Our Saviour [Fiction]

Image of a caramel-eyed man looking up at the camera. He looks serious, pulling the neck of his shirt upward, revealing a heavily ringed hand. His hair is very short and his look, stern.
Photo by Reginaldo G Martins on Pexels.com

Content Note: This is a piece of fiction with descriptions of BDSM practices that may be triggering to some people.


Written in Nantes, France 2017

The only details that matter about the night we met are that he was dressed in black and holding a whiskey neat. I could smell disaster from across the room. When he kissed me, I felt the fire under his skin; the animal on his breath. He didn’t like to be touched, he liked to touch. I liked to be hurt. He liked this better.

It took a month for him to fall for me. It took less for me to worship him. When a man can spend his day loving you, only to let it fall to his feet like a dirty robe once your legs are spread, you’ve found the key to an alternate universe.

In the beginning there were more bruises and dirty words. As time went on everything became louder, deeper, more intense. Every touch, euphoric.

The first time we made love, I laid on my back – ankles bound, legs straight in the air, suspended from a rope; my hands secured to bed posts. Blindfolded. Mouth free.

He stretched moments into hours. Grazing with his fingers, his lips, his tongue.

It was the first time I feared my own body. My flesh twitched. My limbs trembled and ached and writhed. My mouth released unrecognizable sounds. My eyes filled with tears, soothing my skin as they fell.

The bed was no longer against me. I was floating.

I was somewhere on the ceiling, receiving untainted oxygen. I felt the human me break apart – unsure if she’d evaporate or turn to dust; confident I’d be swept away by him. He fucked me so well, I thought I’d fold into myself and disappear with the passing of time.

Piece by piece. What a beautiful death that would have been.

But the orgasm came to save me. It twisted and convulsed, ripping its way out.

I was a monster. Unaware she existed – a resident in some deep, untouched place.

The second she was released, life ended as I knew it. All of me died and awoke into a greater existence. I understood then that I am life and sex and the Universe itself. Everything revolves around me when he’s there, touching me.

How could I keep this for myself? How dare I betray the Goddesses of pleasure who gifted me with his abilities.

I am the devil. Because I love watching the animal . Not his. Theirs.

Seeing their beasts run freely for the first time – sending them to wild as he did mine. The untamed coming up for air; its rabidness, its fierceness. They are all different, and the view of them fills a kind of thirst in me – something visceral and desperate.

Their colors. Their sounds. The Universe craves our wild. That’s what keeps Her strong.

So, this is me, feeding the Universe. Nourishing her by nourishing them.

I understand now: he is our saviour.

Q.

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