My Pimp Daddy is a handsome man, a quiet man. I remember his voice I remember his questions and his demands for me to perform for him. My tears and my suffering left me quivering on the floor and he taught me many lessons. He is not a cruel man but I was scared and I felt powerless. I longed to become his slut to feel his hands gripping my throat. Gasping for air, I felt weightless, the little stars and my daydreams.
He brought in his slave to watch me, she was jealous but I felt a particular compassion for her. She said nothing but I felt as if he was showing me off.
He too has secrets dark and demented in the opinion of others but I always felt that I had a particular understanding of him. I was powerless, so is she.
He wishes to destroy her and I managed to avoid him but sometimes I have dreams when I struggle to breathe. My lung capacity is shallow and the thin plastic bag sticks to my face. It makes me ugly and my vision blurry. He plugged my nose, my ears, and put a stocking over my head.
Panic … I could only cry for help and he laughed at me. He told me to be still. I struggled against the restraints. He laughed. He punctured a hole into the plastic then wrapped my head in duct-tape. I felt this sensation of doom and little pricks. He bought me to my feet and walked me into another room. I was completely disorientated.
I could hear him unzip his pants. I heard a trickle and a rush and the sound of water. He kept dunking my head in the sink he had hold of my collar and would bring me up for a slight breath and then I was under the water again except that I could taste that it was not water it was sour. He bent me over and pinched me pulling and tugging on my lips.
I felt a sense of loss. I had no way of reason. I could not determine or define a theory. I was dying of love. Love in the time of Anorexia Nervosa that is me. I am Anorexia Nervosa remember me and bring me flowers.
Do not leave me behind. I am a particular period of time that is timeless. I am sexual but I have a thin opinion of what it means to become an object. Perhaps these memories are meaningless to you and only meaningful to me because they are mine and these memories are the only thing I own that has value. Nothing ever happens in a particular order. Everything is convoluted….hazy. Tip toes and he makes me dance for him.
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[Simone is the Eros Noir girl whose photos grace the side of this article and others. She is a truly gifted and unique Domina. Mistress Simone is available for sessions in San Francisco]
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©2003 Mistress Simone Kross, may not be reprinted without author's permission.
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