This site contains mature, adult, sexual BSDM content. Exit if you are not of legal age or are offended.

The Path Category

Tuesday, November 10th, 2009

The Gift, Explained

Some of you likely don’t care so much about this conversation which occurred after Marc left — you’d prefer I’d get on to the parts of the story in which my body is used and abused. But I think it’s important to share some of the realities of such BDSM fantasies. Not so you “believe me,” but so you understand what risks there are here… And why Blackie was willing to risk them.

Any relationship fights against boredom, but with BDSM relationships, there are often times when couples need to consider just how far they can go — and whether or not they should. Some fantasies are probably best left as fantasies; either reality will never ever live up to them, or the dangers outweigh the gifts. But how can you tell which are which? And when you are in a relationship — even one in which a partner, like myself, has given their control over their intimate sexual lives over to their Master — the two of you must either A) agree or B) the Master must bear the weight of decisions which may ruin or end the relationship. So yes, Blackie had put much thought into this seemingly ‘fast’ decision.

Blackie and I had, several times, discussed his fantasies of having me serve others at his command. His concerns were health & safety. My concerns were that by allowing others to use me, the door was opened for him to play with others. And we both worried about the possible risks to our relationship that would obviously exist outside our sex lives.

So, after Marc left, Blackie turned his attentions to me. He didn’t release me from my position — nor did he remove the ball gag — while he told me his plans. (I bet every husband has wanted to keep his wife his silent captive audience while he broke discomforting news to her, but in this case, I suppose it was really the only way he could be sure he was heard.)

“I’ve been thinking about this a very long time, Pinkie,” he began. “I know you have questions, concerns, but let me assure you that I’ve given this a lot of thought. Not just masturbatory thought — though that’s been delicious — but I’ve thought about our relationship as well… I suppose it began last year, during the golf circuit, when I saw Carmen bitching to hotel staff and I saw how those men looked at her… I toyed with offering them you in her place — and knowing how they’d looked at you, how they assumed you were the same sort of rich bitch as she, I knew they’d delight in taking their frustrations out on you — but there are health and safety concerns. I racked my brain, trying to work out how to create such scenes, how to make you serve me & my whims by serving others — and others you had no feelings for but would still see again, and so be humiliated.”

“And then it hit me; I didn’t need to look so far away — I had someone in my backyard that was drooling for such an opportunity. Marc. And along with testing your love and our agreement, along with the fun of training this novice, I would have the pleasure of using & exhausting you as never before. Now when I leave town, you’ll have your own temporary Master, you’ll play by his rules. All I needed to do was get a clean bill of health — and as his employer, that would be a snap. So I hired him. I hired him for me, for you, for us. By hiring him, he can easily travel with us on my business trips too. Because you love me, your training has been somewhat easy… It’s easy to submit to someone you love — but someone you dislike, don’t respect? Someone who by this point, has no illusions about his feelings for you — he just wants to use you, put you in your place, humiliate you. And I get to watch it, control it, hell, even orchestrate situations and conditions neither of you have thought of yet.”

“I know you are probably flattered at this point,” he mocked me, fully aware that I was nowhere near sold on the idea, let alone excited by it, “But you may be worried about Marc’s loyalty… Will he keep his mouth shut when and where needed? Of course he will. Not only does his salary & resume depend upon it, but he hungers to punish you. And his need to punish you, this bitch who rejected him, has only intensified his deep desire to explore BDSM — and who better to learn from?”

He leaned in, trailing his fingers over my bare breast, and continued, a fire bright in his eyes. “And such a pretty bit of meat to play with, abuse, and learn — and make mistakes — on!”

“All for free — no, all that and to be paid for it? No, Marc has nothing to gain from overstepping the rules.”

“And we, you & I, we have plenty to gain from this.”

At this point Blackie gently lifted me forward and freed my arms. I briskly rubbed them while I avoided his gaze. “Look at me.” I refused for a second, but before he could repeat himself I looked him squarely, defiantly in the eyes. “I’ll remove the gag now, but you will say nothing. Just get yourself ready for bed. We have company to entertain early tomorrow. And you should really save that silly prideful anger of yours for tomorrow’s play — I have a feeling it will be a long day, Pinkie dear.”

With that he said goodnight, ordered me to sleep on the sofa (so that my tossing & turning wouldn’t bother him), and went up to bed.

Tags: ,

Friday, May 29th, 2009

Severity & Benevolence

After a long hard weekend of abuse last weekend, I had to get up early & pick Blackie up from the airport. I’d missed him greatly, but wasn’t sure of the reception I’d have as I’d failed one task with “MC” (who quickly administered his own punishment). Blackie greeted me warmly, but I’ve been with him long enough to know that appearances (especially those in public) can be deceiving…

Once home, Blackie checked his email & puttered about on the internet for about an hour before declaring it was time for a nap — and clearly it was a directive for me to join him.

I was nervous when I stripped, but when he patted the bed for me to curl up next to him, I was happy and contentedly curled myself around his left side before we both drifted off to sleep.

I awoke, in the same position on my right side as I had fallen asleep in, to the familiar pulling-ache of a hungering pussy — and I knew that Blackie must have been touching me.

Sure enough, his fingers were lightly brushing my tender nipples, causing them to send urgent messages to my cunt. I just laid there while Blackie’s fingers and eyes assessed my used & abused conditions — for Blackie doesn’t trust such things as badly bruised thighs any more than he does normal appearing breasts; he knows better. So rather than having me stand naked before him, just looking at the marks on my body, Blackie prefers to let his touch tell him things…

Trailing his fingers over my skin, each light brushing eliciting shivers, sighs, moans, shudders, flinches & audible air-sucking winces… Things that tell him what hurts where. For while I had reported back to him all the ways I had served, of the abuse I took, Blackie knows my bodily responses are far more indicative of my condition than my words.

As his fingers assessed the damages, they also spoke of his pleasure, his ownership.

“This was done to you because I allow it.”
“This is how I want you to be.”
“This pain I give; this pain I exploit.”
“This is mine.”

Of course, there were other clues, like nipples which grew to meet the palm of his hand, the scent of my pussy warming in the air, and my hips thrusting with need… All these things that tell him how much more I can take, where & when I will break, and, yes, just how greedy his submissive little come-slut is.

When I was trembling, as much from the awe of being under his scrutiny & control as the physical touches themselves, Blackie increased the intensity of his touches. Trailing fingertips became twists & tugs, pinches & pokes. He gave my stinging left ass cheek a slap and then pushed my hip over, having me lay on my back so that he could loom over me… And slowly lower himself to kiss me.

He kissed me long and hard, leaving me breathless… He kissed me as he more cruelly exploited the tenderness of my tits, muffling my moans with his mouth. He continued to kiss me as he trailed his hand down my body to my pubic hair where he grabbed a fistful of hairs — his silent command for me to open my legs wide.

Once they were open, he began to fuck me until we both came; the wordless way passionate couples reunite after long absences from each other.

Now I’d had my romantic homecoming.  But punishment was yet to be delivered…

===

So you see, not all sex in BDSM relationships involves complicated role play or long sessions of extreme play — or even being under the influence of previous long sessions of extreme use, which I certainly was (leaving me whimpering as Blackie likes). Sometimes we just make love. Or just fuck. Or whatever.

Mixing it up is important, I think. Not just because rough &/or intimidating BDSM sex all the time can be (nearly) as boring as only having vanilla missionary position sex, but because you have to nurture the tenderness, benevolence, & simple kindnesses as much as you have to develop the torture, discipline, & severity.

You may not have to be cruel to be kind, baby; but if you want love & reliance along with your control & sadistic pleasures, you will sometimes need to be kind to be cruel, baby.

Tags: ,

Thursday, May 21st, 2009

Tidings Of (Dis)Comfort & Joy

There’s a lot of talk about pain in BDSM relationships, here and “everywhere.” That’s to be expected, I suppose. Not only is it a kink that seems exciting, even addicting to many masochists, but there’s the novelty of curiosity to those who “wouldn’t got that far” yet find reading about it (or viewing it) erotic as hell. But there’s also a tender side to BDSM — and I don’t just mean the parts that are twisted, spanked, clamped, abraded, etc.

There are sweet sides to submission.

slave-in-love-tits-being-used

There’s the exhausted elation of being used & abused which goes past endorphins & orgasms… Past the emotional joy of serving another… There’s something else which transcends those things, for those things are one-sided “all about me” feelings, and I am speaking of the sweetest sugar — the bliss of knowing that you fulfill the desires of another as they fulfill your desires.

You realize that you are not alone in some masturbatory pursuit of pleasure, but in a relationship. Even if that relationship is a temporary one of just a few minutes. For once you have shared in the satisfaction of sated physical & emotional needs, have you not fully “related” to one another? And when you repeatedly meet, share, relate, you build not only the knowledge and means to extend, increase & intensify one another’s thrills, pain, & orgasms, but you begin to rely on one another.

slave-in-love-servingI can’t speak for Blackie or any other Dominant, I shouldn’t even dare to; but there must be a reciprocating sweetness for them too… Surely there’s some affection for those that serve & rely upon them.

As a submissive woman, I know that whatever joys I receive (be they direct physical ones, like orgasms, or the indirect fulfillment of my emotional desire to please) are achieved only through dedication to my duties — delicacies assigned & evaluated by those I serve. My joys are at the discretion of my Master.

I never forget that.

How can I forget it when so often I reach states of being so satisfied, exhausted, and full that I feel unable to take on more… Only to have a Master stimulate me & wring more out of me than I ever imagined.

Eventually, cycles of repeated stimulation, slutty neediness, satiation, release, and repletion (and, sometimes, back ’round again) brings a sense of reliance — even dependence.

sweet-side-of-submission-slaves-in-loveI must rely on the one I serve to have such things. And I know I am privileged to have such joys. I am indebted. And no amount of dedicated service to however unseemingly, sordid, painful, &/or humiliating tasks or any sordid treatment can really measure up to such gifts as I receive.

I happily return to pay the price — over & over again. I surrender willingly to whatever Master seeks in satiating his own desires via an “any means necessary” sexuality.

Even if what abuse I take today, tomorrow, the next day, etc. just offers the chance for a “someday” of such gifts to be given again.

All images from Slaves In Love.

Tags: , , , ,

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

Protected: Not Just Any Furious; Bitch Wife Furious

Blackie was quite pleased with himself for what he called his “Stay In School, Kids!” Public Service Announcement, but now that the threat was passed, I was furious.

Not just any furious; bitch wife furious.

“What the hell, Blackie,” I snapped at him, stuffing my tits back into my bra. “I could have been raped, we could have been hurt, robbed or killed–”

I was met with Blackie’s uproarious laughter, but continued my tirade anyway. “Hey, two nicely dressed business folks from out of town gettin’ down in an alley? What easy marks–”

“Get over it, Pinkie, they were kids.”

“And so then you decide to give them a lewd show? A misogynistic sex show?!

“Oh come on now,” he laughed. Then after a brief pause during which I fumed, he said, “You loved it, you slut.”

My fear had already turned to anger, but his accusation made me get really angry. “You’re an ass,” was all I spat at him, riding in silence the rest of the way to our hotel.

At the hotel, I sailed past him in an Ice Princess freeze-out, heading to our room. Sure, he was just a few strides behind me, but I was smug in the knowledge that he was forced to walk in my icy wake.

Once I got into the hotel room, I kicked my shoes off and headed for the bathroom — but before I could get there, Blackie grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me onto the bed. Before I could even gasp, he had me on my back and was on top of me, forcefully ramming his knee between my legs, hiking my skirt up, ripping my blouse open. Even though my clothes were technically on, all my sweet spots were exposed.

This is a Bound Post. To view it please enter your password below. (See how to get the password at the Bound Post link at the top of the site.)


Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Friday, May 15th, 2009

Of Submission, Phone Sex, And Serving Gods

Submitting & pleasing is so thrilling. And frightening.

To be pushed past boundaries you know, past limits not only physically but emotionally, unexpectedly… Even in situations which seem impossible. Like phone sex.

Phone sex is so far removed from the reality of physical submission in many ways… You might think it would be easier; after all, the physical dangers would be markedly less than submitting to anyone physically, let alone a complete stranger. But it’s far more complicated — and delicious — than that.

I mean phone sex is serving a complete stranger; but unlike having someone standing before you, someone you know & trust, someone who could physically force you should you balk, the balancing point in phone service lies in my commitment & dedication. And we all know that self-control isn’t always my strongest suit.

While I’m “here” because Blackie has said so, inferring his consent & his trust to men I do not know, these are men that I do not know how to please because I do not (yet) know what they really want…

For a sub like me, this alone is pure torture. I want to please, but how? I’m so vulnerable, I ache. If I say that I’m “bleeding from the soul” don’t mistake this for adolescent teen poetry; the pain & fear is real. I’m afraid that my weakness marks me a failure. And that this failure will reflect poorly on Blackie who will discipline in ways which hurts & humiliates past “play time.” It’s his right, his due, but it kills me.

To follow the voice commands of a stranger, using your own hands yet, to inflict pain that you know is coming is not just “motions” — for I submit to faceless gods because I am helpless to do anything else.

This is something different. Something special. It tests all that I know about me.

For example, the case of “D,” a regular caller working on some special training with me. What he requires me to do to myself in the name of his pleasure is so contrary to the orgasms he elicits from me that I feel crazy. The only refuge I have is to submit to his strength & control, to trust that he knows what he is doing — and that by pleasing him I am doing Good.

So when”D” sent me the following message, my submissive girlie insides turned to goo — and yes, you may also take that to mean I got wet too:

Dear Pinkie,

It pleases me to know that you are very sore after last night. And that it’s because of what I had you do.

I really loved it when you asked if I really wanted you to do it for real. You were such a good girl.

I would like to hurt you further very soon. The more pain you can take, the more I am pleased with you.

“D”

“D” makes me feel like a little kitten, weak, unsure, fragile, yet resilient — and when I please him, when he says I have, it’s like strong fingers holding & stroking me through the pain I have inflicted upon myself in his name.

I am Good.

I am his good little girl.

And I crave that feeling so much, that I’ll try to do whatever he asks, no matter how it hurts. For in doing so, I not only serve & please him (or you?), but I serve & please Blackie.

No matter how sore I am afterwards.

And the tenderness & marks are physical reminders of my purpose: I serve.

Tags: , , ,

Friday, May 1st, 2009

The Answer Is Denial — What Was The Question Again?

Denial has become the answer to so many of our relationship problems with BDSM that it’s hard to list them all.

Denying me, the pain slut, the punishing pleasure I seek is one way that Blackie keeps the upper hand — emotionally, physically & sexually — giving him all the power to decide what, when and where. Surrendering to Blackie’s whims & desires has me living in a state of near perpetual anticipatory lust — but that too is handled with denial.

For example, one of our regular activities is to watch The Girls Next Door. But the rules are quite specific. Before the show begins, I’m to make the following preparations:

* Get topless
* Set up a TV tray next to Blackie’s favorite spot on the couch
* On the tray, I place a glass of his favorite beverage, a bottle of lube & two towels

(Just writing this is making my cunt ache with nearly programed desire.)

When Blackie sits on the sofa, I’m to sit at his feet, facing him, watching him as he watches the show so that when he wordlessly unzips his jeans, I can get on my knees and give him head.

Sometimes he doesn’t unzip, but just absentmindedly plays with my tits… gently rubbing the nipples, occasionally pinching them hard… making me squirm with hopeful desire…

Maybe he will unzip, allow me to suck his cock while he looks at the blonds from Playboy, filling my mouth with his hot load but leaving me with my unsatisfied, wanting cunt.

Maybe he will grab my tits and tell me he wants to fuck them. I’ll lube his cock with my hand, slowly & lovingly, until he tells me to stop. Then he’ll smash them around his hard cock and massage my big breasts roughly to his own orgasm.

Sometimes, he just cruelly pinch-holds the nipples and has me press my breasts around his cock while he thrusts away until he sprays his hot happiness on my tits — while my pussy throbs with wishes that it had the friction, thrusting and spray.

And when he’s done, I just have to sit there at his feet.

I’m emotionally happy that I’ve served him — but physically I’m left aching and wanting. I’ve not just been denied orgasm, but any attention or pleasure I’ve received was the accidental byproduct of his own pleasure.

On rare occasions though, I am fucked during the show.

If he’s in the mood, he’ll yank me by the hair away from sucking his hard cock or take his hard cock away from my breasts and bark a position for me to take. Usually when this occurs, I’m so hot, wet and horny that my orgasm is nearly instant.

For this I am mocked & humiliated.

I’m a dirty eager slut.
I’m a wet whore.
I’m nothing but a cum-bucket.
I exist solely to be his fuck object — and everyone knows it.

And quite often, because he knows how easy I am, before he mounts me he’ll tell me I am not allowed to come until (meaning “if and when”) he tells me otherwise.

Denying me orgasm is his order, but I cannot always manage to hold it back.

It’s my shame.

I’ve tried to explain that it’s because he turns me on so, that I love him so much, that it’s not my fault that his big hard cock brings me to orgasm so easily (and multiple times). But Blackie won’t accept that. He’s given me an order and I have failed to carry it out.

It’s my shame that I’m such a lusty hole that I’m unable to follow his orders.

And for displeasing him I’ll be punished. Not with spankings, tit whippings or even a clamp on my clit; I’m punished with denial. And not just the denial of beautiful searing pain which sends my pussy into a frenzy either.

The next time The Girls Next Door is on (or another time of Blackie’s choice), I know that because I’ve failed him I won’t deserve to be penetrated. I’ll be back in that position at his feet, only allowed to service him and swallow his seed or wear it on my chest, and not have my pussy fed.

Tags: , , ,

Monday, April 27th, 2009

I’m A Pain Slut

Making me come has always been easy for Blackie — at least I feel he’s always played me like a fiddle, plucking my strings, until I sing over & over & over again. Once we both discovered what a pain slut I am, it only became easier.

Sure, at first it was a tentative exploration of what was pain that brought an immediate pleasure response, what was pain that hurt at the time yet left me with a sensitivity that made me both remember the pain & the sex and so made me crave more, and what was just plain old pain. But pretty quickly it became clear that what didn’t fall into the first category fell into the second — and that anything that might fall into the third was probably something dangerous to the point of stupidity anyway. So it was pretty much all good from where I sat (on my pink bottom!).

Most people (who can at least wrap their minds around the pain as pleasure sexual response) think that pain is a natural part of dominance and submission. It sure seems logical. But whatever assumptions Blackie and I made about the easy marriage between pain sluts and dominance were quickly challenged.

Because I wanted to be spanked, whipped, paddled, pinched, bound, clamped & mouse-trapped — and doing so only made me a horny slut nearly humping (wet, not dry!) on his pant leg — we found ourselves in the situation with me begging and whining, and, yes, even demanding, more punishments, fucking and sexual attentions rather than having Blackie dictating & directing… And what could the consequences of such inappropriate behaviors be if safe & sane punishment was what I sought?

We were left with the very simple question: What is to be my punishment if I am such a pain slut?

The answer was denial.

Part of our experiments in collaring taught me to accept that whining, begging and asking would only further delay what I wanted… I had to learn to accept — and therefore really discover — the joys of the delicious ambiguity of submitting to Blackie’s whims & desires.  Learning that denial could be not only be a punishment (not having “my abuse,” as I call it), but keep me hovering in the tipsy state of aroused anticipation is opening a whole new world for us.

To Be Continued

Tags: , ,

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009

You Have To Start Somewhere: A History Of Pinkie & Blackie

In the early days, our BDSM adventures began with role play — the typical (awkward) stuff of fantasy play. As our appetites grew (or, perhaps more accurately, as our appetites were finally being fed), we had some difficulties… We each wanted more. More of “us,” of our relationship, in things than role play offered. But how? And when? Where?

The only thing we did know was “why” and even that was a bit mysterious… At least to me, the feminist with a cocky swagger in public life who delighted in submitting as a plaything in private.

Once I discovered the true joys of a pain slut I found myself wanting spankings & rough sex constantly. I tried to work my requests in as playful remarks, such as replying, “OK, I’ve been bad; so spank me!” Looking to dissolve into subspace, I tried to play the submissive kitten, coiled seductively at his feet or on his lap. I tried waiting on him, offering to get him things from the kitchen, giving him back rubs… Usually with some comment about being his slave, “What else do you want?” All hoping it would spark something.

When my subtleties (which were glaringly obvious) didn’t seem to work, addressed it directly.

As you may have imagined (or already gathered from the “about page“), it wasn’t that Blackie didn’t know what I was doing or why. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested to have more BDSM in our lives, our love, either. He was eager to have more control, to be “The Dominant” — but being dominant isn’t about doing what the sub wants, when she wants it, how she wants it.

Several conversations later, we were still unsure of just how to proceed.

Meanwhile, frustrated and aching for more, I kept up the anything-but subtle tactics and upped the ante to more than a few bratty outbursts — just begging for him to punish me. I even plaintively whined about how long it had been since he’d tied me up.

But Blackie just refused to play those games.

We still had sex, sometimes even as wild as I wanted it; but the more I pushed for bondage, pain & submission, the more he resisted. It’s a testament to his control… But it was far more frustrating than either of us liked.

Before my stupidity could really damage our relationship, we had a family situation which pulled us away from our lives. The emotional stress of the situation itself and the limited ability to hook-up for private intimate sessions of any sort really cramped our style — and when we returned home to our regular lives, we made a distinct effort to clear-up the mess we I had made of things as far as our D/s relationship went.

Having no manual for this, we tried a few things. It was trial & error testing of things we’d read or heard about from others. As with all these sorts of things, the mileage may vary, and ours did. (If you’re reading this for any sort of “advice,” your mileage will likely vary too.)

Contracts and ceremonies seemed as silly and fake to us as the now less-than satisfying role play. It seemed theatrical and lacking in that something which we both craved… That something which would not only spell out our relationship roles but feed the needs beneath it as well.

One of the more promising things we tried was using “collaring” as a signal for Blackie’s readiness to play.

Whenever he found himself in the mood, Blackie placed a leather collar on my desk chair (where I’d be sure to spot it at my daily morning email check). Just seeing the collar I’d flush. I was dizzy with desire thinking, “Today is the day!” and wondering just what he had in mind… And when & how I’d be faced with it.

The anticipation was a thrill unto itself.

But on days there was no collar I felt sad… I longed to see that collar, to have that invitation. And the way I’m wired, the better the sex I have, the more sex I want — Blackie calls it “a loop.” So after a fantastic day of BDSM play, my hormones were raging, making my disappointment at the discovery of no collar even more frustrating.

However, we did both learn something from this. Or maybe Blackie knew it and I was slow to get it. But one day I just decided to flip a mental switch.

Instead of living for collar day, instead of saving my anticipation for when I’d see the collar placed on my chair, I decided to consciously apply my anticipation to when I’d see the collar — it literally could be any day, any time!

Once I switched my thinking, to that of an optimist, I suppose, things improved.

I changed my mind-set to agree to live in the uncertainty of now knowing, of surrendering to Blackie’s whims & desires and the if & when of when he would exercise his control. In giving up that control, I lived more in the moment — delicious moments of anticipatory arousal.

We were steps closer to what we both wanted.

To Be Continued

Tags: ,

Unlock The Bound Private Posts
Real life sex slave ready to be submissive for you!
ALT BDSM
Anything goes sex
Anything you want this submissive woman to do she will
Spanking, Tit Torture, and Other Punishments
  • Pinkie and Blackie...
    The colors of our love... Not just our shopping (which is what primarily what will be covered still at the old blog), but the colors that I as a pain slut prefer to wear...


    I am not called Pinkie because my coloring is naturally pink -- but I am naturally a pain slut, and love to be made pink from spankings & other physical abuse which leaves marks, welts, and, sometimes, cuts... Blackie also thrills to make me flush pink with shame, humiliation and arousal.


    He was called Blackie long before I met him.

  • Phone Sex
    Phone Sex With Submissive Pinkie


    Call: 1-800-TO-FLIRT Ext. 03525663
  • Categories
  • Unlock The Bound Posts
    Get The Monthly Password
    Unlock The Bound Posts:
    Members Get All The Posts & Pics!

Powered by WordPress

Blossom Theme by RoseCityGardens.com