I got to work yesterday morning, opened my computer bag, and started unpacking everything onto my desk. Laptop, power cord, iPod attachment, bottle of lube, cellphone cord, work folder…
Holy shit. Lube?? Lube!
I’d forgotten that I had thrown it on top of everything in my computer bag on the way out the door, as part of packing for a “date” that W has set up for tonight.
I’m having a hard time thinking of it as a “date.” And really, it isn’t at all. It’s…an assignation. He’s taking me to a hotel room to meet a Dom that he has allowed to use/play with me once before.  Once there, it is not a “social” occasion. I will not be allowed to speak or socialize at all, in fact, and will be there to be used as fuckmeat, as a collection of holes, as a body and nothing more to be used and abused by them both.
A really hot fantasy, right?
But in reality…I am a ball of nerves and anxiety. So much so that although I packed the lube (a concession on W’s part, because of my concerns about damage to my inner labia/rings) I forgot to pack my work clothes for today.  It’s kind of hot that I had to come to work in “spare” work clothes that I scrounged for at his house. I keep looking down at myself and it reminds me about tonight.
Sometimes, I wish that W would do that intentionally…prep me more. Send me to work with tangible reminders of what’s to come, of what I am, especially in a situation like this.  Tell me to wear something just this side of inappropriate, or to do certain things throughout the day…  But that’s not really his thing.  Mostly (at least in this case, I assume) because he doesn’t want to interfere with work.  But hell, I’m already having a hard time concentrating.  Then again, if that’s the case, maybe I don’t need his reminders, right? I already keep myself on the edge of anxiety.  Damn I make a good Dom! lol
Speaking of the line between fantasy and reality…my keyed-up state caused me to confess a nasty fantasy to a total stranger today. I have some dirty fucking fantasies, let me tell you, (and fantasies about dirty fucking), most of which, tho inspired by the nasty stuff W growls in my ear when he’s fucking me, I would never confess to.  Oftentimes not even to him, although he knows me well enough to know what turns me on, so can probably imagine the kinds of scenarios I dream up.  But detailing a fantasy in email or verbally is always hard for me. It’s even hard to do here, tho you wouldn’t know it to read my posts. But yes, doing it here, confessing those things, speaking the words (even thru the keyboard) is an adrenaline rush of fear and anxiety and embarrassment.  I can only do it because there’s this computer screen, and this blog, between you and I. I don’t know you, I don’t know who you are, who is reading these words, or if anyone is.  I can pretend that no one is.  I can pretend I never said it.  Like a kid hiding under a blanket, you can’t see me anymore once I click send.
(Of course that illusion is shattered when I get emails on my Fet profile from people I do know, like in real life, like that I talk to all the time, telling me how hot such-and-such a post was. lol)
Anyway. Confessing something like directly to someone in email was a bit outside my usual behavior. Impulsive. Daring, even.  Inappropriate.
I blame W. See? Even when he doesn’t “dom” me, he does. He makes me do all kinds of crazy shit.

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