Home > Rayne > I might be a little twisted.

I might be a little twisted.

February 26th, 2014

MeSo, this weekend, we argued. And I’ve restricted myself from DMs on Twitter, and any other private conversations (except for email, so if you need to discuss something with me privately, drop me a line at rayne [AT] insatiabledesire [DOT] com) because Master’s got one simple rule that I ignore constantly about private messages.

Basically, I have to ask permission before talking to people privately. Specifically men, and mostly because I used to get myself into conversations I shouldn’t be in without realizing where the conversations where heading (which only makes a difference because I was never actively looking to flirt, I’m just dumb when it comes to recognizing flirting for what it is), but he always wants to know what I’m talking to anyone about. He figures it’s his right as my owner, and he’s right. And I talk to him about pretty much everything, anyway, because we don’t do secrets and he’s my best friend, so even without the rule, I’ll eventually tell him.

I don’t really follow conversations into dangerous zones when I’m talking to women privately (even gay women), so if anyone’s being discriminatory (someone once accused him of that), here, it’s me. But if I’m to be honest, I must say I’ve never had a problem with women (even gay women) trying to drag me into conversations I shouldn’t be in. It’s always men.

Master knows I’ve restricted myself from DMs, but in truth, it was my idea, because it’s easier to just take the temptation away. I’m not trying to just ignore his rule on purpose, or pull one over on him. That would completely negate our dynamic, and indicate a much larger problem. What it comes down to is, I feel weird ignoring people until he answers me, or altogether if the answer is no, so I…just talk to them.

Apparently, somewhere along the line, I got the idea that not being impolite to other people was more important than following his orders. As if I think that, for even one second, he would care more about his reputation as my owner and husband (my behavior reflects on his training, his morals, and his manners) than whether or not I do as I’m told.

I didn’t break the rule this weekend, entirely. I spoke to someone in private that I had originally been given blanket permission to speak to in private with the stipulation that I relay what was said. And I did relay what was said, but I didn’t specifically mention that it was in private.

It’s all a giant technicality, and wouldn’t really be that big of a deal, except when I pointed that out, Master pointed out the countless times he’s caught me recently actually breaking the rule, and hasn’t really said anything about it. But besides that, nowhere in the rules does it say that I only have to follow most of the rule. It says “follow the rules to the letter.” And the strict side of our owner/property relationship isn’t supposed to be on hiatus, anymore, so it’s shitty that I would even point out the technicality.

It was a pretty intense argument, and it dragged on through errand running. We would stop just long enough to do whatever needed done in public, and resume the conversation the second we were in the car. Bottom line, though, is Master spoke, and my big, fat mouth should have formed the words, “yes, Master,” and then shut the fuck up.

We had big plans for dinner, but we didn’t get home till it was time to start cooking, and Master decided reminding me of my place was more important.

I was getting things ready for dinner, and walked into the bedroom for one reason or another. When I walked toward the door, I saw him coming toward me with that look on his face. If you’ve got a man like mine, you know the look.

His eyes were dark, hungry. His gaze raked over my naked skin, owning every inch, and came to rest on his collar. I dropped my eyes immediately. He grabbed my breast and pulled me to him. His other hand found my collar as I tried to nestle my face into his chest hair so I wouldn’t have to look at him. He hadn’t told me of the change of plans, but I could feel it hanging in the air as if it were physically there.

He asked me questions, but damn if I remember any of them. I’m sure they had something to do with who owns me, and what I should do with my mouth. All of them were focused on one purpose: reminding me who is the boss.

He grabbed the back of my head and pulled it back by the hair until I was looking into his face. I jerked my eyes away from the glimmer in his. “Let’s see if I can fuck you, shall we?”

The poor man is dealing with what we think is sciatica. We’re walking as much as he’s able to see if mobility makes a difference, and he’s making a point to get up and pace when he has a free moment from work during the day. The pain is different, he says, but not really better.

When he shoved his cock into my dry pussy (“Aww, you’re not wet. I’m gonna push it in anyway.”), there was no evidence that he was in pain. He pounded me like a 16-year-old hetersexual male getting his first taste of pussy. He punched and slapped and berated me, tearing me down to my position as he saw fit. From the moment he threw me on the bed, my instinct to resist his logic–to maintain my self-righteousness–was out the window. I am his, and even if his logic is flawed, it is my place to follow him down that broken path.

His logic was not flawed in this case.

I was lost in the lesson when I heard him croon, “You’re such a good whore. Such a good fuck toy. Aren’t you?”

He was grabbing handfuls of my tits and pinching my nipples as he drove his cock hard and fast into my cunt. “Never have to worry about your behavior when cock’s involved.”

It’s true. The second his dick comes out, I drop into slave mode, no matter what I’m doing. It’s like there’s some switch he’s planted in my brain that actually stuck. Certain mannerisms will do it, too, but that day, it was all about his cock. As he wanted it. It’s his way of reminding me that he will reduce me to simply a plaything if he wants to, and there’s nothing I can do about it even if I wanted to.

When he was finished with me, he shoved me to the side and growled, “Get yourself off, before I change my mind.” Then he wrapped his hand around my throat, and said, “With a little reminder from Daddy.”

The only thought in my head as I came was, “He could kill me right now, and there would be nothing I could do about it but die with my hands in my pussy.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve had an orgasm that intense.

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  1. March 6th, 2014 at 10:13 | #1

    Holy balls this is so intense! If I’ve ever gotten you in trouble, I apologize. I also envy your ability to write so… realistically, without filtering the darker stuff.

    Also, since I’m here and consciously thinking about it I’m actually going to add you to my feed reader so I don’thave to come read all the things in one sitting. haha

  2. March 6th, 2014 at 11:11 | #2

    @ Mr. Will ~gasp~ You mean you haven’t subscribed already? πŸ˜›

    You’ve never gotten me in trouble. I tend to be more careful with the people I consider friends and want to be allowed to continue to maintain the friendship. I have blanket permission to talk to you in private cuz of our dealings that we really need to work on when we’ve got a coinciding free moment. And even if I didn’t, it would be me getting myself in trouble. They’re my rules, not yours. πŸ™‚

  3. Camryn
    March 28th, 2014 at 12:58 | #3

    Whoa. *eyes wide* Naughty Rayne and scary M are too much for my poor little heart. *grins*
    The first sentence made me go “Uh oh” and my heart beat pittered faster and faster til the end. Congrats on that orgasm. I bet it was intense!
    I think it’s your openess about M’s ownership that makes certain guys steer your convos that way. They see your devotion to M and they begin want it for themselves, but instead of being inspired by you two then going out and finding it, they think they’ll play with you.
    Umm, nope. Silly mortals.

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