>	Jade X Slater
		About | Writings | Links | Contact

	At War with My Head
	"I want this. I need this," This has been my mantra for days now. I'm not sure if I have ever felt this nervous in my entire life. At the very least, it has been a while since my nerves have been this shot. All morning, my mind bounces back and forth in a constant debate whether I can or even should go through with it or not. I'm a jumble of mixed emotions: anxious, worried, happy, fearful, excited, confused, just to name a few...the one thing I am not, is calm. There are so many unanswered questions and thoughts in my head; however, no answer will placate my overthinking mind. Knowing I can't put it off any longer if I want to be ready in time, I start to prepare myself. Jumping into the shower, I stand there a moment as the water runs over my tanned body. I take my time washing my hair, massaging my scalp in the process. After rinsing out the shampoo, I run conditioner through the ends of my long dark locks with my fingers. Giving the conditioner time to do its magic, I reach for my razor with shaking hands. Sliding my back down the wall, I sit down on the floor of my shower and start to shave my legs after coating them thoroughly with shaving gel. The fact that I can't get my hands to stop shaking is making this simple task take twice as much time as it normally would. When my legs are smooth, I slide my ass forward slightly, lean back against the wall and spread my thighs. Before I can even place shaving gel over my sex, I can feel my body react at the anticipation and excitement of what will happen later. After taking a few deep breaths to try and calm myself, I eventually run the cool gel over my sex. I can feel my own juices already seeping from my slit as my fingers brush over myself. Slowly, carefully, I run the razor over my mound and down the outer lips. Even over the sound from the running water, I can hear myself moan audibly. More than a few times, I can hear your voice in my head telling me to stop as my fingers drift dangerously close to slipping into the warm slick wetness of my cunt. Each instance, I need to almost forcibly move my hands to my sides, take slow deep breaths just to stop myself from giving in to the ache that has been building up over the last few days. Meticulously, I brush my fingers over myself, checking for any stray hairs. Satisfied there are none, I put the razor back onto my shower shelf. Next, I grab the shower gel, squeeze a dollop onto my loofah before replacing the bottle. I close my eyes, as I run the coarse sponge over my body. For the briefest of moments, I feel all anxiety leave my body. All that is going through my mind is your hands. Suddenly, instead of the loofah on my body, it is your hands. Shuddering, I envision your hands feeling every inch of my body, my free hand reaches up to trap and tug at the dark and sensitive buds on my chest. Just as my own nails start to dig into the delicate flesh, my mind screams "NO!" making me physically jump and drop my hands to my sides. Truth be told, I cannot say for certain if my head is telling me "No, stop," or "No, don't go through with today." Either way, I push aside the thought, knowing it's a never-ending debate, and quickly rinse off the body wash, remnants of the shaving gel from my body, and the conditioner from my hair. Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself and also towel-dry my hair. Looking up, I see myself in the mirror and sigh; instantly, my mind whirls with doubts and questions. My eyes lock onto the eyes of my reflection and I must compel myself to look away. All I can see is desire, need and lust behind my own eyes. It seems as if my mind cannot accept what my body already has... "I want this. I need this." Finally, I take yet another deep breath, holding it in a few seconds before exhaling slowly and then wander into my walk-in closet. Of the many things I have argued with myself about, there is one thing I can't, or won't, argue. I made a promise; Not only to you, but to myself as well. I have never gone back on my word, and I'm not about to start now. With a determination to go through with today that I am not completely feeling, I slide on a black silk skirt I had previously picked out over my hips. It's one of my favourites, and I always smile when I feel the soft silky fabric over my naked skin. The jagged hemlines of the multi-layered skirt varies in length; some stop just below my sex, while others fall a few inches above my knee. Finally grabbing a white cotton business shirt, I throw it on, leaving it completely unbuttoned. I tie the ends of the shirt together in a knot a few inches below my breasts, leaving my flat midriff and slight cleavage exposed. I know you said I was allowed to dress casually, even jeans and a t-shirt would be acceptable, I wanted to wear something 'different'. I wanted to dress specifically for you: for your desires, your needs, and your wants. Keeping my make-up simple; a quick brush of mascara and a dab of lip gloss. I want to keep myself as natural as possible. Most people would say that my lack of make-up doesn't match my outfit; however, it works perfectly for myself and my typical style. There is no need to dwell on the fact that I can't quite look at myself in the mirror long enough to do my make up more elaborately. Taking a quick glance in my full-length mirror, I am still filled with mixed emotions. My head telling me I still have time to change my mind, to change into jeans and a t-shirt, to back out of this altogether if I want. Sighing, I take in my mirror image. I can see my nipples lifting the shirt into two points on my chest, making the lack of bra underneath obvious. Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I feel chills run along my spine as I sway my hips. The skirt, while covering everything when I am motionless, does reveal the complete nakedness underneath if the wind blows just right or if I move too sharply. A nervous glance out the window reveals a bright sun with no wind and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. A quick glance at the time on my phone, I realize I will be late if I don't leave soon. I slip on my black, peep-toe, three-inch stilettos, just as my mind makes yet another plea to stop what I am doing and to stay in, in the comfort of my own home. Shaking my head, straightening my back, fully loaded with fake confidence, I throw my phone into my purse, side the purse-strap over my shoulder and walk out the door. # The cab I had pre-ordered is already waiting downstairs when I get there. Out of habit, I slip into the front seat, buckle the seatbelt and tell the driver the name of your hotel. As the car pulls away and into traffic, I stare out the passenger side window. I squirm slightly as I can feel the eyes of the driver constantly looking me over whenever he can steal a glance. Unlike my usual self, I am unable to look at the driver or even make any attempt at small talk. Refusing to waste time on what the driver is thinking, I sit back and continue to stare blankly out the window. It is now, that my overthinking brain goes into overdrive; telling me, no, yelling at me to turn back... Go home... What I am doing is wrong... I shouldn't be doing this... I have no real knowledge of who you are... This is not the way I was raised... I am an idiot for doing this... I'm going to end up a statistic... All through the yelling, all I can do to keep me on this path is quietly whisper under my breath repeatedly, "I want this. I need this." Eventually the two simple sentences work their way into my psyche. Slowly, I can feel my body betray my mind as it reacts on its own accord. My already uncrossed legs part just slightly as I fidget and shift in the leather seat. I can feel the dampness between my legs, and while I am mentally miles away, I am certain the driver can smell my arousal just as I can. My nipples harden to an almost painful sensation, shifting the edges of the unbuttoned shirt open just a bit more. I can feel my own heart pounding inside my chest. I wouldn't be surprised if the driver could feel the vibrations reverberating from it. My hands, which were originally resting on my thighs, slowly slide higher towards my throbbing cunt pulling my skirt up higher. It's only the sharp intake of breath from the driver that snaps me back into reality. Blushing, I realize we are nearly at your hotel. I grab my wallet from my purse, pull out a fifty-dollar note, well and truly more than what the meter is, before putting my wallet away again. When the cab stops, the driver, I notice, darts his eyes back and forth between my gaping shirt and my crotch. Making no move to close the shirt back up, I hastily murmur a thank you and quickly get out of the cab. Walking into the hotel, the sound of my heart pounding echoes in my ears, drowning out the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor of the hotel foyer. Uncertain if it's my imagination playing tricks on me or if it's reality, I feel as if I'm on display; as if every pair of eyes in the hotel lobby is on me. I keep my eyes lowered, not wanting to know what the truth is. It's only after I am in the lift and the elevator doors are just about to close that I glance up and realize that no one is looking, it was all in my overactive imagination. Slowly, the elevator rises and dings as it reaches your floor. Temporarily paralysed, I stare at the empty hallway and my brain screams, "TURN BACK NOW!!" Almost involuntarily, one foot moves in front of another and I am walking down the narrow hallway towards your room. My body completely ignoring my mind and acting on its own now. Reaching your door, I stop and stand outside and do nothing. My entire body is trembling and I repeatedly take slow, even breaths in a futile attempt to calm myself. Finally, trapping my bottom lip between my teeth in an involuntary nervous reaction, I close my eyes and lower my head as I remain standing in front of your door. On this day, from this moment, I am yours. Nothing more. Nothing less. As agreed, only you would decide when I could 'see' you. While, I'm certain you can already hear my heart pounding, I knock gently on your door anyways. Each passing second feeling like a lifetime. Finally, I hear you open your door. I hear nothing but the soft rustle of fabric as you move, I can feel your eyes on me, looking me over. I can only hope that you are not disappointed in what you see before you. Concentrating on keeping my eyes closed and my feet firmly planted, I can feel a trickle of moisture along my right inner thigh. My entire body jumps and I gasp under my breath as I feel the back of your fingers brush against the side of my face. With one last futile plea, my head tells me to run, yet my body remains unmoving. "Kneel, my slut," I hear seconds, which feels like hours, later. Without hesitation, I shrug off my purse letting it fall to the floor. Gracefully, I drop to my knees outside your door, still in the hallway. Without further instructions, I spread my thighs indecently wide, the edge of my skirt bunches around my waist and exposes my already sodden cunt to you. I push aside the edges of my shirt, displaying my perky breasts for your viewing, thrusting them out further by arching my back. Finally, I lace my fingers behind my back, all the while keeping my head lowered. Every movement done deliberately and without any shame. I can feel you gently slip the blindfold over my still closed eyes. I have no objections. At that point, there is little I need to know. What I do know is this: I'm am yours. Yours to examine, admire, use and abuse. I trust you completely. In that very moment, I know I have made the right decision. All the doubt, questions, nerves, anxiety are gone. No more protests. No more negativity. For the first time in the last few days, a calmness washes over me. Every cell in my body is at peace, including my mind. Finally, it has accepted what deep down, I already knew. From here on out, no matter what happens, I no longer need my mantra because if I know nothing else, I know this: I want this. I need this. Finally, I whisper my first words to you, "Thank you, Master."

	^^ Back to Top ^^
	Facebook     Fetlife     Twitter     Tumblr.
	© Jade X Slater