Tag : in-heart-and-soul

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i can’t believe you called my hogwarts house “a bunch of hot headed wankers”. I’m not even *allowed* to wank… :)

Okay but, you’ve read the books, right?

And you CAN wank, you just can’t finish… well unless you’re a prefect, they have special rules.

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DPNOM: just received an e-mail from Lovehoney that said “Black Friday is coming… and so will you!” Sounds like a promise they can’t keep…

Let’s prove them wrong


Oh my recommended dildo is in their Black Friday sale reduced to just $16 – highly recommended if you’re after a good quality, nicely sized silicone suction cup dildo!

Plus I love purple.

Offers change three times a day by the look of it so keep checking back.

And post here if you find any bobby bargains!

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I like my bush.

I like not shaving. I like that it doesn’t take any effort – I like that I feel grown-up and independent and strong. I like that it makes me feel like I am making my own decisions about my body. I like that he would never tell me to shave it off.

But when he edges me. When he makes me edge until my mind breaks. When I touch myself for hours listening to a hypnosis recording. I suddenly want it gone. I want to be smooth. I want to be soft.

It makes me feel juvenile. It makes me feel like a little baby, a girl who’s not even got hair down there yet, a girl who’s too small to make her own decisions. It takes away my strength and my independence and makes me soft, submissive, pliable. I want to do as I’m told.

He would never tell me to shave it off, but he loves it when I do. “Good girl. I like you completely bare,” he says, and I can’t hide my wetness anymore so I drip and I ache and I suffer for him, and we both love it more than we can say.

It makes it even harder not to touch. It makes anal only even more unbearable. I don’t know why I make this worse for myself. I ache to touch my clit but instead slowly fuck my ass.

“If you want to touch your clit, just touch your nipples,” he whispers. “I know it doesn’t feel as good, but you have two to make up for it.”

I hate it. I want to touch. I don’t want to be anal only and I don’t like that he’s decided this for me.

I used to be strong and independent. I used to decide when to cum.

I don’t decide anymore. I don’t want to decide anymore. He decides when I cum. He decides when I touch. He decides when to keep me anal only.

I hate it, and I love it. I want to stop it, but I want to be a good girl. I want to touch, but I want to do as I am told. I want to be submissive. I want to be smooth. I want to be soft.

He’s made me soft.



I didn’t want to come from anal.

I don’t know why. I believed I wouldn’t be able to, and i didn’t want to try. When he told me I couldn’t touch anymore, that I couldn’t edge anymore until I learn to cum from anal, I was upset.

I told him he was being too mean. Ironic that I, the girl who begged him for cruelty, the girl who swoons when he is cold, would tell him that it was too much, but it was too much. It had been four days of anal only, and I was breaking. I was fragile.

I came home last night, needing him, wanting him, aching for his attention, his care. And he was gentle, sweet. And he said “I found something special for you, baby.”

The recording.

The perfect recording.

Within seconds my mind was fading. Hypnosis is one of those things that I never thought I was into, but works amazingly well on me. Sometimes I forget how to cum. Sometimes I forget my own name. Sometimes I’m just his dirty plaything.

The first time he didn’t even let me touch. I sat there, my legs spread, my eyes closing, my mind fading, my cunt leaking. The second time he let me hump and I humped like I never have before. I came so close, but I couldn’t cum, he wouldn’t let me cum. When it ended, I cried. The third time I was back to anal only.

I listened a few more times but by then my mind was mush. I couldn’t think. I think I cried a bit. He wouldn’t let me touch no matter how much I begged. I listened for more than two hours, over and over and over again, and then I broke.

The aftercare was good. He still wouldn’t let me touch, but I clung to him, wanting him, needing him. He owns me, and I couldn’t do anything except submit to him. My whole mind was his. My whole body gave everything over to him.

It was perfect. 

But he said I was still on anal only.

We continued today. There’s so much more that happened today. The crotch rope. The menthol. How much I cried and begged and argued. How scared I got, and how he comforted me. He was so mean to me. I told him I had an idea, and he said “I don’t want to hear it”, and if I could’ve touched, I would’ve cum from just that. 

I begged to touch my clit while I was fucking my ass. I told him it would feel better if I could touch my clit while fucking my ass.

“I don’t care. Shut up, you little anal whore and fuck it. Your cunt is out of bounds.”

I cried. I thought about safewording. I told him I wanted to safeword but I also didn’t want to stop it. Eventually, as he soothed me, I calmed down, and I plugged my ass again. 

And then, a few hours later, I got some bad news. News we were expecting, but which made me sad anyway. I tried not to shatter, but there were some cracks. I asked to touch again. I begged to touch again.

And after making me listen to the recording one more time, he said yes.

And then I couldn’t stop. I edged, and I listened, and I edged, and I listened again, for hours. Hours, until my clit was sore. I told him it was time to stop, and he said no, keep going. I told him I was getting sore, and he said good. I told him I’d had enough touching and he said, maybe I’d learn to do as I am told then. He said he wanted me on anal only. He said I was a bad girl.

The cracks broke further. I listened to the recording again. And I shattered.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please. Please Sir. I’m sorry. I want to be a good girl. Make me a good girl again. I’m sorry.”

He shushed me. “I know you are. Make your clit suffer for me.” 

Who knew touching could turn out to be a punishment. 

I got close, so close, too close. I apologised and I begged and I edged and I suffered.

“Good girl,” he finally said, and relief washed over me. I was his good girl again.

“Good girl. That’s enough for today. Anal only again tomorrow.”

I didn’t want to cum from anal only. I didn’t think I could, and I didn’t want to try.

He made me edge until my mind broke.

I still don’t think I can. 

He made me edge until my mind broke.

I am still scared of being on anal only.

He made me edge.

I still don’t want to be on anal only.

But for him. For him, I’ll try.



I want to do what he tells me.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when it’s not what I want.

Even when it hurts me.

I don’t get angry if he says no.

I asked to cum yesterday. No, I begged. “Please can I cum? Please please please ❤️”

“Why?”, he asked.

I tried to argue that I’d been really well-behaved – that i had not only reached, but exceeded the goals I’ve set for myself. That I was really horny and he almost never says yes. That I was a good girl and I needed to and I deserved to.

It didn’t work.

“You can have a ruin. I don’t want you cumming this month.”

My world crashed, and my hope shattered, and I nearly cried. I was so desperate to cum I could barely think, and a ruin would make it worse, and he knew it would.

But this is the height of my submission.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when I don’t want to.

Even when I ache for more.

I don’t argue.

“Yes Sir. Thank you.”

He smiles. “Good girl.”

Good girl.

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The Secret Workings

It was all very confusing.

“Tell me about the-um-outfit we will be wearing again?”

Mother Rose gave the young Petitioner a patient tight-lipped smile.

“The Petitioner’s Rags. The outside world has set up a hierarchy of what we are to expose in public and what should be hidden. Which parts of our body are acceptable and which are shameful. We reject this. The costume of initiation subverts that order. You will be wrapped in soft tea-stained cloth around your arms and legs, neck and belly. The cloth will have baby’s breath woven into it as well as beads and mother of pearl. We will cover your body except that which the world has told you to be ashamed of. Your breasts and pubis will be exposed. You’re hair, which many religions want to cover, will also be exposed,” Mother Rose explained as she brushed Mona’s dark locks.

Mona nodded, though she wasn’t sure she understood. There was so much of the Initiation that she didn’t understand, but it all seemed very important, and she had been told it was all tradition.

“And, the Ritual of Preparation-” Mona started, but Mother Rose silenced her with a sigh.

“The Rite of Arraignment. You really should read the material more carefully, Petitioner,” Mother Rose said, tugging the girl’s hair a bit as she brushed it harder.

Mona frowned. She did read the material. It was just a lot to read, and she was also writing papers as she got ready to finish her master’s degree.

“Right, yes, the Rite. That involves a lot of bathing? And, um, shaving?”

Mother Rose let out another slightly exasperated sigh.

“In accordance with the ancient text, you shall remove all of your earthly vestments before entering the Temple. You shall be guided by three of the keepers of the Temple to the consecrated pools and bathed in steaming hot rose-scented water. Then you shall be taken to the Hall of Purification. There your nails will be trimmed and cleaned. Your hair will be brushed and set. Your body will be oiled and massaged. And yes, your legs and pubis will be shorn, to be pleasing in the eyes of the old gods. It was the way in ancient Egypt, you know?” Mother Rose explained.

Mona did remember reading something like that once. She bit her lip. The idea of someone shaving her was both frightening and somehow exhilarating.

“Alright, now, I’m done with your, hair, let’s give you one last examination before you go,” Mother Rose said, guiding Mona to her feet.

Mona was pretty, if a bit awkward. She stood pigeon-toed in front of the somewhat older woman. She straightened her summer dress, light and floral, pink and red. Her dark hair tickled her bare shoulders.

The examinations were some of the most frustrating things she did when she visited the temple. She knew it was important though. Every time she learned another lesson. She learned that her body was not her own, but every day it belonged a little more to the Order.

Mother Rose clicked her tongue, and Mona gathered the soft cotton of her dress and pulled it up.

Mona closed her eyes as strong hands started at her knees and traced patterns on her skin. The smell of Mother Rose’s perfume made Mona dizzy. The way she pinched her inner thigh a little smarted, but told her to open her legs more.

She felt warm, suddenly embarrassed because she was sweaty, her skin sticky. Mother Rose didn’t seem to care.

“Let’s just take these down for a moment,” Mother Rose said in a whisper.

Then Mona bit her lip as she felt her panties being pulled down a little, just to her knees. She concentrated on holding her dress up and keeping her legs open.

Mother Rose’s fingers like feather up her inner thighs, up up, just to that little crook at the very top of each leg. Then softer touches, over the hair between her legs. She would miss her hair. She liked to see the splash of dark between her pale thighs when she looked at herself in the mirror.

The thought suddenly of people taking it away made her conflicted. She thought of it again. Yes, “taking it away.” Making her do it. Changing her in a small secret way to meet their requirements.

Mother Rose’s thumb was pressing down in a little circle, just a little too high to give her real pleasure but so close it started that cycle in her. Before she knew it, her hips were pushing towards the other woman, and Mona heard a low little chuckle.

Mother Rose’s fingers moved down, down, and then slipped just millimeters between Mona’s lips. Mona tried to stifle a gasp. She readied herself for some small penetration. She tried not to beg for it or hide from it.

But it never came. Mother Rose’s fingers just paused at the precipice and stopped.

“Very good, that will be all,” she said.

Mona’s face felt very hot. She let her dress fall. She awkwardly pulled her panties back up.

Mother Rose’s back was turned, she was fixing something on her table of tools and books and herbs.

“I will see you at the ceremony, Petitioner,” she said curtly, and Mona turned to get her things.

“We will need your inner power to be at its apex,” Mother Rose said as Mona neared the door.

She came to Mona with a small satin bag.

“In this bag is a small chain of beads,” she said, pulling it out.

It was delicate, with colorful glass beads, mostly small and smooth with larger ones every inch or so.

“Like a Rosary?” Mona asked.

Mother Rose frowned.

“Perhaps the Rosary is like this. This is a tool for concentration and for amplifying your power. Hold it in one hand as your other hand-” Mother Rose smiled.

“Edge while you hold it. One time for every large bead. Hold it tight as you bring your body near to climax and stop. Focus on the bead between your fingers. Wait. Then go to the next bead. When you come to us for the ceremony I want to primed. I want energy coursing through you. I want you desperate for your Initiation.”

Mona kept her eyes on the beads as to not meet the woman’s steely gaze.

“Yes Mother Rose,” she whispered and took the gift.

An edging rosary. 

Loving that, whole story but the edging rosary, damn. Stealing that!


No touch

JuNO was going pretty well. I was horny but not unbearably – I achieved my fitness goals and rewarded myself with a ruin on Sunday. I sat in the hot tub for a while, soaking my sore muscles, and went to bed feeling very relaxed.

And woke up in pain. I should have known the hot tub would screw up my ph levels – My vagina is very sensitive to changes like this. I did buy medicine, but it takes three days to work.

And so i’ve been on no touch for three days.

JuNO was going pretty well. Until now. It’s taken a long time to get me here, but he’s worked hard to make no touch a good experience for me. It wouldn’t have a year ago, but it does keep me mentally engaged enough now.

And I’m horny. Unbearably so. And I couldn’t touch, because it hurts too much. I’m getting better now but this extreme horniness is… in a strange way quite nice.

I’m so desperate I could cry. I’m so desperate I have cried.

I think this is how he wants me.

I think this is how I want to be, too.

It is, good girl!


My last orgasm

I’m so happy I am allowed to cum today. It feels so good, and i wish I could always cum, but my mind doesn’t work like that.

A few days ago, I begged him to be nice to me and let me cum, and he said no. “You don’t want nice”, he said. “Nice doesn’t soak your panties or make your heart race. Nice doesn’t make that ever widening hole between your legs ache to be used. Nice doesn’t turn you on. Does it, fucktoy?”

And I swooned. “No Sir,”

“Tell me what you asked for.”

“I asked you to be cruel, Sir.”

“Do you still want that?”

“Yes, Sir…”

So I didn’t cum.

But today, I can. Today I press my vibrator against my clit and I don’t stop. Today I cum hard and loud, and I am grateful and I am satisfied.

Tomorrow JuNO starts. It was positively revolutionary last year, so I am very excited to do it again. I have more experience now, but I am still nervous: I don’t actually have a very good edging routine, and I have quite a lot of ruins. This month, I will try to follow the rules.

This month I want to work on my confidence. I want to feel more comfortable in my skin again, more pleased with my body, more peaceful in my soul. This month I want to find satisfaction in denial and submission. I want to experiment a bit more with dressing up and forcing myself to edge in the mirror. I want to feel happy, horny, desperate and owned.

These are all huge goals. And i am nervous. But so, so excited.

Let’s do this. I’m a denial slut. I promise not to cum for 30 days. X

Her last orgasm…