Come bitch tigress, Sacrifice to me, Your virgin reputation, Set the sex beast free. You cat in crouching, waiting, to claw my muscled body lean, lick your lips and purr the words, ride the raging beast obscene.
Ahhh, wetness, and hardness. The electricity in touch. A handful of hair. A rough shove against a wall, or over a table. The sly grin, where others fear. Closed eyes at penetration, and the shuddering release of breath, as if we might gasp our last breath in this spiritual release. The warm, wet release of orgasm, of body fluid bonding.
Feeling the animal inside, the hunger and fear of what it might consume and yet not caring. To take and be taken, to claim roughly without apology. I beat my slave and yet she loves me all the more. I make her into a cock sucking slut, force her to her knees, degrade her in ways that would cause a lesser woman to run from me, and yet she comes crawling back for more, to collapse warm and safe in my arms.
This primal urge is from the dawn of our existence. Full of muscle and sex, it strips away our polite facade. We become beasts, stalking, hunted, hearts pounding, chasing some glorious thrill that fades so quickly, leaving only a face before ours, beaming with new softness and affection. Perhaps we must destroy to renew.
Submission and slavery need not be about sex. But often it is. In a dungeon, a slave may walk by naked, her firm body delightful to the eye, and yet it is the word “Sir”, whispered is soft submissive tones that makes me hard. When the McDonald’s driveup girl says “yes Sir” its amusing to me because for me this carries so much more than simple politeness. “Sir” can cause amusing moments of hardness.
Control, a hand on a throat, a handful of hair, a hard, wet, rough fuck. Yeah, sex and Domination go well together. But sex is not the objective, it is the pleasure that comes with submission. So eager are we often to get to sex, that we miss the mind, that wonderful fountain of nasty naughtiness.. where it all begins.