this is how you fall in love with your submissive

we didn’t stop it…

“What do you want.” he asked me not so much with a question in his voice but with a ‘just tell me’ so I can help you through this. I didn’t know and I tried the best I could to put it into words. I remember rolling back towards him and trying very hard to meet his eye when I said it…”I need you to hurt me.”


another day-

This particular time even I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. I remember him kneeling between my legs…it was right after he made me spread them for him. Placing a hand on both of my ankles he opened my legs telling me he wanted to help get me past my shyness. It is hard to be opened up like that, even harder when he just wants to spend a moment or so looking.
It was right after he touched me and I tried to stop him..I tried to close myself to him (there are certain places on my body that I have trouble with him touching…it still feels like a violation of my body and allowing him access to that part of me is tough…it doesn’t help that he loves it..:)) and he said something along the lines of …”Now is not the time to fight me….” and it was NOT in his ‘speak softly philosophy voice’ … was after all of that. He had his hand on me, and his finger was in that part of me that I still struggle with. His thumb was higher pressing inside of me, circling around in my wetness. I remember being worried that I was so wet…wetter than I thought I should be…(don’t laugh Richard).
I wanted to cum so badly but it was almost as if my body was ready to let me down….I was covered in my own wetness and in my own sweat. I was exhausted. The room was so hot and I know Richard was too. As I got closer and closer to release I was able to find my words to ask him…”please, please may I cum” (does that count as a beg to you?) If my memory serves me correctly he made me ask again..and again..before finally saying yes. But even his yes had some added erotic features because he went on to tell me…and this was using his ‘speak softly philosophy’…he told me that I could cum now..and that I should remember that I wasn’t doing it for myself…that my orgasm was for him. It was his and not my own.
So I clung to him as I orgasmed for him again..and again.


why it grew 2

She felt only the caress of moving, of being moved…moving with him and in him and him inside of her. She felt like she had been absorbed; lost into his flesh, his body, his touch, the touch of this man who knew her so well. It was like water that day, like water and cold and heat only it all felt the same. It felt tight and hard like lace around her legs; a black fabric biting into soft thighs or a hand gripping a slim throat as if it were a rope. His rough thumb marred the whiteness of her skin, digging into the beauty of the hollowness of that spot that pulsed with each fragile breath she offered him.
Time didn’t exist, nothing did, and there was no one else, nothing between them. Perhaps there never had been and in that moment it didn’t matter. He replaced his hands for teeth and he bit into her neck sucking smooth skin into his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. Needing more. There was adventure in his touch, in his breath and it was like danger dripping on them both until they were both wet with it, slippery. He was all over her and in her and his hand was hard in her hair and on her face cupping her chin for his kisses, his teeth grazing her cheek, nibbling at her bruised lips tasting her whimpers and knowing there was so much more to come. A quick hand slipped between them pulling loose fabric away from damp skin tearing it away in its urgency to slip between hot, open thighs. They parted like her lips when he touched her and she curved into him a needy startled cry tearing from her throat. His eyes buried her, smothered her and the madness of his need threatened to consume her. It did consume her and she tossed her head trying to find a place where her thoughts stopped melting and draining away into puddles reflecting what he could do to her, what he was capable of and what she so longed to feel. His hands were rough and hard and left red and purple trails in their wake and he marveled at her softness, at his desire to break her, to tear into the softness of her; to pull it out and spread it over him like the richest cream. It was as if she was snow and vanilla and everything sweet and melting in his grasp. It all ran together between them, where every breath and touch ended on a fragment, an unfinished musing that never waned.
There was no dalliance here, not tonight; rarely between them was there the false pretense of tender lovemaking. He was fucking her, he fucked her and she loved it, she needed it and he needed to take her. He buried his fingers in her again and she lifted against him. He flipped her over ignoring the sheets that wrapped around her legs, sheets that tied her to him and kept her his. His hand was tight on the back of her neck and the other one was again inside of her, filling her. He felt her muscles clutch at his fingers and her wetness was everything warm and soft to him. Her moaning was rhythmic and musical as she struggled with finding her breath and the heat between her legs burnt her, scared her and reminded her that she was his. She lifted up and moved into him sliding herself against him loving the weight of him pressing her back down, holding her down…she struggled with a feigned bravery against his unyielding skin. Snaking an arm around her waist he turned her again pulling her hard against his chest his heart so loud, a storm in her ears soaking her in it’s rain before tossing her back down hard on the bed in front of him. Her breathing was fast and his eyes took everything away from her, all that she didn’t need, didn’t want and would have given to him anyway. He took it from her with a glance, with a single touch, with a bite that she felt days later. Yet there was still more and she wanted it. He recognized her need, her growing whimpers almost frantic coming from deep within her. His mouth was against hers as he fed her whispers that grew between them like a dark cry of release, a cry of surrender of complete nothingness that was everything. He demanded everything. Her nipples were hardened and slick and his fingers bit into them with a piercing ache that gripped her. He twisted the rubbery silken skin lifting her off of the bed his eyes were watching her face, the agony, the pure pleasure of giving him the pain he so desired was all over her. It was in the delicate layer of dampness that covered her skin, it was in every short breath that filled the air between them and in the way she needed him.
There was pain at both ends of his touch and he held nothing back knowing that he didn’t need to, he couldn’t, he had tried and failed.
Some people collide and explode together almost as if they should have never met. Only they did and everything changed, everything had to. He needed her, he loved her and she was as much his as the hands that even now hurt her. So his hands reminded her of that and the marks on her skin were like memories to her for she had never forgotten.


why it grew 3


He pulled my head back by my hair. I was in Heaven. I love my hair pulled, I loved that he was rough with me. That he felt it was OK to be so rough that it not only pulled my head back but caused me to feel the strain in my neck.

How delicious!

Anyway, he began to speak to me. And I will do my best here to describe why him speaking can only enhance my arousal. He has a smooth voice and it was quiet, almost a whisper in my ear but there was no mistaking what he said.
“I own you.”
And then he made me admit it.

“I own you. Don’t I.”

So take a girl caned into sub space, naked and tightly bound and on the edge of orgasm and start whispering to her. Are there levels of sub space? I think so because I found a new level on this day. He totally objectified me. I was at that moment owned by him. I felt a helplessness that had nothing to do with being restrained and there was no question in my head that in that sliver of time I existed only for his pleasure. I liked that. When my orgasm came it was almost like an offering. It was as mental as physical, and isn’t that the best kind? It was a high intensity moment.