His Whore

I crawl...to him on hands and knees, like a golden tiger with muscles rippling under skin; animal calling to animal, the primal energy rising up in us as I get closer to him.

I kneel...before him giving myself to him body, mind, spirit, and will so that he can guide us through the darkest places of our desires; set our passions free to soar in the depth of pain.

I wait…i am the submissive whore who awaits her Sir’s desires and his pleasures; the suspense of our indulgences building and growing on the edge of the knife of our lust.

I attend…his needs, his desires; his enjoyment are my purpose when we come together; ministering to his body, caring for him physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

I growl…when he bites me, claiming my flesh as his own, marking me with his teeth on my neck as he takes what is freely given; his animal calling to mine in a moment of challenge.

I purr…with pleasure at the pain that is wrought on my flesh as he molds me to his will, to his passion; awakening my spirit and soul ‘til we breathe as one in the dark space.

I sing…when the painful torment reaches the perfect pinnacle of lust, joy, sex, claiming; the endorphins flying and I am lost in the dark with only his touch to guide me.

I laugh…when the pain becomes like the barest caress of a tickle waiting to happen and the joy bubbles up my throat and escapes my lips in the purest moment of happiness.

I scream…when the wanton whore is knocking on the door humping the toys of painful torment, wanting more, needing more in the inky blackness where i am lost without him.

I release…my very essence to his touch as he whispers in my ear, “Come for me my whore. Give it to me, all of it,” and I cannot hold back an ounce of the beautiful water he craves.

I yield…to him because he speaks to my soul like no other ever has, he sets something inside of me free—to be, to soar, to expand and grow; allowing me to be who I am meant to be.

I share…with him the depth of my spirit and my goddess because he understands, and my goddess desires him, has work for him to perform in the beautiful dark places of our journey together.

I ache…there is a yearning deep inside of me that craves his touch and the sound of his raspy voice in my ear leading me on through the inky darkness of our world of taboo.

I am…His whore.

© Dawn C. Davis ~ 2012