Finally, she falls against the burning finger, and the last ember burns into the globe of her tit, sizzling there. It made the sound of any meat sizzling on a flame. She senses the sharp sting of fire -- hot and then oddly, cold. At the same time, she smells her own body burning. It surprises her, the smell and the sensation, they seem incongruous. She inhales the shreds of smoke, pulling him through her. The surreal pain, the stench of her burning flesh, for Him, being what He needs and what she is desperate to experience, a pig, fuckmeat, tortured intimately, loving at his hand. Pain is experience as an overwhelming sexual buzz.
Never before having felt fortunate, proud that my humiliation, degradation is at the hand of a man so extraordinary it frightens me to think I could fall from his grace. He knows I would rather leave this world than be without Him. I cannot speak of my adoration and love without feeling the words don’t tell of what is within my soul. I lower my eyes in Worship, my Owner, my God.
It moved like a swarm of bees through her cunt, her ass, deep into her womb and the deepest pit of her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to please him. She feels his hand holding the instrument of pain he plays on her tender, beautiful body, and she stays still, afraid to move. He stands, breaking all contact, and she falls against the couch, tits swaying, moving slowly to the side, and at last settling heavily there.
He grabs the tortured flesh between thumb and forefinger, that long, fat nipple growing instantly at his touch. His grip tightens without concern as he yanks on her tight nip, putting his shoulder into the movement.
A hoarse groan escapes her lips, as her eyes open wide. His strength tumbles her forward onto the rug, belly first, as though she were dead. He licks her blood from his fingers, and find small bits of her blackened skin on his lip. Wiping them on his shirtsleeve, his toe pushes against her shoulder turning her on her back. The bloody tit had smeared her stomach and face. She watched him, not moving, her eyes filling with tears he thought would never spill. He surveyed her face for insight to what was in her head. He watched her lips tremble. " i breathe only to bear your pain, to bathe in your love."
He pondered for a moment whether to comfort or go further. Pacing back a few steps, turning his back to her, he demanded quietly, "Sit." Her response was so quick, it surprised them both. She flipped to her knees...arms along her legs, hands palm up, her head tilted back exposing her neck, her eyes locked on his. Her jaw was set. He saw this. He whirls on the ball of one foot, his arm outstretched, the back of his hand catching her across the cheek. The blow lifted her ass from her knees and sent her tumbling backwards, ass burning across the carpet, the side of her knee rubbing raw. She fought the wave of darkness, as she curled around herself in the fetal position, biting her lip hard to find the clarity of the pain, to let it focus her. She was determined to not lose consciousness, to remain with him.
Very slowly she blinked her large eyes and long lashes, the smear of makeup making her beauty somehow more human. Her vision cleared, and she felt fear writhing in the pit of her stomach. It confused her, the contradiction.... of fear at her core and an awareness of growing excitement, of wetness. How far would he take her? Could she be graceful and vulnerable throughout? She felt the vibration of his step on the soft floor, and sensed him standing over her, the sound of him unzipping his jeans made her raise her head like a startled, eager bird.
A bright flash of pain from where his hand landed, slowed her for only a moment. The adrenaline instantly blocking some of the throbbing in her body, and she welcomed the warm flow of urine, splattering over her face, her tits...her belly. The piss stung her nipple briefly as she opened her mouth quickly, hungrily to meet the stream.
A cold slap. Cold??? She turned her cheek for the next... Hot and cold seemed to blend. Cold. This was cold. Her cheek lolled against her shoulder and she felt the coarseness of the toweling he had thrown at her. It felt wonderful on her face. Like medicine, cutting away the throb in her temple.
Ohhh, she sighed thinking at last of how she must look to him. Her arm was so very heavy as she moved the towel clumsily over her face. Her lip catching on it as she found herself sobbing, out-loud and deeply. She sniffed, pulling hard at air through her nose, she struggled to fill herself with air as if it would help her remain standing. Her mind raced... searching to understand. Searching to feel the ground again, to find words...she was thankful. he...had given her this towel.
She ran the dampness across her face, her stomach, throat and tried to wipe her hair... Her arms sank to her sides. She simply hadn't the strength to hold the towel up and rub. She just held the damp cloth to her face, cradled there... with her neck. She was sorry her skin warmed it, sad. One eye was open and she was looking at him.
She caught it and drank greedily thinking i have lost too much ... He saw blood from her inner cheek mixed with his piss and her saliva, the flow trailed off and ended. Concentrating on the sting in her eyes, awkwardly groping and slipping she moved toward him, wanting to assume her kneeling position, but somehow unable to find it.
She gasped as she felt her head jerked backwards, throwing her off balance, his fist holding a knotted shank of her hair. He raised her, by her hair, from the floor to standing. She felt like a bit of ash in his hand, as if she was a fallen ember and he was the kick of the wind. Had he let her go, she would have simply collapsed.
He reached to her face, and gently wiped her eyes clear. The eyes were red. She was trembling, and sobbing uncontrollably. He could feel a hint of hysteria, but also her fight to remain available to him. His right hand cracked across her right cheek, and was echoed by a crack across the left. Without pause the right cheek again...then the left. She was so thankful for his touch.
She went somewhere inside, somewhere dark and soft, a deep hollow. She felt no pain, just the thudding blows against her tissue. She felt herself urinating. She heard a buzzing, and felt it travelling through her. There was heaviness in her legs, she just let go, and she gave in to gravity, and let her legs be gone from under her.
As she became too heavy for him to hold with one arm, he dropped her. She saw bubbles floating to the surface and was aware that her breathing was ragged. She floated upward on one of the bubbles but she didn't want to open her eyes. She imagined she was going to die. She thought about the idea of dieing and it held no fear. Her brow wrinkled it seemed wrong, not to fear death....
She had no sense of time and could only feel a pounding in her breast and a blinding headache unfolding. He yanked her from these thoughts by a fistful of hair...bringing her to her feet again. "Stay. Stand," he directed. She now felt terrified. She couldn't. She was going to fail him... But as he held her, by only her hair, he was shocked to find legs again. Though wobbling and shifting in an almost humorous fashion, she managed to remain standing.
You have read this article Her /
Love
with the title What Love Does To Her. You can bookmark this page URL https://socratestvblog.blogspot.com/2013/01/what-love-does-to-her.html. Thanks!
