For Throwback Thursday – a write up of a scene from a few years ago

Last night for the first time in many weeks the Sir scened with me. I blacked for the first half of the evening or so and he told me that he wanted to scene with me early In the evening. I was surprised he hadn’t tapped me before. I guess it was too busy with tastings. I was taking a break specifically to check in with him in case plans had changed or I had misunderstood.

I hadn’t and he was ready for me and wanted me to make myself ready. 

It was good to kneel for him again. Kneeling by the station he picked as he set up his tools and toys. “Hold these” as he hands me the cuffs and heads back to his bag. I kneel frozen hands out holding them. My mind and eyes are still trying to jump around and the joy I feel knowing he will hurt me makes it hard to focus. I breathe deeply looking at the cuffs. Intentional holding my body precisely where it was when he handed me the cuffs. I was never trained by another to do this. It has been my love and passion for protocols and for showing respect to the tools, toys and people of this trade. That combined with my deep desire and self training of mind over body which also means mind at peace with body. These are the things that let me hold the position and focus my world down from all those distractions to a smaller world of he and I. He returns with rope. My eyes drink him in. Will they ever tire of the sight? I doubt it. 

He takes the leather from my hands. My wrists recross behind my back. Then first the left to him, then the right each returning to behind the back between. His wolfish smile and ”peel,” he commands. I strip. Torn between wanting to leave my clothes recklessly behind and knowing “that’s not how we treat leather is it, girl?” These isn’t hesitation in my actions though because ”no Sir it is not,” is the only reasonable answer for this girl, his girl. I kiss Rodriguez(my pulse remembrance patch, as is my tradition and set it under his tool rack with the dress. I pause briefly while arcing my back as I unclip my bra before sliding it free and adding it to the pile. I touch my boots, questioning and I’m glad I was correct that he wanted them to stay on. 

I am certain there are sounds from the dungeon still. I cannot hear them over the blood singing in my veins and his closeness. He binds my wrists to the cross, saying those sweet words, words promising pain, words of shared delight, words of claiming me as his. Always his. A wrist pulls not at the bonds but slides down. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“no where Sir,” such delight in those words for me. Hearing the warmth in his tone. Should I fear? No pain holds no fear for me and the Sir wants to control this girl not fear. And the Sir gets to. Always. That’s why she trains the self-control so that she can surrender it to him. 

No warm up. Breathing, hits, caresses, pulling her flesh, yips, joy at his pain in her body, tears and smiles, waves of pleasure ripping through her at his command. Screaming. Coming from her throat she realizes. 

“Thank you Sir”  

The follow up. Shivering. A bright light. Yuck, don’t look that way! More pain, so delicious. This is part of what being owned and cherished feels like! So amazing. Which of those feels like a single tail? Part of her mind wanders as she yips and whimpers anew. Feels so good. Hurts so good. I love this and him. Yelping. Arching my back towards him silently begging for more.  Heavy thuds after. The flesh is so tender! Oh my God I’ve needed this! Another extreme release at his command. His body bracing me as mine spasms and shudders. Did I scream this time too? 

“Hold yourself up”

 “yes Sir. Thank you Sir” wrists released. “Kneel” a slight glance of my forehead on the cross as I do so. “I’m not always graceful,” I giggle to myself inside. And reassure him outside it was minor. 

Clean the cross. Getting to crawl to the couch. Kneeling in front of him after cleaning the cross. His invite to snuggle in close to him. Another little thing I treasure from him. So many small things like that. Part of me notices others who are still confused by my preferred brand of aftercare from the Sir. That part laughs in secret delight. They will never understand the joy this slave gets at her Master’s feet. Yes, getting ahead of myself there as far as protocol goes. At The Sir’s feet. It can be hard to keep the mind disciplined when the heart knows where it’s doa lies. Yours Sir. All yours. 

“Alright girl. You can get dressed and black or scene with Master NAME. Have fun” a slight pout that snuggles are done for now. And a return of that not so secret grin of delight and I kneel back waiting. “Are you waiting for me to stand up girl?” Nodding, flirting as he does and I get to nuzzle his cock again. I’m really hating his pants tonight. They keep getting in my way. He laughs and promises me “later” as he goes on his way and I dress.

Now to hydrate. I’ve been given permission to prowl.