Tender Memories of Springtime

Well. It is true.

Spring has SPRUNG.

And so have the boys, toys and other creatures who make all sorts of noise here in Salt Lake City. One of the boys likes to hear about my escapades in the dungeon. My Lighthouse. I don't mind indulging in tales for certain boys who create an atmosphere of sincere interest and sincere care. In sharing a memory of a bygone Spring...I found that I've never shared nor written about this experience. One of many tender experiences in the dungeon.

Sometimes my writing can be fun or focused on instructional discourse and sometimes, I admit dear reader... the Blog can be a frustration vent for the endless array of circumstances one faced being a Dominatrix in a state such as Utah. But, today I want to share a tender tale. Truly. One that should be written down.

I saw someone in my dungeon. Only once.

I don't remember their name because I'm sure it was an alias. He'd done the paperwork, had the phone call, came correct and submitted to my desires.

I remember getting him to the point of exasperation. Tied up with his dick exposed, hands behind his back. Attempting to remove himself from the situation and desperately wanting to stay. He was blindfolded and the Magic Wand in my hand teased his cock mercilessly. Making it bob up and down every time I pressed the vibrator to his head and then took it away again. He was moaning. Frustrated. And desperate... my favorite emotional cocktail for torture. He also seemed sweet in a way...like a helpless animal. No cage needed, the ropes were enough.

I took my time. Teasing and torturing.

Laughing as I described exactly what I was doing to him and telling him how eager I am to see him cum all over himself. Insisting he doesn't let a drop fall on my carpet. Keep it to yourself, but do it for me... that's the way I like it.

As I pressed the vibrator to his head one last time... noticing the quickening breath patterns, the distraught look on his face, the tense jaw attempting to keep everything from excluding everywhere. I felt pity and forced him to come all over himself while he gasped and shivered. Trying to fall, but not being able to because the ropes holding him wouldn't let him lay down. He shuddered and uttered some words in still unsure of and went silent.

I let him sit in the ropes and the blindfold. Turning off the vibrator, I watched him enter the bliss of Petite Morte and held his body, his energy and his submission in my gaze and my grasp. The world felt whole again as if it never needed to turn and the sun was fine not setting on this moment. It can feel like that at times. Beyond time and space. A moment of pure unadulterated grace.

I took the blindfold off a while later as our time drew to it's closing. He looked at me and I unwrapped the ropes and held him against my chest.

He said (quietly), "Mistress, can I tell you something?"

"Anything." I said.

"I've never ejaculated with someone in the room."

He became really quiet. And exhaled looking at the ceiling.

I asked about the cat tattoo on his knee with the title, 'Mr. Pussy' under it. We talked about other things.

"I'm glad you came." I said eventually. "Sometimes, it's just the way two energies interact and the fact I don't need anything from you. Takes all the pressure off. I'm glad you got to experience that."

He talked about the girl who gave him the tattoo...the 'Mr. Pussy' one. He loved her. But, she didn't love him...like that.

Friends.

The painful kind.

He thanked me again. He said, "I truly thought I'd never be able to do that. You know...cum with someone watching."

I said, "Well, I do hope it happens for you again. Truly."

He got all 6 foot 3 inches of himself dressed and left the dungeon.

I haven't seen him since.

Except I have.

I see him because he's a server. He serves at a place downtown that I enjoy. I see all 6 foot 3 inches of him giving people their food and smiling. I feel him look at me and know me but not address me. We're back in the Matrix after all and it's inappropriate. I do enjoy watching him serve others. I enjoyed serving him.

Sometimes, my work leads me to the tender places they don't want to look. Sometimes I'm the only one who can give them the service they need. Like a plant in need of water but only if it's from a certain spring at a certain time in a certain place... otherwise... it might die. People are so tender. So unique. Like flowers. Needing to be tended to, watered and seen in just the right way.

It's the Spring again and I'm thinking about this boy while I'm talking to another boy. Trying to tell him what it's like to take certain moments from others consensually. How taking can be a gift. How taking can be a service.

I took that boy home to a place he never thought he'd go. And so...I see him serving the dishes in the restaurant and I smile. Knowing he might never say hello, but knowing he knows me still.

The tender flowers don't speak and still are known.