Last time, he beat the shit out of me.
This time he kissed my breath away.
I could say just that.
And that would be correct.
As far as it goes.
And it would leave out everything.
He came for lunch, as he always does these days. Long, leisurely visits of 2-1/2 hours or more. But this time, there was something extra on the agenda.
I have a problem.
I have ADD.
Made worse by perimenopause, I suspect.
Which is more a description than an excuse,
and makes me a lot less effective that I should be,
and frustrates the hell out of the sadist.
Because I lose focus.
I forget the prime directive.
I forget to ALWAYS think of him.
First and foremost and always.
Sometimes I get lost in the pleasure of his kisses, or of sucking his cock (I do love to suck his cock), and I forget to focus on his pleasure. More dangerously, I forget to think carefully about everything I say before I let it slip from my mouth. I absolutely cannot allow myself the luxury of ADD's typical impulsiveness. Very bad.
As we both recovered from last week's serious beating, the beating that was so much worse than he wanted to deliver, we discussed where I was and what might be and whether it would, in fact, have any lasting effect. So I asked for something like a mantra, something I could say daily - 3 times a day - to remind me of my duty and to help me focus.
He said he would think about.
And he came back with the most phenomenal gift.
It was a gift.
It was transformative.
It was a ceremony of dedication and commitment.
A very serious ritual of commitment.
A consecration to his service.
Not something to undertake lightly.
He based the first part very closely on a Catholic ritual, although the part I am to say 3 times daily he wrote himself. Catholics are very good at ritual, and our current shared obsession with watching The Borgias gives it an extra meaning. But it is far more than that - which is what took my breath away.
He gave me so much more than a mantra. In some ways, it felt more serious than the two times I took my marriage vows. I felt that first part, and its thrice daily reaffirmation, as a very serious and conscious dedication to serving him.
To being his.
All that I am.
His possession and property.
And it begins "O Master."
A while back, quite a while back, after certain significant advances in my training and understanding, he said that he was my Master. He was my Master, although I am not his slave. For a period of time, I used that word - slave - and he didn't stop me, because he knew that it meant something to me. A giving. But he knew - we both knew - that I was not and would not be his slave.
He talked about that again as we discussed what he gave me. And he made a very clear statement which he did want to convey here.
He thought I might have been questioning his use of "Master" although in fact I wasn't. He reminded me that we didn't use it much, while mentioning his onetime explanation that he was my master the way a virtuoso masters a fine instrument. Then he went on:
[...] but I felt it was appropriate here. I am your Master. The reason why we have never done the Master/slave thing is because in almost all cases it is untrue, inaccurate, a misnomer. The very idea that a "slave" could set limits, express preferences is ludicrous. Therefore that would fall into the realm of play and we know where we stand in that regard.
I have said that before.
We do not play.
This is very serious.
This is for real.
He said that being his slave was not something I should see as some "higher level" I might aspire to and that "we are beyond that."
He told me I could write about what happened today.
And I will.
To a point.
But I don't want to share the text he gave me.
The text I used to consecrate myself to his service.
Another of those things that feels too personal.
But I will tell you this.
As I knelt up before him
and read the words of the consecration
and then recited from memory
the words with which I will declare -
will remind myself -
three times daily
that I am totally his,
Everything was different.
I was different.
Together we were different,
except it was what was always waiting to be.
It was what one would wish for, after baptism or from a bar or bat mitzvah, for example. A change. A true change. An inner transformation. And so it was.
And now I must try to always hold this feeling with me.
So I never forget.
So I never slip up.
So I always remember who and what I am.
Totally and truly his.
Not a slave.
But daily and hourly and now and forever
with every breath and every thought
again and again
to be truly and totally his.