Out of control

I'm not a good submissive: I don't speak when spoken to; I speak out of turn; I don't hold position; I don't stand up straight; I don't look at him when requested; I don't follow orders.

The list went on and on. I promised Mr Flame that I wouldn't disappoint him anymore. Promised I would be good, that I'd make amends, pleaded for another chance.

But I failed again, immediately; I didn't follow orders.

I was stood before him as he circled me, explaining my misdemeanours, wondering aloud should he punish me. I trembled with fear and anticipation. When he touched me, his finger running over my face, I flinched; when he trailed his hands over my body I recoiled.

"Don't flinch away from me."

His voice low, harsh and dangerously calm. I tried to hold still, head up, shoulders back, straining with tension. It amused him, but still he taunted me.  Flexed his hands in front of my face, placed his open palm on my cheek and then drew it back, poised to strike. Faked a slap once, then twice and at the third I flinched, already in tears.

A cruel smile my reward: "You do need to be punished."

I watched miserably as he assembled his arsenal: 8 different implements laid out on the bed: two floggers, two canes, several straps and paddles.

He explained the rules with menace. I was to fetch each implement with my mouth and crawl to him on my hands and knees to deliver it. Then, to crawl back to the bed, kneeling on the floor to take 6 strokes of each. No moving, no flinching, no disappointing him.

Delivering each implement was an utter humiliation. Struggling with some to even get them in my mouth, praying I wouldn't drop any. I was relieved to scurry back to the bed after dropping each one in front of him, happy to hide in the pain that soon came. And pain it was. No warm up, no easing off when I started to beg for mercy. Each implement rained down in 6 quick blows as I struggled to breathe and desperately tried not to move.

Some were worse than others; a few were unbearable and made me scream for mercy. I made it to 7 implements before I broke position and earned an extra 6 with the final one - 54 in total.

I was finally permitted to stand, dazed from the pain. He surveyed his handiwork, running his fingers over the welts rising on my skin. I steeled myself to hold still. 

Were we done?

No, sent to fetch nipple clamps, the thing I really struggle to bear. These were a particularly fear-inducing set, clover clamps - I'd never managed to wear them for more than a few seconds. I begged to be let off, asked for 50 more strokes instead. All to no avail.

"You'll wear them for me, you don't want to disappoint me, do you?" That dangerously calm voice again.

Each nipple for 10 seconds, pure agony for me, pure enjoyment for him as I squealed throughout.

His praise was little comfort. "That was so good we can try 20 seconds this time, you are learning, I'm very pleased."

20 seconds, an eternity of awful intense pain. By the time the scene ended I hated Mr Flame with a vengeance, and I could not hide that fact.

He was right, I'm not a good, submissive girl. I rejected his kindness and his hugs. I was wound up and angry. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to make him pay for how he had treated me. But mostly I wanted not to have these feelings, if I couldn't be a good submissive then I wanted to be a broken one.

 

 I poked him, tried to pin his wrists, as he watched in bemusement. 

"You want to hit me?"

"No, I want you to hit me!"

He understood. And as soon as it began, I wanted it to end. In trying to take control I lost it completely. I unleashed the version of Mr Flame that is almost out of control, one that I can't influence, one that properly terrifies me.

Pushed flat on my back, he was on top of me, his hands around my throat.

The first slap across the face produced immediate tears. The second, third, fourth delivered so quickly I didn't have time to shield myself.

That wicked snarl, eyes intense, veins bulging. Mr Flame had disappeared, it was HIM. He dropped his head down, sniffed me with satisfaction:

"I can smell your fear, it's pouring out of you."

Another slap, back hand followed by reverse back hand on the other cheek. 

My arms pinned with one hand as he punched me methodically: my hips, my ribs, my legs, straddling my body with his own, rendering me unable to move. I began to beg, almost hysterical with pain and terror.

The seventh slap across the face made me reel, time slowed down. I didn't register the eight, couldn't even flinch as his fists moved down by body again.

Sobbed uncontrollably, so terrified, yet so free. It would end when he was done, I couldn't do anything about it.

Looked him in the eye as his hand flexed above me again. The final slaps taken watching his cruel, taunting smile.

Completely succumbed, no fight, limp in his harsh embrace, too out of it to care what came next.

Until I realised that finally the beast had gone, melted into a soft hug, Mr Flame holding me as I cried in liberty and relief. And this time I submitted, without question.

The fear of the beast stayed with me, continues to stay with me. When Mr Flame fucked me later, purely for his pleasure, he made me beg for it, to admit to him how much I wanted it. I struggled to say it, but the merest hint the beast was reappearing overcame any hesitation.

That fear comes not just from knowing I can't control HIM, but from the nagging suspicion that Mr Flame can't either. It's a powerful, powerful thing.


 

Not a morning girl

Mr Shine has been beating me almost nightly, as well as fucking me very regularly lately. It's been a mostly mutually pleasing experience. But not always...

I'm not a morning girl. 6AM: I'm awake and he has persuaded me to use my latest gift, a powerful and delicious lelo vibrator. I submit to applying it under his watchful eye, deciding the inevitable pleasure it brings will overcome the early hour.

He strokes my neck, my nipples, between my legs - softly, carefully. Then as I warm up: the strokes turn to slaps and he twists and bites my nipples, enjoying my cries of intermingled pain and pleasure.

Tells me to hurry up, that he's going to fuck me soon. Between his insistent hands, the promise of what's to come, and my new lelo friend I'm almost at the point of coming.

"Enough, I want you now."

Takes my toy away and thrusts into me quickly, silencing my bubbling outrage by pulling my hair sharply until I'm reduced to whimpers.

He is uncompromising in his objective, hard and fast, his pleasure is what matters, not mine. And when he's satisfied he withdraws and leaves me to my frustration.

No, I'm not a morning girl.

Nowhere left to hide

He promised he'd beat me, fuck me, make me cry and break me. And he did all these things, but not in the way I anticipated. I expected a menacing sadist forcing me to do his bidding: I got a man who was firm but compassionate. Instead of a wall of forced submission and pain to shield myself behind, I was left completely exposed, more vulnerable than ever before; I was confronted with my own deep desires and persuaded to admit what I really wanted. There was nowhere left to hide.

~~~

I waited, sick with nerves, for him to arrive. As instructed I'd gingerly inserted the anal plug and carefully selected clothes that were disposable. My hair was precisely arranged to hang over my eyes; it wasn't much of a defence but all I had. If I couldn't see him, if he couldn't look me in the eye, I'd be safe. It meant that for the first hour of his visit I saw only his hands and shoes. He teased me for hiding, but didn't force me to look at him - he knew I'd look eventually and it would be all the more powerful when I did.

His gentle manner was so in contrast to the last time, when he'd aggressively stripped and raped me; it threw me. Given I couldn't look at him, only his unmistakable voice assured me it was indeed Mr Flame in the room with me. 

My clothes were reverently removed; he complimented what he found underneath and made me shiver with caresses across my skin. My hands were comfortably secured behind my back. I was praised for complying with the butt plug.

In this initial stage I was too nervous and hidden within myself to be capable of much speech. He coaxed me to talk aloud and only when I persistently failed to speak clearly, did he reprimand me.

The first blows were a spanking, sensual from his leather gloves, making the plug throb inside me. It was not uncomfortable. The brief introduction to the nipple clamps made me whimper, but once removed, his hands were cold and soothing. 

When he placed me kneeling facedown on the bed, with my legs apart, hands still secured behind me, the fear returned. He used a variety of implements on my back, arse and thighs. There were many painful blows but none that let me escape from him completely. Just as the intensity would build he'd pull back. It was disconcerting and pulled me out of hiding within, confused with what was going on, resenting the lack of pain to bury myself in.

I became less compliant, moved out of position to goad him, challenged him verbally. But there was no reaction. A few painful strokes of something - the knotted rope flogger, the sharp square ended leather one, the thin whippy cane, but no release. All the time, he encouraged me to let go, to give in.

"To what," I screamed in my head, "I've nowhere to go."

When he released my hands, he laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me, several fingers deep inside me, firm but not rough, demonstrating how wet and inviting I was. Gently stroked my body, encouraging me to please him.

I felt every last bit of submissiveness had left me and pushed him away. We struggled briefly until I escaped to a corner of the room. He followed, dragging me back and pinning me on the bed. I fought again, until I wrestled away again to the opposite corner.

And sat there hugging my knees in bewilderment whilst he sat on the edge of the bed, silently watching me. I berated myself inside: "What the hell are you doing? What kind of submissive are you? Did you break him already?" And then silently turned on him. "Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't he take charge?"

The tears that came then were borne of frustration and disappointment. Eventually I told him I didn't want to fight with him.

"You're not fighting with me: you're fighting with yourself. Give in. Let go."

And there he had me; the painful realisation broke me. He could have forced me to stay on the bed, could have forced me to do anything, but it wasn't about him: it was about me.  He beckoned me to him and I crawled across the floor burying myself in his lap, crying as he stroked my hair and whispered encouragement. It was a cathartic release for a very confused mind. A very strange and unexpectedly place to find myself mid scene. 

Finally, I asked him to continue. Admitted to him, to myself, that I wanted him to do these things to me, such things I'd ever only let myself be forced to do. Pleaded for him to take my submission, now I offered it willingly.

I don't know if he sensed my need for punishment; whether he wanted to continue the catharsis; or, whether he wanted me to feel the full force of my submission, but his next act was as brutal as everything else previously had been compassionate.

He pinned me face down on the bed, his hand painfully tight on my neck. With his other hand he opened his trousers and retrieved his cock, pulled me up by my hair and impaled me on it, burying the length of it in my throat. I couldn't breathe, could only gag, but he would not release me for many long seconds. Then, a brief respite for air and back to fucking me violently. 

He continued for some time, continuously bringing me to wild despair at not being able to breathe. I tried to beg, but the sounds were intelligible and merely amused him. When he finally released me, he pushed me face down into the mess of tears and drool that had soaked the bed; there was no hiding from what I had just done.

Strong arms then pulled me up and laid me on my back. "I'm going to fuck you now." I braced for the onslaught, but the beast had disappeared again; he was gentle, it felt good. I didn't know how to process this. Resorted to my usual responses: "NO, please stop."

"You don't want me to stop, do you? I know you don't. Be honest."

No, I didn't; it killed me to admit it, but I shook my head confirming his suspicions.

"Tell me you want it then, good girl, tell me you want me to fuck you, beg me to fuck you."

For the first time that afternoon I faced my fear and looked him in the eye. And for the first time in my submissive life I wanted a man to fuck me, not for his pleasure, not for my defeat, but because I wanted him to.

 "Please fuck me Mr Flame, please fuck me Mr Flame, please..."

Saying the words made me cry. His approval made me cry even more. And then the final breaking point: I asked me to fuck my arse. Positioned myself on the bed waiting for him, was completely complicit in the act, and thanked him for it afterwards.

My first consensual submissive experience. The greatest mind fuck ever. A gift.
 

Anything?

Mr Shine placed me on the bed facing away from the door and we waited. It wasn't long before Mr Flame arrived. I don't turn around, he'd have my attention soon enough.

"Anything?", he checks with Mr Shine. "Yes, anything."

Listening to your partner hand you over to a near-stranger is a thrilling, if scary prospect. Knowing that he's sitting watching what was about to happen just about sent me over the edge.

Mr Flame got straight to work, pushing me back on the bed, squeezing my neck as he carefully explained what he was going to do: "beat you, make you cry, make you beg, fuck you, HARD". His dark eyes glowed with intensity; I was immediately scared.

It didn't take him long to remove my clothes, laughing at my attempts to fight him off. I cowered on the bed naked, shivering slightly with nerves as he looked me over. Then his hands were on me, pinching, squeezing, probing, holding me down with his body weight, making me feel what he had in store for me.

Twisted my nipples until I pleaded for mercy, followed up with a leather paddle across my beasts until I screamed. 

It was a short lived relief to be ordered to lie face down; he began beating me on my arse and thighs, first with his paddle, then his cane. No warm-up, every stroke as vicious and intense as his attitude. When it became too much I squirmed away from him, only to be retrieved by my hair.

His voice cold and menacing: "If I wanted you to move, I'd tell you to."

In fear I clutched the edge of the bed screaming out my pain as he pushed me to my limits physicaly, the thuddy cane falling over and over in the same spot. When he finally stopped, I was crying, as much with the effort of staying still as the pain. 

I didn't have much of a respite before he appeared before me, opening his trousers. I had no chance to resist, his cock straight down my throat as he warned me to make an effort, to satisfy him. Then made it clear how much pleasure he was taking in fucking my mouth, whilst I struggled not to gag.

By the time he fucked me I was already broken. Beginning with me on my back first so he could watch my face as he forced himself into me; enjoying my gasps of pain as he pounded harder and harder. Then flipped me over taking me from behind, his guttural enjoyment contrasting with my whimpers. 

When he had finally taken everything he wanted I was discarded, crying and dazed.

Mr Shine came to comfort me, gently taking his own pleasure, reclaiming me, as Mr Fame watched in approval.

Not just anything; everything. 


 

Pollyanna loves fire

I love playing with new people. Especially those you meet in circumstances where credibility and trust are already implicit.

I was delivered to his door, blindfolded, not knowing who to expect. Would it be one of the several men known to me already, or the one uknown quantity?

I was excited and apprehensive in equal measure when he finally spoke, confirming he was the latter.

He was in no hurry to start, seeming to be quietly observing me; I could see nothing through my blindfold, and I heard no sound but his breathing as he moved around me.

Then, we traded back and forth for some time, trying to figure the other out. He telling me what he intended to do, whilst also carefully checking in with my limits. I, reassuring and goading him in equal measure.

I didn't have anything new to offer from the short written version of my limits that he had seen in advance.

My theory on limits and safe words is quite simple: I'll tell you the basics and we can agree a traffic light system in principle, but if I'm not comfortable I'll stand up and walk away. If you put me in a very deep, submissive state I'll be powerless to stop you doing anything you want anyway, so a safe word is useless. And frankly, if you've managed to get me that far you're entitled to take everything you want.

Still blindfolded, I was bent over the desk, my dress raised and my knickers to my knees, as he began beating with his various weapons. A flogger first.Then a paddle, of sorts. Something else, quite strange: a book!

I quietly received the initial blows appraising his ability, his judgment. I barely noticed how it felt, focused on deciding whether I could trust him enough to let go.

He encouraged me to be more vocal, which I did as he warmed into it, getting harder. His cane, thick and thuddy (very unfamiliar to me) drew a few gasps. Especially as he placed it in the same spot, over and over.

All the while we easily bantered back and forth, amusing ourselves with our cleverness.

When he drew me back to standing and removed the blindfold I wondered were we done. His fingers suddenly thrusting into me made me squirm. The wetness, the eagerness, all too apparent and he tried to shame me about it, but I looked back at him evenly, hiding any disquiet I felt.

"First your mind, then your body, then your soul"

Binding my arms behind my back I was made to kneel down, legs slightly apart, then to lay my forehead on the floor. It was a vulnerable and revealing position.

Despite having been fucked by, and played with a lot of men, and not being remotely shy about being naked, I still blushed inwardly as I thought of him taking his first view of me, open and exposed.

The cane strokes were much more difficult in this position, his probing fingers more humiliating: I couldn't help but cry out. And his words were starting to get to me too, until the point where I couldn't answer back anymore; he laughed that my wits had finally deserted me. 

It didn't take long for the tears to start falling; soon I was crying softly.

When I was permitted to stand I couldn't look him in the eye anymore.

He was amused:

"I can, and will make you do that, but that's enough, for now."

A flame had been ignited: Mr Flame.

Owned

I was sent up to the room to wait for him. Ordered to be naked in position. And so I was, kneeling on all fours on the bed, legs apart, open and inviting.

He came up behind me and secured a collar around my neck. Snapped a leash onto the collar and pulled it back tight lifting my head high. Wanted to check his purchase. Ran his hands over my body, probing my intimate places. Professed himself satisfied with me. That I would do.

Warned me to be obedient. My hesitance in responding earned me a sharp slap across the face and I whimpered in pain. He yanked my collar tight pulling me against him. Still I didn't know what he looked like. Tried to be brave as he whipped me. Tried to be obedient and take it.

Once I was sufficiently marked he mounted me from behind. Fucked my pussy and then my ass. Hard and uncompromising. I cried as he took me, took ownership of me, had his pleasure. Then left me, crying face down on the bed.

Mr Shine, Mr Mine.

Fuck you and you and you

I've been thinking of sex with multiple people a lot lately and my thoughts are very much centred around me being dominated and being the centre of attention.

A threesome has always been something I've wanted to try. Except my ideal threesome would be with two men.

The men would have to be bisexual. I would want them to enjoy each other as much as me. Be comfortable being naked with other, carrying out sexual acts on each other as well as on me. I think I'd even be happy if I just got to watch them enjoy each other. And if both these men were dominant, that'd be heaven.

But given how much I enjoyed my first time with a woman I'm finally interested in a threesome with a couple. Being teased, tormented and abused by both of them. Being fucked by both of them in turn, she with a strap on. Forced to pleasure her by him. Forced to submit to her penetration as well as his.

My other multiple person fantasy right now is to be fucked by many men, one after the other. Being tied to the bed or over a desk, legs apart, all holes accessible. Blindfolded so I can't see who it is that's penetrating me. Being thrust into until one man is sated and then another takes his place. Or one fucking my mouth while another fucks my pussy or my arse. And through it all I'd be embarrassingly wet, my inner slut in her element.

A first time for everything

We sat facing each other, tension in the air. I wanted her, I thought she wanted me. Both of us too shy to make a move. I softly admitted to having a crush on her. She responded by leaning over and kissing me, softly, slowly. My mouth opened and I followed her lead. Not the first time I'd kissed a girl, but certainly the first time my body reacted like that.

She pulled back and smiled at me. I smiled back shyly then leaned in for more. So soft, so gentle, so different.

When she took my hand and led me upstairs I was uncertain, feeling truly like the virgin I was. She whispered that she would show me and asked was I going to be a good girl for her? I melted and was hers.

In the bedroom she kissed me again, then slowly removed my clothes until I was before her naked. More smiles as she told me I was beautiful and kissed me again, just as softly. Her hands gently moving over my body, caressing my neck, my breasts, my stomach. reassuring me.

I drank her in, intoxicated by her smell, her sweet touch, the thrill of the first time. Told me to lie on the bed, I watched her undress, admiring her body, greedily looking at it properly for the first time. Beautiful.

Then pressed her body on mine, and gently pinned me, kissing me all over, enjoying my reactions. Dipped her hand between my legs, found me wet and inviting. Kissed me as she stroked my most intimate place. All so soft, so gentle and so hot. The complete opposite of any sexual experience I'd ever had before.

Moved down my body, kissing and caressing as she went until she was between my legs and giving me sweet pleasure, the like I'd never felt before. So relaxed, so open to what she was doing. I writhed and moaned under her touch. Closing my eyes and losing myself in the wonderful sensation, opening them and looking into her beautiful eyes.

Until the pleasure reached its pinnacle, shocking me with its intensity.

I struggled to breathe and understand what had happened while she smiled at me, delighting in my reaction. We kissed deeply and I sought to give her the same pleasure. Dipping my hands into her intimate place, caressing her gently then more firmly in response to her moans. Watching her face with delight as my efforts overcame her. Watched in amazement as she reached her pinnacle. More satisfying than my own.

And slept the night wrapped around each other. The most beautiful first time a girl could ever wish for.

Just do it

I've posted that sex is all about being dominated and abused.

Sometimes that abuse takes a different form.

Like sex with Mr Shine. He's sweet and gentle, to begin with. Undressing me, touching and probing intimately, enjoying my wetness. Kindness. Until he forces me down on the bed, pushes my legs apart roughly, thrusts his fingers into me deeply.

Kneels above me, pins me down, pulls my hair, slaps my breasts, pinches my nipples. All the time telling me how bad and dirty I am.

Loves to fuck my ass, always face down on the bed or pushed over a chair. Rough, hard. Makes me moan with the sensation.

First time he fucked my ass, he ordered me to turn around and pushed straight into me. No time. No lube. Just ownership.

Just how I like it.

What dreams may come

I had a very hot dream the other night. No doubt inspired by a heavy weekend of play

In my dream playing with a female friend. Truth be told I have a serious crush on her, started off as non-sexual and now turning into curiosity. She's dommed me before, made me more excited than I thought possible, made me want to please her, do anything for her. And now I want more.

Hence my dream. She ordered me to kneel before her. I remember distinctly looking up at her, not knowing what to do. Fully aware this was the first time I had ever pleasured a woman. She smiled at me and touched my hair, drawing me towards her secret place.

Her hair was trimmed in a neat triangle, her skin looked so inviting, needing to be kissed. As I leaned in my mouth seemed to know what to do. I licked and sucked her, my tongue probed her intimately and I went faster, encouraged by her increasing moans. She came quickly, surprising me. Then gave me a very rewarding smile.

The hottest dream I've had for a long time.

Pollyanna and her orgasms

I don't come easily during sex or sexual play. It doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying what I'm doing. Usually the contrary, I've gone to such a place of ecstasy that I can't let go, I can't find release.

And I find that after a weekend of intensive play where I probably haven't had any release, it could be a few days before I even masturbate. But when I do, it's usually earth shattering, culminating with me screaming out loud.

It probably seems selfish that I do this alone, that my sexual partner isn't there to see the fruits of his/her labour as it were. But for years I've struggled with the the guilt of not coming to order, of disappointing vanilla partners for what they saw was a failing on either of our parts. Now I'm comfortable enough to say that orgasms are a limit for me!

So I'm upfront with all my partners. I don't come during sex, and I'd rather you didn't focus on trying to make me. Yes Ill be squelchingly wet and yes I'm moan and whimper with gusto, but I won't come. And nothing is guaranteed to turn me off more than if you spend hours trying to make me.

For those who think I'm merely throwing down the gauntlet, who think that you are better than every other man or woman I've ever slept with, that you can do it for me, I'm not interested in playing with you. I know my own body better that you ever will. Trust me on this. I can only come if there's no pressure, no expectation and no timeframe.

Your patience and understanding of this limit may one day reward us both, but until then, coming is a solitary pleasure for me.

Rewarding Pollyanna

Mr Rain can seem very cruel. He loves me to make me cry. Loves to beat me until my whimpers turn into tears. Loves to know he has that power over me.

Touches me, makes me squelchinginly wet and then fucks me for his pleasure only. I am for his use. A plaything to be abused.

And the more abused I feel the wetter and more turned on I become.

But there is no release, not when I am with him. He doesn't reward with pleasure, he rewards with pain. And I love it.

A Public Lesson

The first time I played with Mr Zest he dominated me so easily it scared me. We played at our local club and he immediately set about getting into my head. Once he had my head I was powerless.

He blindfolded and pushed me against the wall and roughly pinched and probed me. Fingers touching me everywhere. I was so turned on I was ashamed.

Then ordered me to kneel in front of him, hands behind my back. Made me spread my legs apart til they hurt and it was an effort to stay in position. Twisted my nipples til I cried out. Then slapped my breasts hard for complaining.

Whipped my pussy with his crop, unrelenting until I tried to move out of position. Soft caresseses all over my body, disarming me before returning to pinching, whipping and probing.

Stripped me fully and tied me to the frame spread eagled. Legs stretched open and whipped again on my pussy as I wriggled in vain. Then roped my knees to hold me still. No respite from the probing hands, pinching my clit and the folds of my pussy.

Undid my blindfold so I could see the onlookers witnessing my shame. Made me watch as he trailed a hunting knife over my body, grazing my nipples enjoying my terror.

Flogged my back, legs and ass. Then my breasts. Each stroke burning me and heightening my pain, increasing my pleasure. Fucked me roughly with his fingers, laughed as I begged for more.
Teased me for my slutty behaviour.

Untied me to teach me a more serious lesson...

Bi curious

I'm curious about sex with a girl. What exactly do you do? Would I like it? The fact I'm not a fan of oral sex, is that a problem?

I need to be educated. It's one of the few remaining sexual experiences that I'm interested in but have yet to try. Of course I've kissed other girls and even touched their breasts and bottoms. But never actually had sex.

Still I have a good feeling that some girl on girl action is not far off. Hopefully at one of my next group parties. I've certainly signalled my interest to play with a girl or girls, in the right setting.

It will probably happen with a few girls. Maybe some Doms will also be in attendence. Could be an orgy.

But someone will have to be in charge of me. I love being told what to do in bed. It makes me very pliant and briefly submissive. And if I'm having sex with a girl for the first time I'll need direction. Yes, very thrilled at the prospect of losing my girl virginity!

Molesting Pollyanna

One of my playmates, Mr Rain, enjoys molesting me. He loves for me to lie there and let him do whatever he wants. We usually tie it up in some form of roleplay. I'll be his niece or pupil or a reformatory girl under his control.

There's never any physical struggle involved, I'm incapable of refusing him. He has absolute power over me. A struggle on my part would just earn me another beating. So I have to sit on his knee and let him put his hands in my knickers. Let him stroke me in my most intimate places, put his fingers inside me.

I get to a very powerful state of near genuine fear during these roleplay sessions. And sometimes I can't help whimpering and often I'm in tears. Truly feeling the emotions of that poor, abused girl.

And even though I know better, it always gets to a point where I try to pull away or I say no or beg him to stop. He doesn't like this. He wants me to a good little girl, not making any fuss. And then he'll take his belt off and strap me until I'm lying there sobbing and broken. Willing to let him continue unhindered.

Although I find that sitting or lying there passively is one thing, I can just about keep my anxiety in check. However, it's so much harder if I have to strip for him. Having to stand before him as I take my clothes off, having him ogle my body. Then standing in front of him, hands on my head, legs apart while he inspects me.

But even worse is having to participate by touching him. There's no hiding place from what's happening. No avoiding the cock hardening in my hand. Hoping that he'll be happy just to be touched, dreading what might come next...

Sexual freedom

Before I got into the BDSM scene I was inhibited during sex. I had desires that I thought were wrong and I held back from sharing them with most sexual partners, afraid of their reactions.

I eventually got with one guy who had some kinky desires of his own. Although they didn't exactly match mine I went along with them cos they were at least more interesting than regular sex.

He introduced me to sex shops, porn and anal and public sex. And I introduced him to spanking and roleplay. We then graduated to belts, whips, restraints, and towards the end, rape play. We both tried to compromise our kinks and had a lot of fun for a while until our differences meant we finally drifted apart.

So I went back to being inhibited with my dates. The more I liked them the more reserved I was sex wise. Until my rare one night stands became my only means of sexual freedom.

With these men I was completely uninhibited, asking for what I wanted. To be touched and fucked roughly. To be fucked in my mouth, my pussy and if I felt like it, my ass. I encouraged them to hurt me. Twisting my nipples, slapping my face, pounding into me so hard I gasped, scratching and biting me and even spanking me.

After one particularly great night where afterwards I was limp and sated I decided enough was enough. I couldn't go back to vanilla sex and vanilla relationships and having one night stands were not really for me.

And that's when I completely gave into my sexual desires and made peace with myself. I got into the BDSM scene properly and so far my journey has been very exploratory. I find my boundaries and limits are continually shifting. Some things I'd never do again, some things I have't had the inclination or courage to try yet. It's been a fun ride so far and I'm loving the freedom.

A damn good thrashing

Mr Storm is one of my semi-regular play partners. Apart from our play sessions we've nothing at all in common. I like the rough and detached way we play. Neither of us overly worries about the other. Replying on a mutual understanding of what we both need. We don't even bother with much roleplay. It's all about a serious thrashing. I love getting it. He loves giving it to me.

He likes for me to hold still and take my beatings quietly. My acceptance of what he is doing is part of the thrill for him. He likes knowing he can do what he wants to me. He likes trying to break me. Loves to make me cry. Our sessions are always severe and the marks often last for days. Sometimes I question playing with him. But the intoxicating intensity we reach always draws me back.

I don't expect sympathy or mercy and he doesn't show it. He will continue, each time increasingly sadistic, not stopping unless I safeword.

Before our last session he instructed me to insert my metal anal beads in my ass before I left my house. He knows this is hard for me. I'm never in the zone unless I'm there with him. Having to put the beads in myself, in my own house, feels dirty and wrong. Feelings he's very good at invoking.

With difficulty I comply, feeling uncomfortably full as I travel to his house. The compliance only serves to rise my defiance. I know it will be a tough session and I resolve to not let him break me. He loves the challenge I offer.

On entering his house I'm immediately told to strip and put on the clothes he has for me. This is the usual process. Him picking clothes I hate wearing and enjoying my sulking as I have to don them. I like pretty, girly clothes. He insists on leather and rubber. Black and unflattering. Exposing my pussy, ass and tits. And impossibly high heels. I can't walk in them and he laughs as I stumble around. I feel the degradation keenly

Bit by bit he's stripping away my defences.

When I'm ready he pushes me over the back of the couch. Rough fingers check my compliance with his orders. He finds the anal beads and tugs the string roughly and I can't help whimpering. Then laughs as his fingers find my already wet pussy, teasing me for being such a slut.

He spanks me hard and fast with his hand, making me feel the beads even more and pushing his free fingers into my pussy. I can't resist grinding myself onto them, acting like the shameful slut he wants me to be. Without warning he withdraws his fingers and quickly pulls the beads from my ass, making me moan in pain and shock.

'Stand up, hands on head, legs apart' he orders. 'I think we'll start with a nice caning before I take you downstairs and show you what you really deserve.'

I know what that means, being suspended with my hands tied to the ceiling, barely able to reach the floor. Then he'll take out his clamps and whips and beat me until I scream. Then he'll gag me, so he can beat me harder. And when he's satisfied with my surrender he'll untie me so I can kneel before him with my warm mouth and thank him for his attentions.

But for now a caning awaits. I look up as he stands in front of me. Two canes in his hands. His latest trick is to apply two at a time, One on my front thighs, the other on the back, or one on each side. Starting off slow until he builds harder and faster, until I can't stay still and get punished with hard, fiery strokes that bring tears to my eyes.

And the despair will set in, knowing we've only just begun.

The wonderful written word

I love the written word. It's always been more powerful to me than any picture or film. A written fantasy is much more likely to arouse me than anything else. I like to run the story through my mind. Paint it in as I choose. Insert my own characters, make it my own.

And I love to write. Except good writing requires discipline, something I often lack. On any given day I have several potent fantasies in my head. But rarely do I sit down and write them out. I make up excuses. Lack of time, being the main one.

Sometimes writing is effortless. I sit and type and the words flow. More often it's strained, the story I want to write won't come out. The characters are wrong, the sentiment too false, the plot unfeasible. So I appreciate good writing. Creativity, good turn of phrase, interesting plots, complete characters.

And when I'm horny and need release I reach for one of my favorite books or online stories and can get myself off almost immediately.

My current favorite is Fiona Locke's Over the Knee, where Angie experiences anal sex for the first time. Instant orgasm.

Am I submissive?

I struggle with submission. In my fantasy/play life that is. It doesn't feature anywhere in the real world.

Submission turns me on. I love to be told what to do and my pussy reacts accordingly. A simple order will make me wet. And I love to construct detailed fantasies around it, letting them swirl around my head as I pleasure myself.

But I think I love the idea of it more than anything. The idea of giving up complete control. The reality is somewhat different. I find it hard to obey when told to stand or kneel or stay still or wear this or that. The Dom must enforce it. Must punish me for any disobedience. I need to be trained. And a sharp does of pain pain does wonders.

So I can't submit voluntarily. I don't want to submit voluntarily. The turn-on is in the force, being made to do it.

Strangely I'm much more submissive when it comes to sex, without BDSM play. Eager to please, eager to be obedient, eager to have all control taken away from me. I don't quite understand why.

Pollyanna hates receiving oral sex

I hate oral sex. Not giving it, receiving it. At least with men anyway. Maybe I need to try it with another girl. (A whole other story).

I just find it boring. Too soft. Too slow. Too pointless. So many better things to be used than a tongue. Rough fingers, a strong vibrator, a hard cock.

To frustrate me my play partners tie me up with my legs spread wide and force it on making me squirm while I struggle to get off on it. They love to give me what I don't want. That's the paradox of BDSM. I love the things that I don't ask for, love the things that hurt me most.

And then there's the certainly that the gentle tonguing is just a prelude to the hurt and pain to come. A way to heighten my anxiety. That when my guard is down that soft tongue will be changed for a strap and my clit will be whipped. Or hot wax will be dripped on me. Or a hard cock will thrust into me with no warning.

But even in being forced to endure oral sex, there is some pleasure, I do love the forced submission. Just on it's own with no BDSM connotations, I hate it.