Marketplace, Part I

It was my first time at the Marketplace.  I had no idea what to expect, so I waited quietly to be told what to do.

The Magistra gave me an encouraging smile as she beckoned me into the main chamber.  I stepped out onto a platform bathed in warm light, and saw a small audience sitting before the stage.  A chair sat in the middle of the platform, and the Magistra guided me to it, holding me gently by the elbow.

I stood before the chair as she unbuttoned my shift and let it fall to the floor.  Then she pushed me gently into the seat and stepped back.  I sat very still, my knees together, my hands folded in my lap, feeling all the eyes in the room on me.

I flushed slightly, and felt my nipples harden.  I liked the attention.  I sat naked in front of a small crowd, and I *liked* it.  I flushed again a the realisation and a murmur rippled through my audience.  They noticed the colour in my cheeks.

The Magistra stepped forward again, standing to the left of where I sat.  She looked at me and winked, then turned to the assembly.

‘R is looking for an initial bond period of a week, with considerations,’ she said.  The murmur rippled through the audience again.  ‘She has chosen to give a reading as her audition for auction.’  The Magistra pulled a small book out of her pocket and handed it to me.  Then she stepped behind my chair.  

I felt her reach around the front of me, and she fastened a posture collar around my neck.  I could not lower my chin.  I stared out at the audience, and flicked my gaze up to the Magistra.  She waved toward the door through which we entered the stage room.  I heard the door open behind me and could not turn to see who entered.

I heard the rattle of a chain leash, and realised that whomever just came in was crawling on all fours.  I would not get to see my accompanist.

A hand brushed my leg.  I let my accompanist push my knees apart.  Soft leather cuffs encircled my ankles.  My legs were restrained to the legs of the chair, my knees wide apart.  I felt myself flush and saw the audience staring at my freshly bared cunt.  One or two of them licked their lips and I felt myself tremble slightly.

I took a deep breath, and lifted the book in my hands to my eyes.  Staring at the text, I could not see my audience.  I bit my lower lip, then began to read.

As soon as I pronounced the very first syllable, my accompanist began their role.  They gently squeezed the outside of my thighs, then nuzzled me gently just above my right knee.  I tried not to mewl, and focused more sharply on the words I was reading.  The nuzzle turned into a playful nip, and I let out a huff of laughter, unable to help myself.

As I read, my accompanist began to lick the inside of my right thigh.  Their tongue was wet and firm and hot and I felt my cunt tingle as they moved up my leg, then down again, before they got too close to do more than tease me.  I squirmed slightly, and their hands tightened on the outside of my thighs.

I could feel their face as they licked the inside of my leg, I could feel the warmth as they got closer and closer, and I wanted them so badly to lick my lips instead of the soft skin below them.  I gripped the cover of the book tighter, and my arms trembled slightly.  But I kept reading, though it was getting difficult to see the words on the page.  They began to blur and move as I felt myself get more aroused.

My accompanist let go of my thighs and traced their fingers lightly from my ankles to my knees.  I squirmed again and panted, trying to keep my voice even.  I could hear the audience shifting in their seats, and quiet murmurs and exclamations tittered through them as they watched my audition.

I scooted every so slightly closer to the edge of my seat and I let my knees fall apart as wide as they could with my ankles fastened to the chair legs.  My accompanist grasped me by the calves and finally (finally!) pressed their mouth to my cunt.

I moaned, not even trying to keep reading for a moment, feeling their lips caressing mine, soft and firm at the same time, their tongue teasing me, lapping at my wetness.  They flicked the tip of their tongue over my clit and I moaned again, almost lifting my hips from the chair.  I wanted to press myself to their mouth as much as I could, let them continue to make out with my cunt until I couldn’t take it any longer.

I felt them press their tongue deep inside me, nuzzling at my clit with the bridge of their nose, and I mewled helplessly.  I dropped the book and saw the audience watching me and I mewled again, not even caring my performance was falling apart.  I reached down and tangled my fingers into the hair of my unknown accompanist and pressed myself against them wantonly.

They pulled back ever so briefly, and I felt their mouth close on my clit.  They suckled me and I gasped.  One hand let go of my calf, and I felt them dip their fingers into the slick wetness before pressing hard into me in a single, swift motion.  I arched my back and whimpered.  I was not going to scream.  I kept telling myself that as my accompanist started to move their fingers inside me.

First they spread their digits slightly, and I felt myself stretch to accommodate the new pressure.  I moaned again and bit my lip.  Their fingers curled and pressed into that soft, sensitive spot I have so much trouble finding for myself.  I felt my stomach flutter and tighten, and I felt my cunt clench down on the fingers that were stroking that spot.

A hush fell over the audience.  I barely noticed, my breath was coming fast, in short huffs.  My toes curled and my hands clutched at the hair of my accompanist.  I felt the orgasm build rapidly, and I closed my eyes.

I let go with one hand and brought it up to my breast.  I grasped my nipple between my thumb and my first two fingers and I twisted it hard.  I gasped as I felt my orgasm begin to crest.  My accompanist was sucking on my clit, flicking it with the tip of their tongue as their fingers continued to stroke me firmly.  I felt my whole body open up and convulse, and I screamed in spite of myself.

I shook violently as I came, pulling hard on the restraints that held me to the chair.  My eyes fluttered open and closed and I saw the audience as a blur of colours while pleasure radiated from the bottom of my stomach clear through to my fingertips.  The tremors subsided as my accompanist slowed their probing of my cunt and let go of my clit with their mouth.  They kissed my lips several more times as they slowly withdrew their fingers, nuzzling and nibbling very gently, causing aftershocks and spasms that made me mewl.

Once they disentangled themselves from me, I felt the sudden cool of their absence as they moved away.  The posture collar kept me from looking down, and I heard the rattle of their leash as they were led back out the door behind my chair.

The Magistra stepped forward again, her own cheeks a little pink, a broad smile on her face.

‘Now you’ve seen her audition, we are pleased to consider you bids.  The usher will take the sealed offers, and if yours is the best fit, we will contact you within the next 6 hours.’  She curtsied to the audience, and a curtain I had not seen when I came in dropped, shielding the stage.

I exhaled softly and settled back in the seat.  The Magistra removed the collar and unbuckled the leather cuffs from my ankles.  She helped me stand and offered me the shift that she’d removed from me when I stepped onto the stage.  Taking me by the hand, she led me back to the private dressing room where I waited prior to my audition.

The Four Horsemen

Conquest took me over. He bent me to his will, he reframed my body and twisted my mind, he pushed and pulled and wrestled me into place, and moved me to his desires. No care was given; there was no gentleness in his touch. There was only raw, brutal demand. It was entirely about him: his need, his pleasure, his to take and break.

War punished my body. Every infraction I committed, he repaid me in full and then again, and once more. For all my sins, I was punished, severely. He beat me until I was tender, and he raked at me until I was raw. No part was safe from flail or claw, no portion off limits for the shock of the wand, no place sacred against pain. My flesh burned and flushed and throbbed and ached.

Famine was simply torture. After I was ravaged, flayed, and raw, naked before him, and panting, he soothed me with soft words, with light touches and gentle kisses. Soon he was pulling me up to the edge of the cliff, feeding my need with a flick of a finger or touch of his tongue, and then he pulled back, and left me to shiver and writhe, starved for death. Over and over he took me just to the teetering edge of a magnificent precipice, and then withdrew. I sobbed with hunger, begging for mercy, pleading for death, my muscles tensed and aching, my belly hollow, and my mind far, far away...

And then there was Death. He is my Master. I knelt at his feet, suppliant. He rewarded me with himself, and pushed me to the cliff and over it. He shattered me over and over with the most exquisite precision, until there was nothing but a pulsing wave of pleasure humming through my bones, an endless, little death.

...my prayers and pleas are answered -- my mind fades away, and I melt into him -- my self becomes nothing but a vehicle for his pleasure, safe because I know he will always lead me back...

Where is my mind II [s]

I lay prone on the bed. He circled around me. I could hear his footsteps, though he was not within my range of sight. My head rested on a pillow, my wrists fastened by soft leather cuffs to the headboard, my legs free. A hand glided up my calf and rested just below my knee. He squeezed gently. I obeyed the command and scooted into a kneeling position.

Balasana. I relaxed into the pose, my chest resting on my knees, stretching my hips and back, my arms stretched in front of me (nevermind the restraints).

I breathed evenly through my nose, my eyes closed, listening for Him. He was never far from me, I knew, even if I could not see him. Tonight, He promised, I would be tested. He had new tools to try out, and He liked to push my limits.

I felt his breath on my neck and his voice tickled my ear.

‘You may not like this much, my pet,’ He said to me, ‘but I will. Very much.’

The first strike landed square on my backside. The pain was sharp, almost explosive. I felt the skin flush and flare with a rush of blood. I clenched my teeth together and did not make a sound. The second strike followed, just as sharp, a second explosive point of pain, just next to the first. I whimpered, but held still.

‘Riding crop,’ He murmured. I knew the feel of it. He started with his favourite toy. The soft, supple leather had peppered my back, my arms, my legs, my chest with weals of His affection for months. He like the flexible shaft of it, the sound it made barely a whisper through the air before the smack of leather meeting flesh.

He trailed his fingers up my spine. I shivered, waiting.

The next blow came unexpectedly. He moved to the other side of me, so I was unprepared for the impact that rocked me. A wide, hard object struck me across my backside with a loud *thump*. I squeaked and my fingers curled into fists against the slats of the headboard.

I heard Him mutter something indistinct. He always liked talking to Himself. I raised my hips slightly from where I was resting them on my heels. He put a hand on the small of my back and I settled back down. He smacked my ass slightly in reproach, but not hard enough to hurt, just enough to tell me I wasn’t allowed to move. I wiggled a little, then stilled.

Another impact came, just like the one before, something wide and hard that rocked me up slightly. It felt like He was trying to hit me with a baseball bat, and my body wanted to be propelled forward by the motion. I whimpered again. The pain bloomed hot where He hit. He traced up my exposed side with whatever it was He used to hit me. It felt cool and smooth, with a narrow edge. Wood maybe? He did not like synthetic toys.

I heard Him place it on the bedside table with a clatter. The sound made me jump, but He put a steadying hand on my shoulder. He squeezed briefly and I felt myself start to slip a little. It was strange to me how easily He put me under. Just a little bit of His will pitted against my own and I started to slip away. The pain helped. Always tightly controlled, He knew how to tune me up in the most exquisite way.

‘Wooden paddle,’ He murmured this time, loud enough for me to hear him. My face was flushed and I turned it to the coolness of the pillow. He touched my forehead, His signal I was to keep my eyes closed. I nodded and exhaled softly.

There was a rustling sound behind me, like paper wrapping being removed. I heard something whistle slightly through the air near my head, like a willow switch being tested out. I felt nervous. I wanted to edge away. I did not like canes at all.

His finger tapped my left heel. I obeyed the command and stretched out prone on the bed again, trembling slightly. I forced myself to relax and breathe evenly through my nose again. I was not prepared. Not even a little bit.

This time, pain exploded in a stripe across the back of my thighs. I screamed. I tried to wriggle away and stay put at the same time. My wrists tugged at the restraints, but the held fast, my arms stretched above my head. My legs bent at the knees in an instinctive response to try to cover myself, curl up on myself, make myself smaller.

His hand gripped my ankle firmly and pulled my leg down.

‘No,’ He said. The sound of His voice permeated the panic and I stilled. My eyes still squeezed shut, my body shaking, I smothered a whimper that threatened to pass my lips. I wanted to be good for Him. He knew that.

He looped something over my ankle. I heard the rattle of a chain being fastened to the footboard of the bed and the jingle of the buckle of an ankle cuff. I was tied down at three points now.

The second stripe of pain came without warning. He drew a line of fire across my calves and I screamed again, and jerked my legs, but the ankle bound to the bed stopped me from moving.

‘Stop,’ He said softly. I stilled immediately at the command. He caressed my cheek softly, and I nuzzled at the palm of his hand. He cupped my face while he hit me again, twice in rapid succession, across my thighs and backside. I bit down on a scream and pressed my cheek to his hand, gasping.

‘Good, pet,’ He said and stepped away from the bed. I felt fuzzy around the edges, and the pain bloomed in sharp streaks across my skin. I drew in a shaky breath and let it out, mewling softly.

He moved around the bed again. This newest torture implement was placed on the bedside table with a hollow *clunk*. The pain made my eyes water, but I did not cry. I reached for the pain and the fuzzy edges flared in my head, softening everything.

Pain kissed my shoulder blade. The riding crop again. I knew this pain, and I revelled in it. I moaned softly as He kissed me again and again with the biting leather tip of the tool. I felt the whole of my back flare with rosettes of pain. He beat me meticulously, in even rows and matched on various axes of symmetry. He painted me with pain like an artist. My hips rose to meet the kiss of the riding crop.

He spanked me unexpectedly with the wooden paddle. I let out a yelp of surprise and jerked up. He grabbed me by my free ankle, held me down and hit me again, landing the blow just on the right side of my bottom. A second blow followed, balancing my right and left. A third blow followed, then a fourth. On the fifth, I screamed, my backside was on fire, and I yanked at my ankle that was in His hand.

‘NO!’ He thundered, and I immediately stopped moving, despite the fact that I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. The pain cut through all the fuzzy outlines, made the world all sharp corners and bright light, even though my closed eyes. I gasped and forced myself not to writhe, forced myself to lay exposed and vulnerable to His machinations.

He dropped the paddle on the bed next to me. I felt the smooth cool edge of it touching my side, just at my ribs. I heard him pick up the cane from the bedside table and I whimpered. I could not stop the sound from escaping. I was terribly afraid of what came next.

He touched my back, tracing the line of my shoulder blades with his fingers. I quivered at his touch, soft and warm and gentle. He cupped my bottom with his hand and squeezed. I let out a breathless giggle that morphed into a strangled scream when the cane landed in a strip diagonally across my backside. His touch withdrew and He hit me again and again with the cane. My world melted in pain. Tears came. I sniffled quietly into the pillow.

He traded the cane for the crop again and plagued my thighs and calves with it. I could not even move anymore, could not even cringe away from the points of pain as they presented. My eyes were closed and the world was red behind them, just the pain setting everything inside me on fire.

He pulled my free ankle so my legs were spread and kissed the inside of my thighs with the leather crop. Three slaps to each thigh and then three more and then a third set of three. I was shaking and had lost all of my words. I hurt and I hurt and I wanted to go away but each touch scattered my head and I could not find the way.

The final blow landed lightly on the sole of my foot. I shook at that touch, cringed away from it. I was whimpering and mewling and He placed the palms of his hands on my heels. I lifted my left ankle slightly at the signal and He unbuckled the restraint. My hands were unbound next, and he rolled me onto my side.

I lay there where he placed me, shaking and crying. He lay down on his side, facing me. He pulled me against His chest and I sobbed quietly while He stroked my hair. The shaking subsided first, then the tears. I sniffled a little then lifted my chin to look at Him.

He regarded me thoughtfully, not smiling. But something gleamed in His eye. He traced one of my eyebrows with a finger and then leant in for a kiss. He barely brushed my lips with His, then pulled away. I could feel the heat of His body, feel the beating of His heart, strong, steady, and reassuring. Just like His hands.

He kissed my forehead, then put His arm back around me, and cradled me against Him.

‘Good,’ He whispered against my hair. ‘You are a very good pet.’ He lay with me cuddled up to His chest until I fell asleep.

Where is my mind? [s]

You before me and I after We
~ A fancy ~

It was after everything. What was everything this time? This time it was special. It was a blindfold. A St Andrew’s Cross. Velveted bonds. A riding crop. It was hot welts across the shoulders, down the sides, and covering her bottom. It was the welts on the inside of her thighs. It was turning her around and giving her more rosettes, never knowing when the next blow would fall, never knowing how many eyes were on her at any given time. It was being untied and kissed, but not being allowed to open her eyes. It was being made to touch herself knowing that she was being watched and that others were touching themselves while watching her. It was not being allowed to come, despite the beating and the kissing and the touching. It was being bitten hard on the neck and smacked on the rear, having him behind her, pressing into her, telling her he needs her now, her cunt and nothing else will do. It was floating away in a rush of adrenaline and endorphins and whatever else is triggered in the pleasure centres of the brain. This is what she would say...

It’s a headspace thing.
It is (not) a sex thing (it’s not a sex thing)
It is a me thing and a not-me thing.
It’s a service thing, a mind thing,
an anticipating your needs thing.
It’s about giving.
It’s about taking.
I don’t give, I take
(no I give and don't take).
It’s about shifting and staying still.
I stay still when I should shift,
Or do I shift when I should be still?
Yes, I shift and I stay still.
Doing what I want to do,
what you want me to do,
defying you,
defining your role.
Master - punisher - reward - taker - wanter - wisher - worshipper -
Do I worship you? (Yes)
Do you worship me
(I don’t know but I think
maybe yes);
I sacrifice to you,
for you, of me.
You before me. I after we.
Your joy, your need
Your release
(you tie me up
and you release me)
You pull me tight - taut -
taught me to beg for release.
You push when I hold still,
you dig where I want to climb
You need and I want to give,
but my mind
the space of my head
Is gone, it’s gone away,
far away from the pain.
The pain is not pain,
But it pleasure so deep it transcends.
I float and I swim and I soar and I dip
And the sense of sensation that is inverted is so utterly
A perfection of a single state of this mind of mine.
This rolling warmth
That is nothing other than
the weight being lifted when
what I give is taken - utterly -
perfect symmetry,
fearless when most vulnerable
All I want is for you, Sir, to be pleased with me.

Where is my mind? [B]

My eyes open behind the makeshift blindfold. A silk necktie, cool and smooth against my face. I can see a little bit of light, but just a hint of it, around the edges. The blindfold is doing its job. I am supine on a bed, my arms stretched up over my head, my legs stretched out and spread. I pull slightly on my wrists, feeling the heavy leather cuffs, hearing the rattle of the chain. Just enough slack to let me get comfortable, but not enough to move much to either side. I lift one knee and feel the cuff encircling my ankle, securing me to the bed, securing me in place, securing my legs apart. I can almost bring my knees together, almost, but not quite. I hear him laugh softly under his breath, imagine him looking down at me from the foot of the bed. Every inch of me is bared to his gaze, all of me opened up for his scrutiny, all of me the sole focus of his attention. I glow a little, squirm a little, shift my hips and arch my back a little. I hear him draw in a breath. I exhale, pulling my ribs down and rolling my shoulders back.

Something cool touches me just above the cuff on my left ankle. Smooth cool circles trace up my calf. I focus on the shape, the texture of the leather; I recognise the riding crop by how it feels as he glides it up to my knee. A slight pressure on the inside of my thigh and I relax, spread my knees a bit wider for him. The head of the riding crop slaps down sharply on the inside of my thigh. Heat blossoms from the point of contact and I gasp and giggle breathlessly. He traces a circle around where he just hit me, I imagine my skin flushed where he struck. Another blow lands on the inside of my other leg. Symmetry. Balance. I moan and roll my shoulders as he traces around where the pain prickles the tender flesh.

He teases me. Tracing up and down my bared legs, grazing the skin with the cool edge of leather. His hand skims across my stomach, his fingers warm, his touch delicate and delicious. I lift my hips in invitation and he slides the riding crop all the way up to the apex, a breath away from my cunt. The feathery touch of the supple leather makes me pant with anticipation. I know what comes next. Three precise strikes, like stinging hornets land at the very top of the inside of my thigh. I yelp and hold myself still, feeling the blood rush to the area, flooding not just the delicate, tender skin inside my thigh, but into my labia, warmth curling from my stomach outward to my hot, slick flesh. I close my eyes tightly, and concentrate.

I feel myself get wet, I feel the buzzing sensation grow as my body reacts to the pain. Three more stinging strikes, on the opposite leg, and my hips lift all the way off the bed. I am writhing and trying to hold myself still. I pant slightly, waiting for more. A hand heavy on my hip presses me back into the mattress. I shiver at the touch and bite my lower lip. The riding crop circles one of my nipples. I feel the goosebumps rise on my breast and my nipple aches, it is so hard. The hornet sting of a blow landing just to the side of my nipple. I yelp, and my hips buck. His firm grip on my hip holds me down. I blink behind the blindfold, imagine how he looks standing over me, one hand holding me in place, the other raised, crop ready to come down on me when I least expect it. I smile and settle in the bed, waiting.

His fingers dig into the hollow of my hip bone. I arch into his touch without thinking and the riding crop lands on my stomach, the sting blooming red and hot just below my navel. I moan and press my bottom back against the mattress, and the riding crop lands again, just below my breast. My ribs ache and I hiss at the sting. Another blow, and another. Two more in rapid succession, then a third after two heartbeats. My skin blushes at the biting caress of the leather tip, each stinging point flooding with blood, each point of his attention on my body. I breathe deeply through my nose and start to slip under as the pain blooms, uncurls, opens me up.

He lifts his hand from my hip. His mouth comes close; I feel his breath across my stomach. Hot, wet kisses bathe each tingling point of contact where the riding crop kissed me. His tongue swirls around each bright red spot, velvety, firm, wet, hot, soothing. I moan and my back arches slightly. His mouth moves up and he bites down on the soft underside of one of my breasts. I moan again, feeling the sharpness of his teeth, the give of my skin, the pinch as I am caught in between. I slip a little further, the pain soothing the twitching anxiety that pools between my legs.

His hand glides up the inside of my thigh. I feel his fingers trace the welts on the fragile flesh. He barely grazes the soft downy fuzz between my legs and I arch up to meet his hand, pressing myself into his touch. He cups me in the palm of his hand, the touch too broad to soothe the ache that is melting me from the very core. He holds me, pressing his entire palm against my hot, wet cunt, and I roll my hips, desperate for the friction I know he is deliberately withholding. His other hand slaps me sharply on the outside of the thigh, and he lets it press against the hot, palm-shaped spot he just created. His nails dig into my skin, and he drags them down from hip to knee. I buck and mewl, lost and dizzy in the sensation. I manage to gasp out a single word: Please.

He laughs and his weight and warmth disappear. He’s stepped away from the bed. A hand caresses my cheek. I turn my face to nuzzle into the touch. He slips the blindfold off my eyes and smiles down at me. I see him, fuzzy around the edges. He steps out of reach again, walks to the foot of the bed. He kneels down between my knees, one hand on the inside of each thigh. He presses my legs open and lowers his head to me. He exhales warm breath and I shiver. He looks up at me, up from where my legs meet, up the smooth expanse of my stomach, past the swell of my breasts, into my eyes. He maintains eye contact as his tongue presses between the folds of skin and circles my clitoris. I moan at the touch, feeling the heat of his mouth press against me, finally, and I arch my hips to meet his tongue, his kiss, begging him to taste, to lick, to probe every part of me he can reach. He licks me slowly, long, firm strokes, lapping at me. I cannot keep my eyes open at the onslaught. I close them tight and arch up to meet his mouth with my cunt, opening to him.

He nuzzles at me, his tongue dipping inside and his nose pressing against my clit. He bites down gently on the swollen, tender flesh, and I mewl again, the pain blending perfectly with the heady swirl of pleasure that is building in my stomach. I feel him dip two fingers into me, pressing, spreading me, his tongue following them inside, licking me deeper and I drift away completely. I feel him pull back, feel his teeth graze my thigh, feel him bite down hard. There is no pain this time. I laugh at the sensation, roll my hips up to meet his hand, pressing myself against him, begging him to touch me as deeply as he can. He wiggles his fingers slightly and I laugh and wiggle my hips a little in response. He licks slow circles around my clitoris as he moves his fingers in and out. I pant and moan softly, feeling the muscles in my abdomen begin to tighten. I focus on the points where the crop kissed me, feel the hot sting and the cool air make my skin prickle.

He savages me with his tongue, licking me ferociously, biting down and sucking hard on my clit. I let out a scream muffled by a laugh as I let go of the tension, my limbs shaking as I orgasm around his fingers, clenching him tightly inside me, bucking against his mouth, wanting his tongue to touch every hot, slick, throbbing part of me.

The trembling gradually subsides and he pulls his fingers out of my cunt. The sensation of him pulling out of me shakes me with the aftershock of my orgasm. The cuffs are unhooked and he rolls me onto my side. He settles me against him, my back to his chest, his arm wrapped around my midriff, his breath on the back of my neck. I drift slowly back into focus, snuggle closer to him, and let him hold me till I fall asleep.

Subspace I

The first step to slipping under
was leaning forward over the bed.
Strong, steady hands
stroked along my skin,
slid slowly down my spine.
And the first step to slipping under
was leaning over the bed.

The impact--anticipated--
took me to the second step:
eyes closed, tongue pressed against
the back of my top teeth;
my hips shifted--lifted
to meet the palm of his hand.
The impact--fulfilled--
took me down the second step.

The sleeping side of me
uncurled and stretched her limbs,
opening her--me--to greet
the next blow.




written 10-10-2015

To Fancy Pete

All I need to know
in that moment
is telegraphed through
his eyes,

a short--ABRUPT--
message:
LUST. STOP. ACHE. STOP. NEED. STOP.
Everything distilled
to the hard, sharp
edges of Anglo-Saxon

verbs; and I, unstopped,
answer their irresistible
imperative and bend
--pliant--
to his demand.




written 29-09-2015