Erotica: Murky Water

 She stared at the murky water as it swirled around her feet.  Her shower had been draining slower and slower.  She frowned, it was getting pretty bad.  She had looked down the drain, trying to see if there was anything blocking the water, hair or something, but whatever it was it was beyond her reach.  She would have to call Mike.

She had found him just like you would find any plumber, typing in plumbing on the internet and then checking his references, even joining Angie’s list to see if people had said anything about him, good or bad.  He came with good references and was bonded and listed on the better business bureau.  He had been in business for almost ten years locally.

When he showed up, he looked exactly like she had expected him to.  Middle aged, rugged, dressed like he was here to work, in broken in jeans, work shirt with his business logo over the pocket.  He wasn’t particularly handsome or tall.  His hair was thinning and showing grey around his ears.  His hands were large and scarred and had the kind of rough, grainy skin that never looked completely clean.  At a casual glance, the only thing remarkable about him was perhaps the width of his shoulders and the way the muscles of his arms strained at the fabric of his shirt.  He had installed her new shower quickly and professionally.  It was only a few days later, when he called to see if everything was still working right, that he had asked her if she would like to get a cup of coffee sometime.

They had dated for a while, maybe six months.  But he was a bit of player and made it clear he was not all that interested in settling down with just one woman and she had not been able to come to terms with that.  They had parted on good terms, a fact she was grateful for.  After all, it was harder to find a good plumber these days than a boyfriend. 

She winced a little as she thought that last bit.  It might be not that hard to find a boyfriend, but one as good in bed as Mike was another matter.  In a lot of ways, sex with Mike had spoiled her for the attentive if insipid and predictable couplings of the guys she had dated since.  He had been anything but insipid or predictable.  He had been very up front about his likes and dislikes… she shook her head… there wasn’t anything that man had not liked.  He had told her with a matter of fact honesty that had both shocked and aroused her that he liked it rough and he liked it often.  Then he had proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he was talking about.  He had left her with a very definite taste for violent, nasty, humiliating sex.  The rougher and more demeaning the better she had liked it.

It was unfortunate that he had also liked it with a lot of different women.  If it hadn’t been for that, they might have ended up together for the long run.

Mike answered his phone promptly, his voice professional and yet warm.  He said he could come by that afternoon if she was going to be home.  She agreed and promptly called work and let them know she would be taking the afternoon off.

She took a long shower right before he was scheduled to arrive, taking the time to shave and do a deep condition on her thick red curls.  When she was done the grey water was almost up to the overflow drain and did not seem to be draining at all.  She put on a light flowered house dress that she had picked up at a local discount store, an outfit that managed to look alluring and yet plausible for hanging out at home, and one she would not mind if it got torn.  Mike had a very bad track record with buttons.  The only thing that might have signaled an ulterior intent may have been the height of the heels on her sandals or if you had managed to peek, the fact that she wore nothing else, neither underwear nor brassier.  She styled her hair and put on makeup but she did not think that Mike really ever noticed those things.  He was pretty basic, less interested in the wrapper than what was contained within.

He was exactly on time.  He knocked and waited on the porch until she opened the door.  Back when they were dating he would have just walked in like he had owned the place.  When she opened the door he grinned and his voice was just a little taunting.  “Got a bit of a drainage problem?”

“Yeah, it’s my bathtub.”

“Well, let me take a look at it.”

The water had gone down an inch or so, a ring of soap scum and tiny bits of hair from her shaving circled the sides of the tub.  He sent her an irritated look, but his voice was calm.  “Yep, definitely backed up there.”  Then he looked at her, his eyes measuring, looking her up and down.  “And you, how have you been doing?”

She shifted and blinked, suddenly a little evasive.  It was always at this moment that she got this little rush of fear, her mouth going dry and her heart thundering. 

“I’ve been fine.”  She stepped back a step. 

It was like he could smell her fear.  His grin turned just a bit feral.  “You sure?  It’s been a while since you called me.  Is there anything else you might be needing?  He paused and reached out, toying with the top button on her dress.  “You know.  All you have to do is ask.”

It was the same conversation they had had every time he came over.  She knew she had to ask.  In fact before they were done, she would have to beg.  There would not be any question of consent.  She cleared her throat nervously and tried to be a little coy, “Well, now that you mention it.  The shower isn’t the only thing that seems a little backed up.  I have another… um… bit of plumbing that could use some… um… work?”  Her voice trembled and her attempt at humor fell flat.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his breath in her face, backing her into a corner.  He wasn’t a lot taller than her and in heels their eyes were level.  “Work?  What kind of work?”

She felt a shiver of nervousness.  Her voice shook a little.  “You know what I mean.”

His hand gripped the front of her dress and he pushed her hard against the wall.  “Then say it.  Tell me what you want.”

His touch seemed to break down her internal barriers and her voice was a low moan of hunger, “I want you to fuck me.  I want you take that big, hard cock and shove it into me over and over.  I want you to use me like a dirty fucking whore.”

He laughed and as he yanked down, tearing the buttons off the dress down to her waist, he stared at her naked breasts and taunted, “Yes, dirty fucking whore.  I like that.  I like that because that is exactly what you are.”  His voice was low, deliberate, enunciating each word with relish, “A… dirty… fucking… whore.”  His other hand was unbuttoning his jeans and he fished out his already swelling cock and he shook it at her.  Her eyes locked on the vision of it.  It was already bigger than any other cock she had had and she knew it would soon be bigger, a lot bigger.  God she loved the way that cock felt inside her cunt.  “So you want me to fuck you with this?”

She tried to reach for it, tried to sink to her knees to get closer but he shoved her roughly back against the wall.  “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“I want you to fuck me with it!”

He let go of her.  “Take off the dress and get on your knees.”

There wasn’t a whole lot left holding the dress up.  It fell around her ankles easily and she dropped to her knees and crawled toward him, already opening her mouth to take him in.  But his hand in her hair stopped her barely an inch away from the massive purple head.  “Now, you dirty little whore, tell me how you want me to fuck you?”

She pulled against his grip, savoring the sting and ache of the pull on her hair.  Her voice was an agonized, gasping babble.  “I want it fast.  I want it hard.  I want it rough.  I want all of it over and over and over.  I want it like you like it.”

“Yes, you dirty little whore, of all the women I fuck, you like it the same way I do the most of all.”  She flinched a little.  He knew she did not like it when he talked about the other ones.  She also knew he talked about it for exactly that reason.  He would tell her that even if she wasn’t the prettiest or the youngest or the thinnest or had the biggest tits, that the one thing that kept him coming back was her unholy addiction to being fucked with all the violence and humiliation he wanted to dispense.

He tipped her head back and stared down at her.  “Keep that dirty whore mouth shut until I tell you different.  Do you understand?” 

She would have nodded if he did not have such a tight grip in his hair.  He pulled her close to his crotch, rubbing his cock on her face.  His voice was loud in her ears, “Can you smell it, whore?  Can you smell her?  That was why I could not come over right away.  When you called me I was already balls deep in another woman.  I was getting busy with my last customer… you ain’t the only middle aged horny bitch with plumbing problems.”

She tensed and tried to pull away, shaking her head and suddenly repulsed, but he shoved her back.  His voice harsh, “I said smell it.  Get your fucking nose deep in there, inhale it.”  And it was there, definite and strong, the smell of sex.  She shuddered and tried to fight him, but he did not relent.  He held a small dictating device down within the range of her vision.  He pushed a button and she could her voice, pathetically needy, begging to be fucked. 

“Too late to change your mind, bitch.  I got it all on tape.  You asked for it, now you are going to get it.  Now open up.”  His fingers were on her mouth, prizing her lips apart and forcing himself in.  “Open up… all the way up.”  And he pulled her up close, forcing himself deep, probing that back of her throat and deliberately forcing her to gag.      

 He talked to her the whole time as he fucked her face.  “When I fuck you today, I want you to think about that.  Think about how this cock was buried in another woman only a couple hours ago.  Think about how I am comparing how you fuck to how she fucked.  Think about the look on her face when I took that call without even missing a beat, talking to you while I was humping her cunt hard and fast.  And after I hung up, I told her I was going to come here and fuck you.  I told her that I was going to see if your cunt felt better than hers… that maybe she should work it a little harder.  You know something?  She stepped right up; she tightened up on my tool like a vice and began to thrash around like she was having a fucking epileptic seizure.”

It went on and on.  Her jaw ached and her stomach began to lurch.  Over and over when she was given a second to catch her breath, she had to swallow down mouthfuls of her own vomit.  She knew that it would not faze him, that he would not even pause if she did.  And to her humiliation, she could feel her body heat, each violent spasm of gags made her cunt tighten and she could feel the wetness ooze out of her.  It seemed the angrier he made her, the more she regretted her decision, the more degraded he made her feel the more aroused she became.  It was disgusting and infuriating and she had never been more turned on.

Over and over she felt him harden and felt the telltale tension in his body of insipient orgasm but each time he would pull her away and breathe for a minute.  His voice was low, “No hurry, bitch.  I charge by the hour.  And I got plenty left for you.  I popped me one of them little blue pills before I headed over.  Wouldn’t want you to feel like you weren’t getting your money’s worth.”

And she knew he would.  Every minute he was here would be on his bill.  This knowledge only emphasized her debasement. 

The third time he pushed her off, he sat down on the toilet and pointed at his lace up work boots.  “Take them off.”

Thankful for a few moments to catch her breath and settle her stomach, she bent to the task.  It did not take long and then he stood and kicked off his pants and pulled his shirt off.  She gazed up at him.  From this angle he looked massive.  He might not have been tall but he was broad and thickly muscled.  His abdomen was flat and rippled with muscle.  When he was not working he spent most of his time working out a local body building gym.  She knew that he would not hesitate to use his strength against her, to hold her down, bend her anyway he wished.  There was no option of refusal.  This knowledge, that there was no escape, no way out, that if she did not cooperate, he would just force her was what she craved more than anything else.

Even though she knew he could do anything, his next move took her by surprise.  Again it was a demonstration of his strength.  In a heartbeat the fingers of only one hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her clear up off her feet.  She hung there, and for just an instant looked down at him, her eyes met his.  She could not breathe, but somehow that seemed okay, her whole body felt limp, even boneless.  He tipped his head and a tiny smirk made the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes slid past her to the tub.

There was a surreal sense of weightlessness and for a microsecond she wondered if she was getting any blood flow to her brain.  She did not even notice that her shoes had slipped off her feet until he put her down and spun her around to face away.  She stumbled and went to her knees and before she realized his intent he had her bent forward over the cold porcelain edge of the bathtub, her face only inches from the scummy water.  She could hear him doing something, and she glanced back over her shoulder and saw him tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth.  His eyes were a strange yet thrilling mix of pent up rage and sheer lustful enjoyment.

“What you staring at, whore?”  His free hand shot forward and she flinched, fearful that he was going to strike her, but instead he put his hand on her head and shoved it down, forcing her whole face down into the cool, grey water, down until it was pressed hard against the bottom of the tub.  She struggled to lift up her head, but he was too strong.  She could her him laughing, the mocking sound strangely loud as it passed through the water filling her ears.

He gripped her hair and lifted her head up, leaning over her, pinning her down, trapping her, his voice low and nasty in her ears as she gasped and coughed.  “Dirty water for a dirty whore.”

She could feel him position himself, the blunt end of his cock nudging at the opening of her cunt.  His hand yanked back violently on her hair as he lunged forward, his thrust literally a punch in her gut.  She could not help but let out a deep oof as the air was forced from her lungs.  She felt her cunt hole stretch around his cock, felt him bottom out against her cervix hard.  It sent a deep, agonizing cramp through her womb.  Her sudden exhalation changed to a deep groaning yelp that was cut off as he pushed her head down into the water again. 

One hand held her head down and the other gripped her hip.  He began to pound her, deep, relentless thrusts that made her insides churn.  She did her best to keep her mouth and eyes shut, praying that he would not let her drown; telling herself that he would not want the trouble of having to dispose of her body.  And if she did die, who would pay his bill?  But the fear was there, the fear and disgust as the sensation of the cold, slimy water, and something about it, the helplessness, the vulnerability, the sudden awareness that he could kill her and she could not do anything about it made cunt seize up around his cock and she was coming, coming like it was perhaps the last orgasm of her life.  Her arms flailed in the water, splashing, she screamed under the water and choked. 

He jerked her head up and growled in short sharp grunts as he lunged against her.  “Careful, whore, not done with you yet.” 

But she hardly heard him over her own words, primal, harsh words that seemed to be forced from her lips by each invasion.  It did not even sound like her voice, low and hoarse, she was growling out the words, “Fuck it!  Fuck it!  Fuck my cunt!  Harder!  More!  God damn it, is that all you have?”  She braced herself against the far side of the tub and lunged back at him.       

“You want more?  You dirty, insatiable, greedy whore, I will give you more.  Take a deep breath, you are going under again.”  And true to his word as soon as she inhaled he pushed her head down again. 

Spurred on by her words, he began to go at her with a wild ferocity.  She could hear him grunting and snarling, “More?  More?  You want more?”  He shifted turning slightly and put one foot into the tub, stepping on her hair and using his both hands to grip her thighs and spread them wider.  He was over her now, ramming at her, swiveling his hips, stabbing at her from different angles.  It felt like he was trying to crawl inside her.  The thrusts were getting faster, harder and even deeper.  It felt like her insides were being pummeled, like he was going at her with a bat. 

If she strained hard, she could just barely lift her face enough to steal a gasp of air but each time he slammed into her, her face was forced down again.  She could her him cursing, calling her names, telling her what a sad fuck she was, and hearing those words, hearing the rage and disgust, she was coming again, her scream bubbling up in the filthy water.

As usual he seemed tireless.  Fucking Mike was like a marathon, he always seemed to take a long time to finish and she knew that if he had been with another woman earlier, that this was not the first time of the day, it would take even longer.  She knew she was in for a long ride, but this was what she wanted… it had been a long time since she had been fucked like this and she wanted it to last.  She knew as long as he was in the saddle she would be coming, coming hard, over and over.

To her oxygen starved brain, time seemed to stand still… the act endless.  It was as if all existence had been reduced to this moment.  She had always been here.  He had always been here.  Sensory input was reduced to a strange series of still images… a flickering, crazy quilt of moments, words and sensations…   

As usual, he did not come inside her cunt.  He pulled out and yanked her hair, pulling her up and jerking off inches from her face.  She squeezed her eyes shut.  He grunted as he came.  It felt hot as it hit her skin.  She could feel it as it slipped down her wet skin and dripped onto her chest.  She hung there, suspended in his grip, swaying, gasping.  When she licked her lips she could taste him.

He shoved her backwards toward the water, upending her until she was lying in the slimy grey water.  He stood over her, his hand still on his big, meaty cock… working it… a nasty smirk on his face.  His voice did not hold quite the same amount of venom but the words still stung… “Proper place for a dirty whore.”

She stood in the bathroom, wrapped in her thick bathrobe, rubbing a towel at her hair, watching him as he efficiently worked the snake down the drain. 

“You are a fucking bastard, you know.”

He did not look up from the task.  “That is why you call me.”

He pulled a big, nasty clump of hair out of the drain.  He frowned and looked at it.  His thick fingers were surprisingly deft as he plucked out a sparkling hair barrette and handed it to her.  “This was the problem.”

She turned to barrette over in her hand and shrugged, she watched as the water swirled down the drain and he rinsed out the tub.

His expression did not change as she looked over the bill and wrote the check.

He was professionalism incarnate.  “Call me if you need me.”  They both knew what that meant.

She carefully put the barrette away for the next time.

        

Toy review fantasy part two…

He held the box in his hand, staring across the room at her, one brow cocked with that sardonic enquiring look she knew so well.

“What is this?”

She squirmed a little… chewing on her lips… her eyes shifting nervously.

“Um… um… it is that thing that sex toy company was sending to me to test.”

“Really, what is it?”

She could not bring herself to say the words… “anal beads”.  It was simultaneously clinical and nasty.  She squirmed more and could feel her face heat. 

He grinned, that scary, feral smile that signaled that he was happy with this avoidant reaction.  She was pulling back, away and he knew he would have to reassert his force over her.  He loved it when she showed resistance.  It triggered something inside of him, set free the animal.

He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and neatly slit the paper tape sealing the box.  It was an efficient movement and the sound of the blade moving along the paper was a hissing, shearing whisper that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up… the sensation an echo of the crackle of paper as he dipped his hand into the box.  He deliberately took his time, staring at her face rather than into the package, the smile turning sharper, his eyes narrow… measuring. 

She was frozen there, trembling, impaled with that look, pinned like an insect to a board, wings and legs still flexing, vibrating with the futile impulse to flee but rendered incapable by his eyes.

I am a smart ass.

So it was a busy, busy day at work. I started out filling in for a coworker that had to go to a training. I raced through her job and headed for my own, never once slowing down all day long. In the middle of my lunch the walkie-talkies all started buzzing with a apb about a kid that ran from staff and I had to walk away from my nice warm chili and search the entire building and then the grounds in driving ice cold rain. Sweet... we never found him, but he was one that knows how to walk home. Crazy kids, it was nasty wet outside.

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?"

"No."

"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.

Humiliation revisited

I did not end up going to the Erotic Humiliation thing. I did not even ask again, even though he had never really said no. He had just emanated disapproval. And perhaps, it would have been just a little too embarrassing, a little too humiliating to show up to something like that alone.

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.

Humiliation?

The local leather organization is sponsoring a class in a local dungeon this afternoon. "Introduction to Humiliation and Erotic Embarrassment" A couple of days ago, I had told Master about it and he made a face, frowned, wrinkled up his nose and shook his head.

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.

Gonna come, bitch?"

I remember once, when asked by someone only slightly less experienced in this thing that we do, "What is aftercare?"

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.

Shower sex and headaches don't mix.

He wanted to go for a cycle ride first. He usually does, claiming in that 'know for sure' voice that it makes the fucking better after some exercise. But his bike had a flat tire. I suggested going for a walk. I kinda miss going for walks sometimes but he ordered me directly to the shower.

I had been dealing with a nagging headache, well not exactly a headache, more a painful place on the back of my head, like a little man had had hit me with a hammer. It sometimes feels like that, a pop and zing, then if I reach back and touch, the very scalp and skull underneath hurts. It is most likely a tiny muscle spasm. And just when you get used to it, the pain starts to ease, the little fucker nails me again. POP... Zing.... I had hoped that the ride and rush of oxygen would chase it away but now I quickly popped some "Aleve" and stripped down telling myself that the drugs would work.

He was all up in my grill, watching me critically as I brushed my teeth, once again upping the expectations. He had me use one of his new electric toothbrushes... a sonic one again. I hate sonic toothbrushes, they make my nose itch. But there is no fighting it when he decides something. I met his narrow, gauging eyes with mine and tried my best to hold the brush at the exact angles he was dictating.

In the shower he hurried me through my washing and shaving, soaping my ass as I bent over to shave my legs. For years I was so humiliated by his "making sure my ass was clean"...like I was incapable of the simplest of hygiene, but then again, apparently I can't even brush my teeth without his guidance. I have learned since, that the act of washing my ass carries some very strong sexual trigger for him. And it worked just like it always does... in fact he got impatient and started to bend me over before I finished shaving... I think I have a 50/50 shaved pussy. (starting a whole new style). I got one side all smooth and nice, the other half still sports a 'stache.

He fucked me for a while and then the sharp tap on the shoulder to signal me to turn around quickly and make my mouth available. We proceeded like this, fuck, suck, fuck some more. Finally one of the peremptory taps turned into a grab and I was disoriented, hesitating, this wordless yank and push was not familiar. I sent a questioning look up to his face and he shoved me down on my back, flat on the floor of the shower, his words were short. "Play with your pussy." He knelt between my legs, looking down, lazily jerking off as he watched me. Then he began to stick his fingers into me, into my ass and pussy both, growling under his breath as I tensed and trembled, building closer to orgasm.

I came hard, crying out and thrashing around on hook of his fingers. But there is no rest for the weary, and he had me up and his cock deep into my throat before I even stopped spasming. By the time he tapped me with the "get up and bend over" nudge and slammed into me, coming what seemed like a gallon into my pussy. I remember still being bent over after he pulled out, watching the stream of come ooze out and run down my leg. He helped me to stand up and I leaned up against the side of the shower. The water had gotten cold, and I watched him lather up and scrub any possible contamination, any smear of nasty fluid from his skin with tired eyes.

The headache had gotten worse. I don't know if it was the orgasm or the being bent over sharply, or the straining that comes with tightening up my cunt muscles on his cock, or the repeated violent gagging that comes with the rough face fucking... but I was trashed. Normally we start in the shower and finish in bed and afterward I can curl up under warm blankets rather than shiver under a cold shower. Normally I feel giddy and happy after a good fuck... but today I was sad and unusually irritable. My head hurt, I was tired... when Master touched me I froze and shrank into myself.

"You really don't feel good." It wasn't a question, but I wordlessly shook my head. I could feel that my forehead was crimped into a perpetual frown. After I made his breakfast he interrogated me as to my food consumption in the last 24 hours, pronounced that I should eat more protein. He sent me to bed with orders to take a nap... I think I lay there half asleep, half awake for a couple of hours.

I am still irritable. I miss that happy, warm, relaxed feeling I usually have after Master soundly fucks my brains out.

What to Say?

What to say? Not a lot and a butt ton of things are going on. The usual work on the weekdays, come home kind'a wrecked and uninspired... bike rides and shower sex on the weekends with lots of naps, add in some good food, TV reruns of nature shows and writing stories and you have my life in a nutshell.

The same old, same old... but little things stand out. Us walking through the grocery store. Him asking me what's next, me looking at the list and announcing, "Meat". Him saying, "I know you are, but what's next on the list?" Picture me humping his leg in a busy grocery store. Picture an old man teasing us with a "Hold it down, there." Me deliberately misunderstanding and shooting back, "You have no idea how hard it is to hold me down!"

A few days later after a long chatty email exchange with one of my virtual friends, the topic wound round to verbal humiliation, how he sometimes will say the words but it rings hollow because I can tell he really doesn't "feel" it. He doesn't think of me of me as even a bitch, much less meat and I am not so sure he wants to believe those words are true. He doesn't want a bitch or meat. But still, even when they ring hollow, they trigger something in me, a thrill of fear... a rush of heat.

I am getting ready for my annual pilgrimage to the land of my genesis. Every August I go to Alaska to visit my aging parents and engage in the yearly ritual of fish sacrifice. Yes, I kill fish. I like to kill fish... no... I LOVE to kill fish. This year, Master is not going. Instead I am taking oldest son, my enigma of a daughter-in-law and the miracle that is my five year old granddaughter with me. It ought to be fun... and exhausting. My very wise Master decided to opt out of the circus.

Last night Master mentioned he was going to miss me. He said that he is going to totally fuck my brains out before I go... and then went on to describe all the depraved and disgusting things he is going to do. (More leg humping...) He even mentioned bondage and name calling... maybe the conversation about verbal humiliation is going to pay off?

Already my ass is decorated with a lovely constellation of little marks, bruises, speckles of little red marks, lines, dots.He beat me into a limp pile of whimpering "meat"... and when he asked me if I had had enough... for the first time in a very long time I nodded and sort of groaned out an mmmm, hmmm... and you know what... that reluctant sadist kept right on... clearly he needed more. And he is talking about another session soon... so he is planning on getting in some extra licks to tide me (and him?) over until my return in 9 days.

My yard is sort of getting away from me again... too many afternoons and weekends just sitting on my ass... I know I could beat it back to the place I had it before in just a few hours of easy hoeing and chopping. Just getting the "round-to-it" to come up to the top of the pile. But Livie's pumpkin plant is growing into the monster I knew it would and we already have a couple of pumpkins.

Yesterday I came home from work extra drained... I think it was the realization that today will most likely (99% sure) be the last day that my best ever, most awesome, (and secretly... don't tell him... sexiest) principal EVAR will be there. When I return to work this September for the new school year, he will be gone. I will miss him so much. He sings, he laughs, when he yells good morning down the hall you know he is happy to see you there at work. He does not hesitate even for a second to step in and deal with the shit that comes raining down every day. He can just walk into a room and the kids behave better... not because they are afraid... but because they just want to more when he is around. And he has such an amazing smile... like a light house. The hallways will be just a little darker next September. I told him I would not hate him for leaving... that I will reserve that for who ever they find to try and replace him.

Today there is no kids at work... just a day for teachers to do end of year grades and it is my day to do all the last bits of filing and enter the last data and print out my end of the year reports. And then I get to do my favorite thing... I get to put away all of the last years files... I get to put it all to bed... finally finished, neat, organized, done... finis... I look forward to doing this all year long.

And then I will celebrate by going and getting my nails done. I am thinking about blue sparkly.

And answer me this, why, oh why are my bowels in some kind of an uproar... why did my insides insist on complete evacuation... three times... count them THREE times this morning??? My poor bung hole is sorer this morning than it is after Master uses me unlubed in the shower. Pooping: the last forbidden subject. Why is it somehow more permissible to talk about someone sticking their dick up there than it is to talk about what comes out of it??? ...go figure.

Well I guess I should pack it up and finish getting ready for work.