First off, I have to say, I’ve never worn red lipstick in my entire life…EVER. It’s so….trashy. Plums, berries, pinks-yes; Cocksucker red- no. I went shopping earlier that day to acquire some…and I felt extremely self conscious wearing it. The make-up, slutty skirt, and stockings only added to that feeling. As I touched up the red lipstick on my way out of the car, I couldn’t help but wonder what I was getting myself into. I was filled with nervous anticipation, I didn’t know what to expect. I felt like a tramp walking into the nice restaurant dressed and made up that way. I felt the penetrating stares of crowd as I made my way to the bar. There, I waited for you, praying that you would get there soon, since I’m fairly certain the man next to me thought I was a hooker.

 Our talk at the bar did nothing for my nerves, nor did the elevator ride up to the room, where things got hot and heavy rather quickly. I walked into the bathroom of our room, took a deep breath, and wondered whether or not I was in over my head. All of that changed when I got down on the floor in front of you and the collar was placed around my neck. For reasons unknown to me, I felt instantly more at ease. I’m not sure that I can describe the exact feeling, nor can I explain why. I was yours for the taking.

 I was shaking in my boots when you pushed me up against the wall and patted me down, frisked me, probed and invaded me with your big strong hands. But slowly the nerves faded away. I think that having the chain around my neck was one of the hottest things ever. The feeling of the heavy, cold metal around my neck clanking as you mercilessly raped me was incredible.

…oh, and the idea of fisting is really hot-since you brought it up- though I know you didn’t even get close, the idea intrigues me…this coming from the girl who screamed when you slipped in a third finger.

 The hood, too, was an experience! Like I had mentioned, I had recently had my first encounter with one and enjoyed it very much. What it allowed me to do was block out a lot and focus on the experience at hand…and absorb the pain that was being given to me. I have decided that I do, in fact, thoroughly enjoy hoods :)

“You’re fucked” that simple little phrase that you said a couple of times throughout the night…scared the shit out of me, because it really made me think, “yeah, I am fucked. I’m tied to a bed, in a strange hotel room, with a man I hardly know, and nobody knows where I am.” And while in the back of my mind I knew I was safe, the bit of fear it evoked in me was very, very hot. ..specially in retrospect.

 The pain was just that…pain. Some call me a painslut, maybe I am. Sometimes I get off on it at the time, flying high on the endorphine rush; sometimes I want to see how far I can go, dancing on the line that is my pain limit; other times, it’s hindsight that really gets me off. ‘Look at what I took, look at what a good girl I was for him.’ Either way, it’s almost always something that I enjoy, and Wednesday night was no exception.

 The marks are beautiful! I’m a ‘mark slut’. I honestly love the way that they feel and look, and they’re wonderful, lasting little reminders of the fun that I’ve had. This is the reason why when you expressed concern over the fact that I may have bruising on my thigh, I shrugged it off. That is hardly ever a concern with me. Also, playing at the level and intensity that I do/want to, most of the time it cannot be avoided.

 My favorite part of the night? Well, I’m sure you can guess. The leash. I’m not sure what it is that you saw in my eyes that made you react the way that you did to me, but it was certainly one of the hottest of the night’s activities. There’s something deliciously humiliating about being put on the same level of a dog….being so inferior to someone. Being made to crawl on the floor, eat out of bowls, and being treated like a pet is one of the hottest things I can imagine and definitely one my fantasies.

 Surprisingly, I also REALLY enjoyed worshipping your boots. I can imagine for similar reasons as stated above. It was degrading. At the same time, it’s a symbolic act of devotion, and the mix is incredibly sensual. The sight of my smeared slutty lipstick on them was thrilling.

 The interrogation was certainly a grand way to end the evening. I really can’t believe I remembered that damn code well enough to repeat it back to you as many times as I did, between the beating and nipple torture. You slapped me so hard across the fact that I may have forgotten my name momentarily. The nipple play got intense, and there were moments where I didn’t think I could take any more of it. It certainly was a challenge. At first I felt silly with the ‘role play’ scenario. I always think that I won’t have anything to say, or that it won’t be genuine. Believe me, my fear was genuine, especially when it came to tipping my chair back over the 11^th story window with  the knife to my throat.

 One of the most vivid memories I have of the other night is of your hands around my throat. There was a smidge of panic that ran through my body as I convulsed under yours. Panic, until it faded away into nothing and I went limp.  The drowning that concluded our interrogation was intense. I could have never anticipated our night ending with “you lying, worthless cunt I don’t give a shit if you live or die” and having my head forced into a tub of water in a dark room, not knowing if or when my next breath would come. If I held the secrets of the universe that night, you would be one enlightened individual.

 Oh, and as for the pictures- WOW. They certainly captured some great moments. While my general feeling regarding pictures of myself is “ick, how unflattering” remembering the night’s activities makes it worth it.

…and the picture of my makeup stains on the wall? They certainly painted a vivid picture of sensual distress. Thank you for sharing them with me.

 If I didn’t touch on a particular topic, or if you have any further questions, please let me know :)

-RM