After tapping my pinkie toe and assuring Veskrashen I was fine. After dinner, Chicago style pizza with friends at a nearby restaurant. After showering, getting ready, and chugging a Sparx. After my afternoon, it was time for my evening.
For Sunday night, I donned a new dress. It was a black, tight, cotton stretch with ripped pieces of fabric woven like ladders on the front and back. And of course I wore my boots.
Casually wandering through the dungeon, I saw Veskrashen again. He greeted me with punches to my chest, a short little warm up for my evening.
My appetite wetted, he pointed towards Celeste, who was wearing a beautiful corset dress. After glimpsing her outfit, I stopped, leaned against a pillar, and watched a few scenes as they played out under a four point rig. A few of my friends were doing some suspensions.
After watching them for a while, I decided to be adventurous. Slowly I turned around, taking in the other scenes in progress in the dungeon. I glimpsed Scotty and NHF, but decided to keep looking.
And then I saw him again. Roughinamorato.
Directly across the dungeon, about thirty feet away. Once again, he only occupied an empty area with a sheet beneath him.
This time he played with a beautiful black woman with short hair. She too had her arms secured behind her back with a chest harness.
Like before, his play was all rough body work. He punched her, kneed and kicked her. He used the harness to pick her up and throw her down. He slapped her, but not just blows across the face. He mixed his hits with teasing kisses, lips so close, lips touching, and then a slap across her cheek.
Again, I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. Again, I was mesmerized. And as I sat on the floor, my eyes glued to their scene, it hit me.
Yes! That is what I want.
The hard hits. The body thumping, brutal play. The teasing and denial. The meanness, but with connection. That was what I wanted. That was how I imagined my play with my Daddy…when he finds me.
My spot was great for watching them, unless/until someone decided to walk right in front of my eye line. Or didn’t see me, because I sat on the ground, and lingered in front of my view. Or participants in the closer scene, on a rig slightly to my right, stepped into my gaze.
But, much like last time, I did not catch him at the beginning of his play. Instead I started watching somewhere in the middle. Rough’s scene, while amazing and intense, still had to end at some point.
And, when he did, I had to find some other way to fill my evening.
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