The Wandering Mind

TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS ELEMENTS OF BREATH PLAY, CNC AND BREEDING WITHIN A CONSENSUAL DYNAMIC.

There is no poetry
No sweetness
With a fistful of hair
He holds her under
she thrashes
and splashes
and her gurgles bubble
to the surface
Splashing her slick wet ass

As she wrestles against him
It only drives her back
Cock splitting her slit apart
And burying within her further.
The thing is
He wants her to fight
As much he wants her body limp
To feel her fight leave her thighs
And her whimpering to end

He doesn’t know why
Her bubbling cries make him hard
He pushes in
Hoping the stones on the waterbed
Cut her cheeks
As he rips out of her trembling lips
only to slam right back in
And her pussy takes hold of Him
as if a part of her begs Him to stay.

Need and want stretches out as He stretches her
and folds around time and space
Until she flails once more
and grows still.

Only then does he wrench her
From her watery grave
And coats her sputtering lips

and rosy cheeks in his
Creamy
Thickened
Load.
The rest pumps into her stretched, fuzzy lips.
The best thing
that will ever happen to her

——

 

Happy New Year to the followers and readers passing by that find my blog. I wish you all a year of love, belly laughs and magical, beautiful memories to last a lifetime.

I’m starting this year with something dark and primal: a mood in my mind, running as a current ‘neath the bounds of my fantasies and stories and mood.

I hope you enjoy it. I hope it lingers. If it does, let me know. Say hi. I like when you say hi.

What is it about the wind that pulls me into a primal mindset? Maybe it’s witnessing this force of nature: My brain lights up. My body reacts and responds. I become unhinged.

We’ve been here before haven’t we, dear reader? Seeking, searching, contemplating the depths of my Dominance. I’m sure I’ve written of this before but every time a storm comes and my body sizzles with goosebumps and I feel the need to undress and fuck I feel like I’m revising my thoughts. Perfecting them. And here we are with the wind.

For it is the wind that skims across my arms and darts between my thighs, pulling me into an image that unravels between worlds. In the space between spaces I lose myself (or is that find myself?) to a submissive in the middle of the woods. Naked, writhing and wild before me. Her ass and thighs glisten with her own arousal.

 

The wind seizes her nonsensical whimpers and scatters them through the air, hurdling the volume of each letter that slips from her wet, trembling lips across the vast forest. And we hear the echoes: nonsensical half-sentences.   

Metaphors slip out of sight and mind. A kaleidoscope of thoughts: The wind is jazz. The snare starts the swing that melts their fuse down to total unraveling. We find the beat. How I ease into her soaked self from behind, filling her writhing self whole, only to drive her mad by tearing myself out of her. Again and again. Taking her from behind. Chasing her - our - pleasure. Feeding off of her every dry.

 

‘The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.’

So wrote Jack London in White Fang, a novel I received when I was 10 by my Nan. A novel that would spark my love for adventure - the concept and the genre in fiction - but also nature. Being within the rainforest, being naked where no one can see me. No one but my prey, that is.

Maybe the whisper of wind across my bare thighs that wakes that wolf or wild spirit slumbering within me. The one rouses in rain, amidst storms or behind the cover of Grandfather trees.      

So as the rain needles the roof and the wind clatters against the windows, I feel the sudden urge to strip and fuck and let all semblance of humanity go. I drool, I bite, I howl and l tease her till she’s a trembling needy, overstimulated little mess.

And as the sky darkens, I find myself there. Breathing irregular, on my side, my cock pumping a load onto her bare ass as I pin her down under me.

The dark takes hold.

 

Let me sketch an image for you.

And I invite you, as always, to bring your own brush to the drawing and paint in what you’d like alongside me. Do let me know how you find this.

Wind rushing all around you, plants smacking at your bracing arms, you run from me. I’ve given you a head start. I’ve counted at the top of my lungs and you’re far away enough now that you hear my voice on the very wind that drums on your ears.

Your heart is in your throat, your blood is thunderous in your ears.

And the forest betrays you. The trees watch your every move, marking your footprints in the mud, reaching out and clawing at your skin so that I may find the faintest trace of your blood on their fingertips.

Can you feel my heart racing? You must. We’re linked, you and I. Some strand of symbiosis. Like the goosebumps from the wind hitting our sweat-coated bodies, we feel each other through the shivers. I sense you as you sense me. I catch your scent on the wind and follow as you run from mine.

I do enjoy your panting on the wind.

Of your footsteps splashing in fresh rainwater puddles.

I’ve hooked my fingers around the straps of your dress just as you spot me. You tear from me – in a display of strength I admit catches me off guard – and though I’ve loosened the lace around your dress and your tits threaten to spill out, you giggle and run from me, further into the thicket. My growl reverberates after you. It catches up with you before I can even give chase. Are you soaked, I wonder? How badly do you want to be claimed? I’d ask you but you’re not going to make this easy for me are you?

I like that.

I don’t want easy.

I don’t want you to hold back.

I want to howl through my bite into your neck – Gods, how I want to sink my teeth in your skin. So badly my cock aches.

You come to the end of the paddock. A fence blocks your way. I know it because I’ve been there many times before on this land. Question is, do you climb in between it, hands stretching apart the wire like I’m going to do to your pretty little cunt when I catch you?

No. You squirm under. Wrong choice, kitten. It slows you down. All you can do is think of all the other ways you could’ve gone as I drag you by the ends of your dress back under. Goodness me. You’re wearing no panties. Tsk. Tsk. You’ve been a bad little pup, haven’t you?

You struggle at my hands – fuck, did you just try and kick me? That was on the table I suppose. I won’t hold back if you won’t you told me the weekend before, hands intertwined, us in the midst of what you giggled and called a cuddlefuck. And here we are, breathing hard.

You’re squirming and struggling so much I have to put one knee on you as I tear your dress apart like a kid opening up gifts on Christmas. I jump forward in time — to when we walk back to our tent, back to our parked car with one strap of your spring dress hanging open and your tits exposed. You might read this back and think I’m coarse and unrefined with my language but this is what comes in the moment, this is what nature does to me.

This is what you do to me.

So I hold you down by the knee to your back while I tear your dress off. We’re both panting hard by the time I wrangle it off you, till you’re a naked, wriggling animal covered in the fresh mud from the rain last night.

You look back at me, spit at me – but it misses. Nice try. But it just gives me a look at those enormous eyes of yours, glazed by the thrill of the chase.

It’s only a heartbeat before I have you overturned on the ground under me. Leaves in your tangled hair, face down in the mud as I pull you to your hands and legs.

I can see your pussy glistening between your thighs. You want this as much you wanted the chase. And you lost.

Thunder crackles above and rumbles across the sky and the rain begins to fall.

Smacks our hands and then pelts our bodies.

Assaults your tits.

I pin you to the earth, one knee on you, the other beside you as I pump my cock over your ass.

You’re going to cum when I say you can cum.

But here, amongst the trees and the wildlife and the rain, while you squirm and shout and act feral I am going to pump my load into your pretty pussy until I’m satisfied I’ve bred you like the feral little fuck you are.

Now. How does that make you feel?

Wind grazes my thighs and the dirt feels warm between my toes and I am hard as I stand by the riverbank.

I know the water is warm because I created the river. I created the trees too and the sound of their voices as they whisper.

My heart races to understand what I can never understand. That is something I cannot create. I can merely attempt to control. And control changes day by day.

I’d like you here. Naked. As you are.

I would love to feel your hand in mine. Synchronized stepping into the river and feeling the water rush around us.

Envelope us.

Are you as aroused as I am?

Would an orgasm curb my racing heart, the perfect storm, the war drum of anxiety and depression?

Will you do something for me? Would you make yourself come for me? Would you stare into my eyes as you do? So I can see the gift that no one else sees?

I’d like to play alongside you.

And then…once all is said and done and we are flustered feeling feral little things…will you lay on your back alongside me.

Will you trust the water to shape you

And guide you

And make you

For me

And for the journey forward.

I think I’d like that

I think I’d like to see those water beaded tits of yours.

I think you center me.

Understand me.

Calm me.

Or maybe I am the river and there’s either no stopping it or I should just learn to control my war drums.

Either way. Will you join me as I set sail with the river?

Will you curl up to me and wrap your hand round my waist?

Will you fall asleep with me

together in the river?

Author’s foreword: I wish to advise you that the following is a rape and CNC fantasy, featuring elements such as breeding, impact play and urination. Though I enjoy charting and unpacking darker fantasies that challenge my heart and mind as a writer, I do not wish to upset anyone that reads me.

Both hands clasped around her wrists, he pauses to consider it. The heat prickling across his arms, his cock throbbing and begging to slip out of his pants and into her cunt. Something is taking over him, happening to him.

The woman wriggles around on the floor of her home, the home he broke into seeking her, desperately trying to break free of his hold on her. This does nothing but reveal how tight her black leggings are against her body. He can see the shape of her delicious thighs, can trace the grooves of her little pussy lips through the thin fabric. 

The sound cuts through the air: her white tank top tearing, spilling her gorgeous handful of tits out onto the polished wood floor. His mouth waters at the sight of her darkened nipples, instantaneously reacting to the cool winter air.

She’s screaming obscenities – rough guttural sobs that sound like a feral seal barking at him — but all he can think of is how good it feels to have her body writhing against him. 

With his right hand holding her wrists down to the floor, he wrenches down her leggings, exposing her bare olive ass. 

Fuck.

He’s never wanted anything more than her. 

The pull to her is magnetic. 

As her knees pathetically criss-cross on the floor, trying to grip some semblance of normalcy, he spots her bare cunt. Waxed, he thinks through the daze of his appetite. 

He catches the thought as his open palm comes down hard on her ass — and she twitches, dazed, stunned, on her own hardwood floor. 

He’s stunned too. 

He didn’t think, it was never in his mind to — what the actual fuck brain? That wasn’t part of the deal?!

But something urges him on. 

The lull in the moment, the sight of her perfect face shaking off the blow.  

He juts his knee out and pins her down to the floor. 

Put a fork in her, she’s done, comes a thought. It makes him grin. 

‘Stay fucking still.’

Her shirt tears apart. 

Crumbles away like a broken plastic trash bag. 

When he sets his hands on her leggings, she comes back alive. Writhes and wriggles and twists under him. 

It only makes him hard. 

‘What did I FUCKING say?’

He falls against her, pinning her to the floor. 

Fuck, there’s never been a moment in time where he’s been harder. 

He loses his jeans, pressing into her arching back. 

‘I just had to see for myself you know. See how…’

He glides his fingers along her slit showing through her ass. 

His stomach knots at the revelation. His fingers draw back coated in her. 

She’s —

‘You’re fucking soaked. Oh you good little whore, your body keeps you honest. This is who you are.’

An idea comes. 

‘Let me look at you.’

He scoops a hand under her waist. 

She dead weights. 

Like flipping over a pup to do its nails. 

‘You really are a…’

The words escape him. 

A worm. 

A pup. 

Wriggling ‘neath him. 

Trying to win one over him. 

He wrestles her on her back though.

Elbows and legs and feet clunking against the polished wooden floor. 

His cheeks burns wet and hot. 

She spat at him. 

Between spitting out feral, vulgar words. 

He’s halfway to her in a daze of rage when her eyes freeze him still.

Dark eyes dotted with tears and the smudgy remnants of dark eyeshadow inking down her cheeks. She looks exhausted. 

Vulnerable. 

Is that a glimmer of excitement?

Does she know?

Does she know he came here to breed her?

Oh wherever the man she was living with went to, he hasn’t come back yet. He took the time, the time was now, he used sandalwood and showered and practically skipped down their shared street to —-

It is the pulse that shatters his thought. 

The pulse that pulls his gaze down.

His heart thudding in his chest, in his ears.

In her chest. 

Her arms cover her tits.

Do their best to anyway – her hands can’t quite cover all she has to offer. 

She spills out underneath. 

Not enough for him to see her nipples but enough to paint the shade of her areola. 

Their eyes meet. 

There! The slightest flair of her nostrils. 

Is she smelling Hi—

‘No!’

She wriggles beneath him, her leg flopping around inches under his cock. 

‘Somebody! Haaalllp!’

It’s a scream that drives daggers into his heart and kickstarts his fight or flight.

He dead weights against her and with his free hand grips her by the neck. 

Her swallows sound like a feeble click. 

‘Quiet.’

Her pupils are enormous. ‘Fuck you…’

It’s a weak whisper. 

Clattering limbs and legs together, he wrenches her leggings down further till it’s a tangle around her ankles. 

Down here on the ground he can feel the cool air of the night skim across his own bare thighs. 

It’s sensuous. 

‘What do you want?’ 

Her voice comes out quieter, laced with panic. 

What did he want? 

He wanted her. He needed her. 

Even now the pull towards her vibrates across his chest and drags him down towards hers. 

‘You.’

He wedges her hands from her tits. 

A nice handful. Perky. Olive. Uneven but – fuck – gorgeous all the same. Her right nipple is pierced, the blue jewelry reflecting under the light.

Thoughts trip over each other racing to get heard. 

He wants to taste her nipples, suck them into his mouth and bite on them just to see her whimper. 

Her whimpers bring him out of the reverie. She’s still struggling, still panicking. 

An anger rises up in his chest so feral and frantic he feels like he could run laps around the block. 

‘Aren’t you just a pathetic little bitch.’

Her whimpers cut through the air, as if his words mark her skin. 

All the while they struggle. 

‘With your pierced tit and your drenched, shaven cunt, who do you think you’re getting pretty for, Hm?’

The more she wrestles, the more his hard cock smacks against her working thighs. 

He needs it. 

To be inside her. 

‘Are you fighting me or are you fighting yourself because you’re squirming. Desperate.’

He feels the weight of each word forcing its way through his teeth. Products of holding down a wriggling slut. 

He was starting to sweat. 

Could feel it layering under his pits. 

Need. 

Compulsion.

Addiction. 

Relief. 

He slides her lips apart and buries himself deep. 

Her cries die in the air.

The shockwave travels through her and spills across his shoulders. 

He uses the time to right himself, gripping her by her hips and pulling himself further up. More of a hold on her. Deeper within her. 

A rhythm finds him as his lips find her nipples. 

Still one hand grips her throat and clutches deep. She’s choking but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

He feels her. 

Clenching around his cock. 

Inviting him, hanging onto him. 

He laughs through a growl. 

‘Why, you cunt. Look at you. Reduced to this.’

He blinks. 

His belt is unspooling from his jeans beside him, coiling into the hand that seizes her hip. 

A crack rips out into the universe. 

Rings in his ears. 

A mark across her tits. 

Is it madness or are her nipples hardening before his very eyes. 

He strikes her. 

Again.

And again. 

The belt falls to the same rhythm of his cock pumping her needy, tight hot cunt. 

This time he doesn’t care if she cries for her lover, housemate, whoever — he adores the sound of her girly whimpers as much as he enjoys the sound of his cock smacking against her slit. 

GET AWAY FROM ME!

A multiverse of worlds tears open, all showing her crawling – no, sliding, on her tummy, moving herself along with her elbows. 

Somewhere through the haze he realises she’s smacked him in the head. 

His cock loses her.

The spell is broken. 

The sight of her crawling away makes him hungry for her cunt. 

He grabs her leg but his hands are sweaty. She slips out of reach, all it takes is a kick. 

‘Come here!’

It’s a raw growl that cuts his throat open. 

His cock bobs for her cunt. Needs to be back inside her. 

‘I said come here.’

He seizes her by the hips and pulls her to her squirming fucking knees. 

‘You want to be fucked rough, you pathetic bitch? Fine.’

He spits his words. Droplets of which spray across her backside. 

He guides his cock to her. 

Takes her right there on the ground, holding her still. 

Taking a sort of strange hunger, affection, pleasure, from the way her tits are pressed into the floor. From the sound of her nipple piercing carving a groove into the wood. 

Her body falls limp and the fight sizzles out of her like the drool that pools around her wet lips as her face comes crashing into the ground. 

Still, he’s inside her. Working her. His blood in his ears and his moans rising with….with…hers? 

Yes. 

She’s moaning. 

It comes out in guttural, animalistic bursts. Like a wounded fucking animal. 

Breath fogging along the floor.

Hair slicked back with sweat. 

Face melting into wood. 

A pool of her own making. 

It’s her defeated cunt clenching around his cock that pulls him over the edge. 

He soars. 

Goosebumps sizzling down his arms, blood rushing to his head. He takes flight to the ceiling. Can’t stop rising. 

He feels her body come alive against him, start to fight. Somewhere she is panting No No No again and again like some mantra to ward off evil. 

But he can feel it. 

His load. 

Pumping into her pretty little pussy. 

She tries to squirm away but he holds her there as he finishes and her body tenses. 

He pauses. 

Feels her own orgasm pulse through him and pulls back into him. 

That’s not right. 

SHE’S pulling him to her. Holding him in place. 

Trying to anyway. 

Her cunt with a firm grip on his cock. 

Time and space dilate.

He can’t tell if he’s still finishing dribbling in short spurts or he’s too sensitive. 

Either way, he’s bred her like the feral bitch she is. 

He pulls out and lets her body fall, with her ass up in the air like a submissive slave presenting. 

Her glistening pink slit is laced with his cum. It runs around the length of her cunt and pools down along her thighs to her ass. 

And is her pussy wincing? It certainly seems so. 

She doesn’t bother to turn around, just sits on all fours, body trembling, voice wavering.  Little moans dying down. 

And strangely he’s proud. 

Like a Dad. 

She’s taken his full load and here she is, tortured and bruised and still on all fours. ‘What a fighter.’ He finds himself saying. ‘What a warrior. I was right. You were deserving of my seed after all. You’ll make a gorgeous little mumma, won’t you?’

She seems to coo before him, like an appreciative pet. Responding to his affection. 

Smack. 

Something hits the floor. Rings out loud.

Smack. 

Smack.

A steady stream of urine comes loose from her cunt and rolls down her thighs, drumming into the wooden floor.  

Smacksmacksmacksmack.

Before him, trembling, she lets out a cry that feels orgasmic. Relief. 

It spurs something, rising up deep within him. Like it was waiting for the right time. 

His own stream splashes across her ass and gushes down around her knees. 

It’s 15 seconds of delicious bliss, watching her trembling ass and quivering cum soaked pussy as she takes his stream.

Until a few droplets remain. 

Beading on her thighs.

Pitter-Pattering from her cunt. 

‘Look at me.’ 

She remains on all fours. 

‘Look. At. Me.’

Where these words come from, he knows not. His gut pulls him along. 

Deep into the dark night. 

Slowly, as if a character in a dream, she swivels around to face him with those glazed, doe-like eyes. 

Her cheeks are flushed red and tear coated and her tits are painted with the beginnings of bruises. 

‘Clean the rest off my cock.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ She says, surprisingly firm.   

Has she been fucked into the mindset of a dumb little doll? Or has she surrendered.

She crawls into her own relief, her wet mouth lowering around his aching cock. 

And so she tends to his cock. 

Quietly. 

Obediently. 

Now an eager slave. 

 

The need.

The all-consuming, stomach clenching, need comes upon him.

He doesn’t always feel it, it doesn’t always come knocking, but with her he does.

Out in their forested space, amidst the tangles of vines and sun-kissed leaves, the urge to command her down to her knees is so sweet it’s already taking shape on his tongue as he thinks it.

With that curious glint in her eye, ever-shyness and submissive and eager and oh so fucking sweet, gods help him, she lowers herself down to her knees in movement that feels slow and dream-like.

He waits with a breath caught in his throat. He wants to bite that lovely, pulsing throat of hers as he guides himself to her bare cunt.

But that will come.

Relief hounds him. His senses are firing. All he can think of is this moment.

‘Yes, Sir?’

Her sweet voice fills the air. Begins to weave a spell upon his mind — but he wrestles free of her and her gaze. No.

He grips his cock — it’s so fucking achingly hard that he can’t help the moan that spills loose from his wet lips. The forked branches of the trees around them catch his sighs and throw it back at him. He feels the rumble in his chest. A growl.

And it comes.

The relief is orgasmic.

Incredible.

Feral.

Ecstasy.

His stream hits her so suddenly she flinches in surprise but the shock that skirts in her eyes transforms to delight, to a shy grin.

Through the daze he watches her scoop up her gorgeous tits — a ‘handful’ she calls them — with one arm as she rolls her tortured nipple between finger and thumb.

Her body writhes. Stomach lifts from where she’s rooted to the ground. Like a tree he’s relieving himself against, comes a thought.

Her thighs clench and her fingers pinch and pull and stretch her nipple and she lets out a coo so strangled it sounds animalistic.

His feral fucking animal.

This is their first time doing this. It was on the cards they have decided and the cards they have spoken.

‘You’re mine.’ He finds himself saying. Are the words his or is he possessed by the forest? By the relief tugging at this stomach as he urinates on his plaything.

Is it warm? Is it welcoming? Is it cleansing?

She lets her tits fall and he watches as her hands wander between her legs. He allows them passage. Watches as she spreads her lips and draws a finger along her clit. He hopes she aches for the relief as much as he did.

And then it dies and he is done and he drops to his knees to meet her lovely eyes in their shaded realm.

‘Did you like it?’

The laughter - joyous, orgasmic, light - comes bursting out of her. As if delayed from the moment she first felt him on her and her mind only now catches up.

‘Mmhmm.’

She’s still grinding into her hand. A needy kitten.

‘Get on all fours. Now, pet. I want to fuck you like the feral little fuck you are right now.’

‘Yes, Surrr.’ She giggles and slurs, ever the sassbrat. But she follows the command any way, tits soaked in him, beads of urine rolling past her navel.

His own feral fucking forest Princess.

It feels like it comes when I least expect it. Almost like…waves of the ocean. Hard. Soft. Ebbs and flows. 
I sit here, in the middle of my day, and Dommy feelings overwhelm me. Pull me into a dreamscape. 

All of a sudden I want to create a realm of  our own, a realm in which we can strip away societal conditioning and masks and false pretense and chase the feelings that swirl within us freely.

Somewhere in my twenties I looked back on my teen self and realised I was primal - drawn to being animalistic and naked and free. Now I look back on my twenties and realise just how captivated I am by pet play. Primal energies. Free spirits inhabiting an animal they are drawn to.

So now, nursing a coffee and a racing mind, the realm I illustrate with the colours at my disposal is this: We’re sitting on the couch watching a movie. I’m thinking Labyrinth or Hook or The Dark Crystal. Something fantastical and wonderful.

Maybe you (I say you not for any one soul but for the hypothetical submissive in this here dream realm ) are naked, collared and leashed. Maybe by my feet on your own little pillow. Maybe beside me, what are you drawn to?

Maybe you’re wearing cat ears or a tail or something else that scrubs away at shame and expectation and lets you simply exist and feel in the moment. 

I write all this and I feel an overwhelming pull to reach down to your head and give you head scritches. Feel your soft strands of hair slip through my fingertips. Hear you coo happily or nuzzle my knee or shoulder or wherever you want to be. Whatever pulls you forward. 

Maybe that night will end in jizz-soaked, sweat drenched bliss - where cum and drool and biting all create ecstasy together — but right now, for the next length of the film, this right here is the moment that comes to my heart and mind first. Two animal beings that found each other, happy and finally at peace.

 
 

Just A Quick Note: Hey-Ho. The following contains the theme of degradation and humiliation and the thrills we get with probing at our boundaries together. I know it’s not everyone’s cuppa so I thought I’d preface it as such.

I wrote this free-form. No looking back, no edits. Naked adventures with words to tap into that primal part of my brain.

The result is just one long piece like we, the reader, are eavesdropping on one side of a telephone call to a lover. I found it sexy. I hope you do too.

 

 

——

 

Hey you.

I’ve missed you all day.

You’re knocking off early?

Have you left the car park yet?

Do me a favour? Take off those work pants of yours.

Yes.

Yes, you’re driving home in those lilac lacy panties that you know make me fucking, achingly hard.

They’re what?

Violet? Don’t you be a fucking sassbrat — take off your pants. I’ll wait.

Are they off?

Good.

Because I said so.

Because I like it when you squirm — and you like it too, so stop giving me cheek and run that hand along your adorable fucking slit.

There’s a good pet.

Oh goodness. Someone sounds a little soaked and turned on. Is it the rain outside? Does pup want to get naked and dance out under it?

I tell you what. You can when you come home.

Now, you’re going to pull that delicious fabric up between your slit. Good pup.

I’m going to be vulgar because that’s the word that comes mind — coat hanger that gorgeous cunt of yours on those panties.

I can’t keep my hands off my cock.

Thinking of how I want to suck on those smooth lips of yours.

God. Do I want to devour you.

Oh please. Feel free to moan.

And get driving. Traffic might be crazy.

I’ll be here in this realm of ours, I’m not going anywhere.

Oh my hand is on my cock, don’t you worry.

I think I’ll edge till you come home and—-

—- People might be looking?

How exciting. Let’s hope there’s no big fuck off cars then hey? Keep posting for me, pet slave.

Let me tell you how it’s going to.

You’re going to glide those lovely fingers of yours under your panties and along your slit.

You’re going to play — best you can, I know safety is paramount – until you pull on our drive way.

No, they’re not home.

It’s a quiet street.

When you get home, you may put your pants on but when you get to that front door, where that pillar hides us away, you’re going to undress and walk on through.

Then and only then will you be able to come for me.

After I come over your tits myself.

Oh please. Keep whining like a needy, greedy cumslut. It only makes me want to tease you for longer.

Pout all you like, sassbrat. But tell me this?

Who owns you?

Louder.

LOUDER. Who. Owns. You?

There’s a good pup.

 

———

 

Tell me. Did you like plugging your mind into mine? 

 
 

 

I know. The title sounds like the name of a track lifted from a prog metal record. But it’s a title that came to me and I thought: You know what, I don’t mind that.

This might be a bit of a ramble post so if you’ve opened this and you’ve just got in the car after work or you’re out in the midst of life, wait till you’re home – in bed, in the bath, on the couch — whatever your comfy realm is.

So a lot of my upbringing – the parenting style of my parents, how they raised me Catholic – would go on to play its role in my sexuality. Or coming to terms with said sexuality. I talked a bit about this surely: How my upbringing may have informed my dominant style.

One thing it did influence was how I approach nudity. Nudity felt sexual, taboo. Dangerous. I wasn’t naked for myself until I was 13. I didn’t start sleeping naked until, I wanna say, my early twenties. I’ll get back to sleeping naked in a bit. But BEING naked, just in a regular, mundane setting was unheard of. Until I got the urge out of nowhere to strip and go running through my parent’s acres of land.

Out amongst the trees, with the wind whipping my legs and a breeze teasing my cock, I felt wild. Untamed. And probably more important, not belonging to religion or strict parenting. I was so giddy I felt kinda queasy. Like I was a newborn animal drinking greedily from a spring.

In my twenties I’d find out I was primal. Which is to say, for those unfamiliar and those passing by the blog, belonging to a state of mind where I think less and feel more. I act animalistic. I let all the thoughts in the moment – love, lust, goofiness – come to me and I give it a big ol’ bear hug. I love storms and I love being out in the rain and now I’m naked a fair lot in my day.

I HAD TO REWIRE MY MIND. Because being naked felt taboo it made it feel wild. Because it felt wild it made it slightly sexy. Because it felt slightly sexy I grew to discover I enjoyed exhibitionism sometimes. The IDEA of getting caught. And because I enjoyed exhibitionism, I felt shame. Which stopped me from exploring being naked.

In my twenties I began to sleep naked. I loved it. It was peaceful, relaxing. It made me realise just how much I hated the feeling of clothes choking on me and not letting my skin breathe. It was no longer a thrill thing, it was a thing of comfort. An act to decompress after a stressful day by eschewing clothes and my societal mask to be ME.

I realised that nakedness was something that relaxed me.

So I took it outside of the bedroom.

I did mundane things around the house. I did the washing. I did my writing. I did various household things while naked. And piece by piece, it chipped away at – not only this feeling of shame residing in me, like I was a pervert – but my insecurity. I’m my own worst enemy. The way my ass looks, the shape of me. I was lanky and gross and looking like…well, bad mouthing me doesn’t serve anyone.

I still have those moments where I feel insecure. I don’t think those go away. Not always. I think you just become more of a warrior in managing them.

Being naked more has also just made more aware of my mind as well. Aware of all these little pieces that make me primal or dominant. I feel at home being naked. I feel relaxed and calm. It makes me realise just how much I grumble when I have to get dressed and play the part of me to society and friends. When, really, I’m at home best curled up somewhere naked and reading.

I have so many thoughts and can talk / write about this till the cows come home.

If you’re of a similar background to me and thinking you’d like to be naked more – try it slowly. See how you feel. At a pace that makes you comfortable. More than this, be kind to yourself. Love yourself. Let that inner nudist or primal be free in their own space. You might be like me, you might never go back to sleeping in pjs or something.

 
 

 

Clawing.

Clawing.

Clawing.

His fingertips scrap along her ass.

Underneath.

Needles of pain.

He’s lifting her up.

Feasting upon her.

Damn it all, she’s doing her best.

Meeting His eager mouth eagerly.

Fucking His mouth.

No.

Offering her cunt.

Folding underneath His probing tongue.

That makes her whole.

And marks her slit.

Assaults her clit.

Assaults her sense of self.

Thoughts come, feral and filthy and frantic.

The light in her was but a candle flickering in the wind. By the jagged, scattered edges of its light lay her sense of self.

Her work clothes.

Her dresses.

Her bra and panties.

Her work-phone voice.

Her society smile.

Somewhere on her naked flesh was a loose thread.

He pulled it and she unravelled.

Spilling her secrets.

Her guts.

All that she is.

On display for Him.

He snuffed out the candlelight.

Tugged her by the hair into the dark.

She is but a toy.

An offering.

A gift for His feast.

For that’s what you do, right? You offer a gift upon entering someone’s home.

Somewhere there is music.

Moody.

Warped.

Like a revelation revealing itself in a nightmare.

Scattered demon eyes in the dark.

His moan between her thighs is a buzz that tickles her lips.

Is she pleasing Him? Is she a worthy gift?

Something nips at her nipples.

Ever so gently.

Butterflies tickling, prickling her bare breasts.

No. That’s her hand.

Pinching.

Pulling.

Pinching.

Pulling.

Stretching.

Brutalising.

The breeze comes snaking down her torso, coiling in what feels like spirals. Marking her flesh, claiming her for the dark.

One time she was home for Christmas and was put up in her old childhood bedroom and during the night listening to the whispering trees she pulled aside her summer-sweat-soaked shorties and furiously rubbed her clit.

Not just that. She rolled over to the dressing table, grabbed her hair pins and placed them on both nipples and continued.

She came hard on her tum, grinding, gushing onto her fingers.

Try as she might - did she really, did she really try? - she let out a single startled cry as she came. A cry that would keep her furiously blushing at the thought of being heard for the remainder of her stay.

Pull, she seethes.

At her seams.

Until she unravels in the dark.

A useless, needy bitch.

She doesn’t want to think.

She doesn’t care for the light.

She wants to chase feeling right through the forest.

Resistance comes in goosebumps sizzling down her body - past her shoulders and along her stomach to the tips of her toes.

Her mouth opens, words forming on her eager mouth — I don’t want to be a good girl, I want to be a bad thing.

I want to be a bad thing.

It’s her orgasm that lifts her hips higher, cuts the words in half in her throat.

He doesn’t stop.

God fucking dammit, He doesn’t stop His assault.

And she doesn’t recognise her whimpers.

Her stomach flips.

Her bedroom roof becomes the night sky.

Humming.

A nude woman lays before her on her tum, grinding into the piles of leaves around her.

Somehow in the frenzy of her multiple orgasms, her own eyes travel over the curves of the woman’s pale ass, lit by the glow of moonlight.

Golden hair partially obscures her eyes — but not her luscious lips that lower themselves to her left breast.

But her mouth, it hovers agonizingly close to her desperate nipple.

We know what she wants. We know what she craves..

The words attempt to come.

‘P-please…’

Something searing hot and wet smacks against her cheek.

Spit.

She will not speak unless allowed.

She can barely nod because she’s desperate for the spit to roll down her cheek and hit her tortured nipples.

He accepts her offering of flesh, of sweets, of want and of need.

The golden woman lowered her mouth to her tortured nipple and sucked greedily, moaning around it.

You are His…you are ours. Body and soul. Flesh and nectar. 

‘Body a-a-nd soul.’

The golden woman giggled. Welcome sister.

Her ass clenched.

Her back seized upward.

She screamed out a guttural, unraveling wail that shot through the trees as she squirted into His mouth.

Her dumb, overstimulated self.

His.