Longing is the most constant state in our relationship. Circumstances are such that my darling Rafe and I do not see each other frequently or long enough. Do not mistake me. I am grateful for the abundance of time we have together. It could be far worse under these circumstances. But it simply isn’t enough. The spaces between our times together are enough to turn desire to yearning to deep aching…
But something wonderful follows those separations.
Each time, when we reunite, there are no words. Literally. I practically fling myself in my lover’s arms. His hands slide into place. One behind my back, pulling my body close to his. One at the base of my skull, drawing me to his mouth for that first long, passionate kiss in days. We breathe through it, each inhaling the other’s presence. After several moments, we release but remain close, leaning into one another. Only then do we speak, usually a simple, breathless, “Hi.” Inordinate emotion and beauty and longing spoken in that tiny syllable.
To home. To privacy. To where our intimacy is not limited by societal bounds. To our space, where Rafe claims me and I proclaim his dominion over me. Sometimes he makes me wait – disrobes me, places me in my bonds, punishes me before giving me what I’ve been waiting for. But other times, he takes me immediately, quietly, gently, in such a way that the yearning, the softness, the intimacy coalesce to overwhelm me, to bring me to radiant tears. I don’t know how, but my Rafe seems to always know the treatment I need – mentally, emotionally, sexually.
I confess, although we have continued our play in recent weeks, I have not been fully engaged. I had a big deadline this week and have been distracted by preparation, stress, and anxiety. Rafe inquired – Was everything OK? Was there anything bothering me about the power exchange? I only then realized the level of my stress, that it had bled into our time together.
The deadline has passed. The weight has lifted. I am returning to my lover. An unusual pining has emerged this week. A desire that part of me is ashamed to admit. A fixation of thought…I crave to feel the sting of my master’s crop. The snap of leather against my breasts, my stomach, my legs… I yearn for the roughness of my master’s domination. His hard grip on my breasts. The firm slap of his hand against my ass. The coarse fondling of my clit as he demonstrates how much my pussy loves the pain other parts of my body protest. I hunger for his commands. His order to crawl before him. His demand that I thank and pleasure him with my mouth – though at this moment I cannot describe how I intend to satisfy.
Yet, as much as I thirst to give myself over to his punishments, to submit to his every whim, I also need now that profound connection. That union of intense desire and longing. That connection that feeds not only my sexual being, but my very soul. To let ourselves be consumed by the fire of our love and our passion.
The ember of longing given over to the inferno of devotion.
– The Elegant Submissive