Ginger Fox

“Baby, once again, I’m not a masochist! I don’t get pleasure from being humiliated or beaten, okay?! It was just a momentary thing.”
There are few things we truly control in life. We spend most of our time believing in something solid, but it only takes a small change, the lightest flutter of a butterfly’s wings, and everything around us changes, bringing drastic alterations that are completely beyond our control, leaving us powerless, with the most beautiful and harmonious theory of chaos. A disorder that pushes us and leads us to see the most twisted delights that consume the darkest corners of our souls. And I see them all! I feel every molecule, every cell of my body responding to a single Master. Probably, in the formation of my DNA, submission was already embedded in all my chromosomes, coming to the surface amidst my chaos.
My arms, stretched back, bound to the side of the iron bars, hold every dispersed nerve. The tips of my fingers are stiff. Pain and discomfort no longer afflict me, nor does my neck, bent back with my dilated eyes staring at the dim light in the hot room, filled with sounds escaping from my mouth. The possessive collar around my neck serves not only to mark me but to keep me bound, attached by a chain behind my neck to the metal base where my hands are tied, preventing me from bringing my face forward, increasing the breath that enters through my nostrils with my chest fully expanded.
Placed as a tribute on the edge of the table, I remain sitting on my legs, with my ankles bound and more aware of the heel tip almost piercing my skin. My jaw is locked, holding the small red foam ball in my dental arch, gagged to the side of my face, but it is not as large as the first one I used in the gynecologist's chair; it's smaller, almost the size of a strawberry, but big enough to restrict any words I try to speak. Not that my brain is fully functional, on the contrary, I feel like I’m floating. But if someone had told me that one day I would let someone tie a small ribbon to my nipple, stretching it with a resistant thread, I would have denied it, but here I am, with two hearts throbbing at the tips of my breasts. The initial spark of pain turned into fire, igniting me. Fear camouflages with lust. The rubber object I have well installed inside my ass, with one end of a silicone rod and the other deeply stuffed inside my pussy, stimulates me between pain and pleasure. Having the rubber toy fucking me in every hole no longer seems like a bad idea, not when I contract the walls of my organs, sucking it as deep as I can, dilating more and more with each second the leather whip with a spatula tip hits my clit with brutal strokes, making my body respond doubly with force. The clit pulses, vibrating like an engine having its power tested, seeing how far it can go if it slammed the foot on the accelerator, and I float, high on euphoria. Sweat slides down my hot skin under the mask, so sensitive and alive. From the first toenail to the last strand of hair in my braid, I absorb everything: from the slow scraping of his fingertips across my belly to the small tug on the thread tied to my breasts, which takes me to the peak of pain and pleasure. The other hand holding the dildo pulls it, like a suitcase handle, pushing it back inside my organs. Double penetration has never seemed so right as being fucked by an erotic toy.
The fingers of my hand are crushed, twisting, feeling the leather on my wrist tightening each time I pull my arm when the wave of pleasure hits me. I let a hot tear slide down my cheeks when my Master pulls away, only to return to punish the sensitive nerve between my legs. I die, crying with more anguish and pain, wanting him to come back and not leave me, because I don’t know what’s worse: nothing or everything. I drown in the limbo of pleasure. I now know what that sculpture of Herculaneum’s goat was feeling; the look mixed with horror and lust was not because Pan was fucking her with cruelty, but for stripping away the wild and carnal connection he released from within her. And this is how I am now: animalistic, boorish, with no understanding of what my limit is, because my body tells me I don’t have one. I have no restriction or shame. I am finally liberated. I want everything Jonathan does to me.
Roy’s face hovers over mine, and I see my entire world reflected in his blue eyes full of desire and domination. His cheeks are red, with sweat sliding from his hair. His hot breath hits my open lips, I feel saliva filling my mouth, as I want that damn ball out of my lips to quell my lack of control over his kisses. I close my eyes, pulling my arms once more, until my collarbone cracks, stretched to its limit. The large hand caresses my neck with power, and I give him all the consent to take me as his. There’s no going back. Whatever this is, there’s no exit, no forgetting; it will be a permanent tattoo within my soul, which belongs only to him. The command, the obedience, the love, my thoughts, everything that is mine is only his. His eyes bring a depth into which I dive; it’s not just my heart he has, Jonathan has my life. I spent so many years trying to know what was beyond, and it is with him that I end, the end of the trail, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Being submissive to my Master is where I feel free, where all doubts cease, all questions quiet. He is my perverse and immortal Pan. I swallow, forcing the air into my lungs, inhaling his scent that condemns me to dependency.