The Irishman was here last night, for the first time in a couple of months. I was glad. I needed the physical contact. He didn't stay very long, but even that little bit was welcome.
He contacted me earlier in the evening. I said I was open to a visit and would be home, but was tired. I pulled off all my clothes and went to bed very early. It felt good crawling naked into the bed, surrounded by cats. I dozed off feeling the sadist's arms gathering me to him.
At around 10:30 pm there was a noise from my cell phone. I assumed it was a text message from the Irishman. Instead it was 6 words from the sadist that made me feel warm all over. I replied, got up and e-mailed him in more detail, and saw a message from the Irishman with an ETA. Then I crawled back into bed, again feeling all warm and cuddly.
At that point, I would have been just as happy if the Irishman had not been on his way. I hugged those 6 words to myself and felt thoroughly owned. I marvel at the emotions that wash over me. It is a sense that is very distinct from feeling loved. I have no expectations of being loved by my Master, although I do think he is "fond" of me and he certainly treasures me. But I feel more secure as his pet than I have ever felt in any supposed love relationship. More safe, even, although I am quite aware that he wants some very scary things from me. It puzzles me, but I am happy, so while I strive to understand, I do not question. I just hug myself and say "Thank you, my Master" and tell him that I love him while expecting nothing of the sort in return.
Around 11, the Irishman turned up, with his crooked smile and cold, focused gaze that washes over his eyes as he is transformed before me into a dom.
He has had a goal. To get his generous-sized cock into my tight little asshole. And this time he finally made it in. There was a bit of pain at first, and then it was fine. Afterwards, though, I'm not sure what happened. Perhaps, now that he was finally in, he wilted a bit. I'm not sure. but he withdrew. I could hear him behind me, as I was bent over the bed, lubing up his cock and pulling on it, but he came on my lower back before he could make it back in.
But he did get an erection. I know he gets erections. I've sucked him off, I've brought him off in my hand. And he has fucked my cunt good and hard from behind, though not for super long before he came.
The thing is, I'm starting to get paranoid.
Is it me?
Ex-hubby #1 definitely had trouble with premature ejaculation. #2 did better, but not all that well - though with him I suspect he wasn't concerned about lasting long enough to give me pleasure. S-- used to be great, but the last time couldn't fuck me at all. That problem started a few years ago, leading to lack of contact for 2 years (long story) and improvement the next time we were together, but then it went back downhill. And the philosopher... [sigh]
Could it be my fault? My Master would probably say it's because I'm so hot and sexy. Logic would say what do I expect from older guys? but they were young when I was married, and the philosopher isn't even 40 yet.
Should I hang up a sign saying "If you can't keep it up, it's not your fault"?
In any case, the Irishman was sweet about it, and said he'll just have to practice with me more. My ass has decided it really likes being fucked, so I do hope he comes back soon and tries again.
He ordered me to stay in position bent over the bed and patted me affectionately on the butt before leaving the house. I rose feeling happy yet matter-of-fact, took a shower to wash his cum off my back, and returned to my bed, again falling asleep with memories of being scooped up in my Master's arms as I sat on his lap.
I feel oddly detached about my sessions with the Irishman. We don't exchange much in the way of e-mails, which is a pity, as he is a smart man with a good command of the language. He knows I care about words, and yesterday said perhaps he was stingy with them as one of his ways of dominating me, as he knows I like them. His miserliness also serves to keep a distance between us, because I think we would both enjoy a more extensive correspondence. And that, I think, is one of the techniques he uses to handle these extra-marital dalliances by which he satisfies his dominant and sadistic appetites.
In any case, it works. I don't feel him to be a threat to my relationship with my Master - meaning, it doesn't confuse me. I do keep wishing I could have a boyfriend, and again and again I realize I'm not ready to compromise my devotion to the sadist in order to give someone else primacy.
So my ass was fucked, if briefly, and this morning it looked as if it had been excavated a bit. There is a bruise on my left breast from where the Irishman spanked it. He's into that, it seems, but is careful to support it underneath with his other hand. It didn't hurt as much as when the sadist flogged it, but I could see clear, red marks from his fingers after he left. I don't suppose the sadist would be all that happy with the bruise, as he is quite devoted to my breasts, but it will clear.
And so, I went back to sleep, feeling fine, wishing I'd been fucked more, and feeling my Master's arms around me.
The oddest part of it all was the next morning. I awoke from a dream about the philosopher. I've been thinking about him, worrying about him, debating about contacting his brother on Facebook to say I'm concerned about him and love him and hope he's OK. And there I was this morning, after having been spanked and butt fucked by the Irishman (he has a very firm, hard spank, for which my bottom is very grateful), after having received a lovely 6-word text message from the sadist and falling asleep feeling his arms around me, I awoke from a dream about the philosopher and knew I still love him.
Sometimes my life seems very very complicated.