Spellbound [erotic fiction]

I watch the others watching you. You capture their attention, your voice rises and falls, binding them, holding them still for you to play with. Your hands dance the same spell in the air. You have the most beautiful hands - they are not overly large, meaty, over-sized, like those of some men I've known. Neither are they manicured, perfect, delicate, smooth. They are like you - capable, hinting at a strength and roughness inside, the hands of an engineer, or a paramedic, perhaps. Someone you could turn to in an emergency, for help - practical, or a matter of the heart.

I am suddenly seized with a fierce longing for your cock inside me. I'm flushed, the gin has gone to my head, perhaps. I tense the muscles in my thighs, try to relax them, feeling a longing, a yearning for you. I imagine you turning, halfway through a sentence maybe, and just reaching out for me, climbing across the laps of your adoring audience to get to me, then taking me by the throat and...I cut my imagination off with a sharp shake of my head. I stand and go outside, to join the others who are smoking. I don't smoke, but I need the break from your presence. Just being near to you makes me wet. The cold cuts into my throat, I breathe in deeply, savouring the air free of your scent.

I walk back inside the pub, and stop for a moment, waiting. I don't want to interrupt you now, much as I want you. I wait. I watch the patterns you make, the story you are telling and your voice weaving back and forth, hypnotic. Your fist slams into the red leather of the sofa as you make a point, and there is an audible intake of breath from my female friends. I smile to myself, knowing the effect you are having on them. I feel the pulse between my legs jump, syncopated to your voice. Your energy fills the whole room, so intensely fascinating, so electric I can see the light in you drawing people closer. I take a step forward, compelled, despite myself, despite knowing better. I wonder if all the people who surround you, listening with their faces turned upwards to your shine, can also see the darkness in you that I know is there.

I should go now, while I can. I know you want to hurt me. I know I can't let you. We both know it would end badly.

I decide not to say goodbye, so I leave you, stepping quietly out of the back door, leaving you shiny and illuminated. I bring out the darkness in you. I'm not good for you, and you would drown in me. The air is so icy my breathing makes shapes in it, and like making images from the clouds on a summer's day, I amuse myself by watching my own body's warmth become cold and fall to pieces in the dark. I walk to the train station - my house is only five minutes through the woods at the other end, not far, and I know the path so well even the foxes don't run from me anymore when they hear me coming. I'm climbing the stairs to the station when I see your car pulling up beside me. You roll the window down. "Get in".

"No, you know I won't. Go away".

"Come on, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to fucking RAPE you, you know. Just let me give you a lift. You can't walk home on your own, it's not safe, I won't let you. Don't be such a stubborn twat".

"Just fuck off, I'm not going to get in your car, just go".

We have this exchange every time. I don't know why you keep bothering with me. You know I'm not going to give in, give up, to you.

I hear your frustrated grunt, and your car pulls away with a great deal of noise and roaring. I smile and shake my head. You idiot. I dash up the stairs as my train gets in - you nearly made me miss it, arsehole.

I get a text while I'm on the train. 'One day I am going to drag you into my fucking car, beat the fucking shit out of you and just stick my fucking cock in your pretty mouth to get you to shut the fuck up. I may well destroy you, you cockteasing little whore'. Despite myself I'm wet again, reading it. God, I hate you. I text you back. One line - 'uhuh *rolls eyes*'.

I hop out at the next station and saunter through the woods. I feel safe here. This is MY place, my territory. I've walked these woods so often, in daylight and after dark, I know the path under my feet without needing to look. Every branch, every bump underfoot, every turning, every sound, is familiar to me and loved. I've lived near here all my life and nothing will stop me walking home the way I want to, when I want to. Not you, not ever.

I'm halfway along the path when something isn't right. Some sound...or absence of sound...feels wrong. I pause, looking around, listening. I step forward again, reach down and pick up a branch. I smell the moss which is crushed under my hand as I grasp the wood. The path divides in front of me, an old pine marks the centrepoint of the Y shape. Some shadowed shape unfolds in front of it, rises up, I hear the sound again, a rumbling, growling wordless noise, the hairs on my body rise, adrenaline floods through me, my breathing changes - then the shape moves, and I see who it is.

"You absolute fucking CUNT. You scared the SHIT out of me. What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You ARSEHOLE!" I scream at you, starting to move forward ready to slap you a good one. Then I see your eyes clearly for the first time. You are...not yourself. I've only ever seen you like this once before, the time you hurt me so badly I walked away from you. The fact that I wanted you to, ASKED you to, frightened me more than what you did to me. I opened the door to something inside you - something predatory and barely even human. I thought that door had shut again until...this. Your pupils are dilated, it's not just the darkness, it's the lack of light in you. You've changed into someone or something that frightens me. And I hate it. I hate you like this. My whole body shudders and my knickers are wet through. I hate you for this.

Even your walk has changed. It's fluid, graceful, as if the dancer in your voice is in control of your whole body now. You come towards me and your hand is on my throat, choking me. I struggle to breathe. You've turned me and walked me backwards, so that I'm pushed up against the pine tree. I smell the needles, and the rainfall from last night. My legs angle forwards, you come so close to me you're almost straddling me. I feel how hard you are for me, and you shove your groin into my flesh, emphasising each word with a thrust. "I. Want to be. Inside. You". You use your other hand to pull my head back, yanking my hair so hard I think you'll pull it out by the roots. "You're such a hot little bitch. I'm going to smash you into fucking pieces and use you like the whore you are. I'm going to just stick my fucking dick in you, and use your soaking wet cunt until your tears make me cum in you".

I start to struggle, gasping for breath. You put your thumb to my windpipe, and push. I start to panic, and fight even more, choking, trying to cough, struggling against you, against myself. You step back suddenly and I fall to the ground. My hands dig into the muddy roots of the tree, searching for something to hold on to. My skirt is dirty, smeared with earth. I put my hands to my throat, soothing the skin, touch my face. You pull me sharply up by the wrist, and I stagger, landing on my knees. You're pulling at my skirt, tearing, and I'm fighting you, but I can feel tears are close now. You're so angry, I don't think I've ever seen you this angry. I slap at your hands, and you belt me, hard, across the face. I fall against the tree and hit my head. My skin breaks, and I feel something trickle down over my eyes. I'm crying now, I can't pretend I'm not scared anymore, the fear is too much for me to be angry at you, I just want you to stop hurting me. My face is covered with dirt, smeared make-up, tears and blood from the lasceration on my scalp.

You pull the shirt off from over your head, and despite myself, I'm struck by the beauty of your skin, so white and perfect in the halflight. I could run now, but I'm just lying there, sprawled and frozen, clothes half torn and sobbing, waiting for you to come for me. You rip the remains of my skirt from me, and take my top in both hands, pulling it into pieces. You reach round then, and gently unhook my bra. You throw me against the ground like a rag doll, and you dig your fingernails into me, ruining my pale flesh, marking me as yours, scratching, tearing, biting. You use your mouth on me, you bite into me so hard I think I'll faint from the pain, your hands are all over me, stroking me, then disfiguring me. You rip my panties off and stuff them in my mouth, and I don't fight you, I'm too afraid. I just look at you with tears pouring down my face, and only whimper and struggle a little, pointlessly, as you take off your belt and use it to tie my hands behind my back. You straddle my legs and open your flies, pulling your cock out, then slapping me across the face with it. You use my hair to smash my face into your dick, as you grind yourself against my gagged mouth.

"I'm going to spread your tears all over your face with my cock, you little fucktoy. I am going to fucking RUIN you, you little cunt, you are MINE". Your voice makes me cry harder, makes me want you even more, and hate you even more. You push me towards the earth, shove my face into the ground, and hold me down. You start to hit me, first with your hand, and then with the riding crop that I recognise the feel of so well, even though it's been so long since I've felt it. I spit out the panties from my mouth and start to scream, shouting and frantically struggling, some of my rage returning. "Don't you fucking dare fight back, don't you dare, you bitch". You yank my head back by the hair and then smash my face into the ground, and spit into my mouth. My lip has split open from the impact and I taste more blood still, as well as your saliva. You hit me over and over again with an anger and intensity I've never imagined, even with all the rage you hide so well. By the wrists and hair once more again you throw me, and the weals on my back and thighs scratch and press against the wood on the ground.

"Spread your fucking legs, you little cunt whore. Open your legs, NOW". I gaze at you, broken and wordless and so, so afraid again. I can't move, so you hit me in the face and dig your fingers into my thighs as you shove them apart. You stick your fingers inside me, I'm shamefully, humiliatingly wet, but it hurts still, you're so very rough, and I'm scared of what you're going to do to me. You ram your whole fist inside me and I cry out, sobbing. You stop my sobs with your cock as you push yourself inside my lips, and start to fuck my mouth. You hold me so close to your body that I gag, my eyes stream even more, and my body flops, out of my control as you use my mouth and throat to fuck your cock. You pull out, and start slapping my pussy with your crop. I moan, and cry out. I'm so close to coming, that when you push yourself inside me, I sob with need instead of fear or pain.

"Oh god, please", I whimper, "please, please, let me cum, I need to cum".

"Not yet, whore", you whisper in my ear as you take me. "This is for me, not for you. But you look so pretty with Daddy's cock in your pussy".

Your thrusts become more and more frantic, and I can't hold on much longer. You take your cock out of my cunt and fuck my arse instead, so hard and deep I start to cry from pain again. Just as I think I'm going to black out, you cry out, fuck me with two more hard thrusts, and then pull out and spray your cum all over my face, droplets landing in my hair, running down my throat, hot and liquid. You rub them into my breasts, then run your hands over my face, collecting more, and push your soaked fingers into my mouth. "Lick it all up, little whore. Drink it all down, take it, bitch". I suck on your fingers, desperate now, needing my own release so much I almost cum just imagining your fingers to be your cock inside my mouth again. My hands are still tied behind my back, my legs spread, pussy soaked and wet and sore, my hair dishevelled, covered in blood, sweat, mud, leaves and your cum, looking like the slut I am - your slut that I am.

You hold me down with one hand as you use the other hand on me, and I moan and writhe for you, mewling pitifully as I try and push myself against you more, which only makes you hold me down all the harder. I feel the pain from the scratches, weals and tears in my skin, as I thrash, struggle and twist around, to get closer to you. "Please please please, let me cum, I need to cum now, I'm begging you", and all the time you shake your head, smiling, as you shove your fingers inside my hot little pussy and I moan for you, soaking your hand. You finger fuck me and rub my clit with your thumb, you push more fingers inside my ass and I cry out, looking at you pleadingly, begging you with my eyes. You lean down and just as you shove your fist inside me, you growl next to my ear, and I cum for you, screaming, arching my back until I'm barely touching the ground, sobbing and crying and moaning your name, over and over and over again, as the waves rush through me, shattering me, breaking me so thoroughly and completely, making me utterly yours.

Afterwards, I look at you and just eat you up with my eyes, I can't STOP looking at you, as you rock me and stroke my hair, and whisper little things to me, telling me I'm good, I did well, I'm yours, that you'll look after me. You have made me who I want to be. You have made me myself again.

On the outside, looking in...

Quite a few friends seem to be thoroughly depressed and miserable at the moment, struggling to reconcile their 'real' selves with the self that will be welcomed and included in the end of year family/ friend/ work festivities.

The ordeal of christmas with family, or christmas meals at work, social occasions where there is an enforced sense of jollity, and limits put on when/where/how you interact with people...so many of us find this horribly trying.

Picture the scene. You're arriving at the Parents, presents in hand (that you didn't want to buy), children running amock at your heels (that you can't stand), a grin plastered to your face (or is a rictus of rage...?)

You sit down to a badly cooked meal, shoulder to shoulder with relatives you only see once a year, have absolutely nothing in common with except for shared genetics (a miniscule fraction in addition to what you share with every other human on the planet), and you know, you just *know*, that if these people knew the 'real you', you would be confronted with expressions of horror, distaste, incomprehension, disgust, fear...

If you have a partner who knows, loves and shares that inner side of you, then at least you can share amusement, 'in-jokes', and sly glances that hint at 'if only they knew...'

But when you have to face these things alone, it's even harder. Put in this situation, I can guarantee that within half an hour and one glass of gin, I'll be talking about clit piercings and anal sex, and getting my knockers out in order to demonstate lapdancing on some random uncle.

Which is why I don't do it. Fortunately, I'm in the position of being able to take or leave family and work christmas stuff. Parents and colleagues have long since given up trying to force me to do anything I don't want to do. And even if I'm made to, I can take my lovely husband with me, so I've got some moral support. Even if discussion of anything to do with sex or pervery totally squicks him, I'm still very lucky.

But even so, I myself am struggling with a little bit of the 'kinky single at christmas' syndrome. I know I won't be getting any text messages telling me to sneak off to the toilet, take my knickers off, and taste my own cum, halfway through christmas dinner. There will be no bruises between my legs to savour, as I cook breakfast on christmas morning for my husband.

But kinky or otherwise, we *all* feel like this sometimes. Some more than others. I remember sitting through some wanky training course at work on 'bullying in the workplace', where they asked us to think of and discuss, an example where we once felt excluded from the group. It made me smile...I've *always* felt like this. As a bookish, bespectacled, highly 'academic' child...then later, as a dirty goffick, then as an alternative person who rejected the alternative social life for homely pursuits like knitting, baking and snuggling up on the sofa with a book and the cats...and now, most recently, as a kinkster. It's very rare for me to feel *included*. I am, always and forever, on the outside looking in.

But what I've realised is, that to a greater or lesser degree, we *all* are. We're born alone, and go into death alone. Times like christmas are socially acceptable ways of easing a little of that loneliness, or giving us the illusion of easing it. So maybe the trick is to enjoy it, throw yourself into the family festivities with a glad heart, knowing that your kinky friends, goth mates, knitting club...whatever...they'll still be there waiting for you, when you come home. And maybe, just maybe, someone will send you a text anyway, even if they aren't your lover, your play partner, your dom or your sub. Maybe it will even be me.

We all hide from the emotion of loneliness, we use different ways to ease that pain. The most obvious one is sex, which is perhaps why being single at christmas cuts deep to the heart for some. Sex is a route to the all-too fragile and transient moment where the isolation within all of us is dispelled.

But maybe if you can't have sex, you can still challenge that isolation, be it with a touch, a cuddle, a text message, or even the shared understanding implicit within a look.

I must be feeling a little soppy today. My cat left big muddy paw prints all over the bed linen this morning and I didn't even spank his paws.

Fuck me hard, fuck me up, but don't fuck me over..

ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

I am SO fucking frustrated at the moment. It's been a good couple of months since I had a decent play, PLUS about the same amount of time since I had a decent shag, and I swear to god I'm going to Actually Do Someone an Injury if someone doesn't relieve my frustrations soon.

When I get like this, I become....quite 'aggressive'. I just want to grab some gorgeous bit of totty, throw them down on the bed, rip their clothes off and ....then probably be sadly disappointed because they will fail to overpower me and I'll end up doing 'hmph' and pouting.

My libido has gone into uber max overdrive now, partially because I had a sizzling affair de la memo via IC over the last week, which unfortunately didn't work out in real life. At least I'm no longer second-guessing my instincts. I should have gone with my initial 'no, this isn't going to work' response, rather than doubting myself.

Also, I did something really fucking stupid the other day. I drank about six pints and asked someone I barely knew to take me home and hurt me. We got back to his house whereupon he dragged me up the stairs by my hair, slapped me in the face (to be fair, I slapped him first), and threw me in the bedroom. Whereupon I burst into tears. Congratulations me, for being a total and utter twat. On the other hand, my judgement that he was trustworthy turned out to be completely sound, as he just cuddled me better, fussed over me, and sent me safely home untouched. Not that I'll be taking that risk again, of course, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. But on the other hand - go me, with the intuition!

What I really need is someone who can terrify the shit out of me, frighten, beat and fuck the aggression out of me, and then cuddle me into some state of relaxation afterwards. But given I don't have any current play partners, casual or otherwise, and I don't do casual sex with men ANYWAY..the getting fucked hard bit is going to have to wait a while. Let's not hope it's too long or my tetchiness is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

So it looks like I'll have to search for release in the form of someone who can fuck me up a bit, leave me with some lovely cane stripes, bite marks, take me to that endorphined up, adoring heaven where I really need to go, give me a part of what I'm craving, so I can at least let some of my control drop for a little bit. Because my infamous self-control is being severely tested at the moment.

Of course I shall have to employ my gut instinct in seeking someone who can do this for me without fucking me over. In the meantime, I'll just grit my teeth and growl at anyone who looks at me funny today.

ETA: Ooh, I tell a lie. BD 'did' me a few weeks ago, but that was topping not domming and so, wonderful as it was, only released the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

I would normally exorcise this frustration through vigorous physical exercise, such as my thrice weekly stompathon constitutional down the seafront. However, we are currently in the grip of, to quote our taxi driver last night, 'the worst case of iced up roads and pavements I've seen in 42 years of living here'. There are tree'd, lampost'd, and abandoned cars spread throughout the town. It could be worse though...on my bus trip to work I saw a blind man making his way along the ice, and then a few minutes later, a homeless man clutching his can of special brew. Grim - made me a bit ashamed of the rant I was composing in my head, at the time.

Addendum

And another thing...

My bloody mother on the phone yesterday. Jesus, that woman. She suggested that I shouldn't get emotionally attached to anyone again, I should just fuck 'em, basically. Because 'you know what happened last time...you can't go through that again and you don't want R (husband) to be ill again, do you?'

'What's me falling in love got to do with R being ill?' I asked, not unreasonably. (Back story - R was in hospital a couple of times recently with seizures. Long story short, diabetic hypos resulting in fits, used to have them regularly years ago, 5 year gap, has just had two again. We're a bit gutted)

'Well, all that suppressed emotion can't have been good for him. After all, knowing you're in love with another man, even though he says he's fine with it...that might well have caused the seizures'.

Thanks mum. Gotta love family. Or murder them and bury them under the patio. One of the two.

Lifelong Learning

Hurrumph.

A year ago I would have said I knew myself, and my needs, pretty damn well. It's winter now, which is *thinky* time, not *doey* time; I'd say now that I have learned more about myself in the last year, than in the entire lifetime prior to that. However, it's made me even more aware of how much more I need to learn about my needs, my desires, and why I do things the way I do.

If anyone say anything about the wisdom of knowing that you know nothing, I *will* hit them.

I've got PMT, I'm sexually frustrated, pain frustrated, and no appealing play partners available to hand. Grr. Also, husband (R) is getting the full force of my techniness today, the poor boy. In the last two days, he has:

1) Wound me up by making my tea the wrong way. This is not just a failure to use the right cups (One tall, white, with picture of Tatty Teddy eating biscuits on it, one short, wide, with 'Good Girl Gone Bad' written on it), or to make it how I like it (2 sweeteners, strong, not too much milk...and two cups at the same time, one with a inch of cold water in, so that I can drink it straight away and not wait, and the second as a chaser). Worse that that - he came in the room carrying the porridge, and mumbled at me..I asked him to repeat himself, and he....SPAT MY COLD WATER FROM HIS MOUTH, INTO MY CUP! And then asked me why I was looking horrified. Okay, using his mouth as a handy carrying receptacle, is at least...inventive...but...!

2) So we're in Maplins, and I'm looking for new headphones, batteries, and a replacement mouse. I go looking for the mouse, and he's getting underfoot. So I say - can you find where the headphones are? He wanders off....five minutes later I've selected my mouse, and I find him staring aimlessly out the window. 'Did you find the headphones section?', I ask him. 'Oh, was I supposed to? I didn't know...I was just concentrating on doing my boot laces up'. ARGH!

3) I remind him to log in to Sainsburys and add any shopping that he wants for christmas. I've already set up the order and had the 'like gold-dust' delivery slot booked for weeks. He finishes off, and a couple of hours later I check my emails...which include one from sainsburys saying 'you have cancelled your order'. 'Did you check out properly?' I ask him. 'Well I thought I did', he replies. 'Did you actually click on the checkout button and get confirmation?' I ask. 'Err....what checkout button?'

Head. Desk.

Poly Man in Buried Under the Patio Shocker. News at 11.

Diversity and The Space Between

A few thoughts on similarity, difference, and the space in between...

So, I'm over at a friend's house last night, and he hands me this passage out of Foucault, and pretty much goes 'what d'ya make of them onions, then?' Now, my poor befuddled brain sort of went 'splat' and fell over at this point, but it seemed to me to be something about the arbitrariness of groupings and categories, the way we envisage similarities between things, and also, the space in which something is *not*, the absence of something, and the invisible.

It put me in mind of my old record label boss, who used to say, sometimes it's not the main melody that makes the song special, but what happens around it. Sometimes removing your favourite riff from the song can actually make it *better*. At the time I thought 'that sounds like bollocks to me', but maybe there's something to it. The Velazquez painting that Foucault refers to is remarkable, not for what it shows, but what it does *not* show. The dance is beautiful, not because of where the dancers touch, but where they do not...the space between the dancers. It is not what is spoken but what is *not* said, that gives you the key to unlocking the puzzle.

To visit my friend, I had to take the same journey on the train that I only ever took to visit my ex. Walking out of the station - the empty space where he was not there to meet me...that was the bit that hurt. It was not what he did while we were together, but what he did *not* do, that broke my heart.

My friend suggested that, because I'm married, the majority of people will struggle to love me the way I love them. Because people who want a long term relationship will feel I can never belong to them, so they will hold back. It's what they perceive as what I can *not* give them, that means they'll never return my feelings fully. This saddens me. My love for my husband is completely separate from my love for anyone else. I don't love other people *less*, because I'm married to him, because I love him. When I fall in love with other people, which I've done twice this year, they get everything that they would have got anyway, if R didn't exist, in terms of my heart. I might have to share time and practicalities get in the way, but when I love someone, I love so completely, so openly, that there is almost nothing they can do to make me not adore them. It's almost, but not quite, a kind of unconditional love.

My family and friends solution to this is - don't get emotional. Don't fall in love again. Don't get emotionally attached, just get beaten and shagged. Sounds great in theory, but I can't do that, I'm not that sort of person and never will be, I don't think.

So. Last night, my friend and I were also talking about different approaches to BDSM. For example, we both like spanking. Like...a LOT. For him, with his collection of household objects he likes to be hit with, his perfect scenario is caring, loving, discipline and humour, warmth and spanking in the middle of making dinner. The strict but loving domme.

Technically, we can both be grouped together as perverts and spanking sluts. But our approach is so, so different. For me, if someone laughed during a scene or hit me with a household object, I would get really upset. When I submit, the layers of protective personality that I use to defend myself - the stroppiness, the laughter, the confidence - all these are stripped away. If someone laughed or did anything that wasn't completely serious; it would be like laughing at someone when they've just shared an incredibly personal or private intimacy about themselves with you.

For me, BDSM is very, deeply sexual, and what turns me on is the sense of suppressed anger, violence, darkness. Yes, I want the person to care for me and cuddle me afterwards. But I want to feel empowered by the sense that I've caused such passion in someone else. This is what is missing in my life. This is what is *not*.

In other news, I have already fallen over on the ice today. I sometimes think I am officially the Clumsiest Person in the World, Ever. And then once I've fallen over, I carry on walking but become entirely rigid with terror. It's not so much Bambi on ice as someone pushing a stuffed moocow onto a skating rink with a broom.

In other, other news, listening to Breed 77's 'La Ultima Hora' obsessively is not helping to calm my libido down. There's something incredibly erotic about the rhythmic rise and fall of the vocals, the swelling, cresting fusion of latin, middle-eastern, metal and goth, the passion and the drama. It makes me want to dance, and it also makes me do my 'anguished ecstasy' face, which is probably not sensible when listening to it whilst walking down the road. Passers by probably think I'm having a stroke. I'm just waiting for someone to stop me and ask kindly, 'Is there anyone with you looking after you, dear?'

Instinct and Experience

Some thoughts on the usefulness of gut instinct, and experience...

I have extremely limited experience sexually, and with BDSM, with means I need to rely heavily on my gut instinct to guide me, plus common sense. It's the sort of arena you can get in quite a tizzy with, if you're not careful. And recently, I haven't been careful. Or perhaps I've been too careful?

And there's the rub.

I'm such a dominant persona in my everyday life. I am used to sorting things out, taking charge, fixing things, being in control and up front. I present myself as very self-possessed and will voice my opinions confidently. This can give people the impression that I actually know what the fuck I'm doing, which quite frankly, is bollocks. I'd emerge from an airlock covered in cat hair and biscuit crumbs, I'm so clumsy I'm always covered in bruises which I've given myself by blundering into things, and I flounder from one cock-up to another. I just hide it well.

Okay, so a bit of background first. This is all a bit TMI, but frankly, that's just a character trait in Impworld. Apparently there's this thing called 'private' but I've never had much use for it it...

I met my husband when I was 19. Before that, I'd had 3 male lovers, all in relationships, but it was pretty much fumbling around in a teenage fashion. My first chap - he should have known what he was doing, as he was a lot older; but he really didn't. My second - he was a virgin. My third - he'd had a shag once before but apart from that was all virginy too.

So then we have 14 years of vanilla sex in my marriage, with my darling and beloved husband who has an incompatibility with me in the area of libido. I've probably had under a dozen shags in the last decade, with him. I've given a hell of a lot of blow-jobs though!

Oh - plus a bit of drunken lezzing up with mates in the meantime.

Then - BDSM and BLIMEY, explosion time. So since february I've had a bit more drunken lezzing up, two experiences of longer-term interaction with women, including lots of new sexual experiences, and regular casual play with a man which developed into a far deeper relationship than I originally intended, and became very sexual, with my hard limits changing week by week, and some very rude and saucy stuff indeed happening. But no actual fucking as such, with him.

But that's the lot. I'm also, more importantly, EMOTIONALLY inexperienced, particularly with men, when it comes to non-platonic interaction. I've had a wonderful, comfortable, easy, patient partner for 14 years, and I haven't got a fucking clue how to deal with people who aren't like him.

So - minimal experience, so I'll go on my gut instinct and common sense which combine together to make judgement. But where does good instinct depart from other emotions which can be mistaken for a gut reaction? Fear, anxiety and so on - these can also be triggered by a word, sound, sight of something, perhaps it reminds me of an ex, or maybe I'm reading more into a sentence than really exists.

I am attracted sexually to people who make me uncomfortable, uncertain, afraid. I adore being abused, consensually. How do I make good judgements about who is a wanker and will fuck me up, and triggers my gut instincts, and people who are genuinely good, kind, are compatible with me sexually (i.e. want to do the nasty things to me that I want them to do), but trigger my uncertain, fear-based reactions?

I think my instinct is normally pretty good - but how to be sure I'm listening to my instinct, and not my fear? When I first met R, all those years ago, he was the WORST kisser I'd ever known. I decided not to follow it up because of that. But then we got to know each other as friends and I fell for him, and it didn't matter that he was crap. But my instinct in some ways was right - we were and are sexually incompatible. On the other hand, having him in my life is incredible, wonderful, and I wouldn't change a thing.

The three people I've had relationships with over the last year, since discovering BDSM; 2 triggered 'this not good' instincts which I ignored. But the other one didn't. And they all ended horribly and I ended up disastrously hurt, as did the other participants, to a greater or lesser extent.

I'm in the market for someone(s) new in my life at the moment. Something preferably not a one-off, although that too will be considered under the right circumstances. Regular, but relatively casual, where we both say outright what we want, and get it - that will keep me ticking over in the meantime. But ultimately I want someone(s) exceptional, someone who understands my needs and theirs, who can make me want to give up, give in, to them. A dom, for want of a better word, that I can submit to, in a loving relationship, who will beat the shit out of me and fuck me senseless. Someone who passionately desires to hurt me and fuck me and isn't afraid to take what he wants, when he wants.

But avoiding another relationship disaster is paramount, right now. And avoiding putting myself in danger, that too would be kinda handy.

Conclusion - fucked if I know. Answers on a post-card please?

In other news, R is going out on sunday to meet a lady he met at the poly meet-up the other day. I really liked her, so fingers crossed!

In other, other news, my cat has chewed through my phone charger and completely fucked it up, just on a day when I really need my phone and I ran all the batteries down gossiping last night. HurRUMPH.

In other, other, other news, my libido has kicked into turbo gear mode. Now, okay, this is not uncommon, but what a waste! Today I have a blind date with....a completely platonic new friend. (Female, straight, vanilla).

In other, other, other, other news, the town had a pretty fog hanging over it this morning, like something out of a painting. Exciting!

Safely in Fear/ Fear in Safety

One of the most bizarre things about my sexuality, that I've only been able to acknowledge/ explore/ come to terms with, during the last year, is how I sexualise uncomfortable emotions.

Fear - not always of course, because I'm afraid of a lot of stuff, although no-one would ever guess, and a lot of the time it's just that: Fear. But put me in a space where I feel frightened by someone I find attractive, and that becomes very sexual, very quickly, for me. The thrill, the dangerous, the 'you are a BAD MAN'; I want you to hurt me, frighten me. Perhaps it's because I'm so 'full-on'; I intimidate people sometimes without at all wanting to. If I feel someone can not only stand up to that, but inspire the feeling in me of being intimidated instead of the other way round, that delicious feeling of having the tables turned on you becomes hot as fuck.

Uncertainty - the people who bring this out in me, who make me get flustered, blushing, embarrassed and confused. Maybe it's a control thing - I'm normally the one in charge, driving the conversation. Take it from me by natural authority (not from being boring, opinionated or pompous) and I'll be impressed. And horny.

Anger - piss me off and I'll be seconds away from snogging your face off, if you're hot. I love the idea of furiously rowing with someone, and the next second being kissed into submission. Anger often features very heavily in my fantasies - my anger or theirs. It's the intensity, you don't get angry unless you feel deeply.

Misery - I like to be hurt until I start crying. Soft little sobs and whimpers, broken down into pieces, ready to be rebuilt.

I think it's because I'm so highly controlled in my everyday life. I'm a very emotional person, I feel things very intensely, I'm very passionate, but I have to keep it all under control, I can't let these emotions get away from me and drive my behaviour. For example, I have a very destructive temper; but it's very very rare for me to lose it completely. I can't remember the last time I did. Sometimes it gets away from me a tiny bit, just for a couple of seconds, but then I'm back in control.

Tied up and being beaten - that is the one place I can drop the control for a moment. I can let go..I can submit to experiencing my full emotional range and expressing it. In a sense I'm submitting to myself, as well as the dom(me). I can furiously scream shout and swear, be unsure, be sobbing in pain and misery - and I'm still safe. No-one will hate me afterwards and I'll even get a cuddle. I won't have hurt anyone. I won't have damaged anything. I'm safe.

Spiral Bound

I feel strange and unusual.

It's been quite a week. Furious row with my husband (R). I wonder more and more whether he can cope with me seeking the fulfilment of my needs outside our marriage. He says he can, but...I'm greatly concerned. I feel a weight of guilt and selfishness on me, but how else can I go forward? I have a high sex drive and I both want and need BDSM in my life; he has a low sex drive and finds BDSM bizarre and repulsive. I view sex as life enhancing, beautiful, energising, transformational; he views it as akin to putting together an ikea flat-pack e.g. lots of faffing about trying to get the right bit in the right hole, not being able to read the instructions right, and wishing you could just give up, go off and get a cup of tea, and get someone else to do it for you.

We made up and have been very close since. He says everything will be okay, and I thought so too. Went out to the Eastbourne munch on wednesday night. Drank far too much but had a huge amount of fun, in fact it was the first time I'd had fun since my last relationships ended, having a great time instead of just going through the motions. Probably making a complete twat of myself, but at least I had a good time.

Saturday night I had a great time, too. A long time ago (or it seems like a very long time ago - in reality just a few months back) when I was new and didn't know myself or my limits well, I played with a friend of mine and nearly fainted in a club because I didn't safeword when I should have done. It was pretty awful and both myself and R were quite upset.

I haven't played with him since until now. We went to Club Punishment and he topped me - I was very frustrated and dying for some play, and I also wanted to close that circle, to prove to myself how much I've learned and grown since that other time with him. He was brilliant and did exactly what I needed him to do - we agreed beforehand that he would push me until I safeworded; which is exactly what happened. It was great and we both felt very happy and content afterwards. I had flirty naughty fun and it was just a really good evening.

Then yesterday, I went off to the U-35 munch, and R went off to the first of the new poly group meet-ups. As I grow happier and my confidence returns, I'm regaining my social gregariousness and joie de vivre. I had fun at the munch but then, realising I'd forgotten my bank card and having drunk all my pennies, I sallied forth into the night to steal some money from R. I rang him and asked if it was ok, and offered to meet him outside the pub, not wanting to interfere with his evening, but he invited me to come in and when I arrived, suggested I get a drink. I was filled with energy and excitement still (and cider) and hung around for half a pint like an exuberant whirlwind of hyperactive puppies, jabbering nine to the dozen excitedly and being all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

This morning, something very unusual happened. R pounced on me in bed - I was quite stunned and should have been pleased, but something felt...wrong. There was an air of urgency and desperation about the sex.

Then later today, we were chatting online, and he said he felt really odd and small, boring and old in comparison to me. That I was glamorous and exciting, and he was not. Which makes me so frustrated because it's A) not true and B) I don't know how to make him see that and C) I want to enjoy my new-found energy, not feel bad about it because it's hurting him.

What frustrates me is that as my confidence and energy and happiness grows, as I become more fulfilled - this seems to make him feel bad, like I'm out-shining him somehow. There was a time when I felt I could heal his emotional wounds with my body, by cuddling or having sex; this time, it seems to have made things worse. I feel like I should have been able to make him feel more of a man. There have been long periods of time in the past when I felt very much less-than-shiny on the inside. I think part of him likes me being like that, because it's not threatening. I think I frighten him when I'm looking and feeling my best. When I dress up and go out of an evening, either with or without him, he often won't cuddle me like he normally does, he finds it a bit intimidating. I hope for a compliment from him but never get one - he prefers me when I'm all untidy and scruffy looking and the worse I look the more he prefers it. How can I stretch myself and become everything I can be, without damaging him? How can I enjoy my renewed confidence and energy and passion about life, without making him feel dull and boring in comparison?

I KNEW I should have kept my gob shut if I went into the pub. Maybe I undermine him somehow? Or make him feel small and insignificant?

I feel as if the ground is shifting underneath my feet, like I'm taking a leap of faith and I don't know whether I'll land on earth or quicksand. I feel uncertain and confused, and very, very alone. I'm really quite frightened.

Flow

'm very lucky that there are quite a few activities which result in flow, for me.

Walking. My mind is always cluttered with lots of different thoughts and feelings. After about two hours of walking, the different strands seperate out and eventually run out, and I finally get to an empty state, a kind of moving meditation. Turning the world under my feet, walking a mandala miles wide and earth deep.

Dancing. Utterly immersed in the spontaneity, the physical movement, the power and the joy of connection with my own body, the energy in me resonating to the vibration of the music; it's the only time I ever don't feel clumsy.

Singing. When I used to sing in bands, I would always be so nervous beforehand I was nearly sick. I would tremble, awash with adrenaline and high voltage anticipation. But from the moment I opened my mouth to sing, an energised and focused calm would overtake me, and I would feel almost a sense of deja vu, so completely certain was I that nothing could go wrong. It was almost as if I was remembering it, rather than living it.

BDSM. I want pain in my sex, and sex in my pain. I need it. The pain brings me into the now like nothing else can.

Sex. Saving the best till last - my favourite. With my fingers inside her pussy, or my tongue flicking her clit, or his cock in my mouth, there is no other thought in my head except this moment of total pleasure, complete joy.

Giving Good Aural...

I'm sometimes attracted to people more by their voice than by their looks. I've been intimate with a few people who would not be described as traditionally attractive, but who have been beautiful in my eyes because of the way they sound, and use words.

Words have a power over me I really can't explain. They have to come from someone who I'm already attracted to though, and have feelings for. I roll my eyes and sigh when I get memos from people who seem to think 'I want to fuck you' is a good introduction. But once I've started to get a little crush on someone, the impact of the words they use can be spectacular. I love getting texts and emails from people I'm into - even if it's relatively tame - but the sight of something very saucy can turn me on and get my knickers wet almost instantly. Especially if it's got swear words in it.

On the other hand, you also have the joy from sounds made in person. The smell of a body leaning in, the touch on your shoulder, the whispered voice, 'I'm going to fuck your mouth'.

Then the sounds of nails on skin, the echoing slap, the cries you make yourself, the sound of your own voice saying 'no, please stop, don't, you're hurting me, please, please'. The noise of the cane on your flesh. The sound your clothes make when they rip, a stocking tears, the zip opens. Your half-swallowed sobs.

Then the comfort afterwards - 'shhhh, you did so well, I'm so proud of you, you're such a good girl'.

I love talking dirty, there's a kind of event horizon of embarrassment to be got over, but once I pass that barrier - given time or drunkenness - I get really turned on by whispering filthy little things into someone's ear. 'I want you, I need you inside me, please....please take me. I want you to make me yours'.

I store the sounds and words from people I love inside my head, tucked up like little pearls in a treasure chest, to be taken out and polished and admired every now and again, then put away until next time.

"I'm only happy when it rains..."

As part of my cheering up process, I'm making an extra special effort to look good at the moment every time I leave the house, even for work. This is aided by the fact that I've lost shit loads of weight whilst lying around the house with hand to forehead going 'woe is me', and that my hair seems to be behaving itself at the moment and isn't currently trying to eat anything. I like being able to look in the mirror before going out and think 'HA! In your face, motherfucker!' It's worth it even if it does mean I've used more eyeliner in the last week than the last year, and that my house is starting to resemble an explosion in an underwear factory.

So I'm walking down the road thinking 'yeah, I think I'm getting my strut back!' when the heavens open and I realise I've left my umbrella in the pub last night. Fortunately my dreadlocks act like a sort of built-in umbrella, even if it does mean they'll be dripping water down the back of my neck all day. But my eyeliner when I arrived at work bore a closer resemblance to 'I've just had my mouth fucked until I gagged and my eyes watered' than 'immaculately presented professional'. Hey ho, both looks are good.

Burning Bright

here's nothing like some heavy socialising to perk me up.

Until the start of this year, I had no idea BDSM was so fucking *organised*, with munches, and clubs and stuff. Not that it's something I'd explored - I've always been a perve but when in a very long term marriage with a vanilla partner, monogamous, there's not much point in tormenting yourself with what you can't have. Until the pressure builds up to the point where you actually *have* to have it, and you find ways to explore what's out there without undermining the relationship that means so much to you.

Funny, when I began getting my kink on, I unquestioningly assumed it was all about sex. And yes, in the last year I have undoubtedly had some very fine sex indeed, the best I've ever had, in fact. But actually, the most positive experiences have been about friendship. If this was some bloody heartwarming novel, it would have some suitably sickening tag line on the back along the lines of 'she went looking for sex, but what she found was friendships deeper than those she'd ever known'.

And very very satisfying it is too, to make those deep, intimate, emotional connections with people, with or without sex. I'm not sorry. I don't regret doing all this.

So. Friday night, Club with No Name. Drank heavily, met some new lovely chums who were remarkably sanguine about me dribbling on them in an alcoholic haze. Backed up in the form of existing friends who dispensed cuddles, booze and listening as and when required. A good time was not expected, but had nevertheless.

Saturday night, under 35 munch in London followed by Crimson. My stated intention was to find and at least snog someone I found hot, regrettably this mission was not accomplished as the opportunity did not present itself. Never mind. I still got to bump into some very sexy people and say hi, and watch an awesome rope suspension done on our friend. So so beautiful - I LOVE watching suspensions. It actually makes me feel a little bit like crying, but in a good way. There were some slightly uncomfortable circumstances surrounding it, but hey, take the joy where you can get it, right?

I'm not quite back to myself yet - on a night out I can usually feel the energy, the excitement, the lust, sparking through me almost visibly. It's starting to return, slowly, though. Which in itself presents a little bit of a problem - as my libido returns to normal I MUST BE MORE CAREFUL - damn my attraction to bad boys. And bad bad women. There's nothing I find hotter than someone who looks as if they're waiting for me in a dark alley so they can rape me.

Change is the constant

PHOENIX, n. The classical prototype of the modern small hot bird ~ Ambrose Bierce.

Okay, enough of this lying around moping in a consumptive fashion. It's time to start looking outward again. The self-scrutiny stuff is all good though, it's part of my process and very necessary to keep me on track. I'm often told that I'm over-sensitive, and that I over-think things. I've believed that most of my life. Well, I've come to a conclusion recently about that.

It's BOLLOCKS.

Okay, so very occasionally it's true. But most of the time? No. The problems start when I *stop* listening to the inner voice, and plunge onwards, ignoring the build up of thoughts and emotions, sweeping them aside as 'inappropriate' or 'foolish', judging them as a product of over-sensitivity or over-thinking, burying them under a dizzying schedule, reacting to events, rather than understanding them.

If I'm spending a lot of time in a situation where I feel hurt and want to cry - that situation is problematic. And I need to address that, instead of assuming I'm 'just being oversensitive again'.

I find it hard to express my needs - add into the mix some very forceful personalities, and the intense emotion of d/s in whatever form - and I can end up backed into a corner, somewhere I really don't want to be. And THAT'S when, listening to my emotions, and thinking about how I feel, could stop me from going along with things I'm not comfortable with. Because when I get backed into a corner, and feel trapped, with no solutions in sight, I react very badly, and my temper can be very destructive. And in all probability I'll remove myself from the situation entirely, because things have degenerated to the point where they cannot be salvaged without further damage to everyone involved.

Baring my soul via blog entry? It's part of my process. I like the idea that I can look back and see where I've been, how far I've come. Look at some of the comments and see where people were right - or wrong.

On another note, R (husband) is off to meet a nice young lady tomorrow, who I've lined up for him. Think he feels a little bad that things are taking off for him just as I'm on my own extra-marital-wise, but I'm really glad for him. It was me who started all this, but I haven't actually shagged another bloke yet, which is the Big Thing, and all the other stuff he takes in his stride (he doesn't bat an eyelid if I have sex with a woman etc). So I'd rather he has sex with another woman before I have sex with another man.

I'm in Extra Special Uber Protective Mode around R at the moment anyway, since he has started to be very poorly again. Needless to say, I don't think his failure to look after himself properly has helped, but I've chucked my hissy fit and forgiven him. So anything which makes him happy, I Extra Especially want for him, at the moment.

It's so very hard for us both when he has these seizures - he doesn't know his own name for anything between 2-24 hours afterwards, gets agitated and punches people in the face when they try and give him medical attention. He screams and swears, it's like he's had a complete personality change. It makes me feel so utterly alone. He's my stability, my centre of gravity. I often think of R and I as having an invisible elastic string attached to us, that pulls when we're away from each other. When he has these seizures it's like the band has snapped and is leaking bits of my soul into the ether. Sounds ridiculously dramatic but that's the only way I can describe the sensation. I think that's why I'm feeling the loss of the additional support from my other relationships so very hard, it's the loneliness that his fits bring, which lasts for a great deal longer than just during his recovery period.

But I have a responsibility to myself, as well as to him. And I need to take my happiness into my own hands. So I'm throwing myself back into the social whirlwind, taking every opportunity to enjoy myself, spending time with good friends both old and new, and giving myself some fun. And I'll be balancing that with time to think and time to reflect on how I feel. I'm still a little vulnerable, a little fragile, so I'll be taking my time and being gentle with myself for a while.

It happened again

n the early hours of this morning, my husband had another convulsion and ended up in hospital again. He's due out later, I've just popped home to clean the blood off the sheets, make stew and whinge in a truly pathetic manner.

I can't fucking believe this is happening again after at least five years of fit-free life. Looks like it's set to become a regular occurence, followed by the delightful 24-hour recovery period of him not knowing his own name, vomiting copiously and punching people in the face when they try and insert a canula.

Where this leaves me, and the pursuit of my own happiness and fulfillment, I really don't know. I could wait until this is all over - in another ten years perhaps - and explore my kinky side and sexuality then? Out of the 14 years we've been together, he had fits for 9 of those years. How can I put my life on hold until he stops being ill? He's diabetic - that's never going to go away. And how can I chase after any sort of desires of my own knowing he could fall ill and be in hospital at any moment? And who the fuck will want me while I'm all whiny and upset and worried, anyway?!

It's back into my cave for a bit for me, I think. I wonder if I can have my libido removed surgically? It would solve a lot of problems...

Edited to Add: I'm also a bit pissed off with him since he went out on saturday night and drank 9 pints and had 4 hours sleep, which I don't think particularly helped keep his blood sugar stable. So there's some additional lovely conflict there, ta very much dear husband. Grrr.

And we give ourselves away..

I'm a little faded at the moment. Normally, the sound of my raucous laugh, the bounce of my dreadlocks, and my sheer in-your-face enthusiasm for life gets me compared to a cheerful labrador. But right now, I feel more like one of those old and battered bull terriers with grey round their muzzles, struggling to do the things they used to enjoy so much, when they really just want to be at home sleeping and remembering better days.

I've given my heart away twice this year. Both times it's ended badly. The most recent loss has knocked me hard, draining away my joy in life, my energy, and my bounce. Much as it's correct to think that he/she/they weren't right for me anyway, losing loved ones - even if it's your own choice to walk away, because you know you have to - can turn everything into shades of black and white and grey. I'm colourless. I normally treat every situation, be it frivolous or serious, by throwing humour at it (usually grossly inappropriate sexual humour, often with embarassing results..). It's very unlike me to be unsmiling for so long.

Of course there's been a helluva lot of other stuff going on this year. Going from a monogamous, married for 14 years, vanilla existence, to discovering play, realising how much I loved and needed it, then opening up our relationship, a major operation with a long recovery time (me), and a recent serious episode of illness (for my husband) have drained the bottom of my 'coping skills' tank. I'm tired.

I'm very lucky that my husband knows just how to help me. Frequent application of tea, cuddles, listening and occasional supportive comments, are the equivalent of handing me a paintbrush and pallet, letting me begin the process of adding a little glimmer of pigment to the outlines of the future stretching out in front of me. He really is a most amazing man.

BDSM was the key that unlocked the door. I'm just at the very beginning of understanding where that door can take me. I've just begun to touch the edges of what it could mean to be sexually fulfilled, after a lifetime of not being so. I'm a deeply sexual person, the passion and the needs built up in me after neglecting that side of myself for so long can be overwhelming at times, both for me, and for others.

Sometimes I wish the door had never opened. It would certainly be simpler that way. But now that I know what's there, what I could have - I can't live in black and white forever. I need pain. I do not want to give up control, I want it to be taken from me. I need to have the anger beaten out of me. I want to be loved. And I need to know what being fucked feels like. Preferably before I'm dead, thankyou.

But I'll take my time. Because I need to learn to shut some of the doors around my heart, and because it is quite possible to be TOO open, too honest, too loving. I don't think there's much chance I'll ever become jaded or guarded, but I need to grow up very quickly and grow out of the naivety that my inexperience with sexual relationships has burdened me with.

Phoenixes are colourful birds.

"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance"

Things fall apart, but the centre holds. But what happens when the centre falls apart?

My husband used to suffer from fits, related to his diabetes, and would usually be hospitalised while extremely agitated, vomiting, reduced level of consciousness, for at least 24 hours, then kept in or discharged depending on whether his blood sugar was stable. Extremely distressing for all concerned, so naturally we’ve been delighted that this hasn’t happened for four or five years now.

On sunday morning I called him and realised quite quickly he’d had a fit, as he was only able to speak a little, and after I called the neighbour who broke into the house, they found him vomiting and near unconscious. He was kept in overnight, and is nearly well again, although blood sugars are a little unstable, he is home and I’m looking after him. We don’t know why it happened again after so long. We don’t know if it will happen again, or when.

While this was happening to him, I was with B & O and had been since wednesday, partying and being a whore. The fact that he knew where I was and had his full understanding consent, doesn’t change that I wasn’t by his side where I should have been. I could have done something and I wasn’t there. I feel sick every time I see the bruises on my body; a visible reminder that I wasn’t where I should have been, when it mattered.

I know I’m not thinking straight. I know I’m exhausted because I haven’t slept. I know my judgement is skewed. But taking care of R is WHO I AM. I’ve failed him, I’ve failed myself, and I’ve failed everyone else who believed I was who I said I was.

The Black Wolf and the Red [story]

[With quite starting presentiment, I was about three quarters of the way through writing this when my relationship triad took a turn for the utterly shite, and ended...]

We are safe here, in our den. Group scent combines with turned earth, musty and thick. She sleeps, her back to me, fur glimmering with russet lights. I imagine that I smell oranges, persimmon, cinnamon and rust. A noise from outside enters our space and her muzzle lifts, scents the air, then returns to light sleep. He is curled around me, my alpha male, my black wolf. He stirs in his sleep and re-settles, nuzzling my neck and sighing heavily, loudly. His breath ruffles the fur on my neck, my jaw opens and my tongue peeks out, a wolfly grin. His paw lies heavy over my belly, I wriggle slowly and silently away from his side, trying not to wake him. I make several attempts before I succeed, but finally I slip from his grasp and he turns over, sleepily searching for me. I lick the fur behind his ear and he settles back into deep sleep.

I pad over to our lair's entrance, and sit on my haunches, alert, watchful, but calm, centred. I sense something is coming - a change - but I'm not sure yet what kind. I slip outside and decide to Change; in this interim state, this transition, perhaps I can catch the scent of the future. My mind traces patterns and possibilities. I slip between one state and the other, floating, lightly touching the weave, using my gift to follow the strands to the different places they might lead; this place or that, I don't know what's to come, only that something has begun.

I touch the space in my mind where my pack lives - my Dark Wolf lies sleeping still, my Red Wolf is troubled by strange dreams, but she is safe. I sense this coming change means no harm to them. I can leave them for a little while, explore this interesting but odd anomaly. I walk naked and unafraid through the forest. My muscles flow with each movement, utterly and completely under my control. In this Form my hair is long, blonde, dreadlocked, reflected the ruffled and tousled fur in my other Form, which never seems to shine or lie flat no matter how thoroughly it is licked into place by my Alpha Female.

Now.

There it is.

Events spiral into alignment - I recognise their shape from the feel, the same sensation from my earlier foreshadow. The world breathes in, pauses….explodes into action. A chase…running figures…shadows in grey passing behind the flickering green woods. The change I sense centers around the figure in front - an older man; he's going to become connected to our pack, somehow. This is the important event, as he intersects with Us, and I realise something very significant is happening. But there's something in the way of that Event, and this angers me. The stranger is being chased by two hunters - they have guns. Furious, I leap forward, as I call my Pack - but it will take them a while to get here. In the meantime, I need to keep this person safe until I find out why he's meant to be here.

I'm so much faster than the hunters, I reach and overtake them in moments. I don't know why they're chasing him - all I know is that he is weaponless and they are not. The stranger stumbles, grey with exhaustion, just as I reach him. He falls to his knees and puts his hand to his chest. His lips are blue. The hunters slow, bring their guns up to shoot. I know my Alphas won't make it here in time. And I've run out.

The decision is easy, weightless, and I smile as I move in front of the stranger. The first shot hits me in the shoulder, the second clips me in the neck, and blood spatters the man I'm protecting as he falls to the ground, gasping for breath.

The pain hits a few seconds behind the shock, but my mind is moving fast, skipping ahead of both. I can't heal the damage to my body on my own, I'm too young and untried. I need my Alphas to lend me a little of their strength for that. All I need to do is keep this man safe until they come for me. I am torn between two choices - the threat from the hunters, and the threat from the man's own body. I can heal him, given time and space to work undisturbed, but the hunters are coming for us. I make a decision impulsively, and reach out to the man. I put my hands on his forehead, and his chest, and lean down to kiss him. My lips brush against his, my breath warm against his mouth. My blood drops from the wound to my neck, and I rub my fingers in it and smear red on my lips, pushing my fingers in between our flesh as I keep my lips against his blue and breathless mouth.

He gasps, breathes in noisily, then exhales. Another breath. Pause. Another. Pause. Then he breathes normally. His eyes open. They look directly into mine.

We keep eye contact even as I'm pulled back, thrown off his body and to one side. The hunters have reached us, I smell their sweat, angry and afraid. My face is pressed to the grass, I've lost too much blood, I'm cold. A blur of red and black passes me - my Alphas; the sound of tearing, cries - human and high pitched - the wet sound of something hitting the ground. I need them to help me heal some of the damage I've taken for our Pack. I call out - there is no response, no voices from the hunters, only the sound of feeding. I call again - I know they can hear me. I call out - whimpering, questioning now. I'm so very cold. Two figures walk towards me - my Pack at last. My red wolf in human form crouches down. “Thanks for the meal. We don't need weakness in our pack. You look broken now. Don't come back to the den”.

They walk away. Even my dark wolf walks away, they don't look back.

Somewhere inside me there are ashes, with only a tiny flicker of heat, a burnt ember, a fragment, glowing. One last shape where there might be a flame, a chance, the beginning of a new fire. I am deep inside myself now, retreating to that last place, the most hidden. There, in the place where I first found out who I could be, I breathe on the embers, willing them to burn. They glow, then turn to ashes too. Again, I breathe, finding the will to make fire where there wasn't any before. Not fuelled by anger, but the need to endure, to survive.

My eyes flicker open. The hand curled into my neck wound is sticky, but there is no new blood, the bleeding has stopped now. I sit up, and the forest moves too much. A hand on mine. “Steady”. His voice is exactly like I expected it to be. I look at him. “Who are you?”

“I'm your friend”. And for now, that is enough.

A Slut, A Wife, or Both?

So – my husband had a serious health crisis while I was miles away being a slut. I also had a horrendous ding dong with one of my sweeties just before I got the news about him. Both things look to be settling now, but while the immediate shock has passed, I'm feeling very strange indeed – up one minute, down the next, and permanently afraid of loss, afraid of losing the things which make my life worth living, afraid of losing myself. I'm always so afraid of everything – I hate that about myself. It makes me want to pull back and declare a moratorium on any fun and happiness in my life. I'll go back to being the perfect Wife, sit on the sofa knitting, bake, clean, sew, iron, leave the house to go to work and that's about it. Go back to living in shades of black and white, just in case any colour, any vibrancy in my life, any delight; that shining shimmer of joy - well, in case it attracts the attention of something which wants to destroy it, eat it all up, take it away. Because if I don't have it in the first place, I can't lose it.

I need to remind myself why I'm doing this. I'm feeling my way through a morass of sensations and emotions at the moment, I'm finding it overwhelming, and I need to claw myself back up to the surface before I lose myself and fall back to sleep at the bottom of the ocean again. Seems these days as if I leave a trail of destruction and chaos behind me wherever I go. I've got to shake off this dark shadow before it takes hold, before I drown in it. I need to remember that I know how to swim.

To this end, I'm forcing myself to write down ten memories from the last two weeks which contained moments of pure joy. Here goes (in no particular order):

1) I'm on the dancefloor at Brighton Rock. I'm wearing platform heels and a red dress, and I hear the opening chords of Aerials by S.O.A.D. My heart starts pounding, and I know my friend is DJing – he'd asked me what song I would most like to hear, earlier, and this is the one I chose. It feels as if he's playing this song just for me, and I feel the power wash over my own body as I dance like a slut, dance like I'm alone in a field in the sunshine, dance for R as he watches me and I know that he likes watching me, and most of all I dance for myself, as I dance my life.

2) ...and about ten minutes later, and now I'm dancing to NiN's Closer with R, kissing him, looking into his eyes and knowing he's remembering all the other times over the years we've danced together, to that song: so many places, so many nights in dark clubs together, what we were then and what we are to each other now, still so very much in love after all this time.

3) I'm walking to work with my ipod on, my dreadlocks bouncing, anticipating the fun and excitement of the next few days, listening to Wolfsheim and relishing that sparkling effervescent feeling of happiness and sheer pleasure in being ME, because my life is GOOD, in this time and this place, right now.

4) I'm at the Club With No Name in Eastbourne on Saturday and enjoying watching the glow, the radiance of personality and simple goodness emanating from my much loved friend. She's discovered how to stand on her own two stilletos and I watch, watch and smile as the whole room becomes absolutely entranced with her, and I experience the joy that comes from sharing how wonderful someone is, with other friends, with strangers.

5) I'm meeting someone very special at long last – my beloved's cat – who is every bit as delightful as I've been told. I realise she likes me too, this treasured and precious bundle of slightly wobbly four paws and a purr like a pigeon cooing.

6) I'm lying in bed next to my two sweeties, as they make love – not just fucking – for the first time in my presence. I realise that something very special is happening. I feel honoured - honoured and privileged to share in that – to be included; as they look into my eyes and then into each others, their arms around me, my arms around them. Dust motes shining in the air, little falling stars, so many possibilities, potential, the world opens, breathes, turns over.

7) There is no guilt, I'm here with the full permission of my husband. After months of lusting and restraint, at long last, I get my lips around the beautiful cock of the other man I'm in love with. He feels the warm breath from my open mouth, he thinks I'm teasing him as usual, then my head is suddenly pushed down fully over him by our mutual beloved, hearing his intake of breath, the gasp of someone who can't quite believe that a long anticipated event is happening, the surprise, then his pleasure, tasting his come, my eyes watering, gagging, I need to be here, need him inside my mouth desperately, now I can have him, so so happy to be getting what I want, and at the same time knowing he is taking pleasure in it, and knowing she is taking pleasure in it too. I can please both my sweeties at the same time, by doing something I love to do. The simple, uncomplicated joy in this single act is immeasurable.

8) Realising I was coping, realising I was actually having fun, in a huge crowd next to a terrifying bonfire, because I was there with two of my loved ones, knowing they would keep me safe, knowing that I would keep them safe, because we were together, a pack of three, bonded. And it was my choice to be there, with them. And I could leave, but I didn't want to.

9) Sitting, drinking tea and cuddling, hugging, chatting, under a blanket on the sofa with the prettiest of my loved ones. Then the contrast of lying tied into a medical chair, legs apart and on stirrups, skirt flung up, her fingers inside me, in a public space, vicious bruises on my thighs given from her. The look on her face so different from earlier, enhanced by the more intimate moments between us, the knowledge of each other outside of these, our play personas.

10) After spending most of my life believing I couldn't have orgasms at all, and then at a very late age, discovering I could have clitoral orgasms, but only this kind, and only under very specific circumstances... Well, let's just say there is a certain satisfaction to lying in the arms of two people, both of whom have made you come in a variety of different ways, spectacularly, so many times you've lost count. He held me down and looked into my eyes, I watched the pleasure in his face as he brought me to orgasm. She did things to my body no-one else has ever done, showed me I could come in so many different ways, so many new experiences. Did I just wake the whole house up screaming while I came?

These people make my world worth staying shiny for.

Snapshots

A few moments of time standing still, from the last few weeks:

A very intense, slow and sexually charged scene between B and I, watched by O - lying in bed next to him, I was pushing against his control, physically, with a battle of wills on a sexual level, as I pushed and pulled at his skin very slowly, digging my nails in, staring intensely into his eyes, as he gave me a little bit of power over him, let me get away with it for just long enough for it to mean something when he took it back again. Then the kiss which followed: passionate and frantic, after controlled and restrained energy.

It's only fun when you know you won't be allowed to get away with it for much longer. Which is why I enjoyed slapping and kicking at him, knowing he was holding himself back and finding it amusing, only retaliating with spanking, until he'd had enough and they both pinned me down for a thorough smacking and whipping, and his arms held mine behind my back as I lay face down with red welts across my bottom, struggling and crying and pleading, as she forcibly brought me to orgasm.

_______________

B and O kissing, the light streaming in the window, dawn breaking, draining the colour to a sepia photograph, so beautiful, so perfect, making my heart turn over.

_______________

His hood falls over his face as he pushes me back on the bed, towering over me, his eyes meeting mine, a sense of menace, a dark stain, holding me down, I struggle slightly, meeting with such utter resistance I am still with prescience. He pulls at my clothes, fingers digging in to flesh. He picks me up, deposits me in such a way that my pussy is presented to her. She's fucking my pussy while he pushes his cock between my breasts, they are both straddling me.

_______________

I'm drunk...I hit him in the face. He sees stars. My eyes are terrified when I realise what I've done. He's going to fucking beat the shit out of me. He holds me down, I beg, 'sorry, sorry, please, don't' over and over. He's got me so wet, now he kisses me, and I'm not sorry at all.

_______________

Struggling so hard as B and O pinned me down, trying to get the cuffs on me, that B's thumb got cut on something and bled all over the place, meaning we had to stop so he could get a plaster. He only had one of those jaunty blue catering plasters which amused me no end. At least it didn't have Mr Bump on it or big purple dinosaurs or anything.

“You have no power over me”

I’m back, and better than before. I’ve re-activated my profile on IC and fetlife, re-activated most of the old weblogs, and I’m getting to use it again like I wanted to, like I enjoyed so much before.

Within half an hour of doing so, I got a nasty memo on ic from my ex, followed by a very emotional harassment email. I’ve set my ic profile to block her, and instructed my email programme to dump future emails from her straight in the archive, but it’s still a bit worrying. She’s still calling - phonecalls, texts, emails, memos - and I’m genuinely concerned for her that she’s having so much trouble moving on. She seems to be under the impression that everyone on ‘the scene’ is out to get me now, following my ‘crusade’ against her. Since I haven’t actually contacted her AT ALL since we split up, apart from texting her to say ’stop contacting me’, and deliberately took down my profile for two months to help her stop obsessing over me, it’s all a bit odd. Oh well, I guess everybody has had a ‘difficult ex’ situation at some point in their life. I’m more interested in getting on and living my life, the way I want to.

Trial by Fire

When I started playing with people, and having a relationship outside my marriage, back in February, there were some very hard limits which R and I agreed between us of what I could and couldn't do with men. Those limits have become much more fluid, they are changing, and I can eventually see that there might be a point where I have full sex with both men and women outside of my relationship with R. This is the product of a HUGE and constant amount of communication, negotiation, loving give and take etc etc etc. I'm not ready for it NOW, but I have come to accept it is a possibility in the future.

I've come to realise that I am truly not able to be fulfilled, to live happily, loving and having sex with just one person. I love deep and wide, and I've got an awful lot of love to give. My sexuality is similarly HUGE, I've got a libido the size of a small universe, and I want to be able to give love and pleasure, where and how I choose to do so, to be in control of my own sexuality, my own heart, my own body. But I also don't want to fuck up the incredible relationship I already have.

I've not been a very actively sexual person in a long (very very long) time, until recently. I've not had that much fun, either. My world had retreated down to my R, my house, my cats and my job. I was mostly content, interspersed with feelings of utter sadness, for a good few years. Being a sexually fulfilled person has brought me back to life. I've regained interest in all the things I used to enjoy doing, years ago.

But I'm not used to this. I had a bit of a wobble recently because my identity is based on sacrificing my own needs for the needs of others, looking after people, being a Good Person. Having Integrity. Choosing to become fulfilled at what I worry is at the expense of R's happiness, made me question everything - who am I? What sort of person do I want to become?

What I have to remember is that I, and my relationship with R, is growing and evolving and changing, that these things can't happen without some upheaval and struggle. I'm in the process of finding within myself the courage to make this leap of faith, where something wonderful and new waits for me on the other side. And if I fall into the cavernous hole I'm afraid of, then I'll bloody well climb back out again, dragging R with me by the hair.

Something else that's come out of our discussions is the suggestion that R could try and explore his own needs for love and affection through polyamory. He's registered on a website and we'll wait and see, and if it all works out it will bring big changes too, but I'm shocked at myself; I just don't feel any concern, or jealousy, when I think about him loving or having sex with another woman. I feel pleased and proud. Is that weird? My only worries are practical things like - don't give anyone our landline, and I don't want anyone turning up on our doorstep at 3am having a personal crisis. It IS strange, especially when I consider how IMMENSELY jealous and possessive a person I was when we first met. But R has loved me so generously, so deeply, and for so long, that I do feel secure in his love. And I love him back in the same way, I adore him, I want him so much to be happy and to find the same pleasure and joy that I've found, for himself.

I have a couple of very special people in my life at the moment who I've just had an outstanding weekend with. I feel very safe, very protected, very loved, and very content and happy. R is happy because he would prefer me to have a few deeper relationships in my life, than many superficial ones, perhaps because he realises this is much more in character and right for me.

I feel cocooned in a secure place where nothing can touch me. It's strange how someone can terrify you in a very sexual way, looking like pure evil, as if they're just going to fucking RAPE you, do all sorts of incredibly hot, painful things to you, and then cuddle you close to their chest, stroke your face, tell you you're a good girl and they're proud of you. And how someone so drop dead gorgeous and glamourous that you can't BELIEVE they're holding you in their arms, can belt you in the face so hard your jaw hurts the next day, reduce your pain threshold because they've made you come so hard and so many times, then beat you so hard you cry; but also give you a place to be so safe in, so protected, so secure that you're able to cry in their arms, cry as they hold you, and you know - you just KNOW, that when they tell you it's okay, that it really IS okay, as you let some things go, and get some things back. Because they just took the time to listen, and to HEAR you. It's very strange indeed. But I like it.

Evolving

Ah, this has been a hard post to write. I’ve been putting it off for a while until I felt ready to talk about some very complicated, very private feelings. But this blog is not just for *you*, it’s for *me*, and part of my self-reflection process is to write privately, and then write some more, and then share for comment and insight from people who may have experience in handling some of the same issues I struggle with.

So. My husband R and I went on holiday. We had fun, but it was also quite strange being completely cut off from my support network (couldn’t get my phone to work the whole week we were overseas). During this time I felt rejected sexually by R on a number of occasions, which fractured my already damaged sexual confidence.

I then had something of a moral/ identity crisis. When I started playing with people, and having a relationship outside my marriage, back in February, there were some very hard limits which R and I agreed between us of what I could and couldn’t do with men. Those limits have become much more fluid, they are changing, and I can eventually see that there might be a point where I have full sex with both men and women outside of my relationship with R. This is the product of a HUGE and constant amount of communication, negotiation, loving give and take etc etc etc. I’m not ready for it NOW, but I have come to accept it is a possibility in the future.

I’ve come to realise that I am truly not able to live happily loving and having sex with just one person. I love deep and wide, and I’ve got an awful lot of love to give. My sexuality is similarly HUGE, I’ve got a libido the size of a small universe, and I want to be able to give love and pleasure, where and how I choose to do so, to be in control of my own sexuality, my own heart, my own body. But I also don’t want to fuck up the incredible relationship I already have.

I’ve not been a very actively sexual person in a long (very very long) time, until recently. I’ve not had that much fun, either. My world had retreated down to my R, my house, my cats and my job. I was mostly content, interspersed with feelings of utter sadness, for a good few years. Being a sexually fulfilled person has brought me back to life. I’ve regained interest in all the things I used to enjoy doing, years ago.

But I’m not used to this. My identity is based on sacrificing my own needs for the needs of others, looking after people, being a Good Person. Having Integrity. Choosing to become fulfilled at what I worry is at the expense of R’s happiness, makes me question everything - who am I? Is this the person I want to become?

Some of the things R has said, really bother me. That he’ll never be 100% comfortable with me playing with others, having sex with others. But then on the other hand, why should I sacrifice my own personal happiness and fulfillment, and be only 20-30% happy with my own life, so he can go from (he tells me) 90% comfortable to 100% comfortable. If he’s 90% comfortable with me doing this stuff, that’s ok. Isn’t it?

He worries I will suddenly start becoming a complete tart and shagging half a dozen blokes who cover me in spunk, and he’ll end up miserable, won’t be able to handle it, and will eventually end up living in a bedsit in Portslade. Realistically I know I just ain’t that sort of girl, but the very fact he worries that my sexuality will make him miserable and destroy our relationship…that freaks me out.

This was/ has been my state of mind and so when I went over to visit B & O at the weekend, things inevitably went downhill. I felt rejected by both of them, and ended up feeling very tearful, and kinda going into meltdown in the few days following. What I have to remember is that I, and my relationship with R, is growing and evolving and changing, that these things can’t happen without some upheaval and struggle, and that if I can somehow find within myself the courage to make this leap of faith, something wonderful and new is waiting for me on the other side. And if I fall into the cavernous hole I’m afraid of, then I’ll bloody well climb back out again, dragging R with me by the hair.

Something else that’s come out of our discussions is the suggestion that R could try and explore his own needs for love and affection through polyamory. He’s registered on a website and we’ll wait and see, and if it all works out it will bring big changes too, but I’m shocked at myself; I just don’t feel any concern, or jealousy, when I think about him loving or having sex with another woman. I feel pleased and proud. Is that wierd? My only worries are practical things like - don’t give anyone our landline, and I don’t want anyone turning up on our doorstep at 3am having a personal crisis. It IS strange, especially when I consider how IMMENSELY jealous and possessive a person I was when we first met. But R has loved me so generously, so deeply, and for so long, that I do feel secure in his love. And I love him back in the same way, I adore him, I want him so much to be happy and to find the same pleasure and joy that I’ve found, for himself.

My sweeties, B & O, were supposed to be very casual play partners. But I’m just not a casual person and the fact is, that I have deep feelings for them. Bizarrely, R is actually happy about this, and happy for me to be loved in return. In fact, the more serious and the less casual I am about people, and they about me, the better he feels. I think maybe it’s because that’s more in character for me, and the out-of-character stuff freaks him out (like imagining me engaged in bukkake or something!) I know he would prefer me to have one or two serious sweeties than a dozen very casual playmates.

Who knows where it will all lead?

Imprisoned [story]

I've played enough times with you now to trust you. You know my limits, you've proved to me that you respect them. I feel safe with you. The scene we had today was incredible…I'm lying in your arms, floating, kissing your face, telling you how wonderful you are, and all the while regretting that I will have to get up soon and leave this cocoon of fun and contentment and joy.

I shake my head, trying to re-focus, and I sit up against your chest. You put your arms around me and hold me close to you. I rest my head, relaxed, on your shoulder, then begin to pull away. You tighten your grip. I look up at you and motion towards my arms still cuffed behind my back. We haven't yet got around to taking them off, too sweat-soaked and exhausted to move.

You smile at me, and do nothing. I sit up straighter. “Can you?”, I ask, gesturing again. Once more you smile at me, not quite your normal expression, and a hint of something cold buries itself in my stomach. I feel my pupils dilating. “I have to go now, stop fucking about and get these cuffs off me”. Fear fuels my temper, as always.

“No”, you say gently, but with a hint of rough. “No”. Your voice is still very calm. “I'd like a few days with you, just a few days to play with you without any limits at all, so I can teach you how to behave. I think that would be good for you”.

I'm really frightened now, and dozens of thoughts scamper through my head. My husband knows I'm here, he knows where you live, he will come for me. But will he? What if you tell him I left, text him from my phone to tell him I left here safely, and you pretend to be worried about me? I don't fully believe that he would come here to check, just in case.

I pull away…start to rise…I'm kneeling, but you knock me off my feet. I fall forward, and I feel you putting my ankles into cuffs. I'm screaming now, kicking…someone will hear me…there are other people in the house, we're in the basement, but we're right next to the street. Someone will notice, surely?

“Oh, this is something I've been wanting to do for a while, so I had the basement soundproofed”, you say, still in that calm voice. It's like you're a stranger, I can't believe you're fucking doing this to me. I'm kicking and writhing but you're just so much stronger than me and you easily cuff my ankles to a spreader bar, and then there's nothing I can do but shout for help, pointlessly.

“You fucking bastard. I trusted you, how can you do this to me?” You answer by pushing a ring gag into my mouth. My face is transfigured with rage, but you smile and tell me I'm pretty. Only my eyes can express my furious anger, my pure and burning rage clearing a path through all the other conflicting emotions, like a forest fire, destroying everything in its way.

You're standing now, and your hands are in my hair, holding my face at the level of your crotch. I'm squirming, trying to get away, but can barely move I'm so heavily restrained. “You cock-teasing little bitch. How did you think this would end? My self control is not limitless. It's time you forgot your own limits and concentrated on pleasing me, you slut. For the next three days you'll be MY Minx, and you'll have no control. I'll do whatever the fuck I want with you”.

You can barely push your swollen cock through the ring gag. I try and keep you out of my mouth by turning my head away but it's impossible…you grab the back of my head with both hands and thrust. Once you've pushed yourself inside the confines of the gag in my mouth, you force me to suck you. Tears and saliva pour down my face in equal measure.

You thrust deeper now, and I'm gagging on your cock, too tense and rigid to relax my throat and make it easier for myself. “You bitch, you fucking bitch, you slutty little whore. You're mine now, my Minx, my slut”. You punctuate each word with a thrust. As you speak, I am humiliated and utterly shamed…your words make me come…at the same time as you pour your hot spunk into me I orgasm…I have no choice but to swallow your come down, sucking you dry.

You pull out, then backhand me in the face, knocking me to the floor amid the black satin quilts. “I'll be back soon, my Minx, for your next lesson”. My mind shudders, my body convulses.

___________________________________________________ ___________

The lights go out. I wait in darkness for what must be a day, although I've no way of knowing. My internal clock suggests at least twelve hours have passed.

The door opens. Lights come on. I hear your footsteps. Desperate, I resolve to co-operate if it means I can just move my cramped arms, my rigid mouth, still gagged and cuffed. A chance to escape might come sooner if I appear calm.

You take the cuffs off, and remove the gag. I've never felt such physical relief. I read tension in your body – you're alert for my every movement. You rub my wrists, shoulders, ankles…I'm so wracked with pain and cramp and numbness I couldn't move even if I was in front of an open door.

You help me use the crude toilet facilities you've set up, and feed me from your own hand. I'm tempted to bite, but can't bear to be gagged again, and I'm still weak from shock and pain. You lift me, using bondage tape to tie my ankles to the spreader chair, and clip my wrist cuffs to the frame. The look in your eye is serious…not teasing now. We've done this once before in play, and you knew I wanted you desperately, but couldn't have you. This time is very different. This time, all the power is yours, there is no holding back.

I'm surprised when you begin to gently wash me clean, rather than fucking me immediately. You do it lovingly, kindly, and I wonder at how someone who appears so monstrous can have such gentleness in him. Once you've washed me clean, you stand in front of me, leaning forward; your hands on my arms, your legs spread slightly, savouring the moment.

I'm too tired and beaten now for anger, tears of pain and misery instead are coating my face. You wipe them away with the palm of your hand. “Please Master D, please let me go”. I've never called you that before. Your cock swells even more in response to my voice. “I won't tell anyone. Please don't hurt me any more. I'm sorry. I'm sorry”.

You laugh, a sound of real happiness, as you lift your crop to my breasts for the first blow. You thrash me thoroughly, precisely, my inner thighs turn red, then bruise, then eventually the skin rips and starts to bleed. The blood excites you, it's sticky and warm. Your already huge cock becomes even more swollen. Your face changes, hardens, as you guide yourself between the lips of my pussy, which despite myself, welcomes you. You feel the head of your cock gripped, as you push inside. Then you thrust in deeply, all the way, up to the balls in me. You pull out slowly, almost to the tip. You angle upwards, hitting my g-spot. I struggle, resist, try not to come but you force it out of me, going over the same spot over and over again. You're working me, playing that sensitive part, and you lean in and whisper, “Come for me, I want you to come for me while I'm fucking you, my little Minx”. I can't, I won't, I don't want to…but I do…an orgasm that sweeps my whole body, a grinding, thunderous pulse; I hear white noise, it covers the sound of me crying out.

You're smiling cruelly. You continue pounding into me…I drink your cock down with my pussy. I cry for you. You're hitting my cervix and with every thrust it hurts, my muscles are screaming, the tape is cutting into my ankles. Each time you push inside me it hurts me, numerous sharp pains on my body, the deeper you thrust the more it hurts me. And the pain increases when you pull out, lift my buttocks, and thrust your cock into my ass.

I give little whimpers and moans of pain each time you grind your hips against mine. You sink your teeth into my throat, ripping the flesh. Blood runs trickling over my nipples. I start to shake…I am suddenly terribly afraid. My eyes widen, my body stiffens. You come, come inside me, forcing and pushing and shoving, forcing yourself even deeper…the last few thrusts cause such intense pain in me I think I'm going to black out.

You gasp for breath, your sweat-soaked body resting on mine. You uncuff me, cutting away the tape with your knife…you pull me down into your arms. “Good girl”, you whisper. “I'm so proud of you”. It's too much for me…I sob into your shoulder, first curled childlike into my mouth. I should hate you, despise you. Why instead do I want to do anything, anything to please you now?

“Because I fucked you like you needed to be fucked, my little naughty Minx”. You answer my unspoken question. I sleep at last…curled up on your chest like a kitten, your arms around me, shaping my word into something altogether more fluid, with space for savage miracles as well as tragedy.

Undone [erotic fiction]

I'm in total darkness.
___________________

My hands are reaching outwards, and I'm feeling cold metal surrounding me, below me, above me.
___________________

Have I been buried alive?
___________________

The vibrato thunk of a metal drawer being opened. Light. The surface I lie on is moving forward.
___________________

The bubble of silence bursts, the noise of a busy room floods over me. I am blinking, my eyes dilated, unused to the light. I look up at a woman dressed in a lab coat, who is staring at me with detachment. I feel abnormally calm, and I'm aware that I shouldn't be, but even that doesn't break the spell. A logical part of my mind concludes I've been drugged, but I don't react to that knowledge.

I become more aware of my surroundings, and realise that I'm lying on a mortuary slab. Am I dead then? I consider the prospect, but my heartbeat is still strong, if a little slow, my skin is still warm, and my limbs under my control, even if affected by a deep lethargy.

The lab technician is checking my body, taking my temperature and blood pressure. “You probably feel a little confused”, she says. “That's perfectly normal. We've given you something to keep you calm. What's the last thing you can remember?”

My voice is a little bit rusty as I murmur, “I was walking…the seafront, by the roadside on my way back…evening. Then, a car….pulled up and there was someone who…I don't remember”. “That's okay”, she soothes, “shhhh, shhh”.

I try to sit up but feel faint and dizzy. My heart speeds and I feel a little sick. The technician's cold but reassuringly strong hands press me back. Another woman walks through the door pushing a wheelchair, and I'm gently helped into it. I'm naked but covered with a blanket and I have a strange notion that I'm living my life backwards from death to hospital to coming back to health and life again. I'm wheeled down a corridor painted burgundy, and helped into a bed with soft red blankets and black silk sheets. I climb inside the coverings. I drift…

I wake feeling more alive. This time I come to consciousness gradually. The silk feels beautiful against my skin. I open my eyes. The room is carefully lit, soft and warm. I smell vanilla perfume in the air. The wooden panelled door opens with a soft click, and a dark haired woman, dressed in very high heels and a pencil skirt, seamed stockings immaculately arranged, walks over to the bed. She smiles and asks me to go with her, holding out a silk kimono in black, with green and red patterns. I pad, barefoot, behind her, along the corridor, the ancient and dark floorboards cold under my feet.

We enter an echoey chamber, windowless and darkly lit. A sunken pool is carved out of the natural cavern the room has been made from. I'm given into the care of two women, both handsome rather than beautiful, with unusually strong arms, long and strong fingers, and a matching air of practicality. They take off my kimono and I feel none of my normal shyness. There is no blush, no dropping of my head to my shoulder; instead I wait, calmly, as they explore my physique. They lead me to the water and I climb into the warm pool, sitting on a ledge with my legs splayed out in front of me. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, strong fingers soap me, lifting each heavy breast and firmly scrubbing away invisible layers of dirt, rubbing salt into even my nipples to take off the top layer of skin and reveal the clean, new and fresh body beneath. My arms are lifted above my head and I enjoy the sensation of being made new. My hair is unbound and washed, my scalp massaged, I am shaved o! f hair everywhere else.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere alerts me and my eyes open a little to see fingers lingering between my legs, the touch suddenly less firm, more tentative. One of the women continues to wash me but gives a warning glance to the other, whose fingers are touching so provocatively between my lips. Her expression is a combination of acceptance and pleading, but she draws her hand away. I am a little surprised as I see her own face glow red as she leans in to gently touch her lips to mine, barely connecting, just for a moment.

The other woman moves to lead me out of the water, and lays me down on a bed of fluffy towels. I am patted dry, my body gripped and liberated by hands which squeeze and release, then spread scented balm over my reddened skin. Again, hands linger between my legs as I lay face down, a teasing sensation which all too quickly disappears. My skin feels overly sensitised and little shivers go up and down me as I feel fingertips on my back. I open my eyes as I'm brought to my feet, and returned into the care of the dark haired lady who brought me to this sea green water room.

I am led naked down another dark and polished corridor, into a room with a brass plaque that marks it as 'Test Area'. Mahogany furniture and oriental rugs, cherry blossom paintings and silver candlesticks. A tall man with long dark hair, pinned back with a ribbon, stands with his back to me at a desk, then puts down the book in his hand and turns to face me. He lifts my hands to his lips and kisses them, and then pushes down on my shoulders to drop me to my knees. I am uncertain and feel the evenness of mind and drugged calm flicker, as my anticipation rises.

“I'm going to fuck your mouth, my dear”, he says. He sinks his fingers into my hair and pulls - hard. The pain is sharp and immediate. It distracts my mind from the sensations in my mouth and throat, as he fills me. I react automatically by relaxing my throat muscles and adjusting my head to the right angle to take him in more deeply. He begins to thrust, gently at first, still with his hands in my hair. My own hands instinctively begin to push at his hips, making a thorough effort to slap, pull, hit, force his body away from mine. He is far stronger than me and in a position where his weight gives him the advantage, I cannot win but I try anyway, my struggles only increasing his girth as they heighten the excitement for him. My own body is excited by the adrenaline and I feel wetness on my thighs and heat in my chest and on my cheeks. He cries out, and I suck…suck deeply and drink him in. I suffer the inevitable response of my body to the joy of being used in this way, my! own cries are lost in his flesh, only the shudders and my drenched thighs reveal my release.

He turns, and writes in his record book. The two handsome women from the water room enter, and restore my cleanliness to their satisfaction, while he writes, and writes, and writes.

Again I am given to the dark haired beauty in her tailored clothes. We walk..I am shaken…my hands tremble a little.

Another polished corridor, shining in the lamplight. Another room, much larger this time. I'm starting to feel huge surges of fear now, the drugs in my system breaking down. My mouth is dry although my pussy is wet again. A man sits in a red leather chesterfield armchair, his legs spread wide, and a cane balanced on his lap, held in both hands. I meet his eyes for only a moment before breaking eye contact and looking down. A flush covers my face immediately. I'm unsettled and don't know whether I want to run away from him or towards him. He holds out his hand and I am torn, before my body makes the choice for me, and my balance shifts, one leg swinging forward to be followed by the other, in small, jerky and reluctant steps. I still can't look at him, but he takes my small hand in his. I'm terrified. I burn for him.

He soothes me with soft strokes, pulling me so that I'm standing between his legs. He turns me and says in a soft voice, “lie across my lap”. He holds my shoulder down firmly as the first stroke of the cane hits. I cry out, a gasping cry that continues, panting anew at each stroke. I can't see but I feel the skin reddening, bruising, then bleeding as he works me. His cock is huge and hard beneath me and the touch of it feels so good, it's worth the momentary pain. I embrace the pain, it replaces the fear, remaking the shape of my mind into something better than it was before.

Once he's drawn first blood to his satisfaction, he stands up and tells me to kneel down. He holds my hands behind my back with one of his, and again, I feel his unflagging firmness against my cheek as I turn my head up towards his face in response to his command. I struggle a little and moan plaintively as he uses a riding crop on my breasts. Instant bruises unfold on my skin, the nipples burn, my mouth opens a little as I rub my lips and moan into his hardness. Welts are rising over both breasts, and he lifts me so that I'm standing facing him, as he reaches a hand to spank me. The pain is stunning, coming over the cane marks, but with each hand's caress I sigh and moan in sharp little breaths. I'm dizzy with the staggering pain, he's holding me on my feet, but he lets me drop to my knees as he sits back down on the chair.

He takes his cock out and lifts my chin. “Open up Lucy, open your mouth for me”. The beating has made me compliant, I only want to give him something wonderful, rather than struggle. He draws me in, and I take it all down without him needing to move his hips forward. I rock back and forth, his buttocks clench as he thrusts compulsively into my mouth, over and over and over again, my thighs are sticky with my excitement, and with blood.

Shockingly sudden, he stands and drags me by the hair to a table, bends me over, and fucks me without thought for style or technique, just fucking me, with his hugely swollen cock sliding inside me, the muscles of my pussy gripping him desperately tight, but so dripping wet as he pounds into me from behind. I panic and begin to fight back, which just causes him to pin my wrists down and fuck me even harder. I can feel his hips grinding and thrusting and shoving, causing an aching pain deep inside me, and a sharp pain on my buttocks as the beaten skin is freshly torn by his haste and need. He tears into my back with his fingernails, the skin violated, huge red lines drawn in blood and sweat. Tears fall from me, but I feel the muscles inside me grip him in a pulsing contraction which starts between my legs and spreads to wash throughout me. He lets out a wordless shout and his rhythm grows faster for a few moments, then gently slows.

He steps back and turns me to face him, spreads my legs and bends me back over the table as he covers me with his body. He kisses me as softly as his fucking was hard. I'm all undone.