Giving thanks

My dear master,

Thank you for the past few days. Thank you for teasing me, thank you for denying me. Thank you for using me, your property. The last tease that I blogged about was tough, as you know; I fell hard and fast and it was difficult to come back out. I felt frightened, a little, at what we both had done to me.

Thank you for making these last teases more gentle. Thank you for pulling me back when I got too deep. Thank you for the nipple sticks, and the clothspins; thank you for talking me through the pain. Thank you for enjoying it as much as I did.

Thank you for the gentle touches, and for the harder ones. The small circles and the long strokes. For touching my breasts and my belly, my pussy lips and my thighs. Thank you for not touching my clit, at all, until the end. Three strokes, up from the bottom, across my wet cunt, dipping into the wetness and drawing it up, over the inner lips, up to my clit, over my clit, counting, counting, and... Off. And again. And again. Three times one night, five another. One time you let me hover my finger over my clit and just strain to reach it, to rub my clit against my finger instead of my finger against my clit.

And that was it, just the three touches, or the five, so drawn out, so exquisite, so hot and torturous but not dangerous, not the edging and denial and begging that can be so good, or so bad. When the tease is over I lie there, legs spread, moaning, my hand still now, at my side, my hips blindly thrusting, looking for the touch that isn't there; and then I slowly swim to the surface, I follow your voice; my eyes open; and when you tell me I can close my legs I do, I bring them together and stretch, arching, feeling my body the way a cat seems to when it stretches in the sun. I roll over, cuddling the phone to my ear, and I thank you...

And I thank you.