Look at Me

It was early in the afternoon and I hadn't slept in about
24 hours. I was tired. Needless to say, I wasn't in the
very best of moods, feeling nothing like a submissive little
sex toy, and the summer heat wasn't helping. But I sat,
reclining on my loaded sports bag on a bench outside the
air port in the passenger pick up area, holding a make shift
sign with my name on it lazily against my sweating forehead.
Patience is a virtue, but not one that I readily possess,
and the longer I waited, the less excited I was to be there.



I was there for a man. He was pretty much a stranger, and I
was far from home. But I was floundering in a doldrom of stress
and depression again, and he appealed to my ingrained sense
of adventure, and my need to get away from it all. Somehow
I wonder if one day my sense of adventure is going to get me
killed.


So I sat, or lay, rather, my flimsy sign plastered against
my perspiring face, watching car after car come and go,
wondering if my host would ever show himself. It must have
been fifteen or twenty minutes I sat there, when a sleek,
silver Mercedes SL500 came to a stop near by.


I took a look at the stopped car, kinda envying the person
that would be getting in to it, sure it wouldn't be me.
Sure enough, I suppose. I saw the trunk pop open first, then
out of the car emerged a man, somewhat diminuitive. I'm
5'6" myself and he... well, he was a little shorter
than me. But he wasn't tiny, by any means. I could tell
he was well built. He had quite a demanding presence for
such a little guy. I couldn't see all of his face though.
He wore sunglasses.


I sat up a bit to take a better look as the man walked toward
me, my eyes widening behind my own set of shades (as much
as they could widen for how tired I was), realizing that
this was the guy I was here for. I sat up, and my sign blew off
of my face.


You'll have to forgive me, but I don't have a very
strong recollection for the specific dialogue that transpired
between us at that point in time. He was tire. I was tire.
we made some small talk in the car, on the long drive back
to his place. The longer I spent in the car with him though,
the more erotic our conversation became... the more he
touched me. I liked the way he touched me. So, by the time
we pulled into the garage of his house, I was pretty fit to
be fucked, so to speak.


We went inside, and engaged in a little more small talk..
He showed me his various toys... etcetera. Long story short,
we made it to the bedroom.


Perhaps I should take a moment to elaborate on what I was
feeling at that time. I was feeling submissive. Which had
been a rare thing lately. but I felt it, and felt it bad, a
hot, burning need welling up in my core. The slave in me,
somehow, throug him, had been awakened again. As I laid
down on his bed, on my stomach, that desperation to please
returned, and the slave took over my senses and blazed through
me like a drug coursing through my veins. He hadn't
even touched me yet, and my heart was already racing, I was
already panting.


Everything seems blurred together in my mind. I remember
him touching me, I remember... how he took control of me,
gripping my hair, binding me with his will and his words,
enveloping me in his over powering strength. I remember
the mix of fear, excitement, and desire that seized me as
I found myself on my back, breathing hard, my eyes lowered
instinctively.


One part though, is emblazened in my memory. I will never
forget it. I couldn't forget it if I wanted to.


I knew he was about to take me. Every part of me yearned for
it, my womanhood ached for it in an indescribable way, and
he was positioning himself, his hand fixed in my hair. I
don't remember all of what he said... just one thing.




"Look at me."


He wanted to see my face, to look in my eyes as he claimed me.
I struggled to obey, but years of training made it extremely
difficult for me to look my Master int he eyes. I did so only
for a moment, and lowered my eyes. I felt the pain as he tugged
my hair, and it came to me again.


"Look at me."


And I did. I forced myself to look up at him, staring into
his eyes, steeling my will against the recurring urge to
look away. I looked at him, and a moment later I felt him,
my heart nearly stopping in my chest as he sheathed himself
in me, never looking away, the sound of my own scream echoing
in my ears as I took his girth, my body enveloped in the ecstacy
of the pain. It hurt in such a wonderful way.


It was all in that moment. It felt almost as though my soul
escaped from me, falling into the confines of my unmistakable
submission to Him as He took me in that moment, staring down
into my eyes. I knew in that moment, that I was his.


He referred to everything I had as his.


There was, at one point, a power over me that I thought I would
never escape. I escaped it that day. He freed me and bound
me all at once. One would be amazed by the liberation one
feels in bondage.


That is all I have to convey.