Mounting a defence

As one stood at the washing machine adding steaming wet running clothes, He was there supposedly taking off his work clothes to add to the enormous pile of black washing. What He was actually doing was taking time out of his morning to torture his slave. A hand would reach out to caress or poke or tweak as one tried to get out of His reach while still completing the job at hand. Now you are probably wondering why this petty annoyance counts as torture aren't you.

Well it's very simple... one small slave was standing there also steaming and dripping from that run and He has hot hands. It leaves trails of fire on slick skin that sets the teeth on edge. And He knows this. So out would come that hand...

Poke

Please don't do that

Stroke

FFS that feels disgusting

Rub

Oh for the love off gods stop that

Tweak

M##%f##*#***!

You are getting the idea

Suddenly it stopped...

And then there was a stinging crack that landed on the arse. It was followed by a couple more...

I'm not touching He declared with childish glee as the belt from his work pants landed on more unprotected skin

See people this is what one has to deal with...

Continual provocation

Mutters if someone get limb lopped it won't be one small slave...

Not the pussy

Every once in a while one makes the mistake of checking out His tumbler and catching up on what he's been perving on. Now it's a mistake not because He doesn't find great pictures, he does, or because there aren't some utterly whimsical shots, 'cos there are. It's a mistake because every once in a while there is something deeply disturbing. There is one such picture up there at the moment... actually it's a gif which adds to the distressing aspect.

Coming into the room He asked what one was looking at 'cos he's so controlling just the nosiest person on earth.

That very unsettling picture of the flogging

Yeah I thought that looked like so much fun

Not fun. That word doesn't mean what you think it means.

You don't want to do that He asked in disbelief.

No, not with you.

He looked hurt.

Apart from the fact that one hates being hit there 'cos it hurts like fuck, the flogging that they are doing is quite gentle. You wouldn't do it like that.

I would He declared. For the first couple of times at any rate He added almost as an afterthought.

See its statement like that which does nothing to improve the trust levels. At all. In fact the truthful nature of the statement does nothing to improve the situation generally. The whole thing is just worrying.

That's got to be abuse.

Right?

One quiet night

There had been plans for the weekend. Of course that was how one found oneself rostered on at work for most of the day. So we thought we will make the most of what time we have. Let's go to a movie and pretend that we actually managed to spend some time together. Of course there wasn't a bloody thing on that we wanted to see.

We'll do something fun He said as he dropped one off at the coal face. In fact He said it twice. Out loud. You know, just in case the gods of malice didn't hear it the first time. So twice curse one scampered into work.

First the headache started, it was as hot as hell in there and then the shift got extended to the close of day. Of course He didn't get the messages and turned up at the appointed hour... the first one... and had to hang around at the music store... never a cheap proposition. What with one thing and another it was 9.30 before we crawled into bed. Well one of us did, the other one was still messing around on His computer.

Thinking it safe one turned to other girly rituals. He came in and there was some rummaging around and then before you could say, let alone spell, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious one small slave was shoved in that bloody bondage bar. May one just say that Velcro is still Satan's tool. Like so many great inventions it was perverted by some malign person into a tool of terror L

He then proceeded to apply the flogger, followed by one of those nasty quirt things (second picture down, third from the left) that hurt like hell. Particularly when aimed at upturned genitals...

You know strangely enough one realised that the flogger had been missed. Not the quirt, that toy needs to be lost quietly.

We really need to find more time for this stuff

Oh not the bondage bar, that needs to be lost in the same place as the quirt.

But the rest of the night was fun J

Flying

The rain started again with a vengeance at 2am... by the time one got up some of the lower roads were flooded already and making a critical decision one called work. The trouble is that if they close the road, like the other night, one has no way of getting home by public transport and there isn't so much as a motel in that area. So the day was spent doing other things...

Though He was a little miffed that one was going to get an extra day off...

After breakfast one was carted off to bed and somewhere in there He amused himself with one of the many floggers. See the trouble with collectors is that they are a compulsive breed. It doesn't matter what it is, collectors can't help themselves... though some do hone it down to a highly specialised area... the compulsion usually manifests itself in more areas than one. In His case floggers seem to be breeding at the same alarming rate as music, books, DVDs and games do.  

This time we did try it a different way... when aroused, masturbating and with endorphin levels flying... along with the flogger. In fact we even managed to grab a pic when He was just done. And that people is as pink as it gets... by the time one writes this it will all be gone L In some ways it is so sad... all that flogging and so little to show for it...

The memories of how it felt as it thumped across the skin, of how it caressed and contoured around in that rhythmic beat will linger for a little longer. And so too will the incredible orgasm with Him buried in one's arse...

But as with all things it will fade...

If only because at some stage the endorphins will stop flying and one will come back to the ground with a crashing, burning thud.

Think lunch and a visit to the gym are in order...

Retail therapy

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A fine line

Greeting Him kneeling at the door, partially naked due to the encroaching winter, did not elicit the usual gleam his eyes. What are those He asked, pointing to the pyjama bottoms. Um protection against the cold one replied hopefully. They need to be gone. But it's freezing, and they were allowed last year. Well not this one, was the unsympathetic reply. Why do people always have to mess with systems that work just fine? Oh right because they can L

Later stripping again before the box one pointed hopefully at the socks. He smiled and shook his head in a negative motion. Reluctantly one took them off and knelt waiting for the flogger. Think we will try one of the others He said in a jovial tone. Any sense of relief one was feeling quickly fled as He started his warm up shots on an exposed cunt. Gods one just hates being hit there, even playfully.

That course of IPL hair removal He had done was the most horrible thing ever. Every freaking month one was escorted to a cubicle to be hurt by a professional. The bitches lied... it didn't get any better with repeated treatments. Mind you one did discover that the families lack of baldness extends to that area as well. As a family we are not particularly hairy... we just like to keep what we have. Oh the hair fell out... it just grew back, without missing a beat. Speaking of which...

When finished, with one extra thrown in for good measure... it was the socks wasn't it?.... He grabbed one firmly and worked his way up to his balls in one's arse. Fortunately there was still lube in place from the butt plug. Which was just as well because just as we can never remember to put tissues in a convenient location, the same issue seems to occur with the lube.  Honestly after the sock incident one figured one's chances of saying just a minute and scampering to get the stuff was... well... not good.

Later after a good breakfast, we repaired to the bedroom for a little put Master to sleep sex. He was most gracious and allowed one to cum. And as one lay there writhing in ecstasy one made the critical error of curling up. It was at that moment that the stomach muscles, that had a little workout yesterday, announced their annoyance by erupting into screaming pain. Which kinda killed the buzz 'cos some pain is not sexy or sexual.

Realising that the endorphins had hit an all time low He decided to make a move. Turning one over onto the knees, He grabbed one firmly by the collar and drove back into one's arse. No lube, no endorphins, no getting out of the foetal position... it hurt. When one informed him of this later, after He had cum and one had thanked him politely, He smiled. As one pointed out tartly it was such an inappropriate response, and made one less inclined to reduce his sadistic tendencies rating. He laughed out loud. Sighs you know sometimes one suspects He is starting to enjoy this way too much.

The cold wind of change

It is starting to get nippy here... well for us it is... enough to send one scampering for a t-shirt and socks in the morning and evening. So when He solicitously enquired if one had a lift for this morning, the mind was on other things... taking stock of the sock supply and whether one needed to start encouraging the family knitters to start post summer production. Yes, one replied... absently between seasons. Oh good, then we will have time for a quick flogging. Snapping back to the conversation one hazard a guess that we weren't talking about some new term for a hand job. Umm... are they back on?

It seemed they were, after having been commuted due to illness and other complications. Snail pacing it to the bedroom, one asked if the t-shirt could stay. No, was the reply. So one climbed onto the box, naked and shivering and waited with that feeling of apprehension in the pit of the stomach. Which flogger... nice or... The stinging wallop that landed on one's arse answered that question. Nasty... with thongs of leather tied to look like barbed wire. Thump after stinging burning thump landed, and one got the privilege of saying thank you Master after each one.

When He finished the abraded flesh was grabbed firmly by both hands and He forced himself into a tight and emotionally resistant cunt.  He fucked one with short sharp strokes that hit the back of the vagina in a painful way until, with a satisfied groan, He came. Looking at ones obviously aggrieved face, He smiled and said I wasn't hitting you that hard. There is hardly a mark. You are just getting soft... we need to do this more often.

Scampering out of the room just in case His plan was more immediate, one got clothes ready for work and retired to the shower to nurse the wounded flesh. The mirror on the way past confirmed His assessment. There wasn't a mark to be seen. Gods one just hates winter and cold body parts that feel too much pain and going to work and the return of the Thursday morning floggings.

Mind you as He fucked one in the arse a short while later, with long rough strokes that made one try to claw a way into the pillows, one realised one hated that the butt plug hadn't been in for the last couple of days either. Though for reasons that we won't go into here,  one will attest to what a difference a plug can make. In fact at one stage one sort of came to, only to hear oneself promising feverently to be back  wearing of the damn thing as soon as possible.

Thursdays are shaping up to be a speshul day. 

White rabbit

This morning was the usual flurry of running late, getting ready for work, breakfasts, lunches and the Thursday morning flogging.  We used to have a ritual daily flogging that we both enjoyed... not sure what happened to that, but it was probably life... and the great thing about ritualistic beatings is that they don’t hurt as much as weekly ones. As one hopped up on the punishment box, He selected the nice flogger. It might make a non-masochistic girl twitch, but there are some horrid ones that could have been selected that hurt like the blazes.

So one was suitably grateful... a state that extended through the fifteen strokes, even though He was putting a bit more into it than last week. The gratitude even made it through the rather brutal arse fucking that He finished with, and one thanked him profusely when He was done with one small slave. In fact the gratitude survived right up until one was in the bathroom and He said turn around, I want to see the marks. There were only faint pink lines that appeared to give Him no pleasure at all.

What’s up with that? Well the day is warmer and one did have a shower just before you reminded one, strange how you can forget some things without any trouble whatsoever, that it was Thursday. Hmmm, was the dissatisfied sounding reply. It was at that moment that gratitude turned a little sour... it felt a lot like worry in fact. See the trouble with a voyeur is that they like to see a result and when they don’t get it, you can be damn sure they are going to try harder next time. That little voice is going this is going to hurt...

Thursday mornings ain’t what they used to be

Well one awoke at the obscene hour of 5am and decided that the gym would be a perfect way to start the day... OK it was more a case of you really need to get your lazy arse down there and pay penance for slacking off yesterday afternoon. So off one trotted to find oneself immersed in the land of the chirpy people. What is it about that hour... it is too bright and the people are equally intense.  This general feeling of malaise was not helped by tanking half way through the second exercise... seems one might have forgotten to eat dinner last night and the body was unimpressed.

He picked one up afterwards on his way home and we had breakfast, well second breakfast for one of us, but it goes with the second shower of the morning so one did achieve some symmetry for the day. As one was scampering around desperately pretending one didn’t have to go to work, no small feat while actively engaged in  getting work gear ready,  a voice gently enquired if someone had forgotten something. Quick check... shoes, trousers, work shirt, lunch, snacks, money, phone... No one replied cautiously. Let me remind you... the price of wearing trousers. Oh that... um no, might have slipped one’s mind. Well let me refresh it for you... go and assume the position.

So off one goes to kneel on the punishment box at the end of the bed, while He selects the flogger du jour. Count for me, otherwise I might not know when to stop. We got to ten when He stops, one says thank you, and instead of inserting himself into some orifice as one expected, He gets out the new toy so the moment can be shared with you all. To be honest He was a little premature as the real colour didn’t show up until about 5 minutes later when the marks turned to a deep cherry red.

A brisk reminder