"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.

Back Scratch Fever...

He likes to rake His fingernails down my back, slowly, digging in deep, marking the delicate skin with a series of angry red lines.  The sensation this creates is electric, and the pain lingers long after He stops.  I quite like it.

This is what it looks like, after one pass down my back:

Cruelty Comes In Many Forms...

He is so mean.

He is evil, and His mind is twisted.

He is cruel beyond belief, the meanest man in the whole entire world.

Why do I say this?  What horrible thing has He done to me, to make me rail against Him in this manner?

Well....this evening He has the remote control.  And He is MAKING ME/FORCING ME TO watch...

DANCING WITH THE STARS, ALL-STARS.

I begged Him to change the channel, to find another show to watch, but no.  He LAUGHED at me instead.  A horrible, awful cackling laugh, the laugh of a man who finds great delight in the suffering of His beloved.

All this because I happened to comment the other day that I had never seen the show, and had no interest in doing so.  Mostly because I want to preserve the few brain cells I have left.

So here I am, being subjected to the likes of Bristol Palin and an assortment of other "stars", most of whom are completely unknown to me.  Sigh....

Sadists are so cruel.

EDIT:  Not long after I posted this, less than a minute perhaps, He changed the channel.  Do not think He did it because I was begging and pleading Him to change it, oh no---I think He realized that He would suffer as much as His slave-girlie if He left it on that show.  And while Sadists like to give pain, they do not like to receive it.  So, He changed the channel, and we watched Breaking Amish instead.

*Waves* Hello!

No worries, I am still here.  The meds I took did their job, Master took excellent care of me,  and now I am all better.  Maybe even better than before; I certainly feel better.

Although I am back to normal, and we are doing fine, I have no kinky-freaky-sexy type stuff to write about.  We seem to be in a lull at the moment, which makes perfect sense to me, given how sick I was.  Sadly, the lull will extend for another week, as Mother Nature is scheduled to visit starting tomorrow, and that bitch is never tardy.

And that's probably a good thing.

Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I need to get back to my housecleaning.  A slave-girl's work is never done, you know.

Knocked On My Ass...

I've been sick.  As the title says, I've been knocked on my ass by an infection for the past week.  It was bad enough that Master finally said, "You are going to the doctor," and despite my intense dislike of doctor visits, I had to agree with Him.  It was time to get some help.  

After managing to make myself presentable to the outside world, He took me to see the doc.  I was given medication, which seems to be working, but I am not quite back to 100% yet.

The worst part of this experience, of course, is that roles have been reversed.  He has been taking care of  me; the Master is serving the slave.  He's cooked for me (made me a delicious roasted winter squash soup, among other things), cleaned the kitchen, fed the cats, basically all the day-to-day stuff I normally do.

No, He hasn't vacuumed or cleaned the bathrooms--there is a limit, people.  But seriously, I know that if He had to, He would.  He's that kind of guy, and I'm grateful to be His.

My Two Cents...

It's so simple, really.

I love Him ; He loves me.  He owns me; I serve Him.

I don't have a ton of rules to follow.  He rarely, if ever (I can't remember a time when it happened) punishes me.  I know His expectations, and I meet them.

I don't "brat" in order to get His attention.  I am not obnoxious or disobedient.  I know what I am supposed to do, and I do it.  It's easy.

Why would I misbehave?

I WANT to serve Him, I WANT to please Him.

He WANTS me to serve Him, and He WANTS me to please Him.

We match.

He wants/desires, and I do.

That's all.

It's not hard.

"Is Your Coochie Awake?"

Yesterday Master was up early, and He was kind enough to let me continue to sleep.  And sleep I did.  I was all bundled under the covers, sleeping soundly, when I suddenly awoke to find Him next to me, naked, reaching for me, asking me if I was awake.

"No," was my response as I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes as He pulled away the covers and moved His hand between my legs.

"How about your coochie?  Is your coochie awake?"  That was the next question, and it received the same answer.

"No, my coochie is not awake."

Well, He knew how to wake it up.  One quick slap to a sleeping pussy will wake it right up.

So now that I was more or less awake, He showed me how awake He was.  By moving between my legs and shoving His rock hard cock deep inside me.  He fucked me for a long time, flipped me over, fucked me some more while grabbing my ass, then flipped me back again and fucked me until He came.

Oh yes, it was a good morning indeed.