Have not seen for almost a month. During this time he became close to me like no other. What likes, what is interested in? What is he like when he is angry or angry? And it happens, she knew. What he, when you do not need to be strong and you can relax?

And how could I even think that some day our roles will change, and I will dominate myself? How much did I have to drink to write this? But not removed. No, the first message with gratitude is very sincere and kind. Slightly more outspoken, you can't write such a sober head. Although now I will not write this. Yes, the spiked collar hooked. In fact, would wear such as decoration. And because he goes to me.

What am I thinking now? I'm not so different from him. Even the sunglasses in the car are of the same brand ... Of course, I am a woman physically weaker. Woman ... And this says a lot. Emotional, sometimes unnecessarily, sensual, very sincere. I do not like masks. I carry it with ease, but I prefer to be myself - a little strange, living by its own rules, sometimes I gladly perform strangers. Aliens ... one and only. I communicate with him, and sometimes it seems to me that we speak almost the same language. After all, I, too, somewhere like that, sometimes under the mask, but more and more often I want to tear it off. I forget that I am not a respectable lady, whom my relatives are proud of. I didn’t go very far from that girl who, being an excellent pupil, drew a black arrow with a pencil on her eyelids for ages in a toilet, put on fishnet tights, boots and a mini skirt. As he said, even then I had to smack? It was necessary to. I firmly knew that a literature teacher could not stand any traces of make-up on her face, she was driving out to wash. But not me. I once learned to be tough and cynical, to manipulate the grace of a bulldozer. Childishly, without a shadow of diplomacy. It is a pity, of course, that this skill so often spoiled my life. No, to be a little softer, shy, more tender. God be with him, why should I defend my bastions. Who needs them when, just take a step back and smile, as the enemy will turn out to be not the enemy at all, but my most devoted ally. He will give everything with pleasure. Castles, bastions, and he himself will come to their defense.

So who pulled my tongue? Not for the tongue, for the hand. Who needs this domination of mine? Not me, that's for sure. Yes, she asked hard, and steel handcuffs. And the chains, to jingle, pierced insensible hard links into the flesh and cooled the skin. The feeling of helplessness and the fact that I am not deciding where to stay and how. Messages deleted, but who knew that they are not deleted from the addressee. Alas, what is written with a pen ... For having sent, without thinking, in a hurry, sipping cognac, jamming it with hateful chocolate, you will have to pay for it with silence, my endless letters, ingratiations, apologies. And who knows what side will turn life.

Silence. A day or two or three. I write almost the same thing. Nothing happens. Accidentally wandered into an almost regime object, taking pictures. There is a very loyal attitude to tourists here - the military have gathered, they are discussing something, holding me tenaciously in sight, watching my every move. I waited! ... Dry message in a few words. At least something! Even so. No, I did not forgive. Then I understand that it is not easy to forgive him. He remembers everything, as if he was not a living person. A person who trusts only himself. No one else. I cling to the letter, like the last straw, pulling communication. I'm trying to tell something, interest.

And then - forever silence. Although, what is the eternity? Just five days. On the island. Without water, electricity, communications, the Internet. No one worries about me. There, as I call it, on the Big Earth. Distant land. TV is not watched, or is it such a small thing - some kind of God-forgotten island, cut off from the rest of the world.

The long-awaited Internet. The first thing I write to him. Answers Everything - I'm not here anymore. We discuss everyday life, showers, hurricanes, music that he loves, dreams. Fantasies flowed. He bought me a present - a whip. I asked hard. And I'm scared - I can not imagine how hard it is. I'm terribly afraid of pain. Dental, for example. I insist on double anesthesia in the dentist's office in order not to accidentally notice the instrument touching its teeth. And then - harder. I like that flogger so much. And how he masterfully owns it. Caressing, very gentle and sensitive. Or sensually. What difference does it make when I remember almost every stroke, and from time to time I scroll through that first meeting in my head. In detail. I do not even remember - I find myself there. I feel smells, touches, penetrations. I am a man of smells. And also - very tactile. Perhaps that is why I love to touch others myself, I love it when they touch me, touch me not only with my hands, but also ...

We agreed to meet. I'm already in Moscow. Outside the window - a harsh winter. I am in a light jacket, autumn boots, with scattered hair, a huge heavy suitcase and a laptop, not the easiest, but flying. On planes and simply - from the table to the tile. There is no snow, because of this the cold seems unbearable, the icy wind penetrates through, rips off light clothing, ice tentacles climbs under the skirt. At the airport, his driver meets me. I asked. That rare case when I really need to feel the care. It feels like everyone forgot about me this month. And only he - the thread that pulled me back. Thousands of kilometers away, seas, hundreds of cities ... Invisible, almost tangible thread.

I hastily decide everything. A meeting. Long-awaited, suffered a meeting. I do not need a hotel. I am ready to rip the clothes straight in the car, dig a kiss into his hand, cling and inhale such a dear smell. And why do I always come in long? Critical view ... but, I have not worn a mini for so long. It seemed to me: for each age - its own skirt length. And I firmly believed in the statement of Coco Chanel, that the ugliest place for women is under the knee. Now the long one is a rare guest in my wardrobe. An exception is made only for evening dresses in the floor.

Everything that has become familiar. My late arrival, with fingers that are frozen, timidly open the door, slip into the interior of the car, unable to lift my head ... and suddenly I smile. Widely, trustingly, sincerely. He is always surprised by my smile. Is nobody smiling, or should I beg for forgiveness for being late? I would, of course, but in a different way. I do not want to chat. I want to look at him, his hands, surely gripping the steering wheel, at how he takes off abruptly and almost never smiles. What is he thinking about? I always wanted to get into his head. Impossible.

Hotel. Turning the key - the space for me was curtailed to a single room and it filling everything. Short order to undress. I take off my dress, leave the lace underwear, in which my already dark skin seems even more tanned. The habitual and desirable gravity of a hand on my head presses down. Obediently kneel. He is wearing clothes. I press my cheek to his cock. Do we have a greeting like that? With the other hand he unzips his pants, pulls out his penis, rub his cheek, touch his lips to the head, gently lick it, suck slightly. She pulls away, pats me on the head, I sit down on the bed, throw my leg over my leg and calmly watch him undress and gently fold things. When did I learn to watch it, not hesitating and not looking away? Why doesn't it occur to me to undress him?

I am always surprised by this man’s ability to fold his things carefully. Wherever they are. I can't do this. No, here I even hang my clothes in the closet, but at home I hang them in chairs, cling to a mannequin. I can not simply reach the cabinet. No, I'm not the bottom. Etiquette I do not indulge. Norman's Slave of Horus was not read. Collar love. As a sign of belonging to this man.How can I find out without him that now he belongs to me? What stupid thoughts - I belong to him. At least,...