(no subject)
He breathes in eager, shallow exhalations, muscles straining beneath my grip, and every swallow presses his bared neck against my lips. "Darling," he gasps gently, but then says nothing more, loathe to break the moment's spell. Just one word. "Darling."
This body is so damaged. I cannot breathe that my lungs don't threaten to cough up foamy blood, cannot eat that my stomach doesn't heave with the compulsion to purge its contents. My hands shake; my head swims; my sleep is restless and wrought with nightmares. I cannot recall a time without this weakness, a time when I might have lived free from constant pain or slept peacefully through the night. I am a prisoner in my own body, entombed in a crumbling cell with no hope of escape.
But he was right, my beloved. There is strange beauty in domination. There is glorious transformation in supremacy. When he bends to the will of my iron touch it's as though every pulse of his heart feeds his own rich blood through my veins. I've never experienced such possessiveness for another, nor such strength and control as that which I claim in him. I thought I'd have to sell my soul for this kind of power. I cannot control my own trembling but I can make him twist and turn beneath me. My breath comes harshly but so does his, though for different reasons. Here I am king and god. Here I am immortal. I hold complete dominion over our private world.
"Darling," he murmurs, shivering at my caress with a hunger only I may prolong or sate. It pleases me to do both, just as it pleases him to lay helpless to my whim. Through my domination he eases his longing for subservience and in his vulnerability I achieve a control impossible over my own body. I feared this union once, but now I understand: it sets us both free.