From One Shadow To Another

Tell me.

When you lay yourself down in your own pocket between space and time, how do you feel?

When you run your hands along the curves of your breasts, when you skim the edges of your nipples with your fingertips, how do you feel?

I don’t want you to pull out the nipple clamps. Not yet.

I want to stand here a while and watch you writhe and toss and turn and beg for the release that, for this moment in time, only cold hard steel or plastic twisting you into oblivion can bring you.

And how do you keep that little lovely cunt of yours? Waxed? Trimmed? Shaven? Full? I want to see this side of you, so that the next time you run your hands across your bare slit or through your pubic hair, I want to feel it happen even on the other side of the world.

Even on the other side of the world, I want to feel your fingertips move through your soft mound, slip apart your cute, eager lips. I want to stagger where I am at my own point in time, our minds connected by this one act across distances because I can feel you with me, in me.

Can you feel it even now? The quivering breath from my trembling lips as I feel you? My wavering legs as I try to right myself? Can you feel that reverberate within your mind? Tell me.

How does that feel? Are you squirming? Rising your hips off from where you lay? And is your own body trembling yet?

Tell me. How does it feel to have this moment to yourself?

You may use your nipple clamps and tell me. Oh – and if you don’t have any, use your hands. I so do like it when a good girl uses her hands on her own tits.

So. Project to me how you are, how you feel, where your mind is taking me. Tell me through frenzied whispers, frustrated growls, tears of joy, anguished sobs. Tell me how much you want this – to play, to cum, to ascend beyond space and time and comprehension. Rise through the air, across space. Rise beyond the galaxy and form this connective tissue with me.

You may come now.

A Dark, Sadistic Fantasy Of Mine

As a dominant, there has always been this sadistic bone in my body, this underlying aspect to my personality that delights in sheer torture, in humiliation and degradation.

One of the hottest fantasies of mine – to me – is the idea of stalking this woman from her home, kidnapping her and taking her to something abandoned industrial complex where its cold and dank and dark – and training her day in and day out to become a behaved little sex doll.

The one thing that thrills me and tickles my bones is the psychological interaction between, say, myself and this unnamed pretty little thing. I have this idea in me that I can break down, essentially, who she is – who she’s developed into.

The tastes that she has, the life that she’s built, whether she is in a relationship or married – I can work to break all that down – because….at the end of the day, we all have this spot in the back of our minds that we leave locked up, that we’re afraid of. It could be related to anything – being rude, being mean, being a sexual deviant, wanting to speak our minds but knowing better.

And I want to break that down in her. I want to…picture this – that she’s completely naked, chained by her hands to stand upright panting, sweating, begging. Picture that there’s she has some fight in her, that she will fight back to hold on to some semblance of who she was while I whip her with my belt.

You see, I want to find her limit. We can decide whether to push that limit or extend it softly later – but for now, I want to find it so I can get her to tell me EVERY. SINGLE. LITTLE. DETAIL. That her morality is locking up in the depths of her mind, either consciously or subconsciously. I want to break her down, raw and roughly and coarse, until she’s a sensitive mess of a human being, because then we get to who she is and what she wants and why.

And when she’s broken down and trembling, when every inch of her body and mind is on fire from this physical and emotional assault, then I can teach her, train her. To be obedient, to be a loving, giving, adoring Slave. No matter how long it takes. I’ve got the patience.

Why? Because minds fascinate me. I want to break down barriers, find the messy heart. I want to study what makes them tick, what darkness they have within them, what they consider light. I want to set them free.

It’s a dark fantasy in my head, a giddy rush to my cock, igniting my senses, stimulating my mind.

The Living Embodiment of Snow White

Before you begin – full disclaimer – I woke up just now from a nap – and I’m feeling drunk for no reason. So the following is a drunken-tired ramble and therefore may make zero sense. Have fun if you dare attempt! I wrote this disclaimer long after I re discovered the ramble in my notes.

She has deep dark brown eyes – eyes that seem to expand and enlarge when she smiles. This is a smile that lights up the whole room – you think this is a metaphor? Or just semi cliched writing but no – when she smiles, the room seems filled with light, right? All dazzling and brilliant and hearty.

But her eyes – her eyes lift with her face. Her whole face just beams wonderfully. It’s a smile that makes you wanna smile and go – boy howdy, look at that lady there. She is smiling something wonderful.

But here’s the thing. Though this women is the living embodiment of Snow White – and I shit you not, right? Pale skin, like snow covered ice – and then ruby red lips, so deep, so Scarlett that it’s almost like it’s a layer of lipstick when it’s just her natural look. It’s like – whoa.

And then there is her jetblack hair. It’s sometimes done up, I would say because she doesn’t like it getting in the way of every single thing she does – but when she’s feeling less drawn to things by way of mechanical reaching, she lets her hair down to feel more like herself. Like she is more than her business, more than her work, she is part of the forest, part of the earth and the world and the moss on the trees and the animals being all busy and stuff.

So. Yeah. Snow White.

But here’s the other thing, there’s this duality that no body but her knows about. It kinda comes out when she’s in the shower and her is all freshly wet and there’s water beading on her breasts and her nipples are being slashed by the water, still coming on hot.

She feels like a Slave in the context of bdsm. She wants to kneel, right there in the shower and feel the water lashing at her, marking her, scalding her, giving her some sort of rebirth that will make her feel whole.

She has this whole idea in her head of a man rushing in and begging to her for her own release, desperately needing her in some sort of ritualistic slavery so that HE can feel complete right? He so desperately needs her to feel complete – THAT is how powerful she is, how powerful she feels in a moment like this, and yet. This isn’t her.

And that’s the fascinating duality there. That’s the sadness there. It’s a conflicting ball of psychology and behaviourism and then there’s this wonderful beautiful expression of love and a Master and Slave dynamic there too.

I know that mindset well. I know it because I dreamt her. I dreamt her – why? I don’t know. Maybe because the M/s Dynamic fascinates me, maybe because it is truly embedded in my subconscious. Maybe because I know a person like that – maybe it’s a women I’ve met or know of. And this isn’t me being coy like hehehe I know something you don’t – no! This is me wondering and digesting. This is me realising that maybe this woman – this living embodiment of Snow White – is a theoretical woman I know and maybe it’s a reader or a person I met on Fetlife or a tumbler anonymous writer or maybe it is the Slave in my subconscious that acts as a mediator between my mind and the Master in Me.

Then again – maybe – I don’t know, maybe this woman is something that belongs to the people out there, that I would love to protect even though I can’t preach about my life and what worked because everybody has different backgrounds and experiences and methods that work for them. And not everybody needs to hear my own bullshit right?

Maybe this Slave-like embodiment of Snow White just needs to stay in my subconscious for a moment so she can help me. Kinda like Alice with Lewis Carroll only not brilliant.