I was a new sub. He and I covered in great detail all the rules of the D/s relationship. As I readied myself I realized my new relationship was Sacred. A thought I would have never, even weeks ago crossed my mind.
A bit obsessive, like I always am when I feel vulnerable, reviewed all our discussions like a prayer in my head. Vulnerable, ugh. A sickening, blasphemous word in my emotional vocabulary. Yes, yes, we talked about guidelines. We knew we were compatible. We knew we were both disease free. The BDSM type test. Dominant by nature and born of fear, I calmed my need for control by reiterating in my mind the tedious but necessary safety precautions that were all covered.
I realized a smile curled the corner of my lips. Our organic chemistry was overwhelming, in fact I was breathless with passion and anticipation for our first session. I knew that I must have been waiting for this for years but didn't have a word for it. I felt moisture between my legs, but had been instructed to do nothing. Fuck! Literally drops from deep in my vagina had made their way down my leg. I knew my role and left the slick droplets to slowly slide down my leg. My panties did virtually nothing to stop the flow. They were stacked the moment I pulled them up and they brushed my swollen clit. This cum would be my first offering. I was not to clean, wipe or touch myself.
There was one last decision. Mine to make as it wasn't covered....I delicately and reverently fingered the silk beads, the faint scent of rose. The metal at the end of the rose petal beads....sharp, like a tool gain to pain and sacrifice or for those worthy of martyrdom. The splayed body on the metal, tortured, beaten and bloody. This piece contained my shame, forgiveness, penance. More importantly it carried the burden of my unanswered questions about my faith and my protector.
I struggled as if bound to prevent my mind wandering in to the abyss. Where was my protector when all these terrible things happened over the years. Things that made me hate my sexuality, a self-loathing worsened by my visceral, insatiable sex drive. The tears...The tears caused when there were no boundaries, no mental, no spiritual, physical or emotional protection.
It wasn't until I tasted salt on my lips did I notice a single tear had escaped during these moments of confusion and anger. A single drop salted my bottom lip and fell with what sounded like a crashing wave into the palm of my hand. The hand holding this revered accessory. I stared at the tear, fascinated as it seemed to saturate one of the rose petal beads.
The choice was clear. With a tender, shamefully sensual and reverent stroke, slid my finger from one shoulder to the other, bowing my head with humility. I tilted my head back and gazed to the heavens. I pulled my painted finger from the center of my forehead down the center of my face, gently...briefly touching my lips as my finger crossed my heart, between my breasts until I had finished my gesture of holy ritual. Of course, with conviction whispered the words. Words that were a part of me, came out like a chant. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sanct".
I draped the rosary around my neck, the cross resting between my breasts.
As I walked out the door, I thought to myself, "And now it begins".