Dear Pinkie,
I’m thankful for all that Marc writes — knowing that as you writhe in pain and hatred, it is me who holds you there. My ownership of you, what you suffer in your commitment to me, is as good as if my arms hold you down.
Have a happy, yet miserable, Thanksgiving while I’m away!
Blackie
Tags: BDSM relationships, humiliation, lipstick submissives (tm), pain as pleasure, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, power play, rape fantasies, serving
Blackie’s been away for days. When he returned home, but he didn’t say a word to me.
What have I done? I wonder.
He sits in his chair and just waits.
I sit at his feet, hoping to appease.
This is the scene when Marc arrives.
He greets Blackie with a quick hello. Blackie nods as Marc sits in his own chair.
Silence engulfs the room; uncertainty sits on my shoulders, and a chill runs down my back causing me to physically shudder.
“Strip, holes,” orders Marc.
I nervously stand and begin to undress. First the t-shirt, which I begin to fold.
“No time for that, holes,” Marc barks. “Just leave them on the floor.”
I drop the top, peel down the straps of my bra and reach around my back. When I unclasp it, it falls to the floor. I unbutton my jeans, shrug them off my hips, let gravity do the rest. I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my pink panties and tug them down until they lay nestled into and on top of the jeans. I step out of the clothes at my feet, then use my toes to remove my little white socks.
“Crawl here, holes,” Marc commands.
I hate crawling, especially to him. Reflexively my eyes seek Blackie, some unconscious desire to have him save me… Or seeking his approval. But his face is stone.
So I sink to my knees and begin to crawl the 12 feet to where he sits.
It seems like a mile in the silence.
Just before I reach him he raises his hand, like you do with a dog, ordering me to sit.
I do.
“Been awhile since you’ve had an orgasm, I hear,” Marc rhetorically asks, amused.
I say nothing. It’s not like I was actually asked a question.
“Been awhile since you’ve even had a hand laid on you too,” he continues his mocking. “Bet you’re aching for it.”
I remain silent. My thoughts more on what Blackie’s thinking than anything else — until Marc speaks again.
“Ask me to fuck you in the ass.”
I hate being fucked in the ass. It hurts. Plus, Blackie never fucks me in the ass — which makes me think it’s dirty and I’ve no desire to appear a dirty used whore fucked in the ass in front of him.
“Say it,” Marc says, with that threatening tone in his voice.
This time I’m afraid to look at Blackie. I know this must be some sort of a test — a combination punishement test. I’m afraid of disappointing him. And afraid of disgusting him too.
Keeping my eyes lowered I quietly say, “Please fuck me in the ass.”
“Ask me properly…” Marc says. I can hear the arch of his eyebrows in his voice.
I sigh and manage to say what he wishes, “Please, Marc, fuck me in my asshole”
“If you want it that bad, then assume the position,” he replies.
I turn around on my knees, put the side of my face on the floor — facing away from Blackie, place my hands on my ass cheeks and spread them.
Tags: anal, BDSM relationships, bound, humiliation, lessons for bitches, more than two tango, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, power play, serving, spanking, tools and toys, torture
There have been a lot of changes here at Chez Blackie…
Some I’ve resisted discussing because I haven’t felt brave enough to talk about them when I’m not even sure how I feel about them myself. As usual, Blackie orders me to confess my fears — in part to enjoy the delicious exploitation of it, but also to help me find my way out of the murky bewilderment of fear and confusion.
He cloaked his order in a “confess 5 things you are afraid of” task — which I’m sure is partly a test to see if I confess this one big thing. He’s also commanded that I confess each fear, one at a time, giving each it’s exploratory due; so there will be (at least) four more confessions this week.
But here’s the big relationship one…
Blackie wants me to hand my business over to him. Officially it ill be a sale of the business, with money going into my bank account for that Female Rainy Day Protection Fund. But the woman in me knows selling my company, even with cash in hand, means more dependence upon Blackie. And, should the worst occur, getting back into the business won’t be as simple as setting up shop once again… Time away is blank on a resume or portfolio.
There are pragmatic reasons for such a sale. Much of my work is done for Blackie’s company, so it makes sense for his bottom line to do more in house — keeping my employees employed and money still in our pockets. Blackie’s work forces him to travel a lot and he’d like me by his side (or under his thumb lol) more — which the sale of the business would allow.
But I can’t help but worry-wonder what else he has up his sleeve…
I’ve been around Blackie long enough to know he’s shrewd enough to have more on his agenda than his corporate bottom line — what plans does he have for my ass?
Further convincing me that this is more about our lifestyle than money or even our relationship, are his continued talks with that farmer fellow…
I don’t think this decision is a make-or-break one in terms of our wedded bliss — Blackie’s style isn’t to force or make ultimatums; he prefers I acquiesce and submit to his desires as softly as a kitten. But if I do not agree, will there be lingering resentment? If so, his — or mine because I will never know the road not taken? Of course, if I do take the plunge, will I like the waters I find myself in?
I tell myself if I knew what his ultimate intentions were, it would be more fair or at least easier to decide… But then I know that’s not what he wants. He wants me to trust in his choices, to submit to them always, no matter how they test me, body and soul. So knowing what his full intentions are would come at the cost of failure to at least trust that far… Which, I suppose means, that if I am to succeed, I must say, “Yes, Sir.”
But I cannot find peace with that yet.
…Though can anyone find peace until after then have made the choice?
The future, my future, is filled with uncertainty. I know most of the future is just that, uncertain. But times like this, when you are faced with a choice, you know you are responsible for most of what lies ahead and you want to do the right thing. After all, you are going to have to live with it. And the fact that it was your call. For many submissives, this is one thing they believe they are handing over when they’ve got themselves a Master. I suppose for a great many of them, that is true. But not all BDSM relationships are so simple.
Ours is a relationship built on less cut-and-dried certitudes. It’s a more complicated tangle of lifestyle and bedroom choices that we’ve built over time… Perhaps if we had met as Master and subject, the lines would have been more crisp and defined, but the evolution of our relationship wasn’t that way. It’s been a discovery — and sets of navigations and negotiations along the way. Where we find ourselves is not as neatly defined as many BDSM sites would tell you. This isn’t just fantasy; it’s our reality. We have to live here, love here.
So now that I’m faced with a situation in which changing things doesn’t just affect the “Lifestyle” of BDSM but rather one which changes our actual style of life — and all that implies in terms of finances, attitudes, daily activities, etc. — I’m stymied.
I have to wrap my head around my feminist ideas of bread-winning equality, public reputation, the dreaded “what if our marriage ends?” and other practical matters and attitudes I’ve held all my life. I also have to line those ideals up with the actual relationship I am in… What does being submissive and, indeed, being in a submissive lifestyle mean to me — in this specific relationship? What prices am I willing to pay? What rewards could there be? What is my own personal identity and how do my actions reflect that?
Am I just playing Lifestyle BDSM house? Or am I committed to this relationship, despite all my teachings and beliefs about keeping myself safe as a woman?
It’s one thing to accept spankings, to be woken up after just two hours of sleep to suck cock simply because he says so, or even to subject myself to the sexual orders of another man because he wishes it; but completely another thing to divest myself of my professional identity, of the company I built, to know that he holds the financial power and all the clout which comes with it.
Just how far am I willing to go?
And just how far does Blackie want to take all this?
Tags: BDSM relationships, choices, Pinkie and Blackie history, power play, serving
Back when Blackie & I were dating — in that early stage of infatuation & insecurity — I teased him with an observation about the other women I’d seen him out with. Most of them were members of the itty-bitty-tittie-committee, and I, well, I have 36Es. So my teasing was as much about being reassured that he found me attractive, even if I feared I wasn’t his usual “type.”
I distinctly remember saying to him, “Well, you clearly subscribe to the ‘More than a mouthful is wasted’ philosophy… So I guess my ample charms are, if not an actual waste, wasted on you.”
I also distinctly remember his reply. “I assure you they are desired in equally ample proportion — and they certainly will not go to waste.”
At the time, my ego delightfully wrapped it around me as warm reassurance that he found me sexy. But now, I’ve come to understand that he meant that literally: No part of my breasts shall be wasted, no small space shall go without it’s attentions, use & abuse.
Tags: big breasts, Pinkie and Blackie history, rough tit play
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
Like in this photo from GirlFolio, my first experience with a leash and collar was nothing fancy, nothing planned, and it certainly wasn’t all dark & scary looking…
Getting dressed one morning for work, I’d simply began messing around with Blackie, trying to get a little attention from him — some sexual attention. I was brat-ish, prancing myself in various forms of undress in front of him, teasing him that he should be late for work.
When he paid me no mind, I reached for the white shirt he’d so carefully pressed, slid it on, but left it unbuttoned and open, and teased him while he shaved at the sink.
When I still didn’t get any reaction from him, I behaved even more like a spoiled brat. I got his tie, placed it around my neck, made a loose knot and started swinging the tail of tie around like a burlesque stripper would a feather boa, and, other hand on my nip, I taunted him that a real man would pounce all over this.
I caught his eye in the mirror before he turned to face me slowly — I saw a spark there and thought I was going to get my way, so I giggled and backed up towards the bedroom.
He charged after me, grabbed me by the tie, then grabbed another handful of my hair and drew me close. Still pulling my hair, he tipped my head back and said, “You wanted my attention, spoiled brat, now you’ve got it.”
I thought he was going to kiss me — but he let go of my hair and led me by the tie to the bed, where he then sat down. He looked at me intensely. I was excited, expecting a divine session of being ravaged on the bed. But instead — in an instant — he’d dropped the tie and flipped me over his knee.
Over my girdle he spanked my bottom. Hard.
I yelp and squirmed in shock — then anger. But he held onto me with one arm, locking me in place for the bare handed spankings that continued to come.
He said nothing until he was done. When he let me up, all he said was “I told you now was not the time; maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”
Then he returned to the bathroom to restart his shave, but he ducked his head back into the bedroom for a minute to say, “Wear the shirt & tie today; I’ll meet you for lunch at your office at 12:30.”
And I stood there too stunned to say anything.
(To be continued.)
Tags: BDSM relationships, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, power play, spanking
Using and abusing a submissive woman isn’t about hating women, but, as Marc says, sometimes it helps. That’s a joke, people.
Well, not entirely.
Sometimes a person can be so rude, that fantasies are born. I’m not condoning anger as a motivation for actual abuse or rape, but fantasies are what they are.
In my business — the real stuff with my company, not the blog confessions and whoring on the phone I’m required to do to please my Masters — there are some uptight, stuck-up bitchy women who motivate men to fantasies of fucking the shit of them to put the women in their place.
Of course, if you add in the perceptions that many men have about women there are lots more men who feel this way.
There is a certain misogyny involved in men who just can’t (or won’t) tolerate a female boss, women with more money, females who wield more power in the spheres individual men would like to control; but there are also honest to goodness real bitches who, monied or not themselves, act like gold diggers and reject men for not being well-endowed enough in terms of wealth — men’s wallets must be this thick/high to get on this ride.
In my work, I run into so many of these women — especially at events. It’s amazing the number of women who are mindful of their manners at their day jobs realizing that anyone could be a client or customer — or refer one — but the minute these women attend a golf outing, a cocktail party after convention hours, a fund raising event, etc., they become the personification of snobby bitch.
I don’t think human decency should take any time off — and I’m not just saying that as a submissive, either. But some of these women are just plain bitches and their fit-to-be-tied tirades inspire the Dom in any man.
To illustrate such an example, I’m confessing events which occurred at an event just last fall.
A typical blond bitch at our table was making horrible denigrating comments about the service staff at the hotel. The waiter who had the misfortune of serving our table was doing his best to bite his tongue and keep a professional attitude during all of this, despite her eyeball rolls and nasty attitude. At one point, though, he was, in the blonde’s opinion, very slow in retrieving her requested drink — and of bringing the wrong drink. She had indeed ordered the white wine spritzer he had brought, but she insisted she’d ordered a carafe of white wine. And boy did she have a bitch fit.
She shoved her chair back and said way-too loudly how stupid and slow the staff was, that they must all be tired from swimming to this country. Then she turned to the waiter, arched her eyebrows, and — honest to god — she threatened him with being fired and deportation if he didn’t bring her the carafe of whine within two minutes. And she raised her watch to let him know she was timing him.
He obviously had to be struggling to remain professional, but he smiled and turned on his heel to go to the bar. Everyone at the table was stunned — except for the blonde who babbled on and on about how he’d better fetch quickly. For professional reasons, I wasn’t able to do anything more than give the blonde more than a disapproving glance and avoid conversation with her by speaking to others at hour table.
When the waiter returned (in the required time), she accepted the carafe and then waved him away like an annoying fly. Amazingly the waiter kept his composure and asked the table if anyone needed anything else.
I gave what I’d hoped was a sympathetic and apologetic smile to the mistreated waiter and said, “No, thank you.” No one else made any other requests, and the waiter left.
Blackie felt so horrible, that he left the table and went to talk to the waiter. I assumed he’d give him a big tip too. But what I didn’t know was that Blackie’s tip included more than some cash.
Later on, back in our hotel room, Blackie and I talked about the bitchy blonde. I asked him how it went when he went to tip the waiter.
It seems the waiter, full of righteous anger and pride over his shabby treatment, had not taken my smile as I had intended; he read it full of condescension. As soon as Blackie discovered this, he made no attempts to correct it but instead egged the man on.
“Why would you do that?!” I asked, horrified.
“Because if he thinks you’re a bitch too, we can help make it up to him.”
The sinking sensation in my gut held me silent while I waited for Blackie to explain.
“What better way to get back at a stuck-up bitch than to fuck the shit out of her.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and as he walked towards me the sinking sensation in my stomach grew.
Blackie stood before me and reached out to tenderly tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear before making announcement. “So, what we’re going to do, my love, is let he and his friends have their way with you.”
My eyes and mouth rounded in surprise. Friends? Plural? Strangers? Use me? But I was too shocked to actually form any words.
“In a few minutes, my dear, I’ll be escorting you to the favorite watering hole of our poor beleaguered waiter, where you will serve him and a few of his friends who have suffered similarly. A public service to help men get back at all those bitches. And, yes, before you ask, you will be serving more than beers to assuage their mocked manhood. If I were you, I’d expect a general invasion of your privacy.”
And that’s how I found myself serving seven members of the hotel staff later that night. The full details of this are for Member Masters only.
Tags: belt lashes, face fucking, humiliation, lessons for bitches, more than two tango, orgasm denial, pain as pleasure, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, power play, rough tit play, serving, tit fuck, toes and feet
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: BDSM relationships, pain not pleasure, Pinkie and Blackie history, rape fantasies, safety is more than a safe word, serving
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.
For my birthday last year, Blackie gave me a sound spanking — far more than the traditional “one for each year plus one to grow on.” Then he soaped me up in the tub and fucked me from behind.
I don’t know what he’ll give me when I turn 24 (on Sunday!) — but I do know what he’s giving you *wink*
Member Masters, enter your password below to see four photos of me & my soapy red-marked ass fucked doggy-style. If you are not a Member Master & do not have the password, here’s how you get it — or, you can buy one of the photos here.
