, , , , , , , , , , ,

Yesterday I was in a funk. Couldn’t concentrate on much of anything, felt all kinds of out of sorts, and though I tried, I couldn’t write. It had started with a text from the one who’d shattered my heart a few years ago telling me he was coming to town. No “hello”, “how are you”, or “sorry for being such a dick”. Just a single line and the unwritten expectation that I’d suddenly drop everything to go see him. It made me angry, then hurt, then sad, and opened that old wound to the point I felt I was bleeding again.

I hate being in that place, the one where it hurts to breathe, and you see nothing but red and black. The place where all the questions haunt you, taunting you with ‘what-if’s’ and ‘what-might-have-been’s’. It’s the place where you second guess yourself and wonder what exactly are you worth anyway, and why is it that no one has ever stayed? I don’t like to write about that place, almost as much as I hate being there. I kept trying to distract myself from thinking, and when that didn’t work, I desperately just wanted to go to sleep. Sadly, every time I tried I ended up getting up again because I couldn’t.

Sir called me this morning, and at first things were fine, but then He asked me what I had done last night. I had watched a movie, trying to be distracted and get myself out of that place. I had gone to bed early for me, around 10pm, but I wasn’t sleeping well. I woke up around 1am, got up and started reading and commenting on some articles on fetlife.

But I didn’t write. There was no new journal entry for Him to read this morning.

imageI won’t try to write out the entire conversation here, but suffice it to say that I screwed up. I didn’t realize exactly how until He explained it me, but He was right. I spent yesterday absorbed in my own thoughts, focused on me and what was going in my head, instead of giving priority to the task He had given me. To complete the writings about our journey thus far. Instead of giving priority to Him and want He wanted first and foremost over anything else.

So I am to receive a punishment. Ten lashes with the cane at our next session. The first time He ‘demonstrated’ to me the feeling of the cane on my bare skin, I was terrified of ever having to feel that more than once. I’m terrified now. I ended up crying during the conversation, both from knowing that I’d done something to disappoint Him (He didn’t use that word specifically, but it’s the only one I can think of at the moment that fits), and from fear of knowing that I would have to be punished for it.

Toward the end, He started to reassure me that I was special and said some very sweet things that made me cry even more. The why of that is an entirely different topic that I’ll delve into at some point, just not right now.

“I want you to go to your room, take out your vibrator, and when you’re all set up, call me back and masturbate for me.”, He told me, then said goodbye and hung up.

I went into my room and did as He said, laying down on the bed with vibrator and phone and called Him back. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks and I was afraid. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to switch emotional states quickly enough, to go from crying to turned on, mind completely blanking out everything but the upset over knowing I had failed to do what He wanted. How the hell am I supposed to feel sexy right now, I thought to myself.

“First, stop crying.”

That wasn’t too difficult, I’m old hat at turning my tears off (the quiet ones anyway, not so much the sobbing ones). The emotion behind them, though, is something else entirely. He wanted me to describe what I was thinking about as I brought myself to orgasm. I froze, again the mind drew a blank on where to even start, fumbling around in the dark, looking for the light switch that has “sex” on the label.

I do have to say thank goodness for vibrators. I switched it on and placed it just so, and when it touches that spot, there’s not a lot your mind can do to override the feelings that begin to pulse and wind themselves through your body. The phrase ‘mind over matter’ just doesn’t seem to apply when you have something thrumming in high gear against your clit.

20130807-003527.jpgHe talked to me, and when He spoke I no longer had to fumble around for something to arouse me. His voice does that. So that is what I thought about, His voice, the things He says to me, the tone He uses… His voice in my ear brought an image of Him into my mind as clear as if He was laying there beside me. Looking into the eyes of this image, the orgasm He asked for wasn’t long in arriving.

“Now”, He said, “I don’t want to talk to you again until I see you tonight.”

He hung up the phone. I was still breathing hard, pulse pounding in my ears, the image of Him still there beside me, His voice still playing through my head like an echo in a canyon. I brought myself to orgasm twice more before I finally got up, grabbed my ipad, and began to write.

I no longer feel like crying.