NYC is almost within reach, just a few hours away. I won’t lie. I’m tired as fuck.
This weekend was a growth experience in more ways than I can currently count—with my fierce, BADASS Sister, with my Tribe, with my Community, for myself. However I can’t shake the weariness nor find the blessed relief of sleep on this rainy, dreary return trip.
Instead I'm stuck. I haven't been able to process all that happened or the resulting emotions that have filled me the last few days as I've run from one thing to another. I'm trapped in a drop from a high that held no physical release. Adrenaline, worry, joy, situational excitement, fierce pride, relief…yes to ALL that. But energy-infusing pleasure or pain? Orgasm? Tears? There was none of that in my cards.
Now in post-game, it’s everything I can do to maintain a train of thought and get my ass through the next step, and the next, and the next, so i can eventually get back to my little sanctuary. ~whimper~ On top of that struggle, I’m fighting off the pieces of me that rise to the surface when the smarter pieces of me—my lioness, my consigliere, and my warrior—are on E.
I’m a mess beneath the surface. A literal mess.
My cunt is irrationally drenched as I suffer through this semi-nauseating bouncy bus ride up 95. My folds have gotten progressively slicker since the moment I clicked "Confirm" on our Uber ride, standing outside our AirBnB. That tap was the last decision I needed to make for the next four~ish hours, so my brain went into its temporary shutdown sequence for self-preservation.
The lack of control (Uber driver/bus driver) was all it took to launch my pussy into its incessant nag for use and drainage of unreleased orgasm juice. Sadly, there’s not a single sexy external influence at play. No one is waiting for me. No one is eager for my return. No one is feeding me sexy energy. This is just my body’s usual impractical, illogical, inconvenient response to tiredness and stress. ~sigh~ This is why I explain/warn a Man I get intimately involved with that my sexuality is at my very core. When you peel away my layers, that's my essence. Thank The Universe for all those damn layers. lol
Those layers are all wilted at the moment, and I need to get them back. However, it will take a few hours to a few days. My destination to my cave of solitude is the safest place for me go until then. Otherwise, my raw state could lead me to a place of vulnerability I have no tools to navigate. Neither my whore nor my little girl should be left unsupervised without those layers guiding my behavior.
The Whore | As evident by dripping cunt, that bitch is aching for the brutal use of her passive body—to have a Him spread my thick soft thighs and take full selfish fuckin advantage of my lack of brain power, lack of fight, lack of will. My immoral whore wants to take full fucking advantage of my weakened state. I crave nasty things. Humiliating degrading things. Cruel intentions. Objectification. Claiming. Fingers invading to explore and assess and test and push. Toys and things shoved in, so she can rut mindlessly and gush over and over again in a sloppy hot mess. Choking. Spitting. Pissing. Violence. Dick using over and over every hole. Hell...even dickS using. No kind words. Just...
“Bitch, where you been?”
"Oh look, you need something in this hole too."
"Filthy slut...just can't cum enough, can you?"
"Yeah...that's it. Drain this dick again like a good nasty bitch."
I want to be nothing except holes and a body to use and abuse.
Eventually, cold calculating use would crack me like an egg, and all the emotions I haven't been able to release will blessedly flow. Hot tears would stain my cheeks even as I cum again and again until eventually I reconnect with my soul, and He eventually pulls me to Him as all my other pieces slam back into me tight.
Fuck...yeah, that's a helluva tall order. Hence, me retreating to the safety of my cave and solitude.
~sigh~
Meanwhile, the other option on the complete fuckin opposite side of the spectrum...
My Little Girl | That soft vulnerable bitch I keep nearly 100% locked away away from everyone and everything (except swings, dogs, fountains, and beaches) never fails to slip past security when I no longer have the strength to keep her door locked. She want to curl up in a Lap. She wants tender, loving strokes that somehow leave her in a state of undress. She longs for a Daddy to finally molest and violate her slowly…thoroughly… with fingers… with toys... with Dick… And more fingers… And more dick…
To be a "good girl for Daddy" and "learn to be good whore." All while being held and knowing there's someone else to rely on for a moment who will hold down the world and most of all her. She seeks to wrap His strength and heat and protection and tenderness and kindness and...love around her like a cocoon, so all the pieces of me can recover. I'd sob.
That shit would utterly fuckin break me, even worse than the whore's shenanigans, in a way whips and implements of destruction cannot. ~sigh~
This is why my little girl is the one that’s dangerous as fuck. To receive kindness, gentleness, nurturing AND corruption? To cry and have those tears wiped, licked, kissed away, even as He selfishly takes His fill of her in any way He desires? Fuck...that's the fate that unnerves me the most because I have zero clue how to come back from all that softness and vulnerability. Again... Better if I just tuck myself away alone in my cave.
Those bitches want what they want and can't be trusted to lead me to a safe defensible position.
Yet I can't deny that I want all of it, but I'd need a confident, capable, compassionate Owner who would fuckin relish taking full selfish advantage of my weakened state over long hours of wickedness for His own twisted pleasure.
Neither of these situations are suitable for Service Topping. Hard limit. No discussion or debate.
I’d feel the…weakness in that energy, The difference in the vibration between Service Top and selfishly wanting an intense scene can be felt viscerally. There's an unmistakable distance and an inauthentic flavor of pretend that just can never work in such a raw state of vulnerability. The resulting negative backlash would boomerang with a violent destruction that would fuck me up for weeks. He would need to selfishly want the actions of either scenario and the eventual outcome. His taking from me, releasing my pent up emotions, not because He caused them but because He believed that everyfuckingthing I am is His to take as He desires including unprocessed emotions and my mother fuckin tears.
~sigh~ Yeah...I think tomorrow is gonna be an Out of Office recovery mental health day. Maybe by then I'll be able to pour out into words—and process/release the myriad of emotions stewing in my soul—of how simultaneously difficult and amazing this weekend was and how I'd do it again just with a whole lot more guardrails and planning in place.
Now, let me nap, so I can find the strength, wisdom, and will to lock my whore and little girl back in their rooms for safekeeping.
~DominaKat
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