Searching

From the Journal of FirmPossession, shared with His permission.

You need it like oxygen. You’re drawn to it, you dream of it, you want it like nothing else. The only freedom you know is through pain, the only release through denial, the only safety in the confines of my will.

I know you, probably better than you know yourself. I know how you work. I know how to get what I want from you.

I keep your thoughts on a short leash, your heart as wide open as your legs—exposed and vulnerable, no place to hide, the exhilaration and fear and shame flowing through your body like electricity, giving your stomach butterflies; forever on the verge of some great, disastrous fall into madness. But this is my gift, my reason and my joy, that I would strip you down to this elemental state, naked but for the chains of my authority; the heaviness of my words like the fear of God shaking you from within.

This is what I do; not just because I can, but because I enjoy it. This is the essence of life—the cleansing of pain, the comfort of defeat, the validation of love and shelter, wrapped tight into the minutia of braided leather and ritual, of teeth-marks and sweat and bruises. This is my art, and your body, my canvas. You will be my child sufferer, my muse, my filthy whore and Aphrodite, all rolled into one.

This is the honor I wish to give you—to allow you to serve me, to let you to flourish and grow under my command, to give you the pain that you desperately crave and so richly deserve.

But first, I want to hear you say please.

~*~

Also from the Journal of FirmPossession, shared with His permission.

There are moments when it comes back to me—the hunger, the need. It becomes real again, not some hypothetical set of principles, but a gnawing emptiness, active and visceral; more familiar than any memory, more natural than any pretense of self-sufficiency. It’s easy to embrace numbness sometimes, to let it swallow and consume you. It’s a simple matter of falling into compliance—to dull your mind with alcohol and cynicism, to forget the steps behind you and ignore the path ahead. But there are brief moments when it all comes flooding back, when I remember living on the precarious edge, holding her vulnerability wrapped up in my arms; her sweet, hot innocence, radiating only for me—so willing to open herself up for me, to take the warmth with the pain, to beg for the pleasure of feeling my strength over her thoughts. I’m not dead inside yet—I still know the meaning of surrender, I still taste it on my lips; faded, but thick with memory. And I still know the road by heart, all the right words and every soft touch, all the knotted ropes that keep love bound with pain. That’s a part of me I could never abandon, regardless of the steady atrophy that seems to come with loneliness. But the fields are in drought, the ground dry and cracked with neglect. I’m low on supplies and short on time, so I’m shoring up my strength for another day. I’m biding my time, and waiting for someone to wake me up again.

~*~

And all I can say is... wow.