I’m a tits and ass man

My favourite thing at the moment is not looking at the funky search terms on my blog, but looking at the funky groups I’m being invited to be a member of on Flickr….

Ample ass….

I think that just sums it up beautifully.

I was having a quick browse through fet today and noticed a thread about what size & shape of ass spankos liked. Apparently it splits down the middle with 50% of guys liking small, tight ones and the other 50% liking a bit of well-endowedness and jiggle.

M says that I have a ‘demon ass’, but I suspect that he is a bit biased in his assessment, as he knows my ass would pucker up and form the deepest black hole ever to come into existence if I got so much as a whiff of non-acceptance from him.

Personally, I’d rather have a small, tight one. Although it probably provides you with less padding in the case of an impending beating, I’m sure it makes clothes shopping much easier and I’d imagine that it’s nice to have a spare inch or so when sitting in low-cost carrier seats. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the negatives of an ample ass outweigh the positives by about a billion to one.

That one positive being, of course, that the ‘overhang’ of cheek helps keep a butt-plug in – which may or may not be a positive, depending on which side of the butt fence you sit on.

I’ve often dreamed about having a gap between my thighs and a view of…..nothing. The fact that I can see my ass through my legs has always disturbed me and it’s probably a god-send that without assuming the police frisk search position I can’t see through my thighs because I don’t have The Gap™.

Actually I’ve heard that some guys have a gap fetish. I wonder if that’s mutually exclusive to a camel toe fetish?

Anyway, I guess you’re wondering where the tits come into it…

Well, I while ago this ad was on tv here and I’ve loved it ever since. I go around the house singing the song – just because I’m spethial like that.

Tuckus lingus and all things butt

Ever since I started my new slave-kick (like a health-kick but with less bran), the butt has been appearing on the menu more and more. I have a truly deep love/hate relationship with the butt and while 70% of my private porn collection is made-up of insanely limber chicks having their asses totally rammed, there are days when the mere thought of putting something up my own ass just makes me want to cry.

To be honest, I’ve never really understood the attraction of butt plugs – either for the inserter or the insertee and I’ve blogged about it on many occasions (in an attempt to have someone explain it to me, but unfortunately I’m still waiting…) I mean, what is there to get out of a big lump of latex or silicon just sitting there? So my complete lack of understanding about what makes them hawt makes it difficult for me to get excited when Master makes the fateful order:

“Go put in the ___(insert size here)___ butt plug.”

But of course, since I’m a new-and-improved slave, instead of ignoring him laughing it off and going to watch tv, I dutifully lube up and insert the sucker and try to clench to hold the damn thing in. It generally doesn’t take anything more than a stiff breeze for it to fall out though and Master keeps saying he wants a harness for me to keep it in. I think we’ve passed two christmases and three birthdays without me buying one as a present for him though, so I’m sure you can see how excited I am about the prospect of my butt-plug not being able to fall out.

Now we’re going to move into the ‘possibly TMI territory’…

In my pre-slave days, I wasn’t very aware of all my holes and their positions and all that jazz. I’d never really looked at myself down there and while I always followed the sound advice of wiping ‘front to back’ I would of found it difficult to direct a guy if he got lost down there. I don’t think I would of ever, ever, ever considered buttsecks as something that nice, married girls do and I can still remember the day when I discovered how close my vagina and anus actually were. For some reason I’d thought my butt hole was a lot further away than it actually was and I discovered that when I’d been watching what I thought was vaginal sex, the sex was actually taking place in a very different location.

I know, I know. How naive was I? But you’ve got to remember I’m a small-town country girl who went to Sunday school and I grew up thinking I wanted to save my first kiss for ‘someone special’. I wasn’t born the slut, slave, ho bitch I am today :)

So anyway, several long, hard months of daily enemas practically cured my lack of direction in my nether region overnight and I now spend a lot of time down there removing hair, lubing and inserting butt plugs so I’m very familiar with the area.

(I could give you a little bit TMI here and tell you that I’ve named my hemorrhoid who likes to pop his head out every now and then, “Tom”, but I won’t, because that just makes me sound like I’m insane.)

Master also has this dream of me serving him a can of beer or soft drink by squeezing it out of my ass. He has seen it done and constantly comments to me that if I was any sort of ‘real slave’ that’s what I’d be able to do. I’m sure it’s a matter of practise makes perfect, but the question is, do you want to drink something that has been up someone’s ass, even if it was in a can???

Along with butt plugs and butt cans, Master also has this thing about me licking his ass. I’m not talking tuckus lingus, I’m talking licking his butt cheeks. Why? I dunno. Out of the blue he will shout out to me,

“Come lick my butt bitch!”

So, of course, being the new and improved slave I am, I go and lick his butt. While I’m not a big fan of licking, I can manage to get over my aversion to licking someone much easier than I can my aversion to being licked so I manage.

So that’s my life at the moment – butt licking and butt plugs. Like everyone I have my good butt days – where it can actually start to feel good, and my bad butt days –  where nothing I do makes it feel anything but ouchie and uncomfortable, but I dunno, I think if I understood the attraction more I’d have fewer bad butt days.

The back door

I’m a big girl and I’m not afraid to say it:

I love butt sex.

But let me point out something very important here – butt sex and butt plugs are very different.

I hate butt plugs.

They both happen in the same place, so what’s so different about it?,  I hear you say. Well, in response I have three things to say:

Firstly, if you have to ask the question, you’ve obviously never experienced just how uncomfortable a butt plug up your ass can be.

Secondly, having a big lump of something that just sits up your ass and makes you feel like you need to do a poop is just not good.

Thirdly, there is such a delicious feeling of disconnection with butt sex that you never get with a butt plug and it makes me feel totally base and nothing more than a hole.

In summary, butt sex is hawt.

I was thinking about this last night during our interrogation/word porn session. Master often likes to get me to admit that I like being fucked up the bum. He knows it’s hard for me to say and I think he finds it amusing to make me say I’m a dirty slut who enjoys being fucked up the ass, when I like to think of myself as nothing more than a ‘nice girl’.

Then I got to thinking what it was about butt sex that I really liked. I can’t say I’ve ever gotten an orgasm out of it and quite often it can be painful, but I’d much rather be fucked up the back door than my cunt any day. So what makes it good?

So then I started thinking about the interaction you get when you’re facing someone – you see their face, you talk, you kiss, there’s all sorts of stuff happening to make you feel like a person having sex, as opposed to a hole being used. There’s also an expectation that you have to reciprocate by doing all the above, instead of just laying back, closing your eyes and thinking of England.

In comparison, with but sex, generally you’re just hanging on for the ride – or trying to stop your head getting pounded into the head-board and not be suffocated by the pillows at the same time.

This kind of makes me sound like I’m a selfish fuck who doesn’t want to do anything for their partner, doesn’t it? The only thing I can say is that when your kink is non-participation i.e. being forced to do stuff, it’s hard to enjoy anything more than being used like a hole.

I don’t know what it is about butt plugs, but I just don’t feel that the other person gets any enjoyment out of them (well, they might, but it’s not direct, ya’know?) So if they’re not getting any enjoyment out of it, why the hell do I have a big inert mass up my back door that I’m not enjoying either?

This post has been brought to you by the letters ‘P’, ‘L’ ,’U’, ‘G’ and the mathematical variable  ‘Y?’

How I manage to fuck myself up the bum

I had a disturbing & at first glance, slightly mysterious text message out of the blue from my sister the other day:

“Now I know why they don’t make butt plugs out of pink latex.”

If you, like me and apparently like my sister, were foolish enough to put your pretty pink vibrator/dildo in a place where it was never made to go, you will know exactly what she was talking about. I don’t really want to go into much detail, but basically it’s Reason #421 of why I’m not into scat:

Poop stains.

Ok?

Now that I’ve got that off my chest I can move onto other things (I didn’t actually mean to talk about poop, but the title just kind of reminded me about how wonderfully random my sister can be sometimes…)

So, I don’t really want to go into great detail, but if you’ve been reading Master’s blog, he’s been mentioning that I’ve been in a bit of a ‘funk’ i.e. giving him the cold shoulder lately. I had, of course, adopted the timeless woman’s tactic that men all across the world are familiar with known as, ‘If-I-give-him-the-cold-shoulder-for-long-enough-eventually-he’ll-figure-out-what’s-wrong-and-make-it-right.’ Unfortunately, all through-out the ages men have never figured out what’s wrong with their womenfolk and women have never figured out why the hell the menfolk can’t see what’s wrong because it is so bleeding ‘obvious’!!!

Suffice to say, it’s always better to tell the menfolk exactly what’s wrong in short, simple words and don’t give them the cold shoulder because they will just think you have your period – again - and go about life as normal.

My problem was that I’ve been feeling a distinct lack of masterfulness about Master and it had gotten to the stage that I was thinking if he wasn’t going to ‘scratch my itch’ then why the hell should I ‘scratch his itch’? I know it doesn’t sound very slavely and I’m sure I’ll get an e-mail from the Slave Registration people wanting to remove me from their list, but, seriously, the only way a bdsm relationship (or any relationship for that matter) is going to work is if both parties are getting something out of it.

I suppose in a sense I’m a bit more work than other slaves because I don’t have an itch for serving that gets scratched simply by doing things for him. I have a very specific itch for use and play (specifically bondage) and while I can ignore it for quite lengthy periods of time, eventually it gets to a point where I have to have it scratched NOW or I become very unbearable to live with.

Honestly, I’d like it if I didn’t have this itch. I’d like to just have a ‘normal’ relationship and relax in the comfortable haze of being a couple. I also like to trick myself into believing that I no longer have the itch and that I’ve ‘grown out’ of being a slave or that I don’t want that side of things anymore. These last couple of months have essentially been exactly that situation for me and I’ve thought quite seriously that I’d like to give it all away.

But when I’m in the haze and everything is good and I’m happy and I haven’t got a single thing to complain about in Couple-ville, it’s in those quiet times when I’m alone with my thoughts that I always feel like something is missing. It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but that I can only attribute to a lack of the D/s side of things. And even though a part of me may not want it there to begin with, its absence is palpable.

I guess it’s an addiction. Quite often I think I’ve kicked ‘the habit’ for good, but I always come back whether it be 2, 3 or 6 months down the track for another hit, another drawl, just to feed my needs. Inevitably coming back means a tighting up of things that had become lax, reinforcement of rules and new challenges. There is always a good injection of stuff that hurts and inevitably things that I don’t want to do rear their ugly heads again. That’s how I fuck myself up the bum – wrapping the chains tighter around myself when all I’d wanted to do up until that point was break free of them.

So that’s where I’m at at the moment. I confessed all to Master today and he’s of the opinion that I need a good beating. I’m of the opinion that I need a good beating- not just the threat of it.

Once again, though, I’m fucking myself up the bum by saying I need a good beating -when I really don’t want one- but I do really need one-but I really can’t take one- but I really do need one- but it’s really going to hurt- and as the thoughts circle around my head the image of a darkly-stained, once-pretty vibrator named Mr. Pink, who has gone where no vibrator should have gone before, enters my mind.

I had a good butt day

I always find it interesting when I have one of those rare occasions that a butt plug doesn’t hurt. I don’t know why some days are good and some days are bad as there doesn’t seem to be a pattern i.e. no amount of ‘training’ makes a bad butt day good, and a good butt day can come totally out of the blue. All I know is that every now and then, I don’t mind having something up my butt.

Last Friday was my good butt day (you’ll notice that I’m trying to stay away from the depressing topic of my hair, so I’m distracting myself with discussing butt) so when I slipped the pony tail in and pulled the ballet boots on, all was good with the world.

Tails and boots

(pony tail and cunt rings – now with more cunt hair!)

Master ‘surprised’ me by posting some pics of the said tail and boots on his blog. Saturday morning I woke up and headed to his bed, only to be told that I needed to go and read his blog before I could access the “Master bed”. So I opened up his blog and there were five ‘uncensored’ pics of my butt plastered across it. It was the first time in the 2+ years he has been writing that he has added pics. I had a feeling when I moved his blog over to WordPress last week that something like that would happen. Now I’m living in fear of what other butt-ugly pics he is going to post.

He had a comment left on his blog the other day along the lines of ‘allowing your slave to censor her pics is like asking the cd player what cds you can play’. I think quite a few people miss the point that I only have the freedom to do as I do within the boundaries he gives me. If he specifically told me to post a particular pic or not write about a particular topic then I wouldn’t have any choice but to obey.

And even though he has the final say, I still have an opinion about things. I will still tell him what I want or what I do and don’t like, but whether he choses to *indulge* me by going along with my suggestions is another completely different story. I think it’s when someone isn’t allowed to have an opinion that you start getting into dangerous territory a.k.a. this-girl-is-going-to-blow-any-minute-kind-of-stress-build-up-territory.

To me, it’s very important that I have a voice, that I can let him know how I feel about things. I also need to know that he is listening – not just hearing my words. I believe he needs all that information in order to be the best owner he can possibly be.

But as I said, whether he actually makes choices that are in keeping with my wishes is another story. Sometimes it may be that he just happens to choose what I would of chosen and I’m all happy because it kind of feels like I’m getting what I want, and sometimes he just does whatever the hell he wants regardless of how I feel about it, because that’s what he wants and yeah, I’ve just got to suck it up (the reality of which can sometimes be hot with the whole ‘no control angle’ and sometimes just really suck…)

So I started out by talking about butt and ended up discussing floormats vs slaves…I think it’s definitely time I went and cooked dinner…chickpea and chicken curry by the way.

Bubble, boil, toil and trouble

I went to bed angry, woke up angry and spent most of the day angry. In fact, I’m still angry. Not ‘I-want-to-smash-your-face-in’ angry, just a slow simmer with bubbles that break the surface sometimes and result in me muttering angrily to myself when no-one is looking.

Yes, I’m red plaging, which is normally in itself the cause of massive fits of anger, but I’m also angry with the whole ‘I’m-the-slave-so-I-have-to-do-what-he-wants’ situation. It sucks when I’m feeling like this because it’s so hard to swallow the retorts and the biting remarks and accept the fact that I’m always wrong, because well, I’m the slave and that’s the way it is.

Last night I was punished for not wearing the butt plug for an hour each night like I was told to. Thirty percent of the reason I wasn’t doing it was because I hate butt plugs with a passion, twenty percent of the reason is because I just don’t have time and the remaining fifty percent was because I think it’s stupid to have to do things when he’s not here and it doesn’t matter whether I’ve done them or not anyway. When he told me during the punishment that he’d only set the rule for ‘my benefit’ because I was going to have to wear a pony girl tail at the next party and he wanted me to be ‘comfortable’, my ‘stupid task needle’ shot up into the red zone and I started to seethe. It was like, WTF??? I’m going to be feeling fucking uncomfortable no matter how much ‘preparation’ I do because things just aren’t supposed to be shoved up the butt to begin with and instead of just having one night of discomfort for the party, every night for the next fucking month or so is going to be uncomfortable. That to me seems pretty sucky. I just about collapse into bed the minute I get home from work as it is and he knows that. It just really pissed me off that he wanted to add more discomfort to my already painful life. I already suffer from sore-cunt-itis every fucking day for him, do I really need more pain on a daily basis????

*sprinkles some water on her flames of anger and takes a deep breath*

In my defense, to be honest, I didn’t think he was serious about me doing it to begin with; I thought it was just another one of his mind-fucks, so I hadn’t given it much thought and had really forgotten all about it until half way through the week. But when I got in the car yesterday and he told me that I had a beating coming my way for not doing what I was told with that mean-assed, “I-don’t-give-a-toss-for-you-you-piece-of-slave-meat-scum” look in his eye, things were not looking good. I had kind of hoped that he would let it slide. He hadn’t said a word about it for the last week or so I thought it must of been added to the growing pile of ‘one of these days’ things, but alas ’twas not to be.

So he caned my butt and I cried and he followed it up with a good hour of interrogation about what I was and what was expected of me. After droning, “I’m your slave. I’m for your use and pleasure. I must be obedient” enough times I guess he thought I was sufficiently brain-washed and he let me go to bed. Today I seethed for most of the day, had to resist the urge to tell some rude and pushy people at work  to ‘get fucked’ then came home and did what was required. After I squeezed the butt plug out after the prescribed time of insertion I wish he had been here so I could of screamed at him,

 ‘I’VE GOT A SORE AND BLOODY CUNT AND I FEEL LIKE CRAP, BUT I STILL PUT THAT STUPID THING UP MY ASS. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW????’ 

For some reason it’s just not the same screaming it in your head to no-one. And that’s almost as sucky as being a slave at times like this.

I know:
- I’m the slave and doing what I’m told is my lot in life 
- I should be grateful for his leniency 
- Butt plug wearing is not a difficult thing in the scheme of things 
- I should be happy for the use
- I’m a sucky slave at times
- I moan and bitch too much
- Everything else that people reading this are thinking…

…but I really do find that it really is little things like this that put a bee in my bonnet. And just to set the record straight, I’m not complaining or saying that what Master did was wrong or anything like that, I just wanted to get it off my chest because I’m so angry!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Strangely enough, I don’t feel any better.

I’ve been a bit wordy of late…

….so I’ve decided to post some pics! I’ve also just recently become able to look at these pics from our last party a few weeks ago i.e. being able to look without cringing away in absolute horror, so yay for me. Lol.

Anyway, without further ado, here they are.

In the hands of a madman

This is ‘R’ the bacon-slicing, cane-loving, spanking-devotee.

Over the spanking bench

This bench can take up to 5 subbie girls all at once!

Inserting things where things shouldn't go

One hand for butt plug, one hand for pocket rocket. The laughing gallery of people behind me is just out of shot.

Lick those boots bitch

The delightful Mistress B enjoys clean boots.

Tongue action

Slavegirl tongue

Processing

Last Saturday night I think I was broken again. It’s actually taken me a week of mulling and pondering and dragging over the details in my head before I could even put fingers to keyboard to write about it. I started writing last night,  but ended up deleting what I’d written, closed the top of my laptop and went to bed. Sleep seemed a lot easier than visiting the ghosts again.

In retrospect it wasn’t something that was particularly difficult. It didn’t hurt physically and was very tame compared to some other things I’ve done in my time. But as I’ve said before, my buttons for breaking are turning out to be surprising simple – being butt naked in front of a crowd of people and the latest: inserting toys in my holes as people watched.

In order to do it, I had to not give a fuck. In order to do it, I had to throw my pride out the window. In order to do it, I had to be slave and not be me. All in all, it ranks way up there with some of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but to kneel there under the spotlight as I lubed up each toy, spread my cheeks and lips and inserted them was such a hard thing for me to do.

I started out kneeling on the spanking bench and reaching behind to insert, but my incredible level of mortification was making my muscles contract and nothing was getting inserted anywhere.

“Is it in yet?” I heard someone behind me say.

I was laughing from the shame, attempting to stop myself from crying and it was making things worse.

“I can’t do it in this position!” I was quickly moving from thoroughly mortified, to panic verging on wanting to die.

“Well, get into a position that you can do it in!” Master didn’t even pause in his video shooting. He was making sure that every millisecond of my shame was being recorded.

I ended up kneeling on the floor, which actually gave the people watching abetter view.

“You should see what we can see from here, kitten!” The ever-helpful Mistress Blair chimed in.

I think what made things worse was that Master had had me bring the smallest of the small butt plugs and I couldn’t even get it in. The small, white butt plug is about as thick as your finger and embarrassingly tiny. Even though something bigger would have hurt, at least it would of kept intact my slave pride. If I’d had, say, Mr Purple, people would have understood my issues with inserting and I would have received some sort of praise, but the white training plug just made me want to hang my head in slave shame.

I don’t know whether Master made me bring that one on purpose  or not, but I’m more inclined to think that he brought that one in consideration of the fact that I haven’t had anything up my ass for several months. I think he was taking pity on me and trying to take things easy on me. While I appreciate the thought, I really would have preferred to have struggled with something more challenging.

After much  pushing and coaxing they were finally in and I put back on my leather bikini. The people watching wandered off in search of further entertainment and Master re-leashed me and went back to sit on the lounge and watch the next subbie boy being tormented, dragging me with him. 

I still wanted to dissolve and was fighting back tears. Emotionally I was heading for a black hole that was sucking me in fast.

We left the party soon after that and I was irrationally angry and upset. I hated that he made me do something that had me feeling like I could never show my face in public again. I’d worked hard to form a certain reputation for myself as a non-noob slave. I could take a reasonable beating without a sound and had conquered the whole naked-in-public-fear thing. I had a feeling that I’d just fallen right back to square one and I was hurt. I felt violated and dirty.

Master came home and immediately downloaded what photos and video he had taken to his iMac. Seeing the images of myself across his screen was making me physically sick. I just wanted to curl up in bed way from the world. But of course, the evening had excited him and seeing the photos had put him in the ravishing frame of mind so off to his bed I was ordered.

I had another good sob and did a bit of screaming at him about exactly how wrong the whole thing had made me feel. The fact that he didn’t give a shit also pissed me off. He didn’t think it was such a big deal, but I had gone completely over the edge and wasn’t coming back for anyone.

The next day I felt worse. The crying had made my eyes swell up and I had a splitting headache. I asked if we could postpone the bondage afternoon with a friend that had been planned. Master still seemed highly amused about how easily my buttons had been pushed but agreed to postpone it and rang our friend to explain the situation. 

It took me several more days to fully forgive Master, and a few more days before I could look at the photos and the video of the night. Emotionally I’m still a bit raw, but also feeling rather silly at my over-reaction. I don’t know exactly why the night had such a profound effect on me, but I’m beginning to think that it was the injury to my slave pride that hurt me the most. 

As a slave, without choices, rights or anything to my name, the only thing I thought I have is my pride. Without it, I’m nothing. But is it his plan to take that away from me as well? 

Is a slave nothing without pride or should a slave have nothing including pride?