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Tag: BDSM relationships

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.

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Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

Birthday Wishes, Part Two

After being struck by the news that my birthday gift was to be put into some service for Marc I was understandably shocked; gagged-speechless, unable to move, there was nothing I could say or do but try to absorb the information as it came in.

Millions of concerns and questions circled in my mind… My intense dislike of Marc, though, paled in contrast to worry about the potential relationship consequences of being used by another man — did Blackie really know what he was doing to us?

As Blackie and Marc joked about how Marc would have to get himself a drink from the bar because I was “tied up at the moment,” I swallowed hard and tried to clear my head so that I could pay attention to whatever information I might learn. By the time Marc returned with his glass I thought I had composed myself; but when he sat on sofa, on the side opposite Blackie, resting his left thigh against my naked body, I jumped. At least on the inside.

Both men sat there, discussing whatever was on TV (I was completely oblivious to it by this time), as if this was just the same-old-same-old, while I tried to calm myself down. Fear was tightening in my throat. I could feel moisture growing under my arms. I tried to concentrate on slowing & controlling my breathing.

Blackie, who knows me so well, likely was aware of my efforts; so it was probably no coincidence that once I had more control of myself that the men began to talk about me — and talk about me as if I wasn’t there, or as if I were some object, not a sentient being.

“So, tomorrow morning, 8 A.M.?” Blackie casually confirmed.

“Yup, right after I do those few things on your list,” Marc replied before taking a swig from his glass, the ice tinkling as if laughing at me too.

“Because you know, we should celebrate the whole day, even if Pinkie isn’t really a morning person…” Blackie began then smugly chortled, “Not that I imagine she will sleep well at all tonight.”

“Eager little beaver, hmm?” Marc mocked.

“Oh, I imagine the anticipation will keep her as up tonight as her nipples are right now,” Blackie laughed, punctuating his point by tweaking my left nipple.

“Lovely, just lovely…” Marc said. “May I?”

“Of course!” was Blackie’s gracious reply.

And with that, Marc took a firm grip of my right nipple, slowly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Now, that Marc, is not a flush of arousal; it’s a flush of anger,” Blackie pointed out, “A most delicious thing to see…”

“I suppose it is when you know you can wipe that smug refusal away anytime you wish,” Marc said, changing his grasp of my captured nipple from a firm rolling motion to a tight press that continued to hold as Blackie spoke.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll soon be doing what you want, when you want, no matter what her face says — in fact, you’ll do more than that. You’ll take what she believes she can refuse to give you. And, over time, you’ll soon have her dependent upon you — humiliated and hating herself for it too. And won’t that be delicious.”

Marc was silent for a moment, still holding my nipple firmly. Still silent, he jerked his hand downward, yanking my nipple and tit with it, then gave a slight twist before letting the nipple slip away and sending my breast bouncing. Then Marc stood on his feet, “Well, tomorrow we’ll start all of that, won’t we?”

He said goodbye to Blackie, then bent down before me, towering over me and looking me in the eyes, “You have sweet dreams, Pinkie, cuz tomorrow mine begin.”

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Thursday, October 29th, 2009

Birthday Wishes?

It was the Friday before my birthday weekend. I was home with Blackie. He sat on the sofa; I was sitting at his feet in his favorite position: nude, on my knees (spread wide), my arms tightly bound behind me, back arched so that my breasts are up, with my head resting (if you can call it that) on the edge of the sofa cushion as Blackie held my hair — looped around his wrist twice then held in his right hand.

In this position, I have very little range of movement (and over time, even less comfort); Blackie has full access & control. I knew he had something in mind because I was also wearing the larger ballgag — something Blackie usually reserves for very unreserved plans (or in hotel rooms etc., when we travel, to keep my noise down).

He sat, rather ignoring me, lazily playing with a riding crop in his left hand, keeping me on edge.

There was a knock at the door. I jumped. As well as I could in my position anyway. I turned my head the inch I could and rolled my eyes at him, asking if he was expecting anyone. He steadily looked me in the eyes and said, “Marc is coming by to drop off some papers.”

Marc is this young guy, just a year or two older than I, who I actually met the same night I met Blackie. Both men were in the bar, both men were hitting on me, but Marc was just, well, a slick jerk who thought he had skills as a “playa” but didn’t. He’s annoyed — and creeped me out — ever since. Something Blackie has enjoyed every time our paths have crossed, taking delight in making me be polite while Marc drooled all over me. Now Blackie was claiming Marc was here, at our home? Invited even?

Incredulous, I thought he must be joking. If there was any mirth in my eyes, Blackie stoically watched as it faded.

“It’s open, Marc,” Blackie called.

Instinctively I tried to move, even though I knew I couldn’t. I felt Blackie’s grip on my hair tighten just a second before he yanked it soundly.

Marc appeared out of the small foyer. He stopped dead in his tracks, drinking in the scene. “Damn,” he said, trying to reinstate his air of faux cool.

“Did you bring them?” Blackie asked.

“Got ‘em right here,” he said, striding fulling into the room and proffering some papers to Blackie. Blackie, I gather, waved them away with a dismissive, “I received my copies by fax this afternoon.

“Yeah?” Marc replied, who still couldn’t take his eyes off me, a miserable blush of a mess at Blackie’s feet.

“Yeah, so why don’t you tell Pinkie here, what you’ve brought,” Blackie commanded more than asked.

Marc took a few steps forward, so that he was right before me, towering over me, and placed some pages in front of me. They were at an angle, so I couldn’t read them — not that my addled brain could have made sense of even Mother Goose at that time.

“What I’ve got here, Pinkie, are papers to fuck you — and fuck with you,” he said smugly.

I think I shook my head — to clear it, or in denial, I don’t know — but I felt the hairs strained in Blackie’s grip.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Blackie breathed onto my neck, taking a nip of my left earlobe.

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Thursday, October 29th, 2009

A Quick Update For Fall

Wow, so much has happened in the past few months I’m not even sure where to begin! Well, you know I’ll begin telling stories in the order Blackie wants me to; but you get my point, right? I’ve been busy. Not just work busy (finally clearing my schedule for the remainder of the year, as I do every year at this time per Blackie’s wishes), but busy with training. Advanced training.

I do believe that I’ll be put to the telling of the training, of my pain and shame, soon — as well as be put back on the phones (though I hear NF is very confusing in Beta right now?).

So stay tunned; your patience, I hope, shall be rewarded!

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Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

Birthday Treats & Training

I’ve been undergoing some serious additional training — the details of which I will be telling you soon — but I just wanted you to know that my silence here does not mean I’ve been gone…

I believe my new schedule, including serving you via the phone, will be set soon.

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Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

How To Keep A Slave In Love & Submissive

What I love about this story at Slaves In Love (titled Her Right) is not just the punishing abuse her Master gives out…

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Or that she takes it all while sobbing so hard…

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But that he takes short breaks from delivering the abuse to give her reassuring, comforting kisses of love…

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It’s just those sorts of kisses which keep a submissive slave craving, trying, submitting.

Of course, there are times, like when he’s taking a rather large dildo to her ass while whipping her behind, that she’ll just have the memory of those kisses to get her through…

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Psst, click the text links to see free clips!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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  • 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.

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