This is not a sexay fucky wankable post.
There hasn’t been much time for any of the above, business is booming (yay!) and I’m flat out these days. He had commitments this weekend that precluded ANY chance of us getting together, given my full schedule and his.
I had a bit of a snit. I didn’t think it was a snit at the time, (of COURSE NOT!), but it kind of was. I was just worried because our communication time has been cut down too, and I was thinking ‘oh hell, what if I’ve finally bored him to tears’ which wasn’t the case, just my own insecurity rising up. The good thing was that I wasn’t a bitch about it to him, just talking through my thoughts (my how she’s grown!) so it was handled with zero drama. And we finally talked. And, okay, I did twit him a bit about being older
than dirt than me, and maybe not feeling those Dominant Urges so much anymore, for which I was resoundingly reproved. (Bad nilla, bad.)
And with his birthday coming up didn’t I go out and find the perfect birthday card to go along with my twitting of him? Didn’t I? Of course I did. Because I’m terrible like that! *giggles nervously*
Yes, I’m giving it to him in person. I MUST see his face when he reads it…no point otherwise. 😀
Anyway, all that is water under the bridge now, and we’re good (not that we weren’t good, but *I* wasn’t good…), back on an even keel. (Note, not “footing” because He’s the Dom, and I’m not. As he so very carefully reminded me.
So, all that’s the backstory for the next part. Because He was talking last night and I offered to help him, and made an offhand comment…and he replied in a manner that can only be described as uplifting, affirming. It has nothing to do with my sub status, but my vanilla side. And he … he’s transforming my vision of myself. And gosh that meant a lot to me. He didn’t even think about it…it was an immediate reaction to what I said…”No you’re not nilla, you’re XYZ…and a damn fine job of it you’re doing, too.”
I was, and am, blown away. Not by the support, as he’s been very supportive of this new venture of mine. But of the fact that he immediately moved to bolster me, to lift me up. There are no words to adequately express the fullness in my heart for that. It was more -so much more-than just saying “you’re doing a good job there, slut.” It was even more than a nod of approval of what I’m doing, more like a “I see you this way, you should too.”
I’m hoping you grok what I mean, since I have to be a bit oblique due to privacy issues.
D/s is a complex relationship. He makes no bones about my place on the right side of the slash, being the “small ‘s'” in our dynamic. And yet…on the other hand, he understands my vanilla life so very well, and is proud of me.
Yeah, that’s it. It was a way of unabashedly showing he’s proud of me. Despite my being the small s. Despite my snit the weekend before. Despite any D/s “rules” that say that he is always supposed to be the big bad wolf, and be threatening/menacing/mean-assed Dom all the time. And okay, I’ll admit that it’s often a very thin undercurrent there, that if I cross the line (which I rarely do, because it comes round to bite me in the ass) he’ll snatch me up and remind me. I hate being in that position, I hate putting Him in that position. I’m a big girl and don’t need him directing me to every little thing I do each and every moment we communicate. (Excepting, of course, playtime where we seamlessly slip into our roles (or is that “let them loose”?) as Dom and submissive).
No, this was very much a candid look at how he sees me. And encouragement and re-visualizing of what I do. He cares, he notices, and he’s proud of me. And that’s the best head pat of them all.
I’m such a sick bitch, I tell ya. Here I am, swamped in vanilla life (oh, wow…the wind just went WILD here…I LOVE it!)
(but wait, that means the leaves are now being whipped off the trees…omfg…)
between the chores on my neverending to do list, my work, my kids. my
(oh hell. I forgot to check my cell and it’s ZNN Thursday and what if Master tasked me with some evil thing and it’s nearly 11 and I’m getting up early tomorrow and I’m trying to write here…)
getting-ready-for-winter chore list (that also seems a bit overwhelming) and all the other stuff and
(oil change is done on the car, but what the hell did I forget? Gas, check, oh crap. I was going to vacuum the car while it was warm today, but then I was busy getting the oil changed, and then the laundry and…)
blah blah money and and…
You see what my head is like these days?? Seriously, my ADD is popping off my head. Usually I can contain it by being busy and using my somewhat random shifts, to get stuff done, and stay ahead of the mad current. But on top of all that stuff? (points to top of post)
I have pervie thoughts.
No, WAY WICKED pervie thoughts, peeps.
I have these vignettes. And stories. And scenes. And they all weave and braid around in my head so along with all that stuff up there? I have visions of tentacle sex, and women stretched out and forced to cum over and over, and the big man holding down the smaller woman and taking her ass and she can’t stop him and doesn’t really want to though her mind is screaming and soon her ass is too….and the woman who fantasizes about doing her kids teacher and winds up getting schooled by him instead…
oh my gawd.
Managing my life is a full-time job. Managing my head? Impossible.
Dayam but I better have time to write next week.
Some of you may know my friend and fellow author Will Crimson from over at the Erotic Writers blog…but he just crafted this funny short post, tentacle related, on his blog. It was inspired by search requests for tentacle porn, and what can a poor beleaguered writer do but respond to such an ardent plea?
Either that or the tentacle in him just couldn’t resist.
Anyway, it’s here.
I hope you enjoy. It sure made me smile. Okay, giggle. Oh bother. Fine. I was laughing hysterically, even as it …well, you know. *waves hand in front of face* Hey, when it’s hot, it’s hot, what can I say?
Perverts. We’re so fucking weird! But fun. We surely do have the best fun.
When you’re visiting another D/s friend, a fellow blogger, and can have all kinds of frank conversations, it’s heavenly.
And you know you’re in good space when that friend, after giving you a pillow to help you “fit” into the chair where you are sitting, looks up with a smile and says
“Oh, by the way, that’s the blowjob chair,” and smiles at you.
(To which this slut responds– “Oh! So that’s why this chair is so warm!!)
Or when we sit and laugh hysterically about toys…and share stories over what kind of pain is the best…hers is stingy, mine is deeper, thuddy.
And then we shop together. A nice, vanilla-esque past time, right? Orrrr….maybe not!
Face time with M is delightful. Wonderful. Pain-filled. Gods, I bent down to look at a scratch on his car and he grabs a hank of my hair and squeezes it so tight. Hurty good and so controlling–me powerless to move, to do anything other than stammer as he talks in this laughing voice…”blah blah blah …and no one here to help the poor little slut…blah hahahaha blah blah…”
I don’t hear much of what He said, only that snippet…and gods how hot? How humilating to be out there in a public space but no traffic and no one to see what he’s doing…but so so so good.
Pinches and sneaky tit grabs that rival that of a car compressor…OUCH! I have bruises all over my sides and arms…and it helped my headspace so much to be reminded which of us is in charge. Not that I doubted that, mind you, just…in the day to day it’s hard to remember sometimes that I am a submissive, and it only takes a few minutes with Him to slide me right back into my place, right into being a wet, quivering mess.
I was soaked. My gosh I was *so* turned on.
Ah, and then.
We play the football game. And I listened to all the reports and gave him my bet…never in my life have I wished and prayed for the Dallas Cowboys to score a touchdown as much as I did in the final minutes of that game. One measly touchdown would have pushed me up and over into the win zone (I didn’t bet against my beloved Patriots, no, never that! But the point total? Oh yes. I thought there’d be way more points scored by the pair of them. Dammit!)
So I start the season of Games with Master in the loss column…and He’s promised to ramp up some at home torment for me…(why do we crave that? why?) all of which spell big trouble for this horny gal. Harder non-orgasmic masturbations…(“no toys nilla…I want you to work realllllly hard–to get NO reward at the last minute!”)…egads the joy in His voice when He tells me what he’s been thinking of.
And it works on me. Plays in my head, turns me on at odd moments in the day. If I ever doubted that I was a masochistic sub slut? He’s totally laid that to rest with every fuck of my brain.
Her heart beat hard and quickly. His eyes held her as surely as if she were rope-bound by his hands. Yet caught up in the sheer drama of the moment, one of those wildly random thoughts popped into her head, effervescent as a champagne bubble. She wondered, since she had no idea, what his feet looked like.
“I know, I know. You really wanted that line to work for me. But hell, I don’t know the first thing about you. What your toes look like. If your hair is really your hair. For that matter, I’ve barely even spent an hour with you. Okay, that night of wine…more than an hour but I don’t really remember much of it. So….how can I go into the bathroom and give you my panties when I don’t even know you?”
The look on his face was priceless. She who was not all that adroit at reading faces could clearly see pissed off/annoyed man, puzzled/perplexed man, and finally the wry grin that spelled humor.
“And have you gotten to know other Doms before me? Handed them your panties?”
“Never. Not ever. My panties have never been handed to anyone. Well you know I’ve had a Dom. He wasn’t good for me. We weren’t a good match. He was always finding fault with me, I never could please him except when he was really hurting me. We couldn’t find middle ground between the pain and the day-to-day pleasures of being a couple. Even accepting the inequity of our relationship.”
He looked at her. She thought that he’d make some sort of reply to that, but no, those doms tended to hold their cards–and their opinions–close to the vest. His next words didn’t address her comment at all. Which irked her even as her belly rumbled its protest at smelling so many lovely scents, but not yet to partaking of any.
“Shall I order?”
“You might as well…I’m here at your behest.”
“You need to feed yourself better.”
She laughed and patted her belly.
“Oreo’s are survival food for writers.”
“Cookies are not ‘food’…they are a treat.” His voice dropped as the waiter approached. “Much like orgasms.”
She blushed, hiding it behind her wine glass as he ordered steak for himself, and chicken for her. Damn but he was slick. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know his name, only that he was her landlord.
Well, perhaps Amanda had told her, but the leasing of the house had been done via the publishing house so perhaps not. And she’d never asked after he’d appeared on her pool deck. The waiter moved away, leaving them alone with the view to the water. Even in here the ocean wove a spell around her.
“Should we ask to be moved out to the patio? It can get crowded later…”
“That would really be nice.”
“I don’t know your name.”
“Would knowing it make you give me your panties, which are no doubt a bit moist by now?”
Oh, he was a sneaky bastard, to be sure. She shook her head, but couldn’t stop the little grin. Quickly he arranged for them to be seated out on the deck, in the corner where their conversation would be harder to overhear.
He took her hand as he sat, clasping it.
“Hi. I’m Tom. My friends call me Tom.”
Her brows lifted.
“That’s a joke, right? You’re name is really…” She rolled her eyes around trying to think of some absurdity.
“Nope. Just Tom. Short for Tomas. You know many of us from Cali are descended from Spaniards who populated the area…”
“Okay, Tom,” she purred. “What’s the rest of it?”
“Planning to google me later?”
“I google all my stalker friends.”
She laughed at the expression on his face. Insult and pride.
“Oh, aren’t you all lord of the castle now, Tom. All insulted because I called you a stalker?”
“I had thought we’d laid that to rest a few days ago.”
“Well, you didn’t take advantage of me while I was drunk, which I appreciate,” she replied. “If and when I have sex with you, I’d really like to remember it.”
“If and when I decide to have sex with you,” he retorted, “you will, indeed, remember it.”
There it was again, that indefinable thing that made a Dom a dom. A subtle thing, really, that firm taking control of a situation where she may have thought, for a foolish minute, that she had the upper hand. And damn, didn’t that make him all the more enticing?
Their food arrived, interrupting their wordplay.
Just as well, she mused, because she might accidentally cross a line she had no business crossing with him just now. He did attract her, there was no doubt of that.
They ate for a few minutes in silence.
“Delicious. Thank you.”
She paused, a forkful of chicken just in front of her lips. Her brows crinkled as they did when she was puzzled. He knew that look well, from the times he’d spent watching her writing on the pool deck. Fuck it, maybe he was a stalker.
“My name. Tom Ocaviaus.”
The chicken remained as it was, mid-way to her lips. He watched her for a moment more, before he couldn’t contain the guffaws any longer.
“Your face…” he laughed. It was a full-bellied man-sized laugh, turning heads to look at them. Smiles and grins flashed their way before he wound down and the other diners returned to their own business.
“You think you’re funny…”
“Hell, I am funny. Gods, your face.”
“Okay smartass, what is your name for real?”
Hearing the snippy, snarky, pissy sound in her voice only made her more irritable. Sheesh. She was sounding just as annoying as her old dom had said she was.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound…”
“Bitchy? That’s okay. You wear it well. I’m not overly fond of door mats you know. You’re one spicy woman, Cassie. Part of the appeal.”
He paused for a moment as the chicken slipped between her lips. His cock gave a little lurch. Her mouth was very appealing.
She pulled back, staring at him.
“I’ve never in my life heard that name. Bi….”
“…mack-you-let,” he finished, speaking phonetically. “It means ‘two spots’…maybe an ancestor had a horse with two spots, or two birthmarks…who knows.”
Well, at least she now had a name to google. They finished their meal slowly, their conversation moving through the normal things people talk of as they begin to explore one another–tentative at times–but full of smiles and nods of agreement. Finishing their wine, they sat in companionable silence, and watched the sun slip into the Pacific.
okay, grab a cuppa quick coz I only have a minute. Two at the most.
I’ve got writers brain and I don’t wanna lose it…I’ve finally got the resolution to the story Infinity (found in my header or here.) and I have time today, just today, for writing. I’m sitting with a cuppa tea at my right elbow, newly trimmed nails for typing ease, and fresh-scrubbed from my shower (and that will be the theme for Thursday’s HNT.)
The new chapter(s) won’t publish until at least Friday so you have time to go to that link and read up so you remember where we were at…I can’t believe how long it has been since I last worked on this–but the end is at hand. At last. There are a few other stories that need endings and I’ll get to them. Eventually. 😀 If you pester me enough, right?
That’s the news from here…no face time with the M this past weekend, hoping for a wee time this upcoming one. I do like the greedy sound in his voice when we try to figure out time to get together. We really do miss one another, though he is scant with words about it. Maybe if he recognizes it aloud it makes it harder? I dunno. I profess to NO knowlege of how man-brain works, let alone Dom-man-brain!
Okay, peeps, cuppa time is over…it’s time for me to write!