You
get a different perspective of life when you
view it from your knees. For the vanilla world,
rituals are often the killers of desire as you
get into a rut. For my master and me, however,
certain rituals enhance our relationship. I
love waking up before he does, which isn't as
easy as it sounds. If he wakes first, I will
know it by the feel of his hand against me,
gently arousing me and readying me for his possession.
It is a lovely way to wake up, particularly
if my rear is still tender to his touch. The
feel of master's hand, the warmth of his breath
against my skin, the sheer pleasure of belonging
to him......... well, I get the shivers from
remembering it so you can imagine how I feel
when it is happening.
Ah, but I actually prefer to wake first. It
is a major feat, though, to slip from my master's
arms, for he has me tied more firmly here with
love than the strongest ropes could ever achieve,
but I somehow manage. And then I slip back on
his t-shirt that he made me discard the night
before, because I am much too shy to pad about
the house nude. I love his smell that lingers
on it and me, marking us both as his.
With a little luck, I have the coffee finished
by the time he gets out of the shower. I place
a cup, strong and black and with sugar, on the
nightstand. Then I find my knees and contemplate
the texture of the floor as I wait for him to
enter. As he bends over to kiss the top of my
head, his shadow alerts me to his presence.
The ritual begins.
"Master?" I say, desire starting to
swell even as I speak the opening lines. My
eyes raise slowly, memorizing every feature
from his knees to his nose. His eyes meet mine,
and I am pretty much lost in the warm brownness
of them. I begin to tremble now, not from fear
but excitement. "Master?" I begin
again. "Your loving submissive presents
herself to you for your pleasure."
The words are almost silly in their formality,
but I mean every word of them. I spent the first
half of my life searching for this man, and
I plan to spend the second half serving him,
if he will let me. And I love the fact that
he gives me the opportunity to say this each
and every morning. It reminds me, and I hope
him, of how lucky I am.
He strokes my hair and smiles a knowing, loving
smile. I shut my eyes as my mouth searches,
almost of its own volition. My hands reach up
to massage his butt. I kiss and nuzzle and lick
his groin, purposely avoiding my real objective.
Once I have my master's cock in my mouth I will
be lost. But I can delay only so long before
my mouth, again of its own will, insists on
taking him inside to the wet warmness. I feel
him move against my throat, a sure sign that
I am pleasing him. He slowly withdraws his fullness,
and I hear a protesting groan in my head even
though I know it is only a part of the pleasure.
I kiss the head, the tip, with little butterfly
kisses, and then he re-enters, this time a little
more forcibly. In and out, in and out, my mouth
getting hotter and wetter and tighter.........
his movements gets harder and quicker and deeper.
I lick the tiny drop that dribbles with an eagerness
that seems to drive my master more, for suddenly
there is an explosion inside my head and my
mouth that I quite simply cannot describe.
You thought I was through? No, that is only
one ritual, and we have many here. I smile at
my master who smiles back lovingly at me. "May
I, sir?" I ask. He nods. Licking my lips,
I then begin to clean his cock of the stickiness
I produced, savouring every drop. He strokes
my hair and my face, a sure sign that I have
pleased him. What was the coffee for, you ask?
I have always wondered that, too, since it is
always cold by the time we finish. Forget it,
then? No way. Rituals don't have to make sense.
They only have to bind us with their comforting
familiarity. I wouldn't leave out a single step
of my favourite one.
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