Postscript - "I did mean to frighten you"

I did tremble as I awaited my Master's visit the day after he threatened to leave me "naked, shaken and crying on the floor." Not so much that night, but definitely the next morning. Something inside me was trembling the whole morning as I sat at my desk, trying to work, yearning to see him, yearning to serve him, but terrified of what he would subject me to.

The beast was rampant. Growing, growling, swelling, wresting control from the my Master's more deliberate sadistic nature. And I was afraid not so much of the pain itself, but of what it might do to my emotional state. I've had the occasional bad trips, receding afterwards into myself, taking days to come back, and prompting him to rethink his plans for me.

As I've said before, I get no aftercare, and find to my surprise that almost always I don't need it. If nothing else, the order is usually pain first and cock-sucking second - with some intimate nipple-twisting thrown in to form a more perfect union. (My use of the adjective "intimate" is not at all meant as irony. It truly is. What happens in those moments approaches alchemy...) Now if that isn't enough to soothe the soul of any pet, I don't know what is. But I was terrified of being subjected to an experience such as he described, and then left to pull my clothes on over my battered body and battered heart before rushing back to the office. I would bravely march in, face still swollen from crying, and delicately lower my cross-hatched bottom into my desk chair as my heart retreated into its cave.

I am always supposed to have a poem - one of my poems - prepared to recite from memory. This time, he wanted to hear - finally - the poem without words that he had commissioned back in January, now hurriedly returned to my repertoire at his command. I have enough trouble with my memory, and my reference to a repertoire is a joke on myself. Once performed, once I am learning a new piece, the old one is forgotten. But those are poems with words. The non-verbal work was hard enough to write. Memorize it? That was hell.

I am not going to describe the session, as I don't have authorization to do so. However, he did return three days later, and at the end, as he most uncharacteristically had me watch him pull his clothes back on - or is it more accurate to say he uncharacteristically had me sit so that he could look at my face and my tits and my belly as he pulled his clothes back on - anyway, at the end he surprised me - so many surprises that afternoon - by saying I could blog about his visit. And so I will.

But about Monday, I will add these 2 things:

1. I had reminded him that time was an issue, as I tended to return to work quite late from these lunchtime trysts.
2. He brought the new flogger. My beautiful new flogger, built to his perfectly thought-out specifications. Beautiful and perfect.

And with that bit of background, here is our post-visit exchange:

And yet, my Master, it wasn't like this. It was beautiful. You took from me, yes, but you also gave me so much, my Lord.

Were your words meant merely to frighten me, my Lord? Or is this what you meant and then something changed...

Although I meant everything I said, I did mean to frighten you, and wanted you in a specific mood today. As I said, I had more segments in mind, but I do not want to cause problems which may decrease your availability in future. Plus, you are right, something did change. I was so pleased by your non-verbal piece I felt you were due, if not a reward, at least not the harsh treatment my mood might have provided otherwise.

Was it my admittedly impressive poetic performance that made the difference? Perhaps. And I would never question my Master's interpretation of his own reactions. All I can do is say what I sensed.

I felt the change before I began to perform.

And that's enough about that.
Except that I've been floating ever since.