Sweet Sexy Anticipation

I’m feeling it…that burgeoning of desire that I’ve held in stasis, tight within a chrysalis. It’s hung there, deep inside me, waiting. Slowly growing, sometimes the pressure to burst free just this side of manageable.

I’ve not talked about it overmuch. I’ve spent time here with you, chatting about my hair issues, the little bits of face time we’ve carved out, all the while slowly going mad with desire for this Master of mine. Yes, yes, I know, I’m “His” property, but trust me on this, He is every bit mine as well. And I’ve craved Him, like I used to crave cake with thick frosting. I crave His touch, His attention, the alive feeling He engenders. I long for the smell of His body to rub into my skin, the rough edges of His man body grating against my softer shapes.

I crave, too, the pain. I fear it, I long for it. I want it so much that it’s an ache in my cells.

And somewhere, deep within one of those ‘compartments’ that men seem to be born with, is a matching desire in Master, for me. It’s –humbling– to be the object of desire. He wants to touch me. He wants to make me moan, and whimper. He wants to make me mewl with pain–and pleasure.

He wants to make me cum. (Like a NY harbor fireboat, He says!)

He wants to mark me.

Already He teases me about the fucking pink hairbrush. You know the one…I’ve teased Him about it off and on. I really, really hate that fucking thing…cheeky

It stings…

no…

….it’s way, WAY beyond mere “stingy”…

This fucker packs a whap..a whallop…that steals my breath. It is almost beyond ‘pain’…it covers a wide area of skin and makes me feel….

I can leave it at that, I think. It hurts. It makes me cry, every time. And yet it makes me feel.

Alive.

Glowing with the pain. Getting to the glow is a hard passage. But it makes me fly. Out into the stratosphere, way above the clouds, yet held here on Earth by His implacable voice, the steady thunk of a toy on my skin, or the gentle touch as His hand caresses the welt.

Then there’s that seeking finger, as I sniff my tears back. It probes between my thighs, sliding into my slit, feeling the heat there.

And the wet.

So much wet.

It’s true. Pain turns me on. Pain revvs up my sensual beast. It is the key that unlocks the fucking greedy needy whore inside. Getting there sure isn’t easy, but it is the road I’d rather travel with Him than anyone else.

He’s sent me texts about the hairbrush. About the pleasure and joy it brings to Him, in large part, He reminds me, because  I stupidly gifted it to Him. It wasn’t *meant* to be a gift, mind you. It was a huge relief to finally find a brush that could handle the massive “master hair mess” that I got after every meet. He absolutely destroys my careful coif, mussing me up so that I look like I styled it with a blender. I’ve gone through multiple brushes, combs, what have you. Finding the paddle brush was a dream come true! It whipped through the worst tangles in moments…

I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Look what I found Master! Isn’t it neat?” I  held up the gleaming pink monster, innocently unaware of what was about to transpire.

Apparently He had never really listened to my complaints about my tangled tresses and how long they took to comb out before I went home. But His eyes lit up when I showed Him that fucking brush. It has a squishy handle. He slipped it out of my hand, flipping it around in His palm.

And it was only *then* that I realized exactly what I’d done. I’d just delivered a weapon of ass destruction to a sadist. Seriously, stupidly, the thought that He could/would/might use this on my ass?

Never occurred to me.

Hey, I have these blonde moments from time to time. I was born blonde you know.

“Turn over,” He says, clenching the squishy handle. “I like this.”

I don’t remember what happened next.

What?

You don’t believe me?

Okay, okay.

It’s indelibly scribed on my brain. He hit me with it.

Right on my ass.

And laughed.

He was so fucking delighted. I am now the official caretaker of the pink brush. Nothing can happen to it. It sits on my dresser where I see it every day.

Every day.

And I remember the kiss of that fucker, like a viper on my skin. My tits, my ass, arms, legs, belly…no area is “safe” from the thing.

I sent him a text on Tuesday, told Him the brush had hopped a train.

He ignored me.

Later, He sent me a  sweet and sadistic text about using it on me. A text that made my toes curl with dread and longing…and made my pussy swell and dampen.

Damn He knows exactly how to prime my pump.

12 thoughts on “Sweet Sexy Anticipation

    1. i dunno A, it’s supposed to be QUITE chilly here by the weekend.

      Then again, my butt will be supplying a ton of heat, post-hairbrush, won’t it?

      Laughing!

      nilla

    1. Hi Rose!

      It *is* lethal. And …He’s been teasing me about it. Not quite taunting…just quiet little jabs…makes me all hot and bothered…and thinking of getting a pair of iron panties. !!!

      nilla

  1. I’m a-skeered of that brush .. and it is nowhere near me ~! Boy I sure hope you two get some alone time and fast.
    Wordwytch, your headline news is worth passing along, if you don’t mind!
    Happy Weekend~!

    1. 🙂

      Hi nancy (didja notice a new dark fantasy for you?)

      That brush is horrible. I think it is one of the worst tools in His arsenal….(and that makes me wonder if that makes it one of the best, too… hmmmm…)

      nilla

  2. i am blonde too and have those moments you mentioned. i’m always providing arsenal for my sadistic Dom without even realizing it until after i open my big mouth and start to see that twinkle in His eyes.

    1. nodding…yes! see, I get that 100 per cent. its fun and a bit daring to live on the edge like this (and often, all unaware)…but it’s part of what makes it so damn good, too.

      nilla

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