You’ll just have to punish me 😉
Maybe Sir might 😉
Lucid dreams are a thing 😉
I bite my lip and gasp softly. Did I really just tell a sadist to dream on? Why yes, yes I think I did. She never learns.
If I knew one thing, it’s that my bravado wouldn’t last long. Matt, I think, is used to it, he knows that when I act up, really it’s because I’m pushing him. I feel uncomfortably in control, but I’m also not desiring to be torn limb from limb. He knows that there is a way to handle me. More of a slow, delicate tearing, if you will.
And as a sadist would, he revels in it. They both do. They both revel in watching me slip and slide back into that place where I know exactly who and what I am.
Just cleaning out the oven, as you do 😉 I tease Bill, I sent him a photo of my new-blue-glove-covered hand for good measure. It’s suggestive, of course, of medical play, but it’s also not. That’s the point, it’s toeing that fine line. Dancing outside of the wolf’s den without venturing in.
I should say here dear reader that I am not afraid. I trust both of these men implicitly and with every ounce of my being, but what fun would it be if I just… gave myself up? I mean sometimes, but they enjoy the work, they enjoy the thrill of the chase, that’s why I do what I do. In a bizarre kind of way then my taunting and goading is almost a part of my submission in itself. In fact, and given how talkative and bold Red and I are compared to Bill and Matt, then a vast majority could be forgiven for thinking that we are the Dominant ones!
But for as much fun as that taunting and goading is, it inevitably comes back to bite me on the ass in the end.
Have a shower. It’s on my to-do list for the day.
It’s not that I hate shower night, but showers involve a certain level of vulnerability and a vulnerability that feels so counter-intuitive to the power and control that I feel right now. It’s a hypothetical snare, and my inevitable nakedness feels much like the serving up of the proverbial wolf’s lunch. In my mind I know that the wolves are circling, waiting. They knew that this moment would come.
Tormenting with latex gloves is all well and good until you realise it’s shower night. So… good evening? I try my hand at some sweetness and nice. It’s about all I have right now to make my demise hurt a little bit less.
Well at least you’ll be nice and clean 😉 I gasp again and bite my lip. He’s such a merciless sadist; my favourite kind.
Ahead of my shower I make a courtesy call to mother, the same as I do every three days. In my youth my Dad used to call his Mum every Friday, and my Mum called hers much more often. I’m not really that close to my Mum though, and least of all to her – and dare I say it – but her toxicity, her negativity and her perpetual doom and gloom. For me, once every three days is more than often enough.
“How’s your neighbour doing with his garden?” she asks. My neighbour, Martin. The guy whose garden is like a junkyard, though he has been told to clean it up.
“God alone knows” I say in exasperation, how do you offer a progress update on a situation that doesn’t appear to be progressing? “He got some fence panels delivered that he’s now using to build these sort of… sheltery things for his tools.”
“Shelters?” she laughs, completely missing my ‘for his tools’ part. “You know what that is? He’s a prepper. He’s preparing for a nuclear attack”. I sigh deeply and roll my eyes – this is exactly why I don’t like calling her very often.
Talk also turns to my blog, and the fact that I hit my best-ever total of 315 views in a day on Wednesday doesn’t interest her in the least.
“Mmm, still no money though” she says matter-of-factly, and a part of me wants to reach down the phone line and throttle her. No, no money, and I am aware no money, but no money and having sellable things worth money are something that I am working on. I’m also a housewife, we just did Christmas and I spent the past two and a half weeks coughing my guts up and sometimes wondering whether I’d even wake up the next day. Forgive me for requiring a little more time to put together the ideas that I have in mind?
In a weird kind of way I feel as though I bathe in my submission, and in my acceptance of it all. 2023 is shaping up to look and feel a little bit different, and I can’t say that I’m not excited by it. I have things to let go of, and things that I feel will become a part of me. Did I ever feel this time last year that I would have this level of submission to Bill? Nope, no I didn’t. But here we are.
“Love! What the hell are you doing?! It’s like the bloody biblical floods out in the hallway!” Matt says, bursting open the bathroom door. I grab the shower curtain for modesty though it’s clear plastic pebble style isn’t offering me much privacy at all. Damn it.
I hadn’t realised until too late, but the shower head was at an angle and was jetting water pretty much straight at the 3-inch gap at the end of the shower curtain. Of course I blame Bill for distracting me. After all, all’s fair in love and war.
Sleep is a little different, and the more I try to shake the thoughts of being exposed and demonstrated to others by Bill then the more those thoughts sink in. So this is my punishment? I feel almost as though I’m living the scenario in real-time. I have no conscious desire to be shared amongst others, least of all several other Dominants all at once, and yet somehow I accept it. I accept this punishment, for him.
There are forced orgasms that still further my degradation, my hand wanders and I come hard. Camila Cabello’s “Liar” goes through my head.
I said I won’t lose control, I don’t want it.
Of course if you know the song, dear reader, then you’ll know that the song relates to Camila’s love for her co-star-turned-boyfriend, Shawn Mendes, how she crushes on him and is in denial of her true desires. She actually does want the relationship with him, despite singing to the contrary. My own waking conscious is calling me out now too, it surely seems.
I cry hard before sleep, though it’s a deep, healing catharsis and not born from fear or frustration. Here is happiness. Here is acceptance. Here is freedom. Even from within the deepest confines of my submission then never have I been more free.
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