Lynn's Journey Pt. 07

A world without 'no' is actually a clean and complete package that can be wrapped, analyzed, stored, and discarded. It leaves no loopholes or room for interpretation. Fact: This is what happened. It's not a three act play where the writer died after completing the first two acts, leaving the ending up for interpretation. The most important part of the completed package: There is no room for do overs, or rewrites. The scene is complete, and with proper analysis, will never be repeated.

So in that moment, I wanted to say no. I wanted to stop. I'm tired of being used. I am tired of being disposable. But I wanted that ending, that third act, that ability to bundle and release, far more. Unlike times past, I was not being used, I was being helped. When sitting in the Lyft that night I thought, "This was a time where Kitten lost one of her 9 lives" but now, I feel I didn't lose that life because being stripped down was of my own hand. I needed it. I didn't want it, but I needed it. I didn't want to feel that way, but I needed it because I know it's the only way to move forward. Change. Grow. In my head was one word: Finish.

More to come tonight or tomorrow, a little spent right now.

Always,

Kitten

From: Lynn | Nov 18, 2018 PM

Hi Sir,

The pussy picture. I know I'm fucked. I've been fucked since you've requested this picture. Of course it crossed my mind to take your phone and pose right there. However, it didn't feel like the right time. That was your time. You were in control. For me to stop everything to pay a debt would have lead down a path of punishment. I would have been fucked.

To take the picture before, with no idea on what to do, or if I was doing it right... that would not have been the quality that you desired. I would have been fucked. I didn't even want to do the nude, I had no idea what I was doing but you wanted something like that, so I tried. For you.

Now you have an idea of what you want. Being able to capture that, on top of getting my body to react as if you were here... and not cumming in top of all of that... I'm proper fucked.

So I sat in my laundry room, clips on, timer on my phone running. Too pissed to edge, waiting for the timer to run down. It's done, so am I. Clips are removed, body nauseated with confusion, choking back tears... I start to Google how the fuck to take a picture of one's own twat and not have it look like a fucked up deli sandwich.

- Lynn

From: Lynn | Nov 19, 2018 PM

Hi Sir,

To continue....

The ass play was a bit of a surprise. I've seen it in porn, and I know people are into it, but I always figured it would never be something in my realm. I've internalized this as 'advanced sex'. Considering it's been almost 2 years without even basic sex... anal would happen when I vacation in Fiji with Bigfoot and my C cups. In this fantasy land, I also happen to vacation with someone with prior experience who's not pushy so I can explore.

Well, that Marriott was far from Fiji, Bigfoot might have been at the front desk, and my tits are still the same little pair that they will always be, but I was with someone who knew what he was doing. That I felt comfortable with. What's odd is that prior to walking into the hotel, ass play was my #1 concern. I'd never poop normal again and have to wear diapers. My asshole would bleed for days. Something would tear and I'd have to get stitches. I probably thought of every horror story possible. Then I'm with you in the room and it boiled down to: That actually felt good, he seems interested, I'm going to be sore anyway, fuck it, let's figure this out. It's can't be all bad, gay men do this all the time.

So my first time in this area was pretty stellar. Thank you, Sir.

To take a quick detour again, I did not like the cane inside me because it felt like a medical exam. I have a hard time with that sensation.

Back on task, having my cunt licked was an otherworldly experience. I felt like a bonafide woman. Oral is everywhere in lady culture. It's in all my magazines, my crappy hip-hop songs, books, friends talk about how it's the greatest... and for years I've just listened with curiosity and envy.

In some of your first emails you talked about it. I've been enthralled. I took this as - if I was the ultimate good girl, this would be given. I have no idea if I would taste good, or be good at it, or really what I should do, but I didn't give a rat's ass. I wanted it. Bad. Not only to feel like I'm touching heaven itself, but because this was a true reward and a sign of trust because it seems to involve a power shift. I'm not sure if it actually does, but it felt that way. In those moments I had power, and it was a gift.

Having that power, I realize now, is something I felt in some degree, the whole time. I'm not even sure if power is the right word... confidence? Sureness? Authority? Comfort? Power just seems to stick. Yes, you are in obvious owner of power as the Dom, but as the sub, I have my own power. This is new to me. Telling you what to do obviously does not fly, but I do hold some cards. What to do with those cards, or how to figure out what they actually are... still a mystery but I'm looking forward to figuring it all out... with you.

Always,

Kitten

From: Lynn | Nov 19, 2018 PM

Eleven minutes.

Sitting, trying not to move. Choking back tears and waiting for my adrenaline to kick in so I stop feeling the pain. Tender from yesterday, compounding into today... "I'm fucked on Wednesday" I thought. I move. Fuck. Bite my lip to keep from yelping.

That's when I'm taken to the Nothing. That space in my head where I go to shut down. That place I'm attempting to redecorate as my subspace. I stop thinking like a victim, and think like a vixen. Your vixen. I'm not one of those weak-ass 50 Shades bitches. They would fake this. I'm self-clamped in my dingy bathroom per the instructions of my Sir who is hundreds of miles away. I want this. This is a punishment for my mistakes. This is a moment to reflect and grow. This is no time for tears, only treasure.

And pain be damned, I laugh. I immediately think of the book Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho. It's all too fitting. Specifically try and remember a quote I marked. I wait out the timer, unhook, beeline to the bookshelf.

"You can either be a victim of the world or an adventurer in search of treasure. It all depends on how you view your life."

Always,

Lynn

From: SIR | Nov 20, 2018 AM

You are amazing.

Every email is a story. A step forward. Another aspect explored. Another leaf turned. Another piece of armor removed.

Read what was carefully Kitten:

"You will wear clips on your nipples, starting at 10 minutes per day, adding 1 minute each session. Starting today, every other day for one week. 4 days total.

> Day 1, 10 minutes.

> Day 2, 11 minutes

> Day 3, 12 minutes

> Day 4, 13 minutes"

...every OTHER day...

You're so well-read, so attentive to detail. What happened?

I'll chalk this up to your anxiousness to please. No additional punishment even though you deserve it. You deserve to be punished for this especially because you are going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. You're still a novice. Willing, YES, but a novice none the less. You must learn to follow directions down to the smallest detail so you do not get harmed.

Arrgh! You're killing me. How can I punish you after you've written me such touching and sincere letters over the past few days.

So, next session is Thursday, 12 minutes. Fit it in.

Then Saturday 13 minutes.

You're a Good Girl Kitten. I miss you. Write more for me.

Sir.

From: SIR | Nov 20, 2018 PM

I reconsidered. You got off too easy.

Start over again. First day Thursday.

From: Lynn | Nov 20, 2018 PM

I'd love to argue and express my displeasure at this decision, but it's not worth it. Plus, I just woke up - I really need coffee.

Is this accurate?

Day 1 - Thursday, 10 minutes.

Day 2 - Saturday, 11 minutes (Picture check-in, potentially more punishment assigned)

Day 3 - Monday, 12 minutes + compounded potential punishment

Day 4 - Wednesday, 13 minutes + compounded potential punishment

- Lynn

From: SIR | Nov 20, 2018 PM

"I'd love to argue and express your displeasure..."

The cane is ready. Go ahead.

Fair warning...

I'm not in the mood Kitten. Don't fuck with me today.

From: Lynn | Nov 21, 2018 AM

Hi Sir,

It is never my intention to fuck with you and I apologize if it came across that way. I also apologize that you are having a bad day. You can tell me about it if you need to vent. I don't know if that's allowed, or something that I should say, but you are upset and there is probably nothing I can do to make things better, but I'm here to read and listen... among other things... and sometimes that helps.

Hell, you know more about me than most of my family knows. Getting a lot of that out has been confusing, and a little painful at times, but I feel... wonderful. Even on the days that I know will be an absolute shitshow I wake up with this little spark of excitement, or curiosity... I don't know how to describe it. I think it might be happiness... what ever it is, YOU put that there.

It always starts with some random thought. Your voice on the phone. A phrase from an email. The way you carry yourself. Your shoes. The assertive 'don't fuck with me' voice that I swear makes my marrow quiver. The cross on your travel speaker. "Eye-talian" dressing. Watching you type. The long sigh and an exasperated, whispered, "fuck." during work calls. The fact that you have a dog.

Don't even get me started on that Spotify - so cute! - not the time to have a girly moment, but seriously, those playlists, you in the chair, it makes me beam every damn time, I can't help it. The list goes on and on. No matter how much shit life has piled up, that little spark is always there, and I can always feel it. That Magic Wand was pretty fucking stellar, but this little feeling, *hand's down* my favorite sensation. And it's all you, your words, your presence.

Admittedly, I have no idea how to conclude this message. I don't want it to sound like I'm telling you what to do. I don't want to inadvertently make you even more upset. I feel like I should have some graceful quotation or profound statement but I'm rather baffled. So I'm left with:

Talking with you makes me feel like a human-being when most of my life I've felt like the shitty napkin dispenser at a McDonald's. Maybe talking to me will make you feel more human again too. I'm here for you.

Always,

Lynn

From: SIR | Nov 21, 2018 AM

Thank you Kitten.

This may be one of the hardest questions I'm ever going to ask you...

Sometimes you sign Kitten and sometimes you sign Lynn. Subconsciously you're choosing one over the other. Why? When are you Kitten, and when are you Lynn?

You must edge for me today. Three times at least two hours apart. After each you must send me a picture of the chain around your ankle. Each picture must be taken after you've edged.

At least one edging must take place outside the house.

We're moving into minor league edging, preparing for the pros.

When you are edging at my command, you will fuck my cunt properly. Imagine the sting of the crop immediately soothed by my mouth on those pussy lips.

Then you will focus on my clit, and you will count down slowly from 10. You will time it so that you will cum immediately after 'one'. You will count out loud. You must say the words out loud. Whispers are permitted, but they must be vocalized.

You will stop after saying 'two'.

While you are in the throes of not cumming, you will say "Thank you, Sir." repeatedly until it passes.

Three times today. Three different pics of your ankle.

Do not cum. Punishment awaits those who disobey.

From: Lynn | Nov 21, 2018 PM

Hi Sir,

That is a tough one to explain. It's part of figuring out how to balance these two sides for sure. It actually started when I called your Sir. I like calling you Sir. Pavlovian reactions at their finest. Sir meant our time -- you and me. Since you were always Sir in my head at that point, what if I slipped up and said Sir in an environment that I shouldn't? Specifically work where you use your sexy authoritative voice all the time. People think I get red because you are being direct, partially true, but not because I'm mad... far from it actually.

So one time you got a little growly with me on the clock, I almost called you Sir, caught myself, and instead called you 'Chief'.

Sounds dumb, but I don't even remember what I was being growled at about, but I bolted to the bathroom because I got it. Something clicked. You can be both Sir and Chief with a little balance. I can be both Kitten and Lynn with a little balance. The names are just representations of the mind sets. I'm not saying, "Surprise! I'm the family member with multiple personalities!".

"Lynn" has always been the work horse. The fixer. The reluctant dominant. The nurturing Mom. The broken girl. The caring wife. The over-thinking anxiety-riddled maker of casseroles. The frustrated. The barely fucked.

In that mindset there has always been this curiosity factor. I always have questions. Always. Everything. So Kitten has just stuck. Sometimes family will call me Kitten in casual passing when I'm on a questions rant. I'm sure just as random cashiers sometimes call you Sir.

Of my Kitten time, the most frustrating, confusing, and loud questions I've had surround my sexuality. Am I Bi? Am I fucked up because when my head hit the hotel headboard many, many years ago it was (at the time) the best orgasm of my life? Where actually is the clit? (I am well aware now, Thank you, Sir). Why do I only get off on porn if the woman is tied up?

I once went to a male review in Dallas and felt turned off by their bodies while other women, about 100, were squirting with glee. I had a better time having smokes with Moe, the mountain of a man that was the butt hut bouncer out back. I told him he was cute and for little 135lb 5'6 me to make a 475lb 6'8 Texas bouncer blush and giggle - I'll take that over a lap dance any day. Why? Everyone else likes the dudes on stage.

I will say, the dancer who did a legitimate dance number to a song from Phantom of the Opera got some of my bills. It wasn't a junk jiggle routine, this was art. Talked to him after and he was trained in classical ballet but needed fast money for knee surgery for his partner. Figures, the one stripper I enjoyed was gay.

All of this sexual confusion... the Kitten time, I separate. Think of it as the porn stash you hid when you were a kid. You still ran around, went to school, rode bikes... but secretly you have this stash. It's part of your life, but you cannot give it recognition. Too much shame, disappointment, anxiety. But that stash... it get's visited a lot... and you think about it all.the.time.

Then I met you and put it all on the table. You know Lynn. 95% do. You know Kitten. 4% do. Hell, I even coughed up some of that metaphorical porn stash. That's something truly, only you have. Yesterday I intentionally signed off as Lynn because I was concerned through and through. Lynn, Kitten, my possible new alter ego 'Porn Stash', your cunt, hoodrat... all titles and mindsets... all of me... worried and wanting to listen if that's what you needed. 'Lynn' sums them all up.

My theory on the rest:

'Lynn' is when something really clicks.

'Kitten' is still exploring.

Eventually, I hope they are one in the same.

Always,

Kitten

PS: Ankle bracelet pics will start this afternoon/evening. I have to find a 6-hour window that doesn't involve people. I will send the pics immediately, but please expect some choppy messages with more to come later. I'm not at home today.

From: Lynn | Nov 21, 2018 PM

Thank you, Sir.

Snuck away to the ladies room at work for my first session. Enough people are gone so no interruptions. Started at 5:06, just completed now.

'Two' is possibly the most frustrating number on Earth... but also one of the most enjoyable.

I also did my walk to the ladies room so that I did not cheat and edge down the aisle. I'm a little proud of that detail.

Thank you, Sir.

Always,

Kitten

From: Lynn | Nov 22, 2018 AM

Thank you, Sir.

At dinner with friends in town. Private bathroom at the restaurant. A godsend.

Thank you, Sir.

I am so fucking wet. I don't think I can eat.

Always,

Kitten

From: Lynn | Nov 22, 2018 AM

Thank you, Sir.

At an underground bar. This did not take as much time to achieve and I was scared I almost came. I should not try this with alcohol. That was a risk - noted.

Always,

Kitten

From: Lynn | Nov 22, 2018 AM

Thank you, Sir.

Good lord I hate the number 2.

I am on a beer run fighting the urge to buy a plane ticket to see you.

I miss you.

I want you.

I need you.

Good god your pussy is throbbing so hard and needs to be with you. God Damn cocktails and edging and my choice of jeans! I pray that I pass out soon just for relief of this desire. I cannot even look at the Spotify icon. GAH!

Always,

Your currently suffering (in a very good way),

Kitten

From: SIR | Nov 22, 2018 AM

Well done, Kitten. As your reward, if you still haven't cum, you may cum with me on the phone. You may have 90 minutes Friday or Saturday. Since you've done well, you may pick the day and time. Take care of my pussy.

From: Lynn | Nov 22, 2018 PM

Hi Sir,

I am happy to report that I have yet to cum. After taking a minute to regroup after my email I continued the longest journey to the beer section. For the record, I wrote that in the Bakery - the half way point. The combination of jeans, slight stimulation from the two potent tiki drinks, and intense edgings... I now know that since I no longer wear panties I should not wear jeans or have any alcohol during intense edging days... or at least until I have more experience.

I made it to the beer, and the place was packed. I was not happy. Causal liquor shoppers over the holidays are the worst. Reading all the labels, taking up all the space, trying to make educated decisions.... then here I come flying around the corner. It was like a coked-up David Lee Roth blasting into a peaceful nursing home to do an encore involving Hot for Teacher. I wasn't high, and I'm not even sure I looked a hot mess, but I sure as hell felt like it.

Overwhelmed by the sea of normalcy, I put my hand on my head, exhale a long sigh, and whisper, "Fuck" as I glance at the beer fridge and the sea of people between. This adorable 'distinguished dame' of a woman turns to me and goes, "Honey, I feel the same way!" and we laugh. She ends up asking me how to make a Moscow mule for her grandkids so I help her pick a ginger beer and Vodka, send her off to produce. Then another older gent asks me about the two beer packs he has, I tell him which is light and which is fun. Then another, and another....

Look down, 45 minutes have passed and my Magic iPhone and I have chatted with about two dozen folks. I was thrilled! I went from feeling like David Lee Roth to Vanna White. It was one of the most bizarre and rewarding hours in all of my life. It started with me shaking, trying not to cum, reading bread labels, and ending with me being the concierge host of a booze cruise around the liquor aisles. Even gave a little demo on how to make an Old Fashioned. Best part: 50% off my purchase from the night manager! Score! I didn't even ask!

This morning I shipped the family off to their event, had some coffee, and headed to the bedroom where I clipped myself for 10 minutes, as instructed, for my punishment. I don't know if this is normal, but it was almost like being warped into a meditation mode. It hurt, like it always does, but everything else is dulled and I could only think about only one or two things as a time. I landed on you.