Butch brought me a present from her travels, a white leather collar. It goes like this: when she fastens the collar around my neck, I become her obedient, horny little thing and am to fulfil her every command until the collar comes off. The other night we played out a session of five and a half hours and it was trés sweaty. I got properly teased, bitten, hit in the face, spanked with a leather belt, taken care of, fucked, humiliated and called names. I loved it through, despite losing my nerve once when the belt hit its target too hard. During that moment of anger, pain and fear I smashed around everything I had at hand, the linen, the cock waiting to be harnessed, the couch pillow. She held me still for a while, her annoyance suppressed and me trying not to cry, after which she started all over again. Harder, of course. In the end I licked her for what seemed like eternity, pictures of melting icebergs and nightly canoes in my mind’s eyes. I often see images of nature during sex. Calm, powerful visions of ephemeral beauty.
Also I met the Date again last week. She had cooked and we talked some this and that. It wasn’t shallow though, as we seem to reach mutual understanding and liking without much effort. I feel very much myself with her, and that is to say something extraordinary. I have a lot of trust that everything will go just fine with her.
Dates are everywhere when you least expect and need them. Most I’ve had to turn down, cause I’ll have a severe time management problem the following months. Pity it is.
