#what i want doesnt matter

Daily Picture Assignment #123

Happy hour outfit from last night.

Reaction Junkie and I have a little protocol around what I wear. Whenever I’m going out, I ask him what to put on. I’m not asking him to pick out my whole outfit, mind, since that isn’t his strong suit. Instead, I ask him if I should wear a skirt, dress, or shorts. Now that it’s winter, I’ve replaced “shorts” with “pants” and “leggings.” I really like this protocol, since I get to feel that sense of being controlled and Reaction Junkie gets to make pick out some of my clothes, but without any of the pressure of having to pick out a full outfit.

While I don’t ask Reaction Junkie to make all of my clothing choices for me, sometimes I do ask for input when I can’t make up my mind about a particular aspect of my outfit. Last night was such an occasion. I couldn’t decide which boots to wear, these ones, or my big stompy boots. I was leaning towards the stompy ones, but wasn’t sure, so I put these on and asked Reaction Junkie what he thought.

He thought for a second and told me, “Those.” For a moment, I thought about disagreeing and wearing the other boots, but then I remembered my place. It doesn’t matter what I want. What’s important is what Reaction Junkie wants. Even if I think he might be wrong, and that a different course would be better, I need to listen to his decision. If it’s something major, I can, of course, speak up, but even then, if he still wants me to do what he initially said, I must obey. And if I disagree on something minor, I should, no, will obey without question. So I wore the boots that he picked.

The details of Reaction Junkie’s preference or order don’t matter. The important thing I that I remember that I’ve subsumed my preferences and wants into his. If I prefer something that runs contrary to what he wants, I will follow through with his desire. A particular decision may not be or even become what I would like, but by virtue of the fact that it is what Reaction Junkie prefers, I will want to follow through with it. I may not want it specifically, but going along with it will make me happy, because it will best please Reaction Junkie.

PS. Before anyone gets mad, the shirt is from A Softer World, and it’s making fun of people who act like that’s what feminism is about. Reaction Junkie has one, too, which results in some great interactions.

Daily Picture Assignment #112

Last night, while I was cooking, I noticed Reaction Junkie was on the phone. I asked him who it was and he said, “[M].” The events of Sunday evening popped into my head, and I felt my pussy twitch. Not gonna lie, I even got some nervcited flutters in my tummy. I didn’t say anything, though, figuring things like that can’t possibly happen every time he talks to M.

When I started to use the blender, Reaction Junkie went into the bedroom to continue his call. I finished cooking, cleaned up, and sat on the couch with my laptop, ready to do some writing for tumblr. Just as I was about to start, Reaction Junkie came out of our room and said, “Come here.” I had a brief flash of annoyance and sighed, but then obeyed. I’m doing better and being obedient even when I’ve been interrupted.

He had me follow him into the bathroom. Anticipating his intentions, I rushed ahead of him to lift the toilet lid and seat, and then knelt on the rug Reaction Junkie has told me to wait on while he pisses. He continued his conversation as he peed, and when he finished pissing, he turned to me and stuck his cock in my mouth. He didn’t just have me lick the tip this time. No, this time he started fucking my face.

After about ten minutes of this, during which Reaction Junkie told M what he was doing, but otherwise continued his conversation as normal, my jaw started to hurt. I let Reaction Junkie know, and instead of telling me I could stop, he pushed my head back down and asked M, “What would you say to a woman whose jaw is getting tired?” M apparently responded, “I’m not a dentist.” I was embarrassed, and even felt a little humiliated, degraded, and objectified to have them talk about women in general, and, more specifically, me, like that. Like I’m a hole for their cocks, nothing but an object whose discomfort doesn’t matter. Which, in this case, was true.

Eventually, Reaction Junkie pulled his cock out of my mouth and told me, “Get on the bed.” I stripped and hopped on the bed, lay back, and looked at him. He straddled my chest and fucked my face like that for a while before laying down himself and telling me to lay between his legs. I continued sucking his cock, and at some point “phone call blowjobs” came up in the conversation again. Reaction Junkie laughed and told M, “I’m training her to get on her knees and suck my cock whenever I’m on the phone with you.”

My cunt clenched at the feelings of degradation and objectification.In fact, it felt like a kind of fucking with my feminism, for him to be talking to someone not in the scene about treating a woman like that, training me, like a pet or a slave. Like what I am. To be talking to another man about me like I’m just a fucktoy, not really even there. It was super fucking hot.

Then Reaction Junkie told M, “[LFB] thinks your voice is hot, by the way.” Lips still wrapped around his cock, I slapped his leg, mortified that he’d told M that. M thanked me for the compliment, and Reaction Junkie said, “Sit up. I’m going to slap you in the face for that.” He told M that he was slapping me because I’d hit his leg. Again, I had that feeling of being humiliated and degraded that he’d told M I was being treated that way.

Reaction Junkie continued using my mouth for another fifteen or twenty minutes, before having me lay next to him and cuddle as he continued talking. Towards the end of the conversation, he told M, “You know, next time you come to visit, you have full use of all my possessions. Including [LFB].” and told M he could fuck me. As soon as he started talking, I groaned and buried my face in his side out of sheer embarrassment. And arousal.

I’m starting to really enjoy Reaction Junkie’s calls with M. And I can’t wait to see what will happen when he visits.

bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls:

She asked for it. Begged, really. “Please get the gun,” over and over. I finally pulled it out of the drawer and leveled it at her head. When I hesitated, she tried to reassure me.

“I consent to this. I want it. I need it.” Her expression was so very calm as she spoke, as if she were reciting a mantra.

That’s when I lowered the weapon and spat in her placid little face.

"I don’t give a shit about your ‘consent’, and never have,” I stepped toward her as I spoke, and wrapped my free hand around her throat. “You think that’s what’s stopping me? You think I would ever allow your fucking opinion to determine what I do?”

I spat on her again, and this time she flinched. Her facade was cracking. I leaned in close, and breathed hotly in her ear.

"And if I ever decide to end you,” I hissed, “it won’t be with a bullet. It’ll be with my hands.”

Fuck. This made me rub my clit at work.

My opinions, my preferences, my wants, my desires, my consent. None of them matter. What matters is what you think, what you prefer, what you want, what you desire, what you feel like doing.