There's been a shift,
just the slightest change,
since my Master's last
implied confession
of his feelings
via a song he wanted me to hear.
Nothing major.
Not the kind of thing he has feared
in which the delicate balance of power
toppled
when my knowledge of his emotions
was added to one side.
I'm not even sure I can say exactly what it is. I certainly can't give a name to it. But it feels as if we're closer with the veil of pretense removed. I still and always will be on the controlled end of the chain. Neither of us would want it any other way, and he's right in think the relationship could not survive having it any other way. But it's almost as if a different sense of union has joined the D/s dynamic.
Which still doesn't seem like the right word.
Any suggestions?
I feel it so clearly inside.
In my head and my heart.
But I just can't pin it down.
It feels good, though.
Whatever it is.
And makes me feel both safer and bolder.
Isn't that nice?
Meanwhile, I almost came in my allergist's waiting room from the texts the fiend and I were exchanging. I can't believe no one noticed me writhing in my chair, pressing my pussy down into the seat, nearly moaning out load, and surely - oh definitely - grimacing as he described his exercise regimen in real time. (Ha! Surprised you! Doesn't sound a bit erotic, does it? Fat lot you know... we continued to make each other crazy all day, giving my plain white cotton panties a permanently sodden crotch. One touch and I would have cum screaming. If, that is, I were allowed. Which I'm not. There are many forms of torture...)
I'm so very happy.
Showing posts with label panties. Show all posts
Showing posts with label panties. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
He took me away with him
I'm away tonight.
We are away tonight.
We are away together.
And we'll be together all night long.
The title says he took me away with him, although that's not quite accurate. He didn't physically take me away. What with differing schedules and points of origin, we couldn't travel together. A pity, that. Though I expect the intensity would have been nearly unbearable.
So we will have met.
A few hours from home.
At a hotel.
With a casino.
I've never been to a casino before.
I love it when he takes me out of my comfort zone.
I wrote this Monday night. A day ahead of when you're reading it. So I don't know what will have happened. I'm assuming - hoping - that all has gone smoothly. Our on-time departures. Not too much traffic. The reservation. My room preparations. His arrival. My greeting.
Me,
serving him a drink,
wearing
a black bra,
black panties,
and
(here it comes)
black spike heels.
Not one of the pairs I got cheap at the thrift store. Turns out they looked like the right size but were way too small. So I went shopping and got a proper pair at Payless Shoes for just $20 with heels around the same height but much skinnier. I think he'll like them better. And they fit better. Plus I did get gel inserts to ease the torture.
I think he'll be pleased at the sight of me.
Men do have their fantasies.
Then dinner.
And the casino.
And after...
Maybe, when I get home, I'll tell you about after.
Then again,
maybe not.
Why don't you write the story?
We are away tonight.
We are away together.
And we'll be together all night long.
The title says he took me away with him, although that's not quite accurate. He didn't physically take me away. What with differing schedules and points of origin, we couldn't travel together. A pity, that. Though I expect the intensity would have been nearly unbearable.
So we will have met.
A few hours from home.
At a hotel.
With a casino.
I've never been to a casino before.
I love it when he takes me out of my comfort zone.
I wrote this Monday night. A day ahead of when you're reading it. So I don't know what will have happened. I'm assuming - hoping - that all has gone smoothly. Our on-time departures. Not too much traffic. The reservation. My room preparations. His arrival. My greeting.
Me,
serving him a drink,
wearing
a black bra,
black panties,
and
(here it comes)
black spike heels.
Not one of the pairs I got cheap at the thrift store. Turns out they looked like the right size but were way too small. So I went shopping and got a proper pair at Payless Shoes for just $20 with heels around the same height but much skinnier. I think he'll like them better. And they fit better. Plus I did get gel inserts to ease the torture.
I think he'll be pleased at the sight of me.
Men do have their fantasies.
Then dinner.
And the casino.
And after...
Maybe, when I get home, I'll tell you about after.
Then again,
maybe not.
Why don't you write the story?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Written while sitting on my sore, hot butt
He needed to spank me today.
My Daddy has been dealing with a lot of aggravation lately, and he needed to spank his little girl. So he did. A lot. And hard. Though not as hard as I'm sure he wanted to.
He wanted to see his little girl's butt turn pink and then red. He wanted to feel it hot beneath him as he lay on top of her and pushed his Daddy cock against her tight little puckered butt hole until it hurt and she cried out "Ow! Daddy! It hurts!"
He loves when she tells him that he's hurting her.
So he spanked her as she was lying flat on the futon, with her panties pulled down below her knees and her Daddy straddling her legs so both those things made her feel restrained. And then he spanked her as she knelt before him sucking his cock, and as she rose up on her knees and he pulled her close to him while he sat on the chair that is his throne, and then as she lay on the futon facing in the other direction. He spanked her extra hard then, facing in the other direction, so her butt went from pink to red and grew very hot and was especially red on her right side because that's the side that shines in the light from the window when she kneels before him and sucks his cock.
He spanked me a lot.
He spanked me hard.
And I kept crying out that he was hurting me.
And later he spoke of how he had beaten me. which seemed rather a strong word to use for a hand spanking, except that the phrase arouses me, and it arouses him, and it makes me want him to beat me even though I probably - I know - I know I couldn't handle what he really wants to do.
When he hurts me, it makes me softer.
My mouth.
My tits.
My belly.
Everything softer.
Every time.
He spoke of how he wants to torture me.
Not of exactly what he wants to do.
He never tells me that.
But of part of why he wants to torture me.
Not for my screams.
But for my breath.
For the sharp intake of breath that would precede a scream.
He protects me.
He prevents himself from torturing me.
He denies himself.
He suffers to protect me.
Because to give in to the beast would be to destroy us.
And what we have, what we are, is too precious.
He wouldn't risk that.
But he does let himself spank me.
And now my bottom is still pink.
My bottom is still warm.
My bottom still hurts.
My Daddy spanked me.
And I'm so glad he did.
My Daddy has been dealing with a lot of aggravation lately, and he needed to spank his little girl. So he did. A lot. And hard. Though not as hard as I'm sure he wanted to.
He wanted to see his little girl's butt turn pink and then red. He wanted to feel it hot beneath him as he lay on top of her and pushed his Daddy cock against her tight little puckered butt hole until it hurt and she cried out "Ow! Daddy! It hurts!"
He loves when she tells him that he's hurting her.
So he spanked her as she was lying flat on the futon, with her panties pulled down below her knees and her Daddy straddling her legs so both those things made her feel restrained. And then he spanked her as she knelt before him sucking his cock, and as she rose up on her knees and he pulled her close to him while he sat on the chair that is his throne, and then as she lay on the futon facing in the other direction. He spanked her extra hard then, facing in the other direction, so her butt went from pink to red and grew very hot and was especially red on her right side because that's the side that shines in the light from the window when she kneels before him and sucks his cock.
He spanked me a lot.
He spanked me hard.
And I kept crying out that he was hurting me.
And later he spoke of how he had beaten me. which seemed rather a strong word to use for a hand spanking, except that the phrase arouses me, and it arouses him, and it makes me want him to beat me even though I probably - I know - I know I couldn't handle what he really wants to do.
When he hurts me, it makes me softer.
My mouth.
My tits.
My belly.
Everything softer.
Every time.
He spoke of how he wants to torture me.
Not of exactly what he wants to do.
He never tells me that.
But of part of why he wants to torture me.
Not for my screams.
But for my breath.
For the sharp intake of breath that would precede a scream.
He protects me.
He prevents himself from torturing me.
He denies himself.
He suffers to protect me.
Because to give in to the beast would be to destroy us.
And what we have, what we are, is too precious.
He wouldn't risk that.
But he does let himself spank me.
And now my bottom is still pink.
My bottom is still warm.
My bottom still hurts.
My Daddy spanked me.
And I'm so glad he did.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Your wish is my command
You need a blow job, my Master?
Today?
At noon?
With my house commandeered by workmen?
Of course, Sir.
No problem.
No arguments.
No sputtering as to how this could be potentially embarrassing.
Our motto:
You swell.
We suck.
I admit, that makes me sound much more blasé about the matter than I really was. Here are these 2 guys, with whom of course I've become friendly (no, you nasty people, not that friendly!), who've been spending hours and days in my house, re-doing the basement bathroom along with related projects, and I have to tell them... well, I said that for an hour or so I'd be home but not available to answer questions or anything. Of course 5 minutes before the sadist is due, one of the guys is out front asking if the electric outlet in my non-functioning outdoor light gets power. Quickly, I answer and remind him that I won't be available for the next hour or so and then disappear back inside.
I text my Master a warning that one of the guys is out front.
The sadist doesn't care.
Not one bit.
By the time he arrives, both guys are out there in the disgustingly thick hot air, hanging out, drinking water, eating lunch, and (one of them, cutting back) smoking half a cigarette. My Master strides up the walk as if he owns the place. Which, in a manner of speaking, he does, since he owns me and I own the house.
I am very grateful that he gave me permission to greet him clothed. With plain white bra and panties under my little jumper over a pale green t-shirt. Flat Mary Jane shoes.
He said I looked around nine.
Sometimes, you just have to do your job.
Not matter what the working conditions.
Anyway, when you're a slave, there's no negotiating.
You do as you're told.
Which I did.
He left here feeling a whole lot better.
And that's all that matters.
Today?
At noon?
With my house commandeered by workmen?
Of course, Sir.
No problem.
No arguments.
No sputtering as to how this could be potentially embarrassing.
Our motto:
You swell.
We suck.
I admit, that makes me sound much more blasé about the matter than I really was. Here are these 2 guys, with whom of course I've become friendly (no, you nasty people, not that friendly!), who've been spending hours and days in my house, re-doing the basement bathroom along with related projects, and I have to tell them... well, I said that for an hour or so I'd be home but not available to answer questions or anything. Of course 5 minutes before the sadist is due, one of the guys is out front asking if the electric outlet in my non-functioning outdoor light gets power. Quickly, I answer and remind him that I won't be available for the next hour or so and then disappear back inside.
I text my Master a warning that one of the guys is out front.
The sadist doesn't care.
Not one bit.
By the time he arrives, both guys are out there in the disgustingly thick hot air, hanging out, drinking water, eating lunch, and (one of them, cutting back) smoking half a cigarette. My Master strides up the walk as if he owns the place. Which, in a manner of speaking, he does, since he owns me and I own the house.
I am very grateful that he gave me permission to greet him clothed. With plain white bra and panties under my little jumper over a pale green t-shirt. Flat Mary Jane shoes.
He said I looked around nine.
Sometimes, you just have to do your job.
Not matter what the working conditions.
Anyway, when you're a slave, there's no negotiating.
You do as you're told.
Which I did.
He left here feeling a whole lot better.
And that's all that matters.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Remove your panties
Remove your panties.
An unexpected message from his cell phone.
I am home alone.
There is no bar to immediate obedience.
He knows I will obey immediately.
I feel so open
So accessible.
So vulnerable.
My shorts are loose.
Fingers could easily slip up a leg hole.
Fingers could easily slip into my pleasing pussy.
Get the chain.
Keep it with you all night.
I'm in the bedroom.
A few steps and the chain is off the hook in the closet.
A few more moves and it is looped around my neck.
I throw it back over my shoulders like a soft silk scarf.
But no river of watery blues and green and purples
wraps around my throat and flows down my back.
My scarf is hard and cold and unyielding.
Steel links of silver grey, squeezing my windpipe
and reminding me who I am.
I am aroused.
It hurts.
I tell him.
My pussy hurts from wanting him so.
I feel his fingers inside me,
fucking me hard, hungry and merciless.
You may touch it lightly with the chain.
That is all.
The chain is cold and hard and unyielding,
yet kisses my pussy tenderly, like a precious pet.
My pussy opens and weeps with desire,
yet wants nothing more.
He wants to do things to me.
His thoughts would probably scare me.
It's a constant, delicate dance with no set choreography.
What he wants to do to me.
What I want to give him.
What he tries to protect me from.
What I can't handle.
What he can't stop from happening.
What I can't stop from happening.
Neither of us wants the music to end.
He is training me.
Teaching me.
Teaching me to take the pain
to want the pain
to submit to more before I feel the pain.
To beg for it.
I learn very fast.
I wish I could learn faster.
I wish I could learn faster so very soon he could do all those awful things to me that he thinks about - and I won't come apart. There will be nothing but his pleasure and his pride and my gratitude that I can give him so much and - especially - that exquisite intimacy that comes as, giving and suffering, we share the pain.
An unexpected message from his cell phone.
I am home alone.
There is no bar to immediate obedience.
He knows I will obey immediately.
I feel so open
So accessible.
So vulnerable.
My shorts are loose.
Fingers could easily slip up a leg hole.
Fingers could easily slip into my pleasing pussy.
Get the chain.
Keep it with you all night.
I'm in the bedroom.
A few steps and the chain is off the hook in the closet.
A few more moves and it is looped around my neck.
I throw it back over my shoulders like a soft silk scarf.
But no river of watery blues and green and purples
wraps around my throat and flows down my back.
My scarf is hard and cold and unyielding.
Steel links of silver grey, squeezing my windpipe
and reminding me who I am.
I am aroused.
It hurts.
I tell him.
My pussy hurts from wanting him so.
I feel his fingers inside me,
fucking me hard, hungry and merciless.
You may touch it lightly with the chain.
That is all.
The chain is cold and hard and unyielding,
yet kisses my pussy tenderly, like a precious pet.
My pussy opens and weeps with desire,
yet wants nothing more.
He wants to do things to me.
His thoughts would probably scare me.
It's a constant, delicate dance with no set choreography.
What he wants to do to me.
What I want to give him.
What he tries to protect me from.
What I can't handle.
What he can't stop from happening.
What I can't stop from happening.
Neither of us wants the music to end.
He is training me.
Teaching me.
Teaching me to take the pain
to want the pain
to submit to more before I feel the pain.
To beg for it.
I learn very fast.
I wish I could learn faster.
I wish I could learn faster so very soon he could do all those awful things to me that he thinks about - and I won't come apart. There will be nothing but his pleasure and his pride and my gratitude that I can give him so much and - especially - that exquisite intimacy that comes as, giving and suffering, we share the pain.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Forced masturbation; the torture of pleasure (1)
A slightly edited transcript of an activity still in progress.
Touch pussy.
Think of the reaction of anyone who saw it!
"Hi, mom. How has your week been? Anything new?"
"Nothing new. We're OK. And what have you been doing, hon?"
"Touching myself every 2 hours, mom. You know how you caught me touching myself when I was a very, very little girl? And told me not to? Just like that. Every 2 hours. Cause I'm a sex slave, mom. Isn't that nice?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I'm still making little whimpering noises...
I started a few minutes late, my Lord, as I had to go to the bathroom. Then I came into the bedroom and, rather than stripping, pushed back the blanket and top sheet, lay down on the bed and pushed my jeans and panties down to my ankles. I selected the little purple Meany mini-vibe and held it lightly to my clitoris while it buzzed at the lowest setting.
Oh, my Lord...
I felt restrained, because of the jeans and panties around my ankles and because you were watching me and because I knew I wasn't allowed to cum... and oh... and then I called out your name. It just came out like this...
Daddy... *
and then I started whimpering and then I said aloud "ohhh... it's so good..." and the light vibrations were just perfect and I felt you watching me, my Lord, and I whimpered and it felt like torture... sweet pleasurable painful torture... and my womb is contracting and it hurts and feels so good and you are very cruel and I will feel like this all day and now aren't you very aroused and I will torture you today as you are torturing me, my Lord...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I am quite pleased, my pet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you, my Lord.
That is my job.
To please you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Such sweet suffering, my Lord.
As I prepared to stop, I wondered which would be worse: to stop or to go on and and on?
I imagined being forced to continue for an hour, for two, for more, with never a hope of release.
I used the little Meany again, my cruel Master, as it was so successful last time. Again I slipped into the bed with my jeans and plain white cotton panties pushed down to my ankles. This time I pulled up the blanket, restraining myself even more. I had a flash image of being inside some perverted MRI machine, surrounded by technology and clean hard surfaces, required to hold perfectly still as I was subjected to assorted sexual stimuli.
The little vibrator removes the personal element. I don't feel my fingers on swelling tissues. Some foreign body is bombarding me with vibrations. I submit, my Lord, and moan, and whimper, and contract, and wrestle with the need to go higher.
I obey, my Lord.
No cumming for your pet.
The pleasure of my pleasure is yours alone.
(Do you watch the clock, my Lord? Is my schedule now on your schedule? Every two hours, does your cock swell with my clit as I suffer for you? Do you hear my whimpers, my Lord? Do you want me?)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I hear you, my pet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
[she smiles, wriggles, and flows]
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You found a good way to combat my silence**, my Lord.
As well as to provide structure to a floaty day.
Not to mention amusement for yourself, my Lord.
Distraction.
Diversion.
Arousal.
The girl cat is moaning in her sleep. Perhaps she is dreaming of being petted.
Right this moment.
Now.
I feel you touching me...
to be continued...
* since our last series of meltdowns, I am currently not allowed to address him as Daddy.
** my current course of progesterone has made me uncharacteristically quiet, partly as a response to the medication and partly a precaution to avoid saying things while under its influence that my Master would find "crazy making." He appreciates the caution but is unnerved by the silence.
I want you to stay in contact with my pussy today. If you read this before you get out of bed, play with it a little, just to awaken it. Make a schedule and send it to me. Just a few minutes every couple of hours. Then, throughout the day touch and stimulate. Use devices if you like. You will not be able to float as I have been instructing you, letting whatever happens happen, because you may not cum, so you must remain a bit vigilant. Today you are my sex slave, preparing for your Master. Behave in that mode.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Good morning, my Lord.
I woke up, sort of, slowly, feeling you near, feeling us in a hotel room, not wanting to wake up, not wanting to leave that feeling of being with you... I crawled into your bed... I snuggled up to you... our bodies were soft and open and melding and wanting... comfortable... happy...
I am pussy, my Lord.
I am yours.
I will do and be as you desire.
All day...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Every 2 hours, my Lord.
12:30
2:30
4:30
6:30
8:30
and 10:30 as we are watching The Borgias, my Lord.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I couldn't help laughing, my Lord, as I made the entries in my Google calendar. Just think! Every 2 hours, with a 5 minute warning:~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Good morning, my Lord.
I woke up, sort of, slowly, feeling you near, feeling us in a hotel room, not wanting to wake up, not wanting to leave that feeling of being with you... I crawled into your bed... I snuggled up to you... our bodies were soft and open and melding and wanting... comfortable... happy...
I am pussy, my Lord.
I am yours.
I will do and be as you desire.
All day...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Every 2 hours, my Lord.
12:30
2:30
4:30
6:30
8:30
and 10:30 as we are watching The Borgias, my Lord.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Touch pussy.
Think of the reaction of anyone who saw it!
"Hi, mom. How has your week been? Anything new?"
"Nothing new. We're OK. And what have you been doing, hon?"
"Touching myself every 2 hours, mom. You know how you caught me touching myself when I was a very, very little girl? And told me not to? Just like that. Every 2 hours. Cause I'm a sex slave, mom. Isn't that nice?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I'm still making little whimpering noises...
I started a few minutes late, my Lord, as I had to go to the bathroom. Then I came into the bedroom and, rather than stripping, pushed back the blanket and top sheet, lay down on the bed and pushed my jeans and panties down to my ankles. I selected the little purple Meany mini-vibe and held it lightly to my clitoris while it buzzed at the lowest setting.
Oh, my Lord...
I felt restrained, because of the jeans and panties around my ankles and because you were watching me and because I knew I wasn't allowed to cum... and oh... and then I called out your name. It just came out like this...
Daddy... *
and then I started whimpering and then I said aloud "ohhh... it's so good..." and the light vibrations were just perfect and I felt you watching me, my Lord, and I whimpered and it felt like torture... sweet pleasurable painful torture... and my womb is contracting and it hurts and feels so good and you are very cruel and I will feel like this all day and now aren't you very aroused and I will torture you today as you are torturing me, my Lord...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I am quite pleased, my pet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you, my Lord.
That is my job.
To please you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Such sweet suffering, my Lord.
As I prepared to stop, I wondered which would be worse: to stop or to go on and and on?
I imagined being forced to continue for an hour, for two, for more, with never a hope of release.
I used the little Meany again, my cruel Master, as it was so successful last time. Again I slipped into the bed with my jeans and plain white cotton panties pushed down to my ankles. This time I pulled up the blanket, restraining myself even more. I had a flash image of being inside some perverted MRI machine, surrounded by technology and clean hard surfaces, required to hold perfectly still as I was subjected to assorted sexual stimuli.
The little vibrator removes the personal element. I don't feel my fingers on swelling tissues. Some foreign body is bombarding me with vibrations. I submit, my Lord, and moan, and whimper, and contract, and wrestle with the need to go higher.
I obey, my Lord.
No cumming for your pet.
The pleasure of my pleasure is yours alone.
(Do you watch the clock, my Lord? Is my schedule now on your schedule? Every two hours, does your cock swell with my clit as I suffer for you? Do you hear my whimpers, my Lord? Do you want me?)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I hear you, my pet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
[she smiles, wriggles, and flows]
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You found a good way to combat my silence**, my Lord.
As well as to provide structure to a floaty day.
Not to mention amusement for yourself, my Lord.
Distraction.
Diversion.
Arousal.
The girl cat is moaning in her sleep. Perhaps she is dreaming of being petted.
Right this moment.
Now.
I feel you touching me...
to be continued...
* since our last series of meltdowns, I am currently not allowed to address him as Daddy.
** my current course of progesterone has made me uncharacteristically quiet, partly as a response to the medication and partly a precaution to avoid saying things while under its influence that my Master would find "crazy making." He appreciates the caution but is unnerved by the silence.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A week, a night, a gift - beaten, peed on, and treasured (11)
Now my memory grows vague.
Now the details fade and merge.
Bits and pieces stand out but the order isn't clear.
I do have some notes. His instructions had mentioned bringing my laptop and writing materials. I had bought a new little notebook, to be used only in connection with that night, and only for writing for his benefit. He is always very specific, and always very precise. This is good for me. I need direction. I lose focus. I need someone standing over me as I do my homework, keeping my mind from wandering. I just went back to look at the notes. They reminded me that in the restaurant I took a seat downstairs, near the bar. It was definitely too hot to be outside, and I didn't realize there was an upstairs at first. Plus while I don't hang out at bars, he does, so it made me feel as if I had already entered his world.
A TV was on over the bar. He had told me not to watch TV. Of course, he was only thinking about while I was waiting for him in the room. He wanted me to focus. But I take his instructions very seriously so I kept my eyes averted from the TV.
The blues was playing through the speakers. I can't remember if it was the radio or a recording. Probably the radio. I have this thing with the blues. A lover a long time ago turned me on to the blues. Literally. He'd play records of these old Mississippi Delta guys while he taught me what sex could be like. Over the years, I've been learning in bits and pieces what sex can be like. Mostly, I think it needs to be transgressive one way or another to be truly exciting and intense enough. Anyway. I was trained. Already, then, being trained. I'd hear a blues song and my panties would soak through. Around that time, I was working in a shop in Boston. You could get some really cool music on the radio back then in the early 70s. One day a blues song came on and in a flash I was so horny I had to dash into the scuzzy little employees' toilet and take care of the problem. I'm surprised the customers didn't hear me cum as they tried to decide which cheese to buy.
As I left the restaurant, the waitress said: "Thank you. Have a great night!"
Yes.
I hoped so.
My mind was as hazy as the heated air as I walked back towards the hotel. I wandered up and down a small street, unwilling to be in the room too soon while nervous about not allowing myself enough time. Finally, I could put it off no longer.
I could barely breathe.
I tried to focus.
I entered the room and tried to focus.
Tried to concentrate.
Tried to think of my tasks and of being efficient and perfect.
Perfect.
I wanted to be perfect.
I took the ice bucket and brought it back filled with ice.
There was no other reason I could imagine for leaving the room.
I locked the door.
And took of my clothes.
Now.
Now it had truly begun.
Now the details fade and merge.
Bits and pieces stand out but the order isn't clear.
I do have some notes. His instructions had mentioned bringing my laptop and writing materials. I had bought a new little notebook, to be used only in connection with that night, and only for writing for his benefit. He is always very specific, and always very precise. This is good for me. I need direction. I lose focus. I need someone standing over me as I do my homework, keeping my mind from wandering. I just went back to look at the notes. They reminded me that in the restaurant I took a seat downstairs, near the bar. It was definitely too hot to be outside, and I didn't realize there was an upstairs at first. Plus while I don't hang out at bars, he does, so it made me feel as if I had already entered his world.
A TV was on over the bar. He had told me not to watch TV. Of course, he was only thinking about while I was waiting for him in the room. He wanted me to focus. But I take his instructions very seriously so I kept my eyes averted from the TV.
The blues was playing through the speakers. I can't remember if it was the radio or a recording. Probably the radio. I have this thing with the blues. A lover a long time ago turned me on to the blues. Literally. He'd play records of these old Mississippi Delta guys while he taught me what sex could be like. Over the years, I've been learning in bits and pieces what sex can be like. Mostly, I think it needs to be transgressive one way or another to be truly exciting and intense enough. Anyway. I was trained. Already, then, being trained. I'd hear a blues song and my panties would soak through. Around that time, I was working in a shop in Boston. You could get some really cool music on the radio back then in the early 70s. One day a blues song came on and in a flash I was so horny I had to dash into the scuzzy little employees' toilet and take care of the problem. I'm surprised the customers didn't hear me cum as they tried to decide which cheese to buy.
As I left the restaurant, the waitress said: "Thank you. Have a great night!"
Yes.
I hoped so.
My mind was as hazy as the heated air as I walked back towards the hotel. I wandered up and down a small street, unwilling to be in the room too soon while nervous about not allowing myself enough time. Finally, I could put it off no longer.
I could barely breathe.
I tried to focus.
I entered the room and tried to focus.
Tried to concentrate.
Tried to think of my tasks and of being efficient and perfect.
Perfect.
I wanted to be perfect.
I took the ice bucket and brought it back filled with ice.
There was no other reason I could imagine for leaving the room.
I locked the door.
And took of my clothes.
Now.
Now it had truly begun.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A week, a night, a gift - beaten, peed on, and treasured (2)
A week before the main event, the sadist subjected me to a test. Even now, I'm not sure of what all the parts were meant to prove, and I suspect that was at least partly by design. And with a few weeks gone by, I can't really remember everything that happened that morning.
I do remember being warned that the visit would be very important, would determine whether he would allow me to go or not, and that I needed to concentrate very hard.
Normally, I meet him at the door completely naked.
Actually, I wait for him behind the door naked,
and only slip out once the door is closed.
But this time, I was instructed to wear bra and panties.
Plain, white bra and plain, white, cotton panties.
I remember the way he touched me. The beast was there, lurking in the background, but the sensuous lover was there, too. The way he touched me, caressed me, fondled me... even the way he put his hand to my throat...
He wanted me to succeed.
That I knew.
It would have been easier to leave me at home.
But he wanted me to be there for him to enjoy.
So he warned me to concentrate.
And when he was enthroned in the Eames chair
and I knelt before him,
he took my head in his hands
and slapped my left cheek.
Hard.
Then my right cheek.
Just as hard.
Far harder than ever before.
My ears rang.
His intensity had gotten the better of him.
His desire had gotten the better of him.
And he knew that slapping me focused me.
I don't remember much more beyond that of what might have been the sections of the test. But I do remember one of them, with which I reveal something you may find curious.
My Master always wants me to be clear on the underlying truth that everything we do is for his pleasure alone, and that I must never forget that. He is quite taken with my mouth, which in the very beginning he hadn't expected to be such an important part of my service to him. He devours my mouth. I open my mouth, present my tongue, and then he takes from me what he wants. I am not supposed to kiss back.
I am really into kissing. A good kiss... oh, it is the most beautiful, sensuous thing! And I have been with one or two truly delicious kissers over the years. The quality of a lover's kiss is quite important to me. I can make myself cum, but a kiss? For this I definitely need a skilled and sensitive partner.
The fiend's kisses are beyond description.
And I am not allowed to kiss back.
I must admit that I am not truly passive as he enjoys my mouth. That would be impossible. But there is definitely an imbalance of activity between us.
On that morning, I was given permission to kiss him.
And in those kisses, I believe he read everything.
I think I earned a lot of points right there.
At some time in the visit, he mentioned that when he left me he was going to see his slave, who is quite an extreme masochist. The very first time he came to meet me, he told me the same thing. To taunt me. To be cruel. And it did hurt. I was jealous as hell, not fully understanding what was going on. I knew the slave would be getting what I had inspired. I thought it was sex. I didn't realize it was pain. Now I know better. And I said I was grateful for his slave, who suffers horribly because of the desire I inspire in my Master to torture me. The slave's suffering helps the sadist protect me. So I said I was grateful, and that I appreciated that the slave and I and the other submissives all serve his different needs, and that I am now secure in my place and am no longer jealous. That I am his treasure, and that he suffers to try to keep me safe from his worst desires.
I did know I had passed the test even before he officially told me. And as he intended for me to pass, he came all prepared for the next step. He said that despite attendant difficulties, I would be allowed to drive out to this other town, a few hours away, check into the hotel, precisely follow the various instructions he would send me, and await his arrival at the room.
He had a pile of $20 bills, which he started peeling off and sticking in the waistband of my panties and the cups of my bra, all the while listing what they were for. He talked about making the hotel reservation immediately after he left, and e-mailing him that it was done. He spoke of things I should buy for the trip.
I was allowed to fondle him as he spoke, but not to take him in my mouth. Not to make him cum.
He said he wished he were staying with me rather than going on to the next stop. He said he wished he could do to me what he would be inflicting on his poor slave.
I shuddered.
I knew what he meant.
He said it in so many words,
with a sad, desperate longing.
He wanted to torture me.
I do not think he uses that word lightly.
He didn't torture me.
I wish he could.
I wish I could handle it.
It pains me that I cannot take that pain from him.
But we both know it could destroy the relationship.
And I am his treasure.
He doesn't want to lose me.
So his slave suffers in my stead.
But his hunger was great that day, and the sight of my butt and my pale round belly contained in those innocent white panties was too much for him.
He ordered me onto the bed. First, I think, on my back. I'm not sure, and I don't remember what he did. Then I was ordered onto my belly and he caned me. Hard. Harder than he meant to. Those plain white cotton panties cushioned the blows - and I hate to think what the pain would have been like without that soft armor.
There is still one small bruise remaining from that morning 3 weeks ago.
And then he was gone.
If I had been smart, I would have applied the bags of frozen peas to my cheeks - both those on my face and those surrounding my tight little ass hole. But I had been instructed to make the hotel reservation right away and so I did. I ran upstairs, cautiously sat down on my very sore butt, and made the reservations, trying not to be distracted by the sense of joy that was dancing inside me.
He had given me a very special gift.
And a very special privilege.
The privilege was to serve him for a night.
The gift was knowing that he wanted me with him.
Me.
His pet.
His angel.
His treasure.
I still hold that joy within me,
cupped in my hands.
I take it out daily,
bring it to my mouth,
gently kiss it,
and whisper in its ear
I love you.
I do remember being warned that the visit would be very important, would determine whether he would allow me to go or not, and that I needed to concentrate very hard.
Normally, I meet him at the door completely naked.
Actually, I wait for him behind the door naked,
and only slip out once the door is closed.
But this time, I was instructed to wear bra and panties.
Plain, white bra and plain, white, cotton panties.
I remember the way he touched me. The beast was there, lurking in the background, but the sensuous lover was there, too. The way he touched me, caressed me, fondled me... even the way he put his hand to my throat...
He wanted me to succeed.
That I knew.
It would have been easier to leave me at home.
But he wanted me to be there for him to enjoy.
So he warned me to concentrate.
And when he was enthroned in the Eames chair
and I knelt before him,
he took my head in his hands
and slapped my left cheek.
Hard.
Then my right cheek.
Just as hard.
Far harder than ever before.
My ears rang.
His intensity had gotten the better of him.
His desire had gotten the better of him.
And he knew that slapping me focused me.
I don't remember much more beyond that of what might have been the sections of the test. But I do remember one of them, with which I reveal something you may find curious.
My Master always wants me to be clear on the underlying truth that everything we do is for his pleasure alone, and that I must never forget that. He is quite taken with my mouth, which in the very beginning he hadn't expected to be such an important part of my service to him. He devours my mouth. I open my mouth, present my tongue, and then he takes from me what he wants. I am not supposed to kiss back.
I am really into kissing. A good kiss... oh, it is the most beautiful, sensuous thing! And I have been with one or two truly delicious kissers over the years. The quality of a lover's kiss is quite important to me. I can make myself cum, but a kiss? For this I definitely need a skilled and sensitive partner.
The fiend's kisses are beyond description.
And I am not allowed to kiss back.
I must admit that I am not truly passive as he enjoys my mouth. That would be impossible. But there is definitely an imbalance of activity between us.
On that morning, I was given permission to kiss him.
And in those kisses, I believe he read everything.
I think I earned a lot of points right there.
At some time in the visit, he mentioned that when he left me he was going to see his slave, who is quite an extreme masochist. The very first time he came to meet me, he told me the same thing. To taunt me. To be cruel. And it did hurt. I was jealous as hell, not fully understanding what was going on. I knew the slave would be getting what I had inspired. I thought it was sex. I didn't realize it was pain. Now I know better. And I said I was grateful for his slave, who suffers horribly because of the desire I inspire in my Master to torture me. The slave's suffering helps the sadist protect me. So I said I was grateful, and that I appreciated that the slave and I and the other submissives all serve his different needs, and that I am now secure in my place and am no longer jealous. That I am his treasure, and that he suffers to try to keep me safe from his worst desires.
I did know I had passed the test even before he officially told me. And as he intended for me to pass, he came all prepared for the next step. He said that despite attendant difficulties, I would be allowed to drive out to this other town, a few hours away, check into the hotel, precisely follow the various instructions he would send me, and await his arrival at the room.
He had a pile of $20 bills, which he started peeling off and sticking in the waistband of my panties and the cups of my bra, all the while listing what they were for. He talked about making the hotel reservation immediately after he left, and e-mailing him that it was done. He spoke of things I should buy for the trip.
I was allowed to fondle him as he spoke, but not to take him in my mouth. Not to make him cum.
He said he wished he were staying with me rather than going on to the next stop. He said he wished he could do to me what he would be inflicting on his poor slave.
I shuddered.
I knew what he meant.
He said it in so many words,
with a sad, desperate longing.
He wanted to torture me.
I do not think he uses that word lightly.
He didn't torture me.
I wish he could.
I wish I could handle it.
It pains me that I cannot take that pain from him.
But we both know it could destroy the relationship.
And I am his treasure.
He doesn't want to lose me.
So his slave suffers in my stead.
But his hunger was great that day, and the sight of my butt and my pale round belly contained in those innocent white panties was too much for him.
He ordered me onto the bed. First, I think, on my back. I'm not sure, and I don't remember what he did. Then I was ordered onto my belly and he caned me. Hard. Harder than he meant to. Those plain white cotton panties cushioned the blows - and I hate to think what the pain would have been like without that soft armor.
There is still one small bruise remaining from that morning 3 weeks ago.
And then he was gone.
If I had been smart, I would have applied the bags of frozen peas to my cheeks - both those on my face and those surrounding my tight little ass hole. But I had been instructed to make the hotel reservation right away and so I did. I ran upstairs, cautiously sat down on my very sore butt, and made the reservations, trying not to be distracted by the sense of joy that was dancing inside me.
He had given me a very special gift.
And a very special privilege.
The privilege was to serve him for a night.
The gift was knowing that he wanted me with him.
Me.
His pet.
His angel.
His treasure.
I still hold that joy within me,
cupped in my hands.
I take it out daily,
bring it to my mouth,
gently kiss it,
and whisper in its ear
I love you.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The net of golden chain
Discerning Dom writes today of what he calls the micromanaging dom. This is the one who, for example, specifies panty colors (or panty absence) and controls orgasms.
My goodness, how fiercely my cunt twitched as I began to write that sentence! Clearly, I am one of those submissives who not only respond to that sort of manipulation, but positively thrive under it.
I would not, however, use the term micromanaging, which has a negative connotation implying excessive control. DD does speak of the dom needing to do what works for any particular submissive. An effective dom will, I believe, do that which is required to achieve the results he wants.
For me...
Ah, yes. For me. Here we come back to something that comes to my mind again and again as I read Discerning Dom, bringing home how much I've grown and changed since my early days of exploring my submission, when I read the column he posted as the English Gentleman. Doms come in different flavors. And there is a continuum from those who are focused on the pleasure of the submissive to those focused on the needs of the dom.
Perhaps in the end it is a matter of semantics. Any relationship requires awareness of the other person's needs and reactions if it is going to last. Even dysfunctional relationships are fulfilling needs in a way, albeit not healthy ones. A radio piece the other day, in a discussion of our desire to keep checking our e-mail just in case a new message had arrived, caused me to think of how intermittent reinforcement works in relationships, D/s ones included. Just think how we treasure those little messages acknowledging our existence, those intoxicating morsels of approval that they toss at us. We keep looking for them, working for them. Even in a bad relationship, whatever the flavor, we can't stop believing that we will be granted a little affection, a little notice, a reason to believe that there is a true connection between us.
Please excuse that digression. It's a topic that probably deserved its own post, but it's on my mind, especially after having been stuck at an event last night with ex-hubby #2.
Back to "micromanaging." And me.
Whatever you want to call it, I love it. And not just for its erotic value. It is good for me.
As I've mentioned before, I have ADD. Having these little points of obedience keeps me focused. They are little signposts along the path of my day which remind me of who I am and what I am supposed to be doing. The philosopher used to order me to leave him voice mail messages at very precise times. I'd set the timer to be sure I didn't miss the appointment, and then carefully watch the clock for the exact right minute. He also did exercise panty control as well as orgasm control.
He instituted these things for his pleasure, because they excited him to do it. I responded well, of course, which increased his enjoyment, but the impetus was that it was something he enjoyed.
With the sadist, things are a little more complicated. He most definitely manipulates me for his pleasure, although clearly part of his pleasure, as with the philosopher, derives from my reactions. And both have adjusted their plans when I couldn't yet handle what they proposed.
But my demon muse wants more than a little fun here and there. He has a plan. I am his project. And everything he does along the way is aimed towards making me into a creature who fully uses my talents for his pleasure, provides for his needs, and makes him proud to own me. Do note that the pleasure I referred to is not only sexual and not only perverted. Fulfilling my destiny as a writer is very important to him, and he becomes furious when I waste my potential. Boy, I wish he had owned me in college!
As for his individual efforts at controlling me, they amuse me to some extent, as in the beginning he said he wouldn't be doing things such as telling me what panties to wear. And then one day, because of an erotic exchange that rather surprised both of us, he suddenly ordered me to wear plain white cotton panties the next day. And now I e-mail him every morning to tell him what panties I'm wearing. It's just a report, although occasionally he will repeat his request for the white ones, and might even require me to wear them, with perhaps a bra, when I meet him at the door. Normally I am naked when I greet him, feeling particularly vulnerable, which is just how he likes me.
The result of the daily panty reports is a centering, a reminder that I am his. I feel a net of fine golden chain, woven into mesh, pulling tight around my body and around my neck and up between the lips of my cunt. I feel happy and owned and care for.
The orgasm control is something else. My Master owns my orgasms. This is not merely a manner of speaking. He really does. When I am granted one from the huge locked trunk in which he keeps them, I am not given it for my pleasure. Everything is for his pleasure. Sometimes, I am required to call his voice mail, timing the process so that he receives the offering of the pain of my being close to the edge, the gasps and cries of the orgasm itself, and the inevitable sobs that follow. Sometimes I am granted the orgasm as a reward for my performance in person. Due to the very short length of his visits, and the services he now requires, I no longer come for him in person. And it cannot be denied that I do enjoy the masturbating and orgasms. But my focus is always on the pleasure he derives from my experience - just as when he will watch me being fucked by another (towards which, he wrote today, he has made significant progress), and truly I never forget that all that matters is his delight.
In his pleasure lies mine.
I'm afraid this essay is not as coherent as I would have like, as I might be getting that nasty cold that is going around, along with other mind-sabotaging issues. But my writing has been spotty lately, so I am hoping you will be tolerant - and will make up for my own vagueness by contributing your own comments to the discussion.
My goodness, how fiercely my cunt twitched as I began to write that sentence! Clearly, I am one of those submissives who not only respond to that sort of manipulation, but positively thrive under it.
I would not, however, use the term micromanaging, which has a negative connotation implying excessive control. DD does speak of the dom needing to do what works for any particular submissive. An effective dom will, I believe, do that which is required to achieve the results he wants.
For me...
Ah, yes. For me. Here we come back to something that comes to my mind again and again as I read Discerning Dom, bringing home how much I've grown and changed since my early days of exploring my submission, when I read the column he posted as the English Gentleman. Doms come in different flavors. And there is a continuum from those who are focused on the pleasure of the submissive to those focused on the needs of the dom.
Perhaps in the end it is a matter of semantics. Any relationship requires awareness of the other person's needs and reactions if it is going to last. Even dysfunctional relationships are fulfilling needs in a way, albeit not healthy ones. A radio piece the other day, in a discussion of our desire to keep checking our e-mail just in case a new message had arrived, caused me to think of how intermittent reinforcement works in relationships, D/s ones included. Just think how we treasure those little messages acknowledging our existence, those intoxicating morsels of approval that they toss at us. We keep looking for them, working for them. Even in a bad relationship, whatever the flavor, we can't stop believing that we will be granted a little affection, a little notice, a reason to believe that there is a true connection between us.
Please excuse that digression. It's a topic that probably deserved its own post, but it's on my mind, especially after having been stuck at an event last night with ex-hubby #2.
Back to "micromanaging." And me.
Whatever you want to call it, I love it. And not just for its erotic value. It is good for me.
As I've mentioned before, I have ADD. Having these little points of obedience keeps me focused. They are little signposts along the path of my day which remind me of who I am and what I am supposed to be doing. The philosopher used to order me to leave him voice mail messages at very precise times. I'd set the timer to be sure I didn't miss the appointment, and then carefully watch the clock for the exact right minute. He also did exercise panty control as well as orgasm control.
He instituted these things for his pleasure, because they excited him to do it. I responded well, of course, which increased his enjoyment, but the impetus was that it was something he enjoyed.
With the sadist, things are a little more complicated. He most definitely manipulates me for his pleasure, although clearly part of his pleasure, as with the philosopher, derives from my reactions. And both have adjusted their plans when I couldn't yet handle what they proposed.
But my demon muse wants more than a little fun here and there. He has a plan. I am his project. And everything he does along the way is aimed towards making me into a creature who fully uses my talents for his pleasure, provides for his needs, and makes him proud to own me. Do note that the pleasure I referred to is not only sexual and not only perverted. Fulfilling my destiny as a writer is very important to him, and he becomes furious when I waste my potential. Boy, I wish he had owned me in college!
As for his individual efforts at controlling me, they amuse me to some extent, as in the beginning he said he wouldn't be doing things such as telling me what panties to wear. And then one day, because of an erotic exchange that rather surprised both of us, he suddenly ordered me to wear plain white cotton panties the next day. And now I e-mail him every morning to tell him what panties I'm wearing. It's just a report, although occasionally he will repeat his request for the white ones, and might even require me to wear them, with perhaps a bra, when I meet him at the door. Normally I am naked when I greet him, feeling particularly vulnerable, which is just how he likes me.
The result of the daily panty reports is a centering, a reminder that I am his. I feel a net of fine golden chain, woven into mesh, pulling tight around my body and around my neck and up between the lips of my cunt. I feel happy and owned and care for.
The orgasm control is something else. My Master owns my orgasms. This is not merely a manner of speaking. He really does. When I am granted one from the huge locked trunk in which he keeps them, I am not given it for my pleasure. Everything is for his pleasure. Sometimes, I am required to call his voice mail, timing the process so that he receives the offering of the pain of my being close to the edge, the gasps and cries of the orgasm itself, and the inevitable sobs that follow. Sometimes I am granted the orgasm as a reward for my performance in person. Due to the very short length of his visits, and the services he now requires, I no longer come for him in person. And it cannot be denied that I do enjoy the masturbating and orgasms. But my focus is always on the pleasure he derives from my experience - just as when he will watch me being fucked by another (towards which, he wrote today, he has made significant progress), and truly I never forget that all that matters is his delight.
In his pleasure lies mine.
I'm afraid this essay is not as coherent as I would have like, as I might be getting that nasty cold that is going around, along with other mind-sabotaging issues. But my writing has been spotty lately, so I am hoping you will be tolerant - and will make up for my own vagueness by contributing your own comments to the discussion.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
How I lured them here
I collect the search words that bring the odd reader to my doorstep. Sometimes they are clearly old readers with vague memories of things I've written, trying to find their way home. And sometimes they are newcomers, stumbling into my fantasies and minimal adventures.
Having spent much of the day serving the fiend's needs for the products of my easily debauched mind, I thought I'd pop off a little poem based on some choice selections from my search word list. But I'm tired. It's Thursday. And I had to endure my doctor's telling me that the three separate results of my thyroid blood test totally contradict each other. So ok, I have to get the test re-done. But this sure better sort itself out. Because if after all those years of resisting lithium, I finally capitulate and find that just a little makes me semi-sane, and then find that it isn't even having the expected unfortunate effect on my thyroid production... now really, can you wonder that i should just want to wash my hands of everything and sink into submission?
So anyway, I'm worn out, and have one remaining task for the fiend (no, I'm not telling, but I'm looking forward to it ever so much...) which means I don't think I have a poem in me. Instead, here's a few sample search words that I have found amusing. And who knows what this list will bring me? (I do love the thought of the serious art students doing a search on the Boucher odalisque who found their way here. At least one obviously had a fun time exploring...)
~ the chair as a metaphor [the first one on my list after the philosopher set up our stat meter. I love this one!]
~ "my master" dog sex [icky...]
~ bad girl in egypt [hmm...]
~ clit chatter [?? a vagina gossip session?]
~ belt panties OR undies "i was punished with" [pretty specific, this one]
~ slave whip dress rope rape [oh yes... the search words alone are a turn on...]
~ cum out of my nose [no cum-ment]
~ the heart never forgets
~ stunning nipples [well, they are!]
~ public butt plug caning [another juicy one]
~ "her hands bound" "he exploded" orgasm [well, it's sure easy to get HIM to cum!]
~ "giving head to a cucumber" [nothing to add]
and my very favorite:
~ why does scaramouche have a big nose [from nyc.gov in Brooklyn]
Enjoy the scavenger hunt for where these searches took them.
PS - 5 more days... please consider voting early if you can... and it feels REALLY good to work for the candidate of your choice. There's still time to add your extra effort to making history.
Having spent much of the day serving the fiend's needs for the products of my easily debauched mind, I thought I'd pop off a little poem based on some choice selections from my search word list. But I'm tired. It's Thursday. And I had to endure my doctor's telling me that the three separate results of my thyroid blood test totally contradict each other. So ok, I have to get the test re-done. But this sure better sort itself out. Because if after all those years of resisting lithium, I finally capitulate and find that just a little makes me semi-sane, and then find that it isn't even having the expected unfortunate effect on my thyroid production... now really, can you wonder that i should just want to wash my hands of everything and sink into submission?
So anyway, I'm worn out, and have one remaining task for the fiend (no, I'm not telling, but I'm looking forward to it ever so much...) which means I don't think I have a poem in me. Instead, here's a few sample search words that I have found amusing. And who knows what this list will bring me? (I do love the thought of the serious art students doing a search on the Boucher odalisque who found their way here. At least one obviously had a fun time exploring...)
~ the chair as a metaphor [the first one on my list after the philosopher set up our stat meter. I love this one!]
~ "my master" dog sex [icky...]
~ bad girl in egypt [hmm...]
~ clit chatter [?? a vagina gossip session?]
~ belt panties OR undies "i was punished with" [pretty specific, this one]
~ slave whip dress rope rape [oh yes... the search words alone are a turn on...]
~ cum out of my nose [no cum-ment]
~ the heart never forgets
~ stunning nipples [well, they are!]
~ public butt plug caning [another juicy one]
~ "her hands bound" "he exploded" orgasm [well, it's sure easy to get HIM to cum!]
~ "giving head to a cucumber" [nothing to add]
and my very favorite:
~ why does scaramouche have a big nose [from nyc.gov in Brooklyn]
Enjoy the scavenger hunt for where these searches took them.
PS - 5 more days... please consider voting early if you can... and it feels REALLY good to work for the candidate of your choice. There's still time to add your extra effort to making history.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Clarity
calm
centered
no longer crying
clear eyes
clear head
clear path
at least for now
as for you, my
coterie of suitors
persistent in your courtship,
i’ll talk with you
i’ll write to you
i’ll even flirt
(oh, i love to flirt)
but i won’t play with you.
someday maybe.
but not now.
i can’t now.
i don’t want to now.
i own myself.
i set my own bedtime.
i choose my own panties.
i obey my own orders.
and i’m bound to the truth.
[with thanks to Motorcycle Man, for being
kind and funny and understanding, and
showing me how cute i look in a leather collar,
and for helping me to see.]
centered
no longer crying
clear eyes
clear head
clear path
at least for now
as for you, my
coterie of suitors
persistent in your courtship,
i’ll talk with you
i’ll write to you
i’ll even flirt
(oh, i love to flirt)
but i won’t play with you.
someday maybe.
but not now.
i can’t now.
i don’t want to now.
i own myself.
i set my own bedtime.
i choose my own panties.
i obey my own orders.
and i’m bound to the truth.
[with thanks to Motorcycle Man, for being
kind and funny and understanding, and
showing me how cute i look in a leather collar,
and for helping me to see.]
Sunday, August 24, 2008
kitten's big adventure: what she learned
it was a little adventure, really.
a chapter in a bildungsroman.
and what was to be slave-for-a-day was really only about 23-1/2 hours that broke down to maybe 1/4 slavery, 1/4 sleep, and the rest friendship.
and what did kitten learn?
a lot of little things and one big thing.
i can do without the pain.
i don't have to be anyone's slave.
i don't really need someone to cane my ass or run my life.
the philosopher wrote me on Saturday as i was trying to get ready to leave on my adventure. i had been having a hard time. i had been crying and would stop and then would start crying again. i wanted this adventure but was finding it too hard. i wanted to move on but wasn't really ready. i was happy to be desired but really only wanted one person.
he wrote to wish me luck, and told me to play safe. we exchanged a number of e-mails, and the things he said made me feel better than i had since July 1st. he told me to stop crying and i immediately did, although that didn't keep me from crying again on and off throughout the 24 hours. he gave me reassurance that our time together had NOT all been meaningless, and that talk of a continued friendship is not just empty words.
so i stopped crying and eventually started feeling excited again and raced up the highway to the man i'd promised could be my Master (yes, with a capital "M" - he's that sort of guy) for the next 24 hours.
the philosopher was there with me the entire time.
he was always in the room.
he was always on my mind.
and i couldn't cum until i heard him say
"cum, kitten. NOW."
and the big lesson i learned?
i can do without the sex.
i can do without the pain.
i don't have to be anyone's slave.
i don't really need someone to cane my ass or run my life.
i can't do without the close and complex ties of trust and affection and understanding.
i would rather have your friendship, however much you can give, however little time you can give, with no sex, no spanking, no setting of my bedtime, no deciding what color panties i should wear, no taking responsibility for my life, no expectations whatsoever... i would rather have that now, that friendship, than whatever "fun" i could find with anyone else.
and i drove back home
and unloaded the car
and fed the kitties
and opened a bottle of ginger beer.
a chapter in a bildungsroman.
and what was to be slave-for-a-day was really only about 23-1/2 hours that broke down to maybe 1/4 slavery, 1/4 sleep, and the rest friendship.
and what did kitten learn?
a lot of little things and one big thing.
- nipple clamps don't have to be all that bad and can have a significant psychological effect.
- say the word "punishment" and my voice will instantly change.
- i'm surprisingly much more comfortable in a leather collar than in a necklace, and i look awfully cute in one.
- i still can't come from fucking.
- it's nice to be fucked every so often but, no matter how talented the other party, it's nicer when it's by someone i've known for a while.
- i admittedly do get some perverted pleasure from being whacked with assorted implements.
- bdsm for me means way more than just kinky sex and stimulating pain and obeying orders; it is a rich psychological dynamic between 2 people who share close and complex ties of trust and affection and understanding, and without that is rather empty.
i can do without the pain.
i don't have to be anyone's slave.
i don't really need someone to cane my ass or run my life.
the philosopher wrote me on Saturday as i was trying to get ready to leave on my adventure. i had been having a hard time. i had been crying and would stop and then would start crying again. i wanted this adventure but was finding it too hard. i wanted to move on but wasn't really ready. i was happy to be desired but really only wanted one person.
he wrote to wish me luck, and told me to play safe. we exchanged a number of e-mails, and the things he said made me feel better than i had since July 1st. he told me to stop crying and i immediately did, although that didn't keep me from crying again on and off throughout the 24 hours. he gave me reassurance that our time together had NOT all been meaningless, and that talk of a continued friendship is not just empty words.
so i stopped crying and eventually started feeling excited again and raced up the highway to the man i'd promised could be my Master (yes, with a capital "M" - he's that sort of guy) for the next 24 hours.
the philosopher was there with me the entire time.
he was always in the room.
he was always on my mind.
and i couldn't cum until i heard him say
"cum, kitten. NOW."
and the big lesson i learned?
i can do without the sex.
i can do without the pain.
i don't have to be anyone's slave.
i don't really need someone to cane my ass or run my life.
i can't do without the close and complex ties of trust and affection and understanding.
i would rather have your friendship, however much you can give, however little time you can give, with no sex, no spanking, no setting of my bedtime, no deciding what color panties i should wear, no taking responsibility for my life, no expectations whatsoever... i would rather have that now, that friendship, than whatever "fun" i could find with anyone else.
and i drove back home
and unloaded the car
and fed the kitties
and opened a bottle of ginger beer.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Status Report - Week 4 of 9
Weight Loss: not a loss exactly... I'm now only 3 pounds down...
Exercise: none at all. And now doubt I'll get to do any before going off to camp because everything hurts too much. All I did was vacuum a little this evening and everything is worse. Poor pitiful kitten...
Tears: i've been masturbating a lot, and crying heavily when i cum.
Panties: still pink. and that does make me happy. one day i had to wear white ones because i had used up all the pink ones, and felt very bad. and guilty. which was a good thing, as it meant i was feeling owned.
not sure what else to say on this. when i sit on the floor as Marko eats, which means on the floor by my master's chair, i feel very submissive and remember that i need to stop being a baby about this long, lonely, isolated summer. i am his slave and this is my task. i am his girlfriend (at least i hope so...) so i need to do what i can to help him. i'm pissed at myself that this is such a struggle.
i do know it has all been made harder by assorted necessary medication adjustments, and that part should be better now. plus i raised the lithium a couple of days ago, and maybe that will help, too. after all, part of this was to get me settled down by the end of the summer. that's important.
i don't think he's reading our blog any more. on the one hand, that makes me sad. lonely. i liked feeling i was sending out little messages to him. but i also think it could be good, because i doubt that reading about all my hysterics would reassure him about our future.
of course, a regular long-distance relationship is NOT conducted with 9-week stretches of silence. 9 weeks of not seeing each other is workable, as long as there are phone calls and e-mails and some sort of regular schedule and that feeling of connection. what we are doing now says NOTHING about what an ongoing long-distance relationship would be like.
ah well. there are still 5 more weeks to go. i could pull myself together in 5 weeks... if not completely, at least a good bit more. a slave needs to be stable and only come apart when her master pulls her apart, bit by bit, in order to put her back together again the way he wants her to be...
i will do my best to focus on the way he wants me to be. because i know that is better for me, too.
i still love you...
Exercise: none at all. And now doubt I'll get to do any before going off to camp because everything hurts too much. All I did was vacuum a little this evening and everything is worse. Poor pitiful kitten...
Tears: i've been masturbating a lot, and crying heavily when i cum.
Panties: still pink. and that does make me happy. one day i had to wear white ones because i had used up all the pink ones, and felt very bad. and guilty. which was a good thing, as it meant i was feeling owned.
not sure what else to say on this. when i sit on the floor as Marko eats, which means on the floor by my master's chair, i feel very submissive and remember that i need to stop being a baby about this long, lonely, isolated summer. i am his slave and this is my task. i am his girlfriend (at least i hope so...) so i need to do what i can to help him. i'm pissed at myself that this is such a struggle.
i do know it has all been made harder by assorted necessary medication adjustments, and that part should be better now. plus i raised the lithium a couple of days ago, and maybe that will help, too. after all, part of this was to get me settled down by the end of the summer. that's important.
i don't think he's reading our blog any more. on the one hand, that makes me sad. lonely. i liked feeling i was sending out little messages to him. but i also think it could be good, because i doubt that reading about all my hysterics would reassure him about our future.
of course, a regular long-distance relationship is NOT conducted with 9-week stretches of silence. 9 weeks of not seeing each other is workable, as long as there are phone calls and e-mails and some sort of regular schedule and that feeling of connection. what we are doing now says NOTHING about what an ongoing long-distance relationship would be like.
ah well. there are still 5 more weeks to go. i could pull myself together in 5 weeks... if not completely, at least a good bit more. a slave needs to be stable and only come apart when her master pulls her apart, bit by bit, in order to put her back together again the way he wants her to be...
i will do my best to focus on the way he wants me to be. because i know that is better for me, too.
i still love you...
Monday, July 28, 2008
"Less than a week now... how do you feel?"
Anticipation mounted, conversation continued as we drew one day closer to our first meeting.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Saturday 28 July 2007
Forecast for Friday and Saturday is currently partly cloudy and high around 88. i will be obsessive about checking it daily until you come.
hope you've been productive.
m'Lord...
;-)
- -
Somewhat productive.
Will I meet L & L?
- -
One, maybe, if you want. The other will be out of town and won't get back till Sunday night.
- -
I guess I'd like to meet any of your friends that are there to be met. . .
- -
i'm very moved that you want to meet my friends. we could try to set it up ahead of time if you want.
but only if you promise not to say anything that will catapult me into subspace ;-) very embarrassing.
- -
I'll want you to myself most of the time. . .but maybe tea on Sunday for whichever of your friends are around.
You could serve it naked!
- -
yeah, right... ;-)
i'll try to get a feel for people's schedules, if they have such a thing.
- -
What are you wearing, kitten?
- -
i'm wearing my theatre-going clothes. brown rayon blouse, short sleeves, kind of low vee neck. cropped black rayon pants with brown spiky flowers. black knee-hi stocking. the chain. white bra and pink panties.
and the chain.
i was wearing heels of a sort today!
- -
Strip down to your bra and panties. . .
I want you in bed soon. . .and I want me in bed soon. . .but there's a enough time to undress you slowly. . .
(Heels! . . .you realize I'm going to make you wear them for me. . . them and nothing else. . .)
- -
yes, Sir.
(they are pretty sensible heels - cute, but not too high and not spikey. i like them.)
- -
(They don't have to be too high. . . as long as they're cute. . .)
Sit with your legs apart kitten. . .
Less than a week now. . .
How do you feel?
- -
how do i FEEL?
as soon as you order me to sit with my legs apart, i feel submissive. and when i obey... i feel even more submissive... and aroused...
i'm trying not to worry about things not working out ok. we've put so much effort into the 6 months... we've earned the right for things to be ok.
i feel like your fingers are going to insinuate themselves into the crotch of my pink panties thru the leg hole. you will feel how wet i am. you will start searching for an excuse to punish me...
- -
Yes. . .
Are you sitting straight enough? Legs spaced wide enough? Is there an insolent look in your eye? Are you wet enough? Too wet? Nipples hard? Too hard?
If you do not live up to my exacting standards, kitten. . .
The Cane!
So there's nothing to worry about
;-)
- -
it's hard to sit up straight on the bed with my legs spread and stretched straight out in front of me... ;-(
how can i be TOO wet??!!?
- -
Just do it kitten. . . no whining!!
I'm not sure. . .I'll have to see for myself. . .but there is a level of wetness that is simply "de trop". . . and would need immediate correction. . .
You'll see kitten. . . I will make you too wet. . .
- -
but if you punish me for being too wet, it will probably just make me wetter!
i'm afraid i'm starting to whimper, master...
- -
Wetter. . . and wetter. . . which will require further punishment. . .
Take off the bra. . .
- -
yes, m'Lord.
[breath comes faster]
- -
It is almost midnight, kitten. . . have you brushed your teeth?
- -
no, sir, i haven't yet. i will go do it right now.
- -
Yes. . . go kitten and come right back. . .
- -
i'm back, master, and at your disposal.
- -
Take off the panties. . .
- -
yes, Sir.
i thought you'd never ask...
- -
And now. . . to bed. . . it's almost midnight. . .
No touching, kitten. . . go right to sleep. . .
- -
yes, sir.
thank you, sir.
i do need to sleep.
and 6 days from now, when you finally let me sleep ;-) i will be sleeping in your arms.
good night my sweet and sadistic master.
- -
Good night, kitten. . .
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Saturday 28 July 2007
Forecast for Friday and Saturday is currently partly cloudy and high around 88. i will be obsessive about checking it daily until you come.
hope you've been productive.
m'Lord...
;-)
- -
Somewhat productive.
Will I meet L & L?
- -
One, maybe, if you want. The other will be out of town and won't get back till Sunday night.
- -
I guess I'd like to meet any of your friends that are there to be met. . .
- -
i'm very moved that you want to meet my friends. we could try to set it up ahead of time if you want.
but only if you promise not to say anything that will catapult me into subspace ;-) very embarrassing.
- -
I'll want you to myself most of the time. . .but maybe tea on Sunday for whichever of your friends are around.
You could serve it naked!
- -
yeah, right... ;-)
i'll try to get a feel for people's schedules, if they have such a thing.
- -
What are you wearing, kitten?
- -
i'm wearing my theatre-going clothes. brown rayon blouse, short sleeves, kind of low vee neck. cropped black rayon pants with brown spiky flowers. black knee-hi stocking. the chain. white bra and pink panties.
and the chain.
i was wearing heels of a sort today!
- -
Strip down to your bra and panties. . .
I want you in bed soon. . .and I want me in bed soon. . .but there's a enough time to undress you slowly. . .
(Heels! . . .you realize I'm going to make you wear them for me. . . them and nothing else. . .)
- -
yes, Sir.
(they are pretty sensible heels - cute, but not too high and not spikey. i like them.)
- -
(They don't have to be too high. . . as long as they're cute. . .)
Sit with your legs apart kitten. . .
Less than a week now. . .
How do you feel?
- -
how do i FEEL?
as soon as you order me to sit with my legs apart, i feel submissive. and when i obey... i feel even more submissive... and aroused...
i'm trying not to worry about things not working out ok. we've put so much effort into the 6 months... we've earned the right for things to be ok.
i feel like your fingers are going to insinuate themselves into the crotch of my pink panties thru the leg hole. you will feel how wet i am. you will start searching for an excuse to punish me...
- -
Yes. . .
Are you sitting straight enough? Legs spaced wide enough? Is there an insolent look in your eye? Are you wet enough? Too wet? Nipples hard? Too hard?
If you do not live up to my exacting standards, kitten. . .
The Cane!
So there's nothing to worry about
;-)
- -
it's hard to sit up straight on the bed with my legs spread and stretched straight out in front of me... ;-(
how can i be TOO wet??!!?
- -
Just do it kitten. . . no whining!!
I'm not sure. . .I'll have to see for myself. . .but there is a level of wetness that is simply "de trop". . . and would need immediate correction. . .
You'll see kitten. . . I will make you too wet. . .
- -
but if you punish me for being too wet, it will probably just make me wetter!
i'm afraid i'm starting to whimper, master...
- -
Wetter. . . and wetter. . . which will require further punishment. . .
Take off the bra. . .
- -
yes, m'Lord.
[breath comes faster]
- -
It is almost midnight, kitten. . . have you brushed your teeth?
- -
no, sir, i haven't yet. i will go do it right now.
- -
Yes. . . go kitten and come right back. . .
- -
i'm back, master, and at your disposal.
- -
Take off the panties. . .
- -
yes, Sir.
i thought you'd never ask...
- -
And now. . . to bed. . . it's almost midnight. . .
No touching, kitten. . . go right to sleep. . .
- -
yes, sir.
thank you, sir.
i do need to sleep.
and 6 days from now, when you finally let me sleep ;-) i will be sleeping in your arms.
good night my sweet and sadistic master.
- -
Good night, kitten. . .
Friday, July 18, 2008
Playing with Panties
i'm leaving town for a few days, heading north for a visit with my aged parents. i'm not sure what kind of internet access i will have, and whether it can be had with any measure of privacy. but considering the amazing, loving support you have been giving me - even you silent readers since you wouldn't keep coming back if you thought i should be left crying amongst the dust bunnies - i will leave you with a post a day drawn from the archives of teh happier days of our epistolary romance.
today's installment comes from the last couple of weeks leading up to our first physical meeting. i'll try not to dwell too much on that anniversary. it was August 3, 2007, 6 months to the day after we were united electronically by an amazing confluence of Eros and craigslist.
this exchange was on July 17th, beginning shortly before i was due to leave work. it mentions my being able to see his face. we exchanged no photos. it drove me nuts but then i grew to accept it. but then i started feeling guilty for not telling my friends about him (an expurgated version, of course), and was sure that they would ask about a picture and how could i say he wouldn't let me have one? so he took some of himself, and sending it off admitted that one reason he held back was because he doesn't photograph well. the picture certainly doesn't do him justice, i have taken some very lovely ones of him, but at least it gave me an idea.
and oddly enough, after all that, no one asked about it! (the philosopher wouldn't let me send him a picture. he wanted to maintain the mystery.)
read and smile...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
17 July 2007
Take off your panties, kitten. . .as soon as you get this.
(It amuses me that you can now picture my face as you read this. . .)
- - - - - -
yes, sir. i'm so happy to provide you with amusement.
(poor master, you must be so disappointed that i just missed seeing this before leaving work ;-)
- - - - - -
You rode home on the train. . .wearing panties?
Bad kitten!!
- - - - - - -
NOT a bad kitten, because i didn't receive your order until i arrived home. as soon as i saw it i removed my panties immediately.
and you know that. you know how obedient your kitten is. especially when it comes down to taking off her clothes.
- - - - - - - -
Hmmm. . .you should have checked your e-mail before leaving work. The whole thing reeks of rebellion and insubordination. . .
What are you wearing now?
- - - - - - -
I DID check my e-mail before leaving work! Especially because I had your picture open the whole time... (L said that when I invited her to have lunch, saying that i would tell her the story behind the pinhole camera project, that there was this guy... she said I blushed as red as the orangey-red shirt I was wearing..)
which i am still wearing. a very nice t-shirt with southwestern designs on the bottom. and khaki slacks. no panties. yes bra. sandals. the support knee-his. sandals. and a blue apron from the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst. Just finished the dishes. have to grind my coffee for tomorrow, brush my teeth, and get into bed.
sleepy kitty. it was an exciting day.
you are very exciting, my roguish Irish master, my wicked highwayman, my stern poet owner. your eyes bore into me, and hold me, somehow evil and romantic at the same time.
you own me.
- - - - - - -
Yes, I want you in bed and asleep by 10:30 at the very latest. . .
So now all your friends know about me. . .but they don't know the most important thing about me. . .about us. . .although they must wonder why you blush when you talk about me. . .
;-)
- - - - - - -
yes, i will scurry to get to bed, so won't talk long now.
M doesn't know yet, nor does T, but otherwise...
the blush was not because of the BDSM, it was just because...
and while your ownership of me, and your plans for me, may be the most, um unusual thing about you, about us, i don't in fact consider it the most important thing.
it's the connection, the intensity, the mutual obsession, the balance of feelings, how much we share... that's what is so important. the fact that we share dark desires, wild passions, and a need for this kind of relationship - that is in a way a detail. it's the sharing and the balance that is the most important thing. to my little slave mind, in any case. it is a precious and unusual thing and we are incredibly lucky.
we found out today that someone from our greater community died.
facts are scare, and the grapevine isn't working as well as usual. but deaths without details make me wonder about suicide. and unexpected loss reminds me to treasure what i have while i have it...
like a wild-haired Irish philosopher whose gaze makes me feel weak...
- - - - - - -
I'm sorry to hear about that. . .and you're right: it's a reminder to gather ye kittens while ye may.
I'm very glad I'm coming to see you. . .
- - - - - - -
mmm...
very glad.
(almost ready for bed... admittedly late, but getting there.. i DO try! honest!! and without you i wouldn't be in bed till after midnight, for no good reason at all...)
- - - - - - -
Almost?!?
Open rebellion. . . !
- - - - - - -
NOT rebellion.
simple failure...
- - - - - - -
I get to punish you, either way.
;-)
- - - - - - -
nasty man...
well i'm in bed. do your worst...
- - - - - - -
My worst? That's to make you wear a nightgown. . .no sleeping naked for naughty kittens!
But since it is late. . .and you really really tried. . .I will just send you off to sleep. . .
with images of rough hempen chord. . .and dripping wax. . .and a cruel master, whose face you now know. . .but who still has some hidden depth of cruelty to unleash. . .
- - - - - - -
thank you for being kind, master, and for saving your cruelty for when you can unleash it in person.
oddly, when we were coming home on the Metro, L realized she was still wearing the lanyard around her neck with her key card, and took it off saying "oh, i can take off my leash now!" i smiled to myself...
weren't you going to send me the url for the place you bought the rope from? you do keep forgetting your promises, master, you are quite distracted i think. what happened to that wicked phone message you promised? maybe while i'm away...
i do hope you are getting work done on you dissertation, and not getting caught up in logical knots...
i am so glad after all that i know your face, and have hints of your body... there is still some mystery, there is still threat, but there is also a sense of reassurance... i will be very happy looking at that face, and will feel very comfortable. in pain... ;-) but comfortable.
- - - - - - -
You're right kitten. . .I had forgotten. Here it is:
http://www.twistedmonk.com/
They have interesting products, and some very nice videos demonstrating various ties. Look at them; maybe you can pick one you'd like to try. . .although I'm warning you, I get final decision and I already have some ideas. . .;-)
The message. . .once again, I forgot. It's this weather. . .oppressive heat turns my mind to mush.
But this weekend, if you leave your phone off, I will leave a message that will make my kitten purrrrr. . .
- - - - - - -
thank you, master. i will leave my phone off except if you want me to call you. and i will call you Friday morning - tho not from the
beautiful little 3rd floor room which i consider mine, because it
doesn't have an air conditioner and your kitten is a wimp. i think
redheads weren't made to deal well with heat.
except your heat... i was destined to deal with your heat.
- - - - - - -
Good kitten.
And now, to sleep.
A new face will haunt your dreams. . .and inflame your body. . .
- - - - - - -
mmm... a face... and a cane... and ropes... (what color did you order...?)
good night, master.
and thank you for doing your best to take care of me. in spite of my best efforts to thwart you.
- - - - - - -
Good night, kitten. . .
today's installment comes from the last couple of weeks leading up to our first physical meeting. i'll try not to dwell too much on that anniversary. it was August 3, 2007, 6 months to the day after we were united electronically by an amazing confluence of Eros and craigslist.
this exchange was on July 17th, beginning shortly before i was due to leave work. it mentions my being able to see his face. we exchanged no photos. it drove me nuts but then i grew to accept it. but then i started feeling guilty for not telling my friends about him (an expurgated version, of course), and was sure that they would ask about a picture and how could i say he wouldn't let me have one? so he took some of himself, and sending it off admitted that one reason he held back was because he doesn't photograph well. the picture certainly doesn't do him justice, i have taken some very lovely ones of him, but at least it gave me an idea.
and oddly enough, after all that, no one asked about it! (the philosopher wouldn't let me send him a picture. he wanted to maintain the mystery.)
read and smile...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
17 July 2007
Take off your panties, kitten. . .as soon as you get this.
(It amuses me that you can now picture my face as you read this. . .)
- - - - - -
yes, sir. i'm so happy to provide you with amusement.
(poor master, you must be so disappointed that i just missed seeing this before leaving work ;-)
- - - - - -
You rode home on the train. . .wearing panties?
Bad kitten!!
- - - - - - -
NOT a bad kitten, because i didn't receive your order until i arrived home. as soon as i saw it i removed my panties immediately.
and you know that. you know how obedient your kitten is. especially when it comes down to taking off her clothes.
- - - - - - - -
Hmmm. . .you should have checked your e-mail before leaving work. The whole thing reeks of rebellion and insubordination. . .
What are you wearing now?
- - - - - - -
I DID check my e-mail before leaving work! Especially because I had your picture open the whole time... (L said that when I invited her to have lunch, saying that i would tell her the story behind the pinhole camera project, that there was this guy... she said I blushed as red as the orangey-red shirt I was wearing..)
which i am still wearing. a very nice t-shirt with southwestern designs on the bottom. and khaki slacks. no panties. yes bra. sandals. the support knee-his. sandals. and a blue apron from the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst. Just finished the dishes. have to grind my coffee for tomorrow, brush my teeth, and get into bed.
sleepy kitty. it was an exciting day.
you are very exciting, my roguish Irish master, my wicked highwayman, my stern poet owner. your eyes bore into me, and hold me, somehow evil and romantic at the same time.
you own me.
- - - - - - -
Yes, I want you in bed and asleep by 10:30 at the very latest. . .
So now all your friends know about me. . .but they don't know the most important thing about me. . .about us. . .although they must wonder why you blush when you talk about me. . .
;-)
- - - - - - -
yes, i will scurry to get to bed, so won't talk long now.
M doesn't know yet, nor does T, but otherwise...
the blush was not because of the BDSM, it was just because...
and while your ownership of me, and your plans for me, may be the most, um unusual thing about you, about us, i don't in fact consider it the most important thing.
it's the connection, the intensity, the mutual obsession, the balance of feelings, how much we share... that's what is so important. the fact that we share dark desires, wild passions, and a need for this kind of relationship - that is in a way a detail. it's the sharing and the balance that is the most important thing. to my little slave mind, in any case. it is a precious and unusual thing and we are incredibly lucky.
we found out today that someone from our greater community died.
facts are scare, and the grapevine isn't working as well as usual. but deaths without details make me wonder about suicide. and unexpected loss reminds me to treasure what i have while i have it...
like a wild-haired Irish philosopher whose gaze makes me feel weak...
- - - - - - -
I'm sorry to hear about that. . .and you're right: it's a reminder to gather ye kittens while ye may.
I'm very glad I'm coming to see you. . .
- - - - - - -
mmm...
very glad.
(almost ready for bed... admittedly late, but getting there.. i DO try! honest!! and without you i wouldn't be in bed till after midnight, for no good reason at all...)
- - - - - - -
Almost?!?
Open rebellion. . . !
- - - - - - -
NOT rebellion.
simple failure...
- - - - - - -
I get to punish you, either way.
;-)
- - - - - - -
nasty man...
well i'm in bed. do your worst...
- - - - - - -
My worst? That's to make you wear a nightgown. . .no sleeping naked for naughty kittens!
But since it is late. . .and you really really tried. . .I will just send you off to sleep. . .
with images of rough hempen chord. . .and dripping wax. . .and a cruel master, whose face you now know. . .but who still has some hidden depth of cruelty to unleash. . .
- - - - - - -
thank you for being kind, master, and for saving your cruelty for when you can unleash it in person.
oddly, when we were coming home on the Metro, L realized she was still wearing the lanyard around her neck with her key card, and took it off saying "oh, i can take off my leash now!" i smiled to myself...
weren't you going to send me the url for the place you bought the rope from? you do keep forgetting your promises, master, you are quite distracted i think. what happened to that wicked phone message you promised? maybe while i'm away...
i do hope you are getting work done on you dissertation, and not getting caught up in logical knots...
i am so glad after all that i know your face, and have hints of your body... there is still some mystery, there is still threat, but there is also a sense of reassurance... i will be very happy looking at that face, and will feel very comfortable. in pain... ;-) but comfortable.
- - - - - - -
You're right kitten. . .I had forgotten. Here it is:
http://www.twistedmonk.com/
They have interesting products, and some very nice videos demonstrating various ties. Look at them; maybe you can pick one you'd like to try. . .although I'm warning you, I get final decision and I already have some ideas. . .;-)
The message. . .once again, I forgot. It's this weather. . .oppressive heat turns my mind to mush.
But this weekend, if you leave your phone off, I will leave a message that will make my kitten purrrrr. . .
- - - - - - -
thank you, master. i will leave my phone off except if you want me to call you. and i will call you Friday morning - tho not from the
beautiful little 3rd floor room which i consider mine, because it
doesn't have an air conditioner and your kitten is a wimp. i think
redheads weren't made to deal well with heat.
except your heat... i was destined to deal with your heat.
- - - - - - -
Good kitten.
And now, to sleep.
A new face will haunt your dreams. . .and inflame your body. . .
- - - - - - -
mmm... a face... and a cane... and ropes... (what color did you order...?)
good night, master.
and thank you for doing your best to take care of me. in spite of my best efforts to thwart you.
- - - - - - -
Good night, kitten. . .
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Babbling
i've been writing at work.
i come in and my mind starts flooding with thoughts and i sit writing in long-hand on a small white lined pad. my emotions go from one extreme to the other, the writing, the thoughts, the emotions, they take on a life of their own, they're in some sort of meandering stream, taking odd turnings, saying truths, only to round the bend and come smack up against other truths.
all the thoughts are real. all the emotions are honest, all the truths are true. but there is no one truth.
and then i get home, and look back at what i've written, and don't want to post it. as if that will give it more weight that all the other thoughts and emotions and truths.
and i'm worried what my master's response will be.
see? right there. one of the truths. why did the words "my master's" come out? why not "the philosopher's? why not just "his"? i find i've been shying way from saying "the philosopher." it's such a playful designation, and it's hard to feel playful about him right now. there is no playfulness in our relationship right now. there is no humor. tho now that i say that, i can't help smiling at the few times first i, and then he, and then both together, burst out and continued laughing right in the middle of some intense perverted interaction (why do i refuse to use the word "scene"?). at least once, that happened when we were physically together... perhaps on his last visit. i can't remember why i cracked up, but crack up i did. and the catharsis of the laughter was nearly as good as from the caning.
so i referred to him as my master. hmmm....
perhaps because he was here again. at lunchtime. i love seeing that he's been here. it had been a few days. and then there he was in my stats. so reassuring, that somehow he is not removing me totally from his mind.
it makes me feel a bit of that connection again. that glowing ember inside of me. the one i think he never quite understood, couldn't quite give credit to - and because of that he couldn't believe i could be happy, even if not completely satisfied, through long periods of separation. i ALWAYS felt connected to him, every minute of the day. it's like my little bookshelf stereo. i turn it off but there is always this little red light on labelled "standby." the electric connection is never wholly severed.
but after i warded off a permanent break with this last chance idea of a 9-week silence, the light seemed to go out. the 250-foot long chain by which he held me seemed to have been cut because it felt as if he just needed to get away from me. so i was no longer carrying within me this eternally lit "we are open and alive" sign. and i felt so very very lost. and empty.
and then he showed up here. silently, but leaving foot prints. and i sent him the link to the post that said he was welcome and he came back late that night. then nothing for a few days. still, i felt better after the sighting and have been sporting pink panties ever since. still not the cute ones, sir, but today's were very very bright. and then at lunch you were here again. and a couple of paragraphs ago i checked and ou were back. and i felt so good.
maybe this can work after all, this break. i can know he's still thinking of me, and feel comforted and continue wearing the pink panties and the paper clip slave bracelet around my ankle. nothing is for certain, but i can think that there is the possibility that we can put it back together in September.
but i do miss him...
if he were calling tonight to put me to bed, i'd tell him how at work i was filmed for a video that will probably go on a website with a possibly big viewership. i did a good job. the filmmakers thought i did a GREAT job, and for real they were impressed.
and i'd tell him how my co-worker is hugely hostile and resentful towards me, which in an incredibly tiny office is a real pain. she doesn't even sit sight next to me and she complains about my sighing (!!) among other things, which in fact i think I do because i'm concentrating so hard that i forget to breathe - like when i'm giving you a blow job, master, and i have to remember to breathe through my nose so i don't gag. we're meeting with our supervisor tomorrow (there's only one more employee - the president). at least i know i haven't been hallucinating what i felt coming from her, and i'm trying to be more adult about it than she is.
and then i'd tell him how Marko was sitting next to me on the couch as i write this, and started kneading the top of my hand with his paw. and he needs a manicure so his nails are digging into my hand a little and i thought of how my master likes to dig his nail into me... into the palm of my hand... into my nipple... and it seemed as if Marko had received a message "hurt her. remind her. remind her that she is owned..." and i started to cry. just a little. just a little...
so yes, this has been a babbling brook of consciousness. there was no outline, no predetermined point... if i can't babble here than where can i babble? and if i bored you, readers, just go back and contemplate my nipple and tell me again what you'd love to do to it. and keep in mind that my lovely protruding nipple, which no bra can obscure from view, is not even hard in that picture. just think what it would look like after you subjected it to your evil whims.
and then sigh. because there's no chance you'll get your fingers or your teeth or your clamps or your clothespins on it.
because it is already owned.
and not by me.
i come in and my mind starts flooding with thoughts and i sit writing in long-hand on a small white lined pad. my emotions go from one extreme to the other, the writing, the thoughts, the emotions, they take on a life of their own, they're in some sort of meandering stream, taking odd turnings, saying truths, only to round the bend and come smack up against other truths.
all the thoughts are real. all the emotions are honest, all the truths are true. but there is no one truth.
and then i get home, and look back at what i've written, and don't want to post it. as if that will give it more weight that all the other thoughts and emotions and truths.
and i'm worried what my master's response will be.
see? right there. one of the truths. why did the words "my master's" come out? why not "the philosopher's? why not just "his"? i find i've been shying way from saying "the philosopher." it's such a playful designation, and it's hard to feel playful about him right now. there is no playfulness in our relationship right now. there is no humor. tho now that i say that, i can't help smiling at the few times first i, and then he, and then both together, burst out and continued laughing right in the middle of some intense perverted interaction (why do i refuse to use the word "scene"?). at least once, that happened when we were physically together... perhaps on his last visit. i can't remember why i cracked up, but crack up i did. and the catharsis of the laughter was nearly as good as from the caning.
so i referred to him as my master. hmmm....
perhaps because he was here again. at lunchtime. i love seeing that he's been here. it had been a few days. and then there he was in my stats. so reassuring, that somehow he is not removing me totally from his mind.
it makes me feel a bit of that connection again. that glowing ember inside of me. the one i think he never quite understood, couldn't quite give credit to - and because of that he couldn't believe i could be happy, even if not completely satisfied, through long periods of separation. i ALWAYS felt connected to him, every minute of the day. it's like my little bookshelf stereo. i turn it off but there is always this little red light on labelled "standby." the electric connection is never wholly severed.
but after i warded off a permanent break with this last chance idea of a 9-week silence, the light seemed to go out. the 250-foot long chain by which he held me seemed to have been cut because it felt as if he just needed to get away from me. so i was no longer carrying within me this eternally lit "we are open and alive" sign. and i felt so very very lost. and empty.
and then he showed up here. silently, but leaving foot prints. and i sent him the link to the post that said he was welcome and he came back late that night. then nothing for a few days. still, i felt better after the sighting and have been sporting pink panties ever since. still not the cute ones, sir, but today's were very very bright. and then at lunch you were here again. and a couple of paragraphs ago i checked and ou were back. and i felt so good.
maybe this can work after all, this break. i can know he's still thinking of me, and feel comforted and continue wearing the pink panties and the paper clip slave bracelet around my ankle. nothing is for certain, but i can think that there is the possibility that we can put it back together in September.
but i do miss him...
if he were calling tonight to put me to bed, i'd tell him how at work i was filmed for a video that will probably go on a website with a possibly big viewership. i did a good job. the filmmakers thought i did a GREAT job, and for real they were impressed.
and i'd tell him how my co-worker is hugely hostile and resentful towards me, which in an incredibly tiny office is a real pain. she doesn't even sit sight next to me and she complains about my sighing (!!) among other things, which in fact i think I do because i'm concentrating so hard that i forget to breathe - like when i'm giving you a blow job, master, and i have to remember to breathe through my nose so i don't gag. we're meeting with our supervisor tomorrow (there's only one more employee - the president). at least i know i haven't been hallucinating what i felt coming from her, and i'm trying to be more adult about it than she is.
and then i'd tell him how Marko was sitting next to me on the couch as i write this, and started kneading the top of my hand with his paw. and he needs a manicure so his nails are digging into my hand a little and i thought of how my master likes to dig his nail into me... into the palm of my hand... into my nipple... and it seemed as if Marko had received a message "hurt her. remind her. remind her that she is owned..." and i started to cry. just a little. just a little...
so yes, this has been a babbling brook of consciousness. there was no outline, no predetermined point... if i can't babble here than where can i babble? and if i bored you, readers, just go back and contemplate my nipple and tell me again what you'd love to do to it. and keep in mind that my lovely protruding nipple, which no bra can obscure from view, is not even hard in that picture. just think what it would look like after you subjected it to your evil whims.
and then sigh. because there's no chance you'll get your fingers or your teeth or your clamps or your clothespins on it.
because it is already owned.
and not by me.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Status Report - Week 1 of 9
Weight Loss: 4 pounds
Exercise: 3 days in a row (not today, due to a migraine, or i would have made it 4)
Tears: beaucoup; demasiado; för mycket. down from buckets a day to a cup or so.
Panties: pink
i was going to write more today - in fact wrote a bunch long-hand at work on a little pad of white, lined paper. but it's not done, and there's the aforementioned headache (totally unrelated to the matter at hand). thankfully the philosopher, who did NOT revisit here last night, won't have to hear me moan about it. in all honesty, i can say that i hope last night he fell asleep early and slept solidly, and has been able to work away in his air conditioned room and get off a page or two and maybe look ahead with some confidence.
so this is all for today. except for a poem of sorts which i will post separately, and to which i do encourage responses - especially from my more sadistic readers.
speaking of which, one last thing. i appreciate more than i can say all the kind and incisive comments - and even those that aren't so kind but try to tell it as it appears from the outside. i'm not talking much to friends about the hiatus and looming possible break-up. it's just too hard to talk about it. and then there's the other little problem of not being able to talk about what made it all particularly intense. but here, while i don't share my legal name and other identifying details, i can share things that are even more revealing, the truth of my desires, the truth of my needs, the truth of my perversions, and the truth of my pain. (and his, too. i don't doubt his pain. and i can do nothing for him but give him the support he needs by staying away.)
Exercise: 3 days in a row (not today, due to a migraine, or i would have made it 4)
Tears: beaucoup; demasiado; för mycket. down from buckets a day to a cup or so.
Panties: pink
i was going to write more today - in fact wrote a bunch long-hand at work on a little pad of white, lined paper. but it's not done, and there's the aforementioned headache (totally unrelated to the matter at hand). thankfully the philosopher, who did NOT revisit here last night, won't have to hear me moan about it. in all honesty, i can say that i hope last night he fell asleep early and slept solidly, and has been able to work away in his air conditioned room and get off a page or two and maybe look ahead with some confidence.
so this is all for today. except for a poem of sorts which i will post separately, and to which i do encourage responses - especially from my more sadistic readers.
speaking of which, one last thing. i appreciate more than i can say all the kind and incisive comments - and even those that aren't so kind but try to tell it as it appears from the outside. i'm not talking much to friends about the hiatus and looming possible break-up. it's just too hard to talk about it. and then there's the other little problem of not being able to talk about what made it all particularly intense. but here, while i don't share my legal name and other identifying details, i can share things that are even more revealing, the truth of my desires, the truth of my needs, the truth of my perversions, and the truth of my pain. (and his, too. i don't doubt his pain. and i can do nothing for him but give him the support he needs by staying away.)
Monday, July 7, 2008
meanderings
he didn't sleep well last night. at 4:30 in the morning he was up reading our blog. i'm sorry he didn't sleep well. he needs to sleep. i want him to get work done so he'll feel good about himself.
i'm afraid he'll start thinking he can't do anything right. not his career. not relationships. i can't speak to his career, but the relationship? grad school is hell on relationships. everyone knows that. but it's not a guaranteed killer.
i think he doesn't believe in me. he doesn't believe that i feel the things i say i do. he doesn't believe it's that good for me, he doesn't believe in that glowing ember i carry inside me. he doesn't believe it's that good even when i don't see him. and i wonder if he doesn't believe in himself, and that he could really make me feel that way. so obviously i'm delusional. on top of being afflicted by a 2-week hormonal cycle.
he's right that he was cowardly about not making clear how little visiting he could handle. it would have been hard. but it would have been easier. i've learned a lot about myself, exploring my submission. i do well when clear limits are set for me. i do well when i know where the edges of my cell are. i do well when i can feel the collar tight around my neck and the chains restraining me if i try to go past my boundaries. i wouldn't do well with one of those invisible fences. and i need to be scolded and beaten when i disobey. or when i complained. or when i had weepy tantrums. perhaps he felt too guilty to be that hard on me. i don't know. but i think if we could manage to go forward, that would be the way to do it.
it's odd, writing like this. it's not quite like before, when there wer some posts that i was writing directly for him and you all were just eavesdropping. now it's almost as if he's the one who is eavesdropping, hiding behind the tree as i speak. and i know he might be there. so yes, i've lost some freedom. i probably won't rant about some things i might have otherwise. i do want to protect his privacy, even though none of you have met him and only 2 of you have met me.
but i don't mind that he's reading. i feel better. less isolated. nash made a comment that it was sadistic of him to read after i'd asked him not to and he'd agreed. but i feel it as a gift. i know im on his mind, WE are on his mind, he hasn't just been able to turn it off. i feel that connection again, even just a little. and that makes me feel safer. no matter what happens.
meanwhile, i'm sleeping again. i'm still eating a lot less, but at least i'm eating fairly healthfully. i've lost weight. i'm a good 4 pounds less than when he first met me. i went back to the health club. i was horribly depressed, and they always say that exercising is good for depression, it produces all those endorphins - just like a good caning but without the welts - and endorphins are good for depression. i hadn't been in ages. now i've gone 3 days in a row. yeah, it doesn't sound like much, but for me that's pretty good. so i'm losing weight and starting to be able to hold my stomach in. and my hair is still growing.
and i'm not crying as much...
- - - - -
what are you wearing, kitten?
pink panties, sir...
pink panties and shorts
and a sleeveless purple top
and no bra so my nipples stick out.
i had stopped wearing pink panties.
i couldn't bear to.
i put them all away in the little square drawer
along with the white apron
and the nipple bells
and the 2 leashes
(because we each had bought one)
and the pink dog collar
and the choke chain that you
carried in your pocket for
days after you bought it.
but then i knew you'd been here
and then i felt you closer
and then it felt ok.
so i wore pink panties today.
and after i exercised
and after i showered
i regarded the drawer full of panties
and picked out some pink ones again.
but not the cute ones, sir.
i can't manage the cute ones.
but the pink ones made me smile
almost as much
as hearing the order
to wear none at all.
sleep well tonight, master.
please sleep well.
but if not, if you just can't.
you're always welcome here.
this blog is your home, too.
the door is always open
and i check our private e-mail
and the phone is always on.
i'm afraid he'll start thinking he can't do anything right. not his career. not relationships. i can't speak to his career, but the relationship? grad school is hell on relationships. everyone knows that. but it's not a guaranteed killer.
i think he doesn't believe in me. he doesn't believe that i feel the things i say i do. he doesn't believe it's that good for me, he doesn't believe in that glowing ember i carry inside me. he doesn't believe it's that good even when i don't see him. and i wonder if he doesn't believe in himself, and that he could really make me feel that way. so obviously i'm delusional. on top of being afflicted by a 2-week hormonal cycle.
he's right that he was cowardly about not making clear how little visiting he could handle. it would have been hard. but it would have been easier. i've learned a lot about myself, exploring my submission. i do well when clear limits are set for me. i do well when i know where the edges of my cell are. i do well when i can feel the collar tight around my neck and the chains restraining me if i try to go past my boundaries. i wouldn't do well with one of those invisible fences. and i need to be scolded and beaten when i disobey. or when i complained. or when i had weepy tantrums. perhaps he felt too guilty to be that hard on me. i don't know. but i think if we could manage to go forward, that would be the way to do it.
it's odd, writing like this. it's not quite like before, when there wer some posts that i was writing directly for him and you all were just eavesdropping. now it's almost as if he's the one who is eavesdropping, hiding behind the tree as i speak. and i know he might be there. so yes, i've lost some freedom. i probably won't rant about some things i might have otherwise. i do want to protect his privacy, even though none of you have met him and only 2 of you have met me.
but i don't mind that he's reading. i feel better. less isolated. nash made a comment that it was sadistic of him to read after i'd asked him not to and he'd agreed. but i feel it as a gift. i know im on his mind, WE are on his mind, he hasn't just been able to turn it off. i feel that connection again, even just a little. and that makes me feel safer. no matter what happens.
meanwhile, i'm sleeping again. i'm still eating a lot less, but at least i'm eating fairly healthfully. i've lost weight. i'm a good 4 pounds less than when he first met me. i went back to the health club. i was horribly depressed, and they always say that exercising is good for depression, it produces all those endorphins - just like a good caning but without the welts - and endorphins are good for depression. i hadn't been in ages. now i've gone 3 days in a row. yeah, it doesn't sound like much, but for me that's pretty good. so i'm losing weight and starting to be able to hold my stomach in. and my hair is still growing.
and i'm not crying as much...
- - - - -
what are you wearing, kitten?
pink panties, sir...
pink panties and shorts
and a sleeveless purple top
and no bra so my nipples stick out.
i had stopped wearing pink panties.
i couldn't bear to.
i put them all away in the little square drawer
along with the white apron
and the nipple bells
and the 2 leashes
(because we each had bought one)
and the pink dog collar
and the choke chain that you
carried in your pocket for
days after you bought it.
but then i knew you'd been here
and then i felt you closer
and then it felt ok.
so i wore pink panties today.
and after i exercised
and after i showered
i regarded the drawer full of panties
and picked out some pink ones again.
but not the cute ones, sir.
i can't manage the cute ones.
but the pink ones made me smile
almost as much
as hearing the order
to wear none at all.
sleep well tonight, master.
please sleep well.
but if not, if you just can't.
you're always welcome here.
this blog is your home, too.
the door is always open
and i check our private e-mail
and the phone is always on.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Marko chaperones
From the first time we played with hot wax, around New Year's.
I have no idea why the laptop was on the bed.
I lay there... i think my hands were bound above my head but i don't remember for sure... i do remember looking up in his face as he stood above me, too cautious to drop the wax from any closer... afraid of burning me even as i wanted more pain... he watched the wax pool, waiting for just the right moment to tip the flame towards me.
his face was lit by the flame from the candle he held and the flames from the candles around the room. his face was consumed with the concentration of a scientist, watching for how i jumped when the wax hit, listening for my little cries. he should have had an assistant standing there with him, taking notes of my master's observations.
it didn't hurt all that much.
i wanted it to hurt more. the splashes
of heat mostly surprised me. and the ritual
delighted me. i wanted more.
eventually, i got more.
and from closer.
i want more.
i need more.
i need to feel the chain around my neck.
i need to feel the pull
the pull of invisible rope
the rope that he pulled from far away
the rope that bound us together.
i wish i knew.
i wish i knew what he is thinking right now.
i wish i knew if he shares my emptiness
or if all he feels
if all he feels
is relief.
i'm following the old rules as i wish.
i don't really know any more what i should do.
i'm a slave to my stats again.
i'm posting as i wish.
i'm considering wearing only
white panties until September 1st.
today i'm wearing white panties.
it hurts too much to wear the pink ones.
i have a drawer full of pink ones.
but i'm still wearing the chain around my ankle
that silly chain of paper clips that
says so much about
what we were...
and if i post a photo on a Friday,
it will still be of a cat.
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