Marks

I could break her.

She’s bound, naked, helpless, vulnerable. I could shatter her with my hands, with my belt… with a single word. I could hurt her more deeply than she’s ever been.

She knows it too. She swallows, fear and nerves caught in her throat, she swallows around that lump and looks up at me through long lashes wet with tears and says “Master.”

I couldn’t break her. I wouldn’t.

She knows that too. But I can. And that makes all the difference. The fact that I am able to destroy her, that she puts herself, willingly in my hands as fragile as a kitten, wanting to be there, wanting to feel my control, wanting to feel what it’s like to pressed to the edge and played and toyed with, opens that door.

I can come in and tear those walls down, I can raze her defenses and shatter her protections and I do. I do. It’s what she wants. It’s what she needs, it’s what she cannot do for herself, it’s the freedom, the release, the letting go of the artifice she craves.

I will cause her pain. Pain cleanses, it heals, it brings the body to an awareness. Pain is pleasure caused all at once. When her ass is heated from my hand, that is pleasure I give her, a surfeit of pleasure, and once that warmth spreads, once the stinging edge of my palm disperses in her body, the pleasure is hot and lasting.

I will bind her. I will make her see she is not in charge, she has no responsibilities, no obligations. She is not there to pleasure me, she is not responsible for my release, she has nothing to do but obey and wait on my ministrations.  She can scream and writhe and thrash and express the internal animal, the feral lizard brain can revel in the moment and her intelligence and reason can go away, put safely aside. She’s bound, hand and foot. She cannot hurt herself or me, no matter how wild she becomes. She is allowed to not hold back even the smallest amount.

This is freedom in bondage.

She can be whatever she likes. Do whatever she likes, be loud or silent, pull against the restricting chains or lie seductive and taunting. She can play any part she desires, any fantasy that comes her way, any wicked dream, because her body is with me and I will safeguard it for her. I will protect her and cover her and let her reach back into the dark vault where all her darkest, dirtiest wishes are put against discovery and she can be whoever she desires. I will play the role of tormentor, rescuer, torturer all in her mind and she can live those little secret fantasies that she is told are wrong, dirty, bad. I keep her secrets.

And when she screams, and cries, and my manipulations are done, when she is shaking in her ropes, when the chains rattle to the sound of her ragged breath, I will be there to hold her and stroke her. I will help her walls to rise again, brick by brick. But this time, I will be just that further inside of her defenses. I will be there to whisper in her ear and cover her nakedness, wrapping the blanket around us both.

The world does not deserve to see this part. The world will not know this part. This part is for her, for us and it’s the most intimate touch, the greatest connection between two people there can be. My marks are on her flesh. My mark is on the walls she puts up against all others. No matter if she plays with others, or them with her, no matter if there are men and women lined up for her charms. This is mine.

And my mark is on her. And she owns my heart.