Worshipping (Part 1)

Everyone worships in a different way.  Sacrileges as it sounds, I prefer to worship a man’s body.  In its way, it’s perfection – one could say that the hand of god made it, why would it not be something to worship.

Walking into a quiet room, low lights.  Seated in a chair I find him.  He’s not naked, not yet.  If I’m fortunate, he’ll let me remove his clothes.  I have come here with the full understanding that I’m here for his pleasure.  I walk across the room, silently, reverently, and kneel beside his chair.  I wait to be spoken to, because that is the role we’ve agreed I’ll play.  Yet, it’s more than a role – I want this.  It’s not merely a play, acting out.  I volunteer myself to his service.

He’s watched me walk across the room, and submit to him on my knees.  I kneel, with my head bowed, knowing he’s looking at me.  My heart beats fast, and hard, in my chest.  I force myself to kneel, not fidget, not look up. 

I hear his voice, low, and my breath catches.

“Are you a good boy?  Are you ready to do what I tell you?”

His voice is like silk, low, masculine.  From where I kneel, I can just catch the scent of him. 

“Yes Sir.”

My reply is no more, no less than is necessary.  I’m taken aback by the awe I hear in my own hushed response.

“Good.”  A breath. “Let me see your face.”

I slowly look up, meet his gaze.   He’s even more beautiful than I remember.  Dark hair frames his face. Dark dusting of beard along his jaw.  He wears black.  Black jeans, black shirt, black boots.  His shirt buttons down the front, my fingers itch to start unbuttoning it so gaze upon his chest.  I stop myself.   I’m breathless.

“Good boy.  Now, tell me what you want.”

I’m a little startled.  I don’t have a ready response for this.  I am honest.

“I want only to please you, my Lord.”

A smile.  A small one. 

“That is the right answer.”

He reaches to the table beside his chair.  In his hand a piece of leather appears.  A strip really, set with a buckle. 

“While you are mine to use as I please, you will wear this.  Do you understand?”

“Yes my Lord.”

I do understand.  The collar is a sign, a reminder of my subservience to Him. 

“Excellent.  Then stand, and remove your clothes.”

I’ve never been entirely at home in my own body, never entirely comfortable within my own skin.  I do not hesitate, however.  My own sense of embarrassment is nothing compared to the fear that I may disappoint him.

I stand, removing the t-shirt I wear, my glasses.  I remove my shoes, my blue jeans and, finally, my underwear.  I stand naked, head bowed, in front of him. 

“Kneel in front of me.”

I kneel.  I feel him move toward me, feel the heat of him.   I feel the soft, supple leather encircle my throat.  I feel him draw the leather through the clasp.  Feel it settle upon me. 

“you are mine now.  you are perfect the way you are.  Do you believe me?”

“Yes my Lord.  With all my heart.”