Breathing the same air

I'm home.

It is always hard, visiting my parents. They suck the air out of the room. They always have.

My 88-year old mother is recovering from a bad fall, and my dad has been taking care of her. She's not all better, but certainly much better, more mobile, more able to do things herself. We are all worried about my father wearing himself out with the caregiving, which he has already done, just as she did to herself when he had back surgery. She commented that she could really do more for herself now, but he is always jumping up to do everything and he really doesn't have to.

I wanted to say: "May your ears hear what your mouth is saying."

I wanted to say: "This is what you do to me all the time."

I wanted to say: "See why I hate it when you hover over me as I just try to get myself a little breakfast and really, there's hardly anything in the fridge, I can certainly see where the eggs are."

There's no point. After all these decades, it's too late to think we can really persuade them to accept how we live our lives.

They have no idea how I live my life.

Using the computer at their place is a challenge. They do have a computer, but it is very slow and their Internet access is dial-up and very slow and when I'm on they can't receive phone calls and I'm certainly not going to post to this blog from there.

I felt very far away from my Master.

Even though I don't see him all the time, even though we aren't writing back and forth all day long, still I feel him nearby. And now I was 6-7 hours north (depending on traffic), and not easily in touch and he planted a vivid suggestion in my head which made me crazy with desire and fear and everything in between.

They suck the air out of the room, and I hate it.

But the sadist... I have yielded. Utterly and completely. From the first time he came, I yielded. I opened the door to him, I told no one he was here, I removed my clothes, I stood before him, I knelt before him, I went down on my hands and knees and groveled between the pyramid of his legs, and I yielded.

I have entrusted him with my air. My neck is his, my throat is his, he sinks his teeth into it, he encircles it with his hand, reminding me that I live at his pleasure, he... this last time, he pressed his finger into that spot... that spot through which my breath flows, that spot through which my life flows, he pressed and he watched me yield, he watched me accept, he watched me submit, he heard me start to choke and I didn't pull away...

He is testing me now. He was pushing me today. This evening, back home, in the same state, breathing the same air and together in an hour-long chat, I sank under his spell. He knew what to say to push me, to draw me down further and further into submission, declaring my devotion, my desire to serve, my desire to give him pleasure, and... my desire to embrace his pain.

Oh? he said. And what if I subjected you to... I don't know exactly what it is. But I have evidence that it is something awful, although he has often told me that he knows that he doesn't have to hurt me as much as he does the one who takes the full brunt of his sadistic needs because he can get the desired result from me with so much less.

Still, he scared me.

And still, I said that somehow I would endure it.

Because oh... the reward...

He is going very slowly. Since our reunion he has been very cautious not to go too fast. There is much more to teach me, much more to do to me, until, he said, the greatest pleasure I can imagine will be to eat from the palm of his hand.

And something melted inside me... even more than it already has... because oh, it was, it is, it always has been but especially now as I grow closer and closer to him and become absorbed into him...

Because yes.
The greatest pleasure
I can possibly imagine
is to eat
from the palm
of his hand.

And one day,
in pure
devoted
loving submission,
I will.