Food Can Wait...

Master picked me up from work last Thursday, and on the way home I noted that I was hungry, and then listed several different things we could eat once we arrived home.  "We have some things to do first," He said, "before we eat."

"We do?" I asked, like a dummy, wracking my brain to figure out what needed to be done.

"Yes," He replied, "I'm going to beat your ass."  He continued, quite serious as He added, "And I don't think you want a belly full of food when I shove my cock down your throat."

I think I squeaked out an "Okay" and squirmed in my seat a little.  Clearly, food could wait.

As I've noted before in this blog, He is a man of His word.  He did indeed beat my ass, and was nice enough to start with the purple flogger.  It's been quite a while since my butt had a beating, so the flogger was a nice way to ease back into things, so to speak.  The flogger felt nice, it hurt but the pain wasn't overbearing.  It was a good pain, the kind you can sink into and then float away.

However, that didn't happen, because He's a Sadist, and soon He abandoned the flogger for Thud. This produced a new pain, a sharp biting pain with a little punch at the end of it, all over my backside.  Thud didn't stick around for too long, though, as Thud was abandoned for Mr. Cane.

Once He had Mr. Cane in His hand, Master grabbed my ponytail, wrapped it several times around His hand, and pulled my head back, hard.  He applied the cane hard and fast, and that rapid caning gets me every time.

I cried.  More evidence of my membership in the wimpy-slave girl club.

He took pity on me, I think, and told me to climb on the bed.  He brought me to orgasm, which was divine.  Post-crying orgasms always are.

Once I was satiated, He told me to lie sideways on the bed with my head hanging over the edge. With my mouth at just the proper height, He stood in front of me and shoved His cock into my mouth.  He held onto my tits and fucked my face good and proper, and ultimately rewarded me with a mouthful of cum.

So, continued proof that we are not vanilla...not by a long shot.

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.

Hoppin' Down the Bunny Trail...

Despite my fondness for all things chocolate, the Easter Bunny did not bring me any chocolaty goodies on Sunday.  But I'm not pouting.

Instead of sweets, the Easter-Master gave me a spanking.  While we didn't dye any eggs this year, He managed to color my butt-cheeks pink and red, with some tiny accents of purple, thanks to some help from Mr. Cane.

Not a bad way to celebrate the holiday, even if He did make me cry.

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.

Be Careful What You Ask For...

"I need a spanking," I said softly, right before He walked out the door to run some errands. He paused, looked at me a little sternly, and replied, "What have you done?"

Um, not the response I expected.

So, I said, "Nothing. I haven't done anything bad, I just need a spanking."

Satisfied that I was still His good little girl (hah!), He said, "Okay," and went on His way.

I don't ask for spankings very often. At least I don't think I do. He might read this and spew coffee all over the place, but in my tiny little mind, I usually follow His lead in this area.

But yesterday I found myself thinking about being spanked, and thinking turned to wanting, and I finally I wanted it bad enough to ask for it.

When He returned from His errands, He took me in the bedroom, bent me over the end of the bed, and...

He whooped my butt.

No restraints. No warm-up (no surprise, I know). No pity for my cries of "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!!!!!"

He was rough. And mean. He used the paddle, the cane, and the leather strap. If I tried to stand up, He pushed me back down.

He kept going until I cried. Not little sniffly tears, but big tears, big sobs, snotty nose, the whole nine yards.

Once the tears start, the spanking ends, and sexy-time begins, because what's sexier than a sobbing, snotty slave-girl? (That's a rhetorical question, you don't need to answer that).

Afterwards, as we lay in bed together, He said, "Be careful what you ask for."

Indeed. But I'm glad I asked; it was just want I needed. And I have a beautiful bruise on my right butt-cheek as a souvenir.

A Lesson About Warm-Ups...

Yesterday Master gave me a beating.  And believe it or not, He started with a warm-up.  It's true.  Oh, He will still be known as 'The Man Who Does Not Believe In Warm-Ups,' but yesterday, He started out nice and slow, no zero-to-100.

Of course, this was problematic.

Why?  Well, when He starts slow and gradually builds up the pain levels, I am able to tolerate more pain.  When He goes super fast, I am left moving and squirming and yelping and ready to stop as soon as He starts.

Not so yesterday.  That nice, slow build-up, punctuated by lovely breaks in which He would shove His cock in my pussy and fuck me hard, meant my ass was ready to take whatever He was giving.  He used Mr. Blister (the leather strap) and Mr. Cane (whom I hate), and I soaked up the pain like a sponge.

It was all good until He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and said, "Do you think I will stop before you cry?"

It took me a few seconds to respond.  And in those few seconds, a million thoughts flew through my endorphin-addled brain. 

"Tears?  He wants tears?  I'm not even close to crying...this could go on a long time...this could be bad...."

While my mind whirred, I managed to whisper, "I don't know."

His response?  "No, I won't."

He went back to work with the cane.  I went into a small state of panic.  He wanted my tears, and I really didn't think I had any to give Him.

However, He always gets what He wants.  And, giving up my tears really isn't up to me.  He knows what to do to make me cry.  He knows how much I hate when He hits my ass with Mr. Cane in a rapid-fire way.  So He used the cane and the leather strap, hitting me hard and fast, and it didn't take long before I was crying.

Big sobs, tears running down my face.

He likes to fuck me while I cry, which is just what He did, one hand wrapped around my hair, pulling my head back, while He thrust His cock into my pussy.

So what is the lesson to be learned from this?  That warm-ups, while normally beneficial, are decidedly detrimental when the Sadist wants His masochist to cry. 

Compare and Contrast...Nipple Clamps

Serendipitously, we found ourselves alone this evening.  He wasted no time getting me into the bedroom, where He promptly tied me up to the top crossbar of our bed frame, standing up.  Tying me up this way served His purpose; He wanted to 'Compare and Contrast' the two types of nipple clamps we own, regular old Clover Clamps, and the toy-like tiny vice grips.

Big fun for Him, not so much for my nipples.  The regular ol' Clover Clamps went on the right nipple, and to put it bluntly, it hurt like a motherfucker.  The toy-like vice grip went on the left nipple, and to put it bluntly, it hurt slightly less-than-a-motherfucker. 

Once He was happy with the clamp placement, He went to work beating my ass.  That left me to balance the pain between my nipples and my ass.  No easy feat, as He wasn't going easy on my butt cheeks.

However, a draw-back to tying me up in a standing position is that He can't fuck me.  So after a few minutes, He untied me and tried to move me, clamps in place, to a bent-over position.  Uh....ouch.  This was painful.  Remember, I had one clamp of each type on a nipple.  This meant the chain was hanging, and as He bent me over and attempted to tie me to the headboard, each chain ended up caught between my body and the mattress.  Painful?  You betcha.

End result?  He had to remove the clamps if He wanted to bend me over.

And that hurt LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER.  It should be noted that as far as removal goes, the good ol' Clover Clamp was FAR more painful.  It felt like my nipple came off when He removed it (no worries, my nipple is still where it belongs).

And, as is His custom, once He had me bent over and tied up, He beat me until I cried.

It was good.  I needed the beating.  As for the "Compare and Contrast" on the nipple clamps, eh, I didn't need that so much. 

But gauging by how hard clamping my nipples made His dick, He did. 

It seems I'm not like the other girls...

Sometimes I wonder why I am wired the way I am.

We were alone this past weekend, from Friday afternoon through Sunday evening.  He took me in the bedroom on Friday and used and abused me.  Nothing new or surprising about that, but it was...different.  Perhaps that's why it's taken me three days to write about it.


Our Friday encounter was simple.  No ropes or restraints, just me bent over the end of the bed, His hand planted firmly in the small of my back to keep me in place.  He used three different implements: a belt, the long-handled shoe horn, and the cane.  He alternated between beating my ass and fucking me.  The beating was hard and fast, and He apparently felt no warm-up was needed.

A few minutes in, when I realized my ass was not going to catch up to speed, and I was literally reminding myself to breath, something changed for me.  I felt disconnected from Him.  He seemed so very focused on causing pain, it was as though I wasn't there.

Objectified, that's the word I want.  I felt objectified.  And it turned me on to be used like that.

Yes, yes, I ended up sobbing, because that's what He wanted, and He beat me until He got my tears.  And yes, He fucked me hard while I was sobbing, which turned me on even more.  It didn't take long for Him to make me cum, either.

Sitting here now, looking back on it, thinking about it, reflecting on the events of Friday evening, I find myself...incredibly aroused.  Aroused and excited at the thought of being beaten, used, and fucked while crying.

So do you see why I sometimes wonder why I am wired the way I am?

Last Friday Night...

Better late than never...here is the post about last Friday's beating.

Master started with rope, around my upper arms, tying me up in a new way, an unfamiliar way.  It frightened me.  I tried to stay calm, but when He bent me over the end of the bed, the rope bit into my skin.  I panicked.  I told Him it hurt.  I told Him it wasn't going to work.

He brought me upright and untied my arms.  He moved the rope to my wrists, tying them together.  Then He bent me over the end of the bed, and attached the long end of the rope to the headboard.  I wasn't going anywhere, and best of all, I was no longer in a panic.

Once He had me where He wanted me, He said, "Warm-ups or no warm-ups?"  Then He laughed.  Yeah, that was really funny.  (It was, actually). 

Then He warmed me up; no 0-100 this time.  He took it slowly, switching between the floggers and Mr. Blister and His hand.  Occasionally He would stop and fuck me.

About half way through, He took my left leg and moved it up onto the bed so that the left bed post held it in place.  This left me in a most-exposed position, and He took advantage of it to use the flogger on my pussy.

Finally, Mr. Cane made an appearance.  How I hate Mr. Cane; he only wants one thing, Mr. Cane.  He wants my tears.  I fought it, I really did, but as always, Mr. Cane won the battle.  His rapid-fire 'whack-whack-whack' all over already tenderized skin did me in, and I sobbed until He stopped.

He untied me at this point, directed me up onto the bed, and then there were orgasms for everyone.  That always makes the tears worthwhile.

Tracks of My Tears

This morning the stars and planets aligned, and  He and I found ourselves home alone.  It was unplanned and unexpected, and we decided to make the most of it.  Up early, I showered, shaved, and made myself pretty.  Once I was ready, we met in the bedroom.

No rope or restraints were used.  He bent me over the bed and exposed my bare ass.  While I waited, He reached for His belt.  Without ceremony, the beating commenced.  I did my best to maintain position, but the occasional extra-sharp whack of the belt caused me to raise up off the bed.  His hand in the middle of my back pushed me back down.

After a few minutes of this, He kicked my legs apart.  He reached in between my legs to see if I was wet, and I was.  With one quick thrust, He entered me and fucked me.  But just a little; there was more beating to be had.  And on it went--beating and fucking, beating and fucking, until....

Until the final round of beating, harder, faster, more intense than before, His hand on my back pushing me into the mattress, this round of beating gave Him want he wanted:  my tears.  He beat me until I cried.  As I sobbed, still bent over the end of the bed, nose running, tears flowing, He fucked me some more.   His delight in my tears was very apparent in the urgency of His thrusts. 

He stopped after a few minutes, ordered me onto the bed, and I was rewarded with an orgasm, His mouth on me, sending me over the edge.  I returned the favor, and He came hard and deep down my throat.

I should add that I enjoy my tears, too.  I like it when He makes me cry.  It isn't easy to do; as much as I like it, as much as I know He wants it, I tend to fight it.  I hold back the tears for as long as I can.  So when He takes me to that point of no return,  it's a rush, a relief, and His excitement is a turn-on for me.

Anyway, it was bliss, all of it.  I needed it.  He needed it.  And my ass still hurts, which makes it all the sweeter.