Legends of Belariath

Softe

Roquai's Slave

When I was a wanderer, I came unto the Inn,
I stood and looked upon the walls that screamed in pleasure,
And dripped pain,
I feared the steel of the blades I saw,
Feared the bed I bought,
Feared the priestess I knew,
But through this, I did not fear him,
He walked hunched towards me,
Not to suck the marrow from my very bones,
Not to ignore me with ignorance and bliss,
He looked at me,
He spoke,
And he owned,
His mouth stretched wide around his commands,
And around my head,
Upon my neck I bear beneath the collar of steel
A collar of scars,
The marks of his teeth as he showed me what he could do,
Would do,
If I did not learn to beautifully obey,
I learned,
It was a choice I took over the others that were offered,
Slavery to religion,
Slavery to culture,
Slavery to beliefs that didn't swell in my soul,
Not like he swells within me,
He had nothing to teach me,
Has nothing to give me but this,
This is slavery,
The wanting of him, the knowing of him,
The obedience of him,
My pale green skin is darkened greener in places by his touch,
His heavy hands heavy upon my flesh,
His member, heavy within my womb and deeper still,
I cannot escape because I refuse to believe it is possible,
This is everything,
This is happiness, and security and joy,
This is knowledge of my self,
I am but an object to him, a possession, surely maybe a prize,
But I am not forgotten,
Abandoned,
I do not wander any longer,
I have a purpose, even if it is not my own,
Sweet, seductive purpose,
As I slip into his arms, his great massive arms,
As his teeth break through my skin,
His massive teeth,
As he grinds against me, hurts me so sweetly,
I feel now more alive than ever before,
I could forsake the trees in his arms,
Forsake the world I grew up in,
If only he keeps me here, in his arms,
Pain is pleasure here,
And I am his pleasure,
He is my pain.

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