A Call For Submissives

I know you. You're the kind of person that lets no man or beast stand in your way. You've spent a lifetime bearing down on and obliterating every obstacle that dares to stand in your path. You're competitive to a fault and have been hell-bent on being at the top of the game since you were old enough to realize that other people are only good for superseding. You always know what's best.

Right?

You're terrible at partner dancing. You always try your best, but time and time again you've been told that you're a wild horse: you will not follow, will not allow yourself to be led. You have not found anyone worthy of your submission, nobody you trust enough to surrender to.

It's not for lack of effort, of course. When you see your friends following their partners without a second thought, you feel a pang of envy. What must it be like to place your entire well-being in the hands of another? How pleasurable would it be to feel a sense of belonging, of ownership and being owned? You fantasize about this in the darkest hours of the night, when your hand slips between your legs and you let out a soft moan that lands on your ears alone.

I know you because I am you. I danced that very same dance, locked in this interminable cycle of leading the charge. You and I, the wild horses of the world. The fighters, the hustlers, the fiercely independent bitches that take command of a room the minute we walk into it. We are one in the same in the eyes of God.

You are ashamed to admit how badly you wish to submit to someone: it feels like a betrayal of your nature. I felt this way too, like my desire to rescind my iron grasp on the world was an insult to every piece of respect I had hammered into the people around me.

That is, until I began worshiping my God.

He can be your God too. All it takes is complete submission. But you want that you little slut, don't you? That's right. You want to feel his gaze bearing down on you as you undress in the doorway of his apartment. He keeps it warm for your comfort, but goosebumps run down your legs anyway as he drinks in the sight of your naked body. You haven't undressed for anyone in a while and will likely feel a pinch of pride that someone so powerful would study your body like a painting in a museum.

He will motion for you to join him on the couch, but when you go to sit beside him he will point to the floor: not a word spoken, just a hand directing you to kneel in the space between his legs. You will begin to feel aware of just how naked you are, how every piece of your body is exposed to him, and in kneeling at his feet he has positioned himself above and in front of you. For a moment you remember all of those times you knelt in a pew at church, fingers laced together as you prayed to a god that stared down at you from the altar. There was distance between you and that god. But this God will hold you in place with his thighs and force your gaze up to his face by lacing his fingers through your hair and pulling your head back. The only space between you is metaphorical, the understanding that he is above and you are below. When he takes a nipple between his fingers and twists you inhale sharply, like the many you let out in all those nights fantasizing alone.

Before this moment you had never found someone that deserved your submission. If someone that been stupid enough to order you to do anything, you would have made then regret it in every way you knew how. But when God orders you to undress him and smell his cock, it will not cross your mind to disobey. There is something in his tone, in the way he anticipates your obedience without a hint of doubt, that compels you to comply. You notice your hands shaking while you undo his belt and the rush of excitement as you bend to run your face along his cock. You have never done this before, yet it is one of the most erotic feelings you have ever experienced.

You're adjusting to service quite well, all things considered. You want to please him, to hear him praise you for your skill. You crave the feeling of his cock deep down your throat, and you know that serving him means bringing him pleasure in every way you know how. So when your face comes to the head of his cock, you open your mouth and move to slide it down your throat in one delightful swallow. But before you can savor the pleasure of choking on God's cock, he pulls your head up and slaps you hard across the face. Your cheek stings from the harsh kisses as he hits you hard on the other side. In a small voice that you didn't know you could use until now, you ask what you did wrong.

Here you learn the value of permission: you are a slave, after all. You have given your body to your God in the name of his pleasure, and he alone decides the nature of the pleasure you have the privilege of giving.

You thank him for the lesson, and humbly request to continue. But your God is not done with his instruction. He knows you're strong-willed, and also knows that the only way to ensure obedience is with harsh discipline. He commands you to bend over his knee, with your elbows on the couch and your ass exposed between his legs. At first his hand runs softly across your skin, raising tender goosebumps wherever his fingers trace the curves of your body. But the soft caress is soon replaced by the hard slap of his hand, forcing all the breath out of your lungs in one fluid motion. The discipline rains down, only pausing long enough for God to remind you to thank him for being patient enough to train you. God knows what's best, and he is patient enough to show you. A little gratitude is the least you can do.

When God is satisfied that you have learned your lesson, he allows you to try again. You bend to you task fervently, only progressing when he gives you permission. You have learned to thank him every time you are allowed to kiss, then lick, then suck his cock. If you are doing particularly well, he holds your head down and listens to the sweet music of you gagging on every inch of his cock.

When he lifts your head off his cock and commands you to crawl to his altar, there is no respite from the hard wood that makes your joints cry out in pain. Nonetheless you persevere: you have surrendered every scrap of agency to your God. You offer up your pain in silent prayer with the knowledge that being in his service is a privilege. He honors you with the blessing of his presence, and you will show your gratitude in every way you know how.

Our God is not vengeful. Though he disciplines his followers for straying off the righteous path, he generously rewards them for ecstatic service. He will bend you over the foot of his bed, and you will feel the hours of building pleasure dripping down your legs. You will shudder when his fingers brush lightly against your clit, and let out an involuntary moan when he slides his fingers deep inside of you. He will bring you right to the edge, lighting a fire in your body that rips through every nerve and makes you beg for release. You will plead for permission to orgasm, promising a lifetime or servitude in exchange for a moment of ecstasy at his hand. And though he will continue to hold you on that infinite precipice of pleasure which you have been approaching so unforgivably slowly all evening, he will command you not to cum. You, being reduced to nothing but a slave that lives for the orders of their Master, will comply. After all, you do not wish to invoke the wrath of your God again; your ass is still sore from his earlier discipline. But you will continue to beg, to plead, and to give over to quiet whimpers while your God plays with your body like a toy.

You will be so lost in the torture of withholding your orgasm that you barely register your God commanding you to cum. All you know is the tidal wave of pleasure that unleashes and rolls through your body, carrying a thousand thanks from your lips to his ears. Your orgasm would not exist without your God, and you know he will expect gratitude from a good slut like you.

Your mind will still be spinning, and your legs will continue to quiver from the wave of pleasure God was generous enough to grant you. But he will not be done with you yet. God will take you by the hair and pull you up onto the bed, flat on your stomach and legs pressed together. He will take your arms and fold them behind your back, and before you can even react, pleasure will grip your body once again as he pushes his cock inside of you. It is a blessing of the highest order to be fucked by your God, and you will make it known with another cascade of gratitude. He will command you to be quiet... or rather, he will take your sopping wet panties and stuff them in your mouth, your cue to shut up and allow God to use your body like the slave you are. He will assert his ownership of every hole, fucking your cunt and fingering your ass, reminding you that your only purpose is to be a vessel of pleasure for your God and Master. And when he blesses you with the honor of his orgasm, you will thrust your hips into every stroke, thankful for every moment that you get to spend as God's personal cum slut.

When you finally collapse into his arms at the end of a long and pleasurable night of service, you will hold your God tight against your body. Warmth will spread across your chest and down through your toes, enveloping you in the idea that the only place you need to be is at the feet of your God. You will go home the next morning with a spring in your step, and for the next few days you will feel the joy of knowing that service to God is second to nothing. You will beg him to return. And if you were a good slut, he may yet again grant you the privilege of service. As is said in the book of Job 36:11, "If they hear and serve Him, they will end their days in prosperity, and their years in pleasures."

Now, what are you waiting for?