Sex Type Things

Been thinking about some sexy sex. We don't have a schedule since he thinks it's not-sex-inducing, but I know that when I want it, he generally doesn't want it. When he wants it and I don't, which is mostly cause I had been just about to do something or am feeling grubby or whatnot, he licks my asshole. To which I get quite grouchy, and he says I'm no fun and stops messing around, but I feel like I just pissed on his parade. And he mopes off and I feel terrible.

But when he doesn't want it, he says, "I don't feel like it," to which I feel terrible. And I know we're supposed to be in this relationship, but he never makes me if I'm not into it, and lately, not so much kink, so I get really frustrated.

I want kink back. I try to entice him into it. I try to needle him into it. I try flat out saying it, but his heart's not really in it. And I feel terrible.

I feel like this is way too honeymoon period for us to have lost this already. He still wants sex and to eat my pussy and ass, and to fist me and other sex-type things, but I want a goddamn spanking, and a long one and one where he's really into it. But he thinks it's too loud and stuff.

AH! I'm so damn irritable right now! And I should be grateful for his unbelievable mouth that makes me cum over and over, long and steady, that wakes me up so gently and learns every little nuance of my body...and I am...Jesus, I am.

But I'm a spanko. And I know I could live without sex before I could live without spanking. And I feel like a failure and a louse for wanting more. Am I being an ungrateful tramp?

Sperm Eye

Can we just talk about sperm eye for one second?

Is there anything more physically irritating or monstrously unattractive than the blotchy redness you get after having taken a load of cum to the eye? And it's never both eyes. Just one flaming pink sclera and a puffy lip.

Is this just me?

Meme-mail.

Dear Slut on Display:

I don't really know how to tell you this, but I dislike you. I think I realized it When I tripped on sesame seeds In your apartment and I saw you Sit on My penpal in Ghana. I'm sure you're Scarred enough to understand That I get turned on by garbage men. I'm returning Your memories from the military service to you, but I'll keep Your left ear as a memory. You should also know that I Told in my confession today about A passionate interest for mice.

Good luck on your short term leave from jail,
-lolli-

Follow the rules HERE to write your own disturbing letter!!

I'm great.

Hey, so I'm pretty great. Here's why:

1. I make up songs all the time and only some of them are about wieners.
2. I do little dances when I hear songs in commercials.
3. I like Alan Rickman.
4. My hair is touchable and soft.
5. I show people all my shoes, and say why I like them.
6. My cats think I'm pretty cool. Or so they said.
7. I get jazzed when the Free Credit Report.com commercials come on.
8. I comment on the production value of all TV movies at length.
9. I have a library card and once had a forty-five dollar overdue fine. Take that, reading!!
10. I can weld but I don't brag about it.
11. I make executive decisions about what parts of my hoo to shave and then I work it.
12. I make up words (like 'jubbles' to describe my belly).
    

That'll do for know. I just wanted you to have some qualifications for reading this blog...you know, in case you were like, Who the fuck IS this broad?

Inside that counts.

Papu has taken to eating my pussy. He puts me down on the bed with only a tee on and spreads my legs. He lays with his head on my thigh and touches my lips, first gently, then searchingly. He finds my clit, pinches until its button head rests like a trembling honey bee in a circlet of petals. He closes his lips and tongue around it and suckles. It feels incredible and I push my pussy against his teeth without thinking.

He spends along time with my cunt in his mouth, licking and sucking and flicking over every part. I am so content. The glow of the bedroom lights around us, the tiptoe pressure of his fingers peeking and pulling. He really looks at me. I feel so vulnerable and connected. He spreads my lips and watches his fingers push into my holes, silky webs of wetness glisten on his hands. He kisses my thighs, talks to me; I can feel his breath. And when he watches, I get this euphoric shiver through out my body, spreading across my chest and neck and belly like a blush.


I want him to see inside me. I want him to be curious. I want him to know every part.

Charades

Haven't written because I have been so busy, but as I don't seem to have anyone to disappoint, it's not that big of a deal, right?

Actually, I am trying to get back to the love of blogging. Don't get me wrong, I love the written word, love analyzing myself and everyone else to death, love documenting for future analysis, it's just that I am not, nor have I ever been, that consistent.

I wrapped up my last blog after nearly four hundred posts, and I have started like, three blogs since then, but since my main one, I just can't keep it going after thirty posts. Anyway, I was quite busy with a new time-suck job, and crashing out an hour after I got home, with birthdays and Mother's Day, with my best friend's new husband and double dates...

No excuses. I've got to try harder.

With my relationship too. I've just sort of let that go. Not the togetherness part, but the intimacy, the kink, submission. Well, submission has been a struggle for me since the very beginning. He says he wants this relationship, but we seem to need to get into the headspace for it. That wasn't what I had expected. I thought that we did that cause we lived at a distance, but here we've been together for quite a while, and we have no problem with the little manageable, daily intimacies (grooming, showering together, picking up food from each other's plates), but we have to transform into our DS roles.

It's hard for it to feel authentic. It's hard for me to go from chatting and shooting the shit, to him scolding me or warning me not to do something. First thing in my head? Who the fuck do you think YOU are? Not your [what I would call, in the strictest sense of the word] typical sub behavior. Second thoughts? You could have asked nicely, I would have just done it. We're not even doing that right now. I might have, but definitely not now...

Etc.

And when it doesn't feel authentic, like one of us has decided it's time, and switches into those roles, but the other is going: Wait, what? We're doing that now? I was just about to make rice... It's even harder to get into it. Sometimes, impossible.

So I haven't had anything to talk about. And this part, which is a real part of kink, more real to me than our bedroom roles, probably, it gets ignored. But I am still resentful about it. I still have this very unfair (yes), selfish (granted) part of me that says: Hey, I fucking signed up for a DS/kink lifestyle!! It should just be happening all the time! I shouldn't have to orchestrate it! I shouldn't feel sabu-ed by it! I'm not even sure you can think clearly enough for the long-haul it would take to wait me out, to actually dominate me. I am submitting so I can get back to the rice, dammit! MAKE ME!! Show me you can make me!!

And he's waited me out before, but it's often been such a mess of emotions with crying and yelling, and spilled drinks, horrible whispered insults, threats of ending the relationship, moving away...

It's made me afraid to push to the edge that it would take for him to actually break me, to stomp all the negative, doubting thoughts I have at the idea of him dominating me.

And it's not all his fault. I don't think that really. It has been sloppy from the beginning because we're new to it, we're trying to simultaneously build this relationship and our public one. He is allowing me the freedom to have opinions, challenge his (on a short leash), to make suggestions, to be flippant and have a sense of humor, to want to watch my own shows, eat my own meals, choose my own career. He's trying to separate these things a little, because how else do you make it work? He doesn't want a little automaton that can parrot back his words. We both value growth of our perspectives and ideas, of analyzing and testing our thoughts.

It would be very tidy if he could just say: Vote for Clinton this year. And my mind would be made up and I would do it, no thinking necessary.

But neither of us would be happy.

Instead he says: Did you see that last phone speech she gave? What did you think of that?

And we discuss it, and sometimes I come around, and sometimes he comes around, and often, we don't change our minds, but also often, we have similar opinions...

And maybe one day, he'll do all that, and then say: It's voting day. I value all of your opinions on her politics. I think you make a good point that she is removed, an elitist in sheep's clothing, and cares mostly about saving face. I'd like you to vote for her.

And I would.

In a perfect world.

I'm crafty about that sort of thing. But perhaps that's a problem itself. I even call it 'crafty', like is some cutesy, cartoonishly-devious mischeif, not the flagrant disobedience that it actually is. I need to take him seriously and not always look for ways to bend around the rules, to dismiss him. I tell myself: It's the principal. He wants me to piss in the shower. So I say, "YesSir" but after the first time, it's back to the toilet. He thinks I am being obedient, right? It's the motions that are important.

But it IS the principal.

He's not checking cause he trusts that when I say I will, I will. And bending the rules makes me think that I've gotten away with something, that I am the smart one, that I have the upper hand. And then, I can smirk to myself, but I never learn the humiliation, the gratitude I should have for him allowing me to use the toilet. I never learn that he has the control. See? It's my own fault in part. Sometimes, I wish that he would check up though. I wish he wouldn't be so trusting, that he would make me afraid to lie. But wishful thinking could be topping from the bottom, so I never want to say it out loud.

In any case, we have a ways to go. But I'm glad we're doing it together.

Pamper (-s/-ed)?

Yesterday, when we were out shopping for a rice cooker and a hummingbird feeder, Papu bought me a pack of diapers. We were watching a special on ABs a while back, and though I found the representative, a woman named Katie/Baby Ella, cringe-worthy, it reminded me about some things we have been talking about regarding expanding our level of AP.

First, it took me quite a while to be okay with AP in any format. I used to be stringently opposed and had a knee-jerk gag reaction. I think mostly because my exposure had been through the google searches and internet chat sites (the AP forums at Spanking Community), documentaries, and your occasional television reference, none of which made me want any part of it. Over time, though, Papu dismantled my barriers and I have found myself wanting it, really wanting it.

Papu is a great Daddy. He is soft and loving, and moreover, really wants it too. He puts me on his lap and bounces me, kisses my forehead, reads me stories and buys me toys and coloring books, makes me treats, gives me binkies and calls me little girl. I feel adored.

And then, he takes it a step further. Ours is not a relationship where there are boundaries between AP and BDSM. It makes me crazy wet when he is lying on top of me, asking me if I want his big Daddy cock in my baby hole. He tells me that I can't tell anyone about it because they would never understand, makes me promise, tells me it would get him in a lot of trouble if someone found out that he touched his baby girl in all my naughty places.

And then he shows me how to do it. Slowly, making sure I'm okay, that I'm not hurting too much. He tells me that I am never allowed to let anyone else touch me like Daddy does. He tells me he knows I'm a bad girl and a little slut and I can't help it, but that no one but Daddy is ever allowed between my legs. And I promise, pushing my soaking pussy up against him.

So, when he asked me last night if I wanted to try my diapers on, I don't know why I was so hesitant. I was embarrassed. I told him so and he took me into the bedroom anyway and pulled off my pajamas and powdered my cunt and bottom, then put them on me anyway. It felt strange, I'm not going to lie. I wanted to do it, theoretically, sure, but when I was there in diapers, I couldn't stop thinking about old people in diapers.

I asked Papu to set up my pen. I thought that maybe I could get into it more if I was in a crib. I kept thinking about Baby Ella and how much I did not want to be that girl with her annoying baby voice asking for peanut butter ice cream, referring to herself in the third person like a schizo. I tried to push those thoughts away and play with my cat in the pen. I liked it when Papu said that I was a much cuter and sassier version than Baby Ella. That I didn't AP in such an irritating way. Except that he must have been thinking about that documentary too. Worrying.

I put my hair in pigtails to try it out. I don't really do that. It was cute, but I didn't think that Papu was really that into it anymore. He was getting bored and jumpy and so I put the crib away. It's hard to stay in a little mind space when Papu is irritable. The last thing I want is a fight while I'm in diapers.

I knew he wanted to beat me. He kept telling me he wanted to, and eventually, at a commercial break, he took me, protesting, back into the bedroom and had me bend over the foot board. He wanted to hit me with the new wire switch as hard as he could cause I was wearing the diaper. I was pretty scared, but he tried some littler swats first. Suddenly, he swung so hard. I shrieked and fell on the floor, rubbing my butt and crying. The switch had gone around the padding and caught the one side of my cheek with the sharp, sanded end.

But Papu was kind and said he wouldn't do it like that again, kissing my cheeks and helping me back up. He pulled down the diaper and started with the switch again. I was crying really shortly. I hardly ever cry with floggers, paddles, brushes, lengths of knotted rope, but those little whippy things fuck me up. And they hurt more after the initial swing.

Anyway, he wailed on me with the wire for a while, then with the short leather crop and finally with the bath brush. I was crying and I couldn't stop the whole time. He told me to look at him, then kissed my face and lips, asked me if I wanted to be fucked. He had already fucked me earlier in the afternoon. It was really passionate (the romantic kind of passionate, which is a deviation from our normal, rough kind of passionate) and we both felt spent relief after. But I love dick, so of course I said yes. Well, I begged as he prefers.

The diapers did not come back on afterward. I was tired and as I had already told him that I didn't think I could just up and pee in them, he didn't insist.

Like I said, he's a really good Daddy. I love being his little princess.

Daddy Dearest

Papu got creative last night when I wouldn't tell him where the little red switch was. It was nearly 2 in the morning, but he got up and shaped a wire coat hanger into a switch and wrapped electrical tape around the end for a handle. After he scratched my hand with it, he filed the end a little bit (not enough in my opinion) and then beat me with it.

I kept telling him I didn't know where it was, but he beat me for lying. (I wasn't exactly lying. I had an inkling, which turned out to be accurate, but I would rather have him hit me with ANYTHING else. I hate that little red switch.) In the end, welted and teary, I told him where it was.

I am regretting teasing him into playing with me this afternoon. I am concerned that the red one is going to figure in somehow. There was suggested a little hogtying. I will hop away if necessary. I really need to work on my blood-chilling, neighbor-fetching scream.

Wish me luck.

Dead animals need love too.

I went to Chinatown yesterday. That's what the title is from; these Japanese characters. Japan doesn't always make a lot of sense (RE: Noodletown).

I'm getting the shot again tomorrow so sex is back on in T-minus sixteen hours!! I miss fucking, but it's only been two days. I can't complain. Papu even says I can play. Which I will. I like to play on my own so I gotta get Papu to do something else. Then I'm getting out the big guns. Grin.

It's only fair. He wanked today while I was working. He let me look at his porn, but it was just porn to me. There's some I like, but it all just looks like skanky vag en mass.

We got some goodies at Home Depot. New rope, and cable ties because when we researched what police were using; it seemed to be the same. They were out of the 24" (well, they had a sign on them that said to go get a team member to assist if you wanted them, but Papu doesn't want anyone to suspect what he's up to... Me? I'm just like, "'Scuse me, Sir, where's your rope? Great, and chain? Perfect. How much weight can this hold? Like a person?"), so we got the 48". They're super long, but you can just cut off the extra. They're sitting in front of me and I can't wait to use them. They'll be all fast and convenient and I suspect will leave some sweet markings.

My jaw is KILLIN' me from the ball gag, PS. I know I bit hard on it, but it feels like I have been chewing tar. The thing tastes like cack. When he put it in, it reminded of this time when I was like, nine...my dad bought this gas mask. I can't remember exactly why but it had to do with there being breathable toxins in something he was doing and since he was sick, it was worse for him. He kept it under the sink, in the bathroom cupboard. I used to go under there all the time to use my mom's old make-up and I found it and tried it on. It was really heavy and had two filters. But it stunk like rubber. It was worse wearing it than breathing regular air so I took it off. I thought maybe if I sprayed it with some perfume it would be better, so I grabbed this bottle of cheap stuff my mom had gotten as a present and thrown under the sink with all the other 'up-for-grabs' make-up (you know, ice blue eye shadows and magenta lip liners, etc) and sprayed it all in the mask. It stunk doubly of cheap perfume and burnt tires after that and my dad had to throw it away. He was sorta pissed since it was expensive, but I also thought he found it kinda funny. I was only trying to help. Those sorts of things happened a lot. It's how I broke the TV too. But that's another story.

Anyway, I thought of that while Papu put the gag in and I almost laughed. Almost.

Spanking Chi

Papu beat me for a long time this afternoon. I needed it real bad. I couldn't count each swing. He says it's somewhere around 300. My butt hurt like it's been rubbed with sandpaper (and technically it has cause he used the black no-skid paddle at the end). I went through periods of being very sensitive and then not feeling the scrapes and stings. It was just incessant, violent pounding on my ass.

He tied my ankles and wrists half-way through and put in a ball gag. I drooled a lot, but it helped me stay focused. Afterwards, I felt high. People say that, but those are the same people that spend days at their Master's feet, serving. I went to Home Depot and couldn't stop making stupid jokes and repeating what he said in weird voices. I moved slowly and felt disconnected. So like, really, actually high.

Anyway, it cleared my depressed mood for a little while, but life has been too stressful for it to just disappear. I felt bad that I made Papu angry, but I was angry too. It's not right to squabble cause we're stressed though, especially since he went out of his way to try and beat the stress from my body.

I ache and think I'll sleep well tonight, though (probably won't make it through the bedtime story...grin). I don't know how many more days in a row I can take this kind of a beating, but I will continue to ask so long as I can.

Kink Is Like Drink

I asked for kink again today. I seem to really want punishment; like over and over. I wonder how many days in a row I can go. I have a perma-scraped feeling. Like when you skin your knee, but your ass instead. It's raw, but I'm not actually broken, you know? And now there's a deeper muscle ache that I can feel when I move and stretch, alot when I get in the car.

It's like when you drink after something bad has happened; and you haven't had a drink in a while. You keep saying, "I'm not drunk enough. I can still feel this. I need to drink more, cause I'm pretty buzzed now, but in half an hour I'll be okay again and I'll have to start over." And then you drink some more and all of a sudden, half an hour later, you're ready to black out.

I just don't know if I'm drunk enough yet.

What It's Like

I asked Papu what my first post should be about. He says he's crap at keeping blogs, but that's okay cause I'm the one writing. I didn't want to start at the beginning because I'm not at the beginning anymore. He says to write about how the kink is different than I thought it would be. The kink means our relationship.

Here's what I thought it would be like:

I had lots of visions of play spanking. Like, scenes, really. When you don't live it, you think it's like a sexy little scene in it's own time, with like, a decorum and whatnot. Like: "Lollie. Come here; you've been a bad girl and Daddy is going to spank you now." Spanking, talking, crying, lessons learned, standing in the corner like a naughty little kid. Or like, meaner things where Papu ties me up and leaves me in a dark closet, only to pull me out and thrash me and maybe tease me with his cock or finger me before beating me again.

Lots of spanking though. I imagine it will hurt very much and there will be bruises and welts, maybe broken skin. I dunno. I imagine I will be very afraid of Papu, but maybe at night times, he'll tuck me and tell me I'm his little baby and give me a sippy cup while he reads me a story.

Suffice it to say, my imagination is expansive, dirty and depraved, crosses all my personal boundaries, but most importantly is always hot and is always on my terms.

Not exactly the realities of submission.

This is more like it:

Sometimes, there's a lot of kink, and mostly when we're happier. When Papu is very mad, he is scary. I don't think about if I look pretty or if I am in control because I am not. I am running away and hiding in locked rooms. I say, "Don't touch me" and mean it. I kick and pinch and punch and scratch back. But Papu doesn't get that angry anymore since he smashed the bathroom door.

Sometimes, Papu thinks I'm sassy. He scolds me and warns about it (and mostly I think I'm not even doing anything), but if I don't stop, he pushes me into the bedroom and tells me to bend over the bed. There isn't really a decorum to it, not like in my head. It's just functional. Then he pulls down my jeans, just over my butt and tells me to wait. And sometimes I do, and sometimes I get up (which is probably why he never puts the paddles and hairbrushes and sticks away, cause they're right there in arms reach). Then he spanks me.

Not ever too long, and sometimes I think not long enough. Papu doesn't want to hurt me too bad, I think. Not like that anyway. Or maybe he's just sympathetic when I start yelping and squirming. The one time I thought it was too much was when he used the little red switch. He was mad and it only took two swings to make me scream and say whatever he wanted. I got this knot in my stomach and I thought I would throw up it hurt so much.

Sometimes he spanks me softer at first, to warm me up, but not always. If I can, I try to squirm forward so I am lying down more than bending over. It hurts less. This is some reality. You start finding out little things, like which tools you really need (as opposed to which look good) and how to cheat the spanking a little so you don't scream so loud that the neighbors call the police. Oh, and you worry about the neighbors. And you don't get those gorgeous black and bruises; you get sloppy little red splotches and bumps and welts. And you keep saying, "What's wrong with my butt?" And you start feeling like a square when you think about bloggers who take like 500 with switches and canes, when you're getting like 100 with a bath brush at half-swing.

And most of all, you're not in control of your own pain or pleasure anymore; this is both disappointing and ridiculously hot. I hate having to ask for orgasms. It's humiliating still somehow. I mean, I can piss in front of Papu, can lay still while he pushes his whole fist into my cunt, even listen as he recounts my snoring and night-time babbling, and I don't wanna ask to cum. So more than I like, I don't get to cum. I cheat sometimes. I tell Papu about that most of the time, if late. But I struggle with the idea of absolute control.

And on the other hand, I am so hot for it. The other night when we were fucking, Papu pressed the tip of a knife to my throat and I froze. He sank down on top of me and slammed his cock in and every thrust pushed the knife into the skin of my throat. I could feel it leaving the most shallow cuts, like water, in and out, leaving no trace of its penetration. He told me later that he could feel the change in my pussy; that I was wet for it. I felt like a deer in head lights. Everything became sharper and slower. I wanted to cum but I was too present, if that makes sense.

When he finished, he pulled out and leaned down to my thighs and made two thin slices into the flesh next to my cunt. I know he could see his own cum leaking from my slit. I felt frozen and open and the blade was not smooth, it was cutting me. Not slicing, more like a tiny saw. And then, better than an orgasm; he rubbed them with vinegar. It didn't make a difference really. Maybe the cuts were too small. But then he cleaned me up, first shoving a handful of paper towel under my pussy, pressing it against my cunt lips; then he cleaned the cuts, put on a bandaid. I could barely move. It felt so good to lie there and be fucked, and hurt, and cut and then patched up. I felt dizzy. It made me want more.

Later on I asked for more kink the next day. When we woke up. Papu said yes. But he didn't give it to me when I woke up. It was later in the afternoon. I needed to feel pain, and lately I need it real bad, and I hate waiting for it, but I also love it when I don't get to stop him.

And that's sort of how its different.

Papu.

My Daddy is called Papu. I love Papu.