Taking care of her pubic hair

A couple of days ago I laid Amy down on the bed to pluck her pubic hair. I’ve been keeping her smooth by having her epilate, but it’s rough on her, and she has mentioned being afraid of her epilator, so I decided to make her smooth myself.

Stretch the skin tight, grab the hair with tweezers, and pull it firmly in the direction it is growing. Over and over.

For me, it’s a wonderful way to explore a part of her without the heat of sexual arousal. I can examine and notice details that I would overlook, otherwise.

For Amy, the effect is more mixed. As my hands move and reposition over her obedient pussy, she begins to bliss out. She’s dealing with the discomfort of hair plucking, combined with the pleasure of having her pussy touched, and the underlying knowledge that I am doing this to her, and she is to simply lie there and have me do it to her.

I have no idea how long it takes. I pluck, tease out an occasional ingrown with a pin and a jewelers loupe, while Amy gives little moans and whimpers from time to time, pressing her damp self against my hands…


Vacation and D/s

Before we headed east to visit family, I said I was unsure of “how to deal with the inevitable distance that will develop with less time alone, more responsibilities and less ability to focus exclusively on each other.”

The short answer is that we survived.

We had a lot of Quiet Sex. Well, not a LOT of Quiet Sex. But all the sex we had was Quiet Sex.

Quiet Sex can be fun for a change. Hushing each other, biting hard on the pillow, giggling when the bed slams against the wall or the boxsprings squeak just a bit too rhythmically.

Quiet Sex as a regular diet is frustrating. No time or privacy for simply snuggling and pillow talk is also frustrating.

We had one great photo shoot, from whence came the AirStream photo and some other pics yet to be posted. I really enjoy doing a shoot with Richard; I’ve mentioned before that it makes me feel very submissive and close to him. That was nice.


We might have been able to do more D/s, but I think that Richard was focused on keeping me propped up until we got out of there. I felt like I was curled up into a mental fetal position, just trying to survive my mother’s nastiness until we could go home . (She’s not always this bad; things are tough right now and it brings out the worst in her. I’ve spoken to a lot of women my age who have mothers of HER age who seem to have become bitter and twisted with age, I guess from not living their lives the way they wanted to. I am determined not to end up that way.)

But as we headed west…things changed. Richard began to be more demanding. Fewer requests, more commands. That instantly caused a mental shift in me, bringing my focus back to him, and to us. The kids were with us, but they were happily playing with each other and the dogs in the back of the minivan, which gave us the freedom to talk for hours as we drove.

I didn’t make the mistake of renting a “suite” again. We got adjoining hotel rooms, and when the door closed on the kids and dogs, I was alone with a very aroused, very aggressive man. We still had to be quiet, but we had a long, wonderful night together, with little sleep. We reconnected as a D/s couple, as owner and owned, Master and slave, Daddy and little girl.

Now we’re at home, and the kids are with us for another five days. It will be three long weeks without a single spanking for me. During the day, when I’m not at work, I’m focusing on serving and caring for Richard – cooking nice meals, making sure he takes his vitamins, last night I made from-scratch margaritas! At night, when we climb into bed, I am his.

As I write this, I am tired, but very happy and peaceful. We survived the challenge of two weeks with relatives. Our young marriage and D/s relationship is stronger than ever. Life is good.

Open your legs

This morning I had to wake up early to get some reading done before a meeting. Reading I should have done the night before, but I was having too much fun snuggling and flirting with Richard.

We have been having so much fun together with the kids gone. A couple of days ago when we were fucking, Richard called me a cunt and I snarled at him – when am I gonna learn just to ignore him? Afterwards when we were cuddling, he started teasing me about being his cunt and I denied it (of course). Somehow this devolved into him holding me down and saying “Cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt”. And I, being the mature person in the relationship, after a few minutes of saying “No I’m not! Shut up!” switched to “I know you are, but what am I? I know you are, but what am I?”

I am embarassed to admit that this went on for several minutes. We’d slow down and start giggling and a few seconds later he’d start up again “Cuntcuntcuntcunt” and I Could.Not.Let.It.Go. “I know you are, but what am I?” Over and over and over.

The next day, during post-orgasmic snuggling, he began walking his fingers along my ass, then up to my breasts, singing “The inchy pinchy lobster/climbed up Amy’s butt/up to her nipples/to see if she’s a slut”. I HATE being pinched, so at this point I began struggling madly to get away and it turned into a major wrestling match.

I managed a sweet little maneuver to get off the bed and went scampering downstairs, naked as a jaybird. I ran through the kitchen and realized that I either had to run into the back yard (hi neighbors!) or into the garage. I dashed into the garage and then hung onto the doorknob for dear life, hoping I could at least slow him down, my heart pounding.

I heard Richard, who had taken the time to put on a pair of shorts, walk quietly into the kitchen. Then I heard the door to the back yard open. I waited a few seconds, then quietly opened the door to the garage, planning to lock Richard outside. I was chortling, I tell you. As I opened the garage door, though, I saw that the door to the back yard was ALREADY locked. Confused, I looked toward the kitchen and saw Richard heading toward me, grinning, with a riding crop in his hand. (Not the one from the feed store).

“I knew you wouldn’t go outside naked, silly girl.”

So I got hauled back to the bedroom and suffered the indignity of a whipping (cropping?), made better by more cuddling and kissing and teasing afterwards.


Last night, Richard went online to see if his kids were on. I went into the other room and logged on the desktop computer. I quietly took off my shirt and turned on the webcam. Then I buzzed Richard. Hehehe. He was so surprised. It brought back a lot of nice memories of our early relationship (we met online, and started IMing and webcamming after a month or so, but I was VERY shy back then – the “no shirt” aspect was a new one lol).

After a few minutes IMing back and forth, he typed “now I’m going to surprise YOU” and suddenly he was behind me, cupping my breasts with his hands, nuzzling and kissing my neck. Mmmmmm. We agreed that real time is sooooo much nicer. But I am so thankful for the internet, because we never would have met without it.

So. This morning. The alarm rang and I reached to turn it off.

Richard said “Roll over next to me”.

I did, and he said “Open your legs.”

Which I did. He slipped his hand over my pussy and closed my legs again, then draped his other arm over me.

“Um Richard, I have to get up now. I have that reading to do.”


So I laid silently for a minute, feeling the warmth from his hand, trying not to get too aroused, trying not to wiggle.

“OK. You can get up now.”

I did my reading, while he slowly woke up next to me. I finished more quickly than expected (maybe not my most *careful* reading ever) and rolled against him.

We began teasing each other with our hands and then our mouths. I was the first to crack.

“Richard, please fuck me.”

“We can’t. You’ve got to get to the office.”

“Pleeeease. Just put it in. Just for a sec. C’mon.”

“I’m not just putting it in. Nope.”

“OK. Two strokes then. OK? C’mon. Please Daddy.” (batting my eyelashes imploringly)

“Just two strokes huh? OK, climb on top, little girl.”

Sweet jesus. He played with my breasts as he fucked me from below.

“I think that’s two. We better stop.” (smartass me)

“Shut up and fuck. You know how to fuck don’t you? Just fuck.”

So I did what I was told.

After a few minutes, he popped me off of him and flipped me onto my belly. I thought he was going to fuck me from behind, but first he smacked me HARD several times on each ass cheek. THEN he hauled my ass in the air and fucked me. Every few thrusts he would smack me again. My ass was stinging and it felt soooo good.

Then he flipped me onto my back and really started fucking me in earnest. We were both wildly turned on at this point, and I know I couldn’t have put together a complete sentence if I’d wanted to. I was moaning and bucking and biting and hitting and finally Richard had enough of it and grabbed a pillow and put it over my face (note for the safety police: leaving my mouth free : )).

Wow. That really quieted me down. He was fucking me even harder and I could feel every millimeter of him, every move he made and I just stayed as still as I could and felt it all.

After a while he pulled the pillow off my face and stared down at me as he kept fucking me.

“You need to get used to being used like this, little girl.”

“I am going to use you more and more. Like this, and in lots of other ways too.”

I could feel myself orgasming as he spoke and he thrust into me hard twice more and stopped. He held me close and told me he loved me and then we hopped out of bed and I barely made it to my meeting in time. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire time. It was the longest meeting of my life.

Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

How can I have a BDSM relationship?

Gosh. I feel like I won the lottery, and how can you give someone tips about how to win the lottery? It’s luck, right? But I’ll try to say a few things that might help. First, if you’re looking for a partner, online makes a LOT of sense, since you can meet so many more people that way. Places to meet kinky people online: alt.com, adultfriendfinder, bondage.com, off the top of my head. I know there are others.

Second, be open and honest but cautious. There are crazies out there and sane people who lie about everything from their age to their marital status. But if you are overly suspicious and play your cards too close to the chest you aren’t going to be able to get close to someone. Even though Richard and I were very honest with each other, we still had several misunderstandings in our first interactions. Cyber is a hard medium to communicate in. But both of us kept coming back to the table to work it out. Which brings me to my third point.

Communicate. Talk about everything. Talk about things you don’t want to talk about. Talk about things you’re embarrassed to talk about. And just as important, listen. Listen to everything, listen to things you don’t want to hear, listen to things that embarrass you. If you already have a partner, and are not sure that they have the same interests, talk to them. You might be surprised. Or you might find something that works for both of you, different from what you originally expected (like what happened with us!)

I would wish for everyone what I have with Richard. Not necessarily D/s, because that is certainly not for everyone. But a partner who you trust your life with, who you would take a bullet for, who makes every day fun and exciting and also safe and warm. I wake up every morning smiling, and Richard wakes up every morning being smiled at. I hope you have that or are on the way to getting it.

How to find a submissive woman

When Amy first told me “I am for you,” I didn’t get it.

I heard what she was saying, and she explained the concept to me, but what I missed was what she really meant by that.

I’d known too many “submissive” women before.

I’d seen them on bdsm dating sites, laying out what they were looking for in a mate, what they wanted him to do for them, what they wanted to do for him, what they wanted to do for play, etc.

Quite frankly, I didn’t see them as submissive. I saw them, or at least their needs, as what would be dominant in a relationship.

I’d dabbled in Gor. But Gorean behavior had too many conceits and rules. You had to talk a certain way, behave a certain way, socialize a certain way. There were codes of behavior, codes of honor, rules for how your slave was supposed to greet people. Codes about how to capitalize a master’s name, and how to lower case a slave’s. Rules about how to discipline your girl, rules about how to train her, how to give her tasks to better herself, yadda yadda yadda.

Fuck that.

I’m not so much for following someone else’s rules.

Before I met Amy, I did some hard looking at myself and what I wanted in my life. I’d always adapted to my partner, and made sure their needs were met, even if it meant suppressing my own. Classic enabling behavior. I came to the conclusion that I would rather have no partner, than be in a relationship where I had to change who I was for anyone else. I could see past relationships that had not worked, and I could see that changing myself and denying what I wanted would ultimately destroy that relationship.

I decided I didn’t want a primary relationship.

I wasn’t closed to the idea, I just figured I’d never find that perfect match, the woman who wanted what I wanted. I figured they would all come with preconceptions and needs that they would expect me to adjust myself, to compromise, to meet those needs. And I was done with that.

Now, this was an exciting realization for me. I could be totally open and free about what I liked, I didn’t need to impress anyone with anything. I didn’t have to be “Domly” or sensitive, or anything. I could just be myself, say what I thought when I thought it, and move forward in my life. It gave me a natural, unforced dominance that didn’t depend on anyone else.

I wasn’t even looking for a partner.

Then Amy came along. God. Like a tractor beam. OK, so maybe not an appropriate Star Trek analogy, but Star Wars anyway. Close enough. It’s all spacey spacey themed, anyway.

Yeah, Amy attracted me, powerfully so. Smart, funny, very comfortable with herself. Not to mention gorgeous.

We IM’d, we phoned, we talked about bdsm and D/s and all sorts of topics. We both knew one thing, we didn’t want 24.7 D/s. I didn’t want a slave I had to micromanage, and Amy didn’t want to be dominated outside the bedroom.

Or so we thought.

I’m a simple man. I wanted a woman I could throw to the ground, kick her thighs open, and fuck. I’m not much for anything elaborate. And I’m not much for routine, or rules, or protocols. Catch her, throw her down, fuck her.

Pretty simple.

I didn’t want to be all focused on her needs, wondering if she is enjoying sex, if she is satisfied, if she feels good. I wanted a woman I could use. One I could force. One that could say “No”, sure, but that “no,” wasn’t going to get a whole lot of attention. Well, none.

I didn’t want a “brat,” either. A woman who misbehaves to get attention.


Nor did I want one who needed to be spanked, disciplined or hurt in anyway. I like hurting. I just want to do it when I feel like hurting her, and not when she feels like being hurt.

Amy repeated to me a few times, the “I am for you,” idea.

Like an idiot, I kept blowing it off.

Then I got it.

I realized that what Amy liked was to be whatever her partner wanted. This wasn’t just words, typical slavespeak, etc. This was a vanilla woman, only the slightest acquaintance with D/s, and yet she knew that sher wanted to be whatever her partner wanted. Her needs were met by meeting his needs.

Let me emphasize that.

Her needs are met by meeting his needs.

Good god.

I told Amy she was dangerous. That a man could destroy himself with a woman like that. She didn’t understand that. She still doesn’t. She sees herself as the most innocuous little creature. I think she’s fucking dangerous.

But she spoke the truth about herself.

I use her, I make her masturbate, I force her to cum, I hurt her, I take away her air, I put hurty clampy things on her, I tie her up. I call her a slut, I ass fuck her. I do stuff that she likes, and that I like. I do stuff that she doesn’t like, but that I like. I do stuff she hates and dreads, but that I like.

I use her.

And I adore her. Did I need to mention that? She gets insecure only when she thinks she isn’t meeting my needs. I have no doubt she would do anything she could do for me if I asked her. She gives me absolute power. Fortunately, I am already absolutely corrupted, so no changes there.

She’s a woman I didn’t have to change myself for, one who loved me for what I am, Sadist, bad man, whatever it is that I am, she loves. And obeys.

Her needs are met by meeting mine.

My perfect mate.