Your Body, My Portal

Photo Credit: Max Pixel

“Don’t worry yourself, Kitten. This is one is not drab and melancholy, as the title may suggest”, he writes.

You see, I own your submissive soul; I don’t miss you in that sense. Not even a little bit; not in the least. I feel your vulnerability and the gift you give me throughout every minute of the day, in every breath we take. As you beg me to cum or tell me your deepest side, I feel you, like the air I breathe. When you say “Good Morning, Daddy!!! How did you sleep?”, I know that you are really saying is, “God! I just fucking wish I could wake up next to you. Fuck, I wish that so badly.”

One day, My Love. One day.

But until then, I will remind you and I will be your foundation. But do not trouble yourself, My Love. My dear collared sub. My Kitten. My Orange Sky.

For I do not miss your mind, but by God do I miss your body.

I ache for the vision becoming slowly becoming distant of you, as you are on your knees, with welled-up eyes of happiness while your mouth is full with my cock. It is at these moments that look right past the surface, gazing through the scene, and I see right into your soul. Tears bead down your soft delicate cheeks while you smile inside in the deepest bliss and gift me your submission, releasing yourself to fade right into me.

Me — the only man who knows you in your most open and vulnerable self.

It is these moments that I cherish you, as you choke; I worship you, as you gag. I witness a paradox in front of me, the strong alpha female embracing her deepest state. The beautiful submissive goddess, now spreading her wings to fly so freely into the place she always ached to be.

Your body becomes a portal into your deepest self; I use it, to gain access to the side of you that you ache so much to release.

You see this is the conundrum of D/s that people do not fully grasp until they lived it. It the moment I watch you unshackle yourself inside, become free and melt into the man who you know would do anything for you.

Aching for the instant when I grab you by the hair, pull you upward to kiss the most perfect messy mouth on the most perfect messy woman in the world. Saliva everywhere, but I see you as if you were in a black and white movie. I see you as pure elegance.

Every day this man writes you a love song, for the sole reason to remind you, that when he thinks of you, well…

I still get chills, just like I am right now.

When I imagine you in my mind — just the mere act of thinking about you — it is as though I reach deep down inside myself, to wake up the dormant inner child. That innocent feeling I had once lost and found again in you, remembering the person who got excited at little things, the smell of cut grass and the memories of holidays. I am him again when my mind drifts into a state of us, gazing up to see my skies becoming orange in you.

As I press my face into your pussy, the flavor of viscosity drowns my beard in an abundance of ache for me. The smell of your happiest moments, breathed in by me, with ambition akin to being awoken by smelling salts.

Every goddamn thing about you — absorbed, clutched at, and felt throughout every part of me, physically shooting a feeling of chills down my spine.

Your body — I ache for it on a level I never have before.

Soon, I am going to take it.