Indecipherable Scrawlings

I take her wrist and pull her up and away from the boxes we are supposed to be sorting.  I've had enough of that, my patience has been exhausted, and into the ensuing boredom my impish nature has crept.  We move quickly along the paths between the junk piles who offer clutter but little concealment in this well-lit basement.  She knows that as well so I'm unsure if the quicken pulse I feel under my fingers is excitement or nervousness.  At the back was an antique table of shocking weight but, thankfully, also ease of disassembly.  I had just helped bring it down and it was the only free space down here.

She squeaked as I swung her up onto the high table and I chuckled, "Can't have that."

My fingers snaked up her thighs, drawing her long dress with them, before digging in hard and suddenly.  Her naked bum slapped loudly against the table as with one quick pull I lifted her hips and drew off panties that might not have told me if she was nervous but were definitive she was excited.  Instantly and obediently she propped herself up on her elbows and opened her mouth, eagerly accepting the bunched up garment I forced in.  My hand lingered on her chin in warm and gentle caresses, then closed like iron as I pushed her down and titled her head back.

Above the sound of my opening zipper I whispered through a devilish smile, "Keep a careful watch now, anyone could be down to see how we're doing, you know how they don't trust us young people."

If she had a response to that it was lost in the moan that almost overwhelmed the gag as I slammed into her.  It was true we could be disturbed at any moment and I would prefer not to be found in such a position.  Though at that moment to think about anything else, and given the way her silky warmth quivered around me she was having the same problem.  Her legs tried to close around me, pull me deeper into her, but I caught one with my free hand and pushed it away.  Wrapping my arm around her to drag her body back onto me even while pinning her neck with my other hand.  I pounded into her, daring the table beneath her to slide, to warble, to make some noise to give us away.  She reached down with one hand, her clit screaming the cries denied to her in a bid for attention.  Her frenzied fingers attacked the nub as ruthlessly, stabbing both of us with her long fake nails.

Biting back a curse I manage to grunt out, "Together" not a moment too soon.

Slamming home her spasms attempted to crush me as my mind went perfectly and blissfully blank.  Trembling I had to use both hands to brace myself on the table as I slumped over her.  My teeth found the damp fabric and pulled it aside for a tired but passionate kiss.  Taking the discarded gag and sliding it into my pocket I quickly straightened my clothes.  She did the same with a curious glance at my pocket.

Ignoring her unspoken question I just smiled and said, "Come on, let's find a snack."

And without another word I lead her out of the basement and into the church proper.

Nothing but the soft sheets caressing your naked skin

The air-conditioning on full blast

Sending waves of cold washing along skin already rippling with goosebumps in excitement

Thick restraints wound tight around wrists and ankles

Pulling your limbs out

Exposing your perfect nakedness

A heavy blindfold shuts out the light as classic music swells to fill your ears

You exist only as the sensation washing across your skin

And the knowledge that I am out there somewhere

Your skin burns with a hundred phantom touches

So much so you barely notice the feather

Tickling your arms pit

Tracing along your stomach

Swishing over your hard nipples

The touch grows more insistent

The pinwheel shoots up your leg and you try to scream against the gag

A dab of goo presses against one nipple

The firm pinch fading to ice numbness

That suddenly stripped away by a growing fire

The pinwheel circles the other nipple before disappearing

You gasp as I push the ice cube against the top of your pussy

Shiver as rivulets of freezing water drip into your burning slit

The frigid edges teasing out the fringes of your hood

Your clit spasming with shocks as I start to tickle you

My fingers dancing over your skin as I run ice cubes along your lips

Then all you feel is my nails scrapping along your chest

Mere cover as I slide a finger into your tight pussy, coated in hot lube

The heat almost painful as I push into you

Slowly dribbling more heat onto your needy body

Alternating with sprays of ice water to slack your burning need

And all the while I push deeper into you thrusting harder and faster

Flexing and probing at your hidden depths

The restraints biting as you try and move

But there is no give, no slack.  Only sensation and coming madness

So I was chatting with another Dom the other day.  As we worked our way through various topics he asked me my opinion of consensual non-consent.  I said I hated it.  He was a bit confused, I love making fantasies reality.  My flat out rejection, evident irritation, and lack of any desire to explain myself confused him.

Of course he asked why.

After some prodding I gave in to his curiosity.  My opposition is really simple and logical.  You see after breaking into their houses, restraining them, abducting them to a properly secluded location, and pleasantly tormenting them in a series of increasingly depraved and creative ways I often find my partners in a contemplative mood.  Inevitably, usually with much fidgeting and darting of eyes, they ask a seemingly simple question.

How, precisely, did I get so good at such things?

"None?"  I sounded incredulous only because I was.

"None."  She confirmed with a confident smile, "There is nothing you can do that would make me even flinch."

"Really?"  I gave her a bemused grin.

"Really."  She giggled.

Of course now the challenge had been she fully expected me to rise to it.  Though she seemed almost disappointed a few days later when I merely told her to strip before I collared her.  The blindfold went on next, and that to seemed banal to her.  She did falter a bit as she had to push through plastic wrap as I lead her to the next room.  Yet it was only the cold metal of the chair that made her gasp.  The restraints didn't faze her at all, though her face contorted in confusion when I pulled her left leg out and completely immobilized it.  There was a light gasp as she felt my fingers and a loose strap brush against her sex, but more confusion when I just tied the strap.  An appreciative smile followed as the strap tightened, but I could feel her pulse beginning to race as a light sheen of sweat covered her.  The oddities were starting to worm into her mind

She giggled in relief as she felt the felt tip trace over her skin, "You wanted to write on me?"

In answer I just grunted and moved the marker lower.  Tracing nice, neat dashes just above her knee.  I capped the marker and slid it into her mouth, she obediently bit down to hold it.  That obedience was tested when she felt the cold kiss of steel against her skin.  Still it clearly wasn't a blade and she tried to relax even as I swore.  The loudest sound in the room was the constant click of plastic around plastic.

I muttered and beat on something she couldn't see.  Then her shrill scream covered the sudden whirring next to her ear.  But it wasn't the sound of the saw that reduced her to a gibbering mess, or the flecks of half-dried blood spattering across her face, rather it was the smell of burning bone that finally broke her.

One day a man decides he is going to run for office and immediately sets to work trying to drum up support.  Going door to door he asks everyone he meets for their vote.  He even goes tries to gain the support of those that aren't particularly fond of him.

Like one man who says, "I'd rather vote for the Devil than you.

To which our aspiring office holder replies, "But if your friend doesn't run can I count on your vote?"

"The Old Guard dies, it does not surrender."  General Etienne Cambronne, right before surrendering at the Battle of Waterloo.

"His loyalty couldn't be bought at any price; but it could be rented remarkably cheaply."

When people find out you're a Dom they expect you to be assertive, stubborn, and decisive.  Normally I am, but I am not perfect.  Sometimes I don't care what restaurant we go to or movie we see and am perfectly happy to let someone else choose.  I am a very accepting person so Italian or Chinese matters very little to me.  Marvel movie or slasher flick, couldn't care less.  I am gripped by a fuzzy sense of apathy, that is the mental equivalent of vegging out on the sofa, and am perfectly fine with it.  A comfortable blase morose in which I occasional indulge.

Why am I writing about this?  Is it to encourage a conversation about how not everyone fits into their stereotypical role?  How Dominants should occasionally relinquish control to maintain good mental health?  Demonstrate my humanity?

No.

It is so if we are ever planning something and I say its your choice you don't respond with, "well let's do what ever you want."  Because when I hear that I want to violently throttle you while screaming about how important it is to have concrete opinions.  On second thought let's go with one of those other things.  Make me seem less unstable.

When Thomas Hooker assumed command of the Army of the Potomac during the Civil War it was in rather...disheartening shape.  As such he encamped in around Washington DC for a period of extended training.  During this time the Army began to collect a rather extensive collection of camp "followers."  The press began to refer to this assembly of entrepreneuring ladies of the night as Hooker's division.  Hooker was later removed from command, but the label has stuck around.

The sun is a warm embrace, a gentle pressure enfolding her from behind.  The bark is cool, its hard uneven surface driven deep into her naked skin by the ropes that bind her to the tree.  The contrast leaves a thin sheen of sweat that barely has time to glisten before the gentle breeze wicks it away.  There is no wiggle room, no slack.  Muscles tense in trembling anticipation only heightened by the soft swish of the the grass under my feet.  A noise nearly lost beneath the cacophony of bird song and the distant murmur of what might be conversation.

The crack catches her by surprise, more so then the sudden pain.  She bites down on the cloth that muffles her gasp.  She can taste herself on the panties as the next blow lands.  I snap my belt back and forth.  Moving swiftly and even down her ass, leaving behind a lattice work.  The sun's kiss and rush of blood make her skin burn, the skin tingling in anticipation.

She beings to whimper.  Her sex and nipples rub against the tree as she recoils from each hit.  Tiny movements that shoot great jolts of pleasure into an mind hazy with joy.  She tries to scream, suddenly aware of my belt around her neck.  My heat replace the sun.  I slam into her already quivering tunnel, driving her up the tree.  My hip grinds into hers, reinforcing my marks.  Adding new ones as I bite down on her shoulder.  Our noises are muffled, quieted, but no less urgent.  Frenzy growing.  The end racing up.  The forest's peace shattered in one explosive moment.

Back in college my RA made a point of asking me what I was doing every time I passed his door, which I had to do fairly frequently.  It was polite interest on his part, but I have a strange sense of humor.  So instead of replying with, "Going to the library" or "Consuming a dangerous level of alcohol" I would instead tell him that I was setting up a meth lab or feeding the nest of ravenous mongooses.  Obviously I began small, introducing more and more outrageous stories as the year went on.  By and large he enjoyed this routine, because who doesn't enjoy hearing about pitting the leprechauns and fairies against each other in coke filled fights to the death.

Well he did until one night.

He asked me what was up and I nonchalantly answered with, "Disposing of a dead hooker."

That of course made him laugh.  Until me and friend walked back by, carrying a very bulky rug between us.

I threw my entire weight into each thrust.  Slamming into her, giving her no respite before the next hammer blow.  Her hips were already turning a sickly yellow with freshly blossoming bruises were my fingers clenched.  Sweat ran in unceasing rivulets down a back tight with strain, desperate to arch back.  Desperate for any movement that would take her away from the merciless pounding.  But the leash was taught at her neck.  She was trapped, almost immobile as I filled her.  Driving into her with a will I made even this most private place mine.  Forcing her to adapt to me, making her quivering flesh bend to my will.

Her entire body trembled.  Shook.  Her breath was in hot gasps that struggled past her collar.  Blue eyes wide, barely focused as pleasure slowly subsumed higher brain functions.  Only good training stops her from plummeting over the edge.  She convulses around me, her body desperate to trap me inside her, to leave her filled, to finally plunge over the edge.

"There's a good slut, cum for daddy."  I growl with a sharp tug on the leash.

She spasms once and explodes.  Incoherent mewling escapes lips slackened by a vacant brain.  I can barely hold on as I pull her off me.

"Get your mouth down on it whore."  I pant, my restraint almost gone.

Reaching down I grab a handful of hair yanking a greedy mouth down.  I drive my hips up, forcing myself into the mouth no less powerfully than I had the pussy.  Once again my grip is unyielding, becoming painful as I see my own end approaching.  I might have issued a warning, or grunted in primal satisfaction, but in that moment I didn't care.  It was my turn to explode.

When I return to my senses I am gratified to find an eager tongue and excited lips still exploring me.  Chasing each drop of precious liquid along my entire length.  Sucking blood back away from the head I should think with.

"Get down there slut."  I command dreamily, and promptly feel a more experienced if less exuberant tongue join the first, "Show your husband how its done."

Propping myself up on the pillow I look down to watch husband and wife servicing me in perfect marital harmony.  Not exactly what I had in mind when someone asked for my help getting an anniversary present, but not bad either.