There is no gag, but I dare not speak. Not because of fear of punishment (which I do desire), but I know my words will never cease once I begin. If I spill out my desires and wants, how will I know you know what I need? Instead, my secrets must be pried from the abyss from which they derive. The pain will not come from your hands roughening my pale skin or the wax that will meld my flesh into your pliant mold. The defining sting will be when my soul recedes from the chains that bind it to normalcy. When you pull my hair with the carnality that makes my sleek beast roar to let loose, the pain will be the sheer agony of ecstasy when to your harbored freedom I race.
I cannot see your eyes, but I feel the heat they convey as I submit to your survey. I inhale the whimper from the uncertainty of not knowing if I please you or if you are silent in distaste. I strain against the demons that tear the flesh of my insecurities. I bleed with the inability to pour my whiskey eyes over you. Deluding myself that I contain the power to intoxicate you with my submissive greed. My control is tethered to your every heartbeat, a forceful thrum that vibrates each bead of lust I secrete. When my will is subdued into a bruised blue, you siphon away the poison of my vulnerability by lathing me with your tongue. Your fingers define providence within my ripened folds.
The girl of pitiful tears dissolves into an ash of yesteryear’s regrets; the risks I refused to take. Unlike the Phoenix, I do not rise and take flight. Instead, the warrior within gives birth to a woman more deserving of your erotic delights. The color of rose wine graces my noble and defiant cheeks. My lips purse in sinful purity, not a pout but an invitation for you to consume and partake — my soul in orgasmic fury. To be possessed in your destiny is not a position I will ever forsake.