Owned heart, soul & every irritating inch (Her kind words) by the one and only fantabulous Huntress Auralee.
I know what She wants & expects of me & I know the consequences off these not being met n believe me, they ain't the good sort, they are the very bad oh my holy God I don't want sort!!
"you are by far the most irritating heathen I have ever had the misfortune to know however you are also the heathen that makes me smile the most." (Huntress).
One-day i hope to prove myself and find myself in her rl collar again. Until then I am honoured She allows me to be at Her feet to learn and improve.
All that is missing is my sister where she too belongs. Things happen and while they may change the circumstances, they can never break the love
~Gorean feral heathen slave, a Northern Bondsmaid gone wild~
"A heathen is for life, not just for Christmas " great quote from an awesome Man.
On first sight the filthy bedraggled form looks every part the feral heathen she portrays. Inky tresses a tangle of everything that is the marshes and what has gathered on her travels, even a treasure or two lurks in the chaos of curls that frame a scratched and dirty face. she snarls, growls and has been known to claw and bite if a hand reaches towards her. Perhaps this is in anger or perhaps in fear of letting down the walls she has built around her. she rarely speaks and will protect herself anyway she can.
If you break the surface of what first appears, perhaps something or somebody very different will be unveiled.
Eyes of the Thassa, they can drag you in like the swirling undercurrent, drawing you deeper to discover what lies beneath the surface if you are brave enough to withstand the whirlwind that may be unleashed. Plains and hollows of decedant flesh, the swagger of hips provocative and enticing, a silent plea for you to take every curve and use it relentlessly until your darkest lusts and desires are sated. A voice that purrs lyrical breaths of need against your ear, begging for passions that bring fire to your loins in readyness to leave her helpless and torn, panting and breathless, tears drawn from stormy sapphire to stain sculptured cheeks. Are they tears of pain or pleasure, or a mixture of both. Delicate fingers that once clawed now a soft flirt against your skin, seductive in their path, eager in their journey. The snarls and growls now a wail of passion, screams of primal passion and feral lusts.
Unleashed the feral heathen becomes everything and nothing in your hands, pliant and yearning, eager and pleading.
(note; while the character portrayed is a slave, i am not a pushover nor a "cookie cutter nice girl". i will be tough to crack, hard to handle and positively chaotic in the wrong hands. The right hands are strong and confident without the ego of chest beaters and can calm the mayhem that is me, Capture my mind my body will follow.)
my Huntress has the right hands.
The devil whispered in my ear "you are not strong enough to withstand the storm"
Today I whispered in the devils ear.... "I am the storm"
"you cannot change what people say about you or how they treat you, all you can do is change how you react to it"
"a strong woman is one who is able to smile this morning like she wasn't crying last night"
"Be who you are and say what you feel...Those who mind don't matter and those who matter, don't mind"
"Perhaps they are not stars, perhaps they are openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and lets us know that they're happy"
For Caleb, my angel in heaven. i sing this to you every single day to feel you in my arms one more time.