#guiltypleasure

e-mail:  Tuesday, April 25, 2017.
“Good morning. You will write, by Thursday,  6am, about tits. Yours, the feeling when I touch, grope,  scrape with whiskered face. The connection to your lady parts. Tits.
Post to your blog
Master”

My tits.  He reminds me regularly “my” are not mine, but His.  One day, I want to see me how He sees me.  I am not a pin-up nor centerfold but a regular gal with an average body.  I have no tattoos nor piercings other than in my ears, and my once-quite-red hair now sparkles with strands of silver, especially in the sun.  I do not attract attention at parties, unless telling a joke or long story with a lively narrative.  Visually, I blend into every crowd.  And, I have always been OK with that.  So what does He see?  That is for Him to know.

The feelings when He touches, gropes, scrapes or brushes His manfur against and into my tender, pink swells?  It is never the same, but it is never predictable, either.  I know that does not help define the feelings.  It is a start.

What I am about to write is honest.  “Open and Honest” is something He introduced to me at the start; while W/we try to maintain this rule and obligation to each other, there have been times one of us has slipped and fibbed.  Open and Honest is just a phrase if you don’t follow through in practice.  I try to practice this with Him, with U/us, because anything else would abuse the gift of U/us.

This past week, post-period, my breasts normally feel light, bouncy, unbruised, happy, excitable and perky-pouty anxious for touch, stim, lips.  These two weeks are when they are literally hungering for arousal non-stop; on my days off, I go braless to experience every sensation from the weather to the rough edge of a shirt.  However, right now, they are feeling anything but sexy and aroused.  

For unknown reasons of His own, Master has embarked on a daily campaign of being very aggressive with His touch and handling.  There has not been a morning in the last week, since ending my period (and a couple days before), He has not aggressively manhandled, squeezed, pinched hard or pulled one or both breasts.  The tissue inside is sore.  Sore like it’s damaged, bruised, hurt.  My gorgeous, full pink-nippled breasts are more sore now than when they would be naturally swollen and tender before my period.  Without words, my breasts feel betrayed, abused, used but not adored nor pleasing.  

They have longing but not their regular lurid desires.  They want to be forgiven.  They want to be left alone unless it is to be caressed by His gentle, teasing touch.  More than that, they would benefit, as would my soul, from Loving and tender stroking and fondlings; from light, playful invitations to become aroused at their own speed.  And, in turn, firing my sex to wet and purr at his touch or breath.  Yet, despite the strong, direct-wired nip-clit connection, which is short fuse dynamite in my body, this groping handling feels it is meant to prove a point not invoke eroticism or make me wet…though His touch always makes me wet. 

And as I am writing I hear how awful this sounds; how very much like criticism and complaint this whines.  But, what may sound like complaint is me coming to terms with letting Someone have His way 100%, and that is the part of submission I am still learning:  what is balance, what is giving, what is receiving, what is healthy, what I deserve, and what I can ask and expect.  I ask little, as a submissive; I just am.  I do not know “no” nor feel wholly comfortable saying, NO to Him without fearing He will turn elsewhere or just away.  He is Master, but He is gentle-hearted and deeply feeling.  And I realize I will not be expected to, nor am asked to, “like” everything He does.  

Further honesty and personal risk:  I am ashamed that I have gently tried to cajole and push Him away or lift His hands from my aching tits this week.  It is not rejection but a call for ease, relief.  My breasts hurt that much from whatever aggression or assertiveness is driving Him right now.  Perhaps He is bored or seeks some different reaction from me.  Perhaps He has come to a dead-end with His needs and is growing in new directions, bringing me along blindfolded.

Today, I have gone braless for the second day in a row, and it feels healing to let them shape without being hugged or strapped.  They are breathing relief sighs, untouched, un-slapped or gouged by hard stubble…for now.  I love how He directs my body to His bidding or draws me to the edge of something exciting and unexplored.  Eventually, I will understand this passage, too.

~SmartSurrender