I need to feel him, to hold him, to caress his skin. The hollowness of fear that I felt earlier needs to be filled, and only his touch, his body, his love will do that. Our heads angle as he rests his hand on the side of the bed and the other on my shoulder. I am wrapped in his presence, the aura of emotion high and powerful. My fingers press open the robe, my mouth moves away from his and I press my lips across his jaw and down his neck. Sucking gently on the salty skin, smelling the cologne and shampoo of my lover, my fingers slowly glide down and wrap around the swollen member that my body craves. His mouth, now free of our kiss, slides to my neck, humming against my skin, the vibrations bringing sighs from my lips. Using my hand, I begin to stroke him slowly, running my fingers gently over the head and down the shaft again. My lips move across his shoulder to his ear. Tracing the curve of his ear, I blow warm air against it, I whisper, ‘I love you.’ Pulling him down with me, my. Slave must please Master. Slave loves being Master?s neutered pet?.? and so on. It goes on forever and I love it. Not so much the message that I should love being what he has made me, but more his presence in my ear, his soothing voice and his constant affirmation that I belong to him, that he wants me. Of course being in the state I am, I cannot deny that the message is also increasingly sinking in. Even when I cry I increasingly find it right and good that I am now sexless. As ever he knows just how to make me as he wants me to be. I am so very grateful that he is considerate enough to speak to me and explain this to me. It makes me feel so strangely safe and cared for and I crave his presence so badly. When he touches me to clean me or something similar, I strain to meet his hand, savoring each second his hands are on me. To my completely outrageous joy he has also begun using me again. Apparently I have healed enough for this to take place. There was, as always, no preamble, no.
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