A snapshot of blessings...

I love lying in bed in the mornings and feeling a hand grab my hip, and a cock push its way into me without any lead-up. I love knowing that my Master can use his cunt whenever he wants to. I love that even more now that I may not use it when I want to.

I've been having more and more sexual dreams lately - and all focus on being owned, denied freedom. In one Master carved his initials into my flesh with a knife while I lay face down, quivering, my hands tied and his knee on my hair. In another, he owned a strip club and put me to work as a slave - while the other girls wore skimpy costumes, I was naked except for a collar and wrist cuffs, chained so that I was unable to reach my hands below my waist. Ranked below the other staff, the 'rules' did not apply to me, and I was free to be touched, teased, and played with in whatever way people liked.... but I was not permitted to orgasm.

It now feels amazing when Master is fucking me and he tells me to touch myself. I jump at the chance to feel that soft wetness that I can't take for granted anymore... and the scent on my fingers afterwards...... a rare delicacy indeed.

His cock is taking on a new personality for me now. It has become the foremost bearer of my pleasure and something I long even more to please. I find myself gazing at it openly and with admiration. After it has emptied into me, I don't want it to go away. I find myself fantasising about ways to keep Master's cock inside me forever, and it almost seems that I can't feel content any other way.

I'm feeling far too horny to string these things together fluently today.... just some thoughts on my mind.... things I am grateful for...

PS. I have written an online Slut Test.... enjoy if you dare

Spoils

"The four friends gathered in a circle, and in its middle was placed the girl, dressed as she had been at the moment she had been seized.... she was stripped, and, naked, passed and passed again, five or six times over, from one of our libertines to the other, she was turned about, she was turned the other way, she was fingered, she was handled, they sniffed, they spread, the peeped, they examined the state of the goods, was it new, was it used, but did all this coolly and without permitting to upset any aspect of the examination."

I've been reading a delicious peice of literature lately, and its images are imprinting themselves on my mind. Its author is incredibly cruel to his characters, and I think what makes me enjoy that the most is the utter lack of feeling for them. They are described factually and coldly, and their tortures are outlined with total impartiality. Its not the events of the story that turn me on, so much as the incredible indifference - what can only be called pure sadism.

It was in this frame of mind that I waited in Master's bed last night, until he finally climbed in, followed closely by a visitor who walked in the front door and straight to the bedroom. I was fingered and fucked, loving feeling as insignificant an object as a girl from the book. The visitor knew not to ask what I wanted, that I was there to be taken, and regarded me as a thing for my Masters pleasure.

Afterwards, he told me I was spoiled. What can I say to that? Its true, on this occasion Master gave me permission to orgasm freely for some time.... and he did some things specifically to get a hornier, wetter reaction from me. But our visitor wasn't around when I had begged him for permission to masturbate that morning, then spent and hour in front of the pc touching myself at his instruction, but not allowed to come.... and he didn't see me squirming and sighing all day because I was so desperate for a fuck that I couldn't sit still. The visitor had never been there when I was deliberately made sick with jealousy, or when I was reduced to tears by having my emotional buttons pushed for Master's entertainment. He hadn't been there to see me tied outside, soaking wet and shivering in the cold, or forced to kneel until I cried from the cramps in my legs. Would he still call me spoiled if he'd seen that?

Maybe he would. Master sometimes asks, "don't you think you are spoiled?" and I really don't know what to say then. To answer "no" sounds so ungrateful. To answer "yes" sounds both critical and smug. The honesty rule doesn't give me an answer either: I genuinely don't know if I am spoiled or not. Who am I to measure how he should treat me?

All I want to say when I'm accused of this is, so what? Master treats me the way it pleases him to treat me. Sometimes that means making sure I enjoy myself immensely - but does that mean its just for me? What about the fact that it pleases him to see me writhing in lust and enjoying myself sometimes? What about the sensation he likes to get when I orgasm so intensely that he says it is like an earth tremour around his cock? If I'm spoiled, its not because Master feels an obligation to my enjoyment, but because he has much to gain from spoiling me.

The thing I have loved most when Master doesn't spoil me, when he is simply mean and cold and hurts me, is that he regards me with the exact same detached level-headedness as when he gives me more obvious pleasure. He is indifferently passionate, and tenderly cruel. Spoiled or not, I am his object, and I love it that way.

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!

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 :)

"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.

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...

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?

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.

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.

Pain slut vs plain slut

You wouldn’t think the two would have to be mutually exclusive, would you? In my mind, they certainly aren’t. Being flogged, spanked or caned, and getting passed around like a piece of meat, used, and taken for granted, seem to go together pretty well to me. But all too often, one of these delights has to be neglected for the sake of the other. And sometimes, it gets frustrating.

The problem is, all the best pain leaves marks on me. Hell, the marks are half the pleasure! And there just aren't enough people out there into sharing me with Master, who are comfortable with seeing my bruised, battered body. So, he prefers to leave the nasty stuff for times when he isn't planning to let me be a slut. And he loves seeing me be a slut.

It is really quite sensible of him to avoid freaking people out. But, dammit, I don't want to avoid it! I want to say, fuck 'em! Let's shock them! Flaunt my welts! Tell them how much I love it...... But thats just me being childish, really. I have this unfortunate tendency to want everything. Yes, I'm a greedy girl. I want to have my cake and eat it. Maybe thats what a real slut is, though? Never satisfied.

A cumslut awakes

Written 31 December, and blogged today due to being offline for a while.

I never used to really care about cum at all. True, there was a certain satisfaction in having a warm puddle of it sprayed onto my body from time to time, but the lust and joy in it was very much played up for the benefit of the guy involved. I would say all the "Mmmm"s and lick my lips, and moan at the idea of someone cumming on or in me, but my mind was usually elsewhere at that point, and all this acting was designed only to hasten the process and help the guy get off selfishly.

It amuses me now to notice how much a little semen can mean to me. I first noticed my attitude to it had changed during a threesome when Master chose to cum inside the other woman we were with. I felt unexpected, childish envy and a stubborn voice inside my head said "But I wanted it!" Fortunately, I was immediately told to "clean up", and so I was allowed Master’s cum after all, once I lapped up the drips and slurped it out of her.

That was the first time I realised how much of a privilege I regarded it to receive his body fluids. It actually makes me laugh to think it, but strangely, the same sticky mess that I’ve always pretended to admire from other men (while secretly thinking they glorify it much more themselves), really does provoke strong feelings in me when it is his. Master is the only man who can cum inside me, and each time he does, I feel a genuine thrill of pride and gratitude. After a night with him, I want to defer my shower, reluctant to wash away the last traces of it from between my lips. When he occasionally fucks me choosing not to cum, my joy and appreciation is tainted by slight disappointment, having been deprived of his satisfaction, and the proof of it dribbling out of me.

Traditionally, Taoists believed that a man’s semen contained his life force, and that when he came inside a woman, she could absorb that energy, sucking it from him. Is that why I crave my Master’s cum? Does some primitive part of me long to soak up small portions of his power? When I hear him gasp and know he is filling me with cum, if I focus on that thought, I do have a strange fantasy sense that I’m receiving something with magical properties. But my joy is not the perverse pleasure of having taken something from him, rather a feeling that it is an honour for him to have left a part of himself in my body. I thank him, meaning I am grateful for my own pleasure, but even more so for being part of his.