This staying up till midnight and getting up at the buttcrack of dawn thing? Yeah, it’s for the birds.  But M and I made one hell of a lasagna.  So that’s pretty cool.

We crawled out of bed around 2pm yesterday.  We’d been up the entire night before fucking in the new day, as we so often do on the weekend.  This weekend was a 2-fer, as my dad used to call them.  Two nights in one weekend.  A spoiled slut I am.

By the time we’d both shit, showered and shaved it was nearing four.  And we still had to carry our asses to WalMart.

Twenty minutes for dispatch to answer the phone.  Twenty minutes for the cab to show up.  Ten minutes to actually get where we were going.  Fifty-five minutes later, we were ten miles up the road and shopping for our supper.

We had a very specific list, but we never stick to them.  Ever.  While so many swear by list shopping, I suck at it.  I was going to give it an actual try using the store’s layout and everything but… they changed the store around completely (No lie.  As in, new flooring and everything.  The pet department is now in infants right next to the bread and chips which used to be next to frozen foods.  Weirdos.) and I forgot to make my snazzy new menu.

What? How much can a girl be expected to remember when she’s still floating in subspace from two nights of vigorous, violent, AMAZING sex?

So we just… mounded the cart.  I mean, we did have a tentative list and got everything on it.  But we certainly got a lot of shit not on it, too.  And, oddly enough, we didn’t spend anywhere near what we thought we did.  But that’s cause I is are be smart.  With everything Master touched, I’d say, “Do we have to have name brand? Is it okay if we buy generic? It’s $X.XX cheaper.”

WalMart’s cheating, though.  They’re changing all their packaging to look so cheap you think you’re getting the best bargain around.

We got home around 6:30.  The lasagna (cause I also had to put all those groceries away which required cleaning out the cabinet and fridge) wasn’t finished until 9:30ish.  And then, we each took a bite and came right there.  This is, hands down, the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted.  Better, even, than Macaroni Grill, Olive Garden and Cheesecake Factory combined.  Seriously.  I actually feared for M’s sanity at tasting food this good.   Read more…

So…  Where to start.

I’ve fucked more than thirty people, male and female.  Less females than men.  Most of my relationships with females didn’t involve sex.  And when they did, it was rarely what one would consider fucking.

I love all things sexual.  I hear submissives and masochists say things like “I can’t get off unless I get hurt.” or “Sex just isn’t worth it without pain.” or what-have-you.  But I’ve not found a thing yet that prevents me from cumming.  Except maybe being so angry I’m completely turned off.  But even then, force is a sure-fire way to get me all hot and bothered.  So anger doesn’t stave it off long.

Until recently, that’s made me feel really friggin’ guilty.

I don’t know what my parents tried to teach me about sex.  I can’t say for certain that they intentionally gave me a negative predisposition to it.  But all things sexual were off limits.

My mother thought it better I learn from school what my period and sex were.  And by that time I already knew.

In kindergarten I was fingered by a boy in ninth grade, not knowing enough to even want to stop him, and really liked it.  And then my mom got pregnant and bought me a book called “So that’s where babies come from!” (which I can’t even find on Amazon!).  I thought, “Finally.  I can find out if I’m right about sex.”  Read more…

I popped over to Submissive Journal Prompts for an idea today. I’m not doing so hot. This whole being with Master every minute of every day for days at a time thing, while wonderful during, is killing me on days I can’t be with Him all day. I’ve been sitting here crying on and off all day wishing He could just come home.

Codependent? Who, me? Heh.

Are you called a “slut” or some other endearment which traditionally carries a negative connotation? How does it feel in the context of your relationship?

Master pretty much calls me every name in the book and you’d think I’d have a specific reaction to each one every time. But I’m a weirdo. So my reaction changes day to day, situation to situation.

Slut, cunt, whore, bitch, ho, twat… If it’s a derogatory word for female, He probably uses it even if only in jest. It used to bother me. I’d get all bent out of shape. Think I did something wrong. Never really got offended… just thought He was mad at me or something. Read more…

I don’t know how much I’ve told you about Master’s obsession with embarrassing the shit out of me. The method changes but the intent is always the same. And one of His favorite games to play is to put me on Skype with some nasty profile and just wait for people to call. When they call, I’m to make it clear that the call is just for “phone sex”. Because, even though it’s always in my profile, it’s never clear enough until I say it. Silly, horny men from overseas.

There are a few rules surrounding the calls. No text conversation, only mic. Though we have a cam, no camming. No second calls without express permission (and He’s yet to give that). No one we know in real life. And I have to get off with every single one. We haven’t done it in a while. We were going to Wednesday but it wasn’t working out so well. People either just wanted to cam or would call and type that they had no mic not realizing that I could hear them typing.

The main reason I prefer mic over text (though it wasn’t my decision, it was Master’s) is because you can change your profile on Skype on a minute by minute basis depending on what kind of calls you’d like to receive. Right down to your birthday. The text messages could come from someone of any age pretending to be old enough to do these things and well… Dateline! Hello! * grin *

Master’s reason, however, is much more sordid. The combination of me fucking myself for some other man and how embarrassed I get and how even on days when I swear I’m not interested I still cum like a porn star and then I’m even more embarrassed just rocks His socks. So much so that He actually considered having me start a job as a phone sex operator. I’m almost positive that option isn’t off the table.

This one time was really bizarre. The guy asked what I was wearing and I decided to be honest.

“Nothing. Well, except a collar and chains.”

He was surprised but not overly so. And, it turned out, He was a switch affiliated with a rather popular fetish club in England. Have I mentioned how much I love British accents? No, seriously. Like, just the accent in and of itself is enough to make me wet myself. And it’s only British accents that do it. Yes, I know I’m weird.

I went on to explain that Master was sitting behind me watching me talk to people on Skype and fuck myself with a dildo while I had phone sex with random strangers. He absolutely loved that idea and couldn’t stop trying to include Master in it in some way.

“How does He like you to do it?” and “Is He enjoying this?” and “What does He want you to do next?” and “I bet He loves having such a dirty little slut at His disposal.”

I loved that. It was so hot having another guy know exactly what I was and call me on it. I wonder if he thought it was real or just a roleplay.

Read more…