What, you wanted flowers?
Previous - this entry written on November 21, 2006 at 7:21 am - Next
You say you want to be loved, you talk of romance, of kind gestures and intimate moments and of how it makes you sad to be alone. Pretty words, and I'm sure you mean them when you say them... but I know that's not all you want. I know what you hate to put words to, that twisted longing that perverts every relationship you'll ever have, stains every innocent conversation. I know what you won't admit to family or friends, what you keep locked away. I know what you need.
You need, sometimes, to have all that niceness stripped away. No trace of a sweet, vanilla relationship, not even the faintest hint of one, no, what you want and need is to be reminded that to at least one person, you will never be a respectable mate, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a husband or wife, no such socially-acceptable labels. There are better words for what you'd be: slut, bitch, fucktoy, property. A piece of meat, a cheap lay, a whore so hungry for your next fucking that you'd do it for free, just for the feel of someone spreading your legs or filling your mouth. You want to be used, to drown yourself in the moment, thinking of nothing but serving, servicing, pleasing whoever it is that's torn away all your illusions and left you cowering on your knees.
You want to feel filthy, you want to feel what in any normal person would be shame but for you, it's damn near orgasmic, isn't it? Pleasure... yes, pleasure, sensual, sexual, so intense it overwhelms you, just from the feel of a rope drawn tight around your throat, or a leash snapped into place on a cheap little collar someone was kind enough to lock on you, or even just a pair of strong hands forcing you down, making you do what you know, even if you fight and struggle, you secretly want to do. You want to be humiliated, made small, no longer human. You want to be a pet, a slave, something owned and controlled, without any choices or any responsibilities. You want to lose yourself in the bliss of helpless, utter submission... to have everything, everything taken away except the knowledge that you Belong to Someone.
You want to feel useful, to know that every breath you draw is given to you because you have in some way been pleasing, that you've earned your existance with your body and with your submission. It's a powerful thing, being certain that you've done well, that there is a reason you exist; most people never get that certainty, that surety, that sense of protection and safety that only comes when you're sprawled at someone's feet or bound to their bed. You've tasted it and you want it again, want to be wrapped up in the comforting warmth of someone's posessive affection, to know that you are considered worth using, worth owning, worth keeping close. Nothing else really compares, does it? No gentle kisses, no hand-holding, no polite conversations or even passionate embraces, nothing quite measures up to that moment of perfect contentment that comes when you know you've pleased your Owner.
You won't admit often to just how much you want this. You think it's somehow wrong, or that you don't deserve it, or that asking for it is too hard, too embarassing, too frightening. Some days, you even manage to convince yourself you don't want it, that it was a passing phase, that it was a moment's fling, that you're fine without it.
I know better than that. So do you, really.
You'll never be quite satisfied without that feeling, without LIVING it, not just fantasizing, daydreaming, wishing. Never.
Sucks, doesn't it?
Previous - Next
Hosted by Diaryland - All Rights Reserved - Image, Layout, and Content copyright Jax Raven -
- Do Not Feed The Moose -