How far away are you?
I was frantic. I wanted to play, but not play with something that I had every intention to sell.
Shops, why?, he replied.
Ookay, I can probably do a quick picture then hehe.
You can do the picture when I’m at home?
I don’t wanna model the bondage stuff, thanks lol
Well I was right, I didn’t. Erotic photography is one thing, but it doesn’t usually drive sales to be modelling “erotic clothing” on yourself. At least, not on EBay.
A few minutes later and the door opened.
“What are you up to?” he asked. So suspicious.
“Nothing!” I offered, far too high for conviction. My voice definitely gave me away that I was most definitely up to something.
As he approached, I lounged back on the bed. Concealed beneath the duvet were our our black rose bondage set and a handful of red silk rose petals.
“You can be a good girl until tomorrow night” he said, half threateningly.
“Tomorrow night? But tomorrow night is date night!”
“I know what tomorrow is” he chided playfully.
I regarded him with suspicion. We never play on date night.
Last night I spent a lot of time in a funky mood, tonight is date night, and we never play on date night. Date night is supposed to be being nice, that whole hearts and flowers deal, sort of a sweetener for engaging in my dark and deviant with me. I mean, to our vanilla friends (and family), then Friday night is always date night. However, my kinky friends would know that alternate Fridays are not quite as vanilla as they may first appear.
But tonight is not one of them.
A part of me felt completely betrayed. Oh sure, I could be good if there was playtime involved, I could be very good. The problem was that I knew there wouldn’t be any play time involved and so I felt hustled, and nobody hustles the hustler.
“Kissies?” I’d ask, and he’d always give, never one to shy away from affection.
I’d cover his computer mouse with my hand and slowly inch it up my sleeve. The price of the safe return of the computer mouse was.. oh.. I don’t know.. more kisses?
But none of that, not tonight. Tonight, I had to be a good girl, and then I knew I’d be a good girl and then I’d be reminded that it’s date night.
“But I’ve been good!”
“Yeah, but it’s date night.”
The hardest part of not knowing is knowing what I should do about the housework. How much should I worry and stress? Shoud I do a little and not stress the small stuff? I don’t want to work my little ass off if it’s just going to be spaghetti bolognese and a night in front of the TV. I’m half expecting our vacation to be a very vanilla affair as it is, given the close proximity of my mother and brother (we’ll share a chalet wall) and the sombre and difficult reason behind the trip- scattering my beloved father’s ashes. Our vacation is a week away, and I’d like to slot a little shenanigans in to lower the cortisol levels before then.
“Playtime” has been on my mind for a while now and it feels like the only way to resolve this issue is to go through it. There is an innate need to surrender, and damnit, it’s not going to leave me alone until I do. I know how good that freedom feels, I know how good that sweet release tastes and I’m so hungry to taste it.
So very, very fucking hungry to taste it.