1. Pain and pleasure (la douleur exquise) Part 1


    Date: 6/18/2015, Categories: BDSM, Author: Sapiophile25, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    submissive, always, disguised as a dominant. A confusing prospect only for those who don’t oscillate like me. In my waking life, I awoke a submissive. In a phantasmagoria of endless and senseless wandering, I felt I had consciously and skilfully wedged myself between my unequivocal willingness to submit and his domination. The dizzying, constant oscillation again so that I never knew exactly where I stood. Was I being dominated? Was I submitting? And it created a feeling of pure, unadulterated ecstasy which was heightened all the more as I took the time to process it later on. I had taken him in. In his quest to dominate me, I stole what I could of him because I had taken him in. I robbed and used him unlike the way he robbed and used me for his own enjoyment. I owned part of him - only a part of him, because I am not greedy – by giving him all of me. I have always taken the greatest pleasure in things, in retrospect. The unrelenting thinking and my labyrinthine brain. I oscillate again. I am in a constant dialectic of hating my thoughts and loving them. Pain and pleasure. La douleur exquise. I want more pain, more pleasure. I want to give him every immeasurable psychological inch of me this time, no wavering, no drifting, no volition. The more I give, the less I will be lost. There will be nothing left to adulterate my self-awareness. As for my Master, his responsibility is great, onerous, less enviable. It reassures me but I worry for him because it is I he has taken on. I ...
    want to tell him that he needn’t crush or deny me the complexity that is my humanity, as I will shed it in front of him. The ultimate disrobing, the veritable nudity. Anything for that intoxication and sobriety I feel around his domination. My Master is, to my eyes, an eerily beautiful man – the best kind, and the kind that stays with you forever - with the face of a cherubim, a Lucifer. Yet his eyes betray him; his icy gaze is devoid of affected humanity. I didn’t want to dig. A curious shallow scratch beneath his cool and collected exterior gave away nothing. It made me think of all the men who were oblivious to their psychological nudity and exposure. But not my Master. It reassures me that I found nothing. I trust him more as a result. I won’t be bored and he won’t be reckless. I drink him in through his cold eyes, a pool of icy water, to drown my thoughts in. I revel in that douleur exquise when he pierces me with those eyes. I feel the voiceless part of my vulnerability seeping out -the manifestation of his domination over me- my shameful desire to be undressed, so he can dominate me better. His smile reassures me where it might unsettle others. It also unsettles me where it might reassure others. The more I give the less I will be lost and there will be nothing standing in the way of my self-awareness. I am a control freak until I am not. Chapitre 2 Far from the realm of my digested thoughts, this is what happened when I met Master in the flesh. A Patrick Bateman, in ...
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