In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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At His Fingertips

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Damn, that Man completely fucking unravels me. I have stared at this blank screen for probably 45 minutes. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. I give up. Fuck it. I'm just going to own it, forgo any pretty eloquence, and be transparent to the messy dazed layer of me that hides beneath my calm mostly rational exterior even as I'm plopped on a NYC subway car bouncing my way downtown.

My submission is at His fucking fingertips.  He left me senseless at least a dozen times last night.

I'm not talking about from phenomenal mind-blowing sex. (Though I can't wait for some more that!) I'm not talking about relentless impact play that left me soaring to the moon. (Can't wait for more of that either!) No...last night we voluntarily skipped those amazing pieces of us to just stay tucked away in the corner of a quiet Midtown lounge and talk for nearly four hours. 

Yes, that's right.  All we did was talk.  Yet still I felt His Dominance just as much as if he'd had me face down while He reamed my ass or had me tied to a St. Andrew's cross whipping me to tears in front of a crowd.  ~sigh~ Every subtle act last night landed as surely as His lashes from that damn leather strap Chica left behind. The difference... His Dominance sank into my soul like butter on hot cornbread. All soft, melting, falling into every crumb and crevice. Fuck me. I was done within the first fifteen minutes. ~sigh~ Slather that all over me!
  • He ordered for us. Not just simply gave the waiter my choice, He made the decision for me. I had no idea that small subtle act would make my thighs tremble or bring my submission fully to the surface. 
  • He instructed me to stand and turn around for him. I obeyed, so He could review His property and the "summer slutty" attire I'd chosen for Him.
  • He gave me instructions on our evening plans.
  • His hand claimed my thigh. 
  • He wrote His name on my skin. (Yes, in public.)
  • When our food arrived He placed what He wanted on my plate and instructed me to eat.  Again...casual, natural...yet something about it reminded me of when His hand cups the back of my head and brings my mouth to serve His beautiful fierce dick.
  • He outlined the various wicked sins He plans to unleash on me. 
  • He instructed me to eat again. (I tend to forget what I am doing when He is near.) I obeyed. 
  • He told me in no uncertain terms exactly what He wanted with me. ~whimper~ I'd long, long ago given up on such beautiful sweet things. I couldn't even fucking speak. Two hours later when His words fully hit me, I nearly cried as I stood alone trembling on a quiet Manhattan street waiting for my bus. Damn, tears are welling up right now just thinking about it. I never saw that one coming. 
  • The back of His hand openly brushed my nipple. I know the guy sitting at the next table saw.  In fact, I'm sure He saw a lot.  For whatever reason, he chose to sit directly facing me rather than the lounge. lol Funny how that always happens when my Owner is next to me.
  • He asked again...what did I want...what did I need.  I somehow found my words this time and explained some of the wicked thoughts that tempt me as I drift off to sleep.
  • His hand lightly encircled my throat and just barely squeezed for a moment...shit...I was helpless...my eyes fluttered shut...my submission roared...a tease...a promise...then the lightest caress of His fingers down my chest, dipping into my cleavage. I can't lie. I would have let Him nudge open my thighs, unzip His perfect pressed slacks and sink into me without a breath of resistance.
I'm His.

With every single thing He does He leaves me no doubt where my place is and the role He claims in my life. There's no hesitation. His smooth easy Dominance radiates as naturally as air flows in and out of His chest.

And my submission flows to Him instinctively.  I felt the mental and emotional waves wash through me again and again for Him.  Without ever thinking about it, I even asked permission to use the restroom midway through the evening.  ~sigh~  That's when I realized I was soaked.  My pussy once again responded to Him without me realizing it.  There was never any brutal smack of sexual Dominance.  Everything that I am simply responds to Him.

Yes, oh fuck yes, my submission is at His fingertips.
~DominaKat

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