Archive for the ‘submission’ Category

(Writing this post was emotionally draining to me, so I apologize if it seems a bit disjointed or if it seems I am jumping from one subject to another.  It’s also a bit different than my usual sex posts – so consider yourself fair warned.)

I tend to write a lot about sex.  A big aspect of my relationship with Mad Baker (and Victor) tend to revolve around sex – not the whole aspect of each relationship, but a large part of it.  But to me, being submissive is far more than just sexual behavior.

To me, a big aspect of submission is being feminine.  Now, I don’t want to hear comments about how dominant women can be feminine too, or how submissive men can still be manly while being submissive.  I accept all of that and do not discourage it!  But submission means something different to each individual, and to me, it is intricately and irreversibly tied to my sense of feminine self.

To that respect, I find I have always felt drawn to the old-fashioned aspects of womanhood – housekeeping, sewing, crocheting, cooking, canning, and just general traditional female responsibilities.

I want to make my bed each morning with a quilt that I spent several painstaking hours creating.  I want to prepare meals for my family with food that I grew and stored.  I want to send my kids off to school with homemade cookies rather than store-bought.  I want to wear clothing that I created.  I want people to walk into my home and stand in awe of the comfortable and relaxing hideaway that I designed.

I want to see Mad Baker come home from work to sit in a comfortable chair by the fireplace on a cold winter night.  I want to kneel at his feet, remove his boots and massage the aches of the workday out of his soles.  I want to see him curled up on the couch with a blanket that I crocheted while he laughs at the news program on the T.V.

I want our children to feel that home is an oasis from the pressures of daily life.  Growing up is a stressful thing to do, I want to ease that pressure as much as humanly possible.  I want them to bring friends home, and see the sense of pride as they show off their room and their treasures.

Unfortunately, reality rushes in on my dreams like a cast-iron skillet to the head.

I am not the greatest housekeeper, I freely admit.  When I was a child, I grew up in a home that was run by an insane man with control issues.  If there was a single speck of dirt anywhere, you were guaranteed that you would be yelled at and smacked around a little.  On bad days, you WISHED you were just smacked around a little.  Housecleaning was an activity that was full of fear…I remember washing the dishes three times before rinsing and drying, because I KNEW that a single speck on a dish would bring pain and punishment…and that was just one of my chores.

A side effect of this upbringing is that I feel incredibly anxious when the house is close to perfect, cleanliness-wise.  For example, the other week I had the kitchen near-spotless.  Dishes were done, the floor had been mopped (by hand, no less), the cupboards had been wiped down, the stove taken apart and thoroughly scoured.  Mad Baker walked into the room just as I noticed that there were some splatters on the wall from having fried chicken earlier that evening.  And as he walked in, I cringed, fully expecting to be smacked across the face for failing in my duties.

(a reaction which kinda annoys Mad Baker, I know, because he has NEVER hit me outside of a BDSM scene.  He’s just not an abusive man.   And of course Mad Baker didn’t hit me – in fact he complimented me on how quickly I had gotten the kitchen clean, and then invited me to join him for some television.)

I feel shame when I feel that way.  On one hand, my reaction is completely understandable.  But that doesn’t make it right.

The only way I have found to be able to handle this reaction is to keep parts of the house intentionally cluttered.  Not filthy, but cluttered.  An example – like most women with multiple kids, I don’t always get the laundry put away immediately after it is washed.  But in my case, the clutter centers my emotions.  Seeing it there in an otherwise clean room reminds me that I won’t get beaten or hurt for not having put it away…it’s gotten to the point where I always make sure there is at least one load there for my own comfort!  And this is not a healthy reaction.

I want to be able to present my Dom(s) with a clean house…but the reality is, a clean house causes such anxiety that I can’t bring myself to do it.  And this leaves me feeling like a failure, both as a woman and as a submissive.  My desires to present a clean and comfortable home clash with my need to reduce my anxiety.

So for the next several weeks…months…well, honestly, however long it takes…I will be working on becoming a better homemaker.  Learning to deal with these anxiety issues, and working beyond them.  I know this isn’t what most people are used to reading on my blog, but damn it, it’s my blog and I am going to type whatever I feel applies to submission…and to me, homemaking is a HUGE part of my submission.

There will still be entries about sex – but those will be intermixed with entries about homemaking and womanhood in general.  Feel free to comment on anything I say, I encourage feedback and criticism.  I hope this post wasn’t too much of a downer to any of my readers.

~hugs~ from patricialynn


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(I wrote this story several months ago as an assignment for Mad Baker.  Part of the assignment was to share it with five other people – and the responses I got were so positive that I decided to copywrite it.  Re-posting this story here by request from another submissive who likes my writing.  NSFW!!!)

I pulled the chicken out of the oven, smiling at the appearance of the perfectly browned bird.  I set it down on the counter and turned my attention to the biscuits.  They weren’t done yet, so I shut the overn door and re-set the timer, nerves quivering.

This was the first time I had cooked a fancy-type meal in a while, and on top of that was the pressure to make it absolutely perfect.  I had planned out the beginning of the night, and I wanted everything to be just right.  I had a few surprises in store for the gentlemen I was cooking for!

I sliced the chicken into thin strips and arranged it decoratively onto two plates.  I added baked potatoes to one side, and steamed asparagus to the other (with hope that I had steamed them right).  I drizzled a bit of gravy on the chicken just as the timer sounded.  The biscuits looked perfect, and added just the right look to the plates.  Two glasses of wine completed the meal.

Now for my surprise.  I reached under the cupboard and pulled out the serving tray I had secretly ordered online.  I had pre-measured the straps and knew they were just the right size for my body.  One strap went around my waist, holding the tray at a good level – the other went around my neck to hold it steady.  The tray was just large enough to hold two dinner plates, silverware, and wine glasses.  I took a deep breath and checked my appearance one last time in a hand mirror.  Satisfied that I looked sleek and meek, I laced my hands behind my back and walked carefully out into the living room.

There they were, sitting on the couch having a nice discussion.  As I neared them I could make out the topic – they were discussing the merits of rope bondage verses leather cuffs.  I neared the chair in which Master sat and kneeled in front of him, offering him first the silverware, wrapped artistically in a cloth napkin.  Next the glass of wine, and finally the plate of food.  He said nothing to me, but I could see the light of appreciation in his eyes, and felt his gaze caressing my figure as I moved to Sir.  I preformed the same functions for Sir, in the same order.  He also treated this as though it was normal, but also had a little glint in his eye that told me he had noticed the new equipment.

I stood, for a moment lost – I had expected they would say something or order me to do something, and left to my own devices was confusing for a few moments.  But then the thought occurred to me to go back in the kitchen and grab the bottle of wine, so I could refill their cups without another trip.  While in there, I was struck by inspiration and quickly poured two bowls full of warm water and grabbed two washcloths.

I came back out and put the bowls and washcloths on the side table, and knelt there with the wine, occasionally topping a glass when I noticed it was dropping low in level.  I listened to the conversation, enjoying the contrast of their voices – one deep and silky, the other a resonate tenor with a lilt.  Both voices sent jolts of energy straight to my pussy, quivering and wet.  But the only outward sign of my arousal was the tautness of my nipples.

Occasionally one of them would look over at me, appraising and evaluating.  I knelt there, back straight, breasts thrust out, head bowed – the perfect picture of submission.  I could sense the rising ardor in both men and felt my own body respond, but remained quiet and meek.

Master finished his meal first.  Topping off his wineglass, I took his plate and silverware, and then dipped the washcloth into the warm water.  Taking his hand, I washed each finger, massaging gently as I cleaned him.

By the time I was done, Sir had finished his meal, so I took his plate and gave him the same cleansing massage.  He nudged off his socks and lifted a foot in my direction, and I began to wash his feet as well, massaging as I scrubbed.  He sighed and leaned back, and the conversation between the two men continued.  I noted in interest that it had switched from bondage to politics.  I gave the feet a last swipe with the cloth, and feeling worshipful, knelt further and laid a kiss on the top of each foot.

I walked on my knees over to Master, bending to remove his socks.  A jolt of shock and arousal ran down to my toes when he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back up.  “Did I give you permission to remove my socks, slut?”  he growled, voice low and dangerous.  I cringed.  “My apologies, Master!  I should have asked first. Mercy!”

He took the strap of the serving tray off of my neck, and leaned over and unsnapped the waist cord.  “I don’t forgive that easily,” he breathed.  “Stand up!”

I stood, legs shaking after having knelt for so long.  Master stood as well.  Grasping the back of my neck, he forced me to bend over the couch.  I made a move to kneel and he snapped “Stand up!”.  I stood.  And for a moment everything was still and silent….me standing in front of the couch, bent over…Master standing over me…Sir leaning back in his chair, silently observing.

Then the room burst into life again.  Sir drew in a breath and Master yanked hard at my skirt, ripping it as he pulled it down around my ankles….bare ass exposed.  I heard him leave the room, and then return with something heavy.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him put down the toy chest and pull out the whip.

The first lash stung – even expecting it, it still took me by surprise and made me cry out.  Not in pain, exactly – but that strange mix of pleasure and pain that was such a rush to my system.  He continued to lash me and I sank into subspace, rocking slightly and moaning in pleasure/pain.

I didn’t even notice Sir had gotten up and helped himself to another whip – that is, until the lashes doubled in number.  My moans turned to cries as the pain and pleasure tripled, rushing through me until I climaxed uncontrollably.

“Spread your legs,” Master ordered, and I obeyed, spreading my legs open.  Almost immediately I felt a hard SMACK with the whip.  “Wider” he snapped, and I braced myself on the back of the couch and spread my legs farther.  The whip curved around my thigh and kissed my inner leg, and I trembled and lost myself in the rush of new sensations.  Time lost all meaning – all that was left was pleasure and pain.

Distantly I was aware that the whipping has stopped.  Cool hands were running over my body, smoothing, stroking, feeling so good against the hot welts that had formed on my ass and thighs.  A hand reached under my shirt and caressed my nipple through the fabric of my bra.  My breath caught at the intensity of my reaction – both nipples felt as though they had just snapped to attention.

Cool metal ran over my back, and the soft sound of fabric parting came to my ears.  My top fell away, sliding to the floor in dramatic death throes, silky and silent.  With another flick of the knife, my bra joined it – adding insult to injury as it landed heavily on the dying shirt.  The knife continued its trail, tracing patterns on my skin, ever so gently over my back…more like the gentle touch of an inexperienced lover than the cruel savagery one would expect from a sharp dagger.  I could feel it tracing swirling patterns on my back and shoulders, and felt my skin react to the sharp point by turning red.  The knife traced back down to my ass, then between my legs to lightly tease my swollen lips.  I froze in fear and desire.

So focused was I on the trailing blade that I had not noticed my breasts being manipulated until the first clamp bit sharply on my nipple, forcing a cry past my lips.  I whimpered, hoping for that magical moment when the pain turned to pleasure.  After a few long seconds, it hit in a wave that forced another orgasm to shudder around my clit, and I felt myself gush, fluid running down my legs in twin ribbons of ecstasy.  The other clamp bit my nipple as the orgasm subsided, bringing another scream-turned-moan and bringing me back to the point of climax.

Sir smiled as he positioned himself in front of me, leaning down to whisper “You didn’t think I would let him have all the fun, did you?”  A deep chuckle from behind me told me that Master not only allowed this but approved of it, and I wondered for a moment if they had planned to tag-team me.

The sound of a zipper brought my attention back to Sir, but his jeans were still fastened.  I felt a probing at my pussy and realized it was Master who had shed his clothing.  He took me with one savage thrust, and I gasped at the sheer forcefulness of it.  This is what I loved – being taken, without being asked – my willingness and obedience assumed.  He began to finger my ass as he pounded me, slipping his thumb inside and making me groan in desire.

Another zipper undone, and the bulge in Sir’s jeans became more clearly defined.  He was not wearing boxers, and I could see every detail.  The urge to pleasure him grew strong, and the last of my will melted away as I took him in my mouth.  The first few licks were tentative, teasing…and tempting.  I opened my mouth to take more when Sir thrust his hips and filled my mouth.  At the same moment, Master shoved a second finger inside my ass, and I was caught between the two of them.  There was no avenue of escape – but that didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to get free anyway.

A rhythm began to build between us – Master would impale my pussy with his cock, forcing me forward – forward to gag on Sir’s cock.  Every time I would draw away from the cock in my mouth, the cock in my pussy would slam into me, shoving me forward and forcing the cock into my throat.  My breasts swung with each thrust, the chain connecting the clamps swaying and bringing a different kind of pleasure.  The pressure built and built to incredible proportions before finally exploding.  I felt my pussy squeeze tightly and my scream was muffled as the rhythm continued unabated – for my orgasm didn’t matter.  My pain and pleasure didn’t matter, for I was nothing but a tool for their use.

After what seemed like hours of never-ending sensation, I felt Master pull away and say something to Sir – although I couldn’t make out what was said.  Sir pulled out of my mouth and I stood there, gasping, braced against the couch as though I would collapse if I let go.  A low conversation between the two men ended with them grabbing my arms, pulling me upright.  The clamps were removed and I screamed long and loud, the sound ending in a sob.  Together they dragging me to the bedroom, throwing me on the bed.  I landed face-down, my throbbing breasts smashed into the bedspread.  My legs were spread and the clamps were snapped to my labia, bringing a moan of sheer desire.

The toy box was brought back into the room.  I could hear the men muttering about what to use on me, and when.  My hair was roughly grabbed and a blindfold placed over my eyes.  A finger smelling of my juices forced my mouth open to accept the ring gag, which was then strapped tightly to my head.  I felt my hands being bound with rope, tied tightly together, and then attached to my collar.  Leather cuffs were a different sensation, forcing a spreader bar to my ankles.  I heard Master run a rope from my bound wrists under the bed, coming back up and tying to the spreader bar.  I could not shift more than a few inches in any direction.  Before there had at least been the illusion of escape – but now I had nowhere to run.

The whip made a reappearance, but this time I was too far gone to feel the pain – only the pleasure came through, no matter how hard I was beaten.

The bed shifted and a cock was rubbed against my face.  I could smell myself all over it – so I figured it had to be Master – that guess confirmed when he began to fuck my face.  I would recognize the shape of his cock anywhere, and could taste myself all over him.  I began to clean my juices from his cock, sucking until my cheeks hollowed.

A light touch on my pussy made the chain between the clamps rattle.  A hand smeared lube all over my pussy and ass, the fingers exploring both orifices with rough disregard.  A grunt of satisfaction before Sir entered me, slowly, teasing me with several shallow strokes, just barely going in before pulling back.

Slowly, far too slowly, the rhythm picked up, until at last I was being pounded again at both ends.  My tortured nipples swung back and forth, brushing against the textured bedspread and sending jolts of fire down to my clit – which was throbbing and wet.

Little wisps of words came to me….”Such a good little slut.”  “You like this, don’t you?”  “So wet, so eager to fuck.”  A hand slapped down on my ass, smacking the welts, and I cried out in pain/pleasure.  “What’s the matter, slut?  Did that hurt?  Why should I care if it hurts?”

Something cool running down my ass caught my attention – more lube was being poured over me, and a moment later I realized why.  The butt plug slid in and out of me, in contrast to the rhythm of the cocks at first, but then it began to work with the rhythm, and every stroke got it a little farther in me before it was pulled back.  I realized that I was being triple penetrated and that I had no say in the matter.  Master’s cock began to throb against my tongue as Sir began to moan, signaling that they were both cumming.

Both men slammed into me simultaneously, just as the plug slid all the way into my ass.  My body convulsed as a new orgasm hit – this one harder than all the ones before it.  I felt hands grab my hips as he shoved forward one last time, slamming all the way to the hilt into me.  The cock in my mouth pulled away and hot cum splashed all over my face, and dripped into my open mouth.  I spasmed, unable to even scream as the orgasm tore every molecule of my body apart.  Pleasure ripped my mind apart as the room spun – and darkness, blessed darkness, took over me.

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Are all submissives equal?

This morning I sat down to catch up on my blog reading….I went over to Luna’s blog and was astounded by what I read there.  Well, not astounded by her actual blog post – but in the comments another sub decided to take Luna to task for “grating on her nerves” (which quite frankly was the nicest sentence in the whole comment).


This bothers me on a lot of levels.  First of all, if you don’t like what you read on a particular person’s blog, then QUIT FOLLOWING THE BLOG.  Why waste time reading a blog you don’t like?

Second of all, it is tacky to throw a tantrum on someone else’s blog.

But last, and most importantly, since when is it okay to tell someone they are inferior just because she lives a different lifestyle than your own?  This person proceeded to yell at Luna for not having children, for expressing her misery at being ill, and for mourning the fact that she didn’t have private time of her own.  Evidently if you are a submissive and a blogger, you are supposed to present a happy front at all times?

Honestly – everyone is different, everyone is unique.  There are Dom/sub relationships out there that are 24/7.  Some people have a D/s relationship that revolves purely around the bedroom – in every other area of life the partners are equal in all things.  And still others have different styles of BDSM.  That doesn’t mean that one style is superior to the other….it just means it is different.

The “holier-than-thou” attitude that I see coming out of some subs really pisses me off.  As an editor of a human sexuality forum, I see this a LOT.  Quite frankly, whenever I read it I feel as though I am a recess monitor at a school for delinquents!

Every sub is different (and I can hear all the Dominates saying “Amen!” over that fact).  We are individuals with differing viewpoints, priorities, habits, and values.  We are also, all of us, united by our status as submissives.  We are members of a  sisterhood that is already attacked by the mainstream public who believes in  myths and misconceptions.  The last thing we need is dissension among our own ranks.

So please, people – if you read a blog that you disagree with, and you feel the need to post something to that effect in the comments, then do so with tact and empathy.   You wouldn’t like it if others attacked you for YOUR lifestyle choices, so offer the same courtesy to others.

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Apparently I am a submissive…who knew?

I just linked to this test courtesy of the fabulous Curvaceous Dee:


According to this, I scored as Submissive (gee, who knew?)

You Scored as Submissive

(((Note: This quiz is not totally comprehensive because of the length such a quiz would be. I kept it sex-based because I felt that psychological profiles and motivations were too complicated and vary too greatly among people that practice BDSM.))) It feels good to serve. A lack of control in the bedroom can be fun and relaxing. Being with a dominant person wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Degradation Lover
Exhibitionist / Voyeur

A couple things about this surprised me – for example, the bondage percentage.  Honestly, I am a total rope slut, and I only score a 68% bondage desire??? *scoffs*  And I am 46% switch? I don’t think so!

I do have to thank Curvaceous Dee for the chuckles *grins*  You can find her blog at curvaceousdee.com.

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Yuletide spankings

Well, the whole “no orgasm until Christmas” thing didn’t work out – long story, but suffice it to say that Mad Baker decided it was “not as pleasurable” for him.  I’ll admit I didn’t complain to much (hey, more orgasms are nothing to complain about, right?).

However, he did taunt me with subtle (and not so subtle) reminders of what I could expect on Christmas evening…all the new toys he had to play with, and how he was REALLY going to enjoy himself.  His voice would deepen as he hinted at what he was going to do to my helpless body as I was bound…and I would shiver at the sound of his “dom-voice”.

The night finally arrived…and at that point I was so nervous I seriously considered getting slightly drunk beforehand!  I knelt on my pillow, meditating through my ritual with my eyes closed as he prepared the ropes.

When my answers pleased him, he bound my hands in front of me with a two-column tie – and used the trailing ends of the rope to pull me to the bed.  The other ropes were strung under the mattress, one running along the center of the length of the bed, the second under the width – although that length of rope was near the foot of the bed.

I knelt on the bed with my knees right on the end, my body centered over the rope running down the middle.  He used that rope to tie my bound hands to the bed – this way I could not rise up my body or change the angle my arms were held in.  The ends of the last rope were tied securely to each ankle, forcing my legs apart so that my pink bits were exposed for his ministrations.

The blindfold was missing, so he took the headband I wear in winter and pulled it down over my eyes, blocking all light and some sound, as it was over my ears as well.  My play collar was next, and every time I whimpered or cried out it tightened around my neck.

He pulled out the unknown toys, my Christmas presents, and arranged them – I could hear him but could not see what he was doing or what he had gotten.  The anticipation was making me wet!

With the suddenness that is his trademark, Master struck me on my cunt – the feel of the sting was familiar, and I realized that he was starting with the old floggers before working his way up to the new ones.

The light flogger worked my cunt over, and I swear I actually felt myself dripping!  The rubber flogger then replaced it, and struck my ass, thighs, and the soles of my feet, making made me cry out with the different sensation – which increased my arousal.

Then I felt an entirely new sensation – whatever it was didn’t sting like the flogger, but rather felt sharper, more intense, and much, much larger than the thin flogger I was used to!  I yelped and squirmed a bit, but quickly settled down and signaled my readiness by lowering my head and pushing my ass as high into the air as I could.




I shoved my head into the mattress to muffle my cries, and decided that this was a serious toy compared to the ones I was used to!  But I was determined to take whatever he could dish out, and I stubbornly held my position – not that the ropes gave me much of a choice, mind you.  But every time I DID struggle, the ropes tightened around my wrists and ankles, which drove my libido even higher.

I desperately wanted something – ANYTHING – in my cunt at that moment!

He eventually switched to a different toy……


I couldn’t help it – I screamed and jerked my ass away from the impact, shuddering in sudden fear.  His low chuckle was my only reply, and against my survival instinct, against my will, against everything I had, I still lowered my head and raised my ass for another strike.

I felt his hands rub over my cheeks, approving of my obedience.  Then he pulled back and hit again – and again – and again.  I felt a thrill of cold fear – yet strangely my pussy reacted to the fear by growing even more wet, swelling up so that my labia separated on its own, exposing my clit.

He went through the rest of the toys, which each had a different sensation, each raising different reactions.  At one point I either was deep in subspace or he was hitting lighter, because the impacts became less painful and my cries subsided.  (When I sink into subspace, I am incapable of making sound – my vocal cords no longer obey my brain – in fact it is like the higher functions of my brain disconnect entirely during that time.)

I came back to awareness when I felt the cold lube being poured over my ass.  His fingers prodded me, testing and caressing, and I felt myself relax a bit to allow him entry – but it seemed that was not what he had in mind this time.

I heard him open a box – a few long seconds passed – and then something cold touched my anus and pressed, sliding in.  I gasped in pain – bad pain this time – and used my safeword for the first time in months.

“Ow ow ow ow ow” I gasped and squirmed, trying to relax the muscles that had immediately spasmed upon the penetration of the cold…whatever it was!  The pain from that was incredible, it felt like my entire lower intestinal tract had clenched and spasmed.

Mad Baker gently but firmly pulled out the toy, and waited while I bent as far as the ropes would let me, riding the pain, waiting for it to pass.  As soon as I was able to speak, I explained what had happened to a very puzzled (and concerned) Master.  He chuckled in relief at my explanation, and then pushed the cold toy up my cunt and told me that I could warm it up that way.  I hid my grin by burying my face into the mattress.

He went back to flogging me while I warmed up the new toy, and as he did I clenched my cunt tighter around the toy, trying to figure out what it was.  It was a small toy, felt round to me, with some kind of handle that stuck out of the body?  And it was incredibly heavy for its small size – and I concluded that it must be a metal toy.  That explained the coldness as well as the heaviness.

When it had sufficiently warmed up, he inserted the new plug into my ass again, this time with no pain and no drama.

Then he left the room!

I knelt there on the edge of the bed.  “Sir?”…..”Sir!”  I turned my head in a slight panic as I thought I heard the front door of our apartment open.   Soon he came back into the room and announced that he would be sharing me this evening!

I shuddered at the thought of a total stranger gazing at my spread legs and exposed cunt – and for some strange reason, the first thought that ran through my mind was the shame that I had not shaved my puss in over a week!  Sure I was letting it grow back in, but it was at that stage where it looked unkempt.

Then common sense prevailed….Mad Baker was not the kind to bring in a new partner without making sure I was okay with it first.  With my history of gang rape, it was important to not spring something like that on me…especially with the anniversary of the rape looming a mere week ahead.  No, he was just playing with my head.

(and why, oh why, did that realization disappoint me so badly?)

He began to whip me again, striking harder and harder – and I thought to myself  “If I don’t feel a cock in my cunt pretty soon I am going to explode!”

Finally I felt him enter me from behind – and immediately noticed that THIS WAS NOT MASTER’S COCK!  It was thinner, for one thing – although about the same length.  I shivered and orgasmed the moment I realized that he did indeed have another in the room with us.

I climaxed over and over again, while an argument went on in my head – the rational part of me insisting that he had not invited a second to join us, it wasn’t logical – the second voice arguing “I don’t know this cock! It’s a strange cock! Oh my God!!!”

I was distantly aware that I was squirting all over the person penetrating me, and that I couldn’t stop coming for more than a couple of seconds.

Eventually I became aware that the pounding had stopped – and that a new cock, a familiar and comfortable cock, was entering me – and I again started to come uncontrollably.

I lost track of what happened for a while there – sinking farther into subspace.  I was drawn out of that lovely place again when I felt something even bigger entering me – fingers wiggled and my cunt was stretched to the limit, and then beyond, and with disbelief I felt his entire hand force its way into my cunt.

I came…

and came again….

and came a third time with a scream.  Finally with the fourth orgasm he withdrew his hand, and came himself all over my ass and back.  I shuddered through one last climax at the sensation of his hot cum landing on my skin.

I came back to myself slowly, tipping to my side and lying there on the bed, utterly spent.  Mad Baker removed the ropes, blindfold, collar…..I was only distantly aware of it all.  When I was sensible again he showed me the new toys.  The incredibly painful one turned out to be a thick wooden paddle, and the one that had stung with strange sensation was a leather strap.  The rest were an assortment of canes.

The new metal plug was a medium-sized NJOY, and I decided I liked it very much!

And I discovered that there really WASN’T another partner in the room – my logical assessment had been right.  How had he made his cock feel smaller in girth?  A tight condom!  I laughed with him over my initial confusion.

So, that was the tale of my kinky Christmas….what did you, dear reader, do for the holiday?

(including a pic of all the toys used on me last night – and a second pic with a close up of the three most memorable new toys!)

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Mad Baker has a ritual he likes me to experience sometimes before we play.  Basically it is a meditative period to get me in the right frame of mind before a scene.

I am to kneel on a pillow and relax, letting go of all the stress and strain of my day.   Lately I have noticed that just the act of kneeling on the pillow causes me to space slightly.

Once relaxed, I am to think of answers to the following questions:

1)     What makes my submission worthy?

2)     What makes Mad Baker’s dominance attractive to me?

3)     What have I been fantasizing about lately?

4)     Do I have anything to confess to my owner?

After a short period of time, Mad Baker comes to me and asks if I am ready to answer his questions.  If I am, he listens to my replies and deems if they are appropriate and complete.  If I have pleased him, he does something to me – things along the lines of putting on my collar, applying nipple clamps, blindfolding me, and many others.

He doesn’t use this ritual every time we play – only occasionally – but I enjoy it.  Yesterday he tossed the pillow at my feet and told me to kneel.  I knelt, mere inches from him, and meditated on my questions.  The smell of his skin and the sight of his cock kept distracting me, but I managed to focus enough to answer all my questions.

He rewarded me with his cock, allowing me to taste it and revere it…but that was where the gentleness on his part ended.  He grabbed my ponytail and used it as a handle to hold my head steady while he fucked my face, shoving his cock far back into my throat, making me gag.

He then bound my hands in front of me – the rope tingling as it ran across my skin, making me gasp and shiver.  The blindfold came next – a nice thick double layer of black fabric.  The nipple clamps were snapped on, making me cry out at the pain/pleasure.

He pushed his cock into my mouth again and began to thrust.  I gagged and turned my head to the side for a moment, and he slapped my face and shoved his cock back into my mouth.

“You are going to keep those lips firmly wrapped around my cock, and you are NOT to remove them until I decide they can be removed”

I nodded my understanding and tightened my lips around his shaft, feeling it thrust in and out of my mouth.  I tried to create suction but he was moving too much for me to get much of a grip….so I started to flick the underside of his cock with my tongue, focusing on the sensitive spot just under the head.

The chain connecting the nipple clamps swung back and forth with our movements, causing brief yet glorious spurts of pain – until they finally fell off, bringing a yelp as each clamp was released.

A couple times he shoved his cock all the way down to the hilt, and held me there, unable to breathe, unable to fight back, and desperately wishing he would hold it there longer than he did.

When he tired of face fucking, he drew me upright and forced me to the bed, kneeling so that I was in the perfect position for him to stand behind and fuck me.  He ran his hands over my shaved puss, then across my ass and down my thighs.

I felt his fingers trace patterns over my skin as he came back to my puss, and a sudden surge of wetness as his fingertip lightly ran over my clit.  I jumped and moaned softly, hips working against his hand, hoping for more.

His fingers entered with a savageness that felt strangely unreal, the pads of his fingers unerringly stroking my g-spot.  His thumb brushed up against my clit and began to work it in rhythm with his fingers, bringing me quickly to a shuddering orgasm.

He pulled back and slammed his cock into my prepared puss, filling me completely with a single stroke before pulling back and thrusting again – and again – and again.

His wicked fingers returned to my clit and began to tease and torment me beyond sanity.  I cried out and rocked back to meet his next thrust, and began fucking him as eagerly as he was fucking me.  The angle was just right, the head of his cock stroking that g-spot with perfect pressure – the orgasm built up and flooded through me, soaking my puss and making my body lose the rhythm.

He used some of that fluid to prepare my ass for fucking.  I began to beg and protest, stating that his cock was too big to fit all the way in my ass!

He chuckled an evil little chuckle and reminded me that my pleasure, and my pain, were not important – all that mattered was HIS pleasure, and if he wanted to fuck my tight little ass then that was what he was going to do!

It took several long minutes but finally he was able to fully penetrate – I was crying for mercy at that point, but deep inside was enjoying every moment of the “forced” anal play.

He pulled back and began fucking my ass with the same enthusiasm he had shown for my puss, and almost against my will, my body began to move in rhythm, pushing back to take all of him with as much force as I dared to use.  I orgasmed from the anal play again and again, even as I struggled against him and against the bindings he had put on me.

He grabbed my ponytail, using it as a handle as he fucked me senseless.

He took a break a couple times, to flog and spank me, but then always came back to fucking my ass…and each time he did, it felt as though his cock had grown harder and larger, each penetration seeming to bring more pleasure than the previous, until I was nearly limp with the emotions and endorphines.

Suddenly he drew back and yanked me off the bed, forcing me to kneel at his feet as he came all over my face.  I sputtered, but then licked the drops that had landed on my lips, noting that the taste was not as astringent as it usually is.

When he was done with me, I knelt there in a daze, unwilling to move – slowly I tipped until I was leaning against the bed for support, still in the kneeling position.  Mad Baker chuckled at the sight of me and threw me a towel so I could “clean up”.

We didn’t cuddle afterward – not this time, it just didn’t seem like it was the kind of scene that you end with cuddling and gentleness.  I finally managed to crawl up onto the bed and collapsed, falling asleep feeling utterly drained, sore from being used – and peaceful, content – and complete.

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Sexy pictures

Sometimes, when I am horny and aroused, I like to go online, type in a couple of words, and look at the images that pop up with those searchwords.  Some of the pictures I found recently were so sexy I just had to share them!

This one caputed my imagination – how I would love to be dressed up and bound like that!


Her body language is completely accepting of her position as sub and slave.  Sometimes I think it would be fun to be a slave for a weekend, just to see how it differs from being a sub!


Don’t know why I felt drawn to this one – but seeing it the first time, I actually gasped out loud – and my hands shook as I saved the image.


I honestly don’t know what I like about this picture the most – the double penetration, the rough way her breasts are being handled, the way her hair being pulled forces her body to arch…or the expression on her face.  All I do know for certain is this – I am immensely jealous of her!


I had dreamed for so many years of being bound and ravaged – but those dreams never fully came true until I met Mad Baker.  I well remember the first time he showed me an image of tit bondage and I was emphatic that I could never enjoy such a thing *smirks* I was wrong – I love it! – and this picture reminds me of Mad Baker the most.


I never thought of mud as erotic before – until I met Viktor.  His descriptions of playing in the mud – being forced to be dirty – both terrified and aroused me.  Of all the pictures I have, this one reminds me the most of him.

I hope you enjoyed the images I had to share with you today – may they make your pussy (or cock) twitch with excitement!


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