I miss it here. I think that this blog helps me focus on submission, and encourages introspection about this journey of power exchange.
Writing here is good for me. Not writing...Not so good.
When I'm really sick, he backs way off. He doesn't usually back off. Especially for so long.
It is still odd, yet somehow now predictable--this feeling.
As I float, something in him coils tighter and tighter
it is there in the way he touches me
the tense restraint in his hands
the unyielding bent of his body when it touches mine.
There is restrained force in every touch, and frustrated patience on his face, as dangerous calculations are being made patiently behind his eyes.
He waits. While I, of necessity, float loosely leashed at his feet.
And while he waits, that something in him, that beast that he sates with me, it winds tighter still.
Waiting to be set free.
I feel it in his touch, rippling below the surface, waiting to feed. Hungry.
There's always a temporary fear, a momentary panic about things to come as soon as I realize I am well enough for him to feed.
I waiver, afraid to feel his teeth, afraid that he will feed, afraid to admit that my body is once again well enough to meet his needs. Because I am afraid to face the beast.
Yet still I find myself begging for it, begging to float loosely no longer
knowing that I will lay my heart on his plate
open the doors to my mind
and feed him my soul
every day for my forever.
Because my being will always surrender
knowing that I live at the mercy of the beast who appears in my dreams.