Kneeling

I kneel to him to honor my Master and his control of me.  I am here next to my bed.  My knees burning.  It has been a long hiatus and my body is rebelling.  It is my just punishment.  

My Master deserves so much more than I currently give him.  He is caring and honorable. He is thoughtful of others and keeps a whole list of found-family as part of his care circle. 

It is my wish to serve him in every way, every day.  So, today I kneel.  I picture him in front of me.  His fingers pushing my chin up so my gaze is captured in his.  His hot breath soon on my neck.  His words, oh my god, his words etching carnal sin on my soul.

Today, I kneel, to honor but also to feel him.  To know that I am wholly his chattel, his girl, his slave. That I will do as he commands, that I will choose subjugation, that I will debase myself, and that I will be as dirty as he commands.  All of this, I do for him. 

Baby Steps

Writing in the land of missing him has seemed insurmountable. But I must.  Everyday I don’t speak is another day that I’m not connected to myself and to him. 

I heard a lyric this morning that reminds me of how he makes me feel.  There is an unquenchable heat between us.  He lights a fire I knew was there but never had any kindling or oxygen.  

I wanted to share the song with you.  Two weeks until he’s in my arms for a glorious week of time.  My life is measured now in time.  The time until he’s with me. 

Click Here to Listen

I Want

Sooo tired today.  It was the time change yesterday but that probably had nothing to do with why I’m tired. I worked off and on yesterday organizing things, separating what should get packed etc. 

I had a big argument the day before with my Ex about stupid stuff so I couldn’t really focus in a direct way on what I needed to do. I worked then vegged then worked some more.

Tonight I am going to masturbate and go to sleep, done deal.  I want Daddy in the worst way right now. I want him here, I want his big cock in me, I want his hand on my throat.  I want to feel his dominance and his body on mine.  

Yes, please.  That’s what I want.  I want the fire and the heat.  

Depression

I feel it on me like a heavy blanket.  Time to shake it off.  Time to get busy.  One night stewing in an empty house and I turn into a head case?  I’m beginning to think I touch my Sweetie and my son all the time for my own oxytocin fix. 

Time to throw off the depression.  Time to get busy instead of sitting home moping.  I need a to-do list and a swift kick in the ass. 

This is bullshit and I know it.  

Moving on to something more productive!

I Want

He tweaks my nipple and I want him.  

He left to play golf many many miles away.

I want a facefucking in the worst way.

I want to be used, abused and taken.

I want his cock deep inside me.  

I want his fingers down my throat as he fucks me sore.

I want to be on my knees for him.

I want…

Longing

The other night Daddy and I had some unexpected alone time.  Living together has been amazing but one change is that I see Daddy every day not just the times I’m free from parenting.  So, having alone time together is just as much a ‘thing’ as it was before but different somehow.  Now, I get to see him every day but not every day is sexual time.  Now, all our time is together.  One result of this is we can’t have sex every time the mood strikes, another is we’re not missing each other so desperately by the time we get to be alone.

I long for our alone time.  Monday while we were having sex, I got so turned on and so wound up.  I felt really close to subspace without any dominance pushing me there. I felt that frenzy of need.  Looking back, I think it was a matter of seeing Daddy all week but not having that sexual time whenever we want it.  It is like a slow burn.  It resides in the background until a match is lit.

Fire

He lights a candle and holds it close.  The light is soft and lures me.  I bask in the glow.  Once he feels me respond to his subtle little flame, he adds more fuel.  

The brightness shines a light over my soul.  He looks ever so closely and sees all of me.  He sees what I want to show, he sees what I hide.  He finds my fears and notices the barriers of my walls. 

A flame thus ignites within me. I respond in kind to his beacon.  I quake in fear that he sees me, that he knows my every secret.  But his light continues to shine bright as day even though my sins are now exposed. 

I see now that he will not turn away.  He wants my sin, he wants my hidden terrors.  He wants my dirty, rotten imperfections.  I roll like a swine in mud.  He grants me freedom to be the basest of pitiful things.

His high beam of stark honesty and vision ignites.  He takes the clay before him and carves out the pure beast within.  His talons grip me, his voracious fire consumes me.  I burn, oh how I burn in his realm.

From the fire emerges a passion that seeks its match and finds it in him.  Red and tumultuous, hot and painful it engulfs us.  The flames lick and eat and take their fill.  The eager coals smolder and deprive me of all my air.

I pant and rut.  His fire turns me on a spit.  Every basted bit is lashed by his words and his tongue.  No reason allows me succor. My thoughts, my being,  the primordial spark of me bends to him.

He fears losing control.  I can’t help him with that.  All my heart and morbid desires want him to lose himself and break me.  Each speck of glorious light I sense in him is answered with a raging wildfire.  

Heaven help me, he called me an angel.  But all I want is to grovel at his feet, to debase myself completely.  The fiber of my mind crackles in the viscous lava of my subservience to him.

Please, I beg of you, destroy all meaning.  Tear my walls and protections from me.  His voice stirs wicked desires.  His dirty words bind me to him for all eternity.  I fall deeper into the abyss gladly. 

Touch

If I have an addiction, it involves the sense of touch. I love caressing and touching my loved ones, most especially Mr. D. Usually, I think of people loving to be touched. I do love being caressed along with all the other ways Mr. D touches me…hard, soft, dangerously, passionately, dominantly, sadistically…wait, I’m losing my train of thought here. Distractible woman!

I love to touch. I love to feel the warmth of a person, hear them sigh and purr with appreciation. I love to feel the energy flow between us. With my son, I love to curl up with him next to me. His feet curl into mine. I’ve raised him to love touch. I was telling Mr. D that I’ve most likely ruined that child for any normal woman. He’s going to have to find a touch addict of his own someday. He loves having his head caressed and when he’s anxious all I need to say it, “Time for a snuggle.” and he wraps himself into me and I feel all the tension and angst melt out of him. I truly believe there should be something called ‘touch therapy’. When I see friends and loved ones upset, I want to touch them and ease their pain. I can’t do that to most people, which is kind of sad. Why not? Boundaries, personal space, I guess. Seems a shame really.

Of all the people I’ve touched in my life, no one compares to Mr. D. He says I love his fur. God help me, I do. I really do. He has the most amazing feel to him. His light carpet of sandy fur just calls to my fingertips. I ache for him when I’m away. I can sit here and fall into a little trance thinking about the feel of him.

When I am curled up with him, I run my hand across his chest. I feel his heavenly warmth and his furry chest. I play with his nipple rings and tug on them. The hard ring and his soft masculine nipple are a divine combination. 

When I’m sitting beside him, my hand strays up and down his forearm. The softness of his fur blanketing his muscled arm, again I drift into a trance-like state. Touching him calms me and connects me to him like nothing else. I’m sure there’s a science to it, serotonin release or some such thing. All I know if I have to touch him. If I’m near him, I need to feel him. His strong but gentle hands, his capable feet, his rock hard calves, his scruffy or clean-shaven face. His eyes on me completes the circle. I love our connection so.

Quickie

I arrived at Mr. D’s.  I went to his room to say hello and let him know I was there. We talked and after I kneeled for him he said, “On your back.”

He got between my legs and put a couple drops of lube on me. He was in need of me as I was in need of him.  He sheathed his cock in me to the hilt. Quickly, he built a rhythm. This was straight, raw, fucking.  I could tell right away that this was a night unlike most.  There would be no play, no nuance, no teasing.  This was pure hunger.  

He pumped me deep, he pumped me hard, and soon he buried himself all the way inside me and yelled out as he came.  I loved every brief minute of it.  He rarely allows himself such a direct route to orgasm.  I held him as he shook and my joy filled me full. 

There is something so fulfilling about a quickie like that. Mmm.

Consistency

Consistency isn’t one if my best traits.  I do try very hard to stay consistent.  I know it’s a battle for me so I put a lot of effort towards it.  This lack in my character lends to spontaneity, interest in new things and some other beneficial traits but still I know it’s one of my downfalls.

One time I had a job interview.  They gave me a test.  When I met the HR Director afterwards, I asked her about it.  She told me that the test indicated I needed to be challenged.  I would be great in the position for about 18 months, would perform it better than most but then I’d grow bored and she’d be looking for someone new.  I have always remembered that each time I get that antsy feeling at work.  I’m 10 years in my current position but it’s different all the time so I guess I found my niche.

This behavior spills over into other  parts of my life too.  I don’t always care to cook dinner every night.  But I love cooking for special occasions. I write volumes and then not at all.  I paint many paintings then take a ten year break.  But I know what my downfall is and I continue to work to be consistent.  

One day at a time.  One morning at a time.  One journal entry at a time.  One, one, one.

Happy Wednesday.