Last week I gave three black men a bj in one day. Master was quite proud of his slave. Afterward, he sated, “I want you to keep a journal of the men you have sucked and fucked since I began training you and continue with any future jobs.” Another daunting task to add to the list of items Master gives me.
I knew I would also add insights, thoughts, and feelings because that is who I am. I often send Master texts on things that are on my mind. However, this week, whether or not I get to play with men per Master’s desires, I am going to give my readers an insight to my life as a slave.
My reality is I am owned. 24/7 I live per Master’s commands.
It would be ideal if Master and I lived closer to one another. I chose Master because we do not live in the same city. I did not want a 24/7 relationship. Neither did he. I did not want a weekly relationship. I continued our initial conversation because I knew I wanted long distance. His intention was that we’d always live separate lives and be together when he visited the city I live in. It was a work in progress, and fine until Master invaded every part of my life. However, I still do not want us to live closer to one another.
My mind was the first thing he took control of. We both thrive on the thrill of highly intellectual stimulus. For him to take me to a place I didn’t have to think was exquisite. I just felt. Felt what he desired. I was able to let go and be. That is a feat in and of itself. I’m always thinking. It’s one of mine and Master’s arguments. I’m working on it. And he is very patient with me.
Next came small things. Wear heels during this or that day. Sleep in your collar nightly. Take pictures of you around town wearing a sheer top. Buy toys and wear ben wa balls and a butt plug. The longer we’ve been together the list has grown.
Today is Monday, 4/22/19. These days I wake up wet and horny, many times rubbing my labia as I become fully conscious because the night before I talked to men on the phone per Master’s requirement. They all came while I masturbated, staying on edge, needing the release that only Master gives me. He is absolutely right when he says, “I own your orgasms, I control you sexually, I’m the only one that makes you wet.”
I took off my collar and placed it under my pillow so I can easily reach it once I get back in bed tonight. I got up and dressed per Master’s command. A black skirt, put in my nose ring. My nails are covered in black lacquer because Master wants me to feel like submissive at all times. He wants the men I see to know I am a black-owned slave and whore. Today I am barefooted. I don’t like shoes at all and, unless Master tells me otherwise, at home I don’t wear them.
A few weeks ago, Master said, “On the days you are home alone, for as long as you can, go topless.” My first thought was, great. I can be partially naked all day. I’ll love it. (I don’t like clothes either). That’s not always the case. The blinds are open. Homes surround mine on all sides.
Of course with his instruction there is always a twist. The first day he had me masturbate on the back deck, I had on a shirt. “Pull it up and pinch your nipples, whore,” he said. For the next twenty minutes I pulled, rolled, pinched my nipples. Alternately I rubbed my clit and finger-fucked myself. I came hard. Master hung up, and I sat there in disarray, exposed. Once I was capable of straightening my clothes, I noticed the man standing on the other side of the pond watching me.
What a thrill. Master liked it as well.
Throughout the week, I sat in a chair topless or lay on the deck floor and masturbated. All the while, two houses up behind me men continued remodeling a home and neighbors walked dogs as I completed Master’s directive.
Let’s get back to the present. After breakfast, I texted Master with my usual greeting and told him what day this week I would not be home. He knows today I am working my own job. He will instruct me later today or tomorrow when he wants me to whore for him. Throughout the day, I’ll call men on a chatline or message them and I’ll masturbate and make two or three men come.
While you may find this post somewhat tame or dull. It is his control that makes me wet. The thought of giving up my thoughts and wishes to someone else that is daunting.
Well, for now, I’ll sign off. It’s lunchtime and I’ll spend it snacking on an apple and making at least one guy come.