Tuesday, May 14, 2013

On Obedience...

Usually, He tells me what He wants/wants me to do, and I do it.  There usually isn't much in the way of protestations, and I almost never say 'no.'   Pleasing Him pleases me, so when He tells me to do something, I just do it, because I really want to make Him happy.

Usually.  Almost.  Until about two months ago, when He asked me to do something that just seemed plain wrong.  Something that was way, way, way outside of my comfort zone.  Something that I just could not see happening ever, no way, no how.  Just no.

What did He ask, you say?

He asked me to cut His hair.

The first thing you must know, is that I have ZERO experience cutting hair.  None at all. This didn't matter to Him one bit.  All that mattered was that His hair had grown too long for His liking, and He wanted me to cut it.

At first I straight out said "No," because I can't cut hair, and the last thing I wanted to do was screw up His hair.  But He didn't accept my answer.  He kept telling me I was going to do it, whether I wanted to or not.

For two whole months, His favorite line of reasoning was, "You shave my balls, so why can't you cut my hair?"

My favorite response was, "No one sees your balls but me.  Everyone will see your hair and know if I messed it up."

No matter, He kept at me, in a very patient, loving way, gradually wearing down my resistance.

Finally, this past weekend, He told me to watch some videos online about using electric clippers to cut a man's hair.  So, I did.  Then, I summoned as much courage as I possibly could, grabbed our electric clippers, told Master to take a seat in the kitchen, and I cut His hair.

It was scary, but I have to say, it turned out pretty well.  Best of all, He was happy with the result; it's nice and short, and it will be cool for the warm summer months.

Obedience is a tricky thing.  Like a dummy, I tend to think I've got it under control. Obedience?  Why it's my middle name, don'tcha know.  However, in this instance, I resisted, and then once I complied, I felt like a fool for saying "No" in the first place.  He knew I could do it, otherwise He wouldn't have told me to cut His hair.  But I didn't listen, and worse, I didn't trust His judgement.  And for that, I am sorry.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Dream a Little Dream of Me...

Yesterday morning, right after we woke up, Master told me about a dream He had. In the dream, He and I were in a bar or restaurant, and He wanted me to leave with Him to go have sex.  I 'playfully' refused His request, in this dream, and this really excited Him, both in the dream and in real life, as He woke up in a state of arousal.

A little while later, after a few cups of coffee, He 'playfully' pushed me up against a wall in the kitchen, and scolded me for teasing Him in His dream.  "You might need a beating later on," He told me.

I didn't think that was fair, as I wasn't actually in His dream, and I started to say as much, but I shushed up when His fingers started to crush my nipples.  Besides, I'm not one to turn down a beating, am I?

The beating came much later in the day, after an afternoon of running errands.  He wasn't nice about it.  There was no ceremony, no ropes or restraints, no warm-up (grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr), just me bent over the end of the bed, while He went straight to the cane.

How cruel is that?  Seriously.  It.  Hurt.  And not in a good way.

And believe it or not, it got worse.  He pulled out the long handled shoe horn (which is not an approved* sex toy, btw), and used it on the sweet spot, and on the backs of my thighs.  Why?  Because He thought the marks it left looked "pretty."

Of course, in between creating welts with the cane and "pretty" marks with the shoe horn, He took the time to fuck me and grind against my stinging skin.  With each thrust I would cry out in pain, and He would moan in pleasure.

He's such a Sadist.

He continued this pattern, beating then fucking me, until I cried.  Once He had my tears, He told me to get up on the bed, and then He kissed everything and made it all better.

When it was all over, He really wanted me to see how the "pretty" mark from the shoe horn looked, so he whacked me on the top of my right thigh so I could easily see.  So kind, yep, that Master of mine is so thoughtful.

Sadly, I didn't really share in His appreciation of the "pretty" mark.  To me, it's an "OMG THAT F*ING HURTS!" mark, and I think it would be a real shame if the long handled shoe horn suddenly, and without warning, disappeared.

However, the saddest part of all is that after all that pain, there are no marks on my backside today.  Not a one.  There should at least be one bruise, or one left over welt, but nope, nada.  And I know when Master reads this, He will tell me, "Well, that just means I'll have to try harder."


*The long handled shoe horn is not approved for use as a sex-toy/implement of pain by the Official BDSM Committee Who Wrote the Rules of Proper BDSM Stuff, which I swear is all real, but Master insists is fake.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

A Progressive Master...

Alright, as promised, a real blog post, about real things.  Where to begin...

Last time I shared with you, He'd beaten my ass with His belt.  He's beaten my butt a few more times since then, once with the cane and the leather strap, then again with the belt.  The second beating with the belt was harsher than the first; He left very definite marks, a huge bruise, and, for the very first time ever, He made me cry with the belt. Overall, it was a very satisfying experience for both of us.

Yesterday He suggested we play a game.  When I asked what kind of game, He replied, "Slap the Pussy."  I told Him that I didn't think that matched my definition of what constitutes a 'game,' and He laughed at me.  Apparently it matched His definition, and that's all that matters around here.

So, He played "Slap the Pussy" until the pussy was practically on fire.  Of course, He took great joy in pointing out how wet the pussy was, which, according to Him, proves that the pussy likes to be slapped.  (The truth is that is really does like to be slapped, but I don't want to tell Him that.)

He's not without heart, however.  After hurting the pussy, He kissed it and made it feel better.  Much, much better.  As I lay on the bed in post pain/orgasm bliss, He talked about how much He likes to satisfy me.  He said He imagines there are some M-types out there who might not care whether or not their s-type has an orgasm, but it's important to Him.

I told Him it's a good thing (because I'm an s-type who loves her some orgasms).  Then He pronounced, "Yes, I think I am a Progressive Master."  Then I started to laugh...what a novel concept.  Fortunately He laughed too, so I didn't get myself into any trouble there.

And, that's about it.  You are now all up-to-date on what we've been up to for the past few weeks. Let's hope my muse sticks around this month.  The old blog gets a little dusty when she leaves town for so long.