The realities of submission - the oath (3/3)

Master’s message entitled ‘Final Session.’

I am saddened by the reproach from Master about my forgetting the staggered 5 levels of punishment. It has been so long. I am sure I gave a good punishment in the right vein, if not exactly right, at least achieving levels 3 and 4.

I now remove my stockings and am bare-naked. It is a state that the slut I am loves beyond measure. Never I feel purely natural. Always 'sex' comes to my mind. I deserve punishment.

I lay down spread-eagled, limbs in all directions, and recite:
"I, Vanna Vechian, will obey my Master in all ways for as long as he chooses me to be his slave.
"He may do as he wishes with me.
"He may sell me, let his friends use me as he sees fit. I have no rights.
"This I solemnly swear on the book of 'O'"

The dog crawls to the bed and climbs on it, finding the whip. I am so ready for this and want the entire world to witness. I am a slut. There is no other way about it.

Legs raised and apart, so exposed and available, I recite my oath, confident and with steady voice.

With force I lash out on my vagina and hit the left side. I draw breath in through clenched teeth under fierce pain, yet happy and willing.

My oath, steady.

Second lashing, on what appears to be the same spot exactly. I groan, develop tears. The pain abates.

Oath, unsteady.

Lashing, right side, bearable.

Oath, steady.

Lashing, left again. I shred my throat.

Oath, sobbing, but I manage.

Lashing, right. Endorphins at their top. Past pain.

Oath, steady, mechanical.

Lashing, right.

Oath, steady, proud.

Lashing, inner thigh left. Oath. Again inner thigh and oath. I could take more. The oath is a mantra, the pain a drone.

Lashing on inner right thigh, oath. The same repeated.

I am literally ready for anything and anybody. Belong to the world.

I tie my ankles to the far bed corners with scarves. Renewed clothespins on my nipples. Third coming. They are a trifle.

In a daze.

My instructions tell me to access my clitoris, gently, and my dear labia. I do and ever so slowly leave the world of the painslut I had become and enter that of the woman of senses I am.
The removal of the clothespins, thankfully, I bear well without leaving the land of the senses.
On the wave of pain I come immediately when resuming fingering. It is an earth shattering orgasm. I feel I rocket into the universe. Then lie still for a great time.
Find myself fiddling again. Fingers, always preferable to a vibrator to me, sensitive and sensing. Have a series of 3, 4 low intensity but stretched orgasms which draw spasms through my entire lower body.

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR THIS DAY.

Often I fear losing my sexual self in the rut of daily life. It is back

Oath. I sing it!

My hot shower is like born-again baptism. Senses. I feel so whole and fulfilled. How can I deny! I observe how marked I am, thighs and vagina. Will camouflage by wearing opaque anthracite pantyhose. Pretext: the cold. Torso will remain naked. He may see faint red marks on my breasts, but I easily camouflage these by cream.

One hour before return of my husband. I love him. And Master.

The realities of submission - the oath (2/3)

I have sat at the PC, like a woman, not a dog, with the whip marks on my left thigh and the marks of the clothespins lingering. I feel them all. My first message is off to you.

I open the next message, for the 'Second Session'. I am keen to go on. I like being active and dedicated, active with my body, dedicated to you.

Back at the mirror, forehead on the floor, in front of the mirror. I saw myself bending forward.

I kneel as before, knees apart. I remove my bra. Breasts are so naked and free! Bless them.

I place clothespins on my nipples. I am sure I was not intended to apply them before when I did, to achieve Level 3. I bite my lips when I apply them to my nipples again, one by one. I utter a guttural scream, mouth closed. Dear! Quick breathing; I fear hyperventilation. Manage to control my breath.

My voice is unsteady still. The pain in my nipples abates slowly.
"I, Vanna Vechian, will obey my Master in all ways for as long as he chooses me to be his slave.
"He may do as he wishes with me.
"He may sell me, let his friends use me as he sees fit. I have no rights.
"This I solemnly swear on the book of 'O'".

I get up in order to comply with Master's wish to display myself as if on a market. That gives me unequivocal pleasure, though a hint of embarrassment never leaves me. I stand hips forward, legs apart and open my vagina with both hands pulling the labia apart. I am a slut and whore. Buy me!

Down to the kitchen. I decide to descend backwards, so that I can go on all fours, carefully.

I wet my labia with the water in the bowl. (Oh, would my juices be enough!) Then rub sugar on them from the sugar pot. This hurts a little through the scraping of the sugar crystals on the locations where the clothespins where. The act of sweetening my lips does arouse me. I like being busy with my vagina. I am a slut. The vinegar I am to apply now stings slightly. Sweet and sour. I feel like a pig, to be served live on an oriental banquet. I imagine being displayed and perused by feasting eyes, in honour of you.

Back to the bed and the dog whip. I lie as before, very open. At five-minute intervals I apply five hard strikes with the whip to my right thigh. The mood is no longer punishment of myself for submitting to all this for a remote Master, you! It is purely your honour that drives me, and my own pleasure. I am a slave, taking pleasure in the pain and humiliation.

In front of the mirror, kneeling with open thighs, I read again from 'O'. I read the passages where Jacqueline and O have flirted with some men at a café terrace and O is peached on by J, then punished and forced to eat "for the first time" nude amongst her dressed group. It is perhaps not a key section, but it has always moved me.

Level 4 punishment - I am still embarrassed by not knowing its specification. I apply the same additional 16 pins, as well as one on my tongue and two on my earlobes. I know that cannot be fully as intended. I am beyond myself with pain meanwhile. Oh, will I ever get used to this? This second time is so much worse than the first. I don't like myself. Need punishment for accepting the punishment. A mad conundrum. A glimpse in the mirror shows a deranged woman, wet eyes, make-up spoilt, dribbling from her mouth. Can this be me? A sane corner of my mind is wondering.

In frenzy I remove all of the pins and rush to the bathroom, get in the tub and cool my all with cold water.

The order to play with my vibrator does not land on fertile ground. I feel frozen, alien to the concept of sex and arousal. To my surprise this changed within a few minutes, when as a light at the end of a tunnel a pinprick of pleasure reveals itself, which then like an unstoppable train at great speed washes over me. I have to force myself to stop playing lest I come.

Yin and yang.... Ice cubes to be inserted in my primary hole, four, quickly!, plugged by a tampon. Blinding pain again, which abates slowly.

I eat and drink like a fool of a dog, on the ground in the kitchen. I AM hungry, very hungry. I have over 30mins left, which I use to lounge on the sofa, listening to Mozart's Cosí fan tute, typing this message to you.

The realities of submission - the oath (1/3)

Master,

I will report through e-mail to you for now. If it pleases you, I will place in Blog soonest after, without your name.

I am at the PC dressed in black hold-ups and quarter cup bra. Salmon coloured. Wear slippers when on stone floors, nothing when on carpet. Really redundant, as will be on all fours, a position that I love and hate. I have painted my face in war make-up, that is: obvious, black lines, large areas, striking colours (amber, blue, green) (ref. my ‘Day to Remember’,.www.vannavechian.com, under ‘Autobio’.) Want it to be theatrical.

Reading your mail called 'First session'. Make printed copy.

Crawl to kitchen on all fours. The floor is cold. As said I love and hate this position. It is truly humiliating. I am aware of my exposed rear and no less of my moving udders. I do feel like a dog, or rather a cow, as my udders are indeed large and swinging, unlike those of a bitch. I prepare the bowls with bread, in chunks, and water, for later.

I crawl up to the bedroom upstairs.

My friend the mirror. I kneel, knees apart, hands behind head. I watch myself. Having been naked routinely now around the house, in itself seeing my nude form is not a shock. The war paint, the stockings and quarter-bra change that. I am a slut and a whore. I focus on my vagina. I sense it twice, with my eyes and internally. These sensations feed upon each other. I get aroused.

Then I extend forward and place my forehead on the floor. My hands need to help. I am not a gymnast! Arms forward, like a nun prostrating for her god. I am thankful for losing sight of myself. Physically it is hard to sit still like this. I feel cramps coming, which I fight successfully.

My beloved 'O' is to act as the Bible. "I, Vanna Vechian, will obey my Master in all ways for as long as he chooses me to be his slave.
"He may do as he wishes with me.
"He may sell me, let his friends use me as he sees fit. I have no rights.
"This I solemnly swear on the book of 'O'."

I am glad!

Gladly I write the words SLAVE on both breast tops, each time followed by the oath.

I am embarrassed not to be able to find the specification of my 'level 3' punishment on my PC. Then I remember a generation of notes died on my PC when it crashed. I deserve punishment for not having backed-up enough. I do the following in the hope that this is at least equivalent to Level 3. I take 18 clothespins and place them, one by one, on my nipples and in four positions on each of my breasts around the nipples, an inch removed. That makes for ten. I am verging on tears already. Each fresh application is a bite, which numbs as time passes. Advancing, each new one is worse than the previous. Still two times four to go on each of my outer labia. I cry and whimper, hardly make it to the end. Tears at the end. I ruffle each set, only to yield more tears. I pray I have suffered enough, for my above crime and not having had enough time for Master. In a frenzy I remove all 18 pins. This is the true torture. The pain is overwhelming. I am shaking, jumping and beyond myself. I have not reached the soothing endorphin plateau.

My voice shakes initially when I take 'O' and read from it aloud. I read the scene where Sir S presents O to the Commander, where she wears the owl mask and is ordered to have her pubic hair removed.

My dog whip is ready and I take it with me to the bed. I lie down on my back, legs apart and drawn up. My genitalia are so exposed! Five times I hit my inner left thigh hard. I truly want to. I need to punish myself for having done the clothespins, for having done the previous whip lashes. I punish myself for punishing myself. That is the motive - I am not a good slave - and to the honour of my Master.

Privacy and identity

I am right to guard my privacy jealously? Apart from the little photo on my homepage (www.vannavechian.com), I have passed little traceable information to even the most trusted friends that I encountered in my virtual 'Vanna Vechian, erotic writer' existence. And I chose that particular photograph because it resembles me surprisingly little. It was taken by a newspaper photographer for a newspaper.
I have resisted getting a webcam or taking and sending comprising photographs of myself. Not that I am not tempted to 'out' myself as the sex-obsessed slut that I am. Not that I don't trust my most trusted virtual friends. It is simply a hard principle which I established early on, just like I also resolved not to join any paysite. Water down that principle and end up, so I fear, in the internet jungle, my husband's and my reputation in shreds. Or pay to bankruptcy for all the sweets on the internet.
Many of my trusted virtual friends trust me. To do as I say I do, instead of pretending. To be what I am, a recently 50 year old woman.
Is it possible to tell this from my writing? That I have experienced the 'autobio' stories, that I am a woman?
Or is the evidence of photographs and webcams indispensable?
I am never completely sure myself whether my trusted friends are what they seem. I have worried about that at times. Now I try to forget it and enjoy them. That is the beauty and ugliness of the internet, that you are never really sure but can live with illusions forever. And what is true and real in reality? Is that principally easier to tell?

voyeurism

I live in a house that can be seen neither from the road nor from the neighbouring houses. It is a nice house, no palace, but it happens to be secluded. Good for me. I have had the practice to be naked around the house, from rising to when I would leave the house, and often I undress again upon arriving home.

It is not that I am a nudist per se. The idea of 'sex' is never far away and I like it that way. I am an exhibitionist. During my twenties I openly did so - see my Statuesque Beauty (www.vannavechian.com). These days I exhibit myself without being seen. I have our reputation to defend.

Imagine the shock when for the very first time since moving here 6 years ago I was spotted. Where? I entered my conservatory with a book and he was trespassing in the garden. What? He saw a wellpreserved woman in her late 40s and I a male teenager, of 16 or so. Did I know him? No. He was not a neighbour's son. A grandson, a nephew, who came to fetch a ball? Or a young thief or troublemaker? I was mildly shocked and he?

We looked at each other for half a minute, when he fled and I stayed. Robbed of my dignity.