Clit piercing

As Master is always quick to remind me, there is much to discuss. I’m sorry that there haven’t been many play stories lately. Between work and family drama, I have been stressed to the max. He has been giving me a bit of a break from the pain.

Master is into body modification. I will do anything to please him. I have often played with the idea of a clitoral piercing… Since I was in middle school probably, but for one reason or another, I never did it. It was too sexual, too out there, for the way I was raised. I still thought about it though. I loved the idea of having a symbol of my rather rampant sexuality (though it was very repressed at the time) hidden right beneath my clothes.

I mentioned it off-hand, like, “I used to want to get the tips of my hair dyed pink when I was in high school.” But, the immediate response was, “We will have to do that then.” I met his eyes, and the devious twinkle was there.

I have come to love that twinkle. It is mischievous, dastardly, and sometimes downright evil. It can instantaneously quicken my pulse and cause my pussy to throb. It’s better than any drug.

It was inevitable then. We discussed it a little, here and there. I talked with a few people online about it. Everyone was so supportive and encouraging. The fact that Master wanted it… made the idea all the more intoxicating. We set a date. I knew that the piercing would take about 6 weeks to fully heal.  We decided that the weekend before I went out of the country for three weeks would be a good time. When I got back, it would be mostly, if not completely, healed.

I was a little nervous. I feel that was to be expected.

We went to the piercing studio around noon. I found the prospect of having the piercing much more arousing than frightening. In fact, I started to wonder if the piercer, Jake, might notice. Master came in to the room with me. I removed my clothes from the waist down and climbed up onto the table. At the piercer’s request, I opened my legs wide and let them rest. I was completely exposed. I felt completely at home. Under Master’s watchful eyes, I was measured and fit for a barbell. Master chose a light blue crystal for the top end of the piercing, for just a bit of sparkle.

I was told there would be a slight pinch as Jake adjusted the skin of my clitoral hood. It was nothing compared to the spankings I got from Master. I didn’t think anything of it. When he asked, I began taking deep breaths, in and out. In and…

Jesus! It felt like someone stabbed me in the clitoris.

And then it was over. Another pinch and the jewelry was in. Jake gently cleaned away any blood. I looked over at Master. He looked so proud. When Jake handed me the mirror to check out my new adornment, I was quite pleased. But it meant so much more to me that Master was pleased with me. I would turn myself inside out for him if I could, just for that glimmer of pride in his eye.

Super... painful

I may have neglected to mention that I'm a superhero. Just like Clark Kent, ladies and gentlemen. Mild mannered slave by day (Ha!)... Saving the world under the cover of darkness. Sorry kids, I can't tell you what I do for a living. 

Either way, it feels like forever since I've stopped by to say hello. I have so many things to tell you all!

First of all, I'm officially a collared bitch... I have been for a few weeks, but now I have the distinct pleasure of wearing a beautiful 24/7 collar. (Need one? Find it here!) It's out there, for the world to see, and they miss it. It turns me on to think that my cards are all on the table, but no one has eyes to see. 

Master whispered, "You have my heart, little one." 

"I wear your heart around my neck," I replied. 

I started this journey to find the person that I knew I was. The wonderful thing about coming to accept yourself is that suddenly, you have no one to fear. I know who I am. I have always known, and I finally love myself.

I am beautiful. I don't mean on the outside... that fades. I have come to find that the woman who wears my skin is strong, passionate, hard-headed, loving, compassionate, sexy, driven, kind, gentle, vulnerable... and in that state of being vulnerable, I have found my true strength.

Here's another first: I went to my first community event! It wasn't a big thing, but it was a whole new ball of wax to look people in the face and tell them that I am a slave. And be accepted for it. It's like being the ugly duckling and then finding a flock of swans. Not only that, but it was the debut of my collar. We thought it was fitting. 

Here is the thing about pain: 
Pain has been the single most revolutionary force in my life. Standing, panic stricken, looking down into the abyss changes your soul. Pebbles slip from beneath your toes and clatter downward... but you never hear them hit bottom. 

I would not take back a single tear that I have shed. Loss, heartache, disgust, hopelessness, worthlessness, despair... I have known these and many more. Each of them brought me here, like stepping stones out of the darkness. Out of that pain sprung a new being. My heart has been softened. Pain did not make me cruel. It made me understanding, forgiving... a kinder and gentler soul. 

So, thank you, universe. Thank you for all the pain. 

And on that note, let me tell you about something that hurt. Master and I had our first real fight. (And for those that might ask, I do have a mind of my own.) The topic doesn't really matter. It was nothing but growing pains. Truthfully, neither of us was right. But it fucking hurt... both of us. It was an ugly tangle... my sword to his throat and his to mine: mutually assured destruction. But in that moment, we stopped. We put down our weapons. 

We spoke our minds, hearts exposed... and it worked. Our love grew a little, right there, while we watched. 

When I got home from work in the morning, I crawled into bed with him, uncertain. I felt raw. In the face of his tenderness, my control fell away, and I cried. He soothed until we both began to laugh. He tucked me in and left for work. 

I woke to him walking through the bedroom door. He laid on top of me. His weight and warmth pressing me into the mattress. I don't even remember what I said. Something snarky. It was a mistake.

The next thing I knew was face down in the mattress. He was sitting on my legs. I was surprised when his hand fell, not on my ass, but on the backs of my thighs. It was as if someone had turned up the volume. The searing heat was punctuated with the sound of his hand landing hard on my thighs. I could not handle it. I was not prepared. I tried in vain to still my writhing. I screamed fiendishly into the pillow. I felt the tears riding the crest of an emotional tidal wave. The sobs caught in my throat. Bitter, hot tears ran down my face into the pillow. 

He finally stopped. The tears did not. My emotions were still chafed from the night before. I found myself almost angry, but mostly hurt. He cuddled and held me until I recovered. 

It confirmed something that I already suspected. My high pain tolerance, on which I pride myself so much, is fused with my emotional state. It's not that I feel less pain, not at all. It's that I can endure it. Pain opens all kinds of wounds. 

Dear blogoverse

So much of this is new for me. 

I'm getting to explore things that I had always thought were so wrong. While I feel amazingly comfortable with my kink and sharing with all of you... I feel like I've finally come out of my cocoon as a butterfly, I understand that most people, especially where I come from, would be astonished, offended, and disgusted. 

There is something exhilarating, freeing, and terrifying about spilling your secrets on the internet. I find myself trying to walk a very fine line, trying to share enough about myself to make this blog worth reading, at at the same time, maintain my privacy and safety. 

So far, I think I am doing well enough. However, I'm sure the longer that I write this blog, the harder it will be. When you share your mind like this, people could begin to recognise you. 

This blog was Master's idea. I'm really enjoying it so far, but I'm not exactly sure what is acceptable for me to share here... or, for that matter, what you want to read. 

They say that all you have to do is put pen to paper. That eventually, the ideas will come. 

Here I sit, with my pen to paper. Waiting.

Photo-op

I could continue talking about my family drama, but for now, I think I will give it a rest. I'm trying not to think about it right this minute. It's like chess, and I'm not sure what my next move should be. 

So, let's talk about happy things. 

Friday night marked another first for me. Master and I went out and had drinks with an erotic photographer. It was a pretty nice place. Master and I, both, felt very at ease with the photographer. In case of an opportunity to shoot, I was asked to leave undergarments at home. 

I felt pretty sexy that night. My clothes clung to my frame in all the right places. Without underwear, I felt ever so slightly exposed. Very exciting. 

We found a booth in a dark corner of the bar. Master and I curled up together. The photographer sat opposite us. I was feeling a little nervous, but with Master there, I knew I was totally safe. So, I let go... had a drink... or five. I added to the conversation when I could, but really, Master did most of the talking. I was along for the ride, and I was actually enjoying them talking about me like I wasn't there. 

Master asked me to take off my jacket. Underneath, I wore only a thin cotton tee. As my jacket fell away, I felt the coolness of the room against my breasts. My shirt did not hide my figure. Suddenly, I was an object. The photographer looked at me appreciatively. He and Master continued to talk. 

I don't actually know how long we were there. I would assume that the three of us left sometime after midnight. Master decided that we would go ahead and take a few impromptu photos so that the photographer could get an idea of how comfortable I am with the camera and how Master and I work together. 

It wasn't a glamorous setup. But it was still a good time. We drove to a nearby parking lot. Master put his rear seats down, and I climbed into the back. 

It was all just sexy fun. The clothes came off, and I put on a show. I stretched and touched myself. I writhed in pleasure, legs open wide. Master slid his fingers into my pussy. I moaned in pleasure. He spanked my clit. I was asked to roll over; face down, ass up. The play continued. Master spanked me hard. I believe the photographer spanked me too, but nothing without Master's permission. They moved from my behind to the inside of my thighs. I screamed in pain and pleasure. When they had finished, I was exhausted... and satisfied. 

The photographer got out of the car. I climbed into the front seat and Master unzipped his pants. I took his cock into my mouth and began sucking greedily. It had only been a minute or two when there was a knock at the window. Our photographer was back. He asked if he could watch the blow job. I only had one focus. It didn't matter to me. Master agreed. 

There was something delicious about being watched while I pleased Master. So, I sucked until Master came, and the photographer finished quietly standing beside the car. I felt like a pageant queen.

We said our goodbyes and took our leave. We are all looking forward to the formal shoot. 

Defying former Masters

I have been a submissive my entire life. 

I am the introverted child of two introverts. My parents did not have friends really while I was growing up, not until I went to college.

I never fit in with my classmates. From the very start, I was different. I don't know how much of that is nature and how much is nurture, but different nevertheless. 

Because of this, I had a very limited number of friends growing up. My parents were my entire world and I, theirs. I was always very eager to please. I would do whatever I could to get attention, praise, affection from my parents. And, truly, it was plentiful. 

Up until I was about eight years old, my existence was pretty awesome. 

Then, my dad, (I had been daddy's little girl) withdrew. Something had changed. 

I have been turning this over and over in my mind for years. The only solution that I can find is that I started to turn into a girl. Prior to that... I was kind of unisex. I could go out and go to airshows with my dad, go hiking, shoot model rockets. 

Whatever the actual cause, it happened. 

My parents were very protective of me growing up. They were in charge of pretty much every aspect of my life, and their opinions governed the occurences of my life. They were also acutely religious... they things that they didn't control, someone in the Church had made an edict to cover. Thou shalt not... whatever. Pick your nose in church. Be sexually attracted to anyone. (unless you are married, of course)The list could go on forever. 

Until I moved out of my home town, this continued to be the case. I was married... but it didn't matter much. My parents' opinion still continued to play a major role in the actions that I took in my life. This really wasn't a problem until I began to have my own ideas. Heaven forbid. 

All things change. I moved away, outside of their sphere of influence. My horizons expanded. 

When I got my divorce, it was as though my parents expected me to just come right back under their wing. After the tyranny of my ex, I wanted nothing to do with their control. I was burned out on religion, the Church, the South. I was emotionally at my limits and all it felt that they wanted to do was "bring me back into the fold." Come home, marry the preacher's son, have four beautiful blue-eyed children... blah blah blah. 

Well, it's been three years now. I feel like I have been continually turning their hair grey since that time. I have done outrageous things like: have more than one sexual partner, try marijuana, read Henry Miller. I'm so scandalous. 

And yet, defying their wishes is still one of the hardest things that I do. I was talking to Master a couple of days ago, when I had an interesting thought on this. My parents were my first Masters. They controlled my thoughts and actions for 24 years. No wonder this is difficult for me. 

But, I have the support of friends, Master, my therapist. 

I will continue to put one foot in front of the other, and take one day at a time. Someday, I will look back on these few years and be glad that I made my own path. Today, I'm simply exhausted. 

In contrast

Without contrast, we would not be able to see, to tell one object from another. 

So, here is the counterweight to my previous post. 

My plane landed in Washington and I still felt like the horror was creeping up behind me. Master picked me up from my cousin's house to drive me home. I was raw. 

I cuddled against his arm most of the way home. 

He held me tight against him. He told me he loved me. He told me I was beautiful, special, obedient. He held me firm, steady. I didn't cry. The tears wanted to fall, but they couldn't. I was furious. I was hurt. I was completely taken aback by the lack of understanding that I had experienced from my family. 

He continued to hold me. We moved into my bed, and I wrapped myself around him like wisteria climbing a tree. 

As we laid there, intertwined, I felt the tension slowly begin to loosen its grasp. The tingling up my back lessened. My shoulders relaxed. He kissed me tenderly, showered me with love and affection. 

He slid his hands over my pussy and I felt the warmth spreading through my body. 

I lifted my body so that he could remove my leggings. As I did so, my shirt slid up and revealed letters, written across my chest in Sharpie. 

"MASTER'S WHORE," it read. Just as he had ordered. 

I was slick with my own juices, and his fingers slid inside me. He cradled my body with one arm, and fingered my pussy with the other. It felt as though I was being held inside and out in the warmth of his embrace. His fingers picked up the pace. I felt the rush of endorphins flowing through my body. He didn't command me to cum. He asked. 

I came twice? Three times? Hardly matters. I felt whole and secure cradled in Master's arms. 

But I still didn't cry. The emotions were still closed up tight inside me. 

Without warning, Master struck me hard across the side of my face. Again. Again. Harder each time. My eyes began to tear. The final blow made my ear ring. Shocked, I looked into his eyes and was met with softness. Tears fell freely. I sobbed. I clung to him and relinquished my control as wave after wave of sorrow and rejection came over me. When the flood began to recede, he explained. "I could tell you were still holding back, little one. You are always safe with me. You will tell me all that hurts you. You may feel freely here, with me. Let it all go." 

Master asked me to write a post about people who make me feel wonderful and beautiful.

I have other beautiful friends, each of them knowing a different facet of my personality. In their respective realms, they nourish and protect me. Naomi, Jeana, Melanie, Megan, Becky I love them all so dearly and so differently. I don't know where I would be today without them. 

But He most certainly tops the list. He is kind and loving. He provides me with structure and security when I am distressed. He knows how to break me when I am not being true to myself. I have always felt like loving people was my calling in life, but Master makes it so effortless. 

My submission to him comes so easily and so joyfully. I have no difficulty trusting that whatever he does with me will turn out alright. No matter how painful, cruel, harsh or degrading, I know that Master loves me and cherishes me, that he values my love and my submission. When I am in submission to him, my will laid at his feet, I feel serene and breathtakingly beautiful. I feel alive. Sheltered. Protected. Whole. 

There is nothing else for which a sub could ask. 

Hiroshima

This weekend ended like the Japanese war effort in WWII. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Face-melting explosion. Son of a bitch. Fuck. Radiation. Goddamnit. Nuclear fallout. Shit. Mother fucker. Dust cloud.  

 

Silence. 

But first, a little background. My parents are extremely conservative southern Christians, bless their hearts. They are the sweetest, most intelligent bigots I know. 

I moved to Washington about 6 months ago. I had finished graduate school and gotten an amazing job offer. (I had always planned on moving to the PNW anyway.) They fought me tooth and nail. Now, you might think that I'm probably old enough to make my own decisions, and I am, but my parents were very strict and controlling when I was growing up and to this day I still have trouble doing things of which they do not approve. But I knew what I needed. With my friends and my therapist backing me, I made the move regardless. 

Try as I might, I could not get them to see my point of view.

I am a libertarian, agnostic, bisexual submissive who grew up in a small town in Texas. My parents, up until this point, didn't really know these things about me. In a fit of extreme frustration, I told my mother that I was bisexual and that I was into BDSM. The awkward was certainly palpable. It didn't work. But, fast forward to the present. 

Master and I have been together for about a month. It's been completely amazing so far. I've been trying to share vanilla details about our relationship with my parents. Everything seemed to be going ok... 

On Sunday morning, I walked in to say good morning to my dad and was met with a very strange comment. "I am praying that you don't get AIDS." ...WHAT? What the fuck is going on here? The conversation that followed was a halting assurance to my father that I was being tested regularly and taking care of my health. I suppose most families have had conversations like that at some point... but let me add that my parents feel that sex outside of marriage is 100% not ok... let alone kinky sex. 

...Praying that I don't get AIDS. Wow Dad. Thanks. 

I let it go. I figured he wasn't feeling well, or was in a lot of pain (from a chronic injury). I did mention it to my mother the next day. Her comment was, "I don't think he meant it like that. Try to take it the best way possible." Very helpful. 

But, the status quo seemed maintained. 

And then I made a gross miscalculation. The morning I got ready to leave, I put on my collar. My mother was pretty restrained and quiet for most of the drive. Then, the last half hour, she finally said what she wanted to say. 

I know what a collar is. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Do you think I'm an idiot? These decisions that you are making will not lead to your happiness. You have bought into a lie. You said you wanted to get married and have children. This life doesn't make that possible. Your dad and I are so worried about you. Cue the waterworks. You have to forgive yourself for your past. I'm sure this is why you are doing this. God loves you. You are a princess. Jesus has already forgiven your sins. We have a pretty good idea that you met [insert Master's name here] on some S&M website. He doesn't love you. This isn't love. It endorses a culture of violence. Here's the good part. You must have watched a lot of porn. God loves you, honey. You need JESUS!

I was silent. There was no point. She was hysterical. Her heart was breaking over the fate of my soul, and all I could do was watch. It was one of the most miserable moments of my life. And this is completely aside from the fact that I was incensed, furious. I felt slandered, protective of my life and Master. As I walked away from the car with my bags, I did not look back. I don't intend to for quite a while.