Hot off the presses, a brand new edition of this slutty little slave blog! See, I’d mentioned to Mistress how much I had enjoyed her task from yesterday – three hypno sessions in a row, no breaks, all mindfucking. She wasn’t slightly surprised by this, and (correctly) assumed that I’d be more than willing, if it were offered, to accept a life of a 24/7 cage and brainwashing headphones. And then, perfectly segueing on from that, she brought up the topic of cages. It wasn’t as much of a discussion as that might make it sound, though – more of a command. An order. From now, until my birthday, I am to be caged, and locked up tight. And, see, this is what I like about femdom, what I like about submission. I could’ve argued, I could’ve protested, or bargained, or just straight-up not listened. But instead, I just accepted, and obeyed. And I was rewarded with not just the pleasure of obedience (which is certainly a reward in itself) but also a rather delightful chat with Mistress Charlotte. Let’s talk about it, shall we?
It started with Mistress outlining a few of the details about how this stint in the cage would work – primarily with regard to check-ins. To recap – I can’t just very well give Mistress the key, as she’s on the other side of the world from the lock, and that’s just not very practical. Instead, we’ve got numbered plastic locks, which she can (and will) ask for spot checks of. I did the thing I usually do when getting into chastity, and complained about the paradox of “put this cock ring on, and then prepare to do something you find insanely hot, don’t get aroused about it though”. To which Mistress was very kind and understanding, and allowed me a- oh. Hold on, no, sorry, I’m rereading the chat now… Ah, here we go. Ok, I was a little mistaken there. Instead she made me edge for an hour. Lube and all – she wanted me “dripping like a horny hentai girl”, her words.
So, while I was there, lubed up and jerking away, I figured I’d keep the chat going (albeit with one hand). I mentioned that when I ordered the humbler – oh, yeah, I put out a call for toy recommendations on Twitter, and Mistress suggested I pick up a humbler. And, well, you know me, a suggestion from Mistress is basically a guaranteed way to get me to do the thing. Anyway, I mentioned that I’d also picked up a second dildo for myself – I believe the exact same model as the one I have, lol. Now, I suspected she’d be into the idea of a spitroasted slut – but she instead pitched the concept of training myself to get that sluthole double-stuffed. An excellent idea, right? Well, I told her as much, and it turns out she’s got more in the tank – much more, in fact. I’ve mentioned a few times before that Mistress’s ideas are 1) always a delight, and 2) ALWAYS take me by surprise. Take, for instance, the ones she mentioned here, while I was edging my mind away.
Now, just in case you’re unaware – a tunnel plug is basically like a normal butt plug, but with a hollow space in the middle – a tunnel, if you will. (Watersports is watersports, and I’m not going to show you a picture of it, you’ll have to do your own research there.)
Now, leaving the water behind for the minute (although water DOES return later in the story), tunnel plugs are something I’ve been aware of for a while, but never really… got the appeal of. Which I was fine with – not every kink is for everyone – but then, Mistress showed me the light, as she so often does. Sometimes, you see, it isn’t enough for a slut to be stuffed full. Sometimes, they also need to be held open. Wide open. Instantly, I understood – or, at least, I thought I did. Holding a slut wide open makes sense, right – keeps them ready and waiting, eager to get taken and pounded. Seems reasonable! But there’s more to it than that, Mistress revealed. To her, at least, it was more the knowledge that I would be completely and fully exposed, as much as it was possible to be. She could put whatever she liked inside me, and I would be literally unable to resist.
Which is a phrase I’m becoming more and more enamoured with! I loved it when it was describing me in my in-person Domme session – tied up, shoved face-down on a motel bed, and fucked, while I wordlessly moaned and my higher brain functions went away. And now, here it is again – another opportunity to make myself more of a slutty receptacle for her. I’m reminded also of the recent experimenting we’ve been doing with combining my open mouth gag and shoving a dildo in there – it’s just about being held open, that lack of control. She could do anything to me, and I’d have no choice but to accept that it’s simply going to happen. Like, for instance, being filled with a couple litres of water and waddling around like a well-bred whore, barefoot and pregnant for my owner. (Thank you for that one, Mistress.)
Now, most of what I’ve said here has been taken pretty much verbatim from our chat. But it’s important to remember that while all of this was going on, I was covered in lube, getting myself to the edge over and over, all while trying not to think about the prospect of somehow fitting that cage on when I was done. Eventually, though, after a few days of edging, the hour was up, and I started putting the pieces together. Mistress was shocked to learn that this conversation was, in fact, not actually helping in that area, and decided to help out a little more. Sorry, I mean “help”. Sorry, I mean “”””help””””.
And what’s worse is that I know I only have myself to blame, for this one. I brought up the “submissive and breedable” thing. True, she accelerated my interest in it, until I wrote blog after blog about getting taken, and used, and filled to the brim with something hot and sticky… But I was the one who started it. Has it resulted in me finding “my little breeding bitch” to be the hottest four-word combination out there? Well, yes. Is that a bad thing? Not really! It’s got ownership (“my”), superiority (“little”), and the two words that’ll never fail to get my legs up over my head for her, ready to be railed within an inch of my life until she hilts herself within me and stuffs me absolutely full… Breeding bitch. That’s me.
…oh, right, this was about chastity. Well, don’t worry, it’s made itself MORE than apparent over the course of me writing this. Clearly I’ve gotten too used to thinking I had freedom – this will be a welcome reminder that I’ll never be free again, and I love it that way. Thanks for reading – and thank you, Mistress.