What goes on inside. It is sometimes lonely.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Just one word
He said to me today that He would like to add one small thing for me to do for Him every day.
He is asking me for something that He knows I can do - and that I know I can do - one word! One word is utterly do-able. It is not weighed down by expectations of long notes, or intense descriptions, or even of a certain theme or topic.
It can be only one word. Every day. At the same time. To Him.
It starts tomorrow at 10 am with this post. More than one word, yes, but I don't think that will surprise Him.
"I want you to write one word for me every day.....one word....at least....what you think.....feel.....same time every day.....You choose the time but not waking or sleeping. If the word you choose needs explanation....then share. Sometimes one word....sometimes 20. What you think....feel.....about.....something in our past may be better.....or something in our future.....What you remember or anticipate.....then....just one word."I have been thinking about this all day long, and I am finding it so intriguing - for a few reasons.
He is asking me for something that He knows I can do - and that I know I can do - one word! One word is utterly do-able. It is not weighed down by expectations of long notes, or intense descriptions, or even of a certain theme or topic.
It can be only one word. Every day. At the same time. To Him.
It starts tomorrow at 10 am with this post. More than one word, yes, but I don't think that will surprise Him.
Monday, September 5, 2011
sun
a softness.
perfect curves from my eyes
for my needs.
softness and firmness.
muscle.
sinew.
taut sometimes, sometimes relaxed.
all the curves.....all the places.....all in my view.
shoulders
neck
arms
wrists
hips
ass
feet
thighs
calves.
all the curves are like roads to me, roads that go nowhere and go everywhere.
I watch her often
if not always.
on her bed.
on her couch.
sitting in a restaurant.
walking.
I watch her always, always her curves melt me.
When we are in the sun, my mind freezes.
the sun brings out something in her,
something from within.
I freeze.
A second.
A minute.
She doesn't ever know - I don't think.
Yet, if she doesn't know.....she feels. ;)
perfect curves from my eyes
for my needs.
softness and firmness.
muscle.
sinew.
taut sometimes, sometimes relaxed.
all the curves.....all the places.....all in my view.
shoulders
neck
arms
wrists
hips
ass
feet
thighs
calves.
all the curves are like roads to me, roads that go nowhere and go everywhere.
I watch her often
if not always.
on her bed.
on her couch.
sitting in a restaurant.
walking.
I watch her always, always her curves melt me.
When we are in the sun, my mind freezes.
the sun brings out something in her,
something from within.
I freeze.
A second.
A minute.
She doesn't ever know - I don't think.
Yet, if she doesn't know.....she feels. ;)
Sunday, September 4, 2011
time
too much time again.
we are still who we are.
and I will write much the next few weeks.
vignettes.
I am so hungry.
so hungry.
vignettes feed me.....have me smile.....
have me,
ready.
kiss
we are still who we are.
and I will write much the next few weeks.
vignettes.
I am so hungry.
so hungry.
vignettes feed me.....have me smile.....
have me,
ready.
kiss
Monday, January 31, 2011
Fantasy confessions
I want to talk about sexual fantasies a little bit, and I know that I am probably saying a few things that I've said before - I apologize if that's the case - but if nothing else, I am consistent!
I really am pretty fascinated with sexual fantasies. It's a part of my own sexuality that I haven't yet truly explored, and which I do wonder about.
I used to have sexual fantasies as a young girl - though I didn't realize that's what they were. I used to lie in bed at night in the dark with my eyes closed, and imagine myself in some situation that was so thrilling, so exciting, so very desirable. The plot often came from Nancy Drew stories, for she was forever being tied up, or abducted, or dragged away, or kidnapped. She would have her head covered, her hands tied, she would be kicking and struggling - but to no avail.
Not much later I started to read the bodice ripper, grocery store check-out-line romance novels in place of Nancy. These fed my fantasies so much more directly, I was utterly entranced with them.
Tall Norwegian princes who eschewed their birthright, but desired the heroine beyond all thought. Elegant dark-skinned arabs who rode white horses and lived in billowing white tents. Misunderstood cowboys who roamed the prairies. Men with foreign accents who traveled the world. These men would love only one woman, they would grab her or snatch her or take her or steal her. They would tie her up, drag her away. They would toss her on their horses or throw her in their cars or hijack her train.
It didn't matter just how it was all done, but in the stories I loved, the woman was always taken forcefully by the man who wanted her. Eventually in these stories, it all came down to love. She was always tamed by love for her man.
And this is where all my fantasies germinate. This place, this idea, this sentiment and construct is where all my fantasies today still begin.
Abduction. It's a fantasy that has been a part of my personal, private world since I was a girl. The root of it hasn't changed.
Back then, it was always a book or novel or story I was telling myself - that I knew had a happy ending - no matter what transpired in the meanwhile.
It's the same today. I fantasize about abduction, but always under the auspices of Sir - Sir being the happy ending for anything I might experience in the meanwhile.
Sir is essentially my own, real and true, arab prince on a horse, cowboy with a gun, and knight with a sword.
I truly believe in real life and in fantasy that He will take care of me utterly, and be there for me no matter what hardship may intervene for us both.
He is the reason I can have vibrant fantasies of my own today - because He is real, and because I am weak with the separation of fantasy and reality.
It's not that I don't understand the difference at all - it's that I feel, underneath it all, that if fantasy doesn't have the slightest chance of being reality - then it's not worth fantasizing about.
I know it's not really the usual way of thinking about things... but then, I am not usually someone who thinks about things in the usual ways.
I really am pretty fascinated with sexual fantasies. It's a part of my own sexuality that I haven't yet truly explored, and which I do wonder about.
I used to have sexual fantasies as a young girl - though I didn't realize that's what they were. I used to lie in bed at night in the dark with my eyes closed, and imagine myself in some situation that was so thrilling, so exciting, so very desirable. The plot often came from Nancy Drew stories, for she was forever being tied up, or abducted, or dragged away, or kidnapped. She would have her head covered, her hands tied, she would be kicking and struggling - but to no avail.
Not much later I started to read the bodice ripper, grocery store check-out-line romance novels in place of Nancy. These fed my fantasies so much more directly, I was utterly entranced with them.
Tall Norwegian princes who eschewed their birthright, but desired the heroine beyond all thought. Elegant dark-skinned arabs who rode white horses and lived in billowing white tents. Misunderstood cowboys who roamed the prairies. Men with foreign accents who traveled the world. These men would love only one woman, they would grab her or snatch her or take her or steal her. They would tie her up, drag her away. They would toss her on their horses or throw her in their cars or hijack her train.
It didn't matter just how it was all done, but in the stories I loved, the woman was always taken forcefully by the man who wanted her. Eventually in these stories, it all came down to love. She was always tamed by love for her man.
And this is where all my fantasies germinate. This place, this idea, this sentiment and construct is where all my fantasies today still begin.
Abduction. It's a fantasy that has been a part of my personal, private world since I was a girl. The root of it hasn't changed.
Back then, it was always a book or novel or story I was telling myself - that I knew had a happy ending - no matter what transpired in the meanwhile.
It's the same today. I fantasize about abduction, but always under the auspices of Sir - Sir being the happy ending for anything I might experience in the meanwhile.
Sir is essentially my own, real and true, arab prince on a horse, cowboy with a gun, and knight with a sword.
I truly believe in real life and in fantasy that He will take care of me utterly, and be there for me no matter what hardship may intervene for us both.
He is the reason I can have vibrant fantasies of my own today - because He is real, and because I am weak with the separation of fantasy and reality.
It's not that I don't understand the difference at all - it's that I feel, underneath it all, that if fantasy doesn't have the slightest chance of being reality - then it's not worth fantasizing about.
I know it's not really the usual way of thinking about things... but then, I am not usually someone who thinks about things in the usual ways.
January is over
Tonight January is over.
And not a moment too fucking soon.
Sir sent me a note the other day, asking me to surprise Him with my writing.
His choice of the word 'surprise' struck me. It's true, I have not written much lately, and a post would be a surprise.
I feel bad for being negligent. And to be truthful, I don't think there is any excuse for me not taking steps to please Him. So, I don't believe I have any defense for my lack of performance, where I could have given to Him. I can, however, describe a bit of how I've been feeling, which might mitigate my guilt just a little.
I just texted Him actually, saying that I am writing like an asthmatic breathes after a 10K run through the daffodil fields. I made myself smile a little and it's easier to write when you're smiling.
January is not a great month for me. This January I have felt as if I am swimming leisurely in an undertow - I am trying, but always seeming to get farther behind.
I want very much to have the drive and motivation and inspiration and creativity that I need to run my life, but instead I feel like the rosemary in my garden. For what you can see of me, I'm brown, brittle, limp and dead. Underneath, I am curled in the fetal position in the dark cover of dirt, just waiting for the spring sun to warmly signal that it's time to strive, grow and open up again.
But for Sir, I want to be a vibrant, verdant, opulent, redolent flower all year long.
I think to myself that perhaps I've been missing something. Perhaps, He does see a flower blooming all year long, and what I need to do is try harder to see myself through His eyes. I shall have to think about that more.
Despite my tendency to bury myself deeper and deeper in the dirt until spring demands that I get to work, Sir does often make me feel the way the sun does. He excites me, thrills me, chills me, stirs me, ignites and catalyzes me.
His energy feeds me. His lust thrills me. His enthusiasm shakes me. His insistence commands me. His needs motivate me. His desires enflame me. His intellect ignites me. His fantasies boil my own and His passion makes my body burn in the cold.
February is here tonight, and the worst of the darkness is past. I want to swim beyond the undertow and glide forward into both familiar and unfamiliar places. I want to do that with Sir.
Even in the deepest darkness, I still see His light.
And not a moment too fucking soon.
Sir sent me a note the other day, asking me to surprise Him with my writing.
His choice of the word 'surprise' struck me. It's true, I have not written much lately, and a post would be a surprise.
I feel bad for being negligent. And to be truthful, I don't think there is any excuse for me not taking steps to please Him. So, I don't believe I have any defense for my lack of performance, where I could have given to Him. I can, however, describe a bit of how I've been feeling, which might mitigate my guilt just a little.
I just texted Him actually, saying that I am writing like an asthmatic breathes after a 10K run through the daffodil fields. I made myself smile a little and it's easier to write when you're smiling.
January is not a great month for me. This January I have felt as if I am swimming leisurely in an undertow - I am trying, but always seeming to get farther behind.
I want very much to have the drive and motivation and inspiration and creativity that I need to run my life, but instead I feel like the rosemary in my garden. For what you can see of me, I'm brown, brittle, limp and dead. Underneath, I am curled in the fetal position in the dark cover of dirt, just waiting for the spring sun to warmly signal that it's time to strive, grow and open up again.
But for Sir, I want to be a vibrant, verdant, opulent, redolent flower all year long.
I think to myself that perhaps I've been missing something. Perhaps, He does see a flower blooming all year long, and what I need to do is try harder to see myself through His eyes. I shall have to think about that more.
Despite my tendency to bury myself deeper and deeper in the dirt until spring demands that I get to work, Sir does often make me feel the way the sun does. He excites me, thrills me, chills me, stirs me, ignites and catalyzes me.
His energy feeds me. His lust thrills me. His enthusiasm shakes me. His insistence commands me. His needs motivate me. His desires enflame me. His intellect ignites me. His fantasies boil my own and His passion makes my body burn in the cold.
February is here tonight, and the worst of the darkness is past. I want to swim beyond the undertow and glide forward into both familiar and unfamiliar places. I want to do that with Sir.
Even in the deepest darkness, I still see His light.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
From twenty to one
I lay there on the sofa with my head in His lap and His hand between my legs and He told me He would could down from twenty before I could come. That seemed plenty long enough until He said that He’d describe an image in His mind of the two of us between every number.
I knew it would be better if I could just relax and listen to Him and wait until the numbers got closer to one, but every time I was close to letting my muscles lay quiet, His fingers would press gently or hard, right on my clit through the fabric of my jeans.
I wish He had let me know that He would want me to write to Him about the images He drew as I lay there listening and feeling. I know there was much He said that misted over me as I struggled with the desire to come under His hand.
He talked to me about another girl with us, and the images she might make with us. He described her licking His cock clean before He slid it back inside me. He talked about her sitting there and watching us. Quiet.
He talked about another man there too.
He talked about me watching Him hurt another girl, and about me helping Him with another girl. I floated around His voice, letting His images develop in my mind and letting my body respond to His touch. My eyes closed, my mind was completely full of only Him and what He put into it.
Once, or maybe twice, I found myself on the verge of orgasm – so close, just poised to tumble over the edge, but His voice stopped me.
His voice is like water that undulates beneath me, soothing me to sleep, or that snatches me from quietude and smothers my breath.
I do not remember at all what number one’s image was – but He did allow me to come finally, and I came so hard, under His hand, soaking my jeans and finishing in totally exhaustion.
I knew it would be better if I could just relax and listen to Him and wait until the numbers got closer to one, but every time I was close to letting my muscles lay quiet, His fingers would press gently or hard, right on my clit through the fabric of my jeans.
I wish He had let me know that He would want me to write to Him about the images He drew as I lay there listening and feeling. I know there was much He said that misted over me as I struggled with the desire to come under His hand.
He talked to me about another girl with us, and the images she might make with us. He described her licking His cock clean before He slid it back inside me. He talked about her sitting there and watching us. Quiet.
He talked about another man there too.
He talked about me watching Him hurt another girl, and about me helping Him with another girl. I floated around His voice, letting His images develop in my mind and letting my body respond to His touch. My eyes closed, my mind was completely full of only Him and what He put into it.
Once, or maybe twice, I found myself on the verge of orgasm – so close, just poised to tumble over the edge, but His voice stopped me.
His voice is like water that undulates beneath me, soothing me to sleep, or that snatches me from quietude and smothers my breath.
I do not remember at all what number one’s image was – but He did allow me to come finally, and I came so hard, under His hand, soaking my jeans and finishing in totally exhaustion.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Sweet
it is a new year.
IT IS A NEW YEAR!!
:)
I am a happy Sir today, as I so often am, thinking of my girl.
Last night the thought of my pretty slut mixing me a martini, clad scantily (scantily....onomatopoeia at its finest) and enduring my sexual comments as she poured, dispensed, shook (no stirring) and tested my drink.....made me very hard.
She learned early that making me smile, and having me hard, is by default making me happy. And so last night I was happy like I am right now.
The sweetness of her demeanor when she has prepared so well for me.....is noted, etched, branded....each time into my mind. She is happy. She is peaceful. She is excited. She is proud. She is so fucking hot. She does not always feel that part but it makes it no less real as she attends.
I love you girl.
I love you.
I love you.
Sweetness.
I will have my girl prepare for me this week, less than two days away.
She will prepare sweetly, attend to my detailed instructions.
Attend. (yes, tangents galore this new year) What a powerful and sensual word. Attend. She does.
I wish to see and feel her sweetness.
I will give her sweetness.
My pretty slut.
I am smiling wide.
your Sir
IT IS A NEW YEAR!!
:)
I am a happy Sir today, as I so often am, thinking of my girl.
Last night the thought of my pretty slut mixing me a martini, clad scantily (scantily....onomatopoeia at its finest) and enduring my sexual comments as she poured, dispensed, shook (no stirring) and tested my drink.....made me very hard.
She learned early that making me smile, and having me hard, is by default making me happy. And so last night I was happy like I am right now.
The sweetness of her demeanor when she has prepared so well for me.....is noted, etched, branded....each time into my mind. She is happy. She is peaceful. She is excited. She is proud. She is so fucking hot. She does not always feel that part but it makes it no less real as she attends.
I love you girl.
I love you.
I love you.
Sweetness.
I will have my girl prepare for me this week, less than two days away.
She will prepare sweetly, attend to my detailed instructions.
Attend. (yes, tangents galore this new year) What a powerful and sensual word. Attend. She does.
I wish to see and feel her sweetness.
I will give her sweetness.
My pretty slut.
I am smiling wide.
your Sir
Saturday, December 18, 2010
A new year imminent - at my master's feet
I love His short notes so much, and when I read one like the one below, it makes me realize anew how important they are and how I must give more of the same to Him!
I am thinking tonight about the new year, just over a week away. I get giddy sometimes with the possibilities a January 1st suggests - all the new chances, all the new adventures, all the new ideas, surprises, experiences and changes.
I am also light heartedly charmed with New Years Resolutions, and I always try to make some, and sometimes try to keep a few as well.
One new years resolution on my list for 2011, is to write more to Him, for Him, for us, for Sir. To make this resolution a reality, I have to do more than just remind myself to do it - I have to teach myself that a little bit is okay, and even good. I have to learn that it truly is more important to be present than to be perfect. I have to learn that some of what I have to give to Him is not for me to value first - but simply to give of myself and trust that it is valuable to Him.
That's one new year's resolution.
Another one is to push the boundaries just a little, and be more creative and even... proactive with us. This resolution is a process rather than an achievement, but I will know when milestones have been reached.
I'll tell you all the details, you can judge as well. :0)
I think resolutions should have some kind of accountability in order to be considered as serious commitments - so I suggest .... for writing to Him more frequently, that I must post at least once a week, no matter how brief or on what topic. But to Him. Once a week.
As for the other, it's harder to quantify... but I will reach out past my confidence in success, and say that my proactive activity will be to find a woman to play with us, and create a day or evening of very naughty play. Sir will direct the play of course, but I will arrange everything else.
There! Now I have two real goals with real measurement of success. They're my own goals for myself - so it is only me who is accountable for my success, and only me who will sit in the box of shame if I fail.
I do so hate the box of shame.
The new year beckons, and I hope to start it with joy and laughter and the clinking of glasses and my lips on His feet.
I am thinking tonight about the new year, just over a week away. I get giddy sometimes with the possibilities a January 1st suggests - all the new chances, all the new adventures, all the new ideas, surprises, experiences and changes.
I am also light heartedly charmed with New Years Resolutions, and I always try to make some, and sometimes try to keep a few as well.
One new years resolution on my list for 2011, is to write more to Him, for Him, for us, for Sir. To make this resolution a reality, I have to do more than just remind myself to do it - I have to teach myself that a little bit is okay, and even good. I have to learn that it truly is more important to be present than to be perfect. I have to learn that some of what I have to give to Him is not for me to value first - but simply to give of myself and trust that it is valuable to Him.
That's one new year's resolution.
Another one is to push the boundaries just a little, and be more creative and even... proactive with us. This resolution is a process rather than an achievement, but I will know when milestones have been reached.
I'll tell you all the details, you can judge as well. :0)
I think resolutions should have some kind of accountability in order to be considered as serious commitments - so I suggest .... for writing to Him more frequently, that I must post at least once a week, no matter how brief or on what topic. But to Him. Once a week.
As for the other, it's harder to quantify... but I will reach out past my confidence in success, and say that my proactive activity will be to find a woman to play with us, and create a day or evening of very naughty play. Sir will direct the play of course, but I will arrange everything else.
There! Now I have two real goals with real measurement of success. They're my own goals for myself - so it is only me who is accountable for my success, and only me who will sit in the box of shame if I fail.
I do so hate the box of shame.
The new year beckons, and I hope to start it with joy and laughter and the clinking of glasses and my lips on His feet.
Friday, December 10, 2010
mid-morning plans
alone, in the office.
so many times thinking of my girl.
so many times a note should be left here for her. ;)
so here we are.
today I see her, just a few hours, it will be mid-morning.
I am hungry.
I read her posts recently.
mmmmmmmmmmm.
searching for a submissive girl to join us.
does she think I can handle that?
;)
I have news for her today.....along that sensual....nasty? front.
We will soon be comfortable.
she will be sitting with me, close. My hand will be in her hair, tight.
her legs will be spread, slightly. her eyes will be closed, nervously.
her lips will be parted, happily. her hands will be wandering, hungrily.
her heart will be pounding, anxiously. her cunt will be tingling, uncontrollably.
her soul will be filled, completely.
I believe.
I trust.
I am confident.
her soul will be filled.
my need to share with her.
feelings. experiences. sweet. nasty.
time has been spent, much time, and rewards for us.
she will sit.
breathe.
listen.
we will be one as we so often are.
and then I will enjoy her.
so much to share.
this was supposed to be a quick note.
as with everything about her.....it is hard to stop. :)
your Sir
so many times thinking of my girl.
so many times a note should be left here for her. ;)
so here we are.
today I see her, just a few hours, it will be mid-morning.
I am hungry.
I read her posts recently.
mmmmmmmmmmm.
searching for a submissive girl to join us.
does she think I can handle that?
;)
I have news for her today.....along that sensual....nasty? front.
We will soon be comfortable.
she will be sitting with me, close. My hand will be in her hair, tight.
her legs will be spread, slightly. her eyes will be closed, nervously.
her lips will be parted, happily. her hands will be wandering, hungrily.
her heart will be pounding, anxiously. her cunt will be tingling, uncontrollably.
her soul will be filled, completely.
I believe.
I trust.
I am confident.
her soul will be filled.
my need to share with her.
feelings. experiences. sweet. nasty.
time has been spent, much time, and rewards for us.
she will sit.
breathe.
listen.
we will be one as we so often are.
and then I will enjoy her.
so much to share.
this was supposed to be a quick note.
as with everything about her.....it is hard to stop. :)
your Sir
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
It's name is Hitachi
My Sir just recently gave me a present.
And its name is Hitachi.
This is the most utilitarian looking sex toy I’ve ever seen (aside from produce), but holy wow, it has to rank up there in the top…. say…. One?
I am fairly sure that Sir wants to know about how HitachiSan and I are doing, and since there’s no way I would be able to actually tell Him, well, here we are.
I am still in the early research and fact finding stages of my new relationship, but I’ll tell you what I know so far.
I swear to you I am not exaggerating. I can see how this vibrator might not be for everyone – particularly since I really have no idea (except from watching porn and you know how real that is) how other women masturbate.
For me, I tend to get into a habit – which is solely directed toward speedy gratification. I do what I know works, and I don’t play around or experiment much.
I think privately that I probably have a few hang-ups about it (diddling), and that everyone else probably does it much better than I do.
HitachiSan looks like it might mix things up some – what a blast. I am already finding out new things – for example, multiple orgasms – or maybe one would call them sequential orgasms – which I never do when I masturbate. I have a really great one, and I call it a night.
Also, I’ve always felt that I had to be “in the mood” to masturbate – but with the HitachiSan, I might be able to do it when I don’t think I’m in the mood at all.
I’m not at all sure how to express this, but masturbating, I have always felt as if I am both rushing and sort of pushing to my orgasm. I think with HitachiSan I might be able to learn to forget about pushing to get to orgasm, and instead learn to relax more and just know that it’s coming. That, I imagine, would make a more sensual masturbation experience, leading to who knows what? Perhaps even fantasizing at the same time.
That’s all I can spit out at the moment, but I will try to say more soon – after more intense research of course.
And its name is Hitachi.
This is the most utilitarian looking sex toy I’ve ever seen (aside from produce), but holy wow, it has to rank up there in the top…. say…. One?
I am fairly sure that Sir wants to know about how HitachiSan and I are doing, and since there’s no way I would be able to actually tell Him, well, here we are.
I am still in the early research and fact finding stages of my new relationship, but I’ll tell you what I know so far.
The best masturbation orgasm(s) I have ever had. Bar none.
I swear to you I am not exaggerating. I can see how this vibrator might not be for everyone – particularly since I really have no idea (except from watching porn and you know how real that is) how other women masturbate.
For me, I tend to get into a habit – which is solely directed toward speedy gratification. I do what I know works, and I don’t play around or experiment much.
I think privately that I probably have a few hang-ups about it (diddling), and that everyone else probably does it much better than I do.
HitachiSan looks like it might mix things up some – what a blast. I am already finding out new things – for example, multiple orgasms – or maybe one would call them sequential orgasms – which I never do when I masturbate. I have a really great one, and I call it a night.
Also, I’ve always felt that I had to be “in the mood” to masturbate – but with the HitachiSan, I might be able to do it when I don’t think I’m in the mood at all.
I’m not at all sure how to express this, but masturbating, I have always felt as if I am both rushing and sort of pushing to my orgasm. I think with HitachiSan I might be able to learn to forget about pushing to get to orgasm, and instead learn to relax more and just know that it’s coming. That, I imagine, would make a more sensual masturbation experience, leading to who knows what? Perhaps even fantasizing at the same time.
That’s all I can spit out at the moment, but I will try to say more soon – after more intense research of course.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Something new under the sun
This evening I have a large and mostly red with a little purple mark just above my left nipple.
It is shaped like His mouth, and it hurt a lot while He was administering it.
I don't remember Him ever biting just like that, leaving a mark just like this one.
My memory might not serve me, but I don't remember His ever hurting my nipples quite as He did today.
It got me thinking about newness - how amazed I am that after five years, we still find newness all the time, and there is much more to be found. It is true that Sir is a genius at inventing new ways to do things, to see things and to experience things, but it's more than that too. It's something about sharing new parts of ourselves with each other, opening up new bits and pieces of our dreams and fantasies and imagination.
I am actually beginning to wonder if we will still be finding new positions and locations and titillations when we are rolling about in wheelchairs.
In this spirit of novelty, I have decided to try something I've never done - which is to search for and find a submissive woman who would like to join the two of us for a playdate. We have played with others before, but Sir has always been in charge of finding and interviewing and meeting potential lascivious friends. I have always been happy with Him taking on that responsibility, and I feel utterly safe with any choices He might make with regard to friends. In fact, frankly, I might be more confident in His ability in that area than I am in mine.
However - one must forge onward! Cheers for exploration and trying new things!
I am getting right on it.
It is shaped like His mouth, and it hurt a lot while He was administering it.
I don't remember Him ever biting just like that, leaving a mark just like this one.
My memory might not serve me, but I don't remember His ever hurting my nipples quite as He did today.
It got me thinking about newness - how amazed I am that after five years, we still find newness all the time, and there is much more to be found. It is true that Sir is a genius at inventing new ways to do things, to see things and to experience things, but it's more than that too. It's something about sharing new parts of ourselves with each other, opening up new bits and pieces of our dreams and fantasies and imagination.
I am actually beginning to wonder if we will still be finding new positions and locations and titillations when we are rolling about in wheelchairs.
In this spirit of novelty, I have decided to try something I've never done - which is to search for and find a submissive woman who would like to join the two of us for a playdate. We have played with others before, but Sir has always been in charge of finding and interviewing and meeting potential lascivious friends. I have always been happy with Him taking on that responsibility, and I feel utterly safe with any choices He might make with regard to friends. In fact, frankly, I might be more confident in His ability in that area than I am in mine.
However - one must forge onward! Cheers for exploration and trying new things!
I am getting right on it.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Right through pain to peace
Before He left, he created pain, and pleasure, and intimacy, and passion, and submission and Dominance and lasting red marks.
For both of us, I know it was important to leave me with some marks on my skin to touch and admire as He flew away.
What He writes sometimes, is so eloquent and lovely that my fingers are struck dumb and I can't say anything in response.
It's true what He says - I don't ever know how He will decide to hurt me, how much, how long or with what.
That is exactly how it is meant to be for us, and how it must be, and how I cherish it.
He tied me tightly to the bench, bent over from the waist, so that I was comfortable, but barely able to move arms or legs or body.
It's very very hard to talk about or describe. It is, truly, the most intimate I have ever been with anyone at all.
He has to tie me tight, because if He chooses to hurt me beyond my ability to endure willingly, I will thrash about with all of my desire for the pain to stop.
What I absolutely and utterly need from Him, is for Him to desire and to demand that I go beyond my own ability to physically submit.
Once I can't control myself and behave as I want to, I do ask Him to stop. I do beg Him to stop. I tell Him honestly that I can't go on any more, and each time, I believe just a little, that saying this will make a difference.
It hurts, and I don't know when it might stop, or how it might go on, or when the next strike from the cane or the cord will connect with my skin.
The cord He used this time was more unbearable I think than anything. I thought the cane was the worst, but I think the cord is worse than that. It's a starburst of pain that seems completely unbearable. The pain stops quickly after impact, but if He strikes me in quick succession, for any period of time, I cannot have any control at all.
I don't know how long it takes when I lose the controlled acquiescence and start begging, to when I finally reach a new place, and stop resisting all together.
Maybe He knows this, and controls how long I stay in each place. This I don't know.
How long I stay in that place of begging and thrashing and wailing is something I can't control at all - being there, and then moving into the place of utter peace and submission is something that I experience almost as if I were watching. This is experience for me is not something I can make at all, but only something He can create for us.
This place of perfect and utter submission is almost magic. I would like to spend more time there.
I lay there, limply relaxed when He stopped making thin curved marks on my skin. He went out of the room for a while, and I remember feeling so blissfully content. In that place I know without any question in my mind that I have pleased Him. I know also that I have given Him every thing I could possibly give. None of the doubt that sometimes intrudes, no embarrassment or inadequacy. I float there, luxuriating in being His, and being perfectly that.
There is even more involved there for me... so much of it is hard to convey or even form words for the feelings. Trust, yes. That is the most paramount part of it all for me, but still there is more. It is a willingness to become open in a way that I have never been before, and cannot be without His help. It is truly my happiness and soulful satisfaction that I can give this to Him for both of us. It is both freedom from one's own thought, deliberation, inquisition - and a more profound knowledge of the same.
I thank Him for all of this.
My Sir.
For both of us, I know it was important to leave me with some marks on my skin to touch and admire as He flew away.
What He writes sometimes, is so eloquent and lovely that my fingers are struck dumb and I can't say anything in response.
It's true what He says - I don't ever know how He will decide to hurt me, how much, how long or with what.
That is exactly how it is meant to be for us, and how it must be, and how I cherish it.
He tied me tightly to the bench, bent over from the waist, so that I was comfortable, but barely able to move arms or legs or body.
It's very very hard to talk about or describe. It is, truly, the most intimate I have ever been with anyone at all.
He has to tie me tight, because if He chooses to hurt me beyond my ability to endure willingly, I will thrash about with all of my desire for the pain to stop.
What I absolutely and utterly need from Him, is for Him to desire and to demand that I go beyond my own ability to physically submit.
Once I can't control myself and behave as I want to, I do ask Him to stop. I do beg Him to stop. I tell Him honestly that I can't go on any more, and each time, I believe just a little, that saying this will make a difference.
It hurts, and I don't know when it might stop, or how it might go on, or when the next strike from the cane or the cord will connect with my skin.
The cord He used this time was more unbearable I think than anything. I thought the cane was the worst, but I think the cord is worse than that. It's a starburst of pain that seems completely unbearable. The pain stops quickly after impact, but if He strikes me in quick succession, for any period of time, I cannot have any control at all.
I don't know how long it takes when I lose the controlled acquiescence and start begging, to when I finally reach a new place, and stop resisting all together.
Maybe He knows this, and controls how long I stay in each place. This I don't know.
How long I stay in that place of begging and thrashing and wailing is something I can't control at all - being there, and then moving into the place of utter peace and submission is something that I experience almost as if I were watching. This is experience for me is not something I can make at all, but only something He can create for us.
This place of perfect and utter submission is almost magic. I would like to spend more time there.
I lay there, limply relaxed when He stopped making thin curved marks on my skin. He went out of the room for a while, and I remember feeling so blissfully content. In that place I know without any question in my mind that I have pleased Him. I know also that I have given Him every thing I could possibly give. None of the doubt that sometimes intrudes, no embarrassment or inadequacy. I float there, luxuriating in being His, and being perfectly that.
There is even more involved there for me... so much of it is hard to convey or even form words for the feelings. Trust, yes. That is the most paramount part of it all for me, but still there is more. It is a willingness to become open in a way that I have never been before, and cannot be without His help. It is truly my happiness and soulful satisfaction that I can give this to Him for both of us. It is both freedom from one's own thought, deliberation, inquisition - and a more profound knowledge of the same.
I thank Him for all of this.
My Sir.
Monday, October 11, 2010
peace and perfection
Where do I start tonight as I poise my fingertips to my blackberry keypad?
So often I simply share thoughts in a linear manner with my girl, with those who read what we share to each other. I convey them in ways that sometimes I don’t plan out. They just come.
Poetic. In rare cases I may create a series of words that resemble such. I would like to try more.
Rushed. My words have been rushed for many reasons here and there. A promise to my girl I did not wish to break. Life occurring and impeding my enjoyment of sharing.
Hungry. My words a mirror for the primal instinct inside me, for my girl
Slow. Taking my time because it is how the world should be when I enjoy the presence of her, in mind or body.
Warm. My face or body reacts as I write at times and warm is how I feel.
Dark. We go with each other to amazing places that few people want to go to, and fewer get to see up close. There are so many more places to go with my girl.
Today, as much as my mind wishes to share everything I have a recurring set of images and feelings that have affected me recently at bedtime, upon awakening and throughout each day. The overwhelming sensory experience that I have when my girl has been broken to my wish.
This has happened many times, my girl being broken down through pleasure, through humiliation/embarrassment and through pain. Her struggle as she fights with her mind, her body, her Sir. I am sure she fights the air, the world, the universe at these times as well.
She has learned. She has learned some. She has learned much.
When I am in profound earnest to show her, to take from her, I am so aware. Every sense is poised to revel in what she gives me.
Her struggle. I do not need to confess this as it is something I profess openly.
Her struggle is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Before I left for many weeks apart from her on a trip, I took the time to etch more into my brain with her struggle. This struggle was going to be through pain, and I smiled for days.
The entire experience was wonderful, the conversation, the binding items, the soft bench I would fasten her to. The smiles. The nervousness. She knew I was going to hurt her. She never knows…..how much.
Sometimes I am not perfectly sure.
Once bound to the bench with chain, leather and rope…….the time was fluid.
I remember.
I remember always.
The flogger, my hand, my fingers, my cock. All used to create emotion, sound and feeling for us.
In and on my lovely girl.
Her struggle. To listen. To obey. To accept. To feel.
I remember.
What I wish to share above all with this note to my girl is my experience as I break her.
I began to use a very painful cord on her ass and her thighs. It is very painful and I can only share now as I do at the time I hurt my girl, how amazing she is. How fucking amazing.
As I build the intensity of pleasure or humiliation or pain to the degree where she physically, mentally and verbally fights me I wait sometimes. because, as in her demonstration and her words she will say
“I can’t”
This Is a beautiful phrase. I smile when I hear it.
My cock gets so hard and I smile.
“I can’t!”
This day as she was bound to the bench, I knew I would break her again.
I continued with the harsh cord.
Telephone cord.
Simple. Beautiful with its simplicity, with the sound, the marks, the impact.
Fuck yes.
I remember.
Over and over.
Consistent in voice, cadence, force.
Relentless. Unrelenting.
Nothing my girl can do or say will affect what I wish to experience together with her.
She struggles. She cries out. She begs.
My girl begs.
“I can’t”
Time moves forward in an instant, while it stops for each second.
Every twitch of her legs, back muscles, wrists, hair, neck, biceps, triceps, calves, toes.
I am amazed with how her whole body in concert fights me, while her whole body in concert works to accept.
Her struggle.
Finally, in perfect time.
My amazing girl does not twitch. Her body rests on the bench. Her breathing is relaxed. Her arms dangle from her sides. Her head rests on the soft padding. Her ass is unclenched. Her skin is supple.
I hurt my girl and she is at peace. It is dark. I do love to hurt my girl.
She floats.
She is in her place, perfectly.
This is a place for her and I to go together. We can only be there holding hands in the darkest and sweetest of ways.
We can only be there if we trust each other in the most perfect of ways.
Time stops.
I hurt her. Again. Repeatedly. Marks all over her.
She breathes.
She is still.
I am entranced, I am honoured, I am happy, I am hard, I am hungry, I am her Sir.
She is my pretty girl.
She is mine.
When I choose to stop, it is when I feel she has given me all she can. I reward both of us with pleasure.
Wetness. Deep wetness.
My girl is peaceful. She accepts.
I know how happy she is. She has given me what I wish. She has felt what she dreams of.
Nothing exists when she cums but perfection.
I get to see this. I get to feel this.
I am a lucky man.
I am her Sir.
This is still, a beginning.
I break my girl through pain. It has been on my mind so much.
There are other ways and I am so happy with what is on our horizon.
There is so much more to feel.
Kiss.
I can feel her lips and tongue on my feet.
Good girl.
Sir
So often I simply share thoughts in a linear manner with my girl, with those who read what we share to each other. I convey them in ways that sometimes I don’t plan out. They just come.
Poetic. In rare cases I may create a series of words that resemble such. I would like to try more.
Rushed. My words have been rushed for many reasons here and there. A promise to my girl I did not wish to break. Life occurring and impeding my enjoyment of sharing.
Hungry. My words a mirror for the primal instinct inside me, for my girl
Slow. Taking my time because it is how the world should be when I enjoy the presence of her, in mind or body.
Warm. My face or body reacts as I write at times and warm is how I feel.
Dark. We go with each other to amazing places that few people want to go to, and fewer get to see up close. There are so many more places to go with my girl.
Today, as much as my mind wishes to share everything I have a recurring set of images and feelings that have affected me recently at bedtime, upon awakening and throughout each day. The overwhelming sensory experience that I have when my girl has been broken to my wish.
This has happened many times, my girl being broken down through pleasure, through humiliation/embarrassment and through pain. Her struggle as she fights with her mind, her body, her Sir. I am sure she fights the air, the world, the universe at these times as well.
She has learned. She has learned some. She has learned much.
When I am in profound earnest to show her, to take from her, I am so aware. Every sense is poised to revel in what she gives me.
Her struggle. I do not need to confess this as it is something I profess openly.
Her struggle is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Before I left for many weeks apart from her on a trip, I took the time to etch more into my brain with her struggle. This struggle was going to be through pain, and I smiled for days.
The entire experience was wonderful, the conversation, the binding items, the soft bench I would fasten her to. The smiles. The nervousness. She knew I was going to hurt her. She never knows…..how much.
Sometimes I am not perfectly sure.
Once bound to the bench with chain, leather and rope…….the time was fluid.
I remember.
I remember always.
The flogger, my hand, my fingers, my cock. All used to create emotion, sound and feeling for us.
In and on my lovely girl.
Her struggle. To listen. To obey. To accept. To feel.
I remember.
What I wish to share above all with this note to my girl is my experience as I break her.
I began to use a very painful cord on her ass and her thighs. It is very painful and I can only share now as I do at the time I hurt my girl, how amazing she is. How fucking amazing.
As I build the intensity of pleasure or humiliation or pain to the degree where she physically, mentally and verbally fights me I wait sometimes. because, as in her demonstration and her words she will say
“I can’t”
This Is a beautiful phrase. I smile when I hear it.
My cock gets so hard and I smile.
“I can’t!”
This day as she was bound to the bench, I knew I would break her again.
I continued with the harsh cord.
Telephone cord.
Simple. Beautiful with its simplicity, with the sound, the marks, the impact.
Fuck yes.
I remember.
Over and over.
Consistent in voice, cadence, force.
Relentless. Unrelenting.
Nothing my girl can do or say will affect what I wish to experience together with her.
She struggles. She cries out. She begs.
My girl begs.
“I can’t”
Time moves forward in an instant, while it stops for each second.
Every twitch of her legs, back muscles, wrists, hair, neck, biceps, triceps, calves, toes.
I am amazed with how her whole body in concert fights me, while her whole body in concert works to accept.
Her struggle.
Finally, in perfect time.
My amazing girl does not twitch. Her body rests on the bench. Her breathing is relaxed. Her arms dangle from her sides. Her head rests on the soft padding. Her ass is unclenched. Her skin is supple.
I hurt my girl and she is at peace. It is dark. I do love to hurt my girl.
She floats.
She is in her place, perfectly.
This is a place for her and I to go together. We can only be there holding hands in the darkest and sweetest of ways.
We can only be there if we trust each other in the most perfect of ways.
Time stops.
I hurt her. Again. Repeatedly. Marks all over her.
She breathes.
She is still.
I am entranced, I am honoured, I am happy, I am hard, I am hungry, I am her Sir.
She is my pretty girl.
She is mine.
When I choose to stop, it is when I feel she has given me all she can. I reward both of us with pleasure.
Wetness. Deep wetness.
My girl is peaceful. She accepts.
I know how happy she is. She has given me what I wish. She has felt what she dreams of.
Nothing exists when she cums but perfection.
I get to see this. I get to feel this.
I am a lucky man.
I am her Sir.
This is still, a beginning.
I break my girl through pain. It has been on my mind so much.
There are other ways and I am so happy with what is on our horizon.
There is so much more to feel.
Kiss.
I can feel her lips and tongue on my feet.
Good girl.
Sir
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Always wondering
Sometimes, I do have the urge to spill out my feelings, my emotions to Him, without editing them, without waiting and letting them settle.
What if I were to talk to Him when I feel alone and unsure and confused?
What if I were to ask Him about some of the things that I wonder?
I wonder whether you think about the future. I wonder if you wish you could meet my family. I wonder if you wonder what my boys think of you? I wonder what your mother is like. I wonder what your siblings would think of me. I wonder, only rarely, what it would be like to be married to you.
I wonder as little as I am capable of allowing myself to wonder.
But then I wonder some more. I wonder what it would be like for my Dad to know you. I wonder what you would think of my sister.
I wonder if you would come on a road trip with me.
I wonder what it would be like to sit on the sofa at night while we are reading together, but separate.
I wonder what it would be like to take you for granted in bed next to me as I fell asleep.
Sometimes I wonder too much, but I am pretty good at stopping myself.
I am pretty good, I think. Why would a person take the best thing that has ever happened in their life – and wonder about how it could be better? No smart person would.
Thoughts in the rain
I am thinking about Sir.
That’s a sort of funny statement to me, considering how much I have been thinking about Him. I think actually, that He is on my mind about as much when He is far far away in that land of enchantment, as when He is far far away, but only 10 minutes from me.
I guess that’s part of what this month away has shown me – if, in fact, I needed to be shown. That He is part of every hour, all the time, of the life that I am living.
It’s true, that as I examined that fact, that I was not at all comfortable with the realization. Fuck. I was looking the other way, while that powerful attachment was forming.
Maybe it was His idea actually! He has been shockingly adept at making things happen between us that I wasn’t aware of until I could see them in retrospect.
Oh yes, He’s very smart in all kinds of remarkable ways.
The funny thing is that I always wanted Him to have me in every possible way from the moment I met Him…. But as much as I may want, I cannot always give on command.
Maybe right now, I’m a little addled. He’s home soon, and I have trouble thinking of anything else. I know I have to grab myself by the fucking neck very soon in order to control myself.
In the morning, I relive my emotions of the night before, watching myself go from needy, to lonely, to sad, to angry, to resentful, to pitiful, to exhausted, to wailing, to hopeless, to empty, and then to sleep.
Of course, He can’t know about this. It’s a part of me He doesn’t see. I don’t show. I don’t share, and when, occasionally, it might peek through, I hope He will ignore before I have to deny.
It would be a different thing if I allowed myself to show it all fully. I just don’t know yet if that is what people are supposed to do.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Distance from Sir
Sir has been away for almost a month now. It feels as if He’s been gone a tiny lifetime, but now as He is a few days away from coming home, it seems…. well, it still feels like a tiny lifetime.
I sit here trying to write, but I keep thinking about the moment I see Him. I think about how I feel, and what I’d like to do, and then I think about how to control myself and not allow all of that feeling to just pour out.
He has never been away this long from me. I have thought about so many things – but again, contrarily – I’ve stopped myself from thinking so many things because they roused too much emotion. I realized only a day or two ago, when I started to relax my vise grip on my feelings for Him, that I’d been silencing many thoughts and feelings about Him, and about us, because I was afraid of them getting the best of me.
Maybe that’s a wise thing to do? When I was young, I didn’t believe that, I believed that one (I) should feel everything, entirely, immediately, extensively and completely. The thing I learned as I got a bit older, was that experiencing emotions and feelings that way can sometimes drown the feeler. I guess I got drowned enough times by letting myself feel things so utterly that I learned to protect myself a little. Then a little more. Now, sometimes, I protect myself so much that I don’t allow myself to feel at all. Too scary. Too risky. Drowning is bad.
I’m not sure that protecting oneself (myself) from the powerful energy of emotions is the best way to go. I’m also not sure at all that feeling all those things that life gives us (me) is the right way to live.
As much as I’d appreciate an all or nothing resolution, age and experience dictate otherwise.
I am a passionately, wildly, irresponsibly, viscerally emotional person. Knowing this, it is wise for me to learn to judiciously contain, control, resist, moderate, and even deny some of my emotions.
Confoundingly, it is also necessary for me to rely on my emotional instincts, allow my emotions to guide my actions, and allow myself to know the extent and depth of my emotional experiences.
Well, frankly, fuck. How is a person supposed to do all that at the same time?
After much thought and reading and thinking, and crying, and hiding, and eating, and screaming, and searching and hoping, and despairing, I have come to only a few conclusions.
One conclusion is – that without the emotional depth and strength and incomprehensible power of life, I’d rather not have a life at all.
Another conclusion is – that a balance between protecting oneself and allowing oneself to feel is quite impossible.
Another conclusion is – that as much as I have learned in the years that I have lived, I must assume I will learn that much more in the years to come. Therefore – any conclusion I make at this time will be, by my own definition, if not irrelevant, then incomplete.
Honestly, I swear to god, which of course is meaningless to me, I should say that I swear to Ansel Adams, that I had no idea this post was going in this direction.
What I was thinking of, when I started this discourse, was that I have all these emotions and feelings for and around Sir, and Us, and me and Him and all that, that are powerful like lightning on a 10 acre field in Texas with one very tall metal post in the middle. What I mean is that I still believe that my feelings, my emotions, dictate life or death for me. They are everything. They are the only thing. My feelings, emotions, are my blood, my life.
What happens if you (me) put all of that energy in yourself into one person? How do you protect yourself from dying?
To be honest, and I feel kind of inadequate having to say so, but I don’t know the answer for that one.
I know of course, that people make a million kinds of compromises so they don’t have to answer that question with only themselves listening.
I am not good at compromise. I can do it of course, but often what looks like compromise to others, is a philosophical death for me. But I am so young and unlearned – I wonder if perhaps – those ‘petit mals’ of philosophy are not an intrinsic part of a mature intellectual understanding of our personal (human) history and future.
Again, I have to apologize for digressing. To get right back to the moment here, and the flesh and the rain and the thank you Sir for the amazing orgasm I had this evening. If I were texting I would only say thank you. But here I can say thank you so very very utterly much, it was really amazing and great and maybe even a unique orgasm, thank you.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thinking about my Sir
I am thinking about Sir.
That’s a sort of funny statement to me, considering how much I have been thinking about Him. I think actually, that He is on my mind about as much when He is far far away in that land of enchantment, as when He is far far away, but only 10 minutes from me.
I guess that’s part of what this month away has shown me – if, in fact, I needed to be shown. That He is part of every hour, all the time, of the life that I am living.
It’s true, that as I examined that fact, that I was not at all comfortable with the realization. Fuck. I was looking the other way, while that powerful attachment was forming.
Maybe it was His idea actually! He has been shockingly adept at making things happen between us that I wasn’t aware of until I could see them in retrospect.
Oh yes, He’s very smart in all kinds of remarkable ways.
The funny thing is that I always wanted Him to have me in every possible way from the moment I met Him…. But as much as I may want, I cannot always give on command.
Maybe right now, I’m a little addled. He’s home soon, and I have trouble thinking of anything else. I know I have to grab myself by the fucking neck very soon in order to control myself.
In the morning, I relive my emotions of the night before, watching myself go from needy, to lonely, to sad, to angry, to resentful, to pitiful, to exhausted, to wailing, to hopeless, to empty, and then to sleep.
Of course, He can’t know about this. It’s a part of me He doesn’t see. I don’t show. I don’t share, and when, occasionally, it might peek through, I hope He will ignore before I have to deny.
It would be a different thing if I allowed myself to show it all fully. I just don’t know yet if that is what people are supposed to do.
But I am thinking about it. I am thinking hard.
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