A Letter For My Mistress

My wife demanded that I write a wish-list of what kind of debased acts of sado-masochism and submission I want to get up to once we’re living in the same house. In fact, this post — which I will send to her via email, as well — is the only way I get to come tonight. I get to have an orgasm if I send her my wish list. We just spent the last hour on the phone discussing how our D/s and S&M activities are going to work when we live in the same house again, and we’re both revved up, so if you don’t want to read about a sub’s daydreams, hie thee forth to another blog and don’t follow the link.

Mistress,

I want to start with bondage — we had just discovered the joys of bondage when we decided to switch, and I want to get started again. As you pointed out tonight, on the surface, bondage isn’t that necessary since I don’t resist, instead stoically taking all the punishment and pain you want to mete out. But there’s something wonderful about being bound. Being bound makes me want to test my bonds — it makes me resist, and in resisting, realize how under your power I am. How total your control is.

I would love for you to get out that leather tie again and bind my cock and balls with it, leaving a little bit of strap hanging for you to grab and pull on. It hurts, but…I can’t explain how wonderful that kind of pain is. We only did this once or twice, but I get weak just thinking of it.

Then I want my legs bound, either to bed posts or to something equally wide, so that you have access to my genitals when you whip me, but I’m powerless to move. Then, cuffs on my hands, and the cuffs in turn secured to something — the bed, the wall, whatever.

Then, the piece-de-resistance — the ballgag. I love the feeling of powerlessness as I drool and have to learn how to communicate it grunts. I love the way you kiss the ball, your tongue wandering over my lips. Or…if you’re feeling particularly vicious, I’d love for you to pull out the bit and reins.

Why the bit and reins? Because I have this fantasy about you, with one hand on the reins, the other on the end of the strap protruding from my bound cock and balls. You’re wearing a strap-on - preferably the feeldoe, so we both get action out of it — and you just ride me. Hard. You’ve got a whip nearby, either the flogger or the crop, and occasionally, when you tire of torturing my cock and balls, you whip me. Hard. Harder than you normally do, the way you do when you really let loose.

I want to be whipped and sodomized and pulled taut by the reins and the cock-binding until I’m just physically exhausted, broken, on the verge of tears and collapse. I want to be taken to that place I go where it’s just you — where the torture and your presence overwhelms me and I enter that weird, brainwashed, hypnotized, Stockholm Syndrome state where my tormenter becomes my goddess, becomes my queen, my world, my everything. Where I can’t say no or safeword or do anything but obey.

Where I disappear.

And then, you untie me and you unclip the reins and you free my cock from the leather bindings. You pull the bit out of my mouth. You sit me up against the wall or the headboard and you straddle my lap and you pull out that tiny knife and you cut me, on the shoulder, close to my neck, and you bleed me while I get my strength back, you drink my essence while I become more and more aroused.

And then, when we hit that strange equilibrium point where I’m simultaneously in a zone of relaxed subspace and hot, powerful arousal, you lay back and order me to ride you. And I do. For as long as you want, as strong and as unyielding and as rock-hard as you want, never flagging, because I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t even think about coming without you making me come. And when you’re ready, you do — you tell me to come, and then smack my face, hard, over and over again until I just shudder into you.

And then, you lay me down and you hold me while I come back down to earth.

I want this more than anything.

Love,

–Your Man.