Pleasure

There is an art to the subtle pleasure of pain. The nuances that dance across your skin, so tangible yet ethereal.

The need stirs deep within your very core and with it, want. Want for fingers trailing over flesh. Want for the sting of a whip so deadly sweet. Want for the marks to remain eternally.

You are pinned down, a thrill running right through your core. You wait in anticipation for the exquisite pain, the exquisite pleasure drawn onto your skin. Your mind hangs, poised over a precipice behind closed eyes as it begins...

You drown. Water rips through your lungs like fire, your breath catching in your throat. Tears mingle with the blood of your lips, guiding you through the murky depths of your mind. You fight to submit and surrender, sinking deeper into yourself.
Your struggle ceases, and suddenly all is clear. The pain ebbs as the pleasure flows over you, breaking on and through your skin. For what seems like eternity, you bask in the pain that is now yours to command, yours to enjoy.

...And just as suddenly, it ends.

Slowly, you are brought back to the surface. Buoyed by the ache of art you caress your marked body, your marked soul. The ink flows with blood and tears as one. For now, you please no one but yourself. You rise from your ashes, never the same, but whole again.