To dream.

When I lay in bed at night, I usually sleep on my stomach. Whether I like it or not, I often think about you and begin grinding into the bed. When I sleep beside someone it's even worse, as another body in be beside me reminds me of you.

And so I find myself fighting not to touch, not to reach down between my legs and achingly rub my clit, to push my fingers into myself, to think about you watching me, or better yet, to think of you beside me, your body wrapped around mine, your fingers plunging inside me over and over while your cock stiffens against my ass.

I get soaked. I leave drips of my cum on the sheets. I ache not being able to cum. I feel my clit ache with the throbbing of blood pulsing to it, demanding attention. I pout and whimper and hurt because your cock is not filling me.

Your memory is my ultimate tease. Because it means that all I want, all I can think about is how you are not inside me when that is all I want in the world. What I would give to live a life devoted to being used by you, your cum perpetually drying on my skin or dripping out of my cunt, which is always waiting and ready for you.

It tastes like pride.

The surge of energy when she hits me is intoxicating. I can see nothing but her face. I can feel nothing but her fist. I can hear nothing but my own breathing. And I can taste nothing but the copper taste of blood in my mouth from the cut where my lip and tooth connected.

Two others hold my arms and all I can do is hold my ground and pride, letting her slap and punch and grab and grope. She wants to make me small. She wants to destroy and degrade and shame, but more than that she wants me to prove that I am worth the attention she is lavishing on my body.

And she is extolling a great deal of attention. I gasp, aching and humbled by her punches, but not ready to break.

"Aren't you scared I'm going to hurt you?"

"I'm not afraid to be hurt."

She smiles and lands another hard smack on my cheek, holding my face to look back at her. "You're bleeding."

I nod, spitting to the side, and the spit comes out bright and brilliant red. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you wet, too?"

"I'm not sure, but I bet you'll fuck me either way."

She laughs, holding my face again. "Are you worthy?" Her lips are so close to mine, and this, this briefest of touches, will get me wet.

"I believe I am."

"Are you mine?"

"I am mine, Ma'am. But I will let you use me." She slaps me again. Harder. I smile, red seeping in between my teeth as my lips curl up and open.

For the file. 006.

He was on his back and I was on all fours over him. We were only a foot or so from the mirror and so it was easy to see every movement; the light from the building around through the windows was enough.

The shadows moved as fast we my mouth over his cock, eagerly bounding up and down the shaft. It felt amazing in my mouth, feeling the head of his cock stroking the roof of my mouth. I pushed my nose into his body and the head into the back of my throat, forcing myself to gag, forcing my eyes to water.

His large, strong hand held all of my hair tightly. He pushed my head down harder before pulling me back and turning my face to look, to see what he saw.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" I see myself gasping, leaning up on my hands, arching down, aching to take him in my mouth again.

He pushes my head back down on his cock, bobbing it up and down, gasping more, letting the cascades of saliva slide down out of my mouth and over his shaft. I want it in my mouth. I want it in my cunt. I want to feel him. I want to make him cum. I want to be a good girl and please him. My eyes water more and I know my lips are swollen and slicked with the drool which is running down my chin.

He pulls my head back up and turns it again. "And every time I do it, you just get more beautiful."

He repeats the act again and again, and each time I am messier. Each time I am more degraded. Each time I am looking more and more like the used slut that he knows I am. I am raw and dirty and messy and broken and I am perfectly at peace, for this is exactly where I am supposed to be. This is exactly the girl I want to be.

Pause on the Porn for a sec

So I'm going to have a non-porn entry, which we can all admit is pretty damn rare. I'm going to make a quick little stand, and you can read it or not read it, but I will say: I put up, absolutely free with no strings or questions attached, some pretty raunchy shit. I do it for myself, I love that people are enjoying it, and I don't intend to ever make this a pay site or anything like that. So now and then, I hope that I have won enough favor from you guys to also read a REALLY short plea for a tiny, miniscule moment for something that feels like incredibly low-threshold social justice for no other reason than I care about it, and I would appreciate it.

By now a lot of you may have heard about this Cheerios ad: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/31/cheerios-commercial-racist-backlash_n_3363507.html and the absolutely horrific, racist outrage and backlash it's received. It's actually just a really sweet ad where a mixed-race family is featured - that's all. Shockingly, even when you have parents of different races, you still eat cereal. (And yes, we can talk about the definition of couples/family representations which aren't shown, etc, but I don't find that helpful.)

As many of you guys know, I'm not white, I'm actually mixed-race Asian and white. Lots of people assume I'm white (which is not a big deal at all), and I haven't run into nearly as many of the really offensive moments as many others who stand out more. But there is something about being "different" looking and people feeling entitled to walk up and hit you with "so what ARE you?"* or assume they know and need to ascribe not only a race/ethnicity to you but characteristics in which you are deficient. (I've been told I'm a poor representative of Latinas because I don't speak Spanish. I told her I was a poor representative of Latinas because I wasn't Latina.)

So here's my ask. Buy Cheerios. That's it. I've bought two boxes in the last week. And yes, I had another cereal I always bought before but now I'm switching to Cheerios. It's not a huge act, and we could all do more. But in the meantime, switch to Cheerios. They showed a family that looked closer to mine than I have ever seen in a mainstream, normalized way AND THEN stood up to all the assholes out there who said horrible, offensive, racist things very loudly. And so I'm switching to Cheerios from here on out. If I'm going to put my $3.50/box somewhere, they win. Thank you, Cheerios. It felt really nice.

(Moment of irony: I actually NEVER ate cereal growing up. My mom's Asian, so lactose intolerant. We didn't really drink milk. I ate noodles with chopsticks for breakfast. No shit. But I'm a Cheerios girl now.)

*I'm not saying it's not ok to ask, or be curious, but please be polite! "Excuse me, I just wanted to say that I think you're beautiful - may I ask your ethnic makeup?" is a very different experience than "So, what ARE you?" And be aware that even when you do this politely, you're inserting yourself into someone's space/life and kind of demanding that they categorize themselves for your benefit. Not saying that's a bad thing or something inappropriate, just something to be aware of.

3. Calm

I have cum twice, both times for you. Both times I moaned and whimpered and cried out, and came so hard I was breathless. My pussy aches from the turn from cold to hot, from being fucked hard by something unforgiving. But I sit on the couch, catching my breath, feeling my pussy pulse and spasm.

I slowly pull the glass dildo out of my cunt, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to slow my heart back to normal. I roll my head back and breathe slowly, coming down. The process of coming down is always a small bit of work. I could easily float for so long, letting everything return to normal, but letting the glow of submission live on.

When we are together, I let that linger on. When I am by your side, I live in the tingling afterglow of submission, of degradation, of humiliation, and I curl into your body in a way that allows me the safety of that lack of awareness. I hide from the real world, tucking myself into the safest space I could imagine: you.

But I am not with you. I am simply worshiping you from afar.

I stand, catching my breath and balance. Walking back to the kitchen, I turn on the water again, heating it to a quick boil. It bubbles to the surface quickly, popping and warbling with heat. The more it trembles from the heat, the more I can focus on it, letting it temper my come down.

I turn off the heat and move to the cup, pouring the water in slowly, though it pops and explodes as it crosses the heated metal. The water splashes around the cup as well as it in and I can't even be bothered to slow the pour. It envelopes the tea, though I leave ample space at the top.

Usually, I love the ritual of tea. I let the moments where I can steep a cup break up my day and I worship every second. I time each steep, making sure to choose the perfect allotment of time depending on the boldness of the tea, type of leaf, type of bag, quality of the tea, and a myriad of other factors. I let it steep, quietly, not pulling or dipping the bag like people often do. I trust my diffusers to do their job without me. I give them calm. And when the bell digs I pull the teabag out, pour in whatever else (almost milk, often) I choose, and am rewarded. My commitment to ritual, to trust, to taking the two or I've or nine minutes required for something perfect, and I am met with something that I have participated in.

My ritual for this, though, is not for reverence of the tea, but instead reverence to you.

The tea steeps and I realize a few moments in I haven't set the timer. When it looks somewhat done I pull the bag out, and take hold of the dildo. It is covered twice over in my cum and juices. And with just as much precision as I usually measure out Russian Caravan of Oolong, I let the dildo descend into the stir, slowly stirring it, washing it clean, allowing it to mix with the smokiness of black tea.

I let it sit, let it steep just as well, until I know that it is slicked clean. And just to be sure, I pull it from the water and slide the smooth, hot tip into my mouth, letting my tongue run over it... just to be sure.

I sit with the tea and meditate on this feeling. I cannot help but smile as my heart speeds and slows once more. The couch nestles me, allowing my breathing to come back. My flesh, which still prickled with goosebumps, has again laid and relaxed. My blood has drifted back to its slower currents, no longer coursing through my veins with need and panic. My pupils have re-found comfort in light. My breathing has lost its momentary hiccups. And most of all, my heart has calmed.

With every sip, I descend a little more until my feet are back on the ground. I gulp it faster as it cools, letting the tea and cum roll down my throat and coat me from the inside out. I feel like I am being welcomed home. And though you are still achingly far, you are here. And I am again calm.