Cravings
Each time he takes me, I find myself bound increasingly tighter to him -- fused.
He entered the kitchen this morning as I prepared the morning food. My back was
to the doorway and barefoot he made no sound as he walked. I knew he was there.
Without a word, without a sound from him, I knew he was there and knew he
watched me as I worked.
I didn't turn around. I don't know why. But instead of turning to face him, I
lowered to my knees right where I stood, my body sliding into the insolent,
sensual posture he prefers. "Hello, Master" ... I spoke only those words, hoping
to convey in that simple phrase that my nerve endings feel electric when he is
close ... that if I could press close enough to him to meld my body into his
pores, I would do it.
This is what both excites and confuses me. I was not a virgin when I came to Gor.
Yet Michael, for all his earthen 'cool', did not make me crave him. I never
would have begged Michael ... never. I pushed him away from me more than once.
He accepted my rejection. He bent to my whim.
I lay in my bed at night, the sheets clinging to sweat-soaked skin when I awoke
from a frantic dream of a male strong enough to not allow me to push him away
... of a Master ... no, not of *a* Master ... of MY Master.
I am learning there is a distinct difference between a lover and a Master ...
between an owner and a Master ... between so many men I have seen, both on Gor
and on earth ... and a Master. And I have learned deep in my belly and in my
heart which I prefer ... and crave.