There is a sweet Black to it all..
The heavy hand.. the gentle sweep of
flesh to flesh..
I open myself to Him…
Heart.. Mind.. Soul..
And He buries Himself well..
His Mastery is the Tone..
The Look..
The Touch..

With Him.. I can be myself..
I can give with all my heart..
I can be vulnerable and innocent..
I can be freed of control

In His palm… I can place my life.
I belong to Him.
I am the clay
He the molder..
I bend to His will
and He….
Will never break the fragile Gift of my submission




Om Stene Anker

Just some words...
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