Yes, Doctor.... (visit 1)

I sat in the surgery waiting room wearing a skirt, a fitted top, and a nervous smile. When I squeezed my thighs together I could feel the dampness between them, building up in anticipation of my time in the doctor's office. Anxiety and excitement made my breathing heavy. I was ready and eager, to show myself a slut and make my Master pleased.

My name was called quickly, and I followed the doctor inside to his private room. I was quickly becoming more and more excited. He asked "What can I do for you?" I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice didn't sound too shy as I asked for a pap test. The doctor smiled back, and said, "I'll just go and get the nurse."

It really is a pity so many doctors are so cautious these days.

The nurse was a nasty-looking woman, late fifties, with a grim manner. She invited me behind the curtain to the examination table and told me to take off my skirt, "and your knickers..." she began, but then stopped as she realised I had none. I climbed onto the table perhaps too eagerly, and she frowned while she told me to lie with my knees up and my feet close to my body. She placed an arbitrary cotton sheet over my lower half, and parted the curtain to tell the doctor I was ready.

Here was the part I was waiting for. I was sure my wetness must be flowing onto the table by now, as the doctor walked over, pulling on the latex gloves. He stood behind me for a moment, and I turned my head but couldn't see, until he walked back towards my feet, plastic speculum in hand. I could see the lubricant smeared on it and smiled, thinking, that was unnecessary, but would no doubt feel good.

He lifted the sheet and gently pushed my knees apart, instructing, "as wide as you can." There was no problem there. I spread my knees and showed him my open cunt. I could almost feel him looking at it. I was soaked - and there was no question he could see that and smell it. I wondered if he was noting my yawning lips and swollen clit, clear evidence of my arousal. Without speaking, my body was saying to him, I am a slut, and I love to be exposed.

The nurse was not watching. I tightened my muscles and prepared for my task. Master had been very clear: you are going to come, he'd said, and I want there to be no doubt at all in the doctor's mind.

He didn't touch me, just pushed the slippery plastic smoothly into my open hole. Oh, yes... my muscles clamped around it, my hips shifted, and as I let go, my body shook. I exhaled and let out a soft moan, my hips twitching, begging for more touching that would not come. I panted and flexed, slowing down as my orgasm completed. There. I watched his face. He had paused, but did not look up. The nurse still faced away.

Flushed, I laid there while the doctor warned, "No moving now," and finished what he had thought he was there to do. He collected the sample and cleaned up quickly and professionally, and I stayed still, feeling unfinished and ignored. I wondered, was I too quiet? No, surely that was quite clear. The nurse passed me a towel and left me to get dressed.

Sitting in front of the doctor again, I felt myself blushing, wondering if I would be questioned, feeling like a naughty child waiting to be chastised. Instead, he was all business as he asked, "Is that all you were wanting today?"

Um. "Yes, thank you."

"Ok. Take this through to the pathology desk on your way out." He looked at me again, and added, "If you actually wanted the results, you can come back next week."

If I wanted them. He was aware that wasn't my main concern. I left feeling both happy and horribly ashamed. I could tell Sir I had completed my homework task.

Notorious anonymous

Perhaps it is true that we all want to be famous for something? I never used to think so. In my vanilla world, I mean. I've always thought I preferred to stay out of the limelight. You wouldn't think so from seeing me "slut", but I am actually the quiet one at parties, standing in the corner having a peaceful drink and chat. The thought of getting everyone's attention makes my palms wet as much as my pussy, lol.

But no slut would be complete without a streak of exhibitionism. Did I say a streak? In reality, I have grown to have a whole lot more than that. With Master's encouragement, I have learned to love people watching me fuck. Or play. Or just prance around half naked. Last time I was at the airport picking Master up, I wore a top that showed nearly my whole tits, and thoroughly enjoyed the extra attention from security. Not to mention the guy who bought me a drink just so he could take a photo and inform me he was going to jerk off on the plane.

Somehow it never feels like enough. I want full exposure, more attention! At last count Master had no less than 1,780 photos of me used, fucked, whored, choked, creamed, or just showing off. Plus video. I look through them and wish so badly I could show the world what I am.

Back in the days when I still played around freely, I started getting into doing webcam shows on kinky personals sites. I would start of playing the 'traditional' way, then gradually work up to more unique additions, watching the number of viewers grow. I would show off my pain tolerance, open my slut holes, and get dirty with hundreds of people watching. Yeah!

I often wish I could develop this blog into my very own pornsite. "slutnadi.com". There would be pics, more every week or every day, and some of my kinky artwork. I'd add links to my favourite online porn. Perhaps there would be snippets of video, and a collection of Master's favourite photos and entries. There could be a guestbook and a private email where viewers could make personal requests. Paysite or freebie, I wouldn't care. I would be grateful for every person who saw me being myself and thought, 'What a whore'...

Would Master ever allow that? I really don't know. My feeling is, not while I want it so much. I used to feel great frustration that he does not allow me to disclose my blog address without permission. Now, I recognise the wisdom in that. A private blog allows me to speak more freely. It also keeps its purpose intact: the blog is for my Master, not for entertaining a crowd. And it reminds me that, like my body, my thoughts are owned... and will be shared with whom he chooses. Feed the exhibitionist too much, and she may forget how to watch and listen...

Exposure

I am in a normal public place... let's say a cafe... surrounded by people, and every one of them knows I am below them in every way. Just by looking at me they know I am a slut, a whore, and they can treat me as they wish. The men look me up and down and smirk. The women snicker and point. Once in a while someone will walk past and give a slap on my arse, or casually jerk my hair as they stand beside me, considering their order. Strangers place their hands up my skirt or tweak my nipples, chuckling at my embarassment and compliance. Everywhere I go is like this... I am marked, known, and always humiliated. I have no rights, and no dignity.

An unlikely fantasy to become true in the world we live in. But possible, to some smaller degree. Like when Master takes me out dressed as a tart... trotting alongside him in a tiny skirt, knee high boots, my cleavage bulging out of my top... an obvious slut. And him, dressed neatly, appearing unmoved by the sight of my cheeks jutting out from below my hemline, carrying on with his shopping or chatting to a friend, while I wait silently at his side.... making it clear to the astute observer, that I belong to him, nothing but his smiling whore.

And some people do notice, and make it clear that they do. Which is how I wound up with my skirt around my waist while the security guard at the local late-night shop casually strolled up to the car, put his hands in the window, and helped himself to a feel of my holes... then pull out his cock at the window, and speak one word to me: "suck." And thats how he knew, not to ask me, but to ask the mysterious man I was with, if I could be fucked.

Master asked me recently, for the reason why, if I enjoy being seen as a slut so much, do I dress so normally when I'm not with him? I found it hard to articulate a simple response... really, there are several reasons, and I'm not entirely sure which are most significant. But I'll try...

Firstly, I just like dressing the way I do - in long skirts or jeans, and singlet tops, outfits that show my tits and hide my legs. They are loose and comfortable, and I like to dress comfortably. I don't wear high heeled shoes, for example, because it is just not comfortable.

Second, I feel attractive dressed that way. And while I know that many men's attention is drawn by exposed flesh, mine is not. I find women who show it all off to be, well, kind of dull. I find a woman beautiful if she looks mature, comfortable, natural, and confident enough in herself to not try to seek attention. So I can't help but seek to look that way myself.

The third reason is pride. I will confess, I am like a lot of women, in that I judge people by the way they dress. When I see a woman in a short skirt shivering on a winter night, I think she is not very smart. If a woman can't leave the house without her hair and makeup done, I think she is insecure. And while I do want to be a public slut, I also want to be recognised as intelligent and confident.

All this begs the question, why, then, do I enjoy being such a slutty whore sometimes? Well, its the same list of answers. I enjoy the mild anxiety of feeling uncomfortable. I enjoy dressing in a way that is attention-grabbing, but, in my mind, not at all attractive - just obviously easy. And I enjoy the humiliation of being seen and judged to be 'less-than'... to be nothing but a whore. If I dressed in that way every day, it would soon lose these effects for me. I would become comfortable as the slutty type, and no longer notice I was being watched. And then, what would be the point?

Catharsis, exposure, and a nice place to be

Today, on my way home from his house, I pulled over and screamed. LOUD. Then I sat and bawled my eyes dry, sobbing right from the gut, roaring, howling, holding nothing back. And as I gradually calmed, I found myself moaning, "please.... please, Sir...." and then finally finished the thought at a whisper, "....... please, hurt me...? "

We all need our coping strategies. And yes, there are "normal" things that I do to release my emotions in times of stress. This morning's outburst is a perfect example. I also swim, create photo-art (not always very well, but thats not the point), get massage... oh, and masturbate, lol. But there is absolutely nothing that matches being really hurt for effective stress management. But if I was to try that alone.... well...... lets not go there.

When I'm feeling the pressure of life, I spend more and more of my energy on control - trying to limit the things that stress me, and the effort it takes to control my reactiveness, to avoid expressing my feelings at the wrong place and time. I crave letting Master take away that control, giving my body up to him, and surrendering. The freedom of trust. And each strike is a chance to give up more - to shift my mind from trying to avoid painful sensation to saying "YES" until I am welcoming it... and when his pattern changes, the struggle of avoiding again.... then once again, welcoming.... Its a practice of submission, to him, but also to myself. Accept the pain and it no longer becomes a threat. Just as that applies physically, the same is true for emotional pain.

Being flogged is almost like psychodrama. Its taking whats going on internally and making it tangible, allowing me to choose how to respond to it. Don't avoid it, feel it. Accept it, then release it. Feel... accept... release... feel... accept... release... until it becomes my whole existence, and I've forgotten who I am... forgotten everything except feel-accept-release, and above all, the love and gratitude for Sir, who has become the Sun. Such perfect peace, as though I could just fade into transparency and slowly disappear. The word 'subspace' only cheapens it.

I don't want to give the wrong idea - I did enjoy my night with him last night. He put me on show performing at his instructions online. I do enjoy it when he shows me off. I love standing in the position he has placed me in while he runs a finger between my thighs and teases me, knowing that someone is watching, someone who knows he can do anything he likes with me.

He asked me at one point if it was the thought that the voyeur(s) might be aroused and excited watching me, that they might lust after me and want to use me, but its not really any of those things. What I love the most is the simple objectification of it. The fact that my Master has me on display, like.... well, like a possession, which is exactly what I am. Not that people are looking at me but that they can look at me. That I have no way of hiding, no dignity, am allowed no modesty, I am not a person but a human object. One of my biggest fantasies is to be tied up in some exposing position, and gagged, then left in the middle of a room while people socialise around me. They would talk, and drink... and make comments about me, tease me... but even more humiliating, they would also periodically ignore me.

He didn't let me orgasm until very late last night, so when I finally could, it seemed to go on forever. Face down, turning my head to the side, I could see his shape over me, feel the power as he pushed hard into me, and I felt small, and owned. Not quite the catharsis I've been pleading for, but a nice place to be.

I have so many worries right now, and I had planned to blog them, but now I feel like leaving it on a more positive note instead. Sometimes its all so hard. And yes, Sista, there is always a choice to make. But sometimes, even through the tough shit, the choice is so right that its already made before the question is asked - and then its easy to forget that there ever was one.

Umm, where was that positive note...? Really, all I'm trying to say is, I love my Master unconditionally. I have given myself to him - my body, my mind, my heart, my life. I have given up my freedom. I have given up my consent. I have no right to take anything back, and I would never want to. I am his, inside and out. Even when its so fucking hard... its still a nice place to be.

Sheath

Quite a few years ago, I was probably looking for some kinky porn when I came across a photo of a woman, legs spread, and a hand holding the handle of a knife. The blade was invisible, presumably buried inside her pussy. That photo both disturbed and fascinated me. I decided not to save it, it was a little too much for me at the time, but the image returned to my mind again and again in fantasy, imagining what it would be like to have someone hold a knife inside me, helpless and immobolised, not with restraints, but with the fear of what would happen if I flinched.

The part that interests me most now is, at the time, I didn't believe the photo was real. I genuinely thought it just wasn't possible to put a sharp blade there and not damage someone. I guessed that in the photo, there was no blade - it was just someone holding a broken-off handle in the right place to spark one's imagination. And it worked.

I still believed it couldn't be done when Master first touched a blade against my lips. I was still new to knife play at the time and the adrenaline was already intense. And I was loving it. I remember him saying "you are so wet, I bet I could fuck you with this and it wouldn't even cut you." I smiled, thinking he was teasing me. He wasn't. He slid it in and I froze, terrified. He reassured me and kept going. I concentrated on breathing, trying to relax and stay as still as I could. I felt high with fear, and I reminded myself over and over to trust him. When he withdrew the knife, he showed me the glistening line that marked how far it had been inside me. I had remained still while he took complete control over me, via one most sensitive part of my body, made vulnerable to a blade. What an incredible rush!

Last night, I had the added pleasure of being watched intently by a group of people while I took it, some of them loving it, others more uneasy than I had been after finding that photo years before. Now, the adrenaline and fear that originally made the experience, has been replaced by a kind of peace. As I lay there, I give him total trust, easily surrendering to his desire and skill. [Emphasis on skill: I'm not talking about anyone poking me with a sharp object and just hoping for the best! lol...] I still remind myself to breathe and relax, now to let the knife in further, proving that my body is his to take, in any way he pleases.

As I lay there last night, feeling the eyes on me, I felt proud to show that I could give my Master so much trust. And that he is completely deserving of it. Who else could take me so far beyond what I thought I was able to do, to fully explore my potential, and remain in such capable hands? I am incredibly lucky to have met him, and earned his ownership. And I wanted everyone to know it.

Need

Like I wrote a couple of days ago, lately I have been needing him - craving him. Its been a very emotional ride in my life lately and the constant thought in the back of my mind has been that seeing him will make it all better. So its been a frustrating week, with all the shit of daily life constantly getting in the way of me seeing Master, and each time it does, I've felt weaker and lonelier.

Last night was the breaking point. I probably would have taken no for an answer, to be a good girl, but I really didn't want to, and I would have been a very unstable girl. I waited at home, naked, as he would want to find me, praying to who-knows-what that he would come. As it got later I got more anxious, knowing that each hour meant less chance I would get what I needed tonight. I hesitated to sms him and ask, afraid of hearing that the answer was no. Eventually I had to. The answer wasn't no, but it wasn't positive. I started crying. I fucking needed him. I sent him another message saying so, begging him to see me. It was very late, and I knew my chances were slim. He suggested I make the drive. I hesitated... Betty was asleep, and if I left the house, and my son woke up, and she didn't know I wasn't here, surely she would be furious...

Fuck it. I grabbed my phone and my keys and walked out the door. Did I mention I was naked? Yes, still. Putting on clothes seemed a trivial waste of precious time, and my nudity felt right - to drive over and walk up to his front door, presenting myself to him bare and vulnerable, seemed perfect for my state of mind.

Driving over, my confidence waned a little as I wondered if other drivers would notice. I thought about the jacket in my back seat, wondered if I should put it on. But I gave myself a pep-talk instead - it was late, and dark, and who the hell would see? .... try a dozen council workers on late-night roadworks on the highway, that's who. I crawled along in slow traffic with them all standing around within spitting distance from my car, cringing under the gigantic floodlights. But if any of them noticed, they didn't show a sign.

It was probably a good thing, going through the roadworks actually, it gave me something else to focus on for a few moments besides my overwhelming need to be with Master. After I passed them, I felt calmer, a tiny bit more ok. I got to his house and jumped out, walking straight to his front door, and rang the bell. He stood there looking at me, through his security door, leaving me standing there for a few moments, naked in the night air. I felt ready to try and claw my way through the door, not to get inside, but to touch him. Finally he opened it, and I could, but I struggled with self-control - all I wanted was to throw myself on him, and cling to him. He allowed me a brief cuddle before telling me to go to my corner and wait while he finished what he had been doing.

I had to force myself to do that, and it was the hardest wait I've ever had for him. I'd been needing him and waiting for him for days, and now finally he was in the next room, and I had to wait some more. I started to cry again. I toyed with the idea of begging him to let me sit with him instead of in my usual corner. I tried to distract myself by staring at the artwork on his walls. I tried to be quiet, but he could probably hear me, and he let me wait.

I feel a need to interrupt myself here and point out that Master is not a cold man. He is calm, and has a great deal of self control (not to mention nadi-control, lol). He knew how much I needed him, but still he let me wait, and it was right that he did so. He is not callous or indifferent to my feelings, but he doesn't indulge them indiscriminantly either. He owns me, and its up to him what he gives me and when I am allowed it. If I was able to demand what I wanted through emotional displays like this one, I would lose respect for him. So I needed to be with him, but I also needed to wait.

So I sat there crying and waiting for him, feeling more than a little ashamed and stupid for the whole thing. He wouldn't want me like this, I thought, he wanted a stable, rational slavegirl, not one who would lose the plot from missing him. Was I really worth it for him, with all this drama? Finally he came into the room and sat in the chair next to me. This time I didn't have to restrain myself from throwing myself at him - I couldn't even look at him until he ordered me to. Then he guided me close to him, and finally let me hug him with my head on his chest...

What do people say when they see someone in tears? They say something reassuring, tell them its all ok, or going to be, or ask why, make you talk about it to feel better - in other words, they want you to stop crying. But not Master. He held me to him, and said "Cry." And I did, and I felt such gratitude and relief, because he didn't reject the way I felt. I give him everything, and he gives me acceptance. Thats even better than love.

Ah, the wonders of nature!

Summer is moving along quickly and I've found myself thinking about the great outdoors. No, not picnics and frisbees, surely you know better than that? lol Theres a unique kind of freedom in sexual acts where anyone could see you - complete exposure. Ever had a dream where you were nude or semi-nude in public, and didn't mind it? Complete freedom, completely open, completely yourself. Being naked in private in front of one or a small group of people is being vulnerable, which has its own appeal. Being nude in front of the world and not caring, though - that is being invulnerable.

I've moved to a house with a pool recently and I am taking great pleasure in swimming nude in the daylight hours, when the neighbours might see. That, combined with an unexpected outdoor experience with Sir the other day is probably what's inspiring me. I want to go on a drive with Master and flash while he photographs me. I want to take a trip to a remote location for an outdoor gangbang. I want to be tied to a tree and semi-adbandoned, then be used and not know who is using me. I want to be staked out in the grass and tortured. I want to be stripped on the beach and pissed on. I want to be given to strangers to use in a park. I want to fuck at night in the middle of a huge oval. I want to fuck on the freeway overpass. And I want photos! lol