The song lyric comes from DMX’s song called Party Up. I happened to hear it this morning while I was putting in miles on the treadmill. The lyric itself follows these particular verses.

And I don’t know who the fuck you think you talkin to
But I’m not him, aight Slim? So watch what you do
Or you gon’ find yourself, buried next to someone else

And we all thought you loved yourself.

The lyric often pops up when I’m agreeing to go to work when I didn’t want to. Don’t I love myself? Why am I committing to something I don’t want to do, something I’ll regret moments after I agree to it?

But this lyric has come to mind lately for a different reason. I’ve had this thought circling in my head for days now.

Like the preceding verses denote, it’s more doing things, or in my case thinking things, that can signal that you don’t love yourself.

It’s been a while since I’ve had even the slightest urge to taken part in Sinful Sunday, and even longer since I’ve had the urge to take sexy photo of myself. My weight hasn’t fluctuated wildly, but the way my body looks has changed. I’ve been battling getting my eating habits straight. Every time I look in the mirror, it’s hard to not criticize my looks. I’m fighting with some pretty ugly perfectionist tendencies that make me unsatisfied and impatient with everything I do.

I don’t love myself right now.

Okay… okay not that I don’t love myself so much as I don’t feel good about myself. Self talk is important and I’ve had some pretty shitty self talk. So this post is more about me needing to answer that verse with a yes instead of a no.

Loving myself is being kind when my body doesn’t look how it think it should.

Loving myself is having patience when I don’t do well in something I’m learning.

Loving myself is remembering that how I feel when I look in the mirror isn’t reality.

Replacing negative with positive.

I’m to the end of this post and I’m not sure I said all I wanted to say. This struggle runs deeper than my 400 words can capture, but I do want to stand in the truth of wanting to say yes to loving myself more. It is about healthy self talk and I need to embrace it (and myself).

The post “And we all thought you loved yourself” appeared first on Cara Thereon.

–

My husband thought he hid his fetish behind being stereotypical Vietnamese family running a nail salon. This was about satisfying a craving.

He tried not to be too obvious that he walked around with a massive erecting, but I saw.

There was one customer he had to service, a woman who wore women’s size thirteen shoes. He tripped over himself to serve her, cock straining as she slipped out of her heels.

I watched the sensual way he massaged her sole. He made love with his hands, his hips humping the air as he worked.

He thought she didn’t notice. I always caught the twinkle in her eye as she paid. The way she slid the fifty dollar tip into his front pocket spoke volumes.

The post Little Foot appeared first on Cara Thereon.

The tag of one of the shirts she had on was digging into her side and she was losing her hold on her suitcase because her gloves didn’t give her good purchase. It was freezing and miserable.

She was nearly home. It was her stubbornness that made her walk from the train station instead of calling a cab. Her steady stream of bitching as she trudged down the sidewalk wasn’t keeping her warm, but it was making her walk a bit faster to get out of the cold.

Finally, just as snow was starting to fall in fat flakes around her and she was positive her fingers were going to fall off, she made it up the drive and into the warmth of the house.

“I am not suited for this damn climate.”

“You should’ve called me to pick you up.”

His voice from the living room startled her.

“Damnit, Adam.” She leaned against the door, gloved hand over her heart. “Why do you insist on scaring the shit out of me.”

He simply chuckled. She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the door.

“Seriously, Deb, you should’ve called me to come get you. I know you hate being out in this weather.”

She shed her layers of outer wear as she stood just inside the living room door. “This time of year fucking sucks, but I didn’t want to put you out. It’s literally around the corner.”

When she was finally down to her thermal leggings and a light shirt, she crossed the room and plopped down on the couch beside him.

“I’m freezing.”

The chill seemed to have crept beneath her many layers of clothing into her bones. He pulled her closer, well aware of how long it took her to warm up.

When she was inside, the blanket of snow covering the ground was beautiful. She huddled closer to his side, attempting to enjoy the Christmas tree in all its glory and the gorgeous winter wonderland outside the picture window.

Except all her mind could really focus on was how cold she was.

“I can’t get warm.”

Her teeth chattered a little. She wanted to burrow into him, but couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.

“Go up to the shower, Deb.”

There was a thread of steel in his words and she silenced the argument that was on the tip of her tongue. She peeled herself away from him and just managed not to pout at losing his warmth.

She left her suitcase by the door and climbed the stairs to their room. Now that he’d suggested the idea, it sounded better and better to her.

Shedding her clothes by the doorway, Deb made her way into the bathroom. Her towel was already on the warmer so she just gathered her slippers and robe to put on after.

Steam filled the room, clouding the mirror. She stepped in and immediately gave a happy sigh as the hot water spilled over her. She dipped her head under stream, closing her eyes as the water warmed her from head to toe.

Big hands cupped her breasts, stopping her as she reached for the soap.

“Let me help you finish getting warm, love.” Adam’s voice in her ear made her shiver.

He tweaked her nipples before grabbing the soap. She leaned into him as he soaped up her chest. The way his hands moved over her skin, teasing her nipples until they were painfully erect before sliding down her stomach.

She parted her thighs, needing desperately to feel his fingers on her clit. She whimpered when he bypassed her cunt.

“Please,” she begged.

He simply chuckled, holding her hips to stop her from wiggling. “Be still.”

The way he kicked her feet wider and pulled her feet back forced her to plant her hands on the wall for balance. She felt the head of his cock along her lips and then he was thrusting deep, forcing her to her toes.

She was on fire now. The hot water raining down on her as he fucked her steadily from behind, sent her temperature soaring. She could do little except brace and revel in the combined sensations.

He wrapped a hand around her throat and pushed until her front hit the tile. The way he hemmed her in, controlling her with the way his thrusts pinned her place, sent her toppling over the edge with a loud cry.

His thrust sped up, each one so hard her hips bounced on the wall. She’d have bruises from his rough treatment, but in that moment the pain amplified her orgasm tenfold.

Adam came with a roar that seemed to fill the room in much the same way as the steam. She felt his come filling her, warming her from the inside. She shuddered as echoes of her orgasm continued to move through her.

They stayed still beneath the warm spray, both silent and working to catch their breath. She rested her forehead on the wall, replete and loving the drip of water and come down her body.

He reached around her to snap off the tap. The steam billowed in the air above them.

“I’d enjoy winter more if I could always get warm like this.”

“Hm.” He kissed her on the shoulder, his hum rumbling through her. “I’ll have to see what I can do.”

The post Ba-hum-bug appeared first on Cara Thereon.

Her step-father.

Lani gripped the steering wheel as she sat in the driveway of the ranch style house that had been home since she was eight. That was when her mother met Mitch, moving my sisters and his two boys in like one big Brady bunch family. She considered him her Daddy after so many years close to him.

It hadn’t felt like family in years though. Lani’s thoughts toward Mitch had stopped being “family like” when she turned fifteen. She blossomed, and that blossoming brought an awareness that had never been existed. When she’d walked in on him stepping out of shower one more, everything in her body seemed to change.

Her Daddy stopped being the man she looked up to and became the man she fantasized about. The image of him naked before her was the center of many of her mastubatory sessions.

She buried those feelings because it was wrong. To want him was so wrong. Lani sought out boys who resembled him with his dark hair and green eyes, anything to get over the urges that wouldn’t go away.

“It’s just for the summer.” She unclenched her hands from the wheel. “You can handle this.”

Lani would just get in her hours at the diner, bank some cash for school, and set a little aside to go on a trip before the semester started again. The resolution made, she dragged herself and her stuff out of the car and into the house.

Silence greeted her and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She could get settled without worrying about who might be around.

Lugging her stuff up the stairs, Lani dumped her things in her room and began to unpack. Nothing much had changed in the year she’d been away. Old photos and trophies hung on shelves. Some of her clothes still occupied the closet.

She pulled out an old pair of footie pajamas with a bunch of hearts and ponies all over. It had a hold with soft pink ears and one of those flaps that could be unbuttoned for easy use of the restroom.

On some weird impulse, Lani stripped out of her clothes and put the pajamas on. It was a tight fit, her body having developed a lot since the last time she wore the outfit. It was impossible to zip the top closed so her breasts overflowed the top. The flap had long since popped off so she was left with her bottom half visible.

In spite of how ridiculous she probably looked, she felt like a little girl again as she pranced around the room with the hood up. It was nice to be carefree for a moment after the stress of the school year. She clicked on her old stereo and lost herself in being a silly little girl for a moment.

She was bent over, shaking her bottom and giggling when the music suddenly stopped. She glanced over her shoulder and froze.

“Welcome home, Lani.”

Mitch was across the room, gaze bouncing from her naked bottom to her wide eyes. Lani realized the view he was truly getting in this position. Her ass was tipped up and her pussy was on display. His look was nowhere near the friendly, fatherly one he usually gave her.

“Daddy!”

“I’m glad you’re home, babygirl.”

His voice even sounded different. So much deeper than normal. The sound went straight to her cunt and made her squirm.

“I haven’t seen that outfit in a long time.”

Heat crept up her face at the way he was looking at her. Was she imagining all this? She’d been with enough boys to know what lust looked like. Her eyes dropped to the fly of his jeans to see his cock tenting the material.

She told herself she should stand up, reminded herself that those feelings she kept buried shouldn’t come out. This was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself from spreading her thighs. Her promise to herself to evaporated as the need for him overwhelmed all sense.

His quick inhale would’ve been missed if she hadn’t been so focused on him.

“I was just relaxing.” She arched her back. “Pretending, Daddy.”

He took a step closer to her. “What were you pretending?”

“I was pretending…”

Lani hand slipped down between her thighs to find her clit. It was so hard beneath her fingertips. She wet her fingers between her lower lips and lifted her back to her clit. His eyes followed every movement.

“What, babygirl? Tell Daddy what you were pretending.”

“I was pretending I was your special little girl.” She moaned softly and pinched her clit. “That you bathed me, and clothed me, and made me a big girl.”

“Lani.” Was it a warning or a promise?

He had inched closer so he was behind her, watching as she fucked her fingers.

“I want to be a big girl, Daddy. I think about you filling each of my little holes. My mouth, my ass, and my cunt full of my Daddy’s come.”

“I can’t, Lani.”

Even as he said it, even as he protested her words, he was standing behind her. She watched as he undid his fly, pulling his cock out.

“I can’t, Lani.”

He repeated the words, this time less convincing as he laid his cock on her bottom. It only settled there for a second before he was seasawing it along the crack of her ass. She quivered beneath him, partly from having him so close and for how close she was to coming.

“Please, Daddy. Please make me your big girl.”

When he stepped back, Lani groaned her disappointment. It was short lived as in the next moment he was swatting away her hand so he could finger her pussy.

“If you want to be a big girl, then you have to take Daddy’s cock in one go.”

He was lining himself up and thrusting in before she could even think to ask what he meant. It made her squeal to be breached so fast, and then groan as he gave her little time to accommodate.

“That’s Daddy’s girl.” He gripped her hips in a punishing hold. “I’ve been wanting this for a long damn time and plan on giving you all of it.”

Lani couldn’t process the meaning of his words as he fucked her like a man possessed. His hand found a way down the front of her pjs to pinch, pull and squeeze her nipples. He leaned over her, whispering dirty things in her ears as he took what she offered.

Dirty girl

Daddy’s little fuck toy

Tight, little cunt

Grip Daddy’s cock

Take it all like a good girl.

“I’m going to full my babygirl’s pussy up.” He growled in her ear. “And you’re coming to come on my dick, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy. Yes.” She cried out

She buried her face in her bedspread, screaming her pleasure as her body clenched down on his cock.

“That’s it, little girl. Milk Daddy’s cock. Just like that.” He came with a loud groan, emptying himself inside of her.

The feeling of her Daddy wrapped around her, deep inside of her, was perfect. No amount of manufactured wrongness could penetrate the feeling of rightness that permeated her being.

Lani floated on that high, full to bursting with emotions.

He relaxed against her back, still very much connected to her. His come leaked out around where they were joined, tracking down her legs and wetting her pajamas. Lani felt almost content.

“Fuck, Lani.” He kissed her neck and sighed. “We shouldn’t have, but God, you feel so good around me.”

As the heat of the moment cleared, reality reared it’s head. What had she done? This would only make the summer more difficult for both of them.

“We…” She croaked before clearing her throat. “It won’t happen again, Daddy. Promise.”

He slid out and moved back, leaving her feeling empty and achy. She lay still, not caring that his come continued to leak out of her body.

“No, it won’t.” He sounded distracted as he stood behind her.

She glanced back over her shoulder to find him gazing with intense longing between her thighs.

“So beautiful full of my come. So fucking beautiful.”

“Daddy…”

He tore his gaze from her pussy to meet her eyes again.

She swallowed hard before replying. “I’ll be here if you need me. I’m your special girl, Daddy.”

A plethora of emotions flashed across his face, before returning to a more neutral expression. Lani thought he would reply to her invitation, but he simply left the room.

She lay there still, unwilling to wash away his come or remove her pajama. Fatigue nipped at her heels so she climbed into her bed, slid under the covers, and fell asleep in a blink.

The post Monday Child appeared first on Cara Thereon.

–

She rose from bed before the alarm sounded, turning it off before it would wake him. His soft breathing, slow and even, and the warmth of his body threatened to lull her back to sleep. She settled for wrapping herself around him for the briefest of moments before creeping out of bed.

It was way past time to start her morning.

She moved to the bathroom, shedding her thin nightgown on the floor. Cleaning would come shortly so leaving it on the floor made no difference. She mentally reviewed her list of morning tasks as she pulled out a few fresh towel and placed them both on the heated rack. His razor was already out on the counter so she simply placed his shaving cream and his toothbrush beside it. His morning grooming routine was easy to make ready.

Steam filled the whole room as she turned the hot water. Stepping in, she let the water stream over her skin and knock the last of the sleep out of her mind. She shaved away any stubble under her arms and off her legs, and took special care with her mons and along her labia. When she was as smooth as she could get, and the water started to run cool, she stepped out to towel off.

She had twenty minutes until he was due to wake. Wrapping her towel around her torso, she padded back into the dark bedroom and made her way to closet. She could still hear his even breathing so she stepped in and shut the closet door behind her before turning on the light.

He was as simple with his style as he was with his grooming. His clothing was very nice, all of it tailored to fit and give him a feeling of success. She tried to choosing an outfit that reflected that particular drive.

A medium blue button down with a black tie paired with some dark wash straight leg jeans that still looked professional. She found his comfortable, but classy loafers, and then exited with closet with her picks. She left them laying on her side of the bed, hoping he’d be satisfied.

Returning to the bathroom, she discarded her towel in the laundry and gathered up any clothing that had made there way onto the tiled floor.

She left the room naked, her nipples peaking at the chill in the house. No sense adjusting the heat as she’d grow warm soon enough.

She deposited the laundry in the washroom so she could get breakfast started. Even though these were tasks she performed for him every day, she still double checked her list to make sure there wasn’t a step she was missing.

Five minutes until his alarm went off.

He made mention of pancakes so she whipped together the batter, letting the griddle get hot beside her. Before she placed the first ladleful of the batter down, she heard the shower come on. She filled the griddle quickly, flipping and plating the pancakes when they were golden brown.

The shower stopped and then there was silence. She knew his routine well enough that she could see him moving around the bedroom in her mind’s eye. Her heart rate sped up as she anticipated his entering the kitchen.

She cooked and plated some bacon, then poured him juice. Real maple syrup as was his preference sat beside the fluffy stack. There was already fruit on the table so she knelt beside the door, waiting patiently.

It was several long minutes of her kneeling there on the tiled floor. Her heart had returned to a normal pace, but her cunt had already started responding to his anticipated presence. She was ready for him in all the ways he required of her. Eager, hungry for more than just food.

The soft tread of his feet on the carpet outside the arch of the kitchen door reached her ears mere seconds before he appeared. He’d gone with her selection. He normally did, but she always got a flutter of happiness that he liked what she chose.

“Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning, Sir.” She was a quivering mess, but greeted him like she wasn’t eager for his touch.

His hand rested on her head for moment. He stroked the strands gently before beckoning her to the usual spot beside his chair. She followed after him on her knees, sitting on the cushion he pulled from the cabinet.

He took a big whiff of the pancakes and sighed. He settled in, grabbing his fork and knife before glancing down at her.

“I’ll have my breakfast before it gets cold.”

She knew what the meant and moved under the table to place herself between his spread thighs. The clean sent of his clothing and his natural smell reached her nose. Getting his cock out of the tight jeans took a little work, but she was motivated by time and her burgeoning need.

He was barely free of his jeans and she was sucking him down to the root. It wasn’t clear if his moan was because it was his first bite or the feeling of her mouth on him. All that matter was having every bit of his come for breakfast.

“Keep me clean today. Fill your belly full of my come and don’t spill a single drop.”

His every word was infused with control. Only her moans around him and the scrape of utensils on ceramic filled the room. She doubled her efforts determined to make him come.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hand reaching under to hold the back of her head when she sank down in him again.

He pumped his hips, fucking her throat with slow deliberate thrust. She tried to breathe, fought her gag reflex even as tears dropped from her eyes.

“Oh, yes. You’ve been a very good girl and very good girls always get nice things.”

His low groan was her warning. She braced her hands on his shins and swallowed each blast even as he held her head tight to his groin.

When he finished, his hand relaxed to stroke her hair again. She gasped and licked her lips, trying to catch her breath even as her cunt throbbed with need.

“Come sit beside me, my love. You may come, but I want to see you do it.”

She scrambled out, desperate and knowing she’d come the second she touched herself. She sat on her pillow, parted her thighs so he could see, and set about fingering her cunt. He continued eating, but his eyes were riveted on her fingers.

“I’ll have to fuck my good girl before I leave, won’t I? I can’t just leave her so empty.”

Her panting breath made replying impossible.

“Fuck her and fill her with more come so she walks around leaking it from her cunt as she works.”

His words were low and hypnotic. She was on the very edge.

“That hot, wet, tight cunt will grip me like your mouth did. A belly full of come and my spunk on your thighs.”

She tossed her head and fucked herself.

“Come for me now, good girl.” The silverware clattered on the plate. “Come for me so I can fuck you before work.”

Oh God. She was coming before he finished demanding it.

She was still shuddering when he hauled her to her feet and draped her over the kitchen table. He was thrusting into her spasming body as though he hadn’t just come. This was rougher, far less controlled than moments before. She simply held on, shuddering in a prolonged high that threatened to send her into subspace.

He growled this time when he came, his hands a near painful grip on her hips. She’d have his hand prints and a bruise from the table.

The warmth of his come was such a lovely feeling. She sighed softly as it leaked out from where they joined to run down her thighs.

He separated them slowly, carefully as to not get anything on his clothes. She stayed where she was too tired to move.

His hand stroked down her back. “I want you to nap today, my love. You’ve not rested enough lately.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A plate with two pancakes and bacon appeared in front of her face.

“Eat your breakfast first.” She felt his lips on her nape and then again on the spots on her hips where his hands had gripped her tight. “I want a report of your day.”

This time she simply nodded. More come dribbled down her thigh and she gave another dreamy smile.

The post Task at hand appeared first on Cara Thereon.

Time for my progress report for week 3. I do this to reinforce my goal of writing something every day even if I don’t make the required word count.

The original theme for the week was fantasies, but after two weeks of themes I asked for a break. So the theme changed to asking DomSigns and Molly for a word prompt a piece. Just so you know, he comes up with some far out words. This was a nice creative stretch for me overall.

Silly Girl: 500 words

Kitchen Work: 750 words

Swap: 1522 words

Beauty Queen: 300 words

Cloudy Day: 842 words

Come Closer: 378 words

Words of Peace: 450 words

Aged Starlet: 525 words

Chronicles of Warwick: 540 words

Repeated Patterns: 950 words

Word total for week 3 was 6.757 words bringing my word count to 15,953. The using of prompt words seemed to really be beneficial to my writing. It was the best word count week so far. I didn’t miss a day either!

I’m back on with themes this week so we’ll see how it goes in that regard.

The post NaNo Report: Week 3 appeared first on Cara Thereon.

–

Washed up. Those words were burned into her mind’s eye, the only thing she could truly remember from the critic’s corner section of the newspaper.

It served no purpose dwelling on it, but her hand sought out the article without thought.

She pulled the paper close, griping the sherry glass stem so tight it would leave bruises on her palm.

Flipping to the back page of the Local Legend, her eyes zeroed in on the post detailing her performance in her latest play.

Helen DeCarlo plays a vivacious young woman trying to find her way in a world that’s changing around her. It would’ve been a believable performance if the actress herself was young enough to pass as anything under thirty. They plaster her aging face with make up to pass her off, but nothing can hide the stiff way she moves through each scene. Her days as the blooming theater star have passed. Helen would be better served retiring, her performance and the play the last breath of a washed up actress.

It went on, detailing the performances of her costars, but she stopped reading. She downed the sherry, unable to taste the decidedly fruity notes in the otherwise dry wine. It was a waste of expensive wine, but it would do its job.

She needed to forget. Pouring another dram, she downed that too and carefully sat the glass on her vanity. The bulbs on the mirror glared, bringing her face into stark light. Here was a truth that was unavoidable.

She was old, well passed the age of a young starlet fresh on the stage, and it was evident in the lines on her face.

She lifted shaking hands to her face, pressing and pulling at the loose skin. Crows feet, smile lines, jowls, wrinkles, wrinkles, and wrinkles. The soft coral of her lips had hardened to an unappealing cherry. She was tired and she looked it in the pale cast of her skin.

Washed up.

Tears filled her eyes and she let them fall. She cried over how much of her life she’d given to being a star. The exercising, the practicing, the drugs, and the fucking. She had nothing left with her glory days firmly behind her. Her stellar career was suddenly nothing as the wrinkles and the gray crept in.

Helen DeCarlo, old crone and has-been. It wasn’t fair.

Anger bubbled up. She screwed up her mouth and fisted her hands as the injustice of it overwhelmed her. It didn’t matter that she still drew a crowd or had her name in lights or on the door behind her. She was angry that time had stolen her youth.

Grabbing the sherry glass, she stood and tossed it at her vanity mirror. It struck the pane, shattering it so she could no longer see her face.

The tears became a flood then. She crumbled to the floor, stuffing her knuckles in her mouth to stem her sobs. But no amount of anger could change who she’d become.

Old, out of date, washed up.

Irrelevant.

That was the hardest to swallow and she cried all the more because of it.

The post Aged Starlet appeared first on Cara Thereon.

–

She was walking in a fog, had been for the last four days. No amount of coaching and talking could change the way she felt since he’d left.

That morning replayed over and over.

“I love him, Claire.”

His handsome face seemed more lined than normal. The way his eyes and brow creased as he said those words. That he loved him, the man he’d been seeing for the last two years without her realizing.

“But not me, Peter?”

He clouded, the change doing nothing to mar his features. She had felt aged compared to him, the previous few minutes making her feel every single one of her forty-five years.

“I still care about you. We’ve been together too long for me not to. It’s just…”

“You’d rather fuck him and not me. I don’t have the right parts.”

Her voice sounded dead to her ears and she’d felt a twinge of regret at the hurt look in his eyes. She’d squashed that regret as the reality of what he’d done – was doing – really started to set in.

“You’re leaving me for a man, Peter. After fifteen years. After fifteen–”

She had turned away then, unable to look at him. It had been too much for her to even think about how much of her life was changing. It crashed down around her right before her eyes.

He’d walked away then. His clothes were gone the next day

The bed had become her best friend. She’d changed the sheets after he’d left, determined to start fresh somewhere. Her need to lay down had overwhelmed her after and she couldn’t stop herself from climbing under the sheets to find some solace.

A cloud hung over her, but if she stayed in bed it didn’t seem to overtake her. She could see it out of the corner of her eye. It was gray with streaks of black in it that mirrored her mood.

Hadn’t they had a good marriage? Didn’t she show him how much she loved him every day of their lives together? Tears welled up as she thought about it.

Claire had missed the signs. Willfully, she admitted to herself as she burrowed deeper in the blankets. The staying at work late, visiting a ‘friend’, and secret smiles as he eyed his texts. She’d suspected another woman, but he never expressed interest in other women. His eyes would follow an attractive man around the room before he’d ever remark on how pretty a woman appeared.

This made it harder for her somehow when it really shouldn’t have. She felt like his beard, like she’d been his cover for years and only just realized it.

The kids had been asking her what happened to their dad, but she couldn’t find the words to explain. All she could think to say was their father had left them all for a man.

“Mama?”

She was slow to respond to her six year old. Mia was standing by the door, her hair filthy and her face covered in something brown. Seeing her daughter so unkempt shook her out of her stupor, making her wonder too how she looked.

“Hey Me-o-Mi-o.” She cleared the croak from her throat and pushed herself up into a seated position. “Come on over, sweet girl.”

Mia ambled over and Claire could see the brown bits on her shirt. It looked old and Claire crinkled her nose at the smell coming from her child. She sniffed her shirt and could smell the body odor rolling off of her.

“Let’s solve your problem and then get to the shower.”

“Are you going to leave me like Daddy, Mama?”

Her heart contracted at her innocent question.

“Listen, Mia, Daddy didn’t leave you. No matter what, Daddy loves you and will be around. We’re just… he just couldn’t live here anymore because he loves someone else more than he loves me.”

Her little girl looked way too serious and it worried her. She drew Mia into her arms, her smelly little body warm and comfortable.

This was her reminder that she had more then just herself to take care of. She couldn’t fall apart when the kids needed her.

She kissed Mia on her forehead and then turned her toward the door. “Shower time, Me-o-Mi-o. You smell like Sylvester did after he got trapped in the garbage can. Don’t you screech like he did when I dump you in the tub.”

That earned a giggle from Mia who scrambled off the bed. Claire felt the smile on her face, surprising considering she still felt that darkness consuming her. It clung to her like the cloud it was.

“You’re going to wash, Mama? You smell, too.” Mia pursed her lips in a way that made Claire think of Paul.

Tears threatened to gather, but she pushed them away. “Of course. I don’t want to smell like Sylvester either.”

Mia nodded and then trooped out the door.

Claire made her bed, ignoring the cloud hovering over her. It would be there when she crawled back under the sheets anyway.

The post Cloudy Day appeared first on Cara Thereon.

–

The sound of the gun being cocked bounced off the walls. He stared at it in his hand for a minute before uncocking it and sitting it on the sink, pressing hard as though it would push all his feelings into the machine. Leaning in, he examined his face in the mirror, looking for something redeeming

“Baby, I’m going to run to the grocery store.” His wife’s voice floated through the closed door. “Do you… do you need anything?”

He could hear her worry, but it just ate a bigger hole in his gut. “I’m okay, Lacey. I’m okay.”

Her shadow lingered along the bathroom tile for several long moments. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear her rattle the knob or not. When she finally moved away, her tread light but detectable to his sensitive ears, he couldn’t tell if his released sigh was one of sadness or relief.

“I’m okay.” He explained to his reflection.

His eyes told him he wasn’t, told him he hadn’t been for a long while now. Images of bloody bodies littering that desert town haunted him every time he closed his eyes. The screams of both his platoon mates mixed with those brown civilians to fill his head with horrors he couldn’t get away from any time of the day.

He was drowning.

Pills made him feel dead and alcohol made him mean. He lashed out over nothing, avoided things that used to give him joy, and could barely make it through a days work. His wife looked at him like he was seconds from exploding.

The steel of the gun glinted in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, calling to him to just stop it all. Stop the memories, the confusion, the anger…

He pressed the cool barrel to his temple, holding his gaze in the mirror. It would be so easy to end it. His hand shook as he contemplated the relief he’d feel.

“Do it,” he taunted his reflection. “You can’t hack it anymore so why keep going? Lacey doesn’t need you when you’re this fucked up.”

He cocked the gun, pressing the barrel a little harder as he held the trigger. He could pull it, let it travel like a missile through his brain, and end his miserable life in a blink. Poor Lacey and the mess she’d have to clean up, but wasn’t his life a mess already?

“Do it,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes. “You can’t…”

He gulped in air, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.

His last thought was of his wife, crying over his body as she mopped the bathroom tile and wiped down the walls. He was gone before his body hit the floor.

The post The Sound of the Gun appeared first on Cara Thereon.

As most people are aware, Molly is Michael’s (DomSigns or Daddy’s) wife and submissive. I admire and look up to their relationship. They’re one of the few kink-centered couples that I am closely acquainted with, that has a solid relationship. Not perfect, but so good that it’s an example of what I long for in marriage. Because of the nature of things, I am the other woman.

First, let me say that I don’t think the term “other woman” truly applies here. That terminology implies that I’m a secret, or that Molly is unaware of my presence, or that I’m something “dirty” to be hidden and seen on the weekend. None of those things are true. Molly is very aware of me and encourages/supports the relationship I have with Daddy. It’s not a secret aside from what I don’t tell those who probably wouldn’t understand. I’m a little bit of a dirty girl, but not a dirty secret. So I’m another piece to their puzzle I suppose.

A third implies I play with both parties. At the moment, I’m interacting with Daddy and Molly is very present (or vice versa). I’ll stop there and say our play is evolving. Look for future posts to understand.

Honestly, before I visited, much of my interaction was between Daddy and I solely. Molly was aware and when we’d call, we’d all chat, but he and I talked predominately. When I showed up, things changed a bit. The first thing I noticed was how easily I fit into their space both physically and emotionally, which surprised me. I had a spot on the sofa, and I slipped into moments of play without a problem, and I felt welcomed and happy. When I left, I was almost as upset to say bye to Molly as I was Daddy. It felt good and right and lovely to be with both of them, in different ways.

It wasn’t until I returned that I had thoughts about what my role was in the dynamic, we talk so much as a group. To be loved by this man is very special considering he gives his love to few people.

I’ve held a deep attraction to men in committed relationships. You see they have the capacity to truly care for someone without getting scared and running away. They know how to support a partner and it’s obvious in how they love their significant other. They’re solid, and that draws me in ways I can’t always explain. Unfortunately, some men are shit at being decent guys and sticking around. They see a woman with emotions who wants to stick with them and they bugger off so fast it’s ridiculous. Oh, they may wake up and cleave to someone at some point, but that someone has never been me.

Is there safety in attaching myself to a married man? I’m not sure I’d call this safe. We could arrive at a moment where he decides he’d rather just be with his wife or she decides she doesn’t want to be bothered with her husband’s love being divided, and I’m left holding pieces of my heart. I don’t have the safety of a ring to give me a stated place in the dynamic. *Michael note: But she does wear my collar and that was not given lightly*

There is comfort here because the two people whose relationship I’m adding to are both open, honest, and giving. I don’t feel out of place or uncomfortable. They’ve given me the space to be honest about my fears, my desires, and my unstated longings.

I feel like I can grow and have grown in the last 6 months. Never have I been with someone who cares about me so much, cares about my future so much, or cares about what happens to me. It makes me feel so many emotions it’s insane.

There’s a lot of things I still want to talk and think about on the topic of Daddy and kitten. I have a story brewing about something that interests me greatly. Thanks for coming along as I explore.

The post And C makes Three appeared first on Cara Thereon.