sin girl

10/1/2009 10:48 PM

Went to a photoshoot with Tormentor tonight. Because I can. Without asking.

Very strange - turns out I used to go to his house for parties when I was about 22... lifetime ago. College friend introduced us, and he knew some girls I worked with at the Acropolis lol. Didn't figure it out until after the photoshoot when he started talking about Cat and Candice.

Kind of turned into more of a play date. I think I like being hurt too much, make too much noise, move around too much ... he got distracted from taking pictures. I needed to be played with, though, so I didn't mind. It just would be so fucking nice if I would, if I could stop crying so easily.

It was caning that did it. You'd think it would be the belt, but no. It might be too early for me to do this. I wanted him to keep hitting me until I was on the ground, until I was unconscious, until I couldn't speak, until I stopped shaking. Is it wrong to use someone to abuse yourself? I didn't plan it, didn't know he was going to hit me, didn't negotiate fuck. I have no boundaries anyway today... well that's not entirely true but you'd have to be pretty sick to find them right now. I no longer care what happens to my body - its not his anymore, and I'm trying to erase. Learn to forget.

I think the pictures are good - I mean, not his fault - but I am continually appalled at how ugly I am. I told him I didn't like my face, or my face in the pictures I have, so what does he do? Pictures of my face lol. I have a huge nose, my eyes always look scared (oh, and crying just helps that immensely), my mouth is strange looking, and my whole face is just round - I don't even have cheekbones. Ugh. I like how I look in mirrors, though - I think I read its cause we're used to seeing ourselves that way we all think we look strange in photographs. I look like a different person. Horrific.

He kept asking me how it felt, how I felt. I never think about it, never put it into words. How do I feel? I feel like I swallowed a glass ball. It rolls around from my throat to my heart to my stomach, to my head. When I'm played with, it goes away for awhile. I turn to pain to escape... pain? Loss, betrayal, and sadness, oh my.

He said I was a good girl - and I didn't go mental on him and try to rip his limbs off. He commented on how he hadn't made me say Sir to him. I just laughed.

Laugh at the sin, shelter my heart.

Missing Master

10/1/2009 6:06 PM

Been thinking about my first Master a lot today. Since I got into the scene, I'd been discounting that experience - it was so different than anything I do now. I was so much younger and the only thing I was interested in was sex, I didn't understand at all what he was doing.

He was very into humiliation... my rules were no underwear of any kind, anywhere if I was with him. Starting at the airport, where I'd have to show up and sit in the waiting area and he'd want me to somehow flash other men - a skill I never really got down well without dropping something. If my skirt was too long he'd hike it up. He'd walk past me and drop nipple clamps into my lap... I'd have to go put them on in the bathroom - usually I had a choice, breasts or labia, but there was a pretty heavy chain in between them so neither was a great option.

We'd sit in first class on the plane. He'd fill my pussy with ice cubes, order me long island iced teas and not let me use the bathroom until I came. I was terrified of the flight attendents catching on - but I learned to let him worry about it. He'd have his hand up my skirt as they came by, they'd do nothing. Even if they could see he was hurting me, nothing. Its amazing what money can buy. Silence. Stuff. Slaves.

He'd get a limosine at the airport, to the hotel, try to make me cry out in the limo - usually by pulling on my nipple clamps or by suddenly forcing his finger into my ass - he did that in a restaurant once using lemon juice as lube - not sure which is worse, nothing or lemon juice.

I'd have to stay with the luggage. He'd make sure the people at the hotel understood I wasn't his wife, but property. I'd sit there, 15 years younger, barely 21 trying to adopt a pose or expression so that I COULD be his wife, only I had no experience at looking like one. Men would come up and ask him where he found me... its interesting how they pick up instantly on the situation - not just that we weren't married, but that I was something other than a girlfriend even ... he'd always threaten to give me to a stranger for the night, but fortunately never followed through.

In the hotel room, I had to enter the room, face the end of the bed and grab my ankles and bend over. He'd make sure to invite the bellboy inside. I think that was the worst. He would walk past me, lift my skirt over my ass, so this stranger, who was probably mortified, would have to see me. Once he ordered room service, leaving me tied to the bed, legs spread over my head, gagged, and the door ajar while he took a shower. So room service came in, set up the food, just ignored me... god. That was in Vegas, I suppose they are used to such things.

If I was bent over the bed, when we were alone, I'd hear him behind me, removing his belt. Just seeing his belt would make me get weak in the legs. I think that was his favorite thing, the fastest way to get me to cry out, the quickest way to make me wet - and I was so confused. I hated hand spankings. Felt like a little kid. But his belt would take about 30 seconds on me and I'd be dripping. And it was always a surprise. I figured it was just the leather - he'd cuff me with leather cuffs, and he wore a lot of it so I seemed to be surrounded by the smell a lot. Now I know it was the sound a belt makes...

I don't think about the details of what we were very much. What I remember is the instant effect we had on each other, no matter where we were, in what context - sometimes I'd see him other places, or we'd just meet for lunch in between his meetings and whatever I did in the city we were in. Just looking at him or hearing his voice would make me shake, waiting for whatever it is that he'd ask me to do. I really liked following his orders. Much better than inventing my own punishments or playing his guessing games. He said he liked me because it was the only time he'd get an erection just by walking into a room ... not sure if it was sex or the hurting me that he liked better. Maybe trying to humiliate me, although picking an exhibitionist for that might not have been the best plan.

He also was a pretty good friend - I'd go shopping for his wife and kids and buy them presents while he worked, then he'd hire a driver and we'd get a tour of wherever. He took me to fancy restaurants, shopping for clothes, and we stayed at the Plaza in New York and I got to see the Atlantic Ocean for the first time with him, and and the Statue of Liberty and he showed me how to eat in a place that had about four different forks for god knows what.

I drew the line at going on vacation with him, I didn't want to see his family, sneak around RIGHT there. I liked being a secret - walking past his employees and having them wonder why I was coming out of a certain area that only the executives stayed in. He'd laugh, because by the time he got to the bar one night, several of his staff had already told him about "this girl" that was down there... probably just looking slutty and not talking to anyone.

I miss that look he used to give me. I really miss being owned today.