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He filled a bowl with water and placed it on the floor for me. I crawled over to it and bent my head down to drink, raising my ass in the air the way I knew He would appreciate. When I’d quenched that thirst, I crawled into the living room to sit on the couch, looking over at Him for approval but not asking for anything in particular. He said I was allowed to smoke, but didn’t say anything more while he continued making chocolate chip banana pancakes, so I assumed I was allowed on to sit on the furniture and behave rather like a human, even though I was His collared pet. After I’d extinguished my cigarette, I crawled back into the kitchen toward my water bowl. I drank deeply, slurping mouthfuls until the bowl was almost empty. I then returned to my Master’s feet, on my hands and knees, with my ass dutifully in the air. He told me to get a pen and tear a sheet of paper into six pieces about two inches square each. He had me write the following on each of the slips of paper: rope, paddling, candle wax, flogging, stick pins, and mummification. He then told me to retrieve a specific book from the shelf in the living room (The New Topping Book by Dossie Easton and W. Hardy). Master had me place each slip of paper in the book at the number he selected, allowing me to choose which number one of the paper squares would. He then told me to memorize each word and their placement inside the book. I wrote the phrases and out on another sheet of paper and studied until I had committed them to memory. Master knows I struggle with my ability to memorize things like this, so my difficulty with this challenge was obvious to him. He told me to place my “cheat sheet” inside the front cover, and place the book in the center of my bed. When breakfast was ready, He carried a large plate full of delicious-looking food, another small empty plate, and two forks, into the living room. He sat on the couch and ordered me to join Him at His side. After taking a few bites first, He placed a small portion of the sweet pancakes onto the smaller plate and handed it to me, along with the other fork. I ate, appreciatively, savoring the natural sugars that were just about as sweet as He is to me, whether as my Master or my boyfriend. christmas day fun nsa
So today I didn't take my dog to the dog park like I promised, so we went for a run this evening instead. I come home to my apartment, and notice none of the lights are on. I always leave the light over the stove on. Always. But I check around and nothing is amiss and my dog is acting quite normally, so I go ahead and put him in his crate with some food, and hop in the shower. The water is perfectly warm, my shampoo rinsing from my hair smells amazing, like orange creamsicles. My shower curtain is yanked forcefully open, and a scream escapes my mouth before I even what I should be afraid of. So somebody in one of those really glittery mardi gras masks and all black clothing literally LIFTS me out of the tub and tosses me to the floor of my bedroom. I live alone, and was screaming like a motherfucker. It's only when I my dog's crate at the foot of my bed, as my face is pushed to the floor, is empty, that I start to really really panic. My arms were yanked behind my back, despite my struggling I landed a few solid kicks and something cold and hard was placed around each of them handcuffs, I reasoned at the clink of metal snapping into place. All I can is my dog's empty crate and I feel smooth latex in the shape of a gloved hand run down my sides, snake around my front to pinch my nipples mercilessly, which I hate, before pulling away. A gruff voice mumbles, "You're still soapy." My body is being supported by only my face and knees, and I'm cold and I AM still soapy, I can feel it as his hands course familiarly over my skin. And then I feel my knees being kicked apart "Why?!" I cry, fearing everything from AIDs to babies to murder. My only answer is the sound of a zipper. And then this little tearing sound, kind of like paper. And then something with a jagged edge, small and square and metalish, is placed on the small of my back. I hold my breath, tears streaming down my face, snot mingling with it, and none of it flowing in the right direction since my face is somewhat upside down. Ocean City women needs sexTalk about keeping a tradition going! and his brother-in-law have been exchanging the same pair of pants as a Christmas present for 11 years and each time the package gets harder to open. This year the pants came wrapped in a car mashed into a 3-foot cube. The trousers are in the glove compartment of a Gremlin. Now -'s plotting his revenge if he can get them out. It all started when received a pair of moleskin trousers from his brother-in-law, Kunkel of Bensenville, Ill. Kunkel's mother had given her the britches when he was a college student. He wore them a few times, but they froze stiff in cold weather and he didn't like them. So he gave them to., who ed the moleskins "miserable," wore them times, then wrapped them up and gave them back to Kunkel for Christmas the next year. The friendly exchange continued routinely until twisted the pants tightly, stuffed them into a 3-foot , 1-inch wide tube and gave them back to Kunkel. The next Christmas, Kunkel compressed the pants into a 7-inch square, wrapped them with wire and gave the "bale" to. Not to be outdone, the next year put the pants into a 2-foot-square crate filled with stones, nailed it shut, banded it with steel and gave the trusty trousers back to Kunkel. The brothers agreed to end the caper if the trousers were damaged. But they were as careful as they were clever. Kunkel had the pants mounted inside an insulated window that had a 20-year guarantee and shipped them off to. broke the glass, recovered the trousers, stuffed them into a 5-inch coffee can and soldered it shut. The can was put in a 5-gallon container filled with concrete and reinforcing rods and given to Kunkel the following Christmas. Two years ago, Kunkel installed the pants in a -pound homemade steel ashtray made from 8-inch steel casings and etched -'s name on the side. had trouble retrieving the treasured trousers, but succeeded without burning them with a cutting torch. (- part 2) online sex chating
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