"deeply i go down into myself. my god is dark and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence." -rainer maria rilke


ways to make it work.

i mentioned in my previous post that the devil has gone pond-hopping.  for thirty-seven days.

i heaved the heaviest of sighs when i realized the duration he'd be gone.  obviously, what with us living about fifteen hours apart, the amount of time we get to spend together (i.e. fucking each others brains out) is severely limited.  so we're mostly connected through our cell phones and gmail accounts.  it's rough.  really rough.  but i've accepted that it is what it is because it's supposed to be this way right now...and find ways to make it work.

dirty photos via text, dirty text messages, phone sex, etc.  and he gives me directives here and there.   (you may have noticed how much i enjoy receiving directives from him...)

thirty-seven days of even more restricted contact.  it was rough already.  really rough.  but now, it's like going on some sort of vision quest.

i can't do my daily assignment.  the thought made my heart sink. (i've been instructed to call him every day on my lunch break.) i can't send a text saying, "let me see you...please?" and receive a photo several minutes later...sink, sink, sink.

readers, this is mental bondage. 

at least i have my collection of cock photos to salivate over.

i also have a list of directives to follow.  a couple days before he left, i was sitting outside on my lunch break...enjoying a particularly nice day...and had been "let off the hook" for my daily phone call on account of he was busy getting ready to skip town.  whirling through me was a deep-seated desire to ask for a new assignment, or even a restriction, for while he is away.

and so...ever so respectfully, i sent him a text expressing to him how much his directives please me...and asked if i may have new ones to follow in his absence.  he responded immediately, "oh yeah.  let me think about this one."

i have no idea what kind of idiot grin came exploding out of my face upon reading that...but it was most definitely an explosive variety of idiot grin.  he's spending time thinking on it...

i received my directives later that evening.  they are as follows:

  1. cut off a bit of my hair every day for 37 days.  put it in a bag.   give it to him when he tells me to.
  2. count the days he is gone in tick marks on a mirror in my bedroom.  take a photo of myself nude in the mirror every day.  email him the photos every three days.
  3. beat off every day.  write down three lines in a journal describing what i'm fantasizing about when i get off.  give him the journal when he tells me to.
  4.  have sex with a woman.  write to him about my experience.

i was sitting in a lab at school when these came through, working on a creative brief for one of my classes.  after writing all of this down (i'm a studious little sub), i was barely able to focus.

counting the days?  bits of hair?  he must really want me to feel it.

i told him i would cut off longer bits of hair on the days when it was particularly painful that our contact was so restricted.  he approved.  he's been gone four days now...and i'm starting to wonder if i'm not going to end up with a bob by the time he gets back.  i sent him an email telling him so.  he said it would be cute.  but god damn it.  my hair!  i know you can't see me, readers...but i'll tell you...i've been growing my hair out for a little over a year now...it's grown past my shoulders...and i love it so much.

yup.  he really wants me to feel it. 

as to having sex with a woman... prior to my coupling with the devil, i was on a mission to be polyamorous and explore pansexuality... (yes, pan...)  i've played with other women before, and been a third party to sex with a couple as well.  but never have had the opportunity to do the girl-on-girl scene i've been wanting. 

now i have to do it.

and since it's coming from him, it makes me want it even more. 

it's sort of remarkable how strong this desire is in me to be subservient to him.  i told him recently that he makes me want to live on my knees, and it's so true.  and what's even more remarkable is that it's just naturally like this. 

later that evening, i told him that i love it when he tells me what to do...and how i love doing what he tells me to do.  he replied that he loves it too...then he used the words direction and purpose.  

and i melted inside.

thirty-seven days.

this, readers...is mental bondage.  at least for this girl.  

forced contact restrictions, cutting off bits of hair, counting the days in tick marks on my bedroom mirror.

i'm feeling a lot like a princess locked in a tower



the devil and i have been doing phone sex. 

this is new for me.  i've done plenty of sexting.  that's actually how this whole wonderful nightmare started.  i suppose now that we finally got to fuck, we've graduated to phone sex.  i have to smile a bit when i think about how he was the first person i ever sexted with, the first person i ever sent filthy photos to, the first person i've done phone sex with...and how he's going to be the first person i do anal sex with.

that last bit really gives me a thrill.

the first time we did it, i had to go to my car on my lunch break from work.  i loved that.  i am beginning to think i have a serious exhibitionist streak running through me that is just starting to surface.

the second time, we did it after i got home from work.  i was instructed to remove all of my clothes immediately after walking through my front door, and not to call him till i had done so.  have i mentioned how hot it makes me when he tells me what to do?  well it does.  steamy hot.  just the thought of receiving directives from him makes my pussy twitch.

i did as i was told.  and called him immediately after, while walking from the front door to my bedroom.  

"hi baby..."
"are you naked?"
"good girl.  what're you doin?"
"layin' in bed."
".........touch your pussy."

and off we went.  cursing and muttering filthy ideas into each others ears through the phone.  moaning and gasping and periodically growling "god baby...you're so fucking HOT!"

i came several times over.  getting off so intensely hard from the sound of him getting off on the other end.  he came, and i asked for a photo.  it's sort of an ongoing thing with us.  he jerks off, sends me photos of it, then takes a photo of his cum, wherever it went, and sends me that.  i really fucking love it.  if it's on the floor, i find myself feeling an urge to drop down on all fours and lick it up.

but my favorite, by far, is if he manages to get it in his hand...

as he put it, "feed it to you like you're a deer in a petting zoo."

my pussy just twitched again.  i am such a cum slut.

....i digress.

i received my cum photo, and continued rubbing off...toying my cunt with a dildo.  i couldn't stop cumming.  we were texting back and forth as i did it, and fell into a pattern that was something like this:

i cum.  send him a text telling him so.
continue toying myself.
i cum again, and simultaneously my phone vibrates with a new text alert.
i text back.  telling him i can't stop cumming.
more toying.
cum again.  new text alert.

it went on like that for about five or six texts until i came so hard that it probably looked like i was having a seizure.  and as i did, suddenly, a wind came through my window so hard that it blew everything off of my windowsill.  tarot cards and feathers went flying everywhere.  statues and chunks of gemstones went crashing to the floor.

maybe i should stop now...i thought to myself.  so i stopped.

i was shaking from head to toe.  had to have a drink immediately to calm myself down.

he makes me cum harder than anyone else, ever...and without even laying a hand on me.  his voice in my ear is one tiny orgasm after another.  his dirty texts turn me on to the point of cumming when i shift in my chair at work.

yesterday he asked me via text from the airport(he's on his way to europe to tour for 37 days-more on that in my next post....)

"why are we so fucking hot for each other?!??!"

i told him it was the zodiac.  (it is.)

but beyond that...i'm beginning to believe that what is really going on here is that we've both met our match.


pt. 2

continued from pt. 1

i left kansas city a couple hours after he did.  my trip back to st. louis that day was a drag.  i found myself replaying the previous night over and over again in my head... and, frustrated from being unable to fuck him again that morning, i kept rubbing my pussy through my jeans while driving, squirming and fidgeting in my seat the entire way back.

there wasn't time for us to meet up before the show...so i stayed at my apartment, hung out with my pals, listened to music, dolled myself up, and shared my whiskey.  there was a lot of laughing.  i'm lucky in that i have a really amazing group of pals here, they make me laugh so hard that i cry, and i love that.

later that evening, after his show, we snuck around the venue trying to find someplace to fuck.  we ended up on the balcony of off broadway...kissing.  deep kissing.  ravenous.  his hand slid up my skirt, his fingers into my pussy.  it's remarkable how wet he makes me.  the insides of my thighs were covered in pussy juice.  i wanted that cock.  i was aching for him to destroy me.  put me outta my fuckin misery already.

i don't remember why we stopped.  but we stopped.  i guess he had to "get to work" again...help the band pack up the van...some music dude shit.  whatever.

i paced around anxiously.  i couldn't stop questioning whether or not he was really coming back to my apartment.  my internal dialogue was something along the lines of...

is he or isn't he is he or isn't he is he or isn't he...

over and over.


i went outside to watch and wait.

the scene was intense.

i felt like a caged animal.

like a race horse...waiting in the gate.  waiting for that signal to go go go...

finally, he came up to me and dropped the bomb.  the band was leaving town.  he would stay, but i more or less had to promise him that i would drive him to wherever the band was in the morning.  it could have been anywhere between st. louis and cincinatti.  could have been a real long drive, just to fuck someone.

but a shift had occurred in my perception of who this someone is.  this wasn't just someone.  this wasn't just some fuck.  this was rare.

i agreed.  i promised.  and we went back to my place.

he was adorable.  all worried about where the band was going.  we messed around a bit.  but he was clearly distracted.  so we just kissed and groped and fooled around. 

i still cannot get over that kiss.  even now, over a month later, i can feel his mouth on my own.  our tongues move together as though they belong to each other.  there is no other kiss like this one.   none.  this kiss is perfect.

it's unbelievable how much and yet how little i remember about that night.  i had really lost myself.  dead gone.  over the cliff.  however, my body's consciousness had latched on to specific sensations.  his cock thrusting in and out of my pussy...his fingers in my mouth...his hands in my hair...his mouth on my mouth...his cock down my throat.  ALL THE WAY DOWN MY THROAT.

this was really the thing that blew my mind the most.

i have never had a cock go so far into my mouth that it pushed through my tonsils and went all the way down my throat like that.  my fucking tonsils...which are ENORMOUS by the way...opened for him.  and it was the most incredible feeling.  his hands entangled in my hair at the roots.  me gagging and spitting up ridiculous amounts of that deep throat spit...lover's spit...that beautiful fluid.  he took ahold of my hair hard...pushed in...and held it there...until suddenly, i opened up.

and to hear him talk about how it felt when it happened....just...god...it really makes me feel like a good girl.  i love it so much.

anyway!  i thought i was doing deep throat before!  previous lovers had sung praises of my abilities!   

best blow job ever!  you're amazing!  etc.

apparently i hadn't really been giving deep throat.  or this was just the furthest down a cock has ever been.  or...well...both.

the point is, it went there.  and every time i think of it, my body consciousness conjures the sensation back.  i can feel the texture of his cock on my tongue...that beautiful mess of black pubic hair against my face...my throat opening up...and god it turns me on.  it's the stuff of dripping wet daydreams.

we fucked on my couch.  we fucked in my bed.  my bed went totally crooked from the force of his fuck.  i'm not allowed to straighten it out, per his directives.

god i love his directives...

my pink sparkly american apparel dress is still laying on the floor where we left it.  and he's haunting my bed.  i can't lay on my back without seeing him in front of my face...

the following morning, i woke up to having my brains pounded out of me.  it was at this point that i realized that i had been destroyed.  i was, from here, worthless to anyone but him.  i found myself intermittently looking into his eyes while he fucked me...and he was looking right back.  we had really dug our claws into each other now.  i was on the edge of the bed with my legs splayed open, and then he was on top of me...holding my arms down.  we were fucking face to face, my legs pushed up by my head.  he was so fucking deep in me.  he had fucked through everything that i am.  he had gotten to my core.  and it's difficult to write about.  not because it's hard to describe, but because somehow...i can still feel him in me.

i died that morning.  i died from his fuck.

it was getting close to time for us to leave.  we stopped to look up directions to the where the band had ended up...about an hour outside of town.  we both got dressed.  i felt shell-shocked.  neither of us were saying much. 

filthy thoughts were creeping around in my head.  i want his cum in me.  i want it in me.  i want it to be mine.

i was not about to let him leave without giving it to me.  he walked into my room...and i was visibly not okay.  we kissed, i reached down and put my hand on his cock.  it was hard.  so i dropped to my knees and pulled it out, and began worshiping it immediately.

we both knew what was going to happen.  we had spoken of it, sort of in passing.  but now it was going to be real.

i stood up and pulled my jeans down to below my ass, turned around, and bent over the bed...and invitation for him to pound into me one last time before we left.  and of course he did.

it was unbelievable how hot this was.  his cock felt so fucking good.  my legs were weakening, my pussy was throbbing as i squeezed my pelvic muscles along with every thrust until he was about to cum...

"where do you want it?"

 he wanted me to say it.

"cum in my pussy, baby..."

and he did.  so hard that i heard his boot stomp as he did.  and god, it felt amazing.

he pulled out, breathing heavily, and leaned back against my closet door.  i turned around, pulling my jeans back up, buckling my belt, and sat on the edge of my bed facing him.  we looked at each other for what felt like a long time, but i'm sure it wasn't...not speaking...but saying it with our eyes.

the eyes.  the eyes have it.

and then...it was time to go.

i could feel our comingled fluids seeping out of me during the drive.  we didn't really say much, but kept resting our hands on each others thighs...and eventually...holding hands.


i cried on the drive back.  i knew coming down from that experience was going to be an existential crisis.  it was.  i went straight to bed when i got home.  slept most of the day.

a month later, and i'm famished for more already.  we're meeting again in june.  it's so far away.

in the meantime...i guess i'll have to write some erotic fictions to keep me busy...unless i get a girl to play with me...i can't conceive of any other man but him.  i belong to that cock and the person it's attached to.

and i love it.
"in the slaughterhouse of love, they kill only the best, none of the weak or deformed. don't run away from this dying. whoever's not killed for love is dead meat." - rumi