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Wednesday, May 23, 2012

A Poem About Submission

There is something about
Being pushed up against a wall, by a strong, forceful hand
The hard cold surface of the cement against my cheekbone.
Breath caught in my throat
Hearing the growling in my ear
And trying to remember my own name

There is something about
Being held by the neck of your throat
Back flat up against the wall
Staring straight into eyes that see through you
Swallowing hard
Waiting for your heart to start beating again

There is something about
Being made to crawl across the floor
at his command, feeling the burn of the carpet punish my knees.
My mind determined to make him proud
Not hesitating, even for a second
Drawing me to Him without a word
Trembling, a whimper caught in my throat

There is something about
Being pulled roughly by my hair
Feeling that hand slink up my neck
Into my tresses, close to the scalp
Grabbing, gripping it, guttural sounds emitting from His lips
The pain not nearly as strong as the urge
The urge to obey and see my every move as part of his orchestra

There is something about
Being bitten
Pain searing through my nipple
Feeling His teeth may just pierce me
Wondering, as I cry out, if He will this time
Wondering, if I will to bleed for my Submission

There is something about
Being bent over the the counter, without warning
Without pretense, without question
My skirt flipped up, cool air hitting my hot skin
My cheeks blushing, with the same color as my ass
As He warms it with the striking of the palm of His hand
The pain searing through my brain and out to every nerve ending
Overwhelmed not by the pain but because someone has finally reached me

There is something about
Being slapped across the face
Not backhanded, but a firm crisp slap to bring about
A change in behavior
A change in attitude
To make that lovely wail come from deep in my chest
I long to make it, as He longs to hear it

There is something about
Those words He uses
Those names He calls me.
His whore, his slut, his play toy
Those phrases meant to elicit a response
And I do respond
And as always, my body betrays me.

There is something about
Being thrown down and taken
Not against my will
For my will is to be there
To please, to submit, to offer, to relinquish
And as I cry out for breath, for more, for Him
I know I am finally free.

There is something about
Kneeling quietly beside Him
My body alive with both pleasure and pain
My mind silent, for once
My head bowed, eyes closed
My lips quivering as His fingers touch me
My submission, unquestioned
My Peace at Hand

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