...

I stood before you, waiting for what I’d been wanting to hear since
the day before – your voice, telling me to take off my clothes. And
you did. Instantly, my brain woke up and started a
stream-of-consciousness, fear-based litany: “What should I take off first? Top or
bottom? Which is sexier? Damn, I read this recently and now I can’t
remember! What if he doesn’t like my body? I like my body, but maybe he
prefers bigger breasts, a plumper ass, paler skin...What if I trip?
What if I fall? God, that’d be embarrassing…”. Then, I became
aware that some time had passed and I was still standing there, fully
clothed, and you were still waiting. Already, I was messing up.

I could hardly look at you as I undressed. And when I stumbled you
held out your hand to steady me. Thank you for that – I really needed
to feel you at that very moment. I had remembered your disappointment
at lunch when I told I did have panties on and had removed them before
leaving work, hoping that you’d be pleased. As a result, when my
jeans were off, that was it. I stood there, fighting my fear and instinct
to cover myself even as I felt proud. While you looked. Just looked.

“Turn around.” I did, and you looked some more. Trembling, inside
and out, I finally felt your hands touch me – a stroke, a gentle
squeeze, a slight pinch. I could sense your body behind me, the heat and
power and control you exuded. Even as I write this, days later, I can
feel your hands on me and my mind and body respond.

My breath became trapped in my throat and as my vision began to blur
you moved away, directing me to assume the first position you had taught.
I hesitated – my body frozen – you turned back to me and
said…something…I can’t remember what, but I perceived it as now and I
dropped to my knees. It felt…inevitable…and another piece of my soul
surrendered to you.

For the next little while you amused yourself, taking me through each
basic submissive position, correcting my posture, widening my knees,
dispensing praise as I came closer to your ideal. At the same time, there
were smiles and some laughter, from both of us. Thank you for giving
me those little breaks, times that I could take a deep breath even as
my entire being fell further under the spell you were casting, further
into your control.

Oz, from here forward my memory is like a deck of cards that was in
order but got dropped on the floor. No matter how hard I try, I can’t
pick them up in the correct order, so instead I’ll write each
sensation I experienced separately.

Spankings:
Your big, hard hand on my ass felt like it belonged there. The first
few swats startled me, and I pulled away slightly. “Present your ass
to me,” you demanded. I arched my back and tilted my tailbone
upward. After my body adjusted to the position and my mind to the sting, my
ass began to sway to meet each strike. I began to crave them, feeling
the rhythm: pain/pleasure, absence of pain and a spreading warmth,
anticipation of the next one… You stopped too soon, but you told me that
if you continued, you’d be breaking the “no marks” rule – that
my ass was already red. Sigh…
There was another place to play, though: your hand, patting my pussy, a
little harder, then harder, and harder as I spread my knees wider,
wider, wider yet, then your fingers inside me and on me, until I came.
And again. And then again. And right here, right now, remembering, I
want to come again.

Your voice:
“Don’t bite your lip”, as I struggle internally to take more,
give more… Now I hear your voice, saying “don’t”, every time I
worry my lips with my teeth.
“Come for me now” – how could I not? My senses were bombarded
with you – your voice, your scent, your control, your sureness, even
your arrogance – I felt like your toy, one you could play with as you
chose, and you know how to get the most out of your toys, don’t you?
You said that phrase many times that afternoon and my body obeyed each
time.
“Undress me”. I looked at your sandals, momentarily confused by
the intricacies of two Velcro straps. See what you did to my brain,
something I’m pretty damn proud of? Of course I began to unfasten the
wrong strap and you reached down, moved my hand to the correct place,
saying “Here.” When I got to your belt, you’d wrapped the end so it
wouldn’t come loose easily. Seeing my bewilderment, you laughed
softly. When I figured it out and had it almost off, you instructed me,
“Double it over and hand it to me.” Another wall of resistance
within crumbled.

The belt:
Just knowing you held it went straight to my head. I began to believe
even deeper that I was truly exactly where I was supposed to be, at
your feet. What a powerful symbol of dominance a belt is when it’s held
by a man who knows how to use it and is willing to do so. You wrapped
the belt around each breast, pulling it tight until I gasped. You
couldn’t use it on my ass, my back, my shoulders, as I longed for, but I
could see that you wanted to, very much.