blackshivers:

Stéphane Coutelle
Lives are lived in seconds … we never see them coming … then watch them fly …
But some of those images burn … as negative relief … lines scratched deep on the interior mind …
Here the curve of an offered arm … there the steel of a longed for grip …
An endless movie running … as infinite loop … your skin … my need … our destined play of passion …
May I return … oh let me return … those were the seconds to live for …
Yet a reason to die for …
If an image endures … as infamy … then ours shall be immortal … High-res

blackshivers:

Stéphane Coutelle



Lives are lived in seconds … we never see them coming … then watch them fly …

But some of those images burn … as negative relief … lines scratched deep on the interior mind …

Here the curve of an offered arm … there the steel of a longed for grip …

An endless movie running … as infinite loop … your skin … my need … our destined play of passion …

May I return … oh let me return … those were the seconds to live for …

Yet a reason to die for …

If an image endures … as infamy … then ours shall be immortal …

Pure

azraelwrites:

He was once immensely strong—in body, in mind, in purpose; in his belief of truths wound through his convictions—convictions he defended with such vehemence and, occasionally, such unbridled, merciless violence. His was a strength born of and nourished by the singularity of a mind not yet fractured by despicable compromise or untiring misplaced hope; not yet sequestered from reality for safekeeping, but held proudly aloft as a battle flag, an unfurling signal initiating the charge upon his waiting life; by dreams so immense they comprised a reality of his own making—a reality of pure, unrealized possibility in which he was immersed. Armored against fear, against self-doubt, against losses he could not yet conceive of—scaled so beautifully by unspoiled naiveté—he was as invincible as a fledgling god, if only in his own mind, and in his heart.

Oh, to be as he was. To be him!

To be him, once again.

azraelwrites:

I want to hear raucous music, to see faces, to brush against bodies, to drink fiery benedictine. Beautiful women and handsome men arouse fierce desires in me. I want to dance. I want drugs. I want to know perverse people, to be intimate with them. I never look at naive faces. I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it. 

—Anais Nin

be-pleasing-always:

when words are not an option… learning to communicate again, without sighs, pleading or begging, no complaints or demands, no questions or comments. communicating more simply, more gracefully, silently. thinking whether it needs or must be communicated at all, or whether silence is all that is called for.
and then, the silent offer, always.

~ cat / be-pleasing-always
trilbygrey:

A skilled submissive can say so much without a word.

I write until my hands ache …
Because my soul aches …
Only to live in this time …
This time without words …

be-pleasing-always:

when words are not an option… learning to communicate again, without sighs, pleading or begging, no complaints or demands, no questions or comments. communicating more simply, more gracefully, silently. thinking whether it needs or must be communicated at all, or whether silence is all that is called for.

and then, the silent offer, always.

~ cat / be-pleasing-always

trilbygrey:

A skilled submissive can say so much without a word.



I write until my hands ache …
Because my soul aches …
Only to live in this time …
This time without words …

i kneel silently, head bent meekly… i give you the power
to bring my world down with ease if you only wished.
i give you each trembling feeling, each fragile thought…i am transparent
you have the power to hurt me within a second completely…irreversibly
i give you my heart, it’s looks so small and delicate in your mighty hands
you could crush it without slight effort and yet you cherish it
i give you access to the core of my fears, hopes and desires
the key to door of my happiness in your hand, so easy to shut it down.
and yet i trust you with every ounce of my being…giving all.
i kneel silently, soft arms wrapped around your leg… and you have the power

(by klaudia langer sparta)

"When the slave/sub is ready….."

herliege:

[Repost in response to an ask, because the original got hijacked and it is still relevant apparently.]

image

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"When the slave/sub is ready….."

This ‘quote’ and the rest of it ‘the Master will appear’ are everywhere. I am not entirely sure who is responsible for the original adaptation to suit the D/s context. It is an adaptation, of a phrase seen in theosophy as ‘For when the disciple is ready, the Master is ready also’, and in the Buddhist proverb  ‘when the student is ready, the teacher/master appears’.

It is an interesting thought, is it not? The slave/submissive sits and waits and when they are deemed ready the Master appears. And to be sure, as a Dom or Master to know or see your submissive or slave waiting for you is a sight for sore eyes. 

Yet people  are given this quote as advice when they ask about ways to find a Dom or Master, they are told a good slave practices patience. So apparently if a sub sits and waits patiently at home, a Dom or Master will as if by magic know they are waiting and appear out of thin air on their doorstep.

In some fantasy world this magic might work, the same one presumably where castles full of slaves patiently await the arrival of their Dom in shining armour.  But down on earth, if a sub wants to find a Dom they will have to go out there and let people know they are waiting, make an effort, they will have to go out there and meet people, safely of course. And for a ‘good slave’ to practice patience for their Master, they will have to be someone’s slave first.

Certainly, the image of a sub or slave waiting for their Dom or Master is enticing, utterly beautiful and one to savour if you happen to be that Dom or Master. But we have to reach that stage first and unless we believe in magic or Batman-esque signals in the night sky, there is the very real and rather important matter of forging a relationship to deal with. 

And the notion that the sub waits patiently for the Dom or Master to pick them, select them, find them, is the stuff of fiction and fantasy. Balderdash. In the real, physical world of D/s [yes it exists, trust me], people go out and find each other. 

"Sir, I am ready and waiting for you"  an anonymous person told me in my inbox and they were not the first. Apart from all other answers I might come up with and a heap of advice on safety and such, my main and very serious recommendation would have to be: “Don’t hold your breath." It doesn’t work that way. 

The quote I began with may have merit in other situations, but it is useless as a piece of advice in terms of finding a partner for a D/s bond or anything else for that matter. Forging that bond takes time and very real effort from two people who have to find each other first. No amount of solitary patience or waiting will make it happen. No amount of fantasy will make it happen. In fact, it may be wise to let go of the fantasy, because it will pale in comparison to the real thing.

© M. / Her Liege - image by Stanko Abadžic  - leave post and credits intact

Hot Dreams

rolledtrousers:

I want to take all of your air. Hold it hostage until I see honesty in your eyes. Affectations stripped away from you like so many clothes to slither off on the floor, ashamed and useless. I want to see the you under you, before you lathered on neurosis and insecurities. I want to see what colour desperation is on you. 

It’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s the idea you flirt with, the one you flutter your eyelashes at, imagine when you lie in bed at night, hand planted between your legs, trying to make something grow. To be pushed, cajoled, urged towards the edge of… whatever it is, a purity of sorts. 

So let’s take away the theatre. Dismiss the audience, sack the orchestra, and send all the other players home early. Dismantle the stage, until it’s just you and me on the wooden boarding, with nothing but each other left. Let’s hear you beg, let’s hear it without the moans, and the little inserted whimpers between every other word. Let’s hear the truth of it. 

You say you want to be afraid, but I’m not sure you know what fear is, not really. There’s a wistfulness to your voice, as if its some whimsical idea that you can entertain of an afternoon, writhe around in until you get a sense of it without ever really brushing up against the reality. You say you want to be truly controlled, totally at my mercy, but I’m not sure you know what you’re saying. 

Because I want metamorphosis. I want change, manifested in you, to watch the transformation from enjoyment to realisation to whatever is on the other side of that. I want you to leave different to when you arrived, take something on to carry with you. I want you to learn, but I don’t know what I want to teach. There’s a black hole between you and me, and I fear it’s sucking us both in. We’ll be crushed. 

Hold a little back. Do it for me. Retain a little control, just a touch, a smidgen, enough that it can be a ripcord if you need it to be. Enough that you can pull me back from the brink, if I stare off that edge so long I start to look crazed. Look out for me, with the corner of your eye, and I’ll look out for you. 

Quid pro quo, Clarice. 



What remained when the curtain fell …
Wild eyes and a wicked smile …


Ah but this is purity …
In its most natural of states …


Colour me black or neon red …
It’s all the same you see …
On a desperate canvas …


I’ve got more than a smidgen …
If you really want it …


Do you really want it?

Or I can save us both the trouble …

Quid pro quo …