Thursday, May 13, 2010

Safe in the den of the beast

His touch was so soft.
His mouth so sweet and gentle.
And his eyes...

If it weren't for the nature of our relationship, if it weren't for the features of our lives, I would say they were loving.

I melted.
I swam.
I hypnotized myself.

I am so suggestible
so susceptible
I take myself places with almost no effort on his part.

A word, a look, a touch, I am a feather. Blow on me, softly send your breath over me, and I will go in the direction you have chosen.

I think there are different kinds of subspace. We usually think of it as coming from the endorphins of pain. But I think there is another road, a magic door, an entrance to that mystic place from happy, loving ecstasy.

For me, it is a place of both beauty and truth.
Sometimes the truth can be frightening.

I was there, in that place, looking in his eyes, being in his eyes, when he stood me in front of the beautiful, dark truth, emblazoned on the wall. A truth that I already know. I know - I know - that I would do anything he wanted me to.

I struggled. I struggled, as he has been struggling this last week with his own truths and hungers. I struggled with what I have known all along, since the day that he found me.

"Yes," I said, in resignation and love.

I thought this meant I was in danger.
It could mean I am in danger.
But no.
I am his treasure.
He has made a vow.

He will protect me.

He will protect me.

5 comments:

Florida Dom said...

You must feel very protected knowing that he will protect you. Must give you a warm and fuzzy feeling.

FD

marianne said...

I love the idea that subspace can come from different places, for different reasons. I don't think I've been there except through pain and restraint, but then again, how different is ecstasy from agony, really?

MrJ said...

Beautiful and insightful!

Anonymous said...

This is utterly lovely. And, despite being a (minor) pain slut, I have found that the secret door in my mind, the one that leads through a corridor to subspace, is opened by yielding to what could be, or might happen, as well as to the endorphin rush of a well handled crop. It is, in the end, the act of yielding itself that is the ultimate acceptance, whether it leads to t.o.m., or flogging, or being tickled with a feather. Sometimes the pain is a shortcut, but the place one arrives at is identical. The purpose is submission, and that is not a regulated or fixed point. With great joy for you - jcn

Anonymous said...

...and, marianne - ecstasy/agony - of course, you're right! - jcn