Moved to Tears...

We played on Friday, although I'm not sure "play" is the right word. "Play" tends to denote fun, and what we did was anything but fun.

For me. It was not fun for me.

Master thoroughly enjoyed himself, however.

He took me in the bedroom and told me to put on my purple wrist cuffs. Then He placed me where He wanted me, at the end of our bed, standing upright, facing away from the bed. He looped purple rope through the D-rings on the wrist cuffs and tied my wrists to the upper cross bar of the bed frame. My arms were outstretched and tied tight.

This was a different position for me. Usually, when He ties me to the bed, I'm bent over the end of the bed, face down in the mattress. Not this time. I was upright and facing Him. Despite the radical change in position, I remained unaware of what was about to happen. I was fairly relaxed, and my *guess* was that He was going to pinch and slap my breasts and pussy.

And I was right about that. He did indeed do those things.

But after He lulled me into a false sense of security, He slapped my face. Hard. He slapped it more than once. It stung; my face burned. I was stunned.

After the first round, things started to blur. He was everywhere, pinching, slapping, probing (yes, I was wet, which added to my distress), and He would slap me, then pull me close and kiss me, deeply. It was overwhelming.

Perhaps that's why, when He slapped my face in rapid succession for a second time, I started to cry. This surprised me; the tears came on so suddenly, and of course, I tried to fight them.

But He wanted them. Not so soon, as He told me afterward, but He did want them. So He continued. More slapping, pinching, probing, and at one point He pushed me back as far as I could go, climbed onto the bed and shoved His rock-hard cock down my throat.

All of this was followed my more slaps to the face, and at this point, the sobs broke through. Tears flowed, and I cried.

And as I cried, He circled His arms around me, pulled me close, and then He licked the tears that ran down my face. "Your tears taste so sweet," He murmured as He ran His tongue along my cheek. That made me cry even more.

After getting His fill of my tears, He untied me and ordered me onto the bed. He fucked me; He brought me to orgasm, and then I sucked His cock until He came.

Even now, two days later, I am not really sure how I feel about what happened. We've talked about it, about how quickly I was moved to tears, how I felt immediately after (I did not feel like I normally do; no "floating" on endorphins), how He felt about it.

Clearly, I do not like having my face slapped. I don't think I ever will. It's not a type of action/pain that I can eroticise or sexualise. I find it demeaning and humiliating. But at the same time, I don't expect Him to not do it. He likes it; it turns him on. He's a sadist. And He's in charge.

In case anyone was wondering, it did leave a mark on my left cheek. A small, quarter sized mark, not a bruise, but a red-patch. If you didn't know any better, you would simply think that I'd been outside in the cold and my face was wind-chapped.

And yes, the mark pleased Him, too.

X Marks the Spot...

This is my 100th post, and no, it will not be monumental or extraordinary.  Like the other 99 that came before it, it will just be another post.

So, let's see...in January I made a concerted effort to blog more frequently, and I was successful.  Then January ended, and so did the success:  blogging ground to a halt.

Maybe January was just too cold for my writing muse, so she packed a bag and headed to Miami or someplace warm.  I don't blame her; I'm over this winter and cold weather. Spring can come along any day now. Tomorrow would be good for me.

As for He and I, we are doing just fine, and lately the sex has been amazing.  Seriously amazing, even when it is of the vanilla variety, it's amazing.

There has been some kinky sex, too.  Two days ago He bent me over the end of the bed and secured my hands to the headboard using a long length of purple rope.  He then proceeded to rake His fingernails across my back, diagonally,so that the red marks left behind formed an 'X'.

When it was over, He told me the scratching had gone on for ten minutes (yes, He watched the clock).  I was surprised; ten minutes seems so long, but in the moment, time seemed to fly by quickly.  Perhaps that's because I enjoy that activity so much.  The pain is much different from a caning or a paddling.  It's deep, it burns, it hurts, and I just float away on it.

Anyway, that's where we are, here at the end of February.  Let's hope my muse returns for March.

Clover Clamps Are No Bueno...

Our New Year started off the right way.

There was rope, slapping in the most sensitive of places, the purple suede flogger, clover clamps, and the Hitachi Wand.

It was great fun, until He removed the clover clamps from my nipples, right after He brought me to orgasm with the Hitachi Wand.  Then it wasn't fun.  It was "Watch the bound slave girl scream at the top of her lungs and start to sob."  The pain was immense, and my reaction was rather intense.

This freaked out both of us.  He was freaked because while He wanted to hurt me, He didn't want to hurt me like that.  I was freaked out because nipple-ectomies are on my hard-limit list.  End result: we both felt guilty and spent the next hour or so apologizing to each other for what happened.

Eventually we moved past it, and by bedtime things were back to normal with Master laying on His back, enjoying the first blowjob of the New Year from His slave girlie.

And, as a side note, should the clover clamps go missing, well, that would really, really, be a darn shame, now wouldn't it?

"I don't want to hear any of your shit..."

That's what He told me Wednesday, after He fastened the ball gag in place.   He'd tightened the strap, so the little black silicon ball sat snug in my mouth.  I couldn't even mutter a muffled response.

"And none of your crap about 'Warm-ups,' either," He added.

At this point, seeing as I was bent over the end of the bed, hands bound with purple rope and tied to the headboard, ass exposed and mouth gagged, I sensed I might be in a bit of trouble.  Clearly, my past admonitions regarding the importance of warm-ups had come back to bite me in the ass, so to speak.

Naturally, this time there were no warm-ups.  He started at His speed, which is zero-to-100 in five seconds or so.  He used multiple instruments of pain:  His hand, the black paddle, Mr. Blister (a cross between a leather strap and a paddle), the long-handled plastic shoe horn, and of course, the cane.

He used them all, one right after the other, and quickly set my ass on fire.

Then He stopped and put His hand between my legs---the moment of truth, the moment of exposure.  The moment when He discovers just how aroused I am (I always wonder what He thinks at that moment.  Perhaps it's better I don't know).  A small wave of shame washed over me, as it always does.  It passed quickly.  Shame was rapidly replaced by greed...greed for His touch, His cock, more pain, just more of everything, please.

Did He somehow sense my greed, my need for more?  I don't think so, but He certainly was generous.  He beat my ass some more, then He fucked me, hard,  and He took pleasure as He pressed His flesh against my stinging ass cheeks.  His moans and groans told me how pleased He was.

At one point, He mentioned how mean it would be if He came, right then, and just left me there.  Unable to articulately respond, thanks to the ball gag, I instead grunted my displeasure at that idea, and He laughed at me.

And He didn't cum.  Instead, He forced my legs farther apart and held them open with one of His legs.  He took aim on my poor, exposed pussy with the long-handled shoe horn.  It only took a few blows to set my pussy on fire.  This was followed by more fucking, and His arousal at my discomfort fueled my arousal, an on and on it went...beating and fucking and beating and fucking, until the beating stopped.

He untied me, removed the ball gag, ordered me to look at my bright red ass in the mirror, then told me to get up onto the bed.  Like a good girl, I followed His orders and received my reward; He used His mouth on me until I came.  Then He fucked me hard and deep, until He came.

Afterwards, He asked me if I was O.K.  Yes, I replied, I was O.K.  I also felt high, loaded up on endorphins and all those other feel-good things that result from a really intense sexual connection with Him. It all felt so good...so addictive.  Is it possible I am addicted to Him?

We will have some time alone this afternoon.  Perhaps I can entice Him to play rough with me again today, and I can get another fix.

Knotty, knotty...

Time by ourselves this afternoon led to this:

Those are my ankles/legs, bound my some more of Master's handi-work with the pretty purple rope.  My hands were also bound with purple rope and tied to the bed.

After He finished photographing His knots, Master gave me a beating.  He used His hand, the shoe horn, Mr. Blister, and finally, Mr. Cane.

As usual, Mr. Cane made me cry.  He's mean, Mr. Cane...so mean.

But I find it very exciting, having my legs bound like that while He hurts me.  The immobility adds to the sense of helplessness and being at His mercy.  And, having my legs pressed together causes a rather intense physical sensation...very stimulating.

The only drawback to this type of bondage, is that He can't fuck me.  And He likes to fuck me while He beats me...so He removed the rope from around my legs about halfway through in order to have access, so to speak.

To sum things up, I was bound, beaten, fucked, and in the end, rewarded with a huge orgasm. 

Time by ourselves is a good thing, indeed.