A short collection of both insight and recollections from within the depths of my submissive mind
Don’t stop to pose me and take a picture, I already know what this looks like for I’ve seen it in the refracted light of my mind’s eye a thousand times. I want to know it’s flavour, it’s tense…past, present, future? Is it memory, dream or prophecy which teases me in the dark.
I wonder what it would feel like to be totally at your mercy, bound, immobility the choice I’m given, my full attention yours for you to do with as you wished. You wouldn’t need to hurt me for my acquiescence to be summoned, as if you willed it, for you I would endure. Equally, if tenderness was the currency, from you the intimacy I would peacefully and humbly accept. Would you wish me to struggle in order the sadist to sate, would that grin part your lips as with lasciviousness you swelled? Or would you place your body, recumbent, next to mine and torture me with your words, knowing myself I could not touch to answer my bodies call? No matter what you decide to do, no matter the journey on which the moments take you, I have one simple request. Please, don’t take it easy on me, my truth, in those instances of quiet repose, is very hard for me to lay bare.
” Tell me what you’re thinking ” He requests, this baby faced sadist upon whose smooth skinned face I rest my hand. Hesitantly, in debauched whispers, I relinquish a fantasy, curious as to His reaction to it’s deliciously dark intent. He calls me names as I deliver it to Him, does He see me any differently now He knows which monsters inhabit the darker recesses of my mind? Weeks later He feeds this fantasy, MY fantasy, back to me, wickedly embellished with His own delectably dangerous shadows. My mind crashes, fuses blown, and I become a writhing mass of wanton slutlust, debasing myself, blatantly, for His pleasure. The words He’s using, godamnit those words, they become my oxygen, my life source, my shamelessly ragged breath. He rapes my mind, fully in control, of Himself, of everything, a conductor of a silent orchestra to whose villainous tune I desire to dance. Once my crash is complete, and I lie, utterly spent, desire muted, He warns His slut……it’s only a matter of time.