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From: genericjoe@offthebeatenpath.org
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Subject: {ASSM} GenericJoe's Images : 0019 (F-Solo BDSM)
Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2003 12:10:03 -0400
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Images by GenericJoe <genericjoe.org>

In deference to short pieces, to Suki's images from when I was first
finding my bdsm-self, I am going to work on a series of images, most
of which will have a bdsm theme of some kind or another, all short.
At least three a week (but I'd love to do them daily.)

As they are posted, the images will be archived at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/genericjoe/www/images/


0019

(F-Solo BDSM)

"When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought
as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things." I
Cor. xiii. 11.

It had been years since I put it away, still a childish girl of 22.  I had
met Henry, and while he could never be like Samuel, I knew that he would
always be there for me, a thing Samuel had never been able to promise.
So I packed it away in a box, unwilling to completely let go of ancient
promises and forbidden hopes.

Long afterward, I came upon it again, unboxing things left too long
in an attic.  I was 45, had three wonderful children.  Henry was a
Vice-President at the bank.  Conservative, a pillar of the community.
I put it on again, the spikes radiating outward.  The passion overcoming
me, my desire for Samuel overwhelming me.  I played with the idea of
finding him again, as I masturbated -- trying to excite myself, but not
to actually come.  Just like he used to do.

The kids were at college, and I was alone at home most of the time.
I found myself pulling it out again and again.  Then one day Henry
came home early, the noise from the door opening pulling me out of my
submissive reverie.  I put it back in the attic again, and left it there.

Henry died a few weeks ago, at age sixty-five.  He went young, but
we had a good life.  The kids, their spouses and children -- precious
grandchildren -- all left, and I remembered the box in the attic.

I went upstairs, and retrieved it, unpacking the old, cracked leather
of the neglected collar.

I stood, naked, my breasts drooping, my skin covered in wrinkles, my hair
expertly done by my stylist of so many years.  I lifted the collar to
my neck, clasping and latching it, and I was young again.  My hair the
rich, long black of youth, bound in a ponytail at his request.  He was
walking around me, with the rope, winding it around me, binding me.
Next he grabbed the whips, and beat me, over and over again.

For leaving him with no explanation.  For marrying another man, having
another man's children.  For, worst of all, neglecting the care of the
collar I had promised to keep and care for as a symbol of my submission,
our love.  When I wore it, I was Samuel's, and no one else's.  Forty years
later, it was still true.  I felt my soul kneel to his, wherever it was,
and I went down to my own knees.

I slid my hand over my aged breasts, and between my legs, masturbating
and crying for new and ancient loss.

And thought, once again, about finding him, and apologizing.




(C) GenericJoe, 2003
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/genericjoe/www/images/image0019.html

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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