Wordy time with Cut

His hands grip my hips, pulling me down onto the growing bulge in his jeans and grinding me against him. I break the kiss with a shuttering sigh. My eyes open to meet the intense, inquisitive stare. He pulls me back and forth over his jeans clad cock, over and over, watching my every reaction. A few more times and then he leans forward, one hand gripping the back of my neck and pulling me into a biting kiss. The words come out between the breath we share and I come undone,

"Come for me, right now."

And I do, a shuttering, earth shattering, orgasm that renders me boneless in his lap. His biting kisses trail down my neck and to my shoulder where his teeth dig into my skin. His hand moves from the back of my neck to trace the lining of my corset, moving to the strings on the back. Pulling my boneless body off of his with the strings of my corset, drawing my attention,

"None of that now, pet, I have plans for you." His finger trails from just below my eye to circle around my lips before tracing their way down my chin, tapping it before saying, "Go and fetch me the rope, little slave, and your box of everything else too, I want everything you have to choose from."

With my little box of treasures in hand I come back into the living room, sitting them on the couch before kneeling next to him in the chair again. He stands up and walks around to the box holding my coils of black ropes, clothes pins, flogger, riding crop, candles, belts that I have found work best, wooden spoons, gags, blindfolds, duct tape, the various sexy toys, and pre made labels. He orders me to stand up and strip and I am pretty sure this is the first time I have blushed in a very long time. The idea of him seeing all of me is almost more than I can handle. I know that he has seen, well, everything, but it is different like this. My body acts out of instinct. I don't have to give it permission because he did and it seems to know this as I stand on shaky legs and shaky fingers undo the clips on the pouches and then the zipper on the side of my corset, letting it drop to the floor. My eyes stay on the ground, but my hands continue their work, pulling my thong down and stepping out of it. I bend over to undo all of the bells and whistles on the boots but he stops me with a firm,

"Leave them, stand up and let me look at you."

I stand up, willing my arms to stay at my sides and not try to cover all of the little places that I don't like. His appreciative growl is all I need to stand a little taller and bask in his perusal of, well, everything. Each step brings him closer and I watch as he pulls my arms behind my back, still and quiet as he silently ties me the way that I know he's wanted to for a long time. When my wrists are tied to my elbows and he's satisfied with the tie, he pushes me over the seat of the couch, tying my ankles to my thighs, leaving me spread and open and completely vulnerable. He grips and caresses and plays over the hills and valleys of me. Hands cup my breasts and squeeze only to slide down my sides squeezing and pulling my cheeks apart before cupping my wet and aching sex to then slide up my back, keeping my senses alert and on edge.

Seeming satisfied with his discoveries he steps away. I moan in protest, which is probably what he wanted, I realize, as he straps the black gag into my mouth. His hand cracks across my ass, pulling a growl from my throat. The tools that are laid out next to me don't seem to hold any interest for him as he pulls a decorative pillow from its home and slides it between my thighs. His rasped voice draws my eyes to his face,

"Your little slut cunt is going to need something to rub against as I strike you with my belt. If you come though, my little fuckslave, I will not fuck you. I will not let you taste me, I will not let you touch me. I will jerk myself off and I will make you watch me. I will come on your face and hair and tits and you will not get to taste it. So be cautious, pet, with your grinding."

I glare at him, hard, my garbled, "fucking bastard." Is obviously audible enough for him to make it out because his barked laugh is almost louder than the sound of the belt lighting fire across my ass. The shift forward rubbing my pussy across the upholstered pillow. He knows this will be next to impossible for me, seeing as how I had just come a short while before, which starts the equivalent of a chain reaction for me. The belt wooshes through the air again and again, my wet cunt rubbing across the pillow over and over.

My hips move involuntarily at this point, the animal part of my brain taken over and I'm running on instinct. Tears stream down my cheeks and I think I am begging him to please fuck me, but it is really hard to focus enough to know. The surface of the pillow is soaking wet. My muted and muffled cries only encourage him. Each blow with the belt puts me that much closer to failure, keeping myself from coming is the only thing that I can focus on. The need to feel and need to taste him is enough that I am willing to endure whatever it takes at this point. The sound of the metal and leather hitting the ground makes me sob into the gag, the feel of his body pressing mine into the couch is just about the best feeling in the world. The feel of him taking his clothes off behind me makes me calm some.

With all of his clothes gone, his skin touches mine everywhere, cock nestled in the cleft of my ass, his hands running over the rope that binds me. My struggling against the rope rubs his cock up and down the crease of my blistered cheeks and we both moan at the sensation. One of his arms wraps around my neck and pulls my bound body from the couch to press my back to his chest, the other positions his cock between my thighs. He slides through my juices a couple of times, but not enough for any real lubrication. Really it is just enough to let me know what he is about to do. His free arm moves the pillow from between my legs and then he's pushing himself against my ass. My eyes are squeezed shut and my breathing is choppy, which are two things that aren't allowed the gruff order,

"Open your fucking eyes, little slave, I want to see what I do to you and you are going to show me. This is going to hurt, I want to see it. I want to watch your agony, I want to feel it when it when I rip you open. And I want to see it when you fucking love it as much as I do."

With that my eyes find his and I watch as his eyes as he forces himself into me. I watch the pleasure in his squinted eyes as he owns me. As he takes what is his. My eyes stay on his face as he pulls himself almost all of the way out, only to force himself even deeper the next time and the time after that. Saliva and tears mix together to run down my face and drip onto his arm, but it only seems to excite him further. His mouth kisses my gagged one and his tongue sips my tears as he tears into me. I can feel him getting close, movements becoming jerky and his breathing accelorates. The order is gritty with arousal when he tells me,

"Come with me, pet, right now."

The first warm jets of come in my ass make my eyes roll in the back of my head. My orgasm tears a scream from my throat that mixes with his growls of pleasure. He pulls himself from me to come on my back and thighs, the final marking of what was so thoroughly owned. His exhausted body falls over mine, pressing me into the couch. 

Once we have collected ourselves a little he unties me, carrying my limp body to the shower where we clean off before depositing our exhausted bodies in bed.

This writing thing is kind of a big deal to me, it's where I come to unwind, to process things, to share bits of my life and journey in the kink world, and where I come to put words to my fantasies. Everyone that I personally know that writes pours a little bit of their soul into the things they're sharing. They are showing you a piece of themselves that the outside world wouldn't see, you get a peak into their mind and that is a beautiful thing. So, to me, when you take and hit that effing copy button and then go somewhere else and hit paste, followed by signing your name on it, that is taking a piece of someone. You're stealing their words, their thoughts and then calling them your own and it is beyond wrong. It is violating someone in a way that can't be undone. That person will forever know that there is a group of people that think their words are someone else's. 

I know writing is difficult, arranging your thoughts in a way that the rest of the world will find interesting, educational or entertaining is an art. So when it seems like a good idea to take and borrow someone else's, know that it isn't. It isn't right and really, if you think about it, the momentary coolness of having something that other people are enjoying, isn't really for you, it's for the person you stole from. Just sayin. 

Sitting with the little pieces
of what remains,
needle and thread in hand,
the misshapen broken thing
that sits in my lap begins
taking shape again,
the jagged damage from
uncaring previous owners
erased with a
little time and effort,
removed with
the stitches that
are seamlessly pulling
it back together,
there will always be
that little bit of character
that displays the
marks left by others,
by myself-
the story of something
that withstood the
test of time and travels,
that shows that
I have been broken before
and probably will be again,
but I'll sit here
in my chair then too,
I know how to pull
myself back together,
that I will be okay
without you,
because
I cut it out myself
and I can put it back,
this tattered heart of mine.

He warned me,
to be careful what I wished for,
to be cautious of frivolous wants
and half cocked bravado,
at the tail end of a clusterfuck
of various bad situations.

And I should have heeded the warnings,
the endless conversations
revolving around offering oneself
as a sacrifice to the inner demons
of a man with so many
but those things don't matter
when I can feel his need,
when I can feel them rattling their cages
drawing out my own
baring their throats
and daring him for his worst.

So when I should be shaking
in the carefully chosen
fuck me boots and leather
as he wrapped the cold metal chains around
my wrists and up my arms
leashing me to the cast iron
of our headboard
while he calmly explains
all of the pain and suffering
I will endure as his sacrifice,
his immolate,
head cocking to the side
after finishing touches are in place,
eyes squinting in thought
as he studies me before asking,

"Why are you smiling, girl?"

Meticulously crafted red lips kicked up in a grin as I respond with the only thing I could or would say,

"Because I am ready, sacrifice me."

To be his,
to be taken and claimed,
willing and ready and needy,
to bleed and bruise and ache for him
to take his pain and frustrations into me,
it is my purpose,
my need,
the thing that cages my demons,
so yes,
I smile as I am chained to our bed.

Within my mind I can see them,

the walls that I am building. 

Carefully crafted pieces of colored glass 

laid out in rows according to color and shape and size, 

sorting through the little treasures
that will soon be my barrier against the world,
because I somehow find myself defenseless,
laid open raw and bare,
left vulnerable,
where there were once bricks, cinderblock,
and portholes to see out but never in
there is now nothing but
the framework of what used to be,
my protection decimated,
there were no legions,
no shouted words of prowess,
all it took was you,
scaling my walls
to drop sticks of dynamite into the foundation of me,
gates never stood a chance
and no lock could have kept you out,
helpless against the

force of nature that is you,
with your bag of words and new tricks with an old name,
you wont get through this one though,
while what seems like the stronger material is the better idea,
through the stained glass I can see straight through you.