With The Photographer last night, he asks in the middle of using me if there is anything that I want. I usually shake my head, because when we're fucking, like this, really my mind is in an empty space of use-submission and I have no wants. Except at the moment, I do. I'm presenting myself to him, hands around my breasts, pushing them up to meet him, a new position for him to use me in. His breath is brushing my lips and I find myself caught in the agony of knowing that I can't just reach up and kiss him. I feel silly asking it, because I know that I can't. It's not allowed. I ask anyway, knowing that all the same. Because it is a desire I have, because I want to be told "no" I suppose, and to be reminded of why. They why is important. He asks me to tell him why and I do, twinging a little, perhaps a tiny note of regret or even embarrassment, then overshadowed by a flush of pleasure, a sexual thrill in the most real and physical sense.
I am his slave and not his lover. Lovers are for kissing. Slaves are for using. Slaves give pleasure. Lovers give and receive. I am one but not the other. Which causes two pangs in my heart, pulling it both ways. Happy that I am his, for all that gives me. Sad that I cannot have those specific, tender intimate touches as well as the firm ones, that I am not his lover, because at that moment I want to be able to be everything to him, but some needs cannot be filled at the same time as others. Additionally, being a slave requires that there are things I want but sometimes cannot have - denial makes me feel owned by him and the sensation of ownership is a strong turn-on. If I had everything I wanted, whenever I wanted it, at my beck and call I would not be the slave. It's one of the necessary power exchanges that make a D/s relationship function, in order to be completely his, to be his slave and to be able to enjoy all the pleasure and satisfaction of that, I have to lose something else that would also give me pleasure, albeit in a different way. I could have the kisses. But I would not be owned.
It's made a little more complicated than that, of course, because we don't spend our entire lives in bed. I am his lover most of the time and certainly for all the outside world would know - and we do kiss. Just not whilst we are fucking or playing, which is the point during which I am most expressing the fact that I am his, when he is most demonstrating his ownership of me. Physical signs directed at each other, in private, where only we need know what it means and how it feels: I'm a public lover and a secret slave.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago