Font size : - +

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.
You are not logged in.
Characters count: