Monday, December 8, 2014

No planes fell on my head

Yes.
I know I've been quiet again.
It's that dark season...

But don't worry.
I'm not dead.

The plane that crashed in Montgomery County, which is indeed my county, went down at the other end of said county and not on my little brick box of a house. We're all safe and in one piece. In fact, I'm out of town, visiting my aged dad up in Boston, and only learned of the crash through a Facebook post from a friend who lives closer to the site.

We return now to our regularly scheduled silence.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Love in the frame

We made love today.

This is not our usual habit.
Not that we don't love each other.
We each love the other.
I say it often.
He has said it rarely,
which makes the words
more precious. They still
hang there
in the air,
in my ears
barely heard,
never gone.

So yes.
We love.
But we don't usually make love.

Oh, we have sex.
Lots of sex.
Every week.
Occasionally,
very occasionally,
when possible,
twice a week.

But we don't usually make love.

We are together in many other ways. All the other ways that we are, all the other people that we are, to and for each other. Not pretending, not role-playing, not "How about I be the older married writer and you be the younger married waitress and I follow you home and fuck you in the outdoor shower." (If you haven't been watching The Affair on Showtime you really should. Really. Rich. Intense. Painful. Real.)

So no.
It's not a game.
I've said that before.
We've said that from the start.
Everything -
all the ways we are together -
this is our reality.
And we risk everything if we lose sight of that.

Besides.
He's a sadist.
And my submission is in the core of me.

But today...

Ah, today.
We sat together and talked as friends.
Which we are, you know.
Friends.
But that's probably even more
dangerous to admit
than our being in love.
We mustn't become confused.
Do you understand?

Still.
Today.
We sat on the bed and talked.
As friends.

I looked very beautiful today. White bra and white panties were his requirement for when I let him into the house, and I sat there on the bed in my white bra and white panties, looking overweight, yes, but beautiful, my still naturally red hair tumbling down my back and - for the first time - a white artificial gardenia pinned in the waves on the left side of my head. He smiled when he saw it, which was my intention, as he hadn't felt well and hadn't slept and I wanted to make him smile. He wanted me as his mistress today, and I wanted to make him smile.

So we sat on the bed and talked - mostly he talked - about his health and his night and the restaurant he'd be going to and a movie he saw. He was reclining slightly against a pile of pillows - his pasha throne - his shirt still on but eventually his jeans and underpants off and I sat there in my white cotton bra and white cotton panties with my right hand fondly fondling his cock and his scrotum and we were like the long-time lovers that we are but not necessarily the kind that are limited to once-a-week visits so there was no urgency, there was just happiness, until finally he figured fucking could be a good idea or else later he'd be desperate and his cock would scream at him and it would be too late, I wouldn't be there.

He must have flicked a switch in his brain, unleashed his cock, because suddenly it responded. It lengthened and swelled in my hand and even then there wasn't the urgency, the sadist was completely absent today, we were, dare I say it, a couple today, and as he eased me onto my back and lowered himself into me and brought his face to mine and his lips melted into my lips melted... have I ever said that his kisses are... but a description wouldn't do, how can you describe a perfectly ripe peach to someone who has eaten only apples?

And there were his eyes.
The sadist had stayed home.
My Daddy,
my Owner,
my Master,
they had all stayed home.

There was just love.
Soft comfortable love.

And when he came,
and after he came,
the smile in his eyes...

Beautiful, he said.
It was beautiful.
And this time, he wasn't just talking about me.

I suppose all this is my attempt to capture the moment. Keep it. Save it. So I won't forget because I do forget things, except this I don't think I will ever forget. There are moments together I have never forgotten and this must, surely, be one of them.

I want to pull it out of the crowd. I want to take this stone out of the little black velvet bag of so many precious stones, and lay it out on a cloth, and hold it up to the light, and set it in a ring so it can stand on its own and not get lost or diminished in all the memories of the past 6 years and the anticipated memories of the years to come. We worked hard to get to this point, we suffered a lot to get to this point, and today, I think today as our bodies joined in love and friendship, he showed that he trusted me with his vulnerability. And I trusted his trust so much that I allowed myself to mention it. And his carapace was so completely discarded, at least for the day, that all he did was softly smile.

Later, he sent me this song.





Sunday, November 2, 2014

Red hot bottom

He took up the cane
not for my pain
but for color, for
heat, the rain of blows
restrained, traveling the
lane from the mounds
of my butt
down wincing thighs,
back to the blush of
white turned to pink
burnt to red.
"It hurts,"
I cried. "Daddy,
you're hurting me!"
I whined, as the
flow down my thighs
betrayed to his fingers
the truth of my need.


Friday, October 17, 2014

The story I wrote that was too dark for ME

Look!

billierosie reprinted my story The Branding here. Seems she's been haunted by it for years. It haunted me after I wrote it. When the sadist loved it, which is testimony to its darkness.

Enjoy.


Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Synonyms

I miss you, Daddy.
I know, my pet.

I love you, Daddy.
I know.

My Master has his own thesaurus.
When he says I know,
He really means
I do, too.

This I do know.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Sadism

Outlander. Jack Randall musing on his sadism, fondling his memory of flogging Jamie, reveling in the performance art they created together, torturer and sufferer...

I remember the time the sadist arrived at my house, horribly distraught from his thoughts, his dreams, of what he wanted to do to me. He was terrified that he might harm me. To protect me, in his undeclared love, he considered never seeing me again.

Thursday, September 4, 2014