His Canvas

As M and I began our journey together, he commented often that I was an untouched blank canvas.  While I had a rudimentary intellectual understanding of the cravings I yearned to indulge, I had next to no experience in even the most basic practices.  I was simply waiting for the right artist to paint me in his colors.  M chose my canvas.  He claimed it as his own.  Then he meticulously prepped me to accept what would be my destiny.

His colors now forever stain me.

His confident and brutal first strokes a harsh contrast to the stark sea of nothing that had always existed.  As his hand wrapped around my throat, as he pushed me down and held a fighting, hungry Kat under his control, as he claimed his whore that so willingly sought his beast, he quickly laid down the rich lines of color that would begin his work.  Every word he whispered, every controlling touch, every harsh pinch, every slap of his bare hand, every lash of his belt, every fall of his flogger, every sting of his crop, every stroke of his hard dick splashed deep, dark color onto his canvas.  My starving canvas soaked in every drop.

With each shade I bloomed.  I found myself opening myself up wider, diving deeper into the dark pool that had forever been still within me.  I fought. I ran. I begged. I arched greedily into his commanding touch.  I bared myself and spread my legs unashamedly as his filthy whore, so he could use his bitch as he wanted to satisfy his sadistic desires.  He claimed his property brutally and without hesitation or apology, and I came for him endlessly in a gushing flood of dark passion.  I bruised.  I hurt.  I trembled.  I cried.  I even bled for him.  I am his from head to toe in every damn way.  His filthy whore, his dirty slut, his fucking slave.  His sweet babygirl, his obedient pet, his masochistic bitch.  All that I am is his.

Each second we are together is a memory I cherish.  I draw unbelievable strength from all that we share.  I give myself absolutely to him with a depth of trust I've never given because no one has ever earned.  He accepts all that is in me, and he sees the pieces I have tried so hard to bury.  I found peace, beauty, and freedom under his hand.

I am stained to my core with M's beautiful wicked strokes.  The light and the dark.  The sweet and the cruel. I am his to paint however he may choose.  He's destroyed the blank canvas that was me.  Ruined me.  I am His.
~DominaKat