Facial Touch

Have you ever noticed there are levels of intimacy within the whole scope of touching?  Clearly sexual touch is intimate, you only do it with people you want to share that experience with usually.  The best sexual touch happens with someone you are emotionally intimate with.

I was thinking today that other touching also carries differing levels of intimacy.  You hold hands with people you are close to like your children and also your husband or wife.  That one isn’t sexual at all.  

Face touching also falls in the category of intimate touch. I touch my child’s face and also my lover’s.  There is something so intimate about it.  I feel such a closeness being allowed to stroke Daddy’s face.  I feel like the most inner of his inner circles.  I love the sensation and the intimacy, it fulfills something deep inside me.

I’m the same way with my child.  He loves when I touch him, it eases his angst to have his arm touched or to get a hug.  If we’re all piled on the couch I notice I randomly touch whichever of my guys I can reach. I love that.  It calms me too.  It puts me in a cocoon of warm, intimate calm.

I learned too late to allow my mom to do this.  My dad has always been the parent I had the closest connection with.  Dad always had tickle fights and all us kids would pile onto his bed for stories or wrestling or just to talk. He was at ease and comfortable around us.  Mom was very loving but she didn’t really extend that love to touch while we were growing up. She wanted massages from me all the time but she wasn’t a ‘warm fuzzy’ kind of person.  

In my later years she began reaching over to me at parties to cup my face in her hand.  It felt invasive and out of place.  I allowed it because I loved her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.  I look back now and wish I had welcomed that touch more. 

I love to give and receive touch but I really have an addiction to touching Daddy. He is so touchable.  I can close my eyes and feel him now.  It brings the warmth and calmness to me even though he’s not here. 

Daddy’s Home

I’m at the airport waiting for his plane.  I’m so excited to have Daddy home!  I get him for a full week and then some.  Pure heaven.  

I’m aching to touch him. I’m aching for lots of things but mainly I desperately want to feel him and be near him. 



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.


Sunday night Mr. D had worked all day to build an insulated door to hold an air conditioning unit for his room. Now we will be so cool and comfy this summer, yay.  Unfortunately, the two days of construction did a number on his back.

Instead of working his back more by having sex he decided he wanted to watch me masturbate for him.  He got out his laptop and had me lie on the bed. He set up his laptop next to me and had me choose some porn to watch. He put the computer on the opposite side of the bed from his chair so that I would not be watching him.

Once the porn started, I began to touch myself.  A little at first then more as things progressed. Usually, I love performing whatever Mr. D wants from me but I felt really self-conscious this time.  I’m not really sure why.  Maybe because I was fully naked and it was daytime while he was clothed.  Maybe because he wasn’t near me or touching me so I couldn’t get a read on what was going through his head.  

Whatever the case, it took me a while to get out of my head. Mr. D was smart to aim me away from him. Even though I was thinking of him, I was still able to lose myself in the porn after a while. I used a little pocket vibrator which I never used before and sure enough I felt the tension build and I knew it was working.  I was so happy, I knew I was going to cum for him finally.  I felt the pleasure build, I glanced over to see him watching and finally I felt it crest and my body rocked with the pleasure of an orgasm. 

He watched as I came for him and then got on the bed so I could snuggle him.  I felt odd afterwords.  I was exposed and yet I felt like I hadn’t put on a very good show for Mr. D.  When I started, I had in mind that I should just cum and not embellish it at all, just let it be what it was.  His girl getting off by herself, nothing more.  It’s a big enough thing for me to cum for him anyway.  I thought I should just focus on that alone.  I’m glad I did because it worked, it just felt like a lackluster performance to watch.  I will get better at it.

As I felt his warmth around me and his body next to mine I ached so much for him.  I wanted him inside me so badly. I made my desire for him known because I couldn’t keep my hands and body still next to him.  At this point I didn’t really know his back was hurting as much as it was.  

“I know what you want. You want me to pound you with Daddy’s cock.” Yes, that was exactly what I wanted.  I was aching for him.  I wanted to be one with him and a part of me wanted to feel that he wanted me after watching me in such a detached way.

“I have an idea. Little Girl you are going to let me cum in your mouth.”

Second part to follow.



His skin, a drug

I seek to touch

Velvet fur under my fingers

I melt

Addiction is my friend

I want incessantly

To tie my hands

Pure torture

I am blind without the caress

I ache for connection

Warm silkiness

Fluid movement

Straining for it

I am bereft

Returning to my touch

My soul at peace

with his body

under my stroke

Image used through Creative Commons with attribution by Kris Krug.

Bring me Life

le_ravissement_de_psyche-largeI am here with MrD and my body is aching in that way that only happens when you have abused it so many times that you just can’t abuse it any further. And yet…

And yet, I still want him.  I still ache for him inside me.  I still want to feel his weight press me down into the bed and for him to take me until there is nothing left of either of us but the ashes.

Last night was beyond…beyond words really.  I will attempt to put words to the feelings, to the actions, to the play…but they will pale by comparison.

When I arrived at his place, we spent time relaxing and then went to the bedroom to lie down and feel each other close.  I call the right side of his chest “Home”.  I feel more peaceful in his arms than anywhere on this earth.  It is a place and yet it is not a place at all.  It is the connection of my soul to his, of my body to his, of my heat to his.  Why does touch hold such a deep carnal and soul completing place in our psyches?  I touch him and I am immediately calmed, relaxed, melting.  I cannot stop touching his skin, feeling the soft fur that covers his body.  It is as if my fingers are addicted and through their travels over his body their cravings are sated.  Though, the satiation never lasts for I am an addict in this need for touching him.

When I was in the midst of this thrall of touch, he rose and pulled off my shorts.  He put himself between my legs and I felt my body succumb to his lips and tongue.  He has a talent for turning me inside out with the sensations that he sends through me from that very core of my feminine being.  I lost myself to the waves of pleasure and the feelings that his tongue and mouth elicited from me.  I am greedy, so very greedy for I ache for him inside me while he is having his way pleasing me.  The longer his mouth is on me, the harder it is for me to keep still and allow the pleasure that he gives.  That is hard to admit, for a submissive should not have the choice to allow or not.  A submissive serves and in this service pleases.  To acquiesce is what is demanded at this time, I do my best but ultimately I have an all stripping need for him inside me that I can’t not voice.  I beg for it, then.  At first, he denies me.  He wants to give the pleasure, he is in command.  I whimper but obey and the pleasure of what he does washes me further into the tide.  But, oh, the need mounts.  I bite it back, I tremble with the effort but in the end I am weak and I beg yet again.

At some point, he takes pity on my tortured psyche and allows my desire.  Then he mounts me and I am simply carried away from all other thought but the feeling of him inside me, the stretching of my body to accept his.  In this moment, all I can sense is the joining of our two bodies to one.  The smell of sex fills the room, his weight pins my body to the bed, his legs push mine apart.  Oh, how I revel in the feel as we become one.  As soon as I have what I want though, it is not enough.  Waves of pleasure roll from him to me and back.  I am beyond the need and far into the want of him.  I want him deeper and further inside me than is possible.  This want of him fills my mind, my senses, my soul.  I want him to abuse me until we are merged into one person.  I want him to drill completely through me until he has mashed me completely into his bed.  What is it that he does to bring this out in me?  I don’t need an answer, just more of him.

I fear I will never be able to satisfy this addiction completely.  But I do know I am having a sinful good time in the effort.  And I have not gotten to the story of last night that I started out telling.

To be continued…