“Answer me the way you’re supposed to.  With Master in there somewhere, and loud enough for me to hear you.  Do you understand me, cunt?”

“Get the dishes done.  I’m cooking dinner.”

“I want the Under the Bed Restraint System… under the bed.”

“Get the cuffs on so we can adjust it.”

“I’ll be paddling you with the new frat paddle from Maui Kink tonight.”

“I’m going to hurt you.  I’m not going to stop because you want me to.”

“@insatiabldesire will be gagged and likely strapped down.  Should be fun (for me, hah)”

“You’re not going to like it.  It’s going to be too much.”

“Find the zipper hood and the gag, and lay down on the bed.”

Only…  Read more…

This whole “crackwhore living beneath us” thing is not gonna work out.  For serious.  She’s got Johns and dealers running in and out of the house all day and night, and they raise holy hell until the wee hours of the morning.  No matter what day it is.

I foresee one of two things happening:

1. M and I move.
2. We join forces with the couple in back and get her kicked out.

I dunno how we’re gonna manage either of those.  The landlord seems to only be interested in money, and saving for security and such is gonna take some time.

In other news, I’ll give you three guesses what happened a day or so after I lost my cool, and the first two don’t count.  If you guessed “You started your period!”, you’re right! I don’t know why it doesn’t just dawn on us, when it happens, that it’s almost time.  I mean, it makes sense.  The vast majority of the rest of the month, I’m calm, cool and collected when it comes to M.  When it gets close to “that time”, I lose my grip, and everything that either I usually ignore, or shouldn’t really bother me, becomes too much.

I know I’ve said all that before.  I know we go in circles with this.  It’s partly because I have my tubes tied, so I don’t see the point in keeping track of my cycle.  I suppose I should start so we have some warning.  Read more…

So the other day, M says to me, “You’ve got two dresser drawers full of sex toys and you never ask me to use them.  I thought women your age were supposed to be more slutty, not less.”

…

What I wouldn’t give, sometimes, to be all, “Dude, can’t you see I’ve been going through something? Take a chill pill.  I’ll catch you up, don’t worry.”

Instead, I assured Him that I’m still a slut, and that I’m just embarrassed.

That’s no joke.  I’m seriously embarrassed to ask Him if I can fuck myself with the toys I get to fuck myself with.  o.O

Yesterday, the Lia Magic Wand, from California Exotics, showed up on my doorstep.  And while I’m usually into much girthier vibes, something about this one had me all sorts of excited.  Then I remembered all my batteries are mostly dead.  So when M mentioned maybe going out later in the day, I asked if we could pick up batteries.

“Why? You think you’re gonna fuck that today?” Read more…

My boobs? Yeah, they’re dead.  Dead, I said! They’re achy and sore from the nipple to the rib cage.

Why, you ask? Because M will not (cannot?) keep His hands off of them.  All day and night He’s pinching, biting, squeezing, slapping, punching, clawing.  Owfuckingow.

In the “initiating sex” competition, it’s Rayne in the lead, 3 – 1.

M says it doesn’t count cause I’ve been waking Him up with it.  He also complains that He sucks at morning sex.  But that’s not true.  For having just been lazily dragged out of a dead sleep, teased to a rock-hard erection before ever being touched anywhere but His back, and then having a dripping wet, hot, swollen pussy already twitching on the edge of orgasm lowered onto His cock, I’d say He does pretty damn well.

And besides, for me morning sex is never about me.  It’s about getting Him off and waking Him with a smile.  Cause it’s damn near impossible to wipe that kind of smile off His face.  His job’s only managed to do it once or twice in seven years.

Plus, if I’m all over Him, He’s loathe to turn me down because He knows how bad rejection rocks me.  And sometimes I won’t try to initiate sex again for weeks… maybe even months.  I’m getting better! But I still suck at separating “I’m too tired.” from “I don’t want to.”  I think that’s because I’m required to perform no matter what I’m feeling.  I mean, most recently, I was sore and not feeling well, and when M hit my stomach, I quite plainly told Him I was going to vomit in His lap if He didn’t stop.

He quite plainly responded that if He didn’t get to hit me I didn’t get to have cock.

I sort of blinked at Him for a moment, trying to figure out if I was even well enough to bounce up and down on His cock.  And as my cunt twitched involuntarily, I realized my body was going to make that decision for me.

But I resisted the urge to grab His hand and make Him hit me, like I do when He starts talking about wanting to.  For some reason, moving His hand for Him is easier than actually speaking the request.

And because I’ve said so, He’ll get busy breaking me of that, too, I’m sure.

I think that’s one of the biggest changes, lately.  He’s not allowing me all my silly little fears and phobias, anymore.  While in some cases He’s easing around them, in most He’s crashing right through them.  And I follow suit, crashing right through ones He has no control over.  Like my chemical imbalances and paranoia.

And I have really cool friends who will make sure to answer all the possible scenarios they imagine I’ll think of before doing whatever it is they know I’ll be paranoid about.  I love you all.  Truly.

And I wonder if you all have little paranoias of your own that you don’t talk about, and that’s why you know so much about mine.  O.o

Do you remember when you could type “.oO” on Yahoo chat and it would turn your comment into a thought bubble… sort of? It would say “Raynesomebodyorother thinks .oO(blahdiblahdiblah)” and we all thought that was just SO cool.  Maybe just I did.  Maybe it still does that.  It’s been seven years since I’ve been in a chat room.

Okay, so I do have ADD.  Shut up, Carrie.  I love you.  Lol.

I never did get my orgasm.  I wonder if He’ll let me use the creepiest dildo ever later to make up for it.

<3
~pig whore

I can’t remember if I mentioned it or not, but I’m an official regular guest writer over at Submissive Guide, now.  My first official regular post went up today.  Lol.  It’s just an introduction.

And have y’all seen formspring.me? People can ask you questions there about whatever.  They don’t even have to sign in.  I’m on there if anyone’s got questions.  Or whatever.

Now that that’s out of the way…

The other day, Master walked over and grabbed me by the throat.  He put His lips close to my ear and asked, “What are you?”

“Slave” is no longer the correct answer.  “Property” doesn’t do it for Him either.  “Pig whore” is who and what I am in our dynamic.  And when I answered Him, He responded with “What are you good for?”

There are a billion answers to that.  There’s tons I’m good at.  But that’s not what He’s asking.  He’s asking, when it comes right down to it, what kind of treatment I deserve.  And, my eyes trained on the wall in front of me, I responded plainly, “Fucking and hurting.” with that half-embarrassed smile us girlies tend to get when we’re uncomfortable.  When the danger is crackling in the air.  Our hairs standing on end.

He ordered me into lingerie and leather and then to the floor beside His office chair.  And it was minutes before a tongue bath turned into a blow job.  Seconds before the blow job turned into me on the bed with my ass in the air and Him beating me.

I shot myself in the foot when I held still the other night.  He expects it all the time, now.  I almost didn’t get fucked because He managed to land a direct and solid blow to my clit and inner labia, and I shot clear across the bed.  I’m pretty sure, by the strength of the blow, even He wasn’t expecting it to land where it did.  And He granted me reprieve when I held still for the rest of the assault He committed against my thighs, pussy and ass.  Read more…

There was something different in His demeanor.  And somehow, I missed it.

You almost have to be me to see it.  No one else knows Him well enough to hear that slight animosity to His tone.  See the deadness behind those beautiful russet irises.  The way He seems to suddenly be taller.  Bigger than life.  All encompassing.

I think I missed it because He’s seemed bigger than life to me since the last time Satan’s Suitcase met my ass.  As big as I am, I feel small in His presence.  Though “little” describes it better.

He was quiet on the bus ride home.  Well, after the shuttle, anyway.  It’s almost impossible to be quiet on the shuttle.

As we turned down the campus road, He said, “Maybe I’ll send you to offer him a blow job.”  I’m not sure if He meant the boy who had gotten off the bus before us or the kid at the corner store.  We were talking about both of them.

I stopped short and looked up at Him.  My cheeks flushed and I flashed Him an almost embarrassed smile.

“What? Aren’t you a pig whore?”  And then it was blatantly obvious.  Something was different.  Dangerous.

Another embarrassed smile as three college chicks fell into step in front of us.  “Yes.”  Almost a whisper.

“Yes, what?”

I knew what He wanted me to say.  But those adorable little college girls might hear me! Surely, I was mistaken.  “Yes, Master.”  A little louder than the last, but not much.

“Yes, you are what, cunt?”

“Yes, Master, I’m a pig whore.”  Omigosh! Had they heard?

“You better not be a stuck up cunt, all of a sudden.”

“Yes, Master.”

The subject changed and the mood shifted.  So when we got home and He walked over to me and grabbed my pussy, roughly pulling me to Him (“This is the best part of you.”), I was caught off guard.  But that was the last time.  When He said, “Get your ass over here and sit on the floor.  You can be unoccupied by anyone but me for a while.”  I was sort of expecting it.  And when He told me to go find something for Him to beat me with, I wasn’t surprised at all.  Read more…

Yesterday, at about 2:30, from about ten yards away, while playing World of Warcraft and blaring the stereo so loud it was difficult to hear ourselves think, we had this conversation on M’s super secret high-tech and quadruple encrypted private Jabber server:

(2:27:45 PM) rayne: i’m all depressed and oogy today
(2:27:50 PM) rayne: i’m sure it’s just the end of PMS
(2:27:59 PM) rayne: but telling myself that doesn’t make me feel any better :/
(2:28:23 PM) Master: maybe you need to suck cock
(2:28:30 PM) rayne: maybe
(2:28:54 PM) rayne: it’s probably more likely that i just need to be slapped around

At 4:30, still playing WoW and blaring the stereo, I was singing a different tune.  It’s not so much that I changed my mind or mood.  Just that… well… See?:

(4:32:12 PM) rayne: i still love you way more, you know
(4:32:16 PM) Master: nope
(4:32:24 PM) Master: I’m going to paddle your ass 20 times with the new paddle before bed
(4:32:28 PM) Master: see if you love me then
(4:32:35 PM) rayne: wait what?
(4:32:36 PM) rayne: heh
(4:32:47 PM) Master: reading comprehension issue?
(4:32:57 PM) rayne: well, i mean, no but… why?
(4:33:05 PM) Master: because I feel like it
(4:33:14 PM) Master: and you need to be beat

I opened my mouth to say something.  I even typed a few things.  And then backspaced them.  Thankfully, He’s long since stopped asking what I was about to say.  Cause the stream of thought would have upped the ante, I’m sure.  And I did that all by my lonesome by withstanding well beyond what He’d originally prescribed without my head falling off or involuntarily kicking His teeth down His throat.

I mean, it was nothing bad! Unless you take into consideration the fact that I’m supposed to take what I’m given with gratitude regardless of what it might be.  But that’s damn hard when you weigh in the biggest mitigating factor: The studded paddle fucking hurts.

I cried just because He told me He was going to hit me with it.  The only other thing I’ve ever done that with is the cane.  I bawled when He hit me with it.  I think I cried when He was finished hitting me with it.

So He says He’s going to beat me, and tears start sliding down my cheeks.  While a smirk tugs at the corners of my lips.  And streaming through my head are things like, “He’ll get tired and forget.” and “But when I said I needed to be slapped around, I meant I needed to be… slapped around.  Not paddled with Satan’s Suitcase*!”  and “You don’t get to choose how and when He hurts you, ya dumb cunt.”

Wait… what?  Read more…

Well, I have to say that I had a superb end to a crappy week and a rather shitty night.  The down pour mixed with street flooding and losing one of my jobs just made my Saturday awful.  I got a nice surprise on my way home yesterday, one I really wasn’t expecting.  I got a text message from Will telling me that he and his wife were coming to the city after all.  That brought my spirits up tremendously.  It’s amazing, really, that when he’s around me I forget about all the bad things that are going on.  It’s highly comforting.

So, after the flooding went away and I was able to drive my car without having to make it into a boat, I made it down into the city and met up with them for dinner.  I was stressing because of all the negative things that happened yesterday that I just needed a break.  And I got one.  It was definitely nice to relax and rest in the company of good friends.

The three of us headed back to the hotel and about an hour later his wife was gone out for the night.  He and I were alone and my God did we have a night.

We laid in bed flipping through the channels on the T.V. for a while and finally settled on watching 13 Ghosts.  It’s a crappy movie, but hey, it was something to watch.  We got bored rather quickly.  He rolled me over onto my back and proceeded to fondle me, caressing my body with his soft hands.  There is nothing more intoxicating than a man with a gentle touch and soft hands.  He held me to him and began to brush his fingers against my pussy.  I jumped and wiggled around on the bed at the sudden intensity that I felt between my legs.  The fire began to build and I was riding up against his fingers.  He wanted me and I wanted him.

He took me.  He made me his.  And God DAMN was it hot. Read more…

He always knows just how to handle things.  Always knows just what I need.

He turned around when I told Zedd to shut up and caught a tear running down my face.  “When I get out of the bathroom, I want to see your fat ass hanging off the edge of the bed.  Just push the gown up over your ass.  Don’t take it off.”

“Yes, Master.”  I whimpered, and I went to do what I was told.

I cringed when I heard His footsteps coming toward me.  I knew what was coming.  The only thing that could come.  The one thing I needed.

The first stroke of the crop felt like the paddle and I yelped.  And when He tried to stick His cock in me and my body didn’t respond, He punched me.  Days like these, that’s all my body or mind respond to.  Violence.  Degradation.

I was instantly wet.

After a while, He switched from the crop to the kangaroo flogger.  And with each lash of the whip, I could feel the heartache dissipating.  The panic slipping away.

Yeah, this is what I needed.

When He was ready, He ordered me on my back with my legs spread.  And He beat me while He fucked me, and then came deep in my pussy.  And when He was finished, He laid on the bottom of the bed, His chest held up by an elbow, and beat my tits, thighs, belly and cunt with the crop and the flogger while I masturbated to an orgasm that was almost too much to bear.

Just before I came, He started beating my pussy.  “Please don’t stop!” I called out as I felt the orgasm build.

Yeah… He always knows just what I need.  Master to the rescue.  He saved the day.

Thank you, Master.  This is why I love you more than life.

Master’s kind of a horn dog today! He keeps pushing my legs apart and sticking His fingers in my pussy.  And He was threatening me with sex toy rape!

Okay, not really.  He was, however, threatening to make me cum on my dolphin cause I hadn’t yet.  Not that I couldn’t.  Just that I hadn’t really tried.  Oh, I’ve played with the thing.  More than once.  I just couldn’t settle on one toy.  I wanted all the sensations of all my toys at the exact same time! And since I couldn’t have that, I had to keep changing things up.

I think maybe it’s the threat of the monthly monster looming over our heads.  And the fact that I’ve been adorably cute and amazingly good for over a week.

No, really! He said so Himself!

Okay, so He didn’t actually say the part about me being adorably cute.  But He felt it.  I could tell.  It was painfully obvious between Him spitting in my mouth and telling me to swallow it and beating me black and blue from tits to cunt and shoulders to thighs.

I hate His job.  With the fires of a thousand hells.  Grateful for the money.  Despise how much He has to work.

He sent me into the bedroom and told me to put something in my pussy.  Since He’s been talking about my new dolphin toy all day, I figured I’d use that.  And oh my god is that nice.  So, naturally, the phone rang.  But He refused to veer off course.

“Be quiet about it.”  He snapped as I washed the dolphin in the bathroom sink.

It’s become sort of a trade.  I can fuck myself all I want, but He’s getting one hell of a blow job afterward, whether I want to or not.  Good thing I like to suck cock, huh? Cause I certainly like to cum.

Once He was off the phone, He came to the bedroom and stood in the doorway watching me.  For about two seconds.  Before He climbed up on the bed, yanked the pillows out from under my head and started rubbing His cock all over my lips and tongue.  So while I sucked His cock, I fucked my pussy and He said, “Make that pussy cum all over that thing.”  That, too, took about two seconds once I tapped the button and shifted it into high.  And before I’d finished shuddering, He was inside me.  And then He was cumming, too.

Yum.

And there’s the monthly monster.  At least M beat her to the punch.

I’m usually ridiculously insistent about using cardboard applicators.  But they’re so uncomfortable.  I feel like I need to lube up before putting in my tampon and that’s just wrong on so many levels.  So, I caved and bought Tampax Pearl.  I’m going to feel really guilty one week of the month.  Cause I’m not sure I’ll be going back to cardboard.

I mean, I plan to try those reusable things I keep hearing about anyway.  What’re they called? Oh yeah! Lunapads and the Divacup.  It’s just difficult convincing M they’re worth the price.

It’s $35 for one Divacup and the website recommends that you replace it once a year.  With tampons running at about $7 for a multi-flow box, it takes five months for the cup to pay for itself.   So, not only are you reducing your garbage, you’re also saving yourself $50 a year, give or take.

Hmm…

Anyway, enjoy the rest of your day!