These are exciting times.  Spring is a time for new.  Spring is fresh.  Spring breathes life and creativity and promise. 

I’ve always preferred the Fall. 

The Fall is when we reap what we’ve sown.  The Fall is when we are reminded of what we’ve done and who we are.  Winter is coming and so is the truth it will usher in with the frost.  You prepared or you didn’t.  This is the Fall.  And I’m good with the work I’ve done.

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I am an apex predator.  Fuck me, it’s true.  So I am proud of the fact that I showed restraint with regards to my Mistress.  I noticed we often commented on the same posts.  We watched many of the same deviants.  Dang, some of her comments were poignant.  I found myself “upping” my game in terms of bondage analysis hoping she’d notice my expertise as I’ve noticed hers.  But that’s as far as I’d go.  I didn’t comment directly on her posts.  I just traveled in a parallel line at arm’s length.  I noticed how busy she was.  I was aware of the collection of submissives who groveled to her.  She didn’t need another groveling sub, and groveling isn’t really my forte anyway.  So I stayed close enough to observe the show, but only just that close.  And I expected that was as close as I’d ever go.

After all, I had my own rewarding circle of friends and Dom/mes and we scratched each other’s itches.  I stayed in my end of the pool.  Let other subs splash around in water over their heads and make a spectacle.  I doubt it has the intended effect, anyway.

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“You’re in a state now, aren’t you?”  I feel clumsy laying on my back with one hand stroking my labia and the other palm pressed against my temple to apply pressure and give me another sensation to focus on.  “Why is it so dang hard?”  I rub my eyes and plunge my index finger between my vaginal lips.  The dampness has been more than damp since before Mistress said “Good night.  I love you.” 

I’m sucking on two fingers.  I hadn’t even realized they’d traveled down from my temple to my mouth.

“No sense wasting all that spit.”  My mouth makes a slight suction noise as my soaking digits pop free of my lips bound for others.  The hand that had just been playing in the musky places between my legs was up into my nostrils in a moment.  I breathed myself in.  I smell “earthy,” which is such a non-descriptive word but everyone understands what it describes.  Earthy.  It means “like sex.”  It means “natural.” 

My air gets caught and I gasp in little flutter breaths.  My legs, once stretching by the toes to the bed posts, are now bent.  My feet are flat on the bed and I’m lifting my hips off the deck and rotating into my hand.  My head is craning back slowly and I inhale hard loving the smell like I’ve never loved any scent before.  The effort of holding myself up on my heels and the back of my head like a twisted tripod should be distracting, at least, but it’s a complete non-issue.  The body is now on autopilot.  And it’s overwhelming my mind and my self-control.  I understand that I shouldn’t but I go deeper and drag across the filmy sides of my inside walls. 

“Fuck!  Oh God!”

I fall back onto my side on the mattress.  My legs are now pinching my hand like a press, refusing to let it go.  I’m bouncing and grinding while I cover my mouth and nose with the delicious musky hand.  I’m clenching my eyes tight and light-headed as I hold my breath to stave off the forbidden orgasm I’m driving myself right up against. 

I just can’t stop.  I just can’t.  I just have to have it. 

“AAAHhhhhhhhhhHH!!!!!!!”  It’s a screech and not a moan.  It’s nails on a slate.  It’s my last molecule of resolve and just barely enough to shake myself out of the euphoria Mistress plunged me into.

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“Click click click.   Click Click Click.”

I’d staged my cuffs on the headboard before I started.  I ratchet them onto my wrists while I could still resist the urgency of my want.  I am just in time.  The fire spreads into intense tingling that my hands feel a desperate need to join.  Thank God they can’t, or I’d have failed this task.  The cuffs rattle above my head.  I pull my right foot up along the length of my left leg enjoying the smooth skin to skin contact.  If only I could reach my heel all the way up into my crotch. 

“HHaaaaaaaaa…..”  My frustration is greater than my pride in succeeding, clearly showcasing my present need for training.  My intentions are good but my habits are poor. 

Fortunately, I feel motivation to please Mistress.  I came close to failing, and history tells me that there will be times that I will fail. 

I hope Mistress is ready.

The time to reap is upon us.