On a warm Tuesday afternoon I found myself Relaxing
into reality, allowing the universe to lead the way. surrender to the flow of life has it's advantages, and
perhaps I allow the Universe to steer the boat more than I should.
It
was a fateful afternoon day, exactly a week ago that we met. I was returning
from a Vegan Café down the street, said good-bye to another boy that I could
have taken home and cuddled with. Instead I opted for the great unknown; my
house, which was 4 blocks away, and rode my bike back to my beach studio
apartment. As I was Lingering with my tobacco, taking in the Venice vibe, He
pulled his car up right out front. I noticed him immediately; he had a sharp
charisma about him, and I thought he was attractive. Not many men dress in
crisp shirt and tailored suits and drive a Porche SUV. My first ill assumption
was that he has money.
I always secretly wish we, humans, acted on
that first immediate spark when we meet someone’s eye from across the street,
but we humans rarely have the balls to walk up to each other you and beg for
your phone number. In this case he overcame that initial reaction of human fear
and approached his future Mistress.
“Um
excuse me, do you know where is Rose street is?” I think I laugh at him.
“You’re
on Rose.” I reply like he’s a little incompetent
He’s
obviously a little lost and confused.. Of course Lauviah Rose, the Love Angel
would live on Rose Street.
His
dark fingers pull a smoke from his Marlboro lights pack and he lights up; not
because he even really enjoys the act of smoking, but because that’s what his
habit energy tells him to do.
Martin
has a heavy accent, looks like an Italian mix but I later find out he’s a
skinny Iranian, almost looks Eastern Indian. He has dark almond eyes that he
rarely reveals, because his personality out does his looks. He has a child’s
smile, and slurs his words combined with his accent and confused train of
thought makes him even more difficult to understand. I gather that he’s looking
for a girl that has something of his, but her phone is turned off and she lives
around this block. I laugh at the absurdity.
“Does
she have your keys?” I ask intuitively.
“Yes
I’m kind of errr…stuck. “
He
keeps insisting that he knows me from somewhere, even though I know he doesn’t.
This salesman is a natural liar, and he says that he’s seen me on the
internet….even though he knows he hasn’t. The conversation progresses.
Well
Apparently this girl that he’s looking for made off with his key; The key to
his CHASTITY BELT
Martin
and I speak some more and he flirts with me, implying that I should help him
with his little problem. I mean how likely is it that a man parks his car,
approaches you, starts sharing a cigarette then starts going off how badly he
wants you to take control of his cock? Um….. yeah. Probably never. But
apparently these things happen to someone like me who’s crazy enough to take
him upstairs and help relieve his pain.
Martin
wants to be mine, Submit himself to me, be owned and controlled by me. Curiosity
kills cats, and GEMINIS AS WELL.
We
get to my apartment, and he’s already incredibly built up from being in
Chastity to someone else for 3 days. I just get the pleasure of him falling to
his knees and wanting to worship me because he’s in so much tension and build
up from having his cock locked for days. I tease him by pressing my body up to his face.
He begs to break the belt, almost crying in his plea and I agree if he gets a
new lock and locks it back up in my name.
An
inner plea progresees, one that I have never witnessed before, one that comes
from his gut. There’s fake begging, and there’s real agony, and the sweet
release that will come when a desire is fulfilled. Another fascinating take on the psychology of
BDSM; it tests your psyche to go to places that ordinary reality would not push
you to. I fulfill that desire in him and slowly take the case off of his cock.
I stop halfway through, his whole body trembling and focusing on the sensation
of his cock stuck in purgatory; he can’t go up, he can’t go down, he’s
completely at my Mercy, his Master, his Goddess, the Woman who…will rule over
him.
His
hands almost immediately want to reach for his cock, and he reaches without
permission. I must punish his hands, which have not learned restraint from
desire, for I have to order him the luxury of touching his now free cock. I get
out my favorite tool for the purpose of punishment; the “Slut Slapper” and his
hands, outreached now, greet the hard leather. I slap his hands cruelly. He
flinches, his body tensing towards the pain.
“You
will not touch your cock without asking permission from your Mistress first,” I
state in a sweet Sadistic tone, for I do enjoy his pain very much.
“Yes
Mistress.”
A
few times in rebellion to me, under his breath, he would say, “Mistress you’re
so cruel, you’re such a bitch!” I allowed him his words of choice, but not for
long.
This
tease and denial goes on for a while, I make him watch as I get myself off with
my favorite toy; he’s still distracted by his own pent up desire. I have the luxury of a sweet release while he
is still repenting for his suffering cock. I lock him back up in his cage, this
time with a new lock and key that is just for us.
Next;
Sign our agreement
We
wrote up our agreement for our terms. It is as follows;
“I,
Martin, belong to my Mistress.
I
am completely under her control and power. I will comply with all of her
requests and demands. , I am beneath her at all times and it is my duty to
please her in every way possible. She owns my cock and I cannot come without
permission or touch my cock without permission. I am owned by her.”
We sign and
date the agreement, and I send him on his way, back out into the night,
unsatisfied, writhing, and mine. Little did we know that this new relationship would go far beyond skin deep.
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