Thankful for Master; for His enjoyment of my body…chunky bits, round nips, bulbous tits and all. Thankful to have found this lifestyle, to be in relationship with so many in real life who understand the obsessions of the submissive, yet laugh at my jokes, too. I’m a real woman, full of love and loaded with blessings. Wishing you and yours a wonderful Thanksgiving ~ and even if you don’t celebrate our American Thanksgiving, that you have a chance to count your blessings, too.
It was only an hour, perhaps a bit less. His hands in my hair, petting me gently, holding me close.
“You’re a good girl,” He says, his voice low and soothing.
No play. No premeditation. No orders obeyed. Just He and I, sitting in His car, kisses and hugs and pinches behind us, having a “soft” time before having to say goodbye. It had been forever since we’d last had any time together, yet my heart was filled when I heard him. Anytime his hands are on me I am calmed, despite the excitement I also feel. Yet there is nothing to compare to hearing those words…
“You’re a good girl.”
Words to calm a slut, words to make me smile against his chest and remember one of the many reasons why I could never go back to pure vanilla.
“You’re a good girl.”
Funny how those four little words have carried me through 48 hours with a smile on my face. I’m His good girl. And I can hardly wait to get naughty with Him.
She sat back with a short huff of breath. So that’s what he had been doing, all those nights when he came to bed late. She’d heard the clattering keys, assumed that he was writing emails for work, had never seen anything to suggest–EVER–that he had that inside of him.
How did a man live with all of that inside of him?
The burning dark need was hot enough to burn, as her eyes involuntarily returned to the screen. He had monsters inside of him, to write this sort of …dirty horror. Again she reread the final story from beginning to end. She wanted to cry, did cry, a single tear slipping down her cheek. It fell to the floor unnoticed as she rose, and sought out pen and paper.
She wrote fast, with a ferocity she’d never felt before. She left the note on the kitchen table before gathering her keys and purse, and headed out the door.
He came home from work to a house in full dark. The sun had set an hour or more ago, damned standard time, the wind was cold against his back as he moved up the front walkway, unlocking the front door and letting himself in.
He thumbed on the light, dropping his keys into the bowl on the narrow hall table. Methodically he hung his coat on the rack, then turned to drop his wallet on the table next to the bowl. He’d thought she’d be there tonight, didn’t remember that she’d said she had a client today, but, perhaps something had come up. He turned, stepping down the hallway to the kitchen. Turning on the light, the note on the table caught his eye immediately.
His heart beat hard in his chest. Her words made his breath catch, and a faint tremble in his hands shook the paper.
I saw what you wrote. You must have forgotten to quit your secret program. . . when I was dusting the table, the computer came on and there it was, that…what would you call it? A beast? That beast that lives inside you was right there for me to read. You’re very clever at crafting your tales, you know. But that beast…he’s a terrifying creature, isn’t he? How do you live with yourself?
He paused, took a breath. He’d always worried about this. He’d been so fucking careful for so long. He looked around. No dinner scents came from the oven, nothing to show that she’d been here at all since she left the letter behind. He’d not opened the garage, thinking he’d run down to the hardware store after dinner, so he wasn’t sure if her car was here or not. Would she leave him for such a thing? They were only words.
But never had he acted on them with her. He kept the beast on a tight rein, always.
A shower would clear his head. He’d call for Chinese or pizza after, but for now, a shower to wash away the drek of the day, give him time to think, to figure out where she might be, how to get her back. Love was a powerful thing, and he loved her with all his being. Love was the rope that held the beast in check.
Stepping into the room, he didn’t even bother with the light. He was about to toe off his shoe when he heard a sound, faint, from the bed. He flicked on the light, and stared.
She wasn’t totally sure about this. But she had nothing to lose. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest when he flicked on the light. The corset pressed her tits high, snugged her waist tight. The stockings were fishnet, the heels, high and thin. Surrounding her on the bed were coils of rope, an array of paddles, a pair of crops. She sat, a slave, a concubine, a toy, in the middle of the bed, surrounded by depravity.
She held up a sheaf of papers.
“I like this one the best.”
He took it, dropping it to the floor.
“What is…this? What…have you done here?”
Her response, loud and furious, startled him. Her finger rose to point at him, her brows furrowed in the deep scowl of pissed-off-wife-face.
“How could you? How could you have that … animal inside you and never let me see him? You treated me like a princess but you wanted more. But you never thought to ask me…if *I* wanted more. Not even if I could take your more. I love you. I promised to share my whole self with you. You did the same, but kept this,” her hand waved over the array of things on the bed, “all of this, hidden from me. I don’t want you to hide that part of you from me anymore. I may not be good at dealing with it, but at least give me a chance.”
She paused, catching a breath that threatened to break into tears.
“I want you to want me like your beast wants those girls in those stories. Fucking them roughly. Spanking them. Tying them up. Using them.”
She paused again.
“And then after I want you to hold me. And remind me that you’re also you, not just the beast you’ve been hiding all these years.”
He stepped close to the bed, cupping her chin in his hand, as he did when he was soft and tender. His lips met hers, she felt them curve into a smile. As his tongue traced along her lower lip, she yelped. His fingers had found her nipple, and begun to squeeze.
“Hello, Beast,” she murmured, smiling back.
We haven’t met in weeks.
I miss Him.
Not just the Dom stuff…sure, who doesn’t like to be pinched purple, nipples twisted, tits groped until one cries out in small gasping whimpers? I mean, what slut wouldn’t miss all that? There’s more to our relationship though. So I’m not only talking about the Big Mean Dom hurts his submissive part, but the other stuff, too.
I miss the scent of Him.
I miss the hardness of Him…not that you filthy pervert. . .okay, that, but also…He just does things hard. Hard hugs….the kind a slut like me melts into. Hard kisses, the kind that make you want to be naked. Right then, right there.
Sorry Starbucks customers, I couldn’t help myself.
Yeah, that kind of kiss.
And all of His touches, hard. A pinch here, a poke there, a grab here, a quick face slap (usually after one of those ‘get nekkid’ kisses)…it is all part and parcel of even the shortest lived times together.
I miss that.
I miss Him. Seeing that gleaming twinkle in His eye when He’s being naughty…the way His hair blows in the wind, the way he smells. Oh yeah. I said that already but you know…it really is a wonderful thing, the scent of our Dom, isn’t it?
I’m lonely. And bored. Because I sat down here instead of doing some work around the house, and now you all can be part of my
pity party melancholy moment.
That’s me…here to share the joy.
I haven’t uploaded some of the newer boob pic’s from my phone to here, so I was scrolling through my media files here (believe it or not there ARE some pictures here that have never appeared “live” on the blog!) and came across this one. I have published this before but it is one of my favorites, Master’s hand smushing my tit…! I see it and have an immediate memory of the day…the throbbing pain of his grasp (you can’t see it really, but jeebers his fingers are near to meeting through my flesh)…the multiple times He moved me, his hands, my tits, trying to capture the best shot…and remembering it all just makes me burn. So hot. So intense. So good. Thank you Master.
It’s been a hubbub, this month of November, and one can only assume things will get crazier than that as we eke our way down to the holidays. Well, I say “eke” but I really mean roar down the days until we suddenly fetch up against Christmas Eve…!
M and I have had zero face time for 3 weeks now. Gods but I miss Him when it goes on like that. *insert frowny sub face here* Hopefully we can see one another this weekend for a bit. I’m trying to clear time from my schedule so we can actually sit and chat a bit. But I might be coming down with a cold…or skirting the edges of the one that has effected my family for the last two weeks. I simply do NOT have time to be sick. So I might lose my voice instead. No one will notice, I assure you. 😀
He’s decided, based on my exceptional talents last year on calling scores for Patriot’s games, to change it up. So that I lose a lot more often…which is a lot more fun for Him. He had me edging 3 times last week. And the one day that I could have an orgasm? I couldn’t cum. I don’t know what was up, it rarely happens, but I just couldn’t get over the hump, so to speak. And two days later I had to edge (or half-0 as he calls it) again for three attempts. I was ready to hump light poles by that point.
The Man is an evil sadistic genius, I swear. I’ve never been so horny and uncomfortable for so long in our entire relationship.
And yeah, yeah. I liked it even while I hated it. I know-it’s weird and it sucks and yet I need it even while I hate it—it’s the terrible dichotomy of being a submissive who enjoys pain and being told no cumming and all the rest. Sometimes I forget…and last week was a critical reminder of my place.
(I shiver recalling the tone of his voice when he spells out my task…it so fucking turns me on when he puts on his “Dom Voice” as I call it. It just drives a dart of pure lust deep inside of me, even through the phone. So if you ask “is a LDR really real?” It can be! And yes, we’re not a true online or LDR, but lately it’s been on the phone or nothing. I’ll take that over nothing!)
Be well pervie peeps. I have stories brewing…and perhaps some time to actually write them, too!
…and I kinda like it. Aaaand…I kinda hate it.
Because I called him on it, you see. He’d said he had something dastardly planned. He got busy, I got busy but I felt, well, you know, deflated over it. Like…doesn’t he care enough about me to at least throw me a torture bone or something?
I was dying of loneliness, yanno?
Okay, not dying but…kinda.
Anyway, I sent him a ration of texts about it…not yelling, not telling him what he was doing wrong (as if!!!) but telling him how I felt. Because we’d promised that, after all. Best to get it out there before it festered in me and I did pull a Viking on him.
And it was respectful. And his reply was akin to it being one of my moods. To which I replied in a logical, non-testy fashion.
Except at the very teentsy end when I might have suggested he was perhaps too old to find D/s appealing any more, and that was okay because he’d been at this shit a LONG LONG time and hey, maybe he didn’t need it anymore at his age.
*pauses for the reader to gasp, guffaw, whatever*
I did that.
(grins somewhat un-apologetically over that)
And trust me, He responded to that PDQ
(pretty damn quick)
and most assuredly informed me that he was NOT to old to do any damn thing and He called the shots and if it was a slow time, so be it. (Basically, sit down, shut up, and deal, slut.)
And we were good, after that little chat, yanno? And we did talk it through and all was well.
And then I lost a football bet. And then I won. And then I lost. And I racked up a negative 9 balance…okay it was negative 16, but I’d won that 8 and wiped out part of it.
And he’s crafted some pretty fucking deviously awful half-o’s for me, getting me hornier than …. whatever…and leaving me throbbing and wanting and…
and yes, hell yes, it’s so much better than being ignored…
but be careful what you ask for, be careful how you tweak your Dominant.
Because they will always win the upper hand. Always.
And you’ll pay with your ass. And tits. And needy, unsatisfied pussy.
(But I win too, kinda, even though I lose, too.)
His lips moved over hers, consuming her. He was the best kisser she’d ever met, the only one who’d ever given life to that old romantic novel notion of ‘making her swoon from his kiss’. When he finally lifted his mouth, her head fell forward against his chest. His hands held her close.
“Let’s try something a bit different, hmm?”
She nodded even as her heart raced. He loved to mix things up, to intrigue her, to keep her guessing. There was great excitement in that, even as it unnerved her. He leaned away for a moment; the blindfold slipped over her eyes before she could react.
“Over here now, I’ll guide you.”
He moved her across the room, toward the bed, she thought. His hands on her shoulders were firm as he stopped her. The buttons of her dress were released, his finger teasing a trail to each one. The shiver was born of pleasure-and tickles. She felt the soft swish as the fabric slid from her shoulders, and the soft ploosh of air as it landed around her ankles.
“Lift your feet now, step clear.”
A few more steps, and then he turned her again, pushing her gently backwards. The bed was soft against her bottom, his hands warm as he lifted her up.
‘He’s going to fuck me now, me all naked and splayed here half-on, half-off the bed…’ but his hands turned her, breaking her thoughts with a little sigh of disappointment. Sometimes she just wanted to be used, taken. And sometimes he did. Then again, this was the first time with a blindfold, so who knew what he was up to tonight.
He lifted a wrist, her right wrist, up to the headboard. Where she might have expected rope, there was the cold hardness of metal, the snicking sound of a cuff, the tight bite of it against her skin. His hand traced from her captured wrist down the length of her, touching the side, but not the desperate tip, of her breast, over her hip, down the outside of her right thigh, calf, until his hand cuffed her ankle to the foot board of the bed.
Having a blindfold on changed her perceptions. Though she strained to hear him move across the room, the thick carpet muffled all sound. Wiggling her wrist, she heard the soft ching of the ‘bracelet’ it now sported. She jumped when his hand grabbed her left ankle, when he firmly cuffed it. This time his nails scraped along her left side, making her belly quiver at the sudden shock of pain, the first tonight. The cuff ratcheted closed against her wrist, and she lay, open and vulnerable. And very, very turned on.
“I’m at your mercy,” she murmured, her voice husky with needs unspoken.
His mouth on her nipple was the only response. The hot, wet touch made her wild. Sucking, biting, she arched up into him, moaning. His free hand moved over her other tit, pinching and twisting its peak. Her pussy lurched. Nothing made her as excited as him playing with her tits; it was as if her cunt and tits were wired together. The bed moved as he moved. Her nipple, caught between his teeth, throbbed, her clit responding in kind.
Fingers separated the lips of her pussy, a mouth began licking and sucking. Her mind tried to take it in, that He was still sucking at her breast, yet someone else’s mouth was eating her pussy. Her body shook as fingers slid into her pussy, her ass. The orgasm wracked her body like a tsunami, leaving her gasping and shivering. The mouth on her breast never stopped. The mouth on her pussy sucked up the juice and demanded more. She shook, her body on overload. Something different, He’d said. He wasn’t kidding. He was full of surprises tonight, her rational mind thought, before another orgasm wracked her.
His teeth bit and worried at her nipple, tugging relentlessly. Her right tit was throbbing, painfully excited, sore from his vicious attention. Her clit was swollen, sucked between teeth that didn’t belong to her Dom, while fingers danced with wild excitement inside her. Something different? Oh hell yes!
The bed shifted, legs against her armpits, the heat of a body hovering over her. There was a tap on her cheek, a cock banged imperatively against her lips. Her mouth opened trying to speak, trying to …yet the thick shaft slid inside, hot velvet skin across her tongue. She tried to swallow, remembering to breath through her nose, but she knew one thing for certain. This cock was not her Dom’s.
The shaft slid deeper as she tried to scream. Her tit, bitten painfully hard by her Dom, burned with that fiery pain. The mouth on her cunt nipped her clit. The cock in her throat gagged her.
‘Something different’ she thought, as her body arched in the slamming shock of another orgasm, as she fought to breath without panic as the cock slid into her throat. ‘Some…thing….dif…..