there is something about being pushed up against a wall, face first, cheek resting on rough wallboard, breath caught in your throat, listening to the growling in your ear and trying to remember your own name. there is something about being pushed up against a wall, your back flat up against it, staring straight into eyes that see through you, swallowing hard, waiting for your heart to start beating again. there is something about, being made to crawl across the floor, to a seated Man, staring into your eyes, not letting you not look at Him, not letting you stumble, drawing you to Him without a word. trembling, a whimper caught in your throat. there is something about being pulled up by your hair, feeling that hand slink up your neck, into your tresses, close to the scalp, grabbing, gripping it, guttural sounds emitting from His lips. the pain not nearly as strong as the urge to cry or bite a hole through your bottom lip. there is something about being bitten, especially on the back of the neck or nipple, feeling His teeth so close to piercing you. wondering, as you cry out, if He will, this time. wondering, if you're going to bleed for your submission. there is something about being bent over the back of a chair, without warning, without pretense, without question. having your skirt flipped up, cool air hitting hot skin, your cheeks blushing, with the same color of your ass, as He warms it with the striking of the palm of His hand. the tears you cry not cooling you. the tears you cry because He has found you. there is something about being slapped across the face, not backhanded, but smacked to bring about a change in behavior, a change in attitude. to make that lovely wail come from deep in your chest. you long to make it, as He longs to hear it. there is something about those words He uses, those names He calls you, those phrases meant to elicit a response. and you do respond. all of you responds. and your body betrays you, always. there is something about being thrown down and taken, not against your will. for your will is to be there. to please, to submit, to offer, to relinquish. and you cry out for breath, for more, for Him. and you know you are home. there is something about kneeling quietly beside Him. your body bruised, reddened, coated, tired. your mind silent, for once ~ for a time. your head bowed, your eyes closed, your lips quivering as His fingers touch you. your submission, unquestioned. your Peace at Hand.
His hand.......


with greatful reprint permission from kat in vinyl