Dear Diary,

Today I was productive.

I went to work for a half a day. I observed the first half of a criminal trial (no I’m not a juror, don’t worry). I wrote a paper. I ate three meals and met all my macro and nutrient goals, while coming under on fats, sugars, and cholesterol. The day is not over… I may even do some laundry (on a week day that is not my day off, this is unheard of).

I also came home and played with a new toy(s) that I have yet to tell Sir about. They are distracting and lovely and leave me aching and… a little bruised.

I may have just ratted on myself.

I’m excited.

You’ve Been Tearing me Apart in the Dead of Night

The thunder wakes me. Or maybe it is your heartbeat, soft and steady next to me. I need you now, in the night. I need you. Sinuously, I slide against you. Silently begging you to awake. To touch me. To feel my need through your pores. You stir. Your hand slides around my throat, round to my nape and down my spine. Your body turns toward me in the dark.

I hunger. A primal, deep hunger that can only be sated by you. I need your violence. I need your gentle touch. I wrap my body around yours, whispering, cooing, begging. I can feel you growing in between us, and I know you hunger like I do.

“Be inside of me, baby,” I moan. “Be inside of me,” I whimper your name, low in pitch and soft and sacred.

I am near tears already. There is ecstasy in small denial, in awaiting pleasure. My head swims with wanting you. Your hand against my thigh is trembling with one hundred unspoken words, with desires untold, with your own silent need. You grip my thigh and pull it around you. I am too happy to oblige, locking my ankle somewhere near the middle of your back, stretching my muscles taut, opening myself wide.

I stiffen, preparing for that one deep, hard plunge, to bury you inside of me, all the way to the root, to make our pelvises clash together, to feel the head of your shaft press against my cervix roughly. I prepare my body. But instead you employ the long con, the slow game, the exquisite torture. In just enough to tease, just enough to taste, just enough to make my muscles spasm, reaching and grasping after of their accord. But no further. No deeper. No harder. Slow, shallow, lazy pumps of your hips. I can feel my body’s slickness coating you, coating me, staining the soft sheets. My body cries around your cock, gushing sweet, sticky girl juices.

Every thrust a gasp. Every gasp a cry of protest. Every protest full of tears, full of soft, imploring words. I know my eyes are desperate. You are trying for my vacant gaze, for my slack-jawed stare, for my disbelief that I could ever feel this good, for the realization that only you can make me feel this good.

You capture my mouth with yours. Such stark contrast to your gentle strokes. Your mouth is hard, unyielding, ravishing my own. You force me open, tongue traversing the path of my lips into the recesses of my mouth. Savage, you are savage and hunting for an answer in the breath that you are stealing from me. Here, I feel it, all your need, the way you want me in return. The passion, the heat, the fire. It is too much. I cannot take the flame.

I melt against you, giving in to your will, to your need, giving my desire into your hands. I will lose myself in you. My tears are free-flowing, our lower bodies a mess from my arousal. You begin to work me deeper, to punctuate each thrust like the end of an exclamation point. I am half broken already.

The way you touch me is perfection.

Yin and Yang


Dirty little
An Empty hole for
Spit on me
Beat me
Abuse me
Humiliate me
Little Cow
Slap those big udders
Cut her
Bruise her
bleed her
Fill her pussy
While everyone watches
Make her beg
Make her scream
Dehumanize the slut
for your amusement

Pick the baby up from the floor
Wipe away her tears
Stroke her face
Run your fingers through her hair
Sweet, little girl
Give me kisses
Whisper sweet nothings
Cuddle me
Rub my back
Precious little sweetling
Every part of you
is beautiful
My body,
a temple for worship
sweet-nosed pooh.

Just Close Your Eyes and Dream About it

The blankets hide the ruin of my body. And my body is ruined.

The room is cool and dark, and as he places me onto the bed, I weakly reach out a hand for him.

“Stay,” I whisper in my hoarse, weepy voice.

He nestles down in against my body, cocooning me in his own. His arms wrap around me. One hand strokes through my hair and he kisses the top of my head.

I slip a hand out from under the blankets and intertwine my fingers in his. He squeezes it gently. Letting me know he is there. My eyes close and I begin to drift into dreamless sleep… forgetting what has just befallen me, warm and safe in the knowledge that he is here.

I am broken in his hands. I am pieced back together under his care.

I won’t yet speak of the things between us. I am not ready to share them. You are not ready to read them.

You’re Gonna Call my Name

I awake from a nap in the early evening. I am hot and disoriented. My curly hair is still damp from a shower that I had hours ago. My eyes are bleary. My teeth ache with an immediate pressure headache that seems to encapsulate my whole head. What time is it? The sky, barely visible between black out curtains, tells me nothing. It is summer. If the sun is out it could be 5 pm or 8:30.

I pull the thin cotton sweater up until it is just beneath my breasts, my pale tummy bare and warm. I hook my thumbs into the soft fabric of my panties and peel them down to just above my knees. I slide my fingers back and forth against the inside of my thighs. My skin is smooth and hot leading up to my pelvic bone.

I don’t want to touch myself anymore. It’s a dirty trick, it’s a tease. I don’t get to finish. Because I’m not allowed. Days ago, anticipating a long week, maybe, he asked me to make a choice. To give up my orgasms or to give into them. A marathon of edging or a marathon of coming. And wouldn’t you know it? I chose to give them up. To give him the control. To give him the privilege and the pleasure. I edge myself over and over again, in and out of his presence. He is safe in the knowledge that I do it, regardless of whether our schedules allow me to do in front of him. Because he knows me. And he owns me. What he asks, what he demands, what he suggests and even… commands… I obey. I listen. I act.

I haven’t had an orgasm in almost a week now. But I’ve been very close… many times a day and in the wee hours of the night, when I cannot sleep too. I don’t want to touch myself anymore. But I don’t have a desire to come again, unless it is at his hand, with him. If he told me, suddenly, you may come the next time you touch yourself… how deflated I would be. No. After a task like this… I am demanding. I demand. I need him.

My fingers slip down slick, smooth lips, parting the folds at the apex of my thighs. There is a rush of pleasure and sensation and I am soaked… a warm little puddle of rain, waiting to spill over into the road. There is thunder clapping behind my eyes. I am the summer and you are the storm. I await you.