Needed, wanted, cherished.

In a recent post greengirl spoke of her need to be needed, wanted and cherished. These are emotions so intense in me they almost burn up my heart at times, a searing pain from memories still so raw that even now they bring tears to my eyes.  I spent such a long time not feeling needed, such a long time feeling unwanted and inadequate, such a long time trying to be a person that I am not in order just to get some word of praise: some sign that I was worthy of his attention even. Fool that I am, I believed him.

I loved him and in my eyes he could do no wrong, so the one who was wrong must be me. He took my self confidence and tore it up before my eyes: he took my self esteem and buried it deep in the bowels of the earth: he took my heart and wrung it dry. I floundered in a sea of emptiness not knowing which way solid ground lay. I didn't want to live, but somehow I did. A ghost of the person I once was, living a life that had no substance... year after year after year...

That is my past, although it haunts my present still. The lingering doubts remain. There is too much time on my own, too much time for those deep rooted insecurities to raise their heads once more. Too much time to sink back into the deep dark troughs that should now be consigned to my past. I feel that I am deep under water, small and insignificant as I gaze up through the surging waters that bury me. I do not know myself. I have lost my identity, am not certain quite that I ever truly had one.

And then He is here. His hands on my upper arms hold me away from Him as He drinks me in with His eyes. His words bring music to my ears, His happiness only barely contained, provides the joyful lyrics, laughter bubbling a duet to the words He speaks. His eyes sparkle and glisten, crinkling at the edges in a way that melts my very soul. I know He will notice every detail about me. My hair, my lipstick, my stockings, my shoes, the detailing on my dress. Right now it is His eyes that feast. Next it will be His hands, tracing the contours of my body. He will seek out the forms that give Him the greatest pleasure... the curve of a rib, the swell of a hip bone...and the grin will deepen on His lips. With Him I have no doubt about my identity. I am His. I am His sub. My mind is crystal clear, there are no doubts.

No doubts. I do not doubt that I am needed. I do not doubt that I am wanted. I do not doubt that I am cherished. I am His. He will use me. He will train me. He will tease and torment me. He will discipline and punish me. I will smile and moan and scream and cry. Yet I will not doubt. By knowing I am needed my self esteem is growing. By knowing I am wanted my self confidence is building. By knowing I am cherished my heart blossoms and grows. I am His, and I know who I am and how to be. Happy, relaxed, confident I am His sensuous sub.

And later, much later I know He will fold me in His arms: He will softly kiss me: He will stroke my skin cherishing the new marks on the ivory softness. He will hold me closely to His chest and whisper in my ear, and we will be as one.
 
My past is history. M you are my present, you are my future. Thank you.

Velvet <3

Sensational minutes

We do not have long. Just a few minutes snatched from our busy lives. A last minute change of venue has given us a location that will allow the privacy we crave. The moment I open the door we fall upon one another. Devouring each other's lips and mouths like ravenous animals. I love the way He kisses me. He holds nothing back: takes ownership of my mouth and I melt into His arms, His body, His mind. From that moment my senses take over. All I see, hear, touch, smell and taste is Him. 

I'm dressed in work clothes, carefully chosen as I knew these minutes had been arranged. I am ready for Him in every way. His texts have ensured that these few minutes have been fully prepared for and not a single one will be wasted. My outward appearance belies the wantonness that lies within. Unseen, beneath this professional facade, His gifts adorn my body. He will see them, feel them, use them, soon.  Oh please soon!


He sends me up the stairs ahead of Him. Midway His hand adjusts my skirt, hitching it higher so He can best take advantage of the spectacle of my ascent. The black lace of my stocking tops ring my thighs, the creamy flesh above flashes as I climb steadily. He hitches the skirt higher still until by bare behind is revealed for His personal titillation. No words are spoken: no permission asked. My presence here states my acquiescence. My silence shouts my submission to His will.

I lead Him to a room with a low sofa. He kisses me again: owning my mouth once more. I respond with ardour, feeling the sensations sparking through my body, giving everything of myself to Him. He checks my swell of passion, draws away and sends me to my knees before settling Himself comfortably on the sofa. From my lowly position I look up at Him with adoring eyes. I sense these minutes are to be purely His. My heart swells, I am replete, my desire is only to make Him happy.


With a minimum of words His wishes are conveyed and I assist in freeing His proud member from the restraints of His jeans. He lies back as I begin my task. I kneel before Him, my hands steadying my lowly position. My mouth, my lips, my tongue: the only tools I am allowed to use to pleasure Him. I use my tools as best I can. Stroking and caressing, engulfing and probing, long sweeping strokes and gentle lapping licks. There is nothing else in the room Only Master's cock and His cockwhore's mouth.

He likes it deep and I obey as best I can, but He is always greedy for more, expects more, insists I give more. As I kneel impaled upon His horn, my face buried deep in His groin, inhaling His manhood, His unyielding hands hold my position, ensuring there is no escape until He chooses. I begin to fight for breath, His hands are resolute. 'A little more.' I hear His voice. It is a statement. There is no negotiation. I still my struggling and give Him a little more, just as He knew I could. Then finally I am released. I hurriedly suck the air in, refreshing my lungs; and quickly I resume my task. Our minutes are ticking by, and my hunger for Him is in no way satiated.


I am aware that clothing has been removed. Did I assist? My senses are consumed by Him, my mind has no room for anything else. His hand runs down my back, tracing the contours of my body, pulling me closer in to Him than I thought possible. He raises my backside so that I am on all fours, I do not break from my task. I feel the brush of leather across my rear. A slow sensual stroking of the supple belt that was so recently around His waist. I sense the folding of the leather into His hand, I hear the swish of the strap as it arcs through the air, I feel the bite of its tongue as it laps my tender flesh. My cries are most perfectly stifled, not a sound escapes: Master's cock provides the most perfect of gags.

The sting of each stroke renews my focus. I am His and here only to serve Him. The sensations consume my mind. The beating is not intense, it sets my nerves tingling and my juices flowing. He knows the effect it will have on me only too well. I gorge myself on His member waiting to see if He will punish or reward His girl for her outrageous horniness. 


He re-positions the belt around my torso, strapping my breasts to my chest, he pulls hard, securing me tightly and providing a handle for Himself. He moves now, pushing me forwards so my face falls into the warm hollow where he so recently sat. He binds my hands: a Velcro tie immobilising me still further. His breath by my ear informs me that I did not quite reach the hour mark upon my task. My time has not been in vain though, the effects of my labours are clear to me. He drives deep into me, using me completely, holding nothing back. He is bestial in His actions and His deep guttural utterances. 


His peak comes, exploding deep within me. Time stops. There are no minutes, hours or days. There is only US. Deeply and sensually connected: We transcend time.

But what minutes!  Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day.  ~Benjamin Disraeli



Velvet <3

The Sharpest Pleasures

I am waiting. He has sent me to His room. I kneel on the black rug, the wool cushioning my stockinged knees. The straps of my high heels press against my ankles reminding me of their presence. My mouth is dry. I moisten my lips in nervous anticipation. As I swallow I feel the pressure of the collar around my neck. 


That is all I wear today... nothing else. He has told me to remove everything else. To enter His room and wait. 

My hands twist as I hold them behind my back. I clasp them together, halting their movement.I breathe slowly. Hands, feet, body motionless... but my mind will not be stilled.


Already I am wondering what he has in mind for me tonight. My eyes are pulled unwillingly to the dark shelf to the left of the door. I see His 'toys' laid out. Meticulously ordered, displayed to excite and alarm me in equal measure. 


As my eyes alight on the neat coil of purple rope I cannot help the smile that blushes across my face. I cannot dull the spark that lights my eyes. I cannot suppress the moisture that leaks between my thighs.


My body aches to be used by Him. In my mind I am already displayed for Him. The ropes woven around my body, transforming me into living art, presenting me perfectly in a way that nature never could alone.

Will the marks of the tight bonds be enough for Him tonight; or will He crave the resonant slap of the paddle and the growing crimson blush on the cheeks of my proffered posterior? 

My heart skips a beat as I consider if I have forgotten a misdemeanor that could earn me a set of stinging scarlet stripes across my defenceless derriere....

I hear His movements outside the door. The creak of the floorboards as He shifts His weight. 


I lower my eyes submissively to the floor. 


I feel His hands placing the blindfold over my eyes, the straps pulled tight... and tighter still.


I am left in darkness, with only my thoughts... but it will be His imagination, not mine, that will bring the sharpest pleasures... through His imagination that I will know joy...

“The imagination is the spur of delights... all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise?” Marquis  De Sade


Velvet <3

Sometimes...

There are some lines from songs that stick with me forever. The rest of the lyrics make no connection, just one line, one refrain, that permeates my mind... and a smile leaches across my face...

'Sometimes, when I look deep in your eyes, I swear I can see your soul...'

What will He see when He looks into my eyes? What does my soul say about me? Laid bare for Him both literally and emotionally...

At first I was not allowed to look, not even snatch a glance: the soft lambswool that lined the blindfold hiding the scene from me: a further layer of black tape wound round and round my skull: extinguishing even the faintest glimmer of light.

I could only wait... listen... every sound intensified by my sight deprivation. Every touch intensified... from the softest brush of His lips against my skin... to the bite of the cane across my derriere...

But there are times now when he likes to look down at me... calling my eyes up to meet His. I kneel before Him... waiting... attentive... the instruction may just be a gesture...

I look up into His eyes, and feel His gaze penetrating me... boring deep into me... into my soul...

What does He see?

Deep in my soul is what He already knows...

That I am His. Not sometimes... Always...

Velvet <3