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Posts Tagged ‘M/s relationship’

  1. We are still US

    January 11, 2015 by Heather Cole

    The weeks leading up to my trip overseas, where my sir now resided, were a whirlwind of activity. I was in a constant state of motion, cleaning up, cleaning out, and packing. But all the physical activity was a distraction to what I was feeling. I was out-of-my-body excited to see sir. We had been apart for four months, and although we connected via Skype every single day without fail, nothing could compensate for the lack of touch. His kisses, his hands on my body, the reassuring bulk of him next to me at night… I missed those things so much that I couldn’t even admit to myself how I ached to be with him.

    I was also feeling nervous. Not about the trip itself, but how we would reconnect in the flesh. And in my darker moments, I felt jealous. Jealous of a geographical location. Sir’s new city had him, and he was building a life that I could only learn about through my incessant questions during Skype. That city with its exotic customs and foreign life had consumed him almost completely. From my perspective, I was my boring old self in our boring old life that we used to share. My anecdotes from sex blogging and writing work seemed lame in comparison.

    When I stood beyond the gate in front of customs, I could only gaze at sir and smile. I told him he looked amazing, and I meant every syllable. I had to wait until we were alone in his apartment to feel his arms around me and the feeling of being held by him made me cry. Even though we both made a lot of effort to connect despite the geographical distance between us, nothing felt as exquisite as his physical embrace. It felt like I had journeyed all this way into the heart of a foreign land to finally be home. Home with him.

    The tears didn’t last long, though, and after he dried them, he gave me a quick tour which ended in the bedroom. He proceeded to claim me then, in every way possible. He filled my mouth, my pussy, and my asshole. His body dominated mine just as his will did. He smelled different, but his cock tasted and felt the same. I shed more joyful tears, mingled with the sounds of our bodies joining.

    That first day was divided into sleeping, eating, and fucking. During one of our awake times, he dug into his closet and pulled out the toys he had accrued for us. He had made a flogger from a discounted pair of nunchucks and paracord. There was a pingpong paddle, a foot long plastic shoehorn from Ikea that stung like a sonofabitch, a wooden spoon, a belt, and his favorite rattan cane. How he got that through customs, which was notorious for confiscating any items sexually related, was a mystery to me. Maybe they thought it was a camel stick? He’s going to take me to the Souk (the traditional market) and make me pick out my very own camel stick that won’t be used on any camels, only this girl’s backside.

    I fell into the familiar rituals of a spanking with wholehearted enthusiasm even as a part of me hesitated at the edge of giving myself completely. I felt like we had to be reacquainted in some ways, and I waited to see if I would find our D/s connection as strong as it once was. Now we were in his new life, a life that hadn’t made room for my physical presence yet. Everything about this world was foreign, and I worried that he would be too, or that perhaps, we wouldn’t share a love of the things we used to. Eventually I told my monkey mind to shut up, so I could be present. I trusted sir with my body and heart, and I had to trust that my unease would vanish the more time we spent with one another.

    Sir had me suck his cock while he hit me with his belt. The pleasure I took from sucking and running my tongue along his shaft was punctuated by the licks of pain from the leather. I gasped around him, trying to focus only on what I could control:  my mouth, tongue, and lips. Eventually he pulled me up beside him where I cuddled into his side. He stroked my cheek and looked intently at me.

    “Did you like it when I hit you?” he asked.

    “Yes, Daddy,” I replied with a small smile.

    “What kind of girl likes being hurt like that?”

    It was a question that he had asked me in various ways ever since the beginning of our relationship. And staring into his beautiful hazel eyes, the answer practically exploded out of me.

    “This girl loves when you hurt her, Daddy. It’s because of you that I love it so much. The pain goes hand in hand with trust, and it moves us beyond our defenses. Together.”

    Lust swept through me as my words unlocked the last gate around my heart. I wanted him all over again, and I wanted him to consume me. This was our connection in action. This is what kept me at his feet for the long months that we could only talk through our computers. The fire that blazed beneath my skin was lust for this man, love, and a trust so deep that I couldn’t feel whole without it.

    I kissed him hard and pressed my body along the length of his. He pushed me gently back and thrust his fingers between my legs. The orgasm hit me immediately, and I cried out as my fingernails dug into his arm. A second orgasm followed on the heels of the first, and I squirted on to the sheets. Daddy laughed with delight and fingerbanged me to a third orgasm.

    I couldn’t believe that I had squirted. It had been so long since I had done so, and when he asked me about it later, all I could think of was how strongly I felt about us. That was what inspired and reassured me. Despite all the time apart, our bond was still powerful, and we were still us.

     


  2. What I Didn’t Know Was A Lot

    February 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    When did I realize that I truly was a masochist? The day I spanked myself thirty times with a thick wooden spoon, of course. I was alone with M on the phone, his voice at its smoothest and most polite. The tone that told me my ass was grass. Or in this case, black and blue. I was bent over the back of a plush chair, my skirt bunched around my waist. The wooden spoon was the biggest size they sold at Williams-Sonoma and I had originally purchased it to stir giant pitchers of sweet tea at family picnics. Until that exact moment, I had no idea it would be an instrument of torture on my pale skin. I also didn’t know that I would be inflicting the strikes myself per the instructions of the dominant voice on the phone. This, my darlings, was the beginning of my relationship with M. At one point not so very long ago, he was my eDom. A man whom I had never met in person yet trusted with my body and soul.

    True to the nature of online relationships, our courtship was a lightning strike. He singled me out of a group tweet with Nikki as we bantered back and forth about our kids. Watching M and Nikki tweet back and forth was like watching a knife fight. They fought dirty, and after a few half-hearted thrusts, I retired to the sidelines to watch them duel. When M sent me a direct message, I couldn’t fathom his intention. He told me I’d make a good submissive, and I almost spewed coffee all over my laptop. My response was, “I don’t think I’d make a good sub. I’m usually the aggressor.”

    As I read back over the emails we traded, M came across detached and in control. I called him by his first name, and I was bratty. Brattier than I am today, if you can believe that. I told him that he’d have to “earn” the right to the title Master, and to my surprise he agreed. He explained that my submission to him was a gift and that it was his intention to earn my respect and the right to be called Master. We didn’t discuss “ownership” and he didn’t throw around a lot of kinky terminology. We eased into it together, it seems, in a way that I can only describe as organic.

    What amazed me about that first conversation was that once I accepted my submissiveness, I assumed there would be pain as well. I slipped into the role as if it were an old coat, well-used and comfortable. It was like finding the key to a mysterious lock I had been carrying around for years. Suddenly, everything seemed to fit. I wrote, “have you ever had a moment where you hear something and it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting to hear, but you never knew it? Reading your last message I just had one of those aha! moments.

    “So now I’m a quivering mass of…everything…”

    eDoms conduct their submissives and play partner relationships electronically, and it’s the perfect way to learn the ins and outs (pun completely intended) of a potential partner. M and I were a couple that needed the next physical step to real life. We knew from the start that we would have to meet. I ached to feel his hands on me, his breath in my ear as he commanded me to my knees and punished my body. Email only took me so far. Even now I need to taste, touch and fuck him to be completely satisfied. However, our online Master/slave interactions allowed us the time to explore each other in a completely safe manner.

    We traded pictures of what we liked and wrote erotic scenarios back and forth, but the big test came when M told me to fetch the wooden spoon. At one point I seemed to watch myself from an outside perspective and had the thought, “what the holy fuck am I doing?” The slave in me responded with certainty that M knew what he was doing, and that he was steering us in the direction that we both needed. Sometimes I’m a helluva better slave than independent woman, but don’t quote me on that. I don’t want M thinking I’m too pliable.

    I feel extremely fortunate that my online relationship with M was able to evolve into something dynamic and fulfilling in our real lives. But without that foundation to our relationship, I don’t think we’d be half as amazing as we are together. I know M and trust him in a way that may have been impossible if we began in person. There are as many versions of kink as there are stars in the sky, and I realize that the way we developed wouldn’t work for everyone. I’m grateful, though. Grateful to the bottom of my greedy, bratty, little slave heart.