Blindfold her—
not to take away her sight,
but to sharpen the world
of trust between breath and silence.
Bind her—
not in ropes alone,
but in the trembling promise
that surrender can be a sanctuary.
Collar her—
not as a chain,
but as a circle,
a vow of belonging,
an unbroken whisper around her throat.
Guide her—
with steady hands
that write direction across her skin,
and a voice that folds
like silk against her ear.
Tie her—
not in knots of restraint,
but in the woven thread
of her heartbeat against yours,
in the secret language of yielding.
And as you hold her—
speak the only truth
that makes the ritual whole:
“I need you.
I am incomplete
without the gift of your submission.”
Thus the sacred equation is drawn—
not dominance and surrender alone,
but two souls,
balanced in power and hunger,
solving for wholeness
in the design of trust,
in the geometry of trust.
That’s the Dom-Sub Equation.
Blindfold her—
for to enter the unknown is terror,
yet in terror lies the opening,
the silence before revelation.
Bind her—
for the hand that knots the cord
is the hand that demands everything,
and she quivers,
knowing the infinite is asked of her finite flesh.
Collar her—
the circle closes around her throat
like Abraham raising the knife:
absurd, unbearable,
yet holy beyond reason.
Guide her—
for anxiety is the dizziness of freedom,
and she trembles at the step
that cannot be taken by halves.
Tie her—
for in the constraint of limbs
she discovers the abyss of self—
that to be bound
is to leap beyond despair
into the paradox of being.
And whisper—
not a comfort,
but the demand that terrifies and sanctifies:
“I need you.
I am incomplete
without the sacrifice of your submission.”
So the equation is written in trembling:
not dominance, not surrender,
but the dreadful holiness of relation,
where flesh becomes faith,
and submission is the leap—
the absurd that saves.
That’s the Sacred Dom-Sub Equation.
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