Original post here. Sourced to callmeowner. Original text:

xuisse:

callmeowner:

Recently, I was rambling to my pet about how some fantasies aren’t meant to be representative of a real desire. In reality, in this existence that I inhabit, I don’t ever intend to brutally slaughter anyone or drown them off the end of a pier with cemented feet. Other ones aren’t even possible, like transformation into inanimate dolls or into half beasts with rows of breasts. No, some fantasies are just meant as dark thought experiments, the specific action of them less important than the feelings they evoke.

Take amputeeism, for example. The action of it is horrific, the limb removal with the blood and gore, sawing through bone and whatnot. Terribly sorry if I made you green just then, but the reality of it is gruesome. The reality of it is also that I can get whiny over an accidental bruise or stinging cat scratch, so there is not a snowball’s chance in Hell that I’m realistically desiring to take a meat cleaver to anyone.

But… within the mind’s eye, that same scenario takes on a whole new world. Within the thought itself are all these little nuggets of <intense> emotional content, ready to be gathered up and basked in. It’s not about limb hacking. It’s about the feelings of power and terror, the farthest boundaries of trust, love and surrender, fear, adoration, and possession.

The fantasizing —or co-fantasizing, if you are so lucky— can dramatically enrich an emotion or a bond. If you fear pain, you need never feel it to reap its rewards. You need only allow yourself to be fearful, and open your mind to the massive erotic potential of fear itself.

So these images? They correspond with a fun little fantasy I have about a completely devoted girl. She has surrendered to me sans caveat or safeword, to exist completely at my whim. And all of these ladies are her, the same girl, not a whole bunch of women I took down like prey, but the same girl who has given me the ultimate commitment and consent. Each time I put her through the wringer, she willingly submits, even going so far as to give me her life.

But see, that’s the thing. I love her, am just as committed to her as she is to me, and how could you ever discard someone so devoted and entwined in your heart? So after whatever torment peaks, I string her up, and then I pull her consciousness out into a new, whole, unmarred body. Yes, kind of like a clone. And her old body is frozen in its last state before her consciousness was removed, lifeless, no longer suffering the pain of a caned bottom or missing limbs. They hang there like trophies so we can both marvel at what she has endured over the years.

It all hinges on the detail that consciousness goes on, that even if there is perishing involved, that it is reversible or recoverable, that it is always her, that same girl, and each iteration builds our bond as we push the boundaries of psychological torment and union. It is the fantastical extension of a deep S&M relationship, taken to extreme within the mind’s eye.

This! A million times!

Nothing I can say gives this justice to the perfect way she has said and described it.