Hot, wet, intense.
Sweat smell blends with *** smell blends with the musk of arousal and ****.
Animal sounds, lingering with the sounds of passion, intermingled with the urgent whispers of love and affection.
“I love you.”
Echoes and echoes and echoes, never quite dissipating in the chambers of the mind, never quite fading enough to allow the pain to end.

A sudden inhalation of breath, the moment of realization, the gasp of terror echoing in the silence of a dark room.
Quick, strident breathing now, fear blending with discomfort and bleeding into true pain as the bindings grow damp from sweat.
That sound wasn't her sound wasn't his sound, wasn't anything at all.
Except that that isn't really the truth...
Is it?

I love watching the realization of suffering blossom like a delicate flower, gentle and steady, the undeniable growth of blinding intricate agony.
Watching it dawn on the unfortunate that has come under the knife, to truly know what one asked can truly be given.
Not at their demand, but at my desire.

The swirling blend of flavors, pain and fear and lust and need and desire all blending together into a heady, intoxicating aroma.
A place where the expectation of suffering ends and the reality of what it means to ask to be broken begins.
"THIS IS NO LONGER COMFORTABLE!"
The body screams, begging for release, begging for something to end, for something to break.

Often, it is the fragility of the psyche that goes long before the frailty of the body.