Baaaad habit...
So I have this bad habit of writing when I'm really down... and then coming back to it, re-reading it, and feeling horribly ashamed.
Just to clarify- I know all will be alright, and that I can fucking do this. I CAN FUCKING DO THIS!! I just like to complain about how uncomfortable I am, and how much I really wish I were somewhere more... perfect... for me.
So. so.
I found out (stoned) that I just may have discovered what it is I need. This whole BDSM thing that I've been looking into for quite some time... this just may be it~! The psychology behind it, all the lessons to be learned, should one find a good, and fitting dominant... Wow. How can I explain this?! I just wish everyone knew everything that there is behind this, and all that it entails, that way I -wouldn't- have to explain.
hm. Let's just say- I know it will be good for me. To be broken down, only to be rebuilt again. I know I'll discover and rediscover sooo many things about my true self. Why else would I have put so much thought and effort into this, and an incredible amount of research? It must be it. And now- a story... wicked.
--
She knew that presentation and punctuality was everything.
Tea-tray of white porcelain was balanced perfectly on her right palm, with Master's favorite leather-bound journal held in the opposite, free hand. Everything was immaculate, and placed just so; items included a single, dainty cup, a mound of sugar cubes, and a piping hot, miniature pot of tea. This was all that was commanded, yet the girl couldn't help but to embellish the arrangement with a few, freshly cut roses. The deepest of red they were, like the rouge on her bruised lip, and the hue of her long, curly locks.
There was no time for mishaps. She could hear the tap of his boot on the cherry hardwood floor; the sound resonating within the high vaulted ceilings of the timely abode. It was Victorian in frame, from the pointed roof-tops on the many turrets, to deep within the hidden bowels of the home itself.
Tap.
Tap.
The rhythm of hardened sole meeting polished floor had begun to quicken in pace, even if it were minutely so. The girl had been trained to listen and watch her master, even as far as to try and calculate his next whim or desire. Aye, Now was the time, especially if she did not want to displease him. It didn't take long for her to learn that his punishments were even more cruel and unrelenting than those she had first received in her training.
But that happened to be another memory entirely.
She slowly dipped down onto her knees in a practiced movement so fluidly graceful, it would have put any curtsying courtier of the 1500's to shame. Creamy-skinned body had been ordered naked for all the time, save for the leather collar clasped about her neck, and so that was how she entered the Master's study. Silver tags and a single bell announced not only to whom she belonged to, but also gave warning of her progression; jingling and jangling all the while in audible protest.
He sat, fully clothed, with his long stemmed pipe lipped and lit. Sweet smelling smoke gave a delectable haze to the room, and the girl found herself gripped by gooseflesh; the back of her neck, and tender skin on her arms prickled at once. He always brought this response from her, even by the simple notion of being in the same room with the man. Their gaze locked, Master and slave, immediately breaking her momentary trance.
She waited there in the doorframe, cerulean eyes drawn with black liner now held downcast- the universal sign of submission. She hoped that this slip would be overlooked... for wouldn't one need to make sure that Master was indeed in the room?
Thoughts were punctured by His throaty, baritone voice.
"Come, at once. And keep those pretty eyes on my feet, Luna."
There was no malice in that tone, but for the fact that he even had to mention where her gaze should fall... He could forgive this. The girl was still new to his manor, and he found her lack of memory to the formality of things to be a bit... adorable.
Shuffling slowly, carefully on bare knees, she came to him indeed at once. Not even a "Yes, Master" escaped her. It wasn't necessary.
Upon having reached him, she placed the tea-tray down onto the rich, oak coffee table. The worn leather journal she offered with both hands, arms outstretched and visage forever pointed downward.
Master, dressed still in lavish business attire, had set his pipe down once Luna begun to come toward him. Even after a fortnight, he still enjoyed seeing that innocent blush playing high about her cheekbones. She no doubt still felt shy of her nudity in his presence, but nothing a little more play and a long, desired night in his chambers could fix. He had yet to take her to his bed, full on. No, he'd rather torment her vulnerable body night after night, denying her a climax of any sort, and leave her craving his touch more and more.
Thoughts of nights past alone quickened his lust, which ultimately brought him back to the breathing flesh before him.
Journal ---- (tired now... I've been typing for a while. I finish later and ... yeah. mhm.)
Just to clarify- I know all will be alright, and that I can fucking do this. I CAN FUCKING DO THIS!! I just like to complain about how uncomfortable I am, and how much I really wish I were somewhere more... perfect... for me.
So. so.
I found out (stoned) that I just may have discovered what it is I need. This whole BDSM thing that I've been looking into for quite some time... this just may be it~! The psychology behind it, all the lessons to be learned, should one find a good, and fitting dominant... Wow. How can I explain this?! I just wish everyone knew everything that there is behind this, and all that it entails, that way I -wouldn't- have to explain.
hm. Let's just say- I know it will be good for me. To be broken down, only to be rebuilt again. I know I'll discover and rediscover sooo many things about my true self. Why else would I have put so much thought and effort into this, and an incredible amount of research? It must be it. And now- a story... wicked.
--
She knew that presentation and punctuality was everything.
Tea-tray of white porcelain was balanced perfectly on her right palm, with Master's favorite leather-bound journal held in the opposite, free hand. Everything was immaculate, and placed just so; items included a single, dainty cup, a mound of sugar cubes, and a piping hot, miniature pot of tea. This was all that was commanded, yet the girl couldn't help but to embellish the arrangement with a few, freshly cut roses. The deepest of red they were, like the rouge on her bruised lip, and the hue of her long, curly locks.
There was no time for mishaps. She could hear the tap of his boot on the cherry hardwood floor; the sound resonating within the high vaulted ceilings of the timely abode. It was Victorian in frame, from the pointed roof-tops on the many turrets, to deep within the hidden bowels of the home itself.
Tap.
Tap.
The rhythm of hardened sole meeting polished floor had begun to quicken in pace, even if it were minutely so. The girl had been trained to listen and watch her master, even as far as to try and calculate his next whim or desire. Aye, Now was the time, especially if she did not want to displease him. It didn't take long for her to learn that his punishments were even more cruel and unrelenting than those she had first received in her training.
But that happened to be another memory entirely.
She slowly dipped down onto her knees in a practiced movement so fluidly graceful, it would have put any curtsying courtier of the 1500's to shame. Creamy-skinned body had been ordered naked for all the time, save for the leather collar clasped about her neck, and so that was how she entered the Master's study. Silver tags and a single bell announced not only to whom she belonged to, but also gave warning of her progression; jingling and jangling all the while in audible protest.
He sat, fully clothed, with his long stemmed pipe lipped and lit. Sweet smelling smoke gave a delectable haze to the room, and the girl found herself gripped by gooseflesh; the back of her neck, and tender skin on her arms prickled at once. He always brought this response from her, even by the simple notion of being in the same room with the man. Their gaze locked, Master and slave, immediately breaking her momentary trance.
She waited there in the doorframe, cerulean eyes drawn with black liner now held downcast- the universal sign of submission. She hoped that this slip would be overlooked... for wouldn't one need to make sure that Master was indeed in the room?
Thoughts were punctured by His throaty, baritone voice.
"Come, at once. And keep those pretty eyes on my feet, Luna."
There was no malice in that tone, but for the fact that he even had to mention where her gaze should fall... He could forgive this. The girl was still new to his manor, and he found her lack of memory to the formality of things to be a bit... adorable.
Shuffling slowly, carefully on bare knees, she came to him indeed at once. Not even a "Yes, Master" escaped her. It wasn't necessary.
Upon having reached him, she placed the tea-tray down onto the rich, oak coffee table. The worn leather journal she offered with both hands, arms outstretched and visage forever pointed downward.
Master, dressed still in lavish business attire, had set his pipe down once Luna begun to come toward him. Even after a fortnight, he still enjoyed seeing that innocent blush playing high about her cheekbones. She no doubt still felt shy of her nudity in his presence, but nothing a little more play and a long, desired night in his chambers could fix. He had yet to take her to his bed, full on. No, he'd rather torment her vulnerable body night after night, denying her a climax of any sort, and leave her craving his touch more and more.
Thoughts of nights past alone quickened his lust, which ultimately brought him back to the breathing flesh before him.
Journal ---- (tired now... I've been typing for a while. I finish later and ... yeah. mhm.)