Being my Fuck Board is a job you think you’re ready for , but truly you’re not.
I was trying to relate to you last story that I perceive a man’s dick to be this wonderful toy that unfortunately comes attached to a man’s body … and with it this misconceived notion that it’s there for a man to pleasure a woman with.
It’s there for the woman to use, without regard for any feelings whatsoever.
Which could mean that if I’m not particularly horny one month , it doesn’t get used at all. Which is why I love chastity so much because it teaches the man to remove pleasure from the equation when considering the purpose of his dick. Leave it to the male brain of course to connote that feeling of being locked up into somehow being something pleasureful because it pleases his mistress to see it so.
I was at a bar yesterday as I had a day off and the girl I went with … not really a friend per se , but she knows how to let her hair down and have fun when she goes out and so I don’t mind spending an evening with her now and then. I say now and then because, as with all my ex-fiends , I just cannot relate to how they ‘pick up guys’ (read: let guys come on to them, touch them, grope then and speak about them) and then flaunt her ‘prize’ to the rest of us as if I’m supposed to be jealous that she picked up Mr.Hottie on the dance floor. Her name is May, and the guy she was flirting with – his name was Jake. At one point, whilst hanging out at the small round table next to the dance floor Jake – got in a secret ‘low five’ with his buddy (never caught his name) , clinked beer bottles together for a victorious Cheers , and then he shook his head , smiled at his buddy and lipped without sound to him “can’t wait to bang her” … making a violent slapping motion with his open faced right hand upon his closed fist left.
It’s been so long now , this time period that I’ve been fucking guys , that I couldn’t even remember the last time I left the door open even a crack to let a guy talk about me and my pussy that way.
My mind drifted to another one liner that I had caught several months ago walking out of the seven eleven store at the top of my street. Just stepping out onto the sidewalk with two bottles of water in each hand I was passed by three guys heading into the store and their conversation caught my ear like the Doppler effect of an oncoming train. My conscious mind was focused on picking out which motorcycle taxi was available for the ride to my condo but suddenly my sub-conscious mind picked up the line “dude, I have her trained in bed just the way I want her.”
Just that line … has been stuck in my memory now for the better part of half a year.
The reason is, I say to myself often when referring to guys I’ve banged “I use his dick just the way I want to use it.”
So it stuck with me just how polar opposite the process is now between how I look at guys , and how guys no doubt perceive a potential relationship with me, sexual or otherwise. Which is no doubt why I’m single still , the gap is just too massive right now between the expectations being brought into any encounter with a man.
“Did you get some?” read the message on my phone the next afternoon after I had woken up. It was from May who had also sent me a selfie of her at Jake’s condo captioned “Yes!” capital Y.
“Nah. Scratch pussy instead” my reply.
Indeed I was in bad with my hand between my legs reminiscing about the last time I had sex, my pussy leaking fluid onto my fingers. What are you imagining? Is it me on the bed under a guy with huge pecs, my arms and legs wrapped around him as he pushes his body weight down onto me and I sink into the bed. My hips raise up to meet his leaking dick and my lips part like Moses parted the sea for his ten inch long hard cock to plunge inside my volcanic cunt.
Oh how wrong you are.
See, there’s two ways only that I have sex nowadays, both include long term slaves.
The first style … and again let’s be clear … this happens so rarely – is when I have a live in slave who’s quite handsome. In the seven years I’ve been a mistress, I’ve had the pleasure of having a truly hot live in slave only twice – which should give you a sense of context behind the word ‘rarely.’ Interestingly though, the difference between the first time and the last time was so very separated by time that it clearly showed how much this job has changed me. In fact, the last time I could honestly say “I got banged” was by the first dude, a German model who came to see me every time he had modelling work in Bangkok. It was totally my fault, I had set the session mood with candles, wine, a very skimpy negligee and truthfully – even though I called myself a mistress seven years ago I still had the mind set of a girl and as such , definitely wanted this guy to fuck me sometime during the session.
The sex went down as you might think, he was on top and I was teasing him from the bottom but his kisses all around my nipples were enough to drive me insane and so , though I had this theory that I was going to tease him from that position for the entirety of his two hour session , it wasn’t more than twenty minutes that I let him plunge into me for the better part of an hour.
Sex the last time I was with such a hottie , quite a different story.
Whereas the German man had come to see me only five or six times over the period of four months , the Danish kid – truly a kid at 22 years old and also a model – he did all his modelling her in South East Asia and had been coming to see me weekly for over a year. At the end his sessions had morphed from two hour affairs to an all weekend ordeal where he was my live in slave from Saturday morning until Sunday night. Now you might be thinking “wow” followed by thought of “just how much femdom shit did she do to him over 48 hours” , and if you are thinking that you’re just not thinking deep enough. Like a relationship that’s moved out of it’s “fuck anywhere and everywhere” first four month stage, these femdom relationships evolve similarly from “what’s she going to do to me next” to “when’s she ever going to do something to me again.”
Meaning, I love doing something like completely tying a guy up with so much rope that he can’t barely move, and just leaving him like that with his dick hanging out. Letting him barrel roll himself to the bathroom to take a piss while I’m out shopping with his money is bliss. Knowing that he hates being used so infrequently as time goes on … as if I’m bored of him in every way shape and form is exhilarating to me.
I’d call him filthy Malthe because his dick was always hard. No matter how much I’d wrap him in saran wrap , or rope him up hog tied … his dick would always be red and hard as a rock. The reason of course – was me. I’d totally ignore him as he laid straight as a board on my sofa engulfed in plastic wrap – and then suddenly every so often I’d walk over to him without ever making eye contact and just soak his dick with the oil on my hand , fondling the dick with a tone of anger until it was almost instantly hard … and then leaving him alone as I’d retreat to my bedroom for a nap. But first thing I’d do after I had woken up , I’d walk over to his dick , soak my hand in oil and slap his balls with one hand as I stroked his cock with the other.
Got that idea from the James Bond scene where he suffered through a torturous scene having his balls whacked from under a chair. Ever since then I’ve made it a point to stretch out the testicles so then hang way down before I commence wrapping or tying.
To do this … if you’ve seen my L shaped sofa you’ll understand better. The wrapped body needs to be angled such that his feet are on the bottom part of the L sofa and his body is resting on the main body of the sofa which is up against the wall. That way his hips are the only part hanging in the open air , and allows his balls to dangle down below while his dick protrudes from the plastic up above.
“Filthy Malthe , why was your dick asleep?” I’d ask while whacking down below and stroking even harder up above. By the time a minute had rolled past his dick would be bobbing up and down like a wind sock and he’d be whimpering from the pain of his spanked testicles.
So weekend after weekend Malthe would show up just to be ignored for 24 hours , only to be used to keep his cock constantly hard. Well, for the periods I was home at least. But rest assured if I came home and his dick wasn’t hard , he’d be punished extra hard. It got to the point that the anticipation of me coming home and being upset … would be enough mental stimulation to keep him perpetually hard.
Anyways, I began … I don’t know when exactly … but after a few months of this I began to fantasise about his cock … it’s redness, it’s constant hardness. Fuck I even started having dreams about dick shaped wind socks flapping in the wind at the Chiang Mai airport. Why Chiang Mai? No fucking idea. I don’t control the locale of my dreams ok.
So this one particular weekend came where I once again had him in saran wrap on my sofa , except this time I left his off hand … his left hand unbound and free to play with his dick. In fact I encouraged it. I told him when he arrived that Saturday that the session that weekend would end anytime I caught his dick fully flacid. Half mast was perfectly fine , though harder was preferred.
To drive the point home of how quickly his weekend session would end … I walked abruptly out of my room at 2am , just a mere hour after we had finished watching Van Helsing on Netflix and caught him falling asleep and his dick pretty much flaccid. He looked up at my eyes and caught the reason for the anger immediately, and began to furiously pump away at his dick to please me and keep his session going.
See where I’m going with this? This is most likely I think the origins of my last story where I was digging deeper into the subconscious of a sleep deprived man and how easy it is to fuck with a man in that state.
Just the idea alone of being ignored by a mistress who obviously enjoys having you around in her presence … that must be hell enough for you guys.
By Sunday afternoon Malthe was deliriously tired. He even nearly fell asleep on the toilet after I had unwrapped him, caught him with his head back over the porcelain of the toilet trying to catch a few winks while he pooped.
All the while, I had been growing steadily more and more horny over the weeks that he was staying at my place. Why? Do you understand what makes me horny? His suffering.
Keep in mind that when Malthe goes home, like even right now as I type this … he’s back home locked up in chastity and the key is dangling around the neck of a stuffed teddy bear tucked away in darkness in my closet. So when he comes to see me , he’s beyond thinking about his next orgasm , he just wants at minimum some attention thrown the way of his poor dick. And so all my attention , when it pleases me to do so , gets thrown at his dick without a care for his whining. It’s situations like that where the man is helpless … that wet my pussy.
See? I’m not like any other girl. A Joey Tribbiani “How you doin’? does nothing for me. But a man’s dick being used as a wind sock does everything for my wetness.
To set it up , I needed a distraction because the act of sex cannot have any pleasureful anticipation on his part. So to that regard, there was the problem of the condom and more to the point how guys take forever to get the rubber jump suit on sometimes. Therefore, as a punishment for his remarkable ability to keep his dick at least at half mast for an entire eight hours I told him I was making his life harder by making him pop a condom on the thing.
Now, if you thought it takes a normal man forever to get a rubber on , how long do you suppose it takes a one armed man wrapped in plastic to get the job done? Answer : about as long as it took me to slap his balls a few hundred times to hurry him up. Didn’t help that he was trying to put it on with his left hand rather than his right , or that every few slaps I’d hit a wee bit too hard. Ah the games within the game, that’s where the fun lays.
I retreated back to my room once it was on and I was on the bed fingering myself imagining the orgasm I was about to have … one that didn’t involve my fingers bringing me to climax for once. How beautiful is that , a girl can finger herself with her bedroom door wide open without an ounce of fear that the guy sitting (err, wrapped) in the other room won’t accidentally walk in on her and in a single moment realise over 1000 of his childhood fantasies on an instant.
So boom … I strut out naked and that’s the first time all year he’s seen me in my birthday suit and his jaw just drops and hits the floor. Like a jockey mounting a thoroughbred I fling one leg over his body and wedge it into the crevice of the sofa by my knee and guide his raging shaft all the way into my hole balls deep in one shot without pause.
I palm his face and slap him for disobedience as he tries to shake his head so he can peep through my fingers. Again my hand goes right to his face for leverage.
Always it’s like this. For one, I’m always on top. Always. I squirt ten times more when I’m riding the horse.
I’ve found lately with this new type of sex that I’m into that I also squirt 100 times more when the horse is like one of those mechanical bull seats you see at a cowboy bar. Meaning, it’s thoroughly under my control.
No offence, but guys actually take the word “bang” as in “i wanna bang her” too literally. All that bucking down below and pounding like you’re trying to drive a six inch nail into a piece of wood with your dick … does nothing for me.
Better is the guy who can’t move , can’t buck , can’t raise his hips, can’t spread his feet or bend his knees. His job is just to lay there motionless and let me do the driving.
Thus the need for the palm roughly applied to the face. In order to fully squirt , my clit has to be arched forward and full exposed from the inside to ride up and down the vein-y part of his shaft and to do so a girl needs to keep her back arched and pelvis thrust forward.
To do so during normal sex controlled by the guy is neigh impossible.
But to ride a fuck board in such a manner is simplicity personified , especially when one can use the man’s face as a point of leverage to push off of … to keep the back arched in a comfortable manner.
And really , that’s what guys are to a mistress when it comes to the super rare occasion you are gifted to have sex with one of us. You’re a fuck board. That’s it. Like an ironing board , you serve a purpose for the greater good.
What’s great about it is … well, you know how guys like talking to their buddies about how they really fucked this girl or that girl “good and hard” … and it turns them on to reminisce about it? Well the guys I’ve fucked love it even more that I’ve fucked them “good and hard” when all is said and done. And the measurement by how “good and hard” they got fucked is not by how my pussy manoeuvred over his cock , but rather how my hand bloodied up his face while reaching orgasm.
Like it’s nothing to me to dig my nails into the forehead and scrape up and down , sometimes with both hands as I lean further and further away from the guys face to get more curve out of my back and thus push my clit up harder against his shaft.
I think I’ve cut each and every guy I’ve nailed like this but the funny thing is that on occasion the water flying out of my pussy has gone so far as to land on his face so that the aftermath of his face is a landscape of pussy juice mixed in with trickles of blood. And even funnier to me is that I often collapse forward onto the guy’s face when I’m done because I’m so thoroughly exhausted that my tit usually finds its way into his mouth and I’m fine with him sucking on the blood and juice for a moment as I recover.
I don’t linger though.
Once my fuck board has been used , i’m off the the shower and then to my bedroom. I’m all about the “slam, stir, thank you sir” “cum and go” style of sex. I couldn’t even tell you if Filthy back there was able to get himself off using his left hand after I left. Couldn’t care less if he did or not. Total time of my fuck board ride was under a minute. If he had cum in that time before me … well let’s just say his balls would have left my condo in an un-fixable sort of way.
Two hours later after my little nap I emerged from my bedroom to find Malthe gripping his still hard dick watching The Mist on Netflix , looking at me with a very inappropriate smile.
I tossed him a kitchen knife along with his undies and pants saying “see yourself out once you’re free” but then I whirled on my toes back towards him to finish my sentence “and if you ever try to bring up in conversation what I did to you …, well, I’d be thinking about the ramifications for your balls first before I did so. Understood?”
“Yes mistress” he nodded.
“Oh, and one more thing” … indeed I had almost forgotten. I had to walk over the the kitchen counter where I had removed his chastity when he first entered my condo and tossed it over to him by the sofa. “Be a good boy and lock him up for me will ya? Thanks.” I said with a smile.
That’s the first way I fuck guys. Fuck board style.
The second? Punch to the gut sex.
I dunno, I’m hesitant to describe it. It’s a bit cruel. I’m telling ya … there’s a fucking reason why I’m single ok. No guy can last being my toy for very long and it’s because emotions and feelings always enter the picture from his side while I’m 100% in “i don’t give a fuck” mode about how you feel. Case in point, the last time I had “punch to the gut sex” which is very far removed from fuck board sex.
Fuck board sex is all about me getting what I want … a squirting orgasm , and using a well trained dick to do so.
“Punch to the gut” sex truly makes it clear to whatever slave is serving me what his role in the relationship is. I’ve tried exactly two “relationships” as a mistress , and on both occasions the “punch to the gut” evening was the end of things , too much for the guy to handle as deemed by me.
Hmm, lemme pre-explain what I mean there “deemed by me.”
I make it quite clear to any guy who’s about to cross the slave line and become “my guy” that from minute one … if there’s any tears shed on his behalf, any voice raised in protest , any temper tantrum , any behaviour deemed unacceptable by me … he’s instantly let go.
Both guys , and even guys who’ve almost reached that line are always smiles and hugs when I drop those rules and they say something like “you don’t have to worry about me Mistress.”
Sure enough, I never have to worry about them when he’s out shopping for me, out working for me , or cleaning my kitchen sink. I never hear a peep out of him when he’s feeding me popcorn on Netflix night and nary a whimper while he’s sleeping at my feet or with his nose in my ass for the evening.
But mere weeks later …the look , THE LOOK on both their faces when I trotted home at 4am and they both emerged from their tiny bdsm slave’s room where they’re instructed to remain until summoned by me.
Not one guy has been able to adhere to the “stay inside your bdsm bedroom until otherwise instructed” , and it’s the moment I come home at 4am with a beefcake of a guy around my arms , and a 10 inch tool between his legs that I’m going to momentarly be fucking in the privacy of my bedroom while you … my boyfriend … have to endure listening to right next door through the thin walls.
Those eyes man. The ever so predictable “how dare you” stare that even slaves cast my way. Followed by their meek retreat back into their room mind you.
Guys … can’t stand at all … to hear their girl getting fucked in the room next door.
Remember, the relationships to that point are not very much at all like the sessions I have … not even close to the sessions I had with Filthy. It’s a boyfriend / Mistress Girlfriend type of thing where we do things that couples in a relationship do. We go out to dinner, go dancing, much down a muffin at Starbucks , hit a movie, cook dinner , etc. We do everything together … except fuck.
That’s reserved for the rare moments I want to let my hair down, stop being a mistress … and instead go out as the hottest girt in the club and pick up a guy who’s possibly way out of my league … to bring him home to my place and fuck him … without regard for your feelings as my boyfriend.
Not because I’m a cunt. Because simply … that’s the Mistress’s mindset. Guys are there to be used , feelings be dammed.
Now, I never got to discuss the sex act with the first boyfriend slave because he packed his shit up and left whilst I was doing the deed on my bed in the next room , and I’ve never bothered texting him after he left.
The second guy , in many different ways he kept coming back to this notion that I was being fucked and it was him that wanted to be able to share that with me.
Ok first … I wasn’t being fucked.
I was fucking him. It was me on top … on both occasions. I was riding his face with my hand just as I do with my fuck boards. Except I was a little bit more than tipsy (and perhaps high) on both occasions and was enjoying not being a mistress for once. Hmm , just thought of something. In recollecting the actual act of sex , that’s what it was really that I was enjoying. Not that he was super hot. Not that I has cuckholding the guy in the next room without forewarning him. Not that the guys I was with were enjoying knowing there was a guy in the other room listening and perhaps crying (something I think guys’ get off on) .
Nah. It was the ability to get out of my mind and not be a mistress for a few hours and just be a hot chick in a bar.
Ah but that’s bullshit isn’t it? Because even while not being a mistress, I knew in the taxi coming back to my place that both slaves probably wouldn’t be able to stay in their room and there would be some sort of conflict. I knew it was a cuckhold scenario developing. I knew there was a great possibility that both guys would be let go that same evening and it excited me to do so.
So … see? It’s really not possible to shed this mistress skin. I feel like that Venom character from the Spider Man movie. That black ick that consumes Venom’s body? … That’s the same ick that consumes me and morphs me into the goddess you know.
The thing is … it’s this.
Having wrote what I’ve wrote , and shared with you how I fuck guys, how I have sex. I know two things about how you’re thinking.
Some of you, the minority … are offended. Truly repulsed that your societal driven notions of how a relationship should go down have been offended. Again … my mistress mind speaking here … couldn’t care less.
Then there’s the vast majority of you … who’ve just read this … and wish that could be you. If you made it this far without jizz in your hand , or a raging cock in your pants at work … I’m impressed.
The majority of guys out there … want to be used as a fuck board , at least once in their lives. Preferably by a hot girl like me.
That’s my curse. I sit there on the BTS skytrain every day , or sit by the window at Starbucks watching the men pass by me , picturing all the hot ones tied up on my sofa as my personal fuck board, unable to scream , watching my pussy get off on their otherwise useless cock, before I kick the fuck board to the curb.
The submissive looking ones … I gaze at them and dream about their reactions as I trot an alpha male (soon to be fuck board) by them and into my bedroom.
I often think , if I did ever get married , what my vows might sound like …
Do you Mistress, take this Fuck Board as your lawfully wedded Fuck Board.
To use as a Fuck Board , and to cherish, in sickness and in health, and be loyal to your Fuck Board , til death do you part.
I do.
xx
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