Tuesday, March 3, 2009


Clocks should be this regular.

The Beast is always worse at work. The tedium of work just isn't enough to distract me from the thoughts that torture my body. My mind just wanders over every experience I want to remember, every fantasy becomes larger, more intense. Rope work is my current obsession. Not having experienced it, my mind imagines the feel of the rope being pulled across my skin, feeling it tighten and restrain me. How I would feel to be so tied, so dependent, so vulnerable. How would my body look splayed open or tied closed on the whim of the one who tied me. How would it feel to be teased, acted upon, with no means to respond physically.

The need for intimacy at this point becomes pain. I wish it were as simple as needing orgasm; that would be easy. A short trip to the restroom with my teensy bullet would result in blessed relief, and I could get my brain back on track. But that's not what I need. I need touch, to be touched and to touch, to taste and kiss and moan. Maddening.

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