Service

Do you dream about service? Well, so do I.

As a start, I dream of impeccable manners. Having My coat taken, the chair pulled out, drinks offered. A man who stands up when I do, and who will kiss My hand, daringly, correctly, submissively, when we meet and part.

Then I dream about the initiative for service, the offer of something more personal. To have him kneel to take My shoes off, as I walk in, to have learned My habits well enough to know to have the coffee ready, and served as I like it. To have him anticipate what I might enjoy, and offer it, unafraid of doing a mistake, as it's all about learning to please.

After that I want him vulnerable, because at this point, he starts offering of himself. I want him naked while I am dressed. I want him restricted while I am free to move. I want him taking it, while I give. I want his reactions, his lust, his desire for My pleasure. I want to reach down and cradle his cock in My hand, I want to look in his eye and ask him who own it, and I want to feel him grow hard in the warmth of My grip as he says it: "You, Mistress. You own my cock." And I want to close My hand about his balls and crush them, his most vulnerable parts, while he does nothing but whimper. It's My balls. Mine.

From then on, I will want his service without inhibition. I will expect him to satisfy Me sexually in any way he is able to, from submitting to My Sadism to being fucked with a strap-on to spending an hour eating Me until I am tired of cumming. But that's not where it ends. It's not like sex will make the desire for all the rest go away. To reach that point he has to work for holding Me in Top-space, just as much as I need to work on his sub-space.

It seems all to often that the relationship between Dom and sub is about the Dominant putting the submissive in sub-space, that coveted state of mind. What many forget is that the submissive can put the Dominant in Top-space, through their acts and behaviour. Service does that to Me. That delicate kiss on the hand sends shivers down My spine, and stirs the deep waters where the Monster of My Sadism lurks. The cup, served just in time, the carefully thought out meal, the chair brought to Me, the bent neck, the faint blush of embarassment as he reveals himself, mentally or physically - Ohhhh, it pushes at Me, taking Me away from Mundania to the reality where I rule, the supreme Mistress of all before Me.

It's where we both want to be, isn't it? And you can bring us both there, through service.