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.

Vanilla 

I had arrived at Mr. D’s for the evening on Sunday.  I thought we’d have plenty of time, so did he. 

He was busy doing some repairs when I arrived so I put my things down in the bedroom and said hello to his roommates.  He came inside and they were talking about the timing of dinner then Daddy was getting something ready for my son…something the two of them had talked about between them.  That part makes me smile.  Daddy did something to share a Christmas secret with my son.  They have texted this week without my input.  It makes my heart swell to think of it.  Anyhow, I’m getting off track.

With all the activity and roomies around, I wasn’t sure when to kneel for him.  I try to wait until it is convenient for Daddy to have me kneel to honor him.  It feels like a big attention grab if I do it so that he has to get up or stop what he’s doing in order to accept my offering.  Daddy finished his task and said, “On the bed, come snuggle me.”  We only had a half hour until we had to get dinner ready.

We snuggled and were quiet and touched and talked a little. At some point during snuggling the temperature changed between us from warmth to heat.  He pulled off my pants and put his lips and tongue on my sex.  His licked and sucked me like only he can do.  I felt the heat expand and fill me until his fingers pushed inside me too.  He pushed my legs up and had me hold them for him.  With his fingers and mouth on me, my body responded quickly to his need.

He rose and put a couple drops of lube on me.  Rubbing me and pushing his fingers inside me more swiftly. He was positioned between my legs already and only had to lunge forward a bit to enter me.   From his place on his knees he slid his cock gently inside me.  Every time I feel him stretch me open I become more turned on, more eager, more in need of him than the minute before.  He held my legs open wide and pumped me for a few minutes of good fucking.  Then he knelt back on his heels and angled lower than normal.  I think he was trying to angle his cock into me so that it would touch the G spot area more towards the top wall of my vagina.  

What else happened, though, was something I didn’t expect.  Each time he thrust forward ever so slowly, the underside of his belly would rub across the top of my whole clitoral area.  It was warm and it was moving pressure in that very sensitive area in an odd but very provocative way.  I felt my body respond.  I felt an orgasm building and it was so different.  I loved it so much and I’m sure I was showing it because I saw it wind up Mr. D until he couldn’t hold it any longer and came hard inside me.
I love watching him cum, it’s just about the best experience.  I love knowing he loves pleasing me and that seeing me wind up also winds him up.  He was apologizing for cumming so soon even as he was cumming.  I tried to tell him how much I love our sex no matter who cums or when we cum because I want him to enjoy it 100% and never have the feeling that it was too soon or I didn’t get there too.  He is such a miracle to me in that respect.  He cares and he works for my pleasure and wants to own that part of me.  He does like no one ever has. Neither one of us orgasm every time. It has shown me more than ever before that orgasms are only a part of the whole experience. One I’m really happy to say I have now during our play but still just one part of the whole.

Afterwards we had to clean up quickly and go have dinner with the family.  We planned to have more fun afterwards but I had to leave during dinner so we weren’t able to finish our evening.  I left feeling so happy we were impulsive at the beginning of the evening and sad that I left without kneeling to my Dominant.  A vanilla evening it was then but such a nice one.

Missing Him

I just published a post I had written the day after the attacks on Paris.  It never posted that day for some reason.  Probably because everyone on the planet was checking on family over the Internet. It’s pretty amazing that so many people were able to let their loved ones know they were safe through social media like Facebook.  What an amazing gift.

Anyhow, I came here tonight to post my feelings and got distracted by the Paris post.  I’m finally home and so happy to be here.  I have my son with me and he’s been getting over his withdrawals from two weeks without mom. At the same time, I haven’t had any time with Mr. D until today.  We’ve seen each other twice but those times have been with my son and not alone time.

I feel like I was given a tiny bit of the drug that keeps me living.  I’m not sure if I would have been better off going cold turkey a few more days or if it helped.  I want more of him.  I can feel a hollow place where he lives and fills my heart.  I need him in some visceral way.  Please let it be Tuesday very, very soon.

His Hands

 

His hands are at once soft and hard

The fine fur on the them draws my touch

His grip is gentle as his love is felt

A caress across my skin excites the flesh

Until I’m crazed and wound into a frenzy

Then his hands become something more

Controlling and dominating me

Hard and unforgiving in their relentlessness

A victim to their command, I am powerless

Hypnotically they move me

Touching and guiding, taking their due

Until I am completely rapt

Remembering

Because I haven’t written in a while, I have a backlog of thoughts and memories jumbled in my mind. Daddy and I played many times during the last two weeks I just didn’t document it.  So, my mind is full and I need to purge onto the page.  It is a very odd sensation but it is as if all that’s happened stays in a holding tank until I write.  

I keep it all in mind and it begins to morph into an alphabet soup.  I start becoming worried that I have forgotten everything.  But I do my best to set aside the fear and begin.  I pull one thread and slowly it unravels.  Soon I have words for you and a nice neat ball of string.

I worried about forgetting this past week while I still wasn’t writing.  Last night I finally wrote and only about last night.  Fresh memories…so easy, so present.  Now I feel the tugging of the string because an end was found.