Tag Archives: distance

Longings

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I had forgotten how much my arms ached when bound behind me. It’s not a position he normally puts me in, and he hasn’t pulled out the rope in so long.

The bound wrists are tied to my ankles, which rise to meet them from my painfully bent knees. My legs have been pushed to their limits time and time again, my arthritic knees bitching at every turn. I could feel a slight shaking as I tried to maintain my balance on the squishy mattress, keeping my back arched and my ass on display without flopping over or suffocating myself. The soft mattress attempted to suck in my face and I bit back the growing panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” Ah… the voice. I love that voice, the slight accent drowning out the growing buzzing built by panic. I feel a hand caress my rounded ass and exhale, my body relaxing to the best of its ability in my current position. I no longer feel the strain in my limbs or the rope against my skin. I no longer notice the awkward angles of my limbs. Only his hand, where it touches the area of me that belongs to him the most.

The gentle stroking suddenly turns to six rapid fire, hard smacks on my ass, causing me to cry out. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, Sir. I remember.” And I do, very well. I have never been bound before Sir, for any reason. I am slightly claustrophobic, and when I can’t breathe properly and can’t escape of my own power I get panic attacks. Not with him.

The last time he bound me I felt like a goddess on display. He tied me to the bed, on my back, facing the foot of the bed. He took polaroid photos of me bound from different angles and then bent over and kissed me, passionately.

He fondled and fucked, and in the middle of it all, just as my orgasm built and I began to beg for more, he would pull away and pull out his sketchpad. Frantically he drew, capturing me as I was with the emotions of what we were doing coursing through him. I watched him each time he pulled away with half-lidded eyes, drunk on passion and honored that I inspired him enough to be considered muse worthy. I had never considered myself more than average in appearance. Inspiring a talented artist to work was almost an even greater honor than being permitted to submit to him.  Over and over again, he fucked me then drew me, until finally we were too entrenched in the scene for him to pull away any longer. He fucked me bound until I came, hard, trembling in my bindings.

Afterwards, he showed me the sketches and I knew I was in danger of loving this man. He drew me like a Matisse nude, with a simplistic beauty that took my breath away. He made me feel like a was a stunning beauty for the first time in my life, and then topped it all off by giving me art supplies on the way out the door. “I was in Flax and thought of you.” he said, as if it were nothing, handing me pads, and brushes, and a beautiful watercolor set. In that moment I wanted to cry. He made me feel so cherished. He thought of me outside of our BDSM hookups, when I wasn’t tied to his bed. It was the beginning of loving him.

“Do you remember how that night ended, beautiful?” His voice brings me back to the present. I close my eyes, savoring it. His hand cups my ass and squeezes as he asks.

“You fucked me, Sir, until we both came and I had gumby legs for the rest of the night.”

That earned me a short chuckle and another swift smack on the ass. ” I did. And do you know how it will end tonight?”

“No, Sir. But I can hope.”

His hands, along with his body heat, left me, and I stifled a whimper. When he is Sir he points out my little noises and chides me for my whining. It’s not about what I want. It’s about trusting him to give me what we both need.

I hear the ‘pop’ of a cap opening. A shiver runs through my body.

The gel is cold against my skin as he rubs it against my anal opening. It quickly warms as his finger follows, slipping inside and toying me gently. I moan and push back eagerly, or as eagerly as my bonds will allow, causing another amused chuckle.

“Good girl. Someone’s greedy tonight.” He slips another finger inside and I moan. Before I can push back he pulls away completely, his warmth leaving the bed.

I hear the scratch of pencil against illustration board and moan again. He’s sketching me, my ass facing him, all my bits and pieces and pudge on display for this man. Not only does he want me, he wants to capture me. I’m dripping wet by the time he returns to the bed, trembling head to toe and on the brink of orgasm and he’s barely touched me.

A pattern emerges similar to the first time he tied me up. He toys my ass, smacks it, even bites it, and then pulls away. I hear more sounds of pencil on board, and then he returns to torture me once more.

Time doesn’t exist in those moments. Your limbs reach a point where they are numb. You no longer feel the ropes binding you; forget they’re even there. You only hear the sketch sounds and feel his hands on your flesh and in your holes.

Finally, he gives me what I crave; what only he can give me. He seats himself inside my ass and begins pumping vigorously into me. He uses my bound wrists as leverage, pulling me to meet his cock with each thrust, and I know the sketching is done for the evening. I let myself get lost in the feel of his cock inside me, chanting over and over, “Oh Godde, oh Godde. Thank you, Sir, thank you! Oh Godde thank you for fucking my ass..”

And then I wake up. Shaking and midway through another round of “Oh Godde”. My undies soaked, my body tight beyond words, I reach for my vibrator and finish the job in hopes of some peaceful sleep that evening. I force two or three orgasms out of my body, all the while picturing my Dominant between my legs instead of my piece of vibrating silicone, and exhaust myself physically, hoping my mind will follow. I close my eyes again, knowing that a similar dream will appear the next night, and the night after that until his hands are on my body again.

I miss him. I want him.

And I am so grateful to have had inspiration for such vivid dreams.. I may be sexually frustrated, but I am blessed. I crave his hands on me..because I remember just how wonderful it feels.

It’s 2:28 a.m… I need to go grab my vibrator and exhaust myself to sleep.

Yours,

-Rena

Waiting..and Hoping…

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It has been twelve days since I’ve seen my Dom… Twelve very long days.

Once again, I’m back in New Jersey. It’s great to see my family, as usual..but my chest is so tight.

I don’t know where we are..what we are… I miss him so much I ache.

It’s not a simple matter of communicating through technology while he is gone, filling the void how he can. He has horrible reception where he is, and he dislikes talking on the phone. I am an incredibly tactile person. I close my eyes at night and I crave his touch, the way he traces his finger around my face as if he’s trying to memorize it. I crave his scent… I miss the security of curling up right in my spot next to him, our bodies wrapping around one another. I miss his voice, and his face… I just miss everything about him.

He’s been so busy, getting everything that needs to be done, done. I understand.. I’m trying so hard to, but I feel such a distance between the two of us… He and I had a falling out about communication before I left for home, and then again once I got here just two days ago.

The weekend before I had done something I hadn’t in so long. I went and I played with others. I went to Dark Odyssey’s Surrender event and actually connected with a dominant man for the first time since Kane and I got more serious. I partially went out of my own loneliness, and partially went because he had tasked me with getting back to that place while he was gone, the one where I could have fun with others without feeling this knot of guilt, as if I was betraying him. I played, sort of.. I couldn’t do full on, intense scenes.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. One of my best friends in the kink community was there, someone who can be very paternal with me. Before the weekend was over I asked something of him that I have never asked of anyone. I asked if he would beat me. I am not a pain slut, far from it. I have a very low pain tolerance compared to most submissives out there…but I was in so much pain. I wanted Kane there… All these intimate scenes, people connecting around me, and I just wanted my Dominant to take me and put me on the cross, flog me with the red and black flogger we both love..

He flogged me, and I felt nothing. Spanked me..paddled me… I started laughing. As odd is this sounds, that’s a bad sign for me. When I actually get into sub space I become very quiet. I sigh a bit, let out little noises, but I never laugh. I broke down about a minute later and was sobbing so hard my friend refused to continue. He flipped me around, hugged me, and ended up helping me with a different sort of aftercare. He took me over to the side, sat me down, and had me list all the reasons I am thankful Kane is my Dom. Then list all the negatives of him being gone for so long, and see if the pros outweighed the cons. They did, by a long shot..

The other day I found out just how much my outside play bothered him, and just what insecure thoughts he had floating around in his head. Since then… I don’t know. He’s been texting me from time to time, and I’ve been texting him, but nothing D/s has been discussed. Nothing deep and emotional has been discussed. It’s been light, cute.. friend like.

I’m hoping I”m just emotional..reading too much into something when I’m far away and can’t fully connect…but I can tell you straight out that I would give quite a lot to hear him tell me he loved me right now. I haven’t heard the phrase in so long..I think that’s what shakes me.

Photos are hard for me..especially of my lower body. I don’t like my stomach, don’t like my pudge. In an attempt to connect after an awkward day I made a video for him, something that I don’t do… I sent it to him. He mentioned being excited to watch it… and then he was gone for the night. I hope he watched it.. hope he liked it..but I don’t know. I don’t know if it was right to do, if he wants me submitting to him now or to wait until he sees me in person.

I don’t know anything right now, and I don’t know whether or not he has the time to reassure me and calm the frantic thoughts in my mind.

And so I wait..and I hope… I will see him sometime around December 1st, hopefully…

Until then, I stare at my phone. I send him what I can. I try to keep him involved without spamming him when he can’t respond. I try not to beg when I know he is tired and stressed and busy. I love, fully and completely, and try to tell him so at least once a day, support how I can when it’s a world I don’t know.

I pray the pit in my stomach is wrong.

Yours, waiting

-Rena