Just wait

Went to Home Depot. I looked at the rope options and wrapped a couple around my wrists to see how they felt and yeah, ended up choosing the same one we got last time. I saw a guy who worked there walking by so I asked him to cut the rope and he said, "Just a moment" and walked up the guy behind me also in the aisle and said "excuse me sir, do you need help?" and the guy asked some extremely important question that couldn't wait, apparently. I stood there out of shock and to see what would happen. After the guy helped the other guy, he came back to me and said "so what can I help you with?" and I said "well, I eventually I need 20 feet of this rope but right now I want to know why you helped that man." And he looked at me, I looked back, he looked at me, and said "..... he looked like he needed help?" and I said, "Really? That's odd because you'd think that the person who asked you for help to begin with would be the one to get helped. Can't help but notice that he's a man and I'm a woman." And then I left.

I have major problems with Lowe's business practices so I couldn't go there. Fortunately I knew where an independent hardware store is so I went there. I really should have gone there first. I bought 50 feet of a pretty pink/white rope in a bag. It was cheap.

I got home and was feeling pretty lonely and miserable and insecure and pms-y. So I decided to get stoned. I was very stoned. Very, very, very stoned. And I was in no situation to attempt to move. I tried but I lost my will. So I sat in my chair and listened to music and enjoyed it. Right now, I'm still pms-ing plus I'm freaking out 'cause I haven't done laundry or packed for my trip. I'm on my period. And I'd rather not risk another yeast infection before I see you. So although I know how much you love dragging rope through my ring, I think it'll have to wait until I come back. Hopefully airport security won't confiscate the rope.

In the meantime, I have something for you to do. Maybe a couple things. The nature of our relationship is such that I can't think of something for you to perform for me, so I want you to write me:

1. I want you to tell me what your favorite memory of us having sex is. Tell me what I did, what you did, what you liked about it, and why you liked it.

2. Then, tell me something that we haven't done yet that you want to do - whether something benign and impossible to occur (I'll bet you have a secret Rhett Butler/Scarlet O'Hara fantasy) or something you aren't sure you want to try but you still think about it or something you'd like to do.

Chore 3: The Long Walk

That story was pretty hot, especially considering she says she doesn’t like writing fiction. And I’m really looking forward to getting home to Asterisk—whether or not Mabel is I’m not sure. Of course, I feel like paddles are something that need saved for special occasions. Too bad I’ll miss her birthday.

Privately, Mabel’s been complaining that the last two chores have been a bit hard, at least the writing aspects. So I’ll give her a break from writing much creatively (aside from the experience and fantasies she has while performing the next chore).

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Go to Home Depot. (Sorry, this one requires a small purchase too. I’ll pay you back next time I see you.) Buy ~20’ of the white thin rope (and the same length of the black thick rope, if you want it... just for fun when I return.) I know the thin one cuts your wrists a little much, but I think if we have a longer length it will be easier to tie comfortably. Besides, the rest of the chore won’t work with the other type.

Ideally you should perform this chore each night this weekend. At very least twice before you write about it. I want you to spend a day anticipating it having already gone through it. In fact, I like the idea so much, I might have you do it again while with me watching when I get home.

When you home, take off all of your clothes, and thread one end of white thin rope up through your clit ring, and up through your belly ring. Tie this end to securely to the door knob and throw the other 19 feet, coming from your clit between your legs and behind you, toward the bathroom, being careful not to tangle it. Obviously you’ll probably want to turn yourself on a little bit, but then again you probably don’t want to be too sensitive before you start. Up to you.

Blindfold for extra credit. Put your hands on your head and leave them there while you slowly walk (waddle) back toward the bathroom. As you walk, the rope will slowly pull through the two loops, from time to time slightly catching, tugging against your clit and tummy. You may not turn around to watch the rope, or use your hands, your feet, or anything else to position or guide the rope through the rings other than the pull of the doorknob. If it hurts, irritates, or turns you on too much while walking, you may only slow down, but may not stop inching away from the door. You must keep your hands on your head.

When you’ve reached the end of the rope, take your hands off your head. They’re still not yours to do what you want with though. Tie the lose end of the rope around one wrist. Slowly walking back toward the door, wrap the end tied to the door around both wrists, binding them together. When you’ve up against the door, with no slack left, and your wrists wrapped together, stop walking. Only now may you touch yourself, presuming you can find a way to reach, stretching against the rope. You can untie yourself only after you cum. Be creative. No vibrator.

And bring the rope with you when you come visit me next week. Love you.

Fiction

I leaped onto the crowded bus a moment before the driver started closing the door. Preferring to to stand in in the middle of the aisle, feeling a little more secure with bodies on all sides of me, I elbowed my way through high school kids practicing their bored countenances and middle-aged men perfecting their self-important sneers directed towards the lower classes.

I reach one such business-suited man who glares at me in my knee length skirt and halter. I roll my eyes and do an about-face towards the front of the bus as a few more people pack on in front of me. Standing on my tip toes to reach the bar, I sway back and forth in time with the movement of the bus but start to enter that calm zen-like state that buses engender in their passengers.

So focused on my daydreams, I didn't notice at first that the pressure on my ass wasn't from an accidental bump. The businessman behind me had a firm hand grasping my butt, getting a better grip when I jerked my hips to make him lose his grip. That entitled motherfucking prick. I turned around to glare at him and the bastard didn't even have the temerity to look at me as he fondled me: he just stared over my head. I turned back around and resolved to ignore him, he'd lose interest soon enough - eh, besides, I'd been sitting all day, I could use a nice butt rub.

He suddenly upped the ante, though. Taking a minute step closer to me, he lifted the back of my skirt and slipped his finger underneath the elastic of my underpants. Jolting to attention, I took a breath to shout at him to get away from me but he anticipated that and had the cloth from his pocket ready to shove in my mouth. Looking from side to side, no one had even noticed, all immersed in their own bus trance. My businessman was in control; he knew it and he knew I knew it.

His fingers ran along the elastic of my underpants as he whispered in my ear, "not so cocky now, are you?" His other hand reached under my shirt and pinched my nipple while he suddenly bit my ear. I shouldn't be this turned on in such a tawdry situation. His finger reached under me and delicately touched my clit. "You little slut, you're so wet," he muttered. I moaned into the gag in my mouth. "This little cunt needs something more than my tiny finger, doesn't it?" he threatened. I shake my head back and forth while I felt myself getting wetter simply from the thought. Any man who has the temerity to molest a woman on a crowded bus must have proof of such masculinity.

The bus stopped at a light and the business man shouted for the driver to open the door, grabbed my elbow, and dragged me out into the deserted night with him. Still hardly looking at me, he kept a hand over my mouth to prevent me from spitting out my gag and pulled me to a nearby park bench. We stood behind it until he pushed me face down over the back of it and kept a rough hand on the small of my back. I felt something hard and wooden stroke the back of my legs. "This is my wooden spoon Asterisk. I carry it around with me for just such occasions," he informed me moments before he lifts the back of my skirts and starts spanking me with it on my upturned ass. I sputter with indignant rage at the sudden turn of events but he doesn't relent. His hand grabs me by the back of my neck and forces me to be still. So still am I, that all I can feel is Asterisk bouncing off of my flesh, and from that I feel a resounding vibration travel from my ass that pulses in my cunt and teases my clit. I stand on my toes to encourage this man to hit me harder. I believe he notices my movement because he yanks down my underpants, drops the wooden spoon, and releases his hold on my neck. I don't move an inch. I hear him unzip his pants and stand behind me. His cock rubs against me, almost entering me ... almost. I groan audibly waiting for it. He waits. I move back to meet him and his holds my hips forward.

A car drives by, brakes, reverses. Stops. Someone gets out and I hear a new voice ask, "having fun tonight?" My businessman informs him that I want his cock so bad I can almost taste it, and suggests to the new person that perhaps he give me a cock to taste until he deigns to fuck me. So powerless am I that don't say anything during this exchange and simply wait for the new man to grab me by my hair and lift my head up. I keep my eyes and mouth closed and I feel the unmistakable skin of a smooth dick rub my lips. "Open your mouth" is his simple order. I oblige and suck him as hard as I can while he keeps a steady rhythm by forcing my head up and down using my hair. I finally feel my businessman's cock enter my pussy with a forceful thrust and almost come from the surprise.

The end.

I haven't touched myself at all and that needs to stop right now.

Chore 2: Going Shopping

Wow, that a great story. I always felt like she had a touch of complete pain-slut in her, I'm just surprised to find that she's more willing to push her limits than I am. (I'm probably too nice to be a good dom). Anyway, chore two leaves her unfortunately for her with only the promise of pain to come.

Not only was that a great story, but it was really well told. And I know Mabel hates her own writing, but everyone does. Except blog writers and narcissists (but I repeat myself). Anyway, the story was so well written, I'm jealous for my own full length piece of fiction. Of course every fiction needs a good writing prompt...

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Find a paddle—the type of which is completely up to you: a wooden spoon, a hair brush, a rubber scraper, a ping-pong paddle, a metal backed ruler, a spatula, a bona-fide paddle (I think eBay may still have them) or anything else. The only qualifications is that it shouldn’t break easily and it should make a solid smacking noise against your ass—you might not want to test this in the store, or explain it to the clerk. But I’d like to think they’ll be able to tell in your timid eyes what you’re shopping for. Also, it must have a sturdy handle, and it should scare you at least a little. I know, you’ve wanted a cane more. We’ll shop for that when I get home.

Strip naked, lie on your stomach on your bed, and place the paddle on your naked butt and open up your laptop. While lying there, and without moving, give the paddle a name, and write a first person short story that includes you getting a severe paddling and post it here. Again, the story should tell me all about the paddle, and scare you at least a little--extra credit for a decent story and a minimal use of clichés. At the end, write down how many times the paddle fell off your butt, and how many times you touched yourself while writing the story. The better the story, and the better your ability to keep still and not touch yourself while writing, the fewer paddlings you’ll get when I get home. After you’ve sent me the story, the rest of your evening is yours although you should keep your story in mind while you masturbate. No need to write me any more though, unless you’re so compelled. No editing the story once it’s written, in fact, email it to me as well.

One caveat, you may not start writing, or even start thinking about a story (or a name) until you’re lying naked with your new nemesis at your computer. I know, asking you to not think about sex is probably a challenge outside of your realm. Seriously, put it completely out of your mind for now. Instead if you want to agonize over anything, think about where you’re going to go shopping.

Witty and coy title here

Working 12-13 hour days back to back did nothing to leave me feeling particularly amorous, even if I do love my job more than is healthy. So tonight I had the time and energy to dedicate to Dante's demands.

First, I went through my music to create a short, appropriate playlist. I'm not entirely sure what "nipple clamping" music consists of, especially not if my Britney is being forbidden. If a more appropriate nipple clamp worthy song than Slave 4 U exists, I have not yet heard it. But fine. iTunes wouldn't let me play The World is not Enough and I couldn't find #1 Crush for some reason. So I put on Queer by Garbage, The Moment I Said It by Imogen Heap, Fade into You by Mazzy Star, and Slow Like Honey and Criminal by Fiona.

I attached the clamps while listening to Mazzy Star and tightened them slowly until it made my nose wrinkle. I figured that was tight enough, turned on Fiona, and assumed the position, save for keeping my face in the pillow. I couldn't breathe; I rested on my forehead. About halfway through the song, I knew the clamps weren't tight enough. I could have convinced myself otherwise and claim it hurt really badly, because it did. But if you were there next to me you'd know that it wasn't enough. So after the song was over, I sat back on my heels, tightened them, and played Criminal. That started to hurt. A lot. With every pulse of my heart, I could feel my nipples pulse which in turn throbbed in my cunt. I almost wanted to break the position to tighten them a tiny bit more so I could feel it even more. Once the song was over, I kept thinking about you, and what you would do to me and whether you would agree that I hurt enough and I knew you wouldn't think so. So I tightened them again and this time they were so tight that I whimpered - that, I figured, was what you'd want. So Garbage played and I went back resting on my pillows. I whimpered and groaned and sighed and moaned for the entire duration of the song. Again, with every pulse of blood in my nipple I could feel an equally strong reaction in my cunt. And when I thought about how happy you would be that I did this three times, and what you'd then do to me, it turned me on even more.

So the song ended. I kept my face in my pillow, pulled down my underpants, and stuck my fingers inside of myself. I was so wet I could hardly feel it. I started rubbing my clit but still couldn't feel anything. The clamps were still on and every time I made any sudden movements, they swayed back and forth and stimulated me even more but I couldn't get a good sensation from that position. Since I'm stubborn and disobedient, I said fuck it and rolled over onto my back to finish. I get very concerned when I'm unable to to have an easy orgasm.

What did I think about? Nothing I expected to or normally fantasize about. From the moment my face went in the pillow, I imagined a couple men crawling through my window and staring at me while I kneeled. One simply watched while the other ran his hand up the back of my leg, between my legs, inside the gusset of my underwear, ran his finger along my labia, up over my butt. He rubbed my ass nicely a few times and then started lightly tapping me. They also made comments to each other about how wet I was and how I looked like such a whore with my ass in the air, just begging for a hard fuck. I was imagining this so realistically that when he started spanking me, my body actually jumped a couple of times. He kept spanking me and then pulled my underwear down so he could start fucking me. Then the other man reached over and lightly, barely, gently kept one finger constantly grazing, but not touching, my clit.

The third time I tightened the clamps, I was so focused on pleasing you and making you proud that I had a fantasy of coming to visit you and surprising you on your doorstep. Without saying a word, you grabbed me by my hair, forced me to my knees while unzipping your pants, and shoved your cock in my mouth. While I was coming, I was fantasizing about that again, and while I sucked your cock you were ordering me to make myself come.

Once I came, I realized you'd probably be a little pissed that I didn't do it as you required, so I took a picture* of my nipple with the clamp on so you could see how tight it was.

As for what I learned. I'm such a little pain-slut, as much as I hate how trite and pornographic that term is! I hardly pinched my nipples enough to get the clamps on and I got so excited. As long as I tell myself that you want me to do something, I'll do it with no thought to my own comfort. If I can't tolerate something, I'll do it anyway because, after all, if you were here you'd make me take it anyway.

*Yeah, I don't need a naked picture of myself on the internet.

Mabel's First Chore

So I emailed with Mabel. And she’s agreed to publish accounts on this blog. Hot. Of course she has some concerns—namely that if she’s punishing herself, then there’s nothing submissive about it, and that she’ll only be able to push herself to the point she can comfortably take, which really isn’t particularly submissive at all. Perhaps that may be true, but hopefully she can at least push hard against her limits. And if she remembers that I’m asking it of her, and pretends like I’m there forcing her hands, then maybe she’ll be able to take herself further than she knew. And the fact that she has to honestly write about it afterwards should make her a bit more inclined to be at least a bit stoic in her ability to endure pain at her own hands, lest she have to confess her shortcomings (or—gasp—fill the internet with lies!)

What follows is written to Mabel—in second person, which may suffer from literari-lameness, but the idea is that she’ll hear my voice in the writing and set the mood for herself. Although she should read all the directions first, it doesn’t hurt to have them up as a reminder, lest she find herself caught up in the moment. If you’re a female out there and want to play along, feel free to do so, but leave a comment and let me know how it goes (or cums?). Without further ado, here is Mabel’s first chore:

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Undress to your panties, but leave them on.

Take out your nipple clamps, and tighten one around each nipple until it hurts enough to make you wince.

Once both clamps are on, pull out iTunes and put on a song, around 3-4 minutes... good nipple clamping music. If you want some recommendations, I’d go with “The World is Not Enough” by Garbage, or perhaps (if you have a copy) “Ava Adore”, Smashing Pumpkins. But really anything slow and powerful will do. “Fade Into You?” “Mad World?” “Lighting Crashes?” Eh, I’m sure you’ll come up with something good. For Christ sake, no Brittany.

While the song is playing kneel in the middle of your bed facing the head of it, with your knees pressed together. From this point forward you must leave your knees here until you cum... but no touching yourself yet.

Put your nose into your pillows, and your hands on the small of your back with your butt in the air directly over your knees. Your face should be shoved into the pillow by your weight unsupported by your knees and the jewels dangling from your nipples slowly them to fire.

If you’re too comfortable, move your knees back and let your face shove harder into the pillow. Patiently wait for the song to end, with your face buried into the pillow and your pinched nipples dangling. No moving.

When the song is over, rise to your knees and pull your panties down to your knees.

With your knees still together, and your nipples still clamped, masturbate using only your hands, until you cum.

If you get off without removing your nipple clamps once then you obviously left them too lose. While you’re cumming, you must tighten each nipple clamp, further and leave it on until for as long as you can.

If the pain overcomes you, and you have to take off the clamps before you cum then pull your panties back up, pull up another song and put your nose back into the pillow, hands on your back, and wait for at least three minutes, or until your nipples regain their strength. Then re-secure your nipple clamps, again as tightly as you can bear, drop your panties, raise to your knees. Only then may you resume masturbating until you cum.

If you have to take the nipple clamps off again, keep repeating the previous step until you finally do cum.

There may come a point where you haven’t cum and you can’t take the clamps any more, even after a several minute break with your head in the pillow. If this happens you must then pull your panties back up, and if you still want to masturbate, must leave your head in the pillow, reach over your back and rub yourself from behind, over your panties. If you cannot get off like that, you may not touch yourself until the morning.

Any time when you cum, you must leave your knees together and on the bed, with your ass above them. Only after you’re done orgasming and convulsing may you collapse to the bed, remove your clamps, and enjoy the rest of your night—save one last chore.

Afterwards, you must write to tell me how you did, when you came, what you were fantasizing about, and how well you obeyed everything I asked of you (and perhaps your playlist). And of course what you found out about yourself and how well you can take and enjoy rough sex at your own hands.

Craigslist Success Story, 17th Month Anniversary

So it’s been over 16 months since I’ve posted on here. Which is kind of amazing. Not amazing because I’ve completely ignored a blog for so long (a lot of people do that) but because Katie (who henceforth would prefer to be called Mabel... neither being her real name) and I have been dating the entire time, and still are happily together. So there’s your CL success story, through craigslist casual encounters. Unfortunately, the casual part got screwed up by both of us, as we find ourselves now quite serious... hell even “in luv” and other such nonsense.

However, this summer we find ourselves geographically separated, and it’s given me a good excuse to go back to turning her on in the manner in which I was first perfected talking to Mabel—Internet text.

Unfortunately, the only time right now I have access to the internet is at work and at the cafés (seriously, it’s like living in some third world country.) Thus cyber sex is unfortunately out for us until I add a fourth wall to my cubicle. But what I can do is compose blog postings at home (like this one) and find a few minutes every now and again at work (like now) to post it, with the hopes of turning her on. And since the blog is still up, although readership is undoubtably way down, I figure this will make as good a forum as any.

Ideally, I want Mabel to write me stuff too (that she’ll let me post this site hopefully, just because I like the whole joint exhibitionism of blogging, but I’ll leave it up to her.) Unfortunately, she incorrectly believes that she isn’t much of a writer, even though she’s probably put more work into revising some of the things I’ve written than I have in writing them. And worse still she is convinced that someone will track her down to this site and then tell her mother.

Nonetheless here’s the plan, should Mabel chose to accept it. (Reading here constitutes the first she’s heard of it) I plan to come up with little “chores” for her—sexually submissive requests mixing self-discipline, self-flagellation, and self-indulgence of course. All the while performing such chores, I should expect she’d be imagining me there watching her, firmly making sure she doesn’t cheat and skip to the good parts. And although maybe some of them will have a separate writing component, those that don’t every time I give her a chore, she must write back to confess:

1) The Chore:

a. What you liked and what you didn’t like?

b. What turned you on and what didn’t?

c. What hurt and how badly and for how long?

d. Whether or not I should have you do it again?

e. Any suggestions to make it better (or “worse”)?

2) Following Directions:

a. How well did you follow directions, and when didn’t you?

b. If you didn’t follow directions, why not? Do you think you deserve to be punished?

c. Whether you thought any of it was unfair or impossible?

d. Would you be able to better complete the chore and follow directions if you were made to do it again?

3) Orgasms:

a. When and how you came, how many times, how strongly.

b. If I let you cum when you did during the chore, you should thank me.

c. If you came when weren’t allowed to, you should apologize.

d. Any fantasies you were having before, during, or after.

e. Any other times you came, touched yourself since you last confessed.

So, if she agrees, and I think she might, I’ll post a chore on here soon. Otherwise, maybe I’ll just go back to exchanging fiction when I find myself with freetime.