Take me. Take all that I offer and do what you will.

Take my trust as you have proven yourself worthy. Cradle it in the palm of your hand and behold the gift. It is given freely knowing you will cherish and honour all that I am.

Take my body and make it yours. Own the curves and quivers you have coveted.

Take me to the brink of pain. Take me to my limits. Place me teetering upon the precipice, the space between here and there, known and unknown, desire and euphoria. Take me there and hold me

hold me

hold me

until tears freely flow,

until my breath no longer comes

until I cease to be me… but am so much more me.

Take me there. Hold my hand. Penetrate my soul with your promises.

And push me over the edge.

Watch as I drift, momentarily weightless, eyes wide in terror. Smile as I fall. Rejoice as I crash through boundaries that would have rendered me broken but for you. Take my limp form as I land in the security of your lap, in the sanctuary of your arms as you bring me back from oblivion.

Revel in my arousal.

Take the trickle on your fingertips and tenderly touch my tongue. Feed me my lust for you, my lust for the pain. Feed me and watch me beg for more.

Take my laughter and giggles and savour the freedom.

Take pleasure as I discover new limits on top of new experiences where before there was only ignorance.

Take my need for more as an opportunity to teach me, grow with me and take pride that I am yours.

Take my glitter and glee, exuberance and zest for life and community and toss them to the wind. Watch as they float and fly and flutter, freeing fools, feeding friends, forgiving foes. Take comfort in knowing I will always strive for goodness.

Take my dedication to my career and push me to my goals.

Take my love of my family and support me as I care for them.

Take my need to write as my need to breathe and provide me space.

Take my truth when I tell you my safeword and that I know how to use it. Take my word that I will respect us both by carrying it close.

Take from me to feed the beast. To quench your thirst and quell your aches. Take until you are satiated. Take note that I trust you with my safety.

Gently take my Little. Rock her when she’s frightened, feed her when she’s hungry, warm her when she’s cold.

Take shelter in my aura those times when you are in need. Allow me to bathe you in sunshine and honey. Take my breath so that you can breathe easier.

Take my gift of service. Celebrate as I bear your beverage or kneel at your feet. Respect the power it takes to unquestionably obey.

Take my need to please and give me opportunity to succeed. Take this for your own and not for granted.

Take my submission. Take it as it is offered, raw and primal, carnal, mighty and fierce and never question its authenticity.

Take me for who I am, all of the dirty pieces, the shattered and mended bits, the wrongs never righted, the torturous truths never told. Take it all without judgement or the need to repair. I am not broken. I am whole, wretched and whole. And not for everyone. But I am for you. Every last adorably corrupted piece of me.

Take all of me for I have the strength to give.



I love this piece created by a talented fellow blogger. It is what creeps around inside of my twisted soul.

Thank you caligula. xo


Night winds blows strong as the skies are void of any light were have the stars have gone tonight

Your heart is like the blackness of night and as cold of the coldest night

Where is light

Nope there’s no light or life dwelling around at night just you a dark shadow lurking to kill my light

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When She’s Here…

I love the magic here.

Katya Evangeline

When she’s here, I see new colors. A few mystical beings I’ve glimpsed, as well. Or maybe I just believed I could see them, for a time.

I never knew there were so many shades of blue. I didn’t believe her at first. But then I saw them. The light and dark blues of different skies, the teal of her skirt, the peacock blue eyeliner that brought out flecks of copper in her eyes. I never wanted to smell any god damned roses before and yet she was the only person that could make me stop for a moment and look around.

I never knew life could be so funny.

She makes me laugh and it’s a form of sweet torture. Things I’ll never think to say, so brilliant, so cutting, so wrong, pop out of her mouth. I don’t think she even knows what’s coming. She can be a…

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A Mask

Is it your nature or a mask you wear in hopes of keeping her? She will feel it, you know. Instinctively at first, like a nagging itch she cannot place. And it will undermine your power and control. There will be questions in your actions, filters on her reactions. It will seep into the cracks of the foundation you try to build, like a trickle of water, and sit there and stagnate. The smell will permeate each brick you lay, each layer you stack and the air will grow cold, so cold until you feel the freeze. The water, your hesitation, your insecurities will freeze solid and shatter everything that was so carefully built upon them.

Do not pretend. Do not devalue the dynamic. She will know. For her this is full immersion. It is joy. It is life. It is breath.

If this is your lot own it. Embrace it wholeheartedly and run full tilt. Stumble and fall, err and recover but try. Try as though your life was dependant upon it. Be the man in the arena. Grow strength of self, power of mind, conviction and respect for the slash.

Pummel her with your power, bind her mind with your essence, your pride of ownership, your confidence, your filth, your eloquence. She does not seek perfection. What she longs for is a natural, free dominant, primal, perverse, protective, gentlemanly, brutal and cunning. A strong man who will dominate her mind long before her body. Who will expertly extract her secrets and desires, subtly command her submission in pieces she won’t even notice until her knees buckle involuntarily and her teeth grip her lower lip.

Is this you?

In return she will offer you her undying adoration, obedience, service and glorious submission. You need not ask, she will be lost to you and all that she is will become yours.

This path, this lifestyle is not for everyone. Do not disrespect it. Sure, you may fool her temporarily, keep her for a while… but at what cost? What will that do to you?

What will that do to her?

Know your value and see hers.

Check your mask at the door.

Malevolent Girl


Blood on the sofa
Blood on the floor
The knife forgotten beside the door
Innocence lost forevermore
Blood on the sofa
Blood on the floor

Heart in my hands
Ground to my knees
She’s free from the pain
No more need to appease

Blood in her hair
Blood on her hands
There can be no other
Who understands.

The evil that dwells
That can not be undone
Her nefarious nature
She could never outrun

Gone is her will
Gone is her worth
Gone is her wish
To be on this earth

What I have left
Of her soul is her art
Paintings, sketches
Cries from her heart

She left us her love
Glorious pearl
She left us in love
My Malevolent girl

His Gift to Me

They are young. Barely legal to be here yet she expertly carries a tray of shots from table to table and he comands the dance floor, hip-hop at the height of its craze. He dances with two others, his crew. They have entranced a group of onlookers, girls eager to join and guys too cool to watch, too envious not to. His frame, rugged from frequent hard workouts is deceptively nimble, mastering steps with effortless precision. The trio moves in sync, with ease, almost arrogant.

She works the crowd in pigtails and denim daisy dukes. She’s dyed her hair from red to blonde because that’s what pays and she’s learned how to seduce the dollars from the men and respect from the girls. It’s a profitable gig.

Few know the two are connected though the energy beats palpable with the music. This is one of their haunts. Has been for nearly two years, charisma and grace belying their true ages. The two are never seen together, they never speak. But they are acutely aware of their proximity to one another. Magnets. The pull has been unstoppable since they first met in the empty high school hallway. An awkward and undeniable pull began there. Since that day their bond has evoled, changed and shifted but remains steadfast. They are one in their essence but two in their lives.

Last Call

Last dance before the ever popular slow song of the night. The song where singles scramble to make a connection and become a pair, even just for the night.

Diamonds and Pearls. One of my favourites. I know he has left. I’m not far behind.

Station cleaned, paper one and two dollar bills extracted from my bra and the hip of my short shorts and I slip out the side door. The chill hits as the door slams behind me. I take a moment enjoy the cold and to apply fresh lipstick. With a contented sigh I gaze up. On a hill, looming large above the club sits a house. A heritage house with turrets, decorative fascia and weathered lions at the foot of the drive. A pretty house. A romantic house. A house with a basement painted black. A neon yellow and green octopuss sprawls the ceiling and glows in the black light. It was created for us by a local artist in exchange for an evening on our sofa. The mural stayed. The artist did not. We are not for everyone, we know. Quietly I breathe the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven as I navigate the broken staircase and make my way to the heavy door.

I am the last to arrive, as usual. Hissed voices. Some scatter to retrieve empty bottles and littered chip bags from the path they know I will take. I hear the bustle of clumsy tidying in my wake as I make my way. Boys, I think in quiet annoyance.

The shower, a massive tiled affair expansing the entire wall, is running. Steam seeps out in whisps. I strip down and step in. A girl, a tiny little thing, flinches at the sound of the curtain being drawn. He cups her chin and brings her to her feet. With a kiss to her forehead he sends her on her way. She slinks past me, keeping her distance and her eyes downcast. I take her place on my knees at his feet. I press my cheek to his chisled belly and sigh. The scalding water begins its job of washing away the facade. The water beads on the fresh waxy coat of my lips, leaving them undisturbed, but not so my lashes. My mascara, ravaged by rivers it runs riteously down my cheeks, not to be wiped away. He draws his finger through the streaks and smiles wryly.

He takes to the job of scrubbing me clean. Scouring and scratching my skin causing red to rise. And then he shaves me smooth. I purr, like a kitten, with his touch. Tonight is special.

In the chill of the bedroom he holds me close, hums a little tune that vibrates through me and smiles that smile that will melt me until the end of time. Oiled and collared he stands back and assesses. He turns me, appraises, nods and clips on my leash. With a kiss to my forehead he sends me to my knees. It is here that I wait. It never occurs to me to disobey.

The chaos from the other rooms calms. Soft voices. Doors opening and closing. Silence. I center myself. Anticipation has me trembling. I’ve waited so very long for this night. I’ve been so good. He’s been so kind. They’ve worked so hard.

And then he is with me. He lifts my chin with two fingers and looks deep inside me. “It’s time Little One. Are you excited?”

“Very Sir, so very excited. Thank you.” I take his palm and kiss it.

“He has worked hard. He has earned this time with you. You have chosen well. I am so proud of you.” These words attack my heart. I wrap my arms around his thighs. His praise has me reeling. His generosity has me craving the need to perform, perform beyond his expectations. His demands are strict and firm with no margin for error or misinterpretation. I am well versed in what my role is here. It is a small sacrifice in exchange for this gift he bestows upon me tonight.

A tug on my leash brings me back and with pat to my head he leads me on hands and knees. In the shadows of the black light is a broad figure. Dressed well and respectful of the occasion stands the man I have chosen. He is beautiful and looms large and his eyes dance as I crawl toward him. For weeks he has been under scrutiny and in negotiations with My Sir. I chose him, having met him at a party on a local navy base. He captivated me and I him. We drank and we danced and we kissed. We kissed for hours. Long, lingering, strong and passionate into the morning light kisses. The giddy high took us away. We exchanged numbers as we parted at dawn and I counted the hours until I could share my excitement with My Sir. I was thrilled to have executed the first part of my given task, to choose my own play thing, someone to teach and train. Until now Sir had chosen. Randomly or hunted and recruited, bartered or traded, male or female, owned or uncollared the choice was his. I could recommend, beg and bat my eyelashes and promise enticing acts but in the end he chose. But he was always good to me. Always knowing my limits, my desires, my curiosities and fantasies and where I wanted to push boundaries. And push we did.

So here I kneel. Fingers trembling and a smile I cannot suppress, tension on my leash reminding me of my place and my duties, as though the reminder was necessary. I wait. I wait for my signal and the anticipation builds. Satisfied, My Sir steps in front of me, taking up the space between me and my new toy. He lifts my chin and holds my gaze. “Ready Little One?” I nod. “Speak to me.”

I steady my voice and focus my energy, my submission and my whole heart, my eyes transfixed on his and I begin, “I belong to My Master, my heart, my body and my soul. I am his to use as he chooses. I am his treasure as he is mine.” He smiles at me and my heart nearly bursts. His hand rests on my cheek and lingers. Turning to my toy he extends his hand. “Enjoy her” and he hands him my leash and settles himself on the sofa.

Moments tick awkwardly by. I continue to kneel because I haven’t been instructed otherwise but I can see my new toy struggle. I take a breath and make a brazen move. I crawl to him and I grasp his hand. I bring it to my mouth and kiss his open palm. I rest it on my cheek and look up at him. In his eyes I see the nervous excitement, the hesitance and the barely contained lust. He slides off his suit jacket and pulls me to my feet. I work at the buttons of his shirt, stripping him to his ebony skin. He his sticky with sweat. He begins to remove his dress pants but I intervene. I am his first trained submissive. I have been entrusted with setting the bar for all who come after me and I will not have him settle. Over time I will teach him to expect service worthy of My Sir. Service worthy of the charming gentleman who stands before me. For weeks he has observed Sir and I. From bedroom to kitchen, from laughter to tears, cooking, cleaning, fucking, sucking, praising, correcting, he has witnessed it all. I’ve grown so fond of him. His enthusiasm, his laugh, and the friendship that has grown between he and My Sir. Though years older he eagerly follows his guidance. He is an avid student.

Tonight we play for the first time. Hesitantly he takes my face in his hands. Sweetly he kisses, lingering at first, our eyes holding and I see his tension drain away. I sigh softly and feel him come back to me. His hands slide from my cheeks to my throat where he holds firmly, the pressure building as our kisses intensify. His breathing quickens and his tongue grows stronger. This is what I remember of him.

One hand snakes its way to the back of my neck and tangles at the nape of my neck. As he fists my hair and wraps it tightly around his wrist my knees buckle, my kisses grow weak, my hands grasp his waist for support. And he smiles. The shift in his demeanor is evident. The energy grows bright yet dark all at once. It’s like a tornado let loose in the space around us. He pulls my head back, arching, as his menacing eyes take in my exposed throat, jutting collarbone, open mouth. He licks his lips and my breath catches and he dives for my throat just above my collar. Teeth sink deep and take hold. I gasp and lean into his mouth, surprising him, daring him to bite harder, to take more of me. And take he does.

His mouth moves from my neck to my collarbone and he licks his way along the curve. His fingers find my nipples, nipples he’s seen many times but never touched. He flattens his palms, touches the tip of each index finger to a nipple and slides the length of each hand up, up my nipples. I feel the rough skin scratch, delicious calouses creating itches, and then the soft bump of flesh that separates finger from palm catches them and I suck in air. Sliding further the heat of his palm radiates onto each nipple and has them throbbing. He lingers here, circling his palms, creating a slow motion vortex of stimulation that has sweat beading on my forehead. The sensation further builds as he slides from palm to wrist where his skin is silky soft and cooler. My breath comes in rasps now. I ache for more. My pleading eyes find his but instead of giving me release, instead of cupping my breasts or kissing my mouth or touching me in any of the thousand ways I crave, he steps back.

Cold rushes in.

He stands within arms length, taking me in. Save for my collar I am naked. Naked he has seen me. But tonight he is seeing me differently. Tonight he is seeing me as naked, and his. A finger fills the hollow of my throat. Gently he circles. And down the middle of my chest to my navel. Slowly he steps around me, trailing his finger over the places he’s thought of but never had access to. I wonder what he thinks. I wonder what he plans. The small of my back, the ridges in my spine, the crease where my ass meets my thighs. He caresses each and I hear him breathing. When he returns to face me it is with his hand firmly on my shoulder and his jaw set square. “Kneel” he whispers. And to my knees I fall. “Worship” he commands. And I do.

His cock stands rigid before me. A pearly gift perches on the dark head. I touch my tongue to it, capture it and lean away. A silk thread forms and links us, cock to mouth. The thread snaps and falls, glistens on my chin. I place a hand on each thigh and draw my tongue along his skin, up his leg untill my nose nestles in beside his balls. His smell is intoxicating and my inner thighs twitch. I lap my way up under both balls and feel the soft skin underneath where they meet his body. His hands find the back of my head and I hear a low groan from above. Firmly I suck one into my mouth and ravage it with my tongue. And then the other. Saliva drips out of the corner of my mouth and runs down my chin. I lick the base of his cock. Run my tongue around it leaving a slick trail and make my way up his shaft. I’ve never had him in my  mouth. Never felt his head throb against my tongue. Never scraped my teeth down his length. I crave him. My lips rest on his tip, my tongue stealing the salty offering. With my palms against his muscular thighs my thumbs cradle his balls. With deliberate delay I slowly move upon him. Pursed lips make penetration deliciously tight. His labored breathing and hands heavy on my head indicators of his pleasure and desire. I squeeze every inch of his cock as I engulf his shaft. Once at the back of my throat I pause, exhale to relax and then push him through. He gasps and pushes further into me as he feels his head push through that last barrier and down my throat. He buries his cock in me. Taking my breath and holding me prisoner. A few short strokes to force himself still deeper and he pulls back just enough to give me air before he plunges again. My thumbs massage the underside of his balls as his cock assails my mouth. He drives into me over and over, holding my head and using his hips. Drool covers my chin and drips down my chest. My groans silenced with each stroke and refreshed anew with each breath I am afforded.

Abruptly he pulls out. He stands and watches me. I am a mess. Curls awry, mascara in rivulets down my cheeks, lips swollen and frothy. But I dare not touch. My Sir likes me best messy. Perhaps so does my new toy. He touches my swollen lips, grasps the bottom one hard and twists making me cry out and wipes his wet fingers in my hair. “Stay,” his voice low and firm.

He turns away and opens our trunk that sits on the floor. It’s an old and battered trunk reminiscent of that from a childhood TV show but with convenient hooks and handles on each side and a curved lid. He’s familiar with the contents of the trunk having witnessed, from our sofa, each piece in action on my body. He knows my favourites and seems to be choosing a few of his own. He builds an inventory on the floor and begins to prepare me. Metal cuffs snap on my wrists. Leather straps on each lower thigh. My hair gathered in a crude ponytail. My excitement grows. I’ve wanted his hands on me for so long. He positions me behind the trunk. He kneels beside me and kisses me long and hard. My tender lips battered again. Roughly he fists my ponytail in his hand and forces my eyes to his. They are hard and full of need and they make me smile. He turns my face away from his and points me to the sofa and My Sir. Still smiling I meet his gaze. The corners of his mouth turn up. He pauses and looks me up and down and then nods.

With that, my new toy turns his attention back to me.

He bends me forward and over the trunk and spreads me at my knees. From behind he tickles trails from my neck to my ass, making me giggle and squirm. His touches are light and fleeting. They make my back arch and my flesh ache for a heavier hand. He pulls tight on the cuffs on my thighs and snaps them into the clips on each corner of the chest. The snapping sound of each clip engaging startles me. The moisture between my legs builds and a few drops fall from my lips. He caresses my thighs and places a kiss on the small of my back. I kneel up tall to get closer to him and press my back against his chest. He allows this for several minutes. He even nibbles my shoulder and inches towards my neck. I revel in his touch, his loving caresses. I allow myself the luxury of this sweet ride.

Without warning I am slammed forward and crushed into the top of the trunk. His knee is on my ass and my head is pulled painfully back. He growls in my ear and I nearly lose myself, “Tonight you belong to me.” “Yes Sir” I manage and hope it is loud enough.

With my hair still in his hand he moves to kneel in front of me. Roughly he grasps the cuffs and attaches the adjustable strap to the middle. This strap he clips to a hook in the wall just a few inches above the floor. He tightens the strap so my arms are stretched long and my body is pressed hard to the trunk. Bound and helpless I rest, I wait, my breath heaves and my heart pounds inside my chest. The trail of wetness on my inner thighs slithers lower.

Soft tendrils dot the bottom of my ass, touching so sweetly. I feel the swish as they travel at a snails pace up my hip, over the small of my back, tenderly teasing. Light deliberate swipes across my ass promise in whispers, promise devotion delivered in a deluge of blows certain to render me senseless. And so they come. Methodical and melodic as the flogger plays with pitch upon my skin. A thousand kisses bite my soul with each blow. Shivers accost my skin from my neck to my knees and I arch within my bindings to meet each strike. A smile stretches my lips. A hand touches me and follows a particular line and rubs as though to erase the marks. The flogger comes again, travelling up my back, eliciting squeals from my mouth which increase the intensity of the next strike. My mouth waters, my head falls forward and tears prick my eyes. Clouds impair my vision and I feel my heart expode through my chest, up my throat and send fireworks through my mind. Not a single coherent thought escapes me. My mind is a swirl of ecstacy, longing and fulfilment. My thoughts full of grace. Dizzy I drift and swoon. His hands keep me safe, his blows keep me floating. I want to live in this bliss forever.

I feel his body on mine from behind and on top and all angles. Covering me, wrapping me, taking me. He curls around me and his skin sticks to my sweaty flesh. His cock rests against my pussy and he waits until I am present enough to notice. The throbbing of his head matches that of my clit and I squirm under his weight, squirm to gain an angle to access his length. My movements are limited but he humors my attempts, resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on my back he mocks me and I struggle. Moving to the side he pushes at the entrance to my pussy. I coat his head in my juices and push back to suck him in. He moves away, keeping himself just out of reach. My whimpers please him. My senses still foggy I beg for his cock. I beg to be fucked and used and broken. I drip on the carpet, I drool down my neck and I beg. His hand cups my pussy and fills with slippery wetness. His warm palm squishes my clit and sends me writhing.

Welcomed fingers invade me, filling my need, stretching me. I push against them, inviting them and my heart floods with gratitude. Three fingers become four and they cross over each other to fit. Slick and sliding they push their way in. His thumb joins and together they twist further inside me. They stretch me, burning and aching, my needs so great I beg for more. His other hands holds my ass cheek firmly, pinching as he grasps it for leverage. Harder he pushes to break me, my cries no deterant. I struggle between pulling away from the pain and pushing against the glorious ecstacy. My pussy fights the conflict, clenching against entry but flooding with glistening juices. Knuckles grate my pubic bone and I scream. Back and forth he ravages me, inside and out, fueled by my struggles and my cries until with one last thrust he is fully inside me, fingers fisted and my screams echoing off the black walls.

Panting and whimpering I remain still as stone. My pussy fights the assailant and heaves and spasms. Tears pour from my eyes and trail down my outstretched arms. His fist twists inside me, searching for greater purchase. I can offer no more. My flesh envelops him. Rhythmically he moves inside me. My groans matching his pace. With his hand on my tailbone I feel the pressure change. My tender lips are stretched as his hand slowly emerges. I am filled with both relief and regret. He pulls on his hand and runs two fingers between the walls of my pussy and his wrist. The addition of these fingers into my pussy is excrutiating. I scream and thrash, my cuffs holding me tight, helpless. He pulls on his hand, still fisted it tears me, stretches me, breaks me. I plead for relief. None comes. I sob and I choke. I cry and wail. I feel every inch of his hand struggling its way out of me. My flesh fighting against his knuckles, my pubic bone battered and my lips stretched beyond their capacity. The burning and searing pain builds and I can’t breathe. Sobs wrack my body and I grow limp. I have no more fight. And with one last pull he is free, I am free.

And he is gone. No more does he touch me. I can’t see him, can’t hear him but am too weak to call out. Seconds tick by and I am alone. Have I failed him? The layer of sweat that coats my body begins to cool and I shiver. My tears begin anew. My battered pussy is swollen and throbbing painfully but still shines with moisture. My head hangs. My legs begin to tremble. Then so my torso and shoulders. The tremors from within envelope me. Endorphins. I need touch. I need connection. I am falling. The shaking rattles the hooks of my restraints. I can’t control it, can’t stop it, my pitiful cries float into the dead space around me. I wail.

My hair is brushed off of my cheek. Lips touch my eyelid and fingers wipe my tears. Tender fingers that slither lovingly along my scalp while lips cover my swollen face with kisses. My trembling continues but my chest explodes. I am enveloped in a blanket of protection. His hot body covers mine and binds me tight. His fingers caress my skin and his kisses brand and seal the pain. I am cradled in the sweet cocoon of his adoration. “You’re such a good little girl.” He whispers. And so begins an onslaught of fresh tears.

From behind his cock pushes its girth in to my battered pussy. I welcome him and the ensuing pain and his hands that torment and caress me. He hammers into me bent over me and he sweetly whispers in my ear while he empties himself.

The tremors have subsided to quivering by the time he drapes a blanket over my lifeless form. He releases my knees first and removes the cuffs. Sitting before me he unlocks my hands and massages my wrists. I am spent and cannot lift my head. He dots kisses on my face and along my hairline and then is gone.

And I am left in silence.

Strong familiar hands unfold my body from the trunk. My Sir. With ease he pulls me into his arms and lifts me from the floor. Cradled like a child I wrap around his neck and nuzzle him. He squeezes me tight. His eyes find mine and they say it all. I am home. I am his. He is mine. His eyes glisten and he blinks rapidly. “Well done, Little One” This is all I need. All I ever will need. Our eyes convey all the love and passion we’ve ever felt.

He carries me to the bedroom and begins the task of reclaiming.

My screams echo into the night yet again.

2 Comments (leave comment)


Wow, I am at a loss for words yet again by your writing. Well done. So well done.

about 1 month ago Reply more


That is hot….well done

about 1 month ago Reply more

What say you?

Cold Dead Heart

Had I a heart
It would be yours
And I would be your little whore
My soul forever
Yours to keep

Your hand in mine into the deep
But alas the truth does dwell
Beneath the tide, the ebb and swell
I frolic here within the bleak
And place a kiss upon your cheek

I dare not drag you
To your death
But suck I must upon your breath

The light, the laughter
Of our song
Your wish, together we belong

But you will find there’s no way out
Deaf ears as you scream and shout
Bind to me your soul with twine
Steal your essence, make you mine

You see me for my wicked ways
See me wander, watch me stray
Take me for what I can be
Tame me not for I will flee

I cannot love you hard and whole
Those pieces missing from my soul
Protect your heart from me before
My chill engulfs you evermore.

Deep in the Darkness

Bound in the darkness, cutting into my body from wrists to ankles, my head held fast by the bindings in my hair I wait.

I wait.

I anticipate.

I can hear him. His breathing, his humming to a twisted little tune reserved just for me, for my punishment. Because he knows it makes me weak and careless. This is my penance, my continued training and my sanctuary. Nowhere is as safe as this place. Nowhere is as dank and dark. Deep in the bowels of the pain, the humiliation dwells. My physical bindings keep my body where he wants it. The agony, the misery, the magic and the respect keep my mind where I need it. Peace floods me as each bruise blooms. Promise after lovely promise leave teethmarks in my flesh. His whispered caresses follow a winding trail. From my collarbone, cross my breasts and in waves over my shoulder and looping




myleft leg. Beading bright red. He smears a heart shape on my inner thigh. And in the heart he paints a smile, smile that turns up at the corners, corners that meet up at the bottom of razor points of sharp, penetrating eyes, eyes just beginning to swell, swell and throb. Throbbing that pushes me further into the blinding abyss where there is nothing, nothing but his song, his voice, his touch.

Nothing but him.