This isn’t a blog post…is it?

Hi ya’ll.

I know, I shouldn’t really say that…I’m not really entitled to it, being a damned Yankee…but I do love the way “ya’ll” just drawls off the lip… 🙂

Anyway, this isn’t my “real” blogpost. I’m required my Master to post a HNT (half-nekkid Thursday) pic each week…except…This one needs Master’s permission to post first…or to be rewritten to His specifications…so that I don’t …well…there is just personal stuff that He doesn’t always want me to divulge, of course, and I’m more than willing to air just about anything here, as you know! Wowza. I should win an award for that prior sentence…that was a powerful run-on I had going there! (I’ll bet Donna is rolling her eyeballs in horror over it…oh goodie! *laughs*)

Soooo…all that said, as soon as He gives the go, I’ll publish the REAL HNT.

I could tell you about the orgasm I had Tuesday night…there was much fantasy fodder in my head after Sunday.

Oh, I didn’t finish telling you about that did I?


So…in a nutshell?

Dom # 2 was a ‘no show’, which ticked Master off. It also ticked off the Pussy Date, as He was to be her playmate. She didn’t want to be my pussy date, told Master she wasn’t “ready” for that kind of play, which was fine by me. I would have been ready…I’ll do most anything He tells me to (again, within reason people. I’m not an automaton. I’m not going to let him tell me to kill my kids, or anything stupid like that. *eyeroll* I’m submissive but with a brain. I hate when people say “but what if He says to cut off your finger”…like…what? I guess that comes down to trusting Him implicitly, that He won’t ask me to cut off my finger. Or offer Him my firstborn for sale. Or something totally reprehensible like that.)


Anyway. I would have had a Pussy Date. Because it’s sexual. (cutting off your finger for your Dom is not sexual, people. It’s fucking stoopid.) Because it’s exciting. Because I’m bisexual. Because He wanted it.

But she balked, and He allowed it. He is not her Dom. Or not exactly. He’s her friend, the Dom. This too is fine with me. I hope He was able to calm her down afterwards, talking to her on the phone. She left feeling pissed. I don’t blame her, really. To have a Dom not show is a blow to ones esteem, isn’t it? And maybe something legitimately came up in the guys vanilla life…but yanno? I was raised to be mannerly, and since He’d texted Master before, you’da thunk he’d have done so. And this is kinda disrespectful of me to say,  and I may get whacked on the ass for it, but geesus. Dom’s don’t have the right to be that fucking rude to a submissive. I mean, not on their first outing. The rules change if it is a “pairing” (whether for proscribed play time or long term like Master and I. It’s OKAY for Him to be rude to me. *I kinda like it* But not in this situation) He hurt her feelings and…… I’m sorry. That’s unacceptable. (Master will never invite him to play again, so his loss, but really. What a jerk.)

Whoa. Didn’t know I had that little rant in me. That’s two rants in one blogpost. Heh. A daily double, as it were.

Well, trust me, my next blogpost will be much happier. I’m in a really, really good headspace. I love my Master. He “fed” me good last weekend, and I’m still glowing. He’s willing to do things that aren’t His exact kink, to help me explore mine, and that is fucking awesome.

A good power dynamic is just like that…there is never a “balance of equality” between us, but He will do things to help me grow and experience this wonderful, perverse and weird thing we do.

That’s a pretty powerful gift, isn’t it?

Hey..guess what…this became a blogpost after all!

Fucking Hairbrush!

The worst “toy” in His arsenal by far is the pink hairbrush.

I was lucky enough to get some insight into exactly how much He loves this weapon of ass destruction while Sir P was visiting with us. I’d been sucking cock, and been fucked, round one, when Sir put me on the Wall where I’d been (blindfolded) when he had come into the room with Master.

I was startled, and happy, when Master came up behind me and ran His hand from my shoulder to my flank, a kind of petting that I found reassuring. I hadn’t been all that certain that He was still in the room with us! I remember pushing my ass back into His caress..and His responding slap.

Reassuring, certainly.

I can’t speak to His purpose in the smack. To me it was a way for Him to let me know that He was, indeed, still present. But in truth? He was teaching Sir P.

He hit me again, harder, then moved away. I hear Him rummaging through His toybag, then *smack*…FSCT appears.  It stings, but my ass has been “conditioned” a bit by His earlier smacking, and it’s a pleasurable pain. A quick sting, then the burn of “mmmmmmm”….and then that stops. He turns and speaks to Sir P, telling him that I enjoy being smacked, and that I bruise extremely easily. He calls him over and shows him the bruises from last Saturday’s play, now 8 days old and still deeply purple, on my upper left side by my breast.

There is more talk, soft, and I can’t hear…in truth? I don’t care. It isn’t my business…in this I am His tool. Tools don’t speak unless asked to.

And then He disappears. His voice comes, doppler-like, from the bathroom and I know what it is He has come out with …the fucking pink hairbrush.

“This is my alltime favorite toy,” I hear Him say to Sir P. “It was so sweet. So innocent. She hates it, and that gives Me great joy.”

Ah….it adds to His joy that I hate this particular implement. And then He explains that I’d brought it to a meet more than a year ago, showing Him in my naivety that I’d found a solution to the tangled mat that my hair had become…but what glowed in bright and brilliant light as a perfect Dom toy…and knowing that I’d brought it in such innocence, knowing that I hated it, all added to the thrill He got from it.

It was enlightening.

And then He hit me with it. And I muttered a fast “thank you Master” through gritted teeth.

And He laughs. Just roars.

“Aaah,” He says, to Sir P…”that was for your benefit, P. nilla, tell him what you really say when I use this on you…”

And He smacks me again. I try to climb the fucking wall to get away from it…which makes Him chuckle.


“That’s the spirit!” He says. “And what else?”


And of course He hits me again, laughing. (Why does He enjoy that? Being called a fucking bastard? I dunno.)

Later, after Sir P has cum on my face, showered, and departed, I’m back on the Wall. In my mind, what happens next is …an affirmation. That I am still His property.

He bites.

He takes big mouthfulls of my skin…shoulders, ass, arms, and bites me savagely. It hurts, hurts enough to draw gasps and tears. The last bite on my right shoulder was more wicked than all the others. And I sob a little, drawing a “What?” from Him, with a wicked edge of the Sadist in His voice.

“It *sob/gasp* hu-*sniff* hurts, Master.”

“Ohh, okay then.”

And He takes up the fucking hairbrush and *beats* the spot where His mouth has ravaged me.

I hate that fucking thing! But I do very much love the after-effects…  🙂