He’s been having me wear my collar to bed for the past few nights.
It’s nice to wake up and remember I’ve got it on. It makes me feel close to him.
routine
I’m usually pretty awful at routines, confessedly. But, Craftsmate’s developed one lately that’s managed to somehow fix my horrible sleep patterns and drive me completely insane. Essentially, since Sunday, he’s been having me come over to his place at night, strip down to my panties and a t-shirt, and lie on his bed with my face down and my ass in the air.
I have to pull my panties down and wait while Craftsmate takes his sweet time applying lubricant to my asshole and his fingers. First with one finger, then two, he gently starts probing and thrusting into my asshole. Sometimes, he will rub my clit, but he’ll never let me cum. He does this with a rubber glove on, knowing that it only adds to the humiliation of the entire ordeal for me. Because, yes, I find the whole anal inspection thing to be completely humiliating.
When he has finished, he blindfolds me and has me pull my panties back up. Then, he puts me into the crotchrope arrangment he did on Sunday – with my wrists tied at my sides and the tiniest bit of slack to helplessly flutter my hands on either side of my pussy in an attempt to relieve myself. He teases me for a little while before tucking me in and leaving me there to go do work or watch television.
By the time he comes to bed, I’ve fallen asleep that way: bound, blindfolded, teased, always vaguely aware of the push of the knot in the crotchrope against my clit. In the morning, he teases me a bit more, unties me and only removes the blindfold after he has inspected how wet I had gotten during the night.
I don’t know how long this routine is going to last and I kind of like how much I simultaneously despise and enjoy it. Every morning I ask him if that was the last time and try to convince him that I’ve learned my lesson, but part of me is almost relieved when he tells me no and informs me of what time he expects me that night.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go blush for about six years after sharing this.
Sometimes rope pulls
tighter on your mind
than it does on your skin.
So, I think I encountered a sadist in a real-world situation. It was interesting.
I got a wax today. It’s all gone and I literally cannot stop looking at it and touching it. Because I’m far too easy to please. And it’s so damn smooth.
Usually, I keep to a routine of every six weeks, but my recent two months abroad threw it off. For those of you who don’t know, if you don’t wax for a while, the hair comes in thick and it hurts much more than usual to have it waxed.
I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that my esthetician had a sadistic streak. Not for the stereotypical “oh she rips off waxy paper from my vagina” reason. But more for her demeanor while she carries it out and the little comments she makes. This theory may have been confirmed today after the following exchange:
Her: I’m pacing myself. I’m trying not to torture you.
Me: Thanks.
Her: Because, you know, if I wanted to torture you, I’d just use a bigger strip and pull slowly.
And then there was this happy little distant smile that was gone as soon as it came.