His Texts

We can go vast hours without communication. I’m often chatty, but this week I have been careful to not draw His attentions.

Ha. As if that would work. (it didn’t)

He sent me a text yesterday that I’ve re-read close to a hundred times.

Yup. Really. 100 times.

I had written that His texts had sounded more “wanting”. This was His reply:

I never ‘want’, nilla – as it relates to beating you – because I know I can take it anytime I desire (distance aside). It’s just time to give you a little more than you’re expecting – just to see if you can catch your breath – or keep breathing for that matter.

Thrills and chills, my pervie peeps. He supplies them all. We exchanged texts later in the day, about this and that and we were talking about His being a tit-man.  He shared a story from His formative years (He’s been a tit-man for a LONG time!) and I asked if that was a hint, since I hadn’t sent Him a tit pic in at least a day. He replied:

No – I don’t hint nilla – I take and demand. It’s more fun.

You all know I’m swooning by now, right? Last night there was tit torture and a butt plug, and NO orgasm. So I’m pretty turned on anyway. Add in all this D/s verbal foreplay? I’m sodden. Quivery in my belly, needy and wanton.

Which is, come to think of it, exactly how He likes me.


Do Bad Boys Grow Up to Become Doms?

He hails from south of NYC,  a tough kid, scrappy, rough around the edges. Grew up sexy, popular, not afraid of a fight. Went to an Ivy League school, got a shine of polish on Him, and the military honed the fighter.

Under that shine, He’s still a mean Bastard. A sadist with a slick veneer of civility. I love that about Him. He can be urbane, genteel, so handsome in His suit and tie, a lion cloaked in lambskin.  He says, sometimes, the most terrifyingly erotic things with just a few words. Words that are on the edge of cruel, words that drip of omens and portents of bad things ahead for me.

I shudder with nerves, goose-flesh rises along my shoulders, as my pussy throbs and weeps dripping ‘tears’ of wanton need.

He does it in so few words. He does it with a surgeon’s precision, knowing just what will bring that burning needy hunger to the surface, to make me twitch and yearn for Him.

I want.

I crave.

He will use me, hurt me, torment me, and make me need Him more than ever, come the weekend.

He Stirs the Fire

Monday night..no orgasm, much pain. Nipples aching (clamps on, clamps off, clamps on…) as I fall asleep cradling them. I wake to His text “Enjoy today fully–you will find the rest of the week…uncomfortable.”

Gods above and below…I’m burning with the slow burning embers of His fire. I may immolate before Sunday…


Before W/we Meet

I sent Him a titty pic. I was pinching my nipple and feeling flirty.

He responds that I’m “milking” it…which of course makes me laugh.

I did apologize–“Sorry, I should leave that for You to do.”

“Clamps will do it”

“Oh, I haven’t had much practice with clamps of late.”

I know. I know. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own ability to shoot myself in the foot.

“Put them on tonight–two weights”

I admit I read that one twice. Swallowed hard, then whipped off my reply.

“TWO? On my virgin nipples? More that’s mean.”

“Man…MAN that’s mean…NOT “more”!!! Definitely not more!!”

“What – you want more – what a trooper”

We exchanged a few more texts, and then this one stopped me cold.

“OK – stick to the clamps and weights; BTW – this means no O tonight; can’t interfere with pain.”

“GASP! OMG that’s mean. Uber-mean.”

“Nah, just wait until after Like Day….”


He definitely ramps things up before a meet, yet this was unexpected. And I had decided to NOT have an O last night, thinking I could have one tonight (Monday). I always get an O on Tuesday (Like Day…because He does like me!)

On the way home from work I called Him, thinking I wouldn’t even reach Him since it was earlier than usual…but hell if He didn’t answer AND issue one further edict.

“If you write tonight…and I know you’ll write tonight nilla….you wear those clamps, you hear? I want to picture them hanging down, pulling your nipples, making you feel.”

So here I sit, writing. The weights on the clamps didn’t feel so bad in my hand, but after 20 minutes on my nipples, pulling them down to my toes (or so it feels)? OH, yes. I feel them. And I’m turned on as hell. And I can’t touch, can’t orgasm, just have to…hang here. With my nipples being pulled to the floor. And Him 40 miles away, yet oh, so close as I feel the burning pain that He fed me.

And when I go to bed, and say my prayers, I’ll add a note to the goddess that I hope it doesn’t snow late on Saturday so that I get to spend some real quality time with the sadist who hurts me so good, from so far away.

Moody Submissive

I was sad.

Don’t know why, really.

Didn’t mask it, didn’t bury it under chocolate, or snapping at my kids, just accepted it, felt it, let it run through me.

Those are dangerous times for me.

I’m prone to despair. I’m prone to feeling so blue that I want to just go to bed and hide. I don’t. But sometimes I want to.

I have, in the past, hidden this from Master. Suppressing it to be His good little happy slut. And suppression leads to being snarky, and occasionally snapping and having a little emo breakdown…

I sent Him a text this time.

“I’m sad.”

He didn’t respond; He waits, you see, to see what will come to His in-box next.

“I’m not sure why. Nothing is wrong. But things aren’t …I dunno.”

“I’m overtired. Not sleeping well at all.”

“I miss You. My kids are driving me crazy. It snowed again.”

“I need spring, Master. And for it to be warm. And…You. I need YOU, Master.”

“I’ll be back in a while. I’m off to take my supplement so I don’t take anyone’s head off. I’m not mad. Just…sad.”

There is always something that comes next. (Never say in one text what can be said with 20, amiwrite? (see what i did there?)) I took a vitamin D, and an herbal supplement that helps when my mood falls that sharply.

“I feel…better. Not happy. But smoother. I think I’m over the worst of it now.”

“what made you sad, little girl?”

“I don’t know, Master. Nothing specific. Just…sad.”

“there is a cure for that you know. Butt plugs.”

“I’m feeling…FINE now Master.”

“the bigger the butt plug, the happier you’ll get…”

“Remember Master? I told You I’m all better now.”

“Oh. okay. Well, if you’re sure, slut, I’ll go put Big Red away.”

“For now……”

He sure knows how to inspire a slut. 🙂 Funny thing is? After He said all that, I felt even happier. Wrapped in the loving arms (so to speak) of my sadistic Dom…who wouldn’t feel better after that?

Sometimes it’s these short, simple exchanges that reinvigorate the Dom/sub relationship. It doesn’t exactly “lag”…but sometimes I feel less of the ownership tug than other times.

That’s all my fault, by the way.

HE is the not the one riding the emotional roller coaster here, that’s all on me. My vanilla life has been very dominant for the last several weeks, and that leads me to feeling, if not less submissive, then at the very least, less involved in being submissive. It gets pushed away, into the back of my psyche, like an old dildo in the toybox…you know you like it, and it gets you off, but you don’t have the time to play with it just now. You know you’ll go back to it, you always do because it’s just that good….but for now, you just don’t have any minutes left over in your day.

(I hope that makes sense out loud the way it did in my head.)

Master is always there. There are always things I need to do per His request. Never anything strenuous or that would impact my vanilla life. Like…always sending a good morning text. Small task, big benefit. These little tasks are to remind me that I’m His submissive slut. But we’re both aware that my vanilla life is dauntingly full of children and all the responsibilities endemic in that most important task. He would NEVER allow me to neglect them.

But that brief texting yesterday not only did wonders for my sad mood, but it reaffirmed in my head that the submission is still there, still very much alive. More like a crocus waiting under the snow to blossom, as I will when the full heat of Him is focused on me. I’m not “not submissive”…I’m just a really over-scheduled Mom right now, who is also a submissive slut. I’m all His, always.

But next Sunday?

I’ll be all His, under His hands.

I think we both need it badly.

Neighbor (4)

She gave a fruitless tug at the dealership door. She’d had no idea that Fred’s Acura closed this early. On the east coast, most car places were open until 9. Yet another reminder that she was out of the megalopolis, and deep in the heartland. It dawned on her as she stood there staring off into the distance, that she had no way to get back home. She’d dropped off the rental van, walked here in the gusting winds. Last nights rain had blown through like a wild thing, leaving branches on her back deck, and debris along her walkway. She’d worked through the sunshine-bright day, attempting to create some sort of order to her home. Unfortunately, the day spent moving things up and down, in and out of rooms made her lose track of time. Shock registered when she checked her cell phone. How could it be that late already? She’d barely gotten the van back before she would have had to pay for another day, which would have annoyed her.

Except now she had no car. Her home was more than ten miles away from here at least, and unlike her former east-coast life, there were no taxi’s on every corner. A rumble from the distance made her look up at the sky. Of course. Going along with the rest of her suddenly fucked-up afternoon,  deep purple and gray clouds boiled ever closer, filling her with  foreboding. Turning from the dealership and walking quickly up the street, a gust pushed her forward as the smell of wet slapped the back of her head.

“No…” she moaned, throwing a glance over her shoulder and seeing the wall of water bearing down on her.  Why was this happening now? Why hadn’t she found out when Fred closed? Or gotten his cell phone number. Surely he’d…

A drop about the size of a softball landed with a hard sploosh on her head. In moments the deluge engulfed her. She stood, soaked to the skin, arms outstretched in disbelief. A step forward, she thought, then another. She didn’t even know how she was going to get food without a car. Above her head, a blinking light buzzed to life, the blue beer sign a welcome beacon. Fuck it. She’d dine on bar food tonight, and figure out the rest later. Dripping, trying to shake off some of the damp that had seeped into her pores, she slid into the warmth of the bar.


He blinked when she walked in. She looked like a drowned rat, actually, but he knew her body, recognized the tits, the face, the fuck you attitude. And her mouth. Hell yes, her mouth.

She took a seat at the bar. He wondered how long it would be before her surroundings began to have an impact. Though, looking around, he saw that some of the more extreme people who frequented Spreaders weren’t there yet. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was early, and those sweet freaks wouldn’t arrive for several hours yet. He’d pay good money to watch her face see some of them arrive. Caleb felt a tug on his arm.  Franci stood there, corset-clad. The petite former blonde now sported bright pink hair. He smiled, shaking his head. The things women did to their hair these days amazed him.

“Yesss?” He drawled.

“Master wants to speak with you.”

“I’ll be up in a moment.”

“nu-uh, Sir,” she said, hooking her small hand around his arm. “He said that I had to personally bring you. You don’t want me to get punished do you?”

“I don’t know…do you?”

“Sir!” she giggled. “You know Master doesn’t treat punishments as fun.” Her hand covered her left butt cheek. “I’ll pass…and bring you along, if you will, Sir.”

With a last glance towards Tits New York, he acquiesced.


He slid into the open seat beside her, clad in the tightest leather pants she’d ever seen a man in before. You had to give the guy credit. He was well put together, the pants accenting every muscle in his thighs. The boots made him look as though he’d stepped out of one of those Gorian books her brother had oogled and hidden between his mattresses during their teen years. He leaned his elbow back on the bar and made no secret of oogling her. She waited him out, but when he didn’t speak, just sat there with that smirk on his face, she knew she would be forced into conversation. He was pretty…but not as pretty as he pictured himself, she thought. Wouldn’t hearing that just prick his ego?

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Haven’t seen a prettier drowned rat in here in a good long while.”

She sighed. She likely did look like a drowned rat, but talk about a backhanded compliment.

“Well, your little city closes early, trapping citizens like me in deluges…one takes refuge where one can.”

“Well, that’s music to my ears, little one.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“mmm, I like begging too…”

She would have rolled her eyes, but at that moment, a large woman in a small corset walked in, holding a silver leash. At the other end was a man clad in nothing more than what appeared to be a wire harness around his cock and balls, and a collar. He had obviously been holding the now collapsed umbrella over her as she was dry, and he very much was not. Rain ran in rivulets over his well muscled torso, dripped off the harness, darkened his flowing mane of hair. She was struck by his pared-to-basics utter beauty.

And, oh, fuck. She was in one of those bars. She’d covered the scene before for the magazine she worked at, before publishing her novel. It certainly had its thrill, but she didn’t feel a connection to knifes and whips and chains herself. She’d suspected her brother maybe hung at one of these places, but not her. Nope. Not her thing.

“Look…I don’t really belong here. Truth is, I was supposed to pick up a car from the place behind you–”


He picked up her hand, played with her fingers. She was still in New York mode. Tugging her fingers away, she muttered a quick “stop that!”

He stroked a finger down her arm rubbing at the rain-moist skin of her wrist.

“I do like my women….wet.”

She did roll her eyes at that lame double entendre.

“Look, I just need to get home. Is there a cab I can call?”

“Miss, your order is up. Leo, leave the girl alone.”

The barkeep slid a plate with steaming pizza slices on it, and a beverage in front of her. Her stomach rumbled.

“I could take you home,” began Leo.

The barkeep gave him a warning glare, and Leo reluctantly slid from the stool. He paused behind Alexandra, his finger running down her spine as his voice husked into her ear.

“Let me know if I can help you out.”

She took a bite of her pizza as he moved off into the crowd.

“Thanks,” she nodded at the barkeep, whose  name badge she could barely read in the dim light said “Claire”.

“You’re pretty big for a ‘Claire’,” she murmured.

“nah, it’s E-Clair… because I’m soft and quishy inside and covered in dark chocolate.” His laugh boomed over her. She laughed with him, then wondered if the soft and squishy referred to his sentimental heart…or some BDSM-euphemism.  Still, he exuded a quiet strong comfort.

“Do you know where I can find a cab? I live a long way out of here, and the car place next door is closed and I’m kind of stuck…”

“Old Fred had a family emergency. His son’s wife went into labor a few weeks earlier than she was supposed to, so he took his wife on up there to take care of the other little ones while their boy stays at the hospital with his wife and baby.”

She wasn’t surprised that everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business. It was part of what had drawn her to rural America after all. Still.

“Wherebout’s you live, honey?”

She gave her address.

“Yo! Caleb,” he hollered.

Caleb was likely a popular name around here, she supposed, but with a sinking heart, she saw that it was indeed her neighbor who approached, lips pulled back into a wide smile.

“I had no idea you were into this sort of thing little one. Domme or sub?”

She blinked. Dom? As in Dominant in the partnership? No. Sub? As in submissive? Nor that, not ever in her life. Her head shook frantically long before her mouth could open to frame a response.

“I got stranded here, that’s all. I was hungry and saw the beer sign outside. No car.”

“Fred,” said E-claire helpfully.

“Aaah, ‘splains a lot. Still.” He cocked his head to one side, looking her over. Her wet shirt clung to her body, clearly delineating not only her bra, but the hazy brown outline of her areola. He doubted she even realized it, yet. He’d be sure to point it out to her later. The grin spread across his face as hers blushed at his frank scrutiny.

“Why not take a picture, neighbor boy?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Round here, speaking rudely to a Dom like me could get you a spanking.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Hell I wouldn’t.”

“He gives a really good spanking. You’d love it, guaranteed!” This from a pink-haired pixie that had joined the circle forming around them.

“Hey, are you picking on my woman?” Leo slid up behind Alexandra, running a proprietary hand over her shoulder and hugging her to him.

“I thought I told you,” began E-claire, but a quick jab to the ribs by Alex had Leo stepping away.

“Hey, Little girl, that sort of thing is definitely punishable. Since I’m the Dom who first took you under my wing, you’re mine.”

He turned, glaring at Caleb.

“Mine.” He repeated it forcefully.

Caleb raised a brow. He knew Alexandra wasn’t a lifestyler, or if she was into it, was very new. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in the trappings of a dominant like Leo, who had a reputation of not being careful with his toys. He’d tried twice to get him expelled, but that hadn’t happened as yet.


She was annoyed. She was wet and all she wanted was to eat her fucking pizza in peace. Her ex had called her a frigid bitch, and maybe she was. All she knew was that anger was sizzing just below the surface, the product of all this drama that she hadn’t even started. She surged to her feet, shrugging off the arm around her shoulders. Water droplets from her hair flew as she shook her head. She pointed to the people around her. Her voice dripped icicles.

“Listen up. I’m going to sit here and eat my fucking pizza. I’m going to do it alone. I don’t want to play your stupid games, I don’t want to be poked, prodded, or pulled around the room on a leash. I want my fucking pizza. That’s it. Capiche?”

She sat down. There was a murmur around her, but she didn’t look at any of them. Picking up her pizza, she took another large mouthful, staring at the ball game on the television over the bar, chewing firmly. Her hand shook with suppressed rage. She wanted to go home. She wanted her fucking car. She wanted food in her house, her computer set up, and about 27 hours of sleep. Muscles were beginning to tighten from her unusual physical activity of the last few days. She wasn’t a work-outer. She liked to walk. Walking was nice. Moving furniture and boxes all over her new house? Definitely not in her usual repertoire. Shifting her shoulders, the cold slap of her wet blouse against her back made her shiver. Something warm was draped over her.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go. I’ll take you home.”

His voice was deep, calm, soothing. Still outraged, she might have shrugged off the heavy cape that he’d covered her with, but the warmth was too divine. And he’d have to go home eventually, too. This neighbor thing was turning out to be a huge pain in the butt.

A huge, sexy, incredibly magnetic pain in her butt.

She went back to eating her pizza, ignoring the rise of her nipples as Caleb moved away. She watched his ass, not noticing that someone was watching her watching. E-claire  smiled to himself. Things were sure to get interesting around here. Course, he could have offered the woman a ride home since he lived on the other side of Caleb, but this was going to play out just fine.

Just fine.

He went back to polishing glasses.

HNT~ Fe brrrrr uary 20th


More snow.

Even MORE snow.

Yes, that has been life here in the northeast, close to 3 feet of snow in the last 6 days, a snowstorm every day or every other day since last week. It makes me hurry to strip and slide into bed, to nestle beneath my covers before I grab my book and submerge myself into the trek to Machu Picchu …but on this night I grab my camera first, and snap a picture for Master.  Yup…it’s cold outside…but when there’s a slut like me around? There is definitely a warm spot under my covers…. 🙂


Honey (1)

He walked up to the blonde at the bar.

“Hi, I’m John. I’m looking for Honey?”

A voice from behind him spoke.

“Okay, buddy, you’re under arrest for solicitation.”


Before he could turn, he was pressed hard against the bar, his right hand cuffed, then his left. He tried to look over his shoulder, to explain.

“No, really…”

“You have the right to remain silent,” came the female voice behind him.

“Bu-but…no! My name is John! Oh my gawd…listen to me!”

“Are you resisting arrest?”

She slammed him against the counter. He felt pressure on his crotch, a warm breath against his ear. “If you’re resisting, you might want to rethink that…or you’ll pay with your balls.”

He shook his head hard, no.

“Good boy,” she said, her voice carrying both sarcasm and a sexual heat that unnerved him.


“Move it, loverboy.”

He was steered towards the door. Someone stepped into his path, made him stumble. She grabbed him by the hair, tugging him upright.

“Okay, troublemaker.”

A heavy leather hood was tugged over his head. There were no eye holes, but he felt air on his lips. Panic swirled through him, as she pushed him through the crowd. His attention was split between moving his feet, staying upright, and breathing. He was pushed up stairs, stumbling before he caught the rhythm of the steps. He stumbled again when they reached the top and the stairs ended. Her laugh was definitely sarcastic, clearly heard. He decided there must be ear holes as well, though there was nothing under his nostrils. He drew a deep breath through his mouth, trying to be calm. She wasn’t bigger than him. He could pummel her if he had to…though she did have a gun, right?

A hand slid between his legs, cupping his balls and rubbing at his cock.

“Seems like you might be ‘armed’ here, carrying a big club like this in your pants, slut-boy.”

He tried to speak but the mouth hole wasn’t that big. There was a rattle behind, him, and something fastened around each wrist. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on. He’d set up the date through the highly recommended website, and had met  Honey online. They’d agreed to meet here, tonight. Warm hands tugged at the cuffs, and he felt them fall away.

“Okay to pull now.”

There was the sound of a metallic whine, and his hands were tugged from behind his back, to an upwards arch as if he were doing jumping jacks.

“Good boy.”

Hands worked at his belt, his fly.

“Hey! Hey stop that!” Yet the words came out as grunts through his mask.

The word “rape” floated through his head. What man got forced into sex, he wondered. He cringed as her nails raked through his groin hair, tugging the ends. Those same nails slid inside his boxers, tugging everything lower, lower, until jeans and underwear were pooled around his ankles, effectively holding  him in place.

The mask was tugged from his head, quite unexpectedly. He blinked in the light of the room. He was standing under a floodlight.

“You’re very well put together.” A hand moved into the light, clad in a black satin glove as far as his eyes could see. It cupped his balls, weighing them.

He cried out when the hand squeezed.

“He cries, but his cock likes the attention.”

It was true, his shaft had leapt to life with a visible twitch, and began to strengthen, lengthen.

“he’s very pretty.”

Another voice came from the darkness that surrounded the bubble of light he was displayed in. His wrists gave another jerk, and he watched in disbelief as they moved up, up, until he was splay-armed.

“Step out.”

He couldn’t quite see her, his body cast a shadow across her face, but the voice was the one of the cop who’d arrested him.

“Where am I? Why are you doing this? You can’t arrest me…you can’t –”

“Shut up, fucktoy.”

She rose in one lithe move, after helping him step free of his pants. Clad in the most outrageously sexy get up, she looked like she’d been poured into liquid paint. The light curved around her tightly covered breast, her cleavage enticed. His cock jerked again.  Before he could protest further, she shoved something into his mouth. It was hard, with a rubbery yield. He shook his head, but she fastened the straps behind his head, tight enough to bite into the corners of his lips, as her eyes bored into his. Though he tried not to show it, she intimidated the fuck out of him.

“I hope you’re sharing.”

This voice came from behind, smoothing over his butt.

“It still has clothing on.” The pout was obvious in her words. Hands slip up inside the back of his shirt, even as the woman in front began to slowly unbutton it.

“You’re going to have a very…full…evening, my friend.” She shook her head, a mocking laugh escaping her glistening ruby lips. “John, looking for honey.  I really can’t believe you fell for that, you sexy idiot.”

Hard nails raked down his back, making him arch away, hissing at the unexpected pain. A quick hard smack on his hard shaft made him rear back with a gag-muffled shout.

“Can I spank it?”

“of course. Be gentle with it. It doesn’t know what to make of this…yet. Do you, pet?” She trailed  her glove clad finger over his lip, before slapping his face. It didn’t hurt, but it did humiliate.

“Clamps,” She said, turning to someone unseen in the room beyond.

Dear gawd. What had he fallen into?





Sunday, Tea Time

I know, I said I wouldn’t have time to write all weekend, didn’t I? But I had to share, had to put this down before I forgot any details. I want to look back on this someday and remember. We weren’t supposed to meet at all today, but things fell into place as they do sometimes, and we managed to see each other briefly. And I want to be able to look back here and put this picture into my head again. I want to remember Him as He was tonight–eyes glittering fiercely, His smile, His energy….He was  in total Dom mode.

He was more than a little animated tonight…He’d nearly had an accident earlier, an accident that could have been very, very bad…and by the grace of the gods, managed to avoid it. He had a run in with a younger fellow later, and Dommed the guy into submission (made him back away, slowly). Not sure if that was Dom or Marine or if the two are now just so intrinsically intertwined that it doesn’t matter any more which is which. When  He came into Starbucks, His energy was….electric. It zinged off of Him, sparking some primal responses in this slut. (very, very primal. 🙂  I’ll leave the details to your prurient fantasies.)

We talked, some. I teased, a lot. I ‘hearted’ him. He responded, sadist style. Squeezing my hand, as I giggled, then winced.

I said, very low-voiced, “I need this…this pain thing…as much as You need to give it.”

He squeezed my fingers harder, almost to the point of tears, His eyes watching me like the Hawk He reminds me of at times. He reads me, knows *exactly* where the point of totally crushing me exists, and stops just a hairbreadth from making me cry. How do they do it? How? To know the point so closely. I know, He “reads” me…I get that. It still amazes me (mostly because I cannot read people, at all).

Mmmm…even as I pause a moment in typing, my hand still a bit sore, two hours later, I can smell His touch on my skin.  I could feel the breath of the beast, so to speak, just waiting below the surface.

Today would have been a play day, if I hadn’t been recovering, if the weather hadn’t been “iffy”–oh so many ifs —and I could be morose about it…but I’m not.

No, I accept that even  this wee bit of time together was a gift.

It’s not too long to our postponed playtime.

We need it. We need each other, the yin and the Yang. I need the beast in Him, and He needs the supplicant in me. He needs my soft flesh to yield to His hardness (in every sense of the word!).

It may be weird, this thing we do. The dance of danger and pain. The gifts that we give one another are without true measure; accepting that we each have a role — no—a need. A deep-seated desire to create space to let loose our craven desires, and find the joy in one another’s shared weirdness. We’re not “normal” in the eyes of the vanilla world, but the trade-off for “non-normal” is in having the most intense times together, no matter how long that ‘time’ is, no matter if it’s in Starbucks, or in a hotel room.

As we left, He stands inside my open car door. My key is in the ignition, as we chat, and in moments His hand flies to my upper arm, pinching it so wickedly…it hurts enough to bring a gasp, and tears. He lets His fingers slide ever so slowly off…and I moan and tell Him how much I HATE that (oh, stupid slut, will you never learn?)…and He laughs that wicked laugh. I know that’s information that has been filed away for play day.

I did, however, manage to count coup on His chest, sticking a heart on Him as I kissed Him hello. I haven’t done it in a while…didn’t want Him to not think I didn’t care. 🙂

And I did (eventually) tell Him it was there.

I’m a good slut like that.