The Fire

"Tell me what you are thinking," you say quietly to me.

We are lying in bed in the dark together, we are listening to the rain fall outside. I am curled up against the curve of your body, my head on your chest, my body at ease as I sink into the the heat of your life energy. To speak is to rouse myself from a deep hibernation, but I would never leave you unanswered, so I shake myself to the surface.

"I am thinking of you, Sir. Always of you, Sir."

And it's true. On the edges of slumber, I had been languidly chasing after flickers of various moments together: lying bound and blindfolded on my back at your disposal, your penis filling my throat, the sound of your voice commanding me to orgasm, the look of intense possession in your eyes, the weight of your hands on my body, the heat, the smell, the air of your presence, and how much I love you, how much I adore you, how much I worship you. It seems almost palpable.

"Good girl," you sigh. You begin to stroke my hair. "That is my good girl."

The mere touch, the mere gesture of possession fills me with heat, and I reach under the covers to touch your penis. Half erect, it reveals your own arousal, and I am suddenly compelled to bring you to completion. So I pull back the covers and take your still-soft penis into my mouth, lying at your side, suckling like a kitten. I feel you grow hard, filling me. Your hand goes to my head again, this time to grasp my hair. Again, your deliberation brings a flush to my body. The haze of almost-dreams dissipates from my mind, and as my sexuality is awakened, everything becomes clearer.

You bob my head on your penis, and I open my mouth wide to accommodate the movement, rising to my hands and knees for a better position. You force my face down onto your crotch, and your penis slides past my tonsils into my throat, filling it. I am nearly breathless, but I do not protest, until my throat constricts involuntarily and I gag, knowing that this is one of the many specific things that arouses you. You lift my head up and I release your penis from my mouth, gasping for air. I am allowed only a moment's reprieve before you force my head back down again, and in your hold, I feel myself turn into an object - your object of pleasure.

Suddenly, I feel your hand on my vulva, cupping it, pulling at and spreading my labia. One of your fingers finds my clitoris and begins rubbing it, at first gently and then harder. It isn't long before you press another finger inside of me, and I clench my muscles around you, whimpering as you once again force my head down, my throat filled with your penis, my vagina filled with your fingers as you slide a second one into me. I am filled, not only with you, but with purpose, with meaning, with pleasure. I am yours, completely yours, and as I sink into my submission, my identity flakes away, and my true form is revealed, reborn, pristine and pure.

You pull my hair, releasing your penis from my throat, and wordlessly direct me to lie on my back. This time there is no slow rise to pressure, there is no courtship of power, there is no gentle wade into the water...this time you are going to have me as exactly what I am. I can tell from the look in your eyes that this time, you are going to fuck me. As you climb on top of me, stroking your penis, I feel all my hairs stand on their ends, and it is your haste to have me that arouses my animal hunger, wetting my sex. I stare into your eyes - what am I thinking?

Take me. I dare you.

Perhaps in the cave I am many different shadow-shapes flickering on the stone wall. One shape is soft and nubile, transformed to gold within your hands. One shape grovels at your feet like a dog. One shape is no shape at all, but the space that fills yours up. And one shape is the fire itself, burning fast and burning pure, the hot yellow light which casts the shadows, the very raw thing which makes them all...the heat that rises between my legs, the life energy inside of me, the flame that melts your skin to mine.

I feel the fire inside of me now, so bright that the shadows disappear. All is hot white light, and Sir, I am burning for you.

You shove your penis inside my vagina, and I feel the muscles stretch around you, welcome you, grasp you, and I throw my head back to moan. You at once begin thrusting into me, forcing my legs back over my head so that my body is balled up under you as you savagely pound your body to mine, your penis filling me to the hilt, banging my cervix, filling me, hurting me, pleasuring me. We meet, skin to skin, and with my legs pressed to either side of my head, I can see my own vulva and your hips falling onto mine, I can see you slide in and out of me, so close that I am detached, and it's as if I am watching you have sex with someone else, as if I am bound away in a corner as you take another woman, and I am jealous...not because you are inside of her, but because she is simply not worthy, she does not know how to serve you, she does not look at you the way that I do, the loving, fearful, adoring gaze of a priestess to her god.

It does not take long for my body to rise to orgasm, and a deliciously warm tension gathers between my legs. As you grind against me, your pubic hair stimulates my clitoris, and if I am not allowed to climax, I feel that I will die. Suspended at pre-orgasm, my whole body is overcome with pain, and yet I will not let go, not until you say so, and I can tell that now is not the time to ask. Now is the time to wait, now is the time to prove my devotion to you, now is the time to prove my power over myself. I know that you know, I know that your penis feels the tightening in my vagina, the way it grips you like a hand, like a gagging throat.

As if to test me, you dig into me harder, and at times, I feel you are shoveling clear my grave. You reach deeper and deeper and I, deprived of release, grasp your arms, digging my nails into your flesh as you press your face to mine. Your eyes are so close that I see double, yet I am staring right into you, into the brain behind your retina. And I can see you in there, I can see you looking back at me, and it is the same sort of terror, the same sort of power, the same sort of withering yet willful trust that I see. It is the same child, opening some forbidden box, peering inside, waiting to be discovered, to be caught. In this moment, we are one.

Harder and harder, and though the sweat beads on your face, you shake your head "No," and I know exactly what you mean. What are you thinking? "Wait for me." I can hear it almost telepathically. "Wait for me. I want to have it with you." But there is only silence, until I am forced to pull a pillow over my face and scream. The energy, trapped inside of me, forces its way out my throat, into the pillow, where it is absorbed into a muffled, dull sound. I scream and I scream into a black hole, my body imploding like a star.

The edge - the velvet edge - I grasp for its warm, soft, black waters. I remind myself to breathe, I force myself to inhale deeply, filling my lungs. Breathe. I exhale, counting to ten, then wait, then inhale - one...two...three...four....

I am floating, I am boundless, I am observing a world that is like coral at night, pinpricks of bio-luminescent light among dark, soft shadows. My body is far away from me, it is almost numb, and I am in my space, safe and sound and free to gaze into your eyes. I desperately reach for your face, touching it, pulling myself to your lips. The taste of you fills my mouth, and it is the nectar of the gods. I drink you like a honey bee. The animal flavor of your saliva, your fluids, your water...the stuff that moves between your organs, the biology that you are made of - I drink it in. At the velvet edge, in my shape of fire, I engulf you.

"Cum!" you command, almost desperately, as your own orgasm electrifies your body, sending you into convulsions of pleasure. I finally let go, and I too shudder and tremble beneath you, crying out, my voice entwined with yours, one song, one harmony, one chord. For a moment there is nothing but white light in my eyes, and the fire of the cave burns us true, erasing our shapes and our shadows until we are nothing but energy fused. I feel you move inside of me, I feel you fill me up, and I grab you with the walls of my vagina, I hold you, I collapse us into one.

We lie together for a moment, breathing heavy, our sweat mingling. It is as if I have been roused prematurely from a dream and my body cannot receive the signals to move from my brain. I lie still, slowly becoming aware of my body again, lifting my fingers, wiggling my toes, I come back to life, a creature near death in winter, now animated by the rebirth of spring.

Your weight has deadened on top of me, and I hold you with my own. You sigh deeply, then, almost regretfully, gather your weight on your arms and lift yourself up.

What am I thinking?

I am thinking of how much I love you, of how much adore you, of how much I worship you. Of how much I live for the way you use me.

"Tell me what you are thinking," I whisper.

You almost laugh, but are too tired to utter the noise.

No need to.

I already know.

The Gift

In a time that now seems very very long ago, I let someone control me who had neither the courage nor the tenderness to be my Sir. He was a coward who operated on tyranny, not power, and he lazily thrashed about, a prisoner of his own weakness. This man knew nothing of love because he did not love himself. Sadly, I was drawn into his black hole, a half-born star not yet bright enough to resist.

He never laid a hand on me, but the bruises he left on my spirit and my trust were deeper and darker than those you so skillfully paint my skin with. I was chained to him, tangled in sloppy bondage with no safeword to protect me. I was a slave to his darkness, and his self-loathing disease infected my heart, extinguishing my light and blinding my eyes. I was very very young and naively came to believe that this was all I was worth.

With you I have learned loved, and like a child, I wander in your light and rename the world after gentle words. In your touch I am reborn, I am cleansed. When I am with you, I transcend my body, forgetting it completely, and I become a vast and powerful energy. You test my limits, but not without the safety net of my precious safewords,the precious gifts that you gave me when we first came together, and with these words we create and share power, we make something that did not exist before. Between us stars are born.

Once, however, this man desecrated the temple of my body, tearing down my altar and refusing my desperate placates. Though you have rebuilt my temple and worship with head bowed and reverent at my altar, sometimes something catches my scars, and they split wide open. I cry out my ultimate safeword and immediately you end the game, wrapping me up in your arms, holding on until my world resettles. Mostly the terror radiates from within, for, physically, my cervix bore the greatest wound, and there are times when you put your fingers or your penis inside of me and I am overtaken by my old fear, I am paralyzed and destroyed by it, as if I were living the incident all over again. I am filled with shame for my body, which nature made weaker even as she made it in her own image.

A true Sir, you respect my boundaries even as you push them, and most of all, you never forsake the sanctity of my safewords. But as my Sir, my lover, and my partner, you suffer when my light goes out because you wish me free of pain and of fear and of all my troubles. You know my true self and to see me otherwise lowers your spirit.

So one night I come home to a trail of rose petals. It is dark save for a row of candles on the mantle and the air is scented softly with incense. I feel as though I have passed into a divine reality.

"I know it's a little cheesy," you admit, approaching from the darkness, "But you are my fairytale princess. Will my lady accept this gift?"

I am tickled. "Of course, my Sir."

You smile and then blindfold me, and I happily submit. You undress me as if removing the packaging from something very very fragile, and then take my hand to guide me down the rose petal path. My other senses come to new life, and as I feel the soft petals break under my bare feet, my nose is pleasantly filled with the fragrance they release.

We move into the bathroom, where more sweet scents arouse my senses and ease my mind. Holding my shoulders, you ease me into the bathtub, which is filled with warm water. It fills in around me like a cocoon, and there are rose petals in the water as well. The water splashes and ripples as you wet your hands, a fragrant soap releases its scent as you lather it up, and then I feel the suds on my skin as you wash me.

I imagine you on your knees beside the tub. You whisper into my ear as you rub the bar of soap over my shoulders, down my back, over my chest, and between my breasts. "You are a goddess to me," you say, "For your submission, you are a goddess, and you are so precious and dear to me for it. Without you, I am nothing."

You pay special attention to my breasts, massaging them, circling and teasing my nipples. I moan softly and feel the heat flare up between my legs and spread throughout my body, making my hair stand on end. You work a lather down my body to my belly.

"Every part of you is beautiful," you say, "Every part of you is special. Every part of you is sacred. Because you give all of them to me, I promise to protect and love you always, my wonderful, good girl."

You move down to my abdomen and run your fingers through my thick pubic hair. You then move to my hips, down my thighs, lifting one leg out of the water. You wash me as if polishing a diamond, and as you work the soap along the sole of my foot, I shiver and a whimper escapes my lips. You slide your fingers between each toe, and the sensation sends waves of pleasure up and down my body. I can feel my sex fill with heat and blood, the life energy inside of me kindled and spreading throughout. Gently setting my leg back in the water, you do similarly to the other, and again, as you massage my foot and toes, I shiver, and the life energy grows stronger.

You wash back up the inside of my thigh, and then cup my vulva. You spread me open and I moan loudly, leaning back on my arms as I arch my back, bucking my body to you. You work up a gentle lather, careful not to irritate my sensitive parts, and with your fingers, clean between the folds of my labia, parting me like a flower, like the petals that float in the water. I too release my own nectar, and engorged with blood, my petal-skin is soft and warm.

You reach farther back between my legs, and massage my perineum before you spread my buttocks and clean my anus, pressing gently inside of me. I suck in a breath as the ring of muscle tightens and then relaxes. The water splashes and moves all around me as I buck again, my body grown starved for you.

"Good girl. Now hold your breath."

You scoop a basin through the water, and then pour it over my head. The water cascades down my body, cleansing me, rinsing away the fragrant suds of soap.

You then help me out of the tub, gently drying me with a warm towel as the water drains. You leave no corner of my body wet, reaching between my legs to gently pull at my lips. I instinctively spread my legs and I can feel my vagina pulse with lubricant, the scent of my flower wafting up to my nose. It is a powerful warm fragrance and I imagine you smiling upon noticing it.

You gather my hands behind my back and tie them there. Then you put an arm around my torso, supporting me as you bend me forward. You strike my buttocks with a firm open palm, and my skin burns. I squirm and cry out, but you hold me still, and I don't know which heats me more: your firm grip or the ache in my red skin.

You shove your face in my hair, breathing in deeply. You then grab a handful of it and pull me to the bedroom, throwing me on my back onto the bed. I have fallen into my space, into my meditation, moved beyond my body by the inexplicable thrill of your violence. For a moment I think on how fortunate I am to have this, to have you - you who will not judge me for these desires, who will fulfill them with pleasure, whose own heart and desires compliment my own. A long time ago, we were created in the dust of a star exploded, and now we are united, a new star.

You bend my knees and spread them, and as my sex is exposed to you, I am filled with heat, with a fire that seeps from my vagina in the form of slick secretions, an invitation into me. You pull back on the hood of my clitoris, and the pearl of nerves, enlarged by my arousal, rises out of my skin. You press a finger to it and I buck and cry out.

And then you press a finger into me, and I am struck as if by lightning, a wave of terror washing through me. I think of my cervix, the tender fold of muscle at the top of my vagina, of the stab of pain that seized my body when he tore down the doors of my temple and demanded a sacrifice of blood at my altar....

"Red red RED!" I scream.

You stop immediately and hold me, pressing your weight down on me. "You're okay," you say to me, "You're okay."

In the darkness of the blindfold, terrible visions pass before me, and my breath comes quick and shallow.

A moment passes between us. And then you whisper,

"I am going to give you a very special gift."

Again your fingers find my labia, and I tense, struggling against you even as my arms are bound. "Sir!" I cry out, but you put a hand over my mouth.

"You have to trust me. Please trust me. You are going to be okay. Just listen to my voice. Breathe with me."

You inhale and I shakily follow suit. You exhale and again inhale, this time the breath comes more easily, filling my lungs, loosening my body.

"I'm just going to go in a little and touch the top, okay?"

I am afraid for a moment, but my trust in you gives me the strength to nod.

So you ease one finger into me and massage the top of my vagina. "Keep breathing."

I concentrate on my breath and it eases my muscles. Small streams of pleasure begin to flow through the cracks in my wall of terror.

"I am going to go deeper now." I tense and you feel it. "Just keep breathing. You are my good girl. You can do this."

And so you press your finger deeper.

"You're so soft inside, you're so soft and wonderful. What a beautiful temple my goddess dwells in. What a beautiful body. What a beautiful vagina. How lucky I am to worship here."

I continue to breathe deeply, though the corners of my inner vision are threatened by darkness.

"You're free of him, don't let him control you any longer. I am going to touch your cervix now and you are going to be okay."

My breath quickens despite my efforts. In your voice I sink into my space, I move to the velvet edge, but I am struggling to stay there, for he is at the other end, reaching for me with dark fingers. I am running, I am clinging to the power of my submission, even as my body recoils from you.

And then you whisper,

"I am touching it. Can you feel it?"

My wall breaks down, flooding my being with light and with pleasure. It no longer hurts, it fills me with pleasure. I begin to laugh, relieved, transformed, realigned.

"Sir!" I cry happily, "Sir, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone!"

"I love your cervix," you say. "Do you love your cervix?"

"Yes, Sir, I do!" I am still laughing, years of darkness lifted from my soul. I buck against you, rivers of pleasure flowing through me. I feel my muscles tighten, only this time it is with the tension of orgasm.

"Sir, may I please cum?"

"Yes, baby, cum."

I let myself release, and as I do, I imagine my vagina and my cervix contracting with waves and waves of orgasm. I cry out in pleasure, my body elevated with light. You pull off the blindfold, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. The first thing that comes into focus is your wonderful face, which beams down on me.

"Thank you, Sir, thank you so much."

"I am only the magic feather," you say, "This is a gift you gave yourself."

True Love

To know you is to love you, and to love you is to serve you.

Before I met you, I thought I knew love. After many vain pursuits, I discovered in your presence - in your grasp - that true love is something much deeper, something much more powerful, something much more demanding than the mere shadow of love I had walked in for so long.

Though I had touched and teased the flame of power for so long, I had never thought to let the fire engulf me until I met you. When I met you, all other roads fell from existence and before me lay only the walk of fire. I removed my shoes and with the strength of your unwavering gaze, I walked the coals of true love, which sweetly burned my feet. You then took my darkened soles and bathed them in water scented with rose petals until I was new again. Cleaned, you soothed them with aloe and kissed each toe in breathless adoration. The sun set on my old life, on my wandering life, and rose again on a new world horizon.

I am still learning your power and I am still learning my control of that power. There is a space which is only ours, that we share in the warm tungsten glow of quiet evening, and in this space we push and pull each other, unveiling our weaknesses, our strengths, our vanities, our insecurities, and reveling in a balanced, equal, and fair exchange of vulnerability. It is a joy and a freedom I never thought I could know until I met you.

To serve you is my greatest liberation.

You are reading quietly in your seat in a corner of the room, the reading lamp casting you in a soft yellow glow. I bring to you a cup of tea and a small plate of pastries, a refreshment to warm your belly. You have been busy, you have been stressed, and now you steal some moments to read a distraction. You have asked nothing of me but my support, patience, and understanding, and so I quietly place delicate offerings at your altar. Never before could I have imagined myself taking such forms of worship, but you have opened my eyes to love most pure, and my knees bend to it in sublimation.

As my lover, you ask only that I love you; as my partner, you ask only that I support you; as my Sir, you ask only that I obey you. Three requests, three wishes, three points of a triangle - the most cosmic of all shapes. Love, support, and obedience - I practice these in quiet meditation, and find at the other end my Nirvana in you.

I withdraw from you, but you catch my hand. I look into your eyes - they are tired, worn, but uplifted by the vision of me. You kiss each fingertip and then hold my hand against your chest. I am moved by your tenderness and touched by your love. In fact, it is such a wave of security that I am suddenly weak. In my place, I am not to ask for anything, but it is in my weakness that I find the desperation - the courage - to speak.

"Sir," I say quietly, "Sir, may I please stay with you?"

You smile. "Of course, yes of course you can. Draw up that chair over there."

But I am overcome with something deeper, I am overcome by my desire to serve you, to be less than you, to humble myself before you. In your light I safely give up the burden of my dignity, release my ego of its pride, become at once part of the greater energy of the universe.

"No, Sir...I wish...may I just...sit here on the floor...beside you?" I lower my eyes, but you force my chin to look you in the face. You are glowing with love, knowing the meaning of the gift I present now to you. It is beyond anything tangible I could give you, and it is love beyond that which most people know.

"I would love that," you say.

I realize I have been holding my breath.

With a slow exhale I sink to my knees and press myself as close to you as possible. And then, testing my courage further, I place my head in your lap. You look to me again and put down your book to tenderly stroke my hair, weaving your fingers between the strands, caressing my scalp, and sending me deep into the warm soft waters of utter submission, of utter love.

My heartbeat slows and all the universe stretches out before me, unveiling its secrets and its meanings and its peace. I am suddenly nothing and everything, at once powerless and powerful. It occurs to me that to some I may seem a dog at her master's feet - and in some ways, I am - but I wonder how many times they have known the divine settling of release, relinquishment, renunciation. For I too once wandered in their world, a spirit without a body, my body a temple without a god. I followed several teachings, but my faith ended in heartbreak. When I found you, I learned to believe again.

Here - on my knees with my head in your lap and pressed as close to you as physically possible - I find myself at total peace, at ease with the world, resigned and surrendered to the confusion and uncertainty of life, anchored against the waves of turmoil to you, my rock, my god, my tether. Should the world suddenly collapse around me, I would not care, for I am in your presence, and all things are right with you.

The smell of your skin is a sweet drug to my senses, and I feel my eyelids become heavy with a childlike drowsiness. Again you run your fingers through my thick hair and massage my scalp, and I am lulled into a trance, meditating on my submission, surrounded by warmth in the gold tungsten light. Everything melts away to reveal its pure form, and love distilled is you.

I am so overcome with these revelations, that the spirit moves me to tears.

You touch my face and lift my chin to you. Your own eyes shine with wetness. Something untouchable has just passed between us, some burst of energy has passed through the line that connects me to you and you to me.

You tighten your grip on my chin, not to hurt me, but to command me.

You whisper, "Thank you. Thank you for all of this."

I weep openly, giving you all of my weakness and giving you all of my strength, for a love like this is not borne lightly.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice trembling.

You cup my face in your hands, your large firm hands, and I grip your wrists for support, for connection.

You lean down and kiss my forehead.

My heart soars.

Fantasy/Reality

Today you have been gone all day.

You left before the sky could lighten, and gently woke me to issue the commands I am to obey in your absence.

Like a parent handling a drowsy child, you removed my sparse clothing. You looped a length of silk rope around my waist and securely it snugly, whispering into my ear that it was to serve as a reminder of your ownership.

As ordered, I remain undressed save for the rope, which is just tight enough that I cannot forget its presence.

As you tangled your fingers in my dense pubic hair, you whispered further instructions.

"You are not to cum today. That's mine to have when I return."

In the darkness I protested, begging that I cannot think of you without touching myself, that I cannot touch myself without coming to orgasm, and that, most of all, I cannot help thinking of you. You know my sexual appetite is vast, perhaps even totally insatiable, and that, most of all, I live to be filled by you.

"Then don't think about me." You said nothing more and left.

It is later in the afternoon and I have spent the day trying to ignore the sex parts which hunger for even more upon prohibition. I have been thinly successful, desperately distracting myself with books and chores, the rope against my skin acting as a barrier between my desire and yours.

By now, however, I am positively humming with sexual energy. I stretch in front of the mirror, going up on my toes as if I were a dancer. I admire the way my muscles flex, the way the rope accentuates my waist, the way my body meets in a dark patch of curly hair. Holding up my arms, I admire the shape of my breasts, the shape of my face, the shape of my buttocks as I turn.

It is the regard with which you behold me that has made me so vain. Sometimes when I look into your eyes I see my own reflected back, and I am Narcissus leaning into the pool. Now I imagine you watching me, your eyes roving over my body, your penis hardening between your legs. I know the power of my mere image, I know the way you change, the way you tense when I remove a last article of clothing. I have seen you change when I move a particular way, when I use a particular voice, when I wear a particular outfit, and if we are in public, you put your hand on my neck, and I feel it - I know. I think about the way you look at me as I dance slowly to music I imagine dripping like melted wax, and I indulge in the figure that moves with me in the mirror.

The rope hugs my skin deliciously, its ends dangling from a skilled knot. You could grab these ends and pull me toward you or you could tie me kneeling to the bedpost. I wonder which you will choose when you return.

Or you could secure a rope between my legs with it, pulling it tightly against my crotch, splitting my labia, pressing against my clitoris. Would you tie my arms behind my back? Would you bind my breasts so that they swell?

I am descending down a spiraling staircase lined with thoughts of you, and I am moved to the bed. I imagine you spreading my labia to place the rope between my lips before attaching it to the rope around my waist. I let myself touch my lips, and closing my eyes, I part them with my fingers, stretching my vagina open.

What would you do now? Would you examine my hole, slick with arousal, and determine it deserving of your penis? Or would you decide to take another hole instead? Would you grab my legs and force them over my head, would you spit into my outstretched vagina?

I pull back on my clitoral hood, exposing the tiny pink pearl inside. I tap it with my finger, and the jolt of sensation sends a twitch through my body. My vagina grows more wet and I feel a thump of blood pump between my legs. I press a finger into myself, smelling the organic heat of my sex. When I remove my finger, it pulls silky strands like a spider's web. If you were to put your penis inside of me right now it would feel absolutely divine, we would be operating as designed, my arousal lubricating your entry, our bodies matched like puzzle pieces.

I open the nightstand drawer to retrieve my vibrator, my desire driving me out of submission. How are you to know? And, I muse, so what if you do know? I adore your punishment just as much as I adore your praise, and sometimes I misbehave intentionally. I turn the vibrator on and press it to my clitoris as I imagine you striking my buttocks with a flat, firm palm.

What if, while I close my eyes in self-indulgence, you come into the room as silent as a jaguar hunting prey and you lean against the wall and watch me? It is my greatest recurring fantasy. Sometimes I am lying outside in a gorgeous field of flowers and sometimes I am lying on the kitchen floor, but always I imagine you watching me without my knowledge. I imagine the erection pressing against your pants as you watch me flatten a hand against my abdomen, arching and writhing as the tension builds between my legs, but you do not touch yourself. Instead you fold your arms across your chest, letting your own tension mount through delayed gratification.

In the throes of my own pleasure, I trace my hand from my stomach to my breasts, feeling the rope that divides my body, its touch tight and secure. Did you know that its pressure against my skin would serve as arousal just as much as it would serve as a collar? Suspended between these two acts of bondage, I cup and then pinch the nipple of one breast before moving to the other. I imagine that my hands are yours, that you have commanded me to bring myself to orgasm and that as the vibrations bring the blood to my sex, you are touching me all over, perhaps slapping one of my breasts, perhaps putting your fingers in my mouth, perhaps pulling back my head with a firm tug of hair, my body still yours though I might be consumed otherwise.

Or I imagine that you have come home, that you have come upon me as I am right now in bed, that you are now watching to see if I will do it, if I will disobey you and give myself a forbidden orgasm. And then what? Would the sight drive you so mad with tension that you would take me right away? In my fantasy you do just that. Sometimes you step close to me and stroke my face, and as I come startled to my sense, you whisper how I shall be punished for my transgression. Sometimes you simply take me, descending upon me, pinning my arms to the mattress as you free your erection from your fly, and, without undressing, thrust into me. I cry out but you put a hand over my mouth, and you have me mercilessly as I plead my apologies. They go unanswered.

I know your body so well, I know your skin so intimately, I have admired your face so deeply that I can see it clearly now, that I can imagine your eyes upon me. I can smell your skin, I can smell the heat between your legs, I can hear your breathing, I can hear the way you cry out when you orgasm deep inside of me. I can taste you, I can taste the wetness on your erection, the drop of arousal pearled on the head of your penis. I imagine you whispering to me, touching my hair, and it sends me spiraling into a pool of light as I press the vibrator harder against my clitoris, pulling back its hood so that the bundle of nerves receives the sensations fully and completely. I press one finger into my vagina, and then another, and can feel the crush of the muscle that forms my sex which is slick and sticky with lubrication. I press as deeply as I can and then remove my fingers, putting them to my mouth so I can taste myself, and I imagine you tasting me as you put your face between my legs and instead of my vibrator, it's your tongue against my clitoris.

I feel all the muscles inside of me tighten and rise, and I arch my back to receive it better, squeezing my legs together. My whole body is alive with light and I reach for its burning center, my breath quick, my body hot, the perspiration forming on my forehead.

Do I pretend I cannot hear the key turn in the front door? Is it my imagination? Am I that deep in my fantasy? Am I willfully ignoring reality? Or am I hopeful....

Do I hear soft footsteps in the bedroom? Do I hear someone struggling to control his excited breath? Do I feel the heat of another human body?

A hand comes quickly over my mouth to muffle my startled cry. I open my eyes wide and to my wildest dreams come true, I am confronted with your eyes, which are bright and intense. Fire instantly surges between my legs, my vagina contracts as the orgasm rises inside of me like a tidal wave, a tsunami of pleasure about to wreck my entire body. The fulfillment of my greatest fantasy pushes me to an edge I never knew I could achieve and my body threatens to betray me.

"Don't do it," you say, and my eyes widen with a panic I have secretly longed for. I gesture to remove the vibrator, but you force my hand to stay, pressing the vibrator harder against my clitoris. You lean in and whisper, "My princess deserves to have all her dreams come true."

It is too much, and I fall backwards, arms open, into a pool of warm glowing water as the muscles tighten, knotting up, and then release, over and over and over again, pulsing with orgasms so strong that I cannot help crying muffled into your hand. My whole body shakes as I close my eyes tightly against the blinding sensation. For a moment I know only pleasure, pleasure so intense it sears me, it strikes a line of fire from between my legs up through the center of my body and to the tips of my toes.

When I open my eyes it is an eternity later and I am struggling to regain my breath. You are slowly shaking your head.

The terror that floods me also sends a pulse of moisture to my vagina. With one hand still on my mouth, you take the vibrator with the other, shutting it off and restoring it to the nightstand. I instinctively spread my legs. You strike my vulva with your hand in quick successive strokes. I whimper and struggle against you.

And then you undo your pants, freeing your erection, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur deliciously.

"Now it's my turn," you say.

I watch wordlessly as in one swift motion you fill me and take my breath away.

You are so good to me, Sir.

Perfect Silence

In this world there is no one else, there is only you - my god, my master, my keeper. My own self falls away, I am devoid of a name, of an identity, of a person. I am transformed, I am elevated to pure energy, I become my true shadow-shape. You whisper into my ear and pour me into the mould of your desire. Sometimes I think I could disappear forever beyond the velvet edge of my meditation, sometimes I think I could fall and cascade into deeper levels of relinquishment. In the farthest realms of our play, I have found myself peering into that place, and blinded by the light of my adoration for you, I have stepped toward the edge. Sometimes it is you who pulls me back and sometimes it is I who wakes and flees the edge, but it is always like coming out of a trance, and, reunited with my body, I feel heavy.

Tonight you ask me for my voice. Unsheathing your penis from your pants, you tell me to put my mouth on it. I am on my knees as you stand over me. It is a blessing to receive you in my mouth and I am not ungrateful. I worship you, a priestess to her god, and after licking from beneath your testicles to the tip of your head, I close my lips around you, taking you deeply, filling myself with you. You fit as though we were made from the same stone and then broken apart. I press my tongue against your shaft. My motions are slow and deliberate, ritualistic, precise, and thorough. I dare not take a wrong step at your altar, I dare not shame my god that way.

You place a firm hand on the back of my head and tell me to pause, yet keep my mouth open. I obey, merely an orifice to receive you. You pull yourself out completely and then slowly reenter. As you continue into my throat, my instinct is to draw away, but your hand holds my head still. You tell me to put my hands behind my back and I fold my arms as you command. My lips are now pressed against your body, you have taken me completely. I resist the urge to gag, I struggle to breathe, but I am not permitted to move. Tears wet my eyes in discomfort and I begin to fall away, the darkness begins to envelope me in soft liberation. You tell me to look you in the eyes. I behold you.

"Your mouth is mine, your throat is mine, and your voice is mine," you say. "If you utter one sound, the consequences will be great."

You place your task upon me as you release my head and pull back, strings of saliva draping from my lips to your head. I gasp, catching my breath, but make no other noise. I have no voice. It is yours. To let any utterance creep from my throat would be defiance. And more than I fear your punishment or disappointment, I cannot bear to fail you, to fail myself, to disobey you. My adoration is great and I shall complete my worship.

"Do you understand?" you say.

I nod.

"I want you to look at me at all times, even if I am not looking at you."

I nod again, my gaze still locked with yours, my mouth still open, ready for you. You clasp my chin with your thumb on my tongue. "You are beautiful." I cannot help the smile that comes awkwardly to the corners of my lips around my open mouth. You stare deeply into my eyes, your own hard and searching. My throat tightens to form words of gratitude, but I refrain and you smile, reading my near mistake in my eyes. "Good girl."

Your approval delivers me. My ecstasy manifests itself between my bare legs.

You release my chin and tenderly push my mouth closed. You kneel down beside me, gathering my hair in one hand, exposing the back of my neck, which you firmly massage with your other hand, pressing your thumb and index finger down along either side of my vertebrae. The sensation sends chills down my spine, and I swallow the moan that rises from my depths. My breath quickens, shallows. I keep my eyes on your face as you examine my back. You move behind me, I can still see you out of the corner of my eye, and with both hands, you massage my shoulders with skilled pressure. I stretch my body out for you, pursing my lips against the sounds of pleasure in my throat. I know that you know my voice is one of my greatest sensual and primal indulgences. And I know that's why you have taken it now, to see if I can yield my pleasure to yours, to see if I can control myself as much as you can control me.

You move your hands down my back, firmly easing out the tension in my muscles, as if pressing air or liquid out from beneath some surface. Your touch is rapturous, it is the hand of a god admiring his creation, of a master admiring his slave, of a keeper admiring his possession. You tell me to spread my legs as your hands round my buttocks, caressing the supple flesh.

I am on tiptoes of desire, of a sexuality driven more and more wild by your slow, deliberate touch. I feel myself falling backwards with arms outstretched into an ocean of warm velvet water. The water fills in around me as I go under.

One hands creeps under my body to grasp my mound as the other yanks my hair. I grit my teeth, but no sound escapes me apart from my breath. With your middle finger you rub my clitoris circularly, igniting the heat between my legs, drawing the blood and moisture to my vagina. Everything falls to the pit of sex in my abdomen. I squirm, but remain desperately silent. Your index and ring finger peel apart my lips, as if exposing the flesh of some succulent fruit. I close my eyes tightly as I feel your middle finger release my clitoris, stroke the opening of my vagina, and then slowly - so agonizingly slowly - penetrate me.

I feel my whole self rise, arching in the water, electrified, and I quickly pull myself back down into a trembling silence before my voice breaks my lips, before the animal of my body betrays my mind's hold.

You withdraw your finger. You grab me around my breasts, pulling on one of my nipples as you place your finger to my lips. I can smell my sex, it is a hot sweet scent. You shove your finger past my lips and I taste myself. I suckle your finger, cleaning myself off of you. You now pull my other nipple, harder than the first. I buck slightly against you and I can feel your erection against my buttocks. You kiss the side of my neck, you bite my ear lobe.

You whisper, "Not a sound, not a single sound."

How could I forget? The growls, the whimpers, the moans force themselves against the backs of my teeth. I strangle myself with silence and the denial of my voice only makes me want to scream more.

You release me all together and tell me to position myself on my hands and knees at the edge of the bed. I do so and you immediately place your erection in my mouth as you undo your belt. I am reconnected with your eyes, which I stare widely into. I try not to look at the belt as you fold it in half, establishing a firm grip on it. I know what it is going to happen and I can feel my vagina throb with blood, my labia swelling at the mere thought of the exquisite lines of fire you are about to open on my skin. The anticipation is accompanied by an even greater terror at the cries that will threaten to destroy my perfect obedient silence.

The leather cracks across my back, and I swallow your penis to force the scream back into my stomach. You strike me again, and I gag, but make no sound. I release you long enough to fill my lungs with air, then take you again, just as another lash brightens my skin. I know you can see the struggle in my eyes, I know you can see the pain and the longing, and you return my gaze with only a stern regard. Again and again you hit me, and again and again I am grateful for your erection in my throat, corking the cries of pain, the cries of pleasure that flood it.

You drop the belt, grabbing my hair instead, and force yourself to the hilt in my mouth, your other hand cupping my neck. I squirm, choking, my eyes panicked. You let me go, you tell me to turn around, I do not hesitate to obey you. You force me down on my elbows, raising my rear for greater access. You strike my vulva with your hand. I suck in a breath, grabbing the sheets.

As I struggle to maintain my silence I begin to disengage from my body, to move farther and farther away from the jolts of electricity you send through me with each touch, be it gentle or violent. I sink deeper into a velvet tunnel which closes in around me as I submerge myself in it. After all - what is my body anymore? It is simply an organ, it reacts upon instinct, it is my mind that submits, it is my mind that wants this, it is my mind that transcends my flesh, it is my mind that empowers me through your careful manipulation.

You alternate between strikes and strokes and the sensations whirl into one intense pulse between my legs. I imagine the folds of my sex glistening with heated wetness, inflamed with desire and with pain.

And then, oh sweet sir, you take me. You give no warning, you give no precursor, you give no time for me to shore up my strength against the scream that rises from the very primal depths of my being. My submission, however, is greater, and my mind is more powerful, and I do not make a sound, not a single utterance. My body tenses around you. You tell me to release. My orgasm is immediate, shaking me, almost wresting a whimper from my lips, but I catch it, I swallow it, I grab the sheets more tightly. I have become full of light, I have become radiant, I have become perfect.

You stop and hurriedly tell me to roll onto my back as you climb onto the bed. I wordlessly do so, spreading my legs, preparing my altar for your blessing. You take me again, pressing my legs back to either side of my head, curling my body up to receive you better. You thrust into me deeply and mercilessly, and I am invigorated by the violence of your desire. We are two pieces fitted to one another, we are complete, we are as we were meant to be. My eyes are locked on yours, and I shrink at the intensity in them. Your face is creased with concentration, the sweat drips from your brow and falls onto my lips. I am too mesmerized by your eyes to notice. I am in a trance of silent submission.

I grip your arms, I want to connect to every part of me to you. I am alive with energy, I am alive with the energy you are transferring to me, and it passes between us, rising and falling, filling us both with light. I am absorbing you, I am receiving you. Every thrust falls deeper and deeper into me, touching the spot of life light inside. It blazes, consuming you, consuming us. I am ravenous to scream. The orgasm rises inside of me, drawing my muscles to a point. But I make no sound, and again I am falling falling falling into a place of suspended darkness, my body rising even as it sinks.

Caught between two greatly opposing desires, I withdraw. The light is so bright that I take a step back, perhaps to fall to the ground in total and complete adoration of my perfect god. I can no longer remember who I am or where I came from, only that I am here before you and that my knees are weak to yield to you. Suddenly I have no throat with which to make a sound, in fact, I have no body. I am drifting, I am untethered, the dark velvet waters are pulling me farther and farther out into an unknown sea.

You kiss my forehead as I falter at the edge. I come up gasping for air. You tell me what a good girl I have been, my heart soars, and then you tell me to scream.

I do. I scream your name, I scream my gratitude, and it is a delightfully violent return to my body. The orgasm rolls through me like an earthquake. You throw your head back to moan as you shudder through your own release.

A smile creeps across my face as we lock eyes again. You return the smirk. I know you could see me hovering at the edge only moments ago, I know you intentionally drove me to it, and I know you pulled me back just as I called you back from your own edge, a delicate tug-o-war.

In that way we are perfect.

You and I - we are perfect.

The Game

Every game has its rules and ours is no exception. When we play, three glowing buttons appear before me suspended in the darkness of my mind's eye. One is yellow, one is red, and one of them pulses with white light. They are connected to a language that I share only with you.

Your first gift to me was these words, which you instructed me to use as often as I need to without fear of judgment, penalty, or interrogation. They are a gift of power, a gift of trust, a gift of acceptance, a gift of acknowledgment of my inherent weakness as a creature made of flesh and histories, a gift of respect for my personal boundaries.

Those buttons hang above me now as, arms tied behind me at the wrists, I rest my face against the mattress. My knees are tucked up under me, my parts are on display for you. You regard me as a musician regards his favorite instrument. I cannot see you well out of the corner of my eye, but I can tell that you are considering how to play my body tonight. Whatever the tune, I will bend and sigh and scream as your bow commands.

You tell me to open my mouth. I do. You place two fingers on my tongue and I close my mouth around them, taking them inside of me, taking you inside of me, my body made to take you however you choose to give yourself to me. You press your fingers farther into my mouth, bending the tips down my throat. My throat tightens around them, and a stinging moisture creeps along my pressed eyelids as I slightly gag, but I hear you moan softly, so I do not object, though I know I could. I am sinking into my meditation, I am falling into the place where my pleasure transcends my physical limitations. The buttons glow before me, a quiet reminder that for now, I ignore.

You remove your fingers and I am saddened to be emptied of you, to break the connection. But it is not long before you press a wet finger against my anus. Now I understand.

You press harder, until your finger penetrates the tight ring of muscle, and without lubrication, my body objects, pushing against you despite my own desire to fill myself with you. I suck in a breath as you force your second moistened finger into my body alongside the first. A cry escapes my lips as you shove your fingers deeper. The pain is not unbearable and you are gentle enough to prevent breaking skin, yet the motion is stern, your desire shall not go unfulfilled. If you want me this way you shall have me this way, and I will give myself to you this way.

"Are you all right," you whisper, though it is more a formality than a question. I have not said the words, I have not spoken the true language. All other words mean nothing now, it is only your words that matter. I have no words of my own save the ones you gave to me as a gift when we first embarked on this journey.

You do not wait for my answer before once again inching your fingers in deeper. My body rejects you, but I crave more. I want you inside of me, I want to be filled with you, I want to hold you inside of me forever, completing me, elevating me. Sweat forms on my brow and I become aware of the ache in my arms, which are pulled tight against my back and secured there with rope. I struggle to push myself under, to dive into my space, to release my body, but the pain focused between my legs keeps drawing me back to the unfortunate realities of my body.

Mercifully you begin stroking my labia with your free hand. You run your fingers along the folds of my lips, gently parting them, opening up my vagina to you. My wetness betrays my masochism, you finger just the opening, not quite entering, only teasing me. But it is enough to draw my attention away from your other fingers, which stretch my anus, until I hear you spit, and then feel the saliva drip down between my buttocks, seeping in between your fingers. In one swift motion, you begin thrusting your fingers in my anus as you slide a finger slick with my wetness up to rub my clitoris. Everything hits me at once and I cry into the mattress, muffling my agony, my pleasure, my dizzying fall into total submission.

I am all at once yours and completely my own, my body merely a vessel, an object, my mind jumping to a heightened state of ecstasy, a private level of being that you can only take me to but never know for yourself.

You begin thrusting faster, each pump digging deeper as you continue to press a finger against my clitoris. I scream louder into the mattress. The ache in my shoulders yanks me out of my head space, and between my legs I seesaw between pleasure and pain and the point where the two intersect in a perfect union of sensation. I begin to squirm, to buck against your body. I feel the orgasm coming, rolling up onto me like a tsunami, about to crash and wash everything away.

"Sir, may I? May I please Sir?" I beg. You do not answer. I am holding the waters at bay, but my dam bends beneath the pressure, I can hear it creaking. I am about to explode with light, my whole body trembles with an unleashed and growing energy. I cannot have it unless you grant it, and the consequences are dire. I am desperate now, vibrating between my body and my darkness. "SIR MAY I PLEASE!"

You answer only by driving your fingers into me harder, equally increasing the pressure on the bundle of nerves which crowns my vulva. I know you love it when I beg. It is part of the game and it is a role I play with total enthusiasm. I imagine your penis hardening inside your pants at the tone of panic in my voice. The wave of orgasm towers over me, about to fall, nearly beyond my control.

I ask again, this time more quietly, but I still receive no answer. The orgasm is more than I can hold and the three buttons flash before me with new light. Is it too much? Can I do this? Can I obey you? Is it too much? All it takes is one word, one word to control you, one word to end the game. These are the rules. You made them just for me. I wield them as I choose.

I fail, I orgasm. It shakes my entire body, I feel everything tighten and release, and I know you can feel it too. The water rushes over me, the flowing energy unloosing a scream from my mouth. "Sir I'm sorry," I plead quickly. But I am not really sorry. I am glowing from the inside out, my orgasm was selfish, it was all my own, you could not control me, I am secretly pleased.

Just as I am secretly pleased with the punishment that falls swiftly across my buttocks as you strike me again and again with your open palm. Then you pull my hair and drag me off of the bed. The motion is awkward, I falter, my arms are numb behind my back, you do not care, and again the buttons flash in my mind, but I am not ready yet.

You lead me to the bathroom, you open the toilet seat, you tell me to sit, you tell me to urinate. Shame flushes my cheeks. You command me to urinate again, but in the heat of the moment and my embarrassment, I cannot. You stare down at me, I cannot look into your eyes. For a third time you order me to relieve myself. You mock my orgasm, you tell me it's nothing more than bed wetting, and since I took one without permission I must give you something lesser now. I can feel the urgency, but nothing comes. I cannot obey you. It breaks me. The buttons come to me again, flashing brightly.

Finally I relieve myself. It is only a little, but I have done as you commanded. You tell me to get up, you tell me to bend over, and tearing a piece of bathroom tissue, you wipe me clean, as if polishing some machinery. I blush deeply.

You command me to my knees, and when I hesitate, you shake me by my hair, causing me to cry out. You grab my face.

"You have disappointed me," you tell me. It is almost a death sentence.

The part of me that remains in the real world sinks a little, my tether to that place weakens. You are my everything right now, I live, I breathe, I exist exclusively to your design. Such damning words push me to an edge I may not be able to recover from.

On my knees, you drag me to the toilet bowl. I feel the pressure on the back of my neck and the smell of my own fluids wafts into my nose. My heart is pounding in my ears, the buttons - big, bright, and central in my mind - pulsing in time with it.

Can I do this? The prospect of my inadequacies crushes me. If you place me here surely you believe I can accomplish this - right? Is this a test? Do you not already know my undying loyalty? How could you question me? Have I not served you well?

The words, my own words, echo quietly in my mind, coupled to the glowing buttons and my roaring heartbeat. I can see you standing before me, your hand outstretched to give me this gift, this gift of a language that is completely and utterly ours, this gift of power, this gift of mercy, this gift of love. I reach out for the button.

"White," I say, "White white white." It is the word to end the game all together. The other two merely ease or transfer the energy of our play, but "White" breaks the spell, "White" brings everything back.

You cease completely. You wordlessly and urgently untie my arms, close the toilet, take me away from the bathroom and ease me into bed, where you hold me and stroke my hair and kiss my forehead.

"I wasn't going to do it," you say, "I was going to stop."

I curl up into the curve of your body. You say, "You knew that, right? I wasn't going to do that to you, you knew that, didn't you?"

I consider lying to you, but to do so in this exquisite exchange of power and trust would be to commit a grave sin. "No, I didn't," I admit.

You squeeze me tightly, affectionately.

"That's why the game has rules," you say.

Need

When you put your hand around the back of my neck, reaching your fingers up to tangle them in my thick dark hair and tug ever so subtly, I become instantly and utterly yours. It is the signal that play time now begins.

My breath quickens as my body melts to your command, I am suddenly turned to soft gold in the alchemy of your hands. The rest of the world falls into a velvet darkness and it is only you.

I cannot tell what you will do next and I do not try to wonder - it is solely to your discretion how you may worship me, how you may desecrate me, how you may shape me into your perfect object to use and use and use, but I do know that whatever world you drag or lead me through, you will return me safely home and tuck me gently in the folds of your affection.

You systematically remove my clothing, as if undoing the wrappings from a package. You raise my arms and pull my shirt over my head, you undo my jeans and tug them down to my ankles, and tell me to step out of them as they pool on the floor. You unhook my bra and I am naked save for a dainty lace thong. You tell me to bend over on the bed. I do.

You part my legs like a honey bee seeking nectar from a flower and pull the strip of fabric to one side of my lips. I suck in a breath as you spread my lips, examining the hole which is already slick with wetness. I know I need not voice my desire for you to penetrate me already, I know you can smell the hunger between my legs. Will you let me have it? Do I deserve it?

You release the thong. You tap my mound with an open palm, not quite a slap, but it sends a jolt of painful pleasure through my body, firing up my skin with electricity. I fall deeper into the velvet darkness, my mind untangles from my body, held only by a thread, a nerve that pulses in time with the blood that engorges my sex organ.

There is a pause, I do not look at you. Instead I shiver to imagine you stepping away from my body, examining it as a plan forms beneath your eyes. Will you take me? Will you test me?

You tell me to get on my back on the bed and I obey, glancing once into your eyes. They are stern but I can see the light of tenderness inside. I adore you.

You gently place my arms above my head, locking them at the wrists, and tie them together. As you pull the knot through, the end of the rope brushes over my lips, over my stomach, over my breasts, a series of petal soft kisses. You raise my head and place a blindfold over my eyes. I sink further into that soft glowing darkness. My surrender is complete.

You slide the thong down my legs and again, I feel the moisture rush to my vagina as my final gifts become exposed to you. I am electric with anticipation, my ears sharpening to every little sound. Yet all I can hear is my breath and my heartbeat...and the sound of you loosening your belt from your pants.

You tell me to breathe as you trace the end of your belt over my skin, but I can no longer think as the leather licks my clitoris. My whole body reacts and I pull my legs together. You tell me to keep them spread. I have disobeyed you. My punishment falls in one lash across my stomach. I swallow the accompanying cry and dare not move. The leather whispers a thousand promises and as I fall deeper into my darkness, I realize I want it all. I want everything. I want you.

You let the belt fall across my body in symmetric strokes with increasing force. I struggle against my reflexes to pull in to myself. I want to obey you. I want you to know how good I am. I want you to know that in this place I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Each lash burns, but I am better than my body. I have entered a mind free of all suffering, I am empowered, I am no longer of this world and it is you who has put me here. I adore you for it.

I am a point of burning white light focused between my legs and all my being, all my energy radiates from that place, from the life light inside of me. The belt falls across my labia, striking that soft pink head of nerves, and the flames flare up, engulfing my body, filling me with light which bursts out through the seams of my body.

With one last gentle stroke across my cheek, you cease, and lean in to take my lips in a soft full kiss. The taste of you fills my mouth and it is like water falling onto my parched tongue.

"You're still not breathing," you tease. I realize I've been holding my breath. I sigh gratefully and my body relaxes. I am back.

But not for long.

You untie my wrists and remove the blindfold. I stare deeply into your eyes and even without you touching me I feel profoundly comforted, protected, and supported. But there is something else there and I know what it is. Play time is far from over.

You tell me to roll onto my stomach, and as I obey I find myself once again entering that soft darkness where only you exist, and it is through my complete subjection to your desire that I become more whole.

Because my obedience is just a facade for power, because I know that just as I need you, you would be nothing without me.