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).
After a delightful lunch for three, we moved on to his bedroom. I stood in the center of the room, my hands behind my back, looking down, ...
We went to a Thai noodle shop for lunch yesterday and were just talking about this and that. I said, "I don't think people change...
He took off his belt. I watched out of the corner of my eye. My mouth was busy. I was on my knees. I saw the belt doubled over....
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...