PM Dare Diary – Day 8
Posted 04-02-2018 at 09:53 PM by Yasna
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of grief. Add hysteric laughter across all stages and you have a good idea of what I went through on my way home from work yesterday evening. On the train ride home I checked my emails to see what dares were in store for me today. "I'm exhausted. Please no workouts! And not a lot of masturbating. I already got a DENIED today. And pretty please with sugar on top: no pain to my pussy." Some mails with complimentary remarks about my blog: that's nice. NAKED and COLLAR: a piece of cake. But the next messages seemed to be a very well-orchestrated mindfuck. Probably you guys (so far there are only guys) are quite nice people, only moderately sadistic; some of you might even be caring, but collectively …
"They can't be serious." Hysteric laughter. "Who the hell do they think they are?!" Hysteric laughter. "Maybe I can ask for a reduction? Or for retraction of the DENIED dare?" Hysteric laughter. "I'm done. I can never do this." Hysteric laughter. "OK, one step at a time. I'll do the best I can. And maybe I'll even survive." Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. And the day had started so well …
To prepare breakfast the KINKY COOK way was as nice as always. And today it was intensified by an interesting twist. In addition to the usual setup – topless, gagged, nipple clamped, and handcuffed – I was ordered to wear a butt plug too. I like me experiences with the plug so far. I was curious how it felt when moving around, when sitting down etc. I want to take this slowly, so I used the small metal plug again. And it felt so nice! And a little bit unfair. My pussy had been crying to be stuffed, but my practically virgin ass had won the bid. When I sat down to cut fruit I rocked backed and forth on the chair. Hmm! As I dwelt on my usual maid fantasy it suddenly hit me that the setup of the dare wasn't right. So far I had only prepared breakfast that way. That was fine, but cooking other meals requires tasting the food … How could I make up for leaving off the gag for this task? I decided I will use clover clamps on my nipples from now and attach the handcuffs to the connecting chain. That's going to suck. It will limit the freedom of movement significantly. And as I also want to eat like this taking every single bite will tug on my nipples. My pussy twitched in anticipation. I have a peculiar, twisted mind.
Just before I left for work I received a FOOD dare. So I had to forgo my next meal. That was a mean one! On the days I wait tables I usual eat at the restaurant during my break or on the fly. To skip that meal meant I wouldn't be able to have any food for the rest of the day. When I'm hungry I become insufferable. When I'm hungry and horny I'm worse than that. It was very difficult to keep a straight face when a colleague asked if I was alright. I mumbled something about stress with my studies. What I really thought, "I'm okay, I just want to fuck myself all through the night," didn't seem a suitable reply.
The moment I came home I stripped down except for my panties. It was going to be a long evening. I had no time to waste. You've probably already guessed it: running around all afternoon was not my only required exercise. I have to admit I was neither naked nor nipple clamped at work. Half the fun (for you), but equal exertion (for me). And now it was time for all the fun. I had received not one, not two, but three WORKOUT dares! And I was absolutely determined to do them the same day. Because I know I'll never do them when they accumulate. I opened my favourite website with workout videos and looked for a suitable one: a forty minutes low-impact, all body workout; the longest one for beginners. That seemed reasonable and equivalent to three of my usual short "workouts". I put the clothespins on my nipples and started the video. What I didn't realize was that it focussed on strength and toning with lunges and push-ups and squats and crunches. I tried my best to keep up, but I had to take two breaks (which I also used to take off the clothespins for a minute). I need to buy an exercise mat; otherwise I will slip on the puddles of sweat on my hardwood floor one day. During one of the breaks I had a look at myself in the mirror: my body was sparkling as if I had anointed myself. Sweat was dropping from my fingertips. For the first time in a long time I liked my mirror image. I actually thought it was quite an erotic view. At least if I ignored my face which was contorted from physical strain. By the end of the video my nipples were sore. Pressure and movement are a vicious combination.
After the workout I was supposed to do the SPIT dare: keep my mouth open for 15 minutes, collect my spit, and then pour it over my face. I've seen something similar, but I've never tried it myself. Therefore I was quite curious and excited. I decided to combine it with an ANIMAL dare. On hands and knees seemed a good position to drool. Appropriately enough I used my cat feeding bowl to collect the saliva. I put on my collar, hooked it into the eyelet, and waited. Very quickly I found it astoundingly difficult to force myself to keep my mouth open. Almost reflexively I felt the urge to close it as the spit trickled towards my lips. Then a couple of drops detached from my lower lips, and slowly ran towards the bowl, drawing a slabby thread. A wave of humiliation hit me. I had renounced control over another bodily function. And of course slobbering evokes a lot of connotations of powerlessness. Only toddlers, the elderly and mental ill, and even animals slobber, right? A second strand of saliva departed from my upper lips. I watched the two puddles grow, join, and finally fill the whole bottom of the feeding bowl. Swallowing without closing the lips became difficult after a while and the back of my throat started to hurt. When the timer went off I had collected about 30 ml of spit (around 1 fluid ounce), not very much, but enough for an interesting experience.
But before I was to pour it over my face there was something else to do. The attentive reader might have realized that I didn't do my workout naked as usual, but had kept my panties on. I was specifically instructed to do so this time because I was supposed to gag myself with them afterwards. If the idea of stuffing soiled panties in a girl's mouth gets you off you probably couldn't have picked a "better" day. These black cotton panties had soaked up not only the sweat from one workout, but three workouts and six hours of running around worth, in addition to the juices from my pussy in the morning. I like the smell and even the taste of my juices: like the sea, a bit salty, sometimes with a hint of fruit. But stuffing these panties into my mouth was hard to stomach. They were damp from sweat and tasted rancid and merely yucky. I set the timer, leaned back, closed my eyes, and emptied the feeding bowl over my face. I wanted to spread the spit over my forehead, but it came out in one flush; most of it immediately ran down my chest. But it's more viscous than water and doesn't drip off easily. I felt a drop hanging in my eyebrow for quite a while. I sat in the cold shower tub (again …) and while my rational mind was fighting it I felt aroused from the degradation. Nevertheless I was happy when the timer went off and I could have a hot shower. Then again, I thought about collecting spit over several tasks, freezing it, and repeat the dare with a more "adequate" amount. I really have a peculiar, twisted mind.
And now, finally, masturbation time! That's what you were waiting for, right? The day before yesterday half an hour of masturbation, ten edges, and a pussy spanking in between had almost brought me down. Today on offer: twenty edges and fucking myself with a dildo for ten minutes. I was pretty sure I would cum the moment something bigger than my index finger would enter my pussy. What was worse was that I was asked to combine masturbation and pain again, alternating between edging and spanking my clit with a rubber band. I smiled while I towelled myself down. My cunt was already pulsating eagerly. But I was determined to come out on top this time. I would relax and do what I can without risking going over the edge. If I wouldn't be able to finish all the dares received today: so be it. If the masturbation and pain dares accumulate: so be it.
That was sincere, confident self-talk. The reality was a bit different. Very quickly the barely controllable creaturely urge for pleasure undermined the shaky rational deliberations. After a few edges I looked into the dark while waiting to calm down so much I could risk a rubber band stroke to the clit without cumming. I wanted to go on. And I wanted to stop. I wanted release so desperately. And at the same time release was the last thing I wanted. My pussy was overheated, my clit sore, my mind dissolving in wafts of mist. It was torture. Pleasurable torture though. I felt ready again. I bared my clit from under its hood, took the rubber band, placed it across my unprotected clit, stretched it as far as possible, and let go. I didn't really hear me scream, but I'm sure I did. I saw stars dancing in front of my closed eyes like in a bad cartoon. After I had caught my breath I reached down and rubbed my swollen clit … I didn't really hear me moan, but I'm sure I did. Touching was as maddening as not touching. When I felt getting close I stopped and groaned in frustration. Sweet frustration. I looked into the dark again, and that was when I realized what I really wanted: this intensity of sensations. The feeling of losing myself. And finding myself. The feeling of being utterly consumed. And being reborn. I don't know yet what exactly the means are to create and maintain that intensity. But if relinquishing habitual orgasms is the price that has to be paid for it: so be it. Acceptance.
[continued in next entry]
"They can't be serious." Hysteric laughter. "Who the hell do they think they are?!" Hysteric laughter. "Maybe I can ask for a reduction? Or for retraction of the DENIED dare?" Hysteric laughter. "I'm done. I can never do this." Hysteric laughter. "OK, one step at a time. I'll do the best I can. And maybe I'll even survive." Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. And the day had started so well …
To prepare breakfast the KINKY COOK way was as nice as always. And today it was intensified by an interesting twist. In addition to the usual setup – topless, gagged, nipple clamped, and handcuffed – I was ordered to wear a butt plug too. I like me experiences with the plug so far. I was curious how it felt when moving around, when sitting down etc. I want to take this slowly, so I used the small metal plug again. And it felt so nice! And a little bit unfair. My pussy had been crying to be stuffed, but my practically virgin ass had won the bid. When I sat down to cut fruit I rocked backed and forth on the chair. Hmm! As I dwelt on my usual maid fantasy it suddenly hit me that the setup of the dare wasn't right. So far I had only prepared breakfast that way. That was fine, but cooking other meals requires tasting the food … How could I make up for leaving off the gag for this task? I decided I will use clover clamps on my nipples from now and attach the handcuffs to the connecting chain. That's going to suck. It will limit the freedom of movement significantly. And as I also want to eat like this taking every single bite will tug on my nipples. My pussy twitched in anticipation. I have a peculiar, twisted mind.
Just before I left for work I received a FOOD dare. So I had to forgo my next meal. That was a mean one! On the days I wait tables I usual eat at the restaurant during my break or on the fly. To skip that meal meant I wouldn't be able to have any food for the rest of the day. When I'm hungry I become insufferable. When I'm hungry and horny I'm worse than that. It was very difficult to keep a straight face when a colleague asked if I was alright. I mumbled something about stress with my studies. What I really thought, "I'm okay, I just want to fuck myself all through the night," didn't seem a suitable reply.
The moment I came home I stripped down except for my panties. It was going to be a long evening. I had no time to waste. You've probably already guessed it: running around all afternoon was not my only required exercise. I have to admit I was neither naked nor nipple clamped at work. Half the fun (for you), but equal exertion (for me). And now it was time for all the fun. I had received not one, not two, but three WORKOUT dares! And I was absolutely determined to do them the same day. Because I know I'll never do them when they accumulate. I opened my favourite website with workout videos and looked for a suitable one: a forty minutes low-impact, all body workout; the longest one for beginners. That seemed reasonable and equivalent to three of my usual short "workouts". I put the clothespins on my nipples and started the video. What I didn't realize was that it focussed on strength and toning with lunges and push-ups and squats and crunches. I tried my best to keep up, but I had to take two breaks (which I also used to take off the clothespins for a minute). I need to buy an exercise mat; otherwise I will slip on the puddles of sweat on my hardwood floor one day. During one of the breaks I had a look at myself in the mirror: my body was sparkling as if I had anointed myself. Sweat was dropping from my fingertips. For the first time in a long time I liked my mirror image. I actually thought it was quite an erotic view. At least if I ignored my face which was contorted from physical strain. By the end of the video my nipples were sore. Pressure and movement are a vicious combination.
After the workout I was supposed to do the SPIT dare: keep my mouth open for 15 minutes, collect my spit, and then pour it over my face. I've seen something similar, but I've never tried it myself. Therefore I was quite curious and excited. I decided to combine it with an ANIMAL dare. On hands and knees seemed a good position to drool. Appropriately enough I used my cat feeding bowl to collect the saliva. I put on my collar, hooked it into the eyelet, and waited. Very quickly I found it astoundingly difficult to force myself to keep my mouth open. Almost reflexively I felt the urge to close it as the spit trickled towards my lips. Then a couple of drops detached from my lower lips, and slowly ran towards the bowl, drawing a slabby thread. A wave of humiliation hit me. I had renounced control over another bodily function. And of course slobbering evokes a lot of connotations of powerlessness. Only toddlers, the elderly and mental ill, and even animals slobber, right? A second strand of saliva departed from my upper lips. I watched the two puddles grow, join, and finally fill the whole bottom of the feeding bowl. Swallowing without closing the lips became difficult after a while and the back of my throat started to hurt. When the timer went off I had collected about 30 ml of spit (around 1 fluid ounce), not very much, but enough for an interesting experience.
But before I was to pour it over my face there was something else to do. The attentive reader might have realized that I didn't do my workout naked as usual, but had kept my panties on. I was specifically instructed to do so this time because I was supposed to gag myself with them afterwards. If the idea of stuffing soiled panties in a girl's mouth gets you off you probably couldn't have picked a "better" day. These black cotton panties had soaked up not only the sweat from one workout, but three workouts and six hours of running around worth, in addition to the juices from my pussy in the morning. I like the smell and even the taste of my juices: like the sea, a bit salty, sometimes with a hint of fruit. But stuffing these panties into my mouth was hard to stomach. They were damp from sweat and tasted rancid and merely yucky. I set the timer, leaned back, closed my eyes, and emptied the feeding bowl over my face. I wanted to spread the spit over my forehead, but it came out in one flush; most of it immediately ran down my chest. But it's more viscous than water and doesn't drip off easily. I felt a drop hanging in my eyebrow for quite a while. I sat in the cold shower tub (again …) and while my rational mind was fighting it I felt aroused from the degradation. Nevertheless I was happy when the timer went off and I could have a hot shower. Then again, I thought about collecting spit over several tasks, freezing it, and repeat the dare with a more "adequate" amount. I really have a peculiar, twisted mind.
And now, finally, masturbation time! That's what you were waiting for, right? The day before yesterday half an hour of masturbation, ten edges, and a pussy spanking in between had almost brought me down. Today on offer: twenty edges and fucking myself with a dildo for ten minutes. I was pretty sure I would cum the moment something bigger than my index finger would enter my pussy. What was worse was that I was asked to combine masturbation and pain again, alternating between edging and spanking my clit with a rubber band. I smiled while I towelled myself down. My cunt was already pulsating eagerly. But I was determined to come out on top this time. I would relax and do what I can without risking going over the edge. If I wouldn't be able to finish all the dares received today: so be it. If the masturbation and pain dares accumulate: so be it.
That was sincere, confident self-talk. The reality was a bit different. Very quickly the barely controllable creaturely urge for pleasure undermined the shaky rational deliberations. After a few edges I looked into the dark while waiting to calm down so much I could risk a rubber band stroke to the clit without cumming. I wanted to go on. And I wanted to stop. I wanted release so desperately. And at the same time release was the last thing I wanted. My pussy was overheated, my clit sore, my mind dissolving in wafts of mist. It was torture. Pleasurable torture though. I felt ready again. I bared my clit from under its hood, took the rubber band, placed it across my unprotected clit, stretched it as far as possible, and let go. I didn't really hear me scream, but I'm sure I did. I saw stars dancing in front of my closed eyes like in a bad cartoon. After I had caught my breath I reached down and rubbed my swollen clit … I didn't really hear me moan, but I'm sure I did. Touching was as maddening as not touching. When I felt getting close I stopped and groaned in frustration. Sweet frustration. I looked into the dark again, and that was when I realized what I really wanted: this intensity of sensations. The feeling of losing myself. And finding myself. The feeling of being utterly consumed. And being reborn. I don't know yet what exactly the means are to create and maintain that intensity. But if relinquishing habitual orgasms is the price that has to be paid for it: so be it. Acceptance.
[continued in next entry]
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