The burn is slow, however, the first blow takes my breath away.
No gentle introduction to pain for the Flutterby. bastard
I gasp, bracing myself, knowing He means business, knowing this is the point at which fantasy and reality become partners in crime. Being cavalier with wishes the act that got me here, now to step up and face this head on.

He takes another swing, hitting His target. Damn you
A whimper, intake sharp, breath held then slowly released.

Process repeated, at His leisure, keeping me waiting, thirsting for more.
Slowly, precisely, layering sensation.
Spots of heat beginning to build.
Tease, He swings but lands no blow.
Reaction. Flinch. He grins, smug. Fuck you, Sir

He resumes His game of dominate the Flutterby, implements wielded to punctuate His point.
Warmth radiates, a feverish spread of passion and pain.
Connection, amalgamation, the one feeds on the other.
A rush of blood as fire consumes, and He stands back to admire His work.