Meeting my needs

There is a feeling deep inside me....a longing...an emptiness.....I miss him so much.

I feel like I am riding a roller coaster of emotions, highs and lows...moments of such closeness that dispel the miles between us in a heartbeat and a great yawning chasm of distance, both physical and emotional.
After the other night I have come to think that maybe its because after such intensity I am not getting what I need, the physical comfort, the closeness and his arms around me.

He tells me he doesn't always see what I need, he can't always work it out, and that I should ask him for what I need......but how do you ask for something when you are not sure what it is?  Or how do you ask for something you know you can't have...and is there any point? If I ask for something I know I can't have, will it make it any better? Will it make me feel worse and how will it make him feel that he cannot give me what I need?

Why is my head so full of questions?

On a happier note the Little Black Cat is running around and looking a lot better,:)

A far away look

I have worked two 17 hour days in the five days, and I am worn out. He has been very considerate, and can see from my face how tired I am. Last night, I do not think my head had sunk into the pillow before I was asleep, and for once I slept most of the night, although about 4 am I did get woken by an ant biting my bum!

This morning I was allowed a lie in till 6.30, which was such a luxury, as he normally makes me wake at 5.15am. I was very grateful, but wanted to sleep more....but wasn't allowed.

We had a breif conversation before I went off to the gym and for a few hours at work. He told me that he has been very patient (he has), very understanding (he has) about my work commitments But he has needs, and so these needs have to be met, and they have to be met by me. And so very soon, we are to have a  big long and painful play session.................for hi;, to please him, to give him some fun, for me to show him how much I miss him, how much I need his control, how much of a pain slut I am (he thinks I may have forgotten that I am his pain slut), for him to remind me where my place is, to feel humiliation, pain, to beg, and plead, to be reduced to just feelings, be be emptied of "self", to be his toy, for his use and pleasure, to have no thoughts of myself and my needs.

Not a long list then...sound like this might have to be a very long play session to get through all of this.
I saw his face when he was thinking about it, and it had one of those far away looks that they get when they are planning, a slightly cruel twist tot he lip and then and evil grin...holy crap....do you think if i tell him I am tired it will make any difference?

Opening my mouth and landing myself in deep trouble.

You know that moment when you have opened your mouth, said something, and then wished you hadnt?

Yes?

And there it was hanging in the air, that sentence"What do I need Sir? Oh Sir I need to cum."
And the moment I said it .................... I almost wished I hadn't.

"Need or want slave, do you ever really NEED to cum?"

And here is where the debate started in my head.......yes, no, yes, well maybe, I think I do, yes I do.....well maybe it is only a want...no its a 'need', oh no...oh shit i'm not sure now.

He was watching me intently, studying my face, smiling at me...

"Tough one huh slave?"
"Oh yes Sir....I think I might need to come Sir, I know I definitely WANT to"

So my fate was sealed.......................................

"Ill tell you what slave, I will let you cum and then you can tell me if it is what you needed. Open your legs and show me how wet your cunt is now"

Well, you only have to talk about cumming and my cunt gets wet, after days of him using me, teasing me, and controlling me, making me feel so submissive, not letting me ,hardly at all really, in the greater scheme of things, I was ready for anything, anytime...I was desperate.

"Oh slave, I think you do want to cum, and so he rammed fingers in there, several fingers........... and did his stuff. I was soon pushing back as hard as I could, and came quickly all over his hand. He then began to rub and squeeze, pinch and flick my clit, and once again I was cumming, making a nice wet patch on the bed.

Mmmmmm this was good....very good, lucky slave....kind Sir.

But..................

He started again, he made me cum again, and again and again, over and over and over again, until I was begging him to stop, trying to get away from his hands; his rough, probing , poking, scratching hands,flicking, pinching hands.....trying to hide my sore and raw cunt from him.

Every time I pulled away......he slapped me...he growled at me, and fixed me with the"owner stare".....................if i flinched he slapped me, so I stopped flinching, I stopped moving and I lay there.

In the end, all fight left me, all thought of moving went....... I lay there, with my legs held wide open with my hand on my knees and him kneeling between them on the bed, fucking my cunt again with his fingers.........and I really felt I could cum no more, but he pushed me, telling me to obey, to submit to him, to cum...........and I did


"You want to cum again slave?", he asked me, his hand on my cunt.

"No thank you Sir......."
"I think you need to though slave,  then you will know what is the difference is. You think you want something, but I know what you need. You get from me what you need, not what you want."

And one final time, his hand reached towards my cunt, and he slid a large vibrator inside me and began to attack my clit with his fingers.

"Needs not wants slave,"............. and he took my hand and put it on the vibrator and he turned his camera towards my cunt and began to film me fucking myself with the vibrator until I had once more cum for him.

Last night I said no

We were playing last night, we had been talking for 3 hours and he decided it was time to play silly games again. We were laughng, he had me doing all sorts of silly things again, and I was laughing, thinking sometimes we all forget about the fun , the laughter and the joy that being a slave can bring.

We were laughing.

And then, "I know, we'll play truth or dare" And without thinking out of my mouth came that forbidden word. Although its not the word itself, its the intent behind it.

It was emphatic.

No

I wanted the ground to open up, I wanted the world to end.

I heard him ask, very quietly" What did you say?"

I couldn't answer him, I just couldn't , I couldn't speak, I couldn't look at him.

Silence...................

"Face the wall"

I stood facing the wall, tears pouring down my face, silently collecting under my chin, dropping onto the floor.
My shoulders began to heave, great sobs filled my chest, caught in my throat .......and escaped.

And I stood there filled with unhappiness and overwhelming shame.

He called me back to him.

I knelt...I waited.

" I should punish you" he said "but I see I don't need to".

And gently, very gently he talked to me, his voice caressing my bruised heart. He told me to look at him, and I did. I felt his love, his compassion, his understanding and his control.

"Truth or dare?"
'Truth Sir" I managed to answer
"What do you need most?"
"You Sir"

And I felt owned.

I felt free.

The waiting Game

She seemed to have spent her whole life waiting. Waiting like most people do.  She was, on the outside, just like most people.

As a child she waited for the her birthday, waiting for cards to drop through the door, she waited for Christmas, and that feeling of overwhelming excitement when she realised her stocking was full, and holding her breath for just a  extra second, she waited to peer inside.

She waited for the school bell, the end of term, which seemed to stretch out into infinity. She waited  for buses, trains and lots and lots of planes. She had lost count of the hours she had sat in cavernous airports and drafty train stations, at motorway cafés, and on the side of the road looking for a lift.

She waited.

 She was good at waiting.

 As a teenager she waited, like all teenagers d; for the phone to ring. She waited for the other person to hang up; laughing at their own inability to say goodbye.

She waited for people to change, to grow up, to look at their behaviour and find it wanting. She gave up waiting and left.

She waited twice for babies to come; holding them to herself, savoring the wait, enjoying those private moments late in the night , talking to them, telling them about the waiting game she played, and how she was waiting for their arrival.

She waited for him, night after night dreading his return, fearing the sound of the door opening. Her heart pounding.

And she lay beside him, silently, waiting for the alcohol to work, waiting for him to be fast asleep. And as she waited she planned her escape.

It was a long wait.

 She waited until she was ready, till she no longer cared if she lived or died, till he could hurt her no more, and she escaped.

Everyone else waited, waited for her to come back to life, for her vacant eyes to fill with life again.

She didn’t know she was waiting.

And then the sky was blue one day. And she noticed; and she knew she had stopped waiting.

And now.

Now she waits with her heart filled.

She waits for him. Her owner.

 She waits to talk to him. She waits to see him. She waits for his instructions, his orders. She waits.

She is still.

She waits until he asks her what she needs. She waits for the words to form in her head to explain to him how she feels and she waits to tell him.

 She waits on her knees.

This waiting is good….this feeling….this happiness…this total contentment…..this control.

This is what she has waited for.

The waiting is over.