Your Master might believe we read you for some romanticized glimpse of your relationship and Him, but I don't. I don't think your other readers do either. To my mind, he is the least affable and romantic of all the Doms written about. I'm not implying he is not attractive or worthy, but romantic? Oh Hell No.
As you know, the sadist loves to read comments about himself, so I passed on her words. His response was brief and to the point.
On hearing the fiend's response, my reader later clarified:
I meant that you did not romanticize him, not that he wasn't romantic, or affable.
But I think that her initial statement was both true and honest, especially as she had previously added:
I must say, his sweet side does not come through on your blog ;-).
Honestly, I have no complaints with her characterization of either the man himself or of the way I present him here. In fact, for reasons which I can only suspect, he makes a great effort to sabotage any inadvertent hints of the romantic in his feelings. Yet her words seem to have gotten under his skin, and he brought them up today during his visit. On two separate occasions.
And so, I wrote this in my post-visit report:
Ah, Daddy, if I didn't want to risk misinterpreting, I could say you were very romantic indeed.
The way you touched me today, the way you stroked me, the way you kissed me, so sweetly and tenderly... if I didn't know you would reply that you did it only because you thought you'd enjoy it, or to achieve a certain effect, I would say that was very romantic. But I try not to misrepresent you, Daddy, try not to romanticize you in my writings, so I hold back from saying those things.
Still... the way you made me feel, Daddy... your sweetness... the intimacy... I felt so close to you.
I still feel so close to you.
My body is remembering the beauty of laying my head against your belly, of melting into you, of feeling so soft and of feeling your softness too, Daddy...
I rein in my mind and cross out words before I even write them.
But my nipples still sigh, still feel the tender caress of your mouth.
My body is seeking you.
I want you.
Thank you, Daddy.
I am your own baby girl.
And I do love you.
He always kisses me. Amazing, long-lasting kisses. Beautiful, gentle, soft, seeking, devouring kisses from which at times the beast emerges with a hard bite on the left side of my lower lip. There is always that softness. That sweetness. But today, there was something more. He caressed me. Something he almost never does.
He had me lie down on the opened futon, on the dark red sheet that shows off the pallor of my skin. He sat on the edge, bent over me, and softly, sweetly, kissed and licked and sucked my nipples. So sweet... so gentle.. so arousing in a soft and floating way. And then with his fingers he stroked my breasts and caressed my belly. Softly, sweetly, gently caressed my belly.
And later, as I knelt before him, he again caressed my breasts, and if I didn't forbid myself from using that word with respect to his feelings for me, I would say he caressed them lovingly. He gave my bottom little spanks that can hardly be called spanks at all. They were so light and tender that they, too, were almost caresses. He called me his baby girl, he was my sweet gentle Daddy with the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes that emerge when he is my sweet gentle Daddy. They are not put on, the voice and the look. They are part of him, my sweet Daddy is part of him. As is the beast. But the way he caressed me...
It is not safe to say this.
It is not safe to see it.
It is not safe to feel this
because I am vulnerable enough as it is.
Love and romance are not on the table.
The way he kissed me,
the way he caressed me,
the way he looked at me,
the way he spoke to me...
If he were anyone else
I would say he was loving.
If he were anyone else
I would say he was romantic.
But he is who is he.
And the situation is as it is.
So I don't think things that I shouldn't.
I just enjoy what is there.
I smile and I float and I treasure what is there.
And I bury my suspicions.