Revival: A restoration to use, acceptance, activity, or vigor after a period of obscurity or quiescence.
My revival was a deeply moving spiritual experience.
It feels as if life was breathed back into me.
There’s nothing like a true Renaissance Man to bring out the best in a girl.
A couple of days ago Mr. H (Hemingway) paid me a visit. If you will recall from my previous posts, we had agreed to take things very slow given my ordeal with the cruel bastard (aka Bond/Ike Turner).
We decided to meet over lunch and spend some time getting to know each other better, allowing me to move at a slower pace.
But the day before our meeting, I had a change of heart.
Instead, I invited Mr. H over for lunch at my house. I felt comfortable and he understood that this was to allow us some privacy in conversation, but was not an invite to play. He was agreeable.
But about an hour before he was to arrive, I had another change of heart and sent him a message.
Me: “There’s a sale on nylon rope at the Tractor Supply Store. It’s on your way in town. Just wanted you to know, Sir.”
Mr. H: “Oh really? There are some interesting items there. They do have nice riding crops. I must go and check that out on my way in”
Me: “Good, Sir. I think I am in need of some discipline today.”
I was back….back on my journey.
Mr. H arrived exactly at noon. When I answered the door, I was pleasantly surprised to find him holding a dozen red roses and a bag of my favorite dark chocolate.
Intense dark chocolate. Little did I know that the word “intense” was a foreshadowing of the afternoon.
We talked for a bit, sharing even more of ourselves with each other.
Intellectually, Mr. H is a perfect match for me. We simply get each other. We align in every way mentally. I was so curious about how things would be between us, physically.
There was instant chemistry. Intense chemistry. Truly, it was beyond chemistry, it was our own energy.
There was no awkwardness or inhibition. And surprisingly, I found myself immediately comfortable without trepidation. It was like the debacle with Bond never even happened.
Mr. H disrobed me in the kitchen and led me into my bedroom. He instructed me to take my shoes off and climb onto the bed, lying on my stomach. He massaged my body from shoulder to feet and then scratched my back in the same way. It was so arousing.
I was instructed to move up onto all fours. I could hear him rummaging through his bag of accoutrements. I wondered what such a gentleman would begin my instruction with.
He briefly showed me the riding crop before curtly using it across my bare bottom. He did this multiple times. Each time he struck me with the crop, I felt more and more aroused. I was coming back to my center.
He then changed things up with a new instrument. I didn’t know what it was, but it felt like a belt. He then switched it up again. This time he showed me the implement.
“This is a birch. it is used in a very similar way as caning.”
Caning…the word was terrifying. I had read about caning, but had never tried anything like it. But as scary as that sounded, I was completely at ease with Mr. H.
He went on to explain the concept behind caning as he lightly struck me with the birch. It was stimulating and I found myself craving his pain.
Again we shifted into even more pleasurable things. Mr. H was a very experienced lover and attentive to my every need. I found myself over the edge again and again. He continued to take me there over and over.
I must share that I am woman who appreciates a man able to express himself well, orally.
Then everything took on a new level of intensity as he entered me.
Without discussion. Without a label. Without words.
We embarked on a trip to a Tantric Nirvana.
In no way will my words do justice to what we experienced.
We were completely in sync. The intensity was dense with an energy unlike anything created before.
Again and again, he brought me over the edge. It was almost too much at times.
And each time he brought me to an orgasm, he stared deeply into my eyes to share and partake in my bliss.
This went on for hours, each minute seemed more acutely profound than the one before.
And his piercing stare…the look in his eyes as he continued to take me…
He looked beyond the boundaries of my eyes. Hemingway openly stared into my soul. He consumed me with each movement.
And although he began our session with some much-deserved discipline, he closed with intensely dark, passionate sex.
After our foray into hedonistic indulgence, we both just lied there in reflection of what had just transpired between us.
It was spiritual.
For me, a true revival.
It is exactly what I seek in this journey to enlightenment.
Three days later, I am still in awe of the experience. I feel I am a changed woman. More aware. More open.
It takes an authentic Dom to understand the consummate submissive. And Hemingway has glimpsed into my soul.
Much more to come…so much more