I had a hard day. News of a family medical crisis. It's serious and sad, and accompanied by the usual characteristic histrionics and dysfunctional dynamics.
I need cleansing.
I need catharsis.
I need a beating.
I've been e-mailing dominick today. If only he would come down, he could give me what I need. He could give me what he needs to administer. A long, slow, sadistic session, something wide and a cane descending again and again on my bound and vulnerable body. His fingers, his cock, my holes, after all these years, after all those fantasies, after all those e-mails, and the blushing pictures I took and sent him because he told me to and I do always want to please him.
I took the pictures according to his specifications. I am bent over, legs partly spread so he can see my lascivious labia hanging down and my puckered little brown ass hole, ever so tight and, at the time, quite virginal. And then in the second picture I have reached behind and buried the middle finger of my right hand in that little butt hole as far as I could drive it.
Just one little middle finger. Nothing compared to his lovely slender cock, which I still hope he will one day ram into me most energetically. I have a picture of his cock. Of his cock and of his belt. I keep hoping that he'll relent one day and agree to come down and acquaint me with both his cock and his belt.
I need a beating so that all I will know is the pain as his belt and his cane crash down on me and drive everything out. And then he will fuck me, pushing his pelvis against the welts he left across my reddened ass. And we will both cum, in a conflagration of combusted frustration and pain.
One day, dominick.
One day you will relent.
One day you will risk the disappointment of reality
and claim what has always been yours.