Reaching

Fasted.

Cleansed.

Prepared.

Presented, gag in your nervous right hand.

Bowing your head, sighing as the buckle is tightened across the back of your head.

Kneeling, for the sweet tight weight of the leather cuffs on your wrists.

Repeated on your ankles.

Struggling to your feet.

Falling onto the bed, face-down. Gasp flowing like melted oxygen from your mouth, dripping, as the plug goes into your eager ass.

Nestled in the soft crushed velvet sheets.

A jewel nestled in a gift box.  A choice handmade chocolate in a display case.

Left there, to complete your devotion.

Alone but not alone really, fluorescence of your thoughts and pleas ringing around your head, sugar plum prayers.

Seeking.

Waiting, as the sensation ebbs from  your joints. The stinging replaced by a laden nothingness.

Hoping fervently.

Seeing God.

See.

See…

Ask

He called to me.

He knelt before me.

His tears wet my bare cold feet.

Stumbling on the words, he asked me to hurt him.

To love him.

I gave him silence. A long exhalation of moist breath.

He told me that he needs to be gently choked.

To be slapped, spit on.

To be overpowered.

His shame is great but his desire, greater.

To hear names of filth whispered in his ears.

Each word making him whole.

Every syllable washing away his false persona, his outer shell imposed by society.

I closed my eyes. Presented him with the curve of my lashes, my still lips.

His fingers wrapped around my ankles.

The outline of his spine under his smooth pale skin.

He begged me to to take him, penetrate him.

Take away the world, obliterate his boundaries.

Please. He said.

I replied with a lack of motion. Rooted in place.

I waited, like the statues in a hushed an dark church, until he pulled away.

His lean and spare form, fading from my downcast view.

He wants.  He aches. He dreams.

I am not an idol.

I do not want worship.

I sent his prayers into the skies, gossamer ribbons floating.

To be caught and answered by another.

Regressed{stage2}

Hungry, you call for me. No response.

You go room to room.

I am not there.

My phone goes unanswered, messages are not returned.

You feel ignored.

Nervous, you call others, timidly asking if they know where I am.

They do not. One even snorts and hangs up on you, not dignifying your request with even a dismissal.

Eventually, you go to bed. Stomach gnawing in more than one way.

You drift, fingers twitching, wanting to cradle my engorged mammary.

Suddenly, you feel my weight, straddling you, knocking you from your uneasy slumber.

Silently, you stare up  at me. Angry, horny, lonely, eager.

Pulling off my sweater, taking off my shirt, I am stripped to a bra and tank top.

My areolas are outlined, in the damp circles from my leaking milk.

Your cock springs to life, causing you to gasp.

Reaching your hands for me caused your face to get slapped the last time, so you wait.

Slowly I take off my top and bra.

I stuff the damp part of one of the cups in your mouth and command you to suck it.

You do. You do anything I tell you to.

With a small smile, I replace the fabric with my right  nipple.

Then I switch, allowing you to drain the other breast.

Content and full, you ask me why I was not home when you arrived.

I slap your mouth as my  reply.

Your training never ends.

Visitor, in brief

You have been pushing me, pulling at me, begging me for more of my time. Overtly and subtly.

Late one evening, on the phone, I hear your voice.

In the background, I hear your doorbell. I tell you to go answer it.

I hear him ask for you and tell you he was sent by me.

You race to the phone, full of inquiry. I tell you to place the phone on the counter and obey. No talking.

With a half ear tuned t you, I hear him tell you to kneel, to open your mouth.

I hear a slap.

Then: low moans murmured directions, gagging sounds.

Finally, I hear the grunt. You know the one, you make it when you are secretly jacking off to my photos.

I hear his voice fade, the door slam.

Soon, you come on the line, gasping, gently weeping.

You wanted my attention.

Are you pleased?

Smeared

One.

Can I love you, like you, desire you

if you are dripping with piss, lips pasted with excrement ?

No.

Two.

Can I want, embrace, touch you

If you are hard to break, stubborn, recalcitrant?

Yes