#writing this turned me on
Daily Picture Assignment #27
Reaction Junkie occasionally mindfucks me and gaslights me unexpectedly. He likes to see how I react and watch my confusion and uncertainty develop. Sometimes I complain. I shouldn’t. Reaction Junkie can fuck with my mind and experiment on me however he likes. No IRB approval necessary.
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At dinner on Sunday night, I was out with Reaction Junkie, The Unknown Quantity, Cunt Destroyer, and some other new friends. I slid my phone over to Reaction Junkie so he could read the post I’d written about the Saturday night party. He started to read it out loud, but when I whined at him, embarrassed, he stopped and read it to himself. I explained to everyone what he was reading, and talked a little about my tumblr. Reaction Junkie must have decided to keep exploring once he’d read the post I’d intended for him to read, because the next thing I knew he was saying, “I’m at a play party and I just had an unexpectedly excellent scene with someone I hadn’t played with before, The Unknown Quantity…”
“Stop!” I said, feeling my face getting hot. I grabbed the phone and checked what I’d written. I knew I hadn’t said anything mean, and nothing super embarrassing, but I’m not confident about my writing. I gave it back to him, kind of okay with him reading it aloud, but didn’t leave tumblr open for him because I wasn’t that enthusiastic about the idea. He went online, found the post that way, and continued reading. I immediately got incredibly embarrassed again and changed my mind about letting him read it.
“No! Don’t! Please stop?” I said in a pathetic little tone. He kept going. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to read it out loud. Stop!” Nothing I said was making him stop reading. Of course, nothing I said was a safeword. I don’t often safeword for psychological things, but I was super uncomfortable and I’d been being a bit toppy (emphasis on “a bit”) earlier in the day. “Red!” I said, expecting him to comply immediately. He didn’t stop. I tried again. He let me know I couldn’t stop him, that I was powerless. I felt a little flicker of panic. “Safeword!” I said. Surely he’d stop. He just kept reading. I could feel myself getting hotter, and now it wasn’t just from embarrassment.
He finally did stop when I hopped up and grabbed the phone. Cunt Destroyer turned to Reaction Junkie and said “That’s not cool,” about his ignoring my safewords. He responded, “I know how far I can push her.”
That made me feel exposed, vulnerable, embarrassed, and it made my cunt twitch. It was also accurate. The whole thing was ridiculously hot. The feelings of being helpless, controlled, and having my wants disregarded combined with the twin embarrassments of having my tumblr read aloud and having my safeword ignored in public to create a recipe for arousal. He wouldn’t ignore a safeword in a situation with actually serious potential negative outcomes, but the reminder that he could do so, that he could decide to continue and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, that when he stops, it’s not because of something I’ve said or done, but because he’s choosing to stop…Just writing about it has me incredibly turned on.
Daily Picture Assignment #7
Last night Reaction Junkie put my neck in the crook of his elbow and squeezed. He squeezed until everything disappeared. My tears, my anger, my sadness, my fear, all of my hurt. All of it gone.
He let go within a moment, and I floated peacefully up and out, back into consciousness. He didn’t have to stop, though. He owns me, which means he owns my life. I gave him that control when I asked him to be my owner. I gave him my past, my present, and my future.
He holds my life in his hands, literally and metaphorically. It’s his to let me keep and his to take away, whether for a moment, as he did last night, or for eternity.
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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.
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I get hurt pretty frequently, and that’s often done via impact play. When I saw this gifset, though, I realized that I rarely get spanked or hit on the ass, and it’s been ages since someone made me bend over their knees or lay across their lap and spanked me like a naughty little girl.
I think part of why I want to be spanked is that it can be seen as humiliating. Children get punished that way. Making me, a grown woman, bend over your knee and receive the same kind of punishment a little girl might get is insulting, infantalizing, and belittling. Especially when you run your finger along my cunt and comment on how wet I am and how much I’m enjoying it, playing with my clit and pushing your fingers into me, making me moan. Maybe you make a comment about how this is the proper punishment for me, since women are basically children, anyway. I start to protest, but you stop me and, instead, order me to agree. You spank me again until I cry out, “You’re right. Women have the emotional and intellectual abilities of children.” You stop hitting me and tell me to continue as you press a vibrator against my clit as I say “We need men to keep us in line and teach us how to behave. Spanking is the right way to punish a woman. We need the pain to drive the lesson home. Being hurt helps us learn.” As I continue speaking, saying more and more misogynistic things, you point out how much I’m moaning and whining, calling me a “gender traitor” and telling me I’m taking feminism two steps back. Finally, you tell me to cum, to get off to all of the awful things I’m saying about women. A moment later, you feel the orgasm hit me as I shake against you.
There’s also the roleplaying/ageplay related aspects of it. I could be the naughty Catholic high school girl who gets sent to the principal’s office. When I enter the room, you make me bend over your desk and spank me as punishment for talking during class. As you do, I’m ashamed to feel my pussy getting wet and warmth growing between my legs. When you’re done, you tell me my panties are a violation of the dress code, “Take them off and hand them to me.” I hesitate, knowing that if I do, you’ll feel that they’re wet. You sternly say, “Now.” And I bend down, slipping them off. When I give them to you, you feel how soaked they are. “Why are these wet? you ask, already knowing the answer. "I…I don’t know, sir,” I respond, embarassed about my arousal response to being spanked. “Bend back over the desk,” you instruct me. I comply, anxious and excited for what might come next. You begin spanking me again, this time on my bare bottom. I squirm and a moan escapes before I can stop it. I hear you chuckle softly. You run your hand down my ass and push it between my legs. I gasp, shocked that you’re touching me like that. When I start to protest, you shut me up by pushing two fingers into my aching pussy. I moan again, and you say, “What a dirty little slut you are. Pussy soaked, moaning with the principal’s fingers inside you. Tell me you’re a slut.” I hesitate, and you pull your hand away, giving me a sharp smack on the ass. “I’m a slut! I’m a slut!” I yelp. “Good,” you say. I hear the sound of a zipper and start to turn around, “Sir, what are you doing?” You grab my hair and push my head against the desk, “Did I say you could move, slut?” “No, sir,” I whimper. “Then don’t move. As for what I’m doing, I’m treating you how girls like you deserve. Giving you a punishment that might actually stick, since you’re a perverted slut and enjoy being spanked.” Before I can respond, you grab me by my hair and pull me to the ground. “Get on your knees, slut.” Shaking with arousal and not a little fear, I obey. “Now,” you say, pushing your cock between my lips, “Let’s see if you can’t do something more useful with that mouth of yours than disrupt class.”
I also like the dd/lg dynamic that could be in play for spanking. Instead of being treated like a naughty little girl, I would be a naughty little girl, getting punished in an appropriate way. Of course, after I was suitably spanked and had learned my lesson, you tease and play with my cunt and ass until I’m begging to cum. Instead, you throw me on the bed, undoing your pants. You grab me and push your cock into my tight cunt. I yelp as you start fucking me, making it hurt. I get used to the feeling and am just starting to get into it when you pull out. I whine, but then feel you pressing against my ass. I try to scramble away, but you grab me and shove into me, stretching me. I gasp and say, “No, Daddy, please! It hurts!” You ignore my begging and continue pushing into my unlubed hole. You tell me, “Hush. Be brave for Daddy. Don’t you want to be a brave, good little girl? I know you do.” I whimper, but stop begging you to stop. After a moment that feels much longer, you say, “You’re such a good girl. Daddy’s all the way inside you.” Before I can respond, you start fucking my ass, grabbing a handful of my hair, pulling my head up. I cry out, saying, “Oh, Daddy, please! It hurts so much.” But I don’t try to get away. I want to be a good girl for you. After a moment, I’m used to it enough to push back against you. At that moment, you slam into me and stay there, cumming in my tight little ass. I hear you grunt and moan, and that’s the final straw. I cum, and cum hard. As we both collapse into the bed, I say, “Thank you, Daddy.”
PS. Oops this kinda turned into a set of mini-fantasies instead of just a comment about wanting to get spanked. I’m guessing that’s okay with y'all.
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“No, you may not use the bathroom.” He ignores my desperate pleas as the 5 bottles of water he made me drink before the party quickly catch up with me. He tells me to stop bothering him and let him talk to people. Before I can ask again, he grabs me around the middle and squeezes me against him, continuing his conversation as if nothing is happening. I moan from the pain-tinged arousal that always results from having my full bladder compressed. The other people in the group hide their smiles and stifle their laughter, but I blush anyway, embarrassed for them to know how much this is turning me on. When he lets go, I stand next to him and dance from leg to leg as I try to focus on the conversation.
When it starts to hurt, I say in a quiet voice, “Please let me pee? It’s starting to hurt and I’m worried I’m going to wet myself.” He tells me to speak up, that it’s rude to whisper in a group. I look down at the floor, my cheeks flushed, but there’s no denying the way my cunt feels as I say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “May I please pee? It really hurts and…and I’m worried I’m going to wet myself.” He grins at me, enjoying my distress, and turns to the group, “Should I let her go to the bathroom?” he asks. The others laugh and respond, half kind, half cruel.
He considers for a moment before saying, “Let’s compromise. You may piss, but you may not use the bathroom. Sit on the floor.” He points towards the wall. I stare at him, not understanding. He gives me one of those looks and says more sharply, “Sit on the floor. Back against the wall. And spread your legs so everyone can see.” I slowly walk to the other side of the room, my bladder aching, and position myself as instructed.
The whole party is looking at me now. He walks over to me and says, “Go ahead. You have permission to piss.” “But…but I can’t. Not in front of everyone! You have to let me go to the bathroom, please!” I respond in horror. He grabs my hair, forcing me to look at him, and slaps me in the face. “Did you just refuse? And tell me what I ‘have’ to do? I think you’re forgetting how this works.” He slides his hand under my panties and continues, half turning to the group, “Besides, I can tell how much you want to do this. Your cunt is fucking soaking. You know what? Since this is your birthday party, not only am I going to forgive you for the backtalk, I’m going to be extra nice.” He hands me a vibrator. “Hold this on your clit. In addition to permission to piss, you also have permission to cum.”
Thoroughly embarrassed now, but reminded of my place by his voice and the slap, I turn on the toy and press it against my throbbing clit. I close my eyes, still feeling the pressure of everyone looking at me, and attempt to relax my muscles, trying to focus on the vibrations running through my cunt. After a minute, I’m finally able to let go. As soon as I do, I feel the relief of my emptying bladder as my panties are soaked in warm piss. I look up to see everyone watching, some people amused, some aroused, some disapproving. The humiliation and arousal and release of finally, finally being allowed to pee overwhelm me and I cum hard, legs shaking, body trembling, head pressed back against the wall.
When I’m finally feel able to think again, still shivering with aftershocks, legs gone numb, I slowly open my eyes to see him crouched over me, smiling, “Happy birthday, pisswhore.”
Something I used to do fairly regularly, but don’t anymore, is roleplaying in the catholic schoolgirl/teacher sense. A big reason for that is I just don’t need it. Roleplaying, for me, was always primarily about power differentials. When I dated vanilla/French vanilla people, roleplaying served as a tool to create that power disparity where there was none. These days, I play with people who create that kind of dynamic themselves/with whom I develop that dynamic.
Another reason I don’t do it much anymore is that I find it difficult and uncomfortable. It’s too much like acting, like performing, which I hate doing in front of people. Despite the fact that I’m intelligent and sometimes clever, I am not quick on my feet when trying to think of things to say that aren’t just my own reactions.
There is one role that I can sink into, though. The role of the Catholic schoolgirl. It’s partially because I was one in high school, and even though I didn’t go to Catholic school before that, I was raised Catholic and was a student for most of my life so far. That isn’t the only reason, though.
I think the main reason I can sink into that role best is that I masturbated to Catholic schoolgirl/headmaster and student/teacher fantasies for years. They weren’t the only thing I thought about, but I’d say that’s what I thought about at least 70% of the time. I haven’t used them in a while, but just writing about this is turning me on. There’s so many different directions they can take. Blackmail both ways, earning a better grade, being coerced/manipulated by the older person, being seduced by the younger one, spankings for dress code violations that turn sexual, and then into sex, and then into repeated use and increasing depravity (this one may be a favorite of mine).
I should see if I can still get into this role sometime soon. Perhaps a nice bit of play where I offer my high school math teacher sex for a better grade, he takes me up on it, and takes it further, degrading and humiliating me by suggesting I was too busy sucking cock to do better, and punishing me for the grade, for being so predictable by offering sex, and for being unfair to the other students.
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Put back in her place.
I bought this exact paddle in a gift shop. In the section that had things like signs that had the word “mancave” on them.
I’m imagining some man bringing this home and informing his wife that things are going to work differently from now on. She’s going to start behaving like a wife should. Like a woman should.
She’ll greet him at the door with a drink, take his shoes and socks off, and give him a foot or back massage while he tells her about his day. She’ll cook, clean, and be ready and enthusiastic whenever he wants to fuck her, however he wants to fuck her.
When he brings the guys down to his mancave, she’ll join them when he calls. Ready to serve them food and drinks, and service them however they want. Her mouth, cunt, and ass will all be put to use.
She’s going to become a proper wife.
If she doesn’t? Well, he’ll just have to adjust her attitude. When he’s done with that, she’ll be happy to serve him and be used.
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Daily Picture Assignment #41
While I haven’t been keeping up with these pictures as well as I should be, I have been very good about something else. In another DPA I decided to change my workplace pissing habits. Previously I didn’t have to ask Reaction Junkie for permission to pee while at work. Now I do. Each time I need to piss, I have to text him to ask, “May I please pee?”
For practicality’s sake, if he doesn’t respond to my text within half an hour, I’m allowed to go, but there’s still a challenge there. I don’t want to ask permission before I actually really do need to pee. That defeats the purpose. But I also need to ask early enough that if he doesn’t respond, I can wait the half hour. It’s a delightful balancing act that leaves me desperate, wiggling, shifting uncomfortably, and trying to distract myself so I can hold it for the next five, ten, or twenty minutes.
Sometimes he responds unexpectedly fast. In those cases, I try to finish however much water I have left in my huge one litre Camelbak and wait until the need to pee is more urgent before I get up and head to the bathroom, to sort of make up for the fact that I got permission earlier than absolutely necessary. When I told Reaction Junkie about that, he said, “Good girl,” and it made my pussy twitch. I’m not sure I’ve been doing it every single time he’s responded more quickly than I thought he would, but I’m certainly going to do so now.
Of course, he doesn’t always just say “Yes” when I ask if I may pee. As Reaction Junkie said to me, if he said yes every time, “it would become perfunctory." Sometimes he tells me "No,” but more often he tells me at what time I’m allowed to piss. Late last week, for example, I texted him at 12:11 asking for permission. A minute later he texted back, “1230, slut.” I gasped and moaned a little at my desk, even more turned on than usual by the addition of degradation and name calling to the bladder control and desperation.
Sometimes when he gives me a time at which I’m allowed to go, he also offers me an alternative, some task to perform or action to take. If I choose to do it (If he’s given me a choice. Once in a while it’s a condition of being allowed to pee, no other option.), I’m may piss as soon as I’ve done so. Occasionally it’s something terribly embarrassing, like asking my boss for permission to go to the bathroom. Once I had to do 25 squats while pressing on my bladder. More recently, he’s started using his control over my bladder to get me to do things he wants me to do or that I need to do, such as text a friend to set up a time to hang out, or send an email I’ve been putting off.
When he denies my request, makes me wait until later, calls me names, or makes me beg, my cunt clenches and my head buzzes a little with subspacey delight. Using his control over me to make me do things I’ve been procrastinating on or I’m hesitant to do in order to earn the right to piss is a perfect way for him to reinforce his orders. It helps me learn my place and teaches me to do as he says, even at other times, as I become conditioned to obey him.
I love that we’re doing this additional bladder control and desperation. As I go about my day, I’m mindful of the fact that I have to ask him if I may piss. Because of this, I have to actively think about my place in our relationship whenever I need to use the bathroom, whenever I drink my water, whenever I refill the bottle, whenever I go into a meeting. It’s a constant reminder that he has such ownership and control over me that even my most basic bodily functions are subject to his will. It’s impossible to forget that, even for a moment.
Reaction Junkie owns me, I have submitted to him, and I have given up power over myself to him. He has complete control over me everywhere, even at work. This was all true before, but now I am consciously aware of it throughout the entire workday.
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