LadyNTrainer
Posts: 1584
Joined: 5/20/2009 Status: offline
|
In a word, intensity. Best I've been able to describe it is in this excerpt from my perverse ramblings. There are oceans in his eyes, and sometimes I think I could drown in them. Their salinity is in equal parts of love and fear, adoration and intimidation. Impossible not to plunge into them, to explore the fascination of their depths, and to be caught in their dark undertow. There is no defense against utter surrender. Formidable, the hold he has over me when he is naked and trembling and vulnerable. I cannot look away; my eyes are locked into place as securely as his collar. Powerless and surrendered, he is totally powerful, totally compelling. The grace and beauty of him at times is enough to break my heart, and to make it whole again. He is John Barleycorn, consort and sacrifice. He is brutally degraded and taken for the most profane of uses, and thus a god worthy of worship and reverence. Crucified in leather, his flesh is violated and sanctified, celebrated and decorated by the bright blood roses of our passion. His body is the altar at which I worship. It is the sacred paradox, and it is the deepest truth and the greatest beauty that I can know in this life. I am the respectful penitent and the savage goddess, and the scourge rises and falls to glorify as much as to humble. I am as deeply reverent as I am merciless to the sacrifice. Dea gratias, forever and ever, amen. The sheer intensity of taking a consenting submissive and making him hurt and cry and suffer for me, the power and passion that is as hot and raw as the living hearts the Aztecs once tore from the chest of a willing sacrifice, that is what feeds me and fuels the flames of my desire. The naked vulnerability of him afterwards, when he trembles and cannot stand, and his eyes are so wide and dark and full that they look bruised. These are the things I am awed by and profoundly grateful for. And my eyes must be a mirror to his, I think, for this is the altar at which I worship. It excites me, his willingness to be utterly naked and rawly vulnerable. It is for me, all for me. He is mine. He trembles on my chain and gasps for breath between hard slaps and caresses as gentle as a whisper, savage kisses and bites that leave him bruised and whimpering. I break his skin. Bright blood rubies, the most precious jewels of all, his unreserved gift to me. Who among us would not be moved? He offers me the blank canvas of his skin and lets me paint it in cerulean and crimson. I could ask for no better present. The jewels I like best are the bright strings of tiny ruby beads that are born in the wake of my blade, etched into beautifully yielding flesh. There are no flowers as lovely as the delicate rose petals that bloom on his white sheets after a heavy caning. He bleeds for me. There is no greater love than this.
_____________________________
Your dominant Personal Trainer for fitness and body shaping in the lifestyle. Let my fetish be your motivation.
|