disappear?

I saw this on someone else blog and amended it slightly, but it is the best description I have seen as to how I feel sometimes.

And things have been stressful, as the windup to the holidays approaches. And we’ve been talking about just getting a hotel room the first day I’m in, ostensibly to make the next baby, but also to get some insanely hot examples of the Five Ps in — you remember, pegging, pleasure, pain, piss and prostration. And with all the stress in my life…

And with all of the stress in my life, I started thinking about what I want sometimes, and what I want is to disappear. I want to stop existing as me, and for a few hours or days just become “Mistress’ pet.” “Slave.” “Toy.” Whatever. I want to lose my name. I want to lose my place. I just want to be something that only exists to please her, to give her whatever she wants. I don’t want to think, unless it’s thinking about how to accomplish her latest order. I don’t want to worry about my needs, or my worries, or my own pleasure. I want to obliterate myself for a few hours and just be an extension of her.

It’s such an intense need, it carries me away. One of the things I need from our scenes is this…this…loss of self. When I get into the right head-space, I look at her and she’s the only thing in the room, she’s tall and powerful and imposing and I get weak in the knees when she crooks her finger at me or commands me in that strong voice that’s so different than the one she uses when we’re in public. She’s a goddess. She’s beautiful and cruel and kind and I don’t matter unless she decides I matter.

I get dizzy just thinking about her like that. The all-powerful light of my life, the bitch-queen-lover-wife-princess-angel. All these things, this bundle of people, and they’re all there in front of me, looking at me with hard and somehow kind eyes, a smile on her lips.

She does this thing: When I’m aroused, my penis is this center, this axis mundi. The feelings from my cock overwhelm the feelings everywhere else. And my wife will reach down and grab the thing with one hand or two hands and just squeeze it, and it’s painful and pleasurable but most of all its her controlling the most sensitive thing on my body. She’s its master. She can hurt it or give it pleasure, whichever she wants.

And that’s what I want — to be overwhelmed. To be taken. To be controlled. She gets pleasure out of spanking me, and so I want her to spank me. She gets pleasure out of making me give her oral, and so I want to be forced to my knees. She gets pleasure out of me fucking her, and so I want to just take her until she tells me to stop. She gets pleasure out of pegging me, so I want to take her cock orally as she calls me her bitch and then let her just turn me over do me. Her, her, her. I want to disappear, I want the scene to be about her. I don’t even want to come, unless she wants me to. I want it to last, I want her to tell me she has this hold on me, I want her to make me confess that She is my Goddess.

I know that a lot of the times, the scene isn’t about her. It’s about us. And I like that too. I like being able to ask for more cock or a different toy being used to hit me or for a clamp to be shifted. I like being able to suggest, humbly and respectfully of course, that she try this or that. But sometimes, this feeling overcomes me and I don’t want to be able to ask anything — I want to be swept the away and not have any say and any input and just be an empty vessel for her to fill with whatever she wants.

And right now I need this. I need her to evince this control over me, to dominate me utterly and completely and for me to not have a name but a diminutive title, like “dog,” “pet,” “bitch,” “whore,” “slave,” or “toy.” I need to not be there except as she wills me to be there — to not have a voice except the voice she gives me — to not have any urges except what she tells me to. This is my ultimate state of submission — to completely annihilate myself while we’re doing this, until my every thought is of her, my ever action is at her command, my every pleasure or pain something she metes out.

I get goofy aroused when I think of this, I get horny and sputtery and strangely calm. I want to wear my collar again, but she has it. I feel like a lost kid when I don’t have my collar. I talked to her about that, and her plans to mark me, and we decided to hold off on the ownership tattoo until June, since I haven’t found a drawing I like of our symbol of my submission — but she’s going to buy me a slender gold chain to wear. It looks nice, very casual, I can wear it underneath my suits, but what it is is my day-collar, my permanent symbol of her ownership. Whenever I need to think of her power — and God, how come whenever I’m like this, whenever I’m in this head-space, I want to capitalize “Her” — I can touch the chain. I’ll be her slave, wearing her collar, all of the time.

She has this hold over me. I tell her about it, and she talks about how it makes her toes tingle and her sex ache to think of me being this obsessed and devoted and humble before her.
Oh, I want to disappear so badly into her. I just want to be her slave. To simply not exist except as an extension of Her. That’s my fondest wish right now. I don’t want anything to be about me, everything about her. I’ll be hers, 24/7 while I’m up there.