Submission is defined as ‘the action of accepting or yielding to a superior force, or to the will or authority of another person.’ This statement implies that will has been given up due to the irreconcilable inevitably of strength over weakness.
Submission is not weakness. It is power. Your submission is your strength. It is your display of how tough you truly are. It is the benchmark of the D/s dynamic. Your submission sets the perimeters of play.
Therefore, your submission is a gift. It is only awarded to the most worthy of Dominants. Your submission is not only of your body, but of your mind, your spirit, your attention, your emotions, and your well-being.
Being a submissive is a lifestyle, not a hobby. If you take on a sub, be prepared to give them the attention they need, crave, and deserve. If you deserve their submission, then they deserve your undivided attention. Nurture them and guide them. Put in the effort and you will be handsomely rewarded with a highly desirable sub that will make other Dominants jealous.
Design your bespoke sub. We want to please, we want to serve. We want to find that one Dominant that makes being a pathetic mess feel uber sexy. We want to feel the overwhelming desire to kneel for you. We want to feel the need for rituals. We want find the one Dominant to be their ultimate sextoy, ragdoll, baby-girl/boy.
If you own us, then own us wholeheartedly. If you use us, then use us wisely. If you collar us, then collar us loyally. If you dominate us, then dominate us enthusiastically.
What you give, you will get back in spades. Subs have the compelling need to submit. Too many of us will give our gift away too quickly to a dummy Dom/me because of the compulsion to serve. Submission is precious, don’t forget this and don’t abuse this.
If your sub looks deep into your eyes and says, ‘I submit to you,’ then take it seriously, affectionately, and proudly.
When a big, ugly troll comes looming, a Princess needs their Daddy. Even if he’s not physically there to defend her, he’s always there in spirit.
Recently, I’ve had a mean-tongued troll puke their nastiness all over my rainbow. Being kink shamed by someone without a single scoobie of the lifestyle.
Hold your tongue! Right there I wanna empathetically, enthusiastically, encouragingly tell all the princesses, princes, babygirls, baby boys, littles, middles, ABs, DLs, DDs, MDs, and everyone in between that our kinks are fantabulous! We certainly should not be ashamed, but go out there and sparkle.
All littles are amazing! We have a sense of wonderment, fun, curiosity, playfulness, creativeness, and love that can’t be matched. So, embrace it and appreciate your awesomeness.
So, with this in mind; why does an amazeballs Princess need a Daddy? Because he will make sure you know just how superific you are. He will reiterate over and over until you start to believe it. When you believe it, then you’ll stick up for yourself, or at least be able to pick yourself up when bullies knock you down.
If Daddy isn’t actually around to protect you, it doesn’t mean he’s not there. Imagine he is standing behind you, like a huge, towering warrior. Daddy would kick this troll’s butt! So should you.
Alright, I’m not strong enough yet to bite back. I went to bed and curled up, hugging a stuffie and imagined being comforted. It did help. It helps to remember that you are or will be special to someone – and it’ll be someone that counts. Someone that celebrates your kinks, sprinkles and all xoxo
At the apex of subspace, one of the effects is the complete release of emotions. I have started crying but only mildly. They are bliss-filled tears that can’t be stopped.
Daddy notices that I’m quietly snivelling and suddenly flogs me hard. The ferocity has gone from heavy-handed to bastard-hard. The gear switch is phenomenal, it shocks me. The pain is insurmountable, I truly can’t quantify it. This is the hardest Daddy has ever flogged me. The shockwaves are like a tsunami swelling through me. The wave hits my eyes and I’m balling,
“Let it all out, Babygirl,” these words just tip me right over the edge. The tears are streaming, the snot is oozing. I’m sobbing into the blankie beneath me, hiding my sudden vulnerability from him.
He repeats, ‘Let it out,’ and I can’t stop it. I don’t understand where this sadness has come from. Daddy seems to know me better than I do. Later on he tells me that he carefully listens and watches to my words and actions. He reads between the lines and can see when something is dragging me down,
“Come on, Babygirl, let out all the shit,” and another snot-bubbling wave crashes into me as the flogger beats heavily down upon my arse.
Hit after hit lashes against my skin. The increased intensity of pain has me dazed. I feel discombobulated; I’m brain-dead and laying there like a lifeless lump.
I feel damaged. Physically and emotionally. In this broken state I’m meant to have some miraculous epiphany… but I’m empty… I’m nothing…
I might be a massage and reiki therapist that preaches the benefits of energy healing, but I’m a terror for taking my own advice!
Fortunately, I have been busy since reopening after lockdown. Getting back into the swing of things has been fun and games – as I’m not the most organised of little girls.
This means that I haven’t been observing my rituals. Usually, I would cleanse the energy of my treatment room at the beginning of the day, and then, at the end of the day I would dump all the bad juju that I’ve collected from my clients.
The first week back is done and dusted. It’s the weekend, time to chill – nope! Twang! My back goes. The pain is excruciating and it actually cripples me; rolling over turtle-style in the bath.
After a tonne of painkillers, and gentle stretching, I can finally move like a normal human – instead of a humanoid approximation. Pushing myself through another client treatment, I remember to do some self-grounding afterwards.
The rush is astonishing, I’m actually taken aback by it. Suddenly, being awash with white light and cleansed. I feel the heavy sludge of negativity draining from my body, oozing out of my pores like gloopy, grimey oil.
My gunge gauge must have been tipping the top, as the release of pressure inside me has me physically shaking. The release I feel is like when I slide into subspace. My body and my mind detaches. My thoughts empty and my body tingles. Every muscle relaxes. I sink into my massage table, while my head floats.
I wholly immerse myself in the joy that floods me. Trembling with the surprise subspaciness. This is happiness.
Needless to say, I’m not going to forget to do my self-grounding again in a while! I highly recommend that you give it a go to – DM me if you’d like to find out how. I can’t wait for my next busy day; bring on your gunky mojo because I need my fix! xx
Littles have a natural, childlike state, and are most comfortable being/acting as a young child. There are subcategories of littles which I’m not going to go into for this note.
I identify as a little with an age around 4. So, this is where my observations come from. Littlespace is my happy place. I feel my most contented when I’m little.
I have come to learn and understand about being a little and littlespace. I know who I am – or so I thought. This was until I came across the term, ‘smol’.
Smol is something or someone that is extremely small and just absolutely adorable. This is so me! Although, definition alone does not make you a smol.
When I first came across the term, I did not identify with it. To my understanding (and I’m not one to poo-poo if I’m wrong), being smol reminds me of cutesy kawaii characters. Big eyed Pokemon-esque babies. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this btw. To me, it seemed like the manga equivalent of ABs (I love manga and I love ABs, so no haters, please).
It is only recently that I have started to experience it; the smolnessing. For me, it is like regressing to a nonsensical state. I don’t want to use words, I make random noises instead. I want to scrunch up into a tiny ball and be small. I fidget more than normal and become more tactile, wanting to touch and fiddle. I want to do impish things, like play ‘boop’ and run away.
It feels as if my eyes dilate and widen with new wonder as I get smaller and the world gets bigger around me. Smolness may be a drug (for recreation only). I’ve tasted it now. It may be a mere tongue-tip lick of the dibdab sherbet that is smolness, but it’s still a lick. As all littles and smols alike know; I licked it, so it’s mine!
With this is mind, I will endeavour to experience more smolness. I love evolving my kinks, especially the ABDL side of me. It is my relaxation haven, and never underestimate the power of relaxation. Taking time for yourself is terrifically beneficial, whether it be wearing nappies, cracking open the colouring book, snuggling stuffies, or booping CGs and running away giggling – do your thing! xoxo
Self-worth means that you value yourself. It is an individual’s subjective evaluation of their own worth. It encompasses beliefs about yourself, including emotional states, such as triumph, despair, pride, and shame.
Here are some ways to nourish your sense of self-worth when it is low:
• Use positive affirmations correctly
• Identify and focus on your own goals and achievements, rather than measuring them against someone else’s
• Practise setting goals and build confidence
• Learn to accept compliments
• Eliminate self-criticism and introduce self-compassion
• Affirm your real worth
• Be nice to yourself
• Challenge any negative
• Speak to yourself in the same way that you’d speak to your mates
• Write down things that you like about yourself
• Get moving! Exercise is a great way to increase motivation
• Strive to be the best version of yourself
• Accept that perfection is an unrealistic goal – everyone makes mistakes
• Focus your energy on the things that are within your control and seeing what you can do about them
• Do what makes you happy and schedule in a little you-time every day
• Celebrate the small stuff
• Surround yourself with a supportive squad who make you feel good about yourself
People with healthy self-worth feel confident in their own opinions, interests, and beliefs. They are capable of making their own decisions, regardless of what the crowd is doing, and are happy within themselves. We all deserve to be happy xoxo
What’s the biggest obstacle in your way? Of course, the answer is, you. Move out of your own way, get out of your own head space, hush that nagging doubt. If there is something you’ve always yearned to try, then go for it! Just do it!
What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, you might enjoy yourself. Most adrenaline fuelled activities are so safety conscious nowadays that you can be fearless, so take that step off the parapet, high board, or plane. In the world of kink, as long as it’s RACK(Risk Aware Consensual Kink) and legal, give it a lick, bite, suck, scratch, bounce, fuck, and go! Don’t regret the chances you didn’t take.
Really it’s just yourself stopping you from acquiring some brilliant fireside stories to tell when you’re in your rocking chair. You’re never too old to live life – or to get tied up and tortured to ecstasy.
If there’s something lingering on that bucket list, from learning crochet to rally car racing, from CBT to TPE, figure out how to achieve it. We all need a hobby, right? Life’s too short to not live and learn.
Find the mantra that fits you; now is your time, trust your gut, lead by example, don’t take no for an answer, be your best self, live a purposeful life, silence is golden but duct tape is silver, I think therefore I kink, keep calm and obey – the choice is yours.
Here are 20 vanilla things about me that has nothing to do with kink…
1. Writing is my passion. I’m a wordsmith and a nerd for grammar. I have over 80 stories that I am writing right now.
2. I’m artsy. I enjoy sketching manga inspired pictures, but I’m terrible at adding colour. This seems indicative of me; I start things but don’t tend to finish them.
3. I can be so ditsy at times that you’d never believe I have a Batchelor of Science degree.
4. Depression. I’m probably quite a typical submissive. It seems we all have roots here. Since becoming a massage therapist, and learning reiki and meditation, I have cultivated a PMA. I still get periods of uncontainable upset, but I’ve discovered mechanisms to cope; pain. Physical pain for me releases emotional pain. No wonder I’m such a good submissive bitch.
5. When I was a teenager I was raped. Under the stairway of a train station platform. There were so many things twisted up with this; i) Even though the kissing was consensual, the sex wasn’t, and though I said ‘no’ over and over again it was ignored. No means no as soon as it is said! ii) Passers by won’t help. Yes, somebody saw, heard, tutted, and walked on. Chivalry is apparently dead. iii) Girls are here to screw, so it’s up to me to not get screwed over.
6. PCOS means I can’t have kids. I found out early and have gone down every route. Of course, I was heartbroken when I was younger. It’s got to a point now where it may have been a blessing.
7. ‘Shoulda, woulda, gonna,’ is my mantra. There’s been so many missed opportunities in my life where I’ve been too scared that now I just suck it up and live my life.
8. Lockdown slimmer winner. Just before the first lockdown I joined SlimmingWorld and, so far, have lost 2 stone. Out of my group I was the only one to lose weight during lockdown! I’ve gone from a BBW to a THICC girl.
9. #8 is quite amazing considering I am a McDonald’s addict – the struggle is real! Seriously, there should be support groups for junk food junkies.
10. ‘Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do?’ As Adam and the Ants asks. So, apart from #9, I obviously do sex. What’s a better hobby than being your Don/me’s fucktoy?
11. Split personality. I definitely have more than one persona. Different episodes in my life call for different strengths. I feel myself change as required. They all have names too.
12. Hopeless romantic – or at least I’d like the opportunity to be one. I’ve never had anyone romance me. The thought of being spoilt for no reason other than being me is dreamy. It doesn’t have to be with material goods either, leaving little love notes or sending a picture of something that made you think of me will make me melt too.
13. I am a world class procrastinator. If I could be paid to be lazy I’d be a rich bitch!
14. My DVD collection is over 2000 discs. Pausing for gasps.
15. Absolutely love music. Ok, I might have a lot of DVDs but, more often than not, you’ll find me with headphones on. There is music for every mood. It lifts and inspires me. Plus, it makes my butt jiggle as I can’t help but dance sometimes.
16. DIY queen. Not only can I renovate a house and know what end of a hammer to use, I love upcycling and turn everyday items into fetish furniture.
17. I grind my teeth when I mash potatoes.
18. My favourite type of dog are springer spaniels. Probably because they’re a bit like me; cute and clever (at times).
19. I’m going to lump these two things together as becoming a worship leader lead to becoming a Girlguiding Brown Owl. I’m qualified to preach sermons in church and to supervise your children. Scary.
20. The most important fact of all has been left until last. It’s more of a question really; DC vs Marvel. There is a correct answer… do you dare to comment?
Sir has this habit of not telling me until the last minute if our perspective play date is on. If it’s a definite no, then he says beforehand the day in question.
So, it’s now passed the point of no return for me, and I have to leave the house regardless. I message Sir this and cross everything in hope. The phone trings with his reply, ‘You’ll have to wait outside then’. Instantly, I smile and butterflies start. When I arrive, I message again, but don’t expect to be granted entry any time soon. To my surprise it isn’t actually long before I’m given instructions to go inside, upstairs, kneel on the bed facing the wall, and wait.
I do this – kind of. In humble position, I lay face down on the bed with my butt in the air, which is proudly showing off my new pink, jewelled butt plug. With my headphones on, I don’t hear Sir as he loiters in the doorway,
“Is that what I told you?” He sighs, and I giggle. Pulling myself upright, I’m now as he wants; on my knees facing the wall with hands together behind my back,
“Is this better, Sir?” I ask and he chuckles before going back downstairs.
Sneakily, I replace my headphones that fell off, and continue listening. Music just puts me in the zone. I have a couple of special playlists for our play dates. As I wait, I can’t help but to sway as I’m swept along with the beat.
Again, failing to hear as Sir enters the room. Suddenly, he presses his torso against my back. I giggle, ‘hello’,
“Naughty girl, aren’t you? Turning up before I say so,”
“Sorry, Sir,” I weakly offer while stifling my big smile,
“Are you really?” He sneers, “You don’t look it,” and he slaps my face. He repeats the question and the slap. I can’t answer honestly,
“Should you have come?” Asked with another, harder slap. I purse my lips as I hold back the words on my tongue. Right now, I feel like me turning up tonight is totally 100% the right thing to have done – but I keep this to myself.
Giggling instead, it is rewarded with my hair being yanked and a very hard slap administered to my exposed face,
“Don’t laugh,” he growls in my ear before biting it. He then bites my shoulder, and the shock of pain ignites me. The ecstatic gasp gave me away, and I’m pushed down into the humble pose. Sir sidles onto the bed in order to bite across my back. The raw pain is exquisite, and it makes me immediately submit.
Putty within moments, Sir knows that I’m ready. That I’m ready for him to get rougher and darker with me than he has before. His hand wraps around the scruff of my neck as he sits beside me. He pinches and it’s immobilising. Squeezing the nerves in such a way that it feels electric. My arms are heavy with searing hot pain. He squeezes and relaxes a few times, clearly showing who’s in control already,
“Are you a prat?” He asks coolly,
“Umm…” I want to say, ‘No, Sir, but I am a brat’, as this is an ongoing taunt of ours. He restates the question with a firm grip, and this time I meekly agree. It is hard to disagree with Sir at this precise and incapacitating moment.
Pleased with my answer, he releases my neck. Moving behind me, I then hear the clanging of toys and restraints being removed from his toybox. Ankle cuffs are attached to me and a spreader bar is placed in between. Giggling as he yanks each knee further apart,
“I only have little legs, Sir!”
“That’s not my problem, little girl,” he scoffs as continues to restrain me. Once cuffed, I’m told to raise myself up on all fours; ready for flogging. I have been begging Sir to flog me ever since he brought it. Being told that it – and myself – is too noisy, especially given the circumstances right now.
Lifting the skirt of my black babydoll onto my hips, my butt is now bare. Slowly he rubs circles upon both cheeks, just teasing me. occasionally squeezing in his nails, which makes me giggle again. To this, he stops and rootles around in the toybox. Sitting in front of me, he shows me the ball gag. Putting it down, his free hand now grabs my hair. Forcing my head up to look him squarely in the face,
“What did I say?” He is irritated,
“To not laugh, sir,”
“That’s right because when you laugh, I want to hurt you,” and this makes me shiver. It is the first time he has actually said this to me – and all I want to do is laugh. I am ready for more of his punishment. There is something dark lurking inside Sir that I want unleashed on me. I might look like butter wouldn’t melt, but I’m just a damsel that craves distress.
Opening my mouth, I accept the ball gag. Luckily for me it has some bounce. It is secured incredibly tightly, and a tiny piece of panic sets in. This only heightens the ecstasy of anticipation. His hand caresses my arse once again, I’m sure he can feel that I’m shaking already. Then a paddle is thwacked across a cheek. A few stinging blows are administered upon each cheek, warming me up nicely.
Picking up the flogger, he mercilessly teases me. Lightly brushing the tails over my skin, up and down my body before laying it along my spine. It is reasonably heavy, and made of thick leather. The tips nestle in my hair and the handle rests in the dip of my pelvic bone. It makes me feel small, inferior – and I’m dribbling.
Literally, my mouth is salivating. Unable to physically swallow due to the stifling ball gag, I can only dribble onto the duvet. The dribbling isn’t helped by the administration of the crop. I want to tell him, ‘More’, but the word is prevented by the ball gag. The crop is dropped upon the bed by my head.
Expecting to be spanked further, I should never assume. Bracing for a thwack, instead I’m met by the sound of some chinking. He has unpacked his glass dildos. My excitement skyrockets as I adore these cold, clear curios. The first toy is a set of anal beads. Of course, my bedazzled butt is de-jewelled beforehand. The enthralling sensation of each, ever increasingly sized ball as it pops inside is superb. I can feel my arsehole stretching and then contracting with each cheeky sphere. The subspace shakes are beginning to captivate my body. Each bead is teasingly slow, he pushes purposefully unhurriedly. I just want to shout, ‘Push it in!’, but the ball gag traps it in my mouth. Losing count of how many beads are inside my arse, they then begin to be drawn back out. A couple come out then in, out then in, a few times until I’m squirming.
Having my arse played with is glorious. It is one of the most ambiguous sensations; my body assumes it must tense, instead it relaxes. This allows the flood gates to crack and for subspace to wash in. My body is quivering jelly, and I have to face plant myself into the duvet.
The anal beads are removed to my aversion, but I know there is more to come. The coolness of the long shaft is blissful as its length slowly enters inside my arse. The girthy, glass dildo has been selected in order to fuck my arse hard. Sir starts steadily, preparing me, before thrusting the fat monster inside. He can hear my snivelling. He doesn’t stop fucking my arse with the toy as he yanks my head up by my hair,
“Going to cry?” He is now side onto me so he can see my face. My eyes are watering, my nostrils are flaring, my face is flushed with enflamed passion. I stare at him with an angry expression. This is acknowledged by my head being roughly shoved to the bed and his knee pressing against it,
“What was that look?!” He growls into my ear, not expecting an answer. That look is suddenly wiped off my face as he bites my cheek – harder than anticipated. I try to gasp through the ball gag, try not the drown myself with the sharp intake of drool. With the vicious deed, I melt. He senses as I sink further into the bed beneath him, and comforts me. One hand rubs my bitten cheek with care, while the other strokes my hair with affection. My scornful scowl is now a sweet smile.
Sitting in front of me, he uses my hair once again in order for me to look at him. I stare back at him now with the devil in my eyes; bring it on, Sir. He smirks as he gets the message. Picking up the flogger, sliding it agonisingly slowly along my spine until the tips slip over my hips. Then it is finally cracked across my arse. It is hefty and I can feel the thud of leather. I am prickling with pleasure. Until it catches my pussy that is!
The sudden, sharp stinging as the vicious tips nip at my pussy is shocking. Any sort of pussy slapping is not my favourite, but I must admit that there is no pain like it – and I do like pain. It is a conundrum. This happens a couple of times, and my legs want to buckle. Unfortunately, I have nowhere to go, I can’t even crumple to the bed in this position.
As this is the first time he has flogged me, he is lenient – even though I don’t want him to be. The flogger is placed by the pillows and I turn my head. I want to look at him, but I’m told not to; maybe my doe eyes will soften Sir’s resolve. Instead my gaze is directed to the three implements that have just punished my butt. I just sigh.
Suddenly, there is a sharpness with pin-point precision scrapping against my skin. A blade is being dragged across the contours of my back, along each bump of mine spine. It catches upon each vertebrate and leaves its sadistic, red scratch behind. Every fibre of me quivers as I feel the scratching. It moves from my back to my legs, grazing the outside of my thighs. The blade is pressed flat against my leg, before rolling inwards. The cold steel is glorious, and this is hot as hell.
The tip then scores up the length of each arm, just once each. Finishing with the edge of the knife pressed into face. I can feel the sharpness threatening to slice into my cheek. If I dare to exhale, I will be cut. So, I hold my breath. It is lowered, placed on Sir’s lap as he sits upon the bed. His hand directs my head so that I stare at the knife, so that I fully acknowledge this weapon. As I study the knife, I can feel my pussy dribbling with scared delight. We are playing a game of corruption; he is slowly turning me dark.
Before he stands up, I show my appreciation by rubbing my head against his body. Nuzzling into him, rolling his arm in the crook of my neck. I’m yearning for his touch, the touch of his own hands, his skin on my skin. He goes to uncouple the spreader bar from my ankle cuffs. He lowers his lips to my wet pussy and blows. His mouth is so close to my pussy, yet it doesn’t take a taste. His breath cools my juices and is delectably tormenting. It makes me dribble even more, from both my pussy and my mouth.
Deciding it’s not quite time to free me, it’s time for wicked torture. The buzz of the wand fills my ears. Then the buzz touches my clit and I want to hit the ceiling. Unable to moan and groan with the luscious torment, I claw at the duvet instead. My arms lose strength as the vibrations liquify me. I sink into the bed. Juddering with indescribable pleasure as the toy thrills my clit. Before I climax, the wand is removed – apparently, tonight is about edging me in many ways.
The ball gag is also removed, and a long tail of saliva trails from it to my lips. He rubs my lips and my face with a soft fondness. Then he encourages me up onto my haunches – obviously by my hair. My knees are buzzing with pins and needles as they are forced to take my weight. I put my hands behind like a good slave, but to also bolster myself as I grab the end of the bed. The front of my babydoll is slid to the sides, freeing my tits. I hear the clink of clamps, then feel the bite. I know that Sir has some substantial kit, it’s not from your typical catalogue. So, yes, I’m a tad trepidatious tonight with what he pulls out of his toy box of tricks.
The bite is excruciating and he can see the noise gathering in my throat,
“Don’t you dare!” He growls, his lips against my earlobe, his breath hot upon my skin. I swallow down the moan. It is almost impossible for me to keep quiet, and this is taking every ounce of my willpower. I rest my head against his stomach for moral support as the pain ravishes me.
My hair is now loose, and I look down as ordered to see the mother of a pair of all clamps on my nipples. My hair is then re-gathered and pulled so my face is upwards again. He wants to watch my expression as the clamps are slowly tugged off,
“Don’t you dare!” He re-warns me with a stern line underneath his tone; don’t make a sound. I gulp in preparation, purse my lips together before releasing a gasp as he begins to increase the tension on the chain. Slowly and painfully the clamps are removed. I don’t make a peep,
“Well done,” he softly praises, stroking my hair as he does. I think I have actually managed to impress him, and I feel very pleased. Melting into his body and smiling up at him. The warm sensation of his lips is finally on mine. I can’t stave my hunger for him, and I kiss back hard. Stretching my body upwards in order to push my lips hard against his. He moans as he accepts my passion, which spurs me on more.
Suddenly falling, I’m pushed to the side. I’m on my back and told to get up the bed. Sir climbs on top of me – at last. We kiss further, my hands being permitted to explore his body. I know I won’t have long to touch him, so I try to make the most of it. Scratching my nails into him. My fingers are like excited, fat kids in an unattended candy shop; into everything.
“Getting cheeky now,” he tells me as he slides my hands onto the bed. I don’t reply, my mouth is full with his tongue. I sneak my hands back onto his body, underneath his tee. He permits a few more strokes before his grip tightens upon each of my wrists. Forcing my hands above my head now, and I giggle as I struggle,
“No, Sir, just giggling,” I retort cutely, and he chuckles. With both my hands detained by only one of his, the other hand slides the lace from my breast. Now, he can kiss and suck my nipple. He is being incredibly gentle, which is a good thing after those mofo clamps. It has taken a while, but the softer side of him is emerging, and it just makes me want to submit more. Not to say that I don’t want the pain. I’m a very greedy little girl; I want the rough and the soft.
I sink further into the bed as his mouth caresses my breast. There is a heavy pressure of his hips on mine. I start squirming underneath him, trying to rub my clit against his hard on. Then he suddenly gets up and tells me to go downstairs. Of course, I pout – but obey. As I stand up, I attempt to get a kiss from him. He just raises his head and chuckles, reiterating that I’m to get downstairs.
Plodding down each stair, I then wait in the lounge. He follows and goes to the kitchen, returning with water. He holds the glass for me as I drink – I absolutely jellify when he does this. Being tended to in such an ascendent manner is moist making. It really does reinforce the D/s dynamic. A whole glass drunk, and I now have to kneel upon the towel that is on the coffee table. Can you see where this is going? Water, towel. Sir is expecting me to get very wet.
Sir is standing in the doorway, admiring. He tells me to stay still as I look good like this; on all fours, arched back, long hair loose and flowing. I refrain from fidgeting, well, that is until his fingers rub my clit. It isn’t slow and gentle, but rather, it is firm and fast. After hours of being edged, its not surprising that I cum hard. When I say hard, I mean gushing. Good job that towel is between my legs. It’s like Sir has turned a tap on inside me. All I can do is moan, still attempting to do this as quietly as possible. Obviously, not quietly enough, as he wraps his hand over my mouth. Heavily I breath against him, holding my moans inside.
The trouble is, this only heightens the enjoyment for me. Being restricted, gagged, controlled, and used, just cranks my dials right up to climax central. I’m now flooding juices into the palm of his hand. He smugly chuckles. Stopping only to refill me with water. This time I can’t keep up with the flow, and instead of swallowing, I dribble it all over the table,
“Messy girl!” He pushes against my head, “Lick it up,” and as I go to obey, he pours more over my back. Giggling as I lap up the spilt water. My hair is getting in the way, and mopping up more than my tongue. He dries up what I miss, before resuming his fingering. Balancing upon the coffee table is becoming precarious as I squirm. It’s close to unbearable the need to cum now, and he can tell. He sits on the sofa and allows me to ride his cock. I sit on his lap, take his cock easily and eagerly inside my pussy.
Starting by bouncing on his cock, but it’s not long before I’m grinding into his groin. I need to cum. Thrusting harder and faster until the climax paralyses me. He puts his hands underneath mine, so that I can hold onto him as I float.
We haven’t finished though. Its back upon the plinth for me. Kneeling upon the coffee table again, this time Sir fucks me. He incites me with short, hard burst of fucking, with me cleaning his cock in between. I lose count of how many times this occurs, but each time I get more antsy and fidgety and moany,
“Oh dear, am I teasing you, little girl?” He scoffs,
“Yes, Sir!” I whinge, which is only rewarded with a session of deep throating. I’m actually inwardly really happy about this, as I’ve been practicing. Hopefully, I’ll impress him again. The sounds of his elated groans make me feel smug. Pretty sure that he notices the improvement, as he directs me from the plinth to the floor.
On hands and knees, face down and arse up, he fucks my pussy hard. This is one of my favourite positions; on the carpet in humble position. His cock can get inside me so deep, and the angle is exquisite. After a few strokes, he removes his cock and slips it in my arse. This time, I loudly moan. It’s impossible not to. I have to bury my head into the pile of the carpet to stifle the wails. He stops, goes and cleans his cock – this time its not by my mouth. Then returns to fuck my hot, wet pussy for a final time tonight. Thrusting hard and fast and deep until he is about to ejaculate. Pulling out just in time to spunk all over my back.
Not satisfied with just spewing hot spunk over me, he rubs it into my skin too. It is gooey and goes instantly sticky. Every inch of exposed skin is covered in cum, and he chuckles with smugness. I can’t deny that this act just finishes the session off perfectly for me. I feel like a total fucktoy, like the dirty sub I am. I feel happy and used, like a good girl.
The gunge is cleaned from me before I’m left in my little, huddled ball while Sir potters about in the background. He finally disturbs me with another glass of water – because I’m obviously dehydrated! As I kneel and happily bob, I sip the water, while he recovers my clothes from upstairs. He places them neatly on the armchair for me, and tells me to get dressed. As I do this, I can feel the back of my babydoll is soaked,
“Babygirl is very wet!” I giggle,
“Is she now? I did wonder,” he chuckles too as he sidles up to me, and pulls me into his semi-naked body. My chin rests upon his shoulder for a quick cuddle. We don’t have much time left for aftercare tonight as neither of us wanted to stop playing. A hug and another sneaky kiss are about it. Then it is home time for me, where I shall fall into bed for a very good night’s sleep.
So, I’m at the dentist. Not the kinkiest of starts to an anecdote but hold on. I’m noticing that everyday activities are not so humdrum anymore. There is always some way of giving the old, boring life a new, kinky twist.
As I’m lowered back in the dental chair, and my teeth are being cleaned, the dental brushes loom into my peripheral vision. With cotton wool stifling my protests, I attempt to remind the hygienist that I’m a wuss when it comes to these. Normally, I say not to use these at the start, but I forgot today.
Unable to understand my muffles, they carry on regardless. I steel myself for the pain… then giggle.
Suddenly, I’m awash with a subspacey sensation. The pain has triggered a rush of endorphins. My perception and acceptance of pain has altered. Now, instead of my toes curling in agony, they twitch with pleasure.
My giggling freaked them out just a smidge, but I couldn’t help it. The delight was uncontainable. Pain makes me happy.
This is a very good thing to realise, as there are things in life that get avoided because it might cause physical pain. Realising that my pain threshold has shifted from snowflake to slut has me booking my next appointment as soon as possible!