Hurt, Rage and Processing Through Sadistic Desires

And of course it’s over but I have to continuously remind myself WHY the fuck he’s an insanely insensitive egotistical self involved asshole.

Bunny invites me to a couple things over the last few weeks. We have repeatedly said to each other “stop contacting me.” And somehow we keep talking. It never ends well.

He called to invite me to the Edwardian ball. I declined, I was going to SF for a different party. I could feel myself falling back in love with the sweetness of his voice. My cells are trying to let this go. I cannot allow myself another heroin fix. No. Just so he can break my heart again. No.

Then he texts the next day and invites me over to his Malibu hang out with his two Domme’s to come and fuck them with a strap on and come sit on his cock. No. Once again the answer is a fuck no. I respond with a much more violent proposition that I cut his dick off and make him suck it. That would please my evil sadistic side. I tell him that I can’t believe that he even has a cock still, that his ex should have cut it off and taken it with her to Italy. He doesn’t even deserve to have one.

I go to SF, I party, I dance, I shop, I fuck. All in the day’s life of a seductress…

Bunny hates denial. He starts texting me again with these stupid bullshit words like

“I gave you my soul!”

Ha. He gave me his soul yet he can’t give me the time of day. Well take your soul back bunny. I don’t want it anymore.

After all this soul talk, and talk that “we are going to see each other” which actually means I’m going to make fake plans with you and then disappear and not answer your phone calls or texts. I know this game all too well.

I find myself at the Chateau Marmot Monday night with some clients, just days after this soul talk. So I’m thinking he wants to see me. I smell him, faintly the entire time I’m there. I know I’m going to see him. My intuition is always much stronger than his….

And for some fucked up reason I need to hurt myself again. I text him.

“I’m at the Chateau Marmont, you?”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Oh so he doesn’t respond to me in days but he’s meeting someone else at the Chateau and apparently forgot that he told me he would meet up with me at some point.

“Are you meeting someone else?”

“yes.”

“Ok well I guess that means we aren’t seeing each other then.”

“No problem.”

“Actually it is a problem. You give me your soul but you can’t have a conversation?!”

No response. That’s it . I don’t see him walk in, like all too many times he tells me he’s coming somewhere and never does.

I text him “It’s done. It’s over. For good. I’m blocking your number.”

No response. From a human who doesn’t feel things, who can so easily cut people he cares about out of his life. Just as good. I’m over it.

I never get around to calling at and t to block his number.

A week goes by.

I do a kinky photo shoot on Saturday with a friend of mine, and take very naughty nude fetish photos. I know the way to get attention from bunny is through kinky shit.

I send him a photo at three in the morning. He calls me, pretending it’s all good between us.

“so why are you sending me this picture? What do you want me to do with this picture of your pussy?”

“It’s just art.”

He thought it was a booty call proposition. He really is just in response to his bodily desires. Drugs and pussy.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in venice with a friend of mine.”

“do you have mdma?”

“yes.”

“ok well let’s meet up and party.”

“I can’t do that right now.”

I hang up the phone slightly thereafter. He calls back twice. I don’t answer because I’m hanging with my photographer friend who I owe my undivided presence to since he just shot these brilliant and kinky photos of me for free.

Bunny texts a few more times and says

“you win. Bravo!”

and then a few moments later decides that I don’t win. That I am shit. That because I didn’t give him what he wanted in that moment, that he has the right to diss me, my art, that my photos are shit and that I am somehow beneath him.

“Why don’t you tie yourself to a piano and take a picture of that. Let me see that!”

One final call on Sunday. We begin the conversation civilly, like what am I doing, do I want to meet up on Melrose or something like that. I tell him I can’t meet up right now (wow that’s like 5 or 6 No’s in a row!) and he’s pissed. He’s yelling and screaming into the phone that he’s totally sick of this. Well I am too. Sick of someone saying sweet things to me and having absolutely no follow through with any of it. No intention of actually loving me. He can’t offer me anything. Just twisted fucked up heart games and he doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s a player.

“no more roses, no more ‘I love you’s’ nothing. Don’t sweet talk me anymore, understand?!”

He’s not used to a strong woman telling him to fuck off.

We both commence that It’s over.

I tell him I want nothing from him. He wants nothing from me.

Done deal. Finally over.

I take out the pain on my submissive.

I meet with him last night (a story that will be posted soon.)

We smoke pot and I am lying in his bed, and all of my feelings finally come to the surface. I’m kind of just over men. I’m over men wanting women for their sexuality. Even though my Wolfie says that he loves me, that he cares for me, and does, he still wants inside my pussy.

Why can’t men get their dicks under control??

I’m just over it. I burst into tears. I’m convulsing in pain. I feel like my insides are being ripped apart, ripped open, that I have an open wound that is being stretched and contorted out of my chest. That tears and pain are shredding me. Even though I want sex, pleasure and love, I’m just fucking over it.

Wolfie, the man next to me who is supposed to be there for me, for my every desire still wants me to please his is trying to comfort me, trying to justify things. Every word drives my pain deeper. I don’t want an explanation or justification for anything. I just want to be able to feel this pain to the end. Sometimes a man just needs to shut up and hold a woman.  It’s just not the way it fucking works.

Once I am done crying I want to scream. I want to yell and punch something.

My submissive says that I can take it out on his balls.

Ok.

I twist them, contort them, slap his ass and some kind of erotic cathartic release starts to happen. I get turned on in my rage. I writhe all over him.

I’ve had him in cock control for over a month now. He hasn’t come in two weeks. I don’t really care. He’s going to wait longer. I don’t feel like helping him out in that department. I tell him he can pick one of his slaves (he’s used to being in charge) can suck him off.

“but my Queen, I haven’t come in two weeks.”

I raise my voice. “have you slave suck you off on Friday. It’s an order.”

“Ok that was pretty clear.”

We go to sleep, hand in hand. I feel Wolfie’s love for me. I feel the support. I just can’t be everything to everybody all the time. Sometimes I have to be the little girl with all the loose strings and have someone else hold it all together for me.

I’m moving slowly today. Taking care of the bare minimum. I feel like I should yell and scream and shout, that I have this huge gaping pain in my chest. Like I could burst into tears and rage at any moment. And I still feel like If I could see him that somehow we would lock eyes and fall in love and laugh at ourselves. But that can’t happen. Maybe I would just kick him in the balls and spit on his face. But he might like that too much.