"Don't know why I'm still afraid,
If you weren't real I would make you up,
Now."
Honey and the Moon
Joseph Arthur
I sing these lines whenever I'm with Him. I sing them quietly to myself in the darkness of my bedroom when I'm alone. Never have song lyrics spoken to me more, because, if I stop to think about it, I swear that I have made him up.
I don't know how I could have done this. Before we met, I didn't even know how much I needed him. I couldn't conceptualize this experience at all. But now there are times when I look at his face, times when he doesn't know that I'm looking at him, and I can't believe that he is real. Even more than that - I can't believe that he is real and that he chose me. I stare into his impossibly dark eyes, at his soft lips, and wonder how they came to be. I touch his face, his beautiful face, and cannot believe that he is looking at me.
If I hadn't met his friends and family, if he hadn't met mine, I would think that he was just a figment that floats through my window at night. I hold my breath so I don't scare him away, I keep perfectly still so I don't wake from this dream.
I realize that he is real, that everyone else can see him, and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. But then I'm immediately gripped by a panic...because...because...how long before he realizes what a fraud I am? How long before he wakes up and sees me for who I am, turns me aside for someone as beautiful as he is, inside and out? How long before his delusion breaks?
I kneel with my head down, hoping that he'll let me remain at his feet forever.
Cut
I was straddling him, sitting on his lap as he sat up on the bed. He had my breasts in his hands and was threatening me with the nipple clamps.
"I don't even need to use the clamps on you, do I?," he said, pinching both nipples between his fingers. I squirmed and gasped against his fingers. "See, if you pull away, I just clamp tighter." He twisted harder. I closed my eyes and bit back a moan.
"Open your eyes and look at me, slut," he ordered, momentarily releasing my nipples before clamping down on them again. I cried out with the pain, the hot ache that was worse than before.
He pulled me closer to him by the nipples and whispered in my ear. "Mmm...you like the pain, don't you?" I shook my head and tried to squirm away from him. "Say you like the pain. Say, 'I'm a slut and I love the pain'."
"I like the pain," I mumbled. He twisted harder until I relented. "Okay, okay. I'm a slut and I love the pain."
"That's right, you're my slut, just for me." He released my nipples for a moment, then clamped down on them hard for the final time. The pain shot through me, white hot. My mind was a flash of light and pain.
He released me and I sat back, gasping for a moment. He sat forward and wrapped me up in his arms. We sat face to face with our legs around each other. He traced his fingers over my sore nipples in slow circles.
"I know everything you want, Kitten, everything you desire," he murmured into my hair. "I know things that you don't even know you want." He started tracing his index finger from my cheek, down my neck and across my chest. "I know that you want to feel the cold blade down your body," he said quietly.
"You do?" The fantasies had just recently awoken in my mind. They were unformed, practically unknown to myself. How could he know?
"Yes, you want to feel it across your stomach and maybe feel it dig in a little here," he pressed his fingers against my abdomen, "or here," he pressed against my thigh. "That's what you've wanted, isn't it?"
I looked down at my hands, then back up at him. "Yes," I whispered, astonished at how he could read my mind.
"Has anyone ever done that to you before?"
I shook my head. "No...no one except me." I grinned ruefully and rolled my eyes, trying to make light of a heavy topic. He didn't press the matter though, he just kept touching me lightly with his fingertips.
"I know everything you need, Kitten. And I will give it to you." He moved his hand up to my face and drew his fingertips across my cheek and down across my neck as he pinned me beneath him.
"I don't even need to use the clamps on you, do I?," he said, pinching both nipples between his fingers. I squirmed and gasped against his fingers. "See, if you pull away, I just clamp tighter." He twisted harder. I closed my eyes and bit back a moan.
"Open your eyes and look at me, slut," he ordered, momentarily releasing my nipples before clamping down on them again. I cried out with the pain, the hot ache that was worse than before.
He pulled me closer to him by the nipples and whispered in my ear. "Mmm...you like the pain, don't you?" I shook my head and tried to squirm away from him. "Say you like the pain. Say, 'I'm a slut and I love the pain'."
"I like the pain," I mumbled. He twisted harder until I relented. "Okay, okay. I'm a slut and I love the pain."
"That's right, you're my slut, just for me." He released my nipples for a moment, then clamped down on them hard for the final time. The pain shot through me, white hot. My mind was a flash of light and pain.
He released me and I sat back, gasping for a moment. He sat forward and wrapped me up in his arms. We sat face to face with our legs around each other. He traced his fingers over my sore nipples in slow circles.
"I know everything you want, Kitten, everything you desire," he murmured into my hair. "I know things that you don't even know you want." He started tracing his index finger from my cheek, down my neck and across my chest. "I know that you want to feel the cold blade down your body," he said quietly.
"You do?" The fantasies had just recently awoken in my mind. They were unformed, practically unknown to myself. How could he know?
"Yes, you want to feel it across your stomach and maybe feel it dig in a little here," he pressed his fingers against my abdomen, "or here," he pressed against my thigh. "That's what you've wanted, isn't it?"
I looked down at my hands, then back up at him. "Yes," I whispered, astonished at how he could read my mind.
"Has anyone ever done that to you before?"
I shook my head. "No...no one except me." I grinned ruefully and rolled my eyes, trying to make light of a heavy topic. He didn't press the matter though, he just kept touching me lightly with his fingertips.
"I know everything you need, Kitten. And I will give it to you." He moved his hand up to my face and drew his fingertips across my cheek and down across my neck as he pinned me beneath him.
Jealousy
We were rooting around in my kitchen for a snack before the movie we planned to watch came on tv.
He opened the freezer. "What's this?," he asked as he pulled out an individually-packaged orange sorbet, the kind that comes inside an actual orange rind. "Did you buy this?," he laughed.
"No, someone brought it over for me a while ago," I said and turned away.
"Oh, D. brought it for you," he said, his face falling. D. is the man that I was seeing before I met Him. And he hates any reminder that anyone touched me before He owned me. "Never mind," he sighed as he tossed it back into the freezer.
He sulked over to the pantry. "See, you do have a case of bottled water here." I came over to look; I had forgotten it was there. "Did another boyfriend bring that over for you?," he joked with an edge in his voice.
"No," I said carefully.
"Good," he said and he turned toward me rapidly. His hand went to my throat and he pinned me against the wall next to the pantry. "Because you know that none of those boys -," he spit the word boys, "- could give it to you like I do."
I nodded in panic. "Yes, Sir."
"You know that no one could own you and hurt you just like you need, don't you?," he seethed as he tightened his grip on my neck.
"Yes, Sir," I whispered.
He let go and slowly patted my cheek. "Good," he smiled, "don't you forget it, sweetheart."
He opened the freezer. "What's this?," he asked as he pulled out an individually-packaged orange sorbet, the kind that comes inside an actual orange rind. "Did you buy this?," he laughed.
"No, someone brought it over for me a while ago," I said and turned away.
"Oh, D. brought it for you," he said, his face falling. D. is the man that I was seeing before I met Him. And he hates any reminder that anyone touched me before He owned me. "Never mind," he sighed as he tossed it back into the freezer.
He sulked over to the pantry. "See, you do have a case of bottled water here." I came over to look; I had forgotten it was there. "Did another boyfriend bring that over for you?," he joked with an edge in his voice.
"No," I said carefully.
"Good," he said and he turned toward me rapidly. His hand went to my throat and he pinned me against the wall next to the pantry. "Because you know that none of those boys -," he spit the word boys, "- could give it to you like I do."
I nodded in panic. "Yes, Sir."
"You know that no one could own you and hurt you just like you need, don't you?," he seethed as he tightened his grip on my neck.
"Yes, Sir," I whispered.
He let go and slowly patted my cheek. "Good," he smiled, "don't you forget it, sweetheart."
Plug, Part II
I keep looking at that one picture from that night, the one of my face while He had the plug in my ass. He told me that he came around to the front of the bed to take that picture, but my head was down. He ordered me to lift my head and I wailed a pathetic "no." He repeated the order and I lifted my head to look right at him. He snapped the picture.
I am on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed. My hair is hanging in my face, disheveled. I obviously look like I have been crying. The tops of my breasts are visible, as are the boots that I was wearing the whole time. My ribs are visible on my side. Usually it would make me happy to look so thin, but somehow in this picture it looks pathetic. I have never seen myself like this.
I can't figure out the look on my face in that picture. I see a hundred different things, and then sometimes I see nothing at all. There is a manner in which my look is completely blank and vacant. After all, I was somewhere else when the picture was taken. I might as well have been unconscious. But I look again and maybe I see fear, and despair and overwhelming hunger.
I cannot believe that I do not remember so much from that evening. He has never controlled me so much as to take my mind out of my body, give me as much pain or pleasure as he wants without my knowledge.
I asked him later, "Do you realize what you could have done to me at that moment?"
"What could I have done to you?"
"Anything." For a moment, that thought frightened me. Really, he could have done anything to me, taken anything, hurt me immeasurably. I trust him to keep me safe, but who would be watching over him at that moment?
My masochism is such that it gets carried away with itself at times. I get a taste of the pain, just a tiny morsel of it, and I want more, exponentially more. In my mind, my masochistic fantasies spiral in on themselves, spanks becoming body blows, scratches and bites becoming stab wounds. If my masochistic mind had its way, each encounter would intensify until I was completely destroyed, torn apart by his lust and his power. Obviously, my mind is out of control and it is for the best that He determines my desires. But what if he is out of control, drunk on his power over me?
All my concern was for naught. He explained to me that the amount of power he had over me at that moment increased his control over me but kept the power itself tightly contained. He spoke of his "laser focus" on the pain he was giving me - a precise ability to administer each blow or spank in the exact position he desired, to the exact intensity. He was everything that I was not - lucid to my floaty absence, restrained to my uncontrolled ambition. He was everything that I could not be and everything that I needed in that moment.
I am on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed. My hair is hanging in my face, disheveled. I obviously look like I have been crying. The tops of my breasts are visible, as are the boots that I was wearing the whole time. My ribs are visible on my side. Usually it would make me happy to look so thin, but somehow in this picture it looks pathetic. I have never seen myself like this.
I can't figure out the look on my face in that picture. I see a hundred different things, and then sometimes I see nothing at all. There is a manner in which my look is completely blank and vacant. After all, I was somewhere else when the picture was taken. I might as well have been unconscious. But I look again and maybe I see fear, and despair and overwhelming hunger.
I cannot believe that I do not remember so much from that evening. He has never controlled me so much as to take my mind out of my body, give me as much pain or pleasure as he wants without my knowledge.
I asked him later, "Do you realize what you could have done to me at that moment?"
"What could I have done to you?"
"Anything." For a moment, that thought frightened me. Really, he could have done anything to me, taken anything, hurt me immeasurably. I trust him to keep me safe, but who would be watching over him at that moment?
My masochism is such that it gets carried away with itself at times. I get a taste of the pain, just a tiny morsel of it, and I want more, exponentially more. In my mind, my masochistic fantasies spiral in on themselves, spanks becoming body blows, scratches and bites becoming stab wounds. If my masochistic mind had its way, each encounter would intensify until I was completely destroyed, torn apart by his lust and his power. Obviously, my mind is out of control and it is for the best that He determines my desires. But what if he is out of control, drunk on his power over me?
All my concern was for naught. He explained to me that the amount of power he had over me at that moment increased his control over me but kept the power itself tightly contained. He spoke of his "laser focus" on the pain he was giving me - a precise ability to administer each blow or spank in the exact position he desired, to the exact intensity. He was everything that I was not - lucid to my floaty absence, restrained to my uncontrolled ambition. He was everything that I could not be and everything that I needed in that moment.
Plug
He made me take my pants off in the kitchen. I stood there in my sweater, black lace thong panties and boots. "Take those off too," he gestured to the sweater and panties, "but keep your boots on." He put my hands on the counter and kicked my feet apart so he could feel between my legs. I was already so wet.
He led me by the hand into the bedroom and laid me down on the bed while he lit a candle and got settled. "Close your eyes," he said and I did. I felt his hands all over my body, then the sting of the hot wax across my breasts. I opened my eyes and squealed in surprise, eliciting a stern "Close them!," from him. He trailed the wax down my stomach and on the insides of my thighs, drawing more squeals out of me. He flipped me over onto my stomach and dripped the wax down my back and onto my ass.
He pulled my head up by my hair. "Get down there and suck it," he growled. I knelt between his legs and took his cock into my mouth, sucking slowly with his hand in my hair. I pulled my head up and he smacked me across the face. He put my face back down on his cock and pulled me back up by my hair and slapped me again. The slaps were harder than I'm used to and I felt the tears well up hot, fast. He put me back down on this cock and I stifled a sob as I sucked. Back up, slap, back down on his cock, repeated, again and again. Tears streaming, nose running, he didn't stop. He kept going, again and again.
He lifted me up and put me on my knees on the floor beside the bed. He stood over me and held up his hand to slap me. I flinched, put my hand up to my face. "Put your arms down and hold still," he warned as he twisted his hand tighter in my hair. I clenched my fists to my sides and tilted my face up toward him.
"Good girl," he cooed, caressing my face before slapping me hard against my cheek, harder than I thought possible. I started sobbing again, shaking with the tears. "I can go easier on you. I can stop," he suggested in his most patronizing voice.
"No, no, please don't stop," I begged, knowing that this was what he had been waiting for all week, what I had been waiting for for a lifetime. He slapped me as he taunted me over and over again.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, please don't stop."
"I can't hear you."
"Please, don't stop!" And he landed the hardest blow yet.
***
That's the last thing that I remember before I went under, before I went away. My body kept moving and feeling, but I was somewhere else. I was on that ocean shore at night, watching the waves crash and pull back. I was in the special place where I go to in deep meditation. I wasn't with Him anymore.
I only know what happened next because he put the pieces together for me later.
He brought me back up onto the bed and spanked me until my ass was red and hot to his touch. Then he got out the new anal plug that he bought me as I laid on my stomach on the bed. The plug is purple and has two bulbs so it can go partway in or sink deep all the way in to the widest point. He bought the plug to get me ready to take his cock. After he trained me with the plug, I'd have no more excuses.
He lubed up my asshole with his fingers, probing in and out as I moaned softly into the sheets. He slid the plug in partway and wiggled it slowly back and forth, watching me squirm. After a moment, he pushed it all the way in.
That's when he took the pictures, the humiliating record of how very submissive I was to him at that moment. The close-ups of the plug deep in my ass, the shots of me on all fours from behind with the plug in my ass, the full-length pictures of me sprawled out on the bed with his hand opening the lips of my pussy. And the worst one - the shot of my face with that priceless look.
After a couple of minutes, he noticed that I seemed more uncomfortable. I was squirming and started begging him to take the plug out. He made me lift my head so he could hear me beg and he saw me crawl back onto all fours. I rocked back and forth, begging and crying.
***
Somewhere deep in the sand, I felt the pressure of the plug. I tried to stay, I kept repeating my mantra to myself but I was being pulled away.
Suddenly, I was back on the bed with the plug in my ass. I was crying, pleading for him to take it out. It was too much. He pushed it in farther, wiggled it back and forth as I rocked and moaned, and then he finally pulled it out. I collapsed in exhaustion on the bed and went back under.
***
Again, He fills in the missing pieces. He pushed the plug halfway in and told me to touch my pussy while he did it. I laid on my stomach with my arm underneath me, rubbing my wet clit with three fingers. My moaning turned guttural, until I was practically an animal writhing beneath him. As I grew closer to coming, I begged him to push the plug all the way in.
He did and I exploded, screaming obscenities.
After that, he removed the plug and stroked my hair while my breathing returned to normal. He lifted me onto his lap and had me straddle him. Spent, I fucked him with my head down on his shoulder. Although I don't remember this, apparently I didn't stop talking the entire time, telling him that I have never loved anyone as much as him. He came hard inside me, holding me tight.
***
I came back out. "What was that?," I asked, dazed. What had just happened?
He led me by the hand into the bedroom and laid me down on the bed while he lit a candle and got settled. "Close your eyes," he said and I did. I felt his hands all over my body, then the sting of the hot wax across my breasts. I opened my eyes and squealed in surprise, eliciting a stern "Close them!," from him. He trailed the wax down my stomach and on the insides of my thighs, drawing more squeals out of me. He flipped me over onto my stomach and dripped the wax down my back and onto my ass.
He pulled my head up by my hair. "Get down there and suck it," he growled. I knelt between his legs and took his cock into my mouth, sucking slowly with his hand in my hair. I pulled my head up and he smacked me across the face. He put my face back down on his cock and pulled me back up by my hair and slapped me again. The slaps were harder than I'm used to and I felt the tears well up hot, fast. He put me back down on this cock and I stifled a sob as I sucked. Back up, slap, back down on his cock, repeated, again and again. Tears streaming, nose running, he didn't stop. He kept going, again and again.
He lifted me up and put me on my knees on the floor beside the bed. He stood over me and held up his hand to slap me. I flinched, put my hand up to my face. "Put your arms down and hold still," he warned as he twisted his hand tighter in my hair. I clenched my fists to my sides and tilted my face up toward him.
"Good girl," he cooed, caressing my face before slapping me hard against my cheek, harder than I thought possible. I started sobbing again, shaking with the tears. "I can go easier on you. I can stop," he suggested in his most patronizing voice.
"No, no, please don't stop," I begged, knowing that this was what he had been waiting for all week, what I had been waiting for for a lifetime. He slapped me as he taunted me over and over again.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, please don't stop."
"I can't hear you."
"Please, don't stop!" And he landed the hardest blow yet.
***
That's the last thing that I remember before I went under, before I went away. My body kept moving and feeling, but I was somewhere else. I was on that ocean shore at night, watching the waves crash and pull back. I was in the special place where I go to in deep meditation. I wasn't with Him anymore.
I only know what happened next because he put the pieces together for me later.
He brought me back up onto the bed and spanked me until my ass was red and hot to his touch. Then he got out the new anal plug that he bought me as I laid on my stomach on the bed. The plug is purple and has two bulbs so it can go partway in or sink deep all the way in to the widest point. He bought the plug to get me ready to take his cock. After he trained me with the plug, I'd have no more excuses.
He lubed up my asshole with his fingers, probing in and out as I moaned softly into the sheets. He slid the plug in partway and wiggled it slowly back and forth, watching me squirm. After a moment, he pushed it all the way in.
That's when he took the pictures, the humiliating record of how very submissive I was to him at that moment. The close-ups of the plug deep in my ass, the shots of me on all fours from behind with the plug in my ass, the full-length pictures of me sprawled out on the bed with his hand opening the lips of my pussy. And the worst one - the shot of my face with that priceless look.
After a couple of minutes, he noticed that I seemed more uncomfortable. I was squirming and started begging him to take the plug out. He made me lift my head so he could hear me beg and he saw me crawl back onto all fours. I rocked back and forth, begging and crying.
***
Somewhere deep in the sand, I felt the pressure of the plug. I tried to stay, I kept repeating my mantra to myself but I was being pulled away.
Suddenly, I was back on the bed with the plug in my ass. I was crying, pleading for him to take it out. It was too much. He pushed it in farther, wiggled it back and forth as I rocked and moaned, and then he finally pulled it out. I collapsed in exhaustion on the bed and went back under.
***
Again, He fills in the missing pieces. He pushed the plug halfway in and told me to touch my pussy while he did it. I laid on my stomach with my arm underneath me, rubbing my wet clit with three fingers. My moaning turned guttural, until I was practically an animal writhing beneath him. As I grew closer to coming, I begged him to push the plug all the way in.
He did and I exploded, screaming obscenities.
After that, he removed the plug and stroked my hair while my breathing returned to normal. He lifted me onto his lap and had me straddle him. Spent, I fucked him with my head down on his shoulder. Although I don't remember this, apparently I didn't stop talking the entire time, telling him that I have never loved anyone as much as him. He came hard inside me, holding me tight.
***
I came back out. "What was that?," I asked, dazed. What had just happened?
Bonding, Part II
We connect, we disconnect, we reconnect again. The tide comes in and goes out. Days change, nothing changes.
He and I have time together, moments of intense connection. Then we have periods apart, and I have periods of solitary longing. These times feel like falling away into the cold, away from his warmth. But we find each other again and he brings me back. How long will this cycle continue? Won't I feel this way even if I spend every night with him and wake up with him every day? Won't I always long to bask in his glow at the end of every long day? Won't I still suffer every second of his absence? Can this please continue forever?
It was our first time back together after an absence and we had to run an errand before a store closed. We were threading our way through the aisles. I was trailing him, holding onto his hand. He stopped to pick up an item and I stepped close to him, putting my face close to his neck and inhaling his scent. (Have I mentioned that I love how he smells? Sometimes I hold the pillow he sleeps on close to me at night so I can breathe him in as I sleep.).
He put down the item and turned to me, looping his arms around my back and nestling his face in my hair. He were both breathing in and out, in and out together, deeper and faster. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I could feel him strong against me. We were both still, but there was a silent crackle of electricity. Everything was charged and I was on fire.
How much time passed? Certainly not more than a minute or two. But I could feel myself being drawn into him, absorbed by the sheer power of him. He pulled back an inch and looked down at me, devouring me with his eyes, consuming every inch of me. We seemed to hang suspended in time, not breathing or moving, simply existing in a space created just for us.
Then we both took a deep breath and stepped back. "Whoa," he sighed, shaking his head.
"Down, boy," I smiled.
"Down me? Down you. Damn, can I just take you right here?"
I giggled and we moved off down the aisle together, hand in hand, reconnected.
He and I have time together, moments of intense connection. Then we have periods apart, and I have periods of solitary longing. These times feel like falling away into the cold, away from his warmth. But we find each other again and he brings me back. How long will this cycle continue? Won't I feel this way even if I spend every night with him and wake up with him every day? Won't I always long to bask in his glow at the end of every long day? Won't I still suffer every second of his absence? Can this please continue forever?
It was our first time back together after an absence and we had to run an errand before a store closed. We were threading our way through the aisles. I was trailing him, holding onto his hand. He stopped to pick up an item and I stepped close to him, putting my face close to his neck and inhaling his scent. (Have I mentioned that I love how he smells? Sometimes I hold the pillow he sleeps on close to me at night so I can breathe him in as I sleep.).
He put down the item and turned to me, looping his arms around my back and nestling his face in my hair. He were both breathing in and out, in and out together, deeper and faster. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I could feel him strong against me. We were both still, but there was a silent crackle of electricity. Everything was charged and I was on fire.
How much time passed? Certainly not more than a minute or two. But I could feel myself being drawn into him, absorbed by the sheer power of him. He pulled back an inch and looked down at me, devouring me with his eyes, consuming every inch of me. We seemed to hang suspended in time, not breathing or moving, simply existing in a space created just for us.
Then we both took a deep breath and stepped back. "Whoa," he sighed, shaking his head.
"Down, boy," I smiled.
"Down me? Down you. Damn, can I just take you right here?"
I giggled and we moved off down the aisle together, hand in hand, reconnected.
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