Today, tomorrow and the days after

I want to write and share my thoughts. I’ve felt stifled for a while. I’m not really sure why. So, I’ll just write a bit and hope to come back to it again. I always do eventually.

I started college again. One of these days I’ll have my degree. I’m 60% done with a summer course. It’s been about 8 years since the last time I took a class. I only have about 5 classes left to finish my degree. So, one class at a time. I’ll get there.

Mr. D and I are doing fine. I’m too busy and he’s dealing with a pain in the ass boss at work so the combo isn’t the best place our relationship has been. But we’re doing ok.

My son is in a bad place. Teenage years. Ugh. Enough said, this blog isn’t about that.

Nothing out of the ordinary to report on the sexual front. We have sex. I think we have good sex. I enjoy it. I just haven’t felt like it’s something to share. Not sure why. There has been play sessions and some hot sessions. Maybe it’s married sex, fun for us but really similar to many other times we’ve had sex. So, it’s not earth-shattering writing material. I think writing…passionate writing…takes gasping, spasming newness. That initial high of subspace, that crazy stupid insane shit you do when it’s all new and you’re high on each other, that kind of material.

I think I need to learn how to write the long-haul subtleties…the beauty of constancy. I miss writing. I miss my submission.

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Moving On

My girlfriend Frenchy has left for France. She lived with us for five months. It was a great time and I’m so so happy we had the time together. She and I lived together many years ago when we were both single and in our twenties. Time flies and here we are at the end of our forties saying goodbye.

I owe Daddy a huge thank you for allowing her to stay with us. He really knew very little about my Frenchie when she moved in but he let her move in with us (to the detriment of our sex life) and I’m so very grateful. They became friends and I’m so happy they did.

My Frenchie can be a whirlwind of fun and spunk. She’s tall and thin and full of life most days. Other days she’s sad and vulnerable and needs love and hugs. Daddy was such a good thing for her in the final months of her saying goodbye to her American life.

My girl was the best roomie. I knew she would be but still she surpassed my expectations. She’s always been one to do more than her part. Aside from being my counterpart with dishes and chores she also helped us buy many things for our new home together. She took the guest’s rule of ‘leave a place better than you found it’ to the next level.

I will always cherish our time together. Much love goes with her on her travels. Hopefully, Daddy and I gave her what she needed to be strong and enjoy the next part of her journey.

Home Again

I have wonderful news to share. Mr. D interviewed for a job here and got it. He will be coming home to me! After a year of flying back and forth to see each other we will be in the same home sharing the same bed every night. Yay yay yay!

I loved many parts of this year but I’m so glad it is coming to an end. I loved going to visit Daddy. I loved the dedicated alone time we had when I flew there. It was like our own BDSM hideaway. I will miss that. I will miss our new state and the people there. It was a beautiful state with friendly people. I loved that we toured around like tourists together.

I think it is the pain slut in me when I say I’ll miss missing him. I hated leaving at the end of every trip but I liked feeling those feelings. Odd to say that I liked my tears but they did show me how deeply I love him and how anchored my submission to him is in my heart.

So, it will take some time and planning but he is coming home!

Worship

We watched a movie and had lunch.  The apartment had every amenity except a couch.  I was using Daddy’s big chair.  The legs had broken in the move so it was quite a bit lower to the floor but still comfy.  He was sitting in a camping chair next to me.  A very nice camping chair but still not ideal. The dining room table sans legs was propped on a box and made a serviceable coffee table. I told him I loved that set up so much I wanted to permanently cut the legs shorter.

I took our dishes to the kitchen and when I returned he pointed to the floor in front of him.  I sank gracefully to my knees.  I put my arms around his waist and held him for a moment.  

I looked up to him knowing I was here at his feet at his beckoning. “I’m going to answer a few work emails but first you’re going to suck my cock.” I smiled as he pulled down the front of his pants. 

“Do you want to suck my cock slut?” 

“Yes Daddy, I love sucking your cock.”  I do.  There is something so incredible about him allowing me to touch his most sacred part. I want every time I pleasure him to be as amazing as I can make it.  

Sure, I could be crass and say, all men want you to suck their cock.  What’s so amazing?  But why be like that?  It serves no one.  I love to give him pleasure.  I love to have a goal and a challenge.  My challenge is to make every flick of the tongue cause a reaction, every deep throat push deeper, every tongue caress hit the sweet spot.  Otherwise, why bother?  Giving my Dominant pleasure is an honor so I treat it as one.

I was languishing in the feel of him on my tongue.  I was tasting the cleanliness of him.  Aching for a drop of his seed to taste.  This wasn’t a blowjob with a direction.  We were both sated.  This was cock worship.  I could blissfully take my time. 

“Hm, you’re so clean.” I said with a little something in my voice.

“Too clean for my slut?  You want that man musk, do ya?”  He knows me.  I smiled with cock in my mouth and pulled out to answer.

“Well, yeah.  I love me some man musk.  Mm hmm.”  I licked him and chuckled.  I refocused on my task.  I love the girth of him, his cock pushing down my throat, stopping my breath, sucking and working my mouth on him.  

Damn, I was getting turned on. I felt the banter fall away and the heat overtake me.  I looked up to him with a mouthful of cock, eyes glazed with passion. I was struck by the intensity of his steely blue stare.  He was watching me and now he had me captive.  My heart jumped in my chest.  

He pulled me up and kissed me.  The fire between us blazed hot and fierce.  I became nothing more than a cinder in his embrace.  Our kissing drugged me.  I fell into a love-induced trance.  His lips trailed down my chin. He gripped my hair pulling my head back to expose my neck. His lips and teeth blazed a line down my throat. I whimpered and tried to pull away. “Stay.” He said, halting my escape. I trust him but the instinct for survival is undeniably animalistic. The fear rolls over me and I become prey.

His lips at my throat, locked together in mutual torment, he said,”Amazing. You are incredible. Three years later and you still have me rock hard and on fire for you.” His teeth dug into my throat.  
“Daddy…” I entreated. My pussy was throbbing and yet I was about to hyperventilate with fear.  “I want you.”  

“Come with me.” He stood and pulled me to my feet.  I thought we were headed to the bedroom but he led me to the other room.  He opened the door.  It was empty and cold except for the spanking bench  in the middle.

“You are mine. My prize. Present yourself.” He said.  I pulled off my pants and mounted the bench.  I knew what was coming.  All his toys remained packed in the other room.   One hand went to my neck the other my ass.  Gripping the hair at my nape, he spanked my ass twice…then four times in quick succession.  It was hard, it was fast.  The pace matched our pheromone fueled heartbeats.

His fingers pushed into my sex.  God, I wanted him.   The more he spanked me, the more I would do anything to have him.  Damn, I had missed him.   After warming my ass and my pussy he propelled me to the bedroom for a sound fucking. 

What now?

Today Daddy and I talked and cried together from different states. We will do our best to move forward through this difficult time.  We both know we are the one for each other.  We may be pulled in two directions right now but we are 100% committed to each other. 

I love him more than anything.  I want our beautiful life together.  I want to experience so much with him.  We fit together so well.  One of his work buddies even made a joke about it.  I’m curvy on top and bottom with a smaller waist and Daddy is straight up and down with a belly.  We fit together like puzzle pieces. We are made for each other body and soul.

Daddy returns home Friday morning.  I can’t wait to see him.  

Beauty

My Daddy makes me so proud to be his.  I love his words and his pride in me.  I always want to make him proud of me and happy that I’m in his life. 

‘Beauty’

My Baby Girl is beauty Her physical being is superbly feminine Her soul is caring and pure She is open and honest Her love of life comes through brilliantly She exudes confidence She helped me this weekend On a golf course as an ambassador She openly and with heartfelt joy Teased and tormented golfers with […]

https://misterdougtoyou.wordpress.com/2016/05/22/beauty/

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.