~ Yearnings of the Heart ~

What of love does a battered, jaded, scared heart know? It’s a rather stupid organ; it gives in easily and sometimes right away to the slightest hope.  It’s the mind, which has years and years of filed away pieces of information, small pieces of Memorex videotape. It can replay those files, in full color and Dolby surround sound, repeating them as if it were happening again. Convincingly enough that even the heart pays attention and cries again.  The mind is cruel; it won’t give second chances cheaply. No, everything that comes in is cross referenced in millions of directions, so that the more bad memories there are, the less chance the new information will get linked to happiness or pleasure.

You could argue that the mind is only setting up the heart and body for failure by doing this, but that’s not the truth of it. The mind from the first hurt has already figure out an escape route. It’s reviewed frequently, and put into practice as often as can be done. The mind is already prepared for the worst; it knows it can handle that. What it fears most, is to be proven wrong. To be proven that the heart can be right, and that happiness can be found. Sometimes one has to find ways to shut off the streaming video in ones head: to stop watching and listening, and to reach out to take another’s hand.

        She steps into the darkened room, closing the door firmly behind her. The fact that the room was pitch black soothed her nerves. Taking 3 steps forward per instructions previously given, she then slips down to her knees and closes her eyes waiting. Her ears attentive to her surrounding she waits then hears the strike of a match, soon followed by the scent of sulfur. The sound of music faintly starts to fill the room, ebbing and flowing around and throughout.  She keeps her eyes closed tightly which seems to magnify the strength of her other senses. Movement occurs around her, unidentifiable. A voice whispers in her ear, soothing recognition that creates a havoc of emotions; fear and comfort, anxious happiness with a splash of strength filled direction.  Her heart pounds quickly, echoing in her head, which keeps her logical voice quiet for the moment. Hands smooth down over hear head and hair, warm and smooth, covering her eyes. Then replaced by the coolness of material as a blindfold is tied over her eyes. She opens her eyes now, seeing nothing but the blackness.  The comfort from being able to not see is a strange one, as if denying her own sight it denies her mind from seeing her as well.

             The dungeons of the mind are stronger then any man made captivity.  The mazes more dark, the dangers more perilous; failure here could mean death to an already weak heart.  Forced to make quick decisions sometimes baffles the mind and lets the heart lead the way. There must be some form of trust there if the mind can be baffled and let the heart choose, otherwise some choices would be so easy to make and forget about.

           Hands slide over her bare shoulders, squeezing a bit in a comforting hug. The voice at her ear again says, “Answer quickly and honestly do you trust me?” Her lip quivers at the question. Her mind races answer yes or answer no. Trust yourself to trust him? Trust him to take care of you? How can such a simple question be so hard to answer? No time to cipher out consequences of the answer, she has to answer, now! She straightens her back, a sense of pride as she’s already made the choice to say “Yes, Master.”  It doesn’t stop the racing of her heart, which surges lovingly as well as aches to feel safe and secure. Her mind screams with a soundless voice, ignored as actions around her attract the attention of her senses. Finger tips caress her lips, she can’t help but smile through the gentle caress. Gentle prompting causes her to open her mouth, a small round object is slipped behind her teeth, checked for comfort and then strapped over her cheeks. Her voice now taken from her. Her hearts sings, as the mind now can’t complain or try to find escape by saying no.  Her hands are lifted; the feel of cotton rope encircles them both separate and then together. His voice, now before her prompts her to stand which she does. Led forward her arms lifted and tied to something securely. Comfort of the rope, making sure her hands can’t push way anyone touches. Touching indeed as hands smooth over her skin, down her back and cupping her bottom, kneading the flesh and patting it playfully. A smile breaks on her face as she eases into her feelings of submission, as there’s no other direction to go. The heart pounds in excited anticipation touched as well by a bit of fear. Finally the mind gives way to only sensation input. Set free as it were, such a simple catharsis.

            The heart sometimes stumbles across that which it longs for, it can recognize it almost instantly, but the mind will try to make exceptions and find faults.  Sometimes what could bring happiness is easy to see, but almost impossibly to do. To just step forward and take that chance of finding utter and complete, mind blowing, breath taking satisfaction and happiness. To attain that goal, which simple in D/s, is what every submissive seeks is it not? To be allowed to please, serve, give… even as they fear they are unworthy or have nothing to give in return to the one who leads the way.  Is the trembling submissive enough? Could a reluctant submissive simply be a scared soul? Who’s heart and soul call out, but whose mind shuts off the obvious options to happiness.       

            Her body is wet, covered in sweat as she leans against the wall still. Her body tingles and burns, a lovely sensation of impending bruises to find pride and astonishment of.  Hours of simple commands, movements, shared moans and whimpers.  Her hands are lowered and untied. The gage removed from her mouth as she’s led across the room. She hears him sitting down on something, a small creek of springs. He tugs gently on her hand, saying quietly, “Kneel pet.” She slides back to her knees, feeling his knees on either side of her as she leans close against him in a warm embrace.  He removes the blindfold; her eyes stay squinting closed in the bright of the lit room.  His arms around her comforting, protectively; A blush brightens her cheek, the dawning of the reality of where she is, and what she’s done. Her heart soaring beyond the cynical concerns of her mind. “Do you trust me Pet?” She nods yes. “Know you’re loved pet?” She nods yes again. “Know you’re mine?” A small whimper escapes her throat as she voices her answer, “Yes Master.”

            Patience is the only way to combat negative voices and past hurts. Trust needs to be solicited noticeably at times, so that a submissive can see that yes, she does indeed trust when she thought she couldn’t.  Maybe the mind holds onto just as much hope as the heart, but doesn’t show itself so easily. Perhaps that’s it. The mind dreams of the moment it will be able to follow the heart, fearlessly and openly.

~ strange ramblings by Pixel with too little sleep, at 12:29 April 10, 2002