Yes, mistress C.

He was the ying to my yang, fuck that though- I needed fire, brimstone. My soul was in need of total annihilation, and like the devil he was, he gave me everything!

Cerhah

Kim was the devil in a white cape, an illusion of purity, a depiction of total peace- a man riddled with demons. He carried himself with such admirable grace, presented a fortitude of strength, he drew people like moths to the light.

How then could I have missed his draw, a promise of decadence shrouded with a cloak of innocence. It was his eyes that gave him  away. My uncanny ability to read right through them, separate the man from beast-and the beast, that part that men hid away in shame, tucked away in a dark little space in their minds, that was my treasure.

To bring out the beast, tease and tug till it roared- a sound so raw, so beastly, so pure. To lure it out of the shadows, show it the beauty of the light, tame it to heel to me, mistress and conqueror, I lived for this shit.

I felt his beast call to me, my wolf, catching the scent, began to prowl. She wanted blood, she needed retribution, she demanded submission. I watched those pearls of brown, ringed with black in a sea of white, felt the struggle between man and beast, tasted the desperation of self acceptance. He was too good, he wanted to be bad, and here I was to give it to him.

I sashayed towards him, my red thigh high boots clicking on the wooden floor, my little black leather skirt showcasing my long caramel legs, a red satin corset encasing my ample breasts. The cat of nines swished on my right hand, calling for something to lick, a burn so sweet, it cut to the core.

Do not look at me boy, to gaze upon my face, is to seek total dominance. You might be get there in a few years, but right now, I own you- completely!

He quickly gazed down, a shiver evident from his little tremors.

I was in character, more of my persona than any show I put up in public. Kim was my little slave, my charge , my responsibility, and I would be damned if I failed him.

Yes Mistress C.

I let the cat of nines lightly impact his thighs,watching the strands swish in the air before they landed, hard on soft, leaving an imprint of a thousand lashes. His thighs were a weakness, a work of art, a Michaelangelo’s muse. Caramel, corded with muscles, not an ounce of fat. These were thighs made for fucking, made for levitating a female form, as his cock claimed and conquered. Just the thought made me wet.

Why did I hit you pup?

My voice was laced with authority, splashed with a hint of need. My sub needed to know that the effect went both ways, trust was earned and this was one way for me.

A weak voice Mistress C.

He replied, with a note of confidence. I caressed his jaw, playing with his bottom lip, rubbing it sensually with my thumb. A reward, for a good sub.

Good boy.

A relationship between  a Dom and a Sub was sacred, it was not about power, control and pain but a bond of trust, a display of total surrender- that I could trust you with my body, soul and mind, and pray that at the end, you would not break me, but restore me.

This was going to be a beautiful journey. The anticipation to collar him left me all tingly inside, all he had to say was ‘Yes Mistress C’. I smiled to myself, as I picked my favourite toy of all….