just want a hot sex life - I wanted someone to care about, and spend time with, and talk to. I thought D/s was unemotional, and you had to go vanilla to find love. Compartmentalisation. I'm now embarassed by how completely, stupidly, wrong I was.

I remember the anxiety when it came time to tell my vanilla guy about my deviant, slutty nature. I was convinced he would run a mile. Instead, in line with Master's theory, he was over the moon.

But in the end, it was the vanilla relationship that turned out to be exclusively sexual, and emotionally empty. Sure, his cock loved that I was a slut. But his brain forgot every conversation we'd had until that point. If we planned something that wasn't likely to involve sex, he cancelled at the last minute, or even worse, stood me up. Until I decided to forget it... and instead, turned to Master, and became his... and learned what I'd really been missing.

Looking back, I'm horrified to think what I almost lost with Master, and so grateful that he tolerated my short experiment in dating. I remember almost losing my chance with him, and begging him to allow me to serve, promising I would be loyal to him above my vanilla guy. I know now that Master does not tolerate ambiguity lightly... I am incredibly lucky that he gave me that chance.

Vanilla guy got so into the slut that he just wanted to have fun trashing her. Master, on the other hand, treats sluttiness like a talent - he uses it, but he also nurtures it, moulds it, and takes real joy from it. Its the difference between a drunk and a connoisseur. I can enjoy each, but I know where my place will always be.

That fresh feeling

Last night, Master arranged for me to have the honour of deflowering a (male) virgin. I had done that before, but the other times had been rushed, or drunken, or just unforeseen. This was the first time I'd had the opportunity of consciously, and deliberately, taking someone through a totally new experience they would not forget..... creating sex for them. So rare to have the opportunity to knowingly make such a mark on someones life.

One might think I'm overdoing this, romanticising what was overtly a contrived act. It's not the culturally accepted 'ideal' way to lose your virginity - meeting a man online who agrees to allow his woman to take it. But to my mind, this guy was far better off skipping the awkward fumbles and anxieties of being with an equally inexperienced girl he feels pressure to impress. I was delighted to help him go straight to wanton world of exploring the possibilities of sex. Don't we all take delight in the pleasure of introducing someone to something we truly love?

It takes me back to when I lost my virginity - all four times. The first was after realising I was not actually gay, after all, and promptly found myself a boy I was attracted to, instigated the required romance, and invited him to my room. We toyed and teased and experimented with things that were new to us both.... and when it came to the final act we knew we were heading for, nerves got the better of him. But for me, I felt my innocence was satisfyingly lost.

The second time, I was hanging out with a friend and somehow, we decided it would be fun to 'do it'. We were in another friend's back yard on her trampoline, and we were playful, swinging between lustful seriousness and stifled laughter at our own lack of prowess. Finally, after uncounted false starts, he pushed his cock just inside me...... then jumped up, hissing, someones coming! .....our expedition ended with us frantically getting dressed and trying to hide our smiles.

Shortly after came the would-be gang bang that still fills my fantasies from time to time. I don't count that as one of The Four, but it led directly to the third. The male friends I'd been with that night all apologised to me, but there was one who did it with a glare at the others. That look said to me, that he was not sincere in his apology, that he was a victim of peer pressure who'd wanted to fuck as much as I did. That new year's eve, I rewarded him for his lust by riding him fervidly in the spa - twice. That was also the breaking of my exhibitionist virginity - my hot male friend omitted to tell me when someone approached, letting them stand behind me until a noise caught my attention and I turned to see our voyeur making an exit. I realised he'd let me unknowingly put on a show, and I was exhilarated.

Finally, the fourth time my virginity was lost, to put it daintily, I bled on the sheets. I was seventeen, a girl, and he was twenty-five, a man - and big. He was not like the timid boys I was used to - he had his way with me, and for the first time, I felt I'd been fucked.

These are the experiences I took with me last night, shaping one of life's most memorable events for a nervous young man. I wanted not to be his teacher, but his encouraging helper - someone to travel his own desires with. I tried to be gentle and dirty, kind but also a nasty slut - equal parts caregiver and whore. Master helped with the latter, of course - and provided our lucky visitor with some experiences that many first-timers would be shocked by ;)

Yes, it was a memorable experience - for nadi , too :)

Can the unowned choose their owner?

"Hi my supreme Master. Please Sir may i obediently submit myself mind body and soul into your complete control ownership as your domain and as your slave today. I will completely submit to any and every thing you have in mind to force on me. As your possession I have no choice."

What is that?
What makes someone think they have the ability to write a message like that to my Master?
And why does it bother me so much?
He shares that with me and I am confounded. I want to share in his pleasure, but I also feel the bitter need to defend....... something...

It's not like jealously, so much as territoriality... which sounds awful - Master is not 'mine'. But statements like that feel like someone stepping in on my ground, with little or no effort, and that offends me. Most of the time these are messages from people who barely know Master, or haven't met him at all.... So my the first question in my mind is always, don't they realise we take this seriously? That when I say I belong to him, its actually true and not just something that applies when I'm horny??

When I met Master, I would never have said those things to him - and not just because I was scared of committment, lol. How disrespectful it would have felt, to just 'decide' that I was 'his', without him making that decision! And to suggest, by implication, that I wouldn't take it seriously if it was one day really so.

He spoke to me recently about how far I have come - from a naughty, risk-taking slut kneeling in my living room the first time we met.... trained in less than two years to become completely his. To take all the pain, humiliation, body fluids, and control that he wishes.... and still be an extreme slut, under his guidelines.

I have been noticing lately that I almost seem to have lost a part of my sluttiness - the part that is always wanting more. I was with him last night and I noted that after a week without cock I was coping far better than normal. He said that was good, that it meant I was changing my focus... and I realised he was right. These days, when he talks of playing with this person or that, I just don't react with the same enthusiasm I used to - not because I'm not interested, but because I'm not constantly wanting more. He is more important.

It's taken a lot for me to get this far. I've worked hard for him, and he has put a lot of work and effort into me. All the pain, the tears, the hard learning, the love, the submission of one thing after another..... it has been worth it. I have earnt my place... and I continue to earn it. No wonder its such an insult when a stranger sees fit to tell my Master they are his.



PS. That's 100 blog posts, today :)

Pain slut!

One thing I love about Master, is that he knows how not to let life win over play. It wasn't easy to find the opportunity for my flogging today, and we almost ran out of time. I knelt beside him, becoming anxious that I would miss out on the pain I'd been so badly looking forward to. But he was calm and confident, and would not be rushed. And I know he was right to take his time - a hurried flogging would be worse than none at all.

He selected his instruments and placed them on the bed, then told me to lie face down. He secured rope to the bedposts, and I watched while he tied the first end to my right wrist, already drifting towards a blissful daze. I think I have mentioned before that I have a rope fetish... *smile*... The sight and sensation of him wrapping the binding around my wrist removed all concerns with the outside world for me, erased in the thought of rope.... mmmm..... I will have to blog more about rope some other time :)

After tying both my wrists, he used leather cuffs to attach my ankles to a spreader. I do love his spreader. He fastens my feet and already I feel open, and vulnerable. But then he makes an adjustment, and the bar lengthens, forcing my feet even further apart... just far enough so that I feel my lips part and the cool air between them. It's one thing to have your legs secured open, but another, more erotic experience altogether to have them secured, and then opened, having already become helpless.

I love the way he will secure me, then walk away. He is silent at those times, and all I am aware of, face down on the bed, are soft, busy sounds. I hear his footsteps back and forth, a drawer opening and closing, a quiet rustling... just enough so that I know he is there, but not enough to tell whether he is preparing to do something to me, or if I am simply being ignored. Both options are arousing. Of course, this time I knew something would come before too long. He told me to raise my head, and firmly stuck two layers of heavy tape over my mouth, ready to begin.

He started with the leather paddle - and for me, a paddle is the hardest pain to take. He stroked my cheeks with the fur-covered side first, letting me anticipate the hard stroke I was about to feel. I am used to him building up the sensuality of it before getting started on the real pain. But today he simply went about covering my ass with a shade that would satisfy him. I started squirming and yelling against the tape quickly, but he didn't pause - he was methodical. And I felt deeply that this was because it is his body he was hurting, and he intended simply to extract the reaction he wanted from its skin.

It feels freeing to know that. If there is an audience watching me be flogged, I feel an obligation to exercise self-control over my reactions, to take as much as I can, and that gives a sense of pride. But alone, just Master and I, my hands and feet secured and my voice suitably muffled, there is no need to control myself to please him - I am already controlled. I will take as much as he chooses to give me - what other option do I have? All power, even to beg him to stop, is taken from me.

When my skin was raw, so that when he ran a hand over it I could feel some of it had been stripped away, he switched to the flogger. What is usually a soft, warm thud now felt like a sharp, hot sting and I loved it. But before I got too comfortable he used the cane. I don't know what it is that makes a cane feel so good when I'm bent over, with my skin taught, and so agonising when I'm stretched out flat, face down. But I screamed.

I always feel unsure about making so much noise. So many seem to find it a sign of a better sub, to be silent and take the pain... perhaps because screaming is assumed to mean wanting it to stop. For me, the experience is all the more intense and intoxicating if I can let out a sound and express how it feels. It doesn't mean I don't enjoy the agony - I am quite likely to scream and even try to escape the blows, then still beg Master for more. Pain always comes with ambivalence, and to release it in sound is like letting go of my demons.

So today, I was grateful for the tape over my mouth, so that I could scream... and grateful for the ropes around my wrists and the cuffs around my ankles so that I could struggle, and know that Master would continue anyway, until he was satisfied. At one point he climbed over me and pushed his cock inside me, and I melted, both with the pleasure of feeling him there, and also of knowing that, despite him already having fucked me earlier, he was thoroughly enjoying doing this to me. Several times he ordered me to cum while he hurt me, and I did. Several more times he paused to photograph his handiwork. And at the end, while tears rolled down my face and I panted through my nose, he rubbed oil on my ass, and then let me lie there shaking and feeling the heat radiating from my cheeks... so relaxed, and feeling so beautiful...

I had asked him, when I had thought we had more time, to do my back, tits, cunt and legs just as hard. He asked me afterwards how I felt about that now. I hesitated, but then he suggested, "A little ambitious?" and I suddenly felt a surge of determination. If we'd had the whole afternoon, at that moment I would have begged him to do it all. Is that too much pride, for a slave? Perhaps I need it beaten out of me ;)

Love and cake

I don't know if its something in the stars, something about the end of the year approaching, or just chance... but it seems like everyone I know is having a crisis in some way or another lately. Death, separation, reassessment, breakdown.... but mainly the stuff that's far too complicated to mention. These are times when you find yourself deep in shit, like it or not - and the only options are drown in it or swim in it.

Master has had quite a share of it lately, and while it would be inappropriate for me to give details, it takes its toll. Without diminishment, I feel for him - as a small, helpless animal feels for her owner who may be powerful, but not invulnerable. When Master suffers stress, it feels like the only thing I can offer is my loyalty - so having been near him for the last two nights has been the simplest of blessings. I don't know if it helps him, but being able to give him something that he wants makes me feel a little less powerless against his strain.

I have been feeling the pressure, too - but I've also never felt so looked after. Following the surrender I made the other week, I was unsteady. But telling Master my worries, everything became calm and clear... my fears disintegrated into trust. There is nothing at all like being with someone who truly understands you... enough to feel comfort in the presence of your darkest thoughts.

And today, I was having a bad day at work. One of the worst. And just as I was wishing I'd stayed at home, a card arrived, from my beautiful Sista, and her Max, brightening my day. Making me feel lucky, amongst the shit.

A welcome gift

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Nothing else to give

Have you ever woken from a dream so real and so frightening that the experience of it floats with you, confusing your reality for the whole day? Have you ever had that feeling, and realised that it wasn't a dream?

I barely know how to explain the intense evening with Master last night. I feel like my whole world has changed - and yet, I also know there is nothing new here. Master has owned me so completely for some time now, that I can promise myself to him for the rest of my life and it doesn't really matter - he can take that if he wants it, anyway.

But after the words we spoke last night I feel that - finally - everything has been handed over to him. My only choices are the ones he allows me, and my only task is to please him.... and please him..... indefinitely....

He rewarded me with some magical words: you are doing well; and more importantly: I am proud of you. Followed by the most fulfilling kiss.

Today I keep finding myself sinking into a strange reverie, going forward in my mind, and trying almost to rehearse what "forever" would be like. I can't distinguish between my desire and my fear - but I do know, that it feels good to know I may never leave him. Its like that time so long ago that I gave up my freedom and grieved.... I feel simultaneously so fearful and secure, both safe and unsafe. The difference is, this time I am so much stronger - strong enough to face what my commitment to him really means. I hope I can prove to him - and myself - that I'm strong enough to live it.

"Thus with a kiss, I die..."

I've heard it said that a Dominant should never kiss a submissive. A kiss, some say, is a sign of affection that makes people into equals. I intensely disagree. A kiss can be so many things - all it takes is a little creativity. There are kisses that communicate love, lust, aggression, fear, awe, sadness, strength, and power. It isn't just an affectionate gesture, like anything else, depending on how it is done, it can be a most seductive tool of manipulation.

Master rarely honours me with a kiss, but when he does, it captivates me. He often pauses with his mouth close to mine and lets me strain forward, seeking him... sometimes allowing me that final touch, sometimes just letting me squirm under him until I give up, unfulfilled. If he allows my lips to touch his, it is most often a gentle, brief meeting, leaving me desperately wanting more. But sometimes he will push forward and take my mouth, his body saying, I own you - inside and out. A kiss like this makes my heart race and my cunt open.

Recently he placed a gag in my mouth - a leather one that covered it completely - and teased me by pressing his lips against it. He pushed against the leather, licked it, caressed it, smothered it with his mouth, while I writhed and struggled, as if the right movement could somehow make that barrier disappear. It was a frenzy of desire - I was overwhelmed with the sight of him attacking my mouth so passionately, while being denied the actual sensation.

Like orgasms, kisses are a way that Master owns and controls me, through pleasure and denial. Anyone who says they shouldn't be a part of D/s is just not thinking of the possibilities.

Truth takes you by surprise

Its amazing how used to something I can get, so that it feels totally normal, and then suddenly experience all over again exactly how degrading it really is.

I was used four times the other day. I truly wish I could share the nature of the first time, but its one of the things on Master’s “top secret” list. Suffice to say it left me quite raw - my pussy swollen and sensitive.

Following straight after that was a fuck from a man I found very off-putting. While I don’t need to find someone attractive to fuck them, its rare for me to meet someone I’d prefer to say no to. This one was an exceptional turn-off. But it wasn’t optional – Master owed him. So I was used, and I tried to please him, even more aware than usual that it wasn’t my choice.

When I was told to go to Master’s house later that night, I was reluctant. Anyone who knows me would find it hard to imagine: nadi not wanting to be fucked??! Lol. But I was sore, red, swollen and very uncomfortable from the day’s treatment. On the one hand, I love it when being fucked hurts... but on the other, if I was sore now, after Master used me, it would get much worse...

Not only did he use me, but he also humiliated me and had me fucked and licked by a timid, apologetic sub boy, while I groaned in discomfort, unable to hold still from the pain and swelling by the time they were done. I stood there afterwards, holding on to Master's bed post, rocking back and forth in some vague attempt to ease the pain enough to walk properly, and it seemed totally natural to be there, feeling this way. Not once did it occur to me that there was anything out of the norm about this situation...

Not until two days later, reliving this in my mind, when I realised how normal it felt to be so used. And how high and warm and blissfully controlled it felt to know how normal it feels. Being owned, a slave, a slut, an object, is now so easily a part of me. What was once alien and exciting is now familiar and comfortable. I contemplated that today, and felt a rush of awe and pleasant shame that made me self-consciously wrap my arms around my body, at my desk at work.

In many ways its lovely to be getting used to this.... but I hope I am never too used to it, so that I don't have these hot moments of such strong awareness that this is all real.

Promises, promises

There is nothing quite the same as the grim feeling of deciding to break a promise to myself. I'm stubborn in some ways, I suppose, though I prefer to think of it as loyalty and perserverance. But obviously, if anything can convince me to break a promise I made to myself, its my Master's will.

It was many years ago when, to escape poor body image and pressure to conform, I vowed never to change my shape for a man. A lot has changed since then. My body is no longer my own, and pride is no longer an excuse. It still took a bit of mental pressure to get me to accept breaking the promise. But just a bit.

Master has been too kind to make me feel bad about my recent weight gain, but he has given me a little nudge on the topic. It was in my dreams where he really got strict on it - I woke up panting after dreaming he had tied my hands and leashed me to a treadmill to get me moving. Lol.

In the end, I've got to get over myself and please my Master. I want to take care of his property as he would like me to. I want him to be as proud of my appearance as I hope he is with my behaviour. He owns my body, and he deserves to have it please him. So today, I walked into a gym for the first time in my life. This is a big deal for me. I am, I suppose, breaking another limit for him, and this one I have to do on my own.

I smile sometimes, when I think how much he has changed me in such a short time...

Answer

Master has been noting lately that I have been prone to tardiness - delays answering his sms's, not answering the phone, not emailling him when I should.... I could make a million excuses but I know better than to try - none of them actually excuse anything. I should be attentive to him, always. This is not a part time, when-it-suits-me situation. No matter how busy I may be, he should have my attention.

Last night, he warned me. The punishment I will be given, if my attentiveness does not improve - a night with an unimpressive master.

I was surprised - it seemed light, for Master's usual choice of consequences. But then I thought about it... and thought about it... and I began to realise the meaning behind it....

Master tells me it is not just about pleasing him - he is training me to be the best. If I deserve to be owned by him, as his 'number 1', I will behave that way. But if I behave as an average sub, I deserve only an average master. I must prove I deserve more.

The experience of being sent to someone else for a night wouldn't, in itself, be that bad. But the more I consider it, the more the thought becomes very uncomfortable - being told by Master's actions, if you behave like a common sub, you will be treated like one. Him showing so little pride in me, that he would leave me to the devices of someone he neither likes nor respects. That would be misery, and shame.

There is another, darker message in this also. Its about showing Master the appreciation he deserves. It is an honour for me to be accepted as his possession, and something I must work to live up to. Because if I were not his, then the average, PC, unimaginative, undisciplined Dom is exactly what I would have instead. And I should not forget it.

Some time ago, I asked Master, Sir, how may I serve you better? It was a big question, and one I had considered before offering it. I feel now, coinciding with the arrival of my new sista-in-training, that I am receiving an answer. And I am grateful.

"SSC is so PC"

Master said that the other day, quoting someone, I believe. We were visiting a D/s couple so that he could share me in exchange for another sub. They were a very "PC" pair, complete with a safe word, 'safe, sane, consensual' play, and very distinct limits. It was, as Master said, a chance for me to show off. He stood me in their living room in a collar and leash, with a bit in my mouth, and outlined my training, adding that I have no safe word, and "no real limits".

I didn't get into BDSM because of an interest in politics. I got into this to push the boundaries of safety, and bend the rules of sanity. Thats what feels good - the pleasure of there being no limits... no rules except the ones Master creates. He is in control - not me, and not a people-pleasing theoretical principle.

Consent is meaningless between Master and I. I gave up the right to consent a long time ago, near the beginning. It was a fascinating feeling, like emotional free fall, to give all my rights away - a kind of agony that felt so right. He demonstrated to me what that meant, pushing me far enough that I thought my heart would collapse, as I screamed and sobbed and begged him not to take me there... but he had to... to show me what I had promised... so I knew it was real. I spent one day grieving my freedom, but even then, when he asked me, is this what you want? the answer was a definite yes.

I hadn't known Master long then, and you could argue it wasn't the smartest thing to do - give up consent to someone I hadn't built a lot of trust with. But the only real way to know trust is to test it. I feared him sometimes, but always reminded myself to give him my trust. Now, I have never felt so safe. Not because of limits or safe words, or any other restriction, but because I have learned what it is to be owned. If Master looks after me, it is because he takes care of what is his. If he harms me, it is because he chooses to.

There was a time when I could have understood what the couple from the other day got out of power play, but I have honestly forgotten. If you give up power to someone, within limits, and with a way out, then you haven't really given up anything at all. I'm not criticising those who do it that way... but I don't see how they could be fulfilled. The couple we played with the other day may not be representative, but they certainly didn't seem to be.

Quick, call the paramedics...

...there is no question in my mind that I will resist for him, right up until he returns and grants permission, not a moment too soon...

I didn't.

But I didn't disobey him either.

In the 1800s, neurotic, over-emotional women were diagnosed with 'hysteria', and treated with the medical administration of a vibrator until they reached orgasm and were able to function rationally again. (Its true.) I wholeheartedly relate to this. I've blogged before about the state I end up in if I don't get fucked for too long. If I can't masturbate either, hysteria is a very accurate description for what happens to me.

Yesterday, less than 24 hours after my determined post, I lost control. I was screaming senselessly at Betty, who didn't know what to make of me, shaking, and crying uncontrollably for a good half hour. It came on out of the blue and took me a long while to figure out that my behaviour was not normal. I felt like the world was crashing down around me and couldn't understand why nobody could make sense of what I was saying. I felt victimised, attacked from all angles and unable to cope. It was an extreme reaction to nothing in particular.

When I eventually saw what was happening, I sent a message to Master, pleading with him. I explained my lack of success at orgasming when I was permitted to, and the ongoing teasing I'd been coping with for 3 days without release. I told him I wasn't coping, and that it was affecting my emotional state, and asked him to please consider allowing me just one self-induced orgasm...

... after assessing my progress on my other task, he must have been satisfied with my answer. He granted permission. Thank you, Sir.

Of course, I am already horny again. Masturbation is like that - it only satisfies for a very limited time compared to the real thing. Or maybe thats just for sluts like me. But I do feel a lot better, and its restored my confidence to last until he returns tomorrow night.

On the one hand, I want to think about seeing him, and look forward to it... but on the other, it starts to get me excited... and I don't want to be a wreck when I greet him...

There's no aphrodisiac like it

Before he left, I did get to spend a night alone with Master :) I was exhausted, and a little delirious, so he waited til morning to give me my instructions for his absence...

I am not allowed to touch myself while he is away.

For some people, that might sound fine. He is only gone for a few days. But for me, thats a long time not to masturbate. Particularly when I'm staying in Master's house, with so many arousing memories, under blankets that smell of him. Particularly when I have the other major daily task he has set me, the one that I'm not allowed to write about. It keeps me thinking dirty thoughts, and makes sure I am regularly on edge. I am allowed to cum under certain specific circumstances, but those circumstances are not optimal for release.

And then of course there's the fact of the rule he has set in itself. It keeps me reminded that my body does not belong to me. It is his, and he can choose to leave it at the disposal of anyone he likes... or deny it from anyone he likes, even me. That sense of possession in itself gives me an intense longing... And the knowledge of not being allowed to fulfil it makes me just want to touch myself even more. Its like saying, don't think about a big purple dildo. Nothing makes me want to bring myself off more, than not being allowed to bring myself off.

Its the third night and I am struggling. I have reached down many times and almost touched before remembering. I have been constantly wearing underwear, even to bed, just in case. Its getting harder today as my frustration has increased to the point where I am aware of my ability to orgasm just by clenching a little, without needing to touch. It would only take a very short lapse in willpower to fail him now.

But there is no question in my mind that I will resist for him, right up until he returns and grants permission, not a moment too soon. I am absolutely his, and as much as this is tormenting me right now, it would be far worse to disobey him. Not even because of the punishment he would give me, but because I would be ashamed of disappointing him.

Now, I must go... I have a task to complete before bedtime...

A chosen sista...?

I met her last night, the new sub Master has begun training. I wanted to meet her, but at the same time I was disappointed. Master is going away again, and that makes me all soppy and emotional. I don’t want to share his attention when I’m feeling like that. When I know I’m about to go without him for a while, I want to be ultra close to him, try and soak some of him up, hang on to some energy or pheromone that will somehow make me less lonely in the days to come. But he seems to feel differently – perhaps even keener to make the most of the opportunities for group play… It’s different for him – it’s about maximising pleasure. Being without him is not just missing our fun, it’s feeling emptier… lost. It’s not just about pleasure for me... its about love. A part of me wants to wail, that’s all his fault! But that isn’t right – I gave him my heart willingly….. even willfully. So now I suffer some things he doesn’t.

The only thing worse than not seeing him alone at these times, is not seeing him at all. My only strategy is to please him the very best I can. Anything less will leave him disappointed in the play - and even worse, in me. So last night I dressed in my tiniest miniskirt and high heeled boots, and arrived at his house determined to maximise his pleasure, and earn his pride. I was obedient, and orgasmic when permitted, and he said “good girl.” I practiced the quiet strength that has eluded me sometimes, at the moments when I felt insecure. And there were a lot of those, the most obvious being when he was fucking her, holding her arms above her head and clamping one hand over her mouth, muffling her voice saying “yes, Sir.” But there were other moments when I was told to hold her head or push her down, and they made me ache even more. Because at those moments, I felt I was not “on the bottom”. As much as I believe him that it won’t happen, I still feared losing my place...

On the surface it would seem uncomfortable for me because the scene was overtly designed more for her training than mine. But that’s kind of the point. Being part of her training is my training - that its not about me. Jealousy, and insecurity, and that sickening sensation in my gut, are a lesson in powerlessness. In Master’s words, it reminds me who owns me. It forces me to face the fact that I can’t escape those feelings – no matter what my actions, he will still do as he likes, and my only acceptable response is submission and obedience.

Now that I’m not living with Betty anymore, I have a vacant room that, with Master’s encouragement, I have offered to this new sub. She is everything I would want in a roommate, and everything Master would want in a house with me. But I still feel apprehensive. This will challenge the green-eyed sub in me. But to avoid living with someone who is otherwise almost perfect, just to prevent that, would be denying my Master, for my own security. I may not avoid feeling whatever he wants me to feel.

Later, he also pointed out that having her in the house will give him even more of a hold on me. Through Sis.S, Master will have eyes on his property even when he is not there. That raises a whole world of possibilities…

Use me

When I was 17 years old, the guy I was dating told me he loved me. It really pissed me off. He was 9 years older than me, and the major reason I was seeing him was precisely to avoid that sort of extraneous involvement. It was suppposed to be just sex. I didn't want all that other stuff along with it, not from him.

I felt annoyed. I asked, "why did you say that?" He responded "I just want you to know I'm not using you." Yes, he was. And thats exactly why I was enjoying myself. But what was I supposed to say? "Using" was supposed to be something bad. I was still too young to admit I wanted "bad" things. I had to grudgingly accept his romantic declarations and pretend I wanted them. But I was disappointed.

And I still have that disappointment on a regular basis. Some men just can't get past their feelings of obligation to give a woman something 'nice'. Even when they know I'm an owned slut, they still try and treat me to something. They still look at my face to check whether I'm having a good time. Why can't I just be used?

I guess that's why Master is teaching me to be more vocal about my depravities - telling me he wants me to be just as disgustingly honest with others as I am with him, when asked to say what I am, and what I like. I know he enjoys watching me lose my inhibitions... perhaps if I can give them inspiration, others can lose theirs and use me more freely?

The important bits are always in the silence

When I started to blog tonight, all I was thinking was "look what I did today!" I have been feeling quite pleased with myself, wanting to show off. Then chatting to Sista, she pointed out one of the nicer pleasures of the experience, and I started to think, how nice it is to have someone else with rights over my body.

Two weeks ago when Master granted permission, it felt good, not just because he said yes, but because it was his decision to make. It feels somehow warm and safe to be subject to another's opinion... forgoing the final responsibility, and pleasing him in some way via my appearance.

Even better than that is the thought of him deciding to change me for himself - without my request. Perhaps a change in my body to make me more attractive to him... or something functional, to increase his pleasure... or best of all, something that labels me as his, or simply marks my submission. Anything he chose to do to me, I would thank him for it.

I haven't blogged for a long time, though I have wanted to. I have wanted to blog about the limitlessness of Master's power over me... the things he can teach me, the things he can do to me... and the paradoxical sense of security it leaves me with, knowing the possibilities... and some of the realities.......... But there are some things I just can't write - and for good reasons. It makes me sad. I want to share my gratitude, but I can't - because people wouldn't understand. So I've been kind of stuck.

So now, I'm trying to compromise with myself, by instead, writing about the delightful pain of having my nipples pierced, and the delightful pleasure of knowing they are Master's nipples, and the hope that he will like them that way. Just as there is so much here that must be left unsaid, there is so much of his will that remains undone. And the potential positively looms...

Being natural

The day I met Master, he could see my awful potential, and he asked if I had ever been abused. A common enough assumption - how else does a person learn to treat themselves this way? I told him the truth, that as far as I'm aware, I never have been. He said that he suspected I was simply a natural.

I still vividly remember, at age 15, lying on the beach on a warm night, surrounded by boys. Hands stroking my thighs, massaging my shoulders, creeping towards my chest... a mouth on my neck... intoxicated with alcohol, THC, and exploitation. Had I had the comfort then that I do now, I might have said, use me.... abuse me...

Last night Master was fucking me and sinking his teeth into my skin while I shuddered and asked for him to draw my blood. He smiled and said "you are extreme, aren't you, babe?" and I felt myself relax and open up even more to him, from the peace in knowing that, under him, "extreme" is an OK thing to be. He started slapping me, making the tears come, with that beautiful release of endorphins that sends me to another world of bliss... the high of my body's natural chemicals, the pain, and the freedom of what it means to ride with it, whatever he may do to me. Afterwards, he let me fall straight to sleep, and I sunk into a heavy ecstasy, thinking, I could just die from this feeling....

When I was 8 or so, I wrote a fantasy that began with a boy from my classroom touching me, accidentally at first, then progressing to forcing me down while he stripped off my clothes. It ended in a frenzied gang rape by about 20 boys - despite the fact that I had little understanding of how sex was done, I knew even then that I wanted it forced on me, that I wanted to be mistreated and used. To my great shame, my mother found the story and was understandably horrified. I thought it best to hide my fantasies from then on.

Master has taught me to let go of so much inhibition, and to be so free from shame. If an abused victim can spend years exploiting their own body, and then learn to let go and treat themselves with love and care, then why not the reverse? Why not a born slut who has become repressed and ashamed, learning to let go and love expressing who they always wanted to be?

The more the merrier 2

I once met a vanilla guy who had a fetish for gang bangs. Probably not unusual. What surprised me was his explanation of what appealed to him about one woman and multiple men. "It's a woman enjoying herself - it's all about her pleasure, and lots of it."

I was speechless, and then I laughed. I had never seen it that way before. For me, the appeal of a gang bang is completely opposed to that. Yes, its true that it is enjoyable. But not in the sense of being pampered or spoiled. I love to be gang banged because I love the degrading experience. I love to be groped and fucked from all directions so that I have no control over it, and lose all sense of myself until I am just a groaning, screaming slut - no thought, just pure carnal response. I love to hear people talking about me as an object: "someone else want a go at this end?".. "I think she needs something in her mouth" ... because my wants are irrelevent. Except as entertainment, when I am asked by Master to express them out loud so that everyone can hear what a debauched slut I am.

Last night I was used with my legs pulled apart by hand-held ropes, with so many fingers and cocks in me that I no longer knew what was being put where, with my hair being pulled and two cocks shoved in my mouth at a time, with a fist inside my pussy wanking Master as he fucked me, while I screamed in pain and asked for more. I was made to beg each person for permission to cum, and for someone to use my ass. Try telling me this scene was designed exclusively to make me happy. It did, because it wasn't.

For me, it's not about being pleasured, it's about being exploited. It's also about power, and the subtle threat implied by being thoroughly outnumbered - the knowledge that even if I wanted to stop, I would not have the opportunity. And it's about being dirty and slutty to the extreme, and not hesitating to show it fully... pleasing Master, knowing how much he likes to see me regress to that animal state.

I wonder if some men feel uneasy with that notion? Like my straight vanilla friend I mentioned earlier, maybe some feel more comfortable thinking they are being "extra nice". Maybe thats why at some point someone always says, "she loves it" - perhaps they are trying to comfort themselves?

Training

Master has never once told me to be patient. There is no need - he can simply make me wait, forcing me to learn. I've become quite used to "not knowing" and rarely asking - because asking certainly does not mean I will get an answer.

When its just a matter of gratification for the sake of it, this is not a problem. It is not his job to gratify me. But occasionally, external circumstances can make it really darn hard to do things without being sure of his plans - and that's when "not knowing" really bites.

I was impatient last night, waiting for an answer from him about whether I would be able to see him, and not sure whether to prepare to leave or stay. I'd been arguing with Betty, and she had been indecisive all day, so it felt like I really needed something I could be sure about. I think he could tell thats what I was asking for, and probably made me wait for that reason. But I started to get frustrated. I can tolerate waiting when its only a matter of my comfort, but sometimes, when there are other things that hinge on his answer, it starts to seem like more than inconvenience. I start to feel as though trying to demand an answer from him would be almost justified. I get irritable and think, why can't he just tell me now?

It takes work to pull myself out of this selfish circle. Eventually I calm myself and accept it. The answer to the 'why' is so simple it makes the question obsolete: He will answer me when he chooses to, and not a minute sooner. Having what I feel to be 'good reasons' to get an answer right away doesn't change that fact. I can't push him to do anything according to my schedule - he simply won't allow me to. And that is so very right.

I apologise for my impatience, Sir. And thank you for not accepting my inappropriate behaviour.

Whore

Watched The Libertine tonight, and as with all period-movies, I end up thinking, if I was alive back then, I’d be queen of the whores. I can never quite decide if I’d be the most notorious, sought-after, expensive whore, or the dirtiest, most shamed, most used whore around. Maybe both. The women would hate me, and I would shock them by inviting them in. No man would see me as anything more than an object.

I often fantasise about it somehow being public knowledge that I am a slut to be used. I imagine having some kind of sign, or notoriety, that means every adult I meet instantly knows they may have me. I imagine the humiliation of seeing that smirk on peoples faces everywhere I go. I imagine having no choice but to dutifully comply if anyone, anywhere, tells me to kneel and open my mouth. In line at the grocery store, with strangers pausing to snigger at me as they walk past. Or the waiter at the café turning the tables on me if I say that my coffee is cold. No need to be discrete if everyone there knows who I am.

The night I’ve spent with Master that most often returns to my fantasies, was a little bit like this. I was dressed in nothing but a collar, while a group of his acquaintances came by to drink and play cards. It was never spoken to me, but it was clear what I was there for. All of them treated me like a slave and a slut. I don’t think anyone played cards, lol. While not everything went perfectly, that night is still vivid in my mind as a very fulfilling experience. I was exactly who I’d always wanted to be.

Still more thanksgiving/crawling/whatever you call it!

It makes me smile, when I realise what an unusually depraved match Master and I are. I don’t think of it much, he has made it seem so natural that I forget that not everyone is like us. But every now and then I chat to someone, or am allowed to read his conversation with someone, and I am reminded…

We are the ‘abnormal’ ones… and it makes me smile :)

Sometimes I imagine where I would be if I had never met him. I’d be fucking frustrated, that’s for sure. I’d probably be subbing to a Dom whose idea of punishment was a soft flogging and anal sex… and whose training goal was teaching me to suck his cock when he told me to. I’d be bored, and probably behave badly just to get some variety – knowing that he didn’t have the imagination to make me regret it. I think even the best sub is worthless with an inadequate Dom.

So, in my mind, I would probably also doubt my suitability to all this. Having never experienced anything better, I would probably think this was it, and if I couldn’t be fulfilled by it, it just wasn’t the lifestyle for me.

I would also be ashamed. My dark fantasies would go unexpressed and unshared. I would think, if this is as good as it gets, then I must be worse than I thought…

None of this is hard to imagine, because its exactly where I was before I met him. He showed me, in just a couple of hours, that my dreams could become real… That although very rare, a Master existed who could teach me something, and really be worth giving myself to.

Celebrating the slut

As a 15-year-old virgin, I was so cock-hungry that I hand-made my first dildo. I used a pen as a frame to wrap a long bandage around, layer after layer until it was thick enough, and tight enough so that it would be firm but flexible. I added a layer of glad wrap to keep it from unravelling, then removed the pen and encased the whole thing in a condom, tying off the end. The result was a little scary - I'd never had anything bigger than a couple of my own fingers before, but I already felt that internal longing to be filled.

I still remember my first orgasm, at age 12. I had been masturbating my whole life, and one day the pleasure suddenly changed, and I thought, wow - its never felt like THAT before! I didn't know what it was, only that I wanted it to happen again. Three years later, when I tried my creation, it was like that again: discovering another world of pleasure. I kept that toy for another 3 years, until I was legally old enough to go sex shopping and buy a real one.

The other day, I attended a meeting for work, and one of the men there was someone I knew. The last time I had seen him, I was spread out naked on the floor, with his fingers and tongue teasing me, but denying me, while Master watched, amused, from the next room. Humiliating to sit across from him in a business meeting, the smile on his face growing wider as I tried to avoid his eyes. But realistically, something like this had to happen one day, and probably will again.

I was pondering this in bed this morning, and I thought, how long will it take before I've been used by so many people, that it is no longer a surprise to run into them like this? And I imagined one day, maybe being in a meeting with not one, but two, or even three faces smiling at me in that knowing way... maybe making a sly comment to me in the coffee room... perhaps even noticing each other, and becoming aware that they are not even the only one there who knows nadi... I imagined the shame and excitement of that this morning, as I made myself cum...

How are these stories linked, exactly? Just that sometimes, I think back, and feel amazed at what I slut I am. Its become a natural thing for me, but there are still times that I stand back and marvel at myself, and just think.... wow.... and I feel hot, and excited, and most of all grateful to Sir, for helping me enjoy it to the fullest.

slavery is in the eye of the beholder

I watched a DVD tonight that, among other things, featured an interview with a male slave. His final response before the scene changed was "Love? No. I don't love my Mistress." And it made me wonder - is he truly a slave? I guess that depends on your perspective. Sista asked me once what I thought was the difference between a submissive and a slave. I found it hard to answer in general terms - I only know what makes the difference for me. For someone else, it might be about rules or freedoms, but for the slave its a state of mind. Only their owner can judge how sufficient that is.

So I guess its not really my question to ask if the man on the video was a real slave. But I do question, if he does not love his Mistress, is he truly owned? It seems to me that he keeps something for himself.

The first time I met my Master he said to me "A slave does not get to choose what they give up. You must give everything, and then wait to see what is given back." At the time, what scared me was the thought of giving up my freedom, my choice, my control... but love was the hardest thing I've had to give him. Everything since then has seemed trivial, not worth holding on to. When I gave him my love, that was when I really started to become his.

Love makes belonging to him a purpose in itself. Of course I know that loving someone doesn't make just anyone a slave... but for me, that was where I crossed that line, and gave him everything I had to give.

A conversation with vanilla Betty

"Do you and your Master ever have normal sex?"

"Um... what's normal sex?"

She's asked me this a few times now, and it ends up with both of us getting confused - two people trying to communicate when, on this subject, we just don't speak the same language. Perhaps she doesn't understand that no matter what, he is always my Master and I must always serve him. If it didn't apply during sex, that would be the abnormal part.

Today, when Master started slamming his hand against my ass, I cried almost immediately - from the sheer emotional release it allowed, to feel real pain. I wanted to cling to him in gratitude, and I wanted him to keep hitting me until I shattered. Afterwards, I was a shaking, sobbing mess of joy, relief, and euphoria. Had he let me, I could have easily floated into a blissful trance. This is worth living for.

Whatever Betty means by "normal" sex, I'm sure that wasn't it. But if that's the difference, why the hell would I ever want anything to be normal?

And why is it, that I am the one stuck trying to explain whether I do or don't have so-called normal sex? It seems a far more pertinent question to ask why on earth she doesn't have abnormal sex??

Niche

I just love to be close to my Master.

This is a wierd thing for me. Historically, in my vanilla past, I've never really been the cuddly type. Even in love, I could spend about five minutes snuggling up to a partner in bed before wanting to draw back into my own space. I'm just not the affectionate type - with an equal, anyway...

But being owned brings out an entirely different side to me. I get a real sense of joy from lying next to him, with one hand on his chest... or with his arm around me... or kneeling beside him while he watches TV, resting my head on his knee while he strokes my hair.... these moments are beautiful to me.

Perhaps its because I don't get to choose them or control them. With Master, unlike a vanilla boyfriend, every kiss is a privilege, and every embrace something earnt. If he chooses to show affection towards me, I feel grateful.

I think its more than that, though...

When I am physically close to Master, I relax into him and smell him. I have a sense of being much smaller than him, and fragile. I feel simultaneously lost and safe. When I lie in his arms, I surrender to them. A hug between us is not just a show of affection, it is a show of my submission and devotion to him - and in turn, his acceptance of that.

I know that, for vanilla types, cuddling up together can have its own meaning, and be a wonderful thing, but for me it never was. So maybe this means that I was always meant to be this way?

Dance with the devil... :)

Its been one of those porn-watching days today - loads of it! I'm a girl who likes to store it for a rainy day instead of checking it out immediately. I just stash it away for months and then, when I'm suddenly feeling up for it, I'll go a whole day where all I do is go through and see what treasures I've accumulated. And there is some pretty nasty stuff that Master will just love :) But thats not the subject of this post.....

Just now I was watching this clip that started with no beating around the bush (and I love beating bush, but its not that kind of vid...) a guy on his back, with a woman riding him furiously. You could see she was enjoying herself. Then a second guy came up so she could suck his cock, and for a moment everyone was enjoying themselves. But then I found myself thinking... hang on a minute, she's not putting much effort in there.... she's barely trying to suck him at all.... doesn't she want to make sure he enjoys himself....? oh my god, now she's stopped sucking altogether while she orgasms - she's putting her pleasure ahead of his! ....why doesn't he slap her and shove that cock back into her mouth and remind her what she is there for????

And thats when I thought, um.... just a sec, that isn't me.... some women are meant to fuck for their own enjoyment, aren't they? Oops...

Sometimes I still surprise myself with how much I've changed, and it makes me smile. Concepts that seemed alien to me a year ago now seem totally natural - to the point where, I see a woman getting fucked, and my assumption is that she is being used for the man's pleasure and may or may not be allowed her own. Or the other day, I said to Sir, that I felt angry at the idea of anyone suggesting they would like to use me without his consent. Not being free to fuck alone was something I was still learning to accept when I started this blog, and now I don't even question that I am his property - and it makes me mad when someone else dares think otherwise.

Master's control over me is even evident in my dreams. I am a slut by anyone's definition, and I have a lot of fantasies and dreams. Now I don't have either without somehow incorporating Master's permission into it. There were a few times when I woke up from a sex dream in a panic, thinking I'd just disobeyed him, before I realised it wasn't real. And the other night, I couldn't even participate in my own dream! I just watched other people doing it, thinking, I have to wait for permission...

I used to think training was what happened in between play - a specified time and place where a sub is explicitly taught to please their owner. Now I know that's how crappy training is done. Quality training is done all the time, during every interaction, even simple conversation. You don't even realise its happening, except in hindsight. Thats the learning that sinks in, and changes who you are.

Wow, I am lucky :)

Dark shades

Shall I share a dark truth? Something that gives me a knot in my stomach and makes me uncomfortably lower my eyes?

I make it no secret here that I have violent fantasies. I beg Master to hurt me, and long for him to bruise my body, make me bleed. I dream of being attacked, raped, abused and humiliated. I used to console myself with the thought that if that ever happened, if I was violated without consent, I wouldn't really want it. But when I'm honest, I doubt that it is true. If someone tried to rape me, I think I would fight, not to save myself, but to protect Master's property. If it weren't for him, I believe I would - shamefully - submit and enjoy it.

Is that offensive? It is to me. I don't believe anyone should harm others unless they want it, and the idea of encouraging people who want to perpetrate violence horrifies me. But here I am, admitting that I want to be the subject of that violence. Not in the sense of the relatively common rape "fantasy" many women are said to have, but not actually want. No, I am convinced I genuinely want it. And it doesn't end there....

I love movies that show sexual violence. The kind where the plot requires being horrified at what the "villian" does to others, and wanting justice to prevail... I just want to see the nasty scene again. I want to see the woman get taken, hurt, abused. I want to be her, made helpless, screaming, powerless. I want more. Those scenes make me wet. Irreversible. 8mm. The General's Daughter. But that's just fiction....

The really dark bit, the part that makes me feel dirty in the wrong way, is that I have the same reaction to these acts when they occur in real life. I won't mention specific stories, although many come to mind, because there must be limits to what I can write here and get away with, lol. But when I hear in the media about acts of sexual violence that have really happened, especially locally, my body reacts. I become aroused. I don't mean to enjoy someone's suffering, but I find myself thinking, what would it be like to be them.... with someone doing those things... those degrading, humiliating things.... Yes, I know that they didn't enjoy it, that it was most likely a terrifying, traumatic experience. I'm not glad that they were harmed in such an awful way. But I can't help thinking, what if..... what if it was me.... if only it was....

Shameful, yes? Sick. Insensitive. Disgraceful. For Master, I'm sure it won't be at all surprising. He has known all my dark secrets since the day he met me. He read them in my eyes - the first person who was not afraid to see. Try feeling these things, thinking these awful things, being so ashamed, hiding from yourself, and then meeting someone who knows it all without it being said, and smiles. That person will own you. When someone accepts in you what you find unacceptable, you become more vulnerable than any judgement could ever make you. You cannot not love them.

Slut's advocate

You know what sucks? Men who feel that they have to please and impress a woman during sex. These guys put so much effort into their suave moves, spend hours on foreplay if you let them, and lick pussy using robotic, over-practiced strokes that go on forever in between murmurs of "Mmmm, yum.." Its obvious from the look of concentration on their face that their main motive is the ego-trip from believing they are a good lover. And you have no choice but to let them think they are, otherwise they only try harder!

You can see the type on online sex and dating sites - they are the ones who go on about supplying sensual massage, and how they just love to give oral. They say things like "I know how to please a woman" and make promises about the number of orgasms the lucky lady will reach.

As a slut who likes to be used, I find this only slightly more entertaining than reality TV - they are both poses, but at least if its sex I have the expectation that I'll get a cock into me at some point. If I can stay awake. Ok, I'd better settle down now before I get just too darn mean....

I blame other women for creating these dull guys. Women who whine and complain about their man not trying hard enough, not doing enough foreplay, expecting to just cram it in and fuck repetitively, using them as though they don't have their own needs. These women who are so common that it becomes a stereotype, and then people joke about it and men end up with TV, movies, radio, advertising, everything telling them from all angles that women need a complicated routine with a ten page list of techniques, and you'd better please them or you are some kind of lazy chauvinist.

Sigh. Many women would hate what I am about to say, but they can stick it. Not enough men are comfortable enough to just fuck anymore. Take your massage oils and edible body paint elsewhere - I just wanna be used, dammit! I don't want to feel like any man is putting effort in for my pleasure. I want him to just bend me over and please himself. Pure selfish animal fucking.... Mmmm........ That is hot sex.

Of course, in my sex life I don't get to be discerning. Master chooses who fucks me and how they may do it, and that means occasionally I wind up acting with someone who, despite it being obvious that I'm just a slut, feels that he needs to try hard to impress me with his handed-down techniques. And that's ok, because I am a slave. I am still being used, even when its more about their ego than their erection.

But sometimes I really want to say it: guys, if you want a soft, loving, sensual woman, then by all means go the slow, gentle option. But if you want a slut - for fuck's sake, treat a woman like a slut!

Come as you are

I can't believe I didn't blog about this – it's such an achievement! I guess at the time my focus was more on other things: Master was about to go away for a week, and his last night with me before he left I was feeling typically emotional. I was anticipating the agony of missing him, and sad because he was so busy with preparations he had little time for me that night. OK, I'll be honest – I'd tried not to get my hopes up, but I kept thinking it would be the perfect time for him to mark me before he went – all that healing time with no-one to be offended by it. I knew it was unlikely, as he had so much to do, but a part of me was still childishly disappointed.

He joined me in bed, and was so tired, he didn't even make a move to use me. That made me even sadder, until I gained the courage to tell him how I felt. Once it was out, I could relax more, and I reminded myself of the good points: yes, he was busy and tired on his last night before his trip, but what an honour that he still wanted me there with him, not to be used, but to serve him and cuddle up to him at night. I started to feel much happier just to be allowed to be near him. I wanted to express that, so I started gently touching him. He became aroused, so I thought, why not? And quietly asked permission to suck his cock. He allowed me to, and I savoured it – my last taste of my Master for a week to come. I wanted it ingrained in my mind. I tried to put love into it, and I found myself hoping he wouldn't fuck me – just cum down my throat and leave my cunt aching for his return.

That's when I made my big achievement. I was totally absorbed in him, sucking, and I hadn't been touched all night. And he ordered me to come. I thought for half a second, "can I?" and then tightened my muscles, and I did. A few moments later he ordered it a second time, and I succeeded even easier, and orgasmed even stronger. No stimulation except the desire to please him, and the order given. I was so focussed, I barely recognised what I'd done.

He did fuck me, by the way, and then half-smiled and said "You're a spoiled bitch, aren't you?" :)

The first time I met my Master, he told me I would learn to give him control over my pleasure. He allowed me to orgasm freely that day, but was very clear about future meetings: "After today, you will not come without permission in my presence again." And although sometimes its been a struggle, I never have. But the other side to that promise was something that seemed daunting to me – he said he would train me to orgasm on his command, not just when being used, but from pain, and eventually, only from his order.

I wasn't sure it was possible, but I hoped not to disappoint him. The first orgasm I successfully had from pain alone was incredibly intense and surprisingly easy to attain. But that was heavy stimulation, and I still wasn't sure I could come from none at all. Then, two weeks ago, I did. Simply from the sound of Master telling me to.

The next day, I was driving and feeling very horny. I remembered his voice demanding me to "come" and to my surprise, I did, alone in my car, instantly. I have again, sitting here writing this, just to test myself. Success. My body has been trained – all it takes is his order, or merely imagining his order, and I can orgasm immediately. He owns my orgasms.

Let me be honest, the sensation itself is no replacement for being filled and fucked. But being able to do this is its own kind of bliss – the pleasure and pride in knowing that it is not just my conscious behaviour that he has taken control of, but some of my most basic, automatic physiological responses. Its like my body knows it belongs to him.

Hooked

I've long hated the idea of being dependent on anyone. It probably sounds silly here, but I'm actually a very independent, in-control kind of person. Perhaps thats what makes giving up control so powerful for me. Or maybe thats just nonsense, and it would be a powerful experience for anyone. But anyway...

I asked myself tonight, to imagine a scenario. Imagine I'm not involved in D/s at all. I'm happily attached in a totally vanilla relationship. (Already a stretch...) My guy goes away for a week, to the other side of the country, for work-related stuff. And on the night he is due to return, I get a message from him saying sorry, but he won't be back til the following morning. How do I feel? Pretty annoyed, probably pretty sexually frustrated. But I'd deal with it.

Master has been away for a week and I got exactly that message tonight. How do I feel? Fucked up. I cried. I wanted to scream and throw myself on the floor and kick my legs. I sulked. I feel like a child.

A long time ago, before I could say the 'L' word out loud, I remember Master asking me "How do you feel about me?" I said as much as I could at the time: "I need you, Sir." It was an easy answer, but very truthful. I have needed him since the beginning.

So what is it that has brought about this dependence? Is it a natural consequence of intense power exchange? Or is this something more specific to the way Master has shaped my attachment to him? Or is it just something characteristic of me? I worry about this sometimes. It may just be my own discomfort with it, but I worry that he finds my dependence an inconvenience. Other times I wonder if maybe he likes it. And sometimes I think maybe he likes it to be there, but unexpressed until the right time.

If you love someone, and the object of your love has immense power over you, and you, none over them, perhaps that will always create a dependence on them. The powerless seeks the beloved powerful... seeks their approval, their kindness... or their meanness.... anything of them. Anything to know they matter, that their existence has some effect on the powerful other... yes, I can see how it might be unavoidable.

Dependence makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I don't want to need. Anything. But he makes me constantly aware that I do. I fucking do. I console myself with a reminder that it is just another way he owns me. That he owns whatever it is inside that seeks to be fulfilled by my need for him.

I barely even care about how well I am expressing this tonight... except that it is for him. It has been a long week without him, and I feel drained knowing that he was going to be here within a couple of hours, and now..... who knows when. Thats the worst. The not knowing when. All the times I go nuts not seeing him, compared to the times I cope, the difference is in knowing when. If I at least know what hour to look forward to, I can hang in there without regressing to nadi the child.

It has been lonely looking after his house for him, but also a comfort to be surrounded by 'him' in so many ways. And the comfort of doing things I know would please him, if he were here to see them. It is an honour that he entrusted me with such a responsibility. But now I'm past it. I just want him back. I want to kiss him. I want to smell him, touch the soft skin on his face. I want to hear him breathe. I want to feel his arms holding me, his weight on top of me. I want to tell him I love him, and that I've given him my life.

I'm delaying going to bed, it will feel empty. But maybe I'll dream about him, and maybe when I wake up, he won't be far away....