Speaking Truth to a Submissive Heart

The little moments possess the most gravity. Neither the snick of metal upon first locking a collar nor the cathartic sobbing when a boy finally breaks mean as much as the sum of all the intimacy in between. Each moment a boy submits and serves his Domme provides another sliver of insight until she knows him balls to bone – just as he will come to know her through and through. Only then will he understand without words. Only then will her truths pierce any barrier he might still possess.

Look at how he sits at her feet. Gazing up into her eyes when the first smack falls. she slaps him again. And again. No words spoken, just the sound of impact as her hand rises and falls, repeatedly – relentlessly – one slap after the next. None of them delivered with more force than what’s required to turn his head. But they keep falling. They add up. Each time his streaming eyes return to find hers, the next smack falls. His cheek red from the impact, face flush with humiliation. Yet time after time, he recovers to obediently raise his chin, knowing full well what to expect when their eyes meet next.

But what if we could eavesdrop on this intimate moment? What if we could record and decipher this thrum of power exchange? Could we weigh the gravity of each strike or the silence between?  What would we discover this wordless ritual of suffering and obedience means?

This is a reminder I’m possessive.  And this is a reminder I’m in control. This is proof I’m consistent. And this says I’ll always be here. This is because you know your place. While this is to remember it’s at my feet. And this is to keep you obedient. This is to keep you sweet. And another merely because I adore the way you suffer. And another because you take it good, boy. This because you’re my masochistic bitch who loves it. One more in the moment you don’t. But here’s a blow because you’re precious. And this affirms my aim is true. And this is because you’re valued. And all of them because you’re mine. And this  – and this – and the next – and every other way I touch your flesh marks it – mine. Bonds you as one pledged to find shelter and guidance under my hand. So recover and return, boy. Flush and wince, then obey to look again. Return to gaze upon me, love, so I may burn these truths into your submissive heart.

If you enjoyed  this piece, check out: “Her Claim” & “Conditional”

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