My favorite thing

My favorite thing is to share life and love and laughter with you. To sit after dinner and watch your face as you tell me stories of your life. To be working in the kitchen and feel your arms wrap around me and pull me back to you. To open the door and welcome you home. To see your eyes sparkle when you laugh.

My favorite thing is everything about you. You give me courage to face each new week. You fill each week with the joy of loving you. You fill me with contentment when you are near me. You make the ordinary extraordinary. You know when to be gentle and when to be firm. You love me in a way that fills my mind, my body and my soul.

My favorite thing is to serve and submit and surrender to you. My favorite thing is when you take what you want from me. My favorite thing is when you give me more. My favorite thing is when you make me laugh. My favorite thing is when you make me cry. My favorite thing is that I am yours.

For you

I lie in bed and think of you.  My hands begin to move down my body and I feel your presence all around me.  Your essence surrounds me and penetrates me and I float in its comfort and safety.  I sense you watching me as my hand slides down my belly to my wet flesh.  My fingers part the lips and I smell my scent in the air.  I begin to rub little circles around my clit.  As my legs open wider and my back starts to arch, I long for your touch.  I imagine your kiss that possesses me and makes my soul succumb to you.  My nipples harden and ache to feel your fingertips clamp on them and flatten them until I wince.  My fingers rub and dip and press. My mouth opens as a moan escapes.  My cunt twitches and my whole body quivers.  I think of your teeth closing on tender flesh at my neck.  I feel your cock pressed against me, hard and glistening.  My hips are rocking in response to you.  It is urgent now, I rub faster and harder as I think of my mouth sliding over your cock.  I hunger to lick your ass and your balls and feel your cock against the back of my throat.  I think of your hand at my throat and my hips thrust up, searching for you.  I feel your gaze bore through me and hear your voice urging me to let go and cum for you.  My head tilts back, my face is contorted, low guttural moans emanate from deep inside me and escape out my mouth.  My legs draw up and my toes are curled. My back stiffens and arches so much it hurts.  My entire body shudders as my climax rolls through me in waves.  I lay spent and shaking, longing for you.  Wanting to feel you pull me close and hold me tight and though you aren't there, I rest in the nearness of you.

I am a porn star

I have been so focused on my blubbering, sobbing, crying when he was here, I failed to write about anything else that occurred while he was here.  I could go on about all the vanilla stuff, like I cooked a marvelous dinner of steak au poivre, potatoes gorgonzola gratin and sauteed asparagus.  I could tell you he brought the best wine I have ever tasted to go with it (Three Saints 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon).  I could tell you that he came bearing gifts!  I got a 10" Caphalon skillet that I have been wanting/needing.  I also got a book of erotic stories, inscribed "for the nights my favorite pet has to sleep alone."  I could tell you I also got handcuffs and clover clamps...okay, we are veering away from the vanilla now.  I could tell you that by the time I was finished cooking and we sat down to dinner I had already been bitten, spanked a bit, pinched and my nipples had been thoroughly abused (and this was BEFORE I opened my presents).  I am always amazed that anything I cook ends up edible at all, considering he absolutely delights in torturing me in delicious ways while I am chopping, stirring and sauteing.  He particularly enjoys pinching, biting and twisting my nipples, so much so that by the time I opened my presents, I was too tender and too much of a wimp to wear the clamps very long at all.  (Yes, they are heavier and a lot more evil than the clamps I already had.)  I am sure I will savor them when my nipples are "fresh" though.

After dinner we talked and played and snuggled and played and I sucked his cock (a lot) and he made me cum (a lot).  We had talked about going out the next day, to see Christmas sights and maybe take some compromising public pictures of me to post, but we never made it out of the house, hardly made it out of bed.  Sometime between breakfast (which consisted of coffee and Christmas cookies...I am a bad pet) and lunch, we were in bed and I was sucking his cock (and generally licking and pleasuring all the surrounding areas of him as well) and I noticed he had his phone out.  I knew he was on call and thought he might be checking for messages (though I thought it was an odd time to do so), then I thought, "oh, he is taking pictures of me!"  What I didn't realize, until he showed me later, was that he wasn't taking pictures, he was filming.  So, now I am a porn star.  I didn't think I would like to watch myself, but it was very sexy.  Whether it will get posted anywhere or ever be seen by anyone other than the two of us is up to J.  It is still nice to know that he is watching me even when we are apart. 

Then, after a discussion about going out to lunch, and opting to stay in and heat up leftover shredded beef for sandwiches, we ended up back in bed.  More sex, cock-sucking and orgasms mixed with more nipple torture and pussy whipping (yeah, I think that's where the crying came in).  Then, while he was fucking my mouth, he did get a phone call (I mentioned he was on call, right?), while he was talking and trouble shooting computer problems (he is sooo smart!) he motioned me to suck him.  I was surprised, because I can think about sex or think about other stuff, multi-tasking, not so much.  But I did and he did.  I love thinking about sucking his cock and serving him while he is working and now I have.  All in all, we had a wonderful time together and I love that I am a porn star.

I am afraid I may drown Him in the gift of my tears

I do not cry in front of other people.  For years I barely cried at all.  In fact my motto was: "Never let them see you cry, crying is a sign of weakness."  That stemmed from a time in my life that every weakness was used against me.  He told me early on that I would cry for him. I told him I would not.  Of course, I was wrong and he was right.  Yet I fear that he may come to regret opening those ducts.  I never know when my tears will flow or what will trigger the flood.  There are times when I know I interrupt our play by crying.  It is not intentional, I often try and hold it back.  I cannot.  It would seem akin to lying to him if I held in my tears (as if I could).  If I am crying and he knows I am okay, both physically and emotionally, he keeps it going.  He will continue with whatever play (spanking, whipping, pinching, orgasm demanding) he is doing.  If he is at all in doubt, or thinks I may have been taken to far, he stops.  He holds me, he talks to me, he asks me about the trigger.  I rarely can give him an answer, I usually do not know.  I'm not sure there is ever one thing.  Part of it is being overwhelmed, by emotion, by sensations, by him.  Part of it is holding so much in during the course of my daily life.  Part of it is being safe and loved and treasured by him.  Part of it, I am sure, is being on a hormonal thrill ride this past couple of years.

Often pain will trigger it, not because the pain is so unbearable, but because I am struck with the realization that I could not, would not trust or allow anyone other than him to do [insert whatever he is doing at the time].  When we engage in activities that used to scare me, were part of my past abuse or are things that have been a source of shame for me, I cry.  I cry because he is so loving, so respectful, so accepting of all that I am and desire.  It is strange to feel this way when he is biting me or whipping my cunt with his belt or pissing on my face, but all of those things are done lovingly and caringly.  I know he would never harm me, humiliate me or hate me.  In short, he would never abuse me, ever. 

Our play is driven by both of our desires.  Our desires are driven by each other.  We both have come to desire things that we previously did not because the other one did.  Or because  it is something we can share with each other that will never be given or shared with anyone else.  He transforms experiences for me.  Things that were scary and shameful in the past are freeing and affirming now.  Those really hard things, boundary pushing things, have a spiritual quality.  They are like a religious experience for me. 

So, I am trying to redefine sexy as puffy eyes, snotty nose and blotchy, wet face.  He tells me I am delusional when I tell him he is the sexiest man I have ever known.  Yet he thinks my crying self is sexy.  It is good to be delusional together.