Period Drama

Authors note - just like last week I found myself in conversation with another writer, Lord Raven, about genres and smut in general. We got onto this topic and simultaneously wrote stories about the same theme. I hope you like both stories. George, by Lord Raven

I never sleep well when my period is due. I get all hot and bothered and horny as a bitch in heat. Sex plagues my every thought, my every waking moment; every comment I hear has a sexual connotation, a double entendre. I feel like an addict whose craving cannot be sated, the yearning driving me forward. I knew that this bubble would burst, as soon as my period came I would feel this tension released.

Not really believing that I would get a decent night's sleep tonight I climbed into bed with that familiar aching and heavy feeling in my pelvis. Slipping under the cool duvet that would soon warm and envelop me, I watched the orange puddled light seep through the curtains as sleep tickled my mind and seduced me into slumber.

Gasping for breath I woke with a start. Nothing was over my face to prevent my breathing but my body was arched and needy. Fuddled with sleep I was unable to gain my bearings. Piecing together the evidence my senses could confirm, I knew that I was in bed, I knew that it was still night but uncertain as to what time it was, I knew that I was ok and that there was no reason that I could recall for waking. I also knew that I was horny, that there was a desperate ache between my legs. I was warm and wet and slippery with desire. The need to be touched was going to break my mind if I didn't find release soon.

Drawing my knees up I parted my legs in the hope that the air would cool my aching cunt. I exhaled but as I did I felt my breath on my own wetness. Confused I breathed in again, once more I felt my own exhalation on my sodden lips. Sitting up with a jerk I realised that I was not alone. Someone was in bed with me, mirroring my breathing, they understood my need to complete, the need to orgasm, they knew the sexual capsule I was in, a prison I needed breaking out from. My heart leapt catching a ride on the adrenaline wave and was now surging through me. My eyes adjusting to the ambient light I saw his head at the bottom of the bed. his eyes were twinkly and lustful. I had never experienced someone drinking me in but now I knew what it meant. This man, this stranger was devouring with me his eyes. I knew that I was wanted, lusted after, needed, desired. However, this was more. This man was going to take me and inhale my very core.

I felt some fear but it was laced with a thrill that excited me. I didn't know this man but I felt the yearning to be with him. I ached to feel his touch on me and in me. He would be the one to free me from this monthly horn.

Delving his head between my legs he gave me a long, luxurious lick. It was cold. Not cool, like he had been drinking an iced drink but cold, like glass; smooth and calming but unnerving. He licked me in a leisurely, almost off hand manner. He would be taking me at his speed and for some reason I felt myself relax, unfurling like a fern, unwinding under his ministrations. Licking and nibbling he excited me, bringing me to the boil expertly. He forced my sluttish knees apart so he could delve deeper and plunge my folds more forcefully. I cried out in pleasure at his tongue rolling over my clit, the delicious urgency building slowly within me.

I felt his tongue go deeper, it was longer than any other man that I had previously had. It was venturing deeper, exploring my slick insides, cleaning them, servicing them. No, those were not the right words. He was delving and probing. No, still too mild. He was exploring, violating...defiling me. He was taking my sex and using it. No consent; just snatching what he wanted. And it felt divine!

Raising my head I saw his teeth glinting in the light from the street lamps. He raised his eyes to meet mine and then I noticed that there is something wrong with his teeth, they are filed and pointed, vampyric in their appearance. Fear rushed through me. I have often read vampire books, trashy ones, good ones, sexy ones but seeing one in the flesh, so to speak, was truly terrifying. A coldness gripped my heart as my body refused to react. There was a scream that clogged my throat, lodging in it like a half swallowed lozenge, painful but unable to dislodge. Gulping for air I felt suffocated, unable to suck enough oxygen into me.

He smiled. His wicked smile, verging on evil. Terrifying but made worse by my treacherous cunt's yearning for him. The juxtaposition of emotions, the turmoil. It made no sense but there it was, my red slick desire for him.

Taking a deep breath he bit down onto my sex causing me to arch and scream in delicious agony. The pain was excruciating and jagged. I felt my slit becoming flooded and warm. Hearing him slurping  and sucking voraciously at me. I peered down, his face was covered in my blood. Licking and sucking my sexual blood out of me, slurping my lust and life out of me. Despite all of this, or indeed because of all of this, I felt my orgasm looming, impending, exploding.

There it was, forcing itself through my body and out into his mouth. Wave after wave of sexual release. My senses tingled and thrummed. He played me until I sung, screaming in defiant ecstasy. My once broken vocal chords finding their home once more and releasing my passion.

I woke screaming and covered in sweat. Panting as though I had run a marathon and feeling bone weary I looked about me. Everything seemed normal. Where was the vampire? Where was the demon who was making me ecstatically immortal? Vanished into thin air. I flopped back onto my cold, sodden pillows, breathing hard. I felt good, elated, satisfied. Whoever he was, whatever he had done, I felt better, complete, whole once more. Reaching for my throat my skin coated with salty sweat, I felt my pulse. Good and strong. I lowered my hands to discover what damage he had done and felt the warm mushyness of my post orgasmic bliss. I was slick and wet and it felt tacky. Withdrawing my hands I flicked the light on and saw the sticky redness of blood. It took a moment for my internal perspective to click into place. Flinging back the cover I noticed that I had come on during the night, my dream vampire had burst my sexual bubble, released my tension.

Allowing the excitement of my mind to calm down for a moment before I got up and changed the sheets and cleaned myself up I said a little prayer of thank you to him. I needed the release and I got it in the most peculiar way.

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A Gentleman's Agreement

Author's note -  DeepThought69 and I were talking about writing mojo (please see last week's blog). We thought it would be fun if we came up with the same concept and characters and each set about writing our story's based upon this. The concept is: three characters Ian, Michael and Catherine have a threesome. There is bondage/restraint, objectification, wax play. And that was it. Both stories are very different and I hope you enjoy them, we certainly loved writing around the same framework.

Michael was waiting for the front door to open after he knocked, the night was cool and he could see his breath hanging in the air. The first chilly night of the season. He was feeling anxious and his palms were slightly clammy. Unconsciously he wiped them on his trousers, swapping the bottle of malt whiskey from one hand to the other. Standing as erect as his six foot frame would allow he took some deep calming breaths.

"Hello sir," grinned Ian as he opened his house to his new acquaintance.

"Well hello sir to you," Michael replied smiling and nodding his head formally.

"Do come in." Ian stepped backwards allowing Michael entrance. "Is that for me? Oooh 12 year old single malt. Thank you very much. We will enjoy this and it will look lovely on my table. Come through and let me show you it, it is very beautiful. Unique you might say."

Michael was shown through to the living room where Catherine was tethered by her wrists and ankles to the coffee table. Her skin was glistening in the candle light. She was beautiful and naked. However, Michael noticed something was wrong about the scene he was witnessing. It was not that a naked woman was tied to a table or that there was candles, but there was some incongruity that he struggled to place. Then it clicked into perspective. There were lit tea lights, six in total, on Catherine's back but the silver foil had been removed so that any slight movement would cause hot wax to cascade over her.

Rather than looking tense Catherine had a serene look on her face. She did not flinch as he had entered the room, nor did she move as Ian placed two glasses of whiskey with ice on her skin.

"Did I not say that it was a beautiful table. Look she is motionless and calm. A visual delight." Ian stated with an essence of pride in his voice.

Michael, murmured and nodded in agreement. He could feel his cock stirring and growing full. He moved further into the room, never taking his eyes off Catherine. It had been all her idea. She wanted someone else to come and use her. As a couple, they had obviously spent a lot of time talking over this before approaching him. He had known them for about three years and they knew that he was very sexually open and mature enough to be able to cope with the scenario he saw unfolding in front of him. There would be minimal emotional baggage from all parties, he was as close to a unicorn* as could be.

As he moved further into the room to retrieve his drink he noticed that a glass butt plug was just visible sticking out her arse. Michael loved anal sex, it was the thing that he desired the most during every sexual encounter. Nothing turned him on more than a fine bottom and Catherine had a fine one; not too toned, certainly not flabby but with that delicious jelly wobble to it.

"Cheers," Michael said, raising his glass to his lips.

"Mmmm there is nothing more warming and delicious than a good malt." Ian drained his glass and swirled the ice cubes around in it whilst he looked ponderingly from it to Catherine. "I see that we are both enjoying the view," he commented making a nodding gesture towards Michael's bulge. "Time to start in earnest, don't you think?"

Michael looked at Ian and could only sense gentleman cordiality, if it were not for his growing erection they could be talking about a game of cricket rather than fucking his wife. Looking down at Catherine's bound form, the tea lights flickered as she breathed in and out; he felt that it was unusual how long the lights lasted without the wax melting or burning her but each candle had now got a well formed pool of liquid wax in it. She still had that wonderful look of tranquillity, one he almost did not want to disturb. It was like looking down at a sleeping doe, any noise would rouse it from its' slumber so best keep quiet.

Ian had different plans. Picking up one of the lights he raised it about six inches above her back and slowly poured. Catherine let out a long whimper of pain as the wax lava splashed across her skin.

"I would be careful my dear or you will upset the other lights and burn yourself. That would be.....terrible." There was a distinctive sadistic tone in Ian's voice, commanding and cool.

Her flesh shivered as the wax cooled. Ian nodded to him to join in, Michael picked up a candle and started pouring too. The sense of power and pleasure grew within him. He watched as she moaned and quivered trying desperately to keep still but her muscles tensing in anticipation. Observing her delicious trepidation that was either real or imagined made him smile and feel aroused. Tilting his head he could see the start of the tell tale shimmer between her legs, her ankles bound and thighs trembling. She was irresistible. The musky scent of her arousal reached up to him and called to his core. Picking up a fresh light he knelt down next to her hips and watched her internal struggle to keep still as he poured over her plump rear. He dripped them one by one over her back and arse until they were all spent.

At the same time as Michael was savouring his wife's sexual perfume, Ian fished an ice cube out of his glass and ran it over her neck. A noise somewhere between a squeak and a squeal made a hurried departure from her mouth. Both men looked up and caught each other's eye, grinning they hurriedly took their clothes off, scrambling to be the first one to touch her.

Their approach was very different. Michael took the opportunity to bury his head in between her legs and lick her slick sex like a man possessed. He could tell that Catherine was close to coming. Her lips were swollen and rouged, her clit hard against his tongue. He incessantly licked her nub forcing it between his tongue and his teeth, hungrily munching away with her moans singing in his ears.

Ian, on the other hand, got out a knife and put it to her throat whilst gripping her hair, forcing her head back. "Look at me with those pretty frightened eyes," he hissed. Running the blade over her cheeks he moved it in increments along her body until he neared the pools of hardened wax. There was a surprising firmness about the way he moved it over her body. A pale red trail highlighted where it had been and only a callous glint in his eye to suggest where it may go to.

In the middle was Catherine, wet with the ministrations that she was receiving from Michael and deliciously terrified from Ian's energetic maliciousness. "I want to cum Sir," she screamed. "Please may I cum?"

Silenced by a look from Ian, he whispered, "Not yet."

Whimpering and trembling she shook against her bindings. It was cruel that just at that point Michael started to pump the butt plug with his thumb whilst fingering her. Unable to control his lust he pulled on the plug until it was free of her and then dove in, spreading her cheeks to allow him access to her gaping hole. The smell of her sex and the sight before his eyes, mixed with the soft flesh of her arse was intoxicating. Leaning forward he started licking and rimming her in earnest. Savouring her unique flavour and the tactile sensations of her on his tongue.

A sharp scream interrupted Michael's train of thought. Looking up he saw Ian scraping and rasping the blade up and down Catherine's back. Some movements were only shaving the wax off her back, some were grazing her skin, whilst others were beading tiny droplets of blood blossoming and then almost immediately crystallising to form back rubies. Her breath was sharp and heavy as she struggled to cope with the differing uses of her body. Michael felt that it was a good idea that there was a table underneath her to support her.

Ian grabbed her hair once more and twisted it around his hand. Yanking her head back and twisting it so that she was looking up to him open mouthed. Without saying a word he fed her his cock into her helpless orifice, down confidently until it hit the back of her throat. Michael watched as he pulled back only to trust in once more, already slamming into the back of her throat causing her to choke and cough.

Seizing his opportunity Michael rolled on a condom he fished from his trouser pocket, doused his cock in the lube and aimed at her arse hole. Spreading her cheeks wide he pushed forwards, allowing his cock to sink in increments into her arse. Pausing to allow her to accommodate him, he reflected that no matter how gaping holes were they were always that little bit tighter than his dick. This gave him a loving snug sensation around his penis which sent judders of delight through him.

Unable to make much more than a guttural chocking sound Catherine was just able to make enough resonanace to indicate that she was loving every filthy minute of this. She was adoring being used, her face being brutalised by her husband and his cock in her arse. Feeling brave he smacked her causing flakes of wax to cascade and dance away from her pinned form. Enjoying the whimpers and the moans he smacked her again as he thrust. The sound and the sensation causing his mind to empty of all thought other than the pleasure of using her. It made him feel powerful at mastering her and her submission added to the authority and dominance he was experiencing. He thrust further and soon found a rhythm with Ian, as Ian forced himself into her mouth it pushed her whole body weight against his dick allowing the softness of her rear to squish against his groin. As he fucked her arse it pushed her onto Ian causing her to gag and choke. The tears were rolling down her face and mingling with the trails of saliva and snot. The three of them were joined in a blissful union.

Michael felt the tightness in his balls, and that familiar ache in his groin as he knew he would cum soon. The pleasure and anticipation that had been building in the weeks of negotiations, phone calls, texts, emails; stimulating his mind, his imagination and letting his lust build. His nerves as he prepared for tonight, shaving his face, soaping then moisturising his body. The gentleman's greeting as he arrived, followed by the visual delight when he entered the room. The sensory filled experience with the whiskey, ice, wax, the warmth and wetness of Catherine, Ian's hard and hairy body. All of this culminated in the impending release; concentrated, focussed, intense. His orgasm was going to be intense, extreme, possibly he could describe it as severe in the way that it would brutally be released from him as he emptied into her. Imminent, pending but ultimately inevitable, he came as he thrust into her for the final time.

Weak and wobbly from his orgasm, he collapsed as he withdrew, his chest heaving. His thoughts scattered and ecstatic. He stayed in this haze and reverie until the coolness of the room pervaded his sweat and chilled his skin. As he pulled his condom off and wrapped it in a tissue from the packet on the floor, he sank back, propped up by the sofa, and watched the scene carry on without him.

Ian's face was contorted with the effort of not orgasming, pulled out of her face and sauntered round behind her. Eyeing up her luscious cunt he thrust without aiming, balls deep. Michael watched Catherine cry out, arching her back and trying to break free from the ropes around her wrists due to the force she in which she was being taken and used.

"Please, please may I cum," she begged, sobbing at the restraint she had to exercise over her tattered self control.

"Cum my beautiful," he panted as he thrust vigorously into her sex.

Throwing back her head she howled, a wild canine sound that came from her core. It was a release of everything that had built within her. Hopes, dreams; realised. Fears, doubts; evaporated. An angelic orgasm, one she knew that she may never experience again. All encompassing, transcending her to  a rapturous state. her head blissfully empty of thought, flying in that subspace state. Ecstasy on Earth.

As Catherine shook and juddered, riding the orgasm that cleved from her body, Ian thrust deeply his whole body stiffening as he sprayed his seed deep within her, the veins and tendons straining at his neck.

Flopping over her back akin to a sweat soaked towel Michael observed as they both struggled to catch their breath. Catherine had a delicious vacant look on her face, whilst Ian fumbled with the ropes at her wrists whilst still conjoined. Scrabbling to help out, Michael scooted over and untied her ankles.

Brushing against Ian's legs he looked up at him. Ian looked sweaty and spent but there was now a connection between them. They had shared his wife. He knew that there would be an emotional lag between them all. There is no thing as a unicorn. Without knowing why he leaned forward and kissed him. Ian's mouth was harder than anything he had kissed before, he had never kissed a man. The musky scent, slight stubble, thin lips. It was strangely tender and delicate as they tentatively caressed each other's lips.

Michael leaned back as the kiss came to a natural end. Ian pulled out of Catherine and they rolled her off the coffee table. As Michael held her, Ian reached over for the throw and wrapped it around her.

"You are a good girl," he murmured into her ear. "Thank you for this evening. You are a good girl for satisfying your Sir and Michael." He stroked her hair and kissed her softly whilst laying her back into Michael's arms.

They stayed there, three of them wrapped around each other. Exchanging kisses and hugs, stroking and being tender. It may have started out as a gentleman's agreement but it now looked as though it could be so much more.

*Unicorn - Colloquial; Synonym for hot bi babe (HBB), often derogatory, condescending, or ironic. A bisexual person, usually though not always female, who is willing to join an existing couple, often with the presumption that this person will date and become sexually involved with both members of that couple, and not demand anything or do anything which might cause problems or inconvenience to that couple. - source, Urban Dictionary

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Thighs

Author's note - I was ill, I lost my confidence and then I lost my mojo. This is the first piece of writing I have done in a while and I feel a touch rusty. On top of that I have tried something new (as is my want on my blog)...I have tried to write a 'straight' story. I hope you like it. I would like to thank Deepthought69 for psychologically holding my hand throughout my wobble.

"For goodness sake, I am sick of this. It really does not matter how often I tell you how wonderful you are, how beautiful you are, how much I love your body including your thighs. You’ll never believe it until you work it out for yourself...gah!"

Joe slammed the bedroom door and stomped down the stairs leaving Zoe looking at herself in the mirror. It had been a throw away comment about her thighs being too fat and dimply. It was just a remark, one that slipped out of her mouth without hooking itself onto any brain cells prior to its exit. Now it was free and the damage had been done. She felt terrible; about herself, about pushing Joe yet again, about how the demons from her past kept returning to her, wraith like and frightening.

Zoe looked down at her thighs; they were serviceable, useful but not what she would call her best asset. She always felt that they were on the podgy side. Too much cellulite, too much fat, too much wobble. Her family used to tease her when she was an awkward teenager, calling her names like 'thunder thighs'. It made her cringe and feel that slow burning heat of shame at her own body. It was an ache that started in her stomach and ended in the back of her throat, choking her train of balanced thoughts. Once the seed of it had been planted it insinuated itself through her whole life and subsequently strangling all of her actions, wrapping itself around and killing all good thoughts like ivy. When she was a teenager she thought that she was repulsive. She avoided going swimming and shuddered at the thought of sarongs when she went to the beach. She liked running, or rather that asthmatic shuffling that she called jogging, but would only do it at night for fear that others would see her perceived imperfections. She couldn’t even contemplate sex with the lights on because it made her too anxious to enjoy any union, naturally that curtailed most liaisons she had.

Joe worshipped her entire body but especially her legs, those wonderful fleshy columns that held her up. He would spend hours languishing between her thighs mesmerised by their beauty. He would breath up and down them as though trying to steam up a mirror and have a mischievous grin every time she shivered with excitement. He tickled and tripped his fingers lovingly over the landscape of her legs.

Zoe reflected on how she had ended up in front of the mirror, naked and exposed. It had started with that foolish comment and Joe had whipped the covers off and frog marched her across the room to face her own reflection.

"Look at yourself," he demanded. "Look at your legs and tell me what you really see, not what your stupid family have told you."

Heart racing and her mouth dry, she tensed her stomach to be brave and steal a glance at her body. In the muted early evening light she could see that her thighs were indeed rounded, possibly they could do with being more toned. She frowned at her image.

Holding her so tightly that he left indentations in her shoulders he shook her until she startled out of her stupor. Emotionally shaken at the rough handling she blinked in response, her jaw lolling open like a badly hinged trap door.

"Tell me what you see," Joe growled.

Trying to think of something to say as her mind suddenly emptied of all coherent though. "Umm, err," she stammered. "They are white," burst from between her puckered lips, "and creamy."

Nodding in encouragement Joe gave her another menacing and possessive judder. "More," he commanded. She froze like a deer trapped in headlights, unable to respond. He had stormed out in disgust at her inability to express herself, it became obvious that she was devoid of anything else to say about her thighs.

So there she stood the burning sensations in her eyes indicated that hot, soft tears would roll from her eyes, eventually pooling and dripping from her chin. The shame of the internal conflict. She knew that Joe saw something that the wraiths did not and she hated disappointing him. From her perspective he was everything good that her family weren't, letting him down was one of the worst things that she could do.

She padded over to the bed and lay down on her back with her knees bent, pointing towards the ceiling. In this position all the fat seemed to slide down to her hips, leaving the expanse of her upper leg looking reasonably attractive.

"Come on girl, unless you get a grip of this it will drive him away," she muttered to herself.

Placing her palms on each thigh she lay there absorbing the sensation. Feeling the heat from her hands, she just closed her eyes and breathed. Gently, she started to move her hands over her skin, acknowledging the change in textures. She noticed that all of her leg was soft. There were fine little hairs that eased the flow of her moving hands. Subtle shifts in her hands felt unusually good. Zoe was able to start appreciating not just what Joe had said but the sentiment behind it. Disrespecting her body was similar to disrespecting him in some way that she was not too clear about but it made sense in her head.

Mumbling to herself she said, "They are white and creamy and soft to the touch. Like dough but not the horrible dough, dough like bread that you can knead, with a warmth that infuses your hands." Looking at the silver tiger stripes of her stretch marks she thought that they were ok. The strange mercury slivers cutting through the expanse of her skin, it gave the view texture and interest in a way that was novel to her.

The inside of her thighs were softer and more furrowed with stretch marks than the outside. The coarse patches of hair she had missed whilst shaving would normally fill her with guilt but they only added to the tactile sensation. Making soft, long sweeps of her thighs with her hands, exploring this new expanse of delight made Zoe lose track of time. She became so wrapped up with the pleasure of it she did not hear the bedroom door open and Joe enter the room.

Tip toe-ing towards the bed he bent down and kissed her lips startling her out of her reverie. "Good girl." A simple but potent statement laced with all the connotations of love, joy and possession.

Zoe looked shocked because the concept that maybe her thighs weren’t actually that bad was now  planted in her head. It had the potential, like a seed, that with the right nurturing would blossom into a love of her thighs

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This week's writing challenge is Finland

Caught

Ok, that caught me off guard - Angelwithatwist from my post 'Scared'.

This weeks' prompt is turning a comment from my blog into a post, this is my take on it. Being able to catch my readers off guard is a common theme with my posts. I do it to make my work interesting and to keep you, my dear reader,  stimulated mentally...as well as in other areas.

Ross breathed hotly on the back of his lover's neck, noticing a little mole; not very large but one that looked like melted chocolate. It went well with the freckles all over their body, that pale translucent, delicate skin that redheads tended to have. However, he would always want to nibble and lick that cocoa stained mole.

Entering his partner slowly Ross pushed so that their inner walls held and caressed his cock. This tender act was one of love and completion. Moving his hands over his lover he thrilled at the doughy flesh with fine silk hairs adding to the sensory experience of it. He started to rock his hips in a gentle motion. The aural stimulation of their combined moans and throaty murmurs added to his incessant need that filled his body and made him thrust harder.

Thunk was the sound of the front door closing. A cold, wet hand of fear covered his heart and throat and rapidly softened his cock. The creeping death of guilt as he heard Claire ascent the stairs. Ross listened to the wooden symphony of each step as her weight shifted onto it.

In slow motion the bedroom door handle turned. Hang time they called it in basketball. The moment stretched on like a geography class on a sunny Friday afternoon. As the door opened she filled the frame with her fat, lumpy middle aged silhouette.

"Michael" she gasped, before being struck dumb once more by the sight of her husband's illicit coupling.

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Reining - a dark tale

The first blow connected with their eye socket, a beautiful strike. It was like he had been taught in school, old pugilism lessons coming back to him in lightening slivers. His body moved slowly of its own accord. Left. Right. Left. Hook. Jab. Uppercut. Punches reigning down onto his opponent. Was opponent the right word? Some might say victim but he would say that he was justified in what he was doing. He was delivering justice. He was doing the right thing; he was standing up and being a man.

There was a sense of unreality in the scene, it was slow and the sensations were strange; some were present and more intense, some were absent. If this were a film, he reflected, then the images would come in snap shots and there would be no sound track to add to the mood of the moment. Possibly the colour would be slightly sepia in its tone, like a Guy Ritchie gangster movie, adding an untold facet to the action.

He felt slightly removed as though he was watching this from afar. His knuckles were warm from the beating but they were not sore despite being bloodied. Was it his blood? He was not sure but it felt good. It was not a feeling of warmth that he was experiencing, nothing of that nature, nothing so trite. It was an incandescence that exuded from his core. Behind his tensed stomach muscles came pure light and energy that filled him. An ecclesiastic joy; a divine righteousness in what he was doing. This was not wrong, it was meant to be.

The energy that he was generating flowed from him and into them by way of the beating. His left hook connected with their mouth sending a crimson spray across the wall. It came with a resounding click that registered as their jaw breaking. No more would lies come forth from their mouth as their mandible hung at a weird angle, tendrils of bloodied drool sliding from their face. They would not be doing much in the weeks and months that were to come: nose broken, one eye already swollen shut, one ear bleeding – he was not sure how he had done that but he felt a smug superiority as he observed it.

The pride and vigour of this deliverance was making his cock hard. To suggest that he was surprised would be too strong, it was just a physical thing that happened. He contemplated thrusting his dick into their mouths and spraying his cum down their throats in a final act of violation. Grabbing a fist full of hair he wrenched them up to their knees from their sprawling state. A pathetic, whimpering moan came out of their face. It might have been pleading for him to stop but it was hard to tell. He didn’t care, it was not up to them to make him to stop; he was in control, he would decide, he had the power now, not them.

Holding the hair he shook it and smacked their head against the wall gently, it was an almost tender act after the violence of the last few minutes. It left a bloodied circular stain on the bedroom radiator. Then he let go, allowing his life size marionette to fall to the floor. Removing his hard-on from his pants he slid his hand along its length, delighting at the feel of it. Warm and solid, it felt great as his movements speeded up of their own accord his orgasm edging ever closer. It was fast and violent like the pounding had been. He felt his climax judder out of him as he watched the white fuck rain down, landing softly in their hair and on their battered face. It felt complete, he felt complete. He had finished.

“Fucking bitch,” he stated as he spat on his wife’s prone body. Without another thought he folded his softening penis into his trousers; he turned and left the room, feeling right and justified in his behaviour.

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Reining - Audio part 1

Reining - Audio part 2

Reining: Author's note - Audio

Reining: Author's Note

Those who know me, know that I do not condone violence against anyone. So why write this piece? The mind is a dark and wonderful place and I want to explore it with you. I want to show you different sides to things, with this story I wanted you to see inside the mind of an abuser, how they would think.  Bad guys are rarely all bad and good guy are not always a paragon of virtue. If we like or understand the mind of a baddie, does that make us bad by association? Does it make us sympathise with them and thus tainted like them? Food for thought. It is not to my mind an erotic story, but it is wicked.

e[lust] #45

Photo courtesy of CreativNooky

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I came before I was ready
Relationships and age difference
PolyAnna's Musings: Different is Good, Right?
Seriously Proud Queer
Spanking Kink of the Week
How to Be Good in Bed
A Thousand Small Unhappinesses
What's in a Number?
The Absence ofHow to Tell if a Man is Gay
Stop Shitting on the Bottoms

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

It's Not Misandry, You're a Douchebag

CatalystCon

Catalyst: How it Inspired

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Caning: To count or not to count
Slavery and Social Death, by O. Patterson
His Eyes Hungry. His Body Pleads: Use Me!
Toilet Whore
And then, I apologized.

Erotic Fiction

Wicked Wednesday: A little bit of confusion
The Moment
Detached
Waxing Lyrical
The "L" word
Gorge
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Three
Difficult

Erotic Non Fiction

Girl on Girl
The Moment I Felt Owned
Tasting Her
Acting on Instructions
Final Cruise
Quickie
A Lazy Sadistic Orgasm
I had 8 days of sex.
An hour together
Cheerful Disappointment
What is Erotic?
The Coin Flip
Playing with Adam
A Trip to the Hardware Store
Fall From Grace

Eroticon

A Somewhat Different Eroticon2013 4~part Post

Poetry

The Dark Place

About An Inch

The crystalline sun stabbed through the curtains making a sorry confession that it was indeed morning.

"Is there much?" I ask, my voice drugged by sleep.

"About an inch," he replies. His head is poking through the curtains which frame his face like long hippy hair. A pasty bottom sticks out with fur around his cheeks and the sight brings a smile to my face.

The statement makes me ponder and wonder what an inch would feel like. An inch of this hard, kidskin encased cock in my mouth, allowing my tongue to tease and stroke it in mouth watering excitement. An inch of his tongue in my pussy, coaxing juices and shy orgasms from between my lips. An inch of his thick finger up my arse, exciting forbidden senses; making me buck and writhe.

Stretching and insinuating myself between the covers, I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to simulate the physical yearning of my wanton thoughts. My smooth, doughy thighs; warm and responsive to the touch. I lie in my snug cocoon, wanting to be invaded and used. Desiring with my soul to discover what one inch will feel like in all of its various forms. My lusty need building and rising slowly within me, developing into a near wolverine primal craving.

Idly scratching your rear and sniffing you grumble, "Fucking white shit, I hate the snow. Makes work difficult. Hell, I'm late already and this just makes it worse."

Turning away to go to the bathroom you catch my eye and are puzzled by my expression. I feel the tension within me ebb away, replaced by a corrosive disappointment eroding my heart.

"You ok?" you yawn, scraping at your balls.

Rolling onto my front and burrowing my head in a drift of pillows to disguise and protect you from my feelings; I mutter, "I'm fine, just tired."

Accepting this at face value regardless of its plastic and disposable nature, you grunt and stalk off to empty your bladder.

About An Inch - Audio

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This weeks country for my writing challenge is Singapore