The Collared Coed

The truth is, both Mark and I are kind of scattered and all over the place. Mark has had a lot of work, and I’ve been pummeled with work at school and  at Obnoxious Public Relations Firm. I register for classes next Wednesday. Our contract ends next Monday.

We’re having some contemplation time before we sign another contract. I’m trying to get my head on straight. Sometimes, college feels like one crisis after another. Mark and I love and support each other, but I feel like in this next contract, there are some things I would like to reconsider and some places where I want to grow.

I’d like more protocol, for one. I loved the protocol training weekend that we had over the summer. I would like to do more protocol. It wouldn’t have to be as formal. I know that for both of us, it can be hard to switch between mindsets. That is ultimately what stops us short of having protocol; the mind blocks. I have desires for those periods of protocol and restriction, but we don’t do them very often.

Particularly, I’m fascinated when I’m on speaking restriction. The silence that surrounds us is nice to experience.

If I’m being REALLY honest with myself, I LIKE Him knowing where I am all the time. Even though this strict protocol that I’m living under right now is only supposed to be temporary. . .maybe elements of it can sneak into the next contract.

I want to live joyfully in my submission. That probably sounds so cheesy, but I want to exist happily in it, instead of worrying about my submission or worrying about whether I’m submissive enough or not. I tend to worry so much about my submission, even when I’m under strict protocol. I want to worry less.

I can’t really think of anything else at the moment. I’m post very quickly because a) I have to be at work soon and b) this satisfies my requirement for the day. Yay! However, it has also given me something to think about, so that’s good.

BUT, now I can ask permission to play World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King later! YES!

I am the WoW player out of the two of us, I tried to get Him into it, but He just was not having it. Heh.

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Sir makes jokes about being afraid He’s ruined me, exposing me to all of this, you know. BDSM. Heh. While I don’t think He’s ruined me, I do think I’ve reached this point in my life where I can say, I can’t go back to a vanilla relationship. I like this too much.

“This” does not signify only the activities, the sex, the munches, TESfest, meetings or the clubs. It also means the intimacy, honesty, emotional and sexual fulfillment and sense of completion it gives me. I feel, at the point I am right now, if I were to give all of this up and go into a vanilla relationship, I would be devastated. If I had to go into some sweet, boring, blah relationship, I would be so FUCKING BORED. I would feel so stifled. I feel like being a BDSM relationship allows both people to be more honest, with themselves and with their partners.

I feel like I would have to hide so much of myself, those things that I bare so openly right now. The things that Sir wants to hear, urges me to tell him; my needs, my desires, the thoughts that scare me and all of the things I’m curious about. I’m tired of hiding. I spent my high school years behind masks.

I mean, I feel safe enough to be able to say, “Yes, I liked when you were choking me while you were fucking me” or “I like it when you slap my face” or “I think about crawling on the floor in front of you.” I really don’t think I would feel anywhere near open enough with a vanilla partner to say those things.

Spending my formative sexual development years with a boy who was bloody awful in bed made me realize something. Every relationship I have after that, will need to have amazing sexual chemistry.

It’s awful to spend four months lying beneath some boy you don’t give a shit about; you might as well be a knothole in a tree. I felt no sexual attraction to my exboyfriend, C, after a while. I felt no need to initiate sex, I felt distant and I began to hate myself after having sex with him. I don’t orgasm from oral sex, because my previous long term partner didn’t care enough to make me orgasm and made me feel guilty about wanting oral sex.

Read that last sentence over.

No woman should ever feel GUILTY for wanting consensual sex. I almost can’t believe that I let that happen to me for so long.

And now I can’t orgasm from oral sex, and it makes me cry with frustration. I obsess. I feel guilty with Sir’s mouth between my legs. I feel like He’s annoyed with having to do it. I feel like I just can’t orgasm from it, so I try to close my legs and push him away. I always had to beg C to go down on me, so I didn’t believe it when Sir said that He LIKES to go down on women.

This is why I cannot be in a relationship right now where I would have to hide my sexuality. I’m already making up for lost time. I refuse to be in a relationship where my sexual needs are not being met. I can’t do that again. I can’t let it happen.

I love how BDSM is helping me grow as a person.

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I hate fucking in cars.

There. I said it.

Maybe it’s the disappearance of those secret places where you can park a car in peace, or maybe with the advent of more compact cars, I just cannot get into any kind of messing around in a small car. If someone were to suggest car sex, I would look at them askance.

Vans are different. Vans have seats that go back, and are spacious enough that you’re not sitting on a gearshift while you’re blowing someone.

Sir and I, during the drive back from our first visit together to a BDSM club, stopped at a rest stop and crawled into the backseat. (“You’ve ruined the term ’service station’ for me, pet.” He says, now.) He drove a minivan. He pulled over spontaneously. THAT was fun, that was deliciously naughty; clothes unbuttoned and unbuckled, Sir taking His cock out of leather pants, leaning back, bare chested. He looked so delicious. Even now, I love when He’s shirtless but wearing leather pants. Fuck. Even shirtless and wearing the utilikilt is hot.

I wore eye glitter to the club, and His hands were in my hair, tugging at it. I was smearing glitter everywhere, there was even glitter in the zipper of his pants. We were sweaty and the windows were fogging up against the 2:30am cold outside. “I should fuck you right here,” He whispered, tugging my mouth down onto His cock, “I almost don’t care who sees us. Almost.” The rest stop was a little too populated for our tastes, even though it was so late. The feel of His exquisite, uncircumcised cock in my mouth, moving in and out, made me melt. That’s the kind of car sex I like. When it’s spontaneous, a secret shared between two people, and a search for immediate gratification.

All of these hybrid cars don’t make for hot making out in the backseat. Those cars are tiny! I’m all for gas conservation and hybrid cars, but I am a little sad that eventually, people won’t fuck in cars anymore. Suburban sprawl has killed Lover’s Lanes, and cops are more aggressive and on the prowl to bust kids for drinking or drugs.

This happened to my exboyfriend C and I. We were in his mom’s minivan, after the winter concert at school (I was in the orchestra, haha.) and it was nearly midnight. The lights were off, the engine was on, the seats were back, and we were going at it.

For once, I was completely into the act. Too often, I was often wheedled and begged into being fucked in that same van, and would just stare blank eyed at the sky as he had his way with me. It makes me sad, all the sex between the ages of 15 and 19 that I just sat through. But I guess that’s for another post.

But this night, this windy cold night, I kissed back just as hard as I could. I was wearing all black, a black blouse and a black skirt with pink underwear. My panties were off and my shirt was unbuttoned. We didn’t notice the lights. The two of us caught up in that world of teenage lust and hormones. We didn’t notice the cops until the flashlights were shining inside.

There was a problem. I was only sixteen. I was technically underaged, while C was not. C was visibly nervous, as was I, and he told me to say that he had only performed oral sex on me, no more. They tapped on the glass and then opened the door. I was still undressed. They were staring as I put myself together.

I didn’t have ID. I didn’t have anything that said how old I was. All I had was a stupid high school ID. That was a problem.

The police hauled me away from C, as they inspected his ID and questioned him to why we were out there so late.

“Are you here on your own free will, Miss?” The officer asked, quietly. I said yes, of course. C was terrified that he would be arrested.

Eventually, they let us go, telling us, “Just go home, guys. It’s too cold out here and we got calls from the nearby houses.” It was terrifying. We got out of there as quick as we could.

So I can count the positive experiences I’ve had with car sex on one hand. Since I live in the big city, I don’t drive much anymore. Sir’s van is full of trash. Cars are getting smaller and smaller. I don’t see myself having sex in a car any time soon. I don’t really miss it. Pfft.

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“Do you trust me, pet?” Sir asks while He holds the gag loosely in His hand. I barely squeak out a “yes” before He’s shoving it into my mouth.

And I instantly feel relaxed. I can’t speak. I can’t see. And I don’t have any choices.

- – -

I’m on a restrictive remote protocol until this contract expires. We’re renewing it again, that’s not a concern for either of us.

• back to telling him everything I eat and drink.
• morning tasklists for the day with times and addresses of where I am.
• no sweets. no junk food.
• emailing Him every time I exit and leave a building. Basically, enough information for Him to know where I am all the time.
• back to slave tasks to reinforce my status as pet and property.

Last night we had a quick and dirty scene. I just needed pain, and lots of it.

He tied my hands up above my head and blindfolded and gagged me. He clamped my nipples and caned me with the huge, thick wooden cane and the thin metal one. Just repeated swats. Over and over and over. Last night, I just didn’t think. My mind went completely blank. It was so freeing.

Sir used me very hard last night. I was sopping wet from the caning and the clamping. He loved taking the clamps off while He was using me, so I would thrash around in pain. He kept saying over and over how I have no choices, how I can’t fight or resist, how I’m property and a slut. Fuck. It was so good. I couldn’t come while being fucked, so He used the hitachi on me. Mmm.

I crave pain much more lately. I also crave breathplay. Sir was pinching my nose shut while I had the gag in and it was so fucking hot. Probably mildly unsafe, but so fucking arousing.

I think I’m growing as a bottom, if that makes sense. My pain tolerance is increasing and are my desires for breathplay and restrictive bondage. I don’t know if I would have wanted these things so much a few months ago. Hmm.

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I haven’t blogged here for a variety of reasons.

a) Midterms. Enough said.

b) My internship at Obnoxious Public Relations Firm (disguised for obvious reasons) has suddenly dumped a lot of work on me at once. I work there three days a week.

c) The remote protocol I was under, fell apart.

Things with Sir and I went back and forth, throughout October. It was a very, very difficult month.

He’s been away on business more than He’s been here, which made it difficult to maintain protocol and feel connected.

So I pretty much dropped my protocol of emailing Him my food intake and tasklist for the day and doing slave tasks, for the latter half of October. They were causing me major anxiety and freaking me out, more than they were maintaining my ‘property’ mindspace.

These few weeks have not been the easiest. We struggle to find time to see each other, and we struggle with maintaining a connection. My stress levels have been running high, and so has Sir’s. The problem is, we both react to stress in different ways. I feel less submissive and pull away, and Sir feels MORE submissive.

We’ve had hard scenes dispersed throughout the month. We have hard scenes and then Sir leaves on business, for His job.

. . .I don’t know. I needed something here to break this silence that’s come over the blog.

On Sunday, we decided to change things.

He constructed a new remote protocol for me to follow, temporarily.

I swear I will blog more here in the next few days. I have Halloween, some more scenes and Folsom to talk about. And of course, my new protocol.

This feels weird. So, hi.

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