Sweet Relief

We talk about relief in terms of domination and submission, of orgasms, forced or denied until madness. We talk of the build, the pressure and the release as the holy trinity but something else that I can see being added to all this is the sensuality behind urinating. In certain situations, of course.

I’ve never been one to think of golden showers as erotic but I’d be a liar if I said it hasn’t started to occur to me as of late when it comes to the holy trinity, the three stages of sweet relief.

I’m guilty of letting things build. I delay the release in favour of the thing I’m writing or the movie I’m watching or if I’m enjoying a walk with company – insert numerous situations. Sometimes, dear reader, I admit to lying in bed, unable to find motivation, denying myself release as I browse WordPress or see to daily tasks.

When it comes to the pressure, the act of relief is in the back of my mind. The urge escalated but so does the eroticism. In my mind’s eye, I’m starting to transform, like a werewolf under the full moon, and I’m above a Slave about to commence a daily ritual.

This ties into a Master side of me I would guess, because in my mind, it’s a ritualistic encounter. In my mind, I’m delaying her pressure like a dick sadist. In my mind, there is no God because I’m the devil here. You see what I mean? It’s a gut-wrenching alternate me. And it’s profoundly erotic in ways I’d never think.

And then there’s that millisecond of ecstasy where you let go – you’re not afraid to release, you are free. I can almost feel myself plummeting from the top of a waterfall down into the lake, ready to be reborn by the act as much as she will be. We’re born together.

Maybe I’m being pretentious but I don’t know if I am. There’s a lot going on in my mind at times when I urinate that I’m not sure you could boil it down to sheer over-thinking. I mean, there’s a ritual there. Something sacred. There’s worship and the idea of being worship. There’s ownership and trust and a shared connection.

I can picture myself being right there with her, elated with her, transported with her, high on the act just like her. But I can also sense, on my part, in my Dominance, feeling that relief of letting go, of shedding my skin and feeling my new body for the very first time.

I could get used to that ritual.

“Her” – A BDSM poem.

This is an early poetry piece I wrote in my early days as a Dominant, before I matured with my thoughts and beliefs. Thought I’d share.

 

She’s down on her knees,

tears hit the floor like a flood

she’s begging him please

But there is no time for talk

 

The fog’s rolling in,

their house is surrounded by woods

They’re living in sin.

The torment’s about to begin

 

She crawls on her knees

Hoping that she will please him

her pain is absurd

He asks her to whisper these words:

I am the dark

I am the doll

I am yours”

He clasps it on tight

washes her down for the night

She grips to his leg

The nothing girl starts to beg

 

He cradles her face

Kisses her cheeks so softly

He praises her place

reminds her of her own beauty

 

Their love transcends space

Yet she falls down into place

The wolves start to chase

As she once again utters words:

“I am the dark
I am the doll

I am yours”