A Jaded Optimist

I like to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  I try very hard not to let negative thoughts or energy take up much of my time or space.  Life is too short to let some asshole cutting you off in traffic ruin your morning.  But at the same time, I've worked in a field where I see the lower 15% of society on a regular basis.  Oh, and I work with lawyers.  That alone could make me question the nefarious intent of everyone outside my tiny inner circle.

Sir and I had had a conversation a while back.  We were discussing how everyone is out for something.  There is something motivating every action (or inaction) people take.  And Sir is much more jaded than I am. At the time, way back when, I think I thought to myself I will prove myself to Sir.  I will show him I'm not a user kind of person, only doing things to achieve my wants and needs.  I am not, by any means, a selfless person.  I'm certainly less selfish than I was in my 20's, but that's also because I'm much more self-aware.  I like to think now that I know better, I do better.  And having a family makes me have to think of their needs as well as mine (whereas in my 20s, it was mostly about where can I go drink and hook up and other really worthy pursuits.)

So after spending a few months chatting with Sir.  That conversation came into my head.  And I began wondering what he thought my angle is, you know, what I was trying to get from him.  I was thinking more in terms of "see?  there are good, genuine people left in the world (me) who really are who they say they are and really do what they say they're going to do." 

So I asked him the question, Now that you know me, what do you think I want from you, Sir?  His response floored me.  Seriously fucking dropped my jaw.  And lends more credence to the Sir has ESP file.  He said "guidance, acceptance, approval, a caring but disciplined hand."  I could never have put it so eloquently precise.  Oh, that and seriously fucking dirty fantasies (and hope for more than just fantasy at some point).  Of course. 

Panty Ban

Sir is always catching me off guard.  He's really good at it, too.  It's such a rush, that lose your breath for a second feeling.  I found myself over this past weekend practically run from a roomful of people so I could go pant and moan for a moment and then try to recompose myself. (let me just say, this picture that he sent...hits my sub button so hard every single time I look at it, I either sigh or moan.  He can say so fucking much with a look, it's not even funny.)

So after attempting to recover (I can't speak let alone have the hand-eye coordination to text more than "ohmyfuckinggod" or something equally as eloquent) I told Sir I think my panties burst into flames.  To which he tells me to lose them.  And then institutes a new rule, no panties unless I'm at work or it having been previously approved by him.  Just like that.  Wow. 

It's been a couple of days and I'm still sort of shocked about it.  Don't get me wrong, I love it.  I just didn't expect it.  And it's a bit to get used to.  I find myself thinking about my pussy all day, I'm conscious of it.  Not in a butt plug in my ass, I can't concentrate and all I can think is XXX-rated thoughts type of state of mind.  More like when you first get a haircut and it's substantially shorter.  Your neck feels naked.  It's like that sort of a feeling, just an undercurrent of being aware of it.

I will say this, though.  I have lots of little sundresses and skirts.  I probably wear them as often as I wear shorts.  But I haven't been brave enough to yet.  And it has been chilly.  I have the feeling I'm going panty-less in a skirt soon and I am equally excited (which freaks me out, because I'm not exactly the Sahara when I'm excited) and scared. I'm worried I'm going to bend over to pick something up and flash my ass/pussy in public.  Realistically, I don't flash my panties, so this shouldn't happen.  But the irrational concern is still there.

ohmygod please Sir may I cum?!

The title of this blog is what I will be uttering approximately two minutes after I hit publish on this blog.  Yes, I am all by myself.  And yes, I always beg for permission, even when I'm alone.  (I don't beg to cum when I'm with t, only when I'm fantasizing about Sir.  And it's not a conscious thing.  I don't think, oh, now I should beg to cum.  It just happens.  I'm playing, thinking of him, about to cum, and I start begging.  I hear myself outloud begging and it's so hot.  I don't do it on purpose and yet it makes me cum fairly quickly after the begging)  So I shall keep this short.  Because that toy in my cunt isn't going away.  And after a bit, the clamps on my nipples are going to seriously hurt. (especially if I spend a long time blah blah-ing on here) But I promised Sir I would write, and it pleased him.  So write I shall.

This past weekend TWICE I found myself locked in an upstairs bathroom finger fucking myself and cumming.  I *never* do that at my in-laws.  And yet, that is the third time I have done it for Sir. And it is so delicious, so forbidden, so incredibly wrong (fingering myself at my husband's parents' house whilst thinking about another man).  And yet, it makes me feel so centered, so happy, so joyful.  How is that a bad thing?  And each time after, I've told t of my adventures and he's always so impressed.  He's happy to see me slutty and happy and fulfilled.

I have a really fucking hot recurring fantasy going.  I must share.  And then I must go cum (about 14 times).  I cannot stop thinking about sucking Sir's cock.  I think about it more often than I think about anything else naughty lately.  But in this particular fantasy, I'm bound, immobilized.  And he is teasing me with his cock.  I open my mouth, stretch out with my tonge, try so hard to lick and suck his cock.  And he keeps it just out of reach.  He pushes it in my mouth and then back away again, teasing.  I feel the wetness of my mouth and the wetness of the tip of his cock mix and then part again.  I'm panting.  Begging.  His cock goes into my mouth, just the tip and then away again.  This teasing, this torturous play continues as long as I can keep from cumming.  (which, realistically, when I'm playing alone is not very long at all)

Because I yearn for it so strongly.  All I can picture is my wet, hot, drooling mouth.  Begging wordlessly. I need you to fuck my mouth.  I need so badly to get to kiss and lick and suck your cock properly.  I need to gag and choke a little as I work my mouth up and down the length of your cock.  I love that out of breath feeling, that out of control feeling of becoming a wet, hot, tight hole for Sir to fill.  Please fill me.  Please cum down my throat.  I promise.  I won't spill a drop.

I sent Sir this picture today as proof of the effect he has on me. (And proof I'm in a bathroom cumming all over my hand for him)

Finding my dimmer switch

I find that I'm either slutwhoredirtygirl or I'm vanilla getshitdone and check things off the to-do list girl.  I try so hard to not completely shut down one to be the other.  Finding that balance is so key.  Going too far in either direction is no good.  I have recently found myself vacillating back and forth in each direction.  Thankfully not swinging out too far from center.  That's the goal, right?  To be centered.

On this day before Thanksgiving, I'm going to be totally corny and say thanks.  I'm so grateful for the life I lead, the people in my life and the lessons I've learned.  I'm going to paraphrase and quote someone (I'm pretty sure this person wouldn't want to be quoted in a sex blog, so I will refrain from giving credit)  But the most recent quote I've recorded in my quote book that I keep is:  Instead of always looking at how far you have to go, sometimes you need to look back and be thankful for how far you've already come.

Hey, wanna see my boobs?

No one is reading this because directly beneath these words of blah blah blah are boobs.  I can say whatever I want up here.  It's like a freebie.  And really, I like people looking at my boobs.  I won't get all crazy and say I dig my body, but I will say this.  It's only getting better.  I can see a little...almost foreshadowing of the body I'm sculpting this body into.  And I dig it. 

Making Sir proud by doing more cardio a week than I ever thought possible is more satisfying than these simple words can convey.  But hearing it, having him say good job or (god, still makes me so wet) good girl is so yummy.  And sadly, I'm going to equate it to sugar, because I'm a junkie.  But having him say I make him proud and the like, it's the same kinda mmmmm feeling, like when you're having a super bad sweets craving and you take a bite of a fresh baked brownie, warm from the oven, accompanied by an ice cold glass of milk. 

I actually am so grateful to have met Sir.  I'm seeing changes in me (more than just physical) that are really nice.  I think t's seeing them, too.  t can always see right through me and knows when I'm truly happy.  Or when I'm mostly happy, just kinda neurotic about something.  And nine times out of ten, he either gets me to talk about it or gets me to at least address it with Sir so I don't just zone out and pretend like nothing ever bothers me, when it's obvious I'm in my monkey brain about something.  Plus, I'm pretty sure Sir has ESP.  This is unconfirmed, but I've begun collecting evidence to prove my hypothesis.

Haha, why am I still writing?  Now people might have to scroll to see boobs.
Sorry.  My bad.

Cumtastic

I am so lucky Sir lets me cum a lot. I really am. Because I need it. It's like air, water, sustenance, shelter, orgasms. Yes, I know. This sounds terribly melodramatic. But I'm a different person when I don't cum regularly. And I don't like that short-tempered, frigid bitch. The worst part is, once i get all caught up in monkey brain bullshit, it takes a while to shut it down.

But equally, when I'm thriving, I feel like I laugh more. I have more patience. More lust for life in general. And stuff that would make me neurotic or over think things just sort of rolls off my back. Don't get me wrong, cumming isn't some miracle drug that makes my days a stress-free parade of love and friendship. But there is definitely a huge shift in perception of said stress and bullshit when I'm sated (yes, Sir, it's true. I have small flashes of conscious moments, just after I've cum 57 times that I'm sated for a little while)

When my play is dictated by Sir, it's so fucking hot. I can't say how amazing it is to do things to my body *for* him, because he said so without sounding redundant. I'm pretty sure I just wrote that blog. So I won't blather on about that again. 

But when he just says I can play and doesn't dictate, that's where things can go in different directions. Sometimes it's not great, I will say that. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own head, it's almost like fucking myself is just another cardio exercise (for which I rather unfairly get no credit. Isn't cardio about raising one's heart rate and breathing?) and other times it's like it was last night. I fucked myself long and hard. I fucked my pussy, then my ass. Then my pussy again. I used my hitachi on my clit and fucked my ass even more.  I came more last night than I did in some months last year.

And today, I felt so yummy. Add to that I finally got to hear Sir's voice. (And it was sexier than i could've hoped!) And I've been pretty much giddy for a few days now. I know this, too, shall pass. So I'm just riding the wave of content and happy as long as I can until it crashes on the shore.

Taking Dictation

"I want you to use a ball gag. Do you have cuffs? (Yes, of course) if you do, use them. I want you to use the medium butt plug. Use your wand. Only clit/ass orgasms allowed. No vaginal. Also, the best nipple clamps you have. Understand?"

Fucking hell. Just typing that out has me panting like a bitch in heat. (A pretty accurate assessment, actually.) There's so many parts of this that affect me. The fact that he tells me precisely what to do to my body. Love that. The curious way he only wants certain orgasms. Oh, and I seriously adore the way he always ends his instructions, whether it's my daily cardio assignment or how to cum for him, with questions like "Got it?" or "Understand?" Sometimes he truly makes himself crystal fucking clear and it melts me to the core.

Don't get me wrong, serving Sir has been a major adjustment. He doesn't have lots of rules and restrictions I have to live by. Yet, at the same time, he has dictated my new (6 days a week of STRICT, one day of free-for-all) diet and my new workout regimen. I honestly used to joke that I needed a personal trainer for a Dom because I'm very much lacking when it comes to self-control and stick-with-it-ness of being fit. I really never actually thought I was submissive enough to be able to follow through. And yet, minus a few hiccups (i.e. cheating on my diet) I have maintained my new healthy lifestyle for ….I'm not actually sure of the time frame. But I do know I've lost 12 pounds so far!

Yes, I know, I should just be doing this for me. For my family. To be healthier, live a longer life, (have a hotter body) yadda yadda yadda. And of course, those are all worthy reasons. But it's never been enough to push me to it like Sir has. I crave pleasing him so greatly that I've even done extra cardio, just because he said he would be impressed. (and I will doing more than my allotted four hours this week, as well. Yes, I said more than FOUR HOURS of cardio. Even I'm flabbergasted that I am capable of accomplishing this.)

And I earn rewards. Last time I asked for my specific reward (a picture of one of his many tattoos. Yum!) This time he said he will decide what my reward is if I reach my goal. And the amazing thing is, that dictated list at the start of this email isn't even my reward! (I'm not getting myself all worked up, though. This next goal is only a pound this week so I can't expect some huge reward) But I'm such a little kid, I love working towards winning a goodie. I love having something fun to look forward to.

And he gave me my first actual task that assisted him this week. I have in the past done things at his direction, but they didn't directly benefit Sir. So although, I had the satisfaction of doing as he's asked, I still felt selfish because my tasks were mostly self-serving. This week he actually let me do something for him, something he needed done. And I worked really hard at it and felt like I did a pretty good job. The feeling of a job well done, something Sir needed done that I could do for him was almost as satisfying as an eyeball rolling in the back of my head orgasm. I know this sounds a bit far-fetched, especially since we all know what a total orgasm junkie I am. But it's true. I was floating off the ground for a while. Even T said “that must have been so satisfying” because he totally gets it. That contentment of serving, assisting, being a valuable asset in Sir's life.

And now I've begun my orchestrated play for Sir. I am typing this with my medium buttplug in, gag in my mouth and nipple clamps torturing my nipples. And my discomfort actually brings me so much comfort. Having been spooked and having to go underground has made me less atune, less able to tap into the fucking whore who's inside me. Who needs her mouth and ass savagely fucked. Who needs her nipples clamped and cropped and bit until they're sore for days. The kind of slutty girl who will cum exactly as Sir has stated, even if it leaves my dripping pussy aching for an orgasm even after my play. (usually a clit orgasm, even combined with an ass orgasm makes me need to be fucked in my pussy 100 times more than I did before I came.) But tonight, that needing to be fucked craving feeling in my pussy is going to give me satisfaction. Because maybe Sir wants my pussy to ache for him. And tonight, it will.

Word Nerd

For a wordy girl like myself, sometimes his sparseness of words makes me only crave more. I want to ask more questions, get details, try to know him better through his thoughts and ideas.  I get so frustrated at my ability sometimes, more accurately my lack of ability.

He always says he's an open book, I can ask whatever I want. But those are usually the times that the proper questions evade me. And my desire to know him cannot possibly be sated with simple questions.

But sometimes his one word responses are like fingers slamming into my pussy. "Go." "Now." "Ask." (the last in response to me struggling to figure out what i want to say to him, discarding all the possibilities as asinine and then trying to back out of the question, always unsuccessfully). 

He says things to me in a way that express beyond the simple word. It makes me instantly want to strip off all my clothes, kneel on the floor in front of him, and beg him to use me. He can express more dominance in a single word than someone dressed head to toe in leather, with a toy bag stuffed full of BDSM goodies could ever hope to convey.

       

Anal Adventures

Getting my ass fucked is one of my favorite things. It's right up there with getting my mouth fucked and getting my pussy fucked. But all joking aside, anal sex is something altogether different. It's like how mixed drinks make me drunk, tequila makes me take my shirt off and dance atop a bar. Two totally distinct kinds of drunk. Anal is definitely the tequila drunk of sex for me.

First of all, it's so gross. I mean, really. My logical mind says everything about putting something into my ass is a bad idea. And my very first experience was so horrifying and bad, I didn't let another guy put his cock there for quite a few years. My first time was the classic idiot guy, fucking me doggie style, my pussy is soaking wet. No lube, shoves his cock into my ass. All I remember is awful, gut-ripping pain, almost throwing up (literally, dry heaving and having to recompose myself before shoving the guy away from me, and immediately stopping any further sexual contact with said idiot.)

I don't even think I put my own finger or a toy there for quite a while. And I can't even remember what got me back to thinking it was kinda nice having something in there, whether it was a finger or my first butt plug.

And then came anal dude. Anal dude tried to portray himself as a Dom (which is how I met him, through a local munch). But really once I started seeing him, I realized he was just a kinky guy, and actually so....poetic/romantic/sappy that it's hard to remember ever thinking he was a Dom. Oh, but he loved butt sex. And he was really really good at it. With him, I got past that panic, that I'm going to throw up, please stop feeling. A lot of it was mental, I knew because I liked putting toys in my ass. It was the total loss of control, the vulnerability. And he gave me my first with another person in the room anal orgasm. He made me want to be fucked in my ass just as much (if not, on occasion more) than either of my other two greedy needing to be fucked holes.

It's so....carnal. So intimate. So dirty. And so fucking good. I make noises when my ass is getting fucked that even I think sound like a wild animal. I feel literally like a bitch in heat. There's a place where I go during exceptional anal sex that's almost akin to sub space. It's like slut space. That place where nothing is off limits. No kink or perversion seems perverse. Where being fucked, cumming are the only things that matter. No actual concrete thought process is possible. I go to the most primal place imaginable.

And the sad thing is, actual cock in my ass has only happened once in the last almost 15 years. T just isn't into it. We did it that once and he's said he doesn't really have the desire to again. I respect that. It's actually something I'm horrified and deeply embarrassed to even say that I want. So if he doesn't want to go there, I'm certainly not going to ask. Plus I fuck my ass so incredibly well, it's easy to keep myself satisfied in that way. The funny thing is, Mr. G used to have me fuck my ass for him on camera and over the phone and even he only ever put a finger in my ass.

And finding good anal toys is harder than buying a bathing suit online. I first off need to determine what material it should be made of. My favorite toy to date is my glass one. But that's obviously only good for fucking my ass. That's not at all something I can put in and then go fold a basket of laundry.  And the two I've recently bought are made of weird material, more rubbery than the smooth silicone and with ridges that are not at all nice.

So I'm going to do what I always do when I don't know something. I'm going to research it. I know there's got to be sex blogs that aren't just pimping free products they've been sent. Plus I need to figure out for what purpose I need this toy (fucking versus just filling and keeping), then narrow down the make and model of my new fun adventure.