The waiting is always the worst of it.
taken by sir
Morning bed hair.
Literally every time Sir and I do impact play I’m like oh God you’ve done it you’ve bruised me beyond repair it hurts so much.
And then he shows me my butt and it’s just a smattering of little dots.
Which are then gone maybe fifteen minutes later.
“I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will.” – Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale.
Funny, how voyeurism and exhibitionism aren’t really mutually exclusive at all.
Exposure.
Behold: the last photo that exists of my unpierced nips.
It’s only going through these photos that I notice the degree of attention Sir pays to certain parts of me. And it’s beautiful and strange to kind of see myself the way he sees me.
“No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took.
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some-
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood.
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed.
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again.”
Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.