Daddy's proud slut

i proudly wear His marks.

The freckled spots on my breasts from last night, evidence of how He likes to hurt me. Groping, twisting, turning, slapping. Causing me to wince with pain and moan with pleasure.

The pink bite size area on the top of my right breast from two nights ago. Slightly faded but still easily seen. And still sore to touch.

The long pink mark on one side of my neck. Blood drawn to the surface two nights ago, still lingering to remind me that i'm His. That i belong to Him.

My breath quickens, and my cunt aches seeing His marks on me.

Daddy, i proudly wear your marks of control and domination.

Soapy HNT (Part IV)

Today brings the last picture in this series. Parts One, Two and Three can be found here, here & here.

I've deliberately left this one to last because it is my absolute favourite! I hope you all like it as much as I do.

Remember to check out Os to see who else is half-nekkid today!

Thinking about my breasts...

I was wearing a C cup bra when I started high school. By the end of grade 10 I was endowed with a D. And graduation saw me with a DD cup.

I bought bras a couple of months ago in a C cup (the same size as when I was 13 years old) and I've noticed that I now have quite a bit of room in these. Is it possible that I may be looking at a life of B cup bras?

This just blows my mind!

Mini goals of 2008

There have been certain points during my weight loss that I consider to be mini goals. These are personal goals. But these are different from my goals of weighing a certain amount. I’m sure there are some that I’m not even aware of, but these are the ones I am.

- Fitting into a pair of denim shorts that I couldn’t wear because they were too tight (even better that when I thought to try them on, they didn’t just fit, they were considerably loose).

- Fitting into a funky & long denim skirt that had long since been too small because of my chunky thighs. After wearing it for the last time (comfortably) about 6 or 7 years ago, managing to get it over my thighs was more than a joyous occasion.

- Trying on a very nice top of mine that I hadn’t even worn in public, and realising I was swimming in it. This was a sad moment for me.

- Trying on yet another top (night-wear, black & flow-y with rhinestones and cleavage friendly) and desperately realising that never again would I wear this top I loved so much. A top that I couldn’t salvage by taking it in because it was just too damn big on me. This was more of a loss than the previous one. Seriously, it’s hot, and I can’t wear it any more! It’s still hanging in my wardrobe. As is the one previously mentioned.

- Buying a denim mini skirt (or a mini-skirt of any sort for that matter) that fit me and I looked good in. This is my favourite piece of clothing.

- Pulling up at a set of lights and looking down at my feet, noticing how much smaller my thighs were.

- Going back home for Christmas and trying on my semi-formal dresses (15yrs) and my formal (prom) outfit (17yrs) (top and skirt) was another one of these moments. My first semi-formal dress (with tags still attached) I slipped on, looked in the mirror and just beamed. It’s not the nicest of dresses, but this was the one I first chose and then went with another because a) it was a nicer colour and b) it hid my fat better. I looked at the size tag and my jaw dropped in shock. “Was I really that big at 15?” A smile for where I am today, and an ache in my heart for where I was then. A smile for the person I am today, and that ache for who I was then.

- My second semi-formal dress, although as nice as the day I bought it, I was disappointed that it hid my shape. (Yeah go figure, back then it did just what I wanted it to, now…not so much). Although maybe this one I could get taken in.

- My formal outfit was next. It wasn’t until I got my professional photo’s back after formal that I realised (but stuck my head in the sand about) how unflattering it made me look. The photos were taken and my top had bunched up under my boobs, and as any big girl knows, this is not a flattering look. My mum even said (when she first saw the photos) “Oh he (the photographer) should have noticed that and told you to fix it up”. (I love my mum, and I never took this as an insult or anything like that, I still don’t. I understand wholly what she meant when she said it). I buried my head in the sand thinking “yeah he should have” while looking at every other part of the photo and then looking away. “If it wasn’t for that part, I’d look beautiful” was my line of thinking. Anyway, 5yrs down the track, I look at the size tag, surprised it’s the same size I am now (even though I’m 7kg lighter now) and I try it on. The first thing I look at is my boobs. “Holy shit have they shrunk!” (smiles) Next my torso area. “Hang on, it’s loose around there. I distinctly remember having to hold my stomach muscles in when I sat down, but now I don’t have to”. Next was how pretty it was, well it still is. Only been worn once. It really is a lovely outfit. Pretty mauve colour, chiffon on the outside. Ahh…the memories :-)

- And that brings me to my latest mini goal. Tonight I was in the bathroom getting changed when I looked in the mirror at my torso. “No fucking way! There is no fucking way! I must be seeing things. I have to be!” Switch on the light. Fluorescent public changing room light, my long-time foe, we meet again. I looked closer, hoping and wishing that I wasn’t just seeing things; and for once my enemy would do me good not harm. For tonight, I, for the first time ever (that I can remember) have a torso line! (Can I hear the applause?) I. Have. A. Torso. Line. I (casually) raced out to the lounge room where he was watching TV and stood there until he looked at me (not that long, thank goodness) and said “Check this out!” as I pointed and explained. He looked, smiled and congratulated me. He didn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure I could see pride in his eyes.

Women, do you agree?

We are women.
We are beautiful. (I am beautiful, so are you).
We have curves.

I am talking about bigger women. (I will not use the "F" word).
I love my bigger body size, I do not want to model a praying mantis.

Yes we are different to other women...but all women are different to one another.

When the general population is larger...why is it that we are still feeling the pressure to be (unnaturally) thin?

It has taken me years to be able to say that I love my body, and who I am.

I love my curves, my larger hips and my big boobs. I love my bum! I love that I feel sexy in my own skin. I love to look at myself in the mirror (and the view is getting better everyday). I love to run my hands over my body, feeling my curves, embracing them. I am a big women. I will never be petite. And I don't care. I want to be bigger. I want to have big boobs and womanly hips.

I am not shy. I love to show off. I love low cut tips that accentuate my assets. I love to wear short skirts that show off my bum. I know I'm sexy. I know that I get looked at when I go out (wearing normal clothes eg. jeans and shirt). I know men check me out, I see them doing it. And I'm not the only one they look at. I see men checking out bigger women, watching their arse wobble a little as they walk. Watching their fuller frames as they saunter through the shopping centre. Zeroing in on their breasts, bouncing as they stroll along.

Big women are beautiful.
Big women are sexy.
Big women are checked out.
Big women are picked up.
Big women are having sex.
Big women are having wild sex.
Big women are being proposed to.
Big women are married.
Big women are wanted.
Big women are needed.
Big women are loved.

Slutty Masturbating Lucy

I was originally going to write this as two separate entries, but I changed my mind. (I'm a woman, it's our prerogative, don't ya know? ;-D ) These two events tie in to one another, and that's why I'm going to write about them together.


There was nothing special or out of the ordinary about this day. It was just like any other day. Well that's what I thought, until it happened.

I was lying on my back, in bed masturbating. (Nothing unusual). Normally I like to lie on my back when I play, but this day I wanted something different. I wanted a change. So I switch positions. I'm now kneeling, my arse in the air, and with my head to the side, on the pillow. With one hand I'm diddling my clit, with the other I'm pumping my favourite vibrator in and out of my cunt. He'd been coming in and out of the room, checking in on me. Master likes to watch me when I play. It was when He was out of the room that I decided to switch positions. He came back in and was surprised to find me no longer on my back. (Very, very rarely do I masturbate not lying on my back).

I continue masturbating as He decides to stay with me. By this point, I had been masturbating for a while and was edging myself closer to cumming. I could feel the pleasure rising when He decides to give me a hand. For no other reason except that He can, He decided to start giving me a spanking. I was a little taken by surprise but pleased He was joining in. And to be honest, it shouldn't have been that surprising, given that my arse was presented in the perfect position for obtaining a spanking.

He started with His hand. Although He worked up to the harder hits, it didn't feel as if He started very soft. I love pain, I am a pain slut so it didn't come as any great surprise that Him spanking me would fuel my arousal. I could feel myself getting closer each time He hit my arse. And then He stopped. I couldn't see Him, but I could hear that He was looking for something, rummaging around. And then I heard it. That unmistakable sound. The sound that sent shivers down my spine and made my cunt drip that little bit more. (Okay, a lot more). He was pulling His belt from His work pants. I knew what was coming and I wanted it. I knew it would hurt more this time than any other. I knew He was going to hit me harder than He had before. And there was that delicious feeling of wanting it happen, but also being apprehensive about how hard it was going to be. (I should mention here that although He has spanked me before, on multiple occasions, the belt has not been a tool that He has used seriously. Up until this point, He had only playfully hit me with it.)

I didn't miss a beat and never stopped masturbating, even when the first hit came. It hurt, it stung, and above all else it fueled my need to continue. I kept furiously rubbing clitty and fucking myself with my beloved plastic lover. My speed increased as the belt continued to land on my arse, sometimes moving higher, other times moving lower. And then it happened. My body loved Him hitting me with his belt so much that I came over and over again. That wonderful mix of pleasure and pain had sent me over the edge. Sure my arse was red and tender, but it wasn't until later that I realised that from His spanking, He had bruised me. Now, I've had bruises from Him before, but nothing like this! And I couldn't help myself from looking at my bruised arse whenever I had the chance. I even went clothes shopping the next day and got an awesome view in the change room mirror. And I just HAD to take photo's to document the occasion.

He had marked me, and every time I sat down I was reminded of that.


Skip ahead a few days ahead to yesterday. I was His good little girl as usual and was sitting on the floor, watching Him stroke His nice hard cock while He watched other women masturbate. When instructed I went ahead with my duties as the good sub that I am. I was eager. I always am. I just love it when He pulls my head into His balls and instructs me to lick and suck. I helped Master shoot His load while He was thinking of fucking those women.

We migrated to the bedroom to continue my fun. He lay down beside me and started playing with my breasts and nipples. My left nipple was sore, but my right was normal, thus began the gentle touches and caresses on the left and the rough and hard on the right. (It never ceases to amaze me just how much more sensitive my nipples are since I've had them pierced.) I love Him being rough with me and I especially love Him being rough with my nipples and tits. Not much attention was paid to my left breast, as it was obvious from my moaning and picking up the speed in which I was fucking myself, that I was enjoying the roughness far more than I was the gentle caresses. He started counting down. He was giving me four minutes to get myself off. When He reached 0, I was to cum. I failed. I wasn't ready yet. I wanted it to last longer. I was bad. He was disappointed with me. I hadn't done as I was told.

It was then that He stopped. He got up, stood at the door and told me that given that I hadn't cum, it was obvious that I wanted it to last longer. "You'll be punished at a later date for not obeying me" He said. He put the alarm cock on my side of the bed, checked if I could see it without my glasses and told me that I had to continue masturbating for another 30minutes. I could cum as many times as I liked, but my plastic lover had to be in my cunt and turned on at all times. "And I want you to lay here thinking about what a bad little girl you've been." He told me that He would be coming back to check I wasn't cheating. "Cheating?" I asked. "Just to see that you aren't lying there after you've cum just enjoying the sensation". I nodded my head just before He walked out.

It sounds wonderful doesn't it? This isn't punishment, He's giving me exactly what I want, right? I wanted to masturbate for longer, and He's telling me to do exactly that. Wrong. You see as much as I wanted to continue, I didn't want to have to do it in someone else's time. I wanted to continue, but stop when I wanted. That was not to happen.

Five minutes into the 30 minutes and I was already so close. I was so aroused from helping with His jerk and from the pain He had inflicted on my breast earlier that I was finding it rather difficult to stop myself from cumming. I only had the vibe on medium, but with how aroused I was, even that was making me want to cum. I had a choice. 1) I hold off from cumming and draw out the pleasure I was feeling. Or 2) I could push myself over the edge to orgasm and then keep masturbating until time was up. I debated my choices for quite awhile (while still continuing to follow His orders). My decision was made. This was feeling WAY too good for me to ease off. I wanted to orgasm. I wanted to shudder and shake and cry out in pleasure. And I wanted that NOW! I orgasmed hard and I orgasmed long. I cried out because it was feeling too good to stay quiet. And then I continued masturbating. He came in not long after my orgasms and as I looked up at Him with my happy smiling face He said "Good girl", His eyes scanning my body. He stayed to watch.

Closer to time being up, He stands beside the bed, looking over me and says "Oooh not long now. Only a few minutes and you'll have to stop". I groan. By this point I had worked myself up and wanted to cum again. (That was expected wasn't it? Given that I was being forced to masturbate). He starts helping me. Being rough with my breasts, biting me all over my neck and shoulders. This helps. Of god how I love it when He hurts me. It didn't take long for all the stimulation to do the trick. In no time I was panting and crying out, enjoying the pleasure and pain that had edged me closer. I orgasmed as He manipulated my breast and nipple and continued biting me. Mmmm...such sweet times.

Soon after I notice little red spots on my breast. They're nothing unusual after rough play. He notices that I have also acquired my first love bite. (Not as bad as it could have been, but still obvious if not covered). It's what I noticed later that surprised me. On the outer side of my breast was a bruise. And I'm talking serious dark blue kinda bruise. Now this I've never had. This He's never done before now. The bruise itself is a bit bigger than the circle you make when putting together your thumb and middle finger (on the same hand obviously). 21hours later it's spread out a little, it's still just as dark and is quite tender. It's an eyesore, it's a true bruise. But again I can't stop looking at it. Just as I couldn't stop looking my bruised arse (and those bruises were nothing compared to this sucker).

I am a pain slut. I love it when He marks me. For in that moment, not only do I have the memory. But for days to come I'm reminded of Him whenever I see the marks.

Bondage

Your Bishop Bondage Position Now you're nice and secure. Do you think you can get away? You better be careful because it can get so much worse. How would you be tied up? Take the Bishop Bondage Test (only 4 questions)

I found this over at Thursday's Blog and thought I'd give it a go. Hmm...the thought of Him tying me up again...oh how I miss that. I miss how my tits look when they are all tied up. I'm sure it would look better now that my nipples are pierced.

Wonder if He would do that to me soon if I asked?



Lucy