The Calm Before the Storm

It is times like this when I am very much torn.

I see you sleeping beside Me. Despite the lack of a golden halo and large white wings, you look just like an angel, innocent and peaceful in your slumber. Yet innocent you definitely are not, for I know extremely well the darkness of your heart, the part of you which thrives on violence and pain.

That is what I see as you sleep beside Me. I see a beautiful young woman enjoying her well-deserved rest between episodes of torture.

It has been more than two weeks, and I can feel the need rising within Me, just as it has since the last time you screamed for Me. My twisted mind recognizes the willing, vulnerable prey before Me, yet while I reach out to gently caress your bare shoulder emerging from underneath the covers, I consciously consider how I could hurt you today.

...how I could hurt you right now.

I was already erect when I awoke. It was not because I was dreaming about making love to you, although that would certainly help to quell this need for a time. I was already erect when I awoke because I had been dreaming -- scheming, actually -- of ways I could make you scream, of the beauty of your tears causing your makeup to smear down your cheeks, of the glorious voice I have come to love, of the attractiveness of scores of angry red welts lining your trembling body, of the selflessness of your vulnerability and your suffering.

I am already erect because I am thinking of you suffering for Me. Certainly I could throw down the covers, force your legs apart, and fuck you viciously until I cum inside you with no care for whether you find any pleasure in My use of your body, but that would not truly satisfy Me for very long -- only one day, or maybe two days at the most. It has been more than two weeks since you last screamed as I tortured you, your pain freely announced to the mountainside as the bullwhip repeatedly kissed your sweet flesh with violence, and now I need to hurt you again. I need you to suffer so that I can be at peace with Myself for a time. I need your agony to once again fill My dark heart so that I can once again be the gentle lover who had initially seduced you out of your clothes and into the back of an old beat-up van which had clearly seen better days.

While you sleep soundly and are unaware of the intensity of My need, I tremble. It is a struggle to keep the sadistic beast caged within Me as you dream, for beginning to hurt you now would probably produce the best screams of your life as you are slashed awake by some form of searing pain. Even if I were to reach beneath the covers and simply pinch a nipple between My fingers, it would be so sudden and unexpected that you would scream well.

But that type of pain most definitely will not be enough -- not today. I need to hurt you -- soon, if not right now.

The rack awaits. I could slowly stretch your lithe body, one notch at a time, pulling you taut and then threatening to pull you apart.

The bullwhip would work quite nicely. It would give Me the added pleasure of watching your naked flesh redden from the many vicious red welts forming across your chest, across your back and your thighs.

I would almost certainly gain the greatest pleasure from shocking you. As much as you hate having electricity surging through your body, I truly adore it, for that hatred definitely adds to your agony, and that definitely heightens My desire to witness your torment and bask in the fact that you are suffering for Me.

...for Me.

Without a doubt, you will suffer for Me. In fact, you must suffer for Me. There are only two questions relating to this issue:

When?

How?

The "when" is very easy to answer, given the magnitude of My need: as soon as possible.

The "how" is a bit more difficult to determine, for there are so many tools I could use, and even more strategies for their usage.

Perhaps I should shock you mercilessly -- or more specifically, have you shock yourself mercilessly. I could strap you down to the bondage table, slide the hefty bipolar electrodes into your pussy and your ass, perhaps add the bipolar electrode cuffs to your ankles, and activate the microphone input so that every scream you make will shock you with similar intensity. I would need only to use My thick leather belt to beat your ass until your sirenic voice takes control of your own sweet torment, then I could lean back against the wall and slowly stroke Myself while I thoroughly enjoy your plight.

That is the plan. And for something like that, for something so awesome as your self-induced torture, it is time to awaken you with a kiss: the calm before the storm.