Kiss me now. Please won't you break my skin? Wash my eyes? Feed me fumes?
I've been waiting for you to come, within my starved misbegotten smile.
Diplomatic: my empire of mirrors; my eyes are full of stars; lines forgotten with practised ease; bodies working straining striving climbing in the heavy atmospheric air; covered in the dust of forgotten rites of passage, encoded in sweat describing in actual timeless detail alternative temporary semi-autonomous hierarchies.
The more he chokes, the surer I am:
I feel the vomit try to rise in his throat.
My sword! My sex! My strength!
I stand proud powerful fucking his mouth with regal abandon; showing just enough mercy; reassuring him of the level of control that i am easily capable of wielding over myself. Ironically, its almost as if he is proving himself the easier to control out of our little bondage romancing. As well, of course, he must be reminded that I am the law. I am working to meet his needs with some of my own sordid desires I suppose. I search inside my ever-expanding warehouse of sexual sensuality... He's not acting, why should I?
My slave is, however obliging and hard working, rather pathetic. Or should I say a little on the pathetic side (of me inside our contracted play for sure, not when compared with other subs in my experience as a sub/dom/queer). Our relationship is not a mature one as of yet, but this gimp, in my esteemed fucking opinion has already quickly set a startling and beautiful tone of worshipfulness.. He is, however, a little shy of physical pain...a situation I will rectify, positive energies willing...I'm open to suggestions. I like this one, he's very intelligent obedient and eager, albeit a little inexperienced. And he's all mine. So if you can help inspire me while I break him in, maybe one day i'll lend him to you...
No comments:
Post a Comment