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

Tag: BDSM relationships

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

The Anticipation Of Being A Sore Loser

I’ve been sweating out Blackie & Marc’s reactions to my recent failure… I know they know. I sent my emailed confession, and they check the blog and my NF messages at least daily when they are away… But so far, they’re letting me stew in worry and anxiety.

In fact, they have not contacted me at all about their return date (last I heard, it could be any time between now and Monday night) and I’m supposed to pick them up at the airport.

Their silence is deafening.

Or at least it was.

Marc’s broken his stoic vow by sending me a link to this image and just four words: your Ass Is Mine.

He probably didn’t even have to say those four words, a picture being worth a thousand of them and all. But I suppose he didn’t want any ambiguity about which hole he’d be using.

So now the anxiety of the unknown has been replaced by the anxiety of knowing. At least as far as Marc goes; Blackie still has me suffering under his silence.

Intellectually I know that both are applying techniques to heighten my anticipation — but this knowledge does nothing to stem the fear. My throat gasps as if a hand was there choking, my breasts heave in response. And my asshole quivers in fear.

I hear people talking about how things never live up to their expectations, but this is one time where I don’t think I’ll be so lucky. Maybe it’s because I’m betting my ass, and my ass is always a sore loser.

Tags: , , , , , ,

Wednesday, May 19th, 2010

The Beauty Troubles Of A Sexual Lipstick Submissive

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: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Monday, May 10th, 2010

The Not-Knowing State Of Being A Submissive

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: , , , , ,

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

Being His Sex Doll

I found the following photos via a post at Klaudia’s shoe blog (she’s a NiteFlirt friend who also runs The Pump & Grind — such a clever clever name for a shoe fetish newsletter!).

beatrice-morabito-sadist-submissive

beatrice-morabito-bound-gas-mask

The artist behind these photos, Beatrice Morabito, writes the following about her work:

A doll can not move by herself, cannot smile, cry, change the position of her body, the expression of the face and so on.

It is you doing all these things in her place, so she can be a simply object in your hands…

It is exactly this which resonates with me — not only when I look at the photos, but how I feel as a submissive.

beatrice-morabito-his-sex-doll

Especially with Marc.

Marc often denigrates Blackie’s relationship with me, calling me a pampered pet; he thinks Blackie is too kind or soft with me.

beatrice-morabito-pet-dog-leash

(I feel that’s not true, especially as Blackie gives me to Marc, a man I loathe; but that’s for another time, another post, I suppose.)

gift-of-flesh-beatrice-morabito

Marc’s philosophy in slave management is obviously different as his feelings towards me are so vastly different. He views me as a plaything. And in fact, often refers to me as “His doll.”

dont-you-speak-beatrice-morabito

His game theory, if you will, with this doll includes the positioning of me as he wishes and leaving me sit on display.

Sometimes it’s just for his viewing pleasure.

frame-display-tits-beatrice-morabito

Sometimes it’s for my discomfort.

say-my-name-doll-photo-by-beatrice-morabito

Other times, it’s for others to see. Even out in public.

beatrice-morabito-play-thing-posed-doll

Whatever his reason, it’s always humiliating and exhausting.

Especially so when there’s no orgasm for me.  But I’m not to complain; I’m a toy to be used and my pleasure is irrelevant.

hands-all-over-beatrice-morabito

Marc most often ignores ropes and other bondage tools (for absolute restraint of me, anyway), and prefers to position me and remind me that as a doll I cannot move. Even when he uses me.

My restraint is his will. I do not move until he wishes it.

If I fail, if a limb flails in anyway other than due to the impact of inflicted impact or thrusts, he may will punish me.

And sometimes when he is done playing with me he will abandon me like a child, walking away and leaving me laying on the floor.

oyster-dreams-stockholm-syndrome-by-beatrice-morabito

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Monday, March 22nd, 2010

Can There Be Limitless Limits?

Saynine’s This Isn’t Play. . . BDSM and Rape has much to think about — for me and anyone else interested in rough sex, exploring power exchange, etc.

However when does a violated limit become rape? Is it rape if someone expresses a limit against ejaculating on their face and it is violated? If someone is bound and pissed on after negotiating no watersports? Being called a filthy cunt when Humiliation has been excluded? When is an exceeded limit rape? My arrogance tells me always, however I wonder if I have, or could ever unintentionally dip a toe over a foul line. Am I then guilty of moral or criminal violation? I simply do not know.

I’ve put my consent in Blackie’s hands, but now that He has turned that over to Marc as well these issues of limits continue to pop up.

Some would say that our “play” has gone too extreme by virtue of my consent being given over to another; others would say it went too far when the one I give my consent to passed it along to another. I’ve struggled with this myself, this difficulty in balancing fantasy and desires with safety and practical real life matters… Playing with what is hot and feeling like you may just be burned — and it’s not easy to walk away from because it’s so intoxicating.

The basis of my foundational relationship with Blackie — the one that everyone at our marriage ceremony saw — is still love and respect. But within and around this is a fundamental power exchange which, while mainly regulated to “the bed room,” is nearly inseparable. To pretend otherwise is to be an idiot. And I am not an idiot. (Being a submissive no more equals being an idiot than being a Master equals being intelligent; don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.)

The questions and issues presented in Saynine’s post are things we mentally chew on here — on a daily basis. And we talk about them as we can articulate them. Along with the knowledge that others are exploring such things too, what’s been most helpful for me in reading Saynine’s post and the comments is the ability to move outside of my own situation, my own complicated emotions, and look at things more intellectually.

Sometimes the pure and simple “principal of the thing” attitude goes a long way.

Tags: , , , , ,

Friday, March 19th, 2010

Vintage Submission Photo

Ahh, the intoxicating power of mystery — and of power itself.

vintage-mystery-submission

Tags: , ,

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: ,

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.”

Tags: , ,

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.

Tags: ,

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!

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

Powered by WordPress

Blossom Theme by RoseCityGardens.com