Hello, everyone! This story will be a shorter story, as will not describe an entire evening in detail but rather a single instance in my marriage to my dearest husband that I found emotionally and sensually beautiful.
Sir is wonderful at drawing with a pencil. In university, he would draw if and when he had the time—everything from icons and drawings of Biblical stories and events, to drawings of various characters. He was most fondly drawing Lord of the Rings characters and something called Warhammer, but I do not know exactly. I saw them throughout our courtship, and have seen them retrospectively following our marriage. I gifted to him a drawing “station” which he placed into the empty corner space of his home office, some two years ago.
Since that time, I had seen him on occasion use the station, and since it is not my right to probe my dear Sir for what he drew, I was constantly drawn to what he may be drawing. I would find him making small sketches in a little book, often times whilst sitting near or around me and looking at me. If he caught me glancing to him, he would humorously tell me that he was merely using me as a muse to improve his skills, to which I would laugh and say, “You are most welcome Master,” and that would be that.
On one particular evening, I put our daughter to sleep and it was an early evening for us. He told me had a serious task to complete in his office, so he would be there if I at all needed him. I saw him working in his station, so I softly asked,
“Sir, are you enjoying the drawing table?”
“Very much so. I am almost done, Sophia, go up to the bedroom and I will join you.”
I thought of obeying, but a lack of tiredness had the better of me as time went on. I idly sat and read for some time, until I saw Sir leave for the bedroom. I told him I would join him, but sudden curiosity pounced and I found myself touching his drawing table, slowly opening the large pads in the drawer.
I knew that he kept a drawing pad of religious artwork in our family prayer and icon corner in the main living space. The pads in his drawing table were marked with other labels, “Flora and Fauna,” “Warhammer,” “Characters.” He is quite organized. One of the pads was in its own compartment, the largest pad and with bindings in ribbon covering it. I undid the bindings, and opened the rather fanciful drawing pad.
I went through the beginning pages. It was mostly comprised of drawings of human features, such as eyes, nose, hair, hands, anatomy, etcetera. Nothing that I would not expect. But his growing coincidental “testing of skill” using me was a curiosity, and much of what I saw was my own bodily features. While a portion of me was slightly perturbed, part of me was curious.
As I flipped to another page, what I saw made me turn red with embarrassment. My dear Master had drawn me, but in a precarious position. I was sitting near a window, wearing a nightie of sorts, my hair loose on my shoulders and the shape of my breasts straining against the soft nightie. I turn the page once more, and I find one of me in a bed, smiling with hand outstretched, as if I was calling out to him as he drew. One of me wet from the rain, wearing a lovely maiden dress, another of me veiled in a pew whilst praying, another of me leaning against someone’s (I assume Sir’s) chest. Another page revealed a drawing of me pregnant, nearly finished. I remembered that in detail, as I was sitting one day and he asked to draw some features of me for practice. It seems he put it to good use, drawing me not in a nice housedress but in a sheer gown that made my pussy turn pink and wet with shy need.
“Now, what do we have here?”
I jumped, yelping as I dropped the drawing pad.
“Oh, Sir… I…”
“No reason to hide your actions now, you will be disciplined either way.”
I blushed, as my Master disciplines with utmost strictness and a firm hand, but the most wondrous care and time sitting on his lap afterward.
“Please forgive me, Sir, I was simply curious and happened upon this in its own drawer.”
“Well… I owe an explanation to you darling. I do draw you most ardently, second only to anything I draw in regards to faith.”
I giggled, hiding my face.
“Why hide that pretty little face? I drew it so well because I wanted to see it.”
“Sir… do you… you know… do you like me… that way when you draw these?” I ask coyly.
Without hesitation he answers, “Maybe a part of me. But not most of my mind. My thoughts, overwhelmingly, are of capturing a beauty. Men of yore captured beauty not for the lustful eye, but for its own sake, because it is beautiful in virtue of even being created. Are you not the same for me? Perhaps I ought to show you what I was thinking, explain each one.”
I giggled, “I think Sir owes me that, yes!”
His hand gripped my waist, “and you owe me a firm few spanks to that bottom of yours.”
Suffice it to say, I did receive spanks that left deliciously red patches on my bottom the next day. I felt a delectable soreness, one that furthered my submission, aided by his explanations. I now blush whenever he draws me, even when sketching in his smaller book. I am my Master’s private muse. Whether I am wearing a nice housedress, veiled for church, or with only a towel fresh from the shower, I know that the sight and visual delight he takes in me is uniquely his to own. I am uniquely his to own.
I pray so deeply to the Lord that I may be given more years to give heartfelt joy to my dear Sir, to whom I submit.
Joyfully in Christ,
SophTea
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