Missing My Slut

Every time you disappear it causes me grief and pain and anxiety. Of course, for you, it's your chance to exert control, to do only what you want. I'm sure there is some aspect of pleasure as well, in the denial. Do you come, I wonder? Do you find some private time to tie up your cock, to stroke it until it's hard, then tease yourself into hyper sensitivity, until just a fingertip sends you over the edge? You might tell me you don't, but I'm sure you do. You pretend to be good for me, to save your come for me, but I know better than to believe it. You are a slut after all ... and at the moment, you're an absent one.

Does it ever occur to you that I might get so angry with your absence that I might not respond the next time you text me? That you might hunger for what I give and then be denied? Not just for a day or a week, but forever? I wonder if it does. You are so secure in my desire for you that you seem to think anything will be forgiven. I have forgiven so much over the years. A Domme needs to be patient, needs to try and understand the needs of her submissive. But my patience is not inexhaustible. Jules would be able to tell you that. Am I at that point with you now? I don't know. I do still want you, but one day you will come through the door, late, and you will just be some ugly skinny boy that I don't want anymore.

Part of me longs for that day, particularly after having to hear your family friend tell me how lovely you and your partner are together, how happy, how supportive of each other. Ugh. Such temptation, to turn to her and say "I fuck him in the arse with a strap on, you know. Have for years. He loves to be humiliated, to be degraded, to be forced. He loves to tie people up -- for himself, for me. He's a master with rope. He kisses like a dream. He only comes for me. He certainly doesn't come for her."

Instead I said, how nice, yes I used to work with him, haven't seen him for ages. Gritted my teeth, drank my vodka, changed the subject. 7 weeks now since I last played with you. 5 since you bothered to contact me, to let me know you were still alive. The usual rushed "see you soon" message which means nothing except, yes, I'm still stringing you along, sometime I'll turn up and you can have me again. And will I be grateful? Or will I be angry?

I wonder if you do this because you truly want it to stop. Want me to get so sick of it all that I cut you (and myself) off from the source of our mutual addiction. I get close to it, you know. It's not like I don't have any other options -- the world is full of submissive men, all of whom are more eager to please than you, most more attractive, more available, more interested in me. Then I wake up thinking of having you and rub my clit hard until I come and can think of nothing but you all day.

I have to be so careful with you. Can't leave a mark. Can't keep you after the time you have to leave. Can't spend the night with you. Can't even stop and talk to you in public -- unless of course you have sought that out. Can't depend on seeing you, even if you say you'll be there. Despite my hurt, I keep to your rules. No wonder I want to lock your cock in a cage. No wonder I have to stop myself, time and again, from leaving a mark, hurting you properly.

You've told me before that you will always be back. That you don't have anyone else to do what I do with you -- sometimes you've even hinted that it's me that you want. That's not a lot to hold onto after 7 weeks. I know that we have different needs for play. You know mine very well. You must know how frustrated and stressed I am, how close to flying apart. You also know how easy it is to keep me happy. The occasional text or email. The visits that leave me singing from head to toe. As I said, this is your chance for control and you exert every bit of it. For me, denial is not exciting. It is excruciating, damaging beyond belief. It makes me crazy. And yes, as I said, I have other options. Sometimes I even enjoy them. But it's you I want.

I'm not sure why. Perhaps the years of intimacy, something I am not accustomed to. I am a creature of habit, and the habit is you. Drugs hold no sway for me, I can take or leave them. People too, under normal circumstances. While I am fiercely loyal to those I care for, that is a small and special group. Anyone else can live or die for all I care. I find it easy to be casually cruel, because that is what I am. I think, sometimes, that people might guess. Oh, not about you, I think I've proved I can keep your dirty little secrets. But about me. Either that or they think I'm completely mad. When one text or email or phone call can make me incandescent with joy -- or with rage. When I can go from work obsessed and cranky to dreamy and happy in a few (missing) hours. My best friend, my brother, both tell me to give you up, like smoking, or eating pepperoni pizza, biting my nails or driving too fast. Not so easy. I wish it was.

Actually, to be honest, I just wish you'd come through the door. Or be here waiting when I dragged myself home from another 14 hour day. Wish you were naked or dressed, awake or asleep, just here. An evening of you. Naked at my door, on all fours inside the courtyard, waiting for me to let you in. Or crouched upstairs for me, hiding your face as you hear me come up the stairs. I want to drag you up by that gorgeous hair, handfuls in my fists as I haul you to up to your knees. Want to watch you put on the cock cage that still waits for you. Watch your fumbling fingers, see you wince as your already swelling cock fights the rings and the tube. Want to turn the lock and take the key and know that you are mine, just for then, for the time you are here, you are really mine.

I want you clean for me, inside and out -- although I do love your scent as I rub my face against yours. Your eyes closed, your skin flushed, your breathing just that little bit faster. It's as though you fight this for so long that the release is almost more than you can bear. There is a moment that I can see, when you give in to it. It's a moment I long for, so much that I try and stretch it out. I know what brings it on. Being naked, waiting for me. Bending over, spreading your arse for me. Playing with your cock for me. A moment when shame turns to desire, when it exacerbates desire to a point that you can no longer deny.

Mesmerizing. Intoxicating. That first sound or sigh. When your manipulative brain, those constant thoughts of superiority and control, just switches over into feeling what I'm doing. When you can't even hear what I'm saying, because my hand on your cock, or in your arse, has taken over your thinking for you.

I love to hear you beg. I treasure that times you lose control. I know you don't want to come, but I make it happen because it's the control I get to exert, for a change. I so want to have you for a day, to restrain you and fuck you and make you lose control over and over. I know that if I could keep you tied up, keep you gagged, I could do it. I know how much it would mess with your head, offend your sense of control. I'd love it, would make you lick up your come each time, coat my own cock with it to fuck you hard. Or maybe I'd leave you ungagged so that I could hear you begging to be released. I wonder if I could get you desperate enough to make you cry. How I would love your tears.

Perhaps if I didn't know it was you, I could be more casually cruel. I should hood you, or at the very least, cover that hair and those eyes. I can see you now, bent over the foot of my bed. Your hands restrained at each end, your feet too, leaving you spread for me. If I can't see your hair or your face, you're just any slut waiting for punishment. You can't get away. And knowing you, you don't want to.

Toy chest open, toys piled on the bed. I feel like using all of them on you, but it's all about building up to the grand finale, fucking that tight little arse. Your cock is caged, your balls mostly covered, but still vulnerable to a flogging, which is what you will get. Just enough to make you red and sore, to make those sounds I so enjoy. If it wasn't for the "no marks" rule, you'd get a lot more than that. I have to stop myself so many times from biting you hard, from using a crop or a cane. But your cock, balls and arse, those I can do what I want with and I will. I want to push you to your limits, to make you use your safe word. And that pretty arse of yours. You look so fuckable like this -- I should dress you up like a sissy bitch and fuck you, dressed in silk and satin. I like the fact that you're a man everywhere else, but for me you're a dirty pathetic slut, who loves to be used, to be fucked.

Finger in your arse, making you squirm. Your cock dripping, but that's all it can do now it's caged. Two fingers, covered in lube, soft, slow, pushing in and out. I know you can take much more. After all, you're the slut that can push a plug in without lube. Maybe I should fuck you dry. That would make you cry.

Three fingers, a little more squirming. A little rhythm, thrusting in and out. Milking your cock from the inside.

I need to hear you beg. I need to know that you want this, oh I do know, otherwise you wouldn't be here, but I do need to hear it. I hear so much that I don't want. Work, friends, people, blah. What I need to hear is that sexy breathy voice whimpering "miss miss miss" at me again. I want you to beg for it, for my fingers in your arse. I know you will. Tied to my bed, open and vulnerable, I know you'll beg. This is all you'll get from me -- a hard fuck. Maybe I'll let you lick my cunt, would you like that? You always do -- mainly because it makes you feel like you have control again. Not this time, slut. This time you'll get used, hard. I'll get on the bed in front of you while you're still tied and shove your face in my cunt, use your hair to control you. I know you love this, you love licking me. You're a slut, you love licking anyone. I know, I've watched you do it. I want you to take all the stress away, all the weeks of waiting and not hearing from you, all the times I've wanted you and not had you. All of it. Again and again, my come all over your face, your tongue getting tired. Too fucking bad.

I can never have enough. But I want your arse. Shove the strap on attachment into your pretty mouth so you can lube it up for me, then push it into my cunt, show you the cock that's going to be in that arse of yours in a minute. Taunting you, do you want it? Do you want to be fucked like the sissy pathetic bitch that you are? The one with a cage on your cock, because it's no good to anyone, because you can't be trusted without it? Your eager mouth on my cock, you know I can feel its twin inside me, how much I love fucking you with this. Behind you, your arse still a little open and red, pushing it up towards me, like a little cat in heat you are.

More lube, I know I want to fuck you hard, milk every drop of come out of your cock -- knowing you can't come. Or maybe you can, I know how much you enjoy being fucked. Nasty anal fucktoy.

That's what you want, isn't it? You don't want my affection or my care. You want to be fucked and used and told what a whore you are. I can oblige, it's all true after all. Pushing that cock into your tiny hole, I know that you can take it, you're the one who fucked yourself with a coke can was it? A bottle? Whatever, I've had my fist in your arse, I know how much you can take. I've got you grunting now, I can feel every movement from the dildo in my cunt and I love it. I'm going to fuck you and you don't get to touch your cock, although I can see you frantically pushing the cage against the iron of the railings. A bit more lube as I pull out, then back in again, still slow. Trickling a bit more lube in each time until it goes in easily, until it starts to squelch as I push in. You sound like a dirty wet little whore, which I know is what you want. Face down, blood to your head, spread for me, arse now pushing back towards me, slapping your arse a little as I tell you to beg. Beg to be fucked, beg to be my slut, beg to please me. This is where you repay me for all these weeks of sorrow and denial, this is where you make it better. Beg harder. Tell me what a slut you are, how much you want to please me, what you'll do to please me. I free your hands so you can hold yourself open for me, knowing you are too far gone now to do anything else. Bitch. Slapping your arse, enough to sting, rocking that cock in and out of you. Your cock dribbling come continually, no release for you, but plenty for me, I'm coming hard as I fuck you, hands in your hair, pulling you back against me. Hearing the desperation in your voice, so good, your legs shaking, body quivering as you beg again and again for release.

Yes slut, that's what I need. Tears and begging. No release for you. Lots for me. And under the circumstances, I think that you should provide that for me. Because my patience will not last forever.