Other than the fact that it is still snowing off and on up here in the frozen north (I still have small bits of snow around the yard from Monday’s surprise storm~UGH~) things are not going badly.
I’m desperately overworking myself but *shrugs* it happens to all of us at some point in time, yes?
I barely have time to write Him each day as I’m up and out or up and running the household…but you make time for what’s important, and at least I can say Hi.
Except…somehow in the middle of this self-created chaos, there is Himself. A flurry of texts between us, escalating as our play time nears. He has been teasing me…just little jabs, really. About our meeting …in JULY. I know he’s joking, but it creates a little zinging repartee between us…
And it creates an eddy of need. A swirl of desire. I don’t know about you, but when I’m vanilla-swamped, I tend to lose my libido. Well, that, and the lingering depression about the winter that won’t end. I need outside time. I need my gardens. I need Him.
It’s like he throws an invisible line to me, wrapping it around me, so that I feel the tug of Him and his needs as clearly as if he’d spoken them. He doesn’t, mind you. It’s all mind-fuck and alluded to…but after alllllll these years, I know him, how he communicates, and can see him wrapping me up…but am helpless to stop it. Spider and fly, moth to flame, he snares me, pulls me outside the daily grind and makes me remember the hot, wet, slick spot between my thighs. He makes me forget my to-do list, and remember my wanting list.
Wanting to be fucked.
Wanting to be beaten.
Wanting Him to use me as he chooses.
Not a woman setting about her daily routine, but a slut pulled out of that day stuff, and tugged relentlessly towards the velvety darkness that feeds us both. Until all I want, all I need is Him. His hands bruising me, his mouth consuming me, his cock filling me. Until his brutal need is sated, and my need to be brutalized is fulfilled.