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.