Putting Bunny to Rest? Or Resuscitate the Bunny?

Putting Bunny to Rest? Or Resuscitate the Bunny?

I thought it was completely over. And it probably still is.

Our last conversation ended rather fiercely. We were communicating about seeing each other, and yet again, ANOTHER NO CALL NO SHOW. We had tentative plans to see each other on Sunday a few weekends ago, and then once we were gong to meet he didn’t respond to call or text. A few hours went by, and eventually I got an “I’m working.” When hours before he said to call me when I got home and we would hang out. I texted back that this is not the way to treat a friend and if he’s unavailable to see me, then just don’t invite me TO the door. He was furious at my text, that I was being dramatic. D doesn’t have any room in his life for me, for sweetness. Perhaps he’s head over heals in work. OK Point taken.

He calls me the next day to yell into my ear. The conversation ends poorly with a “HAHA I LOVE YOU. I’LL CALL YOU WHEN MY LIFE ISN’T CRAZY.”  And click. Those are his last words to me.

Weeks go by. I’m still semi-depressed from this sudden shut out, no communication, no friendly text, no speaking on the phone, nothing. I convince myself this is what I need to truly let him go. Give him 6 months, a year, and most likely he will NEVER be what I want him to be.

AND yet, there is always an unexplainable pull, of his power over me. An oceanic undercurrent of MAGIC  which pulls us ever so slightly back into each other’s orbits. Even though he does not have the capacity to be anything for me, his heart still searches for me. I still have his scarf. He still loves me.

Back in that fateful day in June, we met at a Masquerade Ball which was held at the Vibiana, which the now event venue is called “the Cathedral of Saint Vibiana”.

Excerpt Taken from Wikipedia,

“Pope Plus Xl chose the Cathedral’s name, choosing the third century Roman martyr Saint Vibiana. Cathedrals traditionally contain the relics of a saint, so the remains of St. Vibiana were removed from the Catacombs of Rome and moved to a gilt and plate glass sarcophagus located in a niche above the high altar.”

We met in a Roman Catholic Church built in 1876 in the name of a female saint, and her REMAINS are still there. And D, ever obsessed with his Croatian blood with the ancient Roman empires, even has the year 1453 TATTOED on his arm because that year marks the fall of Constantinople, when the Byzantine Empire fell to the Ottoman Empire. This legendary fact is just an interesting tie in to our Fairy Tale Love Story. I’m saying that with a Satirical tone; a tone of loss, of heartbreak, and of giving up. I can no longer hold onto this love story, no matter how seemingly perfect and romantic it is; because the story is just a story, and reality has consumed my imagination and destroyed almost every last remnant of him in my soul.

This now modern venue is an epic monument, a testament to Divinity. It is an old Cathedral, converted into an adult play ground. D and I cannot meet under ordinary circumstance; it always has to partake in the fantasy world in which we both inhabit.

It’s Saturday, and I keep getting very small and subtle wafts of HIM. He’s in the air, and even though we haven’t spoken in weeks, I know I am going to see him. I do not DARE and ask him if he’s coming. I’ve learned that is only a set up for disappointment. I presume if he wanted me there he would text me and tell me so.

So I walk in the door, and through the long and white hallway, he walks by swiftly and all I catch is the impression of him, like a shadow chasing itself. I walk towards the ghost, thinking it had to have been my imagination.  I always spot him way before he sees me, for my intuition is much better than his. Then I spot the woman he is with. She’s beautiful, thin, big tits, red lips and eyes that would kill you with her beauty in two seconds. I cannot compete with her. My heart is racing out of my chest, my nervous system is going haywire and I fake that everything is fine. I reach out to her first, his date I presume.

“Hi,” I smile warmly, and she smiles back.

We shake hands, I’m in a dizzy and I don’t remember her name. I don’t look at her again. Him and I make some small talk, and even though he does not respond to my emails, he reads them and remembers details from my messages. I just have to get used to the fact that he’s a silent communicator. HUH.

“So you’re moving out of Beachwood canyon at the end of the month?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going to go?” he asks expressing some form of concern with me. I know where I want to move but I don’t dare tell him I’m looking to move to West Hollywood, which would make me closer to him.

“I don’t know.” I fake, I’m coy and shy and not leading on that I’m hopelessly in love with him.

His date interjects as she is being ignored, and wants to walk into the art section. I walk away more quickly and loose them. I can’t handle hanging out with him and someone else. I find a friend to speak with for a while and I loose him in the crowd.

An hour goes by, and I am outside talking to my friend Daniel, and the Bunny approaches, looking for something but not meeting my eye. He comes in closer and signals to me that he wants to speak to me. I end my conversation and come in closer to him.

“So the answer to your question in your last text.” He says vaguely.

“What question?” I don’t remember what I said. Oh yeah I texted him that I missed him. I asked him if he was SANE yet.

“I’m not. I’m not SANE. What is Sane, hAhA. I’m not sure I know what that is.”

Of course a crazy person wouldn’t even know what sanity is.

I try to explain in the best way that I know howl Sanity knows where one thing ends and another begins. Your worlds are straight, time moves, and it seems to make sense. It seems as though he’s living in multiple worlds and multiple time frames and he doesn’t know where one ends and another begins.

He’s cheerful, perhaps faking it because he’s at a party. He’s exhausted, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, the worry lines deep in his face and his skin a pale white. He looks like a Vampire that needs to feed. He comes in close and touches my earring several times. I do not let him get so close as to touch my ear. He is a dangerous drug, like Heroin. It’s so good coming in. Perfect. Heavenly. And then the drug wears off you feel like an empty vessel of ghostly waste. I cannot let myself get a full dose of him because I will fall back into his trap. But I have to admit I got extremely high just standing next to him, just vibrating in his field. It’s too bad that those we are most attracted to are the most unavailable.  It’s the highest high and the lowest low. There’s no in-between.

D follows me around the party a bit, and juggles me between his date, or friend, or whatever she is. It doesn’t seem like they’re dating otherwise he wouldn’t be hanging next to me so much. I don’t ask because he hates my jealous side so I just pretend it doesn’t trigger me that he comes back to the VIBIANA where we first MET, a sacred place to my heart and soul, and he’s here with another woman. He’s completely insensitive and oblivious to the ways that he infinitely hurts me. If he can hurt me, he finds a way. Always. Gotta let this one go.

We get into a heated conversation and after he offers that I can find high-end clientele through his friend and that he’ll call me next week sometime, I look at him as ask him why in the world would I believe that he would call me next week.

He looks puzzled that I would say such a thing to a complete unreliable crazy Vampire of a man.

“I have NO expectations of YOU!”

His eyes squint up, he’s shocked at the concept that I have absolutely no trust in him whatsoever. That he destroyed any last remaining threads of hope in my heart that he will EVER return to me.

“What do you mean?” I kind of love it when the dialogue gets intense and emotional with him and I.

“I have no expectations of you. None. Zero. You’re not going to call me, you’re not ever going to follow through. I’ve given up hope. No let’s go inside, there’s a show happening in there”

I walk away, leaving him standing there. Its not long before he’s hovering around me again. I’m cordial; we hang, but not dare flirt. At the end of the party he leaves with his er, friend and hugs me good-bye. And this might be the last time we see this one another in a while.  Let the bunny hop around. See what other messes he can get himself into.

And of course these are dry satirical words of rejection, of loss, of heartbreak, and finally letting go of a relationship of an unhealthy sort. Now the first thing I look for in a man is Integrity. And I would say thus far I’m doing pretty well with not inviting crazy phantasmagorical unicorn lovers into my life. And I’ll cherish in my mind every moment I had with him.

The End

Entering the Chamber of Bondage, Domination, and Sadomasochism

 I will try to write this story as truthfully and honorably as possible, but to be quite honest I will reveal parts of my psyche that I like to keep hidden; the little girl parts, the weak parts, my secret parts.

But I will do my best to reveal the unexposed areas of my psychology, the layers of womanly tender confessions so that you may know yourself better. That is what a Dakini is; she reveals Truth, and sometimes the truth is not pretty. A Dark Witch will conceal the truth, manipulate the truth, hide the truth and only show you parts of herself that she wants you to know; she doesn’t’ want you to know that she’s suffering and will manipulate you for her happiness. She and would prefer that you only see the good side of her face while she backhands you. I do not wish to conceal my inner and most tender parts. I wish to open and reveal them to you.

 Fear gawked at my weakness, with tears in my eyes, I peered at my new Master. He was a blur of Caucasian skin, I did not know him well, and he was to be my new  Master, only for the next couple of hours. “I” am not used to giving COMPLETE power and control over to another person. Yeah sure I’ve played with sensual domination, being tied up, being spanked, getting welts. But this master wanted me to be his slave, for me to loose my identity, to be stripped bare of who I thought I was.

We light the candles, still talking to each other as L and J, him being easeful but his excitement growing as he prepares his tools that he needs for the session. We worked out a few boundaries before our meeting; no blood, no bodily fluids, no sex. Seems simple enough right?

He tells me to go in the bathroom and put on a simple yet ugly T-Shirt and yoga pants and I come out in them, trying to maintain my pride being in this less than flattering or kinky attire. That’s what’s so interesting about this play; you can set up scenarios and enter them any way you choose; you are only limited by your imagination. It is a chance to expand what you think is possible, erotically, psychologically and physically with how much discomfort and pain you are willing to endure for your Dominant. Usually the Dominant takes pleasure in inflicting pain; it gives them power and control; it triggers a setting in the brain that gets you aroused with that power, and usually the submissive gets turned on by giving over power and control, entering into what we call “sub space” and their only purpose is to please their master.

Now let's explore the meaning of pain. Pain is a psychological or physiological response to exterior stimuli. when we endure pain, we are proving to our soul that we can transcend the confines and limits to our body. Truly when we are pushed to painful limits, we have a chance to commune with the other side. Native American Sundance ritual is an extreme example of this. As a prayer, the natives would sing and dance around a fire for 4-5 days with no food or water. Then they are hung by hooks through their skin and hung on a tree. They are said to cross over, and commune with Spirit. I believe that BDSM has the capabilities to gently nudge us to those edges so that we learn that our Soul is indestructible, even though our bodies are mortal.

Suffering, on the other hand is a CHOICE, it is the reaction or judgement that we place on the PAIN; ie this pain is BAD. I don't want to ENDURE the pain. I curse the pain. THEN pain turns into human suffering, when the human mind responds to the pain or sadness. Suffering is a rejection of pain.

During this BDSM experience as a sub I also endured much sadness. I cried through the entire session, which is evidence of my humanity and compassion towards myself and others. It's shows the fragility of it all; of how soft our hearts are.

Inherent in most BDSM sessions is some amount of pain, maybe sadness, and suffering if we choose to reject this pain. It is important to establish basic guidelines in a session which will get intense. The BDSM community will often say that the Submissive is actually in control, steering the scene a bit to their likes and dislikes, and to their comfort levels. The Dominant’s role is to push the boundary but not cross it by establishing a safe word. In this case I had “Yellow” which meant back off a bit on the pain levels, and “Red” which meant that the play would immediately stop, and that I have reached my limit. My Master J intended to get me to say both.

Now doing a BDSM scene with someone you just met requires a high level of trust. I don’t really know my Master's background, what kind of Dominant he is, his style, level of expertise, etc. But he got me on “I give an hour of aftercare with a loving deep tissue massage.” So whatever pain I did endure would be met with a tender caress with his hands until I am settled back into my body.

Fair enough, RIGHT!? I couldn't have been more wrong. 

We start by sitting on the bed together, knee-to-knee, cross-legged, hands at the heart and gazing into each other’s eyes. We’re connecting; he’s gazing into me. I had just had a beer and was feeling the effects of the alcohol; point noted, alcohol for me does not desensitize me; it actually made me feel more transparent and vulnerable. I was beginning to feel unsure about what was going to happen.

“I can sense a lot of blocks in you, L, Right here,” he states simply with no compassion, with his hand touching the space between my throat and heart. I have worked with this Granthi in Yoga, which is my main blockage in practice. Perhaps my emotions get stuck here and don’t have a chance to move completely out of my body.

“Perhaps you can unblock me,” I say not knowing how true that was going to be.

The thing about deep, concentrated session work is that anything can arise; pain, pleasure, trauma, spiritual experiences, etc. You just never know how deep down the rabbit hole you’re going to go.

J tells me to stand up. I do. He’s standing square in front of me.

“Tell me what you know of being a slave.”

“To obey, to serve,” I reply coyly.

And here it comes my first blow. He SLAPS me HARD across the face. I see his hand hurling through space to make contact with the side of my head, and my face moves what feels like a foot to the side. I have been slapped and been very much turned on by it in the past. But this slap had a different motive behind it; he was establishing his power, and taking mine away.

“You know nothing if I don’t tell you what you know. You have nothing unless I give it to you. You are nothing unless I make something from you.”

He says these words with power as he RIPS my shirt off, literally (adding extra shock effect), and removes my pants. I am naked. I have nothing. I know nothing. I am nothing, except in relationship to serving my Master. Oh SHIT. My worst fear; I love my freedom. Now I don’t have any.

“Bend over.”

Again, he winds up his hand and delivers a HARD blow to the ass. It stings, but not only with pain, but from the relinquishing of my power over to this person.

Tears literally rise to my face because I am helpless. I am nothing. I am just a little girl, weak and small. I let out a scream from the pain.

“Stand back up.”

Now I have to show him my tears, look him square in the face. I cannot believe I am breaking this soon into the session. IT’s all going to be downhill from here, we are just getting started. I already want my freedom back, I want my mother, I want a teddy bear, I want anything that will console this feeling of powerlessness. After saying a few words to me, he has me bend back over the table. I do as I’m told.

He smacks me just as hard a few more times. I’m sure my ass is bright red. I squeal with each blow.

“Now lay face down on the table,” he commands

“Yes Master.” I reply probably somewhat meekly.

He begins to tie up my right ankle, tightly, and bends my knee back so it’s almost touching my ass. I am fascinated by the rope-work as it is a beautiful art form, and I also hate being bound. I am not objecting now. My right hand is tied down. Now my left ankle is tied, and knee bent back so my feet are in the air facing the ceiling. He spanks me some more. I scream and begin to tremble and cry. I can let the tears flow freely because I’m face down and he can’t see my pitiful face.

He spanks me some more, with different tools. I scream in my tears, the vocal release for me is the only way to endure the pain. It has to come out somehow. I yell “Yellow” and he backs off. And then come the Ice packs. I’m uncomfortable, bound, afraid, and almost unable to breathe because of the snot in my nose, and he applies freezing cold ice packs to my bum. At first it feels kind of soothing to my red cheeks, then I squirm and shiver, bound, crying, uncomfortable, no power, no control. I ‘m just a meek little slave here for his enjoyment.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he applies more ice packs to my body, and I can’t explain why this was so extreme for me. Perhaps it was because I already felt helpless. The concept of "SLAVERY" began to sink into my psyche. I began to have human compassion for humans that were trapped in this reality, that only knew themselves as a SLAVE to a MASTER. Fear is not a good way to describe this feeling, it was more like deep sadness and impending doom. Slavery crushes the soul.  Now I knew what it felt like to really BE a slave. And this is temporary “pretend” enslavement. I have safe- word which will release me from these restrictions. And I know I am going to use it, but I am waiting until I cannot possible endure any more of this torture. My pussy isn’t wet. I’m not turned on. I’m not in a physically submissive state, although psychologically I’m completely broken open.

Now come the ice packs to the back of the knees, underneath the armpits, and a huge one on my belly. I scream and shake and quiver and name my “Yellow.” He removes the packs, spanks my ass  some more. But he wants it to be more exposed, and moves my position to an even more awkward one where I’m on my knees on the table, and my hands are underneath me and tied in a very odd and  pride-compromising way (I don’t like being ungraceful), and my butt is very much in the air.

He starts to play with my anus. Honestly I can barely feel it I’m in so much shock from my state of mind. I don’t really care what he’s doing back there, oh wait yes I do. He fully penetrates me with his finger and inserts a hook and ties the hook up to my collar. He yanks on the rope. It’s not painful but humiliating. I wish I could emulate my noises for you. He’s a total Sadist delighting in this torture of my soul.

“AHAWHWHWUAIWHAWHWHEAHAHA” In a sexy, crying, screaming way is the only way I can describe my submissive cries to him. Perhaps I am crying out so he will have more mercy on me, so he knows the effect of his tactics, so he knows not to go much further. Perhaps so that he gets satisfaction over it so he’ll do less. He perseveres onward with his plan, not relenting, moving forward.

At some point he removes the hook and inserts his finger. Okay…finger okay…not really pleasurable again, I can’t really feel pleasure in this broken state. I can’t feel any erotic energy. He touches my pussy a bit as well….I’m totally sexually numb. My body is still quivering and squirming and desiring to be free of this bound. Pain, spanking….ice packs. And then I felt his cock. OH WAIT A MINUTE. I didn’t agree to his cock being near me. “No penetration” was part of the deal. Why did it feel like his cock was in my ASS!??

“Are you having fun?” He asks, more from his human form than his Master form.

“No Master.” ERGGG I had to be honest, I really wasn’t.

I’m crying and through my tears, he proceeds a bit more, and “RED” comes out of my mouth.

“What was that?”

“RED MASTER, RED” I can barely say the words I’m so humiliated, snot dropping out my nose, my eyes deformed from the amount of tears that I cried. I hate being a helpless weak little girl. HATE IT. I hate giving over my freedom. I couldn’t take any more. And there’s no way any cock is going inside me in any way if I can’t take pleasure from it. NOPE.

He relinquished, and knew that RED meant OUT. Game over, we stop play. He begins to untie me, and I slowly begin to relax with each know that he takes out. It probably takes 10 minutes to get me free.  I lay down, humiliated that I was so sensitive, so weak, that I couldn’t take this kind of play. I thought I was tough…but I have very soft skin, like silk, my heart like sweet honey, and I will willingly submit to the right Master. Perhaps this just isn’t the one.

He gets me a tissue and I wipe my nose and grip it as the only soft thing I have in this moment. I want my lover to come and cuddle me. That’s all I can think of.

I had left my lover’s arms just hours before, I his warm and genuinely caring embrace to experience this cold and harsh environment. And now I would have to call him and ask him to come hold and console his naughty kitten.

J finishes his work as promised with a lovely massage. He’s disappointed that he can’t do the front side, which he says is much easier to endure with heat on the front. Ingenious technique, but I cannot psychologically endure anymore.

“I’m not really sure what happened to me” Are the only words that I can find after the experience. I mean I know what happened, but I have no words in this moment. My ego doesn’t want to be perceived as weak for not being able to go on with the rest of the session. And I would if there was some element of Eroticism, of warmth, if my pussy was getting wet. But it wasn’t, it was too afraid to open.

BDSM play with a person is a love-play in some way; their energy transfers through the tool they are using. Their past imprints of reality, whether positive or negative will transfer through their session. If they are scared in some way, it will show. If they are coming from a deep and loving warm compassionate heart space, it will transfer in the type of session they lead. Everything can come into play in a scene. If they are innately a healer, they will heal you. And likewise if they are cold, perhaps never earned the respect of their father, or perhaps your female Domme was sexually abused growing up and hates men. All this will show in the way they hold their session. Obviously there’s a degree to which they have healed from these experiences. The fascinating factor with BDSM is it gives stage for us to explore and live out the deeper parts of our psychology, fantasies, and role play. Past experiences, and deep-seated emotions will get triggered, as sexuality is linked to our root and second chakra which has to do with family and the subconscious; that which we are not aware of in our day-to-day life.

I had not been in touch with my inner hurt little girl for many years; not to that degree. I felt like I was 5, tiny; I didn’t know anything, so impressionable, so sensitive, so easy to cry, and so innocent.  Slavery is frightening, limiting to the soul. Pain is pain, and suffering, my soul crying out in the judgement of what I was enduring was also real. And now I'm able to look back on this as just another sexual adventure under my repertoire. Oh and I'm not about to willingly submit to such a stern master again: ) To each their own.

Mescal and Chocolate

Monday, New Year’s Eve

My pussy is an uncontrollable machine. Sometimes it has all the working parts except the steam to make this train pull a thousand tons up hill.

Somehow my pussy is ready to burn this fuel, and he walked into my door at just the perfect time.

We met on New Year’s Eve. He made my date jelous. My date said he was flirting with me, and I was flirting back. I thought I was just having an honest conversation with this new Gypsy soul. I couldn’t determine who he was or where he came from.

We met briefly in the kitchen

“Como te llama?” I asked in Spanish, having just came from Mexico, literally just hours before.

“Noah.” He replied, barely taking notice of me as he dug into the snacks on the table, and filliing his cup with libations.

He found me out by the fire pit an hour later. I was about to leave the party then stopped in front of the warmth of the fire. I didn’t know that he was going to be providing me with so much heat days later.

This longhaired, dark skinned man sat down next to me and we blabbed about Sanskrit and the rhythm and intonation in which you would sing a mantra.  We spoke of India and traveling. It really wasn’t important what we said, it was more important that he got my phone number and he used it later on in the week.

My date, Michael and I were now not on good terms. He was jealous, or offended that I ignored him in the light of my new crush, or whatever he was. Michael still managed to suck up his pride, take me home and give me some of the best sex we’ve had. Teasing, spanking, licking in the most divinely perfect way. Not giving me all of his cock all at once; just putting the tip in, holding it still while I writhe all over it. He turned me into a goddess in heat, a Kundalini Tigress, surrendering to his powerful wand. I will never forget that night with him. Despite the mishap, we persevered to make powerful love.

Thursday

Noah texted me, and asked what I wanted him to bring over to my house. We were having a date night after meeting on New Year’s, and I was excited of ths new prospect. I replied with a phone call instead of a text, wanting to remember the sound of his voice. His accent is more apparent over the phone.  It doesn’t come across so strong in person, perhaps because it fits with the rest of him so well.

“Well I did just come from Mexico, so bring some Mescal. And Dark chocolate.”

“Oh you drink Mescal? That says a lot about you. I only drink Mescal with one other friend of mine. And the dark chocolate goes without saying.” He says in a sexy voice, obviously he is used to this game of crawling into women’s beds. Gypsies probably have survived this long by the art of seducing women with nice warm beds in the wintertime.

He arrived an hour late, but with “top shelf” Mescal  (I don’t even know what that is), and a block of European dark chocolate that was so dense we needed a knife to cut through it. I was in my roommate’s bedroom finishing reading her my previous blog about my most recent BDSM session, the one that I received, aka I was a sub. Just giving him a few ideas to peak his interest perhaps.

We make our way into my bedroom. He fills two small glasses with ice and lemon, and a few shots of the Mescal. We warm up on my bed with the drinks, a few bites of chocolate and a much needed ass massage. I had just thrown my back out two days prior due to a rear-end whiplash accident.

Nakedness comes too soon, but things have to move quickly when your new-found lover is leaving town the next day. There’s not really time to waste, and being shy or reserved doesn’t always work in the woman’s favor. I’m here to flip the game a bit; I’m just as much of a player as he is, I like getting cock as much as he likes scoring pussy. As long as the rules of the game are spelled out clearly, I don’t feel like I’m being played. I’m not playing him. We have a mutual need and desire that we can both fulfill for each other.

His dark, strong, & nimble hands take their time, not rushing towards the wet spot in between my legs just because I’m naked.  He slowly works the coconut oil into my skin, taking care around my sacrum, which I just threw out in a car accident.

After relaxing face down into my bed for so long, I turn around, somewhat suddenly, ready to attack. I’m not sure how it started, us kissing, rolling around, his hands in my pussy. My vulva feels like a mouth, ready to feed on him. It wants to chew him up, to digest this fire inside, but the more he touches me the hotter it gets inside. It felt like glowing embers, but so hot my inner temperature grew icey. His fingers played me like a bass, then my treble, and when he touched my clit, my body played in harmony with his.

“I want to be inside of you, you’ve got my cock so hard.”

I take pride and satisfaction in those words.

My pussy is like Pavlov’s dog when a man unwraps a rubber. I quiver and shake in anticipation. What could be perceived as a buzz kill of mounting the cock with a condom is now a buzz thrill. I know I am going to get it, and get it good I do.

The rhythm of him is most noteworthy, other than the undeniable fiery chemistry him and I have; he did me strong and steady, my body to the side, him jamming with my g-spot with the rounded tip of his cock, banging and banging and head banging that note. He rocked out inside of me. My face is contorting, my throat making sounds I don’t usually make because the pleasure is so intense I can’t make a pretty sound. They are more like squeals and chirps and half-screams because the other half gets stuck in my throat. My hands grip the sheets as I take this heavy pounding; but it’s not the usual heavy, it’s more eloquent, perhaps more practiced; he’s not just pounding me with velocity alone, it is with skilled precision and a build up of Gypsy Chi that is churning my butter. Yes that is the perfect metaphor. It felt like he was churning my juices into the perfect consistency of butter.  Very very hot butter.

My gypsy lover holds it in for me for quite some time. I think he comes pretty soon knowing that I’m close to my edge.

We make love again in the morning. If it feels this good, I’m going to be begging for it every time I see him, and will never get enough. This time he works his hands deeper into my pussy until I come, uncontrollably on this musician’s fingers.

The mescal and chocolate did their job. We giggle and smile gazing into each other’s eyes; in satisfaction and peace.