Friday, August 1, 2014

He has mastered the art

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I wrote this piece a few days ago, thinking back to the day all this happened. I process experience through my writing, and have been intrigued by what makes a perfect Master for me...and I would guess that it's all in the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands and the way he gazes into my eyes. 

Inspired by the man who inspired my novel Spontaneous Combustion...

He has mastered the art…

            The way he speak to me

            in bold strokes, in black and white

            no-nonsense master slave talk

                        I shudder and squirm

            mesmerized by the sound of his voice

and words he chooses to define us

He has me in his grip the moment he speaks

and in that moment

I am his

Speaking of his grip on me, there are his hands

            The muscle and brawn, the command, the strength

            He humbles me with his touch

            the fire, heat and firmness pouring from his fingers

through my body and I become his captive

He contains me with the fierceness of his hold

He binds me with his body and I am

crushed, chastened and overcome

and in that moment

 I am his

The way he smells, that testosterone laden scent

            the pheromones I breathe in through my body

            pull me into him

            he tastes of sex and desire as I use my mouth to pleasure him

            and in the moment when the raw scent and feral taste collide

            I am his

And then his eyes, penetrating and dark, the way they look at me

            hone in on my face and make me tremble in awe

            Again and again, they come back to me to stare me down

            so fixedly that I blush and turn away

            I wonder what he sees in me when he gazes so closely into my eyes

            Would he ever put his thoughts into words?

            The moment his eyes connect with mine

            I am his

He’s mastered the art of mastering me

            unhinging me

            loosening the anchor

            letting me free float in the hard feel of this body

                        the taste of it and its smell

                        the touch, the command, the presence

                        everything he is takes me someplace like nowhere else

                        where I am reduced

                        and find heaven there

                        where I would stay forever if I could

His power over my feelings, my thoughts, my body

            and how far I want to go with him

            scares me

            But still I am his as I continue to unravel,

and wonder as I do:

When do we stop?

Where does this end?

            When I find myself so snared

            so scared

            so taken and used

            when his eyes trap me again, I have to ask:

            “Master, what do you see when you look me in the eye?

            What do you see in me?”