Needs

As he stumbled to the kitchen from the bedroom, completely nude, the corner of his eyes wet from the mist of forgotten dreams, he noticed his cock was hard – and achingly so.

With each step forward to the kitchen sink where sanctuary awaited, his cock seemed to pulsate in a delicious twitch, crying out maddeningly to stop the pulse.

Yet the thought of the water from the kitchen sink, cool and clear and heavenly, was too hard to ignore.

Making his way across the hallway and onto the cool tiles of the kitchen, his hands thumbed for the faucet clumsily.

He found it after the third swipe, finding a spare – and rinsed coffee mug – from the dishrack beside him.

As the water ran sweetly into the cup, he felt the urge come again from his cock, which twitched and bobbed on the spot. His muscles clenched in response to subdue the sensation.

Then he clicked off the faucet tap and drank greedily. The coolness against his raw throat was heavenly, and yet too cold all at once. He had to stop, to breathe – to swallow again to coat his freshly revived throat with his tongue.

Then he felt it – something brushing against his shaft. He jumped at the couch, letting out a startled gasp.

‘You’re always so jumpy…’

‘Did I wake you?’

‘Hmmm…no…’

The velvety voice of his wife came out from the darkness, purring in his ear.

Her breasts pressed against his back below his shoulder blades as her body pressed against his.

In the darkness, she was consuming him, their flesh becoming one active entity.

Her hand seized his cock then – and she began to initiate a rhythm.

‘What…what are you doing?’

He cleared his throat, speaking felt weird after being suspended in sleep.

‘I…have a need…’

Her teeth slid down into his neck as her hair fell over his shoulder.

The bite made his cock twitch. As it resisted against her grip, she let out that beautiful giggle that made him fall in love with her all over again each time.

‘Again With the jumpiness…’

She had that tone about her, he realised. That tone when she comes possessed by something unlike her in any other circumstance. It’s a dark, smooth and deviant voice – commanding, mischievous.

She was right against him now, he felt her stomach tightly snug behind him.

Ahead of him, light bounced from one corner of their new kitchen to the next – a car passing by in the dead of the night, on its own odyssey.

‘You do know any passing car or neighbour can see us right?’ He said.

‘Let them.’ She replied simply, focused on the pulse that was magnifying as the seconds passed.

He was suddenly aware of his breathing, quickened and shaky. He could suddenly feel the soft burst of air across his neck, as she breathed in the darkness.

Suddenly she slapped him – and he realised his hands had a mind of their own, had been reaching back behind to touch what he could.

‘No.’ She said, low and husky. ‘Just you.’

‘But – ‘

‘Both hands on the counter, mister.’

He let out a breath, which twisted out of him into a moan. He knew better than to disobey her.

Her hands felt as wild as the water had felt coming down his throat. She slid the palm of her hand down the length of his shaft, sliding it back while reaching underneath to skim across his balls.

Beneath the rising pleasure in him, he felt that sensitivity jolt through his shaft – and she giggled to herself, no doubt proud.

A dizziness began to fold over him now – dizziness mixed with a feeling of warmth and fatigue.

Sensing something in him, her pace quickened and her rhythm got faster – and faster. As if bracing herself or protecting him, with her free hand she gripped his chest, palm open.

A sharp moan gurgled up his throat and out his lips and he came, shooting his load in quick, short bursts across her finger.

As he gathered his breath, head bowed, she spoke to him softly.

‘Face me…?’

It was strange – was she asking a question or demanding him to. He faced her regardless – and in the fuzziness of darkness, saw her fingers disappear into her mouth as she giggled, licking clean what was hers.

He wanted her, then and there – more than anything. He wanted to look into her eyes as he had his fun with her, as he let her come.

Instead, she grinned and turned from him, her hips swaying as she disappeared completely from view and into the darkness.

Hellfire

Beatrice, O heavenly guide!

Lead me to my damnation,

I’ll happily follow you through the woods if it meant one last chance to sink my teeth into your flesh, to coat your nipple with my saliva,

To hear the fabric tear and cut you loose.

O Beatrice, what I would give

to baptise you come the morning,

To be rid of the agony of want,

To drown you in the waves of my ignorance.

Beatrice, O heavenly guide!

I am lost without your light

Join me in darkness

Please forgive me.

The Prisoner

When it comes to writing, especially erotica, there’s always one concept that comes to me and I have no idea from where it originated.

Why did my mind piece together such a surreal, sensuous image? What does that mean for me? Is the image heralding the return of my dominant side? A side that has, I must admit, taken a back seat in the days following a particularly nasty bout of anxiety.

Or was it there all along? Influences and memories and turns on all stitched together under a pale grey sky within my mindscape, waiting to come out?

I ponder all of this as I ponder her – the nude woman lying on her back on the hotel bedroom, illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s television, the only source of light in the room.

I think of this woman – blonde hair folded underneath her, her breasts caught in the quickened rhythm of her breathing. Her nipples, stiff, pointing upwards towards the ceiling.

I can see the faint trace of her ribcage, the slick glean of sweat across her body, beading across her stomach.

I can see the soft fuzz across her slit and, if I peer hard enough at the image, I can see it glisten under the eye of the television.

And I can see the wires – thick, grey, sturdy – wrapped around her body, coiling around her chest and weaving down, snake-like, across her legs and under her ass.

She is bound, held tightly in place. I can only guess how the cables feel across her skin, how they pinch, how they are cool across her breasts.

I can see her arms held high above, locked in position, the cables winding up around her wrists, and I can see that she does not resist. That there is no struggle.

No, quite the opposite. Her body reverberates with an intensity I can feel worlds away. I can feel her pleasure, just as I can feel the pain bite at several points in her body where the cables cling tight.

I can hear her breath catch in her throat, hear her heart in my own ears. I can see her eyes, glued to the image on the television, static. A prisoner of the times.

This bound woman comes without touching one part of her body, is held by the cables as the orgasm hits every inch of her. An electrical current.

I’ve no idea where this image comes from but I feel her there with me every step of the way.

He Holds Her Under

He holds her under by a fistful of hair.

She’s throwing her arms backwards, trying to claw at any part of him.

He found there in the bath, positioned under the running tap, writhing in ecstasy until her eyes fluttered open and she saw him.

Something dark and warm rushed over him, within him, as he covered the space between them in a single step, possessed to grab her by the hair and dunk her under.

He could feel that something different within his body, pumping through his system. It took a sadistic sort of glee at the way her tits jiggled as he took command of her body, at the way she shrieked and pleaded for him to listen to reason. He would not.

With his free hand, he found her exposed cunt, shaven and pink, and traced his index finger along her slit.

A beat —- then he found what he was searching for, her opening, and slipped his index and ring finger inside her. The same sort of sadistic glee he took at the way her tits jiggled came back as he felt her body convulse under his direction. He heard her gurgle beneath the surface as he violated her tight cunt, feeling the pressure contract upon him as he slid his fingers in and out of her in a viscous assault.

She was gurgling beneath the water and he was saying something wild and frantic, something he couldn’t understand over everything that was occurring. He was mad, had gone mad the moment he saw what she was doing. And now she was on her knees in their bathtub, her ass just barely breaking the water.

He slid out his fingers and found her clit, pressing inward hard. She gurgled somewhere between distress and a moan – or did he imagine that.

He curved a finger and slid it within her, his thumb continuing to draw patterns on her clit.

When her orgasm hit, her entire body twitched, her legs clamping down on his hands – to no avail. He didn’t budge.

With her body still in the midst of her spasm, he pulled her above water. She gasped, sucking in air greedily, shaking off the feeling of a deep sleep approaching.

He leans down to her ear as she caught her breath, as her body began to bring itself back to speed.

‘Not without my command.’ He simply said – before rising to his feet, and exiting the bathroom.

Her mind racing, she knelt there in that bathtub for the next ten minutes, analysing what she just happened as the water around her began to chill her to the bone.

Write What Scares You

He writes what scares him, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the ideas are stitched together to make a surreal pattern that leads to places he’s not sure he wants to go.

People, settings and voices come to him from the dark, ancient and feral and wanting, taking shape in the dark.

He writes and it scares him, the detail that comes – the way the man with his weight upon the woman, the unsuspecting victim as her blouse is torn to shreds, the words that come on their own – ‘as her blouse tears open, her breasts spill out’. Spill out. Vulgar. Crass. Rough. Unrefined. Intoxicating.

He can hear her yelps, inhuman, animalistic – as she’s stripped down to her cotton navy blue panties, he already knows this is the first time anyone has seen her naked in five years before They do.

It scares him, what he writes. How fully formed the thought is, how vivid and how vile – how he can see her pale legs kicking in the air, how he can smell her perfume laced with swear, how he would never wish this upon her, she who just came into his world.

What scares him only compels him, his hand unwavering from the page, viciously, spitefully, inflicting the rape of this blonde’s body and mind and feeding off of her sweat, cries while pushing her limits.

And why? Why violate her? Why take her ass, just to hear her voice crack and strain as He, with no regard at all, tears her anus. Why cause her pain and anguish? Why fill her mind with doubt, as pain turns to pleasure, as her body betrays her savagely, leading to her orgasm.

There is pain and anguish, yes, but there is something else. Beauty and Power, Raw and unprocessed.

He’s scared of himself in the end, the part that wanted it, desperately, savagely, his mouth watering for the taste of her. Her, the woman lying naked and breathless on the floor of the subway corridor.

————————-

Don’t be ashamed of your rape fantasies. Explore what they mean to you. Have a think about the particular details of your fantasy and why it appeals to you.

Fantasies are simply that – fantasies. They’re not a reflection of your morals as a human being. They’re there for you to safely explore the darker impulses of the human mind – YOUR darker impulses.

Should you wish to take that fantasy to the next level, remember that any BDSM scene or setting should be discussed thoroughly before hand, and with safety measures in place to ensue that exploration is healthy and safe.

Try writing it down, capturing it onto the page so you can look back and know.

If you are troubled by a particularly savage thought, I’m always an email away, regardless of time zone. I rarely sleep.

Let Us Pray

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

They’re in her bedroom, away from the world. Him, 26 and her, 17.

She’s closed the door behind her, unbuttoning her plain white work blouse button by button.

He can already glimpse the lace detail of the black bra beneath her.

‘Dear God…’ She says, unbuttoning another button.

‘Thank you for bringing Henry to me in my time of need.’

Another button comes undone. Two to go.

His eyes want to sink down and take in how her small breasts are kept hidden behind the cups of her bra, but there’s something in her eyes – something dangerous. Manic.

‘Thank you…for this moment together, O Lord”

One button to go.

‘And in all the moments that have come before.’

The last button is gone. Her eyes, greyish blue, are locked on to his as she peels away the blouse, revealing a lightly tanned stomach, freckles sprawling sporadically across the skin. The blouse floats down to the floor.

Her hands are reaching down to her jeans, unzipping the fly.

‘Alex…’

‘Please instil with me the p…the power, God..’

‘Power’ comes on loose lips, wiggling out of her shaky voice. Her voice is airy, dreamy. Possessed.

‘The power to be good. To do good. To be better.’

Alex is wriggling out of her jeans. They fall to her knees, revealing pale legs and skimpy black lace panties.

She kicks the jeans off to the floor.

‘And please watch over me, over us, and fill our hearts with love and magic. And passion.’

She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her bare breasts, her dark areola. Goosebumps trailing across her skin. The slightest hint of veins running beneath, pumping blood through her body, silky warm.

‘I’m thankful for what you’ve shown me, God, and who…you’ve ‘ – the words catch on her throat, her chest tightens as she breathes, excited and nervous. ‘Brought to me.’

She hooks her fingers around the waistband of her panties and slides them down, revealing the thin line of hair marking her slit.

‘Amen.’

Her eyes never break contact.

——————————————-

For some reason it came to me – the idea of a religious teenager praying to god while undressing for the person she lusts after. I found the psychological interplay – her eyes on him, in command, betraying the idea of religion or subverting it in a wholly different environment – to be very sexy. Hopefully you enjoy it too!

12 Days of Kinkmas – Afterword

When I settle in with a book, I always look forward to an afterword, to gain some insight on the making of the story I would have just read. I hope you’ll stay here a while to indulge me with my own. For those out there that have kept with me these 12 Days.

I had a lot of fun writing this batch of stories, to the point where I had to trim down several. Cult of Helen had a three page character set up, just a quaint calm before the storm before I decided to start again and jump right in the middle to trim it down, where as The Gift was sketched out to go on much longer than it did.

Part of the trim was because I didn’t want to bore the reader. It’s always hard to tell what’s a good length because some devour an 8 page story while others struggle. All of us have busy lives too, which is another reason why I trimmed down parts.

There were stories that didn’t make the cut either, for a few reasons. I wanted each story to have a different theme or vibe and so when I realised I had several stories that were similar to others that made the list, I decided to cut the others out.

In the end, I learnt something about this process too – there’s an appetite for dark and violent stories laced with sexuality. Nightmare Inn, an actual nightmare I experienced right down to being trapped and forced to Fuck, got a response I wasn’t really expecting.

It showed me that while some may not find their voice to speak up about their interest in dark impulses, they will delight in any that comes their way.

Lastly, thanks to all that dropped by for a read. I appreciate it more than I could put into words. It warms my heart to know you enjoyed it and have had it longer in your thoughts.

If you have any questions regarding meaning, any constructive criticism, any questions about theme or inspiration or maybe there was a story element that spoke to your interests in ways that startled you, please feel free to let me know. I welcome all lines of dialogue – the good, the bad and the ugly!