29 June 2009

Life is good

Sure, it's still hard right now. I desperately need to find a $500 loan to get my motorcycle back. The boy is still at my house, still moody and clingy. Jack is still out of work.

But.... today I added weight and a set to every machine at the gym, and time to my run on the elliptical machine. I shared a bacon cheeseburger with my lover, and had a short day at work. I came home to this house that I absolutely adore, and made a wonderful cream tea (blackberry chocolate chip scones FTW!!!) with real, homemade whipped cream, made-from-scratch scones, and the highest-quality loose-leaf tea and spent the afternoon with one of the most amazing women in my life. She's strong and vulnerable, beautiful and wise and little wild. Younger than me and with twice the accomplishment. We reconnected, and I laced her into my corset. Now, I'm curled up on the couch in my home, listening to Pandora and happy with my life.

Life just doesn't get much better than this.

28 June 2009

Peach cobbler

There are grains of rice scattered on the floor, a trick Lucivar told me about.
My kitchen is stone tile, and the corner where he kneels is liberally sprinkled with sharp little grains of rice.
You never think of rice as sharp, until you kneel on them for a while.

I'm happily flitting around my kitchen, ignoring the boy who kneels in silent agony nearby. I'm making peach cobbler, one of my favorite desserts.
First, you blanch the peaches, letting them sit in hot water for a few minutes to loosen the skins.
Then you peel them, and then you cut them up.

Normally, I'd be making the boy do the menial labor of blanching and peeling the peaches, but I'm in the mood to draw out my cooking today.
He shifts once, and I shoot him a single, level look.
His immediate resumption of proper posture amuses me, and I smile as I return to my work.

I'm cutting the peaches into wedges now, their sweet-tart juices running messily over my knife, over my hands as I slice through soft-firm flesh.
Every few moments, I lift the knife to my lips, sucking slowly between my lips and licking the sweet juices from the sharp blade.
I know he's watching me do it. I know he's cringing and hardening at the same time.
I don't bother to look, though. I'll hear it if he moves.

The peach wedges are in the bowl now, and I'm drizzling honey and brown sugar over them, with a hint of pumpkin pie spice. Needless to say, this necessitates much more licking of fingers, with appreciative sounds for my culinary talents.
I take my time removing my sweet, wet fingers from my warm mouth.

Tossing the peaches with the honey-sugar-spice mixture, my breasts bouncing behind my apron in time with the fruit in my bowl. I can hear small keening noises from the boy now.

Layering them in the casserole dish, chopping small cubes of cold, salted butter with a santoku knife, watching him cringe from the corner of my eye. I love this knife. It's a sushi knife, originally a gift for Jack but he never uses it.
I do.
It's sharp as a razor, with a lovely ergonomic design that fits perfectly in my hand. My hands fly every time I use it, and I know he's cringing at the speed with which I bring the blade down. He know the fantasies I have about using this knife on him.

It's time for the batter now, flour and buttermilk and egg and raw sugar and spices... I'm moving quickly now, half-dancing. Baking is truly one of my great pleasures in life, and it's clear in my every movement.
He knows how pleased I am when a dish comes out well, how alive it makes me feel.
And how cruel my liveliness can be.

As I whip the batter, I watch him fromt he corner of my eye. He's not foolish enough to squirm, but there are small tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
Excellent. The grains of rice will stick to his skin when he rises, embedded so deeply that they'll leave little red marks for hours.

I hum as I pour the batter over the peaches, ensuring that it snakes through every crack and crevice, the better to sweel and rise with the heat.
With a last smile, I set the oven timer for 20 minutes, then turn and beckon to the boy.

"Come, boy, we've just enough time to apply some heat to your ass as well as my cobbler."

He whimpers as he staggers to his feet.

18 June 2009


He is still dressed in the rubber he wore at the party.
His arms, chest, ass, and back are bruised, and he moves carefully but the grin on his face is unmistakable.
It's been a hard few weeks for my lover, and I'm pleased to see him so relaxed.

I'm exhausted, still a little sick. I had to leave the play area to keep myself from playing while sick... so tempting. An array of beautiful bodies laid out on a variety of playstations. I could play so easily, there are plenty willing to take the risk, but I'm too lightheaded from decongestants to trust myself.

Except with him.
He's walked me up to my room, and stands there now, looking like a fallen angel, wickedly innocent, in his Nasty Pig rubber and little-boy smile.
He's turning to leave now, turning to return to his Mistress, but I don't even remember moving and my hand is at his throat and I'm bending him over, pressing him into the bed. He still has his wide collar on, and my fingers are hooked into it- small fingers, they fit without choking him- too badly. I'm bending him back up to me until he's arched like a bow, his beautiful little ass offered up to me.
I want it.
I always want it.
Near him, I'm like a guy. I can't be within arms' reach without wanting to bend him over the nearest surface and fuck that pretty little ass.

As always, my beautiful little slut is making pleading noises, his ass grinding back into my hips.

Why don't I have my strap-on? I sigh, and shove him away from me.

I'll see you in the morning, boy.

Life catches up

I leave tomorrow morning for NYC.

SELF was amazing, but because I was sick I couldn't play. There were a few interludes I will try to write about soon, though.

On the upside, I'll be having dinner in NYC with the delectable Troy Orleans and the adorable Unspeakable Axe, as well as the darling LeatherD and possibly the amazing Catherine Gross :)

My life? It kinda rocks sometimes.

Meanwhile, I have 7 people in my house, and I still haven't packed for the trip!

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I am just your ordinary average every day sane psycho supergoddess