last day to wake up and feel each other near. We exchanged pain and tears all the good kind.
We talked of …. Emotions. We both have a crappy track record of bailing when we get to…. Not attached, but I think (at least for me) it’s more of a fear of getting hurt.
I told her how perfect she was. How every perceived imperfection just adds to her being perfect to me. I see her pain and loneliness and I know it, I live it. I’ve never been so faced with it before that moment.
A friendly Dom told her not to break her mirror. It’s advice that I also need to remember.
I promised I wouldn’t let her run, but in my negligence I forgot (or was too afraid) to ask the same.
We had plans to go out, but I couldn’t think of anything that would make me want to cut our time short together.
In the kitchen making coffee and a small plate of food we hugged. Face to face looking at each other, soft caresses, soft kisses, all so sensual.
Then her hot coffee in her cup rubbing against my nipples making me drI p and plead with her to please not stop…to continue the torment of my body. My clit begging to be touched.
Small distractions of daily life. Family calls, random texts from crazy ex’s. My time lines blur. I found her in the bedroom and I just wanted to please her. My whole body needing her tears and whimpers and to feed on her orgasms. In those moments my needs were only to ….. Be a slave by pleasing her.
I can still feel her head on my breasts and hear her soft pain moans as I twist her nipple. Those eyes locked on mine, not looking down as she’s done with others, but looking at me, an equal. An equal in our pain and need for pain.
Her want for me to spankers her, a reminder of me as she went home. Time was running so short and I could have continued for hours. I had been edging all morning. Even pleasuring her I could have cum a million times.
The clovers on my nipple and a small rocket on my clit, she passed me the phone. My time, no more edges, I could call Sir and beg to cum. The pain and pleasure almost too much I came over and over. My orgasms lasting longer than the time it took for me to get there.
I had once said a good scene caused an almost ptsd kind of reaction. Intermittently I will get a flash of her gentle face or hear her moans.
We had such little time to get ready.
Off to the train. We spoke of normal life and events past and present. She put her hand down and I placed mine in hers. It was such a good and nessessary thing. Neither of us ever being so open before.
Saying good bye was hard. A kiss and a big hug. I promised no tears, but that’s a hard thing to do.
As I walked away I silently cried as I do when I see Sir off. Are dynamic totally different not slave and owner, but two woman equally, needing to give and recieve pain and pleasure to fill the emptiness in us.
I got close to the train and needed to collect myself. Just one beer. Just a second to readjust to being alone again. To me sitting alone on a bar stool is the epitome of loneliness. It is solitude in a crowd. It is what I do when I need to reset.
I took a long walk, stopped for cheap wine I haven’t even looked at it or bothered to open it. Got some food, because I knew I should. It was the same as we are together, but tasted flat alone.
Yesterday I was experiencing a horrible drop so many mixed up emotions. I really didn’t want to get up today.
F$&@…meeting time…real life rears it’s ugly head once again.