The Velvet Edge: The Gift

In a time that now seems very very long ago, I let someone control me who had neither the courage nor the tenderness to be my Sir. He was a coward who operated on tyranny, not power, and he lazily thrashed about, a prisoner of his own weakness. This man knew nothing of love because he did not love himself. Sadly, I was drawn into his black hole, a half-born star not yet bright enough to resist.

He never laid a hand on me, but the bruises he left on my spirit and my trust were deeper and darker than those you so skillfully paint my skin with. I was chained to him, tangled in sloppy bondage with no safeword to protect me. I was a slave to his darkness, and his self-loathing disease infected my heart, extinguishing my light and blinding my eyes. I was very very young and naively came to believe that this was all I was worth.

With you I have learned loved, and like a child, I wander in your light and rename the world after gentle words. In your touch I am reborn, I am cleansed. When I am with you, I transcend my body, forgetting it completely, and I become a vast and powerful energy. You test my limits, but not without the safety net of my precious safewords,the precious gifts that you gave me when we first came together, and with these words we create and share power, we make something that did not exist before. Between us stars are born.

Once, however, this man desecrated the temple of my body, tearing down my altar and refusing my desperate placates. Though you have rebuilt my temple and worship with head bowed and reverent at my altar, sometimes something catches my scars, and they split wide open. I cry out my ultimate safeword and immediately you end the game, wrapping me up in your arms, holding on until my world resettles. Mostly the terror radiates from within, for, physically, my cervix bore the greatest wound, and there are times when you put your fingers or your penis inside of me and I am overtaken by my old fear, I am paralyzed and destroyed by it, as if I were living the incident all over again. I am filled with shame for my body, which nature made weaker even as she made it in her own image.

A true Sir, you respect my boundaries even as you push them, and most of all, you never forsake the sanctity of my safewords. But as my Sir, my lover, and my partner, you suffer when my light goes out because you wish me free of pain and of fear and of all my troubles. You know my true self and to see me otherwise lowers your spirit.

So one night I come home to a trail of rose petals. It is dark save for a row of candles on the mantle and the air is scented softly with incense. I feel as though I have passed into a divine reality.

"I know it's a little cheesy," you admit, approaching from the darkness, "But you are my fairytale princess. Will my lady accept this gift?"

I am tickled. "Of course, my Sir."

You smile and then blindfold me, and I happily submit. You undress me as if removing the packaging from something very very fragile, and then take my hand to guide me down the rose petal path. My other senses come to new life, and as I feel the soft petals break under my bare feet, my nose is pleasantly filled with the fragrance they release.

We move into the bathroom, where more sweet scents arouse my senses and ease my mind. Holding my shoulders, you ease me into the bathtub, which is filled with warm water. It fills in around me like a cocoon, and there are rose petals in the water as well. The water splashes and ripples as you wet your hands, a fragrant soap releases its scent as you lather it up, and then I feel the suds on my skin as you wash me.

I imagine you on your knees beside the tub. You whisper into my ear as you rub the bar of soap over my shoulders, down my back, over my chest, and between my breasts. "You are a goddess to me," you say, "For your submission, you are a goddess, and you are so precious and dear to me for it. Without you, I am nothing."

You pay special attention to my breasts, massaging them, circling and teasing my nipples. I moan softly and feel the heat flare up between my legs and spread throughout my body, making my hair stand on end. You work a lather down my body to my belly.

"Every part of you is beautiful," you say, "Every part of you is special. Every part of you is sacred. Because you give all of them to me, I promise to protect and love you always, my wonderful, good girl."

You move down to my abdomen and run your fingers through my thick pubic hair. You then move to my hips, down my thighs, lifting one leg out of the water. You wash me as if polishing a diamond, and as you work the soap along the sole of my foot, I shiver and a whimper escapes my lips. You slide your fingers between each toe, and the sensation sends waves of pleasure up and down my body. I can feel my sex fill with heat and blood, the life energy inside of me kindled and spreading throughout. Gently setting my leg back in the water, you do similarly to the other, and again, as you massage my foot and toes, I shiver, and the life energy grows stronger.

You wash back up the inside of my thigh, and then cup my vulva. You spread me open and I moan loudly, leaning back on my arms as I arch my back, bucking my body to you. You work up a gentle lather, careful not to irritate my sensitive parts, and with your fingers, clean between the folds of my labia, parting me like a flower, like the petals that float in the water. I too release my own nectar, and engorged with blood, my petal-skin is soft and warm.

You reach farther back between my legs, and massage my perineum before you spread my buttocks and clean my anus, pressing gently inside of me. I suck in a breath as the ring of muscle tightens and then relaxes. The water splashes and moves all around me as I buck again, my body grown starved for you.

"Good girl. Now hold your breath."

You scoop a basin through the water, and then pour it over my head. The water cascades down my body, cleansing me, rinsing away the fragrant suds of soap.

You then help me out of the tub, gently drying me with a warm towel as the water drains. You leave no corner of my body wet, reaching between my legs to gently pull at my lips. I instinctively spread my legs and I can feel my vagina pulse with lubricant, the scent of my flower wafting up to my nose. It is a powerful warm fragrance and I imagine you smiling upon noticing it.

You gather my hands behind my back and tie them there. Then you put an arm around my torso, supporting me as you bend me forward. You strike my buttocks with a firm open palm, and my skin burns. I squirm and cry out, but you hold me still, and I don't know which heats me more: your firm grip or the ache in my red skin.

You shove your face in my hair, breathing in deeply. You then grab a handful of it and pull me to the bedroom, throwing me on my back onto the bed. I have fallen into my space, into my meditation, moved beyond my body by the inexplicable thrill of your violence. For a moment I think on how fortunate I am to have this, to have you - you who will not judge me for these desires, who will fulfill them with pleasure, whose own heart and desires compliment my own. A long time ago, we were created in the dust of a star exploded, and now we are united, a new star.

You bend my knees and spread them, and as my sex is exposed to you, I am filled with heat, with a fire that seeps from my vagina in the form of slick secretions, an invitation into me. You pull back on the hood of my clitoris, and the pearl of nerves, enlarged by my arousal, rises out of my skin. You press a finger to it and I buck and cry out.

And then you press a finger into me, and I am struck as if by lightning, a wave of terror washing through me. I think of my cervix, the tender fold of muscle at the top of my vagina, of the stab of pain that seized my body when he tore down the doors of my temple and demanded a sacrifice of blood at my altar....

"Red red RED!" I scream.

You stop immediately and hold me, pressing your weight down on me. "You're okay," you say to me, "You're okay."

In the darkness of the blindfold, terrible visions pass before me, and my breath comes quick and shallow.

A moment passes between us. And then you whisper,

"I am going to give you a very special gift."

Again your fingers find my labia, and I tense, struggling against you even as my arms are bound. "Sir!" I cry out, but you put a hand over my mouth.

"You have to trust me. Please trust me. You are going to be okay. Just listen to my voice. Breathe with me."

You inhale and I shakily follow suit. You exhale and again inhale, this time the breath comes more easily, filling my lungs, loosening my body.

"I'm just going to go in a little and touch the top, okay?"

I am afraid for a moment, but my trust in you gives me the strength to nod.

So you ease one finger into me and massage the top of my vagina. "Keep breathing."

I concentrate on my breath and it eases my muscles. Small streams of pleasure begin to flow through the cracks in my wall of terror.

"I am going to go deeper now." I tense and you feel it. "Just keep breathing. You are my good girl. You can do this."

And so you press your finger deeper.

"You're so soft inside, you're so soft and wonderful. What a beautiful temple my goddess dwells in. What a beautiful body. What a beautiful vagina. How lucky I am to worship here."

I continue to breathe deeply, though the corners of my inner vision are threatened by darkness.

"You're free of him, don't let him control you any longer. I am going to touch your cervix now and you are going to be okay."

My breath quickens despite my efforts. In your voice I sink into my space, I move to the velvet edge, but I am struggling to stay there, for he is at the other end, reaching for me with dark fingers. I am running, I am clinging to the power of my submission, even as my body recoils from you.

And then you whisper,

"I am touching it. Can you feel it?"

My wall breaks down, flooding my being with light and with pleasure. It no longer hurts, it fills me with pleasure. I begin to laugh, relieved, transformed, realigned.

"Sir!" I cry happily, "Sir, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone!"

"I love your cervix," you say. "Do you love your cervix?"

"Yes, Sir, I do!" I am still laughing, years of darkness lifted from my soul. I buck against you, rivers of pleasure flowing through me. I feel my muscles tighten, only this time it is with the tension of orgasm.

"Sir, may I please cum?"

"Yes, baby, cum."

I let myself release, and as I do, I imagine my vagina and my cervix contracting with waves and waves of orgasm. I cry out in pleasure, my body elevated with light. You pull off the blindfold, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. The first thing that comes into focus is your wonderful face, which beams down on me.

"Thank you, Sir, thank you so much."

"I am only the magic feather," you say, "This is a gift you gave yourself."