4.6
The second time I had sex with my Dom, I went there in an uneasy mood. I couldn’t tell him how anxious I was for the hour he didn’t text me back. I burst into tears when he said “maybe I’m not the right dom for you”. He broke my heart because at that moment he didn’t seem to regard me as his sub anymore. I’d rather hear him say you don’t deserve to be my sub. This will be much better. When he slapped me, I thought of him living in this world, living another life that had nothing to do with me. We meet, I kneel, he hits me, slaps me, fucks me, feeds me cum. Sexual relationship is the only intersections we have. It’s a bit like gouache paint, the moments of blending are always limited. After later drying, orange and red are in one painting, they are close, but will never meet again. Thinking of this makes me a little sad, but it’s a level that adults can bear. When he put my feet on his shoulders as a better position, for a moment I thought I would lock him forever. But as I think I got everything, I don’t seem to get anything. When he gave me fifty dollars to split hotel costs, I wondered if we would have next encounter. When I was waiting for the car on the side of the road and said byebye to him, he left without looking back. He said less and less that I was cute and maybe tired of my body and disgusted with my imperfections. I love to cry for him, be sad for him, be happy for him, and tilt all my emotions for him. Just like the arrival of spring.