Mark Me

My Master’s instructions at the weekend are all about change. There’s the change that having never had any interest in having sex with women before that I’ve rarely been as excited about the thought of her.

Then there’s the change of getting another piercing. I’m starting with my upper ear on his instruction as he reminded me that he finds those ear piercings a good indicator of both sluttiness and poor decision making.

The former he encourages in me, the latter he seems to be helping me do less regularly. But there’s no harm in combining them occasionally so tomorrow I plan to visit the piercer again and mark my body visibly again with his orders.

It’s the perfect addition to my new daily sign of my smaller more defined waist that shows his ownership and training of me. I was wearing my tightest corset the other night and my Master could only pull it about half a centimetre tighter than I had done myself because my waist has changed so much.

I need to think about starting to size down to the 24 inch corset if I’m to keep enjoying the feel of him lace me into it. I adore the feeling of him literally dictating the pace of my breathing and the shape of my body as he tightens and ties it. The fact his wife was licking my clit as he did it this time enhanced that shiver of pleasure all the more.

But afterwards I knelt on the bed in my corset and catsuit in front of both of them and he measured my waist with a measuring tape to see what size it’s been trained to. Fully laced into the red corset and with the allowance for boning of it, there’s now a 9 inch different between my hips and my waist compared to a 5 inch difference last September.

At this rate I will definitely tick training my waist down to 24 inches off my list by the end of the year….

Mark Me

Pierce Me

Pierced nipples in 3/4 cup bra and corset

Speaking of getting my nipples pierced being a turning point for me in D/s, it’s in fact a whole year since I got them done for my Master.

We’d never discussed anything like that before and then in a relatively casual conversation one afternoon, he told me he was thinking of having my nipples pierced. I’m not sure if he was expecting some negotiation or bargaining or simply refusal from me but by tea time I’d booked the appointment to have them done.

In fact I’d have actually had them pierced that day if I hadn’t gone to a work meeting and got sidetracked by working with a guy from my hometown. What should have been a quick chat ended up in a long involved conversation that felt so distinctly flirty the person I’d actually gone to meet had to drag my attention back to him in a most unsubtle way and ask the other guy to leave and go back to work.

I’d been so busy flirting it wasn’t until he was being shooed out of sight and the conversation was being wound up that we caught each other’s names. There was the kind of pause no one could fail to miss and he bolted.

Time and age might play tricks on you, but sometimes you never forget a name. Especially when it’s the one of the first person who ever fucked you in the ass. I might not have recognised him until I heard it out loud again, but it suddenly made sense why there had been that sense of chemistry all afternoon.

One of the most unexpected and yet memorable weekends of my teens had been spent fucking him every which way and I’m still not sure if the pause was embarrassment at not recognising each other sooner or because we both remembered the occasion so well when we did.

Either way it left me too flustered and short of time to get my nipples pierced the same day so in the end I had to wait a week before I could have them done. Seven whole days of anticipation to follow the biggest order my Master had given me to date.

And in the end, the actual piercings were easier than I expected. The first one hurt like hell and the second gave me the most incredible rush of adrenaline and endorphins. I’ve never been so aware of my nipples as I was walking home with the most intense mix of pleasure and pain in them.

I couldn’t wait to show them to my Master, especially knowing I was sending him the photo of them to him while he was at work. I loved how they looked immediately and can’t imagine going back to my less sensitive nipples without the piercings in.

It doesn’t feel like a year ago, but that does mean they are now fully healed and once I obey the rest of my Master’s orders, that means my piercer will let me get my tongue done next…

Pierce Me

Picking Up The Pace

I’m not quite sure why I’m in such nostalgic mode this week. I don’t know if I’ve just got sucking cock on my mind because I haven’t had as much opportunity to do it recently as I’d like and that’s got my memories putting the effort in, but it made me look back at some old messages from my Master all the same.

And I think some of my reminiscing is because it was around this time last year that I realised my relationship with my Master wasn’t just an enjoyable erotic fling but an actual D/s dynamic.

I know it sounds almost ridiculous now, but I didn’t think of myself as at all kinky when I met my Master. Not because I thought there was anything weird about being kinky but more because I had very narrow ideas of what kinkiness was and that I wasn’t the ‘right’ kind of person for it.

At risk of making myself sound much older than I am, I came of age before the internet was widespread and in an environment where women enjoying sex was transgressive without complicating it further.

Kink was so far off that it never really occurred to me it could affect me. It was Robert Mapplethorpe photography and tales of San Francisco and leather bars. It was always gay men and whips and pain and where I grew up men told women what to do in every sphere of life anyway.

I didn’t know that Dominance and submission existed. S&M got mentioned, never D/s and wrongly I assumed that to be kinky you liked pain. It didn’t help that all the people I knew who did inhabit the now named BDSM scene tended to be gay men who embraced leather and being beaten so I thought it wasn’t my world.

Aware that plenty of other people (wrongly) thought them ‘freakish’ in kinds of ways, I didn’t want to add to it by quizzing them about their lives while they assumed that to be so comfortable with them, I must share some of their world and so the subject just never got discussed between us.

So I continued having many interesting sexual encounters with people I didn’t date and didn’t particularly like as people as they were often domineering assholes with their clothes on but yet I couldn’t seem to stop getting naked with them.

But if they were always nice and sweet and wanted to share everything equally, I liked them immensely as people but never craved them sexually the same way. I assumed I had dreadful taste in men and left it at that.

And then I met my Master and something was different right from the start. At first I thought it was the fact we didn’t fuck for several months after meeting, then I thought it was because it was non monogamous and then after almost six months, it dawned on me.

It was because this was D/s. I’d been so busy trying to decipher something that felt very complicated that I’d missed the simplest explanation. He liked taking charge and dominating me and I liked him doing it. I was exactly the right kind of person for it now I knew what the hell it was.

The clues were there. We’d had a conversation about it all when things had gone from flirty texts to full on fucking in the space of a few days and I still hadn’t got it because I was still thinking the concept of kink was the complicated bit, not the doing it.

It wasn’t until things got to the point of being blindfolded and getting wetter than anything else had ever made me before and ordering me to get my nipples pierced that the penny dropped for me.

Being a very slow learner I’d been mixing up kink and vanilla the whole time and not doing either particularly well. Luckily my Master took charge and brought me right up to speed…


Picking Up The Pace


I am clearly contrary because as soon as I finished my Master’s task of wearing the wig and the butt plug every time I went out for a month, I missed the wing despite having struggled so much with the task for the whole time.

So I was relieved when he gave me a new selection of tasks this week. Some more Craiglist ads, research into the hair removal that will keep me smooth and slutty permanently and looking into more waist training.

I love the structure of tasks. There’s something about the rules and small achievements and goals of them. It’s a cumulative action of submission. Each step, each attention to detail is submission to my Master. It’s a reinforcement of how much I trust him and want to please him.

Considering what my submission means to me and to him helps me be a better more attentive sub and it’s also helping me construct an idea for my next encounter with another woman. My Master is the only person I submit to. His training of me is as much proving to me that he earns my submission through his actions and behaviours as me actually submitting to him.

I’m intrigued, under his supervision and encouragement, to look for something like that with another woman and see the skills that go into domination for myself, literally first hand…


Look at Me

Seeing as Saturday ended up being a day close to home (and close to the bone) I decided I needed to try something different for Sunday.

My Master sets me many varied tasks to complete and the one I struggle with every single time is the wig. I’ve had short hair my entire adult life. The longest it’s been in two decades is jaw length and the shortest is a number one. These days I hover in between.

So wearing my hair long enough to graze my waist is such a challenge. It completely changes how I look and how I feel. And I find it so incredibly impractical as well at times. I just not used to having hair in my face.

It’s taken quite a while to get used to wearing it at all because it took that time to work why my Master tells me to do it. But since I turned into Candi, I’m starting to rather like it. The feel of the hair brushing against my back as I get dressed immediately starts to get me in the mood and into my role.

I’ve been enjoying my new hair on the shoots I’ve done and the dates I’ve been on and when I’m with my Master, but I’ve still been struggling with wearing it when I’m with people I’m not sexual with.

I have enjoyed it on occasion like meeting some mutual friends of mine and my Master’s after he’d fisted and fucked me on my living room floor and then sent me off for birthday drinks with black hair for the first time. It looked and felt great and I couldn’t work out why it was didn’t work so well the next time.

Turns out sucking my Master’s cock until he came in my mouth before going out for cocktails meant my lips were exactly the right shade of red to suit black hair and pale skin and it took a while to find the equivalent in Boots.

And it also took a while to get the nerve to wear something I now so closely associate with sex when I’m out and about being non sexual. Admitting to myself I’m very rarely non sexual these days when wearing a waist trainer and no underwear daily helped match the two identities up more.

So on Sunday I decided to wear Candi’s black hair with my own clothes and go somewhere no one knew me to help get used to it. I’d heard about a tattoo exhibition at the Museum of London and thought I might pick up some useful information for my own tattoo that’s on my list for this year.

Once I got past the slight awkwardness of having my bag with the fist toy and a bottle of lube searched at the front door, it turns out wandering round  was exactly what I needed to do to get used to my new look. Concentrating on the exhibits distracted me nicely apart from noticing the occasional glance from men as I flicked my ponytail over my shoulder.

Wearing such feminine hair with much more hard femme clothes felt just right and I almost didn’t want to take it off when I got home. It’s helping nuture my growing exhibtionism nicely. I’m definitely not going to be growing my own hair, but I did just order an even longer wig…

Look at Me

Pussy Cat

I was planning a very sedate weekend but my Master’s order that I would go out each of the three days wearing one of my wigs and use the fist toy while I was there added a certain something to all my plans.

Saturday was one of those days you need to do practical stuff. I tried to get a table in between in my favourite cafe where they know me so well there was no chance they wouldn’t notice my new black hair instantly and ask questions. But all my nerves were for nothing as all the tables were full when I went.

The only other place I had to be before a friend called round to mine for a drink in the evening was calling in to feed my friend’s cat nearby. While the cat hid in fear after not recognising me with my new hair, I checked my email to see if any of the messages I’d sent on FetLife had replied. No luck. Probably all having brunch in the cafe I’d tried to go to.

But I had a task to complete with the fist toy while I was out. And if a cafe was out of question, I was going to have to take advantage of the fact my friend’s flat was empty and the cat wasn’t even watching.

The idea of fisting myself in my friend’s house felt both illicit and inappropriate with that mixture of getting wet at the thought of it and feeling it was somehow wrong. For some reason I’d have felt more comfortable with it in her living room but her neighbours slightly over look it and her blinds aren’t especially good.

It would have to be in her bedroom instead. Knowing I had been set the task, I’d worn a skirt and stockings and I knelt down on top of her duvet and rode the fist with my feet pressing down into the bed as I moved back and forth to fuck myself for five minutes.

It felt incredibly wrong in my mind and yet from how wet I was and how easily the fist toy slipped into me, my pussy clearly didn’t agree. It felt like being a teenager again. All muffled noises and secrecy as you learn how to make yourself come quietly. It took a lot of willpower to stop before that stage.

I put the toy back in my bag, pulled my skirt down over my aching wet cunt and smoothed the duvet out so you couldn’t see any dents from my knees or my toes digging into it. I was so busy hiding the evidence of my inappropriate afternoon, that I was five minutes down the road when I realised I’d forgotten to feed the bloody cat after all that…

Pussy Cat