Moved

He can't remember how he got to this place but it doesn't seem to matter. Everything seems calm and quiet and his presence seems correct. He finds it hard to describe why. It just is. He just is and to wait and not move from his kneeling position seems perfect and natural. He is aware that there were other times now, before this where activity surrounded him and he felt lost in some process of choice; but there is a lightness now. A wonderful sense of clarity-where every choice has been taken away and he can simply wait. Blissful, content and passive.

There is no view to see here. No complications with thinking or perceiving at all, only the pale lull of white light flecked with reflective gold, the earthy tones of wet grass and stone. Sweet scents as well and a breeze so perfectly warm that an exquisite shiver passes through his body and rests, with a tender ache between his thighs.

He looks down to his body and realises that it is naked. Changed someone too but he can't quite recall how. The other times before now seem irrelevant but there is a memory of softer skin; of weaker arms. He passively inspects his limbs and their functions and notices the strength he now feels .The lines of muscles, the precise arch of his back and it pleases him to know he will be of some use and serve his purpose. And then in that moment, the feeling perplexes him. There is nothing to see in this clear, bright world but the shimmers of light reflecting back to his body- so the idea of being of use to another seems unfounded. But the feeling remains. He continues to feel no desire to move from his kneeling stance-as if to wait is correct. ' A wait to be summoned' he thinks; and the thought elicits such unfathomable joy that a gasp escapes his lips, the tender ache returning once more.

Hours pass; or maybe days but slowly time laps its gentle waves and pulls back darkness and a sky full of stars. He is still warm and whole and there are scents of wild flowers; intoxicating in the humid, night air.

And then, without any conscious process he is standing bolt upright. His muscles tensioned as if to run but he stays routed to the spot. She is speaking to him. All thoughts disappear. There are no words; there is no language only the infinite space she inhabits in his mind; "My servant"

A soft chill up his back and all at once there is brilliant light and the world opens up. This voice is everything; he understands. And to follow her direction would be humbling; honouring. "My servant;" her voice again and in a gentle yet strong command; "come to me."

Without thought he begins to walk. This place is a lush green now and barefoot with the magnificent warmth of a sun beating down he walks towards a line of pine trees that overlook rolling fields of amber and gold. Drawing closer he can make out the pale outlines of figures in the grassland; all men that seem busy at some task, whether planting seeds in newly tilled earth or picking fruits from the myriad of trees with branches that seem to reach towards them. They are all naked like him and curiously; there is a memory when this would have seemed unnatural. As if a body was meant to be covered and shamed but in this place, there is only the passive acceptance of his form and theirs.

It is the voice then; it seems that commands him to venture closer. To veer from the path and join those men who, bathed in sunlight, emanate devotion. As he cuts through the willowy stalks some men look up from their work and he notices, for the first time, the thick bands of leather around their necks. Tied tightly and yet, from their posture, it seems that comfort is taken from the way it holds them in place.

"Go quickly to her." He turns to meet the gaze of the man who has spoken; and it is like he is hearing language for the first time. Those sounds had wavered and then merged into understanding; but he is aware that the words are unique and that the mere mention of her presence is like the sounds of the ocean. Aware; perhaps, of his wonder the other smiles and repeats, stretching his arm to point towards the meadows below; "go quickly to her; she will not be kept waiting." And as before; moved by her will; he walks.

It is some time before he passes over that bend to the rich green of a land illuminated by light and the hue of wild flowers. This place seems to heighten his senses; as if every footstep; every soft sound in the gentle breeze is connected in some way and his anticipation grows. He feels her presence here the most; an awareness of the divine that flows through his body and mind. He knows where to go now. She leads him onwards; towards the last bend turning through the trees and there; framed by the light of her own perfection; she sits; awaiting his devotion.

Immediately; without conscious thought he falls to his knees. She is beauty incarnate. Completely naked she exudes a gentle, all knowingness. The subtle light reflects the roundness of her breasts; the swell of her hips. Purple flowers entwine in the waves of soft, black hair as if all things wish to cling to her. To be kept in her possession and serve. Her dark almond eyes survey his frame without emotion. For a moment he thinks that time has stopped. There is a lull in all movement; his body immobilised. And then she speaks.

"Come closer my servant." His body has been commanded. Up from his knees he is jolted upright. Immense feelings of pleasure pulsate through him. His muscles tensed with anticipation as he walks towards her throne; every further footstep a staggering understanding of her power to control. She beckons him to sit by her right and as he does so he looks up to heaven. The swell of her breasts lead down to the slick line between her legs and the pressure in his cock grows. "I have made you well." Her voice is soft yet authoritive as she runs a cool finger down his chest. "You will serve me and in return you will rewarded." And in that moment there is nothing he wants more. To devote himself to every deed laid out. Every stroke of her finger leads him closer to succumbing to her will. Yet as she turns to pick up the thick band of leather for a moment his breathing falters; aware that she too has the power to punish. With omniscience she places a hand around his neck; coaxing his head towards hers; her eyes searching; processing the minute flickers of energy between them. "Never without reason. You have no desire to disobey." He knows this truth the most.

With dexterity she places the leather around his neck and pulls tightly. He has never felt more content. Rigid, bound and owned. "Go join the others." And as before; moved by her will; he walks.