Friday. Tired, not feeling well, totally stressed out with situations that have been bringing me down. Outside influences. I wanted to drive to yours, for you to greet me and tie me up (wrap me up) and let me submit totally to your will so that, in doing so, I could shut out the noise of life. It didn't happen like that but we did have a lovely afternoon and my tiredness won in the end.
Saturday. Awake early but rested. You not so because I had kept you awake. Two sides of the same page but back-to-back. Me upset by my malaise from the night before, you tired. Lack of communication. I didn't know how to communicate to you that I just needed you to hold me down and make me yours so instead, I attempted to flee. "I don't think I want to be here" The look in your eyes, the way your mouth remained closed, the downturn of your lips. A horrible moment - I hurt you with those words. You said "Well you need to work out where you want to be" and left me to my despair. The world stood still - I could see the reflection of the trees outside in your wardrobe mirror and I concentrated on them, listening to my heart pounding as I lay in the same position you left me. Hot tears came. Tears of self-pity. Tears of frustration. Why couldn't I just tell the man I loved that all I needed at that moment was to be loved? Why in my ridiculous state of self-induced anxiety did I want to flee?
I listened straining to hear where you were. I imagined you going out - shouting up at me, leave the key when you go please. Imagined me going and then having tearful conversations later in the day. Imagined you pissed off at having bought cinema tickets, at having taken the weekend off work, at having wasted your excitement at seeing me on this .... this nothing state.
I dressed. I had to come downstairs. I planned what I wanted to say. I knew I had to talk to you. So I did. But it all rushed out in a blur of 'we never', 'I want', 'I'm sorry' and tears - more tears. I couldn't look at you because I was ashamed at having behaved like this, at wanting to run, at having hurt you. The image of your face from an hour before flashed in front of me again - your eyes, your mouth, your words "well you need to work out where you want to be" before I realised you were holding my face, you were holding my hair, you were slapping me, you were taking me exactly where I both needed and wanted to be.
Slow motion. Fast forward. The room was dark, you were naked, I was sucking your cock. Then the command - that amazing moment when I know that you are going to do something with me, to me, for me, about me, against me. "You have exactly one minute to go upstairs, take your clothes off and get my black bag" I ran. I put your knives in your bag, I took my clothes off, I came downstairs. We were laughing now and excited - anticipatory giggles from us both.
I grinned as I saw you had moved the chair to expose the corner where you had put the hooks up. Yay! I'd been waiting a month for you to want to use those hooks and now you were. Leather cuffs, dark green para cord, quick easy movements and my wrists were tied. I just wanted to be close to you as I tried to wrap my legs around you as you pulled my hair, kissed me deep and hard, with longing, passion and frustration. I think you slapped me again. You told me I was yours. "You are mine" Those three words as powerful and as meaningful to me as "I love you" - maybe even more powerful. I could feel myself so wet already and it hadn't even begun.
You tried to flog me but I was too scared that the ends would hit my face so I jerked around on my restraints and made it incredibly difficult for you (sorry). And then you said "I am going to cut you" Or maybe you didn't say it - maybe I imagined it - but then you had your beautiful beautiful knife in your hand. And then you ran it across my face, against my throat. You asked me how it felt. I can't remember my answer but I do remember the whimper as you ran it down my body, against my thighs.
The first cut into the underside of my breast was like ice and fire, the end and the beginning. The release and the return of everything. I just couldn't believe what you were doing and how desperately I had wanted you to do this since the moment we talked about it, in bed, weeks ago. You sliced into my breast. Twice on each side. I didn't think you had cut the skin actually so when you put your face in that spot, that spot where only moments before your knife had been and ran your mouth, tongue and chin along the line you had cut and you mentioned blood I thought I was going to come. An amazing feeling.
Then the rush as you took each breast in your hand, scoring lines, making me bleed. I watched you cut the left one but it actually was too much to take in and too many thoughts about "why" rushed in so I shut my eyes so I could concentrate on the feeling. Yours to mark, yours to take, yours to own. You felt between my legs. No surprise I was wet. I wished I could have come but I was getting pins and needles in my hands by then and it was distracting me. I'm glad I was restrained though as I couldn't have stood.
Surgical spirit. Forever more to be put in class marked "Devil" along with tomatoes (and prunes for you :-D)
The rest of the day was amazing but needs no writing because I can talk to you about it - noodles, the cinema, the West End, just being together.
Getting in the shower that night - seeing those marks. Again this morning, feeling those ridges. I was horrified this morning and scared by it - woah - that's not right, that's not normal - but settling down next to you today, feeling you kiss and hold me, feeling your breath on my face, your hand on my cheek - then yes, having tiger stripes made by your hand, your knife, your mind on my breasts is more than normal. It's just damn perfect.
We never........
Oh but we do. And more than I can ever imagine.
I love you xxxxxxx
Thank you daddy x
Ten minutes after
The next day
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