A Little More Training School

On my knees, halfway under the dining room table,  bent over and exposed.  i wait for what seems like a long time.  Doors open and close, voices rise and fall.  

“Well, I don’t want to leave her here at this point.  Her real training’s just beginning.  This isn’t the time.”   i tremble.  Professor C’s voice and – o – i don’t want him to leave me here either!  i want him to touch me…    

His hand on my hip makes me shiver.   But – “Get up,” he says, gently.  “Take your time.”

I start to come up fast, and feel dizzy.  Torso up, i rock back on my knees for a moment.  He taps me again, on the shoulder this time.  “Up,” he says.  

i try to do it gracefully, the way we practice in exercise class.   My legs are stiff, but i think i do ok. 

“Stretch,”  he says.

Obediently, i raise my arms over my head, feels my body stretch out.  O, that feels good.

Then he takes my leash – my pussy clenches as the leash grows taut.  But i am disappointed – i had wanted to be played with and fucked soooo much.  i’m so hot and wet i can hardly stand it – he can probably hear me squishing as i walk.  i don’t think i want to go whereever we’re headed.  i want – o, you know what i want. 

i need to be touched.  Spanked, even.  Spanked would be better than all this running around.  All this waiting.

Touching him would be better.  To be able to stroke his body, caress his cock.  Take it in my mouth again.  That would be better – even if he didn’t touch me back.

Well, maybe not if he doesn’t touch me back afterwards.  That would be hard.

And i’m lost in my own fantasies, my own images of kneeling in front of  him again.  

Images of him fucking me.  Feeling his cock fill me.  Feeling his hands spread my thighs, push my legs up as he enters me.  

i want to protest – i don’t want to leave – i want to be taken, used – i want to throw myself on the floor and beg. 

i whimper.

But he leads me out of the room, down the hall. 

******************************************************************

Sir is coming today and i’m excited.  And in some turmoil.  i have a zillion things to do before he gets here.  Many of which it would have been good to have done last night, but i fell asleep on the couch early.

And don’t misunderstand, i’m not complaining.  At all.  {Smiling}

i’m nervous though.  Not sure why, just am.  Well, excited/nervous – fine line, right?

You know, i start thinking and worrying about stuff.  There’s really no need to and it’s not like it’s helpful.  So –

i need to center myself, again.  Find that calm space that exists inside me.  Breathe.  Let the calm enter me, connect with the calm that is waitng inside me.

Be still.

i turn my palms up and feel the energy in the air.  They tingle.

It’s ok.  Whatever happens will be ok. 

In my mind, i kneel. 

Open my heart, open my spirit to the universe. 

i wait.

                          

More of The Training School

Lotioned and perfumed, narrow leather straps on my wrists and ankles, the male aide fastens a collar around my neck.  My clothes are laid out for me – tonight, there are black thigh high stockings, a purple corset – dressier than the one i had worn earlier – and a short black and purple skirt.  Heels, of course.   

The skirt is flouncy – if i were wearing it outside here, i’d have leggings on under it.  It’s short enough that a couple of inches of thigh are revealed above the stockings.  i don’t care for that look so much, but they seem to like it, and i’m not allowed to choose my own clothing. 

The aide attaches a leash to my collar.  It clicks on, as it would if i were a dog, no lock.  But no lock is needed – this is where i want to be.

“Go on,” he says, gesturing to the bench by the door.  He doesn’t need to tell me what to do.  Facing the bench, i spread my legs and bend over, placing my hands flat on the bench.  This lifts my skirt; my ass and pussy are exposed. 

i’ll wait in this position until the other students are ready and lined up with me.  Then there will be a last, cursory inspection before we go to dinner.

Tonight, i wonder about the death of the Headmaster, and what will happen next.   Other aides have come in a couple of times, and i’ve heard the name “Master TC” whispered.   Something about him flying in to take over.

Finally, we are all five lined up bending over the bench by the wall.   The aides walk down the row of us, pinching and caressing, occasionally penetrating. 

And at last we are allowed to straighten up and go to dinner. Sometimes, we are chastised first, spanked as we stand there. 

Once, in a brave moment, i had asked an aide why they did that sometimes and not others.  She looked at me in surprise.  “It depends on the orders they give us,” she said, “We just follow directions too.”  

Which leaves me with an image of someone – a faceles someone – with a menu in front of him.   i picture him running down the list of options until he gets to “spank before dinner” – pondering a moment – then “check!” placing a mark in the yes column.  Or the no. 

But tonight they skip the spanking.  The aides gather up our leashes – the female aide has three of us, the male one has taken two.  We proceed down the hallways slowly.  The leashes are short enough that we have to move carefully to avoid bumping into each other. 

As we make our way to dinner, i think that the process – the awkwardness even – is designed to keep us aware of our place in this universe.  Although i’ve gotten used to it, it’s still fairly humiliating, being led down the hall in a group on leashes.

As we approach the dining room, i see Professor C standing by the door.  i smile.  He comes to greet us, takes my leash from the aide.   “A,” he says, “we need to continue your private training.  The death of the Headmaster has created some complications, but the party hasn’t been canceled and I want you well prepared.”

He takes my leash, leads me to a small private dining room.  There are a few people already seated around the table, but i barely notice them.  As he moves to his place, he gestures for me to sit too – on the floor beside him. 

Kneel, actually.  He positions me on my knees, with my legs spread wide.  He lets me rock back on my heels, back straight, hands resting, palms up, on my thighs.   My leash is attached to a ring in the floor. 

He pinches my nipples, hard, until they’re standing erect.  He runs his thumb over my lips, penetrates my mouth.  “Keep your nipples hard,” he says.

O – my pussy clenches, i am wet, juices puddling on the floor, i think.   A shiver runs through me. 

He laughs. 

“Stay,” he says, holding his palm in front of my face – as if i have a choice!  And he walks away.

i can’t see anything but the legs of a couple of people on the other side of the table.  Professor C and the others are moving around the room, i hear ice cubes clinking, bottles being opened.  

i remember to check my nipples – the room is cool enough, or maybe i’m excited enough – that they’re still hard. 

i wait. 

i try not to think ahead, but my pussy’s throbbing, aching to be touched.  

Suddenly, i hear Professor C’s voice behind me, “Here she is,” he says, and i can’t see who he’s talking to.   His hand brushes the top of my head.

“Here’s what i mean,” he says, and he places one hand on my neck, under my hair, and he pushes lightly.  “Down,” he says.

Of course, i know to bend forward at the waist, stretching my arms and torso out in front of me.   Turning my head to one side, i flatten myself to the floor.  This raises my hips, my ass is lifted, exposed.  My pussy is fully open and available.

i try to move gracefully, in  a way that will be pleasing and make him proud. 

And i wait. 

The floors are  hardwood.  There is a pad, like a blanket folded over, under my knees – concessions to not having all 20 year old students – but the floor under my breasts is cool.  And hard. 

i think about how often i am in this position, some variation of it.  Available, open, offered.   You would think i’d be used to it.  And yet.  Each time, there is a touch of resistance to overcome.  

Each time, i bend my will to his.   Choose to obey.  And now –

i wait. 

Open, exposed, longing to be touched –

                spanked –

                                     fucked – 

i wait.

*******************************************************

  {Smiling}  Tomorrow, i see my Sir.

 

Confessions, Giggles, and What I Wanted to Say

First, thanks to everyone who sent hugs and warm thoughts yesterdays – my mom’s health is stable again for now. 

So, a quick confession – in December, i had planned to lose 5 pounds.  Instead i think i gained 3.  Staff at my workplace keep up a steady stream of food offerings.  Cookies and cakes and chocolate covered pretzels and apple slices dipped in caramel and bannana bread and choclate covered strawberries and bourbon balls and pumpkin bread – and then there are the drug rep lunches.  From Cracker Barrel, where apparently they have a contest to see how many carbs they can put in one meal.  

Some months i resist womanfully – in December, i didn’t do so well.

So Monday, when i get to work, i announce  as i sign in that i need to lose 10 pounds by Friday.   For some reason, this amuses people. 

{Laughing} Ok, i know i can’t actually lose 10 pounds in any kind of healthy way in 5 days.  Even a Mental health professional knows that.  But it gets the receptionist started.

“Ten pounds by Friday!”  Joanna says, “you can’t do that!  Omigod – what are you going do?  Not eat anything?  That’s not good for you!”

“Laxatives,” Karen, a therapist, suggests.  “Get that colonoscopy stuff.  That’ll do it.”  Karen is about 5’6″ and weighs maybe 120 pounds.  Not excessively thin, but not in need of any diet aids.  “Or just drink lots of water.  Don’t do anything but drink water.  That might work.”

“That wouldn’t be good for you,” Emily, our computer whiz, says, looking worried.  “You need to eat.”

So i laugh, and say, “Ok, ok, not 10 pounds – 5 pounds.  i can lose 5 pounds by Friday.”  They look at me skeptically but don’t say anything else.

Of course, what i’m really doing is giving notice – “i am not eating your white chocolate covered raisins, your artichoke and spiniach dip,  your chess pie…  i  am no longer eating any of that.  You can just take it back home as far as i’m concerned.”

At lunch, i’m carefully avoiding the post-Christmas treats spread out on the table, enjoying my cottage cheese and cherry tomatoes, 7 pretzel sticks and a pear.  Karen says – quite suddenly – “Spanks!  You know about spanks, right??”

i panic – how did she know?  Spanks?  Spanking?  and why is she talking about it now – omigosh!  And then- quickly  – no it can’t be, – ok, no, calm…. this is something else. 

Then i want to say, “Spanks?  O, i know about spanks!  Have ya read my blog lately?”

Instead, i look curious and shake my head, “nope, don’t know what spanks are,” giggling to myself. 

“Oh, they’re wonderful,” she raves.  “You wear them.  You can get them right down to your ankles and wrists.” 

Like restraints? i wonder.  But apparently not.

She goes on, “They just hold everything right where it’s s’posed to be.  All the flabby parts?” she nods sagely, “Just freezes them.  Holds them right there.”

And i’m actually kind of interested, sand i want to say, “But what would they look like when i take my clothes off at the play party?  Cause i’m pretty sure they’re not the kind of underwear that Sir prefers.  Not a look that he’d like…”  

And then i’m really giggling, because what would she think if i did say that???  So instead i say, “Well, they sound interesting.  i’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Karen says, “But if you do it – if you go the Spanks route – make sure you pick the right size.  Don’t do like I did once and opt for going down one size.”  She shakes her head, “I thought, you know, if i go one down, then i’ll just be that much smaller – right?  Good plan, except i couldn’t breathe.  At all.  Halfway to the party, i had to stop on the side of the road and take them off.  Go commando. 

“Kaitlyn, my daughter, was 6 at the time – she says, “Mommmy, why aren’t you wearing any underwear to the party?”  Karen shrugs, “Traumatized the poor child no doubt.  But i told her not to look.”

And i’m laughing so hard i can’t talk at the idea of Karen stripping on the side of the road and going “commando,” not because of any kink, but because her Spanks were too tight for her to breathe.   And thinking about how many things i can’t say…

So i’m getting ready to leave last night, as i sign out, Karen and Joanna are in the receptionist area again.  “Aisha,” says Karen, “We’ve got it – your perfect solution!” 

“What -” i’ve forgotten about my weight loss goal for the moment –

“You know, your 10 pounds,” Karen says, “Look.  Here’s the solution.  You just go like this -” and she raises her arms high over her head. 

As if she were – um, maybe going to be attached to a chain from the ceiling?  i can only stare – and laugh – i want to say, “What –  i’m going to have someone beat the 10 pounds off me????

O, wait, no – she doesn’t know about that – ok. 

“Look,”  she says, “if you just stand like this all night, look how much skinnier you look!  There’s your 10 pounds!”  She drops her arms, truimphantly, looks at me, clearly expecting applause.

And of course i start laughing, and Joanna demonstrates too, only she’s about my height and heavier than i am, so she raises her arms above her head and says, “See, it lifts your boobies up, makes em downright perky.”

Karen says, “Might be a little hard driving, i don’t know, in the car…” she sits, raises her arms, brings them back down,”Well I guess your coat would cover you.  You’ll just have to hide under it, keep it pulled over you.  But when you get there-”  She stands and demonstrates again, arms up, draping herself against a file cabinet, “Just look at how good I look!”  Pause.  Of course, you might have trouble eating.  Grapes would work.  I’m still trying to figure out how I’d do broccoli casserole.”

And what i want to say is, “And yes – that would work – Sir could tie my arms up, so really, no one would even think it was odd!”  But, um, i don’t…

It’s not always easy, living in a vanilla world…

{laughing}

Sir has a cold.  Keep your fingers crossed that He feels better this weekend, ok?  Thanks! 

In Real Life

i started to continue “The Training School” – and got as far as:  “All lotioned and perfumed, i slip into the clothes they’ve laid out for me.   Tonight, i’m wearing a …” and i was going to say ‘purple corset, fishnet stockings, and of course, heels,” when i realized that i wasn’t feeling it.  In fact, the idea made me cringe a little and want to put more clothes on.

i promise i’ll come back to it – just not today.   i’m having to make some difficult decisions about my mother’s healthcare this week, and i need to center myself differently.  My mind is unsettled, ideas dart around, sensations and half-formed thoughts run wild.  

{laughing) A couple of days ago, on facebook i used this quote from Harry Potter: 

“I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind…. At these times… I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure.”
~~Albus Dumbledore

That’s what blogging does for me, at least sometimes.  Lets me lay my thoughts out and play with them at leisure.

Like the quote from one of the subsister’s new Dom, which Sin also quoted.  He says the sign of a great dominant is:  “being able to want something, and convince you that you want it, that you need it and crave it and that you are being spoiled and treated like a princess when he gives it to you…”

It’s a fascinating definition, and Sin’s post on it is equally interesting.  i’m not sure what i think about it, and am not sure that it’s accurate, but i love the sound of it.  i want to ask my Sir what He thinks about it.  Because – o –

– on one hand, i would tell you, with all sincerity, that Sir D has not “made me want” anything.  Really.  And –

              – o, wait – um, when i met Him i would never, in a million years, have imagined getting naked in front of a room full of people and being

                                 strung up with rope – set on fire – and um, beaten. 

And now i absolutely can’t wait to do it again. 

Gosh.   How did that happen?

i’m fascinated by the positive responses i got to “The Training School.”  I got 225 hits on my blog December 26  – which, i know, is not a lot compared to a lot of you, but it’s a whole lot for me.  And nearly as many yesterday.     

Writing it is an interesting experience.  The words flow.  i can see The School, and feel it.   It’s real.  And it turns me on.  

Is it the minutiae of control that’s so arousing?  The detail?  Or is there something else about the school concept that speaks to us?   i’d love to hear your ideas on it.  What makes it hot?

And i really will come back to it.  The plot is laying itself out in my mind, the characters coming to life.  Weird.  Of course, Tipacanoe is applying for the position of Headmaster – but {laughing} wouldn’t it be fun to do a national search?    Ok, maybe not that many people would apply, and – o, that’s right, there isn’t really a school.  i guess in the long run, that would be a problem.

But think about it.  We could have  2 or 3, maybe even 4, essay questions for the candidates to answer.  What would we want to know? 

i’ve been thinking about the munch i went to Sunday night, which was a lot of fun.  i begin to feel a sense of belonging in the community here, and that feels good.  Interesting to shift easily from the old tv shows we liked (Rifleman, Bonanza, Twilight Zone) to the kink we like, with barely a breath inbetween. 

Interesting the ways we come to the community – from those of us arriving late to the party, bringing our quirks along with the kink – to the 18 year olds.  Good grief, i can’t imagine what that would be like.  But she’s right, the young lady is, when she says something like, “Well, coming to this so young, I won’t have to go through the bad marriages and vanilla relationships that youall went through first.”

She’s right, at least in a way, and we nod in agreement.   Her path will be different.  i don’t think we need to remind her that it’ll have its own perils and pain.

And i’m recentering myself because this weekend, this Friday, Sir D will be here.  We saw each other the first weekend in November, the first weekend in December, and now the first weekend in January.  Looking back, i see some patterns in how i cope with that.

i miss Him so much – and {laughing} so much more than i want to.  i don’t want to miss Him at all.  i want to be totally fine with not seeing Him.  And  – are you familiar with the AA definition of fine?

Fucked-up/ Insecure/ Neurotic/ and – i always forget “E” – is it Emotional?   Yeah, Emotional.

Well, that’s about how “fine” i become over the course of 4 weeks without seeing Him. 

You can’t imagine how much that pisses me off  – at myself, mostly.  i struggle with it, like a fish in a net.  i start to swim away, only to realize the net encircles me.  To leave, i’d have to tear the net, and – much to my dismay – i realize i don’t want to do that.

So i swim in circles, bumping into the net here and there. 

i give up and swim listlessly in one place. 

i get reenergized and make another run for it – hitting the net again. 

Finally, i begin to get used to it, to re-find some kind of balance for myself.   By then, the waiting is almost over.  Have i really shut down, gotten used to being alone?  i don’t know. 

Today, i’m turning back toward Him. 

Just a few more days – tomorrow and Thursday to get through.  i am pulled, drawn toward Him.  Fighting that a little bit.  i don’t want Him to have this much power over me.  i want to be casual, nonchalant. 

Yeah, good luck with that, right?  Damn it.

Last night, i picked up my phone to text Him, and before i could dial the number, He popped up on IM.  That touch of Him lingers.

Today, when i think of Him, my skin tingles.  It’s stupid and corny, but i ache to feel His hand in my hair. 

Damn it.

Long to feel Him kiss me.

Want to kneel in front of Him.

Soon, i will.

For now, i wait, poised in my mind, on my knees.  Sitting straight and tall.  Knees apart a little.  My face is upturned, i’m waiting, watching for Him.  My hands rest on my thighs, palms up, tingling with anticipation. 

Waiting.

Back in the Training School – Part IV

i rush downstairs to – well, we call it “The Baths” – don’t ask me why.  i think the first Headmaster here was English or something.  It’s like a big spa, with private bathtubs and showers, as well as a huge pool in the main room where the water is filtered and recycled continuously. 

There are dressing areas where we help each other get ready – rubbing lotion on each other, fixing hair, and asking each other if we look ok.  And mirrors.  Mirrors are everywhere.

Male subs share the bath area with us – in The School, distinctions are not based gender, but on where you are in the power exchange,   Subs here, Dom/me’s there. 

i come rushing into the baths, knowing that i’m running late.  i’m relieved to see that a few people are still soaking in the main tub area, so i can’t be too late.   Quickly, i strip off my clothes, tossing them toward the locker that’s mine, and slide into the tub.  i don’t see Mistress L, and i’m hoping that she’ll think i was there all along.

The water is lovely, just-right warm, and scented with lovely herbs to keep our skin soft.  (Herbs?  Spices?  Bath salts, maybe.  I don’t know.)  i’m relaxing into it, greeting my friends, when –

Mistress L’s shadow falls over the tub.  i look up.  She is not quite glaring at me, but i’ve fallen under her scrutiny for sure.

“Ma’am?” i say, trying to sound innocent and respectful, hoping to avoid any unpleasant consequences.

“I know you were late,” she says.  “Where were you?”

i explain about being with Professor C and she shrugs.  “Normally, I’d at least have you write a paragraph, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.  Ladies – and gentleman,” she adds, looking at the one male sub with us, “You need to hurry up and get moving.  Your aides will be here shortly to help you finish up.”

i’m surprised to see her turn and walk away.  i look to the other subs, wondering if they know what’s going on.  For Mistress L to walk away like that is – well, i’ve never seen it happen before in the weeks i’ve been here. 

“It’s the Headmaster,” says N.  She’s a luscious red-head, about my age, with a wicked sense of humor and a longing for pain.   She looks subdued today and – i suddenly notice – worried.  “He’s been taken to the hospital.”  i notice tears in her eyes.

“When?  What happened?” i ask.

“I don’t know exactly,” N says, and the tears begin to spill over, “I – I was with him.  He had just – just” a sob escapes her, she tries to choke it back.  The rest of us are gathered around her now – about 5 of us.  

“It’s ok,” 

“Take your time,” 

“Go ahead and cry,” we say, surrounding her, patting her arms and shoulders.     

But she stops, and i can see her pull herself together.  

“I was with him,” she starts again.  “He had just – well, he had just fucked my ass, you know he likes to use me that way, right?”  We nod – she is a favorite with the Headmaster.  “So,” she continues, “He was done, and i was curled up on the floor, and all of a sudden, he yells real loud.  Not -” and tears are running down her face again –

“Not any words or anything, just – yells – like he’s in pain.”  We are still patting and stroking her, making little soothing noises. 

She goes on, “So his aide’s always close by, and he rushed over to him – i didn’t even have time to react, i was just curled up there, and his aide rushed over to him.  And then -” she breaks down again, sobbing – pulls it back together –

“Then they -they made me leave, and come down here.  But I heard them calling 911, telling them to -to  send an ambulance…I don’t know if he’s – he’s going to be ok – or – not”  and having made it through the story, she sobs and the tears flow.

We’re still patting her and tsk-ing, doing “poor baby,” and so on, when Mistress L returns.  We look up, expecting to be chastised for wasting time.  We’re allowed to talk to each other at times like this, but we’re not supposed to let socializing get in the way of what we’re supposed to be doing.  Instead –

– she looks distracted.  Barely aware of us.  

“I need youall to finish up here and get dressed as quickly as you can.  Follow the protocol, of course, and the aides will be here in a few minutes to help, but I”m going to trust youall to do the right thing for now.  I have other matters to take care of.  Is that clear?”

We nod, and say, “Yes, Mistress,” and really mean it too.  i want to ask her what’s going on, but she looks grim – and sad – and i think i better not ask.  She leaves, and we begin to climb out of the big tub, heading for the showers.

When i said there were private baths, you probably pictured little rooms with a tub, but it’s not like that at all.  There are indivdual tubs, but they’re all out in the open, and it’s a big communal shower too. 

There are video cameras and some of the mirrors are two-way – you know, like glass from the other side.  So we never know when we’re being taped or watched. 

This keeps us from doing a lot o things that we’re not supposed to do anyhow – like touching ourselves, or each other in “a manner intended to cause sexual pleasure.”  That’s how it’s described in the rule book, and that’s exactly what we’re never supposed to do ourselves, or for each other.  When and where we experience sexual pleasure is not up to us, it’s at the discretion of the Doms and Doms in Training.

So i get my soaps and personal items from my locker, and we are all in the shower, washing up, when the aides arrive.  There are two of them, plenty to make sure we are up to expectation.  Once we are washed up and shaved, we’ll dry off and they’ll inspect us. 

Then we move to  the dressing area, where we lotion and perfume each other, dry our hair, put on make-up, all of those “prepping” things.  But i’m getting ahead of myself.  First, i have to be inspected for cleanliness.  

Let me be clear.  i’ve been taking showers by myself for many years.  There is really no doubt that i can get myself clean.  The inspection is a reminder of my openness and vulnerability at all times.  It’s a humiliation designed to keep me feeling submissive – and it works very well.     

As i step out of the shower, the aides are waiting.  Today, as usual, there is a male and a female aide who work together.  Sometimes they are very clinical and distant – other times, i can tell they enjoy their work a whole lot, as they go out of their way to poke and probe.   i don’t know the male aide, but i’ve had the woman before.  She’s usually gentle, but thorough.

In the inspection area, i raise my arms above my head so they can check my underarms for stray hairs.  Tweezers are used to remedy ones i’ve missed, which encourages great care in shaving.  There is a rope hanging from the ceiling – i’m allowed to hold the rope to help me keep my arms out of the way.

i’ve done a good job under my arms today – next, while my arms are still above my head, they check my legs, running their hands over them.  My legs pass today also – so far, so good.   They touch my back and torso, my arms and hips, squeeze my breasts, tweek my nipples as well, but i don’t know of any real purpose for that. 

Then i’m allowed to release the rope.  They spread my legs – there are actually two blocks that i step up on, a foot on each one, so my legs are open as far as they want them.   They bend me over, of course, and inspect my ass.  Well, between my ass cheeks.  You know – there.  

i never know what to expect.  Sometimes, it’s a cursory examination, like they’re just going through the motions.  Other times, it’s more – thorough.  More humilating.  Sometimes, they comment to each other.  i hate that.

But today, they’re quick, spreading my cheeks wide, running a finger up the crack, which makes me gasp, but they finish quickly.  i step down then and move to the inspection final area.

Of course, you knew it’s my pussy they check last.  And check most thoroughly.  Stray hairs plucked – oh, yikes!  Only three today, but those tweezers are brutal.   Tilted back in a chair, of sorts, legs spread wide –

– they part my outer lips, rub, tug at my clit for a moment, slide a finger inside me.  And then, the part that i hate – they pull the finger out and check to see if i’m wet. 

Which i am. 

i always am by this time, soaking wet, and i hate that.  They laugh sometimes – sometimes they comment on what a good slut i am.   Occasionally, they pretend to fuss – “No point in you taking a shower – you can’t stay clean a minute,” they might say. 

Always, i’m reminded of my own need and desire.

Reminded that i choose this.   My choices here have been taken from me, but i choose to be here. 

And i would not trade it – not any of it – for the existence i had before.

They have barely finished inspecting me, and are moving toward N, who raises her arms in readiness, when another aide bursts in. 

Ignoring us, she addresses the aides.  “He’s dead!” she says.  “Headmaster.  It was a stroke, they’re saying.  They’re all up there crying and talking about what to do – all the Professors.   I’m supposed to be getting brandy, but I thought  – I wanted to tell you guys what was going on.”     

We are all shocked, and then she’s gone.  Our aides turn to N – “Come on,” they say, “Let’s get this done.”  She’s started crying again. 

i’m stunned.  What will happen now?  Will the school close?  Will we hire a new Headmaster?  Will we still have the party?  And then i feel bad for thinking about myself. 

i sigh.

Whatever happens will happen.  All i can do is the next thing. 

i begin to rub lotion on my body.

 

 

Back in the Training School – Part III

Because only a velcro strip holds my skirt together anyhow, it’s easy to reach behind me and open it when told to.  One simple gesture, and my ass is completely exposed.  As i separate the velcro, i wonder if i’ll ever hear that noise again – that ri-i-i-ping sound, without remembering moments like this.

 “Here,” he says, and i’m quickly bent over his knee, his hand on my butt.  His hand caresses, and i realize, with relief, that this is not a real punishment.  i relax under his stroking hand –

– and gasp as it descends with force, quite suddenly.  O!  Taken by surprise, i am intensely aware of the tingling, burning sensation, that’s not actually unpleasant  His hand is caressing again, and he says,

“What are you supposed to say?”

O!  i’ve been completely distracted by the sensation, and i know better.  “One – thank you, Sir, may i have another, please?”  i say it quickly, afraid i’m already in trouble.

But he laughs.  “That’s better,” he says.  “Pay attention now.”   And i do, remembering the formula for Two, which lands in the exact same spot on my butt as One.  When Three lands in the SAME spot, it hurts.  But – i feel quite lopsided.  The other side of my ass feels neglected.

He’s stroking again.  “Let’s do one more,” he says, “and I’ll let you choose – do you want it in the same place, or on the other side?”

“O, thank you, Sir,” i say, “On the other side, please.”

“But if I do the other side,” he says, “Then I’ll need to even it up and give you three more.  Is that what you want?”

i’m only slightly surprised to hear myself say, “Yes, Sir, please, Sir, three more on the other side.”  

He delivers them with enthusiasm, and i remember to thank him.  After Three, he laughs and says, “Now, one more for good measure,” and gives me a fourth on each side. 

His hand probes between my legs, caressing my pussy, which has gotten hotter and wetter with each stroke.  “You respond well to that,” he says.  “Good girl,” and a shiver runs through me.  His fingers are inside me, and i’m soooooo close to cumming, “Please, Sir, please may i cum?” i say.

And the fingers are withdrawn, a pat and a little push encourages me to get to my feet.  Standing, breasts exposed, back of my skirt completely open, i’m trembling.    “Kneel,” he says –

– and i smile.  “Yes, Sir.” 

Nestling into the space between his legs, i watch him take his cock in his own hand.  He is already getting hard, and i long to touch.  But i wait.

“Do you want this?” he says.  

Without taking my eyes off him, i nod, “Yes, Sir, i do.”

“Ok,” he says, “then you may touch me.  Show me what you know about pleasing with your mouth.”

It flashes through my mind that this is a test – that he is putting me through my paces.  But that thought is swept away by desire to please him.   i don’t know what he likes, but i trust that he’ll let me know as we go along.

The art of cock worship – the delicate exploration of this cock, looking for what he responds to.  The caress of lips and tongue, the hot warmth of my mouth wrapped around him, the harshness of the cock striking the back of my throat…  i try all of these, focusing intently on his response.

i take my time.  i’m in no hurry for him to cum, i want him to enjoy the slow build-up.  i think he does, i hear him moan once, and count that success. 

After some time – i don’t know how long – he grasps my hair.  He moves my head, setting a rhythm for me.  From then, i begin to hold that pace, helping him build to a peak.

It is not longer after that – “Now,” he says and thrusts himself into my mouth fiercely for serveral strokes.  i hold on, opening myself, accepting him completely, as he cries out with pleasure.    

His cum has a pleasant taste – i won’t try to describe it, it doesn’t matter, but i don’t mind leaving his cock in my mouth as he relaxes back into an unaroused state.  He’s rubbing my head, which feels soooo good, even though it makes me wonder if he has a dog.  i smile to myself, will he scratch behind my ears too?

It makes me shiver to realize how much like an animal i am, kneeling at his feet.  When he says, “Good job – good girl,” i think i could easily be a dog, and be quite happy with this kind of attention.  But even happier when he says,

“Did you still want to cum?” because

OMIGOSH – YES!! 

I do.  I really, really do.

i manage some restraint “Yes, Sir, please, i do, yes.  Sir,” and i’m smiling like i just won the lottery.  He smiles too, and

– slips his fingers inside my pussy, making me gasp –

i’m still kneeling in front of him, rubbing myself on his hand, making little noises – o my, o my –

and quickly i climb up, up and omigodyesyes – slide into my first over-the-top, shivering, moaning orgasm – only to feel him still pressing himself into me deeper – o- o-

and it continues, pushing me up and over the top again –

           – playing with my nipples with his other hand, o – o – oyesyesyesyesyes – omigod –

he presses me backwards, i’m lying on my back, my legs spread wide, his fingers still probing and pressing – oyes – and then –

i’m cuming again, so i barely notice the other finger – the finger just resting at the entrance to my other hole – the one they have not used yet –

and i’m shaking and moaning as the finger, just one finger – slides into my asshole. 

omigod, omigod – the finger fills me – overwhelmed with sensation, my pussy throbbing happily, clenching and rubbing against his hand, and now this – o, this so invasive finger in my ass – o, i can’t even think at all – i can’t quit moving – O!  O – over the top one more time –

And then –

– it stops.  The movement stops.  Fingers are withdrawn.  My eyes open – i had not realized they were closed.  i’m on my back, knees pressed to my chest, suddenly feeling open and exposed.  He is leaning over me, watching my face.

 i move to put my legs down, but his hands, one on each ankle, keep me in place.  i whimper.

“Good.”  He says.    “Cock worship.  That’s another role at the party.  Have you already had some training?”  i shake my head, 

“No, Sir.”

“Even better,” he says.  “You seem to have some natural aptitude for it.”

i’m thrilled that he thinks so – my whole body quivers with pleasure. 

“Which,” he adds, “is not to say that’s what you’ll do at the party.  It would be highly unusual for you to be assigned to that role for your first party.”

i nod, that’s ok with me – well, not that it matters if it’s ok with me or not – but that’s ok with me too! 

He releases my ankles, lightly slaps the inside of my thigh.  “Get up,” he says – as if i’d been the one holding myself down – which makes me giggle.  He looks at his watch, “You’re supposed to be down in the baths getting ready for dinner, better hustle down there.  If you tell them you were with me, they may go lighter with the consequences.”

i’m on my feet now, and i gasp – consequences?  Why would there be consequences when it’s not my fault i’m late?   That’s not fair! 

i don’t say a word, but i guess my face does, because he laughs – “No, it’s not fair,” he says.  “But life’s not fair, is it?  There are always consequence in life.’

i’m about to hurry away when he says, a note of warning in his voice, “Did you want to thank me before you rush off?” and i realize – o, yes – of course i do – not thanking him would carry its own set of consequences. 

Quickly, i kneel.  He steps forward a little, a hand on the back of my head presses my face against his cock.  i can feel him swelling.   i kiss him and he releases my head. 

“Thank you, Sir,” i say.

Following the formula, he says, “For?” and i reply –

“for teaching me about the party, for letting me suck your cock, for letting me cum – o! and for spanking me.  Sir.”

He smiles, “Good girl.  You may go now.  We’ll talk again soon.”

Back to the Training School – Part II

i write for a long time, sitting at the desk, hand-writing all my feelings about my experiences at The Training School,.  i describe the neediness that comes with the arousal, talk about how hot it makes me, how wet, and how much i long to serve.  i write for a long time.

Then i am finished, and i close the notebook, put the pen neatly to one side.  i fold my hands on my desk – and look at my nipples, as Professor C had instructed me to do.  They are barely protruding.  Certainly not the degree of erect arousal that he would want. 

Feeling guilty, i brush my thumbs over them.  Usually, we are forbidden to touch ourselves in any way that might feel sexual.  i am a little worried that if one of the Doms in Training, or another Professor, were to see me, that i would be in immediate trouble.  In that case, punishment might descend quickly and explanations would have to wait for later.

Fortunately, my nipples begin to rise quickly.  i make sure they’re hard – tender and tingling – before i fold my hands on the desk again.   Of course, all this touching makes my pussy throb.  It’s not quite as arousing as if Professor C were doing it, but that direct connection that runs from nipple to pussy is still working. 

i squirm a little.  i know i’m supposed to be thinking about my nipples, but it’s difficult to focus when shivers are running through me, my pussy’s clenching, and i’m aching to be touched.  Or even touch myself.  

i’m usually good about not touching – i know i belong to Them right now, and that someday soon, i’ll have a Master and my body will belong to Him.  And you know, i want to be  a good girl anyhow… but now

i have to part my legs a little bit more – my knees aren’t exactly pressed together like some old-school “lady,” but i think if i pressed them together a little harder, i might cum.   And then i’d have to confess that i’d cum without permission.  And that would lead to – 

– well, it’s only happened to me once, thank goodness.  But the tortures of orgasm denial around that kind of infraction – o, my.  i thought i would lose my mind.  i had to wear a braided red collar, and a matching red belt, to signal the Doms in Training and the Professors to touch me, arouse me, and make sure i didn’t cum.

Well, you can imagine what that was like!  Whew.  It lasted for 24 hours, and at the end of it, when i was ready to cry with longing and frustration, they set up a training session for one of the Doms  with the Hitachi and me.

O, my – you can’t possible imagine what a relief that was!  One of the Professors – Professor C, actually – was supervising at first to make sure the Dom could readily make me cum.   Thank goodness, he could, and did, for a long time.

i glance at my nipples.  They’re still fairly hard, i guess these memories are helping.  i tweak them a little bit, just to make sure they stay perky, and remember that the Professor told me to think about my nipples.  Mentally, i nod, “yes, sir,” and begin to think about them.

Nipples and nipple clamps – yikes.  They have not used nipple clamps on me much, and i’m glad.  Although, i suppose that could change at any moment.  That thought makes my pussy throb and i feel the hot moistness clenching, as if seeking – seeking something.  Wanting to wrap itself – herself? around something.

And what makes me throb and clench and shiver, sitting here all alone in this room at a desk, is knowing that it will be however they want it to be.  Pleasure, pain, or some combination, it’s their choice.  i’ve given them that power, and even though i could take it back at any time and walk out, i wouldn’t even consider doing that.

When i walk out, it will be with someone who wants me.  Someone who finds me pleasing.  i’m picturing that – wondering who He’ll be, what that will be like, when –

Professor C comes back into the room. Quickly –

i glance down at my nipples – yes!  They are still hard, although –

         – moments later, when he has taken hold of them, and is lightly pinching them, they get much harder very quickly –

and my pussy throbs and pulsates, and  i whimper and squirm

                                     and he laughs.

“Good girl,” he says, with an easy smile, and i feel myself warmed all through.

He sits back down and picks up my notebook.  i squirm in a different way as he reads it, hoping he likes it, hoping he’s pleased.  Several times, he looks up at me and smiles, which is a relief, and my heart dances with joy. 

When he’s finished, he says, “Tell me more about how you knew you wanted this.  When was the first time you knew you wanted to submit?”  So i tell him, and he listens closely, commenting from time to time.

When i’ve finished, he nods, and talks a little bit about what i’ve said.  He praises me for having the courage to take this step, and assures me that they’ll find a good Master for me – and adds,  with a grin, “Well, “good” being a relative term.  Someone who wants a slave like you and knows how to provide the proper discipline to get the most out of you.”

Again, a deep thrill runs through me.  Yes, that is exactly what i want.

“And,” he goes on, “That’s the point of the party you’ll be going to.”  He pauses to pinch my nipples again, and my attention shifts to my body so quickly, it is such an intense feeling,  i moan. 

He laughs.

“There are different roles that our students fill at the party,” he goes on.  He’s released my nipples, so i’m able to focus on his words.  Different roles?  i don’t ask it aloud, but he says, “For example, there are greeters – two, usually.  Their job is to welcome the guests.”

He doesn’t really have to say more, i’m pretty sure i know what that means, but he explains anyhow – “As the men arrive, the greeters take their coats in the winter, bow in welcome of course.  Then they kneel and offer their mouths – the guest may simply allow the greeter to kiss his cock through his clothes, or he may indicate that she can open his clothes to take him in her mouth more fully.  She’s not usually expected to engage in lengthy cock worship at that time since other guest are arriving to be greeted.  But she does try to make sure his evening gets off to a good start.

“Then she leads him to a seat, takes a drink order, and turns that in at the bar.  Someone else will take the drink to him.”

i am listening, fascinated, i can picture it just as he describes it.

“That’s just one of the roles, of course,” he says, “And,” looking at his watch, “I don’t have time to tell you more today.  I have been assigned to walk you through this though, I’ll be your guide, so we’ll be talking again.”

“Thank you, Sir,” i say, smiling happily.  “That’ll be – o, that’ll be helpful, i know.”  Professor C is one of my favorite teachers anyhow, a very wise man.    Now –

“Come here,” he says, gesturing for me to stand in front of him.  

Quickly, i move, position myself where he wants me.  i remember to stand straight, shoulders back a little, so my breasts are offered.  He caresses the nipples again, then takes one into his mouth.  The heat of his mouth is so intense, so soothing and so arousing and –

i moan and move closer to him.  His tongue – his mouth – the heat – ahhhhhh, o my – and then he switches sides and my first nipple is tingling from the cool air, and the other nipple is being teased with his tongue and ohhhhhhhhhh

                 i think i will die with pleasure.  And then – just as it is almost too much – his hand slips between my legs –

touches my incredibly hot, aching pussy.  i press against him, i can’t help it, like a cat in heat, i must rub against him.  i whimper, a plead in the sound and he says –  

“What?  What do you want?”

“O – touch me, yes, please touch me, o, yes, um, your fingers, your fingers inside me, yes, sir, please, please may i cum?” and i’m almost there when of course he stops – of course –

and i think i will die –

and i moan – but i stifle the complaint and i don’t say, “Noooooo!  Don’t stop!”  instead i say,”O, Sir, please, please Sir,” 

and he says, laughing, “What about me?  Don’t you want to take care of me?” 

That actually makes me pause – it doesn’t make me want to cum any less, and his thumb is resting on my clit, and his fingers are inside me, even though he’s not moving, he’s just holding me there on the edge – but now i’m thinking about him, and wondering if he wants my mouth or my pussy or –

– i guess he could even want my ass, which they have not taken yet.  But i discover that i do want to please him, as much as i want to cum, i want to please him.  So i say, “O, Sir, of course i want to take care of you.  May i, please? “

He looks at me for a long moment, looks deep into me, and then he releases me, removes his hand, his fingers.  i feel my pussy clench wildly, silently pleading for him to come back, but i ignore her, watching him.  “Yes,” he says.  “Yes, you may please me.  But first, three licks for not thinking of it first.  Here, over my knee… open your skirt in back all the way, please.”

******************************************************************

Whew, that was fun!

Five more days, just five more days til i see my Sir again.  (Ok, six if I count today, but I don’t think today should count cause it already is today, right?)

Merry Christmas, Everyone. 

Hope you have a wonderful day (whether you’re celebrating Christmas or not!)

 

 

 

The Gifts of BDSM

Those of you who read Mick and Molly over at UCTMW have probably already read his post “Input from a New Contributor.”  If you haven’t, and you want to read it now, go ahead, i’ll wait….but hurry back.

{tapping foot}

If you don’t want to go read UCTMW right now,  just know that a woman named Donna, who’s made some delightful comments on my blog and other people’s, wrote an essay – “The Indomitable Human Spirit.”   Mick does a lovely job talking about Donna, and shares some of her humor in his post, so I won’t do that here.   But if you haven’t read her essay yet, please read it now, because  i’m going to jump off from there.

Donna talks about the benefits of a BDSM lifestyle in her own life, how it helps in dealing with a physical disablity that could otherewise limit her sexual pleasure.   She suggests that knowledge and experience of the lifestyle might be helpful for other people who are wheelchair bound.  She points out that we have young people coming back from the military with new physical limitations, who will need to find hope for their futures. 

Her essay really puts in words some of the amazing beauty of BDSM.

It makes me think about conversations i’ve had lately with JM, the amazing analyst, about the value of BDSM.  You know, just the fact that so many of us are – um, not young – and that not being a young, skinny, blonde model is really ok – goes against most of the values in our society.   

(Of course, it’s ok if you are that skinny young blonde too…)   

And – BDSM makes me think about a wonderful book called “Passionate Marriage” by David Schnarch.  He talks about relationships from a different perspective, one that i really like.  Along those same lines, he says that sex doesn’t really start to get good until the second half of life.  

Yes.  Let me say that again.  Schnarch says that sex doesn’t really start to get good until the second half of life.  

(If you’re still in your first half, all i can say is “yes, it does – even if you think it’s good now, i think it gets better.   Or, it can.”) 

So – BDSM recognizes that we don’t quit being deeply sensual with our first wrinkles.  i think that’s a gift.  Only one of many that the lifestyle offers. 

For me, the openness of sexuality is a powerful gift.  The opportunity to talk  – and act – on feelings that had been half-buried all my life is exquisitely thrilling.   And psychologicially, how much healthier than keeping everything repressed and bottled up.

So i begin to think, what happens if i try to fully integrate the gifts of the lifestyle into my conceptualization of psychology and human sexuality?  i’ve been playing with that on here from time to time anyhow.  Maybe i need to get more serious about it.     

In Where-i-live, there are several therapists on the Kink Aware Professionals list – maybe it would be helpful to  talk to them about whether or not this is integrated into their practice or something they pull out when a kinky person makes an appointment.   Since i’m on the verge of starting a private practice myself, i’d been thinking about doing that anyway.

Also, i have a friend who’s a therapist (not here) who works a lot with sexuality.   Actually, she specializes in sexuality with people who have physical disabilities, so that ties right in with Donna’s perspective.  She reviews sex toys and has linked with sexual blogs on her professional face book page.  Maybe it’s time to have an in-depth conversation with her.    Hmmmm.

And beyond all that, i have a tremendous resource in the connections i’ve made through this blog.  So let me throw this out to youall. 

What do you see as the benefits of “living the lifestyle?” 

What are your thoughts on how BDSM fits into our psyches? 

What are the gifts?  What are the dangers? 

i’d love to hear from people who don’t have their own blogs too – if you don’t want to comment publicly (although you can do it annonymously) you can e-mail me at Hisservant48@yahoo.com  If you’ve been a lurker, let me know if it’s ok for me to e-mail you or not.  In either case, i’d love to hear from you – and of course,  from my fellow bloggers. 

Don’t expect immediate results, cause it’s gonna take me a while to really move on this, and i have a few other projects in the works, but i’ll share what i learn as i go along.   Cause here’s another reason it’s important – for me – to figure out how this fits in.

i have clients now who make me wonder if i could do something different with them if i could figure out a way to work BDSM into the conversation.  

My client who calls herself “a crispy marshmallow” – hard on the outside, all goo on the inside – i wonder where she might fall on the D – s continuum.  What would it be like if she could explore that without shame?   

And my clients who are caught up in wanting to “give” and please and take care of other people – where might they be on the spectrum?  Would it be helpful for them to be able to talk about it from a perspective other than “co-dependency?”   My fantasy is that they could learn new ways to value themselves, rather than getting caught up in “I shouldn’t be like this.”

Yeah, time to work a little more on this.  Thanks, Donna, for the nudge.  {Smiles}

**************************************************

Feeling a little nostalgic today for Christmas past, when family and friends were in and out of the house all the time today and tomorrow.   So maybe i’ll come back later and work on “Back to the Training School- Part II.” 

Hope you’re enjoying the day…

P.S. – ‘Nilla pointed out in a comment that “on the spectrum” has become closely associated with what we call “the autism spectrum” and has begun to have a negative connotation.  Here’s a real spectrum:

Regardless of whether we're talking about autism or kink, being on the spectrum is not a bad thing! Life's a continuum.

 

Back in the Training School…

…i am leaving the classroom when Professor C stops me.  Notebook in hand, he glances from it to me. 

“It looks like you’re on the list,” he says.

“Sir?”

“The list,” he says, a little impatiently. 

i don’t know what he’s talking about, so i wait.  i have learned not to push for answers, to accept what’s given.  i’ll be told as much as i need to know.

“For next week – the party,” he says. 

My heart stops – it really does, just for a split second, but i can feel it.  O.  The party.  i’m on the list for the party. 

 i’m thrilled and i’m terrified.  i’ve heard about the parties.  Just enough to know that this is a big deal.  i bite my lip – i want to ask a zillion questions, and –

 – “i am?” i say.  My heart is racing now.  i’m on the list.  The List.

“Yes,” and then he looks at me and grins, “Oh, this is your first time, isn’t it?’

i  nod, “Yes, Sir.”

“Well, sit down a minute, I’ll fill you in.  You’ll get lots of specific instructions and some special training in the few days, and I don’t even know exactly what your tasks will be, but I’ll tell you about the party now.”

i sit, remembering without even thinking about it to lift my skirt so i’m sitting directly on the seat.  Of course, the clothes we wear at the Training School are designed to make this easy.  Sometimes i wear a very short skirt that barely needs to be lifted.  Other times, i wear a long skirt that has been slit in the front and the back.   Velcro strips along the edges allow some control of how high the slit is, ranging from mid-thigh to all the way to my waist. 

Being unreceptive to instructions will generally lead to more exposure.  If i’m slow to offer myself, the professors may actually fasten my skirts on either side – as if they were ponytails – so i’m completely uncovered to the waist.  The skirt bunched on either side of me feels awkward, and is an embarrassing reminder that i’m exposed this way due to some infraction of the rules.  

Often, when my skirts have been fastened in this way, any one of the Doms in Training may stop me as i’m moving through the halls.  Bend me over a table postioned conveniently along the hallway.  He may take one of the implements off the wall, or even use his hands, to smack my ass.  He is only supposed to give me three licks at any one time, but often there is a fourth one “for good measure.”

When he is finished, i’m to kneel, of course, and thank him nicely.  i kiss the implement he’s used, or his hand, and kiss his cock.  Then i’m allowed to go on my way.

But today i’m wearing a long skirt, well, calf length, opened only to mid thigh.  While the professors or DIT’s (Doms in Training) could still bend me over any time, they are less likely to do so.  

i am wearing a corset though; one that exposes my nipples.   i lift my skirt as i sit, feeling the chair beneath my naked ass and pussy. 

Professor C , still standing, puts his notebook down.   He reaches out and grasps a nipple in each hand, lightly at first, then tugging on them firmly until they stand erect.   “Much better,” he says.  “You have nice nipples, and they’re much lovelier this way.”

i blush, pleased by this praise.  My nipples are tingling, and i’d like for him to play with them some more.  My pussy is soaking wet, but it always seems to be.   The more they use me for their pleasure, the more i want them to.

Professor C laughs, and sits down.  “Enough of that, slut,” he says, and i blush some more.  “Pay attention.  You know, the school was started to train sluts for their Doms.  The Doms or Masters would bring their girls or boys here, and we’d teach them to be obedient.  We’d teach them some skills in serving, and send them back.  Sometimes, that’s still what we do.  Were you sent here by your Master?”

  i shake my head, “No, Sir.”  He waits, looking at me expectantly, so i g0 on.  “i met a man who told me about the school.  i – i thought it sounded – interesting.    So i -“now i’m really blushing – “i guess i kind of, um, volunteered to come.”

Professor C grins, leans back in his chair, “O, that’s nice.  My favorite kind of referral – the volunteers.  Yes, we discovered that there are submissive women and men, natural slaves, who don’t have Owners, who desparately want a Master of their own.   They jump at the chance to come to the training school. 

“So you’re a volunteer,” he continues, “I’m not surprised.  As you know, volunteers are free to leave at any time, but if you walk away, you forfeit the opportunity; you’ll never be allowed to come back.”  He reaches out again, grasping both nipples, pinching hard enough to make me whimper.

He releases my nipples then, but continues to caress them with his thumbs, teasing them even more, although they are already hard swollen nubs.  i am so aroused, i begin to squirm a little.  “See,” he says, “see how nicely you respond.  i bet you’re sitting in a puddle there.  Aren’t you?’

And i am distracted, so it takes me a moment to realize he expects me to answer, but then i say it quickly, “Yes, Sir – yes, i’m very wet.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, “tell me what it feels like to have a hot, wet cunt.  To be such a slut that you’ll sit here with your skirt pulled up for me.  That you want me to do this,” and as he says it, he pinches my nipples cruelly.  i gasp.  “Tell me,” he says.

And i am speechless.  i want to tell him how it feels, but i can’t, truly i can’t, all i can think about is his hands on my nipples, my aching nipples, and i can barely say, “Sir, please, Sir,”

– and he says, “Please, Sir?  Please what?”  He’s smiling, relaxed, but not releasing my poor nipples.   “i want to hear what this is like for you,” he says again, “How your cunt feels… what it’s like to want this.”  And he tugs on my nipples, still pinching them hard. 

i’m squirming, but trying not to pull away from him, because that only makes it worse.  And i can’t talk.  i just can’t.  “Please, Sir,'” is all i can get out –

– and quite suddenly, he releases my nipples.  Leans back in his chair. 

i am relieved, breathing again – and quickly aware that i want him to touch me more.  i don’t quite want him to stop. 

He’s smiling.  “Hard to talk, huh?   But look how lovely your nipples are now.”

Obediently, i glance down at my nipples, extended and hard and red, almost purple.  “Yes, Sir,” i say softly.

“So tell me now,” he says, “Tell me what it’s like to be hot all the time.  To want that touch, even though it hurts.   To be the kind of slut who volunteers for this.” 

i am humiliated, mostly because he’s right.  i do want it.  But i don’t know what to say to him, and the silence between us grows.  

He stands up then, and a whimper escapes me because i don’t want him to leave – i want him to stay and touch me some more – and – o, i almost forgot about the party and the list, and i want to know about that – and

He slaps a notebook and pen down on my desk.  “Here,” he says gently.  “Write about it.   Tell me what it’s like for you, all this feeling.  When you’re through writing – i want at least a page, but it can be as long as you like – when you’re through writing, close the notebook and fold your hands on the desk.  

He continues, “I’ll be back, but while you’re waiting, i want you to think about your nipples.   Think about how my hands feel on your nipples.   I want your nipples to be hard when I come back, so if they’re not hard at any time after you finish writing, you may touch them or pinch them to make them hard.  Is that clear?”

i nod, “Yes, Sir.”

“Repeat it back to me,” He says.

i struggle to arrange my thoughts.  

“Yes, Sir – i’m going to write at least a page in the notebook about – about what it feels like to be hot all the time, what it’s like to um, be a volunteer slut?”  He nods. 

i continue, “And when i’m through writing, i’m going to fold my hands on the desk and think about my nipples.  And if they’re not hard, i’ll touch them and make sure they’re hard when you come back.”  i pause and he says,

“Yes.  But don’t touch yourself otherwise.  No cumming.  Clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” i say.  “But – Sir – may i ask a question?”

“Ask,” he says.

“What about the party?  Will you tell me about it?” 

He smiles, reaches out and twists my left nipple.  “Yes.  I’ll tell you when I come back.”

***************************************************

Only seven more days til i see my Sir again…  {Smiles}

 

 

Counting Down – Eight…

Today, i feel out of touch, disconnected.  And we talked last night – IM’ed – this feeling is not about Him, not about us – it is me, i think. 

Winter solstice – the words conjure images for me.    Dancing sky clad in the woods around a fire – perhaps a velvet cloak as homage to the cold.   A celebration of the sacred, so ancient that the power of the feminine is honored.  

i should have gone to the gathering last night.  It was held in a church, and i doubt if anyone got naked, but it might have given me a deeper connection to the universe.   Or maybe not.  This year, i’m having to shift and redefine my Christmas celebration.  Not for the first time, but i forget how painful change can be.

But my blog, and youall, are a blessing in my life.  So there’s a poem by Patricia Lynn Reily that i want to share with you.  With apologies to the male readers – i hope you enjoy it too, but it is specifically a poem for the women in my life.  

IMAGINE A WOMAN…

Imagine a woman
who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who believes she is good.
A woman who trusts and respects herself.
Who listens to her needs and desires and meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman
who has acknowledged the past’s influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past. 
Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman
who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and to her wisest voice.

Imagine a woman
who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs her own spirituality and allows it to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman
in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body and its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman
who honors the face of the Goddess in her changing face.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her precious life energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

For more of Patricia Lynn Reilly’s inspirations, visit her site:
http://www.OpenWindowCreations.com

 With love,

aisha

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