"She" by Cam

"She"

She fucks me.

Not in the conventional way.  You know, lying me down and riding me until she cums.  Although she does that.  She does it so well.

Not in the unconventional way.  You know, tying me to a bench, spreading my legs and taking my hole with a strap-on.  Although She does that.  She does it so well.  Almost too well.

Not in a sadistic way either; by tying me down and cropping me all over, or dripping hot wax on me until I'm shaking, writhing, begging to be released.  Although She does that.  She definitely does that well.

No, She fucks me in entirely novel ways.  With a word. With a laugh. With a smile. With nothing more than a look.  She fucks with my head.  My mind. I'm not a superstitious guy, I don't do voodoo, but you might even say She fucks with my soul.

I don't know how She does this; again, superstitiously, it's magic.  Black magic, maybe.  Maybe She has a little doll, made with a few grey hairs and wearing a little lavender shirt She made from a piece of mine.  Maybe I don't want to know.  It would destroy the magic.

She is the first thing I think of when I wake up.  She is the one my thoughts turn to when my mind is idling through the workday, In the evenings when we're together, She fills my mind.

When She says "Hi", I smile.  Its a reflex and I can't stop doing it.

She is so many things to me.

She is demanding
She is caring
She is cruel
She is compassionate
She is crushing
She is supportive
She is angry
She is my first, in so many ways, and my only

Most of those, She is loving.  Her love fills me, surrounds me, sustains and supports me.  I can try to return it, but I'll never match her love.

Nor should I.  It's not a zero-sum game.  Love returned is love multiplied.  So I return what I can and we're left with a mutual surplus.

You know who She is.  She is my Mistress.  And I'm proud She calls me Mine.