The Midnight of My Soul

The evil I have tried to keep locked away came forth yesterday. Today I feel like a beaten creature. Unable to fight off even the little demands the Dark Thing murmurs.

(Whispers in the night. Soft touches on my skin. Have you felt them? Little claws, sharp little nails, raking softly across bare flesh. Oh! The chills they cause! Then the shiver that runs from breast to belly, belly to thigh, thigh to cunt. I hear myself moan like some trapped animal. Feel my back arch as the passion builds. Then the heat rising and the wetness. Over and over again until exhaustion sets in.)

I should have heard the rattle of the cage. I should have realized what was happening. But much time had passed since IT tried to break out, I missed the warning. I KNEW something was coming alive, I thought it was something else. I thought IT was safely caged.

I thought I was safe.

However, I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

(It is at this time realization sinks in. The fear of what IT will do. The excitement of what IT will do. Will IT be angry for being imprisoned and punish me for caging IT? On the other hand, will the excitement of being free cause IT to take me further than I have ever been? Yet I secretly beg that both will happen, in the freedom IT will feel the need to punish and push my limits with both blending into one electrifying painful pleasure filled instant.)

The Dark Thing has been locked away for a long time. In the past, it would rattle the door of its prison, trying to lure me to open it just a little. The begging of a tiny taste of freedom, a tiny sample of the pleasures from long ago just a taste. For old time's sake, a tiny little bit of wickedness that gives so much pleasure. Delicious. Intense. Pleasure.

(IT doesn't ask much. Just touch here, just stroke there. Just enough to excite and recall past pleasures. How many times have I been here before? Too many for me to count, yet each one remembered clearly and distinctly. Those wonderful terrifying memories. When the restraints were too tight and cut into young flesh, the sharp pain of a thin rod against my ass and the burning welt it left for days. Each pain a reminder of the pleasure and the deep ache between my legs left unsatisfied.)

Someone jimmied the door. I wasn't watchful, I was allowing the breach to be made. I allowed myself to look the other way. I ignored the warnings, those little catches in my soul that said 'BEWARE'. I didn't hear them. NO! I ignored them. This time would be OK I said, it was nothing, just fear of the unfelt unknown.

(How many times have I tried to be normal? Or what I thought normal is. So many, many times I tried to love so purely, so innocently. Trying to be the good girl, the sweet woman, the gentle wife. Nevertheless, secretly wanting something else. Needing more than my lovers would or could give. Was this last experience deliberate or was it only an accidental occurrence? I don't know. But the Dark Thing did.)

The Dark Thing heard my sudden need. The darkness of my soul heard it. Moreover, it masked the knowing so I would ignore them. It does that, hides the warnings in foolishness so that I listen to other voices.

But this time not one, but two stepped forth. Two entities that took over playing out the scenario the Dark Thing knew I couldn't resist. And I didn't resist. I allowed it to take over and the pleasure was so wonderful. The story it told was so sweet. The need so consuming.

(I couldn't resist the playing out of both sides. It was the only way to have the story just right. Yet as always the submissive was the part I loved the best. The Comforter only followed the Leading. But it worked. I was wounded, I was devastated, I was seeking some greater experience. Nevertheless, I must patiently wait.)

The fire that burned, the desire that over took me was more than I could stand. I slipped into the evil, felt it, loved it, and wanted more of it. I was consumed by the power and desire from both sides.

(There is no expression of the pleasure. No words that begin to describe it. It is fire and ice, fear, terror and safety all rolled into one. With each touch setting me on fire, each embrace assuring me that I was safe. And yet, and yet, I was hoping at each moment I wasn't safe. I was going to be forced to do those wicked things I loved.)

I made a mistake. I shared too much. I gave it life and substance. Now I have done damage I cannot undo. I hear the Dark Thing laugh. It knows it has me, but for how long? Will I be able to put it back where it belongs before I slip into full submission to its power?

Do I want to? Am I tired of hiding? Am I tired of not feeling its power? Always fighting so hard to keep the illusion of normal life. And yet, I know I fail in front of everyone who can read me. They may not know the source or the evil, but they know something has control.

But you see; I WANT it to have control. I WANT to feel it flow in me. I WANT to live THAT life. I want to know the taste of blood, the pain. That excruciating, sensual pain that brings the most intense pleasure.

(It builds until I'm unable to control anything I feel. I writher under the intensity. My body contorts and spasms with each wave of pre-orgasm. And yet it builds more. Every little touch, every little pain builds greater and greater until I collapse under it. Still no release is allowed. No exploding orgasm. Only begging and tears and pleading until I have reached the point I can no longer speak, only cry with each indignity done.)

Oh, the lies I have told to cover my darkness. The rebounding from one way of life to another just to keep from falling into the Dark Things grasp. Yet, I am always in it. Every second of pleasure rouses it to wakefulness. And it whispers to go a bit farther this time, just a little bit farther - there is no harm - I can lock it away again.

(Every day something triggers the need. A bruise, a cut, and an aching pain deep in me I can't explain. But it always ends up the same way. A deeper ache in my belly and clit, a throbbing ache, a wetness that displays my need, my hunger and my dark desire. )

However, IT lies. I know IT lies, there is no way to truly lock it way. The prison has bars and windows, little cracks in the foundation and walls that Dark Thing whispers through. Its' voice echoing like a distant wind. It knows me, the secret things I have done, the secret deeds no one knows about but IT and I.

I have lain with it. I have found pleasure in it. I have tasted blood and delighted in the copper taste of my own and others lifeblood. I want to submit to Dark Thing. I fear the end result of that relationship.

(I miss the Dark Thing just as any woman misses her lover. I relive the times of restraints cutting into my flesh. How the tightening of straps and silk with the cutting and pain echoing between my legs. Oh! How I long for the pain of sharp strikes on bare ass flesh and the soothing excitement of them being touched - each welt caressed, then slapped and struck again to make the pain build. The precision of such a strike, the teasing touch, a feather light flick. Then the strike that lays the welt with perfection. The forced insertion of so many things, the mocking of the sex act itself. The submission. The sweet letting go of my will to the will of the Dark Thing. Sweet, sweet submission.)