Happy Day

I've always had a thing against Valentine's Day (yes, I'm another one of them). No, its not because of loneliness, but more because, despite my attachments to washing powder, I'm just not into romance. I'm more comfortable with this time of year when I'm single: all the defiant single women get out and have a few drinks, making it a good time to get laid. Its also a nice chance to send flowers to my friends and let them know they are special. This morning, for example, I left a velvet rose on the front doorstep for Betty to find when she went out (shhh! don't tell her it was me...;))

To me, valentines day is really best spent celebrating friendship. Maybe I prefer that because the unexpectedness makes it seem more genuine... or, maybe it really is just because I'm such a cynical old commitment-phobe.

Whatever it is, here's a thought I'd like to share on this V-day:

nadi's anti-valentine links:

Anti-Valentine's cards (the source of the image above)

Sexy Greg (note: sarcasm)

Condom Day (thats more like it - let's all get shagged)

The Velocity of Gary (A movie I personally enjoyed, but had terrible reviews, about a slutty bi guy named Valentino, his boyfriend, and his girlfriend - played by the very sexy Salma Hayek).

Need

Like I wrote a couple of days ago, lately I have been needing him - craving him. Its been a very emotional ride in my life lately and the constant thought in the back of my mind has been that seeing him will make it all better. So its been a frustrating week, with all the shit of daily life constantly getting in the way of me seeing Master, and each time it does, I've felt weaker and lonelier.

Last night was the breaking point. I probably would have taken no for an answer, to be a good girl, but I really didn't want to, and I would have been a very unstable girl. I waited at home, naked, as he would want to find me, praying to who-knows-what that he would come. As it got later I got more anxious, knowing that each hour meant less chance I would get what I needed tonight. I hesitated to sms him and ask, afraid of hearing that the answer was no. Eventually I had to. The answer wasn't no, but it wasn't positive. I started crying. I fucking needed him. I sent him another message saying so, begging him to see me. It was very late, and I knew my chances were slim. He suggested I make the drive. I hesitated... Betty was asleep, and if I left the house, and my son woke up, and she didn't know I wasn't here, surely she would be furious...

Fuck it. I grabbed my phone and my keys and walked out the door. Did I mention I was naked? Yes, still. Putting on clothes seemed a trivial waste of precious time, and my nudity felt right - to drive over and walk up to his front door, presenting myself to him bare and vulnerable, seemed perfect for my state of mind.

Driving over, my confidence waned a little as I wondered if other drivers would notice. I thought about the jacket in my back seat, wondered if I should put it on. But I gave myself a pep-talk instead - it was late, and dark, and who the hell would see? .... try a dozen council workers on late-night roadworks on the highway, that's who. I crawled along in slow traffic with them all standing around within spitting distance from my car, cringing under the gigantic floodlights. But if any of them noticed, they didn't show a sign.

It was probably a good thing, going through the roadworks actually, it gave me something else to focus on for a few moments besides my overwhelming need to be with Master. After I passed them, I felt calmer, a tiny bit more ok. I got to his house and jumped out, walking straight to his front door, and rang the bell. He stood there looking at me, through his security door, leaving me standing there for a few moments, naked in the night air. I felt ready to try and claw my way through the door, not to get inside, but to touch him. Finally he opened it, and I could, but I struggled with self-control - all I wanted was to throw myself on him, and cling to him. He allowed me a brief cuddle before telling me to go to my corner and wait while he finished what he had been doing.

I had to force myself to do that, and it was the hardest wait I've ever had for him. I'd been needing him and waiting for him for days, and now finally he was in the next room, and I had to wait some more. I started to cry again. I toyed with the idea of begging him to let me sit with him instead of in my usual corner. I tried to distract myself by staring at the artwork on his walls. I tried to be quiet, but he could probably hear me, and he let me wait.

I feel a need to interrupt myself here and point out that Master is not a cold man. He is calm, and has a great deal of self control (not to mention nadi-control, lol). He knew how much I needed him, but still he let me wait, and it was right that he did so. He is not callous or indifferent to my feelings, but he doesn't indulge them indiscriminantly either. He owns me, and its up to him what he gives me and when I am allowed it. If I was able to demand what I wanted through emotional displays like this one, I would lose respect for him. So I needed to be with him, but I also needed to wait.

So I sat there crying and waiting for him, feeling more than a little ashamed and stupid for the whole thing. He wouldn't want me like this, I thought, he wanted a stable, rational slavegirl, not one who would lose the plot from missing him. Was I really worth it for him, with all this drama? Finally he came into the room and sat in the chair next to me. This time I didn't have to restrain myself from throwing myself at him - I couldn't even look at him until he ordered me to. Then he guided me close to him, and finally let me hug him with my head on his chest...

What do people say when they see someone in tears? They say something reassuring, tell them its all ok, or going to be, or ask why, make you talk about it to feel better - in other words, they want you to stop crying. But not Master. He held me to him, and said "Cry." And I did, and I felt such gratitude and relief, because he didn't reject the way I felt. I give him everything, and he gives me acceptance. Thats even better than love.

Reverie

I was just changing my bedsheets and feeling extremely horny (which is nothing unusual - feeling horny I mean, it is a little too unusual for me to change my sheets if I'm completely honest...) when I heard a noise at the back door. It was just a rattle from the wind, my dog would have tipped me off if it was something more, but instantly my imagination grasped the idea and came up with a far more interesting explanation...

...there was a man at my back door, he'd just let himself into my house, and was now walking calmly through the kitchen heading for the bedroom, where I was sitting on the floor. He would kneel behind me and grab hold of my hair, pulling my head back before I'd even heard him there. He would whisper to me that my Master had sent him there with permission to use me, and I should be a good girl and make sure he was satisfied or Master would not be pleased. He would ask if I understood and I would say I did, then he would let go of my hair and I would turn around and see the face of a stranger whose name I would never know. He would stand up and present his cock for me to suck, and I would do so obediently. He would stand still and I would know he was evaluating my effort, so I would try hard to please him and he would say "good girl." Then he would take control and hold my head close to him, pushing into my throat and thrusting faster, fucking my face with no reaction to my gasps and gags. Then he would grab my hair and throw me down on all fours and lift my skirt, pull my underwear aside and (with a condom that magically appears, as they do in fantasies, lol) push himself into me hard. I would moan in pleasure, then suddenly realise that I didn't have permission to orgasm... my moans would turn to dread and longing as I reaslied that I would be used to this man's satisfaction and be denied my own. He would fuck me so fast I would struggle not to cum and groan at the effort of resisting something so tantalising and so easy to reach. He would thankfully keep it short, pulling my hips to him as he came, and leaving me frustrated, my wet cunt feeling like a vast empty vacuum needing to be filled. I would kneel there, gasping, while my visitor stood, straightened himself, and then bend down to tell me he would be sure to tell Master I had behaved, giving me a teasing tap on my swollen lips that would send a shudder through my body before he leaves....

....yes, that was what the noise at my back door had really been, and any second now I would feel that hand on my hair, and all that would begin, I convinced myself as I lay on my floor and shook with orgasm - at the thought of not orgasming, no less... lol...

The other kind of minutia

I fucking love him! I want to laugh and scream about it tonight... maybe its the 3 beers I've had...

... or maybe its the past week of missing and absolutely craving him, feeling crushed with the weight of wanting nothing but my Master, feeling pain and hurt and emptiness, longing not for the sex, or the s&m, or the power, but just to be with him... wrapping my arms around my body for some kind of comfort, wishing they were his arms... waiting for his arms...

I am such a love-cynic I want to laugh at how ridiculous I am. Allow me to demonstrate:

A while ago, through circumstances I won't bother detailing, Master gave me a box of washing powder from his house. Suddenly, the rate at which I washed my clothes seemed to increase. I confessed to Betty one night: the truth was, I was getting pleasure from the fact that my clothes now smelled like his. She said, "Honey, thats called romance." Tonight, I put some washing on and was disappointed to find the box empty - nothing left but the usual brand I buy. So disappointed I almost didn't even wash my clothes. Fuck, I've become a laundry romantic! How the hell did that happen??

Sometimes I genuinely ask myself that. Sometimes I wonder, how did someone do this to me? I was so determined not to be this way, not to have someone on my mind like this, constantly wanting to tell them "I love you, I miss you, I love you, I miss you..." That's not me, goddammit!
But it is me. It's absolutely me to surrender, and to serve - with my heart, as well as everything else. And of course, the credit is his, for recognising that, and for being strong enough, and patient enough, and wise enough to draw that out of me.

Expecting to give

Twice now I have been asked - once by Sir J, now also by Betty - "Does he love you?" The first time my answer surprised me, and I wondered if it was just the moment. But last night, the second time I was asked, the answer was still the same. First of all, I don't know. Second, and more importantly, I don't need to know.

There is no reason why he should love me, and, if he did, there is no reason why he should tell me, or why I would ask. I love him, and that means he owns me more completely. I don't need him to love me in return, I only need him to accept my love - and me.

Humans like to think that when we love someone, we need to possess them. The truth is that loving someone means that they possess us. For the first time in my life I'm really able to embrace that - to say I will continue to love you, Sir, without expecting anything in return. I guess thats what "unconditional" means.