The Royal Court of Slut-hood

Time for another semi-annual update again...

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 15:02:39 GMT

Yes, I'm still alive.
Yes, I'm still unemployed.
Yes, I am going through crazy traumatic life changing situations.
Yes, I still hate my life.
Yes, I still hate my mother.
Yes, I'm still suffering from severe cabin fever.
Yes, I'm currently without any form of contact to the outside world (cell phone, computer, car...)
Yes, I'm broke.
Yes, I'm frustrated and yes, I mean sexually too.
Yes, I've given up on relationships that satisfy.
Yes, I admit that I am cursed to meet the right guy at the wrong time EVERY TIME.
Yes, I am uncollared.
Yes, I am generally unhappy.
Yes, I feel trapped, more than ever.
Yes, I resent my cousin, who is pregnant, for the happiness her family feels about it.
Yes, I resent my new friends for their freedom.
Yes, I resent being constantly alone.
Yes, I regret the last six months of my life.
Yes, I believe that the only person who would care if I left the state today would be my daughter because the court says she can't come with me.
Yes, I believe the system is out to get me, because there is obviously no way of getting around it.
Yes, I wish birth control wasn't a placebo.
Yes, I wish I had good news...

Sun, 05 Apr 2009 19:28:28 GMT

Laissez-fucking-faire once again...

Yes, my life is a roller coaster and not the fun kind.

I wish I could be online writing to you all much more often, as it is therapeutic to me. Unfortunately, it seems that's not something allowed in my life right now, thanks to kids, being unemployed, being under my mother's thumb, and being very close to severe depression... I hate life, I really do. Confusion, circumstance, and a complete loss of something that meant a lot to me...

Is it easier to learn everything about someone right away and decide based on this whether a relationship is good? Or is it better to have the relationship and find things out slowly, realizing two years later that everything you thought you had in common might not necessarily be right??

Blah.

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 04:55:31 GMT

Restlessness is BAD!!!!

That is all...

The semi-annual update...

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 15:11:35 GMT

Yes, I am alive.
No, I'm not really happy with my lot in life.
Yes, I had shitty holidays that are technically still happening.
No, I'm not married, pregnant, or having an otherwise traumatic change of lifestyle.
Yes, I am still collared and happy about it.
Yes, I still get restless.

So it has come to my attention that this journal address has made the rounds at my job. After much, MUCH soul-searching regarding it, I have decided to say:

Fuck it.

I don't care if this gets read. I actually think it might shake up a few of those assholes who just plain had the wrong idea about me. I kind of feel like saying to them, "Fuck you all, you didn't want to know about all this, or you would have gotten to know me."

All kidding aside, I really hope this does shock them, surprise them, hell even horrify them. It would be nice to be acknowledged as the mysterious one. I mean, if all this lurks under the surface of the way I am, it might make them look or think twice to others they meet. Might make them think again before they say something stupid...

So, friends from work, welcome. Enjoy. Judge if you have to, but just remember that you were the ones who decided this was important enough to read without my knowing it... Don't blame me if you find something you don't like.

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 04:28:23 GMT

There is something unavoidably sexy about thunderstorms... Here are a few of my thoughts on why:

All that cosmic, universal power
The deep rumbling sounds like a growl that echoes deep in your chest
Everyone looks sexy in the rain
The possibility that stepping outside could be fatal makes people feel alive...

I don't know, maybe it's just that feeling of renewal, of fresh-faced rebirth...

Anyway, with all this in my head, I still have room for the image of an ethereal beauty, face tilted into the rain and highlighted by the shocks of lightning. Her breasts heave against the dress soaked to translucence even as he lifts her, positions her, penetrates her... She seems like nature itself living and breathing as they fuck, embracing the elements around them even as she clutches him in the more intimate embrace of her body. He orgasmic scream parallels the rumble of thunder above them.

I love rain, have I mentioned that one?

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 01:04:36 GMT

So I am alive, confused as usual, writing because I'm hormonal (again, as usual), and so glad to have Internet back, even if it is something that is only available to me on occasion...

I miss reading all of you and hate that I've been away so long.

Things are still crazy, but the constants are here:

Still love Master
Still dealing with work and commuting
Have decided that I love T, but in an entirely different way... it's a really confusing sentiment right now.
And am currently living int he house I grew up in... Suck.

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:37:17 GMT

So I've decided that I love late-night booty calls again... because right now I am sore but happy!

And then I decided I hate them again... because I kind of have to be up in two hours to get ready for work...

The inner battle ensues: love getting fucked late at night, stripes all down the back, furrows from fingernails dug in along the spine, slight crease marks from the stiff leather cuffs... hate getting no sleep after a previous night of getting little sleep... ouch...

More inspiration...

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 01:22:29 GMT

The footsteps echoed sharply on the stone floor. The chapel was old, centuries gone by since the last worshippers set foot on its sacred ground. The footsteps paused, turned, and resumed. Kneeling before the raised platform of the altar a woman knelt, trembling. Her simple white dress contrasted starkly with the opulent crimson drapings on the altar itself.

The well polished black shoes of the man pacing before her came to a halt inches from where her hands clasped above her head. He bent, gathering a gentle handful of her hair. He drew her up until she arched her back, struggling to stay graceful while blancing precariously on her toes. With a hiss her dress was unzipped, allowing it to drop from her frame easily. The white lace thong was the only thing remaining, giving her body an air of youth and innocence. With a barely veiled dark curse, he pushed her over the altar. She felt the crush of the lush velvet beneath her breasts just before his command came.

"Up", he bit out, as sharp as the rest of his movements. She quickly got her legs under her, on the top of the altar. "Kneel." His next sharp command snapped over her like the crack of his whip. She immediately assumed the position, her back arched, legs spread, neck bent gracefully to lower her chin. He slipped behind her for a moment, only long enough to fix a silky black sash around her eyes. Stepping away he issued his next command: "Offer."

Carefully, she bent forward, her back straight, until her cheek met the velvet drape once again. Her hands moved from behind her back, stretching out above her head. One deep breath later, she heard the whistle of displaced air.

She let a breath hiss out as she felt the leather strap strike like fire across her back. Her eyelids fluttered behind the blindfold as the lashes rained down until her entire back prickled from the burn. The tears darkened the crimson of her altar, leaking from below the silk even as she tried to stifle her sobs.

The rustle of clothing alerted her just before he laid a hand on her raised ass to guide her wetness onto his cock. The tension in her muscles, the subtle play of them even as she cried, brought a groan from him. He repaid her the sensation by dragging his fingernails down her reddened back. She shied away slightly, a cry breaking past her lips as her muscles pulsed around him in pain. His hand raised again, taking a handful of her hair and fucking into her body ruthlessly. Her moans and whimpers spurred him, a growl rising in his throat.

He reached his peak inciting her muscles to play him and growling "Now", spent himself into her. His first pulse of climax triggered hers.

He left her trembling, still in her commanded position, on top of the altar of the ancient church and retreated simply to watch the play of her expression as she calmed herself.

Inspirations galore...

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 19:42:37 GMT

So went to an awesome show last night and am feeling creative...

The heat of the lights beat down, hitting her even as she stood in the crushing crowd of fans. She leaned against the barrier separating her from the stage, taking an occasional drink from the bottle of water she dangled from her fingers. Her eyes flashed, taking in the spectacle from her position center stage. The lights reflected with each thumping beat of the bass drum, the snap of the snare vibrating in her chest. The haunting level of the keyboards, the deep rhythm of the bass, the quick fingers of the guitar, all of it rose in her, making her body seem like it was a living part of the music. All this culminated as she lifted her head to watch him.

He felt the bead of sweat roll down the side of his face as he lost himself in the lyrics he sang. A song of loss he had penned just in time for the album, the pace of it kept him focused and alert. He opened his eyes to sweep the crowd, but found them drawn directly in front of his position on stage. The girl stared back at him, eyes strangely knowing in an innocent looking face. He watched her mouth his lyrics along with him, crisply, like she knew exactly the way he had written them. He forced his stare away, trying to connect with another soul in the crowd, but he was drawn back again and again.

He finished the set with his mind on the music and the girl who so obviously knew it. He left the stage to thundering applause, his mind working to understand the girl. She wasn't their usual listener, nor did she seem to fit the atmosphere. Well-dressed and almost professional looking, she stood out in the sea of t-shirts, ripped jeans, and unwashed adolesence. She bothered him.

Some time later found him greeting fans in the general admission area. He told himself it was to measure the response to the new songs, continually repeating like a mantra, "I won't look for her; she's probably already gone."

The bar cleared with the quiet after the set, leaving only those most dedicated to continuing their pursuit of liquid oblivion. He took a quick inventory with the vendors before turning to resume his place backstage to help pack up.

There she stood, leaning against a railing near the stage door, a cigarette held to her lips and an encompassing expression in her eyes as they met his. He walked over slowly, guarded as he watched her grind out the cigarette. He stood in front of her, arms crossed at his chest.

"Nice set", she said. Her voice, husky without being raspy, carried to him easily, despite his tendency to work a little deaf after a show. He nodded a short thanks, remaining silent. Her lips curled up in a slight smirk. "Can I buy you a beer?"

He followed her to the bar, catching the eye of his drummer. Motioning for them to wait, a quick smile and wave were all he received in return.

They sat at one of the now empty tables, moving quickly into the discussion of his music. They talked about progession, inspirations, similar proclivities. They avoided the emotion, the stories, the tension. Her foot brushed his leg, a silky slide of leather against his jeans. She watched his lips curve around the lip of the bottle. Their words stayed innocent, but thoughts ran rampant to the sensational eroticism in the air.

He walked with her to her apartment, two buildings over and two floors up. She invited him in to hear the latest in her collection. He sat on the cushion on the floor, the only seating available. She laid on her stomach next to him, her head pillowed by her hands. They talked briefly, the notes washing over them, forcing them to silence as they listened to the heavy sultry beats. She said something with a veiled sexual innuendo, smiling slightly as he could see from the corner of his eye.

He jumped- his hand curled around the back of her neck, bringing her lips to his. The freeze lasted only as long as a quick breath in before she returned the kiss, starving for it. They licked and bit at each other's lips, hands pulling at and twisting in clothing that was only a barrier. He pulled apart the plackets of her shirt, shoving it down her arms until the cuffs, buttoned, trapped it at her wrists, effectively pinning her arms behind her. A low purring sound emanated from her as his hand cupped her cheek, pulling her into his kiss again. He felt her struggling against the impromptu restraint and his smiling lips took their time, parting hers to meet her tongue in teasing licks. His fingers found her thigh, receiving the trembling of her muscles as they travelled up, under her skirt, to the satin below. She gasped, her muscles tensing as his fingers trailed lightly over the heat pouring from her. The initial shock over, she resumed her efforts to escape his improvised bondage while pressing her hips more fully toward him, feeling his palm flush against her.

He quickly divested her of her skirt, himself of his shirt and belt. His pants came undone quickly as she threw the shirt she had freed herself from to the side. They collided once again, pressed together from lips to knees. Hands met, then slid past each other to shoulders, backs, napes, hair. Her small hand cupped his jaw before brushing down his neck, to his chest. Her fingertips pressed, pushing him back until he lay on the cushion, looking up at her. She followed him down, her lips trailing over his shoulder and chest, pressing a small kiss near an unobtrusive tattoo before her hands found his jeans just open enough.

Her lips engulfed him to the sound of a harsh gasp. Her eyes drifted closed at the familiarly new feeling of smooth steel. A whimper drifted from her as she took him deeper, her tongue rubbing against the sensitive ridge. His hand rested gently on her head, almost loving as he willed his body to hold. His other hand had her positioned and he pressed a finger inside her. The answering moan he received vibrated slightly along him. The moans increased as she wrapped a hand around him, her lips still hugging tightly. His quieter moans began to answer hers and his hand began to show signs of the tension in him, pressing her down, fingers flexing in her hair. He gave her warning, his hand lifting away, expecting her to do the same. With a soft squeeze and suck, she stayed still. He groaned again, his hand returning in a harsher manner, pressing her as deep as she could take so quickly, and he spent himself deep in the moist warmth of her mouth. He could feel the swallowing motion of her throat on the tip of him, triggering him slightly. He dropped his hands away and watched as she slowly lifted up, her soft tongue swirling. She finally reached the tip, giving a small lick before laying her head on his thigh, her eyes closed contentedly.

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 11:43:16 GMT

I feel so disgusting right now... raw throat, swollen sinuses, cramps, and so tired... stupid period. Stupid sinus infection. Stupid work. Stupid roommates... I just want to go back to sleep.

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 12:55:29 GMT

So I tried drinking a couple nights ago, as suggestions came... *laughs* I knew it wouldn't make the problems go away, but I figured it might help me sleep... yeah, not so much.

Why do some e-mails have to archive automatically so you can relive your complete humiliation over and over again in some kind of sick self-destructive cycle?

Love drunken e-mailing... and drunken texting. And if any of you got something confusing from me, please ignore it...

I'm a lunatic...

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 01:37:50 GMT

As I have mentioned to a couple friends today, after a day with my kids and my mother, I would gladly pay a million dollars for one full day, twenty-four blissful hours, of absolute peace...

Now given that to achieve said miracle, one would have to know how to empty my head of every single thought, be able to deter every confrontation and otherwise keep me in a state of complete and utter euphoria...

Any ideas, I'm obviously open to suggestion...

Wine, ice cream, and bad romances...

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 01:13:48 GMT

So here I sit watching one of the worst movies made in quite a while, Grease 2, trying to figure out why I'm subjecting myself to it. I am drinking bad Sauvignon Blanc, eating Chubby Hubby... I think I'm PMS-ing. That said, naturally I am over-analyzing as usual. And it's good that I've already had three-quarters of a bottle because I doubt I would say these things because the people I'm going to talk about are the most likely ones to read this stuff.

Why is it that once a man is labeled a 'boyfriend' he stops doing boyfriend-type stuff?? Or perhaps the better question is why are some men more adept at the boyfriend stuff than others?

So a couple months ago, I was given a gift. It was a bottle of wine. A really good bottle of wine. For no real reason, other than he thought I'd like it. I don't think he knows how much I appreciated that.

Last night, just as I was falling asleep, I got a text message. It said "I know it's late, but if you're still up, call me. I'll be up a while." And while that's not exactly the most romantic of boyfriend things, it came from the guy who takes the time to text every holiday and texts me the funniest things. He just takes a minute out of his day to do that, and that's really nice...

Today while I was at work, I got a call I had been half-expecting. The unexpected part was that I didn't end up with a movie watching friend tonight, but instead was treated to the, albeit slight, excitement on the other end. It wasn't just sharing the good news he had, but once again, the fact that he took just a couple minutes out of his day, which was entirely busier than it had any right to be, to talk to me.

*sigh*

I mean, there doesn't seem to be anything to any of these actions... not really. But when I think about them, the compartmental part of my brain puts that type of activity into considerate, emotional... boyfriend stuff. Like when he holds doors open, even though he knows he doesn't have to. Or when he slides down so you don't have to have the squeaky movie theater seat. Or puts up with your snobby foodie habits. Puts up with complete jibberish that makes no sense, listens to you ramble on and on about inane shit that makes no difference in the big picture of life, and laughs wih you when you realize what a dork you're being... listens to the confusion you have concerning other guys, only feeling slightly guilty or awkward. Is still attracted to you, despite your complete lack of sex-goddess stature. Can somehow seem completely innocent, but hint at the deeper darkness that makes you ever so curious... Or will listen to you waffle endlessly about what kind of food you want, walking from one end of downtown and back while you decide. *laughs* Okay, two downtowns... Puts up with endless random questions about favorite clothing and obscure music collections...

That clinches it... I'm definitely premenstrual.

For brutal honesty...

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 00:20:52 GMT

... pull back the curtain.

I am a horrible person. I am selfish, at times shallow, deceitful, manipulative and generally not a good person.

I am a neophiliac. I've heard it and even claimed it in jest, but I really am. I am in love with new things, experiences and people. Not the things, experiences or people themselves, but with the feeling of youth and novelty it gives me.

When I meet someone, I become insatiable for them, in every definition of the word. I want to know them, to memorize their faces, to know what makes them hurt... to know what makes them cum... I immerse myself in them and their passions.

But then I begin to see the flaws. Yes, there is beauty in these flaws, I know it, but things emerge that are not what I want. And I begin to lose it all.

I don't want to be a second thought. I don't want to be like a beloved book or favorite toy: I don't want to be taken down to be played with only to be put back on the shelf and ignored despite all my begging to be paid attention to. I have hidden feelings before and I don't want it to happen again. My resentment has to have a voice... right?

Feeling poetic, yet random...

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 21:02:47 GMT

Happening as if in a dream, the blow would connect.
He expects her to wilt.
Instead, she seems to swell-
Not as a bruise.
The air around her shimmers as
Energy seeps into her,
Drawing her taller, broader.
Looking down her nose at him,
a Queenly stare,
He is dismissed with injury.

***
Eyes meet,
Reach,
Dance around the tension.
Smiles spread,
widening,
freezing in realization.
Hands touch,
tremble,
caress in fleeting ardor.
Bodies press,
clutch,
surrender.

***
I lay today, half-dreaming in my langorous state. Words floated through my consciousness, detatched and definition-less. The heaviness of my chest made breathing a struggle as I fought to make sense of the meaningless phrases. Tears came to my eyes, showing the futility of my battle. I woke to hear spoken clearly in my mind, "And now the one you once loved is leaving..."

***
Poetry to the side, I researched a little into these words I've laid on the page and am slightly disturbed by what I found. I'm off to think about them a bit and perhaps just dwell in them for this lazy Easter Sunday...

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 21:13:17 GMT

So why is it that when you're trying to detach from something, everything you see reminds you of it...?? Yeah, works with people too... I saw the same damn truck four times today and I'm trying not to think about it... yes, cryptic... whatever...

Oh and Happy St. Pat's, everyone... have a green beer for me!

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 12:32:18 GMT

Seriously, what is the deal??

So I commented that everyone I've spoken to in the past couple days seems to have sex on the brain. The guys at work are making dirtier conversation than usual and even being a little suggestive in a personal kind of way. (Example, "I'll do anything you want me to... and I mean that in a dirty way." "Do you intend for it to sound dirty, or do you really mean that in a dirty way?" "I meant it in a dirty way...")

So ever since my shower Saturday morning it's all just been that much more twisted. I went to work Saturday afternoon and just kept getting reminded of my slightly sexual frame of mind. Had a conversation late Saturday night with Master, who added to it all by teasing and making me talk about how badly I wanted to just be thrown down and fucked hard, like hard enough for it to be nearly painful. Sunday it continued through my nephew's birthday party and on to work again that night, where I dealt with comments like the one above. Then got a hold of T, thinking that perhaps I would just vent or maybe even get it all out of my system easy... Nope, we talked for too long and he had to get home so he could work this morning. So two nights in a row where I practically beg to get fucked and I get denied.

Suck...

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 16:10:47 GMT

Are Once Upon a Times better than Happily Ever Afters??

That's all... just wondering about popular opinion, really, so please tell me which you like better.

Oh, and it has to be coincidence, but has anyone noticed that Once Upon a Time gives a person a great O.U.T.?? Stupid, but something that just occured to me.

Recent observations...

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 23:36:00 GMT

So recently quite a few people have labeled me (accused me of being, whatever) an endorphin addict, a neophiliac, and an infatuation junkie... I've laughed it off, but I'm wondering how true it is?

I watch the patterns I go through in new relationships, whether they are romantic or otherwise, and I just seem to get enthralled by this new presence in my life. I try not to make it obvious to those I am in the relationship with, but it seems that I am much too obvious to those around me. I don't entirely understand this excitement, and adversely the utter depression when things don't turn out the way I would like, that is present in these situations. I mean, we as humans meet new people practically daily and for some reason I find myself attaching so wholly to a few of these people and becoming what would be labeled obsessive about their acceptance of me.

I am guilty of putting out the best of my personality traits, or at least those that are the most widely appreciated, in hopes that they will induce the curiosity to try to solve the mystery that is my confusion. Maybe in all this I'm just looking for the person who is able or wants to look past it. Maybe I'm looking for the person who looks at the happy-go-lucky, eager puppy syndrome me and says "Yeah, right, let's see what's really under all that denial." Maybe I'm looking for someone who will be enthralled in their own things, allow me to be caught up in them, and then will turn around and say "What is it you obsess about?" Maybe I'm just looking for someone who is accepting of all my crazy...

And it bothers me sometimes... it bothers me that I listen and support and I don't get the same in return. You know how your parents are supposed to support you... yeah, not really. Your friends are supposed to support you, right? No, they've all kind of drifted away. And it's so hard to accept support from people you have just met, because in the back of your mind you think "Yeah, they don't know the whole story..." In other words, if support was hard to come by when one is young, it's even harder as we age.

I find myself doing things to draw attention. Not all of them blatant, only some of them corny, and the scariest of all are the ones I find myself doing unconsciously. Of course the ones I don't realize I do are the ones that are caught on to, making me uber-aware of them and completely self-conscious. For instance, my food reactions... and my underwear drawer... and the necklace... But if it's something we aren't aware of, can we really be doing them for attention?

I think that's what makes these things scary. Is Freud right; do we really have that baser urge of our psyche that can come forward and dictate things we do, say and ways we act? Is our subconscious mind really so powerful to affect us in such ways? Is there really a part of our soul that we can't control? That's what scares me... I wonder if people have over-active id syndrome?

All right, all this said, it could explain why I have been inspired yet again by one of my dreams...

I laughed, hearing the roar of the party even as the small group lurched unsteadily up the stairs.
Beer sloshing over his hand as he beckoned widely, the party’s host shouted back, “You guys won’t believe this! It’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long fucking time!”
I walked up a little slower, in the middle of the group, just in front of you. Looking back with a little smile, I shook my head. The answering shrug and sheepish smile made me laugh.
Reaching the bedroom, where your friend’s computer was, I leaned back against the closet door, finding the most out of the way spot possible. You sat on a piano bench nearby, allowing others to settle around us on the floor, the bed and the other chairs.
Opening his e-mail, he found the video he had been raving about downstairs. Several videos followed, some with hilarious lyricists, some with acrobatic nymphomaniacs, still others with explosions and follies of human adventure. A link in the corner caught my eye just before it was seen by one of the group.
“Wait a second”, someone voiced. “She’s from fucking Grand Rapids! Click it, click it!”
The mouse moved over a picture of a girl, her head turned, neck exposed even as she was blindfolded with a soft looking black tie.
Waiting for the video to start, I felt uneasy. I looked at you, watching the slight smirk on your face with suspicion.
The video opened on an empty room, the entire space visible from doorway to bed. I bit back my gasp of surprise. The door opened on the screen and allowed entrance to two bodies entangled in deep kissing. On screen the girl moved to disentangle herself, but her partner kept her back to the camera. Their words were muffled for a moment, a jumble of lust-heavy words before the audio went silent. The entire room went quiet enough to hear her husky response of “Please?”
I shook as the room erupted in laughter. I couldn’t look at you out of my sudden feeling of full betrayal.
The video continued on. I didn’t dare leave for fear of bringing attention to myself. The video progressed to the point in which the nude body on the screen was one I knew all too well. My eyes found each and every flaw on my stomach, hips and legs, being scrutinized by complete strangers. I moved closer to you, leaning down to tell you I needed to leave.
“One second, please. Just give it one more second.” Your tone was earnest and your eyes focused on the screen. I sighed and relented, standing behind you now and wishing to sink into the corner.
On the monitor, the blindfolded girl moved to her hands and knees. The hand of her partner traced her spine, leading her to arch like a cat until her ass was raised and her shoulders on the bed. I drew in a slow breath, holding it as I recalled what came next.
The sharp slap seemed to echo in the room. I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the judgmental shouts to begin. The silence spread as the audio continued with breathless moans, groans, whimpers, wordless begging. I opened my eyes again to see your small smile as you watched the product you had posted.
My eyes moved back to the screen, seeing a wholly different image than expected. Blindfolded, the girl was pure mystery as her full lips opened in gasps and cries. The way her hands gripped the blankets, her muscles tensed to press back as he fucked her, even her nudity as compared to his being fully clothed, was poignant and captivating. He pulled away from her, bringing a whimper and powerful growl from her. Gently, he rolled her to her back and the camera jostled.
The new angle showed the way her body arched off the bed when he penetrated her once again. Focusing on her face, the lens showed her gasps and moans to best effect. Her body began to tense and shudder.
His voice, slightly muffled by the position of the microphone, asked a question of her. She nodded, her lips working soundlessly for a moment before another broken plea sounded in a whisper. The view of the camera watched as she took deep breaths before tensing slightly, a quietly keening cry escaping her even as her hands reached out and up for him. Her noises became more feral, her facial expression conveying pain even through her consistent begging for more.
I felt my body heat as I remembered the first feel of that moment. The slow painful stretch of my ass, bringing tears to my eyes. I shifted my position, the seam of my jeans rubbing discreetly over my wetness as I watched.
Quickly the video was over, frozen on the arching tension of orgasm. I remembered where we sat then and once again closed my eyes in shame.
“Holy fucking shit.” The sentiment was echoed around the room in varying phrases.
I moved to leave the room as I heard them all talk about the hotness of the video, debating on her knowledge of the camera, speculating on what they would have done with a girl like that. I walked to the nearest bathroom, closing the door and sinking to the floor. When the door opened, I knew it was you.
“How could you?” I asked in a numb and shocked tone.
“Because you needed to see it”, you replied. “And because I liked it.”
I nodded, still caught in the middle of shame and pride.

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 17:05:49 GMT

So I'm not enough... that's got to be it.

I don't really understand it all, but everytime we talk now I feel like I'm just not enough, that I'm just not right, that I'm not what he wants. I honestly thought I was past those feelings.

Blah.

What makes me feel powerful??

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 04:01:28 GMT

Talent and the power to tease...

***
Her quick smile betrayed her awareness of the conversation. He smiled back at her, teasing her with the flexing of his fingers. She laughed and went back to her task.
He watched her move: the grace in her fingers, the slight tilt of her head as she listened, the ease with which she maneuvered through her work. They fell into an easy rhythm, working closely together. Their banter was quick, some staged for effect while more yet was for each other’s ears only.
She listened to his laugh as he interacted with those around them. She heard the tenor of his voice, shivering slightly as one of the comments made for only her to hear brushed across her ear. She turned, nearly colliding with him and bringing small smiles to their faces.
Later that night after she locked the doors, he held out a hand in invitation. Looking at him quizzically, she followed. They traveled together, the space between them growing thick with tension untested. They hardly spoke, eyes looking to the darkness outside even as thoughts focused on the unspoken questions.
Their destination was easy, quick, quiet but hardly private. She turned, whispering an inane observation even as he pulled off her coat. She shivered, watching him advance as she backed against the bed. She sat sharply, not expecting the sudden appearance of the mattress at the back of her legs. He followed her, watching her expressive eyes fade from curiosity to certainty and finally to hunger. Her lips parted, her breath escaping on a whisper, as her eyes flickered down to his lips.
She saw those lips curl into a small, slightly mocking smile. She laughed nervously, ducking her head to disguise the blush rising in her cheeks. His hand went to her throat, tipping her chin up to watch the expressions change. Once again the shift from embarrassment to desire was quick and blatant. His hips rolled against hers and she drew in a sharp gasp. The breath would have escaped on an audible moan, had his hand not crept over her mouth. The moan, still present, was stifled even as she raked her nails down his back over his shirt.
“Shhh”, he cautioned, just a gentle sound in her ear. Another roll of his hips came and she bit down on the pad of his finger to muffle her answering whimper.
He pulled away to discard his shirt, but brushed her hands away when she tried to do the same immediately. He pulled her up gently, backing her against the wall. She stood at the head of the bed, her back against the wall. He laid back down, reclining easily, having the advantageous position of seeing her whole body. He nodded slowly.
Her fingers went to the buttons on her shirt. Undoing them, she peeled it away to reveal the plain white satin underneath. He smiled, knowing how the innocent appearance belied her demeanor. She slid out of the pants she wore, showing the matching lace panties.
Her hands slid down her waist and over her hips. Even with the slight touch, her pelvis arched out invitingly. She saw him smile, his eyes following her hands. A wicked idea occurred to her and, gathering her courage, she moved one hand over the front of her panties, letting her fingers tease the skin. She saw him lick his lips. Her fingers slid into her panties.
He watched her breathing change as her fingers moved slower, further, and finally deeper. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back. With her knees bent, she moved against the hand, her hips and back rolling and arching sinuously. Her whimpers began to speed up and increase in volume, leading him to rise. He pressed against her, his fingers again at her lips.
She drew on his finger hard, her tongue wrapping around it in a rough mockery of the wet warmth her own fingers delved into. She felt his other hand compete with her own for the slick wetness fingers always induced for her.
His fingers drove in hard, how many she couldn’t say. She arched against the sudden delicious pain of it, her cries broken apart with both their efforts to be quiet. He leaned forward slightly, placing his lips on her neck. One lingering kiss later, he pulled back and crooked his fingers forward slightly. He drank in the sight as she convulsed for him, her muscles tight and spasming around his fingers.
He withdrew, holding her still against the wall in the last shudders of her orgasm. Stripping off his pants quickly, he turned her around, pressing her face-first roughly against the wall. Pulling her legs wide and pulling the panties out of the way, he pressed into her, eliciting a groan from deep inside them both.
She turned her face slightly, her cheek resting against the rough wall. She braced herself before whispering, “Yes, yes; fuck me, please.”
The plaintive note in her voice spurred him on, allowing him to revel in her hunger as well as his own. With a hand on her lower abdomen and the other twisted in her hair, he controlled her movement and how much he indulged her. A quick pull paired with a swipe across her clit would send her near the spasm again and leave her whimpering for more.
He felt himself getting close, his cock hard. She felt him pulse once before he withdrew. Quickly she moved, remembering the promise of the previous time. She felt his cum hot against her cheek before opening her mouth. The next lay along her tongue and she stayed still until she was sure he was sated. The flavor sank into her tongue and she savored it, scraping the shot from her cheek with a finger. Knowing his love for watching her slightly depraved mind, she smiled wickedly just before licking her finger.

My note from FaceBook, x-posted

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 04:37:40 GMT

A thought occurred to me tonight that I don't really want to dwell on... solely because it can spiral me down. Let's just say it's a whole sub-conscious thing that would make Freud proud...

Then I watched a movie that I haven't watched in ages and I realized where so many of my insecurities come from. Then I watched another movie I haven't seen in a while and realized that I don't have what I want. Then I watched just bits and pieces of more movies that I love to hate to watch, or hate to love to watch or whatever, and I realized (yes, again):

Everyone wants love. People want happily ever afters and grand gestures and surprises and overt declarations of love. People want the ones they love to scream in the middle of the street that they're in love. People want public humiliation in their declarations and love songs and little jokes known only to each other. People want the ones they love to feel pain when they hurt, to be excited when something goes well, to be truly supportive when they need it, and to share the things they're feeling even when it's hard. People want music when they kiss and passion at spontaneous times. People want some kind of connection with someone at some time, and they want so badly to call it love and be able to feel it in the deepest way possible.

That deep love, that ache in the pit of your stomach, that veritable obsession with the object of desire has the power to make us sick with worry, with joy, with rapture, with despair. Why is it that we seek it, knowing this is what it brings us- that emptiness, that numbness, that hole that is unfillable? And after that hole, what then? Is it able to be covered, patched, repaired? Or is it permanent, eating away at the fare left before from little bits that eat away at the full pulsing love we felt?

Okay, time to stop being vague. I want all these things. I want for once to be surprised. I want to see something wildly romantic, inspired by me. I want to be the romanitc leading lady. I want a goddamned stuffed animal. I want to be a duchess in someone's eyes, I want to be cherished, I want to be coddled for once. I want a chance to be weak. I want to have a night where I can close my eyes and trust completely. I want something I don't expect to thrill me.

I want that kind of love today...

Dreams

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 14:43:21 GMT

I had a dream about Master and the new guy...

I knelt in the center of our bedroom, Master pacing next to me. I heard him throw things onto the bed and command me to dress. I knew we were meeting T that night. Master seemed unsatisfied with every choice made for my attire. He finally settled on a lace top, no bra, a short skirt, stockings and my highest heels. Despite my protestations, he locked my collar on and led me out.

We reached the club quickly, and it was one I had never heard of. Inside everything was black and crimson, the lighting dim and the room full of shadows. Master shoved me forward and told me to go find my friend. I stumbled through, avoiding the leers of other patrons as I looked. T sat in a shadowed booth, reclining with his beer. I stopped, knowing Master was right behind me. I felt his hand between my shoulder blades and he pressed me down until I bent over the table, my blushing cheek pressed to the table top. I saw T look at me questioningly until, even in the shadow he could see my eyes darken and my breathing quicken. Then he gave a quick smile and looked up. "V, I presume?"

They exchanged quick pleasantries before Master moved his hand and stepped away. I started to rise. Master's sudden slap across my ass and T's barked order of "Freeze" came simultaneously. I resumed my position as Master sat down, both in my view and they talked as if I weren't there, only occasionally grazing my cheek, arm, or upturned ass with a light stroke.

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 02:47:01 GMT

So I have this extremely new situation going on... Master has allowed that I fulfill my needs outside our relationship in times that he isn't available. When he made this option available, I hadn't seen him for two months or something ridiculous like that. Now that he and I see each other a little more regularly, I wasn't expecting for that to be an option anymore.

Small tangent that is pertinent: I started this new job and am getting to know my employees. One of them has stood out as an amazingly capable worker and he and I started talking about all sorts of things. Well, he saved my ass by covering a shift at work and afterward we went out and had a couple drinks. I became a total lightweight and was too buzzed to drive, so he offered to let me crash at his place. While talking, mostly drunk, information came out that I did not expect. He's a bit Top, open-minded, and really sexy.

So now, the confusion: I told Master about it. And his first question was, "You're attracted to him, aren't you?" I had to be honest, and the answer is yes. He then made the speculation, "Would he want to play with us?" After discussing that for a little bit, he just said, "My only request is that you're safe and discreet."

Whoa... My boyfriend/Master/love has just told me it's okay for me to go out and get fucked by this guy I find extremely attractive, not only physically, but personality-wise too. I feel like there is something wrong with this picture... except I'm getting something that could turn out really good, so I don't know that I want to find out what's wrong... I'm so confused. Master made a good point: "If you love something, let it go..." It makes sense, really it does, but what the fuck??

Anyway, I'm working basically 55 hours a week now with my commute, so sorry I haven't been around! I'm alive, I promise...

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 21:40:18 GMT

I know I'll be getting a lot of traffic to this journal of mine pretty soon. That said, I thought a small info update was needed.

I am a collared kitten to a wonderful Master. I do have a separate journal, which I write in daily for him. Feel free to enjoy both journals and leave your comments. If your comments are sick and twisted, thanks! If they're just plain rude, I'll just say fuck off now and leave it at that until the comments get deleted!

Thanks for reading and I can't wait to hear from you all!