The teeth marks on my belly and beneath my breast remind me I'm owned. The same marks on my shoulder and neck tell me I'm loved. The soreness on my nipples where he pinches and pulls remind me of his passion, how his cock hardens and grows as I moan from the pain, a cycle of energy vibrating between us as his excitement feeds my own. The aches I still feel in my throat, deep inside my pussy and sometimes inside my ass remind me of the eagerness with which I allow him to invade me. Not my body, but my mind and my soul. There are no marks there, nothing anyone else could see, but the same aches are there, the invisible signs of touch and possession.
Its a long drive to see my Sir. Over an hour. I am always the one to go to him. It's my service to him and my privilege, that he allows me to come to his home, that he sets aside his day for me. Its one of the things that sets this apart, this thing, what we are, from a normal affair. Because I come always to him. He may see me here if he has to work nearby me, but he never has made a trip just to see me specifically.
I used to attempt small tests - wait to see if he would suggest a visit, but he never has, I always do so before him. I don't think I've ever gotten very far into these tests, never past the time when we would regularly make plans. He always says yes, always wants to see me, but he never is the first to set up a plan to see me again.
With another man, I might worry. I might wonder about his feelings for me. But my Sir pays me more attention than any other man I've known. He remembers what I say to him, recalls them later to me. He reads my horoscope and birth sign characteristics to me. He asks questions about my friends, the details of my life and actually cares. When we're together, his eyes aren't off me for very long, he never seems bored with me, or as if he's forgotten I'm in the room.
He has written to me nearly every day, since we met - over two years ago. There have only been two occasions we've gone more than two days without some contact. Similar to the visit requests, however, he always responds to an email or text of mine, never is he the first to make contact. He might be available in a chat window for me, but it's I who recognizes it and sends the first missive.
Yet, even with those things, there is no question who is whose, who belongs to whom.
I spend some time always kneeling before my Sir being petted. We talk quietly, he strokes my hair, I put my head on his knee. I press as close as I can get with my body to his. Periodically he will kiss me, I'll rise up to smell his neck.
Sometimes it's his hand on mine, lifting me gently to my feet, his voice commanding me up. Other times its roughly by the hair, or pulling my nipple, that I'll be made to stand. He may lift me and bite my tummy, or pin me down, baring skin for his teeth to caress. My breathing goes out of control immediately - I never know how intense he'll be right away. Often the bites send a trail right to my pussy - today I came just from being bitten on my stomach, as I squirmed and wriggled with the pain/pleasure of it. His hand will be either against my throat or my mouth, both positions excite me incredibly, I love being held down by him, love resisting just enough to get him to quiet me. Once I tried to get away from where he wanted to bite - because he wants to do it so slowly, sinking in, touching first with lips and tongue, then gradually applying his teeth, and I lie there knowing what's coming, the sharpness, the things it does to my helpless pussy and sometimes I can't stand it and I begin to wriggle - and he actually commanded me to stop, to move my hand that was blocking him, threatened to move my hand or else.
Of all the erotic and sadistic and dominant delights and torments of the package that is my Sir, his voice is what rules me. He can lure, frighten, compel and drive me with it. In an instant I was frozen, my mind still wanting to escape his intention, but the tone of his voice let me know that it was best to succumb now, than tempt what would happen if I resisted. I think of that moment, that feeling, over and over now.
Dizzy with the sense of him in and around me, I return at the end of our visits to the solitude of my nest ... although there is no place I can go to truly escape his presence. Not that I want to. But these days when I have time with him, as much as I never want them to end - I feel I might die from the intensity if we were to spend more than moments together. So the distance, however lonely, is somehow a relief. A temporary relief, before the longing begins anew.
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