In The Midst of Chaos…Him

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.

We Have a Plan!

Sometimes I lose faith in what we…or maybe that should say W/we, are. I’ve been pretty good about not being whiney but yanno…it’s been 8 months since I’ve seen my Master.

Yes.

EIGHT. FUCKING. MONTHS.

Sure we text a few times a day (like, good morning, good night, and some days a flurry of notes back and forth)…and I try to be respectful of his time, but sometimes it feels like I’m driving the relationship thing forward (or off a cliff?) all by myself. If I didn’t text him for a day, he wouldn’t write. Then,  I get all pissed and mad and think to myself,

well fine. (no, that should be in caps in full snarky mental voice) F I N E. He doesn’t want to reach out to -me-, and I have to instigate ALL communication, so fuck him. 

I do that. Yes, sad but true, nilla is not a perfect little princess of a slut.

Now, bear in mind that all this is all happening between my own ears, and actually reflects nothing in our relationship in the real world.  In the past I would act on impulse and snarkfest him with a shit-ton of texts saying things like:

okay you don’t like me anymore okayfine

sure sure don’t reply, i don’t matter

whatever. i’m sure you’ve got more important things going on than replying/showing you care/calling the slut who’s been yours for YEARS

And on it would go. Then he wouldn’t reply to any of that, and eventually we’d talk, and he’d say

“nilla, what has changed? Hasn’t this been the way of us all this time? Sometimes I’m busy, and can’t reply. But nothing has changed. I’m still your M. You’re still my slut. All is well.”

So now I just repeat that in my head when the nerves fester up and explode…’he hasn’t called or texted and he mustn’t need me anymore’…is covered over by

‘nilla, nothing has changed…’

and it helps. Because I hear his voice saying it, and it stops the freefall.

But because I was feeling…lost? I dunno. Adrift. There, that’s a better word…I did send him a text mid-week:

‘are we still even a thing anymore? all we seem to say is good morning and good night…sigh

And he replied right away to that.

yeah it’s a problem – we are both pulled in many directions – we’ll work it out.

and I had to add my two cents

I hope so. We are pulled apart by life and I get that. I just miss you.

note the forlorn, sad voice there. Then M, being the M he is, and who knows exactly how to snap me out of my funk says

Keep that thought when I’m beating you.

And with that, the sun comes back out, I smile, and I know that everything will be okay again–eventually. And with that in mind, I shoot him a text a day or so ago and tell him I’m feeling desperately needy (do all you Domly types love to hear that?!), and he pulls a date out of the air and damn if it isn’t an open day on MY calendar too! So, peeps, we have a playdate in 2 weeks.

TWO WEEKS!

Of course, now I’m feeling old (sorry Jz) and fat (sorry Olivia) and gross. Me, who is usually totally not worried about this shit in normal life. So what, I shrug, I’m round. So what, I say with a smile, I’m short. So what, I’m coming to a fucking HUGE birthday in a matter of months and the wrinkles are popping. (that one still kinda makes my knees shake a bit…still growing older certainly beats the Big Dirt Nap!)

I have to *consciously* remind myself that he doesn’t care about that shit. I’m sure he’d be thrilled with a slender(er) submissive who was 30 years younger …hell, I wouldn’t say no if a genii appeared and offered that, but you know what? I love and adore him, but… he’s got his own wrinkles, his own messy hair, his own tummy.  Neither of us are winning beauty contests here. We’re not in this for the (what I call) “glam-porn” where every tit is perky and bouncy, and every torn blouse is arty and sexy. Nope, just two old farts who will have the *best* time banging on one another (and banging one another!)…until I’m begging him to stop making me cum…and he’s refusing to stop.

Ah. See? You’ve all let me vent and now I’m not feeling so terribly gross after all. It’s not about the looks…it’s about the actions, the way we make one another feel, and being together. It may be an odd way to show love for one another, but really, when all is said and done, I’m okay with that!

 

Hurts…So Much, So Good

I am an aching, bruised mess.

My hair is mussed. Tied into tangles and knots it will take a deep conditioning to untangle. Seriously…it was soooo bad when he finally let me up off the bed, that I looked like I’d been electrocuted! Long hair scrubbed all over the damn bed makes for one powerful, somewhat terrifying case of bedhead!

My body hurts, just about everyplace you can imagine. (And I know you all have wonderful imaginations!)

He spanked me long and hard. I felt the tension ease away, even as the pain built. He spanked my ass multiple times through the day, then later near the end of playtime, my pussy.

And oh, the pussy smacking. It was brutal and hard. The harder he attacked my cunt, the closer the intense need grew. I came just from that. He called me a cunt over it, and laughed. It still surprised him that I orgasm from having my pussy beaten. And not once. Twice, my pervie peeps.

Well, actually. Uhm…(maybe he’s right and I really AM  cunt?!)

Okay, three times.

And after that third time, he pushed me down, pinning me and roughly finger fucked me to many, many more orgasms. Until I moaned at the slightest touch on my poor battered girl bits.

And then he did it again.

Now i sit, a slut filled with pain- from throbbing cunt to aching ass, from battered tits to pinched and bitten arms and shoulders. Exhausted. Used up. Made to cum too many times to count, made to scream and cry and whimper as he slapped the fuckity fuck right out of me.

Okay, he tried. I was still impudent, wildly silly, and at times, a growly beast with him. (To his utter delight!)

There are many stories to tell, but for now, this very tired, very sore slut is going to bed.

And smiling.

 

 

 

Mindfuck? Or (dire) Promise?

He’s fucking with my head for certain. But it is a promise? Is it merely payback for my stupid unfortunate choice of spending a day teasing him about his doctor visit and a finger up his ass for a change?

I’d be the first to admit that I had a grand time poking the bear (thanks Jz for reminding me of that fun phrase!) that fateful day last week. Oh, I laughed and giggled at every impertinent text. I pictured his face as he read them, alternating between annoyance and amusement (I do amuse him–most times).

But sometimes I go just a little bit too far.

Such was the case last week. One ass-poking tweek too many, I suppose. And payback isn’t a bitch. No, pervie friends, in our world, payback is a Dom with a vengeful mind.

We’re having a playtime very soon. Very soon indeed. He texts me.
“This will be one for the record books, nilla.”

“This will be a true diary* entry.” (*what he calls my blog)

“Oh, btw, no touching yourself!”

Upon my complaint as we’re more than a week out–this text…

“The Doms want you horny.”

*pauses while you take that in*

Yeah. Re-read that a few times.

gulp.

Swallow.

heartracing/panic

I’ll keep you posted where this goes. Just learn from this my friends. Do not poke your Dom too many times…

oh.

and yeah.

I’m wet.

Damn Him!

 

Sunday Texting, In Which He Totally Cracks Me Up

Master was away much of the weekend, and our texting time was very limited. Yet in only a few words, He can utterly destroy any pique I’m feeling, and transmogrify it into humor. And yes, I was feeling more than a bit grumpy about M’s new “use it or lose it” policy regarding my Tuesday orgasm opportunity….

 

me:  Do you realize that it’s been 13 days since I last had an orgasm Master?     (In reference to the fact that I fell asleep last Tuesday before I could snag my weekly O…)

M: Forget about the orgasms…you need to focus on staying awake.

 

(Hysterical laughter from my car as I read this to myself)

A Dash of Reality

I talked to Him the other day about a thought that occurred when doing some random stuff around here. He and I have often wrangled about the concept of need vs want. I want to be played with, I want to be used, I want to be dominated. But I don’t need it. That’s HIS take on it. I say that I DO need it. I DO need to be used, and all the rest.

To him, military guy that he will always be–a need is food. A need is water. Shelter and clothing are optional comforts–very nice to have but survivable without. Ergo, I don’t need the Domming, the play, the…all of it. I might crave it, but that’s a different thing.

He is, of course, correct.

But that doesn’t account for the heart. For the twists and turns of our minds, the many vagaries of the human condition. Can we survive with just food and water? Of course. But it would be a very mean situation. (In the old definition of ‘mean’, not ‘he’s being unkind’)

So when I moan that I need a spanking (which I do…very badly!) he will oft counter with “No you don’t, you’re just craving one.” Though lately he has also been saying “You always need a spanking, nilla. You’re just a naughty little slut.”

(which gets me all sorts of worked up!)

So then I was thinking that think that I mentioned above…do they…(the ubiquitous ‘they’…!) need/crave/want the things that they do to us, as much as we need to be on the receiving end? I kinda think they do, but He doesn’t ever talk of it. Never so much as utters that He might need to use me as hard and roughly as I want to be taken.

So I asked him.

“Do you need it? Could you live for the rest of your life without it, turn it off, shut it down, put it away and never once think about being a Dom again?”

His answer was *immediate*…no pause, no hesitation, no ‘let’s fuck with the little subbie’s train of thought.’

“No. No, I need to spank you. I need to do what I do. No. I couldn’t put it away. Not ever. It’s part of who…of what…I am.”

There was solace in that for me. That, while we can both sort of compartmentalize our wants, our sordid desires, mine tends to leak out around the edges, and sometimes (shocker alert)…I get bitchy with it. But knowing that His needs are just a potent for him (though damn him for being able to put it all in a box and wait to take it out until the opportunity is right!)…it somehow helps me be able to cope more. 

I’m hanging on for dear life here because the cravings are so intense just now…and we’re not playing for a while now. We have had some short face-time interludes, and that helps…but it’s not all of what a needy slut needs. (I sound like a child there– I wanttttt ittttt!) but honest truth? I DO want it.

I think He doesn’t mind that I do, either. In fact, I think He counts on it.

 

Exasperated

So there I was, writing my happy nilla post for Sunday. I did that on…Thursday? Friday? I forget. I could go back and check but it’s late, I’m tired so I’m not going to bother. If such details keep you awake at night, feel free to look. 🙂

So I waited a long time for a Thursday evening text from Master.

It never came.

I went to bed, understanding that the strange day up here in Boston had everyone feeling all confuddly. Many of us glued to our local tv stations, and it only got worse come Friday with the drama of the two men being found, one killed, one running, and eventually captured. It made for literally, 24+ hours of live tv and radio (they were playing the live tv news on sports radio on my way home from work on Friday night)…there was literally no getting away from it short of shutting everything off.

Yeah, I likes sports radio. So?

To back up a bit though, my pissyness started at work later Friday afternoon. I had a lot of stuff to do, and USUALLY I text Him when I have a chance–aaaand…this night I didn’t. And he didn’t text me. And I felt like…didn’t He even notice  that I’d been uber quiet? Did He miss me? And all I could think of was “that fucker. Can’t even text me more than 5 fucking words all day.”

Now, in fairness, I had NO idea about the showdown in Watertown after 5 p.m. I was already at work and sequestered from the world. I have my ipod music and that’s it. Zen.

So he’s glued to the tv watching the drama, no idea that I was getting pissier.

And pissier.

You know how it is when you start to play a drama scene in your head. In your mind, you write the text of the exchanges. You create your own vision of “could-a, should-a, would-a”…and all the responses. You imagine things that just aren’t happening. You can create your very own drama triangle ALL BY YOURSELF!

And I realized I was doing it and just fucking stopped. I was actually able to stop it. I sigh, and wrap up my work, and head out to my car.

But I was still exasperated.

I turn on the engine, the radio pops on….and then I hear the news…while the reporter is talking about what’s going on, he’s moved by police because he’s in danger of crossfire. Seconds later we hear POP POP POP….gunfire being exchanged.

(feel bad about that poor guys boat)

And I’m as riveted as everyone else. Running into the house from my car to turn on the news and see what the FUCK is going on.

And when it is resolved, cheering and jubilation.

And I go to bed.

And no text from Master.

I send my Goodnight Master as required.

Fucking required.

Woulda given HIM the cold shoulder, but I must comply. I am an obedient, if sullen slut.

He texts back something inane.

I text back something snarky.

He texts back His amusement of my snark.

We go back and forth for a bit over it.

Saturday I’m up before the birds, ready for my other job, text Master my obligatory “good morning”. That was it. Terse, much? 🙂

Yeah, so?

After I’m at work I see His text come in. Something silly  and I’m fighting myself to not be amused. And tell Him that. And say something else a bit…not snarky, but maybe snippy.

He laughs.

Texts me that I’m WAY more fun pissy.

He LOVES me being pissy. I’m not sure why. I think He hates when I get all mushy and lovey dovey. He still wants me to be submissive, but it’s okay to not be a fawning doormat.

Huh.

After 3 years and I’m only just getting this? Hello, someone cue the cosmic clue by 4. Coz it just whacked me over the head!

After my day is done, I manage to get a wee bit of face time with Him. And I’m still a bit sassy. He laughs. We play. I kiss His cheek. I’ve mentioned His beard is white, right?

I was wearing intensely red lipstick, as I know He likes it.

*laughs*

It leaves a lovely hard-to-remove red lip stain on His beard.

🙂

He got my shoe off, jeezuz He’s so fucking tricky…and tickled my foot right there in starbucks, made the girl sitting behind us giggle too. We’re like frigging teenagers, I swear.

We only have about an hour, and then I must go. But it was good to have face time. Good to get my pissy pushed away. Good to leave my mark on Him.

He’s gonna have a hella-time washing my lips off His face.

🙂