The day I met my submissive of 6 years: his update

You will remember that I was meeting ‘denied’, my submissive of 6 years, for the first time last Friday. This is his update after the event.

It made me smile all the way through.Mistress Cara in latex with crop – Cara Sutra

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It’s only now, several days later, as i write this and check on some of the facts, that i realise the date of our meeting was six nine. It’s an important number for us, though not for the reasons i’d have wanted.

In the early part of the week prior to the event, i had become possessed with the need to meet. After six years of tension and four different homes for Her, there was finally enough water behind the dam. Or maybe the walls of that dam were now sufficiently eroded that the water was allowed to spill over… had no choice but to spill over.

The week had been crazy with all the other things in life that are necessities, like time with friends and family, earning a living, etc. i had wanted to be ready – physically, emotionally and mentally – but i was later leaving home on that Friday than i had planned. i made it to Lincoln by the skin of my teeth, although i’d made a point of shaving my sex and douching myself before i left the house. She hadn’t asked me to do this but there seemed a kind of respect in doing so. It would amuse Her to know it. … and that i had done so without bidding. my hand had also paused over the chastity device before i decided not to put it on. That seemed just a little too much for a first meeting. Everything about this meeting seemed fluid and ‘non-kink’. Shaving and douching could be seen as just plain weird but a chastity cage would have said presumption on my part.

i arrived before Her. Just. i felt Her before i saw Her and turned around to see someone walking in that felt both out of place in this world, even a little anxious to be in it, and yet someone with whom i could feel totally comfortable. She was always like that. This was a lady with whom i could be cast adrift in a boat and place my life entirely in Her hands, even though She’d delight in pushing me overboard at random intervals and often when i least expected it. Unable to swim, She’d sometimes help me climb back in over the gunwales and sometimes She’d let me struggle back aboard on my own – always judging when i needed help and when not. i know She doesn’t want me to drown; She just likes to see me panic. And even as i flap in the water, swallowing it when i mean to breathe, i know that despite my fears i am safe with Her. Often i crave the times She pushes overboard, not only because it’s the only way i am ever going to learn to swim but because She seems to love everything about it… and i love making Her happy.

But there was jealousy and even a little disappointment as i saw Her. i had wanted Her to myself but She was with someone else – Her familiar. A kindly, older man, mini, minny, minnie… that which we call a mini would, by any other name, smell as sub. (Well, if Shakespeare could spell his own name a myriad of ways then how important is the spelling of our own? We should instead be defined by what we do and how we feel.) He turned out to be a revelation and i don’t mind saying that he was not a little inspirational i liked him, even though the jealous little boy me wanted to not to.

But back to Her. Always back to Her.

When you meet someone face to face for the first time you will have filled in gaps in your knowledge about them: they look so big on cam but how tall are they really? They look so pretty in their pictures but have they been touched up. (You’re welcome, Mistress.) What i met was what i imagined … and i had imagined intensely. And i it was all true because She was so pure.

i felt ‘want’, in the way that man craves that possession of purity. Immediately i projected the lost little school girl onto Her persona just so that i could feel as if She needed me. The projection certainly wasn’t helped by the tartan dress she wore and She was hardly little either, certainly not in those glorious boots. i love thinking that She needs me but i also know in my soul that i needed Her more. Fuck She was hot. IS hot! And what was she wearing under the dress? The thought popped up for a fraction of a second before i yanked it back down and threw it under a rock for the remainder of the afternoon.

Always thinking of my surroundings, and cursed with a mild case of hyper vigilance, i ignored the seating arrangements laid out by the restaurant and joined little m in flanking big M. We sat either side of Her in the horseshoe booth to which we were shown by our waitress, Picasa. i’m sure that as bodyguards m and i would end up being more decorative than effective but sitting either side of our queen seemed the right thing to do; sitting directly opposite Her, as the arrangement of the chairs would have allowed, did not seem respectful enough – as though i would have been in opposition to Her. i’d also have had the table between us and i didn’t want that either, not now that we were finally meeting. The chair leg was slightly in my way throughout but that too seemed right – doesn’t She like me to remain at least a little uncomfortable in Her presence?

i wanted to drink wine. i wanted to lower the boundaries of that dam even more but i was driving and  risking the lives of oneself or others is not a negotiable boundary. i thought of being drunk in Her presence at many points through the meal. Almost as many times as i caught myself glancing towards Her breasts. i admonished myself each time i did so yet found myself doing so over and over. But i tried to take in all of Her – drinking from the fire hydrant, as they say in the U.S. Pale skin – I wanted to touch it; vampire teeth – would She draw blood if She bit me?; long brown hair lightening to an autumnal red as it fell down Her back; the soft voice, the brown eyes… Everything about Her seemed soft. Like a bed of pillows you’d want to leap into. But Her strength was evident and i saw it most in Her purity of self. She knows what She wants. How many people can even say that, let alone put themselves out there – often at odds with societal convention – to go out there and get it? There is incredible strength in conviction and purpose. minnie had it as well: completely comfortable with his place in the world, and more than happy with his open use of the word, ‘Mistress’. Unlike me, he doesn’t care what the neighbours think.

The food was lovely but not worth detailing, although i recall what She ate and drank. my assertiveness with the restaurant staff seemed to amuse Her, perhaps because She has seen the very opposite of me. And i particularly loved my own timidity in asking Her a question (which caused me to speak too softly for Her) because it would result in Her entering my personal space when she strained to hear me repeat myself. I didn’t want to make Her strain but i did want Her to be near. As i reflect, i sigh at the memory of that proximity of Her face to mine, even though i cannot avoid getting the image of a swaying and hypnotic serpent out of my mind.

i didn’t want it to end and yet i also did. It wasn’t so much that i wanted to avoid getting a ticket in the car park, or that i didn’t want to be late for close friends that i hadn’t seen in over two years, but more that i just didn’t want to fuck it up with Her. Quick and wind it up while it’s still beautiful!, a part of me was saying.

As we left the restaurant, i handed minnie the goodie bag i had brought up. And then I got to hug Her. i love hugs and was just settling in when She pushed me away to say she was done; something i had been hoping for was over barely after it had begun and i felt that loss and sadness of glorious food barely tasted. The slap on my left cheek from her damaged right hand came from nowhere. (Like Her Mord-Sith namesake, She is ever willing to endure pain Herself in delivering it to others.) The slap wasn’t hard and now i wish it had been harder –  i never want that hot feeling of Her hand on my cheek to go away. An older couple were walking past at the time. The woman, who was nearer and looked like she was of money, turned her head towards us and smirked. Here was i, in public, instinctively afraid of being outed, and in the presence of someone who knows all my buttons and singularly delights in tipping me off balance, and i loved that this was public. It wasn’t that i wanted the world to know about me but that i was ok with the world knowing… ish. i have a long way to go before i have the strength and purity of M and m – they are both way ahead of me on the evolutionary scale – but i took a step, i got a hug, i got a slap… and i made Mistress happy.

And in writing for Her, i am reminded of something vitally important – switch off Microsoft’s auto capitalization of the first person singular unless You want to give yourself a major editing job after the event.

– deniedrelease

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