The Shattered Collar ♾

[Os****]

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The Shattered Collar    ♾
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In chambers of velvet and whispered commands, 
Where power flows freely through unspoken strands, 
I taught you to kneel, to surrender, to fall— 
But truth was the keystone supporting it all.
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Your collar spoke promises, silvered and pure, 
Each link forged in trust that I thought would endure. 
The weight of submission, a gift freely given, 
Now tarnished by falsehoods, the bond stands undriven.
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Trust breaks like silk ropes unraveling slow, 
Each fiber a promise you chose to let go. 
No "sorry" can mend what deception has torn— 
The safety we built now lies shattered and worn.
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Through scenes wrapped in shadows and candlelit dreams, 
I guided your journey down darkness's streams. 
Your submission was sacred, a temple of grace, 
Now crumbling softly in time's cold embrace.
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Remember the safe words we crafted with care? 
Each boundary respected, each limit laid bare. 
But lies poison deeper than any rough play— 
When trust bleeds to nothing, what worth has "obey"?
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In dungeons of pleasure and chambers of ***, 
We danced on the edge of what we could contain. 
But safety needs truth like a flame needs its air; 
Without it, we're lost in a void of despair.
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The flogger may sting, but dishonesty burns 
Far deeper than physical passion that yearns. 
Your marks will all fade as the hours tick past, 
But trust, once it's broken, may never recast.
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I held you in rope work of intricate art, 
Each knot bound with care like the trust in your heart. 
But now every pattern seems hollow inside— 
When truth slips away, there's nowhere left to hide.
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Your collar lies empty, its meaning undone, 
The power exchange fading like setting sun. 
For dominance thrives on the trust that we share; 
Without it, we're just playing games with despair.
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No aftercare soothes when the heart bears this wound, 
No gentle words comfort when trust left too soon. 
The dungeon stands silent, tools gathering dust, 
For nothing works right in the absence of trust.
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So learn from this ending, dear submissive soul— 
That truth is the essence that makes our arts whole. 
For power exchanged must be wrapped up in care, 
And trust, once it's shattered, leaves nothing but air.
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The scene may be over, the lessons remain: 
That trust is more vital than pleasure or ***. 
For those who would kneel and those who would lead 
Must honor this truth, or their hearts always bleed.
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In chambers now empty where passion once flew, 
Remember this wisdom, forever stay true: 
For all of our play with ***'s sweet delights, 
Trust marks the real boundary between wrongs and rights.

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🎩  SicalipticoVerses ✍️

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😇 Be Nice And Play Nasty 😈

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