When i stand in my room, eyes on the closet, thinking of what to wear that will please you most; i realize that you have such control over me even when you are not near me, Sir. My legs shake with such anticipation that i sometimes find it hard to move in that graceful way that you’ve so graciously complimented me on.
When i stand in our bar, waiting for you to rescue me with your glance, your touch, your indifference, i feel that flush, Sir, which only you can ignite. And then you walk in, and i anxiously wait to see what your mood will be tonight. Will you nod to me, accepting my presence, or will you simply walk by me without so much as a glance, not waiting to see if i follow? Though you know i will, Sir. At times you come right up to me, demanding with your eyes that i look back into your stare, something that is still hard for me, Sir. You put your hand on the back of my neck, on that spot that can either bring me to my toes, or drop me to my knees.
And then it’s back to your place for a night of play, be it for your pleasure or mine. Sometimes you deny me that privilege. Demanding that i please you until you are spent and sleepy, then casting me away, my body aching, my desires open and needing in such a way that i have to force it down and try my best to ignore it. In the early days of our play, i could sense your hesitation when it came to you demanding certain things of me; as if you were worried of what i could (and would) take for you. But now, after all this time, that hesitation is gone. You know that denying yourself the freedom to say what you want and need of me would also be denying me of that challenge that i so deeply need. To gain your approval, your slight smile of satisfaction. For that, Sir, would surely rob me of what i am. Rob me of a masochistic, obedient martyrdom.
Then there are the times when you bring out the things we both love. And i sigh happily as i eagerly raise my hands for your beautiful restraints. Arch my back lovingly for the strokes of your heavy flog. Shiver as your lips pass by my ear, gruffly whispering what you expect of me. What you demand of me. That you know when i’m standing, i want to be kneeling. When i’m kneeling, i want to be groveling. When i’m groveling, i want nothing more than to be prone, your boot pressed against my back as i squirm on the floor.
In this time together, Sir, you’ve allowed me to grow into the girl you wanted me to be, the girl i've always longed to be. In your strong arms and painfully perfect hands, you’ve shown me love. In your restraints and bonds, you’ve shown me freedom. i do not wish to be your slave, or your pet, or your plaything or toy…i just want to be yours, completely and without a hint of doubtful pause. Thank you, Sir, for demanding more of me than i would ever had demanded of myself. Thank you, Sir, for pushing me to my limit, then nudging one inch further. If not for that, i would never be aware of what i was capable of, and i would not have the pride that comes with those capabilities. Thank you, Sir, for granting me pride.