anal beads · Richard · spanking

Anal Beads……who knew?

 anal.jpeg

He was in a funny mood and I knew it from the second I got to the apartment. Both of us had worked all day and snuck out early to be together. I was giggly and he was patient. I knew that it would be an easy session with Richard….OK, maybe easy is never the right or the best word. What I am trying to say is that oftentimes it is apparent from the moment we meet at the apartment that he is in the mood to hurt me or humiliate me. Today it felt different.

He told me there was something new he wanted me to experience. I always love when he tells me that. My mind searches for answers and I can never guess what it is. As much as I have experienced I know that there is so much to come. The past couple months have been spent with Richard easing me into serving him anally. I wonder though if easing is not the exact word I seek today…because if I remember right the first time he took me that way it was unexpected and anything but easy. I had limited experience with anal sex before Richard. Mark introduced me to this particular pleasure that was anything but (pardon the bun….I mean pun) at the time. Feel free to read about it here…

 https://pixiepie.wordpress.com/2007/02/09/thoughtsquestions-and-anal-sex-oh-my/

….my I am in a corny mood….must be the fact I am spending the Labor Day weekend at the coast and then the day I get back Richard comes home.

Anyway since my time and experience with Mark was limited so was his opportunity to train me to be accostomed to anal sex. The few times we did it I remember it as being painful…yet that was part of the appeal (for both of us).

Richard has had plenty of opportunity to introduce me to anal delights.  And he started pretty early into our relationship letting me know that would be expected of me. I still remember the very first time he penetrated me anally….but that isn’t what I am writing about today. Some things take ALOT of time to develop into writing material. Lets just say it happened on one of the afore mentioned days when he felt like hurting me….

But not on this day…today he started by giving me a  hard spanking. Richard doesn’t always ‘just’ spank me so when he does I always remember it. And even at it’s hardest I can take it..it’s his hand and I accept that pain easily. Usually it is caning or the crop or whatever he pulls out of his magic sadistic mystery bag for the day. Today it was a spanking. As he spanked me he told me what he was going to do to me next….he had beads. Anal beads he said and he told me he was going to slip them…well you know where they go. He showed them to me and they looked harmless enough. I guess I didn’t understand the appeal. I mean…they were small and round and not at all scary or even erotic looking. In my mind if I was going to have something back there…I should be able to feel it. Right? 🙂

I spoke my concerns and with amusement in his eyes he started to explain how it worked. And this is terribly humiliating to even tell you but now that I have started I can’t stop now. As I was over his knee he pressed one finger into my bottom and told me to squeeze his finger hard as I could. So I did. I felt concious of being full…and I liked that feeling of having his finger inside of me.  I wonder if Richard realized how humiliating that was….but it gets worse. Next he told me to try and push his finger out of my bottom. What !! I thought…that is impossible. I was flushed and shy but I did it. I turned my face away and pushed just a little, I mean who can look at someone when you are trying to push their finger out of your butt? I mean, really!  He explained that both actions gave me different sensations just as there would be different sensations with the beads…different going in…different coming out and that I could control some of the sensation with my own muscle. Ok..Ok..I was ready for anal bead 101 to be over…though I really did appreciate him for being so informative. I also appeciated the fact that he really lubed up the beads, he said that it isn’t likely the beads would hurt me but sometimes the string can cut your skin. Isn’t he a nice guy? I know how he would feel if he hurt me. 🙂

So he put extra lubricant on the beads and told me he was ready. Still…I wasn’t impressed. I didn’t expect to love or hate them. I remember feeling a tad ambivalant about the experience. The first one went in and I thought..oh this is ok. It felt strange like the tip of a finger but only I felt myself close entirely around it. It was an odd feeling. And then the second one went in and the feeling was turning more and more odd until I realized I liked it. I liked the opening- closing sensation…and the full kind of shifty feeling I felt the more beads he slid inside of me. I was squirming over his knee in pleasure…..I was in Heaven. It was the type of pleasure that just rolls out of you. I was literally purring right there across his lap. I can’t even imagine the picture I made….and I didn’t care. It was nothng but pleasure and I knew that Richard enjoyed giving me pleasure on this day as much as he enjoys giving me pain on others. It is all the same to me.. :).

What goes up must come down….what goes in must come out. I had forgotten about that. He pulled them out once just to put them back in…again more squirming…more purring. It was one of THE MOST pleasurable experiences of my life. I love anal beads…who knew?

I thought later about that silly fairy tale..the one about Jack. Remember how his mother was furious when he traded the family cow for ‘magic beans’. I am thinking now that Jack’s mother was disappointed because at first she thought Jack said….”Look mom..magic beads!” Imagine her let down when he handed her beans. 🙂

Anyway…his hand began to stroke me. I was dripping wet and the sensation of having his fingers steadily rubbing my clit and the shifty rolling rhythm of my magic beads inside of me my orgasm was easy to come by. As my orgasm surged forward I asked almost in time if I could come..he laughed out loud at me…but still told me yes…”Yes” he said. “You can cum, my toy.”

As I came he pulled the beads out of my body and my orgasm doubled in its intensity. I falt as if my orgasm came from back there…a jolt of cum shocks exploded with the removal of each bead! It was a long orgasm the kind that lingers…the kind I can’t breath through.

Another amazing new experience. I wanted to do it again right away but he said no…but he was happy that I loved it. I could tell. It was a fun experience and I guess I’ll submit to it again.

I mean if he really wants me to. 🙂 After all…I just do what I’m told, right?

letters · M. · Richard · sometimes sad

To Richard at midnight

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
~W.S. Merwin

Richard~ I did a task for you today and wanted to tell you about it. You are still gone though and I couldnt. It is hard when you are gone when I dont have your voice in my ear or your hands on my body. The task reminded me of your fingers parting my skin, your eyes tasting my pleasure.I keep my cell phone in my pocket and wait to hear the quiet vibration of an electronic caress through the thinness of my pantsI bless the technology that allows you to touch me. It reminds me that you still exist, that you are coming back and that everything is still OK.

Sometimes when you are gone I fall off track, I grow sad because no one is there to see it. Pieces of me blow away and I run to gather them close to me as if I have spilled my bag on the street. I try to steady myself to straighten what has toppled but only succeed half of the time. You cant help me make it right and that makes it worse for me somehow, to figure it all out on my own. I dont like that.

I dont like missing you. I dont like realizing I need you because need always ends in pain. There has been enough pain and maybe that is why I need you so. You stopped me from hurting when I couldnt do it alone. Remember when I decided it was over with Mark, those nights of indecision where you made me hold strong. I couldnt have moved past him if not for you. Is that when I started needing you?

Voices are different when you are gone, spread out more yet oddly they cover me less. Your voice of logic, of wisdom, of ownership is not heard by me and I fall prey to those less deserving of what I offer. I miss your grounding voice of approval in my accomplishments as much as I miss the flash of irritation when I disappoint you.

It is harder at night, isnt everything. Even harder when you arent there to warn me against the nightreminding me that it still gets hard and that is alright. It is still alright. We both know what causes me to mourn. What holds me in a hard grasp, what I am so close to moving past yet havent made it yet. I dread the hours before falling asleep for it is when my mind lingers to everything bad and everything behind me and everything ahead of me that has changed and will change.

You tell me everything changes, we all love, we all lose and even knowing that we still..all love and all lose. It is what makes us human, fallible, lacking some how but isnt it also what makes us real and whole. You are teaching me that. If we were never whole we could never break.

You break me.

You break me all the while holding me… even knowing I have not been whole in such a long time. And when I cant sleep I get up to write, knowing that is what you would urge me to do. Only it reminds me that you live in my writing these days and it makes me taste you. Have you ever tasted a memory? I have. It is stinging or soft, sometimes it leads me back to bed and covers me. It sits with me while I go to sleep. Yes, I have tasted a memory. I miss the taste that reminds me I only write the story of our mingled lives now. I forget all I wrote before.I miss the hands that teach me that even through all the numbness I can feel. I can break. And then you look at me and I know it is alright because you see what I see too, you feel me. I think maybe we should make a rule, I am good with rules. Dont allow me to hurt while you are gone, remind me that you are coming back, leave me with the feel of your touch and the marks of your hand on my flesh.

Just a few more days now.

~still smiling

.pixie

bdsm · Life in general · life lessons · M. · Richard · S/M

Nightime thoughts

I will not profess to understand the complexities of the sadistic mind. The sadistic mind is more interesting to me than the mind of a masochist. For surely it is many layered and more multifarious than my own. I am intrigued by most things different than myself. I am a submissive, I have a pretty good indication of how my mind operates. I have turned it in to something easy to sit and hold, something that no longer weighs heavy on me. It now lifts me up to be a better person, to know myself more deeply.

I know what I am thinking as a masochist. I am enthralled at the thought of figuring out what is in the mind of a Dominant. Richard and I have tossed back and forth a few emails about just this topic over the past few days. I compare the personalities of the Dominant men I have come in contact with in my life trying to get a handle on what I prefer, what I need. In other words if I could describe the perfect Dominant man what qualitites would he have?

To date I have had two dominant men in my life. Mark and Richard are strikingly similar in several ways yet their differences stack up. The longer I know Richard and the more time I am allowed to de-romanticize what I had with Mark in my mind the clearer their differences become. I am in no way saying that one type of Dominance is better than a another, nor am I suggesting that Richard’s style is anymore or any less effective than Marks. Each have distinct qualities that I love and to go further into this I have had different responses to each of them even if the experience was similar. Different expectations…different chemistries…different needs I suppose. Even different degrees of submission and respect.

A recurring question that continues to surface with Richard and I is me wondering if it would be easier for him to Dominate me if he didn’t care for me so much. The first night I met him…and looking back I laugh because I drove home shaking my head at his arrogance…he warned me not to fall in love with him. He said that it is common for women to fall in love with their Dom. We joke now to each other about his warning that some where along the way I chose to ignore. So it makes me wonder if he were different…if he were not Dominant and not everything that Richard has shown me he is inside would I still care for him the way I do? If I were just submissive..and not sweet and charming and entertaining (oh and modest) would he still feel for me the way he does? I wonder if the style of Dominance feeds into the exchange of emotions….or is it just you allow yourself to be vulnerable to the other and that in fact leaves you vulnerable to care. But I get off track….

Anyway…I am learning about different styles of Dominating. Richard has encouraged me to chat with other Doms. One in particular has been holding my attention and Richard and I have been discussing him quite frequently. He is very different from Mark and Richard..truth be told he is unlike most of the people I have come into contact with. I am intrigued by him. He is demanding of me during our chats..admonishes me if I come across as disrespectful..or as he called it ‘flippant’. Now anyone who knows me knows that is the way to my heart…strict direct orders leaving no doubt in my mind who has the power.

Richard said this when we discussed it….
“”….(I) know that it might be easier for you as a submissive to have an understanding with your Dom that you will always be respectful, subdued, eyes on the floor, never ask a question, etc. And I know that the ambiguity on this subject that you get from me makes your life a bit harder. But you are handling it just fine, and this brings me to my third point.

Third, there are Doms in the world that demand what I have described above. They believe that that is the appropriate behaviour for a submissive – ALWAYS submissive, always ‘on’ if you will. I tell you this because one day you may submit to someone like that, and you should know it exists and recognize it. I could ‘train’ you to be that way, and maybe in my role I should do more of that to prepare you for whatever comes next. I have not done that – it isn’t my normal style.

It seems to me that Dominance like that might really change you – make you into something other than the fun-loving, cheerful, exuberant, vivacious creature that you are. It might make you into something that I would enjoy using, but in between would not enjoy being with. Does this make sense to you? I know there is appeal in that to you – (and to me as well) – to have you be a totally owned and used toy, an object, and when I am done, I put you on the shelf and go back to my normal life. Maybe we would be in a better place if that was how I had proceeded. But I didn’t.
I like being around you, as you, a person not an object. Owned, but a person nonetheless.

So, I set out to teach you to be a better submissive, and to give you new experiences, not to change who you are. The next Dom might be more like that. You should give some thought to how that might feel, how you would like that. I am not being judgmental about it – you might thrive
under it.”“

So my point is I am learning through my explorations that there are many different types of Doms out there. I like that Richard feels it is his responsibility to prepare me for my next experience…it makes me happy he cares enough for me to want me settled in a good place before he leaves my world but it saddens me more than I can express that that day may come.

I am also sad that there aren’t more Dominant men out here that are willing to comment and give their opinion on all of this. Is it easier to be detached from your submissive…are Doms and subs destined to fall in love, is it the nature of the power exchange or more the pull of two individual souls that mesh so well?
Am I wrong to love the fact that Richard is the cruelest man I have ever known yet he is also the most tender and receptive. That he can kiss me until I feel connected to his very core and a moment later be gripping my throat causing me to beg for my very air.

*sigh* So much to think on…yet it is late and I must get some sleep.

Oh…this seems to be the night for rambling questions.
I am off to bed…goodnight friends. 😉

bdsm · bondage · breath play · caning · collar · D/s · limits · limits lost · restraints · Richard · S/M

Cry

One of my favorite smells is fresh cut lumber. I love it. I love walking into a home improvement store -I  just breath deeply..I find that scent intoxicating. I am not sure why that particular smell is a favorite of mine. I love to work outside in the garden…digging and planting and getting muddy. One of the best parts of this for me is having a load of freshly cut wood chips delivered. The scent can linger for days.

I have no past association with this scent, I mean there is no poignant girlhood memory that draws me towards this smell, I just like it. It’s fresh and woodsy and makes me feel good.

I like it a lot more now. I told you earlier that Richard built me a cross. It smelled heavenly and it was almost enough of an incentive for me to look forward to being strapped to it. You know, like what he does to me when I am tied there isn’t incentive enough.  🙂  Everytime I am restrained to the cross that smell calms me.

Richard is many things. He is brilliant and handsome and such a good person…..he is the type of person that just draws me in with his personality. The focus of this blog may hide the fact of just how loving and playful he can be. His sadism is just one part of a complex man that I completely adore. Another one of his qualities is that he has this twisted little kinky creative side to him. He made this uh….thing, I hesistate because I am not quite sure what to call it. Kinda, sorta like a whip….but I am getting ahead of myself.

I hated it.

I was already tied to the cross. I had hot cane marks criss- crossing my bottom and the back of my damp legs. Sometimes the intensity of his touch varies. There is always pain but given in different doses. On this day I could feel a real intent to hurt me behind the swings of his cane. They fell harder and faster and there was less recovery time between swings. Sometimes I think he can mentally detach himself from his emotions…that way it is easier to ignore my begging, my pain. I really want to explore this idea one day…we learn early in life not to hurt others…you know play nice..happy hands….all that. And we also learn it especially applies to those we love. I wonder if it is esier for a sadist to hurt one he cares about or to hurt a stranger. Maybe it doesn’t matter…? Oh well, thats another post.

I will remember this as being one of the most intense canings ever.

So I was a little shocked when he took a step closer to me and did not move to unbuckle my restraints. I was already trembly and needing held.  His hands traveled the length of my body and came to rest on my shoulders. “I love hurting you.” he said. I knew that. I didn’t say anything, he didn’t expect for me to. One of his hands encircled my neck and pressed in just enough to start restricting my breathing. I love this. I love this so much that when he releases me I search for his hand as if to nuzzle against it asking him to do it again. One day I will cum from having his hand wrapped around my throat.

His other hand traced the cane marks on my back. I was so wet and he was standing so close to me I could feel the fabric of his pants against my sore bottom. I pressed myself against him the best I could as I was tied tightly. I wanted him, no I needed him inside me and shamelessly whimpered my need. I think he likes when I whimper, such an interesting sound even to my own ears. Not a voice, not begging…just a primal need that bubbles out of me. 

He told me what I slut I was, how wet I was…and it was all true. I love feeling like that, feeling that need when it is so deep you ache all over with the want of it. I heard him remove his pants and soon felt the head of his cock press against my bottom. At that point I could think of nothing better, nothing more perfect than having him take me hard from behind as I hung from the cross. I was dripping wet and I felt it on the tops of my legs. I only got wetter when I felt his fingers cool and slick with lubricant press inside my bottom. I could have fainted from the pleasure of it. I was wrong, there IS something more perfect than being taken hard from behind hanging on a cross….being taken hard from behind ‘there’!

This still hurts me at first and I still feel my body stretch to accomodate him. Yet it is a fierce need driven pain that I can get lost in. It opens me up to everything secret and hidden about myself and I offer it without shame to him. I like that he wants to use me in this way.

And after that…after all that… I thought it was over. Of course it was not. I felt him pull out of me and I felt sore and swollen down there and my back ached from the cane and my legs and arms were strained from being stretched out on the cross. I felt my sweat mix with his and our juices ran together down my body. I was in pure subbie heaven. My head rested on the wood of the cross and I tried to breath so I couldn’t hear it. I wanted to regain some sense of composure but he wouldn’t let me. He kept talking, telling me what he was going to do to me. That he could do anything he wanted to me, I was his submissive cunt and that he owned me. Didn’t he, didn’t he? He made me answer…again and again. As he spoke he began to whip me with these long leather ties..almost like leather boot laces. They were stiff and hard, not at all like the soft doeskin of my cherished flogger. He doubled them up in his hand like a bouquet of belts and was using them to lay stinging snappy bites across my already tormented skin.

They snapped and bit and it felt as if it pulled skin away with every second of contact. In my pain crazed mind I imagined pieces of my skin flying off the whip and hitting Richard in the face. It would block his vision and he would have to stop…only this thought made me think of giggling and although I was never officially taught this lesson it makes sense to even a masochist like myself it isn’t wise to giggle when being whipped on a cross. Still…it was funny.

But back to the regularly scheduled torure of pixie….

I felt like he was standing a foot or two from me and firing off a rapid succession of stiff rubber bands off of one of those handmade wooden guns I was never allowed to play with when I was a kid.

The bites stopped finally and I rejoiced in the fact I hadn’t lost it. I was so ready for him to let me down. It seemed like my pain tolerance was fading and I began to feel quite vulnerable…almost like something inside me had switched over. The pain was now really only pain and my body wanted it to stop. I made noises that I hadn’t ever heard come from my body..I felt itchy from the raised sharp welts that the laces pulled up from my skin and I longed to have him bring me down and hold me close.

He picked the cane back up and I almost lost it. I felt choked like I wanted to say No…I can’t do this anymore. Only he wasn’t planning on caning me again. He tied the strands of leather to the tip of the cane. I heard him swish it around behind me, I swear I heard him chuckle so delighted he was with what he had made. My words were lost on him as I told him I couldn’t take anymore…please, please stop I asked him.
He stood behind me again and held the leather against my face telling me to breath in its scent. It mixed so nicely with the wood smell of the cross, with his very own scent. As he spoke he ran his hand open palm down up and down my back. He would stop every second or so and point out a welt or a mark that he found especially attractive, usually pinching it or pressing his finger down into the red skin. But always back to the soft calm comforting touch up and down my back, this is the two sides of Richard coming together. I love to linger inside of that touch.

He stepped back and began to whip me with his new toy. The leather tore into my skin like a fire. He alternated small tappy stingy bites with full fledged blows of the leather that caused me to cry out. I pressed myself as deep into the cross as I possible could only I couldn’t get away. With every blow I felt myself buckle and I could hardly stand, only I had to stand because not only did I have my wrists and ankles tied tightly to the cross he had looped a rope through my collar and secured it high above my head. I was more at his mercy than I have ever been.
I felt sweat pour down my back causing the leather to bite deeper and sting more ferociously. It was one of the hardest pains ever and on top of that emotionally I was spent even before he began. I heard my voice begging him to stop only he did not. My legs, my hips, my bottom, my back and shoulders all felt the bite of the whip until I was sure I was one giant blister. I felt him press against me again, he rubbed his body cruelly over mine knowing the feel of him caused further agony to my abused skin.

He spoke to me…at first comfortingly, telling me how well I was doing, what a good girl I was. “I am asking so much of you aren’t I” his voice was almost parental, loving and soft. I pleaded with him to please let me down that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Even as I spoke I knew he was not finished with me yet. “I know you want me to stop. It is your choice. I will continue doing what I am doing or you can turn around and take them on your breasts. Which do you prefer?” I couldn’t answer the pain was too real in my throat and I couldn’t swallow it down and move past it. He took my silence as a telling answer and stepped back to lift the whip again. He brought it down on my body again and again. He paid special attention to the soft skin at the small of my back…the tight skin stretched across my taunt shoulder blades…the sensitive backs of my legs.

I felt tears on my face and was startled at my tears. I never ever cry. I marveled that he had brought tears to my eyes, tears that I wasn’t able to hold inside of myslef. I let them fall unabashedly down my face. I was crying, he had made me cry. I felt…not quite broken but wounded somehow. I imagined a very old dish…the kind you see in an antique store with the thousands of little cracks and breaks in it yet somehow it is still in one piece. I was still in one piece, I was still held together even though I cried.
I felt him unbuckle me from everything and catch me as I fell back against him off of the cross. My legs wobbled and he held me tightly to him, tighter than he ever had before. I was wet all over and he felt cool against me. He let me cry…told me to wrap my arms around him as he held me before carrying me to the bed.

He found a limit of mine today and brazenly walked past it. He knew I would want that. I learned that I could cry and that he would let me, that crying was OK and if anything drew us closer. As if my tears were just another gift of submission that I place at his feet…like my body…like my heart. I learned that he wants to hurt me more than I can take, more than I want to be hurt. I like how that takes even more control from me and gives it to him.

With every limit broken I grow stronger in my submission.

bdsm · bondage · D/s · limits · needles · piercings · restraints · Richard · S/M · sub space

Not there….

Isn’t it funny when people say something and you tuck it away in the back of your mind. Like it is always there but you aren’t sure when it will surface again or even if it ever will.It started several weeks back, really the very first time Richard put a needle against my skin and slid it inside. It was over and he had already untied me. He was holding me and I was lost in that floaty deeply connected space where nothing can touch me except for him. Although he speaks to me in whispers and caresses no words are necessary to maintain the level of intimacy that sharing pleasure and pain deliver.

I remember feeling amazingly safe and nurtured. I felt quite small and vulnerable as I often do after an intense experience. Cherished and precious to him. I allow myself to get lost in feelings like that.

I was on my back and he had an arm under me and his other arm was exploring my body. He cupped his hand between my legs and pressed into me for a moment before drawing back slightly and opening my lips. He allowed his fingers to pull on my cunt lips ever so slightly. He whispered that one day he would put needles here…and here..and he showed me exactly where as he pulled on me again opening my pink secrets to his exploring fingers before kissing me in the soft spots where soon he would torture.

Like I said, I put it out of my mind. It was a few weeks later before it surfaced again. And when it did my first reaction was a settled feeling, like this was just another boundary he would cross, another limit that was no longer my own. I was calm.

Strangely I was calm. I had an inner calm that settled my heart and kept me focused. I was intently watching Richard, listening to his words and feeling his hands on my skin. It was as clear as anything I have ever known how much I trusted the man in front of me. Maybe I was startled by that not that it was new to me. When I think of the things he has done to me..the fact I trust him is nothing new. It was the raw intensity of that emotion and how it calmed me and pulled my core together even if it was only so he could break it down.

I would leave out the mundane details of him preparing me for the needles yet it is part of what makes me able to take it. As I am tied there he leaves me to wash his hands, I hear the water running, smell the soap in the air. He returns to my side pulling on latex gloves, their snap causes me to turn my head away. My heart feels faster and I am being lured away from the calmness around me. For an instant I feel overwhelmed by my powerlessness and hear the familiar call that I whisper to myself that I can’t do this. I am not ready for this. Yet I must be, he feels as if I am and that decision is not one that is mine to make.

His fingers feel strange, alien on my skin when he touches me. In my head I don’t like the distance that even this smallest piece of artificial skin puts between us. When he hurts me I want to feel his skin on mine…I like knowing he feels my responses and my wetness on his fingertips. I imagine the very juice of my womanhood being absorbed through his fingers just as I absorb so much of him. I grow frustrated at the necessity of barriers designed to keep infection out of my body.

I wrap more of his words around me as I close my eyes. I feel that he has moved lower down the bed. I feel his eyes, I know his eyes. I see his eyes although my own are squeezed tightly shut. They are eyes consuming the flesh before him… warm helpless skin.. not unlike myself, ready to be forever changed by his touch.

I feel the alcohol cold on my skin, such a contrast beside his warm touch. I am scared and long to watch but can not. I feel him wanting to hurt me, it is restrained but I feel it from his fingers as he opens me up to prepare me for what he is about to do. I know that he is speaking and his words sound like a gentle hum against my skin. It carries me to where I feel held and safe and although I have lost his words they bring safety back to my vulnerability and I strain to listen.

I hear a slight fumbling with the needles, they are individually wrapped and I hear him open two. His soft words confirm that and I hear him tell me he is going to use two needles, only two this time. He tells me he is ready to start. He makes me open my eyes, makes me look at him, makes me tell him I am alright.

“Yes Sir, I am alright, I am ready.” I meant that too. When he asks me if I am alright he expects honesty. If I had said no he would have slowed the process and continued when I was ready.

I wish I could describe the way it felt. I expected a great searing, tearing pain. That is what you imagine when you think of having a needle slid into your labia. Yet it wasn’t a harsh pain, it was a gliding heat in quickly and then out again. A soft burn started quickly and then smoldered there. The imagery was what hurt the most, I have a needle piercing my labia. I said that to myself and imaigned how it must look. He told me it was beautiful, that I was beautiful. I was excited and slightly frightnened at the same time. Again, “Are you alright, look at me.”

“Yes Sir, I am OK…can I see?  I want to see it.”

Only I didn’t really want to see it…I almost wanted it to be over but I knew it was going to happen again. Nothing but pure submission kept me still…it seemed scarier to me somehow after the first needle was in. It was something that to me seemed so extreme…a year ago I would have read about having a temporary labia piercing and thought…I will never do that.

The second needle going in hurt more and he told me later it was harder to get in. I wonder what it must feel like to press metal into someone’s skin. Just to know that he can. That feeling must be overwhelmingly powerful.

I like that my submission can make him feel that way.

This was hard for me, it was once a hard limit of mine. I am not sure what my limits are anymore. Once both needles were in I was amazed at my calmness. I felt a strong desire for him that was only rivaled by the deepness of my submission. I told him later that he could have done anything to me at that point, my head was in the perfect place. He knew that, he said. I think he always knows. I remember wanting his hands to touch me everywhere, as if the needles had marked me somehow, made me more his.

I like that his Dominance can make me feel that way.

 

bdsm · D/s · pixies pictures · S/M · spanking

Fingerprints from Richard

I wonder sometimes if I am the only submissive that will walk away from her Dominant and go home, strip and look in a full length mirror. OK…..I admit, sometimes I do this while I am still with him. It isn’t just that I am vain.
I love to see the marks he has left on my body. Evidence of his brutality, his ownership of my body and my submissiveness to him are alive in every darkened or swollen part of my body. I look sometimes at a mark or at a bruise and just wonder at it. I am fascinated by the different shades of lavendar and pale blue my body can create. I feel sad when they start to fade….though I know there will always be more. Right now I have a dark bruise on the top of each of my breasts from a heavy cane. They should really be gone by now but Richard plays with them and presses into them every chance he gets. I am almost starting to believe he likes to hurt me. 🙂
Once I got home and realized that I had perfectly formed fingerprints on the top of my bottom. I like seeing his mark on me. I like feeling that I carry marks of his ownership every where I go. I especially like coming to him the next day and him undressing me  to see what remains.
I love the cane marks that take days to fade, the bruises that last over a week at times and the days when I can’t wear sleeveless because I have small clothes pin induced bruises up and down my arms.
Once Richard caned me hard with a single stroke on my calve….later that night out at dinner I realized just how visible it was. Maybe I should have been horrified but I hoped someone noticed it and just knew why it was there and what it signified.

So many differnt types of marks….I can usually tell what implement created what mark. Canes are easy to see….though the heavy ones tend to bruise blending in with marks caused by a hard spanking or paddling.

One mark in particular fascinated me…and the memory of it still does. Maybe it isn’t so much the mark as it is the wonderful sadistic cruelty that caused it to end up there. We were sitting on the bed and going through some new toys that he was showing me. He was showing me these crazy little foreign toys where you actually light the end and allow it to touch the skin. I am so naive…first thing out of my mouth was “You would never do that to me…”

He didn’t answer right away but started to tease me by lighting matches as if he was going to light one. I had a pretty good feeling that he was teasing me…I know that if he ever was ever going to use something like that on me he would restrain me first. He lit another match and blew it out right away. Before I even realized what he was doing he had a tight grip on the back of my neck and pressed the still red hot match tip on the side of my breast.  See why I think he likes hurting me.

That mark lasted a long, long time. He monitored it closely because I know he would like to hurt me again this way one day. Perhaps more methodically next time….but I am quite sure it will happen again. He was pleased when it eventually healed up and did not leave a scar.

I love living in the skin that he longs to mark as his own.
 

bdsm · caning · D/s · focus · M. · pain slut · Richard · S/M · sub space

Word Pain

Nestled beside him I thought it was over. It wasn’t.

I am always left wondering when a scene stops and when it begins again. I have wondered this so often lately I have come to realize there are no real scenes between Richard and I. I am not suggesting that he always has me tied to a cross or over his bed…though that does have its appeal! We do things together, we go out to dinner way too often…..we go to the movies or just hang out and eat ice cream in bed together watching tragic movies. Yet even when I am not face down on the bed begging him to stop hurting me there is always, always an underlying current that stresses my obvious submission to him. For example, he orders for me when we go to dinner….decides what wine I will have or if I will have any at all. He thinks nothing of reaching over from the driver’s seat and spreading my legs and flipping my skirt up- just because he can.

I never doubt that I am owned. Even when he is far away, I know. He make sure I know. He travels from time to time and it just so happens that this is one of those times…knowing I hate change and ambiguity he left me an email of things to remember while he is gone. I will share # 9 and #10 with you……..

“9. never forget, or get too far from the thought, that I own you, and you are my submissive cunt.

10.  look forward to my return, and the chance to serve me – by which I mean keep yourself focused and positive so that you can be at your best for me when I return.  Submissive, wet, anxious to please.  That is the reason you need to keep yourself focused – so that you can be the best submissive you can be for me. “

So it is never far from my mind, with reminders like that how could it possibly stray?

 The intensity of my submission fluctuates as does his expectations of me but the ‘scene’ is always there because it is not a role for us. It is who I have become. I like this because it allows me to live freely in my submission to him. There is no room for role confusion.

What is wonderful about Richard, and luckily I had the same thing with Mark, is he has an amazing intuitive and nurturing side to him. I think that even if I wasn’t a masochist, even if I had a clear idea able to cut through the ribbon separating pain from pleasure I would still submit to him. I bask in it. He can take me through the most intense experience and leave me barely able to think on my own and then nurture me back to where he needs me to be.

That is what he was doing the other day. I was curled against him, our faces almost touching. My eyes were closed and my head was busy clearing away the submissive fog that covers me even after the pain fades. I was in that peaceful place that mimics sub space, the darkened room of quiet noise that I linger in after the pain sneaks away. It is these times that truly make me his…the way he can not take his hands off of me and the steady way he strokes me and caresses my skin, the way he kisses me over and over until I can barely breath. This is the deluxe version of aftercare… :).

I may have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. I often do when he holds me this way. He makes me feel safe and cared for even after the most intense pain laced scenario.

I felt his hand climb up my back and he rested his hand against the back of my neck. I felt him press his fingers into my skin. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt me and choking me was not his intention. Ye his grip was hard enough to get my attention and it told me he was not drifting off for a nap. He obviously had need of me again.

 “Get your mouth down there and suck my cock.” His words were hard in my ear. That is how fast he can switch over from Richard to RICHARD.

The pressure of his hand never let up and it guided me down his body until his cock filled my mouth. I felt him grow in my mouth and ignored that unsettling feeling that comes when I recognize my own power over him. I don’t like that and when it rushes through me I remind myself that I only have the power that he allows me. I tell myself how lucky I am that he allows me the privilege of serving him in this intimate way.

He pulled my head away and replaced his cock with his thumb exploring my mouth with his finger. His now wet finger brushed my own drool across my lips.

 “My cocksucker.” He said watching me, his grip still hard on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes as his words wound around that soft place inside of myself that waits to be hurt. I shook my head slightly, I didn’t like this word and I didn’t like when he used it to describe me. It’s a hard word full of negative connotations and not something that I have been able to eroticize at all. I am his ‘cunt’, his ‘slut’….both of these can come right out of my mouth on demand but even that was a difficult process.

He pressed my head down into the bed and pushed me roughly over on my side. He got off the bed and walked to the other side of the room. I was glad he hadn’t made me say it, I am not sure I could have said it. I have struggled in the past with using words like that even at his request. He gets so much pleasure out of it when I do I try hard to do as he asks…just sometimes I can’t make myself say the words. I turned my head and watched him wondering what he was going to do.I saw the thin wood in his hand….my first thought was of how thankful I was that he had not picked up the heavy green lexan cane. I swear it has spikes. He sat on the bed beside me and placed a hand on my hip pulling me over towards where he sat. I waited for him to tell me to roll over onto my tummy or to get up on all fours but he didn’t. He smoothed his hand over my hip and slid it back down almost to my knee. 

 Even before he told me it hit me what he was planning and I turned my head and whimpered into the pillow. I have often fantasized about having one part of my body isolated and savagely caned. He’s done this a bit. For example he has caned my breast in the same place over and over until I was sure the skin would break. It never did. Yet the pressure he would be willing to put behind a swing of the cane landing on my hip was certainly going to be different than what he would do on my small breast.  He began to tap the cane on my hip and down my outer thigh..tap..tap..tap. Over and over it made contact, not hurting but causing redness and a slight hot sensation. The taps began to get harder and it seemed as if he was caning me in a series of eight hits up and down the top part of my outer leg.  Every time he would go down towards my knee he would come back up and increase the pain of the cane. It really started to hurt and soon I was clutching at the pillow trying as hard as I could to not roll over or push the hateful cane away. This was hard and it seemed to go on for such a long time.  I am as much terrified as I am calmed by the sense that he holds little back now when he beats me. My leg felt swollen and hot and with every blow of the cane the pain increased. He kept his other hand on the bony part of my hip pressing me into the bed not letting me squirm around too much. Just when I thought he had finished he would start another journey down and then back up my leg. I was headed away from the pain when he stopped. 

I held the large pillow against me and bit into it hoping the cotton would absorb some of the cane’s torment. It didn’t. I heard him toss the cane down beside me and I looked up at him to see if he was truly finished and when I did I felt his cock once again press against my lips. He thrust into my mouth with an almost angry stroke filling my mouth and making me want to take in as much of him as I could.  I had no control this time, no power. I liked it more this time. I love his cock in my mouth when my body is still wracked with pain. He held the back of my head and used my mouth as if he would my cunt. When he does this I am always reminded that I am his to do with as he pleases. This is a feeling that meets that ‘please humiliate me’ part of my submission.  He pulled out of my mouth and gripped the back of my head tightly forcing me to look up at him.

 “Tell me what you are.” His voice was soft but almost menacing as it played around near my ear not quite sinking in. I struggled against his hand holding my head as his other hand drowned itself between my legs.

 I shook my head…”I don’t know what you want me to say.” And I truly didn’t. My mind was on myself and on the building pain enhanced orgasm brewing deep within me. I was right on the cusp of release. “Tell me you are a cocksucker.”

 Oh, God! Anything but that I thought. I can’t say that. I love when he throws filthy and vile words and names my way but it takes something from me to have to say them myself. It is hard enough for me to use the word ‘cunt’. Even in my writing up until Richard I never really had a name for it….I called it ‘down there’ or ‘you know…that’. He forced me to choose a word for it and then made me use it. So I picked  ‘cunt’ because ‘pussy’ to me is just awful. Now he insists even in my writing that I use a real word.“No” I mumbled slightly not really as a refusal but more as a denial that I could possibly say that.

 “Say it. Say you are a cocksucker.”

I whispered “No” again trying so hard to figure out why I couldn’t say it….wanting so badly to say it for him. It was such an easy way to bring him pleasure. I longed for that look he gets that tells me he is pleased with me…I wanted him to tell me I was a good girl, his good submissive cunt. Yet I couldn’t make myself obey him. My own voice was too loud in my head and I struggled to break free of that tight sticky wrong feeling and revel once more in my complete submission to him.

He dropped his hand from the back of my head and pulled his body completely away from mine. I was left alone there in the middle of his bed curled on my side struggling to say what he wanted me to. Inside I cursed my weakness, the way I was letting him down.

“So it’s all about you…your orgasm? As long as you cum you can do or not do whatever you would like, is that the way it is?” He said all this as he reclined back against the pillows, he said all of this with hard, disappointed eyes taking in my faults. I shook my head but didn’t speak, I couldn’t. What could I say?

“I have had two ‘no’s and a refusal to answer me. Do I need to get the cane back out?”

(That last line may live forever in my top five of the hottest things he has ever said to me.)

As he questioned me his fingers bit cruelly into the sharp throbbing welts of the cane left on my leg and I moaned into the pillow. His voice was cold and there was more than a hint of warning and impatience.For once the idea of that cane touching my skin again made me sink a little inside myself. I looked at him and knew that I was pressing my luck. Why did I have to be such a silly little girl….they were only words and less painful than what would happen if my now semi-angry Dom picked up the cane again. (and don’t say anything Ron…Richard would NEVER touch me in anger..:) ). 

So I said it. “I am a cocksucker.” “Your cocksucker.”  I added for emphasis.

And I survived.

And later that night, he caned me again anyway.

 I am such a lucky little cocksucker. J