Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on
A-Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you
I already had this post in mind when I read Kayla Lords’ Wicked Wednesday post of last week and commented on it. I found myself nodding from halfway through the post to the end. What people see on the surface and think they know about you, is not always true. Like we say here in the Netherlands – you can’t see behind the front door of another. In other words, what really happens inside a house, in a relationship, might be totally different from what you think is happening.
I realize that my series that is inspired on The Story of O might give the impression that all is going well with me and Master T. Yes, all is going well, but lots are not the same as it was months ago. In my post, A Grounding Need, I have written about all the emotional things playing in our lives, about how I have a need to be grounded, but that my own emotional instability and Master T’s physical and mental condition, makes it almost impossible to get in touch or give in to that need.
The situation has not changed much. Yes, there are moments when I feel the need, but I am still not emotionally strong enough to pursue it. Shortly after mom passed, one night in bed, Master T hugged and kissed me and his hand traveled down to my pussy. He softly stroked me. I moaned and arched my back, fully enjoying the feeling and really wanting more. He pushed a finger deep inside me. I was wet. Wanton. Needy. My orgasm got closer and closer. I arched my back more, spread my legs more, pushed my cunt against his fingers, urged him to push more fingers into me, waited for my orgasm to take hold of my body.
It never happened.
I was disappointed, but Master T said that I shouldn’t be. I really needed the orgasm so much, but I just couldn’t. My body couldn’t. My mind couldn’t. I was not in the right headspace.
It’s not like I didn’t have any orgasms in all this time. I had many – yes, all of them without permission. I used my Womanizer and got myself off within minutes. That did the job but didn’t satisfy me. My body was happy, but the need in my mind, in the core of my being wasn’t.
I cannot remember the last time Master T fucked me. The last time I had his cock in me. He is in SO much pain every day that his libido is almost non-existent. And the little bit of libido he still had totally disappeared when he started using anti-depressants for the panic attacks and hyperventilation. Oh, I know if I tell him that I would really want to have sex again, he will make an effort. He really will and he will make sure that I have multiple orgasms while he stimulates me with his fingers and he might even make me ride his cock, whether he comes or not.
But, I won’t tell him.
I am not ready yet.
So you see, even if things seem to be perfect because I write about my submission, it’s not. Master T and I both long to get back to our D/s. He wants to hurt me and I want to feel the pain. He wants to fuck me and I want to feel his cum dripping from my cunt. Our D/s is still very much alive. I sleep with my night collar and wear my day collar. I cannot be too cocky towards him or he will reprimand me. Our mindset is good. Our love is perfectly intact. We are just not physical at this moment. Physical, like in sex. We hug, we kiss, we snuggle and hold hands. We just don’t fuck.
I know times will change. I know that he will once again make me fly to the moon and play among the stars. He will always hold my hand, always kiss me. He’s my best friend, my husband, my lover, my soulmate. He’s all I long for, all I worship and adore. I love him, and always will. Our love is strong; strong enough to carry us through to better times.
There comes a day when everything will be like it should be, like people think it is behind our front door – full of sex and sexiness!
Written on 19.08.2017
© Rebel’s Notes