Yearning Burning Deep in My Heart

Today I received an email from a gentleman I was in contact with several months ago from New England. We had corresponded briefly, and had one or two telephone calls outlining a potential relationship he desired and I had only dreamed of. His terms were absolute, yet so intriguing. He wanted a sub that he could mold and teach to his specification, taking her on a journey into the unknown - an abyss, if you will - of pleasure, anticipation and submission, with a diet to stimulate every sense known to man - or, in my case, woman.

What he related to me thrilled me far beyond any expectation I have ever encountered in life, and the lifestyle he proposed would be quite comfortable, safe, spontaneous and cozy; just like I want. However, while talking with him, I had never felt more inadequate, inexperienced and unworthy of anything or anyone in my life. Now, coming from a long-time diva who is confident and sure of herself - full of herself too from time to time - this was an extremely difficult situation to deal with. No one had ever turned me upside down like that, causing me to question my complete existence. But, he did.

For a woman like myself, pay dirt would be the best possible words to describe my coming in contact with this man, who by the way, is a quietly elegant silver fox. I say pay dirt, because the situation he seeks, and was considering at the time (with me) would have been divine, had it not been for my lifestyle and conditions at home - I take care of two older relatives, and my life at this time, is really not my own. He simply asked me to turn it over to him, and let him guide me ... which, if anyone has ever read my works, my letters, or heard my pleas -- they know this is ME; this is what I have sought forever - a man who will take me under his wings, and lead ...

So, why did this scare me so? The one person to come along to offer me what I've desired, and I had trepidation, concerns and fears - along with exhilarating excitement, arousal and anticipation. I wanted it more than anything; he was my prize.

I also had fears of not living up to his expectations; and then what? Where would I be? On the streets; cowering in the darkened corners of my heart with my tail between my legs?

He was even willing to come to me, if I was not able to relocate to him ... but, I wasn't ready. But, If Not Now, When? Why was this such an issue?

I remember emailing him and telling him I did not think I was ready for such a commitment. I wished him well, and never heard from him again.

Until today. He emailed me, and posted the same scenario - only, I'm not so sure he realized it was me he was contacting. I sent a note to the handsome devil, and reminded him of our former conversations and my fears -- that I still have, by the way. Now, I wait. Oh, damn!

It was a beautiful warm, sunny afternoon in November, and we're walking around in downtown Las Vegas on our way back to our room at the Nugget. We'd cut through one of the side streets to look for a particular shop someone had told you about - a leather shop where they make custom-made boots -- and other things.

This was a total surprise for me, because I didn't think you'd actually buy me anything like that; we'd only been together a very short time, but you wanted to do this.

The street is narrow, and has all kinds of shops of various types; mostly adult in nature. It's starting to get dark, and I hope we find it soon before the light show begins on Fremont; I'm anxious to get back to our room and get busy with you. We find a small storefront tucked in between a book store and a tattoo salon. You take my arm and guide me into the store. Three brass bells above the door ring as we enter. The first thing I notice is that it has this smell; you know, the leather smell; only it is so rich and intense; I've loved this scent since I was a small child - it just awakens pheromones within me that overflow. I inhale deeply, as we stand in the tiny shop. A small woman about 60 comes from across the room where she had been sitting at a small desk. I notice all types of leather samples and scraps on a wall, along with a color ring and several sketches. I also notice that this boutique also carries other leather items; including riding crops, whips, floggers, straps, etc. I quickly look away, not wanting you to notice that I had seen them. Of course, you don't care what I saw or not.

"I called last week," you say to the woman. "I ordered some boots for my lady." Your voice is low, smooth, not wavering; and your hand remains firmly on my arm. You hand her your card, and she smiles.

"Yes, I remember, Mr. ... how do you pronounce your name?"

"Just call me, Albert."

"I will need to take some measurements. You said you wished for some hip boots, correct?" You nod, and I look at you in my usual quizzical way. Hip Boots! With my knocked knees? But, predictably, you don't look or request my input; this is your gift to me, and you've taught me never to question a gift.

The shop owner pulls out a tape measure, and immediately gets busy, measuring first, my right foot from my toes, up my instep to my ankle; around my ankle; from the heel up my calf to the back of the thigh; around the calf, around my knee and up the front of my thigh. When she gets there, she pauses, a little longer than necessary, holding my large thigh in her hands firmly. "Don't move," she tells me and she slowly wraps the tape measure around my thigh in two places. She then repeats the process with my right leg. I don't know why I'm feeling so awkward, and my mouth is feeling so suddenly dry. I look at you anxiously, and shift my weight a bit. Suddenly the bitch slaps the top of my thigh through my leggings so hard it stings. I am shocked, and I look at you in disbelief, but you say nothing; just hold my arm even tighter. "I told you not to move!" she murmurs under her breath.

She stands back up and looks in my eyes quite intently, then turns to you. "I have a dummy pair made up out of vinyl; she must try them on, and then that will be my master pattern; I'll cut them from that." You silently nod, and finally release my arm. She looks back at me, brushing the hair off of her face and pushing her glasses up off of her nose, "Take those pants off, and quickly. I've got other customers coming in." I look to you again, hoping you'll have some say-so, or something. I never had custom made boots before, and don't know what to expect. But this time, you just look away, leaving this horrid woman in charge of everything.

Looking around the tiny shop, I see no doors or anything that would indicate a dressing room, and I shrug, looking back at her and again at you. "Where should I change?" I ask, feeling rather feeble.

"Right there, and I said to hurry!" Shocked, I search your face for an answer. Surely you don't expect me to ...

"Hurry it up!" you snap, "She said she's busy!" Shocked and dismayed by your cool response, I don't hesitate, recognizing the tone in your voice. I remove my pumps, and slowly push my skin-tight leggings down to my ankles, holding onto your arm for support as I kick my way out of them. I feel so self conscious in this brightly lit store visible to anyone passing by. Not to mention who may come in at any time.

She then hands me the vinyl pair of faux boots and instructs me to put them on. These were made based on the measurements you had given her over the phone. They fit me like a glove and I cant stop staring at myself in the mirror. "You like them?" she asks.

"Yes, yes ... I love ..."

"I wasn't talking to you!" she snaps. What the fuck? Who does she think she's talking to, and why are you letting her address me like this? But, the grin and knowing look on your face tells me, you're liking this scene, and it is clear that I am the game piece the two of you are playing with.

"Yes, I like them quite well. You do good work. I think she will look delicious in these no matter how I have her." You're talking to her directly, and I'm feeling invisible, void as the two of you discuss me as if I were a new sofa.

"Did you decide on the leather, Albert?"

"Yes, red kid, white calves leather, and pearl snake skin. Three pairs." I don't like red kid, but it's not my decision, obviously. The two of you stand there staring at me as I shift from one foot to the other, half naked in a leather store in the middle of Vegas. My pink lace boy cut panties feel as if they've abandoned me too, and I've never felt more self conscious. "Do you have the other item I requested in the email?" you ask her.

"Oh, yes, Albert. Yes, I have it right here." She turns and goes back over to her little desk; behind it there is a hidden panel I had not noticed before that opens up a small storage compartment from which she produces a long, thin riding crop. My heart leaps.

Gulping back my breath in fear and anticipation, I begin to shiver as I stand there in the store with you, who clearly has gone mad, and this woman who gives me chills just looking at her. She walks back over to us, and gives me a strange grin, and hands you the crop. It's long and thin, with a fine looped end. "Here," she says, "try it out." I gasp in protest, and start to move away from the center of the room, but you grab my arm quickly and yank me back,holding me steady.

"No, I'd rather you show me how it's done, since you made the implement."

No, no, no ... I implore you with my eyes; please don't let her use that thing on me; not her; not here!

"I'll hold her steady, and you can give me a tutorial." Both of you laugh like idiots, and I am sufficiently mortified by the nasty predicament you've created. Heartbroken, you take both of my hands in yours and force me to bend over there right in the center of the store.

"Very well," she laughs, "It will be my pleasure." And before I can say anything, quick as a flash, she sends the crop sailing in a circle above her head, landing on the back of my thighs like a lightning bolt. I am shocked; not expecting to feel the first blow on my sweet spot, and grit my teeth, refusing to give her my pain.

"I seemed to miss that technique, will you give her another, please?"

"Certainly."

Swish! Crack! Ohhh, it landed right on the same spot again, as did the next and the next - five of them, and I groan, slightly swaying before you.

"Give her 20, please. I want to see if the product can stand up to her stubborn ass."

"Please, please, Albert, don't let her ..." I speak out loud, imploring you, and you raise my hands to your lips kissing my fingers lightly.

"Hush, sweet pea. Don't you want me to buy this for you too?"

"No, no, I don't ... Owwww!" Without ceremony, the old cow begins going to town, sending four more blows to my upturned bottom; two on each cheek. She stops just long enough to raise my panties up through he crack of my ass so my naked behind is fully exposed. No, no, please, no ...

Just then, the moment is interrupted by the jingling of the brass bells above the front door. Hell! A customer has come in. "I'll be right with you," she tells them. I just need to finish this fitting."

Fitting, my ass - no pun intended! I can't see the new guests, but I can tell it's a man and woman because I can hear them murmuring together. I am so embarrassed and humiliated. But, I hold my position, only now, the woman spreads my legs wide apart, and changes her mind about the panties, jerking them down to my ankles, forcing me to step out of them.

Again, without ceremony, she begins assaulting my tender backside with such a fury I shriek in agony. She has no pattern or rhythm; just out and out whipping, over and over, I cry out as the crop tears into my burning behind again and again like the a spark that travels to the end of a fuse, igniting, burning and exploding. My tears are futile, and I press my head against your chest, as she continues to crop my swollen backside. With every blow, I can feel my globes jiggle helplessly. At 20 she does not stop, and I beg you to make her end it, feeling my knees go weak, and you release my hands, cradling my head against your chest, nodding to her to continue.

She sends 10 more to my hips and thighs, finally ending on the sweet spot again. My sobs are pitiful, soaking your shirt, as I moan in agony. By now, I cannot tell if my tears are that of humiliation, pain or both. When she stops, she places the crop on the glass counter, ignoring my crying, she begins to write up a receipt.

"The three pairs of boots will be ready on Friday; the crop goes with you tonight. You may write a check for $4750.00; pay me cash or use a credit card."

Immediately, she turns to the other customers, standing politely off to the side, "May I help you?"

"Yes, we spoke on the phone," the gentleman says. "I inquired about some custom boots - thigh high boots, for my wife."

Through my tears, as you begin to tenderly redress me, I eye the couple, and envy the beautiful petite woman with the downcast eyes.

"Ah, yes, I remember you," she tells the man. "You were here last year too, weren't you?"

The Story of J, Part II

My time spent with J was both sweet and explosive. He had a beautiful apartment in an old historical building in downtown Indianapolis, with huge windows that looked out over downtown, as well as his neighbor's bedroom. It was furnished simply, but so elegantly with finds he collected from his travels all over the world, including an antique iron bed from Bordeaux almost 400 years old, huge throne-like chairs from an abandoned cathedral, and a chandelier with ruby crystal votives that floated over his rustic dining room table like magic fireflies in the night.

Whenever I went to visit him, we would sit quietly in his tiny living room, gazing at the fire and sipping port, while listening to opera. He had his chair, and I had mine. J was easy to please, and we loved each other's company. His only requirement was that I either wore one of the many enormous, heavily embroidered vintage Japanese kimonos he kept in a large old trunk, over black lace panties and bra - or nothing at all.

But the magic came with his strength; the way he held me, arranged me, took me. He had a powerful body for a man his age, and with him I felt totally secure, protected, beloved and possessed by him. His energy never drained as he wielded his large leather belt across my throbbing behind for 20, 30, 40 minute sessions, only stopping long enough for me to catch my breath. Bent over that iron bed, standing on my toes, exposed and vulnerable, my agony took me to places I never knew, and if J felt I had stayed there too long, he would soothingly bring me back, rocking me into the night.

J was never arrogant, rude or aloof; he was perfectly wonderfully suited to me, and I was soon in love. He felt love for me as well, but our relationship was fragile. Some nights I would wake to find those steely blue eyes staring off into the distance, his long, elegant index finger resting on his top lip, deep in thought. When I inquired what was wrong, he would just pull me close and kiss me gently. His great fear in life was of being/living alone at his age. He had been ill over the years, and his health was actually quite fragile, and his children led lives of their own that did not include him unless they wanted something. His other fear was being a burden, particularly to me, who was 54 at the time; 18 years his junior. I didn't see it that way at all, but he worried about it a lot. I told him it was silly; I could find a 30 year old man tomorrow, and he could have a debilitating accident, and I would have to care for him for the rest of his or my life. But, J was determined not to have me hurt that way, and soon severed our ties.

Tearfully, I have attempted more than once to call him, write him, or just show up at his door, knowing he'd never turn me away. But, one thing my relationship with him taught me was respect. And, those were my J's wishes. Yes, I loved him.

The Story of J

Last year I met a gentleman online that I will call "J." He was much older than myself, but in our few emails, we learned we had much in common. It was refreshing and also exciting to step into new territory after so many years, having had relationships with men younger than myself for the most part.

The site we met on was a popular, but vanilla dating site. At some point in our correspondence, I confided to J that I was a sub; or, at least had strong submissive tendencies. Within minutes, J was on the phone, and in his deeply seductive voice, tells me that he is a dom, and insisted that we meet that very night. Without giving it a second thought, I agreed, and within the hour, I was on the interstate on my way to meet him at a Broad Ripple pub. J was tall, still exceedingly handsome, with intensely steel blue eyes that settled on one part of my body at a time, visually slurping my essence inch by inch.

We sat at the bar and talked quietly, and every now and then, I noticed he had pulled his stool closer to me, and soon, I was locked in between his long legs unable to escape. J impressed me very much, and I was so surprised at my instant attraction to him. At 72, he was strong, sensual, and in excellent shape. He told me he worked out regularly and took very good care of himself. His long, sensuous fingers stroked my arm as I nervously reached for my vodka and tonic, sending chills throughout my body once I was able to sip the cool, bitter-sweet elixir. And he inched closer and closer, even pulling my bar stool into him, so that when he spoke to me it was in a hoarse whisper, his hot breath stinging my ear and causing the hairs to stand up on the back of my neck. I was trapped, shackled and locked into this new, wonderfully sexy man like a gigantic magnet.

J held my left wrist in his hand firmly against his chest as he told me of the things he planned to do to me. People were looking, as this pale, ancient gladiator seductively snared his prey. I was spellbound as he went on to tell me how he would have me crawl naked across his cold floor in search of my prize while he flogs me mercilessly; the way he would display me in his window, for all of his neighbors across the courtyard to witness as I present my bare backside to him for punishment; and still, how he would take me violently, at will, only after, and only maybe, I beg him for it, telling him in graphic detail what I wished him to do to me.

Over a shared plate of chicken quesadillas, I did beg him, whispering back into his ear, as he pressed me into the bar; I begged him to please take me home with him that night, and I begged him to let me realize this dream. Momentarily he breaks; but just for a second, taken aback that I actually requested he invite me to his lair. Perhaps he was bluffing? No, not a bluff, at all, but a pleasant surprise – for us both.

Seconds later, in the warm September moonlight, he walks me to my car, holding my elbow gently, carefully guiding me in his gentleman way. My car is parked on a residential street behind the pub, and we stand in the darkness, on the curb. A mere 10 feet away, a family sits quietly on their stoop watching guardedly, as the aged European and the dark, sultry woman stand talking intently, their words inaudible to them. J’s hands reach up in an instant, and slide stealth-like under my bra, shoving it up quickly in the dark, grabbing my nipples roughly in his slender fingers, pinching them so hard I think I will scream. Those steel blue eyes lock onto my amber ones, his mouth barely parted, he squeezes even tighter. I am in agony and rapture simultaneously as he twists and pulls my rock hard nipples and I sway against him, taking in the cool scent of citrus through his Irish wool sweater. He does not let go, but pulls me against him even closer, tugging gently, firmly until I feel the warmth seep moistly through my warm lips, snug between my fleshy thighs. With my head thrown back, a moan gurgles through my throat as his teeth fastens against my left nipple, gnawing, chewing, pulling, sucking me so hard, so quickly, I unexpectedly cum in one terrific shift of the earth – I cum – standing there on the sidewalk – my thighs twitching convulsively as his strong arms hold me steady against him.

J rocks me gently, soothingly, kissing the side of my face tenderly as we cling together on the quiet street. In the darkness, through the slits of my eyes, I see the glowing embers of three cigarettes on the stoop so close to us. Its occupants quietly watching the scene in silence. Without a word, J turns on his heel and heads up the block and around the corner to his own car, leaving me standing there to straighten my clothing, and recompose myself. Finally, sitting in my car with the interior light blasting my embarrassed identity to the world, I look down at my shaking fingers as I slowly turn the key in the ignition. Moments later, headlights pass me swiftly, and I realize it is J, and I pull out of the space swift as a meteor, and follow him to his apartment downtown.

The night was made for a newbie Sub and her primordial Dom.

I’m sexually submissive, but NOT passive. My sexuality is complex. I can't explain it, and it's not something I have indulged in with many people, including, my ex.

It is something I've always felt, and I had been in touch with myself this way. It's very, very personal, and the person I am going to be with has to want it even more than I do. Otherwise, I cannot submit, surrender, humble myself and feel totally conquered. This, for me, is highly erotic. Few relationships go to that level because you both have to be on the same page; some aren't even in the same book. It’s an understanding. It's foreplay in a sense – sometimes - sometimes more.

I love the anticipation; the apprehension; not knowing …

So, I've met this young man, and I have told him of my delicacy (I don't really like the word 'fetish,') and now he knows. He believes he can fill the bill. Suppose we'll just have to see.

Why am I Me?

Why am I this way? Who am I, and What is it that I am? I keep having this conversation with myself, and I'm torn. I know that I have these submissive tendencies in me - always have, but I cannot define them or pinpoint exactly where I fit into the scheme of things.

Realizing that I have a Type A personality, I know I am not totally submissive, yet I have this yearning to submit - sometimes sexually, sometimes in other ways, but usually sexually. In work and my every day life, I am forced to be assertive, aggressive; make decisions and think for others, and this is not so comfortable for me all the time. I don't believe I have a nurturing nature, and in recent years, my life has called for me to be caregiver to my mother and another aging relative, while at the same time tending to matters of my married life, step children, etc. I wasn't up to it, and somewhere in the shuffle, I think I lost me.

My submissive tendencies were placed way on the back burner for many years, and did not surface until recently. So, I absolutely - with certain - crave a life partner who is on the same page as I am, who is loving, confident, cavalier, and absolutely in charge - without being stifling. I want him to guide me, yet enjoy me, as I will him. Not looking for a master, because I am not passive nor subservient. So, is that possible? I suppose in time we will find out.

Join me in this quest ...

Mio Blog - Mio Destino

Here is a wonderful blog I came across this morning. It is part of the Mio Destino lingerie line. Please take your time and visit.

Mio Blog - Mio Destino

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The Gear

I am a big girl - not figuratively speaking, but speaking of my figure. I've known this all of my life, and have struggled and battled with what society says is physically correct in our world. But, this is who I am, and only in the past year have I truly come to love me for who I am, embrace my extended femininity and release my new found sexuality.

So, I ventured out to stores like Victoria's Secret and other similar lingerie boutiques, only to find there is absolutely nothing in those stores for a woman like myself. Since I am not morbidly obese or super-sized, I was disappointed to run into this situation; not to mention the cold brush-offs from many of the store clerks. But, I knew there were other women out there like myself who had the look, had the goods and The Gear ... And, I had to have it.

Online I discovered a multitude of websites catering to the plus size diva, but some of them came off cheap and cheesy; and I knew what I wanted. My personal style is more earthy, sensuous, but yet candy box too ... I wanted quality va-va-va-voom! Thus, I stumbled across Hips & Curves - a fabulous website dedicated to big, beautiful, sexy women who want to keep it live ... Not much more I can say about the site; it speaks for itself. There are also tips for men who love to buy beautiful lingerie for their ladies.

This isn't a paid endorsement for the site, I'm just sharing my newest passion.

Revelations

A few years ago, I was in Vegas and went to a sanctuary owned by Siegfried & Roy. I watched a young male tiger attempt to seduce a much larger tigress; which was impressive, considering how mean she was to him. I think she wanted to kill him at first, and she could have, but he finally had enough and pounced on her, pinning her to ground, seducing and subduing her, until she (finally) gave in and he takes her. He has her by the neck; it's hypnotic and it paralyzes her every nerve. And then it's all fully charged from there. When she sank to her knees, giving him one last roar – he doesn’t care, just holds on – holding his ground firmly. It is at that very moment that she knows, and he knows, and I know that she is totally and completely his. It is also at that moment that she makes eye contact with me, and I instantly realize that I am just like her. I swear she winked at me.

I'm not into being degraded or heavy bondage, have no desire to have a master or be an owned slave; nothing "dark" -- none of that.

So, in essence, I'm a Sub – or, maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just a woman who loves to be spanked.

When did I first know? I was 4. A neighbor boy spanked me in the backyard, and I fell in love.