#no lube

Last night I spent quite a while Skyping with The Super Sadist, a “nice” young man I met off tumblr. We talked for a long time, and he’s genuinely intelligent and interesting, which was fun. We talked about kink and sex and preferences and even feminism. Obviously we both think it’s stupid bullshit thought up by ridiculous cunts and I clearly need to work on wiping the last vestiges of it out of my system. I’m glad he’s on the same page as me on the feminism thing. I wouldn’t play with a man who wasn’t.

After a long conversation, I eventually asked “Do you want to play?” I guess he had enjoyed watching me get off on Friday night, when I first met him, and that he liked the look of me and was curious to see what I would look and sound like while suffering instead of cumming, because he said he did.

His first question was “What do you have around to stick in your butt?” I grabbed my bag of anal toys and showed him the four toys I have, which range from tiny buttplug to gigantic dildo I’ve only gotten in all the way one time. He seemed pleased to see the giant one and we decided I should clean up and call back.

When I came back, he told me I could work up to the big one if I wanted. I considered for a moment, since when I get fucked I don’t do much prep, but decided this time it would be a good life choice. It definitely was the right choice in this instance, because his nickname is The Super Sadist for a reason. I started putting lube on and then was a stupid, but properly behaved, bitch and threw myself under the bus by asking, “Can I use lube?” I didn’t have to say that. He gave no indication that he wasn’t going to let me use lube. There would have been nothing outwardly disobedient if I hadn’t asked. But I still did because I thought of it, and if I think of a clarification to ask for and the answer could make my life more difficult, I really should ask.

He thought for a bit as I sat there with fingers crossed. He told me that I could use lube on the smaller ones I was using to get myself ready for the big one. I sighed in relief because I’ve never actually had anything in my ass sans lube before. I used plenty of lube as I used my second biggest dildo to loosen myself up. When I felt ready, I grabbed the big one and, positioning myself so he could see what he wanted, I started to push it in. There was enough lube that it went in fairly easily, considering the fact that it has obnoxious ridges.

Finally, after a fair amount of groaning and grimacing, I’d pushed it in as far as it could go. It wasn’t entirely bottomed out, but it just wasn’t going anywhere. I told him it was in as far as it could go, and he said okay. I wanted to do my best, so I tried one last push and said “Yup. Definitely in as far as it can go.” and he told me “I believed you the first time.” I guess I don’t come across as a lazy sub who will lie to wiggle out of the last bit of dildo.

I looked at him to inquire what to do next and he said “Now take it out. Duh.” so I pulled the damn thing almost all the way out. He had me fuck my ass with it, pushing it in as far as I could, then pulling it almost out. After a little while he instructed me to pick up the pace, so I went faster. He seemed to be enjoying my expressions of pain and discomfort, and the trembling/shaking I was doing. It’s good to know that even at a distance I can still manage to provide entertainment via suffering.

Fucking my ass with the large dildo was difficult and uncomfortable, but eventually I got loose enough that it didn’t really hurt anymore. The Super Sadist noticed and asked if it hurt less. I was, of course, honest, and told him that it did. He told me to use a bigger dildo and I told him I was using the biggest one I have. He wanted me to use something else, but I said I didn’t have anything rated for anal penetration. Then I thought of a compromise that would achieve the goal of making it more difficult and painful, and I offered it right up to him. I said that I could wipe the thing off, since there was lube in my ass and on it from when I was loosening myself up with the smaller dildo. I knew it was going to be super unpleasant, but he wanted to watch me suffer more, so I also knew I had to do it.

After I wiped the dildo off, he had me push it back in. The first bit was still fairly easy since there was still lube in my ass, but after an inch or two, it was rough going. Still, I managed to get it in as far as it would go. I was wondering in what he’d have me do next, and I was worried he’d have me fuck myself with it more, now that they was little lube left. That’s not what he did. What he did sucked just as much, if not more.

“Hit it,” he ordered. I was a little out of it, it realized he wanted me to hit the dildo in, so it would slam up against me inside. I did so, but not as hard as I should have he told me “Again.” and I repeated my efforts, not improving much. We continued this for a while, him chastising me for hesitation and saying be didn’t want any of this self-preservation instinct bullshit. He’s right, of course. Having those instincts is fine, but when they’re interfering with a man’s pleasure, then they become a problem.

I kept up with the hitting, feeling it smacking against my insides, making me twitch and moan. Eventually, he had me pull it out most of the way, which sucked, since most of the lube was no longer slick. I wasn’t sure what he was going to have me do next, but I was worried he was going to have me shove it back in. He didn’t. He told me to hit the bottom of the dildo and to hammer it in. I started doing that, still with my ridiculous hesitation. I did start improving, though, especially when he told me that the timer between strikes started when he said “Again,” not when I actually hit the dildo. That motivated me to do better, to go faster. He started leaving less time between strikes, just long enough for me to catch my breath. That also helped, because I had to focus on the next thing I was going to do, not think of worry about the pain I was going to experience.

Next, he told me to slap my cunt after each strike. I took a deep breath and spread my legs a little wider. After in did this a few times, I thought back to Friday night with Marxman, and how he’d made me hit my cunt with the mean rubber paddle. Then I just dove head first under the bus like the over eager cunt I am and told him about the paddle. I said that I would probably be able to hit myself harder, or at least cause more pain if I used the paddle. Then I proceeded to give him all of the information about the damn tool, including the fact that one side is meaner than the other. Luckily, he must have been feeling generous, because he allowed me to use the less harsh side. I told him that telling him about the paddle was one of the dumbest things I’d done in terms of offering up data that would result in suffering for me. He laughed at me and agreed.

I started using my closed fist to hit the dildo, since that allowed me to hit harder. Each time, I would hammer it in, then strike my cunt with the paddle. I curled up a little and groaned in pain each time, but each time returned back to position as soon as I was able. I wasn’t doing that great with the paddle, so I said I should hit multiple times, since that would get rid of hesitation and I’d hit harder, or else I’d at least be hitting multiple times. I did this for a while, and then he increased the number of times I had to hit the dildo, and had me hitting my hole with the edge of the paddle. After doing this for a little, and after a particularly hard hit to the dildo, I felt lightheaded, whether from the pain or not breathing right, I wasn’t sure. He allowed me a moment to start breathing correctly. Then I kept hitting the dildo and smacking my cunt for a decent while. We did interrupt to talk a little and tell offensive jokes about women, but other than that, I kept hurting myself while he watched.

Finally, he told me to pull it out more. When I did, I managed to pull it all the way out like a dumbass. He started to tell me to push it all the way back in, but allowed me to avoid doing that this time, since I needed to go to sleep soon. He had me shown him how stretched I was by pulling my asshole open for him with two fingers. It was a humiliating thing to do, so of course I liked it. He told me I’d done a good job, which made me smile. I’m a sucker for praise like that from doms and tops. It motivates me. Makes me want to be good and push myself to do anything told.

Playing with The Super Sadist was an interesting experience. He’s younger than I am, whereas pretty much every one else I’ve played with is a year or two, or, more frequently, four or more years older than I am. I wasn’t sure I’d have the same urge to please him as I have with those older people. That was not the case. Although I did laugh at myself once or twice, looking in at what I was doing, I wanted to do a good job, to please him. Part of that was likely the fact that I want to be good when men want to use me, because that’s what my owner wants me to do. But part of it was my desire to submit and his attitude. He has a casual domination style, making me feel like he was amused, disdainful, uncaring, entertained at my expense, and maybe even mildly bored, all at the same time. I wanted to behave, to please him, to hold his attention. I wanted to do what he was telling me to do. Especially when he was saying “Again” over and over, rapidly, and when he was clearly enjoying my pain.

I enjoyed being useful to him, despite the suffering. It was a new kind of pain and discomfort than other people have given me, especially with the added challenge of having to do everything to myself. He was unmoved (at least unmoved to sympathy) by any of the reactions I had, and he clearly enjoyed watching my struggle, pain, and discomfort on a number of different levels. He’s a mean fucker, and I like it.

When I went to rinse the ashes out of my mouth, The Super Sadist told me to clean myself out so he could use my ass. It (oh gods this is embarrassing) took a long time. Too long. When I came out, The Super Sadist was waiting. He put a knife up to my neck, threatening me. I was immediately compliant as he duct taped my arms together behind my back. He made me get on my knees and lick his balls. When he was hard again, he pushed me over. My hands were behind my back, so my face pressed against the carpet as he pushed his cock onto my ass. There was no lube. I whimpered, but didn’t try to get away. There wouldn’t have been any point in trying, anyway. He fucked my ass hard, using my bound hands as leverage as he thrust into me. “I knew ass raping a feminist would be a good game,” he growled, making me squirm and struggle and moan.

He didn’t cum while using my ass. No, he had another, more degrading, more uncomfortable idea. He grabbed the copy of the SCUM Manifesto that I bought for him while in San Francisco and sat down in a chair. Motioning me to kneel between his legs, he had me use my mouth on his balls while he read to me from the book, laughing at the stupidity of a woman proclaiming the inferiority of men and reversing the genders to make the book an accurate depiction of reality: “The [female] is completely egocentric, trapped inside [herself], incapable of empathizing or identifying with others, or love, friendship, affection of tenderness. [She] is a completely isolated unit, incapable of rapport with anyone. [Her] responses are entirely visceral, not cerebral; [her] intelligence is a mere tool in the services of [her] drives and needs; [she] is incapable of mental passion, mental interaction; [she] can’t relate to anything other than [her] own physical sensations.”

He came on the cover of the book, and then had me wait while he cleaned himself off. I knew what was going to happen next. One of the first things I saw him post was about wanting to make a girl snort cum off of a feminist book of some sort. He floated the idea of doing it off the SCUM Manifesto and, in fact, that was the reason I bought it for him. When he came back, he’d cut up a straw. He used one of my loyalty cards to scrape the cum together into two lines. I hesitated and made conversation to stall, but eventually I had to do the inevitable.

While The Super Sadist recorded the event on video, I put the straw in my right nostril, lowered the tip to one of the lines of cum, pinched my nose shut, and breathed in sharply. I sucked up the whole line and then repeated the process for the other side. It wasn’t as painful as I thought it might be, but doing it off of that book while The Super Sadist recorded it and laughed made it humiliating. He went to have a cigarette and told me that he would let me blow my nose once he was done. I accompanied him, but decided not to take him up on that. Having the smell of his cum in my nose for the rest of the day seemed appropriate and fitting.

While we were outside, we were talking and he said something provoking. I jokingly went to punch his arm, although I didn’t. When I told him I’d considered doing that and then thought better of it, he said he’d seen that. Feeling impish, I said, “You should probably punish me for thinking about doing it.” I thought he might punch me in the arm or kick me or something. Instead, without warning, he socked me right in the stomach. Oof. I bent double, clutching my midsection, and looked up at him. He was laughing at my surprise and pain. It was ridiculously hot.

When he finished smoking, we headed back inside to get ready to go to dinner. We went into the bathroom to shower together and he told me to get on my knees. I thought he was just going to piss on me. Once again, I had underestimated him. This time he was going to do something much more violating and degrading and humiliating. He made me bend forward and spread my ass for him as much as I could. I winced and whimpered as he started pissing into my ass. It wasn’t just the stinging sensation from the urine hitting my roughly fucked hole. He was making me spread myself open for him so that he could use me as a toilet. I’m a toy for him and all of my holes are available to him for use in any way. I felt exposed and degraded as he finished pissing into me, leaving me face down in his piss.

We showered, got dressed, and smoked weed in preparation for delicious vegan food. Then we headed out the door. On the way to and from the restaurant we had great conversation about all kinds of things. When we got to the restaurant, we ordered our delicious vegan food. I got buffalo wings and he got BBQ tofu. Then, on the way out, I got a cupcake and a cookie. We shared the cookie back at his place and I had the cupcake in the airport. Everything was amazing and delicious and I’m so happy he was willing to go eat rabbit food with me.

While we were at the restaurant, I said something silly and he called me “Stupid.” Being called stupid in public like that turned me on like crazy and I could feel my cunt clench. I like being insulted and treated poorly in public, although I especially enjoy it at kink events because I don’t want to actually do anything that might make someone uncomfortable in a vanilla setting. It reminds me of my place, and I like that people can see that I’m the depraved kind of person who likes being treated like that.

When we got back to his place, we Skyped with Marxman for a little while. The Super Sadist was doing something on the other side of the room while I started the call. After we had talked for a minute or two, Marxman commented to The Super Sadist, “She’s flinching and following you around the room with your eyes.” The Super Sadist looked very pleased with himself as he said, “Yeah. She’s been doing that.” Being in that state of mind suits me quite well. Having a heightened awareness of him and his movements means that I’m in a good mental place, that he’s been hurting, using, and scaring me in the right ways.

The Super Sadist started hitting me, and, after we got off Skype, he “forced” me to smoke more pot than I had been. We both got rull high. We cuddled and fucked and cuddled. While we were cuddling and waiting for the taxi to come take me away, we were looking at each other and I was actually making eye contact. Normally I don’t, not for a long time, but I felt comfortable with him. He noticed the change and said, “I think this is the longest you’ve made eye contact with me.” I was being silly, so I replied, “It’s cuz I’m not scared of you any more.” He looked at more more intensely, and I kept it up until he broke me by saying, “Is it too gay if I tell you you have really pretty eyes?” The ridiculous way he’d phrased it, and the compliment itself, made me giggle and look down, feeling embarrassed in an adorable, happy sort of way.

Finally the taxi came and we said our goodbyes. I was sad to leave, but very, very glad that I decided to make the trip there. I had a fuckton of fun, was happy to have been useful to my new owner, and really enjoyed getting to know him even better.

I sit in my Ann Arbor apartment, waiting for you to text me and tell me you’re here. I’m excited, since I haven’t seen you in weeks, and nervous, for the same reason. I fiddle with the hem of my dress. It’s a red, clingy thing. The sleeveless cut, and tight fit make it suitable for going out to a club or a party, not for sitting around in my apartment, and I feel a bit silly. But I didn’t pick it out because it would make me comfortable. I picked it out because I think you’ll like it. At least I hope you will. Standing up, I walk to the bathroom, walking in heels I’ve finally mastered in order to wear them for you. They’re the black ones with the heels I say are ridiculously high, but I know you’ve said you liked my ass in them. I look in the mirror and make a face. I never wear makeup, but I am now. Not much, just some eye shadow, eyeliner, and lipstick, but to me it feels like a lot.

Finally, my phone buzzes. You’re here! Taking a deep breath, I walk out my door and up the stairs to let you in. I grin when I see you waiting in the entrance, and you smile back. I open the door and you put down your stuff to give me a big hug. We go downstairs and into my apartment, talking about things like my drive up to Ann Arbor and who we’re going to see the next day and all the vegan food I plan to eat. We sit on my couch, still talking, and when I finish what I’m saying, you look at me and say in that voice, “I do like that dress, the way it shows off your tits and your ass, but didn’t you offer me something, cunt? Something about not wearing any clothes while we’re in this apartment together?” I jump a little, feeling myself grow warm. “Oh, shit. Yes. Sorry, sir.” I stand up and start to take off the dress, but you tell me to stop and give me a push. “Bedroom. Now. Crawl.” I get down onto my hands and knees and crawl in my dress and heels to my room.

“Take the clothes off and sit on the bed.” I comply, pulling the dress over my head and slipping off the heels. I sit on the bed, arms up, hands behind my head, completely naked now. You can see that I’ve clearly shaved my armpits, and I open my legs wide, exposing my freshly shaved cunt. I look up at you, and lick my lips, waiting to see what you’re going to do next.

You run your hand up my smooth, hairless leg. “I see you’ve finally figured out how to groom yourself properly, fucktoy. To make yourself as appealing as possible to men, especially to the men you pretend to hate. The ones who know women are inferior, only good to pump cum into. The ones who think body hair on women is disgusting, and that all women are obligated to shave. Who think women’s bodies are disgusting. Even the useful holes.”

I lowered my head and looked down moments after you started talking. Now I’m staring at the floor, feeling a combination of arousal and shame. I know that what you’re saying is actually part of the play we do, and yet…I did shave. And doing that makes me more attractive to the very men I like least, just like you said. I’d always claimed I wouldn’t shave for any man, and now I’ve shaved for every man. So how much is really just pretend?

“How did you feel like you were shaving?” you ask. I take a deep breath. My answer here doesn’t require pretending “Turned on. And like a traitor to feminism. To my feminism.” “Oh?” you say. “Why is that, little feminist bitch?” “I was doing it because you told me to, yes. But deeper than that, I was doing it because I understand that my purpose is to please men. What I want, what I prefer? Those don’t matter. My personality and intelligence? Just emergent properties of a life support system for a set of holes.” You smile at my reference, “You’re clever, although I’ve heard that one before. That’s what so pathetic about this. You’re supposed to be this intelligent, strong, independent woman. You pretend that this is all about playing. About your pleasure. Like you’re doing this because of what you get out of it. But you know that’s just a front you put up to your friends. So they won’t think less of you. But you and I both know that you’re doing this because of what I get out of it. What other men get out of it. Because you’re a thing that belongs to me and you’ll do anything I say. Isn’t that right, stupid slut?”

My face is hot and my pussy is wet. Shifting uncomfortably, I say quietly, “Yes, sir.” You grab my chin and lift it to make me look at you. “What was that?” I take a breath and say “Yes, sir. I’m a toy you own and use for your pleasure. A toy you loan out for other men to use. That’s my purpose. It’s what I crave. To be used, degraded, and hurt by men, for their enjoyment. I belong to you and I’ll follow any instruction you give me, no matter the consequences to me.” “Good,” you respond, “Now that you’re done pretending to be a strong woman, a “feminist,” I’m going to use you exactly how I want. And you’re not going to stop me. Toys don’t get to tell their owners they don’t want to be used a certain way. In fact, they can’t tell their owners anything. I’m going to tie you face down on your bed, and then I’m going to cane you and whip you. I’m going to keep doing it until you safeword. And then I’m going to keep doing it. When I get tired of watching you react to that, I’m going to fuck your ass. I’m not going to use lube. I’m not even going to spit on you. Once we start, I’m not going to stop until I’m done with you. Nothing you say or do will stop me. Do you understand, cunt?”

I look up at you, then away, then back. “Yes,” I say, afraid but determined. ”I understand, sir.” “And why are we doing this” “To show the depth of my submission. How completely you own me, body and mind. I’m making a decision to allow you to do anything you want to my body, even if I can’t take it. Even if I’m sobbing, pleading with you to stop. I want to completely give myself over to you. Making the decision to remove the possibility of being able to stop what’s happening shows how fully I belong to you. In the middle of things, my body might force me to safeword, even if I was mentally willing. Now that can’t happen. Your ownership of me is complete.”

“Good.” You reach over, smiling when I flinch, and ruffle my hair briefly. Then you grab a fistful of hair and pull hard, forcing me onto my stomach. You tie my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed, and I’m left unable to move, completely at your mercy, or lack thereof. I hear you move over to your bag, and I try to relax my body and mind to prepare for what’s coming. I’m breathing fast and trembling, though, fear and arousal combined. I’m afraid to look at what you’ve decided to use on me first. I hear a noise and then feel the sting as the cane hits my ass. It isn’t hard, not yet. You get into a rhythm, striking my ass and the backs of my thighs, but just as I’m getting into it, you switch it up, not letting me get adjusted. You’re hitting harder now, and I struggle not to try to move out of the position I’m in.
I’m breathing faster now, trying to keep it slow and steady and starting to fail. Just before I would have safeworded, the painful hits cease. I’m not sure what you’re doing until I feel something way worse hit me where my ass and thighs meet. You’re whipping me now, which I can’t handle anywhere near as well as I can take the caning. You don’t start out hitting me softly with this, and it’s only a minute or two before I don’t think I can take any more. I take a breath to say, “Red,” not thinking clearly enough to know that won’t work, when again, you stop.

I think maybe you’ve changed your mind. Maybe you’re done now. Then you put your phone in front of my face, video recording. “Tell the camera what’s happening and why. You won’t be able to lie to yourself or to your friends anymore about what you are. If you don’t decide to tell them the truth, I’ll just show them this at some point.” You start with the cane again, landing a couple of blows hard enough that I start to cry. I look at myself in the screen, my makeup completely ruined, tears running down my face.

I start to speak, seeing my winces and grimaces as you continue caning me. “I’ve given myself completely over to MLAM. To my owner. He’s going to hit me with this cane and whip me until I say “Red” and then he’s not going to stop. When he’s bored of that, he’s going to fuck my ass without any lube, except maybe blood. I told you I was going to do this, but I don’t know if you really believed me. I don’t know if I really believed me, at least at first. You suggested having emergency safewords. I gave up all control. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to make this stop, and I don’t want there to be. I want…No. Need to be used like just a piece of fuckmeat. I told you, ‘He says he’s not going to use lube. But I’m going to talk to him for real and make him.’ I didn’t even try to change his mind. He’s going to use me with absolutely no regard for what I want, let alone my pleasure.” I’m crying harder now, but I continue, stopping to sob every so often, “This is happening because I asked for it. I literally asked to be treated this way. I pretend that it’s because I like it. That it’s about me enjoying myself, about me having fun. I tell you that the reason I like MLAM is because I know he doesn’t mean the things he says about me, about women, that we’re playing. None of that is true. He just showed me that those things he says, the ‘fucking with my feminism?’ It’s just the truth. I’m three holes and a heartbeat, and this is how I deserve to be treated. I crave the feeling of being used, degraded, and hurt by men. Anything else I say is the playing. This is my reality.”

As I say the last bit, you hit me with the whip, hard, and it’s the last straw. “Red,” I manage to squeak out. “What was that?” you ask, and I say more loudly, “Red. Red! Please stop!” You pause for a moment, then laugh derisively, “No.” and bring the whip down again, even harder this time. It hurts, and the fact that I can’t stop it really hits me now. “Please? MLAM, come on. Red!” I’m sobbing hard now, pleading, begging, and cajoling. You grab a handful of hair and pull my head up. “No. I’m not done. Shut up, pisswhore.” You let go of my hair and start caning me. I stop trying to say anything, and start to struggle, but I’m not going anywhere. I start to float up into my head, but you keep switching the rhythm, pattern, and tool you’re using, making it impossible to get away mentally. Finally, I try one last time. “Please, sir? I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just please, stop.” You stop hitting me long enough to say, “That’s cute. But no. We both know you’d do anything for me anyway. You’re just that eager to please. Dumb bitch.” You go back to hitting me, and I start to feel spots where the skin has opened up and I’m bleeding. I’m not crying anymore, mostly just breathing loudly and roughly.

I register that you’re not hitting me anymore, and I’m relieved until I feel you roughly push a finger into my ass, add another, and pump in and out a couple times. You move to start fucking me, and I manage to say “I thought you were going to use a condom. You said you didn’t want unprotected anal because of the risk of pregnancy.” You reply, “Oh, honey. No. I don’t give a fuck about what happens to your body. I’ll just make you take EC, or get an abortion, or just drop you. You start pushing your cock in, no lube, not even spit. Just like you said. Lately, I’ve been having my ass used more, and more roughly, than I ever have before, but this is uncomfortable, painful, even, in a way none of that has been. I try to relax, just let it happen, but my body is tense and tight, and I can’t get away from the feeling. Finally, I hear you groan and say into my ear, “Look at this, you slut. You took my whole cock in your ass. No lube. Good job. I guess you’re good for something.” I shudder at the combination of praise and degradation.

You fuck my hole for what can’t be more than a minute or two, but seems like much longer, and then I feel you pull out. “I know you think that the fact that I’m not using lube is a perfect illustration of the idea that this is all about you. I’d enjoy it more with lube, right?” I try to answer, but can’t really manage words or much complex thought. “Well, that’s true,” you say, and when you push back inside me, I can tell there’s lube on your cock. You grab my hair again, and pull my head back to look at you. “This isn’t about you. This is about my pleasure. So I’m going to use lube to get the best use from your ass as possible. Just remember, though. You are so fully owned, so fucking pathetic, so thoroughly desperate for male attention, for my approval, that you were willing to let me fuck that tight hole of yours without lube.” You fuck me hard and deep, and the lube doesn’t do much to stop it from hurting.

Despite, or because of, the cruel treatment, the pain from the rough anal, and the pain from everywhere I’ve been hit, I realize how hot and wet my cunt is. I moan softly and push back against you briefly, then freeze. “Not about you, fuckhole. Shut up.” you say, and as you slam into my ass, you push my head into the bed so I can’t speak and can barely breathe. I lay there, quiet and still, a sextoy, here for you to stick your cock in and fill with cum. I belong to you, all I want is to serve that purpose. After I don’t know how long, you thrust in deep and cum inside me, making me shiver happily, feeling like I’ve finally managed to be useful.

You collapse on me and lay there, collecting yourself. When you stand up, I expect to be untied and cuddled. Instead you put on some clothes and look at your phone. “I posted an ad on craigslist for you. I’ve gotten a couple texts from men who are going to come and use you, and I’m going to get 25 bucks a hole. One of them just got here, so I’ll go let him in.” You walk out of my room, leaving me dazed, used, frightened, uncertain, excited, and deeply satisfied.

[Alternative post title: Just move the hyphen]

So, MLAM read a post that Legolas wrote where he noted that I couldn’t take all of his cock when he was fucking my ass the first time. (I would like the record to note that I took all of his cock the next time, albeit in a different position.) MLAM told me to text him and “tell him I’ve read his post and that you will be preparing your asshole for his use. Extend to him my apologies for not sufficiently preparing your holes for use, but explain that I hadn’t yet decided you were worth putting my cock in.” I did, and when I talked to Legolas later, IIRC, he didn’t seem super interested in engaging further with the message, but said that he understood about not having decided if I was worth it.

Well, tonight I Skyped with MLAM. I always look forward to Skyping with him with an extreme mixture of excitement and nervousness. It’s always fun and I laugh and get wet and something interesting always results. Usually something to make my life more difficult. This time was no different.

Among the many other things going on in my life and other commands MLAM has given me, I now have to roughly fuck my ass with a dildo for 30 minutes every day. No matter where I am. Unless I’m staying somewhere and getting fucked in the ass. If I come home after getting fucked in the ass, then I have to still do it. It was actually originally 10 minutes, IIRC. I forget why it changed from 10 to 30 minutes (I’m so tired), but I’m sure it was something I did or else there was a good reason.

When I pointed out that I’d taken all of Legolas’ cock the last time, he waved that aside. Not the point.

Additionally, he used another fuck up of mine to calculate the length of time (I was supposed to try to get off with the shoes 3 times a day, not just once, for all 6 days and because I thought I knew his reasons behind giving that command and they were no longer applicable. Nope.), so that it is 6 weeks. One for each day I messed up. Then, I guess he took pity, because he used a random number generator (ADORABLE AS FUCK NERD ALERT) to calculate the actual length of time I’ll have to do this, and I don’t get to know that number.

He’d had me start fucking my ass with dildos while we Skyped, and I was using lube. I was really fucking stupid and, exhausted and feeling good and sassy and silly from happy hour, I said something like “You’re going to let me use lube, right? Because I’m going to.” Big mistake. BIG MISTAKE.

He took that as a challenge. It really wasn’t. He’s allowing me to use lube, but only sputum. <Insert us having a long discussion about anal sex and lube here. Oh gods I’m so tired.>

I don’t know why I ask for clarification (Just kidding. It’s because I want to be good and not rules lawyer my way out of things, even if that means my life is more unpleasant. I want to do what MLAM actually wants me to do.), but I asked if I was allowed to watch Netflix and stuff while doing this. He laughed and said “Don’t be unreasonable. Of course you have to just sit there.” Honestly, that’s the worst part, probably. Although he did give me permission to rub my clit, use a vibe, etc. while I do it. So I guess he’s not without all mercy for my poor little brain.

I don’t really know if I’m going to be able to succeed with all of the parts of this, especially once I order the larger dildo he wants me to order. All I can do is my best, and if that’s not good enough, I’ll just have to suffer the consequences.