She had him bound, his wrists tied firmly above his head, the muscles in his arms taut against the straps that secured him to the headboard. His body was hers now—open, vulnerable, utterly surrendered to her movements. She straddled him, her thighs gripping his hips, her hands resting on his chest as she leaned forward, her hair falling in waves around her face.

The straps gave her control, gave her the structure she craved, but tonight they were more than that. They were a bridge—a way to step into a space she hadn’t allowed herself to fully explore before. As she moved, her hips rolling against him, her body slick with sweat and arousal, she felt something shift deep within her. This wasn’t just a game. This was her, stripped bare of everything but the purity of the moment, the intensity of the connection, the holiness of her pleasure.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, his lips parted as he let out a soft groan. She could feel him throbbing inside her, the heat of him filling her with every ****** of her hips. She moved faster now, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her nails digging into his chest as she worked herself closer to the edge. The straps gave her control, but it was the look in his eyes—the way he saw her, accepted her, worshipped her—that truly set her free.

And then, she felt it—a hand, strong and steady, pressing against the small of her back. It wasn’t his. It was another presence in the room, unseen but deeply felt, grounding her, guiding her movements, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. The touch wasn’t invasive or controlling. It was affirming, supportive, a quiet reassurance that she was safe, that she was whole, that she was loved.

The hand moved up her spine, tracing the line of her body, its touch sending shivers through her. She arched her back, her ******* hardening as she felt the sweat and wetness mingling on her skin. The presence pressed her down onto him, urging her to take him deeper, harder, as if to remind her that she was worthy of everything she was feeling.

Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she rode him, her thighs burning with the effort, her hips grinding in perfect rhythm. She could feel the tension building inside her, the heat pooling low in her belly, her entire body reaching toward the release she craved. The presence didn’t waver, its hands steadying her, encouraging her, whispering without words that she was enough, that she was beautiful, that she was free.

When her ****** came, it was like a flood, her body convulsing as she cried out, her release gushing over him, soaking the sheets beneath them. It was as if every ****** was a cleansing, a baptism in the purity of her own pleasure, each wave washing away the shame and fear she had carried for so long. She felt the straps on his wrists, the ones she had placed there, but they no longer represented control. They were a symbol of trust, of safety, of the sacred space they had created together.

And still, she moved. Her body didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as she rode the high of her release into another, and another, her cries turning to moans, her moans to whispers, her whispers to silence as she let herself be carried away by the intensity of it all. She lost count of her *******—four, five, seven, ten—all blending together into one endless moment of pleasure and connection.

The presence stayed with her, its hands on her hips, her back, her shoulders, guiding her, grounding her, reminding her that she was seen, that she was loved, that she was perfect. It was as if the very act of her pleasure had become holy, her body a vessel of purity, her release a sacrament. She felt no shame, no fear, only the pure, unfiltered joy of being exactly who she was.

When she finally collapsed onto his chest, her body spent, her breath heavy, the presence lingered for a moment longer, its hands soothing her, its energy wrapping around her like a warm embrace. And as she drifted off to sleep, her head resting against him, she knew that this was more than just a moment. This was her truth, her freedom, her holiness.

The straps that bound him had set her free

What are the keys to holiness and perfection? Practice, patience, time, and integrity. Like any good thing, it takes work and lots of it. You don't become Van Gogh, or Mozart, Michael Jordan or Mother Theresa overnight. Granted, some of these people have certain gifts and talents that make it easier, but it still took practice and consistent work. Patience is also necessary. There may be setbacks or failures, mistakes and sleepless nights, but one must be patient and endure, because if you keep going, things are going to look up and trials will strengthen and give us the tools we need for the future. Time is something we all have and never seem to have enough of. Make good use of your time and fill it with good and wholesome things. Do not hurry or rush perfection or holiness or any good thing. Nothing good comes to those who hurry and rush and do not wait. Finally, and perhaps most importantly is integrity. To be holy and strive for perfection, one must have true integrity. As Shakespeare said once "... above all else: To thine own self be true". Be true to who you are and who you were made to be. Do not try to live someone else's life or be someone else. You aren't. You are you and that is that. Be the best you that you can be. For, as Mother Theresa is quoted as saying: "in the final analysis it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway".

God bless us all on our path to holiness and perfection. Amen

Today, an excursion to a temple
somewhere further along the river
and we don't take anything with us

although no one seems to be there
so there will be no daily rites
This must be a lesson

We walk single file
through the forest, we walk
over the edge

of a basin, we are there
in the middle of the temple
a row of orange flags

in the open cave
of the waterfalls
of time

which overwhelm me
and carry me away, for a week
I can't be found

Only the forest sees me
while my body meditates
and does not know that I exist

Just, how cold?
Odd, the thought of passion
Should a sky have one to hold
Forever is now to fold, a prayer lasting...

Life in a walls shadow
Circumstance, with a youth's vow
Seek, and you shall find, all and know
A heart with happiness, only before how...

The sound of love...
Harried by a salt, a cursory share
Of decency, a proud covenant
With moments to quietly care...

Curious prayer's indeed
Means with a psyche, rounder eyes
Have the sense to see it, heed
A role in heaven, where one more life...

Is our's forever, fate in the first place
Sweet about, and a whole day to dream
Came as we went, from here to infinite praise
The truth of a world, taken to seem...

The prelate opens

the ancient reliquary:


holy is the dust.

The living shall worship 🛐 thy Lord as the Angels adore Him on the throne. Off their faces with their golden crowns 👑+ bowing down. Their songs is hallelujah, 🙌 glory, giving holiness, admiring the everlasting living being. Who made heaven is holy place of abode. Make audible roaring, let the pillars of heaven tremble, and the waters surrounding the universe from the peak of heaven shallow down the depth of sea bowing🙇 before His presence Every powers and knees worship, 🛐 before his presence, glory, salvation, healing, blessing, devine favor, love, peace, life hove in His presence, sing melodiously shout excellently even with poetry, sing palm unto thy Lord who is worthy, on whose hands lies everythang. Holy, holy spirit, holy is thy Lord Almighty God. Blessing be the name of thy Lord God. Amen! 🙏

Who of the great saints

has lived up to all of them:


the Ten Commandments?

He is so holy!

Wine on his lips instantly --


turns into water!

In the gold corner

of our room it is, the black --


in-depth Holiness.