“Let your tears come. Let them water your soul.” ~Eileen Mayhew
More than anything else that may result from a session with Taylor I find that tears are what leave me feeling it was “enough”.
Orgasm I can take or leave during or after a S/m scene.
Subspace? Well, we’ve been over that already.
Pleasure in the sensation is wonderful… sometimes.
But mostly…
I just want to cry.
I want to be brought to that point of tears.
Of cleansing, releasing, beautiful tears.
I
want to cry pretty tears. The kind where they well up and nearly don’t
fall. The kind that, when they do fall, leave distinct and gorgeous
tracks down ones cheeks. The kind that make your eyes glisten, that
make for a beautiful pouting face as you look up at him.
But more
than that I want to cry ugly tears. The kind that make your face swell
and get red and blotchy. The kind that leave snot trails down your
chin. The kind that make your chest heave in anguished sobs, that leave
you breathless and hiccuping, your shoulders shuddering and the air
hitching in your throat.
I want to cry out my pain, sob out my
pleasure, wail out my fear, soak my pillow and Taylor’s chest in salty,
snotty tears. I want them to drip down my face, plopping on the ground
at my feet. I want to cry until I am mindless with it and the power of
the person who took me there.
That…
That is my happy place.
When
I am used up, wiped out, mentally and physically exhausted, wrung out
and left with nothing but the core fact that I am his, to do with as he
sees fit, reduced to so little but feeling so very fucking much.
Yeah.
That, right there, is my happy place.
I don’t get there every time. Not even most times. But when I do…
Oh lords, when I do…
It’s food for the soul.
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