Authors note - once again I would like to thank Lord Raven for inspiring me to write this. It is a dark consensual non-consensual tale with a twist. If you are of a delicate disposition, this is not a story for you. However, if like me, you like adventure please read on. I would also like to thank my lover for posing for me, it was very kind of him.
Your arms ache, your fingers are purple due to having the
cuffs hooked onto a fixture on the beam I can tell that by the way that you
squirm and twist, trying to alleviate your discomfort. I am not surprised that
your muscles are seizing, you have been up there a long time. You can see me,
and observe that I have been watching you for the best part of an hour but not
responding to any of your requests, ignoring you shouting obscenities at me.
There is a placidity to my face and you know that because you agreed to come
here, because you agreed to this consensual non consensual event that I have
the power. Reality dawns on you that it was nice to talk about, fantastic to
fantasise about and jerk off to but this reality is uncomfortable. The physical
discomfort you can deal with, you are a tough man, it is the gnawing
uncertainty that is undermining your usually robust demeanour. I have always
been polite and nice to you but there is a coolness in my manner towards you,
possibly described as an indifference. That is the bit that is scaring you.
Spasms in your legs cause them to tremble and shake, not out
of fear but due to the position that they have been in for so long. Plus you
are cold, it crept into your lower back aeons ago and has settled its frosty
self there, permeating all your inner organs. If I had been feeling nice I
would have let you keep your clothes on instead of slicing them off you, they
lay in rags in the corner. They were your nice clothes because you thought,
rather stupidly, that I was going to do something nice to you. Fool. With that
thought I almost afford myself a little smile but stop just in time.
I notice that the pulse in your neck quickens as I stand up.
The beads of sweat, despite the chill in this cellar, betray the fight or
flight response of your body. I know it is fear. I understand it is fear
because my status goes before me. I am fearful.
Licking your lips in an attempt to say something, anything
that will appease me, a plea bargain of some description; no matter how futile,
if you do this then there will be some kind of hope. The look in my eye, that
dead stare, tells you that there is not hope. Words die in your throat,
unspoken. Grieving for death of your aspirations the only thing that you cling
to is the hope that you will live to see the another day. People have
'disappeared' after playing with me.
With a delicacy that is unanticipated I place my hand over
your heart. It is racing nicely, a good 150+ BPM, any more and I might worry
about a heart attack at your age, but it is a strong bouncy pulse, this means
that I can have hours of pleasure with you. My pleasure of course, not yours.
Vindictively I rake my nails down your chest and look on
with pride at the welts and the tiny
pricks of blood that blossom on you. It was a nice first move. It leaves you
breathless and your chest heaving. I cock my head to one side and you look
puzzled, uncertain if I am admiring my handiwork and thinking about what is
going to happen next or listening to a voice that only I can hear. I enjoy my
reputation of insanity, of course I am not, that would be stupid. I hear no
voices, see no visions, I am just a sick twisted individual who always knows
where the edge is, always is able to see the line...and then step over it.
I slash your body again but this time each finger draws
blood and hurts like a bitch. Wild eyed you stare and it takes you a few
minutes in the gloom to notice that I have metal tips on one of my hands. I
scratch you again and chuckle at your screams. You have tried to be manly,
attempted to be brave, so few are once I get down to it. They cry and scream
and wail; little realising that it is music to my ears. That I love it. It
turns me on. Naturally you have not turned me on enough yet, you will make up
for it. Within minutes your torso, front and back, is covered in blood. Pretty
crimson patterns trickling one into the other forming a bloody map on your pale
skin.
Tsk, tsk. It looks sore. I walk over to where I had been
sitting and take a bottle out. I see in your face that you hope it is water,
you look thirsty, the hope ebbs beautifully as you blanche because you have
read the label. Actually you didn't even have to read it the colour said it all.
There is a sweetness to my countenance, I look innocent almost angelic as I
take the top off it. Looking you in the eye I reach up and kiss your trembling
lips. I wonder if you will cry after this next bit.
The iodine has its own wonderful smell. Cleanliness and
sterility. You see it on films being delicately dabbed onto wounds by a loving
heroine to her brave hero. Pouring it slowly onto your shoulder I watch it
slither down leaving purple trails to intermingle with the blood red ones. I
side step to give you room to dance for me, hopping from foot to foot. It
really is rather shocking the things that you say to me.
"Do you kiss your mother with that foul mouth of
yours?" I ask. It is the only thing that I have said to you since you
arrived and judging from your expletive ridden reaction, it is not comforting
to you.
Feeling slightly mollified at your poor reaction I up-end
the bottle of iodine over you and smile as you scream and cry, coughing as the
fumes fill your precious, delicate little lungs. I knew there would be tears,
they mix beautifully with the sweat. They drip silently from your face to your
chest mingling with the colours, diluting them, making them soften around the
edges.
I start stroking your cock. It seems incongruent to the
painful delights of the last 15 minutes. I feel you stiffen in my hand, it is
an impressive erection and I secretly yearn to lick it but I will delay my own
gratification as torturing you is a lot more fun.
Returning to my bag of tricks I withdraw a doubled up loop
of string with a strange metallic rod on the end with a flat circular stopper.
I make a larks foot out of it and place it around your balls, tightening it. I
feel you judder and listen to the moan of pleasure without taking my eyes off
your cock and balls. I walk a few paces back and admire the sight of you. A
multi coloured delight: red, purple, white skin; beautiful.
I reach and get what look like silver coins playing with
them in my hands, allowing the 'chink' noise to resound and become your focus.
I look up to see a delicious puzzled look on your face. Wandering up I stand
close to you, too close, I feel the exchange of body heat. Gazing into your
beautiful face and see the frown as you noticed they are just flat metal discs,
no stamp on them and a groove cut into the radius of each of them. Not wanting
you to look too dumbfounded for ever I slip the first 'coin' onto the metal rod
and let it drop. An unexpected moan leaks from your lips as it pulls on your
balls, it is then that you realise that each of these discs is a lead weight
and that I am going to add them one by one until you can't take it anymore.
Your sweating and gasping as your scrotum stretches and
changes shade is wonderful. Your erection remains because in spite of the pain,
in spite of the degradation, in spite of the blood you are fucking loving this.
I 'accidentally' brush your cock and see you shudder, bristling with desire to
cum. After slipping a couple more weights on I kneel down and place your cock
in my mouth. The warmth is infusing and the salty taste fills me. I know you
want a blow job. I know you want me to suck and lick you. I am not going to do
that, that would be a nice thing to do; I am not nice. Instead I hum, no
particular tune, just something to move the vibrations from my mouth into your
dick. Playfully I flick the weight on your balls with my finger and watch you
wince. Your breathing is tight and your eyes are starting to glaze as I add
another weight. Oh dear, it really is getting too much for you.
I would love to hurt you some more. I would love to terrify
you but time is against me. I return for the last time to my bag and draw out
my hunting knife. It is big and shiny and sharp as hell. I place it onto your
cheek and press hard. Your reactions are dulled and slow but I can see you can
feel its bite. Grabbing a hand full of hair to focus your attention back onto
me works wonders. How dare you let your mind wander? I see you at your physical
limit. Scraping the point of the blade over your face and drawing it along your
bobbing Adam's apple, I smile as I see that anxiety flicker in your eyes once
more. Holding the blade to your throat I grasp your hardness and slide my hand
up and down. Quivering I know you are close to coming and you are not sure if
it is allowed. Unable to stop your arousal you cum in solid spurts, thick and
tactile.
A look of coldness returns to my eyes and an awareness that
you have suddenly done something wrong. The ache in your balls where the weight
are no longer arousing, they are painful and you really want to get down. At
least that is what you are thinking. What you really want to do is to get as
far away from that glint in my eye as possible.
Walking behind you I see the thoughts in the air, the hang
words; words that are thought but not said. This is consensual non consensual.
This is meant to feel scary. It will be ok. It will be fine. Hell that was an
excellent orgasm but I will be fine because she will release me.
Wrong.
The last thing you see is the spurts of scarlet blood as I
cut your throat. You came before I gave you permission.
