Getting 'Bent'!!!

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

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

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







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

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

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

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


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


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

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

Feisty?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caning can be delicious

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

The Delicious Art of Caning

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

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

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

Rainy Sunday...

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

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

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

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

You guys all have a good day too.

Sunny Saturday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad weather and oil spills

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

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

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

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

I blinked and purred, "Look?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, not for a while."

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

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