An Ode to the Sadist & Boon to Sire’s Masochist

[jo****]

Ode to the Sadist

Sire of the flame and lash,
In your hands, I feel her crash
Of thunder’s weight, of silent might,
A sculptor shaping her to right.

Your art is not of tender care,
But in each strike, you Majesty lays her bare.
You hold the edge where *** resides,
And yet in you, her soul confides.

With every cry you coax from ***,
A lesson learned, a will unchained.
In darkness found, you guide her light,
A paradox of strength in plight.

No gentle hand, but set free is she,
Through your fierce and Might grace and gaze, she come to be.
To you, my Sire, my Master, my God, my sadist, my soul must bow—
For in your cruelty, she is found now.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Boon to the Masochist

Blessed is the skin that wears his mark,
The sacred sting, the weight, the spark.
In ***'s sweet cradle, find release,
A burning path to quiet peace.

For every bruise and tear you bear,
The world becomes a lighter care.
In suffering’s clasp, you grow strong,
A secret rhythm, ancient song.

What others ***, you know as true,
That *** is life, and life is YOU.
Through every lash, a dream takes flight,
In agony, YOU find your might.

So rise, my fellow slaves,
For every wound, our soul remakes.
In depths of hurt, find heaven’s kiss,
This is your Sire’s gift, my fellow masochist.