That sums up how Daddy and I spent last weekend. It’s kind of ironic really because our relationship truly is anything but normal.
We’ve been conspiring about this weekend for months – a full 48 hours alone together. Think of all the play and beatings and sex and bitings we could we could get in. We teased and tormented each other. We fantasized and created elaborate plans. Oh they were/are delicious. Daddy taunted me over and over again about never leaving my apartment while we were together. He enjoyed messing with my mind. I’m beginning to think there are moments when he views my mind as his personal playground – in the days and weeks leading up to our weekend together he knowingly began to push all those buttons and revelled in my reactions.
I tidied, showered, prepped and promptly fell asleep for a nap. It was actually Daddy’s arrival that woke me – oops! Well there went my plan to dress up in pretty lingerie to seduce him. Instead he got a sleepy-headed little spoon yawning as she answered the door. Hawt, right? Thankfully, Daddy doesn’t fuss about such things (I do but he talks sense into me about being silly).
Right away I was hugged and kissed and hugged some more. There is something comforting about the way Daddy hugs me, the way he smells and tastes. It’s as though all my senses know I will be well taken care of and loved and it changes me somehow. Now the change isn’t immediate but over our time together, I soften, and as he likes to say, I get all mooshy. I was definitely all mooshy during our weekend together (but so was he – shhh don’t tell anyone I said that I don’t want to ruin his Domly cred).
Yes, there was sex and hand jobs and thudding me with the new flogger – that will be its own post – but it was all a tiny part of what happened between us this weekend.
Most of our time was spent talking. About his job, my job, my friends, his friends, my struggles, his struggles, us, my new dating life, the new guy I’m dating and on and on…We talked over beer and fries with gravy and stuffing, over cheeses and baguette, over quiche and caesar salad, over the pasta he made us and muffins and coffee. We talked while we walked and held hands in the mall, while we were in Build-a-Bear, while we strolled along Lake Ontario. And when we weren’t talking we were snuggled in silence with each other or just watching movies. We just were with each other.
I could breathe.
And the scariest thing we did together all weekend was to go for a ride on his motorcycle. You see, I was terrified to get on it. More terrified than any paddle or flogger or other implement of torture Daddy brought with him. He had promised not to push me but he really wished I’d join him for a ride. So I agreed. The morning after a thudding I’m more amenable to almost anything. I had my wits about me when I made the decision to strap the helmet on and hop on the back. In the first few moments, I thought about begging him to stop but by the time we’d made the second turn I calmed significantly. In no time I was lovin’ it. Really. All the fear I’d had was gone. I knew that he would do absolutely everything he could to keep me safe and whole. In short, I began to trust him with my life. When we were taking the winding scenic route home I closed my eyes and just revelled in the feeling of vibrations and the wind and my hands around Daddy’s waist. It was exhilarating.
On Monday morning Daddy’s crackberry started buzzing early. He had work to deal with before he got into work. There was something about watching him handle things that I find incredibly sexy. So I sipped my latte, ate my muffin, played on my phone and watched him out of the corner of my eye. I know he was watching me to see if I was ok. To make sure after all our play and heart to hearts that I wasn’t in pieces, that he had brought me back and made me whole.
I was fine. I’d been loved and cherished and allowed to be me neuroses and all.
Then came the hard part, Daddy had to go. We’ve said goodbye before but this time, this time hurt on a new level. After gathering his stuff we walked to his bike. I watched him get ready to ride off without saying too much. I was already feeling choked up. With our final hug and kiss I spun around and walked off. I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t watch him leave me – it was too hard. I even picked up the pace so I wouldn’t hear him drive off. I wanted no part in seeing him leave me even though I know he will be back to me at some point. Saying goodbye and letting him go was harder than I ever imagined it could be. I think we both try to temper our feelings for each other, understanding the limitations of our relationship but I love him more and more.
Our weekend was nothing like the way we planned it – it was better, it was almost normal.