If you’re not following Mrs Fever’s blog, you should be. That picture is a link. Click it. Follow. She is sexy. She is philosophical. She is a little educational(!). She is very real.
And she has graciously hosted a guest blogger series on several different topics over the last couple of years, a few of which I have taken part in. She is currently hosting a series on “Coming Out”–on being your authentic self.
There are already posts up from this week that are well worth reading and commenting on. And today, my post is up. You can read this HERE.
In a darker more beautiful world, I’d fuck your heart right through your chest.
The sad thing is, I think you’re fucking me with, but there is a part of me that wishes you weren’t.
I’m the Master of Self Control.
Are you? One of us needs to be, because I’d cut my breasts open as an invitation, given the chance.
I’m aware. It’s why I keep myself in check.
SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
Shiver. Hiss. Don’t start something you can’t finish, Daddy. I’ve been ramped up like this for days…
When I put my hands on you next… you will bleed and squeal and cry. And you will hurt… your eyes will roll in the back of your head, and your toes will wiggle… and you might even drown. Pause. And then you will come.
I’m 95 percent sure that if you asked Sir how he self-identifies/labels himself in the context of BDSM he would not say Dominant/Top/Master. He would (nearly) undoubtedly say: Sadist. I’m not his first foray into the lifestyle, so I am not vain enough to say his Dominance is a reactionary consequence of my Submission, more like it is something natural about him… an aura he wears, so to speak. I laugh a lot at people who claim to be naturally Dominant or Submissive, but mainly internet Doms who are “looking for a natural Submissive.” I don’t know why, it just makes me giggle.
But I think Sir has a “natural Dominant aura” about him. Though most people associate being a Sadist with being a “Top” and being a Masochist with being a “Bottom” that is not always true. There are plenty of tops–D-types, who enjoy having pain inflicted upon them, and likewise, there are bottoms–S-types, who enjoy inflicting pain. So he isn’t Dominant because he is a Sadist. Continue reading →
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.
The majority of questions came from my tumblr, and were anonymous–I think this is because it’s easier to ask personal questions when one is anonymous. I also covered up the names of the few that weren’t anonymous, per later requests from the authors of the questions. We got a lot of questions, have both resolved to answer them to the best of our ability without completely giving up our anonymity. I have marked the ones Sir has answered with “S” and the ones I’ve answered with “F” just to make it easier. Again, I wanted to thank everyone who played along… I think it was a lot of fun. :]
And I have broken the answers into two posts because I really didn’t want a 4-5000 word post. So look out for the second coming in the next few days.
I don’t know who shut off the volume, or when, but all I can hear is the static of the silence, as I watch this thing between us play out like a picture show before the invention of the talkie. Clara Bow’s heyday, here, before my eyes, and I play the helpless ingenue, though not quite as helpless as I enjoy making myself seem.
I don’t know who shut off the volume, but there are no subtitles to this picture. The only words are the ones half-remembered or half-imagined in some half-crazed, erotic stupor. Always half, but never full. Until your mouth is full of my blood. Continue reading →