Nothing starts the day off better than phone sex.
Well, okay.. regular sex, I suppose. Waking up with strong hands spreading sleep-relaxed legs apart; fingers teasing, testing, preparing the way for the body pressing mine into the mattress, the thick, hot cock sliding into warm, wet folds. Slow at first, then building to a nice, hard, headboard-shaking, teeth-rattling fuck..
::cough:: Getting a bit distracted, sorry. So, granted, regular sex trumps phone sex. However, right now I'm taking what I can get.
It had been nearly a week since I'd heard from the Master. Actually, five days, twenty hours, but who's watching the clock? :) That's not unusual in itself, but.. mmm. While I don't want to give you, my dear readers, the impression that I mope and pine about whenever there isn't contact, I do think it's important that you have some insight into how this relationship- and the accompanying significant departures from my previous experiences with D/s- affects me. Therefore, in the interest of being completely honest, I must admit that those delays are.. distressing isn't quite the word I'm looking for here; neither is frustrating, but both certainly have elements of truth to them. It's difficult to not give in to doubt during those times of silence, to wonder if he's become bored, or if I have displeased him somehow. Then my phone rings, or an email shows up, and every negative thought that slid through my mind vanishes.
I feel a bit like a puppy waiting every day for its owner to come back home from work.. it spends the day freaking out a bit because it doesn't comprehend time (or that just because the owner isn't *there* doesn't mean they're gone forever), but as soon as the owner's car pulls into the driveway everything is forgotten except the excitement of seeing The Most Important Person In The World.
Today it was the phone, while I was heading to work. Perfect timing on his part, since there was a convenient little church parking lot to pull over into (yes, there is indeed a special place in hell for me, thanks for asking). So good to hear his voice after a long, tedious week at work, that pavolvian trigger that arouses me as few other things can. It matters not what he's saying (though some things do pack more of a punch than others), only that for a brief period of time those shifting tones and emotions are as close to being mine as they will ever get. I amused him this morning, which always touches me a bit differently than the other responses..
Well, okay.. regular sex, I suppose. Waking up with strong hands spreading sleep-relaxed legs apart; fingers teasing, testing, preparing the way for the body pressing mine into the mattress, the thick, hot cock sliding into warm, wet folds. Slow at first, then building to a nice, hard, headboard-shaking, teeth-rattling fuck..
::cough:: Getting a bit distracted, sorry. So, granted, regular sex trumps phone sex. However, right now I'm taking what I can get.
It had been nearly a week since I'd heard from the Master. Actually, five days, twenty hours, but who's watching the clock? :) That's not unusual in itself, but.. mmm. While I don't want to give you, my dear readers, the impression that I mope and pine about whenever there isn't contact, I do think it's important that you have some insight into how this relationship- and the accompanying significant departures from my previous experiences with D/s- affects me. Therefore, in the interest of being completely honest, I must admit that those delays are.. distressing isn't quite the word I'm looking for here; neither is frustrating, but both certainly have elements of truth to them. It's difficult to not give in to doubt during those times of silence, to wonder if he's become bored, or if I have displeased him somehow. Then my phone rings, or an email shows up, and every negative thought that slid through my mind vanishes.
I feel a bit like a puppy waiting every day for its owner to come back home from work.. it spends the day freaking out a bit because it doesn't comprehend time (or that just because the owner isn't *there* doesn't mean they're gone forever), but as soon as the owner's car pulls into the driveway everything is forgotten except the excitement of seeing The Most Important Person In The World.
Today it was the phone, while I was heading to work. Perfect timing on his part, since there was a convenient little church parking lot to pull over into (yes, there is indeed a special place in hell for me, thanks for asking). So good to hear his voice after a long, tedious week at work, that pavolvian trigger that arouses me as few other things can. It matters not what he's saying (though some things do pack more of a punch than others), only that for a brief period of time those shifting tones and emotions are as close to being mine as they will ever get. I amused him this morning, which always touches me a bit differently than the other responses..
Are you playing with yourself?
Perhaps my answer- maybe- was a bit on the bratty side. My etiquette seems to be slipping.. not asking permission to touch myself, not replying with proper deference. I have no real excuse for such behavior.
Taste yourself.
He doesn't have to ask twice.. it's one of the few real conceits I have, the belief that I taste amazing when I really get going. I've never been averse to licking my fingers- or someone else's fingers, or a cock- clean of my juices. Quite the opposite, actually.
He puts words in my mouth, makes me repeat things that otherwise would be.. taboo, abhorrent.
Say it.
The words feel strange falling from my lips, not as smooth or alluring as when they come from his.
Say. It.
When, I wonder, did my life become such a strange existence? That I should be sitting in a church parking lot, frantically fucking myself, parroting back phrases that I've refused to say since I started cursing twenty-five years ago, all on the orders of a boy who lives an ocean away?
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter, because somehow this boy has taken control of me in a way that I absolutely did not plan on when I embarked on this journey.
It doesn't matter because regardless of how much I fight the depth of that control, how much I try to pull myself back to keep from becoming too dependent on what little time he can afford me, simple words from him..
Come. Now.
..have me following his orders like the good little puppy I am. What does he think as he listens to me come for him, as I'm crying out, begging, cursing?
Now pull yourself together and get to work.
Yes, sir.
And the clock starts over..
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