I have tried on MANY, countless occasions, to wax.
Oh, but the pain!
In salons and on my own, I have only gotten as far as a very wide landing strip.
"You will wax. Everything gone."
Or something to that effect.
Because he (ecD) wanted full access to my clit.
My answer was; "Of course. Because being fully waxed would offer SO much more access than a landing strip would..."
I spent the day shopping. I tried on countless frilly, featherweight, silky, slinky, lacy things. I had my hair cut and colored. I drank too many lattes...
Then I waited for my appointment with Aria.
I sent a text to ecD letting him know. He replied that he likes knowing that I am doing this for him.
The waiting area is very quiet. There is a waterfall in the corner. The sound of the water cascading off of the pebbles is the only sound until Aria comes to greet me.
"girl?"
Of course she uses the my real name.
We walk the into the room and we talk about the whole process: what she will be doing, how long it will take, aftercare and questions or concerns I have.
She leaves while I disrobe.
When I am done, and before I lay down, I text ecD to let him know that it is beginning and that I am anxious. He assures me I will be fine.
She starts.
OW!
Okay. I suppose it wasn't that bad...
But as she works her way in, it gets worse.
The area right down the center - right above my cleft - is painful beyond words, but I manage to find a few choice ones to utter loudly.
I don't stop her.
In my mind, ecD is here with me. Holding my hand. Shushing me. Whispering soothing words in my ear. Stroking my hair. Telling me I am a good girl.
This is to be a Brazilian wax. Everything off - front to back and everything in between.
It's the in between part that has always scared me in the past. If the bikini area hurts bad, that area should hurt more, right?
It didn't. At all. There was sensation, but I wouldn't call it pain.
She finishes up, goes after any strays, and shows me her work.
Wow.
I usually shave everything, so I'm used to how I look with no hair, but still...
Wow.
I like it.
I text ecD after I dress and tell him it is over and that there was a moment, although brief, that I hated him.
I am kidding.
He knows this. He sees right through me.
My phone beeps when he replies.
"Show me."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Day 3 - Night
This is our last night together.
He will catch a late morning flight back east and that will be the end of it.
I am sad. I know my mood isn't light and I am trying very hard to lift it, but I'm not doing a very good job.
Maybe he senses it. He must.
He sees right through me.
We get to the hotel and lounge for a bit. It's a very nice hotel - the decor is crisp, clean and urban.
After awhile he has me undress. I am still wearing the zip tie cuffs from the day before. Even completely undressed, I don't feel naked. I play with them while he slowly unpacks the play bag, examining each item, turning things over in his hand as if thinking up new and cruel uses for them.
He takes one of the hooks and places it over the bathroom door. He removes a zip tie and threads it between both cuffs on my wrists.
I am led to the bathroom door and hung on the hook. My feet touch the floor, but when my legs are spread apart, the pull on my arms is uncomfortable. The zip ties almost feel too tight now. Wasn't it just moments before that they were objects I found comforting?
The mask comes out and is placed over my head. He carefully adjusts it, smoothing it over my eyes and clucks softly. He whispers near my ear that he doesn't think it blinds me enough. I assure him that I keep my eyes closed when wearing it. I don't like the mask, or rather, I don't like sight being taken away from me. But looking back on the play, I think I prefer it now to seeing everything.
Clothespins are placed on my nipples. He isn't easing them on any longer. He opens them wide, and then he lets go, and they snap down on my flesh. The pain makes white spots appear behind my eyelids.
He leaves me. I hear him walking around the room and then the door opens and shuts. I wait for a moment, quieting my breath and trying to be still, to hear if maybe he is still in the room, but I know better. Plus, my arms are so close to my ears that they block some sound and I hear the thump of my heart beating and blood pumping more than anything else.
I say something. It is said quietly, but clearly. If he is actually in the room he would be able to hear it, and it would be something just between us. But as he isn't there, it is an affirmation to myself and I will never tell him what is said.
After a while, he comes back. He says nothing about his absence.
He stands close to me on my left and then it starts. A hand lands first on one side of my ass, then the other. He hits hard. There is no build up tonight. It is full on pain.
The bridle straps are next. He has them doubled and knotted at the end for a handle, and four straps act as the whip. The first blow lands in the small of my back - once, then twice. My legs get his attention for a bit before he stops and gathers my hair to one side and tucks it between my neck and arm. He starts to beat my shoulders.
I am grasping at the door hook at this point, as if holding on tightly will transfer strength from the metal into my body. I am still, though, and let the blows land with minimal movement and noise from me. My chest starts to heave and I am quietly crying. Not from the pain, though, but from where my head is. I'm floating. I'm above everything and beyond the pain. It is registering, just on a different level than I'm at.
Subspace.
He stops.
I hear the clink of the votives and the flick of a lighter. I shiver in anticipation. He stands behind me. And slowly starts to dribble wax down my back. This lasts long enough for the melted wax to build up and he starts to pour it - the wax burning as it hits and streams down my skin.
He reaches between my legs and he moans. I am wet - very wet. I hear him undress and he presses his body against mine and I push back into him. His hand is between my legs again, his fingers inside me.
He moves to the play bag and hurriedly goes through it and tells me that someone forgot to pack the scissors. "No. No, they're in the outside pocket," I tell him.
He comes back to me and cuts off the middle tie and leads me over to the foot of the bed where I kneel. My hands are raised up to him and he starts to cut off the ties that cuff my wrists. I panic and plead with him not to, grasping for the tie that has just fallen off, and holding my other hand behind my back, away from him.
He shushes me and tells me he will replace them later.
He lays me on the bed and enters me.
After, he takes me into the bathroom and he puts me under the warm shower, climbing in behind me. He holds me to him and we just stand under the water. It is relaxing. He cleans the wax off my back and then towels me off. Wrapping a robe around me, he guides me out and tucks me into bed, holding me again.
I fall asleep in his arms, surely with a smile on my face.
This is our last night together.
He will catch a late morning flight back east and that will be the end of it.
I am sad. I know my mood isn't light and I am trying very hard to lift it, but I'm not doing a very good job.
Maybe he senses it. He must.
He sees right through me.
We get to the hotel and lounge for a bit. It's a very nice hotel - the decor is crisp, clean and urban.
After awhile he has me undress. I am still wearing the zip tie cuffs from the day before. Even completely undressed, I don't feel naked. I play with them while he slowly unpacks the play bag, examining each item, turning things over in his hand as if thinking up new and cruel uses for them.
He takes one of the hooks and places it over the bathroom door. He removes a zip tie and threads it between both cuffs on my wrists.
I am led to the bathroom door and hung on the hook. My feet touch the floor, but when my legs are spread apart, the pull on my arms is uncomfortable. The zip ties almost feel too tight now. Wasn't it just moments before that they were objects I found comforting?
The mask comes out and is placed over my head. He carefully adjusts it, smoothing it over my eyes and clucks softly. He whispers near my ear that he doesn't think it blinds me enough. I assure him that I keep my eyes closed when wearing it. I don't like the mask, or rather, I don't like sight being taken away from me. But looking back on the play, I think I prefer it now to seeing everything.
Clothespins are placed on my nipples. He isn't easing them on any longer. He opens them wide, and then he lets go, and they snap down on my flesh. The pain makes white spots appear behind my eyelids.
He leaves me. I hear him walking around the room and then the door opens and shuts. I wait for a moment, quieting my breath and trying to be still, to hear if maybe he is still in the room, but I know better. Plus, my arms are so close to my ears that they block some sound and I hear the thump of my heart beating and blood pumping more than anything else.
I say something. It is said quietly, but clearly. If he is actually in the room he would be able to hear it, and it would be something just between us. But as he isn't there, it is an affirmation to myself and I will never tell him what is said.
After a while, he comes back. He says nothing about his absence.
He stands close to me on my left and then it starts. A hand lands first on one side of my ass, then the other. He hits hard. There is no build up tonight. It is full on pain.
The bridle straps are next. He has them doubled and knotted at the end for a handle, and four straps act as the whip. The first blow lands in the small of my back - once, then twice. My legs get his attention for a bit before he stops and gathers my hair to one side and tucks it between my neck and arm. He starts to beat my shoulders.
I am grasping at the door hook at this point, as if holding on tightly will transfer strength from the metal into my body. I am still, though, and let the blows land with minimal movement and noise from me. My chest starts to heave and I am quietly crying. Not from the pain, though, but from where my head is. I'm floating. I'm above everything and beyond the pain. It is registering, just on a different level than I'm at.
Subspace.
He stops.
I hear the clink of the votives and the flick of a lighter. I shiver in anticipation. He stands behind me. And slowly starts to dribble wax down my back. This lasts long enough for the melted wax to build up and he starts to pour it - the wax burning as it hits and streams down my skin.
He reaches between my legs and he moans. I am wet - very wet. I hear him undress and he presses his body against mine and I push back into him. His hand is between my legs again, his fingers inside me.
He moves to the play bag and hurriedly goes through it and tells me that someone forgot to pack the scissors. "No. No, they're in the outside pocket," I tell him.
He comes back to me and cuts off the middle tie and leads me over to the foot of the bed where I kneel. My hands are raised up to him and he starts to cut off the ties that cuff my wrists. I panic and plead with him not to, grasping for the tie that has just fallen off, and holding my other hand behind my back, away from him.
He shushes me and tells me he will replace them later.
He lays me on the bed and enters me.
After, he takes me into the bathroom and he puts me under the warm shower, climbing in behind me. He holds me to him and we just stand under the water. It is relaxing. He cleans the wax off my back and then towels me off. Wrapping a robe around me, he guides me out and tucks me into bed, holding me again.
I fall asleep in his arms, surely with a smile on my face.
This is our last night together.
ecD Day 2 - Morning
It was a long night for me. After dinner, I took a long hot bath before climbing into bed.
Sometime in the early morning I rolled over and snuggled into him. I traced my hand along his body and he reacted. I don't think he really woke up during that hand job.
I fell back asleep, but not for long. I had a need for him and did my best to wake him up, short of shaking him by the shoulders or sitting on his face.
The next morning while he was making coffee, I told him this and he chuckled. He told me next time to wake him up. He didn't seem to get it - I tried.
He handed me a mug of coffee and I stood at the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area. He came up behind me and placed a zip tie on one wrist, then the other. All the while, I am lazily sipping my coffee. The same was done to my ankles and I was led to a chair.
He gently pulls the straps of my night gown down over my arms and lets it bunch around my waist. He has not yet blindfolded me so I watch as he places clothespins on my nipples.
My feet are brought back against the rear legs of the chair, off the floor, and a rope is drawn between the ankle ties and threaded into the wrist ties behind my back. My thumbs and middle fingers are also bound together.
No more coffee for me.
The mask is put over my eyes. Two strips of duct tape are placed down each inner thigh. He gingerly places earphones in my ears and turns his iPod on.
The music he plays is beautiful and centers me. It is operatic chamber music.
My body is whipped. It seems that with every crescendo of the music, a series of blows hit my arms, my thighs, my legs, my stomach. He later told me that he could hear the music and planned this.
He cut the rope bindings and as he stands me up, eases my nightgown off. He tells me to lie down flat on my back. I struggle, trying to position myself and find that with my fingers zip-tied together, I can't. He snips the two ties from my fingers and then I am able to lay back, my chest thrust out from my arms and hands being pinned underneath me.
He places his coffee mug on my stomach and tells me not to spill any of it. It is warm and feels nice, but that is all quickly forgotten as my body starts to shake and he raises his voice to me, "Don't spill it."
I tense my legs, trying to absorb the movement from my torso and manage to keep the mug from wobbling too much. He is in the kitchen, I think, possibly just watching me. The thought makes me shake anew.
He has lit a candle and starts to drip wax onto my breasts. The pain is sharp and I breath sharply in. My natural reaction is to arch my back and he has to remind me again to not spill his coffee.
He tells me to open my mouth and to nibble. A small piece of dark chocolate is placed on my tongue and I eat it. He places something else in my mouth and tells me it is wax that he has taken off my body. I eat it along with the chocolate.
He removes his coffee off my stomach and tells me I am a good girl for not spilling. He has me roll over and cuts off the tie holding my wrists together but leaves the two around each wrist as cuffs.
The movement while I am bound and blinded is unsettling. I feel clumsy not being able to see where I am walking, and the simple acts of maneuvering like this - walking, lying down, rolling over - is awkward and degrading.
He knows this.
He removes my blind fold, holds me for a moment, and tells me to go take a shower.
Sometime in the early morning I rolled over and snuggled into him. I traced my hand along his body and he reacted. I don't think he really woke up during that hand job.
I fell back asleep, but not for long. I had a need for him and did my best to wake him up, short of shaking him by the shoulders or sitting on his face.
The next morning while he was making coffee, I told him this and he chuckled. He told me next time to wake him up. He didn't seem to get it - I tried.
He handed me a mug of coffee and I stood at the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area. He came up behind me and placed a zip tie on one wrist, then the other. All the while, I am lazily sipping my coffee. The same was done to my ankles and I was led to a chair.
He gently pulls the straps of my night gown down over my arms and lets it bunch around my waist. He has not yet blindfolded me so I watch as he places clothespins on my nipples.
My feet are brought back against the rear legs of the chair, off the floor, and a rope is drawn between the ankle ties and threaded into the wrist ties behind my back. My thumbs and middle fingers are also bound together.
No more coffee for me.
The mask is put over my eyes. Two strips of duct tape are placed down each inner thigh. He gingerly places earphones in my ears and turns his iPod on.
The music he plays is beautiful and centers me. It is operatic chamber music.
My body is whipped. It seems that with every crescendo of the music, a series of blows hit my arms, my thighs, my legs, my stomach. He later told me that he could hear the music and planned this.
He cut the rope bindings and as he stands me up, eases my nightgown off. He tells me to lie down flat on my back. I struggle, trying to position myself and find that with my fingers zip-tied together, I can't. He snips the two ties from my fingers and then I am able to lay back, my chest thrust out from my arms and hands being pinned underneath me.
He places his coffee mug on my stomach and tells me not to spill any of it. It is warm and feels nice, but that is all quickly forgotten as my body starts to shake and he raises his voice to me, "Don't spill it."
I tense my legs, trying to absorb the movement from my torso and manage to keep the mug from wobbling too much. He is in the kitchen, I think, possibly just watching me. The thought makes me shake anew.
He has lit a candle and starts to drip wax onto my breasts. The pain is sharp and I breath sharply in. My natural reaction is to arch my back and he has to remind me again to not spill his coffee.
He tells me to open my mouth and to nibble. A small piece of dark chocolate is placed on my tongue and I eat it. He places something else in my mouth and tells me it is wax that he has taken off my body. I eat it along with the chocolate.
He removes his coffee off my stomach and tells me I am a good girl for not spilling. He has me roll over and cuts off the tie holding my wrists together but leaves the two around each wrist as cuffs.
The movement while I am bound and blinded is unsettling. I feel clumsy not being able to see where I am walking, and the simple acts of maneuvering like this - walking, lying down, rolling over - is awkward and degrading.
He knows this.
He removes my blind fold, holds me for a moment, and tells me to go take a shower.
Day 1 With ecD - Afternoon
I am tired. We have been on the road for at least 5 hours, including a lunch break. My shoulders and neck are tense and knotted. He tells me to take a nap when we get to the condo. I am looking forward to a small rest before we wander about town.
We find the condo with no problem and carry our bags inside. I make the decision to only grab my clothes bag and plan on getting the rest after my nap.
I am placing my bag on the floor when he tells me to undress. I'm confused for a moment - thinking that I didn't plan on laying down naked. Then it dawns on me: Mind Fuck 101.
I undress and he takes off my watch and necklace for me. He tells me to get the play bag. I mentally moan as I tell him I left it in the car.
"That wasn't very smart, was it?" he tells me. I agree yes. "Get dressed - completely dressed - and go get the bag."
My hands are shaking as I start to put my jeans on with no panties and he repeats, "Completely dressed."
After my clothes are on I head for the door. Once again he says, each word clipped, "I told you to get completely dressed." I forgot about my watch and necklace.
I quickly return with the bag, set it down, and get undressed again.
He has me lay out the contents of the bag. I carefully remove the following items, most of which were from a shopping list he sent me, some I purchased on my own: a riding crop, a riding whip, duct tape, clothes pins, zip ties, 50 ft of nylon cord, clothesline, 2 bridle straps, 2 metal door hooks, a bit, scissors, nipple clamps, and condoms.
He asks where the eye mask is. Of course, I left it in the car. His patience is thin as he tells me to get completely dressed and get it.
The tone of his voice and the look on his face has me frightened. Instead of cowering and averting my eyes as I dress, however, I stare back at him - the fear falsely starting to feel like anger behind my eyes.
"This would be much easier if you would just go get it yourself," I say to him. My voice gives me away - it is shaky and cracks.
He comes over to me and bends over so his his mouth is next to my ear - his hand wrapped around the back of my head holding me to his face. The touch, although not meant to be, is comforting.
"This is not about what is easy for you or about what you want," he says firmly and icily into my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine. "Do you understand?" I nod my head yes and look at my knees, shamed.
I finish dressing and get the mask.
When I am undressed for the third time, he has me get on all fours, legs apart, back straight. He uses me as a table as he looks through what I have laid out.
He fastens zip ties around my wrists and places the mask over my eyes. I hear the clinking of the bit as he handles it and soon it is in my mouth and fastened around my head.
Another limit tested, and pushed out of the way. The first was from the summer, and didn't happen during play - breath control. The trust I have in him makes me feel like he is mentally holding my hand as I explore new things with him. I had always feared being gagged and not being able to talk. I don't like it much, but it won't kill me.
He helps me up from the floor and points me towards the door. He tells me to walk forward to it. I stumble the short distance. He has placed a hook over the door and suspends my arms above me onto the hook.
He uses each whipping/flogging item on me, testing them out. The long horse whip is the worst. The cane part of it hurts more than any other item I brought, and it seems to be the one he uses the most. It's cane is flexible and he flicks it in the air a few times and I can hear the whipping whoosh noise it makes. It sounds angry. When it hits my back, it bends and wraps around the front of me a bit. I don't know it at the time, but the 2 hits that wrap like this, will leave the most long lasting marks. They welt up and turn red and when we are driving, the seat belt sits right on top of them.
He remarks that I have beautiful skin - it marks almost instantly and weals quickly follow.
He continues until I hang exhausted from the hook. He cuts me down and removes the mask and bit. I am held for a moment before he leads me down the hallway and tucks me into bed. The rest is welcome.
He undresses and climbs in next to me and the nap is perhaps the sweetest I have ever had.
We find the condo with no problem and carry our bags inside. I make the decision to only grab my clothes bag and plan on getting the rest after my nap.
I am placing my bag on the floor when he tells me to undress. I'm confused for a moment - thinking that I didn't plan on laying down naked. Then it dawns on me: Mind Fuck 101.
I undress and he takes off my watch and necklace for me. He tells me to get the play bag. I mentally moan as I tell him I left it in the car.
"That wasn't very smart, was it?" he tells me. I agree yes. "Get dressed - completely dressed - and go get the bag."
My hands are shaking as I start to put my jeans on with no panties and he repeats, "Completely dressed."
After my clothes are on I head for the door. Once again he says, each word clipped, "I told you to get completely dressed." I forgot about my watch and necklace.
I quickly return with the bag, set it down, and get undressed again.
He has me lay out the contents of the bag. I carefully remove the following items, most of which were from a shopping list he sent me, some I purchased on my own: a riding crop, a riding whip, duct tape, clothes pins, zip ties, 50 ft of nylon cord, clothesline, 2 bridle straps, 2 metal door hooks, a bit, scissors, nipple clamps, and condoms.
He asks where the eye mask is. Of course, I left it in the car. His patience is thin as he tells me to get completely dressed and get it.
The tone of his voice and the look on his face has me frightened. Instead of cowering and averting my eyes as I dress, however, I stare back at him - the fear falsely starting to feel like anger behind my eyes.
"This would be much easier if you would just go get it yourself," I say to him. My voice gives me away - it is shaky and cracks.
He comes over to me and bends over so his his mouth is next to my ear - his hand wrapped around the back of my head holding me to his face. The touch, although not meant to be, is comforting.
"This is not about what is easy for you or about what you want," he says firmly and icily into my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine. "Do you understand?" I nod my head yes and look at my knees, shamed.
I finish dressing and get the mask.
When I am undressed for the third time, he has me get on all fours, legs apart, back straight. He uses me as a table as he looks through what I have laid out.
He fastens zip ties around my wrists and places the mask over my eyes. I hear the clinking of the bit as he handles it and soon it is in my mouth and fastened around my head.
Another limit tested, and pushed out of the way. The first was from the summer, and didn't happen during play - breath control. The trust I have in him makes me feel like he is mentally holding my hand as I explore new things with him. I had always feared being gagged and not being able to talk. I don't like it much, but it won't kill me.
He helps me up from the floor and points me towards the door. He tells me to walk forward to it. I stumble the short distance. He has placed a hook over the door and suspends my arms above me onto the hook.
He uses each whipping/flogging item on me, testing them out. The long horse whip is the worst. The cane part of it hurts more than any other item I brought, and it seems to be the one he uses the most. It's cane is flexible and he flicks it in the air a few times and I can hear the whipping whoosh noise it makes. It sounds angry. When it hits my back, it bends and wraps around the front of me a bit. I don't know it at the time, but the 2 hits that wrap like this, will leave the most long lasting marks. They welt up and turn red and when we are driving, the seat belt sits right on top of them.
He remarks that I have beautiful skin - it marks almost instantly and weals quickly follow.
He continues until I hang exhausted from the hook. He cuts me down and removes the mask and bit. I am held for a moment before he leads me down the hallway and tucks me into bed. The rest is welcome.
He undresses and climbs in next to me and the nap is perhaps the sweetest I have ever had.
Friday, November 19, 2010
SAM I Am
...not really.
Alright, maybe sometimes. But truly only when things seem playful and light enough for it to be okay.
Don't get me wrong, I know it's not okay and I expect to be punished, but sometimes that's just what I want and I push back to get what I want.
He knows this. He sees right through me.
There are times, though, that I am mouthy and don't mean to be. Like when I'm nervous or frustrated. That happened last weekend and I thought for sure I was done.
Maybe he took pity on me, knowing I was anxious and slightly frightened - this was our first in-person play, after all.
Or maybe he is waiting and biding his time...
"And my knees fucking hurt (yes, I'm complaining)..." This was part of my Twitter post today.
Mouthy.
Insubordinate.
Punishable.
But again, I'm frustrated and scared.
I'm still frustrated about last night even though I shouldn't be.
I'm frustrated that I really liked our play last weekend and the horizon seems empty for me. The level of trust I have in ecD is no small thing and I can't imagine how long it would take to find and build that somewhere more local. And to be perfectly honest, I don't want it from anyone else - at the moment.
I'm scared that there are no promises that we will share that play again. Time passes, life happens, and things change.
So, SAM I might be, but it's a scared & frustrated SAM.
Alright, maybe sometimes. But truly only when things seem playful and light enough for it to be okay.
Don't get me wrong, I know it's not okay and I expect to be punished, but sometimes that's just what I want and I push back to get what I want.
He knows this. He sees right through me.
There are times, though, that I am mouthy and don't mean to be. Like when I'm nervous or frustrated. That happened last weekend and I thought for sure I was done.
Maybe he took pity on me, knowing I was anxious and slightly frightened - this was our first in-person play, after all.
Or maybe he is waiting and biding his time...
"And my knees fucking hurt (yes, I'm complaining)..." This was part of my Twitter post today.
Mouthy.
Insubordinate.
Punishable.
But again, I'm frustrated and scared.
I'm still frustrated about last night even though I shouldn't be.
I'm frustrated that I really liked our play last weekend and the horizon seems empty for me. The level of trust I have in ecD is no small thing and I can't imagine how long it would take to find and build that somewhere more local. And to be perfectly honest, I don't want it from anyone else - at the moment.
I'm scared that there are no promises that we will share that play again. Time passes, life happens, and things change.
So, SAM I might be, but it's a scared & frustrated SAM.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Gone, But Not Forgotten? - A Lesson In Pride
It was a misunderstanding, really. I wouldn't have considered it an infraction, but, it wasn't up to me. He considered it something I didn't do for him that I was supposed to.
I was given time to reflect on what my misdeed was before he just told me - all the while wearing clothespins. They were to be rotated 90 degrees every 5 - 7 minutes or so & I rotated them 3 times before he finally told me, since I couldn't figure it out.
I told him why what he said I failed to do didn't come to mind during my timeout, and admitted that they were just excuses as it is not up to me to read and interpret loopholes in our system.
The rice came out and I started cleaning @ 6:52pm. I texted him at 7:26 that I had finished cleaning everything I could reach while on my knees, and then I waited.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
8:29pm - my knees are screaming and I'm getting concerned that it is almost time to take care of some things at home, so again, I text him and ask to be released.
"Yes" is his response.
Then, "Sorry, I'm working."
I texted back without thinking, "You forgot me?"
"Yes, I did. Are you hurt?"
Again, without thinking I reply that the only thing hurt is my pride.
His reply was very sweet, "I am sorry to have turned away from you. It was pretty unavoidable. You are so loyal you deserve a reward." He then went on to tell me what that would be if we were local. Every girl's dream, let alone any sub.
So I have a reason to feel wronged, right?
No.
My last texts to him shame me. I accused him, through a question, of forgetting me. I told him, ecD, that my pride was hurt.
Shame on me.
I'm sure that he will recognize this, also, when he reviews our texts. And there may be further punishment.
Did you know that after 1 1/2 hours kneeling on rice, you develop blisters?
And the prize? Beautiful bruises.
I was given time to reflect on what my misdeed was before he just told me - all the while wearing clothespins. They were to be rotated 90 degrees every 5 - 7 minutes or so & I rotated them 3 times before he finally told me, since I couldn't figure it out.
I told him why what he said I failed to do didn't come to mind during my timeout, and admitted that they were just excuses as it is not up to me to read and interpret loopholes in our system.
The rice came out and I started cleaning @ 6:52pm. I texted him at 7:26 that I had finished cleaning everything I could reach while on my knees, and then I waited.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
8:29pm - my knees are screaming and I'm getting concerned that it is almost time to take care of some things at home, so again, I text him and ask to be released.
"Yes" is his response.
Then, "Sorry, I'm working."
I texted back without thinking, "You forgot me?"
"Yes, I did. Are you hurt?"
Again, without thinking I reply that the only thing hurt is my pride.
His reply was very sweet, "I am sorry to have turned away from you. It was pretty unavoidable. You are so loyal you deserve a reward." He then went on to tell me what that would be if we were local. Every girl's dream, let alone any sub.
So I have a reason to feel wronged, right?
No.
My last texts to him shame me. I accused him, through a question, of forgetting me. I told him, ecD, that my pride was hurt.
Shame on me.
I'm sure that he will recognize this, also, when he reviews our texts. And there may be further punishment.
Did you know that after 1 1/2 hours kneeling on rice, you develop blisters?
And the prize? Beautiful bruises.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Post Play - Day 3
I'm feeling much better. Each day it is getting easier.
Tuesday I wore my corset for the majority of the day. I can lace it completely shut now, so it isn't as tight as it used to be, but it still provided what I wanted & needed - constriction. It held me up and helped me walk through my day.
When I got home, I was feeling well enough to take it off. Too soon. Within 15 minutes, I was sobbing.
Keeping in touch with ecD has helped. I actually texted him and pleaded with him to tell me this feeling would pass. And of course, he did - and it is.
Tonight we "debriefed". We talked about our overall impressions, what we would do differently, what we will do next. The specifics are personal, so I won't be sharing them. It was a good conversation, though.
Now that my head is clearer, I will start outlining my weekend and hope to get posts up soon.
I've never said it before, but thank you for reading.
Tuesday I wore my corset for the majority of the day. I can lace it completely shut now, so it isn't as tight as it used to be, but it still provided what I wanted & needed - constriction. It held me up and helped me walk through my day.
When I got home, I was feeling well enough to take it off. Too soon. Within 15 minutes, I was sobbing.
Keeping in touch with ecD has helped. I actually texted him and pleaded with him to tell me this feeling would pass. And of course, he did - and it is.
Tonight we "debriefed". We talked about our overall impressions, what we would do differently, what we will do next. The specifics are personal, so I won't be sharing them. It was a good conversation, though.
Now that my head is clearer, I will start outlining my weekend and hope to get posts up soon.
I've never said it before, but thank you for reading.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Aftermath - Coming Down
...there's a song that's been running through my head today. From the moment I pulled away from the curb and left him...
This weekend was my first real in person play. I've dabbled with one person, but not with someone who knows what they're doing or has experience of any sort.
Sub-drop. I was warned about this. I was told what to expect.
I did not expect this.
I'm a wreck. It shows in my writing. It's disjointed, bouncing from thought to thought. It's all connected, though, trust me. Stay with me and it will make sense.
I'm home now. Everything is as I left it. Nothing has changed. Yet I find myself searching for what's out of place, missing.
It's me. I'm out of place. I'm missing. I've changed.
I know this will pass. Hours will go by. Chores will get done. A day or two will pass. And before long I'll be back on track again. How many cups of tea will it take? How many hot baths? Will the box of chocolates he brought me see me through? Will I feel better before the bruises heal so I can trace each one and remember the exact moment the straps hit without feeling sadness?
I have an odd feeling about me. The everyday part of me is saying, "pull yourself together, this is your life. This is who your are" and the sub half is telling me, "but this is who you are, also. You are both." My being separated this weekend and I need to find a way to meld back together...
I need to let the tears that I have been fighting since last night come. I need to let them out. I think that's the first step. I will lace up tomorrow. The corset might help.
This song has nothing to do with things, but I can't get the chorus out of my head.
Come Down In Time
Music: Elton John Lyrics: Bernie Taupin
In the quiet silent seconds I turned off the light switch
And I came down to meet you in the half light the moon left
While a cluster of night jars sang some songs out of tune
A mantle of bright light shone down from a room
Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way
Well I don't know if I should have heard her as yet
But a true love like hers is a hard love to get
And I've walked most all the way and I ain't heard her call
And I'm getting to thinking if she's coming at all
Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way
There are women and women and some hold you tight
While some leave you counting the stars in the night
This weekend was my first real in person play. I've dabbled with one person, but not with someone who knows what they're doing or has experience of any sort.
Sub-drop. I was warned about this. I was told what to expect.
I did not expect this.
I'm a wreck. It shows in my writing. It's disjointed, bouncing from thought to thought. It's all connected, though, trust me. Stay with me and it will make sense.
I'm home now. Everything is as I left it. Nothing has changed. Yet I find myself searching for what's out of place, missing.
It's me. I'm out of place. I'm missing. I've changed.
I know this will pass. Hours will go by. Chores will get done. A day or two will pass. And before long I'll be back on track again. How many cups of tea will it take? How many hot baths? Will the box of chocolates he brought me see me through? Will I feel better before the bruises heal so I can trace each one and remember the exact moment the straps hit without feeling sadness?
I have an odd feeling about me. The everyday part of me is saying, "pull yourself together, this is your life. This is who your are" and the sub half is telling me, "but this is who you are, also. You are both." My being separated this weekend and I need to find a way to meld back together...
I need to let the tears that I have been fighting since last night come. I need to let them out. I think that's the first step. I will lace up tomorrow. The corset might help.
This song has nothing to do with things, but I can't get the chorus out of my head.
Come Down In Time
Music: Elton John Lyrics: Bernie Taupin
In the quiet silent seconds I turned off the light switch
And I came down to meet you in the half light the moon left
While a cluster of night jars sang some songs out of tune
A mantle of bright light shone down from a room
Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way
Well I don't know if I should have heard her as yet
But a true love like hers is a hard love to get
And I've walked most all the way and I ain't heard her call
And I'm getting to thinking if she's coming at all
Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way
There are women and women and some hold you tight
While some leave you counting the stars in the night
Saturday, November 13, 2010
I Want - or - What Every Sub Wants To Say But Can't
I Want.
I know you don't care. You've already made it clear this isn't about what I want.
I want -
non-the-less.
I want -
you to roll over. Caress the welts on my back. Press into one until I gasp.
I want -
you to stretch the length of your body to mine.
I want -
to feel you, like I'm laying my body against a warm rug.
I want -
your hands run along my hip, fingers digging into my flesh. Pulling me into you.
I want -
to feel your hardness against me. Go ahead - feel the wetness between my legs. Part me and enter me from behind. Hold still. Let me savor this. Grind slowly into me. Hold me tight against you. Only when you get close, pull away a bit, press into the small of my back - folding me over more. Move faster. Slam into me.
I want -
to hear you grunt, breathe, swear, cry out, say my name...
I want -
you. Please wake up.
I want.
I know you don't care. You've already made it clear this isn't about what I want.
I want -
non-the-less.
I want -
you to roll over. Caress the welts on my back. Press into one until I gasp.
I want -
you to stretch the length of your body to mine.
I want -
to feel you, like I'm laying my body against a warm rug.
I want -
your hands run along my hip, fingers digging into my flesh. Pulling me into you.
I want -
to feel your hardness against me. Go ahead - feel the wetness between my legs. Part me and enter me from behind. Hold still. Let me savor this. Grind slowly into me. Hold me tight against you. Only when you get close, pull away a bit, press into the small of my back - folding me over more. Move faster. Slam into me.
I want -
to hear you grunt, breathe, swear, cry out, say my name...
I want -
you. Please wake up.
I want.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Anxiety
Is it normal to question your submissiveness?
Boundaries. Limits. Breaking points. Thresholds.
In theory, I know that I have freely made the choice to not say "no". But I also know there is a safety net waiting for me if needed.
What does a Dom want? Complete submission sans contest? Or is there triumph in witnessing that internal struggle each sub must eventually experience when asked to do something or have something done to them that they don't want?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Feeling Sexy
by Kim Addonizio
There's an arrow wound in my amygdala
leaking honey into my parietal lobe.
It makes me want to say things
disallowed from serious poetry
and employ instead the lexicon of porn spam.
I want to make crude statements involving fluids.
Obscenity, expletive, body part.
Imperative verb, possessive pronoun, body part.
I want push to show up at shove's office.
I want to change my address
to last night's wet dream,
I want a plot in that cemetery.
Come and unearth me anytime.
There's an arrow wound in my amygdala
leaking honey into my parietal lobe.
It makes me want to say things
disallowed from serious poetry
and employ instead the lexicon of porn spam.
I want to make crude statements involving fluids.
Obscenity, expletive, body part.
Imperative verb, possessive pronoun, body part.
I want push to show up at shove's office.
I want to change my address
to last night's wet dream,
I want a plot in that cemetery.
Come and unearth me anytime.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)