“You know, I’ve been interacting with other bloggers under WordPress’ ‘BDSM’ tag and it’s got me thinking that tomorrow’s ramble should be called ‘Summer Submission’. How it will read, of course, is up to you.”
For whatever reason, I decided to wait until the temperatures were well into their thirties before I would embark on what would perhaps be my biggest project to date. With the hallway now complete, I decided to turn my time and attention to the area that most people focus on when the sun is out – the garden.
Our rear garden is a short and narrow patch of land, but don’t let that put you off. Measuring only 3 x 10 metres, it homes a shed, a pond, a rotary airer, a barbeque and plenty pf room to socialise. With a bit of effort, I turned it into the small cottage garden that I always knew it could be. What I didn’t know until after, is that gravelled areas require a bit of forward planning.
And because I didn’t know, I’ve spent the past week pushing back gravel, laying down new weed surpressing membrane, adding the necessary gravel grids (that no soul had mentioned to me before) and filling the gravel back in. All that, and that’s not mentioning the selestf pieces that I’ve had to measure, saw and tesselate.
On Tuesday, I managed to drop my brand new saw on the back of my thumb. It was a close call, and I was fortunate enough to escape with only a bit of a scrape. It did bleed, but not nearly as much as it would have done had I lopped the damn thing off. Alas, I made sure to be wearing tough gloves for sawing work from then on, no matter how warm my hands get.
On Sunday’s stint I managed to lay down 12 grids, in stops and starts and mostly through sheer determination. I guess I had something in me, some mood that I am better now, I am stronger and won’t be beaten. I ached all over afterwards, but the masochist in me smiled the most dirty, deeply satisfied smile, and for good reason.
DOMS – Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. It’s the kind of pain that I don’t take painkillers for.
“Life made me ache, because you can’t seem to manage it” I say with a purr. The tension in the room is palpable, but he knows if he gives, he rewards my provocation. Instead he denies me and he lets my lust grow. It amuses the sadist in him.
Even if I have a good ache in some places, he still insists on painkillers and rest. I’ll later learn that it’s not up for negotiation.
“I’m going to make ice later” I say casually, “for drinks” I add.
“Just drinks?” he grins.
“Just drinks” I affirm, my confidence slipping away already.
“Hmm…. and if I were to drink said ice from kitten’s skin? What then?” he mutters, grazing his teeth against my neck. The whimper that escapes me is the only answer he needs.
We eat simply for tea, both opting for tikka chicken and rice instead of curry and all of the trimmings. Lemon mousse afterwards finishes the whole meal off. Light, satisfying and simple.
I didn’t manage to get the playspace set up in time, and much of that has to do with the business of this past week. The home is what it is, and I am what I am. Not bad, but not perfect.
“Up” he commands, pulling at the hem of my shirt and hauling it over my head in one swift move. With my wrists cuffed to the headboard behind me and the blindfold pulled over my eyes, he makes short work of my trousers. There I lie, stripped, blindfolded and cuffed to the bed.
“Much better” he says.
For whatever reason, then me naked has been something of a new love of his recently, and for the most part, it’s not something that I object to. It’s new in my submission, but I’m adjusting to it pretty quickly. It’s refreshing in it’s simplicity., beatiful and empowering. Why try to be anything other than what I am? Maybe that’s what he’s trying to drive home.
“I’ll be two seconds, I’m just going to pour a drink” he says, “don’t go anywhere, will you?” he adds. His tone is mocking and I let my irritation be known with a deep growl. He isn’t phased in the slightest..
“No ice!” I call out to him. It takes me a second or two to realise that his “drink” isn’t really a drink, after all.
“No ice? But then however would I enjoy my drink?” he asks. His tone has changed, it’s more lascivious now. This is Dom Matt speaking.
“In a glass, with a straw, but with no ice” I giggle. I know my willpower is on borrowed time.
Barely an utterance hits my ears before the sharp cold sensation hits my breast.
I anticipated an unbearably cold sensation, but as the cool water drips down my flesh, my yelps and whimpers gave way to only soft gasps and throaty moans. I could do this, I could get used to this, in this heat? I could do this. This was… nice.
I didn’t care that the water droplets were soaking the sheets beneath us, and I didn’t care that he was using my drinks ice for all the wrong reasons, either. I could make more ice, I could put it on my to-do list and have done with it tomorrow – I can make more ice in all of about eight hours! Ice is just no big deal.
Of course, if I thought he was going to be all nice to me then I should have known better to start with. Rule one – never trust a sadist to behave.
Just as I lie satisfyingly naked and chilled and thinking that I’m married to a truly wonderful man, he rolls one of his prickliest pinwheels across my left thigh. Instinctively I buck and pull on the restraints above my head, trying my best to escape.
“Do what you want with me, I can take it!” I growl in defiance. I resolve to silence afterwards, I knew that my yelps and squeals would encourage him.
I suffer and grimace as he rolls one pinwheel after the next across my skin, determined all the while not to make a sound. I knew it would torment him, I knew it would provoke him – sadists don’t like it when their pets don’t squeal for them
“So I can do what I want, and you think you can take it?”
A defiant nod.
“Okay then, but would you care for some water first?” he offers.
“Please” I whisper in reply.
“Here you go then” he says, and casually decants the now melted ice on top of me.