This weekend Blackie and I are celebrating a personal anniversary: the first time we made love.
If you think I’ve titled this post out of the age-old female complaint that men are not romantics, that they forget such things as anniversaries, au contraire!
Blackie remembers everything.
Tags: BDSM relationships, no touching, phone sex availability, power play
Sucking his cock while he reads the paper or watches television is so demeaning…
It’s like you’re just a tool carrying out some perfunctory task, an everyday appliance doing an everyday boring routine thing that simply must be done.
What I do may be pleasurable, but I won’t be looked at, let alone given a smile for a job well done. Hell, even his hand gets looked at every now and then when he masturbates, but while I service him like this, I might as well be the coffee pot or the radio.
Like those appliances, I’ll only be noticed when I’m not working right — and then I’d probably get the old horizontal-slap or a kick too.
PS This photo isn’t of me. I don’t even know where it came from; if you do, let me know so I can properly credit it!
Tags: cock sucking, humiliation, no touching, power play, serving
I’m often asked if I really get off on pain. The truth is now I do — at least to the kinds of punishments Blackie prefers to give — but it wasn’t always that way.
I’ve always loved a lot of breast play (my nipples are red-hot express lines direct to my cunt), but spanking, paddling, clamps, clothespins, hot wax, rope burn, slaps, etc. — on my breasts or anywhere — and maintaining difficult positions was all definitely more pain than pleasure in the beginning.
While Blackie and I quickly discovered that I naturally became aroused by his inherent male powers over me, actual pain wasn’t so readily overcome by demonstrations of masculinity. Not even when combined with my desire to please him.
But Blackie knew just what to do.
As I’ve mentioned before, many D/s relationships are based on a submissive’s dependence. Not only simple acts of comfort or kindness, but a cleverly calculated combination of pleasure and denial.
For example, rubbing my pussy while spanking, paddling or cropping my ass, sends my brain a flood of conflicting input… Am I feeling pleasure or pain? Which am I feeling more of? It was horribly confusing…
But Blackie also used denial to make sure my brain and body were led from confusion and rescued — he made sure that the only time I experienced sexual pleasure was when I was experiencing pain at his hand.
Sure, I could suck his cock and get him off; but I never felt his hands or mouth or cock on me unless he was also hurting me in his desired fashion.
While he may have focused on one sort of pain or use at a time, the method was the same: pain always came with pleasure and pleasure never came without pain.
Until I began to have sort of Pavlov’s dog response. Eventually I learned to connect the pain (as in our earlier example) of being cropped with the euphoria of arousal and eventual orgasm.
No cropping, no coming; no pain, no gain. By George, my brain and body finally got it!
So much so, that when I was simply told to assume the position for a cropping, my cunt would drool! I might also be trembling with fear and crying in anticipation of the pain; but I was wet too. Even the next day’s bruises, welts, and sore spots became aphrodisiacs… Memories of what had been done, to me and by me; how I’d been undone.
Tags: BDSM relationships, crop, no touching, orgasm denial, pain as pleasure, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, serving, slave training, spanking
The degradation of having my face fucked can be pretty extreme, especially when you’re being called a whore, a cunt, a bitch…
Rough deepthroat action brought to you by PornHub
This past weekend, Blackie & Marc enjoyed fucking my face — and because I’m on a No Orgasm Order (until tonight?), they made the most of the situation. Not only did they take turns exploiting the hole in my face, but they humiliated me for my wet, aching and needy cunt.
Tags: cock sucking, humiliation, more than two tango, power play, serving
(Spanking cartoon by Nik-Zula, found via The Pump & Grind.)
I’m posting this because I’ve made some mistakes with my dick-takin’ — I’ve failed to realize that a no orgasm order was still in effect and now have too-too many spankings I’ll be taking later this week!
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
There’s something about the not-knowing in the life of a submissive…
You don’t know what, or when, or, sometimes, even who.
Which is not to say that I don’t have control of anything. For example, I just scheduled a call for next week Wednesday, agreeing not only to be ready (naked with the listed toys and tools) but to have no orgasms between now and then.
That’s 10 days of controlling myself — even when serving.
So I may not know what’s to come, but I do I’m not supposed to. And if I do, I can expect a punishment. But I don’t know exactly what that will be either.
Tags: BDSM relationships, blindfolded, bound, doggy style, orgasm denial, serving
Blackie was so turned on by those photos of my ripe, round, ready-to-burst nipples, that he ordered me to prepare myself for picking him up at the airport by binding my nipples with rubber bands and to present them braless beneath a tight white tee.
Naturally I did as I was told. … But do you have any idea how long waiting for him to get off the plane was? Not only does waiting always seem long, but with men ogling your tits it’s twice as long… Then double it again when you factor in the pain of your tightly bound nipples.
When Blackie got off the plane, he was quite pleased with himself for the attention I was getting. He gave me a big bear hug — one part welcome, one part claiming his property. When I stiffened with the pain of having my bound nipples pressed so tightly up against his chest, Blackie mocked in my ear, “Not happy to see me? Or just too sensitive, my slut?” My deepening blush was his answer.
“To the baggage carousel — and other amusement rides,” he said grabbing my hand and half-dragging me along to match his big strides.
Once we got to the car, Blackie slid into the driver’s seat & doubled his pleasure by teasing both my tormented nipples through the t-shirt with his fingertips — his pleasure doubled again when such touches made me whimper.
“Time for a nice drive in the country,” he declared with a gleam in his eyes. I had no idea what he was up to until miles later he turned onto a stretch of unpaved gravel farm roads and began hitting every rut and hole with glee. I was forbidden to hold or otherwise prevent my breasts from bouncing & swaying. He needn’t take his eyes off the road to know of my pain, but he enjoyed the braless tit bouncing that caused my groans. If his driving was reckless (fast, eyes not on the road), things were only going to get more-so.
After a few miles, Blackie pulled over to the side of a long stretch of gravel road and told me to remove my shirt. As I prepared to lift it off over my head, I looked around nervously for a farmer or signs of humanity; there was none.
Not outside the car — not in it, either.
There, in broad daylight, he once again took great delight in using his fingers to apply not only touches but real pressure. He pinched and twisted ’til tears rolled down my cheeks. And he still wasn’t done.
He parted his lips — first in a big grin, and then in a terrifying gape as he carnivorously bent over my left breast and rolled the round red nub of nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth — and then between his teeth… Slowly increasing the pressure until he had a full bite. I went from moans and whines to yelping. His response was to bite it again & again, enjoying my yelps, and then slowly chewing along the hot bud, like he was savoring a fine meal.
Once satisfied with that one, he turned his attention — and his teeth — to the right nipple, abusing it as he had the first. Back & forth between the two he went until I was sobbing with tears streaming down my face.
He paused, sat still just looking at my face and for a minute and I thought he might kiss me, but instead he just stared intently into my weeping eyes and slowly reached for my agonized left breast, preparing to free the nipple…
He slowly removed the rubber band from my left nipple — I screamed.
Blackie unzipped his pants & pulled out his huge erect cock in reply.
Then he looked menacingly at the right nipple. My hands instinctively flew up to protect the nipple from the pain of release from the tight rubber band, but Blackie twisted the left one and growled, “Hands down, my cunt.”
My hands flew down, out of the way. (I was a surprised to find them there as he was!)
“Speaking of my cunt… How wet is it?” he said as his fingers dove beneath the hem of my short khaki skirt. “Now, just look at that,” he knowingly mocked, holding up two wet fingers full of evidence, “See what a slut you are? No sense in denying it now.”
He reached for and released the right nipple — to the same loud shrill scream & tears as the the other one had.
Rolling my left nipple between his right thumb and fingertips, Blackie lowered his head to my left breast and slowly sucked the nipple into his mouth. Accompanied by my gasps and wails, he continued to suck that nipple with great force while his hand exploited the other nipple… Rolls turned to pinches, pinches to twists, until the pain was so intense that my fight or flight response kicked in and my body bucked to get him off of me, to get some relief. Blackie’s response was to place both hands on my arms to keep me still while he turned his oral attentions to the left nipple.
My legs began to tremble and my breathing was rough, my mouth & throat dry, from crying & screaming when Blackie stopped.
As I sat panting, Blackie opened the car door. “Get the lube from the glove box and sit on the hood.”
Shaking and sniffling, I opened the glove box & fished out the bottle of lube, then scrambled to join him outside the car. While Blackie stood with his arms folded, his erect dick sticking out of his unzippered pants, I sat myself down before him on the car’s hood.
There, sitting topless on the hood of the car with sunlight streaming down all around me, Blackie removed his belt, folded it in half, and began to color my breasts pink.
First he concentrated on applying the belt to the tops of my tits, above the areolas. My hands gripped the tops of my shaking thighs as I fought to remain still, avoiding the impulse to get up & flee before he took that belt to my nipples.
I tried to concentrate on the rhythmic belting & tune out the hot stinging, but then Blackie stopped, stepped to his right to work over the outside of my left breast and my concentration was broken — just those few seconds and everything I’d nearly blocked out came rushing in. The heat, the pain… The fear of what would come next. I looked at Blackie’s face, his brow furrowed just a bit in concentration, but mostly he just looked pleased. I tried to focus on that — on how all of this was worth it for his happiness.
When Blackie stepped to his left to color the outside of my right breast, his eyes met mine and he wiggled his brows playfully before getting lost in his delight at coloring & marking my breast. In that moment he reminded me of a child who smiles and waves at his mother on the front porch as he zooms by on his bike. Such thoughts of his pure happiness might even have made me smile softly.
But it was a brief haven.
Blackie harsh command broke my reverie. “Hold your tits up, nipples, out — present them as gifts to me and my belt.”
The moment I’d been dreading.
I took a deep ragged breath in, placed my hands beneath my breasts, and lifted them up and out — and arching my back as I’d been trained to do.
Blackie was slowly rubbing his hard cock, looking at his handiwork on my rack. “I’m not gonna kid you, Pinkie; this is gonna hurt like hell. But it’s got to be done — I’ve been thinking of doing this for hours, including a long annoying flight. It — I – can’t be stopped. So sit still and take it, like a good girl. And remember, if you move, you might just end up losing one of those pretty nipples of yours…”
I nodded, biting my lower lip. And then braced myself for what was to come.
The leather belt hit my right nipple first and I jumped & yelped. Blackie gave me a minute to settle myself again before striking it again. “You keep moving like that and you’re going to loose a nipple,” Blackie warned. “You know I’m not going to stop…”
Deciding it would be best not to know when the blows were coming, I shut my eyes & tried to concentrate on remaining still with my bare breasts up & out to receive Blackie’s belt.
Blackie resumed striking my already tortured nipples with his belt, back & forth, right one twice, left one once, followed by a brief pause and then three swift ones on the left — there was no particular pattern or even a rhythmic pace. Just blows of sharp pain followed by the angry heat of my objecting breasts. On & on, it went, for what seemed to be impossibly too long, with the occasional barked reminders from Blackie.
“Sit still.”
“Arch your back, bitch.”
“Hold ‘em out there for me.”
Finally, when he’d had enough — of barking his reminders, not of strapping my tits — he ordered me to lay back on the hood of the car, placing my hands, palm down, along the sides of my thighs.
Shaking & sobbing I did as I was told, my bare back meeting the heating metal of a car in the summer sun. Laying back like this, the heavy weight of my breasts slid each over to its respective side, leaving their insides & my breast bone exposed to Blackie’s belt.
Blackie loomed above me & began to strap the too-white-by-comparison flesh into his desired rosy shade of pink.
After a few minutes he stood back, appraising his work. He scowled briefly, then grabbed me by my legs and slid me down the hood of the car so that the upper half of my back remained on the hood, forcing me to arch my back and strain to support myself with my legs. It was not an easy position to maintain. I shuffled my feet, trying to find a better, more comfortable, way to brace myself.
“Done yet? I’ve got work to do here & it would be better for you if you were still,” Blackie said, annoyance clearly in his voice.
I froze and hoped I could maintain the position as long as required.
Blackie’s left hand reached for & grabbed the swollen & too-slutty-not-to-be-hard-and-begging nipple on my right breast. I groaned. Fiercely holding that nipple, Blackie began to lift my breast up and back, towards my face, exposing the bottom half of my beast — the only milky part of it left. I began to writhe from the pain, but his hold was secure enough for what he wanted to do. With his right hand he strapped away in earnest, dedicated to making all of my breast (saving the red & raw nipple, now hidden in his hand) the same shade of pink.
When he was satisfied, he released his grip and my pink tit plopped down to my body, bouncing and swaying. Blackie watched it until it was became still — relatively still, save for my ragged panting & choked sobs which made my chest heave. Then he cruelly, but with purpose, grabbed the left nipple and proceeded to strap the underside of it pink while I sobbed and writhed.
Satisfied with the color, he unceremoniously released the left breast, placed the belt next to me, & pulled me by my arms into a standing position on shaking legs. He took his hands to the hem of my skirt & tried to hike it up, but it was too tight. So he undid the button, the zipper, and tugged it down my hips. I was now completely nude, except for my sandals.
“Sit on the hood of the car, with those legs spread.”
I turned and gave a little hop to sit on the hood, and spread my legs wide, with my sandaled feet on the front bumper.
Blackie eyed my bouncing pink tits hungrily & positioned himself directly in front of me, widening his own legs and squatting a bit so that his hard cock was near my cunt. With his hand, he slid his cock up & down my pussy lips, enjoying my wet slit as much as reminding me of the overwhelming evidence that I was his little pain slut.
“I’m ready for my tit fuck — where the lube?” he asked.
I looked around, in a bit of a panic because I knew I had brought it out with me — but it must have been bounced from the hood of the car while my tits were being tortured. My eyes scanned the ground until I spotted it and pointed, “There it is.” Blackie strode the three paces to claim it, and returned proffering me the bottle.
I flipped the top open, squeeze-poured a generous amount into my hand, and began to apply it to Blackie’s hard cock. Normally he closes his eyes and sighs a bit when I apply lube, but today, he didn’t take his eyes off my hot swollen breasts with their abused & begging red centers.
When I was sure his cock was slick enough, I went to put the rest of the lube from my hand onto my chest, like I usually do — only my hand stopped the minute I touched the angry hot skin. “Better put it on, Pinkie; the more lube, the less it will hurt… I think!” he added with a playful wink. As gently as I could, I wiped the remaining lube off between my breasts.
When I removed my hand, Blackie moved in. He stood before me, grabbed my ass and scooted me to the edge of the car’s hood and placed his rigid cock in the slick area I’d just made between my breasts. Then he grabbed as much tit as he could in each hand and wrapped the red hot pair snuggly around his hard cock. I gasped — then whimpered when I fully realized how much this was going to hurt.
Before I was just trying to get through all the pain Blackie was inflicting; but now that I had, it was clear to see that it was all just preparation for this — a very painful tit fuck.
Blackie pumped himself, slowly, in the slick tight swollen hot space he’d just created. He was satisfied. “Hold ‘em there, tight like that,” he directed.
I grabbed the red hot angry sides of my breasts and squeezed them together, groaning as I folded them around his wet hot hard cock. Biting my lip, I prepared myself for what I thought was to come next. I expected him to start pumping — and hard; but Blackie had other plans first.
He slide slowly a few times, “Press them hard, Pinkie; I want this to hurt. And I want to hear your moans and cries, or I won’t think I’ve punished them enough and will have to take the belt to them again,” he said as he started to pump a bit faster. I mashed my tits as hard as I could around his cock, wincing and moaning between jagged breaths from the pain it caused me.
Then, still thrusting, Blackie reached his hands, palms out, each just to the side of my nipples, and, using this thumbs, grabbed a hold of my aching raw nipples, pinching them between his big thumbs and the meat at the side of his hands. I gasped then grunted — and felt my pussy contract hard. Blackie dug his fingertips into the meat at the top of my pink punished breasts for a good measure. I groaned and let my head fall back, in full submission to whatever would happen.
Gaining speed with the thrusts of his cock between my sore tortured breasts, Blackie used the painful grip on each swollen nipple to yank my breasts up & down to suit his tit fucking needs.
“God!” he spat, then he lowered his gaze to my face and crooned, “I love hearing your cries, baby; I love how you hurt for me. You’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”
I managed to choke a dry whispered, “Yes, Blackie,” out of my sore throat, ragged from crying and breathing so hard.
His lips curled into that sold smile-sneer and he replied, “My little whore to fuck — right here, naked on the side of the road. Such a slave to me & my cock she’ll let me fuck her abused tits while she cries… Beg me even.”
To drive home his point, he twisted and yanked my nipples, making me cry out in pain, “Please, please, Blackie, fuck my tits!”
“Fuck your tits while you what?”
“Please, fuck my tits while I cry because it hurts so bad,” I cried.
“You know what? I think I will… You asked so nicely, it would be rude not to fuck your tits now,” he grunted. He continued to yank & twist my nipples, to fuck my tits to hard that I had a difficult time holding myself upright (I couldn’t use my hands to support me; they were mashing my breasts around his cock). But in a few minutes, I found myself moaning different moans…
“Blackie,” I panted, “Can I come?”
No reply.
“God. Please… Blackie?” I whispered.
Still no comment. Just his panting thrusts.
“Blackie — I –”
“No.”
I tried, but the prolonged & painful play had me so worked up. It was a huge struggle to hold it back.
“God, I’m trying, Blackie, but… But, Oh, God!”
It wasn’t a coherent question, but Blackie replied anyway.
“If you must, my greedy come slut; I’m not going to stop my fun just so you can control yourself. But if you can’t stop yourself, you’ll pay for it later…”
I had my warning, not permission, so I continued to try to hold back an orgasm. I told myself that Blackie was so hard, hot & aroused from all my pain & crying that he couldn’t last much longer… But I was wrong. He has great control in general, but I suspect that he also had recently masturbated to this fantasy… He was in no rush.
My body, on the other hand, was.
Fueled by pain, endorphins, reunion after separation, and shame, my body couldn’t remain on the brink — not without stopping, anyhow. And Blackie refused to stop or even slow down…
I battled against the orgasm, but eventually I failed. And it was all I could do to remain sitting with my breasts pressed tight around Blackie’s cock as instructed.
As if to taunt me & my lack of control, Blackie soon began to make those moans that indicate he’s close to his own orgasm. “Open your mouth, slut; I’m about to give you a load to swallow…”
I opened my mouth and waited two more strokes of his hard cock between my tits before he moved and I could lower my my head so that he could put that hard cock in my mouth. I wrapped my lips around his shaft as he pumped my mouth, once… twice… three… four times before he crammed it forcefully all the way in & shot his load, setting off my gag reflex — just enough to contract & spasm around the head of his cock but not to actually force out any of his hot load.
With his cock still in my mouth, I swallowed the bulk of his wad and then used my tongue to sweep for any remaining fluid before swallowing again. Then Blackie withdrew his cock, holding it near my face so that I could lick & suck it clean before he put it back in his pants.
“Good girl,” he breathed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Get the lube, get dressed, and get back in the car,” before he got into the car & slid behind the wheel.
I removed my tired sore body from the car, retrieved my skirt from the ground, and stepped into it, covering my still dripping pussy. I grabbed the bottle of lube and returned to the car to join Blackie and get my tee shirt on.
While my arms were up over my head, Blackie reached over & twisted my left nipple. “But no stopping those tits from bouncing,” he ordered as he started the engine.
I braced myself for more bouncing along the ruts of the unpaved road as Blackie began telling me all about his trip. By the time we reached the city streets, we would have seemed like any other couple — unless you were able to notice…
My breath smelling like cum…
My face streaked with makeup & tears…
My red swollen nipples still obviously protruding from my t-shirt…
My cunt smelling up the car.
Blackie drove home, contentedly chatting all the way. As we pulled into the driveway, he sighed, “Ah, home, where I can get a proper welcome…”
Tags: big breasts, cock sucking, nipples, orgasm denial, pain as pleasure, rough tit play, strapping, tit fuck
I hope this doesn’t affect you too terribly (and if it does, you know how you can address that issue!), but I will not be available for calls Friday, Saturday or Sunday because I will be traveling. I will be around tonight, as usual; but after that, calls (and blogging) will be on hold until Monday (with the Monday discount for members too!).
I’m working on a more “typical Pinkie post” to publish before I leave, but wanted to make sure I shared some of what I’ve been reading this week at other blogs…
Cosmo actually dishes on orgasm denial in the June issue. Sure, it’s not as “strict “as what we BDSM folks do to one another — and they discuss it in more vanilla terms — but still, it’s being covered in a mainstream publication.
And if any of you wondered about the male need to control sex in a relationship, here’s an interesting look at why he just might not be that in-and-out of you, ladies. (Reminds me of my early struggles to let Blackie lead.)
Now that you’re all educated…
How about a hot read? Over at Zen Fetish Ms Angela St. Lawrence has posted a hot story by Porno Person titled Dinner and a Show. Here’s a quick excerpt:
Forty minutes ago I left her alone in my hotel room. A half hour prior to that I was letting her in the door. During the interim I placed her collar around her neck. She stripped down and I bound her with a combination of plastic wrap and duct tape. Once secured, I introduced her to a rather nasty-looking knife. Ten inches long with a serrated blade. It looked like it could gut a bear, much less a petite twenty-seven year old brunette wrapped up like a sausage on a hotel room bed.
