I feel like, lately, every time I arrive here, I start by writing “i’ve been sick”. Maybe because when I got sick in February, and took my meds, and kinda felt better after–but didn’t go back to see the Doctor for FIVE weeks (because I’m just that stupidly stubborn?) I took a sudden turn for the worse and got sick harder, deeper.
Another round of antibiotics, and almost feeling better, but not quite.
Only waited a week before I called again. I’m slow, but I’m learning. And okay, Master might have nudged me into it a bit.
A third round of antibiotics…and a sudden worsening of symptoms, mostly, you know, breathing. Or as I should say, a distinct lack of breathing.
I don’t know about you, but I kind of like breathing.
And coughing. Much coughing. Wake the neighbors, fall out of bed, scare the dog into barking at 2 a.m. kind of coughing.
Catching on quickly, I called the Doctor after 2 days and was seen immediately. Thankfully, after an hour there and another at the X-Ray place, I was told I don’t have pneumonia, but a very serious bronchial infection.
I’ve got a ton of medicine allergies, so finding one that would kill the germies and not kill me was a challenge, but he did it. After only a few doses I can sit up and breathe and have an attention span longer than 3 seconds. And I’m not coughing up my lungs every 5 minutes, either. And my voice, which I’d coughed away several nights ago, is slowly returning.
And oh gosh.
I slept last night.
*insert sound of angelic choral sounds here*
There truly is nothing like a full night of sleep, something I’ve not felt in weeks.
What does all this shit have to do with a sex blog?
Well, it’s one reason why this hasn’t been much of a sex blog these last few weeks. But I think there’s been a big turn around. I’m feeling better. Spring is finally, finally showing herself in New England; we’re expecting a ton of rain this weekend and no more of the white stuff thank you very much. So keep reading because I have proof that this really *is* a sex blog, after all, and not a whiney “o i don’t feel good” blog, which will be a big relief to all of you who have read this far!
So, Master has been taking good care of His slut. From afar, but really, He’s been very good to me. Kind. Firm. Bossy. (“go to bed now nilla” “no, NOW, slut”)…I’m notoriously bad about bedtimes. I’d hoped for an early play time but that is not to be, until I get my full strength back, which will take a few weeks, sadly. And then there was nilla’s totally stupid “let’s play” plans that went awry…
why, you ask?
I’d planned our next play day–for some stupid reason–on Easter Sunday. Now, you all know I’m not a Christian, but the kids still do the egg hunt, and we tend to go to church (well, my kids do, anyway), and He goes and does things with His adult kids…so no, there is not a playday in the immediate offing. Maybe at the end of April. He’s traveling, and I’m super-duper busy with work (including work that I had to postpone this week on Doctor’s Orders). Finding time to have playdates in the spring is always a challenge for us.
That doesn’t stop Him from being a sadist, nor from being my Dom. He has this way of reminding me who is in charge when I’m down and gloomy and feeling sorry for myself. He has the “Dom cure for dour sluts”. He is calling this two-month illness a “viral slut disease”.
He knows the perfect cure for it too. (so He says)
He’d threatened me with a half-o– “oh you’d be surprised at the healing power of the half-o, nilla”–but later told me that He wants me fully healed. “So that you can fully enjoy the pain I plan to inflict on you”.
Damn if that didn’t stick in my brain.
I woke up this morning feeling better, though a bit wobbly. And as I sat on the edge of my bed getting my feet under me, I suddenly remembered that I’d had some wild-assed Master dream.
He’d tied my hands over my head, as He’d done on our last playtime. I lay, stretched out, unable to do more than wiggle my fingers. In my dream, He took each ankle and pulled the wide apart–but then hooked a rope around them to keep them wide.
His eyes sparkled, the way they do when He is deeply enjoying Himself…and He lifts a cane into my line of sight. I know then, instantly, that He isn’t going after my tits, despite them being (as things happen in dreams) suddenly bare. He’s looking at my cunt now. Just standing there and looking. I blush, closing my eyes as the flush of embarrassment runs through me. (yes, even now that kind of exposure embarrasses me) And then He slaps the cane down on my left pussy lip. I remember bucking and arching and gasping. Shocked at the sudden brutality, the sharp and intense bite of pain. In my dream I can hear the rush of air, that whoosh that is particular to a cane slicing towards ones flesh a nano-moment before it hits my cunt again. How long it goes on, I have no idea, for I waken suddenly.
Until sitting there on the edge of my bed, wobbly legged, I remember.
I am a sexual being. I do have sexual needs, wants, and perverted desires. And for the first time in 10 days, I’m feeling horny. Wanton. Needy. Wet.
Damn, I must be better for real!