From lmartell Sat May 29 15:34:48 1993
From: lmartell
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: the top's viewpoint (was Re: praise be for soccer!)
References: <1993May26.212504.28247@mnemosyne.cs.du.edu>
Status: OR


My splendid slave Alex has posted a neat description of our latest
scene, I see, but I had meanwhile prepared a post on it from my own
point of view, so I thought I would post it anyway, maybe some will
like to see the same scene through different eyes... last time we tried
this it fell rather flat (no feedbacks at all, as I recall), so this
may be the last attempt at such exercise - maybe people just get bored
if the events narrated are the same ones, despite the difference in
viewpoint. Here goes, anyway, for this once!


We started switching almost two years ago, and since then I have topped
Alex many times, including light and heavy scenes, and other wonderful
people too - but never did I live yet an experience like last Wednesday
from the top side: I found myself flying so high, sooaring on queenly
wings, exploring new horizons of consciousness in barbaric splendour...

I had started by whipping him with the cat he enjoys so greatly, with
the specific aim to give to him a sea of pleasure; that was all,
nothing special in a way. My blows were strong, I was happy, soon I
felt exhilarated - by the effort itself, by Alex's wonderful reaction,
by the palpable tension of love flying between us, of his pain offered
to me in gift, of all the power that he handed over to me at each
instant. The flogger changed in my hands, became as a sword glistening
of light and rubies, as a powerful snake, a snake dangerous yet holy,
rich with all the secrets hidden in the depths of the Earth.

The magic came first of all from his new tattoo, tingling and
sending endorphins streaming into my slave's bloodstream - it is
a serpent, a large Cobra coiling menacing all around the smaller
Buddha sitting unperturbed and brandishing his holy, bloody sword.
As good a job as our tattooer has ever done on us, I think, save
perhaps for the tiger gracing my own right breast, his masterpiece...

In my imagination I was blessing my slave's shoulders with that snake,
that sword. Rivers and rivers of pure crystal power focused in the
center of my heart, flowing as liquid gems onto Alex's naked flesh,
flowing through the conduit of this magic whip-cat-sword-snake I was
using so intensely, bringing the power he offered me right back onto
his body as the icy, fiery waters of pain.

Raw power, distillated power, total power. Yet I was not frightened
of the immense responsibility this power involved, because I was
not attached to it, and because I well know the other side of it,
the equally strong and sublime power of total submission - blessed
be our switching!

Thanks to it, while I was experiencing this boundless joy of
domination and ownership, just at the same time I was well aware
of the happiness I was lavishing on Alex - and this not just in an
intellectual fashion, but in a complete way, for this happiness of
submission, of BEING owned, I have lived and live myself, being
myself a total slave to him.

His shoulders now were swollen and purple. I hit also his
buttocks, many times, but the most important area for me then
was his back. Soon I was focusing all of my blossomed energy
on it.

A new and deep exhilaration was in me. My slave was so perfect
and beautiful, a precious jewel in a living garden of splendour.
His naked marked skin was shining like a star, in our small
room full of magic, and I struck and struck him, with all the
strength of my right arm.

He moaned, sublime in his submission, each time offering yet again
himself to the pain I inflicted, at each blow opening up his soul
to me, each time relaxing his powerful muscles and offering them
accepting and meek to my next lightning stroke of pain.

I suddenly decided, right there in mid scene, that this was going
to be more than a purely sensual pleasure for us: I accepted the
intensity welling out from me, blessed and cherished it, I made
my own cruelty holy in the cleansing furnace of love, melted it
and reshaped it into a tool for growth, for discovery, together.

So I changed the physical tool of my wrath, as well: I took the short
red silicone whip and lashed him ferociously with it. The first seven
or eight blows were not pleasant at all for him, not tolerable even I
think, for I was being really, deliberately cruel; I needed to shake
him out of his awesome bliss of suffering, back into Mind again for an
instant, to make sure he was fully connected to his safewords, and
aware of his limits, because I was about to push them very heavily, but
most definitely did not want to break and shatter them inadvertently,
quite possibly dangerously - so I wanted to be certain he WOULD use his
safewords as and when needed. This, then, in turn made me freer to do
the pushing I wanted, with much less worries.

Having made sure of this, I started using a different rhythm, a
different pattern, a sort of tapestry of strokes. It was not that much
lighter than the immediately previous blows, but it flowed quite
differently, as if melding into my slave's own natural rhythms,
allowing him to let himself go again, to float into it, to accept again
the pain as a pulsing tribute of love, by love, for love.

He did; he soon was in bliss again. But he spoke; I wonder if he knew
he did; he spoke beautiful poetry mixed with moans and soft cries and
sharp intakes of breaths and other signs of the pain I was inflicting,
he told me wonderful things, expressing feelings of love, adoration,
devotion, the light he was drowning in, the pleasure, the ecstasy, the
happiness I was bestowing on him with my whip.

It was unexpected and splendid. I was close to a sort of mental orgasm,
I felt as if I was about to explode with happiness and excitement. I
was now hitting with the precise purpose to see on his flesh some drops
of his precious fluid of life, make of his body a temple and celebrate
this sacrament of him, for him, with him.

His left shoulder was violet in color, quite swollen, looking fierce
and hot; I knew it couldn't be far. I chose a spot, the most likely
looking one, concentrated on it, again and again and again I struck
there, still with that rhythm that kept him in a violent but undeniable
state of ecstasy, aiming the cutting strands of plastic and their tips
so to break his skin. I struck and struck that spot, ferociously,
relentlessly - until a rain of fiery stars exploded in my brain, a
wondrous climax reached; three little precious drops of blood had been
shed, visible on Alex's skin. I have done worse in the past, but not
that deliberately, with control so perfect, and, at the same time, in
such a holy frenzy of totally merciless, totally loving toppishness...

It was a sublime scene, and my slave served me with utmost perfection.
Why have I nicknamed him "Beginner's Toy"? Because I think (I know!) he
could bottom to a newly-out-of-vanilla pup, and make even that into a
stupendous scene, one of growth and revelation and splendour, with his
own magic... or he could top one similarly, of course, but: many teach
when topping, or think they can; he also teaches and makes grow when
bottoming, enticing every potentiality out in the open to shine...!!!

Thank you, Alex, my slave, my Master, my guide, my dreams come true --
my LOVE. If a hundred ways to love and express this love exist, I will
find them all, use them all, and then I will invent a hundred more, and
use them, too, to adore you, and to make you know how I adore you, and
to make all the world know, and all the universes, for they all,
together, will yet not be wide enough to contain all my love, my
adoration, my gratitude.

I will be not only your Lady, your slave, your wife, mother to your
children, your companion, your student, your teacher, your friend, your
owner, your pet -- but also your sister, your daughter, your mother;
the rings you wear on your finger will be me, the carpet you step on
will be me, the water you drink will be me, the air you breathe will be
me; and I the sky over your head, I the earth under your feet, I the
sun giving you light, I the night shrouding you in darkness -- I, your
own heart.


Forever,
    Laylah