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| I'm tough as nails. That is until... |
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Nope. Just like you can max out your credit cards, you can max out your heart. There is a limit to everything. Mistress knows I kind of like her a lot. Finding out that over time those feelings have increased is an insult. Don’t worry, I am very discreet and unobtrusive, but I simply cannot hide my happiness when I see her.
Some women deserve to be put on a pedestal. Others – depending on your finances – you build them a Taj Mahal. Just make sure it’s not too little too late [1]. Of course you can always have a star named after your mistress, but that is just a futile gesture in an ocean of bling. To me there is only one word to describe her: phenomenal.
That is the exact answer I will give you. Any time, anywhere. Wake me up at 5AM, sleeping in a little tent on Antarctica – I don’t think a man can be any further removed from love, lust and servitude – it is the very same answer you will get.
We ran into each other by chance. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I remember the first time we met. Something happened. If it were anyone else, I’d be scared to loose control. With her, I knew it was OK. Ever met someone you can remember every little thing about, but it takes years for all those details to unfold themself in your mind? Yet that is exactly what she did to me.
The BDSM world at large may not be okay with me being one, but according to most femdom definitions I am a crappy slave – if I qualify for that position at all. So I gave her a hug. A big one. She hugged me right back. I looked into her eyes and saw a genuine smile. She was happy to see me again.
Her pupils dilated ever so slightly. Invisible to anyone, but the most intimate observer, her eyes shifted downwards, just a tiny, tiny bit. With anyone else, I would have ignored it, but not with her. Before I knew, I was on all fours. Of course I was reluctant to leave her embrace. But believe me, being at her feet made me - almost - every bit as happy as having my arms wrapped around her. Coming from me, that’s a lot. I don’t even care for women’s feet.
Without her noticing – or so I choose to believe – I looked up and saw her smiling again. That gorgeous smile, she uses to bend anyone to her will. Basically there are two variations to it and as I was getting down on my knees it shifted from woman to mistress. She knew I was looking. Of course she knew. But I was over the moon to see both the woman and the mistress smile. Life is good, but with her it is always better. Not that the privilige can't be painful.
Caesar fell for Cleopatra. It is how she rescued her people. I was wondering what would have happened if Caesar had met mistress. Most likely the history of the world would've looked very different two millenia later.
As I was reminscing ancient history, I forgot to say “Thank you mistress”. My butt was on fire. It felt like another part of me, detached. She looked me in the eye but did not get cross.
“So not today boi? That's OK. I’ll get my pound of flesh next time” she said as her smile broadened once more.
“Let’s just relax a bit.” In the old days that usually meant me on the floor, one foot in my neck and the other wherever she fancies it. Accompanied by mistress having a glass of wine.
“Boy, I am truly happy to see you." she said, as she lowered her voice.
"It has been too long. I just missed you. But whatever else is going on, your behaviour today is not OK. You know better.”
“You are mine and you will suffer. And then some more. You know I will always keep you safe from harm. I want your submission, servitude and suffering in ways you cannot image. But above all I want you to be safe. If you surrender to me, give up control and put your trust in me, your well-being is all that matters to me. It is not about my reputation – I’ll go down with my ship if I have to. It is part of the deal. In surrendering to me, you transfer part of your autonomy to me. I love that. I want that. I have no idea what drives you to do so but then again neither have you. Ha ha ha.”
“When it comes to the relevant stuff, your standards are impressive. It is something we have in common. We’re in this together. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s why it works. But when we play, our roles differ. Remember that!”
“Now come sit on the couch with me, so we can talk a little bit more. From here on you are free to speak your mind. No consequences”
She probably expected me to put on some clothes first, but instead I jumped on the couch, right next to her, completely naked. Of course I have the perfect body and wanted to flaunt it. Errm. As said before by conventional kink standards, I am not a proper slave. For the most part the why and how of being submissive eludes me. It does not really matter. Mistress knows I admire her from a distance.
Of course releasing me temporarily, doesn’t lift the spell. That is impossible. Her first question was if I was OK. As in really OK. I smiled and explained.
“That is truly a lovely compliment. Thank you” she said. That's one way to look at it. To me it was about the woman she is and what she means to me. She did not ask if it was how I truly felt about her. She knows. After all why state the obvious at its most inapropriate?
Having a glass of wine, our conversation slowly drifted. Some may frown upon a slave drinking alcohol, but she is a caring woman and wants me to enjoy life. A beer instead would have been nice though. I’m still a guy.
Time flies when you are having fun and rather reluctantly I told mistress I had to leave. Rest of my life stuff and so on. I got up and started to dress. As I walked out the door, wondering when I would see her again, she asked me:
“If you are free tomorrow night, maybe we can have dinner. I would like that”.
Like that? I’d kill for that.
“If that pleases you” I answered as I walked to the door.
“I have to check. I’ll let you know” I’m so cool (note that the word fool these days is written with a c instead of f)
As I walked down the hall, I could hear her laughing. “If that pleases you”. More like a puppet on a string. The echo of her laugh echoed in my mind long after. Femdom is as much about people as it is about mind games. She expected me to go ape when she suggested dinner. I did. Of course, it was my only option. But my answer was not quite what she expected. It’s why they call it a dynamic baby.
Outside the room I grabbed my phone and called Stockholm, calmly informing them I would be unavailable to pick up my Nobel Prize [2] the next day. Something more important had come up: the inevitable chance encounter with the most phenomenal woman in all of time and space: my wonderful goddess.
Later that night she texted me:
“I heard that. You don’t fool me boi.”
I smiled but did not text her back how it takes two to tango.
She knows I know.
Notes
- Shah Jahan commisioned the Taj Mahal after his favourite wife died. Wouldn’t it be better to show her you love her, while she is still alive?
- Yes, there is a Noble Prize for Nonsense. Not that it does make any sense. Then again, nothing that matters, ever does. On second thought, if there really were one, awarding it to me would make perfect sense. Not that I would pick it up. Life's priorities and so on.
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