Sportsbars and Subway cars

It has been a long and glorious evening, preceded by a Friday that marked the end of yet another work week.  As I thought about this evening, its events and highlights, I decide on the title “Sports bars and Subway cars”, a slightly enigmatic bit that I will tie into later. For now though let me start at the beginning, that started with the end of my work day.

My slave dressed in a black dress, with a bit of see through here and there, and tall leather boots.  She was dressing to please me, but I was more interested, initially anyway,  in the time of our departure for a munch.  I was quite hungry and a bit annoyed at missing the time I had set for departure.  Yes, even a good slave can set into motion events not uncommon to any relation.

At arrival though, I was proud to have at my side someone so dressed.  Munches, after a few years, become common and unremarkable, yet it is also here that we gather with people with whom we often share years of experiences together.  That warmth combined with subtle undercurrents of Masters and slaves interacting and the glorious indulgences of delicious foods, makes for an evening to be appreciated upon reflection.

Ah food.  The warm textures, smells and varied flavors.  The warm and cold, the drinks, and deserts.  Food, like sex, rightly deserves to be a kink until itself.  Especially when one indulges in the quality of the experience, rather than in quantity.  But I digress.  I had a pot pie, the flaky crust mingling with vegetables and thick chunks of chicken in that creamy goodness, made all the better for the time it had taken to get to it, and the hunger I had developed.  I found myself deeply enjoying each bit, in between interesting dinner conversation.  She had a brownie for desert, heated, and covered in chocolate ice cream,  with hot fudge dizzled on top and pooled about.

So we warmed ourselves in friendship, protocols, and food.  And when it was over, we went to a Sportsbar. It occurs to me now that Sportsbars and subway cars are excellent places for those of us who observe people.  Both are filled with people caught up in the immediacy of their world at that moment, often unaware or uncaring that anyone else might observe them.

Sometimes people who are couples enter and often one is aloof while the other is caught up in love, passionate and clinging, like a satellite in orbit, drawn by the gravity of that passion. It is interesting to watch and wonder at how this came to be.  In bars, often strangers get caught up in that intensely sexual attraction.  It is interesting to observer the steady heat of sexual attraction bursting in roaring flames that neither wishes to extinguish.

I shoot eight ball.  It is just one more area that I have the opportunity to excel, to dominate.  My slave, quiet and fetching, proud to be in service to the man who is winning, and drawing his own attentions, sat and sipped her drinks.  Between shots, we toyed with each other, dancing, grinding to the music in that lovely sexually hot way that music and alcohol and dance come together.  We too were no doubt observed, because I frankly don’t care how lascivious either of us is, in fact I encourage it.

Our dynamic works well in bars.  I take the lead in projecting confidence and competence, and usually back it with an indomitable presence on the table.  I lost only one game in the course of the evening, as I recall.  And when I am not ruling the table, I am doing things that have sexual tension.  I dance with her, bending her over,  leading her into moves with a handful of hair, or a forceful push, grinding in suggestive ways.  And she responds, and comes alive in this attention.  It is strange how she can be so shy, and yet does not wither in times like this. I walk away from such evenings, feeling so alive, so fulfilled in the ways I need.  Ds is always there, just below the surface in these evenings.

So now it is time to sleep.  A full day, and a full night behind us.  I am warmed and pleased by so much. It was not special in any spectacular way, one that I no doubt won’t remember in due course, but it was an evening none-the-less, well spent.  An evening of moments that were full and rich and wonderful.  And perhaps, was observed by an observer of people.

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s