He always wanted Something worth dying for. But He was alive, in Spite of himself. He Wondered if the French Foreign Legion would take him.

Fiction, memoir, and musings, from Minotaur Productions
He always wanted Something worth dying for. But He was alive, in Spite of himself. He Wondered if the French Foreign Legion would take him.
The pleasure for which We will endure any and All pain, graciously.
Her favorite is when I fill her throat completely, Control her breathing.
Tender open wound Salt and abrade the margins, Thus irreparable.
Wrists are bound Cords braided, wrapped round, Stuck, subjugated
You kneel at my feet. Your eyes are blindfolded. Your arms are bound behind your back. Your only thought is for my pleasure. You cringe