Daddy and I went to bed last night per the usual routine. I was lying in the dark, my head snuggled to His chest, when He just jumped up, throwing the blankets off and ordered me to “turn over”. Thinking I was gonna get something nice, I flipped. What followed was a terribly yummy painful hot hard caning from my feet, up the backs of my thighs, across my ass. God damn.

Canes hurt. Thats about all I got to say. It was definitely one of those ‘I wish I had a safe-word (We discontinued my ability to use a safe-word about a week ago) so I could SCREAM it right now!’ moments (though the bruises across the back of my legs are oh-so-pretty today).
When something hurts that bad, I think it’s impossible to *not* be a little angry, even within the confines of consensual bdsm and slavery and etc etc. I was a little angry, and a lot turned on, and so the battle waged inside of me. Do I pout and bitch or beg to cum. Decisions decisions.

Well, He was turned on too so that pretty well took the decision out of my hands. Hard to bitch, pout, OR beg with a cock down your throat…:) (think I mentioned recently that I seem to do an awful lot of cock sucking.)  Still, I wasn’t all that receptive at first to giving the blow job. My legs were on fire, along with my ass, and I had twisted myself into some uncomfortable position in the chains and He was sitting on the chain attached to my collar so I couldn’t hardly move my head. But the magic of being a masochist kicked in and the whole situation, from burning thighs to wrapped chains to a mouthful of cock, to a Daddy who isn’t afraid to be a Sadist even when it pisses me off; I was horny, pure and simple.

But appealing to a Sadist’s sympathetic side never really does get you very far does it? Now there’s a lesson to be learned…lol. What He wanted was for me to ask for 5 more strokes and then I could cum. Kept me sucking, knowing how much giving head turns me on, touching me, talking in that soft, cajoling voice. Calling me “baby”. Damn Him. When did he learn all the buttons to push and where was I when that happened?
And then, worried that He would give me the 5 strokes anyway and deny me an orgasm because I didn’t ask! Somewhere along the way… the idea of taking 5 more strokes on my welted and stinging legs made me fucking hot…. So, I asked and I was scared when I did. And more scared when He jumped up and grabbed the cane and I held the headboard and buried my face in the pillow and heard the command to count. And the strokes came… soft.. and gentle, barely a sting. I counted with trepidation thinking the next stroke would be the hard one. But it was over and We had sex and lots of juicy orgasms.

What a wonderful end to one more Monday in Our lives.

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Humiliation

I was given the journal assignment of writing about humiliation. Nothing specific set before me, simply humiliation. I thought it would be easy yet I’ve been thinking about it for awhile and haven’t come up with much.

I’ve never really been able to put into words the *reasons* for bdsm (and humiliation) in my life. Other than “I like it and it feels good”. I think people get too hung up on the labels and psychological motivations. Maybe I’m just simple minded but “it feels good” is perfectly reasonable dontcha think?

The things that Daddy does to humiliate me are probably very mild in the grand scheme of things.  And we do nothing publicly; I’d be worse than humiliated or embarrassed, I’d be mortified! There is also a big difference between emotional humiliation, compared to just being embarrassed or uncomfortable. Being called degrading names like “ugly”, “fat”, “worthless” etc. *would* be humiliating but it would also lower my self esteem and eventually make me believe those things about myself. But being called “slut” “whore” “cum-bucket”… those names I like and I’m not at all humiliated by, I do believe them and I’m ok with that.

Being pissed on.. waiting for the collective Ewww from the crowd, its really not bad at all and very much a turn on; tied up, used and abandoned, left bound in embarrassing positions, made fun of while I cry and drip snot all over my face, being spit on (the latter being my favorite). Those are some of the ways that He humiliates me. The better question would be what do YOU get out of it Sir? I can fall back on “I’m the sub so I *have* to allow it”. Even if that is a cop out, it’s a legitimate one. Strangely enough, when all is said and done, I walk away from times like that with an amazing sense of security and acceptance. It’s like “You saw me like *that* and You still want to love/fuck/hug/be-seen-with me??”. I guess the most motivating aspect of being humiliated for me is the after effect. The over-whelming sensation of feeling owned, controlled and loved by you.

 

We had to run a few errands tonight. The play started then, with the scrubby pad being stuck up snug between my pussy lips. I don’t know the official name for the scrubby pad. It’s one of those pads used for scrubbing pots and pans, like a soap-less SOS pad. Anyway, stick that in there, with a tight pair of jeans to hold it secure and it’s a very effective little torture tool. Every move is painful. The twisted metal bites and scratches, pinches and pulls. A bumpy car ride can be excruciating. It set the stage very nicely. My pussy was red-raw, sore… and wet.

When we got home I knelt between His legs and sucked His cock for a long time. Lots of deep throating and gagging (which I love). He flipped me around and fucked me from behind, cracking my ass and thighs with His hands (which I hate). He pointed to the bedroom and said the one word that I hate to hear.

“Crawl.”

Crawling is basely humiliating for me. Leaving out the painful aspects of crawling across hardwood, it’s the most hated activity in my bdsm experiences. I don’t know why this one seemingly simple thing affects me so deeply but it does. By the time I reach wherever it is that I am crawling to, I’m thoroughly humbled.

Kneeling beside the bed, I was once again set to suck Him. I could hear Him rustling things around, out of my limited view. I knew that we had talked about some pretty painful things so I was a bit nervous. But for all the apprehension, He only held the small scalpel and while I sucked He slashed at my breasts. It seems to me that Daddy must trust me an awful lot to be slashing at my breasts with a scalpel while I hold His most sensitive bits between my teeth…

He pushed me away then, sitting me back a few feet from Him. I hate losing physical contact with Him during a scene. His touch keeps me calm and focused. When He walks away… I feel abandoned. Feeling Him near me, His body heat, His scent.. I feel loved..even through the pain. There is nothing but cold air to replace Him when He moves away. Very disturbing. (Not to mention that the closer He is to me, the smaller His swinging stance is…lol)

Standing back and looking at me… my mouth swollen and wet, my chin and nose covered with my own spit, my breasts marked with angry red streaks of blood… you can almost feel the change that comes over Him. Hear it in the air, a crackling of senses. His eyes narrow, He stands taller, His voice gets so cold. And I defer. Quiet kneeling, not able to meet His eyes, no fidgeting, no small talk.

He directed me on to the bed then, on my back with my head hanging over the side and I once again began sucking His cock. (It just occurred to me that I do a whole lot of cock sucking.) I knew He had the needles and He pinched and pulled up pieces of skin around my nipples asking me, “Here?”, while I nodded or shook my head against His balls. The attraction of needles has very little to do with pain for me.. it’s the visual stimulation after they are in. But this time, from this angle, I couldn’t see anything. Not being able to see it enhances the pain a bit.

He pinched my nipple and said “straight through?”…. I nodded around His cock… I felt the tip of the needle puncture and then… fuck me running… there was a pain like I have never felt before with a piercing. A deep, hard pain. I screamed.. He stopped and pulled the needle back and then the blood started. It dripped and ran, for a long time, a steady, warm , thick stream of blood. It probably would have been frightening if it wasn’t such a turn on…:). I couldn’t see it but I could feel it. Tickling my chest as it weaved it’s way down the slope of my breast… this was awesome. When He let me sit up the blood ran down my stomach and pooled in my crotch. It just bled forever. Looking down at myself that way.. smeared and sticky… I felt a shift inside, something darker nibbling.. wanting out.. Blood play always does this to me.

But not to be too far deterred from the plan, needles in place, I was cuffed, blindfolded and gagged and strung up on the wooden pony. I love the wooden pony. I hate the wooden pony. I love it til I’m on it, then I hate it til I’m off. And once I’m off, I’m whining to get back on. (Story of my life.) I stretched up on my tiptoes, easing the cruel bite on my clit, until my calves started to cramp… then the riding starts. Up and down, trading the pain of my cramping legs for the deep agony on my pussy, wiggling one way only to find it was better before. I could ride the pony for hours. Daddy went behind me… the flogger, the slapper… things to make me jump and jerk and slide back and forth along the wooden edge. His voice in my ear, “Dance.” But I must have danced too far and too fast, He snatched ahold of the pony and yanked it slightly up and backwards. I don’t think I moved at all after that.

The gag and the blindfold came off then, the pony was pulled from it’s snug spot between my legs. Daddy held the wet bar in front of my face, letting me see where I had soaked it down… ran it back and forth over my tongue, letting me taste… my musky flavor mixing with the wood, not unpleasant but different. I was laid on the bed then… and fucked. Wild and hard.. brutal. Daddy carefully holding Himself away from the tip of the needles still embedded in my breasts. Occasionally reaching down and pulling one out. I came.. and came.. and yes… came. He pinched hard on the pierced and bloodied nipple.. and it hurt so bad…I started to cry a little… then I came again. What an odd, odd thing. To orgasm while you cry.. not sure which one to focus on… or how to let one enhance the other.

He was determined to come down my throat… back to my knees I went.  He fucked my mouth and throat for a long time. Steady, insistent thrusts. Deep. I drooled and gagged all over His cock and balls. But I didn’t pull away. I didn’t panic at not being able to breathe. I never do, He is brutal when He face fucks me. I sank into being used.

When He came, it shot down my throat, making me gag while I tried to swallow. Suddenly He shoved my head away and aimed His cock at the floor, spilling His cum on the floor in front of me. I watched it as it fell, immediately and simultaneously telling myself I would NOT lick cum off the floor while already bending over to do it.. His touch against my head pressing me down to the floor wasn’t needed, as I would have done it without prompting, but it was welcome.. and comforting. I licked the disgusting floor clean of  Daddy’s cum and eagerly lifted my face to His cock, wanting more.

And I did it because I am a cunt. His cunt.

Now I must go to sleep b/c I don’t want the repercussions of Him waking and finding me not in the bed where I am suppose to be.

Like most of us, I’ve been thinner, yet I’ve been much heavier. I don’t think I could say how no matter what my weight, I’ve never felt better than I do now. I’m older, my body is less firm. I don’t love what I see in the mirror, but you know what? When I see some flabby legs, or arms, I am reminded I used to be MUCH heavier, and above all, my body is working for me. I have legs that carry me and walk well, arms that can carry weight more now than before. When I used to barely be able to walk up a flight of stairs, I can now run them. I can lift more weight than I have ever been able to and can now do a 45 second to 1 minute, low plank. I can almost do push ups. I am not young, and I am now going to the gym a LOT, nearly every day and those days I don’t go I get 8,000-10,000 steps in my day.

Fitness is something I am doing so that I can stay healthy.  I still love to eat, and was a struggle to eat well sometimes. I was a sugar-holic and that is never good for your body. Now I do indulge at times, but I am much more careful. My desserts of cookies, cake and ice cream have been substituted with natures finest bounty of fruits and berries.

I know that some of my motivation is my Dominant. He is worth me being my best, which may not be the best of anyone my age, yet it is the best I can be. He also encourages me to be my best-not for Him, but for myself. He wants us both to be healthy, strong and most of all, happy. He does not punish me if I have a bad eating day, nor does He push me to do more then I am capable of doing. He does not like to micromanage at all, so He leaves my own personal well being up to me. But if I need Him to help me, He will, with pleasure. I am loved, for who I am.

My body image is not always the best. It’s skewed at times, I still see a large woman in the mirror, and other times I can’t believe what I am looking is me.  I am always striving to be my best and as in most things in life, it’s a journey, not a destination. It’s not easy, I will be the first to admit that. Somethings on my body will never be gorgeous, but that’s  okay. Perfection is long since a fantasy that will never be achieved. I don’t have to be perfect for anyone, just the best I can be.

Thank you daddy for always loving me, regardless of what size I am or I am not. Thank you for your undying encouragement and support. Thank you for wanting me just as I am. And most of all thank you for simply being a caring, loving man; a man I can’t imagine being absent in my life. I strive each day to make you proud. I know that if I falter, it’s not going to make you less proud, but you know you just to have to help me understand my worth more. And I am sure you will do that, as you always have.

I love you for all you are and all you do for me.

My respect and devotion always

I could love you less
than storms or anything easy
that I have ever done,
but you, my hard love,
I love you as the moon
loves the tides, pulling
and pushing for one minute only,
for you to see that this life,
that our life, could be
extraordinary on the hips
of a hurricane or riding
the shoulders of a tropical storm.
You and I could devastate worlds,
the way we love each other,
churning and bursting inside
winds that will never kiss our lips.
You are my disaster,
and I will wait forever for you
to decide to ravage my shores.

I could love you less
than storms or anything easy
that I have ever done,
but you, my hard love,
I love you as the moon
loves the tides, pulling
and pushing for one minute only,
for you to see that this life,
that our life, could be
extraordinary on the hips
of a hurricane or riding
the shoulders of a tropical storm.
You and I could devastate worlds,
the way we love each other,
churning and bursting inside
winds that will never kiss our lips.
You are my disaster,
and I will wait forever for you
to decide to ravage my shores.

Shit I’ve learned over the years.

As anyone who reads my journal could tell you, I am far from the “perfect” sub/little/good girl. I slip and fumble, make mistakes, make the same one again… and again… routinely. But, tirelessly, my Daddy, saint that He is, never gives up on me. And over the course of time I have learned a thing or two. I thought I would share them with you… 🙂

1.”Stop It Motherfucker!” is not a safe word. (Yes, I know it should be)

2. Scraping your teeth won’t get you out of a blow job. (I was just as shocked as you!)

3. “Get it yourself” doesn’t earn you any brownie points. (hey, it was worth a try)

4. “That didn’t hurt”, “I dare You”, “You can’t!” (Do I need to explain those?)

5. “Your aim sucks” will get you target practice. (with YOU as the target.)

6. Encouraging the dog to attack! when Daddy starts whapping you is just generally not a good idea.

7. Purposely skipping numbers during the spanking count “16, Sir”…. “17, Sir”… “22, Sir” only gets you back to number one… (funny as fucking hell when they dont catch it though)

8. Which brings up… try to avoid getting the giggles when He’s lecturing/spanking you.. they HATE that.

9. You really shouldn’t laugh when they trip over the very rope they are trying to tie you up with either.

10. If Daddy says He doesn’t want your finger up His ass while you suck Him… dont try to slip it in anyway.. He *really* doesn’t want it in there! (I know! Go figure!)

11. You really can’t scoot away from the pain of clover clamps. (or alligator clamps! Yowsers!)

12. Proving that you can pick open the cage door when you are tied up is not as impressive as you think it should be. (even when it’s with your toes!)

13. Humming the “Jeopardy” theme, tapping your toes, sighing, or checking your watch while Daddy fiddles with a knot doesn’t please Him so much.

14. Never.. ever.. under any circumstances… bend over at the waist to pick something up off the floor in front of Him. Never. (always crouch girls… bend at the KNEES)

15. Ditto that for walking up the stairs in front of Him. (its a little like dangling a pork chop bone in front of a starving dog)

16. And when He does pinch or slap your ass when you walk by or bend over… dont slap at His hand, give Him a dirty look or mumble “that hurt asshole”… or any variation similar to those. (They can be so touchy!)

17. Trying to claim that you were telling Him He was ‘number one in your eyes’ when you just got caught flipping Him the bird usually doesn’t fly. (get it? bird? fly? hahaha)

18. Don’t keep blowing out the candle. They see no humor in that.

19. When He is down on His knees adjusting your ankle cuffs, don’t mention that He looks mighty fine like that and would make a sexy little bitch boy. (It’s really almost worth the expression on His face though.)

20. When He asks “did that hurt, slut?” after a particularly hard swing do NOT say “DUH..here’s yer sign!”