Wednesday, December 29, 2010
At first it was good, hell it was great. But on some level, this was not the reaction he craves. He wants shock, involuntary scrambles to escape, rueful squalls and protests. If a spank on the butt gets a coo, a giggle and an appreciative wiggle, he will move his attention down to more tender places and will up the ante until I am not cooing any more. He will push those pants down or pull up the skirt, baring skin so it will sting more. And every day it gets worse.
And now, when the front door opens I am not filled with delicious anticipation so much as irritated apprehension. Tonight was no different. He yanked my pants down and went from 0 to 60 in one second flat. IT. HURT. BAD. Warm up? It is the very opposite of warm up. Happy to see him? No not so much. I was squirming around on the floor squalling that it was tooooo much... too fast... for god's sake!!! Which clearly amused the fuck out of him. I could tell from how he was laughing and left me there on my knees with the flaming fanny available for a few more encore assaults.
Finally I was directed to stand up and pull up my pants in that condescending tone that somehow implies that I was the one that pulled my pants down. And as he pushed me against the wall for some gratuitous nipple pinches and kisses his brown eyes were sparkling with devilish humor. He met my wet and angry eyes.
"You love it."
I countered, "You love salt on your eggs. So don't be surprised to find about a cup on each one tomorrow. Don't worry, you will love them."
I tried to explain that hard spanks, fast spanks are doable if we work up to it, take our time, get the endorphins flowing and being a bit aroused can't hurt the equation either, but I suspect I just told him how to make sure to do the opposite if he is seeking out my sudden, shocked and unappreciative reactions. Because it is not about the infliction of pain for him, it is all about that horror and fear and anger in my eyes. It is all about the mind fuck, all about taking a ritual that was sweet, fun and reinforced my sense of submission to him and turning it into just one more mind fuck.
As you can tell my ass still smarts. And I am still royally pissed at that man. I mean if he is going to fuck my brain so rough and so often, he could at least use some lube. When I read this post to him he laughed and laughed and laughed. Grrrr... I am serious, a cup of salt per egg. I am sure he will just love them.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
SFP's D, Bachelor #1 made this statement to her... she did qualify that he did not necessarily claim that he was a "great dominant" but this statement did resonate with me. I started to comment on her blog but it got to be so long and started to sound a bit whiny that I ended up deleting it and deciding to think about this for a while before I went off the deep end.
I started out wondering if it was also a sign of a "great dominant" if he discovers something you want, and cultivated this want in you... teased you with the prospect of maybe, possibly, eventually getting this want. Like all your life dreaming of that little red convertible sports car and having him take you to the show room, letting you walk around it a few times but going home in the old station wagon in the end... with the hint that maybe... or maybe not. Finding pictures of little red sports cars in magazines and showing them to you. Making you want and want more and fucking dream and salivate... and never exactly say yes or no.
Is that the sign of a "great dominant"?
In all fairness, my Master has never aspired to be a great dominant... unless you define a great dominant as a man that just wants things his way without any concession to what other people think or want or say. He has always lived his life this way, strong, independent, not necessarily right but stubborn and fiercely focused on doing things his way. I was married to this man for nearly ten years before I learned to stop fighting with him about this. And it has only been in the last four years that I really have put energy in believing in him, accepting him, embracing him exactly as he is, wrong or right.
I know that along the way, I made a habit of saying, that there is not right way or wrong way, there is only Master's way. I know I have repeated this to myself over and over, choking down the raging protests that filled my heart when I knew, just knew, that his way was crazy, wrong, more difficult, time consuming... and then laughing and finding peace when it does or does not work out exactly as planned, but worked out none the less, worked out better than fighting ever had.
He might not be right all the time, but he is brilliant. I know that more and more I do share his vision because if he alters something, changes what is "Master's way" I bristle and defend the older, original and not necessarily correct or most efficient way. And looking back, I remember how hard it had been when I had to learn to do it that way and now I own it like it was my own. He has wormed his way deep inside my head and heart.
And yes, because he finds it amusing to play with my longings, to see me yearning and wanting without the promise of fulfillment, he will continue to dangle that forbidden fruit just out of my reach. The chances of me actually ever having that "red sports car"... (metaphor people... metaphor) is between slim and none. And because I see the amusement in his eyes, the pleasure he takes in my frustration, I will continue to want what I cannot have... if for no other reason than to see the pleasure reflected in his eyes.
And that willingness on my part, to suffer for his enjoyment, that cultivation of my emotional masochism, I guess that is a kind of greatness. I just have to be careful for what I wish for.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
And after dinner, Master made some masterly mumbles about going to sleep (He was talking about an after dinner nap but I had lost track of the time and it was dark outside so I thought it was later than it was). This hint at the impending end of our day sent a pang of urgency through me. My day was running out and I had something I really wanted to do. I had been entertaining this fantasy about getting dressed up in a sexy outfit to give him his present but it was all out of whack now because we had already had sex that morning and I frequently get in trouble if I am perceived to be trying to initiate sex at the wrong time. I strongly suspect that putting on a crotchless fishnet body stocking can be taken as a come on. But darn it, I bought that damned thing...
I asked him if I could come over and climb up into his lap for a minute. I snuggled him for a bit and then whispered in his ear if it would be all right to give him his present then, on Christmas eve rather than wait for Christmas and he said yes.
I bit my lip and blushed, "I got you two things, one regular and one kind of silly. The silly thing is a sexy outfit. I kinda want to put it on, to show you but I don't expect you to go all crazy and turn into some kind of fucking machine... I know we already did that today." (Fucking machine is a bit of an exaggeration... we are both a bit old to quite qualify for that... but what we lack in energy and stamina, we make up for with imagination and enjoyment.)
He laughed and said he would go out and have a smoke and was looking forward to seeing what I had gotten him.
So I scampered into my room and dug out my old Santa hat and climbed into that body stocking. I put a couple of bows on in strategic places and slipped on some wicked high heels and peeked out my door to see if he was ensconced back in his big chair.
So I pick up my Santa bag of presents and sashay out into the front room. "Ho, ho, ho... Have you been a good Master this year?"
I climbed up into his lap... and began to pull out the normal stuff, shirts and underwear. (Hey, it is what he wanted.) He was very happy with the fact that I had managed to find heavy flannel solid color shirts, thrilled in fact.
He kept running his hands over the meshes and my flesh underneath. I whisper, "Did you notice the way my pussy is sticking out?"
"Yes, very much."
I run my fingers over that exposed, slightly protruding flesh. And it is so soft, so smooth that is feels amazing. I murmur, "It is so soft. I could just pet it and pet it and pet it all night long."
It is not even especially sexual, just sensual. But Master says, "Get a towel, I want you to give me a blow job and then you can have my cock in your pussy while you pet it."
I blink, this was unexpected. Twice in one day? Not in years. But who am I to argue with such an awesome Christmas blessing.
And I must admit, I was such a good girl... I could tell from the sounds he was making. In fact I was such a good girl that we never got that cock in my pussy. I think he forgot I had a pussy. Once I glanced up at him, he had his hands gripping the arms of his chair and his head was tossed back and his eyes were closed. He was making these soft gasping moans. Amazing. It took forever but when he came he almost screamed like a girl. I had come and slobber and whatever all over my face, in my hair, even the ball on my Santa hat was a little damp.
I licked my aching lips and grinned this "aren't I an amazingly good girl" proud as punch grin. "Merry Christmas Master."
Better than I had ever fantasized. Much, much better.
For my good efforts I got sent down stairs with permission to masturbate. And I fell asleep early and woke up at midnight. So here I am, all awake. In the middle of the night. Christmas night.
Friday, December 24, 2010
As we were walking I told him a story about a strange TV show I had watched this week while I was sitting half brain dead recuperating from this cold. It was that "Millionaire Matchmaker" (shut up... I had already admitted to watching bad TV in an earlier post)... anyway, there was this really weird millionaire guy that once he picked a girl to date, tried to force her to eat really weird disgusting food, like fermented duck embryos still in the shell. What was remarkable was the way he was trying to humiliate and dominate her. When she refused, he actually called her a brat. And when she asked why he was doing this, he said he was "testing her".
Master commented that maybe that would be a way to test to see if a woman was submissive. I countered that even submissive women aren't going to let some jerk pull that kind of crap on them without some kind of negotiation... that most submissive women know how to negotiate what they want when they are starting out in a relationship.
Anyway we continued our shopping trip. We didn't buy anything and I still don't know why Master wanted to go out and brave the last minute shopping panic crush. Then as we were walking out, I was so intently focused on following Master's lead, that I was not looking around, just sort of merging with his step, his movement. Apparently he did not like that, and jerked my arm hard, yanking me back from the curb to protect me from traffic. I did not protest, did not say that I did not need to look out for cars because I was with him and he was the one doing that. I just kept close by his side.
Once we got into the car, he turned to me and said, "I should chew you out for looking down all the time."
I smiled and nodded. "Yes Master you are right, I was not standing up straight."
He reacted sharply. "You may be a sub, but you are not just any sub. You are my sub." Then something about not submitting to the world, that I need to stand up straight and dominate the space around me.
It was kind of strange but amazingly sweet at the same time.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
And as long as I am questioning the universe... tell me why, why nearly every fucking morning when nature calls, when the I am at the "place", when the pressure inside builds to critical... why is it the exact same time of day that Master is sitting on the pot??? And it isn't always the morning... this bizarre syncing of bowel movements has occurred all hours of the day. Tell me why? I want to know. Is there some cosmic connection between our bowels... when his earth moves, mine must naturally follow??? Now there are two bathrooms in this house, but the other one... it is in the basement, down with cobwebs and spiders, a dim naked light bulb, the sink to wash ones hands is the utility sink. My book is not down there. And when I make that now familiar inarticulate howl of frustration at the cruelty of the universe, Master's cackle of pure unadulterated joy follows me down the stairs. It always makes his day all that much better, to know I was forced to use the sub toilet once again.
And why when I tell Master a nice long list of plans for my day, does he feel compelled to add some random thing like "dust the lamp shades" to my elegant and well crafted agenda. Meh... that is obvious, he cannot leave me without a last word from him, some imposition and inconvenience. Double meh...
Speaking of plans and agendas... I have laundry, folding of said laundry, a little bit of shopping, cookie baking, cleaning up of kitchen of said baking, writing... and now lamp shades to get started on... I should add in a nap somewhere in there. I slept like crap last night and I am still sick after all... Merry fucking Christmas.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Amanda arrived precisely twenty minutes early. She parked in the same place she always did. It was a bit of walk but it was just a little thrilling to make her way down those darkened sidewalks, thrilling to know think about where she was going, wondering how many of the cars that passed by knew. She had been coming to the munches and public play parties for about six months but it still felt dangerous, deviant. It still felt just a little intoxicating to admit that this was what she was, deviant.
It had taken years of exploration to find even the words to describe these compulsions, these dark crazy thoughts that had haunted her throughout her life. And when she had finally come to terms with it, admitted this was what she was, what she wanted… what she could not live without.
There was the usual group of smokers gathered around the door, the usual cloud of blue smoke that made her eyes water. Almost without her awareness, her eyes scanned the group, smiling a cautious greeting at one or two familiar faces. This particular munch was famous for numbers of self proclaimed dominants who were looking for fresh meat, inexperienced women who were so enamored with the idea of being submissive that they had to somehow prove it. They were too new, too green to tell the difference between the arrogant bastards and the few real men that seemed to drift through the room and leave again without really making any waves.
Amanda knew all this from her own painful experiences. She had been through it a half dozen times before she finally figured out that greatest majority of men that identified as dominants were posers that used the scene to find someone to fuck, fuck and fuck over. She had even stopped coming for a while but a couple of friends had encouraged her not to give up. They told all kinds of encouraging stories about women who had met “the one” at this same place. They had humorously pointed out that even the princess had to kiss a lot of frogs before she found her prince. Since then she had been hanging back, fending off the ones she knew were just out for a quick score, scoping out the quiet ones, the ones that sat back and watched.
She knew what she wanted. She wanted something permanent, something that went beyond just the bedroom or a play party on the weekends. More than sex, more than ropes, more than whips, more than anything else she wanted to feel the ownership of another. As she stepped through the door she scanned the room, wondering if tonight would be the night where a prince would show up among the amphibians.
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
The voice came from behind her head and Amanda whirled around to confront the jerk who was butting into a private conversation she was having with another submissive woman, a newbie that she had been showing around, steering away from the worst of the assholes.
She instantly recognized him. He was a regular. He never missed a munch and always came alone. She fought the urge to smirk when she had the random thought that he always seemed to leave alone too. He was classic, dressed in Doc Martins and a leather vest. He seemed aggressively scruffy, rumpled and looked vaguely greasy.
He was standing too close, using the crowded room as an excuse to invade her personal space. She stood between him and his selected target and she refused to shift or back up. Her nostrils flared a bit when she caught a whiff of him, cigarettes, beer and armpits. She wondered if he thought this was an adequate substitute for testosterone. For once she was appreciative of her height, model tall and in heels she had to tip her head down just slightly to look into his eyes. She stared down at him and refused to blink.
She arched a brow and murmured just loudly enough for his ears, “You may very well think so.” And then she deliberately turned her back to him.
She could sense him back there, could almost feel the frustration he exuded with the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck. She heard a muttered, “Cock Blocking Bitch.” But she refused to let him bait her. She wasn’t too worried, the rules for behavior at the munch were very strict. Dominants could look but were not allowed to touch. If she chose she could probably have already made a scene, and the munch organizers would had him thrown out for those last words, but she didn’t feel like making the effort.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes, leaning forward and whispering into the new girl’s ear. “Like I was saying, have a good idea of what you want out of this. Take your time. Ask questions. Don’t settle. There are a lot of guys here, but they are not necessarily looking for the same kinds of stuff you are. Like this guy behind me. He is a perfect illustration of the bully, the kind of guy that thinks that interrupting, being rude; rejecting all social niceties is somehow a way to proclaim that he is dominant. It is a common error, confusing nonconformity with dominance. But remember, any guy that so aggressively rejects little rules like showering or introducing himself, will be very likely to ignore other basic rules, like safety, condoms and safe words. Don’t think that because you identify as submissive that you have to let anyone be rude to you.” Amanda paused and grinned, “Unless, of course, you are into that kind of thing and have negotiated that in advance.”
The new woman paused and then laughed out loud.
Amanda made her rounds, pausing and greeting the people she knew. There weren’t any new other new people there. The munch thinned out a little earlier than usual. It was close to the holidays and people were having a lot of private parties. Most likely, everyone was a little partied out and just wanted to get home and sleep.
There was that one guy that came in every week, bought the one beer on tap, sat alone and drank it, his dark eyes alert and scanning the room. He always came in at the same time, drank his beer and left. He rarely ever talked to anyone. Amanda took the time to position herself in his field of vision when she paused to readjust the top of her stockings. She knew her long legs were one of her best assets.
The bully guy was the only smoker out in front of the building when she left. He said some gruff words about having a nice night and she did not meet his eyes as she returned the exact same words and made her way toward her car.
She walked quickly, keeping her bag trapped securely under her arm. She kept an alert eye out. A woman alone, at night, in a short skirt and heels was vulnerable. There weren’t any rules out here or friends here to watch her back. She felt it, a low singing anxiety, a flutter of fear and a creeping of the skin on the back of her neck. It was clear, dry and cold, but she knew that it was the fear as much as the cold that made her nipples tighten into knots.
She could hear his steps on the sidewalk behind her, heavy and hurried. She looked over her shoulder. He still had a cigarette in his hand and she could see that he was already a little short of breath from trying to catch up to her. Amanda debated running the rest of the way to her car or just facing the bastard down on the street. She kept walking, but she fished around in her purse for her keys.
She was so absorbed in the sound of the guy behind her she did not initially see him standing there by her car. She skidded to a halt only an arm’s length away from the lonely, one beer, sit alone guy. Now there were two of them. She looked over her shoulder; the bully guy was closing fast. The one between her and her car moved toward her quickly, his hand snaking out and grabbing her by her upper arm. Amanda could not help but squeak and struggle, but almost before she could swing to strike with her free hand, to think to kick or pull away, she was shoved behind him and he was between her and the pursuing man.
Amanda did not pause to think; she unlocked her car door and was inside without even being completely aware of how she had gotten the key into the keyhole. She pushed down on the gas pedal so hard that the tires squealed as she drove away. In the rearview mirror she could see the lonely beer guy, standing over the now prostrate form of the bully, his breath a swirl of white vapor rising in the cold night air.
She arrived precisely twenty minutes early and sat for many minutes debating going in. She was determined to not let this scare her off.
The bully was not at the munch but lonely, one beer guy came in and sat at his usual place at his usual time. Their eyes met. As she smiled and moved toward him, he stood and Amanda was pleasantly surprised to realize for the first time that he was exactly the same height that she was in heels. His brow arched and his voice was low and dry. “I was pleased to see you chose to park closer tonight.” He pulled out a chair for her to sit down.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Ayva giggled and chewed nervously on her lip. She could tell from the heat of her skin that her face was five shades of red.
Dick's hand reached out across the console and tapped her on the knee. “You started this. You have to finish it.”
Ayva squirmed in her seat and looked out the passenger window. “It’s no big deal.”
“If it’s no big deal then tell me.”
Ayva knew that she had better tread carefully. If he even began to suspect that this was something she really wanted he probably would never do it. Dick had a talent for doing almost exactly the opposite of what she wanted. If she begged or complained it was a god damned guarantee she could kiss her wishes good bye.
It seemed like the more pissed she would get the happier he seemed. He would say with a huge grin, “You love it. Nothing makes you happier. Look, you say you are mad but look at your face, you never looked happier.”
It totally pissed Ayva off that he was right. She had such a kink for ass holes.
He could tell she was nervous. He was not going to let go of this as long as he had her squirming.
It had started innocently, a fun conversation, cum argument in the car on the long ride back home from the coast. She had no idea how the topic had spun around to fantasies.
God, if she told him would he do it? Or would he decide that she really did not want what she said she wanted. He had done that a thousand times before.
“Sometimes when... sometimes I like to think about...” Her voice was soft and distant, her eyes locked on the landscape as it slid by. This was probably the tenth time she had started and then stopped.
“Spanking, I think about being spanked.”
She thought about a hell of a lot more than spanking. Hell, there was a whole fucking dungeon in her head, populated with the most inventive and sadistic of masters.
Like all her fantasies, it was long and complex. It was never Dick, sometimes it was Captain Picard, Sean Connery or maybe looking like that hot elf Elrond from the LoTR movie, yeah, that one played by Hugo Weaving. She had a picture of him on her desk top, anybody but Dick.
She would silently slip into the room and he would be there, disdainful, icily indifferent, reluctant to be disturbed. He would be busy, preoccupied, watching TV, or reading. He would look up and in an almost I'd rather not be bothered manner direct her to kneel before him.
She would know what he wanted; it was how he always made her wait. She would be wearing a long loose dress or night gown. She would kneel facing away from him and put her face on the floor, pull up the fabric of the dress to cover her head and expose her naked ass and pussy to him. She would stay like that, hidden yet exposed for what seemed an eternity waiting for his whim.
Finally she would her him, a sigh, a movement, a muttered comment under his breath. Whatever had been occupying him was finished. Perhaps he would notice her. In the same bored irritated voice he would tell her to scoot closer to him. She would creep back until he would tell her to stop.
She would kneel there, quivering in anticipation. Not of spanking, it would be something harsher, crueler and more demanding of her fear. A belt, a whip, a cane; it would be something dangerous.
She would have to beg for it. Each blow a gift. Each blow crueler that the last. She could stop any time, but there was the need to test her own limits, to take more than she thought she could.
She would reach up between her legs and stroke herself between blows, the excitement too much to ignore. She would beg, “Again please, again.” And then buck and scream as the searing agony would cut through her. Each time she would wonder if she could bear to ask again, choking down her sobs, rubbing frantically at her pussy to sooth her hysteria. And then she would beg again.
He would demur, suggest that she did not deserve this attention, but she knew that this was what he wanted and needed even more than her.
The fantasy would always end up with him grabbing her, tearing her clothing off and throwing her over the back of a piece of furniture, her ass up, her head down. He would force himself into her mouth and fuck her face, ramming his cock violently and endlessly down her throat ignoring her choking gagging protests.
Finally he would take her from behind, lunging abruptly into her pussy and humping her with an animal intensity that would shake her whole body, knocking the chair or whatever, across the room with the violence of his fucking.
Just as she was about to come he would deny her and pull away from her. Ignoring her pleas, he would force himself up her ass, as she screamed in pain and frustration, brutally slam into her. He would grab her already tortured ass cheeks and spread them cruelly apart, reveling in her howls of pain as he rutted and filled her with his come.
This fantasy was good for at least a half dozen orgasms start to finish. She was realistic enough to know that she would never really like a scene that rough. Hell the first ten minutes of kneeling would have her whining and complaining. She had never been hit with a cane, or even a belt. She would probably pussy out at the first smack. But it was fucking hot to think about.
Ayva knew if she told Dick all this he would either be horrified or make fun of her until the day she died, probably both. Even though he seemed to take pride in being a jerk, when it came down to doing what she wanted. He was a very physically gentle man. He would never be the man in her fantasy. Ayva was cool with that, but if he could maybe spank her, it would be a start.
She kept staring out the side window. “You know, like before we do it, you would spank me. I could lay across your lap or lean over in front of you.”
“Seriously? You want me to spank you?” He was getting that obnoxious little boy snide tone, and that maybe I will, most likely I won't grin on his face.
She cleared her throat nervously. “Like a game, just playing. It’s not all that big a deal. I just thought it might be fun to maybe try. We don't have to if you don't want to.” Her voice trailed off.
As she was unloading the car, carrying the bags and extra coats in from the day trip Dick struck for the first time, a sharp pop on her ass as she leaned over the car trunk. Ayva yelled and jumped, banging her head on the trunk lid. She whirled indignant, “Not like that, not when I am not expecting it. It’s for like foreplay or something.” Her voice becoming whiny.
He crowed with delight. “It’s more fun this way.” Ayva shut up, she saw the absolute joy in his face. If she told him now that she did not want him to spank her, it would be useless. This was one cat that was not going to get put back in the bag without a fight. Ayva looked at him warily, rubbing her head and her ass at the same time. Shit, how come he always could fuck things up so ingeniously.
After that things only got worse, he refused to spank her when she was cooperating, saying it wasn't fun that way. But he was always sneaking up on her and nailing her when she was not expecting it. His favorite was in socially inappropriate situations. She did not mind the grocery store so much but when he did it during a parent teacher conference she nearly lost it, and in front of her mother for god’s sake. Fucking was a nightmare. He was developing a talent for giving her a good hard smack right when she was just about to orgasm, effectively knocking the come right out of her.
For Dick it was not sex, it was one more way to keep her off balance, keep her pissed at him. He was never quite as happy as when she was sputtering angry at him. He would taunt, “You love it.” And it infuriated her that he was right. How come she loved assholes so much?
Friday, December 17, 2010
Every time I would say the words...
“Anything you want,
Everything you want,
It is all yours,
...I would say them to him.
It was fucking amazing. And you could tell that he liked it, liked it a lot.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
I have not made these in a while, but I think they are my favorite. I found the recipe decades ago in a cookie magazine, but I just found it on the interwebs so I cannot take any credit for this.
2 squares baking chocolate
2 cup flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup shortening
½ cup butter or margarine
½ cup sugar
½ cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon instant coffee
1 teaspoon water
1 ½ cup semisweet chocolate pieces
3 tablespoon shortening
Melt chocolate and set aside to cool slightly. Mix flour, cinnamon and salt, set aside. Cream shortening, butter, sugars, instant coffee dissolved in the teaspoon of water, chocolate and egg. Mix well. Add flour mix. Chill one hour until it is not so sticky, then shape into two rolls about 7” long. (about the diameter of a fifty cent piece) Chill for six hours.
Slice rolls in to ¼ inch slices and bake at 350 degrees on ungreased cookie sheets for 10-12 minutes. Cool.
Melt chocolate chip pieces and shortening until melted. Dip ½ of each cookie and place on waxed paper until chocolate is set.
Chewy Coconut Ginger Cookies
Quick and easy to make. I updated this recipe by adding the half cup of chopped candied ginger. Son number one is of the opinion that the addition of dark chocolate chips would make them even better.
1 ¼ cups all purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup butter or margarine
½ cup packed brown sugar
½ cup white sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups flaked coconut
½ cup finely chopped candied ginger
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside.
In a medium bowl, cream the butter, brown and white sugar until smooth. Beat in egg and vanilla until light and fluffy. Gradually blend in flour mixture, then mix in coconut and ginger.
Drop dough in teaspoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Cookies should be about 3 inches apart.
Bake 8-10 minutes or until lightly toasted. Cool on wire racks.
For more awesome cookie recipes check out these other cookie bloggers.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
So... I have these panties... two pair identical. Animal print... leopard spots with red trim. And one of them has an infuriating tendency to ride up the crack of my ass. Unfortunately I had them on yesterday.
And as Master dragged/drug/propelled/herded me around the mall... up, down, back, forth them panties were giving me about a million tons of grief, creeping, crawling, insinuating themselves deeper and deeper... until I was about to scream. Over and over I surreptitiously would pull at the waist band or tugged at a leg, squirming, wiggling and wincing. I remember Master asking me over and over if I wanted to look at something. I would blink and shake my head. The last thing I was going to do was tell him about this dilemma. It would have made his day.
I do remember once we were done with our Mall trek and he took me to the car and opened my side door and I got in, during those three seconds that it took him to walk to the driver's side door, I was rooting about between my ass cheeks trying to extricate what felt like an alien invasion of my ass crack. (later when I told Master about this activity, he commented that he noticed the car rocking as he walked around...)
I know one thing, I threw them fucking evil panties away last night, so I only have one pair of animal print with red trim now...
So there it is... the complete story...
Tomorrow is cookie day.
She is an acupuncturist and some other eastern type treatment specialist with her own practice here... so when my back continued to get worse instead of better and Master said I had to go to the chiropractor I begged to try out this instead. So I go permission to go to her instead. On Monday I went in and got punctured and then manipulated. And I feel better, all better.
While she is active in the community, her practice is primarily with vanilla people, it was wonderful to go somewhere where I did not have to filter the "Master" word out of my vocabulary and have someone who knew what a collar was and took the time to compliment me on it.
If you live locally and want a referral...
Last night I was in a not too uncommon prickly mood. Perfectly comfortable to do my own thing, to crank out an "adequate" meal. But Master could sense I was a little snappy, a little irritable and was all over it, deliberately poking at me just to watch my hackles rise up and giggle maniacally when I would swallow it down over and over. He was having a mind fuckers super fun night.
He kept poking me. (Literally poking, jabbing a finger into me.) And every time I would say, "Yes, Master, is there anything I can do for you?" He would grin and giggle a little evil cackle. Finally I was just barking "WHAT?!!"
He gave me this wordless narrow eyed glare when I told him what his meal options were. But when I asked him what he would rather have, he just stared some more, clearly enjoying the squirmy feelings I was having. He finally grudgingly settled for the hamburger steak, rice and salad... and as I placed the meal down in front of him, I said... "If there is a meal you would like to have tomorrow, now would be a good time to tell me what you would want so I could make sure to have the ingredients ready." Bastard just gave me another evil wordless grin and shook his head and began to eat.
The poking commenced again after dinner, and I gave up on all pretense, just ignoring him the best I could, avoiding his eyes and clenching my teeth, resisting the urge to rip his head off.
Finally he ordered me up off the couch and dragged (drug?) (I never know which one of those is correct, neither sounds quite right.) ...made me go to the Mall for a forced march up, down, back, forth, up, down, back, forth for about an hour.
At one point he paused and stared at the empty store front that had been the pet store for as long as he could remember and I pointed down the long hallway... "They moved down that way." As we continued marching he asked if one nail salon was where I got my nails done and I pointed another direction, "No, they are down that way."
We found the puppies and paused and stared at them longingly. It has been a long time since we had a dog and we both miss it, even though we are both realistic enough to know that with no kids and both of us working full time that a dog would be pretty lonely all day. But we still stare at puppies with a kind of wistful "awwwww" thing. We were only a little way from the nail salon and I pointed down there and idly commented, "That is the place I get my nails done."
So we proceed, and Master pauses in front of the nail place and stares at me accusingly. "You said the puppies were down here." Um... duh... didn't you see the puppies we were staring at, talking about, going awwwww, dude... what the fuck???? I point back toward the pet store. "No that is the pet store, this is the nail store."
Growl... "You pointed over here and said..."
"No I didn't."
(Never, never, never argue. Mind fuckers love to argue. Crap, crap, crap.)
So there is this poem...
A B C D puppies.
O L M R not puppies.
O S M R puppies.
C M P N?
So rather than argue, I grin and point pack toward the pet store, and say... "O S M R puppies, C M P N?"
And no matter what Master said to prove I had was wrong about what I may or may not have said, I refused to say anything other than, "O S M R puppies, C M P N?" for the rest of the forced march through the Mall.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
But the bad thing was late Friday afternoon, I started getting this ache and twinges in my lower back. Ick... the last time I had lower back issues was the day about two years ago when Master very decisively and physically demonstrating to me, that we had descended down this rabbit hole far enough that there was not climbing back out .
The party was okay, but I don't function well in crowds and I did not stay long. By the time I got home, my back was threatening to go into spasms. Master got home almost the same time I did and while it was still early. I don't know if it was the party or the pain in my back I was tired and fell asleep early. And when I woke up in the morning I was in serious pain.
We had a funny morning. Master was sending me all kinds of mixed messages. Let's go grocery shopping early... Lets go "take a shower". (Master speak for take an hour having sex under running water.) Shower sex is not a quicky and is almost inevitably followed by a nap. A suggestion completely at odds with the "early shopping" plan. Now I am easy to command, but nigh on impossible to stop once I get started on said command. Once I had that grocery list in my hand, I was giving him a "you have got to be fucking crazy" reaction when the shower topic entered the scene. I am the type to have a serious meltdown if I see a "detour" sign.
For my "you have got to be fucking crazy" reaction, I got another physical demonstration that I was not in charge around here. I got shown this in no uncertain terms. We arrived at the grocery store far from early. And my back was totally bitching me out for my stubborn, frantic struggle against those strong, no nonsense hands as they bent me over the edge of the bed and alternately spanked and held me down as he fucked some sense into my stubborn head.
Suffice to say, Master was just a bit smug as we walked around the grocery store and I was far more emotionally and mentally flexible, even if my back was the exact opposite.
Cool thing though, my collar came yesterday. It was funny, I was wildly excited and was tearing at the paper and guess what, son number one and Livie walked in the front door. Poop... I had forgotten I had said I would baby sit. Everything got put away.
Later Master asked me why and I looked at him with this "I just wish you could realize how important this is to me." pained expression and murmured, "I want it to be just you and me. I want to kneel at your feet when you to put it around my neck and tighten the screw."
We ended up babysitting until late but before bedtime I got my moment, on my knees at his feet. I am not sure if Master puts the same kind of symbolic meaning into having me wear a collar as I do. But he did take a certain "technical" interest in the design and gave it his official approval as to fit and appearance.
At first I was a little unsure as to the fit. But the circle is round, so it does feel a little wide on the sides but the front to back dimension is perfect and it does not rest on my collar bones. If I had gotten a smaller size, it would press on my adam's apple. I slept in it and never once was bothered by it. (Unfortunately I was bothered endlessly by not being able to find a position that did not make my back hurt.) And already this morning it feels like I have worn it all my life.
It is shiny and strong. It feels exactly right, rigid and inflexible, like my Master's hands around my throat.
...And now I better get up off my ass before my back freezes in this position. The only real solution is to keep moving.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Then when it was finally over, the last bus driving away in the fading gray day and I sat down and took a long deep breath, my boss walked in and said, "Don't get comfortable. We have a bus coming back." Groannnnnn.....
The kid was all, "I didn't do anything." And we were all... "Whatever... Now we have to figure out how to get you home." When one of the options being tossed in the air was wait for his dad to come get him in two hours he let out a deep exasperated groannnnnnn... and I laughed, "You know that was the exact same sound I made when I heard your bus was coming back."
I ended up driving him home in the school van. Typical, I am the only staff person that has kept their driving credentials current, so I am the go to person to schlep the little monsters home when they can't follow the bus rules.
Tomorrow is the work Christmas party and Master has given me permission to be home late. When I got home, I threw together a quick recipe of coconut cookies. On impulse I chopped up some candied ginger and dumped that in with the coconut. Master is not a big fan of ginger so I thought it would be fun to try something different on my coworkers.
When Master came home he headed for the cookies and I warned him, "Those have ginger in them."
He gave me a puzzled look. I shrugged and said, "Yes, I am cheating on you. I have started baking for someone else." As I got down on my knees for our ritual Master is home greeting. Suffice to say, the normal few happy to see you swats were replaced with a nearly unbearable flurry of blows with a handy spatula. I was soon squealing, "They are for work, the Christmas party. Please, ouch, I will make you cookies, ouch, ahhh..."
He finally stopped and after a humiliating order to pull down my pants he touched up the glow here and there and finally stopped. I knelt there, exposed and asked, "Do you want cookies?"
"Then why did you spank me so hard?"
"Because you were being a smart ass."
I could not help but protest that the "cheating" statement was a joke, that I was not being a smart ass. I was trying to be funny...
...and got another series of swats. I ended up howling, "Yes, I AM a smart ass, I AM a smart ass, I AM a smart ass!!"
He ate a cookie and said they were perfect, not too gingery. I ate one bite and they are double yummy.
I am a smart ass... or at least my ass smarts.
Monday, December 6, 2010
There are lots of other things happening this month that he has said yes to. Yes to going to the erotica writers group, yes to a body work class... and a maybe to a munch where there is an open mic thing for people to read their stuff... in public. I have an unspoken fantasy of reading my poem "Devotion" (you can find it under the poetry key word at the bottom of the page)out loud, dedicated to him, with him there in the audience. We will see.
Speaking of humiliation, which seems to be the topic of the day... he made some callus, selfish directive and emphasized it with the word bitch and all he got was that suppressed giggle grin. He grabbed me by the throat and glared at me. "Seems like the word bitch is not quite humiliating?"
The grin just got wider.
He pushed me down, pinned me to the bed and narrowed his eyes, "I think I will call you..." And he paused thinking.
I lay there, wide eyed waiting. Words like cunt, whore, slut dancing about in my head.
"...Pooh bear." Gahhhhhhh!!!!!!! Bastard, mind fucking bastard!!!!!
This morning he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I shrugged and said that I thought that the recumbent tricycle was my present for every day of the year for the next three years. Then I said tentatively, "but... if I could have anything I wanted... I would ask for a ring of steel 1/4 inch stealth collar."
He directed me to show him the images and said, "Okay, order it."
That is how things are done. I tell him what I want. He gives me permission to purchase it. So easy for him. No surprises for me. And I don't much like surprises anyway.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I countered with a, "would it be permitted to attend by myself?"
The frown got deeper and he stared at me, perplexed and just a little weirded out. Finally he asked, "Are you really interested in that?"
Oh, god, how humiliating and erotically embarrassing. It was hard to say, "Yes."
He did not say yes or no, but there has been a bit of a flavor change in his tone since then. The 'bitch' word has been coming out a bit more often, the sex has been a just a little more humiliating. And yesterday, when I was all... "I want to get going early. I want to get some shopping done early before the crowds."... he lifted an eyebrow and unzipped his pants and pulled out a lovely hard on and pointed at the computer and said, "You are going to give me a blow job before you go anywhere." So I was on my knees, head bobbing up and down, trying to keep spit and tears out of my hair while he watched some skinny girl get it up the ass by a guy who was still wearing a cowboy hat.
That would have been humiliating if it hadn't been so funny.
I wonder if Master can really humiliate me. My absolute confidence in his love for me kind of undermines it, it always comes off as play or pretend. And I always want to giggle. And I remember once realizing he does not really want me debased, he wants me happy.
Anyway, I was done quickly and up, washed my face, sucking the flavor of sperm out from between my teeth as I headed out the door. I got a lot done, grocery shopping and then I was off down to the big city and the main reason to drive across the bridge, Powell's books. The best book store in the world. I treated myself to a gingerbread latte and bought myself a little package of extra hot ginger gummy bears at the Whole Foods store. (I also got some dried peaches for Master but they were BAD BAD BAD... we ended up throwing them away.) I got that new Mark Twain autobiography for my mom and dad.
I put together a couple of Christmas packages and stood in line at the post office. (Side note: What is it with all the sick people? Everybody was coughing and sniffing. It was like being at the TB ward. The last thing I need is to get sick. I started to wish I had one of those face masks, like Michael Jackson wore all the time.)
It was a rare beautiful day. Bright and sunny, if a little windy and cold, so I changed out of my cute little 'got to the bookstore' corduroy skirt and pulled on some warmer clothes and went out to do something about the drifts of oak leaves in the back yard.
Master's master plan is to drive the bagging lawn mower over these leaves, grind them up and suck them in all in one swell foop. Run in a circle around the lawn and stop at the compost pile and dump, rinse and repeat. So I was out there, pulling and pulling on the rope, giving that lawn mower the piss eye and muttering to myself. "Fucking damn machine. I know you would start for him, but me???? fuck no... fuck no..." I don't want to disturb him. He is finally working on that car in the garage. The last thing I want to do is distract him for even a second. Finally I surrender and march up to the garage and grab a rake. He looks up from his mechanics... "What are you doing?"
I shrug and pun, "I am better at sucking off old jerks than I am at jerking off old suckers." He shook his head and followed me down to the back yard and gave me a lecture on how to start lawn mowers and with one... ONE pull he had it was purring. (that was humiliating.)
So I got all the leaves in the back yard picked up.
Son number one came by with Livie and I cut his hair and I sat down at the computer with him and ordered a family membership at the local science museum for their Christmas present.
We had Philly Steak sammiches for dinner... all in all a good day.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I snorted and said that is when he tells you to get up and cook something for him to eat. Well, it may have been more pithy than that, maybe something like, "Make me a sandwich."
That "something" happened tonight. I had been good, put on my collar and wrist cuffs, but had not put on the ankle cuffs because I was still doing chores around the house and had on some warm boots. He picked up my wrists and eyed the cuffs and then shot a meaningful look toward my ankles. I mumbled something about not having them on and he pointed toward my room, where they were.
I pulled off my boots and then my pants and buckled the black leather cuffs around ankles and then stood looking at him, not sure yet if the something was really going to happen and what the something might be. He reached out and snagged a nipple, grabbing and pinching hard and walked out of my room, still gripping hard. I trailed after, gasping and giggling. The sharp corner and the staggering dance down the stairs only twisted and tightened the vice-like hold he had on me. By the time we were at the door of his lair, the giggles had stopped and the yelps and yips had started.
He pulled off my panties and tied me face down, spread eagled and spent a lot of time making sure the ropes were short and taut, making sure I could not move. I made sure to work my head under a pillow, today I did not want to watch, I wanted to close my eyes and watch the play of light behind my eyelids. I wanted to sink below the barrage of blows, the surging tide of pain and lose myself in the sensation.
I did not cry out much... or laugh. I whispered and hummed. I groaned and sighed. It was a song punctuated with the staccato sound of the strikes on my body. Naked from the waist down, he played a symphony on my ass, legs and feet. And I was flying.
In the end he freed one of my hands and placed my vibrator in it. His hands were heavy and hot on me, his voice in my ear, "Gonna come, bitch?" And yet, each time I tensed, each time I began to shudder with the pending explosion, he would hit me again, twist my flesh in his hands and say it again, "Gonna come, bitch?" He spread the cheeks of my ass out and I knew he was staring down at me, at my ass and cunt, pulling open to his eyes and he gave me a little shake, "Gonna come, bitch?" His fingers worked their way deep into me, filling me, stretching me and he asked one last time, "Gonna come, bitch?"
And I did. Exploding, fighting the ropes that held me stretched and spread, screaming to him, for him.
And then he took my free hand and tied it once more, tightening the binding ropes one last time and he left me there. Limp, panting, with a soft, lazy smile on my face. This, this being left tied to the bed, unable to move, that was aftercare.
Though it was only a little while. He needed his dinner after all.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Master was home when I came in with my arms full of food, TP, and you name it. And I got an earful about not being home when he got here. It is times like this that I think again about getting a cell phone, so I can call and ask permission to make a detour to the grocery store... but then I am not allowed to call him on his work phone unless it is an emergency... and is going to the grocery store an emergency??? Dunno.
I rushed about, putting away groceries, making a quick dinner for him, making a completely different dinner for myself. I am tired of compromising my diet to fit his tastes... tonight I made a spinach salad for myself, with avocado and tomatoes. Yum. Master will have left over turkey noodle soup and a green salad. (I loathe iceberg lettuce and celery, and for him it just isn't a salad with both those ingredients. Gag.)
As I sat down with my yummy spinach salad he gave me this look, a dark frowny glare and I froze and went, "What?"
He narrowed his eyes, glaring at my meal choice and I start to yammer, defending spinach and avocados, extolling the relative nutritional values and he snarls for me to shut up. He says he was sort of thinking of doing "something" with me when I got home, but me going grocery shopping and cooking messed all that up. He does not elaborates on what this something might be... exercise, fuck, play, christmas shopping??? ...fuck if I know. I instantly offered to put my food in the fridge and be available for him, but he shook his head, "No, you go ahead and eat." The "its too late now, bitch." left unsaid and yet hanging in the air between us.
Bastard, I would bet about a thousand dollars that if I had just come home, been on my knees waiting when he came in the door, he would have done exactly what he always does... fall asleep in his chair... no playing... no sex... no nothing, just snoring. But because I made a left turn, that mind fucking bastard hangs out this "something" that can't happen now.
I have learned not to expect anything, to be satisfied with the comfortable routine. I have learned to not even think about the possibility of play, or fucking, or ropes, or whips... I have set myself up for disappointment so many times that I don't even think about the one in a thousand chance that he just might do that "something", especially on a week night, after work any more.
To give him credit, we have not had any kind of play or sex beyond a quick roll over and poke it into a warm wet place in the middle of the night in several weeks. He knows I want more. He probably wants more too. But he did not say a word, did not make a hint... and to expect me to read his mind... Like I said before, mind fucking Bastard.