the lamentations of little red

Almost no one called me little red except Mr. Wolf.  I didn’t entirely enjoy it even when he did it.  Not because it wasn’t a perfectly acceptable variation of my scene name but because part of my brain said he didn’t earn the right to reduce me.  I know that’s borderline crazy. He was my dom at the moment so he could call me whatever he liked.  That’s quite true but it didn’t change the feeling at all.  If you knew and loved him, this post isn’t really about him, and I won’t detail our breakup any more than it ended because it needed to end.  What it taught me though was a lesson I wasn’t quite accepting at that time.  Like I knew my connections had to be on a certain wavelength but I assumed my will would be enough to allow me to settle into my role and I was wrong.  What I have been able to crystalize in the last few years is that I’m a pain to top/lead/handle/date.  I am one of the most low-maintenance psychological connection craving masochistic* little girl humiliation kink having fuck dolls you will ever encounter.  If you were confused reading that I was equally confused figuring it out.  And I’ll explain why masochistic has an asterisk on it in a bit.

With most people and in most of my dynamics, I have not been the girl that needs to talk to you daily.  Shit I may not have time to unless you catch me on the computer while I’m doing something else.  Hearing my partner’s voice daily has never been a requirement for me to behave.  With some people hearing it more often would have just gotten me in trouble.  I gave another partner control of vibrator via an app.  I was grateful that it never worked the way it was supposed to because he liked tormenting me.  Within 48 hours of us connecting I was nude in my bed masturbating for him while he watched me shove things in my body.  When he couldn’t join me live, I recorded and shared the evidence with him, often distressed that I couldn’t fuck myself long enough or hard enough with the chosen implements.  When the right material turns me on, we got 7 or 8 minutes tops and then I’m gonna be cumming hard.  And fucking myself means one good hard orgasm not multiple.  When he assigned that as homework, by the tenth orgasm I was frustrated and bored because it wasn’t taking the experience anywhere new for me.  I did it though because I wanted to prove the depth of my devotion.  I wanted him to be pleased.  I wanted him to know that making him happy is what made me drip.  My orgasms were ultimately his to control and he did.  I loved it and ultimately loved him.  Each task he gave me deepened the psychological hold he had on me and it made me desperate to keep it.  You may be asking why the low maintenance girl who doesn’t need to talk to you daily was suddenly desperate.  Well let me tell you why lol.  Because he broke my brain, unlocked the seal, unleashed the inner needy slut–whatever you want to describe it as, he did it and I was like an addict when he wasn’t there to maintain that connection.  I looked any and everywhere.  Tried substitute offerings and came back disappointed each time.

I remember the moment my brain shifted and a few of you may go girl that’s nothing but it was a whole lot for me.  He’d been amping up my needy tramp and even though were very far apart there was no way for me to be fully functional without the next hit.  We’d run through the vegetable fucking–cucumbers were my favorite, and makeshift masturbatory aid when I left my favorite dildo at home on a work trip.  I already knew what I was expected to do when we met up and I was never so happy to be orally fixated in my life lol.  But the thing that kept pushing at my “boundaries” was his desire to urinate on me and my out and out refusal to even hear about it.  He made it a task and I made it my mission to figure it out.  He kept planting little seeds and then said because of the distance, I’d have to have a fill in and because there was no possible way he’d entertain another man pissing on his slut, I’d have to collect my own urine and make it work.  Y’all just let me say the ways in which my brain turned over trying to figure that the fuck out and what could be used as a piss pot and so on.  It took a while, much longer than I would like to admit because I was stalling, but then there was magically a sufficient amount of urine in the selected collection tool and camera set up to record it all.  If you are reading this and find yourself in a similar position let me encourage you to get everything set up well before that morning piss begins and then click record then minute you start peeing.  Any delays before you do the next part results in lukewarm or worse cold piss and that’s just yuck.  With camera recording I stepped into the shower, took a deep inhale and coated my body with unfortunately for me lukewarm urine.  If you were observing, you might have thought that’s what cause the shiver but it wasn’t that at all.  It wasn’t even pride that I had crossed some mythical threshold in my mind.  It’s that I was utterly and totally turned on.  I loved it.  Like LOVED it.  I was happy to have pleased him but the humiliation and degradation present in the act unlocked some new kink superpower and I was kind of outdone.  He loved it too and rewarded me by praising what an absolute slut I was for him.  And he was not wrong.  The problem is that made me a fucking junkie for him.  I’m sure I got annoying as hell but no one else could satisfy that craving.  If there are kink crackheads, I could have been the mascot/poster girl/what have you because I was in deep.  But what he really taught me was I craved being debased.  I craved being reduced to what I could do to satisfy his cravings.  If I enjoyed myself that was a happy by product but it definitely wasn’t the goal.  Unless he was trying to prove to me that he knew how to control my body more than I did which again who the fuck didn’t enjoy that.

I know that fuck doll doesn’t necessarily need to be explained but as I finished up a short story last night I was reminded that with a partner I connect with there are very few limits and an overwhelming desire to drain every drop of cum from their bodies.  I started doing anal in high school.  I didn’t start enjoying anal sex until I was having frenetic sex with a partner and I was so wet that I am sure I was drenching his dick.  This is important because all of a sudden he slipped out of my very juicy pussy and had gotten about halfway into my ass.  We both noticed the intrusion for different reasons and paused briefly.  He apologized, I slid on down his dick and rolled my eyes back in my head.  Gotta give that man credit because I was riding him at the time and he just lowered his hand on my waste to change the stroke and we finished that particular set of orgasms anally.  He checked to make sure I was okay afterwards and I giggled before saying yes maybe a little too enthusiastically which led to me ass up getting pounded again and cumming so hard that I lost the ability to speak for a bit.  That would happen with him often now that i think about it.  God he was an ass (invited me to spend the week at his home post his vasectomy because he was sure I’d get all his little swimmers out in two or three days.  I mean it’s probably true but he was very married and I ain’t trying to take one for the team with a little swimmer who wants to prove his potency now that there won’t be anymore) but the dick was top notch.  Mr. Wolf never got into my brain but his dick was just long enough, as was his over focused fingering, to tap down on the spots that made me squirt.  In all cases, when you make me cum hard enough, you can fuck me into oblivion.  I just get wetter and hornier.  Kinda like now.  My pussy has started to pulse so I will definitely be fucking myself soon.

Now masochism has been a weird discovery for me.  I’ve always been someone who craved hard sex and a good hard smack on the ass was fantastic motivation for me to milk your dick with whatever orifice you were plundering at the time.  Gradually though, breath play and striking my fleshy bits with other implements that aren’t thuddy have become much more appealing.  Riding crops, whips, floggers and oh my favorite–rope in predicament play, all make my brain misfire.  Which is kind of the theme for me.  I overthink all the time in my vanilla life.  I don’t want to do that in kink.  I want to let go and be a pleasure conduit.  I want to feel pleasure.  I want to be overwhelmed and used until there’s nothing left but wet spots and unconsciousness.  I won’t begrudge you the broken skin or blood that escapes from your machinations.  I crave the abuse, all of it, because it centers me.  It gives me peace and it let’s everything slow down to just be about pleasure.  I put an asterisk next to it earlier in the post for one reason.  Most people have never pushed me off the proverbial cliff.  Most folks have been hurting me while fucking me and while that’s great as soon as I drain their dicks they move away from inflicting pain.  When I’ve been tired up and flogged, the sight of me in bondage and enduring has apparently sparked the need to drain a dick–plus I’m never going to tell you to stop so some folks were looking out for me lol–and then no more hurty time.  And while lots of things have hurt me, the sharp stinging hurts have not been used long enough for me to wonder where a divot came from or how to address an injury.  So I crave the pain but I don’t think I’ve been fully dipped into the hellfire.

My problem know is I know entirely who I am and how to break me but I don’t think there’s anyone out there that wants to be tasked with all of that responsibility.  That sucks.  Not as well as I do but it suck all the same.

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