Dear Diary Ch. 08

Dear Diary,

I have always been an avid reader. I love engaging my mind, traveling to different places, experiencing different points of views, starting and completing the journey through the eyes of beloved characters. However, I never understood the folktale of Bluebeard's wives until now.

As a sheltered teenager, it seemed asinine for the wife to become obsessive over the one door she could not enter. If I had a castle, I mused, I would not be concerned about one door, since I would have hundreds at my disposal. Yet, like Bluebeard's wife, I never had an obsession that would compel me to dwell on it day or night, not until I met him.

Before my master, I thought submission was for the weak, and I would never in my wildest dreams give a man that kind of power over me. Like Odysseus, my hubris made me believe that I could control everything, even my relationships with men, for I was used to winning, to fulfilling my desires, my wants.

Foolishly, I never knew that there are people who you meet who will change you, a catalyst for a significant change that will burn past your armor and resonate deep in your soul. If you believe all the fairy tales girls are told to believe and want, this change will be for the better and end happily. But not all stories end with marriage and happily ever after. For sometimes you have to wander the confusing dark to appreciate the gift of light.

Obviously, I can live my life without him. I won't die if I never see him again. However, when he is here, I feel like he is a bright star and I'm caught in his orbit, the two of us drawn together, attracted the other. He makes me burn brighter and hotter than any man I have ever met. Often, I think about what I can do or say to make him come visit me, come and fuck me so that we are both satisfied.

Yet I always crave the pain he gives me without hesitation, without pause. I don't think he understands how much I need it or why I've grown accustomed to it, like breathing or sleeping, but it is a part of me. It's this sleeping Leviathan, its hunger dark and vast, waiting for him to fulfill the need, fulfill the ache. He was the one who introduced pain and submission into my sex life; furthermore, I don't know how I existed without it. I crave it always, whether I'm at work, with family or friends, or even at home by myself, feeling the need to wear his marks, his visible reminders of lust, all over my body.

I have no filter with him. Most of the time, I keep my impulsive nature on a short leash, for I know I'm very capricious with my desires so that I purposely guard myself against foolish mistakes and encounters. Nevertheless, he gets under my skin and I find that I have this need, this desire to get under his. I text him impulsively and frequently, never stopping to think if it is a good idea or not. He once threatened me with the worst spanking I ever had if I continued and a part of me thought to provoke him to that stage.

He calls me his slutty submissive and I answer, knowing he could call me anything he wanted and I would find pleasure in it. His pleasure is my pleasure for I have this desire to please him that surpasses my own wants.

He leans over me, my carnal master, and I look up shedding all the layers of me. In his eyes, I become Desire, no inhibitions, no rules, just his for the moment, his to play, manipulate, and fuck.

His fingers burn hot against my skin as he holds my hips in place while I'm rubbing my pussy against his hard cock. As I ride him, I can feel my wetness coat his dick, his stomach, and his thighs. I arch my body as I ride him, wanting him to be inside of me, to penetrate me. He pulls me down to suck and bite my nipples, feeling me shudder in ecstasy, but still I ride him, knowing he loves feeling how wet I am for him, how much I want him.

My brain becomes fixated on committing every delicious feeling, every sigh, every moan, and shudder to memory. I often wish I could stop time, pause life at this moment, our bodies entangled, warm and naked, pushing, pulling, frantic in our lust to please the other.

He captures my lip between his teeth and bites hard, his teeth the catalyst I needed to climax. He pulls my hair hard as I shudder above him, hissing in pain and pleasure, needing more, craving more. Rolling me over, he kisses me hard, rubbing my clit with his fingers, gently teasing my body into another climax.

"I love it when you are dripping wet for me," he whispers in my ear. I fail to respond to him as my body begins to tremble signaling another orgasm. After feeling me squirt all over his hands, he wipes his hand on my belly and turns me over. I feel him caress my ass as I arch my hips toward him, anticipating his next move. He plays with my pussy this way, listening to my sighs and moans before I feel his fingers move toward the crack of my ass. He pushes two fingers deep inside my ass, pushing against the tight muscle, making me push against his hand, wanting to feel his dick inside me-any way possible.

"Feel that?" he asks. "Where am I?"

I bite back a moan and reply, "My ass...please fuck me."

"Not yet," he chuckles. "But soon."

Removing his fingers, I hear him unwrapping the condom, only to feel him thrust inside my pussy. We both sigh at his slow penetration, making me feel every inch slide into my wet, warm pussy. He grabs my hips roughly as he fills me, holding me into position until he is ready to pick up the pace. I rest my head on my pillow, knowing he prefers to set the pace. I feel him slowly move in and out of my pussy as if he was experiencing me for first time all over again until he suddenly begins to fuck me hard, the way we both love it. I grab the comforter in my hands as a way to hold on, to take all of him.

I lost count of how many times I climaxed, especially when he began to spank me while fucking me. I felt him fuck me harder knowing this indicates he is about to cum. I feel my body shaking under him, knowing his orgasm will trigger mine, and it does as he slams into me, my body convulsing around his.

Collapsing onto the comforter, I finally understand the story of Bluebeard. When you are told you can't have something or you can't do something, the impulse becomes a desire. One you would do anything to fulfill, to sate.

"Who are you?", he often asks me, watching me writhe beneath him, lost in violent lust.

I know what he wants and often I refuse to answer verbally what my body conveys every time he visits me.

I.....am......his....

His.....submissive.