LadyNTrainer
Posts: 1584
Joined: 5/20/2009 Status: offline
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Our relationship is more Owner/property or Master/slave, as I consider the path of Mastery to be non-gendered. We don't do standard gender roles; for starters we're a poly triad, and all three of us are slightly to seriously genderbent. Our model is more like that of a wolf pack. I am the most savage, the strongest and the most dominant, so I lead the pack. Fear really works for me. It's tremendously sexy. My primary partner is pretty much fearless, so I don't get my fix from him, but I do from my secondary. I'll recycle a few of the things I've written about him to paint a pretty picture. I think I love him most of all when he is bruised and crying and shaking, cowering under my upraised hand. His eyes are wide and staring, poised on the trembling edge of fear and worship. Beautiful victim, helpless object; the imagery is powerful and compelling to me. When he kneels to me after a beating, his legs unsteady and helpless to rise, his hair covers his face like a river of molten darkness. My fist closes in the thick, silken length of it, pulling him back into the light. His eyes are closed at first, breath coming in shaky little gasps. I rape his lips with a savage kiss, all teeth and tongue and brutal and sensual. His dark eyes open in surprise and his hair tumbles down the pale arch of his back in an obsidian waterfall. He does not yet know what I want. His expression is part fear and part adoration, apprehension and desire equally mingled. For the moment I want only to look at him. I like to look at him because he is mine, and because he is beautiful. Does he know how lovely he is in those moments, how vulnerable and beautiful? Sometimes I think he does. Other times I am less sure. But my eyes must teach him this lesson, and my hands, running rough and possessive over every inch of him. Being handled this way makes him shiver, but it also makes him smile. He cries out in pain and terror when I seize him hard, and he cringes at each quick lift of my hand. Shaking and whimpering, he can no longer stand on his own. I must lay him down or support him with steady strength to continue my savage assault on his flesh. And I do continue, because the taste of his fear and his blood is a heady crimson wine, and I am drunk on it. 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. This is the energy we have together, and it is seriously fucking hot. It's not entirely a fear based dynamic, because there is also a lot of love and trust there. I own him and care for him, and while I love to hurt him, I would not harm him. There is definitely some real fear there however. It works for us.
< Message edited by LadyNTrainer -- 3/20/2011 11:23:32 AM >
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Your dominant Personal Trainer for fitness and body shaping in the lifestyle. Let my fetish be your motivation.
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