Question Meme

The Question Meme borrowed from another blog that borrowed it from another blog... to lazy to get introspective today.

1. What is your first name? I am not permitted to tell my first name over the internet. (Dumb rules… it is about as normal as Debbie or Karen… like someone could identify me by my first name… pouts… dumb rules). Not that I am in love with my first name… it is kind’a normal and dumb and nobody other than work people ever use it.

2. Were you named after anyone? No, but after I was named an obscure Aunt popped up with the same name, (nobody called her by her name either, she had a nick). She was all kinds of proud I guess.
3. Do you wish on stars? I used to, can’t remember the last time. I think living in the city, the stars are harder to see.

4. When did you last cry? I hardly ever cry. It was probably months ago, related to either Master slamming down an arbitrary “NO!” on something I wanted and me retreating into little girl whines and feel sorry for myself… before that when Master snuck up on me and scared the holy living fuck out of me.

5. Do you like your handwriting? I have awesome handwriting.

6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Lunch meat?... yuck… um maybe corned beef because I every once in a while get this jones for a Rueben Sandwich.

7. What is your most embarrassing CD? The sound track to the “Last Unicorn”. Totally sappy.

8. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? BFF forever baby, and most likely lover. Heck, I would marry me and then we could switch or double team Master.

9. Do you have a journal? Yes.

10. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Sometimes, not as much as I used to. Working on respectful.

11. What are your nicknames? Pretty girl, Sweet heart, Mom, Grandma, bitch

12. Would you bungee jump? Never willingly. It would be interesting if Master told me to. I think it would be one of those rare tearful moments.

13. Do you untie your shoes before you take them off? Only if they won’t come off without.

14. Do you think that you are strong? I come from good peasant stock… Master calls me a “sturdy girl”. Wanna feel my muscles?

15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Choclit.

16. Shoe size? 9.5

17. Red or pink? Dayamn… I have pink days, red days, purple days, black days, sometimes even beige days… if I had to choose… and never have the other I would go with red, but then I would desperately miss pink and feel sorry for myself… and start hatin’ on the bastards that took away my pink.

18. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? The crazy bitch that is in a cage in the back of my head that says the nastiest things about everyone… including me. She is fucking scary. She makes Hannibal Lector look like a freakin’ Sunday school teacher.

19. What do you miss most? The easy orgasms of my youth.

20. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Meh… feel free to copy and send it anywhere you want… it was not mine.

21. What color pants/shoes are you wearing? Yuck, early morning sweats, kind’a mint green and grungy sheepskin slippers.

22. What are you listening to right now? The morning news drones mumbling about the supreme court nomination… gag…

23. Last thing you ate? Coffee?

24. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Again with the fucking colors… right now… shit brown… not such a good day… the crazy lady is loud today.

25. What is the weather like right now? Cool, clear, early morning… really nice.

26. Last person you talked to on the phone? Son, number one… trying to put together some 4th of July plans.

27. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Height, shoulders, voice, smile.

28. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Stole it off another’s blog, who had stolen it off another person’s blog, who had… yes… she seems nice.

29. Favorite drink? Shasta Diet Grapefruit Sodas.

30. Favorite sport? Is Dungeon and Dragons a sport? Trike riding?

31. Hair color? Strawberry blond… but right now some strange pinkish red… the first day after dying the white it always has this “afterglow” like I got to close to some nuclear reactor. It will calm down in a couple of days, Master promises. (He is the one that picked out the dye package. And he is right, it always has… I just have to put up with the double takes and strange looks for a couple of days.)

32. Eye color? Bright light ice blue… one positive thing with the pink hair… brings out the color of my eyes.

33. Do you wear contacts? I used to… those cool long wearing ones that you didn’t need to take out for days at a time… yeah right… totally developed a kind of allergy… now contacts just make my eyes swell up and turn red… back to glasses.

34. Favorite food? Fresh fruit… especially raspberries and sweet cherries.

35. Last movie you watched? Not a huge movie person… “How to Train Your Dragon” 3D… with my granddaughter.

36. Favorite day of the year? Any day that is the first day of a vacation… Thanksgiving because I love to cook.

37. Scary movies or happy endings? Happy Endings… I cannot watch scary stuff. I totally freak. Ghost Busters scared the crap out of me. No emotional distance.

38. Winter or summer? They are all good. I love weather, especially in its extremes. I think maybe if I had to choose, winter. I love cold weather and loathe, loathe, loathe heat.

39. Hugs or kisses? Oh definitely hugs… especially naked hugs. Kisses make me feel claustrophobic. Especially sweet little snuggly smoochie kisses… I just want him to bite me or hurt me… I swear he does it because he can sense me vibrating with frustration… and Master is very picky and controlling about “how” I put my tongue in his mouth… makes me totally self conscious and takes all the fun out of down and dirty face sucking.

40. What is your favorite dessert? Cheesecake? Don’t get it very often… the closest I get is fat free yogurt… I close my eyes and pretend.

41. Who is most likely to do this meme? Dumb social network type question… like I really know anyone other than my Master.

42. Who is the least likely to do this meme and comment? My Master.

43. What books are you reading? Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, for inspiration, and rereading my last novel for editing and rewrite purposes, because I am a fucking masochist...

44. What’s on your mouse pad? WTF??? I sit on the couch with my laptop… the couch cushion, brown leather.

45. What did you watch on TV last night? The Daily Show and The Colbert Report.

46. Favorite smells? Baking bread… Roses in the sunshine… Coffee… Master.

47. Favorite sound? The swish a cane makes as it goes through the air… My Master’s voice.

48. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Both are good… but Beatles.

49. What’s the furthest you’ve been from your home? Mexico City in 1968. I really don’t like traveling very much.

50. Do you have a special talent? Writing stories.

51. What is your ring tone? I do not have a cell phone… yeah… I know. I tried having one once but only made four calls in a year. I don’t even like to talk on the phone. I think I will be the last person in the whole world to get a cell phone… so my home phone makes this conventional ring, ring sound. But I don’t answer it unless I hear a familiar voice yelling at me from the message machine.

Drowning in sensations

I wonder if it is true, what Master says, that exercising before sex makes it better. My small statistical sample of two seems to be proving his statement true. I would say premise or theory, but somehow when Master says something is, it just is.

So early birly Saturday morning, before breakfast, before the normal Saturday morning shower sex, he says to me... "Get dressed." And I know he must mean we are going for a ride.

It was a beautiful morning, bright blue clear skies, early enough that the air was cool. We rode through the back streets and to a nice local paved trail that leads though a beautiful forested little green space that runs along a creek, then through a city park where a ton of people playing Frisbee golf. I get a lot of curious looks and smiles pedaling along on my newfangled contraption.

We rode for about an hour and a half, heading back through a different neighborhood. Funny how riding that bike does not wear me out. I am never huffing or puffing, just the nice long slow burn in my thighs as I push up the hills.

And once home, I am energized. I ask him, "...and what is next for our morning?" And he pushed me down against the counter in the kitchen and begins to spank me with his bare hand... and the sensation is amazing... I arch my back and thrust my ass out at him, begging for more and he so wonderfully answers that need. Even when he pulls out the heavy spatula, it feels soooo goooood. Funny how when it feels just exactly perfect, I just hum and purr with the waves of pain... if you can call it pain. In the end he says to me to "strip naked and get your ass into the shower."

Ahhhh yes, back on track. Sex on Saturday. My Master is nothing if not predictable. As he stands naked at the sink, I press my face to the bare skin of his back and inhale. The scent of his skin, oh so familiar and yet oh so powerful. I open my mouth and taste the salt of his flesh and purr, pressing my bare breasts against his back. It is tempting to stay there, to continue this reveling in his person but I know I am required to follow the routine, to brush my teeth and be ready for his direction to enter the shower.

He swats me a few times as I brush my teeth and I once again thrust my ass out only wanting more.

The activities in the shower are as usual predictable. The washing, the shampoo, the conditioner, the razor and the shaving and the moisturizers... for the longest time I was always mortified when he would bend me over and wash my asshole. I would protest that I had already washed it, angry and embarrassed that he somehow was implying that I was inept in my cleaning... but I know now that it is part of the routine. And I strongly suspect he gets off on the act... it has a larger meaning for him. And god knows I love ass play.

Soon I am on knees, worshiping his cock, urging to to grow and harden and as it does he growls low and grips my hair and takes over the pace, pushing deeper. He seems to like the sounds of my gagging. It continues as predictable, soon I am up on my toes, bent over sharply staring at my feet carefully place between his as I strain to meet and match his thrusts. I gasp and moan when he pushes his thumb deep into my rectum. It feels so good, so intense, so fucking intimate and it forces the most primal sounds from between my clenched teeth.

He shoves me down lower and I fall to my knees, pressing my cheek and ear against the smooth white porcelain, my shoulder somehow pressing against my other ear, shutting out all the sound but the rush of water. It feels like I am miles deep under the water. He keeps fucking me and now with both hands pries me open wider and as he tries to force both thumbs in, opposed and invasive, spreading me and as the pain shoots up my spine, the sounds I was making went from primal to completely bizarre. I think I must have sounded like a drowning parrot. I don't know for how long he held me there, drowning me, fucking me, ripping me open. It seemed to last an eternity.

As usual he finished me in his room on his bed. I remember lying there under him, my knees pinned somewhere up around my ears, looking up at him as his lips twitched and snarled, his brow low... his expression as he gets closer to coming would look angry to any but me. It is pure aggression, ownership, relishing the sensation of my cunt on his cock, reveling in the knowledge that he can take what ever he wants and it will be willingly surrendered.

He let me lie for many minutes, drifting in that wonderful middle place between sleep and waking, floating, savoring the aches and tingles left behind by his use of my body. I feel warm and loose, like a puddle of molasses...

And the rest of the day, my body moves with a wonderful slow grace. And perhaps it is true, that it does make things better to ride the bikes first... something has been making it better.

Master plan

<----I have spent the last month I have been digging out grass, weeds and black berries from that little garden area above the retaining wall, next to the neighbor's spite... um privacy fence.



Before I got started it looked very much like this---->


Now I have a master plan... (no nothing to do with Master, please note the lower case 'm') ...Now I am completely aware that the war on weeds is far from over. In fact it has only just begun. I know that I may have gotten maybe 80% of the roots out at a very generous estimate. And that little garden area is just a small proportion of my very large and weed infested yard. And those little roots hiding down there are like little sleeper cells, terrorist weeds ready to spring back the moment my back is turned.

The first thing I need is grass clippings... lots and lots of grass clippings. Lucky for me the lawn had been very cooperative in that department. Please pause for a moment and admire Master's beautiful grass... it is lovely isn't it.


So you take newspaper, nice biodegradable, water permeable newspaper, free if you grab it out of the recycling bin at work... thank god for all those guys at work that read the newspaper rather than work. (Screws up nose... I think thank god for them, thank god for the newspapers.)

Anyway, you take the newspapers and layer then up on top o the dirt, over those little evil terrorist weed roots. Lots of layers, the more the merrier... I was laughing my most evil of muahahaha laughs as I contemplated those frustrated roots wondering where the sun had gone.

And after you lay out the newspapers, put a nice thick layer of grass clippings over them. Pretty, clean, sweet smelling grass clippings. I had just enough to cover my little piece of reclaimed soil.


Eventually it looked all pretty like this --->



<--- and this.








And in the end, I get to wash my dirty, dirty hands...

Green stuff

I spent all morning today working in the yard... and if you don't keep it up the green stuff will start to win... like this. If you look you will see a house somewhere under all that green. Blackberries, English Ivy, grass, Morning Glory, and myriad other nasty aggressive weeds. It really is a rain forest type world here.








Here is what I have managed to reclaim from something that looked very much like this...



Yes, that is what can happen while somebody just sits on their butt in the house all winter. And I certainly have my work cut out for me. Speaking of work... Master left me with a bit of list... gotta keep running.

Fun with Five Year Old

One of the things I am proudest and happiest about in my life is the magical, miraculous fact that I am the grandma of a beautiful, bright, funny, sparkling, talkative, amazing force of nature that is my five year old grand daughter.

I have had the delightful job of having her over for last two whole days... her Daddy works at a school too but his school ends two days later than hers does... and luckily my school is on break for a couple weeks before starting summer session. (Yes, the high needs kids do need to be in school through the summer... so I do not get the whole summer off.)

And it has been sooo much fun. Five year old girls are a vast store of enthusiasm, giggles and wisdom. Important things learned...

"Coconut is good." And sitting down with a bright little girl, talking about coconut, tasting coconut, looking at pictures of coconut palms on the internet is a blast. We did find a totally amazing coconut cookie recipe. (stolen from allrecipes.com)



Livie's Chewy Coconut Cookies (renamed in honor of the queen of the day)


Ingredients

* 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
* 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* 1/2 cup butter
* 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
* 1/2 cup white sugar
* 1 egg
* 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 1 1/3 cups flaked coconut

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C.) Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside.
2. In a medium bowl, cream the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar until smooth. Beat in the egg and vanilla until light and fluffy. Gradually blend in the flour mixture, then mix in the coconut. Drop dough by teaspoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Cookies should be about 3 inches apart.
3. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven, or until lightly toasted. Cool on wire racks.

These cookies are amazingly good... I sent them all home with her... I could have totally eaten the whole recipe all by myself.

Fact number two: Red flowers smell like ketchup. Solemnly related to me as we pushed our cart around and around the Home Depot (Dom Depot) yard and garden section. I cannot relate how exciting it is to watcg your grand daughter decode and read some words and turn to you with the sudden light of awareness and exclaim, "Home Depot! We are at Home Depot!"

Fact number three: It just is not a complete garden without a pumpkin, but it must just be one pumpkin.



So we bought and planted a pumpkin... as well as two tomatoes and some pretty purple Lobelia.



Livie and I had the best day... it is totally magical to see the world brand new through the eyes of a beloved little girl.

Thinking, trying, doing

I think about how it started…

I would have the fantasy and deny it.

I would have the fantasy and acknowledge having it, but keep it secret.

I would have the fantasy and accept it.

I would have the fantasy and admit it.

Take a risk and say the words aloud.

Think about doing it.

Talk about doing it.

Try it.

Shy away, too frightened to even believe I enjoyed it.

Think about it.

Try it again.

Admit to myself that I enjoyed it.

Try it again, and again.

Start needing it.

Ask for it.

Try to control it.

Try to confine it within a set of rules.

But rules make a lie of it.

Mock the truth of it.

Tear the heart out of it.

Control it and kill it.

He knew this instinctively,

When I tried to do it by the book,

Write the contract, define the rules, control it,

He became so enraged,

Throwing away the paper,

He refused to even read it.

He was so pissed off that I did not trust him,

Trust his integrity, his wisdom, his love, his limits.

He was furious that I tried to write it all down,

Confine him with words,

Chain him with rules, control him with my doubts.

So here I am without words tying him down,

Trusting, letting go,

Believing in him,

Ennoble him, love him.

Embrace his vision, his power.

It is not enslavement.

It is freedom.

Freedom from fear.

No longer trying it.

Living it.

A long and wonderful day.

It seems my days are either dull and predictable or busy and wonderful… and you know when I try to make it happen, plan all kinds of things to do, that is when nothing wonderful happens. I must learn to be more patient…

Anyway, yesterday, Saturday, was a wonderful day. As usual I woke early, rising with the early spring sunrise, sitting down before 6 am. And first thing, before coffee, he had me across his lap giving me a pretty thorough spanking… triggering memories of the thorough beating he gave me right before I went to sleep last night. (You know falling asleep for the night with the endorphins still singing in your head is fucking awesome?)

I spent a nice lazy hour or so reading other people’s blogs, leaving comments, reading kinky threads on Fetlife, leaving little witty comments here and there, perhaps amusing no one but myself, but all good fun.

Master was messing about with his computer and after a while calls across the room, asking how I felt about maybe going out to a “erotic improv theater” thing that night, no promises but if we are awake and interested??? Wow, Master initiating a “going out” thing… wow. I told him sure… sure, that might be fun.

Then without much warning, Master was in the bathroom, laughing about how many little plastic containers of dental floss I have stashed under the bathroom sink. (I use those “plackers” thingies and the darned dentist keeps giving me floss and I am too polite to say no? And then you just can’t throw away something like that… a “free” thing.) I was protesting and explaining when the thought occurred to me… “What is he doing under the bathroom sink?” And… “Fuck that enema bag is under there. He is going to find it.”

I was up and heading for the bathroom in an instant saying one of my favorite lines… “Is there something you are looking for? Can I help you find it?” …before he totally messed up my messy organization. He was in there and everything… I mean EVERYTHING, out from under the sink and spread across the floor.

He had decided to finally fix that slow draining sink. Again… wow! At first he was a little distracted by my store of strange items, ranging from blow dryers, to enema bags, to latex gloves, to bag balm… it is a bit of safari to go through a cupboard, any cupboard in this house. He is not the only one that has a bit of packrat problem… (Though he is worse, ten times worse than me… well, maybe not ten times.) But I quickly threw away about a dozen of the oldest dustiest items. At least I can throw some stuff away, especially once they are dragged out and displayed in the bright light of morning, he is not quite that disciplined.

He went on to clean out the drain… the nasty black clumps of hair and slime he dragged out were seriously impressive. They were somewhat reminiscent of the decomposing corpses of rats and smelled about that bad. But now the sink drains fast and clean. The place under the sink is clean and organized and I even found some descaling cleaner and the whole thing shines like new.

All this and it was not even eight o’clock a.m.

I asked if he wanted breakfast yet and he said, “No, get dressed. Let’s go for a bike ride.” So we are off and out into the cool morning air. We tooled around the neighborhood for about an hour. I was filled with snotty piss and vinegar. I kept making turns and “riding” away from him, even once taunting him that “he could not catch me.” There was no question that he can go faster than me when he is on his bike, but if he got off to grab me, I knew I could ride faster than he could run… muahahahaha… He was sputtering and threatening to spank me and I was giggling and full of freedom and spunk. But then he remembered that he did have the power, that the leash was and always will be there, and he just used his voice, ordering me to turn where he wanted me to turn. And as much as I squealed in frustration at that reminder that the freedom was an illusion, that the wind in my hair was not emancipation, I followed his directions.

And once we were home, I asked again if he wanted breakfast and he once more told me no, directing me to get my towel and join him in the shower. At first I was taken back. Sex? Now? I was awfully energized. My head was everywhere but at my pussy. But an order is an order and as much as I love to play at rebelliousness, I am nothing but eventually obedient. And there are worse things than getting fucked. And as I shed the bicycle clothes and grabbed my towel, I began rapidly, intentionally changing my mindset, my awareness sliding down to my core, putting my busy brain to sleep, stirring up my primal fires, blowing on those embers.

The sex was anything but predictable… oh, sure it started out the same, the tooth brushing, the ritual scrubbing and shaving, the expected shove to my knees, the familiar struggle to take him as far down my throat as is possible. And with the first gag, I felt those embers finally ignite into flame. Then the push and impatient lifting shove that let me know it was time to stand and bend over, giving him access to my cunt, my forehead resting in its familiar place on the end of the tub staring down at the sweet same vision of my feet, braced and straining between his larger ones. And when he shoved his thumb up my ass I grunt as the excitement ratcheted up another notch. He has been doing this more and more often, making sure my other place is filled as well. We do this, him using me one way, then without a word, signaling with a shove that it was time to return to sucking and then another shove to let me know to stand and bend over again. And then the shove is different, and I stagger for a minute confused, unsure what this new thing is, but as he pushes me down and down, to lie on my back and kneels between my legs, I finally got it and spread my legs wide, waiting for his next whim, his next wish… for his wish is my command.

He took the hand held shower attachment and set it to the harshest of pulsing sprays and directed it at my clit and smiled as I yelped and convulsed. He handed me the sprayer and watched with hot, greedy eyes as I conspired with him, pushing myself higher and higher. His hands were free and soon I found both my holes filled again, and I hovered there, teetering on the edge of orgasm, but he kept changing up the sensation, each time as I am about to slip over, there was just enough of a change in intensity and tempo to defuse the explosion and maintain the build. I didn’t know if it was his intention or just his lack of focus… but I was mindless with excitement when he pulled away and ordered me to my feet, ordered me to get out of the shower.

I was woozy with lust and I staggered as I clumsily patted and dabbed at the water on my skin. He likes that, the fact that he can take such profound control of me that he can so thoroughly turn off my head that I lose some ability to stand and walk, think and talk. By the time we reach his room I have regained some ability to function, the inferno inside me dying down slightly, but I knew it was just an intermission. I was not distracted. In fact I was already anticipating the next act of this play. He pointed at my old vibrator, the one we call “old friend” and as I reachd for it, I asked in a husky voice, “How do you want me?” And he responded he just wants to watch me for a while and I smile and turn around, facing my cunt away from him, placing my mouth at his disposal while I press the intense sensation of vibrations against my sensitized clit. He cannot resist that hungry orifice and soon I am gagging once again. It is amazing how each gag, each spasm of my throat around his hard cock, sends new waves of heat to down my whole body, feeding the fire in my belly.

Deliberately I teased myself, deliberately fighting off the orgasm that was coming at me like a freight train, twisting, moaning around the gag in my mouth. Then he was gone from my mouth, moving around the room and I wads too far gone to open my eyes or stop the rush to the finish line now. But then he is between my legs, and something, one of our toys but all I know is that it feels big is being pushed deep into my ass. It doesn’t hurt, the pressure is amazing and as he slowly pushes it in and pulls it out and pushes it back, deeper and deeper each thrust, I arch and cry out as my orgasm finally takes control of me.

And as I writhe and jerk under his hands, he turns on the vibrations in the dildo and keeps fucking me with it. I keep abusing my clit with my old friend and keep coming and coming and coming… it may have been minutes but it felt like hours. I remember, babbling nasty words, groaning, yelling, laughing and sobbing.

And only after I finally was limp and spent, did he push me around and shoved my knees up around my ears and after wetting his cock in my cunt, moved down and began fucking me up the ass. And for the first time ever, there was not the slightest bit of pain, no burn, no stretching and because I am far enough past my orgasm, I could focus totally on the sensation. It felt so good, his cock sliding in and out of my ass and with each plunge into me, I shuddered with echoes of my spent pleasure and I could feel the surrender to his will grow. And he finally tensed and filled me with his come, I felt dirty, forbidden, dark, nasty… I felt totally used, subjugated, submissive…

Our day was tinged with echoes of that, over and over I would flash back to those moments, and glance at him with happy, hot and grateful eyes… and he would laugh and ask if I was coming again. We went to the Goodwill and Salvation Army and talked about ways to pervert all those everyday items into sick and twisted toys. He was very controlling at the grocery store, repeatedly yanking me by my arm, grabbing me around the neck, growling at me to stay close by his side. Several times I caught people staring, women with envious eyes. And I could not keep a wide, satisfied grin off my face.

We did end up going out. And amazingly as we walked into the small venue where the improv was to be, I recognized a woman who attends the local submissive group with her Master. I whispered to Master that I saw someone I knew and asked his permission to say hi. I introduced him to them, and they invited us to sit at their table. We just sat there, talking about things like the finer points of the labels of slave vs. property, caning styles, subspace, bicycles, playing with other people… oh holy moley fucking moley moley… my reclusive, private, hermit Master sitting with another man who likes the same things he likes and having a conversation about kinky shit. The show was bland and only vaguely funny now and then, but it was great to get out and amazing to randomly run into someone I sort of knew… someone kinky.

Master said he had a good time and said that they seemed nice.

Bedtime was another reflection of what a wonderful day it was. As I knelt at his feet and begged permission to go to bed, he grilled me about my day, questioned me about the completion of assigned chores and actually sent me off the redo one thing a little more to his vision and when I asked, “After I do that can I go to bed?” He said no. He said, “After you do that, you come back and ask again.”

He made me kneel at his feet a long time, stroking my hair and then sent me to bed. I fell asleep quickly… it was a long and wonderful day.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Here is how to make a simple fun little string flogger. It is not the slightest bit extreme. Master has to put a lot of oomph into it to make it bite at all. I made one like this almost two years ago when Master and I first began to experiment with hurting me. It was a great beginner and yet... to this day, Master will use these on me, if only to change up the sensations as we play.

They also make awesome pussy floggers... mmm... awesome.

What you will need:

Some mason's twine... it comes in all kinda bright colors. I guess mason's need to be able to see it easily, or maybe they just love pretty colors like me.
A piece of 1/2 inch dowel... about 5 or 6 inches long... depends upon how long you like your handles and how big your hand (or your Master's hand is).

And some tape... I tried this new wrapping tape but after using it, it smelled funny. I think I prefer electrical tape and you can find nice colors of electrical tape if you look. And I do like pretty colors.

Tools:

Something about two feet long to wrap the string around and around. I have a Formica desk top but a cutting board, or any kind of board will do... even a piece of cardboard, scissors, and scotch tape.

You will get something like this... though I chose some orange string this time. This is an old one that has seen a lot of use. You can see how the ends of the string have frayed out. It is now wonderfully soft and sends endless warm tingly chills over me when Master trails it over my skin.










On this one, Master took the time to tie a knot in the end of each string. It stings more.








Okay... take your board and wrap the string around and around... count fifty times... that will make a hundred string flogger... and if your board is two feet long... that uses up about 200 feet of your string. Leaving you 300 left of your 500 foot spool to make another one. Don't know about you... but Master has been known to dual wield.







I use a little scotch tape to anchor the ends and then I wrap around the bundle in a couple of places to keep it from falling all apart after I slide it off the side.

Now you have a loop... I carefully put my piece of dowel in one end and try to arrange the strings evenly around it and anchor them with some more scotch tape. The scotch tape gives you the freedom to fuss around with it.




And once you are satisfied, take your electrical tape or tool handle wrap and wrap it around and around spiraling up and then back down, making sure that the entire length of the dowel is covered.







You can give it a haircut and trim the ends all even if you have the urge to make everything pretty and perfect looking.






And when you are all done... you have >>>>>>
It is fun, cheap to make, not very intimidating to play with for beginners. It also is fun to hold in your hand, run your fingers through. It is sensual and pretty. I know when I made our first one, Master never put it down.



Now that you have the basic idea of how to get started with making floggers, you can experiment with different handle lengths, different types of string and other stringy stuff... I have used leather shoe laces. I have been thinking about surgical tubing?



Now for a piece of advice... Do NOT make something like this. It is some dense plastic jump rope that someone was throwing away at the school. It is beyond mean or nasty... it makes marks long before it even starts to really hurt... and take my word for it... it really REALLY hurts. For the life of me... I cannot figure out why I am so attracted to things like this, things that literally can kill me. Master already looked at the stuff and declared it too dangerous... and look I could not resist doing it anyway.

Getting 'Bent'!!!

This all started months and months ago. Wayyyyy back in midwinter there was a bicycle expo at the old expo center. Master has been talking for years and years and years about getting me on a recumbent bicycle... Now I have periodic inner ear problems, infrequent bouts of vertigo and frequently have balance issues. Riding a conventional two wheel bike can be a challenge. The idea of one of those strange looking long bikes with the guys half lying down on them sounded dangerous. I had a girls frame because I needed to put my feet down frequently to keep from going Benny Hill. (Flop over onto my side.)

Well at the expo they did have lots of styles of recumbent bicycles and they had this one type with three wheels... a recumbent tricycle and inside the big building on the glass smooth concrete floor they just flew. They were easy to ride, comfortable and FUN!!!!! I was instantly hooked.

I wanted... really wanted. But they are pretty spendy... ranging from a $1000 to you just don't want to know. But I kept wanting. And we do have the money. The worry was... "If we buy this really expensive toy, will we really use it or will it just be one more expensive thing gathering dust taking up space in our lives?"







But the memory of flying along did not go away and I kept bringing it back up... and up... and up. But Master kept putting it off and it was raining and raining and raining. But this last Saturday, Master was spanking me and once again made the complaint that my ass was too bony. Pffftttt... like he isn't happy I lost all that weight. I mean I have repeated offered to eat lots of cheesecake for his spanking comfort but he just says no. Darn it... anyway this last Saturday I did say... "If you buy me a recumbent tricycle, I would get big muscley buns..." So Master said, "Okay, we will go for a test ride on city streets and see how you like it outside, see if it is still like you remember." Happy dance.

Sunday we went to the specialty bicycle store and took out a Terra Trike 24 for a spin and it was just as fun as I remember... more fun. People naturally smile at you as you ride by. I feel confident about my balance. I can go slow and not feel like I going to flop over.

So after the ride, Master asked me what I wanted and I pointed at the secksy blue trike and said... "I want that, if you will permit it." And he pulled out a little square of plastic... dontcha just love plastic??? ...and abracadabra, it was my secksy blue trike.

One downside with trikes is they just don't fit in the trunk of a Pontiac, so Master had to pick up with is truck on Monday. I raced home a half hour early with all these plans to get dinner ready so we could go out for a ride the instant Master pulled up to the house but surprise, surprise, Master was already home. His truck parked in the usual place, but no bike in evidence. I walked into the house and he was sitting at the computer playing dumb computer games... grrr... I said.... happy, excited voice... "You are HOME!!!" And he made a small noncommunicable grunt. Voice growing suspicious, this could easily be a terrible mind fuck... "Where is my bike?" Again a shrug and grunt, he does not look up from his computer. I go into the garage and then look out at the back yard... nothing.... nothing... nothing... Louder voice, tears starting to fill my eyes... "You didn't get it?"


He is a truly evil bastard... but not that evil... he started laughing and ran into my bedroom. I am really puzzled now. How the fuck did he get that big trike into my bedroom and why on earth would he put it in there? I mean he is an evil bastard but not usually a crazy bastard. But he comes out with the flag and proceeds to beat my ass with it... and it is a nasty length of fiber glass... it really stings but I am not paying attention to that... "Okay where did you hide my trike!"


Turns out it was in the basement. We went out for a ride but his old bike tires blew out after only a few blocks so it was a very short ride. I did test out the steepest hill in our neighborhood and I could put my secksy blue trike in granny gear and power up, up, up, up... awesome. I could do it. Boo Yah.

Master and I spent most of the evening driving around town shopping for new tires for his bike. I swear, Master has five broken down bicycles that he won't let go of... but when I want to go for a ride, none of them work. I am half tempted to take my magic piece of plastic and go get him a bike but then he would still not let go of the five broken down pieces of junk.

Feisty?

Yeah, that is the word. Feisty... Lately when he randomly reaches out and hurts me, I have this almost irresistible urge to hit back. I literally was doing a crazy jumping up and down, squirming convulsion while I was snarling and roaring at him this morning. Feisty... I just want to hit him back.

I told him that I was feeling strangely energetic, full of piss and vinegar, and that I have been having these irrational impulses to attack him. He blinked and mentioned a time months or even years back when I totally took him out with a sharp punch to the solar plexus. He commented how it had hurt and how he did not want that to happen again.

And thinking that because the words were all laid out on the table, the issue had somehow miraculously been taken care of we went blithely on with our day. I cleaned the kitchen, (even scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees wearing nothing but a sexy black bra and frilly black panties. What, it was hot and heck I didn't want to get the knees of anything dirty... pfffttt... the fact that it was completely calculated to attract attention had nothing to do with it.) And it worked... totally got a stellar fuck session. Then I cooked him his breakfast and then we went to the store.

We had a great morning... and because it is one of those miraculous rare blue sky days, I actually got out and dug up some more of the encroaching green stuff. And finally Master got all up in my grill... and made me dig through the whole huge compost pile looking for black berry roots because... "THEY DON'T GO IN THERE"... So I was doing that... and mumbling... and pissing and moaning under my breath that there was no way to keep all the fucking black berry roots out. He grabbed me, spun me around to face him and I...

I PUNCHED HIM RIGHT IN THE STOMACH... hard.

Shit... shit... shit... at least it wasn't in the solar plexus, but he was not amused at all. I instantly had my arm twisted up behind my back. His voice in my ear was a low growl. "You did that on purpose."

I was babbling that no, no it wasn't on purpose. It just sort of happened. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

He let me go. I did get all the blackberry roots I could out of the compost. I got my ground cover roses planted. I helped prune back about a truck load of blackberries, ivy and other random green things while he mowed. Pork loin and foil wrapped Yukon gold taters are slowly cooking on the grill. Vegies are marinating to throw on at the last minute. And I am sort of fearfully waiting to see if he remembers, and if he does... what is going to happen to me.

Caning can be delicious

There is an art to caning… and it is definitely delicious. At first after that class, the first few times Master put his hand to me, he seemed to deliberately reject all the things we learned at the class.

Lately he has approached giving pain to me in a harsher and harsher manner… starting harsher and harder each time we try until I cringe when he reaches for me. But there is still some part of me that hoped… hoped that maybe he could learn from another what he refused to learn from me.

The teacher had spoken at length about two things, one was where the muscle is deep enough to absorb the cane strike without hitting bone and two about watching your subject, taking the time to watch them absorb the energy of the blow and process it, transform it and ultimately enjoy it. And once we were home Master pushed those limits. Even with just his hands, he seemed to perversely reject the concepts of warm up and pacing. And when I would cry out and plead that when he does that, it pushes me too fast, that it is nearly impossible to bear. And he would laugh and gloat, “Oh, I know. I always knew that.”

At first I was sort of disheartened, that I was the one that asked for this, started us down the rabbit hole, and now… now… now that he has taken control, he has taken the things I ask for and distort them, mutate them into something different, just close enough to what I beg for to give me hope and yet… just off the mark far enough to frustrate the hell out of me.


I had almost reached the point of deciding to not ask, to avoid pain from Master… one can only ask for ice-cream and get a dish of pickles so many times before they stop asking for ice cream. I mean I can eat the pickles and if I try hard enough I can even convince myself that I like pickles or that maybe this is pickle tasting ice cream… or hell that maybe all ice cream is really pickles and I was somehow stupid to think it had ever been anything different.

And then last night, I had been tired, just beat… I had not slept well the night before and when I got home I just had run out of gas. He directed me to rest, take a nap if I could capture sleep. I sat there for an hour, not quite asleep, not quite awake… and an hour later he woke me. But I was dopey, waking was almost beyond my reach and he pulled me to lie across his lap and began to spank me awake. At first he just spanked my bottom and it felt good… but then as I sighed and told him that it was good, feeling really good… he hit my thighs hard. And I lunged and protested that he was going too fast, hitting too hard… not going at a pace I could manage. And finally, miraculously he slowed. And once the pace was within my ability, I found myself doing what the teacher guy spoke of, absorbing, analyzing the sensation, moving it around my body and enjoying myself.

We talked about it, about the caning stuff and he told me to come down to his lair and picked up the length of rattan we had purchased at the very beginning of this M/s relationship. He hit me really hard right from the first and I cried out, begging to ask him one more question before we started… I asked him… “Is this for you? …because if it is, then do your worst, I will bear it. But if it is for me, please be open to my words; listen to what I have to say… please.” And once again, miraculously he listened.

I found myself lying, sensually luxuriously bathing in sensation as he lightly began to tap, tap, tap, tap… raining fast light taps up and down my ass and thighs… back and forth… up and down… sensitizing me and then “whack”… an exacting blow, not so hard as to interrupt the music but a punctuation mark in the storm. And it was interesting to feel the wave of pain… if it was pain… roll up my body, accentuated by the feeling of the continued taps. I spoke… soft continual comments, “That’s good. I like that. I like the way the two feelings blend and contrast and fit. I like that a lot.”

We did that for a long time, experimenting with different positions, different styles of blows, different implements, different body parts being struck and talking about it… talking and feeling listened to. There was no loss of awareness, no subspace… in fact I felt very clear minded, very calm, very relaxed, very sensual and very safe. It was awesome.

I am sure there will be times that it will be for him… times when he will not wait for me, will not allow me to enjoy it. And that is okay… in many ways that is more than okay. In fact those scenes push me into that mental place, where I feel my submission and awe of him more than any other times. And afterwards, for days after, I continue to feel that for him. But now I know that sometimes, even if it is hardly ever… it is good to know that sometimes the ice cream will really be ice cream.

The Delicious Art of Caning

It rained again yesterday... the weather guys said an inch and a half just yesterday. In the last 62 days we have had 57 days of rain. No wonder the dirt is mud. And it looks like at least six more days until another sunny day... ARGGGGHHHHH!!!! I mean I know this is the pacific northwest but this is getting to be a bit much...

But even though it was raining, or maybe because it was raining, Master and I went to a class put on by the Portland Leather Alliance. The Delicious Art of Caning put on by a local guy who calls himself DungeonMaster Mark. And it was delicious. He was knowledgeable, witty and entertaining. A nice display of pretty bottoms and just the sound of swish, whack, sigh, groan that accompanied the demonstrations made my insides turn to mush. And it was not so freaky as to turn my Master off.

I am very curious to see what Master brought away from the class, how it will impact his style... how his style will impact me?

Rainy Sunday...

Arghhh... yes... the weather guys were right... It is raining again. I can look out at that pitiful little patch of mud that I exposed in the middle of the waist high weeds and just feel those evil roots extending back to reclaim the lost territory. Shakes fist in righteous stubborn anger... quotes Macarthur... "I shall return"... or maybe the Governator... "I'll be back." "I have a dream..." and that dream involves rose bushes, heather, bulbs, flowers, color, order and beauty!!!!!

On the upside... Master, who never goes anywhere, never has attended any kind of BDSM event has consented to go to a class this rainy afternoon. "The Delicious Art of Caning". I have this little ritual, with his permission. Whenever there is an event or a class that looks interesting, I will read it to him and he will say no. Well today... today he said "sure, lets go". ZOMG!!! WOOT!!! Double WOOT with a little excited happy dance!!!

So I need to get in gear, get the breakfast cooked, figure something out for dinner that I can get on the table in the 30 minutes I will be home between the class and game. Go grocery shopping... and the little voice in my head is reminding me that I have not serviced Master in several days and he will most likely be grabbing me for some fun. Damn it, it is raining and my day is quickly getting more busy than yesterday.

And that being said, here I go... up and doing with the heart that is in my feet... and if I am lucky... other more central portions of my anatomy.

You guys all have a good day too.

Sunny Saturday!

Saturday and the weather is amazing. BLUE SKY! I had almost forgotten what it looked like. I was hot to trot to get my dusty old winter white skin out and wage war against the green.

Now I have this love hate thing about yard work (maybe it would be more accurate to call it a hate hate thing). It seems like no matter how hard you fight, the weeds always win. The yard is really big... and neither Master nor I really find that great satisfaction in the act of gardening you hear about, but now after two months of daily heavy rain the green stuff is starting to threaten to take over.

Here in the pacific Northwest the green just creeps up, you beat it back, mow, prune, trim, mulch, lay out plastic, heck an air strike with some old fashioned agent orange might not even work. The grass grows almost an inch a day. The black berries that I had chopped down only a month (or has it been two... god, its been raining for fucking EVAR) ...anyway, those blackberries had grown taller than me. Kudzu with claws.

It took a bit of focus, but I got all my Saturday chores out of the way by 9:00 am and talked Master into taking me to the Home Depot to buy a couple of perennials to bribe myself into not giving up too soon. He did sort of wander around the hardware section while I vibrated and made small impatient yelps... The weather men say rain again tomorrow and with only one day of sunshine, the first sunny day in weeks and weeks, I did not want to waste daylight fingering chainsaws. It was noon before we got all our town errands done and I was ready to do full out battle.

And I learned exactly how deeply the green can sink its roots in just a winter. And I am of course a woeful wimpy weakling. Sitting on the couch writing witty or raunchy repartee does not build shoveling, garden spading muscle. I worked hard for an hour, got a blister, became totally drenched in sweat... it was horribly humid, the soil I dug out under the black berries, weeds and grass was still heavy, clumpy wet and saturated.

Master mowed the lawn, it took going over it twice to get it down. I am praying that the weather men were wrong and I will have at least an hour tomorrow to get out and attack once again. I know I need to take it a little easy... if I overdo I will just hurt myself and then all the green will come back before I can get better. So after digging out the green and forking and forking that heavy clumpy dirt from a pitifully small area of about 10 x 10 feet, I called a cease fire and made a tactical retreat. But I got a start... and darn it... I want to keep at it. I refuse to be defeated!!!!

Bad weather and oil spills

Work yesterday was nucking futs. We had three people out in my most intensive classroom, including the teacher. And all three subs had never been there before. It is nearly impossible to teach someone how to do this job if you aren't already juggling monkeys (code for dealing with a very disabled child that needs a 100% of your attention). So I am in there, sort of careening from one disaster to another.

Long story short, I was overjoyed when the school buses finally arrived. Whew! I made a half pot of coffee and sucked down about two cups first thing after I got home to give myself a bit of a jump start. Then I made a delicious beef, broccoli, mushroom stir fry. Double yum. And I was good and did not over stuff myself. I have not been very good lately... so it was step in the right direction. Master made lots of appreciative mmms and grunts as he woofed his plate down and filled it up a second time.

After eating I got up and asked permission to visit. Visiting means climbing up into his lap. I put my knees on either side of his, straddle his lap and snuggle up close. He held me close and asked if I needed to talk about anything... and it is true that when I really need to say something, I do "visit" but today I just wanted a snuggle and I told him, "no, not really" and burrowed my face into his neck and inhaled. I may have said this before but that man just smells right.

He ran his hands down my back and held my ass... and gave me few gentle swats. I sat up and gave him a boiling hot look and he laughed, "Oho... now that is a look..."

I blinked and purred, "Look?"

We played a bit, him pinching my nipples, me protesting just enough to make it fun. And then he commented, "I like this. I am having fun." He looked over at my shoulder at the TV news and made a tired face. "The only thing on the news is bad weather and oil spills."

I wiggle on his lap and agree... "That is the only thing on the news for that last month." Then I purred again, "...turn it off ...play with me."

He flipped me over and in an instant had me over his lap, my head hanging down off the arm of his big chair and yanks my pants and panties down to my knees. POW, POW, POW... his spanks were hard and wonderful. I squirmed and squealed and yelped and called out to him... "Don't hurt your hand!" More of a taunt than a real concern, though he sometimes complains that his hand does hurt after spanking me.

After a while he pushed me off and ordered me to "Get my strap." I loved that he called it "his" strap. Though the mere mention of this made my heart race with fear. I scurried fast and soon was presenting it to him... and he said sadistically, "Assume the position," gesturing at his lap once again. Soon I was more than yelping, I was squalling, panting, screaming, cussing... and just as I was reaching that softer, warmer, relaxed place where the agony starts to give back rather than take from me. He stops and orders me to "Suck my cock!" I have to admit a bit of reluctance, the ouchies were just getting good, and my selfish little self wanted more, more, more... but I do love this new activity too... decisions, decisions. Actually he is the boss, so it isn't really a decision and I was soon on my knees and had him lodged deep down by my tonsils.

But that did not last too long... the next thing I hear is, "get your towel." (Code for we are going to take a shower, code for you are going to get your brains fucked out. Or maybe just a quicky... one never knows with Master but hope springs eternal.)

OOOOOOOHHHHH!!!! Oh holy fuck... I am going to get fucked... fucked on a work night... oh holy shit!!!! I was in the shower tout suite. And between continued sound spankings (My ass was scarlet!)I had a cock down my throat again and then was bent over in his favorite position. I swear, I really want to take a picture of this, my view of the act, my feet, sort of pigeon toed and straining up on my tip toes, nestled between his bigger ones... the shower water splattering all around us. It is how Master always fucks me... bent over in the shower. He will fuck me until he almost comes and then stop and mess around with me... and then start again... pushing himself to the edge over and over. Then when the water heater finally gives up its last drops of warmth, he pushes me out of the shower and we go down to his lair.

He had grabbed the strap and pushed me down onto my back and made me lift my legs up and began to beat me again. Hitting me on the tender backs of my thighs. After all the hot water and in this more vulnerable position I am instantly overwhelmed with pain and strangely the only thing I can do as I panic is violently slap at my own skin, somehow the sharp smacks from my own hands do battle with the tidal wave of pain, create a breakwater, and shelter me just enough so that I can keep the stringent position and not flip over and try to flee.

But he does not permit this for long... "Play with your pussy... Do it now!" And as I reach down to obey, he keeps beating me... snarling, "You better come!"

As I have pointed out, I am not a masochist. I like pain, I love subspace but it is not erotic for me and I plead, "Its hard... I can't focus when you hit me." But he does not relent. He grabs a big dildo and shoves it in me and pumps it hard, banging it deep against my cervix. He still hits me randomly, but his hands are full and he can't hurt me quite so bad. I grunt and tense, straining to force it, and as my focus turns inward my legs start to sag and he hits my foot with the strap. "Keep your feet up." Over and over as I get close, I forget and lose position and am shocked back by the sharp strike on my foot.

Finally I get there, and I groan out to him, "Coming, coming now." And as I writhe and cry out, he keeps pushing the dildo into me, levering it up against my g-spot and forcing me to keep coming for a long time. After he can't force another tremor from my sweat drenched body, he climbs up on top of me and begins to fuck my face, slowly, luxuriously taking his time. Finally when he is close, he moves down and plunges into my cunt and growls as he finally releases his come into me.

I look at him and smile a wide, slow, satisfied grin and giggle. I don't know why but after coming I just feel like giggling. He gives me a gentle smack and asks if I am going to go to sleep, but it is still early and I can feel the extra caffeine from the coffee still singing in my veins.

"No, not for a while."

And after I am upstairs, he growls at me this funny thing, "You need to clean your dildo." For some reason that totally cracked me up... but then after an intense scene, anything seems funny to me. I giggled the whole time I washed it off.

And this morning, it was more of the same, bad weather and oil spills, but after last night, it doesn't seem so depressing.