Thoughts and fantasies of a submissive

One of the things that comes from a long friendship is the easy bantering familiarity. Calling each other out for our various foolishnesses and mistakes, and all good fun it is.  But as a submissive it can mean Miss thinks I am being critical of her domme-ing style, or of her choices when we are together. But in fact I am always trying to empower her, to be free to take charge and make me her happy plaything. Therapy sessions were such an idea, leaning in to abusing her favourite toy. So my little bitch, little limerick was seen by her as a failing that we didn't get to all the things in that. Ah ma belle Tyrante, no, our last time together was just perfect. From the snuggle to the snooze, from the steak to the sofa.  While on last time, we had just finished a lovely bit of Miss time when I asked, very nicely, if i could please be little spoon. Miss obliged and hugged me close to her, while her arms wrapped me tight to her, her fingers working my nipples, first teasing then ro...

Recently i suggested a new game for Miss and I to play, one which i hope leans in to her favourite things and which i like very much too.  The premise is simple. I sit on the sofa next to Miss, naked and on a rough towel for any leakages.  The sofa is for 2 but small, there is only enough space for Miss to sit comfortably and for me to sit less comfortably. i must sit sideways, my legs spread stretched wide with my left in front of her lap and my right behind her head. This presents me completely, the knoblet immediately to hand, her left hand, her favoured hand. Wearing a soft hood on i cannot see. I can smell the coconut oil, rich and heavy. I can only hear the music she has selected for us. and the chimes of the mantelpiece clock. Miss starts with chimes and my therapy will only end when there is another set of chimes, one for the half hour and the hour recorded in chimes.  Miss started on the 8 chimes and an hour later had teased me into a right old mess. 9 chimes and...

 Been a while but thought I'd start sharing my thoughts again, for little other reason than I want to and to a small enough audience of one in all likelihood. I was in bed the other day, day dreaming of ma belle tryante, and the following came to me while i teased my chest- I am her Boot lickin' Butt Kissin' Ball busted Little bitch Miss is very sweet to me really, but i was drawn to the above, thinking about leaving her house again soon, mouth full of the taste of her leather boots, the sweetness of  her cheeks on my lips, a dull ache in my balls and the serene happiness of being hers.  Hopefully soon. Hopefully Wednesday.  

I was round with Miss the other night and got groped just inside the door.  This was deliciously well done. One hand gripped my ringed knoblet, squeezing and pumping as i firmed in her fist. The other slipped up my shirt and grabbed a handful of my chest. Then she gripped my buttock, her hand slipping between my thighs. Heavenly sense of violation, my head forced flat to the wall,  panting breathless.  Then gripped by my knoblet and dragged in to see Danny, her grip too much.  I squeaked and squealed but it was just the right side of too much. My poor knoblet was crying out for relief, but when released i was firm and sore and happy.  Good evening Miss, i thought. So glad to be back with my lovely Miss, trousers about my ankles and knoblet swaying in the warm air, dripping and dopey like always...

Popped round to see Miss the other night, and we were just lazing about on the sofa, my legs draped over her crotch available to her wandering hand. I'd been wearing a cock ring to keep foreskin back during the day and do a bit of tenderising as i wandered about during the day. She found it and just lightly dragged her fingers over the head, through my trousers, scraping the head softly as it swelled and i moaned. Her music was on, another weird sample of Rutger Hauer's death speech on the middle (about every other track on her collection samples it). Then it went a tempo as the Italian would say and she just pinched the head between her fingers and pumped away to keep time. It was fast and slightly rough,  and heavenly. A shame a map argument developed and she had to slope off to check a fact I'd already proved. Come back Miss, the knoblet misses you! But that part of the evening had sadly passed. 

But the day must be faced and we prepare to face it together. It's a longish walk to the station we use to go to London and a pleasant day for it. We walk and talk and she occasionally lets her hand fondle my bottom. I love being felt up but have a horror of being seen or offending people. She just doesn't give a f**k. As she says, when will you see these people again? A fair point but i can't cope and so I'm forever begging her to quit it. But wishing she'd do it more obviously. We get to town and enjoy a lovely breakfast - well mine was lovely her eggs overdone and salmon scrimped. The market yields its usual bounties and before long we're heading back to hers on the train. She carries nothing and i carry all - a back pack and two shopping bags wrapped around my wrists. I sometimes lead in hopes she'll take advantages. Sometimes i follow, watching her bottom and thinking on when i will kiss it again. The weight of the shopping bags leave marks on my wris...

Nothing lasts forever and i think the thoroughness of my rub down has tuckered out my Miss. So we head to bed, via the usual domestic pit stops, and to the big bed. She puts me in my leather bondage mittens and buckles firmly. I can get out if i need to, but won't and with my skinny arms free to move and shift I'll sleep pretty well. She lies into me, back to me as little spoon and my aforementioned skinny arms hug her tight, my face held back from the tickling strands of her hair. We fall asleep, the warmth of my knoblet pressed to her back. Later she'll wake. Return to her bed, to sleep more easily in it. I wake at various times too. Weird dreams so often not about kinkery, but just the usual anxieties. She returns early morning, a call of "Knoblet! Wake up Knoblet!" I wish she didn't. It's early and neighbours might hear, for one. For two- i would rather be woken by her hand on my knoblet. Transferring to consciousness dazed, confused, not kno...