Today’s picture is two-fold. First, it’s a task because of our ongoing @%@#%@# game. (Yes, this particular day featured a trivia question… we all know how those go).
Have you ever wondered if you could maintain something for 15 minutes if the stakes were high enough, that you weren’t used to lasting that long unrelentingly? How’s that for a question?
Well, I’ve thought about it. I mean, not unprompted, of course. The prompting comes from you…
You sit down, cozying up next to me with this grin on your face. “We’re going to give you a test today!” is how you open the challenge. “Do you have a favorite metronome speed?”
It’s another night of the game, that for some reason I seem to draw edging a lot, and tonight is another bout of it. These are all about almost performing the edging and I go into this all, well, cocky. Feeling like it’ll be nice and fun and easy and…
You straighten my tie, patting down the lapels of my jacket… then stand back and grin. It gives me a chance to take you in – very simple, very sleek formal gown and high heels, a fantastic silver necklace that plunges down the open cleavage showing through the drape of your dress. As I stand there, taking you in, you’re doing the same to me, making sure everything is just so.
“…and you’re wearing those boxer briefs I put out for you too, right?” finally punches through my fog. “Yes. Although I don’t know what that has to do with anything.” You had been very specific about clothes, and very tight-lipped about where we’re going.
“You’ll see. You do need to read the rules first though.”
“Shhhhh… just read.” It looks like a formal invitation, envelope and all…
I look at the calendar. The lack of W’s seems to indicate yet another game loss for you. And we don’t have anything planned for the day so it seems like a perfect opportunity to give you a chance. I like you being the underdog but it might be fun to let you think I’ll make it easier this time.
It’s like standing in a stadium, all the seats empty and someone whispering over the loudspeaker – I can almost make out the word, but not quite. I have to really concentrate. Force myself out of my current thoughts and sensations.
The storm blowing through is one of those that the rain isn’t constant, the wind is gusty but not obnoxious and the smells of the storm are almost as “loud” as the thunder and rumbling from the storm itself. It’s a wonderful summery storm and it’s otherwise pitch black outside. Every now and then the lightning explodes across the sky, lighting everything up.
From my office, I have my french doors mostly closed to the rest of the house, but we have opened windows and doors everywhere we can to let the storm have its way with the house. My doors have these light, wispy curtains on them, you can see through them in just the right light.
I’m working, but we have lights out so we can enjoy the storm. I kick back and look up just as a flash blows through the house and I see you out the other room, sideways, but slouched a bit in that leather chair. Something about that posture…
“Dom-space” has always been a fascinating thing to me. Everyone always focuses on sub-space, that floaty, other-worldly feeling that you can get to if the stars align, if you jump around just so on your left foot and if you chase it down and allow it in.
When you settle in for impact play, it’s extremely challenging to be able to give responses, give control, let the impacts roar through you. Each time there is a smack or the ends of the flogger make contact, or the crop bites into you, there is an instant connection between you and the Dominant partner.