~The way He wants it

The pain is intense. Here it is, hours later, and i still feel it, a sharp ache that feels like i've been punched in the gut. No, not punched. More like a knife eviscerating me across the bottom arch of my pelvis. And all without the touch of a hand.

That is precisely the problem. Not the touch of a single hand. Not mine and certainly not His, two thousand miles away.

He would tell you i'm a sexual creature.

He's the only one who would do so.

i've been described by some to have a modest 'school teacher' look about me. My co-workers are amused at how easily they can make me blush with their vulgarity. Former relationships have deemed me 'impossible to arouse'.

And i believed them.

He didn't.

One word from Him and He can have me panting and begging like a two dollar whore. Not one specific word --there are so many-- but all it takes is one and He causes my thighs to clench, my abdominal muscles to contract. And warm, wetness much lower down.

He laughs that my transformation from unarousable school teacher into His personal slut comes so easily. So completely.

His laughter only cements the transformation, sealing it into place. It torments me as does his narrative, relentlessly bombarding my ears, suggesting exactly what He intends to do to me when finally we're together. The muscles of my body begin to cramp and ache from fighting the arousal.

"Please stop," i beg. Please don't stop is what i mean.

It doesn't matter, either way. He'll continue so long as it amuses Him to toy with me.

"It's painful," i whimper.

"Good," is His response.

i think, if He only knew how much it really hurts. But He doesn't care.

No. He cares. It's the way He wants it. He most certainly cares.

i don't even ask if i can relieve the pressure of the arousal by my own hand. i know the answer already. The countdown has begun. Only two more weeks until i see Him again. The next hand to touch that warm wetness will be His own.

And in the meantime, He tortures me with a torment so sweet that He could bring me to orgasm with words alone, if not for the standing order to the contrary. The preparation of my body for His pleasure is beginning. It will culminate in a flurry of grooming and excitement as i dress, combed and manicured to His exacting specifications, and then, finally, board the plane that will bring me to Him. Where my collar waits in His apartment.

The teasing, tantalizing, drawing out of the intense arousal is His part in that process, working my body up into a frenzy of need for Him that makes me afraid of His eventual touch. Even a gentle caress will be torture after what He's doing to me. That's the way He wants it.

Until then, the pain is my companion. Comforting me. Reminding me of His ownership, of all that He promises.

Because that's the way He wants it...