There is a moment during the ride to orgasm when fantasy opens up, when anything seems possible and desirable. After the wave of pleasure has crashed over you, lying there spent, the sober mind is frightened by the depth of images conjured up, yet they retain such power still.
I want submission, total and overpowering. I want to be stripped naked, deprived of clothes, of voice, of human protections. To be thrown at his feet to serve. Fed scraps from his hand or a bowl at his feet. Humiliated. My body his plaything. Tortured. Surrendering to pain, each emotion torn away and discarded, each thought replaced with the eternal present. Used. Surrendering to his pleasure, feeling his delight in his creature, his creation. Degraded. My own desire pushing me on, performing such service, willingly offering myself, beyond my limits, desiring to please. Possessed. Dominated. Stripped.
When I am spent, sobbing at his feet, empty of myself and yet totally fulfilled, I want to be gathered up, comforted with softness and love, knowing I have truly earned his approval and affection.