Delicious Confliction

Delicious Confliction, or perhaps, delicious infliction would be more accurate.

The marks i bear in between my legs, down my thighs, are deep purple welts.

They are Hers.

They are beautiful.

It takes me by surprise, at times.  i look down and see bruises from cunt to knee caps and feel a flush of desire.

That sea of purple, red, black covering my thighs …it is beautiful.  So much more beautiful than words can convey.

 The times i fight and loose, when there is no endorphin rush to save me, no pleasure only the vast sea of pain-

those are the times i like best. 

She forces me to take it, rope around the steel collar bound tight and close to the iron bed, a harsh warning You are going to choke yourself girl.  You had better hold those legs open and don’t move.  The sensation of the unyielding steel against my throat, the unending blows, the exquisite agony…it makes me fall a little more in love each time.

This kind of pain is real.  

i want to crawl away but i can’t and we both know its not the rope that binds me.

i’m Yours.

All of me.

Every piece.

Every tear, welt, drop of sweat, the anger, pleading, desperate agony: it is for You.

When she grabs me by the throat, slams me down, pulls me around by my hair, sticks her finger in my mouth and pulls me up by my teeth- i remember her saying This is the only thing you can understand  and it’s true.  So true.  

These things are real.  i hold onto them later, replaying it in a fantastic symphony.  Later, when there is no pain, and i am just a silent witness: i feel whole.

Complete.

Pure.

i have been worthy to be trusted with this beautiful animal, and i have proven myself worthy of each blow.

i am strong enough to take it, to welcome it, to be as ravenous for the pain as She is.

There is a strength of my own, yes, and it is where my beauty resides.

Beyond the empty prayer, my childish rage at the pain, the pleading, there is a satisfaction that i can do nothing but receive.

i am powerless in the best possible way.

And i know it.

Even when i feel the strap, at the end, and have some of the blanket clenched in my teeth to not scream, i am not evading you.  i want to cover my ears, the sickening sound of strap against my skin competes with the screaming in my head but nothing matters because

You make me.

Your make me take it and you make me

Free.

Open.

Pure.

Yours.

Thank you.

You are right, Master.  The only thing i truly understand is your force is stronger than me, and for that, i will always be in your debt.  i am your Vessel, your chalice, the altar of our need.  You take me, use me, however you want to.  And when you are done, you leave me a mess, covered in sweat, welts, tears.  You get dressed and go for a walk in the Fall air.  i am holding the wall, watching you, trying to stand and wrap my arms around you for a moment.  i am sent back to bed, alone, your slave.  In my head, i hear Gregorian chanting.  The room smells like orchids and sunshine, sea salt and sex.  i pull a silky white slip over my head and lay down.  Jay Z is on and i measure time by the songs.  

Today, i am just a daydream.

Time slides in and out.

Day has past to darkness.

i am aware of nothing but my marks, the dampness of my sex, and the waiting for you to come home.

What can a slave do, but count the hours? 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s