January Our 2nd Meeting Continued……

And it *was* a marvelous weekend. Passion filled days and walks under star lit nights. The stuff romance novels are written about … well the kind I think about anyway. The ones with a firm twist toward BDSM and M/s.

I will let my mind be carried along by my heart and share some of my most enduring memories….

The weather was perfect, sunshiny around 70° and cool enough in the evening to require a light jacket. That far away from the city, the sky was spectacular at night. The stars sparkled against a inky blue black sky.

You may think it a bit odd of me to say that one of my fondest memories are of smoking with him as we walked down to the lake edge in the evening . He smokes... I do not really but I had purchased his brand when I had returned home in November. Not to smoke, although I did do it once to feel close to him. That’s the whole point of it for me, the bonding aspect. The needing to feel as close to him as possible. I had to teach myself how not to breath it in or my lungs screamed and burned in protest. It’s not something my Master ever asked of me, it’s just part of who I am. That need to transform and mold myself into whatever I think could please him, immerses me deeper and deeper into my slavery.

I had also brought with me a very special gift that I had, had made especially for him. A single tail whip, six weeks in the making. I was almost afraid it would not arrive in time for our weekend but it did. A high quality well made single tail, takes time and patience to break in. It’s not something that can be rushed. That for me is a huge part of the attraction. The whip, like the slave upon whom it leaves its mark needs time to develop into the wanton animal that it was born to be. The whip in the hands of a Master is like watching a wand in the hands of a witch, its magick. In just those few days the difference was remarkable. And now just a few months later it bears little resemblance to the stiff piece of leather it was when I gave it to him. Depending on his mood or command it is either smooth and slow like a sidewinder or quick and sharp like a rattler. It obeys him implicitly purring and whispering promises of love, lust, pain and blood.

The scenes we did that weekend were intense, terrifying and delicious but it was the quieter moments I loved best. Reading to him as he relaxed, closing his eyes and listening or sleeping. It does not matter which. It all means the same to me. Contented Master’s are a rare blessing and glad I am to be the one responsible for his peaceful demeanor at those moments. At some time years and years from now… I would love to have a room full of the books we have read together and discussed together. I have grown to dearly love reading to him. He seems so content and peaceful with the world and with me.

I have wondered does he at those times drift back to all the different women I have been, and am for him? Does the soft peacefulness of my voice bring back memories of our online relationship when I have portrayed many women and yet remained the woman with one heart and one focus? Online, different traits and personalities can be expressed and played out in ways just not possible in real life. Instead of fragmenting me into an impossible puzzle to figure out it has instead made me realize how all those different sides of me can be one whole profoundly interesting, vital woman.

During that weekend we also visited a beautiful little winery with a small bistro. We had some good wine and great food and lazed away the afternoon sitting outside overlooking the vineyards talking casually of past memories and future dreams. We kept the wine glasses and I will cherish them always.

That next night I cooked for him and then sat naked at his feet while he ate. It was one of the most difficult things he had asked of me up to that point and it was difficult for me, and I did it without complaint. I felt tremendously vulnerable sitting there with him occasionally feeding me from his hand. My hands ached to pull up the soft robe that was pooled around me. I knew it was a huge leap of faith and trust for me and failing just could not be an option. It made me even more submissive and quiet and even after he allowed me to sit with him at the table I was subdued. As slaves if our supposed limits are never pushed a bit I think the possibility of complacency exists. It’s the difficult things that remind us that we are not in control. I can’t say I like them or even understand them but I do accept that it’s his right to ask anything of me and have me comply.

The weekend was quickly coming to an end and I know none of this sounds like the same slave who spoke words of release just a post ago. Even I was amazed at my resolve to let those thoughts dissolve themselves and fade to the background for a few short short days. But even this idealistic setting and time had an end and I struggled with tears that wanted to be shed. And so, on that last evening did I curl myself up once more at his feet and beg a word with him….