Happily... Never #2

I see him, standing over me as I lay helplessly on the floor of the shower. My skin is wet and cold, in contrast to the hot water streaming over my body. He stands over me with a wicked, triumphant grin. His dark eyes glinting maliciously as he crosses his arms. He is triumphant. He has me exactly where he wants me.

His dark hair is slightly unkempt and fashionably tousled. His broad forehead smooth, though slightly lined from his expressionful face. His brows, dark, his eyes, deep set. His cheekbones are sharp and his cheeks slightly hollow in a manly way, promising a lean, trim body below. His lips are chiseled, his chin dimpled. In short, the typical handsome face for which many women swoon.

His chest is broad; his arms, well defined. I’ve always been attracted to unusual parts of a man’s body: his forearms, his calves. Eyes are what draw me in. But with him, his are so dark, the color can’t even be defined.

I call him “D”, not to be confused with Devin, but perhaps with the Devil.

Or perhaps “DM”; for he is my Dark Muse.

Happily... Never #1

I stare at the drop of water, hanging from the shower head. It seems to grow and not grow at the same time. It is always that size, whether big or small, it is that size. I don’t see it grow, it was always the size it is at this moment. It stretches, lengthens, distorting the silver rope behind it, then drops into the nothingness below. It becomes part of the whole. Part of the puddle that surrounds my toes. It is now everything below me. No longer an individual. Just consumed by the larger population. And another one takes its place above.

My feet are cold, my skin is warm. The water sluices down my skin, which was once cold, and now becomes the temperature of the cascade from above. But my feet are missed. I’ve adjusted the pressure so that the small amount of hot water that the tank has produced today will last as long as I need it to. So far so good. It is still hot. It silences the sounds from outside. All I hear is the music as the drops hit the puddle around me. THe shower is not deep, but my leg keeps it from draining, so I have a few inches of warmth that surrounds my ass.


The sounds, the stress, the chaos is silenced. I’d hoped to escape from Him too, but He stands above me with that wicked grin of His. He speaks to me, weaving His dark words into the
fabric of my soul. It’s not hard, He’s been doing it for years. But His words seem stronger these days. They puncture holes in the fabric of my sanity. Always.

I’ve escaped Him before. Several times. Many times.

I’ve sought other Masters before. But I always return to Him. I can’t help but do so. He owns me. He always has and always will.

He lets me escape, when He’s in the mood. He allows me to see the light, to feel the warmth on my skin. But inevitably, I return.