Bianca sat on the floor with her legs crossed, smirking indignantly. She had caused her master trouble at least five times today. Each time she caused him angst, he removed an article of her clothing. She was down to her baby blue lace bra and panties.

Her final violation was when she snatched at his belt and pulled his soft cock from his pants while he attempted to lead a conference call. His large hand gripped her arm to pull her off of him before he turned his back to her and adjusted his clothes. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he frantically fixed his belt but Bianca was feeling insatiable. She quickly attached herself to his back, reaching around his waist to unbuckle his belt once more.

This time she giggled loudly and said, “I need your cock!” It was loud enough for the other conference call participants to hear.

He grit his teeth and turned to face her, dropping his phone on the marble counter. His irritation aroused Bianca more than any of their other interactions. Still glaring at his slave, he picked his phone off the counter and continued his call. Bianca stood back from him with her hands behind her back, biting her bottom lip.

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed a split second before he reached for the collar of her t-shirt and stretched it before it tore. Then he pointed to the corner of the kitchen and mouthed “Sit the fuck down.”

Bianca rolled her eyes and reached for his belt again in protest. He grabbed her wrist firmly and walked her to the corner, never missing a beat on his conference call, then shoved her to the ground. Before he walked away, he grabbed her collar again, twisting it until it tore then ripping the tattered shirt down the middle.

“Take it off,” he mouthed before turning his back on her.

Bianca poked her tongue out in protest but removed the tattered shirt anyway. She waited in the corner with a pout fixed on her face. After what Bianca felt was an eternity, Master returned with her restraints and a remote controlled vibrator.

He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist to yank her from her seat on the floor then whispered in her ear, “You’re a dirty bitch, aren’t you?”

“No,” she whimpered.

“You wanted my undivided attention and now you have it,” he told her as he twisted her arms behind her back to cuff her wrists.

He shoved her back into the corner causing her to lose her balance and fall to the floor. Master waited for her to adjust herself in the corner before he lowered himself into a squatting position and attached her ankles to the spreader bar.

He slid her panties to the side to reveal a clear liquid dripping from her pussy.

“Look at your cunt, begging to be touched,” he mused.

Master then used his middle finger to dip in and out of her contracting walls. When he removed his finger, her pussy juice strung along with it. Bianca moaned, eager for what he might do next. He slipped his finger in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it.

He pulled his finger out then squeezed her jaws, “You want Master’s cock in your mouth, don’t you.”

She diverted her eyes from his but didn’t reply.

“Okay.”

Master stood up to retrieve the remote controlled vibrator. He slowly twisted it into her aching vagina until eight inches of it were no longer visible. Her moan was for both pleasure and relief. His final touch was putting a red ball gag into her mouth.

“Remember the rules. You can’t climax without permission.”

He pulled up a chair then turned on the vibrator. Bianca’s muffled moans filled the kitchen. Her eyes begged him for permission but he just sat and watched. Her thighs twitched uncontrollably. Her moan was throaty and guttural from her trying to contain herself. Right before she let herself go and climaxed on the thick long vibrator, Master turned it off.

He shook his head no. Tears streamed steadily from Bianca’s eyes. She almost began to sob but Master never moved from his seat. He kept her at the cusp of satisfaction.

Master’s Masterpiece

He said he’d buy me a collar then we’d do erotic things.

I wonder what those things include.

Would he instruct me to gracefully kneel and lift my hair?

As he fixes the collar to my neck, would his rough finger tips graze the tiny goosebumps on my nape?

Before he walks around to stand in front of me, lifting my chin so he can see me

Staring into my eyes so he can see us

Clearly.

Because I am now his submissive.

A reflection of his dominance,

A result of his care,

His masterpiece.

3 AM

It’s 3 AM
Do you know where your lover is?
I do not.
Chances are i never will.

I haven’t written anything of substance as of late. Just blurbs in an effort to get my fingers moving. I’ve been going through a trying time in my love life and it’s all I can think about. It’s funny that I say “love life” because this part of my life was devoid of fiery love or passion. This part of my life was more about companionship and parenthood.

I want to write it all down and send it to the universe but I fear that once it is written, it cannot be undone. There is something in me that believes in order for he and I to get past this, I must not put it into the universe. I should hold it close to my heart where it hurts the most.

I have been keeping the details pressed against my chest where it seems to be causing a full body reaction.
It hurts to breathe,
it hurts to blink,
it hurts to sleep,
it hurts.

My companion is banking on me wanting to do anything to rid myself of this pain but this betrayal is a fine two edged sword sharpened with manipulation and deceit.

Here I am writing about how I feel but not about what has happened.  I forcefully pulled back the magician’s curtain and now the magic is gone. I want to rewind everything because the knowledge of the deceit is more painful than the speculation.

We’ve been down a similar road before and I managed through that. I just don’t know how in going to get past this.

Mental illness feels like

for me, at least, the constant desire to be physically immobile while your mind is in a constant race. It feels ungrateful, negative, heavy, and confusing. Like I’m two steps from snapping but three steps from clarity.

I just want to lay down. I just want to cry. I, i, i, me, me, me — selfish. So I beat myself up for not feeling up to life. I berate myself for not owning my accomplishments and learning from my failures.

It’s so complicated. You need to pray, they say. You’re in a funk – that’s a good one. One step at a time. One day at a time. One loss. One win. I’m tired.

So I keep moving forward because I have to. Because there’s a shred of dignity that doesn’t permit anything less. But I am tired. I am worn. I feel negatively about many things. This, I assume, is because negative things happen.

You are only to speak positivity over your life!! That one is my favorite but I don’t think that is the answer. The brighter side of things still feel incredibly dark.

Scraped knees, shattered heart, bruised ego. It’s the smallest detail that weighs the most. Deep sighs to relieve the heaviness of all this. And still only for a brief moment.

Loud music & sing-a-longs mask a deficiency in happiness. Really I just want to feel better.