The rituals begin when I send you back to the bedroom, and end when I lay you in the bed. Oh, there are little things, little rules you live by when we’re together–parting your lips when I put my hand under your chin, answering “yes, Sir” when I tell you to do things, always wearing the lacy things I like, all of that, all the small acts of submission. But we have our special rituals, too.

I sent you back, to stand waiting in your lace bra and panties. I came to you, found you standing quietly, wrists together, eyes downcast. I stood behind you, my bare chest against your back, my hand on your throat, and quietly told you what we’d do today, and gave you instructions.

I gave you the key to the chest, watched as you went to it and unlocked it and removed the things I’d told you to bring to me. And when you brought them back to me:

“Good girl. Now turn around and hold your hair out of the way so I can put on your collar.”

You turn away from me and pull your hair to the side as I fasten the black leather collar around your neck.

“Now give me your hands.”

You put your arms behind your back and I fasten each leather wrist cuff. Then I use the leather strap you brought, the one with the clip on each end. I clip one end through the loop on each wrist cuff, binding your wrists together in the small of your back. I pull the strap up just a little, lifting your wrists a few inches, and clip the other end to the loop on the back of your collar. It doesn’t choke you; it’s comfortable, but you can feel the pull on your collar when you relax your arms.

I stand behind you for a moment, quietly appreciating you. Then I put my hand on your throat again and tip your head back. Your hands press against my body as I hold you against me.

“Are you wet, Kitten?”

“Yes, Sir,” you answer, nodding slightly against my hand.

“Let me see.” You feel my other hand slide down your belly, into your panties. My foot pushes you leg out slightly, and my hand cups your pussy, my fingers slipping between your legs. And then, as I always do, I spread your labia with two fingers, my middle finger dipping slightly into you. You’re wet–you’re always wet when I touch you–and I tell you how pleased I am.

You moan softly.

You remember what happened next, how I told you to kneel, and how long I stood before you with my cock in your mouth, in your throat. I thrust deeply that day–you remember feeling my cock in your throat, gagging on me, choking just a little. Never afraid, because you know how careful I am, but uncomfortable with the depth. But you submitted to it because I told you to, and I was proud of how well you took the long, deep, hard thrusts.

And then I picked you up and lay you on the bed, on your stomach. You remember that, too, lying helplessly with your wrists bound and tied to your collar, as I used the other things you’d brought me to cuff each ankle and tie your legs to the foot of the bed. You lay on your stomach, your legs spread, completely exposed to me, already a little exhausted by the effort of taking my cock in your throat for so long. You lay there, knowing that I’d take whatever I wanted, knowing that there was nothing you could do–nothing that you would do–to prevent it.

I kneel between your legs and run my hand along your back, across your bound wrists. I gently feel your bottom, appreciating this body to which I’ve done so much, and from which I’m going to demand so much more. I lean forward, brush your hair aside, kiss the back of your neck just above your collar. My weight is on my hands on either side of you, and you can feel my hard cock pressed against your ass, my body against your bound hands.

You don’t know what’s going to happen until you feel me guide my cock slowly into your pussy. (You’re relieved; I’m very hard today, very big, and you weren’t sure you were up for my cock deep in your ass.) I push deeper into your pussy, sliding in and out in slow, firm strokes, each a little deeper than the last. You let your body rock under my slow steady rhythm, until my hips are pressing hard against your ass with every deep thrust. It hurts you a little when my cock is deep inside you–I see you grimace–but it’s a pain that excites you, and you’re proud of yourself that you can take it. (I’m proud of you too, as I’ll tell you later.)

As the steady fucking continues, you feel my hand close on your bound wrists and pull them back toward me. The leather strap pulls your collar, and you lift your head back toward me as I pull your hands. Seeing you with your head up excites me, makes me think of kneeling in front of you with my cock in your mouth, and I wish I could be in both places at once, fucking you hard from behind while thrusting deep into your throat. I pull harder on your wrists, thrust harder into you, slamming my cock deep into you in hard fast strokes.

Your head is back now as if I were pulling your hair, you’re breathing hard, moaning and almost crying out. My hips slap against your ass with each hard stroke, your body shaking and rocking back and forth as I pound into you.

Suddenly my body tenses, I make a loud growling roar, and you feel my cock swell and press painfully deep inside you. I come, holding myself as deeply in you as I can, pulling your wrists toward me, your head back as far as you can lift it. My body shakes, vibrates from the tension, and you know that you need only endure it for another few seconds and I’ll begin to relax. You can hardly breathe and you’re close to tears, but you let yourself go and just try to relax.

I slowly release your wrists and you lower your head to the bed, resting your cheek against the mattress. My cock still fills you, but nothing hurts now. My weight begins to settle on you, and you sigh contentedly and let your body sink, under the warm weight of mine, into the bed.

My Dear Kitten,

You mentioned your favorite moments. Let me give you some of mine.

As always, that moment when I walked in and found you obediently standing, in just your bra and panties, beside the pillow that I’d placed on the floor for you. Your eyes cast down, your wrists crossed in front of you–you were exactly as I’d told you to be, and it pleased and excited me.

When you came with my cock in your mouth, and I was rough with you, thrusting too deeply into your mouth and choking you. I told you I would, I said “Kitten, this is going to be hard, get ready,” before holding you tightly against me and driving my cock into your throat. When I told you “just once more, Kitten” and you took a big breath, I was proud of you. I know it was hard. I know your neck and throat are sore now.

Again, as always, when you knelt, Kitten. I can’t get enough of you on your knees before me. Seeing you with your wrists tied in front of you–I’m hard now, thinking about it.

When you were on your back and I was making love to you, and you sucked my fingers so hard. You were so good, Kitten, taking them into your throat, moaning, with that lost and unfocused look in your eyes.

Holding you. And that’s the thing I want right now; to be holding you.

MY Kitten.

Love,
Sir

(cont’d)

But there was one thing in particular, Kitten, that makes me even now want to gather you up in my arms and hold your body cradled naked against me.

Afterward, after I’d put you through so much discomfort and even pain, after I’d used your body for my pleasure, thrust deeply into you in every way, and, finally, come kneeling over you with my cock deep in your mouth and my fingers thrusting hard into your pussy–after all that, you thanked me. You thanked me for not stopping when it was painful, for letting you decide whether or not you’d use a safe word. You said it hurt, you grasped the sheets in pain, you cried out and gasped and shuddered–but you didn’t ask me to stop, and you thanked me for letting you make that choice.

When you told me that, I was so pleased and proud of you, Kitten. I still am. Your surrender is intoxicating to me, fills me with love and tenderness, and makes me want to both push you harder and draw you more gently to me.

My good little Kitten.

Love,
Sir

Kitten, you were very good today. Your willingness to submit to my authority and your eagerness to please me are deeply satisfying–and exciting–to me. I understand that you feel calmed and made safe by my dominance of you. Your submission makes me feel, perhaps ironically, proud and protective and tender toward you. When you submit to me, I want to rest my hand on your cheek and look into your eyes and smile at you, and reassure you, and tell you how much you please me, and what a good girl you are.

The harder the things I do to you, the more valuable your submission. I think we both understand how that works, how it’s your yielding to difficult and uncomfortable things that most strongly communicates your willingness to surrender to me. For your part, I assume that, by submitting to my more extreme demands, you know you’re being especially good, especially obedient–and that that will mean even more to me. It does, Kitten.

Today, when I walked in and found you kneeling just as I’d told you to, I was pleased to see that your eyes were downcast–I hadn’t told you to wait for me that way, but it was exactly what I wanted.

We started, as we always do, with you kneeling for me and feeling my cock grow big and hard in your mouth, until you can’t take it all in anymore. Each time you do this excites me more, Kitten. Your small moans, the attention you give with your lips and your tongue, the way you press your hands against my thighs and I watch my hard shaft sliding slowly between your lips–Kitten, I always want it, and I always want more.

When I tied your hands behind you and rolled you on to your back, I know that was uncomfortable for you. I watched you arch your back, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure on your wrists. I knew it was uncomfortable, but I left you that way anyway, because I wanted to touch your breasts, put my hand on your throat, look at your face as I thrust my fingers into your pussy. You didn’t fuss or complain–of course you wouldn’t, because you’re a good girl and fussing would get you in trouble, but I was still pleased that you didn’t.

When I choked you with my cock, when I knelt behind you and fucked you too hard, hard enough that it hurt, and when I pushed my big cock so deep into your ass despite the pain you obviously felt–when I did all these things, you could have stopped me with a word, but you didn’t. And I was very proud of you, Kitten, and very pleased.

You didn’t want to come a particular way, and you told me so. That was okay; don’t worry about that. I never told you how to communicate to me something you don’t want to do, how you should ask to let you not do it–perhaps by offering, begging, to take my cock deep into your throat instead. I’ll think about that and tell you how to ask in the future.

But there are two things different about that situation than a normal one, Kitten. Your orgasms are special things, and I’ll be sensitive to you about them in a way I won’t be about causing you pain or discomfort. That’s one thing. The other thing is that your concern wasn’t about pain, or having to do a hard thing. It was about being self-conscious and uncomfortable. I want you to feel secure in your submission, never embarrassed by it. Exhausted, challenged, pained, yes. But not embarrassed.

(cont’d)

Kitten,

Perfect.

I walked in today and found you standing, naked but for your bra and panties, quietly waiting for me, just as I’d told you to be. I stood behind you, my hand lightly on your throat tipping your head back, and told you what I wanted of you, and you moaned softly at the thought of me making such demands. When I asked you if you were wet, you said “I don’t know, Sir.” And so I slipped my hand into your panties and spread your lips: you were wet, wonderfully wet.

It’s hard to describe the excitement I felt at your perfect, quiet obedience, Kitten

And then you did exactly what I told you to do. You knelt in front of me and took my cock in your mouth. You took your time, learning how it felt between your lips, on your tongue, in your throat. You’ve had me in your mouth before, but this time was different. This time, I wanted you to remember what the head of my cock feels like as it slips between your lips. (Do you remember, Kitten?) This time, I wanted you to let your tongue slowly trace the length of my cock, wanted you to feel the size and shape and texture in your mouth. And you did. Do you remember?

I was rough with you today. Not violent–I barely spanked you, and didn’t strike you otherwise, or yank your arms back uncomfortably, or choke you too much with my cock. But I demanded a lot of you, with all of my deep thrusting.

I was rough with your mouth today, Kitten. I thrust fast and deep, and for a long time. You were wonderful: you never begged me to stop, never turned away, even after long minutes of me ramming my cock into your mouth hard, almost gagging you with each deep thrust.

I was rough with your pussy today, Kitten. I thrust too deeply into your pussy; I know it was uncomfortable for you. But you didn’t complain, just tried to squirm and reposition yourself. Each time I made love to you, you took my cock deep inside you–deeper than seems possible.

And I was rough with your ass today, Kitten. I always am, but today–I didn’t expect to fuck your ass today, my dear. I certainly didn’t expect to drive my whole cock so deeply into you. But I did, and when you came with my cock slowly thrusting in and out of you–Kitten, that was incredible. I stir now, just remembering it.

And I do remember it. I remember it all, every moment.

We’re going to do it again–all of it, and more. Soon.

My Kitten.

Sir

Do you remember the first time I called you that, kitten? It seems so long ago now, that day of firsts. It wasn’t our first moment of intimacy. And we didn’t make love–it was a little while yet before I took you that way, before I claimed you so thoroughly.

But it was the first time you graced my big white bed, lying so beautifully on the covers, captivating even before I held you down and roughly undressed you.

It was the first time I tied you, left you lying on your side, naked, vulnerable. (Hours later, I found my belt, still knotted, hidden amongst the covers.)

It was the first time, kitten, that the constant fantasy of you on your knees before me was realized–became a better reality than imagined in my countless daydreams. How did you know that I would want you to rest your hands on my legs, so I could watch my hard cock slowly sliding in and out between your lips? It was the first of so many times you would kneel for me–the first of so many times I’d lift you up afterwards.

It was the first time I saw you naked in the light of day, the first time I paused to appreciate your breasts before I pressed my lips and tongue hard against your nipples.

It was the first time we had time, girl; time to restrain you, time to touch you, time to speak the gentle words to soften the sting of my hand on your bottom. (And the first time for that, too, for leaving my hand printed so plainly on your body. You took it well, kitten. You always have taken it well, that and so much more.)

For the first time (and you told me this, later) you wondered what would happen next, what I would do to you, and were anxious–but not, I think, afraid. (If you had known, kitten, how near a thing it was, how close you came to having my cock deep in your ass as you lay naked on your side and I held your wrists–if you had known, your anxiety would have been multiplied. When I pulled you around and thrust my cock into your mouth, it was to spare you a much greater discomfort than that of the two fingers I thrust into you.)

Dear girl, my good girl…. It was the first time I wrapped you in my arms, held you against my chest, comforted you after using your body roughly (but not very roughly–and not at all roughly compared to our later encounters).

Above all, it was the time I began to possess you, to trap us in our golden bubble. I’m in it now, remembering you. Anticipating you, kitten.

Girl, no one here, other than you and me, really knows our history, knows which of the moments that I describe have already happened and which are yet to happen. It’s all true–but some of it is still in the future. For a little longer.

This is for whoever may be out there reading my notes to you. I want to tell them about our first night together.

You remember. You remember the hotel, your nervousness when you came up to my room. We’d waited so long, both so busy, unable to make our schedules fit. You’d had a rough week, full of more meetings and more stress than usual–and deciding to join me now was yet one more choice, and one of the hardest you’d had to make. But, once my hand closed around your wrist, you knew it was the last decision you’d have to make. And you knew it was inevitable. You remember….

He lay her down on the bed, still in the clothes she wore to work that morning. He lay beside her. He put his hand on her throat, slid his fingers to her jaw and held her head still, his touch firm, strong, unyielding, but not sharp or abrupt. He turned her head slightly away, kissed her once, lightly, on her temple, and then turned her back to face him. He kissed her on the lips, but only for a few seconds.

He released her throat and moved his hand down her body. There was no preamble, no gradual progression from neck to shoulder to arm to breast: there would be time later for touching her everywhere, for exploring every inch of her. Now, he was taking possession, claiming her–and making sure that she understood that.

He grasped her breast, felt it through the fabric of her blouse and bra, squeezed it hard enough that she gasped. And then the other breast, manhandling them each briefly, pressing his thumb against the nipple. And then his hand was between her legs, cupping the mound of her pussy, pressing his palm firmly against her as his fingers pressed more deeply between her legs. He held her tightly this way, just long enough for her to understand how easily he could hold her down. He wanted her to understand that.

And then he undressed her. He was measured, efficient: there was no haste, but also no romance in it, no delicate unwrapping. Again, there would be tenderness later. But first he needed her submission.

He left her wearing only her panties, the ones he liked and that he’d told her to wear. He was pleased that she remembered, pleased that she’d obeyed in this small way.

He looked at her, at her naked breasts, at her nipples, at the curves of her body. He wanted it, wanted it all, wanted it right now. But he’d waited this long, and he could wait just a little while longer.

He takes her wrists in his hand and lifts her arms above her head, pressing her wrists down against the bed, holding her there. He kisses her breast, takes one nipple between his lips, his tongue moving roughly across it. She moans, and he sucks hard on her nipple, closing his lips tightly around it, pulling it. She squirms, from pleasure or discomfort or both. He takes more of her breast into his mouth, his tongue pressing hard across her nipple, swirling around it. She makes a sharp sound of pain, but only once; he ignores it. Then the other breast, the same hard tongue, until both nipples are wet and swollen. She’s breathing faster now, her chest heaving a little with each quick breath.

He releases her and, reaching down beside the bed, retrieves a small leather suitcase she hasn’t noticed before. He unzips it, taking out various items. He takes her wrist and fastens a leather cuff around it, does the same to the other wrist. And then he pushes her, not harshly but not gently, on to her side, facing away from him. He reaches down and grasps one of her ankles and pulls it sharply toward him, bending her leg back behind her. Holding her like this, he fastens another cuff to the ankle, and then repeats it for her other.

Now he pauses with her still on her side, facing away from him. He kisses her lightly on the back of her neck, desire and tenderness welling up inside him. She’s been so good, hasn’t spoken, hasn’t asked any questions or objected to his demands. He smiles, slides his hand slowly down her side, appreciates the softness of her skin, the rise of her hips, her ass barely concealed by the sheer panties.

He slips a small leather strap through a loop in one ankle cuff, and then through the other, and pulls her feet together. Then he folds her legs back, so that she’s lying on her side in a kneeling position. Holding her ankles, he reaches around her and takes one wrist, pulls it behind her, and threads the leather strap through the loop in the wrist cuff. Then he slips his arm under her body and catches her other wrist, pulls her other arm behind her. In a moment, she’s lying on her side, her wrists and ankles bound together.

Now he kisses her ear, gently, and speaks in a slow, calm, clear voice–the first time either of them has spoken since she arrived.

“Relax now, girl. There’s nothing you can do, nothing you have to do. No more decisions, no more choices. I own your body now, and I will until morning. And I’m going to enjoy your body, and take my time doing it. I’ll take what I want, and you know I want everything so it’s going to be a long night, and when it’s over you’re going to be sore, and sweaty, and exhausted, and swollen. And satisfied.” He pauses, pulls aside her hair and kisses the back of her neck gently.

“Girl, do you understand me?”

He waits, and then sees her head move in a small, quick nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is quiet, timid. He smiles.

“Good girl. Now be still.” And then slowly, calmly, as if examining a new and valuable possession, he begins to explore her body.

(continued tonight)

“Amber?”

“Yes, amber,” he replied.

“Imagine, girl,” he continued, “thirty years from now. You go into your closet and take down a small box. You unlock it. Inside, you find a necklace, a string of golden amber beads. If you look closely, you see that each bead contains a scene, small figures frozen in the transparent stone.

Girl, here is a moment, frozen as if captured on film–or preserved in amber. It’s a moment in a fantasy, something that hasn’t yet happened. But when it does happen, it will be, for an instant, exactly as I describe it here.

We’re together on a big bed in a softly lit room. The curtains are drawn closed–it’s impossible to tell whether it’s day or night. The only light comes from a shaded bedside lamp; light enough to see clearly in bed, though the rest of the room is dim.

We’re both naked. I’m lying on my back, my head propped up on a pillow. You are lying on your side, your cheek resting on my stomach, your back to me. Your hands are behind your back, tied together at the wrists with a thin leather strap. Your legs are bent at the knees, and your ankles are also tied together.

My one hand is on the back of your neck under your hair, my fingers holding you: because this is an instant, it’s impossible to say whether I’m moving your head or simply holding it still. My other hand is holding my cock, and the head of my cock is just between your parted lips.

It’s possible that I am just about to push your head down, so that my cock goes deep into your mouth, into your throat. Or I may be holding your head still and thrusting my cock up to your lips. We may be just beginning, or I may have been thrusting into your mouth for some time–there’s no way to tell.  It’s even possible that I’m about to sit up, pull you roughly up to your knees and push you back against the headboard, and then stand on the bed in front of you and thrust my cock into your mouth. Or push you on to your stomach and take you roughly from behind.

My thought–though we can’t know, really–is that I’m just about to push your head down to my cock, not roughly, and make you take just the head of my cock into your mouth; that I’m going to tell you to suck it slowly, to run your tongue around the head, to relax and take your time while I slowly stroke my cock with my hand; that I want my cock in your mouth for a long time, as I gently tangle my fingers in your hair; that I’ll run my hand along your back, across your ass, reach between your thighs and slip my fingers into your pussy; and that it will be many long minutes before I push your head down farther and thrust my cock deeper into your throat, choking you before I finally come into your open mouth.

Whatever is about to happen, this moment is perfect: my bound girl obediently opening her mouth to receive my cock, her long black hair flowing across my chest, her ass within my reach. Perfect.

And it will happen.