It’s late. Far later than I should be awake. Yet here I am, naked in my bed, pondering the existence of the cobweb on my light.

Ugh.

I can’t seem to wind down again. Another sleepless night, another missed workout in the morning.

I’m frustrated, but I will never tell you that.

I am, and always will be eternally patient with you, as you are with me. I will wait, as I have waited until now, with the door open, for your instructions. For you to take the lead.

You have turned it up. Bit by bit, step by step. You have, and I have responded accordingly. The more you take or demand the more I give. It is only natural.

But. And this is a big but.

I am frustrated.

Not to be confused with unhappy. Because that is the last thing I am.

You fulfill so very many things for me. And give me so much more.

But for fucks sake Sir.

Fucking tie me up and hurt me!

I will never ask you to strap me to a cross and spank me, beat me with every tool in the case. Force my pleasure out of my pain and make me ride that high until I collapse in your arms.

I won’t ask you for that. I can’t bring myself to ask that of you. Even though that is the release I need so very much right now.

I want to feel the mark of your whip the next day. And the day after.

But I cannot ask for it.

I realize this means that I will continue to sir here and be frustrated because I know that you are not psychic.

You have waited so very patiently for me to willingly submit. Taken control, bit by bit and I have happily given it to you.

But I crave more.

I crave to be at your mercy.

I crave hearing your words echo in my ear.

I crave the sting and the thud of the toys.

I crave you, inside me and wrapped around me as I collapse into you. Spent, worn, used and bruised. Feel you once hard and cruel hands touching me tenderly and gently. Holding the broken pieces of me as they mend them selves thanks to your catalyst.

So Sir, please. I am frustrated. So very frustrated. I need your touch. Both the kind and the cruel.