Worship by Lady Persephone

Rain wept it’s weary way down the pane, condensation bled its lifeblood to the sill and gathered in dusty pools. You lay as I had left you, bound and helpless; tear stained cheek mirroring the window pane. Pain had been the precursor to your tears, torment turned to torture and that in turn to the agony and anguish that you could never have imagined in your wildest of your fantasies. The pleasure of imparting pain, your yielding senses nourishing my needs; a mutual moment of pure vivid intensity that far outweighs the cheap fumble of penetration on a drink soaked weekend night.

My reverie is disturbed by the formless cry that flees your constricted throat, I turn to cast an eye over your limp body ; shivering as the sweat of fear and pain condenses, adding yet more rivulets of despair to the tearful glassy casement. I step towards you and your eyelids shutter open, I read them and a sneer curves my lips. I comprehend the power that my actions have transmitted to the core of your existence. The stillness of being ; an enigmatic divine space that is unattainable without relinquishing all rights wholly, totally, irrevocably.

I stand astride you, tuck my skirt into its waistband; I say nothing. The few pale wisps of hair that frame my cunt are matted and congealed with the holiest of sacraments. I dip my fingers into the damned river and lay the sweet balm and blessing on your parched lips. I don’t expect gratitude but demand the worship due to me. I have plundered your body extracted pleasure by ravishing your mind until it was devoured by honeyed oblivion. Your reward is this moment of acknowledgement and acceptance of your offering at my altar. All else pales into insignificance, your submission to my will is total, expected and demanded.