Marko chaperones

From the first time we played with hot wax, around New Year's.

I have no idea why the laptop was on the bed.

I lay there... i think my hands were bound above my head but i don't remember for sure... i do remember looking up in his face as he stood above me, too cautious to drop the wax from any closer... afraid of burning me even as i wanted more pain... he watched the wax pool, waiting for just the right moment to tip the flame towards me.

his face was lit by the flame from the candle he held and the flames from the candles around the room. his face was consumed with the concentration of a scientist, watching for how i jumped when the wax hit, listening for my little cries. he should have had an assistant standing there with him, taking notes of my master's observations.

it didn't hurt all that much.
i wanted it to hurt more. the splashes
of heat mostly surprised me. and the ritual
delighted me. i wanted more.
eventually, i got more.
and from closer.
i want more.
i need more.
i need to feel the chain around my neck.
i need to feel the pull
the pull of invisible rope
the rope that he pulled from far away
the rope that bound us together.

i wish i knew.
i wish i knew what he is thinking right now.
i wish i knew if he shares my emptiness
or if all he feels
if all he feels
is relief.

i'm following the old rules as i wish.
i don't really know any more what i should do.
i'm a slave to my stats again.
i'm posting as i wish.
i'm considering wearing only
white panties until September 1st.
today i'm wearing white panties.
it hurts too much to wear the pink ones.
i have a drawer full of pink ones.

but i'm still wearing the chain around my ankle
that silly chain of paper clips that
says so much about
what we were...

and if i post a photo on a Friday,
it will still be of a cat.