Many Pleasured Things. Part Two

The morning after the night before.

We hadn't slept, but spent the night exploring the possibilities of our bodies. Touching on the outskirts of new territories with fingers, mouths and toys. Those first few touches, like the moment of penetration, of a hard object sliding in to fullness, can never be really recaptured. There will never be a second, first time. The movement from unknown to known. The thrill of expectation followed by satisfaction as you realise that yes, this is as good as you had hoped, had wanted. As good, and perhaps better.

Friends had left, for other places and other people, and the room had become more empty as the evening became the night became the day. We bid them farewell in amidst fucking. There was an unselfconsciousness about seeking joy in each others bodies and I don't recall we actually broke contact. A limb would touch a limb. A mouth seek out a tongue, a cunt, a nipple. Fingers would search for warm hardness or soft wetness and tease out more soft moans.

The sun rose. My eyes had only closed in moments of pleasure or that warm, light, not-quite-asleep, not-quite-awake cocoon following an all-nighter. Quiet but not still. Chemicals still whispered to our skin of heightened sensations and unreality. Our smells had mingled in the night giving that strange perfume that comes from the sweat of sex, the scent of another body overlayed on top of yours like a ghostly embrace. His eyes opened and revealed that bright, bright blue I had hoped was real and not a trick of the night. Much like the rest of him, I was not sure that this could actually be real, my experience so far has made me wary, to anticipate some catch, some flaw that would prevent me from getting what I wanted.

We have all known the fragility of our hopes and desires when, come the morning, those whispered promises and offers are revealed to be the gasps of transient passion, never to be consummated. I was ready for that. Ready for us to say goodbye and shake hands like gentlemen, to accept that what went before was a wonderful thing, in and of itself, but not to be repeated. An experience amidst other experiences and water under the bridge to boot. There comes a moment, in the morning, when you wake and you know it is time to leave. When you feel the day come heavy upon you and time, real time, rather than the hazy time of parties and play dates, starts to tick.

I took a breath and readied myself. He was still looking at me.

"I want to be yours."

Without a beat, I replied "yes" and wrapped him up in my arms. As simple as that, then. Again, it all seemed to good to be true. But as we talked, it became clear that feeling was one he shared. That what I represented did not feel real to him either, as if I too would evaporate in the sunlight, to be merely a reverie. I took control, he offered it. I explained what I wanted and required from him, how he would become mine: my slave, my servant, my boy and many other things besides. I gave him my name, and the instruction to never call me Mistress.

I gave a reality check, for fear that I was on an imaginary pedestal I could never climb upon in reality. That this was a beginning. That there would be more, and less, than just kinky fucking. That there was a full life to be had, a future. That I wasn't interested in half-hearts or half-measures. I wanted something whole and complete and with potential. That this was now. That later, as we developed together we would change and grow. That underneath it all, alongside it all, I was just a person. Not a fictitious mistress who stalked the night in heels and hair scraped back tight. We would have bad days along with the good, but that he would be mine and in a curious way, I would also be his.

With mild euphoria, and sleep-deprived adrenaline we got up, got dressed and went out into whatever passes for the real world. Over coffee in the fresh air we checked our histories. Loves lost and won, what we wanted for ourselves. Those beautiful beginning moments. I feel a little as if I have started again. His newness to the scene combined with his openness for experimentation, alongside the broad plains of his desire gives me more scope than ever before in a D/s relationship. We are not constrained by the demands of others, by the worries of sexuality, by the expectation of loss or of foregone conclusions. Like some kind of rite of spring, the world had changed, suddenly and quite dramatically.

And I am very happy that it has.