Posts Tagged ‘hood’

HNT – Humbled in Silence

October 21st, 2010 2 comments

It’s really nice, right here.

October 20th, 2010 Comments off

M seems pretty intent on taking a Wanton Wednesday series.  Of which, I’ll probably be able to “borrow” a photo for HNT.  Unfortunately, He’s still working.  So here I sit, waiting for instructions.

We have a cat. A black cat with awesome golden green eyes.  Her name’s Cara.  She sleeps all the time.  Except at night, when she peeks her nose under the cage cover of Zedd’s cage and freaks him right the fuck out even though she can’t reach him.

And here come the instructions.  He’s talking about hoods.  Oh dear god.


There’s something to be said for a man who can respond to “That hurt my elbows.” by looking around the room and saying, “Yeah, I think the guy who gave a fuck left.” without missing a beat.  And then look at my shocked and appalled expression and laugh.

“I was hoping it would hurt.” He said as He walked away.

He locked my wrists to either end of a homemade spreader bar, and put me on my knees.  Then He tugged the hood over my head.

For the first time ever, Master put clothespins on my tongue.  Ow! Four of them! Quadruple OW!

And the panic that rose every time the material clung to my nostrils was exacerbated by the pain in my calves and knees.  He has this habit of walking forward as He thrusts, which makes me bend backwards, which makes my calves and knees hurt more than they would if I just knelt there.

And as He’s reading this, He’s probably rubbing His hands together, and planning His next face fucking on my knees without the use of my hands.  He’ll probably figure out a way to make it less comfortable.  He’s already told me I need more practice on my knees.  But truth be told, the kneeling was only half of it.

I still don’t do well with things over my face.  And it didn’t help that the hood kept going up my nose in the few brief moments M would back out of my throat just far enough so I can get a breath through my nose, but like… You’d think Id open my mouth or something, but instead, I keep my mouth tightly clamped around His shaft as He lets me attempt to suck in a breath.

And like… There was something over my face, man.

But I had no trouble cumming on my back while M rubbed one off on my hooded face with only my tongue sticking out.

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A Hood, a Paddle, and a Determined Master

July 21st, 2010 3 comments

“Answer me the way you’re supposed to.  With Master in there somewhere, and loud enough for me to hear you.  Do you understand me, cunt?”

“Get the dishes done.  I’m cooking dinner.”

“I want the Under the Bed Restraint System… under the bed.”

“Get the cuffs on so we can adjust it.”

“I’ll be paddling you with the new frat paddle from Maui Kink tonight.”

“I’m going to hurt you.  I’m not going to stop because you want me to.”

“@insatiabldesire will be gagged and likely strapped down.  Should be fun (for me, hah)”

“You’re not going to like it.  It’s going to be too much.”

“Find the zipper hood and the gag, and lay down on the bed.”

Only…  Read more…

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Product Review: Fetish Fantasy Zipper Head Hood by Pipedream Products

July 16th, 2010 3 comments

Ooo, what’s that?

This is the Fetish Fantasy Zipper Head Hood by Pipedream Products.  And oh my, did it scare the bejesus out of me when I requested it.

What’d it come in?

See that box in the picture? Yeah, that’s what it came in.

How’s it made?

Y’all, I measured my head for this one.  And I have a pretty big head.  It’s 23″ around at the brow line.

You have to all measure your heads, now, so I can compare and see if my head’s really as massive as I think. ~nods~

On the real, though, this mask is actually decently sized.  It’s made of black lycra with a metal zipper at the mouth and metal snaps to hold the blindfold on.  It’s about eleven (I typed “elvan” first) inches at its widest point, and about thirteen inches from top to bottom.  And it has two eye holes underneath the blindfold that are stitched together in the middle.  Read more…

Fear, The Hood’s Here, and Song of the Day

March 7th, 2010 5 comments

There’s this girl I read occasionally.  I’m not sure if she’s a masochist.  There is no doubt her man’s a sadist.  And I can only read her occasionally.

Her relationship makes me cry.

Not because I think she’s being abused, or because I worry about her, or anything like that.  She’s happy in her relationship, and while she damn well may be being abused according to the standards of people who don’t understand owner/property relationships, she consented to what she’s living through.

Her relationship makes me cry because… oh, what Master wouldn’t do to have a girl like her.  To be able to treat me the way she’s treated and still maintain the husband/wife side of our relationship with hardly a hitch.  And definitely not a hitch that came of Him treating me that way.

While I say, all the time, that I want that, and could withstand it, there’s this tiny niggling of self-doubt.  This part of me that thinks somewhere amongst the neglect, and harshness, and denial, and deprivation, I will lose sight of the love, and devotion, and fulfillment, and desire.

Part of me is petrified.  The tears that I war with every time I visit her page are tears of absolute terror, not tears of sadness, or worry, or anger.  Once in a while, Master gives me the tiniest taste of what she lives every day, and five seconds in, I’m sure my head’s gonna fall off.  Five minutes in, I’m pretty sure I’ve ceased to exist.  I’m not really sure where the pain’s coming from, and unless and until He speaks, I could almost swear I’m alone.  Read more…

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Fucking and Punching Turns into Rambling

February 11th, 2010 6 comments

I can’t remember if I mentioned it or not, but I’m an official regular guest writer over at Submissive Guide, now.  My first official regular post went up today.  Lol.  It’s just an introduction.

And have y’all seen People can ask you questions there about whatever.  They don’t even have to sign in.  I’m on there if anyone’s got questions.  Or whatever.

Now that that’s out of the way…

The other day, Master walked over and grabbed me by the throat.  He put His lips close to my ear and asked, “What are you?”

“Slave” is no longer the correct answer.  “Property” doesn’t do it for Him either.  “Pig whore” is who and what I am in our dynamic.  And when I answered Him, He responded with “What are you good for?”

There are a billion answers to that.  There’s tons I’m good at.  But that’s not what He’s asking.  He’s asking, when it comes right down to it, what kind of treatment I deserve.  And, my eyes trained on the wall in front of me, I responded plainly, “Fucking and hurting.” with that half-embarrassed smile us girlies tend to get when we’re uncomfortable.  When the danger is crackling in the air.  Our hairs standing on end.

He ordered me into lingerie and leather and then to the floor beside His office chair.  And it was minutes before a tongue bath turned into a blow job.  Seconds before the blow job turned into me on the bed with my ass in the air and Him beating me.

I shot myself in the foot when I held still the other night.  He expects it all the time, now.  I almost didn’t get fucked because He managed to land a direct and solid blow to my clit and inner labia, and I shot clear across the bed.  I’m pretty sure, by the strength of the blow, even He wasn’t expecting it to land where it did.  And He granted me reprieve when I held still for the rest of the assault He committed against my thighs, pussy and ass.  Read more…

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