dreams
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
4,131
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
4,131
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
chapter 2
Dreams by Verinthalia
Chapter 2
More of my dreams and thoughts.
Why do I long for a master to hurt me? Because I walk through life numb. Nothing brings me joy, or excites me any longer. It's all the same crap day after day. Sex is just sex. I could go back to trolling for a variety of partners, but even that gets ol
Wh
What is it about the images of my body bound, contorted in ways that fill my muscles with burning agony from just the position I am bound in? The freedom. When my master takes my body and uses it to excite himself, when he thrills at my torment then I am free to just feel. I don't have to invest my energy in the emotional games of giving back to your lover.
He doesn't care about my emotions, just my purely physical reaction. I can be truthful, to his torture, and my pain. The endorphins and adrenalin that flood my brain release me from the constraints of society. I am no longer a respectable 'lady'. I am an animal, and as such I can revel in the sweaty, screaming release of my sexuality.
Shame has no place in the brutality of his beatings. Pleasure is all that matters, his pleasure. I loved being debased, and agonized for his enjoyment. Hedonistic abandon drowns me as he plays my flesh like a symphony.
My stretched, shrieking muscles from his bondage are like the string section high and light. Thpactpact of the floggers, and paddles are like the percussion section. The clamps and clips that bite deep and sharp are the woodwinds that trills up and down my spine. The brass section is the whips, and canes that are filled with strong solid blows that rise to soaring heights as my flesh is lashed, and the mes ues underneath knot and cramp.
My pain induced orgasms the soul stirring crescendo tharks rks the overtures end and the bringing of the next movement.
All modesty dies and self-awareness is awakened. Every inch of my body is his. I have no private 'parts'. He invades every opening, explores my body to the very bottom of it's depths; nothing is left free of his touch.
If he deems my sad little sack of flesh, bone and muscle worth the effort, he will mark it permanently as his. If not he will rent me out like a cheap piof pof property.
My soul soars to unexplored and frightening heights as he binds me and puts me on display. I am filled with ecstasy as his fellow sadists marvel aloud at the complex and innovative ways that he uses me.
I long for him to bind me in a stationary pose, my agony plain for all to see, the lines of my body contorted, and convolved, then like erotic statuary, and I 'm am placed in the spotlight for viewing. My mind is far away, my body awash with sensations as his 'friends' enjoy the display while drinking cocktails, in their formal ware. I hear their conversations with only half a mis ths they critic the flesh before them that bears his marks, both the permanent tattoos and piercings; and the temporary bruisings, lash marks, and abrasions. Feather light they touch me pointing out their favorite parts of the work of art that is before them.
This is what I long for, the freedom to become the sexual object, and leave my daily world behind, to feel the joy and exhilaration that my masochism brings.
Let me stay here in my dreams, until my master finds me. Master where are you?
Chapter 2
More of my dreams and thoughts.
Why do I long for a master to hurt me? Because I walk through life numb. Nothing brings me joy, or excites me any longer. It's all the same crap day after day. Sex is just sex. I could go back to trolling for a variety of partners, but even that gets ol
Wh
What is it about the images of my body bound, contorted in ways that fill my muscles with burning agony from just the position I am bound in? The freedom. When my master takes my body and uses it to excite himself, when he thrills at my torment then I am free to just feel. I don't have to invest my energy in the emotional games of giving back to your lover.
He doesn't care about my emotions, just my purely physical reaction. I can be truthful, to his torture, and my pain. The endorphins and adrenalin that flood my brain release me from the constraints of society. I am no longer a respectable 'lady'. I am an animal, and as such I can revel in the sweaty, screaming release of my sexuality.
Shame has no place in the brutality of his beatings. Pleasure is all that matters, his pleasure. I loved being debased, and agonized for his enjoyment. Hedonistic abandon drowns me as he plays my flesh like a symphony.
My stretched, shrieking muscles from his bondage are like the string section high and light. Thpactpact of the floggers, and paddles are like the percussion section. The clamps and clips that bite deep and sharp are the woodwinds that trills up and down my spine. The brass section is the whips, and canes that are filled with strong solid blows that rise to soaring heights as my flesh is lashed, and the mes ues underneath knot and cramp.
My pain induced orgasms the soul stirring crescendo tharks rks the overtures end and the bringing of the next movement.
All modesty dies and self-awareness is awakened. Every inch of my body is his. I have no private 'parts'. He invades every opening, explores my body to the very bottom of it's depths; nothing is left free of his touch.
If he deems my sad little sack of flesh, bone and muscle worth the effort, he will mark it permanently as his. If not he will rent me out like a cheap piof pof property.
My soul soars to unexplored and frightening heights as he binds me and puts me on display. I am filled with ecstasy as his fellow sadists marvel aloud at the complex and innovative ways that he uses me.
I long for him to bind me in a stationary pose, my agony plain for all to see, the lines of my body contorted, and convolved, then like erotic statuary, and I 'm am placed in the spotlight for viewing. My mind is far away, my body awash with sensations as his 'friends' enjoy the display while drinking cocktails, in their formal ware. I hear their conversations with only half a mis ths they critic the flesh before them that bears his marks, both the permanent tattoos and piercings; and the temporary bruisings, lash marks, and abrasions. Feather light they touch me pointing out their favorite parts of the work of art that is before them.
This is what I long for, the freedom to become the sexual object, and leave my daily world behind, to feel the joy and exhilaration that my masochism brings.
Let me stay here in my dreams, until my master finds me. Master where are you?