The Collared Coed

right after i got out of the shower.

and i don’t know what those white posts are.

still getting used to HNT.

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I close and lock my bedroom door. There’s only me and one suitemate in the dorm apartment. A is home until Friday. I have this bedroom to myself. But I can’t fully relax if I’m paranoid about people hearing me masturbate. I pull my blue vibrator out of hiding and turn on cover noise in the bedroom. I creep into the bathroom and turn on the exhaust fan.

I undress and lay on the bathroom floor, two lime green rugs covering up the dirty tile. I spread my legs, one leg up on the toilet seat, spread wide open. I drip lubricant onto my fingers and slowly start to touch myself. I relax, confident in the fact that no one can hear my sighs and the wet movement of my fingers in my pussy.

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It’s a bit of a tense time for your lovable coed. I’m moved back into the ECU dormitory. I have to say, that I’m honestly very uncomfortable in my suite right now. I have three other roommates. One is good old A, the silly, happy, perky, fabulous girl from last semester. Two of the other ones are very traditional Asians, with one being intensely religious. They are very focused and driven, but the vibe I have right now is that they’re a little boring.

I feel a little threatened to be wearing my collar around the suite. I’m worried that there might be some confrontation that I don’t want. Last semester, my roommates, as aloof as they were, were at least open and social and fun. My new roommates… not so much.

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So, I’ve pretty much just been brainwashed the last few days. I’m working for my school’s freshman week. I’ve been brainwashed to be perky, helpful, appropriate, happy, politically correct, etc.

But now that I’m done with it, all I want is to be bound up, fucked up, orgasm tortured, my nipples clamped until I feel like I’m going to freak out from the pain and to be flogged repeatedly. It’s not a bad craving.

Maybe it’s some adverse reaction to all that “be happy!” stuff I’ve been indoctrinated with.

Ha.

Of course, Sir is going away for a lovely vacation with His children tomorrow. Damn.

(P.S: I officially wore my collar at school for the first time since May, today. It’s been a good day.)

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My first HNT is kind of half-assed because I’m exhausted from the collegiate responsibilities I had today.

The story is that I haven’t wore a proper bra in a while. Sir doesn’t really like them (He prefers my natural breasts) and during the summer, the bra I had was itchy and synthetic so I just went without. This bra, is the one I bought after I had another bra fitting. Turns out I was wearing a too small bra, which is why it was so uncomfortable. Who knew? This one is so comfortable, though plain. I don’t wear much lingerie.

(I think I have decent breasts for an Asian woman.)

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And yes, my calves are really that massive. It’s not the photography. I have huge calves, from tennis and from when I used to be a swimmer.

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“Kneel.”, He ordered while we were laying together in bed, fully dressed. I quickly go into kneeling position on the bed on wobbly knees. His thick, expensive, dense mattress is where we do almost all of our play.

I kneel, and He comes behind me, grabbing at me. Asking me why I have been disobeying my contract rules and not doing my allotted slave tasks.

“I don’t feel as submissive when I’m home in my parent’s house, Sir.” I say meekly. He moves in front of me, whips my clothes off and pushes me down onto my back.

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Things I deemed important enough that I just HAD TO HAVE THEM before school started.

• Clothes from American Eagle. My favorite store ever.
• A new bra/lingerie. From Victoria’s Secret and American Eagle.
• Stuff for the dorm room.
• Stuff for school.
• Knee-high Converse sneakers. Wait, what?

In the sneaker store in my local mall, I spotted a gorgeous pair of knee-high Converse sneakers, Chucks. Black and white. Totally awesome. I quickly emailed a picture to Sir, and He told me to try them on. “You could totally pull off a teenage dominant angle. You could wear them to BDSM parties!”

I tried them on. They were fabulous. I bought them. I could imagine myself dominating a boy in them, or taking a public beating in them…

They reminded me of the black Chucks I wore to the NYE party, that everyone commented about. Sir thinks they match my personality very well. I think they are much more suited to me than some big shiny leather boots. Unique, fun, but kind of bad-ass but still cute…

What ‘back to school’ means to me, is back to the routine of classes, studying, partying… and wearing my collar 24/7.

When Sir gave me back my stainless steel, allen-key locking collar, I had a crisis. My roommate for the summer, a sunny, bouncy Californian who wasn’t an ECU student, had met me without the collar on. She met me with my ‘vanilla’ collar, a silver bracelet with a heart on it that Sir bought me in San Francisco. Contract rules state I’m to wear one or the other and I’m not to be without either one of those on my person. So I spent the summer wearing the bracelet, removing the bracelet to wear the collar in Sir’s presence, or when I went to the BDSM club.

I’ve decided to go back to wearing my collar 24/7. This means meeting my roommates with it on, going to classes with it on… and living with my friend with it on. She saw me in it all last semester and never said anything. I’m hoping I won’t have to out myself. Sir tells me to just be casual about it the collar and people won’t notice.

To be honest, I love wearing my collar. I infinitely prefer the collar over the bracelet. I just became paranoid about wearing around my summer roommate.

I hope to be more disciplined in my slave tasks and my daily routines for Sir. I think being away from home (I’m writing this blog post from my house) will help my mindset a lot. I hide everything from my parents, and it’s hard to feel really, really submissive here at home.

In a few weeks, I’ll be back at school, and meeting all those new people with my proper collar on…

Hmm. Maybe I should add stainless steel jewelry cleaner to that shopping list…

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Sir again here.  Eventually I will get around to blogging some actual sex related posts on what is it’s like to own and use my wonderful pet.   But I wanted to publish a quick update on some more political issues of the day.

A few new updates on our fund raising efforts.

For one we are continuing to accept some donations for the Spank-for-Jefferson efforts.   This is ALSO Due to the fact that mine and Delilah’s schedules are now officially out of whack for the rest of the month, and it seems that Delilah WON’T be getting her spanking until at least Aug 28th, probably around labor day weekend.  No final date, but we will take donations up until the spanking occurs.

PICTURES.  We will be publishing shots of Delilah’s ass, so people can see that they got what they wanted.  I’ll give a nice before and after shot at least.

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I’m having orgasm troubles lately.

It’s taking me longer and longer to orgasm. I get sore and sensitive before I orgasm.

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, pet.” He says, reassuring me that I’m normal.

Here’s what happens;

Sir tries to make me orgasm.

I ooh and aah and groan and come very close to orgasming.

I feel self conscious about not orgasming.

I ask myself what not orgasming by now means; am I a bad pet? Is something wrong with me? Why aren’t I orgasming?

I don’t orgasm.

I mean, fuck. I had a Magic Wand pressed against me and I just felt squirmy and sensitive, not like I was going to orgasm.

I started getting frustrated and bitchy and scrowl-y. A little distressed.

I don’t know why I just can’t… let go.

Sir put clover clamps on me earlier tonight as He chained my hands above my head.

Breathe, don’t let the pain take control. Breathe.

I couldn’t. The pain just kept coming.

It felt amazing when He started to fuck my sopping wet pussy. When He wasn’t making my body move/making the clamps hurt like a motherfucker, it felt incredible. To have this pain and this full, wonderful feeling in my pussy. The pain suddenly complimented the pleasure, to an extent. Once He started fucking me hard enough to make my breasts shake, the pain increased.

I was so, so, so close to coming. The pain kept me from me going over the edge.

But part of me craved that pain and wanted it to keep going.

The troubling part was, the rest of the night, was like one long attempt to make me orgasm.

I’m overthinking it. I only started to orgasm when He said I couldn’t.

We did a hard breathplay scene, to the point where my hands came up and literally started to pry His hand off my mouth for air. I started to yell behind His hand, which I never, ever do.

We fought over Him forcing me to say “I’m a cockwhore”. Which I don’t like saying.

I was squirming and trying to breathe. He yelled, “You better say it now!” and took His hands off my nose and mouth.

“Fuck you”, flew out of my mouth.

“You bitch!” He said, and slapped me repeatedly.

So close to orgasming.

But that mental block just kept coming up, thoughts repeating in my head.

That I’m a bad submissive. That something is wrong with me.

I’m a bad submissive, I must be broken, I’m a bad submissive, I should have orgasmed by now…

They’ve just appeared out of nowhere.

And I don’t come.

I don’t know how to make them go away.

I know I’m a good submissive. Sir is pleased with me, punishes me when I’m not a good girl, and that’s the end of it. I make Him happy, I make Him come, I make His life easier, I make Him smile that lovely smile of His. I went through protocol training without too much ‘correction’.

So why do I feel like I’m a bad submissive?

Maybe it’s that oral sex thing. I have the hardest time orgasming from oral sex. I really have to focus and concentrate, and lately, I just flail and get frustrated and I don’t get much pleasure out of it. I tense and tense and tense to the point where I feel self-conscious.

Fuck. Dammit. I’m not a bad submissive.

I’m sitting here at 4am (Sir will be grouchy when He realizes I’ve been up all night) worrying over this.

Fuck. I didn’t think I would be brought to tears over my submissive insecurities. It’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to.

Only once since I explored this have I ever been called “not submissive enough” for someone. I took the comment with a grain of salt, was somewhat insulted, and chain smoked Marlboro Ultra Lights as soon as I stepped out of J’s apartment. I wrote the experience off as chemistry not clicking. J had told me as I was getting dressed, “Maybe we’ll cross paths one day. Maybe ten years from now you’ll be what I’m looking for. But for now, you’re not.” Which was fine. It wasn’t much of a relationship.

But this. I would be so upset if Sir dumped me because I wasn’t “submissive enough” or I wasn’t good enough. Actually, upset would be putting it nicely. I would be devastated. I don’t know why I have all this doubt seeping under my skin, making me cry, making me worry myself awake.

But I can’t stop crying.

I know this probably sounds ridiculous to all the Dominants out there, a submissive girl, barely a woman, worrying over whether she’s good enough for her Master.

I should be a big submissive and suck it up and deal with it. Like I suck it up and deal with pain, with orders, with nipple clamps, with seemingly endless canings.

But I can’t.

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