Yearning You can't ask for it. You can't demand it. It's not anything you're necessarily entitled to; everything that comes from Him comes as he wishes, and not one second before that.
Still, the longing is there within you. Something to...consummate, to cement, this odd turn your relationship with Him has taken. Something to remind you each time you kneel down before him that you belong utterly, entirely, wholly to Him.
That thought makes you shiver, makes your belly do a slow, nervous roll. You've never belonged to anyone, in the way you think of this. You've always believed that man couldn't...shouldn't...own another. Slavery was a hideous thing that permeated history over and over and somehow the idea of belonging calls that, albeit briefly, to mind.
You know it's different, though. What you do for Him, what you need from Him, what you give to Him in return...isn't slavery. It's service and submission and need and want. It's love. It's entirely consensual and wanted so very badly.
You're not sure where this need for a symbol comes from. To the casual observer, you've eschewed symbols for most of your life. Perhaps because this strikes deeper within you than anything you've felt before? You've never given so much of yourself, made yourself so vulnerable. Even with past loves -- and your mind still skitters past that like a frightened mouse from a cat -- deep and true, were different than this.
You blink then, realizing you've been asked a question. "Sir?"
His smile is indulgent, warmer even than his fingers trailing gently over your cheekbone. You miss that warmth when he pulls away. "I asked if you're ready for the next step, pet?"
You dart your eyes around his face, wondering what he means, then see the strip of leather and metal dangling from his fingers, swinging gently in the void between you.
By Mickey M.
© March 2002