Saturday, April 19, 2014

This is an adult blog and contains frank discussion of sexual situations and 
BDSM themes. 

So Master has assigned his sub a new task,  which is really a series of tasks to
be completed over the next seven days. I am to detail each day's task as a
journal. Today is Day 1.

The task for today was to masturbate in a location chosen from a list of
approved locales. Given that each day's task builds on the previous day,
I chose to start off simple.

The location I chose was my bathroom,  door unlocked.  I stroked myself for
about 5 minutes,  long enough to start feeling all turned on and needy, but
as I am not allowed to cum without Master's express permission,  I stopped
before I felt too close to the edge.

So now Master's pussy is wanting to be filled, and I have a little bit of an
ache due to the denial,  but it isn't too bad yet.I would judge my "horniness" level at around 3. I foresee having more
complex issues and feelings before this week long task ends.










Saturday, February 22, 2014

Breathing Room, More or Less

This is an adult blog, with adult content, and it may contain detailed discussion of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.



So anyone who's been reading this blog knows I am on a journey to discover my submissive self, to explore my sexual desires, limits and curiosities, and to find out how to balance all these sides of myself. 

Sometimes I am more in tune with what I need, and sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own skin. And I don't always know what's going to trigger that stranger reaction.

Like this week, for example - my Dom has said that I am to follow a more healthy lifestyle, meaning, I am to incorporate a regular exercise routine and a more healthful eating style into my daily schedule. And that seems pretty simple, doesn't it? Just eat better and get some exercise. Add to that, it was a directive given to me by my Dom, so of course, as his sub, I am to do what I'm told. 

And yet I have really been struggling with this. I did pretty well with my food choices for the first week or so, and then I started to slip a little - and then I was slipping a lot. I just thought, Well, I'm keeping my calories at about the right amount, so what does it matter if those calories come from potato chips, or a fast-food sandwich (hey, I skipped the fries), or a packaged meal? I rely heavily on box mixes and frozen foods - I have a regular office job, a son at home who needs to be picked up after school a couple times a week, and three dogs. I don't have time to spend hours cooking every night - nor do I have to energy or the desire, frankly. I'm not someone who loves to cook or finds it relaxing or whatever. No. I want to come home, throw something together, eat and be done with it.

Part of my new task-to-become-habit includes keeping a daily food journal, online, so that Master can access it whenever he wishes to check on my compliance. (That was an experience in itself, as I'm not really tech-minded and it took me a while to get that diary uploaded correctly.) However, once he reviewed it, he was not happy.

Here's where the "I don't know my trigger" part comes in. He wasn't horrible to me or anything, just really blunt and stern, but I felt smaller and smaller and less and less valued as he took me to task, until I became frustrated and kinda talked back to him. Umm, that's not a good idea, really, but once I opened my mouth this torrent of frustration and stubbornness and feelings of being overwhelmed came pouring out. And once I admitted to feeling so out of control (an odd thing for a sub, maybe, but there it is) then I started feeling uncertain about my own worth - like, if I give up control of even the basic things like food choices, doesn't that make me helpless and incapable of caring for myself? What kind of illness in me can't even make good food choices? I'm intelligent; I know an apple is better than chips, that simple foods cooked at home are better than fast food. I KNOW this; but I wasn't acting on it.

And don't even get me started on exercise! I hate it, hate it, hate it. I've done the gym thing three times, in three different cities, and each time I'm just miserable, so I stop going. And I was fighting Master about that, too. Good Lord, I flat-out told him I would not be a good candidate for this, and that I'll most likely fail. He was less than thrilled with me, to be sure.

So where did all of this stubbornness come from?? Why was I choosing to fight about this, which really is such a simple thing to do for Master? It's not like he was asking me to do anything which could hurt me; on the contrary, by following his guidance I would experience an improvement in my overall well-being. So why?

And then I figured out that by accepting Master's word in this, by giving him control of such simple tasks as what I eat and how I exercise, I am more completely surrendering my own will to him, placing myself even more fully under his care and control, taking another clear step along the path toward more total submission. And THEN I realized that I do this almost every time he asks me to give up more of myself to him (and that that is why I get flustered; I still struggle with the "what becomes of ME when I have completely surrendered?" question). 

So then, as I always do, I need to step back and take a couple days to process things and work through my issues, and then I can put aside the doubts and the fears and continue on. And that's what has happened this week, also; I needed a bit of time to come to terms with what it means for me, and then I am able to move forward and be content. I'm back on track with my food, and while I'm not loving the idea of exercise sessions, I'm not whining about them anymore, either. I think I will be able to fulfill Master's commands, now, and benefit from the improvement in my physical health.       






    

Friday, February 7, 2014

Snow Day

Sir has tasked me with creating a series of stories/scenarios about sexual situations. Some will be drawn from past events, some will be things i'd like to have happen, and some will be pure fiction, spun from my imagination and best left there. LOL.



I woke this morning to find 6 inches of fresh snow covering the world outside. I stood at the sliding glass door and just marveled at the clean, pure freshness of it, the cold seeping in the sides of the door and freezing my bare feet. I shivered, and turned to pour myself some coffee. Mmmm. The heat was perfect on this chilly morning.

Fortified by my steaming cup of java, I pulled on some warm fleecy sweats, stuffed my sock-clad feet into boots, wound a scarf around my neck and pulled on my jacket and gloves. I grabbed the shovel from the front porch and began the task of clearing away the accumulated snow from the porch steps, sidewalk, and up the driveway. The work quickly fell into a rhythm .... bend, scoop, throw as I straighten, repeat. Endlessly. I felt my arms, shoulders and back grow tired, and then begin aching. My nose started running, so I stripped off my gloves and retrieved a tissue from my coat pocket. This is one of my big complaints about cold weather - my nose always, always runs.

Eventually (45 minutes later) I called my shoveling job "good enough" and trudged back to the house. I was cold, and tired, and sniffling, and I just wanted to get warm, please. I propped the shovel against the house and pushed the front door open. After spending that time outside, the heat of the house seemed almost stifling, but I was happy to have it. I draped my coat on the door knob, shucked my boots and dropped my damp gloves and scarf on the floor register to dry.

The coffee pot was still hot, so I poured another cup and sipped it carefully. The heat from the cup seeped into my frozen fingers but it didn't seem to be enough; I was still shivering, and couldn't seem to get warm enough. There was nothing to do but run a hot bath and soak for a while. What a shame.

I set my coffee cup on the kitchen counter and went off to the bedroom. I stepped into the attached bathroom and turned on the water to the tub before stripping out of my snow- and sweat-dampened clothes, dropping them in a heap on the floor. I poured some baby oil into the water - Lord knows my winter skin can use the moisture boost - and pulled my hair up into a ponytail as I waited for the tub to finish filling.

I stepped carefully into the tub - ooh, that water was hot! I sank down into the water, which reddened my skin almost immediately. I propped my feet on the end of the tub to lift them out of the water for a while, as the temp was too hot for comfort. Then I leaned back against the wall of the tub, sliding down so that the water just covered my shoulders. I had to bend my knees, but that was OK. I laid my head back against the tub wall and closed my eyes, relaxing into the oiled water and allowing my aching muscles to soak in the heat. Mmmm.

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, but it was long enough that I nearly dozed off and the water cooled significantly. And then a whole different set of muscles began to protest at being held in the same position for too long. I groaned as I sat up and straightened out my legs, and as the cool air of the bathroom hit my water-heated skin, I shivered. Reflexively, I rubbed my arms to warm them again and my hands skidded over my oil-slicked skin. It was slippery, and soft, and warm, and it felt kind of good, actually, so I did it again, more slowly and firmly. Yes, that definitely felt nice.

I dropped my hands to the tops of my thighs and slowly stroked my palms down my legs, feeling the way the oil-slicked skin just flowed under my fingers, and the way the still-warm water lapped against my body. That was very nice, indeed. I closed my eyes again and massaged my legs, stretching and bending and reaching all the way down to my ankles, then retracing the path back up my legs. I splayed my fingers open and shivered as my fingertips grazed the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. I opened my eyes and watched the path of my fingers as I teased my skin once more, and I shivered harder this second time.  

Now I began to feel a tingling which had very little to do with cold flesh rewarming. I slid down into the water a bit further, bending my knees and parting my thighs so that they pressed against the side of the tub. I smoothed my hands along my body, circling from my knees and up along my outer thighs, skimming up over my ribs, across my chest and directly over my nipples, down over my stomach and along my inner thighs to my knees again. By the third slow pass, my nipples had stiffened, and on the fourth pass, as my fingertips grazed the taut peaks, a spear of desire shot through me and my back arched against the tub wall. Ooh, that was quite nice, indeed.

I tipped my head back to rest on the tub wall, closing my eyes once again, and allowed my right hand to drift lazily down my body to nestle between my legs. My skin was so soft, and slick, and slippery, and the sensations I experienced as I rubbed my finger over my clit caused sparks to flicker behind my closed eyelids. I released a soft moan and began rubbing myself a little bit faster, a little bit more firmly, and I felt a rush of desire building low in my belly, increasing as I increased the tempo and pressure.

Despite my somewhat awkward position,  my hips started rocking a little, which caused the water in the tub to slosh back and forth and settle into waves which licked across my body, creating a sensation similar to the way my hands felt as they stroked my skin. I had not expected the frankly sensual way the water seemed to caress me, sending waves of warmth over my body, but it was delicious all the same. My heart rate increased and my breathing sped up as I stroked myself, and I brought my other hand up to play with my breast, teasing the taut nipple and squeezing the ample soft flesh. I tossed my head to the side and sighed, deeply, surrendering to the feelings coursing through my body, allowing my thoughts to float away and focus simply on the physical sensations. 

It wasn't much longer until I felt the first stirrings of impending orgasm, the fluttering in my stomach, the raspiness of my breathing, the way my heart beat in my chest. My arm was beginning to tire, but I kept up the rhythm of pressure and motion against my clit, and pressed my back a bit more firmly against the tub. Then I felt a tiny shudder under my fingers, my inner walls contracting just a little, not a real climax, exactly, but a precursor, a tiny taste of what was to come if I just kept going and had just a little bit more patience. 

I bore down even more strongly with my fingers, coaxing more sensation against my swollen nub, and at the same moment I twisted my nipple sharply. That sharp sting made me cry out and arch my back sharply, and that was the end - my orgasm took me then, drawing my muscles tight in response to the explosion I felt consuming me from my belly and flowing out through my body and all through my limbs. I was aware of my voice keening, but I could not stop it; I was powerless to do anything at all other than pant and shudder and ride it out.

Once the wave had passed, I realized that the water in the tub had become tepid, and I was shivering now due to feeling chilled. I pulled myself out of the tub, stepping carefully to avoid slipping, and quickly toweled off. My legs were shaky, my arms felt heavy, and as soon as I was dry, I wandered to the bedroom and pulled on a soft cotton camisole and panties. I curled up on my bed and pulled the quilt over me; and I felt myself warming up, relaxing, almost melting into the bed, feeling my body grow heavy as the exhaustion from the shoveling and the intensity of my climax took their toll.  I know I dozed off, because I came back to consciousness a couple hours later, still sleepy, but not so weary. I padded out to the kitchen to see about a late lunch, feeling satisfied and peaceful and content.    

   



Friday, January 31, 2014

Appetite Suppressant

This is an adult blog, with frank discussion of sexual themes and other adult content. Read at your own risk.


 Well, I managed to put my foot in it this time! Master read my latest blog .... and immediately took me to task for some of my actions. He had told me that he wanted something new to read, so that part was fine. He really did tell me to take 5 minutes in the bathroom at work and cum, so that was fine, also.

But he did not tell me I could indulge myself in any more playtime, so that turned out to be a big no-no. And during our chat that evening, he let me know that I was going to be punished for my transgression. I wasn't sure I really needed it, to be honest - I had no willful intention of being disobedient -  but he IS my master, and he does have the right to discipline me as he sees fit. So here is how I had to atone for my misstep:

Because I had talked about being eager to have some alone time in my bed, my bed was taken away from me. I had to sleep on the floor that night, with no pillow, only a blanket - and I had the blanket only because it is winter, and Master is firm, but not cruel.

So I bedded down for one of the absolutely most restless, uncomfortable nights of my life. You have to understand, first off, that all the floors in my house are wooden planks, studded with raised decorative iron nailheads. You also have to understand that my bedroom is not a warm room; I use a space heater to warm it before I go to bed, and the temp in the room always dips to about 55 or 56 degrees. And there I was for the night - freezing, sore and achy from the absolutely unyielding wood floor, my neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. Ugh. I dozed off and on, but I distinctly recall waking up shivering, feeling so, so cold in that room, the draft from the sliding glass door just seemed absolutely bitterly cold. And when finally that endless night was over, I rose slowly, all stiff and sore and exhausted.

I was a sorry sub that day, dragging myself through my work day, but when I spoke to my Master later, I knew what I had done wrong and I know I do not want to repeat that error. He owns all of me - ALL of me - and that includes when this body is allowed to play. As I had not sought permission, nor been granted the ability, I had to atone for using Master's property without his knowledge.

It was not an easy lesson - but it was a simple one: Do not presume to have unfettered access to Master's property.

 

 

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Tension Relief? Or Whetting the Appetite?


It had been an unexpectedly frantic morning at work today - I had anticipated a more sedately-paced work flow, but no, I found myself hopping from project to project, making calls, trying to track down important information and coming up short. I was feeling frazzled.

Master often texts me during the day, and in reply to his innocent inquiry of how things were going, I told him the truth - that I was going crazy. And he offered me a boon - he told me to retire to the bathroom and cum, as long as I videoed it and sent him a quick snippet of the video. I admit, I felt kinda funny about that order (offer? I took it as an order) - I mean, our building only has one bathroom, and everyone - staff and clients, men and women - all have to share it. And as it was noontime, things were kinda busy.

But Master said so, so I excused myself to the restroom and quickly dropped my pants. I squatted in front of the sink and tried to find an angle where the video setting on my phone would capture the best shot, the best lighting, the best view, all the while allowing me to keep my balance and use my other hand to stroke myself. And of course, I couldn't take too long. So I had to hold the phone upside down, but it seemed to work. Then I could focus on rubbing my clit and achieving the climax Master had told me to seek. Fairly quickly (and quite silently) I felt a shudder sweep through my body and squeezed my eyes shut as the tremor traveled through me. Once it passed, I redressed, washed up and exited the bathroom with no one the wiser.

For the rest of the afternoon, I felt the evidence of my lunchtime play pooling in my panties. And while the release had been pleasant enough, it wasn't the kind of hard climax I've often experienced. In fact, as the afternoon wore on and I left work for the day, I felt turned on, achy, ready for a serious round, and oh, by the time I got home, I was more than ready to seek some alone time on my bed. 

I kicked off my shoes as soon as I got in the door, and was shedding my coat and unzipping my slacks as I crossed the room to my bedroom door. I dropped my slacks and panties on the floor and flopped on the bed, my knees already drawing up and opening to expose my pussy to the cool air of the bedroom. I shivered, because the room really was cold (only about 58 degrees) but I didn't really care; my fingers delved between my pussy lips and slicked themselves on the juices already gathered there. I drew my wet middle finger across my clit, and ooh, that felt so good. I rubbed harder, making little circles on that sensitive nub, and my hips started rocking of their own accord. My breathing quickened - I could hear myself making shallow panting noises - and I suddenly sat up so I could peel off my shirt and camisole.

I ducked my head to pull off my cami, and my eyes were momentarily blinded by the fabric. As my vision cleared, my eyes focused on the pale skin of my breast - which today happened to be adorned with Master's name. Yes, I had written his name on my breasts with a marker after I showered this morning, and then sent him a photo to prove I had complied with his command. I find that I like doing that - I can often see his name through the fabric of my camisole, and then I get to see it several times a day, though not quite as often as I get to view the ink scribed on my inner thigh.

Anyway, seeing his name of course made me think of my Master, and as I lay back down and resumed fingering myself, I closed my eyes and imagined that his fingers were playing with his pussy, that his fingers were teasing my nipple, that his tongue was lashing at my clit, and I shivered and shuddered and arched up and rocked my hips so forcefully that the bed groaned and squeaked beneath me. There were no toys involved, and barely any penetration, either, other than in frequent and momentary dips of my fingertips to re-wet them. I tossed my head and breathed his name, and there it came, the flush of release like a slow wave rippling out from my center and flowing through my extremities. And it felt good, yes, and I moaned with it, but at the same time, I didn't feel like I was done yet, you know? Like there could be another one in there, waiting.

So I slowed the movement of my fingers, but didn't stop them, lazily circling my clit as I waited for the initial tingling to fade, and gently caressing the taut point of my nipple with the pad of my index finger. In just a couple of minutes my breathing slowed and I relaxed into the mattress. Then I increased the speed and pressure of my fingers, bearing down on the swollen nub of flesh, and feeling a new spark of need and desire spiraling through me. It grew, and I responded by rubbing even faster. My arm was aching by now, and I shrugged and flexed it without taking my fingers away from my flesh to help relieve the ache. And still, I rubbed. My other hand was working my nipple, twisting and rolling and teasing and pulling it to a sharp peak, and my hips were rocking higher and higher. 

Master's face bloomed behind my closed eyelids, and his voice sounded in my ears. I began chanting, "I am your whore, I am your whore," over and over, and then my voice broke on a gasp when a sharp spike of need and anticipation overtook me. I bucked and arched and moaned and tilted my head back, and back, and then it took me, a huge crashing burning climax, the kind that locks up your muscles and strangles your cry of pleasure and makes your heart thunder in your ears. That was the one I knew was lurking, the one I was hoping to unleash. 

I collapsed to the bed, then, panting, and lifted a shaky hand to my mouth to clean off my fingers. I rolled to my side and curled into a ball, waiting for the trembling in my limbs to subside. My legs felt shaky, while the rest of my body felt heavy and loose. I lay there for several minutes with my eyes closed, all limp and relaxed and feeling at peace and perfectly content. Eventually, of course, I would have to get up and get back to the "real world," but for these long minutes, there was nothing but serenity and calm, and the last traces of anxiety over my frantic day were washed away and gone. 

 

Saturday, January 18, 2014

A New Year, A New You



Or an improved version of the old you, really.

That's my goal for this year, this new year of 2014, to become an improved version of myself. I have made so much progress in the past year - I have officially been collared for more than a year now, and now I can't imagine not wearing it - and my Master says I am ready to accomplish even more.

(And I trust his opinion, even when I am not necessarily convinced of my own ability. After this amount of time I have finally begun to believe that it's not merely a passing fancy, but a long-lasting lifestyle choice and something I can count on for the foreseeable future.)

To that end, I have been given additional tasks and requirements. They are designed, I believe, to further ensure that I am daily living my submission, and to keep my Dom always at the forefront of my mind as I go about my day. And they push at the edges of my comfort zone, in that I would not do these things if left to my own devices. So far I have been able to comply with Master's directives, even if it sometimes takes me a while to get up to speed with it all.

One of my other goals is to more regularly post blogs here, chronicling my journey toward more perfect submission, and sometimes letting myself indulge in flights of fancy. Be aware, if you aren't already, that this is an adult content blog, and I will be writing detailed and graphic accounts of sexual behaviors and BDSM themes. 

Friday, December 6, 2013

Master's wish is my command

This is an adult blog, with frank sexual discussion and BDSM themes.  There will also be squickiness, so be warned.


"I have a task for you," Master told me. "I want you to wear your anal plug for 90 minutes, and after that, I want you to cum 3 times, hard. Then take out the plug, using only your muscles to expel it, if you can."

Mentally, I sighed; I hate that thing, hate it, hate it. Outwardly, I merely closed my eyes and said, "Yes, Master."

I swear, I will never understand his penchant for the plug.

So after my shower this morning, after I had brushed my teeth and dried my hair and lotioned up my skin,  I retrieved my red anal plug, lube, and a large towel. I spread the towel on the bed and climbed up on the mattress, sitting on my knees on the towel. I flipped open the cap of the lube and squeezed out a decent amount onto the tip of the plug. Then I smeared the lube all down the sides, so it was well-coated. I leaned forward, bracing myself on my left hand, and brought up my left leg leg so I could plant my foot on the bed. Then I took a deep breath and, with my right hand, brought the plug to the entrance of my ass hole.

I slowly worked the tip of the plug inside my ass, pushing, then easing, then pushing more. I felt myself being slowly stretched, and at first it was just an odd sensation, a feeling of being breached more than anything. As the plug was worked deeper, the feeling went from breached to stretched to discomfort and burning, and as I pushed the flared base past the ring of muscles, actual pain. I moaned out loud, because it truly hurt. That's part of my loathing - it fucking hurts every single time, and I caught my breath on a sob and chanted "Ow, ow, ow," even as I finally forced the plug into place. I dropped my hand and knelt on the bed, panting, my ass throbbing and sore, and waited several minutes for my body to adjust.

Once I felt I could move, I pulled on my clothes, including a pad to catch the lube and other fluids that would surely be oozing from my entrance shortly.

The first 45 minutes were OK. I obviously felt full - overfull, really - but as long as I didn't move around too much, it wasn't too bad. As time wore on, though, I became more and more uncomfortable. I had been sitting on the tall wooden stool at the breakfast bar, but as I slid to the side to get off the stool, a stab of fierce pain hit me, stabbing me cruelly from the inside, and I gasped. I ended up just sitting on the couch and not moving, because even just shifting my position caused flares of pain to shoot through me.   

Finally, finally, the 90 minutes were up and I hobbled to my bedroom and carefully shucked off my slacks and panties. Master said I was to cum before removing the plug, and I was feeling torn about it. Cumming is good, of course, but the plug was so horribly uncomfortable by this point that I barely cared. I laid on the bed, on my back, with the towel under my hips, and curled up my left leg so that my foot was on the bed. My right leg was loosely bent and slightly open. The plug felt not quite so awful now, but I was still very aware of it. 

I started stroking my clit with one finger, gently rubbing and teasing it, but I was dry, so it wasn't doing much for me. I slid my hand lower, between my legs, and nudged the tip of my finger into my pussy. There - wait - a tiny bit of wetness. Not enough. I pumped my finger several times, working it deeper, and my body began to respond, creating the slick juices I needed to stroke myself. Yes, that was better. I pressed my finger in farther and wriggled it a bit, wetting it thoroughly, then pulled my finger free and started rubbing circles on my clit again. It was better this time, as it was slick and my finger glided over the nub easily. It didn't take long for my orgasm to take me - it had been a while since I'd been allowed to cum, so it crested fairly quickly,  breaking over me in a steady but gentle wave of pleasure. 

I sighed softly, feeling the way my body had loosened and relaxed. My ass was still sore, still feeling too full, but measured against the tingling pleasure of languid muscles, it wasn't too bad. But Master had specifically said to cum 3 times, so after a minute or two for my breathing to calm, I started rubbing myself again. I brought my left hand up, under my shirt, and pinched and teased and rolled my nipples in my fingers, as my right hand stroked and rubbed my clit. This time I felt the need building, the desire slowly working through my body, and I tossed my head and sighed. My fingers kept stroking and teasing, and my hips started rocking of their own accord. 

As the tension in my body built, the need to cum and find release grew, and I began moaning in pleasure as my fingers rubbed furiously and my hips started bucking, seeking that burst of release. The plug in my ass caused quick sharp flares of discomfort, but I was more tuned to gaining orgasm and so could mostly ignore those twinges. My arm grew tired, and still I rubbed and stroked myself, and I hovered on the cusp between need and relief for a long, long minute. And then my orgasm broke over me, a swift and powerful consuming which forced a long, loud cry past my lips and caused all my muscles to lock up, squeezing and tensing as I rode out the waves of intense feeling. And my muscles all squeezed so tightly that the plug was forced out of my ass, and my cry changed from pure pleasure to pain as it pushed past the ring of muscle at my entrance. Damn it, that hurt!

I laid there, panting, my body a curious and none-too-pretty mix of tingling pleasure and throbbing pain. My ass felt stretched and sore and raw, but the rest of me felt tingly and loose. It was distinctly odd.   

I knew Master had said 3 times, so I picked up my tired arm and started rubbing myself yet again, reaching down with my left hand to insert my middle finger inside my pussy and pump it while I rubbed. I was so tired, and achy and sore and so not in the mood, but my need to obey was greater than my lack of desire, so I kept on. And it took forever, I swear, and my arm hurt so badly from the repetitive motion as I swirled my fingers over my clit, and my moans were more of protest than pleasure, but finally my body responded and I arched my back and tensed as I came for the third and final time. And honestly, it felt forced, and was more painful than pleasurable.

I curled into a ball on the bed and laid there for several minutes, until my heart rate slowed and I felt that I could move again. Then I sidled to the edge of the bed and all but fell off, staggering a bit as my shaky legs were forced to support me. I gingerly picked up the plug by the edge of the base and made my way into the bathroom, where I tossed the plug into the sink and went straight to the toilet. Clean-up after a plug is gross, no two ways about it, and lube acts a lot like an enema, so there I sat as my body expelled waste and lube and blood. Yes, there's always blood, as the plug irritates me inside and causes me to bleed. Wiping myself afterward was no picnic, either, as my ass was so very sore. I will be sore for a couple of days yet, and bowel movements will have pain for the next day, at least. It always happens that way.

At last everything was cleaned up and put away, and I wandered out to the kitchen for a glass of water. I sat gingerly on the couch - yes, my ass flared as I made contact, dammit. But I have the knowledge that I have completed the task set before me, and I will be able to report to my Master that I faithfully followed his directive today.