Idle Hands...

You know the saying, "Idle hands are the Devil's workshop"?  Or it's variation, "Idle hands are the Devil's playground"?  Well, I've written another variation:  "Idle hands are the Sadist's workshop."

See, we'd been planning to play this weekend.  We had the house to ourselves for the first time in what seemed like forever, so playing was the plan.  However, the weekend arrived and the days passed...without any play.  We were busy doing stuff and the timing just wasn't right.  There was good sex, but no ropes, toys or pain.

I wasn't upset (really, I wasn't), but on Monday night I asked Him if we were vanilla now.  It was a semi-serious question, but given our mutual perceived lack of interest in anything kinky these days, I felt it was worth asking.

His answer was a resounding "No." (Imagine a very manly, very Domly, very firm, "No.")

Of course, me being me, I replied with, "Are you sure?"

His answer was a resounding "Yes." (Again, imagine a very manly, very Domly, very firm, "Yes.")

Yesterday, on our last day of having-the-house-to-ourselves-time, He showed me just how non-vanilla we are, and how crafty/sneaky He is.  After tying me spread-eagle on the bed, He told me He had a surprise for me, a new toy, a toy He'd made all by Himself.

It seems on Monday, while waiting for me to finish work, He had some time on His hands (this is where the "Idle hands" quote comes in). He had enough time to make a zipper using twine and wooden clothespins.  He then hid this from me until I was tied up yesterday.

He was proud of His handi-work, and He tried it out on my boobs, my inner-thighs, my sides, and lastly, on my pussy.  If you are wondering if it hurt when He "unzipped" it, it did.  But it was also very exciting, for both of us.  In fact, He liked it so much He plans to make another, longer zipper, maybe even two.

And the zipper-play was followed by a short but very intense round of pussy and breast slapping that brought me to the verge of tears, which showed me that I'm out of practice.  Seriously. I've never cried from a pussy spanking, but I was damn close yesterday.  The word 'wimp' comes to mind.  However, orgasms for everyone followed the slapping, and it was all good.

So, no, we are most definitely not vanilla.  And, idle hands are most definitely the Sadist's workshop.  His zipper is proof.

"I Want to Hurt You..."

He took me into the bedroom a few days ago, led me by the hand.  Once inside, with the door closed, I looked at Him.  Did He need some 'attention', I asked, or did He want something more? 'Attention' is our code for a blowjob; 'Something More' is code for...something more than just a blowjob.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence, and then He looked directly at me and said, softly, "I want to hurt you."

It's difficult to describe how those five little words made me feel.  I suppose it's best to say I swooned a little, maybe even a lot.  Those are the five best words a masochist can hear.

What happened next?  Well, He hurt me, naturally.  A nice long beating, complete with a warm-up to start.  He used different implements,  the paddle, the strap, his hand, and He kept a nice even tempo until my butt was toasty.  He finished with one incredibly sharp stroke with the cane.  It left the most amazing mark on my ass, but sadly we didn't take a picture.  Next time, hopefully.

Yesterday He took me into the bedroom again, but there wasn't time to ask Him what He wanted. He ordered me to my knees right away, and some rough oral sex ensued.  You know the kind where His cock makes it difficult to breath because it's shoved down your throat, and your eyes water and your nose runs?

Yeah, it was like that.

For a little while, it was like that, then He ordered me over the end of the bed.  Unlike the previous time, where He'd been kind enough to give me a warm-up, there was no warm-up.  He went straight to the cane.

Anyone out there know what it feels like to get hit with the cane sans warm-up?  If you don't know, it does NOT feel good.  It hurts like a m*****f*****.

Oh yes, I'd been swooning only a few days previous, but at this moment?  Not so much, in fact, not at all.  He wasn't gentle with the cane, He was serious, intent, and the strokes were hard.  It hurt, a lot.

He had a reason for this.  He wanted to leave stripes on my ass, and according to Him, if He gives me a warm-up first, the stripes do not appear.  M-type logic at it's finest, I must say.  But I digress...

My discomfort, my pain, pleased Him.  It excited Him, and His cock was rock hard.  He took great delight in fucking me after hitting me with the cane, grinding against the welts forming on my ass. Sadists...

Eventually, the pain ended, followed by good sex.  When it was all over, we mused about Mr. Cane, how long we'd had him (five and a half years, to be exact, but who's counting?).  I theorized (read:  secretly hoped) that Mr. Cane would be ready to break any time now, given his age.  I mean, seriously, how long do canes last, anyway?  Master remained unmoved, certain that Mr. Cane will continue to function for many years to come, and if not, then he will quickly be replaced with another version of Mr. Cane.

No matter my love/hate relationship with Mr. Cane, I do love it when Master tells me He wants to hurt me.  Even if Mr. Cane is involved.

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."

Sadists...

*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.

If It Looks Like a Sadist, And It Quacks Like a Sadist...

The other day Master took exception to the fact that I called Him a Sadist in my last post.

"Look at you, writing about me and calling me bad names," He said.

Somewhat indignant, I replied that I'd done no such thing.

"Yes, you did," He growled.  "You called me a Sadist."

Well, yes, I admitted, I did indeed call Him that.  And I was right.  As proof, I submit to the jury the fact that while He was taking me to task for calling Him a Sadist, He was busy pinching my nipples (hard) while He pushed me into the bedroom.

I rest my case.