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.

Back in the room

I know I don't go into great detail about the physical goings on but having to look so many people in the eye who I know read this makes it somewhat difficult to be as forthright as I would like. I am working on getting over it.

So last night I went to see Sir.

I am gradually feeling more comfortable, less consumed by concern about my marriage through the constant conversations with Husband Dear and thus more able to be present, less terrified about what is awaiting me....no, scrap that I am still sitting on the edge of terrified about that - but that is the way I like it.

Our last few days were filled with good humour, texts, conversations and laughing. I have not been able to work a suitable time into my schedule to see him. I am lacking childminding at the moment and as devious as I am I could not leave my children with my in-laws for a rendezvous with Sir, although on some kinky level I do find it appealing.

I was not sure if I would go as we really need some whole family time but after a few texts back and forward I had to go and I had to go right then. Husband Dear took the kids for dinner at his parents (I should really find out what I am supposedly doing at these times for future reference) and I went home, quickly showered and drove to see Sir.

On arrival I was made to kneel face down on the floor. Sir was busy with something, his energy felt scattered and stressed but still when he entered the room he spoke with me and was calm and controlled. Between spankings he kept leaving to attend to something while I knelt, perfectly still on the floor. He got the whip out. He was quite wieldy with it, no build in. My back-side already smarted from his hands. He started to pull pieces of clothing to the sides, down, around, off, scattering them around the floor. I could sense frustration, perhaps. Though he may have been in that headspace, not a whisper of it drifted into our play. I am always amazed by this. He whips me, hard. Still I am facedown on the floor and again he must leave the room. My arse is naked, in the air, my back bare and he rests the whip right in the middle, commanding that it should not move.

I am still, listening. I wonder if I should try not to listen but in the silence it is all I have. My hair drapes down around me making me hot. At some stage I must have had the gag in as I remember spit dripping through my sweat soaked hair, me shaking it, trying to get it out of my face. It sticks in thick chunks to my cheeks and neck. I can see a drop of spit stringing its way down to the floor. I can feel the leather snaking its way down my back. I imagine how it looks, folded down on itself, tendrils of thinly plaited black leather with knotted ends, sitting, waiting, softly curving over my arse, betraying none of its sting. Doors open and close downstairs. Momentary panic sets in.

What if there is someone else here? What if he is bringing someone here now? We have talked about it but I am not ready for that. What should I do? I am here on the floor. I could look over and see the door but then that would not be holding position. I am working hard at being good. I am not a good sub, I know that, but for now, today, I am trying so I stay perfectly still, kneeling, palms outstretched on the carpet, forehead an inch from the floor, sweat dripping, spit leaking, hair draped around me like a veil. If there is someone here what will I do? I can hear footsteps on the stairs. It is one set of sounds or two? They are at the door, turning the handle, walking towards me and I feel a hand collecting the whip and lazily trailing it over my back, putting it down on the bed. A warm hand caresses my shoulders and traces down my spine. I shiver and my back arches. I am trying so hard to be still. "Good Girl." He soothes. "I am here with you and now I can give you my full attention. Is that my touch making you shiver?" I could hear the smirk in his voice. I murmured something. He ran his nails down my back. My body arched in response.

Sir.

We were in the room now, in the game, locked in until we were done.

Running With The Big Kids

So, I am heading over there this afternoon. I am heading over because I begged to. Just sitting here I can picture the look on his face when I asked. He has won and he knows it. Friday night's scene was good but fairly tame. I thought I would get off a bit and then come home and be fine for a week or two. I am pretty sure he knew otherwise. I feel all at once out of my depth - WAY out of my depth - and I love it.

I do not have a safe word. It has been bothering me a little. I have not sat down and had that conversation with him. I have tried really hard not to sit and have that conversation with him, in fact. Yesterday (in the midst of my begging for him to see me) I decided I was going to step up and demand to have that conversation.

I don't know what I expected from him, but his immediate agreement turned me inside out.

I knew going there, always, that I was safe. I knew that it would be difficult but I trusted - always - that he knew what he was doing, how far to push me, when to ease up. I was right.

This added piece of the puzzle, this conversation, is serious business. This is running with the big kids. I am now invested, committed and tied into this in ways that I can't even begin to fathom yet. I cannot explain the complexity of emotion that arises in me. Terror and thrill and desire consumes me. I feel the fullness of what I am asking cascade down upon me. I am giving myself over.

Sir has played well. He has been patient and sat back, waiting, knowing, watching me struggle against the bonds I did not realise were already present. Waiting for the calm. Waiting for me to come to him. He was quiet when it was needed, firm when required but the whole time, every second of every minute from our very first conversation he has coaxed, solicited, persuaded and baited me - all to bring me here.

I got up this morning, made lunches, dropped my husband at work, tended the kids, threw up, packed my bag of things that Sir has requested and now, once again, I sit waiting.

Sweetness and Cupcakes

So I have written my lists of punishments. Sir was very approving.

I vacillate through varying shades of unsullied bliss to the darkest of self-loathing, though I find the loathing lesser now and easier to push aside. This subdued feeling is foreign. It feels quiet.

I wait softly, impatiently to hear from him.

Waiting for his words to soothe and calm.

They come.

They come and wash over me.

I say to him "Sir, the smile! The girlish grin where my head bows when you say 'good girl'...sometimes I blush. Sweetly. Sweetly, it is sweet somehow - I don't know how - and today it does not seem important. Today it just is - and I love it."

I am baking cakes. Lovely little chocolate mudcakes and my head is there in that moment. Everything is perfect and smooth and rich and dark and sweet and bitter. They plop perfectly into their little cases and rise even and well formed. I beat the icing, cocoa and butter (lashings of butter) and wait for them to cool. They are just warm out of the oven and I can smell them.

My everything now is waiting to see him so I will cook and whip and bake and taste but it is not with fraught desperation. Perhaps not even so much anticipation - just acceptance.

I remember speaking with him asking him how he knew. We were in a huge room filled with people, why me? How did he know to sit near me? To talk with me? How he knew of all of the people in that room that I wanted what he had? He just looks at me and grins this malevolent grin and whispers "It screams at me from your every pore. I stand near you and I can smell it on you like an animal hunting its prey. I see it in your eyes. I feel it in my bones. I watch you touch your face, your hair. I know you. I have always known you. I know what you want, what you need."

I remember after that conversation feeling that exulted, intoxicating high. Walking around as though I was all at once transparent to everyone.

He reaches in and touches my mind in ways I can't even begin to understand and I don't want to try, for fear that I might.

I had a "moment"

This one friend whom I love very much, I told him we had negotiated an open relationship. He looked at me and smiled. "So he took it well then?" I hugged him. How is it he knew me so well as to never question that it was me not my husband pulling us in this direction?

So I had a moment.

I was outside hanging washing when I felt panic surge through me. I cannot take this back. I cannot not ever take this away from our relationship. My relationship with my husband will forever have this in it, whether we continue to choose this lifestyle or not I have done this and there is a no returns policy.

I could hear the voice of God thundering down from the clouds "What have you done?"

Luckily the moment passed as all moments do.

It is blissful. My life feels so good. I am a whole person again...

BUT

piece by piece I can feel myself unraveling. I feel the burning need to see Him. I feel my temper growing short. I can feel the distance between myself and the world expanding. I need what He has.

I was yesterday a raging mess of emotion. I spoke with Him and in those moments the world stopped churning and I was back again. I do not like Him very much but when he speaks it calms me. He is trying his best to create me, strangely I think He is trying to create me into what I want to be (regardless of the fact that He wants it too). I feel myself fighting it, wanting it, fighting, wanting, needing. I wonder what it feels like to be in His shoes.

He set out rules for me yesterday. I have never much liked rules, let alone stuck to them. I must refer to him as Sir. I must not make eye contact with Him unless directed. I must bow my head even when I think about Him. I must not cum, must not have sex unless permission is granted.

The twist is that I must now write a list of my own punishments. It is so salacious. I have been thinking about it a lot. I must get them to Him before midday today and I don't know where to start. I think about punishments and my eyes glaze just a touch. I can feel my chest grow tight and my heart beat faster. Where to begin?

I wonder when I will grow tired of this particular game.

I will keep ontop of my updates now and make them less retrospective. I do have a bit to fill in from the previous two weeks still and I will do that but will stay more current.

I promise.