Clay

Asleep, in that very special way, in that very special place. Quiet, withdrawn, listening with passive excitement. Open, laying down in DaSade's arms, on the floor. The discomfort, if there is any, is unnoticed at best and irrelevant at worst.

As he speaks to me, I can feel the shift of when he clicks with something; finds an idea and a metaphor he wants to latch onto. It's subtle but thrilling every time; exploring with him as he does so with me.

I feel his fingers run across my scalp, and then feel them reach into my mind.

It softens at his touch, like putty; like clay. Those hands massaging it feel more pleasurable than any orgasm, any feeling I've ever known. He's found my most erogenous, intimate place, and I melt into the touch, mind first, body following.

His kneading turns it to mush, and dimmed as my will may already be, I can feel it being obliterated completely with the way he touches it; entitled. He's talking to me, but it seems almost more to himself, softly, like an artist humming while he works. There is the most beautiful feeling of patience within me as I watch from far away with interested curiosity to see what he will create.

For that is what he is doing; molding my mind, molding my self after he's warmed and softened it. In our play, my body is his canvas for pain, but now my mind is the unshaped lump of clay.

Objectified like the rest of me, already owned, but touched and used in ways that were never before so deep and real.

--

Over the next couple days I was turned into so many people and things that I have since lost track. I was wrought from the inside out, quietly eager to see what his mind would make from mine. The most incredible thing is that he comes with me; whatever I become, he too changes so that we make the journey together.

We have had conversations over the course of our relationship on how we build characters together, on how I can be made to do whatever he wishes, on how my nature is to transform myself to suit the desires of my partner. This seems to be the culmination of that thread. All of these aspects of myself, newly defined, are coming together in one concept.

In a basic sense, it's immersive hypnotic role enactment, but that feels imprecise to say. As we go through it all, we find that we each live a thousand lives within ourselves, and playing moments of these out becomes a precious experience of exploring their stories.

We speak every so often on the Taoist concept of the uncarved block. That the journey of life is to find one's natural state and raw potential. It defines us, gives us purpose, and there is power in the analogy he and I are finding in the clay of my mind.

Clay is part of my uncarved block. Clay is my being, Clay is the name he has given to that part of me which finds joy in letting another take and shape and create form from what I truly am.

I am Clay, and I am every entity and life that Clay becomes. And he is the one who owns and molds that part of me, along with all the rest.