The Primal Predator

Surely It’s got to be a primal trait, right?

Enjoying the way her beautiful chest rises and falls with her steady breathing. My eyes traveling to her lovely neck and thinking about the whimper she’d make when I wrapped my hands around her throat and squeeze.

In my travels to find photos to inspire my mind, writings, sex life, I came across a gif of a woman cornered. The unseen figure had a knife trailing across her flesh, sliding underneath the strap of her nightie.

To me, it feels like such an animalistic mood or mindset – finding myself enthralled by the sight of her before me, taking in the tiniest details. How huge her eyes might seem, how glazed they might be. How she might stand there. Would she defy me? Would she be testing me in a battle of wills? Standing her ground? Would she hit me back with a verbal sparring? There’s a part of me that would like a challenge.

That’s another thing. There’s something alluring about that invitation to spar mentally, to begin the match, the chase, the hunt – whatever you want to call it. However it begins, it’s a connection between two minds. And that’s incredibly attractive. In a way, that’s really what helps drive my dominance – that connection between minds.

But going back to my earlier wandering thought – I don’t know, it just seems like such an animalistic thought process that’s almost seperate to dominance because of how my eye is drawn to those things. I mean – and this harkens back to my sadistic side – there’s a curiosity that I have with how the individual reacts before me. There’s a sadistic glee that creeps into my bones, at hearing their whimper – and it’s a smirk that spreads across my face as I see their eyes flicker with that dance between obedience and disobedience.

It’s an aspect of my dominance that comes and goes like the seasons. With the sporadic Melbourne weather we’re having here – the change between wild winds and rain and strikingly sunny days – there seems to be a change in my mind. I’m feeling that charge, that atmosphere that could drive me to strip a poor pretty little thing of her singlet (tank top for the un-Australian) just because the sight of her shoulders makes me ponder deeply.

I immediately self sabotage – calling myself a typical male or a dirty man – something I think that is from my own childhood – being raised as a strict Catholic. But it’s there, this mindset to cut away her clothes with a growl and see the look in the eyes of the fellow primal someone that stands before me and wants to see just what kind of animal resides within.

And I guess I ask the question, that it’s got to be a primal trait, because of how intensely I focus on the little reactions. It just seems like such a predatory aspect, a laser-focused sight on the tiny, beautiful features of a person. The things that fascinate me.

Whatever it is, however predatory it may be, it is a big part of who I am. I don’t want to deny it anymore, I want to understand it.

The Driving Force Behind My Dominance

What is the driving force behind my dominance?

Gosh, I feel like I’m staring down my computer at the start of an essay paper with a question like that one. What is the driving force?

On my Instagram, which is basically a college of the inside of my mind, I put up an image — and my whole body begins to react, my skin flushing with a heat that’s all too familiar. My mind is already in the theatre, experiencing past anticipations – the build up, the pause, the relief.

I feel the desire to smack her lovely, tantalising ass – spurred by the image, the invitation, the fantasy, the setting.

It still scares me, you know? This intense, all-consuming, burning desire – to smack her ass, to feel the biting sting on my palm, to feel the pain. THROUGH HER or WITH HER.

It still scares me because of how sudden it comes on — and I’ve tried writing about it. It’s hidden in my stories, this feeling of something slinking up my body, taking me over, possessing me. I kinda think of Venom, from the Spider-Man universe, if I’m honest. This symbiotic lifeform attaching itself to me.

“Do you feel like you don’t have a choice?” I was once asked by a reader who emailed me and wanted to delve into the psychological. “The way you write about it, it seems like you’re not on board with it.”

I guess me liking my dominance to darkness or to a symbiotic creature is because sometimes it does feel like that – because it’s so different to who I am outside of kink and this blog and this life. Maybe the only way my pop culture-addled brain can make sense of that part of who I am is by touching on the media I consume or have consumed.

And while I’m the first to wince back at something I write – Goodnight, Sammie! is a good example of wincing, being a particularly savage story for me to write – I don’t think negatively or it and I don’t want to put it away in a chest in the back of my mind.

But what is the driving force behind my dominance?

An impulse? A need to control? To oversee with a watchful eye the measures of pain and pleasure? To not only own someone in such a sexual and non sexual way but to OWN MYSELF? Own that exhibitionistic, voyeuristic, sadistic side of my mind that is so different to the guy that sings Disney karaoke in the shower?

I think that might be it. A need to connect – on a deep level, on a sexual level and on a non sexual level. I’m a Libra, I wear my heart on my sleeve, I like my hearty romance just as I like to strike her pretty, pale ass with a whip till she’s somewhere between a moan and a cry of pain.

And I need that in my life because without it, I’m some kind of Tarzan beast, right? Unkempt and unfulfilled. A caged tiger perhaps. Just pacing around the exhibit, restless and wild.

Whatever it is, whatever I am without it in my life, it’s crazy how an image can just affect me like that – just trigger my dominance. Because it needs to come out, it has to come out, it’s going to happen right now. It’s that crazy feeling of something tearing out of my chest and wanting to fuck madly and breathlessly. Does anyone ever feel that affected by an image? I don’t know.

I’m going to crash. It’s going on 1am here and it’s been a crazy week to start 2021.

I hope you are safe. I hope you are doing well. I want to thank you for hanging with me, for reading this, and I want you to know that if you ever want to chat – about your week, your dominance / submission, this piece or whatever, you can always reach me at — darkanddominant@hotmail.com

Here’s To The End Of 2020

I’ve been sitting here, wanting to write about 2020.

Trying to write about 2020.

But I don’t even know how to really process this freak of nature year.

It has been a devastating year for all of us – some in ways I can’t even possibly fathom.

I only wanted to use this space right now, as I sit here quietly in my living room, to write that I wish you all peace of mind, love, laughter, security and warmth in 2021 and that, somehow and someway, light finds you and shines on you.

Whether you’re staying in with the fur babies like me or whether it’s a quiet function with a close few – whatever the case, I wish you a safe, joyous evening, with hopefully beautiful memories made to carry you into 2021.

And on the off chance you’re feeling low or feeling like a chat or even if you want to talk writing, BDSM or the Kinkmas stories, you are more than welcome to reach out to me.

TDD

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020: Afterword

If you’re like me and you like reading the afterword of authors to get a peek into their mind and so forth, you’re in luck because it just so happens I wanted to write a bit about my thought process.

This year’s 12 Days Of Kinkmas was kinda like standing in the bedroom of my mind and pulling out a chest from underneath the bed and digging out all these ideas that I’ve journaled down over the course of 2020.

Some, like The Traveler, came from my own personal dreams, some came from sitting in a darkened carpark while waiting for some take out (‘Goodnight, Sammie!’ – probably a little too darkly titled but hey.) and others, like F**K, came from sitting up at 2am and listening to pulsing, dirty electronica and being inspired to write a story that captured that sweaty, hard-hitting groove.

And then you have something like Pretty Little Playthings, which actually came about because, being the weirdo and film enthusiast that I am, I was looking at the history of sex exploitation films, went down the rabbit hole of women-in-prison movies and decided – hey, you know what would be fun? My own stab / tip-of-the-hat to that deranged, kinda sexy, totally cheesy movie.

Pretty Little Playthings actually ended up being too long. I started writing it, realised I was sitting on about 12 pages and hadn’t even gotten to any sex yet and figured I had to start from scratch to keep things entertaining. The point that I started at is supposed to be – in my third draft structure anyway – the fourth chapter in what’s becoming a sleazy little novella. But it worked in its own self-contained way that I kept it in.

But I’m enjoying writing it – I’m enjoying writing The RingMistress because she’s almost on the level of comic book villain to me. But she’s human. I think I’ll hang around here a bit more and see what she wants to do.

I had a lot of fun writing this collection. I experimented with this sharp, staccato writing to play with structure and how things flowed from one moment to another. I think it went okay. I hoped it worked okay. Ask me again in a week or two.

Truth be told, I left planning out the 12 days till the last minute – mid October I believe – and so there were days where I wrote and wrote and wrote. There were days where it would just come out of me, like I was a voyeur in the corner of these worlds. But there were also days where I would bang my head against a wall asking if this piece works or if I should write this line of dialogue. No, I’ll move that line of dialogue, twist it a certain way and that’ll work – I became obsessed at finding what worked for me – and I mean obsessed. From writing multiple branching paths in a story to see what I prefer, to rewriting the story entirely from scratch to running ideas by my poor lady, who did her best to keep up with my caffeinated brain.

If you wondered why I’ve been absent from the blog October and Nov, this is your answer. It’s as if I have been a madman looking at a wall full of my character’s profiles and story plot points and having it all connected by red string like I’m some detective ready to crack a case.

And crack it, friends, I did.

Whether you’ve read one or read them all, thank you for coming along for the ride. I appreciate your support and I appreciate you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Stay safe, have a wonderful happy holidays when it comes – and don’t forget, my email is always open if you want to chat stories, BDSM, have any questions or just need a friendly chat.

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #12: ‘Pretty Little Playthings’

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here. Well, I wanted to meet you, Alex. Get to know you”
The Warden has her fingers laced as she sits in her black chair behind her lavish wooden desk. She’s dressed in a grey suit, her short blonde hair combed and neat. 
Her smile reaches her light blue eyes.
Everything about her feels warm to Alex. Her soft voice, her body language. 
But Alex is cautious. 
She’s seen the evil warden done to death in movies. She wouldn’t be surprised if that rang true right now. 
On the desk before the Warden is a thin brown file. The warden unhooked the elastic around the file and opened it. 
Alex takes in the room around her while the Warden reads over the file – the bookshelves to the left of her, featuring Encyclopedia’s A-Z, the self portrait on the back wall, the lack of any photos on the desk, everything’s clean. 
Even the nameplate in the Centre of desk reading OLIVIA SHEPHERD – WARDEN – seems to shine brightly. 
Alex can feel the cuffs burning into her wrists as she sits there. She wants to – 
“Alexandra Dawson.”
The Warden’s voice took on sternness now. 
“D.O.B 21/6/93. That would make you 27. What else? You were studying psychology before dropping out, mhm. Burned your parents’ house down. Serving 13 years.”
Yeah, after they both told me they were going to separate. AFTER I caught them talking to their lovers on different occasions because they’re ridiculously shitty people. 
The Warden clicked her tongue – closed the file and pushed it aside. 
She looked up from her desk, her fingers lacing together again as she regarded Alex now. 
“Have you heard what they call me here? ‘The RingMistress’. Fitting, no? It’s a circus I run here. It’s a circus I maintain. Me. Nobody else keeps the rest in line – guards, inmates.”
Alex wondered right then and there if The RingMistress knew about the female guards who felt up her slit during the strip search on the way in. 
“And yet…I can’t help but feel that it’s a mockery of who I am. That I’ve become a caricature.”
Alex suddenly caught a chill creeping down her back. It was a coldness that swept over her whole body, enveloping not just her now but the whole room. Freezing over through the icy tones of The RingMistress. 
Her eyes fell on Alex now, their colors somehow a paler blue. 
“Which is why -“ The Warden continues as she rose to her feet. “You are sitting here in my office.” 
Alex watched as The Warden moved around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge, right in front of her.  
“Abigail! Mercy!”
The Warden / RingMistress shouted these names and Alex turned to see the doors to her office swing open. 
In stepped the two guards that led her from the chow hall to here, the office. One had dark long hair tied back into a bun; the other had red hair, green steely eyes and freckles. 
Both wore the spotless black guard uniform of the prison. 
In perfect timing they closed the double doors behind them shut. 
Alex heard the lock click quietly.
Alex turned back to The RingMistress to see her click her fingers down at Alex. 
Something was terribly wrong here. 
Alex felt adrenaline seize her, felt her legs go to stand on their own accord. The guards were on either side of her, clutching her arms and keeping her. 

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, speaking for the first time since she stepped inside. 
Her voice felt weird. Squeaky. 
The RingMistress looked back into her eyes and smiled. “Setting an example. One that will have a lasting effect.”
At that she turned and nodded to the guards. 
The prison guards’ hands were all over Alex in a heartbeat – undoing her handcuffs, throwing her against the desk before her, tearing her grey prison uniform pants down, clutching at her prison shirt.
Hands were all over her. 
“No, you can’t do that to me!”
Alex HATED how she sounded – like a petulant child, ignorant of the fact that she was a prisoner and had lost all rights the moment she stepped into the prison, fucking Pinewood Park Women’s Correctional Centre.
Her back cracked. 
Pain exploded in her body.
Alex’s vision was reeling, spinning – then her mind registered it: the blow came from the baton the prison guards were clutching.
Feeling her back throb and pulsate, Alex stood there in a daze.
“Arms up, inmate.” One of the prison guards barked in her ear.
The voice sounded soft, almost as if it was trying to sound tougher than it was.
Alex raised her head, looked at the RingMistress standing before her, arms behind her back, and laughed mirthlessly.
“Why don’t you eat my fucking ass?” 
The RingMistress’s face displayed no emotion. She merely raised her eyes to the guards and nodded curtly.
CRACK.
Alex felt her teeth rattle in her mouth, felt her knees give way, felt like her back had broken and splintered into a thousand tiny pieces of bone.
The prison guards dragged her back to her feet and held her steady.
The RingMistress met her eyes, unmoved and unblinking.
Alex stared right back and didn’t look away from her.
Then hands were on her again, pulling her arms up against her own accord, lifting her shirt overhead. 
Alex saw grey as the shirt passed over her eyes – then refocused to find The RingMistress again.
Alex was getting used to standing naked in front of people by now. The showers had helped wash and scour off that anxiety, despite the apprehension of being raped lingering.
The RingMistress moved across the room, hands held behind her back, to a wall in the corner. Slowly, as if in her own daze, she raised her open palm and placed it onto the wall.
“Since you’re new here, Alexandra, I won’t have you believing such slander.”
The wood underneath her palm began to sink – like a button was being pushed – and the wall before The RingMistress slid upwards to reveal a hidden room behind. There, hanging from the ceiling and resting in the floor were thick, black cuffs.
Alex forgot about the coolness of her body as she looked upon this encounter with a growing sense of unease.
The RingMistress turned back to face her, her lips spread into a thin, cruel smile. She gave another curt nod. 
Alex realized one of the prisoners was removing her pants from her feet. She flung it into the knees of the guard before her, colliding with bone, and the guard roared in pain.
“You little-“ The guard spat, bringing the baton down upon Alex’s stomach.
Dizziness came crashing over Alex’s mind like an ocean wave – and she was torn down beneath the waves. Somewhere in the distance Alex could hear The RingMistress saying something to one of the guards that she couldn’t quite make out. Her mind was focused on getting her breathing regulated, on getting the ringing in the ears to die down.
She felt herself be turned around, now facing The RingMistress, who was leaning against the edge of her desk.
Alex blinked back tears, her body aching, her head spinning. Her thoughts spun with the one thought. 
What the fuck is going on in this place?
Is this what Lindsay, her cellmate, tried to warn her about last night?
As Alex sorted out her thoughts, as she tried to shake off that awful lightheadedness plaguing her mind, she felt her legs and arms being spread apart. 
The breeze brought upon her by being spread open against her will tickled the inside of her thighs. Alex felt the maddening itch but the guards held her hands as they cuffed them above her head, leaving her to be tightly held in place and on display.
The RingMistress held up her hand. “Leave us.”
To Alex’s astonishment, the two prison guards actually lowered their head in a slight bow and promptly exited the office. 
Silence fell across the room as The RingMistress sat on the edge of the desk, looking at Alex.
“Alexandra, I’ve gotten where I am today by exercising discipline over myself.”
Alex’s eyes caught movement. The RingMistress was reaching down to a set of drawers and pulling the top shelf open.
“And I expect those under my charge to serve under those such disciplinary methods. The ones that…made me who I am today.”
“I’m starting to get an idea of who that person is.”
The RingMistress closed shut the drawer. Alex saw that her hand was gripping a long, thin black whip.
It came down across her tits, quick as lightening.
Pain erupted across her skin, biting at the tips of Alex’s nipples.
Alex blinked away tears; saw the leash raised in the air. 
Blinding, white-hot pain hit her pussy, seemed to ripple across her lips in throbbing waves. 
Alex hated that her body flinched at the hit, that she couldn’t control how it reacted under the whip’s assault. 
If she had her own way, she’d stay still, not give this raging bitch the satisfaction she might get from the flinch. 
Alex gritted her teeth, did her best to smile through the hit.
“Is that the best you can do?”

The RingMistress paused, hand in the air. 
That cruel smile spread her lips, made her otherwise soft features look harsh and rough.
Like the vampire face from Buffy almost.
“You’re pretty, Alexandra. Do you know…that’s why you are really here? I saw your file, I saw that flair in your eyes.”
Slithers of pain shot out across her right tit as the whip came down upon her – once, twice, three times. One after the other.
CRACK.
CRACK!
CRACKKK!
The RingMistress stepped to the right out of view – and Alex couldn’t help but feel that apprehension.
“You’ve got a beautiful ass.”
The voice in her left hair made her jump. Alex tried to wriggle but the cuffs were tethered on the spot. 
“Yeah, get a good look.”
The whip came down on her ass. 
Alex saw lights swim in her eyes. Her ass felt like it was on fire. 
Her body fell forward. 
The whip came down again.
Then again, this time coming down across her slit from behind. 
Alex’s skin was burning hot. 
Was she bleeding? There was no way she could tell. 
Alex opened her mouth to speak – 
The whip came down on her slit again. 
And again. 
Her body wanted to fall but the cuffs held her still.
Alex realized she was panting in loud huffs – each coming out one after the other in short bursts of hot air. 
The pain lingered. Throbbed. 
As she stood there, Alex could feel it pulsate. Some part of her thought of the cartoon sore – the big, red throbbing sore that seemed to breathe in and out. 
Her cunt stung, her tits were throbbing and Alex was furious – but no words were coming out.

The RingMistress, this psychotic woman, appeared in front of her again, whip held behind her back while her other hand was between her legs. No doubt dulling the ache she felt for Alex.
Alex saw the top button of her grey blouse was undone and her blouse was hanging open, showing the slightest view of her breasts held in place by a white bra. 
The RingMistress reached down to the chest of drawers, opened the second drawer from the top and pulled out a dusty black tome. 
Alex wanted to curse at her some more but nothing but panting came out of her. She could only watch The RingMistress opened the book in her hands and thumbed through the pages.
“You see Alexandra, any degenerate inmate under my watch enters into a contract. Negotiation of such a contract is not a factor – inmates lose that right the moment they step over the threshold into my domain. As I stated earlier, I expect those here to live out their sentence by showing restraint, by practicing disciplinary methods over their mind and..tongues.”
Alex hated that the tears began to roll down her face, that she couldn’t do anything about them. 
That they were there from the reeling, radiant pain across her body and not at all because she was sad. Or fearful. 
“Effectively put – your ass belongs to me. Your little dirty cunt -“
In a whirlwind of blurred colors, the whip swung up and struck her cunt, knocking loose a whimper from Alex’s mouth.
“- belongs to me. So long as you’re here, under my watch, everything about you belongs to me. And even if you make it out of here, your pathetic ass will still be marked by, claimed by me.”
Alex lifted her head and looked up at The RingMistress. She could see the fire in the eyes of the woman, burning bright and intensely. That maddening smile on her lips didn’t even reach the eyes.
“I expected physical resistance from you. Verbal as well. In time, however, you will come to address me as Domina, Mistress.”
A beat.
“Or even ’Sir’.”
Alex felt the laughter swirling up her throat. It came clawing, raging, out of her mouth and out into the study – manic and bitter and wild.
“You’re insane. You’re actually legitimately insane.”
The RingMistress watched her disaffected, her face blank and cold, that smile on her face becoming more of a grimace than anything else. She stood there silently, watching Alex, the open book in one hand, the whip in the other, held behind her back.
Alex laughed till she couldn’t anymore, till the tears ran down her face and tickled her cheeks, till her throat was sore.
“Done?” The Ring Mistress said in the ensuing silence.
Alex saw that she had put the book down on the table and was rifling through the drawers, unmoved, unfazed by Alex’s outburst. 
There was something there, in the back of her mind, which suddenly wanted to panic. 
She swallowed, shoved it way down and looked beyond The RingMistress to the wall, to focus on the bland cream wallpaper. 
The sound of the drawer shutting broke her concentration. She couldn’t help but look and see what was happening before her.
The RingMistress had a ball gag in her left hand. It dangled there, a visual indicator of something to come. 
“I did want to read to you the terms of the contract there. But now…”
Alex opened her mouth, her next verbal insult – Yeah, fuck you – loaded and ready to go – and the crazed woman was on her, hand on her throat, prying her mouth open. 
manic.
Alex felt the pinched-sensation of her hand to her throat, closing her airways. 
Her mind, already panicking at the calmness of The RingMistress, only panicked more when it realised air was being cut off. 
“You all think you’re so tough, that nothing can touch you.”
Her hands tightened around Alex’s throat. 
“But then I break you — and you submit. Because in the end…well, in the end, you’re all just mine. My pretty little playthings.”
Alex fought through the panic, the seemingly insurmountable panic. It was flooding her brain, driving it wild.
She ran her tongue along down the roof of her mouth, gathered what saliva she could — and spat. 
A clear stream struck The RingMistress’s face, silencing her. 

Then a look of fury twisted her features. 

Her hands squeezed around Alex’s throat. 
Alex couldn’t keep her mouth from popping open; her mind was tricked into gasping for air frantically.
The gag came over her. 
Snuffed out her ability to speak.
Made her feel stupid – for all she had now was her eyes – and Alex could definitely frown or glare or show that rage fuelling her anxiety right now – but would she just look stupid and helpless? 
Like a child throwing a tantrum.
Like all she needed was a pat on the head.
So lost in thought was Alex that she didn’t fight back further when The RingMistress clipped the buckle of the gag behind her head. It was only when she felt the tug of her hair that she came back to the present, back to the office of this woman before her.
The RingMistress clicked her tongue as she looked over Alex.
Alex hated her eyes taking in her naked self.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful blue eyes, Alexandra? Why, it’s like moonlight across the water. And it seems deeper…somehow…the more you look.”
The eyes of The RingMistress fell – and Alex squirmed in the air against her gaze.
What she would give to break free of her restraints, to set herself upon this crazed woman.
How did this happen? How did she get in charge?
Alex felt something brush against her leg and looked down, the back of her neck spiking with pain.
The RingMistress’s hand was resting on the inside of her thigh, fingertips skimming across her skin.
“How toned you are…” She said softly. “How lovely.”
Alex cursed The RingMistress as her fingers touched the edges of her pussy lips. 
Her voice came out as indecipherable murmuring against the gag.
The RingMistress tutted and sighed, hands withdrawing from her slit.
She turned her back to Alex.
“Even gagged you are feisty. In a way I like that spirit. Enough is enough though.”
Alex couldn’t believe her eyes as The RingMistress began to slip out of her suit pants and – inch-by-inch – revealing a lightly sun-kissed and curvaceous ass.
Alex didn’t know what to think or feel. 
She felt nauseous, felt stabbing pains in the pit of her stomach as it twisted at this sight before her.
This was sick.
Perverted.
Demented.
Then the thought came.
Just popped right in there.
A part of her found The RingMistresses’s ass to be enticing. Appealing.
Alex shook the thought away by pulling her hands at the rope that held her still. She felt the cuffs pinch her wrist.
She had to get out of there.
She had to keep trying to break free, somehow, and get out of there.
Alex’s breath came out fast and heavy. Drool snaked its way down her chin and rolled on down her neck. She loathed the way it felt, loathed the tickling sensation of its creeping stream.
If The RingMistress heard her fidget, she showed no signs. She was bending down, reaching under her desk for something.
Alex could see her pussy between her thighs, could make out the dark tuft of pubic hair. What the fuck was this woman up to?
The RingMistress turned around – and Alex felt panic, hot and prickly, zigzag down her back as her eyes lay upon what was in her hands.

A Sybian machine.

Thick and black, it looked to Alex like a filled out riding saddle – only strapped with a large pink dildo. 
Alex’s chest felt tighter by the second. She had to remind herself to breathe through her nose as she looked out at this machine she had only previously glimpsed in porn over the Internet.
“Yes, I like your spirit, Alexandra. It fascinates me to no end.” The RingMistress said as she positioned the machine underneath Alex.
“But I am going to break it.”
Alex tried to wriggle her arms free but it was like her hands were met with an invisible wall, like she was pinned to the air. She had no room to even try to move.
The RingMistress laid a hand on her shoulder and shoved her down. 
Alex felt the tip of the thick dildo brush against her stomach – and with it, she could feel tiny pinpricks burn her as anxiety flushed over her skin. She hated the feeling, like she was consumed by fire.
Her mind was running wild, thoughts overlapping one another trying to be processed and sorted.
Even with the invisible wall Alex still struggled as much as she could, feeling like her wrists were bruising as she thrashed around, hair falling across her face as she did.
But it was no use — she was being lowered onto the dildo by hands as hard as the rope around her wrists.
“Oh do quit your struggling.”

The agonizing feeling of the dildo against Alex’s pussy lips was all her mind could focus on now. Alex tried desperately to lift herself away from the toy, away from the machine, but The RingMistress had an iron grip on her shoulder – and Alex was sinking down, down, down onto the thick toy cock. 
“Fffffuckkkk youuuuu” Alex screamed into the gag, feeling her jaw straining with each word, tasting that disgusting plastic gag around her mouth. 
Time seemed to toy with Alex, to slow down so she could feel every inch of the thick, fat toy slide into her. 
How much could she take? How long would this go on? It kept sliding into her. No end in sight. 
As she sank onto (into?) this cock, she felt the drool hit her nipples and keep on gliding over her boobs, tickling her. The more she panicked, the more she breathed. The more she breathed, the more she drooled. 
And there was a lot still to come, a lot left to form a pool around her chin and neck. 
Finally Alex reached the end of the toy, felt her ass slump down on the surprisingly warm saddle. 
Instantly she was aware of how her legs ached, how much like stone they felt, stiff and dead and sore. How much they needed to rest. 
And she hated how her body went against her, her mind registering the pleasure despite the toy going in dry. She hated that, even as she knelt down around this toy, she could feel herself growing wet simply because it was deep within her. 
Fuck The RingMistress. Fuck this place. She had to get out of here. She had to find some way to somehow get the fuck out of here. 
Click. 
The vibration hit her instantly. She felt it from within, assaulting her nerves, and she felt it creep up her thighs, swirling across her stomach and grasping at the edges of her tits.
If the vibration was fire, her drool was gasoline. The vibration spiked its way along her skin, up to the glistening lines of drool across her tits – and a breeze hit her body, chilling her. 
“That’s such a light buzz, no?” 
The RingMistress was hovering over Alex, her grey blouse now completely unbuttoned and showing a thin vertical strip of lightly tanned skin. Alex could just make out the edges of The RingMistress’s breasts, the tantalizing shape hidden away.
No.
What was she thinking?
Click.
Alex felt the change in vibration instantly. It was heavier. Harder. 
“Oh yes, you feel that, don’t you? I saw that in your face, Alexandra.”
The RingMistress lowered herself into a squatting position and ran her left hand along the saddle. Her other hand snuck behind her blouse and began to move there, looking as if it were throbbing underneath the fabric. Alex just knew somehow she was pinching her nipple.
Yes, Alex could feel the vibration. She felt it deep in her gut, deep in her cunt. It was clawing at her sensitive lips, it was buzzing across her walls. It was a relentless assault moving so fast and hard, no end in sight.
And Alex could feel it rising in her throat – a moan. Like she was winded, like there was an air bubble traveling up her throat. She didn’t want to moan, she didn’t want to give The RingMistress that win.
But she couldn’t bite down on her lips to silence herself. 
The wavering moan came out of her, scratching her throat raw. 
“There’s a good pet.” The RingMistress said, her hand still underneath her blouse pulling at her nipples. 
Fresh tears stung Alex’s eyes. 
She was trapped by this vibration, forced to endure its ferocious assault to her nerves that seemed to crackle upwards across her body, zapping her tits and reaching up to claw at her brain. 
Alex tried to hold onto herself but she wasn’t sure where her self ended and where it began. The assault on her pussy left her slumped on the saddle, taking the vibrating cock pummeling into her like no man ever had. 
The realization that Alex wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold herself together hit her hard and fast, like a slab of concrete breaking over her face and splintering across her body.
How long could she stay? 
Stay sane?
Sane enough to get out of here.
Does she want to get out of here?
Jesus, fuck, what was happening to her? What was this doing to her mind?

She could feel the fucking vibration in her fucking body, in her fucking stomach and felt the maddening, excruciating ache to move her hands there and rub her stomach.
To rub her stomach and curb that unsettling buzz that shook her whole body.
She realized her head was lowered, looking at her stomach. She raised her head and saw that The RingMistress was sitting back on her knees in front of her. Her blouse was off, strewn across the floor behind her, and her fine tits were on display – her large areoles and small, pink nipples looking inviting.
No.
Fuck that. 
Only her words came out – to both the surprise of The RingMistress and to Alex – as a smothered noise somewhere between a moan and a disgruntled cry. 
The RingMistress’s eyes widened – and she climbed to her knees. 
“You wanted to talk? Why, I think you’ve earned it. So long as you behave properly now.”
She hovered close to Alex – her tits hovered close to Alex – and she reached her hands, unbuckling the gag. 
It fell from her mouth and with it a moan and a pool of saliva sputtered involuntarily from her wet, slick lips. 
All over The RingMistress’s cheeks and chin and eyelids. Little flecks of spittle. 
Their eyes met, The RingMistress blinking in total surprise.
Then Alex felt a blinding, pinching pain in the back of her head. Her hair was being seized. 
She was being pulled towards The RingMistress. 
Into her lips. 
Her soft lips.
Her chest seized tight, butterflies fluttering free at how her lips seemed to sink, seemed to meld with The RingMistress’s.
It was light. 
But somehow deep.
It was soft.
But somehow hard.
Alex had never kissed a woman before, had entertained the idea when she was 19. 
But now? 
Well now –
The RingMistress pulled away, the edge of her tongue rubbing around her lips, catching any loose drops of saliva from her mouth.
As soon as The RingMistress broke the kiss, Alex let out a shriek. 
Then another.
It was as if the kiss delayed the moan, sealed it away. 
Alex felt dizzy, lightheaded.
“Ffffuuuucccccckkkk.”
The word came shakily from her trembling lips – and The RingMistress was watching her, hand buried between her legs, a smirk on her fucking aggravating face.
CLICK.

Like a light switch going off, like a lightbulb popping, Alex’s orgasm hit her hard and fast, her cunt throbbing and aching, clenching down around this vibrating, pounding toy.
Convulsions hit her body.
Convulsions of pain.
Of pleasure.
Her body jolted – suddenly she was right back to being nine years old and being dared to touch an electric fence. She took the dare and took the volts shooting through her body. 
She took those volts now. 
Alex was a conduit for electricity. She jolted violently, feeling the electrical current sweep through her body. 
It kept coming. 
Never-ending.
“Fuck, please…” She hissed through clenched teeth, spit flying from the corners of her mouth. 
She couldn’t take it any longer. Each touch to her clit sent her into another convulsion. Her body was too sensitive, too.
“Fuckkkkk.”
Her breathing came out in hard, fast pants one after the other. She didn’t recognize herself; recognize the sounds coming out of her. 
A second orgasm swept over her – a blow to her mind, hard like concrete. The vibration, the invading cock, it began to claw at her clit with zigzagging jolts of pain. 
Her clit, her lips – she was so raw, so sensitive. She could feel the slight pain throbbing in her clit and in her lips. 
When would it end? When would it fucking end? This delicious – no – painful torture.
Which was it? Pain? Pleasure? 
Fuck, she wanted to put her hands somewhere. On her stomach, on the edge of this saddle thing – somewhere, anywhere!
Alarm came swirling up her back, digging into her spine. With it came the sickening flush of heat. Together they swept over her back, clutching at her neck and freefalling down across her chest, covering her in that disgusting, prickling familiar warmth.
Alex felt like she needed to pee. 

She looked to The RingMistress, who was looking back at her, that aggravating Cheshire-Cat smile splitting her lips into a smile. Her hand was busily moving between her hands as she looked at the view before her. 
“I need to-“
The RingMistress’s free hand shot up, clutching the whip. It struck Alex’s body. 
It was nothing compared to the all-consuming buzz that was all around her. 
Alex tried again. “I need to pee.”
It was as if just expressing the need out loud triggered that release for her. Her pussy unclenched and she could feel the quick spurt of urine gush out of her and down her thighs. 
The sensation that came cascading down over her – relief, joy – drove a strangled cry from her dry lips. 
Alex had never felt anything like this gut-twisting, mind-melting relief pleasure that hit her pussy and clit. 
Her cry faltered, stopping and starting again, coming out of her in a series of fits and bursts she couldn’t control. 
The RingMistress was moving towards her now, leaning down around Alex’s thighs. 
“Yes, that’s it, Alexandra. Squirt just for me. Just like that.”
“Stop it!” Alex cried out, her voice raw and weak. “Cut me loose. Turn it off.”
She couldn’t take the damned attack anymore; it was working into her brain, nestling in deep and creating a pulsating thumping rhythm.
When will it end, she wanted to scream, When?
But her lips were trembling and her cunt was aching and she could still feel it clenching as fluid shot from her. 
Squirting? She was squirting? 
Her mind tried to make sense of it but it kept coming back to the pleasure tinged with pain. 
“Let me go!” Alex cried, forcing the words out of her parched throat. “Let me go!”
Suddenly her hands fell to her knees – but she couldn’t feel them. They were numb. As if untouched, as if they just…popped right out of her sockets and she couldn’t feel them anymore. 
Alex watched as the naked RingMistress undid the cuffs around her feet — and Alex was falling, right off the toy, right off the saddle and right into the lap of The RingMistress. 
The torturous assault was gone from her cunt – and yet…not gone. She could still feel it there, as if some part of that toy was lodged deep within her, still working away at bringing her to her knees, at making her drool.
Hands wrap around her and bring her in close – and through the creeping fatigue, Alex feels a calmness she doesn’t quite understand. 
But it’s there…like the dying embers of a fire. 
“My dear, sweet pet. You’ve done SO WELL, wouldn’t you say?” 
A beat. 
“Abigail! Mercy!”
The doors to the office swing open and in step the two prison guards from before. If they were surprised to see their warden naked and cradling an inmate, they don’t show it. 
“Take this doll to isolation- naked. See that she is to go without clothes in the cell for the remainder of this evening. Bring her to me in the morning.”
And Alex had no fight in her as the prison guards swept across the room, lifted her up by her armpits and carried her out of the office. 

12 Days of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #11 – “Dinner”

As Clair De Lune plays over their sound system in the kitchen, He sits down to a reheated home cooked meal. 
She stands by the table, wearing nothing but the black faux leather collar around her neck and the nipple clamps that dangle from a silver chain attached to them.
Hands behind her back, shy smile twitching at the corners of her lips, she stands there putting the knife and fork down on either side of the plate.
She’s had her dinner first – such is their differing work hours – and now she’s happy to prepare this for him briefly before returning to her Nintendo Switch. 
She doesn’t quite understand why she feels fulfilled and content doing this simple act for him, she just knows that a part of her needs this simple act. She does this because she feels like she wants to. It’s not to impress him – or to impress the dominant side of him – she feels something. She wants to serve him.
Sitting down to the dinner, He is simply in awe of the lady before him. He’s seen her in her work life, dominant and in charge, a ferocious force of nature, and seeing her now, seeing that she has chosen Him to bare her soul to like this, makes him feel content, lucky, honored. 
Content that she can feel like herself asking him. 
Lucky because he has Her beside him. Her! Her support, her uniqueness, her friendship – the goofiness, her laughter, her time. 
Honored because she is a goddess – a gift from the Gods themselves and gracing him with her light. 
“Thank you, gorgeous girl.” He says, tucking in his chair and getting comfortable. 
“You’re welcome, Sir.”
She bows her head, unable to keep herself from smiling wide, showing her perfect teeth, bringing him right back to the evening he first laid eyes upon her – the moment he fell hopelessly in love with her. 
He’s smitten. 

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #10: ‘The Little Moments’

He finds her crouched by the dryer in the garage, shoveling the recently washed clothes in. 
She’s in a sheer white tank top that leaves little to the imagination and some plain green cotton panties that hug tight her cute ass. 
He’s in his boxer shorts himself – it’s a warm spring day. 
He takes in her dark hair is down around her face in tangles as she closes the dryer tight. 
And he just can’t help himself from saying – 
“Well hello there.”

She turns her head, sees his gaze and scoffs, her eyebrows rising. She’s getting ready to sass him, he just knows it. 
But the words are already taking shape on his tongue. 
“Kneel for me, beautiful.”
He sees the shift in her eye – her pupil enlarging on the spot as she’s crouched there, her bare feet twisted in the act. 
For some reason he thinks of a werewolf – a transformation. He is witnessing something take place and not only does it thrill him, it kicks his heart into gear. 
She stops what she’s doing and begins to kneel, tucking her legs underneath her ass, straightening her back. 
Putting her hands, palms down, on her legs. 
He steps before her feeling his cock grow against the cotton of the boxer shorts and reaches out his hand to lift the tank top away from her skin. 
Again he can’t help himself, he peeks down her top, sees the gorgeous curves of her tits and marvels at how she has submitted to him. 
She chose him. 
HIM.
“My, aren’t you a sight for these sore, tired eyes.”
He just can’t help himself like she can’t help the giggle that breaks her focus.
“Take off those panties for me.”

The smile that melts his heart is still on her face as she rises to her feet and wriggles out of her panties. 
Her pubic hair trimmed into a triangle. 
It makes him harder. 
Soon he is going to have do something about that. 
“Are they wet?”
She nods. Her hair falls around her face – but not before he sees the color in her cheeks. 
“Put them in your mouth.”
She nods and parts her mouth, a single string of saliva connects upper lip to lower lip, and puts the punched up panties in her mouth. 
“I suppose you want to masturbate.”
He notices her thumb rubbing along her index finger. Something she does when she’s feeling fidgety. 
Her large brown eyes look back at him and nod. 
He loves the helpless hapless look that comes off of her now. 
And he loves it more because he has seen her at work, has listened to her in the kitchen on the phone, inspired by how she handles her team of copywriters.
He loves it because he sees the side she wants to give to him. 
“I’ll allow it.”

He sits himself back on the couch they’ve set up in the garage, conveniently now just opposite of where she stands, hands behind her back. 
But now her hands are moving to her front. 
He catches the slight parting of her legs, sees her fingers stretch open her little slit and glide along its length. 
He doesn’t realize his own hands are moving until he feels his fingers curl around his cock and give it a squeeze. It feels good. It cancels out the edge of the ache.
He watches as her eyes squeeze shut, as her left hand wanders up to her chest and squeezes hard her left tit. When she moves on to her right tit, he sees her nipple poking through her thin tank top, can already make out her dark areola.
“Sir?”
Her light voice snaps him out of his gaze and his eyes meet here. She’s holding onto her panties, biting on her lip, her eyes glassy. 
“Does this one have permission to sit on your cock and ride you?”
He can only nod. 
Why is she so fucking effortlessly sexy no matter what she does. 
He smiles then – because he knows she knows what drives him mad. And it’s that look in her eye, the sound of her voice. 
It’s like…its lighter.
Her regular voice is deeper, huskier. But this…it sounds strangely younger…innocent. 
The feel of her thighs on either side of him snap him once again out of his thoughts. In his daydream, he’s missed her taking her shirt off – she’s naked now, slipping his boxers down his legs. He helps her throw it off. 
It all happens in a second. 
Then she finds his cock – again effortlessly – and she slides into him so deeply that he feels her against his stomach. 
She cries out and he catches how the corner of her lips spasm into a smile. It’s there one second and gone the next, replaced by a look of concentration. 
He lets her lead. There is something so beautiful about watching her – the way her nose scrunches up as she grinds back onto him, how she can’t help the smile lighting up her face. 
It satisfies him, thrills him, and heightens his pleasure. He loves watching what she wants, watching how she controls how much of him she takes in and how. 
And it’s slow and steady now. She’s got a grind happening – a beautiful rhythm that suits him just fine. He’s got the best seat in his house – watching his angel lit by the soft glow of the garage lights, her breasts taking on an orange glow, highlighting the sweat on her body. 
Watching as her pussy grinds on his cock, his shaft covered in her excitement. 
His hands are moving before he can process it, finding her ass and slipping underneath to cup her cheeks. 
She breaks off from a moan to laugh, as if he caught her by surprise. 

He laughs with her as he gives her a gentle squeeze, bringing her closer to him so that they’re bare skin to bare skin. 
And grinds with her, watching her breasts sway with her every moments. 
When she begins to tremble, he lets go of her ass to run his hands along to her breasts and gives them a squeeze. 
Between breathy pants, she moans – “I love it when you play with my tits.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm.”
He pinches down on her nipple, stretches it out towards him, and watches her body jerk. 
Her breathing quickens along with her moans. He can’t keep up with her now, he can only watch and try to grind back somehow as she’s rocking out to the beat of her own drum. 
She falls to his chest, her hair tickling him and making him jump. He reacts to the brush against him but lets it go, in awe of this gorgeous spirit riding his cock. 
He moves his hand out from under her, relishes the feeling of her tits pressed against him. It drives him wild. 
Suddenly her pacing slows, her movements become slow and steady and hard, as if savoring every moment. 
As she feels her come down upon his cock, she lets out a cry in his ear — and slumps further against him, still within him. 
“Fuck” She pants. 
Followed by something he misses, something between breaths. He lets it go, cherishing the feeling of her around him. 

A moment passes — then she’s lifting herself off him. Her hands glide down between her legs, disappear a moment and then reappear, covered in how excited she is. 
“Do you see how wet you make me?” She says in that lighter voice, knowing full well how much of a fucking tease she’s being. 
Then she grins and hops off of him. 
He jumps as he feels her mouth around his cock, tongue slipping along his length. He wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t expecting her. 
Her…
Her…mouth.
He can’t think straight as she works her pretty mouth over his cock.
He can’t think straight at all. 

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #9: ‘Fireworks’

I don’t know if it’s the fireworks popping off and lighting up the sky in a kaleidoscope of colors or being back at my old primary school for the annual end of year fete but something is filling me with energy. 
I stand in the school car park, hands in my pockets, thumbs sticking out of my black torn jeans, standing in front of my car.
I’m wearing a Black Sabbath tee so old that the black t-shirt seems grey. 
And I can feel my cock hardening as the seconds tick by as a result of this energetic feeling. 
My older sister, the 40 to my 30, has got her back to me, facing my Toyota Yaris, texting on her phone, basically leaning against the car as her fingers dance on the lit up screen. 
I wonder if she feels that same buzz, that same energy from being back at this place. 
I see the wind catch her form and pin the dress to her slender legs. 
Her creamy white slender legs, I can’t stop myself from thinking. 
I brush the thought away; open my mouth to ask what she’s doing. 
The sight before me catches me off guard. 
The wind blows up her dress, showing a glimpse of black panties with white polka dots digging into her ass. 
“Fuck.” She curses; shoving the dress back down with one hand while the other clutches her still-lit phone. 
Words still caught in my throat, I’m suddenly there behind her in a single step, my hand stopping the dress from being completely lowered. 
“Jacob? What-“

I hitch the dress up around her waist up with one hand while the other pushes her harder against the car. 
Even if she could properly get the question out, I wouldn’t know what to say to her. I’m almost watching this from outside of my own body, like a movie or a dream. 
Yet I’m aware of my racing heart and my throbbing cock. 
And damn, those polka dot panties are squeezing down tight on her ass, outlining the shape of her. 
The need to see her tightens my chest, makes the ache in my bones unbearable. 
I grip the hand clutching her phone and pry it from her fingers. 
“Hey!” She snaps — but I’m pocketing it before she can get out another word. 
As my fingers slip under the elastic band of her cotton polka dot panties and slide them down her legs, she remains silent. 
I can smell her intoxicating scent instantly. 
I feel the grin parting my lips. 
“Jacob, somebody will see.”
Words said in a barely audible whisper. 
Words said half-heartedly. 
I feel how wet she is as I guide cock to pussy, slipping my pulsating self into her — she’s dripping. 
“You feel it too, don’t you? Being here. Being with me.”
“Oh God.”
It’s a breathy whisper, a fucking delicious whisper. 
It’s also not a ‘no’, a part of me thinks, as I press deeper inside of her. 
How bad have I wanted this, I wonder, as I fill her until I can’t fuck her any further. 
And why does it feel so goddam good? Because she’s my sister? 
A stifled cry comes from Cassie’s lips. She sounds like a sweet fucking Angel. 
Since she’s got her back to me, my mind sketches in the details of her face. Her lips are pressed together to cancel out her moan. 
And she’s struggling. She’s struggling real bad to keep it together. 
A sound cuts through the air and hits pause on my thoughts. A thick, ripping noise. 
Then it hits me – Cassie is tearing up her dress. 
I hear another tear – and then a gasp. 
“Oh fuck!” She says – and then I feel hands reaching back, grabbing mine and guiding them around her chest.
Her bare chest. 
The naughty girl has not only torn her dress open but now she’s led my hands to her gorgeous tits. They feel cool – delightfully cool – on my palms. 
Somewhere over our grunts, I catch the sound of our bodies slapping together. Wet skin against wet skin. 

I wonder how the car feels against her bare chest — and the thought just makes me press harder against her, taking in the mixture of the scent of her pussy mixed with the scent of her perfume. 
God HOW long have I really wanted this? To feel her around my cock, to take her like this? 
As I slip my cock out of her and pump it right back in, a memory comes to me – vivid and fully formed – of being a teen, of offering to hang her washing one boring Sunday afternoon and of finding a thin white thong – just a thin white string basically – amongst the items to be hung. 
That was the first moment I wondered about her sexually. 
I file the thought away, focus on her now. 
I can feel her rocking back to meet my thrusts; can hear delightful light gasps just as I feel my cock rip its way from her pussy. 
Her scrunched up dress goes from white to red – saturated in colors of green and red as the fireworks crack open the sky above us. 
Squeezing her tits in my hands, I feel my heart running wild in my chest, the buzz of excitement consuming me entirely. It feels right, like I imagined in my daydreams. 
Perfection, even. 
I give her tits one final squeeze then run my hands across her back and to her neck, which seems strangely gorgeous and appealing. 
I want to choke her, want to hear the rattle that’s deep in her throat. 
The feel of her smooth, soft neck on my hand feels incredible, gives my stomach another twist. It’s burning nervous energy to fuel me. 
I squeeze her neck – and hear her choke. 
“You naughty girl.”
The sound of my voice cuts over the fireworks. 
“Look down those stairs before you..”
I incline my head towards the stairs of cobbled stone ahead of us that lead to the main office and onwards to the fete stalls.

“You know your daughter is off managing her stall beyond those stairs — and here you are taking my cock. Are you enjoying this?”
“Yes..” Cassie said, her voice coming out in choked gasps. 
“Are you-“ 
I felt the moan rising up in my throat and couldn’t keep it out. Slipping back into her felt fucking divine. 
Especially when she wriggles her ass back into me like the eager little slut I suspected she was. 
“Are you enjoying taking my cock?”
Cassie let out a dragged out moan that seemed to bubble in her throat, transforming into a purr. Or a growl. 
“Y-Yes. Yes!”
I squeezed my hands around her throat tighter. 
“Have you thought about this?”
Cassie let out a delicious and fierce grunt as I thrust into her. 
“Yes!”
“When?”
No answer – just violent, abrupt grunts coming out of her, as if she were lost in the moment and wandering away into the darkness. 
“When?!” I barked, raising my voice at her. 
“Last night…I-In my bath. I came five times – Ah, fuck!”
Her words stopped, replaced by a low moan. 
But the chuckle was already coming out of me. 
“Five? That’s impressive.”
In a blur of colors she was suddenly facing me, leaning back against the car. 
My cock was swaying in the air from her spin, hard and coated in her sweet, sticky self. 

And the fireworks were still going, lighting up the sky, painting Cassie’s torn torso in a mixture of yellow and purple. 
Her hands draped around my neck. I pictured them hanging there casually, her relaxed, as I slid back into her – hard. 
I couldn’t help myself; I was hungry for more of her. My whole body was shaking for her, like she was my addiction. 
Her foxy eyes looked up at me as I grabbed her by her hips and pulled her into me. 
As I slid deeper into her, as I heard her moan, I could feel it in me – my orgasm. I squeezed my cock, hoping to stop it, to prolong it, to edge it. 
I could feel Cassie’s arms around my neck squeeze tighter.
“Come in me.”
I shook my head but I could feel it rushing up my throbbing shaft, swelling the head of my cock. 
It was too good…it was too good not to…
“Give in with…with me…”
My sister. 
Fucking my sister. 
Oh fuck. 
I felt my ass clench, felt tears form in my eyes.
Felt myself crashing over into the night. 
Fuckkkkkk.
It all came speeding towards to me, forbidden thoughts, secret fantasies. 
Cassie held her hands on either side of my face. I could feel them tremble. 
Then she threw back her head and let out a short, loud cry followed by…whimpering.
Murmuring.
I could feel her tighten around my cock, drawing out more of my own juices. 
We rode the waves of our orgasm together, our panting crossing the streams, merging together to create a messy, wall of sound. 
In the light of the fireworks her tits glistened — then faded into darkness. 
Silence passed between us. 
Fireworks whistled high into the sky and erupted into dazzling colors. 
Her gorgeous self was lit with the fireworks and then gone into the darkness. 
Lit and then gone. 
Then Cassie laughed. 
And it didn’t sound like bitterness or a scoff, it felt like disbelief. 
My cock still nestled within the warmth of her lush pussy; I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
Things felt great. 
Life was grand. 
The belly laughter felt fabulous. 

After our laughter died down, I gave her a shirt and some of my blue work trousers I kept in the back seat of my Toyota.
My niece questioned the change but Cassie mentioned she spilled soft drink over herself and I was kind enough to give her some fresh clothes. 
Things were silent on the ten-minute drive back to her place, where I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. 
My 8-year-old niece took her own set of keys – learning too fast this one – and helped herself inside, leaving Cassie and I sitting in the car. 
“Would you like to stay the night?”
I looked over at Cassie who was looking back at me and smiling. 
“I can do the lounge up…we can sayyyy you slept there. But really..”
Cassie fell silent, let the meaning hang there. 
“I would love to.” I said. 

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #8: ‘Jean: Part II’

How in the fuck? 
Richie searched his memories, trying to think of every movie he had seen, every doco he might have stumbled across late at night – anything set in Paris that might explain how in the fuck it was that he was dreaming of a bridge he had not seen before but was sure as hell dreaming of. 
There had to be something, there had to be some explanation. 
 Creeeeeak.
His door was coming open.
A breeze from an open window? 
Richie blinked as his eyes took on the infinite darkness. 
A shape began to take form. 
Jean.
She stood in the doorway, her tank top wrinkled, her hair a mess of tangles, her eyes obscured by the darkness. 
“Jean? What are you..?”
He stopped as his eyes adjusted to her in the darkness. Her hands were up by her shoulders, thumbs underneath the straps of her tank top. 
Lost for words, Richie watched her lift up her arms and remove the top, revealing her bare breasts. 
She looked just like she did on the bridge. 
“I had a dream.” Jean said softly, letting her top fall to the floor. 
She turned, her breasts swaying, as she gently closed the door behind her. Richie heard it click shut softly. 
“We were on this bridge, this…gorgeous bridge.”
Jean’s hands trailed wavy lines over her breasts, thumbing her nipples and giving them a squeeze as they continued downwards. 
Either hand stopped at her hips, holding underneath her black short shorts that stopped inches above her thigh.
“I can’t seem to shake it from my mind.”
Jean bent over, her breasts falling forward, as she slipped out of her shorts and moved them aside with her right foot. 
She stepped forward to Richie, who tried to speak and, finding his throat dry, failed.
He swallowed and tried again. 
“I know the bridge.” He said, his heart working overtime. 

Jean stopped just inches before the bed. Richie looked up at her from where he was lying on his back.

“With the lampposts a-and the archway…and the Eiffel Tower to the right, I think. I know. I’m dreamt it too.”
Richie struggled to keep his voice hushed. 
“W-what?”
Jean’s voice came out stammering.
“You asked to meet up there. I got an email on…uh, you wore, umm, a black dress with..with..”
“Cherries.” Jean said, barely a whisper. 

Suddenly she climbed into the bed, quick as a flash, finding space beside him. 
Richie rolled to his right and came face to face with her. Her eyes couldn’t possibly grow any wider. 
“H-How..?” Richie stammered as he saw Jean’s wide eyes search his own. 
Suddenly she pulled him into a kiss – frantic, wet, and breathless. Both of them only parting to take a breath. Jean’s breath was hot on Richie’s cheeks. 
“I don’t know.” Jean said, giggling through taking heavy breaths. “All I fucking know is it’s done something to me. You’ve done something to me.”
Richie couldn’t help himself from laying kisses on her – brushing the corner of her lips, leaving a wet trail down to her neck. 
His mouth found her nipple and with his tongue, he suckled it into his mouth, cherishing the feel of it in his mouth. 
Jean moaned against him – then giggled again. 
The sound drove him mad, he rose his head back up to kiss her again – deeply this time. 
His stomach twisted into a knot as he did so. 
He ran his hands over Jean’s skin – incredibly soft to the touch, his mind thought as his fingertips traced circles over her hips. 
When he felt Jean’s hands reach out and push him, he allowed himself to be rolled on to his back. 
Jean hopped on top of him in an instant, muttering things that were unintelligible to Richie’s ear. 
Her eyes were clenched shut. 
He could feel her hands on his cock. 
As she gripped his shaft, causing a delicious ache pulsating through his cock and down to his balls, his mind wandered to the dream. 
To how she climbed onto him then. 

Was he still dreaming? 

He felt himself slide into her, felt that ache in the tip of his cock as it parted her lips and slid into her. He could feel her wet and slick and warm around him – and more than this, he could feel himself twitch and throb within her as his muscles contracted and relaxed. 
This couldn’t be a dream, it just couldn’t be. 
“What are you doing to me?”
Jean’s husky whispering voice broke him out of his own spell. He lifted his head and saw her, hands out on his legs and steadying herself as she rode him. 
Thin stretches of light from the window next to them – the street lights outside – were cast upon her, shifting and twisting with the shape of her body. The light draped across her nipples, her piercings twinkling, in a series of stripes that ran down her stomach and across her thighs. 
“Fffuck.” Jean cursed, hands gripping his thighs. “What are you doing to me?”
There was that question again. A question that seemed to be directed towards herself as much as it was to Richie. 
How much of the dream was true? 
Richie had a sudden urge to find out. 
He grabbed her by the arms and flipped her over – she squealed as he forcibly moved her onto her back.
“Don’t you move.” 
His voice came out deep and almost in a snarl. 
With his right gripping her right tit like a stress ball, Richie reached down under the bed and blindly moved his hand about for the chest of BDSM toys.
Jean was wriggling against him, trying to grind into him. Her body was insanely hot beneath him.
“Please…”
Her voice was light and airy.
“Please…just fuck me. I need you. I need to feel you.”
And laced with desperation.

“Yeah? Is this something you’ve felt for a while?”
His cock was so hard it ached with a delicious sense of pain.
Richie felt the burning need to tear her red-hot cunt apart and fuck her brains out — but he fought back against it; he needed to know.
His fingers brushed against the chest. He swatted for a grasp of it. Nothing came.
He tried again. His fingers got it and dragged it further into his grasp.
“I…I…yes. Yes it has been. That and…”
Richie slid the chest out from under the bed and swung the lid open.
“Please.”
Jean was whining now – a person totally unlike the sassy, filthy person he knew outside of the bedroom. Outside of the dream.
Frantically, losing out across the urge in his mind and in his cock, he rummaged through the chest, searching by his fingers, by feeling and by memory.
His fingers found what he was looking for – the ball gag, packed away neat and fresh and ready for the next usage.
He pulled it up out of the chest and flung it across to her tits.
“Put that on.”
Jean’s whine ceased as she looked down — then she gasped. “Fuck. That was in…”
“I know.”
The chain links rattled as Jean picked it up off her chest.
“I remember wanting it…and it just locking tight around my mouth…”
Richie watched as Jean lifted it to her mouth, just as she had in his (Their?) dream. And just like in his dream, he watched her buckle it tight. 

Now silent and still, Jean looked at him, her eyes large and glazed over. 
Richie reached into the chest of toys and pulled out nipple clamps – two black clamps linked by a sparkling silver chain. 
Jean’s eyes widened further – and she took it from his hands, attaching it to her left nipple. 
She flinched – and moaned through the gag. 
Were they sensitive? Was she pleased? Did she like the pain? 
Thought after thought came barreling to the forefront of Richie’s mind as he watched her nipples pinched down, their shapes distorted. 
He could only watch in silence as she reached across with the last clamp —- and attached it to her right nipple. 
Seeing her gagged and wearing the clamps, Richie lost himself. He jumped back on the bed and – now sitting, pulled her onto him and wrapped her legs around him. She, in turn, wrapped her legs around him. 
Jean’s tits in his face, his arms on her ass clutching her close, he felt himself slip inside her deeply — and the pleasure that hit him forced a growl out of his tightening chest. 
Relief came cascading down over him, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He could only sit there and regain his composure as Jean took control, breathing heavily through the ball gag as she rose herself off his cock before sliding back down onto him. 
Each time she rose off him, for that split second, he could feel how wet his cock was. 
The thought made him groan into her tits as they fell against him with every movement Jean made. 
As she rose again, Richie wrapped his hands around her ass and squeezed her, pulling her onto his cock so he could fill her up as much as he was capable of.
He couldn’t get enough of her, enough of the feeling of sliding into her, then out again before ramming back into her once more. 
It was an addiction to feel her tighten around his cock, thinking that she was clenching onto him and squeezing him. He wanted more. 
And more.
Something strange happened to him then. He felt it – the primordial being at the back of his mind. He felt it scorch his skin trying to claw its way out. 
His stomach felt like it was going to fold in on itself. 
He felt like he was going to lose his mind, right then and there. 

He forcibly pushed Jean off of him and spun her around so that she was on her stomach and her ass was up in the air facing him. 
And he saw it all – her dark-colored lips, her smooth, little anus. 
In this moment – and fuck anything else right now – Jean was his. His toy, his slut, his fuck doll. 
Adrenaline coursed its way through his veins, exhilarating him and keeping his cock hard. 
One hand pulled her by the hair so that her head jolted upright, spittle from her mouth flicking across his pillows, while the other guided his cock – to her ass. 
“I’m taking this pretty little ass for myself.” He growled. 
God, he wanted her badly. 
Jean was whimpering through the mask but he didn’t care. He could feel it taking hold of him, this primal need. 
His skin was starting to shed, that’s why his body was burning hot – he was changing. Morphing into something else. 
And her little ass was wet, coated in the milky juices that ran down from her slit.  He felt this as he pressed the tip of his cock against her anus — and easeeeeeed into her incredibly tight ass.
Jean was shrieking through her gag – a staccato in a soaring symphony. 
Richie felt a smile spread across his face as he felt his uncovered cock fill her ass as far as it could go. He hovered there, inside her, as he reached down and yanked on the chain attached to the clamps. 
“You’re mine.” He growled at her. “I’m fucking claiming you…this sorry ass…for myself.” 
Jean muffled something in two short bursts. 
Short bursts that sounded like she was trying to communicate those two words – Yes Sir. 

His heart leapt in his chest at the idea. 
He never knew until this very moment that he wanted her this badly, as his submissive. 
He let his hands wander. They slid over her ass, slapped her right cheek – CRACK – and slid under to her cunt. 
He bumped into her hands, rubbing away at her slit. Gliding her lips apart, it felt like to him. 
“Busy little girl, are we?”
Jean moaned low in response. 
How loud would she be without that gag? He wondered. 
He allowed her hand to work herself and wiggled a finger into her tight little pussy. 
He could feel it clench around him, tremble around him. 
Jean was whimpering through the gag, one muffled cry after another, her pussy seemingly flexing around his exploring finger. 
Before he knew what was happening, Jean was sinking into her bed – and Richie sank with her. 
His cock slipped out of her ass and smacked against her curves with a delicious throb – but his fingers stayed inside her, gripped by Jean’s greedy pussy. 
Richie watched her body tremble as her orgasm hit her with a sense of proudness. 
Suddenly, Jean reached up behind the back of her head and unbuckled the gag. It fell from her mouth, followed by a string of saliva that splattered the bed beneath her.

A part of Richie loved seeing that, loved knowing that he could just fall asleep afterward in a pool of her saliva. 
The idea seemed wild. 
Primal.
Surreal.
Comforting even. 
“Come on me.” Jean said huskily between large, gulping pants. “Please.”
She rolled over onto her back, her ass knocking his cock as she moved. 
There was something about the glint of her eyes in the darkness there that drove him toward her. He walked on his knees to her side, his cock dipping in the air as the ache zigzagged along his shaft. 
Jean’s eyes followed him, twinkling somehow, in the soft light from the window.
She was a pixie unearthed – a being of myth out of a story he had uncovered. A being of breathtaking and exquisite beauty that had granted him her mind and body. 
A link between worlds. 
Jean ran her hands over her tits, nipples sliding between her fingers as she did so, lifting them up and squeezing them hard. 
And as she squeezed, she let out a grunt.
That single animalistic grunt was all it took to knock Richie over the edge and send him plummeting. 
Jean’s body tensed as his cum shot out over her stomach and tits. She wriggled on the spot, crying out in surprise. 

And Richie knelt above her, left dumbstruck by his orgasm, hand gripping his burning-hot cock, feeling each tremble that passed through it. 
Jean was writhing around the bed as his cum splashed across her tits. 
Like a vampiric beauty reacting to the touch of holy water, she wriggled left and right, thrashing at the touch of him. 
It was primal, it was feral, and it was strange and uncouth. 
Richie leaned over her tits, squeezed his cock and let the last drops of his cum smack against her nipples. 
Then he rubbed his cock against her skin, letting it glide down over the shape of her tits. 
Whatever had hit her had touched him – he could feel it creeping over him, slinking along his cock, past his balls and upwards over his stomach. 
He continued to rub his cock, its head wet with the last drop of his cum, over her nipples – and Jean, twisting around beneath him, panted wildly. 
Then her hands shot up! 
And snatched his cock away from his own hands. Richie was so startled that he let it slip through his fingertips and watched dumbfounded, as a wriggling Jean guided it to her lips and took it into his mouth. 
His knees buckled. 
His cock was wracked with a spasm from inside her mouth. 
Sensitive, bordering on ticklish. 
He squirmed on his knees, suddenly at her mercy. 
Beneath him, she slurped noisily — then giggled around his cock. He could feel that giggle vibrate against his sensitive head. 
Jean opened her mouth and slowly slid his cock out, like someone taking his or her time with a lollipop. 
His cock slipped out of her wet mouth and bobbed to the right of her cheek. 
“Mm.” Jean said, her lips smacking. “I wanted the last of that.”
Richie still knelt over her, watching her breathing slow down.

It was hypnotizing. 

A moment of silence passed between them before Jean spoke again. 
“Hey, Rich?”
“Mm?”
Richie realized he was staring off into the distance, taking in the moment that just occurred between them. 
“How were you in my dream?”
Richie thought a moment. 
Nothing came. 
“I don’t know.”
He lay down beside her – and Jean rolled onto her side, wriggling her ass into his cock. 
She half moaned and half giggled as it rested between her cheeks. 
Their breathing steadying, chests rising and falling, sleep finally caught up with them. 

12 Days Of Kinkmas 2020 – Day #7: ‘Salacious’

As she sleeps peacefully, her head buried into her pillow, a thin slither of light expands on the carpet of her bedroom floor. 
A shape emerges from the thin slither of light and into the darkness of the bedroom. It gently closes the bedroom door behind them shut. 
He moves silently across to the bed, watching carefully how audibly he breathes lest he stirs her. 
That’s easier said than done. As He waited outside her home and watched the lights of her home switch off, His body shook uncontrollably with nervous energy. 
Even now, moving towards her bed, He can feel his body tremble, can hear his heart pounding in his ears and chest.
He needs this. He’s desired it for a while. 
What’s compelled him truly – loneliness, infatuation, love — He couldn’t say. All He had was a fascination of her, to get to know what she’s like away from the rest of the world. 
With one hand on a cheap but able camcorder He approached her slumbering self – Her, the lovely psychiatrist Rachel Fielding. 

It wasn’t too hard to find her. A quick search through the white pages and another peek at a map told him where to go. 
The hard part was waiting for to be home. To find the time where he was free and she was free and then to wait for her to be asleep. 
That took longer than he expected.
But he was not in a rush. His only goal was to BE in her house.
The camcorder was for the memories. 
So he could look back at this moment in time.
And maybe even calm himself down should he be worked up and anxious. 
Through the display screen of the camcorder He absorbed the sight of her – she was a shape beneath a cream blanket but that blanket was down around the waist. He could see her top half – adorned in what looked a baggy grey t-shirt – riding up her body, exposing skin the color of a freshly peeled apple. 
Just seeing her bare skin made him hard in a heartbeat. As the seconds went by, he shifted on his feet, feeling his cock tent in his jeans. 
He let out a shaky breath, eyes traveling upward over her body to her head – buried in the pillow by her tangled and messy hair. 
He felt the urge to curl his finger around a loose strand of her hair – but stilled himself. That might wake her up.
He shakily extended his free hand to her crumpled blanket, eyes glued on that one patch of skin. His mind started to run wild, to run with the fantasies he had jerked off to in the shower. 

Rachel Fielding, the goddess too good for this world, surprising him in the shower, her tits better then he ever imagined being – perky nipples and just the right handful. 
His hand brushed against the crumpled covers — and she stirred. 
He froze, his blood running cold, as she stretched out her legs, the soft sound of her snores abruptly stopping.
And continuing again, unabated. 
He felt his whole body relax. 
Gripping the bed quilt covering her between his index finger and ring finger, He pulled it down slowly – and saw something black. 
His mind racing, his heart thumping away, he inched the blanket down further, revealing a black G-string snug against her shapely, pale ass. 
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Here she was, the woman that had sat before him in sessions wearing smart pants and plain, unremarkable blouses, was wearing a black, lacy g that barely covered the space between her ass cheeks. 

Standing above her, He felt that he was seeing a different, naughtier side to her – and he wanted to know more about this side of her. 
He stuffed his free hand into his pocket, all the while making sure he recorded her lovely ass – God, he was excited that he could watch this when he got back to his place – and pulled out a thick, black handle. 
CLICK.
A switchblade he had concealed. 
Keeping the camera pointed at her ass, he reached out and carefully slipped the blade underneath the right strap of her G-String. 
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath as the knife slid underneath the lace.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. 
Or wake her. 
Slowly, He began to rub the knife gingerly against the lace, which given that he was right handed was a little easier. He just had to be careful applying the pressure, since he couldn’t lean on anything for support.

He had to still his hand as the blade cut through the fabric and pressed against her skin. He watched as the skin went white under the touch of the blade. 
Rachel stirred – and murmured something unintelligible into her pillow.
Completely frozen, the blade still against the back of her ass, He could only watch as she unfolded her arms to rest them by her side. 
Silence stretched on and He waited, standing by her bed, filming the moments running by.
Certain she had fallen back into a silent slumber, He slid the edge of the blade against her skin, trailing along her ass to the patch of lace that hid her slit from view. 
Her body stirred at the touch. 
“Andrew?”
Rachel’s sleepy voice cut through the silence, stunning him into inaction. 
That can’t be. He had waited. He had been sure she was asleep. 
And who was Andrew?
A beat.
The shape of her inhaled sharply. 
The sound of someone coming back awake. 
“Who’s there?”
Everything happened so fast then. 
He pressed the switchblade between her ass, leaving it to rest on the thin stretch of lace that hugged her anus and ran down to her slit.
Rachel went to turn her head but as the blade touched the curves of her ass, she froze – and a pathetic whimper came out against her pillow. 
“Don’t move.” He snarled. 
His voice was different than he had practiced in the mirror weeks before. It sounded fierce and…Wild. 
He held the camera focused on the blade between the cheeks of her ass. He trailed the edge of blade down lightly over skin, his chest swelling with joy as he found himself enjoying Rachel flinch underneath the touch of his blade. 

Her voice was coming out in fits and bursts, strangled sentence after strangled sentence. 
“Who are…why are you…if this is about mon…”
“Quiet.” Again another snarl in his ears.
Rachel did indeed fall silent but He could see the shape of her convulse and he could hear her sobs wrack her body. 
He buried the tinge of guilt that hit him then. He meant her no harm.
She would be okay. 
And yet, he found himself saying – 
“Take off your panties.”
“What?”
Unintelligible stammering spilled from her mouth.
He made out one string of words –  “No, please.”
He shoved the last lingering bits of guilt away from his mind – packaged it up, built brick walls around it. 
He focused on her. 
“I’m not asking.”
“D…Da…”
More stuttering. 
“David?”
His heart leapt in his chest. 
How could she tell? 
He pressed the blade further into her ass. An inch more and he’d draw blood. 
“Don’t speak my name.”
He could see the shape was wriggling. The head of hair lifted up off the bed, began to turn back.
“Uh Uh.” He said, “Say my name or cry out and this ends badly for you.”
These words were not the one practiced in the mirror. They came on the spot. Harsh and hard-hitting. 
Rachel whimpered. The total opposite of the cool, calm and collected psychiatrist he talked to in her neat, clean office. 
The beautiful, calm and collected psychiatrist.
“David, please. What are you doing?”
The blade seemed to sink into her flesh as he leaned against the blade handle harder. 
“This is your last chance — Take. Your. Goddamn Panties. Off.”

Trembling hands appeared down by either side of her oversized shirt, palms white as snow. Shaking, Rachel slid her fingers underneath the lace and pulled them down. 
He lifted the blanket back and helped her when her arms couldn’t slide them down her legs any further. 
“Stay still.”
He kept the blade trailing along her legs as he pulled the black thong off her feet and threw it to the floor. 
“Spread your legs a little.” 
“What?”
Rachel’s voice rebounded off the wall in front of her face and reverberated across the space of the bedroom. 
“Do it.”
He peered through the camcorder window aimed at her ass as her legs slowly parted.
There, through the light of the camcorder, he could see the dark lips of her pussy. 
He trailed the edge of the blade back up along her legs. 
Rachel continued to whimper but he didn’t care in the slightest. His mind was wholly consumed with her, with how much pressure he was applying to the blade held to her skin.

“Please…what are you going to do?”
Her voice seemed to echo from far away as he traced the tip of the blade underneath her ass.
The course of the trailing blade left Rachel’s skin white and fading back to its regular color.
Now the blade reached the edges of her slit — and Rachel’s body twitched violently, like a napping dog feeling a fly land on its head.
She recoiled – and let out an anguished cry. For some reason that little cry kept him hard.
“Are you going to kill me?”
She fucking WOULDN’T STAY QUIET. 
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat, whirling his hand up and away from between her legs and bringing it back down over her naked ass.
CRACK.
Like the sound of his open palm cracking against her naked ass echoing in his ears, the pain in his palm seemed to echo too – to pulsate and throb.
But she just KEPT TALKING.
Quick as a flash, he returned the blade to her snatch.
“I would be very careful about speaking, about moving, if I were you.” 
Tough love. It was tough love he had to show to her – she wouldn’t shut up, she wouldn’t stay still otherwise.
He didn’t want to accidentally hurt her. He wasn’t here for that. He was here for…
He froze, blade tip against her lips, ready to part them aside and find her clit.
There was a scent in the air. It tickled his nostrils. Sweet and – he breathed in, his mind racing to register it – honey-like.
The realization stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife of its own.

“Why, it’s you.” He said just as the thought came to him.

No response came from Rachel’s shuddering body – just the occasional choking on sobs.
He focused the light of the camcorder on her slit and saw for himself. Her little lips caught the light of the camcorder and sparkled. 
“Oh my word!” He said, unable to stop the chuckle rising in his throat. 
“Fancy that!”
He was delighted. Who would’ve known that the serious Dr. Fielding would’ve been – he peered closer into the camcorder at her glistening cunt – aroused.
Was this a reaction due to being under stress? Or was there something else at work in Rachel’s mind.
“Tell me.” He said, applying downward pressure on the blade as he stretched out his hand and slid the knife further along her slit. Hoping she felt the pinprick of heat against her and that it made her squirm.
“What’s gotten into you then? Hm?”
He removed the blade from her slit. An idea came to him. He could –
Heaviness struck him, knocking loose the air from his lungs. 
Then the pain came, hard and fierce across his chest. 
Rachel had swung her leg back at him, He realized, knocking the camcorder out of his hand and across the bed. 
Fury, pure and burning and unwavering, took hold of him then. He grabbed her by the foot that struck him and dragged her back towards him. His right hand gripped the blade so tight his knuckles went white. 
With his left hand he wrestled her legs, managed to hold them down, while he climbed entirely on her and put his full weight on top of her. 
He held the blade to her throat.

The feeling of being on top of her and having the blade right against her neck sent a tickle from his stomach down to his balls. 
“That was risky, doing what you did. You could feel cut yourself open.”
When Rachel didn’t respond, he spoken again. 
“Are you going to try that again?”
He was enjoying this. Feeling her against him. 
Rachel only gasped. 
“I SAID”
He pressed the blade against her throat harder. 
“ARE YOU GOING TO-“
“No!”
She sounded small. Not at all professional. 
“Are you going to stay still?”
“Y-yes.”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair – she winced, her face twisted in agony – and slammed her down into the bed. 
Rising to his feet, he grabbed the camcorder from the bed and rested it on the dressing table against the wall opposite the end of the bed. 
He flipped around the display window – things were still recording with a full view locked on to her bed, frozen on Rachel’s wriggling ass.
He felt a smile split his lips and moved back to her side of the bed. 
“Take off that ridiculous oversized shirt.”
Nothing.
“Now.”

Rachel jumped at his raised voice and quickly followed his order, pulling the shirt overhead to reveal medium sized tits — white from tan lines where she has worn her bikini top. 
“Turn your body around. Face the camcorder. Let it see your face.”
Rachel did, swiveling around so that her feet were resting against the wall and over her pillows. 
Seeing her bare, smooth legs bent at the knee and against the wall – he couldn’t help himself. He unbuckled his jeans and slid them off, letting his hard cock spring free, and pulled his hoody and shirt off. 
Now entirely naked, he climbed on top of Rachel, legs either side of her, cock hovering above her ass. 
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head upwards. 
Rachel let out a strained cry.
“What’s going on in that head of yours? I’m curious. I mean, here you are…”
He ran the blade along the curves of her ass and down to her slit – all the while feeling his way through with the blade. 
“What, soaking wet. I mean – now I’m curious. Are you enjoying this? Hm?”
Rachel was panting in short successive bursts – but she did not speak. 
He pushed down on the blade, his finger steadily putting pressure on it, feeling the rigid shape of the handle beneath. 
Rachel choked out something unintelligible. It sounded like mumbling – like a murmur of words. 
He heard her pause, heard the audible click that was her swallowing. 
“Y-yes. Yes!”
He held the blade tip pressed to her cunt.
“Well isn’t that interesting. Why? What blackened thoughts run through your mind?”
“I don’t know…”
“Do you want this cock of mine to slide deep within you? Hm?”
Rachel spoke something but it came out in a mumble and a whimper.
“What’s that?”
He pulled her up by her hair and jabbed his index finger in the direction of the recording camcorder. 
“To the camera. Loudly.”
“Please…”
Was she going to move? Or fight back?
He felt his own sweat trickle down his arm from his armpits. Tension gripped his body, seized his chest. It had never left the moment he had stepped into her bedroom but now it seemed…tighter. More potent. 

From in front of him Rachel began to groan, like someone in slumber, in the midst of a bad dream. 
He supposed she was – but that didn’t explain why she was so wet. . 
“Confess your thoughts to me.”
The words just came to him all of a sudden. 
“I..I don’t..”
He growled, it came out sounding feral and vicious, and with his other hand he got a grip her ass. 
“What are you..”
“Careful now.” He said, prying open her swollen looking pussy lips and sliding the handle in gently. “Clench down tight. You don’t want to move.”
“No! Please. I don’t.”
He could see her little cunt contracting around the blade handle. His heart was hammering in his chest. 
“Tell me.”
“My job..”
“Forget your fucking job and tell me.”
“ I fantasize.” 
Her voice broke as she raised it. 
She stopped to let out a noise – something between a sob and a moan it sounded like. 
“You fantasize?”
“About…about..”
She swallowed and tried again. 
“My patients.”
“To the camera.”
He let go off her head of hair and held the knife by its blade. The darkened handle was covered in her thickened cream. He squashed the sudden urge to devour her little cunt whole. 
To her credit, Rachel kept her head raised and looking at the camera. 
“I.I..look at them and I can’t help it. I think about being fucked by them.”
“How? Where? Who? Is it me?”
“Please just-“
“Tell me.”
“In the ass, right in my office..I can’t help it. There’s just something..”
A moan broke through the sentence. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded alien. 
A doppelgänger.
A different woman. 
Possessed.
Rachel went on, speaking lowly and quickly. 
“I don’t know, there’s just something that I…want.”
“And who is Andrew?”
He watched as her pussy sucked in the handle. 
God, she was a greedy one, trying to get more of it. 
“M-my fiancé.”
“And you think of cheating on him? Of being fucked in the ass by, what, whoever steps into your office?”
From ahead of him, Rachel was silent.
Fiancé? She had a fiancé? He didn’t recall a ring. He didn’t see him here. What the fuck…
He slid the handle out of her pussy and threw it aside. Rachel let out a sharp cry as she did so – a cry that boarded on desperation. It became a deep growl. 
“No.” She shrieked. “No!”
He gripped her wriggling self by the hips and guided his cock to her. 
“No, what are-
He felt the tip of his cock brush against her pussy and — He slid in instantly, feeling his balls smack against her skin. 
Rachel trembled beneath him violently, letting out sharp, throaty cries one after the other. 
She was mumbling again, sweet little things he couldn’t make out. 
Something strange happened then — Rachel just floated down into bed. 
He could feel her body losing its tension beneath him. She slumped into her pillow, shifted her hand under it — and lay there still.
Yet her ass was raised, as if she lost all fight in her right then and there but her body belonged to him.
He used her.
Violently.
Her ass being lifted the way it was, He could see her darkened cunt lips parted for him as he pumped her, finding a speed solely for himself. She made no noise as he fucked her. Not a wheeze, not a cry, not even a pant.

The only sound was of her soaking cunt, squelching oh so fucking deliciously as he fucked her fast and hard, his cock ripping out of her only to fit back into that tight hot slot all over again.
He felt wild.
He felt out of control.
He leaned down, his chest to her back and hugging tightly, his hands wrapping around her and clutching her to him. His fingers found her stiff nipples and he pinched them till they flattened beneath his fingertips.
He felt Rachel tense underneath him and then wriggle her ass back into him.
The feeling of her ass against him, easing his cock into her cunt further, felt fucking incredible. 
He felt himself coming close and froze. 
Teetered on the edge. 
On the very brink of orgasm. 
Nestled within her. 
Don’t move, he thought to himself, don’t move a muscle. 
He understood that if he did, if he clenched his cock muscle right this moment to try and stop the pleasure, he would have no chance in hell of stopping himself from shooting his load deep into Rachel.
And yet, it was right there, that urge, that maddening urge to come, to feel that crazy sensation wash over him and squeeze his balls.
He couldn’t help himself. He rocked into Rachel, the feeling of her pressed against him driving him mad.
His orgasm hit him hard. Pleasure swirling from his twitching shaft and aching balls up to his stomach, which seemed to fold in on itself. 
It felt like he had finally lost that one shred of sanity, feeling the come shoot from his convulsing head. He could feel it wincing shut – shooting out of him and into her. 

Stumbling, he lifted himself off of her and straightened his back while on his knees, cock hanging in the air, the wave of the orgasm still washing over him.
To his surprise Rachel turned around so that she was lying on her back and facing him, fucking perfect in the low light on her back.
He could feel his cock still in the throes of orgasm, could see the string of cum mark her tits. 
For some reason he didn’t move, he just rested on his knees, watching his cum paint her body. 
After the last drops hit her body, trailing down hips, he rose from the bed.
Rachel’s soft voice spoke out through the darkness. 
“Stay?”