Play Day - Monday

I had been trying to get over to see Sir all weekend. For many reasons, one of which is I think his extreme pleasure in my desperation, it did not eventuate. There were plans for Monday....Oh yes, there were plans. I was to meet The Divine One at Sir's.

*sigh* give me a moment while my eyes glaze over

There were conversations over the preceding week. I have wanted to try something for a while and have only fairly recently been open about it with Sir. He had been unwilling to this point as he said I was not ready but somewhere last week he decided I was ready (squeee!).

So I waited - exceptionally impatiently. There were many, many texts. Many, many, many texts. (Did I mention that last month I sent over 1600 text messages? No that is not a typo. 1600.) I cooked, baked chocolate brownies. I went back to my Serbian-Waxing-Goddess. I made salad. I ate pizza with friends. I thought a lot. The weekend dragged by and I felt every minute. I jumped at my phone every time it blipped, hoping.

One of the rules I have is to not say "maybe" or "perhaps" to Sir. It has shown me exactly how many times I use this as the easy way out, a non-committal answer. His line is always "...is a yes or a no."

So I asked him Saturday night if, as he had alluded to, he would have me come over. His response "perhaps, maybe. LOL". So my snarky desperation ramped up. He had promised I could see him over the weekend. Well not entirely promised but this new thing...I wanted it. I was terrified but I wanted it. I was maybe a bit disrespectful, (swore at him) which he was quick to point out would earn me a punishment. I was apologetic, well a little. I also vowed and declared that I would never ever ever say to him again "maybe" or "perhaps".

Finally Monday rolled around. My exuberant previous car ride neatly replaced with the familiar, terrified, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing car ride. I drive and I think about it, this thing that I do. I think about the fact that I am knowingly choosing to drive towards the thing that I am scared of, the thing that I want but don't want. I am choosing this. Every second of every minute I am choosing it. Although I may question my sanity regularly, I rarely question anymore whether I will continue participating in ttwd because that choice doesn't seem available to me any longer. It is there but not one I would want to make or would feel capable of making with any intention of sticking to. In fact I take back the "want but don't want". I want it but it is a twisted want that does not make even vague sense no matter which way I turn it - and on days like these, I twist and turn it every which way but loose. (writing mid-sub-drop - sorry folks)

I pull up at his house, collect my things and wait at the door, unsure of whether to knock. I finally decide to. He strides over smiling, opens the door, ushers me in. I can tell something has unsettled him. We sit and talk and look at photos. The Divine One cannot come. I am disappointed. I wanted her. I wanted to taste her, touch her, watch her...

*sigh*

Realization descends on me like a bird of prey from the clouds. For the past few days Sir has been talking about his "filthy mood". She, she can take an absolute beating...me? Not me! And now it is me, here, him in his already filthy mood made more filthy by virtue of the fact that she (the one who can take the beating) is not here...several things race through my mind at this point. We talk, chat laugh. He strokes my leg, pinches it a little. Then he says "lets go play"

*shiver*

He slaps my arse as we walk towards what is now feeling like impending doom.

Drop

So here I am quietly back from my week at the beach.

I have spent the morning washing, catching up on my favorite blogs and having coffee with friends.

I have to say I don't feel up to writing. I don't feel up to anything much. I am all melancholic and vague. Neither sit well with me.

I am tightly wound, inside myself, defensive. Interestingly I am not thinking too much. Usually I do but it seems to have left me somewhere, the thinking, analyzing thing. I am not sure where. I know at several points it has been forbidden. This cannot be the reason though. If it was I would know.

Yes, fwiw I do see the irony in analyzing the lack of analysis. You should understand though, at one point in time I would have been questioning everything inside out and back again; wondering where my crazy need to try and understand things has gone falls markedly short of true JaT analysis.

This is without the slightest hint at a shadow of doubt the worst, most enduring drop-through-the-epicenter-of-my-existence I have endured. I know it is bad because I made pizza dough last night and it didn't rise properly.

I don't need anything. I don't want anything. I don't want to talk with anyone. I don't want to see anyone. I want to sit by myself watching the trail of smoke spin webs through the air as it leaves my lungs. I want to keep everything to myself. I want to lie outside in the quiet at night, not sleeping. I don't want to think. I just want to be here, enjoying the nothing for what it is - temporary. I know it won't last long and as parts of me come creeping back (when they deem it is necessary to return) my thoughts will weave themselves into a fast swirly pattern and I will be dragged back down into reality, into thinking, into everything I strive to leave behind when I bow my head to have my collar buckled around my throat.

It doesn't suck. I don't hate it. It just is what it is. I am waiting it out. It is stalking me through my life, hunting me down, pouncing on me in waves. One of us will blink first and I am guessing it will be the drop - eventually.

Breathing It In

My body burns like fire. I sit here trying to think of what to write but the words don't come. I can only feel the emotion coursing through me as I try to remember yesterday. It is framed as if far off in the distance, too long ago to recreate. All I am left with are shining shards of pain and bliss.

I left Sir and picked up my children, collecting on my way a friend to come for dinner. More people arrived and I cooked and drank tea. I felt quiet. I felt all of a sudden as though I were falling through the floor. I needed him. I wanted Sir. I messaged him, he replied. I was all at once okay. I felt needy and awful - both unfamiliar to me.

My husband came in. He brushed his lips on mine, looked down, deep into me and smiled a half smile, questioning wordlessly whether I was okay. We sat and ate and drank, laughed and talked. I could see him burning to know, to see, to understand. Eventually our guests departed, children bathed and in bed. I lay on the couch, half sleeping, he rubbed my feet and asked me to recount my afternoon. I was not in the frame of mind.

I showered while he worked for a while. I lay face down on our bed and called him in. He was horrified. He tells me he doesn't understand. Softly I explain to him small pieces as he rubs arnica (which I highly recommend for bruises) and calendula (for healing) into my back and arse.

I tell him fragments. I tell him that I cried.

Sir said yesterday that I love crying. That it turns me on. I thought about it. It does not. What turns me on is that he can take me to that space where I cry and hold me there. The crying itself I do not like.

There was a moment yesterday where I was crying, sobbing actually. He was whipping my back. He has a knack for hitting right in the same spot, over and over. He leaned down and rubbed my back, soothed it. Then he started again. I loved it. I loved in the moments where it was not so hard but hard enough and I felt I could just go on forever, breathing it in.

Then there are the moments when I back my car out of the driveway and I know I am never going back. I know for that second that I do not want this, that I will not be back here. Then it shifts to won't be back for a long time, or at least a while and before I am home I am ready to turn around drive back.

My husband does not understand. He tries. I am amazed at him, so in love with him. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have someone love me enough to give me this, without understanding it, because I want it.

Today I relish the pain, I love it. I love that every movement, every stretch and turn I feel it. In my bound nipples Sir makes himself known to me. Stops me from falling through to desperation, holding me up through my pain and obedience.

My phone sounds and I jump, literally running to the other end of the house to get it. I know it is Sir. I am waiting for his message. In that moment I forget the pain in my breasts, the bruised assault on my back, the tenderness in my arse. I run like a child runs to a sprinkler on a hot summer day, with joy and forgetting and in that moment there is nothing else.

I think somehow that my husband is amused by all of this, perhaps morbidly fascinated is a more accurate turn of phrase. The most glorious moments are coming home to him. Him caring for me, loving me and the exquisite pain of him rubbing - firmly - into the whip marks left by Sir only hours before.