Birthday Sadist

Was my birthday weekend.  He came over to visit.  Arrived on Friday, late afternoon, with a huge grin on his pretty face.  I was ecstatic.  Seeing that smile again, being able to kiss him once more, being able to feel him, smell his hair, taste him.  It felt as it should, like we belong together and that by some cruel measurements, we keep getting forced apart.  I fed him, we made love, I played with him – a lot, we fell asleep in each others arms.

Saturday morning was bliss, waking up to find him lying there, like a little angel.  I  love watching him sleep.

That night, when I got him home, I gave him something to wear, dressed him up, only to undress him again, I played with him and put him on his side.  I tied his ankles together with rope, handcuffed his wrists behind his back and joined the wrist restraints to the ankle bindings, using the techniques i’d been teaching myself.  I was pleased with the outcome.

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Figured I’d take pictures prior to starting, as once I’m in that frame of mind, all else loses focus.  I took a few pictures and unzipped his remaining undergarments and lit a candle.  I could sense he knew what was coming.  I felt his excitement, his arousal and a little bit of fear.  That made me instantly wet.

I started off with the wax, slow steady drops, as slow as i could manage.  When it first hit his skin, he moaned like a little whore.  My blood rose and I continued dripping it on his back, finding the more sensitive areas.  His spine and the bottom of his back where there’s less flesh hurt him a lot more.  He was almost wailing at one point.  His whimpering gave me the desire to feel his pain, so i used some nails and then lifted the ropes up, arching his back and forcing his legs upwards and spanked his bottom a little.

The louder he cried, the more  I wanted to hurt him.  The more I could feel the blood rushing through my body, my heartbeat quicken, my breathing became deeper.  I filled my lungs full of air, I focused on my breath so that I could control my arousal and my lust for him.  Relentlessly, I poured more hot wax on his back.  I felt my bloodlust getting a little too much to the point where my breathing exercises became insufficient to stop me from unleashing hell on his beautiful little body.   I stopped myself there, and untied him.

I was euphoric.  The release he granted me was like escaping from a lifetime sentence.  I held him for a long time after that, just breathing.  Enjoying the closeness of his body, his warmth, his touch.  My love for him overwhelms me.

Miss the warmth

Absent, empty, a little lost, shivering.  Like when someone lends you their coat on a really cold night then takes it away after you just got used to the warmth.  I feel a little like that.  You’ve probably guessed that he’s back in London again.  Two weeks have passed now, I have another week of this… coldness left, then I get him, for two whole nights.

Been making do with texts and skyping and webcams.  We had some cam fun last night.  Online domination is something I’ve done a little bit of in the past, but I never really felt like my previous subjects were feeling it … more doing it, just to get off.  He wants it, he needs it, he needs what I have to offer him.  I love watching him, I love watching how the light bounces off his perfect little body as he writhes around on the bed for me.  I love watching how hard it makes him to be told what to do, how he accepts his punishments with sobs and humility.  I love watching him struggle with the boundary between pain and pleasure.  I love holding him there.  He’s beautiful. He’s my little angel.  I miss him.  I need him.

 

Writing always feels a little more crude when I’m menstrual   I find it hard to get off at this time of the month – I guess that’s why… there’s a lot of frustration inside me at the moment.  I’m not really a once-a-day kinda girl.  I’m a little more addicted than that.

 

I do notice

Sitting alone, dark room, in front of an open fire, wrapped up in a blanket just listening to the silence.  He went back home today.  He doesn’t live with me yet – he will soon.  6 more weeks until I can keep him forever.  I don’t like when he leaves.  I tried my best to hide my tears as he was running off to catch his bus to the airport but a bit unsuccessfully this time.

I walked through my empty house earlier, each tiny little thing reminded me of him.  I went to the side door to have a cigarette and pictured him standing there in his dressing gown, naked underneath, looking over at me arms open and waiting for embrace.  Turning the kettle on to make tea, I can see him sitting on my sofa playing with his phone as I set his cup in front of him, he looks up at me smiling and saying “thanks love”. Standing in the shower, I washed myself almost too quickly, it felt so lonely and empty without him standing grinning at me, all soaped up and looking beautiful.  Lying in bed, looking over at the big empty space where he sleeps like a little angel.  When I cook for him, he cuddles me afterwards and thanks me, every time, or kisses me – I’m not used to that.  I’m used to being taken for granted and forgotten about… more of an invisible shadow than the other part of something special.  He makes me feel special all of the time.  Not just sometimes.  I want him to know that I appreciate and notice all the little things he does to make me feel like that.  I do notice love.  Thank you.

 

So here I sit, alone, in the darkness, beside the fire, cat curled up at my feet, hot tears running down my cheeks because more than anything in the world, all I want is to feel him close to me.

Release

I’ve been released.  I hurt him last night, I didn’t unleash myself on him fully – he’s not at 100% health at the moment, suffering the tail-end of a cold.  I didn’t want to go too far.  I didn’t feel like I had to restrain myself, it happened almost naturally, as if what I was giving aligned with how he was feeling.  I’m don’t understand why he enjoys it, why he lets me, I just know that he does.

 

There are no words for a sadist to describe how it feels.  It, the act, hurting someone, even less words to describe hurting someone you love.  Like actually love, not just have a crush on or find attractive physically.  It’s different.  I feel alive, I feel every blood vessel in my body, I feel my life force and I feel his life force.  I like to listen to his heartbeat, to look into his eyes when they’re welled up with tears.  I love how he wants to be held afterwards, how he wants to lie there in my arms and feel my love and reassurance.  He clings onto me.

 

I feel at peace.  I like release.

Warmth

I’m filled by a whole myriad of emotions.  Prime among those being arousal and warmth.  Not the kind of warmth you feel from putting a hat on when it’s windy, but the kind you feel when someone you love with every ounce of your being looks at you and smiles.  Not that fake “I’m smiling at you because you expect me to” type of smile, but that smile that says “I’m happy being in your presence” or “I’m content”.

 

No words are needed to tell him how I feel, but he always seeks reassurance.  That’s normal I guess at the start of any relationship, until he learns to read me.  I’ve been told I have a fairly expressive face, so that shouldn’t take long.

 

My cheeks hurt from smiling.

Adoration

I want this feeling to last forever.  I’m foolish to think that I was in love before.  That was nothing, that was a single raindrop of this vast ocean that now encompasses my whole being.  I look into his eyes, his beautiful blue, twinkling eyes and see my soul.  I’m gazing on my soul mate.  His smile alone has the power to change me from a raging psychopath into a happy and bouncy irish dancer once again.

 

I’ve told him things I’ve told no one else.  He knows me and he doesn’t shy away from who I am.  He embraces it, he lets me be my own person without guilt or fear or awkwardness.  I don’t have to hide myself from him.  I can be me.  I’ve been tying myself up in knots now for 30 years.  This man, with one simple move, has pulled on the ropes and they’ve fallen to the floor leaving me exposed, leaving me free.  I can be me.

 

The smell of his hair, the depth of his eyes, the movement of his body, the taste of his cock, the softness of his skin, the way he shudders underneath me, the way he gives himself to me wholly, completely, complete submission.  Here, take me, do what you want with me.  He trusts me.  Sometimes I don’t trust me, but he does.