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The post where I tell you how I wank

As I prepare to go in a new direction (re finding/vetting clients) in this journey of mine, (and yes it is my journey, the only thing I have that is created by me, for me) it is time for some reflections. -Nah, screw it; let’s cut the excuses; I want to tell you how I masturbate. Just because. Because it turns me on; and that has always been reason enough for me to do anything.

I do it with gloves. You know those rubbery, slightly rough gardening gloves? Yeah, I do it with those. I’ve tried it with washing-up gloves – I prefer them pink – but they aren’t textured enough to produce enough sensation.

I get my gloves from Poundstretcher’s. I walk around looking at the gloves, and then I rub them lightly on my face to test the texture. My face is much more sensitive than my fingertips to texture. Some gloves are too harsh and some too smooth. (Though I had this great pair of smooth red gloves back in 2011; I think they worked because they were thick. They were a ride and a half, and I kept them for 2 or 3 months until my OCD-like tendencies got the better of me – no matter how much I wash my gloves, I can’t keep them for long without feeling like they’re dirty.) Then, after a while, I’ll buy the gloves. The pair I have now are purple. I’ve also tried wanking with face cloths of a texture that’s neither too smooth or too rough, but they’re just an emergency measure for when I’ve thrown out gloves without having bought a new pair. Back in ’10 I had a fab green pair, and I ‘used up’ one and threw it out before cutting the fingers off the other one and just wearing each finger as a sort of finger-cover. So the glove lasted much longer than usual. Not all gloves can fit snugly on your finger like that, not slipping but remaining faithfully bound to your skin as you bend, flick and manoeuvre. The green gloves had that. I bought them 3 times. I prefer gloves to be pink because that way I can pretend it’s, well, a cock. Or a finger.

When I wank, I do it on all fours. Roland once filmed me doing it. I once did lie on my back and do it, and it was successful; I used cream and a rough towel that time. But usually I get into the same position I’ve used since I was nine, my head resting on the bed. After a while I’ll let my thighs sink onto my calves. Wjen I was nine I didn’t masturbate; what I did was rub and stroke my bottom as I fantasised about boys being spanked, burned with fire, burnt with hot iron, caned, whipped, forced to wear nappies or girls’ pants. They were put in prams and dressed like babies. They were dressed as girls, or tortured by the cruel Authority and its Wardens. They were put in spanking machines or had hot forks stuck into their dicks and twisted in front of crowds. They wet and pooed their pants in public and were spanked for it. They were put in spanking machines and torture machines.

These days, my boys (aged 15-25 instead of 9-17 like when I was nine) also get publically gang-raped and filmed, given enemas and sodomised with all kinds of stuff. I’m a bit artistically inclined and created this blog’s logo and my ‘K’ Twitter avi. So it follows that I’m creative with my boys.

I do have girls. It started at nine but I quickly lost interest in my mousy-haired Alice’s spankings. At 17, though, Alice returned as the 14-year-old sister of my oft-spanked 18-year-old Alex and later on the redheaded 16-year-old  American Jilly moved in. Her devious friend, the black-haired Nadine, turned up later. So did Chastity White, unwilling heroine of The Seven Days, my fantasy based on The Ring movie. Roland is the hero of that fantasy (and subsequently the name given to my original client). If any of you ever leafed through my 5 notebooks in which all my wanking writing is kept, you’d be amazed that it took me until Lynne to figure out I am a bit bi. (Though I did wonder about it last year and I have said I’m not totally straight.) I  thought that what I was doing was roleplaying that I as one of these girls, though God knows how I justified all the F/F spanking scenes. (My favourite pairing is M/M, then F/M).

I’ve never allowed myself to orgasm, or should I say to complete an orgasm. I get to the stage where it’s like there’s electricity rippling through me and the contractions become powerful, then I stop. This keeps me in a near-constant state of sexual frustration, which focuses my mind. I was originally saving it for my first time and I must shamefully admit that I felt that it wasn’t ‘real’ masturbation if I didn’t orgasm. I did feel guilty about wanking when I started aged 19, whacking myself off to a fantasy of committing murder. I must also admit that I never wanked over She Who I Loved, i.e. Lynne, because it was disrespectful…despite the number of pics of her that must be available via Google Images. Well, I couldn’t even stalk her online or search for pics, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t flick myself off to her photos. Who I have wanked to include a neighbour, a school friend and, at age 13, a fantasy (though I didn’t masturbate then) of a female pupil who I despised.

It’s been incredibly freeing to sit at a bus stop or in a cafe and allow myself to think ‘that girl is hot’ instead of pulling back the thought as I used to BL (Before Lynne). I allow myself these thoughts now because I understand that I can’t deny who I am, and my bisexuality can’t be suppressed; I spent so long denying it only to have it revenge itself on me by condemning me to have serious (non lust-based) feelings for Lynne, instead of someone who’d be receptive and who I could have fun sexytimes with. Back when I stopped pulling the thoughts, I still fancied Lynne and believed she was probably ignoring me (which she may or may not have been – it’s hard to tell, because I avoided her for a while). So I thought that if I’m in love (which I believed I was) with someone who is very annoyed about it, why not allow myself to have much healthier, lustful thoughts that make me happy instead of sad? The Lynne thing also taught me the futility of ignoring my bisexual thoughts. They’ll come and get you in the end.

Re her, I’ve looked into blocking all IP addresses from her region but you can only do that with countries, so I’m stuck. I can’t figure out all this PHP stuff anyway. And I’d really only block her from seeing the Lynne Post and not the entire blog, because she’ll probably figure out it’s her if she reads it. I’m just worried she’ll be annoyed that I’ve written about her without her permission, especially since I’m writing about something which pissed her off so much. Though it’s not like she hasn’t done the same thing. I don’t want her to know my private thoughts about her, though granted they were Disney-esque and Puritan in the extreme (except that I would’ve wanted her to spank me).

I love wanking to comics, cartoons and anime art of boys getting spanked or crying after a spanking. Ditto pissing or shitting themselves. Girls also work for me, too. I had a flash drive with 6 massive Word files of all these pics and I used to have loads of such files on my old laptop so I could scroll down while I was having a wank. Once, I left my flash drive at the uni library and someone found it, located my CV to find out who I was and texted me that she’d handed it in to Lost Property. I’ll always wonder if she found the porn. It was a good thing that happened, or I might keep my CV and backups of this blog and individual blog posts on the same flash drive now. I think if you’re a sex blogger or blog about sex work, it’s safer to have two flash drives for your different identities. Or your normal and secret life, whichever you’d choose to call it. My laptop has all my stuff, so I password-protect some files in case it gets stolen. Lochlan’s laptop got stolen. I’ll wipe the hard drive if I ever sell it (which I won’t; it wasn’t a very expensive one, so it wouldn’t fetch much).

I’ve also wanked to porn videos of people shitting or peeing themselves, but never to bloodplay, knifeplay, torture or scat/watersports videos. That’s a bitty too far for me. I am an innocent young virgin, remember?

 

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Photoshoot debauchery continued: virginity checking & spanking

Donny said he never had fantasies like mine and never about spanking because he’d done it, though he’d never been spanked. I freaked out in my head.

“What? You’re into spanking! No way!” I went, “I don’t meet anyone into it ever, then in just a few months I do! This other photographer was into it too.”

We talked a bit about spanking and he asked if I’d ever been spanked or spankeed a guy. I was guzzling the Lucozade and absolutely delighted because I knew what was coming, what I’d made happen.

“Let’s get some spanking shots in,” Donny said, and we tried to figure out what to spank me with. He went off to get two plastic hairbrushes; one belonged to an ex.  Then he took a photo of me bent over the sofa, before slowly pulling the brush back and swatting me with it. It was painful and the pleasure was as intense as it was immediate. He did it a few more times, then I suggested we do OTK on the sofa, and that is what we did. “[Kalika] is your real name?” he asked, just before he spanked me. (I model under a fake name). And it was sheer bliss.

I had just told him about selling virginity and the blog – something I’d been telling myself not to reveal, to protect anonymity. After spanking me, and some chat about virginity and the corona being mistaken for the ‘hymen’ (which is fictional) for 500 years, he goes, “Want me to check?” I laid on the floor and he started pressing the bit next to my inner labia, and sometimes it hurt. I said he wasn’t even checking, he was just having a good time. He said he couldn’t see any opening and it was all completely closed with no way in.I felt relieved, because I was able to find my vagina aged 12 and 13 but I can’t find it now; but this meant that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it. It must have sealed as I hit puberty. Donny seemed to think I didn’t have one, but I said I had periods so I must do; anyway I had one aged 9-13. He couldn’t believe how closed off it was and asked to take a photo (he wasn’t going to post any of these online, or indeed any pics before asking me first. Most of his photos never get put online at all; it’s his hobby and he just keeps them while only posting a few. Obviously, close-ups of vaginas could never be posted on non-porn sites, anyway.)

I looked at the photo, intriuged. I couldn’t see anything there; it was featureless; a slightly yellow-toned seal with a slight bump. I realized it was pretty cool. I also realized that I was looking at the thing that women had been – were being – killed or disowned for. Which is something I don’t really write about much because my words will be pretty much useless. And I felt terribly privileged then, to have been born where I could look at it and know it was worthless to me, to be able to sell it. And without fear.

I was happy about how pretty it was. Donny was all like, “Wow, a spanking and then checking for virginity! I haven’t had a girl over in a long time, and now suddenly, wow! I thought this was going to be a boring weekend.”

I don’t remember how exactly we got to this point, but he got a knife from the kitchen and let me put it to his neck for a couple of minutes. It wasn’t working for me, though so he asked if he could do it to me. I thought I’d be scared, but I wasn’t. Instead my breathing quickened as if in the throes of sex and I got wood. Interestingly, I can tell if I’m stiff easier than I can tell if I’m wet. I dunno if this is universal among women.

And then I was lying on the sofa and he came over me, the knife to my throat as he lay on top of me and it was great! I didn’t feel scared at all. Then he was standing up and I was rubbing the knife against his crotch, and then giggling because he was wearing these Fred Flintstones ‘bed rockin” underwear; he said he hadn’t expected anyone to see it. Ha. Then I was pulling them down, examing him because it was only the third cock I’d seen. Then I gave him a handjob as we sat on the sofa.

It was much more enjoyable than with Roland because I wanted to. With every fibre of my being, I wanted this and it felt so right, so good, so natural. He said he felt like I was doing all the work while he had fun, but I assured him that wasn’t true, and continued jerking him, trying to make him splurge all over the place. It was so fun! So right! I also got to fiddle about with and examine his foreskin, and I suspect that the foreskin is a remnant of a biology similar to a dog’s, when the penis comes out like a lipstick. A lot of mammals are like this. So that is my evolutionary biology theory about foreskins.

Donny suggested I stay over and we could go out for drinks. “And don’t worry, your virginity is safe with me,” he added, and I giggled – it was so funny! Just such a funny thing to say, and of course nonsensical, because the only way I’d lose it would be if I suddenly decided I didn’t want the remaing 6k, or if Donny was a rapist, something he obviously wasn’t because he’d had plenty of opportunities. He also recieved and made a couple of calls – he’s self-emplyed fixing both hardware and software. It was about 5:30; I waited till 6 to call my mum, saying I’d met up with Kathy after the shoot and we were going clubbing so I was staying at her place. I’ve stayed over at Kathy’s before – last time a couple of weeks ago, so it was believable.

Donny said I sounded very real and believable on the phone. I’m great t lying, so yeah, I probably did. Also, I wasn’t under a lot of pressure as my only reason for lying is my liking of privacy; there was no reason to keep it a secret from her, I just don’t think she’d be that interested or want to know, and I like privacy in unimportant matters like this.

I was snickering about my former worries over Donny potentially being a murder and my mum telling me to give her Donny’s number in case he was a rapist/murderer; yet now I’d let him put a knife to my throat and wanted sexytime. “Yeah, ‘I should be so lucky’!” Donny laughed; “I mean that in the best possible way.”

 

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Spanking and anal at photoshoot with a guy I just met

Well, dear readers, this sexytime post does not feature Roland! But it still deserves its place in my Diary, because it is an experience I’m having while selling virginity, and we did talk about this blog and Roland. He even offered to make a website for me so I could auction off my virginity for a much higher price. I turned him down because a) I wouldn’t necessarily get more – Rosie Reid only got £400 more than me and the girls who got loads, such as Natalie Dylan, have never been verified to have sold it; b) I have a verbal contract with Roland, c) I prefer it to be someone I like and d) it’s harder to vet bidders online and I want to be safe. And of course e) – I want a kinky person.

I’m sure that this blog post will convince you all that I do ‘put my money where my mouth is’ – in other words, that I am indeed a slut.

It certainly convinces me, because I never saw myself as doing something like this. I guess you don’t know who you are until the opportunity presents itself. A few short years ago, I would’ve despised a girl for doing this and said she was a slut, a tart. But I changed shortly after going to university because I saw no point in judging people and comparing peoples’ sex lives to other peoples’ sex lives, especially when I realised I couldn’t draw up a slut table (ie is being married to 5 men less bad than cohabiting with 5 men just because she’s married? Or even worse? Is 2 one night stands in a month better or worse than 3 in 5 weeks? If it’s with someone you know is that better than with a stranger? Having 3 casual boyfriends in 6 months better or worse than 1 one night stand?) There are no answers to these questions – at least, none that aren’t debatable and controversial and probably case-specific.

The guy has requested to be called Donny on this blog, which he will read because he thinks it’s interesting.

I don’t know what Roland’s reaction to this will be, if he sees this post.

I was waiting outside the Festival Theatre, Southbridge, Edinburgh. This was on Saturday. Donny was going to pick me up to do a photoshoot. It was a mostly fashion shoot with some lingerie and artistic nude. He was taking me to his home, which I’d agreed to because I’d seen his portfolio and knew that other models had worked with him, so he was a real photographer and not a serial killer posing as a photographer. Heh.

Anyway, Donny picked me up. He had black hair – my fave hair colour on a man – good looking, maybe late twenties (I found out later he’s 30). He drove us to his flat in a fairly affluent area of Edinburgh. Donny told me he’s a computer guy although his degree was in something totally different.

In his house, he started taking fashion shots, and a couple of implied nude shots, and I changed several times. They were all fashion poses. Donny seemed very happy with how good the photos were. He said I have a natural talent for modelling and that I photograph very well, both of which is exactly what Roland said. So god knows why I hardly ever photograph well in ordinary pics. Then, after about 45 minutes he took a few implied nude shots and told me to look shocked and like I was screaming “Nooo” and covering up. He said I did this really well. It made me giggle though, and I said it was just like my fantasies and it was weird.

He said he needed a break cos his arm was tired, and I drank the Lucozade he’d bought me at the corner shop before arriving at his flat. He went into the kitchen to smoke. Then Donny asked me what my fantasies were and I told him, very briefly – spanking, government torture, rape, etc. He wanted to know how long I’d had them, I told him they arrived fully developed when I was 9 years old. I asked if he ever had any fantasies. Donny said he had to think about it for a bit, because I’m so open-minded that he thinks nothing will shock me but he wants to shock me. Then he came back out of the kitchen and told me about a dream of going into a van full of naked ladies in it when he was 7 which made him really happy, and backl then he “didn’t even know what naked ladies were for”. Sounded like a mobile brothel (like a mobile library) to me!

 

 

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My deleted spanking chats

Hello dear readers,

Although I’ve previously done some stuff on the ol’ internet to protect my anonymity – and I don’t just mean by deleting stuff, as I never post any personal info online – well, in the last couple of days I have been more paranoid and I’m over it now, in fact I want more views to get the message out there (I’m referring to the feminism stuff). The worry ofthe past few days and my newfound intention have resulted in me deleting lots of posts, even stuff that I wrote ages ago to market/link to this blog I now consider a liability because of similar usernames and such. So you readers will get to see a few of them right here because I want to preserve them. They’re mostly excerpts from longer threads.

So here you go:

Okay, my week of being grounded from the computer [by a boy a year younger than me I chat to online about spanking] is up, and I can finally reveal to you people out there in the infinite vastness of […] that on the 27th I was doing a nude photoshoot for a photographer who had commissioned a spanking drawing from me online. I was on all fours and he whacked my butt with a small leather paddle. Then a while later he spanked me with his hand otk on a little black sofa in the studio, (I was naked except for a red bellydancing hip scarf with coins) it didn’t hurt and I closed my eyes because it was so nice, exactly what I’d always dreamed it would feel like. I was so happy! Then he spanked harder, and that was even better. Then I asked him to pretend he was a police officer interrogating me about why I sent the spanking drawing in the mail, and he was spanking really hard and it hurt so I asked him to stop. It was about 5 mins/400 spanks altogether.

And:

User (the other guy I chat to online, he’s 30 and looks 20): I’m wondering, how much are you selling your virginity for? Mine’s for sale too, but it’s very negotiable. I’ll also trade mine for a guitar effects processor, some fried rice, and possibly a diaper change for either party 😛

Me: £8,000 which I guess is like around $16,000. Are you really a virgin or is that just a joke, because I find that very hard to believe? And that would be a very interesting trade-off. I haven’t heard from the guy in a few days, which makes me worry he is regretting the deal (because I can sometimes be paranoid like that) but that’d be stupid of him because he already gave me a £1,000 advance. I’ve started a blog about our journey, I’ll post the link once I get a couple more posts in the blog as there’s only one so far. I would seriously consider buying your virginity if we lived in the same country.

User: 8,000 pounds would be closer to $9,500-10,000. (my keyboard doesn’t have a key for the pound symbol). That’s not just a joke. I’ve done lots of kinky stuff, but I’ve never had actual sex before. People find it hard to believe. They also find my age very hard to believe, but what reason do I have to lie about either? The virgin thing is unfailingly followed by me being ask why that’s so, but that’s not an easy question to answer. The price or trade of my virginity is relative to the means of the potential buyer, but I could only give it up to someone who I think could handle me. I would seriously consider closing the deal with you, but do you think you could handle me?

Me: […] You know, ppl also ask me why I’m a virgin – they can’t believe it because of my confidence and I’m pretty. But the guys I’m into are either not attracted to me or have girlfriends, whereas the guys who are crazy for me are those who I don’t like. Or by the time I make a move on a guy he’s in a relationship. Is it like that for you too? You’re the oldest virgin I’ve known. And sure I believe you, who would raise their age or lie they’re a virgin; it’s usually the other way around for both things. You look younger than me. It’s so cool that we bothhave done kinky stuff that lots of ppl haven’t, but haven’t had sex.

User […] The thought of seeing you face to face makes my heart pound so heavily that I can taste my own pulse. I live in a city with lots of tourist attractions, and if you ever visited I’d give you the royal treatment. So I’m the oldest virgin you know, haha, thanks 😛 Many of my male friends have misconceptions about me that I’m a total player and sleep around a lot, but that’s entirely false. Most the women I meet who are into the same things as me are already in relationships with guys who aren’t. The single women I meet abhor spanking, AB/DL, or anything like that at all, but they still try for me out of physical attraction alone. I consider you to be a generation below me yet we’re so similar 🙂

Okay, I think that’s about it as I didn’t have to delete that much stuff as I thought I did. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

 

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My Roland fantasies

“Baby boy not a day goes by/without my fantasies/I think about you all the time/I see you in my dreams”. Never were truer words spoken.

I fantasise about Roland spanking me and doing other things to me constantly, and I dream occassionally of him spanking me in his house, like I’m replaying the event in my mind. Anyway, because I can’t think of anything else to type, here are my fantasies – except my biggest fantasy, which has to remain secret for the time being. I’m the dominant in that fantasy.

1. Roland picks me up in his car and says we are ging to the studio where he will take pictures of me. Instead, he drives in another direction.I ask him why but he doesn’t answer. “Where are we going?” I ask. He reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out a blindfold and tells me to put it on. I refuse. Roland slows down for a bit, searching for a parking spot. After a few minutes, he parks, pulls out a flick knife and presses it to my neck. “Put on the blindfold,” he orders. I put it round my eyes and try to tie it, but he ties it for me, pulling it tight. Then he drives, though where we are going I have no idea.

Finally he stops, switching off the engine, gets out and helps me out of the car. I feel his hand guiding me to where he wants to go. Finally he removes my blindfold. We’re in the woods – or rather, a patchy bit of wooded area somewhere in Edinburgh. It is a secluded spot.

He makes me get down on my hands and knees and canes me. Then he pulls my jeans down and canes me. It hurts really bad but he won’t stop. He tells me to lean forward, resting on my elbows. I feel like I’m pushing my bottom up, like it wants more. I wish he would stop but he continues, the strokes even harder now. I begin to cry from pain, and the caning stops. Roland sits next to me on the grass and films me crying, a delighted smirk on his fat youthful Roland face. He takes out a small phial from the pocket of his trousers and holds it to my eyes to collect the tears (like the queen – then a rebel slave – did to the previous ruler in my dream, a scene that didn’t make it into Kemet 1). He laughs softly as I whimper and cry.

Then he drags me over his lap and raises a belt; he must’ve taken it off when I wasn’t looking. He thrashes me hard with the belt then puts it back on and uses his hand. It feels like a long time. Roland picks me up and carries me over to a fallen tree, bending me over it with my knees on the grass. He uses the flogger this time, until I’m bawling. Then he forces his large, slightly pudgy thumb up into my bum and it was sore. I squirmed. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel his fingernail deep inside scraping me. I didn’t want this pain. He suddenly withdrew his thumb, and I felt his thing pushing inside me instead, so I wriggled a lot to get away from him, put his hands on my shoulders held me down. I kept wriggling and kicking and then I felt his weight n me so I couldn’t get up, and I cried more until he was finished, which took a long time. Then he jammed a vibrating plug in there and gave me a piece of paper with an address written on it.

“Be there in half an hour, and I’ll take the plug out,” he said. “But if you’re even a minute late, you will be paddled and then I’ll give you an enema.” Then he drove off, leaving me stranded. I read the address and realised I’d never be able to make it in time; I’d need a bus to get there and it probably wouldn’t arrive in time. I didn’t have my bag, phone or any way of getting money out of an ATM, as my bag had been in the car.

I slowly started to walk to the address on the paper, feeling sore with every step. But I’d only been walking about 10 minutes when a horn sounded and I saw Roland’s car parked. I realised he must have deliberately ensured I wouldn’t make it and had no real intention of seeing me try. I got into the car, my bottom stinging as I sat down. Roland was leering at me. He looked intensely happy. He chuckled. “How was your walk? Did you feel sore when you moved? Were you trying to hurry so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences?”

“It hurts more now,” I moaned. “And no, I knew you’d set it up so I’d never have any chance. I just didn’t think you’d be waiting, I thought I’d have to walk for ages.”

Roland patted my leg. “No, I’d never make you walk for that long, especially without your handbag. And it would be a waste of time that I could spend humiliating and depraving you.”

“Looks like I’m in for a good night,” he said, as we drove off.

2. I have Roland naked and suspended from a ceiling. Next to me is an open fire and a rack full of torture instruments, some of which are iron and can be heated in the fire. I also have a car battery with four clips attached to it. There are more electric clips on the table, designed to give off a low voltage, but they are no match for the car battery. I also have some toys and body piercing needles. There are suspension hooks in the ceiling and plenty of rope and wire. I can make piercings in him and suspend him by those piercings if I choose. I hit him as hard as I can with the cane and he screams, begging me to stop. I wonder if it is time to stop; I’ve been torturing him for over six hours now.

The camcorder behind me on the shelf is recording everything but I worry the memory stick will soon be full. I bring out another cane from the torture rack. This one has little bits of glass stuck in it. Roland is already bleeding and I’m interested to see what this cane will do. I have been conducting experiments on him in between torturing, and have a detailed report of my findings neatly typed up; I typed it when I collared Roland and put him on a lead; it was an extension leash so he could go to the bathrom and eat the special Roland food I’d made for him out of his dog bowl, which says ‘Roland’ on it.

I hit him with the cane and he howls; it is so hilarious that I burst out laughing and can’t stop. But as I gradually stop laughing, I’m annoyed to see all the blood everywhere. To stop it falling, I lick it off Roland’s skin while he cries. But I can’t lick fast enough. I grab a bowl and collect the blood. There’s too much blood for me to want to drink it; it disgusts me. And the only blood I will drink is male blood, as it flows – not blood separate from the body, in a bowl. But I have to get rid of it or it will grow bacteria and make the room unhygienic. So I decide to make Roland drink it. He doesn’t want to, but that’s totally okay, as I just pour it down his throat.

Then I make piercings in his balls. I have been spanking and whipping for hours and my hand is tired. I grab a Black & Decker drill, plug it in and turn it on. Roland begins to cry which is really pathetic and funny. I change the memory stick. “Oh god, please no, not that, no,” he whines. I shove it in his ass and then I turn it on.

3. Roland fed me laxatives and gave me an enema and said if I could hold it I wouldn’t need to be put in nappies, but I crapped myself so he changed me into a nappy and baby clothes which barely covered me at all. He fed me in a highchair with more laxatives and diuretics and put me in a playpen. Every time I wet or filled the nappy he would spank me hard and change me. Sometimes he gave me an enema. He took lots of photos and videos. Then he put me to bed and read me a baby book.

 

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BDSM Bella: The knife, the needle and the newbie

So, there’s me on the floor in this big room giving my first blowjob and discovering that far from feeling disgust, I actually enjoy it! It was so much fun seeing the effect I was having on him! It made me feel powerful, and for a moment I fantasised that I could control Roland’s reactions, thoughts and senses completely.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, I told him I couldn’t breathe properly and needed a break. He said that I was good. This made me very happy. I was curious about his cock, it seemed very rubbery to me, like Matt’s. I pressed it in places and moved it around; it surprised me that I could move it to all angles, straight up or to either side, very easily without hurting him.

Growing up, I’d always believed that urine and semen came out of the same hole. But, knowing that they were two different tubes, I had sometimes wondered if they wouldn’t have two separate openings, one nearer to the underside, maybe. I’d never had an opportunity to check either theory, as with Matt it had been outside in the dark and the first time in Roland’s company office I hadn’t been paying attention. As I was moving it up, I asked “where’s the other hole?” and he goes, “What other hole?” so I explained and he said there was only one; two tubes opening into one hole. I said that was disgusting because urine particles might get mixed with semen on ejaculation. I said women were much more hygienically designed; he seemed to agree. He chuckled and said “Well, I’m glad I could give you an anatomy lesson.” I continued to feel and squish different bits of Roland experimentally. It was all new to me. I also wanted to see if the underside of balls had hair, and how hard you could squeeze them, and how they felt when you squashed them or rolled them in your fingers. Roland seemed amused by this exploration; having never been with a virgin, he must never have had a woman experiment like that.

I thought it was quite fascinating, and I got down on all fours and pounced on his thing for a bit, batting it with my hand, doing each pounce from a different spot. It was so much fun!

“You’re like a little cat,” he said, “Come back over here.”

Dunno what happened next, but after a bit we were talking about shaving (why don’t men shave their balls, razors vs waxing) and I said I plucked hairs out of my legs and it’s called trichotillomania and I hate being medicalized as I just do it for fun. I said I go Brazillian because it’s easier as I pluck out so much hair from my pubic area, and he said if I want I could pluck hairs from his balls, and I plucked two, which didn’t hurt him but didn’t satisfy me because the hairs were too long. I only pluck short hairs. I also prefer thick, gel-like white roots or black, sticky roots – not dry small yellow/white roots or no visible roots.

Then I lifted his cock upright, took a needle off the tray. However, when I asked Roland if I put it down the hole as an experiment to see what would happen, he was not keen – even though, if I had dropped it down the hole, he could have urinated it out. Or put his thing in the ‘down’ position so it would fall out. I was all, ‘pleeease?‘ with my best puppy-dog expression, but he wouldn’t budge. He seemed to find it amusing. He said I couldn’t use the needles but I could use the knife. I needed no further encouragement!

I laid the knife against his chest and took it on its glinting dance down to his groin. I was moving its flat side over his balls (at one point he was all ‘owww oww that isn’t flat – HAHA hilarious!) and up and down his cock. After a bit I stretched myself up as far as I could go while kneeling and kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth as I held the blade against his cock. Our tongues writhed and fought and mated like snakes, and my hand was caressing the blade against his flesh.

The above paragraph is in bold because it was my favourite moment of my selling virginity adventure (so far).

Of course, then I just had to make a teeny cut. Roland wouldn’t let me cut, or use the needle to pierce him. He wanted to see me pierce myself, and I attempted to pierce my inner labia but the needle wouldn’t go through. Then he changed his mind and decided that he would try it.

He used the needle to try and pierce his cock to draw blood, and we were trying for ages but it didn’t work. He said that piercing or cutting the skin wouldn’t even draw blood; it needs to be a bigger cut.

“Well, let’s pretend it draws blood,” I said, pretending to stab him, laying the knife aside, applying a smidgen of reddish sauce to the ‘cut’ and saying, “So, you’re bleeding now.” Then I sucked off the sauce. Roland went, “You are a vampire!” as if it was somehow a little bit surprising; I thought I’d given him plenty of clues. And there’s loads of vampires in society, if the internet and vampire porn is any indicator.

I put on more sauce and gave him another blowjob, then I asked if he wanted to spank me again. Soon I was once more over his lap.

 

 

 

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Pranking Roland

I just saw Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom on BBC3, and I thought it was sexy, the whole ripping the heart out thing. The movie was sexist but still great. I do have a certain respect for the Hindu goddess Kali – though she is the Creator and not a bloodthirsty idol as in the movie (though she does have vampiric tendencies which is how she killed the demon Daruka). I named myself Kalika because of her, and also a character in the the book The Last Vampire 5: Evil Thirst by Christopher Pike. I’ve read a couple of academic books on Kali, and she is a very complex and multi-faceted being/idea. My last name, Gold, is from Jacqueline Gold the creator of the Ann Summers chain, and also because I wanted to give myself a colour name and decided it would be Black, Red or Gold. Black sounded too depressing and while Red expressed my personality, it didn’t sound like a real surname.

Anyway, this is how I pranked Roland:

I created a  profile on LinkedIn a couple weeks ago, claiming to be a journalist at the Sun. On my page, I mentioned I’d been promoted for exposing sex scandals. Then I requested to be connected (sort of like adding someone on Facebook) to Roland’s LinkedIn profile. In the message that went with the add, I said stated that I realised this was awkward because I didn’t know him, but that he ws one of only 2 leads for a sex scandal story I was researching and I wondered if he could help me.

I’d put in a few clues for Roland that this was a prank – in my skills section I’d put ‘spanking’ as a skill along with a few real-sounding skills, and I’d put my university as “Bendover college, University of Wisconsin”. However, a few minutes later I began to worry that Roland would be so anxious that he wouldn’t spot the clues, or that he wouldn’t even look at my page. Then he might get pissed off at me for scaring him and not see me again and I’d lose all the money! (Or inadvertently out himself, and perhaps me, through trying to do damage limitation – maybe he would even contact the Sun to lie to them or bribe them.) So I created another profile using the name Kalika Gold and added him, saying in the message that I’d created this profile to tell him that the journalist was me and “haha, I got you for like 5 seconds! Are you going to spank me for it?”

This profile stated I worked at RolandTech as a Lesuire coordinator and that “This role involves a high degree of flexibility, and mainly planning, organising and coordinating entertainment and leisure activities. Forward planning is essential, and is motivation is key. Various positions and planning tools and instruments are utilised to fulfil different objectives.” One of my skills was listed as “spanking millionaires because I hate them so much”.

Anyway, I recieved a reply from Roland to my fake journalist profile, saying “Well you did get me! And yes, you should get what you deserve 🙂 Currently in the US settling a business emergency :/ but will be back early Sept.”

I bet he’ll punish me really hard for this. ;D

 

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