The New Birth

You tell yourself it’s nothing, nothing strange, at any rate. You remember bits and pieces, but you always wish you remembered more. There could have been a touch involved, but it isn’t necessarily so. Sometimes, you remember it coming as nothing more than a slight movement, almost imperceptible, but—and here is where your memory fails—the storm inside that followed was a giant, a cosmic cyclone of immense proportion, crushing everything in its path with an incomprehensible, implacable fury; a monster, a mad galaxy of psycho-kinetic terror with death at its center. Such a tempest works its destruction with raw physical power, but at the same time, it renders retreat or escape impossible due to its extraordinary, singular beauty, which defies logic or description; a beauty that causes paralysis. Only through experience is one capable of understanding this. Neither soul nor body has movement here. This unstoppable force has a name. It is called Madness. It is the end of life and the beginning of life. It is certainly death, but beyond the threshold it is infinite potentiality, infinite source, infinite bliss. It comes in one form, and one form only. It comes as Vixen.

If she has coaxed your touch, it is already too late. Your tears, your supplication, your worship and your pleading only amuse her. You are a joke to her, a plaything, if that. Vixen deals only in reality. The reality of your destruction, and the accomplishment of her will. That is her reality. But within this dark reality, her reality, lies the infinite mansion, the Paradise of the Absolute; a fantastic, unspeakable, idyllic world where, if you plunge deep enough, dreams and forgotten memories collide and ignite, the sparks and subsequent flames giving birth to living patterns of all that will ever be, and to all that could ever comprise the total . And this sublime space-of-mind, timeless, bathed in its eternal mystery and resistance to common apprehension, cannot remain pressed in dream-dimension beyond the moment of your arrival, and so must transcend its ethereal barrier and emerge whole into singularity, that kid’s corner of Being that opens into hidden planes of self, and merges there, now in the deepest regions, into rainbows of desire, regret, reconstruction, failure, pain, love, misconception, awakening, enlightenment, flesh, flower, music and rain…and all this spiked anew (at this point) with sharp, blazing refractions from the roaring monolith that is the body of Vixen; Portal to Ultimate Truth! Guardian of the Unconscious, Keeper of all men’s souls. This, this is Madness!! She has accomplished it! Her witch-crafted laughter rings through your soul and into the very Death that awaits you now. You worship her legs, her ass, her face, her Divine Being, and you know that this phase is finished.

Your prayer goes up, something to this effect: Divine Vixen, I beg thee, with utter respect and humility, to have mercy upon me. For I am unworthy, and incapable of the perfect obedience you demand and deserve. Have mercy, benevolent Goddess!

Vixen knows exactly what she wants. She plans to become as the Arc of the Covenant to your Philistine fingers. She is going to destroy you with one single touch. Such a display of power is unprecedented. But the end will not be swift. It is her intention to make you wait. It will seem like an eternity, an eternity of electrifying cruelty. She will watch you suffer unspeakably, tortured, tormented by cascading waves of desire, an avalanche of need inflamed by restriction, by her divine commands, by the slightest gesture of her head as it shakes: No.

You can still see the gentle quivers of her legs and ass as your free fall ends. And here, in the darkness that becomes infinite light, you become, for the first time, one with your own true essence. She knows instantly when you’ve arrived.

-Now, she says.

You place your hand softly on the splendid flesh along the back of her upper thigh. Vixen lets out the slightest whisper of deadly laughter. You hear something else; indescribable, like a spirit in flames. Experience breaks up into a quantum matrix of Vixen’s scents and shapes—blinding, particulate—and a primal firestorm is born, breathing the new universe into existence.

To Own A Man

Beyond torture, beyond fear
On the distant horizon beyond mere humiliation
After beatings, abuse and abject domination
Comes ownership
To steal an hour is mirth
A day, blissful indulgence
But to steal a life; that is magic
That is transcendence

His first sentence is banishment
To be exiled from me
To continue with his own affairs while already possessed
He thinks of nothing
But me
Nothing
But the afflictions I have visited upon him
The scent of my plump, powerful, shapely legs
The unbearable agony as they crushed his head into mush
The endless, vicious slaps and closed-fist punches
The glory of my divine, gorgeous ass
Which he was made to kiss, worship, and sniff
Over and over

He obsesses compulsively over the sound of my voice
So sexy, so demanding
Ordering him to bark
‘Bark, Bitch!’
Since he is, in truth, a pig
He grunts better than he barks
He was punished for such ineptitude
By full-throttle kicks
To the face and head
Blood-soaked swine
I made him my ash-tray
Devil only knows how many lit cigarette butts he swallowed
Begging each time for another
I spit into his urinal of a mouth
I toilet-trained him
He showered praises of gratitude upon me
For that moment of discovery
His true life’s calling
To receive with thanks
My piss
My shit

Hospitalized after his punishment
He remembers now
Relives each second
As his intolerable days pass
Yesterday, a record
71 cell phone calls
I never pick up
Waste phone minutes on human dung?
Why?

When at last he stops calling, I know it’s time
He has lost everything
His life has crumbled
Money, job, family, friends, fiancee
All gone
Because of me
Me alone
The conquest of the goddess
Come to me, I say
But say good-bye to all you know
From this day forward
I own you
He was sitting on the curb
In front of my house
When he called