Letter to a Submissive

Little girl;

Sometimes I feel lost. I feel like I would gladly kneel to you. Crawl to you. Kiss your feet. Kiss your ass (if you'd like). Without you I am alone. I need you. Without you I am not Dom. I am only me, in the dark searching. You are my complement. There is a little of me in you and a little of you in me. I would cry with you. I would shed tears of sorrow or joy with you. Gratefully with no shame. I can be naked with you. There is no need to run, no need to hide. I have the strength to be vulnerable with you.

Your submission is a most cherished gift. I cannot ever forget that it is a gift. If I abuse what you give me, I shall be an unworthy wretch.

I am deeply touched when you wear my collar. I find myself melting a little inside when you have it on. You wear it proudly. You wear it with a glow. (I remember you wore it at that fancy restaurant on the ocean. Prissy people prancing about with pearls and diamonds outshone by a princess with basic black leather caressing her neck.)

I want to see you naked except for the collar, standing by my bed by candlelight brushing your hair. I like to watch you, to see the feminine motion of your hands, as the brush bristles flow effortlessly through the softness of your long red hair.

You kneel to me. Between my legs. Head lowered, you pleasure me with your mouth. I watch you. I see the joy etched in your face as you give and give. I command you sternly. I demand that you do it the way I like it. I order you. I dictate to you the exact motions to make. I tell you how deep to take it, how wet to get it, how fast to stroke it, how tight to grasp it. I swear. I scream obscenities at you. I call you dirty names. I grab your hair. But inevitably, the balance shifts. I go quiet. My breathing deepens. I stroke your hair. The power is yours. And you know it. You bask in it. You delight in it. I don't see your smile as I can no longer watch, but I know that you are smiling. My hands tremble. You have me.

I was afraid when we met that I would be taking advantage of you. It is ok for a Dominant to be older, in fact it is desirable. But I am 48, you are 24. There were doubts in my soul. But no more. I am Dom, you are sub. We can play. We can laugh. We can love. We can discover. We can be wicked together. Yes.

Young girls do not always know their power. When an older man takes them and opens them up, they learn their power and are grateful for it. Hmmm.....I like it when you thank me.

Your shy giggling is so submissive. I smile when I hear it.

Would you bite into me if I told you to? Could you use the whip if I handed it to you?

You are my poetry. My muse. My thoughts surround you. They squeeze me toward you.

You are my sin, my wickedness. My mind flows to you. Into you like a river to the sea.

Rope is not strong enough for you. You need metal cuffs and chains to contain you, to hold you. I will have you like that.

When we are apart, the distance is painful. My soul aches. My body aches. For you. I can touch myself. I can close my eyes and close the distance. I feel you. I call you. Your name fills the air as my body convulses with pleasure.

Time is an ocean, but it ends at the shore. The waves will roll in. I will touch you again.

I want to whisper in your ear. I want to be breathless from fucking you. I want to hear your low cries as I thrust into you. I want to feel your supple skin in my hands, and your soft hair against my sweat soaked face. I want to flog you. To hear the thud of the rope on your body. I want to see you in heat. I want to go to exhaustion with you.

When I say "the position", you know. Your position. Doggie style, hands and elbows flat, head low, ass high. It is beautiful to see you waiting like that. Waiting for discipline, waiting for love, waiting for the unknown. Waiting for the decision. You excite me. You thrill me. You make me salivate like a Pavlov dog. Is that power?

Yes, I feel lost but found. I shall come to you. We shall both know our place.