One of the best parts of my trip to Australia (and one of the things I was really looking forward to the most) was finally meeting the fabulous folks over at I Shot Myself , and getting to work with them.

The ISM headquarters are well appointed and full of sexy people – I only got to spend a little time with them, but it makes me wish I lived there and could work for ISM!

After we were shown around the offices and studios, it was time for the show! The one my Master and I were putting on, that is! Mr. Feck himself had kindly taken time to give us the grand tour, and shoot our video!

We’d had some discussion of it, and it was decided that he would give me a spanking, and then “force” me to have some orgasms. Oh, poor me! Well, that original idea was expanded upon, and suddenly there I was, in a little plaid skirt and flowered knickers, and a cute white shirt (no bra), crawling over to him, to be put over his knee!

Mr. Feck had suggested that my Master spank me “for 10 or 20 minutes.” Well, my Master not being a man who does things by halves, I got a 20 minute spanking, with very few pauses!

Again, oh, poor me! This was so wonderful for me, because I just adore spanking. It’s really pretty impossible for me to see it as a punishment, because it’s so much fun, and the pain is more in the “fun” part of the spectrum than other things (the cane, tawse, and most especially the paddle) which are more at the “oh fuck that hurts!” side.

And my Master seldom gives very long spankings. At least, I don’t perceive them as long! (I’ve a couple times said sadly, “Oh! Is it over…?” when he stopped spanking me, only to find I’d had over 200 whacks. I think my sense of time gets messed with!) He loves spanking me, but he also wants to do other stuff, so sessions tend to involve spanking, caning, a lick of the tawse, a bit of slippering – all interspersed with blowjobs and sex and etc.

So I’d never had 20 solid minutes of spanking before. It was glorious! Although I do have to say that the last five minutes or so were pretty intense. I felt like my bottom was truly being “blistered,” the heat had built up so, and each spank made the fires rage higher.

It got me so aroused that when he fingered my pussy, it made very wet sounds. And there was a camera trained right on it, so I’m sure the liquid evidence of my arousal was glistening in the lights!

Speaking of light, we had to do creative lighting so my Master’s face wasn’t showing. So Mr. Feck came up with this beautiful lighting set-up, where my Master is this ominous shadow man, his arm raising out of the darkness to spank me. How hot is that?!

After the spanking (in which he made me come from spanking numerous times) there was the finger-fucking part of the video. He made me come so much that my throat was all scratchy and sore afterwards!

After all this “hard work,” Mr. Feck and two of the lovelies from the office (who were not just lovely, but also deeply intelligent and so much fun to talk to) took us out for dinner. I think the people in the restaurant were very glad to see us leave, some hours later, because we had discussions about every aspect of sex and porn, in vivid detail, and we were not discreetly lowering our voices at all.

We walked back to the studio through the suddenly cold evening, and then shot what will be the opening of the video. I won’t give it away, but it’s hilarious and was really fun to shoot, and I think I should win an Oscar for it!

The video is going to go up on I Feel Myself — although I don’t know when, yet. I’ll let you lot know when I find out. In the meantime, I already have a video up there, which involves hot pink very tight spandex leggings, and a vibrator….

WARNING: What follows after this cut is explicit and filthy. That is, moreso than usual!

If you do not want to read about anal sex and piss play, in lurid detail, now is a good time to look back over some other posts I’ve done, or visit a website that features nothing but anal sex or just some nice bondage and kinky sex.

If you’re a close friend of mine, and don’t want TMI, this is NOT the post for you! On the other hand, friends who are filthy perverts and don’t have any problem with knowing such intimate details are welcome! Just don’t say I didn’t warn you! (Not that you can’t stop reading at any time, of course, and the first few paragraphs, and the final few, are “safe.”)
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Last night I became a sex-crazed beast!

Let’s back that up a bit. In the first place, you lot all know I’m “sex-crazed” to begin with, so it wasn’t that far of a stretch … but normally I keep it in check. I think the sexy thoughts, discuss sex with whoever would like to talk about it with me, and proposition my Master at regular intervals. (“You know, Sir, the cure for that is sex.” “I think this calls for a blowjob!” “Maybe later, we could do some rumpy-pumpy…?”)

But I no longer generally actively initiate sex, seeing as how I’m a slave. I don’t slink sultrily over to my Master, bend his head back for a kiss that leaves no doubt as to what is about to happen, and then start pulling his clothes off. That’s not the right kind of behaviour for me anymore. I can suggest that sex might be nice, I can wear provocative clothes and try and get his attention by being sex personified, I can beg him to please spank me and fuck me senseless. But I cannot say, “Now we are having sex,” and by extension, I can’t just go up to him and start sex up. (There is a difference between starting sex, and hanging all over him looking available and eager!)

Anyway, what happened last night was that I tried out a new sleep medication, Ambien. There have been some reports of people hallucinating, sleepwalking, and doing stuff they don’t remember on Ambien, although it’s otherwise an excellent sleep-aid. I had gotten it for the flight to Oz, but when I saw the list of possible side-effects, I decided to test it one night while I was out here, and if all was well use it on the flight home, so I’d just wake up back in the U.S., rested and ready to go.

Well, it’s a good thing I tested it. It knocked all my inhibitions and mental checks down! A while after I took it, I suddenly realized that I felt very, very stoned. I figured this meant it was time to go to bed, and I got permission to do my evening ablutions. By the time I came out of the bathroom, I was hot and horny and ready!
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Hello all! I have so much to write about! But first I want to say, with great excitment that my newest set has gone up at IShotMyself.com. Actually, it’s not just my set, because my Master is in it (doing his first porn evar!) and we captured him making me feel “like a virgin, touched for the very first time!”

This is what the kind folks over at ISM said of the shoot:

There are a fair few ISM fans who have been waiting for months now to see Zille and her beau together at last. Well, parts of her beau, at least. The lucky mystery man is holding the camera for most of this set, and we like his taste in angles. Thanks to these two honeymooners!

There’s no spanky-bot action in these images, but you can see some fading cane marks on my bottom!

Also … this is really exciting (and a wee bit scary) for me because this is the very first time I’ve done boy-girl porn. Until this point, I had only ever done girl-girl. It was a limit for me, one I was very comfortable with. It was a limit that made sense at the time, because I was in a poly relationship with a woman who didn’t really like me being with men. Since we were poly, we only ever did safer-sex stuff unless we were working with someone who was already our lover, and the demand for boy-girl porn with condoms was pretty rare five years ago (it’s gotten a bit better, since.) So it made sense. And it was a limit I never crossed.

But now, that limit doesn’t make sense, because my Master is the only person I’m having sex with (and this may or may not change, depending on what he wants) and he is a guy (obviously.) I’m not about to make fake porn, since my whole career was all about making 100% real, beautiful porn. So now I have new limits that make this limit silly … but it was a limit for so long, that stepping over it feels weird and a bit daunting.

But I’ve never let that kind of thing stop me before (well, at least since college…) so now it’s done, and here are the results….
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The incident with the horse and the spanking taught me that I needed to be much more careful. It became more and more difficult to avoid being alone with Mel, it started to feel like a rather macabre dance. Mel’s parents certainly noticed; I overheard Mel’s mum telling her to give me a little space.

University kept me busy and out of reach of Mel; I told her that I would move if she continued to come into the garage. She ceased doing that – she wasn’t a bad girl; it was just a difficult time for both of us.

But it wasn’t all hard: we went to the pictures, and on bike rides, and, as the other children got bigger, a little pony trekking.

Her brother and sister acted all unconsciously as wonderful chaperones, although Mel knew exactly what I was doing and didn’t like it. Mel was nearly sixteen and hot to trot, her body was making demands that her mind and emotions couldn’t really cope with.

When I looked at Mel, my body was also making demands! By this time Mel was fully physically developed as a female, and she had all the wiles of Eve. There were times when it was necessary for me to do the necessary four or five times a day.

A troubling habit she developed when swimming with me and the family, and no-one was looking, was that she would let a breast pop out of the top of her suit; she was often rewarded with a couple of hard swats on her suit bottom! But I soon realised that it was indeed a reward and instead ignored her. Once I spotted her coming out of her mum’s sowing room; she looked upset, she disappeared upstairs … and after that she never flashed me again. She told me after we were married that she had flashed me, and I hadn’t noticed, but her mum had! Mum never spanked, but the telling off she received was worse than a spanking for a nearly-sixteen year old!

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My Master and I are out of town for a business trip. Well, it’s his business trip! I’m along for the ride.

We are down in San Diego now, and started driving down on Saturday. We got as far as LA, because one of my Master’s friends was having the opening of his “Brand New Premiere Full-Service Dungeon” in LA: The Broken Door, and as we were going to just happen to be passing by, there was no way in the world we wanted to miss it.

It was an invitation-only party, which is always preferable. But I must say the “strict dress code” was not enforced at all, and we saw plenty of T-shirts and jeans, which always brings down the tone of such events. (And why would you wear jeans and a tee to a party, I always wonder. It’s a shame to waste any excuse to get dressed up!)

We didn’t know it was no “don’t bring a camera” rule, either, or we would have brought ours. We did take some pictures of me in my shiny black spanking dress and thigh-high boots afterwards (nothing like a 2AM impromptu photo shoot!) and I’ll post them soon!

The space itself is brilliant. Everywhere you turn in the huge warehouse-sized rooms you find a lavish little island to play in. My personal favourite was a beautiful pavilion with oriental carpet, low soft chairs, and the most beautiful St. Andrew’s Cross I have ever seen. Also, a naked slave was part of the decoration, and my Master and I had a nice long chat with her – about anal sex. I don’t know how we got on the topic (not that it’s hard, with me!) but she was just so delighted to discuss it in detail, and I was equally delighted to indulge her (and my Master seemed pleased to sit back and listen to two slaves discussing the joys of anal sex, throwing in a gem of Masterly wisdom now and then).

We wandered away to do a circuit of the club, and I got in line for the loo while he helped himself to wine at the open bar (and how many fetish events have those?!) The line was, unsurprisingly, long and slow, but at least there was lots of yummy stuff to look at while one waited, including two submissives lying on the ground, wearing only leather thongs, being flogged and otherwise tormented by two Tops. Then a couple of girls got in line behind me. One of them really needed to use the bathroom, and was not being either quiet or subtle about it. I generally would prefer someone simply to ask me, “Look, my bladder is seriously about to burst. Would you mind letting me jump ahead of you in line?” to, “Ahhhh! I need to peeeeeeeee! I’m gonna diiiiiiiiieeeeee! Why is this line so sloooooooow?!” repeated at loud volume, but I didn’t have the micturation urge as badly as this young lady, so I when I got to the head of the line, I gallantly offered to let her use the toilet first. She was delighted, and replied, “You’re coming in with me!” “What about me?” her friend cried, and she got invited to the piss-party as well.
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Continued from A Boy and a Good (Bad) Girl (Part 1)

Eve asked, “May I undress you, Sir?” I thought about that, and as I did, my penis showed signs of coming back to life. “Go ahead; I warn you, your punishment isn’t over.”

“I know, sir….”

“What remains, Eve?”

“I broke a serious rule twice, Adam would cane me severely.”

“As I will. You may undress me, and then fetch me the canes.”

Eve undressed me as gracefully as she did everything; every time she turned her back to me I had to admire her beautiful red arse. Running my hands over her so-hot bottom was very arousing.

By now my arousal was prominent. Eve looked at me and smiled. “Sir, you like me, don’t you.”

“I would say that’s fairly obvious.”

“Would you like me to deal with that?” “Not yet, you have considerately more pain to suffer, before your receive the benison of this within you. Did I not tell you to fetch those canes?”

“Yes sir, sorry sir, right away.”

She went to an almost invisible cupboard next to the fireplace, opened the door, clipped to the door there were six canes of different diameters. Eve looked questioningly over her shoulder at me. “Bring them all,” she collected all of them, “and put them on the table and clear away the coffee things. Good. Now tell me about these canes, starting with the thinnest.”

“Yes, sir. The ‘girl’s cane’ really stings and lights a fire and it turns me on no end; a fun cane! The ‘boy’s cane’ stings more: I can take fifty or sixty without any real damage. The ‘senior girl’s cane,’ is a real punishment cane: thirty or forty and I know I’ve been whipped! The ‘senior boy’s cane’ is Adam’s favourite: thirty with that and I’m sleeping on my tummy for a couple of nights! The penultimate one is the ‘junior penal cane;’ when I did something really bad I received twelve, and I hope never to experience that again, the penal cane, Adam gave me six moderate strokes to taste it, the pain lasted for three days and the welts for more than a week.”

I looked round the room for a good place to cane Eve, espied an ottoman behind an armchair: it looked solidly built. “Help me pull this out,” I instructed her, and we pulled it out in front of on of the sofas. “Eve, lie lengthways over the ottoman, no, that’s not quite right; take two of the seat cushions from the sofa and pile them on the ottoman … now lay down with your chest and belly on the cushions, that’s right, reach down and hold the front legs with your hands … good … now put your feet by the rear legs, that’s perfect. I want you to stay in position: break position and you will earn three extra strokes, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Eve, eighteen strokes,” one, gasp, two, gasp, by the time six were taken, Eve was breathing hard. I moved ‘round the other side to balance out the strokes: seven, eight, ahh! … by the time twelve was reached, Eve’s legs were kicking with each stroke.

Image courtesy of Girls Boarding School

“Only six to go, you are doing very well,” I told her, and then started again: thirteen, oh shit!, fourteen, fuck!, fifteen, oh god!, sixteen, jesuuuus!, “Hang on,” I warned her, “The last two will hurt….” Number seventeen was hard across her sit spot: her body jerked. I thought she would let go, but she didn’t. Eighteen was just below the last one almost as hard as I could, this time she shrieked … but she didn’t let go!

Eve was lying there sobbing and moaning, although the moaning wasn’t all pain. I raised her to her feet, “Girl, I’m proud of you! That was very well taken! Here, let me clean you up.” Eve put her arms ‘round me, “Where did you learn to cane like that?”

“Oh … I was trained by an expert! Do you have anything to put on your arse to help with the swelling?”

“No … but I’m beginning to like the way I’m feeling…. Oh! Talking about swelling, I see you still have a problem….”

“You could say that. Eve, where is your bedroom?” She took my hand and led me upstairs. “Would you like to shower first?”

“No. Kneel on the bed, girl, present yourself!” I stopped to think. “Hang on. Do you have any rubbers?” In response she pointed to the bedside table, “In there.” I took out a small handful, they would do for the moment.

I tore the packet open and rolled the rubber on, I tapped Eve’s thighs wider, ran my hand gently over her pussy: she was very wet and her labia were swollen … like the weals on her arse, and my cock. I slid my fingers through her inner labia, found the entrance and slid a wet finger in; Eve moaned. With my left hand I searched for and found her clitoris, it was already poking out of its hood and very erect. I slipped another finger into her and start to gently finger-fuck her. Meanwhile my left hand was playing with her clitoris stroking and pinching; suddenly Eve gave a great shudder, her fluids gushing over my hand. Her head dropped to the bed and she was still.

After a few moments, Eve lifted her head and looked at me, “Are you ever going to fuck me, or do you intend to play with me all night?” I laughed, slapped her bum hard, “All in good time greedy girl!”
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So I need to renew my driver’s license, and for reasons too boring to go into here, I need to take the written exam. I’ve needed to do this for quite some time, but have been putting it off, and off, and off. Now, next month, my current license will expire, so I have to actually go do this thing.

My Master and I have worked out a way to make studying the DMV handbook more fun – for both of us.

The set up goes like this: my Master puts me over the convertible step-stool, i.e., the Chair of Doom. Then he asks me questions from the sample tests the DMV provides. When I get an answer wrong, I get a certain number of strokes from the cane (which he sets before we start, although he seems to feel completely guiltless about changing that number whenever suits him!)

I’ve been fantasizing about this for the last few weeks. (And, to be honest, not studying overly much. That DMV handbook is written in such a way as to make your mind wander within a page, I swear!) Last Sunday we had our first study session.

My Master was in a spandex mood (and, it seems, having some ‘80s nostalgia!), and so had me in spandex short shorts and a thong leotard. I must say that I find such outfits really quite humiliating. I think most short shorts make my thighs look fat, and a thong leo is simply embarrassing to wear at the best of times. But he loves it – I mean it really turns him on! So I just try not to look in any mirrors, and let his eyes be my mirror, so I can feel as sexy as he sees me. It’s generally not easy at first, but gets easier as the scene progresses and his lust is obvious and continuing….

Once the outfit was on, he couldn’t wait to get started. I, on the other hand, was not in a great headspace. It was my first day of my “period week” in my menstrual cycle, and PMS was still in full swing. When he said it was time for the scene, I responded with alacrity, because I’ve found that if I have to beg out of a scene, I regret it for months later, every day that scenes don’t happen and I find myself thinking wistfully back to that scene that could have been. So I pretty much have to be bleeding from the eyeballs these days for me to even consider asking for a reprieve, and I certainly wasn’t going to give up a good scene opportunity just because I felt cranky and slow and tired. I even put on the thong with good grace!

But as the scene was getting started, a wave of self-pity rolled over me. My pain tolerance was at it’s lowest; why did we always have to do a scene on the first day of my period? I didn’t really want to be in pain, anyway. And other whinging, which I happily kept entirely internal.

My Master I don’t think noticed my inner turmoil – he was too busy enjoying the view of my spandex-clad bottom. He was so excited that he couldn’t keep his hands off: he suddenly changed plans, put the chair back into its chair shape, and put me over his knee for a warm-up spanking. (This did leave me a bit bemused, because he’s normally completely uninterested in a warm-up!)

He started in on the spanking, and I tried to get myself in headspace. He moved up the intensity scale pretty quickly, and my self-pity increased accordingly. Finally I burst out crying, more from the unfairness of it all than from actual pain. He lifted me off his lap, and started setting the chair up for the study session. He decided on using a tawse, first.

I got my first question wrong, and he thwacked my bottom a few times. I got the next one right, and then the next one wrong. And somewhere along the line, my self-pity and stupid headspace vanished, and the scene was just good and fun and sexy and hot.
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I was sitting at a table in the Black and White Milk Bar on the Odeon side of the Edgware Road, just a hop, skip and a jump away from Marble Arch.

It was late October of ’52 I don’t remember the day; it was about a week past my 17th birthday.

I was dawdling over my cup of coffee: it was the only one I could afford, and when I drank it, I would have to go back to my lonely room. I was about to take the last swallow when a woman, at least 25 years old, entered the bar. What’s so unusual about that, you may ask? Well, the bar is a teenage bar, we don’t normally see adult women in here.

She wore a white coat and red shoes with 2” heels, and an air of confidence.

She looked ‘round and smiled, I imagine every boy in the place was gaping at her, I know I was.

She looked at me and touched her chin, I realised my mouth was open and shut it, nearly biting my tongue in the process. “Are you looking at me?” she asked.

“I’m looking at you, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are worth it,” was the first thing to come out of my mouth. She shook her head, and went and ordered a white coffee.

She brought her coffee over to my table and looked down at me. “May I join you?”

I stood up, and said, “Of course, be my guest.” She stuck her hand out and said, “Eve. “A little overdressed aren’t you…?” I asked, trying to make a little joke. She smiled. “And I’m Paul, very pleased to meet you…” my hand was a little sweaty when I shook hers.

“To what do I owe the honour,” I asked, as she settled down in the chair across from mine.

“I beg your pardon…?”

I looked around slowly at the other tables. “There are empty tables and better looking boys. I may have just come from the country, but I’m no hick, are you after something? You don’t feel like a Pro, and if you are, there is no one here who could afford you.”

“If you will walk with me I’ll tell you,” she replied. Fascinated, I decided a walk with her could not hurt, and we left her white coffee untouched.

“My boyfriend is away on business abroad; he only returns twice a year … you appear to have some of his qualities, when you looked at me you looked straight at me, you weren’t shy about telling me that I’m attractive, and you joked about my name.”

“Where is this leading, Eve? I don’t do one night stands.”

She answered sharply, “Neither do I!” She took a deep breath. “Look, I need to explain, and I can’t do this in the street. I live just ‘round the corner … will you trust me for an hour? I have real coffee and even some biscuits.”

“Lead the way, Miss Mysterious, you’ve talked me into it. It was the biscuits that did it, you know. Always my downfall, biscuits!”

We entered a house with only one bell on the door, brass fittings on the door, very smart.

Eve took of her coat, hung it on a coat rack, underneath she wore a calf length skirt and a sweater, a tight sweater, both were muted green. I liked what I saw. She took my jacket and hung it next to her coat. She kicked off her red heels, and left them by the door.

She led into a sitting room with some very expensive furniture. She seated me and went and drew the heavy curtains. I wondered at that.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Strong, no sugar and a little cold milk.”

I heard her walk down the hall, shortly she returned bearing a tray with cups, saucers, a dish with biscuits, and milk and sugar. “The coffee will be about ten minutes,” she said.

“Why don’t you start explaining what this is all about?” I asked her.

“Can it wait until we are settled?” she asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“Alright – but at least sit down, you are making me nervous.”

She sank down to the floor, half kneeling next to me. It was surprisingly graceful and strangely comforting, her head was level with my thigh, she looked up at me and smiled, she was calm and composed as if she had finally come home.

I took the opportunity to look her over. Long shining brown hair which hung halfway down her back, continuing down the top half of her bum. As I looked, she leaned forward to pluck a loose thread from the rug letting me see the whole round of her bottom, beautiful. She looked up at me again, clear grey eyes under well-formed and defined eyebrows, a sweet, rather long face with full lips, and a firm chin. Her neck seemed long and slender, resting on good shoulders. A very good chest: nice breasts, double B or perhaps C, and then a slightly rounded tummy sitting on nicely rounded hips, the thighs were firm and the legs long. “Like what you see, Paul?” she asked somewhat acerbically.

“Yes, Eve, very much – your boy friend is a very lucky fellow.”

“He thinks so. Oh – I’ll fetch the coffee.” As she walked away, I had a perfect view of her posterior; it had that tilt and sways that called out for a pair of male hands on it, yes I thought, very nice indeed.

Eve carried in a silver coffee pot, the steam coming from it smelled divine. She put the milk in first and then poured, and I took a sip: first class coffee.

Eve sat down again, next to me, this time she kneeled upright with her hands open on her thighs. Looking up to me she said, quickly as if nerving herself, “Paul, the reason I’ve asked you here, is to put a question to you. Now I want you to give me an honest answer, don’t worry about my feelings.”

“OK fire away.”

“If I was your girl and I told you that I’d been a very bad girl, what would you do?”

“Well, obviously I’d spank you. But to make sure that you got what you deserved, I’d need to clear a few things up. Are you sure you mean bad, not just naughty? Bad gets you a real spanking … naughty gets you a fun spanking. And furthermore, have you broken faith or trust? These aren’t cured by punishments, but by splitting up.”

“No, Paul I have not broken any faith, but I’ve been bad, and I need to be punished.”

“Are you quite sure? This isn’t a game, if I punish you will know it, and might regret it,” I warned her.

“I understand, Paul.” Eyes downcast.

“Well then, Eve, I need to know your offence before I can punish you.”
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My Master got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as a slave was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!)

I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

Cock-sucking is always something I enjoy, but sometimes it is more exciting than others. Sometimes, just blowing my Master will get my pussy as wet and ready as a good spanking does. This was one of those times, especially, when my Master grabbed both my hands, and started actively fucking my throat. I’m not perfect at deep-throating, but it turns me on to no end. Just feeling his cock push all the way into my mouth, oh, it makes me feel so submissive and helpless – and aroused!

My Master had special plans for this scene. He wanted it very intense, and very intimate. After he’d enjoyed the blow-job as long as he fancied, he directed me to climb on top of him, in “reverse cowgirl.” He had three toys he’d never used on me before: a short, black, very stiff two-tailed tawse; a short flogger made from old tyres, with jagged edges as if cut by pinking shears (which I actually brought to the relationship – a story for another post); and a long oak thing, somewhere between a paddle and a cane. (Which I immediately knew I didn’t like the look of!)

As I moved up and down on his cock, he beat my bottom with the tawse. That was wonderful, moving me from the early sensations to starting to have to work through the pain. Then, he grabbed the flogger, and applied it to my bum and my back. He has very seldom flogged my back, normally he prefers to lavish his attentions on my bottom, and I don’t see anything wrong with that! But something about the way this flogger caught against my skin on my back was just driving me wild with that pain/pleasure combination. He noticed how excited it was making me, and thus followed a very long session of me riding more and more excitedly on his cock, while his flogging grew heavier and heavier, until he ordered me to come, and I took off at his command. I was in pure masochist heaven.

Eventually he moved to the evil oak thing. I took the first few strokes okay, but that pain was of the kind I have trouble processing, and I ended up holding myself rigid on his cock, because if I moved I’d try to move out of range of those sharp, hard strokes.

This, of course, fascinated him, sadist that he is, and he promised me a session, coming soon, where he would use that toy on me, and then fuck my ass. My emotional response to this is twofold and contradictory: first, there is the “I DON’T WANT!” response, and a feeling of unfairness because this thing definitely falls under the “punishment” range of implements (he himself said that after this scene, it would be used in for times when I need discipline or punishment, but haven’t been bad enough for the punishment paddle) and so this voice in my head has all these excuses, and the mantra of “It’s not fair!”

But at the same time, the thought that he knows how hard this will be for me, and he wants to put me through it – that it will make me become so vulnerable as I strive to accept pain I can barely handle for him – and then he will take me in that defenceless place, and fuck my ass, which always makes me feel the most ultimately vulnerable and used … well, that makes me want to run, not walk, to Mr. Buzzy, and release these intense sensations building up in my pussy!

I will just never get over how confusing it is being a masochist! At least now I have (mostly) learned to ignore the first reaction, and just focus on the second as being the truer (and more satisfactory!) one.

Anyway, back to our coitus already in progress: at this point he had me turn around (I tried to pivot on his cock, but ended up falling off him, which led to much laughter – but I probably shouldn’t admit that, as of course there is no laughing in BDSM!)

Then he took the little tawse to my inner thighs and mons veneris. This, combined with the new angle of his cock led to more orgasms, and I leant back further and further, ending up completely bent in half backwards (thank you, yoga!), elbows besides my feet, so he could have the most access possible to beat my pussy.

That position was great, but not particularly sustainable, so we ended up back in normal cowgirl, with him now wielding the flogger, and using it on my breasts, and, as we both got more and more excited and I was bouncing all over the place and his aim got less and less precise, pretty much on the entire front of my body.

I think it will come as no surprise to anyone that his orgasm and my final orgasm were pretty amazing. But for me, the orgasms were really just pleasant side effects. It was the intimacy of the act, the intensity of accepting the pain while being penetrated by him that was the most important, profound thing for me.

What a happy sticky mess we ended up as! The tensions of last week were washed over, and we could go to sleep, him holding me tight, relaxed and ready for Monday.