Play Day - Monday Part Three

From previous post here....I collapse back onto the bed. I suck at his cock. I feel so spent, so gloriously spent.

I am pulled out of myself or into myself depending on how you look at it. Floating and spacey, I lie back as instructed. My cunt is sopping wet. He works his fingers inside me until he is fisting me - hard. We don't play with this anymore. There is no gradual process of working into being fisted. It is expected that I open and accommodate his hand. I do....Oh God I do. When he has his fist inside me I lose my head. It draws out the most intense orgasms. Each movement he makes is magnified by a thousand. His hand twists and shifts and my whole body lurches and I am gasping. I don't remember him telling me to quieten down so that either means I was a. quiet (not likely) or b. he had other plans and he was allowing me to go off in my head so he could unwind his deviousness out to its fullest.

** Note **

Kendra at TBK "came out" last week (see how long ago I wrote this). I find her bravery and honesty refreshing and inspiring. She also did a gorgeous post on fisting . SO, dear readers (as promised) here I am being more honest with YOU! I have been a little reluctant to come out about fisting. It is something I thoroughly enjoy. If you sift back through my archives there are several spots where I talk about it, though not expressly. You may find it if you know what you are looking for. Now I am calling a spade a spade! Oh and for any my sub-sisters who may be a tad scared of the prospect - don't be...Being fisted is as close to God as I think you will get in this life and a goal well worth working towards!

** End Note **

He had other plans. I came. My ears were ringing with the intensity. Being fisted is like drowning in the shallows while waves keep pummeling you and you can not stop to draw breath.

I was in such an exhilarating combination of off in my head and totally present to my physical experience. Usually he is inside me deep and hard. I felt myself stretching and pulling. I have no idea what he was doing. I remember begging at one point for no more. Usually he pushes me through that. This time he did not. He stopped. He told me to lie back on the bed and rest while he went and had a shower. I lay back and did not move a single muscle.  I am not convinced I could have if I had wanted to.

Play Day - Monday Part 2

Realization descends on me like a bird of prey from the clouds. For the past few days Sir has been talking about his "filthy mood". She, she can take an absolute beating...me? Not me! And now it is me, here, him in his already filthy mood made more filthy by virtue of the fact that she (the one who can take the beating) is not here...several things race through my mind at this point. We talk, chat laugh. He strokes my leg, pinches it a little. Then he says "lets go play" 

*shiver*

He slaps my arse as we walk towards what is now feeling like impending doom.


Our genial rapport is left scattered like our clothing which seems to find its way into quiet corners to watch.  Seamlessly, wordlessly, it is replaced with bawdy personification of our lascivious-selves.  


His hand slaps at my face, my arse stinging from his hands, his cane and I think the whip.  My back burning and I am splayed across the bed.  The cane is drawn again and it bites down at the top of my thigh. That really ouchy part where your buttock meets your leg, neatly he whacks.  I think the worst bit about the cane is that you hear it coming, feel the placement, know where it will land, hear the wind and the sound as it comes for you.  The struggle in not tensing is of course, magnified.  Then, most everything in TTWD is magnified.


There are tears and clamped nipples, begging, crying.  At one point I reached out to free my poor nipples.  There is always one the hurts more than the other.  I find it strange.  He looked at me, I knew the look.  It was a don't-you-dare-touch-those look.  I didn't and was soon relieved of the clamps.  For some reason every single time I think they will come off and I will feel better.  I always forget that it hurts like a motherfucker - always.  He never does.  I know he enjoys very much those few seconds of excruciating pain and the mixture of anticipated relief and shock on my face as the pain intensifies.  I love his fingers and hands on my nipples.  I hate clamps.  


I am lying on the bed and something makes me grin.  I don't know what it is.  Perhaps it was nothing.  Sir, I think, takes this as me not being serious enough.  That I am being disrespectful or not submitting.  Sometimes though, I just need to laugh.  It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt or anything else he maybe making up stories about in his head.  It sent me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.  The cane came out and whacked across the soles of my feet which sent me into further peals of laughter.  I am not a pain-slut.  Well sort of I am.  Actually I don't know.  I want it, I like it but it hurts.  Laughing was not making sense - even to me.  Then I was saying ouch and ending it with a laugh....then his whip came out.  I stopped laughing.  I don't even remember if he hit me with it but (I know I have mentioned this before) it hurts so much.  Giggles gone - pretty much.


I am standing in the doorway, fingertips crooked over the top of the frame, legs spread, on my toes, looking out of his room.  He is behind me somewhere, hitting me occasionally with something, a cane I think.  His voice moves around.  In front of me is a small unfurnished space.  Its far wall is a giant window.  A thin white curtain allowing me to see the outline of the squares of glass glows a pale yellow in the sunlight.  I am cumming, cumming, cumming.  He is calling, commanding, demanding my fingers stretch out over the door, that I am on my toes, that my body is taught and stressed and uncomfortable.  I feel the warmth of the cumming building in intensity.  "Cum now, hard" he says and I feel it trickle slowly down my leg, down the inside of my left thigh, snaking its way toward my knee.  Instantly he draws from me another and another until I can feel rivulets of cum sluicing their way down the inside of both thighs, down the inside of my feet, finally pooling where the balls of my feet touch uncomfortably to the floor.  There is a break for a few seconds.  I peak around at him lying back comfortably on his bed, just watching.  My head hangs forward, I am gripping the doorframe with my fingertips to relieve the rest of me.  He readies me.  I am begging for no more.  I have no more.  My head lolls back.  Last one.  Big one.  He pulls it from me slowly with his words and I feel it building in my belly.  I spray a neat little cum on the floor.  I have to admit to being quite impressed.  It was quite dainty.  I think about whether he can see the cum raining down, what it would look like in the intense yellow sunlight coming through the window and doorway.  I contemplate crawling to him, to the bed.  I don't remember getting there.  I know him well enough to presume that he helped me walk.


I collapse back onto the bed.  I suck at his cock.  I feel so spent, so gloriously spent.

Update! Back with a Vengence!

As much as I hate to do it I am gunna. Its my blog and y'all can't stop me! I will finish my Degustation Menu but I have to side line it while I work through it both in script and in my head. I have struggled writing anymore about my indulgent weekend because it is scrambled up and there are things I want very much to write about but that I don't because...well I just don't...so I have been trying to figure out how much I put out there and how much not to . I have another site that I post to that was intended to be for me to vent. Sir reads it too apparently - I swear he is like a CIA agent (and I secretly love it).

Update Update Update

I am sure you have all been dying to know. I was in a world of drop unlike I could possibly have foreseen. I had a big tantrum. I refused to contact Sir (because he should have been checking on me). Eventually my tantrum subsided and he was there to scoop me up. He did not get angry, just accepted and understood where I had been and allowed me to come back in my own time. Something about my submission being a gift freely given - not taken or taken for granted. I promised him that no matter what I would be in communication with him.

I have kept my promise of communication and honesty. I have written and bared my soul. I have told him anything I could possibly think of that he may find interesting - and some things that are not. I told him how my desires have evolved and shifted. I told him about new things I want to try. It would appear that once hard limits are now a bit soft around the edges.

Another interesting development is that I have arranged to meet a friend to check out a local swingers club this Friday - Kate who sometimes comments here. Sir will escort us. He tells me it is no place for me to go unaccompanied. Perhaps he is right. I am very much looking forward to it.. We are each (Kate and I) checking to see if it will be a suitable place to take our respective husbands.

SO

I knew it. I knew I had this new shiny bit of sub-ness not available to me before. I wanted it. I loved knowing it was there. I was scared of what it would look like in real terms, splayed out there for him to see.

He had a sore back. I knew he would just be getting home from work so I text him and asked if he wanted a massage (subtle, no?) I told him I was serious and I would bring some oils over. He said sure - but you will bring your stuff too. Of course Sir.

The drive over was so fun. My music was cranked and I had not an ounce of the terror that had gripped me previous trips. I sang loud (no promises of talent though). I was excited to be going. I was excited to be seeing him.

Usually I am met there with the door half open and I creep in under his arm. He was not there so I waited (all of two seconds) and he appeared and opened the door for me - chivalrous as ever. The door was locked behind me. I had my bag in hand and went to walk up the stairs to his room. He went past towards the kitchen. He said something about having a cigarette first so I tried to back track but he laughed and swatted my arse and said Nooooo. Upstairs we went. I pulled out my massage stuff and he stripped down and lay on the bed. My what a turn of events! Here I was clothed (well I had a dress on and no bra or panties - I have deemed them to be somewhat of a waste of time now) and here was he naked on the bed. He kept chuckling and saying "you are loving this". I was.

I massaged his back and put some chinese white flower oil on it. I was worried about bringing the white flower oil because it burns like a motherfucker and I was a bit worried about where else it had the potential to end up. I stowed it back in my bag and kept that idea under my hat.

Then it started. I sucked his gorgeous cock for a bit. He asked if I had missed it. I had. He reminded me that I had missed the potential for another tryst with the Divine One (which I did not know until after and YES I was sorry about that but at that point I was still, mid-tantrum - what is a sub to do?) I knelt before him and he slapped my face and I loved it. In the past it has made me annoyed or shocked or submit just to make him stop but this time...He slapped me twice I think on each cheek and I just...wanted it...needed it. I needed to know, to remember - to be his again. I felt my chest swell with each whack. It made me dizzy and deliriously, happily his. He spanked me - again with the deliriously happy.

He pulled the whip out and started hard out. I cannot take too much of it. Pretty soon I was sobbing. I needed to sob. He would reach his hands out and rub my back, then THWACK THWACK. I tried really hard to stay relaxed, to not try to anticipate whether it would be his hands soothing or the whip biting. At some points I was more successful than others.

He walked me to the wall and I stood, legs spread, arms above my head, forehead on the wall. He started with the whipping. I wish he would start slower, softer and build in. He never does. He starts at where I can just withstand it and builds in from there. I did suggest to him at the end of our evening that he could just hit me softer and he laughed so hard I thought he would injure himself.

He pulled out a different whip and dropped it once across my back. FAAAARK! That is some serious pain! I do love the mark it left though...I want the marks without the whipping. He put the ball gag on me and whipped me some more until I was at the end and I could not take anymore.

He was there behind me and I could feel him breathing. He ran his nails down my back. It seriously sends me over the edge. He started right at the top and grated them down my back over and over and I wanted to cum so badly that I could not speak to ask permission. He bit me, bit into my back and it was fucking delicious. He stepped back and bade me cum. I came. Never one to disappoint he bade me cum again...and again and again and again...

It washed over me, cleansed me. Made me new again. My legs started to shake and give way, my arms started to fall. He demanded I keep my arms up and then told me to cum again. My knees started to buckle. He decided in his infinite Domly wisdom that at this point it would be a good time to have me get on my toes. Wow, yes. That is totally what I was thinking - not how about I just crawl on my hands and knees on the floor and dissolve at your feet. I was totally thinking how about I get up on the tips of my toes and cum some more. I love it how we sync like that! (I have heard somewhere sarcasm is unbecoming - I have yet to be presented with sufficient evidence to back that theory)

I was struggling. Every cum I could feel my knees pull in tighter, my back arch. The wall was cool on my head. I had sweat flowing in rivers down my back. My knees would start to give. My muscles burned and he was there, calm, "Again - now" and I did. Over and over. I was (I am sure) begging to stop. He told me at one point that if I moved my feet to the floor I would earn 50 whip strikes. That seemed pretty good motivation. I came and came and came while my calves burned like hell and my thighs shook - until I could not stand for one more second. Until I could not cum again.

Then he took me down (I swear to God I felt as though I had been tied there) and walked me to the middle of the room. He pulled my nipple and my eyes grew wide. Noooooo I just could not do it. He stopped me - held me up. He grabbed a nipple between each of his thumb and forefingers. "Look into my eyes, there is nothing but me. You can do this, you can take this." I looked into him. I am sure he was doing unspeakable things to my nipples with his fingers, pinching and pulling harder and harder. While I held his gaze I did not notice. Then the command came again "Cum" and I came - hard. Really hard. It was intense and amazing. As soon as I came my knees gave way slightly and I grabbed his shoulders, digging my nails in. My head lolled back a bit and as soon as I lost eye contact my nipples BURNED! "Look at me. Stay with me. You can do this." and I was back with him and there was nothing. Over and over we danced this twisted dance until I thought I would pass out.

Finally I was done, I sucked his cock and my lusty cunt was fed until I melted and gushed (twice he tells me) and I was permitted to lap at his cum.

We chatted for a while and shared a cigarette or two (yes, I am still convinced I don't smoke).

I have been on a very major blissed out high for a few days now but I have had cause to think. I have been asked a few curly questions by friends and family lately. What is a girl to do? My new standard line is to look them squarely in the eye, smile and say "I have recently implemented a don't ask, don't tell policy." Evokes a few raised eyebrows when there are teeth marks on your back...


PS I have missed you all very much and am enjoying catching up on everyone - xxx JaT

Degustation Menu - Second Course

...My hands start to explore her body, touch the shape of her breasts, slip between her thighs.

I am waiting direction but I will not wait long - nor as it turns out do I have to.

My mouth finds her nipple and sucks hungrily. We are kissing, petting, touching. We are told to explore each others cunt with our tongues. Eager (obviously to please Sir) my mouth finds its home, flicking between her wet lips, sucking, gently stroking. I run my tongue up and down building rhythm, dipping it inside her. I feel my stomach clench, the warmth in my belly brimming. She tastes sweet and salty and perfect.

How I have deprived myself of this for so many years I do not know.

My fingers slide inside her. I am soft then on her clit, swirling my tongue in little circles. I feel her tighten around me. Before she cums I am lying back feeling her tongue lapping at my cunt. I suck her from my fingers drinking in the moment.

I lie across the bed. She straddles my face, a knee either side of my head and we are at each other. Tongues, fingers, grinding hips. I am fairly certain I am under instruction not to cum as if I weren't I would have already. He walks around lazily landing blows with the whip. At some point the blindfolds are removed. Sir expects us to bring each other to orgasm together. My fingers dip inside her as I feel my cunt spread open. Sir is attentive, watching, instructing, demanding - deeper, harder, faster. I can feel her clenching. There is nothing but this. The room dissolves around me, sound is gone, time is gone, Sir is gone.

I feel the spot up inside her and work my hand in circles. I thrust in and out. She is pushing me to the edge. I want nothing more than to taste her right now, to suck her clit as she cums. The angle in which we are locked will not allow it. I know Sir is there somewhere commanding - deeper, harder, faster. I make a small circle once more and she shudders. Sir commands that we cum then, right then. My muscles clench in response. Her back arches and she is releasing, gushing. I feel the warmth of her cum bloom across my breasts, drip down my sides, flow around my neck, then I am lost to another more powerful cum. I feel myself giveway. Cum spurts from me under the ministrations of her hand but is exponentially increased by the flow of her cum onto my chest. The only thing I wish is that I could taste her, drink it from her.

I am there locked in, reveling in the majesty of the moment. Marveling at this divine creature, at her cumming around my fingers. Over and over I am lost and reborn. She thrusts and rubs at my cunt as I feel her insides pulse around me. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

Sir commands we remove our hands at the same time. We do. She with a small 'yes Master', I with a grudging 'yes Sir'.

This is the moment I take to really look at her. If I could design the perfect pair of breasts, these are them. Milky-white with perfect pink nipples. They are full and gorgeous. She is petite and lying on her stomach now, facing the foot of the bed next to me as I do the same. We are looking out the door as our Master/Sir walks outside for a cigarette. I notice the pale pink skin across her back and thighs where the whip has plead its case. I smile at her and we both giggle as we look at each others eyes for the first time and introduce ourselves. She has a fantastic, wild, curly, cherry-red bob and her lips....oh my. Her lips curve in an exaggerated heart shape and are a beautiful deep pink. We laugh some more. Sir calls out to us. We explain we are just introducing ourselves and dissolve into giggles again.

Each of us throwing on a black dress, we joined Sir on the balcony for a breather. We are (after all) settling in for a long night.



Degustation is a culinary term meaning "a careful, appreciative tasting of various foods" and focusing on the gustatory system, the senses, high culinary art and good company. (with thanks to wiki, full definition here)

Oh. My. God.

So folks, I am struggling at the moment to paint an adequate picture of my weekend dalliances. My head is filled with fragments of time all rolling together then I get stuck in a moment.

Right now the kids are here. They got here early Sunday afternoon. My lovely little two bed unit instantly filled with the sounds of Scooby-Doo and squabbling. I went to have a shower last night, walked into my ensuite and stood on wet, salty, sandy jeans and t-shirts from their sand-castle building exercise. I felt a huge amount of joy watching my youngest career around the grass on his bike for the first time without training wheels. We checked out the cool toys in the garage, the two Ducattis, the jet-skis, the Porsche and a vintage Holden (my boys - sigh!). There is Sponge-Bob Monopoly layed out for hours of play on my dining table (I might add it is looking like my token - Squidward - is going to cop a beating). We had roast chicken by candle light on the balcony, drank water from wine glasses and got gelatos eating them out the front of the shop. We walked up the hill to the look-out and danced on the tables well after 'normal' bed-time in the crisp salty air and bright moonlight. I felt and feel truly present.

There are of course moments where my presence is compromised by a wistful smiling gaze into the distance. Fortunately my children just think I am mad and my husband just shakes his head.

I drove down to the beach with husband Friday night. We bought a pizza and sat looking out over the ocean. The moon sat full and low, the air still and cool. It was lovely and relaxing. We stretched out in bed and had slow, deliberate sex, taking our time. It is so nice to be removed from our usual mess and busyness for a time.

He left on Saturday morning at around 11 to collect the children and look after them for the night.

I went back to the unit to wait. I hadn't been feeling well. I had a migraine the day before. I read and slept intermittently, every noise roused me instantly. I paced. I drank copious amounts of water and had a couple of panadol. I was nervous and squeemish and excited. I salt scrubbed my freshly waxed legs which always relaxes me and then showered and bathed, brought myself to cumming twice (also relaxing) and showered again. I had a small "what the fuck am I doing" moment. I had a cigarette. I cleaned my teeth. I had a big "what the fuck am I doing" moment. I checked my phone. I cleaned my teeth again. I dressed and repositioned the pillows on the bed. At about three-thirty my phone rang. SHIT. What the fuck am I doing?

*****

I got up Sunday morning at 7. The total silence of no-one else around was bliss. I went straight in to have a shower. I had thought about showering before I went to bed but I wanted to keep the smell and the taste of the night with me as long as I could. My muscles ached. My thighs burned. My cunt still throbbed. The warm water made all of the juicy fucking from the night before turn into a slick film on my skin. I felt it over my face and chest, my shoulders, my legs, my stomach. I reveled in it. The water ran through my hair. It is long, thick and dark brown. It takes all day to dry (best case scenario) so washing it is a task best left for mornings. I was running my fingers through pulling any stray whisps when I found a thin tendril, a curly cherry-red strand tangled in amongst my hair. My heart skipped a beat. My chest felt like it would burst. I dissolved into giggles and deep sighs. Then I leaned in against the wall and came.

The night before. Oh. My. God. She was like some sort of divine being.

Oh.


My.



God.

Patience - a dish served cold

I was wanting to patiently (impatiently) wait until the weekend. I was wanting a quiet visit. I had no idea what patient meant...no idea at all...

He pulled them from me over and over until the floor was wet, my thighs wet, my cunt swollen. He grabbed my hair, pulling me to him, pulling it as I came. He thrust his fingers in and out then, intensifying my cumming. I was literally in a puddle. He had to get a towel to mop up. All of a sudden it stopped. I was not permitted to cum anymore. I was sucking his cock and had to keep stopping, bringing myself down, my begging to cum met each time with a no. I knelt between his knees, shaking, holding off the orgasm. I begged again and again and again. He cupped one hand under my chin and angled my face towards his. Eyes locked, I could not turn away.

He lifts his hand and brings it down, slapping my left breast. I try to be quiet. I know I am not. I am whimpering. Please, Sir. Whack. Each time bringing my orgasm closer to the surface. I push my breasts forward wanting more. Please, Sir may I..? Whack. I shake my head. I feel my eyes wide. My cunt is throbbing, dripping on the floor. I am going to cum. God what is going to happen if I cum having been expressly told not to... Please Sir? He shakes his head, eyes flash, NO. Whack. Whack. Whack. Oh God oh God oh God I have never been this close and not tipped over the edge. If I move I am going to cum. Tears roll down my cheeks, our eyes still locked. The tears are from the desperate need to cum. I want him to slap me again and to release me to cum with it. Tears tears more tears. He never lets me cum when I am being whipped or slapped. I needed it so badly. I am shaking, sobbing. He traces my face with his finger, drinking in my distress. My breath sticks in my throat. I have to look away. He stops.

I am sucking his cock again. Victorious. I did not cum. It does not feel victorious. Perhaps he will allow me to take my fill. Perhaps he will cum. He stands. No. I will not cum until the weekend. Until.....(I am still not spilling)....You though, I can see you need more. Sit over the towel and cum until I say to stop. The towel is thrust at me and I cum over and over. He leaves the room and comes back. There, that is enough for you. No more. I tell you it was not what I needed. It was far from it and he knew it. I needed in those moments to cum, not after. Fuck him. Fuck him and the goddamn horse he rode in on.

And that was how the true test of patience began.

He held out his hands and helped me to my feet. We walked outside and had a cigarette. The air was fresh and the wind ripped through me, cooling my damp and overheated skin. My dress was soaked through in sweat and cum, mainly cum - my cum. My hair washed fresh that morning was just dry and now stuck in thick, sweaty, teary chunks to my neck and face. I tied it back, loosely with some pins. I would have to wash it again and it takes all damn day to dry. I stand to leave and present him with the meals I had carefully packed, frozen and labeled.

I had prepared him a meal for each night of the week. All organic and every single thing was handmade, the pastry on the pie, the pasta sheets, the sauces. Everything was touched by my hands.

I pour everything I am into my food. Into my food and into my fucking but maybe moreso into the food.

He walks me to the door and hugs me. He wants me to really feel how grateful he is. I can't stand in it. I can't own it. I want to look away, run out the door. He holds me there and hugs me. "...no. As a person to another person, I really want you to get it. I really want you to get what this means to me..." He is saying. I am nodding, looking at the floor mumbling "I get it" and dying to be in my car. Why am I so uncomfortable?

Finally I escape. I arrive home, shower, husband and I play a bit then we curl up on the couch to eat chinese and watch a movie. The weekend rolls on and is filled in with friends, family, birthdays, backyard soccer, food and laughing.

I know Sir is not alone when he eats because a little bit of me is there too. I get a message about the delicious food and a "good girl". Smiling, I send back a cheeky "aren't I just?" and get away with it too - because I am, aren't I?

Strawberry Sorbet

Strawberries are in season at the moment. A friend of mine went picking last week and brought home a bounty.

I sit in the kitchen with my paring knife and hull the berries into a big glass bowl, putting about twenty of the most perfect looking ones to the side. Placing sugar and water in a saucepan I make a syrupy mixture, stirring until the crystals dissolve, watching it bubble lightly then leaving it to one side to cool.

Humming to myself I think about what else it needs. The fruit is so gorgeous at this time of year but it needs something...I have some tahitian limes that are destined for the sorbet but it needs something...Thankfully this is a staged recipe and I can leisurely ponder the ingredients with no adverse outcomes. While I am contemplating the missing dimension to the sorbet I heat some chocolate and dip the reserved berries, leaving the chocolate to harden.

I love the laziness of the day, rolling over on itself, wandering, pondering, thinking about food and fucking. My two favorite things. Collecting herbs for dinner I notice my mint. It is a little sad after the cold and only just starting to get its first flush of real new spring growth but the winter means smaller leaves with a much fuller flavour. I pick a tight handful. This is what I have been looking for!

Back inside I pull out my mortar and pestle. I have three actually, this one is dedicated to sweet things. The other two are for curries and savory spices and are employed depending on quantity of ingredients. I have a beautiful little hand made japanese one, too. It is made just for ginger and horseradish and sits unused but very much loved. It is palm sized and almost serrated on the inside with a tiny wooden pestle. Hung by its leather thonging, it watches over me as I work. In my work corner I have two such objects, functional and beautiful but which serve no real purpose in my cooking. Both are treasured, one from each of my grandmothers.

I wash the mint, spin it dry and throw it in with a small handful of sugar. As I pound the scent intensifies, the leaves grow darker, the sugar grating into the mint. Pausing for a moment I peel some zest away from a lime, the oily aroma clinging to my already fragrant fingers. I am just about to throw it in to the pestle but think better of it and put it to the side. The mint and sugar are locked in a feud, each trying to exert his own individuality in the confines of my bowl, trying to drown out the other. The sugar biting into the tenderness of the mint, the oil from the mint permeating the sugar, dissolving it slightly. The sounds of the fray lessen and bit by bit they unify into a fine, pale green powder with occasional glimpses of a of dark green speck of mint. Now they have surrendered to each other. Now they are something new.

One of my favorite desserts is a platter filled with big chunks of fresh pineapple, sprinkled with mint-sugar. Simplicity. Perfection.

I squeeze the limes by hand over the sugar and stir, the acid easily dissolving the tiny granules. It looks like a pale cordial. The berries go into the blender and I add the minty/limy mix, pulsing it until it is smooth. At this point I get rather torn as I love a beautiful silky sorbet but I do so love the wholeness of leaving the puree unsieved. I decide that since I have gone this far that the decadence in a perfectly smooth sorbet outweighs my delight in finding the occasional tiny piece of fruit.

I hum as I push it through the sieve and it falls in thick plops into the bowl. The colour is rich and red, not like the pinkyness of raspberries. The syrup is still not cool enough so I busy myself with other things.

The phone rings. It is Sir. Thankfully I am home by myself. Stretched out on the bed, one foot on the bed head I am cumming again at his word. I quiver and ripple, my body contorting itself, bending and writhing at his say so. I am twisted into knots, wound up and unwound. Breathless, it is finally finished. I am permitted to stop. I have the desperate desire to keep going forever and the physical exhaustion pressing me to go no further. He is timing me, counting my cums. His goal for me is twenty-five times in five minutes. He informs me that I came nineteen times in five-minutes and twenty-three seconds. My stomach aches and burns. I can feel every muscle screaming at me.

I lie still for a while, listening to the nothing in my house. My eyes closed, my body tired, my mind not considering sleep as an option in the near future. Eventually I rouse myself and move lazily to the kitchen. I bite into one of the strawberries, cracking through the chocolate, juice filling my mouth. I eat while pulling the frozen basin out and placing it on the bench, pouring in the syrup, the strawberry puree and sprinkling over the tiny pieces of lime zest. I switch it on, watching it swirl for a while and slowly gather myself for a shower.

On my return I am rewarded with a pretty, red, undulating convergence of flavours. The tiny vibrant flecks of green look divine.

I scoop a spoonful while the machine still whirs and smile to myself as it melts into my tongue; drifting off, floating away in both body and mind.

Silence

So where were we before I got all distracted with my new trick? That's right, me tied to a spreader bar on the bed, cuffed and gagged with Sir wielding some deadly looking clamps.

He stares into my eyes and places The Mother of all clamps over my whole cunt, sandwiching my clit in the middle. He stares at me, watching my eyes roll back as it snaps shut. I have to say the feeling was exquisite in a very good way. I let out a small shudder. He proceeds to fix pegs where ever he can find spare flesh around the clamp. Then he comes at me with the two small clamps. The first one goes on my right nipple. It hurts but I can bear it. The second one goes on my left nipple and I can not take it. I am whimpering - Sir says I sound like a puppy. I kind of agree but am not in much of a position to comment. I am gagged, tied and in major sensory overload.

The twisted nature of these moments is that when he removes the clamps I look to him as my saviour. He says there will be a punishment for that later. In that moment I could not see past getting the clamp(s) off my nipple and it is gone and he has rescued me.

He walks over to the drawer and pulls out a long sharp white needle about the length of a ruler. He pokes me with it. Pokes my clit with it. I am not liking this game. He rests the needle flat against the top of my thighs.

I don't remember what happened next. I remember him standing beside me, to my right. I remember the look on his face as I lay on the bed, tied to the bar, hands cuffed to the bar, clamped and gagged. I remember I had to move my knees up towards my chest. I don't remember why. I can picture myself lying there and see the confusion spread across my face as my knees draw higher. I see my eyes grow wide, my head start to shake. I look over at him. I understand what he has done, what he is doing. He smiles, nods and chuckles a "MmmmHmmmm." I shake my head. He nods his head. I try to ease into it, looking to him to save me.

The thin white needle rests on my thighs and in the middle it is threaded by a loop to the clamp on my clit.

As my knees draw up, the clamp pulls. I am breathing faster, transfixed by the sensation but the fear is building. The fear is driven by the anticipation of pain. I know once the clamp pulls to a certain point the smaller amount of skin will make it excruciating. I look to him. He smiles and says nothing. I am like a trapped bug in his web. It is blissfully divine. I want to cum but know that if I do it will pull harder on the clamp.

I wish I could remember what it was that was making me draw my knees up. I have a feeling it may have been a cane. Just before I dive into real panic he yanks the clip from me.

I breathe hard.

OMG.

I ask for release but it is denied.

I am freed from my bonds while he uses his hand to bring forth the most intense orgasms. I cum over and over, trying to be silent as he insists. (He tells me later is because it intensifies the orgasm. This I can now attest to.) Holding my breath, I sit up as he is there with his hand in me. I stare into him, looking to him to guide me, direct me, keep me present. I listen and his words wash over me, his eyes locking me in. I am at his will in this moment more than any other. More than when I am tied up, bound, gagged. In this moment I breathe at his will. The word comes, "Now" My eyes roll back and I am spasming, brimming with sound which channels itself all into my cunt grabbing at him, pulling him in. I am thrown back on the bed, gasping. I feel the waves rolling through me from my middle out to my ends. Cum is dripping down my legs, pulsing out of me. The room is full of the smell of sex and fucking.

I am spent.

Eventually I am able to rouse myself enough for a cigarette (though I want it dually noted I don't smoke). The walk down the stairs was tough on my legs.

Training

Since I started seeing Sir I have been working hard to hold orgasms until I am told to cum or until I ask and permission is granted. This has proven difficult as I hit rolling orgasms quite easily and why deny, right? I have to say I think there have only been one or two slip ups or very near half misses which I count as a minor miracle. I have also been tasked with learning to remain quiet...no actually silent. I think this is a much more difficult task in some ways. I have found though that through the silence I am able to be in some ways more present to the experience. I am finding that in the really deep moments if I can stay afloat, the orgasm is magnified - exponentially. Drifting into myself in such a way that I actually block out everything/one else has been my chosen path (remaining true to my hedonistic nature) up to this point. Staying in the space, while more difficult, offers up far greater possibilities.

Interestingly I never really considered the counter to withholding orgasms and asking permission to cum, which is the whole point of the post. Through learning to listen and, as it were, cum-on-command it would appear that I am now able to (surprise) cum-on-command. It really hit a whole new level though, one I had not given consideration to. Mick who writes (Under Contract to my Wife) talks often of his "pavlovian" response. It would seem that I too am as easy to train as Pavlov's Dogs.

I have been in a little trouble this week. I was being a little mouthy last night. I said something to Sir about him being a manipulative. He says no, I think yes, he says what I believe does not matter. He seems to think he just elicits from people their most base desires. I still think he manipulates. Whether they/we are being lead or coerced is neither here nor there anyway - he is like the pied piper for subs. He spoke to me about how he is not manipulating, just...facilitating.

He spoke to me about the new man-thing I am considering playing with as a Mistress. How I will not be a Dom, like he is a Dom. (I do not want to be a Dom like he is a Dom. I like my role as Mistress or Top, thank you!) The conversation quiets for a second. He is thinking. He changes tack. I can hear his tone change. He gets this shift in his voice when he is hatching a plan, when he strikes a new idea he knows will drive his point home.

"You know that while I talk to you, you get wet."
"Yes, Sir."
"You know if I told you to cum now, without touching yourself you could."
"Yes, Sir."
"I could have you so your cum is dripping down your legs."
"Yes, Sir."
"You know if I told you to cum ten times right now, you could."
"Yes, Sir..."

This is interesting, mainly because he does not like for me to cum outside of our sessions but also because I do not really believe it. I wonder if he is just throwing it out there as an idea.

His voice was soft and deadly, "So you could cum for me now, slut. Do not touch yourself."

I was mid-protest, mid-"I can't" when I felt the thrill of a build start in my belly and engulf me before I could get the words out. There lying on the couch, nothing other than his word and I was writhing mid-cum. Against everything I am outside of who I am with him, I had to ask, "Please, Sir, Please?"

"You have my permission to cum. You will cum when I tell you to. Cum now and quiet, slut. No noise."

As my orgasm faded away his voice was in my ear "Again, slut, now, " and another one rose to meet me where the first had left.

I gasped and groaned heavily into the cushion. I was clenching, twisting and his voice - I can only describe it as a whisper but one that comes to me like a shout - "Silence!"

Before I had reached the final shudder he spoke "Now cum for me slut."

They were fast and hard and building in intensity. I was shaking. He was demanding. "Again" or "Now." and there I would go again. I was gasping for air but trying to keep my breathing steady to maintain his need for silence.

"Are you counting? No? That is five now, little slut. Cum for me now."

I was slick and wet, shaking. My stomach was starting to hurt and then I was lost. Over and over I could not pause for breath. I was quiet, nigh silent but still he knew the instant I was riding down the wave and he pulled me back up to dive in once again. I felt like someone was holding my head under water and only allowing me half a second up to breathe. I lost all sense of everything, my cunt dripped, my stomach ached and he paused. Here, when I thought I was done, he told me to cum again. I could feel the wetness, the heat. I was gasping and clenching and then there it was, that one where I have to sit up more and I feel my eyes grow wide, my breath catch in my throat. A silent second and my eyes roll, my back arches and I tremble, embracing the cum as it washes over me. Finally he allows me to be done and I collapse back onto the couch.

I could not and still cannot understand - I did not even have the chance to think anything through, there was no stimulation, no build in, not even a hint of fantasy and there I was - my cup truly had runneth over and made a slick mess on my legs and the couch.

"Now" he says. "Do you know how many times you came?"
"No, Sir"
"Why not?" Although I suspect he knew the answer.
"I..I...I can't think, Sir. I couldn't..."
He laughed. "E-le-ven times." He broke the word eleven into three words. "Now you cum eleven times in less than five minutes. You cum without touching yourself. You cum because I tell you to cum. That is a Dom. That is why I am a Dom and you are not."


I have nothing left but a tiny, humbled "Yes, Sir."

Indulged

I had a dream last night that I was sleeping and someone came in and sucked my nipples, working his way down, sucking my treasured clit almost to the point of orgasm, slowing to start again, tucking his fingers into me, building up the perfect rhythm, tongue searching, fingers working, mouth hungry. I did not feel I would ever cum, but I was chasing it, he was chasing it and then I was there, back arching, eyes wide then rolling back, gasping, panting, shaking. On recounting it to Husband Dear this morning he assures me it was no dream...just another addition to the perfect day scenario. Apparently I rolled over and went to sleep, though I swear I never really woke up.

As far as perfection goes I am hitting pretty close to the mark at the moment. My cleaner came and worked her magic, I had a pedicure, washed and blowdryed my hair with my new fantastic hairdryer and I am waiting here with my kids working and my gorgeous dog doting on me, for a lovely woman to walk in the door and give me a full body massage....it really can't possibly get much better than this!

My baking yesterday was lovely. It makes me feel a little Martha Stewart. I think the brownies are my favorite. The recipe I use is pretty much chocolate. butter and brown sugar with just enough eggs and flour to stick it together. Again I use the salted butter because of the sweet/salty contrast - I know I shouldn't. I know the cooking books say unsalted but I can't help it. I am going to say that it is probably the asian influence - that flavour balance, sweet/salty/sour/hot must be hard-wired into my cells, so much so that it even permeates my baking.

I wonder at it, what creates in me my desires in the way that they manifest. The food, the sex, the way I walk through the world. As for the sexuality part, there have been no childhood triggers - of which I can attest. I can also say with some sort of certainty that I remember feeling this, knowing this about myself from very, very young. Maybe 4? I will draw the line at detailing the memories.

Occasionally I think about my ancestry and wonder at the link. Japanese, German, Spanish, English - especially with the German/Japanese. They are renowned for their weird control issues and proclivity for what would be considered in polite company, sexual deviancy. Then again perhaps this is just mine to wear. Blameless, it just is what it is.

It is interesting though.

I am going to make the panna cotta this afternoon. Hopefully Sir will desire for me to come and see him sometime soon. I am waiting, baking, indulging - but I cannot pretend at patience.

We're not in Kansas anymore Toto.

So it has been two weeks now. Yes I am counting the days. I was on the highest of highs for a while. Actually, that is not entirely true. I was on the highest of highs for exactly three days. Then with the suddenness of an unexpected slap in the face (which we will get to later) I came crashing and careering off the lighted clouds of endorphins and into the black abyss of wanton desire. I suppose that wanton desire is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact I quite enjoy it but this is not one of those sweet encounters where you sit waiting to see your new beau or beauette. This was dark and dirty. I desperately needed to go back, to have more. I needed to be fucked again and I needed to be fucked by him. The part I hated was that he knew it. We spoke on the phone, briefly now, because there was no joy in anticipation anymore. The bliss of talking softly, imagining touches, the thrill of my cunt getting wet at the sound of his voice was there but no longer enough. I got that he had taken a part of me. He owned it and he was not giving it back. Not now and according to him, not ever.

I am back to cooking. Cooking a lot. Avoiding going to see him again. Waiting until I can give it away, give him away, or until I can't bear it anymore. Some moments I can't bear it anymore and I am in the car about to drive there but I haven't - yet.

He sits on the phone. He tells me what I want, what I need and that I am his. Not in the romantic way where I am his forever. In the way that he owns a part of me that is small but so significant, the part of me that has submitted to another person. Whether I admit it or not we both know it to be true.

It is a very difficult thing to describe, that piece. The feeling of being owned. It is vastly different to belonging, to desire, to the beauty of a fresh relationship. There is a small amount of....what is the word? Panic I suppose. For someone like me to give over to someone else, half willingly, half I am not sure...hell, I am not even sure what "it" is. I guess the half that is not willing desperately wants for it to be taken too...whatever it is.

So in my quiet moments I fill my head with fragmented rememberings of debauchery. I can feel the touch, the sting, the release. The glorious fucking release.

He took out a bamboo cane. I stood with the burning of an orgasm unreleased in my belly as he caned my arse. I moaned softly. It got harder and harder. My breath stuck in my throat. I could feel the fire burning in my belly, building again. Evidently so could he.

"You are a very naughty girl. You mustn't cum. You mustn't cum until I say. Is that clear?"
"Yes." My voice was quiet, angry. "Yes, Sir."
"Good Girl."

He knew that I was there fighting him. Surrendered in body only. The fire burned brighter as the pain ripped through my arse. My legs started to shake.

He whispered to me, "You are a slut."

He took my hands down. I knelt on the floor as he collared my neck.

"Suck my cock." It was thick and perfect. I took him in my mouth and devoured him, while he stood there above me, me on my knees, deeper and deeper. It brought me again to where I was ready to cum. I looked up at him, begging him with my eyes to let me go, to stop or to finish me. To let me cum.

"Not now." He bent me over the bed and that moment of entry, that glorious moment. He thrust inside me. It is like a sweet second where the world stops turning. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. It was hard and fast. My head was spinning. "You cum on my cock, now." He thrust a finger in my arse and pulled my hair back harder. My back arched, my cunt tightened and I came. Finally. I could feel my cunt constricting in waves over him, pulling him in. Once, twice and on the third wave he pulled out.

"No!" I shouted. "No, no, not now. Please...Can't you just..."

He stood back and said "You talk too much. You are too loud. I told you not to say no to me." He shoved something in my mouth and tied it there.

I was sitting in a messy puddle on the floor at the foot of his bed, my eyes stung with tears of frustration. At his command I got up on my knees. He licked my breasts, sucked my nipples and then started placing clamps on them. The pain was exquisite. I was unable to speak with the gag in. I know my eyes were searching, begging him. I shook my head and he smiled. "It is only for a minute. It will get better. You will take it." There were three on each nipple. I was shaking my head, making muffled sounds. "Good Girl." He patted my head.

He was softer now, quieter. He pulled out a length of rope. He tied it in expert loops as he must have done a hundred times before. He tied my breasts one at a time so they were tight balls of flesh, red and swollen. He bent me over and caned my bare arse. I was to stay on all fours with my head down. He fucked me again, over and over. Whenever I got close to cumming he would stop and wait for the moment to subside, then he would start again. The thrusting made my breasts jolt and sting but I wanted to cum so much I could not help but thrust back into him. My breasts really burned now. I wanted them to be released. It hurt so much I could feel a surge of panic start to rise in my chest. He took out a giant dildo. He moved around behind me. It was too wide. I shook my head, begging for him to stop, wanting him to continue. "You can take it. I know you can." As he pushed it into me I could feel my cunt stretching. The glorious feeling it brought to my clit. He fucked me with it slowly and I came so hard I could see it spurting out of me. "Good Girl. Good Girl." The waves would not stop coming as he pounded it into me. There was nothing in the world except this. The sensations. The occasional stinging on my arse as he slapped me, the thrusting, stretching of my cunt. The filling up of my insides. The throbbing of my breasts. I sat back on my knees, he went to remove it from me and I shook my head. He smiled.

He pulled back and stood in front of me. I looked straight at him. There was defiance in my eyes I knew it. This is what I was here for. This moment. He slapped my face. Hard. It stung. It made me angry. I challenged him again with my eyes, again he slapped me. I shook my head and frowned. He slapped me again and again until I looked down. In that moment, I was owned. My chest was nearly bursting. It felt so liberating, so unimaginably amazing.

"You look so beautiful there, Girl. Look at how beautiful your breasts are. Perfect. You are such a good slut and right now you fucking own it. I told you I would make you, create you. You are a slut, my slut and right now, you love it."

He was right. I was there, tied, gagged, panting, wet, stretched, hurting, submissive and all of the defiance gone from my eyes. I could feel it. All that was there was lust and fucking. I looked back up at him with playful eyes, shaking my sweaty hair from in front of my face and I grinned and nodded. I did fucking own it. I owned it, I loved it and there was no going back.