He Fucked Me So Good He Broke Me

He canes my ass. He canes my thighs–the backs and the front. He canes me over my tattoos and they are ultra sensitive. It’s a good girl spanking, because he was craving putting cane to flesh and I asked him for it. He increases the weight of his swing with every ‘thwack’ against my skin and it makes me wiggle from foot to foot and whine. The most painful spot, undoubtedly, is just below my ass cheeks, right on the high tops of my thighs. The arousal in his voice increases with every single one of my strangled “owwwwweeeees.”

Every time I answer “I don’t know” instead of yes or no, he raps me hard, just above the knee–on second thought… that may be the most painful spot. He keeps it up until I start getting sassy, and my panties are soaked, through and through. I am bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, but not because of the pain, because I am wet and desperate for him to hurt me, to be rough with me, to fuck me. I want his hands on me, in place of the cane.

“Get up on the bed, on your knees.”
Continue reading

So I Bought a Wahl

What is a Wahl you might ask? heh.

The Wahl is a powerful all body massager–quite like the Hitachi Magic Wand. I bought the Wahl on a whim because of the amazing review Epiphora gave it.

Let me give you the Cons of this toy first.

It can be loud, but it’s not hard to make it quiet. There’s some rattling metal inside, and I haven’t been arsed to open it up and fix it yet, but I might. It’s clunky and doesn’t look appealing. However, I should note that it’s a lot smaller than it looks on the box.

That’s it. That’s all the cons.

The point of this post isn’t necessarily to gush (haha) about the Wahl, but I am going to tell you the main three reasons I am happy I made this purchase, and why you should probably make the purchase too.

1) Affordability. As Epiphora noted HOLY FUCKING SHIT. It’s 15 dollars on Amazon and has free shipping if you’re a Prime member (PS, if you use amazon even moderately, why aren’t you a Prime member?)

2) It’s powerful. Not really sure if it’s as powerful as the Hitachi, haven’t looked, don’t care. It is powerful without numbing your clit/whole pubic area like my beloved Hitachi does. It also has a generous cord (8.5 feet) and attachments. Surprisingly, I like that the head weighs more than the arm of the toy, it lends for an extra pressure on my clit.

3) This is probably the most important reason: 2014-04-15 01.48.53

I love my Hitachi. I really do. BUT listen. THIS spot applicator is the greatest thing EVER. And I know you can get attachments for the Hitachi and I’ve just been lazy about upgrading mine… but this spot applicator comes with the Wahl, and guess what? It’s the perfect size to pin-point all of that deep vibration goodness right into your clit. No numbness. No awkward, big head. Just straight clit action. It makes me squirt easier than the Hitachi. I was shocked. Also, please ignore my second grade finger drawing skills. Thanks.

 

So I bought the Wahl. My recent twitter addiction demanded that I both announce my decision to buy it and my thoughts after first using it. Let me back track a little bit here. I told Twitter about my imminent buying plans, about my first orgasm–all fine and good. But… you know who I didn’t tell?

Sir.

Yep.

I bought a toy, used a toy for the first time (PS, we were texting WHILE I was using the toy), told the world about it, and then didn’t tell Sir. It’s not that I was hiding it from him–I did have eventual plans about telling him or maybe just showing it to him the next time I saw him. After liking it so much, I certainly wasn’t going to shove it in a drawer. But I didn’t get to tell him, because just like he reads my blog, turns out that when I mentioned in passing (a few times) that I had a twitter, he actually looked at it periodically. This is what I get for assuming he doesn’t care.

So I committed a few big “no-nos” but let me tell you a little something about Sir.

He finds me highly amusing sometimes–sort of like a wild jungle cat (really a kitten playing in the garden) who is amusing to study. I don’t mean this in a negative way toward either of us, but in our dynamic, he is definitely the predator and I’m just traipsing through. Though—well. More on that later.

So I had no idea he knew about the toy until five days after my trial run. He finally confronted me about it with more than a hint of amusement in his voice. He chided me gently about depriving him of getting to be there for the first use. When it came out that I had orgasmed while texting him without A) asking permission and B) telling him he realllllly laid it on thick and then laughed at me. Consider the verbal banter a lighthearted slap on the wrist. He wasn’t really serious and certainly wasn’t mad or disappointed.

“There will still be a fun/pun-ishment for this, little girl,” he said.

The next time we were together, I happened to have house guests. It was late at night and sequestered in my room, he made me show him the Wahl and the only attachment I used–clearly the best one, he agreed. Though make no mistake, he would become a fan of the “Power Disc (see above)” too. I begged off of the spanking (which would come later) because of the house guests. Though he very nearly didn’t give a fuck, because (and I FIND THIS UNBELIEVABLY HOT) he doesn’t care who knows or how embarrassed I get.

He made me tell him the narrative again. The why and the how and the how long. When he didn’t like my answers he pinched my nipples in lieu of spanking me (allowing me my modesty).

“Tell me, has your discipline been lacking? Have I been neglecting you, is that what I’ve been doing?”

“Noooo, daddy.”

“No? Then whatever else could I have wrong, hmm? That you didn’t feel you had to tell me?” he clucked his tongue. “What am I to do with you?”

“I don’t know, daddy.”

“You are going to get a sound spanking. But tonight I think we’re going to figure out just how much more you like this toy over your other ones.”

“But it’s so loud and there are guests… please, don’t make me.”

“I don’t care, Fatal. You’ll just have to suffer the embarrassment. This is part of your punishment for trying to…” he chuckled. “Sneak this past me.”

I protested. Mainly because I would be horrified if I had to explain what the power tool noise coming out of my bedroom was.

“Fatal, girl… my little Pooh… you must have some sort of punishment. And besides, I know what a little slut you are, the danger will just make it so much better for you. And don’t try to deny it.”

Quite graciously, he let me perch on top of the Wahl and ride it to help me muffle the sound while I edged. In spite of being very useful for that purpose, riding the Wahl made my edging that much harder.

He began slow, letting me use the Wahl on its lowest setting. Even still, after only a few moments, I had to beg for relief. He let me lift my hips long enough to ease the building pressure, and then I had to get back on. I explained to him why I was bad. What I had done wrong. Why I was wrong. I told him I wanted to be a good girl. I told him I was sorry, I didn’t want to be a bad girl. I begged for relief. He granted it. The pressure eased. I sat back down.

“How much of this can you handle, Pooh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sorry for keeping this from me?”

“I’m very sorry I kept this from you.”

He reiterated one more time that he wasn’t angry or disappointed. He was amused, but I needed to be disciplined. I knew, I said. And he made me turn the Wahl on high.

The Wahl on high with the pin-point attachment isn’t something I can describe. I must have (nearly) screamed to be let up, that I was going to come, three or four times in as many minutes. Each time, I was only allowed up for a moment before pressing my clit back down against the toy.

“Should I let you come, baby?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve to come. Because I’ve been a bad girl. And bad girls don’t deserve it.”

Even when I’m in trouble… I love to watch his face, his reactions. Disciplining me in this way turns him on immensely. He loves it when I honestly know my place, without prompting from him, when I understand that my body is his.

One time I cried… tears flowing openly, mostly at the lack of control I felt. My control is so strong… my body so trained… but edging with the Wahl is a new challenge. I cried and I asked him to let me ease up off of the toy. He counted down an extra ten seconds.

“Get up,” he said firmly, as I felt my orgasm push nearly off of the edge.

That one exhausted me. But he wasn’t done. He’s never done. He always wants more. He always wants to push me harder. I am always a willing victim.

“One last time, baby, get down on the toy.”

He stroked his cock while I shuddered and trembled atop the Wahl, talking to him the whole time. He worked himself while I told him what I needed (him), while I told him how sorry I was (very), while I told him what I deserved (nothing).

“Do you want to come now, baby?” he asked.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t… but I am a good Sir… and I might let you if you really want it.”

“I don’t want it. I’ve been bad… and I don’t deserve it,” I squirmed atop the toy and blinked away my tears. “I don’t want to come, Daddy,” I whispered.

“Good girl,” he muttered as he came.

“Get off of the toy,” he said.

“What have we learned?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t hide things from you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I should ask you or tell you what I need or want.”

“You should.”

He smiled and made me a promise: I was owed a spanking and I would get one.

Because even if I’m not really in trouble, there’s still a lesson to be learned.

I Have an Overactive Reward System

I’ve thought about this post and how I would approach it. Being academically minded, I felt that I could go about it from a nerdy point of view and tell you all about the nucleus accumbens and neurotransmitter dopamine, that beautiful, beautiful neurotransmitter that plays a role in arousal, addiction, and sexual gratification, among many other things. I thought I might wax about seeking and liking and rodents and stimuli. Or about serotonin and happiness and maybe even a little bit about oxytocin. But I thought it all seemed a little too clinical and would probably read like an academic paper, which I am happy to be done with, for the time being.

I thought… I might talk about my old issues with addiction to MDMA and perhaps even a sexual addiction–a concept that I wrestle with and that I’ve sought therapy for, but I am still unsure if is actually real, or if it is, if it applies to me personally. But it’s all a bit messy and a bit foggy and not worth bringing up at any length more than I already have.

But my reward system, my pleasure center, my psychological Xanadu is highly active, perhaps even overactive. Continue reading

On Why We Are and Why We Are Not in a Punishment Dynamic

You cannot actually define anything in BDSM except for what the all-important acronyms stand for (Bondage/Discipline; Dominance/Submission; Sado-Masochism) [[side note, I capitalized everything just to be a Twit]] and then there is SSC(Safe, Sane, Consensual) and RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink) and WIITWD (What It Is That We Do) and TPE (Total Power Exchange) and OTK (Over The Knee[[YES PLEASE!]]) and of course everyone’s favorite… BBBJCIMNQNS.

If you can guess that one without googling, I’ll bake you a pie (and not JUST because it’s Pi day!). Continue reading

The Beautiful Man Takes Me in Hand

There is something beautiful about a man that has nothing to do with the beauty of a woman; it is an alien strangeness, wholly separate from the beauty of a woman. I admire his body. He is a self-proclaimed narcissist, but at times he is utterly self-conscious. He’s had a long day at work, and he is self-conscious about his attire, but I don’t care. He wears comfy flannel pants; his boxers peek out at the top, and just above that, his hips. He is lean and long of limb, and I find him beautiful and arousing.

He has near perfect teeth, and when he grins or smirks–for that is all he does, they are lovely to look at. I am enamored of his eyes, peeking out from beneath well-shaped brows that he likes to raise at me when I’ve said something intriguing or when I’m being a brat. His lips are hard but sensuous, inviting. His hair grows like a weed, and if he cut it today, it would be long tomorrow; it hangs, lazily, like soft, melted gold or bronze. I love his beard, which grows back by the end of the day; it makes him look a little rougher and it thrills me. Continue reading