Condensed

She took the golden box in her hands and knelt. There was no reason to kneel except that she was thinking of him, which was enough. Sometimes, when she saw him in public, her knees just started to bend, and she had to catch herself.

She opened the lid. She drew breath, concentrated, meditated, centered her thoughts.

“My lover,” she said, breathing into the box, starting with the simpler words. “My mate. My partner.” Each word drifted into the box; of course, it was not the breath, or the articulation, but the idea that settled down. The concepts began to blend as she added them.

“My best friend,” she added with heartfelt simplicity. “My sex.” Moisture grew in her pussy, and her nipples began to stiffen. “My belovèd. My soulmate. My equal. My perfect match. My mirror. My one.” Her words fell into the swirling mix of thoughts in the golden box, causing the blended ideas to spin and intertwine, each one coloring the others.

Her thighs glistened, and her voice, though soft, was deliberate and emphatic. “My lord,” she spoke. “Law. King. Liege. Center. Rule.” The turbulence of mingled ideas in the box was beautiful and entrancing. “Universe. Purpose. Reason. Everything.” Her quim flooded, nipples strained, body trembled. The pace of her words grew slower. “Teacher. Daddy. Authority. Guide. Fixer. Mentor. Trainer. Commander. My path. My life.“

The box was full to the edge, wisps of ideas starting to curl over the edges; she gently herded them back inside. She leaned closer, her lips almost touching the glowing storm of thoughts.

“Master,” she whispered. As the word flew into the box the mixture roiled and it was all she could do to keep it confined. “Owner,” she added, and quickly, with all her might, closed the lid on the burgeoning brilliance inside.

The pressure of meaning strove to burst the confines of the box. She held it closed with her hands and then, fearing her strength was not enough, sat on the box. Against her bare bottom it was fiercely hot, welcome, remindful.

After a time, the box cooled and the pressure against the lid faded. She rose, knelt again, and took up the box in her hands. Carefully, she opened it. She bent her head to the box, and inhaled the single thing it now contained.

She stood, and went to find him, so that she might speak his name.

“Sir.”

— Frenulum

From and for my belovèd.