Joy in a word

I’m sitting at home on a Friday night, feeling the ringing sting of his hand on my ass.

Except he hasn’t been here. He hasn’t been here for weeks and weeks. I don’t even want to look at the calendar to figure out how long it’s been. But we were e-mailing each other tonight and all of a sudden, I felt it.

The memory of the impact of his palm lives on in my buttocks.

He isn’t punishing me by not paying me a visit. At least I don’t think he is. He does owe me a punishment, and I suspect it will be quite a severe one, as the longer we go, the more infractions I manage to accumulate. I don’t mean to be bad. I think that when I displease him it’s more that I’ve gotten carried away. I’m so intense or excited that I miss the typos, or say something inappropriate, or I slip into an odd mood and write things that in my right mind I would never dare say.

He very quickly brings me to my senses. Even in an e-mail, his tone of voice comes through, like a quick, cold slap to the face. All it takes is a very few words and I am very very penitent and very very submissive.

I am devoted to him, and to serving him. But at times I do need to be reminded of my place. I don’t mean to, but I drift. I lose my way. I do better when I hear from him more often, but I mustn’t be demanding. I must focus and remember and produce.

Still, he gave me a great gift. Two gifts, actually. And sometimes a gift can steer me back in the right direction as well as a punishment can.

He has a new name for me. One of many, it is true, and I love them all because he has chosen them. But this one has special charms. Sweet and sexy, demeaning and delicious, it both teases me and puts me in my place. It inspires me and, I think, amuses him. I love it.

But better than that, better than almost everything, he gave me a new name to call him. An appellation I have begged to use. The first time I used it, he sharply wrote back that it was forbidden. I was crushed. Then he allowed me to use it only in the context of fulfilling an assignment. Then in phrases that echoed the key phrase of the assignment. And then finally… such joy.

And no, it is not “Master.”

It is much much better.

And no, I’m not going to tell you. Some things are too precious to share.

NOTE: just as I finished writing the above, he phoned. Another beautiful gift and completely unexpected. He phoned and gave me a very precious assignment and then invited me to address him by the new title. I think it pleased him to hear me say it, and to hear how moved I was at being able to say it aloud. And now I am flooded with such warmth and am floating in a calm sea of grateful submission. True, he has an evil streak, but he is a very wise and experienced sadist, effortlessly exuding dominance from his very pores. I am his harp. He runs his hands over my strings and with the slightest touch elicits exactly the melody he wants to hear.

He may not be my Master, but he is a master at what he does. And I am a very lucky pet.

LATER STILL: as if it were a fine cut jewel, I can't help fondling this beautiful gift that my sadistic stage manager gave me, holding it up to the light, looking for rainbows and meaning. I wonder if I was given permission to use the term as a reward for progress in my training. But more than that, I wonder if the delay, the gradual steps, the enticement that led to my artistic pleading, my downright begging, wasn't exactly what earned me the right to use it - just as at the very beginning I had to beg to be allowed to serve him. Whatever the truth of it, he was right to handle it as he did. He is always right. By the time permission was granted, it was indeed a precious jewel, and I will always flood with joy and a sense of triumphant, blessed submission every time I use it.