That’s what this is. Pure fantasy, to titillate and amuse. Not to condone true rape, nor true violence. These works are works of fantasy and should never be taken as consent to force yourself upon a stranger, unless you’ve met, crafted an agreement of consensual non-consent, and have a safeword, and a safecall on standby.
She understood how people felt back in the medieval days, strung out upon a rack. Her wrists were drawn so tightly that she could barely flex her fingers. Her thighs were tied open, spread embarrassingly wide, and her ankles bound too.
He sat, a dark shape across the room. The light shining upon her body threw him into shadow. If not for the occasional shift of his body, she would have thought he had left. But no, he lingered there, staring at her.
She swore she could feel the weight of that glance, touching her tits, her nipples, drawn tightly into buds in the cool room. Perhaps she could feel his eyes stroking her pussy, each succulent lip devoured in a look. Her clit was swollen with her humiliation.
HE WATCHED HER.
After forever and another minute passed, a creak from across the room drew her attention. He stood, moved towards her. From the shadow that was his form, a hand appeared in the light that bathed her body. A finger trailed up from her toes to her ankle. It slipped up along her inner calf, before curling up and around her knee.
“Oooh,” she squealed, trying unsuccessfully to move away. Silly, since she could barely wiggle her bottom. It set her fat tits to bobbling, though, and the finger rose from her ticklish knee to flick at one bouncing nipple. Her moan changed, deepened.
“This is desire. Arousal. The need to be touched…”
She swore she could feel His voice, a deep sound in the quiet dark room, in her bones.
“But for you, little one, an even deeper need. This.”
His flicking ceased, and he pinched her nipple firmly between that teasing forefinger, and his thumb. Arching with the sudden pain, she sucked in a breath.
“Yes,” he murmured, “You need this. As do I…”
His voice trailed off his hands gripped her tits, squeezing the soft flesh firmly until she whimpered. Quick as a striking snake, he slapped her face. A tear, single and sweet, pooled in her eye as she stared at him. Her cheek glowed from his hand; though she could not rub it with her wrists secured, she could feel the sudden heat.
His fingers pinched her tits, bruising the tender skin, drawing an assortment of noises from her. A quick slap on her left tit was followed by a pincering grasp of her nipple, and a shockingly sudden twist.
“OWIE!” she yelped, struggling. “It’s not the oven nob, there, Sir!”
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, “But I’m certain that it’s turning you on.”
She giggled, then moaned as he continued torturing his way down her body. He pinched her inner thigh, then caressed the apex of her pussy, but never quite touched where she yearned.
“Want something, slut?” He murmured.
“Yesss!” Her voice turned pleading. “I need you to touch me…I need to cum, Sir.”
“Ah. You want to cum, but that’s not the same as need. You need food. You need water-“
“I need it Sir. I really need to cum!”
“Are you sure?”
If she hadn’t been desperate, she might have taken note of the silky tone of his voice. But need overcame sense, and she nodded, and continued to beg for his touch. Still his fingers teased her, hurt her. Her cheek throbbed where he’d slapped her repeatedly, her nipples ached, but her cunt, aching with need, remained untouched.
How much time passed before he relented? She wondered how long he’d been tormenting her, how much more she could bear of his cruel fingers before she begged like a child for it to stop. If she did that, there’d be no orgasms for the month, she knew. She quivered when he spoke in her ear, his voice, carried in a caressingly warm breath.
“Okay, you may cum.”
His footfalls moved away, out of the light.
“Patience, little one,”
In a moment or two he returned, carrying his favorite toy.
“I thought you’d fuck me, Sir.” She tried not to sound petulant.
“You were mistaken. I will take my pleasure from you, little one. In my own time, in my own way, as always.”
“Yes Sir,” she replied, eyes downcast. She watched as he placed the bulbous head of the wand against her cunt. Felt it as he wedged it tightly between her pussy lips. Still, nothing happened, and he walked out of the light again.
She strained to hear, but he was quiet. The sound of duct tape being pulled off the roll was loud, and made her jump. She wanted to ask, but managed to shut her mouth. If she was too rude, too pushy, he’d stop this and she so desperately needed release.
Back at her side, he adjusted the wand and began taping it to her inner thigh.
“That’s going to hurt when I rip that off,” he mused. Then laughed quietly. She bit her lip, keeping silent.
“Good girl,” he said with humor, slapping her thigh. “This is what you wanted, to cum, am I correct?”
“Yes Sir!” she replied promptly, excitement in her voice.
“So be it!,” he said, and flicked the vibe to “on” mode.
The first orgasm came quickly, her body primed for release. She whimpered that she was done, and “Thank you Sir,” but still he played with her tits, ignoring the buzzing vibe.
“Oh! It’s so…too…oh…Sir!”
Her body arched with the stimulation, coming again. Again, the “Thank you Sir,” and again he ignored her, pinching and pulling her nipples, grabbing her tit meat and squeezing and kneading it.
She came again.
And again. Tears, pleading, crying, begging him to stop, please.
“Cum for me, little one.”
Her body shook and quaked as the dastardly machine ripped another orgasm from her. He moved, then, placing his hand over her abdomen.
“Your muscles are shaking and quivering, and it’s only been seven orgasms!” He exclaimed. “It’s such and amazing feeling!”
By the eleventh she was muttering endless streams of “omygawd omygawdohmygawd…”. By fifteen she was drooling; sloppy, soaked with sweat and cum and tears.
As she quivered through the eighteenth wave, she barely felt the tape being pulled from her quaking thigh. She screamed as he jabbed into her sopping cunt with his stone-hard cock. He fucked her roughly, as she clenched around him, coming continuously. He held the vibe against her clit as he drove her up and over into incoherence. Strange words came from her mouth, along with grunts and moans. Her pussy gripped his shaft, her body trembling fiercely. With a final push, he buried himself in her belly as his cock injected streams of semen into her.
With a flick of his thumb, he turned off the vibe, and smiled, stroking his palm down the side of her face as she, still quivering, now slept. They’d both gotten exactly what they wanted.
He was pleased.
Many of you may know that I don’t believe in “New Years Resolutions”…I think if you need to change something, you acknowledge it and begin to work on it right away…maybe that’s the submissive at work in my deeper consciousness (after all, HE won’t wait for a change, right?). But it’s a long-held belief, and I started a few things that reared their ugly head during the late fall.
Like giving up soda, specifically diet soda. Yes, it’s terrible for you. I know it. But I was so busy, and not eating (can you believe it, a fat girl not eating?!)…and I needed the caffeine boost, so diet soda it was. And then the spins began. It happened when I was just, you know, standing. Or walking. Or once, while driving.
What. The. Everloving. Fuck.
I know I’m getting older, but not old enough for that. I knew there was a virus going around…but for the hell of it, I stopped the soda, and just like that, the dizzy spells ceased. And I had soda again, and got dizzy again. I have no idea what the correlation is, and don’t care…I just know that it’s out for me.
Which I’ve already fallen off the wagon on, twice. This isn’t about perfection, I was reminded by a friend. It’s about persistence. I’ve gone about 10 days now…
One of the other things I thought about in December as a semi-resolution, was to start blogging more regularly. After all, I now have TWO dangling stories, and I made myself a promise that I would finish them. I didn’t put a formal deadline out there but maybe before Easter. Why then? I don’t know. I just pulled a date out of my head that would be a good benchmark. And here I am, blogging two days in a row! It’s a New Years miracle. *laughs*
So, now it’s out there in public. In virtual print. Geeze. I’m NOT a commitment-phobe, so I guess I need to sit my ass down much more regularly, and get to it.
And I do have such a dirty mind.
When you (or in this case, *I*) go to log into your long-languished blog and you can’t remember the password …it’s a problem.
When you and your dominant haven’t spoken to one another in months…it’s a problem.
When you don’t have time for one another, even as little as getting or sending a text maybe every other day…it’s a problem.
Am I right?
My poor blog has *blows a breath, watches particles fly off* dust all over it. There’s been no new porn here in…forever. The stories are still here…they pop into my head daily. But the time to write is curtailed by kids. and work and life and my evenings I’ve fallen into bed and into sleep so quickly.
Wait. That’s not really true.
I blame Tumblr. My gosh, I got so sucked into that…I would spend hours every night in my bed, masturbating while watching so many gifs, reading micro fiction, peruse still pics…and the harder, rougher, dirtier, they were, the more intensely my orgasms became.
And then came Dec. 17, the Day of the The Death of Tumblr Porn. Suddenly some of my favorite sites were deemed unacceptable by the moderators of free speech…*coughs (censors) loudly*…
So the big T is now a small, tame world filled with puppies and tattoo’s and jokes. It’s definitely, definitely, a joke now. I wonder how many bloggers will come back to this type of format? *raises hand*
So the Tumblr problem is resolved, but the rest is not so easily fixed. Oh, He makes noises now and again about beating my ass once his gig is done. I know he worked crazy hours during the holidays (ain’t retail fun…not!). I also know I’m not putting much credence into his promises, and teasings, when he remembers to write to me…after all, he’s been promising time together since September.
So maybe I’m just over this porn thing? (er, then why was I coming so hard looking at all those nasty pictures…?) Oh, okay, you have me there. Maybe I’m just not into the Dom thing? Maybe I’m too busy to care anymore? My work has me working all kinds of crazy hours, and I love what I’m doing, and my kids need me, and my house, and pets, and and and…
Or, maybe I’m too busy because I’m afraid of caring/craving/wanting it so much again. I remember how intense the yearning is once it rears up. I remember the need to be touched, painfully. And the need for gentle kisses. I remember all the orgasms, those last painful, oh-too-many…please…no….And His crooning voice, ‘just one more…” and another, and another until I was so out of it I was flying through subspace. I recall the hot throbbing of my ass when he spanked me roughly, and the taste of him in my mouth. I can’t want all that again. Can I?
I don’t have all those answers. I’m not looking for them all that hard, either. Truly, it’s a problem…
The doorbell rang. And again. And again. Hauling ass from the shower, he held the towel tight to cover himself as he cracked open the door.
“I know what you like.”
The young girl, no more than 25, he figured, looked at him with her head tilted and a firm smile on beautifully shaped lips. Her eyes were blue, bright as a September sky, and stared straight into his without shyness. Her long straight hair fell well below her shoulders, but the rest of her was shrouded in darkness and swathed in a dark coat.
“What? I think you have the wrong house little girl.”
She stepped up to the doorstep, and placed her hand on his wet, bare chest, then had the temerity to push past him and into the house.
“Hey!” He was shocked and discomfited to have her just stroll in like she owned the place.
“This isn’t your house…you need to leave.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile almost feral. Maybe she was some kind of thief. He peered out the door but saw no other people.
“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house?” His words seemed to bounce off her back.
“Come here,” she said, and strolled to the kitchen.
“Sit,” she directed him to a chair. The only light in the room came from the nightlight of the oven range.
“Mark, you don’t know me, but I know you, and I know what you like. You see, my mother cleans here for your wife. A few weeks ago I came to help her out. I was bored, and had some time and she wasn’t feeling well. I did the upstairs while she was down here, cleaning up the mess she told me you always made when you cook.”
She shook her head.
“You really take advantage of her, you know. Making such a mess then walking away from it? That’s little kid stuff. But we’ll talk about that later.”
He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand, mimed shutting her fingers, and he fell silent.
“I found the toys under the bedside table in the box. I thought it was funny that you were kinky, seeing as I was too. I didn’t quite understand the situation fully until I dusted your wife’s nightstand and found your cock cage. That’s when I realized that you and I were on opposite sides of the slash. I am most definitely not a submissive, and you, dear boy, are.”
She smiled again, one that did not speak of humor.
“There’s going to be some changes around here. I know that your wife is away for the week at a conference. And you’ll be mine to enjoy until she returns. While I know she dominates you, I’m not certain that she’s a true dominant, or if she’s just a top because you need one.”
“Drop the towel and come here.”
She pointed to the floor between her feet.
“Look here. I…I’m not going to just take orders from you, little one. You’re half my age-“
A quick flick of her wrist dropped a crop into her hands, slapping it against his chest, making him yelp. She struck him again. His nipple began to swell, the button of it drawing tight.
“Oh, I may be younger than you, but I know what I’m doing, and I’ll beat your nipples bloody if you don’t get your fat ass over here.”
He slid off the stool and stood before her. A sharp tug released the towel, revealing his caged cock.
“It looks like you’re ready to service me,” she said, noting the mangled position of his cock. The crop slapped against the cage, making him wince.
“I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I. And when your wife returns, I think it can only get better. Come along, boi. I hope your tongue is in good shape.”
Turning she strode away, leading him towards the stairs. He moaned as his cock tightened inside the restricting cage.
She was in the bedroom. It was surreal. How the fuck did this even happen in real life? In porn, sure, it was a sexy fantasy, to be molested by a stranger. But in the now? He wasn’t a pussy. He was a serious businessman, by damn. He was going to handle her like he handled…
Thoughts scattered as he stepped into the room. She was unbuckling her coat. Beneath it she wore nothing.
“I’m not one of those Dommes that like to wear corsets and ankle-breaking boots. I like to be comfortable and I’m most comfortable naked. That doesn’t mean that I won’t discipline you when it’s needed. Or when I feel like it. I enjoy giving pain. I enjoy sex. I enjoy being serviced, and watching you want to fuck me.”
She pointed to the massive four-poster.
“Get up on the bed.”
“It’s ma’am or mistress. Take your pick. But if you call me young lady, woman, or girl again I will crop your ass purple.”
He froze. There was a truth to her words, to the tone of them that made him know that she meant every word. He moved to grab her wrist, but she slapped the crop over his wrist then his cheek, drawing welts. His hand reached to his cheek.
“You only touch when I say you can. Try to disarm me again and I will hurt you. Look at you. Your cock is already trying to push its way out of the cage. You’re erect and in pain, and all it takes is a slight amount of pressure…”
She slapped the cock cage hard with the crop, then with her hand. He yelped, leaping back, hand covering his genitals.
“Follow the rules and I won’t have to discipline you, boi,” she said.
Their eyes met, clashed. After a long few breaths, he dropped his, cursing her in his mind even as he felt his spirit thrill to be so completely dominated by the little…Mistress.”
“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered to the floor.
“Heather. That’s ‘Mistress Heather’ to you.”
He nodded. The crop came up, lifting his chin.
“No nodding. You may use your words. Try ‘yes, Mistress Heather’.”
He looked at her nose, too nervous now to meet her eyes.
“Yes Mistress Heather,” he responded.
“Good boy,” she said, stroking her fingers over his nipple. He moaned.
“Where is the cage key? I know you have access to it while she’s away. Fetch it for me.”
He pointed to the bathroom; she pointed with the crop. He returned in seconds. Taking it, she released the lock, and began removing the cage from him. He moaned as his squished shaft stretched out.
“That must be really painful, that nice thick cock all mashed in there like that.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable…it’ll be back on soon enough.”
Her hand clasped over the tender meat, then roughly began pumping his shaft. He moaned, groaned, begged her to go easy, to no avail. When he spurted, she pointed it at her tits.
“Your next erection is mine. And it will take you much longer to cum now. Clean your nasty goo off of me.”
She settled back on the bed, as his fluid slid down her belly.
“And be very thorough.”
Grabbing his hair she guided him to her left tit, and smiled as he began to lick.
you know it can be a struggle to write..and it builds up and builds up…but just like anything else, it won’t happen all by itself, so sometimes you put on your big girl panties–or in this case, remove them–and just do it. ~n~
Her fingers rubbed madly at her cunt as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. He was fucking her, fists in her hair, her tits swinging wildly as he pounded her from behind.
“Goddammm!” she moaned, feeling the wave growing stronger, rolling to that final peak. He was a vicious beast ramming himself into the woman who’s face was pressed hard against the window of the building across the wide street and 5 floor below where Jayne stood, rubbing.
“every *gasp* fucking *gaspmoan* niiiiiIIIIIeeeeeettttt…ohhhgawddddddd…”
Her hips bucked forward, humping her fist as her orgasm swelled, consuming her.
With a shiver, she fell to her knees, head pressed against the thick carpet. This was the 12th night that she’d been watching Him. Every night a different woman, making him, in her opinion, a professional Dom.
“Or a man-slut,” she murmured, pushing up from the carpet before her leaking cunt stained it. Knees shuddering, she padded to the shower.
“Mr. Kinsey is here to see you, Ms. Jamison.”
“Send him in, then go home, Gwen.”
With a grateful smile, her secretary, slipped back out. She heard Gwen’s voice guiding Kinsey to the door, the snap of her desk lamp, and the smooth roll of her desk drawer as she prepared to leave.
Thankfully he was the last interview of the day, then she could go home. This tiresome day had gone on and on. Now the sunset had faded and the lights of the city winked at her back through the wide windows lining the wall behind her. She kept the light on her desk turned low. When he stepped into the room, she was glad that the light wasn’t stronger.
It was him.
“Ms. Jamison,” he proffered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, at last.”
She took his hand, gave a firm handshake. Did his thumb caress the back of her hand or was she just imagining it?
Rising from her desk, she invited him towards the sitting area, choosing the seat that kept her face in shadow. She felt flushed, yet a rush of adrenaline made it difficult to appear relaxed. He spoke, but she was only paying scant attention. His lips moved, just as they did when he spoke to his girl of the day. His voice was sensual, no other word would fit. The tones, timbre, pitch all husky, sexy, deep. When his lips stopped moving, it took a moment to register.
“Oh..uh..” she stumbled, embarrassed to be caught being inattentive.
“I’m sorry, am I here at a bad time? I know it’s quite late. I’m afraid that I pressured your secretary for an opportunity…”
She mentally shook herself.
“No…it’s…just a long day, as they all are lately.” She smiled briefly. “I do apologize.”
He rose, putting her on alert.
“Please, allow me?”
He was behind her, fingers resting lightly on her shoulders.
“Tension is the real killer these days. A quick light massage can help with that.”
The fingers dug deeper, making her moan.
“See?” His voice was a low and husky whisper. “You’re so tensed up. A little bit of work here and you’ll feel much better. This is why you should consider hiring me…an on-site massage therapist would be of great benefit to you, and the company.”
As his fingers wound around her shoulders, back up to her neck, she felt herself melting.
“I…” she cleared her throat as his fingers did magical things to her neck. “I can definitely see the advantages, Mr. Kinsey.”
She wanted to moan when his fingers left her body. She tried to stop the rise of her nipples as he moved back to his chair, but his touch had stimulated even more than it had relaxed.
“If you’re willing, we can go a bit further. I think you need some real work on your back,” he said.
Was there a challenge in his eyes?
“Really?” she said, her voice cool.
He rose again, stepped forward, took her wrist. A quick tug pulled her to her feet. He gestured to the window.
“The whole city is out there. Look at them all, racing there and back.”
He pressed her palms to the window, her forehead to the cool glass. His fingers ran up and down her spine, a firm push that she felt to her toes. He tugged her blouse free from her skirt, then slid his hands up, gliding over her skin. Reaching her bra strap, he released it, murmuring.
“So much better, yes?”
She made a soft sound of acquiescence.
When he unzipped her skirt, cupped her ass, she moaned. One wide palm slid up her back again, slid under her to cup her tit, and pinch her nipple firmly. His other grabbed her hair, pulling her head back.
“I saw you watching,” he murmured. “I wonder who will be watching you?”
We’re working through it. There have been downs and some ups. I gave him very blunt and hard words. He gave me silence.
That infuriates me, btw. How the hell can you fix anything with silence? At this point in our relationship..NINE years…we should be well and truly over this. And yes, I gave HIM silence for a week, but only because he was NOT listening to what I was saying, and kept trying to be “funny” about something that was not at all humorous.
We’re still talking. Not much chance to see one another until early next year. My schedule gets super jammed around the holidays–as i’m sure most of you can relate to. The man is doing some stuff. It just can’t work.
He’s still pissed at me, but not like he’s going to fly off the handle kind of mad? He never does anything out of anger. (Which bothers me some, I admit. Because the opposite of any reaction seems like apathy to me, and that’s the death knell in any relationship, isn’t it?)
And really, I hope it works out for us. I admit to not being very submissive lately. I was very nearly Dommy when I told him off about things he was saying that were annoying because they were teenage boy humor, and had nothing to do with Dominance or submission or fucking or anything relationship building.
I’ve got zero patience for stupid shit, and that’s a bald fact.
I’m NOT looking for another dom. I just … I’m losing my feelings of submission because I’m too damn busy to even care these days. I know. I kind of gasped too, when I thought it. Am I growing out of it? Was submission a phase? Am I merely a painslut, getting off on being hurt, but not necessarily feeling all subby about it?
I don’t know. I haven’t had much occasion to offer submission, and I guess I’m not willing to fully do that. He’s not the kind of dom who wants me on my knees in servitude. I am not the kind of sub (anymore) that craves giving that.
Just fuck me, will ya?
Just hit me, will ya?
Make me cry. Make me cum. Make me crave more of it. More pain. More sensation overload. Mix the pain with the pleasure and make the pleasure pain. I need that. I really need it. Maybe when that well is full once more, instead of being dry as dust, maybe then I’ll start to feel submissive. Maybe I won’t.
But by damn, I want to feel…something.
Communication, an on-again, off-again thing with Him, has not gone well. We’ve not managed to actually speak to one another, and I confess to not wanting to hear him being pithy, or victim blaming.
I am not the one who put words to text as he did.
And when I texted him that I couldn’t keep thrashing this back and forth, which would sully all the good memories of us, and I was done, he said he “took back” all the words he’d said, as if that would absolve him of his comments.
And I called him out on it (by text) and he has not responded. Is he waiting me out? Is he testing to see if I really mean it? Or does he just see (at last) that what he said was way, way unacceptable and realized that it was an uncrossable bridge?
I don’t know.
And I’m water, flowing away from that place.
Again, a solo sub…then again…I’ve been solo since our last play time. Was it March? I think so. Yeah, another half year full of promised playtimes that never materialized. Some I will take the blame for, and some I didn’t push him on because it seems that every time I clear my schedule for free time with him, a sudden commitment would arise on his end. It’s happened a lot and I’ve just ridden it. Mine is to serve, right?
But it gets to be unfulfilling. There were no more attempts to try to dom me from afar…even the simple things like we used to do, betting orgasms on football score spreads, or solving riddles.
Did I bore him?
Did I give up too easily (who doesn’t, really, after a time?)?
Wasn’t I sub enough for him?
Oh stop, nilla. It wasn’t just me. It wasn’t just him. It was his “show”, he was the top, as he reminded me from time to time. But I think his heart wasn’t in it. I think he was just tired of the game. And I got tired to trying to entice.
That’s the stone cold truth.
OH, it was so good when it was good. He’s got a wicked humor that I found perfectly matched mine. He is a sadist, and a kind hearted person.
And he is no longer my Master, nor my Dom.
I will miss him.
I can’t call it “heavy-hearted” because tonight, at this moment in time, I’m..nothing. I’m not angry or sad or happy or …anything. Not even numb. I’m out of rhythm with my body and mind, and I’m …maybe just holding space here.
I’ve not “formally” broken up with M.
But it’s close.
Last week he said something that I just find reprehensible. He was trying to be humorous in that offbeat way of his that I have often found both irritating and funny. This was not funny at all.
I texted that to him, just “not funny”.
He didn’t reply/respond to that for 24 hours, and when he did it was as if none of that other had happened, was a “quirky” attempt a humor about something he saw at starbucks.
Like…I give two fucks about that? Let’s deal with what’s on the table here. But I know myself, and knew that if I had replied like that he’d fuff me off, ‘oh nilla, you’re just being overly sensitive like you get all the time’…which is both untrue and definitely not in this case.
I didn’t write back.
In point of fact, I’ve neither written nor spoken to him in five days and nights. He’s written one other time, again a “humorous” vignette type of thing, which I didn’t even finish reading, frankly. Until or unless he’s willing to man up and say something about his remark, I’m not going to communicate.
The thing is, I’m not sure I can continue with him. This was really an unforgivable sort of thing to say to anyone. After nine years with him, I think I may just be done.
I’m not feeling submissive, or…anything. Not sad, not lost, not angry. I’m being level headed, and calm and…holding space for those emotions. Maybe in stasis until I know from him what’s in his mind.
I hate just giving up.
But this time, I’d hate giving in even more.
This will be short because it’s thunder and lightning and POURING POUNDING rain…again. We’ve had much rain (not to put us in the same place as those who dealt with Hurricane Florence last week, to be sure) this summer. 4″ last week with the remnants of Florence with streets flooded and manhole covers popping off with the force of it. That won’t happen tonight, but man, I’m really starting to feel…moldy.
I’m really thinking that once it really gets less humid, and cooler, that my sexy juices will start flowing again. Because right now? It’s hard to think about touch another human body …just…no.
I think this is the most unsexy post I’ve ever written..oh another weather alert…(our third of the evening…)
“Two inches of rain has already fallen in your area…”
It’s only been raining for about 30 minutes here. Holy yikes. Well folks, I’m going to put this post out there and go to bed. It is nice falling asleep to the sound of a downpour…right?