Eyes to mine, butterfly

We discussed past pains, past lives, past futures and past things abandoned.  And, then, ceremony number two unfolded, unwrapping something that I was not expecting.  I should have expected it: there was a little sound of something delicate, the tinker bell flutter of metallic music hidden inside red velvet.  I heard it in my mind's ear but I did not process the implication until -- there -- I see the dainty pouch and the emptied contents.

My hands were bound behind me, a precaution that forbids me common expressions of worship.  I must be more inventive with my gratitude.

This is the balance: even though there is evidence everywhere of my submission, there have been days recently with nothing overtly to do with submission and dominance.  This is the balance: after so many days, formality and ceremony.  Balance, after such a stretch.  Counterbalance and harmony in two/two time.  A renewal.  A progression further.  A proof of love and a proof of devotion.

Balance.  Counterbalance.  Harmony.  And a little velvet pouch with delicate utensils, and the thinnest, sweetest chain barely there, and more powerful than a magic wand.

I watch as you clean the needle: you use fire to burn away the impurities, and you use alcohol to purify the steel.  Your swordsman-quick piercing of the skin, and it is done and I have no hands to cover my breasts, because my wrists are bound behind my head, my shift dangling from me like a black and gold flag, and it's too late and all finished anyway, like magic.  It is done and I gasped long after you finish.  I beg to be able to look and see for myself, because my eyes were locked on yours and unmoving.  "You will not close your eyes," you said to me, and I did not.  I looked at you the whole time.  "Eyes to mine, butterfly." And then I felt the needle pierce.  And then a second time.

You say:  "When you are naked, I will see this sunlight and it will remind me of your fire. When you are displayed, men will see this diamond and know my hands are upon your body already. And when you are not naked, you will feel me, ever with you, beneath your clothes."  

I'm allowed to do this, to feel this, to have this.  I'm allowed to experience this and balance this and cling to this.  I'm allowed to revel in this feeling and I am so grateful.  Two diamond suns pendant and gleaming, clasped with a fairy-light chain that makes the daintiest noise -- so dainty, almost invisible...  But I know it is locked there, and I feel it minute by minute.  I must be more inventive with my gratitude.