#ill still reblog shit to keep it pretty

‘Purity’ was a strange way to describe it. The suggestion was that it stood alone, an experience without peer, that she would be unable to compare or contrast against with anything before or after. It seemed lonely, indescribable. 

She preferred 'composite’. Each moment sitting atop the shoulders of the last, pushing upwards with a desperate reach that grabbed for… something. Something she hadn’t managed to get yet, but seemed closer to each time she was pushed. A sense of oneness, perhaps. Peace? Or just the feeling that she had been satisfied, if only temporarily. 

More importantly, it was about the loss of self, letting her personality, her person, filter through her fingers like so many grains of sand, trickling lazily in dribs and drabs, until she wasn’t thinking as a person does, wasn’t thinking at all, really. It was similar to the moments before sleep, when you’re less directing your thoughts than being directed by them, except here there was nothing directing, and yet she felt directed. 

And yet, she felt…

The belt crackled across her like a fissure, like it had opened her up and left a Grand Canyon in its place, rendered her tectonic. She howled, yelped, crackled herself, from her feet to her shoulders, one long Mexican wave of agony. 

As the sharp edges of that pain decayed into the soft klaxon of a throb, the thoughts washed in again like a tide, filled that hole that he’d made, flooded it. The rope was still tight, she was still naked, and he was still there, bearing over her with that confusing, thrilling mixture of care and cruelty. 

It didn’t seem fair, that he could appeal to both sides of her at once. It felt like a cheat, as if he’d hacked into her core and replaced common sense with posters of himself, one next to the other like bars in a cage, and she’d been trapped ever since. She couldn’t figure it out, and as time went on she grew less inclined to question it, when she was feeling as she was. Like she’d figured out how to bottle lightning, and she was using it to power the most incredible…

Down again came the belt, and again, she came apart. Unraveled, each thought tumbling away after the other, until she was surrounded by a pile of psychic guff. She was keening, raw under the tutelage of his arm, exposed like a wire that could do nothing but short circuit, constantly interrupting itself every time he brought down the lash. 

'Purity’ was a term she didn’t understand. It had no meaning for her, except in those brief, blank moments that he incurred upon her. When she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Just was, a calmed mind and a happy body.