Last night I snuggled up to Master's chest as he stood in the kitchen and, putting on my most winsome expression, looked up at him and said:
"Are you going to play with me tonight?"
He said "No. (pause) I'm going to beat your ass. I don't play. I live this stuff fucking serious-- 24/7, baby!"
"By the way, some of those people in those groups you belong to really are pompous asses, aren't they?"
I'm going to say this again, even though I already know the answer (which is that I'm a wimp). How can it hurt so much that I'm crying, wanting to fall down to escape or run away, and still the next morning the only evidence is two tiny scratches?
He is really enjoying the new whip, as am I.
He says I make him look like a big meanie on here, which he totally is not. If you know my Master, you know he is a sweet, darling, courteous man with only the best of motives. (And no, he did not force me to say that, only suggested).
Weight= exactly the same Walking= yes Plans for weekend= eating We are going to visit some friends on Saturday and so I'm making pi...
A new national holiday?
This looks like a fun little questionnaire! 1. Does the cock you worship have a name? Would you like to give him one? -- Yes. H...
I lay back in the bed as Master rummaged through his night stand. Leather handcuff strap. Yum. Ball gag. Extra yum. Nipple c...