Long, Long Distance Love Affair

It's almost Ooey-Gooey Heart Day. 

Are you single? Committed? Something else entirely too complicated to explain? Sames! Let's be BFFs forever and ever. 

Ya know, we probably could look at Valentine's Day as the end of cuffing season. While it is apt to still be freezing here in the artic circle where I once again reside, my libido thinks spring is approaching. Well, if I'm being honest, my libido always thinks it is spring. But I digress, Valentine's Day, if we all agree, can be the end of imagining you need to be half of a couple to feel complete, and we could just focus on having so much fun instead. 

I rarely imagine I have to be half of a couple to be complete. But I was half of a couple for most of my adult life, so sometimes I'm not entirely sure how to do a thing solo. 

The very first Valentine I experienced without a live-in partner was when I was 45. I had relationships of various statuses, but all of them were long-distance. Imaging myself without adult company on Valentine's Day sounded awful, so I hosted a kink-friendly cuddle party. 

When I say I don't know how to vanilla, you should believe me. 

There was a playmate who asked, what if you sacrifice everything, spend years committed to this dynamic, then the little vanillas grow-up, everyone retires, and he doesn't want to be with you? 

Well, I'd probably be bitter and angry, wicked bitter even, if that's how my life unfolded. But that's absolutely not going to happen. Oh, he might not want to be with me in a decade, he might not want to be with me tomorrow. It seems unlikely, but sure it is absolutely possible that could happen. What is absolutely not going to happen is the part where I sacrifice everything, or even really anything of value, to be in this dynamic. 

We passed five years the other day. I was, if I am being honest, up in my feels that we weren't together on that day. We weren't even in the same country, cue Prince's International Lover and let's reframe all of it. We weren't together on the day he asked me if I wished to belong to him either. You've heard the story haven't you? On that day in 2018, I was the Dungeon Mistress at a Princess Gemini event. Our biggest event to that point, everyone on the team had brought their A-game and the event was amazing, a success by any standard. I was bouncing on a massage table to House of Pain's Jump Around, I don't even like House of Pain. But I was working over this pretty little kitten, and texting flirty things with Master John. I was radiating happiness. This year on the 27th, I was up in my feels a little, and a guest at an amazing party, flogging a pretty kitten with mile long legs, wishing my top was there to enjoy the moment with me. 

I have made life altering changes with my top's encouragement and discipline. I sacrificed smoking, vaping too. Diet Pepsi is burning on an altar, along with unhealthy relationships, and poor financial choices. My top would not only not ask me, he would never allow me to sacrifice a thing that was in my best interest. I am tasked with taking exceptional care of his property, and I am so committed to doing that. I am absolutely certain a decade from now you will find me radiating happiness, I will trust the universe to sort out the details. 

And I know the night is fading, and I know that time's gonna fly

 Writing without vaping is a bit more challenging than I expected. Well to be honest, I never really expected to be writing without vaping, so my expectations were skewed accordingly. Yet here we are. I've lost count of how long it has been. I am pretty certain it has been over 100 days now. Please note, when I say it is a challenge, I am not sure that's the best word for it. When I quit smoking cigarettes, I experienced moments of depression so intense that I felt unsafe. Writing without a vape feels like when a gnat is flying around you at the beach. It's not causing you any harm at all, but you can't seem to just not notice it even though you're at the beach, otherwise having a wonderful time. I am very aware that I am typing and that there isn't a cloud of strawberry scented vapor over my head. I'm not sad about it, not even stressed, I just can't seem to ignore that I am aware of it. 

Someone asked me recently how I quit smoking. I spared them the minutia. We all know the tools that are available, if you really want to a soup can will work as well as a hammer. The only part that matters is the part where you really want to. I quit because the version of me that lived in my top's imagination was somehow cooler than who I imagined myself to be. No easy feat, I think I'm the bees' knees. 

The other day I stumbled across some angry posts about the realness of porn. I don't wish to be shown more angry posts debating the realness of porn so I didn't engage. But of course, I have opinions, and it's your lucky day.   

In the quibbling twittering I eavesdropped on, the OP remarked that porn is fake. To which another little bird said that that's why they like amateur porn. Then many little blue birds chirped that amateur porn is fake too. If the scene when Alan Rickman plumets to his death makes me wet, does that mean Die Hard is porn and not a Christmas movie? 

I don't know why realness would be a component of factoring quality or value. And if it is to be a factor, what do you even mean when you say real? I have never heard of a porn star using a stunt pussy. I mean I make amateur movies, perhaps on big budget sets that's the norm, what do I know. I have heard people devalue porn because it doesn't showcase how people really have sex. I suppose that's pretty accurate. Lights off, wrapped in blankets and thrusting may or may not feel good but it definitely isn't visually stimulating. 

I think amateur porn, like any commercial art, is some imprecise ratio of this is what I enjoy creating, this is what I imagine my audience wants to consume, and I hope it pays the bills. 

I was curled up on and around my top. He had just paddled my feet, at my request, on camera.  I was crying hard. I was professing my love, confessing my fears; an uninitiated observer may have thought I was intoxicated. My top was stroking my hair, rubbing my back, I heard his light bulb spark and then he said this is what we should be recording, and he turned my camera back on. Then he started <censored> while reminding me to look at the camera. 

Our angry twittering friends probably have never had sexy time that looked or felt like this. Perhaps one can't miss what they have never had, and it's all for the best. But never have I ever faked an O or lived a life that wasn't authentic. 

You Have to Learn to Pace Yourself

My grandmother use to say that people don't value what they don't earn. As a child I chalked this up to another of the many things my grandmother just didn't understand about how the world worked. Then, quite regularly as an adult, I have seen it prove true.

 Don't you hate that? 

My top recently introduced a new punishment. I am feeling so bashful about sharing it. I had to write lines. I love writing. I love repetitive writing. Hello, have we met? Each time, the statements he made me write were similar to thoughts that often cross my mind and make me smile when they do. The first began with I am my owner’s_____, you don’t need to know the rest. The second time began with I belong to Master John. 

I'm feeling bashful because even now, a week later, it caused such a profound feeling of submission. It was hypnotic to write over and over again, I belong to Master John. To contemplate, what does that mean? You know how if you repeat a thing over and over it comes to sound like meaningless collection of sounds? This was exactly the opposite. 

The first time it was a three-part statement, written 250 times. The second was also a three-part statement, written 500 times. I'm pretty efficient. I can write a page, 25 lines, in about 12 minutes. When I pushed I trimmed it down to 8, but my hand actually cramped more, and legibility was greatly lost. 

It was, without question, my favorite punishment and also, I hope to never again experience it. 

I think I am exceptionally good at managing my time, and I swear I did appreciate time before this punishment. But perhaps time management had become an auto-pilot sort of thing for me. I have one responsibility daily that is due at a specific, set-in-stone time. Every other thing on my agenda can be wiggled around however I see fit. And I wiggle it just a little bit. What, wait sorry dance party distraction. I do that too. For real. 

It was important that my punishment not compromise my vanilla responsibilities, and my top would agree that's how it should be. It was also important to me that I meet my top's expectation.  I spent the day calling out, Alexa set a timer for 10 minutes. Then I would sit and ink a page with 25 lines of I belong to Master John... while picturing what I had to accomplish during the 20 minutes of vanilla that would follow. Alexa set a timer for 20 minutes, and play Billy Joel Pressure. No wiggling today, focus. I did my promo posts on the socials, I did not get sucked into watching reels of this song will sync right up to the third video in your phone. I did workout, I did not scroll through 100s of 20-minute workouts before deciding which one I would do. I outlined this post in my head, I didn't make repetitive outlines to be thrown away because the spacing just isn't right. I decide what was for dinner and got that fucker in the oven. Not one minute was wasted on hmm, chicken or beef. I gave my attention 100% to what mattered, and not one millisecond to what did not. 

I earned an ever-deeper appreciation for time, and for my top. 

No One Else in the Whole Universe will ever Compare

For in the distance, 12 souls from now, 

you and me will still be here

I saw an article recently, it read: blah-blah-blah, legends New Edition to do something. What? Ronnie, Bobbie, Ricky and Mike, weren't we sorting out if you like the girl like just last weekend? Legends? Decades, not years, have to pass before one can be declared a legend, right? 

Decades have passed. 

Fuck it, looks like we will have to be legends now. 

I have needed to order new business cards for at least a year. I mean it's terribly less pressing now that I rarely engage with new-to-me subbies. Also, we live here in the future, calling cards are so very dated. 

Clock me, I love business cards, and I have to return some videotapes. 

Fuck that's probably a classic now. Peeps prolly think it was released around the same time as Taxi Driver, and Casablanca. Note to self: find new movie quotes. 

I need to order business cards. NBD. One of my nearest and dearest, our Goth Barbie, owns a printing shop even.

So I need a new landing page here to Q. 

A new all about me page, you're soaking in it now, for all the information that's too wordy for a card.  

Seven times seven, not one cell of the innumerable gathered to create this me that I am remains from the original collection. 

How weird is that? 

Who am I? 

I should put a link to my first entry here. Maybe I will when I edit, prolly won't. I am still a professional dominatrix. I am still never, ever going to sleep with you. In the years since I wrote that the scene has become an ever-bigger presence in my personal life as well. It has grown to include becoming my Top's submissive. Four years now, it still feels surreal. I maintain that I am not a submissive or a switch, but this dynamic is very much a primary part of my identity now. I have discovered some of the best parts of me, rediscovered some of my favorite parts of me, through becoming my top's property.  

I'm a creator now. Well, I mean, I have always been a creator, but I create porn now. Ha. Dude, let's pause here for a minute. I am having a second opportunity to live out my exhibitionist fantasies, and this time the internet is a thing. When I was your age, I had to walk uphill, through the snow, in my Pleasers to get to the club, or something like that. 

Whatev, welcome to Cassatopia. Can I tell you a secret? Lean in close, bonus you'll end up covered in my pheromones. I started this post a month ago. I was going to give some thought to exactly what I wished to convey, come back in a few minutes and bang it out. In my defense I did also squeeze in a magical vacation since I paused, I haven't only been sitting around contemplating my navel. But also, my belly button is hella deep, I did spend much time investigating it. 

Still, I don't have an outline I'm bouncing off, we're just winging this. It's on today's list, "Finish the post", and as a fail-safe, today's primary goal is: a well completed To Do List. 

So I'm Mistress Cassidy, lifestyle and professional dominatrix, content creator, BDSM consultant, and event hostess.  Sometimes I'm just Cassidy, cougar, Gen X, MILF and Master John's pet. This is my blog. It's pretty sweet. One time Master John said, I love your blog. And I'm this dork who will glow about that every time I recall it. There's typically song lyric titles, Prince or Bowie most often. I reference astrology and tarot far more often than reasonable. I write here with the knowledge that my literature teacher from 1986 sometimes pops by, as does 100s of my vanilla friends, so I censor a little bit. But only a little bit. They choose to be my friend, they know what they signed up for. I try to post my travel and event schedule here, but it's too full to keep it current really. Besides it's less than safe to just put here where any muggle might trip over it. 

Pop by Fetlife @MistressCassidy, if I am attending a fetish event it'll be noted there. 

Subscribe to my VIP OnlyFans: Cassidy Cream OnlyFans for uncensored content, or the soon to be active free follow version: https://onlyfans.com/cassidycream 

Expect to see a revamp of colors and layouts on all my pages soon, I asked the universe to send me a new assistant and I trust the universe is, as always, twisting itself inside out to grant my wish. 

Think you're new assistant worthy? Submit your resume to cassidycream15@gmail.com 

It's a paid gig, but also one must agree to a little impropriety, k? Muggles need not apply. 

My Hands are Tied, My Body Bruised

 Sleight of hand and twist fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait. 

Do you know how many not just good, but truly amazing things have come to be as a direct result of me choosing to do a thing I knew I shouldn't do? How many times I have thought, this could really be a mistake, a big one, a wicked big one, but let's see what happens. I don't mean illegal things, or really even immoral things. I mean things that everyone knows you are supposed to do this way. Everyone agrees that way is best, and I swear I'm not trying to be difficult. I can see, yes it probably is best to do X this way; but fuckingA it sounds boring as fuck. And I just can't. I can't do it that way. Let's do it the way that's fastest, or the way that's scariest, or the way with the biggest potential to just, well just anything that isn't boring. We're going to start calling those moments Big D Moments, and you with your dirty mind are going to think I am referring to The D, I'm not. And those who know me, are going to think I am referring to my vanilla self, and I am not. If ya really knew me, you'd remember I am the Little D, there are things we never outgrow. 

This is not a Big D Moment, this moment is the amazing one, the direct result part. This is me, 49 years and 4 days. I was trying to take pictures of my bum, it's covered in bruises. Fiona is on the other side of the bed, I'll share that picture in a minute. She's chewing on her caterpillar toy, as happy with her lot in life as I am. I'm trying to take pictures because that's what I do. I'm 49 and 4 days, and I earn a living by, along with other things, taking pictures of my bum. Earlier in the day, Master John and I were just kicked back, basking after the activities that lead to the bruising mentioned above and catching up. And I said a thing, the verbatim is lost, the essence was that I have been a professional domme for over 20 years, and on a regular I am still, what? You want me to do what? Pinch me, I'm dreaming, this is what I get paid for Sir. And we shared a giggle that echoed back to the intersections of all the Big D Moments that lead and landed me right there.  

I See You Under the Midnight

All shackles and bows 

I'm a Sagittarius, we travel.  Like not we save all year, then spend a week with a mouse in February. Once when I was in high school I realized I would have $20 left over after filling the tank in my banana yellow Monte Carlo, so I went to the Cape instead of class. And listen Linda, 30+ years later, the memory of that trip reminds me what a badass I have always been. It soothes me when I feel restless. Yes, I actually agree, one does need algebra as an adult. But not nearly as much as you'll need a memory that tells you, just do the thing, and trust it will work out. 

A few weeks ago my plans to see my top had to be cancelled. I backspaced a novel in this space, <right here>.  It read something about anger being a mask we use to cover sadness. But also, fuck that emo noise.  

So I gathered up half my investments in my immortality, and we jetted to the mountains for 2 days. It was four days before we reached novelty saturation, and then we returned home.  

 My top is not a Sagittarius, but his travel calendar puts mine to shame. When I cancelled we tried to synchronize our Swatches. I have this holiday thing, he has that work thing, this day doesn't work, that weekend is full. It seemed it would be at least a month before we could try again. Out loud I said, that works Sir. Before I could stop myself, my inner voice said, we are not agreeing to that, fuck that, now, I want to see him now. A week later, he said I'll be in xxxxxxx tomorrow. Fiona and I were tucking in to a beautiful hotel in xxxxxxx that evening. 

Vanilla pics and innuendo will be shared on Insta, the ones that might make ya blush will be Twittered & Snapped, pearl clutching on Fet and the juiciest deets exclusively on OnlyFans. 

The Wheel

 It's almost my birthday <insert prezzies here> 

That's forty-eight years and three hundred, sixty-three days; unfiltered. 

I was at this event awhile back. They had a sign posted with their protocols, where to find the condoms, keep quiet if you're watching other's engage; you know standard party rules. But an item on the list was, "don't catch feels". I'm sure they intended it to be clever. But clearly it wasn't my scene. I'm here, on this planet, for nothing but the feels. There isn't anything else, I've looked. 

She told me, that she told him, that I loved him. Said it like she thought I was going to hurt her. To be fair, I was perched for bouncing a face off pavement. I had no idea what she was confessing. But did she think that was a secret? Never have I ever been accused of being hard to read. 

Nor would I wish to be. Someone was telling me about the worst sexual experience they had ever had. IDK, I have that vibe I guess. Anyway. The story was that someone tongue flicked their thigh for 5 minutes, super into it & unaware that it was a thigh they were flicking, then rolled over, jacked off and fell asleep. Did you tap them on the shoulder? Say ahem? Hit them with your riding crop? You didn't? You were there, right? 

I was at the mugglemarket yesterday. This (if I weren't committed) hardcore DILF was surfing a carriage. You know what I mean, holding himself up on the handle so his feet were off the ground, skating the carriage (buggy for my southern friends). I rolled up beside him, windows down and double dog dared him to take it across the whole lot. 

That's what middle age GenX'ers are going to be doing. 

Following our bliss, and living our best lives. 

For real, you should do the same. Like right now, there isn't anything else.  

Really It's a Pretty Wholesome Lifestyle

We're in my kitchen, there's a purple tablecloth on my table. It's not paisley, but it will make you think of Prince. Tupac is trying so hard to convince us he's a simple man, fuck the fame. Do simple men leave this mortal coil in a blaze of bullets, in Vegas? It's your story Mr Shakur, spin it anyway you wish. 

Yesterday Ms. Dahlia and I were being silly on the phone. Being silly on the phone with Dahlia is a line item on my resume. Anyway, I said, I feel like I have had a very conservative sex life. Then I said, many times, stop laughing. Right now, stop it. 

YouTube drift just gave me Powerman 5000, are you ready?  

My breakfast included Brussel sprouts and miso soup. I made it myself, like a boss. Sadly, today, I served myself, like a muggle. I feel like consuming Brussel sprouts before 9am is the epitome of wholesome. 

My top was the first man ever in the history of all time to ever... hmm. I'm going to finish that sentence when I copy this to Fetlife. I was 45. The missing words? They're really not that shocking, I think it's far more shocking that I was 45 the first time I experienced it. Listen, Mr Shakur might be a freak and let you get up on top of him. Bitches on top? We be wild up in here. 

Oh, well yes, that thing my top did? I have caused probably several thousands of men to do the same. Yes, to their own  {Fetlife edit}

Dahlia and I lived out one of our Sister Wives fantasies at Canobie Lake Park recently. Um, that is the fantasy. Put your junk away, no one's getting naked.  Sister Wives= women in a platonic relationship, who's immortality investments are raised, provided for and protected by a fierce collection of adults, mostly women.  Fantasizing about a conservative religious based practice seems pretty wholesome to me. I mean, as long we keep our clothes on. 

Oh right, I was also in trouble that day. I sent Master John more filtered pictures, He h8s them. We have very different top styles. I suspect astute lifestyle readers know exactly what's written in between the lines. Anyway, I sent filtered pictures the day before I was spending the day deep in vanilla, with a high probability of muggle interactions. And he tossed me right in the briar patch, who knew that would happen? I may share the deets on Fet. I don't know, as much as I did totes ask for it, it was a rather intense punishment. 

Sea moss, acai berry, water kefir smoothies. 

My poodle's name is Fiona, we call her FiFi sometimes.

Before bed FiFi and I chill out by watching videos of bento box ideas and charcuterie board building.

Today fairies from the Amazon are bringing me toothpicks with little ceramic animals, like sea turtles. 

There's both sprouts and micro-greens growing in my kitchen. 

June Cleaver, Donna Reed and Martha Stewart combined aren't as wholesome as me. 

And also

I met a client after an event. I was wearing an ethereal floaty sheer black ensemble with my spiked, cbt stems. I wore them at Canobie too. The woman behind me coming out of the Turkish Twist tapped me on the shoulder to declare, you're shoes are terrifying. I said please be careful, it's possible there's a little blood on them. Neither of us were fibbing. My client met me at an uppity mugglemarket, where I had him {fetlife edit} in the parking lot before he lived out his fantasy of taking a Goddess shopping while {more of the same}. 

Really, I live a wholesome, simple life.