So I swallowed my fear and said, “Okay.”
The collar—the titanium band—was cool against my throat. It is not a symbol of my bondage. It is a symbol of my freedom. The freedom to be weak. The freedom to fail. The freedom to be caught when I fall. master salve gay blog
— Marcus #MasterSlave #DaddyDom #PetPlay (not the furry kind, the emotional kind) #PanicAttack #Aftercare #TrueStory (from my heart) #PomegranateProtocol So I swallowed my fear and said, “Okay
He turned me around. His face was grave, but his eyes were soft. He cupped my jaw in his surgeon’s hands, those miracle-working hands, and tilted my face up to his. “I am your Master, Marcus. Do you know what that means? It means your panic is my panic. Your fear is my fear. When you hide it from me, you are not protecting me. You are stealing from me. You are stealing my right to care for what is mine.” The freedom to be weak
I started counting the threads in the tablecloth. One, two, three… but the woman’s laugh would break my count. I’d have to start over. Four, five… HA! … start over. My heart began to tap against my ribs like a frantic morse code. The edges of my vision blurred. The soufflé arrived, a beautiful cloud of chocolate, and it looked like a foreign object. I couldn’t remember how to hold a spoon.
“Did you let me?”
His tone wasn’t angry. It was worse. It was disappointed . And it was directed at the one person I was supposed to protect above all others: his property. His to care for. His to keep safe.