He Hurt Me….

We met at “Our” Starbucks.  The weather today was gorgeous. Gorgeous. We met early, and it was warm enough to wear a tee-shirt and summer skirt. I got his coffee, my tea, and sat and read email while I awaited his arrival.

I was reading aisha’s post when I felt something in my hair.

Warmth in New England in April presages the dreaded black flies. Just a millisecond before I flicked it away, I turned.

Thank gawd.

It was Master! Not a black fly at all! (thank gawd I didn’t swat HIM!)

We kissed, and talked, and we did computer work together.

I showed him some shoes I’ve been oogling (none passed his discerning, one might be tempted to say “picky” point of view.) He rises from his chair and comes to stand behind me,

and pinches my under arm flesh so hard it made my eyes tear. Not only did he pinch


he did the fucking twist too!!


All the while calmly telling me this wouldn’t do, because of this, and that. I think that first pinch went on for 45 seconds or more. I kind of stopped breathing in the middle, as if that was gonna help.

The more prominent top bruise was from that first pinching.

There were others. Always shielding what he was doing to  me by using his body to block customers view. Once he was breathing against my neck and it looked like so much “cooing and billing”….


It was fucking awesome.

Painful, oy yes.

Verrah Verrah VERRAH painful.

My arms still hurt, and I wonder what they will look like tomorrow. I should have them still on me when I go to NYC on the weekend…and that will give me something to remember Him by, which was his plan.

It worked.

Now, I’d love to stay and chat…

but I have a masturbation to attend to and it’s “get it done by midnight or tis lost!”

I have no intention of losing this Orgasm…I’ve been hot n horny all day !!


(I know, hard to picture, right?)




It is, So Deal.

I know the phrase “It is what it is” strikes resonance with some…and rabid hatred with others.

Yet today?

It really is what it is.

It is not something I can change. I have no power over this…this “is”. I can only deal with the repercussions of “it”.

I had hoped that today would be a play-day for Master and I.


It’s not.

We’re catching a bit of time to be together at Starbucks…time for a cup of tea, that sort of thing. It was to be the first time behind closed doors since early February.

But it doesn’t work for Him, ergo…it can’t happen.

And I’m pulling up my big girl panties and dealing with it. It comes on the heels of two weeks totally apart, since last weekend we didn’t hook up at all due to Easter.  So I’m feeling particularly vulnerable and needy just now.

And I know it will help immensely just to see Him. To smell Him. To kiss Him. All the tangibles that make each of us unique individuals.

No playtime for nilla.


That’s not exactly a pout. Nor a scowl. It’s me dealing. And sad.


Why wouldn’t I be sad, right? I *fucking* miss  Him.

I miss His hands on me, the pain, the pleasure. The gliding of skin on skin. The ritual of dressing for Him. The Wall. The beating. The fucking. The tender kisses as we lay entwined.

It will be June before we get any playtime. Every weekend is spoken for from here on out, until then. That sucks, eh?

It is what it is.

I can’t change it, I can only (submissively) accept it, and move forward.

It’ll be two weeks after today before we can have face time again, as I have an obligation next weekend.

Am I moaning here?



I’m entitled to moan. I miss my Man. I miss my Master.

And lest any of you think He’s neglecting me…oh, He isn’t. He’s still holding my orgasms in His pocket. He deals them out when He deems it appropriate. I got nothin’ last night.

He knows I’m tired. It’s been a crazy week for me. And I’d have orgasms if He let me…but He wants me in bed. And working on sleeping.

He teases me with thoughts of things to come someday…the rimming story earlier this week was borne from that….my coping with understanding the whole idea of of rimming.

Understanding the submission of it.

Understanding my extremely confusing reaction to it.



Grossed out.

But still…turned on.

He … manages me.

So…even when I feel alone? I really never am. Master is there…in every orgasm I get…or am denied…in the food choices I make, and even how late I stay up.

I guess…I can deal with the sadness of not “being” with Him…because really? I’m never fully without Him at all.