Me, My Bed, and I

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.

This blog contains frank discussion of sexual situations.

I am on my own this evening, and that's all right. I miss my Master, of course, but I am content with my own company. I've had a quiet night - a little TV, then a little reading while soaking in my bathtub. I love soaking in my bathtub.

But I am water-logged, so out I get, then towel off and wander to my bedroom. I sit on the bed and grab the lotion bottle from the nightstand. Warming the lotion in my hands, I smooth it over my calves, restoring the moisture to my skin where my long soak had leached it away. More lotion gets smoothed over my feet, then I take another dollop for my thighs. I turn my left leg to the side and see my latest tattoo - elegant script on my left inner thigh, proclaiming my status as "Master's whore."

The ink is fairly new, about a month or so old, and it still makes me smile each time I glimpse it. It represents my self-awareness, my commitment to submission, my commitment to my Master, and I am quite proud to wear it, thank you.

I turn down the comforter and slide between the sheets, settling on my back with my left leg bent and a bit out to the side. I scrunch the pillows beneath my head and squirm a little, resettling myself to feel more comfortable. The sheets feel cool on my bare skin, and whisper across my body in a subtly sensual way. If I shift my legs open a bit, the sheet dips between my thighs in a frankly delicious way. Mmmm. That's actually turning me on a bit. I play with that, pulling my legs closed, sweeping them open, feeling the way the sheet slides over my skin. My lips part on a soft gasp, and I shiver.

I shift again and turn my hips a little, which allows the sheet to glide over my inner thighs. I used to have a set of satin sheets, and I loved the way they felt against my skin. These sheets are cotton, but the effect is nearly the same. I bring my hands up to my breasts and start  playing with my nipples, rolling them in my fingers, teasing and pulling until they stiffen into peaks. I bend my knees a little, digging my heels into the mattress, and rock my hips up, allowing the sheet to glide over my inner thighs again. Mmm, that's nice.

My right hand leaves my nipple and trails down my chest, over my stomach, and between my thighs. One finger dips down over the edge of my mound and grazes across my clit. My hips buck up involuntarily, and I let loose a quiet moan. My finger dips lower, seeking the entrance to my pussy, and I press it inside. God, I'm wet already. I crook my finger, gathering some of my juices, and spread them over my clit as I begin to rub myself. My breathing quickens and my heart rate increases as I play, and I can feel the need and the desire building within me.

I rub my clit harder, pressing more firmly, and then pinch my left nipple. I gasp and squeak at the quick sting, my body shuddering. My hips rock of their own volition as my fingers dance over my clit, my gasping breaths a quiet but steady accompaniment. I press two fingers of my left hand into my pussy, feeling how hot and wet and slick I am, then pump them in and out, in and out as my right hand moves almost frantically across my clit. My voice escapes me in a long moan and my eyes squeeze shut as the leading edge of impending orgasm rushes towards me. 

And then in my mind, I hear my Master's voice - "Cum, whore." I arch up off the bed as my climax breaks over me, my inner walls constricting as my juices flood my fingers, my muscles tensing as my body shudders and shakes. I hear myself moaning, loudly, but I can't stop it, any more than I can stop the tremors wracking my body. At last the tension eases, and I collapse to the mattress, panting harshly. My legs are still trembling as I lift my left hand to my lips and lick my fingers clean. Hmm, sweet with a hint of tang. 

I lie there, still panting lightly, as my muscles finally ease and I melt into the mattress. A sleepy heaviness fills me then, and I blink, slowly. I turn my head into the pillow and nestle into its softness, closing my eyes. I whisper my devotion into the stillness of my room, and drift into sleep with my Master at the forefront of my thoughts.  
    

Lists

Lists are deceptive. No, really. We ascribe such power to a few words scratched on a memo pad or an old envelope. And what do we use them for? 

-- Memory joggers. Here's where the grocery list comes into play, or the list of errands to run. We don't believe we can adequately remember what we want/need on our own, so we use these handy notes to remind us. 

-- Time schedules/prioritizing. What's on the agenda? What needs to be done? And in what order?

-- Must-dos. These are the chores/goals to get through today; anything left unchecked (or, if you're like me, not scribbled through) is a sign of failure. Even grocery lists can cause this. How many times have we felt guilty about picking up an item not on our list, or even worse, forgetting to put an item on the list to begin with, and still feeling like we failed when we didn't purchase it?

Since when did a simple list become a key point in self-flagellation? 

My Master says I must create a list for a different purpose - one which details the things I do now, at his behest, things I didn't do before he told me to.

Hmm. It's not really as easy as it sounds, since many of those directives have become so integrated into my routine. But I'll give it a shot.

-- Wardrobe changes. Master decided he'd rather I wore only white cotton panties, and white cotton camisoles. I have not worn a bra in a month or more, and that is definitely something I would not have done, and would not do, had he not insisted. 

--   Collar. I now wear a silver necklace gifted to me by my Master. It is the outward, visible sign of my submission and his mastery. I wear it constantly, even in the shower, while sleeping, underneath other jewelry if i'm so inclined. But I always wear it.

-- Positions. I have mentioned in several of my posts about the positions I assume at my Master's direction. I can think of no reason why I would assume these particular positions for any other reason except that it pleases my Master to do so.

-- Smart Balls. I bought these because Master told me to, and for several weeks I wore them for 4 hours daily, as training. More recently, Master has reduced this to once weekly, still for 4 hours each time. I am to send him a text telling him I am on task each week.

-- Devotion. Again, I have referenced how I repeat these 7 stanzas each night before sleeping in many of my posts. And again, there would be no reason for me to do so except that Master expects it of me. But more and more it has become that I say this for myself, as well, as a way to reaffirm my role and my value to myself.

-- Ink. I have acquired 2 tattoos at Master's request. The first is a circular tattoo, where the phrases "your wish is my command" and "for your pleasure" encircle the word "submissive." Master came up with the basic design, with the wording, with the placement. Even 2 years later, I think of it as HIS tattoo. The second tattoo is more recent (like, a month ago!) and says, in pretty script, "Master's whore." Less than 6 months ago I would not have even considered scribing those words on my skin. That I now have, is proof of my progress in my journey toward submission, and my acceptance of my developing role. 

-- Anal plugs/beads. Using these for training or sexual play is strictly and 100% Master's choice. I  don't like them. At all. Enough said.

So yes, there's my list. There may be more, actually, things that don't immediately come to mind. But this is a pretty good list, anyway.