The Storm to Come

She’s yet to be as ruthless and cruel as she craves, but the moment’s bound to arrive. When masturbating, she’s often unable to climax until her thirst is slaked with my tears. When daydreaming, the moments she hungers for are as replete with suffering as they are tenderness.

Dominants crave power. They covet the power to cause a submissive to experience pain or pleasure as much as the value their role as guide and protector. After all, what good is it to own a submissive if a dominant cannot dictate which aspect of her power will be experienced at any time?

V has yet to fully taste the extent of the power that’s rightfully hers, but I have no illusions she won’t at some point. In the meantime, certain images populate her fantasies.

In her mind’s eye, she sometimes handles me roughly before it begins. The preamble to my suffering may be devoid of discussion or may include a smirking description of what’s to follow. Either way, this preparation is marked by precise movements and manipulations as I’m bound, gagged, and objectified.

She imagines standing above me with a strap or flogger, enjoying the sight of her boy, trussed, mute, and hooded awaiting the first lash. Then a rush of lust before a rain of leather reddens and mottles my flesh. As I writhe and moan helpless beneath the blows, she hungers for more.

The gag renders me unable to beg, the hood conceals my pleading eyes. Isolated in the darkness, I endure, clinging to the hope my muted screams and muffled whimpers will sate her.

Because until the sadist has been fed, the whipping will continue. And it’s not until until I’m well marked and heaving that she may pause to take a breath before, finally, relenting.

Only then will she remove the hood to drink in my tear-stained cheeks and drooling gag-stuffed mouth. Running her hands tenderly over the flesh which she’s asserted dominion, she carefully removes the gag to claim the yielding softness of my mouth like it’s ripened fruit.

Only after a portion of her ever-burning desire to conquer has been appeased will she feel compelled to sooth and comfort. And though my voice has been restored, it’s so she can hear my pleas. Still bound and helpless, she’ll feast upon each and every shuddering moan as she slowly impales me with her cock.

This storm has yet to come.

Yet I know it will. When it does, I will whimper, scream, and cry with abandon as restraint will only cause her to redouble her blows. And when she relents and descends to comfort and reclaim me, I’ll demonstrate my gratitude with sweetened stammering  for both what I’ve received and am receiving.

After all- I am her submissive, her boy. As such, doing what makes my Dominant happy and wet with want is what brings me joy.


5 thoughts on “The Storm to Come

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