A Love Letter

My first contact with Goddess Samantha was nearly a year ago. We had made plans to meet in Boston. Unfortunately, due to severe weather, it was not meant to be. Our brief correspondence however, convinced me that I had missed an opportunity to be in the presence of an unusual woman.

After she returned to Atlanta, I periodically wrote her “love letters.” I would choose one of her fetching photographs and depending on how she was dressed, I would fantasize a scenario between us. I enjoyed doing this. She was always kind enough to respond which of course, spurred me on to even more letters to her.

It was with no small amount of anxiety that after a year of anticipation, I walked down a corridor to her suite. I told myself that my expectations should be tamped lower. Fantasy, I know, can sometimes soar too far above reality. I knocked and she opened the door, and I beheld a vision of a smartly and superbly attired, stunning beauty. My expectations, it turns out, weren’t even close to the confident Goddess who stood before me.

Her long blond hair looked as if it were billowing in a soft spring breeze. She was dressed in quality: a black corset revealed some of her magnificent breasts; a short black skirt covered her proportionally and perfectly toned form. Black thigh high stockings complimented her black and gold high heels, which brought her height to a bit more than my own. She hugged me and I felt her strong but supple body, and any anxiety I’d had simply vanished. I was in the presence of a Goddess who knew what I desired and she was prepared, on her terms, to allow me to fall completely under her control.

I’d sent her a list of requests that included: flogging, high heel and body worship, use of a riding crop on my genitals, electro stimulation (which I was curious about) strap-on sucking, restraint from behind, genitals tied on a leash, and a collar and chain. In addition, I wanted to be humiliated, and teased and denied, in a Goddess/Slave Role Play. She was ready for me. Everything she needed was strategically placed and produced seamlessly. I was in a one-act play that would heighten to a crescendo and a catharsis.

Some of what happened I will relate only to help illustrate what being with Goddess Samantha was like. What she did to me physically was secondary to what she did to me mentally. Her photographs don’t come close to her real beauty. They are static by comparison and though they send the message intended, they do not convey the message received.

Goddess Samantha tilts her head just a bit, and her knowing eyes meet yours. She smiles and then speaks softly with a sultry southern quality that charms as it hypnotizes—and beckons you to surrender. You are rendered helpless and I, a very educated, older man, was reduced to babbling, which on reflection, must have amused her. The collar and chain completed her capture. She ordered me to my knees to greet her. As I kissed the tallest most beautiful high heels I’ve ever seen, she whispered and set the tone for our time together. “ Today, slave,” she said, “you will beg for punishment and reward.” She added that she expected to be thanked for her effort, and if I failed to worship properly, rewards would be few, and punishment would be great. I was expected to earn every favor.

As I licked her heels in supplication, and groveled at her feet, which would happen frequently, I gave up my free will—happily. I only wanted to obey and try to please her.

My Darling Goddess Samantha aside from her mesmerizing beauty is intelligent and intuitive. When she filled my mouth with a strap-on, and when I was so close to her lovely legs, she forced me to suck deeper, and try to take it all. She looked down at me with a wry smile. When she had me crawl pulling me on my leash as she walked about the room, she stopped suddenly, and bid me follow the riding crop, kissing her heels and legs to the lace at the top of her stockings. After begging, I was allowed to kiss her thighs. Every kiss gave me pleasure; I didn’t want to stop. Her voice and her quiet but firm commands drew me in deeper and deeper. Her hands playing with me back and forth, sent me higher and higher—deeper and deeper, higher and higher, I went.

My Darling Goddess Samantha was, at times, tantalizingly close to me—touching me, feeling me and I her. All the while I was intoxicated by the way she smelled. After she had strung me up she held me close and rubbed my back from behind with one hand. With the other, she deftly flipped a flogger over my shoulder, and whispered, “The nice thing about a flogger is that it doesn’t leave permanent marks.” She added the command again and again, “You will beg me,” she said. She administered the lash with a rhythmic stroke and asked me if I wanted it harder. I did. “Beg me then,” she said, “beg for it. Louder, I want to hear you beg.” Facing her for another flogging was as erotic an experience as I’ve ever had. Again I begged for more. Back on my knees at her feet she demanded thanks, and I willingly gave it up in homage.

There was so much more that included walking on my knees to her as she pulled on the rope that was tied to my genitals, the series of electrical shocks that pulsated depending on which number she pushed, and the kissing, the closeness, and the variety.

It was swirling and coming in larger and larger waves. But finally, and truly, my time with My Darling Goddess Samantha was “over the moon,” because she understands that the body has no joy without the mind in tow. Possession of both was her intention and objective, and I would have stayed in that swirl forever if I’d been allowed.

My Goddess is no clock-watcher, no mechanical Dom, no remote mistress. In fact, I called her mistress and she looked straight at me, and made me repeat the word Goddess 20 times before we went any further. She knows who she is, how to do what she does to make a man her unadulterated slave—a slave who anticipates any opportunity to succumb to subjugation and who considers it a privilege to worship at her feet.

I am not, by nature, submissive. It takes a strong personality to make me grovel. I long for another opportunity, and another after that, to worship, as she directs me--My Darling Goddess Samantha.

After our time together, I found a park bench. Exhausted, I bathed in the memory of her—content that a fantasy so sought after was for a time, real.

I am in love with her voice, her intelligence, her intuition, and her. Would that she would only love me back—even for a moment.



Augustus