…. or I was.
Believing (since it’s been a long while since our last behind-the-doors playtime) that, with the exception of some public tweaking that the kink was kind of in limbo.
Not exactly retired, but certainly not at the forefront of our relationship.
We’re friends of an unequal sort.
He still calls me slut, cunt, whore…but I’ve been feeling a bit disattached (nilla has been having a bout with SAD, and it caught me unaware-I take an herbal remedy which helps “normalize” my moodiness). It’s hard, sometimes, this “moderate” LDR. I know many subs and Doms have way more miles between them than Master and I do. And we get to see each other at least every two weeks if not more often. I often feel bad for feeling so damn needy since I know there are those of you out there who haven’t seen your Dominants in a long while. Like I should stfu and just deal. We’re all used to what we’re used to in a relationship, though, and mine has been a bit more “back burner” than it used to be, and that is mostly *my* fault.
So I have been living in Vanillaland, pretty much. Craving more of Him, even more than the peppering of bruises He often leaves me with after a coffee date.
You read, a few days ago, about His birthday celebration, where He totally flummoxed me. And that was the beginning. He’s been teasing me almost non-stop. Little texts that have escalated the feelings of submission.
And that horrible little thing that turns me on, hot and fierce: fear.
Not as in “omg He’s going to maim me and kill me and throw what’s left in a dumpster” kind of fear, just so we clarify.
Fear of the unknown.
Fear of the pain. Coz let’s face it…it’s pain. I’m out of practice. I love it, crave it, am desiring of the flying that comes of it…but sometimes the pain scares me, too.
He sends me a picture of the new butt plug.
I swear it had a former life as an airplane brake or something! And He was correct…it is the exact color of our shared birthday cupcake, a bright and cheery red.
And it is big.
Did I say big? Oh, no no no…that’s so wrong.
This ….thing…is fucking HUGE. Compared to my “starter plugs” it’s a giant. Okay, it’s not like the King Kong Dong you can find at those online toy stores, but for me? E-fucking-normous.
Yes, I said E-fucking-normous.
I’m ooohing…and OMG-ing in responses to His texts, the picture He has sent of it on His porch railing (He is ever the one for setting the mood, you know?!) and His responses to *my* responses.
And then I get another text. Or an email. I forget–but —
I forget, sometimes I just do. That’s not good, to forget that. It’s simple and basic and yet sometimes the vanilla stuff is just all we can manage.
“How are the kids?”
“Good. How are yours?”
You know, and the car breaking down, and the leaves needing raking, and our mutual obligations here and there and suddenly it’s all just…vanilla.
He’s a clever Bastard. He waits for just the right moment, when I’m lulled.
Oh BTW, make sure you don’t ask me about the new vibrating inflatable ass plug. No you don’t want to know about that.