It’s late. I’m so sleepy. But I must blog before I crawl into bed. My night won’t be complete without it.
I had a lovely, peaceful, rainy weekend with John, with lot of cloudy-weather snuggling and relaxing. And today, I was so looking forward to seeing Mr. D. Not because I needed stress release — not this time. Simply because I wanted to see him. Because I wanted those wonderful hands on me.
Of course, he’d read Friday’s rant, including what I’d said about the critiques regarding his techniques, the panties staying up, etc. This guy doesn’t seem to be fazed by anything; he just laughed. I’m glad this nonsense doesn’t bug him — one of us getting freaked out is enough! “Is there a rulebook I don’t know about?” he asked. “Who said the panties always need to be down?” I shrugged. “It’s not a rule; it’s just sorta traditional, I guess.”
“OK then, tonight, they’re coming down,” he said. “We have to keep the masses happy, after all.”
Then he snickered. “I ought to take a Sharpie and write something on your butt when we’re done.” I sat upright, giggling my head off. “Do it! Go for it!”
“All right, then. Come here, you.”
I have grown very fond of the phrase “Come here, you.” 🙂
Warmup was long and thorough and lovely. I didn’t feel like being a smartass tonight; I just melted into it from the get-go. I was already zoned out when we moved to the bedroom (and to the implements). Tonight’s selection was his riding crop, my Cane-iac strap and lexan paddle.
Everything is a blur, as I try to recall the special moments. I guess I just loved it all, even at the end when I was struggling.
Oh, I do remember one moment: I kicked him in the head.
It was an accident! He was leaning over me on the bed, and my errant left foot, the one that always kicks the hardest, shot up and I felt my heel clunk his head. Aagggh! Good thing I was barefoot, or I would have concussed him!
He took it in stride, though. Didn’t miss a beat. Not a single one of many, many beats. Until I was whimpering “please.” Then he stopped, and sat by my head, stroking my hair and neck. I crawled closer and put my head on his thigh.
I wasn’t crying, and didn’t think I was going to this time. But then he started saying the words I never tire of hearing, the ones that reach right inside and tug on my heart. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you; you’re safe, I’ll take care of you.” Then my tears flowed and dampened the leg of his jeans. I so need that reassurance. I wish I didn’t, but I do.
I told him I feel, before I see him, like I’m all sharp corners and brittle exterior, shot through with tension. Then he breaks me… breaks me down, breaks apart all the hardness. And then his aftercare puts me back together again. Softer, more pliant, calmer, blissful.
It’s a good kind of breaking. Exquisitely painful and pleasurable breaking.
Oh! Almost forgot about the Sharpie.
It’s now 1:40. I’m practically comatose. But, like an excited child, I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want the evening to end.
I can practically feel the warm hand smoothing back my hair, and the calm voice whispering, “Sleep, honey. There will be so many more wonderful evenings.”
And so I will listen. Good night…