sustenance
She kneels on her bed, with the computer propped up on the nightstand for me to see her. I tell her to tip the camera down farther so I can see the naked curve of her ass when she puts it in the air for me as she kneels. She puts her face into the mattress and I can see her spine curve up to her tailbone where her ass forms a heart shape.
She needs this. She needs to kneel to me like this because we have been apart for too long to wait until she is with me again. For her, kneeling is sustenance, it’s nourishment, it’s energy. She can’t go more than one day without imagining she’s at my feet worshiping me, her Master. She would be at my feet, kneeling in person if we weren’t an ocean and continent apart from each other right now.
Understand that this is not a rule. It’s not one of my demands to which she obediently surrenders. I am not making her do this for myself, as if to get a boost for a narcissistic superiority complex, or to feed a selfish ego. She’s not doing this for fear of punishment or abandonment. She is my slave. She is an extension of myself. She belongs to me. She is my property. Not by force or fear, nor by trickery or duress. She has given herself wholeheartedly to me by her own free will. She has offered to me her submission, entirely, without reservation, which I willingly accept, and cherish. She is unfettered by the typical complications of life, and kneeling simply restores to her the beauty of her submissive nature.
Beautiful, wide, and round, her heart-shaped ass is raised, and her back is perfectly arched. Her breasts, pressing down into the bed, are the only things more firmly planted into the mattress than her face, as her arms extend outwards toward the computer. The computer is all we have now that our time together has been interrupted with work circumstances and other unfortunate logistical complications. But the daily actions we take individually still maintain the meaning they have always had when we are together. She kneels in submission, and I accept her surrendering heart with open and outstretched arms, even if until the moment we join each other once again, it is only by this ritual gesture.
“Master,” she pushes muffled words out to the microphone by her head, in a strong, yet humble voice. Turning her face slightly for a breath and to speak further, she continues. “Master, your slave is here. She surrenders herself entirely to you, to do with as you please, to please you and serve you when she is allowed to do so, to the best of her ability.” A long pause follows while she searches for additional inspired words expressing her love and dedication. The rush of approaching subspace encroaches upon her concentration, and she emits a quiet grunt or whimper of frustration beneath a deep exhale as she relaxes.
I save her from that frustration by speaking. “It pleases me that you kneel like this, if only to remind me how you serve me in person.” The meaning of my words are hardly equivalent in their importance. In moments like this, I wish I had something more profound to say in response to the expression of her submission to me. I prompt her for more. “What do you need, slave?”
“Master,” she begs, “I need to be possessed totally, controlled completely, and used as you wish.”
Her words are the music of life for me. I believe her, while not relating to, nor directly understanding what it feels like to so thoroughly and intensively express such submission. Balanced but not equal. Feeding and consuming, energy cycles between us like a gathering perfect storm. This is the passion required to make the long distance seem not so far. Ironically, it’s the distance itself, that draws us nearer.
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/// (c) Master Zoomer 2010
/// “sustenance”
/// April 28, 2010
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Interesting, I really understand that trouble with formatting the right words for the feelings in the moment. She seems to do it beautifully.
Hanah
[...] sustenance [...]
[...] sustenance [...]