In Tatters

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

My Sacred

At my soul...at my very foundation and root is M/s.
"The things which are sacred or precious to us are the things we withdraw from promiscuous sharing."
~Howard Roark, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Sacred | ˈsākrid |
adjective  regarded with great respect and reverence by a particular religion, group, or individual
The Dominance of Owner.
The submission of property
The Power/Authority Exchange.
Simply sacred.

M/s entwines itself across every core element.
Of my existence.
And delves so deeply into my soul.
I will not.
Cannot.
Promiscuously share.
Sacred.

My sacred...
Is not a kinky game.
Or haphazard wrapper.
Or just spicy sex.
It's not pretend.
Or a mirage.
Or a costume.
Or part-time.
Submissive property.
Is who and what I am.
Even if I'm simply waiting.

To be Owned.
Claimed
Treasured.
Led.
Sacred.

To serve.
To please.
To be used.
To support, encourage, guard, protect, love, ADORE.
To give...
All the best I have.
To believe...
In Him.
My sacred.

The comforting feel.
The safe presence.
The cherished touch.
A direct order.
Protocols and rituals.
Punishment.
The blessed fucking pain.
The nurturing.
The guidance and direction.
Of my Dominant Man...
My sacred.

His Dominance...
Settles me like nothing else.
Under its weight
My mind
My heart
My body
Every fucking thing I am
Can find peace.
Rest.
Give In...
To Him.
That magic.
It is the only thing that has ever stilled me.
Sacred.

I seek the...
Tranquility at His feet.
Hope in His leadership.
Faith in His protection.
And my submission and loyalty...
Will become an endless ocean.
He controls
With the flick of His hand.
A growl from His throat.
My sacred.

This...existence.
Under Him.
That clear, unwavering point of reference.
To dedicate myself.
A shining beacon
To begin from.
To return to.
That mental, emotional, physical space we create.
Becomes my Sanctuary.
Where I practice my Religion.
Where I can breathe freely.
Where I can be myself.
Where I belong.
My sacred.
~DominaKat

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