CLICK, CLICK, ZIIIIIP. LXVII.- SACRED LAW OF THE FIRST GENDER ✝️⛪

And he kissed you on the forehead. Like the first day.

Once, a businessman of about forty-five, director of a world-class company, whom Angel decided he had to apply the book of the Templars to and subdue, bringing him down a peg because he was acting very macho and wasn’t giving him a good discount, one day asked him a question:

“Master, have you ever knelt?”

I remained silent. Just for a second. But he noticed.

“Master?”

And I answered — “No, never” — I lied, of course. But that night, when I went up to Alexei’s place, I told him.

And he laughed. That deep, belly laugh that excited me so much.

“Never?” he said. “Well, I’m going to have to make you kneel right now so you haven’t lied completely.” And he put me on my knees in the hallway. He made me kiss his boots. He made me ask permission for every caress. He called me a “lying whore” while he fucked me against the front door, half open, so that any neighbor could hear it if they passed by.

As you can see, he reacted perfectly to any uncomfortable question of mine, but the question, in reality, wasn’t for me, but for him, so he had left it unanswered…

Every time he went on a trip — he returned to Hungary once or twice a year to see his in-laws, to settle pending matters — I felt an emptiness that nothing could fill. I kept doing my sessions. I kept being the Master. But at night, before sleeping, I picked up the phone and wrote to him: “I miss you.”

And he always answered the same way: “I know. Wait for me. Don’t come until I return.”

And I didn’t come. Days passed. Sometimes a week. But I didn’t come. Because he had ordered it. Because you knew that when he came back, he was going to check me. He was going to put me against the wall. He was going to ask me: “Have you come?” And if I lied, he would know. He always knew.

Once, when I went on a trip without him — a congress in Barcelona, three days — he called me in the afternoon:

“You’re going to be alone tonight. With free time. In a hotel.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to look for someone?”

“No.”

“Do you swear it to me?”

“I swear it to you.”

“Good. Because when you come back, I’m going to fuck you in front of the living room window. So all the neighbors can see who fucks you. And I want you empty. Only for me.”

I came back. I didn’t look for anyone. And he kept his promise: he fucked me against the living-room window, with the curtains open, in broad daylight. I didn’t know if anyone had seen me. But he saw me. He saw me, the great Master, open, filled, his, while people passed by in the street without knowing that upstairs, a sixty-year-old man was reminding another man of forty who really gave the orders.

When he finished, he laid me down on the sofa. He put a bl...