Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Master? Are You Home?

it's been a hard week for the philosopher and me. not relationships problems. but the weather. the heat. neither of us do well with heat. a redhead thing? who knows. we have so many thing in common that it is hard to assign causality to any one of our shared characteristics.

my master hasn't been sleeping well. he has no air conditioning. he is exhausted and drained. i do have AC, and am quite self-indulgent about it, but the heat and humidity outside seeps into my soul and pulls me down. i'm tired all day and then return to life in the evening - not bouncing but settling in, resisting bedtime for way too long and returning to the sunlit world way too early. i drag through the work day and the cycle starts all over again.

so i haven't been up for writing cute and sexy. or dark and sexy. i'm discouraged over the housemate search, and sad at the thought of anyone here with me other than the man who felt like he'd always been here from within 15 minutes of the moment he first appeared at my door. and then i remembered our archives, and my eye lit on this exchange from last April, dating 2-1/2 months into our epistolary courtship., when the weather was very different indeed from this last week. and as i read it over i started to smile inside.

i hope the memories make my heat-oppressed master smile.
and that you can smile along with us.

ps - Paul, in a comment, asked why i have to blog naked. the simple answer is that my master ordered me to. no other explanation is needed. but if you really want the whole story, you can find it here.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kitten stuck her head through the cat door and looked around cautiously. It wasn't a cat door, actually; more like an entryway designed for a full-sized Saint Bernard. She started to curse, thought better of it, and changed mid-epithet to a grumble. Sometimes that crazy Irishman of hers let his dry sense of humor get the better of him. Installing a cat door for her. Really! At least he was sensitive enough to put it in the back of the house, where her strange entrances and exits were less likely to be spied by a neighbor. Ah well, she shouldn't complain. Life with him was good, if a little unusual. He may have seemed insane at times, but then she was complicit by obeying his every demand. Willingly. They had created this madhouse together, and she was a happy inmate.

She hauled herself though the rest of the way, and stood up. It was dark downstairs, and she couldn't tell if he was home or not. She removed her coat and shoes, and wondered what to do about the rest of her clothes. She'd been punished the night before, in addition to being placed under one of his periodic NO TOUCHING, NO CUMMING orders, so she really didn't want to do anything to displease him, especially if the foul weather had put him in a foul mood. Did he want her naked or not? She decided to play it safe and keep her clothes on. This gave him the option of ordering her to strip for him or undressing her himself. She did decide to remove her socks and stockings, leaving the slave chain that gave her such pleasure and allowing her to approach him barefoot. Then she reached up to the hook by the door for the leather collar hanging there, and buckled it around her neck. She hated having anything around her neck, but she loved the collar, with the fine embossing in a Celtic knot design. She loved anything that signified her submission, that reminded her, and him, that she was his slave.

She just hoped he would be feeling generous towards her tonight.

No sign of life. Was he not home yet? or waiting for a false move so he could punish her? Uncertain what to do, she fell to her knees and crawled to the foot of the stairs.

"Master? Are you home?"

= = = = = = = = = = = =

He sees her, but she doesn't see him. . .so he enjoys the sight of her nervous grace, her restless placidity, as she boldly seeks out the source of her fear and her desire.

He smiles as she puts the collar on, and waits kneeling at the foot of the stairs, meowing pitifully, and looking expectantly up into the darkness. . .

He creeps up behind her, and says, in his most comforting voice. . .

"I'm home, kitten"

(I've had a helluva day. . .quite exhausted. . .but I want to play with my kitten!)

= = = = = = = = =

She jumps 3 feet in the air at hearing his voice unexpectedly behind her. Her heart goes into double time, but not just from being startled. His presence always does that to her. His presence, his voice, his touch... She feels the flames of desire flare up, the true burning in her cunt... they were always there when he was there, and even when he wasn't, but it was a pain she was happy to endure.

His voice sounded tender, with a slight wicked touch, since obviously he knew she would be startled. But she also heard weariness, and was glad that it seemed he still wanted to make time for her.

She was his slave, and would do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, to please him. This was what she lived for.

= = = = = = = = = = =

He stares lasciviously at her. . .his wolfish gaze wandering eagerly and arrogantly over her body. . .

(What are you wearing, kitten?)

. . .and he looks contemptuously at her clothes. . .the clothes that will soon be nothing but tattered rags on the floor. . .

= = = = = = = = =

The weather was windy and nasty, and she had dressed for comfort and warmth, not for seduction. Comfortable blue jeans that did nothing for her ass. A sturdy cotton turtle neck in a bright fuchsia that reminded her of the fuchsia hedges on Ireland's Dingle Peninsula, and therefore of him. Her usual blue Polartek zip-up top. Her favorite enameled kitty earrings, that didn't reveal the cat face until you were close up.

He didn't seem impressed...

What he did seem was hungry, and she was to be the main course.

= = = = = = = = =

She did not dress for seduction. . .and that's why she was so seductive. Beneath those plain looking jeans and serviceable top. . .was a purring sex kitten, his very own slave. . .his precious minette. . .

He gestures to the blue zip-up. . .

his eyes speak the inevitable command. . .

Remove it. . .

(Is it cold, sexy? )

= = = = = = = = = =

She removes the Polartek top and shivers. Not just because of the chill whipped through the old windows by the wind, but because she knows this is just the beginning. She doesn't know exactly what route it will take from here, but she knows that wherever he takes her, she will obediently, willingly, happily, gratefully follow.

She looks into his eyes, silently asking

"Now what, Master?"

= = = = = = = = = =

"To the bedroom kitten."


= = = = = = = = = =

She thrilled at the urgency in his voice, and hurried to obey. Her only doubt was whether to get up there faster by running up the stairs, or to maintain her attitude of submission and crawl.

She crawled, feeling his eyes boring though her jeans into her now very vulnerable ass as he walked up behind her.

= = = = = = = = = =

He loves it when she crawls. . . offering her ass to him. His kitten was so transparent sometimes.

Now that she is in her bedroom. . .and can snuggle in bed if she gets too cold. . .

He undoes her jeans. . .and roughly pulls them down her legs and off. . .

= = = = = = = = = =

She loves when he undresses her. She loves when he is rough. Of course, she also loves it when he's gentle, but she loves it when he's rough, because it betrays the near desperation of his desire. A passion that matches her own.

She collapses to the ground when he yanks off her jeans, knocked off her knees by his urgency. She tilts her head up towards him, as if to say:

"Here i am, Master. At your feet. i am your slave. my body belongs to you. Take what you need."

(8 inches of rain in Central Park?!)

= = = = = = = = =

When the jeans are off. . .and his kitten is at his feet, so desperately, and coquettishly looking up at him. . .he softens a bit. kneeling down he kisses her. . .right above her cunt. . .firmly, but gently. . .

His lips can feel the fluttering of her pulse. . .

He removes her top. . .and now she is wearing nothing but her bra and panties. . .

(was it that much! all i know is that it kept coming down.)

= = = = = = = =

She moans at the touch of his lips.

She moans when he takes off her turtleneck, feeling an extra frisson of excitement when he briefly traps her hands above her head before fully pulling the sweater off.

She feels his eyes on her, boring though her underwear, and the flood in her cunt threatens to rival the ones that swept away refrigerators in New Jersey.

= = = = = = = = = =

He doesn't hear her moans so much as feel them. . .throbbing deep within him. . .

He lifts her up in his arms. . .carries her over to the bed, and gently lays her down.

He kisses her. . .a gentle peck on the lips. . then the neck. . .then the shoulder. . .and runs his hands over the warm pink skin of her legs and belly.

Then he ties her up. . .spread eagle. . .stretched out. . .exposed. . .

And as she gasps and struggles he whispers in her ear:

"I haven't decided if i will let you cum tonight, kitten"

= = = = = = = = = = = = =

She gasps! He was being so sweet, so gentle, signaling perhaps a night of rich if vanilla lovemaking. Which was never boring, their non-kinky lovemaking: their vanilla used fresh full cream and real vanilla beans...

And then tying her up, which always triggered crazed shocks of desire careening up and down through her bound body. Oh she loved when he tied her up, whether or not it led to pain or pleasure, or the fuzzy boundary between them.

But not to let her cum? Again? After she had suffered so the night before?

Tears well up in her eyes. She looks up at him pleadingly.

She says nothing. She is his slave, but she struggles constantly with being fully submissive. She doesn't want to give him any reason to test her further. She just looks in his eyes, and awaits his next words. Or action...

= = = = = = = = = =

Her expression is impossible to read. . .is she disappointed? Frantic with desperate desire? Resigned to her fate?

Her emotions wage war against each other behind her eyes. . .

But she submits. . .just as she has been trained to do.

He strokes her cunt through her panties. . .

(You may actually touch yourself kitten. . .but through the panties!)

= = = = = = = = =

He seems to approve of her response, such as it is, because he starts stroking her cunt through her panties. She moans, then whimpers, as her eyes cloud over. A nagging voice in her mind warns her to hold back, to not sink into the pleasure of his touch, in case he is cruel enough to leave her stranded on top of the waterfall.

But it is too late. It was too late 2 months ago. Once he touches her, she is gone. Gone, and doomed to whatever he has planned next. Which she is anyway. Because he owns this body whose responses he manipulates like an orchestra conductor.

= = = = = = = = = = =

Seeing his success with her cunt. . .he turns his attention to her nipples. . .rubbing them through the bra. . .pinching the nipples. . .

Enjoying her moans. . .

(You may also touch your nipples, kitten)

= = = = = = = = = =

Oh, god! Had it only been two days since he had touched her? It felt like a month.

Small sharp cries issued from her throat as he pinched her nipples, interspersed with the moans. Her breath came faster, and her cunt muscles started squeezing and holding, as if clenching around his cock.

She knew she shouldn't cum without his express permission. She tried to think about other things to bring her down a bit. Were they running out of coffee? But it was hard going. Her brain kept cutting out. She was nothing but a bundle of nerve endings, and they all belonged to him.

"J---? Sweetheart? Master?!! Oh god..."

She wasn't cumming. but she felt awfully good...

= = = = = = = = = =

With a bit of fumbling, given that she was tied up, he managed to unhook her bra, freeing her breasts. . .

Taking her right nipple in his mouth he sucked on it. . .HARD.

He played with her breasts, fondling, squeezing, caressing, licking, sucking. . .

All the while repeating his question. . .

"Do you want to cum kitten?"

(Your bra should be off now)

= = = = = = = = = =

Yes, Master!
Please, Master!

I do so want to cum
I do so need to cum.
I beg you to let me cum.

But I know that I am your slave.
I accept that I am your slave.
You own me.
You own my body.
And I know i must submit to whatever you have planned for me,
be it torment or relief.

(It wouldn't be so hard to free my breasts, as most of my bras hook in the front.)

= = = = = = = = = =

I hook a finger under the waistband of your panties. . .and slide them down. . .pulling them as far as your spread legs will let me. . .and then ripping them off you. . .

You are naked now kitten. . .and not just in fantasy.

take off your panties. . .

= = = = = = = = =

she looks up at him with her passion-clouded eyes. she feels her nakedness, she feels her defenselessness, especially positioned as she is, spread open before him.

the violence with which he removed her last shred of protection both excited her and frightened her. she knows it signals overwhelming desire, but it also sometimes precedes cruelty.

but in the end, she doesn't care.
gentleness or cruelty, she doesn't care.
pain or pleasure, she doesn't care.
as long as he claims her as his own
as long as he shows that he treasures his slave
as long as he betrays the depth of his desire
she doesn't care what he does to her.

honey pools on the sheets.
she strains against the ropes and writhes.
the kitten is on the edge of becoming a wild beast.
and only one man can control her.

= = = = = = = = = =

Gentleness tonight, kitten. . .

I lick at your pussy with long, slow strokes, making my tongue flat and wide. . .then sharp and pointed to tickle your clit. . .

I drink your honey. . .I guzzle it down. . .and I explore your velvety warmth. . .

I can taste you kitten. . .sweet and wild and wicked. . .

Touch yourself kitten. . .stroke your pussy for me. . .

= = = = = = = = = =

i am, Master, my sweet gentle master.
i am.

but i don't feel my finger.
i feel only your tongue.
i worship your tongue...

= = = = = = = = = = =

Fuck yourself, kitten.

I want you to cum.


= = = = = = = = =

and she cums.

her body arches up.
she strains against the ropes.
her head goes back.
she stiffens, she cries out, she tosses her head
she cries, the tears flow
she sobs out all the pent up tension from the previous two days.

finally, she starts calming down.
she sinks into the pillow.
still bound, she looks up into the eyes of the one who owns her
and murmurs ever so quietly

and smiles

= = = = = = = = =

And he strokes her hair. . .and kisses her tears away. . .and holds her in his arms. . .

And whispers. . .

"my good little kitten."

= = = = = = = = = =

Which is just what she wants him to do.

And just what she wants to hear.

Life is very very good...

= = = = = = = = = =

To bed now kitten. . .it's late. . .your master is tired. . .and happy. . .

= = = = = = = = = = =

Yes . . . to sleep.

i'm glad you are happy.
sleep well.
and may the only flood that enters your mind be one of honey....
honey from your happy kitten's cunt. which is yours. all yours...

good night, sweet Master.
good night.

= = = = = = =

Good night, kitten.

1 comment:

Paul said...

Oatmeal Girl, I guessed that it might have something to do with your Master.
That is a extra incentive, if one were needed beyond the beauty of your words and language, to read your posts, the thought of you writing nude is appealing, if I recall you only have to post nude.
I love the imagery in this post.
I have a dog flap that people can get through, I wouldn't recommend it, my dogs are fussy about who comes through.
We were lucky we never had to have a long distance relationship.
Mel's nipples were very sensitive, a few minutes pla.ying and she was orgasming.
Thank you a lovely post.
Warm hugs,