Mantra

How can I put into words what I feel today.
What I have felt all afternoon since my lunchtime tryst with my demon muse.

And he is my muse. He inspires me. Not just individual creative efforts. He inspires ME. He fills me, he makes me light up, he makes me accept and treasure who and what I am. He makes me believe in who and what he says I am because a rejection of his judgment on that is a rejection of his judgment on everything. And I respect him too much to do that. His intelligence, his creative sensitivity, his own creativity to which he doesn't give enough credit... Yeah, yeah, I know, they all say that, we submissives are notorious for idolizing the men (and women) who take us in hand and mold us to their tastes and then manipulate us into falling in love with them when we really should know better.

But truly. And now I will speak like the sadist himself. If you respect my judgment at all, if you respect my intelligence, believe me on this. He may be seriously, even dangerously sadistic, though not, I truly believe, a danger to me. But he is also an extraordinary man, charismatic not just because of some indefinable aura that makes him irresistible, but also because of his depth, his discernment, and an unquestionable dominance that cannot be ignored.

As opposed to the last paragraph. Which you are welcome to ignore if you wish.

I'm trying to focus. I am trying to convey the essence of our meeting, and of how I feel. Our stolen lunchtime tryst, courtesy of my working so near to home. All very well coordinated to maximize our actual time together. I time it so I have about 5 minutes to remove my clothes and take a glass of ice water down to the dungeon, where the futon was opened last night and the instruments of torture and pleasure were laid out before I left for work this morning.

He was a little late. Probably due to the rain. But still, we had nearly a half an hour. It's never enough time. But it was enough time to give him what he came for. Enough time to show that I have taken his lessons to heart and ...

I can't.
I can't talk about it.
I gave him pleasure.
Isn't that enough?
There was an intimacy...
I've never known such intimacy.

It was all for him and yet, at the end, I felt as if I had cum, too. Not a body shaking orgasm, not choking sobs, not the cumming itself. But the afterwards. That sense of strong, glorious calm and fulfillment... I'm at a loss. Truly, it is beyond describing. Or maybe I'm beyond being able to write about it. I am swaddled in it, enveloped in its soft, fluffy blanket.

But oh, when we came down to the dungeon, he had something serious on his mind. There was this issue on which I had to be corrected. He does not, as I said at the beginning of this essay, appreciate my implying doubt as to his taste and judgment by questioning his appraisals of me.

We came down to the dungeon and he curtly ordered me up against the wall.
Facing the wall.
My arms raised and spread.
My legs parted.
As always, I was naked.
As always, he was not.
He pressed me into the wall with his body.

"I am beautiful," he said.
"SAY IT."

"I am beautiful." I repeated.
And already, I believed it.
Already, I meant it.

"I am sexy," he said.

"I am sexy as hell!" I crowed.
And meant it.

"I am creative," he ordered.
"I am creative," I readily agreed.

"I am talented," he said.
"I am talented!" I seconded.

And then, beating me by seconds
and oh, I do wish I could have said it on my own...

"And I am yours."
"Yes, my Lord, I am very much yours."

And I believed every word of it.

And now there it is in my mind, in my heart, in my very being, and I went back to the office coated in it, as if he had stood over me and anointed me with buckets of his cum, instead of depositing it in my loving hand. And I would never have thought it, but what we had, the intimacy we shared, was deeper and closer and truly more satisfying that any sexual experience I have ever had. Even though the only attention my cunt got was when I was on my forearms and knees, butt offered, and he caressed with the flogger that delicious valley between my plump, white cheeks before letting the lashes pass sensuously over my pussy lips, followed by a light flogging off the same lovely parts.

I make no claims for the cohesion of the above report. And I'm rushing off to bed to claim the orgasm I have been granted as a reward for performing so well this afternoon. Off to bed with my sore nipples and my aching butt muscles from a brief, over-the-knee punishment spanking as well as the spanking and flogging for his amusement. And then there are my aching thighs, from kneeling before him so long, serving his sweet cock. His cock that wanted me.

And I will lay there and caress all the pains,
and caress my breasts,
and run my fingers down my belly which obsesses him,
and let my fingers tell my cunt how much it is loved,
and I will fill myself with memories of his pleasure,
I will glory in his pleasure,
I will lose myself in his pleasure,
which I have learned is the source of my own.

And as I rise up into the sweetest of orgasms,
because it is his orgasm,
a gift from the one who owns and treasures me,
I will fill myself with my mantra.
And I will believe it.

I am beautiful.
I am sexy.
I am talented.
I am creative.
And I am yours, my Lord.

I am yours.