Why I’ll never be a full lesbian…

You know, it doesn’t seem to matter what I am using or what position I am in. I’ve tried it with dildos, vibes, my gear shift knob, my fingers, and miscellaneous household objects, with just about anything and every thing I can think of. I’ve done it on my hands and knees on my back, with one leg up. I’ve tried putting the base on the floor and bouncing up and down. I’ve put it up against a wall and pushed against it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing that I do makes it so that I can fuck myself hard enough to make it feel just right. Nothing can take me to that place where I am balancing between the pleasure of being fucked and the pain of having a cock battering my insides.

Of course, when I’m trying to simulate hard fucking it still feels good, but it’s that kind of feeling you get when you are almost there, but not quite. You know where you want to go but you just can’t get there. It’s frustrating as hell.

Besides, I have never actually had a toy, or object I’ve converted into a toy, that’s felt like a real cock anyway. They all just feel like random objects that fall short of the glory that is a real, hard, throbbing, piece of flesh designed for fucking.

Of course, if there’s some woman out there who’s willing to try to convert me into a full fledged lesbian anyway, I’m more than willing to submit to that kind of training. Who knows? A woman with a strap on may be able to fuck me just like I like. Of course, I’d not refuse returning the favor. It could be a mutually beneficial experiment.

Bruised and Battered

For some reason I think that the depth of my pussy fluctuates. Sometimes when Master’s cock slides inside of me it is the perfect fit. The head hits in just the right spot just the right way deep inside of me and it feels incredible from the first stroke to the very last. Other times the first few moments have varying degrees of pain that gradually dissipates into the same incredible pleasure.

Last night was different. We were lying in bed together feeling restless when He decided to use me. I put my hair up and got out the leather fuck straps. The first strap binds my ankles so that they can’t spread further apart than about 8 inches. The second is for my wrists. Master uses it most often when I am on my hands and knees with my forearms stretched up above my head, but with my elbows bent so that my wrists are resting between my shoulder blades. The third is one that goes around my waist and He uses it like a set of reins, holding on and pulling me back even harder as He thrusts inside of me.

He wanted me to climb on top of Him and sink myself down onto His cock. I love being able to lean down and press my body down against His while I grind on His cock. I can breathe in His scents and feel His breath on my ear as He’s whispering things like, “Does that feel good, my little bitch?” “I love when you use my cock, slut” and as He feels me getting closer and closer to orgasm “Cum for me, cunt”

My orgasms are always insanely intense, but those when I’m riding Him are different. They’re just as mind-blowing but in a softer way. I think that my senses get overloaded. I’m taking in sounds and scents along with the feeling of being fucked and the center of pleasure is different.

Master likes to be the one who’s making me cum though. He likes to take control of that pleasure and so I ended up in my favorite position, on my elbows and knees with my ass in the air. This is how I like it the best. Hard, deep, fast, animalistic fucking where nothing exists except the pain of the leather strap digging into my flesh around my waist and the feeling of His cock taking what He wants.

He slid it inside hard and *holy shit* did it hurt! Master knows that sometimes those first strokes hurt and they aren’t always nearly as hard as they could be but the pain was more intense than I can ever remember it being. It was enough to make me cry. He was concerned, of course, but He is a Sadist and my body is His to use in any way He pleases. He began to fuck me harder, and harder until I had to bunch up part of the blanket and bite down on it to keep from screaming from the pain.

That’s when something incredible happened. I realized that I wanted it to hurt. In fact, I wanted it to hurt deep inside that way more than I wanted it to feel good. I didn’t want it to stop hurting and I wanted it to hurt more. I begged Him to please do it harder, to please fuck me like He’s trying to stab His cock strait through me. I begged Him to make me hurt, and He did. He fucked me savagely like that until He filled me with His cum.

I’m still kind of amazed at my response to all of that. It was so intense that afterward when I went to clean up I was walking funny because every time I moved my insides were screaming at me “what the fuck, bitch?” This was about 12 hours ago and I can still feel it inside, like I’ve been bruised.

Master leaves early tomorrow morning to head to Atlanta. I am hoping that the soreness inside stays while He’s away, and that the moment He comes home He’ll order me to get back onto my hands and knees so that batter my insides with His cock again.

Maintaining a positive environment

My general purpose as Master’s slave is to bring Him pleasure. One of the ways that I am allowed to do this is by trying to maintain a positive environment. Emotions and how they are displayed are a large part of this.

Things such as anger, irritation, frustration etc do nothing but detract from a positive environment therefore I attempt to mask those feelings when I am experiencing them. Not to hide them, necessarily, but if there is nothing constructive that can come from them, or as long as masking them isn’t deconstructive then it’s my job to do so.

I have no orders to not experience these feelings, that would be silly. Instead I’ve taken it upon myself to keep Master’s exposure to them at a minimum.

Anger and irritation directed toward Master are never a good thing, but it does happen. I’m a very stubborn person by nature. It runs in my family. It’s not an easy trait to push aside. There are times when I am right and I know I am right, but because Master’s right by default that makes me…ahem…well you know…wrong.

I’m not allowed to argue the point. I’m not allowed to actively find evidence to support my point and present it at a later time. I’m not allowed to glare or stomp off in frustration either. I’ve learned to modify my actions so that they meet His expectations and as soon as possible I go into another room and rant and rail in my mind, or I go to the computer and type furiously about it until I feel better. Then, I delete it.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I do get enjoyment from watching when something happens that proves me right. In times like those I’m generally not allowed to say, "I told You so, Master" Well, I’m not allowed to say it out loud, but you can bet that I’m thinking it with a sense of satisfaction while I’m hiding the smug little look on my face.

Of course, it’s been a learning process. There have been times when I’ve opened my mouth before I thought about what I was going to say, or when I’ve thought about what I was going to say and just didn’t care. His usual response is to tell me to get the strap, and I’m punished, and then we talk about what’s made me so upset that I didn’t care about the consequences.

On the other hand, if I am experiencing something that is undermining my slavery, or causing harm to the mindset that Master wants me to be in, then it is my duty to find a way to bring that up to Him in respectful and properly submissive manner before it actually becomes damaging. My departure from His household in March of ’04 was a direct result of not discussing something that was eating away at me that turned out to be nothing in the end.

Isn’t it interesting that there are so many people who find it important to maintain their individuality in a relationship expecting a certain amount of change to occur in both themselves and their partner when my relationship with Master is just the opposite. He modifies me to fit into his life harmoniously, so that He doesn’t have to change, and I do so willingly and eagerly. Through repetition and consistency He’s managed to control even my instinctual reactions to certain stimulus. Maybe expecting that one day I won’t feel such things isn’t so silly afterall

* ribbit *

Check it out. I have myself a new friend.

 

If you look closely enough you can see that he’s almost smiling in a closed mouth smirky kind of way. I discovered him on the office window this morning. I think I shall call him 'Tosh (short for MacIntosh). He and I are going to just hang out today while Master’s gone. Do you think that if I give Tosh a nice big kiss he’ll turn into my fairy princess in shining collar?

The Winery Trip

Master decided that He wanted me to be plugged and to have my pussy lips locked together. It had been a while since Master had let me wear the little stainless steel plug and I was looking forward to it. It was also the first time that He used the lock to close me up.

We have a routine with the plug. It’s kept in a jewelry case. The padded bottom has spaces for my collar, my cunt clip and my plug.

When it’s time for insertion I get it out of the case and get the lube. I go to wherever Master is and kneel down before Him with mouth open and my tongue out. He squirts a big nasty gob of lube onto my tongue and then rolls the plug around in it until it's slippery. Then I bend over, reach back, spread open my ass cheeks and He inserts it. Usually He sort of bops it against my hole a time or two and then pops it in. It’s not a big plug and doesn’t hurt going in, but I can definitely feel it.

I think that He purposefully squirts 7 times more lube onto my tongue than He actually needs just because I hate the taste and feel of a bunch of nasty synthetic luby stuff on my tongue and in my mouth. I'm not allowed to spit it out or rinse afterward.

I had the feeling that KY just couldn't add anything good to the experience of wine tasting so I begged to be allowed to not use lube just this one time.

Anal play with lube is something that I never did before Master. With my previous dominant partner I was expected to make my own lube either with my pussy or with my mouth and I have no problem doing that. I like that better in fact. KY is so messy. Master granted me permission to use my mouth to wet the plug and then we went through the regular process.

The only problem with this is that I’d just brushed my teeth. Some of the toothpaste residue must’ve been transferred from my mouth to the plug and then strait into my ass because it started to burn.

To make matters even worse I was having allergies all day and every time I sneezed my ass would clench around the plug which would intensify the burning from the toothpaste for a moment. Master found that quite amusing.

The winery itself wasn’t exactly what I expected. I come from wine country, not Napa, but wine country nonetheless. I have seen acres and acres of grapevines and orchards. I have seen fancy tasting rooms and aging rooms full of barrels of wine. This was a little different. The winery itself is right smack in the middle of town. They must bring their fruit from somewhere else to be processed. I was looking forward to being able to walk outside enjoying the feel of warm fertile earth under my feet and the sunlight dappling across my skin as it filtered through the leaves of the trees.

Instead I stood at a bar and sampled a few different wines without going on a tour. I am not normally a wine drinker. I don’t like the way it tastes. I like sweet flavors and fu fu drinks. Well, I suppose some of their wines would fit into that category but there were winy wines too. I think that really anyone could find something that they liked there. Apparently you can only try a few before the tastes start to mingle and you lose the true flavors.

We tried the coco poloda, the mango mamma, the sangria, the semi-sweet black gold (blackberry wine), the blueberry blue, and the cocoa beach. In the end we came home with a bottle of the sangria and a bottle of the cocoa beach.

The coco poloda definitely tasted like pina colada. It too sweet even for my tastes.

The mango mamma had more of a traditional white wine taste with fruit overtones. I didn’t like it as much as some of the others. It wasn’t fu fu enough for me :)

The blueberry and blackberry flavored wines basically tasted like red wine with slight berry overtones. Again it wasn’t quite fu fu enough.

The sangria is a mixture of several different fruit wines. The tongue is only able to isolate one of the flavors at a time so the taste changes a little with each sip. The first taste could be watermelon or orange then the next mango etc. It seemed like the perfect way to bring home several flavors in one bottle, so we did.

And how could we possibly pass up the cocoa beach? It’s orange wine that is fermented with chocolate. It has a wonderful chocolate-orange smell and when you taste it you get both flavors mixed to begin with but are left with a cocoa flavor settling on the back of your tongue. I don’t see how anyone who likes chocolate could not like this wine. It’s like liquid candy but not overly sweet like the coco polada.

Evidently Master is such a natural sadist that even when it comes to wine He can’t help Himself. After we brought the bottles home He put them on the rack ;)

Wearing His Mark

I’ve finally found the courage to once again look seriously into branding research. I’ve been afraid to. A while back I found a site that said a branding would hurt less than a tattoo. I chose to believe that and also chose to stop looking any further in fear of finding something that would contradict it.

I want it, badly.  I have His collar locked around my neck.  I wear His steel around my wrists and through my labia, but it's not enough.  All of that can be removed.  I want something that can't be.  I want a permanant mark on my flesh. After the piercing experience I’ve become such a pussy though. It’s better for me to just avoid thinking about certain things until WHAM! It’s time to do it or I end up fixating on them instead of the things I should be focused on and in my mind they become a much bigger deal than they really are.

A few months ago I watched Jackass number 2. After Bam has his ass branded by a cowboy he says, "I'd rather rip my dick off and throw it in the river than to do that again. Goddamn!" That didn’t help much and it’s stuck in my mind since then.

While looking up other info so that I could write my entry in response to subbie_bunny’s interpretation of pain perception I stumbled across a site detailing the experience of 3 of slaves who had been branded on the same night. When asked how it felt they said: 

Slave Pamela: "Like any burn, it hurt. Unlike most burns, it lasted longer and therefore hurt more. I don't 'fly' so I was totally in pain."

wendy: "It hurt. The noise bothered me more than the pain, though. That popping sound was rather disturbing. People commented on the smell, but i had a head cold and couldn't smell a thing. Getting pierced was worse for me."

lindsey: "Some will say that I'm nuts but I thought is was great. In the very beginning as I was lying on the table almost shaking with fear, but Master Gar held my hand tight and rubbed my back and I started to calm down. He gave that look again that just consumes me and I knew that it would be okay. When Pere first touched my skin with the red-hot iron, I felt it burn and squeezed Master Gar's hand tight and took a deep breath, but I did not move for fear of ruining the brand. For about the first couple of times that he touched my skin with the hot iron I squeezed Master Gar's hand and was breathing rather heavily. Then all of sudden it hit me, I started to focus on the pain and the fact that I was doing this for my Master and I started floating. I felt like I wasn't really even on the table. Things almost sounded muffled and I could feel Pere touch me with the hot iron over and over again but now it felt wonderful. Master Gar said I released the grip on his hand and my breathing went very shallow. At that point Pere asked him if I was okay, and his response was 'Yeah she's fine, she's just gone flying.' They tell me I was on the table for about 30 minutes, but it felt like only seconds after I hit my space. When he was done it was hard for me to sit up, Master Gar helped me and I just hugged him tightly. It took me a moment before I got off the table cuz my legs felt like rubber bands and I was a bit shaky. All I can tell you is it was a great feeling."

OK, so unless I learn how to let myself go into subspace between now and the time I am branded it’s going to hurt like hell. I’m not sure where wendy was pierced, but if her piercings were anything like mine then it was pretty much the worst pain imaginable. If it’s less than that I can handle it, even if it takes a half an hour of burning my flesh.

I do wonder about the smoke and the smell. I imagine it will be something like pork chops cooking. I wonder if I’m twisted enough that smelling my own flesh cooking will make my mouth water. wendy’s Owner describes a bit of it in His own interpration of the night the girls were branded:

A volunteer from the audience was picked to press the big shiny button on the digital camera - we recorded the event for posterity. Another volunteer, the lovely Rita of the GD staff, held her legs and I let her brace against my back, but she was not otherwise restrained. We put her on a little examination table that Pere has in his area, where there's lots of light and everything is close at hand. He made the final arrangements of his equipment and we began.

First, he sterilized and shaved the area - high on the outside of her left thigh. (Right where I can touch it with my right hand.) Then, after checking with me on the final placement, he moistened the area slightly and applied a pre-made stencil. Peeling it off left a vivid outline for him to follow. Finally, he opened the sterilized bag containing the tools - pieces of 12 gauge stainless steel wire which fit into a tool of his own design. With a usable area of about 1/2", he estimated that it would take eight to ten strikes of this wire, heated in a propane flame, to touch all of the outline.

When everything was ready, he lit the torch and adjusted it to a steady blue flame, and we began. He heated the wire to red-hot: by the time he got it to her skin and was ready to apply it, it was not glowing. As he laid down the first mark, there was a sizzling sound, which anyone who's ever burned themselves, or cooked bacon, knows quite well. She flinched: nothing on Earth could have stopped that, but she did not move. Her skin was suddenly open, it almost appeared to have been melted apart. A puff of smoke flew up, and there was another familiar sensation... the smell of burned meat.

Again the heat, with a dirty orange light where the flame burned away the bits of tissue stuck to the wire. Again the application, the shudder, the pop, the hiss, the smoke. Around the stencil he went, carefully watching the brand, lining up the strikes. As the skin opens along the brand's outline, it shifts. About halfway around, he started almost freehanding, using the stencil as a reminder of what he wanted, not as a guide. Then with the outline complete, and even, he used its angles as a reference for the final strikes down the middle. There were ten strikes in all. Ten times the iron glowed, ten times it lowered to her helpless flesh. Ten times she moaned as her love for me was burned into her very body.

As I continued my research I rediscovered Fakir’s site and the process of using an electro-cautery pencil instead of using the striking method with heated ribbons of steel. I showed a few examples to Master, including a photo of hisdevotion’s back. He asked how one goes about getting an electro-cautery pencil. Until that moment it never even occurred to me that a person outside of the medical profession could just go and buy one. Well, for less than a hundred bucks one can buy a battery operated one with various different tips.

Something wonderful happened as I scrolled through all of the options for this tool. I began reading in the descriptions that they get up to 2200 degrees Fahrenheit. Instead of the fear I expected to feel at such a number I felt the nervous flutters of excitement. If Master decides to go this direction, and have His mark of ownership burned into my skin in this fashion, I will have 2200 degrees focused on my skin, burning me, marking me bit by bit. This makes me incredibly aroused. Perhaps I have the makings of a pain slut afterall.

masks

I’ve said before that my relationship with Master and the trust and honesty that is the foundation of that relationship has made me more fully myself than I ever have been before. I am more aware of the different aspects of myself and I am able to lie them all out on the table to be poked at and prodded by any stranger who happens by.

On the other hand there are those for whom I must wear certain masks. My relationship with Master might have inspired an intense honesty with myself and with Him, as well as with those who can accept us this way and those whose judgement doesn’t matter, but it’s also forced me to be more dishonest than ever to those around me, my neighbors, friends and family.

I have been asked by potential sisters, by friends and by callers about how the world sees me. What does Master let the neighbors see? His friends? My friends? My family? His family? It’s all kind of complicated.

The neighbors/His friends:
* My neighbors see a 28 year old girl who is living with a 53 year old man. They see the 2 of us happily interacting with each other. He is very active in our neighborhood community. I am not. I occasionally wave to the neighbors or have a conversation with them and most of the time they say something to the effect of, "It’s been a while. How have you been?" Most of them are nice people, but I have little desire to interact with them. They know that I am a phone sex operator and most of them are intrigued. They do not know that I am a slave but there are probably quite a few who have observed that I don’t make any decisions of importance.

My friends:
* My friends all know just about everything there is to know. Friends that I consider to be mine (as opposed to those that I know because of Master) are basically those from the internet. This includes a few people from collarme and other personals sites but the vast majority is made up of people from LiveJournal. LiveJournal is where all of my meaningful social interaction takes place, as sad as that may seem. There just aren’t a whole lot of people like me nearby and being friends with a girl who’s first priority is never friendships can be trying.

His family:
* Master’s brother, K. He is aware of the basics of the dynamics between Master and myself however it’s never discussed with him and it’s never thrown in his face. We don’t play or fuck in front of K. I’ve never been loaned to K. Master and I have discussed it and if K is anything he’s probably more submissive than dominant. K knows that I am a phone sex operator. I think he may have heard me on occasion when I am taking calls.

* The rest of Master’s family. He has one of those families that has reunions every year. The patriarch of the family is in his 90s and still kicking. I haven’t met everyone yet, but I’ve met the ones that are either closest or that Master likes the most. They have opened their arms and accepted me, making me an honorary –insert Master’s family name here- One of them told me over thanksgiving that she has never seen Master as happy as he is now and she thinks that I am to thank for that. What higher compliment can someone pay me than that?

My Family:
* My sister, E, and I used to be very close. We’re not anymore though. When I went to her house last summer I had just come from my fathers and wasn’t wearing my collar. The first night I was getting ready to go out with her and my mother and put it back on. Her reaction was that my necklace didn’t match my outfit and I should take the jewelry off. I refused explaining that Master (I used his first name) gave it to me and I hadn’t really had it off since except for when I visited dad. I think she started to get the idea at that point. She knew a little before then, but I think the image of me collared finished off any of the blank parts in her imagination of how I was living my life. I don’t think she approves. We haven’t spoken since then. I’m not sure how much my lifestyle has to do with that though.

* My mother knows the pieces and details that I think she is able to handle. She knows that I am with a man old enough to be my father, and that Master has quite a few things in common with my father. She finds that strangely amusing. Mom knows that I am a phone sex operator. She knows that I have kinky sex, that I sometimes role play weird things and that sometimes I play with rope. One of her favorites things to say when we talk is, "What have you been doing lately, just hanging around?" Then she giggles. Mom also knows that I am a phone sex operator and she likes to tease me about that too. She has no idea that my specialty is submissive phone sex or masochistic treatment at the direction of my Callers. I do not think she would be pleased if she knew that I partake in such things either in real life or over the phone.

* My Father. Sigh. I’m not going to go too deeply into what my father knows and doesn’t know or what he thinks he knows. We’ve had issues. He is the only one that I have not told I am a phone sex op. He may know, but we’ve never discussed it. He is also the only one that I have outright lied to about my life rather than simply omitting details. We are at a point now where he knows that I am happy and he is trying to accept that. He is trying to force himself to believe that even though he doesn’t see how it is possible. When we talk we never talk about the specifics of my life. We talk about the cats, his job, my other family members etc. I recently sent him a copy of the "I am From…" poem that I wrote and I think he came to understand some things about me that he hadn’t before. I think that seeing things from my point of view will help him with a deeper understanding of who I am.

So, I don’t appear to be who I really am to most people, and I wonder how they would react if saw me without my masks. I think that things would become far too complicated and frankly Master and I both are happy with as few complications as possible. I’m sure that my neighbors would see me as a broken abused woman who needs help and Master as the Sadistic Bastard who’s managed to take advantage of me. That’s probably part of the reason why I can’t stand to be around them for very long, because I can never let them know me. Relationships with them can never be any deeper than surface level and as Nathaniel Hawthorne said, "No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which one is true." The last thing I want to do is exchange the me that is real for the me that is not.

The Pet - Review

The Pet
Drama/Thriller
U.S. Release Date: 12/05/06
Running Length: 94 min
MPAA Classification: NR
Cast: Pierre Du Lat, Andrea Edomndson, Summer Nguyen, Steven Robert Wollenberg.
Screenplay: D Stevens 
Music: Chris Walden

The story follows a young woman, Mary, who’s emotionally vulnerable due to the death of her cat. Because her boyfriend was the cause of this death she’s left him as well. She’s about to be evicted from her apartment when Phillip, the charming aristocratic benefactor, arrives in her life. Phillip is part of the Global Slave Market or GSM, an organization which trains and sells human pets, though he’s never actually owned one on a long term basis. Recently his canine companion, a setter and show dog has died. Phillip decides that instead of finding another canine companion he would instead like to take on the responsibility of a human pet of his own. When Phillip and Mary meet he’s already had his people gathering information on her and following her.

After substantially overpaying her for the flowers that she sells in an open air market he invites her to lunch. She accepts. During this time they discuss her cat and her sadness over not being able to afford the cremation that will allow her to bring her cat’s remains home from the vet’s office. Phillip offers not only to pay for the cremation but invites her to his home so that she can give her animal a beautiful and final resting place.

When the remains are ready she is taken by limo to Phillip’s estate where they complete the funeral ceremony. Over lunch he brings up the idea of a human puppy which she laughs off at first. When He tells her how much he will pay her to be a puppygirl for a weekend though, she agrees to be open to the possibility. Phillip takes Mary into his deceased show dog’s trophy room. He puts the show collar onto Mary’s neck and renames her GG. This begins her training as his pet and her downfall.

Over the weekend she is naked, sleeps in a cage, is led on a leash, taken out to play catch, and shown to others that Phillip knows through the organization. When the weekend is finished he gives her the choice to either go free and return to her life with the two of them remaining friends or to accept an even more substantial payment to sign a contract and remain as his pet for the next six months. After some hesitation GG decides to accept. There is a brief period of time where she is allowed to return home to close out her affairs before returning to Phillips estate.

** More Plot Details & Spoilers Below **

When she returns to the estate she is branded and tagged. The number on her ear tag matches the number on a disk that the owner keeps at all times. This form of marking is common in the organization. The owner’s tag is necessary if/when the pet is sold on the open market. Once GG is settled her physical training begins. Charles, one of the other trainers in the organization has bet Phillip that his own pet, Taps, would be able to beat GG in competition. GG was an avid runner and her body is in wonderful condition, but her owner wants her to be ready for the competition.

Not only does she train during these months but she grows closer to her owner. This part of the movie realistically represents some of the real aspects of a power exchange relationship. GG submits deeper and comes to have the mindset of a human pet rather than a person who is playing the role of an animal. She submits herself to him, and he cares for her. There is a true exchange of power.

Soon it is time to make the trip to Utah and the headquarters of the GSM. GG and Taps do compete in front of other members of the GSM as well as a few guests of the organization. GG comes out on top every time. Everyone present remarks on what a perfectly trained pet she is and how profitable her sale would be if she were placed on the open market. Phillip insists that she is not for sale.

At the end of the evening Phillip carelessly drops the numbered disk that is necessary for sale of a pet. It’s picked up by Charles and he begins the process of placing GG on the open market without Phillip’s knowledge.

When the sale is completed a team is sent out to retrieve the property, to abduct her from Phillip’s estate and deliver her to her new owners where she will have her organs harvested. Phillip and the team argue over what is to happen but the team decides that they do not want to be a part of anything “ify” GG is placed in her cage. When no one is standing guard however another team arrives from the GSM. They inject her with something and she loses consciousness. She is once again rescued. Phillip tries to comfort GG but she becomes non-responsive and withdrawn. Within a short period of time she dies.

The last scene of the movie shows the man who was watching Mary/GG to obtain info about her for Phillip sitting in a convertible car just as he was in the beginning of the movie. This time he’s watching and reporting on another girl that we can only imagine is Phillip’s next human pet.

**************************************************

The purpose of this movie is not to shed light onto the positives of a deep consensual power exchange relationship, but instead to open up the eyes of the world so that they can see how very real the dangers of the current open slave market is. It seems quite possible that the original intent may have had nothing to do with BDSM, consensual slavery or TPE relationships but that aspect was thrown in so that the BDSM community wouldn’t be in an uproar over slavery in general being presented in a negative light.

I do think that the writer did try to accurately portray the emotions of a girl in such a relationship however the addition of the beginning and end parts which involve an organization that buys trains and sells human pets for organ harvest purposes detracts from the story. In the end one is left with a bad feeling in general about those who do actually take part in real power exchange relationships on a day to day basis.

The acting in this movie was poor as was the overall quality. It was much like watching a sleezy pornographic film, but without the sex.

I guess the big question is whether or not I would recommend it to others. The answer to that question is no, however if you must see it I’d suggest using a rental service if possible or borrowing it from a friend. It is not worth the current purchase price on either an entertainment level or an educational level. I’m not even sure if I will be able to bring myself to watch the copy that I purchased again any time in the future.

A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words

I was sorting through some of the photos that Master has taken and found this one. It's simple, but it says so much about me and the life Master allows me at His feet. First there's my tattoo which is unique to me and symbolizes many different aspects of my personal belief system. It's the only mark on my body other than those that Master gives me. He allows me to be me even as He recreates me as His. Then there are the ropes binding my wrists together much in the same way I am bound to Master as His pet, His slave, and His little girl. Lastly, beneath that simple rope binding is the hard solid unbreakable steel of the commitment that Master and I have to one another. His is to protect, cherish and guide me, to nurture me as I grow within my submission. He is my Owner, my Father, my Lover and my Teacher. Mine is to willingly give to Him those things that He cannot take, to serve Him, to please Him and to make Him happy.

Meeting Carrie

It was dark. I had no idea how long I’d been in there but it seemed like forever. He told me not to leave the closet and I’d tried to be good by staying there, but I had to go to the bathroom. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. There was no sound. I reached toward the handle and started to turn it. As the door swung out I noticed that a little slip of paper had be wedged on top. If I had opened it any more quickly it would’ve fallen off and he’d know that I’d tried to leave. Frustrated, I pulled the door shut again and sat down to wait for his return.

The closet was large. From what I saw before I was plunged into darkness it looked like the space was about five feet wide and eight to ten feet deep. The house was another new construction home. Each time that I’d been brought here I had only one purpose. I was to be used as a sexual slave.

Until tonight there’d only been him. It didn’t start this way. We began as coworkers. He’s one of those people that women flock to not because he’s incredibly good looking or because he has a great body, he’s neither of those, but because he has that aura of sexuality and a commanding presence.

In various different rooms in this house I’ve sucked his cock, I’ve been fisted, I’ve been spanked. I’ve had my pussy fucked hard and filled with cum. I’ve had my ass stretched to the point where I could bend over in front of a mirror hours afterward and marvel at it still gaping open wide. Tonight would be different. Tonight it wouldn’t be just him.

Moments after he locked me into my dark little prison he left to go collect a girl. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard a lot about her from him. She worked as his assistant for years and they’ve fucked countless times in every variation possible. He tells me that I’ll like her. I’m not so sure about that.

Thinking about what is going to happen for the first time tonight gives me butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never been with a woman before in the way that is planned for tonight. I tell myself that it will be easy. All that I have to do is duplicate what I like done to myself on her. Simply touch her in the same way I like to be touched. The only problem is that she may not like those kind of touches after all. What if I don’t like her taste? What is she doesn’t like mine? What if she is not attracted to me? I have almost thought myself out of the entire thing when I hear voices coming up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

It sounds like he’s brought her with him. The woman who will be my first is just on the other side of the door. I blink as it swings open and the light assaults my eyes. I’m so nervous I can hardly look at her. I know that she is looking at me though. She is seeing my naked body for the first time. I wonder what she thinks. Her face shows nothing but the nervousness she is feeling as well. Somehow that is comforting.

They’ve brought some alcohol with them. I’m thankful. I think that I will need quite a bit of it in order to do what I want to do so badly tonight. It looks like she’s already started. He’s encouraging the two of us to come closer, to sit near each other and talk. I can feel his hand on my body sliding softly up and down my back and ass as he does the same to her.

I’ve been attracted to women for as long as I can remember. After gym class I’d have the chance to catch peeks of older girls changing. One in particular had beautiful dark Hispanic skin with even darker areola. Her breasts where full and round, perky. They made my mouth water. I wonder if she knew how badly I wanted to just lick one of her hard nipples. I doubt she did. I was invisible at that point in my life. No one ever noticed. It made it easier to take longer glimpses at those 16 and 17 year old goddesses dressing and undressing in front of me.

Carrie was different though. By now I’d had a few drinks and had the courage to look at her body. She had short reddish brown hair, almost pixieish, and a round face. Her lips were deliciously painted with shimmery lip gloss. Her skin was dark and tanned like those girls from my youth. Her breasts were full. Even though she was in her thirties gravity hadn’t begun to affect them too much yet. Her nipples were hard. Her body has become my epitome of sensual sexual women’s body types. She was neither too skinny nor too fat. Her thighs were just thick enough to give a girl something to hold onto when buried in her pussy. Her ass was round and fleshy, but firm and smooth.

Looking at her causes a gush of wetness between my legs. I look up at him and he nods slightly. It’s time.

Carrie and I nervously walk toward the center of the room. There’s no furniture in this house yet so we lie down next to each other on the floor. I think Carrie is a little less nervous than I am. I feel her hand beginning to explore my body. She touches my cheek with one finger then trails it down my body to my breast. I feel the warmth of her hand lightly pressing against me. She moves so that she is straddling my body and cups both breasts with her hands. I can feel her hot cunt against the flesh of my belly. She’s wet.

Those butterflies begin to flutter again inside me. For a moment I am unsure, I want to run, but one look from him commands me to stay. It is what I really want after all.

Carrie is now leaning down. I watch as her breasts move closer and closer to my mouth. I turn my head to the right and let one nipple press into my open mouth. She moans as I begin to suck. My hips start to move slightly. I’m feeling electric.

I place my hands on her hips and adjust her body so that her pussy is pressed against my smooth mound. Carrie begins to grind herself against my pubic bone. I pull her harder against me. One last time I look over at him and see his pleasure before I lose myself completely in the pleasure of my newest lover.

~~~

I’ve lost track of the times that we’ve cum now. I want her to be limp and exhausted when I am done with her though. I want to taste her more. I want to drink from her, suck her dry. My fingers are inside her plunging quickly in and out, fucking her. She’s lying on her back, her breasts fall slightly to the side. I love the way they move as I pump inside her. Her back is arched and she’s making the most beautiful sounds. Sweet little moans of pleasure mixed with grunts of need. When she cums she says, “oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah” over and over. She’s getting close now. I can feel the soft hot walls of her pussy clenching around me. Her body bucks up as her hands fly to her breasts. She pinches her nipples hard as her orgasm begins. I feel her, cumming around my fingers as they continue to slide in and out, and then, unexpectedly, a gush of wetness shoots from her glorious body leaving her wetness along the inside of my arm up to my elbow. I am amazed by the beauty of her, by the incredible feeling of giving her that orgasm, of her giving it to me.

She’s begging now for a break. Carrie’s panting and pleading. I keep my fingers inside so that I can feel her aftershocks. I don’t want it to end. I can’t get enough. She’s become my newest addiction. I lick the juice of her squirt from my arm and slide my fingers from her into my mouth. I love that taste.

Outside the sun is beginning to rise. We’ve been lost in each other for the entire night. The magic begins to dissipate. We get dressed once again shy and nervous. The blush on my face doesn’t stop me from telling her how much I enjoyed the night. It turns out that she did too and that we both want to do it again. Soon.