andrew is back... yet again.. here's the story
Andrew disappeared..... again.... this is the story. Comments appreciated....
K
Returning to my Mistress
To properly tell the story of how I returned to my Mistress, the woman
who only wants the best for me, the woman who owns me completely, I
first have to tell the story of how I disappeared. As some of you may
know from reading my Mistress’s previous blogs she had allowed me to
have a girlfriend, whom I loved very much, yes loved, and for months
things had been wonderful, but she ultimately brought me to my lowest
point.
Jessica (The aforementioned girlfriend) and I had been engaged in a
quasi D/s relationship, we sometimes switched, but for the most part
she had been the dominant partner, and though we had some problems in
the past, things were going very well.
One Friday night we were out to eat at one of our favorite restaurants
when she asked me in an incredibly serious voice if I would marry her,
she then looked at me as if her whole world depended on my answer. My
mind shut down for a split second, and then I proceeded to speak my
mind.
I’m not ready to be married, not to anyone, I’m only twenty-two years
old, your only twenty-two years old. Why haven’t we talked about this
before? Why didn’t you tell me that you felt this way? I’m too young.
With every syllable of my statements her face fell from hopeful to a
deeper and deeper scowl, and then almost to a feral glare. When I had
finally stopped I expect her to explode, or at the very least speak
with me in a very very pissed off voice, what I got turned out to be
so much worse. She sat in silence, staring at me as I tried to stammer
out an apology, until she got up from the table and turned to leave, I
quickly paid the bill and followed her out. I found her in the parking
lot standing next to my car, she looked in every direction except for
mine, the last thing I wanted to do was corner her inside a small
space, so I drove her home in silence. She got out at her house
without a word, slamming the door and half running up her stairs, she
never looked back.
The next day around noon she called, she said she was coming over to
pick up some of her things, and before I could even say ok, she hung
up. She rang the buzzer and when I let her in she acted as if I wasn’t
there, going from room to room like she was trying to remove all
evidence of her time here, she gathered everything from clothes to
hair clips. The entire time I was apologizing, asking her, begging her
to say something, anything. As she was leaving, she looked at me for
the first time since dinner, as if to say something, I could see in
her face that she was fighting back tears, but she said nothing, and
then she left.
I told no one about what had happened, not my parents, not my friends,
and worst of all, not my Mistress, the person who should have been
called hours ago. For days I stared at my phone, I left her messages,
I sent texts, I wrote and e-mail, and got nothing in return. I was a
zombie at work, going through the motions of my job, but I wasn’t
really there, I was still at that damn restaurant, trying to do it
over. My friends called, my family called, my Mistress called, every
time the phone rang I ran to it, hoping to see the caller ID flash the
name Jess, but it never did.
I wanted to call my Mistress, I should have called my Mistress, but I
didn’t. I was afraid, afraid that she might say that I had fucked up
somehow, though even then it sounded ridiculous. In my mind I saw her
siding with Jessica, and saying that I could have done this or that.
But most of all I was afraid that she would tell me to just let her
go, that I could do better, and I didn’t want to hear that, I couldn’t
hear that, I wanted Jessica.
And then I did something that I hadn’t done my entire life, I began to
drink, slowly at first, just a six pack to pass the time, and I had
plenty of time. Then it went to cases of beer, then some shooters,
then a pint, then a whole bottle. And when you live around the corner
from at least ten bars, and liquor stores that stay open all day, you
can, and as I found out, will get hammered. Most of my friends had
stopped calling, I had called my parents, mainly so they wouldn’t try
to find me, but still I hadn’t called my Mistress, and still Jessica
had not called me.
While this was going on, my father had lost his job, and bills were
beginning to pile up, the whole family seemed to slip into a
depression. I took this as an opportunity to not only help my family,
but to clean myself up, so I did the unthinkable, I moved back home,
into my cramped and tiny bedroom. I started to go to AA meetings,
three a week, and with a lot of sleepless nights, and the support of
my family, I dried myself out. Still I had not called my Mistress.
After about forty days of sobriety, and forty days of the same
bullshit that made me move out the first time, I got what I called a
“transitional emergency apartment” on the border of Harrison and East
Newark. From the outside it looks like a tenement, but its slightly
nicer inside, either way it was my new home, and that exactly what the
more positive and sober me needed. Still, I missed Jessica, and I held
out some faint hope that she would call.
Then one day I went online to the site where I had met my Mistress,
and there was a message waiting for me, from my Mistress, that simply
asked where I was. I poured it out, I typed for about twenty minutes
just to lay the framework of my story. The next day there was a
response, my Mistress wanted to speak with me on the phone, and at
once I was excited and filled with fear. How had she reacted? How
would I even begin to justify my silence? And what would she say about
Jessica? I had only laid down the basic events; I hadn’t mentioned
that Jessica or “Jennifer” as my Mistress used to call her was the
cause of my downfall.
A few days later my Mistress and I spoke on the phone for the first
time in months, we talked, well I talked for about seventy minutes,
but I said that there were some things I had to tell her in person.
She understood, and for the next few weeks we kept in touch through
phone calls and Gmail. Then one Saturday she asked me if I wanted to
go to an event I had attended with her theyear before, I of course said yes,
because more than anything I wanted
a chance to not only tell my story, but to see my Mistress’s reactions
as well.
As the show got closer I began to get steadily more nervous, nervous
about what her reactions might be, and ultimately what my punishment
or punishments to be more accurate would be. Finally the day came; I
put on my suit, and got on the train to see my Mistress. She was
staying at a hotel on Madison Avenue, I was early, and when I called
her she was still getting ready in her room, she told me to “get up
here.” The elevator ride to her room was in my mind the longest in
history, so many things went through my head that I actually began to
sweat. And then there I was, standing outside her door, scared out of
my mind, but also very excited, because, well because even when I’m
being hurt, I still love spending time with my Mistress.
When she answered the door she looked at me with her piercing blue
eyes and I instantly felt relaxed, she reached out and we hugged for
maybe two solid minutes, she whispered in my ear “It’s good to smell
you again, slut.” My Mistress couldn’t stay long, she had to be at the
show hours before it began to set things up, but before she left she
gave me a list of things to do before I left for the show, she said if
I did everything well, she might consider letting me sleep on the bed
instead of the floor. The last thing she did before she walked out the
door was to show me that she had brought her wooden paddle, the
burgundy one that I knew very well, as she passed me to leave she said
“It’s going to be a long night slut, I hope you’re ready”, I shakily
replied that I was, and then she left smiling her ‘I got you now’
smile.
After my Mistress had left I immediately started working on her list,
I turned down her bed, I carefully laid her pajamas out, I went around
the corner to a small store and bought her three bottles of cranberry
juice, and finally I filled the ice bucket. I was and still am used to
staying in hotels of far less quality, so when I called the front desk
I foolishly asked where the ice machine on my floor was.
I still had time after I was done, so I decided that instead of taking
a cab across town, I would just walk the twenty blocks, and I would
save some money in the process. I walked quickly, bursting with
nervous energy, and I still arrived about fifteen minutes before I was
supposed to. I walked inside, called my Mistress to let her know that
I arrived, she laughed when I told her that I walked, I’m not sure
why, I guess few people walk anywhere in NYC, but I’m not sure.
After about an hour of aimlessly walking around this huge room filled
with hundreds of people I don’t know my Mistress was able to see me, I
pointed out which finger foods tasted the best, and soon after we made
our way to this massive auditorium where the actual show would take
place. The show lasted maybe an hour and a half, and I enjoyed every
second of it, it made you burst out laughing in some parts, and it
made you stop and think in others. After the show there was an
after-party, filled with bright lights and pounding music, thankfully
we only stayed about an hour, I hate clubs.
When we arrived back at the hotel room, my Mistress walked around
inspecting my work, and though she said nothing of its quality, I
could swear I saw a slight smile on her face. She then told me to
strip down to my boxers, and kneel on the floor on the side of the
bed. I filled her in on the rest of the story, I told her about
Jessica, and while she was furious that I had not called her, and that
I dared to make assumptions about her responses, I could tell that to
some degree she understood why I remained silent after what I had gone
through. We talked for over an hour, about what I had done, and what
it would take to fix that problem. She graciously allowed me to share
her bed, she had me run my hands through her hair, and then she
ordered me to the other side for the night, and for the first time in
a while I slept like a stone, worry free.
The next morning came, and I was sure that before I left I was going
to be spanked, I knew the only reason I hadn’t been beaten the night
before was because of how tired my Mistress was. When my Mistress woke
up I asked her if she was going to punish me, she thought about it for
a few seconds and then said “No slut, your ass is going to escape for
today, because I don’t feel like dealing with hotel security this
morning.” We parted ways at about 8:30 that morning, I got back on the
train, and my Mistress prepared herself for work. Thinking back on
that night and looking at my relationship with my Mistress as a whole,
I can say without question that I am a lucky slave. I’m not sure what
my punishment or punishments will be, but I know that I deserve them,
and if it means spending more time with my Mistress, in looking
forward to them.
Andrew [KY]
K
Returning to my Mistress
To properly tell the story of how I returned to my Mistress, the woman
who only wants the best for me, the woman who owns me completely, I
first have to tell the story of how I disappeared. As some of you may
know from reading my Mistress’s previous blogs she had allowed me to
have a girlfriend, whom I loved very much, yes loved, and for months
things had been wonderful, but she ultimately brought me to my lowest
point.
Jessica (The aforementioned girlfriend) and I had been engaged in a
quasi D/s relationship, we sometimes switched, but for the most part
she had been the dominant partner, and though we had some problems in
the past, things were going very well.
One Friday night we were out to eat at one of our favorite restaurants
when she asked me in an incredibly serious voice if I would marry her,
she then looked at me as if her whole world depended on my answer. My
mind shut down for a split second, and then I proceeded to speak my
mind.
I’m not ready to be married, not to anyone, I’m only twenty-two years
old, your only twenty-two years old. Why haven’t we talked about this
before? Why didn’t you tell me that you felt this way? I’m too young.
With every syllable of my statements her face fell from hopeful to a
deeper and deeper scowl, and then almost to a feral glare. When I had
finally stopped I expect her to explode, or at the very least speak
with me in a very very pissed off voice, what I got turned out to be
so much worse. She sat in silence, staring at me as I tried to stammer
out an apology, until she got up from the table and turned to leave, I
quickly paid the bill and followed her out. I found her in the parking
lot standing next to my car, she looked in every direction except for
mine, the last thing I wanted to do was corner her inside a small
space, so I drove her home in silence. She got out at her house
without a word, slamming the door and half running up her stairs, she
never looked back.
The next day around noon she called, she said she was coming over to
pick up some of her things, and before I could even say ok, she hung
up. She rang the buzzer and when I let her in she acted as if I wasn’t
there, going from room to room like she was trying to remove all
evidence of her time here, she gathered everything from clothes to
hair clips. The entire time I was apologizing, asking her, begging her
to say something, anything. As she was leaving, she looked at me for
the first time since dinner, as if to say something, I could see in
her face that she was fighting back tears, but she said nothing, and
then she left.
I told no one about what had happened, not my parents, not my friends,
and worst of all, not my Mistress, the person who should have been
called hours ago. For days I stared at my phone, I left her messages,
I sent texts, I wrote and e-mail, and got nothing in return. I was a
zombie at work, going through the motions of my job, but I wasn’t
really there, I was still at that damn restaurant, trying to do it
over. My friends called, my family called, my Mistress called, every
time the phone rang I ran to it, hoping to see the caller ID flash the
name Jess, but it never did.
I wanted to call my Mistress, I should have called my Mistress, but I
didn’t. I was afraid, afraid that she might say that I had fucked up
somehow, though even then it sounded ridiculous. In my mind I saw her
siding with Jessica, and saying that I could have done this or that.
But most of all I was afraid that she would tell me to just let her
go, that I could do better, and I didn’t want to hear that, I couldn’t
hear that, I wanted Jessica.
And then I did something that I hadn’t done my entire life, I began to
drink, slowly at first, just a six pack to pass the time, and I had
plenty of time. Then it went to cases of beer, then some shooters,
then a pint, then a whole bottle. And when you live around the corner
from at least ten bars, and liquor stores that stay open all day, you
can, and as I found out, will get hammered. Most of my friends had
stopped calling, I had called my parents, mainly so they wouldn’t try
to find me, but still I hadn’t called my Mistress, and still Jessica
had not called me.
While this was going on, my father had lost his job, and bills were
beginning to pile up, the whole family seemed to slip into a
depression. I took this as an opportunity to not only help my family,
but to clean myself up, so I did the unthinkable, I moved back home,
into my cramped and tiny bedroom. I started to go to AA meetings,
three a week, and with a lot of sleepless nights, and the support of
my family, I dried myself out. Still I had not called my Mistress.
After about forty days of sobriety, and forty days of the same
bullshit that made me move out the first time, I got what I called a
“transitional emergency apartment” on the border of Harrison and East
Newark. From the outside it looks like a tenement, but its slightly
nicer inside, either way it was my new home, and that exactly what the
more positive and sober me needed. Still, I missed Jessica, and I held
out some faint hope that she would call.
Then one day I went online to the site where I had met my Mistress,
and there was a message waiting for me, from my Mistress, that simply
asked where I was. I poured it out, I typed for about twenty minutes
just to lay the framework of my story. The next day there was a
response, my Mistress wanted to speak with me on the phone, and at
once I was excited and filled with fear. How had she reacted? How
would I even begin to justify my silence? And what would she say about
Jessica? I had only laid down the basic events; I hadn’t mentioned
that Jessica or “Jennifer” as my Mistress used to call her was the
cause of my downfall.
A few days later my Mistress and I spoke on the phone for the first
time in months, we talked, well I talked for about seventy minutes,
but I said that there were some things I had to tell her in person.
She understood, and for the next few weeks we kept in touch through
phone calls and Gmail. Then one Saturday she asked me if I wanted to
go to an event I had attended with her theyear before, I of course said yes,
because more than anything I wanted
a chance to not only tell my story, but to see my Mistress’s reactions
as well.
As the show got closer I began to get steadily more nervous, nervous
about what her reactions might be, and ultimately what my punishment
or punishments to be more accurate would be. Finally the day came; I
put on my suit, and got on the train to see my Mistress. She was
staying at a hotel on Madison Avenue, I was early, and when I called
her she was still getting ready in her room, she told me to “get up
here.” The elevator ride to her room was in my mind the longest in
history, so many things went through my head that I actually began to
sweat. And then there I was, standing outside her door, scared out of
my mind, but also very excited, because, well because even when I’m
being hurt, I still love spending time with my Mistress.
When she answered the door she looked at me with her piercing blue
eyes and I instantly felt relaxed, she reached out and we hugged for
maybe two solid minutes, she whispered in my ear “It’s good to smell
you again, slut.” My Mistress couldn’t stay long, she had to be at the
show hours before it began to set things up, but before she left she
gave me a list of things to do before I left for the show, she said if
I did everything well, she might consider letting me sleep on the bed
instead of the floor. The last thing she did before she walked out the
door was to show me that she had brought her wooden paddle, the
burgundy one that I knew very well, as she passed me to leave she said
“It’s going to be a long night slut, I hope you’re ready”, I shakily
replied that I was, and then she left smiling her ‘I got you now’
smile.
After my Mistress had left I immediately started working on her list,
I turned down her bed, I carefully laid her pajamas out, I went around
the corner to a small store and bought her three bottles of cranberry
juice, and finally I filled the ice bucket. I was and still am used to
staying in hotels of far less quality, so when I called the front desk
I foolishly asked where the ice machine on my floor was.
I still had time after I was done, so I decided that instead of taking
a cab across town, I would just walk the twenty blocks, and I would
save some money in the process. I walked quickly, bursting with
nervous energy, and I still arrived about fifteen minutes before I was
supposed to. I walked inside, called my Mistress to let her know that
I arrived, she laughed when I told her that I walked, I’m not sure
why, I guess few people walk anywhere in NYC, but I’m not sure.
After about an hour of aimlessly walking around this huge room filled
with hundreds of people I don’t know my Mistress was able to see me, I
pointed out which finger foods tasted the best, and soon after we made
our way to this massive auditorium where the actual show would take
place. The show lasted maybe an hour and a half, and I enjoyed every
second of it, it made you burst out laughing in some parts, and it
made you stop and think in others. After the show there was an
after-party, filled with bright lights and pounding music, thankfully
we only stayed about an hour, I hate clubs.
When we arrived back at the hotel room, my Mistress walked around
inspecting my work, and though she said nothing of its quality, I
could swear I saw a slight smile on her face. She then told me to
strip down to my boxers, and kneel on the floor on the side of the
bed. I filled her in on the rest of the story, I told her about
Jessica, and while she was furious that I had not called her, and that
I dared to make assumptions about her responses, I could tell that to
some degree she understood why I remained silent after what I had gone
through. We talked for over an hour, about what I had done, and what
it would take to fix that problem. She graciously allowed me to share
her bed, she had me run my hands through her hair, and then she
ordered me to the other side for the night, and for the first time in
a while I slept like a stone, worry free.
The next morning came, and I was sure that before I left I was going
to be spanked, I knew the only reason I hadn’t been beaten the night
before was because of how tired my Mistress was. When my Mistress woke
up I asked her if she was going to punish me, she thought about it for
a few seconds and then said “No slut, your ass is going to escape for
today, because I don’t feel like dealing with hotel security this
morning.” We parted ways at about 8:30 that morning, I got back on the
train, and my Mistress prepared herself for work. Thinking back on
that night and looking at my relationship with my Mistress as a whole,
I can say without question that I am a lucky slave. I’m not sure what
my punishment or punishments will be, but I know that I deserve them,
and if it means spending more time with my Mistress, in looking
forward to them.
Andrew [KY]