In the last moments of a submissive’s life, she has only to serve her master.
For those hours of obedience, I was rewarded handsomely; good food for the table, relaxing evening at home, and being treated as the valued concubine he had created. I don’t know how he knew what I needed, but the way he shaped me was a stroke of genius.
We all are weak, though. We succumb to our own vices from time to time. He often left me with reminders of my small transgressions; a small hole through the nipple filled with a gold ring for playing with my tits, or a stray slap upon my ass for eating without permission. “You’ll get fatter,” he would say with each stroke of the wooden coat hanger.
The whole of my existence had become useful in a more satisfying way. I found my life unfolding around me; my reason for life was clear, my heart was filled with joy, and I had no needs that were not being met by my love. I was placed on earth to please him. His needs were mine to fulfill. From the simple pleasure of sucking his dick until his mouth moaned and his hips buckled under the strain of an orgasm, to making him breakfast in the morning, I was completing my tasks with a purpose. In these pleasures, I find my pleasure waiting behind each task I complete. He completed me as the one that gave me what I needed and in return allowed me to find my world in his control.
He loved to have my body just on the brink of too much exposure. More often than not, he allowed me to fall asleep before I ever orgasmed, making the morning all the more special.
He wanted the guys of the world to lust after me. As my body had never caused any lust in anyone, I reveled in his ability to make me lust worthy. He got pleasure out of the hound calls and dirty glances I caused in other guys. The missed meals and tightened corsets were well worth the benefits I received. Seeing the pleasure in his eyes as one guy after another begged to see my tits made living for him that much better.
Stuck at home with our dog, Ralph, he made cocoa and brightened the night with a hint of peppermint schnapps. The scent of oak drifted through the den when the fire finally caught. We hadn’t made popcorn over a fire in years, but the crackle of the embers and the corn popping brought me back to times in our youth.
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