Serving and smiling

I've been quiet lately.
I wonder why I've been so quiet lately?

I've been busy, I suppose, out in the evening, writing things in bursts for the sadist, though now I'm having trouble remembering what it was that I wrote. We had a small taste of sun and he detected a burst of creativity on my part, so ordered me to write 2 pieces for him every day last week. Finally I gave him so many good pieces that he gave me the weekend off.

He visited me twice last week. The first time was on Monday, and was a lesson combined with serving his pleasure. And then his schedule was such that he had a free slot on Thursday and at the last minute I turned out to be available, too.

It was a beautiful visit.
Purely for his pleasure.
Which was my pleasure.
Serving him,
pleasing him,
that is my pleasure.

It was strikingly sensuous... I think of it now and feel my naked body pressing against his... I feel his mouth... I feel his touch... the way he availed himself of the thickness of my lengthening hair to pull my head around, baring my neck to the clamping of his jaws... he sank his teeth into me. Not breaking the skin, but making me feel his prey, the helpless prey of a predator who could rip out my throat if he wished to.

He pressed his fingers against my wind pipe and stopped the air. I didn't fight it. I know he treasures me. I do know that. I feel safe with him.

He came in my hand.
He had no complaints.

And me?

I just paused in my writing. How to capture what I felt... how to even fully recall what I felt? I was so focused on him, so focused on his pleasure, so focused on watching him, gauging his response, letting him see my devotion as it shone in my eyes, that afterwards, I felt as if I had cum myself.

Not that I did have an orgasm. Oh no, this wasn't about me at all. In the early days, he would order me to touch myself for him, he would watch me fondle myself, he would watch me writhe, he would watch the contortions of my face, and then watch me as I stiffened and came and then sobbed. Oh, he did love to watch me cum. Sometimes he would grant me an orgasm at night - but it was his orgasm. I would call his cell phone after bringing myself nearly there - it was such a masterpiece of masturbatory timing. I would be almost there and then call and wait through the outgoing message and then oh so quickly bring myself up and over while talking to him, leaving my words, my breathy voice... I'm trying to remember what I used to say.... and then I would cum and sob and sob... leaving my cries and tears in his voice mail.

He hasn't made me cum for him in a long time. Not in person. Sometimes he grants my request for an orgasm, and I am required to write a report afterwards.

It is inaccurate to speak of "my" orgasms. He does allow me to masturbate, when I beg, he does allow me to experience release. But the orgasms? They all belong to him.

I am happy with that.
They are richer that way.

But that isn't what we were discussing. We were discussing the orgasm he experienced from the ministrations of my hand and my encouraging words, and then how I felt in the hours that followed.

I felt cleansed,
I felt purified.
I felt open,
I felt relaxed,
I felt refreshed.

I was in a state of floating calm as if I had just spent hours in bed with a man I loved, rather than...

Than what? How can I describe, how can I explain, how can I classify what I do for him and what he is to me?

So I won't.

I'll just sigh happily and smile to myself and look at the time and think about bed and wonder when next he will call on me to prove my devotion in whatever way he requires.

And I will know fulfillment.