Tag Archives: dreams

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

The Ache

I am completely exhausted.

This is the first day since I’ve come back that I haven’t worked…and it will probably be the last day before I go back east for the Christmas season. I’m pushing my body to the absolute max.. One day off and I remember why. When I’m working I’m not thinking.

The Christmas season is odd for me… when I was younger it was my second favorite time of year (Halloween always trumped). Christmas Eve is a big deal in my family… or it was. I’m Italian, and we would always go to my Grammy’s house and meet with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, eat way too much food, drink wine, and then one by one all of the grandchildren would open their Christmas gifts. My Grammy ran the show while she was alive and then when she passed my aunt took over. Her last Christmas was three years ago, and she was so weak that she couldn’t come.. I brought my camera and we actually shot a video of all the cousins opening their gifts so she could see all of our reactions. After she passed away I stopped going to Christmas Eve.

I don’t get along with my extended “family” for a variety of reasons.. I feel extremely alone and out of place when I’m around them. That loneliness is doubled when you are the lone rebel who remains home while the rest of the family trecks up to continue a mockery of a tradition…

Bah. Bitter feelings I don’t need to get into.

This is the first year since my aunt died that I’ve been..excited for Christmas. It’s not even about the gifts. I don’t have a Christmas list for the first time since I was about three, no matter how many times my older sister hounds me for one. It’s about actually wanting to sing the songs I hear on the radio again, watching White Christmas and Holiday Inn and allowing myself to be nostalgic. Curling up with my mom’s home made cocoa and Christmas cookies and watching my cat freak out at the amount of tissue paper she is allowed to pounce on Christmas morning.

The best part of the holiday season is going back east. It’s the one time of year that I can get a large enough chunk of time off to go to Boston and see my best friends.. It’s not that I don’t have friends in California, I do.. This group is special though. They are my ride together, die together group. Out of the five of us, I moved west and the rest are all in the Boston area still. Once a year I see them..and once a year I breathe easier. There’s no pretense when I’m around them. They’ve seen all my sides.. They watched me break and saw me at my absolute lowest and still loved me.

I miss Boston itself. The crisp air that can get so cold exposed skin will crack. The lights in Harvard Square during Christmas time. I miss marzipan from Mike’s Pastries and the journeyman bowl from Life Alive. Boston turned me into who I was. When I go back I feel more in my bones.. That’s my holiday season, my reason to celebrate. It’s my dose of love and companionship before the loneliness of the actual Christmas holiday. It’s this time of year that I debate moving back there; seeing if I could rejoin the world of my chickies and bring the man I love with me..

Life isn’t that simple.

Things have gotten better. Kane and I are in an okay place.. I just miss him. I’ve never had a boyfriend with me for the holidays.. even when I was in a relationship he celebrated Christmas 3000 miles away from me. This year will be no exception to that tradition of mine. And so I’ve thrown myself into making gifts (as I am a poor little creature… No buying unless I have to) and working. When I’m working I’m not thinking. I’m not worrying about what I’m missing and I can be grateful for what I have. I look forward to giving Kane what I’ve made for him..seeing the smile on his face.

He is surprisingly not the only man I’m making gifts for.. I have managed to find the beginnings of a secondary partner. We met about three weeks ago at Dark Odyssey, Surrender, a BDSM convention weekend thing at one of the hotels in the city. Mr. Smith has managed to make quite an impression… and part of me is still reeling from it. He’s new and shiny and confusing, and utterly lovable in certain ways.

I find myself achieving an odd balance with him and Kane. I don’t feel like I take away from one by thinking about the other… I have completely different relationships with the two of them, and the fact is the relationship with Smith wouldn’t exist if I didn’t have full permission from Kane to pursue it. He’s my anchor, my primary, and if he and I aren’t okay then I can’t really focus on other partners.. I have a friend that’s often stated that multiple partners handled the right way allow you to be the best you that you can possibly be.. I’m starting to fully understand that. There are kinks that I have that Kane and I don’t connect on..but Smith and I have. Vice versa with Smith and Kane. The two combined on a day where I get to see Kane have me so at peace and content.

I am very grateful for what I have. I see my vanilla and my kinky life improving greatly and have a lot to look forward to in the coming weeks.. That ache of loneliness remains an undercurrent beneath it all, rearing its ugly head from time to time.. I feel it. I rarely succumb to it, but I know it’s there..

I still have so many gifts to make, so much work to do. It’s a small miracle I have time to dwell on this long enough to write an entry XD Back to work I go.

Yours puttering along, on a new (okay… refurbished, but new to me) computer with a new working keyboard.

-Rena

Getting By

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I often have to remind myself that just getting by is not a bad thing when you’re only twenty-three.

My parents are good people. I’ve talked about them many times before. They are masters of getting by, but not so much masters of saving. I never had a college fund (something my parents now regret as I face 75,000 in loans to pay off just for my undergrad), and a retirement fund is a foreign concept for people like my parents. My dad is 57 and still looks month to month on paying bills. Admitting that my daddy, my superhero, is flawed is hard, but he starts a million things that were always supposed to make things better and never finished any. I finish things as a result, I just need a kick in the ass to start most of the time.

Regardless, just getting by is all I’ve known. I never felt like I went without; if we couldn’t afford something one year we would do it the following year when we had more money. I was just taught that this was part of being a starving artist. This is why you got a real degree, because art is unstable and hard to make a living at.

I am at a place right now where I am just getting by. I got strong-armed into quitting my job, and while I finally have income coming in again I am back in survival mode. Five dollars is a lot for me to spend on something that isn’t essential and every last rat cent goes to rent until I can securely pay it. Once rent and bills are taken care of then I can enjoy extras.

A good job, one with salary and benefits, is looking like a distinctive possibility in the near future, which has me very excited, but until then, until I’m back to a secure amount of income my existence is very solitary.

I have not gone to the dungeon in two months. I hate it. HATE IT. Those are my friends, that is my social outlet, but i can’t afford over thirty bucks to park and play once a week. Kane mentioned loaning me the money for this week’s play party…but it’s not one I’m comfortable going to without him. I’m technically too young to get in without him, as weird as it is to say… and I hate loans. i remember all of them. I know I still have 500 I need to repay to someone and 230 to another. I would rather not go then have MORE loans to pay back.

And so I stay home. I throw myself into cleaning, and in working with art materials that I have. I have been popping out chainmail pieces like a machine, and that has felt good. I’ve been leather working and loving the familiar ache it gives my hands. I go to work, I come home. Until I feel better about my finances that’s all I feel comfortable doing. Gas costs too much.

I am okay. I find myself chanting that over and over in my head. I hate the timing of this financial slump because it’s October. It’s my favorite time of the year. Halloween is my Christmas. Give me pumpkin everything, sweaters, hayrides, apple picking, hot cider, candy, and costumes.. If I could still get away with it I would so Trick-or-Treat. Being cut off from so many of those traditions geographically and others financially sucks, I’m not going to lie, but there will be other Octobers. Hopefully I will be home for Thanksgiving and get that last taste of colorful, crisp fall that I love before winter takes over the east coast.

The only thing that makes me feel bad in all this is Kane… I get him maybe 30 minutes a day when he can drop by because his wife is home. It’s hard on him, and me, and he constantly apologizes for our situation. I remind  him that i agreed to this, because it’s better than the alternative. I didn’t go in blind. I knew this would be hard. it’s also hard on him to see how I live when he doesn’t take the reigns and I’m not under his roof. I tell him stop feeling guilty. I’m the one that quit my job. I put myself in this situation…and I would rather live exceedingly lean than ask him for help.

In truth I am lonely, but okay. I get to walk by the beach in Pacifica twice a week thanks to my job. I have a man that loves me and parents that are proud that I’m making it work. I have a roof over my head and food to eat. I could be in much worse shape, and have been before. I would rather be here than where I was in May, in a shoe box surrounded by strangers with no privacy and achingly alone.

I am a work in progress, a starving artist, and for now I am okay with that.

-Rena

Selfish…Selfless…Self-help?

Sigh. I get myself into sticky situations on a regular basis. Along with tripping over air and crashing into objects that I swear to Godde weren’t there a second ago I consider it one of my special talents.

I find myself in one now. My 23rd birthday is on Monday. As I am a baby in this world, it is my first birthday away from both of my parents and all of my old friends back east. Last year I turned 22 in Chicago and spent the day driving through Iowa and Nebraska with my daddy on my way to California to start my brave new life. … Considering the lifestyle I now live, I would definitely call the journey worth it, but until recently very lonely.

Part of that loneliness was due to me trying to turn a romantic situation into something it wasn’t for much too long. Until March I was so solely focused on Jase and he and I moving to Portland for grad school that I didn’t think to attempt to make friends in San Francisco outside of the casual acquaintances I associated with from art school (none of whom I talk to now). Jase was my stability in California… Until he wasn’t.

If it weren’t for the series of events that led to Jase and I ending any sort of romantic relationship and Cal leading me into the BDSM scene I would probably still be a very lonely antisocial turtle. Now I have friends here.. Which is fantastic, and I know that many of them would gladly take me out for a drink and then give me proper birthday beatings. I am also blessed with an amazing boyfriend and Dominant that for some reason gets great joy in spoiling me and makes me smile at least 20 times a day.

Jase and I have definitely distanced ourselves from one another. His girlfriend has great issues with my existence and there are at least three Dominant men in my life that have issues with his face being in one piece.. Along with other parts of his anatomy. But we have old traditions that flair up from time to time, and one of those traditions is a birthday visit.

We always celebrate each other’s birthdays, though often months after the actual events. I go to him or he goes to me and we go out with friends. We drink. Until recently we’ve also fucked. And so, as my birthday got closer I got the text that I was expecting yet dreading.
“Hey so for your birthday weekend you’re coming down, right?”

Of course I am. Why wouldn’t i?
Oh. Money
My relationship
His relationship
OUR RELATIONSHIP

I talked to Kane about it and expressed the normalcy of he and I seeing one another. I also mentioned that I wanted to do something fun for my birthday. I wanted to go out. Drink. Be 23. All my friends here are wonderful, but in their thirties if not very late twenties… If not older. Normally that’s who I get along better with. But sometimes a girl likes to get stupid.

And that’s when I did a stupid. A big stupid.

Kane is very hesitant about expressing ideas sometimes. He doesn’t want to seem desperate or greedy for my time. I’m very bad at saying when I want something. It’s like pulling teeth. I was raised with the mindset that if you ask for something that you are selfish and greedy. You shouldn’t have wants, and should accept that what your partner gives you is all you need.

Essentially. I was raised to believe that all men have psychic powers.

The combination of all this led to Kane proposing an honest amazing offer for what he and I could do for my birthday weekend… And me thinking it was said jokingly.

I accidentally said no to Disneyland. For a weekend drinking on Jase’s couch. GAH.

Kane went so far as to lend me the money for the way too expensive plane ticket. We finally clarified what actually went on last Saturday and I wanted to cry. What an idiot I was!

Jason promised that we would have a good time, and Kane promised that we would go to Disneyland together the next weekend he is free. Okay. Crisis averted. Maybe.

Nope. I wanted to give Jase a chance. He promised us going out and that he would cover $100 of my ticket as my birthday present. He promised we would socialize with friends and wouldn’t be alone together. Well, he texts me today saying he has to shell out a lot of cash for a driving class. I go okay… Can you still contribute to my ticket. He says no.

I then freak out. And frantically text Kane asking if it’s too late for Disney. I was going to Jase’s out of obligation. Because this is what we do and because he promised a good time. I was sacrificing my birthday to him.

Rena a year ago would have gone “okay. Fine. I’ll cover all the ticket. You just pay me the hundred when you can and I’ll still come down and pay for anything I want to do.”

Rena now is going “wait. I have other options. Do I HAVE to do this… Or can I do what I want to do?”

I am capable of being selfish. I am capable of wants. I want to have fun on my birthday and not make myself go broke doing it. I told Jase that I had to talk to Kane. That if nothing else I can come down in a month on my own dime when tickets will be cheaper and we can do my birthday then.

Jase got territorial. Saying well he can give me 50 instead of nothing if I come. Saying that we wouldn’t be able to do much since he would have 10 bucks left to entertain me, but we could drink in his apartment and watch tv. Come see me. Do what you’re supposed to.

Kane said we would look at our options tonight. That he’s committed to a presentation at 5 on Friday but other than that the possibilities are endless.

Endless possibilities. A magical birthday maybe?

Do I do what I want to do, or what I have been obligated to do for so long? Will my guilty conscience allow me to enjoy myself if I go with Kane somewhere that’s 10 minutes away from Jase and NOT see him? Will I finally have a real regret if I go see Jase and postpone magic with Kane?

There has to be some sort of compromise.

I’ll figure it out. Hell. Kane and I will figure it out. I love that I’m not alone in this.. That I have someone to pick apart my brain and tell me when I’ve truly done right or wrong.

I’m determined to have an awesome 23rd birthday dammit!!!

Rawr

-Rena