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...
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