Messaged to a NiteFlirt Master:
I can tell you that as soon as you released me from the No Orgasm Order, I crept down to the basement and masturbated myself to several, including squirting. Since I am such a messy whore, my Master makes me masturbate on the floor in the basement, like an animal, in the dark. And I’m such a slut, I do.
Tags: dirty whore, humiliation, masturbation
What follows is very complicated stuff.
Blackie’s introduced me to a man — a man Blackie says is part of my training because this man can and will force me to experience things that I will struggle with. It’s only been one (monitored, via speaker phone) conversation, and I am struggling. Greatly.
It’s not as simple as the flippant blog post title says. It’s not just a matter of vanity, or difficulty with something new; it’s the intense and specific philosophy this individual man has. …You might say that this has to do with this man’s particular “brand” of livestock.
Because all of this is new and raw, because much of this, I imagine, will be greatly controversial to many people, I’m restricting the reading of the rest of this to Member Masters only.
(Number one, this limits access to verified adults only; and number two, it should minimize any fall-out, including challenges of philosophical differences and “factual debates” regarding definitions, etc.. I’m not prepared to do anything of that nature. At least not yet. Not simply because this is “new” to me, but because my personal philosophy is that dominance and submission, be it relationships, role play, or unshared fantasies, are individual and personal; the only one to judge them is the one having them, or ones asked to become involved in them. And I’m still working on that.)
Frankly, I wouldn’t even be sharing any of it other than I am ordered to do so — both by Blackie and by this man. They want to read it. To assist them in their exploitation of my head, psyche, and soul, no doubt. And, as most of my lessons have indicated, to make certain that I understand just what I am agreeing to, if and when it should come to that.
Tags: humiliation, lessons for bitches, lipstick submissives (tm), livestock, power play, serving
Look what Blackie emailed me today, in celebration of my 25th birthday: Birthday Balloons tied to nipples!
Tags: big breasts, bound, nipples
Just found out there are “special plans for me” this weekend, so I won’t be around (either on the phone or blogging). When I return, I’m bound to have stories to share — including what happened last weekend when Blackie & Marc returned.
Image via S & M = Smoke & Mirrors.
Tags: big breasts, bound, phone sex availability, rope, tied up, tit fuck
This photo by Vlad Gansovsky captures my discomfort with any sort of anal attentions.
Tags: anal, humiliation, pain not pleasure
Still no word from Blackie. And now I’m afraid I’m not scoring any points with a phone Master B…
I’m not responding promptly enough to messages and racking up what I fear will be one hell of a punishment on my ass. It’s not that I’m not trying — heaven knows I am! But the usual beginning of the work week at my consulting company and servicing a new phone Master is keeping me on my toes.
Even with my ample tits and ass, it feels like there’s just not enough of me to go around!
But there’s this voice in my ear…
Blackie’s voice (at least I’m hearing his voice somehow) and it’s reminding me that it doesn’t matter how difficult it all is: I’m here to serve — and promptly.
Failure shouldn’t be an option — though failure does provide opportunity for those I serve.
So I’m dancing as fast as I can, as fast as my shackles will let me.
Image credits: Photograph by Sofia Karla, found via S & M = Smoke & Mirrors.
Tags: ankle cuffs, BDSM relationships, serving, shoes, toes and feet
When I get nervous, I become a chatter-box. At least when it comes to my personal sex life.
In business, I’m stoic — bitchy, even. I realize the power of silence — my silence. And I use it to my advantage. But when it comes to the silence of a Master, I can’t seem to shut up. I want approval, to be reassured… I chatter to make sure no one’s forgotten about me.
So while I wait to hear from Blackie about this whole mess I’ve made, you can expect a lot of postings here at the blog.
So far all I know I know from Marc — and aside from his promise-threat, all I’ve heard it that they won’t be home until the middle of the week at the earliest. That leaves me with a lot of nervous chatter time.
Unless you’re going to make me shut up…
Schedule and other info for Member Masters below.
PS Oh, and my rates increase on Monday; Member Masters always get discounts (and specials too).
Marc often complains that I’m “a high maintenance little bitch” — usually when Blackie buys me something pretty and girlie. Which could be a whole other conversation just because the relationship I have with Blackie is completely different than the one I have with Marc; but still, Marc has a point…
When Blackie pampers me, his motivation isn’t just because I’m his loving wife; it’s because that’s the kind of submissive sex slave he wants.
He prefers to have me made-up, feminine, and lovely — and not only because that’s the kind of girlie girl he fell in love with and married either. He not enjoys my girlie lingerie, stockings, shoes etc. for a simple aesthetic, but for their fetish value. So Blackie insists upon such frilly accoutrement, in my status as what I call a “lipstick submissive.”
Perhaps this is also because he is in his late 40s, and, therefore, his recollections of porn and fetish materials have to do with the classic trappings of femininity…
Marc, on the other hand, enjoys debasing my beauty. He prefers me to present myself completely nude. The thrill he feels when he can destroy my made-up face with tears and drool is palpable. Which means that after Marc uses me, I must shower, dress, and apply makeup before I can present myself to Blackie again — even if it’s just to drive home and go to sleep at 6 AM.
(Do not mistake any of this for any less use of me, or kinder use of me, by Blackie; we are simply talking about appearances here.)
It may be just because Marc enjoys “taking the bitch down a few notches” — something I won’t deny, as I have too much proof of it! — but I also feel there’s something else which motivates his desires to have me nude, streaked in makeup, dirty, and animalistic…
Marc, being close to my age (we are both in our 20s), has gown up with a different image or standard. For simplicity sake, I call it more “graphic” and extreme. Marc says it’s simply more realistic.
I think it’s different ideals of beauty and sexual attractiveness based on the age difference of their masturbation materials.
My only real proof that this difference in fantasy images is based on the decades of difference in their sexual materials history is that of pubic hair.
Blackie, who grew up seeing plenty of bush, prefers my pussy in its more natural state. Trimmed, of course; but he likes a dark bush he can see — and tug or otherwise use to torture me. Marc, on the other hand, wants me as bald as a baby — and that, in fact, is a real problem around here.
Blackie finds a completely hair-free pubis to be too much like that of an immature human child — and as such, a complete turn-off.
Marc finds the hair equally unappealing — except for the fact that I too am a product of this age of non-hairiness, so I would prefer to be waxed smooth (or with a tiny strip or something), and so Marc humiliates me for my “gross hairiness.”
Of course I really have nothing to say about it. So when Marc shaves me, or, his favorite, punishes me with a cruel waxing to remove my pubic hair, Blackie wants nothing to do with my cunt.
Currently, I believe this only adds to Marc’s delight; he knows how a lack of being fucked — especially by Blackie — hurts & frustrates me.
Like I said, I have no control over this situation. I suffer the consequences of this battle over the hairless smoothness vs. the natural hairiness of my pussy. And one way or another I am yanked about by the proverbial short-hairs. But I really wish they could come to a consensus about my appearance.
Tags: BDSM relationships, beauty, bound, dildo, fetish, hair pulling, humiliation, lingerie, lipstick submissives (tm), pussy lips, stockings, vintage, waxing
I haven’t written much about my being given to Marc. But I can no longer hide; I’ve been ordered to confess…
I want, always, to please Blackie; so naturally I knew I’d submit to Marc because Blackie had ordered it.
At least I’d not physically resist. But I also secretly (or so I thought) had a weapon: my spirit.
I’d let Marc do whatever he wanted to me, yet I’d retreat… If not to sub space, than to that place of lofty scorn where nothing can touch you.
Yeah, Marc could use me all he wanted. But I wouldn’t react. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my tears; I’d master my pain. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my moans; I’d let my disdain distance me. Whatever he might elicit from me would merely be reflexive and boring. Like a bully with a stoic victim, he’d tire of me and leave me be.
But I should have known better; I have no secrets from Blackie.
And he made sure I’d have no refuge.
Marc’s introduction to me was more than a bit of play, a test, or even an assault; it was indoctrination.
The morning that Marc arrived back at the house, I had been presented as gift, bound nude on the sofa awaiting him. My arms were cuffed behind me, my legs bent at the knee and spread so that my pussy was fully exposed.
Marc strolled in, cocky and assured. I assumed the same stance in my mind; in spirit I was defiantly replaying how I’d rebuffed his advances when we first met. I didn’t dare roll my eyes for fear Blackie would see, but I held onto that image.
Marc stood over me, he pawed at my tits and told Blackie he was looking forward to getting to those later. Then he held out his hand, palm up like a doctor waiting to receive a scalpel from a nurse. Blackie slapped the Hitachi Magic Wand into Marc’s waiting hand. The switch was turned on and just like that Marc placed it onto my clit.
I hadn’t been prepared for such an attack! I tried to fight it mentally. I did everything I could to withstand it, using every trick I knew to deny an orgasm. But then Blackie’s breath was at my ear. “How’s it feel to have him take it, darling?” he whispered. “How’s it feel to have this man you hate in charge of your body, of your most sacred offering?”
His taunts meant two things: one, my cover was blown and two, it was being used against me to violate my resistance.
I was panting and squirming trying to fight it off, but with my hiding place no longer a place to hide it was no use. As the first waves of orgasm hit me, I began to cry in frustration and humiliation.
Marc had won.
“I would say, ‘Take that, bitch,’ but it’s I who takes,” Marc gloated.
Orgasms are about as personal as it gets. Having them forced, taken from you, despite your will is the ultimate bodily betrayal. You blame yourself for not having the mental and emotional strength to prevent it, leaving you crushed, beaten — Mastered.
Forcing that orgasm was more than a confidence booster for an already cocky man, but a way to rip away any pretenses I had about who was in control. There was no place for me to hide. Any attempts would merely be exploited.
They could have left it there, but that would have been too easy, at least in their opinions.
Tags: Forced Orgasms, humiliation, lessons for bitches, Marc uses Pinkie, more than two tango, pain not pleasure, power play, tools and toys, torture
Member Master D.D. Tom has ordered this confession, in case others would like to learn a thing or two to exploit.
D.D. Tom likes to play with my tolerance levels. He likes to provide detailed descriptions of how I shall spend my days — and nights. He’ll control and limit my sleep; decide what, when, and if I’ll eat; make to-do lists of chores and corporal punishments — and masturbation sessions.
But D.D. Tom refuses to allow me to orgasm.
He likes me frustrated, tired, and more than a bit angry. He doesn’t mind my anger any more than he minds my exhaustion — in fact, he loves both. Does his best to bring it out in me.
He wants me to hate serving him, hate my helpless position doing what he says because I am bound to Blackie’s terms of service.
He combines the control of basic necessities with forms of mind control — trying to make me adopt ideas and ideals intolerable to me. It’s difficult to explain… Here are some examples:
He manages me mainly through NF messages, emails, and Twitter posts — the timestamps of my confessions (my descriptive messages, photos of hand-washing my panties and the bruises on the insides of my thighs, scans of my handwriting copying over & over & over again what he wishes me to believe) are proof of my compliance — so that even while he sleeps, he does so satisfied that I am doing as he wishes.
(He also likes to message Blackie and Marc detailed descriptions of his opinions, and this, along with my commanded confessions, is how he finds out how to push my buttons.)
All of what he orchestrates via messages builds to a rather short phone call, during which he quickly orders performances to exploit the aches, pains, and frustrations he’s created during the day.
He knows to use physical pain to tamper with my temper, using violence to force past my anger and resentment, shoving me into a sexual ache. Oh how I ache for that orgasmic release from him — even as I hate myself for doing what he says.
Satisfied he’s got me hungry past reason, he then supervises my masturbation.
He listens to the noises I make, manipulates me by his will, if not his actual hand, and makes me beg and cry for what I desire. I beg quickly and far too easily for an orgasm. I hate it. Am humiliated by it. And he knows it. When I’m too close, he’ll order me still and silent while he speaks…
He’ll speak softly, but with an icy steel command that forces me to listen while he calls me names; tells me how it pleases him to make me, a slutty bitch who doesn’t know her real place in life, do what he says; tells me that he enjoys knowing he can make me hate him, yet reduce me to tears and begging for a release I know I won’t get…
I listen in humiliated anger and shame while he masturbates to his own blessed event.
He makes sure I know he comes. His sighs of pleasure echoed by my whimpers of desire, tiny sobs I try to hold back out of pride, and despair.
Then, in a voice that sounds like a condescending pat on the head, he tells me to go to bed “like a good girl, now — no touching, no sin, just sleep.” That’s if I’m lucky. Usually he gives me some other service to perform, to make sure my hands aren’t idle and so have no time to stray…
In any case, just before he hangs up, he laughs — at me, enjoying the knowledge that he leaves me to my aching misery.
Tags: humiliation, lessons for bitches, no touching, orgasm denial, pain as pleasure, power play, serving, supervised masturbation
