Musings for Mistress

Introduction

It's been years now since my girlfriend and me dared to take the next step in our relationship, with her becoming my Mistress and me her loving sub.

Looking back, it was clear from the start that both of us had needs that couldn't be satisfied by a conventional relationship with conventional sex. Now there's nothing wrong with conventional sex, just like there's nothing wrong with the proverbial vanilla ice cream. There are days when both of us are perfectly happy to just cuddle and satisfy each other without any of that whips and chains stuff, just like there are days when I actively feel like having a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Vanilla can be real good when done right. To push the metaphor a bit further, many people who aren't satisfied with their vanilla ice cream only know these cheap boxes from the supermarket, the ones that are basically just sugar and artificial flavor. Serviceable enough to enhance some strawberries, but not amazing on its own. But if you go to your local ice cream parlor where they use real vanilla, you'll find a world of a difference. There have been times when I've ordered nothing but a big bowl of vanilla ice cream, maybe with a few chocolate chips on top, and enjoyed the rich flavor as spoonful after spoonful of that sweet goodness melted in my mouth.

So whatever I might say in the following, don't take it as me talking down on people who aren't into my lifestyle, who can only shake their heads at some of the things we do and wonder how anyone could ever be into them. I get you, vanilla enjoyers. I've tasted the very best of what vanilla has to offer and I understand why someone would be satisfied with it. And I, too, know the feeling of looking at some flavors in the display and wondering who on earth would ever order those. Or the feeling of seeing a flavor that sounds intriguing, only to find out that in reality it's nothing like what I imagined it to be. So I'm not going to throw shade on anyone with a restricted palate. We're all different, and that's what makes life interesting.

For my part, though, even the best vanilla ice cream in the world cannot satisfy me forever. Just like my previous relationships ultimately ended because they couldn't give me what I needed. This isn't a complaint about my exes, many of which I'm still best friends with. As I said, we're all different, and I recognize that my brand of different isn't everyone's cup of tea. Which is why I'm all the happier to have found myself a girlfriend who is not only willing to play into my desires, but gets at least as much joy out of it as I do.

I started writing this thing as a kind of journal, a way for me to collect my thoughts and feelings about my life with Mistress and everything it contains, and to reminisce about some highlights of our time together. To return to the metaphor one last time, it's basically me giving my thoughts on every flavor in our personal ice cream parlor, with some anecdotes sprinkled in about the times we tasted them. I wrote it mostly for myself, though when Mistress asked to see my work, we realized that it was also a powerful tool to help her understand my side of things.

That, and she found it pretty hot, which is a nice plus.

This journal, or book, or whatever it ended up being was never intended for the public, but as it grew, Mistress made the good point that it might help others understand the feelings of a sub just like it had helped her understand me.

That, and other people might also find it hot. If you do, I'm happy to have made your day.

For obvious reasons I'll give neither my name nor that of my Mistress. And yet, if you read through the entire journal, by the end you will know the both of us better than even some of our closest friends. It's a little scary to think how much power the written word can have, but it's also a wonderful miracle. I might never meet you, but if you end up learning something about yourself or your partners, or even if you just get some fun new ideas, I'll be happy knowing that I've touched someone else's life in such a positive way.

So without further ado, let's dive into my Musings for Mistress.

Oral Fixation

I'm a total slut for everything oral. There, I said it. Time to move on to the next topic.

Seriously, though, this is one of the cornerstones of not only our relationship, but my whole concept of sex and sensuality, which makes it the logical starting point for this unfocused collection of ramblings about myself. I'm the kind of gal who can spend an entire afternoon doing nothing but kissing her girlfriend and never getting bored of it. The kind who eats her chocolate cream without a spoon if she can get away with it. The kind who wears a necklace with a discrete chewing toy because it's the only way to keep her from fidgeting like a drug addict going cold turkey.

When I first got together with Mistress, I tried to suppress this side of myself. My previous experiences had taught me that people tend to get overwhelmed by my ways of showing my love, and maybe even a little disgusted. But while Mistress was certainly surprised to find out just how deep that particular rabbit hole went, she encouraged me from the beginning to be true to myself.

I have to tell the story, because it's about the time I realized that Mistress was the right one for me. That I loved her with all my heart and that I wanted nothing more than to make her as happy as she'd made me. It was long before we even considered any BDSM related stuff, and yet the trajectory of our relationship should have been obvious to us even back then.

When Mistress learned how much I got out of licking and sucking things, and how deeply I had ingrained the notion that I had to suppress myself for the sake of others, she got genuinely upset for my sake. She told me that she wanted me to embrace who I was, and that she would do everything in her power to help me work through these hangups.

Everything in her power amounted to what was basically exposure therapy. In the beginning she'd sit down on the edge of our bed, my head in her lap, spending endless hours doing nothing but teasing my lips with her fingertips until I was so hungry for a taste of her that it overrode the learned embarrassment. Once she felt I was ready, she'd dip her fingers into my mouth, cooing and praising me when I gave in to my instincts and sucked on them. She told me how adorable I looked when I did that, how happy it made her to see the joy on my face.

It didn't take long for me to realize that she was serious, that I really didn't have to hold back. Of course it took much longer until I had fully internalized the lecture, but Mistress made sure to keep teaching me. It was also her who realized that I was only biting my nails because that's about the only socially accepted way to fidget with one's mouth.

Well, when I say accepted, I mean that it's at least a common vice that most people won't think anything of. That, or sucking on lollipops, another thing I tended to rely way too hard on to calm myself. While most of my weight loss since then is due to my much more active lifestyle, it certainly helped that I'm not constantly stuffing myself with sweets anymore.

Mistress bought me my first chewing toy, a black rubbery disk with a hole to put it on a necklace so it looks like any other generic accessory, only that it's made to be as satisfying as possible to gnaw on. I still have it, safely tucked away with other memorabilia from the beginning of our relationship. Hell, I would still be using it, but even though these things are made to last, the heavy use they get from me pushes the material to its limits. At some point the tooth marks and frayed edges become a little too obvious and it's time to get a new one.

My biggest realization from back then is that most people don't care. At first it took some gentle prodding from Mistress until I dared to chew on my necklace in public, but I only got some passing glances, if even that. And it makes total sense in hindsight. People see much stranger things than a woman fidgeting with her necklace between her lips on a daily basis. They only took note if I acted weirdly about it, like obviously trying to hide it or being conspicuously inconspicuous in some other way. Like I have been for the longest time about my nail biting, as a side effect of how self conscious I was about my need to have something in my mouth.

Mistress didn't stop at the chewing toy, though. She noticed how often my fingers involuntarily traveled halfway to my lips only for me to stop them, and she rightfully decided that this had to stop. I'll never forget that afternoon where she sat me down across the table, fixated me with her eyes and told me to lick and suck my fingers until it didn't feel weird anymore to do that in front of her.

"We're gonna be here all day," I joked in an attempt to get over my nerves.

"I don't mind if it takes all day or even all week. But I do mind you being ashamed of yourself, and I'm not going to stand for it," she told me.

The first few minutes of that afternoon had to be the most awkward thing I ever experienced. It felt so wrong to behave in such a dirty way in front of the woman I wanted to think of me as great girlfriend material. Or at least as a normal, functioning human being. I tried to weasel out of it, but Mistress wouldn't have it. She told me that neither of us would leave the table until I'd made at least a decent shot at it, and so I did.

No, I have no idea why it took us this long to realize that we were a dom and a sub.

Long story short, we weren't at it all day.

It could have barely been an hour.

Most of which was us fooling around.

The only issue was getting through the initial awkwardness. Once I was sucking my fingers and saw only a warm smile on Mistress' face instead of the disgust I'd feared, it became much easier to continue.

No, that's not the right way of saying it. Rather: Once I had pushed through the fear of being judged, it was the act of sucking on my fingers itself that calmed my nerves. Like it had always done, only that I'd made myself forget how soothing it was, how effective an answer to my anxieties I had at my literal fingertips.

Mistress got a lot less serious when she saw that it was working, that I'd managed to push through my hangups. She brought me a tiny glass of honey (the kind that's handed out for free and is barely enough for a slice of bread) and told me to dig in. "A sweet treat for my sweet girlfriend."

Even with the tiny amount it turned into a rather sticky affair, as it always does when honey is involved, but she just laughed about it and kept joking with me while I tried not to make too big a mess as I lapped up every last delicious drop.

And then, of course, there was "graduation day", where she took me into the bedroom, stripped down naked, lay down on the bed and told me to eat her out, but not before I had kissed literally every square centimeter of her body.

Again: It should have been so obvious where things were going between the two of us.

I've always loved Mistress, but this was the first time I was allowed to channel this love into worshiping her body like I'd always wanted to. It was magic. It still is to this day, every time Mistress lets me experience her with my mouth, but the first time is always something special.

I started with the "normal" things: Showering her face with kisses. Nibbling her earlobes. Licking her neck (something that even a couple of my more squeamish exes have enjoyed, and Mistress is no exception there; attacking her neck is the easiest shortcut to getting her hot and eager for action). Kissing her breasts. Sucking her nipples.

Mistress' moans made me grow bolder. I kissed her fingers one by one before getting my tongue involved, first on her hand, then licking all the way up her arm and back to her neck where I dug in with my lips and sucked like the world's happiest vampires. When I kept getting only the nicest reactions I continued down her chest. Soft, wet kisses along her collarbones. Massaging her perfect breasts with my lips and tongue. Going deeper.

She only told me later how terribly it tickled when I licked her sides. I didn't even consider that possibility back then because I was far too distracted by how happy I was, and Mistress fought hard not to twitch away. She didn't want me to think for even one moment that she didn't welcome everything I did, even if it meant that she almost suffocated on her suppressed giggles because insatiable me took forever to move on to another spot.

Don't worry, she got more than her fair share of revenge for what I inadvertently did to her that day, but that's a topic for another time.

Ticklish or not, it was obvious how much she was enjoying herself. As I went towards her hips, the sweet smell of her arousal filled my nose. I was a good girl and followed her orders, meaning I didn't dig into her tastiest spot until I had worshiped every other part of her, but just seeing how turned on she was made me love her so much it hurt. It was proof that her letting me indulge my oral fixation wasn't just for my sake. She wasn't suffering my weirdness, she actively enjoyed it. She was as horny about me worshiping her as I was, the reactions of her body a living proof that we were made for each other.

And believe me when I say, I was so, so horny at this point.

I hadn't even been touched myself. Hell, I was still dressed for the most part, and yet I had this exciting flush that made my entire skin tingle all over and made every touch feel so amazing. Normally my girlfriend would have to tease me forever to get me into such a state, but Mistress had managed it simply by allowing me to be my truest self. My panties were a complete mess and I considered getting naked myself, but that would have required me to stop kissing, licking, sucking, worshiping Mistress' body. Even if it would have only taken a couple of seconds, such a disruption was unacceptable.

We must have been at it for hours. My lips and tongue explored every last part of her body, from her toes all the way up to her forehead. By the end we were both in heat, squirming in need and panting as if we had just run a marathon. I still remember the breathless moans of pure bliss Mistress made when I finally settled in between her legs and gave her most intimate area the same attention I had given the rest of her body. It wasn't the first time I'd tasted her, not by a long shot (eating my girlfriend out is another one of those socially acceptable ways of indulging myself, so of course I've always made full use of it), but she'd never been so drenched, so rich in flavor before. I lapped up every juicy drop, but there was always more, and I quickly went into a frenzy.

A frenzy that didn't last as long as I would have liked, but that shouldn't have come as a surprise. The endless foreplay of my oral game had turned Mistress on too much, and before long she was shaking in the most satisfying orgasm. I kept licking her all the way through, drawing out the pleasure for as long as possible until she was exhausted in the best possible way.

That was the story how Mistress helped me to fully embrace my oral fixation and the pleasure it brings me, and to this day I'm infinitely grateful for it. I wrote far too much on this topic already and I haven't even gotten into any details, but that's okay. There will be more than enough opportunity to go deeper when I tackle all the wonderful things my mouth can do for Mistress. For now this story should make it clear how much it means to me that I can now say with full confidence:

I'm a total oral slut. And I'm proud of it.

Rules

I belong to Mistress, and therefore I can stop thinking about things and simply do everything she says.

That's how I imagined this to work. Just goes to show that I had no idea.

Deep down I've always yearned for someone to tell me what to do. Which isn't to say that I'm not in control of my own life. I know what I want, and if it's important enough to me, I can take steps to get it. I can function perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much.

But it's hard.

Life can be stressful at times, and I always had problems turning off my brain. There's so many responsibilities, so many things that are important and require my attention, it's exhausting. Can you blame me for wanting to hide behind a strong girlfriend who takes care of all the big picture stuff and all I have to do is follow her orders because I can trust her to have the best intentions and that she knows what needs to be done and when?

As much as I'd like that, it wouldn't be fair to make Mistress shoulder all of my responsibilities. However, it was clear from the start that she is very invested in me taking care of myself both physically and mentally. Self care tends to be the first thing falling to the wayside when my to-do list gets overcrowded, which really isn't healthy, but I never figured out a system to work around it.

Until Mistress became that system.

Over time we settled on a list of rules for me to follow, separated into categories.

The first is the holy trinity of physical healthcare:

1. I must drink at least one and a half liters of water every day.

2. I must work out for at least half an hour at least three times a week.

3. I must go to bed at least eight hours before the alarm rings.

These rules are the most important ones, and I have to keep track of them in my Good Girl Notebook. If I break any of them without a very good reason (like not working out due to being sick), I get a punishment. A real one, not the fun kind like a spanking. Mistress takes my health very seriously and won't stand for me mistreating my body.

These rules go hand in hand with the holy trinity of mental healthcare:

4. I must not talk myself down.

5. I must find something to be proud of every day.

6. I must do something that brings me joy every day.

These, too, are severely punished if I fail to uphold them, and rightly so. I never imagined how important and at the same time how hard these rules would be, until they went into effect. It's frankly ridiculous how often Mistress had to give me a stern talking to for breaking one or more of them (in the beginning she went easier on the punishments, which is good, because otherwise we wouldn't have had the time for anything except working through all my punishments). Rules 5 and 6 were doable once I started being more mindful of the things I do and the way I spend my time. Rule 4, though, was a killer.

I never considered myself to be critical of myself, but like I said in the beginning: Just goes to show that I had no idea. For example, whenever I drew something and Mistress praised me for it, I'd say something along the lines of "It's really not that special" and point out how I messed up the perspective or the lineart or whatever other flaws the picture had. The first couple of times when Mistress called me out on it I instinctively got defensive, saying that I wasn't talking myself down. I was just stating objective facts.

It didn't take long until Mistress made me see those words for the bullshit they were. Which isn't to say that I'd learned my lesson. It took much, much longer until I learned not to apologize for breaking that rule. Mistress pointed out that my apologizes hinged on the assumption that I was too weak or too stupid to follow the rule, and me beating myself up about it was just as destructive as my initial transgression had been. Also, there was no point apologizing to her, because she wasn't the one being wronged. If anything, the person I needed to apologize to was me.

So, yeah, this second holy trinity took some time to sink in, but I can proudly say that it has become second nature just like the first one has. Of course I still slip up from time to time, but that's okay. I take my punishment, reflect on what I've done and how I can do better, and once that's done I can forgive myself. Out of all the ways Mistress has made my life better, this holy trinity of mental healthcare was the most unexpectedly effective one.

And then, of course, there are the rules one would imagine when it comes to things a Mistress tells her sub to do, beginning with the holy trinity of being a good girl:

7. I must wear only the minimum feasible amount of clothing when at home, unless we have visitors.

8. I must not orgasm unless I have explicit permission.

9. I must wear my collar at all time.

At the baseline, rule 7 allows panties for hygienic reasons and a bra whenever I do something that includes a lot of moving around.

After these holy trinities there's a whole list of additional rules that is constantly changing depending on our needs and what comes up. They include things like "I must not be sassy with Mistress", "I must get the kitchen into a presentable state after I cook" or "I must leave the last portion of every sweet treat for Mistress". Here we are firmly in the realm of things I, as a good girl, should do, but failing them is not a serious matter and results in the fun kind of punishment. Failing, or deliberately breaking them, in case I feel particularly feisty that day.

The holy trinity of being a good girl is there to remind me at all time that I belong to Mistress, and going against it would feel like I failed my commitment to her. I might sometimes sneak the last slice of cake because I figure that it's worth the sore bottom, but I would never get myself off behind Mistress' back or deliberately leave my collar at home.

All these rules help to give my life structure. They are the kind of boundaries that are set out of love. The three trinities are there to make sure that no matter what else happens, I'm always focused on the most important things: Taking care of myself and my relationship with Mistress. And the lesser rules give me a taste of this perfect life I alluded to, where I don't have to care about anything except following all of my Mistress' order.

I'm deeply grateful for Mistress that she put all these rules in place that force me to live in a healthy, constructive manner. There's a reason the Good Girl Report each Saturday starts with me going on my knees to thank Mistress for looking after me.

After more than two years of doing them now, I can't imagine a life without these weekly accountability sessions anymore. Sometimes life gets in the way and they're just a quick check-in, sometimes we have the day to ourselves and can celebrate the procedure. But we never fail to dally up all the things I've done the past weeks, the good and the bad, the rules I've broken and the things I've done that I'm particularly proud of. Mistress notes them all down and decides on suitable punishments. And most importantly: She praises me for my continued commitment to being a good girl.

Even if I've been particularly bad that week and provoked some punishments just for the hell of it. Because we both know that I'm doing my best when it really matters, and Mistress acknowledges that.

Even if I failed to uphold the holy trinities of self care and acted destructively against myself. Because in these times especially I need the reminder that Mistress always has my back and is there to pick me up when I fall.

Even if it's been a week full of failures where I wasn't able to live up to my standards. Because failures are a part of life and sometimes things just don't work the way we want them to. Because me wanting to do good is worthy of praise by itself, even at the times when I'm unable to put it into practice.

Some people find rules stifling. I find them freeing. I love Mistress for all the effort she puts into giving me a framework that allows me to be the best version of myself. I love that even when life gets stressful and everything needs to happen at once, I can look at the rules to remind me of the things that are most important.

And sometimes I still eat that last slice of cake.

Gags

I love everything about gags.

You could say that's just a logical extension of my oral fixation, and I guess you wouldn't be wrong. After all, I love having something in my mouth, and that's exactly what gags are made for, so of course I'd like them, right?

But it's so much more than that.

There is something freeing about not being able to talk. Now don't get me wrong, I love it when our scenes are a communication between Mistress and me. But I also love being helpless for her, and having my speech taken away puts me immediately at her mercy. I can't talk back, can't tell her how I feel, need to trust her to know what I want and what I need.

Gags are one of the things that I've been pushing for. I know that Mistress likes them as well, but if I wasn't so enthusiastic about them, they would come out a lot less often.

Or rather, they would go in a lot less often, I guess.

The best kind by far is the classic ball gag. Maybe I'd be talking differently if we had one of those giant ones that make your jaws hurt just looking at them, but our ones are all small enough that I can easily have them in for hours. And often enough, I do.

It's humiliating in the best way, constantly having to suck on this thing in my mouth to prevent myself from drooling all over myself and still failing. I might have gotten quite adept with gags, but no amount of experience can make up for how these things are designed to make swallowing a chore. And once the drooling starts, there's no going back. There's something almost mocking about this moment at the beginning when I feel my lips getting wet, I know that I'll be dripping within minutes, but I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.

Of course the ring gag is even worse in that aspect. With the ball gag I can still kinda swallow by sucking on it. The ring gag just holds my mouth open while allowing basically zero interaction. Which is also why I don't like it as much. I don't mind the drooling, and it's actually a plus how the ring gag makes it so I can't defend myself when Mistress chooses to shove her fingers, her tongue, or anything else into my mouth. But even then, it's so frustrating that I can't really reciprocate. I hate it when she has her fingers in my mouth and I can't suck on them, just ineffectually lap at them with my tongue.

That being sad, it's a fun challenge when Mistress makes me eat her out while wearing the ring gag. The first few times we did that were such a humbling experience. I thought I was the big shit when it comes to oral pleasure, but it becomes so, so much harder when your tongue is your only tool. You'd think that's the way eating someone out always works, but that just goes to show how easy it is to underestimate the part the rest of the mouth plays. Sucking the clit is only the most obvious thing. It already helps so much when I can close my lips around Mistress' pussy and give it the flurry of tongue flicks that's just not possible otherwise.

But I can proudly say that I mastered that challenge. Sure, it's a lot messier with the ring gag and not as efficient, but aside from the very first time we tried it, I never failed to get Mistress off.

Eventually.

It still takes a lot longer than without the gag, and so Mistress sometimes puts it in when she's not in a hurry. Or when she wants to challenge herself and see if she can hold out against my skills. She knows she stands no chance at all when I can use my mouth to my heart's content, so she has to give me a handicap.

Not that it's enough. I still always win the challenge. For all the self-control Mistress teaches me, her own isn't all that amazing. She wouldn't be able to take half the things she puts me through.

... and I just remembered that Mistress is going to read this and that I'm so gonna be punished for calling her out. Well, celery. Or however else that French saying goes.

But since we're already at punishable offenses: I don't think I ever told Mistress that sometimes when she's not at home I put one of the smaller ball gags in, keep the straps loose, and just play with at while I go about my day. It's kinda like a chewing toy, only better. And sexier.

Technically I'm under the rule that I need Mistress' permission to use any of our sex toys. I'm not a hundred percent sure if that includes the gags. Guess it's up to Mistress to decide. Maybe it's a point in my favor that wearing the gag gets me pretty horny over time, and like a good girl I don't do anything about it, so on those days I'm always ready for action when Mistress comes home. Or maybe this makes it worse because it means that to me a gag is always a sex toy and so I should have known better.

Oh well.

Anything else I'm missing? Well, I'd really like to try a bit gag out some time. You know, the kind used for pony play. Not that I'm interested in that (the aesthetics and the fantasy are nice enough, but my feet would die in those pony boots, and even without them, I'm not that sporty a person, and pony play is basically just a brutal workout dressed up as sexy roleplay). But with how much I like gnawing on things, a gag that is made for that very purpose seems just perfect for me. Maybe Mistress will give me one for my birthday (hint hint, nudge nudge).

Oh, and of course I cannot forget about the absolute worst thing in the world: The panel gag.

I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it! It doesn't deserve to be in the same category as all these other fun toys. Yes, it also makes talking impossible, so I guess technically it's a gag, but it's just so frustrating and boring. It blocks the mouth, but I can't interact with it in any way. I can't bite it or suck on it, I don't have the sexy mess of drooling all over myself, and Mistress can't even kiss me anymore. It just sucks. Luckily it only comes out as a punishment when I've been a bad girl and said things I really shouldn't say, usually related to the rule that I must never talk myself own.

Unluckily I still slip up with that one on a regular basis. But I'm getting better. And as much as I hate to admit it, the threat of having to wear the panel gag for an hour or two makes me think twice about saying something bad about myself.

P. S.: No, I've totally not gagged myself while writing this, Mistress, why do you ask? : P

Spanking

I already alluded to the difference between real punishments and fun punishments.

Spanking is definitely in that second category.

Which is not to say that it doesn't hurt like hell when Mistress has a go at my ass with her hand. Or with a belt if she wants to make even more of an impression. Because it does.

There's this saying that pain is something one can never get used to. I don't think that's entirely true, because I can definitely take a lot more of it now compared to the beginning of our kinky endeavors, but on the other hand, yes, it never stops hurting. Then again, that's kind of the point.

My masochism is something I only discovered since getting together with Mistress. At times I'm not even sure if I am a masochist. Like, to me, the pain isn't the fun thing about taking a spanking, or any other kind of physical punishment. What I like is the intimate connection and the vulnerability.

Oh God, the delicious vulnerability! There's nothing like this feeling of having my already smarting ass exposed and being utterly unable to stop even more blows from coming. And knowing that no matter how much I try to stay silent, there will come a point where I can't stop whimpering. Maybe even screaming. There's no hiding in these moments when the sting of the slap fills my mind. Mistress gets me at my most genuine.

Maybe I'm making it sound a little more profound than it actually is. Sue me. I'm a sucker for emotional roller coasters, and if I want to gush about my fuzzy feelings, I'm gonna do it.

Which isn't to say that there's nothing to the physical aspect.

For starters, what's not to love about Mistress running her hand over my naked butt? After all, a spanking isn't just a "Slap, slap, done, thank you." Mistress loves squeezing my cheeks after she set them on fire. Maybe even scratch them if she's feeling especially devious. Now that's a surefire way to make me scream. Sharp nails on a freshly tenderized ass? Hallelujah!

The touches aren't all about pain, though. Mistress loves reaching between my legs during these punishments and tease me about how wet they get me. And she also loves to tease me, period. Which is especially cruel when I'm spanked as a punishments, because that usually means I won't be getting off that day, and that knowledge makes her fingers running all over my pussy a punishment of its own.

Funnily enough, I find that the more Mistress teases me and the more desperate I get, the more pain I can handle. To the point that there have been times, after she'd riled me up a lot, where I've actually begged her to continue spanking me. It doesn't really make sense, but once I'm horny enough, every touch from Mistress feels good, even the ones that feel bad. It still hurts, just not in the "Ow!" way. More in the "Haa~h" way.

Okay, let's try that again.

My point is, once I'm so aroused that I can't think straight anymore, the pain doesn't really register as pain. Any sensation turns into pleasure, at least partly. Now, if Mistress were to do something that really fucking hurt, then, sure, that would still really fucking hurt, but once I'm in the right headspace, even the definition of "really fucking hurts" gets muddled.

Like, when Mistress puts me over her knees and thrashes my ass with no remorse and no sexy distractions, we pretty quickly get to a point where I'm screaming and crying and begging to be let off. But if Mistress warms me up, increases the intensity slowly, and keeps teasing me all the way through, then we instead get to a point where it's physically impossible for a bare-handed spanking to become too much. Like, the first time I fell into that headspace, we both got so carried away that my butt was all black and blue for an entire week.

Mistress apologized so much when she realized how much damage she'd done. Not that I blamed her. In the heat of the moment, I didn't register it, either. I was floating happily, the heat in my ass in perfect harmony with the heat in the rest of my body.

Reading through this again, maybe there's no doubt about me being a masochist after all. Maybe it's perfectly normal to have some lingering trepidation about pain. I definitely can't deny that I like to hurt for Mistress. But also: Does it matter which label does or does not apply? The important thing is that we're having fun, and that's a major check mark right there.

Caning

Some people would claim that caning is just a specific kind of spanking and doesn't warrant its own section.

Those people have no idea whatsoever.

Saying that caning is just spanking is like saying that a marathon is just running. Like, duh. Yes, it is. But while I can run to the store and back, I would literally die if I attempted a marathon. And it's the same with canings and spankings.

Okay, I don't literally die when Mistress takes out the cane.

Even if it feels like it at times.

While spanking is the go-to fun punishment, the cane only comes out when things are serious. Usually not "I broke a rule from a holy trinity" kind of serious, because those tend to get punishments that aren't sexy in any way, but it's the classic tool to teach me that I've gotten a little too lax and bratty lately. And sometimes holy trinity punishments are about pain as well, when we both agree that it's the right thing.

Either way, that thing is the devil. I can't even begin to describe how much it hurts. It goes from zero to screaming in pain with a single swat if Mistress puts her strength into it. And "funnily" enough, the impact isn't even the worst part.

Don't get me wrong, the impact is pure hell. That swishing sound, followed by a frightening crack and a flash of pain that makes me jump no matter how much I try to hold still. My cheeks hurt just thinking about it.

As bad as that is, though, it only gets worse from there. I might have called it a flash of pain, but it's not gone in a flash. Oh no. It's the kind of pain that lingers. Festers. That stinging burn sets in and drives me crazy. After each strike there's several seconds where I genuinely think "I can't take it. It's too much. I cannot handle the pain." It becomes impossible to focus on anything else.

I don't know if it's a blessing that Mistress usually leaves generous pauses between the strikes, or a curse. On the one hand, it helps so much when the fire in my ass settles down from "pure hell" to "hurts like a bitch, but somewhat bearable". It gives me a chance to catch my breath and get myself ready for the next one. On the other hand, when Mistress strikes me in quick succession, we get through the allotted number of strikes much more quickly. And as bad as it is to only get even more pain when I already feel like I can't handle it, I'd say that in total it's less suffering than if the strikes are spread out. Especially since Mistress tends to put a lot more strength into the individual strikes compared to the barrage.

That being said, the moment Mistress goes for such a barrage, there's tears. No way around it. It simply hurts too much.

Not that there aren't any tears when she spreads the strikes out.

In fact, I don't think I remember a caning session where I wasn't crying by the end of it.

Also: That thing about the area at the bottom of the cheeks where they meet the thighs being the most sensitive? Total truth. I'd rather take five strikes squarely on the cheeks than one on that tender region. Not that I have a choice, of course. It's up to Mistress to decide my punishment, and if she feels like I should suffer (which is kinda a given if the cane is involved), then suffer I do.

And of course the absolute worst times are when Mistress tells me to hold still, and that any strike where I move away afterwards or reach for my ass doesn't count. We had one session in particular with a nominal ten strikes where Mistress broke it off out of pity after forty or fifty or so because I was such an emotional mess and there was zero chance left of success. Every strike hit one of the previous bruises, and it was absolutely unthinkable that I'd be able to hold still through that kind of pain.

As bad as the cane is, though, I love the part that comes after. The part where I lie in Mistress' lap as she puts cool lotion on my burning ass and tells me how brave I've been. And in those moments I truly feel brave. Sure, I'm going through an entire package of tissues as I try to calm down, but that's okay. If anything, it makes it all the more impressive that I made it through without giving up. I might never find any love for the cane, but I certainly love how it makes me prove to myself how strong I am.

Orgasm Denial

Another big one.

Before I got together with Mistress, I would have never believed that I'd ever find joy in explicitly not getting off, but here we are.

As per the second rule in the holy trinity of being a good girl, I must not orgasm unless Mistress allows it. And Mistress isn't very generous in that aspect. She keeps saying that orgasms are a privilege, not a right, and she treats them as such, preserving them for the times when she wants to reward me for being a good girl.

Or for the times when she wants to demonstrate that one can have too much of a good thing, but that's a different topic.

That isn't to say that I never get off. Or that I usually go without orgasms for months at a time (although we did experiment with long term denial several times with mixed results, more on that later). I'd say that on average she allows me this treat about once or twice a week, but don't quote me on that. Mistress doesn't want me to keep track because it would put too much focus on the reward instead of the act of being a good girl. And the numbers vary widely over time, so I can only give a rough estimate.

Why does she do this to me? That's easy enough to answer. Because she likes seeing my squirm and she enjoys the effect it has to me.

Why did I allow her to set this rule in the first place? Why do I willingly give up my pleasure for her? Seems like the much harder question, but it has basically the same answer: Because I enjoy the effect it has on me.

First of all, being needy but not allowed to do anything about it is such a nice visceral reminder that Mistress controls my body and soul, that I fully belong to her and that it's her right to give or take from me whatever she desires. More than any other rule, even more than the collar, it focuses my mind on my submission to her. Like, over time I got used to the collar, and for much of my day I tend to completely forget that it's there because it has become such a natural part of me.

I certainly don't forget about how horny I am.

But being denied release isn't just a reminder of my submission, it actively fuels it. If Mistress teases me enough to keep me sufficiently needy (and there's few things she loves more), it usually only takes a few days for the most wonderful transformation to take place. In the beginning I got antsy whenever she left me hanging without finishing me off, and it still makes me whiny, especially when she's cruel about it, but that's only in the moment. I quickly learned to embrace the lingering arousal that stays with me long after the sex is over. The need is at the back of my mind. Even when I don't think about it, it still colors my world and everything I do.

Once Mistress keeps me denied for a bit, everything becomes more sensual, sexier. I feel every touch on my skin more intensely, I can't stop looking at Mistress, can't stop thinking of her, can't control my desire for her. One would think that the constant itch between my legs would make me crave an orgasm above everything, but funnily enough my desire to get off actually goes down over time. It makes me want to please Mistress much more than it makes me want my own pleasure.

Unless we're talking about what's going on during the action. Believe me, when Mistress holds me on the edge with her fingers or toys (or her mouth if she really wants to make my heart burst) I really, really want that orgasm. I want it so much it hurts. And being left hanging after going without release for several days and after more than an hour of sex, that's a special kind of torture. At those times, Mistress has to keep a close eye on me to make sure I keep my hands to myself. Not that I'd get off without her permission, but it's so hard not to touch myself when my pussy does these frustrating empty throbs and my clit burns with desire.

Once the acute despair settles down, though, my own orgasms aren't on the forefront of my mind. I'm turned on pretty much all the time, but that manifests in me wanting to be the bestest girl for Mistress. Not so I'll be rewarded for it, but simply because it feels right. And most of all it feels so right that Mistress gets all the pleasure while I go without.

It's a weird but also a wonderful headspace, like there's a pink fog in my mind that lulls me in and makes me fall even deeper into my submissive side. When I'm fully in that state, I don't even realize the passing of time anymore. I might lie with my head in Mistress' lap, having her pet me while she does something else, and not even realize that an entire afternoon has gone by. Or I get lost in massaging her whole body without ever getting bored of it. Or I literally beg at her feet to order me around, to give me a chance to prove myself to her.

Of course it's rare that I fall this deeply into it. That requires a good week of denial interspersed with active teasing and not too much real world bullshit getting in the way. And Mistress usually chooses to let off some of my steam before I get that bad, simply because it's a bit exhausting to her if I'm this ragingly submissive. As much as she enjoys being a dominant, she isn't the one being swamped with sexy hormones, so there comes a point where she just wants to chill for a bit without being distracted by her far too needy girlfriend. But from time to time she deliberately pushes me into this haze of submission, and it's always absolutely wonderful.

We did some experiments with denial that lasted longer than a week or two, but sadly that doesn't work as well as we'd want it to. The returns aren't just diminishing, they actually go down. If I go too long without an orgasm, my sex drive dwindles, as if my body had simply accepted that "yeah, guess we're not getting that anymore, so what's the point in trying?" Mistress can work against this by cranking up her teasing, but even that becomes frustrating in an annoying way after some time. And let me tell you, the frustration of denial and the horny ache between my legs do not mix well with the cramps and the crankiness that come with my monthly period. We learned that lesson the hard way, but we learned it well enough never to forget it.

It's a bit of a pity, really. I sometimes browse through kinky blogs of people who have been denied for as long as a year or even more, and it seems to work great for them. It makes me a little jealous that my body isn't as cooperative. But I guess I can't be too sad about it. After all, as much as I love it when Mistress denies me and the effects it has on my body, I also really, really love orgasms. You know, like everyone. Because orgasms are awesome. So maybe it's a good thing that my body requires regular resets to make the stretches of denial work and mean something.

Public Play

It's one of our main rules that we don't get any outsiders involved in our kinky shenanigans. Not even passively. No apparent collars, no calling Mistress by her title in public, no obvious displays of power from her side, or anything like that. It's just basic decency. We want other people to respect our boundaries, and so we give them the same courtesy.

That being said, I have no idea how many eye rolls we earned over the years because us supposedly grown up women behave like love-struck teenagers. We might keep all the dominance and submission stuff to ourselves, but that doesn't mean we don't make out whenever we feel like it. And there's few times when we don't feel like it.

Also, we're members of the Miles High Club.

How does that fit with my opening statement? I admit we stretched our moral codes a bit there, but we were discrete enough that no one should have noticed. But let me start from the beginning.

The story starts with us on our flight to our summer vacation, though technically it starts about a week earlier, when Mistress decided that she wants to be extra cruel to me. I'm talking sex at least two times a day involving lots and lots and lots of teasing. And countless little attacks throughout the day to make sure I can never cool down. And sexy punishments for the tiniest little mishaps.

Mistress wanted to use the time we had off work to turn me into the most desperate sub possible, and it was a total success. I already said that long term denial has its own pitfalls, but with no real life bullshit to distract me and with all the sex going on, we were far from hitting those.

I can barely remember anything about that week. Or rather, I have so many vivid memories about it, but they all blur together as if it wasn't a week but one extremely long, extremely horny day. I tend to lose track of time when I'm fully immersed in my submission to Mistress, but that week was particularly bad. It was like a haze, as if my life had turned into the sexiest fever dream. The week seemed to never end, and yet it also felt like it was over in a heartbeat.

When it was time for the flight, I had it bad. I was literally shaking whenever Mistress so much as touched me. It's a good thing she did all the packing, because I would have forgotten half of the things. It was impossible to concentrate on anything but my love for Mistress and the horny itch between my legs. And it really didn't help that right before we were off to the airport, she threw me on the couch, pulled my pants down and ate me out with no mercy. No mercy and no relief, just her soft lips and her glorious tongue that would stop every time I tensed up in preparation of my orgasm.

My poor clit was killing me. It throbbed and burned so bad, but every time I had retreated the tiniest bit from the edge, Mistress' tongue would be right back on it, flicking, licking, at times even sucking, but always leaving me hanging. By the end I was begging from the bottom of my heart. But of course the more I want it, the more fun it is for Mistress to deny me, and so I left the house as a trembling mess.

I cooled down a bit as we went through all the airport stuff (we cut it a little close; Mistress forgets about time as much as I do when she's really into things) but everything went smoothly and by the time we were sitting on the plane, holding hands and constantly trading kisses, I was already squirming again. And my panties were a complete mess. I should have anticipated that and taken steps to protect them, but, well, thinking is hard at times like these. And while it's kinda uncomfortable to constantly feel the wetness between my legs, I was horny enough that it only turned me on even more.

Of course Mistress knew exactly what state I was in. She had that smirk of hers as she kept riling me on with kisses that were just barely fit for public. And once we were in the air she slipped me her phone, where she'd written in our chat "How bad is it?"

Little note there: The two of us write each other a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Often enough while we're standing right next to each other. Because, yes, I wouldn't call Mistress by her title in public or loudly discuss the kinky details of our life with her, but there's nothing stopping me from doing these very things over chat messages. Sure, us typing away and regularly looking at each other laughing and kissing isn't really adult behavior, but it does hide the very adult stuff going on in the background. And so it was the most normal thing in the world that Mistress would go through this communication channel. Even though there was no internet on the flight and so we had to type messages and "send" them by passing the phone around.

Anyway. I wrote Mistress back that it was very bad. So bad that I'd explode in a minute if only she let me. Which made her laugh and she asked if I was sure about that. When I said I was, she wrote me a message that stopped my heart.

"Prove it. You and me in the restroom. One minute. If you make it, good for you. But if it turns out that you're just a drama queen and not actually that desperate, then you better believe that your next chance to get off will be on our flight back."

Looking back, it should have been obvious that she wasn't serious. At the very least I should have noticed her surprise when, after a couple moments to gather myself, I opened the seat belt and waited for her to do the same. But I really wasn't thinking straight back then. And to Mistress' credit, she didn't let herself be called out on her bluff.

Those of you who have flown before might wonder "How the hell can you even have sex in an airplane restroom? I barely fit into these things on my own. Doesn't that have to be cramped as all hell?" And to that I say: Yes. Yes, it is.

We figured out a working arrangement where Mistress sat on the toilet with her legs spread and me half standing before her, half leaning onto her. For a given value of "working". Luckily I didn't have to do anything but pull my pants down so she could finger me.

Was it uncomfortable as all hell? Yes. Was it the least romantic place I ever had sex in? Also yes. But I did I explode within a minute once Mistress finally went at my aching pussy for real? You bet I did.

It wasn't as satisfying an orgasm as it could have been, what with the lack of build-up (the week-long build-up helped, but it's not the same as some actual foreplay), but whatever. It was still great. Great enough that I had to bite down hard on my arm so I wouldn't make any noises that gave us away.

And I have to admit, there was something to it. Since then I kinda understand when people talk about the thrill of the fear of being discovered. I could never do any kind of public play where an actual risk was involved, but it was exhilarating to know that just one wall away were hundreds of people who had no idea that I had just unloaded a week's worth of frustration.

Mistress did the best she could to clean us up with the limited amount of space and tools she had at her disposal. Like a good girl I helped by cleaning up her fingers in my own way. My panties were a lost cause, but with some toilet paper we could at least prevent the stain from spreading to my pants.

And as I said, there was no actual risk involved. Even if someone saw the two of us entering the restroom together and coming back out all giggly, at worst they'd assume that we had a stupid little make-out session. After all, no sane couple would have sex in such a cramped space. And even if, they would be in there for much longer.

Well, that's just another perk of being an insane couple.

Toys

We've got far, far too many of them. And for once I can say: It's not my fault.

Mistress is the one buying all of them. When something catches my eyes, I just have to ask for it nicely and it will be there for my next birthday, Christmas, or whatever other pretense there is. Some people gift their girlfriends flowers or spa trips, Mistress gives me vibrators.

I told her several times that I'd be happy to share the expenses. After all, kink can be a pretty expensive hobby, especially if you have shiny object syndrome, but Mistress wasn't going to have any of that. To her, having total control over the toys is an essential part of being a Mistress. Not that I'm complaining. Saves me a lot of money.

But it also means I'm not allowed to play with them unless Mistress allows it. Many toys are much more fun when she's the one using them anyway, but at times it's so tempting to just go and have a little fun on my own. Especially since Mistress is a bit of a hoarder, meaning there are so many options! Thankfully she has her compulsive tendencies under control in most other aspects of her life, but sex toys are the one thing where she freely indulges herself. It would break her heart if someone told her "You can only get a new toy once you played with all the old ones."

It would also be pretty funny, though. And it would keep us busy for a long time to come.

Not that we aren't busy as it is.

Also, having that giant collection in the house with no access to it makes me much more proactive and creative in how I ask for sex. It has more flair to go for a "Hey, remember the shiny handcuffs you bought a while back?" instead of a basic "I'm horny. Do something about it!"

Okay, actually, it would be so funny if I said that to her. I'll definitely have to do it, and before she reads this. Can't wait to see her face.

Anyway.

One of the best ideas I ever had was when I surprised Mistress about a week before her birthday. I could have done it on her birthday, but it's not really a surprise when you do it on the one day that people expect to be surprised. And technically I didn't even give her a present (unless you count myself as a present, which Mistress always tells me that she does). I just made sure that when she came home, I was awaiting her in bed, already butt naked and with as many toys nicely laid around me as I could fit on the bed.

Vibrators, dildos, strap-ons, handcuffs, leather cuffs, floggers, gags, plugs and so on and so forth. It was a buffet of sexy fun with me as the main course.

Okay, maybe it was a little tacky and cliche. But you know the saying: It's not stupid if it works. And it definitely worked. Mistress loved it. I still shiver when I think back on how sultry her voice got when she said "You know that I'll have to use every single one of these things on you now, right?"

And she did.

I've rarely been this sore, and that's saying something. The bondage and the implements of pain added their own kind of delicious discomfort, but they were nothing, nothing in comparison to the fucking.

Oh God, so much fucking.

Maybe it was a mistake to include so many dildos and vibrators in the selection, because Mistress didn't just use them all, she got lots of mileage out of every one of them. By the end of it I was whimpering if I so much as heard the buzzing of yet another vibrator. My clit was on fire from how many orgasms she'd forced from me, but that didn't stop her. It might feel like I'd die if someone so much as touched my clit, but I survived it every time she crushed that oversensitive button with the powerful vibrations. And now matter how much it hurt, given enough power and dedication, I always managed to come one more time. And I still enjoyed these screaming orgasms, even if they were pure torture.

And that's to say nothing of how thoroughly she pounded me. All the wetness and all the lube in the world didn't help me when it must have been literal hours that she pumped one toy after the other into me. Pretty impressive display of stamina from her side, and afterwards she was completely done herself.

Not as done as me, of course. I couldn't walk straight for the rest of the day, and it took almost until her birthday for the ache to fade completely.

So, yeah, there's a definite upshot to having way too many toys. And I've played with the idea that for our ten years anniversary... never mind. I just remembered that Mistress is going to read this. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. And I'm not even sure if I'm gonna go for that idea. It is pretty crazy after all.

But then again, so are we. That's what makes us so amazing.

Praise

Want to make me melt instantly? Tell me I'm your good girl.

On second thought, only do that if you're Mistress.

Accidentally creepy openings aside, I'm such a sucker for any kind of praise. And it's not even that I had such a shaky self-worth before I met Mistress. Sure, I was painfully aware of my compulsive nail biting, and sure, there were times when I felt kinda meh about my body, and I'd made peace with the fact that while I might be good with some things, I'd never reach excellence in any of them. But those are the normal doubts everyone goes through. Or at least I never met anyone who could honestly say they never had thoughts of this kind. People aren't perfect, and we all go through life with this knowledge at the back of our minds. And it's far too easy to focus on the things that don't work, the things one cannot do, and completely forget about the good things.

Mistress is different. Or at least she's aware of this problem enough to consciously fight it.

It took far too long until I learned to accept her compliments and not wave them off by pointing out how I wasn't as good as she made me out to be. In fact, this destructive habit of mine is the reason Mistress put the "I must not talk myself down" rule at the top of the holy trinity of mental health. And while it was hard work (a fact that's both ridiculous and kinda sad in hindsight) she did manage to get me to a point where I wasn't just able to take her compliments with grace, I also believed them.

I can't tell you how happy it makes when Mistress tells me how much she enjoys the food I cooked. Or coos over one of my drawings that I didn't think all that special myself (never said I've perfected the rule). Or when she randomly tells me that I have an especially beautiful smile that day.

It extends into the bedroom as well. Many people in the BDSM sphere have a humiliation fetish. I don't. I have a praise fetish. Is that a thing? Whatever. If it wasn't, it is now.

Our sex usually starts with Mistress undressing me, running her hands all over my body and telling me how beautiful I am. How sexy I am. How much just looking at me turns her on already. How much she loves my body and how much she's looking forward to doing all these naughty things do it.

At this point her hands are just a nice bonus. Mistress can get me dripping with her words alone. And once she does, she likes to point it out. Not in the "you're such a slut" way. More like "It's so sexy how wet you are for me. You're the best toy I could have ever wished for". And I truly feel sexy when she says these things. They make me want to live up to this awesome picture she paints of me, to really become her perfect toy.

Devious mind that she is, Mistress likes to use this against me. Like when she put the flogger to my pussy for the first time.

It wasn't even a punishment. Mistress was simply curious about trying it out, and so she asked me if I was up for a little experiment. I was more than just a little scared when she told me of her plans, but I've learned not to let fear stand in the way of making new experiences, and so I said yes.

Mistress was so happy. She spent minutes just gently running the leather tip of the crop over my pussy while telling me how brave I was for volunteering myself. What a good girl I was. And how pretty I looked, lying there, nervously gnawing on my fingers as I prepared myself for the pain.

The first strike already made it clear what I'd signed up for. The crop isn't that scary a spanking tool. Or at least it isn't when it targets the butt. Sure, it hurts quite a bit if used often and strongly enough, but there's far, far worse things in the arsenal. On the pussy, though, it's more than enough to really leave an impression.

The sting is awful. It's the kind of pain that makes my stomach churn. I let out the most pitiful yelp when that thing hit me, and clenched my legs in reflex so quickly that I almost trapped the crop between them. I'm not one to throw in the towel the moment things get rough, but I was seriously considering just telling Mistress that this was a little too hardcore for me.

And then she started praising me for real.

"It's amazing how well you took that," she told me as she gently pried my legs apart so she could look at the damage. The damage being nothing more than the tiniest reddening, but that didn't stop her from going "That looks so painful. You're such a brave girl for letting me do this to you. Not that I ever doubted you. I know how strong you are, and you keep proving it to me time after time."

She kept telling me how brave I was and how well I'd taken it until I started to believe it myself. And I couldn't let her down when she was thinking so highly of me. So I acted like the good girl I am and opened my legs again, which made Mistress shower me with even more praise.

And my poor pussy with even more strikes.

Fuck, did it burn! Every strike made me scream and flinch to protect my pussy, but ever time Mistress' kind words coaxed me to lay myself bare for her again. Until she showed the full extent of her cruelty.

"You've been so amazingly strong for me," she told me. "And I know that you can be even stronger. Could you show your strength by keeping your legs open for me? You're so unbelievably beautiful when you suffer for me. Would you show me what it looks like when you take your punishment like the good girl you are?"

Again, it wasn't even a punishment. And yet I ended up hurting so much worse than after many actual punishments. Because of course I played along.

I have no idea where I found the willpower to keep my legs open as she snapped the leather onto my raw and tenderized pussy again and again. But Mistress' high expectations of me made me want to live up to them, and I was so happy that I managed it. Sure, I was a teary-eyed mess by the end of it and my pussy kept stinging for the rest of the day, but when Mistress cuddled me for being such a good girl, it was so worth it.

Later she admitted that she'd laid the praise on so thick on purpose, as another little experiment to see how far she could get me to push myself. Well, the answer is: Pretty much all the way. I couldn't even be mad at her. Not then, and not the many other times she used that trick on me since then. Even when I know that it's a trap, if the trap is decorated with praise and admiration, I'll gladly step into it every time.

Masturbation

Before I got together with Mistress, this wasn't a big topic in my life. Barely even a small topic, really. Like, sure, orgasms are nice and all, but they aren't what sex is about. Sex is about the connection with your partner, about having fun with each other. Anything I do on my own is just a weak shadow of what I do with my girlfriend.

While that still holds true, it turns out that even a weak shadow becomes real intriguing after you've walked through the desert for long enough.

The main reason I've never really been into masturbation is that my sex drive just isn't all that high. Or maybe I should say: Wasn't all that high. That's one more thing which has changed for the better since Mistress took control of me. And especially since she took control of my orgasms.

The funny thing is: In theory masturbation should be a moot point now. I'm only allowed to come when Mistress says so. Therefore I cannot come when I'm on my own. Therefore there's no point in touching myself.

Another example of the giant chasm that separates theory from reality.

Pretty soon Mistress didn't just tell me not to come on my own, she also had to explicitly forbid me from touching myself without permission. And that was necessary, because otherwise I might stop functioning.

It's hard enough to deal with the horny itch between my legs when Mistress has once again decided to go all out on teasing me, only to deny me at the very end. I already wrote about how it paints my entire life in a sexy light, how the arousal always lingers at the back of my mind and my thoughts drift into naughty places if I don't stop them. My sex drive might be low as a base line, but it certainly isn't after Mistress has wound me up like a toy. And in those times, when I'm sitting home alone with no distractions from that deliciously awful throb in my pussy, it's so, so tempting to reach down and scratch that itch.

Of course, no matter how tempting it is, I wouldn't willingly go against the rules and get myself off without Mistress' permission. I'd just play around a little to get rid of the frustration. Just a few quick touches to take the edge off, and then I can go on with my day.

Only that it never stops at a few quick touches.

It's like an addiction, only with zero gap between riding the high and the horrors of withdrawal. As long as I have my fingers in my panties (if I'm even wearing them at the time), everything is great. Touching myself feels awesome when I'm already all turned on.

I don't even have to go for an all-out rubbing. Just running my fingers between my folds already makes me shiver with bliss. And me being me, I can never resist tasting myself. I play around until I've collected a nice amount of wetness on my fingers and then I lick and suck every last little droplet from them before doing it all over again. It might not be as great as eating Mistress out, but ever since Mistress first made me taste myself, I've been such a sucker for sampling my own arousal. Maybe I'm weird, but I feel so sexy when I have the proof of my horniness on my tongue. And the whole process just feels dirty in the best kind of way.

Not that there are many bad kinds of dirty when it comes to me, but that's a different topic.

So I would sit there, gently rubbing away, my tongue tingling with my sexy flavor, my wet fingers feeling so great sliding over my equally wet pussy, and I'd slowly descend further and further into this horny haze. But as amazing as it feels, the moment I stop, it's like... well, just like withdrawal, really.

It's all there: The bumping heart, the tension all through my body, the sour cramps in my abdomen, and most of all that need to go right back. It's exactly the same as the times when I try (and ultimately fail) to cut back on the coffee. Except that instead of tired and cranky I get raging horny. And just as cranky.

It happened too many times that Mistress came home to find me in a bad mood after I'd spent literal hours doing nothing productive because I'd been unable to stop touching myself. And that's to say nothing of the times when I had an accident.

As I said, I'd never willingly break the holy trinity of rules of being a good girl, but it's so easy to slip up. The longer I touch myself, the more sensitive I get. And of course once I'm at the edge of an orgasm, I don't want to back down again, because at that point even just slowing down leads to those symptoms of withdrawal. So it happened more than once that in a moment of carelessness I gave in to my instincts and rubbed just that little bit too hard, pushing me past the point of no return.

Now I've always been a good girl even in those times of failure. I've always ripped my hand away immediately and tried to hold back the orgasm. One time I actually managed. Turned out, I still wasn't over the edge just yet and could pull myself back with a tremendous exercise of willpower. All the other times, though, it was too late. I'd already started coming.

And then there was nothing to guide me through the orgasm.

Do not try this at home. You might think it's funny that I'm warning you now instead of in the chapters about getting my ass destroyed with a cane or having sex on a plane, but I'm telling you: Ruined orgasms are no joke. They're plain awful.

Imagine you're ravenously hungry and someone hands you your favorite food, but the moment you bite into it, you have a mouth full of cardboard. It's kind of like that, but even worse. There's the characteristic clenches and the shaking and all the physical traits that make up an orgasm, but none of the satisfaction. If anything, it only leaves me even more frustrated and needy than before. That, and feeling like absolute shit because I failed both Mistress and myself.

So it's a good thing that Mistress forbid me from touching myself altogether. Yes, it taxes my willpower to keep my fingers to myself when the ache gets particularly bad, but it keeps me out of that vicious cycle from which I can only return frustrated in the worst kind of way.

And it's not like I never get to touch myself at all. It's the best available substitute whenever Mistress and me are apart for whatever reason. We'd find a quiet evening to sext with each other before she gives me permission to enjoy myself while I imagine she's there with me.

And of course there's the times when she makes me touch myself, maybe even take myself all the way down that vicious cycle, just for her viewing pleasure. But I think that deserves a section of its own.

Loving Myself

Yeah, I just had to put this right after the Masturbation section.

For real, though, Mistress has been such an amazing influence for me. I already wrote how her holy trinities of rules prevent me from talking badly about myself. Or how she's stopped me from being embarrassed about my oral fixation. But it goes so, so much deeper.

Before I got together with Mistress, I never considered myself sexy. Not that I thought of myself as ugly or anything, but I was just, well, just another normal girl. And sexy isn't an attribute of normal girls. They can be cute or maybe pretty, but sexy is reserved for the daring adventurous girls, the ones that are cool and let the whole world know it by simply existing. And I was fine with not being one of them. I figured, I was nice enough, I was going to find a nice enough girlfriend, we'd have nice enough sex whenever the fancy struck us, and everything would be fine. Everything would be nice enough.

Mistress taught me that I wasn't just nice enough.

That's another thing that happened before we got into the whole dominance and submission thing. And looking back it was another sign that already showed where our relationship was headed.

Mistress had noticed that whenever she called me sexy, she got a rather muted response. I enjoyed her praise, of course, but it must have been obvious that I thought she was just saying things to make me feel good. That deep down I didn't fully believe it. So at some point she pulled me aside and asked me straight on: "Do you think that you are sexy?"

I will not reproduce my stuttered attempts at an answer, because just thinking back on it is still enough to make me cringe. Suffice it to say, Mistress got the message. And she made it her mission to show me. After all, she said, seeing is believing.

I wasn't ready for how literally she was speaking.

When she led me into our bedroom the next day and I saw that she'd carried our giant mirror into it... I would say I'd have loved to see my face, but thanks to the mirror I did, and so I can say with certainty that it was an absolute piece of art. Flabbergasted doesn't even begin to describe it.

What followed was the most blushing I've ever done in my entire life. Like, it looked like I was having a bad sunburn. I certainly did not feel sexy that day. I felt like a maiden who had never done anything scandalous before and suddenly found herself naked in front of a giant audience.

Mistress noticed my struggles and didn't push me. She turned me with my back to the mirror while she kissed and caressed me until I was over the worst of my embarrassment and slowly got in the mood. Only when I was fully into it, having almost forgotten about the whole thing because I was so busy eating her out, did she drop a "Just look how pretty we are."

I did look. And I blushed once more as I watched myself lying between her legs, my lips glistening from what I'd been doing. But I had to admit that it was kinda hot. When I told Mistress later, she smiled and said that this was a great start, but that we still had a long way to go.

And so that mirror stayed at its new place for a good month or so. A month during which we had a lot more sex than usual.

I'd say I quickly got used to it, but that doesn't do it justice. I didn't just get used to it, I embraced it.

While the first couple of times were still pretty awkward, I soon latched on to this "it's kinda hot" feeling. There was something powerful about watching myself do all these naughty things. It made something shift in my mind. Like, I'd enjoyed sex before, so on some level I'd known that I was a sexual creature at heart, but as Mistress had said, seeing is believing.

Once Mistress realized that I was getting comfortable with the idea, she started pushing further. She pointed me straight at the mirror as she fucked me from behind. It was a whole other level, to see my own face twist in pleasure, see my lips parted from my ragged breath, see the look of pure bliss in my eyes, see the sweat glisten on my breasts.

That day I really, truly felt sexy for the first time. It was impossible not to, when I had the proof right before my eyes.

From that point on, I fully got into things. I wasn't just on board when Mistress made me touch myself in front of the mirror, I had fun experimenting with the whole shebang (amazing word, by the way). A sultry look with a finger at my mouth, pinching my nipples while biting my lips with a pleading look in my eyes, tasting myself by licking my finger like a lollipop, all those things that's only done by girls who are real confident about how cool and sexy they are.

It was my first time putting myself out like that, and most things I did were funny rather than sexy, but whatever. We had a good time, and that was all that mattered. And even when Mistress took the mirror back where it belonged (with my help; that thing is fucking heavy, no idea how she managed it on her own) I continued playing with this new side of myself.

So, yeah, that was one example of how Mistress showed me how amazing I really am, but it's not the only one. Not by a long shot. I can't even begin to thank her enough for how much she helped build me up, and so I won't even try here. After all, Mistress said it herself: The best way I can show my gratitude is by being the best version of myself. And that's something I strive towards each and every day.

Bondage

Is there anything better than feeling completely helpless?

I admit it's a rhetorical question, and a rather strange one at that, but in my role as Mistress' good girl, and especially as Mistress' toy, I absolutely love it when she asserts her control over me in a physical way.

For the longest time we only dabbled in bondage. You know the cliche, me lying on the bed, my hands fixed above my head in those fluffy handcuffs that are just for show because they are so comfy and so easy to escape from. Or maybe we'd go for a classic spread-eagle using some soft scarves. For all her love of being dominant, bondage isn't an intrinsic interest of Mistress. She likes playing with a helpless me, but she likes it just as much to play with me while I have to hold still on my own.

Actually, she definitely prefers that. She loves anything that tests my willpower.

But my enthusiasm for being bound is more than enough for the two of us. I was hooked from the very first time that Mistress tied up my hands. There's this crazy rush of adrenaline I get from knowing that whatever Mistress has in store for me, there's nothing I can do to stop her. And it doesn't matter that it's just an illusion of helplessness. Because, no, I wouldn't want to stop her anyway, and yes, if I really needed to stop her I'd have my safeword ready, bound or not. But this isn't about objective truths. It's about how it makes me feel. And it makes me feel vulnerable in the best possible way.

I've heard people say that being bound makes them feel free, and I get where they are coming from. Usually when Mistress edges me or spanks me or torments me in any other of the myriad of gloriously awful ways she has at her disposal, it's a struggle for me to lie back and take it. Because as much as I want to suffer for her, I can't switch off the instinct that wants to escape from her cruelty. That wants to protect my smarting ass, wants to take off the clamps that hurt so much, wants to reach between my legs and get the relief she keeps denying me. Not that I'd do any of these things, but I have to actively choose not to. When I'm in bondage, that's a moot point.

If I'm helplessly bound, protecting myself isn't an option, and so I don't even have to think about it. I can fully immerse myself in my position at Mistress' mercy. Even when I pull at my bonds, it's just a way to work off the tension in the only way I have left instead of a genuine attempt to escape. When I'm bound, I'm free. Free to completely switch off my brain and simply exist, to do nothing but feel whatever Mistress wants me to feel.

Of course Mistress caught on to how much I love being put in bondage, and because she's the amazing person she is, she plays into it as best she can. Recently she even signed us up for a shibari workshop, so there's lots of fancy stuff to look forward to. But she already has the skills to make a rope bunny like me happy.

I still remember our first attempts with ropes. The fumbling, the frustration when things didn't work, or when they seemed to work only for me to stop the scene a minute later because some knot cut off my circulation after all. There were many times when we got in the mood, Mistress wanted to be nice and indulge me with some bondage, only to give up half an hour later because she just couldn't get it right. By this point the mood was often gone and we either switched to some cuddly couple time or maybe some non-kinky sex, depending on what we felt like.

But Mistress was a real trooper and didn't let these failures deter her. And I guess my less than gentle nudging also helped. She stuck to it, and while it took a long time for the fumbling to stop completely, she soon managed to reliably pull off what she was going for. By now she can do the classics like a hog tie or a frog tie in her sleep. The reverse prayer is still a work in progress, but admittedly that one's on me. Or rather on my shoulders. It's so pretty, but I still feel like my shoulders explode whenever I get into the position, let alone try to hold it for longer than a second.

And while it's mostly me pushing that stuff, Mistress clearly enjoys it as well. Enough that she keeps practicing on her own, so she can surprise me. Like a couple of weeks ago, when she started the day by putting me into an honest to God rope harness.

Of course it wasn't as fancy as most of the stuff you'd find online (though that should change after the course, fingers crossed!), but it held well enough that she made me wear it for a good part of the day before we got to the real action.

A good part of the day during which I got pretty much nothing done because I was so distracted.

Technically a rope harness isn't even bondage, at least not the way Mistress did it back then. It's more like an accessory. Or a very kinky kind of clothes. The ropes didn't restrict me, but they hugged my body and shifted over my skin with every little movement. Which made me very aware of just how much I was constantly moving around.

The peak cruelty was the crotch rope. I didn't think much of it when Mistress tied it, because she ran it over my panties and she didn't even really pull it taut. Just enough that it snugly sat there, but not so tight that it hurt. Hell, in the beginning I barely even felt it. But that quickly changed once I got moving.

Turns out, a crotch rope doesn't have to split you apart to become absolute torture. It's enough that you have something rubbing along your most sensitive spots with every breath you take, every move you make (sorry, couldn't resist; it just fit too well). I was already pretty horny to start with, and within an hour I was in heat. There's no other way to describe it.

Mistress has played around with various ways of passively teasing me throughout the day. Like butt plugs, or a little vibrator inside of me. None of them were nearly as effective as that one string of rope.

It didn't matter that I was protected by the cloth of my panties. My clit was hard and swollen from arousal, and the constant friction on it was absolutely devastating. At one point I had to take a break halfway up the stairs or I would have had an illicit orgasm. Even when I was sitting still, I could never sit still enough, and reducing the friction didn't even bring any relief. It just led to a different kind of torture because I was so sensitive that these tiny touches only reminded me of how good it would feel to get rubbed for real.

When Mistress finally freed me, my clit was on fire. The resulting orgasm was quick but painfully intense. And afterwards by pussy ached. Still, I needed that one so, so much. Mistress said that next time I'm a real bad girl, she might just make me wear that harness for an entire day and not let me get off in the end. I shiver just thinking about it.

Just like I shiver at her suggestion that we could also try out the more hardcore version. The one with no panties and the rope tight enough that it really cuts into my pussy. Not for long and not with me walking around so much, of course, but it would be crazy enough if I'm just lying on the bed, tied up so I can't free myself and with no chance to escape that splitting pain between my legs.

Or at least I assume that it's gonna be crazy painful. Maybe it's instead going to tease me even worse. Or itch so much that I can't help but shake in my bonds, making it even worse. Only time will tell. Because one thing's for sure: Sooner or later we're gonna try it out.

Maybe it will turn out to be too hardcore for me. But I hope it will fall in that Goldilocks zone of excruciating but still somewhat bearable if I put my mind to it. After all, Mistress always needs new punishments to keep me on my toes.

Humiliation

When I said that I don't like humiliation, I might have left out a little asterisk.

I stand with what I said: We don't do the classic humiliation shtick where Mistress belittles me or mocks me. If that's something that works for you, more power to you. It doesn't work for us. I like it much more to be excessively praised, and Mistress similarly only wants to build me up.

However.

There was one time we deliberately played around with my embarrassment. One time I'll never forget and that still makes me equally bashful and hot to think back on.

Back then I've had an uncharacteristically unruly phase. Usually I like the constraints Mistress' rules put around my actions, but no one can be one hundred percent of a good girl one hundred percent of the time. Or at least I can't. I didn't go against the holy trinities, of course, but I had fun rebelling against pretty much everything else. Like snatching snacks from Mistress' plate. Or getting bitey when she expects me to kiss her. Or even touching myself in plain sight, challenging her to do something about it.

And she did something about it. She came up with lots of fun punishment that left my ass and knees sore, among other things. But I didn't stop acting up because, well, because it was fun. Until one time, when Mistress was once again putting me over her knees, she let those fateful words slip: "Maybe you wouldn't be so cocky if all our friends could see you get your ass thrashed"

Still being in a bratty mood I challenged Mistress on that. Somehow one thing led to another, and after the punishment Mistress pulled me aside to ask if I was serious. If I'd really be ready to open our scenes up for an audience.

With my head a little clearer, the idea was pretty scary. Scary, but also weirdly hot. Like, my guts twisted themselves into a knot just thinking about it, but at the same time there was this tingle. This little jab of lust that hinted at more. By that point I'd been together with Mistress for a long time and had learned to listen to that tingle. Sometimes it leads me astray into ideas that end up not working for me, but more often than not it makes us try something out that we would have never considered otherwise and that then becomes a new staple because it's so amazing.

And so we did it.

Yes, I'm skipping a lot of steps here. Like vetting our list of friends to the ones who were either also into the BDSM lifestyle in some way, or had at least shown active interest in the matter when we came out to them. That process was a lot harder than one might think, because the last thing we wanted was to approach one of our friends with the offer, only to be met with an empty stare and a raised eyebrow. But at the same time we needed a sizable audience to make the fantasy a reality, and if we'd only stuck with the trivial choices, we'd have, like, five people at the very most.

It's a good thing Mistress did all the invitations, because I might have died from cringing so hard. And to her credit, she was crazy successful. From what she told me (and she couldn't have kept any real secrets since I would have heard the truth from our friends eventually) she didn't have anyone react badly. Even the (very few) ones who declined the offer didn't think badly of us, and so we ended up with a house party of fifteen people.

Let me tell you, my nerves were killing me that day. It's a good thing the scene was pretty much the first thing we did once everyone was there, because I wouldn't have known what to do with myself in the meantime. Not that it was any easier once things got going and I lay over Mistress' lap with my pants and panties pulled down so everyone could see my most intimate areas in all their naked glory.

Mistress gagged me for my punishment and I was so, so grateful for it. Yes, drooling in front of everyone only added to the humiliation, but it also meant that there was no expectation of me saying anything. Which was good, because I wouldn't have been able to get any words out anyway. Mistress, on the other hand, had zero stage fright. Her voice was loud and clear as she thanked everyone for being there to witness my punishment, and told them what a bad girl I'd been.

She chose our small leather paddle for my spanking. A choice we'd ruminated about quite a bit beforehand. We settled on that one because it looked impressive enough and seemed about right on the pain scale: Not the most vicious thing in the arsenal, but it stings quite a bit. Especially when used with no warm-up.

For the first couple of strikes the cheeks on my face burned a lot hotter than the cheeks on my butt. Usually I'm very vocal about my pain, but I swallowed my groans for as long as possible. I felt like I'd die of shame if all these people would hear me cry out.

Mistress proved me wrong on that.

It didn't matter how much I tried to keep it in. That paddle is a menace, and Mistress didn't show any mercy just because we had an audience. If anything, she was a lot more ruthless than normal.

Usually she warms me up slowly, intersperses the strikes with gentle strokes and playful banter. Here, though, she only had one focus and that was to carry out my punishment. She left just long enough a pause after every swat with the paddle that I could really appreciate the stinging pain spreading over my cheeks, before she set my ass on fire again.

Soon there was no staying silent anymore. Especially since my ass was still tender from some of the other spankings I'd earned myself before. I can still hear the sound of several people chuckling as I cried out for first time.

I'd thought I knew what it was like to feel vulnerable. Turned out, I had no idea. It's one thing to be helpless and vulnerable with Mistress. It's another thing entirely to be the same in front of so many others. I understand now why capital punishments tend to get carried out in public. They aren't just about the pain. If it had been strangers watching me as Mistress shattered my defenses, the shame would have scarred me for life.

Not that it was easy just because it was my friends watching. Especially when Mistress continued thrashing my poor ass until my screams turned into pitiful whimpers, and finally the first tears started flowing.

I wasn't just crying because it hurt so much (though it did!) but because of the sheer intensity of the situation. I couldn't bear to look at the others. They barely even said anything the entire time, but I could still feel their eyes drilling into me, taking in every detail of how I came undone.

As soon as the tears started, Mistress declared that I'd been punished enough. As she took out the gag she whispered into my ear to ask if I was okay and if I needed some time alone, or some time in private with her. I shook my head. While private cuddles sounded like the best thing ever, I didn't want to make our friends worry about me. So I put on a brave face, wiped my eyes, and thanked Mistress for my punishment like a good girl. Well, like a good girl with a voice so cracked that she was barely intelligible.

I have no idea how I made it through the following hour or two. We had snacks with everyone, and people kept congratulating me on how brave I'd been. After hearing it enough times I even started to believe it. Because I'd certainly felt everything but brave when I'd lain before them teary-eyed with my reddened ass smarting like hell. But they were right: It didn't matter that I had cried. What mattered was that I'd agreed to the whole thing in the first place and went through with it despite my fears, even when it got tough.

I was still so glad when we were alone again and I could curl up into a little ball in Mistress' arms. I told her that while I did have fun, I never wanted to do anything like this ever again.

Time heals all wounds, though. The more time passes since then, the more my memories downplay the intensity of my emotions and focus on how hot it is that so many people saw me in such a vulnerable state. Especially since said people were so supportive about it. So let's see. As of now, I take it back that I never want to do such a thing ever again. Maybe we'll have a repeat when I have another bad girl phase. Maybe.

And to be fair, it would be kind of a waste if we went through all the effort of vetting and inviting people and never used that guest list again.

Trust

It goes without saying that I trust Mistress completely.

I trust her to only have the best intentions, to respect my limits and to be there for me whenever and in whatever way I need her to. And over all the years she has never broken this trust. Of course there were issues at times, things not working out, emotional breakdowns that went out of control, but no one can be expected to be perfect, even with the best of intentions. What matters is that I trust Mistress to never hurt me intentionally (except in the fun ways I want to be hurt) and to always act in my interest.

But that isn't the trust I want to talk about here. Not because it isn't important. It is. My trust in Mistress is what makes it all possible. I could never be this vulnerable with her if I wasn't certain that she'll treat me with the care I need. But my trust in Mistress is something I don't even think about anymore. It's automatic. Because Mistress is worthy of my trust. Because she's an awesome person and the best Mistress any sub could ever wish for.

What I want to talk about is Mistress' trust in me.

It sounds so obvious that trust needs to go both ways, and yet it is such a big thing for me. Because while Mistress is so naturally strong and in control, I'm just... well, me. I know I'm dangerously close to talking myself down here, but I'm not. It's just that my own flaws are so painfully obvious to me, and so it means a lot that someone puts their trust in me anyway. And it makes me want to live up to these expectations, to prove that the trust was well placed.

The main way I do this on a daily basis is to follow Mistress' rules for me religiously. Not all the minor ones necessarily, but the holy trinities are non-negotiable, as they aren't some arbitrary acts of domination. They are there to make me a better person, to make sure I treat myself and our relationship with the respect they deserve.

Of course Mistress isn't constantly there to monitor me upholding the rules, but that's where the trust comes in. She trusts in me to do my best even when I'm on my own. And I honor this trust by being completely honest with her about every little failure. It would be trivial to sweep some minor slip-ups under the rug, and even some major ones, but doing so would spit in the face of everything Mistress has ever done for me. And even if she'd never know, I would know that I betrayed her trust and I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

Sometimes Mistress teases me about how ridiculously meticulous I am about this. How during our Good Girl Reports each Saturday I keep pointing out the tiniest infractions and demand to be punished for every single one of them. And sure, maybe I go a little overboard at times, but I don't care. I need to keep proving to both Mistress and myself that I'm deserving of her trust. Even if it leads to me going through many more punishments than I otherwise would.

Speaking of which...

Punishments

I already talked a bit about the fun punishments. The ones that aren't actually punishments but rather pretenses for us to live out our kinky inclinations. They have their own sections, because Mistress has far too many ways to make me squirm to talk about them all in a single breath. What I want to talk about here is the other kind of punishments. The ones I earn by breaking the important rules. The ones that aren't supposed to be fun, but to teach me to do better.

Mistress is a firm believer that the punishment should fit the crime. So for example when I talked myself down, she makes me wear the panel gag, the one I hate because it gives zero oral satisfaction, and she only takes it off once I've written "I must not speak badly about myself" a hundred times. Or even more times, depending on what I said exactly or how often it happened that week. But I tell you, even a hundred times is plenty already. That can easily take me half an hour, because the lines only count if I write them as nicely as I can. Half an hour of me cowering on the hard floor naked and on all fours as I struggle not to make any mistake that would force me to start the current page all over again. There's a reason I got so much better with not talking myself down.

There's been quite a few memorable punishments over time. And I guess technically some of them broke the "not supposed to be fun" rule, but that one's more of a guideline anyway. As long as the punishment does its job, it doesn't hurt anyone if there's a bit of fun involved. Especially when that fun comes at my expense.

Like that one time I loudly complained about my body. I'd been pretty frustrated about myself for other reasons at the time, then my period came along to make me feel even more like shit, and somehow it all culminated in me lamenting that I can't compare to Mistress or many of our other friends who are so effortlessly pretty and sexy.

Of course Mistress wouldn't have any of that. On Saturday I was over my period again, and so she was free to add a little twist to my punishment. She stuck one of our bigger dildos to a chair, made me sit down on it, placed pen and paper before me and told me that I could only get up again once I'd written an entire essay about how beautiful and sexy I am. "And if reading that thing doesn't make me want to absolutely ravage you, I'll get an even bigger dildo and you'll have to try again, so give it your all," she told me.

Mistress still has the essay in a drawer. She sometimes gets it out and makes me read it to her when she feels that I need a refresher on that lesson. It makes my cheeks burn every single time. I can barely believe I wrote half the stuff that's in there, but to be fair, I wasn't exactly sound of mind when I wrote it. Having my pussy stuffed full is pretty distracting, especially when I keep fucking myself every time I move even just the tiniest bit. And I couldn't mentally block it out either, because the essay forced me to keep my mind in the gutter, to pen the naughtiest sales pitch for myself.

It also didn't help how when I was about halfway through, Mistress made me stand up and lick the dildo clean before sitting down on it again. She said that should be a great source of inspiration for my writing. And it certainly was. My mouth watered just from seeing how wet I'd made the thing, and the way my taste lingered on my tongue during the second half certainly helped to keep me focused on my own sexiness. As did that thrilling ache in my pussy from having it stuffed for so long.

There are entire paragraphs in that essay which made perfect sense at the time, when in reality they are just a jumbled mess of half-finished sentences. The later half especially reads like the ramblings of a madwoman. A very, very horny madwoman. Several times I offered Mistress to write a new one, one that is up to par with my writing skills, but she refused. She says she enjoys the unfiltered honesty in that one, the raw emotions that bleed through the writing. It might not get a passing grade from an English teacher (though it would get a very pointedly worded notice about its content), but to her the essay is perfect the way it is.

And hey, the punishment did its job. Writing that essay left me so horny, when Mistress asked me if I wanted to prove my sexiness with acts instead of just words, I immediately took her up on it. Because yes, I totally hit the mark: Reading that thing made her want to ravage me. And she did. And it was great. Because I'm sexy, and I won't forget it again.

Kissing

To no one's surprise, I'm the biggest sucker for kissing.

I could kiss Mistress all day every day. And since kissing is one of the socially acceptable ways of showing affection, that's pretty much what I do.

Maybe I'm stretching the "socially acceptable" part a little, because we're definitely earning some raised eyebrows when we keep making out like horny teenagers, but whatever. That's a small price to pay for the privilege of tasting Mistress' lips. If someone gave me the choice that I either couldn't kiss Mistress anymore or that I'd have to give up sex forever, then honestly I'd sacrifice the sex. I'm that addicted to her. And Mistress knows it.

And like every one of my weaknesses, she finds fun ways of using it against me.

Now Mistress would never deny me her love. We both agree that a punishment of the kind "I'm not allowed to show or receive any affection from Mistress" would be absolutely awful and go against everything our relationship is about. But we both love it when Mistress denies me in other, more active ways.

Sometimes when Mistress feels devious she orders me to part my lips but not kiss her back no matter what she does. And then she teases me.

First she moves in so that her lips just barely graze against mine, hinting at a kiss but not delivering on the promise. And once I'm getting antsy, she makes it so much worse with her tongue.

I love myself a good tongue wrestling, but that's not what this is about. Mistress just traces along my lips with the very tip of her tongue. I have no idea why this specific technique drives me so crazy, but it does. At times I feel like it's a worse torment than when Mistress edges my pussy.

It's so cruel to constantly tease me with this almost-kissing but never following up on it or giving me a chance to reciprocate. Her tongue gets my lips just wet enough that it leaves this thrilling tingle when her breath makes the air play over them. And like with everything she does, she's awfully meticulous. She never stops before she's teased every little corner of my lips several times over and I'm absolutely shaking with need.

The absolute worst is when she laps at the arch of my upper lip. Maybe because this puts her tongue into the perfect position for me to close the gap and trap it in my mouth if only I was allowed to. Maybe it's because I subconsciously associate these little tongue flicks at the top of my mouth to the sexy torture she likes putting my clit through. Or maybe this part of my lips is just especially sensitive. Either way, when Mistress does that to me, it never takes long until I'm whimpering. Which of course only makes her go on for even longer.

Sometimes when she's feeling especially feisty, Mistress pulls on my lower lip with her teeth. She doesn't bite down hard enough that it actually hurts, but the contrast of her gentlest of licks to this much rougher, almost carnal assault always gets me. Or she puts a finger into my mouth and forbids me from sucking on it or even licking it. And then she tickles my tongue or the top of my mouth. I didn't even know these things were ticklish, but by God they are, and it's absolutely awful. Especially since it comes with the additional frustration of knowing how satisfying it would be to just close my mouth and suck on her finger.

I get so ridiculously wet in these sessions, which only gives Mistress another weapon. She'd slide her hand into my panties, collect some of my juices on her fingers, and then run them over my lips, coating them in a thin sheen of my arousal but not allowing me the pleasure of my own taste. It's the ultimate tease. The sweet smell tickles my nose, my lips tingle, and it would be so, so easy to just lick them clean. But I'm not allowed to. I have to stand there and let Mistress do it herself, agonizingly slowly, one tiny lap at a time.

It's such a simple thing, and yet I'm always a shivering horny mess afterwards. Sometimes Mistress is nice and rewards my patience with a deep, long make-out session that's all the more satisfying for all the built-up. Sometimes she's cruel and makes me beg for it first, or even tells me that if I want a real kiss now, I'll have to forfeit my right to an orgasm for that day and beg her to edge me until I'm delirious with need. She knows that I'd do literally anything to taste her lips for real, and therefore she can ask for whatever she wants in return. She's unfair like that.

And I wouldn't have her any other way.

Begging

Since I just mentioned it: Mistress loves, loves, loooves making me beg.

Not just in the metaphorical sense that she likes to make me so desperate for relief that I feel like I can't take it anymore. Yes, Mistress loves seeing me squirm. But much more than that she loves it when the despair breaks out in an unrestrained stream of heartfelt pleas.

I've long since stopped feeling embarrassed about how pitiful a display I am when I get lost in an endless litany of "Please, please, oh god, please!" In a way it's almost meditative. It gives my mind something to do. Even when I don't expect Mistress to show mercy, the mere act of begging for it already helps to make her cruelty a little easier to bear.

Unless she turns it around on me.

To Mistress, the hottest thing about being in control is the mental aspect. She might enjoy the act of spanking me, for example, but the pain she causes is just a catalyst, not the main goal. What really gets her going is seeing how I struggle to stay in position, how I try to hold the pain in until it gets too much and I can't help crying out loud anymore. Mistress gets off on messing with my mind at least as much as she does messing with my body. And one of her favorite ways to really fuck with my mind is to make me beg for her cruelty.

The worst (or maybe the best) part is how she's never too overt about it. She doesn't blatantly tell me to beg for a spanking, for example. There would be no fun in that. No, she likes to maneuver me into a position where I really mean it when I beg her to do nasty things to me.

Like with her kissing tease. She gets me to a point where I'd do literally anything for the privilege of kissing her, where I'm already begging for it, and then she tells me that she'll only indulge me if I let her edge me out of her mind. I know that I'm so gonna regret it later, but I still beg for her sweet torture because I just crave that kiss so much.

Or she'll put me into a spot where I just can't win. There've been so many times where she worked me into a horny frenzy, my clit screaming with every touch as she keeps teasing me without mercy, and we have a conversation that goes something like this:

"Oh god, please, please!"

"Please what?"

"Please let me come, Mistress! I need it so much."

"Do you want to be my good girl?"

"Yes, I want to be your good girl, Mistress."

"And you are. You're my very best girl. And I love playing with my best girl. Do you also love it when I play with you?"

"Yes. I love it so much. But please..."

"If you love it so much, then beg for more. I want to hear how much my best girl wants me to enjoy her."

"Oh god, Mistress, please..."

"Please what?"

And then, with my eyes already watering from all the tension and the frustration, with my oversensitive pussy burning under her cruel fingers, I'd beg her "Please, Mistress, keep playing with me. Please tease me as long as you want."

Those aren't empty words, either. I truly want her to enjoy me, want to be her best girl. And no matter how bad it gets, I actually want this sweet torture to continue, because there's nothing more intimate than having Mistress pick my soul apart until I'm nothing but a quivering bundle of need.

Which doesn't make it any easier to ask for it, though.

And often enough Mistress isn't satisfied until I surrender completely. She doesn't just make me beg for more, she makes me beg for every little addition to my suffering, simply by musing about how much she'd like to see me go through it.

"Your clit is so big and swollen. It would be so fun to flick it with my tongue a bit." (Clit flicks are the absolute worst. They are sharp jabs of pure intensity that somehow manage to pack all the frustration with basically no pleasure to go with it.)

"Then please do it, Mistress. Have fun with me. Please flick my clit as much as you want."

"Are you sure you want that? You're so sensitive already. It would be absolutely awful for you."

"Yes, Mistress. Please let me prove that I'm your good girl. Please don't hold back. Oh god, please!"

"Such a brave girl you are."

And it would go like this every step of the way. She might make me beg for the vibrator (which becomes a tool of pure, screaming torture after I've been teased for so long) or for a pussy spanking (stings like a bitch even if she only uses her hand) or any other kind of torment. When she's really evil she'll end it by making me beg to deny her, to not let me have any relief from that terrible need. To make me go about the rest of my day with my pussy aching in despair. And of course I do it. Because there's nothing in the world I want more than to be her good girl.

Of course in those times I get lots and lots of praise and cuddles to tide me over. Praise, cuddles and kisses. Because good girls deserve all the affection. And even if I can get this affection anytime I want, the intimacy feels so much sweeter when I've really earned it.

Clamps

I love clamps for how versatile they are. Far too many people use them only for the nipples and leave so much potential on the table.

Now don't get me wrong, clamps and nipples are a match made in heaven. A naughty version of heaven, but still. I don't know what it is, but something about having my nipples pinched gives me just the perfect kind of ouchies.

In the beginning Mistress bought a couple of different nipple clamps from various sex shops, but we soon defaulted to the basic wooden clothes pegs. The commercial clamps might look fancy, but in reality they are overdesigned and honestly not all that impressive. They've got nothing on that sharp pinch of hard wood.

Except for the metal clover clamps, of course. Those things are a menace and they only come out when Mistress really wants to make a point. The first time she put them on I thought I'd piss myself. It felt like they literally crushed my nipples between their jaws. And that was before Mistress pulled on them, demonstrating that this only makes them bite down even harder. It doesn't matter how cocky I've been before, a few minutes with the clover clamps have me down on my knees and promising to be a good girl.

Of course the normal wooden clamps can leave an impression as well if used right. Putting them on is already quite spicy, and I think it's common knowledge that they hurt the most coming off. The initial pinch is like a little electric shock, wearing them brings a throbbing ache that gets worse and worse over time, but taking them off floods my breasts with pain as the blood rushes back into my nipples.

It's likely not safe to wear them for extended amounts of time, but that's okay because Mistress has a workaround that is somehow even more cruel. She'll make me wear the clamps for ten minutes or so before taking them off and giving me five minutes or so to recover. Then they come back on. Rinse and repeat until the mere sight of these things makes me shiver.

In the beginning it's still bearable, but every single iteration makes things exponentially worse. I can take the clamps pretty well, but wearing them makes my nipples all raw and tender.

Imagine getting pinched. Not so bad, now is it? But now imagine being pinched so hard it leaves a bruise. And then you're pinched right on that same bruise. Again and again.

Now the clamps don't actually bruise my nipples, but soon enough it feels like they do. It takes so much willpower to present my burning nipples to Mistress so she can crush them once more. Because of course she makes me complicit in my own suffering. If she doesn't make me beg for the clamps outright.

But as I said, the nipples are just the tip of the iceberg. Two soft and round icebergs, in this case.

Sorry, I'll see myself out.

Anyway. We quickly found out that clamps are fun pretty much no matter where you apply them. They might even hurt worse when they just dig into the skin somewhere. Or at least it's a different kind of pain, sharper and hotter than the dull throb they cause on the nipples.

Mistress likes to take her time and decorate me. A ring of clamps on each breast surrounding the nipple. A line down each of my sides. Another one along each of my inner thighs (you wouldn't believe how badly that stings if you haven't tried it out). When she's especially evil she even adds some to my pussy lips.

It's the weirdest kind of torment. On the one hand the constant burning and pinching all over my body makes me itch to reach for all those aching parts of me to soothe the skin. But at the same time I'm compelled to hold perfectly still because every tiny movement makes the clamps shake, which makes the pain so much worse. Often enough I thought that it wasn't all that bad, until I moved and was reminded that, yes, it actually was that bad.

Mistress loves using this against me. When she's feeling especially sadistic, she tells me to jump with the clamps on. That jump is already evil enough with just the nipple clamps. The shock of the impact makes them tug in the most painful way. It brings back the sharp stab from putting them on, in addition to the ache they already cause. And when I'm all decorated, that pain is multiplied by a hundred.

My eyes never stay dry when Mistress makes me jump. I don't know what it's like to fall into a wasp nest, but I imagine it has to feel pretty much the same. And the most insidious thing is that it's not just a single jab of pain. That tug from the clamps leaves the skin irritated, making the ache even worse, as well as the pain when they are finally taken off.

Speaking of which, I cannot say what is worse: When Mistress plucks the clamps from my skin one by one, or when she threads a thin rope through them all so she can tear them off in a single swoop. Both ways are pure hell in their own right.

Taking them off one by one is the most maddening kind of torture. One sting after the other, each followed by a wave of hot, itching pain. And Mistress doesn't even try to be gentle. She'll tug at the clamps, maybe even twist them a little as she takes them off, to really make me feel each and every one of them. Usually I'm shaking before she's even halfway done, and by the end of it I'm a total mess.

But as bad as it is to suffer like this forever, the pain is nothing compared to when Mistress rips them all off at once.

There's no describing how much that hurts. It's like a red flash exploding in my mind. For a few seconds I'm blind and deaf. There's nothing but the pain and the question how I'm supposed to take it. It's simply too much, and it's everywhere at once. There might be more tears in total when Mistress takes each clamp off individually, but the screaming is so much louder when she goes for the quick finish.

So, yeah, clamps can be the source of absolutely ridiculous amounts of pain. And it is pretty fun to see the lines of tiny bruises afterwards. But we still haven't covered the most playful way Mistress likes to use the clamps. When I've been a little too cocky with my words (or sometimes just because she feels like it) she'll take one of them and clamp it right on my tongue.

That also hurts a bit, but mostly it just makes me totally ridiculous. It's not a gag in any shape or form, and yet it makes it so I can only speak in a slurred mumbling that's barely understandable and makes us both laugh from how silly I sound. It's fascinating that such a small bit of wood can have so much effect. And it also makes me drool pretty much immediately, taking even more of my dignity away.

As I said: One of the most versatile toys at our disposal. And they aren't even dedicated sex toys but things you find in pretty much every household. Really makes you think if there might be some other tools of everyday life that have some kinky potential only waiting to be discovered.

Wet

My constant state of being. It's kinda crazy that Mistress has managed to change a physical, objective attribute of my body, but she did.

Of course I became wet before Mistress took control of me and especially of my orgasms, but only when I was aroused, and it was never a big deal to me. Or a little deal, even. It was just a normal aspect of how my body works that I didn't have much of an opinion on because, well, it was completely normal and didn't affect me much one way or the other.

How things have changed.

Mistress' habit to tease me pretty much constantly but only grant me release occasionally has conditioned my body to a state where the arousal never fully goes away. I might not be actively horny all the time, but there's always this shadow of a warm, fuzzy haze at the back of my mind. I already wrote at length about the mental and emotional effects Mistress' teasing has on me, but this here is about the physical component. Because this lingering reminder that I belong to her makes me wet.

Pretty much all the time.

Of course I'm not gushing 24/7. If I was constantly as drenched as I am when Mistress has a go at me, I would have died of dehydration a long time ago. But even when I'm just going about my day normally, there's always this little bit of slickness. Every step makes my folds smoothly glide against each other. Not much, just enough to be the tiniest bit distracting and remind me that my body wouldn't mind going into full horny mode. I guess that effect would be far less pronounced if I hated this sensation, but I don't. Just the opposite, really.

Being wet makes me feel sexy. It's not just that I have constant proof of the control Mistress has over me and my body. There's also this ingrained societal understanding that it's the promiscuous, sex-driven girls who are always dripping between their legs.

I know that this is bullshit. A previous girlfriend of mine had a much higher sex drive than me (which is actually why our relationship didn't work out in the end, which is pretty hilarious in hindsight). She always had problems getting wet, though. She struggled pretty hard with having to use lube every time I penetrated her with a dildo or even just my fingers. It made her feel inadequate, as if her sex drive was just a sham.

Of course she knew that this wasn't the case and that she just happened to have an uncooperative body, but these things sit deep in all of us, and I'm no exception. At least in my case I can get something nice out of this deep-rooted prejudice.

Speaking about lube, though, I've pretty much become a dispenser for that stuff. It's hard to do a comparison so long after the fact, but I'm sure that Mistress' games haven't just changed the amount of my produced wetness, but also its quality. It feels so much thicker now than I remember it to be, sticky and slick at the same time, forming long strands whenever someone touches it. It works so well as a lube that Mistress has completely stopped using any for me when it comes to vaginal penetration. When she wants to pound me for a long time or with an especially thick dildo, she simply teases me even more beforehand to make sure I'm sufficiently dripping.

If she doesn't outright use me as a lube dispenser.

I'm not into objectification, but this is something I can get behind. Sometimes, when Mistress wants me to fuck her, she'll first slide the dildo or the strap-on into me a couple of times to get it nice and wet so it's ready for her. Which has the nice side effect that it leaves my pussy aching in sympathy when I fuck her. And it always ends with Mistress making me suck the dildo clean so I can get the full experience of our tastes coming together.

Because there's a hell of a difference. It's kinda crazy, actually, how different individual bodies can be in that aspect. Mistress' juices are light and a bit sweetly, while my own taste is much stronger in a somewhat earthy way. Again, it's possible that my taste changed since being horny became my default state, but I wouldn't know. I didn't do any experiments back then (too much ill-placed embarrassment that I needed Mistress to throw out) and I guess it would take several weeks of nothing sexy at all going on to reset my body, which certainly isn't going to happen.

And why should we bother in the first place? I love being constantly wet and ready for Mistress, and I definitely love my own taste. I love how it clings to my tongue and doesn't let go. I love how these sticky strands glisten between my fingers. And I especially love how it makes Mistress love to watch me even more. After all, the best parts of being sexy only come out when you have someone to be sexy for.

Oh, and just to make it clear: That lube dispenser thing is only for vaginal sex. We did a little experiment with anal one single time, just to confirm that, no, it really wouldn't be a good idea to try that for real. As awesome as my body is, it can't quite compete with the wonders of science.

Seduction

Another one of the fun things I thought only happened to other people. Before I got together with Mistress, I'd never properly seduced someone or been seduced in turn.

Now, I've been with a couple of girlfriends, and of course we've tended to drop some very unsubtle hints when we wanted to get naughty with each other, but that's something different. Or at least it feels different. When I hear the word seduction, I think of a hot gaze as the clothes slip to show off just enough to entice while still withholding what I really want. Of a conversations where our faces get closer and closer, until I can almost feel those lips on my face. Or I might imagine seeing a hot girl sitting across me on the train. She notices that I've noticed her and starts playing with her lips, acting aloof but periodically shooting me an amused glance because she knows how much she turns me on but she's not going to do anything more unless I take the first step.

To me, seduction is something playful and deliberate. It isn't my girlfriend proposing to have sex. It's her low-key turning me on over the course of the day until I can't take it anymore and I end up initiating things. Or it might just be her acting like a little tease out in public when I can't do anything about it. Maybe this is just another facet of my submissive side: I like it when my partner has power over me, and what better way to demonstrate that power than to turn me on at will?

It's a game Mistress has become frighteningly good in. She's learned how to make me cream my panties with nothing but a gaze and a lip bite. Or we might just innocently sit together eating lunch when I'd suddenly feel her foot climbing up my legs, only to disappear again before it can get anywhere real naughty, leaving me flustered.

Or she gets even more hands-on.

Mistress loves to briefly hug me whenever we happen to pass each other. Sometimes she just gives me a kiss before we're on our separate ways again, but often enough she leans in to instead lick along my neck. Maybe nibble on my earlobe. A little spike of intimacy, followed by her moving on as if she didn't realize what it does to me. And she has perfected the art of hugging to the point that she can leave me breathless from that alone. As per the rules I wear barely anything at home, and so her hands have free reign to run over my skin. She can grab my tummy in a way that makes her fingers end up dangerously close to both my crotch and my breasts, and then she moves them around just enough to suggest something more, only to leave me hanging.

But it's not just me who gets her regular doses of seduction. Ever since Mistress has made me comfortable with my sexy side, I have so much fun acting like a little slut for her entertainment. You know, bending extra deep when I pick something up to give Mistress a perfect view of the goods. Deliberately letting a bit of water spill from my lips when I drink, so it drips down my chin onto my breasts. Or licking my fingers clean in a real suggestive way when we have dessert.

Now I'm the first to admit that it's pretty much a coin flip if these little games of mine arouse Mistress or just amuse her. I might be sexy, but I'm also exceedingly silly, and more often than not I have too much fun playing the tease and completely overplay it. You can only suck on a pen so much before it becomes ridiculous. Which is to say nothing of the times my basic clumsiness gets in the way. Dripping a bit of water onto my breasts can look pretty hot. Accidentally drenching myself because I tilted the bottle too much and shocked myself with the amount of water sloshing into my face is slapstick comedy.

But no matter how successful these attempts at seduction are (though I'd argue that making us both laugh is as much of a success as getting us both horny), I love how both our little teases throughout the day make our daily life so much more fun and sexy. Especially since most of them don't lead to anything.

That's the beauty of it: Mistress and me aren't just inappropriate with each other when we want to have sex. Being inappropriate is our baseline. A baseline we have to be very careful not to fall back on too hard when we're out in public. We might not have sex every day, but barely a day passes where we don't seduce each other a little bit, just for the hell of it. It's like a game. A game where we constantly remind us how much we want each other.

Admittedly also a game I have a distinct disadvantage at because Mistress has a much easier time using my baseline arousal against me and leaving me achingly needy as I continue with my day, but that's fair enough. It wouldn't be a proper power imbalance if Mistress didn't have the upper hand.

And also, I have my own ways of driving her crazy with my body...

Performing

Dominating me can get pretty exhausting. Sometimes Mistress just wants to lean back and enjoy the show. That's when she tells me to "perform" for her.

My performances are the logical conclusion of Mistress unlocking my sexy side. I basically turn into Mistress' private porn program, celebrating my body for her pleasure. And mine as well, of course.

These opportunities to let out my inner slut are great fun, not least because during them I'm allowed to do all the things I'm usually denied, as long as I do them for Mistress' viewing pleasure and I don't break any of the holy trinity rules in the process. For example I'm not just allowed to touch myself, I'm actively encouraged to do so. Mistress loves watching me finger myself. Most of all, of course, she loves telling me no when I beg her to let me come.

I already wrote of my struggles to hold myself back when I touch myself, but they aren't as much of a problem when Mistress is there with me. It's just as hard to hold myself on the edge when my body craves the climax with every fiber of its being, and its just as frustrating to stop and leave my pussy throbbing in frustration, but seeing Mistress' eyes shine as she takes in my suffering is so wonderfully affirming. It shows me that my struggles mean something, that my discomfort directly fuels Mistress' pleasure. It might be hard to be a good girl on my own, but I've trained my body and mind to crave nothing more than to be a good girl for Mistress, and her presence pushes me to do my very best.

During these performances I can also use all our toys as I please. I can attach one of our dildos to the floor and kneel over it, spear myself on it, my moans muffled by my favorite ball gag. The black rubber one that's big enough to keep my mouth open, but small enough that I can properly suck on it. The one on the strap that can double as a necklace, so every time I let it slide out of my mouth it doubles as a sexy accessory. Doing so of course makes me drool all over myself like the dirty girl I am.

I love fully leaning into the naughtiness. I suck my fingers right before Mistress' eyes until they are nice and wet, and then I grope my breasts with them, all the while riding that dildo. It's so fun to see Mistress stare at me with her lips slightly parted as she can't hide her own arousal when I moan unabashedly for her as I play with myself.

I don't need any toys to entertain the both of us, though. Sometimes I simply sit before her, my legs spread wide so she has a perfect view of how I'm touching my drenched pussy. I go a lot slower at those times, celebrating the act, taking frequent breaks to taste myself. And when I've arrived at the edge after an eternity of gentle ministrations, I stop myself by slapping my pussy with the palm of my hand. It's such a delicious mind fuck to spank myself, and it never fails to drive Mistress absolutely crazy.

Other times she tells me outright that she wants to see me torture myself. She might hand me the flogger and tell me to whip my ass as best I can. Turns out, it's not so easy to hit one's own ass with a flogger. Turns also out, the best way to do it is also the most humiliating way, and the one most likely to include some painful slip-ups. I'd lie down on my back, lift my feet up and pull them back towards my head, my legs spread wide so that my hips rise up and both my pussy and ass are presented to Mistress. Then I spank myself by swinging the flogger between my legs.

I can tell you, doing that hurts so much more than when Mistress uses the flogger on me.

For once, I cannot target my cheeks well in that strained position, and so all strikes land on the sensitive gap between them. Except, of course, for the strikes that ended up not having enough reach, so that some of the straps slap against my pussy. At the end of such a performance it's pretty much a coin flip which side of me hurts more.

Another fun way to suffer for Mistress' viewing pleasure is to attach clamps to my nipples and a couple other strategic spots on my skin and then do a sexy dance for her. It's a nice challenge to try and keep the seductive expression and the smooth motions going as long as possible.

Of course Mistress always makes me go on until I can't bite back the pain anymore. She likes seeing me succeed at things, but she likes it so much more to see the pain in my eyes as I struggle to continue, hear me beg to be allowed to take the clamps off again.

Looking back, it's absolutely crazy to see how far I've come. Before my time with Mistress, I wouldn't have believed that I'd have it in me to turn into such a confident, unabashedly sexy girl. The thought would have scared and aroused me in equal measures. Just goes to show how good Mistress is in bringing out the very best in me. It's unbelievable how much she has corrupted me over the years, and I'm so here for it.

And one thing is clear: I'm never going back. Even if (God forbid) something happens and I have to find a new girlfriend, I'll hold on to this naughty side of mine. And as much as I'm a submissive at heart, sometimes I amuse myself imagining how I'd approach the cutest shyest girl around and seduce her so hard that she won't know what hit her, make her feel like her deepest, darkest fantasies suddenly became reality. It would be so fun to break through her embarrassment with the sheer brute force of my weaponized sex appeal until she's as corrupted as I am.

But of course that's all just silly daydreams. I never want to leave Mistress, and nothing would make me happier than getting to perform for her for the rest of my life.

Unless, of course, we just so happen to find a cute shy girl who wants to be corrupted by the two of us. That would be fun. Not likely, admittedly, but, well, a girl can dream.

Dirty

I'm a dirty girl. Always have been, always will be.

When my parents watched little me roll around in the mud and put everything into her mouth, they figured it was just a phase I'd grow out of. Nope, that's just the way I am.

Okay, I've become a little more sensible. For example, I would never bite into the handrails of public transport today (seriously, how do small children not have every sickness in the book?) Obvious examples of self preservation aside, though, I'm still pretty much the least squeamish person I know.

I already wrote at length about how much I love licking things, sucking on things, having things in my mouth, and all that good stuff, but that's not the only way I still embrace the dirty girl inside of me.

Sadly we don't have a garden of our own (or maybe that's a good thing, because I'd for sure get us into awkward situations by forgetting that we have neighbors who can see everything), but there's this forest lake relatively nearby that we visit several times each summer. It's one of those hidden gems where we're usually on our own because it's a bit out of the way and there's another lake nearby. A bigger one that even has its own parking lot. Admittedly this other lake is also significantly easier to swim in without getting tangled in seaweed, but the privacy of our spot is well worth it.

I've heard people complain that sex in nature isn't as romantic as it's made out to be, because they get poked in the back by roots and bitten by ants and what have you and they realize that nature isn't as pristinely clean as a bed sheet. Well, first of all: Use your eyes and your common sense before choosing your spot. Don't get down next to an ant hill right under a tree. But also: Yes, nature is pretty messy. When we roll around on the ground after going for a swim, we end up with dirt sticking to us all over our and with our hair tangled and full of plant parts. That's a feature, not a bug.

Except for the actual bugs. Those exist as well. But they're completely harmless and can be simply snipped away. Once again, I'm not squeamish, and thankfully nether is Mistress.

I only realized how much I missed this feeling of getting dirty after we happened to play around a bit during our first visit to that lake. I was a lot more careful back then, having learned that most people aren't as easygoing about getting dirty as I am. The reactions of my previous girlfriends to the suggestion "Hey, let's have sex in the mud" would have ranged somewhere between "You're joking, right?" and "How about no?" And I don't blame them. Wanting to stay clean is perfectly normal. But that only makes it so much better that Mistress is the same kind of crazy as I am.

I never knew I needed a girlfriend who paints muddy hearts around my nipples until I found her. Or who can have a laugh burying me under a pile of foliage. Or who makes me run through the woods naked.

Side note on that: Only run through the woods naked if you're a masochist and if you see where you're stepping so you can avoid stumping your toes. And even then, it's going to hurt.

Funnily enough it's not the fallen tree needles that are the problem. To the uninitiated they might look scary and painful with how they cover the ground like a blanket made of a million spikes, but they're actually perfectly nice and soft. The much bigger problem are the little stones and the sharp twigs hidden beneath them. Most of them you only notice when you're already stepping on them, but believe me, at that point you really do notice them.

Also, it's impossible to break through even the softest looking bushes without coming out the other end with a couple of minor scratches. I wouldn't go so far as to say that nature is intrinsically hostile, but it does love to remind you that humans have evolved to need clothes and houses and all that stuff.

Now that I think about it, nature can be absolutely hostile if it wants to be. I'll never forget that one time Mistress chased me through some tall grass and I didn't see that one nettle until it had already hit me right between the legs. It's a good thing we were alone in the woods, because my scream would have alarmed everyone in a one kilometer radius. That sting was something else, and you need to experience the special kind of misery that is a nettle rash on your pussy to understand what I was going through for the next day or two. Suffice it to say, my steps were very deliberate during that time.

Then again, it's not like it was worse than some of the things Mistress has done to me on purpose over the years, and it hasn't put me off running naked through nature. If anything, it has shown both of us that there might be some as of yet unexplored opportunities for us. I equally fear and look forward to the day Mistress points at a batch of nettles and tells me to run through it. Knowing us, it's only a matter of time.

Or until we find a like-minded kinky girl and recruit her for a proper naked mud wrestling. Mistress and me had a couple of play fights already, but while she's about eighty percent as much of a dirty girl as I am, she doesn't go all the way. And also, it would be so much more befitting a Mistress to watch while two subs completely mess each other up for her amusement.

Maybe Mistress even has an eye on a candidate already. She's much better connected to the scene than I am, and she dropped a couple of subtle hints lately, so who knows, maybe it's not so long until I get to fulfill that particular dream of mine.

Dares

Since it kinda came up at the end there: Mistress loves daring me to do crazy or painful things (or both). Sometimes as a test of my submission and willpower, sometimes just because it amuses her. Asking me to run naked and barefoot through nettles would be so on brand for her. Especially since her best (or should I say worst?) ideas for these dares tend to come when we're outside.

As I said, we both don't want to risk any public play, but with how much we love hiking through nature, it happens frequently that we're outside in a situation where we know that no one is around for far enough that we can do pretty much whatever we want.

Like last winter when we took a long walk through the forest that was covered with a foot of snow. While snow itself isn't that rare around here, such an amount of it is, and so there was no way we wouldn't head out and enjoy the beauty of it. But as beautiful as a snowy winter's day is, it's also fucking freezing, and I might have been a bit too optimistic thinking that a simple jacket over my shirt would keep me warm. I'm not one to get cold easily, but after an hour or two it was getting to me. Visibly so. My nipples were so hard, Mistress felt it through the jacket.

(I could try and explain why Mistress was fondling my breasts on our romantic snow walk, but seriously, why would that even need a justification?)

Of course once Mistress noticed, she wouldn't let it go. She'd keep circling my nipples over my clothes and teasing me about how naughty me has surely forgotten to put on a sweater on purpose just so Mistress could have fun playing with me. Since I'm always one for silly banter I leaned into it, and it led to Mistress suggesting that I might as well go all the way. She dared me to bare my breasts, right out there in the cold, take two good handfuls of snow, and rub them in.

Yes, I did it. And yes, it almost gave me a heart attack. But I was also laughing all the way through, so I guess it couldn't have been all that bad.

(It was that bad. I just have a very twisted and silly sense of humor.)

I'd thought my nipples were hard before, but after that ordeal I could have cut glass with them. Aching doesn't even begin to describe how they felt. And that's to say nothing about how much the snow itself stung.

It's so evil that snow looks this pretty and fluffy, but once I rub it into my skin it feels like hot needles. And it made me wet (in the literal sense, though torturing myself for Mistress also got me wet in the other way). Which meant that the next gust of wind hurt so, so much worse. It felt like my breasts were blasted with a storm of tiny ice crystals.

At least Mistress allowed me to pull my shirt back down and close my jacket pretty soon. She might like to see me suffer, but no one profits if I get actual frostbites. And it's not like the clothes magically fixed everything. My breasts were still wet, so they took forever to warm up, and I could enjoy this icy sting all the way. Same with my hands, but those were a lot less sensitive to begin with. I still buried them as deeply in my pockets as I could. And stole Mistress' hands to warm them up. She offered to warm my breasts with her hands as well, but I declined. Being fondled is fun, but in that situation it would have only lead to her pulling my clothes up again, and I might have frozen solid on the spot if she'd done that.

Another fun dare technically didn't happen outside, but Mistress got the inspiration during one of our walks, this time during fall when we were next to a corn field.

Yes, this is going exactly where you think it's going.

Now raw corn is actually pretty sharp, so sadly it would've been far too unsafe to do it out in the field, but Mistress cheekily stole a particularly nice cob, and after cooking it for a bit and letting it cool down it was just perfect. Soft enough that I wouldn't hurt myself, but not so soft that I'd crush the individual kernels.

Don't get me wrong: I'm sure it was still a pretty stupid idea and you better not try it out yourself. We also only did it that one time.

We made that one time count, though.

Obviously a corn cob doesn't work as well as a dildo does, as those are specifically made for the job. Even in its cooked form we still had to use quite a bit of lube. But I have to say, being stretched by this thick thing with its rigged texture, it's quite something. Due to technical limitations I couldn't fuck myself with it well enough to actually get off, but as awkward as it felt, there was a twisted kind of pleasure to it as well. And once I was done, my pussy was so ready for a real fucking. Which Mistress promptly delivered.

That is, after she made me eat the corn. Because of course she did. Sadly the taste of our flavored lube (with me around, you want to have lube that's safe to digest) dominated everything else, but it's the thought that counts.

These occasions were just the most memorable ones. Mistress' mischievous mind has come up with countless of these these little challenges over time, and my eagerness to play along only encourages her even more. It's not like I'm worried about our sex growing stale, but as long as we keep being this stupid, we should be safe for a long time to come.

Porn

For all my enthusiasm to be part of a live action porn production for Mistress, neither of us is much of a porn video person.

Which isn't to say that we don't use erotic material to get ourselves in the mood. For the most part videos just don't do it for us. Mistress has a couple of naughty blog galleries to scroll through if she wants a quick fix. She likes how pictures and short gifs can capture the magic of the moment much better than a drawn out, poorly edited and just as poorly acted movie, and how the restricted format leaves the context up to imagination. To her, it's so much hotter to look at a bound naked woman and imagine what's going on with her than to actually see the scene play out.

On that topic: I know that some people have a problem with their partners getting off to the image of other women. Some even call it "mental cheating" or something of the like. I don't get that at all.

For once, it can't be cheating in the first place because I know about it. Like, even if Mistress actually had sex with another person, as long as she told me about it and I was okay with it, she wouldn't be cheating on me. Words have meanings.

But even if we ignore the linguistic aspect, I don't see any problem. It's completely normal to get aroused by seeing hot people in sexy situations. Just because Mistress is together with me doesn't mean that her brain stops processing other good-looking women. And it's not like she chooses these women in the pictures over me or something. She shows me every day how much she loves me and how much she wants to do naughty things to me, so I'm really not losing out on anything. If anything I only profit from Mistress making herself extra horny beforehand, because it tends to lead to even more fun and intense scenes.

If I had to guess, I'd say that these issues with your partner watching porn come from the overly rigid understanding of monogamy that's deeply rooted in our society. This idea that when you're together with someone, that person becomes your entire world, you are the perfect soul mates, your partner is "the one". And if you so much as acknowledge that other sexy people exist, you show that your partner isn't "the one", because obviously there's another "one" who could in theory replace them.

Of course the idea breaks apart the moment someone has multiple partners over their life. You know, like pretty much every person ever. Though that can be "mended" by always claiming that your current partner is "the one" and the previous ones were mistakes. Since the relationships didn't last, they obviously couldn't have been "the one".

Well, Mistress certainly is "the one" for me. I don't believe in soul mates, but that doesn't change how she is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and that we're absolutely perfect for each other. And I can even look back and say that we work a million times better than I ever have with any other of my other partners, so I'd say we're as close to this romantic ideal as we could ever get. But that still doesn't mean that someone flipped a switch in our brains and made us stop recognizing that other sexy people exist. That's just not how people work. And that's perfectly fine. It's great, even. Be it just for a quick turn on or as inspiration for things we want to try out ourselves, porn can enhance our sex life in lots of ways, so why would we want to squander that potential?

Okay, rant over.

For all that I've written about how it's perfectly normal to look at other hot people, I'm actually not that much into pictures myself. I do like the ones that come with captions or short story snippets, though. A little piece of text can do so much to put the picture into a sexy context and make it come to life.

Personally, I get my cheap thrills from erotic romances. The kind that people on the internet like to dissect because the plots don't make much sense (as far as they even exist), the writing doesn't live up to literary standards, and the depicted relationships are a toxic mess and they totally corrupt our youth by giving them bad role models or something.

Yeah, I don't care if people think these books are trash. They are my trash. And the more toxic and dubious the relationships are, the more fun it is. It's fantasy, guys! I don't read to experience all the things I have on a daily basis already. And just because I find it hot to read about women being trained by others to become their perfect sex slaves doesn't mean I'd want to experience that in real life.

Except for the aspects of it I do want to experience in real life. Which is where we get back to porn being a great source of inspiration. Like how we only started practicing sixty-nine because it's such a common porn trope and I wanted to try it out myself. Same thing with crotch ropes. Another fun tool of torture that we likely wouldn't have come up with on our own.

And yes, there are times when I like to enhance my sense of submission during our scenes by imagining that Mistress truly owns me, that there's no safeword and there's nothing I can do but suffer her cruelty. I'm just a kinky gal like that.

Discipline

While it might sound like it at times, not everything Mistress and me do is about fun, games and sex. My submission is about more than just pleasure. It's also a framework that gives Mistress some potent tools to help me work on my shortcomings.

The holy trinities of rules are pretty blatant in how they force me to take care of myself, but they are more about the big picture stuff. This isn't just about self-care. There's many other aspects that make a strong character that I'm not disciplined enough to work on without some external encouragement.

The big thing is procrastination. Then again, does it even count as procrastination if the thing I'm procrastination doesn't need to be done and there are no deadlines involved? Anyway. Point is, if left to my own devices I tend to waste hours upon hours mindlessly scrolling the internet or watching some videos just because they're there.

Now there's nothing wrong with turning my brain off to recharge. There are times when mindless entertainment is exactly what I need, and there's no problem with me lazying around on the couch for an hour after I come home from work.

The problem is that it rarely stays at one hour. And that there soon comes a point where I'm not actually enjoying myself anymore. I keep scrolling or watching (or both at the same time) because it's the default, not because I want to. In fact, deep down I want to get up and do something, but the longer I sit there, the harder the mental hurdle gets to overcome. And brain rot is a thing. If I've spent an entire afternoon like this, there's zero chance of me getting anything done in the evening. It's like the shadow of a headache. It doesn't hurt, but it makes it completely impossible to focus on anything, or to find joy in doing something.

Mistress and me have developed a code phrase to help me out of that rut. When she sees me on the couch like that she'll ask me "Are you stuck?" If I genuinely want to recharge for a bit, I say so. But if I'm already approaching the brain rot stage (or if her question makes me realize I'm on my way there), then Mistress is there to unstuck me.

Which usually requires a bit of force.

I don't know how often Mistress had to rip the phone from my hand and replace it with a book that's been on my to-read pile for months but I "never had time to start". Or that she physically dragged me away from the couch to my computer where she turned on my tablet, forced the pen into my hand and told me that I wasn't allowed to leave until I'd finished at least one drawing that I was satisfied with.

You have to be an artist to appreciate how evil that last part is.

But it's her good right to be evil. Honestly, I'd deserve even more given how much patience she shows me and how much energy she puts into keeping me on track.

And it works. Once she's forcefully torn me out of the slug it usually takes only a couple of minutes for my brain to reset and I'm able to enjoy spending my time in a way that's much better for my mental state.

And it doesn't have to not be about fun, games and sex. (Wow. I managed to confuse myself with that sentence.)

Some time ago, Mistress declared that we should work on my mindfulness and my concentration. That I needed to find my inner focus, learn to use meditation techniques to get rid of all distractions and become completely centered in myself.

Which is a lot of flowery language for her making me stand naked in the middle of the room, staring at a blank wall with a book balanced on my head while she hits me with a crop every time the book slips off.

The first time I thought it was just another silly little pretense for her to spank me, but it turns out, there actually is something to it. To the mindfulness and the inner focus and all that pretentious sounding stuff. And this became more and more clear as the minutes dragged on.

Standing straight for a bit was a fun little challenge of my balance. Standing straight for an hour or so with no distraction except for a sharp sting and an admonishment every time I failed messed me up. It wasn't just about endurance, even though it got pretty exhausting. Mostly it was a mental thing. My brain was so used to constant stimulation, having to actively focus on nothing but staying still was like working out a muscle I didn't knew I had.

And it was just as sore afterward as a real muscle would have been. I actually needed an hour or two of mindless entertainment afterwards or I would have developed the mother of all headaches.

But as we did this again and again, I got better at it. Soon there was no threat of a headache anymore, even when Mistress made me stand for longer, and I learned to enjoy the headspace that comes with it. It's surprisingly similar to being stuck in procrastination hell, in how I don't actively follow any train of thought and simply let the world wash through me, and yet it couldn't be more different. My mind might be just as empty, but because there's nothing to fill that void, afterwards I'm brimming with creative energy.

I got so good at this exercise, Mistress decided to up the difficulty. Now I have to stand on my tiptoes, which sounds like it would be slightly harder, but let me tell you, there's nothing slight about my struggles to hold still while my calves burn from the tension. Remember: Holding the pose for a couple of minutes is a fun little challenge. Holding it for a long time is a test of one's mental fortitude.

A test that I pass, as I'm proud to say.

I would've never thought that I'd enjoy it so much to stand around doing nothing for hours, or that it would be so good for me. Even without Mistress spicing things up by occasionally spanking my naked body or pushing my burning muscles to their limit, I'd still be looking forward to these meditation sessions as we've come to call them.

Still, I'm realistic enough to know that I wouldn't have the discipline to do them on my own, or at least not to that extent. I like to think that I've become better at managing my mental state over the last years, but left to my own devices there's still a big risk that I'll regress to wasting away on the couch.

But that's okay, because I'm not on my own. Ideally there'll come a day when I'm completely immune to the siren song of giving in to the brain rot, but until then I have my perfect Mistress to keep me on my toes.

Quite literally, even.

Self Control

Now that's a kind of discipline that is all about fun, games and sex.

And it's even more of a mental challenge than the other kind.

By this point, Mistress just has to say the word "self control" to get my heart pumping and put my mind into survival mode. Because Mistress doesn't want a sub who just passively endures whatever torments she dishes out. She wants me to fully engage with my suffering and use every last ounce of my willpower to live up to her expectations.

We already know how much Mistress loves to tease and deny me. And it's bad enough when she ties me down so I'm completely helpless to stop her from circling my swollen clit with her fingertip until I don't even know if I'm begging her to finally let me come or to stop because I'm not sure I'd even survive an orgasm with how badly it burns already. But you know what's even worse? Suffering that very same thing while not being tied down.

A good girl can control herself. She doesn't twitch away, no matter how cruelly her Mistress uses her oversensitivity against her. And she certainly doesn't protect her burning pussy with her hands or (even worse) reach for it to give herself the satisfaction she so desperately needs.

I want to be Mistress' good girl. I really do. But it's so, so hard.

These sessions where Mistress trains my self control are the sole reasons my nails are still gnawed to stumps. I've all but stopped biting them since Mistress encouraged me to fully embrace my oral fixation in other ways, but all the rest my nails get in my day to day life is more than made up for by how violently I chew on them when I have to keep my legs open for Mistress even though every touch to my pussy already feels like an electric shock. It's the only thing I have to try and distract myself with, because of course Mistress doesn't allow me any gags either. She wants to hear my desperate moans unfiltered, and she especially wants to hear me beg for a mercy I know isn't coming.

Speaking about keeping my legs open: It's crazy how sore my thighs are afterwards. You wouldn't believe how physically exhausting it is to constantly fight against the instinct to clench my legs. In my humble opinion it's bullshit that Mistress doesn't count it as a workout, but honestly, that's the least of my worries there.

The biggest mind fuck is that I never know whether it's even possible to succeed. Most times Mistress wants to train my self control, she tells me to present myself to her and do nothing to stop her as she teases my pussy and especially my clit until I'm reduced to tears and she's satisfied with my display of willpower. Other times, though, it's a test. Those times, she just wants to see how far she has to push me before I simply can't take it anymore.

I cannot begin to describe the agony that is lying there, every muscle in my body taut from the effort not to twitch away, my fingertips throbbing from how violently I've bitten them, my pussy on fire, the need for relief and the pleasure pain of the ceaseless teasing overwhelming my mind, and through it all I don't even know if Mistress will stop if I just hold on for long enough. The only thing I do know is that I will continue fighting as long as humanly possible, because either way I'm going to prove to Mistress what a good girl I am.

An eagerness that has so often been my downfall. These self control sessions are the prime example of Mistress using her praise as a weapon, of how she can use her words of adoration to make me push myself beyond my limits. And more often than not I end up realizing that I'm not actually past my limits. Rather, it's the limits themselves that have been pushed back. Like training is supposed to go: Making me permanently stronger.

And I've certainly become stronger. I might still feel like I'm dying every time Mistress weaponizes my arousal and my need to be her good girl against me, but looking back I can take so much more of her torture now. In the beginning it took barely ten minutes of focused teasing before I couldn't stop myself from curling up into a fetal position. Now I can keep myself exposed to the sweet torture of her tongue and fingers for upwards of half an hour.

Admittedly, this success is kinda a double-edged sword, since my reward for taking my suffering so well is even more suffering. The other reward is the knowledge that Mistress is proud of me, though, so I'd say it's well worth it.

Overstimulation

I've written more than my fair share about how much Mistress loves to tease me, about the effects orgasm denial has on me and about the many ways Mistress can turn my need into the sweetest torture. It's time to address the flip-side of the coin. Which is a kind of torture in it's own right, because one can very much have too much of a good thing.

First of all: I love orgasms. Of course I do. Who doesn't? Also, the fact that orgasms feel good is the whole reason denial is so effective. It withholds something that I really, really want. Because I do want orgasms. Several of them, even.

Right up to the point where I don't want them anymore.

Consecutive orgasms are the most fascinating thing. Apparently there's people who can't have them, but to me that sounds like some fundamental problem with their body, because on a basic level they make perfect sense: Orgasms are triggered by stimulation. Stimulation works better the more sensitive you are. Orgasms leave you extremely sensitive. Therefore, after an orgasm it's real easy to trigger another one.

Real easy, but also real painful.

I have the upper hand over Mistress there. After she has an orgasm, she needs a bit of a break to recover. We can go for several in one session, but only by spreading them out; she's just too sensitive to enjoy any kind of touch right after. Which is no problem at all, because at least ninety percent of our sessions consist of her playing with me anyway. Still, I had to adapt to this shortcoming of her body, because I tend to get more enthusiastic the more apparent my partner's pleasure is, which means that there have been quite a few times where Mistress had to shove me away because my love physically overwhelmed her.

Maybe it's a side effect of my orgasms being pretty rare, but despite how explosive they tend to be, I'd never dream of telling Mistress to back off with the pleasure. I need to ride them out all the way for them to be real satisfying, and afterward I'm usually still hungry for more. My masochist side's on full display there. Yes, it kinda hurts to have my oversensitive clit rubbed until it explodes again, but when I'm in that horny high, pain and pleasure are pretty much the same thing anyway.

But even for me there comes a point where the pain wins out. Usually that's after three or four orgasms in quick succession, but numbers don't have much meaning there. We've had times where Mistress was wonderfully gentle and slowly guided me through ten or so orgasms which were all real nice, and other times Mistress worked me so hard through one endlessly long climax that it left me completely done with life and twitching if someone so much as blew on my pussy.

No matter how we get there, though, the final state is always the same. After I've been forced through enough pleasure, my clit gets ridiculously tender and my pussy becomes so sore, especially when penetration is involved. Usually Mistress backs off there, recognizing that I've been made to feel as good as my body is capable of. But sometimes she feels like giving me an especially spicy punishments. Or she just wants to teach me a lesson about orgasms and how they're not all sunshine and rainbows.

I always know what I'm in for beforehand, because Mistress ties me down extra tight when she goes for this kind of play. She has to. This is something where the concepts of willpower and self control simply break down. It doesn't matter how often Mistress orders me to hold still or how much I want to obey, when she tortures my oversensitive clit, my primal instincts take over. It's a special kind of pain, one so sharp that it seemingly bypasses any conscious thought and goes right to the fight-or-flight mode. Taking it with any kind of dignity is completely impossible. It's as if she's laid my nerves bare and zaps them with electricity.

I'm used to begging, but it's never as frantic as when Mistress forces my poor pussy through more orgasms back to back than other people have in a month. I doubt I'm even coherent at that point. Likely I'm just babbling incomprehensible pleas while I tear at my bonds, every instinct screaming at me to get away from Mistress' fingers.

Or the vibrator.

God, vibrators turn into the worst tools of torture on the planet. They're so strong, and they're literally machines: I know exactly that no matter what happens, they will continue at exactly this overwhelming strength and there's nothing I can do about it. No amount of begging can convince them to go easy on me. And very soon even a slow setting feels like a jackhammer blasting my crotch. God help me when Mistress feels like playing with the full power settings.

It hurts. It hurts so, so bad. Like, when it comes to the pure intensity of the pain, I'd honestly say it's worse than the cane. It's not as deep a pain and it fades much more quickly, but if we're just talking about how unbearable it feels in the moment, then post-orgasmic stimulation definitely wins out.

But the crazy thing is: Somehow it still triggers even more orgasms. It's like I wrote in the beginning: More sensitivity means more stimulation, means more coming. It doesn't matter that the later orgasms feel as if someone wired a car battery to my clit. They keep happening, and in the craziest way they even feel good. Or at least they always come with a rush of euphoric madness. After enough of them, I'm literally laughing and crying at the same time, and so hard that I can barely even breathe.

I'm such a mess after these sessions. Every single muscle in my body hurts from how much I tore at my bonds. Or when it comes to the muscles in my face, from the hysteric laughing and crying. My pussy is sore for hours to come, and at that point I don't have to act when I beg Mistress to deny me for a good amount of time.

We've played with the idea of making every one of my orgasms overwhelming. To make it so that at any point in time I'm either fully denied or overloaded with forced orgasms, with nothing in between. Maybe I'll have the strength to handle that at some point. As it stands, I always had to safeword out at the third or fourth release session so far. It's just too brutal, and I'm not sure if it's just in my head or if the pleasure pain really does get worse from session to session if there's no normal, nice orgasms in between to reset my body.

It would be pretty hot, though, to always suffer for Mistress one way or other. Maybe it will remain one of those things that are fun in theory but not feasible in reality, but I'd say there's a decent chance I'll be able to make it.

And that's one of the fun things of being a sub: There's always more ways to improve myself.

Crying

One of the most important milestones in our dynamic was when we agreed that crying is not a safeword.

I know a couple of people who cannot understand why anyone would want to play like this. After all: Crying is an instinctual reaction of the body when something is too much, either physically or emotionally, so it's an obvious sign that things have gone too far, right?

Wrong.

Okay, maybe not entirely wrong. Despite how it might seem with how often I mention doing it, I'm not one to cry easily. I might get wet eyes in emotional moments, but it takes quite a bit to make real tears flow. The reason I still cry pretty often is that Mistress rarely does less than "quite a bit".

I still remember how worried poor Mistress was the first time she made me cry. It was during a spanking scene that was harmless by today's standards, but back then I wasn't so used to dealing with pain yet. There was one accidentally really nasty strike that started the waterworks. But even though I was both embarrassed by crying in front of Mistress and I felt bad about her worrying about me, I truly meant it when I told her that I was ready to go on.

We didn't, back then, and I totally get that. Mistress was pretty distraught, and I certainly wasn't in the most stable mindset either. Looking back I don't think anything good could have come from us pushing through without sorting through our feelings first.

And we did. I could easily mend Mistress' biggest worries (that she'd overdone it and now I never wanted to do anything kinky ever again, and that I might even regret ever getting involved with her) and after some initial over-correcting we went back to playing at the same intensity. Until she made me cry again and checked in with me, only for me to tell her that I wanted to continue. And this time she did. And it was great.

When I came to Mistress one day and asked her to stop checking in with me every time I cried, to assume that I was fine unless I explicitly safeworded, her saying yes showed how much she trusted me. Especially because I could see how skeptical she was. Understandably so. It's often hard to judge if things are genuinely too much, and so treating tears as a natural check-in moment is a fine safety mechanism. Especially in the beginning when I was still in the process of exploring my own limits. But she trusted me to know what I wanted, and so we unlocked a much deeper level of play.

It's impossible to describe just how cathartic crying can be. Maybe it's because I'm a bit closed off and reserved in my normal life, but it feels so, so good to drop all pretense and be vulnerable for Mistress. It's as if a dam breaks within me and washes away all the bad shit clogging my brain.

Number one of them being guilt.

Nowadays, a proper punishment never stops before the tears are flowing. This isn't a flex about how strict and hardcore Mistress is. It was my explicit wish for her to do it this way. Punishments already had their own section, so I won't linger on this point too long, except to note that it's so important for me to know that after the punishment everything is forgiven. Even if it's just a fun punishment because I was a brat, I need to know that Mistress isn't actually mad at me, and that I properly atoned for my mishaps. And maybe I'm a little cheesy, but to me nothing says forgiveness more than a tearful apology followed by a warm hug.

It's not just punishments, though. Often enough, our normal play reaches an intensity where I can't hold back the tears anymore. And then I end up crying even more when Mistress praises me for being so brave and tells me how much she loves me. While continuing to hurt me. It's the best kind of emotional roller coaster.

So, thank you Mistress for trusting me to know myself and for allowing me to fully let go during our sessions. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable, and for treating me exactly the way I want, even at times when it outwardly looks as if I shouldn't want it. And, of course, thank you for all the tissue-intense aftercare where you patiently cuddle me and help my emotions settle down again. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.

And yes, my eyes got a little wet writing this. I didn't cry, though. But I might just go to Mistress and make her give me a reason to.

Tickling

I hate how effective this is.

Seriously, tickling has no business being this bad.

Or rather, I have no business being this ticklish.

Then again, it's only fair that I'm the most ticklish person in the universe since it gives Mistress yet another way to torture me.

And I don't use the word torture lightly here.

I think I still haven't made it clear just how crazy ticklish I am. Like, you can make me scream just from poking me in the side. And if you run your fingers down the small of my back? Forget it, I'll die! If I had a penny for every time one of my girlfriends made me laugh when she just wanted to sensually stroke me, I'd have enough money to buy the fucking moon.

With all my girlfriends, Mistress notwithstanding, it went the same way: They found out how ticklish I am (often by accident), were amused, and ultimately I convinced them not to use it against me. And all of them respected this limit because, well, because they're all decent people.

The thing about limits, though, is that they can be pushed.

From the very start of our kinky dynamic, Mistress liked to threaten me with tickles. She wouldn't actually do it because she promised not to, but she still brought it up time after time. And you know how it goes, if you repeat a joke long enough, at some point it stops being a joke and becomes reality.

And no, I don't believe for a single second that it was just a coincidence how this was one of my first limits to fall. Mistress deliberately talked about it again and again so the idea could worm itself into my brain until it became something normal. Mistress brainwashed me, and I will die on this hill.

Anyway, I ended up allowing her to tickle me as a form of sexy punishment, and I regret it to this very day. Mistress has far, far too much fun strapping me down in a spreadeagle for maximum vulnerability and finding and abusing all my ticklish spots. Except finding isn't the right word, because every fucking spot on my body is extra ticklish.

There's no point even mentioning my feet, because they're so obvious. And it's not just the soles. As bad as it is when Mistress runs her fingers over them, if I scrunch up my feet to protect myself she can simply continue at their tops because that's just as bad. Though admittedly this kind of back and forth is still better than when she's extra cruel and ties my toes back so I can do absolutely nothing against her attacks.

I still get shivers when I remember the time she did that and then used the pinwheel on my feet. I swear, I was this close to pissing myself for real. My throat was sore for days afterwards. One would think that adding a little pain would make the tickling less effective.

One would be wrong. Very wrong.

But, yeah, my feet are just the tip of the iceberg. (Bottom of the iceberg? Whatever.)

My legs and especially the inner thighs are far too effective as well, but a special shout-out goes to my knees. One wouldn't think much about knees, but when Mistress places all five fingers on one and then slowly slides them all outwards, nails trailing over the skin? That's a special kind of unbearable. And the back of my knees is just as much of a weak spot. Seriously, Mistress can make me cry using nothing but my knees, her fingers and a tiny bit of patience.

My armpits and sides are just as obvious, and I also mentioned my back, but I just have to mention that special technique Mistress does where she puts her nails to both of my sides and then runs them inwards along the bottom of my tummy. That's just as bad as my knees! And so impossible not to flinch away.

Because, oh yeah, the times when she ties me down are the nice ones. Sometimes her self control training isn't about me dealing with pleasure or the lack thereof. Sometimes it's me trying not to hide in a corner when Mistress tickles me. And honestly, I'm not sure which is worse.

At least she can't mix both. Or rather, she can, but they don't compound. Like, my nipples and pussy are just as ticklish as everything else (because of course they are), but tickling me is pretty much the fastest way of getting me away from the edge, no matter how close I am. My body just goes from sexy despair to frantic hysteria within a millisecond. So Mistress can either edge me or tickle me, but not both at the same time.

She can, however, use tickling to control the edging. Like, if she wants my arousal to be a rapid up and down instead of letting it simmer at the maximum. Or as an emergency brake if I threaten to go over.

That can go wrong, though. The worst ruined orgasm of my life was when I accidentally went over and Mistress tried to pull me back by spidering her fingers into both my sides. My clit burned from frustration, the empty spasms only compounded with the twitching from the tickling, and emotionally it was just the worst gut punch. Damn, I really don't want to experience that ever again.

Then again, if you ask me, I'll immediately tell you that I don't want to experience any kind of tickling ever again. And yet I always let Mistress back at me. And why am I doing it, if it's that bad?

Well, because she has so much fun doing it.

Seriously, Mistress is always so happy when she tickles me, it would be cruel to take that away from her. I always say that I want nothing more than to be her toy, but being a toy implies being played with in the way that's most fun for the owner, which isn't necessarily the way the toy was meant to be played with.

Even though Mistress insists that my body was made to be tickled. And that it would be a shame to let such natural genius go to waste. Of course I have a different opinion on the matter, but as I said, I wouldn't want to deprive Mistress of her fun.

And maybe, just maybe I've come to enjoy this particular kind of torture as well. Maybe. And maybe I shouldn't write this in a place where Mistress can read it, or I'll spend even more nights laughing myself hoarse.

Oh well.

The Best Me

How do you end something like this?

In a way, it isn't even an end. Our relationship is still far from settled into a routine, so I'm sure, if I were to come back to this project in a couple of years, I'd have many new topics to discuss, and quite possibly just as many topics that need serious updating.

Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I won't. In the end, it doesn't really matter. The goal was never to have a complete encyclopedia of what makes Mistress and me tick. The goal was to explore my feelings and externalize the things important to me, and in that it was a total success. I had lots of fun revisiting all these memories, and I'm sure that I'll flip through this thing often to reminisce.

I think the best way to end is by boiling it down to the most important thing, the number one answer to the question of what I'm getting out of this. There's the great sex and the fun and the love and all that, but those things I would also get out of a normal relationship with any other girlfriend who is adventurous in the bedroom.

No, the fundamental thing that Mistress has done by becoming my Mistress and putting all these rules in place is to create a framework in which I can become the best possible me.

I don't depend on her to live a fulfilled life or to function, but if I compare myself now to how I've been before, I would never want to go back. Mistress taught me to love every little part of myself, showed me how beautiful and sexy I am, raised my confidence, made me want to become a better person every day, but also to forgive myself for my mistakes and shortcomings.

I can't even begin to thank her for all the things she's done for me, but luckily that's not an issue. Because Mistress told me time and time again that the best way to show my gratitude is to continue just the way I'm already going, to keep being her good girl.

And that's something I'll gladly do.

Now and forever.