Galaxies On Her Ceiling. [An Original Piece, NSFW/BDSM Themes]

[Guest QueenJellybean]

A cosmic oasis swirls above her head, colors melding and siphoning away from each other in infinite, unending spirals. She likes to admire the way some the deeper shades of blue match her eyes, and she muses that he probably painted them that way. She remembers the brush strokes, the laughter when they pressed themselves into the smallest corners of the room to reach the hidden spaces. She remembers the twinkle in his eyes, and the way she begged him to stay still so she could splatter some of the translucent colors down his arm, and her surprise when he gripped her arm hard and allowed his paint-smeared fingers to drag, nails digging in, up her forearm instead, eyes locked on hers. The way it made her squirm embarrassed her because of how simple the action was, but that made her want him all the more.

 

These are the things a doll thinks of while laying on her back on the ground, gazing at the beautifully-organized mess she helped created above her.

 

Her limbs lay at odd angles, having fallen off her shelf again. She pushed too hard, extended herself too far. She always does this, putting herself last and expecting to still be able to cling to the edge of that ledge forever. Even if it’s by her fingertips. A spasm ripples down her spine, but she can’t feel anything. Her eyes are glazed over, gazing at that mesmerizing, star-speckled skyline. She’s done this so many times before, but she’s learning. It’s a slow process, learning to put herself first, to say no, to take steps in the right direction. She has many people in her life who love her enough to help teach her.

 

The footfalls of one such person echo down the hallway now until they stop outside the door. Silence for several beats before the creak of the door opening.

 

The air seems to change when he enters. It always does. It’s thicker, and she finds it a little harder to breath, but it’s a sweet taste on her tongue like melted cotton candy, filling her airways with cotton-heavy sugar. It’s like each breath never existed a second after she inhales it, her chest so heavy with the thought of his claws on her flesh. She’s constantly gulping for air, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

A shoe nudges her side and she barely moves. A cluck of the tongue; chiding? amused? a combination of the two? “What did you do this time?” There’s sarcastic bemusement in the Dollmaker’s voice, but also an edge of concern and protection. She knows that if anyone had done this to her, nothing would stop him from going after them. Interesting how much of a difference intent can make. The things she wants him to do to her body are things acceptable only because she wants them. Every bruise and bump must be created by him, the Dollmaker.

 

Because how dare someone or something else sully his best product.

 

She can’t reply to his question, exhaustion has crept into her bones from the force of the fall. When she falls, she always does hard. It’s different than the times when he’s the one who pushes her. When she falls on her own, it’s always in a way that breaks things that are harder to mend and they have all the wrong intention. Spirit. Determination. Drive to keep going. Belief in herself. Creativity. Passion. Desire to keep learning and growing. The cracks that these rips and tears cause allow the anxiety and self-doubt to creep in and take root. Soon, she lays gnarled and paralyzed on the floor like she is now, under his watchful eye. He takes another moment to circle her like an animal accessing his prey before leaning down and picking her up. To the workbench they go, roughly tossing her down then adjusting a stray piece of hair; the perfect picture of their love where pain compliments affection.

 

His eyes bore into her glassy ones as he works. There’s a cruel smile on his lips, a knowledge unspoken by both of them that he could leave her without a limb, still broken if he wanted to. He is both the Dollmaker and Dollbreaker in this moment, and she loves it about him. The ability and ease he has to shift between these two, allowing them both to exist in the same person at the same time. But true to his word, the only bruises and breaks he wants to see on her are the ones he has created. She’s a flawed creation with ones she’s created herself. There’s no room for them. He works silently, taking immense pride and focus on his work. She is his masterpiece, his doll, and she is to be perfect. His kind of perfect.

 

Her eyes flutter closed and she simply feels for a while. His fingers work quickly yet with gentle focus to smooth out the bumps, fill in the cracks with the glue of encouragement, guided instruction, and pride in her abilities. His breath cascades over her, and she feels the emotion behind each heaving breath. She notices the way his work-worn palms caress her softer edges with a hint of need behind the pressure of them. When she thinks he’s done and she can wiggle her fingers and toes again, he leans down and allows his teeth to dig into the flesh of her neck, leaving her with his watermark as he whispers the words to awaken her against her skin. “I love you, and you are Mine.”

 

The next time she gazes at those galaxies on her ceiling, she remembers why they feel so good to look at. For even when she is at her lowest, she can always look up and see the stars.

[junebug0325]

I love this! Thanks for sharing!

[Guest]

This was a cute short story. Thank you for sharing a lil piece of yourself.

It was very sweet, and has a nice message. Good jub. ⭐️

[Guest ~*BabyDoll*~]

Ugggghhhh my heart!   

 

This was so good, I love this type of writing and it's so beautifully put together!

 

Thanks for the amazing read! 

[SharkPrince]

This was absolutely beautiful and a pleasure to read, as is everything your write

[Guest Gracie-Princess]

Oh my dear lord this is amazing!!!!!!!!

[Guest QueenJellybean]

thank you guys so much for your kind words!

[Guest CollateralBeauty]

This was beautiful. Almost made me cry.