A nocturnal encounter between two strangers

When my submissive flonflons, a name chosen by me, was still just faflon, a name chosen by him.
First session as a prelude to our D/s relationship.

—-

Madame,

In the early hours of the morning, in the courtyard of this former fire station converted into a hotel, in the heart of Paris yet spared from the noise of the city, a blackbird sang. I didn't sleep.

Last night, in the mirror, I gazed longingly at the marks of your teeth on my arms and torso. They're already fading, as are the fine welts of your little slut on my back. A slight pain remains when you pass your hand over them. All is impermanence, according to Buddhist philosophy.

I really appreciate everything you've done for me. As I was saying "on the spot", I must like being in more pain than I thought I would be, first discovery of our session. You can push things further next time!
The first part of our games, mischievous and playful, created a chemistry and complicity that I loved. Your laughter transports me, your pout delights me.

However, the strongest sensations came in the second half of the session. I don't think I've ever felt so helpless before. Your hands, the weight of your body on my chest, your thighs gripping my torso... It was quite intense, you almost pushed me to surrender.
The little vibrating objects were a little forgotten behind these breathing games, and I barely felt when you relieved yourself on me. Cognitive overload!
Thank you for not going easy on me. I think I was off a bit, ready to indulge in another round of dragon's tongue licks, tickling or falaka. Is this what we call subspace? By the way, speaking of falaka, I liked the way you tied and briefly tormented my feet. Any potential there too?

I was delighted by the long discussion that followed our games. A discussion about this sultry, rich and, of course, very serious little BDSM world ;-). A discussion during which we fleetingly evoked moments from our past or present lives, just enough to get to know each other a little better, just enough not to shatter the mystery of this nocturnal encounter between two strangers, for a few hours on the bangs of this outside world so engulfed in its hypocrisy. Thank you so much for this moment. I am deeply in awe of the courage it takes to engage in your profession.

I don't know whether I'm a masochist, a submissive, a quitter or all of the above. Is it really necessary to give in to this human obsession with typologies, taxonomies and other classifications? In any case, I still don't know exactly what I'm looking for, and yet I have the vague feeling that I've found something in your boudoir.

I'm finishing this letter on the train; I'm sitting with my back to the step. That's what I prefer: to see where you're going without seeing where you're going. All that remains are the memories, good or bad, that build us up from one station to the next. In neurobiology, we sometimes speak of memory engrams: synaptic connections frozen forever in our cortex, a cold word as science knows so well how to create them to describe the physical materialization in our psyche of these roads taken. In the end, the destination is unimportant, the journey is all that counts, and I'll gladly leave the reins to you to take over from the chambermaid, if you like.