I Love His Face

It happened (cue schmaltzy music)…at last!

Not playtime, but time to be with one another for a brief hour. The sun was warm on the back of my calves as He leaned against the back of my car, as I leaned into Him. His hug was fierce, as was mine. I ran my hands over and over his face, kissing him randomly, hungrily.

We talked, we touched.

He pinched my belly so hard I had a deep purple bruise before the afternoon was done –and two more bloomed today! He has the most wicked pincers for fingers!

Looking at our schedules — his eyes clouded, my heart raced–our next planned playtime looked like it would be spoiled by travel plans he made months ago. But he recalled that he’d be back in time, his meeting was in the morning and he’d drive back that night, freeing him for our Saturday, mid-September playtime.

It was nice to see that he was as distressed as I felt. Those doms, man, they hold their cards against their chest all the time. But we’re both eager and greedy for one another now.

He had an amusing tale to share a few days ago, that I’ve had to promise to never share with anyone so long as I draw breath–and so I won’t. But for all its humor, it could have been a serious situation had he not been the kind of man he is–which reminded me yet again how fragile and tenuous this sort of LDR can be. I wouldn’t have know he was hurt or injured, just as he wouldn’t if the situation was reversed.

That’s pretty sobering, isn’t it?

This D/s thing–it’s fun and hard and serious and funny and real and imagined.

Yes, I said imagined. We all have fantasies, on both sides of the slash. Sometimes they come to life, or parts of them do. And sometimes they don’t and we have to learn that it’s okay, that we have to go forward and live our lives and make do with what we do get, however unsatisfying that can be at times.

Lately, I’ve been very unsatisfied.

Sure, I’ve been busy. But when you walk around paying homage to only part of yourself, ignoring that other (darker) side…that’s not good, is it?

I’m busy. I’m happy. I’m productive.

I’m a good wife, and a great mother, and one hell of an all-around housekeeper/yard keeper/honey-do list-doer. I’m a passable cook, though I despise cooking, and great at organizing, pet care, and tree maintenance. 😀

I’m also a fucking *awesome* slut.

But that side of me has been rather sluggish. She’s been packed up like the camping gear I won’t be needing again this year. She’s up on a shelf somewhere and sometimes I feel around up there to make certain she really is there (and she is)…but it goes no further than that. M and I had gone so long without seeing one another that he’d not even seen my new tattoo which I’d gotten in July. That’s 7, 8 weeks or so that we’ve gone (and I’ve been so busy I haven’t even tracked our last face time–or maybe it’s just self-preservation).

If I didn’t get some slut time with Master, I was gonna blow. That folded up slut on the shelf was going to rise up and …and…I dunno. But she wouldn’t be going back on the shelf as easily as I seemed to stick her up there, that’s for sure.

So face time. It was a brief opportunity. Not planned weeks in advance–you all know how well *that* has worked for us these last months. Just a quick call “can you meet me at CM around 10? You CAN? Woot!” and twenty minutes later, there we were. I launched myself at him. NO pride, NO shame, NO caring what anyone thought. There was my Master and I needed to touch him so badly.

The connection is electric. It–and I’ve said this before and you all who go through this know it too–it fed me. It gave me a dose of “what I need”.

He said something embarrassing and made me blush, which he pointed out, laughing. I hid my head on his chest, and he tugged it away, looked at me, then laughed again at my discomfiture…then hugged me hard.

“Can’t hide the truth, slut, can you?” He said, his tone amused, satisfied.

“You’re a slut, through and through.”

That shelf is empty — the slut has unfurled, and back where she belongs–a living, breathing, vibrant part of me once more.

Thank you Master.


Well…it didn’t happen again.

He was supposed to be alone at his house but then his son was there and wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon enough for me to come over to play and …

yeah, I was sad.

But also…I grok it. Our lives are just going crazy busy, and we NEVER interfere with one another’s children…no matter their ages…they’re our kids and they come first. So I wasn’t pissed. Wasn’t mad. Just…resigned, I guess.

It will happen when the time is right for us and I wound up feeling headachy and the weather was blah…fog and rain and chilly and dank. It’s been SO humid up here, sometimes hot humid and sometimes just…wet. Not even a sexy wet, yanno…just…wet and fusty. The air up here was simply put–grody. Gross. Ugh.

Maybe it worked out for the better. I wasn’t in the best mood, though he can always sort *that* out for me *insert cheeky grin here* just because he won’t put up with moody bullshit.

I’m not going to say anything about a potential meet again because I always feel bad reporting my lack of sexy naughty stuff to you…and you’re all so supportive and kind when it falls apart like that…just know that we (he and I ) are still good, still trying to pick apart our mutually weird schedules and make it work. (Again, I feel I should emphasize so you don’t feel negatively towards him, that many times our times have been changed because of *my* weird life…for it to fall apart on his end isn’t the norm.

So there you go. My D/s life might be…on the minimalist side just now…but I still have one. It’s just in summer hibernation is all. 😀



The Pool

She was royally pissed. Asking Craig to do anything these days was a lesson in aggravation. “Can you take out the trash on your way out?”

“uh huh.”

She left for work first, came home first–to the unpleasant stench of hot, rancid trash. There in the corner of the kitchen was the trash bag, right where she’d put it when she’d emptied the bin. She hefted out the bag, grumbling under her breath. It was steaming outside, a fucking inferno as she lifted the lid of the garbage can, throwing the fetid bag into it and slamming it shut. Heat shimmers silvered the driveway; sweat immediately beaded her brow.

Inside wasn’t much cooler, as he turned the a/c off when he left for work.

“No point wasting electricity when no one is here,” he’d say. Of course he never forgot to turn that off.

“Fucktard,” she muttered, swiping sweat off her brow.

“And fuck cooking, too. Order pizza or grab some Chinese on your way home, asshole. I’m going in the pool.”

Stabbing out a quick text to him–GET TAKEOUT TOO HOT TO COOK–she stripped right there in the kitchen. Leaving her clothing where it fell, she opened the slider and stepped out into the heat. Moving across the deck to the walkway, her nipples crinkled into tight pearls as sweat beaded across her chest, ran a slow trickle down her spine. She stopped, staring in disbelief.

“The fucking shithead,” she muttered.

Green and murky, the pool was not the crystal oasis she’d envisioned on her drive through horrifying traffic. This, this was akin to a swamp.

She knew she should throw on a wrap, shock-treat the water, but she couldn’t~no…she wouldn’t  wait another minute. Fuck it, she was going in. She sliced into the water like a hot knife through butter. Tepid water wrapped around her, caressed her. She rose up to the surface, and twisted to her back. Floating, she kept her eyes closed against the slanting glare of the sun. The warm air caressed her breasts, the water lapped at the vee of her thighs. For the first time all day, tension drained from her, carried away by the green water of the pool. If she had the energy she’d grab her floaty and take a nap.

Something flicked along her ass.

“The fuck!”

She gasped, flipping and splashing. Probably a frog in the water. But still. Ugh. Treading water, she stared down into the depths of the pool, but couldn’t see beyond her own floating tits.

Something slipped between her legs, wrapping around her calf, and tugged her backwards. She tried to kick, struggling without making a sound, as something…slimy and grey and thick…had risen from the water and jammed into her mouth before she could scream.

And scream she would have, as something equally as thick jabbed into her pussy, while something small and sinuous probed around her bum, seeking entry there. Her hands splashed at the water yet she wasn’t sinking. Small ripples became waves as her body was shaken from the force of the silent fucking going on under the water. Her eyes rolled up in her head as the probing digit found her asshole, and surged inside. Hot quivers began in her belly; things touched her nipples, rubbed at her clitoris.

“ohmygawd I’m cummmmmming” her mind screamed. The fiercest orgasm she had ever experienced left her breathless and gasping for air. The fucking didn’t stop, and her sensitive cunt quivered and clenched around the invader. It felt like it was getting…bigger. Her pussy was stretched–how could she handle it if it got any larger? Her ass throbbed, her tits began to tingle and once more she spilled into an eruptive orgasm. She felt the hot wetness squirt from her, felt the hot fluid sluice against her legs before it dissipated in the murky water.

Time stopped. She didn’t see the sky, didn’t feel the sun, only the constant pummeling of her holes. Her body quivered and shook as orgasms rocked her. For a moment, everything froze. The things in her mouth, her pussy, her ass, all stopped. She felt a giant quiver in the water behind her, one that carried to her, into her.

It moved. Deeper, harder, faster, taking her roughly. She thought she’d die from the pleasure. Gods knew that Craig hadn’t fucked her this hard since their honeymoon. A constant quiver erupted in her body from the harsh treatment, until she felt the pulse deep in her belly. There was a feeling of  hot, heavy wetness, and she knew that it was jetting its come deep inside of her. She couldn’t taste it, nor smell it, but she felt it.

Her own orgasm shook her to the core, and she saw stars as she succumbed to the intense quaking release. When she came back to her senses, she was holding onto the ladder, arms entwined around the bars, cool water lapping at her chest. Her tits floated, nipples erect. If not for the steady pulsing of her pussy, she would have thought what had just happened to her  had been a heat-dream.

Rising from the pool, water sluicing down her body, she noticed the red rings spiraling around her waist and legs. With a small smile she rubbed her belly, then went into the house to slip on a robe.


He came into the house bearing her favorite Chinese food. He had a feeling she’d be pissed–he’d remembered the trash was by the back door on his way home. Fuck! She was going to kill him. He’d had a fuck of a day, it was hot, he was tired, and he didn’t feel like being nagged by a she-devil who fell asleep before he even got into bed. It’d been months since they’d fucked.

She was in the kitchen, damp hair sliced back. And she was smiling. That made him nervous.

“Sorry about the trash…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I got it when I got home.”

“Uh…okay. I got your Chinese food…”

“Great! I’m starving. Hey, why don’t you do what I did when I got home and go take a dip in the pool. It needs shocking at some point but ignore the green water. It’s so… refreshing…that you don’t even notice the color!”

She did look refreshed. Not wilted, like how he felt.

“Okay…I’ll go get my suit on…”

“Prude. I went skinny dipping…”

“Challenge accepted.”

He doffed his clothing, wagged his penis at her, then trotted across the deck and dove into the pool.

“Have fun sweetheart,” she said in a whisper, smiling. Taking a fork from the drawer, she grabbed the chicken fried rice and headed for the living room. Time for the evening news.


After a week of posting boobs you’d think I could remember when it’s Thursday once again. But no. I totally forgot it was Thursday until last night and by then I was too dang tired to even give a shit. So to celebrate the last beach trek of the season (thank the goddess!):


Cross Your Fingers But NOT Your Legs

I’m here! My last vacation is done, I’m recharged–though I’ve been running like a headless chicken for the best part of this week…trying to get everything I need done for school (I KNOW you peeps with kids relate!) for the teen, as well as the younger ones that I homeschool…well, it’s all coming together and I’m not getting stressed out so the vacation time being “unplugged” must have worked.

For 5 days I was unplugged even from Master, as there just isn’t cell service in the Mountains. He was okay with it, I was … kind of okay with it. You know how it feels to not have that “instant touch” just by being able to send a quick text. It’s good, it’s a connection, even if you don’t hear back right away. It’s rather like reaching out a finger and touching Him. (Even if He’d turn around and bash me with His paper for annoying Him…)


You know it’s been forever since we had face time, more than a month this time. It’s also been since the start of this year since we had playtime. Oh, we had intentions, to be sure, but intentions don’t always make it to reality.

But cross your fingers.

This is the time. This weekend. Sometime, somehow, some way, M and I will have time behind closed doors. Spankings, pinching, canes and whippy things…as well as those less “fun” things like all things anal…will commence.

Yeah. I hate anal.

And YES. Dammit. I like it too. I can’t ever get my head around it so I kind of ignore it until it happens, then whimper and moan a bit…and then roll right into orgasmic bliss. It’s so fucking weird.

I’ve begun to get that feeling of anticipation. I can’t plan any of the “what” because it’s all on  Him. His whims and His toys and His time. He doesn’t work off a plan sheet, He goes with the flow. If He wants to cane the shit out of me–He will. If He wants to tickle me to the point of unconsciousness…then He will. It won’t matter a bit. Because I’ll be with Him.


Okay, really, it will matter. Because you all know how I feel about being tickled. (HATE IT!) And anal. And how I like some things but He does what He wants and I’m the submissive so I put up.

And I like it. Like the feeling of submitting, of being inexorably bent to His will, no matter what *I* think about it. It’s been a long while since we danced that dance, but I think I remember the tune.

Yeah. It’s the one that HE plays.

(Doesn’t mean I’ll be “perfect”…coz…I’m not a boring doormat, and that’s not what He’d want anyway…I’m sure I’ll be up to some mischief before our time is done…in fact, you can pretty much count on it.)


HNT Master’s Favorite

First…thank you to all of you. I promise to respond to all your lovely comments next week. I’m away for the weekend ~my third unplugged mini-vacation this summer (I can’t believe how it’s recharged me!).

After picking all those fun HNT pic’s to celebrate my 2000th post I decided to end the week (and this current week’s “official” HNT) with one of M’s favorite HNT pictures. With no further ado: