Archive for September, 2007


Piss Slut

September 30, 2007

i am my Master’s piss slut.

It started months ago. i was begging Master to let me suck his cock, and He asked me for a list of what other things my mouth was good for besides His cock. i had a feeling where He was going, but i tried pretty much everything else i could think of before saying “You could pee in my mouth, Sir.” If i wanted to suck His cock, he told me, i had to beg Him to pee in mouth. i really wanted that gorgeous hard cock in mouth, and part of me didn’t actually believe that He would do something like that, so i begged Him for it. Begged Him to piss in my mouth.

He didn’t – not that day – but the seeds were planted, and my training as His piss slut began.

While my Master isn’t beyond forcing me to submit, He gets much greater pleasure in planting an idea in my mind and letting it grow there until it takes on a life of its own. He wants me to beg for it, and beg for it not because He’s commanded me to, but because it’s become a part of me, part of my wants, needs, fantasies, desires.

And so it was with becoming His piss slut. The idea was implanted in my mind, in fantasies and images He whispered in my ear, and it took root there. Grew, blossomed, until it was the one fantasy that was guaranteed to get me off, the one that i would turn to when nothing else was working. On my knees, sucking His hard cock until He came in my mouth, then waiting there until His cock softened and He filled my mouth with His other liquid. Swallowing it eagerly, without spilling a drop.

In the weeks leading up to our visit, He pushed me further, making me piss myself daily, urine running down my legs and pooling at my feet as i stood in the dry shower stall. Every act of elimination became eroticized, until just the thought of going to the bathroom was enough to make my cunt wet. He promised me that if i was a very good girl on our trip, then He would give me my reward, piss on me and in me, make me His piss slut in every way.

And so it was that Tuesday afternoon found me standing in the bathtub of our hotel room, staring at myself in a full wall mirror. My hair was wild from fucking and sucking, my face flushed with arousal. My collar – His collar – around my neck. Naked except for a pair of 4-inch stiletto heels. And my Master standing beside me, telling me it was time, time for me to be his piss slut. Telling me to ask him, to beg him for what it was that i wanted.

“Please, Sir, please let me be Your piss slut. Please make me Your piss slut.”

It is hard for a woman to piss standing up. Even harder when she is aroused and being asked to piss on command. But eventually i managed, and slowly my urine began to trickle down my legs and splatter on the floor of the bathtub. When i finished, my Master ordered me down on my knees and had me lick clean every inch of my shoes. i was shaking, trembling with my submission, at once aroused and terrified of what i knew was coming next.

He stepped into the bathtub with me. i knelt, facing Him.

“Ask me.”

i took a deep breath. Found the center of my submission. Took another breath.

“Please, Sir, please pee on your slavegirl.”

“And?” he prompted me.

“Please pee in your slavegirl’s mouth.”

Turns out it’s hard for men to piss on command and while aroused too. i waited, anticipation, anxiety, arousal, fear, all building. And then my Master began to pee on His slavegirl. i put my mouth to His cock, smelled and tasted His urine filling my mouth. i swallowed, choking from the acrid acidity.

Master handed me my dildo, and commanded me to masturbate and come for Him. i was on my knees on the hard floor of the bathtub, slippery from my piss and His piss combined. Here it was, the culmination of weeks of fantasizing, and i felt raw and dirty, truly like a slavegirl. The dildo slid effortlessly into my cunt, my wetness betraying the arousal that mixed with my fear and dismay. As i fucked myself and rubbed my clit, my Master peed on me again, on my chest, my back, my face, my hair. When he finished peeing on me, i came hard with His cock in my mouth, just sucking it, not drinking from it.

Master pulled me out of the bathtub and into the shower, holding me and praising me for being his good girl, telling me how much He loved me. Kissing me.

i thought i was fine by the time we got out of the shower, but shortly after that i had a meltdown. This was the hardest thing my Master had ever asked me to do. It was intense beyond measure. For all my fantasies, the reality had been much more demeaning and much less arousing than my imagination. i curled myself into a little ball. i hyperventilated. i cried, with shuddering long breaths. Although long showered away, i could still feel the spots on my back where His urine had landed, and i rolled on my back on the floor, trying to wipe that feeling away.

My Master let me get it out, watching me carefully. Then He held me close to Him, brought me back to myself, brought me back to Him. Kissed me tenderly, stroked my hair. Fed me lunch.

That was the first time. There were others, and i’ll probably write about them too, but that was the first. That is when i became my Master’s piss slut.



September 27, 2007

i’ve got lots to write about, but Master has been taking some pictures, so i sort of want to wait so i can post the pictures with the relevant posts. But i’ll share some snippets and previews.

Right now my wrists and ankles are cuffed and chained. i have my collar on, and am otherwise naked. i’m curled up in a “nest” i’ve made for myself on the absolutely fabulous piece of couch/bed furniture in this room, while i wait for my Master to get back from work.

There are 7 pairs of women’s shoes in this room right now. All are high heeled. All but one pair are black. Does that seem excessive to anyone but me?

“Don’t move. And don’t talk. Tables don’t talk.”


Airport Greeting

September 26, 2007

i barely slept a wink Monday night, the night before i left to spend 3 nights and 4 days with my Master. So i had no problem getting out of the house and to the airport in plenty of time to check in and get to Master’s gate. But then the security lines were very long, and i was having a problem with my shoes, and i began to worry that i was not going to get there on time. Fortunately, i was only a couple of gates away by the time He texted me that He had landed and that if i wasn’t at the gate when He arrived i’d be punished.

i even had time to fix my shoes and adjust the clothes Master had instructed me to wear for Him (red button down shirt, black lace bra, black g-string, black stockings, short-but-not-too-short black pleated skirt, 4-inch black patent stiletto heels). i posed myself fetchingly directly across from the jetway door. i stood there, waiting as patiently as i could. And then He messaged me again.

I want you at the gate, kneeling, when i get off my plane.

i did a double take, checked the message again. Looked around at all the people waiting to get on that very same plane. What would people think? He couldn’t really mean for me to do that, could he? But of course He did. i am His slavegirl, i hadn’t seen Him in many many weeks, this was how He wanted and deserved to be greeted, and it was not mine to decide.

i took my suitcase and went back into the gate area. i acted as nonchalant as i could. i stood with my suitcase for a moment, pretended my feet were sore, then carefully dropped down to my knees. I leaned casually against my suitcase, like this was just a totally normal thing to do. i didn’t look around much, so i don’t know if anyone was staring. i just waited to serve my Master.

When the door opened, i pushed my suitcase to one side and dropped my hands down to my sides. i consoled my shame with the thought that i wouldn’t have to wait long, since Master almost always gets upgraded to first class, and so is usually one of the first people to get off of the plane.

But as the disembarking passengers filed past me one by one, i realized that Master had his own ideas about how long a slavegirl should wait for her Master, and how long she should be displayed. My Master was the last one to come out of the jetway.

i blushed as He paused just through the jetway door to look at me. His eyes traveled up and down my body, and He smiled and nodded His approval. And then He came over to me, gave me His hand, and pulled me up and into His arms.


Counting the Days

September 24, 2007

i’m going to see my Master tomorrow! A month ago, He gave me a nightly task of counting down for Him. It has been a wonderful ritual that has helped the time pass much more easily. And now i get to write the “It’s 1 day before i see You…” version and post all of them here. And better yet, even though i will be writing “it’s 1 day”, it’s actually only about 12 hours. i can’t wait to be with Him.

It’s 31 days before i see You again, and i’m fantasizing about You spanking my cunt, first with Your hand, then with a belt, then maybe with something even worse.

It’s 30 days before i see you again, and i’m thinking a lot about what You said today, that there are going to be times when You are going to make me do things i really don’t want to do, and i’m wondering if that is going to be one of those times.

It’s 29 days before i see You again, and i am craving Your kisses like a drug. Your mouth, Your tongue, Your lips, Your teeth. The passion, the intensity, the feeling that i am suspended in time by Your mouth on mine.

It’s 28 days until i see You again and i am looking forward to walking with You, hand in hand through the streets.

It’s 27 days until i see You again and get to be Your slavegirl.

It’s 26 days until i see You again and i wish i could curl up in your arms right now, just to be held there, safe, warm and loved.

It’s 25 days until i see You again, and i’m looking forward to sucking Your toes while You come, running my tongue between them in that way i know You love.

It’s 24 days until i see You again, and i’m looking forward to snuggling my face into Your neck and smelling the unique smell that is You.

It’s 23 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about You spanking and slapping me, on my ass, my thighs, my breasts, my face, and especially my cunt.

It’s 22 days until i see You again, and i’m looking forward to dancing with and for You.

It’s 21 days until i see You again, and i’m looking forward to having a smooth bare pussy for You.

It’s 20 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking of You wrapped around me, keeping me warm and snug like a caterpillar in a cocoon, making all the concerns of the outside world just fade away into nothingness.

It’s 19 days until i see You again, and (not surprisingly), i’m thinking about peeing for You.

It’s 18 days until i see You again and i’m hoping You’ll fuck me in this cute red schoolgirl skirt.

It’s 17 days until i see You again, and i’m so looking forward to just being with You, seeing You, smelling You, hearing You. Obeying You and serving You. Being Yours, 24/7, for as long as we’ve got.

It’s 16 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about how wonderful it feels when You take me deep into subspace, when pleasing You is really all i can think about.

It’s 15 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking (unsurprisingly) of all the ways that You can bind me when we are together – the hog tie, the chains, the rope, bondage tape – and how i will like to be on display and under Your control.

It’s 14 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about being punished.

It’s 13 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about curling up at Your feet, leaning my cheek against Your leg and enjoying Your warmth and closeness.

It’s 12 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about talking to You, for as long as we want, in person, with no bad phone lines or interruptions to get in the way. And i’m thinking about feeding You chocolate. And i’m thinking about how very, very much i love You, and love being Yours.

It’s 11 days until i see You again, and i just keep thinking that in only 2 days i’ll be into single digits on the countdown. And i keep thinking about how much i love You.

It’s 10 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about being Your slavegirl, giving myself completely to You, without doubt or hesitation or self-interest. About obeying You and pleasing You. About Your instructions that You want me submissive, wet and eager to please.

It’s 9 days until i see You again and i’m thinking about being flogged or spanked until i’m quivering and incoherent.

It’s 8 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about sleeping with You.

It’s 7 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about the feeling of your eyes on me as i stand or kneel, tightly bound, with You just looking and not touching.

It’s 6 days until i see You again, and i love You more than anything in the world.

It’s 5 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about my submission – opening myself up to it and focusing on it, so that i may serve You as You ask of me and as You deserve.

It’s 4 days until i see You again and i’m thinking about piss, for some strange reason…

It’s 3 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about the feeling of Your hand spanking my smooth cunt.

It’s 2 days until i see You again, and i’m thinking about Your biting kisses, knowing that there’s so little else one can do on an airplane.

It’s 1 day (12 hours, really) until i see You again, and i’m thinking about being Your devoted and obedient slavegirl.


My submission

September 23, 2007

1. my heart feels my submission – i am happier, more content, and more complete now than i have ever been before. i have more patience. i am more focused. i love You deeper and with more passion than i knew was possible.

2. my body expresses my submission – It gives me great pleasure and joy to embrace all the little trappings of femininity for You. You have made me into a girl, and i cherish and welcome that.

3. my mind is filled with my submission – You have taught me how to fantasize, and filled those fantasies with things i never imagined dreaming about, let alone wanting with such overwhelming desire.

4. my cunt pulses with my submisson – my sexuality has been transformed in countless ways. my orgasms exist only for You now, but they come easier, in more ways, and with more power than ever before.

5. my clothing reveals my submission – with every piece of clothing i put on, i am reminded that i am Yours, that i am owned. Every morning i dress for You, and every morning i embrace the opportunity to see myself through Your eyes and to do my best to please and surprise You.

6. my need is my submission – every cell of my body yearns for You, yearns to serve You, to be taken and used by You, to be Your slavegirl and Your property. i need to be Yours, in every way that You demand of me, and at any time You require it.


Arms Race

September 22, 2007

My Master and i have both noted that as couples progress in D/s (and probably BDSM in general), there’s something of an arms race effect. Limits are broken or pushed, so new limits must be sought and pushed on in turn. The things that in the beginning were incredibly powerful signs of domination and submission become everyday.

Plenty of other people have written about the paradoxical role that the submissive plays in D/s. In our relationship, my Master has noted that he can only experience his dominance through me, and through my submission. Everything must be filtered through the submissive, and the paradox is that she holds great power that way. She can obey her Master’s demands, and on the surface appear to be submitting, but not be really submitting where it actually matters, in her heart and her mind. This “filtering” is relevant in all D/s relationships, i think, but particularly in long-distance or online relationships, where there are few or no ways for the dominant to “know” except through the submissive.

So my Master frequently sets me tasks or asks me questions that help Him feel what i am feeling. He is concerned that things – like capitalization, like responding “Yes, Sir” – not become perfunctory. But in some way it seems inevitable. Not that they become perfunctory, really, but that they become natural, and thus seem perfunctory. Many things that i do that once made me very aware of my submission are now just the things that i do, and i can hardly remember doing them differently. i am profoundly changed – which is exactly what He wants – but that necessarily means i don’t feel whatever it is as submission as strongly as i did once, and thus, neither does my Master.

It is another paradox of this dynamic. He wants two things – one, for my submission to become so ingrained that it’s a part of me, a part of my core, a part of who i am. But He also wants my submission to be a little bit difficult, so that i’m always aware of it.

And that’s where the arms race comes in. Since He feels my submission only reflected through me, He needs to give me more and new things toexperience at the conscious level so that He gets that reflection. And while so far, each of those things deepens my submission and strengthens our relationship, i don’t think the arms race can continue indefinitely. Is there a point where the D/s arms race reaches it’s own version of the 80’s era cold war mutual assured destruction? i sure hope not, and that we find our comfortable balance point before then. in the meantime, i’m just going to sit back and enjoy the ride.


More on my continuing descent to piss slut

September 21, 2007

Last night Your slavegirl was quite taken with the idea of masturbating in the bathtub with her hairbrush, so she drew a hot bath and got in. Once she was in there, she remembered what she had done in a similar bathtub for You that morning, and wondered if that’s why she had been attracted to the tub tonight.

Once the tub filled up, Your slavegirl began playing with her nipples. Your slavegirl has spent so many days now submissive, wet, and eager to please, that even the slightest touch of her fingers on her nipples made her cunt throb and demand attention. As Your slavegirl rubbed her nipples, she imagined standing in the bathtub, masturbating with a hairbrush in her cunt while she peed all over the brush and her hand.

Your slavegirl took the hairbrush from the side of the tub and slid it into her pussy. she began to rub her clit as she fucked herself with it, and as she did it, she imagined You peeing on her, and in her mouth. In no time at all, Your slavegirl felt her orgasm approach. She rode the edge for You, feeling her arousal, her wetness, her eagerness to please. And then she stopped touching her clit, and just continued to fuck herself with the hairbrush.

Remembering her earlier fantasy, the slavegirl stood up in the bathtub, with the hairbrush still in her hand, and – after a few false starts – she finally managed to pee. As she felt the warmth of her urine on her hand, she was overwhelmed with the need to taste it. she took the hairbrush out of her cunt and cupped her hands underneath. her hand filled up and overflowed, and the slavegirl carefully lifted her cupped hand to her mouth and sucked her piss from it, imagining that it was Yours that she was drinking.

Hand still covered with her urine, Your slavegirl stood in the bathtub, feeling so aroused and so submissive. She rubbed her clit, standing there, felt her body crying for release, but knew that she was denied because that pleased her Master.

Your slavegirl finished her bath, dried off, then knelt next to the bed. Remembering her many misdeeds of the day – the initial forgetting, and then all those times she forgot to include her apology – the slavegirl knelt in her stress position, the better to demonstrate her contrition and feel her submission.

Your slavegirl needed to feel her Master’s control, so she got out one of the stretchy headbands and used it to bind her wrists as tightly as she could as she knelt there, face on the floor, ass in the air, arms behind her. And she thought about why she didn’t deserve an orgasm – because she had not been a good girl or a good sub. And that only good girls deserve orgasms, and even then only if it pleases their Masters that they should have them.

Your slavegirl released her wrists, kissed her bracelet and went into bed. she was so aroused by her submission that she couldn’t her herself from touching her nipples again, and when she finally stopped and made herself go to sleep, her cunt was wet, dripping and sticky – prepared in every way for her Master’s use, as it should be.