Indecipherable Scrawlings

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.

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.