I am writing from somewhere very high up.
I must be coming down a little, because as I sit here naked in bed, awake from a very long post-orgasmic nap, I can feel the pain building in my spanked and belt-beaten butt.
He knew what I needed.
What I needed for myself.
And what I needed for him,
to put me in that place he wanted me.
That place in which he can enjoy me.
He coaxed out his little girl.
Which he needed and I needed.
And then he sent me further.
Deeper and higher.
Deeper and higher into that awe-inspiring slave place.
I'm supposed to report to him after.
After he is gone.
Report to him on the experience from my perspective.
What I experienced and how I felt.
But I was horribly frustrated. I couldn't find the words. That place, the journey, what I felt, what I knew, what I touched on, the understanding that was so profound yet wouldn't solidify into description as if it were some perfect psychedelic trip while held safe in the arms of the man who was both guide and the drug itself. Except I wasn't in his arms.
Well, sometimes I was in his arms.
As he kissed me.
He has a graduate degree in kissing after years of independent study and lab experiments.
But the rest of the time I was sucking his cock.
Or sitting in his lap.
Or lying on my belly as my bottom reddened beneath his belt.
Or pinned to the futon by his body as his cock sought my tight little butt hole.
Later, he whipped me with his belt as I was sucking his cock. By then I was already pretty high. I could tell he was beating me harder than before, but as always happens when I'm that high, it didn't hurt as much. I could feel the impact, and it hurt a little, but I wasn't suffering from it.
I wished he had beaten me longer then.
But it's not for me to ask.
Everything is for him.
Even when it's what he thinks I need, it's to make me into what will please him.
Except you know what?
I'm sorry to contradict my Master, but that's not wholly true.
He cares for me.
What was that term he allowed himself to use during our last night together?
He's "extremely fond" of me.
And from the way he said it, you could tell how much those words meant.
Plus when I was away.
He gave me a gift.
The prime directive was set aside.
The one about giving him what he wants, and not what he doesn't want.
You can write anything, he said.
Anything I wanted.
Anything I needed to say.
He took down the wall.
He was my lover.
He was my friend.
He was my strength.
Which, in fact, he always is.
But it's not safe to be that way without the structure.
For so many reasons.
But those parts of us are as much of what we are to and with each other as the rest of them. It's just that they need to be kept constrained. Like the beast in a way. Ironic, no? But I completely agree. For so many reasons, it would never work.
But sometimes he takes down the wall.
He takes care of me.
So he allowed me to say whatever I needed.
And granted me an unheard of 4 orgasms to be spread over the 5 days.
Because he knew what I needed.
Because he wanted to take care of me.
Because he wanted to ease my pain.
While today, he knew I needed the pain.
After he came.
After I gave him the release he needed,
as I sat on the floor before him,
my head in his lap,
he stroked my head,
he stroked my hair,
gently and tenderly
for the longest time.
And I felt very dear.
And very treasured.
And very safe.