at his feet

It’s been two weeks since my claiming.

I don’t believe there’s any magic in the event, some spell that was put over me. Yet the ordeal had submissive conditioning all through it, and I am different with him now. There is something to being bound and pounded by a man, subjected to his perversities, that is in fact a taming of you. Not that you need to be made submissive, you come to him with that built in, but you do need to be made into a woman of faith — in the sense that you have to have a taste of what he is capable of, develop the fear of God about him, and become convicted there is even more to come.

And damn if now I don’t have a memory for his cock inside me. And long for it.

I don’t dare beg. I learned my lesson about that with Master Michael — or at least I learned I don’t know how to beg properly without sounding really annoying and controlling — so I don’t dare do that with Master K. However, when he is sitting at breakfast or in the evening reading a newspaper on the couch, I will come to him and kneel at his feet.

It’s all real, what I want, this need I have for his cock, and my kneeling beside him when he is present. It’s really raw and unprocessed submissiveness, and he tapped into that in some primal way. Master Cowboy knows that, I’m sure, understanding better than I did what this claiming thing does to a girl.

He pays little attention to me kneeling beside him, but I sense he likes me this way, just needing him, being quiet saying nothing, and making myself subject to him. Waiting for him to take me.

Once he had me take off his shoes and socks, massage him, and then bathe his feet with my tongue. I didn’t hesitate a moment, and I gave him the premium wash. Another time, he had me reposition myself between his legs and lay my head on his pant leg along his inner thigh. Nothing more, but it was a pleasure to be inches from the cock that had sodomized me at my claiming.

He has, in fact fucked me since then. Several times in the bondage room, though nothing more than an hour, and nothing extensive as during that one night. Though it’s harsh and forceful, I am “home” for his dick. He fills me.

He is impulsive about these times, pulling me once out of the shower, and another time walking in the front door from work and immediately ushering me into the bondage room onto the bondage horse. He feels tension from his day at work, and at home he needs to release it into me.

I don’t think he will ever have me sleep with him. He doesn’t seem to be that sort of man, at least with me. I am to him a trinity of sex holes for his need.

It may be that’s all I will ever be to him, but I am OK with that. Kinda, sorta.