I met Dr. Seuss at one of those lovely boutique hotels today, after a complimentary breakfast with the Girlfriend and some tea at the Café. I’m completely fucked up to continually tease the chef about the going on-s in my life. He had asked me where I was going just before I’d left, and I’d let him take a peek into my bondage box (60 m or rope, several rolls of duct tape, some plastic switches, a few gags -little rattan balls wrapped into silk hankies- and two blindfolds). ‘Dee and her boyfriend’, I told him.
When I got to the room, he’d picked me up and started kissing me, and said he’d missed me so much. He’s got a lovely voice. The very eloquent, smooth talking, velvety sort that just sounds a little too slick for comfort, but utterly erotic when you’re blind-folded and bonded. Like some evil villain from a James Bond movie or something. He’d stripped me down to my panties when I said I really needed to go to the bathroom. He let me, and when I opened the door to the bathroom, oh my good lord, who should be sitting on the toilet bowl but
Later when
I looked at him when he told her to be quiet, and said, ‘don’t be so harsh’ with the biggest, cutest, doe eyes I can possibly muster. And he felt bad immediately and apologized. But we all stopped making a lot of noise from then.
At this point, I’m chucking to myself and thinking about how the situation mildly resembles Bataille’s Story of Eye, where Sir Edward watches from the side as Simone and the protagonist make out. But of course this was different. Sometimes, I was also making out with him, while
You have no idea how exhausting less than 3 hours of a bondage ménage a trios can be, but it is. Not only you gotta try and include everyone, as with most threesomes, you’ve also got to make up stories on the stop, and figure out how to tie each other up. He was good at it, Dee and I are terrible. We have to practice more for Friday’s shoot. It’s a Christmas set in green and red ropes for Suicidegirls. The only problem is,
It was over just when we were all getting very tired, and when he’d come all over my tits. And he’d gotten dressed and asked me to pack up my bondage kit, and I said I’d do it after a little bit of a lie down. The dispensation of the cash is always a weird situation for me, and while I feel bad that someone should have to pay for love (and the fact that I actually do like him as a person doesn’t help the feeling either) I wouldn’t make out with him unless there was money involved. It’s not a friggin’ huge sum for a guy like him –I know it’s what my dad can afford if he only had one kid, instead of the whole litter he’d decided to make-. But nonetheless, it still discomforts me.
It felt so odd that after he’d given me the cash, I just needed to snuggle him for a bit. Kinda my way of saying, hey, I really do like you for who you are, only… well… the incentive is a very much welcomed encouragement. Like a gift, and so thanks for it. I really do try to be nice to him and make it out like I care. Which I do.
I bought a new top today, just because I could. It’s god-damn hot too.
Shopping list:
Black boots
Sexy handbag that can hold a ton of stuff.
Hot pants
White micro-mini skirt
Fucking hell I love Guess handbags.
xoxox
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