Maintaining high speeds

“Count on counting for me before we leave,” he said when I asked if we‘d have some playtime prior to our weekend trip.

We’re off to the races. NASCAR. Which may or may not be punishment enough for this particular girl. You see, I’m not a fan. I’ve never quite understood the appeal of watching cars turn left at dangerously high speeds. I am, however, looking forward to a weekend away with D and his friends, card-playing, barbecuing, and a (drastic) change of scenery. The thunder of the race cars, the adrenaline, the fans in head-to-toe NASCAR apparel (I own nothing of the like) may convert me. I suspect I am inconvertible, but we’ll see. I pride myself on my open mind, so this will be a test.

And of course, I’m anticipating a sore bottom and wondering what type of spanking is in store for me this afternoon. I foolishly, yet purposely, mentioned to D earlier this week that as we go deeper into our relationship I view him more as a “boyfriend” than a “Dom”.*

That’s like dangling raw steak in front of a tiger. Raar.

Maintenance may be on the menu. A reminder of our D/s roots, if not today, is certainly in our immediate future. That means more time with that dastardly heavy paddle and the wicked pink crop, more time on my knees, more time accepting his dominance over me.

It is what I want. It is what claims my breath and sets my mind on its blissful float: to give myself over to his will, to free my other self -- the submissive that remains well hidden to the masses. We mustn’t lose this element no matter how strong our romantic feelings grow.

I am, however, posting this after D already left for my house. No need for him to read it prior to passing a sentence that I suspect has already been passed.

Oh, and this is for D: Jeff Gordon sucks!

(*I have never for an instant forgotten that D is my Dom. It's just difficult finding and maintaining that balance. More on that for a later post.)

Top photograph by the amazingly talented Viva Van Story.