i’ve been purring for a couple of days now. purring and glowing. well ok, some of the slightly floaty out-of-it feeling could confirm my impression that the cold i thought i had banished has come back with extra troops. but mostly, i think – no, i KNOW – it stems from Friday night.
i was with my master Friday night.
now, normally this is the sort of statement which, on other blogs, makes me want to puke. first of all, i hate that term “master.” it sounds so forced, so presumptuous, so outright dumb! “master?” give me a break!
and yet… i address him as master. or sir. i refer to him as the philosopher. i rarely call him by his given name. J--- feels forced. weird. unconnected with the truth of this man i came to know only through his words and his soul. “master” is an honorific. a convention. more significantly, it is a tribute to the way we play, the scaffolding of our relationship, and the corset with which the man who owns and loves me corrects the posture of my life.
so yes. i address him as “master.” and that’s ok – as long as i don’t think about it. the same way i’m ok referring to God as long as i don’t think too much about what the word means. or doesn’t. then i get squirmy.
yes, then. i was with my master Friday night.
i can see having problems with “with.” for of course, he was 250 miles away. but it’s not that outrageous to say that i spent the evening “with” him considering we were on the phone for 2 hours. at least we had the sound of each other’s voice to feed the impression of being in each other’s presence. i could quibble about “with” but i’ll let that one pass.
my master fucked me Friday night.
now that one. that one just doesn’t fly. when someone speaks of having been fucked, i do expect there was some measure of bodily proximity. say you had phone sex, say you had electronic sex, say he stimulated you with his words, told you how to touch yourself, ordered you to fill your cunt with some plastic approximation of the penis which he was at that very moment surrounding with his fist. but don’t say he fucked you.
my master fucked me Friday night.
i stand by my statement. for surely, mere masturbation could never make me feel the way i have been feeling since that night. cold or no.
i’ve always been a champion masturbator. enthusiastic. desperate, as my hormones ran rampant while my marriage became an escalating insult to the name. i’ve been developing techniques and fantasies since before i was 5. the sexual fantasies surely came later than that, but i do remember rocking on my pillow and calling it “playing horsey.” i even taught my little sister. just as i taught her how to read before she hit kindergarten.
so it’s not as if i needed someone to teach me how to masturbate. and i was managing perfectly acceptable orgasms on my own. more than acceptable.
but there’s no question that what i did – what we did – on Friday night was in no way masturbating. and i will duly try to remember that the next time i am tempted to sneer at some other sub’s description of long-distance erotic activities in terms that suggest physical contact.
i was thoroughly possessed Friday night. with the impending threat of a new housemate limiting future screaming orgasms, i was fucked and threatened into cumming so completely that the afterglow has lasted 2 days. so far.
he phoned. no introductory pleasantries.
“take off your clothes, kitten.”
i was ordered down to the dungeon, soon alas to be restored to its alter ego as family room. i was given a list of implements to take with. i ended up bringing the whole box – meaning everything but the ropes and the cane. (there’s not that much, mind you. we are both afflicted with limited funds. i do have fantasies of a joint visit to a NYC toy store…)
i took my place on the futon, masquerading as a couch. (the futon was masquerading. i was obediently naked and hence ill-equipped to masquerade as anything.)
the pretty little purple butt plug entered my ass. push push pop oh! the philosopher made me walk around. very odd. it’s small, the butt plug. it didn’t feel all that invasive, i loved the feel of it going in, but walking around made me feel very strange. partly as if i needed to poop, an insistent turd knocking at the door and saying “let me out! let me out!” but also… my mind was starting to slip its moorings. and i felt very very owned…
the beloved blue and yellow vibrator caressed my nipples and nestled between my breast.
the purple monster dildo was forced into my mouth. it is huge, straining my lips to hold it in and rapidly banishing any ideas of using it for deep throat practice. it is huge and it tastes awful. but the orders to allow neither this invader nor the sweet little butt plug to escape their respective orifices inspired me to brace the harness end of the monster against the back of the futon couch while my tormentor reminded me to breathe through my nose.
finally, the vibrator, encondomed and lubed, was allowed entry to my cunt. not a lot of lube. just the tip, with that absurd little empty nipple to catch its cum. not a lot of lube because of course i was by then slurpy and swollen.
and so he fucked me. he drove into me. he set up house in my slippery subterranean abysss. he ordered me to fuck him from inside, clasping his cock, gripping his girth, squeezing and releasing in a burst of the Kegel exercises that i really should be performing every day.
the order to cum.
the threat of punishment – both as warning and as inspiration. i felt him standing over me, first with cane in hand, then the brand. the room filled with the smell of red-hot iron.
at last, permission to turn on the vibrator.
the count-down, stretched out with more threats to give me the time i need because i do need more training to achieve orgasms-on-command.
and then i came. as i always eventually do. well, almost always. and yes, it was loud and i sobbed. very satisfactory as far as my master was concerned.
oh – and the butt plug did pop out, and i had been allowed to remove the purple monster from my mouth so he could better hear my moans and frantic yes-sir’s. but he did take me in all my holes, which was his plan.
and yet that is mere mechanics. for it all comes down to this.
he fucked me.
he possessed me.
he took me and held me inside and out.
he sent me down into subspace and flushed out the detritus from the week that was, and left me cleansed and fresh and adoring and calm.
perhaps that’s why having sex is a double mitzvah on the Sabbath…