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Smutty Wishes and Porn Star Dreams

September 10th, 2009

This morning, Master and I decided to try something new.  He’s always so rushed in the morning, trying to get ready in an hour and be at the stop before the bus takes off.  He’s often shoveling in his last bite of food while simultaneously tugging on His shirt and cramming His feet in His shoes.  And while He’s doing that, I’m running around the house trying to find everything He’s taken out of His briefcase.

So we got up thirty minutes earlier, this morning.  He took His normal shower and sat down to breakfast.  We chit-chatted over coffee as the sun came up and He got to have more than one cup.  We didn’t have to shovel the food in as fast as our hands could move, so we’ll be skipping morning indigestion today.  And we got to wake up, slowly, in each other’s company.

How awesome is that?

I spent two hours watching porn clips yesterday.  And He told me to describe them to Him.  He’s going to let me find a couple I like and get the entire flick.  I’m excited.  There’s this one that’s hella hot.  I want it.

I’m really content, lately.  It’s funny how that happens.  He starts grabbing my hair, and my collar, and my throat, and just steady holding my head under water, and I slip into this blissful head-space where everything’s okay and I can make the best of anything.

But it’s easy when you like it.  It’s when I don’t like it that I’m worried about.

I have a bunch of topics I yanked off FetLife that I want to talk about here.  One I started myself.  The other someone else did.  But M says I need to slow my roll with this blogging thing cause He wants me to start writing fiction and erotica again.  So, I’ve started keeping a notepad for lists of blog ideas and such for later.

Can I just say, it’s killing me to not just type them up anyway and schedule them for a later day so I can write on those days instead of right now? I’ve got so much to talk about.  Lol.

Things are really, really good right now.  And, I think, before too much longer, you’re going to have more smut than you can shake a stick at to read and look at here.  M’s talking about rehanging the eyehooks and d-rings even though the doorways are too tall for my short ass.  O.o  And it’s an old, old house so the studs are big and strong.   I’m starting to get worried M’s thinking “fat girl suspension scene”.

He’s looking into putting a free chatroom in on the site.  There are visions of eventually offering appointments to control a scene between Him and I.  He’s threatening me with recording and selling clips of me exercising naked.  If that’s not scary, I don’t know what is.

No, no, no not watching me.  But me having to do it.  That’s scary.  I wasn’t putting myself down… much.  (Think He bought it?)

He’s getting a raise.  Next month.  We don’t have an amount, yet.  But it’s supposed to be substantial.  Fingers crossed.

And I want to be a porn star.  I’m not really sure where it came from.  I just… suddenly wanted to be a porn star.  I wonder if I could pull it off.  Lol.

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  1. September 10th, 2009 at 21:39 | #1

    I get the same way with blogging. I have all these things floating around in my head and I want to write them all at once. And so I either write drafts of the idea or a few bullet points and come back to it, or I write, like, 10 posts in 2 days and then just schedule them to publish at later times.

    I find that once I flow, I flow. And once it stops, it stops.

    I get that feeling of being content, too. I’m in that place right now as well and I couldn’t be happier. When I finally get home from work and can walk into my room and put on my collar, I feel at peace once again. There’s nothing quite like it, is there?

  2. September 11th, 2009 at 06:30 | #2

    @Britni TheVadgeWig No… nothing like it in the world.

    Britni, glad you came over 🙂 I’ve been meaning to check you out since you commented at EC. I’m gonna have to take a peek just as soon as I have five minutes. Which shouldn’t be too difficult, today. Friday’s my easy day. But M’s home. So you know how that goes. Lol.

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