It's been a while

I haven't been feeling well for some time, and it's left a mark on my libido. There are stirrings, however, that foretell an improvement in that area. The vibration is back. The longing is back. My mind is leaning towards the dark side. I'm hoping there will be writing tomorrow to remember tonight's experience.

Hum

Or maybe it's buzz. Like a bee, or a hummingbird.

My skin vibrates. Touch me, it telegraphs. Or perhaps it's reaching out, trying to find the stimulation it needs. I shudder, shaking out the longing.

The Beast is in his early, tentative state. He intrudes on my thoughts, but is not yet insistent. My body longs, but is not yet consumed. This is the warm bath and candles stage, the soft lights and softer touches stage. Slow, lingering, warm. The dancing stage, teasing back and forth.

It's pleasant, right now. But I know what's ahead.

Clockwork

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.

Spoiled

A little too much wine. Justified in my mind, because the beast has not been fed. He turns nasty, he does, when he's left hungry. Petulant, and sometimes downright mean. Because he doesn't like the fear. And when he's hungry, and doesn't get fed, the fear pours in, invading, consuming. Not a pretty picture at all.

Return of the Beast

I'm sitting here at work, and I simply cannot get anything done. My head, my soul my body most especially are drowning in a cloud of sex. He's reaching his peak, the Beast is. I can tell, because my thoughts turn from mere sex to S-E-X. Savage sex. Painful sex. Obsessive sex. Brutal sex. The kind of sex that isn't shown in soft core porn, or in Playboy or Penthouse. Slamming, kinky, wild, abandoned sex. The kind that scares me a little, and probably scares P more. And just behind it, underneath, the beginning of the pain. Currently at titillating levels, but showing promise of taking over, and becoming Most Unpleasant.

I do hope P has eaten his Wheaties.

And I wonder if I will have the backbone to lead our play to what I need.

Balance

One of the things I love about you is that I don't know what to expect. Occasionally, this leads to misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but far more often it brings tremendous rewards.

I shudder when we're cuddled on the couch and you slide your hand down to brush my nipple. Part of that thrill is just the basic touch on an erogenous zone (there's a zone?) but a larger part is the anticipation. How will it be tonight? Will you be tender and loving and vanilla? Will you be Master, hard and punishing? Creative? Will you focus on my pleasure, our yours, or ours?

The answer comes as we're kissing slowly, tender, stroking, teasing. The Master enters as you grab my hair, forcing my head back. I gasp as your knee forces my legs apart and your lips attack my vulnerable throat. When your teeth snag my nipple, the bottom drops out, and I am lost. All awareness is gone. There is nothing but you. Your touch, your taste, the things you make me feel. Your hair is loose tonight, and the silky softness of it trailing my skin only heightens the roughness of your hand spanking my pussy. Already I can hear the moisture in that slap. Tonight, you don't make me wait. Pinning my hands over my head, you enter me, fucking me hard and fast. Unexpectedly, I come quickly, but you barely pause, still fucking hard with a low growl. I watch your face as you begin your ascent, and the sight and the sounds of your pleasure hit me full force again, and again I come hard, sobbing with the intensity.

This was one of the best times, when your mood matched mine so perfectly. Just the right amount of tenderness, just the right amount of control. Love. Love. Love.

The Phone Call

"Touch your breasts."

Panic. I've just answered my cell phone at work, and Master is on the line. Just the sound of his voice is enough to make my legs shake. The command, barked without consideration of where I am or who might be watching throws me into a spin. Trying not to glance around I raise my right hand to my left breast, cupping it over my clothes.

My quickened breathing tells Him I have obeyed, and I can almost hear him smile. "Tease your nipple for me."

I open my fingers to let my now extended nipple slide between them, and I pinch it between them, pulling slightly.

"No." I freeze. "Under your clothes."

My mind racing, and my pussy dripping, I slide my hand into my blouse, inside my bra. I let out a soft sigh as my fingers brush the nipple that is so hard it hurts.

"That's better," he says. How does he know? Does he truly know me so well that he can hear my compliance in my breathing?

"Treat them nicely now. Tonight, they will receive much harsher treatment."

White light explodes in my head as I flash on images of what that statement could mean. He laughs at my gasp. "I love you, my slut."

The rushing of the blood in my ears is so loud it takes a minute or two before I realize it's the dial tone, and hang up.