Indecipherable Scrawlings

It feels strangely sacrilegious to take such silken flesh beneath the coarse callouses of my hands.  The delicate curve fitting almost perfectly into my hand as the first tentative pressure brings a final lingering gasp.  A light grasp that nevertheless represents a complete blockage to the vainly fluttering lungs.  The panicked heart beats futilely against my ever closing grip, pounding just beneath the velveteen skin as my fingers deepen their desecration.  And yet at this moment of seeming savagery I find myself at my most tender.

I find myself engrossed with her below me.  I see every twitch, spasm, blink.  Watching for the slightest hint of danger, more like an attentive watch dog then the fierce predator my grin emulates.  Her life rests literally in my hand, which like never before feels like a crude instrument even if wielded with consummate skill.  My heart hammers with hers even as I loosen my grip.  Allowing her to fill her lungs as I fill her.  I tighten my grip.  On her, on the simple animal lust that rages against my control.  And it is that control that makes this grip so exciting to us both despite the dangers.

That I can control the desire to break this fragile, precious thing below me.  That she knows I will only hold her so tight no matter how much she begs for more or wishes the dark reminders to last longer.  That I care more for her than my pleasure, or hers.  That every sip of air is not the last no matter how much it seems that way.  A shared illusion turning every breath into a gift.

So much all wrapped in a single act.

I was asked recently what it means to me to have a but of a sadistic side.  After some thought I came up with the below:

"Sometimes I grow tired of being polite, conscientious, and considerate.  Put away the facade of propriety and let loose.  To tear, to bite, to pin, and to overwhelm utterly as I give form to those delightfully dark whispers.  Forcing my deviant desires onto the world.  Taking every inch I can and growling for more.  Indulging that insatiable hunger that quests to do more, try more, take more.  Until every effort is spent and there is only the soft exhausted buzzing fluttering about my mind and she is nothing but a quivering inarticulate mess of ravished satisfaction.

That and I'm very fond of how most bottoms react to my hand hitting them in a variety of ways."

I was talking over role play (the kinky kind) experiences with a friend recently.  Between us we had done most of the usual things; doctor, gladiator, interrogator, etc and enjoyed them.  Eventually the conversation meandered to things we wouldn't feel comfortable doing and I brought up an idea myself and an ex had been working on.  One in which I'd play the dark wizard with a maiden strapped to an altar ready to be sacrificed to bring about a dark god.  A nice large pentagram, some candles, and a suitably dark basement would complete the scene nicely.  A scene I had completely rejected.

My friend was confused by this, it sounded like a lot of fun to him.  Until that is I explained my reasoning:

Because that is how horror movies start.

Its the only day of the year you can leave the whips and chains lying around and people will think you're a sharp decorator instead of sexual deviant.

My fingers trace along your chin in a tender caress that finally settles about your throat.  Gentle pressure holding you loosely against the wall as my lips find your ear, whispering tantalizing questions. The pressure growing on your throat as you explain exactly why you're here.  An answer whose sincerity I doubt, demonstrated by my suddenly vice like grip.  Forcing in air you do your best to convince me.  Strangled shouts that you're here to be my plaything, my toy, my personal whore as I slowly squeeze off your air.

Satisfied my hands disappear.  Replaced by the sound of tearing cloth.  I rip open your top and strip off your bra. Using it loops to loosely bind your wrists behind your back. Then I'm shoving you down, grinding you along the wall until your butt smacks the floor. My fingers digging into your head, holding it perfectly in place as I free my cock.  My head enters you mouth, pushing deeper as I swell.  Each thrust goes further as I seemingly try and drive my rod through you and into the wall.  Making you gag.  Futilely squirming against immovable pressure.  Until I finally cum on your face.

Then I'm dragging you up.  Carrying you bodily across the room.  Tossing you onto the polished wood of the table. Your pants are stripped away, panties torn apart. One hand winds through you hair, yanking sharply back to force your head up. Forcing you to look into the mirror fogging under your breath. To stare into your own flushed, cum coated, and tear stained face. Watch as you yelp as my free hand smacks into your ass.  See the pleasure and pain chasing themselves across your face.  Stare in amazement as you lips part only to say one word, 'harder.'  A request I happily comply with.

My arm swing up and down.  I choose my spots well.  Making small groups, skipping back and forth, slamming down in regular blows.  Sometimes lingering, digging my fingers deep into your flesh.  Sometimes offering a sensual caress after a vicious blow.  Variety that never allows you to settle even before my fingers slip between your thighs.  Attention that ensure all your cheeks are burning and flushed before I move behind you.  Letting my naked hip brush against your raw behind I also slide along your slit.  Rubbing my length along you, pushing between your folds.  Our grinding hips never letting your forget my ferocious assault even as I take a new tact to torturing you.  Long, luxurious passes that tease your sex already alight with desire.  I hold you head back with one hand, my other now pins you against the desk.  In the mirror I smile at your feeble struggle and sudden invocation of exactly what I should do.

Still I move slowly.  Enjoying myself.  Easing into you.  Inch by inch.  Centimeter by centimeter.  Taking my sweet time.  Exploring every change, every spot that makes your face change or you squeeze tighter around me.  Slowly pushing deeper even as you cry out for me just to fuck you.

And slowly, ever so slowly I give in.  My smile becomes a growl.  I want this.  I want to slam you into the table.  To drive deep into you.  To feel you writhe and tremble beneath me, the desperate quivering around me.  I want to claim this.  Mark it.  Pound it into a more perfect form that is truly all mine.  And I do.

My fingers raking along your back.  My hips hammering into you.  The force pushing your face into the mirror.  Harder and faster until it seems something will break.  Then your weightless, floating and still being pounded.  My hand leaves your hair, snaking around to your throat.  You find yourself pushed back into me, atop me, watching yourself be jack hammered in the mirror.  I bite, my growl reverberating through your shoulder.  My fingers do not so much rub as smack at your clit in the frantic fucking.  My teeth move along your neck, snap at your ear, my breath washes over you.  The two of us are reduced to moaning, growling, mewling animals driven only by lust.  Only dimly are you aware of anything beyond me filling you, slamming into you.  Until I roar one word into you ear.

Cum

"I've decided to go as a demon."  I announced happily.

My sub did not seem impressed, "Hardly original."

"Oh come on, I think I'll make an excellent demon."

"How so?"

"Well by the end of the night you'll be screaming for god to stop me."

I found an old box of dog stuff recently.  Old toys, leashes, and the like that I thought might be useful to the local pet shelter.  So I took it down and handed it over to a volunteer who started sorted out gems from the junk.  It was towards the bottom that they found a choke collar that was nothing more than a set of thick, unvarnished rough steel links that looked heavy enough for a grizzly.  Dull and obviously brutal.

They looked at it for a second and hesitantly asked, "Did you do a lot of work with aggressive dogs?"

"God no, I'd never use that on a dog."  I said taking the heavy chain, "Its an old girlfriends and I'll have to get it back to her."

"Oh."  The volunteer looked relieved then quizzical, "...did she work with aggressive dogs?"

"Nope."  I gave them a bright smile and promptly exited before any more questions could be asked.

A friend asked me for some advice on how best to get his girlfriend into the mood.

I told him he should move towards her, confidently using his body to playfully block her in.  Trapping her and leaning down so he looms over her, letting her feel his warm as he gently brushes the hair away from her ear.  Caressing it with his warm breath with whispered magical words.

"I've cleaned up the dishes and drawn you a warm bath."

With a deep throaty moan she tried to throw her head back but I stopped her.  I kept her looking ahead, a gentle whisper caressing her ear and demanding she open her eyes.  Forcing her to drink in the figure squirming futilely in front of her.  See the skin tinged with rose standing out in stark contrast to black silk wrapped beneath glistening breasts and around spread knees to a plain chair.  The gleaming sex; open, inviting, trembling with need.  Make her look at the hips forlornly lunging at the vibrator already slick with lust but held out of reach.  Mostly however I want her to see the eyes alight with wanton desire, eyes that want nothing more than for me to shove that vibe back in, and recognize them as her own.

In the mirror I smile as her lips part.  Before she can speak I give an eighth twist of the handle and the stocking coiled around her neck chokes off the words.  There is no sign of the worry, the gnawing concern, I feel on my face.  Only an indulgent amusement as the vibe taps a light tattoo along her thigh.  Loosening my hold I permit her a sharp gasp as a flick passes the toy across her burning sex.  Then with glacial patience I tighten the stocking as begin to trace her lips.  Pushing firmly into her folds as her throat closes.  Cutting into her neck as the toy slides fully into her.  Loosening only long enough for her to fill her lungs.  Snapping shut as I run my calloused palm over her clit during a deep thrust.

All the while she watches herself.  Rushing headlong towards an edge.  Not knowing what the edge is.  Not caring.  Lungs burning.  Insides stirred by expert twists that touch all her favorite spots.  It was never in doubt she'd fling herself over the edge.  Yet she never expected to see a look of such ecstasy as she lets out a final strangled scream, convulsing and straining against unyielding cord.  Stars exploding across her vision, sparkling into darkness.

"Why do you always pay cash for dinner?"

"Makes it harder to track me down if the waiter notices my girlfriend taking off her panties."

"A riding crop, what do you need one of those for?"

"Some men buy flowers to say 'I love you,' I have a different approach."

"I heard your friend screaming 'Margret Thatcher' last night, is everything alright."

"We get really into Jeopardy...really...actually true...not a metaphor...honestly."