“So 100 strokes with Satisfyer and no orgasm?”
Correct, My Master
As Instructed
“Impressed, you have earned freebies
Enjoy”
Well I told you I would be able to
…..
“Wellll..
It seems my Slave DOES have will power when it IS important.”
You are so important to me, My Master
I wish you could forgive my mistake
But I will keep trying to show you how much I regret it and improve
I’ll take my shower now if that’s ok
“Forgive, yes.
Forget, never.”
I understand
Good night, My Master
“Good night, My Treasure”
———————————————————————
Thank you, My Master
Your training is taking effect
“You have a long road ahead of you, My Cunt
Crawling.
Worshiping my body
Cumming on command at parties as you hump my foot or boot”
I am your Property and to be used as pleases you best, My Master
“Good girl”
I put myself in your power to be shaped, used, abused, pleasured but always in service to you
“And, here only a few months ago you did not even believe in Remote Control orgasms
Nor
That you were a slave”
My life has changed so much
It’s not at all what I expected
But here I am
“It is rarely what we expect it to be, My Treasure”
Even so, you draw me like a magnet, My Wolf
Anxiety about the Future; Regret about the Past
At the beginning of the week, before I had my cosmetic surgery, you had me perform one more physical Task for you, a variant of Full, which requires me to fill all your Fuck Cunts at once with dildos for a certain number of strokes, if possible concluding with an orgasm with all the cunts stuffed. This is a technically challenging task and can be unpleasant as you encourage me to practice deep throating with FC1 during it. You have been edging me aggressively for the past few weeks to improve orgasm control amongst other things. To test that control we agreed to add on an extension to the task of 100 strokes in FC3 while using the Satisfier on your clit to see if I would be able to do it without orgasming. You clearly thought I would fail, My Master, while I had complete confidence that I could do it and enjoyed being a little “sassy” to you in response to your doubts. We were texting a bit during the Task and after I announced that I had achieved the goal, I hoped you would take the opportunity to perhaps call me briefly or take over and give me some guided orgasms but you were distracted and did not. I was disappointed because I knew that after the surgery I would not be able to play with you for some time nor had you asked to play with me for weeks, but I took it in stride. I reminded myself that I was a Slave and my pleasures are dependent on my Master’s wishes and so, with no orgasm after fucking all your holes thoroughly I cleaned my toys with a dripping, unsatisfied FC2 and started getting ready to take a shower in preparation for my procedure in the morning.
While I was undressing you texted, and we had the exchange above. I was naked, plug loose in your stretched FC3, clit still aching for release, somewhat anxious and guilty about the surgery in the morning and looking at my body in its current form for the last time, wondering if I was making a mistake, wondering how painful and difficult the recovery would be, how much it would inconvenience my family, if it would be worth the money, if I was selfish and stupid for doing this. Initially, your texts caused their usual schoolgirl rush of happiness and your praise made me smile and glow with pride and pleasure. But then, as has happened so many times, you twisted my hand, that I thought you were holding so gently in your steely grip, bringing me to tears and to my knees with your keen observation of my failings. That little comment about being able to control myself when I thought it was important enough to do so, hit me like a truck. I obviously knew you were referencing my breaking of my promise to you about sex with my play partner. I gently put down the phone and melted to the floor, curled up, quietly sobbing so no one else would hear, feeling like I would never truly be free of your doubt and disdain for that error, that you would always cast that in my face, even when I thought that I had pleased you. How can I defend myself from the truth, My Master? It will always be true that I failed you and I lay open my heart to you to be lashed a thousand times, My Lord, if that gives you solace.
Did you know that you had struck me so hard, My Master? Because we mostly communicate by text, I can still hide my hurts and joys from you. You don’t see the times the phone is flung across the bed in frustration. You don’t see me kiss the screen or sigh in bliss or giggle at your joke or grimace in response to an idea for my future use. You don’t see my eyes fill with tears of regret, of confusion, of despair. I pick and choose still what picture I paint for you of myself. I send only the best selfies and the prettiest outfits. I protect myself, weakly, through these little deceits and masks, even as I continue to tumble happily down the rabbit hole of submission to you. But the time for all this will soon be drawing to an end.
Lately, we have been talking more and more about being together in real life. I have been talking with my therapist about it and everything that may or may not come to pass. I need to start talking to my husband about it at some point, although what to say to him baffles me as I barely know how to counsel myself. I am terrified for the masks to be pulled away. For you to see my true face and to look into your dark eyes and see if you will still claim me. Or if there is nothing between us and it was all words and dreams and I must armor myself again. Even now, I do not know, My Master, if you would have been pleased to see those tears from your comment hitting home, or if you would have been surprised or even concerned. It does not matter so much what your reaction would have been, My Master. The fact that I cannot predict it is what is so telling of my ignorance about you. So much about you remains a mystery and yet I cannot hold myself back from what I want to be, what I must be, WHAT I AM…Your Slave and Property.
Upgrading Property
The surgery was uneventful and strange. I was turned into a patient with a simple costume change and coddled by the jolly nurses while they filled out a thousand forms. My undesirable flesh was carefully measured, groped and marked for destruction by my beautiful surgeon who noted several flaws immediately that she casually planned to correct (my belly button was not midline and my right breast slightly larger than my left). I was reassured by a distant but capable anesthesiologist that he wouldn’t let me die when I let him breathe for me. I climbed willingly onto the surgical table, internally amused as the staff transformed me again, this time from a patient into an object needing repair, gently arranging my passive limbs and beginning to refer to me as if I was no longer there even when I still had my wits about me. But soon the good doctor unexpectedly took my hand gently in his and firmly pressed a mask over my face and told me to breathe deeply and, of course, like a good girl, I did.
I dimly recall recovery and driving home through what my husband told me later was a terrible storm. I texted you that evening and told you I was high and itchy and fine. I was wrapped tightly in bindings from my armpits to my hip bones with two clear plastic drains coming out of the bottom and the next two days I focused on sleeping, eating and enduring the usual post operative discomforts while my husband ran the household and kept me fed and hydrated. Two days after, I returned to the clinic and was unwrapped and saw my new body for the first time. While it was definitely swollen, bruised and stitched together, the APRN was pleased with the repair and even I could see the potential for a beautiful outcome in my currently somewhat macerated flesh.
You have been quite gentle with me in this period of recovery, My Master. Even before the procedure you declared that I needed to focus on rest and relieved me of being plugged, my usual Tasks and Rituals even including my morning greeting to you, which is one I have honored since very early in our relationship. You have endured my unusual dullness and lack of availability due to the surgery followed shortly by my restlessness, whining and boredom as I start to feel better and yet not well enough to return to my normal routines and service to you. You can be a patient man, My Lord. When you show your concern for your Property, it also brings me to my knees, not from Fear but from another emotion, even more dangerous and frightening to me. Thank you for your kindness to me, your Pathetic Slut Slave, while I am healing, My Wolf. You know I am eager to serve you through my beloved Rituals and challenging Tasks, be plugged again (soon!), enjoy your naughty games and share in your sexy, dirty day dreams and plans for the future.