Deep within the confines of my heart I hold you. . . with chains, whips ready if you should squirm, or if the desire stikes me. I almost anticipate the wimper that shall burst from your lungs as you try in vain to hold the pain behind your clentched teeth while I turn your delicate skin to red welts that sting at even the gentlest of rubbing. The small decorations of clamps that hang from your nipples feel like lead wieghts bringing your otherwise bare chest to the floor in humility to your master, your dominatrix, the one who holds your heart. With a sharp but loving word I catch your sumptuous neck between the toes and the spiked heal of my leather black boots and press your face, tears swelling, into the floor. I smile a cruel and vicous grin at how beautiful your face is soaked in your unchecked tears. I laugh when you directly disobey me so that you will recieve a stiffer paddling. You seem to enjoy the torture even more than I enjoy watching you suffer in your abstract enjoyment. The long hard paddle hits you. You cringe but try not to show your pain. The paddle hits again harder and is followed rapidly by harder and faster blows. You writhe benieth it now, raising your round red rump to meet it so that you can try to cushion the contact by pulling back just as it hits. beautiful crystal tears flow from you your eyes painting your face like raindrops on a window pane. I am in wonder, almost filled with a sence of oppressing sadness at your glorious handsome bliss. This is your sweet pleasure that I taste of like the Gods taste of nector. I am your Godess and you in your silent plees for mercy that you would be disapointed to be granted are my ambrosia, my delectible succulent fruit. I own your exsistance, your pain, your pleasure, but you hold my soul and perhaps my heart.