mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 44 – A Bitch in Heat, Kinky Collars, and an Erotic Dinner on All Fours

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 44 – A Bitch in Heat, Kinky Collars, and An Erotic Dinner On All Fours

I’m writing this letter at 3/27/2012 at 11:53 p.m.

Dear Henry,

“Among painters as among writers there are those who stick to their guns, who follow the scent like bloodhounds, as it were, as there are others who sit like birds of prey on some imaginary limb or ledge, ready to pound on the happy accident which will lead them to some unknown, undreamed of destination.” –Henry Miller, Henry Miller, The Paintings of Henry Miller; Paint As You Like and Die Happy

I have been painting very long hours, which has consumed most of my last few days and nights.  I didn’t get much sleep last night.  I have two days left until I need to deliver my art work to the gallery.  I will be writing you this letter in tiny spurts, as I take a break from painting and rest my feet.  My legs, feet, hands, fingers and wrist hurt from standing so long, painting small details, and polishing each portrait, until each of them are completely finished.

It was this time last year, when I was up all night with my young daughter, helping to deliver my beautiful granddaughter into this world.  She is very precious to me and turned one year old yesterday.  I’m having a family party for her this coming Sunday.  I just ordered the food for the party and the cake this morning.  I did not think that I would enjoy being Nana Mia as much as I have.

“But, I felt my Master’s hands, soft hands, the hands of a gentleman, lifting me. I saw a little bath stall before me where a man waited with a brush and scrub bucket.” –Ann Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

I had a very interesting, sexy, submissive evening with Mr. B last night.  The memories have lingered in my mind most of today.  Lately, I have been reading a lot of books on erotica, especially when I rest, after painting for long hours, indulging in my long, hot baths.  Recently, I’ve been enamored with Molly Weatherfield’s erotic s/m novel, Carrie’s Story.  Her well written erotic story has had me yearning to explore further, plunge deeper and explore vaster into my BDSM, role play experience.

.

“Back to work with you,” He sang out, “up, up, thatta girl, “as I stumbled to my feet and rubbed my eyes.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story

I must stop this letter for now.  I need to get up early tomorrow to start painting again.  I will try to write again in between my long, busy day.

I’m resuming this letter on 3/30/2012 at 9:09 p.m.

Hi Henry,

“To begin is the thing, begin anywhere, anyhow.  So it goes.  What results is not of my bidding.  It’s either the work of the devil or my guardian angel.” –Henry Miller, Henry Miller, The Paintings of Henry Miller; Paint As You Like and Die Happy

I delivered most of my art work last night to the gallery.  I still have one more portrait to complete.  The curator graciously offered me one more week to finish it.  I was exhausted after we left the gallery, that I drifted deep into a dreamless slumber, soon after Mr. C and I arrived home in the suburbs.

Today, I have been busy cleaning my artist loft, getting ready for the big birthday party on Sunday afternoon.  I haven’t had much time to clean, over the past few weeks, due to my crazy, busy, painting schedule. Before I started to clean, it appeared as if someone came into my loft and blasted everything with a splat ball paint gun.

After reading, Molly Weatherfield’s book, over the past several days, especially the chapter about the pony girl experience, and skimming over the pages of Anne Rice’s second book in her Beauty Trilogy, Beauty’s Punishment, which I have read so many times, over the past few years, I yearned to mix some humiliation into mine and Mr. B’s sexual routine.  We had a highly erotic, extremely submissive few hours on Monday night.  I had mentioned to Mr. B over the phone, a few nights before we met, that I wanted to venture down a different path in our dominant/submissive relationship.  I told him that I wanted to experience the sensation of humiliation.  I desired to be his puppy and eat my dinner and drink my water out of dog dishes, wear a pretty collar, and have a leash attached to it.  In my mind and inside my dark fantasies, the experience seemed arousing to me.

Before we met on Monday evening, Mr. B had a meeting at the Writer’s Loft in Minneapolis, and didn’t arrive until to my place until after 9 p.m.  When I opened my loft door, he rushed through it, taking long, hurried strides into the kitchen with several bags in his hands.

“Hi Darlin,” he kissed me quickly on the lips, approaching the center island in the kitchen. “Are you ready to be my pet?”

I nodded my head, yes.  My nervous voice was stuck inside my dry throat, as if it were a small, chicken bone.

“Are you going to do everything I tell you?” He asked, his right hand reaching out to stroke my damp hair, which seemed to calm my nerves, a little bit.  I had taken a bath a few hours before he arrived.  My long, thick hair takes a long time to dry.

I nodded my head again, still unable to speak, my mind drifting downward into a spiraling realm of submission.  My body trembled with apprehension when I felt Mr. B buckle a black collar around my neck, making sure it was secure, before attaching the retractable leash to it.

“Get on all fours like a good puppy,” he ordered.  I obediently complied, falling deeper into a submissive head space.  My heart thumped faster and harder with fear, which was now mixed with arousal, when I felt my leash being tugged and pulled in the direction of my living room.  I winced each time I moved my body forward, crawling towards the cozy area near the fireplace, which danced with warm. licking flames. It pained my boney knees when they jabbed into my loft’s faux, hardwood floors.  I kept my eyes focused on the small piece of carpet, which is positioned decoratively between two couches, as if it were an oasis in the midst of a dry desert, feeling as if I would never arrives.  I desperately desired to feel the cushion of it beneath my agonizing knees.

 A surge of humiliation besieged me when I heard Mr. B praise me with a high pitched voice – a voice generally used when speaking to tiny, cute dogs or babies.  “Good doggie, pretty doggie, such a good girl.”  Yet, his voice was oddly comforting.

My body relaxed momentarily when I felt Mr. B’s firm hand pat me on the head.  My body jolted with shocked surprise, when he smacked my ass with moderate force, moments after we reached the small, decorative carpet.

“When I could eat no more, a bowl of milk was held for me to lap, and pushed into my face again and again as I hurriedly tried to empty it.” –Anne Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

“What was I getting myself into?” I thought to myself, “Do I really want to venture down this weird, unfamiliar path?”  Despite my fears and doubts, I knelt quietly, obediently, and hungrily, observing Mr. B taking food out, which he just bought at Kowalski’s Deli, from a large, brown paper bag.  My eyes opened with awe and disbelief when I intently observed him retrieve two dog dishes out of a medium sized, plastic bag.  I felt a small sensation of revolt twitch through my body.  “Was I really going to eat and drink out of dog dishes?” I thought.  But, the rumbling in my stomach suffocated the sounds of my chattering thoughts.  I didn’t eat much all day, due to painting so diligently to meet my quickly approaching deadline.  However, I wasn’t sure I really desired to eat my dinner in such a demeaning way.

My subconscious would say otherwise, because for whatever reason, as I observed Mr. B get my dinner ready and pour bubbly water into another dish, I became more subdued with the sensation of submission.  “Just breathe,” I chanted inside of my head like an eastern mantra.  I was ready and willing to do whatever I was told to do by my entrusted lover.  Ten years ago, I would never have submitted to eating my dinner and drinking bubbly water out of dog dishes.  But, presently, I’m at an age where I want to stretch my erotic experiences and adventure into places I would most likely not journey.  I want to live life fully.

“Do you want a small treat before I give you dinner, my pretty bitch?” Mr. B asked, smiling wickedly, holding up a sinful appearing almond paste croissant.  My favorite!  If I could have wagged my tail with happiness, I would have.  Immediately I nodded my head, fast and eagerly.  My appetite grew more voracious, taking a small bite of the delicious croissant; its flaky crumbs falling messily to the floor.  I wanted more!  But, I refused to whine like a dog, begging for another treat.  For a second, I thought about licking up the crumbs from the floor, but I couldn’t get myself to do something so gross and absurd.  Besides, my floor isn’t clean enough.

Quietly and patiently, I observed Mr. B spoon out some kind of deli salad into one of the dog dishes.  It was yellow, chunky and smelled like curry.

“Put your head in the bowl and eat,” Mr. B ordered, pushing the top of my shoulder downward as I lowered my upper body to the dish.  Because the dog dish was small, it was really difficult to pick up the slippery chunks of deli salad with my mouth.  I tried to lick at it like a dog, but the food kept moving away from me.  I yearned to dig my hands inside of the dish and use my fingers to scoop the food into my mouth, but I didn’t dare, determined to follow this fantasy through. I was feeling hungry, frustrated, denigrated, and that all of the muscles in my tongue were being severely strained. The creamy, yellow sauce from the deli salad stuck to my nose and my chin, which really pissed me off, as I continued to do my best to consume the food, which tasted like creamy chunks of curried chicken.

I looked up at Mr. B a few times with frustration, pleading with my eyes to let this silly game be over, but he just stared at me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, stroking his stiff, pink cock, which stuck out, straight and hard, from his unzipped jeans, appearing as if a snake peering through tall, dark grass.  Eventually, I found my dogged groove, consuming a bit more of the curried chicken. Before I finished, Mr. B was scooping some other kind of deli food from another plastic container, into my dish.  This made my face squish into a disgusted look that said, “Gross!”

It was tuna salad, which I really like, but it was now mixed on top of the curried chicken, which I did not care for. I’m kind of a picky eater and don’t like my food to get mixed up together.  Now, I had no choice.  I was commanded to eat tuna salad mixed with curried chicken.  I really did not like the taste of it.  Suddenly, I was saved from having to consume any more of my meal.  Before I could finish eating, Mr. B stood up, hovering above me.  I looked up at him, remaining on all fours, grateful for the distraction.

“Suck my cock, my pretty bitch! “He ordered, stroking his shiny, pink shaft with his hand.  I didn’t do as I was told, immediately, because, I had small particles of food stuck in my mouth, so I lowered my head to my water dish, attempting to get a drink, to cleanse my palette.

Drinking bubbly water from a dog dish didn’t go so well at first.  I could not figure out how to lap up enough water into my mouth to wash and hydrate it.  A vision of a long, red and white, striped straw entered my head.  I puckered, stretching my lips outward, forming them into a small O, inhaling the water.  The bubbles from the carbonation tickled my nose – the cool liquid refreshed and cleansed the mouth.

“Before you suck my cock,” Mr. B said ruefully, “I want you to bark like a dog.”

My face reddened with embarrassment.  I opened my mouth and said, “Woof,” half-heartedly.  My face winched when Mr. B slightly, yet sternly slapped my face.

“That’s not a bark.  I want you to do it like a real dog!”

I felt like I was on stage forced to sing a solo.  It’s a terrifying predicament for me.  However, I somehow found the energy to bypass my embarrassment and gave it my all, “Bark!”

My attempt at barking like a real dog was still a pretty pathetic, which made me Mr. B and I laugh a loud.  Afterwards, I exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful because he did not try to make me bark like a dog again.

“Then she put her open mouth on the sex, feeling the right curls against her mouth…” –Anne Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

“Sit up on your hind legs,” Mr. B ordered, “put your two paws up and open your mouth.” A strong sensation of awkwardness settled deep within me.  But, I did as he asked, feeling so doggone foolish!  I felt as if my mouth was nothing but an empty orifice, made just for sucking and pleasing my master.  It had no other use, but to entertain Mr. B’s desires, which deepened my humiliation, sinking me further into a state of submission, heightening my level of arousal.

My tongue and mouth was parched when Mr. B finally withdrew his cock from the back of my throat.  I stared down at my dog dish, attempting to lower my head to get another drink, when I saw food particles floating on the top of it. YUCK!  As my head grew nearer to the water dish, I shut my eyes, ignoring the visions of tuna salad floating on top of bubbly water, and inhaled another, long cool drink, desperately hoping to not suck in any of the food I saw skimming the top of the water, as if it were green scum skimming upon a dirty pond.

“Back away from the dishes and remain on all fours,” Mr. B ordered, “that’s a good girl, “he praised pushing my head low, the side of my face pressed deeply into the carpet.  “Raise your pretty ass up. Thatta girl!  Thatta girl!”

“My pretty puppy is so wet!” Mr. B uttered softly with delight, after flipping up my short, flimsy nightgown, so it rested high on my back, dipping his fingers lightly into my glistening folds of pink flesh. “I think someone likes being a submissive puppy.  This excites you, doesn’t it?  I can tell.” He said, prying his fingers deeper in between my thighs, plunging them further into me, causing a flood of warmth and arousal to saturate my cunt and overwhelm my carnal senses, making me even wetter.

 “Is my puppy thirsty?”  I nodded eagerly, looking at him with pleading eyes from the top of my head.

“Go and retrieve a bottle of bubbly water from the fridge.”

I did as he asked, feeling relieved to get fresh, crisp, refreshing water, but I felt more humiliation because I still had the retractable leash attached to my tight, black collar. The black, nylon line stretched the distance from where Mr. B presently was, which was sitting upon the living room couch, to all the way into the kitchen.  His horny, hazel eyes observing me retrieve the water, while stroking up and down upon his hard, pink cock again – a perverted penis that never seemed to go limp on this night.

I was permitted to take several, large gulps of bubbly water from the cold bottle, before I heard Mr. B’s voice interrupt my thoughts of gratitude, for not making me drink this water from a dog dish.

“Get up on the couch,” Mr. B instructed.  “Go on!”

I obeyed.

Suddenly I heard his voice scold me. “What have you been told about getting up on the couch, Missy?”

I looked at him with wide, confused eyes.  I could not respond.  I did not know the answer.

“You were told to never get up on the furniture! You must be punished.”

“The Captain turned her with another one of those large soft spanks, squeezing her right buttock a little as he did it.” –Anne Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

I’m sorry Henry, but I must stop this letter for now.  It’s getting late.

I’m resuming this letter on April 2, 2012 at 9:30 a.m.

Good Morning Henry!

I’m sorry that it took me so long to write to you again.  I’ve been busy promoting the burlesque show, finishing art work, and getting ready for the big birthday party, which was yesterday.  I was exhausted and fell asleep on the couch, watching television, hours before 10 p.m. last night.  I didn’t wake up until after 9 a.m. this morning.  I’m at my loft, attempting to finish this letter to you, so I can get back to painting.  I still have one more portrait to finish, and deliver to the gallery, and another portrait to finish within the next two weeks.  I wish I had some new audio books, because it’s going to be a long, couple of weeks of non – stop painting.

“Whoever uses the spirit that is in him creatively is an artist.  To make living itself an art, that is the goal.”  –Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

Back to my erotic night being a submissive pet for Mr. B…

My body was now submissively positioned kneeling towards the back of my couch, my upper body leaning over the top of the sofa’s backboard, my ass anxiously jutting outward, awaiting Mr. B’s large, firm hands to strike upon my bare skin.  A sensual shiver ran down my spine, feeling like a small, creepy spider, when I felt Mr. B lift up my nightgown, exposing my bare ass in the dimly lit room.  A rush of white heat overwhelmed me, a flash of white light sparked before my eyes, and a euphoric wave of energy surged quickly through my submissive body, when I felt the first smack upon my wanton skin.

After Mr. B finished punishing me for being so naughty, my ass cheeks inflamed and colored with a hot pink hue, I was led by collar and leash to the bedroom on all fours and told to strip off my nightgown, hop up on the bed like a good doggie, lie on my back and spread my legs.  I obeyed, hoping for some carnal affection, as if a puppy pleading for its belly to be rubbed.  My libido was sizzling hot, like a crazy, mad fever!  My body arched high off the bed when Mr. B’s fingers finally plunge, thrust, knuckle, and curl their way, deep inside of me.  A deluge of my arousal soaked his skin, making his fingers wet and slippery. Euphoria danced in my blood stream, grateful for the sexual satisfaction.  My moans of pleasure reverberated off the walls, echoing over the music, which played softly from Mr. B’s IPod.  I panted like a bitch in heat, overwhelmed by my insatiable lust.  My hips bucked upward, hoping to plow Mr. B’s fingers deeper inside of me.  My naked body writhed and wiggled when his hand slapped salaciously upon my bare skin, stinging the my nerves right below my warm flesh.  The inner mingling sensations of pain and pleasure zipped like tiny, explosive torpedoes, inside my bloodstream.  Carnal gratification seeped into my essence like morphine dripping from an intravenous line.  I was lost in the land of fuck!

“But she lost the thread of her thoughts, her breaths coming long and low, Richard’s gentle hands massaging her hurt breasts, the face beneath her pressed into her vagina, the tongue flushing her, the lips clamping onto her whole nether mouth and drawing on it in an orgy of sucking that sent orgasms searing through her.” –Anne Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

My right hand gripped and stroked firmly upon Mr. B’s cock.  His virile, cruel fingers pinching and pulling upon my nipples, before he finger fucked me again, his hand keeping in rhythm with the firm strokes of my hand.  Erotic energy moved through our electrified bodies like jumper cables hooked to two, car engines.  The smell of sex floated in the air, as if curls of smoke from several, lust scented sticks of burning incense.  My mind, body and spirit floated deep into a state of submission – a drifting sensation that is difficult to put into words.  It feels ethereal, disconnecting, and surreal.  The foreplay of the night had me feeling more subdued and submissive than normal.  My long, string of diabolic orgasms exploded deep within me as if several, large sticks of dynamite!  Wild, zipping, euphoric – laced endorphins intoxicated my brain, my world became fuzzy and blurry, my senses heightened and the energy in my cunt and clitoris was electrified. And when the perfect opportunity approached, we fucked hard, fast and powerful.  I took him deep inside of me with needy, greedy gulps. My heart was beating so fast, making me feel dizzy, my pants of thrill evaporated all of the saliva from my mouth.  I felt insatiable and thirsty.  My soul gripped tightly onto this euphoric sensation, my mind wishing it could last forever!

“What did I want from you today when I tethered you behind that pair of ponies, when I plugged your mouth and your anus and made you march in your bare feet?”

“Submission,” I said, my mouth dry.  My voice sounded unfamiliar to me.” –Anne Rice, Beauty’s Punishment

I ponder to myself, as I end this letter to you, Henry, if my strange ways of role play and fetish foreplay will freak you out, as you read this letter in your celestial world.  I’m sure my letters of being a pony girl and puppy sound bizarre and strangely erotic to a man who didn’t venture much into the fetish world.  But, I know that you have a mind that can stretch far and wide.  These erotic games fuel my artistic imagination, causing me to feel a vast array of emotions, like vivid paints upon a palette.  I move beyond primal routine and the simple basics of sex, continuing to make a long term, sexual relationship, fresh and alive.  I love to fall under a deep, submissive spell, drifting and floating into an unknown, mysterious realm, always surprised at where the night’s adventure will take me.

 I must end this letter, Henry.  I have a lot of painting to accomplish today.

“My watercolors are always voyages of adventure and, whether “successful” or unsuccessful, they give me real satisfaction.  I can swim in their presence just as gratefully as if they were Picassos or Rembrandts.  I am never totally disappointed in them, no matter how bad the attempt.” –Henry Miller, The Paintings of Henry Miller; Paint As You Like and Die Happy

Much Love,

Mia

6 responses to “mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 44 – A Bitch in Heat, Kinky Collars, and an Erotic Dinner on All Fours

  1. Pingback: Are You Kinky? « Erotic Pleasure

  2. This is a fascinating project. I love the way Miller wrote, the way he seized the moment and had no time for bullshit. Favorite is probably “Quiet Days in Cliche”, where he has all the usual Milleresque sex and degradation, then gets overtaken by his humanity and love of life at the end.

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    • Thank you Theo! Your blog looks very intriguing as well. I will have to read some more of your work. I love the way Miller wrote as well…He is an obsession. I loved his passion, writing, art and spirit! Thank you again. Mia

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  3. Pingback: Girl on a journey essay | The Master's Slut

  4. Reblogged this on mia loves henry miller and commented:
    I am reblogging my first collection of Letters to Henry Miller, via blog, as I finish the last letter in this first collection of erotic letters written to Henry Miller. This review of stimulating letters will end with Letter 50. Once I finish editing my manuscript and prepare my book for publishing, this first collection of letters will be removed from my blog web site Mialoveshenrymiller.com and transcend into a book. Once this is complete I will begin writing, Mia Loves Henry Miller, Book 2, beginning with Letter 51 – Thank you for all of my readers support.

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