Dreaming Where I Can't Go

My sleeping mind is taking care of what my body cannot currently do, screaming out the longing, arranging it all quite neatly...

When He reached for me on Sunday morning, I was right in the middle of this -- dreaming where I can't go...

He'd piled pillows on the leather ottoman, to cushion and pad my still tender abdomen, and then tied me down so tightly that there was no chance at all that I was going to jerk or twist or twitch or pull -- Arms, legs, chest; from front to back and side to side, I was utterly secure and immobile, unable to move a muscle save to breathe.

This first venture back into pain was ahead of my medical release for intercourse, so there would be no need to worry about untying me quickly when we were done -- no concern that we might miss the opportunity for fucking afterwards. Spankable, but not fuckable -- opens doors for bondage that we seldom go through because pain is most often foreplay for us...

Careful not to jar or jostle my still tender insides, He chose only the lightest implements. No paddles this time. Canes. And wicked, narrow straps that raised bright thin welts. And cries. And sweat. And blood. And released the pent up frustrations of so many weeks.

Sigh.

I curled, sleepily into His arms, and told Him of my dream, tears of sadness falling onto His chest.

swan
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