I need to just sit down and reflect on all the little things that fill up my life. Perspective may help the understanding but distance blurs the edges. Just one day passes and all the thoughts, the sudden surprises, the explosions of laughter and rushes of rage mute and fade. After a day, or two... or three... I just can't seem to remember why I was standing in the middle of the kitchen laughing my ass off. I remember thinking that I ought to write about it in my blog but now... now it is gone.
It was probably a small thing, totally forgettable. I know it had everything to do with Master... he had exerted some level of control that had gone beyond the realm of reasonable or rational (as far as I understand reasonable and rational) and I had boggled and blinked, I had choked down the "you can't be fucking serious". It is like when you get a swallow of something just not quite right in your throat. A large chunk of something not quite adequately chewed. You have some choices, you can gag and vomit, you can choke and die or you can just force it down... exert mind over convulsing throat muscles and swallow... it hurts all the way down... it feels like you have swallowed a Rubiks Cube and even after it gets to your guts you can sense the angular lump in your digestive system. Sometimes accepting Master's control can be like that... swallowing a Rubiks Cube.
Once a lonnnngggg time ago I knew someone who when they wanted to change the subject, when whim or thought takes an abrupt left turn... they would say this thing. They would say, "Speaking of cheese." Now you must realize no one had been discussing dairy products or this person really had anything to say about cheese. It was just a way of announcing that this person was well aware that the next thing they were going to talk about had absolutely nothing to do with anything mentioned up to that time.
So... speaking of cheese... During our weekly... yes you perves... us old people have sex once a week. ONCE A FUCKING WEEK. Master's choice... if it was up to me I would have probably fucked him to death years ago. Swallowing that Rubik's Cube was and continues to be extremely difficult. Back on track...
So... speaking of cheese and back door shenanigans... During our weekly shower sex this Saturday Master's fascination with spelunking... prising open my bung with both thumbs... (I have no idea what he is looking for.) ...stretched me a bit further than reasonable or rational. I think the tones of my squawks changed from enthusiasm to a "What the fuck chuck!" howl of outrage. Master instantly got the message and lightened up a notch.
Master says it makes my pussy tighten up on his cock while he does that. And he also admits it is a turn on to mess around with my ass while he has me bent over in the shower and without a question his messing about with my ass turns me on. It is all good... very, very good... but now, my poor ass does not so much hurt as much as itch. I am going crazy, I want to scratch... scratch hard... scratch deep... I have fantasies about bottle brushes. It gets so bad that not scratching my ass is just not an option... I squirm, clench, grind my teeth... and finally give in. I sneak off to indulge this urge (just scratch, you perves... Master would never allow me to soil a good bottle brush and one just cannot really root around in their butt around other people so I sneak off to hide in the bathroom or bedroom) it feels sooooo good that it is hard to stop. I am just a little worried that I may be at risk of literally scratching my ass off... rubbing my little butthole right off and leaving a crater behind. But the multiple buttgasms are irresistible.
Okay... that was cheesy.
Master and I actually went out around other people this weekend. We got all duded up and went to a wedding of one of his coworkers. People seemed happy to see him, strangers calling his name, approaching him, introductions, names I will not remember, hands shaking. People like him. (well of course... I like him too.) He must talk with them when he is at work. We sat through the ceremony and then he hustled me off like a thief in the night before the reception even started. It kind of made me sad... this is the closest he comes to having any kind of social circle.
He had said to me... "Well, pretty girl" (yes, that is what he calls me... and he can say "pretty girl" in a tone that makes your heart sing or sink... he can use it like a whip or a goad, like a warm soothing caress.) "well, Pretty Girl, I really did not want to stay very long. Do you want to go?"
I answered a good slave answer... which was... "You are my Master... if you want to go, I want to go." (and honestly... I am not totally comfortable with strangers but I could have done it... and if we had found a table and sat down, I could have had a witty, entertaining conversation with just about anyone.) But with that we were gone... before the hand shaking, before the cake and toasts and good wishes. He asked me later if I had "really" wanted to go and I answered again... "that I don't have wants beyond wanting to please him"... he called bullshit... he insisted that when he asks what I want I am required to really have wants... my own wants... I do know I want him to have friends... to get out more... to be less isolated. I worry that he spends so much time with only me.
Chapter 20 of Demon Child just posted on Literotica. I have put up the first couple thousand words of Chapter 21 on the "What's she writing now?" page of this blog.
Have a nice day... x
The Road to Recovery is Slow
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