Where to start?
The beginning would be a trite response, I’m not in the correct mental headspace to humour that.
My mind is….fragmented.

“Do you want….do you need to sit at my feet more? more punishment? more….?”
He asks, as we hold each other for support.

Observation.
We always communicate better when proximity finds us joined.

In my mind I was screaming, I need it, I fucking NEED it.
All if it.
It’s my oxygen, my nourishment.
Without it, I cannot be.
But paralysed brain covets it’s words.
Inhale, hold breath, release…..and (maybe) with it, syllables connected…
“yes….”
Ambiguity haunts, yes could be in response to any, or all of those questions, even the open-ended question of ‘more…?’.

~

Monologue, examine…

Yes, Sir, I would like to sit at your feet more often, but it’s not just that. It’s being placed,
having a place,
below.
Below.
That’s what I need.
A maelstrom could rage, but that place is my anchor.

Punishment.
My consciousness wraps itself protectively around the sounds the word makes as it ricochets off the walls of my mind.
I don’t desire to be punished, I desire the structure, the impenetrable boundaries, behind which punishment resides. Should I somehow, through graceless act, breach the boundary wall, I need to know…..
stumble
*mind’s whisper*
I need punishment to be exacted.

Nerves, on knife edge, balance.
I can’t tell Him that.
So I hold those words back, let the ‘yes’ consume them whole.

More….?
More.
Define.
But I can’t.
I’m already overwhelmed as emotion rolls down my cheeks.

I need Sir and pet, I need….
*sigh*

~

Explain.
Kink is my oxygen, my lifeblood, it coats my thoughts with colours, bold, vivid, a striking cornucopia of tangible dreams.
But the word dream implies fantasy, ethereal, yet my dream is to achieve authenticity, to live authentically, authentically me, and all that encompasses.
Masochist, submissive, sensation junky. Needer of pain and humiliation, needer of structure and boundaries, desirer of dark, decadent sexual fantasies.

Physicality, the flow of power between sadist and His prey.
I need it.
Connection, as leather bites flesh, as tears cascade, as masochist pleads to crawl.
I need it.

Yes, Sir, I need more.