True Wit

Just saw this at a BP gas station.

Freaky Friday

I find myself stuck in a rut of merely posting almost naked unoriginal self portraits each week for Sinful Sunday hosted by Molly's Daily Kiss. Week after week, I look at these amazing artistic photographs posted by all the other participants and feel almost like a cop-out at the images I've posted.

So I'm having a week that feels as though I've spent a few days in Azkabar. I'm pretty sure a good portion of my life force, and almost all the joy and hope have been drained from me. Thankfully I'm a resilient person and will recover from such soul-hemorraging fairly expeditiously. But instead of putting my wanna-be artsy fartsy photo among the talented this week, I'm just posting a freaky Friday photo.

Have a great weekend, all. Don't worry, I'm no Sylvia Plath. There's no gas oven in my future. I just had a shitty few days, feel pretty much like I'm failing at everything I'm working so hard to achieve. And wanted to show off my tits. So there.

Sinful Sunday

I am thankful every day for many things.  Today I am thankful that although I am 40 years old and I have stupidly large boobs, they do not point straight down to my knees.  Fuck you gravity!!

Please click this link to see who else is having some kind of naked fun this Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly's Daily Kiss.

So Thankful to be Awaiting Punishment

I'm sure the title of this post is confusing. Especially if you've ever read my blog before and know that disappointing Sir and necessitating punishment is so deplorable to me, it just about makes me nauseous. And the waiting sucks. My imagination races, what will the consequences be?

The reason I am so grateful he's punishing me is because he cares enough to punish me. I fucked up. Big time. The reason the fuck-up is so bad is because it took me almost a week to confess to said mistake (cheating on my assigned eating plan). Let me say this now. I know omitting is the same as lying. And I fucking hate lying. Most people that have known me well would probably say I am fairly brutally honest. But Sir makes Honest Abe look a little shady. He is like the mayor of the city of Truthdom. I know dishonesty equals release.

i had been feeling very disconnected from Sir. And I got very in my head. (This is early last week, I reread my Snippets post and it's funny because I allude to my struggles) I self-harm. No, I don't cut myself (I get super woozy at the sight of blood). I eat. I know what I'm not allowed to eat. And I know eating said things will go against everything Sir and I are working so hard towards (my goals aren't so much a specific size or number more of a general range and a higher fitness level).

And then I finally got brave and wrote to Sir what was getting me so in my head. And he addressed it. Very straightforward. Very reassuringly. And then I felt like even more of a fuck-up. Because I felt more his and more on the track I want to be as far as learning and growing as his submissive. And here, I was lying to him about why I didn't lose a single pound last week. And it was eating at me. (Pun not intended, but kinda funny nonetheless)

I watched most of the Lance Armstrong interview on Oprah. And what struck me more than the cheating was the vehement lying. And even though I didn't hold a press conference and say "I never cheated on Sir's eating plan" I felt just as disgraceful. So it took me awhile to get up the courage to confess. But I knew I had to.

So I cried like a baby and wrote a confessional email. I was so beyond thankful that Sir addressed me immediately. Yes, he is unhappy (fuck! I hate that). But he said "I don't give up that easily" so I knew my release was not imminent. (BIG sigh of relief) then he said "you can't play today. Don't even think about touching my cunt." And that my punishment will come later.

In that one sentence, I might've felt more his than I ever have, I will face my punishment humbly and thankfully. Because I still get to be his.

A Snippet

First off, I just had a deeply satisfying play, so I'm still slightly cum drunk. I used three different toys in my ass (not at the same time, I'm not a side-show whore!) and had snippets of thoughts of pure lust and submission and fulfillment. Not whole scenarios, nothing particularly specific at all. Just fucking what needed to be fucked, hurting other places properly and just feeling really, really good.

I'm in a different place than I've ever been. Being a good girl means taking the best care of myself I ever have as an adult (minus when I was growing a human being, I took that very seriously). My submission is so huge (pretty much a giant lifestyle change) and yet so subtle. I struggle still not just with patience but variations of sexual and yearning type frustrations.

I know it is when I'm in my head, trying to sabotage myself (overthink) and really find myself feeling drone-like, functioning yet out of touch with myself and in a kind of frayed state of mind is when I can't write at all. My orgasms either don't happen or suck (like a little hiccup of one that's similar to dozing for a nap and being startled awake only a few minutes later. You only wish you hadn't bothered in the first place.)

I'm learning. I'm working on retraining myself to be a good girl for Sir. To find my submission in not only eating my assigned meals and doing my regimen of cardio, but trying to relate that to my serving him. It's very foreign to me. I'm working on it. Because I do feel like my life is heading in an amazing direction. And Sir's influence and presence in my life has been such a positive force.

And just because I'm a tired slut who just had like five orgasms, I'm gonna cut this short. I wanted to describe the amazing filthy things I thought about as I fucked my ass and pussy. But now I just want to go snuggle in bed and feel glow-y and content.

Sinful Sunday

A romantic moon on date night.

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Songs that Make Me Wanna Fuck

The best way to enjoy this post is to click the link first, so you can hear the song while you read the accompanying text.

(In no particular order)

• Just a Lil Bit by 50 Cent - This was a tough one because Candy Shop is also a song that makes my mouth water (and other places get moist.)  50 makes me want way more than just a lil bit, though.  He might promulgate a thug image, but I kind of also think he's a poet.  And there's a few of his songs that just make me want to beg for it.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srUNhESQV38
• All I Ever Wanted by Lenny Kravitz - Here is a song that actually almost makes me feel like this song is fucking me.  It starts off sweet, like a love kinda song.  Then as the song goes on, you realize Lenny's not looking for some sweet love.  He's looking to fuck.  Properly.  Like bodies dripping, hair matted, noises that you don't hear in civilized society.  Biting, please god spanking, pinching, fucking.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOa58gB2faE
• Feel Like Makin Love by Kid Rock - Yes, I know.  Bad Company originally did this song.  That version doesn't so much make me want to rip my clothes off and be filthy.  The way he says the very first "Baby" I want my pussy full of cock.  Once again, "love" is the word that's being used here.  C'mon.  Do you think Kid Rock is singing about holding hands, lighting candles and rose petals on the bed?  I'm guessing more along the lines of a cock shoved down your throat, gagging blow job and then later, bent over the side of a car fucking.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yquhPmU3Ia8
• Feelin' Love by Paula Cole - This song actually makes me wish I could strip tease or pole dance.  I want to strut and grind.  It really just makes me want to be so naughty, the words she says are almost irrelevant and it makes me feel dripping wet, swollen, begging.  Please, please, please...  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSf6-CGEOb8
• Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry - Here's one that doesn't pretend to involve love.  This one makes me happy.  I like to blast this in my car and sing at the top of my lungs.  I think it's because sometimes (don't we all?) I feel like a crazy bitch.  And it's nice to hear an anthem recognizing the fact that crazy bitches fuck so good, it's worth it.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8IGQWyBILE
• The Only Time by Nine Inch Nails - "I'm drunk.  Right now, I'm so in love with you.  And I don't wanna think too much about what we should or shouldn't do" and then "while the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car." Those lines and that beat is a combination that makes me want to feel full (in whichever hole) and beg to cum.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptvXhRKZTFk
• Tonight by Ready for the World - This song has sentimental value to me.  I actually *was* a virgin when I made out with this ridiculously amazing dude in high school.  I swear, I used to listen to this song over and over again and rub my clit and cum so many times.  So technically, this song didn't actually make me want to fuck.  Just super hot and heavy make out and then later when I'm alone, touch myself.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=fdas_QJyFCU

Sinful Sunday - Date Night

Cute on the outside.
Naughty underneath.

See who else is having fun this Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly's Daily Kiss.

Sinful Sunday

Took this for Sir.  He said I could share.

See who else is showing some cheek this Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly's Daily Kiss.

One Serving of Monkey Brain, Coming Right Up!

I feel broken, ruined. I feel like my body lets me down. I revel in being a slut, an orgasm junkie. I've come to terms with the fact that I am a freak of nature, needing/wanting to cum as often as I do. I used to be so embarrassed, felt so greedy. I thought I was miswired, most women my age don't think about sex or cumming nearly as often as I do. And thankfully Sir gets me. I wouldn't say he spoils me, but that's only because I fear he might stop. But I am a very good girl for him and he makes sure my emotional well-being is healthy (which translates to cumming rather often).

But I feel as though I've let He and I both down. This morning, I was told I may cum, but using my hands only. And I struggle, get close, feel like my pussy couldn't possibly throb or feel closer to exploding more. Then....nothing. And I get in my head. And start thinking. Which is exactly the thing that prohibits said pussy explosion. So I try being slutty for Sir, sending a naughty picture. To no avail. I burst out crying, like the melodramatic girl I can be at times. And nothing is more unsexy than crying (unless they are the dried on my face tears from a proper spanking, fucking, et cetera. Those are very hot tears that are filled with gratitude not frustrated angst.)

Thankfully, I get a chance at cumming again later after I finish my cardio. You better believe I'm getting on the bike as soon as humanly possible. Not cumming is horrible two-fold. One, I feel like I've let Sir down. He gave me a naughty just-because play and I couldn't capitalize on it. And two, now I feel like the rage inside me might turn me into She-Hulk.

I know lots of girls can't just cum from their own fingers. And sometimes, I can. Sir proved this to me over Christmas break, when I was in the land of vanilla and family. (1^st try was a swing and a miss, but I was so tired that night, I think I just fell asleep with my hands in my pajama bottoms) He gave me another shot at it the next night and I was inventive enough to suck on my brush handle (I cum so much more easily with my mouth full) and I managed to have a very satisfying orgasm with only my fingers.

I wonder, am I spoiled? Lazy? Impatient? Trained to only cum under certain circumstances?  Or really, is it all in my head? Having cum before with absolutely no stimulation on my pussy or ass (two places that pop into my mind that did the trick are the back of my knee and my lower back being stroked) makes me think it's strictly psychological. Which, honestly, I try not to think about. It's like a magic spell that I can uncast (my pure unadulterated wantonness) if I get too deep into the psychological whys and hows. I don't want to look behind the curtain. I love the magic. And I know, this is just a thing. I'm sure it will work itself out, just as everything else does.

Insta-Reaction Evoking Words

Words are so powerful. They can make you feel amazing (being told you're beautiful) or can cut clean through your chest to your heart (being told you're a bad parent). I recently came across the quote “words have creative power” and I truly believe this. But in my world, they have more than just a creative power. They have the power to immediately elicit a physical response from me.

The word “titties” for example. This makes me feel shy and wet and submissive and slutty. The reason for this is because when Sir uses this word, he wants to see them (via photograph or webcam). And I have to say it's such an instant response, when the word comes up, my hands immediately go to the bottom of my shirt to take it off.

Another word that has an interesting reaction by me is “woman”. Sir uses this word when he's exasperated with me but isn't quite pissed (which doesn't produce a fun reaction. Sir is a pretty intimidating dude. There isn't much on this earth I want to do less than piss him off!) When he calls me woman, I'm not actually in trouble yet, but I'm definitely getting put back in line. And fucking hell, he's good at keeping me in line.  Being called woman by Sir makes me feel so terribly submissive.  It snaps me to attention every time.  Reminds me.

But there's one word Sir said fairly recently that surpasses any other in the reaction department. Everything I try to think of to describe my feelings to it sound hollow or corny; Weep with joy, too much. Drop to my knees instantly, close but not quite. Sort of a gasp, clutch my throat with my hand, pussy soaked, heart skip a beat kind of a feeling. Even this description is paltry compared to my actual feeling. It's like watching all of the Wizard of Oz in black and white. I can't quite describe the colors in Emerald City (haha, green!). But you get the gist.

So what's this huge, powerful, indescribable reaction-evoking word?

“Mine.”

Just Breathe

No, this isn't a post about breath control. But I will say that I do love a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my noises and making me gasp a little. Ooh, or around my throat while I'm getting fucked. Or that struggling feeling when deepthroating. Mmm good stuff.

But I digress. What I mean today is that I just need to remember to breathe. I feel like I keep forgetting. And I feel like I might need a paper bag to breathe in (or a crash cart!) available for use tomorrow. I almost can't even write about it. I'm sitting here shaking. It's that simultaneous clenched wet pussy and feeling of total terror gripping my chest that I'm experiencing.

Okay. I'm breathing. I just forgot again. Breathing is good.

I'm so melodramatic sometimes. I do often laugh at myself. I think most people take themselves too seriously.

Speaking of which, this post is actually getting way too serious. The mood is more meant to be that Christmas Eve feeling of anticipation and excitement. I've met a goal. And Sir is rewarding me. And I'm so thrilled. But I'm such a dork. I'm a grown woman who worries about acting like an idiot teenager. With good cause. I have embarrassed myself before.

Almost forgot. All I need to do is breathe. Just breathe. It really does help.

That and good hair makes me calm.  I just got it keratined and I must say, I wish it stayed like this forever.

Sinful Sunday Post-Play Photo Op

 Does this picture paint a thousand words?

Clickedy click and see who else is wordlessly blogging fun into the world this Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly's Daily Kiss.

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.