Doug's fuck toy

I reach for him in the morning and the first thing I touch is his Cock. I am getting ready to pleasure and serve him for his morning Suck, which is my pleasure and complete joy to do.

I’m sucking for just a few moments before his hand is caressing my hair and touching his collar fastened around my neck.

“Do you want to sit on Master’s Cock this morning, fuck toy? Or do you want to just suck?”

“Suck.”

Then the desire wells up in me followed shortly by the swelling in my Pussy.

I crawl up to meet Master face-to-face and straddle him.

“Oh! You’ve changed your mind!”

“Yes,” I moan as I ease my wetness down onto his erect Cock.

“Mmmmmm.” He always feels amazing to me but especially so after I’ve gone a few days without his Cock. This time, it’s been almost a week.

And the week makes my cumming so easy. And repetitious.

“Thank you, Master.”

Yes, it’s so easy for that to roll off my tongue after each and every cum.

I ask if I can suck. My body is sore from the gym.

“No. Lay on your back.”

Master knew I wasn’t finished. He starts fucking me again and I moan in pleasure.

“You weren’t finished fucking, were you fuck toy?”

“No. I’m just so sore all over from the gym.”

“Well, from here out whenever that is the case I want you to say you still want to fuck, but you can’t do it in the same position any more.”

I look at him. He knows I agree. I say I will.

And I cum again.

Master asks: “Who is inside you right now?”

“My Master.”

“Whose Pussy is this?”

“My Master’s Pussy.”

I cum again.

“How did I get so lucky?”

Master fucks another cum out of me.

“How did you get so lucky? Well, you followed your lust, that’s how.”

“I know, but I could have had a long string of boys that didn’t know how to take control of me . . . . “

“I expected you to call me ‘Sir’ and you said: ‘Yeah. I can do that.’”

“I expected you to swallow my cum the very first time you sucked my Cock and you said: ‘Yeah. I can do that.’”

“I expected you to beg for Master’s Cock and you said: ‘Yeah. I can do that.’”

“I tied you up and whipped you and you said: ‘Yeah. I can do that.’”

“I expected you to wear this collar around your neck and you said: ‘Yeah. I can do that.’”

I cum again thinking of all the things Master describes while he fucks me.

“And you swallow just about every load of cum I’ve had since we met. By the time we leave this life, you’ll probably have a couple of gallons of my cum in your belly.”

“So, you see? You got so lucky because you followed your lust.”

“Turn over onto your belly, fuck toy.”

I do as I’m told and Master straddles my legs. Legs together, I lift my ass. Master enters my Pussy from behind. The sensation is so intense and amazing that I start cumming right away.

“And you like this. You like being boned. Lots of girls don’t like it, but you liked it right away. Only the slutty girls like it.”

“Why don’t they like it?”

“Too raw.”

I keep cumming on Master’s Cock until my head is swimming and I feel a little lost. But Master keeps it up.

“So, now that you’ve followed your lust, you are lucky because we’re going to take you to the Club, where you’ll get to try some Pussy and where you’ll get ‘tag teamed’ by two or three cocks at once.”

Oh, my God! Such a hard cum! “Thank you, Master!!!”

“Are you ready to suck, fuck toy?”

“Yes! Pleeeaaassse!”

“Are you going to do a good job?”

“YES!”

“Ok, fuck toy. Come and get your cum.”

ft

A secret indulgence at certain times, getting Master’s Cock requires that I remain very quiet – although that is very difficult for me to do.

This morning, as Master Fucks me he says: “So, do you like the road I’ve led you down since I pulled you in for that second kiss?”

His question brings me back to our first date. We had spent it in a bar. Sitting next to me on the bench, Master remained focused enough on me that I found myself playing with my jewelry a lot. That night I asked for a Mud Slide – it’s my favorite drink since I discovered alcohol. But this bar didn’t blend drinks and made mine extra strong – so I was light headed and laughing too loud before I even got through one quarter of my drink.

I remember after several all-night phone calls hoping that he would like me. How nervous I was to meet him. How I’d hoped he would like me.

He did like me. And he was the first man who made me nervous.

Now his comment has me watching that second kiss as though I were an observer.

He kissed me the first time outside my car. And as he pulled me in and his lips touched mine, I felt fireworks through my body. Something I didn’t expect because I’d never felt anything like that before with a kiss. My body pressed against his and locked in his arms the fireworks set off an alarm that sounded retreat.

“I need to go now.”

“No. Don’t leave yet . . . . “

As he pulls me in to kiss me again. More fireworks. He must have felt my mixture of tension and excitement and decided to release me.

“Ok, Baby Doll. You can go now.”

For the first time since that happened, I watch that kiss and place it in a category I described many times before to describe men I found irresistible: “Masterful.”

Now I tell Master this. And how Masterful was my language to describe attractive men before I ever met him. And now, I call him Master. Interesting how things turn out . . . .

And now, while Master continues to treat me with his Cock, I think about things that existed in me which belied my fuck toy Essential Nature before we ever met.

I tell Master about my first kiss. How it was forced upon my by Mike when I was 16 years old. He was at least 19. He must have picked up subtle signals from me – he used his arm to turn my face toward him – almost head-lock style – in the back seat of my cousin’s car while at the drive-in movies. Mike initiated me to tongue kissing. Even though – if you had asked me – I would have said I didn’t want to . . . .

“But,” Master observes, “you kissed him.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And, every time we went out, we ended out lying across the back seat of his car. I submitted to him. To a certain point.”

And I tried to break up with him several times. But he continued to talk me into going out with him again. He saw my submissive nature and I submitted. Until I got my dad on the phone to stop him from ever calling me again.

And just in this moment, I realize that I’ve had the makings of being a fuck toy from the very beginning of my girl-boy interactions.

This realization comes so forcefully and so raw into my conscious awareness that I can’t help myself. I begin cumming and crying and whimpering with this realization that I’m making too much noise to make sure I don’t wake up the ones who should be sleeping.

Master is shushing me. He’s rubbing my face. He’s slowing his pace.

And I bring myself back into the present moment right here in Master’s arms and face to face with him. It is the return to the present with Master that allows me to be quiet again. And it is returning to the present with Master that brings me back to cumming very quietly.

Master tells me “Good girl.”

fuck toy is a Good Girl.

Isn’t it true that when we become who we truly are, we are our best selves?

ft

I told Master about the dreams I dreamed last night. He told me they were fuck toy dreams. I never imagined what a fuck toy dream could be much less that I would have them. Thinking about it right now, I guess that is just how deeply I am affected. How much of a fuck toy I truly am.

The first dream was about me and another woman who were in a man’s home. It was a man I did not know. He was very wealthy and also very particular about how his home was maintained. He was looking for a woman to care for his home. The other woman was to serve him. I wasn’t sure if she was being rejected and I would be in her place or if we would both serve him.

I walked around his house and was very vigilant about making it appear as he wished it to be; neat and tidy enough. He also wanted to have someone care for his children. My sense was that he didn’t worry about having communal care for them, just that they were cared for.

I had no idea about it, but he didn’t want sexual attention.

He had money. Lots of it. And he had a shoebox in which he kept small bundles of money in random amounts. He told the other woman to get some for herself. And she told me to do the same.  I watched as she chose a folded roll of bills and count it. Like a surprise grab bag. Then, it was my turn. I chose a roll that contained $250.

Then I stopped in the dream – I had one of those lucid dream moments. I knew I was Master’s fuck toy. But this man wanted different things from me. And he gave me money. I wondered in the dream if I could just continue Fucking Master while I got money from this man.

The next time Master fucked me, I told him about the dream. He seemed pleased to tell me I am having fuck toy dreams.

Master interpreted it for me. He told me that this is almost what happened to me. Had I not lost my “Fuck you! Lose my number!” attitude, Master would have taken me and “thrown me to the wolves,” as he puts it. He would have taken me to a sex club and shown me what it is like to have several Cocks at once. And he would have come over from time to time to fuck me. I would have been just his fuck toy.

Funny, in my waking life before I met Master, I had several phone conversations with a man whose Zodiac sign is Scorpio. He had lots of money – I checked out his references online. He never came to meet me and I ran out of patience within about 6 months. Makes me wonder if he could have been the Sugar Daddy of my dream. He certainly was a scorpion . . . . .

I had more dreams I didn’t tell Master about. They were in the same night. One dream, in particular, stands out in my mind.

The dream had several scorpions. They were being eaten by my cats. It was very vivid. I wondered about the meaning of this dream.

The interpretations I found online that most resonate with me are these:

Scorpion: Represents a waking situation which is painful. Stinging comments, poisonous attitudes, destructive feelings against me. Traps and troubles. A self-destructive, self-defeating path. A symbol of death and rebirth. Indicating the need for getting rid of the old and making room for something new.

Trusted Cat: Represents my independent spirit, feminine sexuality, creativity and power.

A cat killing a spider: I am expressing my femininity in a seductive and cunning manner rather than in an overly cunning and destructive way.

Both of these dreams in the same night . . . . . Well, Master identified the first as a fuck toy dream. The second is, too. It reveals to me how deeply being Master’s fuck toy has reached my core. And that it is my sexuality that frees me.

When I put the generic scorpion/cat symbols into the context of my life, they take on a meaning that identifies exactly where I am. And, in my opinion, they represent my moving forward and continuing the healing process that began when I started becoming Master’s fuck toy.

I have lived through and rebelled against a situation in my life that still leaves people talking about what I have done. I see it as a situation that resulted in my freedom. The others see it as my having thrown my soul to hell. All of the feelings, attitudes and comments represented in the scorpion dream symbol still live in my waking life. But I have made huge strides toward stepping away from all of that and stepping into rebirth. I truly am making room for something new.

And it was my journey into my true sexuality and into Master’s arms as his fuck toy that began the re-birthing process. It was the beginning of freedom to me. The former path truly was self-destructive and self-defeating. But, relying on my independent spirit, my feminine sexuality drew me to Master. Seductively and cunningly in a way that freed me. And the more I allow myself to sink into my true nature as Master’s fuck toy, the more freedom I experience.

Truly, the cat eating the scorpion is a prophetic and profound dream. Surely, dreams reveal truth.

ft

We were at our favorite movie house. I always feel extra randy when Master and I go there, because he always fingers my pussy there and I always make accommodations so that he can gain easy access. Anticipation builds for me because I don’t know when he’ll start; but when he wants, he reaches over and finds his finger’s way to my crotch . . . .

I sink down in my seat and open my legs. Just as he has trained me to do . . . .

Tonight things start a little differently. Before the movie starts and I see a beautiful woman. A brunette. Strong, yet feminine. Nice shoulders with a colorful tattoo covering her left shoulder like a cap sleeve that emphasizes the shape of her upper arm.

I see her and I watch her walk to the front of the theater to claim the bootie her winning raffle ticket affords.

And I whisper to Master: “Look at her! She’s really hot. I think all women would admit to being bisexual if they were honest . . . . “

I’ve looked at women with great interest for over 2 decades. I love the way they move. The way they walk. Something about watching a woman mesmerizes me. I used to think it was because I had a sisterhood with those women. But it was more than a sisterhood. And it was only with certain women. Before, I thought it was because I wanted to connect with them and be like them because of my essential feminine nature.

But Master is skilled at opening me to deeper levels of my own truth. And this is no exception.

After the movie, we stop at a restaurant so I can pee. Master meets me on my side of the car and kisses me. Then, he takes my panties before telling me “Ok, let’s go.”

On the drive home, he starts to administer his special brand of truth serum. He starts fingering my clit. And, just before I’m ready to cum, he stops. And he slips his fingers – 2 or 3 of them – into my hungry pussy. And he pumps my pussy with his fingers like that while he drives. He gets me right to the edge again. Then, he switches back to my clit.

Master takes his time and watches and at a certain point when I start feeling desperate to cum, he starts talking to me. And, asking me questions. He’s done this to me before and it truly is a beautiful unfolding. As if while I’m under Master’s spell, I’m more honest than at any other time. I see things about myself when Master is using his truth serum – things he sees and wishes to uncover. Things I’ve long-hidden from myself.

Because Master can see inside me. And when he sees something in me, he always wants to bring it out. He always wants more. Master tells me that he wants all of me. Because he is my Master. He wants me to be completely who I truly am.

Tonight in the car, he begins where I left off. He asks me how long I’ve been looking at women. I tell him a long time. He asks me why. I tell him that I’m fascinated by women. I always have been. That answer’s not good enough for Master. He saw the look in my eyes and heard the lust in my voice when I talked about that tattooed sexy bitch tonight.

Master says: “I don’t think that’s it, fuck toy. I think you were looking at that woman because you wanted her Pussy. You want Pussy, don’t you, fuck toy?”

Master’s question both shocks me and arouses me. He’s still rubbing my clit and I’m trying to think straight. I try to sort through my thoughts as my mind flashes back over my life and the way I’ve always wanted to be close to women. Could it be that I’m so drawn to women because I secretly lust after them?

I try to explore this idea in my head, but Master will not be ignored. It’s so hard to think clearly with my legs wide open to Master’s bidding.

“You want Pussy, don’t you fuck toy.” He wants me to tell him. Master knows that when I verbalize things, things that are true for me, I cum. Hard.

I realize Master is on to something, and I say it’s true. I say “Yes.” And Master rubs my clit faster. He makes me cum. But, as always, a simple one-word answer isn’t enough for Master.

But, he didn’t ask for my honesty in this until a few days later. Master always takes his time. He is patient that way. He wants my unfolding. He doesn’t want to put things in my head that aren’t already there. He thinks about the things I tell him and evaluates his next moves.

As for me, this driving sex session after my flirty confessions at the movie theater opens up so much that is new. Things I’ve felt for a long, long time but have never acknowledged.

The evening ends with Master telling me that it’s up to me; if I ever want to do something about my desire for Pussy, all I need to do is to let him know.

I go to sleep after a steamy night with my head full of thoughts and my body full of sensation. A steamy mix of confusion, arousal and curiously familiar feelings . . . .

The next morning when I am alone, I’m not sure about whether or not I actually want Pussy, but now it makes sense that I feel an obsession about looking at beautiful women with tattoos. I’m thinking about my “fantasy type” that Master asked me about in the car last night. He asked me if the tattooed woman is the kind I would want. He asked me to describe my fantasy Pussy. My answer to him was a Bettie Paige type with tattoos. At least 6 tattoos.

This morning I look up Bettie Paige online to see her images. One of the image thumbnails is a tattoo of Bettie. I click. And up comes a link for my version of porn: Inked Girls magazine. I order a subscription and text Master to tell him I’ve done this. One thing I’m sure of today is that I do have an itch. For now, it is the impulse to stare at beautiful tattooed women in a way I can’t stare in person.

Master asks me about it later. I’m still sorting through my feelings. I tell him that right now I just have a desire to look. To stare.

It’s interesting to discover that I have sexual attraction to women. Interesting and it puts me a bit off center.

I’m in the bathtub soaking and thinking about all of this. Master walks in and hands me a magazine that has nude girls in it. A few of them. He says he was going to throw it away, but he thought I might want to look.

He walks out like it’s nothing.

To me, it feels like an earthquake.

How can Master discover his fuck toy is attracted to women and be okay with that? Funny, I never believed myself to be homophobic, but in these instances I feel that way. And it is about me.

And how can Master be okay with the idea of me being aroused by anyone but him?

He seems as calm and as centered as ever . . . .

Curious. The whole thing is so curious.

ft

The next morning is Easter. I wake up and dive toward Master’s Cock. He reaches for me and lifts my chin toward his face.

“Good morning, Beautiful!”

He kisses me and I kiss him back. Then, he’s kissing me all over my body. I’m completely wrapped up in his kisses and the sensation of feeling his mouth communicate his love to my breasts, my nipples, my belly, my legs. I close my eyes and sigh quietly to myself.

“Yesterday I paraded you around all day and showed you off as my fuck toy. This morning, I just want to make love to you.”

I feel bliss in this moment, but Master has more to say . . . .

He makes me cum by using the warmth of his breath and barely touching my clit and Pussy with his tongue. I cum so easily because of the combination of sensation in my body as well as my heart.

Then Master enters me and we are face-to-face.

“I love that you keep yourself in such good shape for me.”

“I love that you work so hard at it.”

“I love that you let me do whatever I want with you.”

“I love that you let me do that even though you are a little scared.”

“I love that you are a real woman.”

“Do you know what I mean when I say you are a real woman?”

“You mean that I trust you and that I give myself to you.”

“I love that you are the kind of man I can surrender myself completely to.”

“I love that you let me teach you.”

Sometimes, when Master is making love to me – which is sooooo different from fucking – I forget myself. And my readers will have to forgive me for not remembering any more details of our conversation. It suffices to say that he makes love to me this way for at least 30 minutes. The orgasms come quietly. He stays focused on me while we remain face-to-face. And he tells me beautiful things. He always says beautiful things when he’s making love to me.

Soon, we get ready for church. After church, we go to our family Easter celebration.

I love being there with him in sexy new outfit. Being close to him. Sitting on his lap. Laughing and joking with family and being very aware of the intensity of our connection. The intensity of the quality of our lives together.

After dinner, we head home and talk about spiritual things. The conversation continues on the couch until Master says: “I don’t want to talk about this any more. I want to fuck.”

We go to the bedroom and Master instructs me to get on top of him. I straddle his Cock and lower myself onto him. I lower myself down on my elbows and kiss him. Then begins the interrogation! It’s funny how often I say his fucking is truth serum, but it really is.

Master begins by referencing the fact that I made no small deal about the lust that Daniel Craig’s half-naked body inspires in me at the Easter gathering while Cowboys and Aliens was playing.

“So, when we’re at the Club, and there’s a muscular young guy there who has a really nice body like Daniel Craig’s, what are you going to do, fuck toy?”

I grin and look away, confronted by Master’s directness.

“What are you going to do, fuck toy? Will you want him to fuck you?”

I gather myself and look back at him again. “Yes.”

“Do you remember how that woman sounded when she talked about being fucked by that guy with a nice body and a really big dick? Did listening to that turn you on, fuck toy?”

“Yes it did.”

“Well, one of the things I want for you is for you to be fucked by a guy with a really big dick.”

I feel confused.

“Why do you want that for me?”

“Because women who’ve been fucked by a really big dick say size really does matter and I want you to experience that.”

“But it will hurt. I’m afraid it will hurt me.”

“No, Baby. He’ll take his time and stretch you out before really fucking you. Guys with big dicks know how to do that.”

“But why would you want to see your wife doing that?”

“You know, I’ve gotten about a hundred Pussies off over the years. How many dicks have you had?”

“Five. Well, really only two that mattered.”

“So I want you to experience some things you’ve never had a chance to experience.”

I let what Master just said sink in a minute.

“So you really are just doing this for me?”

“Listen, I don’t want you to do anything because you think I want it or because you think it’s going to turn me on. I want you to do what you want because that’s what you want. No other reason.”

“I know. I’m just saying that the idea that you would do something like this for me is such a new concept for me. I’m letting it sink in.”

“I think the only problem we might run into is if you get a little addicted to the Club and you want to go more often than I do. Then we’ll have to talk about it.”

“Well, the idea of sucking 3 or 4 dicks doesn’t really appeal to me and I’m not sure if that is just dirty talk. But I promise I won’t do anything just because I think you want me to.”

“Aren’t you glad we’re honest with each other?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Get on your back, fuck toy.”

He starts fucking me more vigorously than he can when I’m straddling him. He makes me cum again. And he keeps talking . . . .

“So, would you like it if that guy with a really nice body and a big dick lifted you up off the floor and fucked you really hard?”

The idea makes me cum and it’s so hard to talk when I’m cumming, but Master pushes for an answer and I groan out a “yesssss.”

As soon as the orgasm has passed me, I say: “But I’ve never really thought that could happen to me because I’m too big.”

“No, fuck toy, you’re not too big. Average women who get picked up off the floor probably weight 120 or 130 and you aren’t much more than that. But if we can’t find a guy at the club to do that to you, we’ll find a guy online. I’ll meet him for drinks. I’ll tell him you are 6 feet tall and that you weigh 150 pounds. When I find out that he really has the body he says and that he’s clean, we’ll arrange it. Don’t worry, fuck toy. You know what I believe about making sure fantasies come true.”

Yes, I know what he says and I believe him.

Tonight’s sex is really hot and very nasty as we talk about going to the Club and being fucked without mercy by a guy with a really big dick.

Then I suck him until he cums. Then, I sink into sweet sleep at the end of our wonderful promised weekend.

Until Monday morning. Master quietly gets out of bed and gets ready to leave for work. He creeps into the bedroom and comes to my side of the bed.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty, your Prince has arrived!”

Groggy, I kiss him.

“Oh, wait a minute. This princess doesn’t get woken up by a kiss there!”

He pulls away the blanket and kisses my Pussy.

“That’s what wakes this slutty princess up!”

“A slutty princess is the right kind of princess for you?”

“All the better!”

ft

Our next destination is a bar in a fairly nice part of downtown. The bar opened at 4pm and closes at 2am. We decide this is a good place for dinner. They have New York Steak and that sound just about . . . . perfect!

We walk in to a minimally furnished bar with a rather large area open for what might be a dance area. Just inside the door to the left are 3 older, well-dressed black men. At least one of them has been drinking a little too much.

“Interesting!” he says very loudly so as to make sure I’ve heard him even though he isn’t talking to me. “I’d like to know the maker of that dress!”

Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I can’t wait to be seated at the table where I can cover myself. The tablecloth does enough. I don’t remember all of the conversation at the bar but all of it was loud enough for us to easily hear. And none except the opening comments were about me.

I realize that the mall and even the bookstore were impersonal. But a bar is up-close. I mention how I’m feeling to Master. He acts like it’s no big deal. They’re men. Drinking in a bar. There is nothing requiring them to be polite or discrete here.

I let the reality of what I am doing sink in. Master can see it and tells me he can. Then he tells me more.

“You need to get used to things like this. And I’ve also been thinking about what I would do if someone like that ever approached you with some smart-ass comment about you trying too hard or something like that. I would say, ‘Oh, no. She’s not pretending. She’s a sex slave. I call her fuck toy. Want to see?’ Then I would say, ‘Display, fuck toy’ and you would go over to the wall and lean toward and lift up your coat so that you show your ass and your fuck toy tattoo.”

I don’t know how to respond. The moment seems a little too real.

“What do you think of that?”

“I would laugh.”

“Oh, no. You can’t laugh.”

I’m trying to make sense of my feelings and of the reality of what is happening. As I do, I keep looking over at the bar.

“Don’t stare, fuck toy! Unless you’re ready for one of them to come over here.”

I make a serious effort not to look while I’m trying to figure myself out in this situation.

It sinks in even deeper while I eat my delicious New York Steak with dirty rice. I am a real life sex slave. Master is treating me as one. His plan is to display me in public. He’s doing that today.

I want time to adjust without drawing attention to myself but I have to pee. And I have a feeling that in order to find the bathroom, I have to walk right by those guys at the bar. I tell Master I have to pee. He motions in the direction of walking past the bar and tells me “go.”

I’m not prepared for what happens next. I get up to walk past and ask if the bathroom is “this way?” and every one of them (two of the three guys at the bar, the bar tender, and three workers) stop what they are doing to watch me walk. No. To stare at me. No, to oogle as I walk past.

I walk with confidence but I’m shocked. Am I ready for this kind of attention? I remember when Master first began making me tell him the truth during sex. How I wanted to shy away. And here are those same feelings, but instead of Master’s eyes penetrating me, it’s the eyes of perfect strangers. These strangers aren’t sneaking subtle glances, No! They are in full-on lustful appreciation.

There are so many levels where this challenges me. I think the one that strikes me the most as I write this is that the idea of being a sex object that would get that kind of attention was a fun fantasy. One I never really imagined personifying in actual real life. I’ve fantasized about being wanted by men who I didn’t know. Reality feels a lot different than fantasy. Can I get used to this skin???

One thing I need to always remember is that if I tell Master about a fantasy, he is going to see it to fruition. He pushes me beyond fear and a whole other jumbled up mass of confused feelings. I trust him. That trust requires me to really push myself.

Especially . . . . right . . . . now.

As I ease myself back into my seat next to Master, he says: “I watched you walk back and with every step, your coat shows a little flash of Pussy.” He has a satisfied look on his face. “It does?” I say. “Yes. Not too much, but it shows a little flash with each step you take.”

"Flash of Pussy with each step you take"

So much to take in . . . .

The bartender is an attractive young woman in her mid 20’s. She cute and pretty friendly. When I’m done with my meal, I ask for a box and she asks if I want more of the mushroom pepper steak sauce. I say no. She asks: “Are you sure?” I think she’s a little too friendly and I think that I can be talked into just about anything right now, so I say “yes” to the extra sauce. I think to myself but I don’t say it: “She would be fun to play with!” Was it because she was so solicitous toward me – the woman in the risqué outfit? I’m not sure, but I know Master’s not going to miss the fact that I had these thoughts but didn’t tell him . . . .

Once my sauce is finished we leave the restaurant and I feel a measure of relief until I see the three twenty-something guys sitting in the SUV within view of us walking on the sidewalk. With my flash-with-every-step coat, I feel a renewed flush of energy.

“My coat is opening and those guys will see . . . . “

“Oh, well!”

We sit in the car while Master again says that he’s not ready to take me home yet. I search the internet to find movie times of local theaters and we decide to go see a movie. But we still have time and for the sixth or seventh time since this day began, Master is fingering my clit. I lean back in my seat. I cum again on Master’s whim.

He points out a homeless woman standing on the corner. He tells me that she heard my moaning and cumming sounds. She saw my foot pop up to the window as I climaxed. He points out that she is watching us even as we drive away. He laughs.

We get to the theater at about 6:30. Again, all eyes are at my hemline. I see a guy wearing a turban and lots of facial hair staring me down – or rather, staring my hemline down. I feel a twinge of fear and ask Master if he thinks a Muslim man who sees a flash of Pussy might take matters in his own hands and correct the situation? Master laughs, “Oh, you caught that, huh?” Somehow the fact that Master saw it too puts me a little more at ease. Still, I’m happy to get out of the mall and into the theater itself.

As always, the smell of popcorn accosts my senses. I notice how good it smells and remind myself that the smell is much better than the taste. But as we sit down, I see two young guys with muscled arms walking in with little boxes of popcorn and I can’t resist the temptation to just say: “Mmmmmmm, popcorn!” Master already knows I don’t want to eat it, but he makes the following suggestion:

“When you are where you want to be and you aren’t restricting your diet as much, you’ll have to get some popcorn. I’ll just have you say: ‘Can I have some popcorn? I’ll suck your Dick!’” I laugh. Yes! That would work!

“They would give me popcorn!”

“I know they would!” says Master with a grin.

As I settle in next to Master before the movie starts, I realize how very tired I am. I comment about it and Master re-states all of the events of this day, including the several times he’s made me cum while we were driving in the car.

“Of course you’re tired!” he says.

As we watch the movie, my coat is completely unbuttoned and I relax as Master caresses my inner thighs, tummy and clit. He doesn’t make me cum. But he keeps physical contact with me during the entire film. We are sitting separately from the others and no one seems to notice. It feels nice. I relax. When the movie is just about over, Master pats my leg and signals me to button up my coat.

The drive home is relaxing and I’m happy to get home. In our driveway, Master tells me that I’m going to go and check the mail with my coat completely open. And I’m not to cover myself with my hands or try to conceal everything.

He stands at the end of the driveway and watches as I do as I’m told. I come back and hand him the mail. Its 9:30 and I’m pretty tired. But Master isn’t finished with me yet.

He pushes me to the bedroom and down onto the bed.

He says: “You didn’t think I would watch you walk around all day in that short coat, while you’re flashing your Pussy to the world and not have to fuck you, did you?”

In spite of my fatigue, I know there was absolutely no possibility of Master not taking me after parading me around all day.

“No. I didn’t.”

Master fucks me and asks me what I thought about while I was walking around like this. I tell him that I realize that there were probably men out there thinking about fucking me.

“Did you want them to want to fuck you, fuck toy?”

Master’s direct approach and his requirement that I have ready, honest answers sometimes leaves me struggling to know what honesty is.

“I don’t know. I just know that I thought that’s what they might have wanted.”

“Come on, fuck toy. Did you want them to want to fuck you?”

I finally come around to the realization that yes, I wanted to inspire lust.

“Good girl!”

Master fucks me until he asks if I’m ready to suck. After I suck and swallow, I fall asleep so fast that I don’t even remember kissing Master good night.

ft

I’ve tried on several outfits for Master in preparation for going out this morning. He chooses the black tube top attached to a very short ruched skirt. I ask if he remembers it. I wore it before; the first time we went to a public place where his ex-wife also went with the guy she tried to recruit as her fuck buddy while Master was still married to her. He wanted me to look extra hot. I remind him of that night.

He says: “That’s what you wore that night?”

I confirm.

He replies: “Oh. I just remember the look on [the guy who refused to fuck his ex-wife]’s face and thinking he looked miserable standing next to her with me standing next to you. That’s why he looked like that.”

Master smiles to himself and leaves me to continue getting ready for our outing.

I’m ready by 9am wearing only my skimpy tube-dress and we’re off . . . . I ask Master where we’re going. He says: “You don’t need to know.”

I answer in my best breathy, air-head voice: “Ahhhh-kaaeeyy.” Master loves that. I smile as I so often do in the simple moments we enjoy together. I’d go anywhere as long as I could go with Master.

The destination doesn’t turn out to be as fun as Master had hoped, but I do get to walk around in the sunshine and feel the warmth on my bare skin. As usual, Master’s plan is to parade me around nearly naked in public. I get the usual confused and condemning stares from women and furtive glances from men. But I don’t care. This isn’t a crowd that I care to impress. Still, it’s fun to walk around knowing my Pussy is completely exposed to the air and that the wind could give a flash at random moments and that my skirt is fairly transparent in the sunlight and that I feel . . . . free . . . .

Next, Master takes me to an adult lingerie store. We look around and I make jokes about licking a sucker with “Let’s Fuck” written on it when we go to the Club. Or just sucking on a Cock lollipop. Master reminds me that my primary purpose of being there isn’t Cock. “Oh, yeah” I say. Realizing I’d be sending the wrong message with a Cock pop. But there aren’t any Pussy Pops! Not one in the whole store!!! *pout* Master laughs at my observation as we head out of the store. And asks me if I’m hungry.

We go to a Steak House for lunch and neither of us orders steak. I’m committed to meeting my fitness goals and know that it only takes one careless meal to ruin a whole week of vigilance. So I have salmon on a Cesar salad that’s been stripped of croutons and cheese. When I see I only get lettuce and a salmon steak, I ask for cucumber, tomato and avocado and now I have a nice salad with just a little dribble of balsamic dressing. I measure 4 oz of the fish with my handy dandy pocket scale and enjoy lunch. Some people watching might say I’m being a bit compulsive, but I maintain that being Doug’s fuck toy is a great pleasure. And I know that one of the Secrets of the Universe is that a man needs to have a woman he feels lust toward. And I am honest enough to admit that I want to do everything in my power to keep him in his lust toward me. By comparison, weighing exactly 4 oz of Salmon in a restaurant seems like a small price to pay.

On our way in to the Steak House, Master motions toward a nearby department store and says that we’ll go there after lunch. What he really wanted me to wear today was a coat that wouldn’t make me too warm which would be the only thing I would have on while naked in public. My coats are long. Trench coats. Too hot for a late Spring day.

It turns out that we pick the perfect store. We find the jacket section and several potential candidates. We look for them together, but Master decides which ones I try on. We also go to the plus size women’s section because Master wants to find a tunic-type top that will be long enough on me to look sort of like a mini dress.

The pick of the jacket that I like most is one that I thought was a slightly tasteless pick before I tried it on. A plaid jacket in green, grays and white. I put it on and it’s really cute.

Master is in the dressing room with me and he inspects me in the jacket. The lowest button is right at my navel, leaving a potential viewing opportunity of the area below. The back has a kick flap that leaves the potential for a peek-a-boo at my ass just a little bit. It’s just long enough to cover my ass barely to the spot where the curve of my hamstrings give way to the curve that signals ass. We both like it. Master puts it on the “maybe” pile.

Then I put on Master’s favorite. It’s a knit, royal blue tunic – the kind fat women wear to hide their rolls. Only on me, when I’m naked, it frames my body very nicely. If I’m not careful, one of my nipples protrudes through the knit weave. I reposition. What Master likes best is how it frames my ass cheeks. Yes, this is his favorite. It’s the one he wants to buy. Unless I like something else better.

I tell him I like the jacket – which is only $5 – and he consents to buy them both.

With a warning: “Now you know, you are going to be walking out in public in these.”

The jacket is perfectly fine with me. The tunic . . . . scares me! I don’t say it, though because I think I have time to get used to the idea . . . .  I’m already wearing something skimpy that draws glances my way, right?

Wrong!

While we walk toward the car, Master tells me that he’s not sure yet if he wants me to wear the tunic or the jacket, but when we get to the car he wants me to change into one of them so we can go shopping in the mall. I had mentioned another store that might have some good options and he wants to see what we can find.

He doesn’t know if he wants me to wear the jacket or the tunic???

Running through my body is fear. What will I do if he tells me he wants me to wear that tunic? I try to tell myself women go bra-less all the time. And Master has already pointed out that women in thong bathing suits show more ass than I’ll be showing in the tunic. But a mall is so public. And there are children there. And parents who don’t want their children seeing a woman’s nakedness thinly veiled. What if one of them calls the police. Will the police buy Master’s rationalization that I’m technically not naked in public wearing that tunic?!

My panic subsides when Master says: “Well, I guess you can wear the jacket.”

Phewwww! Thank you!

I assess the situation and decide it would be better for me to put on the jacket before I get into the car. So I put it on over my tube dress.

“You are going to be naked under the jacket, Baby.”

I smile as I slip the tube dress down and hand it to him.

“Good girl.”

When we get to the parking lot of the mall, Master stands outside of the car while I walk past him so that he can see what shows from several different angles. He tells me that it shows a flash of inner thigh – way up high – but that’s all. We’re fine to go into the mall.

In the mall, I immediately become the focus of attention for everyone we pass. Well, maybe that isn’t true. Nobody looks at my face. All eyes are glued to the spot where the front of my jacket flaps open just a little bit with each step. And – something I didn’t anticipate – some people are sitting down!!!! That means that their eyes are exactly at the level to see into . . . . I’m used to having people respond to what I’m wearing when I go out dressed as a slut with Master, but this is different.

Even in the faces of women, I see titillation. Men, simply lust. What a show!

I check myself in mirrors and as we walk by store front glass – I have great legs and the curve just before my ass looks fantastic to me. My own glances at myself give me confidence – I even see the top of my inner thigh as described by Master – greater confidence still. It’s a show I’m willing to promote.

The funny thing I realize right now is that none of these people could identify me in a police line-up because . . . . the part they are looking to see isn’t featured in a police line up!

And another thing that is different is that I’m surprised to discover that I’m not embarrassed. No. I don’t actually give a fuck about how people are responding. I have shopping to do. I think the jacket could make a great Easter outfit with the right underpinnings. So, I’m shopping. And quite surprised that the longer I’m in public this way, the less I care about it.

I say that to Master. He tells me that that’s the point. I smile. I get it. And I don’t give a fuck. It’s fun, actually!

It takes a while, but I find a cute little short skirt and a sheer tank top that will spell Easter outfit very nicely to convert the exhibitionist jacket I’m wearing right now. I’m very pleased with the difference 6.5 pounds makes when I put on cute little sexy junior apparel.

A nice young woman eyes me and eagerly checks me out – I mean – she rings me up. As we walk away, Master points out that she was a little over-friendly, too eager to help me. I could have had sum Puss right then! I’m having so much fun!

We walk back out to the car and Master decides that we’ll also walk across the parking lot to the book store. Only now he wants to alter my outfit: no tie at the waist. That means that instead of having the coat stabilized at my waist, it now moves freely. And for some reason, the flap below the button opens more freely in the wind. Damn! We go into the bookstore and walk around. People are so close to each other here. I’m slightly more self-conscious. But I get over it soon enough, because when Master tells me to bend down

Get me that book from the bottom shelf, fuck toy

and get him a book from the bottom shelf, I don’t hesitate. Master is satisfied and we head back toward the car, but not before another outfit alteration.

“We’re just heading to the car. I want you to unbutton that bottom button. And keep your hands away from the front of your coat all the way to the car.”

“Fuck!” I say. Not in a pissed-off way, but in a completely challenged, on the edge between scared and turned on kind of way.

We get to the car and I’m happy to sit. Didn’t realize how much energy it takes to walk around nearly naked in public.

We’ve completed what Master had in mind for our activities today, but he doesn’t want to go home yet. He thinks a bit about what else he wants to do with me today. Then he heads toward another part of town. I say I’m tired. It’s been several hours since lunch and Master hears an indication that I might need to eat. He’s right.

ft

Saturday morning, I wake up and begin sucking Master’s Cock.

“Lay on your back, fuck toy.”

Master positions himself between my legs and pushes my knees up so that they are beside my ears. Then he enters me with a sudden thrust.

I gasp.

“Is that good?”

“Oh, my god. Yes!”

“Well, I just thought a slutty fuck toy like you would enjoy a surprise hard entrance this morning!”

“Thank you, Master.”

Master gives me my first morning cum with an intensity and swiftness that is usually reserved for later in a fuck session. He definitely has my attention now!

He tells me to adjust the mirrors on the closet doors so I can watch myself fucking. Then he tells me to get on top of him – facing away from him.

I do as I’m told and Master instructs me to watch myself as I cum on his Cock.

“Do you like what you see, fuck toy?”

“Oh, yes. I’m looking much better.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say much better because you already looked good. But you do look better.”

It’s hard for me to watch myself cum on his Cock because I think I’m looking sexier and that makes me feel sexy. I always get off on watching women cum during my morning video assignments – so it shouldn’t be a big surprise that watching myself do the same thing would get me going.

But Master insists I watch. Then, more instruction . . . .

“Ok. You’re going to cum on my Cock three more times in this position, fuck toy. And what I want you to do is imagine how you will look doing this at the club. You are going to put on a little show. I want you to undulate and maybe arch your back a little bit and watch yourself. So you can see how you will look. Practice for your show, fuck toy.”

This is so arousing to me that I can hardly stand it and I cum hard on his Cock again with very little effort. And at the end, I arch my back because it feels right to do that, not as a planned pose. But I get praise for it and I see what Master is talking about. I’m looking fucking sexy!

“Doesn’t that look nice, fuck toy? With your little tits hanging down and your ass moving like that?”

“Yes, I’ve actually got some muscle tone!”

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Master!”

I cum on his Cock twice more while imaging what it will be like to put on a show at the Club. Then, Master guides us toward changing our positions so that I’m looking at myself front on while I’m straddling his Cock backward.

Again, I like what I see. I can imagine putting on a show at the Club. And my appreciation grows for how Master works with me. Building me. Making me feel loved. While I cum watching myself straight-on, Master asks another question:

“What do you see, fuck toy?”

I always hesitate when he asks questions like this because I think he is looking for a specific answer. I’m usually right. This is no exception.

“Um . . . . . I see a horny woman?”

“Well, that’s a pretty good answer.”

I cum again on his Cock and Master waits for me to settle down and thank him for my orgasm before he tells me the answer to his question.

“What I see is a smoking hot slut in her mid 40’s that’s going to get the shit fucked out of her by some young guy!”

No verbal response from me, but Master responds to the expression on my face as I’m fucking him and he continues . . . .

“Yes, you have exactly the kind of body and you are so sexy, that you are the woman young guys who want the chance to fuck a MILF look for. And, especially when they see how easily you cum on their Cocks. It’s going to make them want to fuck the shit out of you.”

Oh, Fucccccckkkkkkkk . . . . . . I’m cumming hard. I’m thinking of being lusted after by young guys. I’m thinking of being as sexy as Master says. It’s overwhelmingly arousing.

“Would you like that, fuck toy?”

I grunt out “ohhhhh, yessssss . . . . . “ as I orgasm. “Thank you, Master.”

“I have a feeling that by the time we go to the Club, my training will have really prepared me for what I am going to do.”

“Yes. And you are going to be able to suck a cock on your knees, without using your hands, until he cums.”

It’s about 8am and we’ve been fucking for almost an hour. Master has morning plans and knows I’m getting hungry for breakfast, so he asks if I’m ready to suck his Cock. Of course, I am. I start my bath water running and I add another cum load to the tally in fuck toy’s tummy.

ft

Finally the weekend of promise has arrived! Master promised to completely sexualize me this weekend and now, I get home from work with great anticipation. As soon as I’m through the door, I go to our room and disrobe so I can kneel nude before him to ask him his pleasure.

Master’s pleased with me. I know by the low groan he makes while he massages my tit and pulls me in for a kiss. He asks if I’m hungry, which, of course, I am. For dinner. He tells me to get my food then we’ll watch a movie.

American Swing. It’s a documentary about Larry Levinson, the founder of the first swing club in America: Plato’s Retreat.

Master often uses movies to help educate me since I spent my first 43 years completely sequestered in Protestant Fundamentalism – without the slightest inklings of what happens in the real world.

Tonight I am fascinated by the interviews with people who were there when Plato’s Retreat began. There is one woman who seems almost shy about the fact that she was there, but her grin and giddy descriptions give away the intensity of the pleasures she enjoyed that she said she had never spoken about. She had never been to an orgy and it was a priest who took her there. Her senses were overwhelmed with the sights and the sounds and the smells of sex. Then the priest disappeared. That’s when another guy found her and really fucked her. I love the sparkle in her eye and the coy smile. She had fun and her reliving through retelling brings me pleasure, too.

I learned about Marry and Larry. Mary was the woman who stood by Larry’s side through all of the publicity that fed his Narcissistic ego and in spite of the fact that Larry wasn’t fucking Mary, but other women at Plato’s Retreat. Larry didn’t marry Mary. Mary ended up in a mental institution. After that, Larry got married to someone else. Poor Mary.

We watched the dynamic created by Larry and Mary and saw her try to pretend she wasn’t in pain during public interviews that asked very difficult questions about their relationship. The disconnect between the two of them. Master and I both see it and talk about how sad it is.

I love hearing about the “mat room.” It’s a room with wall-to-wall mats on the floor. Where people went in large groups to fuck. It was described as an undulating bucket of worms. I imagine the smells and the wetness and the abandon and I’m fascinated.

This education Master is providing tonight feeds my curiosity and my desire to go do it. I can’t wait to go and be free. A club seems like so much fun.

I’m especially intrigued since Master sent me a link to this podcast: Swingercast

I had felt afraid of swinging until I listened to this couple. They made it sound fun. And less risky than snow skiing! And I had also read this: Coupledoingit.com

And my fears began to melt away – thanks to Master’s suggestions. I’m not seeking these resources, he’s finding them. Master sees what I want. But he also sees my fear and he’s expertly opening me through education to deeper layers of self-confidence. So I can do what I want to do. He’s truly a blessing to me.

As soon as the movie is over, Master orders me to my knees to get him ready for fucking. Then he motions me to the fuck chair. I lie on my back and spread open for him. He enters me and begins talking to me about the weekend.

He tells me that I will not be going to the gym in the morning. Instead, I will stay with him. This makes me upset. One of my fuck toy rules is that I will go to the gym regularly to keep myself in proper fuckable shape. I have been consistent for the last three weeks. I’ve read that consistency is the key to great results. Master’s proclamation that I’ll be less consistent this week upsets me and I tell him as much.

Since I’ve fallen in love with my life as Doug’s fuck toy, I’ve decided that I’ll once-and-for-all get my body in the shape I’ve always been happiest with. Master monitors my progress with weekly weigh-ins. So far, I’ve lost 6.5 pounds. It feels great, but I still have too much body fat. And since Master has planned to take me to the Sex Club to show me off and fulfill some of my fantasies in July, I’m more anxious than ever to stay exactly on track.

Master asks: “What are you?”

“I’m your fuck toy.”

“Then what will you do?”

“What you tell me to do.”

“That’s right, you’ll do whatever the hell I tell you to do.”

Master grits his teeth and starts slamming my Pussy with his Cock. In spite of my protest, it really turns me on when he makes a decision like this and enforces it while reminding me that I am his fuck toy.

I cum and I say “Thank you, Master” but I hope he realizes I’m not saying thank you about missing the gym. Maybe he can see that on my face . . . .

“Start reciting your fuck toy rules and stop at the one that this applies to, fuck toy.”

“fuck toy always obeys Master’s Cock.”

“fuck toy is always grateful for Master’s Cock.”

“Which one of those is it, fuck toy?”

“fuck toy always obeys Master’s Cock.”

“That’s right. My fuck toy always obeys and I want my fuck toy with me this weekend.”

I realize that I had told him a while back that on weekends when we have no visitors, I will not go to the gym because I don’t want our together time interrupted by anything else. So even though I have concerns about meeting my goals, I decide to relax my anxiety about missing the gym and decide, instead to anticipate and relish whatever Master has in store for me tomorrow.

Master fucks a few more orgasms out of me before asking if I’m ready to suck. I say: “Yes, please.”

And I obey fuck toy rule number 4: Master’s cum always belongs in fuck toy’s belly.

ft

In December, I wrote the following in another place (with minor revisions) it serves a great background for what I wish to say today. So here goes . . . .

Working for someone else has never been my “cup of tea.” My creativity and energy thrived in the 8 years when I worked for myself . . . . before the crash of the economy. *sigh*

In 2009, I broke down and got a job. And for the first 3 years after my business took an economy-inspired nose dive, I worked for someone else. Boy, that was a wake-up call! My first job found me feeling undervalued (financially) in spite of the fact that I received consistent praise for my work. The confusion extended beyond that, however; because I was also consistently criticized for “caring too much.” WTF?! Yup! Too much enthusiasm in a world of bureaucracy where sloth, the mighty dollar and not caring are the primary values; so THIS is what I went to school for! *sigh again*

(In a lovely, ironic twist, the administrators called me in to give me an 8% raise just a month before I gave notice. Funny how that goes . . . .)

I am a professional woman. My job requires an advanced degree and a professional license. I spent 7 years of my life in college/graduate school, 4 years after that completing my internship and $40,000+ to learn about bureaucracy and just what amount of “not caring” is the optimum amount.

Last year, I got a better job. It is a job with much less stress. Yes, I am paid better. And yes, I am aloud to be a little bit more enthusiastic. But I’m still working for someone else.

Recently, after a disappointing round of events that reminded me that my enthusiasm and ambition are too big for me to successfully remain a *drone,* Master reassured me: “You just need to take time to figure out what you really want to do.”

The thought had never occurred to me before: what I really want to do. Hmmm. Somehow, I had believed that the 7 years in school and 4 more in pursuit of my professional license somehow sealed my fate as far as my career was concerned. The thought of using this job which I was educated for as the foundation from which to launch what I really want to do had never crossed my mind.

With this encouragement, I believed that what I really wanted to do was write. I already have a book out on Amazon.com. My unfortunate reality is that it was published by a Vanity Press, which put themselves out as something different than a Vanity Press. They call themselves an Entrepreneurial Publisher. It’s the same lamb in sheep’s clothing to be sure. I had not known that you should never pay a publisher to publish your book. So that $5,000 lesson had (sort of) discouraged me from ever thinking about writing again. Except that I have this fabulously encouraging Master who always nudges me with reminders that I should be seeking things that fulfill me. He wants me to be happy and is continuously encouraging me to look in directions which I might find my greatest happiness. Refreshing, truly.

He took me out to a Black Angus restaurant for a dinner for two and my first-ever taste of lobster tail. We were talking and I made a quirky little comment about how sheltered-but-ignorantly-horny I was in my former life; before I came under his training. He laughed. He often laughs and tells me I’m cute when we talk. This time, he said: “You should really write a book.” And for some reason, this time, my been-there-done-that, fatalistic attitude was quelled by a moment of enthusiasm in that quiet booth with the man that I love and our conversation got me to imagining again. And, exploring . . . .

While we sat there, he suggested that the story of my unfolding from my previous life of sheltered fanaticism within the rubric of fundamental religion to my life as a happy well-trained fuck toy would be interesting to people and he told me why. I began to consider it. He suggested that I needed to think about the age of my audience before I start writing though; do I want to write for women my age or a slightly more mature audience (who would expect a slightly more modest approach to my storytelling style)? As I pondered and discussed the question, he made another suggestion. “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert seems to be pretty popular, and it is a woman writing about her life – something I am thinking about. (Since then, I’ve learned this is called: “Women’s Literature.” Yes, definitely a genre I could write.) Maybe I should take a look at it.

Writers read, right? So, off I went to the library. I just wanted to get a feel for Elizabeth Gilbert’s style, so I picked up her book on CD. After all, it would only take about a week, with my commute, to get through the whole reading. At first, I listened for content, then I started listening for writing style. And somewhere in between content and style, I got caught up in her story. In particular, it was one drive to work when I was listening to Liz’s musings about religion. I have lots to say about religion and the spiritual life. And is often the case, the writing (well, her reading her writing) caused me to go off into my own thought process.

It went something like this: “Maybe, my book will be better written if I make it fiction. Then, I can deal with the spiritual issues in the way I would like to deal with them without the constraints of what actually is. But wait. I’ve often wanted to write fiction. But I don’t know how . . . .”

Followed quickly on the end of that thought, was this thought:

“But, I have permission to do anything I want . . . . “ This thought was followed by another, but I just have to make a caveat that says that “permission” wasn’t granted via Master’s encouragement (although that doesn’t hurt), I’ve been going through a phase of learning and growing in my life that has taught me that I can do anything I want. It’s an interesting proposition to go through life to the age of 45, believing I am constrained then discovering the only constraint is in my own mind . . . .

Anyway, the rest of the thought: “Well, if I have permission to do anything I want, then I’ll take a class and learn how to write. Then I’ll write my novel!”

Excited, I sneak off a text to Master telling him of my plan to take a class and learn how to be a writer. His response?

“You don’t need a class . . . . Just write!”

There it is . . . . A realization the moment I read his response. Right. I don’t need a class. I need to t-r-u-s-t myself and just write.

Ok. That’s enough! You can get from reading this far that I can get pretty excited about an idea once it hits me. But the idea of writing didn’t last very long before I got excited about selling jewelry online, then making my own jewelry to sell online, then becoming a fitness coach who guides women through the process of healing their patterns of lack of motivation emotional eating, then selling fitness clothing online.

But I’ve come to a different truth. Each of the ideas that have crossed my mind involve taking time away from Master and being his fuck toy. After a lifetime of waiting for a love like this, it doesn’t make sense to do anything but throw myself into his love, attention and training.

And last night, while waiting for sleep after a lovely fuck and suck session, I reflected to Master about how very strange it is that I am who I am and I’ve come from where I started. The fit of where I was couldn’t have been worse for the person I really am. And I have Master to thank for my unfolding. I have Master to thank for loving me as the layers of superficiality and adherence to punitive rules fall away and reveal deeper layers of enjoyment in my own passion and lust. I have Grace to thank for letting me land in such tender, loving arms. I feel whole.

Why would I want to do anything else? I will keep my day job because it supports my joy – being Doug’s fuck toy.