I just heard a very scary word and wish You were here
I just heard a very scary word and wish You were here
I dreamed about Sir off and on all night last night. No, unfortunately not those kinds of dreams. I can’t remember all of them, and I wouldn’t bore you with them anyway, but they were scary. I woke myself up more than once crying and/or saying His name. I know why. It was a somewhat eventful weekend at my house, complete with a trip to the ER Saturday resulting in some tests this morning. I am not expecting any big terrible news, but I think part of me wanted some…..safe comfort. I got several very sweet emails and had a couple of nice phone conversations with Sir yesterday, but I spent much of it sleeping as well. But it was significant to me because it has been a long time since I have had a dream during which I called out someone’s name for safety/comfort. And of the many times I have dreamed about Sir over the months….it was the first time I have called out to Him.
But it makes sense. After all, He is One whom I trust absolutely and who always keeps me safe.
Part of my assignment since our trip was over has been to write Master vignettes about my perspective of our experiences together. This is today’s assignment.
I had been lying on my back for awhile, enjoy Sir’s exceptional oral talent. God, the things He can do with His lips and tongue. feeling His tongue stroke the lips of my pussy and then dip into my cunt….feeling Him suck on my clit until I trembled. Forgive my unladylike bluntness, but I can feel myself getting wet typing right now.
I made a remark about being like Tigger in my last post. I have also been compared to Odie. And my ex used to say he was The Brain and I was Pinky…which was funny at the time but now kind of annoys me. Anyway, whether it just be my personality, my blond hair, the type II bipolar disorder, or any other number of things, I seem to be a “flitter.” I like to flit. I have ideas in my head a lot – A LOT – but sometimes (okay more than sometimes) lack the focus to see all of them through. I probably had ADD is a child, but instead of meds I learned to do things like joggle my leg, twiddle my fingers, or doodle in the margin of my notes in order to keep from dancing on my desk.
One thing that I often do at Sir’s instruction, in fact, I do this every morning for a start, is to “spill and ponder.” Sometimes He gives me something to think about, other times I am just to focus. I have called it “submissive meditation” before. Yes, I could do the same thing on a yoga mat in a class, but something about being spilled on the foot of my bed naked makes the focus more peaceful and, quite frankly, more enjoyable. Besides, I prefer upward facing ice cream to downward facing dog. (Insert rim shot here)
In many ways, discovering my submissiveness is a lot like coming home. I was raised in the deep south by a genuine southern belle lady. I actually followed the when-to-wear-white rule. I learned how to properly get into and out of a car. My pinky naturally raises even when I am holding a can of Coke Zero. I was in pageants. I know how to use a finger bowl and set a table. I even went to “finishing school,” where we did walk around with a book on our heads. And I loved it. Not the snobby stuff that gets exaggerated by Yankee authors (haha). I love the grace, the femininity, the gentility, the simple beauty. In short I LOVED being a girl, and I LOVE being a woman. And before anyone might suggest that it means uptight, all southern women know that the perfect southern woman is equal part Melanie, Scarlett, AND Belle Whatling. If you don’t know who those characters are…bless your heart. You need a glass of sweet tea.
So when Sir asked me to spend some time pondering my femininity, I loved it. I still think about it from time to time. Every time I take five extra minutes to look like a girl instead of a character from the “people of wal mart” site before I go to the store. Every time I smile at someone instead of have that “I’m in a hurry” scowl on my face. Every time I put on pretty underwear no matter what I am wearing over them (my 70 year old mother does not own a single ugly bra or pair of panties). Every time that soft strength directs my actions. I love being a girl a woman, a submissive. I love pink and Queen Anne’s lace and dressing up. I love my china and baking cake and shoes and laughing and dancing and letting my hair grow long and soft.
Being feminine is empowering for me. And that is not a throwback to the 1950’s. That is part of my strength.
I confess I have seen the long movie series, Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea, more time than I can count. In many ways, I was her growing up, except for the red hair (I STILL wish I had red hair). I remember one line in the later part of the movies:
“I can’t help flying up on the wings of anticipation……it’s so glorious, it almost pays for the thud.”
Well…..it has been 5 days since I said goodbye to Sir at the airport, and today has been a day of thud. It is expected that there would be a “drop” after such an intense time together. But honestly, it is tough to do alone. My arms and chest ache, wishing I could feel Him. We have emailed, spoken on the phone. But I miss Him….so so very much. Last night I woke up in the wee hours wrapped tightly and oddly around the 6 foot body pillow I have had in my bed since my first pregnancy. And though nothing has really provoked them, tears have been just behind my eyes at various points today. Earlier I called Sir – He had told me to call if I needed Him – and He was sitting down to a late dinner. He wants me to call Him when I go to bed. Strangely….though I want to hear His voice, at the same time it reminds me that He is far away.
I am not Eeyore-ish by nature. I am usually more like Tigger, bouncing around…or maybe Kanga, taking care of people. But today my ears are definitely dragging the ground. It is normal, part of the coming down from such intensity and part of having a relationship that spans many miles. But yes, tonight I feel lonely and pity-party-ish. It will pass. I always does. But…this is the hard part. And I confess that I do not like it one bit.
This post was inspired by the following blog by The Dom Next Door (whose blog is awesome BTW)
The days I recently spent with Sir were wonderful. We talked a lot about what our D/s relationship really is and what it means. The day He gave me my collar, I wanted to wear it the whole evening, including when we went to the store to pick up a few forgotten items. I did, and later we talked about what 24/7 means. And here is the interesting part. He said that if me following three steps behind answering only, “Yes Sir” was what 24/7 looked like, He wasn’t interested. He wants conversation, stimulation (other than the obvious lol), even challenge. He likes our laughter, our verbal sparring. He isn’t willing to give that up.
The amazing part…..I was, but I have to say my heart just…glowed when He shared that with me. I love submitting to Him, pleasing Him, kneeling, serving…….being dominated by Him. BUT…I love the parts of me that might not fit the textbook submissive mode as well. The part that doesn’t always agree, that enjoys good natured ribbing, that has….spunk. And me NOT losing that independent part of myself, for Him, is actually another way to submit. After all, we began as friends, then lovers…….He doesn’t want the parts of me that intrigued Him and made Him think and make Him laugh to disappear just because He presented me with a collar.
A learning site that I frequent mentions from time to time that there is no one-size-fits-all when it comes to Dominance and submission. I agree, and I am very very glad that Sir does as well. Besides, giving up my bad puns would be a real loss for the universe………
I am naked, wearing my newly presented collar. My face is down, my hands and ankles bound to keep me in my crouched position, ass high in the air. A soft black satin blindfold covers my eyes completely. Tiny white earbuds are in my ears, and Sir begins playing music similar to what is posted above. I am in darkness, surrounded by sounds of relaxation and alpha waves, unable to move…waiting. I can feel Sir above me, feel his breath next to my ear, and His hand strokes my hair. He runs His hands over my wrists and ankles, making sure I am secure. His lips are moist on my neck and back, and then His hands move down my body. I feel myself stretch and purr inside as He touches me, and every time His hands leave me my breath catches. I wonder where and how He will touch me next. The music fills my head and everything around me seems heightened. Sir’s touch, His smell. For some reason Sir’s skin smells like fresh baked bread to me. Perhaps that seems silly. But it is comforting and delicious. Every time He comes near I can smell Him.
The bed shifts a bit, and Sir’s hand is massaging my behind, His fingers occasionally skimming my folds. I shivered and moaned, and His other hand moved to my lips, covering them. he massaged for another moment, then left my behind longing for His touch.
The first strike was startling, stinging, and wonderful. His hand came down again, and though I tried to remain quiet, I whimpered. Again, again. This was the spanking I had craved. This was not the first spanking I had received. The first spanking was swift and utilitarian. We went over my infractions, Sir spanked me, then he tore the list up and tossed it…the slate blank. But THIS spanking…this was for Him and for me. And I craved His hand, the strikes, the stinging, the pain…….
Little did I know what it would do to me when He introduced me to the gift I had sent Him: the flogger…..