Thoughts on Power Exchange

*Disclaimer: This post may piss a few of you off. That’s not my intent. This is meant to be more of a “these are my thoughts, what are your thoughts.” So if this pisses you off, please tell me what your thoughts on the matter are. I seek to understand…*

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A random series of events led to a conversation between M and I the other day regarding Dominance and submission and power exchange. I think I’m going to have to back up a little bit for this post to have any flow whatsoever, so please bear with me…

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A long long time ago, well before I knew any intricacies of D/s first hand, I wrote a post about different roles in bdsm. It doesn’t really matter what I thought then, but here is what I think now, that is relevant to the point at hand.

• Top/bottom: A Top takes the dominate position in sexual play. They are the one that holds the whip, the one that pulls the hair. This is just for play and enjoyment. A bottom takes the submissive role in sex. They are the one getting flogged, the one that gets choked. Again, this is for enjoyment, and for the bedroom only.
• Dominate/submissive: A Dom is dominate in the bedroom, perhaps outside of it. They choose what is going to happen and do it. A sub is submissive in the bedroom, perhaps outside of it. The do what they are told because they are told to do so. There is an exchange of power. Often there is a mind fuck to some degree.

*Disclaimer: Often times these terms are used interchangeably. But here, I want to distinguish them from one another, for the sake of meaning. Neither of these are better than another. One is not more meaningful or less than the other. They are simply different.*

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In Lily‘s book, she has this quote, which I think is a fantastic demonstration of a power exchange. She is discussing talking to strangers regarding one of her relationships:

I could tell them about the fact that I own 200 feet of premium bondage rope and know how to use it. It might raise their eyebrows a bit, though in this post Fifty Shades world, not very much. But if I really wanted to flip them right out? I’d tell them that I determine my girlfriend’s bedtime.

To me, the power exchange is at the root of a Dom/sub’s relationship. I think without it, there is simply play. More on this later.

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A little while before our date, Paige and I were discussing D/s relationships. She is very familiar with bdsm and considers herself a switch. I had disclosed that M and I engaged in a power exchange, and that our dynamic leaked out of the bedroom. She didn’t know what I meant by power exchange, and had some initial difficulty with the idea. And when I told her about the belt, she nearly panicked. Said something along the lines of “There’s a difference between punishment and abuse.” She struggled with the concept of actually being punished for something and me truly being okay with it.

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Over on Speaking Out on Nate a few weeks ago, there was a discussion of D/s and some of its components, including power exchanges (here and here). Here were some of my comments, with some more explanation that will eventually be relevant, I hope, by the end of this post. There are many other great comments and exchanges over there by some great bloggers, so if you’re interested, check them out.

For me, the D/s dynamic is psychological. The physical is simply the manifestation.

I submit because I want to, because I want to give that gift to M. It’s something deep inside me that helps me express to him the importance of him in my world, the importance of our love and our life. Take away the emotion behind it, the meaning of it, then it’s not there, neither my submission nor his Dominance.

Our dynamic could be in place, just as it is now, without kinky sex. Hell, without any sex. Without nipple clamps or paddles. Without orgasms. *sad face* Without any of that. Because it is a mindset, it is a way of life, it is beyond just fucking.

A D/s dynamic… is an exchange of power. If you take away that exchange, you simply have kinky sex.

And not that there’s anything wrong with kinky sex. I’m a big fan. But I think most of us would agree that D/s is something more than just kinky sex. That “more” is the power exchange.

Power exchange occurs when the sub gives up, to some extent, their power to their Dom. In exchange, the Dom gives something in return, whether it be pleasure, a lesson, discipline, any number of things. For M and I, I have given him the ultimate say in matter regarding our relationship, and to some extent our life. He has the final say, always. In exchange, I get to let go of certain stressors and work on becoming a better person (with his assistance). He also makes me cum a whole lot. Don’t forget that.

Power exchange is such a hard thing to explain to someone who is not involved in one. At its most basic level, it is simply exchange of power. I give you some of mine, you give me some of yours. But what power do you give, what does it mean? It means different things to different people. It’s about complete trust, to give someone something that they could use to harm you, psychologically and physically. Yet to know that they won’t. That they’ll use it for good. That they know what you need and they’ll give it to you.

And as a sub, sometimes my need is simply to submit, simply to give, to be used, to be a vehicle for His pleasure or release. Simply because I love him.

There are no one-way power exchanges. The trust that a power exchange requires,  in and of itself creates one.

Does this make sense? A power exchange requires a large amount of trust. Because you are giving that to someone, it automatically creates an exchange of power.

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Quick thought: A power exchange can manifest itself in many different forms. It can involve specific ceremony. It can become rules and rituals. It can be discipline and punishment. It can be nothing more than knowing who has what roles and doing them because you have the desire to please.

The comment by Lily is a prime example. People are almost accustom to kinky sex. It’s tolerated in polite society. But when you start talking about “rules” and telling another adult what to do and them obeying… Well, many would think that is a little weird. That’s a little “too far” if you will. That, my friend, is the power exchange. Because the rules are there for a reason, to serve a purpose, to reinforce that exchange of power.

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M and I were having a random discussion about something or another. Perhaps it was regarding someone’s blog post, perhaps it was about something I read or wrote.  Anyway, he says something along the lines of “I don’t really think someone can really be in a D/s dynamic if they aren’t in a relationship.”

Now here are my thoughts… Anyone can have kinky sex. But when you talk about being in a dynamic, engaging in a power exchange, you are talking about something else. It is a different type of relationship, but a relationship, not just a sexual preference. *key difference* I can’t seem to understand how it can be casual. It makes my brain glitch. And maybe this is simply my thinking, conditioning to society norms. I don’t know…

Because to me, my submission is there because of M’s Dominance. I could not do what I do with him with just anyone. It’s so much more than fucking, it’s so much more than kink.  *Damn, I wish I could phrase that differently. Again, I’m not saying it’s better, but almost completely different at a fundamental level.* It’s a part of my love, my devotion.

Do those of you that engage in Dominance and submission get what I’m saying? What about those of you that don’t?

I can bottom to any number of people, be on the receiving end of a spanking, etc, etc. But I’m not going to be collared to them. I’m not going to submit to them. I’m simply going to fuck them. And while it might be a damn good fucking, it is nothing more.

So… I think I lost my direction here. I guess the point was just to say that to me, there is a significant difference between D/s and simply kinky sex and topping/bottoming. There needs to be trust, extreme trust, to give yourself, psychologically, to someone else. To become theirs. To be owned. To submit to their will, without question. Submission is a gift, and should not be given lightly, to just anyone. It is earned and needs to be deserved.

And I guess I don’t understand how casual sex fits into D/s. How do you give yourself in that way casually? Can you be submissive, engage in a power exchange, and it not mean more, so much more? I just don’t know…

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Happy (late) anniversary Sir. I love you. More than words can say. You make me happier than I ever imagined life could be. Thank you. For everything. xoxo

More on Punishment: A response to G

So I was responding to G’s comment on my last post, and it brought up a few good points, so I thought I’d just share it here. Hell, 800+ words is too long for a comment anyway, right?

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There are times when I am extremely stressed, spinning in 15 different directions at once, not knowing what to do with myself. When I’m like this, manic-y almost, I get extremely short tempered and bitchy, both with M and the children. A good, solid spanking will knock it out of me. How we’ve come to learn this, I don’t know, but it works. And sometimes I’ll tell him, “I think I need a good spanking” and sometimes I’ll just be a bitch and a brat and try to “earn” a spanking. Yeah, that sometimes backfires in my face. But if I ask for one, it helps. It has to be hard and it has to hurt, no nice, soft flogging that feels more massage-like than beating-like. And, G, I think this is what you were talking about. Just needing something to wake me the fuck up when I’m going crazy with life. So, yeah, I get that.

I don’t really know why it helps. Perhaps it’s simply a release of endorphins. Maybe it’s about getting to shut my mind of for a little bit to let it reset. Or it could be the release of physical stress, like going to the gym or for a long run. I think that it’s a mix of all three. I can’t explain it, I can only say that it works for me.

I’m wondering…if you get to spank him when he messes up? Is this fair? What is fair?

No, I don’t beat him when he fucks up. That doesn’t really fit into our dynamic, and honestly I’m not even interested in doing it. And I imagine your question would be “Well what happens to him if he fucks up?” And that’s a hard one to answer. The fuck ups I’m talking about are typically where I’ve done something with intentional disregard on my part. M doesn’t do that too often. And he has not done it since our dynamic has been in place. He is often more aware and more thoughtful of my feelings and needs than I am of his. I wish I could say it was different, but it’s not. I tend to be self-centered until after the fact. *shrugs*

Is it fair? You’re right when you ask what is fair? It works. For us anyway. That’s what’s important to me. I could give a flying fuck if fair fits into it. *sorry for the alliteration* We have a power exchange, so the scales are not always equal, they often tip one way or another. We’re agreed on the terms of it now, and there is always the option to end it if one of us no longer wants to do it or doesn’t think it’s working. That’s one of the things that’s so great about bdsm, when it stops working, you move on. It wasn’t quite that way for us before. Before we would struggle with each other, so many pissing contests that were absolutely pointless. The power exchange has changed that.

One thing thing to add, that sort of relates. Kind of, maybe… The beatings are more for me than for him I think. It’s something that I need, not something he feels he has to do. I discussed in my comment to Fatal about it being about a level of accountability. I think it has to do with my want to modify certain aspects of my behavior. I often act selfishly, and don’t think of my impact on others until after the fact. I don’t want to be like that. And there are other goals I want to meet, that I often struggle with doing. And if I get away with doing things that are detrimental to those goals, without having to suffer any consequences, I will keep on doing them, even if I know they are self-defeating. Why? Just because I can. Fucked up, I know, but the truth.

When the pain goes away, how does it make the problem that caused it go away?

There are two different situations I’ve talked about, so I’m going to address this question with both of them. Situation 1: When I’m stressed, overwhelmed, etc and need a spanking/beating to snap me out of it. Obviously, no, the problem does not go away. What does go away is my anxiety, stress, extreme reaction to the problem. This allows me to calm down and focus on what needs to be done. It makes me become pro-active instead of reactive.

Situation 2: Punishment. In these situations, there is not necessarily an external “problem.” Sometimes there is a fight between the two of, a heated, long exchange of words. By the time punishment is given, the fight is over and a solution/compromise/agreement of some sort has been reached. What the punishment does is allow us to fully bury it. To move forward and not dwell on the situation. So perhaps yes, in a way, it does make the problem go away.

Is the aftercare as important as the sting?

Sometimes, sometimes not. Depends on my emotional reaction. If I’m silently crying, then yes, the aftercare is important. That typically does not happen unless he’s pushing my limits. Or we are doing some very intense play. That has not occurred (yet?) with being punished. The communication that occurs is very important though.

But I will say it’s not just the sting that is important. The meaning behind the punishment, the purpose it serves in our dynamic, is just as important as the act, if not more so. The specific act of the punishment it arbitrary really. It could be anything, the belt is just what we have chosen. Instead, it is the fact that an unfavorable, unwanted consequence has occurred.

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Okay y’all. Hope that was somewhat understandable. If not, please feel free to ask for clarification. And thanks babe, for the inspiration to write this. Giant *hugs and kisses*

So this song doesn’t really have to do with anything, but it’s a great one. And, kind of like this subject, it’s sometimes hard for me to wrap my head around what’s going on.

The Purpose of Punishment

So I’m not sure what got me thinking about this, but I seem to remember jotting down this title the morning after punishment with the belt. I don’t really like the belt. Not much at all. It hurts, and not in the way I like. The thud of a flogger, love it. The sting of bamboo, love it. The smack of a hand, well, you get the picture. But the belt… fuck, I don’t really know, but it makes me want to punch the bed and scramble away and cry and scream and curse at Sir for making it hurt so bad when I damn well know that he can make it hurt soo0 much more.

This is a pic of the last time the belt was used. About an hour afterwards, after I had the shit fucked out of me…

So, yeah, I don’t like the belt.

And M respects that, and doesn’t pull it out during play time. But if I fuck up, and fuck up bad, it’s what gets used. And never too many, this time particularly it was 10. And I remember this fight vividly, as it was a long one, that went well into the night. During a lull in our arguing, I told M he should beat me, that it would make him feel better. But the good Sir that he is, he didn’t. He was angry and knew it and therefore wouldn’t punish me in anger.

But, because he IS a good Sir, he also knew that I would need punished for my transgressions.  So the next day after work, while the kiddos were gone, I was told to go upstairs and get ready. Bending over the bed with my skirt pulled up around my waist, and my panties pulled down to my knees, I gnawed on my bottom lip waiting for the first swing. And by the time the tenth one came down, I scrambled to the top of the bed, whining ”Fuck Daddy, that hurt!!”

But then he made me feel all better…

But, some of you may ask, why do we engage in this? Why would I intentionally lay across my bed, naked ass in the air, to get hit with a belt in an activity I don’t enjoy?

Well, it’s so we can move forward. When punishment is in place, it’s sort of like the final wrap up to everything that occurred: we argued, we fought, we made up, punishment happened. Now it’s over. It will not be brought up again in the middle of another argument. It will not be thrown in each other’s face later in time. The deed was done. The consequences suffered. Now it’s dead and buried.

That’s why I, rather we, partake in punishment. Because it gives us an ending point, a way to move forward through the muck and find our way back together. Previous to our dynamic, there were issues and actions that would be drug up and thrown at each other when we were heated from years (and I mean many years) past. Sometimes it would seem like we were just having the same fight over and over again, with only a few words or the setting changed. But punishment has moved us forward out of that downward spiral.

Now, after punishment, the only thing left is perhaps a small red welt, that like the fight, fades with time.

That, my friends, is why I will bend over and take what is given to me, no matter if it makes me want to yell and scream and cry. Because the brief moment of pain  is well worth the ability to let something go.

It’s kind of like a healing balm to our relationship… Hope that makes some sense to someone…

Discipline

So I need to give a shout out to Lily, you may know her from The Black Leather Belt. If you don’t know her, go check her out now. No, I mean right now. Seriously, go. I’ll wait.

She rocks, right?

I’ve recently finished reading her book, Discipline: Adding Rules and Discipline to Your BDSM Relationship (which fucking rocked by the way), and it’s got me thinking about quite a few things. Be prepared, I’ve already got a handful of posts started that have been stirred from reading it…

And although this was written for those in a BDSM relationship, it has so much that can be applied to just about any relationship, whether it’s straight vanilla, whether it dabbles in kink, or a full-blown D/s dynamic. As a matter of fact, I actually emailed a friend of mine, who’s in a straight vanilla marriage, a piece on communication between partners. The weekend before, my friend and I had shared a few bottles of wine while discussing some of the problems she is experiencing with her husband. When I came across it in Lily’s book, I was like, “omg. J sooo needs to read this!”

And Lily talks about so much more than discipline. She talks about dynamics. About rules, both their purpose and their implementation. About follow through and the role of punishment. There were multiple times that I found myself nodding in acknowledgement and understanding, times I wanted to *high five* someone, because I was like, “Damn right! What she just said!”

And Lily keeps it real by shares stories from her own life and relationships, things that have gone well and things that have been fucked up. I found this especially enlightening and thought provoking, because the truth is, we all fuck things up at times. Anyone who says they never had an “awe, shit” moment in their dynamic is full of it (believe me, I’ve had a TON of those moments). But through it all, she keeps it light and entertaining. As a writer, believe me, that’s not always an easy feat.

Honestly, this is probably one of the most real, honest BDSM guides I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot. There were very few things that I couldn’t relate to or find a use for in my own relationship. As a matter of fact, Lily hit home on a few major points that resonated with me, with particular regards to areas I struggle with in my dynamic. She gave me ideas on some things I want to explore further and something I want to implement and/or change. Things like self-reporting, trial periods for rules, check-ins, and the list goes on and on.

So if you’re interested in BDSM, or even just enjoy reading about it, Discipline is well worth the read. Go check it out. And in case you missed it the first time, you can find Discipline here.

*hugs and kisses* ~lsam

First Dates and Butterflies

So if you are a regular reader, whether friend or lurker *love ya both*, you may be patiently waiting to find out what happened with my date over the weekend. I apologize for taking so long to write this, but after reading I hope you understand.

I woke up Saturday morning with a hangover and a horrible case of nervous butterflies. I felt like a teenager not knowing what to expect. At 10 am, I got my first text of the day from Paige: “T -10 hours” (isn’t she cute!), and the countdown continued every few hours through the day.

By 3 o’clock, I had shaved, lotioned, ironed my hair and was unable to find anything to keep my hands busy. By 6, I had done my make-up and dressed, practically bouncing up and down on the couch, watching the clock tick slowly by.

I left early to run through the car wash, and then got on the road. We live about 50 miles away from one another, so we decided to meet halfway, at a microbrewery in a small college town (fan-fucking-tastic beer, by the way).

The place was packed, and we had over an hour before we could get a table. We ordered beers and went to wait on the outside patio (thank the gods this was the first real warm day of spring and even in the late evening, it was perfectly comfortable). I was ridiculously shy, shyer than I think I’ve ever been. I joked about it, but Paige was witty and talkative, and did an excellent job at keeping the conversation moving.

She talked about a Dom she’s been seeing, asked about M’s and my dynamic. We talked about work, books, hobbies, and fucking while our knees rested against each other’s under the table. By the time the first beer was gone, we were laughing like old friends.

She encouraged me to try mussels, an explosion of flavor that made my eyes close as I savored the experience. I attempted to explain different types of nipple clamps, showing the pictures from my nipple torture post. She thought M’s cock was rather delicious looking.

By the time we left the brewery to head home (she had a long day at work on Sunday) I was giddy.

Paige walked me to my car and I drove her to hers. We talked a bit more. I became shy again. She teased me about it. I leaned back against the headrest, and smiled at her. She told me I was beautiful. When our lips met, we both reached for each other, our fingers playing on the other’s necks.

I think I started giggling maybe. “Damn you, having to work tomorrow,” I said, pulling our entwined fingers to my lips, placing small kisses across her knuckles, lightly sucking the tip of her thumb into my mouth. We talked a few more minutes, but time was ticking away, both of us facing a long drive home. We kissed again, this time a little longer, more comfortable.

I smiled the whole way home.

The date was fantastic; honestly, it couldn’t have been better. We clicked just as well in person as we did through emails and texts. I was excited, ecstatic really; we had a great time, good food and drinks, and a first kiss that made my heart pitter-patter.

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But now… Well, now M has come to realize that he’s not as comfortable as he thought he was going to be with the situation. He doesn’t want to share me. Doesn’t think he can share me.

And it makes me sad. For so many reasons. I really like Paige. And I’m pretty damn sure she likes me too. And although we’d only been on one date, we’ve talked daily for a few weeks. For both of us, we were able to talk to each other about things we don’t share with others in our real life. Her: relationship issues she’s struggling with, past lovers, kinky sex. Me: my dynamic with M, power exchange, kinky sex. We filled a need for each other that neither of us knew we needed.

We fell for one another.

So today, when I sent her a text saying I needed to talk to her, I had to tell this beautiful girl I’m hugely crushing on, that I can’t see her again. I cried. She cried. Fuck, I’m crying now.

Although hurt, she understands. She said to me, “I don’t want to lose you. If we can’t be intimate, I don’t care. But I’m not giving up being your friend.” I don’t know if we can make that work, but I’m hoping…

*sigh* So, dear friends… this is my unfortunate tale of a fantastic first date that lead to me getting my heartbroke. And please don’t think too badly of M… He tried, that is all I can ask. Afterall, he is my husband, and my Sir, so it is his right and responsibility to say if it’s not okay.

*hugs and kisses*

The Collaring: Erotic Fiction

Hey all. Wrote this last summer. It starts here about 1000 words in, once things start to get hot. And please excuse the length. Too long for a blog post, I know. Opps. Hope you enjoy!……………….

 

I feel him move again, my body sensing his closeness. “Look at me,” he commands, voice soft but firm, almost menacing.  I open my eyes, and slowly raise my head to meet his gaze. He again lowers his hand to my head, petting me in a display of affection. I notice the black leather collar in his left hand, as his right slowly grips around my neck, turning from sweet and loving to firm and dominating. He applies pressure, squeezing and my eyes close as I lean into the grasp.

“Tonight, you become mine,” he says, bending to press his lips to mine. My body instantly responds, arching up to meet him, stretching from my knees, my lips parting under his force. His tongue thrusts quickly into my mouth and he pulls me even closer, our chests press together as his hand tightens around my throat. He releases me, and with both hands quickly fastens the collar around my neck. The bitter, tangy smell of the leather fills my nose as I move my head and neck, testing the collar, finding it tight and stiff, inhibiting my movement more than I imagined it would.

“Fuck, how I would love to gag you and watch you struggle with a ball in your mouth” he lets out a sigh, with a twinge of regret, “but not tonight. Tonight I need to hear you, both your moans of pleasure and cries of pain.” He pulls a bit of black leather and chrome out of his pocket, and I fall back onto my heels, tilting my chin up for him, mouth open wide, as he places the leather covered piece between my teeth. Automatically, I tilt my chin down, giving him access to buckle it behind my head. He gathers my hair in one hand, moving it out of the way, while my teeth and tongue test the leather, the crisp taste of it on my mouth and the firmness of the bit between my lips. When he’s done, there is a tug on my hair as he uses it to pull my head back. Looking down at me, he manipulates the leather, moving it back and forth between in my mouth, testing the tightness.

“That’s my good little slut,” he murmurs, as one hand circles around the flesh of my right breast, fingers feather light on my skin, circling inward until he comes to the erect nipple, clamped tightly between two pieces of cold steel. He moves across my flesh and the metal, treating them as one, gently pulling until a gasp escapes my lips, my nipple pulled taunt as the metal teeth tighten even more. He flows from my skin, across the clamp, to the attached chain and before I realize it’ he tugs the steel, making my gasp turn into a long moan.

“Mmm,” the sound coming from deep in his throat makes juices spill onto my thighs. “You like that, do you?” He lets the chain slacken, and I take a deep breath, relief flooding my system from the intense pleasure and pain mix. But he swiftly pulls it again, harder this time than before. He twists his hand, the links circling his wrist like a bracelet, making my nipples bite, intense pleasure radiates and a searing heat spreads from my breasts. He uses the chain like a leash to control my movement, pulling it up and forcing me to rise to my feet. I stumble, but he continues to pull me relentlessly, led by the chain and my nipples, to a leather padded bench that I hadn’t noticed before. Sitting nearly waist-high, its chrome legs stretch out at an angle that makes my pulse race, especially when I notice the circle brackets on each corner, near the floor. Attached to each bracket there are three inch leather cuffs. I swallow hard, nervous of his plans.

“Lay down. On your stomach,” he commands, again pulling me towards the bench, causing my nipples to painfully stretch. “And don’t move.” I obey, walking forward, and awkwardly bend over the piece of furniture. I stay stiff at my waist, not knowing exactly what to do or where my body should lay. The anxiety plaguing my mind causes my hands to start to shake. I watch him move to the front of the bench and he bends down, squatting in front of me. Without a word, his finger hooks through the metal loop on my collar, and he pulls me forward, his lips closed but pressed hard against mine, causing the bit between my teeth to painfully push back against the corner of my cheeks. He gives one more tug to the nipple chain before he drops both his hands, seizing my left wrist and pulling it towards the end of the bench leg, while the other moves to the space between my shoulders, applying pressure, pushing me down lower, forcing my head to drop down as he secures my wrist in the leather cuff. He takes my right arm and binds it to the other chrome leg with record speed. He stands, his hand running through my hair, over my neck and down my back, exploring my restrained body as his fingers sending chills across my flesh. I yank on the cuffs, but the brackets, cool against my skin, hold strong, keeping me in place. I can no longer see him, but I sense his movement, and feel him walk behind me.

I imagine him standing there, looking at the display in front of him. My legs are spread wide and I am sure the wetness of my pussy is visible, shining between my pink, open lips. I hear the clang of metal, which can only mean he’s unbuckling his belt, and my assumption is confirmed when I hear his pants hit the floor, the clang of the metal buckle seems loud against the tile. He moves forward, one, two steps, and I feel the pressure from his knee between my legs, pushing them further apart. He spreads me until my toes are barely touching the floor, leg muscles tight and my ass and pussy spread, displaying all of my sex to him. I feel his hands, rough on my ankles, as he cuffs one and then the other to the legs of the bench. I feel him move away from me, and he is silent for a moment. My heart races, imagining what he is about to do, as I have never been this exposed to anyone. A moment of humiliation rushes through me, making my cheeks blush, and I’m embarrassed to be spread so open before him.

His words invade my thoughts. “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he groans, and my humiliation is gone as I gush with pride. His hand cups the whole of my cunt, fingertips barely grazing my clit, but with my heightened awareness, just the barest of touch causes pleasure to ripple through me. He pulls his fingers back towards him, running them through the wetness of my folds. I arch back, as much as the restraints allow, and bite down hard on the bit in my mouth, sounds vibrating from my throat. He does this again and again until my hips are moving on their own accord, thrusting against the bench and his hand, begging him for more, wanting more pressure, wanting penetration, wanting him to fill me. Once again he drags his fingers across my wet lips, and then slips his hand forward, on to my clit, his fingers pressing and playing against my pleasure spot. I moan loudly, and feel my insides tighten with the foreshadowing of my approaching orgasm. He teases me with light pressure as he circles my clit, and I find myself pressing the whole of my mound against his hand, hard, trying to find release.

“Look at you, you greedy little cum slut. You know the rules,” his fingers stop moving but he pushes firm against my clit, making my breath catch. “No cumming, until I say it’s time.” He pinches my bud between his thumb and pointer finger, hard, and I cry out around the leather in my mouth.

He moves away from me, and I groan without even knowing it, aching for his touch. He chuckles and I hear the movement of toys and instruments. I try to lift my head to see what he is doing, but due to my positioning, and the stiff leather of the collar, it’s pointless. I can see nothing but the blue-grey floor beneath me and drop my head back down where it falls between my elbows. Soon, his hand is on my thigh, and I feel him fasten some sort of strap tightly around the top of my leg. It feels like leather, warm against my skin, and I’m curious as to what he’s doing. I try to question him, but my words come out muffled.

“Hush,” he demands, voice stern and harsh, ignoring my questioning mumble. His hand comes down on my ass with a crack, hard enough to sting, and I jump at the unexpected jolt. It’s more pain than I anticipate, and I bite down to stifle my cry, not wanting to anger him with my response. His hands move back to what I think is the belt he was fastening, and my heart races, unknowingness getting the better of me.

Suddenly, I feel his breath on my pussy, warm and cool air against the wetness on my lips. Goose bumps break out across my flesh as his tongue makes contact with my clit, the tip playing with the skin surrounding it. He slowly moves up and his tongue passes over my nether lips, on their way to my ass. My body responds and I whimper as he does it again, tongue pressed flat against me, pushing between my lips. I feel his hands on my thighs, as he continues his oral assault on my cunt, and soon I am lost, fighting against the pleasure that is so close to making me cum. I try to hold back my orgasm, as he has not yet given me permission, but I am quickly losing the battle against my control.

He continues to lick me, slow and rhythmic, and I try to regulate my breathing, concentrate on the air coming in and out, instead of his tongue buried in me, even though my hips are pushing back against him; my body knowing what it wants, regardless of my mental struggle. Suddenly, I feel a slight weight on my thigh, a moment before I hear the telltale vibrations of my favorite wand. I shake my head no, incapable of words or protest, as he adjusts it, allowing the strong vibrations to fall on to my clit, assaulting its sensitivity. My body spasms as jolts of pleasure radiate from my clit, and I know that I will not be able to hold out much longer.

I mumble around the bit, my word incoherent to his ears, as I try to plead with him, begging for permission to climax, my words only a jumble of sounds and moans. I feel his weight on my back, as he leans over me, chest pressed against my back, his lips brushing against my ear, as he whispers “Do. Not. Cum.” My head shakes back and forth, and my eyes are squeezed shut; I don’t know if my body can submit to his request, as small quakes are already spreading from my clit to my cunt.

He remains pressed against my back, as he reaches around my torso, lightly pulling on the clamps attached to my breasts, stretching my nipples, the pressure on them increasing to the point of pain. “You will wait, because you are my good little slave. And that is what a good slave does. She obeys her Master. Always.” My hips radiate against his, seeking release. He pushes back against me, rough, and I finally feel his hard cock grind into the space between the lips of my pussy, slick and dripping with juices. He slides it up and down, teasing me, while I know he is not going to give me what I want. I wither beneath him, whimpers escaping my mouth, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. He leans down again, his lips touching my ear and whispers, “One orgasm my dear, not that you deserve it, dirty whore that you are. But only because I enjoy watching you cum.” He pulls the nipple chain hard with one hand, while the other grabs a handful of my ass, squeezing the soft flesh, fingers digging into my skin, pushing me down harder on the vibrations of the wand, and his teeth graze the sensitive spot in the crock of my neck.

Instantly, his words and touch ignite my orgasm and I cry out, my movements quicken and become erratic as I push hard against him. I feel the chain drop as his hand moves to grip the whole of my sex, his fingers pushing into my wetness, stretching my lips wide as he thrusts into me. He releases his grip on my ass and I feel his hand come down again in a quick slap just as I reach my peak, pushing me beyond any orgasm I’ve experienced before, and as I feel the pressure release I collapse onto the bench beneath me and juices begin to drip from between his fingers.

“Fuck.  You are such a good little cum slut,” he growls as he moves away from me, leaving my body to its spasms, which won’t subside due to the continued vibrations on my clit. My body lies limp as I try to regulate my breathing, in an attempt to fully stop the climax that is still causing small eruptions in my body. I struggle to gain control, least I quickly fall into another orgasm, which I have not yet been granted.

The stilling of my hips requires so much concentration, that I am unaware of his presence behind me, until I feel his hand run lightly over the mound of my ass, and dip below, his fingertips grazing my pussy lips. It startles me, and pushes me over the edge where I had been teetering and I’m cumming again, juices squirting onto his hand as my hips push against him, my muscles clamping and spasming out of my control. My body begins to calm down as I become still, although my breath is still ragged, and small moans escape around the bit, now covered in bite marks and wet with spit.

His hand leaves my sex, and before I realize it, there is a crack in the air, and a burning sting falls across my upper thighs. I jump and cry out at the sudden impact and he growls, swinging again, harder this time, landing in the middle of my ass. The sting spreads out from its origin, heat and pain mingling with the small quakes still affecting my pussy from cumming only moments ago. He hits me again with what I now assume to be bamboo, this time where my ass meets my legs, and then back to the top of my ass cheeks. With each swing, it becomes harder to differentiate between the pleasure and the pain, and soon I can no longer tell if I am calling out for him to stop, or because I want more. Back and forth, he strikes me with the bamboo, and soon my ass and thighs are red hot, as I can feel the heat radiating off of them along with the rumbling still assailing my clit. Another swing, and this time I cry out, as pain shoots from the point of impact. He growls in response, and the next swing becomes a bit harder than the last, each growing in strength and speed. Eventually, my body quiets, only now and again jolting from the hits to my bottom, as I absorb them with silent resilience, biting down on the bit, fighting for some sort of control.

I feel his hand on my ass, hot against my sore skin, and I arch back against him and his soothing touch, the breath I had been holding finally released, as I relax my body against the bench, going slack. His hand comes down on my redness again, smacking my cheeks, but he quickly and gently rubs the sting away, cooing to me, words that I cannot decipher, lost to me in the aftermath of my pleasure. He does it again, and a small cry escapes my lips this time, and he chuckles.

I feel him move closer, the hair on his legs brushing against the smooth skin of my thighs, as he wraps a handful of my hair around his hand, pulling hard and firm, and plunges his throbbing cock deep into my cunt. I moan at the sudden penetration, the stretch and pull of my lips as they accommodate his size. I push back against him, wanting more, grinding my hips against his groin. He withdraws, completely, and his hand comes down on my ass again with a heavy thud, right before he buries himself so deep in my pussy, that I can feel him hitting my womb. My head is arched back as far as it will go, and my back bends more than I would think possible, given the restraints. Again, pull out, smack, bury. Pull out, smack, bury. His cock is so deep inside of me, I am positive he must be able to feel the vibrations of the wand ravaging on my clit. He twists my head to the side using the hand he still has buried in my hair, as he begins to pound my pussy, and my body quickly responds, convulsions starting deep in my core. “Cum for me, my wet little cum slut.  Cum for your Master,” he commands, pulling on my hair even harder.

My orgasm peaks; racks my body. As I cry out, my cunt spasms and tightens around his cock, and I can feel him pulsating deep inside me. My eyes close as I lose all thoughts, lost in the pure ecstasy of my climax. He lets go of his grip in my hair and I feel his hand wrap around my throat, over top of the leather collar, fingers tightening as his pace slows, but his thrusts deepen, and he fucks me even harder. “What a fucking whore you are, cumming so hard,” a low growl escapes his lips, moments before he spills his seed deep in my cunt.

As his thrusts slow and he becomes still, my body quiets beneath him and I feel him shift his weight as he reaches down to shut off the wand that continues to buzz on my clit. His hand gently cups my soaked, swollen pussy, still split by his cock, causing tremors to race through my body as his fingers glide up and down my outer lips. He bends, placing soft kisses along my neck and shoulders.  “Such a good girl you are,” he says between calming caresses while my body convulses beneath him.

Once the waves of orgasm subside, I feel him withdraw his cock, and I whimper, missing the fullness of him inside me. As I lay exhausted, body limp across the bench, he kneels behind me, placing kisses on my welted thighs and bruised lips, and his hands slid down my legs. He unbuckles each of the ankle restraints, his hands quick and proficient at the task. He removes the wand and its belt from my thigh before I feel him stand, a hand on my back as he moves around to be in front of me and bends down, releasing my hands from the leather cuffs.

He lifts my exhausted body into his arms with little effort, and then helps me to a standing position, holding me still on my wobbly legs. He gazes deep into my eyes, and runs his hand across my hair. Turning me, his hands move through my hair, pulling it back allowing the bit to be removed from my mouth. He turns me again, this time so I am facing him, and reaches his hand behind my neck, pulling me against his hard body, kissing me with a roughness that makes my lips ache. His tongue darts into my mouth and begins encircling my own as he presses us together; teeth, tongue and lips colliding in an erotic dance of their own.

“Come here, baby,” his gentle words soothing to my ears as he reaches an arm behind my lower back and guides me to the plush bed, nestled in the corner. He sits down on the black satin and pulls me into his lap, my arms wrapping around him, laying my head against his hard, warm chest. He holds me there, slowly rocking back and forth, whispering words of praise and beauty in to my ear. His soft lips are so close, that his breath tickles me, and I curl even tighter against him as he wraps his arms around my body, squeezing me into him. He lays me down gently onto the bed and I sink into its softness, tired and elated from his love making. His lips come to mine and he kisses me slow and passionately, his mouth making love to mine. I slip my hands around his neck and pull him down to me, wanting his warmth beside me. His hands trail down over my body, across my arms, down my sides, and back up again. The callouses on his hands feel rough against my softer skin, and they cause tiny quakes along their path.

“Will you lay still for me, love?” he asks, his hand drifting back between my legs, fingers playing over my lips, as if they were keys on a piano.

“Yes,” I answer, nodding my head, sex induced satisfaction making me sleepy. His hand reaches my clit, causing me to gasp for air as shocks rock through my body.

“Yes, what?” he demands, as he teases the flesh around my ear, little licks and nips against my skin.

“Yes, Sir,” I smile at him, “I can be still.” But my body is already disobeying, arching into his hand’s assault, hips moving, begging for him to penetrate my wetness.

He chuckles. “Good,” he purrs, plunging three fingers into my swollen pussy, as deep as they can go, stretching me even though his cock was there only a few minutes ago. “Because this is going to hurt,” he smiles as he bends his head, muffling my mews with his lips.

He pulls his fingers out quickly, only to thrust them deep into me again, purposefully pressing them against my G-spot. My orgasm hits hard and unexpectedly, and I call out his name, my hands fist into the sheets as my hips thrust into the air, pressing his hand even deeper. My juices pour out around his fingers and onto the bed, but he doesn’t stop. Again, he pulls out and this time he spreads me wide with four fingers, my lips stretched thin with the fullness. I moan at the mix of pleasure and pain he’s causing me, my head thrown back in sensation turmoil, as my body, exhausted from our previous romp, doesn’t know how to react.

“My little whore likes to be stretched, does she?” He pulls out and slams the four fingers back into my dripping cunt.

“Mmm-hmm” my teeth bite into my lower lip, and I struggle for any type of control. Another orgasm racks through me, spasms tightening around his fingers, and I feel tears start falling across my cheeks.

“That’s it, baby, keep cumming for your Sir,” he coos, reaching out and giving a light tug on the nipple clamps, which I had almost forgotten about, causing my chest to rise off the bed as my back aches. Before the waves of the last orgasm subside, I’m cumming again, calling him by name, as I thrash on the bed. This time, he does not withdraw his fingers, but instead begins to massage the insides of my pussy, as well as he can, letting the skin stretch to accommodate his prodding hand.

Another orgasm and I’m panting, my heart racing. He bends down, talking quietly into my ear:  “I’m going to need you to listen to me. This is going to hurt, but I’m going to go slow. You will need to breathe through the pain.” I nod, unable to verbalize anything at this point, unable to imagine the feeling of pain against the pleasure that he is giving me. He could ask me anything now and I would agree, if only to have him continue what he is doing to me.

His fingers pull out of my cunt, dripping with cum, and his hand massages the whole of my sex for only a moment or two. Then there are two fingers inside, pressing against my G-spot, causing me to erupt, squirting, covering both of us in my cum. He quickly pulls his fingers out and, cupping his hand, pushes four fingers and his thumb deep into my cunt, up to his knuckles.

I cry out, but he soothes me with sweet words and a loving hand on my cheek. “Breathe, love.  It will help you get through.” I listen to him, and take a deep breath, then exhale. “Slower,” he says, and I obey, another deep breath, in and out, and slowly I feel my heart rate calming. “That’s a good girl.”

His hand pushes a little deeper into my pussy, and, again, I gasp. “Shhh…” his free hand moves to do circles against my clit. “I need you to cum as much as you can, but you must remember to breathe.”  He pushes again, and this time, he gets just past his knuckles, while his other hand continues to manipulate my clit, sending small spasms through my cunt causing his hand to draw in even deeper.

“I need you to make yourself cum,” he requests, removing his fingers from my clit, and using that hand to massage the tight skin of my pussy, stretched around his hand. My head shakes back and forth, saying no, as if I’m afraid to touch myself, afraid of any more sensations, afraid I cannot handle much more. “Now!” he demands, and hesitantly I comply, fingers gingerly moving to my clit, touching myself, while my body still racks from the previous orgasms.

As my body becomes accustom to the girth of his hand, my own hand becomes rougher, angry almost, against my clit. I pull and push against it, pinching it between my fingers, and soon I’m on the brink of cumming again.  “Yes, you little cum whore, keep yourself cumming,” he says, and with the spasms of my pussy, three of his knuckles slide into my cunt. I call out, the added width of his hand unexpected, and I move to grab his hand, trying to stop him from going further. I don’t think I can take anymore.

“No.  Back to your clit,” he commands, slapping my hand away.

“But –“

“No, buts.  You do as I say, or I’m done,” he says and begins to pull his hand out of me, and I gasp, grabbing his wrist and holding him still inside of me.

“I’ll listen, Sir.  I’m sorry,” I stutter, upset to have displeased him. Slowly I return my hand to my clit and my own pleasure, fingers dancing quickly over my exposed nub.  This time, as he pushes into me, pressure felt in every direction of my sex, I reach down, pulling on the already stretched lips, giving him a little more room to push, bit by bit.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, ever so slowly moving deeper and deeper into my pussy.  He bends down and places his lips across my clit, sucking it into his mouth, warm heat as his teeth gently graze the sensitive skin. I feel my orgasm approaching as he continues to gently suck, while his tongue flicks across the peak, darting back and forth. As the climax peaks, my hand wraps into his hair, tugging against it, although I am unsure whether I am pulling him closer or pushing him away.

With one hard and slow thrust of his hand, the final knuckle pushes past and the whole of hand slips deep into the recess of my cunt. I cry out, as the pain of the stretch along with the pleasure of his mouth incite a raging orgasm, and I cover his wrist in my juices.

“What a lovely little cunt you are,” he says leaning over me, whispering it against my mouth, allowing me to taste my own cum on his lips. I squirm beneath him, head thrown back lost in pleasure, as he fills my pussy more than I have ever felt before. My hands fall to my sides, twisting in the sheets, and tears again fall, as my body begins to calm.

“You are mine,” he says, as he slightly opens his hand inside my warmth, causing my breath to stop, and he lets out a small laugh.  “Never before has anyone touched you this way. Never before have you cum so hard.  You are mine.  To love.  To command.” As he says this, he presses the tops of his fingers against my G-Spot and pushes against me there. My body reacts, as he knew it would, and within moments, fluid is spilling out of me, and dripping down from his forearm.

“Yes, Sir.  Yours,” I pant.

“Cum for me again, you little slut,” he says, hand pumping inside of me. My body has become his, and listens to his commands, cumming on demand. As my pussy tightens against him, I feel a sudden, searing pain in my nipple, as he releases one from the clamps. I cry out, again arching off of the bed as the pain of surging blood and feeling regained transpires into pleasure I has never experienced.  As the convulsions in my pussy slow, he releases the clamp on the other nipple, sending another peak of pleasure, pushing me into a climax where I no longer feel anything but pure sensation, no thoughts, no feelings, just raw pleasure, in its simplest form.

Over and over again, he manipulates my cunt, making me feel things I was not aware I was capable of feeling, taking my body to places I didn’t know it could go. When thoughts return, I find I am laying on the bed, a helpless form, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. I feel him beside me, kneeling, hand still buried deep inside me. Even though he isn’t moving, every few moments, my body spasms, quivering beneath him. I open my eyes, and see him smiling down on me.

“Slave?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do you understand, now you are mine?”

“Mmmm…  Yes, my Sir.”

“Good,” he says.  And with his free hand, he hooks his finger through the loop in the front of my collar, lifting my head and chest to him. My mouth opens in surprise, and he seizes the opportunity, as our lips meet, kissing passionately. As I reach my tongue to touch his, he whispers, “I need you to bear down,” and I nod, tongue encircling his, understanding what he wants. My breathing begins to increase, and he slowly pulls his hand out. My breath stops and I fall back onto the bed and begin to weep, although I cannot explain why.

He bends down, and slips behind me in the bed, placing one arm under my head and the other around my waist. I roll towards him, burying my head into his chest, as I cry tears of trust and giving, fear and guilt now gone.  He holds me there against him, cradling me, kissing me and telling me I’m beautiful. How much he loves me and that he’s proud of me. That I have pleased him. His soothing voice and warm body lull my exhausted body to sleep. And right before slumber overtakes my consciousness, I hear him say, “You will always be mine,” and I smile as sleep consumes me.

I Want to be Beat

Last spring, in what was a different WordPress world, at least for me, I got chastised for commenting something like “A Daddy Dom will beat the shit out of you, then comfort you in his arms as you cry.” I apparently offended a fellow blogger with my language and I, of course the ever civil LSAM, publicly apologized, modified my lexicon and explained my meaning.

But not today.

Today, I want to be beat. Hard. I don’t want a love pat. I don’t want a play spanking. I want to be beat, in every connotation you can imagine.

I want to be put over His knee and held in place. I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt bad. I want it to make me moan and gasp in pain. I want it to make me cry, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I want bruises and welts, dare I say, blisters and broken skin. I want it to hurt to sit down for days afterwards, a constant reminder of His assault on my skin.

I want to fight Him until He has to hold me down. I want to fight until I am exhausted, collapsing onto Him, the fight beaten from my body.

I want to make Him work for it, fight me back. I want to make Him sweat, see it glistening on His forehead, giving me the knowledge that He, too, wants the fight, the struggle, the beating; that it’s worth the effort.

And when the beating subsides, when I am left beaten and bruised, exhausted from strain and swimming in endorphins, He will pull me off His knee and into His lap, hold me and whisper sweet words into my hair as I sob against His chest.

And after the tears have dried, He will make love to me, gentle and caring, bringing my body to an apex of sensation, where I teeter, trying to catch my balance, before I fall again, this time into a sea of pleasure.

This is what I want. I want to be beat.

 

A Guide to Fisting

Amazingly, I looked around, and there isn’t much real information out there on fisting. And even on sites like youporn and xhamster, many of the videos are either anal fisting (ouch!) or girl-girl scenes. And let me tell you, my fist is not half the size of M’s, so there is no fucking comparison to having a girl fist you and having a full grown 6’4″ man fist you. No comparison.

But anyway, back on track. Perhaps you’ve thought about the idea of being fisted, but don’t know how to even begin. So how do you get from thinking about it, to being filled with it?

With patience, care and perseverance. Because it’s going to hurt like a mother fucker before it feels like heaven. As a matter of fact, my first fisting experience was my first experience with full blown sub-space and the closest I’ve ever been to safewording. Hence, patience and perseverance are two words dear to my heart.

So on with the show. Here is the LSAM guide to fisting…

**disclaimer: This is solely my opinion on what has worked for me. I am simply passing on what I have learned. I am not a professional.**

• Make sure you’re somewhere you aren’t going to be bothered, as once it’s in, it’s not so easy to get out. You don’t want a random in-law stopping in when you’ve got a whole hand up your pussy. It may make for an awkward conversation.
• Make sure you’re with someone you trust, because this can become a very dangerous experience if things are pushed too quickly or someone doesn’t stop when you ask them too.
• Speaking of this, make sure you have a safeword in place. Yes, it’s necessary, although hopefully you won’t need to use it. First time fisting may even be a good time to use “red” and “yellow,” that way you can have him slow down without stopping. Either way, make sure you’ve talked about this before you’re on your back with your knees pulled up to your ears.
• And just a suggestion. Give him a manicure before you get started. File his nails so the edges are short and smooth. You’ll be thankful later.
• Play. For awhile. And then play some more before you attempt to start with the fist. You want to be very aroused and very wet. Like sloppy, soak-the-sheets wet. And make sure you’ve got lube handy, because a lot of juices will get soaked into the skin, which is good, as it helps it stretch and give and go back in place when it’s all over.
• Begin small and work up. One finger, two, three. Once you bridge up from three fingers to four, he should be folding his fingers in, making his pinking and pointer fingers touch.
  

  English: The beak-like — “silent duck” — hand-gesture made in the initial stages of fisting Also known as the Cheddarplecker (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

• Once you’re comfortable at this level, have him fold his thumb in, encircling it with his other fingers.
• Now we come to the hard part. The knuckles are the widest part of the hand to get by. The only advice I can really give is to go slow, eighth-of-an-inch by eighth-of-an-inch slow. And use lube. Lots of it. Slow and steady.
• I find it much easier if I’m playing with my clit at this point. The pain level can get high, but mix it with a bit of pleasure and I cum like crazy. And the muscle spasms from the orgasms help to draw his hand in. If you have a Wand, use it. I promise you won’t regret it.
• Once you get past the thumb knuckle, it’s smooth sailing. Once the whole of the hand starts to slide in, his fingers should naturally fold over his thumb, making the “fist.”
• When his hand is fully inserted in your pussy, take a moment and breathe. I like to feel it, reach down and feel how fully stretched I am around his wrist. It’s the embodiment of his control over me and my trust in him.
• Now that his fist is in there, it’s time for the movement. And there are a few different
  

  Fisting close-up (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

  strategies here. One way is just the simple opening and closing of his fingers, which can feel freaking amazing. A lot of movement is not necessary, as it’s rather tight inside. Another option is for him to move his whole hand forward and back, just like he would with his fingers if he was finger fucking you. Not too much, and not too rough, as it is very easy to bruise your cervix.

• Now you get to play around. See what you like, what feels good. So go ahead, have some fun!
• And then comes the tricky part. The exit. I’m sure most of you know that just about everything is easier to get into than out of, and a fist in your vagina is no different. I tend to find the extraction often times just as painful, if not more so, than the entrance. Just remember to reverse what you did. Slowly (very slowly, remember how long it took you to get the damn hand in there, don’t try and get it out in 10 seconds) begin pulling out, and be extra careful around the knuckles, as this is the thickest part of the hand. Again, I find it helpful to pay some attention to my clit at this point, although at this stage I tend to just put pressure on it, as I’m most likely overly sensitive.

So there you go. You’ve been fisted. Be careful, it can become very addicting. And remember to do your kegels; they help before, during, and after.

If anyone has any more advice, add it below in the comments. Please! These tips are based solely on my own experience and who knows if they work for anyone else.

And a special *thank you* to WordPress, for surprising me with all the fisting pics!

 

Daddy’s toy

Most of you probably know that in my dynamic, M is the Sir (often times “Sir Daddy”) and I am the toy. And yes, these are our pet names for one another, but to me, as the toy, the word runs deep. When he calls me by it, I melt. Truly. I swear to the gods it probably lowers my blood pressure and wets my panties when the word leaves his lips.

But what does it mean, really? To be Daddy’s toy?

Well, it means that I am his, to do with as he pleases. He can play with me (**please Daddy**). He can torture me (boys do that to their toys right?). He can abuse me, beat me, pull my hair or smack my ass. Whatever he desires at a whim.

For I am here for his pleasure. To bring him joy. To keep him entertained and happy. To help him relax. Unwind.

He can use me or leave me for another day (although be prepared for me to pout about it). He can make me feel special with his attention and kind words, or he can put me in my place and make me remember who is in charge.

He can use me as a vessel, nothing more than a tool for him to reach a goal. He can use me to help him sleep or to keep him warm. He can take out his frustrations on my body, let his aggression rage until he is subdued.

I just pray that he doesn’t tire of me, set me aside, forgotten in the corner, eventually packed up and shipped to Good Will.

So, like a good toy, I adapt. I grow. I morph into something new and different when the opportunity presents itself. I try to make it so playing with me does not become boring, or old, or tiring.

Being his toy has been one of the best experiences of my life; his happiness brings out the best in me. His pleasure, pleasures me. His toy is what I was meant to be.

Thank you, Daddy. Always.

My First Dildo…

So… I’ve never owned a dildo. I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but honest to god, I just never really saw the need, or hell, even the purpose of a dildo. What the hell is the point of a plastic cock that doesn’t really do anything?

But then one night I was browsing around ef, looking at toys, and M mentioned that I should get one. Now, I’d much rather buy lingerie or BDSM gear, but then I stumbled upon the 02 Cush. And I had a eureka moment, where the sky opened up and rays of light shone down on this boy.

I knew instantly this was it. It was love at first sight. I loved the color, the look, and I could imagine what it would feel like in my hands (as well as other places), soft and smooth, yet firm. *sigh* I’m pretty sure I got wet just looking at it. He measured in very close to M’s own cock, so I knew he’d be just perfect.

A few days later, there’s a brown box sitting on the table when I get home from work. Like a child on

02 Cush from Edenfantasys.com

Christmas morning, I couldn’t wait to open him up. I grabbed the box and ran up to our bedroom, eager to feel his girth in my hands. M follows me. “LSAM,” M warns, “the kids are still up, we haven’t had dinner. You need to wait til after bedtime.”

“But, Daddy,” I whine, “I want to touch him. I’ll be quick, I promise!” Without waiting for a response, I rip him out of the package, and my breath stopped in my chest. He was beautiful. My pussy clenched in response to only the sight of him.

“That’s enough.” M’s voice held no room for argument from me, “Until later.”

With my lip sticking out, I put my new friend away and went about our evening activities: homework, dinner, dishes, baths. And as soon as my hand flipped off the hallway light after putting the kiddos to bed, I literally ran to our room.

Grabbing both the Cush and the new rabbit that I ordered with him, I came back down stairs. I walked into the living room and dropped my pants and panties before settling down on to the couch. M takes his place opposite me on the couch and flips on Netflix, getting ready to start the next episode of Lost.

He looks over at me. “Christ toy, you just jumping right in?” he asks and I smile, nodding my head.

I attempt to start with the Cush, but with no lube, it just wasn’t working out, too thick to get much past the tip. I improvised, instead reaching for the new rabbit, figuring I’ll use it to warm up. In no time at all, it did the trick, and I’m dripping wet and ready.

Grabbing the Cush, I begin working him inside, sliding his smooth silicone along my wetness. M, having long forgotten television, rolls off the couch and settles between my legs, watching as I begin thrusting my new friend in and out between my lips. I can feel his thick ridge rubbing against my G-spot and pleasure starts to spread throughout my body.

Soon, M’s hand replaces my own, and my head’s thrown back as the first orgasm spasms through me. M begins to pound the Cush into me, and I’m stretched, filled, and cumming all over.

He pulls it out and flips me over, moving me to the other side of the couch, shoulders down and ass up, as he thrusts his own cock deep inside of me with no hesitation. My mouth opens to call out, and he takes advantage of this, shoving the Cush between my lips. Covered in my own juices, it tastes sweet and salty. He pulls it out to its prominent head, and my tongue swirls around the ridge, cleaning my own cum from its smoothness.

M starts fucking me harder, and jams the whole Cush into my mouth, almost making me gag on it.

His hand moves towards my hair, gripping and pulling and pushing my head down all at the same time. And I find I’m anchored in place; his cock buried in my cunt, his hand wrapped in my hair, and my head sideways, pushed down into the couch with the Cush deep in my throat.

My body starts to spasm and my orgasm rocks me, but I can’t move with it, the restraints of M’s body and my the dildo push my body and mind until I let go, soaring and ravishing and cumming.

Soon M pushes my head down harder as his cock goes deeper and deeper and faster and faster into me as he cums, his cock pulsating inside me. His pace slows, and my reluctantly my thought process starts again as I feel him shift behind me. He releases my hair and gives me a loving pat to the head before he pulls the Cush from my lips, then his own cock from my warmth.

*************

So, Yeah… The next day I could barely walk, my pussy and cervix sore from abuse.

I love my Cush. and shit, fuck, damn, do I wish I’d opened my mind (my legs?) to the idea of a dildo years ago.

And, fuck, pair this boy with my Hitachi, and fuck, less than 60 seconds, and I’m covered in cum, squirting all over myself.

*hugs and kisses* y’all

And a great song by Soul Coughing… The first time I ever ate LSD, I fell in love with this band!