Dear Diary Ch. 06

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle." Lewis Carroll

"To destroy is always the first step in any creation." ee cummings

She asks the wrong questions...

Often, she feels the need for names, for boundaries. She pushes to find reason in madness, clarity in passion. Creation lacks comfort, transformation is painful. I answer her questions with questions, seeing no need to tell her what she already knows or soften the harsh realities of the morning. Words can easily seduce, lie, or be carelessly used. The truth is simple: she kneels naked before me, her body and mind opened to me. I can see her stark need as well as her darkest desires...

She gets under my fucking skin...

Texts and emails: morning, noon, and night. She is insatiable and relentless. Persistent and demanding in her attempts to get her own way. If she could, she would chain me to her bed, making me her sex toy to use at her convenience. She always is ready to fuck any time and every day. Her pussy, warm and slick with desire, her mouth ready and willing to fulfill my desires and hers. She taunts me frequently with the image of her writhing and shaking on her bed in ecstasy and frenzied need. In retaliation, I make her beg me for what she wants, submitting to my will and dominance. Her eyes flash fire and retribution, but her body obeys me without question. I've collared a naughty, feisty kitten, not to break, but to tame and master.

Yet, her honesty and the way she begs for the pain and pleasure only I can give her makes me rock hard...

She hides nothing from me, open in her honesty and wants. When I touch her, she arches her bottom towards my hand, addicted to the pain and pleasure, her cries of passion becoming louder with each smack. I watch her eyes widen when I imprison her on the bed, helpless and prisoner to my will. Sometimes she fights me, the inevitable, trying to find control or tempt me into losing mine, but in the end she always submits, the taste of victory mine to savor each and every time.

Her mouth drives me crazy with her provocative banter, her kisses, and the eager way her mouth deep throats my cock...

Not only does she write stories, but also sends her lusty dreams and thoughts. She describes her need to taste me, please me. Always reminding me of the time I came over to watch the game while she gave me a blow job through the 1st and 2nd quarter, her moans of pleasure muffled as my hands roughly pulled her hair. By halftime, I yanked her off her knees so that I could be inside her, feeling her tight muscles clench my cock as I fucked her senseless.

I love the sounds she makes when she cums...

At first, she whimpers, her movements becoming more and more agitated because I'm either denying her pain or fulfillment. I love teasing her so that she shakes and pleads for more, until I give it to her. I'll fuck her from any position, but I love watching her face, watching her tremble and moan as her body nears orgasm. The best moments are the ones in which she loses all self-awareness and screams, soaking my cock and her bed with her juices.

I love the games we play...

Nature maintains a balance. In the jungle, there are no rules, no laws, only the strongest or fittest survive. She moves, I pursue, our "dance" a ritual, a hunt. She may flee, but she knows she will be caught, unable to escape or avoid her fate. When she is flipped over, pinned beneath me, she may protest, yet she knows she's beaten. In her bed, I am the undisputed authority, the king. Trapped, her eyes dilate, looking for once last move, one last play. I kiss her hard, unyielding, feeling her struggles turn to shudders of delight, her protests becoming gasps and moans. The hunter always wins.

I fuck her, yet I miss her. I hate her, but I need her...

I have accepted I'm drawn to her as she is to me. Opposites attract and we are no different. I prefer precision and order. She is messy, emotional, sensual, and creative. When we engage in conversation, it quickly turns loud and confrontational, both of us very opinionated and competitive. Frequently, the conversations become preludes to angry, no holds barred sex, the conversation serving as foreplay for both of us. I love pushing her buttons to the point of ire, only to rub my body against hers to provoke passion. Frustrated, she punishes me through her kisses or her nails scratching me as I fuck her the way we both like.

"Kisses are a far better fate than wisdom..."e.e. cummings

"Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..."Rilke

She wants answers. I tell her to live, live her way into the answers. Embrace the now. Neither of us thought this would last as long as it has. Three years later, we still desire the other, still feeling the attraction from the first day. Sometimes life just is. Mystery is sexy. She still can surprise me with whatever creative thought, story, or act she imagines. I surprise her with the thoughts I keep hidden from her and reveal at my discretion.

Sometimes the simplest question can reveal the deepest truths we hide from the world.

The question simply becomes this: Who is she?

My submissive.

Who am I?

Her Master