No drama. Just reflection. (And wine.)
Let's start with the good tears. The ones
that come when I take you deep, when
I push down the urge to give up, lift up,
Your hand in my hair, your hips lifting,
challenging me to take all of you. Can't
see, can't breath. Can't think about anything
except the need to take what you have to give.
Then there are the harder tears. The ones I try to hold back, along with my cries.
The ones that come to say please. Mercy.
Squeezed out of me like drops of blood
from the harsh kiss of a whip. An outcry
of helplessness. Surrender. Those tears,
I'm proud of. They say I held until
I began to break. And even then, I didn't say stop.
Finally, the tears that come with a knife
to the hard, crushed glass in my throat.
I've given you those tears, too. Sometimes
secretly, sometimes with my heart
on my sleeve, my vulnerability on my face.
Those tears say I care. I yearn. I want
to be a good submissive. To be your
good submissive. And I'm scared
I just might not be enough. I've given
all of these tears to you. Gifts. Evidence
of my eagerness to serve, and my willingness
to lay myself bare. Naked in submission.