Indecipherable Scrawlings

I was talking to a friend of mine about another who had just entered a dynamic.  I was listing a rather extensive series of precautions the absent friend and I had taken before they'd met their new partner.  My friend, who is relatively vanilla, thought our measures might have been a bit overboard for what was essentially a coffee date.

I helpfully explained, "Of course you have to be extra careful.  For most people being caged in a basement while someone does increasingly depraved things to you is a horror story.  To us its the desired outcome."

Silken cord snaked its way up her legs.  Black rope outline in thin strips of pale skin were it dug in soft, supple skin.  Winding its way up, wrapping around stomach and chest, squeezing tightly at the breasts and ending in a neat bow just under her chin.  Tight, with no slack.  Binding her irrevocably to the pillar, giving her no wiggle room.  Still she chuckled.

"I thought you were going to think up something special?"  She challenges.

"I did."  I reply with a muffled voice that clearly surprises her.

"And this is it?"  She still is defiant, but now there is some hesitation as I slowly enter her line of sight.

I don't reply right away, wouldn't be polite.  I carefully finish chewing the delicious, gooey cookie with obvious relish.  Holding up the bag I let her see the icon of her favorite bakery.  Fishing another cookie out I take a bite.

"You wouldn't."  Despair creeps into her face as I eat.

"That would be cruel."  I smile reassuringly.  But I am very cruel, and they were really good cookies.

One day my girlfriend dropped me off for lunch with a friend.  He noticed that she was being unusually cold to me, going so far as to pull away from a good bye kiss.  Being a good friend he of course asked me what had gone wrong.

"Well she wanted to spice things up."  I sighed and started where things had inexplicably gone wrong.

That obviously surprised my friend and he said as much, "Well that's never really been something you've objected to."

"True but...she wanted to role play."

"So?"  He asked in clear confusion about my hesitation.

"She asked if I wanted to be a ravenous legionnaire."  I answered and seeing that didn't lessen his confusion continued, "So of course I asked if she meant Republican or Imperial?  Obviously she meant post-Scipio, but what legion and under who, serving where and when.  Would I be an Italian, or an auxiliary..."

For some reason as my friend's eyes glazed over he became as frustrated as she was.

I find it important to always tell the truth, just not the whole truth.  For example my sub's parents had come over for dinner and things were going well.  Until her father tried to sit down and found a leash that had fallen into the couch cushions.  Her was fairly confused by this as we there was no other evidence of a dog.  So he asked his daughter about it.

Given she'd turned an interesting shade of crimson I step in and said it was mine.  That prompted him to ask if I had a dog.  I answered truthfully that I didn't.  Of course he wanted to know why we had a leash then.

"I couldn't get rid of it, I've had so many great experiences with it."  I said simply.  It was all true of course.

For your amusement:

Wit should be like a martini.  Dry, with a delivery that shakes people up and indulged in often, at all times of day.

I don't know why people use balls as a synonym for toughness.  A pussy can take a pounding, but one kick to the balls and its all over.

Its important not to make stupid mistakes, only very clever ones.

Whiskey is proof god loves us and want us to be happy.  Hangovers that he is a terrible planner.

The discomfort was starting to get to her.  Sweat glistens across her skin as she tries to flex sore shoulders.  Silken cord digs into her wrists joined high above her head, holding her arms unnaturally straight.  The muscles in her legs tense as she lifts herself onto her tip toes, her face relaxing as the pressure on the hook pushing a ball into her bowel lessens.  The reprieve was temporary of course.  Her legs begin to quiver and she starts to sag, the cord running from her wrists to hook growing taught.

My hand ghosts across her back, arm closing under her ribs.  Buzzing shakes the air as I slide a vibrator along her slit.  I take her weight easily, lifting and dropping her.  Shivering and gasping her hips follow the vibe.  Chasing it desperately as I withdraw it.  Opening eagerly as my hands move to her thighs, pulling her back up.  I slam into her in one sudden thrust, taking the opportunity to grab the cord and pull it tight.  As I withdraw the hook takes her weight and she grimaces.  Pressure alternates and I bury my face into the crook of her neck, biting into the supple flesh as I concentrate on what I'm doing.  Our hips slam together with increasing speed.  Driven by need that flares into desperation I drive into her.  The final explosive crescendo slams into both of us with shuddering force.

Panting softly I slip the cord from her wrist and she falls limply against me.  Just like a puppet with its strings cut.

I had an interesting exchange over lunch recently with a acquaintance whose just becoming aware of kink.

"But what about when she's in control?"  The question came as no surprise.

Still I played coy, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well..."  My questioner bit her lip, "What if she's on top, wouldn't she be in control then?"

"Nope."  I leaned forward with a soft chuckle, "Unless I want her to be."

The tinge of red in her cheeks grew as she said, "But she's on top, you can't make her do anything."

"Of course you can."  I answer with a impish grin, "You just have to exert influence over their movements.  A thick collar, tight enough the sturdy material is just beginning to chafe.  Cold steel links brushing against burning skin before being yanked away, the chain drawn taught.  Pulling her inexorably, irresistibly down, impaling her further.  Only for my hand to flash up.  Calloused skin imposing itself on soft, supple flesh.  Driving her back up to the limit of the slack the chain provides.  Every movement carefully controlled, the pace carefully decided."

She agreed that was a good point.

Peter the Great trained two polar bears to prod guests he thought were not drinking enough.  My first question is not how or why.  It is simply what he considered an appropriate level of drinking in a court where he thought it was a brilliant idea to set loose half ton killing machines to paw at his guests.

Also where can I get a pair?

She struggles against her bonds.  Muscles straining beneath her glistening skin.  But there is not give, no slack.  She is pinned in place, completely unable to move.  Only her eyes can move freely.  Darting from side to side, desperately search the limited field of vision her frozen head provides.  But there is no escape.

"You've brought this on yourself."  I nearly snarl as I tighten a final strap.

Her voice shakes with an almost pitiful desperation, "Please, I'll do anything."

Two steps brings me into her field of view, my face is cold.  I have no mercy, no softness.  I coldly announce, "You knew the rules, you knew the consequences."

"But..."  She stammers, tears streaming down her face, "This...this is too much.  It's...so cruel."

"Then you will learn quickly."  I do snarl now, cutting short her protests.

Turning from her I head out of the room, pausing only briefly to turn on the TV.  C-SPAN begins blaring as I shut the door.  The screaming never stops.

Classics are classics for a reason.  Still you can always spice them up.

Start with asking your intended, "Did it hurt?"

When they respond with, "When I fell from heaven?"

Smile and say, "No, when your heart skipped a beat at the sight of me."