“But Master! You know everything!”

Do I? Is that what your training has led you to?
Come.
Where are we going?
To the walls.
Why?
You wish to know where cravings start?
Yes. You never have cravings. I want to know your secret.
That question is easy, little one. Climb.
Is this a metaphor? Climbing to heaven? Each step representing knowledge and wisdom?
Wisdom is knowing when to save your breath and when to scream.
I do not understand, Master.
Every relationship is unequal. That is why you chatter needlessly instead of observing the Beloved’s hand in every action.
All I see is endless lifeless desert below and infinite stars above. How does that relate to craving?

Do you not crave the sweet flesh of ripe melon?
The zest of pomegranate?
The rich savory fig?
You,
who have never seen the succulent treasure between a woman’s thighs,
fail to make the correlation between craving and living.

And you have?
What you see out there, beyond the high brick walls of the sultan’s citadel, you transpose upon your Master, I, who have nothing but a long existence trailing behind me like the gauzy scarf of your admirer flapping in the harsh winds of crimson summer.
She does not see me.
She sees you. A boy, pouting for a treat of forbidden honey wine. Beware the sting.
What do you know of being a boy!
I know.

I know what wakes in the early morning before dawn’s first blush.
I know the rising sap that stiffens green wood and burns hotter than the sun.
I know the rampant mind that weaves elaborate mirages luring even the most stalwart of men to spill their seed upon infertile soil.
I know.

Then why does the Beloved torment us so?

Because, little one, above all else, She creates a craving for union of bodies and souls so that we may worship with joyful hearts and willingly submit to discipline.

I was wrong.
Where are you going?
You don’t know anything! Master! I’m leaving and I won’t be back!

Ah! Little One, your Master has never claimed to know everything.
In fact, the older he becomes, the less he knows.
As in the beginning,
when as infants we crave our mother’s milk
so to at the end,
we crave reunion with the Source.

Without our cravings
we are not alive

If it’s the first day of the month, then there is a new newsletter at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction.

5 Comments

  1. I like this very much. It makes think of my own Master – my Sayyid – particularly his calmness amidst my petulance. I can be hounding him incessantly with my petty questions and concerns, yet he remains calm like this Master does, and attempts to show me a deeper more meaningful answer, one that relates back to our “Source”, rather than the straightforward answer I’m wanting.

    Not sure if that correlates to your thinking when you conjured this up, but all art is subjective and this is what I derive from this piece. 🙂 thank you for writing it.

    Liked by 2 people

    • You are very welcome. I did use your recent posts along w/ missy’s ‘bean rant’ as inspiration. I don’t write as much poetry as I should. I been neglecting my poetry blog by concentrating on spanking fiction. I discovered that I can write erotic fiction or poetry daily, but not both. My thinking on this particular Master does correlate to what you describe as the ‘hounding submissive’. That doesn’t make your questions invalid, but simply points out that every D/s couple+ needs to find a mechanism that allows growth and exploration in a non-threatening and non-judgmental manner.

      Liked by 2 people

      • I’m honoured you found inspiration from my blogs, even if I was not on my best behaviour in them lol

        And I enjoy your poetry and your stories!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Nice One💐💐💐

    Like


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