Memoir of a Submissive

my attention is refracted as light through cut crystal.  Lovely, new bits of radiance falling in almost predictable patterns, but fractured focus, nonetheless. my thoughts go from demand to demand until i lose sight of that which is most important. i flit from each of these small rainbows to the next until He commands my return to the source of everything that dispels the darkness.

my wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of His bed, i am staked out as an object for His taking. my eyes, closed behind the velvet blindfold, see only impenetrable black.  His deep rumbling words reach me now in this place of sheer focus.

You have forgotten what is most important, My girl.

You have attended to any and all that called for your response, and it has only brought you here.

His words soothe me, yet i know that there will soon be a means of His choosing doing the work of returning me to my first Love.

The pin pricks roll across the soft instep of my foot first. i know the wheel well; its pain will soon do the work my fickle mind refused.

He speaks and His words surround me in perfect, unseen Iuminosity.

I am calling you back with each biting sting.

 I refuse to leave you wandering aimlessly, serving lesser gods.

Rule Number 14: i will not hesitate when responding to my Master. my focus is important to my growth.

 (For those not familiar with Wartenberg wheels...

http://www.keepingitkinky.net/bdsm/toys-equipment/wartenberg-pinwheel/  )

(I do not endorse or profit in any way from this link.)

                When astronauts return to earth’s grounded terrain after long stretches in space, their balance, eye pressure, and bone density suffer changes that we mere earthlings know nothing of. Some find that even their speech is affected. “I hadn't realized that I learned to talk with a weightless tongue," said the Canadian space flyer. i had not realized i had, either. i was circling the world i once knew, enclosed in my own capsule of loss.

You came into my life on the most bitter of winter mornings, when the blood in my veins seemed to start and stop, stymied by ice crystals yet warmed by the sight of You. You walked right into my muddled path, as surely as if You had been sent by some benevolent, universe ruler, and not merely the happenstance of a similar schedule.

Our lives began to intertwine, until i was tethered to You, knowing that my very breath was dependent on our being joined. And then You asked me: was it a sea of tranquility that i wanted?  A life of predictability, where every moment was scripted by some vanilla authority on what should and shouldn’t be?

I don’t want peace, I said with certainty . I have had enough quiet, and peace, and silence to last me.

You leaned ever so gently down so that your lips grazed my ear, and whispered intensely, with an authority I always knew you had, but that you kept in check before my acquiescence.

 So,then, what do you want?

i turned to face you and averted my gaze in deference to Your power, Your body terrra firma beneath my fingertips.

And as if someone else spoke, my tongue, weightless no more, formed the words, “i want earth. i want you. i want now.”

Rule Number 13: i must be both specific and explicit in my speech.

Somehow appropriate for today…

He settled me firmly across His lap; my ass raised at a level that would make anyone self-conscious. Head down, eyes glued to the hardwood, I did my best to prepare for the spanks that were about to rain down on my sensitive skin. I held close to His ankles, securing me, anchoring wayward me, to my only Rock.

Count them out, Girl. And don’t forget gratitude.

One arm on my back, the other free to deliver all of the humiliation, stinging pain, and freedom He could muster.

One after another, the blows came. And after each one, a desperate number and breathless, “Thank you, Sir.”

Rule Number 12: i must always give thanks to my Master for all i am given immediately after receiving what He has given me, for such things are gifts or privileges granted to me by Him.

 A long time ago, in a bedroom far, far away.....

i saw it just lying there on the nightstand next to our bed. So unassuming amongst the mundane, pocket-discards of his day- receipts, change, keys- something so out of place in our domestic routine of a life.  An idea? A possibility? A demand? What was he thinking bringing home a bright pink, silicone and leather doggy bone gag?

i heard the familiar creak of the stairs as he was coming to our bedroom, and it startled me out of my racing thoughts. i turned quickly to face him like a child caught reaching for a forbidden book on a top shelf.

 “Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said tenderly.

You didn’t? That’s disappointing, i thought with the scandolous part of my brain.

i walked toward him to put my arms around his neck, and pulled him close for a kiss. It had been a long day, and i wanted nothing more than to shut out the world with all of its “Pick me first!” demands.

“Hey, Babygirl. Was it one of those days?” he said in a husky whisper while his lips were still on mine, creating a luscious little vibration.

When isn’t it? i mused, but said nothing beside a slow nod of my head.

“Well, I think I have a little solution,” he stated with his beautiful authority.

My thoughts quickly returned to the gag waiting there next to our bed. Is that what he means?

i must have unconsciously turned my attention to the nightstand in response, because he immediately asked, “Oh, so you’ve found your newest little toy?”

“It was right there, i kind of couldn’t help it. Was it supposed to be a surprise?” i scrambled in response.

“i left it there on purpose. I wanted to give you time to think about it,” he said, again with that determined, commanding tone.

And what exactly was I to think? My somewhat feminist mind screamed in protest that a gag was the perfect symbol for misogyny- shut the bitch up! it seemed to say . Be quiet, woman; your ideas and thoughts mean nothing and just to listen to them annoys any man.

But this man who owned me never expressed any of that. He took great pains to make me understand that above all, I mattered. Everything that concerned me, concerned him. my joy was his, my pleasure was owned and created by him.

And he loved me, too.

“Why don’t you try it on for size?” he seemed to offer, but i knew it was more of a command.

He reached for it, and turned me around to face away from him so he could buckle it in place. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he slowly turned me to look at him.  Then the moment came. Would i really do it? Would i allow him to place the gag in my mouth?

His eyes did me in. His smile started at his eyes. It reminded me of this whole life we had together, this beautiful, hard, perfect love. And i knew i could trust him.

My heart started to beat a cornered-prey rhythm as he lifted it to my lips. “Open,” was his one-word claim on me.

i looked up at him as it was secured in my mouth, and smiled- as best i could. i wanted to have it there, it felt good and naughty and right, all at the same time.

Just like us.

Rule 11: my body and mind are the property of my Master.

The images played across my mind like light dancing across a wind-swept pond- flittering, flecking up responses from deep within me. i recalled the night before and each night before that.  It was as real to me as if it was happening at this very second. The ropes around my ankles and shins, the gag within my hungry mouth, the arm sleeve restraining my arms up, up, and back behind me and hooked to the chain falling from its ceiling home . And of course, the ever-present need between my legs.

As i stood so very helpless before Him, i could feel the juices of that need seeping from my wanting lips, trickling downward still. He promised relief and then would withdraw the vibrating tool of my release, over and over, as i moaned in frustration behind the gag. i knew the orgasm i sought was only His to give and so i endured. As i did in this moment, until i could take it no more.

my fingers wanted to plunge into my sopping need, circling harder and harder still against my clit, but i knew that none of those parts i thought i possessed- fingers, cunt, clit- were really mine. All belonged to Him and only He could satisfy whatever need i had.

 i willed my fingers, instead, to fly across the keyboard, begging Him for my release.

Babygirl…

Yes, Sir?

You know all of this is Mine to grant you, and of course, I have every right to say no.

Yes, Sir.

But today, I will allow it.

Rule Number 10:  i will ask my Master for permission to satisfy whatever need i have before acting on it.

You were not seeking, but yet You found what You deemed a treasure where there should be none.

Walking along, attending to all of the mundane demands foisted upon You by a world that says we must toil in our labor in order to survive, You noticed little but the dust kicked up by Your 10, 00 steps a day.

And there, barely above ground, was something that glimmered with possibility. Hard-edged, but those sharp corners could be softened by Your time and attention. Tending, sculpting, crafting- yes, You could bring forth something even better than its current condition. After all, You are an artist, skilled in calling into being something magnificent from nothing.

One mere obstacle stood between You and this treasure of untold worth: You did not own the desolate field which held it. Something about possession being 9/10th of the law ran through Your racing mind. You imagined how You would savor every bit of that treasure- caress it, fondle it, and hold it ever closer to Your soul. And nothing must stand in Your way of possessing it.

You offered everything You had- Your strength, Your power, Your thoughts of Self, and were granted the ownership of a field of unfulfilled  dreams and one, tiny, small treasure that You would transform into an object of great value.

And pleasure reigned.

Rule Number 9:  i am nothing more than an object of great value – an instrument Master will use to draw out His pleasures.

**Shiny gold star sticker if you know where this short story originated.**

Tell me what makes Your pulse quicken, and stirs your blood, rushing it to all those secret places of You.  i kneel before you, as a supplicant seeking only to please.

Show me how to touch you. Or is this pleasure denied me ? Is Your only wish to claim me and mark me as Yours? Touch me in ways that give no thought to my pleasure, only your own. Do You wish to be selfish for once? To be anything but gentle, to give way to those desires You crushed, pushed down, and swore didn’t exist anymore? Will You take me as man has always taken woman, proving to her that he could have her, anytime, anyplace, anywhere?

How do You want to fuck me? Do You want to look into my eyes, seeing nothing but desire? Or will it be from behind, so that You can look at me without a hint of self-control? Your kind arm wrapped around my waist, supporting me, steadying me for Your pleasure, all the while bringing You closer to finding the complete end of Yourself, teetering on the edge of splintering into the man You always knew You were?

Will You hold me afterward? Gathering me close, feeling my still-rapid heart.  So near, you can hear my pleasure and know it was You who made me feel every delectable ounce of it. And as i drift into a place of complete surrender, i have the deepest knowledge you can protect me from the creeping light of day.

Rule Number 8:  i trust my Master: His responsibilities, His skills, His hunger and needs, and His concern for my safety, my emotional, psychological, social, sexual, and physical health.

He holds the source of the most luscious, licking pain in the palm of His hand.

The weight of the handle is a solid reminder of who’s really in charge.

Who truly decides. Who measures out punishment, pleasure, joy.

He allows me to see it, first. i am permitted to gaze upon His delectable weapon of choice. i whisper my gratitude before kneeling with my tender back presented to Him.

In my mind’s eye i can picture His arm drawing the whip back, gathering the lust-charged air around us, and beginning the arc that will end where my skin begins.

The lash ignites every ounce of my devotion to Him, and i take one upon another, thanking Him for deeming me worthy of His attention.

Rule Number 7.  i worship my Master’s whip.

Let’s play a little game, He said.

Oooh, i like games!

You’ll get a treat for each time you please Me.

i begin to run through the catalog of all the many delicious acts i know that bring Him pleasure…

Keeping my eyes averted, i sink to my knees, my place of worship before Him.

i ask for permission to touch His marvelously hard cock. He assents to my desperate plea. He is hot to my delicate fingertips and i lean forward in anticipation.

i take Him deep into my throat, to the back, as far as i can until He fills all of my mouth and i am soon gasping.

He brings down the flogger across my back and pulls my head closer to Him, crushing my mouth to His base.

Over and over, He gives me all of Him. We exist as one, eternal, circle of pleasure and pain. I exist for nothing else but His need, but yet He deigns to please me with the lashing of my life.

Rule Number 6: To receive pleasure i must earn it.

He makes me like Mondays. Even the rain-beating-no, whipping-on-windowpanes, sort of Mondays.

In the quiet and dark of Monday morning, He reminds me of who we are-who i really am. i am His- His lover, His desire, and His slave. And no one else’s.

The storm lashes outside our safe cocoon of rumpled bed sheets and i am contemplating how i may never truly need anything more if it means leaving here. His touch will feed me well enough.

“I’m not ready to share you yet,” His whisper tickles my ear. His arms wrap around me from behind, as He edges closer to my back. He pulls me toward Him with the strength of a lover and a man sure of what He wants. Free will seems to be highly overrated at this moment.

The warmth of His chest on my back creates a delectable haven from the cold outside our blankets. His legs, beautifully muscled, scissor between mine, intertwining us. I feel Him so hard against my thigh, and I know that His desire to take me, claim me, as only His has made it so. His hand reaches around my waist, encircling me, and His fingers slip further still, until finding a home, sweet home within my soft, wet folds.

I gasp my assent to His intentions, which He redoubles with even greater demand.

He knows I need Him inside me now, putting Monday’s siren call far from us, eliminating any doubt that i am my beloved’s and He is mine.

I turn slowly within His embrace to face him and urge Him on top of me, settling Him between my thighs. I take Him, hot and hard, in hand and guide Him in the dark to find me- just and only, me.

We move together in decadent rhythm, filled with pleasure and low moans of passion, eager, yet reluctant at the same time, to reach a shattering crescendo. The end means the beginning of a time when our attention is diverted from one another, and so we hover on the edge of this precious Monday morning moment. Desire builds even greater, diverting thoughts from all else.

He brings me pleasure first, ahead of His own, with a triumphant smile I can begin to see in the ever-lightening dark. His own bliss follows mine, as we continue to rock slowly together, still not willing to be parted.

The rain on our window slows to mere tips and taps, as we are once again separate, though our hands cannot seem to stop their fondling.

“While I know I must give you up for now, you know the way back here, right?” He gently asks, while still caressing my breast, brushing against my heart.

And I do know, the surest route back to this safe haven of ours, is through- through all the world may set up for us to tackle. There is an oft-traveled path to follow of desire, of promises kept, and of dreams yet to come.

Even on a Monday.

Rule Number 5: The power of my Master fills me with awe. Just the sheer thought of Him or the hearing of His voice gives me strength.