Ten Minute Touch Therapy...

So I found myself home unexpectedly the last two days and, unlike yesterday, our littlest one decided to take a nap. Now, when I say take a nap, I mean my poor slave took the little one upstairs and placed her into the baby jail and let her scream until she finally fell asleep. Not exactly soothing. 

So when the text came that she was down, I went up quickly hoping to capitalize on the moment. My poor slave has been so frazzled the last few days and all that wear and stress showed in her form. Now, last night there was the faintest hope that we would have the chance together. A hope that was, as usual, not fulfilled. I know the slave had intentions, be it bondage and sex or what have you. But today, as she knelt there on the floor looking numbly up at me there was no intent and very little hope, just need. I know how the depression of stress can taint the mind. I asked her what it was she wanted or needed to have. Bondage? Sex? Torment? Being bound and hooded, left without little hands pawing at her or screaming in her ears? 

My slave responded with one word. Well more of an implication of a word that she had used the night before. Touch. Simple moments being reduced to an object in my hands, feeling the heat of my body pressed against her. This was communicated by her burring her head in my chest and remain unmoving. We had little time so I ordered her to strip and get into the bed. Oh fantastic side note, the slave surprised me after a shopping trip last week or so with black satin sheets. Normally, items purchased outside the list sent with her make me raise an eyebrow and often a swat or two to her bum. This, on the other hand was a most welcome treat. Earlier today she had cleaned upstairs and placed these new sheets on the bed. I intend to get a few shots of them, with some lovey garnish of course. I digress. 

Onto the bed she climbed, immediately burying herself into her blanket. I laughed, and retrieved the blindfold from the drawer and a length of rope from the shelf. I pulled the blanket from her and slipped into my bed, caught instantly by the surprising feel of satin against my naked body. Cold but so soft like liquid metal. So delicious. I ordered my slave to sit up and face the other direction as I bound her hands behind her back. The blind fold was pulled over her eyes next, sealing her into a world of feeling and sound. I pulled her down next to me and she fell into my arms, pressing her naked body against mine. We lay like that for a while, entwined, her helpless in my grasp. It was heavenly, an instant of just the two of us. I love the feel of a naked woman, grinding against me without the use of her hands. Making love with every part of her body in the absence of the most prominent appendage of touch. I, of course, had every intention to spread her legs and mine my pleasure from her. My fingers found her wet and hot, an eager tremble coursed through her. Just a perfect moment. 

A moment that ended with the sound of our stirring little one. A depressed sigh in unison is an interesting thing and something that my slave and I share more and more often. The little one's nap lasted no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish and our unity less than ten. However, it helped. We could both feel it. Another brief stimulant to get us through this drought. Now, to repeat this therapy for two or three sessions a day every day and we might just find our selves being okay again...

Public Service Announcement

And now for a word on addictive habits: I do not have many vices. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs and have no interest in doing so. I don't gamble. I don't participate in the destruction of public or private property, and I don't revel in antiestablishmentarianism. Even I have to ask, just what the hell do I do? Am I some kind of straight-laced, white bread, goody-two-shoes? A stick in the mud? Of course not. Despite the fact that my laces, when I have them, are indeed straight (a trait governed by my OCD thank you very much), and I do, in fact, prefer white bread over wheat. And yes, I do have two good shoes (why would I put up with anything less?). And I have, on occasion, been stuck in the mud. 

So where, exactly, do I allow my self to cut loose and exercise the darker aspects of my soul? I'm sure the answer is no surprise to you, dear reader. Sex. That glorious and varied playground of physical and psychological wonderment. The vice that exercises nearly every aspect of the entirety of a person, and provides a development unlike any vice mentioned above. And I am an addict, utterly obsessed.

Lust, that most potent of vices. Driving desire, heightening the senses, altering the perception of time and space. My drug of choice. The high that keeps on giving. I have spent hours chasing that dragon; lost in a multitude of my own scenes, downloading porn videos, reading erotica, sifting through picture after picture on Fet, blogs, tumbler, and favorite sites across the web. I live it every day, when the kids allow. I see it everywhere I go.

Honestly, spending time in public is painful. When I see a pretty little thing walk by and my mind wonders at her talents. I envision rope wrapped around her frame and chains hanging from cuffs around her wrists. Imagining her following at the tug of a leash behind me. I have to look away, only to see another and another and yet more. A sweet misery, and as is appropriate, I have to share with the slave. It's fun to see her reactions and know that she is just as afflicted as I. Together we have moaned our way through many a store, or park... or restaurant... or bank lobby... or... Come to think about it, just about everywhere. Oddly, not at the Department of Motor Vehicles though. But, I digress. 

One of the most difficult aspects of this addiction for me is work. I have a rule, I do not play at work. It causes too many potential issues, too much gossip, and a mess that is not worth it, no matter how delicious or obviously interested or likely a perspective play partner may be. Which is hard, of course, for two reasons. With our kiddos I don't get out much for socializing or play and as such work is really the only place I spend enough time with other people to get a feel for who they are. The other reason is that a friend of mine from the local scene also works in the same building and, knowing my interests, will introduce me to others in her department who share our predilections. Being polite to a fault (I don't even partake in rude behavior as a vice), I smile and talk a bit about their interests, all the while the rule screams in my mind like a siren. Who knows what fun I am denying myself, loosing out on that one vice that I crave, because of that rule? And yet, I still feel it is best to keep it intact... No matter how much it pains me.

Even now while writing this, I am perving pictures on my phone, like an IV drip sustaining me throughout the day. A necessity as without it I am likely to drag my slave up stairs by a handful of hair, bind her in metal cuffs, and relieve my desires with her again and again. A scenario that is well within my purview as her owner but not with regards to our children. And so I am relegated to sating my cravings in what small ways I can, usually multiple times a day... locked behind closed doors... alone. And it is never enough. As my girl tells me, even if we had a whole week without the kids, dedicated to these desires, it would not sate me. Maybe she's right, but how can I be sure until we try?

I have considered pursing a career in porn, but then I just laugh and laugh to my self. It is hard enough at the moment to get a couple of quick snapshots with my phone in the scattered and brief moments I do get to use my slave, never mind the planned and involved scenes I aspire to. Then there's having children. Take your kids to work day would be a nightmare and require years of counseling. Taking my work home with me would result in much the same. As it is, I cannot have friends over for a simple meet-and-bind because of them. Hell, our friends won't even come over for simple gatherings. The isolation of parenthood I suppose. 

All that, and I hardly have the abs of a porn star. Cock, yes. Abs, no. Also, you know what they say, when you take a passion and turn it into a career, it becomes a job and why would I ever want to tarnish such a perfect obsession? So yes, I have considered it. I put that in the same category at the moment as astronaut and pirate as likely career goals at this stage in my life. I do hold some small hope of becoming more of a figure in the kink world, a presenter or what have you. But porn star, not so much. 

So, for now I suppose that I will have to keep taking what opportunities I can and suffer through the withdraws. As our little one ages, I am sure that things will normalize. I was even all set to go down to Denver for last night's Sanctuary club get together, and had the slave not just had her molar removed (see my previous post) I probably would have. That is something I could not have considered just a few months ago and next month I am definitely going. So, there is hope on the horizon, even if only the faintest hint. 

This has been a Public Service Announcment...

slave Maintenance...

As with all possessions, sometimes a slave needs a bit of maintenance. For some time now we have been planning a trip to the dentist for the girl and now that our little one is weening off of breast feeding (yes, I'm finally getting my tits back), it was time to take her in. The slave was quite nervous, she hates the dental experience and I have to admit, this made me eager to see her squirm. 

Yesterday I took her in and we began the process. An imaging scan and initial exam let us know just how she has been doing. There was a trouble-some molar that needed to come out and some other work that needed to be seen to. All in all, not bad. They scheduled an extraction for her this morning. Oh you should have seen the anticipation roiling just under the flesh. How anxious she became as time drew nearer and nearer. Now I usually will drop her to her knees and shove her face to the floor is she gets uppity with me, but in moments like this when it is obviously the result of nervous fear, I tend to cut her more slack. Though, admittedly, I will subtly add to her concern by mentioning little things here and there. I enjoy the fear in her eyes, flickering like a wind blown candle. 

I had every desire to bind her, strap her down to the dentist's chair and watch her squirm and whimper as they went to work. Sadly, our dentist does not allow for that option. Besides, someone had to stay with the baby, after all. So, no comfort found in the helplessness of bonds. Also, given the very small chance that something went wrong, her collar needed to be removed before both trips, to be returned to her neck the moment we returned home. Not even the comfort of her collar to be had in the face of dental work. Poor slave. 

When the moment came, she was quite the trooper and followed her would-be tormentor willingly to the back room. I also had a tooth removed some short time ago and as such am intimately familiar with the process and the recovery. To my surprise, however, her extraction was not near as difficult as mine. The dentist did not need to drill into the side of the tooth to get a good grasp. No needles were broken in the effort to numb the tooth's nerve. Nor did the dentist need to all but place a knee upon her chest to yank the bastard tooth from it's bed. It also took a fraction of the overall time to remove her trouble-some molar. 

The slave returned from the back room with even a hint of a smile on her lips. Masochist. The localized anesthetic used creates such a false sense of pain management. It wears off slowly, letting the pain soak into the very bone. Not sharp pricks or pangs but a throbbing, dull ache that drills itself into your consciousness. You become fatigued as if sitting up straight is too much to manage and sitting still is near impossible. It hurts too much to get up and walk about, but your legs don't seem to get the hint as they work restlessly beneath you. The slave's smiles and energy began to drain from her as we risked a trip to the store after the procedure. The first droning of pain began to hit her as we wrapped up and headed out of the store. By the time we were home, it was really beginning to show. Still, ever my trooper and eager to serve, she spent the rest of the evening going back and forth between laying on the couch, with kind permission of yours truly, and managing the house and kids. 

Despite the weeks of healing to come, and the fact that those coveted stolen blow jobs between naps are not in our immediate future, the tooth's removal has already improved my slave's mouth and she feels a significant degree of relief. And I, though again sacrificing my beloved blow jobs to the pyre of maintenance, feel that same degree of satisfaction one would have after taking a car in to have the brakes replaced or the oil changed. Relief and satisfaction. My property properly maintained...

Turn, turn, turn...

Somewhere between now and New Year's Day, i became another year older. Master and i had hoped that we'd find a little time and we'd be able to sneak in a birthday spanking, but alas, it has been postponed.
All of us turned up sick.
But we nibbled on cinnamon rolls, drank green tea, consumed cough drops, caved and used over-the-counter medicines to make the coughing and the aching stop, slurped home-made chicken noodle soup (with spinach!) while whittling away time by playing video games together. Switching between a multi-player we swore we'd never buy (Minecraft for the Xbox 360) and trading the controller as we played/cheated through some of Grand Theft Auto IV (stealing virtual cars amuses me).
It wasn't the birthday i'd dreamed of, nor the birthday Master hoped i'd have...
But i loved it...because i was with him, and we laughed together.
The real present (that delayed spanking), well...it'll come.