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Tag: fear

Thursday, November 10th, 2011

Protected: A Maze-Ment

Halloween was special this year… Even if the “celebration” took place on November 1st.

That night Marc drove me a few miles out of the city, to a farm which offers the usual Halloween holiday fare for families. Now that the holiday had officially ended, Marc had made special arrangements to make use of the only attraction still standing: the corn maze.

Farms are dark and freaky places at night, at least to this city girl. But what Marc had planned, well, let’s just say it went past the usual things that make you jump in the dark.

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Tuesday, May 10th, 2011

Physiological Facts Of Fear & Arousal


And don’t forget “wet.” Oh, never, ever forget a wet pussy.

Found at S & M = Smoke & Mirrors (I think this was the original post.)

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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So now the anxiety of the unknown has been replaced by the anxiety of knowing.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.

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Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

This Is A Fear Of Mine

Marc likes to play with my asshole.

He knows that my entire sexual life had been based on the “exit only” philosophy, and that Blackie’s never had any interest in backdoor action.

Marc knows that my “exit only” philosophy is primarily based on painful trial and bleeding-rectum error — yes, lube and slow training was used, I’ve just got a tiny tight asshole.

Not only do I not like to bled and suffer anal discomfort for weeks, but I’ve got a girlie sense of vanity which makes me live in fear of my asshole looking like this gaping awaiting hole someone could fall into:

anal_spreading_giant_gaping-asshole

(Image via Explicite-Art.)

Knowing all of this, Marc likes to torment me by playing with my ass.

He likes to slowly take his time, over days and nights, to gently pry it open painful bit by painful bit. Then leave it alone for weeks, so that it’s nice and tight and normal feeling before he begins all over again.

And to keep me fearful when my ass is not full, he likes to show me what he’ll one day do to me. Like sending me images and videos which freak me out and make me cringe. Images and videos like these from Latex Angel:

double-penetration-fisting-anal-and-pussy-fisting

(Click the pic to watch the video if you want to be impressed/horrified.)

Words do not express how frightening this particular video of double fisting — one in the cunt, the other fist in the ass — is.

Tonight, while waiting for phone calls, Marc made me watch it — while I bent my bare bottom over my computer desk chair, proffering him access. The first time, I just held my breath, holding myself as till as he was.

The second time, Marc trailed his fingertip slowly along my anal cleft in a most menacing fashion.

The third time he spread my ass cheeks wide open, fingered around my ass hole and told me how one day he’d do that to me. As I trembled beneath his touch, he swept his fingers along my slit and found his wet reward — my pussy dripping with fear, not lust. He laughed and left me to my phone calls.

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