Being a slave: the Gospel according to my Master

Ignore whatever you may read on line, he said.
Forget all that bullshit you may hear in chat rooms.

I did not, of course, interrupt to say I don't hang out in chat rooms.

You are my slave.
You serve.
That is all.
You serve my pleasure.

Please me.
Do not displease me.
Do not not please me.
You understand the difference?

Yes, my Master.
I do understand.

When you displease me, you will be punished.

And indeed, he did punish me, when he ordered me to bring the straight-backed chair he calls the secretary's chair and I did bring it and sat down in it. Except he hadn't yet told me to sit down. So he spanked me, hard, as I stood before him, and it hurt because I wasn't yet aroused. When I'm aroused I don't even realize how hard he is hitting me, because while I'm aware of the impact I feel no pain. He is training me. I know. He is training me to connect pleasure and pain so that I will beg him to torture me. To really torture me.

When you please me, you will be rewarded.

And indeed, he did reward me, early on in the visit, when I remembered to do those special things that he expects and which give him pleasure. He kissed me in the most tender, sensuous, affectionate way. so that our mouths melted together and his mouth told my mouth how very special I am to him.

Concentrate on being my slave.
I want you to become comfortable with it.
Actually, don't become comfortable.

And then I served him his lunch, and we talked like two people who are accustomed to spending time together. Two people who are comfortable with each other, who share thoughts about everything from gender issues to how you know that an avocado is ripe.

And then I served his pleasure, kneeling at his feet as he sat enthroned in the Eames chair which I almost never sit in any more because it feels like sacrilege. I knelt at his feet and sucked his cock, sometimes changing position, raising my butt so he could see it all round and white except pink now from having been spanked - for punishment but also, shortly after he arrived, purely to redden it and later, after I was aroused, for his pleasure and as part of my training to connect pleasure and pain. And, of course, to make it pink. He loves to look on the blush of my butt after he has hurt me.

I sucked his cock in all those ways that I know to make him groan with pleasure and at one point, when I gave him a little break so he wouldn't cum before extracting as much pleasure from his slave as his schedule allowed, he said that as I was serving his cock he looked down on me, at my soft, beautiful hair flowing down my channeled back, and down to my delicious pink butt, and he thought - it's as if I'm being served by a work of art. And then he corrected himself and said - I am being served by a work of art. And you can tell them that, he added. Meaning you all.

When it was over, he called me his angel, and also called me angel towards the end of my service to his cock. Which is a very special name. It carries warmth, and tenderness, and shows how pleased he is with me. He said - I am very proud of you today, my angel.

And then we discussed a couple of small tasks, and he said I could masturbate if I wished. (I did wish, and I did masturbate, and it was quite lovely, so between that and serving him I am fairly floaty as I'm writing this.) He also told me to take the chain to my bed tonight - which is a great gift on the rare occasions he grants it.

As he left, I reminded him that it's only two and a half weeks until we return to the hotel we stayed in last year. Until we again spend the night - together - in a room with white linens. But even if everything is the same, it won't be the same at all.

In so many ways, it won't be the same.

It will be...
a gift.
For us both.
And it will be beautiful.