Unspoken: A Journal of Submission

She wrecked me.

A Mistress, Dominant, in every breath,

every pause,

every cruel second of denial.

She didn’t touch me gently..

she handled me.

Like a toy that belonged in her hands,

a plaything made to ache at her feet.

She controlled my body

without a single touch..

just her voice,

just her will.

And it was enough

to break me.

I am wrecked.

Ruined.

Drenched in the echoes of last night.

Still on my back,

hand between trembling thighs,

shaking with the memory of her control.

She brought me to the edge...

again

and again.

Made me plead.

Beg.

Whimper.

Shake.

Held me there like it was her right.

And it is.

I was nothing but a thing...

to tease,

to torment,

to command.

And I loved it.

Every second of it.

I wanted mercy..

fuck, I begged for mercy

but it wasn’t mercy she gave me.

It was torture.

Sweet, agonizing, perfect torture.

My body begged for release.

My mind shattered beneath her control.

All I could do was obey.

All I wanted was to obey.

And her…

God, she was divine in her pleasure.

Moaning, gasping, breaking

over and over and over.

She came again and again.

I counted every one..

every gasp,

every cry,

every shuddering wave

of the orgasm she owned.

It was torture.

It was heaven.

It was hers.

I watched her unravel

and it split me open.

I ached like I’d never ached before.

I wanted to crawl inside her..

To serve.

To worship.

To put my mouth on her,

my hands,

my body...

anything to make her fall apart again.

To taste the orgasms she stole from me.

To be beneath her,

wrapped around her,

inside her pleasure.

Helpless.

Consumed.

Hers.

When she finally let me cum,

I was already gone.

I belonged to her

long before the release.

It wasn’t mine.

It was hers.

She let me have it.

Owned.

Marked.

Claimed.

And now I’m left like this..

wrecked,

ruined,

soaked in need.

Her plaything.

Her mess.

Still dripping.

Still begging.

Still waiting for her to use me again.

She doesn’t need to hurt me to break me.

She just needs to say my name.

Call me good girl.

I want to be her toy.

Her service.

Her fuckpet.

I don’t want to be touched gently.

I want to be handled.

Used.

Emptied.

Claimed.

And now I’m left

begging…..

Please, Miss.

Let me serve again.

Let me be used, undone,

emptied, ruined.

Let me feel you again.

I can’t breathe without you,

can’t think,

can’t fucking function

because you’ve left me like this.

And I love it.

I love it.

I love it.

Please, Miss.

Take me again.

Body begging…tell me how to behave.

When it wrecks you but still feels like home

Sadistic Rope

She wove the silence

Tight and deep

A whispered bind

I longed to keep.

Each step a pulse,

Each coil a sigh

A tethered breath, a whispered why.

The first sting sharp

A fleeting flame

Yet in its hold

I found no shame.

Pain did not beg

Nor ask to flee,

It settled in

Part of me.

Stillness wrapped in woven thread

Where thought grew quiet

Fear lay dead.

The world dissolved to rope and skin

To aching loss

Calm within.

And when the ties began to slide

The fall came slow

But still

I cried.

Not in sorrow

Not in pain

But in the peace of what remained.

She stayed to watch the tremors fade

Through silence, shivers

Breath remade.

She stayed until I lost control

And in that loss

She made me whole.

And then the words I long to hear…

“Good girl, we will cross them next time.”

Funny how a song can take over your mind at just the right (or wrong) moment. Almost unfair, really. Almost. 😉

This week has taken me apart piece by piece. Slowly, deliberately. Every moment has carved something deeper into me, a mark that isn’t seen but felt. I have given, unraveled, let myself be reshaped in her hands and the weight of it sits heavy, sweet, undeniable.

I am tired, but it is the kind of exhaustion that soothes. The kind that whispers, you did well, you are hers, you have given all you had to give. And I would do it again. Again and again. Because she asks, and because I belong.

Thank you. 

She does not ask permission to enter; she does not need to.

She comes in the quiet, in the stillness of sleep, when thought has faded and only instinct remains. Expecting and hungry. She does not call my name; she does not have to. I already know. I already feel her.

She comes like weight pressing into me, a presence undeniable, unseen but known. Not a whisper, not a ghost, but something real, something felt in my bones.

She does not demand. She does not need to.  I give before she asks. I bow before she commands. I surrender before she takes.

She comes not in softness, not in mercy, but in something deeper, something that reaches past flesh, past obedience, past the mind’s resistance. She comes in the way that claims, that brands, that leaves no room for doubt.

And I yield. I beg to yield  

I yield because I am hers. Because even in waking, even in distance, even in silence, she is there  Claiming me, Tormenting me in all the ways that I crave.  

And when I wake, I do not question. I do not wonder. I only know:

She will come again.

Finally.

It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t a single moment, but a series of them, each one loosening something I had held too tightly. A slow pull, a steady unravel, piece by piece over days, until today. Until now.

I felt it break open inside me, not with force, but with inevitability. The weight of her words, the reality of her claim, the truth of where I stand, it settled into me, and I had no choice but to feel it. No choice but to surrender completely.

And so I did. I let it go. Finally.

I unraveled. I shook. I burned. I came apart and let it happen, let it take me, let it hold me in a space. The weight of it crashed through me, leaving me trembling, breathless, stripped bare in ways I can’t yet explain. I cried, actually cried. Emotionally, I felt this release deeply, but also physically, the trembling, the ache in my chest, the way my heart pounded before it finally settled. Before I grasped for her in the chain, before I anchored.

And then she left me to sit in it. To absorb it. To feel it fully without rushing to fix or contain it. Without softening the edges or numbing the intensity. She gave me space to exist in the rawness of it, and I am grateful for that. So very grateful to have done this for her, for me.

And I know this wasn’t an accident. She intended this. Even in her absence, she was shaping me, leading me through this unraveling, guiding me toward something I needed to feel. She knew. She always knows.

Now, I lay in bed, mind quiet but exhausted, my body spent from emotions I didn’t know I was capable of feeling this deeply. But there is peace in it. A stillness in the aftermath. I trust she will reach me soon. I wait patiently. I touch the chain.

How perfect it feels to feel...nothing and to just wait. Like this is my purpose. With nothing to hold and just simply being.

And I know, when she beckons, I will rise. I will answer as hers.

Because I am hers. And I am ready.