Son of God. Son of Man. Prince of Peace. He had more names than he cared to mention, each one a gendered thorn in his crown, each one cutting its way into his soul.
As he kneeled before her, and breathed in the heady scent of her womanliness, he craved to be released from the labels which weighed down upon his back. A masculine cross to bear, with a secret desire at its heart. He knew that she could provide the cure, and here in the darkness, he steeled himself as she picked apart all that he was, and all that he saw himself to be.
Her skin was pricked with excitement as she saw his desperation. The garden of Gethsemane was her garden of delight, her jardin des supplices. Her breath quickened as she felt his discomfort, and her arousal grew with each moment of humiliation. The silks. The rouge. The letting go of the fragility of masculine power. The feminisation of man, the realisation of the superiority of woman, the demonic and angelic brought to earth in female form… all was exquisite in her eyes.
His gaze met hers, and he saw cruelty. He saw forgiveness. He saw his mother, his whore, and himself – made smaller, more pathetic, yet more free – reflected back.
“Divine”, he whispered. She smiled, just for a second.
Stockholm Pro Dominatrix & BDSM Goddess, Feminization Expert