In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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My FUCK Covid! Post

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FUCK, Covid!  I've been a socially defiant bitch more often than not.  When the world starts going one way, something in my mind always tells me to jump off that bus.

Yeah...this fucking sucks.  Everywhere for everyone it sucks.  COVID (either it or the fear/threat of it) is everywhere.  But for fuck sake...does it HAVE to insinuate itself FULLY into Fet?!?

If Facebook has turned into a political, socially dividing, fact-checking, misleading propaganda machine, then FetLife has turned into a giant mother fucking emotional therapy support center of tears and sniffles and traumatized blank stares.

Look...I get it!  This shit is HARD...physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I've been sheltering-in-place for 67 days in a NYC apartment with no private backyard, no balcony, no front stoop.  I need and want an escape...but since the hot, fun, and sexy has all but evaporated from my favorite kink site, Fet's only escape option is a list of virtual classes where a majority of attendees treat it like TV and silently suck on everyone else's thoughts and words.  ~eye roll~  The average number of "Bueller...Bueller..." moments on a Zoom session is 3.5, and it's agonizingly depressing.  Look folks...mute is not impressive.

So fuck COVID!  Here's my hot and sexy contributions to the world:

I need beat with so much leather there's a whisper of "moo" in the air.  Thuddy, stingy, slappy, ouchie... Leather meets flesh in a symphony of whimpers, moans, groans, and cussing.  I need His hands, His belt, His teeth, His weight controlling my every action, so that not even a single coherent thought can form in my head.  I want to stumble from the Pain and hear His voice goading me to take more.  I need to hurt until I'm breathless and crying and fucking shamelessly coming like a sailor during Fleet week.

Then I need not just fucked but whorefucked.  Raw.  Nasty.  Filthy.  Brutal.  Vicious.  A three-holed hours long dick session that leaves me unquestionably used and worshipping that hard flesh like it's my mother fucking God and my ONLY way to salvation.  I need Him to take from me what's His and leave me a cum-stained, quivering, mess that's drained Him dry.

Yes...THIS—our deplorable, wanton, wicked, hedonistic, sadomasochistic vices—are what we need to be wallowing in...even if it's just the beautiful idea of those moments.  Because FUCK, COVID...it will not take this joy from me!!!

Now...I just need to find a name to attach to all those His and Him's I just mentioned.  Someday COVID will be in our rear-view mirror.
~DominaKat

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