Love Letters

Dear, kind Sir,

You decided we should write love letters to each other, each without seeing the other's first. I know it's not my place to express my opinion unless you ask to hear it-but this is a fantastic idea! Thank you for giving me permission to tell you just what goes through my head and heart, literally every day.

To jump right in with the first thing that comes to mind: when I kneel naked before you, my eyes down, my hands locked behind my head, I feel whole. That's the only word for it. It's as if you bind me together just by looking at me. We both know life is not a storybook so, no, I can't say it's that way without exception. But most of the time, when you command me to kneel, my heart kind of leaps, I feel my excitement rising as I remove my clothes, and it takes only a few moments after getting into position to feel all here, all focused, mind quiet, ready for whatever use you choose to make of me. (This is true even when I know I'm about to be punished. I feel fear, but I also feel a thrill that you're taking the trouble to put me in my place.) Your command puts the rest of life on hold. And as long as you want me this way, I need have, and don't want to have, any extraneous thoughts. I want to feel there is nothing in me that you don't put there. You want me here, waiting, and that is enough. I know better than to anticipate you. Anything could happen, including nothing (specific). More than once you've kept me this way for an hour or more while you just sat and looked (and sometimes went into the kitchen or the bathroom, or even sat down at the computer, all of which reinforced who's in charge). My knees may get a little sore and my arms and neck a little tired, but every second I'm aware that I'm on display for you.

And that exposure thrills me. My nipples harden and my cunt gets soggy. It excites me that you, of course, know every detail of what my body is doing. You also know that my mind is in a state of almost glowing emptiness, waiting for you to fill it. If you want me to be a virgin seeing and touching her first cock, I'll feel like a virgin. If you want me to be a low-paid whore in a cheap hotel room, I'll become a depraved slut. If you just want me to be your wife-property who knows her place and her duties, I'll be that. (I really like casual use, like "Come over here and suck me off," or the way you like to take me when I'm sound asleep.) I have no defenses and don't want any. I don't need to worry about safety, dignity, or satisfaction of my needs. You have those things in your keeping, so they can never be lost or forgotten. I'm not just dependent on you, I'm part of you. I don't care what part. The lowest is fine. If I were the sole of your foot and you stepped on me all day without thinking once about it, I'd feel safe and happy because you needed me, and wherever you went I would go, too.

I'm a woman and from the core of my being I want to give life. Not only by having your baby, though the thought alone makes me ache with desire. Just your wanting me, your feeling excitement that you own me and can use me, makes me feel that life is flowing from me to you. When you get excited, your male power expands, like a huge blossom opening, if that's not too flowery a way to put it. I don't mean just your beautiful, hard, uncut cock; I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice and feel it in your hands: you're happy all over as you decide how you're going to exercise your rights over me. When I worship your cock, slowly savoring your taste and all the different textures, I feel that my life and power as a woman are flowing from my mouth into your being. I give you my lips, my tongue, my saliva, and above all, my complete humility. I love hearing your quiet steady voice telling me exactly how to please you. My obedience feels like a kind of life-giving to the one I surrender to. If I could put it in words, it would be something like: "My God, what do I awaken in him? How could I be responsible for such magnificent desire?" I suddenly feel powerless, my heart thumps, my cunt overflows.

When you groan, thrust, grab my hair, push my head down, tell me you're going to fuck my face as hard as you want, your power surges into and over me. Your loins jerk back and forth with such ruthless need. Your swollen cock violates my throat over and over. I feel as if you want me to take all of you, your whole body, into my mouth (which isn't mine any more but yours). And I want to take you inside me and hold you forever in a soft, warm, safe place and pleasure you forever.

All the time you're doing this to me, I sound and look and act more like a pig than a human. My face turns red. My head jerks madly back and forth, up and down. I squeal and grunt and gag. My cheeks and lips are first absurdly puffed out as I suck, and then my mouth is jammed grotesquely open when you decide to start deep-throating. My lips and nose get smashed up against your tight sack. Drool drips down my chin onto my tits. My hair is everywhere, in your fists, flying around, in my eyes, stuck to my face and neck. I know what I look like, and I glory in it. Some say that a woman's greatest pride is in her beauty. Actually, it's in giving her beauty to the man she loves and his turning it into a complete mess. When you do that, it feels, again, like I'm transfusing you from the deepest springs of my womanhood. Take all my vanity, my decorum, my self-respect. They belong to you, not me. Stripped of them, I'm able to pour myself into you via your triumphant need.

When your breath suddenly rasps hard and you make that special sound and give me your semen, I feel your life and power flowing into my body. I taste you, smell you, swallow you. I listen to your heavy breathing and the little grunts you make as you slowly take your softening manhood out of my mouth and wipe it off on my face. I'm sorry it's over, but I'm happy that it's been your pleasure to empty yourself into me.

And I exult in the taste of your cum. Some sticks in my mouth and throat, and if I don't eat or drink, I can taste it for an hour or two. This means a lot when I'm headed to work, where I chuckle inwardly that nobody knows that I still have semen in my mouth. The taste is very specially you, and it makes me feel warm all over, like I'm being allowed to lie quietly against you with your arms around me. I especially love it when you fuck one of my other holes while I can still taste your first ejaculation. And those times you deign to fuck all three of my holes, I feel deliriously drenched in your cum. With it dripping out of me afterward, drying on my butt and thighs, making the sheet beneath me damp, I'm the richest woman in the world. I feel all the life in me has flowed into you, and I feel in return bathed in your rich, powerful, mysterious male life-force.

Incidentally, just so you won't think I'm any less appreciative, it's also good when you choose to shoot anywhere on me-my face (thank you for allowing me to close my eyes), my tits, my belly, my hair. I do have to admit that it's a deeper pleasure when you put your sperm inside me. But when you put it on me, especially on my tits, I can watch it spurt out, a sight that always awes me. I also love to watch as you bring yourself to your climax. You're showing me you can use your power to bring up that geyser, completely without my help, but using me as your cumdump. And I feel like you're marking me with your special scent, like a male wolf marking one of his females. (Well, I think they do.)

I hope, sir, that someday soon you'll see fit to plant your seed in my ripe womb. When you use my cunt, the most exciting moment (well, along with the moment your cockhead first slowly pushes open my swollen, begging labia) is when your cock suddenly swells even bigger and harder, you slam into me as far as you can go, and you shoot jets of yourself against my cervix. Your cock jerks over and over while you grind and thrust for maximum pleasure (mine as well as yours-although mine belongs to you), grunting victoriously like a boxer finishing off his rival. If I were fertile and unprotected, all this would be even more thrilling. Knowing you were fertilizing me would make me feel your ownership in a very special way. I'd know I was your field, your garden, your little brood pony.

We would have to wait for a while to see if it took. Every day-probably every hour-I'd think about your seed as if it was still in me, sleeping quietly until it was ready to take over my body. As you know, I've never had a baby. But I know where they come from-the owner puts his seed into his property at the right time. Then the seed grows into a baby, who looks like his father and who, like his father, takes over my cunt whenever he's ready to come out. And, like his father, he doesn't care if it hurts me, because, like his father, he wants to grab all the life I can give. And I want to give it all. I long to bring your baby into life, for him to use my body for nourishment and growth and protection, I get shrivers thinking about what it feels like to have a soft new baby-mouth suck my breasts. (Sir, may I have your permission to say "breasts" when I'm talking and thinking about a baby? For a baby, "tits" just doesn't feel like the right word. I dream of giving your baby my breasts.) Thde thought of it makes me want to kneel down and kiss your feet and cry softly on them until you agree to breed me.

This love letter's getting a little long, isn't it? I can't seem to stop. Please, Sir, let's do this again!

Dear Princess Slave,

While I can't guess what your letter will look like, I know it will be longer and better than mine. I don't have your way with words. But I'm a little excited as I try to say something that I normally just find too hard to put in words. This time, I'll work at it till I get it.

To get right to the point, I don't feel I'm able to live on your level. I'm totally happy with our relationship and don't want to upset the master-slave dynamic, but I often feel I will never be good enough for you. I'm not complaining-more sort of stunned. I worry that something this good just can't last. Well, it's eight years now. Maybe I'm beginning to believe it.

It's not just that you're beautiful and poised and always know what to do. It's not that you're smarter than I am, better educated, more cultured (to say the least!), and that you always soothe me about general crap that upsets me. All that is true, but I don't feel especially bad about being an overall cruder human being than you. I never pretended to be anything else.

It's your purity, I guess. That's the only word I can think of. Nothing I can to do you, or make you do, defiles or dims you. You just shine through it. I can't wrap my head around that. Ordinary human beings can't be that way. Only angels.

That's not just a phrase. I sometimes seriously wonder if you were sent to me from some other place, outside this world. The thought can make me shiver.

It also makes me want to grab you by the hair and force you to your knees. If you were sent to me, well, it had to be for that, didn't it? Otherwise, why would I almost explode with happiness when I see you kneeling, waiting for me to use you? And why would you keep shining while I do it?

I like to think about how all this happened. When we were first married we didn't do it. We were horny and loved our "lovemaking," as we called it, but we soon admitted that we were both fantasizing, vaguely, about something different. We weren't sure what. You told me to take the lead. I knew so little that all I could think of at first was rougher sex. But then I had an idea: I made you start to use the words I liked but had not used for fear of offending you. You were always so well-spoken and had never talked about sex in anything but the usual euphemisms. So I started making you talk the way I wanted to hear: Always "cunt," never "pussy" or "down there." Always "asshole" or "butthole," never "rear end." Always "cock worship" or "face-fucking," never "oral sex." And so on. You found it hard, so I made you kneel and beg for my cock in the crudest possible terms. I made you ask to lick my balls. To taste my dick. I made you describe what was going on in your cunt. I made you tell me exactly, in detail, how you wanted to be fucked.

That was the beginning of my futile attempts to degrade you. We tried spanking, bondage, various toys, various outfits. They were all were fine, but not what we were seeking. Then you suggested that the main thing was mind control. If I made up my mind to control yours, you said, that would excite you more than anything.

I was slow to figure out how to do that. Things I tried made me feel I was being arbitrary and unfair. And sometimes ridiculous. Like pretending to be angry about tiny things, and the big ritual I created for punishment, complete with pompous lectures. But you took my fumbling attempts as seriously as if I were a world-class dom, so we kept at it.

The breakthrough was when I casually told you to masturbate kneeling in front of me. You tried and said-you were very frustrated-that it was impossible for you to cum that way. I had the inspiration to stand over you and threaten you with severe punishment if you didn't cum in two minutes. You made it well within the two minutes. I made you lick your fingers off and do it again. And again. Then I told you to open your mouth and I fucked it harder than I had ever before dared. That took you by surprise; I don't think you could believe I was being so thoughtless. You choked and reached up to stop me. I told you to get your hands behind your back and keep on gagging until I was finished. You obeyed, with wide, amazed eyes. When I was ready, I pulled out, told you to keep your hands behind your back, and jerked myself until my jizz splattered all over your face. I know you were shocked. I had never done that before. But at that moment, I didn't care how you felt. I finally felt sure of my course: I was going to dominate you, enslave you, own you, use you, make you submit to whatever I felt like.

And I know that was the right course, because no matter what I did-and I've tried a lot in eight years-I couldn't dim your light. The more I failed, the more I wanted to try. Something had happened inside you, too. You took everything I wanted to give you, and remained docile, serene, and-I don't how else to put it-as if you were really floating just above your tormented body. I owned you, body and soul, but somehow you always surrounded me with a kind of gentle light that I couldn't touch, but just wonder at.

I know you'd rather I cum in your mouth when I use it. But I often can't resist shooting in your face, because when you open your eyes the most luminous smile slowly spreads over your dripping face. I don't know anything like that smile. I'd do anything to see it. It isn't just for my benefit, nor does it just express your own happiness. It says: haven't we just done something great together!

We rarely get into piss play, but not because either of us sets a limit. I have pissed on you on a few occasions because I suddenly felt like it. The first time, you just immediately bowed your head, folded your hands as if in prayer, and let my piss stream over you. When I allowed you to speak, you thanked me in a voice trembling with emotion. You hadn't realized how strongly I felt about making you take degradation, nor had you realized how much you were willing to take for me. I was shaking, too, because I felt like I'd just marked you as my own female in a way more primitive than either of us had ever even thought about. The word "gratitude" is scarcely strong enough for what was in my heart. For an instant I wanted to kneel to you. My master-sense intervened, and I merely patted your pee-soaked hair. Then I took you to the bathroom and washed you all over as tenderly, taking as long as I could. You lay quietly in the bath with a strange expression on your face, as if you were in another, unworldly, place. Your limp, pale body seemed to glow. I felt like sobbing as you let me take care of you. Then I carried you to the bedroom and we lay in each other's arms for a long time, murmuring half-coherent phrases. There was no need, at that moment, for anything more.

The purity of your light is clearer than ever now. I see it all the time, not just when I'm making you submit. You glide gracefully through your daily routine and responsibilities-as my slave and as, in other eyes, a successful woman of the world. You take my breath away by doing the simplest things. Kneeling to wipe something off the kitchen floor. Slipping on your sunglasses and checking the position of the rearview mirror. Looking at your garden with satisfaction. Slipping so quickly and beautifully out of your clothes when it's my wish. I like the sight so much I sometimes make you dress and undress several times in a row. You're so good at it, and you have such an enigmatic smile, as if in some hidden way you're really in charge. Well, you are. I can order you to do anything I want, but your light drives my orders. It drives my life. I may dominate you, enslave you, own you, use you, make you submit to whatever I feel like, but I also worship you. I always will.