Expanding Whorizons

“Undress me.” Quiet, authoritative. A command, not a request. I reached out, hesitant at first, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Before I could grasp them, he grabbed both arms at the wrist. “Look at me.” I dared not disagree or disappoint. “I’ve given you a direct order, do not hesitate, do not second guess yourself.  In this situation, there is no choice – I’ve made those choices for you and I trust you to do as I say. Let go of the thoughts that cause you to hesitate.” He looked at me, waiting until I nodded that I’d heard and understood him. Then he released my hands. This time I didn’t hesitate – I started unbuttoning his shirt from collar to waist, focusing, making my movements efficient. The entire time, I breathed deeply… steadying my nerves and inhaling his scent. His shirt hadn’t been tucked in to begin with, and in short order he stood with his shirt fully unbuttoned, his skin warm beneath the cloth. In turn, he held out his left and then his r...

I remember, vividly, the feel of a black shirt under my hands.  I remember how the material felt as I slid my palms across it, across his chest.  Reverently, my fingers sought the buttons.  Nervous, I fumbled.  He was patient. Starting at his chest, at my hands, my peripheral vision could just make out the gentle smile on his face.  A curl of lip, more pronounced for the dark swath of goatee.  He didn’t help me.  This was my task.  This was my honor.  One by one, I undid the buttons constraining his chest.  Bit by bit, the cloth receded and I could see the skin of him, dusted with hair.  Once I’d unbuttoned all, I stood there – unsure if I should reach for his pants, unsure if I should take it upon myself.  Again, he read my thoughts, “Go ahead, finish with the shirt.” I reached, hands slightly trembling, to free the shirt tails from his pants.  To do so, I reached around him.  I drew so close to his chest tha...

Something remarkable happens to me, when i let down my guard.  It doesn’t happen often, but when it does… There i knelt, naked but for the collar and short leash He had placed on me.   i’d been bathing His boot with my tongue.  i’d been so intent on my task that i hadn’t noticed Him lean over me.  Gently, His hand touched my head, stroking my hair. “Good boy.” i felt so many things when He said that.  Pleased, grateful, perhaps a bit proud. “Take off my boots.” i sat back, on my haunches, head bowed, focused on untying His left boot.  Once untied, i gently lifted His leg until i could pull the boot off.  Once it was in my hand, i risked looking up at Him.  He was watching me, knowing what it was i wanted.  A small smile played on His lips, and He nodded – ever so slightly.  i slowly drew His boot to my nose, inhaling once, twice.  my chest felt full of His scent.  Before i could get too distracted, i placed His b...

Worshipping takes on many forms, tactile, oral, and other.  It was my privilege to start while He was still dressed.  He lead me from the living room to a large bedroom.  At the end of a king sized bed sat a bench – ordinary enough in appearance, though leather clad.  The leather about my neck now attached to a short expanse of chain, more a lead than a leash.  The links were small, and light.  The leash, and the collar, both more symbol than practical restraint.  i am naked, He is fully clothed. “Where shall we begin?” His voice, again low, rumbles through his chest.  It’s not, I realize, a rhetorical question.  Then it dawns on me, what good is worship that is driven by commands?  He wants, i hope, for me to enjoy his body as i hope, breathlessly, that he will take and enjoy mine.  “May i undress You, Sir?” my voice trembles slightly, afraid to misinterpret what is going on.  He hears that tremble, places a hand on my nec...

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...

It is impossible not to want you when I see you.  Impossible not to be moved to want to touch you, stroke you skin, kiss your lips, hold you in my arms.  I revel in the way you feel, and smell, and taste.  Some of my fondest memories are kneeling at your feet, head cradled in your lap while I inhale your scent.  I can feel the heat of you, pressed against my cheek while you stroke my hair.  Slowly, I start to stroke my cheek against the growing hardness I find there.  Heat, hardness… It’s a tease, a taste of things to come.  Slowly, still on my knees, I move until I’m in front of you, hands on both of your thighs.  Looking up, I see your face, your eyes half closed slits as you watch me.  It’s not a sleepy look, but one of intensity.  You watch my every move.  With our eyes locked on each other, I slide closer, hands moving until they cup the hardness that’s grown – hardness that speaks to me of how much you enjoy this, and how mu...