Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Breasts offered like canapes

I received the following from my dear friend jcn. My response was:
I am going to put this up as a guest post. I don't think there is anything you need to remove for privacy, but you might want to double check.

And you're right.
I'm not asking.
I am stating.
So here it is.
Partly because it was too good not to share.
Partly so you could read about a situation quite different from mine.

And partly because
  • I'm tired
  • I have a migraine
  • and my butt hurts.
Background: jcn is right around my age and married for over 40 years to her dom. Their relationship has pretty much always involved BDSM. It is complicated by assorted personal issues. They've had some crises lately (hers make mine look self-indulgent) and are working their way back.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I have to admit, I came home in a terrible mood. I had been promised things - (he has been preoccupied, as I said) - which had not come to pass. I had remained good-humored about it for days, and then awakened on Tuesday morning with what felt like a full blown sinus infection, aching joints, and a desk with enough work on it for 10 hours, instead of the 6 in which I now have to complete it. And, I am the primary receptionist, which means that all my work is interrupted, constantly, by the need to answer the phone, and find answers for customers.
By the time I drove home, I was in termagant mode, attitude with a capital A, feeling as if concrete had been poured into my nasal passages, pure nasty. And I walked in, and he had hung up the lead from the discreet ring on the beam in the living room, and placed my stool under it - and I was resentful and horribly pissed off. The arrogance! (Well, yes, I do know that's the point of D/s, but the 24/7 brand has its disadvantages, as well as its good points.)

Anyway, I bitched, though ostensibly pleasantly, and we sat and had green tea - (my personal miracle cure for almost everything; I love the Japanese powdered cha beyond words, despite its acknowledged bitterness) - and talked about what was preoccupying him. And then about my resentment. And about the entire roller-coaster of the previous 15 months.

And I started to feel better.

And when he said (and I'm certain it was manipulative, as he admitted it, afterwards) "Well, maybe this isn't a good day for this...", I said, only slightly grudgingly, "I think we should carpe diem, and all that."

And we figured out dinner, and I took the longest bath, and came out, dressed for action, as it were, and he kept talking about Other Things, and I rubbed feet, and then, he gave me That Look, and the voices in my head took over. I knelt, and smiled - my very best, most charming smile - and murmured, "I don't do this as often as I should..." and watched his slow, very tender smile grow in response to mine.

And I begged, very prettily, for the pleasure and privilege of serving him. I begged for pain - as it pleased him, and in his own good time - and for the joy of submitting to him.

And he was going to beat me, but then my mouth took over, and he ended up taking (unawares) a page from the book you and the fiend are writing, and twisted my left nipple to the point where I simply dissolved, his cock all the way down my throat and breathing, for a miracle, perfectly possible despite this welcome obstacle, and he moaned and sighed and clutched my shoulders (he loves to stand while I suck his cock), and kept twisting, and came somewhere halfway down my esophagus, and it was the best ever.

And now, this morning, I feel healed and healthy and energetic and happy, and I'm slightly swollen and wet, and that lead is still hanging in the living room, and I can only hope the Jehovah's Witnesses, (with whom he conducts frequent and friendly though fractious discussions of the relative good points of Buddhism and JWism), don't choose today to visit.

Oh. And the tawse is still out, and the very heavy, studded leather belt, and the damned, pretty, blue and white buggy whip that stings like a motha, and I have a feeling that he, dilatory memory and all, will recall me kneeling, breasts proffered like canapes, and begging for pain, as it would please him to give it to me...

1 comment:

Paul said...

OG, Thanks for posting that, very interesting.
Love and warm hugs,