Tuesday, March 29, 2011
He spanked me sweetly with a salad fork.
Little love pats with his salad fork that could barely be called a spanking at all.
I made him a salad.
He came for lunch and I made him a salad.
He was with me for nearly 3 hours and nothing went wrong.
Nothing went wrong and his face kept lighting with beautiful smiles.
It was a very good salad.
Baby greens and sweet peppers in red and orange and yellow.
Sweet tiny grape tomatoes.
Sweet and crunchy sugar peas.
Tiny slices of salty olives.
A healthy shot of basil.
Extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Thank you, Trader Joe's.
I've never given him food before. It felt so domestic. And a little disconcerting at first. A sudden leap. A shift. A new role. Everything so new and different and beautiful and loving and sweet.
We kissed for about ten thousand years. We kissed with passion more than lust, with wonder, with tenderness, with desire that was a desire to connect, to melt, as much as or more than a desire for sex. We learned each other's mouths as if it were for the first time.
And in some ways, it was the first time.
Or maybe the first plus some, since the door had been opened on Saturday.
But Saturday was when we knew we were all right.
Saturday we welcomed that
Today we began our new life.
When we talked, there was a difference.
We talked in person the way we used to talk by e-mail only. Only more so. He was open. There were no sharp edges. His face... I kept gazing at his face. At his eyes. And he would smile. There was so much happiness in that room that we were drunk on it.
He ate the salad.
He sat in his chair and ate his salad.
I sat at his feet and ate mine.
Then he called me to him, and took a tender green leaf and gently passed it over and around my left breast, circling the nipple that was smiling for him. He anointed my breast with oil and vinegar, then took my breast in his mouth and gently, sweetly, lovingly, sucked the dressing off.
My right breast was next.
"Lie down on the floor," he said.
I did as I was told,
lying on my back,
spreading my legs,
thinking he was going to flog my pussy.
Instead, he knelt beside me and slowly, tenderly, lay a trail of leaves in a delicate row down my body that began between my tits and ended above my pussy.
Then he ate them.
Off my body.
Slowly, tenderly, he ate his salad off my body.
Later, he told me that Daddy had returned.
Daddy, who had been hiding when things were bad.
Daddy, who was back and longing for his baby girl.
Daddy, who gave my baby bottom one hell of a spanking with the wooden spoon.
I made my Daddy very happy.
I made this man very happy.
The room was filled with smiles and happiness.
And we rejoiced in each other's arms.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Not that I really had a plan. Being neither dominant nor Type A, I don't have anything as organized as a plan around which I construct my life. But even so. Some things are in my mind and some things aren't. When the philosopher broke up with me exactly 2 years after we first met in person, I signed up with FetLife as an attempt to maintain my submissive identity. Meeting a Dom was certainly in my mind. But he would have to have been be a very special Dom. I have my needs and I have my standards. Love, on the other hand, would be premature.
I was still in love with John.
Broken heart and all, I was still in love with John.
So much for expectations. Within a month and a half after the sadist found me, I was scolding him (such chutzpah!) about mentioning both Shakespeare and James Joyce's Ulysses in the same e-mail because it was stirring up feelings that had not been invited. When I finally admitted outright to loving him, he said he'd known it before I did.
So there it was.
I loved him.
Not much I could do about that.
I loved him. but I wasn't in love with him.
I've had deep, warm feelings for him,
but none of the gooey romantic stuff.
No mooning over memories of his face,
of his smile,
of his mouth,
of the warmth of his body as he lay next to me.
Not till now.
Because things have changed. It's inevitable for things to change when the parameters change. And boy, have they changed. It's not merely that we have made it a good way back from perhaps the most serious falling out we've ever had. It's that he has confessed to feelings for me. Those feelings are rather vaguely defined, but they are most definitely feelings. Combine that with the added openness that came from trying to recapture some of what we had and the clear sense that we were working on it together, and there was - is- no longer any denying it. We are a "we."
It's still D/s.
That is who we are.
It's not a game.
This is who we are.
But walls have come down.
And I see things now that I couldn't see before.
He has revealed things that he was masking before.
And I find that I've fallen in love with him.
Which is very scary.
That last bit I realized only as I wrote it.
That it's scary.
[she pauses to acknowledge the weight in the pit of her stomach.]
Not that being in love with him will make any difference in the overall scheme of things. Our mode of interaction is defined, as are the limitations. Which is just as well. I think I'd OD on seeing him every day. I'm grateful for the assorted other people in his life. Especially for his masochist slave, who has literally saved my ass many times.
It's his confession of feelings, and our renewed recognition of how important we are to each other, that has made the biggest difference. Especially on Saturday. After all the distance, both emotional and geographical, all the misunderstandings, all the hurt inflicted on both sides, whether inadvertent or deliberate, and then all the extraordinary progress we managed to make, our need to see each other was insurmountable and characterized by far more than sexual urgency.
There were moments during our reunion during which the D/s dynamic was eclipsed by the passion and joy of two lovers at being in each other's arms.
And now I've fallen in love with him.
Too late now...
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Again today you were magnificent.
I have no words for what he was.
For how he was.
For what we were.
For what we are.
We were far past that.
No one will ever see in you what I see, he said.
As he has said before.
You may tell them that, he said.
I am beyond seeing.
Beyond even feeling.
It is bigger than that.
There are no words.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
We've all come home.
My dad is home from the hospital.
Open heart surgery.
He is recovering.
I am home with the cats.
And my sweet sadist and I have come home to each other.
Our hearts were cut open, too.
He picked at his scabs while I cried aloud and fumed in silence.
Then we started to lick our wounds.
Sucking out the poison.
First our own.
Then each other's.
And slowly, tentatively, we began to heal.
All this through the easily misunderstood medium of e-mail.
The progress by today has been nothing short of miraculous.
And the little bird we hold in our hands is fluttering its wings and getting ready to fly.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Because that is what he was watching as I sucked his cock today.
Well, not the whole time. But we are still wrestling with hurt and pain. He more than me. And when he wrestles with his emotions, the beast pushes his way in. Another wrestling match.
The beast was responsible for part of the original agenda for today. The flogger and chain to be left on the bed. And a position for me to practice: lying on my back, head hanging over the foot of the bed, legs spread as wide as I could, arms straight out on either side and clutching the bedspread and sides of the bed while I thrust my tits toward the ceiling.
You get the picture.
You get what was planned.
But as the sadist was on his way in the company of the beast, I heard my neighbors outside the house. Outside the bedroom. Very clearly. Another reason to replace my windows if I ever get the money. Because the thing about these neighbors is that they care about me. Keep an eye on me. Would be concerned if they heard me screaming bloody murder while the beast broke loose and flogged my tits and pussy in a far more violent way than I normally must suffer.
So the sadist took control.
The attack was moderated.
Although my nipples ended up like raspberries.
And my pussy hurts.
Especially as the seam of my jeans presses into it.
And tomorrow I have another 6 hour drive back up to my parents. At least by the time I get there my mouth won't be as intensely red as it is now. He was here for 2 hours today. A very long visit. And much of that time, when I wasn't being beaten, involved kissing and cock sucking.
I admit it.
I wasn't really tortured.
Or not physically, at least.
Not that he didn't want to.
So the torture porn?
He watched it. During the early stages of the cock sucking. He'd never done that before. I wasn't even sure why he had brought his little notebook computer. To play a song from the CDs he had made for me? I didn't get to watch the video, and at the first sounds I wondered whether it was one of the film clips he had made of me. Not that I was paying that much attention. His cock is very demanding.
Still, he watched for a little while. And then, as my efforts combined with the extra stimulation seemed to overcome his doubts about me and... well, let's leave it at that. The issues. The issues and hurt we've been struggling with over the last few weeks.
The visit ended well.
Although there is still a lot of work to be done.
Plus he said some things, one observation in particular, that both hurt and left me thinking very hard. I don't think he is completely right but I do think there is some validity to what he has observed.
In the end, though, what it comes back to again and again, is that we neither of us can walk away.
Note: Just so you know, and because I'm so proud of myself, and because the sadist said I was "magnificent", I was quite successful at keeping my arms and legs spread while my tits and pussy were being flogged. I never let go of the sides of the bed to protect myself (a first for me) and although my legs did sometimes close automatically, I opened them right back up again. Yes, he could have whipped me a lot harder than he did. And later he told me about the really nasty little rubber flogger he had wanted to use. On every inch of my body. But the flogging did hurt. And I submitted. I offered my body to the torture. To please him. And he was pleased.
Another note: I'm heading up north again. More chauffeuring duty. If all continues as planned I should be back Thursday night. I hope to get in at least one post while I'm gone. Thanks for your patience. ~o.g.
Friday, March 18, 2011
He has his plans.
I have my instructions.
Put on the bed the flogger and chain.
All other implements go down to the dungeon.
The strip of wood her uses as a cane.
The large wooden spoon.
These will be laid out on the table in the dungeon.
He has his plans.
I have my homework.
I must practice a position.
It may be purely for his pleasure.
But I fear not.
everything is for his pleasure.
I was flipping through the Style magazine section of last Sunday's NY Times before tossing it out. My eyes froze at an ad. An ad for men's belts. Very expensive belts, braided belts, displayed in a column, coiled and leather and beautiful.
All I saw were instruments of pain.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Two full days, with a travel day on either side.
Time for sleeping in my own bed.
Time for feline conflict resolution.
Time for working on my taxes.
Time for saying Kaddish on the occasion of my uncle's Yahrzeit.
Time for serving the sadist.
He thinks he can arrange a visit for Saturday.
And my orders are to recover from my trip so I can serve him with perfect focus.
We've been having problems again. Misunderstandings. The dangers of e-mail communication are well known. It's hard to get the right tone, the proper inflection, to clearly interpret what the other person has said. Still, it is rather ironic that two people who care for each other at whatever level and also care so much about language and specifically the written word should be so prone to misunderstandings.
I suspect it is precisely because we do care for each other. We are both very intense people, and I think it is too easy for each of us to believe that we have been rejected in some way. However we may see that manifested, it all comes down to the same thing. Believing that we've been rejected. Believing the other doesn't care enough. We may call it everything from lack of focus to disobedience to disapproval, but it is all the same thing.
And most likely to happen when life gets in the way.
Speaking of which... my dad is doing phenomenally! I can't get over it. Two days after the surgery, after having his chest cracked open and a bit of his heart replaced (yes, that tiny reference was deliberate), in an operation that lasted hours and hours and him having just turned 93... well, they had him up walking today! With a walker, but still!! He has been sitting up in a chair since yesterday. Today he is being moved out of the ICU into a regular hospital room and probably by Monday will be in a rehab facility.
I am so impressed!
The one we are worried about is my mom. From various causes, she has been showing signs of dementia (not Alzheimer's, though) for the past couple of years. And now it was looking worse. My sister and I aren't sure if her confusion and forgetfulness are being exacerbated by stress over my dad or whether it really has gotten that bad. So that both added to our worries and made our job harder. My sister is staying there till Sunday morning. I'll be returning Sunday night and remaining till next Thursday, but can't keep doing that. Neither of us can, and my folks do live in a place that can provide more care. The question is, at what point do we arrange for that, especially while my dad is recuperating. He will probably be home in 3-4 weeks, with some home care after that, but won't be fully recovered (meaning better than he has been for years) for 3-6 months. The stress of caring for her - worrying about her - will be hard on him.
Being with them, and with my sister, is hard on me. And hard on the sadist, and on the relationship, because even though I do always feel surrounded by him, and being owned by him makes me stronger, centered, contained, and happy, I can't give him as much of me while I'm with them as when I am on my own.
Still, we somehow make it through every upheaval.
And in spite of it all, and maybe even because of it, I end up loving him more.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Considering how controlling they all are, I find it amazing though perhaps understandable that I should crave a D/s relationship. Lots to explore on that issue. But not today.
The sadist had another one of his hissy fits a few days ago, because I forgot about keeping him supplied with inspirational material. And unfortunately, being distracted and all, it took a while before I realized what was wrong. Once I did, he snapped into giving a series of specific orders. Which was just what I needed.
I never know in such cases to what extent he is just being his usual self-centered self and to what extent he is knowingly giving me the structure he realizes I need in times of crisis. I suspect (as I am sure you do, too) that it is some of both, though he would deny up hill and down that any of it was for my sake.
I had to send him some small amusing bits on the drive up on Sunday (a last minute change of plans per family request), and Monday he required 2 pieces in specific time slots. Today, surgery day, all he wants are any schedule updates. Clearly, no matter what he may say, that was tailored to the demands of the day, while the other days he pulled me away from mulling too much on negative things while making me feel very safe, controlled, and contained.
There is free WiFi at the hospital, so it's actually easier to post when I'm here than back where my parents live. Meanwhile, thank you to everyone for your good wishes.
And a special thank you to one particular fan/friend for her very generous gift. The money I was going to use on a new vibrator but that got put into an iPod fund instead. I ran out and got the iPod a couple of days before I left town and did manage to get a bunch of CDs downloaded. It was a BIG help on the drive up, and is reminding me of all the great music I have that I never get to listen to!
I'm hoping to get home for a few days soon, maybe over the weekend, at which time I might put my new vibrator to the test. I'll definitely need it by then...
Saturday, March 12, 2011
It will take place early Tuesday morning.
I had planned to drive up on Monday.
That has been moved up, too.
My mom needs help and company.
So this morning she asked me to drive up Sunday.
Which I will do.
Serving the sadist has made me more cooperative.
I'll drive up and leave the house and leave the cats and leave next week's visit from the sadist and go be the dutiful daughter and hope for the best. Which I do. So while my atheist parents would be horrified at the thought, I figure that what they don't know can't hurt them and who knows, it might even help. Meaning that if you're inclined to say a mi sheberach for him or to say any other healing prayers or send general cosmic good wishes and all that, it might be a nice thing to do.
I don't know when I'll get back to this blog. I'll be accessing my e-mails through my Blackberry, but don't know how much I'll get to post. I'm trying to decide whether to bring the new vibrator. I might just pack it cause you never know. It's not as quiet as I would like, but my mom is pretty deaf now without her hearing aids. On the other hand, my sister will probably be there most of the time I'm there, and she would certainly hear and figure out what it is.
I'm really used to living alone. Even when I was married I was alone, whether because ex-hubby #2 always wanted to be wherever he was not or because our connection was minimal. He was much more interested in his fiddle and his math books than he was in me.
Obviously, I'm feeling kind of moody today.
Things with the sadist go up and down. He is being rather quiet and stern at the moment. I wrote him a couple of desperate poems today, which I will not share, and his only response, to the first one, was:
All I will tell you is to concentrate on your servitude and obedience.
Which is good advice, I suppose.
But still, it is hard.
He sees my trips as good for me, thinking they will be "clarifying" times for me. I think he has a fatalistic streak, and is convinced that on one of these trips I will realize that I can't or don't want to serve him as he requires. Which makes me very sad. I think of being without him and I feel lost. Very lost.
He is not an easy man to serve.
He is not an easy man to love.
There are challenges...
So I will keep trying.
I will keep trying to be what he wants me to be.
he will once more believe that I do love him
and that he is the core of my life.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
©Ralph Chaplin 1915
When the union's inspiration through the workers' blood shall run
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one
For the Union makes us strong
Solidarity forever, solidarity forever
For the Union makes us strong
Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?
For the union makes us strong
It is we who ploughed the prairies, built the cities where they trade
Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid
Now we stand outcast and starving 'mid the wonders we have made
But the union makes us strong
All the world that's owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone
We have laid the wide foundations, built it skyward stone by stone
It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own
While the union makes us strong
They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn
But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn
We can break their haughty power gain our freedom when we learn
That the Union makes us strong
In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold
Greater than the might of armies magnified a thousandfold
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old
For the Union makes us strong
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I'll come clean.
Ketzel showed very little interest in this new toy.
Not enough plastic in the packaging.
Remember how I said I needed a new vibrator because my beautiful blue and yellow one had died of neglect? How I was lusting after one from Lelo and wished some nice company would send me one for free? How I despaired of such an outcome and would have to cough up the money myself? Well, not exactly myself, since a very sweet friend gave me a gift which was going to be transformed into something I could shove up my pussy.
What is that mysterious light shining in the corner of the room?
Why, it is o.g.'s new fairy godmother, in the guise of a representative of EdenFantasys. They are an online seller of so-called "Adult Toys" whose website I happened to use when trying to decide which Lelo vibrator to spring for. They have a great comparison tool which saved me from making a chart with the features of each vibrator I was considering.
My contact made the usual offer of free toys in exchange for reviews and links. The sadist gave his blessing to the project, because he's a sweet guy (well, he can be), and besides, he figures he'll get some fun out of it. Next came a list of choices for my first review, of which I was to pick two options. Given the need I had expressed, these were all items I could, indeed, shove up my cunt. A pretty nice list of choices, too, though regrettably nothing by Lelo was included. I immediately eliminated anything that boasted of being big. This little pussy doesn't like real big. There was a rabbit, which interested me since I've never used one (or much of anything, really), but it seemed kind of weird so I struck that one as well. One was by the people who made my dead blue one, so I put that on my request list. Then there were a number of G-spot vibrators. When I got to the very last one, it was so damn weird looking that I knew I had to have it. The Siena Symphony. Look at it. Weird! But cool.
And that's what they sent me.
It arrived Monday, before I got home from my trip.
I finally opened it today.
I haven't tried it yet.
My poor pussy has been a little sore since yesterday.
It's twitching madly just thinking about Tuesday...
I do hope to try my new toy soon, and then post a review that should be entertaining at least. And I'm hoping that I will have been entertained as well. I like the thing already. Its look is creative and it feels like some very serious equipment. But it is a lovely lavender (my choice) which makes it feel very... personal.
Meanwhile, the sadist is looking forward to watching it be put to use.
I wonder if he'll let me cum for him.
As opposed to yesterday...
Watch this space.
PS - and the gift from my friend? I'm thinking of putting it towards an iPod. I know I should put it towards the electric bill, but even the unemployed need to spoil themselves sometimes.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
It was long and intense and went very well.
We are working very hard.
And that's about all I really want to say.
This isn't a game.
We aren't playing.
It is very real
and very deep
and intensely personal.
"It's just for you and me," I told him, as we discussed what I might say here. "Its just for you and me." I loved being able to say those words. "You and me."
And so it was.
And so it is.
And so that is all I will say
Monday, March 7, 2011
All is well for now.
My dad is tired but cheerful.
My mom is stronger but her memory is worse.
And the sadist was in possession of me the entire time.
I had my instructions.
The way up was for cleansing. Thoughts were to be of things other than him. Music was to be other than what he had given me. He was too smart to say I wasn't allowed to think of him, knowing that then it would be impossible to keep him out of my mind. And of course, I did think of him, but not in a focused way.
While there, I was given things to contemplate. We discussed my answers to 2 specific tasks, including issues relating to the recent catastrophe. He fed my mind with images, with scenarios, with possibilities, and gave me a crucial assignment for our meeting tomorrow.
On the way home, I was to be perfectly focused on him. I was to be working for him. I listened to a classical piece he had given me months ago, and to a singer whose album I bought based on the one heart-wrenching song of his my Master had included on a playlist he compiled for me. I worked on memorizing the lines I had written for my assignment. He fed me details and instructions for our meeting tomorrow, and sent me further and deeper into that state in which nothing exists but him.
I held on to enough to make me a safe driver.
I was a safe driver.
A safe driver owned by a very wise man
returning me to his service
in a way that will help heal us both
and put us back where we belong.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
So I'm heading up this weekend. And likely will go up another few times in the next couple of months as my dad will be having open heart surgery soon. Probably some time after St. Patrick's Day. He's over 90, which isn't a great age for having major surgery. But except for his heart he's really pretty healthy, and without the surgery he'll be dead within 6 months, so the choice seems pretty clear.
Meanwhile, the sadist and I both feel that we need to move back to my serving him. To that kind of relationship. That kind of power imbalance. That kind of clarity. He is doing a lot better, but remains more shaken than I am. That doesn't mean I'm not struggling. There is a lot of anxiety lurking beneath the surface, and there is a major issue that I will have to face up to. Still, things continue to look promising, especially as we seem to be so in accord about where we need to go.
So he is specifying what I should focus on during the drives up and back. And no music connected with him on the way up. That was hard to give up, but probably a wise decision. It is to be a cleansing drive up, preparing me to serve him.
I'm feeling more grounded and contained from all this, which is good in general and especially for a trip to see my parents. That can be hard under the best of circumstances.
Barring the unforeseen, I should be home Monday night. I'm not sure I can post here while I'm gone, but you can always amuse yourselves by reading old stories and poems.
Have a good weekend, and treasure those you care for.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I seem to be making progress.
I'm being creative and have made progress.
No, this time I'm not talking about the situation with the sadist. Although that is coming along well. Today, we each, independently, were feeling that we missed my serving him. You know, the whole D/s thing? We miss it. We both miss it. It's not that I don't still have that sense of submission underlying everything. But we haven't been interacting that way. And we both miss it.
Which is good.
We are in synch.
We are working together.
Nothing is guaranteed. And the fiend is still very worried that I am overestimating the character and depth of his feelings for me. And therefore that I am misrepresenting him here, and that you all are thinking it is more than it is. He repeated that it is somewhere in the middle of the scale. I really do think that's about where it is, with the bottom being a view of me as something to be used and discarded and the top being some grand romantic passion. Because of the way I write, because of my own romanticism, it could easily come out sounding more than that. But it's not. As I said to him tonight, I'm not expecting a Valentine's Day card. Which is true. But he is very intense, and whatever he does is very intense, and the way I write is very intense, so between us things can easily seem more than they are.
But that's not what this post is about.
It's about the cats.
Ketzel and Marko?
Those 2 sweet kitties who like to curl up and lick each other?
Not bloody likely.
And there has actually been a bit of blood.
There have been ongoing hostilities for over a year.
They generally occur around two activities.
And my bedtime.
That Keztel. She is incredibly territorial. They used to both sleep with me. Or they each would at different times of the night, or on different nights. But lately, Keztel has made it quite clear that I belong to her. In her mind, I belong to her and the bedroom belongs to her and the bed belongs to her and if she has plopped herself down with me then Marko can just forget even coming into the room, let alone getting on the bed.
It used to be ok if he got up there with me first. She would come in later, sniff a bit, and then lie down on the other side of me, each hard against a leg. Sandwiching me. Such a pleasure. But the last time that happened, after Ketzel came up, she gave him the evil eye and he left.
I was very sad.
I love them both.
But Ketzel has this almost desperate neediness.
It was bad enough that they would fight. Physically fight. Which upset and worried me. But the final straw was when I couldn't sleep through the night because of growling and hissing and fighting at 2 am. A few nights ago I gave up, gathered my cell pone and my pillow, and went downstairs to the dungeon to sleep. On the futon. Ketzel rarely comes down there. Once I settled down, I slept through the night.
Obviously, this can't go on.
I can't let one stubborn ball of fur drive me out of my own room.
My own bed.
So the next night, I shut the door.
I didn't hear any yowling.
And I slept through the night.
The next morning, I found but one tiny turdlet as a symbol of her displeasure and of a tussle between them.
So for now, that's the new rule.
No kitties in the bed.
My allergist should be delighted.
The other move has been to play with Marko right after I feed him, which means he is less likely to come up and get in Ketzel's face or try to commit bestial incest. That has been working pretty well, too.
Still, it all takes a lot of work.
Playing with Marko.
Snuggling with Ketzel.
Ignoring their scratching at the door.
It's worth it, though.
A truce by default.
Maybe if they don't fight for a long time,
they'll remember that they love each other.
Or used to.
[I had to pause in my writing. I'm on the couch. Ketzel wanted to crawl into my lap. She's so cute when she wants to crawl into my lap. Unfortunately, the aptly named laptop was already in my lap. I can't say I won. I can't even say the laptop won. She just changed her mind. It's pretty pathetic when I'm submissive even to my own cat!]
There's no more to tell, anyway.
Peace is possible.
peace is possible.
Relationships can be restored.
Isn't that nice to know?