Sir, how I feel

This is control and this is power. It sounds so breathless and good. When you look down at me with those blue pacifying eyes, all I can do is suck at your fingers, taste yellow cigarette smoke and hope that you'll hurt me. 

Sometimes its like sweet spit and gold words, sometimes it's domestic. But it is, what it is. Junk in, junk out, smoked up sex and servitude. 

Humiliation is a moment of making. Pleasure is a delicious gift. This is your body to play with, your skin and blood to touch and who am I to you? Because sometimes you are everything and submission is a lonely game. Always, I desperately want to be near you, with all my wet fear and trepidation. With all my baggage. I want to put my cases on the porch and say "Let me in". 

And I am afraid that I can't be who you want me to be, that I don't have the capacity and that I don't know how to play a straight and honest game. I am afraid I will feel sick forever. That I'll always need to get my dick wet more than I'll ever need anything else, but fears are natural. 

In this power there are moments of safety and warmth and belonging. Where I am a small and taken care of. When you are perfect. When I know that I belong to you and that you love me.

There is talk and openness. There are smiles and laughs and there is humility and I can just be human and more so I can be myself.

So I live to belong, I exist to please you  and I miss you badly when you're not around. Know that you mean more to me now than I will ever tell you, or can often admit to myself, out of weak fear. Or fear of looking weak.