Expiation

It was Your idea. Has anyone been so dedicated and in love with You that they went 62 days ...? You started this. It's a beautiful thing. Come to Miami to celebrate us! You know You want to! Just say yes! You and the husband have plenty of holiday bonding time coming up. But this 62 days is special. We should be together for it!

Instead of continuing the high and selfless road to approval, in a moment of need I broke down and wrote these words to She. As she struggled and wrestled to work out whether to stay home with her husband for his unexpected long weekend as he'd requested or visit me in Miami She read these words. I knew I was in trouble when she informed me by email she was disappointed. She knows I long to please her. It hurts me like nothing else to disappoint.

She made me suffer for a day before she told me she'd decided to split the weekend and come to Miami for the first part and spend the second part at home. But ominously she delivered instructions.

"You are to bring five copies of the email you sent me and present them to me in the room when you see me."

Her arrival in Miami was Day 66 on the money. The airport has become an old friend. I know where to park, where to wait, what stores there are and where to buy a Starbucks. Her plane arrived on time.

We hugged then she handed over her luggage. I zipped her back downtown in the same little Audi TT I'd rented in October to our room where I had gotten all her special requests. I know she likes extra pillows, an extra blanket, a fan and wine glasses. At her request, in the midst of a crazy busy day, I had even booked her a massage in the room. Such a good little subbie I am.

But after we returned from the local wine shop with her choice for the evening she asked for the emails. She ordered me to strip naked and kneel in front of her.

"Do you know what kind of emotional turmoil your stupid email caused me?", she asked sweetly, obviously enjoying my discomfort.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry", I pathetically blurted.

"My guts were wrenched out. Do I spend the weekend with my husband who I love and who tells me we need to connect? Or do I fly to Miami to be with my lackey who I adore?"

As she mused she reached for a large tupperware container.

"Do you like prunes?" she almost giggled.

"Actually, I really like them."

"Well, you are in luck then", she chuckled, "Because that's your dinner. I'm having lamb and risotto. You are having prunes ... lots of prunes. In fact, how about an amuse bouche?"

She fed me prune after prune. When we got to twenty, room service arrived and she began to eat her delectible meal. Every now and again she'd point to the tupperware container and urge me to have another.

Then she poured me a big glass of prune juice. I drank. And another. I knocked it back with florish. She had finished her succulent dinner and I ate twelve more prunes.

The door bell rang. She told me to get into a robe and answer it. When I swung the door open it revealed her amazingly hot masseuse, dressed in tight jeans, a tank top, and six inch heels. The woman toted the table that She would lie on naked to get oiled up and rubbed. Ms. Hot Hands was early. I asked the gorgeous woman to wait a moment and went back to She.

"Okay", she declared, "I'm going to take a quick shower. Let her set up in the bedroom and tell her I'll be right there. Excuse yourself and tell her you're going out and will be back. Close the door. But I want you in the wardrobe, right here. She opened the door and quickly had me try it. I fit.

"While you are in there you are to rip your five emails into bite sized little balls and put them in this wine glass."

She set them on the floor of the wardrobe and put her hands on her hips.

"You'd better finish each and every one of those wretched things."

"Yes Ma'am." I stammered. The thought of being right next door to these two hot women all lotioned and potioned up was too much to bear.

"And if you have to use the bathroom, you have to come past us."

So for the next hour and half I was holed up on the floor of our room's large wardrobe, ripping my emails into little spitball sized offerings while Ms. Hot Hands was kneading She flesh. Eventually, the masseuse left.

Finally, after completely ignoring me for a time, the door opened. I had transformed five pages into little nuggets which filled a large wine glass.

"Good boy!", she exclaimed, "You must be parched poor thing. Here, have a nice tall glass of prune juice."

I gulped it down. I felt my stomach gurgle ...

To be continued ...

And Then Again ...

"And I was just feeling so guilty because you had been holding out so long", she said.

"It's Day 60."

"Really, yeah, well it was one of the major reasons I was feeling so badly about having to not see you," she gushed.

"Well, it was your idea", I said matter of factly.

"I know."

Silence.

"What if I flew up for the day, early in the morning; let you get off in my presence, and then took a night flight back?"

"Awww, you are sooo sweet. But wouldn't you want to stay the night?", I greedily grubbed.

"We'll see," she teased, "We'll see."

It Is What It Is...

So... How do you like the GrooveShark widget? I've been on Pandora alot and someone told me about GrooveShark. Compulsive playlisting. Music OCD heaven. When I saw the widget option it was so easy I couldn't resist. Old school hip hop. I'll change it up from time to time. Let me know if you like it...

A lunchtime email from She...uh oh.

Captital letters at the bottom. That's bad. She was going to buy her ticket but ...

Oh wait...

Only two days ago she'd ordered a crinolene skirt and a retro garter belt from Secrets In Lace. Part of a tease plan. She'd told me to line up stores in Miami that sold vintage lingerie. My favorite. At Day 58 it makes my knees buckle. I'd asked on the weekend if she could to give me an idea of when she'd arrive so I could plan meetings...but if she couldn't it was all good. Waay T&D. Heard nothing...

Until today.

Mr. She got an unexpected long weekend, she wrote, and had asked that they spend the found time together. She was stressing on the him or me. Said they'd talk tonight to divide the weekend, but I should come to her.

So I wrote back she shouldn't stress. There was only one answer and I would understandingly ride the backseat. As for coming to her, there's a very good reason I just can't. I've explained this many times. Believe me, if I could - I'd be there in a heartbeat.

So...Friday makes Day 60 and I have an absent keyholder. Funnily enough, I got over the shock pretty quickly. But whence chastity as a mutual bond? Do I ask...am I free? Do I wait for her to ask and focus? Maybe tomorrow will bring some new twist.

I'm an emotionally single, needy, play starved subbie. But I'm a married, emotionally single, needy play starved subbie. The wife thinks I'm going to Miami to meet some dominatrix. Meanwhile, my domme is going to spend our weekend with her husband.

Isn't life just a beautifully frustrating adventure? I guess it's all just dead-end roads and warning signs. Frustration surrounds me...solution bid farewell? Sedation, what the hell.

Nah ... I'm a writer. Such great grist for the mill.

An Ungrateful Kvetch

It is so unbecoming to whine. One should just suck it up. No muttered, grumbling asides. No sniveling simper-fests. But look. It's my blog and if I feel like yammering and yawping you all are going to get an earful. So give this offering a wide berth if you believe in the stiff upper lip. But if you like a little pout every now and again, then join me while I stamp my feet and squawk.

It's Day 53 of on my honor chastity. It's been years since since I've lasted this long. It's definitely an altered state of consciousness. I find I have more energy and need less sleep. While I'm not insanely horny all the time - sometimes I am deliciously out of my mind. Stir in that practically every aspect of my cozy, familiar life is in a serious state of flux and I end up wanting just a little tending.

I think a domme has a responsibility to check in on the chasened. When She couldn't come to Miami last month She asked me to wait. Until Day 66. So now, at her urging, I'm less than two weeks away from the goal line. She and I are bound up together in this process. It was not my idea and I'm not wanting to be ungrateful that she asked me to do this. But as is often the case with her, I'm feeling ignored and sorry for myself. It feels like weeks since she even asked how the chastity is going. Is it too much to want a little encouragement?

Yesterday after just missing me on the phone, She left a voice mail asking if I knew off the top of my head whether there was a fetish store in town that sold latex sheets. Not for her, but for Mr. D. Mr. D is the subbie hubbie of Ms. D - She's predecessor in her vanilla job. Ms. D is a domme. Now what are the chances of that? Of all the gin joints in the world... There on her perfect little Carribean Island, She has a nice kinky coffee klatch whenever the mood hits.

So I called Leatherman and had a fun chat with the sales guy about their Mind Fetish and Nasty Pig rubber fitted sheet offerings. I sent her website links, prices and of course offered to pick up the preferred bedding choice.

At her further request, I sent her flight information. Her exact words were she needed to make her reservations before it was too late and it just didn't make sense. So far as I know, She has not made her reservations yet. Nor has she dispatched me to do bedding shopping.

So She is teasing...right?

I'm not going to push or ask. When I do that She just gets mad. Either she'll book her flight for our weekend or she won't. If she doesn't, I'm sure I'll have another great time on my own down there. If she does come, I know it will be heaven. But come what may shouldn't I get at least a little pat on the head for making it through my days. I don't require much. Just occassional acknowledgement. I am learning I need an engaged keyholder. I suppose I could just sexualize being ignored but it seems too lonely.

While She is enjoying her weekend in the Caribbean sun - I'm a lonely, hurty, horny mess. And on top of it all, Alisa at Kink in Exile, thinks I'm a downright offensive, presumptive, submissive who doesn't see women as "holistic beings" and is unable to find a single sucker of a girl who will have even the most rudimentary of conversations about kinky sex ("or sex of any kind") with disrespectful, nasty, ill behaved old me.

Hey, I told you it was a pity party. Go way...it's my pity party and I'll cry if I want to.