A boyfriend once wrote a poem about me. All I can remember is the line “She falls in love like she’s running through a dark forest.” I didn’t understand what that meant. He said, “Blindly. You fall in love blindly, fearlessly, recklessly.”
He was right. Years later I ran faster and deeper into the woods than I ever had before. And we collided.
Today is my birthday. Another first without Him. It’s been a few days shy of seven months. I am awake at 2:38am. In the deepest part of the night, the witching hour comes for me. Relentlessly. From the moment of impact to the call telling me there had been an accident, for seven months the witching hour haunts me.
Before bed I cuff my wrists. I pull the sheets back, running my hands down my calves and wrap the familiar cuffs around my ankles. They feel like a caress. My Sir holding me firmly. I clip my nipples, though not with the clovers, I have lost the ability to tolerate those. I haven’t been used in many months. The sharp bite of the clips creates the wetness needed for my plugs. First my ass after being dipped in my own juices. My pussy is next and I push the plug in with a merciless force. I want it to hurt. I need it to.