I've been writing a lot lately. Just not here. My fingers have been tapping away, committing to what once would have been paper reams of dark scenarios of submission to my sadistic demon muse. Perhaps it is my spring fever - a polite term for the manic spell that my SAD grants me each April. Certainly, I've been horny as hell. Perhaps it is that the beast and I have been feeding each other's perversions with volleys of arousing images. Or perhaps it is that I have been feeling ever closer to my tormentor and his dark side, even though he is being careful to protect me from it when I am in his presence.
He will drop an image into a message, and I will repay him with reply after reply after reply, expanding and embroidering on his own evil thoughts. He pulls me into losing myself in thoughts of tortures that even he wouldn't inflict on me because of not wanting to mar my pale round breasts, of which he is quite fond. He wouldn't do it but I wallow in the scenario.
My body as well as my mind fondles memories of that horrid caning with a strip of cherry wood trim. The caning that left me sobbing. I find myself yearning for that pain. And my nipples... God, my nipples, before he pulled back, the fiend would twist them so badly I'd need help and firm commands to keep from collapsing to the ground. What I wouldn't give for torture like that right this minute!
And then our plans... he still says that one day he will share me with his friends. I do wonder how he will explain me. But still and all, while a year ago the idea horrified me when I read it on other subs' blogs as a real life experience, now I want him to hurry up and arrange it so I can demonstrate my devotion and submit to the degradation that will feed his evil appetites. Always it involves some measure of his spanking me, flogging me, caning me, to get us both into our respective moods and to show his friends how very submissive I am. And then they will rape me, one by one, as he watches and urges them on and encourages them to hurt me.
And he will stand where he can see my eyes and I can see his.
And he will gorge himself on my debasement.
And I will find joy in his arousal.
I don't know where I get this stuff. It festers in me. Part of me wants to disown it. And then I struggle with myself, and look in the mirror and say yes, this is part of who you are. Accept it. Embrace it.
Just as, when the sadist says I am sexy, I look in the mirror and shake my amazing mane of thick, wavy, rich red hair, and say
Yes, my Lord.
You bet I'm sexy.
And I'm horny.
And I'm yours.