A challenge

This song came up on the bluegrass station.
A gospel song.
I'm not a Christian.
I can't say for sure whether I believe in God.
But I do like religious music of various sorts.
Stained glass bluegrass.
Black gospel for sure.
Early music masses.
My tastes are most definitely eclectic.

And then there's the sadist.
And me.
And his ownership.
And my struggles.
Can I really yield as completely as he wishes me to.

This song came up.
The words...

I wanted to send the lyrics to him
but wasn't sure I could swear I was ready to mean them.
To promise that full a commitment.

I want to.
I try.
But it scares me.

To cede everything...
that does scare me.

Here is the song, by the artists I heard on the radio.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkBywnSwd6Q

And here are the first verse and the chorus.

The Lowest Valley, by Pearl Mullins

Lord I don't want to do one thing on my own
Put me where you want me Lord where I belong
Give me the strength Lord to do thy perfect will
And when I'm in the lowest valley I can climb the highest hill

   Lord I want to be what you want me to be
   Lord I want to do the things you want me to do
   Lord I want to stay in the center of thy will
   When I'm in the lowest valley I can climb the highest hill

Rapprochement

We're talking again.
I had hurt him.
It amazes me that I can hurt him.

It moves me.
Frightens me.

But maybe...
when his attentions have been so scarce...
it's important for me to be reminded.

Mouthing off

That's what I'm not going to do.
I'm not going to start spewing frustration.
I'm not going to offer any snarky psychological analyses.

I'm just going to mentally pace, saying everything inside my head, but I'm not going to write any of it here. And you know why? Not because someone might recognize him from his behaviour patterns. And not because any of the small handful of readers who do know who he is would find out things about him that maybe they shouldn't. And not because I'm afraid he would read what I have to say. Because he told me he no longer reads here. And I believe him.

I'm not going to say all the things roiling around in my head because I love him and am committed to him and all this - the realities of our lives and our emotions and insecurities - is frankly none of your business.

But that doesn't stop the thoughts.
Or the steam coming out of my ears.

Or other stuff coming out.

I'll let you know when things get sorted out.

Insecurity

Things have been very quiet here lately.
"Here" being not just these pages.
(Can I refer to pages in a web-based journal?)
"Here" also means the world I occupy with the sadist.

Every year, personal demands erode his availability for a 2-month stretch between mid-November and mid-January. The situation was worsened by the happy circumstance of my finally returning to work - which has meant we haven't seen each other in weeks.

I've been worried.

I've been worried about what the lack of a regular meeting schedule will mean. But now I'm worried about something else. Maybe it's unnecessary worry. A result of my lack of self-confidence. Of my insecurity, which can't help sticking its ugly head out of the ground when I'm not getting enough reassurance of what I'm worth to someone else.

His words have been scarce.
Thus, so has the reassurance.

As of today, though, the 2-months is over. Which means, for him,  fewer demands and less of a particular kind of stress. There is still the issue of finding intersecting times in our schedules for visits, and the loss of regular meetings continues to disturb me.

But there's something else.
The near silence.
Day after day of no more than a few words from him.

It's the loss of that interaction which worries me now most of all.
Because words were the foundation of everything.
And words can always be there even when his cock can't be in my mouth.

This is the closest I get to jealousy. I know there are others. I've met three, and know of at least two more. Plus he has projects. Someone always seems to be catching his eyes or his mind. It doesn't matter. I knew what I was to him. I was happy and secure. But now the near-silence scares me. I worry that it's not just because he's so busy with things I know about. I worry that someone new is distracting him, getting special attention, intriguing him, reducing his desire for me.

It's silly, I know.

Our relationship has evolved through so many stages in nearly three and a half years. There have surely been some particularly intriguing additions to his collection of submissives during that time, whether temporary or permanent, and yet we continued, fighting our way through every near-catastrophe. I'm probably worrying over nothing, distorting the situation because of the loss of our regular meetings.

Because I'm back at work and happy there and I have other things to think about and am not obsessing about him every minute of the day.

I'm scared.
I'm insecure.
And there's nothing I can do
except wait.
Wait
and hope
the words come back.

Of lovers and friends i still can recall

I'm back.
I was in New York.
New York City.
Brooklyn, actually.
Up for a big, wild, 2-day music festival.
And to stay with a friend.
A guy.
He likes me.

We've known each other for years, flirted for years, were lovers for a while but not a pair, if you know what I mean. It would have been so convenient if it had worked. Efficient. We're part of the same crowd, albeit a geographically scattered one.

I like him.
We like each other.
We're fond of each other, actually.
And the sexual tension had gotten really high back then.
But the truth is, the sex wasn't all that hot.
Even on a vanilla scale.
And for a relationship...
Well, he can be kind of crotchety.
Maybe more so as he's gotten older.
Which he has.
He's 10 years older than me.
But he's always drawn women to him.
Curious.
And always younger women.
Much younger women.

He wants to start things up again.
Wanted to have sex again, anyway.
I think it was last year.
And I turned him down.

Boy that felt good! To be the one in control. The one with power. Though I was sad in a way. I'd like to be close to him. But, as I said, the sex wasn't that good. And - even more important - it would risk messing up our relationship, which is what happened last time. I was hurt in a way last time, to which he was oblivious, and it took a while for things to become comfortable again. Which they very much are now. I'd love things to be physical without full-scale sex. To be physically affection, which we are to an extent, but maybe more. Snuggling. That would be nice...

The sadist was not happy last year when he found out I'd turned down an overture.

That I'd turned down... I guess I should give the guy a blog name. "Ralph" should do.

Anyway, the sadist is convinced I was created to give men sexual pleasure, and was duly pissed last year that I had turned down both Ralph and S---. So I did resume fucking S--- when he was here last year, and that was a good thing to do, but am being stubborn about Ralph because I care for him and don't want to fuck things up through fucking.

Still, it was nice to see him, and (in the house with plus-or-minus 10 other people depending on the night) we were comfortable and affectionate.

It was a good weekend.

There was one odd moment, seeing at the festival another old friend, male, who was widowed exactly 1 year ago. He asked if my significant other was into dancing. I thought of the sadist, about whom no one knows and to whom I would never think of applying the term "significant other." Then I realized the friend was referring back to the philosopher, who did come with me to the festival one January, a little less than a year after we met on line. It would have been nice to have seen him while I was up in New York. And then, after the festival was over but before I came home, I got a message from him asking if I'd gone. And later, saying he wished he'd known sooner, we cold have met for lunch. I hadn't told him... I felt shy about it... not wanting to put him on the spot, not wanting to be turned down if he didn't want to see me. I'm sorry now for feeling shy. I like him. I truly enjoyed his company. I was very happy for the time we spent together. Even leaving out the D/s, which perhaps I felt more strongly and more consistently than he did. I was happy being with him, and happy to learn what it was like to be friends with someone I loved. To spend time really together.

It would be nice to go back up to New York just to visit people.

The philosopher would be on the list.
The list of friends.
Whether or not lovers.

Friends are precious, and should not be lightly tossed aside.
Especially redheaded Irishmen.

I'm afraid

Is it unfounded?
Hallucinatory?
Hormone-based insecurity?

It suddenly washed over me today - the fear, the sadness, the despair, the conviction that the change in schedule means the end of our relationship as it has been developing for well over 3 years. As it has stubbornly persisted and grown in spite of our intensity - or perhaps because of it. As we've battled  each other and ourselves. As we've come so close and wanted so much that we've run screaming and then returned because we couldn't stay away.

There is so much of our brains involved in what we have, our minds, our creativity, the special mental connection that makes what we have so different... but it's the physical that blasts down the walls and both fires and soothes us.

When he's so busy -
when I'm so tired -
when we can't touch each other for weeks at a time -
can it last?

Or will I lapse into being just one of the many he has to choose from when he needs amusement?

I don't know.
And I'm afraid to find out.

Daddy likes to share his toys

They're salivating at the thought of me.
There's a gang of "old guys" salivating at the thought of me.
The thought of getting their hands on me.
The thought of getting their cocks in me.

And the sadist is quite delighted at getting to watch.
Delighted?
He's hot.
I could probably get him to cum just by talking about it.

He loves to think of watching them admire me.
Inspect me.
Poke and prod and explore me.
Spank my lovely pale white ass.
Fuck me in every possible hole.
Sit back and revel in the services of my expert mouth.
My tongue.
My teeth.
My lips.

He wants to see me work hard to please them.
He wants to see me suffer.
To see me reduced to a thing.
And he'll know.
He'll know it's all for him.
That I'm doing it all for his pleasure.
Because I love him.
Because he owns me.
Because he wants it.
And if he wants it,
then so do I.

(And the guys? They're pretty excited, too. Though I won't service them all right away. We're working up to it. The first event will be me and Daddy and the ringleader and his male sub. Date not set yet - my new employment status has made scheduling more difficult, as a weekday afternoon encounter had been under discussion. But I expect within the month. And yes - though you didn't ask - he declared condoms de rigueur. After all. I'm his property. I'm his baby girl. A Daddy like to look after his baby girl.)

Being his little whore

He wanted his whore today.
Which has its advantages.
His whore's nose doesn't need blowing.
As opposed to his little girl's nose.
Or his emotional pet's nose.
There was none of that.
No crying.
No mooning.
No mourning the fact that this was our last Tuesday.

Which doesn't necessarily mean we won't have long visits any more. He says that quite a number of my Saturdays will be devoted to serving his pleasure. But no more regular thing.

I'm not worried, though.
I'm really not.
I feel calm.
Secure.
Treasured.
Happy.

And tomorrow I start my new job for real.
I start my job,
and my brain is waking up from its SADdened stupor,
and Daddy was VERY understanding about the effect of the SAD.

He challenged me today.
He said he wanted his whore.
Focused.
Detached
Working for him.
Working for his pleasure.
But he wanted to see me struggle.
And he's a tease.
He is.

So while I was trying to stay focused and detached, he was saying things with his mouth... with his lips... with his tongue... and he gave me that happy, contented smile when I said how hard it was not to yield to my feelings...

I hear Allison Krauss...

"You say it best when you say nothing at all."

And after.

After he came, which he badly needed, we sat and talked for a long time. About the holidays, and his hometown, and an old friend, and developing plans for him to share me with a Dom friend of his. With the Dom and his male sub. And about the possibility of taking me away to a beach town, and whether he'll let me sleep between his legs with my mouth by his cock.

[she sighs happily and wriggles at the thought]

And about the absolutely perfect framed print that he gave me for my office.
The print that was his.
Actually, it's still his.
Which is even better.
It will be his presence in my office.
There's no face in the picture.
But I'll feel his eyes on me,
as if the frame contained a small hidden camera.
So he can keep his eyes on his property.

On his treasure.

I am his treasure.

And he is my everything.