Every Last Thought

He catches her dozing, the book upside down against her tits. Smut again. In that moment, he wanted to punish her – for all the dirty thoughts she had been thinking and keeping to herself.

He crept into the bedroom and began to undress. Freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants felt like heaven. He wanted to play but he kept focused on the mission forming in his mind.

Just as she began to stir, he threw himself on her, tossing the book aside carefully so as not to damage it. He filled her to the brim with his cock and held himself there, looking into her eyes.

“Here’s what we are going to do.” He said as she whimpered underneath him, her eyes bleary with sleep. “I’m going to edge you until you tell me every. Last. Thought. That’s been in your mind as you’ve been reading your smut. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded, licking her lips wet between another adorable fucking whimper.

By the time He was done with her, she was a mess of a person – anguished sobs wracked her body as she felt it all – relief, denial, at the shame of confessing every filthy thought and perverse fantasy. He held her though, arms safe and secure despite endlessly fucking and teasing himself and herself to the brink.

Sleep came for them then.

The Fever

Last week I was in the eye of the storm with a virus I had. After, when I recovered, I found half of this story scribbled in my phone notes. I don’t know where it came from, this idea, but I decided to finish it when I felt better. Can you tell where feverish me stopped writing and recovering me picked up the story?

Chestnut coloured hair down around her face, she clawed helplessly at the deep blue satin sheets of the bed, like a dog trying to run on tiled floor. Strands of her hair were clawing at her eyes, making them sting, but this didn’t deter her. She wanted to find her footing.

Only her feet were being held up, His hands clasping her tight as he dragged her back into him. Her body, her completely nude body, slid backwards along the bed. She just couldn’t find a grip, something to hold on to.

Her tits dragged along the silky smooth fabric, nipples growing stiff as they trailed backwards. She felt betrayed by her body, by the slight sense of giddiness swirling in the pit of her stomach.

“C’mere!” He seethed at her from behind. As she felt the cool air kiss her bare bottom, she imagined his clenched jaw as he spat the words out at her. Maybe spittle dotted his lips, maybe that same spittle sprayed out across her ass cheeks, sizzling on her searing hot flesh. At least it did in this corner of her mind.

Her arms suddenly felt like dead weights. She could feel the ache gnaw at them, radiating pain in her shoulder and down along her arm.

Fuck this bed, fuck this moment. Fuck his strength.

She had her legs though, she could kick him, maybe even in the face, split his pretty lip, bruise his darkened eyes.

His darkened eyes…yes, his eyes would seem darker now. They had that effect, his dark brown eyes. They seemed to turn black when He was angered.

Fuck his dark eyes.

She flailed her legs around, trying to break free of his iron grip. It was useless.

How did he do this? How did he tear her dress apart? Why did she let herself feel so useless standing there in her boring black bra and her Wonder Woman underwear? She should’ve kicked him then, she had the training. Brown Belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, motherfucker.

So what happened? Why had she froze?

More importantly, why had she let him tear her dress apart? She could’ve torn him apart instead.

Get away from me, she wanted to scream, but her chest felt heavy, the words barely formed on her tongue. The harder she tried to mentally pry the words from her tongue and through her wet lips, the more lightheaded she began to feel.

That’s when she felt it, the toughness of his stubble prickling against the inside of her thigh. He was kissing her, she could feel. Planting rough, messy kiss on her bare, exposed thigh, one after another.

Her stomach began to twist and knot the closer he got to her slit.

Fuck you, she spat telepathically to the body that betrayed her. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.

I can curse you all…all...

She could feel His coarse mouth over her pussy, his tongue gliding along her cream-coated slit, itself prickly. A couple day’s growth. Short hairs. She could feel her cheeks burn for some reason. She normally shaved, she just didn’t get around to it.

She slammed her fist on the edge of the bed in frustration. She felt like a child, like a fool child, but it was all that came out of her in that moment – that, and a Harumph!

From behind her, she could hear him laugh. It was mirthless, as if he was thinking something she couldn’t decipher. She pictured him from between her legs, lips spread in that laugh, her own juices running down his chin.

Like a child, she thought. Like a greedy fucking child that’s bitten into a plump piece of fruit.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

Her heart leapt in her chest as she realised that, this time, she had spoken her thought out loud.

Or had the words finally dislodged from her throat? Had the pebble been knocked loose, letting the river flow normally?

All of a sudden she could feel the warmth of his cheeks leave her thighs. He was moving behind her, she could tell, because the bed shifted underneath her, swaying back and forth, like she was on a ship – a hogtied lass left out on deck for the pirate crew.

Wait, where the fuck had that thought come from?

She felt him tug her backwards, shifting her legs lower a little as he no doubt pulled her closer.

Now my’s chance. Now I can..

She wriggled her foot free of his grasp.

Yes!!

Feeling it sway in the air, she jabbed it backwards blindly, trying to knock him off.

It crashed into contact with something, causing him to roar in surprise.

“Oh you bitch! You fucking bitch!”

Gotta use this moment to break free…

She swung around so that she was on her back now, her other leg finally free.

He was ready for her, his hands – like vipers – coiling around her right leg.

“Come. Here.”

Her heart was working overdrive in her chest, thumping in her ears.

Behind this, lingered a stranger feeling. Excitement? Exhilaration? What was this?

Like a viper herself, she lashed out her free leg, hoping to smack him right between those pecks of his, but he caught it.

He had her again.

Panic kicked in, swirling in her veins. All of her training and he fucking had her. How had this happened?

How had this –

Heat. Searing, intense heat.

Burning her cheeks, flooding her head, her mind. Her skin prickled with heat, zigg-zagging down her chest and arms quickly, leaving goosebumps in her wake.

A wheeze came out of her parted wet lips, a string of saliva stretching from upper lip to bottom lip as the guttural noise came clawing its way up her throat.

He was inside of her, he had plunged deep inside of her pussy – parting her Judas lips and filling her to the brim. Or what felt like to the brim.

Fucking Christ, when was the last time she was filled like this? No, when was the last time she had felt FULL like this. This sickening, giddy fucking full feeling. The one she could feel but never explain, not to her mind or to her journal. She just felt…full!

And still with her fucking legs in the air, the rest of her on the bed, to the victor goes the spoils.

She could feel the ache in her legs, that tense horrible ache as he clutched her still but her mind was being assaulted just like her cunt. Before she could catch her breath, he was tearing out of her, her lips letting go of his cock, before he slammed straight back into her again.

I could clutch the side of the bed.

I could pinch my nipples.

I could kick him in the dick when he pulls out.

I really want to reach down and claw at my clit.

Fuck! No! I need to think, I need to plan.

I want to come!

Stop it!

She felt his hands grip her sides, stretch her legs apart. She felt like she was going to snap like a twig and he was just using her like a toy, like a fucking whore.

She couldn’t even grind back into him!

No. She couldn’t even loosen his grip of her legs just a little bit so she could take her shot at him again, maybe wind him like he had winded her.

“Keep. Your. Legs. Still.” He hissed at her.

She liked to think of him struggling to hold her constantly squirming legs as he wrangled them still. How was his face? Was it even darker before, if such a thing were possible? Her hair was in her eyes and her arms were like lead so she couldn’t wipe her vision free. She could feel the tangle of her hair, at the corner of her mouth, itching at her lips, but she just couldn’t move.

Tender. Her pussy was already growing tender at his constant barrage, his total destruction of her body. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had destroyed her pussy like this, fast and hard and urgent, like each thrust was necessary for survival.

With a hiss from him, her body shuddered as she felt his cock plunge deep into her, sending pinpricks of electricity down her sweat-slicked body.

“Uuunnghhhh.” He grunted with one final thrust, leaving his cock buried within her as he moved up across her body, between her parted legs, which fell down around his back in submission. Her own body, giving in and giving up.

She felt it then. The soft planted kiss on her stomach. Then another, above. Wet kisses. Sloppy kisses. Hurried, passionate kisses but still somehow appealing, arousing, stimulating.

She felt the wet kisses grow closer to her tits, her nipples achingly hard in anticipation, longing for his mouth on them but at the same time, cursing him, wishing him away into some pit of eternal darkness where he can’t keep his hold on her. He needed – no, SHE needs – to break this link, this connectivity between them because the moment his lips slip over her nipple, the moment his tongue swirls against her eager flesh, she knows, somehow and someway, she would not only lose herself but all semblance of self.

The restraint she had been clinging to, the one that lashed out at him, would be shattered and she would give in, utterly, to that pleasure.

And would that be such a bad thing? A voice spoke up in the back of her mind, smooth like velvet.

Would that be so bad, to fall into delicious decadence?

She found herself trembling, body breaking out into sweats, as she felt his kisses grow nearer to her breasts.

The voice in the back of her mind seemed nearer as well, louder.

Is this version of you such a terrible thing? How do you know? Why don’t you try it?

Silky voice, dangerous voice. Stay away. Stay away from me.

“No.” She spoke softly, barely a whisper.

His lips brushed the curve of her left breast. Her body quivered underneath his touch, heart racing on overdrive.

“No!” She repeated, louder this time. “Don’t.”

She could feel her body sinking into the bed, as if she would slip into the sheet itself and into a realm of deep blue nothingness. She could feel her mind splintering, cracks set to ripple across the very fabric that makes her exist.

“Don’t.”

His tongue hit her nipple, suckling it into her mouth, and she fell through the cracks of her world.

She could feel it. She could feel the nipple slip into his mouth, raw flesh grating ‘neath his teeth.

Some semblance of her, some fragment, wanted to be bitten, to be rendered useless by such a bite, but her mind was focused wholly on Him, on his mouth on her, on his cock that fit everything so snuggly deep within her.

She belonged to him, utterly, deep in that moment.

What Do You Get Out Of It?: A Dominant On Bondage

What does bondage mean to me, somebody who identifies as being a dominant? I’ve been thinking about that the past few days. That – and my dominance itself.

People have told me in the past that January, being the first month of a new year, makes people contemplative. I guess that’s true for me too because I’m wondering about all the finer details.

I think the first aspect – the most obvious aspect – is the sexual thrill. Why a sexual thrill? Well, I can draw that line – that red string on the board – back to my interest in control. How I like to have that control, how it eases my mind and, on my better days, my anxieties. Control is calming. But there’s also an underlying degree of sexiness there too. An edge. Control is calming and appealing but there’s also that part of my brain that is attracted to an image of someone – in my case, a submissive, bound by rope. Not only at MY mercy but at the mercy of the binding of the rope. Just that very sentence activates the sadist in me. I want her to struggle, for her to feel the burn against her tits and thighs. I want to see how my plaything reacts to that pain. In a way, I want to test her.

So there’s the level of control, and the sexual thrill brought about by that control – not to mention the sadistic side woken out of a slumber, but what else speaks to me, as a dominant? I’m not a submissive, I couldn’t dare say what appeals to the one that wants to be bound. But the question that so many readers and people I mentor ask me comes to my mind – what do you get out of it? And, here’s one of my own, does it go beyond sadism and sexual thrills?

I believe it does. There’s two things I want to ramble about, if you’ll allow me, if you care for read, and the first is the intimacy of it. There’s something else at work behind the sadism and sexual thrill and control, there’s beauty. Beauty at the weaving of the rope, at how the intricate pattern crisscrosses across her body, holding her all snug-like. It’s a work of art, it’s magic and it couldn’t be magic without her involvement, her devious mind.

Which brings me to Kinbaku-bi, or what the internet tells me is “the beauty of tight binding”. It’s an art form, it’s creative, it’s putting your mind into your kink so it’s personal on a whole different level and it’s artistic. My mind is drawn to how experimental you can be with it. Try this weave, try this chair, try bending her over. It invites thought and it invites discussion and even now, it has my heart and mind racing with possibilities.

So I think that’s what I get out of bondage, whether it being viewing it from afar or engaging it in directly. It’s erotic, it’s beautiful, it’s artistic, it’s personal – it’s multi-layered.

Thanks for reading and if you want to talk about this piece or any other, you are always to welcome to comment or write in to me directly at darkanddominant@hotmail.com

In The Flesh, Part I

teen-girl-rope-bondage-14598-bdsm.jpg

 

Content Warning: This is a story about a kidnapping and being forced into sexual slavery. As such, it may hit too close to home for some readers. I apologise in advance if it does.

He watched her as she hung on the spot, sobbing behind the ball gag wedged in her mouth. Her dark brown hair, almost black, maybe even dyed black he thought, spread out in strands across her forehead, running down across her shoulders and across her frumpy maroon dress that fell over her body.
He had chained her there, arms spread apart across a wooden board, here in his garage. His stomach had tickled, part with chill, part with thrill, as he moved her across to his home, to his realm.

He never meant to grab her – Stephanie. In all honesty, when he moved into the estate, he had expected a quiet neighborhood torn from the scripts of a fifties sitcom.
That he met her at all was pure chance – she knocked on his door, all smiles – the postman had left her his mail on her doorstep while she was at work.
He smiled, offered a joke and thanks – and the next time they saw each other was by coincidence – when he was collecting mail, say, or when he came home from work at a time she happened to be coming home to.

She was married and with children, he found out, glimpsing a look at her one evening, hopping out of her car with her husband and their two small children, a wee boy and girl, following close behind. Not only that, he had seen them through the blinds of their livingroom. He saw them watching TV, laughing.

Each time he spotted Stephanie, interacted with Stephanie, he noticed more details about her – the way her lips seemed naturally ruby-esque – or how her eyes seemed dark brown one moment but violet the next.
How she spoke like something was on her mind but gave no room to talk of it, leaving him wondering if it was a part of his imagination.

No, he never meant to grab her — but something came over him, searing heat that prickled down his body to his cock.
She was out the front of her house and on the phone, pacing back and forth in a long maroon dress that swished along the concrete beneath her feet.
He had pulled into his driveway, killed the engine, and got out of the car.
Bits of conversation traveled across the road.
‘…. Would you think I had? Have you?’
If she saw him, she gave no sign – he crossed his yard, fumbled for the house key in his pockets.
‘Nah, I’m not a fan of..that.. The whole thing makes me laugh. I just don’t buy it.’
He had stopped with his key in the slot. What on earth was she on about?
‘Me? No. I’m not into that smut.’

Something in him snapped just hearing that.
He looked back at her pacing and felt something in the pit of his stomach.
Looking at her twist her face in disgust, he realized he was trembling.
He waited for her to finish the call, twisting the conversation over his head, something compelling him, awakening within him.
It all happened in a heartbeat, him crossing the distance between them, grabbing her around the neck, feeling his cock go hard as she choked audibly, spit wetting her lips.
Her legs flailed out beneath her, kicking dust across the concrete.
She tried to reach back across to him, to smack him, but she couldn’t find the strength.
Stephanie fell limp.

Why oh why was she wearing that frumpy dress? He thought, his mind back in the present as he stared at her wriggling on the spot.
He spat the words themselves at her as he closed the distance between them. His hand lashed out at her dress, seizing a handful near her chest and tearing it down.
Black buttons went skittering across the floor, clinking across the dirty concrete.
With the dress half torn and hanging around her stomach like a wilted flower, he took in the sight of her creamy pale flesh.
She was curvier than he expected, then he imagined. Her hips were shaped in, what was that actual reference? An hourglass? Was that it?
Pale stretch marks laced her stomach in thin slits across her stomach.
God, she was beautiful.
Stephanie’s eyes were wide with fury as drool seeped from her lips and slithered down across her neck. He could almost feel the heat on his skin from the way she was staring at him.
She was still in her bra and panties – plain black lace. They hugged her skin tightly, digging in.
She was yelling at him through the ball gag, but it came out as muffled to his ears.

“What you abhor is what I…adore, Stephanie.” He was speaking to her calmly.
His words only served to make her scream through her gag at him in pure rage now, the volume of her muffled cries rising.
Something curled up from the pit of his stomach and lit up his brain. He struck her across the face.
“Silence. You will listen to me.”
Angry eyes only turned to stare back at him. Not pleading, not fearful, only anger.
“I wish to educate you on some matters. In order to do that, I am going to have to…WE are going to have to break you down, Stephanie. Make you see.”
She flinched as he reached out and grabbed her bra between the cups and yanked it free. Her whole body lifted forward as he pulled, the hooks tearing undone and coming around her shoulders. Her large, full breasts spilled out of her bra.
In the silence, he took in the sight of them – her soft and light pink nipples, starting to rise from the coolness of his garage, her darkened areolas, the stretch marks across her breasts in pale thin, vertical slashes.
Slowly and silently, he looped the bra around her chained hands, helping her as she whimpered.

Keeping silent, he lowered himself to her knees before her. As he did so, she started to whimper loudly again, yelling unintelligibly through the gag.
He hung his head, sighed and then lashed out at her, striking her across the thighs.
“Behavior. Emotion. Perspective. You will see. You will relearn.”
He yanked down her panties, revealing her untamed bush, wrestling her legs still to slink them off her legs.
Getting back up on his legs, he tossed her panties aside.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Stephanie. Not yet anyway. Not anymore then I need to. I…have a book here, you see.”
He moved across to a desk tucked away in the corner where a creased, leather bound book was resting and picked it up, showing it to her.
“I want…to read you some erotica. Smut as you say. These are my favorites. These are what helped me. Now..”
He stepped towards her tear-soaked face.
“If you stay quiet, I won’t punish you. But if you try to yell or scream….”
He undid his belt and pulled it free of his jeans.
Stephanie’s wide eyes fell down at the sight of it.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to belt you.”
Stephanie shook her head and whimpered.
Fear.
He couldn’t help but grin as he moved across the room to grab a stool that was resting against the wall.
Her eyes watched him as he dragged it across the concrete to rest just before her chained, exposed body hanging in the air.
Sitting down slowly on the stool, feeling its rigidness against his ass, he set the dusty book in his lap and opened it to Chapter One.
“Let’s start with something relatively…light. A story about a woman who finds herself drawn to a mysterious being in the woods behind her new house.”
He began to read.

*

When the story was done, he rested the book in his lap. Stephanie was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling.
In the beginning of the story, her face was screwed up in contempt as she grunted and wailed. Partway through the story, though, she ceased her cries and hung her head, her body vibrating as she sobbed.
The sobs grew quiet towards the end and now, as he finished, she was still.
When he closed the book, she looked up, her eyes red raw.
“I want to ask you what you think.” He said. “So I’m going to remove your gag. I want you to take the time to relax. But if you scream or call out or even yell obscenities in my direction, the gag goes back on. Do I make myself clear?”
Stephanie nodded, her eyes glistening with tears.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped towards her. He could feel his cock tenting in his pants. He reached out with his hand and pulled the drool-soaked gag from her mouth.
Instantly, Stephanie’s face twisted into a snarl. She lunged at him, her mouth drawn open and snapped at him in a bite.
He felt her teeth come down on his wrist, pain flared red-hot through his body as he withdrew his hand from her.
Compulsion flooded his mind.
He raised his hand that gripped his belt and —

He hesitated. Stephanie had her eyes clenched shut, trying to brace herself.
Watching her flinch, his hand relaxed. He exhaled, letting the moment of anger ooze out from his body.
“I told you not to do that, Stephanie.” He said, his voice hard and cold.
“Fuck you and fuck your sick little stories.” Stephanie seethed right back at him, her eyes burning.
She struggled against him as he plucked the gag from her chin and popped it back in her mouth, stifling a rising scream from her lips.
“Now, I’m going to punish you for that. I just wanted to still my hand and make sure you know: What I do, I measure in my mind.”
Stephanie’s head jutted out as she swore through the gag as she stared at him.
“Oh, you can think and speak freely – for now. We’ll rewire that thought process.”
He stepped behind her, to her bare and shapely ass.
He raised the hand clutching his belt and swung it down across her left ass cheek.
CRACK!
The sound reverberated all around them.
Stephanie whimpered through the gag, her legs trembling on the spot.
“Behavior.” He spoke in the following silence.
He swung the belt down across her right ass cheek.
CRACK!
Stephanie flinched, yelling something through the gag He couldn’t decipher.
Her inability to handle herself, to stay still and silent, sent a jolt of anger through his mind just as her muffled cries made his cock throb.
Maybe he needed to discipline himself further.
“Emotion.” He said, shaking the thought away for another time.
He raised the belt and struck her a third time, across her entire ass this time – right in the center.
CRACK!
Stephanie’s cries grew louder this time. Her drool hit the concrete below her with a loud, satisfying smacking sound.
“Perspective.”
He walked around to face her. Her eyes had a glimmer of that rage they had earlier.
“Behavior – We’ll identify what needs to be modified. Emotion, and this, it seems, is the most important one for you. There are negative emotions in you but that’s not all. I feel something else. Something deceptive. Something…defensive. Stephanie, that sort of emotional privacy will not be tolerated in any way, you understand. I…”
He searched for the words as she watched him, sobbing through her gag. Her dark hair was strewn around her face, her eyes growing red.
“…Want you to understand, and in saying that, I want to understand you. I want to train you. I’m going to remove your gag again. Do not bite me, do not curse at me, not if you want another lesson.”

Stephanie didn’t resist when he pried the gag from her mouth. She watched him closely as he slipped his fingers across her wet lips and plucked it out.
“You crazy fuck, I’ll-“
He swung the belt across her breasts.
CRACK!
A strangled cry came tumbling out of her lips, cutting off her words.
He watched her as she gathered her senses, panting heavily.
“My husband, he’ll-“
CRACK!
A sob sputtered across her lips.
“Please, I have children, they’ll-“
CRACK!
“Ffffuck!” Stephanie hissed out loud.
“What do…you want…with me?” She said between gulps of air.
“What three things did I mention to you?”
He was in her face, looking her straight in the eyes. Her eyes reflected a scared woman looking back at him.
“What?”
CRACK!
Splotches of red had began to show across her tits.
“This will get easier the more we practice.” He said, his voice coming out a little harder then he intended.
“Uh…um…B-b-Behavior?”
“Yes. And?”
He lifted his hand with the belt in the air.
Stephanie moaned at the sight of it, the sound trembling off her lips.
Was that a moan of nervous energy or something else?
“Emmm…E-e-motion.”
“What else?”
“P-pppp-perspective.”
He lowered the belt. “Yes. Good. You did well.”
He paused, before adding.
“This isn’t going to be easy. Our minds, they run by logic that we build our life around and even hide from. You’re going to resist. That’s fine. But there will be no privacy for you. Not with me. So. What are you feeling?”
“I just want to go home. Please.”
“In time. Not just yet. There’s much to learn. What else do you feel?”
Stephanie’s eyes darted around the room, blinking out tears. She licked her lips.
“Scared. Scared and..weird.”
“Weird how?”
Stephanie wriggled her arms on the spot.
“I don’t know!”
He could sense something behind her frustration but he’d push her later.
“Alright. Are you hungry?”
“What?!” Her eyes grew wide as she met his gaze. Either she didn’t understand his question or she couldn’t believe it. Or both.
“Do you have an appetite for food? The hour grows late.”
Stephanie broke eye contact.
“Y-yes…”
He nodded, watching her closely. Her answer was genuine.
Why wouldn’t it be?
“I’m going to go away and cook something up. And then, when I’ve eaten, I’ll come back and feed you myself. Behave, and I’ll move you to my spare bedroom. You’ll have toilet privileges. But act up again? You can stay here this evening. In the dark. Do I make myself clear?”
Stephanie was frozen watching him. She didn’t seem to blink.
“Well?”
His voice seemed to break her out of a daze. She nodded vigorously. “Y-yes.”
He nodded, plucked the gag back into her mouth and left through a doorway behind them, leaving her bound and naked and waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Torment

A pretty little thing lay bound to the bed, chains linked across her bare body.

Her auburn hair had fallen across her furrowed brow, strands reaching down to mask her eyes.

The muscles in her neck clenched tight as her stomach reached up to meet the cool kiss of the chains around her breasts, pockets of ice biting at her nipples.

He hovered above her, a leg on each side of her, his thick and uncut cock fully hard as it frames shadows across her belly button.

His cock bobs in the air – in truth, he uses what muscles he has to hold tight. He feels the pleasure swirling from the pit of his stomach down to his shaft, reaching its own tendril to skim underneath his testicles.

Pre-come glistens the tip of his cock. He knows this, is aware of this. He uses this to his advantage, letting a strand run down his shaft and across the length of his testicles to drop across her chained stomach.

She murmurs in frustration, a strangled sound somewhere between a beg and a fierce cry. He may be aware of how Come is dripping in a sequence of dots traveling upwards to her breasts but the one thing He isn’t aware of is how badly she craves to taste him.

Her thirst is ridiculous, unquenchable. In this moment, bound and at the mercy of Him, she truly believes that if she can’t taste him, just a drop even, she will descend into madness.

In a heartbeat it terrifies her, this longing. An image comes fully formed to her, an animal writhing and growling and howling, it’s throat raw, spittle bubbling on its lips, pupils large. It’s body vibrating with desperation. Somehow she understands that she will become the animal if she doesn’t own up to her own feelings, if she cannot accept what she wants and the ferocity of how badly she wants it.

She can feel his come smack against her flesh, can lift her head just enough so that she can see his Cock bobbing in the air, a drop beading on its head, but not His face. She imagines his smile – and her thirst for him grows.

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.

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.

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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.