The World at Her Command

A passionate woman. A perfect mind. An amusing distraction.
A deep appreciation for humanity. A dream. A fantasy.

The plaything. The confidant. The muse.
A love of words, of passion. Connection.

Owned by a Trinity. Revered by degree. At a loss for completion.
Through skin. Through words. Through memory.

A power even greater guides. The future's sacred trust.
Another Master. Another name.

A feast of responsibility.

Importance. Necessity. Self Reliance.
The world at her command.

Back Into The Mist

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Doing 90 and it’s midnight there
Screaming my favorite pissed off song
Having confessed your true importance
When I was nothing all along

You shrug your shoulders, stupefied
Saying pain was not your goal
But you knew what you were doing
When you tore into my soul

This kind of desperation
That I’m seeing in myself
Is strictly something coming from
Being put up on a shelf

I know you can appreciate
That I love how strong I feel
But each new time you blow me off
The pain is much too real

Fingers dial, baited breath
‘Should I even have made the call?’
Rejoice the anguish when you cut
With words I knew would fall

So, yeah, I AM pathetic
And this connection is a crime
But I still can’t help but wonder
How I became not worth your time

You asked me for my servitude
And I give it gratefully
Do your tasks with humble heart
Just so you’ll look at me

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Some day I’ll gain perspective
Grow a pair, and walk away
But even if that time does come
I’ll wish you’d just ask me to stay

Mutual Adiction

It is the way you use your words

The gifts of them you make
The compulsion I see in you
I’m not sure how to take

This type of true intensity
Has really played its part
Tattoos a mark I’m sure will scar
Upon my mind, and heart

I have never known someone
To give as soon as you
As much the best part of their mind
With purpose not untrue

I made you my owner
And now you are my pet
Epiphany has struck, My God!
My match may have been met

Unwilling to concede to you
The game’s more fun this way
I think I might enjoy this ride
See just how hard you play…

The Balance In Ownership

Precious torment, secret bliss

No sacrifice as pure as this
The gentle touch of ice or heat
No torture ever quite so sweet

He rules me with an iron hand
My sleeping breath at his command
The waking sound that fills my ear
Tells me again, that he is near

My dancing clit, my violation
I live for this sweet degradation
The blindfold sound, his hidden face
The precious limbo of Sub.-Space

My birthright is to be his tool
To beg the chance to act his fool
Our sacred trust, this desperate need
Each selfless gift negating greed

The things he has to think and be
Give the power back to me
I push he pulls. He gives I take
And when it's right our minds will quake

A climax sought, is not the prize
But truth behind each other's eyes

Precious Torment Sweet Surrender

Her heart racing in her chest, cold, naked in the rain. Hungry for him.' Will he come tonight? Will he leave me wanting?' It's been too long, a couple nights at least and she is frightened, hungry, thirsty, desperate. 'Please, Master.'

Her chain taught, the ground beneath her a muddy bed from rain and her frantic circles. She tilts her head to the sky, extending her tongue, to catch even a few drops, to calm her thirst. The rain sending a chilled wash across her face, clearing the muddy streaks of her tears.

Curled in her shelter, merely a four foot square fiberglass roof held up by three and a half foot tall, two by four posts. Hugging her knees, legs crossed at the ankle, jaw clenched she whispers "Please. Master."

Ears straining, trying to hear through the rain, eyes trying to see through the lightening, hoping for any sign of him. Unable to stay awake, she rests, stranded in fitful dreams of loss, a deep heartache the continuing theme.

At first she thinks it's a dream, the touch across her lips so gentle. The wind in her hair? Rough hands at her shoulders shoving her, confused she topples to the ground. A body pressing against hers, one hand holding both of her wrists, another at her throat. Her eyes fly open as her sex is impaled, seeing only a curtain of hair.

"Master!" She cries smiling.

"Master!" As he thrusts into her.

"I live to serve you!" As his fingertips dig into her flesh.

"Use me," and, "Thank you" as his breath grows ragged in her ear.

"My sweet animal." Is his reply as he spends himself deep inside her.

She lays there, cheek pressed into the mud, lips curled in a thankful grin. She feels his weight lift from her, and expects him to leave. Her heart breaking, both from the loss of him, and from the physical needs she gladly tries to ignore.

Food, water, the words running through her mind through everything, a constant battle for her attention. He moves toward her, his hand reaching again to her neck. In one swift movement he releases her collar from the chain. Pressing his arms into the soft mud beneath her and cradling her, placing gentle kisses on her forehead.

Standing, his pet still pressed to his chest, he carries her indoors. Her face tucked into his shoulder. The light in the living room splashes across her face, the purple tinge to her shaking lips, and the silent tears of gratitude slipping across her cheek sending a stab of emotion through his heart. Bringing his lips to hers for the first time, he feels the chill in her very responsive kiss.

He places her on the couch, and brings her the softest blankets he can find. It's been four days and he knows it. He brings her beef broth in a mug and makes sure she sips it slowly. The mug emptied, he lifts her again.

He carries her to the bathtub. He knows the only fragrance she can stand is natural vanilla, and he has laced the warm water with it. With a soft sea-sponge he cleans her, attending to every detail of her body. Washing her hair, and taking care to massage the conditioner into her scalp. She sleeps in the warm water feeling safe in her Master's care. Silent grateful tears sliding down her face as she doses.

When she wakes she is laying in his bed. Down comforters and pillows surrounding her, and his sleeping head in her lap. She brings her hand, first, to her neck, the collar removed brings both a feeling of relief and one of grief, as it is her dearest friend, a constant reminder of his devotion, and then to his hair, lacing her fingers through it, petting his tresses as he has done so many times with hers.

He wakes, taking her hand he presses her palm to his cheek. She feels the tracks of his tears there and his words pour from his lips. Apologies, promises, words of regret, the roads were closed, he couldn't get through, begging her assurance that she believes he would never leave her so long on purpose. Fresh tears spilling from both of their eyes they lay together that way, him hugging her legs, her hand in his hair, both secure in their absolute need for each other.

Flash Paper

Flash Paper

I’ve had to step aside today.
Say goodbye to someone so special.
The connection an implosion.
Flash paper, pure and bright and intense.
The kind of thing destined to leave a mark.
That sweet nostalgic poisoning.

The leaving is good, from a pure place.
Grief that comes not bitter discontent, but selfish daydreams.
Weird to leave without anger, without resentment.
So strange the longing without feeling betrayed.

Can’t allow myself to need someone who doesn’t need me, back.
The world is a little brighter today, and a little more in shadow.
I have the words, the voice, the memory.
The addiction is severed, it’s not heartache, but the come-down flu.

Everyone is optional, even me.
It’s not rejection.
The choice was perfect fantasy or a prefect reality.

My Master's Rainbow (pt5)

I barely have a chance to open my mouth before I feel him push past my teeth and ram against the back of my throat, Master’s left hand presses against the back of my head pushing it down, his right cupping my chin pulling it forward, keeping my throat open.

From the corner of my eye I can still see the screen, Mia is still crying, her shoulders shaking, I can barely hear her over the wet sounds of my Master’s phallus slamming hard against my tongue. I adjust my jaw, drop my tongue in the back of my mouth and relax my throat. Master takes advantage of the amount of control he has over me, the wave like motion of his hips as he pumps into my face proves his enjoyment of me.

‘Tobin The Bitch’, continues to work Master’s magic on the Mia on the screen. Between thrusts, I have a full view of my sister’s pain. I watch, almost hypnotized, as my fork lifts before the camera, nonchalant little bites if fettuccine alfredo, like it doesn’t matter, like I’m not shredding her heart, to trade for my own pleasure. I hear me clear my throat, “Really Mia,” a delicate sip of chardonnay, “I don’t understand why you’re acting so surprised, this has been a long time coming.”

“Grey is ten, Mia. That’s four and a half years you’ve had to find a man. Is there a reason, you didn’t think we were serious? I may be twelve years younger than you, but ours is still a legal contract. I can’t give you another extension. You swore when Jack died you would be able to replace him quickly. Said your church has a program for unwed mothers. Did you lie to me in the name of your God?” The fingers at my neck tighten, those at the back of my head, becoming still as stone.

I know the reason he has gotten so close so quickly. The laws only state that I have to make someone cry, my task has been preformed, by all rights I could have stood and walked out of the room, leaving her there, confused, hurt, letting her to brood, wondering why I lashed out. That self-righteous anger flowing through her tearing her mind between this and the words of her gospel telling her this feeling is wrong, but overall not much worst for wear. Master’s excitement is brought about by the calm way I sit, taking the time to finish off my meal, and my sister. He knows the only reason I would go on is to please him, to give example of my commitment to him.

“Tobin, no.” She says, as though she really thinks any of her words could make any difference.

The side of the fork coming down, cutting into the scallops on my plate, another simple, business like forkful lifts, so calm, the tip of one ting toying, set against the plate and spinning for a moment. I see Master’s hips flash three more times, the intensity brimming inside him, on that last thrust his hands lock my head and neck into place and my nose is buried in his pubic hair. Working my tongue and lips as much as this position allows, I work hard to feel his skin tighten and his veins swell and twitch against my uvula.

My lungs screaming in my chest, his shaft remains like a stone blocking my air, I feel hands at my hips, unlatching my garters, pulling on those silk panties, fingers from nowhere drive into my cunt. I have a moment of panic as this happens; no one has ever joined us before. The combination of surprise and the black spots floating before my eyes pulls an orgasm out of me that makes my legs and shoulders go limp, I am held off the ground by Master’s hands and those of our mystery partner third knuckle deep by at least two fingers. My amazement at this new level of play is only farther fed into by my own voice from the speakers.

“Or is it that at your age, even with all that grooming and breeding you’ve always held up to me, and even with your church’s help, you’re hopelessly unfuckable.” I drop that last word on my sister’s Christian ears and watch her shake, now with anger as well as fear. Direct disrespect has always been frowned upon in my family, and especially the use of what my mother would call ‘sailor words’, Mia’s shock is understandable, she lives every day by our mother’s rules and by those of her god, just as I live by the laws of my Master. I would find that kind of shock were he to say ‘I love you’; it is almost like two sides of a coin, she and I.

Master’s hot seed spills down my throat in great bursts, and the moment he releases me, so does his helper. I fall to the floor, my limbs shaking from the strength of my orgasm, the dark taste of his seed overtaking my tongue. Turning my head to lay eyes on our partner, I see only The Shoes. Master’s silent witnesses are both still as stone, and exactly in their places, I know they are quick, and nearly silent, but no human can move that quickly, Master gives me only a moment to ponder this, before pulling me to my feet by my hair walking me forward.

My heart skips a beat as I recognize what looks like a pile of white nylon ropes on the floor. Without need for direction I step into the two center most holes in the pile, placing my feet so that the last length is straddled between the ball and heel of each shoe. I bend, carefully and pull the topmost coil sliding it up my left leg first, the ropes enveloping me like a pant leg. Repeating the movement for the right leg and then moving on, my hands find the coils meant for sleeves and pull them to my shoulders. My already soaking pussy warms again in anticipation.

The machine Master has The Shoes pushing toward me is a reward; it makes no sound as it travels and rolls so smooth you’d have no idea of its weight or strength. It looks like a frame, at first, but horizontal, the inner edge lined with eyelets. I watch, my labia swelling in anticipation, as The Shoes busy themselves lacing the ropes, halfway through, I lay face down, again without prompting, and feel my weight being distributed across the netting, the binds tightening equally across my body like an especially erotic hug.

With the machine loaded I am staring at the floor, from four feet above, I love to look for phallus shaped markings in the marble as I wait, Master uses patience to keep me just this side of that white hot pleasure. It is the gyroscopic nature of this device that marks a testament to Master’s genius, the locks releasing and the free swing making no sound, meeting only perfect resistance from the gears, and I am now held upright, spread eagle, my face being fastened to the netting by twin leads pulled taught against the back of my head.

Only three feet, now, from the screen, my view filled completely by my sister’s confused, desperate, face. All this time the video has continued, her pain, my words, a soundtrack to this pleasure. Master has a perfect sense of timing; the Mia on the screen is gathering herself. I see her puff up in an attempt to regain some of her pride. Using the tools her years of service to the church have taught her. Grasping desperately to the kind of certainty that comes from thinking ‘God would agree with me’. Her hands are still shaking, betraying the confidence she’s trying to convey, as she brushes the last tear from her cheek. Squaring her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it through taught lips, her nostrils flaring with the anger she’s trying to overcome.

“Tobin, I understand you are upset, but that language! There’s no excuse for it.”

“Mia, my dear, they’re just words, and may I remind you that you are in no position to attempt to correct me? Unless, of course you want to piss me off, I suggest you bite that god-fearing little tongue of yours before you do some permanent damage to your situation. If I were you I’d reach into that bag of tricks of yours and find some damn humility.” The tone of my voice echoes in my ears, the ice on the delivery, that stony gaze I can’t see on the screen, but know I tried to serve her. I am struck by the dichotomy of my situation, on the screen wielding my power over Mia, in Master’s name, and here and now, that power handed back to him, myself trussed, completely encased in his ropes, suspended, I feel like a fly caught in a web, vulnerable and loving it.