In Love with a Sadist

(this is  my 1100th post…wow! I’ve not forgotten about Camp, either…big home renov. project is taking almost all my time and energies…but it’s not been shelved, okay? ~nilla~)


Another Sunday, another meet at Starbucks….ah, t’was a lovely afternoon.

Master stayed a bit longer than He intended to…we do amuse one another. But eventually he needed to go. It was kind of funny, me walking Him out to the car for a change! I still had hours to kill…and a novel to work on (yes, it is not dead! It lives. It needs editing. I hate editing.)

We went out and talked beside his car for a few minutes. He’s been admiring the last lingering traces of the biting bruises on my upper arms. And doesn’t he fucking *poke* me in the middle of the still-kinda-sore one? Not once. Oh, no. Again. And again. And again.

I’m dancing and giggling, and there HE is, popping my upper arms with His wicked thumbs. O. OUCH!

By night, I have aching upper arms. Really. It hurts a lot. And the bruises that were fading?

OH. Not any more. Deeply purple by last night, they are…very very dark and painful today. And I will remember that I am an owned slut the entire time I work on painting my living room today, every time I lift my arm, every stroke of the paintbrush, every dip into the can of paint.

I smile as I write this, nearly 24 hours later..remembering Him  smiling, and laughing as He tormented me (okay, I was giggling too…but then again, I am a pain slut!), a Sadist at play.

And I’m glad, after 3 years, that this sort of thing is not mundane. There is always something fresh to be discovered with Him.

Or maybe He’s just fresh.


Whatever it is, I like it.

Bruised arm muscles and all.