flogger

And so it begins, one whole year of not cumming, not orgasming, no release, no days off – just service, giving pleasure to Sir, making his life easier, letting him use my body.

This is the most submissive I have ever been to anyone. Sir is the most dominant that anyone has ever been with me. It’s scary, but I like it.

For those of you who have been following my blog and like some continuity, I'll briefly catch up before continuing.

I didn't get to orgasm on my birthday; The reason being, Sir gave me a special birthday beating which involved:

Sir was here for an extended bank holiday weekend, he screwed my brains out and I came like a train.

I can't say I was disappointed. I wouldn't have objected to continuing, but I think it would have been hard, and I enjoyed cumming over and over again, screaming while he impaled me on his cock. Everytime I opened my eyes and looked up at him, he was just grinning like a maniac, digging his cock further into me to make me scream some more.

But now it's back to the denial, and beginning is so hard, the hardest part of it. Weird as it sounds, it's easier after 4 weeks than it is after 4 hours. The memory is still fresh in my mind, I can feel the after effects in Sir's pussy, smell my own juices on my underwear. I'm still orgasmic yet I'm facing up to an unknown time without orgasms. In this case, it's almost certain that I won't orgasm again till I see him in 2 weeks and 3 days. On the one hand, I wish it was longer - denial makes me top from the bottom something chronic, not because I want it to end but because I want it to continue! - on the other hand I'm sat here now, wanting to peak more than anything, remembering all the hot things we have done this weekend.

Sir keeps having this dream about me wearing a bright red swimsuit. In the dream he is teasing me, rubbing his cock against me, me moaning and writhing beneath him whilst he grinds against me. Mischievous little subbie that I am, I can never resist getting something if I know it would please him.

So fast forward to Saturday afternoon, he is walking up the stairs to my apartment, and I am posing in the hallway, my hands resting against the doorframe, wearing a killer red swimsuit, seamed fishnet stockings, high heels and the collar round my neck. He comes in through the front door, sees me, bites his lip whilst making that 'mmm, I'm going to fuck you' sound and the next thing I am on my back on the bed, holding my legs apart, getting impaled on his cock.

The Box

She dreaded the box. It meant total loss of control.

It took him six months to build with the proper tools and materials. He wanted it perfect and stopped at nothing to get it done exactly how he desired.

Sometimes, she was inside for 30 minutes, sometimes two hours. The first time she was placed inside he made her endure six hours and then promised that would never happen again unless she did something so horrible as to deserve it.

She did not feel human in the box, just chopped up into parts to be used any way he wished. And he was rarely kind while she was in there. He used his imagination to invent new ways to torture her. And the spankings were longer, harder, nearing the point of unbearable.