On Being a Submissive

I had been with this man before, and always walked away tantalized

and mystified at the same time. What was it that kept me coming

back for more, longing for the next time I am invited over? I

crave the sound of his voice, the deep penetrating gaze from his

dark delicious eyes, and most of all, his firm, yet loving touch.

He does not dominate me in a traditional sense... yet again he

does. He is very quiet and doesn't say much. He issues soft,

simple commands and uses body language and looks to communicate

other things. When I am with him, I feel like a big chunk of me is

torn off and left with my dom every time I see him. It is up to me

to regenerate myself, to regain my strength and be strong so that

I can endure the whole process over again if he desires that it be

so, endure it and celebrate the rapture of surrender, both physical

and mental.

I was trying to find a word for this thing yesterday. Liason? It

feels like more than an "affair". It is melting into the very core

of me. I will always remember this. "Treasure" is the perfect word.

He tells me about his childhood fantasies of capturing and

tantalizing women, and about how he was titillated but disturbed by

them at the same time. Here I am offering him an outlet for some of

the things he thinks about. I asked him if he had to be serious and

studious all the time or if there was something that he got to do

that was fun and wild. He laughed and said, "This is pretty fun and

wild!" and he was right.

He called me last week, and suggested we get together on Friday

night. I spent the week in the most delicious state... I went

shopping on Sunday and bought a new shirt, gauzy material of cobalt

blue with silver threads running vertically through it, that

buttons all the way up the front. And I bought a cobalt blue lacy

bra that fastens in the front. He loves to unbutton and unfasten,

very slowly. I had to make sure everything would be just right for

my loving master. He liked my new clothes. And he opened up that

front bra clasp with one fluid motion - those are tricky!

He was tired, he had just gotten in when I arrived at 9pm. But he

rallyed and revived and we had a slow smooth time together. We

made some small talk for a while, and I felt my self coming under

his spell... wanting to please him in so many different ways.....

He is an admirer of womanhood. He studies my body as if there was

something that he could learn from it. He is a professional

student, after all... He tilts his head to one side with this

little grin when he's touching and exploring.

The palms of his hands are large, with short fingers, yet they are

the eloquent, expressive hands of an artist. He always knows just

how much I need and where to touch me the most. He likes to play

with my pussy with his fingers, applying just enough pressure and

movement to drive me wild. He has just the right amount of

endurance. Enough so that you get enough without thinking, "I wish

he'd stop, already!!!"

I had sent him a photocopy of a chapter from one of Anne Rice's

Beauty Trilogy books. He told me that he had liked the part where

she is on her knees and her master is whipping her with his belt.

I told him that he could do that to me if he liked. He got up off

the big black couch and went over to his pants and removed the belt

off them. I was already on my knees, as I was kneeling on the floor

in front of him as we were talking. I didn't look at him but I

could hear the belt swish through the fabric of the beltloops on

the pants and I could hear the buckle jingling.

He was very slow and thoughtful about it. He had his head tilted to

one side as he struck me quick and light with the leather end of

his belt. "I've never done this before," he said in his slow,

quiet, dreamy voice. "I need practice." I told him that he was

welcome to practice on me if it pleased him to do so. He would stop

and gently take the very end of the belt and slowly run it up and

down my slit, pushing it just a little bit into me... I was

enjoying the thought of him wearing his belt with some of my juices

soaked into it...

He would ask me "Where am I hitting you?" and I would touch the

place with my hand. He was working on his aim... There was no

visciousness in it at all, he was just stroking me with quick

strikes of the belt. I told him that the feeling was a pleasant,

hot, stingy feeling that lingered for about 5 strokes later. He

said he was afraid to hurt me. I told him that I liked the

sensation and that I would tell him if and when he hurt me too much

but that he shouldn't worry about it.

He stood right next to me on my left side as I knelt on the floor.

I felt his leg against my side, I could lean on it and feel the

strength there. I loved having that physical contact with him as he

stroked/slapped me with the belt. The warm touch of his leg against

my skin was an extra reminder of hispresence.I brought my lips to

his foot and kissed him there, kissed his toes and the top of his

foot. I meant it as a gesture of thanks for the strikes that he

gave me, a gesture of reverence toward him, of submission to him.

The strikes stopped. I felt him come up behind me. He pushed the

belt between my legs and brought it up over my cunt. He spread the

lips of my pussy to accomodate the width of the leather and brought

the ends of the belt together in his hand. He pulled up on the

belt, and the loop of leather between my legstightened and put

exquisite pressure on my clitoris. Words for what was happening

swirled around in my head- "Rein, it's like a rein... Reign of

Terror/rein of terror... no, no terror... rein of pleasure, yes,

yes, a Rein of Pleasure.

He tugged on the belt, first softly, then harder. I put my hands

together underneath the bottom edge of the couch, pretending the

weight of it was holding them there. I pushed my buttocks back

toward him, wishing for him to continue use me as he saw fit,

loving every touch of his hand, fingers, belt...

He let go of the belt and sat down on the couch. His cock was hard

and I knew that he wanted more from me. His look told me that I was

to approach him and take his penis into my mouth. I crawled over

kneel on the floor in front of him, and I closed my eyes as I

brought my lips to the moistened head of it.

It seemed to excite him... A quiet, pensive excitement with a

beautiful physical manifestation which I was able to enjoy also.

Mostly he stroked and probed me in his slow, soft, steady way.

After I have been with him, my whole body is aching for a couple of

days. We stretch and bend and contort and grasp and thrust and

thrust back and we both get shaky and exhausted. I have rug burns

on my knees, he has a scratchy carpet in front of the couch in his

library... He usually takes me in his library... I love that. I

know that he treasures his books. I think that he treasures his

lovers also. Every time that I am with him it is like a sparkly

jewel. He is like an extra patch of crocuses, extra rays of

sunshine, extra warm breezes, extra sap flowing in my springtime.

He then led me to the darkened library room. There were white

candles burning all over the room. He removed all my clothes and

instructed me to lie on the floor on my back. He then tied my

wrists together with soft white rope and tethered me to the leg of

the black couch with my arms over my head. He pulled me down gently

by my hips so that I was all stretched out...

He quietly picked up a black felt pen and started to write on the

soft skin on the underside of my arms. I watched his face while he

wrote line after line of Chinese characters on me. Sometimes he

would pause and look at my face, or bend to kiss me with one of his

deep, long kisses. My arms looked like pages in a Chinese

dictionary, covered with intricate characters. When he had finished

he stood back to admire what you had done. Then he took me, first

stroking me all over with broad long strokes of his hands. He

looked into my eyes as he made me come with his fingers. I was

crying because it was so intense. He told me in that soft voice to

turn over and get on my knees, and I did, still with my wrists

tied. He came into me from behind and stretched me exquisitely

until his pleasure was completed, and then untied me and held

me closely as we lay in the candlelight, kissing. He leaned over

and traced an ancient symbol on my mons with his fingers... quietly

suggesting that a tattoo would be in order ... never quite

explaining what the symbol was, but letting me know that it was

very special, a sign of my submission to him. I could still feel

the outlines of the symbol days later.