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IC : Weblogs : slave_guy : "Your candlestick holder"
Your candlestick holder (3)
slave_guy's profile
Posted by slave_guy on Mon 6 Oct 08, 10:47 PM
You sternly enter, exasperated and enraged, plagued with all the woes of a hectic modern life, You really don't deserve all that crap Goddess. But my darling You do look so beautiful when You're angry. Lipstick, stockings, high heels, a tight short skirt, and most of all You; my loins alive and on fire.
You lay out a protective PVC cover on the floor, my worried look speaks for itself. Anxiously i speculate of it's purpose. You sit back majestically, i kneel for You. Dutifully i look up and see You for the first time with Your lovely dusky auburn hair swept back. i too am swept back, all encompassed by Your perfect form.
The loud classical music further sets the mood, and i fear also intended to drown out my inevitable cries and futile pleas for mercy. i crouch down instinctively, offering You my exposed back and behind. You commence the harsh discipline. But why, for what reason? No reason, just because. You begin to smack me very hard with that nasty stiff paddle in timely rhythm to the music, punctuating Your venomous scolding words. The music crescendos, and my beseeched sobbing only incites You to hit even harder. You glow so beautifully as You feverously work me into shape. The searing pain prevents me from maintaining my composure; i squirm, writhe, howl, and finally collapse at Your divine feet.
'Now then... Objectification for you today.', You say. 'A candle holder, you know like those ones they have in restaurants all caked in dripping wax. Now GET UP AND SIT STILL!' i sniff and breathe in Your excitement as i clamber up. You lock my arms apart with a spreader, and place two lit candles in both my outstretched hands, one red one white. i remain perfectly still, facing straight ahead, not wishing the rising molten wax to trickle down my sweaty clenched fists. my thighs begin to shake uncontrollably under the strain of kneeling on the hard floor and the echoing pain from earlier, and causes some of the wax to drip down. i yell out aloud. Knowing that i'm weakened by this, You circle in, planning Your encaustic masterpiece as any great sculptor would. “Shush” You delicately whisper.
i remained a blank canvas, but not for very long, and neither did i remained still for very long; soon to be transformed into Your animated wax covered candlestick holder.
Edited Tue 7 Oct 08, 12:52 PM by slave_guy
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