Faith

You’re sat cross-legged in the chair watching me prepare myself for today’s session. Your instructions were clear, but you wanted to be sure I would follow them closely. Having showered and cleaned up thoroughly, my balls freshly shaved and my anus douched with water, there seems little doubt as to the focus of today. But I am taking nothing for granted, as I stand naked before you, fastening my collar with due reverence, and attaching the leather cuffs to ankles and wrists under your silent gaze.

And now you are before me, nearly a whole foot shorter but your calm presence radiates control. My knees buckle a bit, but you catch me by the elbow, and I’m suddenly light as air. Short/tall, clothed/naked, D/s. We might seem in opposition, but we are simply two sides of the same coin. Your hands slide to my wrists and you raise them to place a kiss on the back of each fist, before clicking the catch that now binds them in front of me. Still holding my hands, like a couple pledging oaths at a wedding, you say to me:

“Trust is hard earned and easily broken, Little One. Yours is precious to me, but I will be testing you today. The flip side to trust is faith. Faith that I will never harm you. Do you have that faith, my precious boy?”

I am looking directly into your eyes, suddenly struck by their blueness. This causes me to pause and miss a beat – I see the flicker of a signal in your face. Does he believe? You seem to be asking. I blurt out, stumbling over my words:

“Yes, Miss, my faith is never, I, yes, Miss…”

“Good.”

My inarticulate pledge is enough, it seems, as you lead me to the bed. Patting it like you would for a dog, you say:

“Up here, good boy. All fours please”.

I amble into position, encumbered by my tied wrists.

“Wider, please” you say, tapping my ankles with two fingers. And I realise this position is going to tip me over, which seems to be part of the plan. I fall onto my forearms like a planking position as I slide my feet wider. I flinch slightly at the feel of cold steel, as you fix the spreader bar; you take this for nerves and begin to stroke my raised ass along its flank, as you would a spooked horse.

“It’s okay, Little One. This is what faith feels like.”

You push my knees in slightly, opening me up, a cold draft upon my vulnerable points of entry. By forcing my head down, there is no chance to see what you have planned. I have to take on trust what is coming, and show good faith by not recoiling, but feeling a part of your intentions.

 

 

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