Master’s probably looking forward to this blog entry. I’ve thought about writing without mentioning last night to spite Him (kidding) but I’m not sure that would benefit anyone. However, writing about last night is proving difficult. It’s not something I’ve ever been put through before.

Master and I goof off quite a bit at times. Flirty wrestling and teasing tickling and pinching and biting (though He usually swats me when I bite Him if I ignore the warning tone in His voice when He says “I wouldn’t do that if I were you”). In these “wrestling” matches, it’s almost impossible to not accidentally get spit on in the heat of the moment. And I’ve always exclaimed in indignation “You just spit on me!” while wiping where ever His spittle accidentally landed on His skin.

For a while, His response was “Oops.”, “You’ll live.” or “Oh, sorry!” (sometimes sincere, sometimes sarcastic), but always both of us was laughing. Recently, His responses have turned to “So?” and I ignored the change.

He mentioned spitting on me intentionally and I recalled His issues with bodily fluids and blew it off. He’d never do that. He can’t stand large amounts of spit. No need to worry or prepare myself for something like that. The thing I chose to ignore is I took exactly the same stance when He threatened to piss on me.

So I guess by this time you know what happened last night. We both went to bed pretty fucked up. Between the drinks and other stuff, we were pretty knackered. I can’t remember if I fell asleep between Him telling me I could stop licking Him and lay down and Him pulling me to Him and kissing me. I don’t remember all the details before He did it. I just remember my face mere inches away from His and a huge wad of spit splattering in my eye, up my nose, on my cheek. It dripped down my face but somehow completely missed my lips. And He pulled my face to His and made me lick and kiss Him with spit drying on my skin.

His rock hard cock pressed insistently at the folds of my pussy as our legs intertwined and I lapped at His flesh. And I slowly began to realize that my reaction was none of what I thought it would be. Here I lay, a meaningless whore performing for a man, suddenly very aware of the saliva drying in my eye and nose. I didn’t gag. I didn’t cry. I cried out and I went on about my business. Until it was over, that was the extent of my reaction.

He pushed me to my back and plunged His cock into my sopping wet cunt. The sopping wet cunt I couldn’t even begin to pay attention to. I had a huge wad of spit on my face! I didn’t even know my pussy was wet. Until this morning. But I’ll tell about that when I’ve finished with last night.

He fucked me pretty hard. I fucked back trying to keep my spit covered face from grazing against His skin. Somehow, I knew that letting His spit rub off onto Him would be a very bad idea. And when He came, His cock bulged and strained inside my fluttering pussy walls, slamming against my cervix and forcing my back to arch and my breath to catch. He grabbed my head with His hand and, just like I always do, I marveled at how big and strong His hands are. Then He pressed His face against mine in a spot that wasn’t covered in spit.

Without allowing me to cum, He sent me to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth and clean Him up. Without waiting for the water to heat up, I frantically washed my face. Here was where the extreme reaction would start. The spit that hadn’t yet dried began to leak from my nose and slide down my face. I gagged twice, began to breathe slowly in attempt to calm myself, and washed, rinsed, washed, rinsed, washed, rinsed until suddenly I realized I was scalding my hand. And I realized that, while I generally find spit pretty disgusting, what had me so disgusted was my reaction, or lack thereof, to being spit on. The worst was yet to come.

In the morning, the night had been completely pushed into the back of my mind. I remember waking up and remembering we fucked, but I think my mind attempted to block the spitting because of how weirdly I reacted to it.

I was sitting on the couch, ready to go to the bank and waiting for Master to be ready, when He walked up behind me and said, “So the cunt’s pussy gets extremely wet when a man spits in her face, huh?” and I froze. A trail of
warmth raced from my ears to my clit and then my suddenly very moist pussy lips while simultaneously shooting throughout the rest of my body. I felt as though if I looked down I would see it burning a hole through my shirt from my nipples and hitting the wall.

He mentioned it twice more between the bank and the house. I know my cheeks flamed. I could think of nothing else. I kept replaying the spitting over and over in my mind. And by the time we got home all I could hear was the sound. He made me take off my pants and somehow that was more embarrassing than being made to walk around naked. Then, after breakfast, He made me get on my hands and knees with my ass facing Him so He could use the kangaroo flogger on my ass.

I thought He would fuck me right there. I was wrong. He put me back in my desk chair. But He couldn’t resist playing with the flogger some more. At some point, I tried to reach His arms with my lips and He said, “If you want to kiss me, kiss this,” then pulled His boxers over to show me His cock and balls. I began to lap hungrily at both and He sent me to the bedroom to wait for Him on my hands and knees. He came in , flogger in tow, and began to flog my ass and back, then climbed on the bed behind me and proceeded to fuck the hell out of me while beating me senseless.

When He was ready to cum, He told me to turn over and began beating my tits for a moment before plunging His cock into me again. When He came, it took extreme restraint not to cum myself. One of these days I’ll be ballsy enough to beg to be allowed to cum with Him. I’m not there yet. However, He allowed me to make myself cum while He alternated between beating my breasts and dragging the tails across my nipples. I was floating while I was made to clean the living room and dining room in only a t-shirt that barely covers my ass and pussy.

I am His thing. His toy. And I’m glad that playing with me amuses Him.

In lighter news, we drove through Amsterdam, NY, yesterday and saw a huge white sign with black lettering that read LAWN SAIL. It took a second for the shock at what I was seeing to wear off. Had they made a sail, the cloth that keeps a boat moving by power of wind, out of their grass and dirt? And does it work?? We laughed
pretty hard for at least ten miles at that. Needless to say, we didn’t stop to see the lawn sail. It just wasn’t that interesting.